I ran across a chapter about Alternatives to Saying "No" to your Brat when I was reading up for my schmaltzy squashy pseudo-science pulpy love love class.
Alternative number one: "Yes, later". Can your maniac have a snack? Watch tv? Shave their head? Yes, but not until later. After dinner, or after chores, after the seventh grade, or after whatever it is that you want from that kid. You aren't lying. Later can be five minutes, five hours, five days, or five years. Kids hate to be told no and they hate to be lied to. Say "yes, later" and you are doing neither.
Alternative number two: "I'll let you know in a minute". This buys you time to do whatever it is needs done. Putting away groceries, peeling the cat off the other cat, eight shots of whiskey. If that minute goes by and you still don't know what to say, ask for another minute or excuse yourself on an emergency pee break.
Alternative number three: "Convince me why I should say yes". Sometimes those little monsters can put up a reasonable argument. Sometimes not so much.
Of course there is a time and a place for "No", but when you say "No", you should really, really, really mean "No". Allowing for wishy-washy parents who go back on their word and don't have the ability to stick to their guns is a Cardinal Sin in the world of Teaching Teachers how to Teach Parents how to Parent. You can seriously go to Hell for this stuff.
When you say "No" and mean "No" it is because you don't want your kid to get all messed up in some big old fast-living sex, drug, and rock-and-roll situation that could land them in jail or make them compromise their personal safety. Or stick a marble in their nose or a finger in the socket or make them lose their appetite by eating all the cookies that you were planning to down all by yourself while watching late night television after your kiddies and husband go to bed.
9.26.2007
art
Ever since I was about five months pregnant I've been carrying this old Sailor Jerry around in my day planner:
I took it in to Gus at Olde City Tattoo and had it Philadelphafied up and Coolkidded out, had some tiger lilies and a shamrock jammed in there and traded that tattered old paper and an hour or so of my time for some sweet fresh ink on the back of my right calf.
It's still all bright and shiny, so I'll give you an updated photo when the scabs fall off and the sheen goes down.
Jake hasn't seen it yet but if you know Jake, you know he's obsessed with tattoos so I'm going to try to keep his fingers away from it for a little while. Next time you see him, ask him to show you his tattoo. Nothing makes him happier than rolling up his sleeves and showing you his shoulder. Which may or may not have something stuck on it depending on when his last bath was.
I took it in to Gus at Olde City Tattoo and had it Philadelphafied up and Coolkidded out, had some tiger lilies and a shamrock jammed in there and traded that tattered old paper and an hour or so of my time for some sweet fresh ink on the back of my right calf.
It's still all bright and shiny, so I'll give you an updated photo when the scabs fall off and the sheen goes down.Jake hasn't seen it yet but if you know Jake, you know he's obsessed with tattoos so I'm going to try to keep his fingers away from it for a little while. Next time you see him, ask him to show you his tattoo. Nothing makes him happier than rolling up his sleeves and showing you his shoulder. Which may or may not have something stuck on it depending on when his last bath was.
9.19.2007
spanish moss
Jake got his haircut yesterday at the same shop where Dave went when he was little. While we waited I could see the barber sneaking peeks at Jake.
When it was finally Jake's turn he said to me, "I know that face but not this hair. They don't grow this kind of hair in this neighborhood. This is your mess, isn't it?"
When it was finally Jake's turn he said to me, "I know that face but not this hair. They don't grow this kind of hair in this neighborhood. This is your mess, isn't it?"
goofus and gallant, 2007
Public schools in Philadelphia are notoriously lacking in the fantastic department. Children are being left behind left and right, contrary to the plan. I don't believe in Parochial schooling because they take valuable math and science and SSR time away from the child to jam it in a church a few times a week. If there is somewhere that kids hate to be more than school, it's church and if there is somewhere that must be worse than church to a child, it just has to be schoolchurch. Why would you do that to someone you love?
In my neighborhood, people think of Public School kids as bad and Catholic School kids as good. Today when I passed two Goretti-Neumann boys serving as crossing guards and practicing their Catholic chanty prayer thingys I thought- oh how nice and pious and good, and so different from my Protestant upbringing where we didn't do all that rote memorization and ritualistic talking. After the one boy finished his mantra the other boy said "you missed a word, but only one. Good job! This one can be hard". The other boy said "God Dammit! Jesus Christ, I'll never get this bullshit down".
In my neighborhood, people think of Public School kids as bad and Catholic School kids as good. Today when I passed two Goretti-Neumann boys serving as crossing guards and practicing their Catholic chanty prayer thingys I thought- oh how nice and pious and good, and so different from my Protestant upbringing where we didn't do all that rote memorization and ritualistic talking. After the one boy finished his mantra the other boy said "you missed a word, but only one. Good job! This one can be hard". The other boy said "God Dammit! Jesus Christ, I'll never get this bullshit down".
9.18.2007
characteristics of the 18-24 month old child
This is taken from studies by the Gesell Institute of Human Development. I haven't read the studies, but based on things taken from the studies, I'm a big fan.
Your 18 (-24) month old child:
*does the opposite of most instructions by a parent. Jake loves opposites. I say up, he says down. I say cold, he says hot. Open, close, in out. How quickly this translates to "don't touch", "touch". "No steps", "steps". "No cat food", "snacks".
*seldom obeys any verbal command. This we don't have a problem with. Jake is a people pleaser. So far.
*uses "No!" as his chief word. Yes! He does. But it's so damn cute when he says it and we just ignore the word no anyway so it doesn't really matter. I don't know whether to love it or hate it that when Jake says no he sounds just like a Teletubby. "nooOOooo".
*is not motivated by words. Sometimes yes, sometimes no. Jake is always motivated by promises of going outside, riding a bus, or getting cookies.
*is not able to wait - NOW is the time that is important. Jake's daycare lady has him trained to wait a minute. It is the best thing anyone has ever taught him. He asks for something, I say "in a minute" and he says "one minute!" and goes about his business. It's beautiful. The crazy thing is that he waits about a minute and then says "minute?" if he doesn't have what he wants. It's kinda cute, for a minute.
*cannot stand frustration. Me neither. He can have this one.
*constantly seems to find ways to frustrate himself. So do I. This is a freebie too.
*treats people like objects (will step on, push, hit others- including babies- without remorse). Jake is pretty gentle. Every once in awhile we get hit or kicked. He is obsessed with babies and treats them with awe and tenderness. He punches Bailey. Bailey swats him. Then he holds up his fists and says "Wanna bite?" Jake can't say his effs, he means "fight".
*has no concept of sharing. Daycare came through for this one too. Jake loves to share because he thinks that you will share something too. It's probably tied into the whole trading thing I mentioned.
*needs one word commands (which he probably won't follow). I try to speak in sentences as often as possible. Kids know and understand more than they let on, and this way he hears real live grown up talk. I've been known to shout "No!" every now and then. If he isn't going to follow direction anyway he may as well learn proper grammar and sentence structure while I yammer away at him.
*is very limited in what he or she understands, even though he now can use words to some extent. Lies. I don't buy this at all. See above. Our days are pretty routine so it is rare that Jake comes across something that he may be hard pressed to understand. He doesn't do well with hippopotamuseses or disembodied voices.
*is extremely immature emotionally; may tantrum easily and often. One year olds are also immature physically and mentally and relationally and morally and socially and intellectually and spiritually. I'd tantrum too if I had to get by in the world with five hundred some days of immaturity on every level. I'm tantrumming now and I've been around for several thousand days.
*has boundless energy and needs many outlets for it (especially stair climbing). Yes. I find new ways to wear my child down on a daily basis.
*can be distracted or lured away from a forbidden object or activity. Trade!
Your 18 (-24) month old child:
*does the opposite of most instructions by a parent. Jake loves opposites. I say up, he says down. I say cold, he says hot. Open, close, in out. How quickly this translates to "don't touch", "touch". "No steps", "steps". "No cat food", "snacks".
*seldom obeys any verbal command. This we don't have a problem with. Jake is a people pleaser. So far.
*uses "No!" as his chief word. Yes! He does. But it's so damn cute when he says it and we just ignore the word no anyway so it doesn't really matter. I don't know whether to love it or hate it that when Jake says no he sounds just like a Teletubby. "nooOOooo".
*is not motivated by words. Sometimes yes, sometimes no. Jake is always motivated by promises of going outside, riding a bus, or getting cookies.
*is not able to wait - NOW is the time that is important. Jake's daycare lady has him trained to wait a minute. It is the best thing anyone has ever taught him. He asks for something, I say "in a minute" and he says "one minute!" and goes about his business. It's beautiful. The crazy thing is that he waits about a minute and then says "minute?" if he doesn't have what he wants. It's kinda cute, for a minute.
*cannot stand frustration. Me neither. He can have this one.
*constantly seems to find ways to frustrate himself. So do I. This is a freebie too.
*treats people like objects (will step on, push, hit others- including babies- without remorse). Jake is pretty gentle. Every once in awhile we get hit or kicked. He is obsessed with babies and treats them with awe and tenderness. He punches Bailey. Bailey swats him. Then he holds up his fists and says "Wanna bite?" Jake can't say his effs, he means "fight".
*has no concept of sharing. Daycare came through for this one too. Jake loves to share because he thinks that you will share something too. It's probably tied into the whole trading thing I mentioned.
*needs one word commands (which he probably won't follow). I try to speak in sentences as often as possible. Kids know and understand more than they let on, and this way he hears real live grown up talk. I've been known to shout "No!" every now and then. If he isn't going to follow direction anyway he may as well learn proper grammar and sentence structure while I yammer away at him.
*is very limited in what he or she understands, even though he now can use words to some extent. Lies. I don't buy this at all. See above. Our days are pretty routine so it is rare that Jake comes across something that he may be hard pressed to understand. He doesn't do well with hippopotamuseses or disembodied voices.
*is extremely immature emotionally; may tantrum easily and often. One year olds are also immature physically and mentally and relationally and morally and socially and intellectually and spiritually. I'd tantrum too if I had to get by in the world with five hundred some days of immaturity on every level. I'm tantrumming now and I've been around for several thousand days.
*has boundless energy and needs many outlets for it (especially stair climbing). Yes. I find new ways to wear my child down on a daily basis.
*can be distracted or lured away from a forbidden object or activity. Trade!
9.17.2007
jake 1.5
I'm angry at Blogger because I just wrote up a super huge 18 month post and then it was gone. Boo.
The gist of it was that Jake is 33 inches tall and 24 pounds 1 ounce, placing him at about the 80th percentile for height and 20th for weight. He eats more than a full grown man and he loves seafood and pasta and cheese and pizza and canned green beans and chicken noodle soup and mandarin oranges and smoothies ("millshacks") and anything else he can shove in there.
We (I) bought a potty seat this weekend and I'll keep you posted as to how that goes. I'm a little disappointed in the whole pee catcher thing, as all of Jake's boyhood sits directly on top of the catcher cup rather than behind it. Any suggestions from the veterans about this? Every other word out of Jake's mouth has something to do with poop or pee or penises so that's my cue to start him in on some toilet stuff.
The terrible two's have started to rear their ugly little snarly head, but it isn't so bad (yet). Since Jake is a superstar at communication we don't have a lot of those pointing and grunting/screaming episodes. I try to give him choices we can both live with to give him some sort of sense of independence and that seems to help keep him at bay. Apples or cheese? Water or milk? Go to bed or get thrown in the garbage can?
There are some kicking issues when we make him stop doing something that he likes to do, but luckily I'm trained in the art of Gentle Childhood Restraint so no one knows that I'm squeezing my child's legs together and pinning his arms to his sides while I whisper silly rhymey things in his ears to make him laugh and not scream.
Hitting comes and goes. Biting is very stealthy but never seems to be done when he is angry or frustrated. He likes to cuddle up to my leg and take a nice mouthful of flesh every now and then. I have a list of 18 month-old behaviors and tendencies in a book on my kitchen table. If it was here I'd post them, I promise to get to that this week. It is from my warm fuzzy class and it details things that kids of that age actually do, not cute things they are capable of, or fun things you can do with them. I get enough of that crap from the doctor's office and from Baby Center emails. "Your baby is curious and likes to explore. He can play near other children and loves when you read to him and sing him songs. Your baby is very loving toward others".
My baby runs around the house looking for something to destroy. If another child is playing with something he can tear apart or bang on the table, he will bring food or a toy or a scrap of paper to the other child to try to trade (this is my fault. I'm constantly trading with Jake. He tries to get whatever I have in my hand by bringing me shoes and stuff out of the trash to trade. He doesn't understand fair trades, just taking something from someone by giving them something else). Jake loves books but only if he can tell you about every single thing in there and picking out the letters he knows. Reading a story goes something like this at my house:
Jake: tree, squirrel, dog, cat, horse, neigh, chicks, peep peep peep, car, green, blue, F, S, 2!, one, two, three, four, six!, A, B, C, F, S!, tree, butterfly, cat
Me: Can we turn the page?
Jake: noooooo. tree, squirrel, dog, cat, horse, neigh, chicks, peep peep peep, car, green, blue, F, S, 2!, one, two, three, four, six!, A, B, C, F, S!, tree, butterfly, cat. No mo' book. Boohbahs Mommy please?
The cutest thing in the whole world is this, and we do this a thousand times a day until my heart is done breaking:
Me: Knock knock
Jake: Boo
Me: Boo Who?
Jake: No cry Mommy.
Can you take it? I can, but hardly.
I just bought Jake a few shirts and a couple pairs of pants for fall, but I think he is going to practically bypass the 18-24 month stuff. For all of you thinking of buying him sweet new threads, please buy a 2T so we have time to let him wear it. He wears a size 6 shoe now, but his toes are quickly reaching the edge so the next pair will be either a 6.5 or maybe even a 7.
I could go on and on and on about this kid, but I'll spare you the details. I think he is the smartest cutest boy in the whole world and I'm having a hard time keeping myself from eating him on a daily basis.
The gist of it was that Jake is 33 inches tall and 24 pounds 1 ounce, placing him at about the 80th percentile for height and 20th for weight. He eats more than a full grown man and he loves seafood and pasta and cheese and pizza and canned green beans and chicken noodle soup and mandarin oranges and smoothies ("millshacks") and anything else he can shove in there.
We (I) bought a potty seat this weekend and I'll keep you posted as to how that goes. I'm a little disappointed in the whole pee catcher thing, as all of Jake's boyhood sits directly on top of the catcher cup rather than behind it. Any suggestions from the veterans about this? Every other word out of Jake's mouth has something to do with poop or pee or penises so that's my cue to start him in on some toilet stuff.
The terrible two's have started to rear their ugly little snarly head, but it isn't so bad (yet). Since Jake is a superstar at communication we don't have a lot of those pointing and grunting/screaming episodes. I try to give him choices we can both live with to give him some sort of sense of independence and that seems to help keep him at bay. Apples or cheese? Water or milk? Go to bed or get thrown in the garbage can?
There are some kicking issues when we make him stop doing something that he likes to do, but luckily I'm trained in the art of Gentle Childhood Restraint so no one knows that I'm squeezing my child's legs together and pinning his arms to his sides while I whisper silly rhymey things in his ears to make him laugh and not scream.
Hitting comes and goes. Biting is very stealthy but never seems to be done when he is angry or frustrated. He likes to cuddle up to my leg and take a nice mouthful of flesh every now and then. I have a list of 18 month-old behaviors and tendencies in a book on my kitchen table. If it was here I'd post them, I promise to get to that this week. It is from my warm fuzzy class and it details things that kids of that age actually do, not cute things they are capable of, or fun things you can do with them. I get enough of that crap from the doctor's office and from Baby Center emails. "Your baby is curious and likes to explore. He can play near other children and loves when you read to him and sing him songs. Your baby is very loving toward others".
My baby runs around the house looking for something to destroy. If another child is playing with something he can tear apart or bang on the table, he will bring food or a toy or a scrap of paper to the other child to try to trade (this is my fault. I'm constantly trading with Jake. He tries to get whatever I have in my hand by bringing me shoes and stuff out of the trash to trade. He doesn't understand fair trades, just taking something from someone by giving them something else). Jake loves books but only if he can tell you about every single thing in there and picking out the letters he knows. Reading a story goes something like this at my house:
Jake: tree, squirrel, dog, cat, horse, neigh, chicks, peep peep peep, car, green, blue, F, S, 2!, one, two, three, four, six!, A, B, C, F, S!, tree, butterfly, cat
Me: Can we turn the page?
Jake: noooooo. tree, squirrel, dog, cat, horse, neigh, chicks, peep peep peep, car, green, blue, F, S, 2!, one, two, three, four, six!, A, B, C, F, S!, tree, butterfly, cat. No mo' book. Boohbahs Mommy please?
The cutest thing in the whole world is this, and we do this a thousand times a day until my heart is done breaking:
Me: Knock knock
Jake: Boo
Me: Boo Who?
Jake: No cry Mommy.
Can you take it? I can, but hardly.
I just bought Jake a few shirts and a couple pairs of pants for fall, but I think he is going to practically bypass the 18-24 month stuff. For all of you thinking of buying him sweet new threads, please buy a 2T so we have time to let him wear it. He wears a size 6 shoe now, but his toes are quickly reaching the edge so the next pair will be either a 6.5 or maybe even a 7.
I could go on and on and on about this kid, but I'll spare you the details. I think he is the smartest cutest boy in the whole world and I'm having a hard time keeping myself from eating him on a daily basis.
9.13.2007
in ordinary places
I went to the dentist on Tuesday (31 years cavity free and counting) and he predicted that in four years Dave and I would be living in the suburbs and will have two children.
One: I'm scared of the suburbs. My worst nightmare is needing two cars and a mowing a lawn and no corner stores and no public transportation. Cookie cutter houses and the stench of mulch and shoveling a driveway and the horror of it all makes my innards lurch. I've never mowed a lawn or dug a hole or needed to drive to get milk or to go to work and I don't plan to any time soon.
Two: No more kids. If I want one later I might buy one, but it probably won't be within four years. There was a time when I said I'd have another just so Jake had a brother or sister, but then I realized that I felt like that was a terrible reason to bring life in to this world. If I didn't really want another child and I only really wanted it to entertain and love my first child, I probably really shouldn't have another child.
I like this little urban life thing that we have going. I'm sitting at my desk and if I got up now I could be standing in front of King Tut in twenty minutes. THE King Tut. Not A King Tut. If Dave got up now he could be there in five. It is nice to have a car, but I don't need a car. I can stand in the middle of the ghetto and hear real live lions roaring at lunchtime. I can go three blocks in any direction and hear those same lions but I'll be surrounded by million dollar houses. I can walk river to river when I don't feel like sitting in my office and see at least three people that I know, whether I go down Pine, Spruce, Locust, Walnut, or Chestnut Street. We have crazy amazing architecture everywhere that I can stare at without seeming like a lunatic. Try going to Downtown Anytown and looking at a wall for an hour. It probably isn't going to run so smoothly for you.
If I ever thought that there was a lot of pressure for the first brat, there is tons for the second. It is usually doled out by the "you are robbing your child of a sibling" variety or the "you are so selfish" brand. Any only child that I have talked to- and I've talked to a good number over the last two years- is thrilled to be an only child. And I am more selfish than any of you can imagine. Way more. Way way more. And I'm Jakefish and I want him to have the best of everything and I don't want him sharing my dollars with some filthy little greedy piehole who decided to slither out of my belly and into Jake's charmed life. Maybe I'll change my mind later but for now, one and done.
You hear that Dr. Dentist and the rest of the world?
One: I'm scared of the suburbs. My worst nightmare is needing two cars and a mowing a lawn and no corner stores and no public transportation. Cookie cutter houses and the stench of mulch and shoveling a driveway and the horror of it all makes my innards lurch. I've never mowed a lawn or dug a hole or needed to drive to get milk or to go to work and I don't plan to any time soon.
Two: No more kids. If I want one later I might buy one, but it probably won't be within four years. There was a time when I said I'd have another just so Jake had a brother or sister, but then I realized that I felt like that was a terrible reason to bring life in to this world. If I didn't really want another child and I only really wanted it to entertain and love my first child, I probably really shouldn't have another child.
I like this little urban life thing that we have going. I'm sitting at my desk and if I got up now I could be standing in front of King Tut in twenty minutes. THE King Tut. Not A King Tut. If Dave got up now he could be there in five. It is nice to have a car, but I don't need a car. I can stand in the middle of the ghetto and hear real live lions roaring at lunchtime. I can go three blocks in any direction and hear those same lions but I'll be surrounded by million dollar houses. I can walk river to river when I don't feel like sitting in my office and see at least three people that I know, whether I go down Pine, Spruce, Locust, Walnut, or Chestnut Street. We have crazy amazing architecture everywhere that I can stare at without seeming like a lunatic. Try going to Downtown Anytown and looking at a wall for an hour. It probably isn't going to run so smoothly for you.
If I ever thought that there was a lot of pressure for the first brat, there is tons for the second. It is usually doled out by the "you are robbing your child of a sibling" variety or the "you are so selfish" brand. Any only child that I have talked to- and I've talked to a good number over the last two years- is thrilled to be an only child. And I am more selfish than any of you can imagine. Way more. Way way more. And I'm Jakefish and I want him to have the best of everything and I don't want him sharing my dollars with some filthy little greedy piehole who decided to slither out of my belly and into Jake's charmed life. Maybe I'll change my mind later but for now, one and done.
You hear that Dr. Dentist and the rest of the world?
9.11.2007
the way we were
I don't think that I've ever blogged about my 9.11. I was four months out of grad school, had just turned 25, and working at the bar. I thought I had to be in at 10.30am because I was hostessing (wrong, I was up in the 30's and had to borrow Christa's pubscrubs and huge gross waitress shoes since I was dressed to impress at the front door) and Dave was going to Barbri classes and didn't have to be anywhere until 10 or so. We were living in the little house on Daly Street and had no real plans to change our lives in the least.
I was in the shower when the first plane crashed. I heard Marilyn Russell on Y100 break in and report it at the same time that Dave hollered the news in from the bedroom. I was out of the shower and in front of the television when the second plane hit. Dave and I decided it was best to just get on with our day, and the only change I made was getting on the subway with him rather than taking the 20th Street bus. The subway was packed but silent. No one knew what to say or where to look or whether we were next.
The bar was being set up as usual, turns out I was supposed to be in at ten but my sidework was covered for me- my lemons were cut and my tables were set and the ketchups were out and the tea was brewing because my girls are the best and fattest girls ever. I didn't get yelled at for being late and not being in uniform and no one seemed to mind doing the extra work to try to drown out what was going on in the world. Our boss told us that his best friend works in the WTC and his wife is expecting a baby. He was certain that his friend died, as he always went to work early and never missed a day because that is the kind of guy he was. No one understood why we were keeping the bar open. We assumed that everyone would flee the city to be with their families and away from all the National landmarks we own. When the Pentagon was hit we were relieved that we weren't. When the plane "crashed" in Western Pa we were sure that was for us.
The bar ended up packed, we were in the weeds all day because everyone wanted fried foods and cakes and tons of booze and lots of junk and nothing healthy. Dave's classes were cancelled so he rounded up some troops and brought them to the bar so he could be near me. And drink. But mostly be near me and I couldn't stop looking at him and it was really hard to keep from crying and running over to him. I wanted us to run away to the West Coast where it was safe and everyone was still sleeping. All our regular businessmen and office ladies filed in. All the frat boys were there despite the raging hangovers. The girls we only see hanging around after hours, the pubsluts, the dommes from the house of ill repute next door, our boyfriends, our girlfriends, our husbands, our wives, our best friends, old employees, new employees, Anne, the Chardonnay Lady, the Professor, the mailmen, all three of the Bills, the B&B's, the guy with the huge eyebrows who usually only came for Sunday Brunch, that math teacher who ordered salmon and demanded it perfect. Everyone.
The waitstaff snuck shots with our tables like it was midnight on a Friday. We shoved brownie sundaes down our throats between trips to our tables and double-dipped french fries into the honey mustard while we waited for our orders to be up. Our friends had our phones and tried to call our moms for us while we kept everyone drunk and full. Traffic out of the city was locked, cell phones and landlines were down, and no one wanted to be too far away from each other anyway so we all banded together as a family and listened to the news.
When three o'clock came and the shift changed we went to the girl's house on 19th and Pemberton to drink more and eat ice cream and wait for news and be together. We sat in the living room with the television off and rubbed each other's nasty hoofed waitress feet and waited to see if we were going to live or die. Dave was up the street on 22nd and Chestnut playing Playstation at Scooter's but I didn't want to walk up there by myself in case of instant death. Plus, Scooter lived in filth and I had to be half in the bag before I had the nerve to sit down in his apartment.
I remember making my way to Dave at some point before dark. I picked up some more Ben and Jerry's and maybe a six pack on the way there. I'm assuming we took a cab or a bus home. I don't think we walked. I guess we ate some supper and went to bed at a reasonable hour. I had terrible dreams all night and felt like I couldn't get close enough to Dave. I went to work the next day, and the next. Life went on. People continued to eat and drink and spend at an amazingly huge rate. We all stayed drunk and we all got fat. It was just easier that way.
After 9.11 I was pulling in between $800 and $1200 a week but only working 4 or 5 shifts. I was getting $20 tips on $10 tabs. I was rich. I almost couldn't piss away my money faster than I was making it. That lasted about a month, until people got their credit card bills. Then it stopped. And I had to get a real job.
I can't imagine going through that day without my girls and our regulars and the boys behind the bar and the kitchenmexicans and Dave and all of our friends in the upstairs dining room. Now that I work in an office I understand why all the people who worked in an office fled to the bar. I would have done the same thing. We felt safer, we felt more connected, we felt loved. If bars aren't your thing or you've never worked there (and that's okay, probably better than okay) you might not understand the camaraderie behind those big wooden doors and the paneled glass windows. You know that nostalgic, lump-in-the-throat feeling you get after watching old Cheers reruns in the middle of the night when you can't sleep? Times that by a billion and that's what it feels like.
Life has certainly changed since then. The girls have disbanded and are scattered all over the world. We all keep in touch and we're buying houses and getting married and having babies and drinking whiskey and blogging and MyStalking each other regularly. We are bitches, we are lovers, we are childs, we are mothers, we are sinners, we are saints, we do not feel ashamed, we're your hell, we're your dream, we're nothing in between and you wouldn't want it any other way.
Sorry for the inside joke. That's always annoying. Seriously though, you girls are my butterflies, my sugar, babies. Okay, enough.
By the way, none of us lost anyone that day. Our bosses friend? He didn't go to work that day because his wife was in labor. In the days after 9.11 I spoke with each of the kitchen guys who uprooted their entire families to leave Mexico and come to America. I asked them if they were scared, and if they felt it was worth it to come to our country. Each one of them said that just one day in post-9.11 America would have been worth it, they could have died in the attacks and it would have been better than living a hundred years in Pueblo, Mexico. The opportunity provided to their children and their children's children is incomprehensible to them. Deep stuff.
So, um, do we wish each other a Happy Patriot Day? How does that work? A Blessed Patriot Day? You know how I feel about that word. Merry? Peaceful? Joyful? Merciful?
And how many years do we have to wait to get this damned day off from work and when can we start making jokes about it? Obviously more than six.
I was in the shower when the first plane crashed. I heard Marilyn Russell on Y100 break in and report it at the same time that Dave hollered the news in from the bedroom. I was out of the shower and in front of the television when the second plane hit. Dave and I decided it was best to just get on with our day, and the only change I made was getting on the subway with him rather than taking the 20th Street bus. The subway was packed but silent. No one knew what to say or where to look or whether we were next.
The bar was being set up as usual, turns out I was supposed to be in at ten but my sidework was covered for me- my lemons were cut and my tables were set and the ketchups were out and the tea was brewing because my girls are the best and fattest girls ever. I didn't get yelled at for being late and not being in uniform and no one seemed to mind doing the extra work to try to drown out what was going on in the world. Our boss told us that his best friend works in the WTC and his wife is expecting a baby. He was certain that his friend died, as he always went to work early and never missed a day because that is the kind of guy he was. No one understood why we were keeping the bar open. We assumed that everyone would flee the city to be with their families and away from all the National landmarks we own. When the Pentagon was hit we were relieved that we weren't. When the plane "crashed" in Western Pa we were sure that was for us.
The bar ended up packed, we were in the weeds all day because everyone wanted fried foods and cakes and tons of booze and lots of junk and nothing healthy. Dave's classes were cancelled so he rounded up some troops and brought them to the bar so he could be near me. And drink. But mostly be near me and I couldn't stop looking at him and it was really hard to keep from crying and running over to him. I wanted us to run away to the West Coast where it was safe and everyone was still sleeping. All our regular businessmen and office ladies filed in. All the frat boys were there despite the raging hangovers. The girls we only see hanging around after hours, the pubsluts, the dommes from the house of ill repute next door, our boyfriends, our girlfriends, our husbands, our wives, our best friends, old employees, new employees, Anne, the Chardonnay Lady, the Professor, the mailmen, all three of the Bills, the B&B's, the guy with the huge eyebrows who usually only came for Sunday Brunch, that math teacher who ordered salmon and demanded it perfect. Everyone.
The waitstaff snuck shots with our tables like it was midnight on a Friday. We shoved brownie sundaes down our throats between trips to our tables and double-dipped french fries into the honey mustard while we waited for our orders to be up. Our friends had our phones and tried to call our moms for us while we kept everyone drunk and full. Traffic out of the city was locked, cell phones and landlines were down, and no one wanted to be too far away from each other anyway so we all banded together as a family and listened to the news.
When three o'clock came and the shift changed we went to the girl's house on 19th and Pemberton to drink more and eat ice cream and wait for news and be together. We sat in the living room with the television off and rubbed each other's nasty hoofed waitress feet and waited to see if we were going to live or die. Dave was up the street on 22nd and Chestnut playing Playstation at Scooter's but I didn't want to walk up there by myself in case of instant death. Plus, Scooter lived in filth and I had to be half in the bag before I had the nerve to sit down in his apartment.
I remember making my way to Dave at some point before dark. I picked up some more Ben and Jerry's and maybe a six pack on the way there. I'm assuming we took a cab or a bus home. I don't think we walked. I guess we ate some supper and went to bed at a reasonable hour. I had terrible dreams all night and felt like I couldn't get close enough to Dave. I went to work the next day, and the next. Life went on. People continued to eat and drink and spend at an amazingly huge rate. We all stayed drunk and we all got fat. It was just easier that way.
After 9.11 I was pulling in between $800 and $1200 a week but only working 4 or 5 shifts. I was getting $20 tips on $10 tabs. I was rich. I almost couldn't piss away my money faster than I was making it. That lasted about a month, until people got their credit card bills. Then it stopped. And I had to get a real job.
I can't imagine going through that day without my girls and our regulars and the boys behind the bar and the kitchenmexicans and Dave and all of our friends in the upstairs dining room. Now that I work in an office I understand why all the people who worked in an office fled to the bar. I would have done the same thing. We felt safer, we felt more connected, we felt loved. If bars aren't your thing or you've never worked there (and that's okay, probably better than okay) you might not understand the camaraderie behind those big wooden doors and the paneled glass windows. You know that nostalgic, lump-in-the-throat feeling you get after watching old Cheers reruns in the middle of the night when you can't sleep? Times that by a billion and that's what it feels like.
Life has certainly changed since then. The girls have disbanded and are scattered all over the world. We all keep in touch and we're buying houses and getting married and having babies and drinking whiskey and blogging and MyStalking each other regularly. We are bitches, we are lovers, we are childs, we are mothers, we are sinners, we are saints, we do not feel ashamed, we're your hell, we're your dream, we're nothing in between and you wouldn't want it any other way.
Sorry for the inside joke. That's always annoying. Seriously though, you girls are my butterflies, my sugar, babies. Okay, enough.
By the way, none of us lost anyone that day. Our bosses friend? He didn't go to work that day because his wife was in labor. In the days after 9.11 I spoke with each of the kitchen guys who uprooted their entire families to leave Mexico and come to America. I asked them if they were scared, and if they felt it was worth it to come to our country. Each one of them said that just one day in post-9.11 America would have been worth it, they could have died in the attacks and it would have been better than living a hundred years in Pueblo, Mexico. The opportunity provided to their children and their children's children is incomprehensible to them. Deep stuff.
So, um, do we wish each other a Happy Patriot Day? How does that work? A Blessed Patriot Day? You know how I feel about that word. Merry? Peaceful? Joyful? Merciful?
And how many years do we have to wait to get this damned day off from work and when can we start making jokes about it? Obviously more than six.
9.10.2007
gesundheit
I never use the word "blessed". I don't say that I am blessed or you are blessed to have a steady job, nor blessed to have a healthy child, nor blessed to have a home, a car, enough flow to pay bills and get spoiled a little, to be an American, to have health coverage, to have a pension, a bank account, and on, and on, and so forth.
To say that I am "blessed" connotes that God or Allah or Santa has picked me out and given me something that other people can't have or don't have or shouldn't have and I think that is a terrible thing to say. Has God forsaken those who have sick kids? Are homeless people, or unemployed people, or poor people, or diseased people not worthy of a "blessing"? What did they do to deserve such smoting? It's a terrible thing to say and doesn't jive with my idea of who God is and what he stands for.
I consider my self to be a really smart chick, a moderately hard worker, and a lucky effing bastage. It amazes me that my life is such that my once 700 over 20 vision is now perfect and my face that was caving in a month ago is now normal and my rotting sinuses are as good as new and I'm scheduled to have some mildly troublesome cancer gouged out of my whohaa. I live in a town where I don't have to travel more than two miles to get any of this done, and I am secure knowing that some of the best doctors in the world are at my fingertips and I have the best insurance offered in the tri-state area and I only pay a dollar a day for it because I have the world's most wonderful and flexible job. When Jake had to get his whohaa dealt with we took him to the best children's hospital in the country, and it only took ten minutes to get there.
In light of tomorrow, I'll say that I am fortunate enough that I don't know anyone who died as a result of the attacks on September 11th. I don't know anyone who died as a result of the war that isn't a direct result of the attacks on September 11th but followed shortly thereafter. I don't know anyone serving overseas in active combat and those that I did know are now safe at home and not in a box nor a wheel chair nor missing any parts that they were born with.
So, blessed? I don't think so because I don't believe that people who don't have what I have or what you have are unblessed or damned or cursed or condemned. I'll say I'm advantageous, adventitious, auspicious, beneficial, charmed, endowed, favored, felicitous, fortuitous, golden, lucky, happy, propitious, prosperous, providential, serendipitous, successful, and timely- maybe.
And I have access to thesaurus.com.
To say that I am "blessed" connotes that God or Allah or Santa has picked me out and given me something that other people can't have or don't have or shouldn't have and I think that is a terrible thing to say. Has God forsaken those who have sick kids? Are homeless people, or unemployed people, or poor people, or diseased people not worthy of a "blessing"? What did they do to deserve such smoting? It's a terrible thing to say and doesn't jive with my idea of who God is and what he stands for.
I consider my self to be a really smart chick, a moderately hard worker, and a lucky effing bastage. It amazes me that my life is such that my once 700 over 20 vision is now perfect and my face that was caving in a month ago is now normal and my rotting sinuses are as good as new and I'm scheduled to have some mildly troublesome cancer gouged out of my whohaa. I live in a town where I don't have to travel more than two miles to get any of this done, and I am secure knowing that some of the best doctors in the world are at my fingertips and I have the best insurance offered in the tri-state area and I only pay a dollar a day for it because I have the world's most wonderful and flexible job. When Jake had to get his whohaa dealt with we took him to the best children's hospital in the country, and it only took ten minutes to get there.
In light of tomorrow, I'll say that I am fortunate enough that I don't know anyone who died as a result of the attacks on September 11th. I don't know anyone who died as a result of the war that isn't a direct result of the attacks on September 11th but followed shortly thereafter. I don't know anyone serving overseas in active combat and those that I did know are now safe at home and not in a box nor a wheel chair nor missing any parts that they were born with.
So, blessed? I don't think so because I don't believe that people who don't have what I have or what you have are unblessed or damned or cursed or condemned. I'll say I'm advantageous, adventitious, auspicious, beneficial, charmed, endowed, favored, felicitous, fortuitous, golden, lucky, happy, propitious, prosperous, providential, serendipitous, successful, and timely- maybe.
And I have access to thesaurus.com.
9.05.2007
what's a cowsay?
Because I haven't given TMI lately, I'm going to tell you that I'm still making milk on the right side despite stopping nursing over a year ago. It's not flowing by the gallon or pint, but I'll venture to say that I could probably fill one of those bathroom-sized Dixie Cups up in about a weeks time if I gave the ole' udder a good tug each day.
I brought this up with the Girly doctor today who checked for Mastitis and lumps and she said that I'm fine, I just have a whole lotta milk to give. I guess I'd have made a great wet nurse back in the Days of Kings and Queens and Guillotines. I would have laid (lied? lain?) around on chaise lounges while princes and princesses suckled at my breast. I would have worn one of those old-fashioned fancy dresses with the daringly plunging neckline but I wouldn't have bothered tucking my boobs in. And artists would paint my picture and jesters would have kept me amused while I allowed royalty to thrive. And there would have been a bowl of fruit at my hand and jewels on my fingers and lesser ladies would fan me all day and I would retire to my chamber where feasts would be laid out each night and someone would bathe me and comb my hair and powder my fair skin and it would have been great.
But I'm me and not a wet nurse and it is 2007 not 1007 so it is just kind of creepy and annoying.
I brought this up with the Girly doctor today who checked for Mastitis and lumps and she said that I'm fine, I just have a whole lotta milk to give. I guess I'd have made a great wet nurse back in the Days of Kings and Queens and Guillotines. I would have laid (lied? lain?) around on chaise lounges while princes and princesses suckled at my breast. I would have worn one of those old-fashioned fancy dresses with the daringly plunging neckline but I wouldn't have bothered tucking my boobs in. And artists would paint my picture and jesters would have kept me amused while I allowed royalty to thrive. And there would have been a bowl of fruit at my hand and jewels on my fingers and lesser ladies would fan me all day and I would retire to my chamber where feasts would be laid out each night and someone would bathe me and comb my hair and powder my fair skin and it would have been great.
But I'm me and not a wet nurse and it is 2007 not 1007 so it is just kind of creepy and annoying.
9.04.2007
you'd think nothing has been going on
Every day I find something that I think absolutely must make it on here but it just hasn't been happening.
Jake has been back for a week and life would be normal again if he hadn't taken to throwing a tantrum or two each day. They are pretty short lived and are just like the ones he would throw a few months ago but now he kicks and screams instead of going limp and crying. It's really not embarrassing at all when he does it in public. Really.
We deal with it by ignoring. We just go on about what it is that Jake doesn't want to do and in about thirty seconds he calms down and moves his attention to something new. Survey says to coddle a child and assure them that they are loved and safe and secure, but I don't do too much of that. I will smile at him or kiss him but I don't take him to a safe neutral place and hold him close and tell him he is a very special boy while rocking him back to sanity. That's too hippy dippy for me.
When Jake is good he is very, very good and he is having a pretty good go at communicating what he wants. This helps with the tantrums. His little sentences are pretty damned cute. He loves to hide things and ask you where it went. Then he pulls it out of hiding and says "here it is!" Most sentences are "where is...", "in the...", "here's my...", "don't touch..." and "... is awesome".
Jake is awesome. He gets it from his mom.
Jake has been back for a week and life would be normal again if he hadn't taken to throwing a tantrum or two each day. They are pretty short lived and are just like the ones he would throw a few months ago but now he kicks and screams instead of going limp and crying. It's really not embarrassing at all when he does it in public. Really.
We deal with it by ignoring. We just go on about what it is that Jake doesn't want to do and in about thirty seconds he calms down and moves his attention to something new. Survey says to coddle a child and assure them that they are loved and safe and secure, but I don't do too much of that. I will smile at him or kiss him but I don't take him to a safe neutral place and hold him close and tell him he is a very special boy while rocking him back to sanity. That's too hippy dippy for me.
When Jake is good he is very, very good and he is having a pretty good go at communicating what he wants. This helps with the tantrums. His little sentences are pretty damned cute. He loves to hide things and ask you where it went. Then he pulls it out of hiding and says "here it is!" Most sentences are "where is...", "in the...", "here's my...", "don't touch..." and "... is awesome".
Jake is awesome. He gets it from his mom.
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