BrooklynGirl

Aggravation

Don't you hate it when your client tells you he absolutely, positively must have something by the end of the week (and this being a holiday week, the end of the week is on a Thursday), and you stress yourself out to get it done (on Wednesday, no less).  You email him the finished project with some queries, and then he doesn't respond--you guess because he's left early for the holiday weekend.  Grrr.

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My poor 5 year old niece has bigger problems: she was in an accident and though she's basically fine now, she has to limit her physical activity for the rest of the summer.  That means no gymnastics, no dance class, no swimming, etc. 

I'd like to get her some really great gift--something fun she could do to take her mind off all the things she can't do.  Any ideas?

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Oh, and happy 4th!  May the weekend find you up to your eyeballs in hot dogs, apple pie, and ice cream.  With sprinkles.

Circling the Wagons**Updated

Some people have emailed about difficulties with the Get Fresh site.  All you need to send a gift certificate is B Mama's email address which is brooklynmama @ earthlink.net. 

To order a gift certificate, go to Get Fresh, click on "Our Menu."  You'll be directed to a new page where you select delivery or pickup option (choose delivery) and then date and time (choose any date or time--even, confusingly, a time that mentions "pickup"). Scroll to the bottom of that page (with the delivery, date, and time options all selected), and there will now be a box next to the gift certificate option. After you buy the gift certificate, Get Fresh will email you and explain how to send the gift certificate by email, which you do by logging back into the Get Fresh site.  It sounds more confusing than it is.  Honest.

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I've never met BrooklynMama (now the more jaunty B Mama), which is crazy, as we we've been on similar paths geographically and maternally for the last four years.

I hope to meet her now to be of some use to her and her family as they are going through hard time.  B Mama and her family (husband: L., daughters: Ping and Wen Wen) were in the process of moving out of Brooklyn for greener pastures when L. was diagnosed with cancer.  As if that wasn't enough, they've had one housing issue after another, and in the middle of it,  L. contracted an infection and had to be hospitalized.  He's still hospitalized as I type.

If you don't know B Mama's blog, you've been missing out.  She writes about adoption, parenting, and life in the big city with humor and honesty.  Now she has bravely done the thing so many of are reluctant to do: she's asked for help in very clear and concrete ways.  If you're not local, probably the easiest thing to do is to help her family with meals through Get Fresh, a Brooklyn establishment that can deliver ready to cook meals right to her family. 

I've seen the blogging community do amazing things over the years.  Please, if you're able, take a moment to help B Mama and her family.

Friday Funnies

We're recovering from our various illnesses in these parts, but I'm too wiped out to write anything of substance.  Instead I give you this:

We've been working a little on social niceties, you know, saying excuse me when you burp or fart (which I genteelly call  "tooting").  Yesterday,  The Boy tooted quite un-genteelly while we were having a snack.  "Is there anything you want to say?" I prompted.

"Yeah, The Boy said proudly.  "A big snort just came out of my butt!"

Indeed.

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The Boy is enamored of the super soaker water guns that are everywhere.  He's quite pathetic about it, actually.  He follows the (invariably) older kids with the guns all over the playground and keeps asking, "Can I have a turn, pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease?" until someone takes pity on him and lets him have an all too brief turn with it (these turns have been so brief, in fact, that he hasn't really figured out how to fill or fire the guns). 

As a crunchy, liberal, gun-control sort, I'm not crazy about The Boy playing with toy guns, but I also feel like there's a certain inevitability to it.  I played with toy guns when I was growing up (whether it was my finger, a stick, or an actual plastic gun), and yet here I am my crunchy, liberal, gun-control self.

Recently, we encountered some kids whose crunchy, liberal, gun-control parents had gotten them water squirters in the shape of animals, and I hustled myself down to the toy store to acquire the same.  The Boy is mostly happy with them--until he sees the super soakers.

What are your feelings on water guns for the under 5 set?

Wit's End

The Girl recovered from her stomach virus as predicted on Wednesday, and we were an illness-free household for almost 36 hours.  Then The Boy came down with coxsackie.  I kid you not.  It presented with high fever and listlessness, and about 18 hours later the mouth sores showed up (conveniently while we were in the waiting room at the pediatrician). 

The fever has abated and the sores seem to be healing (none have appeared on his hands or feet), and the only symptom that remains is unbearable crankiness: he is the surliest, most unpleasant toddler you've ever met.   And though I'm filled with sympathy and plying him with treats to buy his happiness if only for a moment, I'm also...annoyed.   And frustrated.  And feeling just generally awful because what kind of mother has the temerity to be annoyed at her sick kid?

The pediatrician assures me that all this sickness is normal, but I feel like somehow it's my fault--that maybe I've been wrong not to hose them down with Purell at every opportunity.  Maybe I should have been more hardcore about the sleep training and they're getting sick because they're tired. Or maybe I shouldn't have pushed The Boy into school and all its germy goodness so soon.

I need everyone to be healthy for a week.  Maybe two.  Just so I can remember what it's like.

Four Things

Memes are a busy blogger's best friend.  Thanks to Cara for this one.

Four jobs I have held:
- Babysitter
- Paralegal
- Editor
- Knowledge Journalist (ah, the Internet economy)

Four movies I could watch over and over:
- Aliens
- Groundhog Day
- Gladiator
- Out of Africa (and I cry every damn time)

Four places I have lived:
- Mclean, VA
- Boca Raton, FL
- Ardmore, PA
- Chicago, IL

Four TV shows I like:
- Battlestar Galactica
- Top Chef
- Grey's Anatomy
- 30 Days

Four favorite foods:
- Thin crust pizza (preferably from a coal fired oven)
- Grilled asparagus with a drizzle of olive oil and shaved parmigiano-reggiano
- Medium-rare cheeseburger with American cheese, a slice of ripe tomato, thinly sliced pickles, and lots of ketchup.  With french fries.
- Tortilla chips and guacamole--washed down with a margarita

Four places I would rather be:
- Cape Cod
- Trunk Bay, St. John, USVI
- The brownstone at the end of the street (as the owner/occupant)
- A Yankees game

Four people I’m tagging (no pressure, people):
- Midlife Mommy
- Snickollet
- Thalia
- Julia

Monday

So now The Girl's got the stomach bug The Boy had last week (the one I thought she already had back in April).  If she runs the same course as he did, it's 2 days of diarrhea, followed by 4 days of lethargy and occasional diarrhea punctuated by vomiting.  We're on day 2 of the lethargy stage, looking forward to recovery on Wednesday.

Before it became clear that The Girl was sick, we left town for the weekend, but decided to return when the barfing began.  Gunning for father of the year, my husband drove us back in the driving rain on Saturday night (as soon as we could pick up New York area radio stations they were warning of flash flooding and road closures); somehow we made it.   The Father's Day celebrating has been rescheduled for some time when we are all puke free.

I did, incidentally, get the project finished on time so no discussion of children or vomiting was required.

Brain Surgery in the Basement

I used to work for this crazy woman who liked to humiliate her employees whenever she felt they'd failed. Her victim--and the victims pals--would hide out in someone's office until the storm had passed.  "What's the big deal?" someone would ask because invariably it was a whole lot of  fuss over something relatively minor.  "Shh," said my favorite commiserator,"We're doing brain surgery in the basement."

What she meant, of course, was that our particular jobs (and our public failings) were not terribly important in the grand scheme of things.  I was working in publishing at the time, and we were most emphatically not doing brain surgery in the basement--we were publishing some fairly unremarkable books.

I think of this woman and her motto these days when something work-related isn't going quite as planned--say, like missing a deadline.

Wait, full stop. 

Now, I was slowly working my way back and trying to explain that at this juncture in my life, taking care of my kids is the brain surgery in the basement that makes all my other responsibilities seem much less significant when the brilliant and talented caro wrote this:

"I mean, raising kids is something that some huge, huge percentage of us do at some point in life, and a sick kid is a totally legit and often inescapable reason why a person would be behind on some work. And yet in addition to somehow doing both the work and the parenting, we are supposed to also do some sort of magical hand-wave that makes our children invisible to our employers."

And that's really what I was trying to say.  I get that mentioning your kids in a "the dog ate my homework" kind of way is unprofessional, but I resent that I have to pretend that the kids don't exist at all.  (Yes, I see the paradox: I wanted a job as a break from taking care of the kids and now I'm complaining that the kids have to remain separate from the job.)  To get all Sondheim for a minute, "is it always 'or'?  Is it never 'and'?"*  Can work and family ever really be balanced?

Big, important disclaimer: This is not to say that parents who leave their sick children to go to work are shirking their brain surgery-cum-parenting responsibilities.  It's just that my current child care arrangements are not really adequate for a sick child (more on that in a later post).

*Miss you, Suz.

Hot. Also Sick.

My kids are not big barfers, which is a good thing because barf is one thing about which I remain fairly squeamish (when many pregnant ladies were worried about pooping on the table during delivery, I was worrying about barfing from the anesthesia).   Nevertheless, both kids have had the stomach flu this spring--The Girl back in April; The Boy right now.  Both of them managed to vomit in/on the stroller, and there is really nothing grosser than scraping chunks out of your Mac Techno. 

Meanwhile, it is blazing hot here.  Although we're mostly staying inside with the a/c humming, we do have to occasionally venture out.   It's days like these I find myself  daydreaming about a nice suburban house with central a/c, a garage, and a drive-through Starbucks somewhere nearby.  Coffee frappuccino...yum.

The Girl has still gone off to the sitter as scheduled (her house has central air), but even with The Boy convalescing in front of an endless loop of The Wonder Pets (which I now find just as loathsome as Barney), I'm not getting much work done, which leads me to this question:

Let's say you're a freelancer who has a new client, and that client hired you solely on the basis of the recommendation of a former colleague, a colleague who knew you when you had a slightly more reliable work ethic (that is, before you had kids).  You and your client have never discussed your personal lives before.  You're running late on a project, do you tell your client that you're off schedule because your kid is sick or do you leave your kid out of it entirely?

 

The Joy of Napping

For the first time in months synchronous napping has been achieved in this household, and I am experiencing a rush of parenting endorphins.  Hoo yah!   

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In the park today we ran into a teen aged boy I know slightly (he claimed not to be skipping school, but I'm not so sure).  He kept asking me if I'd seen various recently released movies, and I gestured to the kiddos and explained that parenting and frequent movie watching tend not to go hand in hand.  He asked--and I think he was serious--why we couldn't just go to the movies after the kids were asleep (that is, leaving the sleeping kids alone in the apartment).

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So,* since my last post was kind of a complaint, I thought I'd end this one with a rave.  Pop up bubbles?  Perhaps the greatest invention known to man.  The Boy loves to chase bubbles in the park, but it's hard to commit two hands to the operation while supervising The Girl.  This genius item gives you back a hand...and if The Boy happens to be the designated bubble blower, he can't lose the wand.  Brilliant.

What are your "must have" summer items?

*This is where synchronous napping ended.  So much for endorphins.

Where Art Thou Plastic?

I miss plastic toys.  I mean, we have plastic toys because I'm cheap (and apparently don't love my kids enough to protect them from PVC and BPA and other scary letter combinations), but I miss the social acceptability of plastic toys.

For The Girl's birthday party, I vacillated about appending the invitation with a, "Your presence is our present" platitude, but the whole no present thing has not worked out well for me in the past.  Invariably when I'm  invited to a party and told not to bring a present, I don't bring one--and am the only guest who hasn't ignored the no gift rule.  I hate that.  So, not wanting to create that awkwardness for someone else, I decided to leave gift giving to the discretion of guests.

Our guests were generous and brought The Girl lots of lovely clothes and developmentally appropriate toys guaranteed to teach her to count to 50 or speak Urdu in the next week or so.  And it's wonderful, really, that our friends are so nice.  

But this toy is jeopardizing my mental health--and the physical safety of the residents of our apartment.  First, a wooden hammer is a weapon in the hands of any bang-happy child, be it an overeager 12 month old or an amped up older brother who has ripped it out of his sister's hand.  Wooden hammers hurt when they make contact with human flesh--whether that contact is accidental or not.  Second, the wooden balls...oh, the wooden balls!  They are the same size and color as the rubber balls I buy at the 99 cent store so The Boy doesn't see a problem with pitching them across the room, but let me tell you there are some problems with that.  Those balls are deceptively heavy and they do damage when they hit..anything.  And the sound of them "bouncing" off wood floors?  Yeah.  Not good.

Oh, plastic toys.  I miss you so.