THEY NOW ASSIGN HOMEWORK IN KINDERGARTEN

School started this week which meant that the streets were filled with Kindergartners buzzing about... what school they attend.

Here in NYC, competition starts early. Remember Senior year, when kids would suddenly start sporting Northwestern/Yale/Vassar tees, casually advertising their admittance (not to mention their impressive SAT scores)? Shrink and add sippy cups and you've got my neighborhood playground. Tots with "Dalton" or "Lycee Francais" stamped across their chests. Tiny voices imploring "Let's play first day at Midtown West!" (Our prestigious local public school. Spaces in the school are so coveted, admission is done by lottery.) Parents hover together, discussing their preschoolers' G&T scores. G&T, or Gifted and Talented, is a big deal here. A BIG DEAL. Since most NYC public schools are desperately overcrowded and underfunded, "testing well" can help get your child into a better school. Trouble is, kids - and their parents - are getting smarter. There are tutors. Test prep classes. Books and flash cards and coaching sessions to help Baby Smartface get the score that will qualify him for something other than the concrete awfulness down the street.

In my grade school, there wasn't such an obvious range of intellect. A few kids disappeared to go to "gifted", some were pulled aside for special-ed. But the bulk of us were average. Here, average doesn't seem to exist. I think about what lies ahead for my boy and I get scared. It seems like so much pressure, the necessity that he prove his smarts. Isn't preschool supposed to be fun?

ME LIKEY. ME LIKEY A LOT.

I know, I know. Reading about someone else's vacation is like watching a massage, minus the entertaining ending. But if you think that's going to stop me from nattering on, you don't know me at all.

Two words about Mohonk Mountain House - Go. Now. Yes, it is breathtakingly expensive. Yes, it has a clumsy name. And yes, it. is. awesome. Like hiking? Rock climbing? Competitive mountain biking? Neither do I. But if you don't get misty eyed staring at that enormous, pristine lake you're clearly not human. (I broke into tears three times that first day. My street cred, she's gone.)


Mohonk is not for everyone. It is old. Deadwood old. Our room was built in 1882 and had most of the original furniture, yet somehow managed to avoid the B&B twee that makes me run screaming. It does have Adirondack chairs and s'mores by firelight and lots and lots of good smelling air. You know, if you like those sorts of things.

We chased bunnies and bees and woodchucks through the garden, splashed in the pristine (and heavily lifeguarded) waters at the beach, and kicked it at a spa voted one of America's top 25 by Conde Nast Traveler. (Facial followed by a dip in the outdoor mineral pool followed by magazines by the fire? Why yes, I think I will!) We've already booked next year's reservation. It was that frickin' good.

VACATION! BUT FIRST, SOME EARLY MORNING WEIRDNESS

Yesterday as I was walking home, a young guy walked past me and said, "Hi, pretty girl."

Nice, right? Who doesn't love a complement? Especially from someone who's reasonably attractive and not maritally obligated to give you one. Then I noticed something -

He was holding hands with his girlfriend.

(Beat.)

I smiled out of reflex, figuring I must know the guy. Why else would dude break out the Well, hello theres. But nope. Nuh-uh. Just some guy. With his girlfriend. Walking.

Am I the only one thrown by this?

There were no overt signs of douchiness - no backwards baseball cap or "you, me, and girlfriend makes three" eyebrow communique. Maybe I'm just out of the loop and this the new friendly? Hipsters are Pepe LePew-ing their way down Broadway, complementing ladies wearing baggy, laundry day shorts? If so, I need to get out more.

VACATION, ALL I EVER WANTED.

Starting Tuesday we'll be on vacation, peeps, which might just be the best sentence I've ever written. We're greasing the palms of the relaxation gods and getting as close to heaven as we possibly can without a car: Mohonk Mountain House. We are going to go on hikes and see stars and eat our weight in crispy bacon while lying on the beach getting a massage with the scent of s'mores wafting to our room as we rock the baby to sleep in our Adirondack chairs on the balcony overlooking the mountains.

It's our first vacation in 5 years. I'm feeling pretty psyched.

Seriously, I'm too excited. Way too excited. Unless they hand me a basket of brownies and a leprechaun, it can't possibly live up to my expectations. But the anticipation is fun. We're taking the train which should thrill the Under-2 set. I'm getting a facial. Matt's bringing books. How bad can it be? (I'm gunning for awesome with a side of fist pump.)

In other, less spa-induced news, turns out Owen did NOT qualify for speech therapy. But I'm happy to report that the words are coming fast and furious these days. Today's top hits are bee (he saw a dead bee on the playground and is now completely obsessed. Helicopters, specks on the carpet. "Bee! Bee! Bee!"), oh peeeze ("please" with an extra "oh" to completely manipulate his parents), and the ABC song, which mostly consists of him singing "A, B, A, B" over and over, with a few C's and D's thrown in. (Hey, it's a start.) That brings the grand total to 12 definite words and several almost-theres, which is a HUGE leap from where we were a month ago. It's amazing how proud you can be listening to your son garble the word "shoe".

So much more to tell but it'll have to wait. 5 a.m. still comes at 5 a.m. 'round these parts. Regardless, I'll see you when I get back. IF I COME BACK! (Sometimes after I've had a glass of wine I imagine that we've won a contest and are allowed to live at Mohonk for free. That's usually when I know that it's time to eat something.)

Super quick and related to nothing, but I know it's confusing - my son's real name isn't Owen. I'm just using a pseudonym on this blog because I'm paranoid.

Now back to your regular programming.

THE ONE WHERE I TAKE THE PROUST QUESTIONNAIRE

What is your idea of perfect happiness?

Me + margarita + husband + ocean + sleeping baby. Add a bag of money and I'm golden.

What is your greatest fear?

Losing my son.

What is the trait you most deplore in others?

An inability to laugh at yourself. Cocky ignorance. Undermining. I could go on.

What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?

Lack of patience. Cocky ignorance. Undermining. I could go on.

What is your greatest extravagance?

Wasting time.

What is your current state of mind?

Fidgety.

What do you consider the most overrated virtue?

Patience.

On what occasion do you lie?

Whenever anybody asks what I've been up to lately.

What is the quality you most like in a man?

Self-awareness.

What is the quality you most like in a woman?

Good natured snarkiness.

If you were to die and come back as a person or thing, what do you think it would be?

A very well-loved housecat.

What word or phrase do you most overuse?

"Awesome!"

What or who is the greatest love of your life?

My son, of course.

When and where were you happiest?

Lots of happy to choose from... Today I'll go with Edinburgh, strolling alone, early morning, sunshine.

What do you consider your greatest achievement?

I haven't even come close yet.

Where would you like to live?

By the ocean. Any ocean.

What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?

Abnormal lab results.

What is your most marked characteristic?

My knowledge of pop culture factoids. And my hair.

What do you most value in your friends?

Their ability to tolerate me, even at my most maddening.

Who are your favorite writers?

You know that episode of The Office where Michael grilled his foot? That guy.

Who are your heroes in real life?

People who do the grunt work without acknowledgement.

What is your greatest regret?

Not liking myself more during adolescence.

What is your motto?

"If you don't ask, you don't get."

How would you like to die?

Preferably leaving behind a trail of money and admirers.

*And just for kicks, the Inside The Actors Studio question:

What is your favorite swear word?

Is calling someone a douche considered swearing?

KIDS.

Need some quick advice, parent-types.

What's the appropriate way to handle little jerks? I'm talking about those little a-holes on the playground who scream "Go away!" or "I don't like you!" when my guy toddles up to them with a big smile, hoping to play. I know what to do when they're, say, 7 (kick 'em and run) but these kids are 2, maybe 3, so I have to go easy. Plus, they're going to be in my son's class in September so making enemies ain't the way to go. I feel like there has to be a way to get them to be nice (other than that saying something useless like "Be nice") that's developmentally appropriate but still gets the point across. Also, any advice on what to do when I see this behavior happening? I don't want to coddle Owen but he looks so heartbroken and confused when kids close to his age shun him. I don't know how to explain it to him in a way he'll understand.

Help?