Happy Halloween y'all. How much difference one year can make. Last year I paraded down Tennyson for trick-or-treat street with Puff the Magic Dragon, a four month old "baby dragon" and my nephew the gnome. As we strolled the busy trendy neighborhood, I could barely go a block without stopping to chat with a fellow Highland mommy our a friend from playgroup, It was an amazing sense of community, and so much fun, for kids and parents alike. That evening we had non-stop trick-or-treators, and we took our own little dragons out for the event, stopping to chat with all of our neighbors along the way. A typical Denver Highland's Halloween.
Skip forward one year. Here we are in North Berkeley and having a significantly different experience. This year brought some rather uninspired costumes, Superman costumes ala Target. Zachary wore a much already-loved (AKA filthy) Superman Costume with built in muscles and Evan wore glamorized (and over sized) Superman pajamas-we called him "Superbaby". We enjoyed trick-or-treating on Solano Avenue, and it was enjoyable, although it felt a bit impersonal, and of course we knew no one. This evening we had only one (yes ONE) sad trick-or-treator. We took our superheros out for some door to door trick or treating and found all but a small handful of homes on our block with their blinds drawn and their front porch dark. We ventured a few blocks away and found a more spirited block, but still it wasn't the same.
Yes, we have had a good day and some solid family time, but the overflowing bowl of Hershey bars, Reese's peanut butter cups, and whoppers is a reminder of how different our lives are today..
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Daddy's new friends
Today as I was pushing the boys up the Berkeley hills in the stroller on our way to preschool, (a real work out if your not accustomed to it) Zack and I had one of our morning chats. Often times these stroller talks consist of garbage truck commentary and predictions of what our next meal will consist of. Today however Zachary wanted to talk about his Daddy. So as I huffed and puffed and struggled to maintain a pace slightly faster than that of a snail's, Zack blurted out "Daddy went out to play with his new Clorox friends last night, right mommy?" I considered this a moment, "Well I suppose that's true Zachary" I concurred. Daddy after all did go to happy hour (somewhat equivalent to "playing"), with his co-workers (potentially "friends" of a sort) last night. It occurred to me that Zachary must suspect that his Father's work is a little bit like his preschool, and that Daddy goes there to enjoy himself and eat lunch and snack with his friends.
As I pondered this further, I started to feel a little bit jealous of the husband. Now granted I do realize he is working, probably even hard, and that it might not always feel that enjoyable. Yet somehow having a life outside of our little house, preschool and our local parks sounds quite appealing after three weeks of living my stay-at-home-with-limited-friendships life. The prospect of a happy hour with no children, no discussion of napping patterns, eating habits or sibling rivalry is attractive at this point. For a four year old, Zack sure comes up with some gems. Yes, daddy did get to go and play last night, granted it was making nice with his co-workers, which ultimately secures the position which puts food on our table and pays for the gymboree classes, but he was out in the world, doing something completely separate from us.
Maybe this makes me sound ungrateful. Trust me I am fully aware that I am lucky to have the luxury of staying home and raising my boys. However there are some mornings when I am scrambling eggs, unloading the dishwasher, pouring more milk, packing up lunch and cleaning up cat puke, when I think about how nice it would be to sit at a desk with a hot latte, review my email and make office small talk. They say the grass is always greener on the other side. Perhaps if I were to land a job I would soon be bemoaning the fact that I don't have enough time with the kids, that the laundry never gets done, and the cost of daycare hardly makes it worth the effort. I'm not sure what the answer is. For now it is my job to stay at home and make the most of really, a lovely situation while daddy goes to play with his new buddies at Clorox.
As I pondered this further, I started to feel a little bit jealous of the husband. Now granted I do realize he is working, probably even hard, and that it might not always feel that enjoyable. Yet somehow having a life outside of our little house, preschool and our local parks sounds quite appealing after three weeks of living my stay-at-home-with-limited-friendships life. The prospect of a happy hour with no children, no discussion of napping patterns, eating habits or sibling rivalry is attractive at this point. For a four year old, Zack sure comes up with some gems. Yes, daddy did get to go and play last night, granted it was making nice with his co-workers, which ultimately secures the position which puts food on our table and pays for the gymboree classes, but he was out in the world, doing something completely separate from us.
Maybe this makes me sound ungrateful. Trust me I am fully aware that I am lucky to have the luxury of staying home and raising my boys. However there are some mornings when I am scrambling eggs, unloading the dishwasher, pouring more milk, packing up lunch and cleaning up cat puke, when I think about how nice it would be to sit at a desk with a hot latte, review my email and make office small talk. They say the grass is always greener on the other side. Perhaps if I were to land a job I would soon be bemoaning the fact that I don't have enough time with the kids, that the laundry never gets done, and the cost of daycare hardly makes it worth the effort. I'm not sure what the answer is. For now it is my job to stay at home and make the most of really, a lovely situation while daddy goes to play with his new buddies at Clorox.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
I have no post tonight, not really. Just playing and I am totally excited that I learned how to post pictures to my blog. Not that it was hard, I just never took the step to click on "help" to learn how to upload my pics. It is easy-piesy as it turns out. Here is the family on the BART. We are pretty cute no? PS-for those interested-yes, I contacted a lawyer. Watch out mama's mad!!
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
MasterSTINKS Deli
Okay, so I am angry. We are talking big time pissed off. Masterpiece Deli in Denver is on my list. I would be ever so happy to personally take that business DOWN. For those of you who faithfully follow my blog (Bueller? Bueller? Anyone?), you are aware of the incident at the Masterpiece. The visit to a restaurant that ended with Zack tripping and falling into the side of a broken, jagged refrigerator case giving him a gash that left him with eight stitches in his head on the day of his fourth birthday party. That was several weeks ago. The stitches are gone, but it seems evident that a scar will remain, and the photos of a 4 year old Frankenstein, blood crusted to his forehead, blowing out his birthday candles will be a reminder of the ambulance ride and the tears for years to come.
It was an accident yes, however, would anyone disagree that had the restaurant not left a broken-very sharp piece of laminate exposed that this would have resulted in a bruise and not a trip to the ER? And that perhaps, the owner might possibly wish to take responsibility for their facility and broken equipment? It doesn't seem that far fetched to me. Today I spoke with the owner of Masterpiece Deli about the events of September 26th and I was shocked by the sheer disrespect and lack of empathy that he displayed in response to my call. When I introduced myself to him and explained what had happened he was curt and rude. The very first thing Mr. Big-Time- Deli- Owner said to me was "This should be an interesting conversation. I wasn't there, but I heard about what happened. Your son fell, and hurt himself, and my question is-WHERE WAS THE PARENT?". That was his very first comment to me. There was no-"So how is your son?" or "I am so sorry about that". Nope. "WHERE WAS THE PARENT?" My response: "I was two steps behind him, and he tripped and fell in a crowded restaurant, which could happen to anyone, and unfortunately he fell right into your broken case, and because it was so sharp he required an ambulance ride and eight stitches. If there was no broken sharp edge, we wouldn't be having this conversation."
He asked in an accusatory tone-"So you want money is that it?" I thought "Duh". But come on, what I am asking for is hardly going to put the shop out of business, it is probably only three or four times the cost of our not-so-tasty, over-priced lunch. I had already informed him that we are only looking for some assistance with the deductible on our ambulance ride and our co-pay, which is in the neighborhood of $300. It isn't as though I am demanding reimbursement for pain and suffering, missing out on 1/4 of a pre-paid birthday party at a bounce house place, where our newly injured child received doctors orders not to bounce, or for cosmetic surgery to remove Zack's scar, but his attitude has tempted me pursue such a route.
The owner then ended the conversation by telling me he wouldn't discuss this anymore over the phone, that I needed to first provide receipts and then we could continue a conversation. Of course I anticipated that I would need to provide documentation, and that seemed like a reasonable request, however there was not one ounce of remorse or kindness from this man, and it honestly stirred up so much irritation and anger in me I had to resist the urge to spout out all kinds of silly threats... "I know a lot of people in Denver Mr... the Highland's Mommies can make or break your little business". But I held my tongue, and simply informed him that I would have expected him to show a bit more concern for a customer injured on his property, and that I would be in touch.
It seems like a royal pain in the you-know-what to actually go through with all of this for a mere $300, but now-it's about principle. This man screwed with the wrong mommy.
It was an accident yes, however, would anyone disagree that had the restaurant not left a broken-very sharp piece of laminate exposed that this would have resulted in a bruise and not a trip to the ER? And that perhaps, the owner might possibly wish to take responsibility for their facility and broken equipment? It doesn't seem that far fetched to me. Today I spoke with the owner of Masterpiece Deli about the events of September 26th and I was shocked by the sheer disrespect and lack of empathy that he displayed in response to my call. When I introduced myself to him and explained what had happened he was curt and rude. The very first thing Mr. Big-Time- Deli- Owner said to me was "This should be an interesting conversation. I wasn't there, but I heard about what happened. Your son fell, and hurt himself, and my question is-WHERE WAS THE PARENT?". That was his very first comment to me. There was no-"So how is your son?" or "I am so sorry about that". Nope. "WHERE WAS THE PARENT?" My response: "I was two steps behind him, and he tripped and fell in a crowded restaurant, which could happen to anyone, and unfortunately he fell right into your broken case, and because it was so sharp he required an ambulance ride and eight stitches. If there was no broken sharp edge, we wouldn't be having this conversation."
He asked in an accusatory tone-"So you want money is that it?" I thought "Duh". But come on, what I am asking for is hardly going to put the shop out of business, it is probably only three or four times the cost of our not-so-tasty, over-priced lunch. I had already informed him that we are only looking for some assistance with the deductible on our ambulance ride and our co-pay, which is in the neighborhood of $300. It isn't as though I am demanding reimbursement for pain and suffering, missing out on 1/4 of a pre-paid birthday party at a bounce house place, where our newly injured child received doctors orders not to bounce, or for cosmetic surgery to remove Zack's scar, but his attitude has tempted me pursue such a route.
The owner then ended the conversation by telling me he wouldn't discuss this anymore over the phone, that I needed to first provide receipts and then we could continue a conversation. Of course I anticipated that I would need to provide documentation, and that seemed like a reasonable request, however there was not one ounce of remorse or kindness from this man, and it honestly stirred up so much irritation and anger in me I had to resist the urge to spout out all kinds of silly threats... "I know a lot of people in Denver Mr... the Highland's Mommies can make or break your little business". But I held my tongue, and simply informed him that I would have expected him to show a bit more concern for a customer injured on his property, and that I would be in touch.
It seems like a royal pain in the you-know-what to actually go through with all of this for a mere $300, but now-it's about principle. This man screwed with the wrong mommy.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Gifted
I am not sure why it annoys me so much, gushing parents bubbling over with pride when they discuss their "gifted" child. Am I insecure or worried about my own child's lack of brilliance? Not particularly. Zack is a wonderful, silly, "spirited" little boy, but I would not describe him as "gifted", and I am okay with that. So why do I feel the intense urge to roll my eyes when I hear someone discuss the difficulties of finding a preschool that will really challenge their little Jimmy who is doing math and speaking french at 3 and a half? I suppose that really may be an issue for them. Jimmy may be bored in a preschool with all that singing and silly art work.
Today I read a post on the Berkeley Parent's Network that irked me. It was a parent describing their truly gifted four year old. Apparently this child is reading at a third grade level, composing complex text messages and doing basic multiplication. No- I am not exaggerating. This parent wanted advice on how to find the right kindergarten program for their baby genius, but wasn't sure what to do since miracle boy was more advanced than most third graders she knew. I had to wonder-was she herself exaggerating a little? Complex text messages? My child could barely use the phone to call 911 if he needed to. I think he believes that screaming 911 at the receiver would do the trick. Well if all of this is true then her child surely is "gifted", but do we have to use that word?
Zachary as I mentioned would likely not qualify as gifted, but does that mean then by default, he is without gifts? Of course not! He is to me the most amazing gift ever. He is my son, and he has amazing "gifts" or qualities. Maybe we should call the wiz kids something like "advanced", or "accelerated", or "with parents who have the insane ability to bring up how smart their babies are at every possible opportunity".
Ahh well, it's a pet peeve, and perhaps a little healthy venting on a Monday night.
Today I read a post on the Berkeley Parent's Network that irked me. It was a parent describing their truly gifted four year old. Apparently this child is reading at a third grade level, composing complex text messages and doing basic multiplication. No- I am not exaggerating. This parent wanted advice on how to find the right kindergarten program for their baby genius, but wasn't sure what to do since miracle boy was more advanced than most third graders she knew. I had to wonder-was she herself exaggerating a little? Complex text messages? My child could barely use the phone to call 911 if he needed to. I think he believes that screaming 911 at the receiver would do the trick. Well if all of this is true then her child surely is "gifted", but do we have to use that word?
Zachary as I mentioned would likely not qualify as gifted, but does that mean then by default, he is without gifts? Of course not! He is to me the most amazing gift ever. He is my son, and he has amazing "gifts" or qualities. Maybe we should call the wiz kids something like "advanced", or "accelerated", or "with parents who have the insane ability to bring up how smart their babies are at every possible opportunity".
Ahh well, it's a pet peeve, and perhaps a little healthy venting on a Monday night.
Friday, October 23, 2009
Let's Eat In.
I didn't want to become that parent. I wanted to rise above it, I wanted to remain a hipster whose kids really wouldn't cramp my style. I'm not the sit at home kind of gal, I'm a social butterfly, a person who gets out to where the action is. I have always taken my kids out to restaurants. Granted I know our limits, we don't haul the monkeys to white table cloth and candle light venues, but we like to enjoy good meals at family friendly restaurants. Parents have to get out to you know, and we all have to eat.
Well it's happened. I think I am calling a temporary hiatus on eating out with the kids, anywhere other than McDonald's that is-and since we don't typically "do" fast food, I guess that means meals at home from now on. My parents are in town this weekend, and today we had two unsuccessful/disastrous meals out with the kids that really sealed the deal.
We had lunch at Saul's, the Jewish deli not far from our home. It was a late lunch, so I suppose I was pushing my luck to begin with. Zack had already had his noon time meal at preschool, and it was 1:30. I knew I could keep my eldest child happy with a giant Black & White cookie, and I was right, he was an angel eating away at his treat that was bigger than my head the entire meal. It was Evan who presented the problems. I thought I had a great action plan. As soon as we sat down I placed an order for a child's milk and a fruit cup, so that he would have something to snack on while we waited for the main event. The waiter dutifully brought out his milk right away, a glass (yes the type that breaks) filled to the rim with milk and no lid to speak of. Not the best option for a 16 month old, but then it was probably my fault to arrive unprepared sans sippy cup. The milk presented an ongoing challenge throughout the meal, as Evan grabbed for his drink and continually spilled it down his front, on the table and the floor. The fruit was barely a distraction, after a few bites,Evan began to attempt his favorite stunt- High Chair Standing (a variation of grocery cart surfing-another favorite). From the standing position he then ventured to crawling on the table top. After about five minutes of this, I had enough. I decided to take my dare devil outside to run free until our meals arrived at the table. We ran outside happily on the sidewalk for several minutes until lunch was served.
Evan had zero interest in his grill cheese sandwich, and it went completely untouched. I shoved my chicken salad down in mouthfuls, not even tasting the food, just wishing the meal to be finished, and planning our escape. As we were awaiting the bill Evan gave a grand finale, taking a paper cup of cream soda and throwing it to the floor as my Aunt Beryl let out a yelp. The other diners turned to look, some amused and some visibly disgusted. I left before the check arrived, leaving my parent's to pick up the bill.
Tonight we went to a famously kid-friendly pub for dinner. The place has a play area, and there were really no diners who arrived without children. Even so, I did not enjoy my meal. Evan put on a similar show, I ate my sandwich in gulps, and scooped up the kids leaving before the rest of our party. What a waste of money.
Honestly, it's just not worth it. It has become aggravating, embarrassing and exhausting. As much as I hate to throw in the towel and give up one my favorite past-times, I think it will ultimately be easier on us, and the waiters & waitresses of the world will be eternally grateful if we simply stay home.
Well it's happened. I think I am calling a temporary hiatus on eating out with the kids, anywhere other than McDonald's that is-and since we don't typically "do" fast food, I guess that means meals at home from now on. My parents are in town this weekend, and today we had two unsuccessful/disastrous meals out with the kids that really sealed the deal.
We had lunch at Saul's, the Jewish deli not far from our home. It was a late lunch, so I suppose I was pushing my luck to begin with. Zack had already had his noon time meal at preschool, and it was 1:30. I knew I could keep my eldest child happy with a giant Black & White cookie, and I was right, he was an angel eating away at his treat that was bigger than my head the entire meal. It was Evan who presented the problems. I thought I had a great action plan. As soon as we sat down I placed an order for a child's milk and a fruit cup, so that he would have something to snack on while we waited for the main event. The waiter dutifully brought out his milk right away, a glass (yes the type that breaks) filled to the rim with milk and no lid to speak of. Not the best option for a 16 month old, but then it was probably my fault to arrive unprepared sans sippy cup. The milk presented an ongoing challenge throughout the meal, as Evan grabbed for his drink and continually spilled it down his front, on the table and the floor. The fruit was barely a distraction, after a few bites,Evan began to attempt his favorite stunt- High Chair Standing (a variation of grocery cart surfing-another favorite). From the standing position he then ventured to crawling on the table top. After about five minutes of this, I had enough. I decided to take my dare devil outside to run free until our meals arrived at the table. We ran outside happily on the sidewalk for several minutes until lunch was served.
Evan had zero interest in his grill cheese sandwich, and it went completely untouched. I shoved my chicken salad down in mouthfuls, not even tasting the food, just wishing the meal to be finished, and planning our escape. As we were awaiting the bill Evan gave a grand finale, taking a paper cup of cream soda and throwing it to the floor as my Aunt Beryl let out a yelp. The other diners turned to look, some amused and some visibly disgusted. I left before the check arrived, leaving my parent's to pick up the bill.
Tonight we went to a famously kid-friendly pub for dinner. The place has a play area, and there were really no diners who arrived without children. Even so, I did not enjoy my meal. Evan put on a similar show, I ate my sandwich in gulps, and scooped up the kids leaving before the rest of our party. What a waste of money.
Honestly, it's just not worth it. It has become aggravating, embarrassing and exhausting. As much as I hate to throw in the towel and give up one my favorite past-times, I think it will ultimately be easier on us, and the waiters & waitresses of the world will be eternally grateful if we simply stay home.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Vintage
Today I found the most amazing toy store along Solano Avenue. It is a cramped little place stuffed with new and old toys. Half the store has the new stuff-the trendy Melissa & Doug toys, all brightly colored, no batteries required, wooden treasures, the plush animals, the top-of-line soft-sided lunch boxes and the cutest tea sets. But better than anything they have several shelves with bins of 1970's era play things. My toys. Mostly Fischer Price. They have the Little People Barn, The House, The Garage. They had the chatter phone, the plastic train set. They had toys I did not remember until I saw them once more in all their plastic glory. I had to have them. For some reason My Toys, seem so much better than the ones that fill the aisles of Target today. All the noisy battery-operated gadgets my sons play with. My Toys required imagination, My Toys were cuter, My Toys were simply more fun. Or whatever. In any case I had an urge to posses these Fischer Price wonders once again.
These toys must be in high demand. The Little People House with the yellow roof, which I remember so vividly ran $300. $300! So apparently I am not the only one overcome with nostalgia when presented with the toys of my youth. So rather than springing for the big ticket items, I opted for a Ziploc bag containing two little people with of their "toys" a blue airplane, a green and white horse on yellow wheels, a blue car with a white steering wheel that moves up and down and a bright red choo-choo. And then I saw the fire truck, and the memory was so very vivid. Red plastic with a yellow retractable latter. The fire man in white and black. It was crazy. Seeing that fire truck, it felt like it was just yesterday I was five years old and zooming it around my bedroom floor. Building a city with wooden blocks, and driving my little people in and out of it in their various automobiles. As I grew a little older my sister and I would play with those toys for hours and hours. Touching it, I felt almost transformed to my preschool self, and I think I love that toy as much today as I did then, perhaps more.
I bought those toys for my children, but have an urge to keep them tucked away in my dresser for myself. For what? So I can take them out and play with them when nobody is looking? Well that is just silly. So I let Zachary play with them, and he regarded him with as much interest as he does any of his toys, with an initial burst of enthusiasm which will soon give way to general ambivalence. I look around his crowded playroom and wonder which if any of this toys will he remember? What memories will he treasure 30 years from now? Perhaps he will remember our walk along Solano today, buying pumpkins on a cool fall autumn afternoon, and stopping in a toy store where his mommy bought him special toys, and took him home to play.
These toys must be in high demand. The Little People House with the yellow roof, which I remember so vividly ran $300. $300! So apparently I am not the only one overcome with nostalgia when presented with the toys of my youth. So rather than springing for the big ticket items, I opted for a Ziploc bag containing two little people with of their "toys" a blue airplane, a green and white horse on yellow wheels, a blue car with a white steering wheel that moves up and down and a bright red choo-choo. And then I saw the fire truck, and the memory was so very vivid. Red plastic with a yellow retractable latter. The fire man in white and black. It was crazy. Seeing that fire truck, it felt like it was just yesterday I was five years old and zooming it around my bedroom floor. Building a city with wooden blocks, and driving my little people in and out of it in their various automobiles. As I grew a little older my sister and I would play with those toys for hours and hours. Touching it, I felt almost transformed to my preschool self, and I think I love that toy as much today as I did then, perhaps more.
I bought those toys for my children, but have an urge to keep them tucked away in my dresser for myself. For what? So I can take them out and play with them when nobody is looking? Well that is just silly. So I let Zachary play with them, and he regarded him with as much interest as he does any of his toys, with an initial burst of enthusiasm which will soon give way to general ambivalence. I look around his crowded playroom and wonder which if any of this toys will he remember? What memories will he treasure 30 years from now? Perhaps he will remember our walk along Solano today, buying pumpkins on a cool fall autumn afternoon, and stopping in a toy store where his mommy bought him special toys, and took him home to play.
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