Name This Tooth!

So the other day, my 7 year old son pointed to the empty space where his tooth used to be--top, front and center--and said, "He was my best chewer, I miss him!"

I asked him what the tooth's name was and he told me to guess. This is what passes for "family time" in NYC.
I guessed "Chewy" which I really thought was an award-winning guess.
"Nope," he said. "But close."
"Chewer?"
"Nope."

(An aside: saying "nope" and "yep" sounds really smug and annoying.)

"Chewster?"
"Nope."
"Chewbacca."
"YES! How did you know?"
"I'm really smart. Hey, let's see if dad can guess."
"Ok."

. . .

(another aside.  "..." stands for my son and I walking to find Husbandrinka.  Please do not think that this was done in silence.   "Can I have a new Mario Super Sonic Wii game?" "No."  "Why not?" "Because no." "Because no is not a reason. Give me three reasons." "Because you don't need it, I can't afford it and the stores are closed." "I do too need it, you can charge it, and you can order it online."  ""You want it, that's different from needing it, I still have to pay for things that I charge."  "So you admit it's only two reasons, since you can order it online?" "Yes." "Well, I said three reasons, you lose."  See?  ... is so much simpler).

...

"Honey, guess what the missing tooth's name is."
"What are you talking about?"
"See, he's missing a tooth. Guess what its name is."
"Why does a missing tooth have a name?"
"You don't name your teeth?"
"No."
"Weirdo."
"Dad, I'll give you a hint.   It's sort of like Chew."
"Biter?"
"Nope."
"I don't know."
"Come on, honey, guess."
"Fangy?"
"That's nothing like Chew. I'm going to give dad another hint: Think Star Wars."
"Chew Wars?"
"Oh, that's nice, look, I don't know what the solution is and maybe Israel shouldn't have gone into Gaza, but to call it Jew Wars-"
"I said Chew Wars."
"Oh. That makes no sense."
"That makes no sense? And naming teeth makes sense?"
"Yep."

I'm a Moody Blogger

Today is Thanksgiving and the list of the things that I am thankful for goes on and on and is a real snooze to read. You know, the usual. Tivo, potato chips, the Brangelina-Anniston drama.

I'm not good at the topical holiday posts. I'm a moody blogger and today I'm in the mood to tell you something really important about marriage. This advice is especially useful if you're not yet married. If you made the mistake of getting married before consulting this post, you'll probably want to get an annulment and try again. Of course it'll be hard to get an annulment on Thanksgiving Day, but I don't see how you can possibly blame me for that one.

Ok, here it goes. You know how when you're a kid, and you and your siblings were going somewhere, one of you would call "firsties!" and that created this binding contract that can only be terminated upon death? Well, when you get married, it's really important to call "insanies!" as soon as possible after you're pronounced husband and wife, because if you don't, terrible things will happen.

For example. Last month I had a dream that my husband was looking at some woman (for argument's sake, let's call her a whore) in a way that I didn't like. No, I did not like it one bit. I woke up enraged. I didn't understand how he could betray me like that and the fact that it was a dream and didn't happen in real life was an inconsequential detail.  Sort of like saying "but she was a blonde, and you know I prefer redheads, honey" is a ridiculous defense.  Like now I'm responsible for your bad taste in dreamland?  Don't think so.  

So, I woke up, fuming, and feeling like at the very least, Husbandrinka owed me a huge apology because everyone knows that dreams have meaning and I am a very sensitive person and if he wasn't interested in this dreamgirl, why would I have dreamt it? Or is he trying to say that everyone's dreams have meaning except mine because I'm not as important as other people? Because that doesn't make me feel great, either.    

After a few (dozen) minutes of back and forth on this, Husbandrinka still didn't see why he had to apologize, and was acting all like I'm the crazy one here.  Unbelievable. It's almost like the whole feminist revolution was a huge waste of time or something and I'm a second class citizen. And then he says, "what if I had a dream that you did something?" And I'm all, "Uh-uh.  I called insanies!"  Which means that I get to be the insane one in the relationship and rage about dreams and he has to be the reasonable and practical one.  Because opposites attract and we can't both be getting mad at each other for dreams, it doesn't work like that.  Because that leaves very little time for other things, like doing the dishes.  Which reminds me, after you call "insanies", don't forget to call "not doing dishesies!"

You're welcome.

Economization

There are times that I feel like Lucy Ricardo, but unfortunately it's never while I'm looking in the mirror.  Usually it's when I am sneaking shopping bags into the apartment, so as not to unnecessarily alarm my husband.  Last week it was when the Visa bill arrived in the mail and I remembered that I had become Suddenly Patriotic and single handedly gave our economy a huge boost, via Saks Fifth Avenue. In a way, I had no choice. I work near Saks and I have a lunch hour. Plus, they were having a sale. I don't need a burning bush to tell me what to do next.

This led to my husband and me having a conversation that I may or may not have passed out twelve seconds into, but not before hearing words like "budget" "recession" and "careful with discretionary spending".  Personally, I see no need for that kind of language between adults, but whatever.  Apparently, the economy is in bad shape and I am on a budget.  But not on a budget with numbers and balancing, but more of a spending freeze type of thing, where my credit cards and I are having a trial separation.  And I am totally on board and not just because I would have agreed to anything to make the conversation end.

I remind my husband that I am from the former Soviet Union, where people made a turnip stretch all winter during the war. Of course that was a few decades before I was born, but what am I, a historian now?  The point is that I am of good strong Russian stock that can withstand hardship and do it with bravery and a stiff upper lip (as soon as I get it Botoxed).  The only glitch is that the next morning I realize that I am totally out of my kazillion dollar an ounce perfume and momentarily feel like Anastasia when she faced the Bolsheviks.  

Then to make matters worse, I talk to a friend of mine who's one of those financial types and I'm not even sure what her job is.  My strong preference is for people around me to have job titles that I understand, like "doctor", "teacher," "prostitute", but she doesn't seem to care about my preferences.  She's a financial something or other and she tells me that she read a book, called The Financial Apocalypse which she suggests that I not read because it will give me nightmares, but which she will summarize for me, because that's relaxing. 

So, according to her, the book predicted many of the things that we've already seen, like major banks closing and the Fannie and Freddie collapse and that the other fun thing that the book predicts is that the United States government will default on its loans and that our currency will be worthless. Not worth less.  Worth nothing.  For some reason, this alarms me, so I ask her what the book suggests we do, because I am now convinced that The Book knows everything and will lead us out of the darkness and will probably get me a bottle of that perfume.  And she says that we need to buy gold bars which sounds good in theory, but I'm thinking that it's going to be really, really hard to justify to my husband, what with the spending freeze and all.  Can you imagine if he notices that I'm stockpiling gold in the closet?   But then it hits me, and this is where Warren Buffet may want to pay attention--if our currency is going to be worthless, shouldn't we all be charging the gold bars on our credit cards, because when the economy totally collapses, no one will care about credit card debt, but we'll have gold.  And with the gold, we'll be able to get perfume!  And that's the real silver lining.

Scene from a Marriage

Marinka: Am I your trophy wife?

Husbandrinka: No.

Marinka: Why not?

Husbandrinka: Because you are my real wife, my partner and the mother of my children. You are not someone that I married to impress anyone because I am old and am having a midlife crisis.

Linda Hunt: In other words, you think it would be best for me to cover my face when out in public so as not to "not impress" anyone, right.


Dick Cheney: Yes.

Mother Theresa: I can't believe the way that you talk to me.

Voldermont: Sorry.

Sarah Palin: Well, maybe I am part of a culture where a "sorry" is perhaps not the verbiage that will comfort me right now.


John McCain: You know I'm a POW, right?

Marinka: Do you think that the people who read this blog will know that this is not an exact transcript?


Husbandrinka: You mean the people who are "completely on your side" and bemoan my "many personality flaws?" Doubt it.

Small Talk, Big Talk

I can't stand all forms of small talk. It makes me insane when people talk about the weather and say things like "nice day!" or "hot enough for you?" or "thank goodness it's Friday!" and "What a week" or any of those phrases that serve as social lubricants for normal people but psychosis-inducing mechanisms for me. I avoid them at all costs. Maybe it's because I spent the first nine years of my life in the Soviet Union, where people spoke to relay information and not to comment on the self-evident, but I've never developed a taste for it. And yet, I'm not really comfortable with silence, either. Tragically, figuring into this is another obstacle--I don't have many interesting things to say.

So, you see the problem--my husband and I spend a lot of time together. We both hate small talk, but unlike him, I hate silence. I solve this problem by asking him every once in a while if he wants to get a divorce. Because, I figure, if he does, I don't want to be surprised. And plus, it's conversation! I don't do it often, and yet he still finds it annoying. You'd think that the charm would start to creep up on him.

Last weekend, our conversation went like this:

Me: Divorce?

Him: What?

Me: Do youwant to get a divorce?

Him: why would I want to get a divorce?

Me:I don't know why you'd want to get a divorce. People just do sometimes. Does everything have to have a reason?

Him: (OR SHOULD IT BE "He"? But then, it's Me and He and that sounds really weird)Yes, when people get a divorce, there usually is a reason.

I:Like what?

He:Like they don't want to be married to each other anymore.

Moi:What are you saying?

Heoi: I'm saying that I don't want to get a divorce.

Yo: Even though-

El: Even though what?

Ya: Well, we can never agree on the A/C because I want it on and freezing and you want it off when you sleep, because the noise bothers you.

On:So?

Marinka:And it's the same thing with the heat in the winter.

Husbandrinka: That's not divorceable.

MotherhoodinNYCblogger:And you told me that my slippers squeak when I walk.

MotherhoodinNYCblogger's husband: Whatever.

We:And you hate Tom Petty and Bon Jovi.

They:I don't hate Bon Jovi, but he's unoriginal and boring.

La Me: HOW CAN YOU SAY THAT? "friends and relations, send salutations". How is that unoriginal?

Le Him: Yeah, not enough for divorce.

Me: Annulment?


For some strange reason, he really likes silence. Something about it being golden.