A New York minute

OK, I know it's been a while. But I have been busy adopting a second child, running a business, and, well... documenting all of it on Facebook. Sorry, Blog.

Anyway, we took the kids to NYC a couple of weekends ago on a very quick trip, and encountered a quintessential New York moment. It seemed a shame not to share it.

We were standing on Broadway, somewhere in Soho, and Dennis had just run into a Duane Reade to buy some size-6 diapers for Aaron. I was left outside on the busy sidewalk with my two strollers-full of purchases--and the two boys.

Suddenly, a door nestled in between the shops, which evidently leads to upper-floor apartments, burst open. A team of paramedics quickly shuffled out of the door, wheeling a disheveled man in his early 20s onto the sidewalk in some kind of wheelchair apparatus. The man was unkempt, unshaven, and undoubtedly unbathed. His wide eyes and open mouth were overshadowed by his claw-like hands, contorted into a pose reminiscent of a T-Rex toy we'd gotten in some fast-food meal.

Mesmerized by the sight of this poor soul, we barely noticed when the first paramedic, walking with his back to us, bumped into Koby and his stroller. The EMT turned around and saw Koby, mouth agape. Pausing briefly, he leaned down and at Koby's eye level, said in an almost blasé, if not slightly sarcastic tone, "Hey kid, stay in school, don't do drugs." Then he regained his cadence with the rest of the team, and the wheelchair-man was shoved into the back of a waiting ambulance.

The sidewalks still filled with people, moving up and down like the city's lifeblood through its shopping arteries and veins, had barely missed a beat. Koby looked up at me and asked me to explain what the man meant. While the message was easy to convey, I also wanted him to appreciate the New-Yorkedness of it. That day will come.

Bad language

Well, I knew it was coming eventually. And I supposed this might be the year that it would happen, and happen it did.

Round the breakfast table, which is in itself a crossroads of chaos and cocoa puffs in the morning with Koby, nearly six, and Aaron, freshly two. Amidst all of the other things happening simultaneously--Aaron getting covered in things I didn't even realize I'd given him, Koby pontificating on the importance of following class rules and the consequences (a new word) of not doing so, and my coffee getting cold as I ran for the seventh paper towel... Had I packed Aaron's lunch? Taken my Paxil? Anyway...

Just as the routine was winding down and I felt peace creeping back into the dining room, like a ray of light after a tropical downpour, Koby said in a 'playground' kind of tone, "Do you know what a bad word is?"

Oh, I've heard this one a thousand times. Koby went through a phase when he was four where he starting realizing there were 'bad' words. He didn't abuse them, except in constantly asking us "Hey, do you know what a bad word is? [pause] "Stupid!" And then he'd look at us with a mixture of feigned shock at his own utterance, barely covering a mischievous grin.

Yes, it was always 'stupid' or 'hate' or some other word that we, in wielding our parental powers over the pre-schooler, had started to instill in him, just so he would know better. We are careful not to use foul language at home, and god knows his upscale former daycare in Brookline would have been more likely to teach him a word of Spanish, Italian, Russian, or Hebrew before he'd learn anything R-rated.

But now, now Koby was in kindergarten. Real kindergarten in a real public school in Boston. That's where these bad seeds sprout.

So when he asked me the question this morning, "Hey, do you know what a bad word is?" I thought it would be a slight upgrade from 'stupid'--'idiot', perhaps? Then Koby opened his mouth, looked straight into my eyes, and said, "Bitch."

And all I could think was, this is surreal. This is my little baby Koby! He still watches cartoons and sucks his fingers. And today he aged ten years right in front of my eyes. "Bitch." I couldn't believe it.

You know what comes next. "Where did you learn that?!" Because I know it couldn't have happened at home. Thank goodness Koby is still angelic enough to actually tell me, "Michael (a classmate) told me."

"Well," I said, "that's a bad word, and you shouldn't say that to anybody. If you call somebody that, it'll really hurt their feelings. It's super-bad." 'Super' was my most powerful emphasis word for Koby--I hoped it would do its job.

He nodded and said he understood. I told him if I heard him say it, there'd be consequences. Then I asked myself, exactly why was this so upsetting? Why should simple little words carry so much weight? I suppose it's because we believe they do, and so they do.

He's still my baby Koby, but the next time he asks me if I know what a bad word is, my answer will be, "Yes. I know ALL of them. Thank you." We'll just wait and see.

Don't let it bug you

OK. This isn't going to be pleasant. In fact, you may find this post crass, or in bad taste in general. I can't help it. I need to talk about what I was forced to endure today.


Anyone who knows me and Dennis well will attest to the fact that Dennis is, shall we say, a teentsy bit OCD about cleanliness. Think Desperate Housewives' Bree on steroids.

We had to take Aaron down to southern Mass for a bio-family visit today. This would have been fine, if it weren't for the fact that we had been told that Aaron has come back from these visits in the past with, well, a bug. Several bugs, actually. In his hair.

That's all Dennis had to hear.

Before we left our house this morning, he had plotted the whole thing out:

1. We take Aaron to the visit.

2. As soon as Aaron is brought back to the car, a surgical hat goes onto his head, being careful to avoid as much contact between his hair and the rest of the car environment and us as possible. (Poor little thing.)

3. We ourselves also don surgical hats (with baseball caps over them, to make ourselves look oh-so-inconspicuous), and encourage Aaron to keep his on his head for the 50-minute ride by pointing to ourselves and saying, "Look! Funny hat! Funny hat!"


4. We drive back to Boston at lightning speed, hoping not to get stopped for (a) speeding, and (b) looking ridiculous behind the wheel of a car.

5. We stop at Walgreen's to buy RID lice shampoo. Why wouldn't Dennis have done this ahead of time? He was so paranoid about a random bug making its way onto his scalp (I'm scratching my head just thinking about it now!) that he went inside Walgreen's wearing the surgical hat to buy the shampoo. I can't imagine what the sales clerk thought.

6. We arrive at home, run up to the second floor, strip off our clothes, and all 3 jump into the bathtub, where we sit for 10 minutes with lice shampoo on our heads.

7. We rinse, towel-dry, and Dennis throws our clothing into the washing machine and hits the SANITARY WASH button (2 hours in hot water). He only ruined one garment in the process.

We are happily bug free, and even better, my hair is remarkably silky smooth.

Aaron's transition

OK, folks. Here it is. BEFORE:



AFTER:



Now I know that some of you may actually prefer the longer hairdo. But as a child of the 60s and 70s who grew up with a "Dutch Boy" cut, which contributed to my often being mistaken for a girl and god knows how many hours of therapy, I have my reasons.

The long road home

Aaron had a hard day today. After bouncing back and forth between our home and his foster home for the past month, he finally landed in his new nest, here with us. He cried and shrieked for nearly 2 hours solid while his foster family was here. Very different from Koby's transition here 3 years ago, which involved no crying at all.

After his foster family left, he settled down almost immediately, and is enjoying a long night's sleep tonight. It's 9:30 and I am exhausted myself. New pics of Aaron with his new and improved boy-style haircut, and pics of Koby in his role as 'big brother' to follow.

Czech it out

All right, I know "czech it out" is an overused phrase here in Prague. It's on T-shirts everywhere, but who could blame them? The bad pun is overshadowed by the absolute beauty that completely surrounds you--both architecture and people. I'd definitely like to spend some more time here in the future.

Ich bin kein Berliner

No, I'm not a Berliner, or a pastry, or anything remotely close. But we did have a fun time riding the trains around the city, walking for miles and taking in all different parts of the city in all kinds of weather. There's certainly a New York-ish (in European terms) feeling about the city, compared to other places we've been.

I can't quite figure out what my fascination with East Berlin, the DDR, and the Wall is, but I certainly liked going to all the touristy "Checkpoint Charlie" type things. Any of you who knows me well knows that I dearly want the signboard in this photo to reflect my reality rather than just my vacation.


I suppose I can call it "practice."

The whole city seems very alive, and we really only saw a small, touristy slice of it. I did find this ad rather amusing. In case it's too small to make out, it's an anti-AIDS campaign promoting condom use for Germans (the potato) traveling overseas (gee, where do they grow such tropical fruits? Hmm, Thailand??).



I mean, I've seen MANY Germans in that part of the world, in those parts of town. I'm just glad that they recognize this as an issue in the Vaterland.

Next is Prague!