The Adventures. . .Gosh, We Need a Change. . . .

Nootchie is fed up with all the media attention to the next big election! Fed, fed, fed, fed, up! Upsky!

She hears it on the street, catches the drift from the older sibs of baby friends, senses it in the air, left, right, up, down, whoopsy daisy round and round, politics shmalotics!!! She definitely needs a change- fast- and not just “diaper.” What she’d really like is some screen time of her very own without having to wait out the rest of the two years in the screen-less desert that began with her birth as a “precaution” of some sort; for now she is relegated solely to cutsie board books and other such boringly innocuous parental choices purportedly designed to protect her tiny though burgeoning intellect. Hmmmph! She’s really not all that into “smart” at present- any idiot could see that as she drools and grabs for your eyeglasses, or maybe an earring- though she’s not above manipulation when she needs to get out of the stroller. But that’s another story. A girl has to live. You make choices, you stick by them. It’s time to party.

Through the Gaga Grapevine she’s gathered that there’s this really cool show called something like “Sissy May Treat” with a furry, funny blue monster that loves cookies and she’s dying to catch it. There are no doubt other cool shows too, super cool! But for now, all the screen time in the world seems to be devoted to adults watching other adults blabbering about shmalotics and something called the “bee dates” or maybe “dee bates” or perhaps “dee dates” which she thinks has to do with dried fruit arguing with each other about who should “run” or be the “candy date.” She can’t wait to run! But first of course she has to learn how to crawl. Why would any kind of candy “argue” when it’s just there to be eaten and enjoyed? Okay, she actually hasn’t tasted this goody yet, but through her contacts she’s heard. . . .

Anyhow, for now she’s just plain sick, sick and tired of the whole thing, which is why after practically no thought whatsoever she has decided to run for Baby President.  After she gets them to change the age limit through extensive lobbying and the unswerving backing of other babies- and just check out any playground these days if you want to get an idea of her support numbers - the mainstay of her platform will be simple, direct, a cake walk, literally, occasionally with whipped cream on top. Her platform? A walk in the park: “Fun! Fun! As much fun as we can get!!!” The logo will be a set of plastic keys of course. Babies love keys- it’s a no brainer. She’ll get some onezees made up with her picture. Photo ops will take place mainly in the bouncer since this definitely is much more fun than being strapped into the car seat contraption that feels like two consecutive life sentences in Alcatraz.

It ain’t easy being one of the little people, but with determination she is sure she can effect change. We concluded the interview with her nap.

The Adventures. . . . Everyone In the Pool!

Everyone’s already in the pool and there’s a tremendous racket going on, lots of squealing and laughing and the slap happy sounds of pool fun bouncing off the walls making a huge, blue echo. They’re all splashing and kicking while the mommies are holding and propelling them along and doing these kind of upsy-daisy actions, the water  brimming with a bunch of really, really small people who mainly wear the “T” size in footies and even smaller in sleepers.

But somehow Nootchie- who has traded her NooNoo identity here for a more playful, adventurous and slightly hardier name as befits the activity- has managed to get past the gate even though she is not actually a toddler yet nor can she sit up all by herself; and now she’s in the water, getting soaked all over with the best of them and appearing to be sort of kicking, though not entirely because it’s actually more like a small, quiet, fluttering underwater step as the friendly waves carry her along and tickle her tiny feet.

Her ruffled and polka dotted bathing suit bottom- she’s forgotten the top today- bounces up and down as she does what she always does best: looking! Looking all around! She looks here and there and everywhere, at the instructor who playfully and gently jabs her foot-  this obviously part of some karmic footsie destiny- at the mommy-baby couples swirling all around her, at her mommy and the aqua water and noisy spray and bubbles and the little crowd, and she’s thinking and thinking and thinking. . . that maybe this just could be okay.

It definitely does in fact seem okay in, at least minimally okay, definitely tolerable and maybe even more than that, though she’s not entirely sure what to make of it. I could get into this-like totally- is what she possibly would say if she could say if she was old enough to have real words. For now though she says it in the usual way, with her eyes. As she’s hoisted into the air again and feels herself slowly and gracefully being swished from side to side she accepts and gives into it all with a kind of curious yet calm infant dignity. What’s going on here? Hmmm, perplexing, yes, but interesting nonetheless. . . .

Nootchie has decided simply to go with it and be in the moment. This is not rocket science. She’s got absolutely nothing to lose and can figure it all out another day. Plenty of time for all that! For now it’s more upsy daisy and wheeeee-  let come what may! 

                                      

The Adventures. . . NooNoo Meets Unkee Kee

Unkee Kee is long, slim and somewhat woolly of face at the moment, with a scruffy beard and light brown curly hair. Out of this forest of variegated DNA shine two eyes of piercing blue curiosity. He sits on the couch opposite NooNoo, who is propped up facing him against a small pillow as they stare each other down, each one trying to make head or tail of the other.

NooNoo’s eyes also are blue, but of a softer, deeper, less startling shade; she is not at all woolly and tall, but creamy and pink and smooth, and what’s more she is quite tiny, being just a tad over two months. In fact, Unkee Kee could stow her in a back pack with minimum fuss, but Unkee Kee prefers to travel even lighter than that.

After a few days of much staring, a significant amount of jiggling and occasionally plopping her head down so that it may sit restfully on a tall shoulder, NooNoo flies back to the west coast thinking she’s done with Unkee Kee for a while. But guess what? Suddenly Kee shows up in California! What’s more, while staying at her very own house, one day he takes his big, grown person’s foot and begins nudging NooNoo’s diminutive little person’s foot steadily back and forth- she in her rocker way down on the floor, he sitting way up high on a chair- and on it goes for what seems like an infinity. Back and forth her toes and heels find themselves tumbling ever so slightly, ever so lightly. Again, the two face each other in wonderment, niece and unkee, each not quite sure what to expect. However NooNoo has decided to meet the challenge of the new adventure head on, or toe to toe as it were.

As is their practice, NooNoo and Unkee Kee thus continue to stare each other down while engaging in a strange but rather compelling tug of footsie war. Is this what the adults call fun? It’s obvious I will have to humor them, continue to maintain my cute-as-a-button look and pretend to enjoy this silly activity, she thinks. She tries to pull herself up, unsuccessfully of course, but musters a kind of mesmerized expression and manages to puff out her irresistible cheeks even a tad more. Mom and dad glance over expectantly, smilingly, glowingly as they prepare breakfast.  Oh what the heck, she thinks- admittedly not the most intriguing game I’ve played in this world yet but I’ll give it a whirl, do my totally irresistible thing and show ‘em once again how unbelievably adorable I am, as if they ever needed reminding. . . .

The Adventures. . . NooNoo Goes to New York

NooNoo is about to pack up a few one-zees, stash some diapers in the bag and head out for the Big Apple. In her world this name probably translates into something resembling a big candy apple, even though she does not yet have one baby tooth in her tiny, adorable mouth but the most irresistible gummy smile imaginable.

The adventure will entail being whisked through security, charming the TSA folk so that she doesn’t have to take off her booties then flying on a big, big bird for several hours across the entire country from the west coast to the east. This clearly is the most ambitious outing in which she has been involved since her birth, even though she already has been to the beach.

Since NooNoo is less than two months old she won’t even have to pay for her ticket- what a fantastic deal! She will take advantage of this freebie until the age of two, when rather mysteriously she suddenly becomes a "big girl" by fare rules, even though she is still quite small.  Of course this also means she will be entitled to some crayons, a couple of cookies perhaps, and her very own seat- not that she necessarily will stay in it for the whole flight, but that’s another story. As for baggage, at the moment it’s actually NooNoo herself who comprises most of the “carry on” and so she’s decided to travel quite light since her parents have agreed to do most of the heavy lifting.

It’s early April in New York and the golden forsythia and pink- white cherry and apple blossoms as well as splashy magnolias that decorate the parks and streets are all but fidgeting around like crazy, impatient little buds just about ready to burst out of their small protective coverings; they barely can restrain themselves! These infant flowers are simply waiting on tenterhooks to explode onto the sidewalks at the perfect moment. They will create a kind of magical, fairy tale setting reminiscent of an early twentieth century operetta or a silly Hollywood musical after a long, gray and pretty well freezing winter. The last of the snow banks finally has melted, the plastic flying saucers and sleds have long been put away with the puffy “puffer” coats, and everyone from age a day to a century is ready for some serious sun warming and bright new greenery.

The evenings on the east coast are still a bit chilly, so NooNoo’s parents have thrown in a swaddling blanket or two along with a couple of cozy, long sleeved sleep sacks patterned with cute, smiley little animals to keep her company while she is sleeping and dreaming. At least several of these dreams will offer up fantastical images of of the many things she's already heard about the Big Candy Apple: brick oven pizza, Central Park, knishes, the Great White Way, taxis, small, cozy book stores, bialys, street vendors, hot dogs, walking all over the place if  you're old enough or being wheeled all over the place if you're not, street musicians, fast talkers, slow traffic, New York cheese cake and of course rugelah, also spelled rugelach. But no matter, a pastry by any other name. . . . 

                                             

Your Little Summer Reader: The Adventures of NooNoo

Chapter One

NooNoo had at least seven names when she was born in addition to the ones that appear on her birth certificate.

The other six and then some in no particular order were given to her by various members of the family because they simply were inclined to do this and also because it had been a family tradition for as long as anyone could remember: Nucci, Navahnoo, Navahnoonoo, Lil’Bean, Navy Bean, Navel and of course “The Nootch.”. Her real, given first name incidentally was “Navah,” and on occasion “Navah Bea,” but it was tacitly decided for reasons unbeknownst to anyone that this appellation might not be used with any frequency until she was more grown up, or grew into it as it were, at which time no doubt other nicknames, offshoots and terms of endearment would emerge, “Vivi” being a favorite frontrunner of her maternal grandmother. Two additional possibilities were Navalah and Navacita, although Navahnootchka and Navootchka surfaced one day, as Navah’s mother apparently was a great fan of Garbo.

NooNoo’s father was determined to teach her at least twenty-seven languages, and so this panoply of exotic monikers fit nicely into the family tableau, simultaneous translations and immersion methodologies to which she was privy on a daily basis. Ironically, since all this started from the time she was just a wee infant, in the beginning all NooNoo could answer in response to the ubiquitous and amazing pologlot chatter was a pure though intensely concentrated version of the sound “uh” in all its various incarnations-  a madcap series of staccato “uhs” and “ahs” and “oohs” uttered with a heavy baby inflection. Nonetheless, she seemed surprised that she could emit even this one syllable at the age of just a fraction over a month and possibly pleased too, though she did play it pretty close to the diaper at that point as babies often do.

When not attempting to improvise on the magical “uh” sound she had discovered- dare I say precociously!- one day while energetically exercising her arms and legs (and in answer to all the conversation going on around her), NooNoo aka Navahpooch became content simply to enjoy the barrage of unabashed, love struck baby babble being recited by a devoted assortment of blubbering companions and earnest diaper changers. Then with all the happy singsong cadences and made up words and sounds of extreme silliness presenting themselves to her little ear from any larger human near enough to hold, cuddle and shamelessly coo at her, she had an important realization: these blubbering, funny, idiotic beings leaning into the crib and hoisting her gently into the air in truth were great fun to hang with!

Shiksa in Shorts, Part One of Three

The other Shabbat as I ambled past the local chabad in the neighborhood on my daily walk, I happened upon a most unusual scene.

This particular gathering place for Sabbath worshippers calls itself “Jewish Youth Library” and is on a leafy, suburban street near the corner of a fairly busy road. It also sits at the bottom of a hill on the top of which stands the high rise in which I live, so I pass it almost everyday when I leave the house. Seeing it from “above” like that as I make my way down the incline offers an interesting vantage point in terms of view. You get to look at the whole picture before telescoping further into the details. From afar it seems like a modern congregant's Breugel with a touch of Grandma Moses- grownups and children in colorful Saturday finery dotting the green landscape as members of this gathering come and go. It always imbues me with a waft of nostalgia for an illusive, earlier, simpler time; a longing for a mythical conglomeration of settings that exists only in dreams.

The chabad is housed in what easily could pass for a private residence, albeit a fairly large and newish one, with red shingles and a gabled roof. There’s a white picket fence that borders on two sides or at least a simulacra of this type of barrier made from some sort of composite material; also an outdoor, grassy play area with bright plastic toys, a slide, a red, yellow and blue kids’ climbing apparatus. A long flight of outside stairs leads to the main door located on the second level. Sometimes through the large upstairs windows you can see men davening and praying, bowing slightly as they sway back and forth. I never see any women engaged in this activity but perhaps there’s a section designated for them on the other side.

On this particular Saturday early in June the weather was pretty near perfect and services already in progress because there were no adults or children cavorting on the small, grassy play area.  Everyone was upstairs doing their thing. I was making my way down the hill and about to cross the street when I spotted the two figures. I guess the initial shock of what I saw seemed so intense, as so often happens, because of contextual factors; given the circumstances, nothing in the tableau unfolding in front of the “youth library”  jived, at all. The little scene in fact made absolutely no sense whatsoever and at first glance looked quite out of place. The entire picture blared a quality that can only be described as “naughty”- perhaps of the mild type occasionally found in slightly suggestive, soft porn cartoons. We don’t very often use that term in earnest anymore, naughty, even with children, and in some ways this is a significant loss- such a great word. . . .  

Clean White Jackets

When I see women in clean white jackets

(blazer, baseball or those that look like tennis rackets),

diaphanously buoyant yellows bowls of hair

and pink scalps shining luminously through,

I know that they’re RESPECTABLE,

but kind of old and poor.

Other aging firebrands in fashionable yoga straps

(or completely braless, excepting when they’re doing laps),

and sheep-sheared blondes with style gel itch,

who covet SLATTERNY, SLUTTY looks

and thoughts they cull from trendy books-

are “youthful,” and seem rich.