Endowments and other lofty ideas...

Took the boys to the Barkley Hendricks exhibit at the Studio Museum in Harlem today.

One of the Hendricks portraits was called "Brilliantly Endowed," a self-portrait of the artist. In a hat. And glasses. And NAKED as the day he was born.

So Dash came over and stood next to me, and pointed to Hendricks's hooha and said, "Mamae, wook." (He's doing w's for l's these days.)

And Luca wanted to know what the painting was called.

I hesitated for a moment because I was still traumatized from the Sex Talk, where L asked me how a baby gets in my belly and I told him Sex, and he asked what Sex is.

Having skipped my morning snack, I was low on creative skills. So I told him the name of the painting, hoping he wouldn't ask what it meant. Because I wasn't about to start explaining endowment to my six-year-old in a loft-space gallery surrounded by hipsters and nearly-sleeping security guards.

That will just have to wait until we go to the Nude Camp this summer.

Boomeranging back to childhood...

In this age of Dreamworks Animation and George Lucas plying us with "cartoon" movies that you would swear are live-action, my kids are hypnotized by...

Popeye.

And Tom and Jerry.

And Scooby Doo. (The old one, not the lame, "updated" one.)

And Hong Kong Phooey, the Smurfs, the Flintstones, the Adventures of Captain Planet...

and I'm noticing things as a 37-year-old woman I never took note of as a seven-year-old girl.

Like Olive Oyl's abusive love/hate relationship with Bluto. I'm pretty sure she belongs in a battered women's shelter.

Or how about the black mammy-maid who threatens to put Tom out of the house with her broom and aproned tummy, all lawn-jockey-black arms? And missus-will-be-home-soon proclamations following some cat-and-mouse chase scene? I could swear Tom & Jerry lived on a plantation in the Civil War South.

As for Daphne and Thelma - I guess the point was that pretty is dumb and smart is nerdy? Can we get some post-feminist translation of their contributions to the gang?

Hong Kong Phooey might as well be running around screaming, "Flied lice! Flied lice!"

Smurfette is definitely the animated world's first concubine. And Papa Smurf bears a striking resemblance to Warren Jeffs, if you ask me.

And can we talk about Wilma? Her machinations to get her way with Fred are simply brilliant. I'm going to try them on my man, I think...

And finally, had we paid more attention to Captain Planet thirty years ago, maybe, just maybe, our planet would like us a bit more than it does now.

Just a thought.

enough with the babytalk already

My older son wants to know if I'm going to have another baby.

Had he asked me this two mornings ago, when his baby brother was acting as if he had been possessed by the evil spawn of Lindsay Lohan and Satan himself, I would likely have thrown him a look as if I might sew his mouth shut for suggesting such a thing.

But then the turdy little thing got all sweet and cuddly and "Bye, Mamae" with a smile.

I mean, it's like they have no idea that on any given day, we are THIS close to calling in the National Guard and registering them for the nearest and meanest boot camp. Just to give them some perspective on how not-mean Mean Mommy is.

So, like I said, on that morning, another baby would have come over my cold, dead, lifeless body.

But then they smile. And they get along, and they say Please Mamae, and I love you Mamae. And on these days, it seems entirely possible to handle another child. I mean, I'm already outnumbered. Maybe a third would throw me into the seige state of mind where only what is necessary gets through.

Hmmm...

Gotta find another sucker to knock me up, first.

Con Edison trauma

Mamae, I think our lights are going to go out.

Why?

'Cause Con Edison is in front of our building doing something in the street!

At the tender age of six, my son has already figured out the sad irony of public works in New York. The last time Con Ed was in front of our house, the whole building lost power for three hours.

So for him, if they are back, it means we will, again, have a Little House on the Prairie afternoon of electricity-free time.

The street-smart portion of his education has begun...

isn't it a little early?

"how do you get a baby in your belly, mamae?"

"ummm...a man and a woman have sex when they love each other, and the sperm and the egg come together to make a baby."

"what's sex?"

I know the books talk about this, but nothing can prepare you for the day your child asks these questions. Especially when it comes apropos of nothing. As in, we were just getting home, I had just parked, and had done nothing more than innocently suggest that we exit from the vehicle and go into the apartment to have dinner. Nothing sexy or spermy about that, right?

Unless you're about to be six years old, apparently.

Maybe I should wear more protection...

So I'm standing there, well, elliptical-ing there, (mostly) minding my own business at the gym...I've been on the machine long enough that I'm sort of starting to drift off into a cardiovascular haze.

Until something invades the periphery of my visual plane.

Now, I'm sort of a live-and-let-live kind of person; someone who doesn't really get worked up about what others wear or do if it's not harming anyone. But this just seems a bit over the top.

So I steal a glance to my right, being careful not to lose my balance so I'm not hurled off the Elliptical Machine into some ignominious heap. A gentleman has carefully placed his belongings next to the machine to my right, and is opening the gym bag he has brought with him. Lo and behold, what should appear from this Mary Poppins-like container but a mask. Not a Zorro mask or a gel mask for the eyes - either of these two would have been less disconcerting than what this gentleman placed on his head.

It was a full-on, bona fide, boxing mask. And not just the one where there's padding on top and on the sides. No, this included the cage-like contraption that covers the face. He looked like he was getting ready for hockey practice. Only he was climbing onto the ELLIPTICAL MACHINE. And not some special elliptical machine that throws punches while you ellipsis away. There were no hidden spikes that might emerge unannounced should you decide to anger the man in the machine by not finishing the whole program. So I wondered, in the same way I wonder about, oh, I don't know, psychopaths, whether this seemingly innocuous man was simply trying to be funny, or whether he actually and truly and honestly BELIEVED with all his heart that there was some chance of his face or orb being hideously maimed while on the elliptical machine.

So then, given my inherent insecurities about this world, I started to wonder if maybe I was the insane one. The one not properly protected from the various, lurking dangers at the gym. I mean, I don't even shower there, for fear of foot fungus.

And let's not even get into the things a microscope might find on the mat where I stretch...

It was getting ugly in my head.

I stole another glance at the now-elliptical-ing, mask-clad man.

I decided if that's what he needed to do to feel safe, then I should just shut up (the conversation in my head) and go back to (mostly) minding my own business.

We all need our security blankets. Maybe that was his.

It happened. And it was amazing. As fulfilling and life-changing as I thought it would be.

And there wasn't even much screaming involved. Just a few whispered words, some well-timed kisses...

and both boys slept IN THEIR BEDS last night!!!

And I slept in mine!!!

All alone!!!

(Well, maybe that last fact is not to be so publicly relished... but I digress...)

IT WAS SIX THIRTY IN THE MORNING BEFORE ANY CHILDREN EVEN APPROACHED MY BED!!!

I'm not sure if I'm conveying the giant-ness, the enormity of it...

IN THEIR OWN BEDS!!! ALL NIGHT!!!

Am I getting my point across?

For those of you whose offspring don't know what Mom and Dad's bed feels like, I (begrudgingly) congratulate you. For those, who, like me, have had a certain amount of trouble finding any way to make the kids stick to their own mattresses, please celebrate this milestone with me...

and let's get some fucking sleep already!