Vicious Brooklyn Squirrels Attempt to Sabotage Seasonal Festivities

A simple children's activity turned into carnage as Prospect Park squirrels eluded would-be Easter egg hiders. They acted surrepticiously, sneaking plastic, candy filled eggs up high into century-old trees. The cracking of plastic and the spitting of refuse accompanied a gentle shower of jelly beans and malted milk eggs. Chocolate proved to be the substance of their quest: the foil pastel seasonal Hershey's kisses were quickly consumed. No determination of why squirrels do not like jelly beans, even the gourmet ones, could be surmised.

It was year three of the annual child race for the candy with a somewhat diminished crowd due to the co-incidence of Jewish and Christian festivities. Last year a mob scene of around 50 kids made for mayhem and the abandonment of the traditional hard boiled egg scramble. This year 20 kids vied for over 200 eggs resulting in increased sugar satisfaction ratios. The brightest spot for me of the morning was a Dad who has done this for the third year in a row coming over the hill to hide eggs on this brisk morning. The hunt was supposed to be on Saturday, but had gotten moved to Friday due to inclement weather. I didn't think he could make it as like most of the employed, you hang onto your job with your finger nails, but he gallantly tossed his brief case and began harrassing squirrels with me.

I found a particularly stunning form of 16-to-the-dollar plastic eggs with a matte finish that included a true robbin egg blue color. Robbins were indeed bobbing along the grass, forsythia shouted their fluorescent yellow and the magnolias already started blooming. Not a bad celebration of the beginning of a brief but welcomed season.

P Diddy vs Gandhi

These recessionary times call for repeat visits to the library -- yes, that publicly financed institution that we remember from our childhoods and those pre-Wikipedia days. It's free. You get no backlog of books the kids never read. They have DVDs. They are entirely computerized so no satisfying stamp on each book, just a mundane beep from a scanner. They also catch up to your fines quicker. A book of mine got stuck in the kid book pile and I ended up paying more in fines on it than the paperback was worth. But, you can pay with your ATM. Who knew.

In my continual search to educate children about interesting things that do not have to do with contemporary media and plastic guitars, the biography section is my new haunt. I remember a surfeit of bios of all the dead white guys -- especially conquistadors. Well, the conquistadors have been replaced by tomes devoted to every possible Indian tribe and African American hero. I don't care to get into the PC or anti-PC movement -- remember when that was the hotbutton of talk radio rather that bonuses to bailout executives? Something did seem a little odd that there was one skinny paperback devoted to Gandhi and next to it was the official biography of Sean Puffy P Diddy Combs. I believe this man was once charged with accessory to murder when his bodyguard shot someone in a nightclub when he was still dating Jennifer Lopez -- but let's let bygones be bygones and celebrate his success as a fashion entrepreneur.

On the positive side, they do have more women represented than I remember, but mostly the usual suspects like Madame Curie and Amelia Earhart. I also managed to find a bio of Hilary Clinton that was written some time during the last election. There are a few problems explaining controversial figures to 6 year olds. What to do about the messy intern situation? Say that he was nearly thrown out of office due to an "office romance" but that she stood by her man.

Best recent library revelations: check out of An American in Paris. Never seen it, but should have. The kids thought the dancing was brilliant, they recognized the places in Paris as related to Madeleine books and the damn thing was so happy.

Believe it's possible to give up on all the crappy kid films and just show them great musicals. Next up: Guys and Dolls. Had trouble explaining what the Salvation Army is but they did recognize that Sinatra has a great voice. Girl child asked what "sexy" meant when I described Marlon Brando as such.

End the Chinese Trade Deficit -- Ban the Goody Bag

After a couple of weekends of birthday parties and Valentine's Day a very recent memory, small utterly useless and instantly breakable tschochkes litter the apartment. I live in the midst of a neighborhood that values educational toys -- especially those handcrafted with certified organic vegetable compound paint by fair-traded artisans in non-Chinese third world countries -- and yet, plastic yo yos that cannot even manage one "yo," little maze games where the thingy that shoots the ball doesn't retract and unsharpenable pencils mark every event.

Goody bags are the base expectation of all children, part of this whole self esteem movement I suppose. Our kids are so precious that every moment of their childhoods must come with it's own unique collection of crap. Even Valentine's day -- which I remember as a few mangy construction paper hearts stuck in collapsing mailboxes we "crafted," now comes with candy and more stuff glued to the cards. I've heard much of the gift giving culture of Japan, and experienced the rituals that go on in Greece and Romania and fear that we are creating a market for useless things and children who see all toys as disposable but expected.

The clearinghouse for all things goody bag is a smart organization called Oriental Trading (http://www.orientaltrading.com)/ that abides by no SPAM laws. If you're a mom, they find you and they mail you. If worst of all somewhere online you entered your kids birthday, the emails come cleverly close to when you need to deal with the party issue. Even if you've planned a modest, in-home affair, your kid has been ingrained to believe that all parties have themes, and Oriental Trading is there to supply. From superheroes to My Pretty Pony Pinatas -- they sell it all, even the fillers cause it's so damn hard to get those mini-sized candies in every grocery and drug store.

I've done my own small part by initiating a "ban the bag" movement with mixed success. (This is another topic you cannot mention to other parents as they are either very pro or very anti, and it's impossible to predict.) One year I went online and designed by own version of the "718" t-shirt which Brooklyn hipsters started wearing in the late '90s to designate their independence from the island and area code of Manhattan. Only get this, it was supposed to be a bowling shirt, cause we were have a bowling themed party and of course actually played bowling at this weird alley across from the huge cemetary where the woman who serves the platters of fried stuff, snaps gum and calls you "hon." The irony of the shirt of course was lost on the kids and even though I had tied them into a nice package with a ribbon, one kid said "is this it?" before being yanked off by their parent.

I did better with a nice marker set for the girl birthday this year -- though one parent noted that I should have included our truly favorite product, the Magic Wall Eraser, a 5 star product according to e-pinions (http://www.epinions.com/content_152645504644). It's made by Mr Clean, but now also sold in a generic version 2 for $1.19 at Duane Reade!.

When it came time for my son's birthday, I fell down on the job and succumbed to the lure of cheap Chinese merchandise. His is over the Christmas break and I kind of had a lot to do and couldn't think of or find anthing useful after the usual holiday glut. So, I went to the emporium of true crap: the 99 Cent Store. (Hope I'm not doing something like ratting on Santa Claus' real identity, but most of the merchandize there is actually made for these stores so it can be packaged and sold in 99 cent sizes.) I got packs of glitter glue for the girls -- so evil of me to be sex specific in my neighborhood -- and boy child picked out the close-out of Johnny Depp as the flagrant pirate character puzzles. The latter was truly unuseful but at least there was no plastic, it cost 99 cents and could be recycled, or in my case, used as a particularly effective fire starter.

Gossip Moms

In Park Slope admitting to liking trash TV is akin to revealing you went to a public university or worked in advertising -- both of which I have done. While I am out of the phase of the sancti-mommy who rejects buspore (sp?) laced baby bottles (are all those Avant bottles leaching away in the Fresh Kills landfill) and will only feed Isabella or Oliver hand-pureed Co-Op vegetables -- I am now in the realm of the "we reject all popular culture." I continually draw blank stares when I make references to Gossip Girl, which should horrify any parent with a teenager and which I must surreptitiously watch.

For the unenlightened, Gossip Girl is Dynasty set in an Upper East Side prep school where everyone dresses fabulously and the plot is roughly based on your standard Romeo & Juliette scenario, except the guy from the wrong side of the track hails from Williamsburgh. But wait, current revelations include that his dad and his girlfriend's mom had a love child together back when he was in an early '90s Morrissey-like band. Lest anyone get bummed out by this Faulknerian twist of fate, said love kid supposedly died. We of course know that he lurks someone just waiting to meet his dating half-siblings with their crazy ass designer clothes, constantly flowing Dom Perignon and Hamptonian summers.

High-end escapism aside, Gossip Girl is the first show to be driven by modern modes of communication, most significantly texting and a blog written by an anonymous person at the school that all the "heathers" feed info to. You can't sneak a joint in a bathroom or buy a pregnancy test at a pharmacy without photos of it from camera phones getting all over the school.

Now that I haunt the hallways of my kids P.S. at least 2x per day, Gossip Girl is becoming more real than ever, except our clothes suck and makeup is frowned upon. On the clothing front, the stay at home moms favor the P.S. XXX brand -- nicely designed by a local parent/graphic designer -- or aging Brooklyn Industries "718" shirts, bags and Michelin man-style down coats (didn't these suck the first time around? why are they back?). Love the fact that all items from this supposedly-local company are indeed made in China.

School gossip usually revolves around who is falsifying their address to be in the school, the new crop of kindergarten parents who moved here from Manhattan from the school and absolutely know that the needs of their "gifted and talented" child are not being met, and one mom who always appears in full maquillage, high heeled boots and is resolutely hot. While the majority of moms have the distinct "flat boob" appearance that comes from breast feeding too long -- hers are perky with full cleavage on display. Yes, I will admit envy. I was told by a mammographer that I had only glandular tissue and no fat in them any more. So humiliating to buy an undergarment and have it labeled "your first bra."

I'm still not sure where I fit into the rank and file of the school and in my unemployed status I'm still getting "what are you doing picking up your kid" looks at 3PM. I also break the playdate no spontaneity rule. Yesterday I performed the humiliating act of showing up and seeing if anyone was free, which is akin to sitting with a Gunny Saxe dress and flashing your braces at an 8th grade dance and hoping just hoping someone will ask you to dance the guitar solo part of Stairway to Heaven. Indeed, between all the afterschool "my daughter is in the most marvelous tutoring program so she can begin reading Faulkner at 5", the Chinese lessons, the yoga for kids -- yes, children are capable of downward facing dog -- I turned up empty handed in the playdate department. Pumpkin bread baking remedied the problem. Today I have scored the requisite appointments and have a home baked treat on offer. But wait, I failed big time as I admitted to the parent of playdate kid that at 5 PM mine religiously watch a TV show -- albeit a cartoon with Christopher Lloyd about math.

Don't judge me about kid PBS consumption...my question to all those pop culture hating moms is why does your 5 year old daughter know the plot of every High School Musical movie and that Sasha and Malia had the Jonas Brothers at their treasure hunt in the White House?

XOXO (thinly veiled Gossip Girl reference)
Gossip Mom

P.S. Lest you think I overstate the case for the above TV show, it's a 20 something obsession that rose through New York Magazine intern blogs to become a cover story for them. http://nymag.com/tags/the%20greatest%20show%20of%20our%20time

This Week's Body Count:

• Pairs of kid jeans repaired with iron-on patches: 2 -- there's a recession on
• Blissful meal with two friends sans kids at hot new restaurant Buttermilk Channel -- we're denying there's a recession on -- +10
• Speed shopping at Fairway Red Hook: 28 minutes, but forgot the butter and broke the eggs going over a pothole -- +5
• Developed sorting system for small plastic objects: people vs. cars, vs. flying vehicles vs animals. Question: do aliens fit in the animal or people box -- +20

Sugar on Snow with a Dill Pickle Chaser

My unemployment status enabled me to fulfill the minor dream of the last couple of years of actually having off the week kids get for winter break. It was a week filled with athletic firsts, continuous short order cooking and odd culinary delights.

By way of explanation, I bought my fantasy life when single, of a house in the middle of the woods in Vermont. I enjoy solitary pursuits like reading, cross country skiing and gardening. The solitude has been shattered by 2 kids, assorted friends of theirs, somewhat sluggish guests and even more Legos.

The house became kind of a trap when they were small, with little kids afraid of being swallowed up by the snow and the drag of hauling them back and forth from the city. It's now their fanatasy place and they fancy a move there which I am still on the fence about. It would madden this housewife in ways the city does not -- I would likely spend my days in the Subaru hauling boy child to hockey practice and girl child to dance or playdates by car. There's only so much driving past the KOA campground on Route 5 you can do. On the positive side, there is an old movie palace that shows foreign films and has concerts for everyone from Suzanne Vega to last Sunday's delight: a performance of the American Legion Band. Nothing like a little John Phillip Souza to get the blood stirring.

The week brought some athletic firsts for all. Old roommate showed up with sports mad boys, proceded to groom the ice on the pond across the way and introduce us all to pond hockey. After overcoming my fear of thin ice -- it was frozen about a foot thick -- it proved to be a marvelous diversion. The sun was setting over the trees as all the kids spun round and round and engaged in slapping the adults on the butt for ice tag. Then took the adventure level up a notch and went out on the river where the guys in camo and triple socks ice fish with Wild Turkey on their breath. Skated around an island I'd only previously explored by kayak and came back when yelled at by my friend who said the bubbles in the ice by the islands was absolutely not a good thing.

Attempted to instill love of cross country skiing in children. Fiery-tempered daughter did not want any help and cried for a solid hour -- and this on groomed trails! It was one of those moments when adults around you give you the sympathy eye -- or maybe it's the "why can't they behave look." She proceeded to come down with a bad flu that night, so it must have been that and not the skiing, or so I hope. Boy child is taking to it, but of course wants to go fast but can't figure out how to go up hills so that you can enjoy down. I've lost friends after making them go uphill on cross country skis, so will be patient with him.

Flu swept through the house disabling houseguest with daughter -- not sure if he would typically be so sedentary, but at day 4 of couch sitting with me playing non-stop board games from my
youth with marginally reading kids -- I was ready to boot him. Guests are only invited back if they haul wood into house for the stove -- no matter what state of health they are in.

Week ended with annual festival of winter -- guy in a mangy snowman suit seemed to be everywhere in town. Missed the dog sled demo but kids got to ride snowmobiles -- and wear a cool helmet. Partook of annual ritual of boiling maple syrup poured onto a bowl of snow. Kids were afraid someone could have peed on it, but I assured them it was of the cleanest sort. The snow turns to a taffy-like, impossibly sweet consistency only cured by a dill pickle chaser. Fed them hot chocolate on top of that and they could have been used as an alternative energy source.

Weekly Body Count:

• Family enjoyment index: 100
• Pond hockey: 100+
• Legos stepped on: 10, we have a larger supply up there
• Loads of laundry: 6, lots of beds changed with guests and flu
• Dryer appeared to stop working; moment of panic: -10
• Non-wood stacking guest: -10
• Amount of actual work done looking for job: 0

Homework, Cocktails and Colleagues

It's was the 100th day of school for the kids, and once again, I failed miserably as a helicopter parent. My daughter dilligently glued 100 cheerios in a random, non-aesthetic pattern to a red sheet of paper and then proceeded to screech at me while insisting that she had to write the numbers 1-100 next to each of them. If any number did not come out as she wished or bumped into another, she furiously erased, breaking the already affixed cheerios and then the process got longer and longer.

Parents at school divide into the "homework is enriching time with my kids" or the "crap, it's due again and he/she would rather be playing with legos...doing anything but and now we have a confrontation." You also have to be very careful in discussing homework with parents as it is not easy to identify which side the parent stands on. Some of the crunchiest I-don't-believe-in-structure parents reveal their type A sides in the homework competition.

Case in point: my daughter's best friend produced her 100 day project as a full portrait of Obama produced in varying shade of dried beans. Now this kid is very artistic, but come on. Her parents are artists and her husband specializes in painting dogs peeing. Not your usual homework obsessives.

After the grand celebration which involved cupcakes -- I actually volunteered but was mercifully trumped by a mom who revealed she does use Duncan Hines but stops at that nasty canned icing -- I slathered on some makeup and made it into the city for a re-union of the marketing staff at a highly successful dot-com I worked at.

The good news: most are gainfully employed, many a bit unhappy about where they are, but holding onto their aeron chairs for survival. The years have added a few kids, a few personal tragedies, but life has gone on and for the most part for the better.

For those on the outside wondering what actually went on at various dot-coms, yes, work happened. I was at this one during the last bust -- a lot of work on a small staff -- and we didn't get free food. The irony? Those who stuck this one out stayed through a buyout and now they get renowned chef-prepared free food, but have to deal with lego stations, scooters in the office and arrogant 25 year olds all over again.

I remember the bizarre run-ups to the conferences the company held -- one which got staged twice in one calendar year nearly resulting in a meltdown by the person who had to do all the logistics. I got the easy part of working on content. The last conference I worked on I got to deliver one of my favorite research projects I developed. I had had a baby a matter of weeks before the conference and I managed to suck my stomach in, stap on the heels and get up there in front of everyone. The weird thing is that what made that speech work is that in a male dominated industry I personalized the data and injected information about how the Internet was changing women's lives -- and even made some positive statements about online grocery shopping which did prove to be true, at least in certain markets.

Well, now here I am, far from that conference room, my online grocery account idle as I plan to save money and go to the butcher, sit with my daughter and make valentine cards, make sure my son reads his homework for the night and listen for them breathing ever deeper as they fall asleep on my shoulders.

• Laundry count: none today, changed two beds yesterday and even washed comforters +10 points!
• Stickers unglued from dining room chairs: 10, after all it's valentine's card time
• Vacuum: give it up until the last shred of glitter from valentine's is used up
• Dinner: give in to the siren call of frozen Ore Ida french fries...

Week 3: Ice Skating, Abba and "5 o'clock somewhere"

This not working thing could really be something. Your friends take you out to lunch, the stay-at-home moms actually start talking to you and you can go ice skating in the middle of the day in Prospect Park.

In a city of 10 million souls there is no one on the icy paths as you cross over to the far end of the park. You come over a hill and suddenly a blast of "dancing queen, young and sweet" insinuates itself through the recently restored Japanese pagoda.

The one new skill I have picked up as an adult is ice skating. It provides healthy activity for 5 and 7 year olds (and induces early bedtimes) and wonder of all, I am at the point of being able to cross my feet on the turns, do a hip swivel to the music and skate backwards. A friend who nearly won her state championship in figure skating has promised to annoint me in purple eye shadow and show me how to do that triple salchow thing -- or at the very least pull my arms in and spin till you get dizzy...oh and I do love the Hasidic girls who look like they are out of the '40s with their pleated skirts below the knee, wool tights and wide headbands.

Aside from running around the city meeting with incubator types -- wow, people are still starting stuff -- I am making serious inroads with the power PTA moms and the women that actually get their kids fed and homework done before 6 pm. It's an interesting, alcohol-fueled group: the hot pan-latina moms like their 30 year old mezcal -- I actually drank the worm at a kid party last weekend, while I celebrated Australia Day with a fine shiraz from the australian wine importer family down the block. Made it to the PTA auction meeting after and tried to sober up as we attempted to develop "experiential items" for the auction. I scored a good one as I remembered that a worried Wall Street mom was married to a jazz musician and as it turns out he is in the pit for the revival of West Side Story and can do tickets and a backstage tour.

Today's count:
- loads of laundry: 4
- beds changed: 2
- Lego "best spaceship I've ever made" stepped on resulting in 7 year old howl: 1
- dinner: marginal attempt at sole muenierre
- height of unfiled bills/paperwork/kid art: 5 inches and counting
- pieces of "Pirate Booty" found stuck to couch: 4