The Odd Broad

High on Charlie Sheen

Ordinarily I don't condone watching excessive amounts of trash television, but I'm pretty sleep deprived these days and my will is weak.  I suspect this to be the reason I can't seem to stop following the media circus surrounding Charlie Sheen.  I don't even watch Two and a Half Men, but Charlie's recent behavior has been such a perfect storm of terrific awfulness that I can't look away.  I liken it to that fascinating Michael Jackson interview with Martin Bashir from 2003.  (Which, by the way, I also couldn't stop watching.  So outrageously cringe-worthy.)

As for Sheen's interview on 20/20, I watched it alone, and again the next day with Sissy, and then by some miraculous turn of events somehow persuaded Hubby to watch it with me that evening.  Initially he was very resistant; among many other reasons, he felt it was "sad," but I told him it would be worth it.  Yes, of course it was sad...if by sad you mean totally bitchin'.

As a godmother, I realize this is probably toxic programming to be exposing Lukey the Wonder Nephew to, but he was pretty preoccupied by his packet of Oreos (high fructose corn syrup and trash television...winning!), and besides, my sister already watches TMZ. 

As you may have heard me mention before, Lukey, 3, is already a bit of an intellectual.  He's been reading since the age of two.  I understand it's probably the kind of thing you have to witness to believe, but there you have it. 

He's also been on a techie kick lately and can identify and retain what kind of computer (computah) models his loved ones use. For example, Gateway, Dell, Vista, apple.  He comes out with odd little catchphrases, which he's picked up all on his own:

Control alt delete!
Done, but with errors on page!

Microsoft Help!

My father's computer is really old, and Luke will tell anyone who'll listen: Papa's computah is slow!  Papa needs Windows 7!  Papa needs Comcast!

Naturally, my opinion of Lukey has always been that the child is brilliant, if not a bit eccentric.  And yet, lately it seems he loves to snuggle with hot girls.  At family parties, he'll identify the most voluptuous female, usually a friend or girlfriend of a relative, and tell her, in his little baby voice, I want to snuggle with you.  This surprises us, because ordinarily he can be a little shy with strangers.  When it comes to snuggling with the ladies, the bustier the better.

He doesn't snuggle very much with auntie.

And I digress. Back to Charlie on 20/20.  As Sissy and I were watching the train wreck unfold, Denise Richards came onscreen and Luke suddenly exclaimed, "I want to snuggle dat gurl!"

Sissy and I looked at each other in horror. "What?  Luke David," my sister asked him, "What about mama?  Don't you wanna snuggle me?"

"No!  I wanna snuggle that gurl. She will love me!"

When Charlie's "goddesses" came onscreen shortly after, my nephew informed us he'd like to snuggle them both. "Lukey don't say that!  You don't wanna snuggle them!"

Oh, but he did.  He really did.  Especially the porn star.

Sissy had to leave the room for a second and I hit the pause button, and it stopped on a picture of Capri Anderson, the hooker Charlie allegedly choked in a New York City hotel room.  Somehow I knew exactly what was coming...

The Wonder Nephew wanted to snuggle dat hooka.

No!

He even wanted to snuggle the woman conducting the interview.  I'm pretty certain he was saying all this to get a rise out of us, but we still didn't like it.  This is what we get, I suppose, for forcing him to watch hookers and drug addicts rather than Calliou.

At any rate, that interview was just so deliciously entertaining.  I'd like to think Charlie is merely putting on an act for publicity's sake.  But something tells me he's not.  Oi vey.

Time for me to go have a lie down.  After all, I'm tired and I don't have tiger's blood running through my veins. 

A mystery revealed...

What a week it's been, Dear Reader!  For starters, Sissy gave birth to a gorgeous little lady named Anna Paige one week ago tomorrow!  She's impossibly sweet and melts me like a stick of butter on Paula Dean's stove top.  It feels like she's been with us forever, this dainty, perfect baby girl.

Much to our delight and surprise, Lukey D. is adapting to being a Big Brutha in a seemingly effortless manner.  "That's my baby," he says of Anna P., and tonight, when she started to cry, I'm told he even busted out a rendition of his favorite Thomas and Friends song, to comfort her.  (And it worked.  For a two year old, he's got quite a fabulous sense of pitch and rhythm.)

As if all this hasn't been exciting enough, today Hubby and I went for our eighteen week ultrasound.  We were busting to find out the gender of our bambino.  The anticipation has been killing us!  Last night Hubby told me it felt like Christmas Eve, only the best Christmas Eve ever.  I had to agree.

I fancy myself an intuitive individual.  All this time I'd been assuming there was a baby girl in my tummy.  Hubby and I never preferred one gender over the other, mind you- but for whatever reason I was certain I was carrying a girl.  I just knew it.  Man, were my instincts off...

Today, the kind technician showed us two itty bitty feet, and I just about lost it right then and there.  Such teeny toes!  Ten of them!  And ten tiny fingers!  How miraculous!  I was a blubbering mess.  And then, just as casual as she could be, she said, "oh, it's a boy..."

Reader, you could have knocked me over with a feather, such was my surprise.  A little boy. I squeezed Hubby's hand and cried some more and just lay there with a goofy grin floating across my face.  It hasn't left my face all day, in fact.  A baby boy.  When Hubby and I were alone again we just stared at each other in awe, eyes overflowing, laughing.  We were having a baby!  Us!  This was for reals!  A baby boy!  Suddenly it was all so real and amazing.

Lukey the Wonder Nephew's response to this news was "YAY!" followed by, "Sissy's baby will play trains with me."

The more I hear from friends and family, it seems just about everybody knew I was carrying a boy except myself.  So much for my razor sharp intuition.  

Tonight, I'm exhausted in the most wonderful of ways.  I can't stop staring at the pictures we brought home.  I'm in love, utterly and hopelessly so.  I think I can honestly say that today has been the happiest day of my life, thus far.  Although somehow I suspect it will only get better.  xoxo

And now for something amazing...

Lukey the Wonder Nephew loves my new apartment.  "Sissy's new house!  Sissy's new house!" he exclaims, in that impossibly cute little voice of his. 

I know all aunties say this about their nieces and nephews, but this boy is wondrous.  He's the only two year old I've ever met who can identify an automobile from ten feet away.  "Toyo Camry" he shouted one afternoon while we were out on my deck, pointing to my neighbor's car below. 

"Did that baby just say Camry?" the baffled woman asked her husband.  "Hi there!" I called down, "That's my nephew.  He really loves cars."

"Does his mother own a Camry or something?"

"No."

"He can tell the make of a car just by looking at it?"

"Yeah."

What can I say?  He's The Wonder Baby.  He once went stark raving mad in the Panera parking garage, dragging me around so he could point out every automobile in the general vicinity.  "BMW...Mazda...Toyo Prius!!  Hybrid Toyo Prius!"  He touched his pointy finger to the word "hybrid" as he said that last bit.  Luckily for auntie and his mommy, the Hybrid Toyo Prius did not have an alarm. 

My sister has no idea when or how her child became such a motorhead.  One thing is for sure, he's probably the only person these days who feels such passionate affection for Toyota.

I made him up a little basket for Easter, with books and candy, and I also included a box of flash cards I'd found at CVS for $1.  He's only two years old, I realize, but I thought he might get a kick of of it.  After all, he loves his letters and numbers.

The flash cards have a picture on the back, and words only on the front.  Without letting him see the picture on the back, I pulled a card from the deck and showed Lukey the word.

"Milk" he read, and grabbed the card with his meaty little fist, inspecting it as he sipped from his juice box.

"Fish" he read the next one, then: "Box," then "TOY!!"

I pulled out a card with the word "STAR" on it.  "STAH" he declared in his Boston accent, almost bored. 

"Oh, here's a tough one," I said to my sister.

"Cwayon," said Lukey. 

"What the fuck!" my sister mouthed.  "He doesn't know crayon!"

"Hubby!" I called, "COME QUICK!  Lukey's being freaky!"

"House...Mouse...MOON"  We wondered if perhaps our grandmother was coming to Lukey from beyond the grave and teaching him words.  Indeed, he's often awake during the night, flipping through his books and reading aloud in his crib to his bevvy of Match Box hot rods.

Luke went on to astound us by reading several other words he'd never been taught, "ComPUtah!" being one of them.  In the end, he read every word in that entire box save two, without looking at any of the pictures until he'd read the word, I might add.  After announcing each word, he'd take it from me and turn it over to look at the picture.  He seemed very pleased with himself.  He then gathered the entire pile together and threw them up into the air, making a fantastic mess and terrifying the cat.

I love afternoons with my best buddy.

The next day was Easter, and my mother asked Sissy to bring along the flash cards.  "No, I'm not bringing them!  Everyone's gonna think I'm drilling my two year old!"

She brought them anyway, and Luke wowed everyone within earshot, his face smeared with chocolate cake.  "House...Mouse...Apple...Ice Cweam..."

I tell Sissy not to worry about what anyone thinks.  Who gives a crap?  Furthermore, why make a problem out of something so amazing?  So her two year old can read; he loves books, after all!  And she spends all day reading to him, per his adamant request!  "Again!"  he demands.  "Curious George goes to the mooseum!" 

I just got off the phone with Sissy and she told me they took a family trip the other day to Flo's Clam Shack.  Lukey looked at the sign and sounded out, "Flo...clam...sss...snak."  She said the "h" in shack was lower case, so he probably thought it was an N.  Yes, the child sounds out words.  But he also enjoys digging around in the sand, playing with his cousins, and a million other things!  Screw anyone who would be snarky about it!  (And I'm thinking of two Nasty Nelson's (and one Nasty Nellie) in particular right now, who do not read this blog, which is a shame because if they did, I would insert something fantastically obscene right here.)

In lieu of their past comments, which obviously sprang out of jealousy, and the random remarks Sissy regularly receives like, "Do you teach him to read or something?" she feels hesitant about Luke revealing his marvelous talents in public.  She doesn't want anyone to think she's drilling her child with phonics!  Which is certainly not what she is doing anyway.  She simply reads to him all the time!  Sissy doesn't like to brag, but I have no problem bragging, because I am his auntie, and that is precisely what aunties do.

This child is a frigging genius.  Case closed.  xoxo

Golden showers

My brother-in-law and Sissy recently took Lukey the Wonder Nephew to the car show and he's still talking about it.  "Cah show!"  For a boy who just turned two, he's a real motorhead. 

I babysat for him on Saturday and we spent a good chunk of time watching the online demo videos for the Toyota Tundra.  "Toyo Tunda!"  Lukey D loves to watch Toyo Tunda haul logs at the ranch, the quarry, the job site...

We had a nice time.  When I laid him down on his changing table he immediately asked for "paste!"  (He brushes his own teeth.) 

"Okay, DD, Auntie's gonna change your diaper now..." 

Dear Reader, I've never gotten a golden shower before, but it was around this time that Lukey D honored me with one.

"AHHHH!  Lukey D!  You're peeing on your Auntie!  What the?" 

He laughed.  I laughed.  I decided it was time for a bath.  

We watched Christmas movies.  We played on his keyboard.  We both giggled so hard we threw our heads back in raucous laughter.  Lukey D was getting pretty slaphappy, and around 8:30 it occurred to me that I'd better try and put him to bed.  He hid under the red ottoman, laughing maniacally.  "DD, mommy's gonna kill me if I don't get you to BED!"

I picked him up and he instantly rested his head in the crook of my neck.  I walked down the hall into his room and just stood there for a moment, feeling the rhythm of his little heart beat against the center of my chest.  I attempted, just once, to put him into his crib; but I can't let Lukey D cry, not on my watch.  Instead, we rocked together in his chair, and although I did sing him a number of showtunes, after awhile I fell completely silent.  We rocked and rocked and rocked in the dark.

So he gave me a golden shower.  So I applied the Desitin to his ass cheeks instead of doing it right.  So I forgot to put his nappie on underneath his flannel pajamas.  Auntie Sissy did the best that she could. 

I'm not sure if I'll ever be a mother.  And I'm not saying that so you'll tell me what a great mother I'll be someday; I'm saying that because it's true.  I can't foresee my future, and I'm honestly not sure what it will hold.  My opinion fluctuates from day to day.  All the same- I'm auntie Sissy, to my only sister's baby, and this never fails to delight and amaze me.  Again and again, it was so worth leaving New York for.  xoxo

Hey crater face!

Lukey the Wonder Nephew is repeating just about everything he hears these days.  He is also able to point out the following automobiles by name, simply by looking at them: Nissan, Honda, Jeep, Subaru, BMW, and his particular favorite, Toyota.  "TOYO!!"

He really, really likes cars.  My sister writes these names in crayon on a sheet of paper, and Luke reads them.  If she writes the president's name down Luke will screech: Bach Bama!

I shit you not.  He's still not even two.

Needless to say, Sissy has put a strict ban on swearing in front of her son.  I do my best to respect her wishes, but even the best of aunties slip up from time to time.  I'm certainly making a concentrated effort, however.

The other day we were headed towards the playground and had the walk sign when a large truck aggressively began taking a turn.  The guy behind the wheel was on his cell phone and steering with one hand (a common sight in Boston), and when we gave him a dirty look and continued crossing, he had the nerve to yank on his horn. 

Honk, honk. 

I instinctively gave him the finger, extending my entire arm upwards in one quick, fluid motion.  Very old school and entirely spontaneous, but this new no swear in front of the baby policy doesn't leave me with very much to work with.

My older sister looked at me in disbelief.  "Did you really just give that guy the finger?"

Um, yes.  I suppose I had.  "He wasn't even paying attention!  We're walking with a baby!"

"So you gave him the finger?  Who are you?  Kenickie from Grease?"

I was, a little.  There, in the middle of Boylston Street, in my checkered wool Chaps jacket, I was channeling Jeff Conaway circa 1978.  We started to giggle and didn't stop for at least two blocks.  For a moment I thought I might pee.

Many folks would describe me as a sweet natured, ladylike individual.  (Many folks; notice I didn't say all.)  I'm honestly not sure what comes over me at times.  I know it was protective love for my nephew that prompted my silent show of displeasure, but all the same.  Sometimes I think I'm going mental.

Although, the middle finger is an entirely underused gesture nowadays, is it not? 

Mrs. Whimby's Daughter

I've been singing to Lukey the Wonder Nephew since before he was even born.  He's definitely the most receptive audience I've ever had. 

I sing him songs, mostly improvised, the most colorful of which is about a woman named Mrs. Whimby and her illegitimate daughter, who is just about to be married. 

This little ditty blossomed into existence right after I moved back to Boston.  We'd had a Brigham's ice cream party at work and the delivery man brought along a small yellow stuffed dolled.  That doll's name was Mrs. Whimby.  Anglophiles that we are, my sister and I decided almost immediately that Mrs. Whimby would have a cockney accent.  Lukey really took to Mrs. Whimby; indeed, the two became nearly inseparable.  (Luke loves her dearly in spite of the fact that she's kind of an old slut.)

When I first moved into my apartment I had virtually nothing to entertain a baby with.  Nothing, that is, except the little stuffed bear wearing a wedding veil that Sissy bought me when I got engaged.  It would have to do.  I began to sing, child star style.  The tempo was upbeat, maniacal, with a Polka/German drinking song feel:

I'm...Mrs. Whimby's daughter, and today's my wedding day

All I'm asking, Lukey, is would you give me away?

Walk me down the aisle, to my fiance...

I'm Mrs. Whimby's daughter, won't you give me away?  HEY!

Mrs. Whimby's daughter didn't know who her biological father was, you see.  My sister was more than a little disturbed.  She told me to stop, if I remember correctly.  Luke looked at me as if he was having a bad acid trip.  And then he laughed.  More than laughed, he guffawed.  Naturally, this song became an instant staple in my repertoire, with several verses ensuing. 

My collectible Michael Jackson doll and Harry Potter action figure were both eventually incorporated into the song:

I'm Mrs. Whimby's daughter, and today's my wedding day

I'd marry Harry Potter, but he up and flew away...

He's summering in Maui now with Michael J...

I'd marry Harry Potter, but he's off with Michael J!  HEY!

On a side note, my Michael Jackson doll has been resting on a shelf in our hallway since his untimely passing; and we've since set my Harry Potter action figure next to him.  Hubby has placed Michael's hand on Harry's...wand.  It's not right.

And I digress.  It's remarkable how babies really listen to everything you say.  Lukey already knows his numbers, can sing his ABC's and a bevy of other songs.  Last weekend my mother was singing a song she'd sung since Lukey was born, and he was finishing each line for her, in tune even.  (Yes, this baby even understands the concept of pitch!  I know I'm his auntie and all, but musically he's extremely intuitive.)

"When did you work with him on that?" I asked my mother, impressed.

"Oh, never really, I've just been singing it to him forever..." she answered.

A light bulb went off in my head.  I turned to Luke.  And I began to prompt him, singing:

I'm......Mrs. Whimby's...

"Daughta"

And today's my wedding...

"Day"

What I'm asking...

"Nokey"

Is would you give me...

"Away!"

Walk me down the aisle to my fee-an...

"SAY!!"

I'm Mrs. Whimby's...

"Daughta"

Won't you give me...

"Away!  Yay!"

Christ almighty, Luke David had been listening.  And now he knows how to say the word fiance.  This boy is not even two.  God I love that child.

My sister took Lukey the Wonder Nephew down to the JFK Library to watch the motorcade pass by. 

Clenched in my nephew's meaty little fist was the small silver cup from his Christening, inside of which he'd placed three Match Box cars.  (This baby is quite an eccentric.  He rarely leaves the house without some sort of tchotchke, be it an alarm clock, a tooth brush, the cell phone he got from the girl at the Verizon store...) 

In his other hand he waved a small American flag. 

Rest in peace Teddy.

F*ck this Duck!

Lukey the Wonder Nephew is a mood enhancer.  He's prozac in chubby baby form.

Now that Hubby and I are back in Boston, I see my sister and her little angel pretty much every weekend.  This is hands down my most favorite part about living here again.  Luke refers to me as Sissy, or Sissy Sasa, and can often be found holding inanimate objects up to his ear and saying, "Hi Sissy." 

"It's Sissy" he says in that impossibly adorable voice of his, looking up at me with his big brown eyes.  Oh Reader, that just never gets old.  I love him so much it kind of kills me. 

On Saturday I walked along as Sissy pushed him in his stroller.  At one point Luke peeked out his head to look up at me, and when I reached out, he grabbed my hand in his meaty little fist.  We walked together that way for several blocks.  Just thinking about it is enough to make me melt.

I visit an awful lot of playgrounds these days.  I guess I'm becoming a connoisseur of sorts.  Playgrounds in Boston are abundant and spontaneously located and for the most part really awesome and clean.  Most of the time.

This past weekend Sissy and I discovered a new and wonderful catch phrase to add to our already vast repertoire:

Never mind the fact that this bird is technically not a duck, more of a seagull actually.  Look closely and you can see the poo that the children have kindly added next to the poor bird's tail.

Jose, stop calling your sister a Becth!  That's not very polite, young man!

I can sleep at night knowing that the troubled youth at this last playground was at least an accurate speller.  A+ for you, bitch!

It's a good thing Lukey is still too young to read.  xoxo

I am a happy auntie...

For Lukey The Wonder Nephew can say my name!  For reals.  Oh Reader, he is so sweet.  xoxo 

Gratitude

Thanksgiving weekend was a lovely, crazy little whirlwind.

To put it in CliffsNotes form:

Turkey dinner with my family on Thursday.  Fleeing in the middle of the night back to Boston with Sissy and Lukey the Wonder Nephew, who it turns out had contracted a nasty ear infection just in time for his very first birthday.  One fender bender on Mass Ave on Friday on the way to turkey dinner with Hubby's family, who'd flown in from California, Louisiana and Arizona.  Happy Birthday's on Friday to Dad, Nanny and Lukey the Wonder Baby!!  Lukey's 1st birthday bonanza on Saturday, then visiting and Scrabble on Saturday night with Hub's family.  (The Broad used all seven of her letters on guardian and won the game.  That's fifty extra points, y'all!)  Our weekend concluded with a special service for aunt Kathy, who was ordained as a reverend yesterday.   

On the way to Luke's party on Saturday I turned the dial to Oldies 103.3 so I could serenade my husband with Christmas cheer.  (Apparently they've been playing nothing but Christmas tunes since after Halloween.)  As we drove along, Lukey's gift wrapped up in Sesame Street paper in the back seat, I felt an overwhelming wave of happiness wash over me.  Life was...wonderful.

So much has changed since November 28th of last year, the day that precious little baby came into our lives.  Sometimes it really blows my mind.  Our Thanksgivings in New York were happy, relaxed occasions that I will always look back fondly on.  (Like the time we discovered a frozen turkey requires longer than an hour or two to thaw. We ate chicken that year.) 

But lovely, crazy little whirlwinds are nice, too.  xoxo