The Milk Man

Check out the only goaltender in the world who is possibly cuter than Henrik Lundqvist (a.k.a. new dad).

Top Chef Junior

The other night, Son #2 and I were home alone. He asked if he could make dinner for me. Of course!

Spiral noodles, butter, black olives and fresh, grated Parmesan cheese. Simple. Delicious. Love.

While I had to help carry the heavy pot of boiling water to the colander in the sink, he did the rest. He set the table, picked out his favorite drummer candle (that my girlfriend Kim brought to him from Africa) and made me close my eyes while he was "plating" my meal. Surprise! 

Swoon. It's nice to feel so loved!

Mother of the Year

Yesterday, feeling overwhelmed, I started sobbing at work. Later, my computer crashed. Blue screen. "Beginning dump of physical memory." Not that there's ever a good time for that but, now? Really?

Around 7:00 p.m., on the way home, as I was losing my mind, one of my favorite songs was playing on The Zone (a station I never, ever listen to but may start now): Where is my Mind? And the bumper sticker on the truck in front of me read, "Nope to Self." What exactly does that mean?

As I pulled onto my street, I noticed my mom's car pulling into my driveway. She had gone for dinner/drinks with her girlfriends and brought with her an empty travel mug. Why? To buy a cosmopolitan for me, sneak it out of the restaurant and deliver it to my doorstep at the very moment I arrived home.

Some may call that enabling. I call that love.

Thanks mom.

Canned . . . what?

"Mama, do you know what my favorite part of the day is? It's right when I get in bed to go to sleep. My arms are around monkey and he feels all warm and furry. And your arms are around me and you kiss me goodnight. It the best feeling in the world.

It's the greatest thing since canned bread."

Adorkable

Son #2 (squeezing his balding, stuffed monkey): You are soooooo adorable.

Son #1: More like "adorkable."

In the time of chimpanzees I was a monkey . . .

Summer Vacation: Stop #3 continues . . .

Our week-long stay at Ocean Isle Beach, NC was so awesome. Church on the beach. Swimming in the waaaaaarm ocean. Swimming in the pool. Renting bicycles. Relaxing. Learning about sea turtles and their nesting patterns. No pressure. No laptop. Just the chance to hang with my NC brother and his adorable family for the first time in a couple of years.

My sister-in-law found a great little condo right on the beach. Here is our backyard.

Here are some men fishing on the sound (on the other side of our condo) taken from where Grannie and I were sitting on a bench and meditating (or chatting, you decide).

So peaceful. Actually, the entire island was fairly deserted. Probably because schools in the South start earlier than those of their northern kinfolk. Possibly because of the impending hurricane. Either way, it was great.

My kids got a chance to spend time with their youngest cousin. So blinkin' cute. They also got a chance to hear his sweet lil' Southern accent and learn some new phrases of their own. "Don't you backjaw me boy."

The best part for me, other than being all snugly with the family, is always the beach.

Goodbye Ocean Isle Beach. You were very good to us.

Sorry Guys

A few years ago, I bought a t-shirt that read, "My kid is a genius." I wore it to a function at our preschool just to see everyone's reactions in our hyper-competitive town.

Around the same time, my girlfriend was dating a guy who went to Vegas and purchased for her a t-shirt in the hotel gift shop that was black and bejeweled with the acronym MILF. Funny (not to mention thoughtful and flattering) but not really wearable unless you're somewhat egomaniacal.

Today, Son #1 came up with his own concept and called me at work. "I just told dad that I wanted to get you a t-shirt that says, 'Sorry guys. I'm married.'"

What a cutie, right? And it's funny! I think there's a market for that shirt.

Perfect in My Mind

No time to blog . . . well, maybe a minute.

At this point in time, after working the past 25 days straight with nary a weekend to myself, I am 99.9% certain that a) there's a jertain in the curtain and b) I have to work this weekend. Methinks me head may explode. However, the kids both have sleepovers tonight which means I may have a date with the hubby. Yikes! Will I be whisked off to Paris for the night? (Fingers crossed.)

Most notably: school's out for summer. Sing along with me.

Son #1 had his "moving up" ceremony this week. Instead of to a deluxe apartment in the sky, he has now officially entered middle school. I never understood the value of a graduation-like ceremony at such a young age but, 1.5 non-billable hours later, I'm glad I went. It was kind of sweet to see all of those cute kids on stage getting their fauxplomas. The eternal slideshow? Fun for the kids; a bit unbearable for the parents--especially those who needed to get back to work. (I think you may know who I mean.) Sentimental pop tunes. Picture after picture of children in everyday settings (e.g., on the playground, playing soccer/lacrosse/whatever) and not-so-everyday settings (e.g., on their family yacht, in Venice/Australia/wherever). It felt touching and inspiring yet somehow elitist and privileged. Damn kids have been more places than I . . .

Both kids got their annual summer haircuts (aka heads shaved). Now they can be nice and cool for summer sports even if they look like they are suffering from radiation poisoning. Son #2 coined the experience, "Long story short."

Son #1 received his class award for "best reader" and "most laid back."

Son #2 was nominated by his teacher for "safety patrol" and received the principal's award for "citizenship." In response to our stating, "wow, you're like a role model," he deadpanned, "yeah, right?!"

Lastly, Son #2 just became a karate green belt.

Love.

Adopting George

When we went to the Montgomery County Fair in Texas a couple of months ago, Son #2 wanted to win a giant stuffed banana with dreadlocks. Can you blame him? I let him try a couple of times until it dawned on me that idiot mama (i.e., me) would have to carry that thing through the airport or, worse yet, check it like luggage and pay an extra baggage fee. Nu-uh. Not me. He was crushed.

Fast forward to this past Friday night at our local carnival. The kids and I were casually meandering through the game tents when Son #2 shrieked and took off like a bat out of hell.

Yep, giant bananas (of the hairless variety). He tried to win one, as did Son #1 and I, but none of us won the game. (Hmmm. Odds stacked against us? At a carnival? Shocking.)

Later, we found a game where everyone is a winner. It was simply a giant bucket stationed approximately one foot away. The kids each got a fist-sized ball and threw it in. Unless you’re Michael J. Fox, you cannot lose. Both kids selected plastic, old west, cowboy style pistols with a bag of marble sized bullets. What better to shoot in my car on the drive home?

Needless to say, before leaving, and after many, many games (goodbye college funds), Son #2 looked a bit unhappy. He had to go back and get that banana; it had his name on it. So back we went. And, because everything that kid touches is gold, he won. Even the carnie did a bit of a double-take.

Son #2 immediately grabbed his new giant banana, hugged it and named it George. Then he grabbed his gun, pointed it at the banana’s forehead and said loudly to the watching crowd, “nobody move or I shoot the banana.”

As we walked through the carnival the remainder of the night, Son #2 was flogged by other aspiring banana-owners. “Dude, I spent like $50 trying to win that banana. How did you do it?” Son #2 nonchalantly played it totally cool, “It was easy.” The level of admiration received from other 8-15 year old boys was unreal. I felt like I was hanging with somebody famous.

We have now welcomed a new, highly coveted banana/scratching post into our family.

The ride home. (I hope George is old enough to ride in the front seat. He didn’t come with a birth certificate.)

Reenacting the dramatic hostage crisis in the driveway.

Surprising daddy, Godfather style, upon his arrival home after a late night gig.

And, not to overlook my first and other love, Son #1’s new killer, blowup baseball bat.

I'll Stand by You

My mother-in-law was ill yesterday and cancelled our dinner plans so I went to Rocco again with my girlfriends. We ate dinner at the bar and laughed our heads off for hours. Would have loved to have seen the MIL but the change of plans turned out well, too.

Unfortunately, I came home to find Son #2 suffering with yet another stomach ache. He has had this illness for weeks -- at least since feeling sick at my sister's house on Easter. Maybe before. He's fine one minute; sick the next. Full of color and then as pale as a ghost. On Saturday, I took him to the docs because he was having stomach pains and I didn't want to wait and later take him to the emergency room. Thankfully it wasn't appendicitis but what was, or is, it? Worrisome. When he's sick, he needs coddling. He needs someone hugging him as he falls asleep. He needs someone sitting on the bathroom floor with him as he hovers over the toilet waiting to puke. Last night, after sitting on the bathroom floor for over an hour around 1:00 a.m., I dragged my pillow and comforter in to at least be comfortable. He fell asleep on me and together we spent a few hours napping on the bathroom floor. That's love. This morning, we went and had his blood work taken. So NOT cool to stick a needle in the arm of a nine year old boy and draw three vials of blood. To put it politely, he did not handle it well. The nurse, however, did. The poor thing. I just pray that it's some passing illness that just happens to be lingering. Nothing more.

His brother is another story. Somehow, in the course of a conversation with Son #1 as I was hugging him goodnight, we began chatting about his Tourette's disease and he asked what ADHD and OCD were. As I told him, you could see the proverbial light bulb turn on. Brighter than bright. What ensued was a hilarious, if not tragic, mad rush around the house as he showed me how he has to touch the two bumps on the bottom of the bannister, gently glide his fingers along the wall as he walks up the steps, trace the rail at the top of the stairs all the way as it curves back toward the wall, etc. And if he doesn't? Or, worse yet, if the rest of us don't (which, of course, we don't)? "It drives me crazy! I lie in bed for like four hours freaking out but there's nothing I can do about it. It's too late. I can't fall asleep." Sadly, it explains a lot.

Welcome to this crazy train called parenting. Sickness aside, I wouldn't have it any other way.

With Love to Uncle Ed

Where do I begin?

With my Mother's Day overnight trip with my girlfriends to the spa at Mirbeau? Waiting in line just to gorge ourselves on steamers and shrimp kebabs at Doug's Fish Fry in Skaneateles? Sipping champagne cocktails with the Daytona Beach-like Moms Gone Wild crowd at the waterfall-fireplaced-grotto-like-outdoor hot tub? Trying to relax (with a pillow over my head) in the "quiet room" while some loud-mouthed chick told the whole room about her husband's celiac disease? Enjoying a fabulous but lengthy, three-hour dinner at the inn complete with capon magro (yummy lobster, shrimp, crab and capon crostini), venison tenderloin (delicious but so not a typical choice for me) and fork-fulls of my girlfriend's hummingbird cake (i.e., a hybrid, cream cheese frosted carrot/banana cake)? Waking up to a full clay body wrap treatment with head massage? Shopping in town the next day -- where timely Christmas music, including the Little Drummer Boy, played in the antique store? Coming home to the hammock and blowing off work for the day?

Where do I end?

With a visit from my mom's much loved, best friend from childhood, Joanne, and her husband John? With the, as always, wonderful barbecue at my sister's house? Or with Joanne carrying on a tradition that my Grandpa Jack established with our families many moons ago: handing my kids $$ as we left to go home? (They were so psyched.)

I guess a few days bookmarked on either end by friends from a) my childhood and b) my mom's childhood is a few days well spent. All in all, a great week with one major sadness thrown in the mix: my favorite uncle on my father's side, Ed, passed away in California. Truly heart wrenching. Our world lost a beautiful soul with sparkling eyes, an infectious laugh and a kind heart. He will be sorely missed.

How to Elicit a Blank Stare

Son #2: Hey mom, can I have some Cocoa Krispies?

Me: Sure, help yourself.

Blank stare.

A minute later, Son #2: I need you to pour the cereal so let's try this again.

Yes, the kid who knows how to kill people in Call of Duty Black Ops, create and download his own videos to YouTube, program his iPod to serve up Rangers scores at the end of every period, and more, cannot pour his own cereal.

Mystery Solved

I ran into a friend a week or two ago who I had last seen at a Christmas party where he had clearly tied one on. He said, "My memory is a little fuzzy but I didn't forget you jumping rope with the Christmas lights." Say what?

At a wake this afternoon, I finally heard the story. Two of my wilder girlfriends, who usually wear ornament earrings and blinking necklaces/rings/etc., were standing together at the holiday party and everyone kept commenting on how understated they were this year. (The holiday tiara wasn't enough apparently.) Finally, one grabbed all of the Christmas lights and wrapped them around her body just to get people to shut up. When she couldn't mingle against the wall all night, she then had her friends trying to find an extension cord. Somehow, as it does, it turned into a full-on, double dutch, jump rope contest indoors until someone landed on a bulb and it shattered. 

So I have to ask myself: why do I always leave too early?

Photo Per Day #29: Geneva, NY

Today, I drove to a client in Northern PA and back but rather than heading down the less scenic 390, the hubby talked me into taking Route 14 which is also, unbeknown to me, faster. Duh. So I headed to Geneva and instead of going to my brother-in-law's cottage, I drove along the other side of the lake and saw those familiar sights from a new angle. The road-side of the inns directly across the lake from the cottage: Geneva on the Lake and Belhurst Castle. I now want to stay at both and wave to my sis from my upscale vantage point. So beautiful!

Anyhoo, instead of taking pictures of the cute little town of Watkins Glen or of the gazillion vineyards dotting the landscape (or even of the one, lone boater), I fell in love with the town (city?) of Geneva for the first time ever. Crime-riddled, decay-filled Geneva, NY with its boarded up storefronts is chock full of gorgeous architecture. Mansions dotting the lakefront. The lake itself. The whole package. I now personally want to restore the area to its former glory. A Geneva revival sans gunfights, welfare and crack whores. Could happen, right?

And I want to live here: smack dab in the middle of town with Christmas decorations on the lampposts and views of the lake from my backyard.

Photo Per Day #25: Thanksgiving 2010

Happy Thanksgiving y'all. Today's picture is not of the succulent turkey that my brother-in-law Jim prepared. Or of the gorgeous spread that he and my sister offered at their home. Or the blazing fire. Or the smiling faces. Or the beautifully illustrated label on the wine that my mom bought. Instead, today's picture represents what families of nine year old boys know inside and out: how to stave off a holiday meltdown. Today's picture is of Son #2 at the supermarket picking out a box of store bought stuffing because he doesn't like the fresh mushrooms and delicious sausage in my sister's moist, homemade stuffing. Welcome to parenthood 2010. Dysfunction. Love. Thanksgiving. Whatever it takes for happiness.

Photo Per Day #16: Sports Hero

Just watched the last few minutes of last night's amazing Rangers' game. Unreal.

Following is a picture of one of my favorite local athletes.

Photo Per Day #3: Election Night

Yesterday I had the honor of voting for one of my best friends from childhood who ran for NYS Senate. My eyes welled up with tears at the voting booth. I was picturing us playing kickball as kids. Camping on weekends in high school. Taking *sightseeing* trips to Mexico and Canada. Visiting colleges. Drinking blue whales at T's after her wedding still in our formal gowns. And on and on.

While she didn't win, she came close gaining an impressive 47% of the votes in our district.

This photo of two childhood girlfriends (and one hubby) was taken at the Hyatt downtown last night from the Democratic campaign headquarters. Tons of TV crews were stationed in the ballroom. We were in a river view suite on the 21st floor watching the results roll in. It felt like such an historic event and, while the outcome sadly wasn't in her favor, it was a privilege to be there. 

Photo Per Day #2: Monkey's Birthday

Happy birthday to my little man. May you enjoy your Mötley Crüe Greatest Hits and gazillion video games.

Love Cats

The other night our littlest kitten, who is no longer little, was ill. He must have eaten a plant or something when out on the porch all afternoon. He was listless, vomiting, breathing shallowly and his heartbeat was rapid. Pretty scary stuff. And he didn't want to be touched at all. To avoid dehydration, I kept dipping my finger in his bowl and he would lick the water off.

Yesterday morning he was still not well but I got a call later from the hubby that the kitten was regaining strength, had eaten some canned food and was drinking from his water bowl. Phew.

Last night, I walked in the door and he ran over to me, climbed straight up my pant leg and clung to my sweater until I held him. Then he began rubbing his head all over my face and suckling on my lips. Frantic for love.

Loosely translated, he was saying "omgiwassoooosickanddidntknowwhattodoandandandandicouldbarelyliftmyheadorbreatheandiwassoscaredandthenyouleftandicouldntfindyouanywhereyouweregoneforpossiblyyearsandiwassoscaredandnowyourehomeanditfeltlikeyouwerenevercominghomeimissedyousoooomuchandandandandimsogladyourebackthatimnevergoingtoletyougo"

It feels good to be loved. Thank God he's okay.

A Photo Per Day

My girlfriend Ursula has been posting a daily photo on Facebook of her life for a month. Pictures include the view from her apartment, the street vendor from whom she buys her morning coffee, her bike, etc. And she's struggling. I keep thinking, "You live in Manhattan -- every street has a new photo op, no?" Not to mention that she's artistic and works for MOMA. It seems like it should be a relatively easy assignment for her but it's not.

I was wondering if I could do the same thing here for a month. How difficult would it be in a town where nothing happens? Apparently pretty darned tough. But I might try it during November -- a month in the Roc that's notoriously devoid of character. No falling leaves. No sunshine. No snow (hopefully). 

I'm a terrible photographer but I brought my camera with me yesterday, in preparation, just to see what I could capture.

First stop, early morning, my sister's new puppy barking at the waves outside the cottage. He was racing around so quickly I could barely capture him in the frame.

Then, off to the tiny Episcopalian church that's about one minute up the road where my little man rang the bell after the service. So stinkin' cute to see him pulling the giant cord and listen to the bells chiming.

 

After church, we went bowling where I somehow forgot to take pictures. What I should have captured were the insulting graphics that appeared on the giant screen above our lane. Dancing pins shouting "gutter ball." Great for a little kid's self-esteem (not to mention mine). 

Remembered the camera before lunch at Rio Tomatlan in Canandaigua. Como se dice, "yummy" en Espanol? It was here, after buying the kids new winter coats and gloves on the way to the restaurant, that I heard, "Thank you mom for the best day ever." Warms the heart. 

 

Intent on studying the selection of salsa verdes, the subject of the photo hides behind his menu.

Last stop on the way home, apple picking at the aptly named The Apple Farm. Riding the tractor . . . 

Picking yellow delicious . . .

Posing like the Fonz at the top of the hill camera askew . . .

And picking red delicious . . .

So tired at the end of the day, I could have slept while sitting upright but I let the Milkman do that for me  :)