Can I bring my Orange Julius into the softplay?

When I was a teenager, the mall was a place you went to meet up with your friends. You didn't have any actual money, so you sort of just went there to, well be there. As I got older and had a job, I would go there to frequent the likes of the Gap, Ann Tayor, JCrew. Now I'm a mom and I'm back to having no money (for myself anyway) so the mall has become. . . wait for it. . . a softplay area for Zoe. That's right, on a rainy Saturday I took Zoe to the mall softplay area conveniently located between JCPenny and Auntie Anne's Pretzels. The mall softplay area. I almost need to keep repeating it to make sure it was real. Understand, I have nothing against mall softplay areas. But prior to Zoe, I'm not even sure I even knew they existed. I was too busy zipping in and out of The Limited with cute new outfits to notice. If you have never been to one, allow me to describe the situation. You walk up to an enclosed area full of softplay things and about a hundred children inside running amock like wild Injuns who just escaped Alcatraz. By just looking at the germs. . . um, I mean children. . . you would think they are locked in closets all day and then blindfolded just until they reach the softplay area where they are finally set free. But then you see the weary parents sitting on the benches stretched along the parameter of the softplay area. No, these kids are not confined. . . they are always like this. We get closer and parallel park my stroller between two other strollers the size of hummers, grab Zoe, pray, then head into the chaos. Meandering my way to the far corner I am dodging children at every turn. I'm ducking as I feel like they are falling out of the sky and I glance around looking for the closest softplay mushroom I would use if I need to take cover. I take my place among peers and wonder to myself if this is just the start of things. You begin innocently enough with a mall softplay and before you know it you are at bowling birthday parties and Chuck-E-Cheese. *Sigh* I place Zoe down and she holds her own with the Injuns. In true Zoe form, with all the mounds of "softstuff" and children, she goes for the shoe rack. I begin to get up to grab her because, get this, I think the shoe rack may have some germs. I laugh at my own irony then secrety vow to get her a tetanus shot. After about 20 minutes, Zoe has had enough (OK, I had had enough) and we start back through the war zone towards the exit. I glance over at the woman who's sole job was to watch the softplay and wonder who she had angered in a previous life. We get back in the stroller and start on our way. As we walk by The Gap and Ann Taylor, I look at the storefronts and smile. "Don't worry Ann, I'll be back. First I need to stop in Gymboree."

Force her into becoming a Pats fan; Check.

So I was talking to a friend who was lamenting about
how her nine-year-old is already feeling the pangs of getting "in" with the "in crowd." That's right, she's nine. She seems to have handled it gracefully (the daughter, not my friend, she's a mess) but just hearing the story of how this sweet girl didn't get invited to a party but her friend did frankly scared the bageebers out of me. I believe it was around that time when I realized I'm not simply taking care of a baby anymore; I'm attempting to raising a strong, confident woman. This is when it got dicey. Honestly, I was sort of hoping I would fully become one before I had to raise one. So now, the questions about her future and who she will become have been hitting me fast and furious lately at seemingly innocuous times. I will innocently be sitting on the couch thinking about what she will be for Halloween, then BAM! Halloween?! Who cares about Halloween?? What will she be for life? Will she step out her college graduation and move onto medical school or will she hop the nearest Greyhound to "find herself" with a band of vagabonds. Will she marry a nice guy or find someone who won't settle down until he gets his music career out of the garage? Will she cook like her father or ummm. . . not so much like her mother. So I figure the only thing you can do is model behavior you would like her to emulate. This is so not as easy as it sounds as Zoe has become a little mirror, a true reflection of everything I am. Oy. Ok, we'll start small. Wear a Patriots t-shirt on opening day hopefully eliminating at least one downfall of her future (I truly believe Mike would sooner have her come home one day announcing she's just joined a cult and could we lend her the membership fees then proclaim her allegiance to any New York team). I think I *maybe* need to curb my "enthusiasm" when I get cut off in traffic. Maybe I could travel to more exotic places, write a novel, or learn to play the cello in the hopes that she will see this and become well-rounded. Or maybe the answer is to just do the best you can and then the hell with it knowing in the end Zoe will follow her own path hopefully with whatever lessons you manged to eek out as my own parents, accounts both, did when I announced I would be declaring English *gasp* as my college major and are only now, through this blog, seeing the fruits of their labor (read: checkbook). For now, let's just welcome the newest Patriots fan, Zoe Fuller.

A public service announcement

***We interrupt your regularly scheduled blog reading for this important public service announcement from the real estate investment firm of Fuller, Fuller & Fuller. ***


1308 East 52nd Street has been sold and we are finally down to one house.


Thank you for your attention. We now return you to you normal blog postings already in progress.