56 Days and Counting

• Just an update, we still have the car rental.

There is Such a Thing as Free Ice Cream

(Photo courtesy of anna29maria)

One of the many perks of living in NYC includes today’s serendipitous sighting of the Coach-branded Van Leeuwen Artisan Ice Cream Truck at the corner of West Broadway and Prince Street. To promote the Coach Poppy Collection, the fashionably dressed trucks are offering gratis ice cream near flagship stores during 12pm-9pm thru July 25th. If I weren’t already fasting, I would have loved to grab an exclusive taste of Glam Cherry but it was still refreshing to watch my husband and Ismaeel enjoy their cones of chocolate on yet another long hot afternoon in Soho.

Coach,
Thank you. You have no idea how much my boys needed this today. If my husband's fondly remembered but still sadly stolen limited edition watch hasn’t already told you; we are sincerely big fans. Consider a new wallet and pair of sunglasses to be in my near future.

Van Leeuwen,
I think you already know what you mean to us. We'll never wish that we could quit you... xoxoxo

Sick Daze

I felt it brewing yesterday but tried to ignore it. Today, there is no denying it. A good ol’ fashioned summer fever and sinus infection have reacquainted me with despair and fatigue. Oh, if only I could embrace them.

For now, I’ll just let the room spin and my head throb to its own delirious beat. Until… Siraj cries himself awake, needing a clean diaper, and hungry for food. I ignore the pulsating sunlight and hold onto him while I stabilize myself against the side of his crib. Sometimes, if I am quiet and don’t turn on too many lights while I tend to him - he will promptly fall back to sleep. However, this soon became not one of those quiet dawns when Ismaeel cheerfully bellowed his own good mornings and urgent requests for apple juice and a cereal bar. Still in potty training reinforcement mode, I take Ismaeel to the bathroom while also holding Siraj. I am using all of my available energy to not fall down. Maybe I can use one of my lazy-no-good-mother cards and turn on the TV for them while I sneak back to bed. But this is Monday. There is no such thing as mercy.

I soon start packing and ironing all of our requisite items but the thought of coordinating pants and trouser socks for myself nearly put me over the edge. If nothing else, today is a flip-flop day. I email a note about my absence from work and finish packing the boys along their merry way. My husband touches my forehead confirming my (starting to slightly taper off) fever while Siraj and Ismaeel look bewildered that such a state prevents me from going with them. I wave my (still dizzy) goodbyes as they get into the elevator and bask in the quiet until I open my eyes and see the horror that used to be our home.

More cereal bar crumbs than usual have found their way into the fibers of our living room carpet. Apple juice and fingerprints have made an eerie and opaque fog on our glass coffee table. There are toys (that I didn’t even know the boys had) spilled throughout the floor. The kitchen counter is overflowing with pantry items that we bought over the weekend but didn’t yet put away. And most frightening of all, is the backlog of laundry (in desperate need of pre-treating) that might just swallow me alive.

I desperately wanted to sleep but knew the mess around me would only find a way to multiple during my slumber. And so, I started the laundry, scooped up the toys, sprinkled the carpets with deodorizer, wiped the table clean, and tackled the kitchen cupboards. In order to make space I needed to get rid of the older items in the back of the cabinets. I found myself throwing out more than a couple of boxes of expired brownie and cake mixes. Feeling like an inadequate and failed baker, I soon found myself trying to compensate by making a quick batch of orange halal jello for Ismaeel.

Somewhere throughout the day, the house got cleaned, I got showered, some schoolwork was finished, the boys were picked up from daycare, and I head out to my last class of the summer semester. My eyes are still bleary, it is nearly impossible to speak without coughing, and my whole body aches. What really bothers me most is wondering just when exactly is a good time to start taking care of myself.

For now, the answer seems to remain - not quite yet.

49 Days and Counting

• Just an update, we still have the car rental.

42 Days and Counting

• Just an update, we still have the car rental.

35 Days and Counting

• Just an update, we still have the car rental.

Quadrants of Insanity

(Photo courtesy of Lunch in a Box)

There are times when my husband hints that I have taken on too much. When he says this – I typically don’t reply other than to exchange a bewildered look. After 11+ years, he knows me right !?! What exactly on my Type-A plate is optional !?! But here is the brief summary of my plate: I am a wife of one, a mommy of two under three, a promotions manager of six brands, and a grad student of one mere class per each semester. I don’t even dare put amateur photographer or wistful poet on this list. So in my defense, culling myself down to four states of being is quite conservative. Right !?!

“Wife” and “Mommy” are clearly requisite roles. “Manager” and “Student” could be debatable until the moment we realize how questionable (psychologically rather than financially) my offering as “Wife” or “Mommy” would be without them. Beyond any grand ideas of self-fulfillment - it is very important my boys know what work ethic is and have examples of educated women in their lives. And so it seems, I remain fully committed to my quadrants of insanity.

So, at what point do I need to recognize that I am “falling short”? And what help is appropriate to ask for? It is a lot easier at work to identify the things that fall outside the scope and value of my role and simply outsource those tasks. Is it because I have a clearly defined job description? Or does it matter that I have an objective criteria that my job performance rating and compensation is based upon? Or is it simply having access to resources that I can delegate certain items to?

At home it is safe to say that I am not as aware of the nuances of my job description. That’s if there even is one. And as for job performance – whose evaluation matters most? My own? My husband’s? My kids? Anyone else’s? And I think this is the very crux where I begin to fall short.

You would think my own evaluation would be the most compassionate but I have always been my own worst critic. So yes, while each morning I prep fresh bottles and lunches for the boys – I sometimes feel badly that I am not packing them into fun little bento boxes with radishes shaped like mice. I think about how the house should be cleaner or better decorated. Rather than takeout, I think about the elaborate dinners and homemade desserts that I should be planning for the week ahead instead. I think about how if I were only exercising more, I would be slimmer, better dressed, and healthy enough to keep up with my life. I think about how much better my school assignments could have been if I only started earlier. And despite being in an Ivy League graduate program, every once in a while I pause to consider if I am failure for not pursuing my MBA. But I quickly comfort myself that there is still time to look into that Yale program after graduation. And as for work, am I even where I am supposed to be? Is this a career I simply fell into or one that I truly choose? Is this the best work that only I can do? And most often than not these answers fall on the shoulders of no.

While my husband can respect at least what I try to do everyday – I think he is still baffled that I do things a certain way. He says I need to stop aiming for perfection and I ask where the corners I can cut are. We talk about how to make my load easier but we never find anything too ripe for dropping. Is the only solution to adopt lower standards? Yes, Ismaeel and Siraj seem to have their basic needs fulfilled but do they feel their allotment of playtime is adequate? Or are my days too long or filled with more emails than time for “angry dinosaurs”. Would they even notice shorter and less fragrant bubble baths?

As for anyone else’s assessment – the relevance of judgment becomes pretty murky pretty fast. On one hand, it is nice to sound off and get advice on structuring your days or how cooking every night is even manageable. But what does it even matter when the things someone else does well are simply because those are the areas that are most important to them? It is very easy to not understand why something is on your plate. Or to assume that the buckets of your life are nothing more than selfish pursuits. Perhaps I don’t need to give myself a glowing evaluation each day but at least I can commit to knowing what is on my plate and the reason it is there. And hell, maybe a cleaning service isn't such a bad idea to look into after all...

28 Days and Counting

• Just an update, we still have the car rental.

I Scream, You Scream, We All Scream For…

While it is hard to see Ismaeel’s babyhood fading fast – it is thrilling to see him mature into a wonderfully exciting little person with his own ideas. Granted, his best thoughts involve some sort of dessert or monsters with terrible great big claws but they are nonetheless his very own ideas.

Today, he asked my husband and me if we would like to share ice cream with him. The image of him “treating” us to ice cream is simply charming on its own. However, compared to the dinner of leftovers we were trying to garner enthusiasm for – it was more than easy to agree that Ismaeel’s stroke of super-genius was the best detour home.

Rather than waste our time with Mister Softee we went straight over to Soho for the Van Leeuwen Artisan Ice Cream Truck. Seriously supercalifragilistically good. My husband and Ismaeel choose to share a double-scoop of chocolate in a bowl, and I went for peppermint & chip in a sugar cone. All the while, poor little Siraj stared at us with a sense of wide-eyed injustice.

I am a fierce ice cream purist. I could argue for hours unapologetically about how ice cream should be forever soft and never chewed. Even at home, I mash our ice cream to a creamy bowl of fluff before serving. So the whole premise of adding chips to peppermint should have negated the possibility of my order. But this is Van Leeuwen where organic peppermint is complemented by ultra-thin Michel Cluizel 72% chocolate chips. The chocolate nearly melts within the ice cream and certainly doesn’t need to be left behind as sugary chocolate grit in your teeth. Imagine a York Peppermint Pattie grown up as a refined frozen cream with an even cleaner and more natural mint. The sugar cone was perfectly crispy sweet and so good it seemed downright cruel not to let both my husband and Ismaeel try it.

They are already talking about the flavors (pistachio? hazelnut? strawberry?) that we will try next time. Though, I suspect Ismaeel will remain loyal to his sweetheart chocolate. The whole excursion was a refreshing end note to a warm summer day. If only every day was filled with such toddler spontaneity!

And now on to those uber-thrilling leftovers. Sigh…

Daddy-Oh !!!

Here's a not-said-enough-gratitude-list for my husband...

Thank you for:

• Sharing in the trust that our family would grow with God’s will.  
• Being so pleased to hear about both our pregnancies that you were in a state of pure disbelief for days. 
• Patting my back and still carrying on a conversation despite me kneeling during one of my many bouts of morning, afternoon, and evening sickness.
• Supporting me during each and every wild pregnancy craving. I know it was tough keeping the refrigerator fully stocked with lemonade and having to share in all those “I-must-have-a-tres-leches-doughnut-right-now” moments.
• Waiting patiently as I stood in (yet another) too-long line for the bathroom.
• Not only not fainting but being such a trooper during labor. No one delivers the perfect cup of ice-chips quite like you.
• Falling in love with Ismaeel and Siraj utterly and completely.
• Cherishing being able to nourish the boys by simply holding their bottles and stroking their hair.
• Being such a warm and compassionate father.
• Sleeping on the lambie rug next to the crib while Ismaeel fought to go to bed without his pacifier for the first time.
• Waking up with me at 4am just to enjoy listening to Siraj’s cooing.
• Staying up late to decorate the boys’ room with glow-in-the dark stars.  
• Buying a set of home theatre speakers so we can watch Pixar movies with the boys in surround sound. 
• Trying to help with the morning routine even if it means Ismaeel winds up with his shoes on the wrong feet.
• Letting me take two and a half years to build up enough nerve to have Ismaeel’s hair cut for the first time.
• Helping Siraj get settled into slumber while Ismaeel and I read “just one more” story.
• Introducing a voice of calm while the whole house seemed overwhelmed by the trials of potty training.
• Getting just as excited as Ismaeel does when a helicopter is nearby. 
• Cheering for Siraj’s early crawling skills even if it means we have to race to baby proof the house again. 
• Making sure the boys never miss a good night’s kiss.

Happy Father’s Day !!!

21 Days and Counting

• Just an update, we still have the car rental.

14 Days and Counting

• Just an update, we still have the car rental.

7 Days and Counting

• Just an update, we still have the car rental.

To Park or Not to Park

For those who know me, you are all too-familiar with the long-winded tale of how a totaled car brought about my wedding in under 30 days. For those who don’t, nearly five years ago a perfect parking spot was discovered as being not-so-flawless after all.

First of all, I don’t drive. Despite my parent’s deep love and affection for cars, I never learned how and have sincere doubts that I ever will. So, when my husband (back then fiancé) wanted to leave his car in Manhattan, he was the one and only tasked with parking and re-parking (during late nights and early mornings) per the dictates of NYC street cleaning rules. He took particular pride in securing spots where cars could be left for days in a row. Much to his delight, he landed one on Riverside Drive that could keep the car up until the weekend. For the rest of the week, he slept in a bit later, and happily didn’t think once about his Mitsubishi Diamante.

Early that Saturday morning, we walked 4 blocks to the so-called perfect parking spot with our bags packed to spend the weekend in Long Island. But we couldn’t find the car. We laughed to think that we walked in the wrong direction and started to reconsider which coveted place we had actually left it. But my husband was absolutely certain it was “this exact spot” by “that very tree”. Was it towed? Was it stolen? We had no clue. We tried calling the police from the street but were told we couldn’t file a report for at least 4 hours to ensure that no one towed the car instead. We considered our weekend officially over and went back to my apartment to spend the next 240 minutes calling and re-calling each tow pound throughout Manhattan and the outer boroughs. We did our due diligence but no one had record of towing the car.

At this point, the police agree to meet us outside the apartment. They told us to hop in the back of their squad car so we could show them where we parked. As we drove past, the expressions on my neighbors’ faces were priceless. At this point, we were pretty irritated that the car was stolen. So you can imagine, we didn’t find it amusing when the police officer was laughing heartily as he stood where the car should have been. He eagerly waved my husband to join and almost tripped over as he remembered we couldn’t open the squad car doors ourselves. He came running, waving a note, and mumbling something about what are the odds. My husband examined the note which said, “Don’t worry, your car isn’t stolen. xxx-xxx-xxx” and shook his head. The phone number meant nothing to us. Who takes someone’s car and leaves behind a note with a number? What kind of sick joke is this? And this is where the police officer started in with another giggle fest. Noticing my husband’s seriousness, he quickly caught himself and choked out that the note contains the direct line to the local precinct.

Apparently a few nights back, an eager pre-teen and unlicensed driver had stolen her grandmother’s car, lost control, and created a domino crash of six cars on Riverside Drive. I don’t believe anyone was seriously hurt but our car was the end of the dominos and was totaled so badly – it would have been hazardous to leave it on the street. So in the haste to clean-up the aftermath someone left a note knowing that it might take days for the police to look up the car registration information and contact my husband.

It took us months to determine who is liable for the damage to our car. Obviously, we were parked legally and not at fault but the actual car that sandwiched ours was also parked (as were the cars who hit them). According to the police report, only 2 of the 6 cars actually had drivers behind the wheel. Throughout the liability squabbles, we became acclimated to the perks of not maintaining a car in NYC. So, when we received a generous insurance payment for our totaled car – it seemed odd to consider replacing it. Instead, we decided it was the perfect international honeymoon fund. We scrambled to arrange a wedding reception in NYC and a month-long itinerary of events in Egypt. Nearly five years and two kids later, we find ourselves aching for our own car.

To complete errands and momentarily taste a subway free life, we try to rent a car at least once a month. And even when we rent, my husband is willing to take LIRR to the closest Avis dealer in Long Island to avoid paying NYC or airport rates. This technique doesn’t usually bring us the newest or even cleanest models. However, today they gave my husband a 2010 Hyundai Genesis with less than 300 miles on it.

He called me on the way to pick me up just to say how great it drives and to ask if we have time to get it washed someplace nice before we go out. I reminded him that it is a rental and he retorts that this doesn’t absolve us of taking good care of it. I seriously don’t think I have ever heard him be this happily devoted and already know I have lost him to that V8 temptress. As he is already talking about extending the rental for a month, I know we are likely to head to the Hyundai dealership soon.

Let’s just hope he doesn’t expect me to learn to drive so I can park it.