31

"And so, you and I
We watch our years go by
We watch our sweet dreams fly
Far away
But maybe someday
I don't know when
But we will dream again
And we'll be happy then
Till our time
Just drifts away"
-- Harry Chapin, "Dreams go By"

Thirty-one. Dang, I'm old (and late in posting... the big day was Sunday, but who's counting?).

Birthday time has gone from being a time of "ooh! What did I get?" to "So, just what did I do with the time?" Accomplishment #1, of course:



Maybe someday I'll be able to look at my son and breathe at the same time, but it ain't happened yet. His health and growth are overwhelmingly due to the magnificent efforts of The Lovely Wife(tm), who has "excelled them all" in her care of him.

Accomplishment #2, pulled off just before the birthday deadline: a major promotion involving a 20% pay increase and about a 4,000% responsibility and headache increase. Oh, well: I was getting too complacent anyway.

Things I Didn't Do: finish my thesis before my son was born, significantly advance our aliyah plans, update this blog as much as I wanted, keep up with my learning, or see enough people that I miss.

Eine Kliene Kinder Nachtmusik

Much joy and rapture in efrex-ville today, as Cats, the Evil Empire of the musical theatre world, finally got toppled from the throne of Longest Running Broadway Musical. The Lovely Wife(tm), a long-time Chorus Line fanatic, has been dreaming of this day ever since the hairball-laden spectacle overtook her beloved show at the top of the heap. So, congrats to Phantom: for one day, we'll admit to liking a Lloyd Webber show.

It'll come as a huuuuuuge shock to all that know us that our son has turned into an attention hog. Put him down in his bassinet and he might be okay, but turn your back, and fughetaboutit. Occasionally, however, playing some music can get him to calm down (again, huuuuuuge shock that our kid would be a music fan). A friend of ours recently got us a couple of CDs of kiddie music, and it seems to work well on the little tyke; however, I've noticed a couple of disturbing things:

1) "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" apparently has more verses than "American Pie." Who knew?
2) Apparently, you're still allowed to count "little indians" (you know, "one little, two little, three little indians; four little, five little, six little indians..."), but they can't be "little indian boys." No, it's now "Ten little indian boys or girls." Geez, if you're counting 'em, can't you at least tell what gender they are?
3) I'm all for shielding kids from violence, but do you really have to update "Three blind mice?" Now, instead of cutting off their tails with a carving knife, the farmer's wife calls to her husband, who reassures her that "they are nice, those three blind mice" (and, oh, how do I wish I was making that up). Feh. Feh, I say.

Oy Yoi Yoi

New Year's Resolution #1: Blog more frequently!
New Year's Resolution #2: Do interesting things, so I can keep resolution #1.

It's been a pretty boring time out in efrex-land: baby efrex is keeping us crazy busy, and looking mighty cute doing it, if we may say so ourselves; we got a lovely visit from the lovely N'il and her lovely man; I got a nice bit of feedback from a promotion interview but no job offer; and, last but not least, we caught our first Broadway show in almost half a year, leaving the kid with his grandfather for a few hours while we dashed off to Dirty Rotten Scoundrels (much fun; David Yazbeck's score is a very-underrated mixture of contemporary and classic pastiche, and, while Norbert Leo Butz and Sherie Rene Scott were both out, their understudies performed admirably, and John Lithgow & Co. were delightful).

Proof that you're getting old #4,742: things you used to joke about sound like prophecy. Back when I was a sprig of a twig of a lad, I jokingly referred to Bob Marley's "Buffalo Soldier" as the cry of the Jewish mother ("Oy yoy yoy, oy yoy yoy yoy"). Now, apparently, I'm the last person on earth to listen to Matisyahu, the Lubavitcher Chassid reggae sensation, who fuses Rasta stylings with chassidic nigunim. Although Reggae's not really my thing (I like being able to understand lyrics, and the ones that I do understand have way too many cliches and fake rhymes for my taste), there's no denying the talent level there. I think, though, that I'll play it more for the kid than for myself. It's perfect baby music: repetitious, simplistic lyrics, interspersed with nonsense monosyllabic chants. Hmm, I wonder if we'll see Matisyahu and O.A.R. performing at the next "Mommy and Me" meeting at the local Y?

Nah, probably not.