Domestic

I just had another domestic hot flash. After I dropped Lolo off at the childcare room at the gym, I hopped on an elliptical and tuned into one of the three palatable daytime shows on at 10am: The 20th Hour of the Today Show with Kathie Lee and Hoda, Good Day New York (which has actually made its way onto “The Soup” with Joel McHale for the utter nuttiness of it all) and dare I say, The Rachael Ray Show. I know it. Color me a housewife. Just throw in some “Juicy” velour sweatpants and a blackberry phone (wrapped in the hot pink rhinestones) and I am the picture of Northeastern, domestic, stay-at-home bliss.

But, I have to watch something while I sweat it out. My circa 2005 iPod mini is filled with kids music, so that’s not an option. Anyway. I’m there and I am switching around my three channels when I land on Rachael. Yes, she’s utterly annoying. The large head, the strained and screechy voice, the parmesan cheese being thrown everywhere all over the EVOO. The audience actually claps when she adds cheese or bacon to a dish.

She’s making a pasta entree (shocker) that actually looks quasi-appealing. I’m in a dinner-making rut and could use some inspiration.  This could be the dish that turns me around. I mentally earmark the recipe and decide I’ll give it a whirl.

I was utterly self conscious about shopping for the ingredients as if everyone in the produce department knew I was making a recipe that I saw on daytime television while I was at the gym while someone else was taking care of my child while I selfishly worked out.

I love what I do and wouldn’t trade it for the world. But it’s not really something you can talk about at a party when someone asks you what you do. Once you mention you’re a full-time mom, their eyes glaze over with disinterest. Visions of ice cream-stained sweatpants and lots of TV float through their head.

I take what I do very seriously and work hard at it. And, I mean “work hard at it” by more than lugging laundry and emptying the dishwasher. So, when my life veers dangerously close to a stereotype, my armpits sweat a little bit. It’s silly, I know. I herd a wild toddler by myself all week long and deserve 2 hours a week to watch ridiculous television without guilt on an exercise machine. I would just hate to get caught with a fresh manicure, bedazzled “Jersey Girl” tank top and a new tan and then have to defend my position.

In The City

Evidence of our fun roaming the Upper West Side for three days.

Off the Grid.

“Should we take the wine into the bathroom?,” asked Mr. Banks last night at 8:30 pm.

The first night we were in the hotel, Mr. Banks had to stay late at the office so he didn’t get back to the room until Lolo was safely lulled into a deep sleep. In the meantime, I managed to entertain myself on the laptop in complete silence and darkness while she slept in her matchstick-sized hotel crib. (Bad mama. I didn’t bring the pack-n-play because there was just too much going on before we left the house in a mad rush. Yes, there is a reason every baby book says to avoid hotel cribs at all costs.) But, our system worked out great. Mr. Banks and I ate dinner in the dark but were able to have a conversation while she slept not 8 feet away from us.

Well, last night he arrived back to the room right as Lolo was saying “sweet dreams” at 7pm and she didn’t close her eyes until nearly 10pm. This city already has her blood pumping with energy and chutzpah. Knowing that Mama and Papa were so close to her and completely awake was just too much. She tried. She put her head down on the pillow for five minutes and then peeked out from the curtain I have draped around the crib with a devilish smile. For the next three hours, we tried everything. We ate in silence in the dark and reminded her that it was bedtime. We took our food and wine in the bathroom (oh yes we did) so she would settle down in peace. There’s a TV in the bathroom so it wasn’t all that weird. I tried to lay down with her in bed. Nothing worked. She played and sang for close to three hours, and I just kept reminding myself, “This is a vacation. It’s okay to go off schedule.” We opened the bathroom door at one point to see what she was singing and heard, “Shake you tail, flap you wings and stomp you feet!” over and over again.

Needless to say, she’s having a blast in the city and has adjusted to life quite well off the grid of our normal life. The entirety of our day is spent finding food, playing at the park and walking the dog in the park. Wash and repeat. She’d prefer if we could skip the walking the dog part but is content to watch a little extra TV each morning.

While it’s been an adventure and wonderful to see her excitement over the city, I’m looking forward to being able to heat food again.

Blanket of Lead

It’s as ominous as it sounds.

The neighbors directly next to us, which means 12 feet away, are having their house sanded down to the bone today before repainting. In a town where all the houses were built before 1930, this means there is a high probability of lead-laden, death dust. Of course, in the “panties-in-a-bunch” kind of town we live in, there are an abundant collection of laws related to this specific act of lead paint removal. And, by law, any house painting company has to tent the house being sanded with tarps, use HEPA-filter sanding machines, know all the state laws on lead paint, etc. But, that’s not good enough for me and my paranoia. They are also covering all of my windows with plastic, covering half the house in a giant tarp, and we’re evacuating the house for three days. (Yes, I inserted myself quite well into my neighbor’s home improvement project.)

Right now, I am sitting on my hotel room couch in the dark and typing this post while Lolo sleeps after a long day of establishing ourselves on the Upper West Side. Soon, I will fork over the $12.95 fee to connect to the Internet so I can keep my readers up to date on all our adventures like sitting down to a nice dinner at 5:30 tonight with Lolo, taking one sip of my wine and then hearing “I’m all done” after she had exactly one bite of her penne with meat sauce.

We hit the city just after lunch, sent Mr. Banks off to work, and didn’t stop until bedtime. If we weren’t walking and talking and looking for parks, we were walking the dog and relearning the art of getting an animal that hates the city to pee on cement. I’m consciously taking a lesson from my free-spirited daughter and learning to enjoy the ride. It’s not really a vacation but we’ve decided to treat it like one.

East-ah Bunny

“What is this mysterious bunny you speak of, Mama? All I have to do is believe in this miracle of rabbit, candy delivery, and a basket of treats will appear in my living room? And, I can eat candy for breakfast on Sunday morning? Show me the contract.”

The “East-ah Bunny” arrived Sunday morning and brought Lolo the original Connect 4 game (because it’s her favorite game to play at the library) and loads of sugar (and some Easter raisins). She held a fist of candy near her mouth as she asked if she could indeed eat candy in the morning so that if we said yes, she could get it into her mouth as soon as humanly possible.

This is what the beast looks like tamed, combed and washed …

And, this is what she looks like when left to her own devices and free will …