tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54149484058335694292024-03-13T22:57:42.764-04:00perryarlaWorking harder to serve you betterPamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.comBlogger211125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-24822391160442628532012-04-30T12:45:00.002-04:002012-04-30T12:45:28.231-04:00All is vanityLately there is something different about me, and no one has noticed, so I will have to tell you: I AM NOT WEARING GLASSES! I haven’t been able to wear contact lenses since Sacha was born six years ago. And while contacts would have been nice, it was nothing worth pining over. But Sarah’s Bat Mitzvah was in April, for this one occasion, I really wanted to be without my glasses, without a completePamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-46050434218012446522012-03-02T13:46:00.001-05:002012-03-02T13:47:33.239-05:00The tao of SachaMe, reading this: He tells me that God is a word.
Sacha: God isn’t a word. God is a Hebrew person.
Me: Well, we can’t really know what God is. Lots of people believe he’s not a person, and he doesn’t belong to anyone.
Sacha: God is a man!
Me: What makes you think so?
Sacha: Well, if you look at him, you can tell that he’s a man. Also, sometimes he goes invisible.
Me: How can you look at Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-81538925024550043492011-08-17T23:29:00.003-04:002011-08-17T23:36:27.010-04:00Put your rage on the pageToward the end of the school year, Sacha had a particularly bad day at school, during which he accidentally clocked his teacher in the chin hard enough to send her to the doctor midday, after she forcibly brought him to the sink to make him wash his hands.
In my completely unobjective opinion, the bitch had in coming, but that is a story for another day. For now, suffice it to say, it does Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-28732501606823410252011-08-02T13:50:00.001-04:002011-08-02T21:30:50.810-04:00Asshole alertSome people have fine-tuned gaydar — which in this day and age, is really not that impressive. I, on the other hand, have exquisitely honed assholedar, and lately I've been attracting them like a magnet. I could tell many stories of encounters I've had lately, and perhaps for the remainder of the summer I will make this a regular feature, but for now, consider the following:
We recently got a Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-35369853079849872642011-07-18T10:58:00.002-04:002011-07-18T10:58:41.563-04:00Department of minor complaintsJUDGEMENT DAY
There is a man I see everyday when I drop Sarah and Gabriel off at camp. He has two children in the same classes as them, and we often wind up walking the halls together from one room to the next, chatting pleasantly about nothing.
The other day as I was driving away after drop-off, a car began to pull out in front of me, setting us on a slow motion collision course. I Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-33762656926366210242011-07-05T15:43:00.000-04:002011-07-05T15:43:33.028-04:00Scenes from a mallAlthough I hate malls with an abiding passion, this year for Sarah’s birthday, I set her and two friends loose there with some spending money. While I waited for them, I sat in the bar in Ruby Tuesdays. The White Horse Tavern it was not, and I could not even finish a single beer without fear of imperiling my ability to drive home, but I brought my notebook with me anyway.
I was still getting Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-87801785048398079272011-05-27T12:15:00.000-04:002011-05-27T12:15:38.261-04:00Bad doggie treatsEveryone knows that positive behavior modification is the ideal method for motivating people and changing bad habits. The problem with this approach is that where children and annoying behavior are concerned, it’s more expedient, and satisfying to cut to the chase. If I say to Gabriel, “Stop X right now, or you will lose Y,” I have a roughly 50% success rate.
In the 50% of the time that Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-62055767345765222932011-05-18T10:43:00.000-04:002011-05-18T10:43:52.036-04:00STFUMORNING EDITION
I like to wake at six o’clock, before my kids are up, so I can have quiet time with a cup of coffee and the news. If I only get halfway through the Daily Wrap before someone awakes, that constitutes a BAD NEWS DAY, which makes me very cross, because that is my only opportunity during the day to see what is going on in the world. And then I feel conflicted, because althoughPamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-24133353822990224192011-05-14T10:25:00.001-04:002011-05-14T10:29:21.302-04:00Love bitesEveryone knows that a penis is a boy’s best friend, and Sacha and his have always been extra-special close. Lately he’s discovered the art of self-massage; after a recent bath, I watched him in a trance, with a dollop of cream having a good go at himself.
On Friday afternoon I asked Sarah to get Sacha for changed for karate and she came running into the kitchen.
“Mama, Mama, come look, Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-81263569343049613562011-05-11T17:25:00.002-04:002011-05-13T16:26:04.918-04:00On housework and its contentsI love to clean; I need to clean. Even being in someone else’s messy space makes me edgy. If you are my friend, and you keep a messy home, I do not love you any less, but know that while I am having a lovely time visiting with you, I am also fighting the urge to straighten up.
Recently I had a conversation with a woman who described herself as superficially neat. For a few days, that Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-50500529817628287332011-05-09T23:30:00.001-04:002011-05-09T23:31:13.217-04:00Mind your moneyIn March, a friend who works in the television industry was contacted by a colleague looking for a third grade class to film a segment on kids and money for the Suze Orman show. My friend’s children attend the same school as mine, and Gabriel’s class was chosen to film the segment.
The first thing Gabriel said when he came home from school was, “Mama, Mama, I am going to be on TV!”
BecausePamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-44283576155357792842011-05-06T09:24:00.001-04:002011-05-06T09:38:59.771-04:00Basketball jonesSacha has always been obsessed with basketball.
It began when he was barely walking, and I asked him to put his dirty diaper in the trash. As he threw it in, I said, “He shoots, he scores!”, and unknowingly unleashed an enduring passion. From that day forward, every diaper change became a basketball game.
The the height of the hoop continues to progress as he grows; he went from one suitable Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-84450611360847979412011-05-02T22:45:00.000-04:002011-05-02T22:45:14.088-04:00Jack is a dull boyCHILD’S WORK
Saturday afternoon Sarah got together with her two closest friends, whom she has known since birth. While I am not generally nostalgic, the sight of these three — now on the cusp of adolescence — whose diapers I changed, and whose mothers are two of my closest friends, has the power to turn me into a bawling idiot. I control myself, but inside, I am carrying on like a drunk, toPamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-71570469925763259792011-04-30T11:04:00.001-04:002011-04-30T11:18:10.849-04:00UnstuckI recently became unstuck from something that has been weighing on me for many, many years my entire life. In the weeks leading to this breakthrough I was in quite a lot of mental anguish, and despite being most decidedly ON MY MEDS, I was plagued by mild depression, with a light sprinkling of anxiety.
Since I figured things out, I’ve been exhilirated with the sheer joy of liberation. I amPamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-39341563939365911652011-04-26T23:26:00.001-04:002011-04-27T00:38:14.597-04:00Assholes unitedPLEASE STAND IN THE QUEUE
The other day I stood on a very long line at Kings during the pre-dinner rush. Many people were perturbed and impatient, and eventually the management opened a new lane. At this point, those in the back of the line who were suffering from RIGHTEOUS INDIGNATION DUE TO BEING FORCED TO WASTE THEIR VALUABLE TIME, made a beeline for the new lanes. Although I am patientPamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-86715875424152963222011-04-23T14:58:00.000-04:002011-04-23T14:58:43.034-04:00Duck for dinnerIn our house, you get to choose what’s for dinner on your birthday. Above all else, Sarah loves duck magret, and begs for it frequently. Duck is delicious, but it is also very expensive, and as such, reserved for fancy. This year for her birthday, Sarah requested duck. Her birthday happened to fall on an especially busy day of child-related activities which did not leave me time to shop or Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-18418111913906767622011-04-20T14:33:00.004-04:002011-04-21T17:24:51.579-04:00Mind your mannersEven grading on a curve taking into account age and my undying affection, Sacha is disgusting. His table manners are atrocious. It’s not entirely his fault, because he has significant fine motor delays which make it difficult to use utensils well. Meals end with him saucy and greasy, and although he has a napkin in his lap, because he cannot sit still, it often winds up on the floor. I don’tPamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-71688336786444503602011-04-15T13:48:00.000-04:002011-04-15T13:48:49.670-04:00Meta metaOne of the kids came into our bed in the middle of the night, and it took me a while to fall back asleep. When I finally did, my sleep was fitful, and full of strange dreams. In the most vivid one, I dreamt that the entire family overslept. It must have been the last dream I had before waking, because I woke in a panic, wildly confused as to why David was not in the bed, and how it could be Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-48375328181093058462011-04-13T14:09:00.000-04:002011-04-13T14:09:40.122-04:00Side effectsKITCHEN MISHAPS
My ear infection has cleared up, but it's taking a while for the fluid in my ear to drain. My equilibrium is still off, and I am more clumsy than usual.
In the past week I have:
dropped a fully dressed pizza on the floor as I slid it into the oven.
spilled a jar of caesar salad dressing everywhere: on the shelves and walls of the fridge, underneath the vegetable bin,Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-79586216770410090912011-04-11T10:56:00.000-04:002011-04-11T10:56:27.203-04:00How deep is your loveI took the boys to the drugstore last week to get birthday cards for Sarah. Their card criteria boils down to cute pictures of animals, so they were quickly done. I had a much harder time. Sentimental cards make me queasy, and joke cards are generally not funny and/or mean. I prefer a blank card in which I can write a simple message, but I couldn't find any. Everything was filled with bad Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-7105885265542115992011-04-09T13:56:00.003-04:002011-04-09T22:34:32.404-04:00Sensory overloadI consider malls a necessary evil, and try to avoid them except when ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY. Malls make me twitchy; there’s just too much humanity crammed into this weird, hermetically sealed space where time has no meaning. There’s too much music, too many smells, too many vendors hawking massages, or makeovers, or squawky, shuddering, battery operated impulse purchases, who are resentful Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-31355655255340676442011-04-07T11:57:00.002-04:002011-04-08T15:55:05.607-04:00Musical leaningsI am so tired of classic rock. I find Led Zeppelin to be the most odious band in the world. I respect the IMPORTANCE and the influence of the Beatles, but they bore me. I would much rather hear them filtered through Elliot Smith, or the Apples in Stereo, or a zillion other bands than listen to Sgt Pepper, or god forbid, Let it Be. Of course there is a lot of classic rock that I love; I Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-69209137632128306642011-04-06T09:53:00.000-04:002011-04-06T09:53:53.288-04:00Pretty all trueI enrolled in a writing boot camp this month, and it has me rethinking my schedule so that I can fit more time in for writing.
With three children in school, in theory I should have lots of time for writing. And yet, I don’t. There is exercising and erranding, cleaning, and laundering and cooking, and I never sit down to write before 1:30.
More than once, writers have given me the very Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-57150478695035053352011-04-03T11:36:00.000-04:002011-04-03T11:36:58.738-04:00In which I marvel at how much I have grownThis morning I had to call Verizon for help resetting my voicemail box.
Customer service representative: Hello, my name is Ed and I'm here to help you today! Who am I speaking with?
Me: Pamela Goldsteen
Ed: Is it okay if I call you Pam?
Me: No; it's Pamela.
Here is how the conversation could have gone:
Me: WHY DON’T YOU CALL ME SUE, ED? AND I WILL CALL YOU GEORGE. BECAUSE PAM IS NOT MY NAMEPamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5414948405833569429.post-3289225498180900752011-04-01T09:26:00.001-04:002011-04-01T09:30:06.894-04:00Lost in the supermarket: featuring entirely too much product placementZERO FOR THREE
I really struck out this week. I am down to my last sack of flour/pound of butter/block of cream cheese, and NONE of these items are currently on sale, nor were they the last time I shopped. Shoprite, why must you forsake me?
PORTION CONTROL
Although I’m not generally prone to chippy things, I am wild for sweet chili flavor Riceworks Brown Rice Crisps. I am quite Pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06493819941830411629noreply@blogger.com0