Sofia, a catcall and saved lunch money

Did y'all see last month's cover of Vanity Fair? The one with Sofia Vergara looking sultry and lovely in full gloss? I didn't think anything of it other than, "She is a beautiful woman and really has quite a bosom. What articles are inside?"

The boys, however, were completely agog and long ago spirited the magazine away. Whose room it's now in, I don't know, but before I let them take her for good, we had a very serious talk about appreciating beauty respectfully.

I want the boys to feel at ease with their bodies and comfortable with their sexuality when it emerges. I don't ever want them to feel that sex and sexuality are taboo subjects about which they cannot ask or speak. Nor do I want them to be leering clods when it comes to their behavior around people they find attractive.

Jack was the first I saw peeking, and when I said, "Hey buddy, what'cha doin?" he blushed to beat sixty.

"Oh, nothing, Mom." I saw him try to hide Sofia under a newspaper.

"Buddy, she's pretty isn't she?"

"Oh, gosh, Mom, YES!" and then in a whisper, "Her boobs are big and nice." or something to that eight-year-old effect.

"Your curiosity is totally normal, honey. You are welcome to look, but I want you to always look and speak with respect. Saying someone is beautiful is a compliment. Talking about someone's boobs is not respectful. If you would like to appreciate her breasts, say breasts."

"Ok, Mom." and then he ran off to probably die of embarrassment in his room.

Later, I found Oliver on the floor of his room, poring over Sofia's spread.

"Hey Ol, what'cha doing?"

"Mom, look at vis lady!" He blushed too.

"Ol, you are welcome to look but you must do so with respect." and I repeated my earlier conversation.

They totally seemed to understand, and I have not heard the word 'boobs' in discussion about Sofia since.

I also haven't thought much about those talks again. Until today.

Hungry for nothing I had at home, I decided to kill two birds, so to speak, and take Percy for a walk to Pain Quotidien to buy myself a sandwich. The Spring Valley Pain Quotidien is inexplicably glacial on the best of days, and it was immediately clear today was not one of them. After several minutes of no one even greeting me, I left and headed across the street to the Wagshal's deli.

As I tied Percy's leash to the garbage can outside the door, I heard some guy say, "Oh, I love pugs" while noisily eating a sandwich. I looked up and said, "So you're OK with me leaving him here?" He asked me to move Percy closer to him.

People fall in love with Percy ALL the time, so this didn't make me think twice. As Oliver told my mom, "Percy makes fwiends all over ve place." which I think is both adorable and true.

Anyway, sandwich guy gets up and comes around to where I'm fumbling with Percy's leash, and says, "Pugs are one of my favorite things. Another is cute girls in tight blue jean shorts. You've brought me both."

People, a fire in my gut lit like I'd just done a keg-stand of diesel. Mother effer! I immediately untied Percy, looked at the oaf and said, "I don't need this." with such a look of disgust. Surely my eyes threw up a little bit, and surely it landed on his shoes.

I heard him say something like, "Oh, just leave him with me. Come on..." as I walked away but I repeated loudly, "I don't need this." and dragged Percy home.

That tacky jackass saved me some lunch money and completely reinforced my decision to let the kids look at Sofia but to first teach them to speak of her beauty and physique only with respect. Why does any man think a comment like the one I just heard would make me feel good? It made me feel pissed. And it made me think he's a giant douchebag that I want to get away from.

There are perfectly lovely ways to pay someone, even a stranger, a compliment. And then there are catcalls. And the two couldn't be more different.

Good morning? afternoon?

I have, lately, taken more than my customary days away from Em-i-lis and have missed it. I love this space and all it offers me including, not least, connecting with you. I'm in a writing class which is a daily commitment; infinitely luxurious but daily and in addition to visits from family and much to do with school.

All parents I know feel as if we are collectively sprinting to the end of a nine-month marathon. School.is.ending.soon. So soon. Sadly soon. I have been at school pretty much every day this week for something important, a schedule that seems the norm these last weeks of the year. The boys have had marvelous experiences in kindergarten and third, and as the start of school always makes me wistfully excited, the end renders me wistfully nostalgic. 

I haven't had much time to cook lately (though those lemon dilly carrots were very good) and what I have, I've photographed pretty terribly, but that's ok too. Ol and Jack continue to create enough wonder and coolness and beauty to sustain us all in the absence of any I can muster. In art class recently, during a study of Calder, Jack made a wire Pi Guy. I love it anyway, but he and I have taken to hiding it in the other's room when no one's looking.

I found Pi Guy hanging from my fan this morning, and he's now holding on tight to a light saber on Jack's wall. Yesterday he was riding Jack's stuffed polar bear and was on my lamp shade. It's hilarious.

Ol has rediscovered a cool toy I bought the boys when in Charleston. Tom Tec T's (don't ask me about the name). Isn't his giraffe fetching?

Votes on "the pillow" have started coming in; so far it's 60-40 love-hate. Hah! So funny too!

If you're sprinting, I hope you also take some time to pause and give a little back to yourself. Doing so is never a mistake.

Pillow talk and unclear words

You guys, I recently bought a colorful pillow. Not like one color, but multiple colors in ring shapes atop a white background. It was from an online shop, and I felt sure it'd springify our living room. 

Pillows make me happy. They suggest comfort and coziness, like, maybe a nap or stint on the couch reading the paper is in my near future. 

They are also low-stress accessories- relatively inexpensive, flexible ways to change the look of a room. 

So anyway, this pillow spoke to me, and I ordered it. And when it arrived I immediately said to myself: "Oliver will love this pillow. Tom will hate this pillow, and I'm not sure about Jack." 

That afternoon, when the boys got home, Oliver said, "Ooh, I LOVE that pillow so much and wish I could have it for my room."

Jack said, "You know, I really like that pillow too." 

I said, "Awesome, guys. I think Dad is gonna hate that pillow, so let's not say anything and see when he notices and what he thinks." I knew full well Tom would not notice the pillow anytime soon, because he is male and cannot see things that are right in front of him, like leftovers in the fridge. And this pillow.

The boys desperately wanted Tom to cast eyes on the colorful square and made every effort to direct his gaze.  

It finally worked and Tom said, "That is an unbelievably ugly pillow. I don't think I could hate a pillow more." At this point, I was laughing so hard I couldn't breathe, and the kids were guffawing to beat sixty, and Oliver was going on and on about how we should just put this pillow in his room. Tom was in hysterics over just how mind-numbingly ugly he finds the pillow.

And that is the end of that. #familylifehumor

What do y'all think? Maybe it is ugly. I do not care anymore because I can't return it, and it can always go to Ol.

Last week, when Oliver was sick, he and I were playing one of his favorite games: would you rather? Ol has his own version of WYR which is that he juxtaposes a "not in a million" with a "quite possibly" with priceless deadpan.

I don't know how he first decided to ask WYR questions, but it began during spring break in 2014. We were driving around California, and from the back seat a little voice asked, "Would you raver have a house full of money, or die?"

Everyone about fell out and answered, "house full of money."

"Would you raver have a house full of money or have to jump in lava?"
"Would you raver have a house full of money or two houses full of money?"

This game persisted delightfully for quite some time and then, sadly, fell out of favor. Last week, however, Ol asked me, "Would you raver die just aftuh being born or be mordahr?"

"Murder??? What??? Oliver, what?"

"No, MORdahr!"

"Murnal?"

"Mom, no, MORDAHR!"

Because you know, he just cannot say 'r's or 'th's for the love.What the fuck is MORDAHR? I wracked my brain. He looked amused.

"Ol, I am so sorry, but can you explain this word to me?"

"Like when you can't die."

"Oh, IMmortal."

"Yeah, that's what I said."