Tag Archives: social skills

My Secret

Awkward Encounters, Being Awkward/Dumb Stuff I Do, Kids, Kids/Teaching, parenthood, , , , , , ,

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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Better Than You

Awkward Encounters, City Living, , , , ,

Rushing to kiddie class this morning, I’m pushing Nora’s stroller down the street when I get stuck behind the world’s slowest stroller-pushing woman on the world’s narrowest sidewalk. At one point, thank god, the sidewalk widens, and so I take this opportunity to speed up and bypass the woman and her stroller. I guess she didn’t appreciate this maneuver, as she then yelled, “Excuse me– don’t think you’re better than me just because you have a bigger, fancier stroller!”

Which is absurd.

Your stroller is carrying a 30-pound cat.

THAT is why I’m better than you.

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Cheryl

Awkward Encounters, Kids, Mental Health, , , , , , ,

After class at the kiddie gym:

Other Mom (to me): “Well that was a fun class!”
Me: “I know, I agree! And I’m so glad that [your kid] and Nora are really becoming friends now.”
Other Mom: “Me too! And speaking of, I think it’s time we actually learn each other’s names!”
Me: “Oh! Ha, yes, we should– I’m Emily.”
Other Mom: “Nice to ACTUALLY meet you! I’m Cheryl.”

I fucking know, Cheryl. That’s why I’ve greeted you with “Good morning Cheryl!” every day for the past 3 months.

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Hermoso

Awkward Encounters, Kids, , , , , , , , ,

Almost every day, Nora and I go into the same corner store as part of our morning routine. Everyone knows us there. And every single time we go in, the guy working the deli counter smiles at Nora and says “Ah, hermoso!”

Now, I’m no Spanish expert (despite having taken Spanish in middle school, high school, and part of college…) but I’m pretty sure “hermoso” means beautiful for a boy, whereas if you were to call a girl beautiful, you would say “hermosa.”

So either the deli guy thinks Nora is a boy, and has thought this for 9 months now, or he is simply using the word “hermoso” as a gender-neutral term. Since my Spanish knowledge is spotty (#ivyleagueeducation imgres-2), I really couldn’t be sure.

So today we conducted an experiment. I put Nora in the girliest, most unmistakably feminine outfit she owns:

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We enter the store:

Deli Guy: “Ahhhh! Hermoso! Is very nice dress! Pretty butterflies!”

Me (relieved that he is obviously using ‘hermoso’ interchangeably, and has known all along Nora is a girl): “Aww gracias! That’s very nice!”

Deli Guy: “Ah de nada! You very welcome.”

(I smile and begin to walk towards dairy section)

Deli Guy: “But why he wear dress?”

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I Don’t Know How to Make Friends

Awkward Encounters, , , , , , , ,

I meet a girl in the lobby who is also a new mom in the building. She has a 10-month-old son and when she finds out I’m around in the mornings and on Fridays, she asks for my number so we can get together with our kids. We exchange numbers and begin commiserating.

Girl: “Isn’t being a mom like a million times better than being pregnant?”

Me: “Oh my god YES. I say that all the time! I was a MISERABLE pregnant person.”

Girl: “Me TOO! The worst! I was SO tired the entire 9 months.”

Me: “Yup. And achy and short of breath…

Girl: “Yes!”

Me: “And couldn’t sleep, totally nauseated, so irritable…”

Girl: “Oh my god YES. SO irritable…”

Me: “Hot flashes…”

Girl: “ALL the time!”

Me: “And like the bedwetting– what’s THAT about?!”

Girl: “Yes, totall– wait what?”

Me: “Oh. I wet the bed once…”

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She hasn’t called.

Ebola Mom, Part 85

Kids/Teaching, , , , , , , , , , ,

(Continuation of Ebola Mom Part 84, and part of the Ebola Mom series)

I just want to say I am shocked– SHOCKED– by the number of you who just assume that I will continue to work for Ebola Mom after she completely disrespected me by blowing me off for an entire month, then popping back up and requesting my services as if nothing happened, expecting that I’d just be sitting here waiting to snap into action at her command. SHOCKED.

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Clearly you know me very well.

We will resume sessions on Thursdays at 6pm.

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Ebola Mom, Part 82

Kids/Teaching, , , , , , ,

(Part, and possible end to, the Ebola Mom series)

First of all, holy crap– it’s been 2 months since I posted. And here I thought I was handling the balance of “me time” and motherhood so well*! But no, turns out I had JUST enough free time during maternity leave to feed myself, pee (and sometimes wipe!), spower (“speed shower,” because who has time to separate words anymore), and stare blankly because as much as I wanted to blog, my brain could only form the words to “Old MacDonald.” Actually, it couldn’t even form the words to THAT. Nora’s Old Macdonald has a rhino and a lemur because farm animals are hard.

Anyway, the point of this post is to announce that sadly, the long, beautiful, borderline abusive relationship between me and Ebola Mom has, it appears, come to an end. And it ended in the tradition of any great Jewish-girl-in-NYC love story– I got ghosted.

About a month ago I sent Ebola Mom an email announcing that I would be returning to work soon, and therefore wanted to check in on Kid’s progress and discuss the continuation of her tutoring.

Weeks passed.

Crickets.

Which, to be honest, is just disappointing. This relationship deserved to end in the same way it started– with me being verbally assaulted. Yes, getting ghosted is insulting, but I really would have preferred she put her complete lack or respect and disregard for human decency into words. Is a quick “Thank you for the 7 years you helped my daughter thrive, but now you and your baby can go fuck yourselves” too much to ask? She left me with nothing postable. Nothing to mark a deserving, bloggable end to this tortured love story.

So, like the single-girl-on-28-different-dating-apps I used to be, I’m deciding to send one last text in the hopes that it will garner a response. Not because I want to continue the relationship or because I can’t take a hint. I’m doing it for you, the fans. Because you’ve invested in this for years, and you deserve closure, god damnit.

Oh also Kid. I like Kid. And she likes me. I’m fairly certain I’m the only normal** adult influence in her life. And now I can only assume she thinks I’m dead, killed by the protruding stomach tumor that I was not allowed to assure her was just a baby.

So here goes. Putting all my pride*** on the line in the hopes of bloggable closure. You’re welcome. And stay tuned.

*never actually thought that.
**when used to reference myself, term always to be taken with grain of salt.
***no pride. Lost all pride in my 20s. Chose to trudge forward without it.

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