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Posts Tagged ‘family’

I am from lanyard bracelets and friendship pins, from Pitfall and tins of Kraft mac-and-cheese.

I am from doo wop on the record player, Johnny Mathis crooning while the tinsel twinkled on the Christmas tree.

I am from the buzzing of cicadas during after-supper kickball games in the street, the lightning bugs at dusk while we hop fences playing Ring-a-levio.

I am from Easter brunch golf cart rides and squishy locker room floors at the pool, from dad’s plaid pants in the Corvette going to Saturday soccer games, and mom’s curly lamb chops hidden in napkins under the lip of our plates.

I am from thighs sticking to Nana’s vinyl car seats on the way to get Fribbles at Friendly’s on a hot summer day, from shag carpets and wood panelling while watching the Dark Crystal.

I am from Sunday School hymns, dried palms and unopened Bibles.

From stockinged feet in patent leather shoes in the backseat of a brown station wagon, eating Charleston Chews and sprinkled cookies while returning from church.

I’m from Long Island beaches and heaping piles of pastrami.

From tickets, golden rings and carousels at Nunley’s, and afternoon bike-riding adventures.

I’m from boat shoes with curly laces at field hockey games on blue-skied, crisp, autumn days. From soccer balls and trophies and freshly shorn fields.

I’m from sparklers and Barbies and sticker books and Keds.

I’m from home.

 

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This was a writing meme that was inspired by other bloggers this past summer, and the original source can be found here.

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Here’s a list of all the things I will most definitely accomplish this summer. Luxurious summer homes in the Hamptons and exquisite meals in Michelin Star restaurants be damned! I’m a simple gal. On your mark, get set, go.

  1. Shower every single day.
  2. Go to the bathroom without a 3-year-old talking to me through the door.
  3. Stop housing all the Cheddar Bunnies.
  4. Refrain from picking at all of LJ’s beige dinner leftovers.
  5. Eat something other than LJ’s PB&J crust for lunch.
  6. Relish the fact that the kid doesn’t know she can get out of her bed anytime she wants.
  7. Stop singing the theme to Miss Spider’s Sunny Patch friends.
  8. Put my head in the oven if I start rapping the tunes from Bubble Guppies any more than I already am.
  9. Read an entire issue of US Weekly while sitting at the beach.
  10. Accomplish #9 while at the beach, ALONE.
  11. Read 5 new books other than the Pinkalicious series.
  12. Turn off the tv during the day.
  13. Refrain from letting LJ watch the entire Toy Story trilogy in one sitting.
  14. Stop asking the kid “Do you have to go tinkle?” every twenty minutes.
  15. Remember to bring a drink and snack to the playground for ME- no more stealing her juiceboxes.
  16. Bring sand toys to the playground every time- no more ghetto plastic spoons and bottle caps.
  17. Stop trying to pressure LJ to master the scooter.
  18. Stop pressuring LJ to go down the slide.
  19. Start being grateful that my kid is timid and careful and sweet as a peach.
  20. Go on at least 4 dates with my husband.
  21. Spend a weekday morning at the MOMA by myself.
  22. Spend a weekday morning at the Guggenheim by myself.
  23. Dye my hair blonde again. Brown makes me cranky.
  24. See college friends I haven’t seen since 1997.
  25. Have drinks, go to the movies, laugh my ass off with some girlfriends.
  26. Go to the Farmer’s Market EVERY Saturday.
  27. Don’t let all the farmer’s market greens wilt and turn squiggly in the fridge. Cook them.
  28. Drink more fun cocktails, less beer and wine.
  29. Get takeout only once a week.
  30. Spend a day out on the North Fork (LI).
  31. Get a pie from Briermere farms.
  32. Bake more pies.
  33. Start making my own pasta.
  34. Make ice cream.
  35. Go to the gym more due to all the pies, pasta and ice cream.
  36. Smother LJ with more kisses, even when she’s sweaty, covered in sunscreen and coated in sand like a chicken cutlet.
  37. Try to make a baby.
  38. Take the dog for more long walks so she stops wigging out.
  39. Repaint the closet door that the 4-legged psychopath has scratched to bits in fits of anxious mania.
  40. Stop forgetting to buy the fancy organic dog food and feeding her Cheerios instead.
  41. Sweep the mountains of dog hair that waft past me every day.
  42. Give that furry stinkbutt more baths. Or, at least one.
  43. Start actually doing the yoga on the Wii that we bought for THAT purpose.
  44. Have more all-day picnics in the park.
  45. Fly a kite successfully for the FIRST time in my life.
  46. Go peach and berry picking.
  47. Milk a cow somewhere. Or, well, at least SEE a cow.
  48. WATER THE DAMN PLANTS! (What is with my aversion to helping plants not die?)
  49. Go visit a special friend in Massachusetts, even though I hate the Patriots, Red Sox, Celtics and Bruins.
  50. Cherish the awesomeness that is my tiny family.
                                                         ******************************************************************
Linking up with Mama Kat and her writing prompt!

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After introducing my mother to some random guy I was dating when I was in my early 20s, she proclaimed without skipping a beat: “If you end up with him I’ll throw myself off the Verrazano.” (For those who don’t know: the Verrazano is the gigantic bridge that joins Long Island to Staten Island.).

Never one to mince words and a bit of a Tiger Mom  (A Finnish/American/freckle-faced Tiger Mom? Maybe a Eurasian Badger Mom?), we had been butting heads since I was a mere tween. During a heated phone call she told me that he “had no aspirations” (true), “didn’t look anyone in the eye” (true), and just “seemed bizarre” (must be stated with a proper Lawn Guyland accent: bizaaaaw).

Like any sane 22-year-old, I moved in with him the following week.

Two months later we broke up, and he moved out.

DAMN HER FOR BEING RIGHT! WHY WAS SHE ALWAYS RIGHT? I agonized over this through my teens and twenties, and only recently accepted her awesomeness as I also became a mom superhero. What is it about mothers that make them always just KNOW? Is it some sort of special parenting juju?  It must be agonizing to watch your children make such shitty choices and know that they’re not going to listen to a word you say.

“What? You don’t think I’m going to marry the tool who was so drunk he broke the soap dish off the wall? Screw you!” (She was right.)

“You don’t think it’s a good idea for me to ditch being a math major to become an art major? You think it’ll be hard to get a job? Screw you!”  (She was right.)

“No, I’m not bringing that nerdy wallet because I will not get mugged while studying abroad. I’m not an idiot. Screw you!” (She was right.)

“I can totally wear this to an interview. Screw you!” (She was right.)

“Excuse me?! No, that’s not my bowl. Why would you even THINK that?! Screw you!” (She was right.)

Only recently, after assessing the past 35 years of my life have I come to truly realize her powers and actually begin to heed her advice. Sure, she can be painfully, terrifyingly, insert foot-in-mouth blunt: but it’s coming from a good place… and she ALWAYS ends up being right.**  I can only hope that someday LJ learns to appreciate my super know-it-all-ness, preferably before age 35.

**My mother is actually NEVER RIGHT when it comes to her choice in presidential candidates.

**Also, when recently asked by her grandchildren to name the continents, she replied, “Oh, you mean A, E, I, O and U?” which is, clearly, not even REMOTELY fucking close to the answer.

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Aaaand we’re back.

I apologize for my bloggy hiatus, but for the past week and a half my husband and I put ourselves on a social media lockdown. Even a full internet lockdown. The poor kid was close to becoming feral, and we needed to pay some attention to her. So we went here:

where I did a great deal of this:

while drinking a ton of these with this adorable crew:

…and now we’re back in Brooklyn. Feral child no more. Yay!

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We live within walking distance of what I think is one of the most stunning spots in Brooklyn: Greenwood Cemetery. No, I’m not goth, but I do find something very serene about the rolling hills and monuments smack dab in the middle of NYC. Among a number of famous authors and historical figures buried here is my grandmother, the original stoopmama, who passed away last year at the amazing age of 103. (103!!) There’s a post about her hilariously snarky personality and fascinating life currently in the works (she actually went to speakeasies!). For now, though, here are some images of our last visit to leave some flowers for Nana AND see the grave of my favorite painter, Jean Michel Basquiat:

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Breakfast with my gorgeous fam.

New pink toes. They might be a liiiitle bit stripper-y, but it was time for a change.

Could this day be any more perfect? Could Prospect Park be any more kick-ass?

When you’re a city kid, this is a serious wilderness adventure.

This little one has wished me a Happy Mother’s Day 5324 times. Seriously.

I love you, nap time. Please don’t ever leave me.

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(This is not an advertisement. Nobody is paying me. Trust me.)

Have you heard of Pummelvision? If you give them access to your pictures: whether on flickr, facebook, instagram (or others) they’ll make them into an awesome video within an hour. Sure, sure, we all know how to make our own slideshows: but sometimes it’s fun to see what someone else comes up with. Oh, and did I mention it’s totally FREE!

I will admit, though, I was a little bummed about something. I have about a thousand images on flickr, dating pre-kid and pre-marriage. Pictures of trips, student artwork, my old classrooms, my wedding, the neighborhood and other pre-LJ moments. For some reason the folks (cyber-magical picture selecting robots?) only chose pictures of LJ between the ages of 6 months and now, making it seem like I never had a life before I squeezed out a kid, but that’s ok. I’m a Park Slope mommy now, right? Look at my baby! Look at my baby!

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