Little Italy. Big Imagination.

I have a strange secret. Ever since I saw the movie The Godfather dozens of years ago, I’ve been intrigued with the underworld of Italian culture. Okay…the mafia. Yeah, I know it’s weird. I’m not sure why the attraction, but when my hubby got me hooked on The Sopranos, my imagination began to run wild. What would it be like to live in this lifestyle? At times, I’d watch the series for hours just to escape into a world so different from my own.

I have to admit that I’ve been attracted to Italian men ever since I was a teenager. Tall, dark, handsome and charming of course; nothing resembling the ‘real’ Italian men I encountered in Italy who were far shorter than me and often grumpy. Imagination is great, yet I’d never trade-in my Scandinavian husband.

When Owen and I decided to take a trip to Canal street on our third day in NYC, I knew we’d have an opportunity to slip into the life of an Italian for a few hours as Little Italy was only a few blocks from the “hot knock-offs” that Owen was determined to purchase in Chinatown. After my entrepreneurial son negotiated a sunglass purchase with some shady men selling goods from a garbage bag we were ready to slip into our alter egos. (As if this experience weren’t crazy enough for a mom with her 14 year old son.)

Little Italy is nothing like Rome, Venice or Milan. But it is quaint and a wonderful tourist spot. The four blocks are lined with lovely restaurants. However, as a lover of Italian leather bags, shoes and fashion, I was extremely disappointed when I didn’t stumble upon a row of extraordinary shops. My pocket book and my husband were not let down when arriving home empty handed. I’d have to travel back to 5th Avenue for the good stuff.

Owen declared starvation as I delicately perused each menu and ambiance of various restaurants to pick the perfect place to escape for lunch. It had to be the ultimate Italian experience. I’d been spoiled by authentic Italian food while in Italy. After five minutes of listening to my son’s grumbling I was lured into a small café by a handsome young man that had a beautiful smile. He looked right at my son and said with a thick accent, “You need to bring this lovely lady inside for a wonderful lunch.” Sold. I’m such a sucker. He likely got paid for every naive 40-something he lured into the small café.

The eight table restaurant was lovely and bright with crisp white linen table cloths and a large mahogany bar in the back. I imagined myself sipping wine at the bar all afternoon admiring the handsome Italian men, but the eye candy had to wait for another trip as I was with the 14 year old. Three friendly Italians waited on us explaining the delicacies with their beautiful accents. One young gentleman did nothing but fill my glass with water each time I took a sip. Ah, the good life. For a brief hour, hotel snob slipped into character taking in every moment of this tremendous experience.

On vacation, I promptly ordered a glass of Pinot Grigio. Got to love the NYC life..no need to drive anywhere, which made it completely appropriate for me to drink wine in the early afternoon. Just as we finished our insalata, Owen said, “Hey mom, look at that guy over there.” He was standing in the corner next to the ornate bar. The man was tall, muscular and dressed head to toe in black. He looked straight ahead with arms crossed. We tried not to stare at the man as he stood as still as a statue. “Who do you think he is?” Owen whispered.

“I don’t know sweetie,” I said looking at him out of the corner of my eye. “Maybe the owner."

“Do you think he’ll break our knuckles if we don’t pay the bill?” he asked squeamishly. My bad for watching The Sopranos in front of the kids.

“Don’t worry. I got it covered,” I shot Owen a smile.

Owen forgot all about the dark dressed man when his plate of Penne arrived. It was the most tasty lunch I’d ever eaten…even better than Rome. Impressively, we took our time enjoying the lunch and the ambiance. Both stuffed full of pasta and bread, we had no room for dessert. Not even a second glass vino. It wouldn’t be wise to ride the subway in a drunken state, so I stopped at one glass. After our plates were cleared and beverages finished, the man dressed in all black slowly approached the table. He had something behind his back but I couldn’t make out what it was. He bent over slightly and turned Owen. The eyes of the14 year old bulged with anxiety.

“Young man. You taking care Mama? Paying for lunch, right?” he asked in broken English pulling his left hand out from behind his back. He placed the bill on the table and smiled at Owen. The young man looked straight at the tall man and nodded. “Well son…someday you will pay for Mama’s lunch.” Off went the man in black. I quickly stuck two twenties into the folder as we walked out of the place giggling again.

Our experiences in Little Italy: Were they real or just imagination? We may never know. Walking down the streets of NYC with my teenage son, I longed for that moment to last forever. Someday he will pay for my lunch. And someday I can only hope that he will have a similar experience with a child of his own.

Empire State of Mine: Day Two

As true baseball fans, we knew a summer trip to NYC wouldn’t be complete without catching a Yankee game at the new stadium. We are NOT Yankee fans, but were interested in checking another major league stadium off our list. It’s just un-American not to attend a major league game while visiting another city. It’s a great way to get a pulse on the people and various cultures coming together. Refusing to wear the obligatory Yankees garb, Owen proudly sported his O’Dawg Twin’s shirt. We stuck out like typical tourists, but we didn’t care…it only made the game even more interesting. The New Yankee Stadium isn’t nearly as impressive as many of the small market stadiums we’ve visited. It was a gorgeous sunny Sunday afternoon and seats were empty and fans were quiet; expecting a win.

Although the game was boring, the adventure to the stadium was exciting. Its amazing what one can accomplish in a large city with a 14 year with a smart phone. Owen explained quickly how we catch the train at Grand Central Station and take the North Metro directly to the stadium. Who’da thunk? I’d traveled years for work and never had the luxury of a hand held ‘walking’ GPS. The most difficult part of the trip was finding which train to take once at Grand Central. With my cutest Midwestern charm, I pranced up to the information booth and politely asked the forty-something gentleman in the booth where I could find the train to the Subway. My bright smile didn’t warm this man. “Take a right. Buy yourh ticket in the subway. That’s it!” he snapped at me. I shyly moved away from the booth and looked right at Owen. My son giggled at me, waved his finger and said, “That’s it.” We laughed and laughed on the train ride to the stadium.

Now that we were in full command of the subway system we decided to travel around the city by train. And we traveled!! One word to the wise…it’s not smart to wear an authentic Lebron James Miami heat jersey in NYC. We couldn’t figure out why so many people were staring at us. In my typical hotel snob persona, I thought my cute little outfit must’ve made me look hot. (Yeah right….what was I thinking?) It was the six-footer with the new NBA jersey that caught the attention. A bit too much attention. In fact, it was clear we needed to make a quick stop at the hotel to remove the piece of clothing that was a bit attractive in the NYC hood. No need for a mugging on this special day.

14 year old diet for the day: Breakfast: Misc. Carbo load from the continental breakfast bar; Midmorning Snack: Hot Dog & 18 inch cheese pizza; Lunch: Fried Oreos; Dinner: Family sized plate full of cheese ravioli, salad, chocolate fudge Sunday for two.

Mom enjoyed another evening of free champagne, cheese and crackers.
Later that evening, we found ourselves cruising the streets of Broadway. Miles of walking, laughing and paying far too much money for goofy trinkets.

Empire State of Mind: Day One

This week, I encountered one of the most fulfilling few days of my life. Four one-on-one days with my 14 year old son, Owen. The last summer before he enters high school. One of the last mom and son experiences I’m sure we’ll have for some time. A dear friend of mine told me that there is a bond between a mother and her first son that can’t be explained. My friend is a first son…so I have all faith that he is correct. I love both of my sons equally, yet in very different ways, because they are such different people. Its strange, with Owen, we can sit together for hours and not say a word. Yet for some reason we know each other so well that words don’t need to be spoken. A simple smile or laugh will do.

My son is a tremendous person…and I’m not just saying that because he’s my son. I know people. I have amazing intuition and insight into souls. My son Eli has a soul of a ninety year old. And he’s experienced more in his ten years of life than most ninety year olds. Owen has the soul of a wise teenager. Oxymoron….I know. Much like his mom he loves to laugh, smile and experience the intricacies of life and the people around him. Life is short; what more do you need?

Our journey to NYC started with the crazy taxi. Of course we held on tight and giggled the entire way to our destination. Hotel Casablanca, just steps from Times Square, and they were not fibbing. Of course hotel snob did her homework. Two thumbs up for the boutique hotel. Free champagne…a dream for a girl who hasn’t had a day off of work in over seven months. Look out vaca...here come the Graysons.

To my surprise, the 14 year old had the stamina to walk at least ten miles a day. I knew my running routine would come in handy at some point in my life. I had no problem keeping up with the teen. The first evening included a hilarious show. We enjoyed the talent and antics of Blue Man Group. We were showered in toilet paper and freaked out as the blue people walked toward us. Thankfully we were not pulled on stage as we politely sat in the poncho section, surely not a good look for camera.

The Astor theatre resided in cute little neighborhood near NYU. Although I couldn’t convince the teen that NYU would be a wise choice for college, he immediately informed me that NYC doesn’t have quality sports teams, so I could just scratch that one off my ‘wannabe’ list. He did enjoy the people watching.

After a wonderful evening with my son, we decided to take advantage of the NYC nightlife and enjoy an eleven p.m. dinner. Still watching the waist line, I settled on my typical bird food; a light salad. My six footer chose a New York style pepperoni pizza nearly the size of a hula hoop. To no surprise he ate the entire pie. With full tummies, we walked back to the residence of hotel snob and retired in our 800 thread count Egyptian sheets. Lights out. More to come on Day two.

The Case of the Missing Lawn Mower

It’s a beautiful summer night in Minnesota. One of the rare occasions where one can sit on the deck with a glass of wine and no mosquito repellent. As I ponder the great day I had with my 14 year old son Owen, it occurred to me looking at the weed ridden lawn that I’d struck a deal with the young teenage boy.

“Hey Owen,” I said to him in my motherly voice. “It’s time to mow the lawn.” There was a mild grunt..but just a quick one this time as he remembered our pact. Just two weeks ago he picked out the absolutely had to have LTC HD2 smart phone with a required monthly internet fee. Ah yes…the catch. He had to mow the lawn twice per week to keep the phone and the internet service. Yes…I get it. I’m a big push-over…but that’s another story for another evening.

So off went the 14 year old with an ever so slow intention of moving the lawn. Still sitting on the deck with my glass of wine and my novel (still editing for those of you that care), I see Owen pacing from garage to back yard up to the front yard back to the back yard. Then he sits on the comfy deck chair. Lawn mower’s gone,” he says without worry. “What do you mean the lawn mower is gone?” I respond. “Yup…no lawn mower the garage. No lawn mower in the back yard. Guess I get the night off,” he smirks.

Of course my first instinct is to contact my husband who is in California with my youngest son. No answer on his ‘smart phone’. So as I sit here on the deck with a weed filled lawn and an unresponsive 14 year old. Where in the Hell is the lawn mower?

Tune in for more….

P.S. Jason…don’t freak out…I’m sure there is a perfectly good explanation of the missing lawn mower. Call my hubby’s cell phone. He just may pick up for you. Ugh…

Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

Isn’t it funny how we wish for what we can’t have. For me, it’s often time alone. No work. No commitments. No car-pool. No boys… Simply time to decompress.

No boys! What am I thinking? I’m sitting here alone in a quiet house while my husband and youngest son are taking a boys-only vacation to northern California and my oldest son is at basketball camp. I fool myself into thinking how peaceful it will be to lavish myself with a bottle of wine and the remote control. Cable TV with no Sports Center. A chick flick purchased On-Demand. Yet I sit here alone… clearly alone.

And what am I thinking about? I think about my boys…. I think about my husband sitting next to me playing with my hair. I think about my little guy who wants nothing more than to hug me. I think about my teenager who loves to grunt at everything I say to him.

I think about how blessed I am. How I take for granted the three gifts that God has given me. The text I receive from Owen before he signs off for the night makes me smile. The sound of Eli’s voice telling me the intimate details of how Daddy almost drove off the cliff into the ocean. The sound of Jon’s voice so calm and loving when he sighs, “I miss you Bunny.” The man who loves me more than anything in the world. I am blessed. I am so blessed.