From The New Yorker

Reprinted with absolutely no permission whatsoever--but a good laugh is a thang to share:
The Wisdom of Children
by Simon Rich March 26, 2007

I. A Conversation at the Grownup Table, as Imagined at the Kids’ Table

MOM: Pass the wine, please. I want to become crazy.
DAD: O.K.
GRANDMOTHER: Did you see the politics? It made me angry.
DAD: Me, too. When it was over, I had sex.
UNCLE: I’m having sex right now.
DAD: We all are.
MOM: Let’s talk about which kid I like the best.
DAD: (laughing) You know, but you won’t tell.
MOM: If they ask me again, I might tell.
FRIEND FROM WORK: Hey, guess what! My voice is pretty loud!
DAD: (laughing) There are actual monsters in the world, but when my kids ask I pretend like there aren’t.
MOM: I’m angry! I’m angry all of a sudden!
DAD: I’m angry, too! We’re angry at each other!
MOM: Now everything is fine.
DAD: We just saw the PG-13 movie. It was so good.
MOM: There was a big sex.
FRIEND FROM WORK: I am the loudest! I am the loudest!
(Everybody laughs.)
MOM: I had a lot of wine, and now I’m crazy!
GRANDFATHER: Hey, do you guys know what God looks like?
ALL: Yes.
GRANDFATHER: Don’t tell the kids.

II. A Day at UNICEF Headquarters, as I Imagined It in Third Grade

(UNICEF sits on a throne. He is wearing a cape and holding a sceptre. A servant enters, on his knees.)
UNICEF: Halloween is fast approaching! Have the third graders been given their little orange boxes?
SERVANT: Yes, your majesty!
UNICEF: Perfect. Did you tell them what the money was for?
SERVANT: No, sir, of course not! We just gave them the boxes and told them to collect for UNICEF. We said it was for “a good cause,” but we didn’t get any more specific than that.
UNICEF: Ha ha ha! Those fools! Soon I will have all the money in the world. For I am UNICEF, evil king of Halloween!
SERVANT: Sir . . . don’t you think you’ve stolen enough from the children? Maybe you should let them keep the money this year.
UNICEF: Never! The children shall toil forever to serve my greed!
(He tears open a little orange box full of coins and rubs them all over his fat stomach.)
UNICEF: Yes! Oh, yes!
SERVANT: Wait! Your majesty! Look at this! Our records indicate that there’s a kid out there—Simon—who’s planning to keep his UNICEF money this year.
UNICEF: What?! But what about my evil plans? I was going to give that money to the Russians so they could build a bomb!
SERVANT: (aside) I guess there’s still one hero left in this world.
UNICEF: No!
(He runs out of the castle, sobbing.)
SERVANT: Thank God Simon is keeping his UNICEF money.
SECOND SERVANT: Yes, it’s good that he’s keeping the money.
THIRD SERVANT: I agree. Simon is doing a good thing by keeping the money from the UNICEF box.
SERVANT: Then we’re all in agreement. Simon should keep the money.

And how was YOUR day?

I started my day with a dentist appointment.

The dentist recommends that I have two root canals done as soon as possible and lay off the Sensidine I have been mainlining for weeks. Her advice in terms of surviving the procedure was not to discuss it with anyone. Seriously. She completely recommended a cone of silence be lowered on all discussions of....shhhhhhhhh........ROOT CANAL.

We shall speak no more of it. Apparently you will share something with me that will make the procedure that much more difficult--something along the lines of abject fear and pain.

She also said I needed to rinse my gums in warm salt water for the next couple of days--hence the big plate of crinkle cut fries and hot tea that I have before me.

Later I went to Jesse's Parent Teacher Conference where I was crushed to find my son was performing solidly and consistently at his expected age and grade level. Because we all hold out hope that standard and mundane measures of intelligence will still capture what we know is our child's complete and utter brilliance. Come on: this child adds boogers to his figure drawings--is that not advanced attention to detail? And he has worked out how to spell seven different profanities and enjoys rhyming the word "fart" -- where is the credit?

Then I ran home to sew patches on Jesse's karate Gee (which is the karate outfit and is pronounced with a hard G) which recently accidentally got dyed pink in a washload that had some red items thrown in. Not that having a pink Gee in Chelsea is such a bad thing--you just have to make sure that certain belts don't clash later on. (Thanks Mark) Thinking that sewing the patches on the Gee would be a process that would take 15-20 minutes, imagine my surprise when I found that the hotel sewing kit I had chosen to use was without a prethreaded needle. Which leads me to the next blog post...

UPDATE: Kip sent a single text message from today's karate class. It appears that I have sewn the patches on UPSIDE DOWN.

Sew What?

Lots of people have unusual collections. One of my best friends at Stamford High School, Richard Burns, got a job post college at an exclusive tanning salon in Hollywood, and was on Letterman with his collection of carefully folded paper towels preserved in plastic sandwich bags. He would wipe the sweat off of the tanning bed after a celebrity had used it, preserve it and then label it. His collection was quite impressive and even included Sylvester Stallone's sweat. This is the boy I went to Homecoming with.

My own collection is of hotel sewing kits. I have always had a fascination for these little compact gems--the prethreaded needles, the single white button, and small but utilitarian safety pin. One of the many perks of marrying Kip Veasey was that my Mother in Law, Nonnee, has helped me amass a serious collection of EPIC PROPORTION. I have hotel sewing kits from literally all over the world. I've got hotel sewing kits from China-Greece-you name it. I won't know where it is on a map, but By God, I know what color threads is preferred.

Just an aside here, in case you were wondering: Kip has a secret collection of deli napkins. I find piles of them in the odd times I am alone in his office and go rooting through his desk. Last year while he was away in the Orient, I discarded approximately 426 that he had shoved in various places.

But back to the sewing kits because the reason for this blog is to alert you to an alarming trend. In an effort to cut costs, it appears that more and more, hotel sewing kits are ceasing to contain prethreaded needles with a variety of thread colors. I KNOW! IT BLEW MY MIND TOO! It seems that the powers that be have decided to opt for about six thread options--you got your white, black, brown, blue, green and pink....but only one needle. YOU MUST THREAD YOUR OWN NEEDLE. It's an outrage really--because these are EMERGENCY sewing kits after all--and in my mind it's kind of like requiring that someone crank up their own juice on a defibulator. When you have a sewing emergency in a foreign country, you are counting on that needle being prethreaded.

Must log off and write congressman.

pics from the party

Kip and I. He channeled his inner "King" I went for "Aging Diva"

pics from the party

Here are the lads. Anarchy tshirts designed by Ed.

Pics from the party

I think Sophie looks really great when she tarts it up. Plus-isn't everything from the 80s TOTALLY back in style now anyway?

pics from the party

One of the people in this picture is PTA President. Can you guess which?

pictures from Jesse's birthday party

Jesse and Annie both with green hair. Jesse's washed out-Annie's did not.

Jesse & Julian's Birthday Bash

Jesse and Julian shared their birthday bash this weekend. It was great because Julian's mom did all the hard stuff-especially making EIGHTY cupcakes. Silly Billy performed. A good time was had by all.

I Have Dyed My Poor Child's Hair Green

A day later, I do see that warning on the spray can, ok?

Little Annie now has green hair thanks to a can of green hair spray dye we employed this weekend for Jesse's birthday party. Apparently it can stain the hair of lighter blondes and isn't recommended.

I comfort my self that both children refer to it as "chartreuse."

Coke or Pepsi? A conversation with Peedles

Peedles: Thats always what people think they should ask you to find out the real you..
how about something really important....something that really matters in the world and defines the sort of person you really are....like tight pants on baseball players like they use to wear (which gave us yet another reason to look forward to spring) or that loose crap that they wear now (that should be reserved only for
former Olympic German women shotputters...and I mean no disrespect for Helga and her posse)? Thats the sorta thing that defines me...

Lorrie: I'm with you P. -love to cut through the bullshit and boil people down to their essence: what are you-chicken or beef? But I like a more subtle question. Like these:
Darfur or Survivor Fiji?
Global Warming or celebrities that shave their heads?
Who would you rather sleep with: young George Clooney or older George Clooney?
General Tsaos Chicken or Chicken with Peanuts?

P: just so we''re clear the options do NOT include a meanage a trois with both old and young George Clooney -- preferably while they are both wearing tight baseball pants?

Lorrie: Hmm. Now there's a thought: I can see young George Clooney now, with his Facts of Life hair in yellow rainboots (must be some odd episode that is stuck in my mind) and Older George Clooney in ER in that episode where he rescues the boy from the sewer flood (my gawd--he is wet yet again) and then an ever OLDER George Clooney who is talking about Darfur. Ok-scratch the last George.

But seriously Peedles, you need to get out there and date more. If it's men in uniforms that do it for you, might I suggest you come visit me in NYC where men in uniform abound? We've got doormen, mailmen, policemen, firemen...the DHL men wear a striking combination of red and yellow and are so masculine they switch to the shorts version around this time of year.

Also: my brother is coming to town MARCH 30. That would be my TWIN brother. Need I say more?

P: Date more? Is that possible? We have those same guys in uniform here and they all have southern accents! Here in the south even our firemen wear shorts. I just thought of something though...maybe thats what the original question meant: Coke GUY or Pepsi GUY? Hey LV....can your brother please bring me a soda?

Pink Puffy Coat

So just last week I was about to retire my pink puffy coat which is arguably one of the uglier winter coats I have ever owned--being a baby shade of pink and very puffy. (Kip will disagree. He thinks the turquoise coat from the winter of 05 with the faux dog fur collar is the ugliest, hands down.)

I purchased the pink puffy coat because Annie spent this winter in a pink puffy coat, and we had tons of fun putting our coats on together and saying: "Power Up Puffy Girls" and combining ballet moves with Power Ranger kicks. I have also cut my hair to match Annie's hair--so maybe there is a deeper regressive problem there that can be explored in another blog- but for now let's just say that Annie and I walk proudly down the dirty streets of New York and are a VISION IN PINK.

I purchase all my clothes for three reasons: comfort, warmth and irony.And if they hide my ass, well that's just an added bonus.

Anyhow-I was about to retire this coat but now it looks like it will be around for another 2-3 weeks. Damn this weather. Why can't global warming just get us all to a nice temperate 70 degrees stopping point and THEN I will heat my house with solar.

Who is Peedles?

Peedles is my friend. She lives in Virginia--not to be confused with Vagina-which is Annie's new favorite word-- she runs through the house yelling "Vagina Power, Vagina Power!"--but back to Peedles--who btw also has some Vagina Power; she actually may live in Virginia Beach, but since my knowledge of geography is based on a RISK gameboard and all I know is Australia is purple... OK I DON'T REALLY KNOW WHERE THE FREEK SHE LIVES, ok? But we have been friends lo these many years.

And one can never have too many friends because who else is going to read your blog? And maybe comment--speaking of which: WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE I AM WORKING REALLY HARD HERE TO HALF WAY ENTERTAIN YOU.

But I digress yet again.

Peedle's real name is Patti. But trust me, she is really much more of a Peedles than a Patti. "Patti" conjurs up images of someone perky who plays Women's Lacrosse. Not that Peedles could not kick some serious ass if you put her out in a field with a big stick. It's just she's more the type that lures you under the bleachers because she stole a pint of peppermint schnapps from her parent's liquor cabinet and later makes out with the captain of the rugby team while you lay passed out in a pool of your own vomit near by. Peedles is all about fun.

One of her many skills-and trust me, she has plenty--is her ability to finish any song lyric you put out there-with an emphasis on the 80s. Her ability to blame it on the rain, rain, rain along with razor sharp wit (you need a bandaid when you get an email) is one of the many reasons I love her. And I must love her, because when we went away to Deb's for the weekend and I hadn't slept in a gazillion years because I'd just had a baby, and there was only ONE proper bed on the porch-which btw I had CLAIMED in the first half hour of arriving for the weekend-- and she passed out on it-I half slept in a freeking CANED BACK chair so she wouldn't have to move.

Anyway--because she is hysterical, I have invited her to share my blog. Because if you are stuck alone out in cyberspace, there is no one else you would rather have pull up in a virtual cab and holler "We're going to Vegas" than this mudchick. So without further adoooooooooo.............

Guest Post by my friend Peedles

Since this is usually LV's forum, I thought I should use my "special guest blogger" status to tell everyone a few things about LV that they might not know....like for instance....

** I recently remembered (sometimes it happens that way) that LV and I used to be in a band called "The Stupid Napkin People". We never performed publicly - mostly due to long-distance chatroom practices which involved little music but lots wine. Im certain music somewhere was played at the same time and I am equally certain that neither LV nor I had anything to do with it. I'd tell you where the name for the band came from but that would require trying to revive braincells long gone but Im sure it was hilarious at the time. Heck, take my word for it ...its STILL hilarious subconsiously. Hey ..we had "fly boys"...or perhaps there were real flies involved...face it '98 and '99 were a blur (kinda like last Tuesday). Scarily... SNP posters still exist and occasionally you can find them on EBay.

** LV was the first person ever to call me Peedles. Ive never asked why. When someone you love and respect gives you a nickname, you just gratefully accept it with pride. (Though Frank Zappa's kids, Dweezil and Moon Unit, should have been exempt from that rule.) I feel a need to point out that LV is also the ONLY person that calls me Peedles. (Wouldn't a great kids book be "Peedles walks the Poodles through the Puddles? Quick...someone call Doubleday!)

** For awhile...everytime LV wanted to get out of hanging out with her Mudchick friends and perhaps run the risk of partying too much,....she got pregnant! Okay...so that only happened twice but its not like the MCs get together too often and pregnant girls are suppose to be the cool designated drivers but since LV doesnt drive...well you can see my point. She so dramatic!

** LV and I once planned to publish a racy pottery calendar (oxymoron?) featuring naked men with their fancy bits hidden by painted pottery. We were gonna call it "Piece of the Month." I think that was about the same time that those old English ladies did their naked calendar and LV didnt want to show them up. Theirs was purely for charity...ours was, as is everything we do, purely for our own entertainmment.

There are many other things I can tell you about LV but it will take careful coaxing to get the good stuff out of the mushy parts of my brain. Its kinda like cleaning the attic....dusty, smelly and well...you have so many nice things here in the living room...does the stuff in the attic really matter?

You've got Mail

Here is an actual Email I received today. I sometimes get 20-30 of these puppies a week:


The following message was sent from ournameismud.com by (name withheld):
Hi, I am writing on behalf of West End Day School, a not-for-profit special needs school located on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. We are having our annual fundraising auction on May 3, and would greatly appreciate a donation from Our Name is Mud (which quite a few of our families are fans!). Over 200 families attend the auction, and it would be a prime opportunity to reach all these families with information on your restaurant, as well as to generate goodwill among them.
I'd like to suggest a gift certificate for $50, but of course, anything you'd be willing to donate would be greatly appreciated.


Hello parent from West End Day School that is such a fan,
Thanks for writing the Our Name Is Mud restaurant. We don't often get mail--unless it's from the Health Department. I had to go ask the Manager about your request--interupted her doing belly shots on the bar to see if shooting you a gc for $50 in order to generate some good will was cool with her. After Ted, whose a regular here at the Our Name is Mud restaurant, was done sucking the tequilla out of her belly button, he suggested we forward your request to the Our Name Is Mud Dry Cleaners--which is also in the neighborhood. I have done so.
All the best,
Lorrie

JESSE IS SIX

Six years ago today...Jesse George Veasey was born.

I still haven't lost the baby weight. I should get on that.

Happy Birthday my sweet, complicated, mercurial boy. The last six years have been the best of my life. (That's the story we're sticking with--forget about year #1 with the colic and having to put you on top of the dryer to stop the incessant screaming.) You have brought us such joy, and I have fallen in love with your father all over again everyday I see him with you. You hang the moon for your little sister. You are my heart.

This is who you are at the moment.

You are compulsively creative. You are driven to draw, to paint, to sculpt and invent. You are not content with the ordinary--you want to make robots that work, to paint on the walls of our apartment, to make life sized statues. You prefer markers that are either permanent or smell like different foods. You go through reams of paper monthly. While you have trouble sticking with your homework or cleaning up the living room, you can sit at a table for hours drawing one thing after another.

You made a sign that is currently hanging on your bedroom door. It says "Jesse is mad." When you feel slighted, which unfortunately is more often than we'd like, you sit on your bed and scowl. Your emotions swing from intense joy and excitement causing you to hug everyone in the proximity, to anger and disappointment so overwhelming that you wear traces of it like a mantle for days afterwards. We talk a lot about "letting it go." We talk a lot about "choosing happiness." Sometimes we try to penalize you for your anger, other times we try to hug it out of you. We are often lost in the wild forest that is your emotional make up. I see myself in the things you struggle with and pray that your dad's grounded nature will at some point balance things out.

Sometimes you are so generous. You will wake your sister up by covering her faces in kisses and she will reach her arms up to you. You will pick her up from her bed, carry her to the couch and get her a glass of orange juice. You will snuggle in beside her, and your dad and I will find you both with your arms around each other laughing together at SpongeBob. You will call out "Family Hug" and we will all clasp each other tightly and it is always a good day that day. You call Saturdays and Sundays "Mommy Daddy Jesse Annie days." You wait for them each week with almost the same level of excitement you waited for today.

You love people with an intensity that makes you anxious about life. You want to know when people are going to die, if we will ever move, and worry about every change that may occur in your future. You are excited about getting bigger and older because skateboards and freedom have their allure, but you still want to sleep beside me. You have lost two teeth, your hair has grown dark, you are gangly and coltish. You are doing well at karate and can swim and ride a razor. You can read simple words: THE CAT IS ON THE MOP, but grow frustrated with the tricks of language like silent "e's" and blends--and you'll just look at the picture and say "the fat cat is sitting on the rug and he is happy" which at the end of the day is a more interesting story anyway.

You have many friends, and this year you have blessed us by hanging out with kids whose parents we really like as well--and life is fuller and richer as a result. You play with mostly boys, but you like a girl who has long hair and draws complicated pictures. When asked recently, you declared you were going to marry a boy--which by the way, we are totally cool with if that's what's in your future and just ignore the look on Dad's face---but you were more concerned about weather or not you and your future spouse would be allowed to live with us. I said yes--but then, I have also told you you can stay at home for college and the rest of your life. Again, just ignore that look on Dad's face.

Happy Birthday my Jesse Bear. For your sixth birthday you are getting a Hulk boogey board for the beach this summer, some construction toys you have wanted for months, and Nonnee and DeeDad are getting you a conga drum because you still have an uncanny ear and a natural talent that we are doing nothing to nurture. So bang your drum baby--march to your own rhythm. You are so very loved.

Love,
Mom

For Your iPod

I like to play a little game with my ipod. Before I put it on, I hit shuffle, and I tell myself that whatever song plays--the lyrics will have some great significance to the day ahead. (Do not try this if you have downloaded Mmmmbop by The Hansons.) But if you have an eclectic collection-as I do--you may find it's better than the tarot for mapping out the next 24 hours. Try it.

One song/album I recently downloaded that I totally recommend as a ditty you will thoroughly enjoy is TROUBLE by Ray LaMontagne. Apparently this album is a few years old--which would mean it's about time for someone like me to actually get hip to it. I love the song-love the album. Get thee to itunes for a listen.

Oddly enough, I also include among my favorites TROUBLE by Cat Stevens and TROUBLE by Pink. Which just goes to show that when I go looking for trouble, I am usually able to find it.

Change

Change is
a verb
full of possibility.

You cannot get
to where
you want to go next
without leaving
familiar places
behind.

Good luck
Godspeed
and lots
of love
to those who start
a new journey today.

Jonathan Adler of Top Design

I knew Johnny Adler when he was an unknown potter at MUD, SWEAT & TEARS--the same small studio where I started my ceramics career. Now, of course, he is the head judge on TOP DESIGN--and is also celebrated for the mod shapes, vibrant colors and organic eye-popping patterns that are the signature of his work today.

His business encompasses seven retail outlets in Soho & the Upper East Side of Manhattan, Los Angeles, East Hampton, Miami, San Francisco, and Chicago; a thriving interior design business, responsible for the re-design of the Parker Palm Springs hotel in modernist style with a comfy residential feel; a burgeoning licensing business under the brand name Jonathan Adler Happy Home that's expanding into bedding, bath accessories, stationary, dinnerware and table linens at accessible prices; and he continues to sell his wares to high-end boutiques around the world. Jonathan's “happy, handcrafted, and luxe” designs for the home have become a part of American pop-culture, appearing on the sets of the “Today Show,” “Sex and the City,” “Will & Grace,” and “The Apprentice.” In November 2005, Jonathan launched his first book My Prescription for Anti-Depressive Living, which combines his wittiness and enthusiasm for creating happy homes everywhere with serious design.

Oh BLAH BLAH BLAH.

Not that I'm jealous or anything.

Oh Johnny-I knew ye when you used to tape your designs off on your pots with masking tape. When those who didn't understand, mocked you for your precision. "Is Adler making that striped bottle AGAIN?" They would ask. But these were the same people who held me in such disregard for my own sense of commercialism. I still remember walking into the retail space of the studio to see a class of beginners gathered around a pitcher I had made while the instructor used it as an example of how NOT to attach a handle.

I can remember working right beside him at a round canvas table. But I can't remember looking or commenting on his work, and I can't remember him looking or commenting on mine. Which may be why we both went on to leave the studio; both of us were very focused early on.

For the first few years-before he made it REALLY BIG--because he is REALLY REALLY FREEKING BIG-- not that, again, I am jealous or anything, I would see him at the NY Gift Show and I would say "Can you and Simon have dinner with us one night?" And he would always say "yes." But we never did. We never deeply connected and our paths diverged greatly even though we both began in NY in the same place, shared many similar experiences, and were often the only ones left working long after the studio closed.

When you look in the dictionary under ceramic designer-it is Jonathan's picture you'll find, wearing something natty and holding something that transcends simple pottery.

I had one shot at TV; a show on one of the cable networks was doing a Crafters Challenge and I went all stoked to the audition. They put a pipe cleaner in front of me and an egg timer and told me to design a piece of jewelry and I froze. Just froze. Ultimately I think I connected both ends of the pipecleaner and called it a choker. I could have hung myself with it-they were not impressed. Hours later, I came up with seventeen different brilliant ideas for pipecleaner jewelry which haunt my dreams to this day. I could not take the pressure.

So hats off to you Johnny Boy. I hope you think of me when you stroll past a little mom and pop in LA (if you ever do veer off of Rodeo) and see an Instant Human Just Add Coffee Mug. I am happy making stuff that ends up in someone's kitchen sink. Call me on your way to the Hamptons this summer and let's have dinner, eh?

Vomit

I had six boxes carefully packed and ready to ship sitting on the floor of my spacious 10 sq ft office when Lenny jumped up from his carpeted cat perch and upchucked the equivalent of 5 cans of fancy feast (tuna & shrimp) all over the place.

So here's the thing: cardboard? Not the ideal surface for the cat to puke on. For one thing, it gets super soggy if you attempt to clean it with liquids. For another, it kind of soaks the smell in--like a big brown sponge--so that even if the vomit only hit the corner of a box, the whole 16 inches of it will start to smell as well as whatever is inside of it.

It's kind of like that Cat in the Hat book when he comes back and the snow goes pink, and the more they try to clean it up the more it spreads. The tiny spot in the bathtub, on mother's dress, becomes a whole back yard of pink snow. That was me and the cat vomit.

It even managed to find its way deep inside one of my boots that I had taken off in a Mr. Rogers kind of mood today--thinking they would be safe while I walked around in my sneaks. Now one of my boots smells like the Fulton Street Fish Market. Strangely enough, I think the other one does too.

And here's another thing: I kind of felt that this was oddly karmactic anyway. Not that anyone spiritually deserves to have a cat wretch, gag and projectile vomit all over every square inch of their personal space. But this has been the kind of week where lots of cathartic upchucking has been happening in my realm--even writing this, I have a hard time with the bitter taste that remains in my own mouth.

And so begins the process of cleaning up the stink. To do it properly, I will need to empty the room of practically everything and then scour it multiple times -going back over and over again areas where something lingers. Everything that was packed and planned will need to be unpacked and repacked.

When we first had children, Kip and I divided bodily fluids. He is the poop and vomit guy--I am the go to girl for pee and blood. I should have negotiated a better deal.