Full Circle

A couple of years ago, I blogged about an incident that occurred in a parking lot involving my car being damaged by another person who opened their car door into mine. The episode, which could have been quickly diffused by a simple apology on her part, erupted into a screaming battle during which she called me crazy, as well as implied that my motive was insurance fraud. It ended with my calling the police to file a report for property damage so that I could pursue her for repairs. I went as far as getting a copy of the police report and getting 2 different estimates for repairing the damage she did. I never actually went after her to pay for repairing the damage.
Fast forward 2 years...
This afternoon, while my daughter was enjoying a playdate with a friend, I ran to Dunkin Donuts to grab an iced coffee so I would have the energy to go to the amusement park this evening with the kids. While in Dunkin Donuts, I struck up a polite conversation with the woman next to me who was buying her own iced coffee and some donuts for her kids. She looked at me and said, "You look very familiar to me, but I don't know where I know you from." I acknowledged that she too, looked familiar to me. We went around a bit, couldn't figure it out, and were letting it go, when I said, "I'm Lisa, by the way." The woman then told me her name and instantly I knew who she was. She was the woman from the parking lot. I told her, "I know how we know each other." And then I told her. She looked at me and said, "No! That wasn't you!" As if anyone else would have known about that incident to mention it. She had concocted an image of me in her mind and today I didn't fit that image. I didn't look like a fraud committing psychopath, I looked like an ordinary woman who likes iced coconut coffee with skim milk.
We agreed that it was unbelievably funny to be meeting this way. And then she asked what happened with my car. I told her I never had the damage repaired and so never sent her the bill. She said, "You need to send it to me. It's a good way for this to end, you really need to send me the bill." She said again, "It's so nice to meet in a good way." To which I replied, "Yes, because now you know I'm not crazy." Her reply...wait for it..."And you know I'm not a bitch!" And then as we parted company, she said, again, "Send me that bill." Maybe I will and maybe I won't, but for sure, I learned something today and so did she. You should really think about how you treat strangers. You just never know when they'll reappear in your life and under what circumstances.

Hmmmmm....

I've been wondering what it is that keeps me so tied to my electronic communications and facebook in particular. I find that my BlackBerry has become like an appendage, and I didn't even have it until this past December. Now...I can barely stand to be without it. The neverending supply of quizzes, top 5's, status updates, funny comments and riveting developments in the lives of my 278 closest friends, has turned me into a facebook abuser. Yesterday, I spent a good deal of time reading through the food "puns" of Whole Foods shoppers, in response to a posting from the WF page. Well over 100 people took the time to add their comments to this endless string. "Lettuce pray for whirled peas" was one of the best ones.My husband has posited that facebook is singlehandedly responsible for the current economic crisis, since it has undoubtedly cost American employers (and employers worldwide) millions of dollars in lost productivity. He refuses to participate in the degeneration of those who find themselves glued to the screen. He is not a natural communicator, he doesn't enjoy talking to anyone with whom it is not expressly required, whereas I am the person who talks to you in line at the grocery store.In recent days, I have discovered the following interesting things about people I know:Karen met Stephen King...one of my favorite authors, Megan has a thing for 80's movies and their quotes, Chris had a crappy time with Delta airlines getting home from Florida, Danielle is a mushy dog lover with a penchant for In n Out Burger and garbage plates, Michele was on Long Island for the weekend but didn't tell me she was coming, Tara is sick, Kim is painting her house Urban Putty, Doug just painted his apartment Nantucket Fog, Chris likes to wear cats on his head (so do I), Polina is enjoying Williamsburg, Jennifer is NOT enjoying Passover with 5 kids, Victor and Rachael are getting divorced (not from each other), Jill just got a new nephew who shares my son's first and middle names, Carrie is pregnant (yippee!), Jeanne is looking for an ottoman to refinish, Laura got a black eye falling off a bus, Brian is waging a backyard war against a sneaky raccoon, Kevin went to Cutchogue, Michelle is experiencing Passover matzoh bloat, Keira is nostalgic for "Friends", and Melissa is packing to move into her new house. That represents a partial list.Clearly, there need to be some guidelines as to what is fair game for a status update. I have learned of 2 friends' pregnancies via status update. While effective, I used to enjoy the phone call approach. Although...they all start the same way and after a while the surprise is spoiled after, "I have some news..." Maybe the commando approach works better. I believe that the status update approach to announcing a family death doesn't appeal to me, though births are perfectly fine with me. Thus far, the one thing I can't stand getting via facebook is the line in my page that says, "so-and-so is now single" which represents a marital status change. I have seen two friends announce a divorce in this manner. There must be a better way. If it weren't packed away, I'd consult my "Miss Manners" book to see what it is.

The Big Hole in the Ground

On Tuesday evening, as I was getting dinner ready, Ethan asked me, "Mom, who's the doctor at our school?" He was asking me the principal's name.
I said, "You mean Dr. Evans?"
He said, "Yes. She makes all the announcements in our school."
"Really?" I asked
"Yeah, and today she said something about some buildings that fell down."
"You know what buildings those were?"
"No, which ones?"
"Remember I told you about the bad men who flew airplanes into those buildings and then the buildings fell down and a lot of people got hurt and died?"
"The one in the picture in the bagel store?" (There is a painting in the bagel store that we frequent that was done after 9/11, it depicts a serpent-like figure in a turban in between the burning towers as people jump from the buildings. It's a little scary actually)
"Yes, those buildings."
"Why did those men do that?"
"I don't know honey. Sometimes people do bad things."

He walked out of the kitchen, the conversation was over and he went back to playing. The impact of 9/11 on him is nothing more than a story about some bad men who did a bad thing. He'll never know what those towers looked like in lower Manhattan because they were destroyed while he was growing inside of me. He'll never know the intense panic I suffered that horrible day when his daddy couldn't make it home because all forms of transportation were suspended into and out of Manhattan. Thankfully, he'll maintain his innocence about the world a little longer, even though he's been past Ground Zero and seen the hole, he doesn't have a concept of what was there before the gaping wound in the ground.

We spend a lot of time in NYC, my in-laws live there and we have free babysitting services whenever we desire a night out on the town. On the drive in, depending on traffic conditions, we occasionally take the Lincoln Tunnel. On the turnpike and on the helix (the helix is the approach to the tunnel, used to be seen in the opening sequence of the Sopranos) there used to be places where there was a clear view of the WTC. There is a void in the skyline now that my children will never know is a void. For them, the NY skyline has always looked the way it does. Maybe it's better that way.

Flatulent in Fanwood (well, Garwood)

I was in the condiment aisle at Shoprite, perusing their rather extensive selection of marinades, trying to decide what I wanted my chicken to taste like tonight, when the man standing immediately to my right farted.
This was not a small, "oops-I-let-one-slip,-but-quickly-buttoned-things-up-again" kind of fart. It was a long, whistling, "I'm-gonna-take-my time-and-let-it-all-come-out" kind of gas passing experience. To further aggravate the social inappropriateness of the situation, he never even acknowledged his gaseous offense with an "Excuse me!"
It left me begging to know, what has happened in our society? Where is the respect for the social contract to which we each must hold ourselves accountable? Where were this man's manners??? I think it's a sad commentary on our society as a whole, and I, for one, am not ready to live in a freely flatulent world!

You Can't Make This Stuff Up!

Yesterday I was the living dead. My sleeping pill wore off and I woke up at 3:30 AM. Not long after, at 4:11, my loving daughter woke up. I tried my best to administer tough love and let her "cry it out", but when she started screaming, "Mommy, I NEED you!" my heart melted and I gave in. Thus began my day...at 4:11 AM on Friday.
It was a rainy dreary day here in New Jersey. At times the rain was torrential. I met the electrician at the house for our walk through at 9:00. On the way over Eliana fell asleep...SO unfair that she got a nap and I didn't!!
Finished the walk through, got in the car and then headed south for a visit to the tile showroom where I was going to find out what tile I could get on short notice. The rain, the cadence of the window wipers and my lack of sleep all conspired to have me doze off at the wheel. I fought it off and made it there and back alive.
Upon hearing the exhaustion in my voice, Alan made an early escape from work and came home to give me some respite. That lasted until 6:44 AM this morning when Eliana came to wake me up. I got up and let Alan go back to sleep. I walked into our micro-living room to find every pillow from the couch on the floor. The place looked like someone had executed a search warrant looking for drugs or some other kind of contraband.
I decided to take a shower. I admit with shame that it is the first time I have done so since last Friday. Yes, it is gross. I feel like Frances McDormand's character in "Friends with Money". I am enjoying the feeling of water hitting my body, I have begun the task of cleansing my hair and I hear, "MOM! MY NOSE IS BLEEDING!!" It's not possible that I am in the shower, no glasses, gunk in my hair and my son is bleeding, is it? I instruct him to grab a wad of toilet paper, hold it on his nose and sit on the toilet and wait for me to finish my shower. What he does is, run amok in the bathroom, head down, dripping blood all over the bathroom. Despite my numerous admonishments to the contrary, it is like he is fascinated with the fact that blood is dripping from his nose and can't stop doing it.
Dripping wet, I emerge from the shower to assess the damages. The bleeding has stopped, now I have to clean up the bloody mess around the bathroom and the rest of the apartment. I can't find my wipes. OK...since Alan hasn't woken up from all the commotion as yet (what mother could sleep through this?) I now go in to wake up and ask where he has hidden my cleansing wipes. "Check under the sink," he moans as he turns back over to try to go back to sleep. Huh??
I make my rounds, cleaning up the blood around the apartment and then command my son to hand over the sweatshirt he is wearing that is now stained with blood. I spray a little Oxyclean pre-treat on it and the bathmat that he has been kind enough to drip blood on and throw it all in the washing machine. Alan makes his debut at the party..
Just another Saturday morning, right? You just can't make this stuff up!

Dysfunctional Family Mother's Day

Yesterday morning, in true "my life" fashion, I got a call from my sister informing me that the Mother's Day celebration we were to share at her home in Allentown would not take place as scheduled because my nephew had been vomiting the entire day and night before and was running a fever. It seems the decision was made that the festivities would be held here, at my new apartment. The guest list included Alan and I, the kids, my parents, my brother, grandmother and Alan's parents. Have I made mention of the fact that Alan and I find it less than roomy here with just us and the kids? Anyway...a quick call to my friend and neighbor, Lisa, supplied us with a folding table and folding chairs to accomodate our crowd. A creative rearranging of the furniture provided us with the space to configure said table and chairs in a way that didn't make the apartment feel like the Warsaw ghetto.
I made a quick trip to Party City to pick up festive paper goods and another to ShopRite to pick up frozen trays of Stuffed Shells and Eggplant Parmigiana and garlic bread, along with a Red Velvet Cake and a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup Cake. I felt like a living combination of Sandra Lee, Rachael Ray and Martha Stewart. I even left time for a trip to Lowe's to investigate countertop materials and pricing. I was feeling good when I got home and Alan had actually figured out how to turn the oven on and had also done a bang up job of stashing our clutter to make the apartment presentable for guests. I felt a synergy and felt no need or desire for a sedative. We were in a groove.
The phone rang, it was my brother, he had arrived. He brought me a single red rose and some chatchkies for the kids. Still groovin'.
My dad calls, "I'm at the front gate, now how do I get to you?" I hear in the background the security guard telling him something that sounds wrong. I try telling him how to get to me, he gets agitated (as he often does). The conversation ends with him yelling that if he does what I say, he'll drive into a wall and me yelling back, "I'M COMING DOWN TO GET YOU!!"
Then, I get downstairs and my mom and dad proceed to argue over a bunch of balloons that are in the car. My mother says to me, after I say, "I'll get them", "DON'T YELL AT ME!" I didn't yell. I tell her that. I also advise that she not start anything, which is something she is famous for doing. We get my 81 yr old grandmother out of the car and go upstairs. The fun is about to really start.
My mother unpacks a bag full of maracas, recorders (remember those from music class in elementary school?) and clown gear. She intends to put on a circus in my 3 square foot apartment living room to entertain the children. I go to the cabinet and take the sedative. Only 1/2 a mg. I'm trying to stay lucid and enjoy the day.
Finally, with the vent from the stove whirring, the rattling of the maracas and the reedy tooting of the recorders I snap. "Can we please put the instruments away? My nerves are shot and I can't take the noise." My children, aged 2 and 6 stop immediately. My mother, age 59 1/2 does not. I have to ask again, this time less politely. She complies.
We eat dinner. We eat dessert. Everyone relaxes and then we caravan over to the construction site. I am about to unveil to my family the biggest project I have ever undertaken, I am about to reveal in detail, on a tour of the house, what our dream home is shaping into. My mother says, "I'll be outside blowing bubbles with Eliana."
"But mom," I say, "I want you to see the house."
"I'll see it later, I want to blow bubbles now."
I think I just said it all. What can you add to that?

Generation Gap

Tonight over dinner, we were talking about who knows what (neither of us can actually remember what is was) and I said something about Michael Jackson's nose. Ethan then said...are you ready???

"who is Michael Jackson?"
Alan and I looked at each other and acknowledged that we have now had a pivotal moment during which we realized that there are things that our kids will never truly understand that were integral parts of our pop culture. We've officially become our parents.