A Taste of Wool Part 10

Terrence was always early for school, and today was no exception. His mother dropped him off 10 minutes early every day so that she wouldn't be late for her job. Olivia, Terrence's mother, had just obtained the position of legal secretary at a law firm in town.

Little did Terrence know that his early arrival would result in him coming face to face with his fourth grade teacher, bawling his eyes out at a wooden desk that was ridiculously too small for his adult body.

Terrence tried with all his might to make no sound while he tip toed to the coat closet to hang up his jacket. Unfortunately, he banged his tow on the door, and that was that. Urie was startled by the loud thump; he suddenly lifted his head up from sobbing and stared at Terrence, who was stunned by his teacher's tear stained face. Now it was Terrence's turn to look like a radish, it was certainly a fine day for radish impersonations.

"Well, hello Terrence. I didn't see you there." Urie said as he hastily wiped the tears from his face. "And how are you this morning?" He asked trying his hardest to put a lighthearted tone into his voice.

"I'm fine, um...I..." Terrence began, and then he realized that he had nothing to say. Well, that wasn't exactly the case. He could have said I've never seen a man cry before, which was true. The fact was, Terrence hadn't been around many adult men in his short life. Terrence's mother was a single mom. The only males Terrence had regular contact with were the mailman, and his long haired cat, Garfunkel. The mailman didn't get too emotional about the mail one way or the other, and Garfunkel hardly ever blinked, so it seemed highly unlikely that tears would flow from his furry face.

"I um...forgot something outside. I'll be right back." Terrence said slowly, and with that he crept out of the classroom door and exited as if he were trying not to wake a sleeping child.

As he closed the door behind him, he stepped out into the hallway and came face to face with Harry. Harry's wide eyes stared at Terrence with fear. There was something about this boy that made Harry a little uneasy, and it was an exceedingly difficult task to make Harry uneasy. It was Terrence's calm that made Harry's stomach twirl. Unlike most children who interacted with Harry, Terrence was not afraid. He peered into Harry's black eyes with curiosity, not fear. All at once Harry knew that Terrence knew that Harry wasn't crazy.

"Thank you!" Harry said to Terrence after he had this realization.

Terrence raised his eyebrows in confusion and said:

"Um...you're welcome?" And then let out a little giggle. Harry let out a chuckle. They both sighed a sigh of relief. And Harry said:

"Come here, I'd like to show you something."

***

This is part 10 of my story, A Taste of Wool. I will be posting a new part each Wednesday, as a part of Wool Wednesdays. To read part 9, click here.

The Winner of The Crocodile Creek Back to School Giveaway is...

The winner of the Back to School giveaway with Crocodile Creek is:

Jess from The Fevered Pen!

Congratulations!

Now, would you care for a sports car lunch box...

Or...a lady bug lunch box?

Congratulations Jess!

*Winner was selected by Random.org. Special thanks to Crocodile Creek for this great giveaway!

Private Picassos and Ari

For Ari's fourth birthday, Aunt Mimi and Uncle Mike got him a series of in home art lessons with a New York City based company called Private Picassos.

The great thing about Private Picassos, is that the lesson literally comes to you. Your art teacher brings all the materials and comes to your home!

Ari loved his personalized art lessons, here's a video of what he and Valeen, the founder of Private Picassos, did in Ari's individualized lessons:

Samara Needs Friends

I have two children, one of them is four and the other one is 18 months. Ari, the four year old, is my first born. I wrote down every milestone, I waited with baited breath for him to talk and walk and eat solid food. Then came his sister, Samara. One day I noticed Samara was sitting up How could that be? She was just born. And just like that, she was crawling, and saying mama, and I hadn't written any of it down, and she didn't even have a baby book. Oy! You get the point.

Well, here's the best part of the whole thing. I made huge efforts for Ari to have friends. Since he was nine months old, I went to the library, I hung out at the playground, and I mom dated. I sifted through the sea of Park Slope moms, and found some people that I actually liked, and who liked me. Ari found some kids who he didn't hit very often, and liked to play with on the playground and at their houses.

Samara, on the other hand, doesn't have any friends. Wait, wait, hold on, that's not entirely true. She does occasionally hang out with Ollie's sister, Ivy, who is 14 months. And my friend Jen's son, Jonathan who will be two imminently. But she doesn't have friends that she hangs out with on a consistent basis. She doesn't have a playgroup, like Ari had.

Part of the issue is me. I'm overwhelmed. I try to befriend other moms on the playground that have 18 month olds, but my attention is divided. Ari wants me to play with him, or Samara is sticking her hand in the garbage.

The other issue is (and maybe I'm just being paranoid) but it seems like the only parents who are interested in being friends with me are the ones that have two kids! The moms that have one kid don't seem to care about getting to know me at all. It's like we're speed dating and they've clicked bell as soon as they see me. Yikes!

I promise, I'm fun to hang out with parents of one child!

The point is Samara needs friends, and damn it, I'm gonna get her some!

Is it just me? Does anyone else with multiple children have this issue?

A Taste of Wool Part 9

It was 8:15 am, and Urie was standing in the hallway in front of his classroom. Unconsciously, he reached his index finger into his enormous nose. There was a certain comfort in the nasal cavity for Urie that could not be replicated in any other area on his life. It was as if all his problems melted away as he slipped his wrinkled finger into the abyss of his nostril. His finger was fully emerged in nostril heaven at the very moment that Harry turned a corner with his mop. Harry stood next to Urie and stared at him until Urie turned as red as a radish, removed his finger from his nose and said:

"Haii, har, haiiree." Or something of the sort; this was reaction number three. Harry patted Urie on the back and said softly:

"Cottage cheese."

The two began to whistle "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes." By The Platters. Then something miraculous happened, Harry spoke to Urie.

"How did you know I was going to whistle that song?" Harry asked.

"What?" Urie was startled, not by Harry's question itself, but by the fact that Harry was able to utter a full sentence.

"You knew, didn't you?" Harry asked looking deep into Urie's eyes with stare of a child, or perhaps it was more like the stare of Susie's beady rat eyes.

"Knew what?" Urie asked still in shock.

"That I was going to whistle that song." Harry repeated slowly. Urie furrowed his brow.

"Well Harry," he said clearing his throat, "I honestly hadn't given it much thought. I guess it just kind of happened."

Harry scoffed at Urie.

"Nothing just happens! Okay?! Do you think it's a coincidence that we only have three possible interactions with one another?" Harry was getting riled up. He was losing control, of what he wanted to reveal to Urie.

"Harry, I'm sorry, but I have no idea what you're talking about."

Why was he lying? Thought Harry. Urie knew very well what Harry was referring to. I mean, after all, these interactions were so commonplace between Harry and Urie, they might have been saying to one another "Hey, how ya' doing? How are the wife and kids?"

But Urie was terrified. He didn't like where this conversation was leading. A part of him was beginning to think that Harry was, in fact, crazy.

"Come on Urie! Don't do this! You have an opportunity..." Harry began, but Urie quickly cut him off.

"I think I'd better straighten up before the kids get here." Urie blurted out and with that, he disappeared into his classroom and slammed the door in Harry's face. Urie's heart was running a marathon in his chest. Damn it James Urie! Why can't you keep you finger out of your nose?

He banged his fist against the coat closet, and slumped into his a desk that was way too small for his adult body. And without warning, tears began to flow from his eyes. He was so engrossed in his sadness, that he didn't even hear the door creak open.

***

This is part 9 of my short story, A Taste of Wool. A new part will be posted every Wednesday, as a part of Wool Wednesdays. This is a bonus part for all you pandas reading out there, posted on a Saturday. To read part 8 click here.

A Taste of Wool Part 8

"BLOORRG!" Harry exclaimed. Dr. Drillateral sighed a long sigh and closed his eyes. He saw purple and green spots. The spots he saw resembled the ink blots that he was gripping tightly in his left fist (for Dr. Drillateral was left-handed) and had just asked Harry to identify.

"Can you describe bloorrg?" Dr. Drillateral said calmly .

Let it be known that Harry was perfectly capable of using adjectives to coherently describe "bloorrg." Bloorrg was more of a feeling than a tangible object. Bloorrg was the utter frustration that Harry felt at that moment when Dr. Drillateral was so desperately trying to evoke an answer that resembled "table" or "beach ball" or "ice cream cone." But that wasn't the answer that Harry would have given if he were to answer under the coherent terms of Dr. Drillateral. He would have begun a monologue about the complexity of the current situation, and how he wished that Dr. Drillateral could understand what he understood. Unfortunately for Drillateral, what Harry did say was nowhere near "ice cream cone," or even "Bloorrg" for that matter. He opened his mouth and began to tell a story:

"When I was eight, I had a pet rat. She was black and white. Her name was Susie. She was a domesticated rat, so she was wasn't dangerous, she didn't bite." I used to sit in my living room on a couch cushion on the floor in front of the TV with Susie in my lap. Sometimes I would spread my body out on the carpet length-wise and let Susie climb from my stomach to my face. Now you're probably thinking, 'weren't you afraid that Susie would poop on your face? But Susie was a good girl, and I knew she wouldn't do that to me. When Susie reached the point just below my collar bone, I would stare into her eyes. I knew that she saw something I didn't see. She had a spark of knowledge in those black beady eyes that I lacked. But now, I see what she saw."

Dr. Drillateral had never owned a pet. Actually, that's not entirely true. He once briefly owned a Golden Retriever puppy, but quickly had to get rid of it, because he broke out in hives after wrestling with it. Ever since his WWF match with that particular canine, Dr. Drillateral had rid himself of animal interaction all together. However, Drillateral knew what Harry was getting at.

"What does the mop know, and what has it told you?" Drillateral asked leaning in close to hear the answer.

Harry began snickering quietly. The snickering transformed slowly into a slight chuckle and eventually evolved into an uproarious cackle.

"BLOORRG!" Harry exclaimed joyfully. Drillateral groaned.

***

This is part of my short story, A Taste of Wool. I will be revealing a new segment each Wednesday, here OS/NS Mom as a part of Wool Wednesdays. To read part 7, click here.

Chaos

How do you hold it together when everything is falling apart?

The fabric is itchy and uncomfortable.

My insides hurt, they're swollen and red. I feel circular.

Everything is spinning, and I want to stop it but I can't. I can't turn it around.

I want to find my covers and crawl under them. I want to fall into a deep sleep and dream.

Back To School Giveaway With a Crocodile Creek Lunch Box!

Ari is starting Pre-K in September. I can hardly believe it. I was thinking about the supplies he might need, and one that crossed my mind was a lunch box. I happen to love the Crocodile Creek lunch boxes. They're well made, and they have awesome designs that kids love!

I wrote to Bill over at Crocodile Creek and asked if we could do a back to school giveaway here on OS/NS mom, he graciously accepted!

Ari loves his new Crocodile Creek lunch box!

I mean, what's not to love, right? it's got a race car on it.

Want to see what's inside? I thought you did.

If you're curious to know what Ari's having for lunch, here's the breakdown: a peanut butter and honey sandwich on organic whole wheat bread. The peanut butter has no sodium and is organic and so is the honey, grape tomatoes, water and an organic string cheese.

Want to win a Crocodile Creek lunch box?

If you're child prefers lady bugs to race cars, you could opt to win this one instead!

What are you waiting for! Enter to win!

Please post a comment telling which of these you did; each of them counts as an entry:

1. Like Crocodile Creek on Facebook

2. Follow Crocodile Creek on Twitter

3. Follow my blog on GFC

4 Follow OS/NS Mom on Twitter

5. Like OS/NS Mom on Facebook

6. Tweet this giveaway and link to it in a comment here on my blog.

7. Post on Facebook about the giveaway and mention Crocodile Creek and OS/NS Mom.

The winner will be announced on Tuesday August 28th 2012! Good luck everyone!

A Taste of Wool Part 7

Terrence Warily hung his coat up on the hook with his name written over it. Urie had written all the children's names on pieces of masking tape in blue permanent marker and taped these individual pieces over each of their hooks in the coat closet. Since Terrence was new to Urie's class, his name was written in red permanent marker as opposed to blue. The reason for this was that Urie had misplaced the blue marker, however Terrence felt that it made him stand out more from the rest of the closet hooks, and the other children in the classroom. It was as if Terrence was the star in a major motion picture entitled "Fourth Grade: Adventures in the Coat Closet."

As Terrence approached the closet to hang up his green fleece jacket, he bumped into a boy who held residency at the masking tape zone next to his.

"Damn boy! Watch where you're goin'!" Shouted Rasheed Brown as he pushed passed Terrence to hang up his red winter jacket in it's rightful spot. Rasheed was the loud mouth of Urie's class. Being a Sagittarius with a moon in Leo, he didn't hesitate to tell anyone at any time what was on his mind. It didn't matter if Rasheed was talking to Terrence or Mz. Sweeny, adult or child, he would let them know what he thought at any given moment.

Urie was quite fond of Rasheed. Most teachers at Rutherford Bacon despised Rasheed's forthright manner, which usually resulted in a fight or two and numerous trips to Mz. Sweeny's office. The trips to Mz. Sweeny's office were pointless, because all Rasheed would do was stare at her breasts the entire time.

"Rasheed?" Mz. Sweeny would ask quietly.

"Huh?" Rasheed did not move his eyes from the sagging squash beneath Mz. Sweeny's blouse.

"Do you want to talk about why you felt the need to hit Nicholas?"

"Not really," Rasheed replied "But I guess you want to." Rasheed looked up directly into Mz. Sweeny's eyes. Mz. Sweeny said nothing, so Rasheed returned to staring at her breasts. After a half hour of this, Mz. Sweeny gave up and returned Rasheed to Urie's classroom, or recess, or music, or whatever activity Rasheed happened to be missing out on in order to get a better look at Mz. Sweeny.

***

"S-S-sorry," Terrence muttered "I didn't mean to..."

"That's all right," Rasheed said slapping Terrence on the back "You're the new kid, I'll cut you some slack. But don't let me see your ass in my space again, got it?" Rasheed said with a wink.

"Okay..." Terrence began, but Rasheed had already walked away to sit at his desk.

***

This is part of my short story a Taste of Wool. I will be posting a new portion each wednesday as a part of Wool Wednesday. Today was a bonus for you chickens, since Jenni Chiu requested it, and I love her.

Vardit Gives Me The Best Haircut of My Life Thanks To Kyle

I was on Facebook this morning, and I posted what was on my mind, I needed a haircut, and one that didn't cost 1.5 million dollars, one that didn't leave me looking like this:

Enter my dear friend, Kyle. Here's what happened:

Uponing reading this post, I had a giant smile on my face, and I called Vardit immediately. She said that Kyle just happened to be coming in for a hair appointment today! She suggested that we surprise her and I come in for my cut right after Kyle's appointment.

"She will be so surprised, it'll be great." Vardit said.

"Would it be all right if I brought my kids?" I asked Vardit over the phone.
"Sure!" She said warmly. "Just bring something to entertain them." I thought for a moment and then I knew just who to bring:

Grandma!

My mom and I drove uptown to 102nd street, and we headed to Riverside Park to kill some time before the appointment. After we ran around in the park, we headed to Vardit's studio.

As soon as we entered, I immediately felt at home. Vardit was so welcoming, and warm. I felt like she was a second Jewish mother.

She felt the texture of my hair, and talked to me about what I wanted to do with it. I told her about my terrible haircut, and she concurred that my hair needed some serious shaping. She asked me if I'd be all right with some long layers to which I replied:

"Yes! That would be great!"

The next thing that occurred was truly magical.

And the final result was this:

Vardit, you are an artist. I'm never going to a cheap salon ever again!

Thank you, Kyle! This is truly the best haircut I've ever had in my entire curly girl life.

Fall Aproaches

The summer is almost over, and I'm excited and nervous for the fall. It'll be a big change for me, because Ari is going to school! I can't believe this day is already here. He's four years-olds. I remember being pregnant with him. I remember pushing him out. I remember nursing him day and night. I remember every moment leading up to Ari moving from baby to boy.

He's a little man now.

When I previously thought about the first day of school, I thought I would cry. But I don't think I'm going to now. I think he's ready for it, and so am I. I'm actually excited. I'm excited for him to meet new friends, and explore, learn, and become a bigger human.

It's going to be strange being home with just Samara. I wonder if she'll be bored. She's so used to having her big brother around.

I've already registered her for an art class, and I'm thinking about doing a music class with her as well. But I need to make sure I have time to work. I was thinking about putting her in some sort of day care for one day a week, but everything is so expensive! The trouble is I really need at least one solid day to work. I can transcribe and write during her naps, but it would help if I had a solid day to do what I need to do.

Changes are approaching, and I'm excited and nervous all rolled into one.

Friends in Brooklyn, do you know of a low cost program where Samara can go one day a week?

Is everybody excited for the first day of school?

A Taste of Wool Part 6

Was Harry crazy or were Mz. Sweeny and the rest of the school officials the crazy ones? I knew he wasn't crazy, and so will you too soon, but they wouldn't and couldn't (for that matter) listen to me. Harry would bellow at Dr. Drillateral:

"You think I'm crazy! I'm not crazy!" Dr. Drillateral would politely nod and respond

"Do you think that I think you're crazy?" To which Harry would reply

"BLAHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Or something of the sort.

Therapy sessions had progressed to this point, and Dr. Drillateral felt as if there at a stalemate. When their sessions started, Dr. Drillateral couldn't get Harry to talk at all. In fact, if Harry uttered anything at all, even if it wasn't quite a word, Dr. Drillateral considered this therapeutic progress.

Any vocalization at all impressed Dr. Drillateral. If he had confided this in Mz. Sweeny, however, she would have asked "what do you mean by 'vocalization?'" So he refrained from disclosing too much information to her about Harry's therapeutic sessions. He simply told her that Harry was making wonderful progress. That was all she wanted to hear anyhow.

***

Terence Conrad was new to Rutherford Bacon. He had just moved to town and was about to start the fourth grade in a new school. Terrence was used to moving, and his mother had shown him that it was indeed possible to move more than ten times in one's life. Since Terrence had only lived nine years on this planet, it evened out to about one move per year of life.

During the course of his travels, Terrence had had some strange encounters with regard to elementary education. In Terrence's third grade class, his teacher, Ms. Hanover, kept two pet hamsters in the classroom. It seemed to Terrence that there was something a little off beat about Ms. Hanover, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Terrence's suspicions were confirmed one day when he was supposed to be out in the yard playing dodgeball. He was bored, and rather curious as to what it was that Ms. Hanover did while the others were out getting assaulted with a giant red blow up ball.

When Terrence quietly tip-toed up to the doorway of his third grade classroom, he was amazed by what he saw. Ms. Hanover was sitting on the beige carpet enclosed by bookshelves, her legs spread eagle revealing her underwear (for she was wearing a skirt) waiting for the innocent hamster to enter the abyss between her thighs.

Terrence was not at all interested as to what Ms. Hanover did with the rest of the 40 minute recess block, and he decided to leave.

Now he was beginning the fourth grade hamster free. In fact that was the first thing that he bothered to check in Urie's classroom, whether or not Urie kept classroom pets. Fortunately Mr. Urie was allergic to hamsters, and pretty much any other animal with fur. And even if he wasn't, Terrence was pretty sure that Urie looked far different from Ms. Hanover in a skirt.

***

This is part six of my short story, A Taste of Wool. I will be revealing a new part each Wednesday (even though today is clearly not Wednesday and this is late) as a part of Wool Wednesdays. To read Part 5 click here.

A Fun Day With Allison From Sitters Studio!

I never call a babysitter. I'm with my kids all day every day. Unless Wil is home from work and he watches them, or my parents hang out with them for an hour or two.

But the other day, none of those options were available to me, and I started to panic, because I had an acupuncture appointment that I really didn't want to miss.

I thought long and hard about my predicament and then I realized I had another option.

I recalled Ari's visits to Playtime. I remembered the Artist Sitters™ from Sitters Studio.

Ari loved hanging out with the Artist Sitters™, while I went to the theater! For those of you that aren't familiar with Sitters Studio, it's very unique, because the baby sitters are also artists of some kind, whether it be actors, dancers, circus performers or poets.

I headed to Google and found Sitters Studio, and gave them a call. I was greeted by a gregarious Robby in customer service. He told me what the rates were, and assured me that he would find me an awesome babysitter would would mesh with my kids' personalities, which I described to him in detail over the phone.

Hi Robby, if you're reading this, you're amazing!

Robby sent me the bio for Allison, the Artist Sitter™ who would be coming the next day. I was psyched because in her bio, which talked about her experience in theater and dance, it also said that she had over 10 years of experience working with kids!

Allison came over and she was full of sunshine and rainbows! I loved her instantly and so did my kids.

After I spent 10 minutes looking for my keys, I finally got out the door, and I felt very assured leaving my kids with Allison. She listened to everything I told her about the kids, and seemed very competent.

My husband came home to pick up the kids from Allison, and he told me that Ari could not stop talking about what a great time he and Allison had together. They made robot drawings, and did collage art together.

Samara even participated!

Allison even left us with a report card of what the kids did when they were with her, what they ate, and other fun observations that she noticed about them, such as "Ari is very creative" and "Samara is adorable."

Well Allison, you're adorable, and we can't wait for you to come play with us again!

Thank you Sitters Studio for a wonderful childcare experience.

For more information about Sitters Studio click here!

Just a Little...

I had an epiphany yesterday. Hey, that would be a pretty rad name for a child, Epiphany. Anyhow, I realized that I've been complaining about Ari's teenager-like behavior and outbursts a lot. While it's true that he's going through a difficult phase, pushing boundaries, testing limits, making me feel like pulling my hair out, it's not him.

It's not him!

It's me.

He's four years-old. He's doing all the stuff that he's supposed to be doing.

I'm the one who's out of control. I'm the one who's having difficulty handling it. I'm the one that needs to work on myself.

And I know exactly what I'm missing.

Are you ready for it?

Here it is, this is what I need:

Attempted Murder on The Upper East Side With Peanut Butter Bagel

Today, my friends Cori and Kodjo and our kids, Ollie, Ivy, Samara and Ari all went to the Central Park Zoo.

It was a lot of fun, until we set foot on an Upper East Side playground. Upon entering the playground we were met with a resounding amount of hostile looks and strange interactions. It was like they knew the Brooklyn parents were coming.

Here's one interaction that particularly stood out in my mind as bizarre:

I went to see what Ari was up to on the giant slide while Cori was keeping an eye on Samara. When I returned, Cori informed me that one mother let her know that Samara should stay away from her stroller, because Samara was eating a bagel with peanut butter on it, and one of her twin girls had a severe peanut allergy.

When I returned, Cori let me know what this woman said.

Cori and I immediately starting asking the mom questions, out of genuine curiosity, did she have an epi pen? Could her daughter eat items that were made in the same factory as nuts? The woman became noticeably defensive.

"It's just life!" She said shrugging her shoulders. "Things could be worse!"

I believe she wanted to call attention to herself, however, insinuating that my child was dangerous to her child, and that I should keep my 18 month old away from hers, in my humble opinion, was total bullshit and completely ridiculous.

We were in a public place. We weren't in a school, or even an inclosed place that might be even more hazardous.

If she was so concerned about the safety of her child, then she should move her kid herself! Tell her daughter to keep away from the little girl with the peanut butter. Why is her problem now my problem?

If I were playing the game "Clue," and wanted to relate to you what just happened, I would say it was Samara at the playground with the peanut butter bagel. She's clearly an attempted murderer.

Discuss!

Pigeons and The Playground

There's something about me that you may not know, but you will know it after today. I hate pigeons. I don't think I never realized how much I actually hated them until today.

Let me tell you a story.

Ari, Samara and I went to the playground.

We had a pit stop at Blue Sky Bakery on the way there. Ari got a cookie and Samara and I picked up muffins, Pumpkin Apple Walnut for her and Zucchini triple berry for me. I also got a iced coffee with half and half and cinnamon. I packed it all in a paper bag and we headed to the playground with the goods.

Upon arriving at the playground, I sat on a bench and set the kids loose to play.

Guess what?

They didn't want to go anywhere. All they wanted to do was sit on the bench and watch the pigeons, who were hanging around next to the bench where I was trying to drink my iced coffee in peace.

I love my children, but I brought them to the playground so that they would leave me alone.

I wanted them to go find someone else to play with besides me so that I could enjoy my iced coffee, and have a moment to not think.

The pigeons were so captivated by my breakfast that they would not leave me the hell alone, and therefore, my kids would not leave the bench. It was a vicious cycle. Want to know more?

Is it too much to ask to be able to have a solitary moment without the company of rats with wings?

I hate pigeons. Do you?

I Want to Run Through The Sprinkler of Life

The other day I ran through the sprinklers at the playground fully clothed wearing my favorite dress. Ari asked me to do it. He said:

"Mommy, will you run in the sprinkler with me?"

I thought about it for a second. I'm annoyed with myself that I even questioned the idea of running through the sprinkler, as that is a fun thing to do. It shouldn't be a question.

I want to be fun. I want to enjoy things in life. I don't want to be thinking about stuffy responsible adult things like budgets, 401ks, and college funds. College funds are important though, but so is fun.

There has to be a balance. I love the joy in Ari's eyes when he is immersed in something that he loves. I strive every day to achieve that joy within myself. There are few things that give me that internal ecstasy, writing is one of them.

When I write, I feel free, I feel like I'm flying, like I can say anything. I feel unfiltered, like my voice can be heard.

I feel the same way about singing. When I sing, I don't think, I just sing. I do it!

I want to run through the sprinkler of life! I don't want to become a stuffy grownup who thinks about shit all the time. I just want to be and to live!

What makes you feel alive?

A Taste of Wool Part 5

"I'm afraid he's not well." sighed Dr. Drillateral Eisenger PhD. "He's suffering from a delusional disorder in which he believes that he is actually having conversing with this mop of his."

Mz. Sweeny narrowed her eyes and leaned in closer to Dr. Drillateral.

"How do you mean conversing?"

"I mean," said Dr. Drillateral clearing his throat "that Harry believes that the mop can vocalize."

Mz. Sweeny smiled that vacant smile of hers and blinked exactly twice, Dr. Drillateral counted.

"What exactly do you mean vocalize?"

Dr. Drillateral was a patient man, so he understood that the lack of clarity in this situation was due to Mz. Sweeny's stupidity. He proceeded, out of sympathy for her lack of intellect, to entertain her moronic queries. Dr. Drillateral stared directly at Mz. Sweeny's sagging breasts, which were climbing out of the lavender low cut blouse that she was wearing and said:

"I mean that he thinks the mop can talk, just like you and I are talking right now."

"Well good lord! That's not possible!" Said Mz. Sweeny in disbelief.

"Yes, Mz. Sweeny. I know that, and you know that, but he..."

"Doesn't know that?" She asked incredulously.

"Exactly!" Dr. Drillateral beamed. He had an overwhelming urge to sleep with her as a reward for getting the punchline. But he quickly repressed this urge as Mz. Sweeny brushed aside a strand of her hair.

"Well what are we going to do?" Mz. Sweeny moaned.

"Well, " Dr. Drillateral said calmly "He needs help. he might need to be put on some sort of medication.

"No no! I don't care about that!" Mz. Sweeny exploded. "I mean, how is it going to look if the Rutherford Bacon Elementary School janitor is institutionalized?! No one will ever want to send their children here again."

Mz. Sweeny took a deep breath and realized that she had just lashed out at Dr. Drillateral, who was staring wide-eyed at her. The notion of sleeping with Mz. Sweeny has packed up and gone on an unpleasant trip to Antarctica. He was left all by his lonesome staring at this idiotic creature in disgust.

"We can't let him go! He stays here for the good of the community, the welfare of the little ones. Plus, we can't have this awful news spreading around town. Doctor, what do you suggest we do?"

Dr. Drillateral signed for what seemed to him like the 20th time and said:

"I'm going to be honest with you, at the very least he needs counseling."

"What exactly do you mean by counseling?"Asked Mz. Sweeny in all sincerity.

Here we go again, thought Drillateral. His patience was waning.

"Therapy! He needs therapy!" He exploded.

As soon as he blurted out those words, he knew what question was coming next.

***

This is part five of my short story, A Taste of Wool. I will be posting a new part each Wednesday as a part of Wool Wednesdays! To read part 4 click here.

Spoiled

Ari has been throwing massive tantrums lately if he doesn't get what he wants. For example, if Wil or I tell him that he can't watch any more TV and he has to go to sleep he freaks out and starts crying and writhing on the floor. If we ignore it, eventually he stops, but it's really intense and hard to deal with.

Last night Wil said to me:

"Babe, I think we spoiled him, that's why he acts like that."

"What do you mean?" I asked

"We buy him toys all the time, he needs to listen to us and behave to get what he wants."

I agreed with Wil that I wanted Ari to listen to us. I also expressed my want for him to not to writhe on the floor in protest when he doesn't get what he wants. But this whole conversation got me thinking about the word "spoiled."

Is it possible to "spoil" a child? I love my son. He means the world to me. I want to do everything I can to give him a good life and make him happy. I want him to be content. Does this mean I'm "spoiling him?" I don't know.

Some people might equate spoiling a child with the absence of discipline. If a child doesn't receive "time outs" or the like, is this child spoiled?

The questions began to brew in my mind:

Is a child who receives a lot of toys spoiled?

Is a child who tantrums but still gets his/her needs met spoiled?

Is a child whose needs are met considered spoiled?

Because to me, spoiled has a negative connotation. If milk is spoiled it tasted wretched and needs to be thrown out. I don't think children should be equated with rotten milk.

What's the opposite of a "spoiled child?" Is it a child whose needs are not met, a neglected child?

We do our best as parents to meet the needs of our children. I think the word "spoiled" should be thrown out with the rotten milk.

What do you think? Is there such a thing as a spoiled child?

Ari, You're Going To Hate Me When You're 16 But...

Me: Ari! You didn't pee in your bed last night! High five.
(We high five)
Me: You know why?
Ari: Why?
Me: Because you didn't drink a lot of water before you went to bed.
Ari: No, no. It's because I held my penis when I went to sleep.
???

A Taste of Wool Part 4

"Tested? What do you mean, tested?" Urie said with a puzzled expression.

"I mean that they're finally gonna confirm that that guy is a full-fledged lunatic!" Replied Marvin Greenwall between sips of his coffee. Marvin was at third grade teacher who was born with a landfill for a mouth. It was like doing push-ups for Marvin to utter a phrase that didn't include vulgar language.

"I can hardly believe they've put up with him this long. Jimmy Rosenfeld peed in his pants after he saw Harry yelling at a bucket of Mr. Clean! It took me hours to calm the little fucker down!"

"Well, Harry is a little off-beat, but he's not..."

Marvin raised his coffee cup in Urie's face.

"Off-beat! Christ, Urie, he's crazy. He's scaring the kids, not to mention he's giving the school a bad name. Parents don't wanna send their kids here, 'cause of the loony janitor who makes kids piss on the floor. Shit, I wouldn't wanna send my kid to a place like that, would you?"

No, Urie thought, he guessed he wouldn't. But still, Harry didn't seem to be unstable, just a little eccentric. Sure, he had a few strange habits like talking to his mop or himself, but was he doing anyone any harm by tangoing to the beat of a different salsa?

"Look, I just can't say with a clear conscience that Harry is crazy. Marvin, this is Harry we're talking about. Harry who used to play poker with you in the teacher's lounge during lunch."

This was true, there was a time when Harry used to engage in frequent poker rounds with Marvin, and whomever else was gullible enough to convince them into playing. Marvin was an expert poker player, and even though they only played for sugar packets, Marvin could rot his entire mouth with the amount of packets he collected during the game.

Marvin recalled the first day he asked Harry asked to join him in his daily poker game. Marvin was "whipping Mr. Klein's ass" at the time, as he would put it, and was getting bored with Klein's game.

Klein was a middle aged 1st grade teacher with an enormous bald spot next to his left ear that made his head look off-center. Every time Marvin saw him in the hallway, he wanted to say "Do you know that you have an enormous bald spot that makes your head look off-center?" But he knew the answer was obvious.

Anyhow, Klein was taking a severe beating in poker, and Marvin happened to noticed out of the corner of his eye Harry strolling down the hall with his bucket and loyal soapy sheep dog.

"Hey Harry!" Marvin yelled out the door of the teacher's lounge "You wanna play a round?"

Harry boorishly turned to face Marvin, the way that a panther might turn to face it's prey. He stared at Marvin for what seemed to Marvin like forever. Finally Harry decided that this was a reasonable offer.

Harry didn't care much for cards. Harry didn't care much for anything, but he was apathetic at best about cards. However, Harry, found Marvin to be quite entertaining, and decided that this was enough of a reason to stick around.

"Okay, okay, so loony tunes played a few rounds of cards with me, big freakin' deal. That doesn't make up for the fact that he's short a few marbles." Marvin stopped and realized that he'd just made an awful pun.

***

This is part four of my short story, "A Taste of Wool." I will be posting a new part each Wednesday, as a part of Wool Wednesdays. Click here to read part 3.

Some questions for you:

1. Who will test Harry to see if he's mentally unstable?

2. Who's the narrator?

3. Is Harry crazy? Why/why not?