A Christmas Story

"I want a BIG tree this year," Thalia told me. "A REALLY big tree."

I sat her down and told her that there wasn't going to be a big tree this year. That we decided not to spend the money on a big tree, and to instead put it towards nice gifts.

The tears started to well up in her eyes.

I stumbled for more justification.  That it was so late in the season for a big tree. That live trees smelled beautiful. That we we loved the Charlie Brown tree we had last year. That a live tree is nice for the earth. That we could plant it at Grandma's house again and watch it grow every year and one day it would be a big tree.

Still, she was crushed.

Earlier this week Nate came home with a tree. A live one in a pot, as described, no bigger than Thalia not counting the pot. It was a about one-twentieth the size of the one Thalia had fallen in love with at her cousin's house last week. He set it on the ground and tentatively pulled off the blue plastic bag  that sat over top. I felt my teeth clench and my shoulders tighten. We turned towards Thalia.

Thalia scurried towards the tree, eyes wide, arms open.

She hugged it.

"A big tree, daddy! You got the big tree! Ohhhh.... I love it. Thank you!" she gushed. "Oh thank you, I love it!"

And she did.

That right there? That's Christmas.

Merry and happy to you and yours.

I guess naming your kid Staten Island doesn't have the same ring to it

This morning, Babycenter released their list of the top 100 baby names of the decade and one name in particular stands out to me:

Brooklyn.

Brooklyn appears on the list of the fastest growing girl's names of the year.

Yes, I know we're so fabulous in the borough immortalized by Miranda's move here with Steve, and the Crown Heights riots but really? Brooklyn?

I'm wondering how many of those parents have even been to New York's most populous borough. Hell, half my friends in Manhattan haven't even been here. (Crossing a river! Scary!)

Surely as these sleepy, giddy new parents gaze down at their newborn baby girl and coo, Aw, little Brooklyn Goldstein, they imagine the sanitized-for-your-protect Brooklyn, the one immortalized on TV and in Woody Allen movies. The one that always takes place on the Promenade along the East River, where the dashing if rumpled hero kisses the trendy leading lady in the shadow of the glorious Brooklyn Bridge just before we rack focus from their embrace to the iconic skyline of lower Manhattan. (And then the director yells cut and a rat runs across their feet.)

For those of you considering jumping on this "hot naming trend," allow me enlighten you some of things your baby daughter's name brings to mind to those of us who actually live in the (718) and buy our flowers from a subway station:

- Jehovah's Witnesses
Yes, Brooklyn is the promised land, at least if you're a member of The Watchtower Bible and Tract Society which owns the better part of Brooklyn Heights and DUMBO and pretty much holds court on the Promenade. It's not unusual to find a wide-eyed smiling family clutching bibles walking around looking for unsuspecting tourists to converse with; and then to find Nate right there in their faces, asking them if they realllly think that Noah made it to Australia and back to drop off the kangaroos in less than 40 days.

-The Gowanus Canal (photo: Stephen Nessen)

Breathe in--really deeply. That's right, very good. Smell that?

Sorry.

-The woman who gave me the finger in Gristedes because I got to the checkout line before she did.


-America's Favorite Burlesque Game Show
It was stiff competition, but this Brooklyn based burlesque game show was deemed the clear favorite in a qualitative study of the viewing habits of burlesque game show aficionados. 



-Uh, this.

-The mysterious puddles on the A/C subway platform


-The most hated parents in the world.
Specifically, those in Park Slope. I'm not there so I'm safe. Only people who name their children Brooklyn will hate me now.

[photo credit]

Co-sleeping is hazardous to your health

There's so much talk about co-sleeping and whether it's dangerous to the child. Well as a semi-regular reluctant co-sleeper for the past 4 years, 5 months and 15 days I can now safely say that it's dangerous to me. Where are the stats on that, AAP? Huh? Huh?

I woke up at 3AM with my back in the most awful spasm thanks to the weight of two children and a rheumy cat on my chest. (Oh, didn't you new parents know? The children don't sleep next to you on the bed, the children sleep on you in the bed.)With the muscle pressing against my rib cage, breathing is now something less than a joy, to say nothing of standing, sitting, popping the zit on my forehead, and doing the Achy Breaky Heart.

I'm sure last night was just the 65-pound straw that broke the camel's back, considering I was still on the mend from the previous night's three-person romp in a single bed at my brother's place. And by romp I mean I NEED TO SLEEP YOU TINY PEOPLE GET OUT OF MY BED.

And so, it's finally happened. All the years of  co-not-sleeping over the years has added up. And it's broken me. The kids? Oh, they're delightfully well-adjusted. One more thing I can hold over their heads in later years.

See you on the acupuncture table.