Well OK, I'm not dead yet but this blog will be soon.  Yes, big news to the many throngs of Toddler Tube fans -- this blog will be ending. Like in a just a few more posts. I've got a bit more to share and I'll perform a stunning dismount, but then it will be time to say goodbye from here.

Nothing bad has happened twixt Babble and I. It was a mutual and mutually beneficial decision.  I adore this site and appreciate the opportunity to be here, but I've got too many other fish to fry.  That and they've got to be feeling the pain of having to keep my blogger trailer fully stocked with ice cold Stoli, Spanx and Lion Bars. And let's not even go into Hugo's outrageous demands!  Hint:  He needs all of his diapers hand-painted in trompe l'oeil.

So, we'll be back at you soon with more blather and a big bye bye video of wonderment.

xoxo,

Susie

Here, you see nothing but peace reigning. No crazy toddler moments trying to grab the dog's lips, no my mother getting annoyed with his repetitive baby games and correcting him with machine gun-like firings of "Nonononononono. Hugo? Nonononononono." I can't really go into the details of this past weekend without being really boring or unfair to her, but more than once or thrice I wondered, "Did she really have babies?" As I was one of the three, I seem to remember it, but perhaps the memory was implanted?  (Note to self: check for chip up my ass.) I mean, she was great with us as kids, if not way too lax on the dsipline. But I can't picture her with toddlers. For her part, she admits she has little to no memory of the baby years. She claims this is necessary for the human race to continue. I guess she loved it.

Me, I'm going to remember the beautiful pics and the cute vids as lovingly displayed above.

Night Internet, I wish you babies that are perfectly behaved and Grandmother's who are like Mary Poppins. 

xoxoxo,

Susie 

When I was 18 years old I scored a nifty internship at W.W. Norton.  It paid nicely, I spent almost nothing by living with my parents on Long Island and it was during the winter so the company really needed an indentured servant.

It felt very sexy working on 5th avenue, a stone's throw from the Lions at the Public Library.  I loved the job and admired the people there.  However, I had one task that was truly maddening.  About a month and a half in, they desperately needed an exact word count on a dry thousand-plus page non-fiction manuscript about Tolsoy.  Or something Russian.  No, it wasn't in electronic form.  Even if it was, I am not sure word processing programs could do that then.  (Note to Hollywood: I am still 18)

So I dilligently counted.  And counted. And after a few days I told the nice but guilty bosses that no, although it was dull, I didn't mind.  I didn't tell them I left work everyday unable to stop counting my steps back to Penn Station.

One day, after an hour-long commute to do my counting inside a windowless office, I took note of the fact that it was unseasonably warm for Valentine's Day.  Yes, it was Valentine's Day.  So what? I didn't have a boyfriend and I didn't want one.  But sure, it was lonely living on dreaded Long Island, especially during a time when all other college student's were back in college.  My college was just strange in that we had a winter break designed to encourage (read: enforce) work.  

As I plodded to the office it occurred to me I could not go.  I could, in fact, call in sick or similar.  I mean, I hadn't missed a day yet.  They wouldn't mind.  Heck, perfect attendance?  Maybe I was owed a day! As I tried to talk myself out of this wild, morally suspect idea, the idea developed wings and against my better judgement, I found myself across the street from the office telling them... I don't know what.  Something other than the fact that it was too beautiful to come in to count words.

After the call I just started walking with no idea of where I'd end up.  All I remember is that at some point I was at the Central Park Zoo, paying for a ticket.  

I sat on the steps that ringed the sea lion exhibit.  And sat.  And soaked up the February sun in a nearly-deserted zoo.   In the 70-degree weather, I shed my work ethic like the big heavy coat it was.  What a great idea it was to not go to work!

Then, something strange happened. Watching the sea lions I was flooded with the realization that I should have children someday.  Me who didn't like babies and had no want of a regular boyfriend.  Watching the sea lions scamper it seemed to me this was the reason we were here, to have kids.  Just because. This gapingvoid cartoon kind of sums it up:

No I didn't want them anytime soon.  Actually, at the time I didn't want them ever.  But after that day the door to maternity was cracked open, even though I was aware the reason -- sea lions on Valentine's Day at the Central Park Zoo -- was, in itself, cracked.  

I tell you this to explain why, on a recent first-ever trip with Hugo and his daddy, I found myself watching them and waiting for the sea lion feeding time with a lump in my throat and the sour taste in my mouth that comes from trying to hold back tears. 

That's why this video is so short.  Only :15 seconds.  A Toddler Tube record.  But the video showing me chanting "We Want Seals!" doesn't tell the story.  That's why I did.

Oh yes, Hugo loved the seals.

Ciao 4 now Internet.

xoxo,

Susie 

Imagine Woodstock without the sex or drugs, but with a rockin' cafeteria.  Well, that's the new Woodstock 60's museum at Bethel Woods in a nutshell.  There's no permissiveness, it's totally clean and instead of having to call in the National Guard, I am told I'd need to ring up the PR department to see if I can be allowed to take any pictures inside the museum.  

Here's a one-minute video mix of our entire museum experience, albeit without any of the actual museum because they told me not to take photos or video and I am a good girl. 

Ah well.  The best part of the museum for Hugo was a painted bus you can sit in to watch a video.  I didn't watch the video and neither did my babe.  He was just so excited to get to sit in the driver's seat of a REAL BUS and turn the wheel and finger the non-working yet thrilling 8-track deck. Of course, he had a 10-second crank when I told him we had to leave to bus at some point before sundown and a 30-second meltdown when we really had to say sayonara to the bus.

The best part of the museum for me was the lunch I enjoyed afterwards in the sunshine that was from the aforementioned cafeteria.  Actually I enjoyed it for about a nanosecond until Hugo deployed some sort of massively powerful baby traction beam that locked onto and sucked away my entire quiche.  As his quiche-ectomy on me was after he had downed the sandwich and berries I had packed for him, I was mighty impressed.

Since you didn't ask, in general, I think the museum was absurd.  But there were all these conservative-looking oldies in bermuda shorts who were hushed and reverential and even a few totally loving it in an over-the-top way.  For some of them, it was as if they'd never heard of the 60's after it happened which is only possible if you've been locked in a basement by a psycho Austrian for the past few decades.  But no, there were two attractive but weathered middle-aged blondes who were freaking out over every song they could listen to on the headphones and every clip they played of Camelot.  How nice for them.

Am I jealous?  Hells yeah!  My generation is sandwiched in between the Boomers and the dang Millennials and we are the size of a flea fart.  Aint no one making a museum for us.

Phoo. 

Anyway, I love the geographical area the museum/performing arts center is in so I want it to succeed, even if I'm still not over the fact that you can't pack a picnic to listen to a concert on their lawn or take pics in the museum, etc. etc. 

PS For more on Bethel Woods my man wrote an excellent article about the opening concert we attended in 2006. 

Oh ho ho ho!

Thing is I've got recent thrilling vid of a trip to the Central Park Zoo, the Bethel Woods 60's Museum and mucho mucho more!

But I need my commentary to sizzle as much as the cinematic moments.  And at the moment, it's after 11P on a weeknight and I don't got it.  

Also, everyone I've ever known ever is finding me on Facebook and it's starting to freak me out.  At first it was fun, but now I'm creeped out by the people who I haven't seen in about 15 years who "friend" me but then don't say howdy.  Especially when they use a picture of their babies instead of themselves so you have no idea of the ravages the years have taken on them.  That's not fair.  Also, did you disappear when you had kids?  No.  So enough already with using your babies for your profile.  You make all the people without babies who want them feel bad and all the people without babies who don't want them gag.  Not cool. 

Of course now I'm tempted to do the same to up the stakes in this arms race of cuteness.  So far I've been able to sit on my urge.

And worse than using your kid as a profile pic is using your spouse AND your kids as your profle pic.  Yes, we get it, someone agreed to have sex with you -- do we need to see the whole family?  Also, I can't see your wrinkles with those wide shots so cut it out. 

OK Internet, I'm feeling annoyed. 

I'l be my stinking rosy flower of a self tomorrow for sure.

xoxo,

Susie