April 30, 2008


Baby-Ko and I go to a very popular Mommy & Me class here in Los Angeles. The teacher, who's name I won't say, (but rhymes with "WACKY"), is known around town and apparently a spot in Wacky's Class is so coveted, you have to get on the list the minute you conceive. I literally had to sign up for it when I was 10 weeks pregnant and that's when I realized that we lived in the most competitive town there is. Baby-Ko hadn't even developed arm buds yet and already he was on "a waiting list" for the September babies’ class. However, we were told that we'd most likely get in because some of the other babies (on the list) might end up being born in August or October. Fortunately, Baby-Ko was born right on time and some other baby was born early (sorry, sucka) and we were in.

Women flock to Wacky's class and many feel that Wacky's word is the gospel. She definitely offers some valuable information and does wonderful interactive games and songs with the babies. I always look forward to class and I would say 99% of the time I agree and appreciate her opinions and advice. But there are days like last week, for instance, when I asked her what she suggests I say to strange random children who approach Baby-Ko and want to touch his face or take his pacifier, that I question her opinion. Her advice: "Put a mosquito netting over his stroller. That way no one can touch him." Um, yeaaaaah. Considering we A) don't live in the tropics and B) Michael Jackson does that to HIS kids, I think I will have to come up with a different way of addressing this issue....

ANYWAY, at the top of every class, Wacky gives a lecture on a different topics pertaining to the babies and the stage they're in. Topics range from Sleeping/Eating to choosing Nursery Schools (a titillating, fear inducing, 3-week lecture...) to Poop (yes. Poop. Apparently it's a bigger deal than I thought). Ironically, last week, as I surveyed the room, taking note of all the things the babies were doing that Baby-Ko wasn't, Wacky announced that we were going to be talking about Development.

First of all, I know that I shouldn't compare Baby-Ko to other babies and that they all develop at different rates, blah blah blah. But come on, you put 15 babies, all born in the same month, in one room, you are going to notice if one of the babies is practically walking and yours is still on its back admiring the lights. Okay, fine, Baby-Ko is somewhere in between that but I have to say that I generally find myself feeling bad about the fact that Baby-Ko leaves his "bag o' tricks" at home. Seriously... Like all week long he'll babble and coo, roll both ways, sit up on his own... And then we get to class and he's all fuss and frankly, no fun. There I said it.

I'm not a horrible stage mom in the making, I promise, sometimes I just want to feel and know that Baby-Ko is where he needs to be, doing the things he needs to do despite his Grandparents saying that he's the most brilliant and gorgeous child that ever was. And, yes, according to the list of "Hallmark Developmental Milestones" that Wacky gave us, Baby-Ko is right on target. But I have to say that I'm secretly happy that Wacky cancelled class tomorrow and all the mommies have made arrangements to meet at the outdoor mall with the babies. That'll give me an extra week to work on his sitting up skills....

April 23, 2008


Dear Television God,

Although I have the utmost respect for your divine holiness and even worked under your supervision and in your "realm" for many years, I have a bone to pick with you:


There are very few QUALITY shows on television and when there are, I'm pretty sure the good people of the TV Watching World would like to have them SPREAD evenly throughout their week. I cannot speak for everyone down here, but I think I speak for many when I ask: WHY, OH, WHY, DO YOU TORTURE YOUR PEOPLE BY PUTTING ALL THE BEST SHOWS ON IN ONE NIGHT??! We already have fantastic shows such as "The Office," "30 Rock," "Grey's Anatomy," and "Ugly Betty" (yes, some of us do love this show) on Thursdays. "Lost" is sensational and it deserves it's own night. And frankly, we were happy to have it on Wednesdays.

During biblical times, when you created the ever so brilliant "Must See TV," and shows such as "The Cosby Show," "Family Ties," "Friends" and "Seinfeld" aired on Thursday nights, the people PRAISED YOU. It was a brilliant programming move and television history was made. However, that wasn't the ONLY night of good television. It was just a BIG night of television. But now, other than Thursdays, we kinda got nothin'.

You answered our prayers (well, some of us, that is) when you aired "Dancing with the Stars" on Monday and the results on Tuesday; giving us two nights of pure spray tan and glitter magic. And sure, there are other great shows like "The Tudors," for instance, or "Top Chef," on other nights of the week. But they're on cable, and we don't know what nights they air first run. Thus, they are recorded and watched when Mommy gets a break and Daddy finally relinquishes control of the remote control after watching brainless shows like "Cops" because if he doesn't, Mommy is going into the other room and ignoring Daddy for the rest of the night. But I digress...

In conclusion, I am urging you to move "Lost" back to Wednesdays. Watching Ben, McDreamy AND Michael Scott all on one night, in one sitting just feels confusing... and well, creepy. Please spread out the goodness... Help fill the voids.

Oh, and one more thing, would you cordinate with your buddy SPORTS GOD and make sure the Dodgers or Lakers don't play on Thursdays from now on? That would create just all kinds of chaos.

Sincerely yours,

April 21, 2008


The green light on the monitor flares. My eyes pop open.

3:50 A.M.
Aw, shit. I pull the covers over my face and pray Baby-Ko is just talking in his sleep....

3:53 A.M.
Yeah, not so much. He is officially "talking" in the form of crying. I will give it 2 more minutes (like the book said) until I go in and check on him.

3:54 A.M.
Maybe I should go in now... No, no, no. Just wait. 59, 58, 57, 56....

3:55 A.M.
I jump out of bed. The sooner I go in, the sooner he (and I) will go back to sleep... I think. The question is: do I give him the pacifier or just reassure him from the doorway (like the book said). I tiptoe across my bedroom towards the door- CREAAAAAAAK. Baby-Ko cries out. He knows I'm coming. Fucking floors.

3:56 A.M.
I stand over the crib. He already has the pacifier in his mouth and his blankie in his hand. GREAT. Now what? Maybe he's hungry... I will go make a bottle. I dart out to the kitchen. My feet are freezing. Why the hell did I stop breastfeeding? Sooo much easier.

3:58 A.M.
The bottle warmer is taking forever. Screw it. I'll give it to him chilled. That'll teach him a lesson. I assemble the 900 pieces required for the bottle (I swear, if I find out there is toxic plastic in this bottle too, I'm going to be pissed), and head back toward the baby's room. SILENCE. He fell back asleep. Son of a-- NO. This is a good thing. That'll teach ME a lesson. From now on, I'm letting him cry. He's not hungry. He just wanted my attention.

3:59 A.M.
I place the wasted bottle on the nightstand and tell myself the cost of formula is not that bad and at least I can go back to sleep. Sleep... Sleep... Mommy needs-

4:01 A.M.
WHAHHH. Monitor light FLARES. Crap. Okay, okay, he IS hungry after all. Some babies do need to eat once during the night (like the book said). If I feed him now, maybe he'll sleep longer instead of getting up for the day at 6AM, which in my opinion is worse than this.

4:05 A.M.
I stare at Baby-Ko as he gingerly sucks away. What is the matter with me? This is my fault. How is it that he's 7 months old and I haven't figured out whether or not he actually needs to be eating at night? It's me that's causing him to wake up. I'm pretty much encouraging this habit (like the book said). I really need to stop this. Tonight's the last night. I swear. He will have to learn to "tank up" during the day (like the book said). Night time is for sleeping.

4:10 A.M.
He is still sucking but seems to be asleep. I try to gently pry the empty bottle away and swiftly replace it with the pacifier. SUCCESS. Now, using every inner and outer thigh muscle I have, I stand up out of the glider. I carefully lower sleeping Baby-Ko into crib. WHAHH! His eyes OPEN! He is wide awake. Defeated, I pick him up and carry him back to the glider and start all over. I have officially broken every rule in the book.

4:15 A.M.
Bottle finished and Baby-Ko asleep. I slightly lean forward to stand, he OPENS his eyes. SERIOUSLY?! Forget it. I'm putting him into the crib awake (like the book said). He needs to learn how to self-sooth. He kicks playfully and erupts into a big smile the SECOND I put him down. Don't smile back, don't smile back. You will only provoke this behavior further (like the book said). I dash out of the room.

4:18 A.M.
I press the pillow against my ears trying to drown out the cooing coming from the monitor.
T-Ko turns over and sits up. "What's the matter?"
Oh, How nice of you to join us. "Nothing. He won't go back to sleep."
"Let him cry." Thank you, oh wise one.

4:22 A.M.
Monitor light still flares. My mind starts to race: By 7 months, he should be sleeping through the night (like the book said). His sleep should be organized and he should be waking at 7am, napping at 9, 1 and maybe in the afternoon and asleep at 7pm (like the book said). He should be feeding every 4 hours and not grazing all day long (like the book said) ...
He let's out a CRY. UGH. I am just going to give him his pacifier. After that, I'm done. I swear.

4:24 A.M.
Jesus Christ, is there an iceberg under my bedroom floor that the previous homeowners didn't disclose?! OKAY, BACK IN BED. Mommy must sleep. The monitor FLARES, but this time, I turn OFF the monitor (like the book said). There's nothing I can do anymore.
T-Ko turns over. "What's he doing?"
"He's playing. He's completely playing..." We listen to him make his screetchy funny sounds.
"Unbelievable." I say, "I feel clueless. It's been 7 months, and I literally have no idea what to do. I mean, this is ridiculous."
"You want me to ground him?" He jokes as he throws his arms around me.
"I don't know. What does the book say?" I say sarcastically.
"Fuck the book."

6:50 A.M.
Baby-Ko is wide awake. T-Ko gets him from his crib, changes his diaper and gives him a bottle before handing him off to me.
"Good morning, Mommy!" T-Ko says as he carries Baby-Ko into our bedroom and lays him down next to me.
"Hi, my love," I say half asleep. Baby-Ko smiles from cheek to cheek and rolls over and pats my face. "Wake up, mommy," I say kissing his forehead. He rolls in closer and grabs a big chunk of my hair. "Owww!" I say trying to undo his grip. He giggles.
He let's go of my hair but he's looking at me, waiting for me to say it again... "OWW. OWW!"
He's bursts out laughing again. "Your mommy is so funny!" I tell him. "Owww!"

He continues to laugh as we play all morning. What does the book to say about THAT?

April 18, 2008


As I pushed the stroller past the windows at Trader Joe's today, I caught a reflection of myself and for some reason the reality hit:

It's been 6 Days since I have pumped and 10 days since Baby-Ko has nursed.

I am officially done with breastfeeding.

I pushed Baby-Ko through the doors of the Hawaiian flared market and suddenly all the cheap, non-preservative, goodies it has to offer started to taunt me. "You are not breastfeeding anymore, lady, you do not get to eat me. You will not burn extra calories just by feeding your child. You will not get to have 'just one more cookie' after your midnight pumping session 'just because.' And you will certainly not be able to use the excuse of being exhausted because you are nursing and it's so much pressure, whah whah whah... Face it, THE PARTY IS OVER."

I bee-lined straight to the produce area (despite the fact that Traders is the shittiest place for produce). As I searched for the pre-packaged Country Italian Salad (my fav), a tinge of sadness came over me. For the past 7 months, I haven't looked at one nutrition label, haven't thought about fat, calories, sugar, or sodium. I have eaten to my heart's content AND still managed to lose all my pregnancy weight, and fit (okay, squeeze) back in to my size 27 jeans. Breastfeeding has been like a miracle drug and for selfish reasons only, I will miss it.

Who am I kidding? I tell myself as I ignore the best pita chips known to man. I hated breastfeeding! There were times that I secretly wished my milk would dry up so I would have no excuse but to give Baby-Ko formula. Plus, my chest is a fucking mess. All the stretch marks that should have gone to obvious places like my stomach and ass have ended up creating quite a lovely and astonishing pattern on my breasts. My areolas have gotten so large that one more month of nursing, a spear through my nose and a cloth over my crotch, I'd seriously be mistaken for a feature in National Geographic. Call me Ngudu. No joke.

As I pass all the cases of Two Buck Chuck, I realize something else: MOMMY CAN DRINK AGAIN. And not just a little glass here or there. I can get drunk! Yeehaw! Okay, fine. I probably won't get smashed, at least not while I'm taking care of Baby-Ko, but the point is I can drink and not worry about it affecting the baby-

Oh, the baby... My sweet baby who is staring at the lights and ceiling fans with amazement. What if I cut him off too soon? What if breast milk is so much better for him and the formula is poison? What if I should have tried harder and nursed for a whole year instead of 6 1/2 months? WHAT IF-

I stop myself. Baby-Ko is giggling and flirting with the cashier while trying to put his foot in his mouth. Oh my god, When did he get so big? When did he develop this little personality? When did he get to be so much fun?? My guilt has been diverted. The party is far from over. Clearly, it is just beginning....

April 13, 2008


This past weekend, my Nana drove up from Leisure World (a lovely retirement community down in Laguna) to see
Baby-Ko. Sunday, happened to mark my Papa's yarzheit so it was nice for her to spend the day with me and the baby, my Mom and Aunt N as well.

Nana: So, I have announcement.
Mom: What?
Nana: I went on a date.
All: What??! With who??
Nana: His name is H. We’ve sat next to each other at temple for years. His wife died 6 weeks ago.
Me: Six weeks ago?? Jesus. Isn’t that a little fast?
Nana/Aunt: No… no…
Nana: Honey, his wife was been sick for a long time.
Aunt: Men move on so fast.
Me: Okay, I guess. So how did he ask you out?
Nana: Well, he called me a few weeks ago…
Me: Which means his wife had literally just died…
Nana: It’s not like that, honey. He called and asked me if I would like to take a drive to go see the Ranunculus…
Me: Oh, that’s a line.
Nana: … Down in San Diego. I said, ‘Oh! I’d love to but I have plans. Maybe another time.’
Me: Did you really have plans?
Nana: Well, yes, but I’m not interested in dating either.
Aunt: Oh, mom, why not?!
Nana: I just, I don’t know. But then last week I thought ‘what the heck’ and I called him and said I was free if he wanted to take a drive….
Mom: How old is he?
Nana: Dear, he’s an old man. He’s 86 years old!
Me: That’s the pot calling the kettle…
Nana: Cut it out. I’m only 78.
Aunt: Is he handsome?
Mom: Is he rich?
Nana: Yes, he’s very nice looking. He has a very nice face. One of the best-looking fellows in Leisure World. But nothing like your father… he was gorgeous.
Me: Does he smell?
Mom: What? Like Old spice?
Me: No, like old man… Vicks vapor rub.
Mom: Does he dress nice?
Nana: Yes, he’s always very sharp.
Aunt: So, what’s the problem then mom??
Nana: He’s old! I don’t want to take care of another old man.
Me: Tell us about the date.
Nana: He came to pick me up and we drove down to San Diego.
Mom: Is he a good driver?
Nana: He’s fine.
Me: Oy.
Nana: We went to San Diego, and went to a place overlooking the Ranunculas-
Me: Like make out point-
Nana: …and then we went to a lovely lunch afterwards and drove back.
Mom: How nice.
Nana: When we got back to my house, he walked me inside –
Aunt: Did you hug or kiss?
Nana: No, nothing. He walked me inside and said, ‘You know, we’re not an item.’ I said, ‘Of course, we’re not an item. We’re just friends.’ And that was that.
Me: Who says ‘item’?
Aunt: Well, in this day and age, Mom, you don’t have to be an “item” to have sex.
Nana: What? No! No one’s having sex, dear. I’m done with that.
Me: Really. I doubt Leisure World is hopping with sex bunnies.
Aunt: So have you talked to him since?
Nana: Well, I sent him a thank you note-
Mom: A thank you note??
Me: What?! Why?!
Nana: It was a simple thank you for the date.
Mom: That’s so passive aggressive.
Me: That’s a little much, Nana. Especially if you’re not interested. Send an email instead.
Nana: He doesn’t have AN internet.
Me: THE internet.
Nana: I can't email him anyway. I can't find my yahoo.
Me: Apparently either can he!
Nana: Well, he called me two days later and asked me out for dinner.
Aunt: Talk about mixed messages.
Mom: Did you go?
Nana: No, I had tickets to the symphony so I said, “Oh, what a shame. I always love a free meal-“
Mom: You said you ‘always love a free meal?!’ Mom!
Nana: I know! Isn’t that awful?! So I called him back after I said that-
Aunt: Oh, mom! No!
Nana: I called him back and got his voice machine-
Me: Who says ‘voice machine’?
Nana : -and said that I really shouldn’t have said that and I would love to go to dinner.
Mom: Well, that’s the end of that.
Nana: No, he called me back and left a message on MY voice machine asking me for dinner plans this evening (but I’m here).
Aunt: So, will you call him back?
Nana: Well, sure. But I’m leaving on Friday for Europe and won’t be back for 3 weeks so I’ll have to see him when I get back.
Mom: Don’t worry, he’ll move on by then.
Aunt: Especially if you’ll never put out.
Nana: No, never.
Aunt: Why not? You’re not dead.
Nana: Honey, men that age don’t have sex anymore.
Mom: Sure, they do.
Aunt: Ever heard of Viagra? Cialis?
Nana: No, dear. You don’t understand, they all have heart conditions.
Me: Oy, that shit would kill them.
Nana: Exactly. That’s why I’d only date a man with a heart condition….
Me: To avoid having sex…? Ha.
Aunt: Well, there’s other things you could do you know?
Nana: Like what?
Mom: Uh, does he have arthritis???
Me: Carpal Tunnel???
Aunt: Lockjaw???
Nana: Oh! Stop!! It’s not going to happen. Can’t you understand that he’s too old? I don’t want to see a man that old naked. He’s an old geezer.
Me: Papa, alev hashalom, was an old geezer too.
Nana: But he was MY old geezer....

...and is very much missed. *

April 9, 2008


Recently, a friend (okay, my therapist), told me about this group called Mom's Club. It's a national organization that has chapters in literally every neighborhood and it's for stay at home moms; they have playgroups, mom's night out, activities, etc. Baby-Ko and I already go to a very popular Mommy & Me class every week (more on this one later for sure), but I thought it might be nice to get to know some other moms in my neighborhood since many of my baby-mama friend's live on the Westside (lucky bitches).

But this morning I started to have doubts about wanting to commit to something else, let alone a "Club." I've always had "groups" of friends, but never really joined a group or club that needed a label. Well, that's not true. In second grade, I started "The Reflex" Club. It was a group committed to making dance routines to Duran Duran and Wham during recess. I'm pretty sure I was the only member.

I wondered, as I slipped on my brown "fuicy" (fake Juicy) sweatsuit and tied a scarf around my unbrushed hair, if the Mom's Club had rules on dress or appearance. I remembered that the woman who was coordinating this "Meet & Greet" sent me some sort of RULES or waiver I needed to sign if I wanted to join Mom’s Club. Was it like:


The MCC (Mom's Club Coordinator) told me to meet at them at this outdoor shopping center- next to the pond. When I got there, I realized I had no idea who I was looking for. So I waited at table over-looking the pond and hoped that I would recognize these women by some sort of defining "club trait" - like purple hats or sorority letters. I fed Baby-Ko and just as I was about to leave, the MCC along with two other mom's and their kids came and introduced themselves. I don't know what it was, but I didn't get a great vibe from them.

I sat with them and made small talk while they ate their lunches, but when the MCC's 3 year old decided to DUMP rice on the ground to get the birdies to come, I knew that was my cue. I HATE BIRDS. No, seriously, it's a repulsion so deep that it teeters on crazy. As the birds started to gather, my heart started to race. I think I clutched Baby-Ko too hard and he whimpered. FINALLY. An excuse to leave, I thought.

"Oh, poor guy. " I said kissing Baby-Ko. "Are you so tired? Yes... You missed your nap today" I said loudly so they would hear me. But no one was listening. They were busy running after their kids who were chasing after the rats with wings (Dear God, I hope Baby-Ko never does that). This was my perfect opportunity to hit the road. But I knew it wasn’t polite to just leave without saying good-bye, so I figured I'd go order lunch (to go) and say goodbye after.

As I quickly stuffed Baby-Ko into the Snap 'N Go, one of their kids tapped me on the shoulder and said, "The Ducks are fighting in the pond over a baby duck."
"Oh... That's... really... wow..." I said not even looking up. Sorry, kid, but you lost me at "Duck."

I grab my diaper bag and just as I am about to make a break for it, I hear SCREAMING at the pond.
"Help!! Help!! Oh my god!” CHAOS HAS ERRUPTED. Children of all ages and parents are now gathered at the edge of the pond.
Someone shouts, "Do something! Do something!" I assume that one of the club member's unruly children has fallen in, so I quickly push the stroller over to see what happened.

I get to the pond and the next thing I see is the MCC – yanking off her shoes, tossing her baby to another mom and jumping INTO THE POND. All of a sudden, she YANKS out a TURTLE. Everyone SCREAMS.

The Turtle is EATING A BABY DUCK and the MCC is trying to pry it out of the turtle's mouth!

I vomit slightly in my mouth and turn away. This club is SOOOO not for me.

Now before you go calling me heartless, please understand that at this point, the scene was more reminiscent of a "When Good Times Go Bad" video than a heartwarming, educational "Crocodile Hunter" program. I turn again and see the MCC shaking the turtle and then look at all the children standing on the bridge screaming in horror and push Baby-Ko into the restaurant.

Inside the restaurant, I catch my breath and wonder how I will politely decline membership. As I wait for my order to go, two young boys (who had been standing on the bridge minutes earlier watching the scene unfold) stand next to their mother, who has a FABULOUS PURSE. I consider asking her where she got it but realize it would be in better taste to ask about the duck.

"Do you know if she saved the duck?" I ask.
The women shakes her head "no..." Her son adds, "The turtle ate it! It died!"
The other son adds, "Yeah, they threw it in the trash!"
"Ooh..." I say shuddering.
"You asked!" The mom says laughing.
Needless to say, I am not joining the save the duck/ mom's club. But if anyone is interested in “The Reflex,” we are currently taking new members...

April 4, 2008


Everyone always warns you that when you have babies your sex life goes down the tubes and pretty much ceases to exist. And while I normally wouldn't discuss our sex life with anyone, let alone millions of strangers on the internet (okay fine, just my sister who is the only person I know reading this), something happened to us last weekend that made me understand that warning that our friends heeded....

T-Ko had gotten us, and a bunch of friends, tickets to go to the Dodgers game at the Coliseum marking their 60th anniversary in Los Angeles. We both grew up in L.A. rooting for Dodger blue so we were both pretty excited, especially T-Ko. He has a bunch of Dodger gear that he had taken out for the game but was most excited to wear a Sandy Koufax jersey that a friend had given him from this famous store in Philadelphia. I have no idea the name or of it's importance, but apparently it's very cool and very special. Whatever, maybe it's like getting a real Hermes scarf at the Hermes store in Paris.... I don't know.

Anyway, the game was scheduled for Saturday night so we made arrangements to have my mom come and baby-sit. We told her to be at our house by 3ish so we could get ready and leave early since traffic would surely be a nightmare. Well, at like
2:45pm we put Baby-Ko down for a nap and T-Ko seized the opportunity and asked if there was any time for a "quickie."
With my mom possibly minutes away, I asked, "How quick?"
"Quick. Trust me."
Fine. Count me in. My hair still needed straightening and I remembered there were some stray hairs on my brows that needed tweezing that I had noticed earlier in the day. Stadium lights are brutal. I have things to do.

Just as T-Ko and I get our party started, we heard KEYS in the front door. T-Ko froze.
"Grammy’s here!" My mom yelled from the living room. DUH! She has her own set of keys!
"Shit!" T-Ko jumped up and ran into our bathroom. I quickly ran to my door and peeked my head out to my mom and tried to whisper, "Baby's sleeping. We're, um, getting dressed. We'll be right out. Baby's sleeping..." I said again so that she wouldn't be tempted to go check on Baby-Ko since his room is next to ours.
My mom shrugged and I shut the door. Phew. Operation quickie back in effect. Let's proceed.
"C'mon. Let's do it. " I said to T-Ko on a mission. "She thinks we're getting dressed."
"But what if she can she hear us?" T-Ko said like a high school boy about to get caught.
"I don't know... Just pretend we're talking about what we're going to wear... "
"Okay," he said and we RESUMED.
"So-what-should-I-wear?" I said mechanically.
"Um...I don't..." T-Ko was having a hard time playing the game.
"Jeans and a sweater. Or sweatshirt...?"
"Sweatshirt!" He was "pretending" a little too loud.
"Shhh!" I giggled. "Okay. Sweatshirt. What about you?"
"My jersey..." He trailed off.
"Oh, your jersey..." Shit, I was trailing off too.
"My jersey..."
"Yes, your jersey. Your jersey....” Playing pretend was getting tougher by the second. "Which one?"
"What??" Poor T-Ko. "I don't-"
"You should wear your Koufax one... Wear your Koufax one... Your Koufax...."
"That's it?" I whispered. T-Ko shot me a look.
"Sorry. I mean, great!" I added, "You should definitely wear your Sandy Koufax one."
We quickly kissed, and then high fived and got (re)dressed. My mom (until now. Sorry, mom) never suspected a thing.

Well, tonight we've got plans to grab margaritas and dinner with Charlie, Sara and G-Rat. T-Ko's putting Baby-Ko to sleep now and we might have a few minutes to spare before my in-laws get here to baby-sit. And while Sandy Koufax kind of sex is a far cry from our good 'ol days, at least it's something. Besides, tonight T-Ko can stay an extra "inning" if he needs to... My in-laws don't have keys to our house.

April 2, 2008


As I was searching through Baby-Ko's book shelf today, trying to find something to read to him other than Goodnight Moon and US Weekly (shut up, he loves it), I stumbled upon a series of Jewish Books for children that someone gave to him at his bris (as if he really felt like reading that day). They're called Sammy the Spider's First _____ (Passover, Hanukkah, Sukkot, etc). Despite the fact that Purim was two weeks ago, I thought a little story about Queen Esther and Mordechai might be a bit more exciting than The Runaway-slit-my-wrists-crying-Bunny.

There are obviously reasons why Purim is an important holiday for the Jews, but because I didn't pay very much attention in Hebrew school, you will not be privy to that information in this post. Besides, for me, Purim was, and will always be about one thing and one thing only: GOLDFISH. Winning a goldfish at a Purim Carnival for a Jewish child is seriously like a rite of passage. You go to the carnival not to see who is wearing the best costume, you go to dunk your fat Hebrew teacher in the tank and win a shitty Goldfish. Then you come home with the shitty goldfish in the shitty plastic bag and dump it into the shitty bowl with shitty rocks that you had already from the Goldfish you won the year before (and the year before that).

I was never very good at taking care of my fish. I hated to clean the bowl and forgot to feed them on a regular basis. They always died a few weeks or months after I brought them home, but year after year, I would make it my goal to win one. Finally, one Purim though, I walked into the house with the fish in the plastic bag and my mom looked at me and said, "Oy, not again!"
"I know, I know, " I said and walked straight into the bathroom and dumped the goldfish into the toilet and FLUSHED.

That was the last Goldfish I ever owned. Fortunately, in a few years the tradition will start all over again and Baby-Ko will come marching in one day with his Purim prize. Hopefully, he'll have a better sense of responsibility than I did, but I'll leave
the toilet lid up for him just in case...