The Day Samara Broke My IPhone

*The names of some individuals in this store have been changed to protect their identities.

I used to have an IPhone, until today.

Samara woke up in a cranky stupor this morning. I quickly gave her a bottle of organic whole milk, hoping that would lift her mood, but she refused it. She sat on my bed, picked up my IPhone and threw it hastily onto the floor while screaming.

I picked up my phone, thinking nothing of it, and found that the screen had shattered into tiny pieces. It looked like a spider web.

My jaw dropped. I didn't know what to do or say. So I called Wil.

"They're not gonna replace your phone you know."

"They have to!" I exclaimed. "I'm going to the Verizon store and I'm going to beg them to give me another phone."

"We'll see," said my unconvinced husband.

"I'm not leaving the store without a new phone." I said firmly.

"Let me know what happens." He said with a sigh.

I loaded the kids into the double stroller while talking to my friend Cordy on the phone about gay marriage and how we're both passionate about equal rights.

The kids and I headed to the Verizon store.

Unfortunately, the Verizon store was not yet open, so we went to Target and I spent some money I didn't really have on cute skirts.

After Target we went back to Verizon, which was just opening up. There were several people standing in line waiting for the gates to open. I was talking with one guy about the Verizon customer service phone number.

"I hate calling Verizon customer service," he said rolling his eyes. "It takes like 10 minutes to get a human on the phone, and then you have to sit there waiting for them to ask you all these useless questions."

"I know!" I agreed "I guess someone created that website getahuman dot com, or whatever, for a reason."

We laughed.

"That's why I'd just rather go to the store." He said nodding.

The pearly Verizon gates opened and I maneuvered the double stroller into the store. I marched right up to the counter and spoke with "Fred." I won't give you his real name, I'm calling him Fred to protect his anonymity.

"Hi Fred." I said with a sigh. "My daughter threw my phone on the ground and the screen shattered. Is there anything I can do?" I asked trying to look pathetic.

"Well, your next upgrade isn't until July..." he said looking at the computer "But, the good news is, you do have insurance. So your best bet is to call the insurance company and get a replacement phone." With that he handed me a business card with the insurance company's number.

"Thanks so much, but the thing is, I can't afford to pay the $169 deductible for the new phone. Is there anything you can do for me."

"I mean, there are mom and pop shops that fix the screens, but once you go that route, your warranty is no good anymore."

"Oh," I looked down, trying to conjure up the tears to fake cry, come on! Where was my theatrical training when I needed it?! Nothing was coming though.

"Look, your best bet is to go through insurance, this is a 600 dollar phone." He said looking me in the eye. "You don't know how many people come in here every day with the same problem, crying, begging for us to fix their phones."

"No no, I totally understand." I said.

"Miss! Your daughter!" Shouted another Verizon employee. I turned around and Samara was running up to the escalator and attempting to step onto the first step. I quickly ran out of the store, grabbed her, and shoved her kicking and screaming into the stroller.

"Can we go now?" Ari asked as whiny a voice as possible.

"No!" I shouted.

"Listen, is there anything you can do for me? I know this is not your problem, I totally understand, but you can see I have my hands full. Anything you can do would be so appreciated." I begged.

"Yeah," Fred said writing something down "The insurance is the way to go." He handed me a business card with something written on it.

I looked down and it said:

"Call Tristan, he may be able to help." And then it listed Tristan's digits.

"Thanks so much Fred!" I said with a wink. And with that, we left the Verizon store.

I immediately dialed up Tristan's number, it went straight to voicemail.

"Hi Tristan, my name is Sarah, and I have a cracked IPhone screen, Fred from Verizon recommended I call you, please call me back. Thanks."

To be continued.

Here's My Son's Card

I was on the playground the other day on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, my old neighborhood, and I met this really cool mom. We got to talking while Ari was running amuck and her toddler son was strapped into his stroller. The mom in question had gorgeous long wavy hair that looked too perfect for words.
"I love your hair!" I marveled. "I wish I had hair like that."
"Oh don't be fooled," she cautioned me "My hair is just like yours. I just had it cut and blown out yesterday. That's why it looks like this." I laughed. She told me where she got her hair done, this place in Chelsea, and we compared bad curly hair cut stories.
Things were going great on this "mom date," I thought, until she and her child were ready to get going.
"Hey, we should exchange emails or something," I offered "maybe we could meet up on the playground again sometime?"
"That would be great," she said smiling. Then she looked down for a moment and hesitated.
"Um, my husband made these for me the other day, actually...it's the first time I'm handing one out." she said offering me a small white card the size of a fortune from a fortune cookie.
I looked at it...it was her son's full name and his emaill address.
So basically, in order to get in touch with this woman, I have to email her 16 month old. I really didn't know what to say. I thanked her and she went on her way with her stack of business cards at the ready.
So what do you think? Should I email this toddler or what?

Older Brother Knows Best- The Little Dietitian

I was trying to feed Samara her scrumptious dinner of Earth's Best Sweet Potato and Chicken baby food, but she decided that she wanted nothing to do with baby food at all. Each time I attempted to spoon feed her, she screamed. Ari said:

"Excuse me mommy, Samara wants Cheerios!"

"Okay, you think so," I said skeptically "Hand me the Cheerios please."

"Only a few mommy. I want Cheerios too." He said definitively.

I bit a Cheerio in half and put the other half in Samara's mouth. She gobbled it up like it was an M&M.

So I decided to get fancy, and intersperse feeding her half eaten Cheerios with spoonfuls of baby food. This was going well for a while, until I turned my back for one minute and this happened:

Needless to say, Ari was very upset that Samara spilled her food, and he told her so.

What Did You Do This Weekend? Oh, You Know, Got Married!

After six years together, Wilhelm Van Luyn and I got married in my parent's garden today. My friend Dara (whom I've known since the 1st grade) officiated the inter-faith ceremony. My best friend, Mint, was my Matron of Honor and Wil's brother, Dan, was his Best Man. It was very small, mainly family and a few of our close friends. I am happy to report that my entire family are now Fader-Van Luyns!

Before we got to the main event, we had to get ready first:

Here's Cordy doing my hair, and Ari helping. Donna was stuck in traffic with vegan

wedding cupcakes, but when she got there she finished flat ironing and curling my hair. She also did a killer job on my make-up.

I would like take a moment to thank Uncle Mike AKA "The Baby Whisperer" who held, fed, and calmed Samara before and during the ceremony.

Francesca was our flower girl, and Ari was our ring bearer. This was his second time doing the job, the first go-around was at Mint and Mike's wedding. He did a great job this time. He handed the rings directly to Mint.

**Edit Wil tells me that Ari did NOT hand the rings to Mint, but rather dropped them on the grass and Uncle Dan had to retrieve them. WHOOPS! Guess I wasn't paying attention!

My dad "gave me away" while my mom, my brother and my uncles held the chuppah.

Wil and I each lit a unity candle. While we were lighting the candles, Ari got his hands on the matches and started playing with them. Thankfully, Uncle Dan stopped him before he burned down the house.

Then we read our vows. Donna sent me these "vow libs" to fill out. They were really helpful! Essentially you just fill in the blanks (like in mad libs) and create your vows! I thought I was prepared, but when Wil took out his vows and began to speak, he almost made me cry. He's usually not very loquacious, but his vows were so honest and real. When the ceremony was over, I told him that his vows blew my vows out of the water.

We exchanged rings:

We were almost married...

Then it was official!

We're married! YAY!

A Morning in The Life Of

"Ari, are you awake?"

"The robot...I wanna watch the robot episode of Max and Ruby."

"Are you awake or talking in your asleep?"

"Awake. Hungry."

"Go to the potty."

"No! Hungry first." Ari rolls over on his side.

"Use the potty and then you can eat breakfast."

"NO! Hungry."

Silence.

"Carry me."

"What?"

"Carry me to the potty."

"Okay. Fine."

I carry him to the bathroom. He pees. Flushes. Re-clothes. Washes hands, with help.

Samara starts crying. I pick her up.

"I peed on the potty, now I get cat cookies!"

"Okay, but only two."

"NO! A lot!"

"Okay four. But then breakfast."

"Okay..." Ari sighs.

"French toast." I say definitively.

I make french toast and coffee while holding Samara, who is crying, on my hip.

"Is that my french toast?"

"Yes. It's yours."

"Is that mommy's french toast?"

"Yes."

"I want chocolate milk."

"No, french toast first."

"NO! I want chocolate milk first. No french toast. I don't want to eat."

"You eat your breakfast, then you get chocolate milk."

"Okay..." Ari sighs.

Samara is still whining. I nurse her while drinking coffee and eating french toast at the same time. Ari eats half his french toast and says:

"Now chocolate milk?"

"Okay, fine." Thinking he ate a significant amount.

He downs the chocolate milk and just before he races out of the kitchen, I say

"Go to the potty. Then we're going outside to the playground."

He totally ignores me and makes a bee-line for his cars and trucks.

"Ari go to the potty. You need to go before we leave."

He acts as if he can't hear me. There's not much I can physically do, because at the moment I'm nursing Samara.

All of a sudden Ari stops in his tracks and stares straight ahead, his face turning a bit pinkish.

"Are you pooping? Wait, wait! Go to the potty!"

"I pooped."

"ARRRRRRGGG!!!!" I say and punch the couch as hard as I can.

"I need new underwear."

"Ari," I say trying not to rip my face off "Next time you have to poop, what do you do?"

"Go to the potty!" He says grinning ear to ear. The next thing that happens is that I am chasing him all over the apartment trying to catch him to change his soiled underwear.

A bath follows and we somehow miraculously we make it out the door to the playground.

I need a vacation. Anyone else?

The Day Two Cats Escaped

Yesterday morning, I was in a sleepy haze, when I heard Wil come in the door from work around 5:00am.

"Babe," He said "Uh...there's a cat outside our door. He's really cute."

"No..." I grumbled "We can't keep him."

"But, I don't know what to do with him...I'm gonna feed him. I think he's hungry."

"Okay...but don't bring him in here..." I said drifting back off to sleep.

A few hours later, there was a knock at my door, it woke me up. It was our neighbor from downstairs.

"Hi!" She said cheerily "Is this your cat?" Before I even looked down to see what cat she was talking about, I said:

"No, no, no...he's a stray..." then I glanced down and saw him.

"Oh! He's not our cat, he's my parent's cat...uh...Dusty." I was clearly not awake, my hair was sticking up, and I was wearing a gross tee-shirt and pajama pants.

"Thanks--thanks so much. I'll bring him back...have a great day." She smiled politely, went on her way out the door, most likely thinking that I was a giant slob.

I walked the formerly homeless cat known as Dusty back downstairs to his rightful owners.

**Later that day**

We were downstairs at my parent's place playing in the backyard. I was also attempting to multi-task by doing laundry. When Ari came back inside the house, he left the garden door open and Faryl the cat escaped!

Try as I might, I could not lure Faryl the cat back in the house. I called to him, I opened a can of tuna, but he was not having it. Ari even tried to help me to get Faryl back in the house. But he ended up scaring him away. At the sound of Ari's voice, Faryl ran under the deck in my parent's garden.

I called my mom and told her what was going on. She said not to worry and that she would rescue Faryl from the depths of the Fader Garden when she returned home.

I received a voicemail in the wee hours of the evening, yesterday, from Liz Fader informing me that she had captured Faryl and returned him home.

May 3, 2011 will go down in infamy as the day two cats escaped! Also, it was my friend Xylia's birthday.

The Department of Vital Records Strikes Again

When we first received Samara's birth certificate there was error on it. So, like any neurotic Jewish mother would do, I trekked down to the hospital with the two kids to get the error fixed. The error, in case you were interested, was that the time of birth was listed as 10:07 am, when Samara was actually born at 8:06 pm.

A month later we received this envelope:

I opened it to find this:

Which made me feel like this:

The Department of Vital Records is jumping rope on my last nerve. I guess I'll have to make a second trip into Manhattan and fill out yet another correction form! As if I didn't have enough going on.

I wonder what the next version of this document is going to look like. Maybe she'll be born at 2am!

I can only hope they get it right this time.

Surgery, Therapy Dogs, Improv Theater and a Baby in a Laundry Basket

Ari had surgery this morning. The doctors came and got him from his hospital room at 9am to transport him to the O.R. They let me come with him down to the Operating Room, but first they suited me up:

When we were traveling down to the Operating room, I felt like I was the one about to have surgery. I guess that's because Ari is like an extension of me.

We got to the Operating Room. He cried at the unfamiliar stark white surroundings. I held him while the Anesthesiologist sedated him. I was terrified. He was going under general anesthesia. He fell asleep quickly. As soon as I saw him on the Operating Room table I could feel a lump in my throat. I wanted to cry.

"Okay, mom." Said the Anesthesiologist, I was glad that she spoke because it stopped me from crying, "We'll show you to the family lounge now." One of the nurses walked me to the family lounge where I could wait for the surgery to be over.

It was the longest 30 minutes of my life. I tried to distract myself by looking at silly websites on my phone, i.e. damnyouautocorrect.com, but I was a nervous wreck. Finally, the doctor came to get me and told me the surgery had gone well and walked me to the recovery room where Ari was sleeping in a metal crib.

He woke up pretty quickly and wanted me to hold him.

I made the mistake of asking one of the nurses when he could eat bland foods like crackers. He heard "crackers" and said:

"Crackers? I want crackers!"

The nurse replied:

"Not yet sweetie, you need to drink a little bit first to see if your tummy feels okay."

"CRACKERS!" He demanded.

After much cajoling, he drank a cup of apple juice, small sips at a time. Then he bugged the nurse until she gave in and gave him a pack of saltines. I promised him many more crackers when we got back to his room, and I delivered on that promise.

Meanwhile, my other child has been sleeping in random household items at my friend's houses. Thank you Zahir and Mint!

Samara in a Laundry Basket: Wil's Brilliant Idea

Samara in a Drawer

She loved the laundry basket, but I hear she got bored of the drawer.

While Ari has been at the hospital he made friends with a therapy dog named Hudson:

And saw a show by an improv theater group called Only Make Believe:

These guys were awesome! They performed an original show for the entire Pediatric Unit in the play room here. The kids were very much involved in the show; there was a ton of audience participation. OMB were wonderful with children. For more on Only Make Believe, click here.

Ari is feeling much better. He's sleeping at the moment. I was told we could go home tomorrow afternoon. Here's hoping!

Thank you to all of our friends and family that offered kind words, transported breast milk, gave us a place to stay, and much much more while we've been going through this challenging time.

Admitted to The Hospital

I don't know what day it is. I barely know what time it is. Everything is running together. People's faces are blurred. I can't tell one doctor from another. They all look the same. We're in the hospital. Ari is in the hospital. I write those words and I don't believe them. It's surreal.

At some point in time, I realized that Ari wasn't getting better. The mass on his throat was swollen and red. I called the pediatrician and said:

"Look, he isn't getting better, what can we do?"

"The next step is so see an ENT doctor." Ear, Nose and Throat.

The ENT I wanted to see (the one affiliated with my pediatrician) wasn't available for two days. So I took a second choice appointment with a back up ENT. It was a mistake.

The doctor, we'll call him Dr. Y, barely looked at Ari and said he needed a Cat Scan. Whoa...back the bus up! He called in his partner who said "He doesn't need a Cat Scan, the mass is superficial. You should aspirate it." I went along with that plan; another mistake.

Dr. Y strapped Ari into a papoose like structure. He stuck a needle in Ari's neck and he screamed. I rubbed his head. Not much came out. A little blood, that was all.

"I thought there would be puss." I said.

"So did I." said Dr. Y. He said he was going away for the weekend with his wife who was 9 months pregnant, but Ari should have an ultrasound the next day. I numbly took the prescription for the ultrasound in my hand and Ari, Samara and I went home on the train.

The next day, the day of the ultrasound, the pediatrician called. I told her what happened at the second choice ENT's office.

"Do you still have the appointment with Dr. X?" Dr. X was the Dr. I would have preferred to see. The first choice Dr.

"I canceled it because Dr. Y scheduled an ultrasound today."

"You should get that appointment back with Dr. X." She said ominously.

"Oh...okay," I said.

"Yeah, cancel the ultrasound and get the original appointment back." She reiterated.

So I did just that.

We got to Dr. X. My dad came with me because Wil was sleeping (he'd worked the night before) and I had both kids with me. Ari was playing in the waiting room while I nursed Samara and my dad helped me fill out forms. It was a rather large waiting room and I feared we might wait a while. We didn't. We were called in within five minutes of our arrival.

When we got into the exam room, Samara started crying. I handed her to my dad and he took her into the waiting room.

Dr. X was great with Ari. Before he examined him, he talked with him, gave him high fives, and warned him that he was going to look in his mouth, and examine his neck. After the exam, Dr. X locked eyes with me.

"It looks pretty bad," he said gesturing at the enlarged lymph node on Ari's neck.

"My recommendation is that you admit him to the hospital." My jaw hit the floor at the words "admit him to the hospital." Dr. X explained that since the oral antibiotics weren't working, he wanted Ari to receive IV antibiotics and be monitored at the hospital.

I returned to the waiting room and told my dad the news, mistakenly, in front of the whole waiting room.

"WHAT?!" He practically yelled.

"Never mind, let's talk about this when we leave." I said.

We left the office and headed to the Emergency Room. The pediatric Emergency Room was full of toys and DVDs. Ari was happy to curl up in bed and watch Disney's Robin Hood while he played with a pack of playing cards and a rubber duck that the nurse, Doug, gave him upon admission.

I called Wil obsessively (until he woke up) to let him know what was going on. I finally reached him and told him the news. He got to the hospital within the hour to meet us.

Ari was evaluated quickly and admitted to a room.

Since his admission, he's been on IV antibiotics, and the doctors have been waffling back and forth as to whether or not they want to do a surgical drainage. If he doesn't respond to the antibiotics, he'll go to the Operating Room. I'm trying not to think about it.

The nice part about this hospital is that they have a wonderful pediatric unit. The nurses and doctors are really kind and super responsive. They have a play room where the kids can hang out and a giant fish tank to look at.

Ari has also been bribed with toys so that he can feel more comfortable under these circumstances.

The challenging part of this whole situation has been caring for Samara. She's not allowed to stay in the hospital with us. I've been pumping every two-three hours (they have a pumping room) and my dad has been delivering breast milk to my mom who has been watching Samara. My parents have been staying at a friend's place near the hospital.

I'm trying to stay strong. Please send good thoughts.

Knock It Off!

Today I feel like the worst mom. Ari, Samara and I went to the playground this morning. Ari wanted to take his scooter with him. I told him that was fine by me, but he had to promise that he would ride it or walk with it all the way to the playground and all the way home. He agreed enthusiastically.

When it came time to go home, he did not want to leave the playground, which wasn't much of a surprise.

"Ari, we have to go home, when we get home, we're going to see Chesca." Chesca is Ari's cousin, and it was true, she is coming over later today.

We started walking home, and that's when the trouble started. He paused in the middle of the street and stood there unmoving.

"Ari you need to walk or ride your scooter."

"No." He whined

"Ari, I'm not in the mood for this right now. We need to go home and you need to walk."

"NO!" He yelled and started crying. I tried to reason with him:

"Ari, I can't carry you because I'm carrying Samara. So you need to walk."

At this point Samara started crying, and I knew she was hungry.

He walked a little bit, and then started crying in the middle of the street.

"Ari, you need to walk." I repeated.

He just stood there. So I walked ahead of him, figuring he would follow once he saw I wasn't putting up with his defiant behavior.

My attempt at tough love failed. I walked ahead of him and he did not follow. So I walked back with the baby on my chest crying loudly and got him.

After several more attempts to get him to walk home, reason went out the window and I lost it. I knelt down and yelled at him:

"KNOCK IT OFF!"

He cried louder and still refused to walk.

"Okay," I said "If you don't walk home, you can't see Chesca this afternoon and no playground for the next three days." That got his attention.

He begrudgingly held my hand and walked home crying all the way.

When we got home, I told him he did a good job walking home and that he would see Chesca and go to the playground after all. But I felt awful, because I lost my cool and yelled at him. I don't know how people stay calm when their kids are throwing monster tantrums.

What do you do when your kid sits in the middle of the sidewalk and refuses to walk?

The Giant Frog, By Ari

Here is a story that Ari told me at breakfast today:

ARI: Once upon a time there was a boy named "Mommy."
Mommy met a giant frog.
The frog say "Hello."
Mommy say "Hello."
Mommy was scared.
1-2-3-4-5.
5-4-3-2-1.
I all done with peanut butter toast.

I love that I am a boy.

Pilgrimage to Fix a Birth Certificate

This morning I called 311 to inquire further about how to fix the error on Samara's birth certificate . As it turns out, I don't have to go to the dreaded Department of Vital Records. The correction form can be submitted directly to the hospital where Samara was born. So off we went, incorrect birth certificate in hand, on a journey to the Upper East side of Manhattan where Samara's birth hospital was.

Since we were taking the train, I told Ari we should take the stroller. He objected and insisted on taking his scooter. I said that was okay, as long as he didn't ask me to carry him at any point during the day. The deal was he had to ride or walk with his scooter the whole way. He agreed.


When we got to the train station, I asked a random stranger to take a picture of us to document the journey. I was thankful that he didn't steal Wil's expensive camera. I'm sure we looked like tourists even though we live here.


At this point we were ready to take the elevator to the 4/5 train but then we saw this terrible sign:
You can't see it, can you? Here's a closer look:

I was actually glad that we took the scooter at this point because I didn't have to lug the stroller (with Ari in it) and the baby up these stairs:

Ari hapilly walked up the stairs. He was so psyched to get on the train, that he didn't care about the copious amount of stairs he had to climb.

When we boarded the train, Wil's "fancy" camera died, so I used my camera phone for the rest of the pictures to document our journey. Here's Ari looking stoic on the subway:

When we got out of the subway, it was raining. Ari boarded his scooter and we zoomed up the street into the hospital. We made it to the Birth Registrar!

Cynthia, the Birth Registrar, told me that I didn't have to pay a thing to fix the birth certificate since it was a hospital error! I was excited. We called Mint and decided to celebrate at a kid-friendly diner near the hospital. Despite the fact that the diner was only a few blocks away, it took us half an hour to meet her there. Traveling with two small children takes infinitely longer than traveling by one's self.

Ari made a friend at the restaurant:


By the time lunch was over Ari was tired, Samara was cranky, Mint had to go to work and it was raining. All those factors considered, we did the unthinkable for me, we took a taxi home! I know, it's expensive and I never do it. As we were standing on the corner, a woman went to get in the taxi that I hailed first. She wasn't trying to steal it, she obviously didn't see us because she was holding an enormous umbrella that blocked her view. I offered to share the ride downtown with her.

Ari was excited to be in a car of any kind.

On her way out, at 35th Street and Lexington, she handed me a $20 for the ride. I asked her if she wanted change, her ride was only $7.00, but she said "keep it!" I thanked her profusely as she exited the cab.

We're home now, Samara is sleeping and Ari is watching Max and Ruby. I feel a strange sense of accomplishment. I went on a mecca with two small children, I avoided a government office and a bogus fee, and I am one step away from receiving a correct birth certificate for my almost seven week old baby! Lastly, I accomplished all these things in a torrential downpour.