the frying pan
For the first time since I began writing this blog, I didn’t put up a post for more than two weeks.
This means that I didn’t stick with The Schedule.
It nearly killed me to not stick with The Schedule. Because without Order and Routine and Schedule, who am I really?
(Aside from the obvious answer of Ali.)
At our usual Maison Kayser…pretty Christmas tree. And Maya’s pretty new hat.
Anyway, my work hours have been so crazy that I brought home non-organic grapes and let Maya wear mismatched socks to school.
Ali even resorted to “cooking” one night, when I didn’t get home prior to the dinner hour.
He utilized the new pans I finally bought (thank you for your speedy delivery Macys.com – now we can hopefully stop slowly dying of lead poisoning) and made two sunny-side up eggs.
At Koi – Bryant Park. This place used to be WAY better.
Which led me to institute the following:
Rule #579– “When one makes a sunny-side up egg, one must clean up the greasy frying pan, the greasy stove, and the greasy spatula. Otherwise, one may not make a sunny-side up egg.”
Rule #580– “One may not, under any circumstances, utilize a metal utensil on the brand new non-stick pans. Ever.”
Steamed fish at Koi (not good), Pumpkin salad at Stella (very good!), Minestrone soup at Le Pain Quotidien (very good!), Verdure Salad at Stella (amazing)
Aside from instituting new kitchen rules, I have lots of real work to catch up on. But I decided that today, on Christmas, there will be no work.
Instead, I will continue my pattern of ignoring Maya so I can put up a post. Even one that really has no point.
At Koi. Where I at my not-so-tasty-dinner while half-asleep.
Because I can think of no better trade-off than to ignore my family in honor of The Schedule.
We’ll just call it a little gift to myself.
square one
The questions were killing me:
- How much TV can I watch?
- What can I eat if I’m still hungry?
- What should I wear today?
- What should I wear tomorrow?
I had no choice but to let go of my controlling ways and invite a little autonomy into The System.
Beginning with Maya’s favorite topic: dessert.
A very very very cold snowstorm.
Me: “You can have dessert 3 times a week, whichever days you choose. Try not to eat things that contain Blue #1 and Red #40. Aside from that it’s totally your decision, okay?”
Maya: “Really? OKAY!”
While Maya was beside herself with her newfound freedom, letting go didn’t mean I didn’t still have my concerns:
- Was dessert 3 times a week too little?
- Was it too much?
- Would Maya lie to me and pretend she didn’t have dessert when she really did?
- Was she going to become obsessed?
- Was I becoming obsessed that she’d become obsessed?
Lunch at Stella. Amazing from start to finish.
I had no answers, but I knew I had to let go. So I did.
And guess what? The questions stopped!
I patted myself on the back for being a pioneer in the field of child-rearing. I was a forward-thinker! Maya was well on her way to becoming well-adjusted! The System was working!
“Make funny faces Mama!” Um. Sure.
But it’s been a few weeks and new questions are being posed:
- Does one Hershey’s kiss count as one dessert?
- No? Well then how many do?
- If I don’t use all 3 days in one week, can I carry over my days into a new week?
- Are sugar covered pretzels a snack or a dessert?
So obviously I’m not a pioneer. I’m not a forward-thinker. The System has failed. I need to hire someone to answer Maya’s questions. Maya will still need therapy. And I probably will too.
Back to square one.
why a hypothetical person works.
Picture this “hypothetical” scenario:
You leave work to pick up your hypothetical 8-year-old.
You speed walk 30 blocks and 5 avenues, in 34 degree weather, instead of taking the subway.
You do this because the subway was delayed underground the day before and it nearly made you late for after school pick up.
And the thought of being late for after school pick up puts shivers down your spine.
At the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade
Aside from several new blisters (thanks Tory B.) and a rather strange interaction with a fellow pedestrian who appeared to be offended by the fact you were multitasking (apparently speaking to your mother on the phone is a crime), you get to school without incident.
Maya was thrilled with the dirty confetti, which I continue to find in my purse and coat.
You even get to school with time to spare and rejoice your hypothetical kid isn’t the last one there.
You’re ready for a hug or a happy “Hi Mama!”
Instead your kid could care less you’re there. Her first question is “What’s for dinner?”
It’s then you realize she’s more like her father than you originally thought.
It was very very cold. As evidenced by our large coats.
She hands you her backpack, her latest art project (you’re guessing this is a misshapen turkey but don’t want to vocalize this thought in case you’re completely off base), her lunch box, her hat, and her umbrella.
As you juggle these items, in addition to your own purse, laptop, gloves, and coat, she trots off towards the school exit without a care in the world.
It’s then you realize, she is a clone of her father.
Confetti obsession continued on for a while…
You get home.
You unload the 15 pounds of stuff you’re carrying.
You see your hypothetical husband and you wait for a happy “Hi Hypothetical Person! How was your day?”
Your husband looks up from his computer for a second to say hello. Then he goes back to work.
A second later he looks up again and asks, “What’s for dinner?”
And that’s when you realize you wish you were back at work.
Where people appreciate you.
And don’t ask you what’s for dinner.
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. 
FANCY THAT FANCY THIS 