Thanksgiving '08

I can’t let the weekend go by without talking about Thanksgiving now, can I? It wouldn’t be right. As much as I like to avoid writing about the obvious, I can’t deny things like holidays, birthdays, elections, etc. This is an important holiday not so much to remember that the European settlers broke cornbread with Native Americans just before they stole all their land and drove them to a life of gambling, alcoholism and rain dances for tourists. My people had nothing to do with the colonization of the U.S. We were too busy getting raped and pillaged in our own countries-thus my blond haired, blue-eyed son. But, we’re here now, and I suppose we should be thankful for those greedy, murderous settlers who paved the way for us Jews to come and peddle pots and pans. Who knows who would have been running Hollywood today if not for the pilgrims?

My sister Rachel, husband Ron and kids Joshua and Evan drove in from Boston. They woke up at the crack of ass to avoid holiday traffic and made it here by 9AM. We were able to hang out, feast with family and friends and clean up every cooking utensil and accessory known to humankind by 8PM. Now that’s a result. For my foodie friends, I give you Gabriella’s menu (cranberry sauce and pies provided by friends):

To start: Chinese chicken wings marinated in hoisin, soy, rice vinegar, ginger sauce; Pita & flat breads with a choice of salmon spread or spinach & artichoke dip. Carrots & hummus. You can’t be a lesbian without serving hummus. Es la ley. (Budweiser commercial reference)

Soup: Spicy butternut squash soup with a dollop of crème fraiche and cilantro
Main and sides: Turkey roasted with herb butter; Onion bread stuffing made with celery, mushrooms , butternut squash and apple; Italian potato & green bean salad; herbed mashed potatoes with mascarpone, roasted vegetable medley; cold black bean salad; spinach pie with feta cheese and pine nuts and, of course, cranberry sauce

Dessert: country apple, pumpkin and pecan pie



We managed to squeeze in the thank you round table before getting all the kids in bed, and I share my thoughts of thanks with you.

I’m thankful for table pads which protected our glass table from spills and scratches throughout the evening. We went on a cooking holiday in Morocco for Gabriella’s 40th years and years and years....ago. (ok, only 4 years ago) If you know me at all, you know that this was the ultimate gift of love because I loathe cooking. It was an amazing holiday. Even the cooking was fun because all of the stresses I associate with cooking were completely absent. No recipes to research, no shopping for ingredients, no clean up, nothing else to do but hang out with other foodies, drink wine and cook in a gorgeous villa in Marrakech. We found a 100 year old door hand-painted by a Moroccan, Jewish tribe in the Berber mountains, and it is now our dining room table. I’m not mad about glass table tops, but it had to be done to display the door. I’m so thankful that Gabriella and I have been able to travel together, and while our worldly travels have come to a halt for now, we have fantastic memories and an itch to travel that can only be treated with future travels.

I’m thankful for James Dyson and his vacuum we bought today to suck up all the carpet bits that were left behind by the Empire Carpet Men when they installed the carpet in the boys’ rooms. We much prefer the look of hardwood floors, truth be told. For the lads reading this entry, yes, it is ironic that the two lesbians would prefer to wood to carpet. It was a matter of function over form. It’s our band-aid answer to insulation this winter. Asher’s bedroom sits right over our porch which is not insulated and is, therefore, one of the colder rooms in the house. After last year’s heating bill, we vowed not to crank up the heat like we did last year. I’m f-ing freezing, but we can afford to eat. I suppose that’s good. The excitement of the new vacuum was almost too much to bear for Asher. He couldn’t wait to get it out of the box and insisted on helping us snap a few things into place. And, he absolutely would not rest until he was able to vacuum those carpet bits. Bless his little cotton socks. Who knew household appliances could be so thrilling? I am thankful for the Dyson and thankful that Asher can find such joy in everyday things. Note to self: take joy in everyday things.

I’m thankful for all the standards which I realize not everyone can claim: good health (touch carpet), a roof over my head (especially now that it has been replaced--the roof, not my head), a loving family and close friends. I have a pretty excellent life, and it doesn’t hurt for me to admit it even though it’s so easy to complain about the daily grind. Of course, there is always room for improvement, but the fundamentals are pretty fundamentally fantastic. I am thankful, and I hope that everyone I know and love is just as thankful for their lives as I am for mine. Happy Thanksgiving.

Muff-o-lotta

It’s no secret that I have a dirty mouth and a love for the profane. It can’t be that much of surprise to anyone who was raised in a sheltered, oppressive environment like mine. As a child, swearing was a legal way for me to let loose. Over time, I developed my craft. There is such a thing as swearing too much, I learned. I figured out when to keep my comments to myself. I knew which words or phrases were appropriate in specific situations. And I knew my audience. I knew which words would shock and which would amuse. I didn’t always get it right, and even now I make a bad call occasionally. But I still find joy in the act.

I try really hard not to swear in front of my children. Instead of saying “GOD F-ING DAMMIT”, I now say, Oh my gosh! We don’t say “stupid” or “shut-up”, and I feel that my kids are safe from most verbal pollution. I confess that I slip every now and then. I know this because I was the only one to blame when I heard Asher say, “Dammit” a few months ago in perfect context. I tried to ignore it. Then when he repeated the offense, I tried to tell him that he got the word wrong and that surely he meant to say “Darn it”. He didn’t buy it. Once again, television saved my ass. Thank you Higglytown Heroes for introducing the phrase, “OH PICKLES!” When I heard it, I laughed, and Asher being the pleaser that he is, instantly adopted it as his own. It lasted for a little while, but I think that after I stopped laughing every time he said it, he lost interest. He hasn’t used it recently, but he hasn’t said “Dammit” either. "Whew! Next time, it won't be so easy, so let's not allow a next time," I tell myself.

They Might Be Giants singing for Higglytown Heroes


A few of my favourite curses are those from foreign languages. I can repeat these offensive words incessantly because they sound like cute made-up words to me while those who speak whatever language I’m defiling cringe with every mention. Gabriella curses (pun intended) the day that she taught me the string of nasty Sicilian words that I have never forgotten and often use in her presence. I've used some of the juicy ones as terms of endearment for her though I do need to be careful when using them in public. She ignores me which, as I have mentioned previously, is an admirable skill that is required in all successful relationships. Hey! Were you listening to me just now?!? Oh forget it.

Sometimes, I feel I’m doing community service work. There are so many people living in the civilized world who just can’t bring themselves to use bad words. I’m not talking about those pure of mind and mouth who never swore or have always thought profanities to be base and foul. I’m speaking about the remaining 97.6% of the world’s population (give or take) who enjoy using or hearing naughty language especially when it is used creatively. Thoughtfully. Poetically. That’s where I come in. You don’t have to go there. I’ll do it for you. I’m the one who ALWAYS takes the conversation to the lowest level possible. I’m that wise-ass who is quick to shout out, “Liquor? You liquor, you brought her!” You know you’re thinking it. I’m just getting it out of the way for everyone. You're welcome.

And so, when my friend and neighbour told me about his occupation; when he explained to me what his company produces- I begged him to let me take it to the blog. I don’t care if it makes me look immature or low class. The fact is that I do it for all of you who deserve a little dirty tittering in your day. I speak the words that would not otherwise be spoken. But, in this case, the words are spoken, and I am calling attention to them in the most sophomoric way I know. Hats off to my neighbour who is my Higglytown Hero for presenting me with what I deem one of the best places to work—ever! Thank you, Matthias, for giving me more MUFF than a girl could ever hope to have in a lifetime. BEHOLD! ELECTRO-HARMONIX: The distributors of MUFFS! ...and other guitar related thingies I know nothing about. An innocent product line with naughty names.

How can one begin to choose from a line of guitar distortion pedals with names like: Big Muff Pi, Metal Muff, Double Muff, English Muff’n, Muff Overdrive and Big Muff Pi with Tone Wicker? Wicker?? You Wicker! You brought her!

A demo by a man who clearly loves muff. And who can blame him?


There is little else that need be or should be said, I’m sure you would agree. This won’t, however, be the last of it. Something tells me that the proprietor of Electro-Harmonix might be open to partnership opportunities. Who amongst you would not love to wear a Little Big Muff Pi t-shirt? Or own a desk-top calendar with a Muff Of The Day? And surely there needs to be a Facebook quiz you can take that could tell you which Muff you are. Or maybe I’ll just dub myself-Hair Pi Peach Muff. And you?

Asher is 5

I know it has been a long day when I start tearing at a pet adoption commercial. It wasn’t even one of those abused-dog-in-cardboard box-outside-in rain kind of commercials. There was a woman trying to bond with her newly adopted dog by playing catch with the dog’s favourite ball. After many unretreived tosses, the woman surrenders and lays back on the floor, and the dog picks up the ball, brings it over to the woman and drops it at her side. Bonded. Tears. I’m not even on the blob. I’m just a Mom whose hormones will forever be on overdrive since having kids – especially after one of our children’s birthday parties.

Today was that party. Asher is 5. We spent his actual birthday at the Liberty Science Center in Jersey City. It was the perfect day for Asher. Gabriella stayed home from work, Asher stayed home from school, and we spent a great afternoon exploring the museum as a family. We could have called it quits right there, and Asher would have been very happy, but I made the executive decision to have the pre-school party and invite everyone in his class to celebrate with us.

If you are new reader-first of all welcome! Vítejte! Isten hozott! Baruch haba! Merhaba! Benvenuto! Dobro pozhalovat! Swaagatam! If you are a new reader, you may not be aware that Asher is not a very social person. He’s not very social-with other children that is. He adores grown-ups and would be more than delighted to spend all of his time with adults and void of a single child as far as he could see. But I knew that Asher would be invited to all of the other birthday parties in his class, and I also do feel that it is good for him to socialize with the other children in spite of himself. But did I have to test the very fabric of his being with a loud-mouthed, in-your-face, classless boob who makes balloon creations while insulting his audience? Did he really have to make a fart-joke for every goddamn balloon hat he produced for every 4 year old?

But the kids loved it. They squealed and shrieked for joy for a solid hour. Pre-school screams are absolutely deafening. And that is the mark of a successful party-for everyone but Asher. The louder everyone yelled and the more balloons popped randomly throughout the afternoon, the more he recoiled. He was feeling pretty fragile by cake time. What have I done? I’ve been breaking it down since we got home. Truth be told, he wasn’t a bad entertainer. In fact, he was funny and incredibly talented. Balloons as art. Who knew? He may have simply been more appropriate for an older crowd. Or maybe I’m just kidding myself. Maybe we just forego the party next year and screw suburban party protocol.

Asher did get some wonderful, thoughtful gifts from his friends. He might be tempted to suffer a full-on party just for the loot. I’ll have to take his lead. Of course, he gets plenty spoiled by his family. His godmother was kind enough to get him a Gassy Gus game for his birthday. I do believe she did it just to spite me knowing how I loathe all words and references to flatulence. I’ll be getting her back in a damning blog in the future when she’s least expecting it. Not to fear. In the meantime, Asher will play the fart-game. I will pretend that it is hilariously funny. And we will remember how much fun all of his friends had at his party.



The boys are in bed. Gabriella cracked open a beer, and I had a very tall glass of wine. Levi’s birthday, done last month. Asher’s birthday, done. But there’s no rest for the wicked. We’re hosting Thanksgiving for 12. My sister’s coming to town. I’m anticipating lots of blogging material. Tune in.

Whatever works

It’s been 6 months since our last visit to the dentist. By ours, I mean Asher’s visit. Ever since that day 6 months ago, Asher has not forgotten that he did not care for the toothpaste that the dentist used to brush his teeth and that he would not like the dentist to brush his teeth with the same kind that she used the last time. And ever since that day, I have promised him that we would bring our own toothpaste and ask the dentist if we could use it. We did, and she did. A weight was lifted off Asher’s shoulders and he was able to let the dentist poke and scrape as much as she needed.

He brushes far better than I ever did or do. We’ve got him brushing with a battery-operated toothbrush and brushing until his 2-minute egg-timer runs out of yellow sand- the longest 2 minutes either one of us experiences throughout the course of the day. The dentist told him that he is old enough now to floss. We flossed that night, and Asher can't wait to do it again and again.

The fear that either I’ve instilled in him or he has willingly accepted is profound. Asher is petrified that his teeth will fall out if he doesn’t brush well. If I tell him that he needs to reach in the back and get behind and underneath each tooth by God he does. “Will my teeth fall out now?” “Not this time, Asher. You brushed all of your teeth in every direction.” “What will happen if my teeth fall out?” “You won’t be able to eat.” Well it’s true! I’ve also been successful wiping his face clean when we're out and about. I tell him that the squirrels are going to smell the (insert treat here) and try to bite it off of his face. I wouldn’t want them to bite his face by mistake. That would hurt. What?!? It could happen!

We do need to be careful with this first-born, lover of rules and order. Everything we say becomes sacrosanct. Gabriella took Asher grocery shopping the other day and Asher was particularly interested in a package of marshmallows. He didn’t know what it was but it looked like something that might be tasty. Gabriella was quick on her feet but hadn’t really considered the consequences. I’m sure I would have said something similar. “Well, that’s a treat, Asher, but it has corn syrup in it, and we try not to eat too much corn syrup. It’s not good for us.” And that’s all she had to say....that one time. Ever since, Asher has asked about the corn syrup content of every treat and packaged food. We tried to explain that a little bit is ok as long as we eat a lot of healthy food that makes us strong. He wouldn’t hear it. He was very distressed to learn that every piece of his Halloween candy that he had worked so hard to collect contained corn syrup. “It’s ok, Asher. Just a little won’t hurt you!” God forbid the kid doesn’t eat a piece of candy every now and then. I still have a big bowl of Halloween candy left that Asher just can’t bring himself to eat. Ok, I admit it. He did manage to plow through the chocolate bars without too much concern leaving behind the Lemonheads, Skittles, Hot Tamales and the High School Musical Milk Chocolate Flavored Strawberry Pop Rocking' Candy.

Recently, I arranged for Asher to stay after school because I had to be in Manhattan and wasn’t able to get back for dismissal. A couple of teachers were kind enough to hang out with him which was Asher’s idea of heaven. He would much rather entertain grown-ups than have to play with kids his own age. When I picked him up, the teachers couldn’t wait to tell me all about their lovely afternoon together and about the conversation they had over M&Ms. They offered him some M&Ms as a snack. “Do they have corn syrup in them?” “I don’t know. Let me che...yes, they do.” “Ok, well then I can have 2 but no more than that.” Not only is he now aware of the evils of high fructose corn syrup, but he's self-regulating at the age of 5! So now I’m THAT mom. I tried to explain that it was an accidental teaching as opposed to a strict code of nutrition, but they were too amused to care. I shouldn’t complain. I have to enjoy the influence I have over him while it lasts. But it’s a lot of responsibility. I don’t want to look like that mother that doesn’t let her kid enjoy kid-life, but I do want him to learn about healthy eating habits. As far as I know, we've been lucky - no allergies or food senstivities. He should have a Kit Kat every now and then. At least I know I won’t have to worry about Levi enjoying himself. He won’t listen to a thing I say.

I didn’t want to ask the dentist because I knew in my gut what the answer was. “When should I start bringing Levi for checkups?” “2 years old is a good time.” “Really? That won’t go well.” “Well, we do expect some tears. We can handle it.” “He’s not exactly the most amenable child. How long can I wait to bring him in?” “I’d say 3, but really we can start any time now.” During this time Levi has sidled up to Asher and I’m not paying attention to the brotherly exchange. “I don’t know. He’s just not as accommodating as Asher, and I think I’d rather wait until he was a little older. I can't even tell you how much I sweat when I have to take him to get his hair cut.” And then, on cue, Levi punched Asher in the arm. Hard. I actually only heard his hand whale against Asher's arm and witnessed only the last 25 degrees of the arc he formed when swinging his entire arm in a perfect semi-circle to maximise impact. “OUCH” said Asher never once considering hitting back. “Two very different children, I see.” “Indeed. I’ll be waiting until he’s 3. Say you’re sorry, Levi.” “SAH-WEE.” The dentist and her assistant were instantly charmed. He’s a cute little monster and pretty quick. We’ll have to see if I get anywhere with the face-biting squirrels.

I Can't Think Straight

Yet another plug. I CAN’T THINK STRAIGHT opens in theatres on Friday, and I hope you’re all able to go. It’s a romantic comedy about two women from traditional backgrounds (one is from the Middle East and one is of Indian descent) who meet and get busy...I mean fall in love. It’s sure to be a winner. What isn’t funny about lesbians in the Middle East? Well, nothing is funny about that, but this one is about a lesbian from the Middle East living in London. Much funnier, right? Well, you’ll have to take my word for it.

This was actually the first of two films written and directed by Shamim Sarif and produced by her partner, Hanan Kattan. They were mid-movie when they lost funding and had to put it on the backburner while they finished up THE WORLD UNSEEN which premiered first.

We’re ever so proud of our friends who did what most people dare not. Yes, that too-they fiddled with someone of the same sex. I meant, they went after their dream when everyone along the way told them it couldn’t be done. Of course the films are incredible achievements in themselves, but the back story is nothing short than amazing. They learned that if they wanted to make a movie (or in this case two movies), they’d have to do it themselves and ignore all the noise. I hope you find inspiration in their story to do what it is you dream about doing. No, not that dream! Man, I thought I was the only one with a dirty mind! Gabriella’s out of town. What’s your excuse?

I’m not going to say much more. Previous entries can be read HERE and HERE. Meet Shamim & Hanan in the video attached. See the trailers in previous posts. See the film. Spread the word. Support independent filmmakers. Don’t listen to the noise.

See my box

In the religion of parenting, I’m a member of the Conservative sect. I follow traditions with a modern day sensibility. I can illustrate what I mean in describing my approach to television. My kids watch a moderate amount of television. They watch a little in the morning before I take Asher to school and a little at night right before bed while I take turns bathing the boys. I would give them both a bath at the same time, but in typical 2nd child fashion, Levi is too much baby for Asher in the tub. Asher is Gentle Soak while Levi is Toughest Stains. So far, I’ve been riding the pre-school wave, and both children are perfectly happy to watch commercial-free television geared specifically for young audiences. There have been no super heroes or sponges or disrespectful language in our house, yet. In fact, when Captain Carlos talked about the wonders of spinach salad, Asher started eating them all the time “to help his eyes”. No parent or peer group has that kind of power.

I was on the phone with my friend Ellen comparing notes on parenting. We are definitely both members of the same sect, though, like many members of the same organization, some traditions differ slightly. Ellen tends toward the Martha Stewart while I encourage my children to discover their own, creative imagination (read: I like to ignore them whenever possible). For example, I have a big box...and it's much bigger since I had kids (I'm here all week ladies and gentlemen)... and I stuck Levi in the big, cardboard box filled with markers and let him go to town. He was stuck in the box unable to write on walls or furniture having the time of his life scribbling all over it while I played on the computer. Win Win. Ellen did confess that she had been parking her kids in front of the television more often of late. “Hey,” I said, “there’s a lot of educational stuff on television.” “Yeah,” she said, “I thought I was safe to let my 4 year old watch Reading Rainbow on PBS while I did the dishes until I turned off the water and started listening to the show.”

She proceeded to detail the episode which her son had been watching, and I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. The episode aired in December 2004, but we’re coming to it with fresh eyes as parents of 4 year olds, so forgive me if this is old news.

In this special episode of Reading Rainbow, entitled Visiting Day, we follow a grandmother and granddaughter to a prison to visit Dad. He has been locked away—for shooting someone with a gun. The little girl talks about how it’s weird sometimes because the guards have to go through all of their stuff to make sure they’re not bringing anything in. The prison officials tell us that Dad won’t be in jail as long as some of the others “because he didn’t murder anyone.” And this episode is geared toward kids, according to the teacher supplements, who are 4-8 years old. Really? Neither Ellen’s 4 year old nor my almost 5 year old knows what “murder” is. Nor does he understand the concept of shooting someone dead and getting locked up in the pokey. Ellen’s son was worried that someday his parents might be taken away from him at which point she decided that she need not continue to watch Reading Rainbow.

I got online immediately to find out more about this episode and why on earth it was supposed to have been a good thing to show a 4 year old. And what are we supposed to be teaching our children according to the teaching guides? That children are not responsible for their parents’ actions. That not all families live together. That it is important to be kind to other people who are going through difficult situations. And this is even an opportunity to teach children about the legal system. Really?!? How about IT’S WRONG TO SHOOT PEOPLE--EVEN IF THEY DON’T DIE. Or how about NOT airing it on daytime television at all?

And then, I stop myself. What's good for the goose? If I want to see my family represented on television, it should be ok to show other kinds of families-like families where one parent is in jail. For shooting someone. And if I don’t like it, I should do what all the pro-public television, anti-censorship proponents like myself say to do. If you don’t like it, turn it off. We shouldn’t be using the television as a babysitter, anyway. If we’re not monitoring the television shows, it’s our own fault for exposing our pre-schoolers to programs about violence, prisons and parents who commit crimes.

No, I can’t get my head around it. I love PBS. I support PBS. This is the channel where I can always find positive programming about Jews and Gays and every other underrepresented minority in the U.S. I should walk the talk and focus on the parents instead of programmers. I don’t use the television as a babysitter, but I know that when I turn on Playhouse Disney or Noggin, my kids are not going to see Dora’s abuela getting thrown in jail or The Wonder Pets getting rubbed out by exterminators. Can’t I expect that from Reading Rainbow or have I suddenly become a fuddy duddy?

Lt. Commander La Forge, you might be blind, but surely you can see my point.

Sunday Bubby Sunday #6

D: Hello!

B: Hi.

D: were you sleeping?

B: Just about to, but it’s ok. What’s new?

D: We’ve had a social weekend, so we’re tired. But we all had a good time.

B: And you’re having company for Thanksgiving! Wow! Wow! I wish I could be there.

D: I wish you could be here, too. Gabriella got a turkey, but she’s thinking she’s going to have to get another one because we’ll have so many guests.

B: Another turkey? Well, I guess Gabriella knows better. Wow. I’d hate to be the one reciprocating.

D: No one has to reciprocate.


B: I’m sure they will. What else?

D: I went to a dinner tonight at a friend’s house. A bunch of moms went to this friend’s house, and we all brought something to eat. Gabriella made the dish that I brought over.

B: She really takes on a lot.

D: She does, but she enjoys it.

I did feel a teeny weeny bit awkward about asking Gabriella to supply me with the dish that I would present at the potluck dinner. She stayed home with the kids, and I brought a delicious black bean salad to complement the Mexican themed dinner that was served. I felt like Darren Stevens in Bewitched. “Sam, I invited Larry Tate and his wife over for dinner tonight. Be a doll and whip something up for us.” She didn’t even roll her eyes at me when I asked her to make the dish. “What would you like me to make?” And that was that. Yes, yes, I’m very lucky. Thank you for being the very first person to EVER point out how lucky I am to have such a wonderful partner.

D: Gabriella has to travel this week for work.

B: Where to?

D: Florida.

B: For how long?

D: 3 days.

B: That’s awful short. Does she have to travel often?

D: She used to travel more. I don’t know if you remember, but when we first moved back here, she had a different role at her company, and she had to travel all the time. She had to go to India for 11 days.

B: Wow! I wouldn’t like that.

D: She didn’t like it. I wasn’t too thrilled either. I told her she had to bring back a present for me for leaving me home with 2 kids for 11 days.

B: What did she give you?

D: A pretty bracelet. She did get to see some sights, but she would have preferred to be home. Now she doesn’t travel very often at all.

B: That’s good. And?

D: Um, let’s see. I’m reading Valley of the Dolls for my book club. Do you know it?

B: I know of it, but I never read it.

D: Well, it’s set in 1945, and so I always think about you and what your life must have been like at that time.

B: Why?

D: It makes the book more interesting for me if I can personalize it like that. Different times. I’m reading all about these women who all marry for security instead of love.

B: I’m sure they still make that mistake today.

D: True. Guess we haven’t learned very much since then.

B: (laughs)

D: Have you been reading about the President-elect in the papers?

B: Here and there. I hope the big man doesn’t encounter any bad circumstances. The articles I’ve read say that we still have cancer in our society.

D: What do you mean?

B: You know, I’m not alone.

D: You can’t tell me about what you read in the paper?

B: Some yes. Some no.

D: hmm.

Bubby is always paranoid that people are listening to her and plotting ways of making life unpleasant for her. I recognize that paranoia and distrust from growing up with my mother. She never trusted anyone. "Our neighbors do not need to know when we leave our house or when we come home or what we do behind closed doors." "Even policemen are men first, Deborah!" "Must you look everyone in the eye when we're walking down the street? When we're not at home in the suburbs, you need to keep your eyes down." Who knows, maybe the nurses are trying to steal my Bubby's nightgowns as she reported to me the other day. These would be the same nightgowns that caused her to throw her toys out of the pram because she didn't want to accept gifts from her grandchildren.

B: Tell me about the boys.

D: They’re good. They’re really enjoying each other’s company and playing together more and more. They are really loud.

B: (laughs) Time will cure everything. And now it’s time for bed.

D: Ok. Good night.

B: Send Gabriella my love. Know that I love you and i wish I could be there.

D: I love you, too.

B: Take care. Good night.

D: Good night.

Outrage and lashings

In a previous blog I had mentioned that Gabriella was outraged that Asher’s pre-school had not discussed the election in class. Well, I got a lashing from the director of the pre-school who is also my friend and loyal reader of the blog. Hi S! “What if people decide not to send their children to our pre-school because they think we didn’t talk about the election?”

Ok, sometimes I exaggerate. A lot. Gabriella was not outraged. And, S did not give me a lashing. But doesn’t it sound better than “Gabriella asked Asher if they talked about the election in school, and he shrugged his shoulders and responded with an unconvincing ‘no’.” or “The director of the pre-school did mention to me after I asked about the protocol surrounding election-teaching that, in fact, the class learned about voting . All of the children voted for the snack they would have that morning. Graham crackers won over pretzels.” YAWN! Outrage and lashings-much better.

I was recruited to help represent our pre-school at a local pre-school open house the other night. One of the teachers was there to provide the facts, and I gave a parent’s perspective to anyone who cared. It was actually a lot of fun to do. I had never experienced a pre-school open house. We moved here in August 2006 and had little time to research schools for September enrolment. I knew of a few, and I sent Asher to the pre-school that had a space for us. I’m going to get in trouble for saying that. I should say that I was very selective in my decision-making process and that after spending weeks researching and interviewing staff, I got Asher into one of the more highly rated pre-schools in the area. Like I said, it was August. I was 7 months pregnant. And, we had just moved into our fixer-upper house with no functioning kitchen in an unfamiliar town. I did not have the luxury of attending pre-school open houses.

I missed open-house season when we moved, and maybe it was a good thing. I did not envy the parents walking around the room tucking brochures and flyers under their arms while they scribbled notes about each school trying to distinguish one from the next. So overwhelming and for what? All those displays on the tables showed photographs of lots of happy kids playing together and creating beautiful artwork and hugging teachers. It’s unlikely you’ll make a bad decision. What’s important is that the parent feels like the school is a good fit. The parents I met defined “good fit” in a variety of ways. Their criteria for pre-schools ranged from teachers with advanced degrees in education who teach children to find their inner ivy-league genius to schools that were within walking distance from their houses.

We scoped out the other tables before show time to see what choices there are to make. There were some impressive posters clearly created by people who scrapbook. There were some multi-media presentations on laptops. There were bowls of candy for parents with low blood sugar. And of course, there was the Waldorf inspired pre-school that offered home-made bread in baskets and displayed hand-crafted, woollen dolls. I remember taking Asher to a Steiner school in London that had a playgroup for babies and toddlers. I figured that Asher, being the sensitive child that he was (and is), would feel most comfortable in this environment. He didn’t care for it. Perhaps I’m transferring. Asher couldn’t talk, so he was not able to say, “Mom, I can’t find a single toy I like because everything is a different shade of brown and I don’t want to make bread and I feel like if I sneeze someone is going to throw me out for disturbing the peace.” It was nice and quiet, alright, but that didn’t inspire Asher to play with wood chunks or engage with any of the teachers who looked like they walked off the set of Frontier House. OMG, I loved that series! I was pregnant with Levi and sick as a dog watching really bad daytime television because I couldn’t lift my head, and Frontier House got me through it. The perfect combination of reality tv and history. I digress.

There were a disproportionate number of Jewish pre-schools which could mean a host of things. A. There are lots of synagogues with pre-schools in the area. B. Administrators of Jewish pre-schools are more likely to show up at these open houses. C. Jews care more about offering a nurturing environment for the children of its community or D. There are more stay-at-home Jewish mothers who can’t wait to unload their kids in school. You can’t see me, but I’m raising my hand to D.

We love our pre-school. We made a great decision. We lucked out. It’s the right fit for our child. They’re all great. Jews are nice. Pick whichever one helps you sleep at night. And I’m so happy that I didn’t agonize about it. So much easier doing all this parenting stuff the 2nd time around. The longer I’m a parent, the more I realize that I’m here to make sure no one dies. Everything else seems to fall into place.

Prop 8 Wedgie

I really do try to keep it light, but I’ve got a Prop 8 wedgie, and I’ve got to pick it out.

Wake up gays and friends of! The impassioned pleas are completely misdirected, in my humble opinion. We keep trying to reach out to homophobes and convince them that gay is ok. Waste of time. You can’t teach a homophobe to love homos like you can’t teach a pro-lifer to love the right to choose.

There are people who believe in their heart of hearts that homosexuality is unnatural, amoral and a sin against their God. They fight against gay rights as we would fight against the rights of pedophiles. I’m not likening gays to pedophiles, but I am trying to illustrate why I think we’re barking up the wrong tree.

Homophobes do not care how much we love each other. They do not care how long we’ve been together in our relationships or how many people support us. It is irrelevant that we floss our teeth, give to charity, recycle or save babies from burning buildings. Supporting gay marriage would be like supporting a pedophile’s right to run a day-care. It doesn’t matter that said pedophile is a do-gooder in every other aspect of his/her life. We would fight passionately to protect our children from the Pedophile Playground – no matter how many people signed petitions or how many You Tube videos condemned us.



We do need to mobilize our supporters to protect the rights that we still have in Connecticut, Massachusetts, Vermont, New Jersey and New Hampshire. We must continue to educate. Prop 8 passed not because there were so many people who opposed gay marriage per se but because there were so many LIES told about what would happen if they supported it. And, we need to move the issue out of the states and into the hands of a Supreme Court AFTER we replace a few of the Justices with Justices who legislate in support of separation of church and state and in support of equal rights for all individuals.

I’ll keep signing the PETITIONS and forwarding the videos. It’s wonderful to see so many people rally around gay marriage. We could use all the PR we can get to influence and reach out to those undecided or misinformed voters as well as Justices-to-be. Be out, loud and proud, and don’t waste your energy hating the haters.

SUPPORT MARRIAGE-PROTEST DIVORCE

See more funny videos at Funny or Die

Sunday Bubby Sunday #5

Bubby was very tired when I called her last night, Sunday night, so I talked at her until she couldn’t take it anymore. This entry is an excerpt and embellishment of one of the many events from the weekend that I shared with her. It must be said that the following was not expressed verbatim. Given her age, her hearing, her patience, I keep everything short and to the point. I don’t bother with subtext. I save that for you.

Today, we enjoyed a grown up afternoon. Alone. Sans children. (An example of an expression I would not use when speaking with Bubby) A dear friend offered to watch the boys so that we could have a day together. It would have to be a dear friend who would sacrifice a weekend day to watch 2 small children. We had a few hours to do something without interruption. A date. We chose to see Sarah Beddington’s Crossing exhibit at the DUMBO Art Center (DAC) in Brooklyn. Another friend of ours, Tania Duvergne, is the curator for the show which made it easy for us to decide on the flavour of culture for the day. It was a crisp, sunny day in New York-the perfect day to take in a little art and walk around an area of Brooklyn neither of us had previously explored. I could have spent all day strolling up and down the cobblestone streets peeking into galleries and book stores, but the date meter was running and we had to use our time wisely before the date-van turned into a pumpkin.

I encourage you to select the link to learn more about the show. I wouldn’t be able to describe as well as the writer at DAC. Not my job, dude. It’s an exhibit rich in meaning and history and beauty, and I’m absolutely not equipped to do it justice. I will say that it was a very cool experience. Abstract and surreal. Two words which I use to describe something that goes right over my pretty little head without sounding like a complete idiot. There, I’ve outed myself. Occasionally, I’m clueless. I actually did get a lot out of the show-especially after reading the literature provided by the gallery. It is true that anyone can appreciate art be it painting or music or literature without having to write a dissertation on its meaning and purpose and impact on socio-political thought in the 21st century. I loved it, and I can’t tell you why. So there.

We had lunch around the corner at Bubby’s. How fitting for my Sunday Bubby Sunday entry. Lunch was almost as surreal as the exhibit. We actually tasted our food! Every bite-savoured. It’s not as if we haven’t had meals alone since the boys came into the picture, but it was the entire package that made our date so delicious. Mid-day hooky from parenthood. An art exhibit instead of a Costco run for toilet paper. No digging deep into our pockets to pay the sitter.

While we were eating, we kept an eye on a stretch limo parked outside the restaurant and in front of a small farmer’s market. After a few minutes had passed, the limo passengers arrived. There was what looked to be a quinceanera party in the middle of DUMBO. A bunch of teenagers who looked like a marching band had fallen into a vat of cotton candy. White double breasted jackets. White marching-band hats. All trimmed in pretty pink. The band crowding around the bakery table at the market buying cookies and sider for the ride. A New York moment to be sure. There was little debate. We had to capture the moment. The birthday girl arrived in a fluffy, pink dress. Gabriella ran outside and took photos along with a few other passers-by who obviously appreciated New York moments as much as we did.

It has been a long time since Gabriella and I have had a day to ourselves. She was clearly swept up in the joy of our afternoon date. Just before we left the restaurant, she held me and kissed me and whispered sweet nothings in my ear. No, you wise-asses, she didn’t actually say the words “sweet nothings” in my ear. That’s something I would have done. The words are mine but the scene I share with you. A private exchange in a public place-another New York moment.

We spent the next hour making our way from Brooklyn to the Upper West Side to collect the boys. It was a painfully slow journey due to all the traffic but we relished it nonetheless. No children’s music. No whining. Appreciating the last minutes of our date together. Note to self: more dates with Gabriella.

Thank you so much C for making our date possible! It really does take a village. Of course, I’m not sure that I’m always in agreement with the teachings of my Village People. After a weekend with his godmother who was visiting from Chicago, Asher picked up an adorable phrase--adorable if you’re not his mother! He gives you a good ol’ wink and declares, “You’re hot like fire!” This part of the weekend was not included in my summary to Bubby. I’m hoping I don’t have to explain that one to his pre-school teacher.

B: Alright, can I hang up now?

D: Of course you can.

B: I love you all.

D: We love you, too.

The World Unseen - See it!

Have I mentioned that The World Unseen premieres November 7 in the U.S. & Canada? I will have to address Proposition 8 next week. I just can’t let those misguided Mormons who spent $21 million to pass a ban on gay marriage instead of doing a million and one useful things get to me. I can’t let them yuck my yum! The time will come to rally, and the time will come for change.

Now is the time to celebrate what we can control and celebrate the possibilities. Our friends made a movie which most would have thought to be an impossible feat. Shamim wrote a beautiful novel, The World Unseen, but we all know a good book does not a movie make. If you ask Shamim, she and her partner Hanan were able to make this movie because that beautiful novel inspired people to get behind the project. This is true. What is also true is that Shamim & Hanan are an amazing team. They bring out the best in each other as individuals and together they are nothing less than a force. Gabriella and I are incredibly proud of them and inspired by them as a couple. For more back story see previous entry - Be There or Be Square.

For those of you attending the 7:25PM premiere in NYC tomorrow, you will meet Shamim & Hanan as well as participate in the Q&A following the film. I believe they’ll be at the L.A. premiere of their next film, I Can’t Think Straight on the 21st. The 7:25PM show is SOLD OUT, but the film will be at The Quad Cinema for a week, and I hope you’re able to catch it at some point. Not to fear. I'll be at it again as we count down to I Can't Think Straight on the 21st.

I CAN'T THINK STRAIGHT


You'll find THE WORLD UNSEEN at the following theatres:

NEW YORK:
New York, Quad Cinema
(212) 255-8800
34 W 13th St
New York, NY


LA:
Beverly Hills, Laemmle's Music Hall 3
9036 Wilshire Blvd.
Beverly Hills, 90211
310-274-6869

TORONTO:
Cineplex Odeon Carlton
20 Carlton Street
Toronto
ON, M5B 2H5
(416) 598-2197

SAN FRANCISCO:
PLEASE NOTE OPENS November 14, 2008
San Francisco, Roxie Theater
3117 16th Street,
San Francisco, CA
(415) 863-1087

PORTLAND:
November 21, 2008,
The Living Room Theatre
Portland, OR

Keep on Ba-ROCKin' me, Baby

I’d be remiss not to mention that it is the day after Election Day, and I am pleased that the smart people have prevailed over the stupid people. I never doubted as friends will attest. I wasn’t biting my nails or losing sleep for the past few months. I was enjoying the ride to victory. So much more fun than the anxiety most everyone else suffered up until now. I’m not smarter than most (again as my friends will attest), and I can’t see into the future. But when the financial markets tanked, I knew it was a done deal. So it is with absolute sincerity that I say THANK YOU GEORGE W. & DICK FOR FUCKING UP SO ROYALLY AND HANDING THE PRESIDENCY TO BARACK OBAMA ON A SILVER PLATTER.

Pipe down! I know! Of course Obama played a role in his own victory. He led a fantastic campaign beginning with the woeful annihilation of Hillary Clinton. A moment, please. He mobilized communities; gave people hope; never lost his cool and selected a worthy running mate. But no one was ever sure it would be enough. When the economy went tits up, the deal was done.

Gabriella asked Asher if they talked about the election at his pre-school. He said that they hadn’t. Gabriella was outraged-outrage from a girl who has lived in the U.S. since she was 5 and never bothered to become a citizen. The day before the election, I was making breakfast for the boys while listening to Gabriella give Asher a lesson in politics. I delivered the oat bran pancakes as quickly as I could so that I could be a part of the indoctrination. We tried to be objective about the process and not emotional about the candidates. I decided not to tell Asher that McCain is a prisoner of war who is psychologically damaged. I decided not tell Asher that Palin is a mindless whore. And, I decided not to tell Asher that anyone who votes for McCain earning less than $250K per annum is most-likely a racist and/or misogynist and/or imbecile who does not understand the concept of separation between church and state. Instead, we told him that there were 2 people who wanted to lead the country but that each one had a different plan to make this country better. We all get to decide who we think has the better plan when we vote. The fact that 9 people were running for President will be a lesson for a later time.

We did tell Asher that we thought that Barack Obama had a better plan than John McCain. Asher wanted to know if people would be sad if John McCain didn’t win. Yes, we said, they would, but hopefully, Barack Obama’s plan would make everyone feel better. It’s tough to take the high road. I know there are plenty of parents who don’t, and I can’t always blame them. I do love to hear how other people describe the election in their homes. One mother told her pre-schooler that she was voting for Barack Obama because President Bush made a really big mess and she thought Barack Obama could clean it up. I added that there weren’t enough paper towels at Costco to clean it all up. Obama would use cloth towels instead of paper towels to be good to the earth but that everyone had to help clean up, too.

It has been the most fascinating race I’ve ever studied or experienced, and I have tried to appreciate all the ups and downs of it along the way. Occasionally, an out-of-body experience was required for those ugly moments, but I never lost sight of the fact that history was in the making at every step of this election. Of course, the real work begins now. After Obama’s version of JFK’s “Ask not what your country can do for you. Ask what you can do for your country.” speech, it is clear more than ever before that if we are not part of the solution, we are part of the problem. We can’t count on government to make everything right again-no matter who’s in the White House. I realize that I have used an inordinate number of clichés in this entry for which I do apologize.

The good news is that this IS the age of grass-roots organizing and that people ARE mobilizing to change the world-one issue at a time. Why, even in my own little pocket of the world in suburban New Jersey, I see change-and it’s closer to my house than Russia!

Ever since I took on the role of meat-lady at my synagogue, I see change. More and more people are choosing to support sustainable farming over industrial farming and fulfilling Michael Pollan’s call to eat ethically. They can’t help but share with me how good it feels to be part of a movement.

After choosing to birth Asher and Levi in birth centres with the support of midwives, we have become a part of a growing movement to empower mothers and fathers to have healthier births in the face of a fear-mongering, litigious medical system. In the past few years, we’ve seen the publication of books like Jennifer Block’s Pushed and releases of films such as Ricki Lake's The Business of Being Born and Debra Pascali-Bonaro’s Orgasmic Birth. Clearly, change is in the air.

We lost the gay marriage battle in Arizona, Florida and California. It’s a wake-up call. We have to stop faffing around with individual states. There is no equality unless gay unions are recognized by the federal government. We have to stop tippy-toeing around it and take it to the Supreme Court as soon as Obama gets some decent Justices in there.

All the planets have aligned. It is time for change, and it feels great to be a part of it. As many a parent has cautioned his/her child, MAKE GOOD CHOICES! I hope your vote was the first of many good choices.

Sunday Bubby Sunday #4

One of the nurses called me from my Bubby’s nursing home to tell me that my Grandmother needs nightgowns. We agreed that I would order 5 nightgowns for her and she would bill me for them. Mary phoned a week later to tell me that my Grandmother had refused the nightgowns. She said they were too expensive. Of course, I instructed Mary to go back to my Grandmother and tell her that they were gifts from her grandchildren. Well, did I get a call. It’s amazing how alert and communicative my Bubby can be when she is furious.

B: What gives you the right to buy nightgowns for me?

She was absolutely livid. I tried to compose myself knowing that she was a proud woman. I needed to defuse the rage.

D: Bubby, they are gifts from all of us.

B: I could feel her jaw clamped shut as she spoke to me through her teeth. I don’t need them and I don’t like them and you have no right to buy me gifts!

D: We can’t buy you gifts? Why not?

B: It’s not for YOU to do.

D: Well, we were just trying to do something nice for you. We want you to be comfortable. We didn’t know it would make you angry.

B: It did. You have no right to buy me anything. I can buy for myself. I want my money.

D: What are you talking about?

B: My insurance money. I want you to cash it and deposit it in my account.

D: What insurance money?

B: Hy had a lot of money in an insurance account, and I want it. Cash it for me.

D: All that money is gone. We paid Shalom Memorial Park, the funeral home, the balance due on your policy.

B: What?! You should NEVER do such a thing without discussing it with me first.

D: sigh. Now was not an ideal time for her to suffer from memory loss. We did discuss it with you. Hy’s daughter-in-law and you and I all talked about this ages ago. I would NEVER do anything with your money without your approval.

B: I know that.

D: What did you want to do with the money?

B: I have to tell YOU what I do with MY money?!?

D: As a matter of fact, yes. And if you’re going to be blunt and stern with me, I’m going to be blunt and stern with you. Some days, you are confused and you think you are living in your old apartment and you think that people who have passed are alive and I don’t think you are in a good position to make any financial decisions. And, I don’t think you should be angry with me for trying to do something nice for you.

Bubby waited a beat. She was starting to simmer now. Her pride was exhausting her now, and she started to understand that there had been no foul committed against her.

B: I’m sorry, honey. It’s a racket here, you know, the way they force these nightgowns on me.

D: Bubby, I asked them to order the nightgowns for you, and I told them to tell you that they were gifts. No one is doing anything that I didn’t tell them to do. We all just thought you’d appreciate the gifts.

B: Ok. Ok. I’ve been agitated today. How are you?

D: Cranky. It was cold and windy and wet all day and it made me very grouchy. So I can relate to your agitated day.

B: It’s like that for me every day.

D: I know. I’m sorry. And when you don’t get enough sleep and you’re not near your family that makes it worse.

B: Oh it does, honey, it does!

D: I wish you lived closer. We’d come see you all the time. The boys would sing songs for you and make pictures for you. I’m sorry we can’t see you more often.

B: Me, too. Are you angry with me?

D: No! I just don’t want you to be angry with me.

B: I just want you to tell me that you love me.

D: More than you know.

My throat seized and I couldn’t help but cry. She had gotten to me-took me on an emotional roller coaster, and now I needed to let go of it all. She wept, too. I could barely understand her when she said her good-byes. I’m pretty sure she told me that she loved me, too.

Halloween '08

Asher went trick-or-treating last night. This is significant because he has not been a willing Halloween participant until this year at the age of 5. When he was 1, he wore a Thomas the Tank Engine costume for about an hour because he didn’t know enough to protest and because it was not an invasive outfit. At 2, we tried to put him in a lion costume, and he screamed until we took it off. I managed to take a quick picture of him before scarring him permanently...I hope. The following Halloween, Asher was 3 and Levi had been born 2 weeks prior. I have no idea what happened that year, but I’m guessing not much. At 4, Asher insisted that he wanted to be James (another Thomas the Tank Engine character). He tried the costume on at home and he enjoyed looking at himself in the mirror. We explained that if he wanted to get treats, we had to go door to door and say, “Trick or Treat!” to our neighbours. He seemed willing, but we actually only made it to 1 house when he decided he wanted to go home and forego candy-collecting altogether.

This year, Asher wanted to be Batman. He’s never seen a Batman show or movie or licensed product, but somehow he knows that Batman is a super hero, and he wanted to save people. He put on the costume and hit the streets. I threw on a wig – Cher circa 1987 – and put Levi in a stroller and hoped for the best. He was cautious at first. He didn’t know what to expect, and he’s a boy who likes to know what to expect every minute of the day. But after 3 or 4 houses, he found his groove and booked from house to house collecting as much junk as he could carry before he had to surrender to the weight of his goody bag and the need to wee after having refused to go to the loo before we left.

By the time we returned, Mommy was on the porch passing out candy to trick-or-treaters wearing a wig of very long, very thick dreadlocks. I put Levi to bed, and Asher helped Mommy distribute the last of the candy. I joined Asher and Mommy on the porch until the candy was gone. Cher, Bob Marley and Batman. I think he enjoyed giving more than receiving - clearly, he didn’t get that from me. 8pm. Well after Asher’s bed time. No candy left. A slight chill in the air. We packed it in, and I headed over to our neighbors’ party for drinks – wig in place – while Gabriella put Asher to bed.

The neighbors greeted me with a glass of red wine and inquiries about my “costume”. “Aside from President Palin, nothing is more frightening than a bad, 80s perm,” I said. In fact, I did sport the Flashdance perm in the 80s, and it was not one of my finer moments. Some might say that the party on the porch last night was also not one of my finer moments except that my neighbours did seem to enjoy the outspoken, politically incorrect, foul mouthed gal that I am.

When I first arrived, my neighbour walked me into the kitchen to serve me some homemade squash soup. There was a man in the kitchen I didn’t know. He looked me up and down and asked, “Is that hair real?” “No,” I answered, “but my boobs are.” And that was before I had a single sip of wine. I moved on to the porch where the only guests were the neighbours, and we were all enjoying a happy buzz except for the mummy-to-be who is about to drop twins. During the course of the evening, I did myself proud. I outed 2 of the European men at the party as being uncircumcised. I tried to convince the sweet young neighbour living with her boyfriend that she should take a lover, and, by the way, Gabriella worked long hours. I shared with my German neighbour all the dirty words I know in German and confessed that when we redid our kitchen, I tried to convince Gabriella not to get the German-made oven. The war is over, I realize, but I’d prefer not to own a German car with seat-warmers or a German oven. I can do without that kind of tested-efficiency, thank you very much. Not PC? Pogue mahone (kiss my arse)! (taught to me by my gay boy neighbor that night)

Gabriella let me sleep in and brought me breakfast in bed this morning. Now you know where Asher learned that giving is better than receiving. She is also my moral foil. She watched the Cher video while I was creating this entry and said, “Can you imagine her as your mother? Ok, she’s got a nice body, but put your stuff away, Mom!” Then she handed me the Chinese chicken wings she whipped up for dinner.