Excited!

Me (on Wednesday night, upon arriving at a surprise engagement celebration for my brother and his girlfriend-now-fiancè, an hour after the proposal): “I don’t know about you guys but I’m so excited! Like, I couldn’t focus at all at work, I was just so eager to get here and just overall hyped up! Wasn’t it hard to get through the day!?”

Steph: “I was fine.”

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(Aright, well. I’m still excited. Mazel tov Zack and Julie!)

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As I’ve mentioned on this blog and to anyone I’ve ever met anywhere at any time for any reason– I’m a sweaty person. Like this but sweatier.

Our current apartment runs extremely hot. We’ve posted many a video of Nora on social media and she is always stripped down to the diaper– friends think this is because we have a “free the baby from the burden of clothes!” hippie attitude, but what they don’t realize is that I, too, am naked behind the camera because it is 5 fucking thousand degrees in our home and WE’RE ALL JUST TRYING TO SURVIVE. (I’m sorry if that mental image of naked me ruins your enjoyment of Nora’s videos (Brothers. Dad.), but you’re welcome if it enhances it (No one? Oh ok.)).

So due to this hot apartment/me being a sweaty mammoth combo, I need to sleep with the air conditioner on throughout the night. In fact, the AC isn’t even enough– I need the fan too. Eric, whose body functions like that of a person meant to live on this earth and not in a 70-degree isolated space bubble, does not enjoy this nighttime freeze-out ritual. He insists that if we just keep the window open, it will have a similar effect, with the added bonus of saving both money and energy.

I have tried this crazy window-scheme he’s concocted, and I simply disagree with his assessment. It’s not the same. He then tries to argue that I have not given it a real chance, as if me doing it that whole one time for 10 seconds isn’t sufficient enough to draw an accurate conclusion of NOPE THIS IS TERRIBLE HELLFIRE AND I HATE IT.

So, like any good, solid married couple with opposing viewpoints, we have agreed to compromise and have the AC on full blast, the fan on high, and the window sealed shut.

Eric, over time, has learned to accept that this is the situation, and has ceased to verbally comment on it anymore, as he knows, much like when he tries to teach me about the stock market or how to make toast, it is a waste of breath. I am who I am (the worst. the best? inexplicably and unadvisedly someone’s mother. Set in my ways.)

But what he DOES do is passive aggressively send me the monthly email from Con Edison explaining how much energy we waste use compared to other homes. It is, without fail, always over 150% more than similar apartments in the area. He sends these emails with no explanation– he just forwards them along and hopes I’ll open one and, you know, feel something.

I do not.

He does make sure to follow up when he gets home from work, though. The conversation goes something like this:

Eric: “Did you get my Con Ed email?”
Me: “Yes.”
Eric: “….”
Me: “Yes I did.

I don’t know why he bothers.

But guys– today’s email really got me. See below.

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Maybe it’s that the percentage is over 200 for the first time ever. Maybe it’s the fact that Eric took the time to deliberately change the subject line to 233%, so I can’t earmuff that shit. Maybe it’s that he added the “I give up on you and life” cry-laugh emoji. Maybe it’s that image of a polar bear floating away on a block of ice (not sure if that directly relates, but goddamn that’s upsetting). Or maybe it’s that gif I once saw of a dog so sad he can’t even muster one ounce of excitement for what has to be the largest, most wiggly bubble ever (completely unrelated. Now I’m just spiraling.) But the point is, for the first time, I felt something.

So tonight I turn over a new leaf.  If I can’t be motivated by Eric’s discomfort (oh, you don’t like the temperature? Remember when I grew a human from scratch, stored it amongst my organs, and then carried a farm’s supply of lactose in my boobs for a year? I’M SORRY YOU’RE COLD.), I should at least be motivated to serve the greater good.

So you win, Eric. No more winter AC.

But make no mistake– I’m doing this for the dog.

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Beautiful Aura

Me: “How sweet is this? I was on the bus with Nora, just like snuggling with her and she was pointing to things and talking, and this old lady was sitting next to us watching the whole time. Then when she got up to get off the bus she turned to me and said, ‘I just want you to know, your baby has a really beautiful aura.'”

Eric: “Aw, that’s a really sweet thing to say! She does have a beautiful aura. What a nice woman to tell you that.”

Me: “I know! And when I thanked her she goes ‘You know, she gets that aura from you.'”

Eric: “Oh. So she was crazy.”

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Eric: “You took our baby on the public bus and sat down next to a crazy lady.”

Control

There is a mom at the kiddie gym who is always at open play with us. She has a 4 year old boy and she constantly hovers over him like he will break at any moment.

Hovering Mom (glancing at Nora): “How old is your daughter?”
Me: “16 months.”
Hovering Mom: “She’s getting so big!”
Me: “I know! I feel like it happened overnight! This morning she grabbed the monitor camera off the wall in her room– I didn’t even realize she could reach it!”
Hovering Mom: “Oh, yeah, I learned that lesson with my daughter. You have to put the camera in a hidden place so they don’t even know it’s there.”
Me: “Oh, I didn’t know you had a daughter! I’ve never seen her here.”
Hovering Mom: “Right, that’s because she’s 16.”
Me: “Oh, wow! So…wait– she’s 16 and you have hidden cameras in her room?”
Hovering Mom: “Yes.”
Me: Thinking_Face_Emoji
Hovering Mom: “You’ll understand when your kid is a teenager. It seems extreme but it’s necessary. You can’t trust anything anymore, especially with all the filth that’s on the internet.”
Me: “I guess…I just…I don’t know, I hope I don’t feel the need to put cameras in Nora’s room when she’s a teen.”
Hovering Mom: “Well it’s important to have as much control as possible over our kids, isn’t it?”

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Religious Sensitivity

I attend a weekly music class with Nora that is legitimately awesome, as we live in New York City, so every person leading a kiddie music class is actually a Broadway star in the making, and their talent blows me away every time. I seriously feel like I get a small personal concert every Thursday morning. Today I was particularly excited because I knew the songs would be holiday themed.

When we arrived, the lead singer greeted us…

Singer (whispering aside): “I know you guys are Jewish. Don’t worry, this is all non-denominational. Just winter songs. We really try to be sensitive to all religions.”
Me: “Wow, that’s very considerate but REALLY not necessary!”
Singer: “No, it’s necessary. It’s the respectful thing to do.”
Me: “Aw, you guys are SO SWEET!”

If you don’t sing “All I Want For Christmas” I will legit murder everyone here.

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My Secret

At the kiddie gym this morning, Nora was being particularly social and adorable, walking up to kids and giving high fives, sharing her blocks, hugging all the nannies, and giggling at everything. I sat in the corner with a random dad, both of us watching her make her rounds, when the dad turned to me:

Random Dad: “Ok, so I have to know– what’s your secret?!”

Me (laughing): “Honestly, I don’t have one! I don’t know how she got this amazing, friendly, adorable personality. It’s certainly not from me! She takes after my husband more, I think. He’s very outgoing. But I’ll take some credit because she’s with me most of the day, so I guess I must be doing something right?”

Random Dad: “Oh. I meant how’d you get that coffee in here? They never let me bring mine in.”

Oh.

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