What is Mister Softee?!

I don't know how, but Alexandra loves ice cream from the ice cream truck. We pass a lovely little local ice cream store/chain (Uncle Louie G's) on our route home from daycare, but she wants ice cream from the truck. Maybe she prefers soft serve--not sure--but each Friday (which is ice cream day) she insists that her ice cream be from the Mister Softee truck that parks right next to the playground. Mister Softee knows how to sell his goods.

I had never eaten ice cream off a Mister Softee truck in my life until I started sharing with her. Mister Softee was not the ice cream truck of my youth. Ours was a Good Humor truck and it sold pre-packaged ice cream delights such as ice cream sandwiches, push-ups, rocket pops, snow cones, etc. But here in New York Mister Softee has those treats as well as soft serve in chocolate and vanilla.

What goes into Mr. Softee? As someone who buys organic fruits/veggies, free range meat, organic milk and eggs, etc, I wondered, but then I decided ignorance is bliss. I mean, I can't control everything that my kids put in their bodies. Some things you have to let go, right? I thought I was so zen about it...until tonight.

Alexandra got her cone this afternoon and we came home to pack for our week in CT at the beach with Adam's family. Alexandra wanted her cone put into a bowl, got distracted and didn't finish it, and when I went to wash the bowl HOURS later that "ice cream" had not melted. It was a tad watery, but for the most part it retained its full form = a soft-serve serving. Then I put the bowl in the sink, with water in it, and it STILL DID NOT MELT/DISSOLVE. What the f*ck is it? Chemical? Alien?

I was grossed out, horrified, and seriously disturbed. It took raging hot water at full forge and a couple of prods of my fingers to make it dissolve. Goodbye Mr. Softee. Not sure how I'll break it to my daughter that our brief friendship is over, but man...What the heck are you?

Go Go Ghana!

In 1998 I traveled to West Africa with a group of middle school/high school students. I went along as their photography and writing teacher; I coached them to take photographs and do subsequent writing on the photos once we got back to North Carolina. The kids were there for two weeks, but I stayed for two additional months and poked around Ghana, Cote d'Ivoire, and Burkina Faso by myself. As you can imagine, I learned a lot about myself, about Africa, and about travel during that summer. But the one thing I was really schooled on was the World Cup.

In these small African countries, soccer and the World Cup were the sun and the people revolved around the games. Small black and white TVs were dragged into public spaces using extension cords that could reach a city block, and dozens of folks would gather around these televisions to watch the games. People held babies up to see, they were deathly silent during crucial moments, they cheered rabidly when any African team scored a goal, they welcomed me into their soccer fanaticism as I watched my first World Cup games. The World Cup is the only sporting event that I get excited about. Yes, the sexy factor of the players does help, but I mainly think back to my time in West Africa and their passion for the sport.

Immediately after 9/11, there was a piece on NPR by a guy who had been traveling in the Middle East and Egypt the summer of 2001 with his two elementary-aged kids. They were back state-side when the events of September 11th transpired, but he had an interesting perspective on it: Having had visited these Middle Eastern countries weeks before 9/11, WITH their kids, they had made many real life connections with people and didn't have that gut-reaction "THOSE people are horrible" sentiment that many Americans had. He emphasized that their connections while traveling were exclusively because they had their children with them and, also important, that their children played soccer. He explained how soccer was a universal, global language and that wherever they went his kids could go play soccer with other local kids, opening the door to friendly conversation and exchanges between him & his wife with other adults. His kids and their soccer skills were their gateway into a culture very different from their own.

My own travels and this story have resonated in me for years. You can bet that Alexandra and Nico will both play soccer (it's also helpful that Adam was a big soccer player as was his sister) and we will travel internationally with them.

But until we have some cash flow to do that (and they can carry their own bags!), I'll continue to pull for the African teams in the World Cup. Go Ghana!

Really?

Nothing says white trash to me more than diapers made to look like Daisy Dukes. But, according to Marketplace on NPR last night, these diapers are flying off the shelf, regardless of the fact that they cost much more than a normal pack of diapers.

The world is full of STRANGE people.

You know you're a New Yorker when...

...you've had your first nightmare about bedbugs.

For those of you who don't live here, there is a current bedbug epidemic. Bedbugs are tiny, horrid, vampires that lodge in your mattress, emerge at night, and suck your blood. They will leave you with horrid bites that resemble welts and they will make you broke. Exterminators have dogs that can sniff them out, extermination can cost thousands of dollars, and many a family has literally gone bankrupt because of a bedbug invasion. I am terrified of them: I don't let students put their coats anywhere near mine during the winter, I don't sit between people on the subway during the winter (bedbugs can travel in coats easily b/c lots of folks put coats on beds), I am skeeved out by hotels now (another big bedbug home)...Oh, ick ick ick. bedbugs.

I have lived in New York 11 years now, and I had my first bedbug nightmare last night.

I dreamed that we were staying at a hotel on 5th Avenue in our neighborhood, literally right around the corner from our apartment (makes NO sense, but it is a dream). I was in the hotel bed pregnant and napping when Adam came into the room and turned on the lights and a million tiny bedbugs were ALL OVER THE MATTRESS. I screamed, got up, and realized I had been bitten all over. I then ran around freaked out asking others' opinions--I didn't want to go home b/c I was afraid I would bring the bedbugs into my apartment, but I obviously didn't want to stay in the hotel--what should I do? It was like I was banished from everywhere. It felt horrible.

I'm sure someone could say something profound about this dream and how it signifies that I'm in a state of transition or indecision or something in my life, but all day long I have only been able to think of those little bugs.

Photo of Alexandra showing Nico an enlarged image of a bedbug, from New York Magazine's story on bedbugs on the Upper East Side, the richest neighborhood in New York City. Bedbugs do not discriminate.

(Note: Ever since learning of and fearing bedbugs, I can't bring myself to say "Sleep tight, don't let the bedbugs bite"--what my parents always said to me. Ewwww....Gawd forbid.)

Stats on the Kiddos

Took both kids to the doctor today. Here are the stats:

Alexandra Osa: The Amazon
3 years old
40 inches tall (97th percentile)
37.5 lbs (93rd percentile)
Highlight of the visit: Was asked by doctor if Alexandra could draw a circle. Felt like a bad parent, but honestly replied, "Uh, I don't know." Doctor handed her the pen and Alexandra drew one right on the paper of the examination table. She said to me, "I just drew a little one." Awesome.

Nicholas (Nico) Acer: The String Bean
9 months old
30 inches tall (95th percentile)
20 lbs (35th percentile)
Highlight of the visit: Was told that crawling is an "optional milestone" and my anxieties immediately vanished. Was also told to toss food restrictions to the wind--give egg white, peanut butter, etc. and to watch. That it's the parent's responsibility to make food fun and watch for allergies, but to go for it. Nico ate a scrambled egg for dinner and a bit of Alexandra's mac & cheese. He was so happy.

So thankful for our healthy kids.

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.

Cheese is Christ

As many of you know, I was raised by a fairly religious mom (understatement).

While raised in the Catholic Church, not only was I made to do all the Holy Sacraments that occurred while living under my parents' roof, but I was also dragged to Aglow meetings where large groups of white middle class women spoke in tongues and I was sent to Awana Bible Meetings where Leslie Trotter and I competed to see who could memorize Bible verses more quickly. All that said, I left all religion when I left my parents' roof at age 18 and have never looked back. I figured I had had enough crammed into me by 18 that I could live to 90 and still have gone to church more than most and would still know more Bible verses than most, so I could take the next 3/4 of my life off and then reassess.

By the way, did you know I had to answer the phone "Praise the Lord, Lori speaking" until I was about 14? Yep.

Anyhoo, I have been working diligently to clean up my potty mouth. There is something that happens when your work environment = students saying "f*ck" "p*ssy" etc etc all day long. The words do really lose their shock value. Next thing you know, you can curse like a 14 year old from the worst projects in Brooklyn and YOU DO. Pretty funny when you're single and out drinking beer on a Friday night; not so funny when you have a parrot for a child.

While I have extracted many a bad word from my mouth, I still tend to take the Lord's name in vain (my poor mom...). "Jesus Christ!" is obviously still in my repetoire b/c this happened last night:

Alexandra was on the couch, and out of nowhere said, "Cheese is Christ!" I was bathing Nico and heard this and asked her to repeat it. Again, she said, "Cheese is Christ!" Adam and I were trying not to laugh, but it was hard. She has no idea who Jesus or Christ is, or that he's a person/prophet/messiah, or anything. Obviously, she thinks he's a type of cheese. And while we are big cheese people in this house, cheese has not yet reached messiah status (bacon is definitely above cheese in the running).

I stare at Adam in horror (as my mom is about to visit in one month) and say to Alexandra, "You mean, cheese and rice?" Oh no, she is not to be fooled. For the rest of the night she ran around screaming "Cheese is Christ!" over and over and over.

Guess I have some more work to do on that mouth of mine. Sigh.