Dedication

Many of you know I’m a big hockey fan. Specifically, I am a big Detroit Red Wings fan.

So when my children asked me to bring them home the “Penguins of Madagascar” from New York City, I had a problem.

Why? Because the Red Wings are currently playing the Penguins for the Stanley Cup. And I couldn’t very well just go buy some penguins.

I can’t tell you how I agonized over this while in New York. I knew I could easily get to FAO Schwarz and I knew I could find penguins. But I couldn’t really go buy them.

I thought about giving a friend money to buy them for me. I thought about bringing something ELSE home for the kids. I thought about trying to find penguins AND tiny red wing jerseys to dress them up with.

Instead I decided on this:

photo.jpg

Voodoo.

Go Wings.

#suckit Penguins

Rock

Raaawwwwwwk

My son shall grow up to be a wussy Mama’s boy and it’s all my fault

My son can be sensitive.

He loves his mom. Anything that involves blood or death upsets him, and you better not touch his lego creations (that include 6 armed robots who are his best friend AND evil ships with aliens) or he will crumble into a million pieces and weep for their dismantling.

So I wasn’t surprised when he quizzed me about what is next in his life, mainly, Kindergarten ending.

photo.jpg

Well honey we talked about this. After Kindergarten comes 1st grade.

…and then what Mom.

Then comes 2nd grade. And then 3rd grade.

And then 4th grade and 5th grade mom?

Yes honey. You got it.

So what happens when the grades are done?

Well then you get to go away to college sweetie. You get to live there, and be with your friends, it’s SO MUCH FUN.

Dead Silence.

Uncomfortable sighs.

Heaves.

SOBS.

Full-on hysterical crying.

Yes, my son was losing it over something 12 grades from now, and with good reason.

…but, but…Mom…I DON’T WANT TO LEAVE YOU EVER.

awww honey, you don’t ever have to go, it’s ok. Really sweetie calm down it’s ok. But trust me you’ll want to go. I know you don’t feel that way now, but when you’re older and as big as Drew (our good friend’s son who’s 17) you might want to be with your friends more than your Mom.

NO I WON’T! DON’T TELL ME THOSE THINGS! I WANT YOU MOMMY!

Oh honey. It’s ok. It’s ok. (hysterical sobs continue, tears EVERYWHERE) you can stay home. You can stay home as long as you like. Really. You know where we go to the Farmer’s Market? That’s a college! You can go right there to college and live here and never leave!

And then I realized what I had just said. And caught myself.

But promise me you’ll think about living away. Because you need to try things in life. Remember how you thought you hated salmon? And you tried salmon and now you love it? That might be what college is like!

No Mom. Not unless you come.

Ok honey. I can come to college.

Yes, in one tiny, bedtime exchange I promised my son that not only could he stay home from college but if he decided he wanted to go…I would go with him.

#fail.

This Is What Girls Do … ?

photo.jpg

I took my daughter shopping today and I feel guilty.

No, I didn’t buy her anything crazy or let her run the mall with wild abandon. I feel guilty because we, admittedly, had a girlie day.

She had asked to go “shopping like girls do” and I told her I would take her. And I did. And we had a damn good time.

She tried on clothes and twirled. She attempted to help me pick out “pretty dresses.” We ate lunch and acted like every day was girl day.

So why the guilt over being girls? I’m not sure. Perhaps the hardened feminist core that is me, hates the idea of “shopping and doing lunch” with my daughter. Teaching her “this is what girls do.”

But you know what? We did it, because she asked…and it was fun. I loved watching her find a new item on the rack and squeal. I did. I really did. I also loved watching her hold up a shirt to say “how does this one look Mamma?”

Now I’ll sit back and let you all tell me how this is what you knew would happen because Hillary lost. Ready? Go.

No Then. No Now.

halloween08 003
Because explaining to my children that everyone has rights – except some people – is unacceptable.

Muscles

Said to the nice, unsuspecting, stunned cashier at a major department store:

“I have muscles in my VAGINA!”

Farmers market fun

Of Dining Halls And Grandmothers

I lost both of my grandmothers when I was fairly young. I remember bits and pieces of them, sometimes in a flash of clarity and sometimes in a foggy haze.

I can tell you my maternal grandmother has to be where I got my drive. I remember sitting in her office in a muggy Florida strip mall, begging for $2 to walk down to the gift shop and buy some horrendous shell man or orange bobble head. She would make me file a paper or empty her trash before I had ‘earned’ enough for my souvenirs. She owned that business and ran it. An entire sanitation company. Women owned business were rare then. Still are.

She loved the dog track, and Jai alai, and her lotto numbers.

I also can remember the mass of pill bottles on her dresser. And how we weren’t allowed in her room, ever, unsupervised.

My paternal grandmother was very different. She would allow my cousin and I to sleep in her bed when visiting. We’d giggle as she undressed in front of us (I clearly got my boobs from this grandma) and then she would crawl in between us, as I do now with my children, and sing. She would sing to us songs I can still hear in my head when laying in bed at night.

She would make us necklaces out of bubble gum wrappers and later, after a stroke, smile as big as the sun when we’d enter her nursing home bedroom. I remembered how my grandfather did, and still does, adore her and how he’s never been the same since her death. He just wants to join her.

Yesterday, as I went to vote in California’s special election, I saw many grandmothers and felt an ache.

My polling place was a senior center and I arrived at lunchtime. The dining hall was packed with what seemed to be, mostly, women. I felt myself staring. Wondering what my grandmothers would be like now. What sort of relationship we would have. If they would be proud of me.

I also wondered why there seemed to be so few visitors. Maybe I was imagining things. For several seconds I pondered just wandering into the dining hall and striking up a conversation. And then was afraid they would find me patronizing. Or worse, over-enthusiastic.

So I walked by. Slowly. My mind consumed with my own family, my grandfather in Michigan now in a nursing home. I thought about what it will be like when I am that age…where will I be?

But really, more than anything, I couldn’t stop thinking about my own grandmothers. And the grandmothers in the dining hall. And how I hope their granddaughter’s visit them.

Even if they are too busy. Even if they have a million other things to be doing. I hope there is a granddaughter sitting, right now, across from her grandmother in some dining hall somewhere….just spending time.

Ugh. Family Travel

As I get ready to head with the kids to Detroit once school is out…am feeling this one