I'm Not Ready!

I am a sucker for my son’s hair. Always have been. When he was little he didn’t have very much hair and when it started to grow it was soft and gold.
As far as I’m concerned a baby’s hair belongs to Mommy. It’s hands-off for anyone who thinks a pair of scissors should enter the scene. When Evan’s hair started to curl upward just past his neckline at about two years old, my husband thought it might be time for a trim. A quick tiger-mama glare in his direction was enough to cap that thought.  But, I did do a little trim here and there when no one was looking but each precious strand of spun-gold went into a zip-lock bag and was hidden away in my own private treasure chest.

I know I’m not the only mom to go through this. Maybe I’m a little more obsessive-compulsive about it and I know it has more to do with not wanting the baby years to end than anything else.

The baby years are so wonderful. The feel of my little boys’ soft cheek against my face when we cuddle under the blankets at night or the feeling of his little fingers encircling mind as we snuggle up and watch “How to Train Your Dragon” for the 50th time on Netflix. It’s magical and time is fleeting and I’m not willing to let it go. To hell with spreading his wings: None of that is welcome here inside my cocoon of baby-bliss.

I cried when I took Evan for his first official haircut at the mall. It was one of those warehouse type chop-shops full of buzzing buzzers; TV sets blaring; video games blasting – all the trappings to distract our already ADD generation of young boys. As my baby’s hair landed on his shoulders and slipped to the floor, I grabbed at it and held it in my sweaty palms as my husband looked on smiling and shaking his head. I had reluctantly agreed to this first official cut. For Daddy it was a necessary baby-step. A first. But for Mommy it was a thousand steps closer to moving into the dorm. No! Stop! I’m not ready. This is way too fast for me.

Okay, reality check:  I didn’t have a baby just to fulfill my own needs. We send our kids off to school on a bus; we hire the babysitter to keep our marriages in tact; we untangle their arms from around our necks when we leave the house to go to work. Eventually, even a crazy mom like me, has to cut their child’s hair. Of course we have kids to expand our families, to continue a legacy, and to fulfill a dream, but we also have them to watch them grow. To beam with pride as they (with our help) become the people they are meant to be. Holding them back because we’re not ready to let go isn’t doing what we’re meant to do.

So, last week, I took my son for another haircut – one of many since the first – but this time, it was different. I took him to a real barbershop. The kind of place where greetings are on a first name basis; no-credit-cards; lots of sports-chat; a take a number and wait kind of place that I thought only existed in Leave-It-To-Beaver-Main-Street-America – not a mile down the road from my house. It was a long wait and my normally impatient child seemed to be just as intrigued by the atmosphere as I was. We waited because this is where I wanted Evan to be. His hair had grown long and thick – just the way Mommy likes it. The light-brown mop with its golden hues had grown knotty and dense, but still forming those little curls around the neckline – still my baby.

When Evan was called to the old-fashioned chair, he climbed up without hesitation despite the lack of taxi-shaped baby seats complete with steering wheels. No fire truck with push-button siren for this kid – just a barbershop chair with a booster seat. As the black cape was wrapped around him and a little piece of paper towel tucked inside the neckline, Evan said, “I’m ready.” He grinned from ear as his beautiful hair hit the ground. I snapped some photos to prevent myself from lunging for those locks. Was mommy growing up too? Not so fast, I’m not ready!

But this is one of many milestones ahead of us – and trust me – I’m clinging to every last shred of babyhood as I watch my boy grow. One day those pink cheeks will be covered in a bristly beard and he will do whatever he wants with the hair on his head. He is here to spread his wings and I am here to watch him fly as I rummage through my treasure trove of memories, photos and zip-locked bags of gold.

Video Collections

 

How to Train Your Dragon - LIVE August 2012

 

Evan and Maddy at Disney Animal Kingdom May 2012

 

Evan Sings "Old McDonald Had a Farm" in 2010

Kiddie Cruise: A Review

Kiddie Cruise: A Review

By Amy Wall Lerman

I have a lot on my plate between managing my work and home lives and have virtually no organizational skills.  I store information in imaginary folders that get tucked away inside layers of brain tissue - in other words - I forget – a lot.  My whole life exists in the belly of my Gmail Inbox so I’m required to carry around a mobile device to remember pretty much anything. This is one of the reasons I rolled my husband out of bed a little too early on a Saturday morning, dressed my son in his best pirate garb, and set off for a 38 minute drive to Manhattan’s Pier 40 for a Sunday afternoon Hudson Riverboat pirate and princess themed “Kiddie Cruise.” 

Pulling out of the driveway I reached for the email (which I someone managed to remember) that indicated the time, date and directions and felt my heart skip a few beats when I noticed the day of the week.  The word “Sunday” screamed out at me from the page as my son shouted “Arrrr” and jabbed me in the arm with the plastic pirate hook we bought for him at Disney World last June. In the midst of my panic, I wondered what would be worse, my husband’s annoyance at my flakiness (although, he’s quite used to that) or my son’s disappointment when I told him my mistake?

I prepared myself to walk the proverbial plank when I leaned over to my husband and said in a very low voice that I’d made “bad mistake.”  When Evan declared he had to go potty, we took the opportunity to drive back home and break the news to him. He took it surprisingly well – especially when we told him that we’d go visit his cousin after digging through the local library for pirate books and movies. 

Sunday morning was déjà vu, minus the flakiness. I let Evan’s daddy sleep a little later; I dressed up my pirate again; packed a bag of necessities; and we headed off to “the big city” where our boat was docked.

As we waited on a long line and were processed through a rather confusing boarding process, I took the time to survey the exterior of the boat.  It was like any Manhattan ferry boat – kind of dingy and rundown with Hudson River grime coating the hull.  For a moment I wondered if the boat would have that dank mildew smell and if the princesses hosting the activities would look more like Cinderella after the ball, but I was pleasantly surprised.  Although the interior needed some touch-ups and the bathrooms could have been a little cleaner, the boat itself was quite comfortable.  Nothing was stinky, and the princesses looked all pink and glittery in their gowns and tiaras as they rocked the house as both DJ’s and dance instructors.

We were supposed to set sail at 12 p.m. but it didn’t actually pull out until about 12:20 – and I gather much of that had to do with the dysfunctional line-up procedure still underway on the dock. 

We didn’t really mind that the boat was late on departure.  My husband and I surveyed the scene while Evan, although impatient, took in the view of Chelsea Piers out the window. Many of the kids were dressed up for the adventure and almost all of them immediately lined-up to get their faces painted – an activity Evan is happy to live without.  The woman doing face painting must have been stiff and sore by the end of her work day because I never once saw her take a break – there was always a child’s upturned face at the tip of her brush.

Once the boat set sail, the party really started.  Our tickets included limitless beverages and a packed lunch. The choice of sandwiches was limited but perfect for kids – either turkey and cheese, or a jelly sandwich (without the peanut butter I take it due to the danger of kids and allergies).  While my husband went to get the lunches on the upper deck, my son collected the little plastic pirate coins from our table and ate a bag of free baked chips – which seemed to be available in limitless quantities. 

The lower level was full of kids of all ages – from newborn babies to 8 and 9 year olds.  A handful of seasick parents lingered in chairs close to the walls while trying to eyeball their kids from afar.  My husband and I are lucky – we have good sea-legs but a mom turned to me and asked if she looked “green.” I couldn’t help but be impressed at the sacrifices parents are willing to make so their kids can have a good time.

The upper level, while fully protected from the elements, had a consistently cool breeze blowing across the deck as the boat sped across the river.  While views on the river were spectacular from all the decks, the upper level seemed to bring us even more up close and personal to the Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island, and downtown Manhattan.  Over the past year, I’ve notice from afar, the progress being made on the construction of “the Freedom Tower,” the new building going up where the old World Trade Center buildings once stood,  but viewing it from the river was like seeing it for the first time.


While grownups gathered family together for photos, many of the kids crowded around a craft table, painting, drawing, coloring, and sticking stickers.  There was even a tattoo station on the other side of the room.  Evan didn’t participate in any of the upper deck activities, he was too busy dancing and singing with the princesses on the lower deck. But perhaps the highlight for my son, and the other kids, was the puppet show. 

Barry Keating, owner of “Starmites,” and no stranger to musical theatre for adults and children alike, performed joyfully and effortlessly for the kids. With an array of puppets ranging from a naughty monkey who tricks the puppet master by hiding on his head to a Las Vegas-style grand dame reminiscent of Wayland Flowers’ “Madame.” With his one-toothed dragons and his disobedient, flipping, dime store doggie, Keating had the kids giggling from start to finish. I watched Evan belly-laugh so hard that he could barely sit upright.

By the end of the 90-minute cruise, Evan, despite his obvious exhaustion, managed to sword fight for a good 20 minutes with his new (albeit short-term) friend, “James from Brooklyn” while other families lined up to disembark.

As Evan was falling asleep that night he was still giggling about the puppets and asking when we’d go on another “Kiddie Cruise”.  I told him, “Soon.”  And I meant it.

Bubbles Bubbles Everywhere!

THE GAZILLION BUBBLE SHOW

A Review

My husband and I took our son to see The Gazillion Bubble Show in New York City last week.  If you haven’t heard of the show, you should definitely check it out.  Created and performed all over the world by the Yang family, the show is pure delight for kids and adults alike.  While tickets are not exactly cheap, the grins on your children’s faces may well be worth the price ($45-$65 – keeping in mind that the best seats for direct bubble-interaction are right in the front row).

Not knowing what to expect when we walked in, we found that all the seats have a great view of the stage, and pleased that ours were just 4 rows away from the bubble-making action.  When we located our seats we noticed that to the right of the stage children were having their photos taken inside a giant bubble.  We dropped our stuff and immediately headed over to watch.

When Evan started to climb the stairs to be next in line, I noticed the sign: “Me in a Bubble – $20.”  It was too late to say no to Evan without a bubble-deprivation-inspired meltdown.  I asked if we could take our own picture but was told no – I suppose that’s understandable even though $20 seemed a bit steep. When they brought our photo to our seats before the show started, Evan squealed at the site of himself inside an enormous bubble and when he wasn’t chosen to go on the stage with other child volunteers in the middle of the show, I was very grateful to have this photo as a consolation prize. Not to mention it was the object he took to school for “show and tell” the other day.  Not too bad for $20, I’d say.

After what felt like and interminable amount of self-promotion and advertising before the show began, the stage lit up and the bubble-blowing commenced – a relief because my ADD child was beginning to squirm in his chair and ask, “Where are the bubbles?”  I have to admit that at this point I was beginning to wonder about whether or not this would be an enjoyable show.  I mean, why are they advertising to whom they’ve already sold?  You have us, we’re here.  The ones who need the ads are outside the theatre, not inside!

But when the show began, all these thoughts were lost in a world of magic.  Melody Yang was the “bubble artist” for this show and at just 21 years old, she was a charming performer.  The expressions on her face were initially her sole interaction with the audience and she proved herself a master of silent communication – evoking laughter and applause with a simple glance, smile, or wink.  I often enjoyed watching her more than the bubble art she was creating which ranged from complex floral shapes multiple tiny bubbles inside enormous bubbles.  She even danced between bubble “tubes” made by gigantic bubble wands.

Two television monitors on either side of the stage gave the audience different views of Ms. Yang’s artistry providing full visualization of her craft – an excellent idea on the part of the show’s creators/producers.

 While I enjoyed the rather out of place laser light manipulation show/dance performed by Ms. Yang near the end of 80 minutes of bubble-fun, I also found it to be out of place and a little jarring.  It felt again like it was more grandiose self-promotion with a cornered audience.  I’m quite sure this was a way to demonstrate what’s next for the Yang family of performers.  At least it was a fun interlude, but it’s not what I came to see.

I suppose in that sense I’m a theatre purist: Show me what I came to see and save the ads for Playbill.
Jaded New Yorker though I may be, I was mesmerized by the bubbles, engaged by the performance; enthralled by the lights; and thrilled at my son’s joyful ooh’s and ahh’s as he leapt out of his seat to grab at the glistening magic. Those bubbles bounced and bobbed by the thousands, amidst changing multi-colored lights, in all their bubblicious glory.  I loved all that – almost as much as my 4 year old.
Who knew there could be so much joy in a roomful of soap?

The Gazillion Bubble Show is playing now at New World Stages Theatre in New York City.  For tickets call Telecharge at: 212-239-6200 or visit www.telecharge.com.