The Mommyvan

It's not a minivan.. it's a Mommyvan.

Confidence Killer September 1, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — themommyvan @ 3:11 pm

Several weeks ago at a friend’s pool, I continued the task of trying to teach my son how to swim without a floaty. Inspired by his friend, Conner, my four-year old enthusiastically decided he’d give it his best shot once again. After an afternoon of yelling ‘SCOOP AND KICK!! SCOOP AND KICK!!!” at him as he sunk like a stone, he shocked us all by doggy paddling nearly half the length of the pool. (This, of course, was after he drank nearly half the pool in previous attempts.) At the end of what was a few hours of ‘swimming,’ we retired to eat some burgers and later, indulge him in some much deserved home made smores made by the fire-pit. (Doing this had me considering building a fire pit myself just for the smore roasting ability.)

Today we went back to Conner’s pool and after telling him he needed to listen to me closely as I’d be wrangling the 20-month old in the pool too, my son told me ‘Don’t worry Mom… I can swim.’ Mmmm… no you can’t.

Not for nothin’, but I love a bit of confidence. And a bit of cockiness is a bit appealing.. no? But when we’re talking about a four year old who really hasn’t mastered the art of swimming, per se.. .it’s just a bit different.

‘Uh… honey. You can’t swim. I mean.. you can.. and you’re doing really well… but uh…,’ and good lord.. I thought… how do I explain this one. The answer came on it’s own as I was explaining why I was angry for his jumping in the pool without telling me.. and without any other adult in the pool. ‘You’re a big boy.. and you are getting good at swimming… but even big boys don’t go in the pool by themselves without telling their mommies or daddies and having an adult in the pool.’

Somehow I talked about ‘boo boos’ and did I mention drowning? I don’t think so. I’m a Pisces.. we don’t drown. Well, not unless we’re getting punched and kicked in the face during a triathlon and hyperventilating because the crowding has kicked our claustrophobia in. But I digress….

Of all the things he can do… of all the confidence I can hope for him to have, it’s ironic that this scares me. A skinned knee from jumping off something too high, the falls off a two-wheel bike that are sure to come. I’m as prepared as I can be… for someone who hates hospitals, dreads the eventual loose teeth for the adult ones coming in. I managed the first trip to the hospital for an injured ankle with him, my first-born…feeling shaken to my core that he was hurt, feeling helpless to make it better in that instant. Somewhere the Mommy-instinct kicked in and we got to the hospital…got through it.

He’s learning to swim. He still sinks a little and while I try to buoy him with confidence, part of being a big boy is knowing your reality too. You sink or swim and to swim.. you always keep your head up…and he will.

 

COOKIE’S CORNER: ‘OZ’ IS JUST ‘ZOO’ BACKWARDS WITH AN EXTRA GOOSE EGG. August 23, 2010

Filed under: Body of Work,Mild bits of Creativity,Schlepping Around,Sports Stuff — themommyvan @ 8:32 am

**Cookie’s Corner is a bi-weekly column I write for a Sports/Comedy website called MeettheMatts (www.meetthematts.com). Being a big sports fan, Cookie is my alter ego and the column gives me something to talk about besides my kids. Run by two fellas.. named Matt, who are BIG Mets fans, the site doesn’t discriminate and embraces all sports and all sports fans. And, it provides much needed humor to die-hard fans when they need it most.

‘DA BRONX & JOISEY – Imagine my luck… freebie tickets scored and a sitter secured (she had no criminal record, so criteria met!), Cookie here, got to attend not ONE, but TWO sporting events in four days. Let’s face it, the closest thing I get to that these days is going to a T-Ball game followed by a game of SPRINT after the 19-month old before he runs into traffic.

Mini Darth Cookie

Mini Cookie Crossing to the Dark Side
First up, tickets to the ever hot, not-so-rare Yankees/Red Sox tilt on a Friday night. At first I was a bit torn because I had plans (first time in three years) with two other adult couples in the area and as I said, theYanks/Sox is so frequent it’s lost some of its luster. That and the restaurant I wanted to try has SLAMMIN’ mojitos. Anyway… The words LUXURY SUITE were persuading me but who wanted to be in a box? I liked being amongst the people. But… Upon further inspection I found a curious link, which opened up a window of love. These seats were adjacent to the Visitors’ Bench in Row C… THREE ROWS off the dirt. Yay for the alphabet. C, C, C is for Cookie.. it’s good enough for me.

To the Yankee Game! When we got in the Stadium, we were puzzled at the lack of a Gate. After Mr. Cookie doubted Iactually found the correct place to enter, we walked back to the entrance and off to the side to the big, frosted door that read LUXURY SUITE. We pushed in and.. what the h-e-Double Hockey Sticks?!? Did I enter the Four Seasons?!? Concierge type people in suits, shiny everything, flowers… what? Who DIED?!? (I mean.. besides George… and Bob/.. but that was WEEKS AGO!) Someone who surely never hocked a beer at the stadium looked at my ticket and directed me towards a back desk where I was to get a magic yellow band. (Other plebes were directed to an elevator.)

After getting banded, ticket stamped and having my ass kissed some more, we were directed through another big, glass, Yankee blue and embossed door to go downstairs. This was f*ckin’ Yankee OZ!!! Turning down two sets of carpeted stairs, we folded out into a giant expanse of restaurant and then two levels further down.. another. Each had a bar and dining area. Lobster bisque in bread bowls, king crab legs, shrimp, lobster tails, pasta dishes, proteins galore.. and the usual ballpark fare to boot. Bags of popcorn, peanuts, Cracker Jacks and 6-ft. high shelves filled with candy (CANDY!!) near a door that eventually lead out into the stadium area. It was a different world within a world. Supremely odd.. and very Bacchanalian. VERY much jgclancy’s dream if the A’s were playin’.

Being PISSED at having to WAIT for someone and missing batting practice from such a vantage, my reply was ‘NO.. I don’t want anything to eat now… we’ll get it at our seats,’ (the ‘MORON’ at the end was implied) and we headed out. After some more checking and ass kissing (them.. not me), we took our seats. Honestly, I could see the folds within the pockets of players as they stood in front of me in the on-deck circle. (And let me tell you… I have no idea why Big Papi carries a George Costanza wallet in the back pocket of his uniform pants.. but whatever!)

The perks didn’t end there. We could order anything we wanted off another menu and have it brought to us. I had a crab cake sandwich that was amazing and ABOUT THE SIZE OF MY HEAD. Mr. Cookie had a cheesesteak and then went back inside later to pretty much pull his own Costanza…. the ocean called and they ran out of shrimp (and lobster and crab legs). Of course, the drinks weren’t included.. and even MORE absurdly, a server came around post-seventh inning suds cut-off offering people milkshakes and iced tea. (No.. I did NOT partake… I am a true baseball fan.) And of course, they had embedded TV’s over the sinks in the bathrooms.. with bathroom attendants. Of course, I STILL had to go pee on that crap ride home on the Metro North.

Tuesday saw me going to a soccer (don’t call it football again until the next World Cup please) game at what is the new home of the Giants/Jets… the Meadowlands Stadium. The match… USA vs. Brazil and tho likely we’d see the ‘B’ squads (as English Premier League just started up and most big name players head back for that). The experience here was QUITE different.

Excitingly (for people from Joisey I guess), NJ Transit built a new link from Secaucus DIRECTLY TO the stadium itself. NJ Transit in Penn Station? Exactly the same. Nasty, overcrowded and laid out absurdly, it seems Mayor Bloomberg solved that pesky homeless and panhandling problem by depositing all the unsavories here in the station.

We got on the next train to Secaucus and there switched to the Meadowlands shuttle. This part, was impressive. It was a nice station (in Seacaucus?!?) and we got on another train. Station impressive… ride.. not so much. Only NJ Transit can take a 15 minute ride with NO OTHER TRAINS ON THE RAIL and turn it into 45 minutes. Awesome. But, as billed, the train took us within about 500 feet of the stadium…fat, lazy Giants and Jets fans.. REJOICE!

Ascending up a GIGANTIC escalator (which.. odds on… someone WILL plummet off of at SOME point during the season), we entered the gate area. Now, I’m only 5’9″… tall for a gal.. but not freakishly so… but did someone lower the ceilings in here?!?The concessions looked the same, overpriced beer.. check! Greasy hot dog.. check! Overpriced schwag.. check! And good lord it was HOT IN HERE.

Walking down to our seats, after walking through half of Brazil, I later learned I basked in the B.O. of 77,000 of my closest friends. The new stadium seats 80,000 and I’m pretty sure there was 81,000 in here for all the busted seat surfers milling about. Did I mention it was HOT AS HELL IN HERE?!?!

The new video screens in the stadium are great, and the layout has more seats on the bottom and not as much tier action. In fact, it looks more like a soccer stadium really to me. The other thing is that there is absolutely NO AIR circulating in this stadium. Opposed to the Yankee Stadium tornado outfield, the Meadowlands Stadium architects did a PERFECT job of creating a stadium where NO AIR gets in. (I’m thinkin’ that’s because they already sucked the LIFE out of their season ticket holders.. so what’s taking people’s right to BREATHE away?!?) Should fair well for any summertime sporting or entertainment events. GOD IT WAS HOT IN THERE.

And for the important stuff, I have NO IDEA how the bathrooms were and to tell you about the FEEL of the stadium? If you’ve ever been in, near, driven by or just watched ‘Prison Break’ or ‘Oz,’ that’d describe it. The joint looked and FELT like a penitentiary. Couple that with the fact that the sponsored gates (e.g. the ‘Bud Light Gate,’) seem to be incorrectly labeled… thusly spitting you out beyond where you intended to be. Very cool too… especially when you’re rushing out of a zoo to find your ride home.

Speaking of rushing out… time to show this week the boot and move it on outta here. Now where the hell are my ruby shoes? I can’t stand New Jersey Transit. (GOSH.. IT’S HOT IN HERE!!)

 

Early Morning August 17, 2010

Filed under: Getaways,Ponderances,Stolen Moments — themommyvan @ 8:19 am

Sunday came. 5:20 met me with a honking buzz the alarm,
much less friendly than the music,
the job was done.. up and out.

bike shorts, tri top put on,
coffee and wrap with almond butter.. put down,

the list for my list checked and bags with bars, knapsacks with kit… carried to the car.
Lastly… my bike… my teal, two-wheeled goddess, loaded with care in the back of the Outback.
(apologies to my object of bike love for not having you a proper rack.)

quiet, crisp with clear, early morning sun, the car took me weaving the roadway,
passing few other cars.. the early AM drivers, sure to enjoy the same silence of road, of mind.
eventual and expected
the turn onto
my bridge.

the George Washington, which, as a child and still as adult impressive.
Massive and made in an alpha-dog manner,
announcing the river it spanned and looming…
Large over the Heights’ pre-war footprint of buildings.

whoosh of cars…trucks aside and imposing,
yet clear over the edge… the cliffs flanking the Hudson…
a river silent, bending up to river towns, quaint and embracing the nature.
a river moving faster down, more traffic, more anxious to reach the delta downwards,
passing shore, organic and forgiving with trees,
turns to that flanked with an increasing crunch of buildings to create
the eventual
Manhattan Skyline.
Unyielding.
Strong, yet… always
inspiring of hope.

abruptly off and assaulted with signs i searched for seventy-three.
Seventy-Three off and a sharp turn,
again and again… as if down Alice’s rabbit hole…
i found myself on the Terrace.
Hudson Terrace.

trees, quiet streets and then… increasingly lined with cars.
cars making spots on the side of the road… in the dust of the shoulder.
something was here.

my friend found… sitting.
waiting.
i found my spot beneath a crunch of parking signs.

my bike out… we went ‘wheels up’….
folded down the terrace…
around…
up.
and away.

 

Tri-ing new things August 6, 2010

Filed under: Body of Work,Sports Stuff — themommyvan @ 7:42 am

As many of you know (all three of you that visit this site regularly), I had been training for my first triathlon on July 18th. Six days a week, I’ve got workouts of swim, bike, run and also have my bricks (a dual workout of bike/run to get the legs acclimated to the switch). Using a training book my friend (fellow triathlete and AMAZING mom) Ali recommended, I’ve been on a twelve-week schedule of the 6x a week workout… and been very diligent with it. In total, I’ve missed three workouts… two of which were due to Eric having to work late, thus knocking me out of my PM workout. Overall, I felt pretty good about my preparation… both physical and mental.

The night before my triathlon, I didn’t expect to sleep much. (The great tri-book ‘The Twelve Week Triathlete’ by Tom Holland mentioned that too.) Despite not feeling nervous, I just couldn’t get comfortable to sleep. Sooner than I knew it.. it was 4:45AM, alarm goes off, I get up and get out by 5:15 to head to the event site. My best bud, Gina happily met up with me at my house and headed down with me. She was the first person to offer to come and help me in any way needed on the day… with my stuff, with my boys…with my nerves, or just being there. She’s a good egg that way and wrangles three boys of her own, so she’s what I’d call a universal life tool and can pretty much help better or fix anything. And while I thought that 5:15AM might’ve been too much to ask, I also recalled she usually was up around that time to go to work. Surely heading off with me, chit chatting and sipping coffee was a bit more enjoyable… and with a laugh.. she confirmed it. ‘I’m so EXCITED to come with you!,’ she told me as we zipped down to the event site at the beach. I smiled, agreed and said ‘Seems like old times Gina.’ You see, Gina and I go back to college and were buds, roommates and crew buddies. Since the team was ‘hands-on’ to the boat at 5:15AM, this scenario was familiar. The years that change life, the boyfriends, the apartments, getting married, having kids, all changes the recipe of friendship considered so pure and perfect back in the day. Gina and I somehow managed to keep it together. A soul sister I’m a better woman for.

Some swigs of coffee, some smiles and swerves to find a parking space, I was ready to unload and set up my transition area. Gina helped with my bag, I returned to the car for my bike… wheels inflated to 105psi. I glanced around to make sure I was doing things the right way…hanging my bike by the seat in the right direction, setting up my gear on the towel to the front and left of my hanging bike. Spreading my almond butter on a half a bagel to scarf with my banana, my prerace meal settled into my stomach as I set out for the line to get bodymarked and pick up my chip. I dreaded getting my age (thirty-nine) on the back of my calf… and funnily, the guy inking me forgot. No need to advertise…. though the big 4-0 on my calf next year might hurt a little more.

The race start was running late due to chip issues, but for the increased time I had before heading to the swim start, the time I had to prep myself decreased. I put my wetsuit on, and walked into the water ahead of the start… donning my swimcap, goggles and taking a few strokes to loosen myself up. The bullhorn called the first wave, then the 2nd and then mine. I took my place on the shore. Excited, nervous and ready to hang back, count to ten and swim on the outside. Practicality would guide me to a good swim. Or so I thought.

I’ve got no fear of water. A Pisces girl, advanced scuba certified and one whose stress kryptonite is water. It did nothing for me. Counting to ten, hanging to the outside, only delayed the unexplainable panic. I knew I’d get punched, kicked and do the same to others in the melee. It mattered not. I rounded the first buoy and got caught on the inside. I half paddled just to get around without drinking the Long Island Sound with a chaser of someone’s fist. ‘Calm. Calm. Calm. This is fun.’ Resounding no. Didn’t work. Nothing did. The lifeguard sitting on the surfboard looked like he’d work. He wasn’t that far to get to. ‘How do people do this?’ and ‘This will be my LAST triathlon,’ were the thoughts that then drowned out the others, but I kept going.

Soon, the fast swimmers from the wave behind us were on us, swimming over us….adding to my panic. ‘Great!’ I thought, ‘Now I’m in some fast man’s way.’ But i kept going, pausing to gain space, side stroking to get a rest from my hyperventilation, swimming one stroke, one breath the rest of the way to gain breath the only way I could. An abject horror show is all I thought. I rounded the 2nd buoy on the way to turn back. There was not much left now, I had to just go.

And I did.. and sooner than I thought the people right in front of me were standing. Two more strokes and I was and peeling down the top of my wetsuit. On the beach, a lane, flanked by people applauding.. and my bud Gina. I smiled and gave a thumbs up… glee it was over. Onto the next.

The transition was fine. I rinsed off my feet, chatted with the woman next to me, swigged something to drink and donned everything I needed to don before heading out with my bike. At the designated area to mount your bike, some dude managed to promptly fall over onto the grass median. Phew. At least I wasn’t THAT guy.

The 12.1 mile course involved two loops and a bit of a detour (because of road paving) that made it 13.9, but still.. no problem. I’d biked the course a few times before and was well familiar with it. The only hard part was about 1/2 mile gradual climb where I really should’ve jumped down to my small chainring. Not too concerned with time, I didn’t and I plugged along, being especially careful in the detour.. where it was now a single lane and some pretty tight turns on some gnarly pavement. I managed to survive… even passing a few people, happy to say ‘ON YOUR LEFT’ as is proper bike etiquette before passing. One elite guy buzzed me on my left, despite my being as far as I could be on my right, inches from a parked car. His shorts brushed mine, making me gasp but luckily not screwing me up so as to fall. Other than that… the bike went much smoother than the swim, but there was the dreaded run to contend with. (Did I mention I hate running?)

Getting off my bike and getting it onto the rack was easy. I waved and smiled at Eric as he took video and my sister Deirdre made the hour ride at an ungodly hour to see me. She was jumping up and down, smiling and waving excitedly. ‘WOOOOO!!!!’ Gosh I love that woman. Anyway.. a few more swigs off with the helmet and glasses, on with the race belt and sneakers and off I went. A 5K. Blah.

I am pretty sure ‘hotter than hell’ would be the correct meteorological terminology for the day… so again the goal was to survive. After a 1/2 mile swim and near 14 mile bike…I had to make sure I didn’t drain the tank too early in the run. As I ran, I thought my shoes were too tight. I stopped momentarily to loosen my laces (via race laces from iBungee… elastic laces with a toggle… best. invention. ever.). After doing that one one shoe, I thought about doing it for the other and then realized that it wasn’t my shoes that were the problem, it was that my hamstrings were SO TIGHT, they were going to snap. Ah well… shuffle along.

I ran so as not to huff and puff… thinking that passing out during the third leg would just be embarrassing. As I ran, I heard some guy SERIOUSLY laboring behind me… think… actual labor… but the sounds a man would make giving birth outta his butt. That bad. He passed me in a one-piece tri-suit and a blanket of desperation. Since enjoying the race was a goal of mine as well, I thought.. let’s just continue along at this pace for most of the race. I really don’t want to be THAT GUY either.

Eventually I passed him, doing my best not to pick up my pace just to get away from the sound of him. Each water station got a visit from me… a few swigs, some water over my head… good stuff for a horribly hot day. As I rounded back into the beach area, I knew I was close to the end and the wonderful Mossman volunteers cheered everyone on with encouraging words ‘Not much more to go now!’ ‘Looking GOOD!’ I always shouted back a ‘Thank you.’ Random strangers inspiring people for nothing. That’s just good stuff.

Running to the finish line, I heard the announcer on the PA as I approached. ‘FROM WILTON, CONNECTICUT… KIMBERLY VAN… VAN DEN… ‘ and that was it. I started to yell.. flailing arms ahead for emphasis ‘HEUVEL!! VAN DEN HEUVEL!!’ Classic. No one can say that name. Screw it. The next race, I’m Pagan.

My boys (all three of them, Eric and the two munchkins) met me.. the little ones donning homemade shirts that said ‘GO MOMMY!’ It was so incredible. My friend Megan was there too… and no one shied away from giving the sweaty mess of me a hug. Some feelings just can’t be described or replicated. This was one of them.. without a doubt.

 

The Worst-Mommy Feeling July 8, 2010

Filed under: Critters n' Stuff,Ponderances,Social Peanut Gallery,Stolen Moments,The Glamorous Life,Whine and Wine — themommyvan @ 4:13 pm

After a weekend away, alone without Eric and the boys, I returned home to boys on a high. A high of a full, four days of unadulterated Daddy-time where all the ‘special’ things like going to a diner, the toy store, beach, Starbucks (for a giant slab o’ crumb cake.. Cole’s favorite) use of the kiddie pool, and even the neighbor’s Slip-n-Slide happened. Some of them for the first time ever, some of them just favorites that happened twice. I don’t know if there was even an ice-cream cone or two in there, but it wouldn’t surprise me. Cole (at least since he’s the only one who can talk at this point) was in seventh heaven. Eric complained nightly of being ‘tired,’ which I gave a chuckle at. He had the extra set of hands of his mother around (as you can recall) so he could ‘do stuff,’ and added bonus…she even did some stuff for him too.

I came home feeling a bit relaxed, but not much. My last week of triathlon training on ‘peak mode’ coupled with the humidity, PMS and a 4 1/2 hour ride home tempered my temporary solitude. Glad to be out of traffic and home, Cole immediately sought me out, giving me the best hug ever, whispering to my ear ‘I missed you Mommy…soooo much.’ Solid gold. The little grunting/screaming imp, Noah gave me a big kiss too. His first… on the mouth (though I think he was actually trying to eat me because it was kinda close to dinner time). Eric told me he missed me too and that it was good to have me home. His mom was still here, and there was just a few waking hours before we’d all go to sleep and Tuesday would come. Eric would head back to work, Cole to camp, his mom home and my usual duties resumed…alone.

As one would expect, the boys slept late (7AM or later) all the days I was gone. Since Eric’s Mom could stay inside and keep an ear out for Noah as he napped, that left Eric free to take Cole outside and run him around. Evening came with early bedtime and late rise the next day. I couldn’t believe it… and also couldn’t believe that save one day, I couldn’t sleep in during my Mommy-holiday. Tuesday came…at 6:15AM with Cole crawling into my bed, cars and blanket in tow. No further sleep that day, or the next, or the next. The days were peppered with random ‘Mommy.. I missed you while you were gone’ statements…unrelated to anything an often accompanied by a hug. They were the salve to the sores of whining and my lost patience.

Thursday morning came at 6:10AM and like the days before, no return to sleep and the morning rituals morphed into a nightmare of indecision, defiance and whining. Suddenly Cole did not and could not brush his teeth, the usual torture of suntan lotion was now too much to bear and decision on shoes was an epic internal struggle for him (with outward whining). He turned into a reverse Sisyphus, melting down as he toted the bail of his backpack downstairs. The shoe shell game ensued again, for the umpteenth time in just a short morning’s time. After getting the water shoes (which he wanted to wear and pack the sandals, then the sneakers too), he then fell apart again over them…deciding he wanted socks and sneakers.

It was done. I was over it. Everything was problematic. From the water amount in juice, to brushing teeth, to pooping (an excuse to delay teeth brushing, because there was no poop), the suntan lotion, the sneakers, the water shoes, the sandals, the god damn car of the day…not to mention tending to Noah…who can’t communicate and over the weekend developed renewed interest in the humor of throwing stuff. It was all too much…especially before caffeine made its way to my system.

‘I DON’T CARE WHAT SHOES YOU WEAR. JUST GET THEM ON AND LET’S GO.. NOW!!! STOP THE WHINING AND GET YOUR SHOES ON!!’

And then he started to cry… again. He’d been crying over everything that morning. I’d be in the other room and he’d start crying about anything he was doing or encountered (his brother included). For that moment, I didn’t feel bad as instantly as I usually might after yelling at him. It’s what happened a few minutes later in the car that killed me. I had calmed down.. and so had he. I pulled out, put the car in park and turned around to talk to him.

‘Cole…. what’s wrong today? Everything is upsetting you and I’m trying to understand why but it’s hard when you’re crying and upset to help you.’
He looks at me… big, sad blue green eyes and says, ‘Mommy, I’m just having a hard day.’
I nearly broke down myself.

‘OK Cole. How can I help you?’
‘By not yelling at me.’

OK, so at this point I hold it together so as not to be the crazy Mommy who is now sobbing behind the steering wheel not ten feet out of her garage. I try to tell myself that this feeling of being crowned The Worst Mommy Ever will pass…because it will.. because it does.

We get to camp. I go to his seat. Unstrap him and stand to help him get down. He wraps both arms around me. Nuzzles into my neck and squeezes as if to reaffirm me. ‘Mommy.. I love you.’ I tell him I do too… always. Even when I yell at him.

Things pass. Feelings pass. The hard mornings pass. This afternoon as I cleaned up from Noah’s lunch and Cole’s snack, I felt arms around my leg as I stood at the sink. A kiss oddly placed on my leg but at within reach for where he stood. ‘Mommy… I love you.’ And the hard mornings give way to better afternoons…always.

 

Independence Day for Mommy July 1, 2010

Filed under: Getaways,Stolen Moments,The Glamorous Life,Uncategorized — themommyvan @ 2:43 pm
Tags: , , , , ,

The July 4th holiday is again upon us. We’ve got nowhere to go… no barbeques and (thankfully) no kid’s birthday parties this weekend. But this year, the holiday that celebrates America’s independence will see me celebrating my independence too.

You see, a few weeks ago, I took a trip up to Boston to visit my family as my husband had made plans to summit with his brother and mother up at her house in Pennsylvania. There were shelves to install in the garage, papers to go through…things of that nature and like a good son, he went. My trip to Boston was (as always) enjoyable as my cousin, Ira is what we call a ‘Bu-Jew’ (Buddhist-Jew) and, in fact, the nicest guy in the world. His son (also my cousin), Jesse has a two-year old daughter, Lila, who is the incredible in her own right. (Yesterday she had her last round of chemo, after being diagnosed with ALL Leukemia at six-weeks. To say she is a sweet, well adjusted toddler would be an understatement. But… that is another story that’s done justice only uncluttered of other particulars.)

With Ira and I spending most of the weekend (Friday to Sunday) watching three kids and a dog between us, and my kids being REALLY BAD at ‘the away game’ (sleeping elsewhere), I arrived home some seventy-two hours later an amorphous blob of who I was when I left. Being thankful for a return journey where Noah (my 17-month old) only screamed at the back of my head for forty-five minutes compared with a stop-inducing HOUR on the trip there…was the bit of mercy I needed not to immediately commit myself upon my return.

For as much as my husband, Eric is oblivious for, he can also be pretty tuned in. (Whether or not he decides to say or do anything to let on that he understand what I’m going through or feeling is another story entirely.) By Sunday morning, he said ‘Hey.. why don’t you take a weekend to yourself in Sag with your Mom.’ And while I could’ve attributed it to the back and forth bicker we had on email about doing this that weekend for other reasons, the fact was he got it. I said ‘Uh.. ok,’ and figured I’d let the comment ride until he mentioned it again so I could be sure it was a solid offer.

With a half-day Friday and the holiday on Monday, I leave tomorrow. At first, I was excited Eric would spend a full forty-eight plus hours alone with BOTH boys. Not that he’s not been alone with them before, but never that long. Never without a tag-team partner of me. And not while the little dude (Noah) is running around in full terror mode. Excitement squashed…while I was brushing my teeth no less

ERIC: ‘Uh… so my Mom is going to come while you’re away.’
ME: ‘Oh… really.’
ERIC: ‘Yeah. I asked her to and she said OK.’
ME: ‘So… I guess you don’t want to spend a weekend alone with your boys, huh?!?’
ERIC: ‘Yeaaaaaaa… No.’

And so his mother arrives tomorrow as I leave. Eric told me he asked her to come because it’d ‘be nice to have her around’ so he could ‘get stuff done.’ Fascinating. I get stuff done all week with either one or two kids in tow. He’s got forty-eight hours and needs backup. While I was also a bit stunned at how now there’s a full compliment of family coming on the turn of a dime, the outcome is the same.

Tomorrow I pack the car…pack a few bags but they’re only for me. I bring a book and there’s a high likelihood I can actually read it. I bring the Trek 2.1 and ride and don’t feel guilty about having left anyone with the kids for what I think must be too long. And I bring a little green car of Cole’s. To ‘remind’ me of him… as if I needed a reminder because I miss him and his little brother already. Mommy is independent this weekend…free. And when I miss them, when I feel like it’s too quiet… so quiet that it makes my heart ache just a little.. I’ll remember that it’s true what they say… ‘Freedom isn’t free.’

 

Time flies…jeez.. it’s true. June 24, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — themommyvan @ 8:18 am

I recall being small. Maybe four.. maybe five. Maybe not old enough to have had a period or growth spurt, but definitely young enough to be looking up at my Mom talking to whatever friend or two she ran into on the street as me and my brother stood in a circle of gab. Eventually the conversation took a turn down:

‘OH… Look at how BIG they’ve gotten!’ miscellaneous Mom-friend would say.
‘Yeah… I know. They grow SO fast.‘ Mom would reply.
‘Uh-huh. Time flies.’

Proceed launch about said Mom-friend’s kids… what they were doing and how big they were getting. A lot of head shaking at the craziness of time to keep ticking on, and some smiles down to us like ‘So cute.’ Boring boring. Me? Time never seemed to fly.

Summer vacations from school were never close enough. Nor was the next holiday giving us a three day weekend. Sunday seemed to have a supernatural power of being unbelievably slow. I swore that on Sundays, sometimes the clock moved backward. It was the penultimate in boring days. If I were to erase a day of the week, it have easily been Sunday. The people who made the Day-Of-The-Week underwear seemed to have the right idea. A six-pack of underwear with nothing for Sunday. I guess Sunday was the day of rest for your whole being, and for being constricted in underwear. Seemed odd…especially if you were religious and had to go to church without underwear.

On Sunday, my father sat in his rocker and read ‘The Times’ (that’s the NY Times for us east coasters.) My mother read and made the weekly call to my Bubbe (her mother) in Pennsylvania. And I did sit without underpants, spending most of the day in my pj’s… wishing someone would get a dose of desire to do SOMETHING… ANYTHING. Alas no. My mom always proclaimed that we were ‘relaxing.’ Relaxing? I was jumping out of my skin. Gitmo had nothing on my Sunday torture.

Somewhere between praying for Sunday to be over and praying for a few more hours to study for my 400-Level English course finals, time sped up. It got faster than I was at moving through crushes on guys, or the oar of my eight in a crew race. Faster flew the lease renewals for my tiny, Lower East Side studio apartment, the summers hanging with my friend Viv around ‘the ‘hood’ and in the park and then slower flew the guys…finally resting on Eric who became my husband.

Somehow, the months of being pregnant with my two boys always dragged, but the labor went pretty quick. I started journals to each of them, writing in them as frequently as possible between diapers and sleepless nights. Soon the time between the entries went to weeks and I promised myself it wouldn’t go more than a month… now it’s been months. Cole was a little swaddled bundle what seems like a short time ago, but time moved faster than my pen could keep up with. Now he’s four. Noah is eighteen months. He talks his own language and oddly, it sounds kinda like the garbled mess I listened to from below the circle of Mom and Mom-friend.

And just like before, I’ll be looking back and wondering how things went to warp speed. Noah will be talking, and Cole will be answering my question of how time flies so fast. I’m sure he’ll ask me when his summer vacation is coming and why we don’t do anything on Sundays.

 

Inanimate Object Love June 8, 2010

Filed under: Body of Work,Getaways,Mild bits of Creativity,Uncategorized — themommyvan @ 10:34 am

Having taken on the role of full-time Momma, nearly all of my time, attention and heart has been dominated by the little people. At the ages of four and eighteen-months, I move between moments where I’m drowning in my own sweet sentiment or someone else’s drool (it’s all basically interchangeable). Until a few months ago when I decided to sign up for my first triathlon, I had not much in the way of ‘me time,’ save the weekend workouts. I now diligently carve out 4-5 weekday nights for workouts. Once Eric is home, I’m off to swim, bike or run.

Biking has quickly become my favorite of the sport trifecta, and thankfully so with the new road bike costing a mint, even though it is still an ‘entry-level’ model. Weekend mornings have become my time to bike.. most often Saturday mornings. I wake a bit after 6A, take a few sips of as much coffee and morning news as I can in a few quiet moments, gear up and head out on the Trek 2.1.

It’s quiet and the birds give their morning report. I click in with my clipless shoes and go. The air usually takes over where the coffee has left off and suddenly I’m awake. A few turns out of my house, a small stretch of Route 7 (a main road) and 33 are the only bits where a higher frequency of passing cars might get me out of my head for a fleeting moment.

I’m alone. It’s quiet. I can push from within and just hear the blood pumping to my legs. A click, click of gears shifting and eventually my own breathing are a simple and sweet rhythm. A downhill stretch, the increasing whirl of wind past the one of me and bike and there’s nothing else. Everything disappears…the ADD like qualities of my head going through the ‘To-Do’ list, the constant barrage of needs to be filled, the worry about finances, things, my own Type A pressure to ‘get it all done,’ to make the house, myself ‘just so.’ It’s all gone in a trail of meaningless ether behind me.

A bike. Two wheels, some metal, some cables. It frees me. It reaffirms me. It saves me…and I love it.

 

Touched and Retouched May 4, 2010

Filed under: Dag Nabit!!!,Mild bits of Creativity,Stolen Moments,The Glamorous Life — themommyvan @ 4:13 pm

Recently, someone requested my headshot. I found this to be surprising, exciting and horrifying all at once. The editor for the local magazine I penned an article for asked that I send her my bio along with my headshot. Uh oh. I had no headshot, but I did have a serious amount of split ends and the beginnings of a unibrow. Now I needed to do some fancy scheduling before getting said headshot done by a photographer who also needed to be a miracle worker. Shit. She needed the headshot in three weeks time. Could I find a plastic surgeon and heal in time for this? Alas.. no. I’d have to settle for the photographer/miracle worker. Commence search.

My husband, Eric has a friend from college, Chung, who makes a living as a fashion photographer. That’s right. He’s taken pics of supermodels.. Gisele Bunchen among them. Now, Chung agreed to take headshots of me as a favor to us. Being no pro and seeing the incredible bodies (literally) of work he’s captured, I was a bit panicked. (Go ahead… www.chunglee.com. Check it out, then get in my shoes and assume my freak out.)

We settled on a date and after Saturday’s activities of my own early AM triathlon training, Cole’s T-Ball game, feeding the kids lunch, and (of course) taking the kids to a birthday party, I breezed over to my first stop for magic…the spa. Here, a woman named Janet managed to master a makeup miracle, transforming my skin to a palate of perfect for the shoot. After this, I bailed back into my car, blasted the A/C so my face wouldn’t melt off in the unsuspected spring heat, and made it over to Chung’s.

Once there, Chung and I cracked a beer, he gave me a tour of his house, terrace and gardens and he selected the outfit and accessories from the bag o’ stuff I brought. I changed and once outside, was told to straddle a bench in front of some greenery. Wait.. did he just tell me to STRADDLE something?!?

‘You see…it’s ALL about the angles, so you have to turn this way, and be really exaggerated. Stick your neck out and lean forward.’ OK.. that made it much better.

It was all very uncomfortable at first and I thought perhaps models DID get paid for something other than looking pretty. With headshots, it’s all about capturing your personality and I found trying to look oh so mysterious and introspective came off too serious and a bit flare-nosed pissed off. If I had a nickel for every time Chung said ‘Smile!’ I woulda been buried in ‘em. I was overly apologetic, noting that surely I was the worst model ever and that it was kinda hard to fake a smile on cue. The patience of Job that man I tell ya…

One wardrobe change and about one hundred digital cameral clicks later, Chung said we should take it inside as we had ‘some good shots.’ Relieved.. I returned inside with him and he uploaded the pictures on the largest screened version of MAC. I love MACs but today, it turned out to be my mortal enemy for that gigantic screen.

After picking out a few, Chung set out to digital editing.. which was HORRIFYING. Apparently, everyone gets retouched.. which is not a shocker. After dealing with a few stray hairs, he dealt with facial imperfections. Now, he didn’t make my nose smaller, my eyes more green, or remove the horns that sprout out of my head at times, but he did ‘smooth things out’. With every fading of a spot or softening of a line, I shrunk a little. Chung continued to mention how hard it was for anyone to look at themselves this close up. I must’ve looked like I was going to off myself after the shoot, so Chung reassured me I wasn’t in the minority here.

He edited two pictures, which we settled on as ‘the ones.’ The one I’ll use for the tiny picture that will accompany my article is seen here in this post. And it’s pretty much captured my spirit and personality. Oddly, it’s also captured (or.. recaptured) the affections of my husband, who said that if he saw this picture and wasn’t married to me, he’d propose all over again. Very nice. I told him that if he felt the need to do so, I was always up for receiving some diamonds. No such luck.

On Facebook, I posted the pictures.. four in total as the two were done to black and white versions as well. I was touched at all the feedback I got from friends and family, being told I looked ‘hot’ and ‘beautiful.’ I mentioned the retouching, but was told to give myself some credit. I guess the raw canvas did look OK after all. Suck on THAT Gisele!

 

Sink or Swim April 30, 2010

Filed under: Ponderances,Sports Stuff,Stolen Moments — themommyvan @ 3:24 pm

So with everything that is going on, several weeks back I decided to enter my first triathlon. Having completed the NYC Marathon some years back, I figured that I could do a triathlon. The shortest one (called a Sprint.. which is what I am signed up to do) will take HALF the time of the marathon AND… there’s three things I get to do… which is perfect for my personality, which teeters on ADD.

This past week started my first week of official training. Up to now, I’ve been mixing it up with my swimming, biking and riding, but this week I follow the first of a twelve week program geared to get me well prepped for the triathlon. (Or, more appropriately, able to finish it with some semblance of dignity.)

And, since I had some credits from the many weather induced cancellations of my son’s swim class at the Y, I decided to take those credits and use them for myself (like any good mother would). Everything I’ve heard and read on triathlons has illuminated a point that NO amount of practice will make you a better swimmer. The hitch is that in swimming, you are ill prepared to see yourself and your faults. So, unless you have a camera or a swim coach, you’re not going to get better. You may get faster, but you may just be a faster inefficient swimmer than you were before.

I met a young coach at the Y for my private lesson… Drew. (As I found out.. he’s ‘just a few years out of college.’ Nah.. I didn’t feel ancient. Pfft!) In assessing my stroke mechanics (no.. that’s not saucy talk for starting some marital infidelity), I found out that I swim ‘a little square.’ My shoulders are a little rigid and need to ‘roll’ more. And, the ‘inserting hands into a glove’ technique I had learned as a girl at Day Camp was patently incorrect.

Now I’ve got a boatload of horrid drills to do to break me of the bad habits I’ve had for.. oh… well over THIRTY YEARS. No problem.. I’ve got twelve weeks left… piece of cake. (Speaking of piece of cake…. mmmm. Unfortunately, triathlon training has not yielded in my being able to eat anymore.)

The good news is.. he said I’m actually a decent swimmer. So instead of wasting energy and being inefficient, I guess I’ll learn anew and actually swim.