Who's your boss?

Wow. This is some dedication and perseverance. Though I get almost no comments and only a shy email response now and then, I keep plugging away… I thought I’d continue on the previously-discussed subject of bumper stickers. I wonder what it takes, what amount of passion for a saying, a team, a town, etc. to plaster it permanently on one’s car. Even the funniest phrase must lose its luster after a few months.

I guess it’s just an unselfish gesture for fellow drivers stuck behind.
One of my all-time favorites is “MY BOSS IS A JEWISH CARPENTER.” My very first thought the first time I saw it was “what an anti-Semitic remark,” which was an anti-Semetic thought. You see, I pondered “what the fuck… they are making fun of the fact that Jews are never in labor-intensive trades.” When, in fact, the driver was merely expressing his devotion to Jesus Christ. Jesus was a Jewish carpenter. That was way too much for my little head. The bumper sticker left such an impression on me, that I spent almost a quarter of my drive thinking it through. It struck me that the whole “prefer not to work with my hands” attitude dates back to Jesus. I am no scholar of the New Testament. I guess I am no scholar – period. Yet, it seems that there were no scenes of Jesus say…building a house… or even fixing a fence. Did he study carpentry in his youth? What qualified him as such?

That brings me to more current events. We had a leak and I was looking for a plumber. It took no less than four recommendations from local moms for me to call on Dave Goldberg plumbing. Dave Goldberg CPA? – no problem. Law Offices of Dave Goldberg? – fine. But Dave Goldberg plumbing? I deem myself to be reasonably open-minded, but that is pushing it ever so slightly. Dave didn’t show up himself, turns out he has over 25 people in his employ. And they did an excellent job. And yes, that's Dave's picture here.

I guess at this point in my life my distrust is derived from my own lack of any real trade. It would be great to be able to do something unique and indispensable with my hands. I certainly wish for Maddie to be able to do something like that. Perhaps she can become a diamond cutter to pay her way through medical school. It’s a win-win…win. Really.


P.S. JP put in a power outlet where there was none before. I am proud. Then again, I don’t want to state the obvious.

The Earth Is Our Mother

I can totally appreciate eclectic, hippie music. OK, maybe not totally, but sometimes, I can tolerate it. I recently started taking Music Together classes with Maddie. She likes it, mostly because she gets to jump around and flirt with boys and make eyes at other mommies as though she doesn’t get enough love at home and is looking to get adopted like Annie.

The repertoire of Music Together is really special. First, you have my favorite “The Earth Is Our Mother” chant song, which I refuse to sing without smoking some illegal substances first. So I don’t sing along… But the teacher is strict, so I may have to start. She says it’s important that parents set an example for their children, but it just wouldn’t be a genuine representation. Then there is… you guessed it, Tum Balaika! That’s right! What goes better with he jana ho jana, the earth is our mother she will take care of us than tum balalaika shpil balalala? We practiced at home before going to class, but she never played it. Anti-Semite? Then there are more obscure songs and at the first class, I kept bugging my friend to enlighten me whether the song was a “real” children's song or some intellectual property of Music Together.

The kids get to play with different instruments that they dig out of the bin and I get to pick some for myself, so I can set an example. Generally, I pick the cowbell or the triangle, which I pretend is a cowbell. Cause I gotta have more cowbell. And it never fails to crack me up!

In all seriousness, I feel very lucky to be in a position to take my baby to a music class specifically designed for little brats like her in remote hopes that this will be beneficial to her development and my sanity.

While you were out...

Awesome things happen when the rest of you are in the office.

Awesome thing #1: I take Maddie to the dr’s office. Her car seat weighs a freakin ton, making it difficult to open the door. On our way out, some lady helps me out and in the spirit of being cordial, makes small talk saying “you know what they say, if evolution was real, moms would have more than two hands…” “ahahahaha, oh yes,” say I, in the same cordial spirit. We head in the same direction in the parking lot and I see ominous fish plastered on her bumper . She is not joking, she really doesn’t believe in evolution. I wanted to chase her down and say “excuse me, ma’am, I am taking my ‘ahahaha, oh yes’ back.” But the car seat weighs a freakin ton, so Maddie and I go home in our car with a Greek flag on the bumper (from the proud previous owners).

Awesome thing #2: A UPS guy delivering something to us today asked me if I am the nanny or if I live here.

Awesome thing #3: Maddie threw up…in my mouth! It was totally my fault, of course. I was doing the exaggerated goo goo ga ga as I was bouncing her above my head. She is awesome.

P.S. You know those fish with the little legs and the ones with the word Darwin in it? How exactly is one to read them – “I am a believer AND I do not deny scientific facts” or “screw all the people with the fish on your bumper?”

P.P.S. Completely unrelated but very important, but Henri is a great brother and Maddie lights up every time she sees him.

So Long, Fuckers!

I am writing this entry a bit prematurely; I am still a week away from graduating with an invaluable degree. I did, however, get a reassuring email from the degree auditor advising me that unless I piss off my professors and manage to fail my current classes, I will be a lucky recipient of a diploma. I want to make sure I capture the excitement of the moment, as I will undoubtedly lose steam once the day is actually here.

Here are just a few things/people I’d like to bid farewell to:

• Farewell douchebag instructors who insist on being called “professors” but don’t hold the necessary PhD degrees!
• Farewell annoying guy who matches his yarmulke and iPhone skin with his polo (the color of the day is lime green)!
• Farewell perpetually broken escalators and elevators – I still like the choice of “getting the exercise” to be mine!
• Farewell textbook mafia – I managed to get through grad school without buying one (doesn’t say much about me or the school, I know…)!

As I am sitting in this painful lecture, I find myself fantasizing about all the wonderful, intellectually stimulating things I will do with the two nights of my week I get to reclaim. In actuality, I may end up watching some mind numbing reality TV…but I will be watching it with a critical eye of a graduate degree holder.

The Mommy Sorority

I intended to go through grad school anonymously or nearly so. I didn’t need or seek friendships and hoped for the groups to be assigned by the professors rather than having to seek out a few normal faces and make small talk. My strategy rarely failed me – I looked for girls with wedding rings, hoping that they too, would have somewhere to rush and choose not to spend weekends working on some lame assignment in the library. I have to say, it worked for me – I recommend it. Beyond that, I didn’t make any friends, go out for drinks or attend the Grad Student social between classes, even though they served free booze.

Last summer I took a class and surprise – another pregnant girl struts in. We immediately spotted each other and smiled. Of course, because I am borderline socially inadequate, I thought “just because we are both pregnant doesn’t mean we have to be buddies.” So I didn’t make any small talk and looking back, that was stupid of me. This semester, we are taking another class together. When I walked in, she immediately asked me how everything went and congratulated me. She remembers my baby’s name and what shots she got at the last doctor’s appointment. She also told me I don’t have to feel like I sold my soul to the devil for supplementing with formula.

Mommies, it seems, have silently sprung up like mushrooms after the rain. They’ve been there before, I am sure, but now I am more aware. I am even more aware of how quiet they are about being mommies, how rarely it comes up that they have jobs and school and little babies waiting for them at home. I am amazed at how diligently they take notes, even when it’s just a guest speaker night… don’t babies put guest speakers into perspective? Or perhaps, that’s precisely why they are taking notes.

Yesterday, I got a note passed to me; I honestly cannot recall the last time that happened to me. A girl who had overheard me talking about taking independent study wanted to know how she too could pay full tuition and get no instruction. The note started like this: “Hi, I am a mom too…” The same day I was invited to work on group project by another mom; I couldn’t join, I was already part of a group with of girls with wedding rings I’d approached in the beginning of the semester.

P.S. Turns out many moms don’t wear wedding rings. Throwing me off like that…

Housewives of Westchester

Housewife - a term used to describe a married female who is not employed outside of the home.





This is it. Life as I know it is no more. I am officially unemployed. Free as a bird. It is yet to sink in; I've had a job of some kind since I was 16 and thus, the concept of not having one seems wild, unsettling and very rebellious. I feel like a kid, who declared that she is not going to college, instead, she is moving in with her lover and will paint with horse manure to promote world peace. Only I am not doing any such thing; I am just doing something many other societies have agreed to accept and promote. I am staying home with my baby.

After just four days of being back at work, I walked into my boss's office and said thanks, but no thanks... I need to be with my munchkin. So perhaps it wasn't as dramatic and absolute as "give me liberty or give me death," (it was more like give me liberty or a few days of work from home) but for me, it was absolutely radical. Yet, this change in status has been nothing short of blissful and amazing. Maddie’s smiles really put spreadsheets in perspective. As my friend nicely put it, “pumpkin does not need to think that her mama is mamacita.”


For now, we are home. And whereas I am not into mom jeans, for some inexplicable reason, the commercials for mini vans have started capturing my attention.

Mommydom

The generous 12 weeks of unpaid maternity leave (generously guaranteed by our government) approach the end, and I find myself absolutely terrified by the question of whether or not to go back to work. It is not at all a philosophical debate a la “to be or not to be” that goes on in my mind, rather, it is a paralyzing fear that penetrates every fiber of my body and leaves me with a deafening ringing in my ears. The answer is crystal clear and appears in the form of the most moving, toothless smile. As she falls asleep on my chest, I am ashamed of stressing out over things I am lucky to call peripheral.

I am doing a number of things I never thought I would. I am letting Maddie sleep in our bed (something I swore I would never do and even looked down on people who admitted this practice); I've gone to a new mommy group a number of times... I am grateful that euphoria and not postpartum depression came prepackaged with my baby.

Today, the coffee shop owner in the village waved “hello” to us as we passed his store. This is great on many levels; for starters, you know how I love when local business owners know me; on top of that, this should be clear proof to my “fresh air” obsessed mother that we are out and about almost daily; also, Maddie rides in an awesome red stroller (merci, tantines!) decked out in cashmere (thank you, auntie!), so she is a memorable “baby deluxe,” especially since the lady pushing her stroller looks like a recent eastern European immigrant high school student.