“We-we-we,” hollers my Son, Liam with arms flailing as he sets of whirling across the kitchen. He annunciates the three syllables sounding like a German speaking English, with the Ws sounding more like Vs. Every word and activity he partakes in induce a state of wonderment in me, as he is 20 months old but, this particular one is my favorite at the moment.
This is a spontaneous game, in that he is not mimicking something he witnessed another child do and because this twister of toddler energy can begin churning at a moment’s notice. The freedom of his spin amazes me; he has absolutely not a care as he moves.
My adoration for this sport had selfishly caused me to provoke the activity by chanting the words, “We-we-we.” He would hear me, giggle and start twirling with a look of joy painted on his little face. I envy him. I remember a time when as a child I did precisely the same thing, churning around in circles with reckless abandon until the room started shifting. There was fun in the dizziness and the lack of control.
Post dinner Sunday night my husband and I were sitting at the kitchen table, and our children were running from the living room into the kitchen. For lack of a better phrase they were rough housing, as a toddler and a preschooler often will. It was 7pm and somehow our children seemed as though they had boundless liveliness. They often seem like Energizer Bunnies to me as they just keep going and going and going. If I could harness and bottle their energy, Cap and Trade would be unnecessary and I would make millions.
I shouted the words, “We-we-we” and hurricane Liam commenced. My husband, Jim started lecturing me not to encourage the baby. (Late preface: a month and a half ago on a similar Sunday night the kids were jetting around the house, my son crashed into a nested table, we visited the emergency room as a precaution due to the bump but, everything was fine.) Just as my husband is rebuking me, Liam spins off, loses his balance and crashes into the kitchen wall with a thud. As I scooped my son up in my arms to comfort him, a simple thought crept into my subconscious, that there are consequences to, “We-we-we.”
Life is a series of happenings; WE are left to cope with whatever the days have in store for us. I, being an extremely prudent person grapple with my inability to control the world. Openly, it agitates me as a planner that I am unable to constrain my fate. Always, I think before I proceed. Maybe I think too much about the domino effect of my decisions. There are some people in the world that never think before they act and the THOUGHTFUL live at the whim of their portion.
Consider that a friend of mine lost her 36 year old brother last year due to a collision with a drunk and drug impaired driver. Her brother was doing everything right in his life being an upstanding member of society, contributing to the world for the greater good. For reasons unknown he was travelling on the same road, at the same time conservatively in his lane and this heedless woman drove oncoming into his lane killing both drivers. It’s completely unfair that this person imposed doom and took the life of my friend’s brother. Destiny and the universe intervene. We are all literally displaced from our given courses. Balance is lost.
Funny that Liam’s simple spinning evoked such an intense line of thought. Although I still prize the unbound nature of “We-we-we” and the unknowing nature of childhood; I am aware that I cannot spin freely through life. Spinning carelessly would only add to my peril. I suppose you have to strike a balance of cautious spinning. Three days later there is a still a bruise on my Son’s brow, which is representative of the effect of life’s experiences on all of us for me. Going forward I have decided to cease inspiriting my little spinner. If he starts spinning I hope he will recall that there are consequences to, “We-we-we.”
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Monday, October 5, 2009
Accountability and Worldwide Pants
There’s a show on CBS that stars Juliana Marguiles called the Good Wife; it’s about a woman that has to rebuild her life after being publicly disgraced by her politician husband’s sex and corruption scandal. The show was somewhat inspired by the Elliot Spitzer Scandal in New York. Every time this subject arises, whether in fiction or real life I get a bit fired up.
Thursday night I watched the most pathetic display of an apology on the Late Show with David Letterman. “Oh poor you, Mr. Letterman, someone tried to extort you and I do not pity you at all,” I say. Letterman carried on about how he wanted to protect his family and that was why he was using his late night show as a forum to discuss the matter. I fully acknowledge that blackmail and extortion are horrendous crimes. No public figure should be extorted. At the same time, David Letterman could have best protected his family and the sanctity of his marriage by keeping his worldwide pants closed.
If you choose to lead a public life and elect to embarrass those you allegedly love publicly then you had better give a groveling public apology. Self deprecating humor about the women you had your office trysts with is awkward and inappropriate at best. Mr. Letterman should have gone on TV mentioned something about how his lawyers are handling extortion matter and then spent the duration of his monologue giving a humble apology. He chose to give himself a little extortion self pity party and there was barely any accountability in the words that came out of his mouth.
As an aside, HUGE personal pet peeve for me with people, no one is accountable for their actions anymore. Society completely lacks answerability. Masses of people pass the buck and accept no responsibility for their actions in day to day life. Basically, Dave Letterman is atypical of everything that is wrong with the world in my eyes. Not even touching on the fact here that the tabloids are now alleging some of his office exploits were with interns. Not entirely surprised that his moral barometer is broken because a few months ago he thought it fine to make statutory rape jokes.
Why do these women, Silda Spitzer, Dina McGreevey, and even Hillary Clinton stay with these men that publicly humiliate them?, Why are they standing by their men after these very public indiscretions? For some reason, the level of my vexation increases more if the parties involved have daughters. The message is, “As a woman you should allow men to mistreat you, follow my lead girls.” Is this about money? Is this about being on the arm of someone powerful? I am at a loss.
In June, I nearly attacked the television screen as I viewed Mark Sanford confessing to having an affair with an Argentine journalist when he claimed he was hiking the Appalachian Trail. Apparently, Sanford’s Wife, Jenny became aware of the affair in January of 2009, after she found a letter to the mistress. Two weeks prior to the story exploding in the press the two had separated. Again the press conference apology was entirely awkward, with Sanford sounding more like he was begging forgiveness of the mistress, than his wife. He’s given interviews where he has admitted that he has crossed the line with several women over the course of his 20 year marriage.
Infidelity in marriage, both of the heart and in the bedroom is a concept I will never grasp. Perhaps I am an all or nothing person. Why commit yourself to someone or some people or, remain committed to someone if you are going to be unfaithful? Why remain with someone that clearly does not love you if they are willing to trample on your heart? Why would anyone desire to be with someone that wants to be with other persons/people? Everyone is being shortchanged in this scenario, right?
Just once, when these public dramas play out I would love to see revenge exacted publicly by the victim. I wait for the day when the perpetrator’s handlers convince someone to be reckoned with out onto the podium to stand adjacent to aforementioned jackass. Then, I will cheer as the victim becomes the victor, grabbing hold of the microphone and publicly lambasting said offender. This individual would be my hero. If a genuine apology is not forthcoming, matters should be taken into your own hands.
Thursday night I watched the most pathetic display of an apology on the Late Show with David Letterman. “Oh poor you, Mr. Letterman, someone tried to extort you and I do not pity you at all,” I say. Letterman carried on about how he wanted to protect his family and that was why he was using his late night show as a forum to discuss the matter. I fully acknowledge that blackmail and extortion are horrendous crimes. No public figure should be extorted. At the same time, David Letterman could have best protected his family and the sanctity of his marriage by keeping his worldwide pants closed.
If you choose to lead a public life and elect to embarrass those you allegedly love publicly then you had better give a groveling public apology. Self deprecating humor about the women you had your office trysts with is awkward and inappropriate at best. Mr. Letterman should have gone on TV mentioned something about how his lawyers are handling extortion matter and then spent the duration of his monologue giving a humble apology. He chose to give himself a little extortion self pity party and there was barely any accountability in the words that came out of his mouth.
As an aside, HUGE personal pet peeve for me with people, no one is accountable for their actions anymore. Society completely lacks answerability. Masses of people pass the buck and accept no responsibility for their actions in day to day life. Basically, Dave Letterman is atypical of everything that is wrong with the world in my eyes. Not even touching on the fact here that the tabloids are now alleging some of his office exploits were with interns. Not entirely surprised that his moral barometer is broken because a few months ago he thought it fine to make statutory rape jokes.
Why do these women, Silda Spitzer, Dina McGreevey, and even Hillary Clinton stay with these men that publicly humiliate them?, Why are they standing by their men after these very public indiscretions? For some reason, the level of my vexation increases more if the parties involved have daughters. The message is, “As a woman you should allow men to mistreat you, follow my lead girls.” Is this about money? Is this about being on the arm of someone powerful? I am at a loss.
In June, I nearly attacked the television screen as I viewed Mark Sanford confessing to having an affair with an Argentine journalist when he claimed he was hiking the Appalachian Trail. Apparently, Sanford’s Wife, Jenny became aware of the affair in January of 2009, after she found a letter to the mistress. Two weeks prior to the story exploding in the press the two had separated. Again the press conference apology was entirely awkward, with Sanford sounding more like he was begging forgiveness of the mistress, than his wife. He’s given interviews where he has admitted that he has crossed the line with several women over the course of his 20 year marriage.
Infidelity in marriage, both of the heart and in the bedroom is a concept I will never grasp. Perhaps I am an all or nothing person. Why commit yourself to someone or some people or, remain committed to someone if you are going to be unfaithful? Why remain with someone that clearly does not love you if they are willing to trample on your heart? Why would anyone desire to be with someone that wants to be with other persons/people? Everyone is being shortchanged in this scenario, right?
Just once, when these public dramas play out I would love to see revenge exacted publicly by the victim. I wait for the day when the perpetrator’s handlers convince someone to be reckoned with out onto the podium to stand adjacent to aforementioned jackass. Then, I will cheer as the victim becomes the victor, grabbing hold of the microphone and publicly lambasting said offender. This individual would be my hero. If a genuine apology is not forthcoming, matters should be taken into your own hands.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Pour Monsieur-Olfactory Overload
“This fragrance, for me, inhabits a world apart. Both modern and classical, enfolded in its sophisticated construction seems a summary of the history of male fragrance. It’s Alan Rickman reading a sonnet. Never shouting, it smoothly unfolds, from a cultivated lavender smile, through a breathless cardamom aria, to opoponax, vanilla, and natural oak moss. It grows slowly but never precipitously deeper, with enchanting nuance, calm, and distinction. Perfection at last? No, but pretty close. Polge’s flair for combining masculinity and class rarely fails.”
27 February 2009-Anonymous Fragrance Review of Chanel Pour Monsieur Concentree on Basenotes.net
This is an anonymous fragrance review from Basenotes.net for Chanel Pour Monsieur Concentree in production since 1989. But, for me Alan Rickman reading a sonnet and lavender are the last things that come to mind when I hear the words Pour Monsieur.
Allow me to enlighten you about my personal history with Pour Monsieur and why it is on my brain at precisely this moment. Four days ago it was my baby Sister’s birthday when an inside family joke resurfaced, written on her Facebook Wall by our other Sister. It was at that moment that the Pour Monsieur memories came flooding back.
The last few weeks have been painfully negative news-wise. I am a news addict, but, even I grow tired of reading, hearing and watching the harsh realities of the world outside. Hence the reasons that I would like to let you in on the family joke and talk a little bit how smell evokes nostalgia for me.
Eight years ago my cousin was married in Staten Island, New York. My Uncle was living in Florida at the time so he travelled up for the wedding. When he ventured back to Port Saint Lucie he left behind a fragrance bottle, Pour Monsieur Concentree by Chanel. Upon finding the cologne at my Mother’s house my Sister, Cheryl and my little Sister, Sharon’s boyfriend, Chris began spraying the fragrance at one another repeatedly. It was not enchanting, calm and distinctive; it was overpowering. The fact that my family members were dousing one another with it made it that much worse. It was putrid. Apparently, gratitude for the humor that was created belongs to a perfumer/chemist named Jacques Polge and my Uncle’s then wife who loved shopping at Bergdorf Goodman. A game began where Pour Monsieur would pop up in dressers, drawers, closets, bags and numerous places where it had been hidden by a given prankster.
But, I giggle the most about the name my Sister gave the delightful scent, which was the literal English annunciation of the words Pour Monsieur. (Pour, as you would pour a beverage, monsieur, sounding like mons-sure) Staten Island is overwhelmingly Italian American; I would wager to say that the French spoken there is very minimal. In SI, dropping the letter R off of a word ending in the letter R is commonplace in the island dialect. Just imagine how funny the word monsieur sounds when being spoken by a Staten Islander; it sounds riotously funny. Tears of laughter inevitably stream down my face whenever the words Pour and Monsieur are said together. Having taken several semesters of French in college and having been employed by a French publicist for a number of years the butchering of the words brings on a fit of laughter. I have fallen in love with the incorrect manner in which we refer to this item which was purchased in a luxury department store.
Life’s aromas evoke such memories for me. There are some smells that bring me so much comfort. Fire wood burning is reminiscent of a family vacation we took the Poconos when I was young. Apple pie and cinnamon remind me of my favorite holiday, Thanksgiving and togetherness. Peonies, my absolute favorite flower in varied hues of pink, the color I adore provokes thoughts of June, when it blooms, the month I was born and shopping for flowers for my wedding day. Basil and Rosemary remind me of my Grandmother, Gilda cooking. A wisp of gasoline brings me back to my parent’s Chrysler LeBaron Convertible, sitting in the car while they filled up at Certo’s.
Then there are the smells I despise, which my olfactory glands could do without ever smelling again. The smell of burning rubber immediately horrifies me because it takes me back to the two months after 9/11/01. Flowers without adequate water changes sitting in a vase are the equivalent of my dog making the unwise decision to chase a skunk and me having to cope with the aftermath. Goldschlager and anything resembling black licorice remind me of a time I had one too many shots and a poor cab driver had to cope with the aftermath. (For a while I worked in a club; if the smell of this alcohol cropped up while I was doing bar inventory or clearing a register I would have to instantly dart away)
The same fragrance being worn by masses of the population at the same time also end up on the, “Pee-you list.”During the 80’s and early 90’s it was Drakkar Noir. During the mid to late 90’s this was Issey Miyake and CK One. People at SUNY FIT, where I went to college would bathe themselves in this stuff and then head to class.
Why would anyone want to smell like everyone else? Fragrance should be such a personal thing. Sephora, the beauty retailer actually ranks the top selling perfumes in their stores with numbers. Coco Chanel once said, “In order to be irreplaceable one must always be different.” Weird that I have chosen to quote the women whose last name is on the bottle of something that is a running joke among family. I quote her because she was a fashion icon. I steer clear of Sephora’s 1-10 and choose that which pleasant to me, which tend to be perfumes that are floral and vibrant. (Stella in Two Peony by Stella McCartney and Nannette Lepore are beautiful to me personally)
In closing….
Pour l'Homme, pour les Dames, ne pas verser sur votre parfum.
27 February 2009-Anonymous Fragrance Review of Chanel Pour Monsieur Concentree on Basenotes.net
This is an anonymous fragrance review from Basenotes.net for Chanel Pour Monsieur Concentree in production since 1989. But, for me Alan Rickman reading a sonnet and lavender are the last things that come to mind when I hear the words Pour Monsieur.
Allow me to enlighten you about my personal history with Pour Monsieur and why it is on my brain at precisely this moment. Four days ago it was my baby Sister’s birthday when an inside family joke resurfaced, written on her Facebook Wall by our other Sister. It was at that moment that the Pour Monsieur memories came flooding back.
The last few weeks have been painfully negative news-wise. I am a news addict, but, even I grow tired of reading, hearing and watching the harsh realities of the world outside. Hence the reasons that I would like to let you in on the family joke and talk a little bit how smell evokes nostalgia for me.
Eight years ago my cousin was married in Staten Island, New York. My Uncle was living in Florida at the time so he travelled up for the wedding. When he ventured back to Port Saint Lucie he left behind a fragrance bottle, Pour Monsieur Concentree by Chanel. Upon finding the cologne at my Mother’s house my Sister, Cheryl and my little Sister, Sharon’s boyfriend, Chris began spraying the fragrance at one another repeatedly. It was not enchanting, calm and distinctive; it was overpowering. The fact that my family members were dousing one another with it made it that much worse. It was putrid. Apparently, gratitude for the humor that was created belongs to a perfumer/chemist named Jacques Polge and my Uncle’s then wife who loved shopping at Bergdorf Goodman. A game began where Pour Monsieur would pop up in dressers, drawers, closets, bags and numerous places where it had been hidden by a given prankster.
But, I giggle the most about the name my Sister gave the delightful scent, which was the literal English annunciation of the words Pour Monsieur. (Pour, as you would pour a beverage, monsieur, sounding like mons-sure) Staten Island is overwhelmingly Italian American; I would wager to say that the French spoken there is very minimal. In SI, dropping the letter R off of a word ending in the letter R is commonplace in the island dialect. Just imagine how funny the word monsieur sounds when being spoken by a Staten Islander; it sounds riotously funny. Tears of laughter inevitably stream down my face whenever the words Pour and Monsieur are said together. Having taken several semesters of French in college and having been employed by a French publicist for a number of years the butchering of the words brings on a fit of laughter. I have fallen in love with the incorrect manner in which we refer to this item which was purchased in a luxury department store.
Life’s aromas evoke such memories for me. There are some smells that bring me so much comfort. Fire wood burning is reminiscent of a family vacation we took the Poconos when I was young. Apple pie and cinnamon remind me of my favorite holiday, Thanksgiving and togetherness. Peonies, my absolute favorite flower in varied hues of pink, the color I adore provokes thoughts of June, when it blooms, the month I was born and shopping for flowers for my wedding day. Basil and Rosemary remind me of my Grandmother, Gilda cooking. A wisp of gasoline brings me back to my parent’s Chrysler LeBaron Convertible, sitting in the car while they filled up at Certo’s.
Then there are the smells I despise, which my olfactory glands could do without ever smelling again. The smell of burning rubber immediately horrifies me because it takes me back to the two months after 9/11/01. Flowers without adequate water changes sitting in a vase are the equivalent of my dog making the unwise decision to chase a skunk and me having to cope with the aftermath. Goldschlager and anything resembling black licorice remind me of a time I had one too many shots and a poor cab driver had to cope with the aftermath. (For a while I worked in a club; if the smell of this alcohol cropped up while I was doing bar inventory or clearing a register I would have to instantly dart away)
The same fragrance being worn by masses of the population at the same time also end up on the, “Pee-you list.”During the 80’s and early 90’s it was Drakkar Noir. During the mid to late 90’s this was Issey Miyake and CK One. People at SUNY FIT, where I went to college would bathe themselves in this stuff and then head to class.
Why would anyone want to smell like everyone else? Fragrance should be such a personal thing. Sephora, the beauty retailer actually ranks the top selling perfumes in their stores with numbers. Coco Chanel once said, “In order to be irreplaceable one must always be different.” Weird that I have chosen to quote the women whose last name is on the bottle of something that is a running joke among family. I quote her because she was a fashion icon. I steer clear of Sephora’s 1-10 and choose that which pleasant to me, which tend to be perfumes that are floral and vibrant. (Stella in Two Peony by Stella McCartney and Nannette Lepore are beautiful to me personally)
In closing….
Pour l'Homme, pour les Dames, ne pas verser sur votre parfum.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
From the Mouth of Babes
A little startling tap on the back, through bleary blinking eyes I field a question”, When I came out did I wear a dress?” It’s 6:30 am and I am awakened by a diminutive person with brilliant red hair affray, piercing light blue eyes, pink pouty lips and a heart shaped face. Every morning the same scenario plays out and every day I am unprepared to answer these questions. If I was slick I might rise an hour prior and caffeinate as preparation for the barrage of questions but, I am in denial, believing these impromptu press conferences are going to cease. My four year old daughter is the person giving the query.
Back to the question at hand about being clothed at birth, how I answer this question is critical. If I, being caught off guard give a terse or a deceitful response it will come back to haunt me for weeks, privately and publicly. My answer to this question will be repeated at school, to numerous strangers on line in front of us in Target and in the Post Office. I am of the mindset that these questions should be answered honestly, in a simple and non detailed fashion. For all of you non parents out there, you learn not to give detailed responses because they only lead to more questions. So, I respond, “No, you did not come out wearing a dress; we all come out wearing no clothing.
The question du jour was related to our upcoming vacation to Disney World, “When we go to Mickey’s House, can I hug Mickey’s Dad?” Initially, I want to just say yes and move on, because I did not get an adequate amount of sleep last night. But, then I realize that this is a trick question, as far as I know Mickey Mouse does not have a dad. My yes would have caused news about Mickey’s non-existent Dad to spread like wildfire. Accordingly, I respond, “No, you cannot hug Mickey’s Dad because he does not live at Mickey’s house.” Had I chosen to say that Mickey does not have a Dad that would have led to questions about death or a Dad that fled Mickey and his family.
Sometimes, I am posed the same question, several times worded differently at different times. I think, I have answered this one before; I feel as though I am experiencing de-ja-vu. Either my little interviewer is unsatisfied with my initial response or this is simply a game. Sometimes, I will be driving and a familiar question will be uttered and then before I have a chance to respond my original answer will be repeated by said questioner. Sometimes, I will have an opportunity to respond and then my answer will be repeated in a quizzical fashion. If you’ve even seen the movie Super Troopers envision the scene with the repeater game, where everything said is being repeated with the intonation to make it sound like a question. I think to myself, this child does not think my answer was believable.
One such quiz that I repeatedly fail or still have not provided a sufficient answer to is, “Why wasn’t I invited to your wedding” upon seeing the wedding picture hanging on the wall adjacent to my wedding invitation in my bedroom. The answer that I have been running with is, “Well, peanut, (my endearing nickname for my daughter) you were not invited because you were not born when Daddy and I got married.” Peanut always poses this question as though she is thoroughly insulted that she did not get the invitation. I am convinced she is certain that we had her babysitter come to watch her the day of the wedding.
Frequently, I smirk because the questions are clever and humorous to me, because I can just imagine the gears in my daughter’s mind turning. Many things that come out of my daughter’s mouth are funny. Her responses to questions and her bold statements are hysterical, (or wysterical, which is the way she pronounces the word) Dinnertime excuses to get out of eating dinner are plentiful. Vegetables or anything non-desirable to my Daughter’s palate are said to be “Not good for Hailey.” If she does not like the way something tastes it is immediately described as, “Too spicy,” Once, she got some salt water in her mouth at the beach and it was instantly, “Too spicy.”The funniest dinner avoidance reason came about two nights ago when she argued”, I cannot eat this hot dog because it tastes like salad. My husband pointed out that my Daughter, having never eaten salad, by her choice and therefore, would not know what salad tasted like.
While we are on the subject of food, yesterday, I was confided by my little girl that my dog needed a bath tomorrow because he smells like fish-sticks. My poor dog apparently smells like Gorton’s. The fact is the dog does need a bath but fish-sticks seem like a little bit of an excessive description.
Any slang, cuss word or expression of my frustration on my part inevitably comes back to haunt me because my child is a parrot. Not only does she repeat things but she applies them correctly to a given circumstance. Muttering under my breath, “Go bleep yourself” at someone that cuts me off while driving with two children in the car resurfaced. My husband was summoned into the kitchen because Hailey and I were making cupcakes and she wanted him to see dessert. Simultaneously, our dog decided he wanted attention and began barking in a boisterous fashion. My daughter turned around, kneeling on a chair and proclaimed, “Go Bleep yourself Fred” in the direction of our dog. My husband and I did our best to guise our laughter at the fact that she had applied the curse word correctly in a sentence. Immediately, I started to feel like a failure as a parent because my momentary lapse in judgment and potty mouth are now mirrored back to me by my child. If someone cuts me off again in the car, I am unable to say with certainty that I will refrain from spewing curses under my breath. Indiscretions like this are sometimes as involuntary as breathing for an adult.
The days seem long and monotonous for us right now from my perspective as a stay at home Mom. From the perspective of my Daughter I am certain her endless questions and regular dinnertime protests seem like a way to pass the quick days in fun fashion. I am well aware that Peanut has no concept of time or date at this point. Tomorrow, to my Daughter is known as, “in the other morning.” Anything that I earmark as a longtime from now, say three months is noted to be, “in two days.” The concept that Christmas is nearly four months off is irrelevant, the questions about presents and why we don’t have tree right now seem to persist. (-even after I reiterate that Christmas is a long time from now)
To me, she will always be my baby and I will continue to answer the endless questions and listen intently to the words which come out of her mouth. It comes with the territory of being a Mom. But, I will have you know that according to my Hailey, she is no one’s baby, she is a big sister.
Back to the question at hand about being clothed at birth, how I answer this question is critical. If I, being caught off guard give a terse or a deceitful response it will come back to haunt me for weeks, privately and publicly. My answer to this question will be repeated at school, to numerous strangers on line in front of us in Target and in the Post Office. I am of the mindset that these questions should be answered honestly, in a simple and non detailed fashion. For all of you non parents out there, you learn not to give detailed responses because they only lead to more questions. So, I respond, “No, you did not come out wearing a dress; we all come out wearing no clothing.
The question du jour was related to our upcoming vacation to Disney World, “When we go to Mickey’s House, can I hug Mickey’s Dad?” Initially, I want to just say yes and move on, because I did not get an adequate amount of sleep last night. But, then I realize that this is a trick question, as far as I know Mickey Mouse does not have a dad. My yes would have caused news about Mickey’s non-existent Dad to spread like wildfire. Accordingly, I respond, “No, you cannot hug Mickey’s Dad because he does not live at Mickey’s house.” Had I chosen to say that Mickey does not have a Dad that would have led to questions about death or a Dad that fled Mickey and his family.
Sometimes, I am posed the same question, several times worded differently at different times. I think, I have answered this one before; I feel as though I am experiencing de-ja-vu. Either my little interviewer is unsatisfied with my initial response or this is simply a game. Sometimes, I will be driving and a familiar question will be uttered and then before I have a chance to respond my original answer will be repeated by said questioner. Sometimes, I will have an opportunity to respond and then my answer will be repeated in a quizzical fashion. If you’ve even seen the movie Super Troopers envision the scene with the repeater game, where everything said is being repeated with the intonation to make it sound like a question. I think to myself, this child does not think my answer was believable.
One such quiz that I repeatedly fail or still have not provided a sufficient answer to is, “Why wasn’t I invited to your wedding” upon seeing the wedding picture hanging on the wall adjacent to my wedding invitation in my bedroom. The answer that I have been running with is, “Well, peanut, (my endearing nickname for my daughter) you were not invited because you were not born when Daddy and I got married.” Peanut always poses this question as though she is thoroughly insulted that she did not get the invitation. I am convinced she is certain that we had her babysitter come to watch her the day of the wedding.
Frequently, I smirk because the questions are clever and humorous to me, because I can just imagine the gears in my daughter’s mind turning. Many things that come out of my daughter’s mouth are funny. Her responses to questions and her bold statements are hysterical, (or wysterical, which is the way she pronounces the word) Dinnertime excuses to get out of eating dinner are plentiful. Vegetables or anything non-desirable to my Daughter’s palate are said to be “Not good for Hailey.” If she does not like the way something tastes it is immediately described as, “Too spicy,” Once, she got some salt water in her mouth at the beach and it was instantly, “Too spicy.”The funniest dinner avoidance reason came about two nights ago when she argued”, I cannot eat this hot dog because it tastes like salad. My husband pointed out that my Daughter, having never eaten salad, by her choice and therefore, would not know what salad tasted like.
While we are on the subject of food, yesterday, I was confided by my little girl that my dog needed a bath tomorrow because he smells like fish-sticks. My poor dog apparently smells like Gorton’s. The fact is the dog does need a bath but fish-sticks seem like a little bit of an excessive description.
Any slang, cuss word or expression of my frustration on my part inevitably comes back to haunt me because my child is a parrot. Not only does she repeat things but she applies them correctly to a given circumstance. Muttering under my breath, “Go bleep yourself” at someone that cuts me off while driving with two children in the car resurfaced. My husband was summoned into the kitchen because Hailey and I were making cupcakes and she wanted him to see dessert. Simultaneously, our dog decided he wanted attention and began barking in a boisterous fashion. My daughter turned around, kneeling on a chair and proclaimed, “Go Bleep yourself Fred” in the direction of our dog. My husband and I did our best to guise our laughter at the fact that she had applied the curse word correctly in a sentence. Immediately, I started to feel like a failure as a parent because my momentary lapse in judgment and potty mouth are now mirrored back to me by my child. If someone cuts me off again in the car, I am unable to say with certainty that I will refrain from spewing curses under my breath. Indiscretions like this are sometimes as involuntary as breathing for an adult.
The days seem long and monotonous for us right now from my perspective as a stay at home Mom. From the perspective of my Daughter I am certain her endless questions and regular dinnertime protests seem like a way to pass the quick days in fun fashion. I am well aware that Peanut has no concept of time or date at this point. Tomorrow, to my Daughter is known as, “in the other morning.” Anything that I earmark as a longtime from now, say three months is noted to be, “in two days.” The concept that Christmas is nearly four months off is irrelevant, the questions about presents and why we don’t have tree right now seem to persist. (-even after I reiterate that Christmas is a long time from now)
To me, she will always be my baby and I will continue to answer the endless questions and listen intently to the words which come out of her mouth. It comes with the territory of being a Mom. But, I will have you know that according to my Hailey, she is no one’s baby, she is a big sister.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Absolutely Horrific,Why? Somebody Protect the Children.
Wow, I am absolutely disgusted as I sit here blogging and considering what precisely to type out. It is the things that I am most passionate about that are expressed with the utmost difficulty. Please forgive me if this blog is horribly offensive but, I am not editing my raw thoughts in this instance to save the feelings of others. In 1991, I was a freshman in high school, on the track team, involved in the Forensics Society, the Chess Club, a player in the school musical, Anything Goes. I an innocent kid, like most, I took the bus to my Catholic High school which was 45 minutes from home. In 1991, Jaycee Lee Dugard was 11 years old when she was snatched from her school bus stop right in front of her helpless stepfather, by a man and a woman, who turned out to be, Phillip Garrido, a convicted sex offender /rapist and his wife. Jaycee was held captive in his backyard for 18 years and forced the bare this criminal’s children in squalor starting at age 14.
A similar crime came to light in Austria last year where a man imprisoned his daughter for years and impregnating her seven times, but, Jaycee’s abduction and torture played out here, in the United States in California. Phillip Garrido was convicted of kidnapping and raping a 25 year old woman in 1976. He did a short stint in jail and was freed. Upon being released from prison he was out trolling for more women to abduct.
A 1997 study found that 52% of child molesters would most certainly reoffend over the course of a 25 year period. There are numerous studies and all the data shows the same thing, there is a very low rate of recidivism for these people, if they should even be identified as human beings. This beast, Phillip Garrido should not have been out of jail.
The ACLU will fight tooth and nail to defend the civil liberties of criminals. What I want to know is who is going to fight for the most innocent among us, the children? It’s great that Megan’s Law actually exists and there is now some kind of database available to make you aware where the sex offender’s live. I do not think Megan’s Law is enough. We need more to be done to protect our children.
To start with, we need to quantify who is classified as a sex offender. In certain states two teenagers of close age, one year apart having intercourse can be classified as statutory rape and the older in turn is labeled a sex offender if convicted. The term sex offender needs to be redefined.
Here comes the portion of the blog some may find offensive, I believe true child sex predators should spend life in prison; I would even go as far as to say that I am in favor of mandatory sterilization. Put these beasts on an island, keep them away from the general child filled population. Simply and plainly put something needs to be done because the status quo is not fair for the children.
When I think about little Jessica Lunsford being stolen out of her bedroom and away from the protection of her family in the middle of the night I grow sick to my stomach. If we cannot protect our children at home, where can we protect them? What John Cooey did to her over the course of a few days before burying her alive is horrific, and most certainly inhumane. I am sorry but, he forfeits all of his civil liberties, ACLU.
Our terrific Congress with their 20 percent and dwindling approval rating allowed Jessica’s Law which would have required sex offenders to wear GPS tracking bracelets five years following their release from prison, or for life if determined to be a predator, and forced states to verify address’ in their sex offender registry twice annually, allowed the bill to die. The 109th congress adjourned and felt this was not worth their time.
Most state legislatures have passed some form of Jessica’s Law to compensate for the incompetent congress. Colorado, New Jersey, Idaho, Massachusetts, Hawaii, Utah, North Carolina and New Mexico should be ashamed for failing to move toward passing some form of Jessica’s Law legislation citing it unconstitutional.
This is a travesty. Forget about unconstitutional! Where’s the justice for Mark Lunsford? Where’s the justice for Jaycee Lee Dugard? There is no justice.
Additional point, people, John Cooey’s relatives knew he was holding Jessica Lunsford prisoner for days and they allowed it to go on. In this Jaycee Lee Dugard case, neighbors of Garrido suspected something awry and chose to say nothing.
When did we become a world of drones that elect to close our eyes and our mouths saying nothing? This is atrocious. Perhaps I am overly emotional and overly involved but, I care about other people, even the one’s I do not know by name. I am concerned for my neighbor’s children if I see them playing in the street. I intervene. We should all intervene.
Over the course of the 18 years since this girl in California was taken I went through high school, college, had a career, met and married a wonderful man, and had two beautiful children. Poor Jaycee spent the last 18 years living in a shed being molested and repeatedly raped. She’s just shy of 30 now and this is what she has known of life.
So the legislators are on recess right now, hopefully this garners some of their attention, if even for a fleeting moment. Maybe one of them thinks to draft some new legislation to prevent this from occurring ever again. Someone needs to take this up as their cause and force people the pay attention.
A similar crime came to light in Austria last year where a man imprisoned his daughter for years and impregnating her seven times, but, Jaycee’s abduction and torture played out here, in the United States in California. Phillip Garrido was convicted of kidnapping and raping a 25 year old woman in 1976. He did a short stint in jail and was freed. Upon being released from prison he was out trolling for more women to abduct.
A 1997 study found that 52% of child molesters would most certainly reoffend over the course of a 25 year period. There are numerous studies and all the data shows the same thing, there is a very low rate of recidivism for these people, if they should even be identified as human beings. This beast, Phillip Garrido should not have been out of jail.
The ACLU will fight tooth and nail to defend the civil liberties of criminals. What I want to know is who is going to fight for the most innocent among us, the children? It’s great that Megan’s Law actually exists and there is now some kind of database available to make you aware where the sex offender’s live. I do not think Megan’s Law is enough. We need more to be done to protect our children.
To start with, we need to quantify who is classified as a sex offender. In certain states two teenagers of close age, one year apart having intercourse can be classified as statutory rape and the older in turn is labeled a sex offender if convicted. The term sex offender needs to be redefined.
Here comes the portion of the blog some may find offensive, I believe true child sex predators should spend life in prison; I would even go as far as to say that I am in favor of mandatory sterilization. Put these beasts on an island, keep them away from the general child filled population. Simply and plainly put something needs to be done because the status quo is not fair for the children.
When I think about little Jessica Lunsford being stolen out of her bedroom and away from the protection of her family in the middle of the night I grow sick to my stomach. If we cannot protect our children at home, where can we protect them? What John Cooey did to her over the course of a few days before burying her alive is horrific, and most certainly inhumane. I am sorry but, he forfeits all of his civil liberties, ACLU.
Our terrific Congress with their 20 percent and dwindling approval rating allowed Jessica’s Law which would have required sex offenders to wear GPS tracking bracelets five years following their release from prison, or for life if determined to be a predator, and forced states to verify address’ in their sex offender registry twice annually, allowed the bill to die. The 109th congress adjourned and felt this was not worth their time.
Most state legislatures have passed some form of Jessica’s Law to compensate for the incompetent congress. Colorado, New Jersey, Idaho, Massachusetts, Hawaii, Utah, North Carolina and New Mexico should be ashamed for failing to move toward passing some form of Jessica’s Law legislation citing it unconstitutional.
This is a travesty. Forget about unconstitutional! Where’s the justice for Mark Lunsford? Where’s the justice for Jaycee Lee Dugard? There is no justice.
Additional point, people, John Cooey’s relatives knew he was holding Jessica Lunsford prisoner for days and they allowed it to go on. In this Jaycee Lee Dugard case, neighbors of Garrido suspected something awry and chose to say nothing.
When did we become a world of drones that elect to close our eyes and our mouths saying nothing? This is atrocious. Perhaps I am overly emotional and overly involved but, I care about other people, even the one’s I do not know by name. I am concerned for my neighbor’s children if I see them playing in the street. I intervene. We should all intervene.
Over the course of the 18 years since this girl in California was taken I went through high school, college, had a career, met and married a wonderful man, and had two beautiful children. Poor Jaycee spent the last 18 years living in a shed being molested and repeatedly raped. She’s just shy of 30 now and this is what she has known of life.
So the legislators are on recess right now, hopefully this garners some of their attention, if even for a fleeting moment. Maybe one of them thinks to draft some new legislation to prevent this from occurring ever again. Someone needs to take this up as their cause and force people the pay attention.
Monday, July 27, 2009
"It's not tipping I believe in. It's overtipping. "-Vinnie Antonelli
My toe nail care is prompting this blog. Do not be alarmed I am not addressing my most recent pedicurist’s unsubtle suggestion about my increasing the frequency of my pedicures, her rebuke of the pale pink color I elected for my piggies or the results of my attendant’s poor nail clipping abilities which will no doubt land me in a podiatrist’s office sometime soon. Foot fetish freaks in the vain of Marla Maples’ one time publicist, Chuck Jones, look elsewhere as that is not the destination for which this train is headed.
After departing the salon, where I was accompanied by a friend, a discussion ensued about tipping. My friend inquired about my tipping. We started talking about whether appropriate tipping is regional or/and directly related to the service being provided. There are a volume of resources available to assess an appropriate tip for a given service, books, websites and applications for one’s smart phone. Tipping: An American Social History of Gratuities by Kerry Seagrave, Tipping.org, Tip Calculator Top for I-Phone all address the tough subject of gratuity.
Out at dinner, having grown up in New York, I always followed the common practice of double the tax or better for good service. As a relocated New Yorker to DC at present, I have morphed into a go with your gut tipper because doubling the tax as a tip in Maryland would be down -right insulting for my server.
Like the Steve Martin character, Vinnie Antonelli in the 1990 flick, My Blue Heaven I am a strong believer in tipping for great service. He attempts to tip a flight attendant after assuaging her to provide him with two scotches instead of the legal one and even tips an FBI agent. Vinnie a gangster/FBI informant in the witness protection program even gives a soliloquy about over- tipping for good service to Rick Moranis’, FBI agent character, Barney. This movie always pops into my head when I think about tipping, arugula, dead turtles, the phrase, “You dirty rat” and excuses for why a person would have a hundred copies of the same book in their trunk. I admit it, this panned movie makes me laugh a tremendous amount but, the tipping joke resonates tantamount to everything else. By the way, does anyone actually know anyone named Shaldeen?
Is leaving no tip at all the most insulting answer to being given poor service? Well, no, I think it is more insulting if you leave two cents on the table. My husband and I were faced with a scenario once where there was an included gratuity in our check and our meal server essentially abandoned our table. We were vacationing at a family resort and dining with our daughter who was two years old at the time. When the waitress realized that we were a party of three which included a small child, not going to be ordering a tremendous amount of booze and a huge party of adults was seated adjacent to us we were cast aside like lepers. The waitress disappeared, reappearing on the dance floor of the establishment, back to our table twice only to insult our toddler who was behaving well at the table and leaving for nearly an hour after we requested our guest check. All told, our dinner ensued for almost four hours and the dining establishment could have turned our table over twice as our painful dining scenario played out. My husband asked to speak with the manager of the restaurant regarding our dining experience about why we were refusing to pay the included gratuity. The manager was not available. My husband ended up composing a letter to the resort about the ordeal and they sent us a gift card for our trouble. It should have served as a foreshadowing of things to come when my husband requested a margarita and the server suggested making it with Patron. Who puts top shelf tequila in a mixed drink?
Let’s take a step back, to my feet, which are simply put not glamorous and see a pedicure maybe every five to six weeks. Have a laugh at my expense my husband confided in me last week that he did not marry me for my feet. At home I see the same pedicurist on a fairly regular basis, her name is Nina and she is wonderful. Not only does she provide me with an excellent pedicure, she also suggests ways to care for my feet in between pedicures and she is a highly entertaining woman with a spectacular demeanor that tolerates my two children who often accompany me to the salon. I have a tremendous amount of respect for this lady and all salon professionals who attend to feet, which can be scary, depending on the hygiene of the person they are attached to. Openly, honestly, I tip Nina spectacularly because of the given task and the stellar manner in which it is performed. I checked the tipping website I referenced earlier and it recommended leaving a $2 tip. Numerous sources cite the average cost of a pedicure nationally to be $30-$32. Is a $2 tip fair?
Perhaps I have too much empathy for all service professionals but, I believe that these people are incredible. They literally have the most difficult jobs, constantly dealing with the public who can be disgruntled and demanding. Waiters, bartenders, bell-hops, hairdressers, car wash drying men and baristas depend on tips for their livelihood. Imagine that you are a good service professional and you take pride in the work you do. Now, imagine that a customer stiffs you, leaving a mediocre tip. What message is being sent?
In closing, I think we all need to pay it forward when it comes to gratuities. If you are provided with incredible service leave a magnificent thank you. Don’t even get me started about the celebrities noted on Page Six for leaving no tip after drinking gratis at a bar.
After departing the salon, where I was accompanied by a friend, a discussion ensued about tipping. My friend inquired about my tipping. We started talking about whether appropriate tipping is regional or/and directly related to the service being provided. There are a volume of resources available to assess an appropriate tip for a given service, books, websites and applications for one’s smart phone. Tipping: An American Social History of Gratuities by Kerry Seagrave, Tipping.org, Tip Calculator Top for I-Phone all address the tough subject of gratuity.
Out at dinner, having grown up in New York, I always followed the common practice of double the tax or better for good service. As a relocated New Yorker to DC at present, I have morphed into a go with your gut tipper because doubling the tax as a tip in Maryland would be down -right insulting for my server.
Like the Steve Martin character, Vinnie Antonelli in the 1990 flick, My Blue Heaven I am a strong believer in tipping for great service. He attempts to tip a flight attendant after assuaging her to provide him with two scotches instead of the legal one and even tips an FBI agent. Vinnie a gangster/FBI informant in the witness protection program even gives a soliloquy about over- tipping for good service to Rick Moranis’, FBI agent character, Barney. This movie always pops into my head when I think about tipping, arugula, dead turtles, the phrase, “You dirty rat” and excuses for why a person would have a hundred copies of the same book in their trunk. I admit it, this panned movie makes me laugh a tremendous amount but, the tipping joke resonates tantamount to everything else. By the way, does anyone actually know anyone named Shaldeen?
Is leaving no tip at all the most insulting answer to being given poor service? Well, no, I think it is more insulting if you leave two cents on the table. My husband and I were faced with a scenario once where there was an included gratuity in our check and our meal server essentially abandoned our table. We were vacationing at a family resort and dining with our daughter who was two years old at the time. When the waitress realized that we were a party of three which included a small child, not going to be ordering a tremendous amount of booze and a huge party of adults was seated adjacent to us we were cast aside like lepers. The waitress disappeared, reappearing on the dance floor of the establishment, back to our table twice only to insult our toddler who was behaving well at the table and leaving for nearly an hour after we requested our guest check. All told, our dinner ensued for almost four hours and the dining establishment could have turned our table over twice as our painful dining scenario played out. My husband asked to speak with the manager of the restaurant regarding our dining experience about why we were refusing to pay the included gratuity. The manager was not available. My husband ended up composing a letter to the resort about the ordeal and they sent us a gift card for our trouble. It should have served as a foreshadowing of things to come when my husband requested a margarita and the server suggested making it with Patron. Who puts top shelf tequila in a mixed drink?
Let’s take a step back, to my feet, which are simply put not glamorous and see a pedicure maybe every five to six weeks. Have a laugh at my expense my husband confided in me last week that he did not marry me for my feet. At home I see the same pedicurist on a fairly regular basis, her name is Nina and she is wonderful. Not only does she provide me with an excellent pedicure, she also suggests ways to care for my feet in between pedicures and she is a highly entertaining woman with a spectacular demeanor that tolerates my two children who often accompany me to the salon. I have a tremendous amount of respect for this lady and all salon professionals who attend to feet, which can be scary, depending on the hygiene of the person they are attached to. Openly, honestly, I tip Nina spectacularly because of the given task and the stellar manner in which it is performed. I checked the tipping website I referenced earlier and it recommended leaving a $2 tip. Numerous sources cite the average cost of a pedicure nationally to be $30-$32. Is a $2 tip fair?
Perhaps I have too much empathy for all service professionals but, I believe that these people are incredible. They literally have the most difficult jobs, constantly dealing with the public who can be disgruntled and demanding. Waiters, bartenders, bell-hops, hairdressers, car wash drying men and baristas depend on tips for their livelihood. Imagine that you are a good service professional and you take pride in the work you do. Now, imagine that a customer stiffs you, leaving a mediocre tip. What message is being sent?
In closing, I think we all need to pay it forward when it comes to gratuities. If you are provided with incredible service leave a magnificent thank you. Don’t even get me started about the celebrities noted on Page Six for leaving no tip after drinking gratis at a bar.
Monday, July 13, 2009
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