Mommy Drinks So What

Misunderstanding Life. One. Moment. @ a time.

Friday, August 26, 2005

ONION SKINS

It was the music that started me thinking. Music can do that. One minute your concentrating on some menial task the next second your off in a far away memory or in some future fantasy. Before me was a backyard full of people. Generations of people. Grandparents, parents, children, grandchildren. I saw before me so many people and yet so many of the same people. Each one coming from another. It reminded me of the Russian nesting doll, matryoshka. You remove one doll and another is underneath. It made me blissfully sad. If that is a phrase. It made me think of the skin of an onion. The translucent peel. The constant peeling to reveal the next layer of skin. Not wanting to cry but shedding tears because of it's powerful strength.

But...I am the walrus


But...I am the walrus
Originally uploaded by urbanmama.
ian confronts his inner walrus.

doobie doobie do


doobie
Originally uploaded by urbanmama.
The cousins get together and do bad things.

Thursday, August 25, 2005

My Husband Released His Turtle


We have a turtle and truth be told it is my husband's, but me writing
"My husband released his turtle" sounded a bit too dirty.

When he was younger and moving out for the first time he complained to some friends that he thought he would be lonely and jokingly said,he'll get a turtle (as if that would make life less... lonely?). So the good friends bought him a turtle, a small turtle.....21 years ago. That turtle got bigger and his apartments stayed smaller and my husband's life changed he did not keep up with things like: cleaning the tank and feeding. The turtle survived through many moves and many tanks. Growing bigger but not to his full potential. He had a voracious appetite, sometimes biting the hand that fed him. For many years he talked about getting rid of the turtle many different ways,some violent (with a hammer in a dark alley), some sweet (giving it to a school) but mainly this was ALL TALK.

The tank began to smell more often than not

One day while walking in Central Park, M. noticed a lake (there's a few in the park) and he noticed turtles swimming about. He looked up and saw a sign(both literally and divine- he swears light beamed down from the heavens above)that read: "TURTLE POND".

We Made Plans

Often at night, after his Turtle Pond epiphany, M. was lost in thought, he needed to get the turtle from our house to the city and released without being ticketed. We don't know if in fact he could get a ticket, but city cops are hungry for a collar, so we needed a plan.

My Grandmother and Aunt were coming over on Saturday (M. doesn't like to be around when my family is around- neither do I but that's a whole other story), this was a perfect excuse for M. to leave the house and do the deed. He cut a few holes in an old Tupperware, sealed it and placed it in a Dunkin Donuts bag. This made it look like M.was taking a leisurely lunch in Central Park near Turtle Pond(ironic.. how lonely this made M. look, a grown man, taking a Dunkin Donuts bag to central park). However, upon his arrival, M. could not find a good entry for Willie (oh, the turtle was giving a name 5 years after he was with M. -back story: M. lived in a fifth story walk up in a building with lots of old people (rent controlled) and one day a
beautiful girl (not me) moved in next door. She needed to borrow something (he probably screwed her, but left that out of the story)anyway, she noticed the turtle and as women do, asked what it's name was and M. replied quickly "Willie" after Willie Randolph (to this day he still doesn't know if it was a male or female turtle and really Willie- my husband is so quick).

Anyway, back to the pond he didn't want to throw Willie in the water or just leave him to fend for himself (at least not yet), so he walked around the pond. It was not the best day to do this; it was 100degrees out and no air and he was carrying a bag of turtle, but really when is there a good day to dump a turtle. Then he saw a stream. A stream that led into the lake and he knew this would be the perfect
spot. He put the Dunkin Donut bag down, grabbed the video camera (I
wanted proof) and he let Willie go (okay, everyone “FREE WILLIE”- go ahead say it, we all thought the same thing).

Willie raced out from the stream and into the lake, bobbing his head once, as if to say goodbye (and probably good riddance). So much for slow turtles. M. picked up the empty donut bag and left the city,wishing Willie luck and hoping that life gets better for the both of them.

Friday, August 05, 2005

Summertime

Wednesday, August 03, 2005

Mad Clicking

1. Mark a website with the intention of going back to read
2. Forgot you’ve bookmarked it and therefore will never see the website again.

Friday, July 29, 2005

From the Kindness of Strangers: Perhaps, You Should Hold His Hand (and other unsolicited advice)

Kids will be kids. But on subway platforms, kids, especially ones under seven, need to be watched and protected. Frankly the equation is simple:

limited platform space+fast moving train+electrical current+unattended children=Death Period.

Okay, may be I'm a bit neurotic. As a mother of a teenager and a ten month old, I know that kids don't look where their going.

During a stop this morning on my subway commute, since I had just finished my book and instead of sleeping, I stared blankly out of my scratched window and noticed a four year old moving about the platform. Being a mom myself (but even my observant single friends do this too) I quickly looked for his parent/caregiver and did not see one. My heart seemed to skip a beat. I noticed a woman looking down at the child and at first I thought the child was hers but than she too was glancing around for his protectors too. The boy raced over to an open door of the subway car opposite mine and was just about to get in, when the doors shut, leaving him inches away from the drop to the tracks. I gasped, unable to do anything. My doors closed. I finally saw an older woman may be his Grandmother, shuffle over to him. A different woman (not the original one that glanced over earlier) spoke her mind:

"Perhaps, you should hold his hand!"

The Grandmother grabbed his hand and glared at the woman who spoke her mind and greeted her with:

"Lady, mind your business. "

Now, we New Yorkers know better.

Don't pick a fight with a stranger cause someone git hurt. No one, not even the ones who need assistance, likes to be wrong or ask for help and nobody likes to be called on it. I have been in that very position. The position of offering unsolicited advice ("watch, he may fall", or "is this your mitten?" or heaven forbid "she's just tired") and I've received more than a mouthful of responses.

Granted, I don't want a stranger to tell me how to rear my children, but then again, I have yet to do something that I would need to be reprimanded publicly. Some people are just absent-minded or downright clueless. Either way, isn't it public domain- isn't this about our collective conscience-what we see we are accountable for?

I don't know if that's a law or not, but if we were to see a crime, we have to report it and we do have the right to make a citizen's arrest.

The Grandmother held the boy's hand despite what the other woman had said. I suppose she thought it was best as well. But really, mind your business....Well then mind your kid!
This is about protecting a child- it takes a village you know.
All this from a two-minute stop on the subway.

Poop Happens.


I don't have a dog. I have a cat. I'm not anti-dog I just have a cat. I had two cats, but one was recently put to sleep. (truth be known: I've had four cats, but Mindi, Hunter and Rickey have crossed over, Phil is the only surviving cat). I live in an area where people have dogs. Big dogs and little dogs. Lots and lots of dogs. Do you know how I know this? Because I step in crap on a daily basis. Yup, crap. Poop. Dogsh*t.

I have to hopscotch my way to and from my apartment door. Nice? I don't think so. Now mind you there are laws. As a cat owner I have only heard about this urban myth known as the "Pooper Scooper" law, or the "Curb Your Dog" law. Well seems to be that in my neighborhood it's down right Deadwood, no laws apply. People let their dogs squat down anywhere.

I don't understand it because I have seen nice looking neighbors with leashed dogs in one hand and a small plastic baggies in the other. What are they using that baggy for? Is it all a ploy? Have I gone mad?

Finally, the crap hit the fan (no pun intended) and my nanny who watches my baby, said she couldn't walk outside with the stroller. look my baby needs fresh air during the day! I placed a call to my local Council/woman's office and made a complaint.

To my surprise I was attended to and I don't know whether it was a slow day at the office or in fact they are concerned about the amount of poop in their district, but action is to be taken, thing is I need to give them a time that this happens.
huh?
yes, a time that the poop happens?

I tried to explain that "poop happens" all the time. Come and see morning noon and night, there is poop on the sidewalk, I guarantee. Old poop, fresh poop and because of the storm a few weeks ago, frozen poop. Not good enough.

The Council's office needs a time....their going to send the sanitation department over. Okay, but aren't they there every other day picking up the trash? Anyway back to the story. I gave the Council's office a random time: 2pm. Stay tuned.....

Doesn't Use Suction.

My husband and I love commercials. I mean, we don't love them like we want to marry them, but given the state of prime-time shows and reality TV, the commercials tend to be better. Plus we are at an age where we pay attention to what's being sold. How can this product help us and why we need this product. These advertising demons, have us pegged. A few months ago we were watching a commercial for Dyson vacuums. Who doesn't love vacuuming. This commerial claimed it was the first vacuum that doesn't use suction.

Being critical my husband and I looked at each other. Now, we're not the rocket scientist type, but we understand the general nature of how things work. Isn't a vacuum "suction" just by the nature of being a vacuum?
Huh? We need that.

So we wandered over to our friend's house (who happens to be a general contractor, who happened to be working on renovating his home) and in between oohing and ahhing about his new and improved house, we (my husband and I) both, at the very same moment noticed a Dyson Vacuum. As our friend was talking about new tiles and a special glue for the wood panel, my husband blurted out:

How does that Vacuum work?

Friend: Huh?

Husband: Well, the commercial says it doesn't use suction.

Friend: It uses suction....It's a vacuum.

Back at home we were confused. On many levels.
Why did we care
Was the commercial screwing with us; and
Was our friend completely out of his element?
A few weeks later, the commercial came on.

Listen, I said

Dyson Vacuums the first vacuum that doesn't LOSE suction.

How to Make Your Teen Study for the SATs (and how to nail jello to a tree)



Buy study guides, lots and lots of books, pile them at the door of his room;

Buy study guides on tape;

Buy computer interactive guides;

Buy DVD guides;

Buy new and improved study guides;

Buy subliminal tapes;

Spend all you income on study guides;

Fight with spouse over study guides;

Find all available tutors;

Pray that your child will become studious overnight;

Take the SAT's for your child;

Look into trade schools;

File an application in McDonald's;

Stand in the middle of the street hoping someone will call and cart you away to a pretty institution where you can sculpt with playdough in many different colors;

Sell study guides on ebay for profit (never been used);

and If your religion isn't working try a new one

Bagel Friday

I’m sure all companies do something to fatten up their employees. We employ the “carbo-loading” one. Sometimes its cookies and brownies, occasionally it's Make Your Own Sunday, but the worse, the worse, gluttony by far... is "Bagel Friday".


We get an email reminder on the Thursday before that the firm as invited us to Bagel Friday the next day. I suppose this “Heads Up” is good for those looking to save $1.50 on the usual morning bagel. However, it also means that normal God fearing people start salivating, for this means their families will have bagels this weekend, families will in deed feast on bagels. If you listen carefully you can hear the sound of a thousand plastic bags being opened, the bags collected over the months from shopping trips to Duane Reade, all to house the bagels; to drag home their score from the hunt.

If you happen to wander into a "bagel" conference room, (an hour after the bagels have been released in to the wilds of a conference room), good luck in finding any bagels left. Because any bagels that have not been scarfed down are now tucked into the bottom of desk drawers to be whisked away on Metro-North and the LIRR by 5:34pm.

Who are the worst culprits.... the ones supposedly on Atkins or South F*cking Beach. Watching them bagel ”scoop”. Sickening I tell you.

I try my hardest to bypass even looking into the conference room that one Friday a month.

“Hey, so-and-so, why didn’t you get your bagel?” I'm the one that gets scorned for not taking part in bagel raves. I’m the ostracized freak for coming to work with breakfast in hand.

Here's a snapshot of the scene:

Think poorly cast horror movie with really bad set design, masses of tangled arms flying, grabbing poppy-seeded bagels by the handful, lox spread being flung over tops of heads. Toes are being stepped on. A feeding frenzy. Everyone hopped up on gluten. All in the name of bagels.

Don’t even get me started on the toaster etiquette.

"Um, is this toaster taken?"
"How much longer you think?"
I think, I think I want to pick up this toaster and hurl it at you, it's a freakin bagel and it will take as long as it needs to toast....you pompous-bagel-eating-whore!"

Once on a Thursday we received our regular email alert, however upon arriving on that very Friday, the bagels…..are you sitting...

Were. Not. Delivered.

Administration pointed fingers at each other. People sneered at each other in the hallway, grunts and stomach growling could be heard throughout the offices.

And even after 11 am people were still holding out, putting off going down to get something for breakfast. Emails were shooting across monitors:

“Where are the damn bagels";
"I want my bagel"; and the horrid whine....
"but they promised.”

I am so close to asking Human Resources to add a chapter in our Employee Manual that deals with just this sort of crisis:

3.5a Bagel Guidance: What To Do When You Don't Receive Your Allotted Bagel Allowance.

A note on employee luncheons:

Shrimp brings out the worst in people. Perhaps it’s a deep embedded gene that says we must secure the shrimp or we will surely die. People fear that they will not have another opportunity to eat or even see shrimp and they guard their territory with such force, one could lose an eye or something.

Don't let the smell of an employee luncheon fool you.

It's so bad by me, that on shrimp platter days, the office glows pink like G-d damn flamingos.

Are those crayons in your purse or are you just happy to see me?


What was that phrase in The Shining: all work and no play day makes Jack a dull boy? Well it ain't helping me neither.

I have had it. Between work, baby, teenager and wifely duties I can't find the time at home or on the weekend to indulge in creative thingys. So I bought a pack of crayons and a sketch pad and I 'm writing and doodling my subway ride away.

These crayons are so incredible smooth, it's like drawing on a mirror with a lipstick. Not only am I a card carrying member of the crayon-in-the-purse- society, I'm now bragging to everyone to run out and get these crayons.

Not realizing what a pandora's crayon box I've opened. Friends look at me like I have two-heads:

"Um why do you have crayons in your bag?"


It's not freaking crack, people. I don't have the head of my next door neighbor in my bag!


People need to get in touch with their inner doodle.
You've seen the insides of your bags: pens, paper, ipods, palms, cds, tampons, pills, gum, condoms, books, make-up, toothbrushes, and a few women I know even carry extra panties.

Hey, if you need to be ready for sex or a change of underwear, then you need to be ready for coloring too.

If We Have It They Will Come

the latest trend @ work

"Can you PDF this" "can you Scan and PDF that"

No longer is faxing good enough or Fed Ex-ing quick enough or heaven forbid an email with an attachment.

Nope, those days are long gone.

Since my work station has a scanner everyone needs to have something scanned.

If we had an soft serve ice cream machine near my work station, everyone would need a cone ASAP.

Thursday, July 28, 2005

My Life Without I


My home computer doesn't work. It really doesn't bother me because I can get a lot of web time at work. However, there are a lot of times when I need the computer at home. I need to look at something, get to my work email or spend a stupid amount of money to buy something pretty.
I would use my son's (fondly referred to from this point forward as "basement boy") computer except (a) he's in the basement, which now has the climate of a Louisiana swamp; and (b) he's on the computer ALL THE TIME. Seriously, this boy has giving up sleep and except for the water that hangs in the air, I'm sure he was dehydrated as well. All because of the internet.


I would use my husband's computer, but his is a laptop and I'm a "real-key-board-kind" of gal. Plus there's that noisy turtle, but really that’s a whole other story.Since the baby was asleep, basement boy was....well in the basement, husband was watching baseball. I decided to surrender to an old lap top, one that hadn't been used in many months.

I brought it in to the master bedroom, turned the TV on, fluffed the pillows and started by checking my email. First I said something to myself like, "this is nice, I can get some real writing done like this." I started by typing in my password. Seems like the keys were jamming, I couldn't get the "I" to post.

In case you don't know this you, I gets used a lot. You need I more than you would think. I yelled down to my husband:

Here's how the yelled looked without an I:

"what happened to *?"
There *sn't an " "

He thought * was speaking *n Old Engl*sh, brush*ng up on some Shakespeare.

"What, you have something *n your eye?"

Argh...he can't hear me.

As *f he is read*ng my m*nd he appears *n the bedroom,

* tell h*m, w*th frant*c hand wav*ng:

"Look the * *sn't work*ng"
"what"

mad cl*cking beg*ns, press*ng var*ous other keys,
f*ngers fly*ng across the keyboard.
St*ll no *. * *s lost.

Where was I?
Was this the universe's way of saying I've lost myself. Without I ......I'm nothing.


I didn't share that with my husband. He was close to throwing the computer across the room. When he had an epiphany:

"Copy and paste the "I" in from the url, that was previously saved on the drop down list. I was on http://www.gmail.com/ already so, I just copied the "i" and put it into my password and tah-dum...

I existed once again.