My six-year old, Zuki, came home with a "Camper Of The Week" button last week. His division leader called me to say the vote was unanimous because he goes out of his way to do good.
"Really?" I thought. "Are we talking about the same boy, here?"
Then I asked, what kind of good...exactly?
Apparently, there's an autistic child in their division and Zuki instantly became his best friend.
"They're always together," she said.
She explained how difficult it could be for kids with special needs to adjust to other kids and vice versa. It doesn't always go smoothly and to find this kind of bond is special.
That night, I looked at my little man and wondered what I'm missing. I mean truly, what am I missing looking with these eyes that's focused solely on being a mom. Could I see him as a person, other than my son who needs to stop sucking his thumb? Is it possible to watch him play with his friends without worrying who's going to get smashed in the face with the G.I. Joe sword first?
It made me wish that I could be a fly upon the wall. Inconspicuously spying on him to see what he's like when mom's not around. I thought I had a good idea of how he might be interacting with the world outside but now it's clear, I really have no idea.
Why am I surprised? How many times have I done things my parents know nothing about. I can honestly say though, none of them ever earned a button actually celebrating it. For the most part, I'm lucky nothing seriously caught fire.
But who knows - there's still plenty of growing up to do. It's just nice to get good news once in a while. When you get news like this, it makes you believe - for a little while at least - that everything you've been trying to teach them, good manners, sharing and putting on clean underwear is actually sinking in.
On a scale from one to ten, one being disagree and ten being totally agree, I'd say I'm a four. The statement: I follow through on my plans.
The problem is I don't usually have a plan. I should. But I don't even have a "To Do" list. If I did, it would be on top - #01: Have a plan.
That's not to say I don't get things done. On any given day, I'd say a good forty percent of chores are completed - but it's the tasks that I think are important. Namely, eating and having clean clothes. Everything else, like vacuuming and emptying the dish washer are subject to my whim.
The other night, however, I planned out morning lessons for the boys for the month of August. Yeah, I know - ambitious. I mean, who am I kidding; they barely cooperate to do their assignments when it's due at school - what makes me think they're going to read, write and do their math during their Summer break?
I agree. It's so not gonna happen.
Then again...this first week of day camp, they've been getting their butts kicked. In a good way - in a good way. Two more weeks of fun, swimming, going on field trips and I'm sure they'll be exhausted little zombies.
Come August, when they're in Mommy camp because that's what we can afford - they may actually look forward to sitting down and having a quiet morning with books. And, Mommy camp offers air conditioning and snacks because the camp director is pre-menopausal.
As camp director, I realize it's less likely to go smooth if I don't plan it out. If every morning, I'm looking through their activity books saying, "Hmm, how can I torture you today," then they're not going to take me seriously.
The torture has to be planned.
Spelling test every day for the six-year old, letters, numbers and psychiatric art for the four-year old and math is a group lesson consisting of dice throwing with tally marks, Memory with a deck of cards and Math Bingo on my iPhone.
Have you noticed that the math themes revolve around casino paraphernelia? I'm targeting the gambling DNA that they've hopefully inherited from their dad's side.
By the way, if you have an iPhone, iPod touch or an iPad, I highly recommend the Math Bingo app. It's .99 cents and you can find it under "Education" games. The "Easy" level is perfect for my six-year old to practice addition and subtraction. The four-year old benefits from it too for number recognition - I give him the answer and he hits the number. For fun, I play the "Hard" level and have my husband use his calculator when I'm stumped. Can't lower my overall score, know what I'm sayin'?
It isn't a coincidence that Summer camp started right after Independence day - ahhh, the smell of freedom. Although, this morning I was a nervous wreck and woke up forty minutes before my alarm was set to go off. Instead of falling back to sleep, worries clouded my mind. Will they remember to bring back their swimsuits? What if they get hit on the head by a baseball? What am I going to do with myself?
Looking forward to entire kid-free days is like being plunged into the Twilight Zone. Yes, I have a list of a gazillion things to do but to check them off and have time for myself...it seems so unreal. I am pinching myself as I write.
Of course, the routine to get ready for camp was not unlike a typical school morning: sleepy heads, fuss over breakfast and the fighting - geez, does that ever stop? It's specifically why I enrolled them so soon into their summer vacation. If I let them go any amount of time leisurely lounging about, I'm sure they'd digress into little orks - self motivated only to watch TV, eat Salt and Vinegar potato chips and use their brother's limbs as a chew toy.
No need to prove that boredom is the root of all evil. Apparently, camp agrees because the bus showed up on time. Off to a good start.
Two lovely young counselors climbed down from the bus to greet us. Already, my six-year old is falling in love. He's all smiles as he hastened towards the bus doors to climb aboard. The four-year old, however, put on his "I'm shy" act. Head hung and facing the ground, he moped along until one of the bus counselors helped him up. I'm thinking he'll coax her into sitting him on her lap for the ride there - he can be such a player.
As the bus drove off, we waved goodbye. We, being a sending party consisting of Daddy and my mother as well, proving that I'm not the only worry wart. It's not like the boys were off to college, though one day in the very far future, that time will come and I contemplate the similarities. For now, it's just day camp and day one of Mommy's independence day.
Dreaming of revelry on the first day of Summer camp
The other day, a good friend and her kids invited us to take a hike with them across the Brooklyn Bridge. Her six-year old son had been asking to do it and we had talked about it for months. There were so many routes we could've taken: start from Brooklyn, have lunch in Chinatown or start from City Hall and have lunch in DUMBO. But in the end, we decided to go Brooklyn bound and picnic at Pier Six - a newly developed portion of the Brooklyn Bridge Park with a water lab, swing park and mountain slides. It was Fantabulous!
The morning started off a little shaky when my six-year old literally crawled into my bedroom complaining that his feet hurt. He's been wearing orthopedic ankle braces to correct his flat feet and I assume they were beginning to work. I gave him acetaminophen and packed the scooter to ride in case his feet were too sore to walk.
Once our group of kids got together, however he was like, "Pain? What pain?" The trooper walked the whole day. Friends are the ultimate placebo.
Like any typical day in New York, there were a couple of skirmishes but my friend and I are seasoned New Yorkers - we just stored them in our memories to bring up for entertainment purposes.
Like the Triatholon Wannabe - basically, he's a jerk on his bike. Taxi drivers are rude, truck drivers are crass but bikers are just assholes. Many of them ride their bikes with such apathy towards the human race they make Johnny Rotten look like Forrest Gump. But I understand why - their mode of transportation is neglected and disrespected simply because there's no room for them on the road. This isn't Asia or Europe where riding a bicycle is a standard, this is New York f*cking City. You ride a bike here, you're the Wicked Witch of the West.
Then we ran into the cornflower waif who thought the bridge path was a fashion runway to sport her new summer dress. She got a little flustered when the kids erratic walking pattern caused her to stop in her tracks. Obviously, we annoyed her - I loved it.
In all my life, working and walking in the city, I have never known foot traffic in New York to move smoothly. You have people who talk with their arms in tight spaces, you have a homeless man camping out on the corner of Park Avenue, you have old bats who stop in the middle of a staircase because senility is setting in - you maneuver and move on.
But the best was the fight we witnessed on the Number 5 train home. It was between a white dude who talked like Eminem verses a group of Latino women. The fight was about who bumped into who and lasted between Union Square and Grand Central station. Eminem dude was outnumbered. His argument was weak. He should've let it go but his ego got the best of him and he tried to get the last word. In the end, he got off the train with his tail between his legs.
I turned to my boys and said, "Let that be a lesson to you. Never, ever fight with women, much less Latino women, especially if you're on a Bronx bound Number 5 train - you will always lose."
"Yes, mommy." They answered in unison. If they don't learn it from me, they'll find out when they get married.
But getting back to good times, Pier Six of the Brooklyn Bridge Park is a beautiful, fun spot for kids - although, a bit chaotic. The Water Lab is filled with lots of activities: dams, sprinklers and pumps but the layout of the whole place is nerve racking. You're hard pressed for a place to sit and there's no overall view, so you spend a lot of time trying to locate where your little ones are.
I wouldn't recommend it for little babies because of the rocks and do bring a plastic baggie to stuff your smartphone in because there's no safe spot from trigger happy water guns.
The Swing Valley had awesome rope swings akin to a tire swing, that's something you don't see in the city. And the Slide Mountain area had two super long slides that looked like miles of fun. Of course, you had to get over the metal searing your skin as you went down but when you're a kid, it's all gooooood.
Take you out to the ballgame? Sure, let me just cash in my IRA so I can buy some tickets. Fortunately, PS 150 arranged some very cheap seats as one of the last school organized events, so I didn't have to have the income of a major league ball player to actually afford a seat. At only twelve bucks a piece, and many of our classmates going, we couldn't pass it up. Last Wednesday, we saw the Mets play the Oakland A's.
For me, the outing was more a sentimental journey rather than a ballgame experience. You see, the first ballgame I went to was also to see the Mets. It was at their original home, Shea Stadium. I couldn't tell you who they were playing, but I remember that Tom Seaver was the pitcher. Lucky, huh? But even luckier for me was that my dad took me and my best friend, Jenn. My dad taught me the rules and Jenn taught me to watch the batter's butt as he wiggled it before taking a hitting stance. That's the difference right there between a girl and a boy's observation in sports.
The game we took our boys to was supposed to start at 7:10 pm and wouldn't you know it - at exactly 7:09 the skies opened up and it was raining cats and dogs. Spectators were directed to the stands indoors until the weather cleared. A bad start? Not really. You can't dampen a kid's spirit, especially when they're with their friends. They saw it as an opportunity to play. We parents took the opportunity to talk, gather and drink beer at inflated prices.
I have to say, eight bucks a beer isn't too bad but five dollars for a tiny bag of Cracker Jacks? Where do these vendors get their prices - La Guardia airport?
The downpour lasted about twenty minutes. Thanks to all the iPhone-Blackberry-Android clad Dads, we got the minute-by-minute weather report.
"This too, shall pass." They said. And it did.
Once the game was underway, at 8:10 pm, I tried to explain the rules to my six-year old. He looked bright-eyed and interested, not dull and confused like he usually does when I'm trying to explain something. But his questions weren't at all pertinent to what I had just told him.
"Okay, now that pitch was a ball because it wasn't in the strike zone - four balls and the batter walks. You got it?"
Some of my best friends are still single. In typical "grass is always greener" fashion, we envy each other for certain things. They envy me because I'm married and I envy them because...I'm married. Not to say I don't love my husband, but let's face reality: there is no Santa Claus, there is no Fairy Godmother and there is no Mr. Right.
Now guys, don't get all defensive - I'm sure the sentiment goes both ways. So if you want to know the deep dark truth of why I married my husband - or as my husband would say, how I tricked him into marrying me - well it's because we wanted to share the joys of raising little weirdos.
My husband and I disagree on a lot of things but our priorities are the same - the kids, beer and music. As long as we stay on the same page with that, I'm sure everything will work out fine. How could it not? We're not bickering about money or other things we don't have, we knock on wood for our good health and we really don't care who wins the Superbowl as long as they have a good half-time act.
So for all the yelling to keep the boys in line, working extra hard to pay our bills and take us out to dinner occasionally, and for doing dad things even though you're clueless, this Bock's for you, Daddy.
He enjoyed Dad's day at the Bierhaus near Grand Central Station. He ordered the Hofbrau Bock, which is responsibly served only as half litres because of it's high alcohol content. It may not seem like a lot, but the boys ginger ales came in the half litre steins as well and they were overjoyed.
We highly recommend the Wurst Sampler and the apple strudel, though the goulash gets a thumbs down. Our six-year old overdosed on the Spatzel. My husband kind of has a history with that side dish so I guess it runs in the family. The next day at dinner our six-year old said, "I'm still full from the Spatzel."
I'd rather see my son grow up to be a drag queen than a politician - at least it's an honest paradox. Plus, I could borrow his handbags. Thank goodness the Weiner drama has finally drawn to an end. But now when I watch the news in the morning, the focus seems to fall on making same sex marriage legal in New York. I know there are a lot of people who oppose it and all I can say is, lighten up - will ya?
It's not like men and women have the whole marriage thing down pat. If we did, then I'd agree that marriage should only be recognized between a man and a woman. But seriously, there are a lot of people who should've never gotten married and successfully made a complete shambles out of it: Joey Buttafuoco, Britney Spears, Bill Clinton and Tiger Woods to name a few. Where's the law that protects marriage from being lampooned by these misbehaving tramps?
But maybe it's not them. Perhaps our moral standards are too high and what we need to do is just categorize our nuptial intentions. Let the folks getting married for love tie the knot with the promise to love and cherish till death sets them on fire, while the folks whose matrimony is strictly monetary can promise to share it nicely. Then you got folks like my parents..."you're what?"
Anyway, it's only recently that marriage for love is accepted world wide. Even Charles and Diana didn't look half as in love as their son is to Kate. That's because their marriage was - as it still is in many cultures - an economic arrangement. I'm not Tina Turner or nothin' but when it comes to getting hitched, what's love got to do with it?
If two people of the same sex want to legalize their commitment to each other, so what? Why should heterosexual couples monopolize messy divorces, trouble with in-laws and prenuptial agreements - it's time we spread the killjoy.
I get a little irritated by the homophobes but they're entitled to their opinions - no matter how ignorant they sound - and their reluctance to accept gay marriages is a given. But what's with the religious folks? Isn't the church supposed to be a sanctuary? What kind of religion turns followers away - what kind of God teaches people to pass judgement instead of compassion? It seems highly hypocritical, if you ask me.
They should really ask themselves, what would Jesus do?
If you don't agree with me, fine. I'm really not trying to change anybody's mind - I'm just stating my own. This is my avenue and my blog, so I can do that. If you want to damn me to Hell, however, please do it on your own blog - not here. I mean, I would like to know who is damning me to Hell so I can send a postcard when I get there but I'm trying to keep this post upbeat. Thanks for co-operating.
