ToddlerTube

When I was 18 years old I scored a nifty internship at W.W. Norton.  It paid nicely, I spent almost nothing by living with my parents on Long Island and it was during the winter so the company really needed an indentured servant.

It felt very sexy working on 5th avenue, a stone's throw from the Lions at the Public Library.  I loved the job and admired the people there.  However, I had one task that was truly maddening.  About a month and a half in, they desperately needed an exact word count on a dry thousand-plus page non-fiction manuscript about Tolsoy.  Or something Russian.  No, it wasn't in electronic form.  Even if it was, I am not sure word processing programs could do that then.  (Note to Hollywood: I am still 18)

So I dilligently counted.  And counted. And after a few days I told the nice but guilty bosses that no, although it was dull, I didn't mind.  I didn't tell them I left work everyday unable to stop counting my steps back to Penn Station.

One day, after an hour-long commute to do my counting inside a windowless office, I took note of the fact that it was unseasonably warm for Valentine's Day.  Yes, it was Valentine's Day.  So what? I didn't have a boyfriend and I didn't want one.  But sure, it was lonely living on dreaded Long Island, especially during a time when all other college student's were back in college.  My college was just strange in that we had a winter break designed to encourage (read: enforce) work.  

As I plodded to the office it occurred to me I could not go.  I could, in fact, call in sick or similar.  I mean, I hadn't missed a day yet.  They wouldn't mind.  Heck, perfect attendance?  Maybe I was owed a day! As I tried to talk myself out of this wild, morally suspect idea, the idea developed wings and against my better judgement, I found myself across the street from the office telling them... I don't know what.  Something other than the fact that it was too beautiful to come in to count words.

After the call I just started walking with no idea of where I'd end up.  All I remember is that at some point I was at the Central Park Zoo, paying for a ticket.  

I sat on the steps that ringed the sea lion exhibit.  And sat.  And soaked up the February sun in a nearly-deserted zoo.   In the 70-degree weather, I shed my work ethic like the big heavy coat it was.  What a great idea it was to not go to work!

Then, something strange happened. Watching the sea lions I was flooded with the realization that I should have children someday.  Me who didn't like babies and had no want of a regular boyfriend.  Watching the sea lions scamper it seemed to me this was the reason we were here, to have kids.  Just because. This gapingvoid cartoon kind of sums it up:

No I didn't want them anytime soon.  Actually, at the time I didn't want them ever.  But after that day the door to maternity was cracked open, even though I was aware the reason -- sea lions on Valentine's Day at the Central Park Zoo -- was, in itself, cracked.  

I tell you this to explain why, on a recent first-ever trip with Hugo and his daddy, I found myself watching them and waiting for the sea lion feeding time with a lump in my throat and the sour taste in my mouth that comes from trying to hold back tears. 

That's why this video is so short.  Only :15 seconds.  A Toddler Tube record.  But the video showing me chanting "We Want Seals!" doesn't tell the story.  That's why I did.

Oh yes, Hugo loved the seals.

Ciao 4 now Internet.

xoxo,

Susie 

Imagine Woodstock without the sex or drugs, but with a rockin' cafeteria.  Well, that's the new Woodstock 60's museum at Bethel Woods in a nutshell.  There's no permissiveness, it's totally clean and instead of having to call in the National Guard, I am told I'd need to ring up the PR department to see if I can be allowed to take any pictures inside the museum.  

Here's a one-minute video mix of our entire museum experience, albeit without any of the actual museum because they told me not to take photos or video and I am a good girl. 

Ah well.  The best part of the museum for Hugo was a painted bus you can sit in to watch a video.  I didn't watch the video and neither did my babe.  He was just so excited to get to sit in the driver's seat of a REAL BUS and turn the wheel and finger the non-working yet thrilling 8-track deck. Of course, he had a 10-second crank when I told him we had to leave to bus at some point before sundown and a 30-second meltdown when we really had to say sayonara to the bus.

The best part of the museum for me was the lunch I enjoyed afterwards in the sunshine that was from the aforementioned cafeteria.  Actually I enjoyed it for about a nanosecond until Hugo deployed some sort of massively powerful baby traction beam that locked onto and sucked away my entire quiche.  As his quiche-ectomy on me was after he had downed the sandwich and berries I had packed for him, I was mighty impressed.

Since you didn't ask, in general, I think the museum was absurd.  But there were all these conservative-looking oldies in bermuda shorts who were hushed and reverential and even a few totally loving it in an over-the-top way.  For some of them, it was as if they'd never heard of the 60's after it happened which is only possible if you've been locked in a basement by a psycho Austrian for the past few decades.  But no, there were two attractive but weathered middle-aged blondes who were freaking out over every song they could listen to on the headphones and every clip they played of Camelot.  How nice for them.

Am I jealous?  Hells yeah!  My generation is sandwiched in between the Boomers and the dang Millennials and we are the size of a flea fart.  Aint no one making a museum for us.

Phoo. 

Anyway, I love the geographical area the museum/performing arts center is in so I want it to succeed, even if I'm still not over the fact that you can't pack a picnic to listen to a concert on their lawn or take pics in the museum, etc. etc. 

PS For more on Bethel Woods my man wrote an excellent article about the opening concert we attended in 2006. 

Oh ho ho ho!

Thing is I've got recent thrilling vid of a trip to the Central Park Zoo, the Bethel Woods 60's Museum and mucho mucho more!

But I need my commentary to sizzle as much as the cinematic moments.  And at the moment, it's after 11P on a weeknight and I don't got it.  

Also, everyone I've ever known ever is finding me on Facebook and it's starting to freak me out.  At first it was fun, but now I'm creeped out by the people who I haven't seen in about 15 years who "friend" me but then don't say howdy.  Especially when they use a picture of their babies instead of themselves so you have no idea of the ravages the years have taken on them.  That's not fair.  Also, did you disappear when you had kids?  No.  So enough already with using your babies for your profile.  You make all the people without babies who want them feel bad and all the people without babies who don't want them gag.  Not cool. 

Of course now I'm tempted to do the same to up the stakes in this arms race of cuteness.  So far I've been able to sit on my urge.

And worse than using your kid as a profile pic is using your spouse AND your kids as your profle pic.  Yes, we get it, someone agreed to have sex with you -- do we need to see the whole family?  Also, I can't see your wrinkles with those wide shots so cut it out. 

OK Internet, I'm feeling annoyed. 

I'l be my stinking rosy flower of a self tomorrow for sure.

xoxo,

Susie 

At work this week, I needed a photo of twins, preferably cranky ones, and I needed it fast.  But as it was for our blog, we didn't need it so bad I'd actually pay for an image. 

Enter inspiration, my capture of Hugo's stranger anxiety (which lasted a week) and my paltry Photoshop skills...

I'm really proud of the blog post because I took a current event story -- that the earth may have a twin -- and got quotes from four writers who are also all parents to twins.  Three of them are good friends of mine and one just jumped out at me as someone I'd love to get a quote from (Darrin Strauss).  Luckily, all came through.  I'm proud of it, small and ephemeral as it is.  Check it out here.

And yes, I thought of Jane over at the excellent Baby Squared. I was scrambling to get her email to no avail and began to feel a bit like a stalker in the process.  Even though I needed quotes fast, I thought of leaving a comment on her blog to contact me, but I was too fried to figure out how to concisley explain why I needed her without sounding crazy.  i.e. "Jane....email me...I've a dumb blog and you need to be in it."  

Jane, if you're reading this, and if I need a twin 'spert in the future, I'm just going to let my freak flag fly and dare to sound nuts in your comments.

 Later Internet.  I'll post a new vid soon.  Need to fancy this next one up a bit.  

Oh and all readers should leave a comment on this post.  Why?  I dunno really, it'd just be nice.  I see the stats so I know someone other than my mother is reading this and oodles are lurking.  So leave a fake name if you want, I dont care.   

Ciao 4 now Web dolls!

xoxo,

Susie 

OK, this pic of Hugo's 1st ice cream cone is the farthest thing from the blues, but let me explain.

This eve a friend had the bright idea to meet up for drinks after work.  But usually "drinks after work" is too late or too early for me to make it, and besides, usually drinks after work means a venue that isn't Hugo-friendly, so we pass and go to the park and play in their water sprinklers before his bed.

But as this meeting was slated for the 79th street Boat Basin, an outdoor cafe where they serve all the food in baskets and the odd Goldfish cracker hurled wouldn't make the diners gasp, we hot-footed it there.  Especially as other friends with kids similarly leapt at the rare chance to be in public, around drinks and with their kids. 

We made it in record time.  It was lovely to see people.  But once we got a table, Hugo quickly grew bored.  Also, there were many cups and jugs of water and he was outside so it took a few minutes for me to realize he thought we were to have our evening ritual -- namely, go outside and play with water until bath time when there's more water.  My kid is part fish or something.

So the other kids, who were at least a year older and far wiser, watched as a cranky Hugo complained and lusted to run around.  He's never a trouble at a restaurant and so you would've heard me saying to all assembled, "I know you won't believe this, but he's never like this."  They took it in stride, one parent talked of "witching hour" as if it were a time I'd be well acquainted with.  I'm not.  It sounds like the opposite of Happy Hour and as we hurtle towards two, I'm thinking I will be.  Awesome. 

Anyway, as soon as we left, Hugo was Mr. Perfect again.   On the way back to the car (free spot!) I ran into an old Comedy Central pal, followed by a truTV colleague.  Hugo was delightful and serene throughout, but for fairness sake I had to tell them they'd missed a real crank attack.

On the way back to the car, Mr. Crank, who had only had a banana and some crackers for dinner, was treated to his first ice cream cone.  First he was wondering why I'd given him something so cold.  Then, he laughed with delight after every bite.  I got out my camera in time to catch him as he had mastered the art of enjoying nice cream. Yes,I feel like calling it nice cream.  You will too after watching this.

That's it for now virtual pals.

Lotsa lurve,

xoxo,

Susie