Girls in Their Underwear Taking Over the World

My 6-year-old has a bit of a fixation with girls' underwear. Is this a normal phase? (It's not one they put in the parenting books!)

This afternoon we played with our Cars movie cars, and one of the characters was at first capturing everyone else, and then suddenly he began to put purple girls' underwear on all his prisoners (this part is all imaginary, mind you -- the prison was made from Magnetix), and then it became an underwear store for the rest of the cars, with the prisoners now being models for all the different styles. One car ordered underwear with decals of underwear on it! Yikes.

That was probably my fault. I know he thinks underwear is funny, so yesterday I pointed out a drawing in a book we were reading, a little girl holding her dress up above her waist so you can see her panties.

Did I think that out first? Uh, no. Another brilliant parenting moment by moi.

"Why is she doing that?" DB asked after he stopped laughing. Well, the drawing shows break time at preschool, and the 2 kids to one side of this character have obviously just used the bathroom (one is getting his overalls snapped and a second is drying her hands on a towel). So I think that girl is next in the bathroom and she's getting ready.

And, preschoolers do that -- they don't know not to yet; in fact we had 2 of them in the front row of the winter concert hike their skirts -- so I think the artist was just being realistic. It's subtle, she's in the back of the picture (the main focus is on the 8 or so characters in the foreground having their snack).

But he really liked it ... to the point where tonight at bedtime he asked me, "Can you show me the picture of the girl in her underwear again?"

We looked at it again, and then he asked me, "Mommy, can you give me something to think about so I don't think about girls in their underwear, taking over the world? Because when I'm bored I think about that."

I made a suggestion based on the scenes we watched tonight from the Cars movie. But what on earth am I supposed to do with that knowledge about what's going on inside my son's head???

I did reassure him that girls and boys go back and forth liking and not liking each other and also noted that I didn't expect him to be thinking about that type of thing until oh, 7th or 8th grade.

Another Week Ends Without Haiku

Another week without haiku, sorry, Christina...

It's possible that PMS played a role in my lowness of feelings earlier this week
But I don't think that accounts for it all.

Pretty sure of it in fact.

Didn't get a call back yet from the agency I called Thursday at noon.

Good thing I wasn't at my wit's end. That's all's I'm sayin'.

Love Note to Dooce

Dear Heather,
I'm so glad your blog exists and that you are so honest about how you feel, otherwise I'd be even more lost.

I made someone mad yesterday. Wait, you've pissed off lots of people and not only survived but still likes herself, smiles, and all that jazz!

I feel anger and sadness and not a whole lot else these days. Wait, you were depressed too! I'm not postpartum and I don't think I'm so severe that I need a mental hospital (that option is probably a whole lot gentler in Utah than in NYC anyway). But I did just call to see about meeting with someone.

I feel like I'm hanging by a thread. Knowing that other people have gotten through helps. SO thanks.
Love,
Jan

Ups and Downs

I haven't blogged all week
can't even make this a haiku
I'm out of inspiration
blah de blah de blue

No enthusiasm,
every day the same
Little things are fine each day
but I'm in a bigger frame

Can't get the oomph to exercise
or stop stuffing my face...
though St Patrick's Day was worth the stuffing
cabbage and corned beef at the very best place!

I was on TV on Monday
Manhattan cable access
DuckyBoy was worried I'd become famous
but Tuesday he was so sweet about it

Asked me if I had a good time
His social skills were working fine
And today he got to stay at the playground
instead of running off to gymnastics
and he liked that very much.

I think we all have a bit of a cold
but I'm not allowed to have anything other than a crystal clear thinking and talking head
(says who? never mind that now)
Let's go visit Grandma tomorrow
and get out of the house.

I decided my home is not welcoming
and I don't know why that is
nor how to fix it.
I try to take care of the people who live here
and after all I live here too
but I don't think it's working for anyone.

I need to take better care of myself.
At library today we took down all the winter stuff
and put up spring.
Now if I can only do it for myself.

*Sigh.*

Eye-Opening

Our bedtime routine
is solid except for
DB's little "needs" --

Mommy-come-backer
(A pretend remote control
that comes in series);

Nightlight and music,
A few stuffed toys in bed too
(these change each night, natch);

Cold water of course,
sometimes even a cold pack
to keep him cooled off;

Socks, we cannot sleep
without socks on our small feet
and the one blanket

He can tolerate
over his sensitive skin.
After that he calms,

Until he wakes up...
middle of the night of course...
usually cold --

which wouldn't happen
if he slept under covers
like most of us do.

A reward chart helps
break the habit of coming
in with mom and dad.

But it's easily
disrupted and the pattern
starts over again.

I never realized
How much better I sleep when
he doesn't wake me.

****
This post is part of a "blog blast" by PBN for Sylvania's new nightlights; and for Haiku Friday as well.

Interpreting the World

Christina's post about her husband telling her how much younger she looked on a weekend away from the kids remind me of the way Husband says I am a different person the minute we get in the car after dropping DuckyBoy off at Grandma's for a night.

It's true. Though a weekly night out is restorative, it's not as deep as when I know I have more than a couple of hours off. When I not only don't have to deal with bedtime, but also no morning hassles either, I can relax and have a drink or two without feeling like I'm going to kick myself at 7 am the next day for feeling less than 100 percent. (Becuase it's usually like less than 60 percent. I'm almost never at 100 percent in the morning anyway.) And also that I'll be free to sleep until 9 or 10 and then kick myself at my leisure, without having to do so while driving 37 Matchbox cars through their car wash in a prescribed order.

Probably all moms feel like that, but I wonder if it may have something to do with having a child on the autism spectrum as well: As I commented on Christina's post, I realized that I spend much of my energy helping interpret the world to my son, and more interpreting him to the world.

Granted, I do less of the second part now that he's getting older. I'm simply not with him to be able to do so, which sometimes I'm sure is good and other times is a bit frustrating, and I wonder if I'm making much ado about nothing.

But just last week in the school cafeteria, a boy in another first-grade class who is friends with one of DB's classmates said to DB, "You know me..." and DB said simply, "No, I don't," and got up to walk away.

I was so caught off-guard I didn't have the presence of mind to make DB come back and practice saying something more socially acceptable. (Anyway, what does one teach a 6-year-old to say in this situation ???)

And frankly, I knew it was going to be fruitless for any of us to argue with him or try to convince him he does know this other guy, and I don't know if he does or not, so I let him go -- and explained to the boy that often, DB does not recognize people when they are in a different situation than the one in which he knows them. He gave me kind of a blank look, so I'm not sure if that made sense to him, but I hoped he understood I was trying to explain instead of make an excuse.

Now that I'm writing this up I'm not so sure. And I think I can feel another hair turning gray...

Bit of a Shocker

Ok, so trying to wrap my mind around the fact that I once dated a bank robber. Seriously. Both as in, I'm being serious and we dated in a serious manner.

Long random story why I even Googled the guy today (saw a blogger with the same last name and wondered if she was related, and then curiousity kicked in). But what I found was certainly not what I expected.

At least he was not a bank robber until 15 years or so after I knew him.

Tara, where are you????????

Another Blessing of No Car

We had a wonderful Saturday yesterday, we walked all over. The weather was beautiful and so we went for bagels, to a far-away playground, and even ran an errand at our accountant's office. What a nice way for the three 3 of us to spend the afternoon.

The sermon today was about resting on the Sabbath -- looking back, it felt like yesterday was that kind of day for us.

Today did not feel like that kind of day. We schlepped on the subway to the Brooklyn church because we had an obligation; my favorite part was seeing 2 young men enjoy DuckyBoy's sheer joy and boundless energy on the subway. It clearly brightened their day to watch a little boy having so much fun. One even asked him, "Could I have half your energy?" It was really cute.

Now I have to face up to some trust issues in my relationship that I've put off for a long time. Although, does it count as putting it off if you didn't know what it was until yesterday?

Blessed by Bumming Rides

As you'd probably guess from this post title, our car is in the shop.

But yesterday is the day I drive DB to school and spend the day there helping in the library. I could have put him on the school bus, but I still needed to find a way there. (Anyway, the bus would get him there almost an hour early since on Fridays his school has a later start time, but the buses don't adjust for that.) I knew I could call a car service, but wanted to minimize that expensive if possible, on the parts of the trip when I knew other people would be driving our way.

Blessing 1
So, I called my friend M, who graciously agreed to pick us up. She was practically apologetic about having to go early (since she has to get to work) -- but I was overjoyed to have a ride with a friend. It was good to see what happens when the kids arrive early, in case I ever do need to send DB on the bus on Friday.

We had a nice chat on the way, and since DB loves her minivan best among all the vehicles in the universe, he enjoyed it as well. He and M's daughter even chatted in the backseat-- which is a big deal for both of them.

Blessing 2
Thursday night as I set up the ride, I also spoke to my friend J. We spent a few minutes catching up in a way we never can at pickup time. (At least, not until it gets warmer and the kids can play at the playground.)

Blessing 3
Once we were at school, I figured I'd wing it about getting to gymnastics. Two other families go from school to the gym Friday afternoons, and I know D can squeeze extras into her minivan. Except ... yesterday, she wasn't going since she had 2 kids at home and only 1 came to school. But guess what, she offered to give us a ride anyway. (It's sorta-kinda on the way to their house, so I didn't feel too bad accepting.)

We had the nicest chat in the car! She even planted a seed about a career change idea for me, hmm. And DB got to practice sharing -- I'd bought some Twizzlers as an afterschool snack.

Blessing 4
At gymnastics, I figured I'd simply call a car service to get home. I'd already called Thursday to get the price, $18, not too bad. But somehow during the conversation I mentioned the car troubles to my friend E, and she insisted on driving us home! Which is waaay out of her way. And we had a nice chat too, and more socialization practice for DB.

DB got to ride in 3 minivans, and I got to have some time with 3 wonderful ladies. (4 when you count my phone chat Thursday night.) Who'da thunk it?

Friday Night Haiku

Girls night out tonight
A Tex-Med birthday dinner
Almost time to go!

Nuggets in oven
Dad and son have been prepared
All's left is a kiss

I Always Thought My Opinions Counted

And finally someone was willing to compensate me ... for one of them, anyway. I've participated in the BlogHer review program for a new online tool that Discover offers.

Turns out I had a lot to say -- I really enjoyed fooling around with the "Spend Analyzer."

I had a lot of fun creating the banner for the new blog it's on as well, BlogHer reviews need to be in an ad-free space. Check it out!

And now I have a space to rant and rave -- although I already do that in this space, I will now name names!! Haha.

Regulating the Personal Touch Out of the Schools

Since my work and personal life is one big (stagnant) blur right now, I'd like to use this post about -- as a jumping-off point for my own thoughts. Specifically I liked this quote from William James:

“The community stagnates without the impulse of the individual. The impulse dies away without the sympathy of the community.”

The school community has been on my mind a lot lately, and this quote reminded me of it as well. I've been thinking about what makes a good teacher, and particularly in a big public school system such as NYC, I think many of the best-teacher characteristics get either lost or

Two of my friends had to take what I'll call "best practices" exams in the past weeks, meaning tests designed to see if they knew what the approved response was for various situations in the educational system.

Not the best thing to do -- the officially approved thing to do.

I know guidelines like that get put in place because there are people who take the jobs and make wrong choices. But doesn't it take the spirit out of the teachers and administrators who are intelligent enough to look at the facts and make a right choice? Often there is a range of appropriate options. And a need to respond from your heart, not from a rule book.

Unfortunately choosing one Best Practice eliminates that range. It does eliminate the chance of employees picking from a certain range of wrong options, but we still hear about abuse and poor choices and lousy judgment calls. Not to mention apathy and a proclivity to choose the system over the individual.

My best teachers cared about ME. As an individual. My third-grade teacher, for example, had everyone create a rewards chart to encourage us to do better in whatever our most difficult subject was.

Now, in third grade, my most difficult subject was ... staying focused. My mind would wander, I'd find some tiny spot on my body that itched or hurt, and I'd ask to go to the nurse. My academics were fine; in fact, that's why I was bored.

Now, a different teacher might have given me more challenging work to do, and that would have been a valid option in certain classrooms But my teacher took the approach of suggesting my rewards chart might be for "Not going to the nurse so often."

I don't think the topic had to be on the chart, at any rate I don't recall any embarrassment about my "topic" being different than the subjects the other kids picked. That may have been her influence too, making me know I had nothing to be embarrassed about for being among the smartest in the class, but that we all have something we can work to improve.

Would that option have been delineated in a Best Practices course? Doubtful. She would have had to pick whatever subject I had the lowest score in, even if that score was A- instead of A, and my motivation, and the larger problem I was having which was not academic, would not have been addressed.

Miss Zimmerman took the time to get to know me, and what might work best for me, and it worked.

It must be difficult to become a good teacher nowadays -- the training they get kinda drums it out of them.

Welcome to NY. Now Shut Up.

Husband and I need to make some decisions. How to move forward, where our money is going to come from, corporate jobs or continue trying to start our own business(es), what we want to accomplish, where we want to be as family in 10 or 20 years -- little stuff like that.

So, after spending yesterday morning sequestered in the home office tossing out questions and finding that we have no clear answers, to cheer ourselves up we went out for lunch. Yes, we have almost no income, but the weekly budget from savings includes a little bit of discretionary cash and, well, burgers at home just aren't the same.

Scene 1: The Austin Street Tea Party
We decided to go to what we call "Grumpy Guy" diner. So-called because the owner used to always yell at DuckyBoy for being in the aisle. He was always worried, so he said, that DB would trip someone up who was carrying hot food. It's a small place, and it's his place, so, OK. And he has good fries and wings. But the family nickname stuck. We just ordered in until the Squirmy Model got big enough to sit for most of the meal.

Yesterday was bitter cold, and since the car won't start we walked. After we sat down at one of the many empty tables, we ordered our beverages. Diet Coke for Husband, and since I know this diner has herbal tea, I expected the waitress to understand when I said, "lemon tea."

When a Lipton tea bag with a wedge of lemon on the side arrived, I specified, "herbal lemon tea."

"Oh, Lem-mun Zinnnger?" she said in her accented English, and upon my nod of assent she whisked away the Lipton bag and reappeared with the yellow Celestial Seasonings pouch I'd expected. (I suppose I should just order "Lemon Zinger." But it's not the brand every diner carries.)

Then, Husband ordered his burger deluxe and I ordered one of the lunch specials, a "fresh ham sandwich," along with lentil soup.

The lentil soup was disappointingly bland. As it was only noon, it was probably better by dinner time. But if that was a ham sandwich, I'll eat the plate. How long does ham have to be cooked to taste dry like turkey? I didn't really care what I had, so I ate it. It was fine. Then when I asked about it, the waitress insisted it was ham, so in retrospect, at least I didn't have to pay the difference -- since the turkey sandwich lunch special actually cost more. (I'd asked in case the ham was more.)

But then the check didn't quite add up. Not even after we figured out that the prices, scribbled down the righthand column, were in a different order than the way our food order was listed on the left. About 70 cents off, Husband estimated.

Was it even worth inquiring about 70 cents? I could see the question in his eyes.

As the TV screens all around us flickered new lows for the S&P 500, he decided to ask. The waitress matter-of-factly pointed and said, "Oh, I charged you 80 cents more for the herbal tea."

80 cents? Do you know how many bags of tea can I buy with 80 cents?

Actually, it's not the 80 cents. The price of tea at a diner is never comparable to the price of tea bags.

It's the fact that I wasn't given the choice. Some days, when faced with an 80 cent surcharge on herbal tea, I would have acquiesced. Yesterday, I'd have stuck with the regular Lipton.

Well, we won't be back there soon. For 80 cents, they've lost a customer. Three, actually.

Scene 2: We Deliver Less
Then, we decided to brave the post office. I hate going to the Forest Hills post office and avoid it whenever possible, but we had something that needed to be picked up. So it's at that branch.

As usual, there was a line. I have a system for estimating how long I will be in line, which I find helps me not get frustrated with the wait. I count the number of people in line and multiply by 5. (Other lines at stores, etc., get shorter numbers. This P.O. averages 5 minutes per patron.) While I vaguely wondered whether coming at lunchtime was a good idea -- I could just imagine the 3 workers shutting down one by one to go on lunch break, leaving 12 people in line with 1 open window -- I noticed the following extra special factors:

• One worker was valiantly punching her screen, trying to fix her broken scale.
• The second had a fascinating hangnail. She spent several moments examining it before moving to get the package that her current customer was waiting for her to weigh.
• The third was letting someone fill out all 296 forms for his 3 large international packages (with "Used goods! For personal use only! No value!" hand-written on the sides) at the window, and then chatting with him about the homeland as she processed his forms.

That chat was the last straw for the elderly lady with the pinched nose and red crocheted hat. Clutching her handbag and her package to be mailed, she began stirring up those around her. "That's not fair! He's been there for 5 minutes already and now they're chatting?!"

She then began calling to the roving supervisor who was in the middle of helping someone decide which form he needed to fill out."Excuse me! ExCUSE me!"

"You're being rude," was the supervisor's instant response, followed by, "That's what we have. End of story."

While I passed the time reading the slapped-up sign on each window urging "Former DHL Customers!" to switch to the USPS delivery services "And Save!," I was strategically holding my orange pickup notice in my hand, as sometimes the supervisor or one clerk will pull people out of line and take care of pickups.

Lucky me! After the supervisor finished helping the broken-scale worker get set up at a new window, she noticed my slip and pulled me off the line. Scrutinizing the slip as she walked to the bulletproof security door that separates the public and worker areas, she asked me, "Do you know what you're expecting? Is it a package, a registered letter? Does it require a signature? See, nothing is checked off here."

"I don't know," I replied, biting my tongue to avoid adding, "Someone who works here fills those out, don't they?" or "Welcome to my world." Because then I'd never get whatever it was.

And it was exactly what I expected: A notice from our co-op managing agent dunning us for replacing the radiator valves in our apartment THREE YEARS AGO. Because the new agent and board who took over in 2008 have decided that is not a common charge. Because those new valves have so much personal benefit to us and none for the building, never mind that we used to leave our windows open in winter while people on the building ends froze. That's of no value to the building or the board as a whole. Not saving any money on heating oil or anything.

So, not only did we get this moronic notification, but we had to endure the post office to get it. They oughta design a new stamp that says "Adding Insult to Injury" for corporate use.

Scene 3: Even More Great Customer Service
Then, I decided a cookie would cheer me up. The recession-proof upscale coffee house/bakery was right on our way home. I would have gotten my goodie To Go, but Husband said he'd have coffee if I was up for staying. So, OK.

This bakery is long and narrow, with the display cases in the front and seats in the back. One side has benches and backless stools, the other has tables and cafe chairs.

I had to interrupt a conversation between the waitresses to ask if we could choose where we sat. Yes, OK. Since there were no other patrons in the back, we had our pick. We chose back support and the second table. The first table can get the draft from the front door, so it's really the least desirable.

Now, remember, it was cold yesterday, so cold that Husband was wearing his long winter coat and a scarf. As he removed them, he draped them over the chair behind him, a chair at the first table.

One of the waitresses sprang over instantly and informed him he could not place his coat there.

He was flabbergasted. "But there's no one in here!"

"I know, but you can't take up 2 tables. What if someone wants to sit there?" she said. "You can put your coat on your own chair."

After the diner incident, I'm edgy about prices, so I scrutinize the menu. A $5 latte? Uh-uh, no way. "American coffee" for me, $1.15 a cup. And a peanut butter cookie, please.

The fact that Husband was willing to remain in the cafe tells me how much he loves me. I was almost ready to leave myself. In retrospect, I suppose we should have. Some days I need that cookie; yesterday, I could have lived without it.

The Coat Nazi turned out to be our waitress. So when she asked if I wanted my cookie heated up, I declined. (The less she did for me, the better!) She very nicely recommended it, saying it's much softer. So I agreed.

But I almost asked, Is there going to be a charge for heating it?

There wasn't. In fact it came with powdered sugar and whipped cream, and my $1.15 coffee was jumbo and delicious, and Husband and I both enjoyed it.

Even if he was a little cramped, having to share his little cafe chair with his long wool coat and all.

Epilogue: The City Kid Dilemma
Every time I have a day like this and suggest we leave NYC, Husband reminds me we made a conscious choice to raise a city kid. Yesterday's adventure makes me wonder.

Do I really want to raise a city kid, or is my goal to raise a kid who CAN survive and thrive in a city if he chooses to do so someday (like I did)?

NYC Snow Update

According to NY 1 News channel (The only news channel to watch, in my opinion), the neighborhood right next door to us got 10 inches of snow. That's more than I thought -- I said maybe 6.

Our car was covered yesterday --the 3 of us actually had fun clearing it off. DB did a great job scraping the layer of ice off the license plate. That was great not only because he enjoyed what for us would have been a tedious back-breaking job but also he could use the scraper with abandon -- usually we have to keep a close eye on him so he doesn't gouge the paint right off the car!

Aaaaand, then the car didn't start. But, that's another story. We'll see what happens today. Didn't like the cold yesterday let's see how you like it this morning when it's 12 degrees! I was grateful for the school bus this morning in a different way than usual.

DB's grumbled comment when we went outside to get the bus was priceless: "There is just as much snow today as there was yesterday. So why is there school today?!"

And then guess what! I got to scream out the window at 2 guys fighting in the street! Yeah, it's great to live in NY. More expensive, but you get a free show (with cursing!) right out your window.

So I says, "Ya wanna knock it off or shall I call the cops?" I says.

They looked up at me and waited for the other to stop first. I think one of them was my neighbor who was trying to dig his car out while he waited for his kid's bus. I don't know what the fight was about but I'm sure it was snow related.

All I know is I heard the shouting, looked out the window in time to see a punch, and then they disappeared behind a tree ... so of course I switched to another window. And there they on on the ground, and all's I can think is that one of them is gonna choke the other to death right in front of me.

And (first) I'm like, OK, so they don't have guns, (then) Not on my watch, fellas!

(Next) I actually called 911 because (after that) they got up, I wasn't sure it wasn't going to restart. (Finally) I think everyone lived. (What's with this?)

And, it's 9:30 am. I have 10 more things on my to-do list. Whoops, the phone just rang with Number 11.

So, as DB says when he's set up with whatever he needed at that moment (TV channel, snack, whatever) and he wants us to leave the room ... "Bye."