I am interviewing Santa Claus next week. In actuality I am interviewing the guy who plays Santa at Radio City but instead of calling him by his actual name, I made the mistake of referring to him in character - in front of my 2-year-old. Occasionally I forget that I have a kid. It's rare, and usually only occurs when I encounter cheap airfare to exotic locales, but it does happen.
Toddler: "What you say, mama?"
Me: "Hmmm?"
Toddler: "You said Santa."
Me: "Hmmm?"
Toddler: "You said you are going to talk to Santa."
Me: "Yes. I'm going to be talking to Santa."
Toddler: "What toy he going to bring you?"
Luckily daddy intervened with pizza before the conversation got too tricky. But clearly I need to be more careful lest I inadvertently burst some toddler-sized bubbles. I know some people don't believe in telling their child about Santa, but I have yet to meet a single adult who felt scarred by the discovery. On the other hand, I refuse to let my son visit the Sesame Street set. Finding out that Grover is just a puppet seems much harsher than learning that mom and dad are wrapping the presents.
So yes, I'm interviewing Santa. I'm pretty psyched about it. He seems very nice, I get to hold the interview at Radio City, and I'm getting paid. Triple win. Toss in some tickets to the show (oh please oh please) and I'll be riding high. Ho-Ho-Ho!
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
"I DO IT!"
Why hello there, gorgeous! I'm sorry I've been neglecting you. This whole "taking the magazine industry by storm" thing leaves me feeling seriously unmotivated, blog-wise. I do not understand people who can write all day, max out their Twitter feeds, AND still have enough creative juice to blog. Clearly I need more caffeine.
So where was I? Oh yes, I have a son. Scratch that - I have a preschooler. Which is gonzo considering he's only 2 1/2. They start 'em young here. At this time next year we'll be meeting with his teachers to formulate a Kindergarten "strategy" (yes, that's the term that's used) and to get him ready for IQ testing. At 3 1/2. Tests that will determine his school placement until high school, regardless of his grades or emotional maturity.
Nothing daunting there.
But in the meantime, there's preschool. Glorious, happy-making preschool. Owen (it's so hard not to type his real name...) loves it so much I've had to stop mentioning it or he won't eat breakfast. Oh my god, breakfast. Can we discuss the trauma that is a 2-year-old and meal time? I know all the rules (don't act like it's a big deal, don't make it a struggle, don't make dessert seem any more valuable than vegetables, he'll eat when he's hungry) but try telling that to me when we have 15 minutes to get to school and he's refusing to eat the yogurt and fruit bar that he specifically requested because I dared to open the wrapper for him ("I DO IT!") and even though I can hear his stomach rumbling, all he wants to do is bang his spoon on the bowl and scream ("I don't waaaaant it!") and then dissolve into sobs when I try to take it away. ("But I so huuuuungry! HUNGRY!")
Yep.
Lather, rinse, repeat at lunch ("I don't want it! I WANT IT!") and dinner (the infuriating "I all done") and you've got the makings of many, many time outs. I'm not generally a big fan of the time out - no toddler on this planet is capable of sitting in his crib and contemplating his wrongs - but it's a very effective way of keeping us from killing each other.
In other news, potty training is going gangbusters! He is fully in underwear except overnight, and he has actually started telling us when he has to go. This is major, peeps. He still has accidents of course, but they're definitely occasional and usually involve a very interesting Sesame Street episode. (Did you see the whole Katy Perry on Sesame scandal? C'mon, like those things were ever going to make it past parents.)
There's more, but I should probably try to spread this out a bit. Let's meet again, shall we?
So where was I? Oh yes, I have a son. Scratch that - I have a preschooler. Which is gonzo considering he's only 2 1/2. They start 'em young here. At this time next year we'll be meeting with his teachers to formulate a Kindergarten "strategy" (yes, that's the term that's used) and to get him ready for IQ testing. At 3 1/2. Tests that will determine his school placement until high school, regardless of his grades or emotional maturity.
Nothing daunting there.
But in the meantime, there's preschool. Glorious, happy-making preschool. Owen (it's so hard not to type his real name...) loves it so much I've had to stop mentioning it or he won't eat breakfast. Oh my god, breakfast. Can we discuss the trauma that is a 2-year-old and meal time? I know all the rules (don't act like it's a big deal, don't make it a struggle, don't make dessert seem any more valuable than vegetables, he'll eat when he's hungry) but try telling that to me when we have 15 minutes to get to school and he's refusing to eat the yogurt and fruit bar that he specifically requested because I dared to open the wrapper for him ("I DO IT!") and even though I can hear his stomach rumbling, all he wants to do is bang his spoon on the bowl and scream ("I don't waaaaant it!") and then dissolve into sobs when I try to take it away. ("But I so huuuuungry! HUNGRY!")
Yep.
Lather, rinse, repeat at lunch ("I don't want it! I WANT IT!") and dinner (the infuriating "I all done") and you've got the makings of many, many time outs. I'm not generally a big fan of the time out - no toddler on this planet is capable of sitting in his crib and contemplating his wrongs - but it's a very effective way of keeping us from killing each other.
In other news, potty training is going gangbusters! He is fully in underwear except overnight, and he has actually started telling us when he has to go. This is major, peeps. He still has accidents of course, but they're definitely occasional and usually involve a very interesting Sesame Street episode. (Did you see the whole Katy Perry on Sesame scandal? C'mon, like those things were ever going to make it past parents.)
There's more, but I should probably try to spread this out a bit. Let's meet again, shall we?
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