Fairy God-munchers

Reading this blog throughout the seasons, you’ll undoubtedly know that I love the sun and the heat, and I loathe the cold and socks. The weather is just starting to break. The lawn is covered with leaves only hours after the grass has been scraped clean. And, the sun sets hours before I’m ready for the day to end.

I realize now that I was born to be a bubby in Boca. I need warm weather all year round. I’d prefer the occasional company of grandchildren to the day in-day out torture of my children. And, I love to kvetch. Kvetching is socially acceptable when you’re a bubby in Boca.

On top of the shift in weather, I have to turn my attention to my house. The kitchen is just about the only room I can stand to be in which is unfortunate considering I don’t cook. Ever. But we gutted the kitchen when we first moved in, and it looks nothing like the rest of my dark, dilapidated house.

The living room is particularly gloomy because of the porch that blocks what little light our house gets from the hours of 2 to 4PM. During the summer, we sit on the porch and watch neighbors stroll by while we sip our cocktails. The walls were a dirty shade of cream, and no one had painted them for years. We figured we’d sand the frosting-like peaks of textured plaster one day, so we left the walls as they were and ignored them.

And then one evening, our Fairy God-Munchers paid a visit. Lois and Mindy used to live behind us (or we lived behind them), and they were the first neighbors we met 6 years ago. How delighted we were to meet a lady-couple with children. Their daughters were much further along in school than Asher was, so we figured we could learn loads from these seasoned moms.

But Lois & Mindy offered much more than motherly wisdom. They were handy! They knew everything about fixing up and decorating, and they did most of it on their own. Their house was stunning, and they provided plenty of DIY advice and encouragement – like the time they came over for dinner and said, “You know we look right down on to your roof. Are you going to replace it any time soon? We don’t think it’ll last another season.” Or, “Isn’t it time you painted your living room walls? Why don’t we just come over and do it for you?” And they did. If you don’t have handy lesbians in your life, you best get out and get some!

Those ladies showed up one morning and painted walls and ceilings in a few hours and brought new life into our tired house. And, just when we thought they had enough, they offered to help us tile our fireplace.

“You know,” said Lois, “I’ve got my own nippers.”

“Why, Lois,” I answered, “I don’t believe a lady has ever offered her nippers to me before now.”

“AND I’ve got my own wet-saw,” she added.

“Wet what? Oh my.”

And that is how our fireplace, which was once surrounded by a dingy border of crumbling, grey bricks, became a focal point extraordinaire. So inspired was Lois, that she convinced us to finally tackle the backsplash in our kitchen which had gone unprotected and under-adorned for years. Gabriella became the apprentice to our Fairy-Godmunchers, and yours truly adopted the role of tile selector and documentarian. I don’t do labor. It’s a post-pyramid thing.

What I used to describe as fall foreboding is now fall fabulosity! I can face my elderly home with new hope and vision for what could be. Thank you Lois and Mindy and my able Gabriella for tiling and grouting and wet-sawing. You ladies rock my world with your tools and such.

YE OLD-NEW FIREPLACE

TILING


NIPPING

Forms make me shvitz

I find this back-to-school time of year particularly stressful. After months of flexible summer days and relaxing evenings, I’ve got to get organized and back into some semblance of routine. My mornings are frantic between getting the kids ready for school, preparing lunches and finishing off that homework we just couldn’t seem to finish. I’m hit with a barrage of back-to-school events scheduled day and night. The clothes come of out of storage to pass down to the next kid, and I have to stock up on cold-weather clothes for the older one so that we’re prepared when the weather snaps unexpectedly.

Then there are the countless forms I find myself completing for each child. Fill out these forms so your child can go on field trips. Sign here to allow your child to be photographed for promotional materials. Do you want your preschooler to participate in the lunch program? Which school photo package would you like to purchase? Please identify all the ways in which you can participate in the PTA. Some of the after school activities require forms as well.

My least favorite forms are the Emergency and medical forms. They make me shvitz a little (shvitz meaning perspire from either heat or angst). In this instance, it’s all about the angst. I should preface the following comments with the fact that it doesn’t take much for me to start angst-shvitzing. I’m high strung. That said, I’m sure there is a significant population that can empathize. Each child’s school requires that I complete form after form identifying our insurance carrier, allergy and medical information and emergency contacts. Elementary schools require two emergency cards per child. Certainly, there is some reason for duplication, but I don’t see why we can’t provide the information on a website somewhere allowing whichever school or Department of Medical Catastrophe of to access it.

Then there’s the matter of the emergency contacts. Who should they be? They are not necessarily the parents of your child’s best friend. Nor are they your friend if your friend works during the day. I need to identify someone my kid knows well enough to trust during an emergency, someone who is available during school hours, someone preferably within our school system and someone who is willing to be my emergency contact. Then, I need to find another one because the forms ask for at least two. When I asked my neighbor if she would be my Emergency Contact, I felt like I was asking her to go steady. “It’s a big step in our relationship, isn’t it?” I asked her only half-joking. She giggled and asked me to be an emergency contact for her, too. I wondered briefly if she was asking me just to be nice. It’s possible she would have felt awkward admitting that she already had an army of friends who volunteered to drop everything at any time of day to rescue her children from crises. I dismissed the thought when she asked for my cell phone number. I decided she needed me after all.

If scraping up emergency contacts weren’t difficult enough, there is also the reminder that New Jersey does not always recognize my family when I have to cross out Father’s name on the card. Slowly, institutions and companies are getting with the program. There are many forms that require information from the Parent/Guardian as opposed to the Mother and Father. I can’t help but wonder what it would take for everyone to follow suit. It may be an administrative inconvenience, but the cost of alienating our families is surely greater than the cost of reprinting forms, isn’t it?

How we make it work...sometimes

I know you’re aching to find out what we did on our summer vacation, but I keep telling you about incidental things that happened along the way. While I have butt-loads of photos and videos from our trip, I do have to fast-forward to the last leg. BUTT before I do, how much IS a butt-load? Can you put umpteen items in a butt-load? Just curious. Anyhoo…

Irene kept us out of Jersey from Sunday through Thursday when we were finally able to fly into Philadelphia-a 2 hour ride from home. The plan was to rent a car in Philadelphia rather than wait 3 more days to get a flight to New Jersey.

We picked up the car at Avis-a cherry red Jeep Cherokee. Gabriella told me she always wanted a Jeep Cherokee. To this day I still find it inconceivable that I’m the one who dragged her out of the closet.

After a week in Northern Michigan and a 5-day detour in Chicago while the storms pounded the East Coast, I was ready to put the pedal to the metal and get home. Well, I was ready for Gabriella to put the pedal to the metal. She enjoys driving. And I do not. With our phones at the ready, we mapped out directions and got on the highway. We still had to get to Newark airport to drop off the dyke-mobile and taxi it back to whatever was left of our house after Irene. If we didn’t hit traffic, we could make it home in time to throw the kids in the bath and throw some laundry in the wash (if we had water and power). Gabriella had other ideas.

Gabriella: So, what kind of sights should we see in Philadelphia?

Deborah: Funny. Benjamin sent me a text telling us we should try to catch an Eagles game. I told him I didn’t think hockey season had started.

G: Uh huh. Should we drive into the city and find a place for dinner?

D: Seriously? You don’t want to just pick something up along the way and get home?

G: Like fast food? We’re in Philadelphia! And, I’m up for an adventure.

D: But we’re on the highway already. And we don’t know where we are or where to go. We don’t know Philadelphia at all.

G: Grab my phone and get on Yelp. Look for a decent Italian place where the boys can have pasta.

D: Right now? While we’re driving, and we’re half way out of the city?

G: The city is right over there, see? Just look something up on Yelp.

D: Really? Do you not know me?!? Hello, my name is Deborah, and it’s so nice to meet you in your shiny Jeep Cherokee. I’d love for us to explore this relationship further, but there are a few things you should know about me. I am a planner. I love an adventure, but I love the kind you research carefully and anticipate all obstacles and execute seamlessly…a week in advance! One of my least favorite things to do is drive around a city I don’t know with no destination in mind with two small, tired and hungry children trying to “JUST LOOK SOMETHING UP” while on the move, on a cell phone without knowing if we’re going to end up driving up to a crack house on a forgotten road where no one will hear us screaming when some convict, who just broke out of the pokey, car jacks the shiny new Jeep Cherokee with our terrified children inside scraping at the windows yelling, “Mommy! Mom! Help us!!” because YOU were up for an adventure!

G: Would you like me to pull over?

D: If you don’t mind, thank you.

I don’t know about you, but if I don’t know where I’m going, I stop the car so that I can look at a map or make a phone call or plug an address into the GPS. Gabriella figures moving is better than not moving. I figure I could hurt her if I really tried, but then she might not be able to drive, and I’m a much better navigator than I am a driver.

We looked up a few restaurants, crosschecked their locations on the map from the rental car office to see if they looked sufficiently downtown-ish and agreed that we’d make our way into Philadelphia. I was still on edge, but a mile in, the city roads narrowed into neighborhoods, and the vacant diners morphed into boutiques, and I began to breathe.

Gabriella: Hey, look at that in front of us! Is that Benjamin Franklin on top of that building?

Deborah: That little needle of a thing on top of that tall building? You know, it’s always so difficult for me to recognize Benjamin Franklin from the back at this distance.

G: Come on, it’s that famous building. No, it’s not Benjamin Franklin. It’s William Penn. On the City Hall tower-that’s what it is.

D: Who are you?

G: It’s a well-known landmark. Look, we’re coming up to the restaurant. Isn’t it cute around here?

D: It’s not just cute, Gabriella, it’s completely G-A-Y! All the street signs have rainbows underneath them. You managed to find a gay-Philly! You must have the most incredible Gay-dar ever. Or maybe it’s the car. It must sense that it’s amongst its own.

We parked the car on 13th Street and made our way to Barbuzzo; a restaurant owned by lesbian lovers Valerie Safran and Chef Marcie Turney; information we learned after our server included post-card sized business card with our bill promoting the 6 businesses that Valerie and Marcie own on 13th Street.

Valerie Safran & Chef Marcie Turney

Back in New Jersey, I did my research and discovered that the pair had ostensibly repurposed 13th Street from a no-go to a go-gay part of Philly’s Gayborhood. And not only had we discovered a very tasty restaurant in a trendy gay part of town owned by two lady entrepreneurs, but we were there 2 days after Rachael Ray met and filmed our lady-friends at Barbuzzo, as well. Apparently, the show will air at the end of this month.

So everything fell into place. Gabriella quieted my travel anxieties and led us to an oasis in an unknown land. I pretended not to suffer from obsessive planning disorder and turned off the “I told you so” recording, which is always cued up and ready to play. And our cherry red Jeep Cherokee found its herd on 13th Street in Philadelphia. For the record, I’m the one who spotted the one parking space left in all of Philadelphia. I may be a reluctant adventurer and a nervous driver in unfamiliar towns, but I’m an excellent navigator. And that’s how we roll.

Wiggle it, just a little bit

Asher lost his fourth tooth on the airplane on the way to Northern Michigan. He had been twisting and wiggling for days hoping to get that sucker out of there. Asher was particularly motivated to lose his tooth on vacation because the Tooth Fairy looked quite favorably on him the last time he lost his tooth while he was traveling. What we learned from Asher’s determination is that Gabriella is beyond squeamish around wiggly teeth. I don’t know how we missed this information the first three times, but it became clear on this trip that loose teeth freak Mommy out.

Asher: Mommy! Look how wiggly my tooth is!!

Gabriella: No thank you, Asher.

A: Don’t you want to see how wiggly it is? Look how I can move it!

G: NO Asher. I really don’t want to see.

Deborah: What’s the matter, Mommy? Are you freaked out by Asher’s loose tooth?

G: Yes, actually. I don’t need to see that.

D: There’s nothing weird about it, right Asher? Show her.

G: NO, you DON’T need to show me. I just don’t like, ok?

D & A: LAUGHING

D: Asher, Mommy doesn’t like looking at your wiggly tooth. Maybe you can just describe how wiggly it is, instead. Tell her if you can see the hole in your gums when you flip your tooth around with your tongue.

G: I really don’t need to know that. And Asher, can you please turn your head the other way if you insist on playing with your tooth?

D: Asher, tell her that only a little blood shoots out of your mouth when you tip your tooth back like the top of a teapot.

G: Deborah.

A: MORE LAUGHING

D: Hey Asher, did you know that when your tooth is loose, your body is actually absorbing the roots of your baby tooth?

A: Huh?

G: DEBORAH!

D: Mommy, surely you don’t want to alarm Asher with your discomfort with this perfectly normal process? Why, our Asher is growing up and this tooth doing flip-flops in his mouth whilst still attached by fragile roots is proof of his maturation. Aren’t you proud?

G: I’m very proud of Asher, but I don’t need to see his loose tooth.

D: Why are you snarling at me, Mommy? Maybe we should sing a song to put you in a better mood. Wiggle it…just a little bit, I wanna see you wiggle it…just a little bit…

A: GIGGLES & GFAWS

G: CUT IT OUT, DEBORAH!

A: You don’t have to worry about my loose tooth anymore, Mommy.

G: Thank you for understanding, Asher.

A: No, Mommy. You don’t have to worry about it because it just came out! SEE!!

D: Mazal tov, Asher!! Quick! Give me your tooth. We’ll let Mommy continue to prop her head against the airplane window like that for a while. She doesn't look so good.

We stayed in Chicago the week Irene ripped through the East Coast. During our extended vacation, Asher also lost the tooth on the bottom that his dentist calls his “special tooth”. It was only a little loose, but that hard, chocolate lolly did the trick, and Mommy did not have to suffer another round with her wicked foes, Asher the Wiggle-a-nator and Deborah the Tormentah. He’s got lots of teeth to go. We’ll meet again, Mommy. We’ll meet again. MWAH HA HA HA!!!