NYC Moms

I Want My Babysitter Back

I'm so glad that you like Cheryl!  

Way back when you were desperately searching for a summertime sitter--remember how you left it to the last minute and had to send all those anxious emails?--I was happy to give you her number.  

Remember how you wanted to 'check her references' and so I wrote paragraph after paragraph about how wonderful she was?  I had to go into the whole thing about how young she was and how seemingly rough-around the edges she was, but how my children had never felt safer and more comfortable with anyone else?  I even gave the example of how she kind of had this 'street' edge--like how she'd say 'A-ight' instead of 'alright,' and how that, combined with the fact that she was still in high school, and had to commute almost an hour to our neighborhood every day had first given me pause, but how she just turned out to be a real take-charge girl, full of warmth and confidence, and that we were so glad we'd found her?

We were all pushing for her to get a summer job at the pool, and when that didn't happen, and your (desperate) emails started to hit my inbox, I was happy to pass her name and number along to you.

Watch it Wiggle

I had completely forgotten that my youngest, now nearly 6, was going to be losing her teeth.  At all.  And I had no idea that my eleven year old son still had a few to lose.  It's not that I'm not paying attention, it's probably that I'm paying attention to the wrong things. 

He's now taking the subway independently, to and from school.  Wow, right?  It's been a good time for me, with all of these articles in favor of not parenting helicoptery.  Neighborhood pals, most of whom do not have kids as old as my son (but who do have kids as old as my nine year old, my 6 year old, and everything in between)--have congratulated me through gritted teeth, and slightly judgmental eyes.  Saying things like "I was shocked at first, when I saw him alone on the subway, but now I'm used to it."  This time last year I couldn't have imagined it either, but now it just makes sense.  But he still has teeth to lose?  That doesn't add up for me.

Birthday Drama Mama

I spent a day with my daughter, her friend, and her friend's mother a few weekends ago.  The mother told us to 'save the date' of her daughter's upcoming birthday.  There was no date to save, just a general nod in the direction of the weekends on the horizon.  I nodded dutifully.  Of course my daughter would go to her daughter's party.  They're very good friends.

During this afternoon together we stopped at a store for ice cream.  While we were there the mother placed the order for her daughter's birthday cake.  She was placing kind of a vague order, but going through the motions, getting the details down, finalizing it as much as she could finalize a cake for a date that hadn't yet been determined.

A week later my daughter came home from a playdate with this friend and said 'I'm a bit sad because she said she's having her party and I probably won't be invited.'  I scoffed at that a bit, since the mom had basically told me to be ready for it.  We've had issues with non-invitations before, but this didn't really seem like it would be one of those.  I figured the friend was pulling some kind of power play during their playdate, and I didn't see the point of prying...because I didn't want to give it too much weight.

Bring Back the End Credits!

I'm a fan of television.  Big-time.  The TV people would love me.  We watch their shows, we buy the things we see advertised (or at least say that we'll buy them just to soothe a desperate child), we buy things that have their characters on them.  I turn the volume up in the car when Miley Cyrus' new song comes on.  We're good consumers!

I used to find it convenient--the little 30 minute chunks that most television shows come bundled in. Telling a child that we'll leave 'when the show is over' or we'll eat 'at the end of that show' is actually quite helpful for me.  No time-telling required.  But that was back in the old days when a child could actually tell that a show had ended.  Today I pulled up a chair to watch the last few minutes of Scooby Doo only to realize that it got stitched into the beginning of the next one several minutes later. So a child who has just agreed to get off the couch when the show is over is now confused, and angry--because there's just no end anymore.  And the parent who made the child make that promise just looks mean because now instead of the child seeing that the show has ended, the parent is standing in front of the tv gesticulating wildly and trying to prove that the plot has been wrapped up and a new mystery is in the works.  I found myself pointing at the little white square that has the 'rating' of the show in it saying 'see this Y?  this means it's a new show!'  

Half-birthdays

We celebrate half birthdays.  Whole-heartedly. 

My own birthday is the shortest day of the year.  It's official.  That meant that when I had birthday parties on my real birthday friends were arriving in the dark.  I found that depressing. 

It also meant that my birthday was so close to Christmas it often got swallowed up by the winter break--and then there were no kids around.  Sometimes the fact that it was close to Christmas meant that friends would do wacky things with gifts, that would be unthinkable with a summer birthday.  Here's a pair of earrings for you, one's for your birthday, the other one's for Christmas.  How clever?  What a drag.

Then this girl named Sharon moved to town and she had the good fortune to have her birthday on the longest day of the year.  Upon closer investigation, it turned out, that she and I had the same birthday, but her parents just decided to do her celebrations on her half-birthdays instead of her whole birthday.  More festive, more options, etc.  It was an obvious improvement for her.  I wasn't willing to throw in the towel completely on my own real birthday, but thanks to her manipulation of the calendar, I got to be keenly aware of my half-birthdays.  And it does seem like something to celebrate.  After all, until we're about eleven, those halfs kind of matter...doing wonders to separate an old eight from a new eight.  When those distinctions can be really important.

Chain of Fools (or, I'm so sorry about that chain letter my daughter sent your daughter!)

I know it probably seemed exciting there for a moment, finding an envelope with a handwritten address in your mailbox.  And I know there was probably a moment when your child was opening it up and you were flush with anticipation.  And then your child looked puzzled and handed it to you, and your heart fell a little bit.  I know this happened to you because it happened to me a week ago--when my daughter opened up her chain letter.

I know I should have tried to talk her out of following the instructions.  This particular letter promised my child that she'd be mentioned in the (actual!) Guinness Book of World Records if onnnnnnly she'd make seven copies of the letter and send it, within FOUR days, to seven of her friends.  

Wanted: Second Grade Class List

Playing with peers is overrated.  Over the weekend I brought my three children to an amazing kid-filled fourth of July party, full of people my children had never met.  We'd all assumed that they would pair off according to age.  Of course my five and a half year old would LOVE their five year old, of course my eight year old would bond with their nine year old.  And of course, we were all wrong.  My five and a half year old loved their seven year old who was over the moon at having such an adoring fan.  My eight year old was kind of curious to hang out with their twelve year old, who got to be an expert on everything and ignored the thirteen year old to hang out with this younger creature.

It got me wondering...and not for the first time...why do I always look to my children's classmates for playdates and out-of-school experiences?  The closer my younger daughter is in age to her playmate the more likely there is to be some enormous grabbing squabble or hideous competitive impasse.  My eight year old daughter was completely iced out by some mean eight year olds this year.  If she could have spent all her recesses with six year olds and thirteen year olds she would have been in heaven. And they would have enjoyed her company too.  She's mature and doting for the younger ones, and curious and faithful to the older ones.  Alas, the school schedule just isn't set up for that.  She has a lot to offer kids who aren't her age.  

Climbing with Miley

I've been in tears off and on all month long.  And I'm not sure why.  There's nothing enormously wrong with anything or with anyone, it's mostly just little interactions, summer camp preparations, alienating coworkers, encounters with rude strangers.  That kind of stuff.  There's been some good juicy reason to be upset almost every day, and the villains keep changing.  Good friends, mere acquaintances, perfect strangers. Every few days there's some major emotional hurdle for me--and usually I find myself wishing it wasn't happening.  If only this person were more sensitve/helpful/honest, you name it, I've wished it.

My daughters are fans of Hannah Montana/Miley Cyrus.  We have Hannah Montana bowls, sneakers, high-tops, lip balm, shoelaces.  I don't mind it, I think the show's cute.  I actually find the little moral dilemnas and tidy solutions helpful, something that must seem pitiful to all the hyper-worried pop-culture-despising parents out there.  But I just do.  

And we all really like Miley's new song The Climb.  

No Children

Years ago when I was pregnant for the first time, a new father colleague said to me, 'you'll be amazed to see how the world is really divided into two camps:  those who have children, and those who don't.'

I remember noticing the tiny things at first:  

The waiter who sets an open glass of liquid right in front of my toddler?  No children.

The waiter who hands the liquids directly to me, or otherwise out of reach of the two year old?  Children.

The waitress who'd put the hot steaming grease-bubbling pizza face pizza down right in front of my children?  No children.

The waitress who waits til its not bubbling anymore to bring it to the table?  Children.  

It was just a slightly amusing but otherwise benign observation.

Holocaust Museum's vocabulary lesson

Hooray my son got to use a vocabulary word at dinner tonight.  

'Mama, that's one of my vocabulary words!'  he exclaimed, with sparkles in his eyes.

This is a kid who has not been won over by school, until lately.  Learning the tricky rules of the English language actually made him cry when he was in first grade.  'That's 'ph' instead of 'f?''  he'd wail?  'Why? This is just so mean!'

When he had to come up with five every-day uses for math in second grade, he struggled.  If it weren't for his obsession with Yu-gi-oh cards which have points that have to be added and subtracted regularly, and if it weren't for the fact that he used allowance money to buy those beloved cards, he probably wouldn't have been able to come up with anything.  'What's the point of math?'  He'd complain.