Organizing, multi-tasking, creative thinking, self-motivation, dedication, endless overtime,... And the list goes on. Trust what I say; being a parent is a job. And the rewards are plenty, but not guaranteed.
So, yesterday when a woman--and fellow mommy--nearly fainted from surprise when she found out that I am actually a mom, I considered it the biggest compliment.
"I just never pictured you in that role," were her exact words.
Cool. Because neither have I.
Hayes and I recently acquired a fish. Since we’re vegan, and experience has taught me that fish inevitably die in my care, we have no business with them at all. But it showed up without our consent all pretty and red and educational. So, whatever. Hayes named it Azo.
Well, despite my efforts to avoid it, Azo acquired friends; two small, orange fish that Hayes named Scientist and New Mexico. Again, they showed up without my consent. But I figured everyone needs a friend so… Whatever.
Everything was fine and everyone was getting along swimmingly, so to speak, until it came time to clean the tank. Now, allow me to interject that I was a clean-freak way before having a kid. But now that I share a life with Sir Germ-A-Lot, forget about it. A Clorox doused surface makes me feel more comfortable than a hammock on the beach in the Caribbean. If anything, my prior fish-raising experiences have taught me that tank-cleaning day can be a crucial turning point in a healthy fish's life. They either live through it, or they die slowly afterward.
Poor New Mexico didn’t survive the water change. And Hayes and I suffered through the entire flushing ceremony. A friend joked that I can kill a mouse with hardly a flinch but a dying fish pulls at my heartstrings in the most sentimental, animal-activist kind of way. So, I vowed to do a better job next time. I would try to keep most of the murky water and floating debris in the tank, no matter how much it grossed me out. Afterall, this is supposed to be an educational experience on how to take care of a pet, not Hayes’s introduction to the helplessness of death.
Well, yesterday was tank-cleaning day again. And today I noticed Scientist nose-down in the rocks—exactly the way New Mexico looked hours before the flushing ceremony three weeks ago. Needless to say, I’m sad and bracing myself for another emotional evening.
Thankfully, I already have a plan to get Hayes ready for the event. I’m telling him that we’re vegan. And we have no business owning a fish anyway. So, it’s time to set little Scientist free before he becomes anymore miserable in our care.
…And then we’ll watch Finding Nemo. How’s that for education? I don't really care. I just hope it works.
Last night began as simply as most evenings do around here; Hayes and I were pleased to be out for a walk on our way to visit friends. I would spend the better half of the evening being pseudo intellectual and analyzing the behavior of celebrities and various others while Hayes, I’m sure, anticipated the joys of playing with someone else’s toys.
It was on my mind to check my bag for the chocolate I had hoped to pack, and to remind Hayes to play nicely—in a selfish attempt to delay any misunderstanding that would inevitably escalate to a scuffle that would lead to the meltdown signaling the end of what was going to be a relaxing evening commiserating with my friends—when I noticed him looking pensively up at the sky.
Then he asked me why is the sky purple.
I stood there baffled—but noticed that his shoelaces had managed to unravel from their double ties in the seconds it took to walk out the door. It was that quintessential parent moment when you’re thrown a simple question to which there is no simple answer. That moment when you realize you’re rearing a thinking being who’s growing way too fast for you to keep up with. That magic moment when it becomes clear that you are experiencing all of the firsts for the second time around.
Of course, my son is two years old. So I knew I could get away with an unsophisticated answer. What did I say? I decided to tell him that the sky can appear different at different times throughout the day and it just so happened to look purple that night.
Whatever. Scientific accuracy was not as important as the reminder that tying his shoelaces every other second [and all the other big but small things I do] is something I might very well forget entirely. Because before I know it... well, you know what they say about raising children.
Somewhere in the nooks and crannies of my Brooklyn apartment is a post-it I can remember writing Hakurei turnips on because I read an article claiming they are as sweet and crunchy as apples. Turnips sounded like just the kind of vegetable I want Hayes to get used to finding in his school lunch box every now and then. So I thought to grab a few on my next grocery store visit.
But I recently found myself at the store without my post-it. I carefully read each sign hoping one of the vegetable names would jog my failing memory. And I nearly left with a bunch of Brussels sprouts because I remembered the same article mentioned those are good glazed with maple syrup. I decided to take on one wild and crazy experiment at a time and grabbed a bag of pre-packaged parsnips because something about the name sounded familiar.
So today, when I reached into my vegetable bin, I happened to glance at the word PARSNIPS printed in big, red capital letters across the bag. Suddenly, the post-it came to mind. I recalled the words as clearly as I had written them. And they read turnips. Not parsnips. Aha! It was the second syllable that sounded so familiar.
I immediately googled parsnips because, until then, the bag of pale root vegetables waiting to be opened was a source of salvation that would keep my fastidious toddler from turning into a macaroni noodle, since pasta is the only meal Hayes eats without a fuss. I thought the parsnips were vegetables that would taste like sweet, crisp apples. No, because they're parsnips. And, truth be told, I didn’t even know what a parsnip was.
Well, I found out parsnips are like carrots—which is not helpful considering Hayes has a love/hate relationship with carrots; he loves them and wants them when his friends are enjoying them but hates them and will have nothing to do with them the rest of the time. However, I tossed them into a stir-fry tonight and they surprisingly made their way to Hayes’s belly without too much of a struggle.
So maybe there’s hope for the occasional root vegetable around here afterall. And as for my memory,... Well, that's another story.
Global warming is frightening, sad…and makes for a very comfortable winter. So go outside and play all you can before the snow comes, the city hibernates and you resort to entertaining your kid with the same lame arts and crafts activities that once amused you as a child.
Or skip the cabin fever induced melt down and add one more thing to your schedule: Check out NY Kids Club.
They have three NYC locations and one arriving this spring in BK.
Hayes and I were recently introduced to the Amsterdam Avenue location. It was merely an introduction—so I don’t have a good sense of what the classes are really like. But I did notice the following:
A large, enclosed play area with the carpeted, padded, springy floor I've always wanted for my daredevil child.
Lots of equipment [mostly gymnastics stuff].
A rock climbing wall. [Very cool]!
And a staff that speaks to kids in that high-pitched I’m-talking-to-a-iddle-biddy-baaaaby sing-songy way that I find extremely annoying. Though they were clearly from some strange baby planet, they were knowledgeable, attentive and friendly--which, I suppose, is what really matters.
We'll definitely be back before spring.
I have a love/hate relationship with machines: I love them for all the cool things they do. And I hate them when they don't do all the cool things they should--like turn on, for instance.
Recently, my precious mac has been unkind, temperamental and downright disobedient to me. So I sent it away to get it's head checked. Now we're back!
Sorry for the delay.
