Posts (page 2)

So I'm turning 40, and I'm feeling a little angsty. Looming large. of course, is the decision of whether or not to have another baby. But that aside, the angst is not about the number, it's not even about the crepey eyelids or the flabby tummy or the arm fat. It's about the fact that I don't care that I'm turning 40. Don't get me wrong, I'm celebrating. I am going out to dinner with my childhood girlfriends tomorrow night, and for a spa night with my dear friend who moved to Europe and is coming home, and I will have a dinner at my mom's at some point, and M and I are going to Jamaica next month for a long weekend, without the boy. But I have no plans with my husband for the actual day, no plans at all really, except that I will have a babysitter and will go to yoga and get my hair blown out and a manicure and pedicure, and maybe even a little shopping. But we're not going to dinner, or having a party, although M offered. And that's fine by me.

But then I start to wonder. WHY is it fine by me? Do I not think I'm worth a little hoopla on the day I turn forty? Isn't my life thus far something I want to rejoice in at this milestone birthday? Do I not want a romantic night with my husband because I'm tired and I don't really care, or is it because I no longer think I deserve it? None of this really has anything to do with M, any damage done to my self esteem was done long before he came on the scene. But I wonder if I'm depressed. Maybe I just need Spring to fucking get here, already.

And the boy is up every single night, at least once. As a matter of fact, I'm sitting here with my shoulders tensed, waiting for him to call out. And he doesn't want Daddy, no sir. 40 and sleep deprived? Ain't so pretty.

So I have a big birthday looming large on the horizon, and I am struggling with the decision to have another baby. I always imagined that I would have two kids, as I am one of two, and I never wanted an only child. But y'all. I think I  might be too old for this - I am TIRED, man. The boy is turning two imminently, and as much as I love this stage, he is fucking exhausting. And, have I mentioned? I'm old.

Right now, with a 2 year old, my days are full of distracting, diffusing tantrums, singing Thomas songs, and endlessly, endlessly, hurrying the boy along. A trip down the hall to the trash chute can easily take 10 minutes, what with the running down the hall, the knocking on the neighbors doors, and a break or two to lie on the floor, cross his legs, and contemplate the ceiling. Walking to the playground on the grounds of my apartment building is easily a 20 minute trek, and even stroller loading is a major ordeal. I try, people, I try. But after the 354th time of "C'mon, c'mon honey, let's go, we have to go..." I start clenching my teeth and that little singsong refrain starts to sound like a barked order, I am sure. He's also tantruming, getting his 2nd year molars, and waking up once in the middle of the night, adjusting to his brand new big boy bed.  With the cah shees (car sheets).

And yet. The good things are so, so good. How he wakes up in his new bed in the morning and calls "Mommy..mooommmyyy." And all the new talking, and the singing and dancing, and the running full body hugs I get for just being mommy. We do a ton of stuff together - preschool, and museums, and play spaces and the playground every day when it's warm, twice a day. We have housefuls of kids over to play, and we go visit his grandparents and his cousins, and we go upstate on the weekends. And when I think of adding a newborn to the mix....well, I never was too good at figurin', but the way I see it is all those good things will be decreased, and we'll be left with the ...not so good things. My temper is quick and my tolerance is low, and I'm managing it pretty well, but add in sleep deprivation, colic, and nursing and who knows what will ensue.

I realize that a new baby brings its own joy, and while it's easy to talk about it dispassionately now, I would never regret it. But I fear I'll turn into a bitter old hag who yells at her kids all day long and then sticks them in front of the TV. I might have to go back to work if I have 2 kids under 3.

But last week, the man and I were standing in the kitchen watching the boy play, and he said, " He's such a big boy. He's like a little kid now, no more cute little baby. " I said, yeah, he is, and the man was silent a minute and then said, "Maybe we should have another baby"   But later, as he was wrestling the screaming boy into his pajamas, dodging  rapidly kicking little feet, he took it back.

I'm waiting...... it was a balmy 60 degrees in nyc on Saturday, and we went to the playground and found it bursting with people we haven't seen all winter. And this week? Highs in the 20s. I hate the city in the winter.

We are keeping busy, kind of. We're having lots of playdates and going to the diner for lunch, going to FAO Schwarz to play (shut up, the tourists spend enough money there that my kid can go and freeload) - which, by the way, has the big piano from the movie Big that the kids can dance on - so so so cute. And we're doing pre-preschool, two mornings a week, which I am irrationally grateful for.

There are many things about being a Manhattan parent that are just ridiculous - and preschool is one of them. The application dates, the interviews, the pressure, the competition, the MONEY. I have pretty much opted out, but found this little preschool thing - preschool setting, but the parents stay. Sure, I don't get to drop him off and go have a damn cup of coffee while it's hot, but I also don't have to pay $10K. $10K! For a 2.5 year old to go to preschool! It's fucking insanity, is what it is. But almost everyone buys into it - and when you don't, and everyone and their mother is asking you where your kid "got into" preschool, you start to think, wait, am I a slacker parent? Luckily, that delusion doesn't usually last long.

The other thing I've opted out of is the big birthday party out. Living in a small apartment, and staying at home means you end up with lots of mom friends and no space. So people have the parties out, at Gymboree or Chelsea Piers or some overpriced kids club. And I admit, I looked into it. Again - outrageously expensive. $650 to $800 for a two hour party for two year olds. I mean, is it me? The boy has no frigging clue when his birthday is, and as long as he's getting cake, chocolate and some presents, he's good, man. I might as well light that money on fire. So I'm not doing that, either - I'm keeping it small, having maybe 6 kids and their moms on a Friday afternoon, extending into early evening to include any dads that want to stop by. Pizza, wine, cupcakes for the kids, and I'm calling it good enough.

And on a last, completely unrelated note, for some inexplicable reason I've been reading all these home organizing blogs, all by born again Bible Thumpers, and I've noticed a few things they all have in common. They are all waaaaay too worried about proper pantyhose storage, they all scrapbook, they all homeschool (which to a girl like me sounds like the 10th circle of hell, thanks), they all have crockpots, and not one of them can fucking spell. I've got to stop reading them. Stat.

So my very best Mom friend is moving to Europe. She moved out of her apartment this week, and into a hotel nearby, and we've been having playdates every day, both totally in denial that the move is imminent. We had a playdate today with another friend, and when it was time for the boy to say goodbye to her daughter, I really almost lost it. Not that they know, mind you, being 2-year olds and all.

Tonight they had a little going away get together at a bar, and I left the boy with my  husband and went - had a glass of wine, 2 cigs, and am now home, and so sad. I see her every day, the kids play together, they share a babysitter and a bunch of classes and we really wanted them to go to preschool together. I am slowly watching my support system, my fabulous, amazing, big group of women and kids who have played together since they were infants, disinegrate, and I guess one of these days I'm going to have to decide what I'm going to be when I grow up.

Damn.

50 - ok, not 50 but some- ODD Things about you!

(I don't have the attention span for 50)

1. Height?  5′2"

2. Have you ever smoked heroin? Uh, no

3. Do you own a gun?  I would never, ever own a gun. And you shouldn't, either

.

4. What do you think of hot dogs? I love me some hot dogs.Grey's Papaya, please, mustard only.

 5. What’s your favorite Christmas song?  Three Ships by Sting, and pretty much any classic sung by Etta James

6. What do you prefer to drink in the morning?  Coffee with milk. I force myself to drink water along with it, but I don't prefer it.

7. What’s your favorite piece of jewelry?  My wedding rings

8. Do you like painkillers?  I do, but never take them because I am absolutely useless if I do.

9.. Do you have A.D.D.?  You know, I think I do.

10. Middle Name?  Ann. Creative, huh?

11. Name the last 3 things you have bought: Black patent leather peep toe pumps, red grapes, and a jacket for the boy.

12. Name 3 drinks you regularly drink:  Coffee.    Water. More coffee.

13. Current worry?  You know what I just realized? I don't have any worries.

14. Current hate?  The cold weather

15. Favorite place to be? In Italy, or at my mom's house. Or the beach

16. Least favorite place to be?  The DMV

17. Where would you like to go? I'd love to go to Cuba, to see it before Castro kicks it.

18. Do you own slippers?  Yup.

19. What shirt are you wearing? black tee shirt. My uniform

20.. What did you fear was going to get you at night as a child?  A gorilla. Or the cartoon gangsters from Bugs Bunny. What?

21.. How many TVs do you have in your house? 2

22. What is your favorite book?  I have a million. A Wrinkle In Time. Harriet the Spy. The Garden of Eden..A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. Perks of Being a Wallflower. A Prayer for Owen Meany.

23. What song do/did you want played at your wedding?  My first wedding it was It Had To Be You. And based on that whole deal, there was no wedding song at my second wedding

24. What is your pet peeve? When people drink out of those stirrer straws.

25. What was the first thing you thought of when you woke up this morning?  I hope the Boy doesn't wake up until I'm showered, dressed, and coffeed.

Halloween was actually a lot of fun this year, although I'm wiped out by now, 10pm. The Boy hated his costume at first, but he got used to it. This morning we went with our friends to a little outdoor preschool halloween thing, and he ran around like a maniac. We came home, had lunch, he took a nap, and I frantically cleaned up for the cleaning lady, who then NEVER SHOWED.  The question of the day is, was she even supposed to come today? Because I don't think she was here last week, but I don't know, because I can't remember shit anymore. And by the way, the cleaning lady twice a month? Well worth giving up, well, pretty much anything in order to pay for it.

I digress. We then re-suited up, and met same friends for a parade and carnival in the 'hood, which was utter chaos. At one point I was on my cell phone trying to give the husband directions to where we were standing - "By the big blow up Frankenstein. No, behind it. BEHIND IT." *sigh* and the little monster was on the loose - I had one hand on his shoulder when he made a break for it and beelined to some kids stroller. I hung up and followed him over there, just as he was stuffing a handful of m&ms in his mouth. Now, the kid has never even seen an m&m before, so explain to me how he knew he had to run over there and get it right quick before I stopped him. This is a kid who will pick up a rock or a stick, hold it in front of his mouth, and look up at me to see if he can eat it. Anyway, before he even swallowed them he opened his mouth, blue and green dye mixed with chocolate drool running down his chin, and croaked "MO?MO?MO!" The mother took pity on him and gave him one of those little tiny bags, which the husband let him eat, and the kid was wired for sound, man. He was running around like a monkey on speed. Never doing that again.

Then we went trick or treating in the building (all loot to be eaten by me) and then had wine and pizza at our downstairs neighbors house. The boy passed out after his bath, only half an hour later than usual, and my husband, who put in close to 4 hours videotaping the kids, went out to see Zappa plays Zappa. Dork.

Ok, a couple more things before I go

What's the deal with Pamela Anderson? She is a fiery mess, seriously. What is she, 45? Time to cover up the melons, honey. And she might want to let those eyebrows grow in, too - she's about 6 months away from being one of those old ladies who draws on skinny crooked eyebrows.

And this article is very interesting, and definitely depicts the lifestyle here in nyc, no matter your income.

http://nymag.com/guides/money/2006/23490/index.html

journal I never, ever update. *sigh*

Tonight I had a lovely grownup night out with two girlfriends in from Boston. We went out for drinks, saw SubUrbia at the Second Stage Theatre, and went to dinner at 10pm. I actually had plans to go to my high school friends Halloween party, but I unceremoniously blew it off. This party is a big, big deal to J, and I really should have gone, but dude? I'm too old to dress up for Halloween. So I had good intentions, and I lined up June Cleaver to babysit, but then Terry called and said she had an extra ticket for the play and I said, What Halloween party? This is why I'm a bad friend. But life is too short, I've decided, to  do things I don't want to do. Like drive out to the snooty white bread suburbs for a costume party in a bar. They rented a bar, hired a DJ and a caterer, and organized a costume contest, with judges. They are fucking serious about this shit in the 'burbs.

Anyway, I was happy to get dressed and do my hair and leave the house, bound for a destintion without swings and jungle gyms, for once. It is cold and windy here, and we had more than one confrontation with people jockeying for prime cab-hailing position on the corners, and once I finally got one the driver took me to my building, and then berated me loudly about making him drop me off in a place that was inconvenient for finding his next fare. Bastard - I would have given him a good tip for it, too, if he had skipped the lip.

So I got the boy's costume, which is super cute but I'm not convinced he will wear, as every time I hold it up to him and say, "Look at THIS! Wow! Do you want to put this on?", he scowls at me and shakes his head no. We shall see. There is a little parade and festival in my 'hood, and then I will take him trick or treating in the building with his two little friends, and then we'll go to my friends place downstairs and have pizza and wine. My husband is puzzled by this, as we have never lived in a building with kids before, so no trick or treating. I'm going to make him stay home and hand the candy out, I'm thinking. Although he'll probably lock the door and turn up ESPN anyway. And I haven't bought any candy yet, not even my beloved candy corn, because I am eating far more crap than is good for my ass. Or my flabby belly, for that matter.

Ok, it's late and I'm a little drunk and I'm off to bed.

What did you think you would never ever do... but did? 
Submitted by Murky.  

spend a night in jail!

You know, somehow I seem to have less time to write now that I stay home. Or maybe it's just that I'm out of the habit - I never really edited what I wrote, just squeezed it in at work or when my man was at the game...but somehow when I was working 10 hour days it was easier to whip something up and post it without thinking. Maybe because my brain was working then.

A few random things, to illustrate my point above -

- The boy has a plush elmo chair that I bought him at Target, and he loves it unreasonably. It said on the tag "with comfort smell" which kind of creeped me out, but now that it's home and I smell it, I am hit with a familiar longing. My subconscious is registering that smell, but I cannot for the life of me think what it is. Driving me nuts.

- We went to a wedding this past weekend in the Hamptons, and it was good for me and M to get away alone, and the wedding was beautiful....but I felt woefully out of place among all the hyper-accomplished guests, not to mention the bride. Humpfh. Also, frantically went out dress/shoe/bra/jewelry shopping beforehand, begged the dry cleaner to do alterations in two days, and ended up deciding it was too slutty and wore the same stupid black dress hanging in my closet that I wear to everything.

- I decided, after a convoluted thought process involving potential mom jeans in my future, to buy myself a pair of high heeled, high black boots. Even though I can't wear them to the playground. Except now I can't find any I like.

- Last night we went to dinner at Felidia for my mom's birthday - the food was fabulous (it is the restaurant of Lidia Bastianich, who has a cooking show that my mom adores) and the wine was great, the service impeccable. But the real reason I am recommending it stridently to all my friends and neighbors? The astounding plethora of ridiculously hot men that work there. I was literally drooling, right in front of my parents and M.

- I have been spending way too much time lurking on a now infamous parenting message board. It is a horrible, shallow, nasty place, and I never respond to anything because I don't want to become one of those women (much like I refuse to watch Oprah or Dr Phil or soaps during the day, so I won't become one of those women who sit home watching TV all day and then discuss it like it's their own life) yet I can't seem to tear myself away. Issues, people.

Ok, I'm out. gotta go fold the laundry

So the boy has been napping for 2+ hours now, and I have spent the entire time screwing around online. The dishwasher is not emptied, the bed is not made, the living room floor is covered in crayons and cheerios and 12, 467 Matchbox cars, and I have to pack for the wedding we are attending this weekend, as well as packing a bag for the boy, who is staying with my parents.

I am the worst housewife EVER.