This coming weekend will be the opposite of last weekend, activity-wise, and this is a good thing. Don't get me wrong, I love the great times and their unavoidable accompanying chaos, but it's nice to look at my calendar and see, aside from a long-overdue haircut appointment for me, all white space. It's filled in with the this and that of everyday life before you can blink of course, but I don't mind, because it just comes up as it comes up.
I understand that children thrive on schedules, and we have HR's daily routine down to an easy science at this point. But other than that, I have no plans to raise him as anything other than a free-form, free-range kid. I'm laid back to the extreme, and Mike's generally content to go with the flow as long as the important things get taken care of, and it just makes sense that we wouldn't be any different as parents. Maybe when the boy's in school things will take a more definitive shape, but I'm happy as anything to leave lots of room for improv. Sure we'll probably sign him up for soccer or t-ball or some kind of structure-requiring activity, but I just can't see it going too far. It's not that I fear stepping out of my comfort zone, just that it feels right to me to have at least one day of the weekend where there's nothing to get in the way of an impromptu road trip or just working through a pile of books. With any luck, this will appeal to my kid as well. And he doesn't get a say in it for quite some time anyway so score one for Mama.
As with everything, wait and see. It could be that he's going to show himself to require lots of structured time as he gets older and more fidgety. But I know for sure Mike and I are not going to suddenly morph into overscheduled types. And I'm confident that we can work within this frame without making HR miss out on anything. And that concludes my mini-manifesto of the day.
Now to close this week's half-assed musical theme loop (while also referencing The Last Waltz in here for the 500th time). This is a great story-song, and clearly the best version, no offense Joanie Baez.
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Marlon Rando
"Pile o' unconnected thoughts I'm slapping together and calling a blog entry" #512:
-Is two weeks after the actual birthday too late to have a birthday party for a two-year-old? Probably, but I think that's when we're doing it anyway. It's not like he's going to know the difference, or care.
-I mentioned yesterday that the sleep situation in our house has improved, and I wanted to elaborate a bit. It's not perfect, but at this point I can pretty happily live with the way it's worked out. He goes to bed easily now between 7:45-8 and we don't hear a peep from him again until the middle of the night, at which point we usually bring him in bed and he immediately falls back to sleep until 6:30-7. On the best nights it's 3 or later, last night it was closer to 1, but things are consistently so, so much better I can't and won't complain. I'm sure we'll go through a million more setbacks, but it's gratifying to have this to look back on because it's evidence of how we conquered our biggest issues and have it in us to do it again.
-I'm almost back to the same running pace and distance that I achieved before I got pregnant and though it's not all that impressive in the scheme of runners the world over, I feel pretty great about it. At this point I honestly don't care if I lose any weight or look any different. I've shifted my focus back to kicking butt. I've already decided I'm still going wear a sweet two-piece on my late-fall/early winter vacation and feel good about it because who cares? Nobody's really looking at me, and if they are and don't like it then kindly look away. Am I right?
-On that note, probably the best thing about aging is the diminishing proportion of time spent on giving a fuck what people think of you. As the years go up, the tendency toward self consciousness goes way, way down. It is a gift.
-It's a quiet kind of day today, good for getting work done. Which is convenient, since I have plenty of that. And so I will take my leave, after a brief set-up for today's musical selection.
The other day I posted "Hurricane" and meant to start a theme of story-songs based on historical events. I didn't keep up with it yesterday, but before I forget again, I'm linking the story-song that, in my opinion, is the best of the best. I'm so taken by the idea of imagining how something happened when there's no way to know what really went down. Like, would the Captain have been able to say, "Fellas, it's been good to know ya?" How do you put to song the concept of knowing you're going to die and just waiting for it? Lightfoot pulls it off so poetically. This song has always given me chills.
-Is two weeks after the actual birthday too late to have a birthday party for a two-year-old? Probably, but I think that's when we're doing it anyway. It's not like he's going to know the difference, or care.
-I mentioned yesterday that the sleep situation in our house has improved, and I wanted to elaborate a bit. It's not perfect, but at this point I can pretty happily live with the way it's worked out. He goes to bed easily now between 7:45-8 and we don't hear a peep from him again until the middle of the night, at which point we usually bring him in bed and he immediately falls back to sleep until 6:30-7. On the best nights it's 3 or later, last night it was closer to 1, but things are consistently so, so much better I can't and won't complain. I'm sure we'll go through a million more setbacks, but it's gratifying to have this to look back on because it's evidence of how we conquered our biggest issues and have it in us to do it again.
-I'm almost back to the same running pace and distance that I achieved before I got pregnant and though it's not all that impressive in the scheme of runners the world over, I feel pretty great about it. At this point I honestly don't care if I lose any weight or look any different. I've shifted my focus back to kicking butt. I've already decided I'm still going wear a sweet two-piece on my late-fall/early winter vacation and feel good about it because who cares? Nobody's really looking at me, and if they are and don't like it then kindly look away. Am I right?
-On that note, probably the best thing about aging is the diminishing proportion of time spent on giving a fuck what people think of you. As the years go up, the tendency toward self consciousness goes way, way down. It is a gift.
-It's a quiet kind of day today, good for getting work done. Which is convenient, since I have plenty of that. And so I will take my leave, after a brief set-up for today's musical selection.
The other day I posted "Hurricane" and meant to start a theme of story-songs based on historical events. I didn't keep up with it yesterday, but before I forget again, I'm linking the story-song that, in my opinion, is the best of the best. I'm so taken by the idea of imagining how something happened when there's no way to know what really went down. Like, would the Captain have been able to say, "Fellas, it's been good to know ya?" How do you put to song the concept of knowing you're going to die and just waiting for it? Lightfoot pulls it off so poetically. This song has always given me chills.
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Tradition! And Passed Hors D'ouevres
So the Bar Mitzvah, where to begin? The young man of honor was amazing, so laid back and confident as he recited his torah portion and other things I don't have the true concept of, but appreciate. Knowing my nephew as I do, I can't say it was a surprise that he was so natural under pressure. Still, that's my little boy up there! (Apologies for the poor photo quality).
What happened to him? How could he really be a man? It was mighty impressive to me how much he's learned over the past couple of years. I realize I don't talk about religion a lot. I'm not a religious person by any means, but I have no problem with other people being religious as long as they're not using it as a means to oppress people or be hateful in any way. From my experience, Judaism gets this right a lot of the time, and it was pretty cool to be a part of this rite of passage that is so meaningful in the lives of half my family. The preparation for something like this is daunting, whatever I had to do for my Catholic confirmation was not even close to the same league. He deserved the big party that followed.
And about that party - holy hannah! My sister-in-law outdid herself with the shindig, the food and drink were copious and top-notch, and though Mike did not appreciate the music (he is not as enamored of current Top 40 dance jams as I am) I sure did and had a cadre of cousins and sisters-in-law with whom to cut a rug. Plus the kids seemed to be into it, and really isn't that the most important part? One thing that really warmed my heart was that my nephew and all his friends--I think there were like 500?--were on the dance floor the entire night, boys and girls. (Behold, the official boys' uniform for evening affairs. I didn't get a good one of the girls, but just imagine a lot of strapless and you're halfway there.)
They didn't exactly dance with each other, but they all danced and I hope they keep it up into their teens and beyond. Because dancing is life! If I would have known in my formative years that dancing with kids on their special occasions was a paying job (per the pretty impressive dancers employed by the DJ company), I might be on a very different trajectory right now. Yet another missed calling on my part. Oh well, next life.
It was great to see so many family members over the weekend, some getting to meet HR for the first time. And we had lots of fun relaxing in the hotel. It was a bummer we couldn't take the little one in the pool due to the leftovers from the virus, but as long as he didn't know it was there, it was no problem. He had a blast hanging out with his aunts, uncles and grandparents and was in his glory in the company of his big-boy cousins. While he sat out the more formal parts of the weekend (with thanks to my sister and her husband for his care), he was very much a part of it all.
And apparently he was really happy to get back to his own room after all the excitement because the sleeping has been tons better the last couple of nights. (No jinx!)
Two years until the next one, give or take. I'm getting my dancing shoes shined up now.
What happened to him? How could he really be a man? It was mighty impressive to me how much he's learned over the past couple of years. I realize I don't talk about religion a lot. I'm not a religious person by any means, but I have no problem with other people being religious as long as they're not using it as a means to oppress people or be hateful in any way. From my experience, Judaism gets this right a lot of the time, and it was pretty cool to be a part of this rite of passage that is so meaningful in the lives of half my family. The preparation for something like this is daunting, whatever I had to do for my Catholic confirmation was not even close to the same league. He deserved the big party that followed.
And about that party - holy hannah! My sister-in-law outdid herself with the shindig, the food and drink were copious and top-notch, and though Mike did not appreciate the music (he is not as enamored of current Top 40 dance jams as I am) I sure did and had a cadre of cousins and sisters-in-law with whom to cut a rug. Plus the kids seemed to be into it, and really isn't that the most important part? One thing that really warmed my heart was that my nephew and all his friends--I think there were like 500?--were on the dance floor the entire night, boys and girls. (Behold, the official boys' uniform for evening affairs. I didn't get a good one of the girls, but just imagine a lot of strapless and you're halfway there.)
They didn't exactly dance with each other, but they all danced and I hope they keep it up into their teens and beyond. Because dancing is life! If I would have known in my formative years that dancing with kids on their special occasions was a paying job (per the pretty impressive dancers employed by the DJ company), I might be on a very different trajectory right now. Yet another missed calling on my part. Oh well, next life.
It was great to see so many family members over the weekend, some getting to meet HR for the first time. And we had lots of fun relaxing in the hotel. It was a bummer we couldn't take the little one in the pool due to the leftovers from the virus, but as long as he didn't know it was there, it was no problem. He had a blast hanging out with his aunts, uncles and grandparents and was in his glory in the company of his big-boy cousins. While he sat out the more formal parts of the weekend (with thanks to my sister and her husband for his care), he was very much a part of it all.
And apparently he was really happy to get back to his own room after all the excitement because the sleeping has been tons better the last couple of nights. (No jinx!)
Two years until the next one, give or take. I'm getting my dancing shoes shined up now.
Monday, March 26, 2012
Wallop
Well shoot, here I am with all this to write about and no time to write about it. In short, it was an amazing, hectic, family-filled weekend. My nephew was an absolute rock star, my boy held up pretty well under the combined conditions of being relocated, babysat and bombarded with strangers, and two deeply held about me truths emerged:
1) There's never been an occasion on which I've been able to say I danced too much
2) There's never been an occasion on which I've been able to say I danced enough.
There's lots to say about the whole experience of the weekend and I'm hoping to do it justice tomorrow.
I'll leave you today with a song that tells a story. It may not be unbiased or 100% accurate, but it can hold you in its spell for five minutes and that is no joke. It's one of my all-time favorites and the one that put a little-known singer-songwriter by the name of Dylan on the map for my childhood self.
1) There's never been an occasion on which I've been able to say I danced too much
2) There's never been an occasion on which I've been able to say I danced enough.
There's lots to say about the whole experience of the weekend and I'm hoping to do it justice tomorrow.
I'll leave you today with a song that tells a story. It may not be unbiased or 100% accurate, but it can hold you in its spell for five minutes and that is no joke. It's one of my all-time favorites and the one that put a little-known singer-songwriter by the name of Dylan on the map for my childhood self.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
To Life, Even the Spotty Parts
Jiminy Crickets, is today over yet? I'm not normally a wish-the-time-away kind of person, but following a night that can only be described as ROOF as HR recovers from this stupid virus, and the dogpile of insanity at the workplace besides, I'm ready to turn off and gets to celebrating.
I honestly can't believe that my nephew will be making his Bar Mitzvah this weekend. I've known him all his life, he was just a clump of zygotes in attendance on my wedding day, and now for all intents and purposes he is a man. Strangely enough, this will be my first ever Bar Mitzvah. I didn't know many Jewish people growing up outside of Seinfeld and Judy Blume characters, there were maybe two or three families in my rural enclave, so it wasn't until I grew up and moved to the Big City (I like to say that with my thumbs tucked into my suspenders) that the world opened up for me, diversity-wise, and I realized that Bar and Bat Mitvahs were a wonderful part of life, milestones that happened all the time and weren't just an exotically confounding plot point in Blubber. I'm thrilled that my first big celebration of this sort is for someone I love and know so well. Also, we're gonna party like it's 1999. Fitting, as it is the year in which he was born.
I've been trying to teach HR to say "Mazel Tov!" for the occasion, but so far his version consists of flinging his arms up, touchdown style, and saying, "MAMA! To Danny!" Close enough, I say. My sister and her husband will be babysitting him at the hotel during most of the festivities anyway, but it'll be nice for him to get a big dose of his extended family that he doesn't see so frequently, even if he might scare them off as he currently resembles the world's tiniest leper. At least he's no longer contagious, and again, in the scheme of things, this is nothin'.
Now I just hope there's not a full moon...
I honestly can't believe that my nephew will be making his Bar Mitzvah this weekend. I've known him all his life, he was just a clump of zygotes in attendance on my wedding day, and now for all intents and purposes he is a man. Strangely enough, this will be my first ever Bar Mitzvah. I didn't know many Jewish people growing up outside of Seinfeld and Judy Blume characters, there were maybe two or three families in my rural enclave, so it wasn't until I grew up and moved to the Big City (I like to say that with my thumbs tucked into my suspenders) that the world opened up for me, diversity-wise, and I realized that Bar and Bat Mitvahs were a wonderful part of life, milestones that happened all the time and weren't just an exotically confounding plot point in Blubber. I'm thrilled that my first big celebration of this sort is for someone I love and know so well. Also, we're gonna party like it's 1999. Fitting, as it is the year in which he was born.
I've been trying to teach HR to say "Mazel Tov!" for the occasion, but so far his version consists of flinging his arms up, touchdown style, and saying, "MAMA! To Danny!" Close enough, I say. My sister and her husband will be babysitting him at the hotel during most of the festivities anyway, but it'll be nice for him to get a big dose of his extended family that he doesn't see so frequently, even if he might scare them off as he currently resembles the world's tiniest leper. At least he's no longer contagious, and again, in the scheme of things, this is nothin'.
Now I just hope there's not a full moon...
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Cock. Sack. Heh.
So my little bub-eroo picked up the Coxsackie virus from a pal (can you say Coxsackie without laughing? You are a stronger person than I). He'll be fine, just has a gnarly rash, possibly some mouth sores, and a low fever that comes and goes. He's in good spirits and the warmth and sunshine allows his daddy to get him out for plenty of fresh air which can make all the difference. Still, he's not 100% and I feel for him. Also, it seems so typical: healthy as a horse nearly all the time, then when we have a big event coming up, the illness fairy strikes. His fever's already down and he should be no worse for wear for the weekend. I'm being less of a hardass about sleeping right now in light of the diagnosis, but he's not doing too bad considering. At first I was feeling a bit stressed out, it's easy to worry even over the little things with your kid, but I think of how the people I see every day at my job would give anything to be worrying about a common childhood illness and it's like swallowing a giant perspective pill. All will be well, and this will pass before we know it.
As for me, I'm pretty tired due to not being smart enough to go to bed early enough to get in the peak sleep hours, but the weather helps me slap on a permanent smile. I'm trying to cram in a lunchtime mani/pedi, so I've got that to look forward to, assuming our scheduled volunteer shows up for her shift. If she bails, I'll try to make it happen tomorrow. It's not essential of course, but a fancy occasion is always a good excuse to get your appendages attended-ges. Right.
I'm working on a guest entry for my friend Kev's blog, I'll let you know when it pops (at this point maybe not until next week, we'll see). And for now adieu, but not before a song in honor of my little convalescent. For some reason, this is one of his favorites.
As for me, I'm pretty tired due to not being smart enough to go to bed early enough to get in the peak sleep hours, but the weather helps me slap on a permanent smile. I'm trying to cram in a lunchtime mani/pedi, so I've got that to look forward to, assuming our scheduled volunteer shows up for her shift. If she bails, I'll try to make it happen tomorrow. It's not essential of course, but a fancy occasion is always a good excuse to get your appendages attended-ges. Right.
I'm working on a guest entry for my friend Kev's blog, I'll let you know when it pops (at this point maybe not until next week, we'll see). And for now adieu, but not before a song in honor of my little convalescent. For some reason, this is one of his favorites.
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Oh the Depths...
This is another post about pinterest, kinda, which makes me feel silly but it's not like silly is an adjective that doesn't apply to me. Hmm, enough negatives for you there? The point is, I realized that of all my dumb but addictively joy-inducing little pinterest boards, the one that's the most populated board by far--obviously my favorite to which I pin things--is the "Crushing" board.
And I'm ok with that. But it bears some examination. On the surface, it appears I've never quite transcended that adolescent phase of boy-craziness or what have you that compelled me to plaster my walls with Michael Hutchence (and god help me Andrew Shue I think?) and other people who are just plain nice to look at. Nothing wrong with that, and undeniable. There are a lot of people I find attractive in real life as well as fake life (celebrities). And with spring and all, the tendency to get caught up in it is ramped up to the nth power.
But there's something to be said about having all these beloved faces together in a personal gallery. I find it inspiring to look upon those I find beautiful in whatever way. What a little enclave, with drag queens and ice skaters and rappers and dead people and funny guys. Some women, some men. Some I am drawn to for purely physical reasons, but the overwhelming majority for what sets them apart in their respective fields, what makes them shine. When I use the word "crush" it's a catch-all word for admiration on so many levels. At the very essence of the practice, there's some component in nearly everyone I pronounce crushworthy--a strength, a talent, a special light--that I want for myself.
And then there's just this:
OK so I actually really adore Paul Rudd for being so funny and good at acting but I can appreciate that he's real purty too.
Here's the part wherein I defend my musical selection of the day. Let me go on record saying that I've never been a fan of Mr. Sean Combs or any of his alter egos--Puff Daddy was half responsible for the terrible fate of hip-hop in the mid-to-late 1990s (the other half having been molested by Limp Bizkit and all the other rap-rock monstrosities)--but I kind of like this song. It feels honest to me, and a tribute to The Notorious B.I.G. that the truly terrible "I'll Be Missing You" tried to be but fell very, derivatively short. I might have gone to far with this one, but no turning back.
And I'm ok with that. But it bears some examination. On the surface, it appears I've never quite transcended that adolescent phase of boy-craziness or what have you that compelled me to plaster my walls with Michael Hutchence (and god help me Andrew Shue I think?) and other people who are just plain nice to look at. Nothing wrong with that, and undeniable. There are a lot of people I find attractive in real life as well as fake life (celebrities). And with spring and all, the tendency to get caught up in it is ramped up to the nth power.
But there's something to be said about having all these beloved faces together in a personal gallery. I find it inspiring to look upon those I find beautiful in whatever way. What a little enclave, with drag queens and ice skaters and rappers and dead people and funny guys. Some women, some men. Some I am drawn to for purely physical reasons, but the overwhelming majority for what sets them apart in their respective fields, what makes them shine. When I use the word "crush" it's a catch-all word for admiration on so many levels. At the very essence of the practice, there's some component in nearly everyone I pronounce crushworthy--a strength, a talent, a special light--that I want for myself.
And then there's just this:
OK so I actually really adore Paul Rudd for being so funny and good at acting but I can appreciate that he's real purty too.
Here's the part wherein I defend my musical selection of the day. Let me go on record saying that I've never been a fan of Mr. Sean Combs or any of his alter egos--Puff Daddy was half responsible for the terrible fate of hip-hop in the mid-to-late 1990s (the other half having been molested by Limp Bizkit and all the other rap-rock monstrosities)--but I kind of like this song. It feels honest to me, and a tribute to The Notorious B.I.G. that the truly terrible "I'll Be Missing You" tried to be but fell very, derivatively short. I might have gone to far with this one, but no turning back.
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