the pieces of my life

There’s nothing like coming home and looking through my purse and thinking, “What’s this?” and then remembering, “Oh yeah. It’s the bacon sandwich Pie couldn’t finish and instead she asked me to keep it for her.” Good thing I checked my purse tonight!

Pie and Doodles have been doing studies at the Lad for Developmental Studies at Harvard since they were infants. They love doing them–the studies are always 5 to 30 minute “games” and the kids get a prize after. The prizes are a range of stuffed animals (at least thirty different kinds) with little tiny Harvard t-shirts on them or yo-yos or slinkies or the sort. And for the past three times, Pie has picked a pig. She know has a collection of pigs on her dresser.

When Adam came home tonight, he said, “Another pig! Pie, that’s three pigs now! What are all their names?”

Pie thought a moment and then said, “Their names are Cow, Cow, and… Cow!”

And that, my friends, is what we call a Pig in Kosher Clothes.

I serve Doodles a hot dog for dinner. He says, “Can I have some bacon with that, please?” Food group might be working a little too well.

Whenever people hear that my kids are up at 5 or 5:30 in the morning, they get this horrified expression on their faces and say, “How can you stand that?” Even when I explain, they don’t quite believe me. But the honest to God’s truth is that we end up waking up our kids. I’m out of bed before the alarm (set for either 5 or 5:30) every day. I can’t remember the last time my alarm actually went off. And with our creaky house, Adam and/or I always end up waking at least one child up. This morning, I got out of bed at 4:57 a.m. I went into the downstairs bathroom to change, but before I was out, I heard thump, thump, thump on the stairs in a way that was either Adam sleepwalking drunk or a child. It was Pie.

Me: Pie! What are you doing up? It’s still night.
Pie: I was all done.
Me: But look, it’s still dark!
Pie heads to the window. The tiniest inkling of dawn is far away, but visible. She exclaims, in a very loud voice: Look, Mommy! It’s not dark! There’s light out there!

The plus side of this is between camp and a playdate after camp, she’ll be exhausted and she’s been known to fall asleep while watching her show, often at 5 p.m. I expect that will be the case tonight.

(And why was I up at 4:57 a.m.? My boot camp went for a 5 1/2 mile trail run–what an incredible way to start the day, running through the woods. It’s really a much tougher workout than straight running. I can generally run 10 miles at a 9:25 pace; here I did 5.5 at about an 11-minute pace. Hills, navigating tree roots and rocks, mud–all slow down the pace. But it’s such a serene day to start the day that I came home even more energized than I usually do after boot camp.)

Doodles slept a smidgen later, but not enough to keep him up very late tonight.

The two of them have been killing me lately, but in a fun way. Doodles is still in his independence phase, but it’s gotten a lot easier to tolerate. He’s mellowing some, I’m mellowing some. Pie can still unleash a wicked temper tantrum, but they’re fewer and farther between. But they are a trip together.

Doodles is completely laid back and Pie is fairly high strung (hmmm, I wonder which parent each of them takes after!). Pie will get really worked up about something, and Doodles is just, “Whatever!” Like yesterday at ice skating. Doodles always wears the dark blue gloves; Pie wears the light blue. Pie began to have an absolute fit. “I want the other blue gloves. The OTHER blue gloves!” I suggested she take a deep breath and simply ask her brother.

Pie: [taking deep gasping breaths till her voice is normal] Doodles?
Doodles: Yeah?
Pie: Doodles, can we trade mittens?
Doodles, shrugging: Sure!

Nine times out of ten, Pie wants what Doodles has. And nine times out of ten, he’ll swap with her. Especially because of this, I try to be especially respectful when he doesn’t want to swap or share. And generally, I can tell who’s the instigator in any problem.

For instance, yesterday, there was a battle over a drum. I’m 99.9% sure that Doodles had it first, and Pie didn’t want him to have it. I caught the two of them struggling with it. In true Solomon’s wisdom fashion, I told them, “If you guys can’t figure a way to make this work, I’m going to put the drum into time out.”

Pie immediately latched on. “Yes! Drum in time out! Drum in time out!”

So of course I handed the drum to Doodles. Later I came out when I heard Pie yelling, “Close the gate! Close the gate!” I found the drum on the steps and Pie trying to close the bottom gate. We never close that gate except when someone is sitting on the stairs in time out. She was determined to give that drum a time out one way or another!

Of course the biggest problem with have is with… smooches! Doodles is an affectionate kid and he smooches Pie. Pie sometimes likes it, sometimes not. I heard blood-curdling screams two days ago, and I ran, figuring someone had impaled himself or something equally horrific.

Pie, trying to talk in the sobs: Doodles smoooo me! He smoooo me!
Me: He smushed you? That wasn’t very nice.
Take Pie to Doodles.
Me: Where did you smush her?
Doodles: Right here [points to the top of his head]
Me: You smushed her head?
Doodles: Smooched.
Me: Oh! You smooched her!
Nods from everyone.
Pie: He smooched me! He smooched me!
Me: Well, there’s only one thing you can do!
Pie looks at me expectantly.
Me: Get him back! If he smooches you, you should smooch him back! Even more!
Pie instantly stops crying.
Pie: Yeah!!!
Pie goes running after Doodles, smooching him all over his head while he mock cries.

Crisis averted. Peace reclaimed. Maybe I should be sent abroad as a peace envoy. I’ve got loads of experience.

It’s 8:11 a.m. and I’ve run 8.58 miles (which included 5 x 1200 at an average of 7:45 pace), showered, had breakfast, drank coffee, made my kids’ lunches, read e-mail, and am now writing a quick blog. What have you done so far today?

Seriously, though, I’m at the point of my marathon training where I kind of dread the next workout, although when I’m actually doing them, I’m moving pretty much by rote. I was talking about this with my friend A.M. on our Saturday run (14 miles, 9:23 pace), how your legs can be moving but it’s as if they’re moving on your own–you’re completely disconnected from them. I feel that way about my workouts in general. I don’t set an alarm anymore; my body just wakes itself around 5 a.m. I roll out of bed without even thinking about it, dress, eat a banana, have some water, and then head out the door. I’m barely aware of what I’m doing. I just go. I only run three days a week, although I cross train the other two. Boot camp one day–that’s easy as it’s already part of the schedule. I’m having problems coming up with what the other day of cross-training is. I alternate between biking and walking, although I’m hoping to add some yoga in.

I keep a poster in my office from my first marathon that reads, “At 18 miles you wonder why you do this. At 26.2 it all becomes perfectly clear.” I feel that way these days. I’m running, I’m running, I’m running, and I think, “Why? How ridiculous is this, a woman in her 40s running and running and running and where does it get me?”

But then I remind myself. I do it to be healthy (although I’m at the other dreaded point in my training where I start adding on weight–always happens). I do it to set a good example for my kids. I do it because I love that feeling of crossing a finish line, of completing a goal. I do it to hang another medal onto my collection. It’s just what I do.

So when the next line on my training schedule says 5 miles at an 8:30 pace, that’s what I’ll be doing. And I’ll just keep telling myself, “One foot in front of the other. One foot in front of the other,” until I have another medal to hang.

Doodles had a playdate today with a friend who’s six month younger, and therefore who has another year before she goes to kindergarten. On the car ride today on the way home from camp:

Doodles: Next year I got to kindergarten.
Friend: But we can still have playdates, right?
Doodles: Oh, yes. Lots and lots and lots of playdates.
Friend: Good.
Doodles: Maybe we can have double playdates! With you and my new kindergarten friends.
Me: That could be nice! Introduce F. to some new people.
Doodles: Yeah! [pause] There’s only one problem.
Friend: Yeah?
Doodles: By the time I’m in kindergarten, I may not remember you anymore.

I’m sitting in the bathroom with Pie and Jasmine, as Jasmine–on a drop-off playdate and in the throes of potty training–attempts to use the potty.

Pie: We’re having a poop party! It’s a poop party! And a pee party!
Me: Pie, I don’t like that talk. It’s potty talk.
Pie: But, Mommy, we’re in the bathroom. Potty talk in the potty!
Me: Oh. I guess you’re right. Potty talk away!
Pie: Poop party! Poop party!

Me: Ugh. I forgot to ask you to mow the lawn this weekend.
Adam: I looked at it. It wasn’t too bad.
Me: It’s getting long.
Adam: Actually, it’s more EC to not cut your grass too short. You’re supposed to keep it long.
Me: Uh…
Adam: Ha! And it’s actually true! I read what you wrote last night. See, your EC can come back and bite you in the ass!

Damn! Sometimes I wish he didn’t read my blog…

I’ve been jumping on the green bandwagon lately, trying to do the little things that will make an impact. I’d like to say I’m looking to make an impact on the world, make it better place for my future great-grandchildren. But that’s not why I do it. I do it because our electricity and gas bills are out of hand and because I worry about my kids’ health with all those chemicals we inhale in our daily life.

And what I do are definitely baby steps. I’m not riding my bike everywhere. I still keep the AC on. I won’t be buying a hybrid till they come out with a minivan one. But I’m doing little things like phasing out all our Cascade and Windex for Seventh Generation and the like. I’m taking more books out of the library instead of just mindlessly buying them, as I’ve been wont to do. I’m trying to recycle every last thing I can. I’m trying to Freecycle instead of toss. I try to use more Tupperware and fewer plastic bags when making the kids’ camp lunches. I’ve eliminated most of our junk mail and catalogs by using GreenDimes (which has shown me, without junk mail, we get no mail). I’ve gotten to the point where nine out of ten times I actually remember to take my cloth bags with me to the store. I randomly yell things to the kids when they’re washing their hands, such as, “You guys! The environment!” (And I know it’s working when I hear Doodles say to Pie, “Pie! Turn off the water! You’re killing fish!” which may be a slight distortion of what I tried to teach them, but close enough for me.)

Of course, I have Mr. Whatever Man living in my house, and I’m constantly shutting the basement door behind him (no need to air condition the basement) and turning of basement lights that he leaves on overnight (good idea–make sure the bugs can see their way to your papers). He’ll go along with most things I propose–as long as they don’t require any actual thought on his part (meaning, when I put out a sponge for the counters, he’ll not wipe the counters with the sponge instead of not wiping them with a paper towel; but seriously, he humors me on almost all of it). We’re planning a few changes around the house (more on that another time), and I have some plans for that too (switching the family over to cloth napkins, using more efficient heating, considering a few solar shingles…)

My issue these days is in doing the research. Everyone is so holier than thou in their greenness, and it’s a total turn off. I read Deirdre Imus’s Green This: Greening Your Cleaning (checked out from the library), and she had me convinced until she wrote, “A word on Microwave Ovens. i don’t approve of them, but if you have one and insist on using it, wipe the interior down with a nontoxic all-purpose cleaner.” (p. 107) Hey, lady! We’re not all gazillionaires who can hire help for the home! Sometimes nuking out a meal is the only way my children are going to be fed lunch!

And then there’s my favorite, the Great God of Environmentalism himself, Al Gore. I know I’m way behind the times and that everyone knew about this a year ago, but how can anyone respect him as an environmentalist when his own house is such a sinkhole of energy. I just read in No Impact Man about Gore’s latest call for renewable electricity and I just can’t take him seriously anymore. I was fine with Gore–Global warming! World in crisis! I’m with you, Al! Yes, sirree!–but then Adam told me about how Gore’s home monthly electrical usage is twenty times greater than the national average. I chalked it up to Adam’s general Republican blather, but as it seems the whole world already knows, it’s true. I don’t buy the “We work from home. Our home is bigger.” Isn’t that half the point of it all? Have a smaller home! Maybe I’ve been watching too much Living with Ed, but Ed seems to walk the walk. Al Gore? Not so much.

I don’t know why I’m ranting about this now, except that as I contemplate house changes, I’m doing ever more reading, and as I do ever more reading, I just want to go around smacking people. Bite me, Greenies. Yes, I’ll go green. But in spite of you, not because of you.(Except for you, Ed. I definitely heart you, Ed.)

Those who know me personally know that my OCD gets the better of me when any type of Martha Stewart task is involved, like the kids’ birthdays. I like to go whole hog. Including making rather involved invitations. I’ve actually gotten to the point where they don’t take that long to make, but they aren’t just filling in the blanks on preprinted cards, either. There’s photography and Photoshopping involved. So the kids’ cards are done. I show each of them the card.

First, Pie:
Me: Sweetie, this is the invitation to your party.
Pie: Mommy! It’s pretty! Look at me on it! It’s pretty! Thank you, Mommy!

I show Doodles the card I’ve made for him.

Doodles: Okay.
Me: Do you like it?
Doodles: It’s fine.
Me: Is there anything different you’d like on there?
Doodles: No. It’s good.

Clearly Doodles has attended the Adam School of Reactions. Lucky me!

Back in the day, when I was a new mom, I used to read the BabyCenter boards. It’s a habit I gave up once I got the teeniest confidence in myself as a mom, but for a while, I was checking regularly.

I was a lurker, and not a nice lurker at that. I’d think the evilest of thoughts about some of these mothers. “Oh dear God,” I thought. “Could they make their girls any more girly?” I’d mock their princesses and ballet dancers and divas and think, “If I ever had a girl, no way would I ever fall prey to that crap.”

Yes, dear readers, that crunching sound you hear is me eating my own words. As I create the birthday party invitations to my darling Pie’s third birthday, it is all pink and frouffy and–yes–princessy. To the nth degree. To the point that if someone else had done it, I would have thought, “Are you kidding me?” But, my friends, I kid not.

Pie is, well, she’s Pie. And the thing is, the world encourages her, no doubt about it. Now, I know I’m a mom and all, but my kids are equally adorable. Doodles, with his lovely brown eyes and his dashing smile is about one of the yummiest boys around. But when we go out, the world zooms in on Pie. Out of all her hand-me-downs, she gravitates toward pink and purple dresses. She loves sparkly flip flops. She has painted toenails. And people just can’t stop telling her what a little princess she is.

For instance, today, we went to the paper store to get paper for her party invites. The woman behind the counter ran out so fast, I thought maybe Pie had broken something. But no. She was just bringing Pie a toy to play with while we were in the store. She kept checking in to make sure Pie was okay, “Oh, what lovely painted toes you have! Oh, I love your glittery shoes. I wish I had curls like yours,” and on the way out, ran after us to give Pie a small sheet of princess stickers. I actually don’t mind it too much when it’s just me and Pie, but I always feel a little bad when Doodles is around. “Hey!” I want to yell. “He’s adorable too! And he likes stickers!” Doodles seems pretty oblivious, but it bugs me. And I’m not really crazy about the message it sends Pie.

But as they say, those who live in fairy castles shouldn’t throw toads, or something like that. So I’m off to continue planning a princess party extraordinaire.

And Doodles? He’s going to have a kick-ass dinosaur time. Roooooaaaaar!