Cars, Playdates and Daycare party

The past two days have been hectic as usual (honestly, sometimes, I get tired just thinking of my own life). On Tuesday, I decided to hop into the car with Son and drive 115 miles up north in Connecticut to meet a friend whom I had never met. I know it sounds odd but it really is simple--I have the priviledge to belong to a group of 20 moms who likes to call itseld the Crazy Mommas - (Mostly) First Time Mommas Over 30. Indeed, all of us are over 30 years old and in September 2008 we all had our first babies (well, to be more precise—we were all SUPPOSED to have our kids in September, but as these things always go, a couple were born in late August and the beginning of October). One of my moms-in-crime lives in the exotic town of Coventry CT. In the spirit of good-byes, I decided to get in the car, drive up there, meet her in person after talking to her for over 2 years and meet her son and her newborn baby. Now, let me tell you about traveling in a car, in broad daylight, with a toddler, when it is NOT his time to nap. The first 3o mins go OK, he plays with his cars, sings loudly, points to other cars and trucks, and is generally in a good mood. The second 30 mins he realizes he is stuck in the car seat for some time. He freaks. You try NOT to let him cry since he will pee himself before you have the chance to park dangerously by the side of the road to let him go potty. You find a book in your bag that you cleverly packed. He is happy for entire 4 minutes. He begins to yell again. You (again, cleverly) toss him a cup full of Cheerios. You buy yourself about 20 mins. Once that is over, he is seriously bored. You resort to singing--if your baby repertoire is as poor as mine (Old McDonald and Twinkle Twinkle pretty much sums it up), you try the Beatles, Led Zeppelin, Elvis, Black Sabbath, even truly horrendous versions of Kelly Clarkson's hit songs. It does keep him amused (I wonder why...) for another 20 mins. You are almost there when the storm really hits. You end up stopping at a parking lot 10 mins from the place you are headed only to discover that he has, after all, peed himself. Peeved and disappointed, you get back into the driving seat, tell him to zip it and get there.

Meeting my friend was fantastic, and while our kids did not play together at all, they had fun playing along each other. Individualists...books do say that is what happens at this age, so no surprises there. While we were there, I managed to put together a crib for my friend's baby. I am handy that way. Son becomes obsessed with a Fisher Price garage thingy. He actually refuses to leave. I drag him out of there by carrying him under my arm. The drive back was surprisingly easy. Not sure why. He simply chewed on his sandals most of the time. Yes, I did tell him not to. Like, 128 times. Another great thing I found out on this trip is turkey franks. Son LOVES them. We are all stocked up now.

And today, we had Son's end of the year party at daycare. All kids danced, sang, ran, screeched, played, pulled, fell, beat up an Elmo pinata (?????), ate, drank, pushed and shoved. It was fabulous and I have some absolutely awful video footage to prove it. I can tell you though, even though Son is the youngest at his daycare, he did insist loudly on beating the Elmo pinata as well. Boy, was I one proud mommy...

On a different note, the Diplomat keeps insisting that I cease calling him that and switch to Mr. D or something like that. He thinks it sounds like I am mocking him. Now why would he think that? Also, I am not likely to stop.

Another weekend of saying Good-Bye

It is tough to believe that yet another weekend has passed by. It was, to say the least, eventful. I dined out with girlfriends on Thursday and Friday (we ended the night at the fabulous 230 5th Av rooftop, where a pair of aging firemen flirted with us); had brunch with folks on Saturday for the US-UK soccer game, then went out with the Diplomat for one last dinner at the restaurant where we got engaged (Il Bagatto), followed by a satisfying cigar at the Velvet Cigar Lounge (one of Diplomat's gifts for Daddy Day); then on Sunday we had brunch with our fabulous neighbours, and topped the day and the weekend with by hosting dinner at home for yet another great pair of friends. I am afraid that I am enjoying this intense social life a bit too much and once we move to DC, I will have some problems being bored...

Son also had his share of fun, I suppose. We took him to Central Park on Saturday with the single purpose of putting him on the Central Park Carousel. Well, we bought tickets for the last round of the carousel, and at the moment the Diplomat and him climbed on top of one horse, the child got so horrified that he yelled he needed to go potty. Grudgingly, we got him off the horse and he did proceed to pee in the bushes (I swear he did it just to make a point). Naturally, the carousel was underway already. We begged and pleaded with the carousel guy to let us do at least half a run since we are leaving NY. He probably took us for some crazed tourists and relented--well, needless to say, the moment they got perched atop one of the horses, Son started to scream potty again. Trying to not show my utmost irritation, I took him down and apologized to the carousel guy (who DID NOT give us back our ticket money, btw). Too bad they did not do the ride--the Diplomat looked positively fetching astride that horse. Son went on to scream (happily) and run around the park afterwards--I suppose he was celebrating his near-death escape from the carousel!

On Sunday, before brunch, we did a Costco run (the Diplomat likes to call it my favorite store; I am not sure why, I can assure you my favorite store is Tiffany's)--Son had so much fun eating all the samples that he passed out in the car on the way to brunch. He refused to wake up and spent the next hour and half sleeping on top of two chairs at the restaurant, while we drank Proseco like two responsible parents.

It is weekends like these that I realize how much fun NYC could be. I have often claimed city-fatigue, but now that I am leaving, I all of a sudden remembered how great this city is. Oh well. I am sure I will have just as much fun next year in Burkina Faso. Or Cote d'Ivoire. Or Albania. Or not. One thing is for sure: there will always be those moments when I will think to myself--what the heck did I get myself into?

It has begun

As I ran in the gym this morning to the tunes of Alicia Keys belting out, "New York, New York," I started crying. Silly me. I will miss this city. It is the place where I came into my own, where I met the Diplomat, where I bought my first car (and my second, MUCH cooler car), my first apartment, had Son, got my first job, two university degrees (with not much to show for them except loans) and where I grew up as an adult. It is a place where I have tons of friends, who have defined my life in the past 10 years. I will miss all of this. Very, very much.
It is also the place where I have managed to accumulate the usual (phone bills from the last 6 years... An ice cream maker ... An odd and decidedly ugly collection of candles) and at times, unusual (like, a cricket bat??) clutter even though I periodically throw stuff out. I'll tell you two things I DON'T have for no good reason: corn holders (always wanted them!) and an electric can opener (NEVER wanted it). So, I have started to slowly disperse, sell, donate and throw out stuff. You will be amazed how easy it is to sell old, old finance and econ books on amazon.com. I encourage you, no, I DARE you to sell as much of your old textbooks as possible!
It is a sad and yet rather gratifying process, this purge of the house.
I am also having dinners out in the city with my close friends, sort of saying Good-bye to each and every one personally. Last night was especially hard--I went out with one of my closest friends and we both struggled not to cry (we DID have a martini and 2 glasses of wine each, so THAT might have been part of it, ahem). Next weekend the Diplomat and I have our big Good-Bye party in an East Village bar--boy, that will be a cry fest!

Son is blessedly oblivious to all this. As long as he has all of his car and trucks and buses in row, life is beautiful. Then again, Son is a traveler: at the age of 21 months, he has been to:
Florida--at 2 mos
California - at 3 mos
Bulgaria - at 5 mos
India - at 6 mos
Bulgaria - at 11 mos
Bermuda - at 14 mos
Florida - at 16 mos
California - at 17 mos
Bulgaria - at 19 mos
Good thing he travels for free.

In other news, we are waiting, breathlessly, for Diplomat's salary letter--the State Dept still hasn't really told us how much he will be making. One thing I have noticed during this entire process--the government is not exactly a paragon of fast and efficient procedure. Wait, you already knew that? Ha, interesting...

When rain is your friend

I love rain for two very distinct reasons:

1. I do not have to water the flowers in my garden
2. I do not have to take Son to the playground.

Now, mothers of the world, please, do not dare tell me that there haven't been days where you'd rather have your nose hair plucked rather than taking your kid out to the playground. Sometimes I just feel lazy. Others, I just feel nice and content to be home. And sometimes, I simply feel frumpy and do not wish to comb my hair (even though there are quite a number of ladies out there at my playground who APPARENTLY do not think it is necessary to do that last one EVEN if one is to present herself to the critical eye of mommyhood at the playground--I draw the line at combing at least!). Sheesh, sometimes I do not even feel like brushing my teeth that day. And yet, every time the weather outside is nice, I hear this little, grandma-like voice at the back of my head--"You should take the child out, he should be playing in the air with the other kids, and not be stuck at home." Ugh. So yes, I love rain. So, today was a good day. It rained cats and dogs.

Which makes me think--there are SO many times my life as a mother when I know very, painfuly well what I am supposed to be doing and what is "good for the child" and yet I don't want to be doing it. Like when we ride in the elevator, and Son is lying on the floor (which is positively filthy) and rolling himself happily there--the nice man riding with me says (I suppose HE thinks he is so subtle), "Oh, well, one day he will grow up and know that it is dirty there and he should not be doing that." Yes, smartass, I KNOW he should not be rolling on the elevator floor. So what of it, as a famous friend of mine would say? Or when, in the laundry room, Son is playing with the laundry carts, nibbling on them in the process, and ANOTHER smartaleck remarks "to him"--Oh, this is dirty, you should not be doing it, to which I (cleverly!) responded, "Well, this is the cleanest thing he had put in his mouth today." She had the good sense to laugh her heart out. I forgave her.

Yes, mothers know exactly what is good for their kids and what should they ideally be doing. Like when we give them french fries and horrid looking nuggets for lunch, rather than have a fabulous, nutritious snack at hand. Or when their sippy cup falls 34 times on the ground, and we just pick it up, wipe the spigot and give it back. Or when we know we should stand up to their tantrum and show them reason. But we sometimes just do not have it in us. Period. For you working lot out there--have you had days when you just have had enough and walk out to get a coffee rather than write that pesky deck? Well, consider my letting Son roll on the elevator floor as me getting out of the office for a cup of good old coffee. So, next time you see a mom not performing up to your loftly (often childless!) standards, please, do not roll your eyes, but simply give her a break!

Horse races and a sick mommy

This was yet another weekend for the books. On Saturday, we took Son to the horse races at Belmont, to watch another Belmont Stakes and lose small bets. Well, one thing is for sure—small children get frantic in huge crowds. Son proceeded to have 3002 tantrums, forcing the Diplomat to walk him around in the crowd several times as a distraction.

Imagine us: a zillion people around us, not all of them of the most gentile sort; some smoking horrible, cheap cigars right next to us, other smoking pot right behind us, and third screaming obscenities at the jockeys as they paraded the horses in front of us; a screaming Son, jumping up and down and crawling under the benches in the filth; his portable potty set up next to us, bags of snacks and a couple of beers for me and the Diplomat, from which Son is desperately trying to take a sip. All of this while I am trying to make educated guesses and bet at least $2 on the horses. Along with us were another couple of good friends with their 4 year old boy, who was incredibly well behaved. Nothing makes me feel more like a bad mother than having Son screeching and throwing himself around like a wounded elephant next to another child who is sweet and well-behaved.

In a fit of motherly genius (NOT), it dawned on me that Son might be hungry. I gave him a nutritious snack of Cheetos, corn chips, pita chips and a pretzel, and lo and behold, the child brightened and started smiling. Too bad it was time to go home. Moral of the story—do NOT bring a hungry and possibly under-slept child into huge, confusing crowds.

That same night, the Diplomat and I decided to go out for a romantic dinner in the city. Our choice of restaurant was, at best, unfortunate—we were the ONLY ones there, which, given the enormous size of the place, was quite unnerving. It did not help that the server spent 85% of the time were there at our side, chatting. Nothing spells romance better than that experience, I daresay.

And on Sunday, I suppose I was down with a nasty food poisoning. LOVELY! I spent the entire day in bed, while Son proceeded to jump up and down the bed and on top of me. While it was very sweet and funny, it also involved a superhuman effort on my part not to throw up while he pranced on my stomach. I feel much better today, thank you.

The Joy of Small Things

People always say, "Don't sweat the small things, and it's all small things." Ok, I can understand that. And in the same vein, I can also say: "Take joy at all the small things, and life is made of small things."
I am truly thankful for all the small things in my life. And Son gives me so many small things to be happy about. This morning, as we were leaving to go to daycare, he put his first 2 words together--he said, "Bye, Jinxy." (Jinxy is our fat cat). Small step for humanity, huge step for Son. Then, after I brought him to daycare, he asked to go potty (Son has been potty trained for about 2 months now, but refuses to go at daycare)--voila, he went a peed there. Another small step, but it mattered to me. His teachers were overjoyed and several Oy veys were overheard. At the playground, later on that day, he finally said "Up" when he wanted to go up on a bench. So far, he used the word "down" both when he wanted to be put down or lifted up--I suppose, he always connected the word with a motion away from just standing. In the evening, while I was making salad and prepping dinner, I asked the Diplomat to put the ingredients for bread in our bread machine. He had never done it before and winced, but with my verbal guidance, he did it! He made bread (in a machine). Definitely small step, but oh, so cool!

Life is full of small things. Just like we should not sweat them, we should also learn to recognize them, enjoy them, celebrate them even (I covered Son with kisses when he peed at daycare!), remember them and point them out to those who have missed their beauty.

The international day of children and guns

Today is the International Day of Children, June 1st. It's a nice holiday, sadly not celebrated in the US as it is in Europe. Anyway, to celebrate, I took Son to the Intrepid Museum. Since it was Fleet Week in the city, the USS Iwo Jima was anchored in the NYC piers right next to the Intrepid. The really nice guard at the front of the Intrepid museum told me that visiting the Iwo Jima was free (vs the $24 to go on the Intrepid??), plus the Iwo Jima is a live, fully functioning ship, so I immediately swiveled the stroller in that direction. Well, let me tell you--it was spectacular! That ship was humongous.

It had a whole bunch of terrestrial vehicles inside (like trucks, diggers, some shooting-looking thingies, tanks, humvees, more trucks, ginormous multi-terrain carriers, and what have you). Son looked quite smug on a tank. It also had a whole different section with boats, bigger boats and mini ships.

Then we went to the aircraft area, which had a bunch of helicopters of any possible variety you can imagine. Son was in helicopter heaven. Mommy was also feeling quite nicely since a pleasant, uniform-clad officer was making some efforts to flirt with her.

Unfortunately, the visit to the USS Iwo Jima disturbed me as well. The ship was full of school groups of fairly young children. The Marines had weapons stations to show people their rifles. Naturally, the kids wanted to see them and so I stood and watched little girls holding massive rifles and Marines explaining to them how to shoot them. On one hand, I understand that is a form of recruiting for the future soldiers of America. On the other hand, however, I could


not stop but be reminded of the horrifying images of the Children of Conflict in Sierra Leone. Perhaps I am over thinking this. I know it is natural curiosity on the kids' part to want to hold a gun in such circumstances. But after overhearing a very excited girl ask one Marine, "Can I hold your rifle?" I think that, in times like these where school shootings have become so horrifyingly commonplace, we should all be very, very careful about the kind of excitement we create around guns. Peace!