Six Years in Suburbia
One of the things Rebecca and I like best about our home is the location. A fifteen minute walk in any direction will bring you to all that is great about America – chain department stores; Home Depot, chain restaurants; Chinese take-out; and clear-cut, 20x20 fenced yards with one piece of plastic playground equipment. We are also a short walk from Metro – the easy-to-understand, color-coordinated public transportation system that serves Washington D.C.
We all know the many wonderful things that “The City,” as folks who grew up around here call it, has to offer. And I’m not even talking about the young co-eds and drugs. But while it may rank as the top one or two power cities of the world, I recently saw that Teen Beat did not rank it in the top fifty as a destination for night-life. This may be why Metro closes at midnight on most nights.
But, seriously, the fact that we can, if we choose, go days without having to get in our car to drive somewhere to partake of one of life’s necessities – the 99-cent Taco Bell menu, seeing Archie Bunker’s chair, a Starbucks mocha latte - has been an essential element in why Rebecca and I haven’t upgraded to a place that would make us house poor like so many of our friends.
Now, Rebecca and I realize that we are giving up something by living in the yuppie suburbia that we do. A move to the country would grant us access to air that contained fewer toxins, provide us the ability to see cows and smell manure whenever we wanted, and maybe even have a P.O. box as our mailing address. It would also probably increase our chances of being grandparents while Maya and Jonah are still in their teens.
Which, finally, brings me to the point of this blog post. Yesterday, December 14, we celebrated Maya’s 6th birthday. 
Because we’ve gone ice-skating a few times recently and she’s gotten pretty good at it, Maya wanted to have an ice-skating party. Here she is carving it up yesterday.
Because none of the local ponds were frozen over, and anyway, I can’t think of any local ponds, we had to go to the local skating rink. In keeping with the theme developed above of how great our location is, how many of you reading this live near an ice-skating rink that is accessible by public transportation?
Having the party at the ice rink rather than a local pond was fine by me since it set my mind at ease that none of our guests would fall through the ice and get trapped. What a head-ache that would have been for us!
After deliberating over who to invite for two or three days, Maya settled on ten of her friends, including Jonah, her cousins Gabriel and Bella, five of her classmates, and Celeste, her friend from our street. Rebecca sent out the E-vite and we were all set.
The way it went was this, we rented a “party room” at the ice-rink that consisted of four cinder block walls, three folding tables and enough folding chairs. My mother-in-law made a tray of baked ziti, Rebecca made some cupcakes,
I poured the drinks, and my father-in-law provided the entertainment.
Thus fortified, the skaters strapped on their skates and headed to the "sheet" to flop around on the ice for a couple of hours. Of the young ones, only Jonah had skated before. But, I’m happy to say that no one hurt themselves except for Bella (no stitches were involved). There were also a few of us old folks that were lacing up skates for the first time in years (my sister Cathy)
or, in some cases, ever (my cousin Mike).
Neither of them admit to any bumps or bruises.
After skating, we came back to our house and gathered around the Christmas tree while Maya opened her few birthday presents. We had asked folks not to bring presents, but no matter how many times you tell that to grandparents, they don’t get the message. And anyway, Maya has been to a few parties recently where the parents did not tell folks not to bring presents, so she was excited to have some presents to open.
Maya was really excited to get a jewelry box from my parents and a camera from me and Rebecca. When Rebecca was tucking Maya into her bed last night, they debated keeping the night light in the room on or off. Maya wanted to keep it on in case she woke up and wanted to take some pictures.
After Maya opened her presents, she, Jonah and Celeste ran around the house crashing into things. This prompted my Dad to remark that someone was going to end up in the emergency room. That would have been no problem, from our house we can catch the 9A bus and be at the hospital in 24 minutes.
Esta haciendo los recuerdos con los Rolling Stones (segunda parte)
Rebecca and I purchased a lot of DVDs in
The catch is that they are all bootlegged. Imagine walking into a store that is selling nothing but bootlegged DVDs. Imagine that this could be your job, bootlegging DVDs and selling them for $2 each.
Even though we checked out each DVD we purchased on the store DVD player to make sure it was more than just an empty DVD, once we got them home onto our machine, some of them didn't work. Here's where this blog post would get real technical if I were a technical guy. But I'm not. If there is an opposite to a techno-geek, (something like a techneophyte), I'm it. Light switches are as complicated as I dare to get. I let Rebecca handle everything else. Whenever my guy friends get into discussions about digital versus HDTV, or how many channels they get, or pistons versus spark plugs or some such idiocy, I do my best to stay out of the conversation so as not to be emasculated.
But, to put our DVD issue in layman's terms, the problem seems to be that certain DVDs are made for certain places in the world and they won't play in other places. Don't ask me how they know where they are. I can't remember if it's the formatting of the DVD itself, the wiring of the DVD player, or what, but a bunch of the DVDs that we purchased in Ecuador are useless to us here except as coasters.
I brought two music DVDs in
Since it's nearly pointless to watch a concert video without sound, I started pushing buttons and somehow got myself to a screen that had "Audio" as an option. That sounded like just the fix that I needed so I selected it and lo and behold, I found myself on a screen with an option to select a different type of TV. Not a different model, but some different frequency or something. The techno-geek in me remembered something from a past conversation about T.V.'s being the root of the problem, so I selected the other T.V. from the one that was already selected and all hell broke loose.
The screen started rolling from top to bottom at great speed. Static lines started moving diagonally across the screen. The only sound you could hear was the war cry of the Bohemian Wahoo. This sudden change into techno-anarchy made it impossible to read the words to undo whatever the hell it was I had just done. Crap, I thought. More indiscriminate button pushing didn't help. Fuck, I thought. Something that started out with so much promise ended up completely fucked up.
In a last ditch effort to salvage some shred of manhood, I took the Stones DVD out and put in a DVD that I know works in our player - something Made in China but sold in the USA - held my breath and encountered the same problem. The screen rolled from top to bottom at great speed. Static lines started moving diagonally across the screen. The Bohemian wahoo cried it's war cry.
So basically, when you put a DVD in our DVD player, it's impossible to see what the hell is going on. It's impossible to read any of the words or see any of the pictures. Our DVD player is kaput. I am so discouraged that I can't even remember if the sound was working so we could at least listen to a movie.
Making Memories with the Rolling Stones
The other night I called my friend who lives on the street to see if he wanted to stop by. Since it was a week night, and it was already pretty late by the time I thought to call him, I expected to have to work a little bit to convince him. When I got him on his cell phone, I said to him all in a rush, “I just listened to Sticky Fingers and I’m listening to Beggar’s Banquet now and I’m probably going to listen to Exile on Main Street next. Why don’t you come over?”
“That sounds cool.” He said. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
So much for the hard sell, right?
About five minutes later he came walking down the street with a drink in his hand and we proceeded to tear it up in my kitchen listening to the Rolling Stones, talking, dancing and just having a good ole time. Though, because we are both responsible grown-ups and had to go to work the next day, one of our four eyes always strayed to the clock.
I haven’t yet figured out how many hours of sleep I need to function properly the day after I’ve had a few drinks, but I think it is in the 4-6 range. It also helps (a lot) if I don’t have my last drink minutes before my head hits the pillow. On this night, after my friend left and before I went to sleep, I made myself some spaghetti, drank a bunch of water, swallowed a few aspirins, and still felt pretty lousy the next morning. But it was the day before Thanksgiving and work was pretty slow so it didn’t matter much.
If you haven’t listened to Sticky Fingers recently, you should. We’ve all heard a lot of those songs on the radio before – Brown Sugar, Wild Horses, Bitch, Can’t You Hear Me Knocking – and probably are sick of them. I’m sure I’ve turned at least one of those songs off while it played on the radio recently.
But hearing them in context with the rest of that record - Sway, Dead Flowers, Moonlight Mile – reminded me how musically outstanding the Stones were during the late 1960’s early 1970’s. I had forgotten how much I liked the Sticky Fingers record. It’s a classic example of taking something profound (music, relationships, Hostess Ding Dongs) for granted just because it is there for you whenever you want it.
It also reminded me of something that happened to me many years ago when I was in college. I went through this period where I was bumming around about this girl that I liked who was spreading herself around for other guys. So, to make myself feel worse, one night I decided to sit alone in my dorm room in the dark listening to “I Got the Blues” from Sticky Fingers. I Got the Blues is a real slow, melancholy song that among other suicide greeting card ready lines, contains the lyric “feelin’ low down, I'm blue".
At some point my buddy stops by and this really depressing song is playing and I’m depressed over this girl that this guy had actually put some moves on. I let him in without turning the light on and he comes in and when I think about it now, I think “what a loser I am!” There I am in college, the greatest time of my life to that point, and I’m passing the hours sweating it out over some silly little thing like unrequited love!
Anyway, after trying to cheer me up some and get me to go out with him with zero success, my buddy asked me what I was listening to. I told him and all of a sudden it was alright with him that I wanted to sit in my room by myself in the dark. He left. Somehow the fact that I was listening to the Stones didn’t make me so pathetic. Maybe I was cool, even, to be feeling low down and blue over a girl and just letting the Stones wash over me.
I wonder now if my buddy remembers that night and what he thought about my situation. I don’t talk to him anymore so I can’t ask him. I probably wouldn’t ask him anyway, I think I’d just rather he forget about it. If I ever run into him again we’ve got lots of times to reminisce about when we were both happy, so there is no need to remember a time when we were not.
And anyway, my new memory of Sticky Fingers is dancing in my kitchen with a drink in my hand while my friend from up the block takes a break to pour himself another.
Rock and Roll Fantasy
The
There are innumerable bars that have live music during the week. There are small venues like the 9:30 club, The Black Cat, and The Birchmere that hold only a couple of hundred people. There are mid-size places like the
Then there are the artsy places like Strathmore and Millennium Stage at The Kennedy Center which roll all kinds of symphonies and jazz bands through but once in a while have something more pop/popular (i.e., The Beach Boys, Dec. 8 @ Strathmore).
A few weeks ago, on a Friday evening, Rebecca and I took Maya and Jonah for a picnic in the
Jazz isn’t really my thing but I appreciate good musicians and the band was great. Though, I think in this case the best moment was when the band started the Bill Withers’ song “Use Me” then encouraged folks to grab their instruments from their cars for a free-for-all winding jam that never lost the bass groove that makes you want to get up and dance in the first place. It was one of those moments where you couldn’t find a face that wasn’t smiling a big, broad, happy grin. Plus, the kids were transfixed by the musicians. They really enjoyed watching the performance.
Looking through the upcoming concert listings is enough to make one’s mouth water – Ray Davies (Dec. 8 @ 9:30 club); Oasis/Ryan Adams (Dec. 20 @
On the one hand, I feel like I am missing an opportunity by not seeing these bands now while I can still see and hear and dance. It reminds me of the David Budbill poem “While We’ve Still Got Feet.” On the other hand, some might question my priorities if I saw every band that stoked my interest.
Fortunately for me, I have a really great wife who indulges me (maybe?) more than she should and I’ve been able to see some really great live music in the last month, with some more on tap in December.
It started with three Black Crowes shows at the 9:30 Club in October. The Black Crowes are a band that I’ve liked since their first record came out in 1989 or 1990. I saw them play The Ritz in New York City around that time (a story in itself – we ended up in the emergency room) and most of my friends from that time always tell me that they think of me whenever they hear a Black Crowes song on the radio. I’m like their number one fan.
So, when I saw that The Black Crowes were performing for three nights in D.C, it was hard for me to pick just one show. I had to go to all three.
The Black Crowes are the type of band that you can see on consecutive nights because they change the set list all the time. They are kind of like the Grateful Dead in that regard – you never know what songs they’ll play at any show. Over the course of the three shows I saw, they only repeated three songs. But they also didn’t play a couple of songs that I wanted to hear so I’m going to have to see them the next time they come through town.
I say that the Crowes are the type of band that you can see on consecutive nights, but in practice, some folks doubted that my body could handle it. These are the folks that know how I can get at times.
But, truly, I never had any doubt that I would be okay. On opening night, Thursday, I went by myself so it was no problem, I was home and in bed by 1 a.m. On Friday night (the second show) I went with my friend Ty and we stayed up pretty late after the show. I only slept until 9 a.m. on Saturday so my ass was dragging on that afternoon. I think I actually took a nap on Saturday which is something I very, very rarely do. But by the time I got to the show on Saturday night around 9 p.m., I was ready. I ended up having to take a cab home that night because the Metro only runs until 3 a.m. on weekends.
I did have a revelation that I recall while watching the Crowes – Luther Dickinson will be to guitar players what Babe Ruth is to baseball players – a household name. Mark my words. He’s that good.
Last night (Wednesday) Rebecca and I went to see Michael Franti and Spearhead, a rock/hip-hop/reggae/funk band with poetic lyrics that trend politic and a really, really good-looking front man (the aforementioned Michael Franti). Well, I don’t think he’s that good-looking, but I do like his music and lyrics.
Rebecca really thinks he’s sexy and has Mr. Franti on the ubiquitous list that we all keep of the five people we’d most like to be stranded with on a deserted island. So, she was extra excited that as we walked up to the venue, Michael Franti was in the street kicking around a soccer ball with a bunch of folks. We had to stand there in the freezing cold and watch him finish the game so that I could take this picture.
After the picture Rebecca and Michael disappeared into the bus for a while, but Rebecca made it out in time to see the show from more or less the front row (the 9:30 Club is general admission so as far as you can elbow your way forward is where you stand for the show).
Overall, I thought the show was pretty good. There was a lot of jumping and sweating. I’d never seen Spearhead before (Rebecca has been two other times) so I was happy to finally be able to do that. We listen to them a lot at home because Maya and Jonah really like them too. Before we left for the show Maya asked Rebecca to take a picture of Michael Franti for her (mission accomplished!). Jonah is a fan too. We have a great video of him dancing to the song “Hey World” that I am going to upload to YouTube. Check it out.
The show that I am looking forward to now is Ray Davies. Ray Davies is the main guy in The Kinks. If you’ve read any of my previous blogs, I probably mentioned that I like The Kinks. To give you some idea of how much, I offer this quote that I made to Rebecca some time ago. “Rebecca, if you ever leave me, at least I’ll still have The Kinks.”
Since I’m probably never going to get to see The Kinks play together (the other band members, including Dave Davies, don’t get along with Ray) I consider Ray Davies as my substitute. This is okay seeing as he wrote most of their stuff. I’m just not sure how much of it he’s going to play since he does have solo records out in the last few years that he might like to play more, now. Thinking about it, I regret that he’s not playing two consecutive nights – more chances for him to play all the songs that I want to hear.
The Rise and Fall of the Family Bed
When Maya was born, Rebecca and I invested in a king size bed rather than a crib so that Maya could sleep with us. Rebecca and I had read many articles about the benefits of co-sleeping – how it promotes bonding, the fact that it is safer than crib/cot sleeping, and, of course, the all important potential for more sleep.
Because Maya was breastfeeding, and I would never be able to deliver on her midnight cries for feeding, co-sleeping is a more convenient arrangement for mommy. Whenever Maya stirred, Rebecca could boob her so that none of us ever really left Z-town, and we all satisfied our FDA required sleep quotient.
For the first few nights of her life, Maya slept between us in this specially designed box made of hard edges to prevent me or Rebecca from rolling onto her in our sleep. Of course, the idea that we would roll onto her in our sleep was completely ridiculous as all Rebecca and I wanted to do during sleeping hours was look over the edge of the box at our golden child. Eventually, though, Rebecca and I decided we did need to sleep rather than gawk over the edges of the box. So, we got rid of the box and Maya continued blissfully between us to no ill effect. And in fact, I loved having Maya next to us all night – would not have done it any other way.
In anticipation of adding Jonah to the mix, we purchased Maya a bed, set up a room for her, and talked about how much fun it is for big girls to sleep in their own beds in their own rooms. Maya didn’t really go for that idea, especially when she saw Jonah enjoying the co-sleeping arrangement that had been solely hers for so long. So, rather than fighting about it (and really, we liked having her close to us) we built a raised bed frame next to our bed and put a crib mattress on it to create something even bigger than the California King. We called this part of the bed “the nest” and for the most part, that’s where Maya slept. Jonah of course, continued to sleep between me and Rebecca, but mostly nuzzled next to Rebecca.
And that’s how sleeping life went on in our home until, sometime before May 14, 2008, Rebecca and I got sick of only being able to snuggle with our feet because one or other of our kids was between us. Since we knew that our apartment rental in
I am sure this jinxed everything. I’ve previously detailed the painful reality of our
After the abject failure of our
But finally, both Maya and Jonah got used to the idea. And now, with slightly devious parental tricks (“help you stay in bed” vitamins for Jonah, and promises to Maya that we will come back in “five minutes”) and only three or four trips to the bathroom between them, both Maya and Jonah are tucked into their own beds and fall asleep there.
Rebecca and I are still required to remain on the same floor while Maya and Jonah fall asleep. But this is a vast improvement on the status quo. We stay in our bedroom and can actually read a book, talk, surf the internet or otherwise ignore each other, or (gasp!) snuggle; whatever our hearts desire.
The arrangement has been working out so well, this reclamation of our room and of our bed, that Rebecca and I have basically been shutting off the downstairs when the kids go to bed and spending the rest of the night in our room. It has really been making the liquor on our bar last a lot longer than is usual. And lest we forget how nice it was to have the kids in our bed to snuggle with during the co-sleeping years, not a night goes by without Maya or Jonah (or both) waking up, walking the long hallway to the big bedroom and finding their old spot between Rebecca and me.
My Wife, Proud to be an American Dork
Proud to be an American
The President himself took time out of his busy transition schedule to stop by and thank Rebecca personally for all the work she did on his election and turning Virginia blue!
Opus Dei Camping Trip
In the few months that I’ve been wearing it, something strange has happened. The seed, or whatever it is, has started to wear away. I don’t know if the cause was the salt water from the ocean at Canoa, or my rather pungent sweat, the daily shower I take (sometimes two!), or the fresh Washington, D.C. air. And I can’t tell if it is continuing to wear away or not.
Whatever the cause and pace, the seed is currently a spiny, prickly, shriveled thing that scratches my neck whenever I turn my head quickly to look at a pretty girl or to flag down the ice cream man. I call it my Opus Dei necklace.
So, on Columbus Day weekend we went camping. At this point, we’ve established camping as a regular family activity. So far Maya has been camping every year of her life.
In the summer of 2003, before Maya was one year old, we camped a few days at Mount Philo state park in Vermont. In 2004, we camped for a week at Jalama Beach County Park, north of Santa Barbara, California. In 2005, we did a few overnight camping trips to Virginia Beach (First Landing State Park is great!) and to Shenandoah National Park. In 2006, we camped at Bear Lake in Utah for a week and around Salt Lake City for an overnight. In 2007, we did a few nights at Vermont’s Grand Isle state park on Lake Champlain and did a few overnights at some Maryland state parks. And this year, because we were in Ecuador most of the year, we were limited to only this two-night trip to Point Lookout State Park in Maryland.
Jonah, of course, has been camping with us every year since he was born too, starting with Bear Lake, Utah when he was just about one year old.
In fact, camping has become such a big part of our summer routine that Rebecca made me a family camping flag for Christmas last year. The flag is an oak leaf (representing Jonah Oak) and snowflakes (representing Maya Snow) on a purple background. If she was really thoughtful, Rebecca would have stitched and sewn the leaf and snowflakes onto a green background, since green is my favorite color. But, I’ll take what I can get.
This camping trip to Point Lookout State Park on what I think is called the southern shores of Maryland was the first time we got to use the flag. We hung it on the site post and it looked great. We had a good camp site in the “playground” loop. The park is situated on the Chesapeake Bay, so there is a pier and a nature center where we got to watch some folks crabbing with fish heads and see the turtles and crabs in the aquariums get fed. I never saw a crab eat before; it was pretty cool and creepy at the same time. I think getting eaten by a crab would be a horrible way to go.
In addition to all that fun, Maya liked riding her bike all by herself around the loop and Jonah, of course, liked gathering sticks for the campfire. I taught him how to pee on the fire to put it out. When he gets older, I’ll teach him how not to fall in the fire while peeing on it when drunk.
So, for obvious reasons, even though it’s about a two-hour drive from Alexandria, we really like this park. There is also a grass picnic area and sand beach that we pretty much had all to ourselves. The beach is along the Chesapeake Bay and the weekend was warm enough so that we could swim.
The problem with the warm weather was that the mosquitoes were still out in full force. Even though I kept myself covered up, I got eaten to pieces. Including some monster bites on the back of my neck. Fortunately, whenever I needed to scratch my neck, I just turned my head and my necklace took care of it for me.
If I ran for President
Well, after hearing these things, I got to thinking how much each candidate must now regret these things and wish that they hadn’t done them. Then I got to thinking how, if I ran for president, and had to look back over the wreckage of my teens and twenties, most of my regrets would be over things that I did not do.
Like, I remember one time in college I was invited by this girl to come to her house one night. I can’t remember her name, but she was pretty and fun to hang out with. I went over to her house with a bottle of wine and it was just me and her there. We drank the wine and talked some and watched T.V. and then we went to the diner and had something to eat. Then I went home. I regret now that I didn’t bring a bigger bottle of wine.
Another time I went out with a girl on New Year’s Eve (nope, I don’t remember the year) and we had an okay time and then went back to her parents house where she lived. She insisted on keeping her bedroom door open, signaling that the year was not going to start with a bang. When I got back to the house where I lived with some college buddies, they were hanging out having a good time. I regret now that I didn’t hang out with my friends that night.
One year in my journalism class, the big project that we were going to be graded on was a visit to a Super Fund site to write a cover-story article for the college paper. If you are not from New Jersey, you might not know that a Super Fund site is a place that is highly polluted and to which the Government has devoted all kinds of money and resources to clean up. All semester my professor was talking about how important a project it was and how excited he was that we were getting to visit this place. But when the day of the event came, I had no idea where we were supposed to get on the bus. I regret missing that trip.
I also regret not talking to my journalism professor more about baseball. He was/is a big Philadelphia Phillies fan and must be so excited that they are now in the World Series with a chance to win their second championship in the last 100 years.
Speaking of baseball, I regret not betting on the Yankees more during the 1998 season when they won almost every single night. Out of 162 bets, I would have won 114 times. That kind of money would buy a lot of ice cream.
I regret that I decided in 1978, at the ripe old age of 8, that I was a Philadelphia Eagles fan and not a New York Giants fan. The Giants have since won three Super Bowls and the Eagles have won zero. I had no business deciding what was best for me at that age. I regret that my Dad didn’t whip me for declaring that faulty devotion.
When I lived on Lamberton Street in Trenton, NJ, I often left my car windows open. I also traveled with a box of cassette tapes that included a really great mix tape that had, among others, “Sittin’ on a Dock of the Bay” by Otis Redding, “No Sugar Tonight” by The Guess Who, and “Time” by The Chambers Brothers. One night, the box of tapes was stolen from my car. I regret that I left my car windows open that night.
Despite the fact that I’d like a do over on all these things because each would have made my life a little more pleasant, I don’t have much right to second guess my actions. In fact, if I had done even one thing differently, I might not be where I am today, which is in a pretty good spot.
For example, I learned a lesson from that fateful night in my college days when I didn’t take a large enough bottle of wine to that nameless girl’s house. The next time I had an invitation from a girl to come to her house, I made sure to get the big bottle of wine. And it worked out pretty well. That girl is now my wife.
English to Spanish Dictionary
brokeback mountain = el secreto de la montaña
the kinks = the kinks (nobody will have heard of them)
red wine = vino rojo
rebecca = rebecca
drunk = borracho
Does Membership have its Privileges?
Everyone knows that going to work where I do every day is the major compromise of my life. I’ve given up the freedom to do what I want when I want for the security of a few dollars and a dental and vision plan for my family. Well, last week, the compromise was ratcheted up a notch as I was required to give up my anonymity for all time.
Employees and visitors have always been required to show identification to get into the IRS building. To this point in my career, I’ve had to flash an ID card containing a photograph of me taken when I first accepted the job eight years ago at a disinterested rent-a-guard. Then I am free to enter and use whichever of the many conveniently located toilets on any of the seven floors of the building – no questions asked.
A year or so ago, I lost my ID card and had to get a new one. I made an appointment with security and figured I would have to sit for a photo and then come back in a day or two for a new card. But instead, when I walked in for my appointment, they handed me a new badge with the same eight-year-old photo. They didn’t even ask for an ID to confirm that it was me they were handing the ID card too.
I guess this isn’t really a problem with the likes of me. I look almost exactly the same now as I did eight years ago – bald. But my boss who has been here for 30+ years is still walking around with a photo of herself from 1982. Trust me, she does not look the same now as she did in 1982. No one would have hired her if she did.
So anyway, to make a short story long, last week I got an email that I had to go to Room 1102 for my “enrollment card” – which I’ve learned is the new name for an ID card.
Since I am employed here and want to remain so, I didn’t think I had any choice but to make an appointment and show up when the time came. So, that’s what I did.
During my appointment, I had to sit for a photo. I had to update all of my contact information. Then, I was fingerprinted on a digital machine with an ominous red light that turned green after it had successfully created a computer file of my prints for the
When I was a fresh-faced attorney clerking for Judge Pizzuto at the New Jersey Tax Court, he told me that you’ve made it professionally when you have your own private bathroom and parking space. I’m optimistic that my enrollment card membership means that I have arrived.
And Don’t Even Get Me Started on Hannah Montana
The other night while we were sleeping, a man shot his wife dead while she cowered in a closet in their home in
This past Saturday while we were apple-picking, a man had a domestic issue with his girlfriend, who lives within sight of our house. When the police, their helicopters, and the SWAT team responded to the hostage situation, he shot at them. He was eventually taken into custody by a man with twigs on his hat without anyone getting physically hurt.
I’d like to say these are isolated incidents, but it would be more accurate if I called them the latest incidents. Since we moved into our house in May of 2001, there have been two gang-style murders within spitting distance, an errant drive-by shooting (which means only that the bullets missed their intended targets), and numerous assaults along the roads leading to and from the metro. Oh yeah, we also were rammed twice from behind by another car as we waited in our car at a traffic light. The guy wanted to move us out of the way so he could continue his flight from the police in his stolen car.
All these incidents occurred within 100 yards in any direction of our house. I don’t even have to put pen to paper to illustrate that this condition permeates our larger society as well. Everyone knows that all they have to do for the latest fix of local violence and tragedy is to turn on the five o’clock news.
Before we left for
In many ways I think it’s a legitimate question, but my instinct is that it is mainly derived from this culture of fear that is instilled by our televisions and newspapers. The perception is that the world is fucked up and the only place we are safe is in our homes (so long as we’ve shut and locked the windows, installed a bolt-lock and maybe a chain lock on the door, and pay for a home-security system). But the reality is that we aren’t even safe in our own homes. I mean, it wouldn’t be that hard for some fucked-up, self-important asshole with a gun to get in if he really wanted to.
One of the reasons that Rebecca and I have doubts about living permanently in
The fact that children work in the streets selling gum or polishing shoes is heart-wrenching at first. But after you see it day after day, it becomes routine. Sometimes it even becomes a nuisance.
The other concern we have is the obvious disparity among the classes. If you transplanted the Eichlerino’s to
If Maya and Jonah grew up in that environment, how long would it take the street children to become invisible? How long would it take Maya and Jonah to feel entitled to having someone to pick up after them and drive them here and there? Yes, I know that they are already accustomed to these things, but dang, eventually Maya is going to put her own clean underwear in her drawer, right? She doesn’t need the hired help to do it for her until she’s eighteen.
But the flip side is, by remaining here, how long will it take them to become accustomed to and accept the random violence that Americans endure? And will that errant drive-by bullet find them one day?
Rebecca's Neurosis
I have a question for you collectively as a group of mommies, and individually with different styles of doing things.
Jonah's been invited to a b-day party this weekend. A little boy in his pre-school class is turning 3 and they've invited the whole class plus many others to go to a farm/park for a party. It looks like it'll be a cool thing and so far there are 52 people who will be there (17 families or so , according to the evite guest list.) So a lot of people.
As always, I'm stuck on the gift. Having just returned from our trip, I'm on a total anti-consumer roll - even more so than before, if you can believe it. Personally, I don't want more STUFF in my house and my kids have more things than they will ever need. I could get rid of half their things and I know they wouldn't notice. As some of you know, we've always requested no gifts for our kids' parties, which suits us quite nicely.
So I'm struggling with a gift for this kid's party. Well, not really struggling. I thought that a gift donation to Heifer International would be a really cool thing.
For those of you who haven't heard of this organization, their goal is to eradicate hunger and poverty by giving animals (cows, goats, chickens etc) to poor people who can raise them for food and also pledge to give some of the offspring to neighbors, thus spreading the "wealth".
My question is, is this a horrible gift to give at a 3 year old's birthday party? I'd throw something else in perhaps, like a token cow toy or rabbit, depending on what I give -You can give a flock of chicks, a share of a cow, a trio of bunnies etc. - so he'd have something tangible from the gift and it would fit in with the farm theme of the party itself. But considering he's having 17+ guests, whatever gift I end up giving him is going to get lost in the pile anyway. At least that's my thinking.
I figure this donation is something meaningful, thematically appropriate, doesn't add clutter to their house, and doesn't require me to go out and buy something stupid for a 3 year old. My biggest personal beef with birthday parties is that I don't like buying this plastic kid crap for my own kid, and so feel bad about buying it for someone else's kid, even if perhaps that's exactly what they want (or have been convinced they want by commercials).
But by giving such a gift, is it open to some bad interpretation? Could they be offended? (By the way, I don't even know these people - her kid is in my kid's pre-school class and they've been there for about 3 weeks now. So I can't speak at all to their values.)
So, do me a favor and let me know what your take on this is. Keep in mind, if you say that it's okay to do, expect a llama donated on your kids' behalf at the next party (unless you thankfully say "No Gifts Please").
Taking off the Training Wheels
In the summer of 2007, when Maya was just four years old, one of her peers was already riding a bicycle without training wheels. Her parents told us that she was able to balance on her bicycle after she had learned how to balance on her scooter.
Of course, Maya got a scooter from Santa last Christmas. We brought it with us to
There was a large, paved courtyard outside the apartment building in Quito where we lived and many afternoons while waiting for Rebecca to come home from work, Maya and Jonah would scoot themselves around the yard at great speed and with impeccable balance. A lot of times Maya would have only one foot on the platform while her free leg would be poised in mid-air – her flamingo pose.
Other times, I would count
The other feat that she accomplished on her scooter this summer was to inch her way down the steep hill on the way home from her school. She would keep both of her feet on the platform and control her speed with the foot brake while steering herself around the bumps, cracks, debris and dog crap littering the sidewalk. It was pretty impressive (especially since the sidewalk is not exactly what one would call “newly poured” or “just swept”) and I suspected that balancing on her bike would be a relative breeze.
And it was. I took the training wheels off her bike a day or two after we got home, and we went into the park to see if she could ride. I held onto her bicycle seat as she pedaled across the field. I let go for an instant and she was riding her bicycle. However, Maya has to be in the mood if she is going to do a thing, and that day she was not in the mood to ride her bicycle. So, after that initial test-run, we packed things up and went back home.
About two weeks later, she went out with Opa and bang, she was off and riding. She made Opa call me at my desk at work to tell me because she was too busy riding around to stop and tell me herself.
That night when we got home we went into the park and Maya rode circles around Rebecca and me on the basketball court. There was no doubt about it – she could ride her bicycle (but no pictures or movies were allowed).
Last Sunday I asked Maya if she wanted to go for a bike ride. Now, it turns out that taking a bike ride in Old Town Alexandria with a novice bike rider is no easy feat.
The streets are laid out in your typical grid, so to set a good example, I had us ride on the sidewalk and stop at every corner to make sure we weren’t going to get creamed by a car or truck while crossing the street. At one point Maya said, Boy, we sure have to stop a lot.
And because it was my first time riding with her, I didn’t know exactly how we should position ourselves. Should I ride behind her so I can keep my eye on her? Should I ride in front of her so I can watch for potential trouble spots? Should we ride two abreast so I can keep an eye on her and troubleshoot?
I alternated between my choices, and only nearly ran her down one time when she stopped short in front of me. I guess I’ll figure out the best way to bike ride with her as I get more practice.
We eventually made it to the post office to mail Grandma some pictures that Maya had painted at school. Then we went to Trader Joe’s to get milk and yogurt. Then we had a nice ride home in the September sunshine.
It was pretty cool experience - just a dad and his daughter out for a bike ride. I’m pretty certain that it’s one of those moments that will flash through my mind when I’m driving away from her college dorm that first time.
