It was an itsy bitsy teeny weeny yellow polka-dot tortellini

I am somewhat amazed by the fact that this will be the third post I’ve written about bikinis in the past week, particularly since it’s the first week of April. But Seconda is wildly obsessed with bikinis: in particular, a hand-me-down pink string bikini which I would have instantly tossed in the garbage if I’d had any idea how much she would have grown to love it.

I’m not the kind of mother who would intentionally buy my four year-old a two-piece over a one-piece. Don’t get me wrong, I love bikinis -- I wouldn’t be caught dead in a one-piece, even now when I risk being asked if I am pregnant again when I am, definitely, not. And it’s not so much that I think they are inappropriate for a little girl. In fact, I don’t think they are inappropriate. If Sec were older, maybe – 7 or 8 – then maybe. But she’s so little now, I don’t find her wearing bikinis, or smearing lipstick over her lips like a crazy clown, or her wearing my high heels inappropriate, because she’s barely out of toddlerhood and she’s just pretending. But I also don’t think it’s necessary. I feel the same way about video games. I’d never introduce the idea to Primo, but when someone else did, I didn’t very well say “No” altogether because if you handle it responsibly, then video games are fine.

My point is that I have no freaking idea how it happened that my daughter has been wearing a pink string bikini nonstop for the past four days. Including to sleep. And to school -- though, at my insistence, under clothes. Every time I turn around, I see that kid undertaking some impish shenanigan in her pink string bikini, including drawing on her bunk beds (“I AM RAPUNZEL AND ITS MY ART GALLERY AND DON”T YOU DARE CLEAN IT OFF, MOTHER GOTHEL!”) and sneakily eating a tiny box full of pink Nerds.

But the best part about the bikini fixation is that she can’t remember the word for bikini. This is a kid that, when my mother asks her if she can pick up the jacket she threw on the floor, will reply “Unfortunately not.” She has no problem with big words but the word “bikini” eludes her completely. Instead, she refers to her preferred swimwear as “her tortellini.”

At first, it was “her ravioli,” It was one of the most formidable communication challenges we’ve ever had, the day I tried to figuring out what the hell she was talking about when she told me next Halloween she wanted to dress up as Ariel in a pink ravioli.

“You want to eat ravioli for Halloween?”

“No Mommy, I want to WEAR IT!”

“You want to wear ravioli? On Halloween?”

“Yes. A pink one.”

“Sure. But why?”

“Because Ariel wears a ravioli with her tail. So I need a tail and a ravioli.”

“OK, I’ll get you a tail and a plate of ravioli.”

“MOMMY YOU ARE DRIVING ME FREAKING CRAZY! I DON”T WANT TO EAT THE RAVIOLI , I WANT TO WEAR IT!”

It was the revelation of the century, really.

After some correcting, she understood that ravioli did not mean bikini. That’s when she switched to a different kind of stuffed pasta. Now its “DID YOU WASH MY PINK TORTELLINI LIKE I ASKED YOU TO MOMMY?” and “I WANT TO PUT MY TORTELLINI ON UNDER MY PRINCESS DRESS!!!”

I don’t like to play favorites but it might be my all time favorite kid-speak ever.

Safety first

Its the time of the year when we're all hitting the beaches and pools and I thought I'd share a link to this article called Drowning Doesn't Look Like Drowning. I found it absolutely terrifying but was glad I read it. Here's the main idea:

The Instinctive Drowning Response – so named by Francesco A. Pia, Ph.D.,
is what people do to avoid actual or perceived suffocation in the water. And
it does not look like most people expect. There is very little splashing,
no waving, and no yelling or calls for help of any kind. To get an idea of
just how quiet and undramatic from the surface drowning can be, consider
this: It is the number two cause of accidental death in children, age 15 and
under (just behind vehicle accidents) – of the approximately *750 children*
who will drown next year, about *375 of them* will do so within 25 yards of
a parent or other adult. *In ten percent of those drownings, the adult
will actually watch them do it, having no idea it is happening* (source:
CDC).

Didn't mean to bum you out at the start of the weekend but forewarned is forearmed.

The Verdict

Continuing my review of city watering holes, so to speak:

Chelsea Waterside Playground, Tuesday 10am

Pros: Its in Manhattan so I automatically feel cooler and more in-the-know, being there. Amazing, avant-guard climbing apparati that reminded me of a playground I took Primo to in Rome when he was a toddler (See how the cosmopolitan experience builds on itself? As soon as I go to Manhattan, I’m remembering my days in Europe). Multiple sprinklers and a very cool-looking mosaic wading pool increase options for water play.

Cons: It’s in Manhattan and I have a tendency to get into fights when we mingle with Manhattanites. Like, I heard some toddler start yelling his head off and Sec runs over to me and a minute later, a nanny marches off with her crying charge and shouts, “DID SHE HIT HIM?” and I said, “I don’t know, did you, Seconda?” And my daughter responded with a look of blind panic which didn’t indicate an answer one way or the other. Bu the child, with no obvious injuries, was standing there a-yelling and a-waiting, and so I told Sec to apologize for potentially hitting the child, but the nanny just kept standing there yelling “DID SHE HIT HIM?” like I was supposed to give her a polygraph or something. That’s Manhattan for you. Also the wading pool was tiny, increasing possibilities for altercations, especially when big kids cannonballed off the sides. Where are THEIR moms or nannies, I ask you?

Grade: B

Red Hook Pool, Wednesday 10:30am

Pros: Everything. Dreamiest of dreams come true. A perfect 10. Five minutes by bus from my place. Across the lawn from Ikea, so if you have a hankering for Swedish meatballs or need a bunch of throw pillows, you’re all set. Clean facilities, courteous park employees there to help you out, an OLYPMIC sized swimming pool so even with 200 people, you’ve got plenty of room, and, in addition to that, a gigunda kiddie pool, 10 inches deep, with all manner of sprinklers inside. Sheer halcyon. And if that wasn’t enough, the people at Red Hook Pool gave us lunch. ALL of us. Chocolate milk and sliced apples and a bologna sandwich on wheat bread. They do this every day apparently. I heart the Hook.

Cons: Doesn’t open ‘til 11, so I have hours upon hours of wakefulness before I can enjoy its watery bliss. Bu that’s why God invented early morning programming for children.

Grade: A+

The verfict?

Fuck the Hamptons.

(that is, unless you’ve got an extra bedroom you’d like to offer up for this weekend, in which case, I was just kidding)

Summer Stay-cation

It is the last week of August and my children and I have reached the point in the summer where we can take no more of the asphalt jungle.

It happens every year. We glide through June, we endure July and by the first week of August we start considering our vacation options. You know, a getaway. By the second week of August, we realize we have no options, lacking money and connections. By the third week of August, truly desperate, we aspire to make some.

“Isn’t there ANYONE we know with a summer place?” I ask David.

“Well there’s Miriam and Larry but they didn’t invite us after last year.”

Yes, that was true. We’d spent two nights at Larry’s mother’s lake-side cabin last year and while uneventful by our standards, I think it was a little draining on our friends, who don’t have kids and are accustomed to a certain level of quiet in their lives.

“How did we graduate from an Ivy League school without making friends with someone who’s got a place in the HAMPTONS????” I shriek.

So while everyone else is cooling off in the natural springs of Colorado or taking dips by the Jersey shore, we are sweltering in cramped quarters with no school and no camp and plenty of deadlines for cranky Mommy.

“These children haven’t been in a pool all summer!” I shout to David, “They haven’t stepped foot on sand. They are under-privileged.”

And that’s when I decided to turn things around. Because there’s absolutely no reason you can’t find sand, surf and chlorinated water, all in the borough of Brooklyn.

First stop of the summer stay-cation agenda:

Double D pool, 4pm, Friday

Pros: Close to home. Kiddie pool. Catchy and titillating name. Free.

Cons: Whoever reviewed this pool online as an “off the beaten path, hidden treasure” must come from a place where 200 people packed into a 10 x 12 area is considered under-capacity. This is neither hidden, nor a treasure. I couldn’t move my damn elbows it was so crowded. And the din which couldn’t help but rise from such a massive gathering was somewhat off-putting to Primo, who is freaked out by swimming to begin with. When I told the boy to hang on to my back so I could hang on to his sister with my front, I got an earful of whistle-blowing. I guess it’s a violation of pool policy, and I get that. It did seem likely he would strangle me and we’d all go down together. But I have to say the teenage rumble happening pool-side did seem to more worthy of whistle blowing than my out-of-necessity-piggy back ride.

Grade: C

Open Swim at the Y, Guest Pass, Monday 3pm

Pros: Perfect temperature water. Clean accommodations. Comfortable locker room with a hair dryer for those of us who will be having a hot date after swimming. Flotation devices up the damn wazoo – I am talking noodles, donuts, infant floaties, kid vests, buggy boards. You name it. And, the dealbreaker – it was totally, deliciously empty.

Within five minutes, my terrified boy had released me from his strangulation hold and was happily kicking around the pool, buoyed up by enough floatation devises to keep a whale above water. Happy as a clam.

Cons: We don’t belong to the Y. We can never go back again.

Grade: A-

Second installment of stay-cation review to be released tomorrow. Stay tuned.