I’m like a pillow

Atleast that’s what my son told me last week. His exact words were,” Mom, I love leaning on you. You have no bones. You’re like a pillow.”
My daughter and husband busted out laughing. I cried I think.
But he’s right. I am soft. And not just in the thighs.
I’m a scaredy cat. A wimp. A chicken. Basically I’m yella.
Forget coasters and fast rides, I don’t even like fast escalators.
This weekend we are heading to see family and we got an email saying there will be mopeds for us to use. As if. Mopeds. I’ll have to come up with a decent excuse to steer clear.
Sometimes when I’m on my way to work on the subway, I try and not hold on to something. To just balance. Inevitably I fold and grab the bars. And if there’s a seat. I sit. I’ll always sit.
I didn’t get the adventure gene. The thrill gene. I didn’t even get the kinda exciting gene. I’m not going to go speeding down a snowy mountain or diving in deep blue waters. Nope. I’ll be the one waiting for you when you’re done. Probably with a snack. Because you know what, I like to be cozy. And safe. And out of harms way. Anything wrong with that? Ok, as you were!

Mr. Brightside

Oh hello. Happy Friday.
Here are some things that drive me crazy:
– Top 10 lists. Everything is a top 10 list. Top 10 ways your baby is in danger. Top 10 reasons why coconut oil is the messiah. You get the point. If not I can give you the top 10 reasons why I can’t stand those lists. I don’t know about you but I’ll be reading long, continuous paragraphs (after I write this short, broken blog).
– Hacks. Isn’t a hack someone who doesn’t know what they are doing? An amateur? Now the word means the quick, easy way to do something. Can we just do stuff the long, hard, right way please?
– YouTube videos with moms wearing Lululemon and singing clever songs about their kids. Actually I’m just jealous, so never mind that one.

Whenever I get really annoyed or angry about something I take a moment to talk to my son.
He can usually be found outside. Jumping on something. Hopping on something. Diving on something. Always moving. Always happy. When he does get mad or angry or sad- you just feed him, and he’s back! Simple. Uncomplicated. Happiness.
It’s enough to send me into a fit of happy tears.

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Internet traps

I’m stuck on a plane for 5 hours. Even worse, I have wifi so I can’t miss one work email. To take my mind off work for a nano minute I decided to surf the internet. Which for me means the following in this order:
– People.com
– Huffington Post (entertainment section)
– Us Weekly.com
– D Listed.com
– CNN.com (week in photos, travel)

I can usually do all this in about 5 minutes or less. I retain nothing, but I’m quick.
But sometimes something online pulls me into a black hole. Usually that black hole is called Pinterest – but sometimes it’s not a fun ride. Sometimes it messes with my emotional state.
And I’m already half nuts.
Maybe it’s because I’m leaving the family for a week long trip but the photo below got to me. Actually it killed me.
A mother tried to smuggle her kid in a suitcase to Spain.
She sent him through the X-ray machine.
I don’t know the full story. Maybe she couldn’t buy a ticket. Maybe she didn’t have a visa for him. Maybe things were so bad at home that all of this was worth the effort. Maybe this was the last option they had.
Maybe I’m tired and overly sensitive. Maybe it’s because I’m pretty sure this little boy has been through worse. I dunno. I don’t know why I can’t stop thinking about this picture.
You know what I do know?
I have no problems. Zero.
This is what happens when I try to read things other than crap online. Lesson learned.

.

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Happy New Year! I’m talking to you Chinese people….

I thought I’d share my favorite non-PC story involving my favorite Chinese friend in honor of today. I’m sure she won’t mind. If you are offended easily or think this is insensitive – please stop reading now. I totally understand. I once wrote a note to the New York Times condemning an Indian Cultural Day they had in Central Park called “Curry in the Park”. I was outraged that they would define all of the beauty that is the Indian culture and reduce it to a seasoning used in the food.  How dare they! They wrote back that it was, in fact, a showcase of Indian food. Oh. Anyway – I get it. Racism is terrible. But sometimes….it’s funny. On to my story.

Let me set the scene.

I worked in a very serious, very conservative private bank in New York City. This was the defining job of my career. All my biggest successes and f’ups happened here. It’s also where I learned the type of team that I wanted to be in (and lead eventually). We were hardworking, sarcastic, funny and silly. If you made a mistake in our team, you wouldn’t be walked through how to do it better – you would be teased and laughed at. There was no training or “on-boarding”. You just worked like hell to figure things out while the rest of the team rolled their eyes. It sounds rough. But it was amazing. You developed all the skills you needed to be a good planner – including the king of all skills – thick skin.

We were also quite a mixed bag. Cold, stylish leader without a heart? Check. Smart, creative Chinese gal who bordered on being mean? Check! Rich, Hermes wearing Euro daughter of a client? Put together, chic New Yorker with an accent? Check and check! And me, a married Indian gal with a baby in her late 20’s. Let’s just say we didn’t blend into a crowd.

Sorry about all the back story but you need to know this in order to really appreciate the situation. So because we dealt with billionaires and people who managed billionaires, the atmosphere in the office was always quiet and well-heeled. Except in our area. We were always laughing and shouting and eating. A mark of most good event groups. We also kept to ourselves most of the time – not that anyone was knocking down our door to be included.

Then, one fateful holiday season – it happened. Our guard was down. We were invited to join the secret Santa gift exchange on our floor. We decided to do it. We even decided to go to the party for the gift exchange. All of us. Except the head of the group who spent December in Prague or something. We were going to assimilate! At least for that hour.

We all shuffled into the conference room and pretended to be excited. One by one we opened our gifts. Oh look, the strange dude in graphics got me a cookbook. How nice. The lady in accounting got someone a candle. Charming. You get the point.

Then. Our Chinese gal opened the first of 2 gifts from her secret Santa. Hmmm. Geisha stickers. She smiled. We stared. We started to feel the corners of our mouth convulsing – we looked at the floor. We looked at the ceiling. We looked anywhere to avoid eye contact with her. We prayed the next gift wouldn’t be ethnic specific. We were wrong. She opened a box of Chinese rubber stamps. Ok – at least this was the right bucket of stereotyped gift. (You say Chinese, I say Japanese…) There was no ill intent. The person meant no harm. But we were all dying. Literally bursting at the seams laughing. We never participated in a gift exchange again. True story.

I know what you’re thinking. How awful – that person should have been reprimanded. Oh no. You didn’t go to HR for this stuff. You thanked the Gods that this happened so you could hold it over your co-worker’s head! That’s how we rolled.

For months after we talked, relived, re-enacted the moment. It was like a Christmas miracle to our team. It’s been 14 years or so since that day, and it still brings me joy.

Here’s to the year of the goat!

(Please note that the Chinese gal and I remain the closest of friends and she had to help me remember some details. I remembered the gift giver as a boy, it was a girl. I remembered 3 gifts. It was only 2. Thank god for her. Chinese people. They’re good to have around)

Sights and Sounds

I came home from my work trip and heard and saw the following:

“We think the cat peed all over the carpet, can you bend down and smell it?”

” Do we eat the leaves on top?”

“Day drinking never hurt anyone”

“So I go poop right….”

Welcome home to me. Not all pictures go with all quotes (you’re welcome).

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Bacon and me

It is not a love story.
If you know me.
If you’ve read this blog.
You know I don’t eat meat.
Have never had meat.
Until today.
Long meat story short.
I was at a conference I didn’t plan.
For lunch they had unlabeled food.
I focused on the sandwiches and avoided the meat ones.
There was a cold noodle side salad. It had chicken. I moved on.
There was a another salad. I decided that it would be ok because :
A) it looked safe and green
B) they already had a meat side so this HAD to be ok.
I’m a naive vegetarian fool.
As I shoved the last of it down I saw this

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I moved the plate away slowly and chugged my water.
I don’t remember what the conference was about.
I think it was about bacon.

An open letter to the men in my life

Dear husband and child,

I am sitting on a late train home surrounded by two men. One in the seat in front of me. One in the seat behind me. The dude behind me has burped, coughed (with his mouth open, I can tell!!!) and propped his knee into the back of my seat – I know this because I feel his knee.

The guy in front of me is….letting off some gases.

There’s nowhere for me to go. No open window to jump out of. All the other seats are taken. At first I was so disgusted and grossed out, thinking that these were two of the nastiest people on earth. But I think that’s wrong. I think the truth is that they probably don’t behave like this at home. Near loved ones. They probably cover their mouths when they cough and help wounded birds on the side of the road. I’m sure when they walk in the door at home tonight, they’ll hang their coats nicely, put their shoes away and wash their hands. But here, in the world, they roam wild and free and dirty. No one knows them. There’s no wife, girlfriend or mother to scold them. Notice I don’t say boyfriend or husband because I’ve never met a sloppy gay man, maybe in the future I will, but I haven’t yet.

That got me thinking about the two of you. What are you like on a train or a bus? Do you sigh loudly? Do you wantonly take up more than your fair share of space? Do you burp, fart, cough a nasty open cough? I don’t think so. You are both clean, nice, considerate, well-mannered boys. Aren’t you???

I know you are. I have faith. But then again there’s probably some poor woman/mother walking around the world thinking she did a good job with these two walking germs. Or maybe they live in a zoo and this is the best it gets. I dunno.

So promise me that when you are sitting in your mass transit of choice, you’ll remember this and not do at least two of those gross things? Please?

Thank you,

Signed, the woman in your life who will be taking a long, hot, disinfecting shower tonight, xoxo

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