If you think this post is going to be about my secret passion for the game of b-ball, then think again. It’s about a visit I paid to the Waldbaums in Southhampton yesterday where I was hit in the produce section by a flying basketball. Why would a basketball be anywhere near the honey dew melons, I’m sure you’re asking yourself. Well your guess is as good as mine. All I know is that I was minding my own business, picking out some peaches, plums and all that other great summer fruit of the season when I glanced over to see a grown man having a catch with his teenage son in the aisle I was about to enter. At first, I thought to myself, “now that’s pretty strange,” but moved on since I’m a New Yorker and nothing really phases me. That is, until Bozo the basketball player decided to throw the ball to his son and it hit me in the leg! Now, I wasn’t injured or anything by this accident in aisle 3, but what if I were an old woman with a walker? What if I was ambling down the aisle with my walker and basketball man through his ball, it hit me in the leg, I tripped, fell on the floor and broke my hip? Pretty big what it, but it could happen. Lesson of the day…keep the basketballs on the court or in a playground and stay away from the melons!
Took the kids out to the park today and while my husband and dad kept an eye out on them, my mom and I kicked back on a park bench where we began to people watch. A few minutes passed and we looked over to see an older man who was either a grandfather or Dad (you never know in the Hamptons) who was walking along with an adorable two year old in a cute pink dress and no shoes. I’m all fine with being carefree with kids…especially since they hate shoes, but this time around, the little tykes’ toes were in trouble. You see, the ground at this park is covered in sand that is littered with sticks, glass, rocks, bugs and other items that are not too sanitary for tiny feet. As the little girl tried to walk, she kept wincing in pain and lifting out her arms so that Grandpa would rescue her from walking on this kiddie version of hot coals. Meanwhile, Gramps was wearing sandals with socks so he didn’t even realize that his little bundle of joy was in danger of damaging her tootsies. He finally picked her up and then brought her over to the toddler swings where he proceeded to push her so high that the little girl became frightened and begged him stop the swing twice. I guess in a few years, little shoeless Jane will love her adventurous Grandpa, but at age two, it’s fine to just give a little push and lots of kisses…and keep those shoes on! Splinters are the worst and taking them out of a two year old foot is pure torture. Trust me, I’ve done it and it ain’t pretty!
Went to a carnival run by the North Sea Fire Department last night and was completely appalled. From the moment we arrived, I stood behind a clueless patron who was busy fishing for cash and holding up the entire ticket line. When it was finally my turn, and she and her brood of four kids finally moved out of the way, I forked over my $45 for 20 ride tickets for my son and daughter. At first, it started out fine. They went into the fun house and the friendly ticket lady even let my husband go in with my kids so they wouldn’t get scared (no extra ticket required).
Immediately after that, things got ugly. We went over by the bumper cars and just as we were about to put the kids on the ride, the ticket taker informed my husband that two tickets were required, plus two adults had to ride with my kids because they were too young to go alone. So in other words, it would have cost us four tickets to ride the bumper cars. My dad went to complain to one of the event organizers about this ticket travesty and he just double talked him to death. If one person goes on the car, you have to give him two tickets because you’re taking up a seat, but if two kids go on together it’s one ticket each. Huh? Thoroughly confused and frustrated, we bailed and opted to go on a slide that only needed one ticket for two turns. Of course, about 25 yards away I spied a swing set complete with a slide that they could have played on for free for hours, my kids of course, opted for the bouncier model that cost us two tickets and 45 seconds.
From there, things went from bad to worse. We headed toward a kiddy roller coaster where the lazy ticket attendant didn’t even check to see if my kids were harnessed properly into the ride. I yelled out to my seven year old – “Make sure you hold on tight!” And then, I watched as they rode around the track hoping nothing bad would happen…luckily it didn’t.
Next was the carousel. Looked pretty safe but since it was about 90 years old, it was missing belts to strap the kids in! Luckily, the ticket kid allowed my husband to ride along with my son and we watched as the carousel sped around quickly with little ones holding on for dear life! One child even yelled out, “Mommy, this ride is really fast! Yippee!” Sure, “yippee” until someone is thrown from a decrepit horse!
Then we went over to the Ferris Wheel, where a disgruntled ticket taker informed me that I had to ride along with my kids (no problem), so this time I handed him a ticket and strapped my son in. As we rode around and around and around (I forgot how boring the ferris wheel is), the Ferris Wheel guy kept on stopping, starting and speeding up the ride – so much so that at one point, our car begin rocking so fiercely that I feared it might flip over! “This ride is a disaster!” My four-year-old exclaimed. Exactly what I was thinking. When we finally got off, the miserable ticket guy didn’t even extend a hand to help us off. Who taught this kid manners? An ex-con?
The last ride of the day was the mini truck ride. A pretty safe bet with trucks that drove around in a circle for about two minutes. As we arrived on line, the ticket kid was embroiled in a dispute with another parent holding an adorable two year old. Apparently, the man didn’t give the kid a ticket, although the man protested he did and then called him a kid or something to that effect. The kid, went ballistic. “I’m not a kid, I’m 20 years old. Why don’t you get away from my (rhymes with truckin) ride!” Holy cow!!! Looks like a few two year olds just learned a new word.
Suffice to say, we won’t be returning to this annual rip off fest next year. Crazy that an event run by the Fire Department would have so many problems relating to safety. I think they better think twice about hiring kids who would rather be hanging out with their friends then dealing with the public in a friendly manner and helping little ones get on and off rides safely.
One last note…there was one conscientous ride operator – the swing man. He at least made sure that all the kids were buckled in safely before he turned on the ride and they went swinging into oblivion. So at least there was one good apple in the bunch, the rest were pretty much rotten to the core.
Just came back from seeing the movie “Cars” with my family. Surprisingly, my kids were incredibly well behaved but not so for the posse of restless ruffians that were surrounding us today. Behind us was Twinkle Toes Timmy who obviously thought he saw a “Kick This” sign posted on the seat in front of him and decided to use my daughter’s chair as part of a two hour kick boxing routine. To my left was Katie the climber, who midway through the film decided to stand up on her seat because she ran out of popcorn. What this heck is it with taking out of control kids to movies these days? There are rules you know. Forget about the no smoking, no cell phone rule. For kids movies, they should have a no kicking the seat in front of you, no screaming because your brother just snagged the last twizzler and no standing on your seat when you get bored with the movie your parents paid good money to take you to see. And one more thing…parents, if your kids act up, it’s your job to take them out. It’s not fair to the rest of us who have already been through our own version of kiddie boot camp and can finally watch a movie in peace with our own kids.
There’s something about this year that has me thinking back to High School. Probably because it’s my 20th year reunion and I’m starting to contemplate whether I’m supposed be doing what I thought I was going to do back in 1986. Back then, I was going to be on Broadway in a major musical, win a Tony and the rest would be history. Fast forward 20 years and the only Broadway I’ve seen lately is the one I crossed today while walking to get to my car in midtown. Funny about high school aspirations…it seems like the people with no fear always pursue their dreams and the ones like me, the conservative types wait it out while secretly singing songs in their car, the shower and anywhere else no one is actually going to hear you. I guess I’ll never know what would have happened if I pursued that Broadway dream. My life still turned out pretty great anyway and I can always sing to my kids (when they tell me not to stop singing) and at our local synagogue. It may not be Broadway, but for me, it’s close enough!
So I did what I normally do every June and I joined another weight loss center. This time, it’s L.A. Weight Loss. I’ve already mastered Weight Watchers, Atkins and the Zone, so now it’s their turn. Here’s the problem. These people monitor you like hawks. Weigh in on Tuesday, come back again Thursday…oops you’re up two pounds…not so good. Come back again Monday. Drink 58 gallons of water. Run to the bathroom every other minute. Get on the scale for kicks, still no weight loss. I’m starving. Wondering when we’re headed out for dinner and hoping I’ll be able to eat more than a chicken leg and half a baked potato. Meanwhile, my kids wanted to go to the fun Japanese hibachi place but the butter they use for cooking would probably screw up my fat allotment for the week. Dieting is not fun. Small butts are nice, but chocolate is better.
So this isn’t a confession as much as it is an observation of something that was so hysterical that it should have been on episode of “Curb Your Enthusiasm.” I was attending a funeral – okay – that’s not the funny part – of my husband’s grandmother (she wasn’t technically his grandma but that’s a whole other story). Anyway, his half brother, who made the funeral arrangements is a pretty frugal guy. He keeps his eye on the bottom line and makes sure that he doesn’t spend a penny over any asking price. And so, Minnie’s funeral was a no frills affair. As we prepared to drive to the cemetary plot, I was a bit confused when I didn’t see a hearse in front of us. Just the undertaker driving a minivan. Suddenly, the unthinkable happened. The grave diggers came over to the van, opened the trunk and Voila! Minnie’s casket was inside. Get it? Minnie’s final ride was in a minivan!!! His brother didn’t want to spring for a hearse so Minnie was transported to the cemetary in a Dodge Caravan. When I pinched my husband to share that observation, he almost keeled over laughing. Sure it may sound like I was poking fun at a sad time, but if you knew Minnie, who lived to the ripe old age of 95, she had the most sarcastic sense of humor and probably would have made that joke up before I caught the punchline! Rest in peace Minnie. Your final ride and your humor will never be forgotten!
What is it about the summer and the state of my butt? Is it that I don’t pay attention to the fact that it’s growing all winter and then suddenly, it’s June 1st and I stroll past a store window and bam! There it is…big, round and in need of a gym visit. Every year it’s the same thing. My butt is huge, I should go on a diet. And so, I join Weight Watchers for about two weeks, lose about three pounds, gain it back and start wearing bigger sizes to hide my protruding posterior. Yesterday, as I walked to my office from the train station I actually fantasized about which bodies in front of me I’d like to swap with. Hmmm, she has nice legs, that one is really toned…at least I’m thinner than that lady. Will this body jealousy ever end? I’ve always hated my legs and think about lipo but would never do it. I also remember losing a ton of weight after my daughter was born and although I was sick all the time, I looked damn good in my cute little size four outfits. Now I’m hearing that Splenda, my favorite new sweetner of all time, causes bloating, gas, and all other wonderful things that enhance the look of my bubble butt. I hope I’m not alone in my quest for a smaller tush – I’m not vain – I just want to enjoy wearing some cute outfits this summer without my thighs rubbing together and without having to see the knee fat on my legs that hasn’t gone away since I was 12 years old. Okay – I obviously have some body issues…but who doesn’t. How does your butt look these days? Care to share? Then respond when you can!