BUT THE SUPE IS ON!!!!!!!!!!
My New York Football GIANTS are headed to Indy to battle the Patriots! I LOVE IT!!!!!!!
Tomorrow morning, the Tali’s and I will rise and shine and head home to Brooklyn. Mama 1969 suffers from rheumatoid arthritis and when it is flaring up, it makes it extremely hard for her to move. Traveling to Philly was out of the question so since I am on vacation, the boys and I will be going to visit her and my baby brother for a few days.
As part of my holiday present to the boys, we will be staying at one of my favorite NY Hotels where they will get to swim in the pool, order room service and sleep in big fluffy beds. It pays to be a hotel employee! Mama 1969 will come and stay with us so we can pamper her as well. Their Uncle plans a trip with them to the Nintendo store and a little ice skating in Central Park. There is no place like New York around the Holidays and I think I am looking forward to going home more than they are.
Mr. 1969 can’t be with us due to some family business up in his hometown, so we are flying solo. I am praying that the DS games will save me from the fighting during the drive there and back. (Another reason why I couldn’t give up coffee!)
I will take lots of pictures of the boys on their New York adventure. Get ready big city…..here come the Tali’s!
“Did you hear? We are going to have a cheerleading squad and everybody is trying out.”
When I heard those words in 6th grade, I didn’t give them a second thought. I had always been a pretty secure kid and I had my own interests. Cheerleading was never something I had dreamed about doing. After school, as I walked up Flatbush Avenue with my bff Lisa, all she could talk about was tryouts. Turns out, after finally getting a basketball team, cheerleading was the key way to spend time with the boys. Lisa was BEYOND boycrazy so she was all hyped up to represent for the Holy Cross Crusaders.
After hearing her (and every other girl in school) talk about it for the next two weeks, I inevitably got dragged to the tryouts with her. I was sitting on the sidelines as all of the nervous girls were lining up and stretching. My job was to reassure Lisa that she would be fine. One of the 8th graders came over to talk to me. “You should try out.” I looked around to make sure she was talking to me. “Who Me?” “Yes, you should try out. It’s going to be fun.” Since I could never say no to a challenge (and secretly, maybe a small part of me wanted to wear a short skirt like my friends) I said why not.
I was in the first batch of tryouts. They showed us a routine. Then said go. I was able to muster my way through that. In my head, I thought….that’s not so hard. Then they asked all of us to do a roundoff and a split.
Needless to say, my brief cheerleading tryout was over.
I watched my bff Lisa become a cheerleader. Soon afterwards, she began dating a basketball player. After that, all of our music and book discussions turned into discussions about making out, wearing his chain and “who was that girl staring at my man during the school dance”. My friends were growing up at a faster rate than I was. While they were hit with the boy bug, I was still reading the Hobbit and the Chronicles of Narnia. My nerd tendencies ran deep.
I thought about this experience today for some reason. I’d like to think that not making the cheerleading team was a pivotal moment in my pre-teen development. I learned that not everything was for me and to trust my own instincts and be myself. I also learned that I was not good at everything. Failure can be a good experience, especially when you can pull a lesson from it. I never did have an interest in cheerleading but I did graduate Valedictorian from my Junior High School. I also learned that while I was not set out to do leaps, kicks and pyramids, I was still a pretty good athlete. I found my niche playing softball, tennis and running. That failure set me in motion to go outside of my comfort zone and find other things I was good at that I enjoyed doing.
There’s something to be said for not always accomplishing a goal and what you do when faced with rejection. I learned that I’m a pick up the pieces and move on kind of girl who can’t do a split.
My oldest son’s school is three blocks from our house. He recently started walking to school (last spring). We live in a nice residential neighborhood. I admit that I had major reservations but he is growing up in a city and next September, he may be attending a new school closer to downtown Philadelphia and will be taking the bus to get there. As a city kid, we have to foster his independence.
Thinking back on my own childhood, I took two city buses to school in Brooklyn (Utica to Church Ave and then the Church Ave bus to Flatbush) when I was in 3rd grade. He’s going into 4th so walking three blocks was not a huge stretch. We followed him for the first week to make sure he was going to school and crossing at the intersections. Finally, we let go. He was so excited to have responsibility and he did just fine.
Yesterday, the news story broke about a young boy in Brooklyn. A year younger than my son. He asked his mom to walk home from camp and she gave him permission. His first time walking home, he was abducted by a stranger living in the neighborhood and went missing. With the aid of traffic cameras, they saw the man that approached him and tracked him down. The police found blood in his apartment and he finally confessed. They found the boy dismembered, stuffed into a suitcase and thrown in a dumpster.
My heart breaks for this family. Especially for the parent that also chose to let go of her son and grant him a little independence by allowing him to walk home for the first time. I know that mom will always hold that in her heart. That “what if”. Even though I am sure her son was thrilled to take those steps by himself like a big kid. Poor baby just didn’t know that evil was lurking so close to him.
I admit, I get desensitized by the news. So many tragedies sometimes that I can’t keep up. Every once in a while, one story touches me. I won’t forget this one for a long time.
Rest in peace Leiby Kletzky.
Left for work this morning. Jumped in the car, driving down the street listening to Mike and Mike in the morning (uh, yeah…I’m a sports junkie), shades on, focused on the road. At the light, the dude in the car next to me honks his horn.
I look over and he is motioning for me to roll down the window. This is the last light before the turn onto the highway or the turnpike. I figured he was lost and trying to ask for directions. I rolled down my window to see what he wanted.
Him: I find you quite attractive and was wondering if I could call you?
Me: Thank you but I’m married.
Him: So am I.
Me: Rolls window up and drives off
I was cracking up for a few miles. I called Mr. 1969 to share that delightful exchange.
Me: Can you believe that?
Him: What? Dude figured it was an equal risk venture.
Uh yeah. I’m gonna make some special meatballs just for him on Sunday.
The other night, Mr. 1969 and I had a disagreement. At first, it was a nice pleasant discussion but as things sometimes go….it got more heated.
As usual, he thought I was not being rational and I thought he was arguing just for the sake of arguing. Either way, I ended up walking away from the whole thing and going to bed. I guess I broke that “no going to bed angry” rule that all couples are supposed to adhere to.
The next morning he called me at work cracking up. Why? Cause he found this little note I left for him.
I posted my thoughts on several of the dresses worn at the Emmys yesterday and lo and behold, I received this comment:
“Why not best dresses? Stop being a hater 69. I know sometimes we think need to hate to make ourselves feel better but the fact will stay the same. We’ll always be who we are no matter how negative we are on other people or how much we drug other people in the mud.
We are grown women with kids and we need to be examples. Be positive!”
Since the commenter felt so passionate that I was being a hater I felt the need to address this directly. I know many of you come here and read my little blog about my life and I am always humbled by the fact that anyone would ever want to read anything that I have written. I blog to keep sane. I blog because I like to think out loud and enjoy writing my thoughts down. So when I see remarks like this? From people that don’t really know me? I have to step back and wonder what possesses someone to be so presumptuous with a total stranger.
Lisa, this blog? Well, this is MY space. I write about anything I feel like writing. Some days, I am sunshine and rainbows and some days….I’m not. If you want to read someone being positive and only seeing the bright side of life….this is not the blog for you. On my blog, I can be happy and yup, I can be a catty, evil wench. If you knew me, you would know that I am *gasp* like that in real life. I don’t go around tearing people down to build up my lowly self esteem. I simply abhor these outfits. That’s it. Hate the dresses. Clearly, it’s deeper than that for you.
Instead of telling this grown woman how you think I should act and what you think I should write about, perhaps you should do a little internal soul searching and ask yourself why you care so much about a total stranger? Why you feel the need to be so forward and familiar with a person you have never met? Lastly, what makes you so self righteous to go on someone else’s blog and tell them what you feel they should be writing and then deem them a hater for having *gasp* their own opinion?
If I can only find four outfits that I did not care for, then clearly….I felt everyone else looked great no? Perhaps I did not feel like commenting on the 67 dresses I liked and instead highlighted four I don’t care for? If I’m a hater for having my own opinion and writing it on my own blog, then would it be presumptious of me to call you nosey and judgemental? I would gladly go over to your blog and write that very statement but alas, of course….there is no blog for me to visit. Of course. Internet gangsters never have their own blog do they? No, they like to comment and be rude and then vanish into cyber world where no one can find them. Oh, and I see after perusing my security settings that you comment from the same computer over here on my blog but have several different names. All of your past comments seem to also admonish me for my opinions.
I appreciate your efforts to pyschoanalyze my thought process Lisa but guess what? As you said, I’m a grown woman. Therefore, I have earned the write to think what I like, write what I like and manage my blog the way I see fit. As the title states, my mama lives in Brooklyn and she is pretty much the only person that knows me as well as you think you do.
Thanks for the rude, insensitive comment. Since you clearly seem to take umbrage with me hating, I would encourage you to do the adult thing and stop visiting. Clearly, you don’t really like this blog and it’s not your cup of tea. Or, I could email you and let you know when I am being nice and you can visit on those days. Guess what? Today’s not one of them, so I suggest you click the X in the upper right corner.
As my tagline states….”Armed with an opinion and not afraid to use it.” Since 1969.
On Saturday, we headed up to NYC. Mr. 1969 and I had an event to go to for the afternoon so my mom and brother took the boys out to show them all the great things that New York has to offer. They went to FAO Schwartz, enjoyed a great lunch and played the afternoon away in Central Park. Balloon swords, puppet shows, face painting…they truly enjoyed spending time with their Nana and Uncle.
I remember so many similar days spent during my childhood growing up in the City. My mom took my brother and I to see Broadway shows, museums, the Central Park zoo….we were exposed to all that the city has to offer. We were coming full circle as she got to do the same thing with her grandchildren.
My baby brother has evolved into a great uncle and my boys adore him. He reigned them in when they got too excited and he played with them and made them laugh. It really made my heart feel good to see how good my brother was with my children and how “adult” he is. In my head, he’s my baby brother. The kid who once threw all of his toys in the toilet bowl and then took a hanger and fished them all out. (I’m FISHIN!) All of a sudden, he’s morally responsible and a great role model to my boys. I was so proud listening to my sons talk about how much fun they had with my brother on the way home.
I could be feeling a little nostaligic and sensitive this week. Tali 2 has his appointment/interview on Tuesday for Kindergarten at his big brother’s school. My buddy will be attending Kindergarten in the Fall. I feel like the last five years have flown. He’s a big kid now.
Every now and then I have to pause and reflect on my life. Despite having many areas in need of improvement, I am blessed beyond belief. Through my children, I am growing closer to my mom, my brother, my husband and learning to accept myself imperfections and all. Family is a beautiful thing and when everything else has faded away, family and love will remain.
You may be aware that there is a bit of High School rivalry on this blog between certain readers who attended Midwood High School in Brooklyn *cough*FreshandMissLee*cough* and those of us that attended the PREMIERE HIGH SCHOOL IN BROOKLYN…..Brooklyn Technical High School.
I entertain those individuals and allow them to talk but sometimes, you just have to remind them why WE ARE THE NUMBER ONE RANKED HIGH SCHOOL IN THE BOROUGH.
I give you exhibit A:
Uh yeah….we just got our own actual street. BEAT THAT MIDWOOD.
Philly, I don’t hate you. I like the city. I like the passion the residents have for their hometown, their sports teams, their food. I like the music scene and all of the great museums and culture. You’re okay.
I don’t mind living here. It’s a great place and we have a great life. Sometimes though, I find myself missing my hometown. I miss Brooklyn.
Food? I miss the real deal Caribbean delights.
I miss hanging out with my best friend and sitting in her store window talking to all of the neighbors that stop in.
I miss the beauty amidst the New York grime.
Most of all? I miss the attitude. It’s a Brooklyn state of mind.
(and yes, that’s our actual sign).