Category Archives: sports

Tony.

Here’s what I am not going to write about: How my kids behaved like complete ungrateful, insensitive animals on much of my birthday. I am also not writing about the absence of a single picture or card, let alone a cake. (Unless I count the kick ass cake given to me in the evening by my aunt and uncle after they had fed me several glasses of what they claimed was watered-down sangria. I remember little else.) I am also not writing about the Brussels sprouts fight in the car or about how SHE GOT MORE THAN ME or how SHE ALWAYS GETS MORE THAN ME.

By the way, this is all that is left of said cake:

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I capped off the day by watching the Tony Awards. From bed. It seems as though every award winner was wishing somebody or other a happy birthday. At some point I started to pretend it was for me.

I let the kids watch some of the musical highlights again tonight. Here is what I didn’t notice the first time around:

1. Apparently Alan Cumming has very substantial nipples. (As pointed about by at least three of the kids.)

2. It’s fun to pause the TV in the middle of an Idina Menzel song. She may have a beautiful voice, but she is one hell of an ugly singer. If you freeze her face midway, you get to watch her do an assortment of Lucifer impersonations. Frances came up with this game.

3. There are a lot of men kissing their husbands when they win Tony awards. According to one of my boys, this all became Kosher after it was first done by someone named Michael Sam.

4. The woman who is currently playing Glinda in Wicked on Broadway rose to real fame playing Lisa Heffenbacher on the Electric Company.

5. A Gentleman’s Guide to Love and Murder (much deserved winner for best musical) is really a fancy version of Archie Comics — this can be said for any play with a scene in which the guy has to choose between a blonde and a rich brunette.

6. Aladdin looks awesome, but his chest is too hairy. So are Alan Cumming’s armpits. (That poor man could not win.)

7. Nothing was as awesome as the number from Rocky (ew) and it seems that everyone agreed that Harold Hill rolled in his grave when they tried to rap the Music Man, even if one of the boys had already heard that T.I. rapped at the Tonys. (Is THIS what they talk about at school or did he just read it in the Post?)

I am now being forced to sit through an ice hockey game, which I suppose is just desserts. I keep waiting for the players to break into musical song. If Rocky can do it, why can’t the Rangers?

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Filed under birthdays, Broadway, New York City, parenting, sports

Ski Bum

I came to skiing later in life, at least later then my kids did. I first skied very unmemorably in college on some awful, icy mountain in Massachusetts while my roommates looked on in astonishment and my shocking lack of coordination.

I skied again after Bennett was born. This time I wisely took a lesson, and even more wisely, I skied out west. But then I took off ten years to birth and nurse. (In terms of skiing, this was pretty much the Lost Decade.)

By this time the kids were all significantly better then I will ever be, and I do not exaggerate.

I will never be fearless enough to ski well. Given my penchant for puffy winter wear, I will never turn heads in my snazzy ski gear (I look like the abominable snowman, only in pink.) And thanks to a certain distaste for riding things that move, I will never (and of this I am certain) not feel like vomiting when it’s time to get off the ski lift.

But I get to be alone at the top of a mountain and for a few hours, nobody is asking anything of me.

Oh, and I also get to see this:

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Filed under parenting, snow, sports, winter

PM Syndrome

I once again found myself shlepping Frances to after hours urgent care for a strep test (positive) in a town called Mamaroneck. It was dark and rainy tonight (while we have far fewer pissfest days here than we did in Seattle, when it rains, the heavens open and kick some serious ass). I went to put the urgent care in my phone’s GPS, partly because M usually drives her, and partly because I need a GPS to find the toilet in my house.

I tried to enter the name: PM Pediatrics, but someone tinkered with my phone recently and every time I type “pm,” it auto corrects to PEYTON MANNING. It’s taken me for bloody ever to type this post because I have to keep undoing the auto correct.

He also made it so my caller ID shows up as “Efram Geller,” which I suppose could have been worse.

Were it not the height of NFL crazy right now, I’d ask him to undo it. But I’m a superstitious person and I don’t want to mess with the Bronco mojo.

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Filed under children, New York City, NFL, parenting, sports

Prophylactic

It turns out that I’m a lover of winter. It’s been years since I’ve had a proper one (London, 1995)… And I’m thrilled to be in the thick of it here in New York. (Okay, so it’s only December… I may be less thrilled in February. As far as I am concerned, there has never been anything thrilling about February.)

Still, winter has it’s challenges. I’m not emotionally ready to discuss the hazards of winter driving in my neighborhood. You should just know that I’ve grown used to the panic of being stuck up a hill with my wheels a-spinning. I’ve never loved the minivan, and currently, I’m loving it less. (Can you break up with something you’ve never loved?)

But running in winter is a marvel. I feel a bizarre mastery of the elements and for a few, brief moments a day, I feel tough.

Truthfully, there is nothing tough about me. I am especially un-tough when I am slipping on my ass while running down an icy hill. So, I did some research on snow proofing my shoes.

A friend sent me a video of a very fit man screwing nails into the soles of his shoes. I asked M if he could do it for me, but he only told me that someone who falls regularly without ice underfoot has no business running on ice.

Pshaw.

Then I remembered that my Seattle running partner sent me a pair of these.. As a joke?

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These are basically shoe condoms with nails on the bottom:

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I slid my feet into them and was ready for the road. (Note: I am quite well endowed in the foot department and there are therefore a bevy of dirty comments I could make. But I’m too much of a lady to do so.)

My outfit now consists of running tights, shirt, jacket, neck warmer, gloves, baseball hat (if it’s snowing.. To keep the snow out of my eyes), warm hat (over baseball cap)… And now shoe condoms.

It’s an incredibly hot sight. I’m both tough and incredibly hot in my spectacular running getup.

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Filed under New York City, parenting, running, sports, weather, winter

Goal!

I’ve had a couple of requests for pics of the do-it-yourself goalie outfit. First of all, I don’t know why anyone would want to be goalie in any sport. The thought of things flying at me, especially insidious hockey pucks, is terrifying. I suspect his interest may be related to the fact that for him to be a goalie, I’d have to shell out extra shekels for pricey gear.

(With the exception of the title graphic, I keep the kids’ faces off the blog, but you really can’t see him behind that mask.)

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There are boxes of Cheerios taped to his thighs. Three days of newspapers are stuffed up his shirt. (I asked him to stuff the Post down his pants and the Times up his shirt.)

When he fell onto the couch, it took three of us to get him up.

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He is wearing my socks.

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Filed under children, parenting, sports

Independance.

M says I am a self-hating American because I have generally insisted that the one rule we must follow on July 4th is to leave the country, even if only for the day. (I seem to recall having the same rule for Thanksgiving. I think it has less to do with America and more to do with my pathological need to cross borders. Consequently, I do not think it possible to be a self-hating American and a Springsteen fan.) Hence, we are off to the great white north this afternoon: Vancouver, BC. Because we only have the girls, we can squeeze into one hotel room, which is a rare and affordable treat for us. In all  honesty, the room only has beds for four and now that Sidney has been ejected from the pack-n-play, Francie will be spending the night in a sleeping bag. She is beyond excited. It’s amazing how easy it is to please a middle child.

If this is our last boy-less act (Efram comes home Tuesday, Bennett the following Sunday), our penultimate act was cleaning out their boy-cave. First, we attacked the walls, which meant removing the 3,000 baseball cards and other random shit they had stuck up there, mostly by un-approved means. (Painters tape = approved. Gum, staples, and duct tape = NOT approved.)

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Speaking of gum, we even had to dismantle the gum wall:

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When I say “we”, I am not really speaking of the  me of we, but rather of M. As I have made clear many times, I do not do anything that requires the lifting of things, and apparently that includes my arms. After ten minutes my arms ached and I grew irritable. I made an excuse about something burning in the kitchen and beat the hastiest of retreats.

So now the room that looked like this:

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All barren and Pottery-Barn-Ish. We even removed the NFC and AFC walls of fame from the bathroom:

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(One league on either side of the toilet.)

Next stop: the carpet. This scares me, and I’ll tell you why. We currently have three different plug-ins running in the boy-cave. (You can see one in the lower left corner of the photo above.) The room is a melange of apple cinnamon, lavender, and something called fresh linen, which smells more to me like fresh paint. The minute one of those plug-in runs out of scent, the smell of urine wafts out of the room. It’s bloody awful. Apparently we need all three to make the room habitable. I cringe to think what sorts of smells lurk in the fibers of that carpet.

But I’ll think about THAT next week.

In the meantime, Happy Independence Day to all of us.

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Filed under children, home improvement, NFL, parenting, Seattle, sports, Summer, travel, Uncategorized

Separate This.

I’m packing the boys up for summer camp, which means the room that used to be my office now looks something like this:

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Bennett leaves first — on Sunday. It looks like I’m going to be a pretty pathetic empty-nester, because I’ve actually convinced myself that I’ll miss the little bugger. I wonder if I’ll be glad to see him go on Sunday or just really glad to rid my office of the mountains of cheap t-shirts, sharpie pens and crap I hope and pray does not come back from camp with him. (Consequently, if life has taught me anything it’s this: I am certain that the only things he’ll lose are the things I wish he wouldn’t… and all that Walmart crap will make its way home with him. I just know it.)

I think he’s trying to make the separation easier for me by driving me absolutely bat-shit with all his creatures. I’m glad that hamster up and died last week because as it is, I’m going to spend the month playing Dr. Doolittle to the rabbit and the effing tadpole.

The tadpole, by the way, lives in this palatial tub, which until this Sunday was used to house some of the clothes Fiona had grown out of that will one day be Sidney’s:

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Those clothes are now in a heap on the basement floor. Oh, and that little terracotta pot was going to be used to grow a dahlia but apparently tadpoles need homes within homes.

I haven’t even mentioned that he’s got me ordering ALGAE TABLETS for it on Amazon and this afternoon I found him boiling a beautiful head of butter lettuce on the stove top.

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“Tadpoles like boiled lettuce,” he said.

Do they now? Do they need a whole head of fresh butter lettuce because I’ve got a few leaves of some wilting crap at the back of the fridge. Goodbye, fresh salad.

Yesterday it was kale. Goodbye, green smoothie.

His last words to me before bed last night were: “You need to cut the bunny’s nails while I’m away.”

Come again?

You could clearly do a lot worse than to be a pet in this house.

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Filed under children, pets, Seattle, sports, Summer, summer camp, travel, Uncategorized