Jam and Cheese

Summer is a time for slowing down, released from after school activities and homework.  We all hold our childhood summer memories dearly, close to our hearts.  Here are just a few ways to make more summer memories with your kids:

1. Go to the beach!
2. Make homemade popsicles
3. Run barefoot in the grass
4. Have a movie marathon
5. Jump rope
6. Try yoga
7. Go to the park (one with sprinklers is even better)
8. Have a picnic dinner or lunch
9. Kick around a soccer ball
10. Chalk + sidewalk = inner artist
11. Play video games together on a rainy day
12. Play dress-up
13. Go to a museum
14. Go swimming
15. Visit a local botanical garden or community garden
16. Dance around the living room with abandon
17. Visit the library
18. Look up free concerts, movies, etc. in your area
19. Go camping
20. Eat watermelon
21. Go strawberry or blueberry picking
22. Taco Tuesday
23. Have a spa day at home
24. Host a sleepover
25. Bubbles
26. Play kick the can
27. Make your own summer salad buffet
28. Roast marshmallows
29. Ride your bike
30. Go on a hike
31. Visit a flea market
32. Make pet rocks
33. Have a lemonade stand
34. Go to an amusement park
35. Plant flowers
36. Watch fireworks
37. Make homemade waffles
38. Go fishing
39. Write a letter to someone and actually mail it
40. Catch fireflies
41. Visit the zoo
42. Ice cream sundaes
43. Have a family basketball tournament
44. Create theme weeks, like animals, space, or whatever your kid loves most.
45. Make a blanket and pillow fort
46. Go horseback riding
47. Visit a farmers market
48. Sno cones
49. Play cat’s cradle: http://www.wikihow.com/Play-The-Cat’s-Cradle-Game
50. Go to a street fair
51. Eat a pickle on a stick
52. Go to a baseball game
53. Fly a kite
54. Go roller skating or skateboarding
55. Family game night!
56. Make a summer tote bag
57. Write a song
58. Wiggle your toes
59. Make a fruit salad
60. Learn how to hula hoop
61. Play mingolf
62. Have a scavenger hunt
63. Dance contest
64. S’mores
65. Go bowling
66. Play tennis
67. Make a watercolor painting
68. Have a science day
69. Breakfast for dinner
70. Learn origami: http://www.origami-fun.com/origami-for-kids.html
71. Frisbee
72. Obstacle course
73. Make a sandcastle
74. Give the dog a bath
75. Make shirts
76. Visit a farm
77. Hopscotch
78. Make homemade pizza
79. Visit a planetarium
80. Make a bird feeder
81. Go on a boat ride
82. Make a nature collage
83. Bake cupcakes
84. Visit a thrift store
85. Go to a carnival
86. Make suncatchers
87. Go for a walk at twilight
88. See a play
89. Slip’n’slide
90. Play stick ball
91. Science experiment
92. Playdoh
93. BBQ
94. Make a summer photo album
95. Finger puppets
96. Star gaze
97. Volunteer
98. Have a sidewalk or garage sale
99. Enjoy the sunshine
100. Learn something new
101. Make a list of activities you want to do this summer and hang them on the wall so the kids can check them off.

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My life is the life a juggler. Work, school, motherhood, and some kind of social life (how I do not know). I have a handful of clients, two of which I am fully committed to for over 20 hours each a week. In addition, I am taking four classes this semester, my last, including a Spanish and Chemistry class. Two kids, a boyfriend, dog, and a home to care for are also priorities. I wake up each day unsure of how I will juggle all of this and not fall flat on my face. I am dedicated and persistent, that is all I can sum it up to. I want nothing more than to squeeze time in to write everyday, but it gets shoved aside for more important tasks. It is frustrating, but I know that one day I will accomplish this as well, the writing ball will be thrown up into the air with the rest and I will be able to keep it up in the air.

Today I have work to do for a few clients, a Spanish quiz, an English paper, a trip to the doctor for a checkup, and a million other errands and chores to complete.  I have reading assignments to do while on the train, the only time I can manage to get those done as I pour over my textbooks with a highlighter as the subway car rocks me to and fro.  My daughter has state tests coming up for middle school, which she is nervous about and is practicing endlessly for.  My boyfriend is also in college full-time in addition to his 40 hours per week at work,  he is as busy as me most days and we try to carve out a few sleepy moments to catch up before we fall asleep each night.  Life is hard, but it is also interesting everyday.  I try not to become overwhelmed with the sheer busyness of it all and most days I succeed.

Best thing to happen so far today?  A cup of coffee from my favorite cafe Norma’s.  Hope my Spanish quiz goes as well!

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“Ben’s Parents”

Ben’s parents hate each other, can Leslie and Ben survive their engagement party with his parents in the same room?

http://thecelebritycafe.com/feature/2012/11/parks-and-recreation-season-5-episode-6

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My latest recap for Parks and Recreation: Season 5, Episode 5.  Enjoy, but beware there are spoilers!

http://thecelebritycafe.com/feature/2012/10/parks-and-recreation-season-5-episode-5-0

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When I was little my Mom would make her delicious apple pie around this time of the year.

The crust was flaky, buttery, and moist on the bottom.  The apples were coated in sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, and lemon juice, the aroma made my siblings and I beg for the them before they ever got into the pie. Mom would always swat us away, like the apple grubbing flies we were.  She would then make the crust by hand and roll it out unto the table in a perfect circle.

I always loved the way the delicate dough would be gently wound around her rolling pin and then placed above the pan.  After she filled the pie pan with a mound of luscious apples, she would cover it with another perfect circle of dough.  We would circle around her as she worked her magic with an ordinary fork, first sealing the pie with fork grooves all the way around in a quick movement as she spun the pie pan with her other hand.  This is when she would let one of us poke holes in the top, of course my over-protective mother not wanting her masterpiece to be ruined guided our hands in the process.  We didn’t care, we were a competitive bunch and the lucky fork holder was just excited to be chosen this time around.

The worst part was the waiting, it was boring.  The house filled with wonderful warm smells and my mother would suggest a card game to keep us busy while her pies steamed and baked.  When they were ready to come out we jumped up and down in delicious anticipation.  It was not be, Mom told us we had to wait a bit more, the pies were too hot.  Sulky and sad faces went back to the card game, a few minutes ago terribly exciting, but now with pies in our future just a boring distraction.

Finally, oh wondrously, the moment of apple pie was upon us.  My sister and I would set the table in a flash, folding napkins in their triangle position as we were taught. We placed forks we would all get a turn to use on the napkin and filled glasses with cold creamy milk.  We sat around the table, on our best behavior, squabbling, pushing, and running around now set aside.  Mom would carefully cut the pie into the equal pieces she knew we would demand, avoiding the soon to come. “It’s not fair, they got bigger pieces!”  Mom was a pro with four little ones, five if you count my cousin, John who came by often.

We would sink those forks into our warm apple pie, the cinnamon filling our insides with a goodness that can only be felt in autumn. This now became the best thing that could ever be felt, better than the crinkly sound the fall leaves made when we stomped on them, better than the crisp back to school blue jeans we were so excited about a month before, and certainly better than those brussels sprouts my mother insisted we eat for dinner the night before.

Gooey apple pie juice rushed through our mouths like a gush of liquid candy, crust flaked alongside it in a combination of best friendship that would never flat leave the other.  When I look back at our apple pie moments they were happy and carefree.  We were together as a family and my Mom was happy with her pies.  Soon we forgot the moment of relish and spooned the pie into our mouths, talking and laughing about who knows what.

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Today I jolted out of bed panicked, for the first time ever I forgot about my car and alternate side parking!  I dashed down three flights of stairs with bed-head hair and pajamas, my car keys in my clutched fist.  I ran outside bewildered and ran to my car anxiously trying to unlock the club before I got a ticket, no orange piece of paper yet decorating my windshield.  An old man standing by the car in front of me graciously offered to move his car up so that I may get out easily.

This is when it dawned on me that while I was in my rushed state of panic I hadn’t noticed that the block was full of cars.  No one was frantically running to pull out and grab the open spot across the other side.  No one else was worried that it was a whole half hour past the alternate side time plastered on that little red and white sign.  Of course, being a skeptical New Yorker, I walked down to a man four cars ahead of me and asked him if alternate side was suspended.  He said yes, it was a Jewish holiday, today and yesterday.  I thanked him and walked calmly back to my car to put the club back on my steering wheel.  I was relieved and then I had no choice but to laugh at myself, bed head and all.

I think it is time I print out this, the alternate side suspension calendar! http://www.nyc.gov/html/dot/html/motorist/scrintro.shtml#calendar2011

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When I was eleven years old, my Aunt had a pool in her backyard in Sheepshead Bay.  It was about four feet tall.  My cousins and I would play Marco Polo for hours, “Marco!” and “Polo!” rang through the summer air.  We ran around the edges of the pool, faster and faster, until we created a whirlpool.  We had handstand contests as we inhaled the stinging chlorine; the undeniable scent of the summer sun permeated the air.  We refused to leave the pool until our fingers and toes had shriveled up so tightly that we felt them in the water.

Sometimes the older boy cousins, rambunctious and full of mischief, would jump from the edge of the pool into the water.  The flimsy pool wall bent in utter misery, under the weight of their feet.  They would laugh as they pushed our heads under the water, letting us go only when we flailed our arms desperately as the water began to enter our mouths and nostrils. We bobbed up, concerned more about choking then those boys, coughing the excess water which burned our throats and reddened our faces with stinging chlorine.

At some point, we would exit the pool, land on our bare feet upon the uncaring concrete ground, water dripping off our bodies in a fierce competition with the warm sun.  Along the yellow-sided house were peach trees.  We would run to pull a soft, round, furry peach off the branch.  The peach was warm and we cupped both it in both hands careful not to squish its fragile body.  Then we bit into the peach’s sweet flesh and smiled as the juice ran down our chins all the way to our neck.

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Game of Thrones. Officially my favorite series of all time.

My boyfriend, Robert, introduced me to it recently and we watched all of the first season’s shows one after another.  The intrigue, fantasy, scandal, and suspense reeled me in and hooked me.  I was particularly drawn in by the characters, Eddard Stark, Arya Stark, Jon Snow, and Drogo.  My favorite, by far is Daenerys, the submissive turned empowered, Princess of House Targaryen.

Robert had already read the series of books, that I have never heard of before since I am not typically a reader of fantasy or sci-fi novels.  I have already ordered to box set from Amazon.

http://www.amazon.com/George-Martins-Thrones-4-Book-Boxed/dp/0345529057/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1317402073&sr=8-1

I am eagerly waiting their arrival.  I cannot wait to jump into the seven realms and I cannot wait until Season 2 arrives on HBO this Spring.

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I remember a time, not too long ago, when I enjoyed shopping for clothes with my daughter, Elisabeth.  My son, Alex, was eight years old when she was born.  Which meant that I was quarantined to the tiny boy’s section for eight whole years; drowning in khaki shorts and rugged blue polo shirts.

I could pick out Elisabeth’s clothes, cute little funky dresses, fun little striped tights, green and purple shoes, adorable hair accessories.  The world was my oyster and I didn’t do too bad for someone on a very tight budget (most of her clothes came from second-hand stores and Children’s Place Monster Sale).  She happily donned whatever I gave her and never complained about a stitch of clothing, not once.

Forward to real-time, ten years later, approximately one hundred Disney pre-teen episodes in, and a true calling to craving “stylish” and God forbid “cute”- Elisabeth has become a full-fledge individual.  I have encouraged this individuality is so many ways, wanting her to have the strong female self-confidence that was denied me growing up.

So why is it that now when I take her shopping, if I so much as graze my hand over something it is then tainted with “Mom-ness” and is forever to be shunned by her?  When did this happen?  When did she get so picky?  For now dresses will only be tolerated if forced for special occasions.  Skirts and skorts are no longer cool.  She prefers to simply wrap her hair in a plain ponytail with a plain headband each and every day.  All I can think is why won’t she let me pick out her clothes?  Of course, I still have final say on all choices.  I have only lost my ability to say yes, my no is still intact and will remain so for awhile to come.  I can still say yes, pick something out, go home with it, but it will lie in her drawer probably praying to see sunlight just once.

In retrospect, I wrap my hair up in a ponytail, I don’t wear makeup or jewelry, I prefer solids to prints.  I fall in love with a pair of shoes and will wear them until I feel like I have to have a funeral at their demise.  Did I pass this plainness to her?  She is so beautiful and so cool, why won’t she let me pick out the clothes I wish I could wear?  Perhaps my own longings are the issue here.  Even as a teenager I had long hair I almost never cut, no makeup, wore a plain t-shirt and jeans.  That’s it.  I always looked at the girls that could pull off funky, stylish clothes and wish I could too. I didn’t have it in me.  Later I learned to dress a bit more individually, shocking my friends at times with my eclectic style.  However, more often than not, I choose comfort every time.

So after I weigh all of the facts and causes, I should be happy that Elisabeth is becoming a self-confidant and individually strong young woman.  I rarely ever say “inappropriate” when she chooses something and there is nothing wrong with her decisions.

I should be content with this, but there is always a pang in my heart when I pick something up and her eyes begin rolling, a “Really?!” about to roll off her tongue as “This is so cute” is about to roll off of mine.

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Driving back and forth from Brooklyn (where I work) to Queens (where I live) has been a wild adventure into the chaos that is NYC streets.  While I have found less congested routes, thanks to my resourceful boyfriend, Robert, I still feel apprehensive every time I embark on this journey.

The main reason driving to and fro is mindboggling is: double-parked cars or worse, double parked trucks.  Why is it that if my meter runs out, I am plastered with a ticket in a second after those numbers become 0:00?  However, no matter how many traffic cops I see, I never see anyone ticket a double parked car?

This week I encountered a whole new style of double parking on Dean Street.  Alternate side of the street parking rules were in effect, at least 5 cars remained parked on the wrong side, presumably waiting for the ticket fairy to come.  I don’t care if people want to get a ticket, however there is a bike lane on this already incredibly narrow street, most likely made originally for horse carriages and not motorized machines.  I have no problems with bike lanes either.  What I do have a problem with is people that are obviously too lazy to search for a proper parking space, parking next to the bike lane and the legally parked vehicles along side of it.  These people actually LEAVE there cars on the street in long lines, crowding the entire street!  When they are double parked parallel to a parked car on the other side of the street, it becomes almost impossible to safely pass.

I don’t know why this is allowed to happen.  I don’t understand why this allowed on such narrow streets.  I do know I am tired of this peculiar obstacle course that I need to embark on when driving to work.

According to DOT: Double parking of passenger vehicles is illegal at all times, including Alternate Side Parking Regulation days, regardless of location, purpose or duration.

I understand that parking is hard to find in certain areas of NYC, who are we kidding? All areas of NYC. However, this local tradition of double parking and the authorities turning a blind eye, should perhaps be contained to streets wide enough to accommodate this practice.

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