safety first
“Why are you okay with putting Maya on a bus in a city she’s been to once to attend an ice skating class where she doesn’t know anyone?”
I don’t know why I’m okay with this Ali. I just am.
Anyway, Maya’s safety is the least of my concerns right now because after eight long months of being away I am thrilled to be going home tomorrow. And by home I mean New York City – the place that I eventually plan to move to.
I say eventually because thanks to his hatred of crowds and cold weather, my husband is being uncharacteristically stubborn about letting me have my way. Since this so rarely happens I was sort of at a loss on how to deal with him.
So I did the only thing I could do – I promised Maya she could have her next birthday party at Dylan’s Candy Bar… if only her dad would let us move to NYC. Needless to say Maya is 100% on board with the move and I have a feeling Ali’s going to realize he has no choice but to secure a real-estate agent and a warm coat very soon.
In the meantime, allow me to address Ali’s earlier insinuation that I am an unfit parent (because we all knew I couldn’t leave it alone). My husband should be the last person judging me when it comes to Maya’s safety seeing as I asked him to watch her for 5 minutes and this is what I came back to:
My kid is dressed in her ballet tutu and her apron, and is sitting barefoot in a chair on the balcony of our high-rise condo blowing bubbles. Unsupervised.
Call me crazy, but I think she can handle 30 minutes on a NYC bus.
conversation. or a lack thereof.
Inevitably, when Maya’s around, Ali and I have a million things to say to each other. But of course we can’t say any of it because Maya can’t handle it when she isn’t the center of attention, and thus she foils our conversations at every opportunity.
Any child psychologist would frown on me for saying this, but I get especially irritated because it’s not like Maya really has anything important to say 99% of the time. Instead she throws out random “time-sensitive” questions like, “When you die and get buried, do the bugs eat your hair?”
But then this Saturday…a gift from God: Maya had a birthday party to attend and was then going to spend the night at my in-laws place. This translated into 24 blissful hours of freedom.
Ali and I didn’t want to waste a second and after dropping Maya off at the party we headed to lunch at Le Pain Quotidien for some conversation and a little taste of Paris in the middle of crappy Los Angeles. As we enjoyed tartines and waffles, coffee and omelets, guess what we talked about?
Absolutely nothing. And I’m not even being my usual dramatic self this time.
But then suddenly, towards the end of our very quiet lunch, a sliver of hope from Ali: “I’m going to go wash my hands. Can you use my Direct TV app to record episodes of “Jake and the Neverland Pirates” for Maya while I’m gone?”
Lucky for us we were invited to a dinner party which meant we were able to find a stand-in for Maya which once again got the conversation started.And the real truth is that my hair was behaving and I couldn't resist posting this self-gratuitous photo. Forgive me.
My worst nightmare has come true: we have become those parents who have nothing to talk about. Except their kid. Wonderful.
the “r” word
I met a nice girl the other day. She was smart, interesting, and loved to read as much as I do. We had lots to talk about! Plus – on the shallow side – she had on Tory Burch shoes just like Maya’s and this automatically made her a star.
As we chatted I was busy envisioning the lunch and movie dates we would eventually share together because apparently I am badly in need of friends. But my plan went to hell when I heard her say:
“And I totally felt like a retard!”
Okay so I fully acknowledge that sometimes I am not the most PC person. Just last week for example, Maya had to correct me when I referred to an exhibit at the Seattle Art Museum as the American Indian section.
“No Mama, no. It’s not nice to say that. They are called Native Americans!”
So maybe I’m more than a bit ignorant. And maybe I’m lucky to have a smart ass 6-year-old to correct me at every opportunity. But really? On what planet is the word “retard” not disparaging, condescending, and just plain wrong?
- Maya is so smart about certain things and yet she keeps getting her hair stuck in her Zhu Zhu Pet. I don’t get it.
Since I find it impossible to confront people I didn’t say anything to the girl. But I knew at that moment that I could not be friends with her because using the “R” word is simply unforgivable.
If only she’d used the “F” word instead. Now that I can handle.
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 