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Nov
24
Earlier this week, I helped my oldest child study for a social studies quiz.
“Tell me again – why was Constantinople so important?” I asked my son, for the second time, more for me than for him.
“Because it was the center of trade, Mom.” Pre-teen roll of eyes. Clearly he’s unaware that by 9pm I’m wiped. The last thing I’m able to do is dredge up history tidbits that fall under Michael Feldman’s Whaddyaknow quiz’s category of, “Things you should have learned in school.”
Oh, yeah, right.
“And what’s it called now?” That question was for me.
“Oh, yeah, right.”
“Where exactly is that?” Okay – now look, I know that Constantinople had something to do with Constantine. And the Ottomans. And Byzantium. And I know that Istanbul was in Turkey. And I know of the Bosporus Strait.
But honestly? Until I looked at a map? I had no recollection as to where, precisely, anything was and who lived when and which empire fell to which crusader. Hey, I remember the book, Thucydides’ The Peloponnesian War. I even remember what the Pocket or Penguin edition looked like – dark cover, with a battle scene, purples and blacks, when I was in college. But don’t ask me anything else.
After we finished reminding me about how little I remembered, and I spoke my usual monologue of, “Turn off your computer, pick up your clothes, take your backpack and viola downstairs, get into your pajamas, brush your teeth, and go meet your father for studying (bar mitzvah study every night),” my son cowed to me with a militarily curt, “Yes! Mom!” Laughter on his part. And then, a deep-voiced mock battle cry of,
“Momstantinople!”
And, yesterday, as I sat in my pajamas at 3:40pm yesterday afternoon, exhausted and waiting for the kitchen stove timer to go off one last time, indicating to me to give some carrots a final stir in their pot, all I could think of was, my house is the epicenter of an empire, even if I don’t feel much like an empress.
Thanksgiving Day isn’t even the best example of a day in my empire. It lacks the structure of the 180 (or so) school days with which I more commonly associate routine. But then again, its very lack of the mundane makes it all the more interesting to navigate, and therefore, perhaps, emblamatic of that which is, Momstantinople.
In our house yesterday, Thanksgiving Day began when my youngest son and I, on Zithoromax and coughing to the point of awakeness, couldn’t sleep past 6:30am. In addition, I’d stayed up late Wednesday night with my oldest son, watching part of An Inconvenient Truth. And although it’s hard to imagine falling asleep during that movie – given the shocking nature of the information and in spite of Al Gore’s monotone presentation (though he tries to sound otherwise), after the third time my son barked, “Mom! You fell asleep, again!”, I realized that it was time to shut the thing off and lumber upstairs. (Of course, when I tried to rouse my son’s interest in finishing the movie tonight, he said, “Mom, I think I’ve seen enough.” He was appropriately disturbed already.)
But, family life stops for no one and Thursday – regardless of being Thanksgiving – is laundry day. I shlepped the upstairs laundry bag downstairs, the downstairs baskets with clean, folded clothes upstairs, and the already downstairs dirty items into the washer. One by one, the kids began to chatter, wander, watch television and play around the house while I made coffee and breakfast, read some news, moved more laundry, put away dishes and cleaned more dishes.
Finally, around 9:30, I decided that I would “make the food.” Which, this year meant squash souffle, applie pie and simmus, enough for about 18 people.
While I was in my zone (that notorious “work triangle” from fridge to sink to stove), the husband is going through the kitchen and up and down the stairs, making and installing a mantel for one of our fireplaces. The younger kids are going from the upstairs to the downstairs to the playroom to the basement through the kitchen in and out. They propped up the good old Disney monorail system we’d bought over several years, with a very nice electric train system underneath it. (Today, one of their non-screen, non-electronic diversions will be to build Lego and block cities around the trains and monorail.)
All the while, I’m moving between the kitchen and the laundry room.
In the midst of the action, catastrophe strikes as only it can when you’re in a zone. So calm, so focused, so on autopilot am I, trying to screen out the activity around me enough to focus on my tasks that, only immediately after I closed the oven door on two amber dishes filled to the rims with liquid batches of souffle, do I slap my forehead, utter an expletive and realize that the one ingredient my host’s said I shouldn’t use for kosher reasons, I’d used. While two thawed containers of Coffee Rich sit in the fridge in my garage, I’d used up all the milk in the house.
A frenzy ensued as I asked my husband what he thought I should. His list of options mirrored mine – where’s the help in that? So I said, I’m calling them, I’m just going to tell them the truth and call.
Well, sort of. I didn’t want anyone else to know, right?
Luckily, I wouldnt’ be the only one bringing items with milk in it, the request didn’t have anything to do with the house being kosher and in fact, the cook for the day had already tried subbing the particular guest in question would probably just eat it the next day anyway. No. Big. Deal.
Sigh of relief.
I moved forward, to more laundry shifting and lunch making. I also took a few minutes to read the New York Times. And, although I’m still missing The Plain Dealer and enjoying the Times, a strange thing has happened: whereas I only needed five to ten minutes to read the PD, and that was one of my reasons for dumping my subscription, I have the opposite problem with the Times: I’m intimidated by how hard it is to find time to read even one whole section.
On the other hand, at least the NYT forces me to stop and eat a meal. Albeit, yesterday at 1pm and still in my fake fleece pajamas.
Next up: apple pie and simmus (carrots cooked in brown sugar and butter). My oldest son was going to help me with the apples, but the Granny Smith’s were so hard that both of us struggled with the corer and I dismissed him.
Then the phone rang – friends who will soon be moving away called to wish us a good holiday and plan for a get together. We talked until the phone battery died and I’d finished the pie and started the carrots. Thankfully, the carrots only required me to snip open three plastic bags, pour the carrots, butter and brown sugar into a saucepan and set the timer for five minutes, every five minutes, for about 25 minutes, until I’d stirred and sauced those baby veggies to tenderness.
And then, well, it was 3:40pm. And I was still in my pajamas. The kids were dressed, my husband was nearly ready and I was exhausted. I rested in bed for 15 mins., made my husband call our hosts to let them know our timetable and finally, at 4:30, with four bottles of wine, three bags of food, two casserole dishes and a pie, we headed to what turned out to be a very pleasant, memorable and adverturer-worthy holiday.
And, momentaritly at least, silenced the bustle of Momstantinople.
By Jill Miller Zimon at 1:57 pm November 24th, 2006 in Politics
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7 Responses to “Momstantinople”
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It’s Istanbul, not Constantinople.
Sorry, couldn’t resist.
That cartoon is simply adorable.
Thanks, Len. I love it.
Why’d they change it? I can’t say. People just liked it better that way.
http://www.singulartists.com/artist_t/they_might_be_giants_lyrics/instanbul_not_constantinople_lyrics.html
Okay okay – so you guys are far cooler. What can I tell ya? I have a friend whose family is from Burma and I still can’t remember when that country changed to Myanmar. Did TMBG do that one too? I always think of this high school classmate when I think of TMBG – Jack Horowitz…am I digressing? Are my kids back in school yet? Why aren’t my kids back in school until Tuesday? I can’t feel my feet…
Not that I know of. However, they can teach you about President James K. Polk. They can also answer the question “Why Does the Sun Shine?” In addition, if you’re interested in art history, they have a song about painter James Ensor.
They also have a couple of albums just for kids, “No” and “Here Come the ABC’s.”
http://www.lyricsdepot.com/they-might-be-giants/james-k-polk.html
http://www.mudslide.net/TMBG/Albums/tmbg-ws.html
http://www.musicsonglyrics.com/T/theymightbegiantslyrics/theymightbegiantsmeetjamesensorlyrics.htm
Ah – but you see, I wrote about the precursor to TMBG here, several months ago. Those science songs are AMAZING. And really date me.
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