Wide World of Wreaths

Occasionally I find myself talking to someone about Disney World, mostly in the context of "When do you think you'll be taking your little guy there?"  I always say, if we do our mind-control/parenting right, Kyle won't realize that Disney World is an actual place, and not a fantasy conjured up by his friends, until he's at least seventeen years old.  Besides, who needs Disney World when your child is just as happy going to the Wide World of Wreaths, a free adventure located at the bottom floor of our building.

Each year at Christmastime, our landlady has put a wreath on the gate near the front door, and another one next to her apartment, which is behind the stairwell on the first floor.  Kyle saw them plenty during his first two Christmases, but he didn't appreciate them, as he was too busy eating his fingers.  But this time, he immediately noticed them.  From the moment they went up shortly after Thanksgiving, and he's been infatuated.  In early December, our landlady put up even more wreaths, upping the total number wreaths on the first floor to six, not including the three wreaths she has in her windows facing the street in front of our building.  We thought she was doing this because she heard how excited Kyle was about the wreaths, but when I mentioned that to her, she rambled on and on about how she never hears anything outside her door because her TV is usually on and the people living in the apartment above her (whom she complains about often) apparently have adopted a couple dozen elephants that stomp the floor while playing musical instruments loudly and out-of-tune, making it impossible for her to hear Kyle.  She said she put up the extra wreaths just because she found them somewhere, either at a discount store or on somebody else's door.  Well, this supports my long-held theory that my landlady is simply crazy... about wreaths.  In addition to all those wreaths she put up, there was the wreath on our door and the wreath on the door to the second-floor apartment, so throughout the Christmas season Kyle was in a wreath paradise.

And, wow, did he go nutty over those wreaths.  Several times a day - I kid you not - the little guy would run up to me or Jennifer and say, "Go downstaihs and wook at weafs!"  He'd then extend his arms out for one of us to pick him up and head downstairs just to look at the decorations.  Once downstairs, Kyle would point to each one and say "weaf right dere" or "weaf ovah dere," in case we didn't know where they were (yes, my son has a slight Boston accent.  He makes me proud).  He'd point out which one is shiny and which one has red bows.  He'd also tell me about the other Christmas decorations, such as the couple of carollers by the landlady's door, a small festive sled hung from a gate door, and the posted rules and regulations regarding trash and recycling pickup.  After pointing everything out about a half-dozen times, Kyle would then say "Goodbye weafs!" and we'd go upstairs, where he would immediately talk about how much fun he had looking at the wreaths, as if he just came back from riding a roller coaster or the merry-go-round.

Kyle also enjoys telling me where the wreaths are whenever we go outside.  From the stroller, he will point out even the smallest of wreaths he spies on people's homes.  Then when Christmas hit our church, the grounds crew made the mistake of putting wreaths all over the place.  Many times this past month, as parishioners sat quietly to listen to a message of peace, joy, and harmony, as revealed through the birth of Jesus, Kyle was pointing around the church and shouting, "WEAF OVAH DERE!  WEAF OVAH DERE!"

But now the Christmas season is over, and the wreaths are all gone, with the final ones disappearing today.  For the past week or so, I had wrestled with how to prepare Kyle for this moment.  At least he had a little time to adjust.  The people on the second floor removed their wreath shortly after Christmas, and we took ours down on Sunday.  Our landlady was the last holdout, and I kept wondering what would happen when Kyle asks to go downstairs to look at wreaths, and nothing's there.  What would I say to him then?  Will saying that our landlady's putting them in storage suffice?  Or do I need to make something up?  Maybe I should tell him that the wreaths accompanied our beloved Christmas tree, and were taken from our street curb by angels who magically whisked them to a faraway land, where they were guided softly towards a happier, heavenly place called Mulchland, through a loud machine with sharp knives that ripped them to shreds before spitting them out.  Right now, Kyle seems to have accepted the truth that the wreaths went into storage, so I think I will stick with that story.

Kyle did not react much today when he first noticed that the Wide World of Wreaths had vacated the building.  Once we reached the bottom of the stairs, he craned his neck around me to look for the wreath that had been next to our landlady's door.  When he noticed it was gone, he silently looked in the spots where the other wreaths had been.  Then, having assessed the situation, Kyle muttered just one word: "outside."  So, we went out.  And that was that.

Personally, I am sad to see the wreaths go, and not just because Christmas season is over.  No, I certainly had enough Christmas cheer this time around (see previous post).  What I will miss is the field trip downstairs on a particularly cold day, when I didn't feel like bundling up or fighting to get Kyle bundled up.  Even though we didn't leave the building, at least we left the apartment, and that always helped with my sanity.  But now there is nothing downstairs for Kyle to be excited about, unless he takes notice of the first floor's abundance of scuff marks or the big orange "NO SMOKING" sign by the front door.  Otherwise, it's going to be another long winter.

Snow Daze

I have come to the conclusion that having Christmas all year long is probably not a good idea, especially if you have a two-bedroom apartment.  For a time last week, it started to feel like that's exactly what we were going to have.  We didn't know it Christmas morning, which started off quietly, with Kyle sleeping past 7:30 (for the last time in his life, I'm guessing).  Our little family then gathered around the tree and opened gifts.  I gave Jennifer a silver necklace with a pear-shaped garnet stone, and she bought me a cookie jar.  It was nice to see that, even after a decade together, we still knew the way to each other's heart.  Santa gave Kyle a drum and other noisemakers because Santa must have somehow been intoxicated when he ordered his elves to make these gifts.  That's all I could think of as my still-tired brain was trying to defend itself against a full-force maraca assault.  At some point that morning, as Kyle played with an electronic device that miraculously had become ten times louder than it was when I wrapped it, Jennifer mentioned that we were at the start of a very long day.  We didn't know then just how right she was.

By late afternoon our apartment was boiling with Christmas.  Jennifer's dad, my parents, my brother Ed, and his wife Lauren were all there, along with a mound of presents big enough to need its own zip code.  Most gifts were for our spoiled child, who spent the day impersonating a Tasmanian devil.  Everyone had a great time, as we all feasted on pigs-in-a-blanket and other snacks before settling down for a delicious meal prepared by Jennifer.  As the night wore down after Kyle went to bed, we all gathered in our living room, drinking egg nog and trying to find each other around the mounds of discarded wrapping paper and packaging.  Our search-and-rescue mission for Ed, who was trapped under a sit-and-spin box, ended early because everyone dozed off by 9 p.m., having drunk my dad's potent egg nog concoction.  We later came to and prepared the apartment for our own bedtime, setting up the sofa bed and air mattress for the parents, and throwing a couple pillows outside on the fire escape.  That's when Ed and Lauren informed us that they would be spending the night at a nearby hotel. 

We haven't seen Ed and Lauren since, as they wisely escaped New York City early Sunday morning because they had to be at work the next day.  They had become a little concerned about the weather, after meteorologists on TV tweaked their forecast.  Instead of saying that Sunday was going to be "mostly sunny," as they had been all week, they were now calling for an "angry monster blizzard of doom."  We laughed it off because there was still plenty of food and egg nog left, and nobody else was planning on leaving that day.  As the wind and snow thrashed at our building like a rich brat who didn't get that pony for Christmas, I was still confident that everyone would still be able to leave by Tuesday, and Jennifer and I would then enjoy a much-needed quiet vacation at home.  Besides, we lived in New York City.  "Just wait until you see the roads tomorrow," I said.  "You'll be surprised by just how quickly they're cleared."

Monday morning, my dad and I left the apartment to get everyone doughnuts for breakfast.  We didn't make it out the front gate.  This is what it looked like:

Hmph.  I had plans to drive my father-in-law to the airport that day, so I checked to see how my car fared through the storm...

 ... not so good.  Turns out I didn't need my car, as my father-in-law's flight was canceled.  He rescheduled his departure... for Thursday.  On Tuesday, our street still looked like this:

Very similar to the day before.  The only difference is that Tuesday was the day my parents were planning to leave.  Their car is on the left-hand side of that picture, the second one in, next to the 20 inches of snow STILL ON THE ROAD.  They were not going anywhere.  In our seven years living in New York, we've never seen anything like this.  It was as if we were vacationing in the same place where we had our last week off.  New York City suddenly and inexplicably became just as skilled as Aruba in handling a snowstorm.

Now I was beginning to wish we hadn't finished off all those pigs-in-a-blanket.  My dad and I plodded through the snow and grabbed take-out lunches for everyone at one of the few diners open that day.  It's a good thing, too.  Otherwise, we'd be stuck eating some of Kyle's freeze-dried fruit and yogurt drops (we have both peach and mixed berry, so at least there would be some variety).  We later made an emergency run to the supermarket, and that evening my dad made an emergency egg nog concoction. 

The arrival of all this snow meant we weren't getting the apartment to ourselves until the 30th, five days after Christmas.  Fortunately, everyone in our family gets along very well.  Unfortunately, they all brought luggage and have a tendency to need to use the bathroom.  They also don't know our electronics as well as I do.  I had to give a 45-minute lesson on how to use our TV remotes, and at one point someone trying to turn on the Christmas tree lights accidentally shut down the whole entertainment system.  There was a lot of tending to this and that, and a lot of answering to "while you're up" requests.  The apartment seemed to shrink in size as time went on, and our living room was annexed by Kyle's bedroom. 

I still love being a host, but this week was a little more than I had bargained for.  The week I envisioned had Jennifer and me sitting on the couch late into each day, wearing our pajamas and bath robes, drooling in front of the TV while Kyle sat in a corner, playing with his new maracas.  Showers would happen late in the day, by choice and not because that's the only time the bathroom was available.  Of course, this week wasn't what our guests expected, either.  They were eager to get back to their own homes, their own beds, and their own phonographs.  But we all made the best of the situation and enjoyed the time we had together.  Nobody left our apartment maimed or killed.  On Thursday the roads were cleared, and the place was ours again.  It's peaceful now.  I am still very much looking forward to the next time everyone gets together, but I'm glad it will happen in the snow-free month of June, six months from now, as we celebrate our child's birth day.

One final note: before the snowstorm, before all the relatives visited, before the presents were opened, and before the last pig-in-a-blanket was eaten, we spent Christmas Eve with our good friends Mickey and Bonni.  We went to Christmas Eve Mass together and then dined on exquisite Chinese food.

Turns out this was the last time we would see them as a child-free couple.  On Sunday, January 2, Mickey and Bonni welcomed little Julia into the world.  Jennifer and I are ecstatic.  Mickey and I have known each other since high school, and we became best of friends in college.  He's one of the funniest people I know, and he's just an all-around great person.  Back in July, I wrote a bit about the support he and my close friend Matt have given me through these first years of fatherhood.  There's no way to describe just how much that has meant to me.  As I've said before, I now hope to return the favor.  As for Bonni, I've known for more than a decade now that she is the perfect match for Mickey.  She's caring, thoughtful, and a ton of fun to be around.  The four of us can enjoy each other's company for hours, or even days, and they're terrific with Kyle.  They are two of our absolute favorite people, and Julia certainly has a great advantage over many other kids, being blessed with Bonni and Mickey as her Mommy and Daddy.

Hello Family, Good-bye Friend

As of last night, this is what our street looked like:

This snow arrived on Sunday.  It's beautiful to look at, and lots of fun for sledding.  It does present a problem, however, when you try to go somewhere, especially when your car is one of those buried in the snow.  My parents' car is in the picture above.  They couldn't leave until today.  My father-in-law didn't drive here, but Nature's Christmas gift was also wrapped with a flight cancellation notice.  Our week is not exactly turning out as we planned.

I'll write more about that in the next post.

In the midst of all the holiday preps, celebrating, and scrambling to find food to feed our guests during their extended stay, I've been dealing with some sad news: a good friend of mine passed away last week.  Peter Freundlich and I were coworkers at CNN here in New York, and we kept in touch in the years since both of us were let go.  Peter was a brilliant, creative man and the finest writer I knew.  He was highly accomplished in the news business, having been Charles Kuralt's personal writer and the head writer/producer for CBS Sunday Morning.  When I met him, I was far less experienced, only five years or so out of college.  I was also three decades younger than he was.  Even so, he treated me as an equal, and we always enjoyed each other's company.  I met up with him several times this past summer and fall, after learning he had cancer.  Our conversations ranged from politics to parenting to our favorite television shows, and he even gave me some expert advice on my recent writing ventures.  The time often flew as we enjoyed sitting back and having a drink.  I had hoped for us to get together a couple weeks ago, but Peter asked for a rain check.  A week later, I learned that he was gone.  He was only 64.

Peter's last works were for a blog he launched after his diagnosis.  He wrote about his experience as if he were kidnapped and taken to a far-away place called Cancerland.  The blog was witty, creative, and often poignant.  You can take a look at it here (the link goes to the first month's entries, since that's the best place to start).  Since its launch, more than 25,000 people viewed Peter's blog.  I know he helped more than a few people get through their own illnesses or the illnesses of loved ones.

Peter is also a hero to those of us who were ever fired or laid off.  Nearly a decade ago, before I met him, Peter did something to his former bosses that most people would only dream of doing.  He was particularly proud of this moment.  Fortunately for us, it was videotaped.  Watch and enjoy:

Good-bye, Peter.  I'm going to miss you a ton.

Not One of My Favorite Things

Ladies and Gentlemen,

I bring to you our talking Elmo's most annoying position, discovered by our son Kyle just a short time ago:

Yes, from this position, Elmo starts asking to be picked up, but in doing so, he lifts his body just high enough to think he's standing up again.  When he starts to say "thank you," he lowers himself again, causing him to once again ask to be picked up.  That causes him to say "thank you" again, and so forth.  This sequence could, in theory, go on FOREVER, or at least until the batteries run out.  We never get to test this theory because I stop it a few minutes after it starts, since anything longer than a few minutes of Elmo's starts and stops would drive me insane.  At that point, I probably would jump on the furry red critter, smashing it to pieces, traumatizing Kyle and causing a lot of noise for our neighbors downstairs.  Still, I gotta hand it to my son: it must have taken some skill and determination to discover this outrageously annoying flaw with the toy.  I tip my hat to him, and will remember this if he ever has children.  If you happen to have any kids of your own, for your own sanity, don't EVER show them this video.

We received this Elmo from my brother and sister-in-law last Christmas.  I am certain they meant no harm from it, much like Bob Dylan probably meant no harm when he released his own Christmas album last year (listen to samples here, and please read some of the many one-star reviews).  No matter the intent, the scars are now there.  So here's my Christmas message to anyone reading this blog: if, by chance, you might be getting this toy for a toddler relative or friend of yours, please think about it for a long time, play the above video again, maybe fifty more times, and then think about it some more.  Wouldn't a nice pair of socks be better?

Thank you, and have a wonderful Christmas.

Adventures in Babysitting

Jennifer and I went to one of those fancy-shmancy restaurants Saturday night.  I had a perfectly-grilled pork chop, with sides of bacon, fried egg, and collard greens, while Jennifer enjoyed a savory black angus hanger steak, topped with a baby shiitake mushroom, onion, and potato puree.  We toasted our friend Amanda on her birthday, shared several stories from each other's lives, and laughed at a good joke or two.  Then came the grand finale: coffee and desserts, featuring apple crisp, brown sugar cake, and chocolate custard tart.  Absolutely delicious.  At the end, after sharing another (less hearty) laugh over the bill, we applauded the chef, blew kisses into the air, and went to the coat room to pick up our jackets and Kyle.



(Above: Enjoying a night without having to apologize
to other patrons)

Oh, if it were only that easy.  No, this past weekend, Jennifer and I did something we hadn't done since becoming parents: we hired a babysitter.  Both of us had wanted to go to Amanda's party, but our usual babysitters, my parents, were unavailable that night because they live in Massachusetts.  We have no other relatives in the area, and all our other friends either had plans that night or claim they are allergic to diapers.  So, we enrolled in one of those online sitter services, thinking that the internet's the best place to find someone you can trust with your child's life and all your possessions.  Nearly a hundred people responded to our request.  I'm not kidding.  They were all free on a Saturday night, and, for just a few bucks, they were all willing to spend that evening with a two-year-old maniac.  Surely, most of these people have some serious mental problems.  We needed to weed out the worst of them with only a week to go, and we soon realized that was not going to be enough time.  I was going to give up and stay home, but then Amanda and her husband Matt offered us a solution: their nanny Joyce was willing to watch our little guy!  Jennifer and I took our friends up on their offer. 

Now, leaving your kid with someone new is no easy task, especially when your kid is a toddler.  Two-year-olds like having certain things done a certain way... anything straying from the norm will lead to whining, crying, and, at times, bodily harm.  Of course, that's bodily harm to the person watching our son.  Kyle hurts himself only when he's in a good mood and running into tables or walls.  Since we didn't want our friends' nanny to lose a limb, we did everything we thought possible to make her job easier.  We wrote out all the important phone numbers, some of our rules for Kyle, and a detailed description of the bedtime routine, complete with charts, diagrams and escape routes.  We then placed key items, such as Kyle's favorite foods and blankets (which are sometimes one in the same), in easy-to-find spots.  Then, when she arrived, we went through all the routines with her, covering most of Kyle's habits in the half-hour of time before we had to go.  As always, I was more guilty of rambling than Jennifer was.  Joyce smiled, laughed, and nodded politely at everything I said.  I think she just wanted me to go.  Kyle immediately liked her, and gave her a book to read to him.  He almost didn't say "bye" to us. 

I completely trusted Joyce (she's done really well with our friends' child and has plenty of toddler experience), but my stomach was still in knots on the subway ride to the restaurant.  We were taking a big, but necessary, step.  Once we were at the restaurant, we placed our phones on the table, just so we can immediately respond to any problem, and I started to relax.  Jennifer called just before bedtime and learned that everything was going well.  But then, five minutes later, my phone rang.  The caller ID said "Joyce."  I grabbed the phone and darted outside, nearly knocking over a few waiters on the way out.

What could be wrong?  Was Kyle okay?  Did something happen at dinner?  Did he break something?  Did he break the sitter?  Did he torch the apartment?  Did he get arrested?  Anything was possible.  I answered the phone and paced back and forth outside.  With the car noise, my racing mind, and the nanny's thick accent, it took a while before I could figure out exactly why she called.  She wanted tea.  Tea.  That was it.  Our apartment was cold because the heat doesn't work when it's slightly above freezing outside, and Joyce was hoping to make herself a warm drink.  She needed to know where we kept the tea and mugs.  Apparently everything else was fine.  Kyle was getting along so well with Joyce, he almost forgot he had parents.  After explaining where we kept everything for tea, I double- and triple-checked to make sure there were not any problems.  Joyce said there were none.  There was a laugh in her voice, and I could tell she just wanted me to hang up. 

There were no more phone calls after that.  We enjoyed the rest of our dinner, and when we came home, Joyce was sitting on the couch, watching a bad TV movie (I forgot to show her where we keep our DVDs).  She said she had a good time with Kyle, and would do it again.  We thanked her, paid her, and called a car to take her home.  And that was that.  Our first sitter experience was done, and nobody was injured.  Kyle was asleep in his crib, looking very content with his blankets.  The next day he talked about how much fun he had with Joyce.  We had fun, too, though the next time might be a little better... I'm guessing I'll be a bit calmer then.