Bobby Asshat and Me
Does Bobby Flay make you as sick as he makes me?
To All My Betches
I had two of my dearest friends (D & K) over yesterday afternoon. We pigged out on guacamole and chips, chorizo, bagels and donuts (one of us - not me! - is pregnant, so it's o.k. We had to give her moral support). We didn't do much else besides sit at my dining table and talk about the same old shit we always talk about. With both Ben and Max off to the park and the house to ourselves, it was basically a perfect afternoon for me.
After the girls left, I found myself thinking about them, our friendship, and my friendships with other women as well. I've had a very interesting and fruitful year as far as friendships go. I've ended one friendship (really, for the good of both of us), reconnected with a childhood friend, and (hopefully) gotten closer to these two friends. And in starting this blog and becoming part of the local blog scene, I've been getting to know some women who are really just wonderful. When I think about all these individuals (as well as my three lifelong girlfriends), I feel so grateful for their presence in my life.
I think it's hard for women to make and maintain friendships in adulthood. I don't know why - perhaps because of underlying feelings of competitiveness, our own insecurities, trust issues - but at least for me, it just doesn't seem to happen. When I met D and K over three years ago and I saw how well we got along, I was overjoyed. We connected on so many levels and found that we could trust each other with some very personal things. Now that I don't work with them, I miss them all the time and have some great memories of our daily bitch sessions and heart-to-hearts. And as I begin new friendships with the women whom I've found (or found me) through this blog, I feel excited, nervous and hopeful that relationships will develop that are as simple or complex as they need to be, but that whatever they are, are mutually satisfying.
When I think of my own issues that I think make adult female friendships hard, I think it's mainly due to my insecurities. I want to impress; I want to be understood; I want to be related to and considered funny and honest and loyal (more on this last one in another post). And while I generally have a healthy dose of self-confidence, I have to confess that I worry at times that I have nothing important and necessary to offer my girlfriends. On some level I know that's not true, but when I feel like I'm being too opinionated and blunt with them, I wonder...
Either way, whether they are my old girlfriends - with whom I feel so comfortable and safe - or my new blogger friends - whose company and emails I have so enjoyed and whom I'm eager to get to know more - or my old/new friend from childhood - who shares my parenting philosophy and is a kindred spirit in so many ways - or my beloved D and K who always talk me off the ledge and accept me in all my neurotic, temperamental glory - these women have brought so much richness and depth and joy to my life. I thank them for that. They are playing a vital role in helping me be the woman I want to be, and no words can adequately express what that means to me.
My betches, you are fine, fine women and beautiful friends.
So that potty training thing? I'm not doing it. After hearing way too many nightmare stories and seeing my sister, cousins and assorted others (thanks, internets!) struggling with getting their kids to pee and poop on the toilet, I've decided it's just not for me. Between the possibility of traumatizing my child with my pleas, tears and shrieks that he pee and poop on the potty because OH LORD HE HAS TO, HE JUST HAS TO, and the knowledge that before successfully using the toilet he will be peeing and pooping up my house, car, clothes, furniture, toys, rugs, other people, etc., I think it's just best to leave him the hell alone. He'll figure it out at some point, whether he's 2 or 12. Why should I care how long it takes? They make diapers in big sizes nowadays, so I think we're good.Honestly, people, I really don't plan on potty training this kid, and I don't think I need to: he's already on his way to figuring it out himself. Remember when I wrote about how my child does not allow me to pee? Well, there was a truth there I was too embarrassed to get into, but which I've since gotten over: if I really have to go, I go, and so does Max. And this has been the case since he was a newborn, when he and his baby papasan would join me in the bathroom so I could shower. At first I felt weird about it, but what was I supposed to do? I'd rather have my kid all up in my face while I try to go to the bathroom instead of leaving him alone and unsupervised (because I live in fear of tragedy striking the minute I turn my back).
Would You Like a Little Jesus with Your EKG?
I spent the better part of yesterday morning with Max at his cardiologist's, waiting - first, for him to get an EKG *, and then for the doctor to see him.
We got there very early, apparently, because they told us the doctor wouldn't be back from rounds for another hour and a half. To which I thought, so why was I scheduled for an 8:45 appointment when he wouldn't even be here till 9:30? But whatever, who am I to complain because the doctor has no regard for my time?
Very soon after we arrive, an elderly lady calls us in - she's our EKG tech. She's totally a Cuban grandmother type, which is actually surprising to me because these techs usually tend to be pretty young. So I find myself thinking that it's great that en elderly person is so gainfully employed, and, since she was a total abuela, as is wont to happen when you live straddling two cultures, I felt instantly at ease and comforted.
Seeing that Max was kinda antsy, abuela-tech was all soothing, an expert, really, telling me not to worry, that this would be quick, that she'd get him to calm down, etc. So we get to the room, and basically, she has to stick a bunch of pads on him - on his arms, chest and legs. Max is normally very cooperative at doctors' offices, but he was a bit off yesterday, so he was squirming and whining, and so she told me she was going to sing as she worked to calm him down.
And that's when abuela-tech really turned it on. She began to deftly maneuver the machine and sing to my child; but not just sing, people, but sing songs about Jesus and God! There was no Los Pollitos Dicen, or Itsy, Bitsy Spider. There was Mi Dios Esta Vivo, among others. On a loop, over and over again.
I was surprised, but not offended. I don't get offended over those kinds of things unless someone is trying to shove their religion in my face or trying to convince me that my multi-cultural, multi-religious approach is wrong and damaging to my child, and, you know, sure to bring me some hellfire. Still, there was a Hasidic Jew with his daughter across the hall in the Echo room, and I did wonder if the Jesus singing was for all the patients? Or did she just figure me for the Cubanita that I am and assumed I'd be down with the church music?
Max, I'll have you know, calmed down and began chattering once the Jesus songs began. We were in and out in less than 15 minutes.
* He's fine.
The Fruits of My Labor *
So hey, look at that! The Miami Herald picked up a story the Associated Press did on my company! We even landed the front page of the business section, with my boss all happy and boss-like in our studio!
What are you waiting for, my dears, go read the article!
* Not really. Our PR agency busted their ass on this one.
Behind the Blog: A Peek into Our Household
Transcript of two actual recent conversations.
The scene: Our dining table, Sunday-morning breakfast
Ben (looking extremely serious): I need to talk to you about something, and you're not going to like it.
(This guy has not yet learned the subtle art of initiating a delicate conversation; and also, what the hell does he know if I'm going to like it or not?)
Tere: *Thinks* He cheated and is going to confess; he pissed our money away on crap; he's about to issue some "important" order that I'm going to find ridiculous. *Says* Oooookaaaayyyyyyyy... go for it.
Ben (stares at me, says nothing for many tense seconds): I want a boxer (pause) - but a puppy boxer, not an adult.
Tere: *Thinks* THAT'S IT??? A dog??? All this drama for a dog?? We need some communication coaching around here... *Says* O.k., but I thought we agreed to take a break from the physical responsibility and emotional attachment dogs require?
Ben: I know, but I've been thinking about it, and I really want one. I know it's going to be expensive, so I'm telling you now so we can plan for it.
Tere: *Thinks* And I want a Gucci purse, what's your point? *Says* Well, you know how I feel about puppies right now (I don't want one). And you know boxers are a nightmare for the first two years. I think we should wait a bit, give ourselves more time and save money specifically for that (he nods in what I assume is agreement). So how about this: I'll agree to a puppy, and a boxer, but you have to 1) Promise to be the primary caretaker as far as training goes, and 2) Actually train her. For real.
Ben (looks like he doesn't care for this deal, but says): O.k.
**** End of conversation ****
The scene: Our couch, two days later
Ben: So James is going to give me the books he has on boxers so we can read up and get ready.
Tere: I thought we were waiting to get a dog?
Ben: Yes, but just to be prepared.
Tere: I'm really not ready for this.
Ben: *Puts on a sad little boy face, the one he uses to guilt people into giving him what he wants*
Tere: *Falls for that face, as always* Well, how about another deal -
Ben: Oh no, we're not doing that thing were you agree to the puppy if I agree to another pregnancy.
Tere: Well, that way, you get a puppy, and I get a puppy.
Ben: You have a puppy right there (looks at our beloved boy, who's busy throwing the contents of a drawer all over the floor).
Tere: Maybe we should forget the whole thing.
(But he's not. I know he's going to push for this boxer puppy until I'm sick to death of the topic, but as long as I'm not ready and feel like we can't handle a puppy, there won't be one.)
**** End of conversation ****
On a completely unrelated note, I was looking at my enormous Cuban thighs this morning and realized that there is no way on Earth that I'm wearing a bathing suit this year. I don't think I can stomach it.
(By the way, I'm no longer seeing a personal trainer. There was some kind of issue between them and the company, and the whole thing seems to be in limbo. Not sure, but either way, Ben's been working a lot of overtime, which means I can't workout since someone has to, you know, parent the child).
Do Something Good For the Earth
You've got a chance this weekend to be extra-nice to the Earth. Sunday is Earth Day, and here in Miami we'll be celebrating EarthFest. The lovely Rebecca from GreenerMIAMI was kind enough to provide these details:
"EarthFest: WaterFest Gone Green is a full day outdoor celebration of Water and Earth. Come enjoy Earth Day with us in Key Biscayne's Crandon Park through listening to non-stop concerts and performances, browsing through our eco-village of green vendors and organizations, learn how to go green with our simple tips and workshops, have fun with water games and water conservation activities, and munch on delicious sustainable foods."
EarthFest will take place Sunday, April 22, noon - sundown on Key Biscayne (Crandon Park North Beach entrance). It's FREE! Parking is $5.
There will be lots of activities for kids, and a headliner performance by DJ Le Spam and the Spam Allstars.
"Bring your old, broken, or unwanted electronics items to EarthFest to be recycled, free of charge. Be assured that your waste will not go into a landfill, but will be reused and recycled. Acceptable items include, but are not limited to:
Mother of the Year
So, guess who had absolutely NO CLUE the temperature had dropped into the mid-50's and dressed her preshus baby in a short-sleeve tee and shorts?
And guess who opened the door with her shorts-and-tee-wearing preshus baby in her arms, where a freezing gust of wind was tearing through? And guess who had to scramble back into the house and re-dress her child? And guess who was already running late for work because she had no strength or energy to drag her ass out of bed until her preshus baby's shrieking for the pacifier he had just hurled out of his crib became too persistent for her to ignore?
Well yes, it would, in fact, be me, in what is clearly an example of how on-top-of-it and prepared and put-together I am.
Fuck it, it's Monday, I'm allowed to mess up. (And yet, such a small thing makes me feel like I've learned nothing in this year-and-a-half....)
In other mother-related news, Jenny has written up a very good, thought-provoking post about motherhood and the loss (or gaining) of power. How a woman with a 2-year-old and a newborn manages to churn out such intelligent, well-thought-out stuff is a mystery to me. But read up and get those wheels in your brain churning. She gives us all a lot to think about.
Well, I had a nice post all planned out for you guys (no, I didn't. I've been stressing since last night about what the hell to write about because I'm really a horribly boring person who's dangerously close to becoming even more boring, if that's even possible), but as I clicked on to my dashboard I realized that yesterday's post was #299, making this one... #300!
300 posts! WOOT!
Now that it was properly commemorated, I'm off to think about something interesting to write about.
Labels: my favorite things
She's just a wee baby, my dear friends, but I'm happy to present for your consideration and consumption FOODTASTIC!, my new non-foodie food blog.
You'll find a brief intro and back story in the first post, so I won't get into that here. What I do want to share is that I've invited some friends, some whom you know, others whom you don't, along for the ride, and they will be regular (I hope!) contributors to the blog.
I was going to wait till there was more content before introducing her, but I've been pretty sick for over a week now and posting here, there and everywhere has been light, and I don't feel like waiting anymore.
So, pay FOODTASTIC! a visit, and enjoy.
We can't get him to take these slippers off - he loooooooooooves them more than anything. So we basically just let him wear them to sleep.
Can you find the other slipper?
I can't begin to guess how he got it in there so precisely.