Until 8:46 am, September 11, 2001, was the most beautiful kind of day in New York City.
Cloudless, crystalline blue, just a hint of the autumn to come as Taxman and I walked to the local junior high school to vote in the primary election. The kind of day that has its own lightness, whispering promises of pleasant fall, a meaningful High Holiday season, a gentle close of summer.
Every September 11th, I remember how beautiful that day was. Before it was shattered by the cruelest definition of man's inhumanity to man. I still don't understand how people purposefully take the lives of innocent human beings. I don't think I ever will.
I hope everyone has someone to hug today.
Monday, September 11, 2006
Thursday, September 07, 2006
Why PBS deserves a big, fat check from us
Miss M is a bit of Sesame Street addict. I tried to keep it in check, but now it is our savior. I use it to stay in bed and nurse AM, or I use it to unload the dishwasher without her impaling herself on the silverware, or I use it to eat breakfast in peace.
We are spoiled to have three choices for viewing times: 7, 8, or 9 am. This is the advantage of living in a major metropolitan area and paying about a gazillion dollars a month for cable; we even have a DVR, so we can record an episode and play it back at 7:30 or 8:12 or whatever. (Technology rocks, people!)
Her favorite part most days is when Cookie Monster introduces (and subsequently eats) the letter of the day. She thinks it is hysterical and usually comes running to tell me what the letter of the day is.
So this morning, I was desperately hopping around, trying to get everyone dressed and fed and straighten the house before our beloved cleaning lady came {sound of angels singing}. I heard Miss M padding down the hall; she had been drawing on her Magnadoodle--so far the Toy of the Month--and was coming to show me something.
"Ema! Show you! Letter A!"
And there it was. Clear as day.
Admittedly, she has been drawing "letters" for a long time. There was a big spate of marker Ms and Ws when she was doing a lot with lines. Not sure how much was accidental. She makes Xs and Ts in chalk at the park. When she got into drawing circles, she made Os a lot. But now she's made actual As (if it happens twice it's not a fluke, right?) and Hs. That requires a lot of purpose, right?
Now I know exactly how my mom felt when I was 13 months old, pointed over her head in a store and cried "eggit!" (Exit!) Amazed. More like my brain exhaling, "Daaaaammmmmnnnnn."
Channel 13, next pledge drive we're there.
(Oh, but I still expect her to be tantrumming to nurse and in diapers for a long time to come. So it's not all brilliance and light.)
We are spoiled to have three choices for viewing times: 7, 8, or 9 am. This is the advantage of living in a major metropolitan area and paying about a gazillion dollars a month for cable; we even have a DVR, so we can record an episode and play it back at 7:30 or 8:12 or whatever. (Technology rocks, people!)
Her favorite part most days is when Cookie Monster introduces (and subsequently eats) the letter of the day. She thinks it is hysterical and usually comes running to tell me what the letter of the day is.
So this morning, I was desperately hopping around, trying to get everyone dressed and fed and straighten the house before our beloved cleaning lady came {sound of angels singing}. I heard Miss M padding down the hall; she had been drawing on her Magnadoodle--so far the Toy of the Month--and was coming to show me something.
"Ema! Show you! Letter A!"
And there it was. Clear as day.
Admittedly, she has been drawing "letters" for a long time. There was a big spate of marker Ms and Ws when she was doing a lot with lines. Not sure how much was accidental. She makes Xs and Ts in chalk at the park. When she got into drawing circles, she made Os a lot. But now she's made actual As (if it happens twice it's not a fluke, right?) and Hs. That requires a lot of purpose, right?
Now I know exactly how my mom felt when I was 13 months old, pointed over her head in a store and cried "eggit!" (Exit!) Amazed. More like my brain exhaling, "Daaaaammmmmnnnnn."
Channel 13, next pledge drive we're there.
(Oh, but I still expect her to be tantrumming to nurse and in diapers for a long time to come. So it's not all brilliance and light.)
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
Hanging on by a thread
Having a nasty intestinal virus was not the way I intended to shed the last pregnancy pounds. (Of course, all the graham crackers won't keep them off.)
Passing out from fever and dehydration at Miss M's pre-school orientation would have been very declasse, no? Luckily, I managed to make it to the car to lie down before collapsing anywhere.
My brain isn't working very well.
Miss M has watched a lot of videos.
And worst of all, Taxman is sick too. Poor guy had to go to work today. Not that spending yesterday at home was fun for anyone, except maybe Miss M (see above parade of videos).
Anyone have any good recipes involving ginger ale?
Passing out from fever and dehydration at Miss M's pre-school orientation would have been very declasse, no? Luckily, I managed to make it to the car to lie down before collapsing anywhere.
My brain isn't working very well.
Miss M has watched a lot of videos.
And worst of all, Taxman is sick too. Poor guy had to go to work today. Not that spending yesterday at home was fun for anyone, except maybe Miss M (see above parade of videos).
Anyone have any good recipes involving ginger ale?
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Context!
Scene: master bathroom shower, 20 minutes ago.
Players: Taxman, Baby AM
Observer: me, arriving to take AM out of the shower (I was distracted. I was in the middle of writing an email to mc.)
Me, incredulous: "Are you talking to him about his test^cles?!"
Taxman: "No! I said we were just two boys, hanging out."
Me: "Oh."
Must sleep more, clearly.
Players: Taxman, Baby AM
Observer: me, arriving to take AM out of the shower (I was distracted. I was in the middle of writing an email to mc.)
Me, incredulous: "Are you talking to him about his test^cles?!"
Taxman: "No! I said we were just two boys, hanging out."
Me: "Oh."
Must sleep more, clearly.
What is UP with the universe?! by OTE
1. Miss M had a cold last week that lasted for about two days.
She gave it to me, naturally. Last Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday I had a sore throat. Saturday I had a sore throat and a cough. Sunday the snotfest began in earnest, carrying over to yesterday. That's SEVEN days of a cold that Miss M was done with in two. (Thankfully, AM seems to have escaped its clutches. Gotta love the nursies.) It's finally fading, now replaced by one of my pounding headaches--I think they are part-sinus, due to weather, and part-hormonal, due to breastfeeding, because I got them when Miss M was an infant too. There was a time when I used to knock back Advil Cold & Sinus for these things, but they are a no-no for the milk supply.
So I am trying to keep my head steady. Which is really so easy to do at my current job. SAHMs need union reps, because the no sick day thing really sucks.
2. After his first week or so of life, Baby AM has been quite polite during diaper changes. None of the random peeing all over. Until yesterday, when it happened twice in 12 hours. Were we just lucky all this time?
3. I have an important freelance assignment that I just can't get done because I feel like crap and I am exhausted. Help! Plus without warning AM's 7:30 bedtime turned into an hour-long nap, then be cranky until real bedtime (10ish). So...not a lot of time to work, even if I could breathe and move my head without pain.
4. CCW's post today reminded me that August 28 of last year was when I had my own home pregnancy test revelation. (An earth-shattering bathroom moment.) That eventually led to my "founding" of One Tired Ema. Now that I am thinking this through, I see this needs its own post, once I can clear a path through the snot in my head.
Addendum: Four straight days of rain. Um, hey, New York is not supposed to be the Pacific Northwest with smog. I actually went out to the library to return things today because it had been a very long time since I had had outside air in my lungs. It started raining before we got there (3 blocks). Baby AM and I were under the umbrella. Miss M walked there in her too-big but very cute raincoat. It was a huge, slow pain in the behind and by all rights we should have gotten soaked. So now, as I figure it, there are two options for school: a) spend money--albeit not necessarily too much if we buy used--on a double stroller with raincover that we don't really have room to store and AM would probably hate or b) be the bitch who drives the 12 blocks to school and parks right in front; the minivan has a permit because of Taxman's work with the Rescuers. He says I am entitled. I say it's rude to the 100 other parents who don't have the option.
She gave it to me, naturally. Last Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday I had a sore throat. Saturday I had a sore throat and a cough. Sunday the snotfest began in earnest, carrying over to yesterday. That's SEVEN days of a cold that Miss M was done with in two. (Thankfully, AM seems to have escaped its clutches. Gotta love the nursies.) It's finally fading, now replaced by one of my pounding headaches--I think they are part-sinus, due to weather, and part-hormonal, due to breastfeeding, because I got them when Miss M was an infant too. There was a time when I used to knock back Advil Cold & Sinus for these things, but they are a no-no for the milk supply.
So I am trying to keep my head steady. Which is really so easy to do at my current job. SAHMs need union reps, because the no sick day thing really sucks.
2. After his first week or so of life, Baby AM has been quite polite during diaper changes. None of the random peeing all over. Until yesterday, when it happened twice in 12 hours. Were we just lucky all this time?
3. I have an important freelance assignment that I just can't get done because I feel like crap and I am exhausted. Help! Plus without warning AM's 7:30 bedtime turned into an hour-long nap, then be cranky until real bedtime (10ish). So...not a lot of time to work, even if I could breathe and move my head without pain.
4. CCW's post today reminded me that August 28 of last year was when I had my own home pregnancy test revelation. (An earth-shattering bathroom moment.) That eventually led to my "founding" of One Tired Ema. Now that I am thinking this through, I see this needs its own post, once I can clear a path through the snot in my head.
Addendum: Four straight days of rain. Um, hey, New York is not supposed to be the Pacific Northwest with smog. I actually went out to the library to return things today because it had been a very long time since I had had outside air in my lungs. It started raining before we got there (3 blocks). Baby AM and I were under the umbrella. Miss M walked there in her too-big but very cute raincoat. It was a huge, slow pain in the behind and by all rights we should have gotten soaked. So now, as I figure it, there are two options for school: a) spend money--albeit not necessarily too much if we buy used--on a double stroller with raincover that we don't really have room to store and AM would probably hate or b) be the bitch who drives the 12 blocks to school and parks right in front; the minivan has a permit because of Taxman's work with the Rescuers. He says I am entitled. I say it's rude to the 100 other parents who don't have the option.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
In which Miss M plays navigator*
We set off for the Berkshires on a Thursday night, with the goal of getting some outdoor recreation on Friday morning. Friday afternoon we had to shop and cook for Shabbat. If I had been more coordinated, we would have had more food prepared in advance, but Taxman was happy to use a grill. (Grrrr, man make fire!)
On Friday morning, up at our usual crack of dawn, courtesy of Miss M, we zeroed in on Bash Bish Falls, "the tallest waterfall in Massachusetts," as our destination. We were out of the house before 10, but we spent a good while being lost. We asked for directions three times; our AAA map just didn't have enough detail. ("It's our Amazing Race!" Taxman and I giggled to each other.) But the drive was pleasant, the scenery was verdant, and the kids were in good spirits.
After a lot of meandering, we disembarked at the Bash Bish parking lot in Mt. Washington, Massachusetts. It was almost noon, and our original plan--to be at the grocery store, picking up chicken and watermelon and milk by 1 pm--was clearly out of reach. But we were here to get some fresh air, damn it, so that is what we were going to do. Getting the kids ready to go was a whole project, of course. We changed their diapers in the back of the van, loaded them into their carriers (a Kelty backpack, toted by Taxman, for Miss M and a Freehand mei tai for Baby AM), and found the trailhead.
As we studied the bulletin board at the trailhead, which contained dire warnings about swimming in the falls, there was a simple sheet of paper tacked up—a notice from the Mt. Washington State Park Powers that Be. The gist was that the trail to the falls was about a quarter-mile, but (BUT!) over that quarter-mile there was a vertical drop of 300 feet. The kindly-but-stern Powers that Be reminded us innocent hikers that what goes down must come up, but if we didn't think we were up to it there was a parking lot about a mile down the road with a pretty flat, half-mile trail in and out.
Although it would have taken a good 15 minutes to toss the kids, the carriers, the backpack, and ourselves in the van and reconstruct the scene down the road, I was about to suggest that we trade minor inconvenience for peace-of-mind. The beginning of the trail looked very steep. "What do you think?" I asked Taxman. (We tend to do things by consensus.)
"Not sure, but I think we can probably do it. What do you think?"
Before I could respond, a high-pitched, excited voice piped up from behind his head: "Go, go, go! Abba! Go, go, go!!!"
He looked at me and shrugged, "I guess there’s your answer."
And so we went.
It was steep. There were no handholds. There were very few things to brace against. The pitch of trail was scary. The dirt was slippery and loose under my feet. If I'd been by myself I would have just gone with gravity, but my resistance to gravity was the single thing standing between AM’s sweet, soft skull and, well, I didn't want to think about it.
Fifteen minutes later, we were at Bish Bash Falls. I was shaking--my quads in particular, which had basically prevented me from falling down the very steep hill ass over teakettle. After briefly taking in the scenery...
...we had to jet. But I was pretty sure that I could not get up those 300 feet.
Huh.
In his continuing quest to be the Best.Husband.Ever, Taxman said he was willing to let me take the flat route out. He'd scale the cliff with Miss M and pick us up at the other parking lot.
We parted ways. It felt weird to be without him, plus I didn't have my cell phone. (There hadn't been reception in the parking lot, so I left it in the car.) I had a medium-sized freakout when I realized that I had crossed into New York State. I had known we were close to New York; the locals, in fact, had told us to go via New York to get to Bash Bish. But what if Taxman thought he was on the wrong road and tried to find me elsewhere? Oh crap.
Luckily, we were upstate, where people were friendly and chatty. A pleasant older couple watched the blood drain from my face as we crossed the border. They assured me that Taxman would find us; in the parking lot they offered their cell phone, and when it failed to have reception they offered to drive me to the other lot. When I demurred—I had no carseat for AM—they offered to go meet him at the other parking lot and make sure he got to me. So sweet! But thankfully Taxman had vanquished the mini-mountain in record time, and just then he and Miss M came screeching into the parking lot.
Next time Miss M gets a vote in how we go, she's walking it herself. Or carrying me part of the way.
* as promised
On Friday morning, up at our usual crack of dawn, courtesy of Miss M, we zeroed in on Bash Bish Falls, "the tallest waterfall in Massachusetts," as our destination. We were out of the house before 10, but we spent a good while being lost. We asked for directions three times; our AAA map just didn't have enough detail. ("It's our Amazing Race!" Taxman and I giggled to each other.) But the drive was pleasant, the scenery was verdant, and the kids were in good spirits.
After a lot of meandering, we disembarked at the Bash Bish parking lot in Mt. Washington, Massachusetts. It was almost noon, and our original plan--to be at the grocery store, picking up chicken and watermelon and milk by 1 pm--was clearly out of reach. But we were here to get some fresh air, damn it, so that is what we were going to do. Getting the kids ready to go was a whole project, of course. We changed their diapers in the back of the van, loaded them into their carriers (a Kelty backpack, toted by Taxman, for Miss M and a Freehand mei tai for Baby AM), and found the trailhead.
As we studied the bulletin board at the trailhead, which contained dire warnings about swimming in the falls, there was a simple sheet of paper tacked up—a notice from the Mt. Washington State Park Powers that Be. The gist was that the trail to the falls was about a quarter-mile, but (BUT!) over that quarter-mile there was a vertical drop of 300 feet. The kindly-but-stern Powers that Be reminded us innocent hikers that what goes down must come up, but if we didn't think we were up to it there was a parking lot about a mile down the road with a pretty flat, half-mile trail in and out.
Although it would have taken a good 15 minutes to toss the kids, the carriers, the backpack, and ourselves in the van and reconstruct the scene down the road, I was about to suggest that we trade minor inconvenience for peace-of-mind. The beginning of the trail looked very steep. "What do you think?" I asked Taxman. (We tend to do things by consensus.)
"Not sure, but I think we can probably do it. What do you think?"
Before I could respond, a high-pitched, excited voice piped up from behind his head: "Go, go, go! Abba! Go, go, go!!!"
He looked at me and shrugged, "I guess there’s your answer."
And so we went.
It was steep. There were no handholds. There were very few things to brace against. The pitch of trail was scary. The dirt was slippery and loose under my feet. If I'd been by myself I would have just gone with gravity, but my resistance to gravity was the single thing standing between AM’s sweet, soft skull and, well, I didn't want to think about it.
Fifteen minutes later, we were at Bish Bash Falls. I was shaking--my quads in particular, which had basically prevented me from falling down the very steep hill ass over teakettle. After briefly taking in the scenery...
...we had to jet. But I was pretty sure that I could not get up those 300 feet.
Huh.
In his continuing quest to be the Best.Husband.Ever, Taxman said he was willing to let me take the flat route out. He'd scale the cliff with Miss M and pick us up at the other parking lot.
We parted ways. It felt weird to be without him, plus I didn't have my cell phone. (There hadn't been reception in the parking lot, so I left it in the car.) I had a medium-sized freakout when I realized that I had crossed into New York State. I had known we were close to New York; the locals, in fact, had told us to go via New York to get to Bash Bish. But what if Taxman thought he was on the wrong road and tried to find me elsewhere? Oh crap.
Luckily, we were upstate, where people were friendly and chatty. A pleasant older couple watched the blood drain from my face as we crossed the border. They assured me that Taxman would find us; in the parking lot they offered their cell phone, and when it failed to have reception they offered to drive me to the other lot. When I demurred—I had no carseat for AM—they offered to go meet him at the other parking lot and make sure he got to me. So sweet! But thankfully Taxman had vanquished the mini-mountain in record time, and just then he and Miss M came screeching into the parking lot.
Next time Miss M gets a vote in how we go, she's walking it herself. Or carrying me part of the way.
* as promised
Monday, August 21, 2006
"Nakish" at the Strand
My venture into the city was nice, but it wasn't quite carefree. It had been a long time since I had been underground in the NYC subway in the dead of summer...and I can't say I'm sorry. It was stifling. I don't know if it was hotter than Hell, but it was certainly more humid.
Baby AM is less intense than Miss M, which was relaxing, although he is not as good a conversationalist! And then there are the poops. By four months old, Miss M was pretty much a once-a-week pooper. Not so much with him. So by the time I had reached Grand Central (25 minutes), I had already had to change him once. On a moving train. (I knew there would be more; I just hoped it would wait until we were safely home.)
I went to the Strand. Stupidly, I did not have a list of books I wanted. It's a difficult place to browse, because it is completely overwhelming. Books to the ceiling, crammed in every nook and cranny, and not quite logically organized. But AM was happily sleeping, so I began to wander. I had half-filled a basket with books for Miss M (James and the Giant Peach for $2.95! A beautiful picture book by Faith Ringgold for 66% off!) and thrown in a new Moosewood cookbook for myself (less than half the list price!) when he awoke, screaming. Oh, dear.
I unlaced the mei tai he was in and tried to comfort him. And then he had the loudest and smelliest poop I've experienced in many weeks. In the middle of the Classics. My backpack/diaper bag was at the front of the store with the security guard. The bathrooms were upstairs, and, of course, had no baby changing tables. The elevator was the slowest in Manhattan. A small orangey-brown stain appeared on the back of AM's outfit while I was trying to get us to a slightly less populated area.
I commandeered the unisex handicapped restroom, laid my carrier (I had a second one, naturally) on the floor, and stripped him. Yes, my son, n@ked at a New York landmark.
His mood improved immediately, which was good because it took me a while to extract us, both from the potty and from the store. We then walked quite a bit, got an ice cream (me, not him), and bought gorgeous heirloom tomatoes at the Tompkins Square farmers' market.
As I was hustling through Grand Central to make the 3:20 train home, hauling $60 worth of books, $14 worth of tomatoes and organic greens, and 15+ pounds of baby AM, part of me thought I should have gotten my act together to pump a few bottles so I could have been truly alone. But when would I have had the time to do that?!?
Baby AM is less intense than Miss M, which was relaxing, although he is not as good a conversationalist! And then there are the poops. By four months old, Miss M was pretty much a once-a-week pooper. Not so much with him. So by the time I had reached Grand Central (25 minutes), I had already had to change him once. On a moving train. (I knew there would be more; I just hoped it would wait until we were safely home.)
I went to the Strand. Stupidly, I did not have a list of books I wanted. It's a difficult place to browse, because it is completely overwhelming. Books to the ceiling, crammed in every nook and cranny, and not quite logically organized. But AM was happily sleeping, so I began to wander. I had half-filled a basket with books for Miss M (James and the Giant Peach for $2.95! A beautiful picture book by Faith Ringgold for 66% off!) and thrown in a new Moosewood cookbook for myself (less than half the list price!) when he awoke, screaming. Oh, dear.
I unlaced the mei tai he was in and tried to comfort him. And then he had the loudest and smelliest poop I've experienced in many weeks. In the middle of the Classics. My backpack/diaper bag was at the front of the store with the security guard. The bathrooms were upstairs, and, of course, had no baby changing tables. The elevator was the slowest in Manhattan. A small orangey-brown stain appeared on the back of AM's outfit while I was trying to get us to a slightly less populated area.
I commandeered the unisex handicapped restroom, laid my carrier (I had a second one, naturally) on the floor, and stripped him. Yes, my son, n@ked at a New York landmark.
His mood improved immediately, which was good because it took me a while to extract us, both from the potty and from the store. We then walked quite a bit, got an ice cream (me, not him), and bought gorgeous heirloom tomatoes at the Tompkins Square farmers' market.
As I was hustling through Grand Central to make the 3:20 train home, hauling $60 worth of books, $14 worth of tomatoes and organic greens, and 15+ pounds of baby AM, part of me thought I should have gotten my act together to pump a few bottles so I could have been truly alone. But when would I have had the time to do that?!?
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