The Voicemail Message Meddler

You know what annoys the hell out of me? When you’re leaving a message on someone’s voicemail, and in the middle of a perfectly normal and uneventful message, the phone suddenly cuts you off and you hear this:

“If you would like to send this message, press 1. To continue recording, press 2. To erase and re-record, press 3.”

I will now address each sucky option one by one.

1. It goes without saying that I do not want to send a message that I was in the middle of recording. Does the Message Meddler who cut me off really think that my husband wants to hear, “I need to talk to you immediately: there is something terribly wrong with ----“ And even if there was not important info to convey, I’d like to think my messages have a structure, a certain unfolding aspect, and I don’t want to end my message opus in the middle of the second act, for crying out loud.

2. The most expeditious option would appear to be “continue recording” but there is a problem with that too. Once the Message Meddler has rambled on and on explaining my various options, I have no friggin’ idea where I left off speaking. If the phone would play back the last five seconds of your message and allow you access to your train of thought, then that would be a viable plan. But I’m getting on in years, folks, and I no longer have total recall.

3. I always end up taking the third option. The worst part of the third option is that when the voicemail cuts me off and drops the not-so-subtle hint that I might want to consider erasing and re-recording, I realize what a lousy message I was leaving. I am actually embarrassed, like the Message Meddler is a real person who has heard me record this bumbling, redundant message, riddled with, “yeah, so , , “ and “ummmmm, OK , , , “ ending with “God, this is a really long message.” Whenever you realize, mid-message, that you are leaving an overly lengthy message and then feel that it will improve the message to further prolong the misery by stating this out loud, that’s when you know you’ve botched things up badly. And I can’t help feeling that the Message Meddler is thinking, “I can’t in good conscience allow this woman to leave this train wreck of a message to burden someone’s voicemail,” so she aborts mission and offers me another shot.

So I press 3, collect myself and get right to the point. I am precise, communicating succinct nuggets of information with small doses of humor and pizzaz. The second time around, I leave brilliant messages. In point of fact, it would probably be best if the phone always cut me off and offered me a re-do. But the thing is, I wouldn’t have even realized what a crappy message I was leaving if the phone hadn’t made it a federal case. Ignorance is bliss.

Am I the only one who is driven to total neuroticism and self-flagellation by the voicemail cutoff? Or maybe I’m the only one it happens to? Does the Message Meddler leave all you people alone?

We can't all write like 5 year-olds

I love Axe Cop

It is a comic written by a five year-old boy and illustrated by his 29 year-old brother. Characters are named things like "Bobber and Gobber Smartist" and "Avocado Soldier" and "Baby Man." Evil wrong-doers put poison drops on candy canes and there is amnesia caused by walking backwards into a wall.

I gotta introduce Primo to this Malachai boy. They are like soulmates.

Sleep Giggle

My daughter is now 3 years old but that doesn’t mean she is sleeping through the night., Every night sometime between 1 and 4, she wakes and though David used to be the designated Sec-soother, she has started to reject him lately which means either

1. David picks her up and brings her into our bed, so she sleeps with us all night kicking David so violently he moves into her bed ( Although I do have superkeen hearing,-I have trained my body to feel nothing in sleep so, as long as they were silent, a bunch of giants could play volleyball with me in my sleep and I'd never wake up. Its a Darwinian thing, like my ability to eat a meal in under 5 minutes.)

OR

2. I get up and try to sooth Sec back to sleep, usually falling asleep in bed with her

I’ve always thought that if you had to sleep with your kid for whatever reason, it was a better bet to sleep in their bed rather than vice versa, because you can always get up and leave their bed but just try kicking them out of yours. And that is why Primo hasn’t been in our bed since he was a toddler.

But since we’ve put the two kids in the same room, I’ve realized there is a big problem with me sleeping in bed with one of them. Once I’m in that room, it is as if they can sense my proximity and rouse themselves from sleep to start a tug of war with me. “Mommy!” calls Primo in the top bunk. And as soon as I’ve gotten him back to sleep I hear, “MAMA!” from the bottom bunk, and as soon as I’ve drifted back off its “AHHHHHH!” from the top bunk again, and on and on until morning has mercy and ends my servitude.

But last night something different happened:

As usual, Sec started crying at 3am and I automatically stood up, like a drone, crawled into her bed, slung my arm around her and collapsed into sleep within 30 seconds. Some time later, I was awakened by a strange sound coming from the bunk bed above me.

It was a giggle. A someone-said-the-word-“underpants” kind of giggle. I thought to myself, “Is the kid awake?

Has he just been lying there all night long quietly drawing pictures or talking to himself or something and he’s now giggling about it?” The thought was so unsettling I lay there, wide awake, listening for more sounds.

Then came a louder, more emphatic giggle. An I’m-watching-something-forbidden-on-TV-and-its-really-hilarious giggle.

I lay motionless, poised to bawl that child out.

At the next giggle, I climbed up the ladder to deliver the stern talking-to and found my son totally, completely asleep. Giggling in his sleep.

It filled me with the most delightful, bubbly, happy feeling. Nothing on earth is better than seeing your children happy, especially when they are happy in their subconscious. I wish I could bottle the feeling of hearing his sleep giggle and take a nice long drink of it on the mornings when everyone’s uncooperative and late for school and its raining but we can’t find the umbrella and I forgot to pack lunch and the stroller’s suddenly missing a wheel. The Sleep Giggle High. Ahhh . .

Oscar Night

I’ve had an Oscar party every year since I graduated college but the last one I threw was when Primo was about three months old. I was back to my pre-baby weight by then, and I served h'or d'oeuvres to a packed apartment with the baby in the sling. I thought to myself, “See? This baby won’t stop me from having a life. I can have it ALL!”

That was my last Oscar party. A year later, Primo was walking and my life was basically over. A year after that I had a three week-old baby and my life was definitely over. There would be no more passing h'or d'oeuvres, I tell you that muck.

But this year, as part of my Say Yes! Year I decided it was time to get back on the horse so to speak, back into the business of entertaining. So I negotiated a deal with my grandmother and by “deal” I mean she gave and I took, which is usually the way it goes with my grandmother. Even when you try to make it more equitable because you’re racked with guilt at what a martyr she is, she finds a way to give back what you’ve given, like the blue cashmere sweater my sister and I painstakingly picked out for her one Christmas which ended up returned, and the money slipped into our pockets. So I’ve learned just to take and let her give which is really how she likes it.

She gave us her apartment for the party so we could watch the awards show at an audible volume and not have severe indigestion from hearing the children scream for an hour at bedtime. So she went downstairs to our place and put the kids to bed. She also cooked baked ziti and meatballs for everyone. Before I had even started to get the ingredients together, she had the whole thing done. That’s what happens when you wake at 4:30am to start cooking. So we had a party with prosecco and passion fruit cocktails some of David’s homebrew beer, and if not h'or d'oeuvres, then at least some fancy cheese from Faiway and almond-stuffed olives.

Of the Oscars themselves I will offer the following observations:

How flipping great was it that Jeff Bridges won? I love Jeff Bridges but his performances in Crazy Heart took our one-way relationship to the next level. Last night I shouted, “I am going to marry him!” and my friend Claire remarked, “I thin you already did.” She’s right. David is my Bad Blake post-reformation, and a writer instead of musician. Even better, he is able to buckle his pants when he drives in the car.

Go Catherine Bigelow!! And kudos for not yelling, “James Cameron you can suck it!” in your acceptance speech.

Why was George Clooney wearing such a sour expression on his face all night? Was it because someone had forgotten to fix his hair so he looked like an oldster?

Stand up straight Miley Cyrus! I know your boobs are about to pop out of that gown but – and I don’t mean to sound like you mother but -- perhaps you should have considered that before you stepped on the red carpet.

What the hell happened to Anthony Michael Hall? Did he have some kind of elective reconstructive facial surgery? He doesn’t resemble his former self at all.

I was very un-impressed by the fashion in general. Demi Moore’s gown was stunning though I was totally distracted by the fact that she is 90 lbs sopping wet with a rock in her pocket. Vera Farmiga’s was an abomination and I felt like all the other pones were just . . . whatever.

But the highlight was when I told Primo I wouldn’t be there to tuck him in because I was having an Oscar party, he thought about it for a sec and then he asked, puzzled:

"Why are you having a party for Oscar the Grouch?”

Ewww Mommy

My son hates fruit. When I say hates, I mean an uncontrollable physical aversion including shuddering, grimacing, gag reflex -- the whole nine yards. He always has, ever since he was a baby. He can't stand any kind of fruit at all but citrus is the worst. Give the kid an orange and he will act as though you've handed him a bowl of steaming manure. We took a video of me offering him an orange slice when he was about a year and a half old and everyone who saw it agreed that it was almost a dangerous level of hilarious. So today I present to you . . . "Ewwww Mommy."

As heard through the bathroom door:

Seconda: Wipe my butt!

Primo: No, you didn’t do peepee. Do peepee first.

S: But I did do peepee!

P: Ok, Ok, I will wipe your butt, Come on.

Flush flush.

P: (Whisper) Don’t tell daddy, OK?

S: (whisper) I won’t.

P: DADDY! MOMMY! I WIPED SECONDAS BUTT!

S: OK, now you do a poop.

P: I'm DOING it. You aren't the boss. Leave me alone.

S: OK, I’m gonna wipe your butt Primo.

P: No no no, you can’t! You don’t know how!

S: Yeah, I’m gonna.

Me: SECONDA YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO WIPE ANY BUTTS!

I shudder to think what would happen if we lived in a house bigger than 900 square feet where I wasn't always within earshot of these children.

The Song Surprise Mix

This weekend Primo made his first mix tape for a girl. He woke up Saturday inspired, went right over to his father, music fanatic, and proclaimed "Daddy, I want to make a mix." Then the two of them sat down and David pulled song after song as per Primo's instructions, onto one whopper of a mix CD. Primo named it "The Song Surprise Mic" and is giving it to his best friend who just so happens to be a girl. That's how he sees her at least; on her end, there's been some talk of formalizing the relationship with terms like "boyfriend" and "girlfriend" and she did tell me one time that when they grew up they are going to go on a date.

"Oh, really?" I replied, "What are you going to do on your date?"

"Well it has to be at night, " she explained, "And we're going to take a taxi and go to the MALL."

Clearly, she's wedded to the suburban date destination of the "mall" but clearly also understands that Primo and she are a New York romance, so she added in the taxi part as a compromise. Perfect.

"Sounds cool, " I said, "The Manhattan Mall has a lot of good stores,"

Primo, unversed in the ways of Hannah Montana, doesn't really get the "date" idea, which I confess is a relief. But maybe he understands more than he lets on, because he did make this heartfelt mix tape to slip in her locker -- I mean, cubby -- at school.

Since you all lent such sage advice about children's music when I blogged about it a few months ago, I thought I'd share the setlist with you. Be advised: there is more than a recommended amount of music from the Peter Pan and Alice in Wonderland soundtrack on there, but the kid has a soft spot for Disney classics.

-'Twas Brillig from Alice In Wonderland (Original Soundtrack)

-Following The Leader from Peter Pan

-Philadelphia Chickens by The Bacon Brothers from Philadelphia Chickens

-Down by The Riverside by Dan Zanes, from Night Time!

-Istanbul by They Might Be Giants, from Flood

-Ah Bos Cee Dah by Johnny Cash from The Johnny Cash Children's Album

-Jenny Jenkins by Jerry Garcia & David Grisman from Not For Kids Only

-A Pirate's Life from Peter Pan

-A-E-I-O-U (The Caterpillar Song)from Alice In Wonderland (Original Soundtrack)

-Let Me Roll It by Drive-By Truckers from Uncle Dave's Killer Covers Mix

-Say It (Over And Over Again) by John Coltrane from Ballads

-Back In The USSR by The Beatles from the White Album

-Little Boxes by Pete Seeger from We Shall Overcome: Complete Carnegie Hall Concert

-Loquat Rooftop by Randy Kaplan from Loquat Rooftop

-The Caucus Race from Alice In Wonderland (Original Soundtrack)

-Mermaid Lagoon from Peter Pan

-Old Father William from Alice In Wonderland (Original Soundtrack)

-A-Punk by Vampire Weekend from Vampire Weekend

-Pay Me My Money Down by Bruce Springsteen from We Shall Overcome: The Seeger Sessions

-The Walrus and the Carpenter from Alice In Wonderland (Original Soundtrack)

-All I Have To Do Is Dream by The Everly Brothers from The Everly Brothers' Best