John

And that’s ok.

But my phone is a BlackBerry and it takes terrible photos, so more often than not I just don’t bother. But last Saturday I had a day that I will never forget. It was a day that I knew I’d treasure forever as it was happening and I couldn’t believe that it was happening.

On Saturday, my son and I went to see the Mets play at CitiField.

The week before I told him that I had the tickets and he was so, so happy and then when he realized that his dad would be away that weekend, he gasped, asking me who’d he go with then? And when I said that I’d take him he looked at me like he wasn’t sure about it.

I knew where he was coming from.

I’m not much into baseball. I’ll take him to practice or a game if Husbandrinka isn’t available, but overall, I’d rather sit it out. But somehow, through my 10 year old’s passion for the sport, it crept into my soul. Or maybe that’s just indigestion.

But I was eager to take him and happy to root for the Mets and jeer when the Braves got a hit and have him explain some rules that I didn’t understand (I did know that there is no crying in baseball, so I’m ahead on that score.)

I was happy to laugh together and chant Duda! Duda! and yell at Ike Davis to bring everyone home and share french fries and look at the people run on the field to clear the trash that the wind swept in in between innings.

It was a perfect day, even before this happened on the way home. Because that was really a moment that I was proud of myself as a mother.

* * *

Masterpieces that I’d written over at Babble Kids Scoop, in case you missed any and can’t take one more second of not reading it.

Risky Play is Great For Kids! Unless I’m Their Mom. Why I’d rather my kids have a fear of heights than a broken bone.

Children’s Books We Don’t Like. I asked some of my favorite bloggers to contribute and I love the list. Love to hate, that is. By the way, if you’d like to be included in my Babble blogger round up posts, please email me at MarinkaNYC@gmail.com and I’ll add you to my list.

I made breakfast for dinner. It didn’t go well.

Birthday party trends that I wish would go away. I’m looking at you, goody bags.

* * *

In the I am reading category, I’m in the middle of two great books that I love. Both take place in New York City, which has extra appeal to me.

My Mortal Enemy is the first Willa Cather that I’ve ever read. It’s an Old New York novella about marriage. The writing is wonderful and makes me wonder why I’ve never read Cather before. (And why I always almost-say Catheter instead.)

Henny on the Couch is Rebecca Land Soodak’s new novel, starring my favorite subject- motherhood. I am not very far into the book yet (I was reluctant to put it aside to concentrate on My Mortal Enemy because we are discussing it in book group on Monday and I hadn’t read the past three books for that group and I mayor may not be on probation as a result), but I am enjoying it tremendously.

Have a nice weekend. Please let me know if you are reading anything great.

This post contains Amazon affiliate links

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I am telling mama about a conversation that I had with gay John and she is outraged.

“You are a private person,” she says. “Why must you tell him about your genitals?”

To be fair, I don’t tell John about my genitals (mostly because he asked me not to) I merely mentioned in passing that I had an annual appointment with my gynecologist and he said, “for the D&C?” and I said, “no, a pap smear” and he said “isn’t a D&C the same thing as a pap smear?” and I said, “no, dumbass, a D&C is an abortion” and he said, “are you sure?” and I said, “yes,” and then he seemed sad, so I said, “why? Why do you care? Did your mother used to say ‘I should have had a D&C?” and he said, “no, not at all,” but he still looked pensive, but maybe he was just thinking.

Who knows, but it’s not like I’m having an intimate discussion about my gynecological woes with gay John. Obviously I save this kind of stuff for my blog.
Mama disapproves of it anyway, of course, and it reminds her of everything that is wrong with America today.

“The country has gone crazy,” mama tells me and starts enumerating the complaints she wants to lodge against it. Like why those Armenian whores, the Kardashians, have their own TV show. And why Bruce Jenner, who was a nice boy, an athlete, now looks like a lesbian, and don’t get mama wrong, she is all for metrosexuals, but not to this extreme, there has to be moderation.

Then mama turns into Rush Limbaugh and wants to know why Obama wants to have a mosque near Ground Zero and why he doesn’t just erect a monument to Hitler in its place and call it a day.

And there we are. You know that you’ve had a fantastic conversation with your mother when you’ve covered abortions and Hitler in the span of ten minutes. And it wasn’t even Mother’s Day!

P.S. If you feel gynecologically invested in my story, my appointment is on Monday, so I have to squeeze in all my pre-appointment panic in quickly. What if something’s wrong? What if I have, as John calls it, cervical wretch? I ran this by papa and he said, “well, good news is that you can’t die young.” Which is more less good news and more obnoxious news. In other news, John told me that he’s considering becoming a junior gynecologist and I think I’m supposed to ask my gynecologist if he hosts apprentices.

I predict that conversation will go well.

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