Oversimplifying Politics

Four years ago, when Obama was first elected, we came home from work and asked a three year old mini if she knew what a President was.

"Yes!", she exclaimed! We learned it in school!

Excited that her school was taking on educational responsibilities we had clearly neglected, we rejoiced.  So we asked her, what was a President?

"He is a black man who lives in a white house."

Well, who are we to argue with that?

At the next presidential election, we brought her with us to the polls, let her pull the lever, and proudly wear the "I voted!" sticker.  We then colored in states red and blue together as CNN announced the results on TV.

So it shouldn't have come as a surprise that she was upset at not being able to join us at yesterday's New York Primary elections.  After promising she could come in November, we tried to explain what a Primary was.  This led to the inevitable question:

"Am I a Republican or a Democrat?" 

Oy.  Can't you just ask why Daddy and I got divorced again? That one was easier.

After trying to subdue her with assertions that you can't possibly know until you're 18, that's why you don't have to choose until you're that old, it was clear she wasn't going to take no for an answer.  So, in an effort to get everyone to sleep that night, we attempted to over-simplify politics for a third grader.

"Do you believe that any 2 grownups who want to should get married, even boys and boys and girls and girls?"
"Yes!"
"Do you believe the government should help you with money if you don't have a job?"
"Yes!"
"What about helping to pay for doctors and medicine?"
"Yes!"
"Will you pay some taxes from the money you make to help pay for these things?"
"NO WAY!"

Well, kid, we stand corrected.  You're more firm in your positions than most politicians today.  Happy voting.

Squeezing the Balloon

One wonders why it's been so long since we've posted.

Is it writer's block? Hardly.  Is it lack of subject matter? Nah, one subway ride alone per day is enough for subject matter in this here city.

Then what?

Well, as one friend puts it, we've been "squeezing the balloon".
 

It's simply really.  Do one thing and you have time to blog.  Do 10 things and.....you get the idea.

It's May, and you know what that means. Oh wait, you don't.

It's a bit early for a Mother's Day post, but then again what better way to differentiate oneself! And yes, we realize this is strange written in the third person. No one's forcing you to read, is all we're sayin'.

Today is May.

First, you're welcome for sharing what we're sure is surprising news to y'all.

But second, we'd like to spend a few serious moments describing what May means to us as May will forever be inextricably linked to Mother's day.  See, we lost our own in early May. We remember the day she died. The day before she died. The cruelly beautiful and sunny Sunday that we tossed a shovelful of dirt into the ground. The cruel irony of burying her on the special day we had previously dedicated to the joy of drinking tequila. Sacrilege! And then, one week later, Mother's Day, which seemed at the time to be an unbearable punishment from the universe. 

Still, at the same time, it also seemed an appropriate time to symbolically acknowledge this loss. For that reason, we chose to unveil her tombstone on Mother's Day. That was one year later, one month past the official 11-month Jewish morning period, and though the constant, overwhelming grief had subsided, the intensity had not, and we recall wondering just how much longer that would take. 11 months was not enough. Who were these "forefathers" kidding? And while we were at it - why 11, specifically? Why not 6, or 12, or even 13, which is always a favorite number in Judaism? We couldn't help think that 11 was such an arbitrary number. Did they know something we didn't? Or were they just full of it, making it up as they went along - like the rest of us. Or - what if we were the stupid ones, what if we misinterpreted it and it was suppose to be years, not months?

The Renovation Chronicles: Week One (Part 2)

This one is titled "we did everything wrong".

This is the post where we scream "why on earth did we possibly think this was a good idea!"  No, really.  When we thought this might be a little too big a project for one person, perhaps we should have listened. 

The token "during" shot

And now, the reality of living on the generosity of others (and their couches, trundles and sofas) for one, two weeks or more.  The reality of living like nomad with that unsettled feeling of no home base to go to.   The reality of royally pissing off the painters and the contractor before they even started because, well, apparently it IS too much for a single working parent to pack up an entire apartment solo so while everything was in boxes the boxes weren't exactly closed (we tried! The tape came undone with the heat overnight!), boxes weren't pushed to the middle of the room (we needed to walk around! plus they were heavy!), there were still some things on the walls (also super heavy!), and while the plastic mattress covers were on top of the beds, we hadn't actually put the mattresses in the covers (you try lifting a mattress by yourself! It ain't easy peeps!).  

The Renovation Chronicles: Week One (Part 1)

We are about to take you on an adventure.

Well, not really.  But we are about to go through our first ever "renovation" of our current home.  Why, you ask? Well,  the "let's throw it on and see" paint color we picked years ago didn't really work and it's time to admit that (note to self: dingy brown looks just like it sounds).  The giant holes of plaster in our walls where the paint has long since peeled are begging to be painted.  And for some strange reason people say after 10 years we should have painted again already.  And finally, if all that's not enough, we may have to sell someday.  You know, when the money runs out.

So there's your reasons.  Now in order to not horrify a potential buyer with the low standards we've had for years, we realized we'd have to at minimum paint, patch the giant holes of plaster in the wall, take care of those cracks in the floor, fix the outlet that's always burning out, and replace the molding shower caulk that was so eroded everything got wet all the time anyway.  And while we're at it, let's get some grown up furniture in here - you know, a dining table that isn't 15 years old and seats only two, a couch that isn't littered with tears and breast milk stains...you get the idea (Yes, we just said "breast milk stains". Get over it.)

No problem, we've got time on our hands right now.  Single working mothers have nothing but time on their hands.  Wait, what's that? They don't.  Huh.  Guess taking this on solo was probably not the brightest idea we've ever had, and after the first 24+ hours of this we're realizing just how in over our heads we are.  So where does that leave you?  Well, we figure at the very least our tales of annoyance over should entertain someone out there.