a little shopping
I’m sure I’ve already mentioned that I’m not much of a shopper. Ali is even less of a shopper. Together we are two people who should NOT go shopping.
And yet we did exactly that last week.
Our shopping excursion was the result of the following: I was in NY and had some time on my hands, I had a gift card to Saks 5th Ave burning a hole in my wallet, Saks was only a 5 minute walk from our hotel, and since Ali had no more meetings, calls, or unanswered emails left to address, he insisted on joining me.
Scallops at Dos Caminos (delicious), Salmon at Whym (delicious), Breakfast at Raffles (not delicious), Crabcakes at Tre Dici (delicious)!
The painful 45 minutes went something like this:
Me: “What do you think of these jeans? Is the texture odd?”
Ali: “They look okay to me.”
Me: “Do they look good or just okay?”
Ali: “Is there a difference?”
Me: “Yes there is. The difference being that I don’t want to have a complex every time I wear them.”
Ali: “I’m not overly thrilled with them, if that’s what you’re asking. But if you like them then go for it.”
On our hotel room’s balcony, amazing glimpse of a landmark, at Rockefeller Center
I’ll spare you the rest of our lengthy dressing room conversation and jump to the ending instead: I bought the jeans even though I know I’ll question my decision every time I wear them. I did this mostly because I knew there was a high probability I wouldn’t see the inside of a Saks again for months.
So if you ever see me wearing a pair of black, faux-suede jeans? Don’t be surprised if I awkwardly hit you up for your opinion.
we left her. again.
In keeping with our goal to win Parents of the Year, Ali and I dropped Maya at her grandparents. Again.
So we could escape to New York for a few days. Again.
In a cab at JFK. Messy hair all around.
Prior to our departure, I put on my dictator-hat and shared a few rules that I wanted Maya to adhere to over Spring Break:
- Make sure you change out of your pajamas. Every day. No excuses.
- Have a fruit or vegetable with every meal. And no, French fries don’t count. And no, I don’t care if potatoes are a vegetable.
- Don’t forget to finish your social studies project before the week is over. Yes I packed it in your bag. No, I don’t care if it’s not due until April 5th.
- No more than 30 minutes of TV a day. And only things that are on the DVR. I don’t want you watching commercials and asking me for things like Pop Tarts and Lunchables.
- And while we’re on the subject of food? No cake for breakfast. I mean it.
At The Stanton Social: Snapper tacos (The Best), Pizza, Veggie Slider, Cauliflower with Raisins
I’m not sure why I bother with my list of instructions seeing as Maya will basically do the opposite of all of the above. I know it and she knows it.
And apparently Ali knows it. Because the only thing he told her before we left was as follows: “I set up the Xbox in the living room. Make sure you use it. It was a lot of work to get it connected.”
On the bright side, at least the Xbox will get her out of bed?
she’s 8
Approximately 8 years and 5 days ago, as Ali and I drove a screaming 2–day-old Maya home from the hospital for the first time, I realized one thing:
Labor is a piece of cake. The problems start when you have to take care of an actual baby.
At Maya’s art-themed party…
When Maya was 3 days old I realized other things:
- Wipe and bottle warmers only lead to expectations.
-
Cheap diapers are a bad idea.
-
3 am infomercials selling sleep training DVD’s are just wrong. And mean. (And yet I succumbed?)
Maya opening her presents…
When Maya was 4 days old I realized even more things:
- A good stroller is a smart investment.
- A sturdy swing is an even better investment.
- Buying batteries in bulk - so the swing never stops - is the only way.
A very large birthday cake….
When Maya was a week old I realized she’d be an only child. Forever.
So aside from my usual negativity you may be wondering what the point of this post is. Well, not much.
My mom and I did the decorations…
Except that I just want to say – to all the other mothers out there who may be struggling – that all children eventually turn 8.
And aside from the occasional smart ass comment and the troubling lack of study skills and the hoarding tendencies?
They are actually sometimes very much enjoyable.
a very strange thing
A very strange thing happened on Saturday morning: For the first time ever, my husband offered to go get breakfast.
Just in case you’re skimming this post (I don’t blame you!) and didn’t fully get that, allow me to repeat: My husband offered to get breakfast.
I approached this unique offer with doubt. Fear even. Was it a trick? Reverse psychology?
I was so hungry that I took a chance anyway. I asked for bagels and cream cheese. Smoked salmon and capers. A tomato. I even threw caution to the wind and specified wild salmon with no added color.
And just for $hit$ and giggles? I threw in a request for fresh squeezed orange juice.
I even broke out a “good glass” for the occasion. For myself anyway.
As my husband wrote these things down, jumped in the car, and headed to Bristol Farms, I surveyed our empty fridge to determine what Plan B would be when he inevitably came back missing a critical item on the list. Like the bagels.
But here’s the crazy thing: Ali got everything on the list. He even took the initiative to purchase some fruit from the deli and had them slice my tomato too.
(That costs $0.40 in case you are wondering. And no, I didn’t know they’ll slice a tomato for you at the deli either. And yes, I’m wondering what they thought of that request too.)
A decent breakfast = good moods all around.
So the three of us had breakfast. Together.
And since Ali made such an effort I too decided to make an effort. This means I refrained from peppering the conversation with smart ass comments like, “For crying out loud Maya, did you learn to eat in a barn?” and “Placemats were invented for a reason, people.”
I think there are many lessons to learn here including the fact that I’m a much nicer person when I’m not hungry. And Ali? He’s a nicer person when he is.
a pop up shop
This past Sunday afternoon, while most children across the nation were still watching cartoons and eating Pop Tarts in their pajamas, my enterprising 7-year-old was hard at work manning a Therapy Pop-Up.
Why yes Maya…I do have problems, am stressed out, and am mad. And your arbitrary capital letters aren’t helping…
Initially Maya’s marketing ploy was to yell, “My shop is open!” from the doorway of her room. When that tactic yielded no customers she toured the house with a sign that read“Follow Me for Therapy.”
A mobile advertisement, if you will.
I was so preoccupied that my daughter used the word “therapy” that I had no choice but to stop cooking dinner (read: assembling a no-bake noodle lasagna) and investigate further.
Maya: “Do you have a problem I can help you with?”
Me: “Yes, I do. Your father won’t stop leaving his socks all over the place. What should I do?”
Maya: “You could buy more hampers and put them around the house.”
Me: “But he leaves them in the living room. I can’t put a hamper in the living room, can I?”
Maya: “I guess not. What if you stop making him food until he starts cleaning up his socks?”
Me: “Okay, I can do that. Thanks for the advice.”
Maya: “That’ll be $1.00. Also, here’s the address of my massage store. We do good massages that will calm you down until Dad starts putting his socks in the hamper.”
Don’t I look calm? The $1 was worth it.
As I walked away with a business card, a potential solution for a 13-year-old sock problem, a new-found respect for my daughter’s upselling abilities, and fear in my heart that my 7-year-old knows too much for her age, Maya said, “Oh, and Mama? I also give advice on the phone and by Skype.”
I think I need someone to help me explore how I feel about all of this.
i feel guilty. all the time.
Maya competed in her first triathlon last Saturday.
I wish I could say that I was there, cheering her on, but I wasn’t. I wish I had a good excuse why I wasn’t there but I really don’t.
Here’s a not-very-good-excuse instead: After a week of juggling a sick husband, Maya’s never-ending homework (I learned just how geographically challenged I am), and a bad hair week, I simply didn’t have the energy to get myself across the city by 5:30 am on a chilly Saturday morning.
Maya at the event…that I missed…
As expected:
- I felt guilty about this as I ate breakfast.
- I felt guilty about this as I searched Instagram with keywords like #nyc and #breakfast.
- I felt guilty about this while I attended a baby shower.
- I felt especially guilty about this when I saw Maya’s medal and pictures.
Obviously I’ll feel guilty about missing Maya’s triathlon for a long time. No big surprise there.
I didn’t make it to the race but I did take Maya out for sub-par pizza to make up for it…
But here’s what’s interesting…Ali didn’t go either. Instead, he woke up, had a leisurely breakfast, and sat in front of the TV for several hours. And I’m 99% certain he doesn’t feel the least bit guilty about missing the event.
How does he do it? How?
a bright idea
Every year, my husband asks me what I want for my birthday. And every year I say, “Please don’t get me anything.”
I don’t say this because I’m setting Ali up for failure, and I don’t say this because I’m selfless. No, I say this because it’s the smart thing to say.
From Maya: My favorites from TJ’s. The best gift ever.
I know you think I’m being dramatic, but I promise you that I’m not. And in a second you’ll see why…
Here’s how things unfolded last week (no pun intended) after I opened my birthday gift from Ali:
Me: “Light bulbs. You bought me three boxes of light bulbs.”
Ali: “They aren’t just light bulbs, they’re eco-friendly light bulbs.”
Me: “It’s my birthday and you bought me light bulbs.”
Ali: “Don’t you remember the last time I changed the light bulbs in the living room and you said, “That was the best gift ever?”
Me: “It was a figure of speech! Tinged with a good amount of sarcasm.”
Maya: “See? I told you Mama wouldn’t like them.”
From my Mom: A cookbook ever from my favorite actress ever.
Instead of realizing the error of his ways, my husband continued to try to make his point. He pulled up a chair (in lieu of a ladder) and started replacing the first of three living room lights that had gone out.
But, as expected, he got tired halfway into his project. So after a few minutes he abandoned the chair, the light bulbs (old and new), all of the packaging, and collapsed on the couch in our still dimly lit living room.
From my Brother: A Tory Burch gift card.
And from my Husband (after an intervention from my friend Nadia): A bracelet
I’ll let you guess who cleaned up the mess.
While I'm not going to win Mother/Wife of the Year Award anytime soon, I haven't killed anyone yet or shot myself in the head. And that, my friends, is how I calculate success these days. 
