Or maybe I was just super weird

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On Sunday Henry had to join me for errands. Our expedition entailed walking a total of maybe ten blocks, round trip, but some of us do not wish to experience the out-of-doors on what is supposed to be a relaxing Sunday when one wishes only to simultaneously play Minecraft and listen to Minecraft songs. Some of us, however, don't feel like going out alone to buy someone else underwear and socks only to return home and find out that some of us purchased the terrible kind. So some of us HAD TO GO.

There was yelling. Then I said I'd buy him gum and possibly a pack of Magic Cards if he was particularly great (translated by Henry: definitely Magic Cards, multiple packs, get your pants on before she changes her mind).

Out we went, and after finding the acceptable varieties of both underwear and sock, Henry decided he wanted Tic Tacs. I never buy Tic Tacs, I don't think about them, but while he was mulling over the flavors at the checkout counter I was filled with nostalgia: not for the candy, but the packaging.

When I was little, I had a thing for empty Tic Tac boxes. My mom bought the spearmint flavor, which was too intense for my delicate girl-mouth, but whenever I found an empty box I snatched it. I'd take it up to my bathroom, where I would spend far too long than is healthy playing. With the Tic Tac box.

First I had to remove all the labels, because duh. And then scrub it until the glue came off. But carefully, because you didn't want to scratch the box. Without the labels, I found the entire thing to be perfect. It satisfied me in ways I can't explain. That hinge! Did I open and close it, then open and close it some more? Why, yes. Yes I did.

And what did I do my beloved Tic Tac box, after I regarded its perfection? Well! I filled it with either 1) water, 2) shampoo, 3) a sludgy mix of water and talcum powder, or 4) Jean Nate After-Bath Splash. And then I poured it out, and filled it up again. If I had glitter, you can be sure as hell the glitter got in there. On one particularly heady occasion, I nabbed some food coloring and filled a couple of tic-tac boxes with various shades of tinted water. They were too beautiful to be disturbed, so I hid them under the sink for a number of years. I took them out on special occasions and held them up to the light.

It's not like I didn't have an entire room filled with toys.  But they couldn't equal the perfection of the Tic Tac box. Which, if I'm going to be honest, I'm still itching to grab, although I don't know why. What would I do with it? I don't even own any Jean Nate!

I was going to tell Henry this story while we were walking home, but he already worries about me. And now I'm telling you. But you understand, right? Maybe you're a little concerned, but surely you had something similar? Come on, now.

Boots

We were having a bad day.

Brooklyn was a snowy wonderland, and we were inside, getting mad at each other. Nothing worked right. The place was a mess. We should clean more, we should be more organized, but there's never enough time. We were in each other's way, because there's not enough space, never enough space, and we yelled. Then we hugged and apologized and then discussed our rational and well-thought-out points which devolved into more yelling, and then a second round of hugs (shoved together by Henry, who had really had enough of our behavior). We retreated to our corners. We pledged to be better in the future.

Outside the sky was turning bright, and there was all this snow, crying out to us, SLED ON ME. Now. Jerks. It was time to cheer up. Because: snow! Last year it never snowed, after all, and the sled sat in our upstairs hallway, whimpering softly to itself. Personally I loathe sledding, but the men in my family want nothing more than to hurtle down slopes, and I like to watch them and wring my hands.

We layered up and trudged outside, where the fun times could be had. Only, Henry's boots were bothering him. We're a few blocks to the park, but every few feet we had to stop so Henry could examine and adjust his boots. He was pretty grouchy about it. He kept taking them off. We were losing our patience. Everything, I thought, is terrible. We are incapable of joy. Around us all the happy families were passing us on their way to the park or back from the park, laughing, holding their sleds, probably going home to whip up artisanal hot chocolate with homemade marshmallows.

One block, two blocks. The wind was gusting in our faces. The seventh time Henry stopped to adjust his socks I wondered why we bothered going out, ever. Why everything had to be so fucking hard. I sighed heavily and Scott cursed under his breath and Henry was, I am sure, heartily sick of both of us.

Finally we got to the park, where everyone in the universe already was, and all having a delightful time. No one seemed to mind that they were sharing a relatively small hill in the park with everyone else in the universe. People were crashing into each other, sledding into each other, squealing and cheering. I stood up there, watching them all, wondering how they stood it.

There ensued some complicated sledding adventures. Complicated because there was too much humanity present on the hill to actually sled, and also the boots. THE BOOTS. By the time we left I was sure I had gone terribly wrong, not just in one area of my life, but every single one of them. Henry insisted he could barely walk, and he was being pretty dramatic about it, and I thought, this is because of the morning we had. Because I lost my shit and yelled loudly enough for the neighbors to wonder about me. I have literally hobbled my son.

When we got home I took a close look at his boots. Turned out they were TINY. Because the last time we needed snow boots it was 2010. They were at least two sizes too small. We didn't hobble our child emotionally. WE HOBBLED HIM WITH SMALL BOOTS.

Then we ordered him a pair of new boots, put on a movie, drank hot cocoa, and had a perfectly lovely day.

It occurred to me later on, Small Boots is every imaginary problem I torture myself with. Every dilemma I'm sure is insoluble, but could be fixed, if I dedicate some energy to focusing on solutions instead of the problem. And really, we have no big problems. We need a few feet more space, a few hours in the week. Boots can be purchased; time can be found; a few household-management changes can keep us from blowing up after a stressful week. It's all Small Boots. I'm no life coach, and I promise not to make this my catchphrase, but you have to admit, it has a ring to it.

And now for some good stuff: granting wishes

Just in time for the holidays, I got to give away some holiday cheer. With the help of Camp Mighty, I and ten other lucky people were hooked up with AT&T, who, along with the Make a Wish foundation, awarded us each $3500 worth of gift cards to spend on a charity organization in our communities.

My donations went to the All Stars Project, a nonprofit dedicated to promoting human development through education and performing arts activities.

They wanted to reward some of their kids for their efforts, and asked for portable speakers and headphones--fun stuff to give kids who don't often get stuff just because it's fun. It was an easy (and, well, fun) wish to grant. Do you know how many speakers and headphones you can buy with $3500? I brought Scott and Henry along for the trip, for their muscle as well as cab-wrangling abilities.

I told Henry he had to carry all of these. He didn't buy it.

AT&T gave me 35 $100 gift cards, which took a while to process in the store. In the time it took I became friends with Julio at the AT&T store in Union Square. We're quite close now. If you head over there, tell him Alice sent you. Alice BRADLEY. Then mime using many, many gift cards.

I am not chewing tobacco in this picture. I have no idea what I'm doing. I was out of my mind from all that swiping!

When we arrived at All Stars, Antoine Joyce (Development Officer, aka "Diddy of Development") was kind enough to give us a tour and introduce us around to the hardworking staff and volunteers.

He was quite busy with fundraising work, not to mention attempting to eat lunch while we hurled questions at him.

Here he is, after he finished his sandwich, explaining to us that the kids were not, in reality, posing with German avant garde dramatist Heiner Müller. I'm all, "What's a 'Photoshop'?"

All Stars is an amazing organization. In addition to helping kids and adults through performance, they run the Development School for Youth, a leadership training program for older kids, and work with the NYPD on Operation Conversation: Cops and Kids, bringing together the police and inner-city kids in positive interactions. In 2011, the NYPD incorporated Operation Conversation into their training. 

They also let my kid stand on the stage and perform some German avant garde for us. Or, okay, just stand on the stage. (This was one of many stages. They have quite a set-up at the All Stars Project.)

We were supposed to return to see the kids getting their gifts, but we were all under the weather. Bummer. Antoine sent over some pictures, and maybe they made me cry a little, whatever, I don't know, shut up.

Maybe more than a little. It's been that kind of week.

According to Antoine, the gifts were awarded to the youth and young adult teams. In his words: "these are the people who volunteer every week to guarantee our programs are a success. Some of them are on the load out team that heads to storage at 7 am to load equipment and then work the entire event and return at 9 pm at night."

I think they're hamming it up just a touch. Oh, theater folk!

YOU GUYS ARE SO CUTE AND YOU KNOW IT.

I am so grateful to the All Stars Project and Antoine for showing us all of the excellent work they do, and to AT&T, for making this whole thing possible. This was a gift for us, truly. Thanks, guys!

Ho ho hurrrgh

On Saturday we did a thing we should not have done. We went to the Toys R Us in Times Square.

If you live in New York, if you've ever visited New York, or if you have even a smidgen of sense you are wondering what might be wrong with us. "Don't go to the Toys R Us in Times Square on a Saturday, especially on a Saturday a few weeks before Christmas" is right up there in the Most Obvious Advice Category, right after "Don't do a Google Image Search for 'syphilis.'"

The answer is, I have no answer for you. We took leave of our senses. We were in the neighborhood, we were already suffering, and Saturday being the first day of Hanukkah, we thought we'd get a little something for Henry because usually I get him something and I forgot. We thought "How bad could it be, really?" and we shared that thought with one another, and the response that came back to us was not "Worse than you can possibly imagine in your worst nightmares." It was not "Hieronymus Bosch-like levels of horrible."

Like this, only waaaay more crowded.

Even Henry, who was pretty amped up about getting a Hanukkah gift, was like, "Mother? Father? We are leaving here and never returning." Unfortunately we had already entered, and were trapped in a sea of people. You can't paddle upstream, when it's people. You somehow find yourself on the up escalator, wondering if they really need to have the enormous animatronic T-Rex blasting and lurching like it's going to eat us and making the kids scream and you know what? I'm not writing about this anymore. It was horrible! The end!

The good news is we got out. And also we never have to go there ever again. But seriously, Toys R Us? You are not allowed to let your stores exceed maximum capacity. You are lucky no one was injured. Or maybe they were, and you stuffed them in your T-Rex? Either way, you are worse than terrible.

Let's forget all about Toys R Us. Let's watch Maymo, shall we? Hi Maymo!



Maymo always helps. And never hurts. Maymo is un-terrible.

What else? Well, my friends! WELL! I've got the second round of A Practice of Writing coming up, beginning January 14th. (Those of you paying attention will note that I changed the date from December 31st. Who starts a class on New Year's Eve? Honestly.) I will be opening registration this week. Get ready.