Friday, November 27, 2009

My Thanksgiving Story

Yesterday, as a tear trickled down my cheek while I watched Big Bird and the Sesame Street crew singing Sing A Song during the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade (a song I used to sing with my youth singing group, Star Sounds, pictured below), I reminisced about my childhood Thanksgivings. It was always a holiday spent with family. Lots and lots of family. And I loved every minute of it. Bulging plates, piled high with the good stuff... and by the good stuff, I mean mounds of stuffing, piles of black olives, beets, and pickes, and maybe a small piece of turkey if it wasn't during the time right after my dad took me to visit the slaughter house filled with grotesque, hanging, skinless carcasses. I became a pseudo-vegetarian for a couple years after I realized meat was actually dead animals.

Anyway, Thanksgiving has always been a lovely, cheerful holiday... except for one year. I was young enough to still have baby teeth. My dad and I were watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade on TV. When the Rockettes appeared, I was mesmerized. They kicked so high! Their legs pointed vertically to the heavens! Wow! So when Dad asked me if I thought I could kick as high as the Rockettes, I thought, "I am the most talented girl I know. Of course I can!" So I stood up to show Dad how skilled his oldest daughter was.

I took a deep breath in preparation. Easy as pie. Just kick that leg straight up into the air. And I heaved my leg upward, just like the Rockettes! And then I felt something bash into my face. It was my own knee! I had kicked so brilliantly that my knee hit my mouth, and I felt something small and hard land on my tongue. Yes friends, I had kicked out my own front tooth.

When I showed my dad the tooth, he burst out laughing. Then he called for my mom and they howled together at my horrible misfortune. I couldn't believe how uncaring my own parents were! I was humiliated and embarrassed. I thought I was going to look like the Rockettes with their long, straight legs, and instead I looked like a one-girl incarnation of The Three Stooges. So I went to my room and slammed the door.

The end.

P.S. That's me on the top row, left, with the side half-pony and thick bangs. I think the bow tie really brings the look together.

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Mama Needs a Massage

I didn't appreciate how easy I had it before the punk started walking. Among the many phrases I've (calmly and sweetly) uttered this morning:

"No, little boys don't belong in the dishwasher!"

"No, we don't climb into the fireplace!"

"Ewwww! We don't eat apples out of the garbage!"

And, the classic, "I'm gonna get you... raaaarrr!"

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

A First for Mama

I'm not a big jewelry person. The two pieces that I regularly wear are my wedding ring and a silver Tiffany necklace my man gave me about an hour after bringing the punk into the world. When I dress to impress, I almost always wear these two pieces; however, I don't wear my ring around the house, which is where I am most of the time. So when I left the house to go grocery shopping today, I forgot to don my diamond.

While we were out, the punk and I enjoyed lunch at Cafe Rio. And may I just say, I love Tuesdays at the Rio because the special is coconut shrimp tacos. I feel like I'm cheating the system because I ask for the coconut shrimp in a salad instead of tacos, and every time I do, the person taking my order always looks quizzically at me for a moment before saying, "yeah, okay." And oooh boy, cheating is oh so yummy. Today, I felt like I had won the lottery because, not only did I get the best dish at Cafe Rio just by asking for an exception, I had a full punch card so I got it for free!

Anyway, after nom-nom-noming my coconut shrimp salad and watching the punk gum his quesadilla, we walked out to the car. There in the parking lot, as I buckled the little guy into his car seat, I heard someone say, "Hi!" When I looked up, I saw two men walking out from the restaurant, and I smiled in greeting. The man with a fauxhawk continued, "Are you married?" When I said yes, he said, "Well, you're really pretty. I didn't see a ring." I told him that I had forgotten to put it on. He said, "If you weren't married, I would totally ask you out. Your kid is beautiful too." I've gotta say, this was a totally new experience for me. Being hit on when I'm with the punk? I guess it could have been awkward and irritating, but I was actually kind of flattered. I guess it's nice to know that if my man's plane goes down in a fiery crash of twisted metal and flying body parts, I'll have some options. Or at least one option, if I like guys with fauxhawks.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

These Socks Were Made For Walking

The punk took his first steps with his papa on Halloween Eve while I was tutoring math in the other room. That night, he was so excited that he kept trying and trying to hone his new skill, but failed to remain upright for too long. I think he discovered that falling hurts a bit, so he became more timid in the days following. But now he's got his groove back. Look at him go!

P.S. His Jazz jersey was given to him yesterday by his Uncle Michael. Thanks bro!

Monday, November 9, 2009

Not The Best Policy

I married a meat and potatoes guy (of my own free will and choice) who claims he will try one bite of just about anything, but draws the line at sushi. Glorious, heavenly sushi, the substance of the gods. So, because there is no room in my marriage for the sunset roll, the shrimp tempura roll, or spicy tuna, I am always looking for new sushi buddies.

Enter David.

David is my middle brother, the third of 5 children, and someone who occupies a very special place in my left ventricle. Even though I already love his guts and he has nothing to prove to me, he agreed to try sushi for the first time, with his big sis.

We had a lovely meal and he made the appropriate yummy sounds and gestures, so I think he wasn't lying when he said he loved it! When the check came, I noticed that our server had not charged us for David's Coke. I wondered if it was a nice gesture on her part, or if she had inadvertently left it off the bill. Because I am a she-devil, I didn't really think much of it, but David mentioned that he would ask her about it when she came to take our cards. When she took the little black folder, David and I were too busy exchanging funny stories to remember the tiny detail of the Coke, so we didn't say anything. As she was charging our cards though, David remembered and vowed to make it right when she came back.

In the meantime, the owner of the tiny sushi restaurant came over to ask us how we enjoyed our meal. He was surprised to learn that David had just experienced his first sushi and was pleased that we chose his fine establishment for my brother's premier. As we were chatting with him (and concentrating hard on understanding his words through his strong Japanese accent), we could see our server approaching our table with our cards. This jogged David's memory about the drink, so without thinking, he blurted out, "She forgot to charge me for my drink!"

Immediately, we knew this was the wrong thing to say, or rather the wrong person to whom to say it, as our server bowed her head in defeat and stood like a dog with its tail in between its legs. In the owner's chipper voice, he said, "That's okay; it will come out of her tip." Thinking for a split second that he was joking, I laughed, "Ha!... oh." And she said in a defeated voice, "Yeah, it'll come out of my tip."

David and I exchanged embarrassed glances and anxiously twiddled our thumbs as we stammered our apologies and tried to let the awkward moment pass. I guess sometimes honesty is not the best policy after all.
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