Yes. That's me. Because I will attempt to watch The Bachelor tonight.
Do I have better things to do with my time? Well, yeah. Like sleep. Prepare for the baby that is set to show up in this house in about six weeks. Clean. Do work. Etc, etc.
But instead I will watch Brad the Bachelor, the finicky, kind-of-short, somewhat hickish Bachelor do his thing. And then write about it.
It's a sickness, I tell you.
Who's with me?
Monday, January 3, 2011
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Name, name, what's your name?
This is the way A.'s ballet class starts out every week. I'm sure at some point they will just start with warm-up exercises but when you're four, you start with a song.
And the song is important because that way everyone knows everyone else's name. Plus it's helped me learn that if you are the type of parent who puts your daughter in ballet, you are also usually the type of parent who names your daughter with something that ends in the letter "a." I include myself in that category.
I will say when we named our daughter, I didn't know anyone else with that name. It also worked perfectly with the middle name we wanted for her, Jo, which was the name of my husband's mother. So it seemed perfect...an old-fashioned name that wasn't super popular but not something so obscure people looked at you funny.
Safe to say, lots of people must have felt the same way about that name because A's name is everywhere now. And on the rise. Sigh.
Now, I must tell you as someone named Nanette, I have strong opinions about names. I was usually the only Nanette in the room and I liked it that way. Even now, on the rare occasion I meet one, I tend not to like the person automatically. The name is mine...go away and be Nanette someplace else. I'm sorry if this sounds ridiculous but you can't possibly understand my situation if you have a name like Michael or Lisa or Jennifer. If your name runs to the unusual side, well, you tend to be a little protective of it and want to keep it that way.
Of course, as a kid, I totally wanted a name you could find on a light switch or a pencil or a bike license plate. But once I accepted the fact that was never going to happen, I started to feel a little superior and yes, smug that my name wasn't like anyone else's. At least it was memorable. And let's face it, light switches with your name on it are pretty lame anyway.
So imagine my dismay when I discovered that A's name is creeping up the name popularity list. And horror of horrors, she isn't the only one in her ballet class who has it. There are not 2 A's, but three. THREE.
And now, I'm pregnant with a boy. We do not have a name yet. We do have letters we would like to use as his first and middle initials but that is it. I have a few names I like. But. They are not terribly terribly unusual. Most unusual names for boys strike me as trying too hard. Or just hard to wear for a lifetime. So we are struggling. Do we go more common (but not trendy....nothing that rhymes with -aden since that makes me ill) or do we branch out? Do we dare to name him something like Atticus or does that also bear with it the annoyance of having every person he ever meets bring up "To Kill a Mockingbird?" I mean, I can't tell you how many people bring up the musical No, No, Nanette...which is a pretty mediocre musical at best. Do I want to do that to my son?
Here are my personal requirements:
Something simple
Something that starts with M, W, B or J
Nothing too ethnic...of any ethnicity
Nothing that ends in the "y" sound
Nothing that is unisex...since I think once it becomes a popular name for a girl, the girls own it.
Nothing that sounds too harsh to the ear (for example the name Bram would be out since to me it sounds like a noise a goat would make).
Nothing too trendy
Nothing that sounds like it could possibly be the name of a serial killer.
So you see, my requirements are simple, really. Any suggestions? Send 'em my way. I'm sure you have an opinion, everybody does.
And the song is important because that way everyone knows everyone else's name. Plus it's helped me learn that if you are the type of parent who puts your daughter in ballet, you are also usually the type of parent who names your daughter with something that ends in the letter "a." I include myself in that category.
I will say when we named our daughter, I didn't know anyone else with that name. It also worked perfectly with the middle name we wanted for her, Jo, which was the name of my husband's mother. So it seemed perfect...an old-fashioned name that wasn't super popular but not something so obscure people looked at you funny.
Safe to say, lots of people must have felt the same way about that name because A's name is everywhere now. And on the rise. Sigh.
Now, I must tell you as someone named Nanette, I have strong opinions about names. I was usually the only Nanette in the room and I liked it that way. Even now, on the rare occasion I meet one, I tend not to like the person automatically. The name is mine...go away and be Nanette someplace else. I'm sorry if this sounds ridiculous but you can't possibly understand my situation if you have a name like Michael or Lisa or Jennifer. If your name runs to the unusual side, well, you tend to be a little protective of it and want to keep it that way.
Of course, as a kid, I totally wanted a name you could find on a light switch or a pencil or a bike license plate. But once I accepted the fact that was never going to happen, I started to feel a little superior and yes, smug that my name wasn't like anyone else's. At least it was memorable. And let's face it, light switches with your name on it are pretty lame anyway.
So imagine my dismay when I discovered that A's name is creeping up the name popularity list. And horror of horrors, she isn't the only one in her ballet class who has it. There are not 2 A's, but three. THREE.
And now, I'm pregnant with a boy. We do not have a name yet. We do have letters we would like to use as his first and middle initials but that is it. I have a few names I like. But. They are not terribly terribly unusual. Most unusual names for boys strike me as trying too hard. Or just hard to wear for a lifetime. So we are struggling. Do we go more common (but not trendy....nothing that rhymes with -aden since that makes me ill) or do we branch out? Do we dare to name him something like Atticus or does that also bear with it the annoyance of having every person he ever meets bring up "To Kill a Mockingbird?" I mean, I can't tell you how many people bring up the musical No, No, Nanette...which is a pretty mediocre musical at best. Do I want to do that to my son?
Here are my personal requirements:
Something simple
Something that starts with M, W, B or J
Nothing too ethnic...of any ethnicity
Nothing that ends in the "y" sound
Nothing that is unisex...since I think once it becomes a popular name for a girl, the girls own it.
Nothing that sounds too harsh to the ear (for example the name Bram would be out since to me it sounds like a noise a goat would make).
Nothing too trendy
Nothing that sounds like it could possibly be the name of a serial killer.
So you see, my requirements are simple, really. Any suggestions? Send 'em my way. I'm sure you have an opinion, everybody does.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Things I am not qualified to explain
There are a lot. Higher math, football special teams, the Tea Party, just to name a few. But it wasn't until a recent trip to Florida that I realized this also included the nativity scene.
I know what you're thinking. What's to explain? It's a baby, his parents, some kings and some sheep. Of course, there is way more significance to it but being a Jew, I can really only topline it. I don't know all the intricacies and to be honest, never really considered them. Until A. and I encountered a nativity scene in a mall in Florida.
A: Look Mommy! Dolls!
I looked around frantically for my husband. As the non-Jewish half of the parental unit, this was his job to explain. I had already covered Chanukah, Passover, Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Purim....even Tu Bishvat. This manger scene surely qualified as his territory. Alas, he was no where to be found, lost in the hateful labyrinth that is Sawgrass Mills mall. I sighed.
ME: Well....they aren't dolls exactly.
A: I want to touch them.
ME: Oh, no, you can't.
A: Why?
ME: They aren't meant to be touched.
A. rolled her eyes at me. A new thing she has learned in PreK. Thanks, PreK.
A: There are kings there. Why are there three? Who is the real king? And where is the queen. Why is that lady dressed as a bride?
ME: She isn't. She is the mommy of the little baby.
A: Is it a boy baby?
ME: Yes. His name is Jesus.
A: Well, it looks like a girl to me.
ME: Trust me. It's a boy.
A: Why are there sheep there? That's funny.
ME: Everyone wanted to visit the baby.
A: Sheep don't visit babies.
ME: Well, in this case, they did. Lots of people thought he was a special baby.
A: Why?
Oh dear. Where is my HUSBAND??
A: Is that lady clapping?
ME: Who? Mary?
A: How do you know her name?
ME: Everyone knows her name. She is not clapping. She is praying.
At this point, A. attempts to leap over the fence surrounding the nativity scene.
ME: Hey. No.
A: I want to hold the baby.
ME: I told you. You can't.
A: But it's a baby doll. I want to hold her.
ME: It's a "he."
A: I think it's a girl. Ohhhh. Look over there.
ME: Santa Claus?
A: No. Ice cream.
ME: Let's go.
A: Can I pet the sheep?
ME: Not this sheep.
A: Bye Jesus! Hey, maybe that's what we should name Baby Brother.
ME: Hmmm. Maybe not.
I know what you're thinking. What's to explain? It's a baby, his parents, some kings and some sheep. Of course, there is way more significance to it but being a Jew, I can really only topline it. I don't know all the intricacies and to be honest, never really considered them. Until A. and I encountered a nativity scene in a mall in Florida.
A: Look Mommy! Dolls!
I looked around frantically for my husband. As the non-Jewish half of the parental unit, this was his job to explain. I had already covered Chanukah, Passover, Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Purim....even Tu Bishvat. This manger scene surely qualified as his territory. Alas, he was no where to be found, lost in the hateful labyrinth that is Sawgrass Mills mall. I sighed.
ME: Well....they aren't dolls exactly.
A: I want to touch them.
ME: Oh, no, you can't.
A: Why?
ME: They aren't meant to be touched.
A. rolled her eyes at me. A new thing she has learned in PreK. Thanks, PreK.
A: There are kings there. Why are there three? Who is the real king? And where is the queen. Why is that lady dressed as a bride?
ME: She isn't. She is the mommy of the little baby.
A: Is it a boy baby?
ME: Yes. His name is Jesus.
A: Well, it looks like a girl to me.
ME: Trust me. It's a boy.
A: Why are there sheep there? That's funny.
ME: Everyone wanted to visit the baby.
A: Sheep don't visit babies.
ME: Well, in this case, they did. Lots of people thought he was a special baby.
A: Why?
Oh dear. Where is my HUSBAND??
A: Is that lady clapping?
ME: Who? Mary?
A: How do you know her name?
ME: Everyone knows her name. She is not clapping. She is praying.
At this point, A. attempts to leap over the fence surrounding the nativity scene.
ME: Hey. No.
A: I want to hold the baby.
ME: I told you. You can't.
A: But it's a baby doll. I want to hold her.
ME: It's a "he."
A: I think it's a girl. Ohhhh. Look over there.
ME: Santa Claus?
A: No. Ice cream.
ME: Let's go.
A: Can I pet the sheep?
ME: Not this sheep.
A: Bye Jesus! Hey, maybe that's what we should name Baby Brother.
ME: Hmmm. Maybe not.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Author! Author!
It's not that I planned on my daughter becoming a writer or anything. It's just that I assumed, well, it might be a possibility. It being in her blood and all.
Dad and Mom, both writers. The girl was doomed.
And okay, so maybe, just maybe, when I was considering baby names, I thought about how hers might look on the cover of a book. The name would have some gravitas for it to work. I just didn't think anything too cutesy or sexy will set her up for a possible place on the best seller's list. Lacy was clearly out.
But I'm getting ahead of myself.
So yesterday was our first parent-teacher conference at A's preschool. We got to view her art "portfolio" among other things. And then the teacher presented the book that A had written and illustrated.
"It's about a princess," The teacher said. Surprise, surprise. We nodded and smiled at the pink scribbles on the front cover. "Want to read it?"
Of course we did.
It went like this:
"Once there was a princess. She died."
Okay. But it continued.
"And then there was an airplane. It fell out of the sky and broke. The end."
We nodded.
"Well," I said to my husband later. "Clearly she is more of a plot-driven writer than a character-driven one."
"Should we be worried?"
"Nah. Maybe she's more of an action/adventure type writer."
He looked at me.
"It's fine. So she'll appeal to more commercial markets that way."
He sighed.
A writer is born.
Dad and Mom, both writers. The girl was doomed.
And okay, so maybe, just maybe, when I was considering baby names, I thought about how hers might look on the cover of a book. The name would have some gravitas for it to work. I just didn't think anything too cutesy or sexy will set her up for a possible place on the best seller's list. Lacy was clearly out.
But I'm getting ahead of myself.
So yesterday was our first parent-teacher conference at A's preschool. We got to view her art "portfolio" among other things. And then the teacher presented the book that A had written and illustrated.
"It's about a princess," The teacher said. Surprise, surprise. We nodded and smiled at the pink scribbles on the front cover. "Want to read it?"
Of course we did.
It went like this:
"Once there was a princess. She died."
Okay. But it continued.
"And then there was an airplane. It fell out of the sky and broke. The end."
We nodded.
"Well," I said to my husband later. "Clearly she is more of a plot-driven writer than a character-driven one."
"Should we be worried?"
"Nah. Maybe she's more of an action/adventure type writer."
He looked at me.
"It's fine. So she'll appeal to more commercial markets that way."
He sighed.
A writer is born.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Please stand clear of the huge stomach that's about to hit you in the face
Seriously, I was hoping I wasn't going to have to write this. Really, I was.
I am always the first to defend New Yorkers and their manners. All kinds of random acts of kindness have befallen me through the years. And some random acts of not-much-kindness but still. The good clearly outweighs the bad.
And then I got pregnant.
Now, this is obviously not my first time as a pregnant mama in NYC. I made it through 8 months of subway commutes last go around, made even worse by a super hot summer and extremely puffy feet. And while I didn't get a seat every time, I did get a lot of offers. Yes, we could talk about who usually offered the seats (generally youngish African American men or Latino men) or what lines were better for getting seats (the F is very mama friendly, the 6 forget about it)...but the point is, I got offers.
This time, I've been offered a seat exactly twice. I might add that I ride the subway at least twice a day during the week, usually more.
There is the old avert-the-eyes trick. This is particularly lame when my stomach is practically smacking you in the face. There is the I've-seen-you-and-now-I-am-suddenly asleep. Oh yes, you clearly deserve an Oscar. The worst is, I've-seen-you-and-it-is-your-fault-for-getting-pregnant look. This usually comes from some 20-something woman who cannot fathom letting themselves get fat enough to get preg. Sort of a you-brought-it-on-yourself-now-deal look.
Now. I am not an invalid. There are clearly people who deserve a seat more than me. But. My back really really hurts. Sometimes I feel a bit queasy. Sometimes, weird pains hit me at odd times, like the little homie inside is trying to make a break for it. A seat would be awfully, awfully nice.
So all I have to say to those of you pretending not to see or pretending to sleep or judging my condition, karma is a bitch, man. One day you will be pregnant or someone you love might be. And I'm telling you, what comes around, goes around.
Come on, New Yorkers, I'm rooting for you. Don't let me down. Help a sister out, why don't you. I don't want to have to take back all the nice things I've said about you.
I am always the first to defend New Yorkers and their manners. All kinds of random acts of kindness have befallen me through the years. And some random acts of not-much-kindness but still. The good clearly outweighs the bad.
And then I got pregnant.
Now, this is obviously not my first time as a pregnant mama in NYC. I made it through 8 months of subway commutes last go around, made even worse by a super hot summer and extremely puffy feet. And while I didn't get a seat every time, I did get a lot of offers. Yes, we could talk about who usually offered the seats (generally youngish African American men or Latino men) or what lines were better for getting seats (the F is very mama friendly, the 6 forget about it)...but the point is, I got offers.
This time, I've been offered a seat exactly twice. I might add that I ride the subway at least twice a day during the week, usually more.
There is the old avert-the-eyes trick. This is particularly lame when my stomach is practically smacking you in the face. There is the I've-seen-you-and-now-I-am-suddenly asleep. Oh yes, you clearly deserve an Oscar. The worst is, I've-seen-you-and-it-is-your-fault-for-getting-pregnant look. This usually comes from some 20-something woman who cannot fathom letting themselves get fat enough to get preg. Sort of a you-brought-it-on-yourself-now-deal look.
Now. I am not an invalid. There are clearly people who deserve a seat more than me. But. My back really really hurts. Sometimes I feel a bit queasy. Sometimes, weird pains hit me at odd times, like the little homie inside is trying to make a break for it. A seat would be awfully, awfully nice.
So all I have to say to those of you pretending not to see or pretending to sleep or judging my condition, karma is a bitch, man. One day you will be pregnant or someone you love might be. And I'm telling you, what comes around, goes around.
Come on, New Yorkers, I'm rooting for you. Don't let me down. Help a sister out, why don't you. I don't want to have to take back all the nice things I've said about you.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
My new boyfriend
In case you're wondering, his name is Jay. In case you're wondering, yes, my husband does know about him. And he totally approves.
Jay is really tall and slim and we spend a lot of time in bed together. That's because Jay is my new body pillow. He is as long as a king size bed, which is quite impressive, really. Mostly, he lies there smugly, waiting to be snuggled, which he knows will happen since I need serious comfort. He is also shaped like the letter "J." Hence, his name.
Why do I need Jay in my life?
Simple. I am pregs.
If you're reading this, you probably already know this information because I announced it to all 408 of my Facebook friends last week. Yes, perhaps kind of cheesy to declare it to the whole world that way. But I've spent a lot of time worrying about this situation. So finally, it was a relief to sort of shout from the electronic rooftops.
And now you know why I haven't been blogging. Hard to share things about yourself when the biggest thing happening in your life you can't talk about. But I'm back. And I promise not to be pregnancy girl talk all the time. Because let's face it...if you are a male, you do not care. And if you are a female, you've already been there...done that. Or if you haven't done that, you might be completely horrified by the gory details. So I'll keep that talk to a dull roar.
Meanwhile, our girl is super excited about the prospect of a baby brother. We'll see how girlfriend feels about it when he starts waking her up in the middle of the night. Currently, she is kind of pissed off that he hasn't shown up yet. She still claims to like the name Cream Cheese but has opened up her options to include Mango, Butter or Zack.
My current hopes are that Baby Boy doesn't show up early like Baby Girl did, that he never dates a Kardashian and that he stops forcing me to eat things like Sprees, Smarties and slices of lemon. Oh, and that he stops leaning on that part of my back that I believe the doctor called the sciatic nerve. I thought only old people had sciatica. Apparently either this isn't true or I am old.
Anyway, that's where my boyfriend Jay comes in. A snuggle from Jay keeps the sciatica away. After all, he's got to earn his keep. Boyfriend kinda hogs the bed.
Jay is really tall and slim and we spend a lot of time in bed together. That's because Jay is my new body pillow. He is as long as a king size bed, which is quite impressive, really. Mostly, he lies there smugly, waiting to be snuggled, which he knows will happen since I need serious comfort. He is also shaped like the letter "J." Hence, his name.
Why do I need Jay in my life?
Simple. I am pregs.
If you're reading this, you probably already know this information because I announced it to all 408 of my Facebook friends last week. Yes, perhaps kind of cheesy to declare it to the whole world that way. But I've spent a lot of time worrying about this situation. So finally, it was a relief to sort of shout from the electronic rooftops.
And now you know why I haven't been blogging. Hard to share things about yourself when the biggest thing happening in your life you can't talk about. But I'm back. And I promise not to be pregnancy girl talk all the time. Because let's face it...if you are a male, you do not care. And if you are a female, you've already been there...done that. Or if you haven't done that, you might be completely horrified by the gory details. So I'll keep that talk to a dull roar.
Meanwhile, our girl is super excited about the prospect of a baby brother. We'll see how girlfriend feels about it when he starts waking her up in the middle of the night. Currently, she is kind of pissed off that he hasn't shown up yet. She still claims to like the name Cream Cheese but has opened up her options to include Mango, Butter or Zack.
My current hopes are that Baby Boy doesn't show up early like Baby Girl did, that he never dates a Kardashian and that he stops forcing me to eat things like Sprees, Smarties and slices of lemon. Oh, and that he stops leaning on that part of my back that I believe the doctor called the sciatic nerve. I thought only old people had sciatica. Apparently either this isn't true or I am old.
Anyway, that's where my boyfriend Jay comes in. A snuggle from Jay keeps the sciatica away. After all, he's got to earn his keep. Boyfriend kinda hogs the bed.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
What I won't be watching...probably
Okay. Maybe...just maybe...if I am having an exceptionally horrific day I might turn on the new show, Bachelor Pad again. Most likely not. Here's why:
Eating contests.
Dude. Disgusting. Someone inevitably barfs and that is just something no one needs to see. Bad enough that sometimes you do it...or even worse...have to clean up someone else's. I also realized something profound as I watched people like Krissily and Tenley compete in Survivor-style challenges...I fundamentally don't care about these people. At all. Not saying I will never blog about Bachelor-related things again but I do not care about this pack of Bachelor rejects. I wish them well. I just no longer wish them on my television anymore.
But the folks from Glee, True Blood and Mad Men? More, please.
Summer's been crazy but now that it's almost over...I plan to pay a bit more attention to the blog again. Starting with redesigning it because I must say...these polka dots are making me a bit dotty. So watch for it.
Until then, I must go prepare for a princess party.
Eating contests.
Dude. Disgusting. Someone inevitably barfs and that is just something no one needs to see. Bad enough that sometimes you do it...or even worse...have to clean up someone else's. I also realized something profound as I watched people like Krissily and Tenley compete in Survivor-style challenges...I fundamentally don't care about these people. At all. Not saying I will never blog about Bachelor-related things again but I do not care about this pack of Bachelor rejects. I wish them well. I just no longer wish them on my television anymore.
But the folks from Glee, True Blood and Mad Men? More, please.
Summer's been crazy but now that it's almost over...I plan to pay a bit more attention to the blog again. Starting with redesigning it because I must say...these polka dots are making me a bit dotty. So watch for it.
Until then, I must go prepare for a princess party.
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