If I can make it there, I'll make it... anywhere?

NYC Poo with 'tude

Last weekend I experienced an ultimate New York moment. I am proud to add the experience to my list of quintessential New York City happenings, even though it is disgusting and something only a New Yorker could boast about... Last weekend I encountered a giant poop on the subway.

Yup. A poop. On the floor. Of a public subway car.

Are you laughing or painfully cringing (or maybe a little bit of both?!)

Most experienced NYC subway riders know that if a train pulls into the station and you notice 1 car significantly emptier than the others, there is something going awry in said car. The A/C isn't working, a person is behaving or smelling strangely, the possibilities are endless, but the result is the same - people avoid the car. Well on Sunday, I stepped quickly onto a subway car and immediately realized that the car was only half full and that half was pretty much all on one side. uh-oh. Directly across from me was a man, sitting casually on a bench all to himself, with a bandana across his nose and mouth. Double uh-oh. I notice a strange smell, not overwhelmingly unpleasant, but not great. I look right, a bunch of people... I look left, no people except bandana man. I look left and down... GIANT SH*T ON THE FLOOR. AHHHHH!!!! It is too late to exit the car, the doors have closed. I can't go right bc this is the last car of the train. To evacuate the premises I will need to go around the doodie and through to the next car. I do not pass go (but I do pass the poo!) as I scurry quickly (noticing that it looks like it came from a freakin horse and has clearly been sitting there for some time) to the door and into the next car. I briefly look back. I kind of regret not snapping a picture. I cringe and then smile, then go back to my day getting just a little bit excited to retell this story as soon as I get home. Welcome to New York.

too hot?

But do you think it's too hot to try?

I am typing this post after sustaining a serious thumb injury. I actually think working through the pain to be here today is pretty hard core by blogger standards. Am I going to survive? Probably. Do I need to tell you the ridiculous short story? Of course... You see, last night I burned myself pretty badly when I intentionally touched something that I knew was going to be hot. Seriously. This is a thing I've noticed I do, and I think (hope!?) I'm not alone, and it's completely ridiculous. I knew the glass of the candle I wanted to pick up was going to be hot, but I didn't know how hot, so I touched it to find out. Answer: scalding hot, the glass was scalding hot. Have you ever done this? When you wonder if the soup is too hot to eat, do you taste it to find out? Do you investigate whether the stove top is cool enough to clean by laying your hand on it? I should touch the straightener to see if it's hot enough to start doing my hair right!? Geez... it is apparently a miracle I have not scorched my hands off. 

And on a completely unrelated note, I know everyone is sharing this today, but if you have been listening to Serial 1) OMG today is the final episode and 2) this is freakin laugh-out-loud hysterical and you must listen. Enjoy!

The highlight of my weekend (a funny little story)

Not my actual suitor, but certainly an adorable alternative

Hello my lovelies and welcome to a most manic Monday (for me at least!) But I wanted to pop in and tell you a funny little story from my weekend:

It's 7:40pm and Dr. H and I are hustling down the FDR Drive in an attempt to return our rental car before the 8pm deadline. We get off at 23rd street and I curse the red light that appears just as I'm about to clear the intersection. I sit at the light as a young family, Mom and Dad (holding a small daughter) and a son, probably around 10 years old, begin to cross in front of my car. The little dude looks at me in the drivers seat, makes eye contact and then gestures and mouths "call me". There is no denying that this invitation is intended for me. I burst into a smile and ask Dr. H "did you see that!?" We both look forward again and the kid is all smiles pointing and gesturing his hand like a phone (unbeknownst to his parents walking a pace ahead) "call me". I give him my sassiest smile and a thumbs up.

That kid is gonna be a lady killer. Watch out girls.

that’s what she said

That's what she said.

This post brought to you by the fabulous (parent)thetically speaking.

Take a 2.75 year old – give her an impressive (if I do say so myself) vocabulary, the ability to put together complete sentences, an imagination that goes on for days, and a fondness for the gab – and you’ve got yourself a very entertaining conversationalist.

Has a story (or a tiny, rambling, crazy person) made you chuckle and think “what could possibly be going on in their head?” Here are some gems that I’m oh-so-glad I wrote down…

                                                           

(telling a story…)

- When I was little, I had big friends, they was called Alex and Emily.

- When I get big, I’m going to go to a office all by myself and there’s going to be big people in my story.

(imagination…)

- We going into the house’s mouth! (pulling into the garage)

- Here’s a pancake, cheese and pasta sandwich for you…Mmmm tastes chocolate-y.

- Chickens can’t go on vacation. You’re too goofy.

- My whole world is gone in my room. It went outside. You look for it while I get my toys…you found it? It was all the way out there? At the beach?

(when she should’ve been in bed a half hour ago…) 

- Ooooh, I remember that and then I said, do you want some food? Not yet, after dinner.

- Sometimes I eat bread, and sometimes I eat mommy’s cheeks.

- (Q: What’s the opposite of old?) A: Winter. Winter means light.

(sweet nothings…)

- Thanks for letting me borrow your arm. It’s so pretty. I love it.

- May I snuggle you?

- When you was a baby, I scooped you in your crib and that was my best hugs ever.

(simple, yet somehow profound…)

- I’m Dolly. I have tags. I go with Jane.

- The sky’s not falling. It’s just staying there.

 And that, folks, is what she said.

For previous posts from (parent)thetically speaking, click HERE.

Story Time

Today I thought I would tell you a funny story, because it's a summer Monday and funny stories are especially useful for curing the back-to-work blues.

Once upon a time, many years ago, a little girl was in a Florida airport with her Mom and Dad. Towards the end of a successful family vacation and before the era of cell phones and internet, the young girl's parents had gone to the airline ticket counter hoping to address an issue with the next day's flight. Relatively unsupervised and possessing a vibrant imagination, the little girl wandered over to a group of pay phones and began making pretend phone calls. No coins meant no real calls and no harm done, that is until one intricately imagined scenario, in which an emergency at the airport required the little girl to be a hero and call for help. She picked up the pay phone and dialed three numbers... "Hello this is 911, what is your emergency?" said a voice on the other end of the line. Click.

Now back at the airline counter standing angelically next to her Mom and Dad, a police officer approached.

"Excuse ma'am, sir, is everything all right?"

"Yes officer, why do you ask?"

"Well I believe your daughter just dialed 911 on that pay phone."

Incredulous stares came down on the little girl... "Did you just dial 911?" her parents asked. And at that moment, the little girl answered the only way a child prone to wild imaginings and healthy fear of punishment could: "NO!!"

After several apologies to the confused officer, the little girl was hauled off, possibly in tears, by her embarrassed parents. Once in the car she was scolded for calling 911 in an airport, but more than what she did, she was in trouble for lying about it. Back at the hotel, the little girl was punished, forced on the last night of vacation to sit and write an essay about why it's bad to tell lies. This essay, location presently unknown, is rumored to have been a stroke of literary genius and perhaps an early indication of the young girl's talent for the written word.

Many years have past since that fateful night, but two life lessons will remain with the little girl forever: (1) Calls to 911 always go through on pay phones, even if you don't put any money in; and (2) It doesn't matter what you did, you will always get in more trouble it you lie about it. Nice work Mom and Dad.

A Manhattan Moment... tales from 4:45am

Damn you hooligans!!

Last night, as Dr. H and I were peacefully attempting to sleep off our first-day-back-from-vaca exhaustion, we were startled awake around 4:45am by a thunderous crash. "What the hell!?" he says. "This can't be for real" I reply. Already accustomed to the occasional garbage truck or screaming college coed late at night, we knew this was something new... and ongoing... and f'ing loud. We clicked on the sound machine and I popped in my ear plugs. Reverse beeping, asphalt dumping. Now I'm out of bed, opening up the terrace door, observing in horror a full-fledged construction scene four stories below. I'm pissed. Hell hath no fury like a woman woken from deep slumber (and who is now stuck in bed with a tossing and turning husband). I needed to take action. I needed to complain!!

As I spelled out my street address to the lady on the other end of my 311 call (who sounded exactly the way you'd expect someone working the pre-dawn shift at 311 to sound...) I thought to myself "holy crap, I am that crazy lady!" I'm that lady calling to lodge a complaint, demanding an explanation, snapping pictures with my cell phone and mentally drafting a heated letter "to the authorities" while I attempt not to foam at the mouth. I think this makes it official folks, I'm old.

(A Jew) On Christmas.

George Washington get his tree

The decorations are up, the holiday music is playing and faster than you can say "Black Friday Insanity" Thanksgiving is in our rear view and the countdown to Christmas has begun. Christmas... beautiful, sparkly, cheery Christmas. Moment of honesty: I really wish I celebrated Christmas. Though I am proud of my Jewish heritage and I love my Chanukah traditions (Mom's latkah's are a once-per-year delicacy) nothing compares to a twinkling tree, mint hot chocolate and Mariah Carey belting out that all she wants for Christmas, is me. 

My parents tell a tale of little Meri coming home from preschool, confused about Santa. "If I'm good, he's supposed to come! Is he going to come!?" Stuck with the difficult task of explaining religious diversity to a 3-year old (and risking the reveal of some "Santa-related truths" to an entire preschool) my parents did what any parent of a blabber mouth would do: they told me to believe. And believe I did - cookies, carrots for the reindeer and a short note thanking Santa for stopping by. From that year on, the magic of Santa has been a tradition in my Jewish family (you should see my stocking) and an annual small gift from Mr. Claus reminds each of us of the holiday's joy (and a funny Meri story.) Because similar to Chanukah's 8 nights of gifts, Christmas has developed traditions quite distinct from the religious significance of the day. For me and so many others, twinkling lights, an excellent soundtrack, togetherness and giving are all non-religious Christmas magic (also the Nutcracker, It's a Wonderful Life, the smell of fresh pine and gingerbread). So while I may not get to put up a tree (tempted, so tempted)  I'm going to love on Christmas with the enthusiasm of a goy... it's like my parents said "all you have to do is believe" :)