Say Uncle!!

My mom is one of 5 – she’s the second oldest.  When I was little, I was basically an only child for 11 long, glorious years.  It was dreamy.   But I was a spoiled brat.  You need to know.

One of the people who had the biggest hand in turning me into this brat was my older uncle.  He’s always the life of the party.  I don’t ever remember him not laughing – or not trying to make other people laugh.  This picture would not be possible if I was standing next to anyone else.

He was (and is) so cool.  He ate dinner at 11pm every night (the height of coolness right?)  His house was full of noise.  It was loud and fun.  My house was always quiet and full of people reading.  I loved his house.

Here’s my favorite story of his awesomeness:  When I was 6 or maybe 7, we all went to India for a wedding (actually we went everywhere together.  There was never an outing with just 2 or 3 people.  It was always a caravan of 8-9 adults and me.  That’s how we rolled).  My grandparents still owned the apartment my mom grew up in.  They hadn’t updated any of the original features – think no AC and no tv.  Their neighbors, however, had completely gutted the place.  They had all the “Western” goodies.  Being the über brat that I was, I asked why the neighbors had a tv and we didn’t.  Although – full disclosure –  I didn’t ask…. it was  more like an annoying whine or a fitful tantrum.  My parents immediately started the “you have no idea how luck you are” lecture, wagging finger and all.

My uncle….no lecture.  Know what he did?  He went out and bought a tv.  Twice the size of the neighbor’s tv.  Who’s better than him? Nobody. This episode may also explain my massive tv addiction, but who cares!

This is one of my favorite pictures of us. Take your eyes off my smashing outfit and notice the war like conditions of the subway stop where this picture was taken.  What was happening in Queens!

It’s not that I don’t trust you…it’s just that I don’t trust you

Look at him.  Sweet, kind,polite, funny – and oh yeah, a liar.  Ok that’s too harsh.  He fibs. He bends truths. Not about big things – but that’s because he’s 8 and there are no big things to fib about ( like money or drugs or honor or something). His talent is half-hearted truths. He’s like a good defense attorney, finding an escape clause in every rule.

To combat this talent/dark passenger (for all you Dexter fans) – we rely on one simple truth, we require proof.  You cleaned your room – let me see.  You washed your hair – let me smell you.  You get the point.

One day, hopefully in the near future, I won’t have to do Columbo mothering. Until then, he’ll be treated like the delinquent he has the full-blown potential to be.

Cookbook Obsession

I love cookbooks, I read them like novels.  Sometimes I even cook from them.  Here’s a few of my favorites.

Just thought you should know.

Oh Captain My Captain

  This is a photo of my sister – 29 years ago.  She looks different now – although that perturbed look she had when she was born hasn’t really gone away.  She looks pissed right?  Anyway, she’s a Professor,  a teacher of wisdom at the college level, our very own John Keating (anyone? anyone?).  Smart, sassy, independent, and mildly delusional – as one would have to be to get in front of a bunch of Freshman in the morning.

I think if I sat in her class  I’d giggle the whole time.  I know she’s an amazing teacher….but that face in the picture, that’s who I would see up there. Plus she just cracks me up.

A few years back we were sitting at the table with my dad, talking about her new job or my new job or something.  He casually turned to me and said,” I’m not surprised, she’s the smart one and you have the personality.” Hand to God.

I see the Professor objecting to this story, but she knows it happened.  That kind of compliment/insult double whammy comes out of my dad all the time.  It’s why we love him.

Cake for breakfast

 You know those families that have dinner every night at 6?  That has never been us.  My husband walks in the door at 7:30pm on most nights – if we’re lucky.  When the kids were younger we lived even further from his job.  He’d leave at 6am and walk in the door at 9pm.  If someone had a birthday during the week – cake for breakfast was the only way to celebrate.  Since then we’ve done it whether we needed to or not.

I guess the other option would have been to not have cake at all – but that’s just crazy.  What are we, savages?

ps – that shirt fit him the night before this picture was taken.  Also – she requested the store bought cake – I swear.

A cat and her boy….

Fact: I did not grow up with pets.  Another fact: I never wanted them.  But this isn’t about me, not all of it anyway.  This is about my baby and about his baby.  Have you ever seen an 8-year-old boy in love?  I have.  Lexi is the family cat (see all the sacrifices I’ve made in my life?).   Every morning, after he reluctantly gets out of bed and dressed for school – my baby goes to the cat and snuggles.  For like 10 minutes.  He cuddles with her – cooing sweet nothings to her in a soft, singsong voice.  He strokes her head and chin while telling me how pretty she is and I get lost in the whole thing….and then he asks me the same question every day, “ don’t you just LOVE her Mom?”  And I do what every good mother does, I lie.

Don’t hate me.  I’m the gal that doesn’t want to pet your dog when we’re walking by each other on the street.  The one that understands and appreciates your deep connection to your cat/hamster/tortoise  – but just doesn’t want any part of it.  I know, I have problems.

It’s just that I can’t bring myself to explain that to my little man, who thinks Lexi is the sun and the moon.  The same boy who can make fart sounds with 5 or 6 body parts, the same boy that screams every night because “he has to take too many showers”.  But when it comes to his cat, he is a lovey dovey softie, just like his father…and his sister.

Signed,  weirdo-mom-with-no-pet-lovin’-abilities

p.s. – ignore the untamed, uncombed, wilding hair on my boy

Leave the pilates mat, take the cannoli

A little while back I decided to spend an entire day eating in NYC – and I asked the one other person in my life who wouldn’t judge me for it – my oldest, my goldest. So we put on some loose clothes, left the boys at home and hopped a train.  We landed in Eataly.  The market/restaurant/little slice of heaven on 23rd street. You don’t know this about me yet, but I love cheese.  Me and cheese, cheese and I – we go way back.  The only thing I love more than cheese is bread.  So my girl and I basically went to every nook and cranny in that place and had a ball.  Don’t get me wrong – there is plenty of meat, fish and fowl to get you going.  Then, as we were leaving, like a kiss goodbye….we hit the gelato, and the cannoli, and the espresso, and the espresso gelato – you get the point.  My plan had been to take tons of photos throughout the day, but I failed.  I failed because I was too busy eating.  The only proof of the day was the first picture I took when we walked in (and the extra pounds that I brought home).   I know most people travel to the big city for the shopping or the Broadway shows…but not us.  If we see a show or buy something it’s only because we are killing time until our next meal. Truth yo.

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