Wegman’s Mystery Solved

Do you guys have feelings about numbers? Even numbers feel safe and cuddly and warm to me. Odd numbers feel dangerous. Multiples of 12 are friendly. Prime numbers are lonely and sad. I wasn’t thrilled to be turning 37, not because I’m worried about getting older (hell of a lot better than the alternative!) but because the number makes me uncomfortable. Especially after the warm fuzzies of the soft and gentle number 36.

While I’m not crazy about the number 37, life as a 37 year old has started off splendidly. Z let me sleep in again. He made me coffee and brought it and presents up to the bedroom. The boys and I cuddled while we waited for him.

I couldn’t wait to open T’s present. What did he get at Wegmans? I was burning with curiosity.

birthday bumblebee

Bumblebee the Transformer.

T got me a Transformer! Because he knew that is what I, um I mean he, wanted more than anything else in the world. I cracked up as I opened it. And as soon as it was out of the packaging I passed it right over to him.

It was kind of confusing. Wegmans is not known for its Transformer section. I looked at Z. “It was all T’s idea. He wanted to get you a Transformer the whole time. But if we said we were going to Target he thought you’d know what the present was. So he suggested we tell you we were going to Wegmans to trick you.”

Dude is four years old. Can I be all annoyingly parent-proud and say that his sophisticated thought process was actually a hugely gratifying birthday present? Even if he will use that trickery for evil soon enough? I was so impressed I couldn’t stop grinning.

Z passed me his present. Which was an awesome scarf I picked out at a craft fair last weekend. I dramatically wrapped it around my neck and told him I loved it. He told me there was something else in the bag. Surprised, I peeked inside.

It was an iPad mini.

I started to cry. Z told me that he’d had some money squirreled away. Definitely not the most responsible course of action. But some days it is pretty fucking fantastic to feel spoiled rotten and loved really hard.


Z’s card. There are 37 growth rings on it. Lovely, right?

It was a perfect day. Our friend came over to watch our boys so we could go to dinner. The restaurant scene in Syracuse is pretty grim. There are some “fine dining” places, but I always leave seething with anger. I don’t mind paying for excellent food, but New York City prices for mediocre? That actually offends me. Z warily asked where I wanted to go a couple of days ago. He hates going out to eat with me in this town because he knows I’ll tear the meal apart and sulk on the drive home. Yup, I’m a real prize. Aren’t you sad I’m not your wife? I suggested Lemon Grass, a Syracuse institution, because I hadn’t been yet.

Best meal I’ve eaten in this town.

The steak was awesome, the bacon app was divine, but the desserts were where the fun was.

raspberry balloon

Red Balloon. It’s raspberry puree frozen with liquid nitrogen on top of an almond sponge cake and some lovely Creme Anglaise.

chocolate pyramid

Chocolate Pyramid. The pyramid was filled with chocolate mousse (ok, it was gritty, but the taste was good). The vanilla ice cream was made in house.

Again, it was a perfect day. Now I can’t wait for Z’s birthday in May. I hope I make his 41st as special as he made me 37th.

grandma's coat

For the first time I wore my Grandma’s old winter coat. My Mom has had it in her closet for decades and she gave it to me a few years ago. I loved it, but just didn’t have the balls to wear it. The best part about getting older? I care less and less what people think. Z pointed out that 25 year old me wouldn’t have been able to handle leaving the house is something so attention grabbing. Man, am I happy not to be 25 anymore. 37 in a fabulous coat feels a million times better.


Birthday Countdown

The boys are at Wegmans. I’m rather buzzed (post sledding hot toddy and cider with dinner. Yes, I’m a cheap date) and blissfully home alone. Z let me sleep in until I woke up both mornings this weekend.

He is being fucking amazing because rather than spend the upcoming week with us he has to work. We really need the money, it is super good he is working. But it was a hard trade off. It was supposed to be family time. I mean, it sucks ass for him as well.

He is also being fucking amazing because my birthday is on Wednesday. I love birthdays. Not just mine, the day of birth of anyone who I care about is an event to me. Celebrating is fun, cakes are delicious, presents are the best. What is not to love?

Z doesn’t give a shit about birthdays. His, mine, the boys’, anyone’s.

Which means he is terrified of my birthday. I get it. I’m scary. And I have unarticulated and extravagant expectations.

We looked at our “finances” (I use air quotes because you can’t call that little money finances with a straight face) the other day. He told me that he had been planning to get me something very expensive that I wanted really badly for my birthday/Christmas, but it would be irresponsible and he couldn’t do it. He’s 100% right. We are broke. I don’t get whatever I want just because I want it. I’m a grown up.

Still, I’m not going to lie. I was a bit bummed.

This Wegman’s trip the fellows are on is about my birthday. And evidently T has orchestrated it. That kid. I have no idea what his plans are. For once he’s been able to keep his ginormous trap shut. I hope he makes it to Wednesday without spilling the beans.

Maybe I’m growing up a little bit, but I’ll tell you what. I’m fucking excited about the Wegman’s present. So I don’t get the fancy thing I wanted. My kid is old enough to plot with his Dad to get something for me. That is pretty magnificent.

this face

Man, do I love this boy.

jack frost

Jack Frost visited this weekend. It is so cold in our house. So very cold. 80+ year old windows are not the way to go.


Who knows? It might get bright enough to need sunglasses at any moment!

Shopping Cart Tantrums

C was the picture of reasonableness as we walked hand in hand from the car into Wegmans. I bent down to lift him into the grocery cart and a tantrum so sudden and violent erupted that he was suddenly horizontal in my arms. If I hadn’t have had a firm grip on the kid his head would have cracked into the cement floor at maximum velocity.

He was shrieking and wildly dog paddling through the air as I tried to stuff his legs into the front of the cart. Somehow he managed to stand up and dude was trying to take a dive right out of there.

My face was beet red.

Tantrums suck. You feel like an asshole. You bet that half the people are wondering why you can’t control your kid and the other half think you have given birth to Charles Manson.

Which is stupid. When I see a kid having a tantrum at a store I just want to hug the Mom. Tell her I KNOW HER PAIN. Hug her again. Buy her a beer.

But in the moment of my own kids’ tantrums I cannot remember all that. The anxiety takes over and whispers to me that I am failing as a Mom and human and that everyone is disgusted by me and pities my child.

Good times.

At this point I look up and a man is standing uncomfortably close to me. I’m confused. There are two rows of identical carts. I am off to the side blocking one row, but as the exact same cart is fully available to other customers I’m not concerned about the fact that hustling us out of the cart lane isn’t going, um, as smoothly as I’d envisioned. I always try to make sure I’m not inconveniencing other shoppers when I settle my kids into a cart, tantrum or no.

I look at the guy. I look at the other row of identical carts.

He looks at the row as well. “That one on the end looks dirty to me.”

Are you fucking kidding me? The one on the end looks dirty? THEY ARE ALL FILTHY! It is a grocery store. When do you think was the last time any of them were washed?

My kid is trying to swan dive out of the cart. I am swallowing a rising anxiety attack. At the best of times I worry about being in the way of other people. So although I cannot believe the balls on this dude I become a simpering apologist. “Oh. I’m so sorry.” I grab the cart and C and try to back up towards the entrance so this guy can get the cart behind the one I’m using.

And C falls over. He landed sideways in part of the cart he was already standing in. I had my hands on him the whole time. Clearly he wasn’t hurt. But he was furious enough to increase the volume, which I thought was an impossibility.

The guy looks over his shoulder at us. “Oh, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to make the little guy fall down!”

I was so pissed at that point that I couldn’t even reply.

Listen, no one forced me to have kids. It is not humanity’s responsibility to cater to me and my offspring in public. No mother should get a free pass just because it sucks to go to the grocery store with a toddler. We are also contributing members of society and it is our responsibility to not use our kids as an excuse to justify rude behavior.

But what the fuck? What the fuck was with that dude? The kicker was he maneuvered the “clean” cart over to the sanitizer wipe dispenser and gave it a major wipe down anyway. I certainly don’t expect special treatment while shopping with a kid having a tantrum, but how about not being a ginormous dickweed? How about that?

Ok.  I feel a little better now that I’ve gotten that off my chest.

dancing C

Would you believe this adorable child who was dancing on a table just this morning would throw a tantrum at the store?

cat videos

Daddy, C, and T using the internet the way god intended-by watching cute cat videos.