Browsed by
Month: June 2009

A Party for Jacko

A Party for Jacko

A couple of years ago I was walking down the hallway of my high school with my little sister, mocking the inspirational posters that hung on the walls.

“Always remember, Jess, ‘Everyone has the potential to be great,'” I read with feigned seriousness.

“Well yeah,” she said after a moment’s thought, “everyone except Michael Jackson.”
Jess is too young to know much about Mr. Jackson aside from his plastic surgeries, public trials, and oddly attired children. I myself only discovered the music behind the man after I went to college, but I have many fond memories of rocking out to “Billie Jean” at dances and, more recently, of singing along with the Jackson 5 as Micah and I drove up and down Oahu’s windward coast.

The other night a friend suggested having a Michael Jackson themed party to commemorate the man and his music and for some reason I woke up thinking of what I would do. So far I’m stuck on playing Karaoke Revolutions because earlier this week I was walking by a store and “Billie Jean” was playing and I suddenly knew we had to have a KR party if only so we could sing that song. But besides that, I haven’t a clue.

So now, dear reader, imagine for me please what your Michael Jackson party would be like. Then tell me so I can rip it off.

At least I know I’m not the only one

At least I know I’m not the only one

I just finished reading Judith Warner’s weekly column in the Times. Sigh. It brought to mind so many little nips and digs that I have felt — and actively tried to anticipate and fend off — since becoming a mom and having to carry/wear/stroll my child around in public wherever I go. So many strangers asking me angrily where my boy’s hat is, or suggesting that he’s too big to be worn on my back (he weighs 28 pounds, which is nowhere near too heavy) or whatever else. I’ve worried on the subway about strangers chiding me for letting him stand on the bench, or for allowing him to dictate where each of us sit, or for being okay with him standing by himself and holding the pole when he wants to.
Some of the little barbs still sting, probably because I realize I deserved them. Simon really should have been wearing a hat that day. But it looked sunny and not too cold outside and by the time I realized how cold it was, and how the wind was blowing, and how far it actually was that I had to walk it was too late to go back. I was mad enough at myself without anybody pointing out my folly and just grateful that I was wearing him and my body heat was keeping him warm. Sometimes when someone says something, I try to say , as politely as I can, “We’re fine, thank you,” and remind myself that I know my son and I know our situation and needs much better than any of them. But mostly I just try to ignore them and talk myself out of crying.

After all, it is often on the days that everything is going wrong that somebody has to go and remind you that you are an unfit mother and probably shouldn’t be entrusted with the well-being of a small child, which of course you already suspected.

At least I know I'm not the only one

At least I know I'm not the only one

I just finished reading Judith Warner’s weekly column in the Times. Sigh. It brought to mind so many little nips and digs that I have felt — and actively tried to anticipate and fend off — since becoming a mom and having to carry/wear/stroll my child around in public wherever I go. So many strangers asking me angrily where my boy’s hat is, or suggesting that he’s too big to be worn on my back (he weighs 28 pounds, which is nowhere near too heavy) or whatever else. I’ve worried on the subway about strangers chiding me for letting him stand on the bench, or for allowing him to dictate where each of us sit, or for being okay with him standing by himself and holding the pole when he wants to.
Some of the little barbs still sting, probably because I realize I deserved them. Simon really should have been wearing a hat that day. But it looked sunny and not too cold outside and by the time I realized how cold it was, and how the wind was blowing, and how far it actually was that I had to walk it was too late to go back. I was mad enough at myself without anybody pointing out my folly and just grateful that I was wearing him and my body heat was keeping him warm. Sometimes when someone says something, I try to say , as politely as I can, “We’re fine, thank you,” and remind myself that I know my son and I know our situation and needs much better than any of them. But mostly I just try to ignore them and talk myself out of crying.

After all, it is often on the days that everything is going wrong that somebody has to go and remind you that you are an unfit mother and probably shouldn’t be entrusted with the well-being of a small child, which of course you already suspected.

It is just my opinion, but I think it was too long.

It is just my opinion, but I think it was too long.

We watched this movie last night:

Has anybody else seen it? Did anybody else wonder if maybe the director simply forgot to turn off the camera and that it would keep going and going and going? I think it must have been the longest movie I’ve ever seen. Maybe it was the slow Southern drawls. Maybe it was the fact that we knew exactly where it was going. Maybe it was that I couldn’t help but think of “The Princess Bride” whenever they went back to Daisy’s hospital room and really wanted Benjamin to say, “As you wish,” at some point, just to lighten things up a bit. But by the end of the movie, which was very well made, well acted, had good cinematography, an interesting premise, etc. etc. etc., the only thing I could think was, “It finally ended.” And also, “That was based an a short story? 700 page books get made into shorter movies!”

That is all.

Simon’s Gift

Simon’s Gift

The dear child has surprised us yet again with hitherto undiscovered talents, which he unveiled just in time for Father’s Day much to Micah’s (and my) enjoyment.

Exhibit A:

You may not be able to discern what the talent is at first sneeze, so allow me to point out the finer points. Note, first of all, the false modesty with which the child begins his performance. “No camera . . . no talk to me.” But then, when confronted with his own beautiful visage, he cannot contain his delight (that’s how we know the modesty is false). He clearly thinks he’s as cute as we do. And then, sigh, that lovely falsetto. Who knew the boy had such singing chops? Not us. Surely he will do us proud as a countertenor at the Met. Our hopes are as high as his voice.

Exhibit B:

At church today the Primary (ages 3-11) and Nursery children (ages 18 months-3) sang some songs for Father’s Day. We were thrilled to have our son demonstrate his newly-found gift for a wider audience, of course, and sent him to the front of the chapel post haste. He was still one of the last children there (blasted short legs and shorter attention span!), which, thankfully, meant he was on the front row. He didn’t know that, though. All he knew was that as he was walking up the steps, he found himself facing a wall of children. His way was thwarted. He was stuck with his back towards the congregation. Nothing could be done so he just stood there. Facing the rest of the kids. Through both songs. Singing to the choir, if you will. Two parents have never been so proud. Or taken with such a fit of the giggles in the middle of sacrament meeting.

Despite his predicament, I was told by someone that he could hear Simon loud and clear, his voice carrying angelically above the other children’s.

I think he was lying.

Simon’s Gift

Simon’s Gift

The dear child has surprised us yet again with hitherto undiscovered talents, which he unveiled just in time for Father’s Day much to Micah’s (and my) enjoyment.

Exhibit A:

You may not be able to discern what the talent is at first sneeze, so allow me to point out the finer points. Note, first of all, the false modesty with which the child begins his performance. “No camera . . . no talk to me.” But then, when confronted with his own beautiful visage, he cannot contain his delight (that’s how we know the modesty is false). He clearly thinks he’s as cute as we do. And then, sigh, that lovely falsetto. Who knew the boy had such singing chops? Not us. Surely he will do us proud as a countertenor at the Met. Our hopes are as high as his voice.

Exhibit B:

At church today the Primary (ages 3-11) and Nursery children (ages 18 months-3) sang some songs for Father’s Day. We were thrilled to have our son demonstrate his newly-found gift for a wider audience, of course, and sent him to the front of the chapel post haste. He was still one of the last children there (blasted short legs and shorter attention span!), which, thankfully, meant he was on the front row. He didn’t know that, though. All he knew was that as he was walking up the steps, he found himself facing a wall of children. His way was thwarted. He was stuck with his back towards the congregation. Nothing could be done so he just stood there. Facing the rest of the kids. Through both songs. Singing to the choir, if you will. Two parents have never been so proud. Or taken with such a fit of the giggles in the middle of sacrament meeting.

Despite his predicament, I was told by someone that he could hear Simon loud and clear, his voice carrying angelically above the other children’s.

I think he was lying.

Simon’s Gift

Simon’s Gift

The dear child has surprised us yet again with hitherto undiscovered talents, which he unveiled just in time for Father’s Day much to Micah’s (and my) enjoyment.

Exhibit A:

You may not be able to discern what the talent is at first sneeze, so allow me to point out the finer points. Note, first of all, the false modesty with which the child begins his performance. “No camera . . . no talk to me.” But then, when confronted with his own beautiful visage, he cannot contain his delight (that’s how we know the modesty is false). He clearly thinks he’s as cute as we do. And then, sigh, that lovely falsetto. Who knew the boy had such singing chops? Not us. Surely he will do us proud as a countertenor at the Met. Our hopes are as high as his voice.

Exhibit B:

At church today the Primary (ages 3-11) and Nursery children (ages 18 months-3) sang some songs for Father’s Day. We were thrilled to have our son demonstrate his newly-found gift for a wider audience, of course, and sent him to the front of the chapel post haste. He was still one of the last children there (blasted short legs and shorter attention span!), which, thankfully, meant he was on the front row. He didn’t know that, though. All he knew was that as he was walking up the steps, he found himself facing a wall of children. His way was thwarted. He was stuck with his back towards the congregation. Nothing could be done so he just stood there. Facing the rest of the kids. Through both songs. Singing to the choir, if you will. Two parents have never been so proud. Or taken with such a fit of the giggles in the middle of sacrament meeting.

Despite his predicament, I was told by someone that he could hear Simon loud and clear, his voice carrying angelically above the other children’s.

I think he was lying.

Simon’s Gift

Simon’s Gift

The dear child has surprised us yet again with hitherto undiscovered talents, which he unveiled just in time for Father’s Day much to Micah’s (and my) enjoyment.

Exhibit A:

You may not be able to discern what the talent is at first sneeze, so allow me to point out the finer points. Note, first of all, the false modesty with which the child begins his performance. “No camera . . . no talk to me.” But then, when confronted with his own beautiful visage, he cannot contain his delight (that’s how we know the modesty is false). He clearly thinks he’s as cute as we do. And then, sigh, that lovely falsetto. Who knew the boy had such singing chops? Not us. Surely he will do us proud as a countertenor at the Met. Our hopes are as high as his voice.

Exhibit B:

At church today the Primary (ages 3-11) and Nursery children (ages 18 months-3) sang some songs for Father’s Day. We were thrilled to have our son demonstrate his newly-found gift for a wider audience, of course, and sent him to the front of the chapel post haste. He was still one of the last children there (blasted short legs and shorter attention span!), which, thankfully, meant he was on the front row. He didn’t know that, though. All he knew was that as he was walking up the steps, he found himself facing a wall of children. His way was thwarted. He was stuck with his back towards the congregation. Nothing could be done so he just stood there. Facing the rest of the kids. Through both songs. Singing to the choir, if you will. Two parents have never been so proud. Or taken with such a fit of the giggles in the middle of sacrament meeting.

Despite his predicament, I was told by someone that he could hear Simon loud and clear, his voice carrying angelically above the other children’s.

I think he was lying.

Simon's Gift

Simon's Gift

The dear child has surprised us yet again with hitherto undiscovered talents, which he unveiled just in time for Father’s Day much to Micah’s (and my) enjoyment.

Exhibit A:

You may not be able to discern what the talent is at first sneeze, so allow me to point out the finer points. Note, first of all, the false modesty with which the child begins his performance. “No camera . . . no talk to me.” But then, when confronted with his own beautiful visage, he cannot contain his delight (that’s how we know the modesty is false). He clearly thinks he’s as cute as we do. And then, sigh, that lovely falsetto. Who knew the boy had such singing chops? Not us. Surely he will do us proud as a countertenor at the Met. Our hopes are as high as his voice.

Exhibit B:

At church today the Primary (ages 3-11) and Nursery children (ages 18 months-3) sang some songs for Father’s Day. We were thrilled to have our son demonstrate his newly-found gift for a wider audience, of course, and sent him to the front of the chapel post haste. He was still one of the last children there (blasted short legs and shorter attention span!), which, thankfully, meant he was on the front row. He didn’t know that, though. All he knew was that as he was walking up the steps, he found himself facing a wall of children. His way was thwarted. He was stuck with his back towards the congregation. Nothing could be done so he just stood there. Facing the rest of the kids. Through both songs. Singing to the choir, if you will. Two parents have never been so proud. Or taken with such a fit of the giggles in the middle of sacrament meeting.

Despite his predicament, I was told by someone that he could hear Simon loud and clear, his voice carrying angelically above the other children’s.

I think he was lying.

Slightly Disconcerting . . .

Slightly Disconcerting . . .

The New York Times just published a story about homicides in New York City. I read with interest about how summer is the hot time for such things, so to speak, but was taken aback by this little tidbit: “The bloodiest block in Brooklyn was in the 77th Precinct, in Crown Heights, bounded by Schenectady Avenue, Sterling Place, Troy Avenue and St. Johns Place.”

Six murders took place on that block in 2008. Four of them while we were sleeping peacefully in our bed just one block west. Good thing we didn’t know about them at the time, eh?

Oh, and our new neighborhood is much safer. Only one murder last year, and it was three blocks away.

Goodnight. Sleep tight.