Random Nico

It's not surprising that my kids' heads are as full of random thoughts as mine. Or, perhaps more accurate is the fact that my head functions like the brain of a toddler or young child. Hmmm...There's a chicken:egg conundrum for me to ponder for the day: are my kids random like me or is my brain = a brain of a young kid. (!?!?)

Last summer I spent the entire 10 weeks as a stay-at-home-mom for the first time since I have had kids (previous summers I was writing my dissertation), and I was a broken woman by the end of August. These two little people had exhausted me beyond any classroom/school/principal/student/reform stress had ever done. I was scratching at my front windows to go back to work.

But this summer has been a totally different experience. One, I put the kids into daycamp for four weeks (the month of July), therefore they only have six weeks at home. And then they went to CT for one week of the six weeks of home time and stayed with my in-laws, a treat that I appreciate greatly both because it gives me time alone to clean, dejunk, focus in our apartment and because my children truly love love love their alone time with their grandparents--something I never got as a kid. That makes me deeply happy. All said, I have really only had three weeks at home with my kids, and, at risk of the crap hitting the fan if I put this into words, it has been blissful. No lie. I have loved it.

These little people of mine are simply amazing. They are fun to hang out with, we have hilarious conversations, we can do so much more this summer than last summer, and I am just reveling in the amazement of the people they are becoming and how their brains work. So much that I am actually sad that I don't have more time with them this summer. What a difference one year makes. They are truly more "kid" than "baby" now, and it's really super fun.

Nico is particularly hilarious as he learns and begins to master language and humor. He is currently obsessed with his penis (Alert men: He thinks chocolate milk will make his penis grow. Try it!) and when he plays he has conversations between his horsies that are just...random but also brilliant. I just stand quietly to the side, spying on him.

Here's my favorite horsie conversation of the week:

Horsie 1: I have boobies.
Horsie 2: No you don't.
Horsie 1: Yes, I do.
Horsie 2: Let me see them.
Horsie 1: No, my mom said you can't see my boobies.
Horsie 2: My mom is dead.
Horsie 1: Oh, that is sad.
Horsie 2: Yes, I'm sad.
Horsie 1: I'm sorry your mommy is dead.

In an analysis of his imaginary conversation between two plastic horses I observed many pretty astute things. One, he understands that nobody can see your private parts but you, two, some people's parents are dead and that is sad, and three, you express compassion to someone whose mom is dead.

Pretty insightful for kid who isn't even yet three!

I go back to work on Monday, August 27th. Next summer I'll have to figure out how to spend more time with these little guys. I can feel the ground of parenthood shifting beneath my feet with them--they are, honestly, growing up so fast.

22

Anyone out there believe in numerology?

The number 22 has been resonating in my life for years now. It started with my dad's death on May 22--that's when the number 22 entered my life. Since then, it keeps seeming to be days of momentous events. Let me make a list:

May 22, 1996: My dad died.
February 22, 1997: My long-term college boyfriend dumped me out of the blue.
June 22, 1998: My first day of solo travel in West Africa.
June 22, 1999: Moved to NYC--drove up in my Toyota to start a new life.
June 22, 2001: Adam & I had our first date.
November 22, 2006: Our first due date of the pregnancy we lost.
September 22, 2009: Nicholas Acer (Nico) our son was born.
April 22, 2010: My freakin' dissertation is officially finished!


Strange, no?

Hopefully, due to the last bit of news, I'll be back to blogging more regularly. Have missed this creative outlet.

Graduation Hater

'Tis the season....or 'tis has been the season since about mid-May until present for graduations.

When I first started teaching I taught 8th grade. At the end of that school year we had an 8th grade graduation. And I don't mean a 8th grade awards ceremony, I mean a full-fledged graduation with caps and gowns, "Pomp & Circumstance" playing, tassles on the caps turned at the end of the ceremony, caps tossed in the air, names called and diplomas handed out--THAT kind of graduation.

And it really irked me.

YES, I understand the argument that a fellow teacher made to me when I complained that they were making too big of a deal out finishing middle school. He said to me, "This will be the only graduation these kids get; they won't make it out of high school." After having taught ten years now (!!!!!), nine of those years in high school, I understand that on a much deeper level, but I still have not changed my stance.

Now it seems everyone graduates with a cap and gown, "Pomp and Circumstance," flowers, diploma presentation. Preschool, kindergarten, elementary school, middle school, and finally high school. And I think it's bullshit.

Not that we should not celebrate our children's accomplishments. We should. But does it have be a graduation ceremony? With all that that entails? I mean, it's great when you finish kindergarten, but you're SUPPOSED to finish kindergarten. Same with elementary school. Well, yeah, yay for you if you finished 5th grade, but YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO FINISH FIFTH GRADE. It is a milestone in life, but does it warrant a literal graduation ceremony?

I just remember high school graduation being a BIG DEAL. It was like a John Hughes movie come to fruition. Is it a big deal when you have already graduated four times prior? I don't know.

Tarantula

Alexandra is in daycare right now where she produces massive amounts of art projects, letter and number coloring worksheets, and just coloring overall. This is one that was sent home.

I look at all her work, but when I saw this one I had a moment in which I was like, "WTF?" Tarantula? What kind of coloring book is this? And who's this dude with a tarantula on his shoulder? He looks like some child-toucher who should be driving a van with a circle-shaped window in the back. CREEPY!

And then I remembered one the pets of my very first childhood friends, Chris Buddie. He lived across the street from me in Fox Lee, and he had a cornucopia of little boy animals (alive and dead) at his house such as a turtle who lived in a built wooden box in his backyard, fish, a ton of frogs and snakes in jars (like a science lab)on shelves in his room, and most frightening of all, a pet tarantula. I remember going over to his house to play and being terrified of that tarantula. Once it got out and I was convinced it was strolling across the cul de sac to get me.

I had a nightmare of that same childhood tarantula a few weeks ago, and when Alexandra brought this home from daycare it caused me to recall that dream. Then I realized that I have been dreaming, repeatedly, of that same tarantula for my whole friggin' life! I have ALWAYS had a recurring tarantula nightmare as long as I can remember, and the only reason why goes right back to Chris Buddie.

Chris Buddie grew up to be one of the nicest guys you'll ever know, and he now has a son. I wonder if they'll have a pet tarantula? And if that tarantula will psychologically scar one of his son's first friends for life? Keep me posted, Chris. I might be on to something here...

Xena: The cat, the myth, the legend

Xena, our cat, has struggled since we moved into our new place. In our old apartment, she pretty much had an entire floor to herself. When Alexandra would pull out her can of two year old kitty cat whoop ass, Xena could gracefully scale the baby gate that kept our daughter from tumbling head-first down a spiral staircase and retire to the sub-basement. It didn't bother her that it smelled of cat litter or was a tad musty; it was her paradise.

In mid-July we moved next door, to a smaller apartment with literally no area free of the two-year old's reign, and I have watched Xena morph into a whiny, whoosy cat who just lets Alexandra violate her and she looks to me and cries. My response is always, "Xena--you're a CAT, either run away or scratch her...Not a big scratch, just a tiny scratch that'll be a deterrent, but come on--you're a CAT!" Needless to say, lecturing your cat amounts to nothing. Alexandra tortures the poor cat from "petting" her (ripping out fur) to "carrying" her (picking her up by the fur) to "hugging" her (body slamming the cat) and "kissing" her (body slam with head butting). You get the idea. Xena has not once scratched or bit Alexandra. Crazy, but 100% true.

About three weeks ago, Xena disappeared and I can't say I was sad. I have loved Xena, but I am tired to playing referee between her and Alexandra, I'm tired of the cat hair that seems to permeate every inch of our 1-bedroom apartment that never gets under control, and I feel bad for Xena, who will most likely live out her years being tortured by our kids. After all, Xena will be 13 this fall...

...So when she disappeared, I figured it was Xena giving us the kitty middle finger, the "see ya suckas!" I thought she figured I was hugely pregnant and bringing another one into the fold to make her life miserable, and she was putting her paw down. We looked for her in earnest for about two weeks, and then figured either she had gone away to commit kitty suicide or had found a nice old lady who would feed her wet food and let her watch TV in peace. I felt she was truly at a better place--either option.

Then around 8pm last night I get a call. Xena had been found; she somehow got trapped in the boiler room of the house behind ours for THREE WEEKS. Adam went to retrieve her--she was pitch black (necessitated seven baths!) and skinny, but very healthy and walked back in here like, "What?"

Xena--I swear, this kitty has more than 9 lives on her. Anyone want to remove her from this space for her remaining lives?

smell association

I have a superb sense of smell. I like to think this big nose has some benefit, and perhaps that is my bloodhound ability to pick up random smells constantly. I still remember being on the bus going to a track meet in 10th grade, when all of a sudden I noted, "It smells like lettuce!" Amid a packed bus of teen girls, replete with the smells of hairspray, perfume, deodorant, and body odor, I managed to sniff out Jenny Andros's peanut butter and lettuce sandwich that she was eating a whole bus behind me. That's talent.

Today on the train (Nico's first subway ride to Target!), I was standing next to a woman who had soaked herself in Elizabeth Arden's Sunflowers perfume and was immediately transported back to my sophomore year at UNC's roommate Hilary, who would heavily spray on that perfume before class each day, waking me up to its fragrance. Then I started thinking of scents and people and how certain scents will always remind me of certain people. Being a list-lover, I made a mental list:

Beautiful by Estee Lauder: my mom's signature scent as I was growing up

English Leather/Old Spice: my dad had these on his dresser and rarely used them, but they remind me of his smell when he'd dress up for something. and i remember the big wooden top to the English Leather bottle.

Farenheit colonge: my high school boyfriend, Trey, wore this and can you believe it's still worn by a lot of men today? I mean a lot. I must smell it once weekly. Each time I smell it on the train, I think of tall, skinny teen Trey and laugh a little at him putting it on in an attempt to impress me and the world at large. Giggle giggle.

CK One: my signature smell most of undergrad. I thought sexual ambiguity was so hot.

Irish Spring/Pert Plus: the smells of my college boyfriend, Chris. I still love a person who smells clearly of soap and cleanliness. I think soap is the most attractive scent ever. I also still don't get combo shampoo/conditioners. Icky.

Eternity by Calvin Klein: my friend Erin wore this for a while in high school and early college and the clean smell of it always reminds me of her as well as of white sheets. Advertisements work. Those Calvin Klein print ads from the early 90s (the black & white photos) were beautiful.

Right Guard deodorant: I love the smell of my husband's armpits and often snuggle into them. I know it's mostly his pheromones (because I like them a little stinky), but I think this deodorant helps. The mixture of his smell and deodorant = Yum.

Burt's Bees Baby Bee: this peachy sweet smell now reminds me of my baby girl. Just like Mustella baby products remind of of Kat's baby boy, Luca.

Lavender: my friend Lisa always smells like lavender. I have tried to emulate this (b/c I love lavender), but I don't think I have succeeded. I like to think Lisa's ability to hold a lavender smell stem from her hippie days of following Phish. At least she doesn't smell like patchouli. I am not a big fan of that smell.

I'll spare you the food smell associations with various travel countries and seasons and cities, but my list could go on and on and on....I wonder if anyone associates a smell with me? I hope it's a decent one.

(too) random

I was listening to a NPR show the other day about making your blog into a best-selling book, making your millions, and then living happily ever after. Seems the key is you must have a consistent theme in your blog--one big topic upon which you pontificate regularly (for example, Julie & Julia)--and then, voila! You've got a book deal. You've got a brownstone. You can afford to stay in New York, have babies, and pay off your college debt. Hallelujah!

But I can't do that. I have tried with my anonymous adoption blog that I have shared with some of you, but, as you can see, I just don't update it with the frequency that I do this blog. My life, mind, and existence is just too random. Call it ADD, call it multiple identities, call me a straight-up neurotic lady (all of which are true), but I just can't reduce myself down to one consistent strain of thought.

My many identities are constantly at battle: mama, breeder, teacher, doctoral candidate, activist(ish), wife, friend, adoptee, daughter, sister, New Yorker, etc etc etc, and not in that order....ever. The list just goes on and repeats itself like a spiral staircase. Some days I'm one more than another, and that's usually the topic of my post.

So, eff the book deal. I'm destined to be destitute (and hyperbolic) b/c I'm too random.

(the need to switch up my blog identity, etc, will be discussed in a further post once i can process it all a bit better...mama mia...)