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L. Klonsky aka Moms Crayon

About L. Klonsky aka Moms Crayon

L. Klonsky aka Mom's Crayon is a native of New Jersey from Bergen County. She is of an age where she vividly remembers when the Bergen Mall had a small child’s amusement park on the roof and the Garden State Plaza was merely a pack of outdoor strip malls. L. also remembers when blue jeans were not considered acceptable attire in public schools (“too casual”), a web was something spiders wove, and having a mouse in the house necessitated an urgent call to the exterminator. L. paid her own way through night college by working as a marketing assistant for a local foam manufacturer (ask her anything you ever wanted to know about carpet underlay!). Eventually she earned her degree in Psychology from Montclair State University. Had she known she was going to have children, she might have paid more attention in her Child Psychology class. Eventually she met and married a wonderful man who was also from Bergen County and moved to Essex County which her provincial family thought consisted of pure farmland.

After nine years of marriage (muttering, “I don’t want kids! I don’t want kids!”) and a stint as a Marketing Manager for a software company, she discovered she was pregnant. Since L. was a 40 year old mom carrying a child plus a 15-pound uterine fibroid which made the pregnancy high-risk, she bagged the office job and embraced her new calling as a Mom. The fibroid grew so large that the obstetrician suggested she put a basketball in her baby’s crib so the child would feel right at home. She knew so little about babies that her first reaction to her newborn son was “My God! It’s a human!”

L. now has two wonderful children, one biological and one adopted from China. Motherhood is something she’d never seen herself doing, so everything is a surprise. Every time she thinks she’s getting good at the job, the kids change and she’s back in the Pit of Maternal Ignorance. L. scribbles her blog, usually using crayon and colored paper, when she’s not volunteering at school or church and between cups of strong coffee. Her goal is to minimize the amount of therapy her children will inevitably need.

The Challenge Of Cocooning Kids From Explicit Music

February 22, 2012 By 2 Comments

“Mom, come and listen to the song we’re doing a routine to in gym,” my son said. So we pulled the song up on the computer and were soon bopping to the infectious beat. Just as infectious, and not in a good way, were the words. They included sexually suggestive lyrics. “I’m sorry, mom,” said my son. “I didn’t know.”

Well, someone should have, presumably the teacher. This is the second time this year I had to fire off a note to the middle school principal about music my son was exposed to in gym class. The first time, my son turned to me one night and told me that he was “uncomfortable” with a song his physical educational teachers were playing in class. It was full of sexual references and apparently his friends had seen the video which was even worse. [Read more...]

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The Stories In Our Stuff

February 8, 2012 By Leave a Comment

My favorite George Carlin monologue is the one about “Stuff” and how we collect and move our stuff (see the clip on http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MvgN5gCuLac).  The piece is funny, of course, because it’s true. Quick -  think where your purse or wallet is.  I’m sure you know exactly where your important stuff is.

I’ve been thinking about “stuff” a lot because my brother, uncle, and I have been cleaning out my aunt’s apartment as she begins her life in a nursing home.  At first, we felt funny touching her belongings, as if we were burglars.  The reality, however, is that this amazingly gentle woman  is battling Altzheimer’s Disease and needs to live where people can take care of her.  As family, we realized that we didn’t want strangers (landlords, superintendents, and, perhaps thieves) touching her things.  We needed to do it, respectfully, gently, and with the knowledge that she may need some of her possessions.  So we began the task of sorting through her lifetime of “stuff.”

Like most people, my aunt and late uncle amassed a lot of junk (as Carlin pointed out, MY stuff is stuff while your stuff is junk because my stuff is MINE).  But what we found in the apartment, objectively speaking, was largely castoffs:   quantities of silly things like plastic bags, marbles, screws, mailing labels, and souvenirs from a myriad of vacations.  We discovered remnants of their employment.  He was an engineer who fixed book binding machines; he left blank books and machine parts in his closet.  She was a hair dresser who had an impressive assortment of hair pins, curlers, and, creepily enough, Styrofoam heads. In their more mobile days, the couple travelled to flea markets in Englishtown, New Jersey where, for entertainment, they purchased whatever inexpensive trinkets caught their eye.

But it’s the remnants of their past, fragments of a history I didn’t know about, that touched me.  We had no idea that my aunt had been married before – an old marriage license buried under her lingerie told that story.  We discovered pictures of her mother and handcrafted chachkas that displayed her pride in her Swedish heritage.  We found papers that showed my uncle’s promotion in the Army from a job that paid $1.80 per hour to $2.10 per hour.  My aunt had been a lover of needlepoint and lace-making as evidenced by the unfinished pieces we found in her closet.  And for some reason, my uncle kept snapshots of my grandfather who had followed a new wife back to Naples.  The photos show my grandfather, in his coffin, in a church in Italy.  I would have known the family jawline anywhere.

And I found portions of their lives that I did know about, tokens of my past that intertwined with theirs.   The many volumes of cookbooks reminded me of a woman who regularly served guests a six-course home cooked meal.  The books about holistic remedies spoke of a woman who credited a daily teaspoon of cayenne pepper as the reason for her longevity (she lived alone in New York City until recently).  The many silk blouses and cardigans showed a woman who was classically fashionable even if her only destination was the grocery store.

Much of her stuff is now in storage.  A wooden turtle that once sat on her coffee table has found new life  with my children who have embraced it as a “pet.”  I look at the turtle, dubbed Allie (for my uncle’s name, Al, and my aunt’s name, Winnie).  It was taken for granted at my aunt’s apartment as a dust collector; in my house it is cherished as a link to the past.   I bring small pieces of my aunt’s former life with me when I visit her, hoping it jogs a memory or brings her some pleasure.  What my family feels is important is safe now.

And I have to wonder – someday when my children are sorting through the material remnants of my life, what will they think? What will they remember?  What will my stuff tell about the person I was, the woman I am, the individual I will be tomorrow?

 

This is an original post for Jersey Moms Blog.

 

 

 

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Not Snuffing Out The Lights… Yet

January 30, 2012 By Leave a Comment

The day after Christmas, I ripped down the fake tree. Funny how it takes literally hours to put up a Christmas tree, faux or real, but only a fraction of the time to take it down. I don’t usually tear down the centerpiece of the holiday the day after it’s over, but my cat had taken to munching on some of the plastic ornaments and since we were going away for a few days, I figured it was in her best interest to get the massive decoration out of the living room. As long as I was doing that, though, down came the other accoutrement: wreaths, images of Santa on the lawn, stuffed animals, etc. I also boxed up the menorah which we store with the Christmas stuff. Only one thing remained. The one thing I cannot bring myself to take down: the outdoor Christmas lights.

When I lived in an apartment, I was the only person in my complex who festooned her windows with Christmas lights. There’s just something about them, whether white or multi-colored, that brings me back to childhood. The “oohs” and “ahhs” are almost primal when they come. I can’t help being impressed by a good display of Christmas lights. And it would make me so happy, as I turned into the parking lot, to see my windows lit up. [Read more...]

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Shopping My Way Through Life

January 25, 2012 By 2 Comments

Except for the making kamikaze trips on the weekends, I usually don’t mind going grocery shopping.  It’s the only time I can spend money without feeling guilty.  The family’s got to eat, right?   And, being a person who prefers to exert control (a term far more preferable to “control freak”), it’s one of the few times I get to pretty much buy what I want and what I feel we need.

In my town, Shop-Rite is the place for most people.  The alternative is the far more expensive Kings.  So at some point, one member from every family has to  foray to Shop-Rite .  I venture there after I drop the kids off at school knowing that I’ll have to commit about 90 minutes to the task, down from the three hours I used to spend when my daughter was a rambunctious toddler.  And that’s one of the fascinating things about grocery shopping:  you see people from all stages of life in the grocery store.

As I cruise the aisles, I see mothers with babies in their carriers.  I know from experience that those women are tired, cranky from sleep-deprivation, but need to get out not just to get groceries, but to come in contact with adults.  I smile at their babies, envying the experiences those mums are in for, but knowing that my time has passed.  Been there, done that.  I empathize with the women struggling with their toddlers, re-living the stress of shopping in a place that has glass jars and bottles all over the place while trying to keep an energetic toddler from trashing the place.  I see the joy in those moms’ eyes as they have their first conversations with kids just learning to talk.  But again, I smile knowing I’ve been there, done that, and am NOT doing it again.

At a different time of day, I’ll see working people hurrying through the store, buying lunch or picking up a few things on the way home.  The men absent-mindedly pull at their ties while the women click about in high heels.  Many are talking on their cellphones (Really?!  You can’t be in one place without talking on your cellphone?!)  I am reminded of the vow I took years ago that I will NEVER wear high heels again.

Then there are my contemporaries:  the women with children in school who have the luxury of grocery shopping alone.  Maybe they have part-time jobs or, like me, are looking for one.  We all know how much time we have left in the day before we need to pick up our wee folk from school.  We pause at the different shelves, mentally planning what will be the meals for the week, trying to anticipate what will bring pleasure to our families while minimizing the unhealthy components of processed food, and calculating what are the best buys.  Many times these ladies are busy in their heads and they look distracted.   Others catch up on their entire lives in the soda aisle and I can hear snippets of conversation involving Bobby’s award for this or Cindy’s performance in that.

Then there are the older people with smaller carts.  Their children are grown and gone, so their shopping is substantially smaller than mine.  Sometimes they hobble along, relying on their grocery carts for support, and, again, mentally calculating the cost of food to fit within their budgets.  If you say “excuse me” to try to get around them in the aisle, they don’t move unless you repeat it pretty loudly or tap them on the shoulder.  I guess they’re hard of hearing, but I wonder if at their age, they own whatever space they happen to occupy and that includes aisle space in the grocery store.    The senior bus comes to my Shop-Rite on Wednesdays, so I try to avoid going on that day.  I happen to like older people, but as I said, they don’t move.  Plus, they will fight to the death any cashier who refuses to take a coupon, even if it’s expired.  Amusing, yes; worth my time, no.

Some of the cashiers know me through my daughter who was so lively as a toddler that any aisle we were in inevitably rang with my melodious voice screaming, I mean, calling out her name.  Making my way through the grocery store is a walk through memory lane.  I remember my brother and I gleefully spotting spilled sugar in the baking goods aisle and “skating” on it, the Polish foods at the Foodtown in Garfield when I had my first apartment, going shopping with my new husband when I was first married, and buying diapers with my son when he was baby.  Now I load up on snacks for the kids to put in their school lunches and in the years to come, my shopping will lessen when Junior goes to college.  Eventually, I’ll be one of those older people, refusing to move in the aisles.

So shopping, for me, is actually a nice experience.  It’s something that has to be done and I’m the one who does it.  But as “gotta dos” go, it’s really not half bad.

 

This is an original post for Jersey Moms Blog.

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Happy New Year San Francisco!

January 12, 2012 By Leave a Comment

Having survived yet another holiday season, my husband and I decided to break with family tradition and took our Rockem’ Sockem’ Robots (aka the kids) to San Francisco for a post-holiday vacation. Hubby is a die-hard Oakland Raiders football fan and he was hoping his illustrious team would be in the playoffs. Since he’d never seen whatever venue they play in, he was committed to going with Junior in tow. Diva and I, not content to stay in frigid New Jersey, insisted on tagging along.
For preparation purposes, I break trips into phases: I – getting there, II – being there, and III – getting home. Phase I entailed a 6-hour flight for which I packed snacks (we were told we would get a meal) and loaded my Kindle up with tons of books and games with which to amuse the 6-year old. Within the first five minutes of the flight, my little darling had somehow deleted four of the games I’d depended on to keep her amused. She also refused to do any of the workbooks I’d brought (apparently she learned “I hate homework” from her brother – thanks, Junior) and despite insisting on the window seat, pulled down the shades saying she didn’t want to see how high up we were. Add to that no free meal served plus a seatmate who had a raging cold (his kids were sitting behind my husband and my son, comparing the size of the mucus flying out of their noses) and you can see that Phase I of the trip was not fun.
The trip (Phase II) was. [Read more...]

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Tis The Season To Bite My Tongue

December 21, 2011 By 2 Comments

Perhaps if this was the tongue there wouldn't be so much holding.

Ah, the Holidays.  Thanksgiving just passed and Hanukkah is just around the corner followed quickly by Christmas and New Year’s.  My tongue is already raw.

Biting my tongue, so as not to say things to others that I REALLY want to, say is taking its toll.  My body tenses  and I retreat to the nearest rest room to do my Lamaze breathing (it really is more for after childbirth than before).  “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you” is the Golden Rule my children know by heart.  But man!   That “doing unto” is rough this time of year!

There are just so many people saying mean-spirited things that perhaps, and this is stretching it, are meant to help others.   Some of these people are family members I love or don’t love or even like but need to tolerate for the sake of peace.  So I face a rough interplay between what I should do and what I want to do.

What I want to do is employ what my husband calls “2×4 therapy.”  Basically, you find an (imaginary) wooden board that is 2’ by 4’ and whack the fool in the mouth to either stop them from talking or knock some sense into them.   This, in my imagination, stops the offender from saying things like:  1) “Gee, you’ve put on a few pounds.” 2) “No, I don’t like that present.  Can you return it for me and buy me another?” 3) “Dinner is buffet style?  You’re not going to serve me?!”  Wham!  Down comes the (imaginary) 2×4! And in my head, the problem is solved.

Of course, I can’t use a real board.  It’s not legal, moral, or useful.  So I do what most of us do:  suck it up, breathe, and move on…most of the time.  As I get older, my tongue is getting looser.  When someone at Thanksgiving implied that a family member was a little larger than before, I found myself snapping, “Really?  Was that a nice thing to say?”  Even as I said it, I realized it wasn’t right.  But it made the other person pause and stopped her from hurting my loved one’s feelings. [Read more...]

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Mission: Savings

December 15, 2011 By 2 Comments

It was the wee hours of the morning. Darkness still enveloped the streets as I stealthily got up so I didn’t wake the family. It was the day after Thanksgiving, Black Friday. I was on a mission.

Since losing 47 pounds (follow my journey on my blog, Mom’s Crayon at http://momscrayon.wordpress.com), I needed a new winter coat. I just wasn’t going to pay top dollar to get one. As it is, since I’m still losing, I’ve been shopping at Good Will because it’s stupid to buy top quality clothes that won’t fit in a few weeks.

So I decided, for the first time ever, to hit Black Friday. My strategy was simple: go early in the morning and if the mall parking lot was packed or I saw lines to get into the stores, turn around and come home. No harm, no foul. I wanted to save money without enduring stress in the process. I was especially lucky because the mall is five minutes from my home.
The house was dark as I crept out. I resisted having a cup of coffee knowing full well I was going back to sleep upon my return. I grabbed a miner’s headlight (a light attached to a headband) just in case the parking lot was not lit. Becoming the victim of a mall mugging was not on my agenda. I also grabbed the Sears coupon and circular I’d gotten in the newspaper the day before and the gift card I’d been hoarding for months (the truth: I’d been unable to find it the bottom of my purse). I was NOT going to spend more than $50 on my purchase. And it WAS going to be one purchase. Nothing for the kids. Nothing for hubby. Just me. [Read more...]

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Waiting Is No Game

December 12, 2011 By 1 Comment

Waiting Is No Game

 

There’s a special kind of Hell experienced by those who have to wait for healthcare news.  You want an immediate answer, you crave resolution of the suspected problem, but almost always, there’s an evil “I don’t know” given.  It’s not the fault of doctors or nurses.  It’s not a malevolent desire on anyone’s part to keep information from you, although I wouldn’t rule out some “covering of one’s rump” protocol on the part of some medical personnel.  After all, these people have licenses and livelihoods which they have to protect and we live in a very litigious society.

Waiting is especially tough around Christmas.  The world is decorated for a joyous holiday, there’s music playing, and the prospect for at least one happy day in the year is almost tangible.  Then a medical test, routine perhaps, is done.  And as much as positive results are expected, as much as the doctor thinks with .99 percent certainty that they’ll be fine, they cannot be guaranteed until the test results are in.  So you wait.

If you’re like me, you flip over in your head what the possible outcomes could be.  I draw up plans for what I’ll do in the event of the possible outcomes.  I foolishly, I mean VERY foolishly, Google myself into panic mode.  That passes some of the time and not very productively.

I bug the doctors, nurses, receptionists.  I want answers and I’m paying for their services, dammit!  I’m not proud that I’m a pain, but it hasn’t always been for naught.  There was the time, years ago, when I went in for a pregnancy test and was told to call the doctor’s office at 3PM only to find out that the office had closed for the weekend.  [Read more...]

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Better Late Than Never: November Was National Adoption Month

December 7, 2011 By Leave a Comment

I am not one to buy in to this name-a-month-after-a-cause campaigns that the government likes to buy into. I choose which causes to support not because they’re the featured one, but because I believe in them. Still, as an adoptive mom, I feel compelled to speak out, albeit late, on behalf of National Adoption month which was last month. I wish it could be renamed “Build A Family” month, because that’s what adoption is: another way to build a family.

For my husband and I, the short answer is that we wanted another child (we already had a wonderful little boy) and adoption was the method we chose to grow the family. Three years after signing the initial paperwork, my husband traveled across the world and brought home our miraculous daughter. Those three years were some of the hardest I’ve ever known. When you’re pregnant, you know the kid is going to appear somewhere in the 9-month period. With international adoption, the process is much, much longer and depends on when other people (as opposed to your own body) get things done. We had mountains of forms to fill out, have notarized, and sent to the Chinese consulate for various blessings and translations. We were investigated, fingerprinted, interviewed, visited numerous times by a social worker, and answered the maddening question “when is she coming” with the answer “we don’t know” over and over again. I’m not rendering an opinion on the process, which I understand is necessary for the protection of the child. I’m just saying that during that time I experienced an incredible range of emotions including being excited, joyous, impatient, angry, and sad. I just wanted to hold my daughter! [Read more...]

Filed Under: Family, M. B. Sanok, Uncategorized Tagged With: , ,

Why Is It All About Food

November 11, 2011 By 1 Comment

I’ve been on The Bead Diet for 49 days now and lost 36 pounds (you can read all about it on my blog, Mom’s Crayon, at http://momscrayon.wordpress.com). Naturally, with Thanksgiving coming up, I’m a little worried about staying the course. Because for this holiday, more than any other, food is the centerpiece of the experience.

I cherish Thanksgiving for being a wonderful, “pause to reflect” type of holiday. I’ve taught my children to privately give thanks every day and be grateful for what they have (a supremely tough lesson to teach in today’s “GIMME!” society). But this Pilgrim/Native American celebration is a time for public recognition of what we’re thankful for. We sit around the bulging dining room table and vocally acknowledge our gratitude. And therein lies the problem: the food on the damn table.

For the older folk in our family, Thanksgiving is just about the food, specifically the amount of food. As if they don’t eat any other day of the year! The menu is pretty well set in stone, so that’s not a problem, however the mass quantity of food expected is. Apparently in our family, Moses came down and wrote in stone that there MUST be enough food left over for at least one grandma to take home several meals’ worth for herself and her cat. Oh, and the food must be served so that no effort is expended by the attendee. God forbid that any motion, other than lifting the fork to one’s mouth, be made! When I took a different approach last year (may I mention that our immediate family is expected to host each and every holiday since we’re the only ones who have a house) and made Thanksgiving a buffet, eyebrows were raised to the roof and complaints were made to management (i.e. my husband). [Read more...]

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