Feed on

Comic Relief

Simon is on a roll. I have a sneaking suspicion that, even when explained, most of these items that made Matt and I laugh out loud and clutch our sides won’t translate into print. I think you sort of have to be here. And probably be (or live with) us, too. But I’m committing it to print anyway, because while I won’t always remember these things, I trust that I will remember enough of us that I’ll get the joke when I read it 40 years down the road.

“Mommy, are you married?”

This is the question Simon asked me on Friday, pretty much from out of nowhere. He was sitting in the living room and I was standing between the living and dining room when he fixed his gaze on me, furrowed his brow, and popped the question so to speak. I began a long and confused spiel (don’t I always?), when Simon quit paying attention. “Where the heck did that come from?” I asked Matt. “It’s because you are wearing a dress. He never sees you in a dress, so he thinks you are getting married or going to a wedding.”

I have to agree, but what an absolutely stunning development. I used to live in dresses. As in, two summers ago I bought my first pair of shorts since I was a teenager. When the temperatures rose, my fall/winter uniform of skirts and boots and jeans/trousers and boots changed to my spring/summer uniform of skirts and heels and dresses and heels. Pregnancy, nursing, and climbing all over playgrounds with a toddler interrupted this, and it was just last week that I looked at a row a languishing dresses and thought “why not?” It’s jaw-droppingly strange to think that what I still consider my default dress code struck Simon as being an anomaly.

Why Cats are Liberated from Work

Simon and Matt were getting ready to play a game of either Sequence or Candy Land, and Simon was setting up the game. This, he will explain to everyone, “is my job.” He set up a space for Matt and one for himself, then looked over at Percy and said, “Percy can’t play because he doesn’t have any hands.” He’s heard us joke about this before, but it was still funny hearing it from him.

Like Father Like Son

From the embarrassing-but-true files. Matt and I, but mostly Matt, make up songs about our cats. Really, truly, silly songs. Sometimes they are entirely new; other times they are new lyrics fitted to familiar tunes. It gave Matt enormous joy to witness Simon singing along with the theme song to Kipper last week, improvising the lyrics to be about Percival, Tristan, and TJ.

Like Mother Like Son

Every now and again, Simon does something to remind me that he does, against all appearances, share my DNA. This week it was his ice cream order. We went to Ce Fiore for a summer treat, and instead of his ordering the acai berry, what seemed to be his favorite, he ordered the green tea, my absolute favorite. When green tea moves out of the rotation (it’s not popular enough in these parts to be a permanent flavor), I feel lost and bummed. I have to wonder how many others in the preschool set share Simon’s taste in this regard? I can’t wait ‘til he’s old enough to have his first cup of loose leaf Assam….

Like Bubbie Like Grandson

My mother is not a huge sweets eater. There are, however, a few items she finds irresistible. Halva is one. Baklava is the other. This despite the prodigious amount of butter in the latter and her own lactose intolerance. Saturday night, Matt, Simon, and I joined friends at a local Persian restaurant. Now, Simon is still sufficiently picky and resistant to anything new that I brought his dinner with me. And yet, when the owner brought out a plate of baklava for us to share, Simon immediately declared, “I want to try that”, picked up a sticky wedge, and then exhibited paroxysms of joy. Literally. He threw his head back, closed his eyes, and rocked from side to side while simultaneously chewing and smiling. Then he asked for seconds.

Like Bubbie Like Grandson, Part II

My mother is famous in our family for her bat-like hearing. It’s not just that she can be awakened in the middle of the night by the sound of two bottles clinking, it’s that she can tell, when thusly awakened, whether the bottles contain soda or illicit beer.

Simon seems to have a similar gift. While I was cooking dinner one afternoon last week, I helped myself to a small amount of Simon’s M&Ms. I being Pearl Wolfson’s granddaughter, the candy had to be put in a dish. Simon being Rita Goldstein’s grandson, he not only heard the sound from the next room with the TV on, but also recognized it. I knew I has done when I heard the feet pounding through the dining room.“What’s that noise, Mama?” he implored with eager and suspicious eyes. He knew what they were and hoped to shame me into sharing.

No dice. I lied. Not sure whom I inherited that trait from!

2 Responses to “Comic Relief”

  1. blg says:

    You lied? Who are you and how are you posting on Jessica’s blog?

  2. Jessica says:

    You bet I lied! Otherwise I was going to be dealing away M&Ms, which are already flowing too freely, for no reason.

Leave a Reply

You must be logged in to post a comment.