Our cable company went digital and we got about a zillion new channels, most of them completely worthless. There has never been so much nothing on TV. But... we've had the return of one channel that I'm in enthralled with and that Adam is completely horrified by. This is saying a lot. That man has watched Bridezilla. He's sat through The L Word. He's even been known to put up with Tori and Dean. But I've found his limits. And it's going to cause problems. Because I can't seem to avert my eyes from...

TBN. I don't know what it is! TBN got me through grad school. I'd procrastinate for hours on end by watching it. Something about Evangelical Christians just sucks me in. The other night there was a show hosted by Kirk Cameron (of my beloved Growing Pains), and he was teaching us how we should be witnessing to complete strangers. He had this great analogy: If you saw an elevator plunging, and you noticed that at the bottom there was a gap, and in that gap children were playing, wouldn't you run and save the kids? You wouldn't stop and say, "Wait! They look like they're having fun. And I don't know them! Who am I to ruin their fun?" No, you'd save those kids! So why would you not save the world? Because you don't know them? Because they're having fun? According to Kirk, friends don't let friends go to hell.

They get me! I'm hooked! I'll witness! I'll send in my five dollars! But then it hits me. Oh right. I'm Jewish. Jesus does nothing for me. Damn! (Which, apparently, I am!)

Anyway, I find it fascinating. And Adam? Not so much. He's trying to figure out how to disable the channel. But there's no way to do that without also disabling NESN. And that's not going to happen. Ah. What can I say? The lord works in mysterious ways.

Labels: adam, me

I have this evil cold that was given to me by my dear, darling children. Of course, they get a cold and keep running. I get a cold and I want to bury myself beneath a pile of blankets in my over-A.C.'d house, with a stack of magazines and a big bowl of chicken soup. So, because I don't have an original thought in my head right now, other than, "Nyquil! Now!" here's a little wrap for you of the past couple of weeks.

Our vacation: Did you know we went away? No, you didn't because I oh-so-cleverly scheduled a post for while we were gone, just to keep you entertained (wasn't that nice of me?). We took our third--and final (boo hoo!)--trip to the Wildflower Inn in Lyndonville, Vermont. It was as heavenly as ever and the kids loved going to "camp," Adam and I loved having alone time, and it was nice to escape computers and work and room parent assignments and all that other good stuff. This is only our last year because the program we go to is for babies, toddlers, and preschoolers. And we'll have but one preschooler next year.

The highlight for Pie was definitely her counselors. Oh, she found one who she fell in love with. Pie came back to the room on Tuesday afternoon.


Pie: I asked my counselor to paint my nails.
Me: What did she say?
Pie: She said, no. She said, ask your mommy.
Me: Does your mommy let you paint your nails?
Pie: No.
Me: When does Mommy say you can paint your nails?
Pie: When I'm three.
Me: And how old are you?
Pie: Two.
Me: Right, two. So no painting nails.

Of course, Miss Thang comes back very proudly from dinner, showing off bright purple-y nails.


Pie: Mommy, look!!
Me: What did Mommy say about painting your nails?
Pie: Mommy said no.
Me: And what did you tell your counselors?
Pie, with absolute innocent glee: I told them YES!

How could I get angry with that joy? We had a little to-do today when I went to paint her (toe)nails for the 4th of July. But I'm talking about the relaxation of vacation, so we'll just not go there now. And it was relaxing: swimming, kayaking, massage, dinner sans kids, hiking, hot tub, swimming, batting cages (for Adam and Doodles), goofing off on the tennis court (for me and Pie), drinking, and a general good time was had by all.

Boot camp: Ever done anything like say, oh, skiing, and there's some person who has the top-of-the-line everything--the professional goggles, the killer skiis, the aerodynamic skiing outfit--but is clearly a completely novice who doesn't know he should point his skis down the hill? That was me, today. Boot camp went on a bike ride and I still had all my gear from back when I biked almost seriously. Back when riding was something I spent entire weekend days on; when I rode to work, from work, and then tossed in an extra ride at the end of the day just for good measure; back when I had money to burn and a Bianchi road bike.

I still have all that stuff. But do I have the biking body that I did in 2002, which as far as I can tell, was the last time I was on a bike? Again, let's not go there. A friend was kind enough to do a tune-up for me on my hybrid (no way was I going with the clipless pedals of my road bike), but I showed up in my little biking shorts and my cute purple biking jersey. Thank goodness I left the fingerless gloves and groovy glasses at home. Because, man, are they wrong. You can totally forget how to ride a bike. "Wait, wait!" I kept asking. "I don't remember! The bigger gear for going up the hills? Or down?" It was humiliating. But fun. And who knows? Maybe I'll start biking again. Once I remember definitively what the big gear is for.

Movies: I've been working my way through the suggestions everyone gave me for flicks to watch (still open to more! Always welcome a good movie recommendation). But I want to give a particular shout-out to Lionness, because a movie she suggested, The Bubble, is one of the most thought-provoking movies I've ever seen.

My birthday: Adam outdid himself. I didn't think he could do it, but he did. Got me my own personalized bowling shirt. Had my sister come up to surprise me. Arranged for his brother to babysit. Rented a limo "happy bus." Stocked it with friends and beer and champagne. Took us all to Jamaica Plain for bowling and food and booze and cake at the Milky Way. And you know what? For once, I don't have a single snarky thing to say. It was perfect.

And with that, I'm off to find the Nyquil. Ah, happy Nyquil. How I missed you all those years. Welcome home.

Labels: adam, birthday, me, pie, sporty mom, vacation

[Note: I've been toying with the idea of updating more, instead of just on Wednesdays. I'll give it a try, see how that goes.]

Adam went to Philly for a wedding yesterday morning. He's to fly back this morning. There was concern about him drinking and having fun all night and then making his early morning flight, so as I was lying in bed (with the two munchkins), I gave him a call at 6:25 a.m. to see how he was doing. [And in all fairness, this is the gist of the conversation, not the exact conversation, as we all have colds over here and I was half asleep.]

Me: So, you going to make your flight okay?
Adam: I'm answering the phone, aren't I?
Me: What do you mean?
Adam: I mean, I'm obviously not on my plane.
Me: Did you miss it?!?
Adam: No, it was delayed. But that's clear if you could reach me.
Me: What do you mean?
Adam: Well, if I had left on time, I'd be on the plane.
Me: Your flight leaves at 6:45.
Adam: No. It was a 5:45 flight.
Me: No, pretty sure it's at 6:45.
Adam shuffles around looking for his ticket. Silence a moment.
Adam: Oh. Your right. 6:45. Huh. Guess I got up an hour early.
Me: So you were at the airport in time for a 5:45 flight?
Adam: Yeah. But, still, it is delayed!

And indeed it is. I just checked. His 6:45 flight left at 6:55. Darn that cruel Delta!

Labels: adam

Looking at a web site, Adam saw a shirt that read, "Speech impediments are thexthy." He laughed. "I want that shirt," he said. Then he reconsidered. "Nah. I can't get away with that kind of thing anymore."

Anymore? Uh, that's just too easy, so I'll let it go...

Labels: adam

Adam swears he listens to me. And yet he gives me ample proof that he's not. Then he demands, "You never told me that!" Uh, yes I did!

For instance, last night, I call Adam as I'm entering the store with the kids:
Me: Hi. I'm at Whole Foods. I'm not sure what we're having for dinner.
Adam: Did you want me to pick something up?
[Me, thinking, yeah, why don't you stop at Whole Foods and get something.]

And then, there's the infamous, "I'm not asleep!" I get from him pretty much every night when he, hey! falls asleep in his chair. We (and by "we" I mean "me" because clearly I was the only one awake) are watching BBC World News and it's talking about the U.S. presidential election. I'm trying to have a conversation with my husband about current events, but his eyes keep shutting ("I'm just resting them!")

Me: Do you still think John McCain is a little soft in the head?
Adam: Yeah. I heard him speak once in a small crowd and he really rambled a lot.
Me: Who was the wacky admiral who ran for vice president?
Adam: I have no idea who you're talking aobut.
Me: Did he run with Mondale?
Adam: I highly doubt Geraldine Ferraro was an admiral.
Me: Oh, yeah, right.

As I always do, I called my personal political pundit for clarification on this and a few other issues (in other words, Tweeds, professor extraordinaire in the political sciences). Tweeds gives me the answers I'm looking for ("He ran as Ross Perot's running mate; England still calls it Burma because they don't recognize the government that named it that. We don't either, but we still for some reason call it Myanmar; John McCain is soft in the head.") and I report back. Of course, by now those resting eyes are deep in REM, despite my husband's protests to the contrary.

Me: Did you know it was a Republican who named him Senator Hothead. Tweeds told me that one time, he was with his wife in front of reporters and she ran her fingers-- [I hear snoring coming from a certain direction]Are you listening to me?
Adam: Yes!
I look at him skeptically. Finally, I ask: What did I just say?
Adam finally opens his eyes. He responds: You said... Um... wait. I had it!

And he wonders why I always end up talking to strangers in the supermarket. It's because they LISTEN!

Labels: adam, marriage

Hey, you! What are you doing here? Are you just trying to distract me. People, I have THINGS to do!

Okay, deep breath. Those of you who know me, know I'm a fairly organized person. I have binders. They're labeled. They're color coded. They're pretty. Adam just went to the accountant to do our taxes. The accountant said we are the most organized folk he's ever seen. I have systems and techniques and methods for staying on top of things. I have charts. Being type-A makes me happy. Nothing is more satisfying to me than purging the crap from my life. Did you know that I've not only made four batches of hamantaschen at home, but I, somewhat successfully, managed to eke out a few dozen batches with a class of nine toddlers and then a class of twelve preschoolers. And I make freakin' good hamantaschen. (My recipe comes from The New Jewish Holiday Cookbook, which is amazing!) Is it because I'm a good cook? Nah. I'm really not. It's because I'm organized!

So how is it that it's now 8:29 p.m. and at 4:30 tomorrow my son is to be dressed as King Ahasuerus and I have nary a king's robe nor scepter in sight. Yes, that's right. I've got nothing! Nada. Or, to be somewhat holiday appropriate, Klum. Purim, the most joyous of Jewish holidays, is gonna be a tear-fest for one of us.

How did this come about? I'd like to blame the Y chromosome. Because the X chromosomed of this family are all set for tomorrow.

If you recall, Doodles was an astronaut for Halloween. A lovely idea but a less than lovely costume. I ordered it online, and the helmet was this rolled up piece of plastic that supposedly attached by Velcro to an inflatable backpack. Except the Velcro never stuck and I was worried he was going to suffocate behind all that plastic. It's not a practical costume, certainly not if part of your Purim festivities include a "festive meal," which ours certainly does.

Exactly a week ago, on the way to feeding group, we passed by a party store that advertised "Purim Costumes." We stopped off.
Me: What do you want to be?
Doodles: I don't know.
He flips through the racks.
Doodles: Oooh! I want to be this!
He found a Power Rangers costume. I'm not crazy about Power Rangers, but I look nonetheless.
Me: It's a size eight to ten.
Doodles: Will that fit?
Me: No. You're a size 4T. Sort of. [Note: Doodles is still small. Very, very small. Truth be told, there are probably some 2T costumes he could comfortably fit in.]
Doodles: How about this knight?
Me: Nope. I'm not sending you to school with a sword. Hey [pointing to a 2T to 4T sized king's outfit]. How about King Ahasuerus?
Doodles: No. I think I want to be Superman.
Me: King Ahasuerus is a pretty cool costume.
Doodles: No, Superman. Maybe Spiderman.
Me: [Sigh] Okay, well they don't have any of those in your size. We'll have to check another store.

We leave the store.

Over the weekend, we're pretty busy. In my oh-so-organized way, I take my son to a Shabbat service, co-chair a tot Purim program, take my son to a birthday party, and color Easter eggs with friends. I mention to my son that we need to go to the party store to look for his costume.

Me: Superman, right?
Doodles: No! I'm going to be King Ahasuerus. Remember?
Me: WHAT?! I thought you wanted to be Superman!?!
Doodles, sighing heavily: No, mom! I want to be King Ahasuerus!

On Monday, I tell Adam, "Listen, I need you to go by that party store [it's absolutely, completely, totally, can't miss it, on the way home from work for him] and get Doodles his costume." Adam, of course, replies, "Yeah, sure." Adam, of course, neglects to stop by the party store.

I contemplate making the outfit, but invariably, I'd end up spending about five times more on materials for a less-than-satisfying costume than if I had just bought the damn thing.

So today, on our way back to feeding group, we stop at the party store. Where they have one king costume left. Size 12 to 14.

Me: Doodles, they don't have your king costume.
Doodles: Okay. We'll get it somewhere else. Hey, Pie!
Pie: Yeah?
Doodles: Pie, why don't you go as Queen Esther.
Me: Doodles, hush up! Pie has already decided to go as Pooh [a costume that our neighbors gave us a long time ago as dress up and is sitting in our basement just waiting for Purim.]
Doodles: No, Pie wants to be Queen Esther. Look at the pretty Queen Esther costumes!
Me: Doodles!
Doodles: Pie, don't you want to be Queen Esther?
Pie: I'm going to be Pooh.
Doodles: But look how pretty Queen Esther is.
Pie: Yeah. Pie going to be Queen Esther.
Doodles: See!!! She wants to be Queen Esther.

I dragged them out of that store as fast as I could. I told Adam we needed a king costume and he had to stop by a different party store. "Oh yeah. Didn't you tell me to do that earlier in the week?" ARG!! "I can swing by on the way home." When I tell him the store in his neighborhood is all sold out, he has the nerve--the freakin' nerve!!--to say to me, "Well, what did you expect? It's across the street from a synagogue." Little does he know that the wine I served him tonight is poisoned.

So, anyway, here we are, now 8:50 p.m., and I have nothing. Nada. Klum. Did I mention that before? I wonder if I can convince Doodles that there's a ghost in the Book of Esther. A plain ghost. Made out of a sheet. A green sheet. Because, you know, we don't have any white sheets.

Purim freakin' Sameach, people. Happy freakin' Purim. Good thing I'm supposed to get drunk.

Labels: adam, doodles, holiday, jewish

We had a very busy couple of weeks. The weekend before the last was of course Hanukkah, filled with all the joy that is Hanukkah as well as all the smelly-house latke-old-oil fun, too-many-pieces-of-Hanukkah-gelt and it's-time-for-the-kids-to-go-to-bed fun, spending-way-too-much-on-gifts-fun, and oy-what-a-mess fun. In the course of one weekend, I hosted a lunch for my in-laws for Adam's birthday, attended two Hanukkah parties, and threw a Hanukkah open house. The next night was Adam's work event. Two nights later was the aforementioned night of kindergarten information, a day which started with a 5:30 a.m. boot camp class and ended with me running from the kindergarten information night to my b'nai mitzvah class, meaning I fell into bed about eleven. Of course there are holiday cards to mail and school events to help organize (remind me again why I signed on as room parent?), and general mishegas to deal with. Adam has been working a bunch, and he's been just as exhausted as I am.

Enter last Thursday. I'm beat. Adam's beat. We're ready for a bit of relaxation. But Thursday was predicted a storm--a biggie--and I was determined to be ready. This was already our second snow storm of the season--the kids have already had one snow day already--so Pie and I ran a zillion errands in the morning (including one where I asked Adam, "What's that L.L. Bean bag sitting in your car?" and he replied, "Oh, that? Remember about a year ago I bought that sweater I wasn't sure I liked? It's been sitting there so I can return it. Here, wait, take a look at it. Do you think I'd ever wear it?" That sweater was returned). We got gas for the car. We rented DVDs for grown-ups and kids. We bought food for both nourishment and for festivity. We picked up things that we were low on at the drug store. "Bring it on!" I said. "We are prepared!"

I got Doodles home after preschool and sure enough, shortly after, the snow began to fall. And fall. And fall. Adam left his office at 1:42 p.m. for the 20-minute commute home... and he arrived at 4:50 p.m. Late in the day, I plopped the kids in front of a video, donned my snow gear, and began to shovel. I shoveled a nice path for Adam to get his car into, cleared the front walk. I'm feeling macho, as I toss that snow away. I shovel until Adam comes home at which point, Adam joins me for a bit of shoveling. All told, I shoveled for about an hour and a half, and by the time I fed the kids and put them to bed, the walks needed shoveling again.

Adam and I had a generally relaxing night. Finished watching The Sopranos. Had a nice dinner. I worked on holiday cards while Adam fell asleep in the chair. We stumbled into bed, both of us pretty exhausted.

In the middle of the night, Doodles, as he is wont to do, stumbled his way into our bed. The next morning, I could feel him stirring, and I looked up and saw it was 6:30. I looked out the window and could see lots and lots of white. Doodles hopped out of bed. Adam stirred for a moment, said, "I'll be up in a sec," and then passed out. Doodles and I got dressed as quickly and quietly as we could and we headed out into the snow. Shovels in hand, we began to dig. And dig. And dig. Doodles quickly bored of the task (remember the song from Free to Be You and Me, "Helping" by Tom Smothers? "Some kind of help is the kind of help, that helping's all about! And some kind of help is the kind of help, we all can do without. Want to guess what Doodles's shoveling was like? "No, Doodles, please! Don't put snow on the area I just took snow away from!"), so he played in the snow and then went inside.

I cleared so much damn snow. At one point, I stuck my head inside and asked Doodles to read me the numbers off the clock. He said, "Um, seven. Four. Three." The night before, on his mega-commute home, Adam's Check Engine light went on. So I told Doodles, "Go wake Daddy and tell him if he needs to bring his car in, he should get up now."

Doodles wakes Adam up and everyone quickly gets ready for school and work. Adam gets out the door by about 8:20. But he's in a mood! He's harrumphing and snipping. Nothing's going his way. Finally, I say to him, "Why the hell are you so grumpy?"

And what do you think my Dartmouth- and Harvard-educated brilliant husband answered? What did he dare to say to me? He replied, "I got too much sleep last night."

I don't think there's a jury in this country that would convict me for murdering him.

Labels: adam, doodles

The Pie, she's a screamer. She was a screamer as a baby when she wanted to feed three times a night. Dr. Ferber cured her of that. For about a month. Now, at almost 2 and 1/4, she's still a screamer. Only now she has a litany of requests.

Anyone who's read this blog long enough (which I think is just my dad), remembers BATNA. It's the Best Alternative to Negotiated Agreement (we used it when car shopping in the years pre-Doodle). BATNA is a concept I had a little difficulty grasping at first, but as Adam pointed out, when it comes to sleep, Pie understands BATNA better than anybody.

First thing you need to understand is how many things Pie has in her crib. Every night there's an inventory. This is a typical night:

7:30 p.m.
Pie: Where's hippo?
Adam: Hippo's right here. Pumpkin bear is here. Pumpkin is here. And look, here's Hello Kitty.
Pie: Trains! I need trains!
Adam goes to get two trains that for some unfathomable reason were actually returned to the train table.
Adam: Here you go. Two trains.
Pie: Water!!
Adam: Your sippy is right here.
Pie: Where my books?
Adam: Here's your animal book. And here's your truck book.
Satisfied, Pie lays down and yells to Adam: Blanket!
He places the blanket on her and can leave.

7:40 p.m.
Pie: Daddy! Daddy! Daddy, I need potty! Daddy, I need potty.
Adam looks at me: Do I fall for it?
I shrug. Pie is still in diapers, but she's been going on the potty about twice a day.
Adam sighs, gives in and gets her. Pie sits on the potty, pleased as punch. After a minute, she pees.
Pie: I peed on potty! [She starts singing the potty song to herself, sung to the tune of "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow"]: Pie peed on the potty, Pie peed on the potty, Pie peed on the potty 'cause she's a great big girl.
Pie goes back to bed.

7:47 p.m.
Pie: Daddy! Daddy! Poop on potty! I need poop on potty.
I look at Adam and shake my head.
Me: Don't fall for this one. That never happens at night.
After 15 minutes Pie falls back to sleep.

12:45 a.m.
Pie: Daddy! Daddy! Put blanket on, Daddy! Daddy!
Adam enters and puts on her blanket. Leaves. Closes door.
Pie: Daddy! Close door! Close door!
Adam opens the door.
Adam: Sweetie, the door is closed.
Pie: Okay

2:45
Pie: Daddy! Daddy! Daddy, I need Daddy!
Adam: What is it, Pie?
Pie: Shma! Say Shma! [The Shma is Pie's bedtime prayer, which is said, surprisingly, at bedtime]
Adam: I already said the Shma. Go to sleep, Pie.
Pie: Daddy, change diaper!
Adam: Your diaper is fine. Good night, Pie.
Adam leaves and closes door.
Pie: Daddy! Close door! Close door!
Adam opens the door.
Adam: Sweetie, the door is closed.
Pie: Okay

These nights aren't great. But they are better than the nights when we have these conversations:

12:45 a.m.
Pie: Daddy! Daddy! Put blanket on, Daddy! Daddy!
Adam enters and puts on her blanket.
Pie kicks off blanket, becomes more hysterical and makes the same demand.
Pie: Daddy! Daddy! Put blanket on, Daddy! Daddy!
Lather, rinse, repeat until Pie is standing in her crib, jumping up and down inconsolable. We go through stages where this kind of thing lasts for a day or two and then we go back to reasonable Pie. During the unreasonable Pie stage, there's absolutely nothing you can do for her but let her cry. Going in just exacerbates the situation.

During these stages, we just hope she doesn't wake up her brother (who often sleeps through it). If he does wake up, he just comes into our bed, which is somewhat of a relief because then I can stop worrying that she'll wake him up. Backward thinking, I know, but it's the way my mind works.

Okay, so fast forward to last night. Adam is in Orlando for work, which means I'm on kid duty 24/7. For what it's worth, she said her mouth hurt in the back and when I stuck a finger in, sure enough I felt a little molar starting to poke through. Before bed, I give her some Motrin. She actually goes down with no complaints, which I find odd, but choose not to question. When Adam's out of town, I just put Doodles in our bed by default. It makes bedtime easier all around and he's willing to go to bed on the earlyish side when he's in our bed.

Now, Adam and I have different nighttime philosophies. My philosophy is that she who cries, will eventually stop crying and go back to sleep. So when Pie started crying at 2:45 a.m., I did the only reasonable thing--I partially closed my door and stuck my head under the pillow. She just hollered for her father. By 3:05 she stopped. By 3:20 she was crying again. By 3:43 she had stopped. By 3:53 she was crying again. I took my head out from under the pillow but couldn't understand what she was saying.

At close to 4:30 a.m. I went into her room cautiously. She immediately sat up and stopped crying. I heard a rather odd noise. In a most reasonable voice, she said, "Train!"

As I got closer I noticed that one of the trains she had was a motorized one. And it was on. And it was stuck in her hair. The wheels had been set into motion and had wound it's way around her hair and was now stuck. It wasn't painful--no pulling involved--but Pie definitely had a train stuck to her head. I tried to remove it, but couldn't.

Me: Hold on, Pie. I need to get a scissors.
Got the scissors, cut it out.
Me: Lay down, Pie.
She complies.
Pie: Blanket! Blanket! Blanket!
I put the blanket on, but she pushes it off.
Pie: Need train! Need train!
Me: That train has your hair in it.
Pie, beginning to get hysterical: Need train!!
I get her another train. She lies back down.
Pie: Blanket!!!
I put her blanket on, I leave, and close the door.
Pie: Close door! Close door!
I open the door.
Me: Sweetie, the door is closed.
Pie: Okay

She falls back asleep till 7 a.m.

The next morning we're talking to Adam in Orlando and I tell him a train got stuck in Pie's hair. He said, in his biggest duh voice: We'll I never giver her motorized trains in bed.

Gee, thanks. You think you could have told me this before you left town?

Labels: adam, pie