Sunday, March 30, 2008
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Monday, March 24, 2008
Procrastination is a wonderful word. My brain sings it to the tune of Rod Stewart’s “Infatuation.” This simple mental exercise, in my opinion, makes the word roughly ten times better. Violet is watching Toy Story and playing with the Sesame Street Easter pals that her aunt brought her yesterday. The cats are meandering about, and thankfully, Nermal is not repeating yesterday’s performance of yacking on the stairs. There is a mess in my kitchen, and I’m trying my best to ignore it. There will be time to catch up later, and hopefully, a little time for me to sleep. I was awake from three to five this morning, largely due to the large amounts of orange juice and vanilla vodka I consumed over a period of about six hours yesterday. I’m quite surprised that I’m not severely hung over this morning, though I seem to have misplaced a few trillion brain cells. Oh well. It appears my daughter has been rolling around on the couch: her hair resembles the inside of a plasma lamp at the moment. It’s supposed to be a lovely day today, so as soon as it warms up a bit, she and I are going to the playground. Right now, I will sit a bit longer and stare aimlessly at the wall, lamenting the fact that my husband didn’t leave me enough coffee this morning. If I had a little more motivation, and a few of those brain cells back, maybe I’d just get off my ass and make some more…
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Monday, March 17, 2008
Friday, March 14, 2008
Pardon my parental gushing, but my daughter gets smarter and more adorable every day. A few nights ago, she was running around playing with Daddy shortly before bed. She ran to the stairs, and accidentally bumped her nose on one of them. A loud cry and many tears ensued. My husband hugged her for a while, and then handed her to me. I sat her on my knees and looked at her. I then inquired, “Violet, are you okay?” “Yes,” she replied, and then she paused, with tears still falling from her little eyes. “I’m fine.” It was soooooooo ridiculously stinking cute. Yesterday, after I unplugged her video game, she repeated the question, “Why did you do that?” for about five minutes. I love that she’s starting to speak in complete sentences, but I’m always taken aback by it. The transition from senseless babble to perfectly articulated thoughts makes me realize how fast she’s growing. If we can only get her potty trained, she will be ready for college.
Friday, March 7, 2008
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
10. Watching Superman with Violet.
9. Vanilla Ice Cream/Nilla Wafers/Andes Mints. I can’t go to the grocery store without being reminded of some of my father’s favorite foods. Every year, we bought him handkerchiefs and Andes Mints for Christmas. Incidentally, my daughter adores Nilla Wafers…
8. Hollywood Gossip. My father had subscriptions to many celebrity gossip magazines, including “US Weekly.” He always knew who was dating who in Hollywood. When we were watching movies, I admired how adept he was at identifying actors. He would have enjoyed scrolling through TMZ.com, I’m sure!
7. Puns. My father made us laugh with his placement of puns. He also enjoyed the old novel/author puns, such as “Under the Bleachers by Seymour Butts.” If you ever cringe at any particularly bad puns in my blogs, please forgive me—I’m simply trying to carry on the tradition.
6. Movie previews. My father rarely got agitated. But if we arrived late to the movie theatre, and we missed the previews, he would get upset. Every preview I see, I reflect on whether my Dad would have wanted to watch that particular movie.
5. Video Cameras. My mother and father were always there to support their daughters for extra-curricular activities. At every performance where it was allowable, my father brought his camcorder with him. Even through college, I would see a little red light in the audience, and I knew my parents were there. Now, every time I record my own daughter, I remember how my father faithfully catalogued our memorable moments and milestones.
4. Mail Trucks. My father served his county in the Air Force for four years, but he served the U.S. Postal Service for nearly thirty-five. My dad was the happiest, most well-adjusted Postal worker I have ever encountered. He had a wonderful relationship with his customers. His nickname was “Cliff Clavin,” but not because he was inept—“Clavin” simply rhymed with “Slavin.” He survived many dog attacks, including one instance where a smaller dog jumped through a plate-glass window at him. Despite the inevitable stressors, he always maintained a sense of humor about his job. One memorable anecdote he told me involved an elderly customer who complained that the self-adhesive stamps “tasted terrible.”
3. The Yankees and Softball. I was only able to attend a few Yankee games with my father. The last game we were able to see, two of my father’s brothers were also in attendance. Other fans sat in awe at the amount of Yankee trivia my father and uncles knew. The ultimate Yankee fan, my father collected many shirts and memorabilia throughout the years. He also attempted to practice what he preached: on any given year, he was on one to three softball teams. He was buried with his glove, and the Yankee symbol is etched on the back of his gravestone.
2. Music. My father was a fan of many genres of music. He was even more aware of the popular music of the day than I was: he would often ask questions such as “Have you heard that new Britney Spears song?” Shortly before his passing, he became a fan of Mary J. Blige. When I was younger, he took us to a number of concerts, from U2 to Alanis Morisette. He even endured New Kids on the Block, because it made his daughters happy. One of my last memories of my Dad was watching the 2002 Grammy Awards. After watching Alicia Keys accept an award, my father commented that she was an excellent singer, but “not a very good talker.” There is another musical incident that stands out in my memory, though. After an almost-rained out game at Yankee Stadium, my sisters, father, and I were sitting in a booth at a 50’s-style diner. My father selected one of his favorites, Elton John’s “Your Song,” from the tabletop jukebox. Years later, when I saw Elton John and Billy Joel in concert, “Your Song” was the first song Elton performed. I couldn’t stop crying.
1. My daughter. Since she was a baby, my daughter’s face has reminded me of my father. She has certain expressions that mimic him perfectly. I know she would have adored her Grandpa Slavin.
Thank you, Dad. I have far too many good memories I could enumerate here, because you were such a wonderful parent and mentor. Your ladies miss you, very much, every day…
Monday, March 3, 2008
Our house was not built well. Scratch that. Our house was not even built up to code: these housing units were initially condemned. So imagine my husband’s chagrin when he found a vent in the laundry room that was not connected to the ventilation system. The little vent, which cannot be closed, simply leads to the area ender the porch. After making this fun discovery, my husband blocked the vent off. The entire downstairs area is already considerably warmer. I always wondered why I could hear the wind whipping around when I was in the laundry room. Now at least I know I wasn’t hearing things again...