An Out-of-this-World Kids' Show

Outer space is one of many things I know almost nothing about but am wildly interested in. Who doesn't want to know how many degrees it is on Venus? (900 degree F) Or what Mars is made of? (Rust) And since Primo’s second-favorite category of scientific inquiry is outer space (come on, nothing trumps chemistry), I decided to take him to the American Museum of Natural History on Sunday for one of the museum’s education programs called Dr. Nebula’s Planetary Vacation.

It was one of those times I feel supremely lucky to be a New York parent (circling the Upper West Side for 40 minutes beforehand looking for parking and then caving and using the insanely expensive lot, however, was one of the times I felt just the opposite).

The show is really top-notch, with a perky, dynamic woman playing the part of Scooter, Dr. Nebula’s lab assistant, and leading the kids in an hour-long exploration of our galaxy. It’s really interactive which keeps the kids engaged, even though what she’s covering is pretty sophisticated stuff. Or, I should qualify, it was sophisticated for me. To hear the kids respond to her questions, you’d think it was material they’d covered in nursery school. Seriously, kids today are so flipping smart.

Scooter would ask questions like: “Earth, Mars, Mercury and Venus are all made out of the same thing – what do you think it is?” and I’d be like, “Oh man, that’s a hard one. I’ve got nothing. Zip.” And about twenty kids would shout out, “Rock,” which was one hundred percent right.

Then she’d say, “Pluto isn’t made of rock or gas. What do you think it’s made of?” And I’m WRACKING my brain, totally clueless, for real, and this little 4 or 5 year-old goes, “Ice.”

Ice? Really? That wouldn’t have even been my sixth or seventh guess. I would have guessed plastic or polyester first.

“How many moons does Jupiter have? You, in the striped shirt.”

“Sixty three.”

“That’s absolutely correct!”

What are you people TEACHING your children at home?

But I know its not some super-secret science Kumon that’s infiltrating the pre-K crowd but just that kids are so unfettered by their inner critic, it allows them to be totally open to learning and thus, genius. I know this because Primo also knew all this stuff which I’ve never taught him, and which I am fairly certain his school has not even touched upon. He knew for instance that Mars is the planet fourth-farthest from the sun. So he got to be the one to put Mars on the Velcro map that Scooter was building with audience participation. He was thrilled. Big highlight.

After the planetary chart was complete, and Scooter had shared many fascinating facts about our galaxy (did you know that Uranus is comprised, in part, of methane, the gas found in cow’s farts? Don’t you feel just a little superior knowing that?) she set about making a comet. This was my favorite part. But please don’t try it at home kids: Mommy doesn’t want you getting into the ammonia and dry ice.

The show ended with Scooter constructing a planetary model using the audience as planets and asteroids and the sun, fitting these huge paper maiche planet hats on the kids and situating them around the theater. It rocked.

On the ride home, Primo told David all about the sulfuric acid on Venus and how Pluto’s orbit is highly irregular and that there is reason to believe there may be life on Mars.

Even David agreed it was worth forty minutes of looking for parking.

Underwear on the outside and other forms of fun

We had one of those All-About-the-Kids weekends where I basically functioned as a chauffeur, ushering the children from one diverting event to the next. Except that since we live in New York, I’m a chauffeur without a car, so it is my body that does the labor -- pushing the stroller, carrying the child on piggyback or dragging them forward by the hand, since their natural rate of walking is about twenty feet an hour. Add onto that the snow, 20 degree weather and the fact that all of us have been hit with a whopper of a late-winter cold and you get one cranky mommy on Monday morning.

Saturday was back-to-back- birthday parties, culminating in a dinner party where Primo had the time of his life playing with the daughters of my high school best friend. Apparently, the time of his life hinges on him wearing his underwear on the OUTSIDE of his pants so that he looks like a superhero. The upside of having a five year-old is when you go to dinner parties of friends with kids, they can all vanish into the basement and play together happily without your direction. The downside is that sometimes this playing involves the brief removal of all of their clothes.

Seconda, meanwhile, had the time of her life with the best playmate she’s ever had – herself. Her favorite pastime now is to carry on long and involved conversations with herself. Other people talk to her but she shuns them in favor of this internal repartee. It is as though she is so woefully disappointed by the conversational skill other people display that she’s resorted to just picking up their slack and playing their part too. Usually these conversations involve her berating and belittling characters like the evil stepmother from Snow White, or when she’s in a more magnanimous mood, reciting a list of all the things they cannot do.

“I’m sorry but you CAN’T have any mac n’ cheese stepmudder because you are TOO evil. No no no, you just can’t . . . if you say that one more time, I’m gonna give you a TIME OUT. No! Stepmudder you are driving me NUTS!”

Am I concerned about the fact that my daughter
A. Is fixated on the evil characters from every story?
B. Has well-developed conversations with them?

No, I am not. Because at least she’s not eating my lipstick or painting her face with nail polish..

I have noticed that her imaginary conversations have become more hostile, almost bordering on abusive lately. This corresponds to the fact that she’s been experimenting with telling me and others that she “hates” them and though I’m not one for censorship I consider hate more or less a curse word when it comes to leveling it against real people. The same goes for “shut up.” Is there anything more of a horror show that your 2 year-old telling you to “Shut up!” It’s worse than the f-bomb. So we shut that down right away.
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But now she’s figured out a loophole, and that is to use all this nasty language with her imaginary friends, and I can’t really object to that, now can I, since they are A. homicidal maniacs and B. pretend?

“SHUT UP URSULA! You’re a BAD sea witch and I hate you!!!! If you don’t SHUT UP, I’m gonna kick you! BAAAAAD URSULA who I HAAAAAATE!!!!!”

Everyone needs a catharsis.

It is an honor just to be nominated

for Babble's Top 50 Mommy Bloggers

Even if I only have a single vote (which incidentally, I do).

This is an underdog story, folks. Can the blog that you now find on page 9, number four hundred and something, make it to page 8 or do I dare to dream, page 7??

I should add that though I am on the last page when you search by popularity, I am on the very FIRST page when you search alphabetically. So, I am a forerunner in that respect.

It is an honor just to be nominated. But it would be an even bigger honor to have more votes than I have hands.

No pressure.
You can vote here.

A System

For the past few months, David and I have been living in a never-ending episode of SuperNanny, except minus the nanny and the hope she holds for order and peace. I am speaking especially about our little one, who has taken the Terrible Twos way too far. The way that she destroys things -- from my lipsticks to her brother’s masterpieces to the fish’s habitat – and the way she refuses to do any of the things that are required to keep her in decent health – such as sleep, eat and shit – combined with the way she emits blood curdling wails when she is unpleased – all of that adds up to one serious Reign of Terror.

So a few months ago, I read on our local listserv about this useful system other parents were using for behavior management. I like Systems. Systems are structured and unyielding. Systems are consistent and fair and nonnegotiable. And this particular one, called the Voucher System, had even more. It had hard, cold numbers.

It’s basically the same as a points system or a sticker chart where positive acts – chores, sharing, good listening, brushing teeth and getting dressed, etc – get assigned a specific value, in terms of points. Negative actions – hitting, rudeness, not listening, refusing to clean up – also are assigned a point value. And then rewards – special dessert, trip, activity or toy – are assigned a point value and can be redeemed when enough positive points have been accumulated.

Orderly. Fair. Nonnegotiable.

The first time we introduced the system, it worked wonders . . . for a week or so. When Primo finally earned the Air-Dry Clay he wanted, he sort of lost interest. Unfortunately, it failed to entice the child we really need help with, Seconda – who is immune to bribes or threats. But we recently re-introduced the system because the old Ipod shuffle that Primo’s been listening to at bedtime has finally busted and we want to get him another Ipod but we also want him to earn it, because, hey, that’s one BIG gift.

So back go the charts and the kid’s been racking up points faster than a gambler on a winning streak. Right now, you can win big in our house if you go to sleep and get les than three warnings in the process. That’s 10 points right there. Hell, I’m ready to make it 50, I’m so desperate for a bedtime that takes under two hours.

But the other day, one of Primo’s friends from school came over for a playdate and when his mom came by to pick him up, Primo ran over to her with a piece of paper on which he had drawn lines and serious-looking instructions.

Then he explained what it was he was giving her:

“This is a VOUCHER System. If Denny does something good, you give him points here and he can get a toy, or some licorice or an ITouch. But if he does something bad, you have to take points away, on this side and he CAN”T get any of that stuff. OK?”

I found the whole thing very embarrassing. I mean, had I explained our system it would have sounded much more nuanced and friendly and progressive but really, Primo is right, this is what it is.

Alfie Kohn would be MORTIFIED. But what can I tell you? It seems better than screaming at your kids and empty threats and ineffective time-outs. I don’t think the punishment/ reward system is ideal but I really don’t know how a normal (not Superhuman) parent with normal (not Stepford) kids can realistically operate under anything different. With two fire-craker, high-maintenance kids, modeling good behavior and treating them like the kids I hope they will become just doesn’t cut it. Input? Ideas? Any tips for other Systems a system-addicted mother like me can look into?

Emu fat? Seriously?

I know my New Year’s resolutions should probably address ways in which I can improve myself on a fundamental level, like how to be a better citizen of the world and how to be more patient and magnanimous. But the truth is, most of my resolutions center on how to give myself a gradual, comprehensive makeover. The superficial kind. So first step: exercise! You heard how the Pilates class is going.

Second order of business: I am launching a campaign on my face. It is called Stop the Wrinkles.

Let me hasten to make myself seem less vain. Up until a few months ago, I never, ever gave wrinkles a passing thought. In retrospect, it’s probably because I haven’t taken a close look in a mirror in several years. But whatever the reason, I haven’t been worried about it. My mom and aunt and grandmother look pretty good and they never had plastic surgery or used any fancy creams. But in late November, when I was getting ready for my high school reunion, a process which requires one to be utterly self-critical and unforgiving, I noticed them.

I wouldn’t even say they are wrinkles per se, just a general loss of tautness in the epidermis (that’s my euphemism for “saggy face syndrome”).

At first, I thought something was wrong. I lifted my brow a bit to apply eyeshadow and when I let go, it did not spring back into a perky position like it used to. It just fell

“Why is my eyebrow DOING that?” I asked myself in the mirror. But myself did not have the answer.

I tried again – lifted the eyebrow so it looked like it was supposed to – Perky! Awake! Ready for fun! -- and then let it go.

“WHO DOES MY EYEBROW KEEPING FALLING DOWN?” I yelled.

David walked over to see if there was a real problem.

“What’s going on?”

“My eye is droopy!” I shouted.

He gave me a look which said, “Yeah, just as I suspected, self-induced nervous breakdown,” and walked away.

I finished applying my makeup as quickly as possible and darted off to meet my high school girlfriends to go to the reunion. On the subway over, we all talked about the dreaded Attack of the Wrinkles. Everyone, it appeared, had noticed some sign of them and nobody was happy.

My good friend Miriam confessed she’s been using emu fat on her skin at night,

“Its great,” she said, “and I think its making a difference. But it’s really expensive.”

I could not get over the fact that she was so blasé about coating her face in emu fat.

“Where did you even HEAR about this? Does everyone know about the benefits of emu fat but me? Is this a thing now?”

If I don’t know about emu fat, God knows what else I’m missing out on that is critical to the preservation of my epidermal tautness.

And that’s what I am asking you, readers. Fill me in. Right now, I do jack in the way of facial upkeep except wash my face every night before bed. Is it time for some wrinkle cream? Is it really necessary to take out a second mortgage to pay for the stuff? Does any of it really work or does it makes us feel a little less helpless as time soldiers on?

Networking: a pain-free approach (hint: go heavy on the cupakes)

It's February first but my New Years’ resolution momentum has not petered out yet. And since I spent most nights last year passed out in a stupor of fatigue, watching Project Runway re-runs, I have decided that this year will be Say Yes! Year. So last night, I said "Yes!" last night to an event hosted my Momasphere. The evite promised

Wine

Jazz

Networking

Cupcakes

I could take or leave the first three but when I saw the cupcakes, I knew it was meant to be. And I admit to having spent a good twenty minutes of my supposed-to-be-networking time planted in front of the Nine Cakes station, devouring bite-sized morsels of sheer delight and raving about them, with my mouth full to the baker who made them. How could I resist strawberry rosewater cupcakes with edible silver pearls fashioned from chocolate-covered puffed rice? You’d have to be a cyborg with no human feeling to say No to carrot cupcakes or the double chocolate ones, with gorgeous little purple flowers on top.

But I did stuff besides eating cupcakes. I also drank wine from bottles that had customized labels featuring the artwork of local Brooklyn artists from Brooklyn Oenology. (Quick show of hands: who knows how to pronounce that word, out loud? Isn’t there a law against that many vowels, all in a row?)

I was reminded that you are always rewarded for getting off your lazy ass and being a joiner when I ran into my best friend from high school there; she works with this amazing organization called Children of the City, who’ve been in Sunset Park for 28 years and offer support – educational, counseling, at-home visits -- to at-risk kids in the city, to break the cycle of poverty. You can donate or volunteer here (if Gwenyth Paltrow’s on board, then you know you better be, too).

But I didn’t just stuff my face with cupcakes and alcohol while listening to how others are actually doing things to better the world. No, sir. I also networked. And I’ll give it to those ladies at Momasphere and PSP Career Networking, it was pretty painless.

See, typically, if I had to choose between getting dental work done and networking, I’d go for the dental work. I understand meeting people is important and rewarding but it takes a special person to know how to break into a conversation that’s in full awing and stick yourself right into it, or how to excuse yourself gracefully from a tete a tete that’s run its course. I’m just not gifted in that way. But the ladies in charge of this little soiree did a bang-up job of pairing up people in the same industry and making introductions, thus making the networking rather easy, in fact.

In the spirit of networking night, I’ll share a tip I learned recently:

1. You can take honesty too far. Refrain from asking others if they ever considered using a little splash of their baby’s breast milk bottle in their morning coffee, when they ran out of milk. I know WE can talk about that stuff, but you shouldn’t do it during networking.

(Incidentally . . . have you considered it? I never actually DID it but I can’t drink coffee without milk and I do need coffee in the morning so there were a few close calls. Then I realized I could just buy Coffee Mate and life got a lot saner.

Happy Dodgeball

If there is a minute or two left over after the end of karate class, the Sensei often lets the class play “Happy Dodgeball.” After Primo’s first taste of "Happy Dodgeball" he confessed that he really didn’t care for it. I told him that I didn’t either. In fact, no sane person I know does. The senseis must know this because they felt the need to give dodgeball a friendly face by prefacing it with a positive word.

But, lets face it, if you have to stick the word “Happy” before something, the thing probably sucks.

I mean, would you buy it if the dentist told you that you needed a “Happy Root Canal!”

Or you found out you had the “Happy Swine Flu!”

Or it was time to do your “Happy Taxes!”

Come on, man. If someone’s gonna throw a ball at you, they should pay you and not the other way around. Am I right?