Loser's Poker

Last night I whooped my husband and his friend Rich in poker. Which was pretty satisfying, because I'm not a poker player - not a good one, anyway - and they are... But for some reason the victory wasn't as tasty as you might expect.

Before we played (when we were all talking trash) I absolutely wanted to win. And when we were playing, while the competitive juices were flowing, I still did. But by the last hand I wasn't so sure. At one point I considered folding even though I was confident I had the best hand. (Which is what I do when I'm playing with little kids to give them a chance to win sometimes.)

But I didn't. That would have been ridiculous. These guys know what they're doing, and I can barely keep what beats what straight in my head (I actually have a little sheet next to me in case I forget.) That's why I'm tough to beat, my husband tells me. He says two things are rewarded in poker: aggression and the ability to hide what you have. Well, I'm aggressive, for sure. I'll stay in the game with nothing, just because I don't want to be pushed out... And I guess I'm pretty hard to read, because most of the time I'm not sure, myself, whether I have a strong hand or not... So it seems my inexperience is serving me well.

In the end they both went all in, and I won. But instead of being excited about it I just felt weird... Maybe I'm not as competitive as I think I am. I hate to lose, but I guess I'm not entirely comfortable with winning either - because then someone else has to lose...

Sometimes getting what you think you want is like that. It's like flirting with a boy you're not really interested in, and then feeling bad if he falls in love with you... it's validating in a way, but ultimately you just end up feeling yucky.

Ballroom Dancing at the Roosevelt Hotel

private snowfall

Another blizzard. And everyone's upset about how much snow we've been getting lately, but I just can't convince myself not to like it.

Out my window is the most perfect winter scene that any movie set could hope for. The snow is still coming down, so it hasn't had a chance to turn gray or slushy yet - it looks like Narnia when the White Witch was in office...

As I'm watching the snow fall I realize that there's a benefit that I'm experiencing (other than the magnificent view) that I don't often think about, but that I value as much as any other part of my life in Manhattan.

When people describe apartments in the city they talk about light, space, and a view. (And it's rare to find all three together - but that's another topic entirely...) What they don't mention is privacy. Because when it comes to city dwelling, privacy doesn't exist. My first apartment was across the way from a guy who routinely walked around his apartment naked. (And the buildings weren't that far apart!) My shocked amusement quickly turned to amused embarrassment when he had lady friends over.

Where I live now I'm not high up enough to have a "view." The people above me can see the river, but I'm right at the level of the tree-tops. Tree-lover that I am, I consider this to be a fabulous view, but a real estate broker might not agree... What I do have is privacy. Nobody (unless they're a squirrel or a nosy bird) can see into my apartment. Which means if I don't feel like getting dressed I don't have to. And I don't have to worry about construction workers peeking in at me while I sleep (which happened to me in the second apartment I lived in before I bought blinds...)

So I'm enjoying the snow, and enjoying watching it without being watched by anyone else!

pumping iron

I just went to the gym.

That sounds like something someone would write on "twitter" - perhaps daily. For me, however, this is not a daily (or weekly or even monthly, lately) occurrence. Which is why I'm writing about it here. It feels like an accomplishment. (However lame that may sound.)

I don't mind exercising, really. Not while I'm doing it. It's the getting started that trips me up. I find it nearly impossible to get myself motivated to work out. It's like a sort of mental block... I fully recognize that I feel great afterwards, but I'll look for any excuse not to do it - I'm kind of tired... I don't have enough time... it's raining... It's raining!!! I used that one yesterday, and at that point I realized that I had a problem... So today I didn't even think about it. No arguing in my head. No mental preparation whatsoever. I pretty much tricked myself into going by just putting on running shoes and heading out the door - and by then I couldn't get out of it.

Oddly, the exercises that makes me feel best are the ones I have the hardest time making myself do. (I float around in a blissful calm for hours after a good yoga session - but haven't managed to attend a class in... I don't know, six... maybe seven months?) Today I just did 30 minutes on the "arc" machine (if a treadmill and a starmaster had a baby it would be an 'arc' machine, if you're not familiar with it). I know, "big deal". And it's not...

Except that I went.

The letter R

Jemma has started saying "R".

Normally, she talks like a 'wascally wabbit,' saying 'woad' for 'road' and 'faw' for 'far'. I've never tried to correct her on her speech. A lot of kids talk that way at first, and it goes away on its own. I guess at some point they just start to hear it... But the other day she sang "Twinkle Twinkle, Little Star" with the clearest little 'r' I've ever heard. It's extra pronounced, like she's trying to make sure she's saying it right.

I was so surprised - and proud of her - but it breaks my heart a little bit. Everyone always tells you that eventually you miss when your kids were little (my mom has told me many times she wishes I were still 18 months old!) but I didn't think it would happen so fast. She's only 3!!!

I find myself constantly in awe of this process- and so very grateful for the unique individual that my daughter is: for her insights as well as her sweetness. She's a truly remarkable person (which has next to nothing to do with her speech progress.)

I think most moms feel like this... We all think our own kids are the most wonderful children on the planet. And they are. All of them.

That's a spicy meatball!

I may be able to get dual citizenship!!! For years I had hoped to do this through my paternal grandmother who was Irish. But in the end it wasn't possible...

For some reason I had never considered trying on my paternal grandfather's (Italian) side. But today I was talking with a friend who got his Italian citizenship last year, and he told me that I was probably eligible. So I went online, and it looks like I am... Woooo Hoooo!!!!

I'm not exactly sure why this idea excites me so much... I do love Italy - the food, the language, the people and the land (there's almost nothing I don't love about it), but I probably won't be needing to find employment there any time soon, and I can go over as a visitor whenever I want.

But for some reason I'm absolutely ecstatic... maybe it has something to do with a secret fantasy I have about moving to Italy one day - or maybe it's just that I need some sort of proof that I'm 'really' Italian (and thereby cool).

at play with the grownups

We just got back to New York, a little bedraggled and more than a little glad to be home. The last thing we wanted to do was go out... But tonight an acquaintance of ours was performing, and I had said that we'd try to be there.

Dominique Elise does babysitting for one of Jemma's classmates, and Jemma adores her. So Scott and I decided to let Jemma stay up late and see her sing. Since 3 year olds aren't her typical audience, I figured I'd call the venue to make sure they wouldn't turn us away at the door...

"You do know this is a bar" They said. "Yes, I know." I answered. "And we serve alcohol..." "Right... It's okay with me for her to come - I just wanted to be sure it's okay with you."

It turned out they let us bring her in - and they made sure she ordered her required two drinks per person minimum... (thank goodness bottled water counts as 'a drink!')

Jem and I played outside for a few minutes before Dominique went on. (The comedy routine ahead of her wasn't exactly "child friendly", and while I'm all for breaking the rules and letting her stay out with the big kids sometimes, I'm not looking to teach her any new four letter words...)

The show was great. Dominique has an amazing voice, and an engaging stage presence. (It's always a relief when someone you go out to support is really talented!) Jemma really enjoyed it, and only started getting sleepy (and a little too loud) right before the end of the show. So glad we ended up going...

snapshot

A great bit of advice from my dad:

Try to see people as snapshots rather than videos. When someone does something you don't like, remember that it's probably not how they are all the time. You may just have caught them in an unflattering moment - like if you took a picture while someone was sneezing or picking their nose.

Lent

Awhile back I made a vague mental note that I would give up dairy for Lent. Lent seemed relatively far off, and it felt like an appropriate time to start being mindful of my eating in a particular way.

I've recently become aware of numerous inhumane practices that are standard in the dairy industry. Not just things that I don't consider to be ideal, but things that I cannot in good conscience be a part of... In addition to that, I've always felt that dairy (while I do enjoy it) isn't the healthiest choice for me. So, for many reasons, I decided to cut it out of my diet- at least for a time.

But this morning, when my mom told me she was going to an Ash Wednesday service, it took me by surprise. Was it Lent already?

And so today - without so much as a farewell bite of brie, or serving (read 'entire container') of dulce de lece ice cream - I gave up milk.

Florida vs. New York

Tonight Jemma said, "Florida's my favorite, but I like New York the best. Do you want to know why? Because I get to see Papa every day."

My sentiments exactly...

Snow birds

I hear there's another blizzard expected tonight... Jemma and I won't, however, be enjoying another snow day... Instead, we'll be increasing our vitamin D levels, and trying to get rid of the last remnants of this nasty virus we've both been fighting for so long.

We came down to Florida last night. And, no, we weren't 'fleeing the bad weather' (we like the snow, remember?) But it's winter break at Jemma's school, and we were beginning to get cabin fever. Our apartment is rather... well, 'spacious' isn't the first word that comes to mind. I mean, by NYC standards, it's pretty comfortable - but we've spent a lot of 'sick time' inside lately. And there's only so much playing outside you can do in this weather before your nose freezes off. Also, Scott's away on business this week, so Jem and I decided to hop on a plane to Palm Beach.

'Hopping on a plane' with a three year old invloves a lot of lugging, sweating, and stress in general - especially when you accicentally leave your tickets in the ladies' room, and don't realize until you're at the gate... But I'm delighted to be here. Even though everyone's complaining about a 'cold spell' (it's about 65 degrees out) there's nothing that can compare to the softness of the air down here; and to be able to feel the sun on your skin in the middle of winter is heavenly.

Fancy dress

This morning Jemma wanted to wear a "fancy" dress to the Valentine's Day celebration at her school. We looked through a lot of her dresses, and it turned out they weren't fancy. (I'm not sure exactly what it is that makes a dress fancy, but Jemma seemed to have some pretty definite ideas about it...) Finally we found one that was. It was pink, with flowers on it, and a 'poofy' skirt. But it was spring dress - certainly not anything you'd want to wear out on a cold day like today. Except that she did... So we found a pink shirt and some stretchy pants to wear under it, along with some warm pink boots, and she was all set. Then we went to find something for me to wear...

She suggested that I wear a dress as well, but I told her I thought I should wear red, and that I didn't have any red dresses. As I opened the closet door and reached for a vibrant cashmere sweater that I was sure she'd approve of, she practically shouted - "Mommy, you do have a red dress!!"

She was clutching the skirt of a crimson dress like a victory prize. She was right. It was red - but it wasn't really mine. Not technically. It was a dress that used to be my Mother's when she was about half my age. Now, I love this dress - that's why I keep it in my closet. I love the sheen of the fabric, the hand-done black piping around the neckline and sleeves - I even love the pointy 50s boobs... But it's not exactly current fashion - so wearing it out in public isn't something I generally consider. But, what the heck - it's Valentine's Day (or, as my daughter points out - it's not actually Valentine's day, it's just the day we're celebrating Valentine's day.)

So off we went - Jemma in her valentine dress, and I in mine. Scott wore a suit with a red tie, which we all agreed was perfect.

But when we got to the school I didn't want to take off my coat... Everyone else was in jeans or "smart casual" attire... But the feeling only lasted a moment. As a general rule, you really can't bother too much about what the other moms think... and after all, it's Valentine's Day, and sometimes you've just got to be - well, fancy.

Snow day

When NYC schools announced a snow day (for today) yesterday at noon, I thought they were making the call a little prematurely. I remember when I was a kid it would always be up in the air until 6am the day of... I figured the city just felt left out. Last week when we were supposed to get lots of snow we got nothing. So maybe they just wanted their snow day, come hell or high water.

I thought we'd get a light dusting - if that. Boy, was I wrong. It snowed and snowed and snowed all day. (It's still snowing now.) It was absolutely beautiful. And there was no way I could avoid taking Jemma out in it -she's been cooped up inside with a bad cold for 5 days- in spite of the fact that I seem to have caught whatever she had.

Scott still had to go to go to work, but his friend Rich (Jemma's godfather,) who's visiting from Paris came along for the adventure. When we got to Riverside park it looked like every kid in the city had turned up to play. In typical Upper West Side style, the hills had been organized with orange cones to section off areas for sledding. We found our own spot - a little out of the way, where a 3 year old wasn't as likely to get run over by crazy middle-schoolers.

We had a full day: sledding, making snow angels, throwing snowballs, and even making a snowlady. (She started off looking kind of 'womanly', so we just went with it.) My voice, which was failing yesterday, gave out entirely today. So I've been trying to communicate with hand gestures, whistles and claps - which is interesting (and has earned me more than a few strange looks from other moms... ) In spite of that, we had a wonderful time, and at one point Jemma, sweet thing that she is, patted my back and said, "Don't worry, Mommy. I don't mind your scraggley voice."

Squeaky croak

Ugh. Woke up with a sore throat this morning. And my voice is almost entirely gone. When I make an effort I can manage something that sounds like something between a croak and a squeak.

This is more inconvenient than it would ordinarily be, because it looks like I'm not done dealing with the co-op board from hell... Although, at the moment a squeaky croak is about all I have to say to them that wouldn't have to be edited out...

Sleepless in MoHi

Some nights not much sleeping gets done around here. Last night was one of those nights...

When Jemma went to bed she had a fever of almost 102. She had been sick all weekend, with a hideous cough, runny nose, and pink-eye as an added bonus. Her cough had prevented her from sleeping much the night before - and I assumed (silly me) that she'd sleep all night from sheer exhaustion. She fell into bed before 7, but by 9:00 she had already awakened 3 times. At 9:30 she announced that she couldn't sleep, so we got up and read a couple of books, and she was back to sleep by 10:00.

Now, this is when I should have gone to bed - knowing that it would probably be a rough night, and that I should get whatever sleep I could... But I had started re-watching "Groundhog Day" and couldn't stop. (I don't know if that says something about what a good movie it is, or about how little sense I have... probably both.) I figured, hey, she had already woken up a lot already - maybe she would just keep sleeping... And she probably would have - if it weren't for that damn cough...

We were up again at 1:00... until at last she went back to sleep - after reading, stretching, listening to music, and finding a comfortable position (upside down) ...at 3:30. And she would have slept until 8:30 - I'm sure of it - if she hadn't started coughing again... at 7:00.

Of course I worry whether she's getting enough sleep - especially when she's not well... but she's as bright and enthusiastic as always. I however, am not so energetic. It's now 2:00, and after a brief late-morning nap, I'm still in 'zombie mode'. Still haven't washed my face or gotten out of my pjs (which is a little embarrassing, since we have a house guest at the moment...)

I tell myself I've learned my lesson... that next time I'll go to bed early when I have the chance. (And believe me, as a mother who has been sleep-deprived for 3 years I do take this seriously.) But some nights -for no real reason that I can explain - it's hard to do.

The good wife

I spend a lot of time thinking about parenting... The kind of parent I want to be, the best ways to enrich my child's life... Being a wife? Not so much. I never really plan that. I guess I assume that it's just instinctive. And in some ways it is. And in others... well, I'll just say that I need to bring more 'consciousness' to that relationship too.

Last night my husband came home late. One of his team had been let go, and he had to do damage control. (He's very protective of the group he works with, and it's been hard recently, with all the layoffs in publishing.) Fine, it had to be done. But he was late.

He wasn't that late - but it was later than he said he would be home. And I was furious. (In my defense, he had come home late the previous two nights as well - one night late enough to miss saying 'goodnight' to Jemma, and the other late enough that it was past my own bedtime.) It's not that I don't understand that there's a lot of crucial stuff going on at work right now. I do. I just don't think that stuff is as important as being here with us...

So when he got home I let him know that, "you show people your priorities through your choices, and that by being late (okay, so it was only 15 minutes this time) you're giving a message.... blah blah blah." (And there were a lot of blah blah blahs.) But the truth was simply that I missed him, and had been expecting him earlier. And when that expectation was thwarted my knee-jerk reaction was to get mad. Instead of getting mad back, he told me that he'd had a really tough day. He had had a terrible headache (that didn't respond to medication) since lunch and he'd had to deal with all of his meetings (including the one with the fired employee) in spite of it. He had just been trying to muscle through it and get home as soon as he could. I felt like a jerk.

"I'm sorry you had a hard day." I said. "And I'm sorry I got so mad." He sighed. "I know it's just because you want to see me."

It's funny how when you're mad at someone you automatically assume they're mad at you... or at least mad at you for being mad... "Then why didn't you kiss me 'hello?'" I said. "(...After I finished yelling at you?)" He came up and kissed me. "You can't just go up and kiss a rattlesnake." Hmmmm... note to self.

Sometimes we're so stuck in our own perspective that we fail acknowledge that another perspective even exists. It's always healthy to put yourself in someone else's shoes for awhile. I think that this is true for all our relationships - with kids/spouses/friends- anyone. Because ultimately it helps you to understand others (and yourself) better, and improves the quality of your relationships as well as your day to day experience. Plus, if you never take off your shoes they just get stinky.

Four weddings and an ass

There's a little game I like to play when referring to movies... (I need to say in advance that I didn't make it up - it originated many years ago with a friend of my husband's named Mark Divine. And I'm not certain he used it exclusively for movies...)

What you do is simply replace any word in the title of a movie with the word 'ass.' So, for example, some of the movies that are nominated for Oscars this year are: "The Ass Locker", "Crazy Ass", "Ass in the Air", "The Lovely Ass", "Fantastic Mr. Ass", and "A Serious Ass"... It gets a little tricky with single name titles - there's no distinction between "Precious" and "Avatar"; each would simply be 'Ass' - and there's not much fun in that... The best titles are the ones that can go several ways, like: "Desperately Seeking Ass" or, alternatively, "Ass Seeking Susan."

Most people think it's utterly stupid - and I can't argue with that. In fact, I agree. But it never fails to make me laugh. A lot. And I find myself trying to think of more and more titles - like: "The Maltese Ass", "St. Elmo's Ass", and "Disney's: The Little Ass"... Okay, I've got to stop. Walt probably wouldn't appreciate this at all...

But one last parting thought - "No Country for Old Men" is possibly the best title of all time because you can use 'ass' instead of every single word (with the exception of the word "for")... You do the math.

In the car with the doors closed

My sister, Lisa, and I have a rule: "Don't talk until you're in the car with the doors closed." This applies to all sorts of situations, from business meetings to social gatherings to shopping. The gist of it is pretty much this: whenever you're in a public place don't talk about people/events/ideas you don't want other people hearing - until you're in a private place. Sounds like common sense... but in practice, it's harder to follow you might think. (First, because elevators, for example, are not private. They may feel private, but you never know who man in the corner is, or what his connection may be to the individual you just had a meeting with.)

My husband and I recently left an especially nightmarish co-op board interview, and as we left I desperately wanted to let him know exactly what I was thinking about: 1.) how unbelievably nosy co-ops are 2.) how unreasonable they are 3.) how pathetic it is for them to wield their tiny momentary sliver of power with such a lack of grace. I waited until we were out of the office... until we were out of the building.... and then started in. "In the car with the doors closed" he reminded me. I looked around, and there were a couple of people I hadn't noticed on the sidewalk not far from us. I waited for a minute... and - of course - they headed into the very building we had just left. Not that it would have been the end of the world if they had heard me ranting about how miserable their building is, and that I never want to set foot there again, but it was better to have that conversation in private. Same goes for the aunt you're gossiping about in Bloomingdale's - if you happen to bump into her five minutes later, she may not have overheard you - but do you want to be frantically going over everything you've said to make sure it 'wasn't that bad?'

My husband likes the rule so much he uses it with his technology group at work. They call it 'the Lemole rule' (because, for some reason, even though I took his name when we married, he still calls me 'Emily Lemole'.)

Sometimes you end up wishing other people used the rule, too. Once I was at a restaurant with a guy I was dating. We were in a rather large group, and I was meeting some of his friends for the first time. They were all Italian (and my Italian's not very good, but I did my best to keep up with the conversation.) Everything seemed to be going okay, until at some point I got up to go to the ladies' room. I had finished using the toilet when I heard voices at the sink. "She's not that pretty. I don't know what he sees in her..." Peeking through the crack in the stall I recognized two women from our table... and they were talking about... me? I was horrified. My first instinct was to just hide in the stall until they left, but they kept applying make-up and chatting. I finally pulled myself together. I hadn't done anything wrong - why was I hiding?

They looked appropriately shocked as I emerged and washed my hands. When I left the ladies' room I went to the payphone and called Lisa to tell her the story. And fortunately after talking with her the whole thing just seemed funny. (Mortifying, certainly - but also funny.)

Everyone's entitled to their opinion. And people gossip - that's just what we do. It would be better if we didn't - and sometimes we make an attempt to be our 'better selves'. But for when we're not, it's always smart to stick to 'the rule.'

Chocolate Lovers

I've always considered myself to be someone who appreciates chocolate. There's not much that can compare to that particular flavor - very few things even come close. I think a lot of people feel that way... Which is why there are entire restaurants dedicated to the stuff, as well as festivals:

http://hotchocolatefestival.com/index.html
http://nymag.com/restaurants/reviews/underground/19680/

That being said, I have never referred to myself as a "chocolate fiend." I don't get cranky when I can't have it, and I wouldn't give up my firstborn for the last piece in the box (or for anything else, for that matter...) So maybe I don't qualify as a real 'chocolate lover...'

Once, for a party, my brother arranged a "wine and chocolate tasting," with an incredible assortment of about 20 different kinds of chocolate. Some of the flavors were unexpected: basil, cayenne pepper, and even bacon (which, as a vegetarian, I didn't try.) The whole thing was really interesting, and a lot of fun... but I have to admit that as a rule I prefer my chocolate straight up. Maybe I'm a purist (or perhaps I'm just boring) but to me chocolate is perfect as it is. It doesn't need to be messed with. (Seriously - bacon???)