| his ridiculous song choice, “Jeremiah Was a Bullfrog,” you will hear “Mom! Stop! That’s disgusting!” Until the little control freaks go off to college, you will be in a song-and-dance straitjacket. And by then, if you are like me, it will be too late to start up again; your knees will be arthritic, and inexplicably your voice will have descended into a gravelly baritone, and your vibrato will have slowed down to a pitchy wobble. You will also realize soon enough that you cannot make any sounds in public, especially within two blocks of their school. I know you’re thinking, But I have to be able to talk, don’t I? Fine, just speak only when spoken to, and do it very, very softly. But be forewarned that if you ever get too boisterous, you will have to pay big bucks for their therapy later on. If you’re similar to me and have a naturally outgoing personality, you are in deep shit. Because you are who you are by now, and it won’t be easy transforming yourself into a soft-spoken, barely breathing mouse. At home, if they have friends over, to be safe, it would be best to just stay in your room with the door closed. Then there’s the whole laughter ruse. I’m aware that my laugh can be over-the-top, often obnoxiously rowdy. But I cherish laughing as much as breathing. Who doesn’t? It is one of the most universally therapeutic, spontaneous pleasures of life. When they’re little, they will |
to gefilte fish as mystery Jew-food and considered it a slippery slope to payot and those big black furry hats. Neither Tommy nor I were at all religious as adults, but after becoming a couple we celebrated both Christmas and Hanukkah together, although to vastly different degrees. I remember one of our first Christmas Eves after we had kids. As soon as we all decorated our towering Frazier fir tree, which smelled like a pine forest, I rummaged through our stacks of boxes and found some sleigh bells. With the Mormon Tabernacle Choir belting “O Holy Night” in the background, I said, “God, Tommy, remember when my dad asked you how ‘your people’ celebrated Christmas?” We both laughed. Sipping my eggnog, I then asked him if he wouldn’t mind going up to the attic, shaking the bells, and stomping around so the children would believe Santa was on the roof. After they went to bed, as I placed the large quantity of meticulously wrapped presents under our tree, I pointed to the plate of freshly baked Christmas cookies. “Hey, Tommy, could you please take a few bites so the kids will think that Santa snacked on them?” Tommy was a good sport and went along with all of it, and I loved watching as he seemed to get swept up in the silly magic of the holiday. But I couldn’t help but notice that our home was smothered in wreaths, garlands, poinsettias, and twinkle lights. Carols played ad nauseam, flooding |
