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iTouch vs. Live Touch – A Tale of Two Dragons

Posted on November 20, 2012 by Ice Scream Mama

Back in May, my then 9 year-old son, Tyler, used guilt to manipulate Howard and me into adopting a baby bearded dragon. We named him Smiles and I immediately fell in love. My son’s promises of care were quickly forgotten, and Howard and I took up the responsibilities of feeding Smiles and cleaning his tank and paying any general attention to him. (I know, super great parenting. If you need to know more about our awesome technique, you can message me.) The only time Tyler acknowledged Smiles was to take great offense when he overheard me referring to him as mine.

Real dragon

I had pretty much accepted my new chores, only half-heartedly resenting them, the same as all the rest. I mean, what was one more thing to add to the list, besides one more thing to add to the list?

Still, I didn’t completely give up on Tyler. Each morning, I’d lay out some lettuce and veggie stuff and ‘suggest’ that Tyler feed Smiles. Unfortunately, by the time Tyler finished his breakfast, and realized he hadn’t finished last night’s homework and did something ‘extremely important but only took a second’ on his iTouch, it would be time for the bus.

In the afternoons, I’d ‘suggest’ that Tyler pay Smiles a bit of attention.  After ‘suggesting’ a few times, Tyler would sigh and walk into the room that housed Smiles tank, look at him for five seconds and say, “Hi, Smiles.” Then go back to the iTouch.

I tried not to let any of this get to me. I mean, we allowed ourselves to be suckered into getting the creature. Then, we covered up our parental misstep with another, by not making Tyler take responsibility for his responsibility. This was as much our fault as his. We sucked at being parents and now we were paying for it through our labor.

Then came the morning at the bus step, when I saw the game Tyler was so enraptured with for the past few weeks, that he could barely say hello to me, much less Smiles.

Handing me his iTouch, he said something like, “Okay, in exactly an hour, you need to…” And then, he went into some complicated instruction while I zoned out, much like he does, I imagine, when I instruct him.

It was a game called Dragon Vale. Guess what you do in Dragon Vale? I think you know… Yup, you breed, feed and house little dragons. You need to pay careful attention to these little creatures or they will not grow. Can you stand the irony?

Uh, not real dragon

“Uh, Tyler,” I tried. “You know you have a real Dragon that you can care for.”

Tyler nodded in the way that says, I didn’t hear a word you said you silly adult, don’t you see that I have something extremely important I need to tell you? And immediately, he returned to instructing me.

The bus came and left me holding his iTouch displaying a cute cartoon dragon, that you couldn’t actually touch.  I looked at him just long enough to close out the screen. Then and there, I vowed to be a better parent and help teach my kids to be more responsible. We would work on it together, putting out one fire at a time.

 

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You can’t win them all. Deal with it.

Posted on November 18, 2012 by Ice Scream Mama


I am a mom of three sporty boys and my husband is a dedicated coach. We spend every weekend and countless days of the week at the fields, playing one sport or another. Football, baseball, basketball, soccer… we play them all.

Often, my boys are good, sometimes even great, and I watch from the sidelines glowing from the inside out. There are also the strike-outs and errors that make me cringe and cover my eyes. Some days my kids have it. Some days they don’t. Some games the teams are on fire. Some games they crash and burn.

Yet, at the end of each season, win or lose, they all get a trophy.

I don’t understand this at all. I know it’s important to support and encourage them, blah blah, but since when did a trophy for participation become encouragement?

When I was younger we played sports because we loved to. We didn’t need a trophy as an incentive, nor were they handing them out like candy, and guess what? That was okay.  What’s wrong with “Great season, guys. Next time, we’ll get em!”

What’s wrong with only rewarding the real winners?? This ‘everyone wins’ mentality is just ridiculous. Everyone doesn’t win. Welcome to life.    

Losing is not a bad thing. Without losing, there’s no motivation to be better. The only way to achieve success is through failure, yet we are so afraid of this important life lesson. As cliché as it sounds, losing builds character.  And character, if you ask me, is something our young folk seem to be lacking.

Maybe it’s because I grew up in the seventies, that I feel this way. Growing up, I was pretty independent. Generally, I had to be home by dark and not get into any trouble. That’s it. Can you imagine that today? Today, we are the over-protectors, over-schedulers and over-achievers. We watch their every move, give them the best of everything and try to take care of their every need.

We’re making it too easy for our kids. We shield and protect them from all of life’s struggles, so much so that we are rewarding them for nothing. Today, it seems, just showing up is an accomplishment. What will they ever strive for, if they have been handed everything on a silver platter with a shiny trophy on top?

And what about the real winners? Anyone ever consider them? You should see them on the field, jumping up and down, shouting with joy. It’s an incomparable feeling to know you accomplished something.

I remember clearly the expression on my son’s face and that of his teammates when their team came in first place in their league.  Elation. Pride. I could cry now remembering those moments. It’s so satisfying and beautiful to see. They won. They were special. They put in a greater effort.

It completely minimizes the winning team’s efforts to be handed the same trophy as everyone else. We have become so politically correct that we are afraid of hurting anyone’s feelings. We need to stop over-estimating the fragility of our children’s psyches. Our kids won’t break. Let’s give them something to strive for, something that acknowledges that winning is special, and makes the losing teams want it – something symbolic… maybe a trophy??

Ultimately, sports is about having fun and gaining confidence. They kids learn to play as team, good or bad, they’re in it together. They build friendships and grow skills that will apply throughout their lives.  They will lose, and when they do, we should teach them to brush themselves off and get back in there.  And when they get back in there, they’ll be better for it.

Just because they don’t deserve a trophy doesn’t mean that we don’t support their efforts. I’m there win or lose. We play ball on the lawn. I watch their games. I cheer for their wins. I cry for their disappointments. I don’t see a trophy as support. I see it as an insult, both to the losers and the winners.

You win some. You lose some. That’s the way it is.

Winning is far from everything, but it is definitely something. If one of my boys gets a trophy, I want it to mean he actually won.

 

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Power Down – The only up side of the hurricane

Posted on November 1, 2012 by Ice Scream Mama

Hurricane Sandy has come and gone, leaving devastation as a “thanks for having me” parting gift. My entire town has no power. Massive trees lay heavily across streets, strung with power lines like a Christmas tree. Schools are closed… indefinitely. We’ve spent the last three days, hunkering down in our basement, then in our living room where we are lucky enough to have a gas fire place.

The house is cold. Internet and phones are out. Cell power is almost non-existent, although sometimes if you found just the right spot and stood with one arm out and your neck strained in the right direction while squatting low, you might, might just get service for maybe a minute. There’s no warm food or water, and my three boys are jumping all over each other in pent up energy, yet… It’s kind of nice.

In our daily lives, we just do as we do. There’s a schedule filled with homework, play dates, sports and school, and now, there’s nothing. Just me, my husband and kids. There’s no Wi-Fi or texting. No phone calls or work. We have one crank radio, that I bought years ago for “just in case” as our only outside contact. We walk around the neighborhood as a family. We visit friends and neighbors and help out anyone if we can. One friend has a generator for charging phones and such, another needs a ride because they’re blocked in, someone needs bread, we all need a little time for our kids to play. We do what we can. It’s our own small disaster, and we’re in it together.

They’re saying it’s going to be possibly two weeks or more before power may be restored. Right now, it’s quiet. People are walking the streets looking around in awe, snapping pictures. There are three restaurants in town, using generators to pump out food. Yesterday, we sat in the semi-dark enjoying a nice pizza at a local joint, while at the deli that was open, people waited congenially and patiently in line for hot coffee. It’s amazing to see, and, there’s a strange sense of appreciating the inconvenience. We’re all okay. Cars and houses were destroyed. The town is in some upheaval. But we’re all okay.

Another day passed into night, our third, and we once again huddled in the cold, dark waiting for morning. Every five minutes, Howard would crank the radio and we’d listen to the real disaster in Breezy Point and Long Beach and Lower Manhattan. My back was cramped and my body a bit twisted since we were on a futon mattress on our living room floor in front of our fire place. But, cuddling my babies close in the security of my home, certainly felt like a luxury.

So now I write from my in-laws home in Brooklyn. I’m back on the computer and my boys are back hooked up to their games. We have power, heat and hot water, all which certainly feels like a luxury as well, yet, I kind of miss the ‘we’re in it together’ huddle bubble. Oh well, maybe I’ll just take a nice, steaming hot shower to console myself.

Just missed my house!

Back to business

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Sidetracked by Sandy

Posted on October 31, 2012 by Ice Scream Mama

Hey all,
I’ve been MIA since hurricane Sandy hit our town hard. It’s a miracle I’ve found a small pocket of service. If this goes thru, tell my mom I love her.. No i’m kidding.. We’re fine, we just don’t have power for who knows how long! Anyway, enough about me. This week is Pay It Forward week on blogger idol. Our assignment was to pick 4 blogs we love and highlight them. If you want to see who I picked, go to www.writersarenewrockstars.blogspot.com
Hopefully, I’ll be up and running again soon. Power to the people! Really, people, someone get me power.

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We’re a Super Family*

Posted on October 27, 2012 by Ice Scream Mama

*This was my Blogger Idol Essay #4,  just in case you voted (of course you did!) but was too busy to read. The assignment was to write about my family as super heroes. Oh, and we had to use the words Ukulele, Horse and Frazzled. I’m going to post BI assignment #5 later, as soon as I get it together. 🙂

I’m still in the game! Thank you guys for supporting me.  I’m already hard at work on my next assignment (#6). You can see it and vote on Wednesday…

The Adventures of Superrrr Helpfulll Mommmm…..

It is an ordinary day in the small town of Sport Sloshington as Super Helpful Mom quietly tip-toes down the stairs. She wants to get an early start packing lunches for school and making breakfast. Plus, there are dishes and laundry that need to be done. She heads into the dark, quiet kitchen and flips on the light. AAAAaaack!! Someone is sitting at the kitchen table! “Oh my God, Boy Who Never Sleeps and Barely Eats! You scared me!”

“Sorry, Mama.”

“Can I get you anything?” she asks, but she barely gets the words out before a rush of wind whooshes past. He is gone. She shakes her head affectionately, “That boy is like air.”

She gets busy, packing Boy Who Never Sleeps and Barely Eats’ (BWNSABE) lunch first because all he takes is milk. Next, she flips the laundry and places breakfast on the table. She is about to cut apple slices when she feels a resisting hand on her arm. It is Safety Patrol Dad. “Knives are dangerous!” he warns. She carefully places the knife down, and instead, bites the apple skin off like a squirrel and cuts chunks with her helpful front teeth.

As she works, something small and strong wraps itself around her leg in a vise grip. It’s her 4 year-old son, Cling Boy! Super Helpful Mom walk/drags him over to the table and uses his secret weakness to successfully detach him – her iPhone. As Cling Boy grabs the phone to play, she places him in his seat.

She turns at a gust of air. BWNSABE is back at the table, licking the cover of the butter tub like a cat.

“Er, Boy Who Never Sleeps and Barely Eats, can I get you some toast?”

He shakes his head no and continues licking.

Just then, her oldest son schleps into the kitchen, leaking socks, candy wrappers and crumpled papers. His shirt is backwards and inside out, he has one sneaker on and his hair simultaneously stands straight up and falls down over his eyes. “Good morning, Disaster Dude.”  She kisses his head and her lips touch something hard. She pulls out a lego figure tangled in the mess. “Hey, I think you forgot something.”

Disaster smiles and sits down. She helpfully forks eggs into his mouth.

“Okay, gang.” Safety Patrol Dad announces as he unplugs the coffeepot and then the toaster. “I’ve got an early meeting at work.We leave in 12 minutes for the train.”

Super Helpful Mom forks the eggs in faster. “Mom! Too much!” Disaster gags.

Like lightening, Safety Patrol Dad is on him, throwing him over his shoulder and pounding on his back!

“Dad! You’re killing me! I’m not choking!”

“Glad to help, son!” Safety Patrol Dad booms.  “Now let’s move! Daddy has a train to catch.”

Finally, they all settle in the car. “Seat belts!” Safety Patrol Dad orders.

“I forgot my backpack,” Disaster says. “… and I, uh, volunteered to bring in cupcakes today.”
“No problem!” says Super Helpful Mom. She jumps from the car and races back to the house.

“Be careful!” screams Safety Patrol Dad, as Super Helpful Mom hurdles over scooters and baseball bats scattered across the lawn. In the house, she quickly finds Disaster’s back pack and eyes the cake mixes in the cabinet. There’s just no time!!! They will just have to stop on the way to school. Super Helpful Mom notes the dishes still in the sink. “Oh, why can’t I be more helpful?” she sighs.

In seconds, Super Helpful Mom is back in the car. Four minutes till train time. Safety Patrol Dad takes off. And then he stops for a full three seconds at the stop sign. They’re off again – and then stops for another three full seconds. Off again. Stop. Off again! Stop!

“We’re never going to make it!!!!!” Super Helpful Mom cries, totally frazzled! “Please let me drive!”

But Safety Patrol Dad wags a finger. “You know you drive too fast.”

Amazingly, they pull up to the station just in time, but there’s trouble across the street – a group of blind, old ladies are walking straight towards a construction site! And there’s a school bus full of children headed right at them! The bus driver is talking on his iPhone and not paying attention!

“Holy Ukulele! We must save them!” Safety Patrol Dad shouts, and he and Disaster Dude leap from the car (after coming to a complete stop and activating the vehicle’s hazard lights). Disaster runs to the construction site, and in one swirling mass, litters piles of dirty clothes into the dangerous open road. Within seconds, the old ladies safely fall into the soft cushion of mess that Disaster has spun. But, wait! The school bus filled with children is still heading straight towards them! Safety Patrol Dad looks both ways, and then jumps in front of the ladies. “STOP!” he yells, using his super megaphone voice; but the bus driver is deep in his conversation and does not hear!

Disaster Dude hurls crumpled homework papers at the bus to get the driver’s attention, but it is no use! The bus keeps coming!

Using his Super Safety Powers, Safety Patrol Dad mind channels the number of the bus driver’s cell and quickly dials. The bus driver clicks over.

“LOOK WHERE YOU’RE GOING!” Safety Patrol Dad yells, and the stunned driver looks up just in time to screech to a halt!

Whew! That was close!

But wait, now the train is about to leave! Super Helpful Mom needs to help! She runs with little Cling Boy and sets him loose on the conductor. He quickly latches himself to the man’s body. The train conductor is polite but appalled, and tries unsuccessfully to pry the child from him.

“Thanks honey,” Safety Patrol Dad says, coming up next to Super Helpful Mom. “Cling Boy, look what Daddy has?” He flashes the iPhone he confiscated from the bus driver. Immediately Cling Boy detaches and reaches for the phone and his mom.

There is a whoosh of air. “Forgot your briefcase, Dad.”

“Thanks, Boy Who Never Sleeps and Barely Eats! You’re a lifesaver.” With another whoosh, BWNSABE is gone. “We really have to get him a better name,” Safety Patrol Dad whispers to Super Helpful Mom.

The train gets off only minutes behind schedule.

They return to the car where BWNSABE already sits, quietly licking the leather of his seat. “Good job team!” Super Helpful Mom cheers. “Next stop cupcakes!”

From the departing train, Safety Patrol Dad’s megaphone voice echoes out to them. “Watch out. There’s a nut allergy in the class!”

“I don’t eat cupcakes.” BWNSABE says.

“You don’t eat anything!” Disaster Dude teases and they drive off laughing.

“Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha!”

Tune in next week and you’ll hear Safety Patrol Dad say, “Hey, don’t walk behind that horse! It’s dangerous!”

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It’s Blogger Idol Voting Time…Final 5!!!

Posted on October 24, 2012 by Ice Scream Mama

www.writersarethenewrockstars.blogspot.com

Hey there all – unbelievably I am still in the contest for the next Blogger Idol! This week’s assignment was to get on my soap box and rant!!

I wrote about our “everyone wins” culture and the values it teaches our children..

Check it out and if you like – (i’m kidding, like it no matter what – ha ha) VOTE – from as many IP Addresses as you can.

I’m not the judges favorite, so i definitely need your support. Pretty Pretty please… With ice cream on top???!!!!

Click here…. www.writersarethenewrockstars.blogspot.com

Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!! I so appreciate your support. You’re the sweetest!!!

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La La La La La La – I can’t hear you!!!

Posted on October 22, 2012 by Ice Scream Mama
La La La La La La – I can’t hear you!!!

“I didn’t do it,” my middle son looked at me with over-sized cartoon eyes swearing his innocence.

“He’s lying, mommy,” my oldest shouted in frustration. “He did do it!”

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

I rolled my eyes. As usual, I had no idea who was telling the truth and who was lying. They are such skilled manipulators, that I don’t even think they know what the truth is; they are just so intent on proving the other wrong and winning, which, of course, is the most important thing.

It’s like, well, it’s just like the Presidential Debate I watched last week.

Do they ever answer any questions?

Moderator – How exactly do you do plan on improving the economy, Mr. Romney?

Romney – Well I appreciate that question and I’d love to get everyone jobs and I’ll be getting everyone jobs because there is nothing I’d rather see. So you see, that’s what I’ll be doing. It’s my job to get you jobs. Heh, heh.

Obama – I am not just talking about getting jobs, I have been getting you all jobs as you can see by all these statistics that I’ll grossly exaggerate as I nod and smile real smart and presidentially.

Romney – You haven’t been getting any jobs, just ask that woman Mrs. Joann Redizzio of Wakaramazoo, Mississippi. She hasn’t had a job in over a year. And ask Mr. Stewart Gorrreno of Mercy, Ohio. I know these people. And Mr. Obama you are not getting them jobs.

Obama – Am too.

Romney – Are not!

Obama – You have NO plan how to get anyone jobs.

Romney – I have a five point plan!

Obama – I haven’t seen you make any points. You know what I’m saying America!

Romney – I’m just going to keep pointing this finger at you – Five Times until someone asks a new question.

Moderator – Can you be more specific on your plan, Mr. Romney?

Romney – I can be very specific about the specifics that I’ll be specifically speaking of. I just want to be clear about my specificity of the specifics.

Obama – You’re not saying anything.

Romney (Point! Point!) – You didn’t say anything about Benghazi!

Obama -I did!

Romney – You didn’t!!

I roll my eyes. They’re little kids in expensive suits playing a game of “My daddy’s stronger than your daddy!” What do we really learn in the debates anyhow?  Certainly, nothing about the issues. It’s kind of like watching my addictive Housewives shows; just good TV, with the purpose of putting on the drama to keep all those people with short attention spans entertained. Will Romney put extra grease in his hair? Will Joe Biden smile inappropriately or throw out an F-bomb? Will Obama’s head fall off from all the bobbing? How will they answer all those questions without answering a single one?  And that’s what it all comes down to. A lot of posturing and a lot of show with no tell. Because when the only goal in someone’s head is winning, the truth gets lost in the battle.

I hear my boys arguing in the other room. I go, as I am required to do by law, to break it up. It’s the same old game.

“What happened here, boys?”  I ask and they both point a finger at each other and start screaming heatedly at once. I nod. Well, of course, now it all makes perfect sense.

*This was the essay I almost used for this week’s Blogger Idol assignment. Go to www.writersarethenewrockstars.blogspot.com  now to see the one I did use and VOTE. 🙂

The best writing and stories are always at Yeah Write!! http://yeahwrite.me/80-open

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Love You Forever

Posted on October 16, 2012 by Ice Scream Mama

The room swelled with people, some talking and hugging, others laughing and shoving deli meat sandwiches in their mouths. It was a party, except the guest of honor was dead.

We were at our friends’ Aiden and Alyssa’s house to pay a Shiva call for Aiden’s mother who had just passed. A year and half ago, she had been diagnosed with a blood melanoma. Until recently, she had not shown any real symptoms or signs of being sick. The doctors said that it was treatable and until the other day, it had been. She was there in the morning when they drove to the hospital, but 12 hours later driving back, she was gone. Just like that.

At the house, we chatted amiably with many people, about many things, but only very briefly touched upon the reason we were there. Aiden held it together admirably and everyone was relieved to follow suit and pretend. There’s nothing about death and final goodbyes that doesn’t create instant discomfort and clueless awkwardness for those bearing witness. So we ate little cookies and ignored the elephant in the room, or in this case, the small, sweet blonde mother and grandmother who wasn’t.

Now that I’m over 40, I keep running into this problem in life; it’s called death, and no matter how I try, there’s no getting away from it. It seems, and I never actually realized this until my late 30’s, but people die. Yes! I know. I was shocked as well. Of course, I know people die. I’m not an idiot. Lucille Ball is obviously no longer with us, or Dick Clark or Patrick Swayze or Farrah Fawcett, but somehow, when people I knew actually died, it totally threw me for a loop. Not just grandparents, but friends. Young people who were supposed to have their whole lives ahead of them, apparently, did not. They died of unnatural causes at unnatural ages. And now I seem to be at the age where parents start dying. I am not happy with this!

When I got home that evening, I gave my mom who was babysitting, an extra hug and ran up to do the same to my boys. They were almost ready for bed, and by almost I mean, jumping around in their underwear giggling like hyenas. I corralled them all into bed and Michael, my middle child, pushed a book in my hand. “Read this, Mommy.”

“Of course.” I said automatically, but when I looked down I wished I hadn’t.

“Love You Forever” by Robery Munsch. My book nemesis. Someone had given me this book when my oldest was born and I cried like a baby from beginning to end. Back then, I blamed my hormones and new-mom status, but returning to the book two years later, the same thing happened. A few years after that, I tried again, and still could not make it through without breaking down. I have successfully avoided reading the book for over three years, and tonight, fresh from a Shiva call, it was in my hands again. “Baby, let’s read something different.” I tried.

“This is the book that makes you cry, right?” Michael taunted, his elfin face smiling mischievously.

How did the little rat know that?  “Maybe.” I said defensively. “But I just think you should pick something else. It’s a baby book.”

“I want to see if you cry.”

Oh, a challenge. Bring it on. “Fine.” I agreed, secretly steeling myself. I knew exactly what this book was and I was prepared. I could make it through I told myself and started reading.

I barely began, and I knew it was over. Tears rolled down my face and my voice quivered as I read the poem that threaded through the story of a mother’s never-ending love, “I’ll love you forever, I’ll like you for always, As long as I’m living, My baby you’ll be.” My extremely sensitive children cracked up laughing as I struggled to finish. By the end, I was a complete mess. My boys loved it. “Again!” they all squealed as I tried to control my heaving.

Exhausted from my emotional evening, I tucked the boys in; snuggling a little longer and hugging a little tighter. The book’s poem played over and over in my mind; its theme penetrating every sappy bone in my body. Even thinking about it now with the book safely tucked away in between a hundred others, hopefully never to be pulled out again, I can feel the tears in me rise. From the moment they are born, our babies are everything. Even when they grow and go, a mother’s heart goes with them, but there’s only so far it can go. Poor Aiden. Poor Aiden’s mommy. Poor everyone.

Damn. I hate that book.

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He has a story… everyone should hear.

Posted on October 9, 2012 by Ice Scream Mama
He has a story… everyone should hear.

His eyes never left mine. Rimmed with tears that had already been shed a thousand times, they yearned to share his story, for me to listen, to hear, to feel. “Pay close attention” they pleaded as deeply as his accented words. “You will not be sorry you did.” I could feel the current of emotion in him, rising like a tide. “It started in Poland. I was born in 1937. My brother in 1933. I was two years old when they took my father away.”

We had just been introduced, barely having said hello. I was a first time guest at his son’s home with my family for a holiday dinner for Sukkot.  Seven children and eight adults warmed the house like a nice glass of Merlot . The children were jumping and screaming. One was playing the drums. A massive pillow fight was in the works as  the adults chatted merrily without care. Over the noise, our friend Tim introduced us. “This is my father Ben. He has an amazing story to share.” “Dad, this is my friend. She is a writer.”

His focus changed from light to locked. “You are writer?”

I demurred. “Not really. I have always written stories, essays and such, but no, not really.”

But both Tim and my husband would not allow my honest assessment of inexperience and pumped up my resume and his confidence in my story telling abilities.

“Come.” His intensity guided me from the others as if his hand were on my shoulder leading the way. I could only follow. He was a small man but he carried a heavy story. It walked with us like a third person.

He motioned toward the dining room table and we sat down. I was happy for my glass of wine. It gave me a moment or two of distraction away from his intense need. There was no small talk or preamble.

“Do you know much of Poland in the late 1930’s?”

I really did not. My knowledge of my own history is embarrassingly inadequate. He explained how Poland was divided by Hitler and Stalin and split between Russia and Germany. His family lived on the Russian side. They had some means, he explained, his father was an educated man, an ecologist of some sort. As communist Russia overtook Poland, they “nationalized” the middle and upper class families living there, taking their homes, lands and wealth and sending them off to Siberia.

“They sent your family to Siberia?” I asked stunned and amazed. Siberia was, well, Siberia.

“Yes, my father first and then they came for my mother, my brother and me.”

“So at least you were together.” I felt some small comfort that at least there was that.

“No. My mother, brother and I were sent away to another part where we lived in spaces dug in the ground with around 2,000 others. My mother was put to work as a lumberjack while my brother and I were left there alone with nothing.”

“But you were only seven and two?”

“Yes.”

I took a big gulp of wine. How do you even look at someone who has been through so much pain? By asking a safe, clinical question. “They did this to all the Jewish people of Poland?”

“No, they did it to every one of means.”

I nodded. I had a hundred questions. I could never imagine living in my bubbled suburban world that my family could be ripped from their home and then ripped from their loved ones. I felt a tear in my heart. I wanted him to go on. I needed to know about how they survived each day, but I also wanted to know about the home they left. What it looked like, and tasted like. The smells and sights, what their lives were really like in Poland in 1939 before the world turned on its head and then closed its eyes.

We were interrupted by Tamara, my friend, Tim’s wife, who walked in I’m sure to save me. We had, after-all, just arrived for a holiday dinner. She gently put her arm around her father-law. “Come. You can’t tell her the whole story tonight.” She kindly teased him. You could see the love and high regard she held him in.  Ben smiled and politely acquiesced to social graces. “Of course.”

We both stood to join the party, but Ben still looked to hold my eye and my attention. “I hope for us to meet again so I can tell you more. That is barely a beginning.”

“Me too.”  I meant it. I was sucked in to his story – to him, to his history and his almost desperate, palpable need to divulge and honor that history. But I knew, ultimately, that he wanted someone to put his past on paper, to make it live and breathe again. Just because I was intrigued by him – by his eyes and his hands, by his words and intensity, that didn’t mean I could write it for him. That didn’t mean that I could make the bored and desensitized world of today stop for a moment and remember.

Could I?

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I’ll Worry About It Later *

Posted on October 7, 2012 by Ice Scream Mama

* This was my week 2 blogger idol assignment which was to write about my day as a man.*

When I glance at the clock this morning, I can feel right away something is different. My back is sore and my crotch area itches a bit. Instead of jumping out of bed to run downstairs and make lunches for the kids, I decide, eh, whatever, and just roll over and sleep a little longer. Weird. I NEVER sleep longer.

One of my kids finally wakes me out of a drooling stupor. “Mommy!! It’s almost bus time!” I lift one brow and try to focus. The clock reads 7:50 am. The bus comes at 8:15 am. “F*CK!” I blurt out, which startles me more than the clock. I never say that, at least not in front of the kids. My seven year-old stares at me wide-eyed and is grinning like he’s just learned the best secret.

I make my way slooowwwlly out of bed to the bathroom, my kid following the entire time. Why do I feel like I have a hangover? “Go get ready.” I order and scratch my ass.

“But you always pick out our stuff.” He whines.

“Do it yourself.” I grumble and then fart loudly. His eyes perk again and he runs out giggling.

Ah. I sit myself down on the can for a nice, long time and flip through the paper. Heaven. By the time I get downstairs, it’s 8:10am. The boys have miraculously made themselves breakfast and are at the door ready to run to the bus stop. I give them the once over. My oldest has his shirt on inside-out, his shoe laces are untied and he’s wearing two different socks – one short and one long. My middle son looks perfect for a soccer match, and my youngest is wearing thick brown sweats, a brown tee shirt and brown rain boots. I scratch my head, amazingly unconcerned. “Did you guys brush your teeth?” They all look at each other and shrug. “Homework?” I ask, and my oldest pulls out a crumpled ball of paper from his bag. “Okay then, have a good day!”

As they bound to the bus, I notice that my oldest son’s backpack hangs open. There’s something I’m forgetting. What is it? Lunches! Oops. I have an epiphany, maybe I can get Dominoes to deliver to the school. That’s genius. Why haven’t I ever thought of that before?

I have a half an hour before I need to get my youngest to Pre-K. In the kitchen there has been a cereal explosion, but I casually crunch my way past the table covered with Fruity Pebbles and spilled milk over to the coffee maker. Oh lucky. The container of milk is right here on the counter. And cookies! I shove a few in my mouth without a thought. I should really clean this up I think, and gulp down my coffee while my child dressed like a big doody eats the cereal from the floor.

 The phone rings. It’s my mother. I’m way too busy to answer.

“Let’s get to school, buddy.” I say. “But how ‘bout a catch first?” We leisurely throw the ball on the lawn for a while before I finally get him to school 15 minutes late. A bunch of nursery moms are still hanging around and chatting as I bounce by with him on my shoulders. Wow, one of them has a really nice rack. I can’t seem to stop staring. I feel unusually drawn to her, but realize I’m wearing my pajama tee-shirt with the holes and somehow I forgot to put on a bra this morning. I don’t really feel like socializing anyway, especially after one of the flat-chested moms gave me a strange look when I whipped her daughter up and threw her into the air. I totally thought she was laughing, but turns out the kid cries like a laugh. How would I know that?! I have a strong urge to return to my bathroom and the sports section.

Comfortably seated back on my toilet I think about what I have to do for the day. Gym, supermarket, dry cleaners, I need two birthday party gifts, a school meeting and I must do laundry. Hmmm. None of that sounds like much fun. I’ll definitely do the gym. Maybe I’ll just blow off the rest of it and go hit some golf balls. That’s an awesome idea. I am so Awesome! I think and then realize there’s no toilet paper. “Hey can you bring me some toilet paper?” I yell out, but there’s no one there to get it. I shrug and go back to the newspaper. I’ll worry about it later.

*Putting finishing touches on my week 3 entry now. I’m partnered up with Meredith from www.pilesofbabies.com. She is hysterical and awesome!!! Get ready to vote Wednesday/Thursday at www.writersarethenewrockstars.blogspot.com. Thank you all for keeping me in the game. 🙂 *

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