A typical conversation with my atypical five-year-old

It’s 7 a.m. Do you know what your kindergartener is thinking about? I found out.

1. Infinite Space

2. Plate Tectonics

3. The different types of clouds and their scientific name and function

4. The fact that, given the distance that light has to travel from a star, most of the stars that we see every night probably aren’t even there anymore.

5. Magma

6. The formation of the Grand Canyon (Which I thought…from something I heard somewhere along the line…was a meteor, but he corrected me and told me it was the Colorado River.)

7. Why boogers are green

8. Breastfeeding

In a 10-minute conversation before I could even finish my second cup of coffee, I had the most intellectually stimulating conversation that I would experience for the rest of my week. Unbelievable.

That’s when I asked if he wanted to turn on the radio. Not because I was annoyed, but because I was afraid that he was going to ask me something that I couldn’t answer.

The scariest moment of my life…realizing that very quickly my little guy is growing up. And…very soon I am going to have to start Googling my way through conversations over the dinner table!

The yard. An update.

I jinxed myself.

Not 48 hours after I post “The yard.” does Mother Nature decide that it would be a good idea for the temperature to skyrocket to 93…nearly killing most of the flowers that I meticulously planted in an overly compulsive and organized fashion throughout my yard.

I watered. I talked to them. I gave them more love in the 36-odd hours that we spent together than any other flowers that I’ve tried my hand at.

Am I a failure? Does Mother Nature not care for my writing style? Why me?

My guess is that I will be dragging my family out to Lowe’s yet again…this time without the enthusiasm and positivity of the first trip of the season…to scour the sales rack of impatiens…picking the ones that don’t look the worst…and wishing that I inherited my mother’s green thumbs.

Perhaps I should just plant some plastic poinsettias and be done with it…

The yard.

Preparing the yard each Spring. It’s like raising children. Except…annually.

Each year, the yard serves as a harbor of hope for proactivity and enjoyment:

I WILL plan an exquisit layout for my sun-thirsty annuals.

They WILL be watered, cared for and talked to on a daily basis.

The plants WILL bloom–and not only bloom, but blossom into such a display that it would even cause Martha Stewart to put her tail between her legs.

I WILL love and care for these tender living things, each and every day.

I WILL have a nice view from the porch while I’m drinking beer and eating hamburgers this summer.

I come from a very special place of being born into, and marrying into, families of women with green thumbs. Unfortunately, I did not inherit those genes. However, I did inherit the “Let’s try harder next time” attitude. And, today is my day to shine (again)!

For me, like a New Year’s resolution, the annual trip to Lowe’s on the first sunny, crisp Spring morning fills my soul with so much anticipation that I can barely contain myself. I WILL don my most awesome gardening outfit…my new “old” jeans and my new “old” sneakers; I WILL dust of my baseball cap; I will NOT shower because I will NOT be distracted by crying children this time and I WILL plan on getting dirty; and I WILL DEFINITELY ACTUALLY plant the flowers and bushes that I buy today TODAY; they WILL NOT sit in the garage for another week until I actually get around to remembering all the grand plans that I made today!

That is my oath. And, I will follow it!

Wish me luck…I need it!  Oh, and I need to remember the mulch, too….

The slump.

It happens. It comes when you least expect it. One day turns into two weeks; turns into two months…and then you realize…the slump is upon you.

What’s what happened to me. So, first and foremost…my apologies to my followers. The slump came. And, hopefully, the slump is gone.

The excuses were the same: schedules, work, travel, laundry, emptying the dishwasher, daylight savings. I accepted it…knowing that one day I would get back to “normal”.

Then, tonight, my son asked to read a book: “Oh, the Places You’ll Go” by Dr. Seuss. That’s when it hit me like a ton of bricks:

“The Waiting Place…

…for people just waiting.
Waiting for a train to go
or a bus to come, or a plane to go
or the mail to come, or the rain to go
or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow
or the waiting around for a Yes or No
or waiting for their hair to grow.
Everyone is just waiting.

Waiting for the fish to bite
or waiting for the wind to fly a kite
or waiting around for Friday night
or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake
or a pot to boil, or a Better Break
or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants
or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.
Everyone is just waiting.

NO!
That’s not for you!

Somehow you’ll escape
all that waiting and staying
You’ll find the bright places
where Boom Bands are playing.”

So happy the slump is over…now on to find my Boom Band. And, I bet it’s right under my nose.

5 things to pay attention to tomorrow

Too many times (and I obviously fall victim to this, too) we talk about ourselves. And the things that happened today, or yesterday, or some time in the past. Today, let’s talk about tomorrow.

 Five interesting things that you can pay attention to tomorrow:

1. Seek out that person who had the ‘Case of the Mondays’ today. Watch them. Forget the mood they were in today, and ask them what their plans are for the weekend. I guarantee they will cheer up, dreaming of that better place that we all call Friday afternoon.
2. Look at someone’s nails. Chipping? Probably. Research (and commons sense) shows that women typically get their manicures some time between Thursday and Saturday, so chances are, they are beginning to chip away on Tuesday. (Just be sure not to stare!)
3. Listen a little more carefully to the lyrics on the radio. Tuesday pops up in a good number of the best songs ever written. Wonder why? Me, too.
4. Take notice of the amount of empty parking spots at the office. Chances are–not too many! Tuesday has the lowest percentage of absenteeism…around only 11 percent.
5. And, finally, dedicate some extra time to your political research. Tuesdays are the traditionally election day. Take a few minutes to learn something new about the candidate(s) from the opposing party. You may be surprised what you find out!

Enjoy tomorrow’s Tuesday trivia. And, please, let me know what you notice!

You irk me. Now get out of my way.

I had to chance to visit the mall twice this weekend. That’s like…an anomaly in my life. Typically, the only thing that I even enjoy about such an experience is the people watching. And, boy, did I get a lot of that in.

People. at. the. mall. irk. me.

Period.

I could write all night about the things about the people at the mall who bother me. But here’s my top six:

1. The teenagers in animal hats. 

I’m sorry…I’m all for fashion forward, and I’m even starting to get used to the muffin tops on the teenage boys who insist on wearing girls’ jeggings, but what is the deal with the animal hats? My five- and one-year-old sons don them on a regular basis…and I’m even wondering if my kindergartener is too old for them. Let me repeat…KINDERGARTEN. My rule: if you’re old enough to stroll the mall without a parent and drop the “f” bomb in front of old ladies, then you’re old enough for baseball cap. Or, God forbid, to enter an establishment without a hat and showing off your Bieber bangs.

2. The lady who doesn’t know where the line begins. 

Just because your children don’t know how to behave and they are fighting about the bikinis that you insist on buying them (in January), doesn’t mean that you get to cut the line. You, lady, are not doing me any favors by trying to get out of the store any sooner. I have my own whiny toddler and the longer I stand here, the more antsy he becomes. Of course, I didn’t say anything…just smirked at the cashier as she put said lady in her place. I wouldn’t want to end up on her list of rude people at the mall.

3. The sorority girls. 

Honestly, I’m only annoyed by them out of jealousy. I remember the days when I could wear Ugg boots and leggings without having to hide it all behind a stroller.

4. The horizontal walkers. 

Readers, you know these people…the ones who not only travel to the mall in a group, but insist in walking five-wide and playing whisper down the alley while we all struggle to get by. And, to make top it all off, as soon as I pass them, I become instantly self-conscious, knowing that they are now whispering critiques of my mom-jeans down their little consumer alley.

5. The people who clog the elevator because they’re lazy. 

The mall elevator. Only a few hundred feet away from two staircases and an escalator. I loathe the elevator. But, with a stroller, unless I’m willing to risk my sons’ lives–and quite possibly my own–it’s my only option. Every time I need to take it…it never fails…there is always a line. Of people. With no strollers. Or wheelchairs. Or even an armful of bags. And perfectly functional legs. And they look at me, as I try to squeeze into that five-foot space, as if I’m inconveniencing them.

6. My five-year-old. 

He abhors the mall, or any establishment for that matter, which doesn’t specialize in toy cars or cheese. And, he’s not afraid to let me or anyone else know it. I’m sure he’s ended up on someone’s list.

It never fails. I go to the mall to get out for a bit–stretch my legs during these long winter months or ignore the piles of laundry at home–and I inevitably leave feeling more stifled than I was before I left.

Take a look the next time you’re out there and tell me: who irks you?

The 3 things my 3-year-old said that have made me cry…from laughing.

Three was a good year for my eldest. He discovered so many new and interesting things. And told me…and everyone else…all about them. But, there are three that I still think about on a daily basis…

1. Riding down the highway in the car, my husband and I were practicing animal noises with him, and after we got through platypus…running out of animals…I asked, “What does Daddy say?” The little guy answered, “Hey Buddy.” Okay, that’s acceptable. Then, my husband asked, “What does mommy say?”, to which he answered, “Hi Angel.” Okay, good too. Then, I asked, “What does Grandma say?” His answer: “You’re driving me crazy, [insert Grandpa’s name here]!”
2. At this point, he has officially discovered and embraced the “wiener”…as my husband so wonderfully taught him to call it. And, of course, he’s curious about mine. So he asks me, “Mommy, do you have a wiener?”  “Well, no, dear. Mommy doesn’t have a wiener.” “Oh,” he said. Then, perplexed, he cocked his head to the side (no pun intended) and asked in his sweetest little voice, “Just a butt?” “Yes, dear. yes….just a butt.”….phew…got out of that one.
3. By now, I’m pregnant with my younger son. My 3-year-old is enjoying a typical dinner with my husband and me. Then, he turns to his father and says, “Mommy ate a baby! Did you know that??? It’s in her belly now and it’s growing!”…phew…got out of that one, too!

There you have it: animal noises, butts, wieners and babies. That’s the life of a three-year-old boy…in a nutshell.

Housewives, stationary, bedsheets and magazines

We all have obsessions. Well…let’s not give it a clinical term. Let’s call them indulgences.

This is a judgement-free zone, people–today, I’m coming clean!

The first self-indulgence that I would like to confess is my complete and utter fascination with “The Real Housewives of ‘Someplace-Where-We-Think-We’re-Better-Than-You’.” What an amazing piece of American culture! No, I don’t think that it’s ‘reality’ and no, I don’t think that it’s Emmy-worthy non-acting. But, I still can’t get enough. Ever. Re-runs, marathons, month-old recordings. I will watch them with the same gut-twisting anticipation I feel as I slowly creep past an accident on the highway, waiting for the next insensitive and egotistical thing that is about to come out of these women’s mouths. And, I love it!

My husband, in a sorry attempt at intervention, enters the room on a regular basis to ask, “Why the hell are you so obsessed with these morons?” My sarcastic response: “Because they remind me of you, sweetheart.”

But really, it’s just the opposite. I think my attraction has nothing to do with familiarity whatsoever, but in knowing that I will NEVER live a life like theirs…thank goodness. (Plus, I like to check out their shoes.)

Number two: stationary. Since I was about six years old, I couldn’t get through a store without wandering down the stationary aisle. It started with the 96-pack of Crayola crayons, with neons and even metallics…what a spectrum of genius! Then it moved on to themed Bic ballpoint pens and note pads–every week there was a new design and I just HAD to have them. Who wouldn’t?

Greeting cards, too. In college, I once had an asthma attack reading through the humor section at the Hallmark store because I was laughing so hard. I was literally asked to leave the store.

 

The greeting card in question.

When I moved out of my parents’ home…new customized stationary! When I married my husband…new customized stationary! When my children were born…new customized stationary.

I write ‘thank you’ notes for everything. And, deep down, I think I do it because I want to run out…so I can get more!

Three has to be bedsheets. Now, I don’t own a lot of them. But, I can’t get enough of mine. No, they’re not 600-count Egyptian cotton, red sheets with velvet trim. Not even close. They’re white. White cotton sheets. But, the way they look when they’re made…smooth and crisp. My sheets are the one thing in my life with the consistent appearance of cleanliness, amidst the sea of colossal primary-colored toddler toys and Matchbox cars.

Last, but not least, are magazines. I, single-handedly, may be keeping the print industry alive with my lust for magazines. No, not those kinds of magazines. Fashion magazines, food magazines, celebrity gossip magazines, lifestyle magazines, health and fitness magazines. I get my news online, but tangible magazines are a way for me to turn off the devices, turn down the TV and explore!

Maybe it’s the ink smell or the mixture of seven different eau de toilette aromas combined into one, but something draws me to them. And I have a process. First, a down-and-dirty dry run…flip through quickly, look at the pictures, tear out the mailers, and done. Then, read every word from cover to cover. Intently. Then, keep it around on one of the coffee tables–doctors office style, until someone spills on it.

So there you have it. These are my confessions. The confessions of a ‘housewives’ junkie.

I know you have them, too. Care to share?

The 5 people who ruin my air travel

There’s something remarkable about travel. We travel to experience new things and new cultures…new kinds of people and lifestyles. We put ourselves “out there”–for work or for play–and are willing to be somewhat uncomfortable in order to grow and have something to write about in our Christmas cards…or blogs.

However, no matter where you go and how out-of-this-world your planned adventures are, there is nothing more unpredictable than the person who’s going to sit next to you.

Sure, there’s always the crying baby or the nose blower–no one wants to sit next to them. That’s a given.  And, it’s really not their fault. After a certain amount of time, anyone can get used to a little whining or the slight presence of body odor.

To me, though, there are five distinct groups of people with whom sharing a seat makes me want to lock myself in the bathroom at the risk of falling into the murky blue commode water.

•  The chronic over-sharer – I always make an effort to speak to the person next to me. It’s only polite, correct? Yes. Is it always smart? No. The chronic over-sharer is that person (typically a nervous female whose ears haven’t popped and is talking far too loud for her own good) who will tell you their life story before the captain even says it’s safe to move about the cabin. Once, I was even forced to fake air-sickness to run from the lovely individual who told me of her best friend’s adult “toys”. Yikes.

•  The movie buff – It’s not that I don’t appreciate their devotion to the big screen. I’ve just never shared in that culture. I cannot relate the airplane safety bulletin to a scene from a Leslie Nielson flick. Nor, have I ever even seen Casablanca or Caddyshack. In fact, the only movies that I can quote confidently and enthusiastically are “Arthur,” “Clueless” and “The Big Chill.” I mean, really, how many times can I blurt out, “Ugh, you’re a hedge!”?

• The buzz-worder – I like to think that I have a good way of identifying with people…if I understand what they’re saying. And, having free wifi on airplanes has made internet use much easier in recent years; however, how on Earth am I supposed to carry on a conversation with someone when I must Google every other phrase that comes out of their mouth? Kickback, Bing Bopping, Cosmeceutical, Femivore, Oy!

• The travel master – That guy who has traveled everywhere. I mean everywhere. And has to tell you about it…to the point that you could have saved yourself the money and made the trip vicariously through his chronicles…ALL OF THEM. You’ve traveled that much, eh? You MUST have a pair of Bose noise-canceling headphones by now. Put them on, please. Thank you.

• The purse diver – My husband would scold me for putting publishing this. No one is worse than I when it comes to the over-sized purse…the bottomless pit into which spare keys, change and that really important receipt disappear and never reemerge. But, ladies…listen…when on the plane, keep your elbows to yourself!

Common courtesy, common vocabulary and keeping your bedroom experiences to yourself are vital factors in becoming an amiable passenger. Now, for me, I’ll work on my patience…and when all else fails…plan my escape route to the restroom!

Have a travel story that makes you cringe?? Please share!

you’ll catch on fire.

There were always those little things that mom would say growing up that still, to this day, make you cringe a little bit. And, yet, you find yourself…at your greatest moment of weakness…when no other disciplinary action will work…repeating those tidbits of maternal wisdom.

My mother has an arsenal of these:

• “I hope your face freezes like that.”
• “One day you’ll have one just like you.”
• “I should to get my head examined.”
• “If your friends jump off the Brooklyn bridge, are you going to jump, too?”

But, the one statement, the one that sticks with me to this day, is, “You’ll catch on fire.” Like the infamous, “You’ll shoot your eye out,” this statement was uttered in my household after any large request.

• Mom, can I have a Power Wheels? No, they catch on fire.
• Mom, can I have light up LA Gear sneakers? No, they catch on fire.
• Mom, can I please have bunk beds? No, what if you’re on the top bunk and it catches on fire?

Then, one day, your mother has grandchildren and all that wisdom does right out the door! What does she buy her grandchildren? You guessed it…light up sneakers! And, do they catch on fire? No! And are you jealous, standing there in that shoe store, knowing that you could have once worn such wonders of podiatric science without the need for skin grafts? Yes!

The greatest of all human double standards: the grandparent.

I look at my mom and I look at me. And I chuckle. Because, I do have one just like me. And, although my face did not “freeze like that,” I do look at that precious little five-year-old of mine and see that face…those rolling eyes…and know “that face” isn’t going anywhere. I know that I “jumped” a few times with my friends…and no, it usually didn’t turn out the way I anticipated.

So, thank you to all the moms and grandmas out there. Thank you for that wisdom.  And, yes, even though you may never have the satisfaction of hearing us tell you that we were listening all those years, you can rest assured that we have, at one point or another, thought to ourselves, “Damn, I should have listened to my mother.”