Adam: Doodles! Get upstairs and get dressed!
Doodles: I can't! Pie and I are in space!
Adam: Now!

Doodles and Pie get dressed. They head back downstairs.

Doodles: We're going on a mission!
Pie, following him: Yeah, we're going to get married.

If that doesn't sum up their personality differences, I don't know
what does.

Labels: doodles, pie

Conversation from last week:

Me: Do you want to get Daddy something for Father's Day?
Doodles: I know what to get him!
Me: Are you going to make him a card?
Doodles: No, we should get him something.
Me: What?
Doodles: A baby!
Me: What do you mean?
Doodles: We should have another baby!
Me: Where would this baby come from?
Doodles: Your belly.
Me: By Sunday?
Doodles: Sure!
Me: I'm not having another baby. And even if I were, it wouldn't get here by Sunday.
Doodles: Just try, Mom.

Labels: doodles

I'm at that point of parenthood where when my son asks at 1:11 in the afternoon if he can take off his clothes so he can marry his sister, I don't even look up when I say, "Sure."

I also say ridiculous things like, "I've told you! No shoes upstairs on the carpet! I want to keep this carpet clean! Now go downstairs while I finish cleaning your pee out of the rug."

Pie's new thing: "When I'm big..." All of these uttered at random within the past four days: "When I'm big can I drive?" "When I'm big can I paint your toes?" "When I'm big, can I have coffee?"

The most popular song these days for naked tushie dancing is Cake's "The Distance." Pie calls it "the flag song" and she holds a plastic Israeli flag left over from Yom ha'Atzmaut as she listens. The second "the flags go up" is sung, she raises her little flag, giggles, and says, "Play it again." The other day, I heard Doodles explaining to his friend what the song is about: "This song is about someone riding a horse and he lost his cup."

Do you remember way back when on game shows when one of the prizes offered was a shopping spree? Someone would have ten or fifteen minutes to run through a store and throw as much stuff as s/he could into the shopping cart. Well, that's what shopping has become like for me. I went to TJ Maxx today to make a return, and as I'm desperate for some new summer togs, I decided to check out the clothes. The other problem was, I had Thing One and Thing Two with me. Thing Two in particular was a bit trying. I didn't have to worry about losing her--her ear-piercing screeches ("Aieeeee!") as she ran from one end of the store to the other was as good as any homing device.
Me: Pie, stop running. Pie, use your walking feet. Doodles, tell your sister to get back here. Pie, get back here. Pie, use your indoor voice. Pie, walking feet! Pie, you are going to lose your playdate if you don't get over her right now! Doodles, go get your sister.
Meanwhile, I'm walking through the aisles, grabbing anything that looks remotely interesting and remotely in my size and tossing it over my arm. God forbid I hold anything up to me, never mind even try it on.
Pie: Mommy! Is that for me?
Doodles: No, Pie. It's for Mommy. It's all for Mommy.
Pie: Buy me something! Buy me something!
Me: You'll get stuff for your birthday!
Doodles: Mommy can I get--
Me: No.
Doodles: But--
Me: No. For your birthday.
Pie: Mommy! Mommy! MOMMY! Look! LOOK! They have PRINCESS PAJAMAS! Mommy, can I have princess pajamas? I want princess pajamas. Can I have princess pajamas? Please? Please? Please? Puh-leeeeeeeeeeeeeease? Can I have princess pajamas? Can I?
Me: For your birthday.
Pie: Can I have them Right Now?
Me: No. For your birthday.
Pie: I want princess pajamas. Can I have princess pajamas? Please? Please? Please? Puh-leeeeeeeeeeeeeease? Can I have princess pajamas? Can I?
Me: For your birthday.
Pie: Okay. For my birthday.
Me: Good girl.
Pie: For my birthday. Can you buy them now?
Me: No!
On my arm is very random assortment of clothes. I pay for them as my kids threaten to bring down the rope barriers holding up the aisles. Suddenly, I hear another screech.
Pie: Mommy! Mommy! Look at the backpacks! Look, Mommy! Hannah Montana backpacks!
Doodles, excited: She's right, Mommy! Hannah Montana backpacks.
I halt. I turn to Pie.
Me: How the hell do you know who Hannah Montana is?
Pie shrugs. I turn to Doodles.
Me: How does she know who Hannah Montana is?
Doodles shrugs: I don't know. But you know, she's a real person! She's a real concert singing person.
Pie: Yeah! A concert singing person.
Me, mumbling, as I hand the credit card to the sales clerk for a pile of clothes that I'll more likely than not be returning: She knows Hannah Montana.
We retreat to the car. I swear not to shop with them again. Not at least until these clothes need to be returned and I still don't have anything to wear.

Labels: doodles, girly girl, pie

I find it hard to post when Adam's out of town--as he is again. Normally, throughout the day, when I'm supposed to post, I think, "I can blog about X. Maybe I'll blog about Y." But when Adam's gone, only one thought runs in my head, all day, the constant refrain, starting at 7 a.m.: "Only twelve hours till they go to bed. Only eleven hours and forty-three minutes till they go to bed. Only..." And then when it's finally the magic hour, we are inevitably running behind because it always takes 27 minutes longer to get anything done than I think. And then, once they're finally in bed, I have to convince them to sleep. When that's finally done, I think, "Hmm, blog? Or that case of wine Adam bought last weekend?" I'll sit here and blog till the wine kicks in.

Today was Pie's last day of preschool for the year, and tomorrow is Doodles's last day of preschool... forever. We had his "kindergarten chat" yesterday and the chat itself--with one of the teachers--went just fine, but when he saw all the "big kids," he totally froze up. I felt so bad for the little guy. Adam and I talked about holding Doodles back from kindergarten, but he's clearly ready to go. And even if we held Doodles back three years, well, he'd still be the shortest kid in the class. That's just the way genetics work, kid.

I had this angsty moment, as I got all worked up about the last day of preschool, the end of toddlerhood, the beginning of kindergarten, and then it hit me... I'm going to be having these angsty moments now for the rest of my life. There's always going to be that next big thing they grow out of/into. First day of kindergarten. First time they have a sleep over. First time they have a crush. The last day of elementary school, middle school, high school.... Getting ready for camp, college, first day of work. The first time they travel without me and Adam. Some of the milestones, I won't even be aware that it's the last time, until the pangs hit me in retrospect. The last time they're small enough for me to carry. The last time they crawl into our bed at night. The last time they cuddle down and beg me to read them a story.

So, I'll just do what moms have been doing for generations. I'm going to pour myself another glass of wine.

Labels: doodles, pie

We went to Storyland last weekend. Overall it was a successful trip. No meltdowns. The kids loved the rides and the shows. We all ate too much junk food. Driving up, though, we crossed the bridge just before the New Hampshire border (in this picture). Doodles was thrilled. "Look, Mommy!"

"What?" I asked.

He exclaimed happily, "It's the Triboro Bridge!"

Ah, the sense of direction of his father. Next time the kid misbehaves, I'll simply spin him around three times and threaten to make him find his own way home.

Labels: doodles

End of school year time. I'm up to my ears in projects for the preschool. I should be sleeping--I miss my sleep--but I'm too anal not to do these projects right. I'm also about to have my hands full of children. However, the prospect isn't as daunting as it seemed even a few weeks ago. Pie and I have come to some sort of unspoken agreement, and it seems to be working. (Does blogging count as speaking? If so, then it shall no longer be unspoken.) Basically, I let Pie get away with whatever she wants, and she no longer makes my life a living hell. For instance, we're skipping the "sleep in your own bed" charade. Pie goes directly to our bed, do not pass go, do not collect $200. In order to avoid jealousy, Doodles beds down in a sleeping bag on the floor of our room.

In return, I've had three--yes, three!--days of no diapers. That's right. Pie declared on Monday, "No more diapers for me, Mommy." And she's been an underwear girl since. Few accidents along the way, but nothing too serious. She's also getting much better about actually speaking to me (as opposed to grunting and temper tantruming) so we have conversations in which I can understand what she wants. She's gotten uber-polite about all sorts of things ("Mommy, thank you for getting me dressed." "Mommy, thank you for putting a towel down for me to sit on" [that last one when I didn't want to risk my chair for the sake of her underwear]).

And she and Doodles are getting along as well as ever. He's erupting into kid, and as such is giving me more grief as Pie gives me less, but overall, he's workable. There are certain things he wants that I control (TV, computer time, bike riding time, playdates), so he's willing to work the system. He's taking lots of "big kid" leaps--besides losing the training wheels, he can now tie his own shoes, read a simple book, jump into the pool without freaking, and he's attempting more foods on his own.

I've been so focused on the progress of Doodles--end of preschool, getting ready for kindergarten--that it slipped my mind until this morning that Pie is about to leave toddlerhood. She'll be an honest to goodness preschooler in a few months. Which is great. Because it means that I'll have a preschooler and a kid sleeping in my room. That's progress. Right?

Labels: doodles, pie, sleep

This past weekend was a big running weekend for me. I went up to Alton, New Hampshire, early Saturday morning to run the Big Lake Half Marathon. Supposedly it's a very beautiful course. I'm not really sure. I didn't fuel up properly beforehand (normally I eat a peanut-butter sandwich and a banana, but since I left the house at 5 a.m. and the race didn't start till 9, my belly got all rumbly before then) and I tried to keep up with my much-faster friends for the first three miles, so by the middle, I was just kind of chugging along without a whole bunch of steam. Much more "I think I can, I think I can," than any speed engine. I did notice some very sweet houses on the lake (oh, how I want a summer home on a lake!), but other than that I was very focused on getting to the end. I did respectably: 465 (out of 1202) and 24 (out of 89) in my division. My chip time was 1:54:47 for a 8:46 pace, which is fine, but not my best. I was heartened to see that if the race were just one and a half months later, I'd have finished 20th in my division (the only reason I can see to truly look forward to turning 40 is that it bumps me up into the next age category).

As a recovery run, I decided on Sunday morning to do the Melrose Run for Women. This is the third time I've run it (fourth I've signed up, but one year the rains were so bad the course flooded and the race was canceled), and it's such a lovely run. My kids talked all week about the race they were going to run, as there's a fun run beforehand. I think Pie was disappointed because the kids' run for the under 8s was only a dash ("too short!" she said after) but she had a blast doing it. And she ran in the right direction this year! Last year was her first time running it and she kind of spun around confused. Doodles of course took off and proudly wore his ribbon afterward. I'm so psyched my kids are into running--I look forward to the day we can do full races together (remember the days, before we were married, when Adam ran with me? Ah, yes. And we were married--what? five minutes--before he announced he hated running and never laced up any running shoes again?). The race is a nice course and it's an easy 3.5 miles. I did a fine job on it, especially after the half: no chips, but my gun time was 27:11.5 for a 7.46 pace. I finished 56 out of 644.

Now I have to figure out my next races. My name is in the lottery for the NYC marathon again. If I don't get into that, I'll run the Baystate Marathon. I have a half scheduled for September, the same day my brother-in-law is getting married (and by pure coincidence, the race and the wedding are in the same town in Maine and the race is in the morning and the wedding in the afternoon. What luck!). I don't want to schedule too many other halfs until I figure out which marathon I'm running . But if anyone wants to meet up somewhere for a race, I'm generally game. The races wear me out, but in a good way, and I'm always up for another one.

Run run run. Of course there is one added benefit: Sorry, Adam. I'm really too tired after those races to put the kids to bed. Can you handle it yourself? Snooooooze.

Labels: doodles, me, pie, sporty mom

Around the corner from our house is a Catholic church with a great big lovely empty parking lot. Adam took Doodles over to it to learn to ride his bike. Yep, the training wheels are off, and so is Doodles. All that boy wants to do is ride, ride, ride!

From what Adam tells me, there was another family there with a six-year-old who was also learning to ride sans training wheels. The Friendliest Brown was chatting away, telling this family his life story. And a fascinating life story it is.

After a while, Doodles became tired and Adam was bored so they began to leave the church parking lot to head home. Apparently, one of the other parents called otu to Doodles, "Bye! Perhaps we'll see you here again!"

Doodles wrinkled his nose and replied, "I don't think so. We're Jewish."

Labels: doodles

The upsides of two kids just two years apart have proven themselves to be many. They can entertain themselves for a good hour playing hide-and-go-see or--their new favorite instigated by Pie (ugh)--wedding. They share dress-up shoes and games. Doodles is just enough older that he can help out when Pie's being difficult--getting on her shoes or convincing her to eat. But it's not all fun and games.

The main downside, that I can see so far, to having kids just two years apart is we seem to have hit this perfect storm of question asking. Doodles is at the stage when he has a genuine curiosity about, oh, everything, and Pie just likes to hear herself talk. And God forbid they ever ask when I'm at home and can look answers up or demonstrate something. Take this one fifteen-minute stroller ride to the park:

Pie: What are bicycles made out of?
Me: Um, I think mostly metal and plastic.
Doodles: Wood and metal. Bikes have wood.
Me: I don't think many bikes are made of wood anymore. In the old days the were made of wood, but now I think they're primarily metal and plastic.
Doodles: No, I know they're made out of wood and metal. The wood is inside the metal because it's stronger.
Me: Actually, metal is stronger than wood.
Doodles: Why is metal stronger than wood?
Me: Um. Well. It just is.
Doodles: What are houses made out of?
Me: Wood. Bricks. Concrete. Um, I don't know what else.
Pie: What are flags made out of?
Me: Cloth.
Pie: What are cars made out of?
Me: Um, mostly metal and plastic, too, I think.
Doodles: Not wood?
Me: No, not wood.
Doodles: Where do eyeballs come from?
Me: What?
Doodles: Where do eyeballs come from?
Me: What do you mean?
Doodles: Oh, I know. From your head! What makes eyeballs colored?
Me: Um, pigments? I'm not sure.
Pie: Eyeballs! Eyeballs! Where are we going?
Me: To the playground.
Doodles: What are houses made of?
Me: I think we covered that one already.
Doodles: I meant, what are bricks made out of?

There's no avoiding it in the stroller. In the car, though, I have developed the nice little technique of turning the radio up and yelling, "What? I can't hear you! It's so loud in here. Why don't you ask when we get home?"

Labels: doodles, pie

A huge shout out to my boot camp buds, Petra and Chris, who ROCKED the Boston Marathon.

Monday morning was Patriots' Day. As you may know, I first thought Patriots' Day was a ridiculous made-up holiday. But I was a fast convert. Patriots' Day should be a national holiday. Battle re-enactments! Parades! The marathon!

Doodles and Pie slept too late to go to the Lexington re-enactment of the Battle on the Green because the previous two nights' seders went late (and those kids of mine were so cute! Doodles recited the four questions like a pro the first night and the second night, Pie chimed in with a question herself [there's a video on the site if you've got the password]), but I suggested the marathon.

"I don't want to go to the marathon!" Doodles whined. "It'll be boring!"

That kid is all about "boring" these days. But I used the ultimate weapon: the TV. I turned on the marathon to catch the start, and the kid was hooked.

"Wouldn't it be fun to go watch that?" I suggested mildly.

"Yeah! Let's go, let's go, let's go!"

Of course, three minutes into actually watching the marathon and he was "bored! Bored! Bored!!!" He and Pie started playing ball on the sidelines, drifting farther and farther away from me. I've got one eye on the race, trying to spot my friends, and one on the kids.

"Get back here!" I kept yelling, and I finally grabbed Pie around the waist and pulled her back, yelling, "If I miss seeing my friends because I'm watching you, there will be trouble!" ("There will be trouble!" is the most oft-repeated phrase in our household. I find it menacing enough to put a touch of fear into their hearts and yet vague enough that I don't have to give up my--I mean their--TV show.) Luckily, the new and improved Friendliest Brown found a young boy to play catch with and I was able to spot not one, but both of my friends. And they looked gooood!

It really motivated me to want to run Boston. I've tossed my hat in the lottery for NYC this year, and I plan on running Miami next January, but Boston is out there waiting for me. I determined to get there on my own--no fundraising numbers--and I'm still a way off on my time. Although, the best thing about aging is that the qualifying time for Boston gets slower. I will qualify. One of these years. Of course, Doodles won't be watching. He'll be playing his Leapster. Because marathons are bo-ring!

Labels: doodles, sporty mom

My father's been calling me the Friendliest Brown for at least a couple of decades now. I'm a talker. Anyone who knows me knows I'm a talker. I'll chat with anyone, anywhere. For instance, in the early '90s we took a family vacation to Seattle (long before I thought I might live there). My family flew in from Miami, and I met them there as I was living in New York at the time. By the time I got off the plane, I already had plans to meet up with a woman I'd met on the trip at a bar in the U District. It's a good thing I'm friendly because otherwise Adam and I would never have gotten together. I wouldn't call Adam unfriendly, but, okay: He's unfriendly.

Well, the Friendliest Brown is going to have to pass the mantle. Because there's a new Friendliest sheriff in town. That boy of mine. Yesterday, we were at a local B. Dalton's. I left Doodles and Pie in the children's section while I looked for some books. I could hear him chatting away, and I finally went back and there was a mom there with a son a year or two older than Doodles. I couldn't hear everything he had said, but I asked the mom, "So, is he telling you his life story?" She laughed and said, "All I want to know is just how do you make matzah pizza?"

Of course, this wouldn't be so bad if he got his stories straight. He's been going around telling people that he saw a fight. It was a battle. But it was okay, because it happened a long, long time ago. There were a lot of guns. You know what he's talking about, right?*

I'm so torn between loving his openness and knowing it's time to talk to him about "stranger danger." I see him making connections in his mind all the time, and it'll crush me to have him learn that not everyone is nice. (We recently read a Passover book that we've read many, many times and for the first time, he put two and two together. "So God killed the Egyptians? But why?")

In the meantime, if you see a short kid in a Red Sox shirt, humor him. He actually makes a pretty decent matzah pizza and if you ask nicely, he'll tell you how.


*You did get that, didn't you? We went to the re-enactment of the Battle at the Old North Bridge in Patriot's Day Celebration.

Labels: doodles, jewish

Ah, Shabbat. Every Friday night, Jews all over the world share a peaceful moment with their families as they welcome in Shabbat. Now, we're not very observant Jews. We don't observe the laws of Shabbat. But like many American Jews, we end each Friday with a celebratory meal. Giving of tzedakah. Candle lighting. Blessing of children. Grape juice for the kids, wine for the grown-ups. Homemade hallah (and I have a kick-ass recipe). A lovely, special home-cooked meal, always chicken (and if I decide to deviate, Pie, very agitated, will demand all night, "Where's the chicken!"). A song or two. In our house, it's the one night of the week the kids get a dessert after dinner, Shabbat cookies, which they pick out themselves in the afternoon at our local farm stand. All in all, the Shabbat dinner is a lovely tradition and a way to bring Shabbat peace into the house.

Or, at least, that's what in theory is supposed to happen.

Pie: I want my Dora harmonica!
Me: Okay. Here's your Dora yarmulke.
Pie: No, I want Lightening McQueen! No, I want a grown-up harmonica! Give me that one. You wear Hello Kitty.
Me: Okay, I'll wear the Hello Kitty one.
Doodles: Where's my quarter? I can't find my quarter! I need my tzedakah!
Adam: It's right there under your napkin.
Doodles: Oh. Can I shake the tzedakah box?
Pie: Daddy wear the purple harmonica. My harmonica is falling off!
Me: I'll pin it.
Pie: No! Do it self!
After a three-minute struggle.
Pie: Mommy, put on my harmonica!

Time to start.
Me: What song shall we sing tonight?
Pie: The train song!
Me: Okay.
Me, Pie, Doodles, Adam: There's a train that goes from town--
Pie: NO! You don't sing. Just me and Doodles.
Kids sing three lines. Forget words. Look to me for help.
Time to say the blessing over the candles.
Doodles: How does fire get into the match? Why isn't the candle lighting? Is that candle broken? But how does the fire get into the match?
Adam explains sulfur and striking and all sorts of fun stuff while I struggle to get the candles lit.
Doodles: Okay. But how does the fire get into the match?

Go to bless the children.
Doodles: You blessed her first last time!
Adam: No, actually, I distinctly remember we did you first last time because we were at the synagogue Shabbat dinner. Remember?
Doodles: Oh. I should go first anyway.
Pie picks her nose while we bless her.

Finally we make it through all the blessings. Dinner is served.
Me: Doodles, get your fork out of your nose. Sit down. On your tushie. Pie, that's broccoli. You love broccoli.
Pie: Don't like broccoli!
Me: Fine. Don't eat your broccoli. But eat one of those little trees on your plate, wouldja?
Pie: Okay! [eats broccoli]
Me to Doodles: Eat your dinner.
Doodles: I think I'm going to throw up.
Me [having heard it before]: Go to the bathroom to throw up, please.
Doodles hops down and runs to the bathroom.
Doodles calls out: Can you turn on a light?
Adam does so. After five minutes:
Adam: Why are you taking so long?
Doodles: Now I'm going potty!
After a few more minutes:
Me: Don't forget to wash your hands.
Doodles: I *am* washing my hands!
Adam: Did you flush?
Doodles: Ooops! I forgot to wipe and my pants are already up.
Adam goes to remedy the situation. Returns to the table.

Adam: So, Pie, what did you do today?
Pie: What? No. Tell me about your day.
Adam: I already did. What did you do?
Pie: I went to school. I played dress-up shoes.
Me: What did you have for snack today?
Pie: What? I had Jasmine's snack.
Me: What was it?
Pie: What? Jasmine's snack.
Me: But what did you eat?
Pie: Oh. Cucumber. And.... Cucumber.

Me: Doodles, sit. On your tushie. Facing the table. Do you want to be excused before Shabbat cookies?
Pie: Can I have my Shabbat cookie?
Me: Not till everyone's done eating.
Pie: I want my Shabbat cookie.
Me: Eat your chicken. Doodles, SIT!

Adam: What did you do after nap today?
Pie: What? What? What?
Adam: What did you do after nap today?
Pie: What? [pause] What?
Me: We did something after nap today. What was it?
Pie: Ice skating?
Me: No.
Pie: Um, playground?
Me: No.
Pie: What? What? What? [leans in closer to me and whispers] What?
Me: [whispering back] Did someone come over today?
Pie: [whispering to Adam] Someone came over today.
Adam: Who?
Pie: What? Um, Jasmine.
Me: No.
Pie: E.?
Me: No.
Pie [whispering again]: What?
Me: D and G.
Pie: D! And G!

Doodles waves his hands wildly, coming perilously close to the candles.
Me: You know how you knocked over the iPod player this morning?
Doodles: Yeah.
Me: Remember how angry I got?
Doodles: Yeah.
Me: Knock those candles over and I'll be even angrier.
Doodles: Why?
Me: Well, you knock this over, you could set the house on fire.
Doodles: But that's okay. The firemen will come.
Me: Maybe not in time.
Adam: And then all your toys would burn up.
Me: Like your Leapster! And your Legos.
Pie: [gleefully] And my microphone?
Me: Yep.
Pie: The blue one?
Me: Yep.
Pie: And the pink one?
Me [thinking, What pink one?]: Yep.
Pie: And the white one?
Me [thinking, Okay, there's definitely no white one]: Yep.
Pie: Okay.

Doodles: Is it time for Shabbat cookies?
Me: Eat your dinner.
Pie: Is it time for Shabbat cookies?
Me: Doodles needs to eat his dinner.

Pie, playing with the food on the plate: Who made this?
Me: I did.
Pie: Thank you.
Me: You're welcome.

Doodles: I finished my vegetable. Can I have my Shabbat cookie?
I hand out Shabbat cookies. Doodles devours his. Pie takes two bites and then eats some more chicken.

Two hours later, the kids are in bed. Probably asleep. Can't tell for sure. I kill off the bottle of wine. Sink into a comatose stupor. Swear I'm not going to bother with the trouble next week. Somehow forget that by the time the next Friday rolls around. Wait for the peace to hit. Wait for the peace to hit. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting....

Labels: doodles, jewish, pie

This past week has to have been one of the busiest ones yet. I feel like it was nonstop, and I'm not ready to collapse in a heap at my computer. What have I done? It's all a big blur.

Adam had a night out with friends, I had a night out with friends (hi Elizabeth! It was fun!), I had (have) a job I'm working on, a preschool project that I got suckered into doing, a family Shabbat dinner, a meet-up with a fellow blogger whom I'd never met before but was in Boston for a conference, a women's community Passover seder (no Passover hasn't started--this was a fun, feminist version that involved many tambourines). Throw in some boot camp, a bit o' running, and a zillion chores (dentist appointment? Made. Eye doctor appointment? Made. Camp for Doodles? Taken care of. Car inspection? Done.) and that's what I've been up to.

Oh, and our little trip to New York. But this time for a day. Eight whole hours. Yes, I know how fun that sounds. Surprisingly it was incredibly uneventful and actually quite a success. I almost hesitate to blog about it, because nothing untoward happened.

After not nearly enough sleep, I roused myself from slumber at 5:30 on Saturday morning. Slapped together some sandwiches, woke the rest of the family, and we were on the road by 6:15 a.m. The purpose of the trip was dual fold: My mom has a show up right now at Nohra Haime Gallery (that's it on the walls and on the table in the pic; if you're in NYC go see it--it's up till April 26) and there was a breakfast at 9 a.m. and we thought it would be fun to go to. And then the other reason is it was my dad's birthday (random aside: did anyone else realize that when your parent's age equals the year of your birth, your age will equal the year of his or her birth; so for instance, my dad turned 68. I was born in 1968. And this year I'll turn 40. My dad was born in 1940. Try it--it works).

We made the trip in 3 1/2 hours, having parked and made our way to the gallery by 10 a.m., and my father was dutifully surprised. We spent the morning at the Children's Museum of Manhattan, which was cute but nowhere near the level of the Boston Children's Museum. We had a fabulous deli lunch at Artie's (it's the kind of place that has pickles and slaw on the table for you a la Wolfie's), kids got their subway rides, and then hung out at my parents place. I walked around a bit, hit a flea market. We had cakes from Citarella. At about 6:30 p.m., we put kids in pjs and headed home. Both kids were passed out before we left the Bronx. We were home by 10 p.m.

I wish there was more to tell you. I wish we'd had a meltdown or two or Pie peed somewhere or something, but it was such a manageable trip, I'd consider doing it again.

Labels: doodles, my family, New York, pie

Me: Doodles! I told you! Stop throwing balls in the house!
Doodles: But Pie is doing it.
Me: Pie shouldn't be doing it either. But you're older and you know better.
Doodles: But Pie is telling me to throw balls. And I'm listening to her. Because she's my sister. And I love her.

At the YMCA, while changing out of swimming suits.
Pie, loudly, pointing finger out at another girl: Look, Mommy! She has a v*agina just like me!

The gate is closed on the kids' bedroom door. They're both exhausted and refuse to go to sleep. Pie cries. Doodles resorts to Rickey Henderson methods:
Doodles: Dad! It's Doodles calling! He needs some more water. Okay?

I'm making a hummus on pita sandwich for Doodles.
Pie: What are you spreading on his p*enis?

Pie: Mommy, cuddle me!
Me: Okay, sweetie!
Lots of snuggling. I even sneak in a few smooches.
Me: Ooh, who's my favorite Pie Pie? Who's my favorite little girl?
Pie: Me!
Me: And who's your favorite mommy?
Pie [with great big, soft, baby eyes looking up at me]: Daphne! Daphne is my favorite mommy! [Daphne is her friend A's mother]

Just this afternoon, we saw the mom and daughter playing outside, so we went over to play. I'm talking to the mom. Pie runs over from the swing set, with a big grin on her face.
Pie: Mommy?
Me: Yes, Pie?
Pie: Mommy, go home! Go home now!

It's good to be loved.

Labels: doodles, pie

Random things said to children on a Sunday night:
Pie, we don't put artichoke leaves on our ears. Pie, seriously. Pie, get the artichokes out of your ears now! Pie, you can't hide artichoke leaves in your hair, either. Pie!

No, Pie, you cannot sleep with your shalach manot.

Me: Doodles, you can't celebrate both Purim and Easter. You have to pick just one.
Doodles: Okay. I'll celebrate Easter.

Questions asked in the car on one thirty-five-minute ride from home to ice skating:

• Why does your shadow follow you?
  
• Why do babies wake up at night?
  
• Why do moms wear bras?
  
• What is that song about? [Song on radio: "Cruel to Be Kind"]
  
• Why is the world going to stop and melt? [Song on radio: "I'll Stop the World and Melt with You"]
  
• Why did the pharaohs get buried in the pyramids the Jewish slaves built?
  
• How do they make the pointy part on the top of the pyramid?
  
• Why do people die in boxes?
  
• Then who puts them in boxes?
  
• Some cars, they have DVD players in them, in the top, and the kids can watch them when they are in the car. Why don't we have a car like that?

Thing on shopping list that Adam insisted the Shaw's didn't carry:
Paper towels made out of recycled paper

The thing I bought three packs of the next day at Shaw's--on special! Buy one, get two free:
Paper towels made out of recycled paper

My week in Facebook status updates:

• Jenny is eating all of her daughter's "potty treats." Good thing there's no danger of her daughter using the potty anytime soon. 3:12pm
  
• Jenny is not sure where she's going to come up with a 4T sized king costume by 4 p.m. tomorrow.... 5:27pm
  
• Jenny can freakin' work miracles. 1:11pm
  
• Jenny is making an--ack--princess potty chart. 11:41am
  
• Jenny is laughing at Adam for not realizing that the "C" in YMCA meant it would be closed on Easter Sunday. 7:08am
  
• Jenny can't believe the things she obsesses about. 11:27pm
  
• Jenny would rather be in Paris. Cafe au lait anyone? 5:19am

Things that surprise Adam:
Pie: I want a Cinderella coloring sheet!
Adam: Look, there's one!
Pie: That's not Cinderella! That's Snow White!
Adam to me: She knows the difference between Cinderella and Snow White?!?

My typical Tuesday:

• Argue with Pie about getting into the car.
  
• 8:45 a.m. Argue with Pie about dropping Doodles off at school. No she cannot stay in the car by herself.
  
• Argue with Pie about holding hands crossing the street to go to singalong.
  
• Contemplate a detour to the orphanage.
  
• 10: 15 a.m. Tell Pie she can't order her friend, A, to dance with her, no matter how much Pie wants to dance with A and only with A.
  
• Tell Pie that no, A's mother cannot take Pie to the muffin shop because I am going to take Pie to the muffin shop.
  
• Lose Pie's shoe in the street on the way to the muffin shop, but don't realize that's why she's screaming because she's always screaming.
  
• Sheepishly remove shoe from street when a trucker yells to me, "Hey, your daughter lost her shoe."
  
• Notice teenlike smirk on Pie's face.
  
• Tell Pie that she has to come home with me, she cannot go home with A and her mother.
  
• Argue with Pie about how many pieces her muffin should be cut into.
  
• Consider letting Pie go home with A and conveniently "forgetting" to pick her up--for a week or two.
  
• Reassert with a little less conviction that Pie has to come home with me.
  
• Argue with Pie about taking juice into the car.
  
• Noon: Pick Doodles up from school.
  
• Argue with Pie about lack of snack provided a mere twenty minutes after her juice and muffin.
  
• Drive an extra twenty minutes to make sure Pie falls asleep.
  
• Relax with Doodles. Read a book. Play some Legos. Have lunch. Take a brief nap.
  
• 2:30 p.m. Pie wakes up. Change Pie. Feed Pie. Appease Pie. Pie Pie Pie Pie Pie.
  
• Take kids to swimming class.
  
• Sit alone for thirty glorious minutes.
  
• 5 p.m. Take kids to "Tasty Tuesday" at Whole Foods.
  
• Try to shush kids as they scream at the top of their lungs, "LOOK! THERE'S ANOTHER SAMPLE! GO, MOMMY, GO!!"
  
• Get out of Whole Foods with just two $97 bags full of groceries.
  
• 6:20 p.m. Get kids in bath.
  
• Argue with them about bubbles. "No bubbles!" insists Doodles. "BUBBLES!" insists Pie.
  
• Let them play/fight in the tub.
  
• Tolerate screaming while hair is washed.
  
• 6:45 p.m. Adam walks in. Hand over kids half bathed and hide in the office.
  
• Wonder if Adam could function if I decided to take the summer off to travel and do something that's easier than dealing with Pie, like cure cancer or end poverty.
  
• Spend one and a half hours trying to cajole Pie into bed.
  
• Kids sleep. I zonk.
  
• 9 p.m. Miss the kids. Consider waking them so I can cuddle with them.
  
• 9:01 p.m. Adam blocks stairs to keep me from making huge mistake.
  
• 11:45 p.m. Go to bed after working on top-secret preschool project that is taking way more time than I would have thought.
  
• 11:57 p.m. Set alarm for 5 a.m. Boot camp tomorrow!

Evidence Pie is ready for college:

• She prefers her pizza cold
  
• She's up at all hours
  
• She finds bodily functions hilarious
  
• You can't get that girl off her cell phone
  
• She's a little cliquish
  
• She's perfected the eye roll
  
• She binge eats
  
• She's got the moves

Watch out Dartmouth U Mass Middlesex Community College Blaine Beauty School!

Labels: doodles, parenting, pie

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

And there were three in the bed and the little on said, "Smoosh over!"

Labels: doodles, photos, pie

When I was 26, I quit a good job, packed up all my belongings, spent three months driving cross country to reinvent myself. When I was settled in Seattle, I'd sometimes look at my life in wonder and think, "Wow, if I could that, I can do anything."

When I was 28, I spent six and a half months picking kiwis on a kibbutz and then I spent a month and a half idling my way through Eastern Europe. When I survived three weeks in Bulgaria, I really felt it was an accomplishment. "If I could make it through Bulgaria on my own," I thought, "I can do anything."

When at the age of 32 I let my guy friends pressure me into riding a single-day double-century bike ride from Seattle to Portland (previous bike ride length at that point: 16 miles), I can't begin to describe the feeling of elation I experienced when I, alone and tired after fourteen hours on a bike, crossed into Portland, Oregon. "I just freakin' rode my bike two hundred miles!" I thought. "I can do anything!"

When at the age of 36, with a fourteen-month-old son, I completed my first marathon, I thought I was a rock star. Sure, it took me over five hours, but I did it. "I ran twenty six point two miles!" I thought. "There is absolutely nothing I can't achieve."

Last week I pushed my boundaries. I left my kids for the first time, I cross-country skied for the first time, I ran in seven degree weather. You guys all know how macho I felt. I am a freakin' woman of steel.

Until. And then. Except.

Somehow, somewhere, for some reason, I decided it was a good idea to take my two children--my two-and-a-half-year-old toddler and my four-and-a-half-year-old preschooler--to New York City. In a car. By myself. For fun.

I have discovered that thing that I cannot do: I cannot survive thirty-six hours alone with my children.

I am broken.

But let me start at the beginning of this debacle. Doodles has been obsessed with Egypt, pharaohs, and pyramids for a long time now. Remember his birthday party? So I got this great idea (please read "great" dripping with sarcasm) of taking him to the Metropolitan Museum to visit the Temple of Dendur. "Wanna go to New York?" I asked him casually. "YES!!!!" came the resounding response.

Truth be told, I dilly dallied on the whole thing. I checked with my parents (who live in NYC part-time) and my sister (who lives there full-time, but works a hectic schedule) if they'd be around. I checked the weather. Hmmm, looks like snow. I thought about it. And then I realized, "This is a really stupid idea." I basically told everyone we weren't coming. "That's probably a good idea," my parents told me. My mother had foot surgery and has been hobbling around on a cane, not ideal for sightseeing with little ones. My sister would be teaching all day. Both my parents are currently spending a lot of their time searching for a bigger apartment.

Alas, the road to insanity is paved with stupid ideas (that's how the expression goes, right?). On Wednesday morning, I was poking around Priceline. It was a gorgeous morning and I thought, "I can handle this!" so before I could come to my senses: Boom! I've booked us a room for two nights in New York.

That's when the panic started. I called Adam, "What the F was I thinking? I can't do this!"

"Don't go," he said.

"I already paid for the hotel room."

"So what? We can eat the cost if we have to."

But I, for one, am never one to "eat the cost," frugal soul that I have, so while Doodles was at a playdate, I frantically packed us up, sinking ever deeper into a depression over my recklessness. After all, what does a four-and-a-half-year-old ever remember? Take a kid on a thousand dollar vacation to Paris, and what he'll talk about is the bug he found crawling across his shoe at the Parisian playground.

So I sent Doodles off on a playdate and I packed up as fast as I could, trying to anticipate everything they'd need. It would have helped if I had tried to anticipate what I might have needed--in which case socks and deodorant might have made their way into my bag, and yes, I was a wee bit ripe by the end of the trip. Yet I wanted to keep everything to my one bag, their ice skating bag (I had visions of Wollman rink), plus toys in each of their backpacks. And a bag of snacks for the car.

The trip down was pretty uneventful. I picked up Doodles from his playdate and cleared up the confusion ("You're taking him to New York to see the temple where the Jews pray?" I clarified it was where the Egyptians prayed, but he didn't quite believe me). Pie slept for about an hour and a half and woke in relatively good spirits. Doodles was thrilled to get Triscuits--Triscuits!!--from a vending machine. Neither one got at all fussy till we'd already hit the Bronx. Including the one bathroom/vending machine stop, we made the trip in just barely over four hours. Found the hotel with no problem. Parking was just two blocks away. Trip is already a success!

We hop a subway to head to my parents' apartment. Pie utters the comment she is to make every time we get onto the subway, "I LIKE the subway!" and Doodles scrambles for a window seat, despite my repeated insistence that we are underground and there is nothing to see! "Yes there is!" he insists. "Look! A wall!"

Dinner a Benny's Burritos (the West Village one) is fine, although surprise surprise both kids make a dinner of chips. We leave my parents at about seven to head back to the hotel. "I LIKE the subway!" "I need a window seat!"

Out of the subway. Walking back to the hotel. And then it starts. The screams. "I want to go home!!!!" I assure Pie we'll be back at the hotel in minutes. "No, HOME! I want to go home! RIGHT NOW!" For two blocks the munchkin is screaming and she won't be appeased till we get back to the room and I turn on the TV. I make up a lovely nest for them on the floor--they're so excited to sleep on the sleeping bag!--and in three seconds, they've happily ensconced themselves in the bed. So much for spacious living. Of course, Pie is incapable of falling asleep without some tears, and she cries for about thirty minutes, while I lie right next to her, ignoring her as I read my book. It's really the only thing to do.

And then, they're all asleep. It's not easy to sleep with the two monkeys next to me. They end up head to head with each other, all cozied up, and then the next thing I feel is four little feet kicking my side as they're lying perpendicular to me. But at least I can stop worrying about one of them falling out of the bed and I can drift off...

...until 2 a.m. Which is when the screaming started. Did you guys know that there is no toddler-appropriate TV on at 2 a.m.? Really! I know it's shocking. I didn't know how to calm the munchkin who has not only woken me and her brother, but I'm pretty sure is waking the whole hotel. So for an hour, she gets to watch The Fresh Prince of Bel Air. It was the most appropriate thing I could find.

At 4 a.m., she drifts off into sleep, and I'm determined to eat the second night's hotel cost and head back. Yet, at 8 a.m., when everyone is awake, I feel delirious from lack of sleep and think, "We can make it one more night. Right?"

Surprisingly, the day was somewhat of a success. The kids loved the Met. Doodles was fascinated by the mummies and the Temple of Dendur and Pie seemed to enjoy the Degas collection (one of her favorite books is Dancing with Degas). My mother met us for a bit and Tweeds came when my mom left. We had lunch at the museum and when Tweeds had to go to work, the kids and I took a bus down a ways ("I LIKE the bus!") and I let them go hog wild in Dylan's Candy Bar.

Back at the hotel room around 3, and there were no complaints when I let them gorge themselves on their candy and watch PBS. Pie was tired--I didn't bring a stroller out with us--but she revived quickly when presented with chocolate. I didn't revive quite so quickly. The wear and tear of corralling those two through the museum ("Don't touch that! Don't wander off! No, you can't eat in the museum! No I won't buy that! Don't touch! Don't touch! DON'T TOUCH!") took a toll on me and all I could do was let them rest so that I could have a minute of downtime ("Mommy are you going to sleep? No, Mommy!" Pie says laughing. "You have to wake up! WAKE UP, MOMMY!!") We met my parents for dinner again and Pie told them her favorite part of the day was, "I like the Degas," and Doodles told them, "I got to watch TV... during the day!"

On Friday a snow storm was predicted so I wanted to get out of town nice and early. It was nothing major--just two to four inches--but I figured why risk traffic and snow. Of course, by the time we woke up at 6:45 a.m., three inches had already fallen and five to seven inches was expected, so I rushed the kids through their hotel breakfast ("Can I have a yogurt? Can I have an orange? Can I have more cereal? Can I have a bagel with cream cheese? Can I have another waffle?" and "Just a waffle for me. Okay a little cereal. No milk in it!"), and I managed to trudge through the snow with Pie in the stroller, the skate bag around my neck ("Why didn't we go ice skating?" "Uh, I took you for candy instead." "Okay!"), the clothing bag also around my neck, and the diaper bag hanging precariously as I discovered that, no, a $10 umbrella stroller cannot make it through the corner snow banks. But we got back to the car, and headed out in the mess.

The trip home was painfully slow--I skidded a few times on I-95, the snow was so bad--and the kids were edgy. At one point, I'm on the Triboro bridge, looking for signs for the Bruckner expressway. I'm trying desperately to see through the snowy fog and the moron car in front of me doesn't have his lights on, making him nearly invisible. The snow is coming down fast, and I need to make sure I don't accidentally head toward the George Washington bridge. I've shushed the kids as I'm trying to not skid across the road, but I keep hearing a "Mommy! Mommy. MOMMY!" and finally I yell back, "What, Pie? I'm trying to concentrate here," and she asks, "Can you open my window?" and then adds, "Pleeeeaaaase?"

The "No," didn't go over that well. So she then turns to her brother: "Doodles? Doodles! DOOOOODLES! Are you awake, Doodles?" As if he had a choice.

Just over five hours later, we've arrived home. Of course, I needed to shovel my way into the driveway, as the storm followed us, but soon we were inside, ready to collapse. Pictures, by the way, are posted.

Would I do it again? Sure. In three years. With a nanny. And a lobotomy.

Labels: doodles, my family, New York, pie

Doodles goes to a Jewish preschool. For the past few weeks, each child has been working on a Shabbat book. Doodles is extremely proud of his book and he explained what each page was. Here is the artist's statement about this picture: "This is a picture of Jason Varitek because I wish he could come to Shabbat but he can't because we don't know him." Jason Varitek, if you ever stumble across my blog, please consider yourself formally invited to Shabbat at our house.

Labels: art, doodles, jewish

I cut my finger last week. Not a big deal. A little bloody, but minor. But the thing is it's on my thumb and as such I keep hitting it and it's not getting better, so I've been putting Neosporin on it and stuck a Band-Aid on. Which is kind of like pasting a flashing neon sign on myself that says, "Please, ask me about my cut. Again. And again. And again. And again..."

Pie: What's that?
Me: I cut myself.
Pie: How?
Me: With a knife.
Pie: Why?
Me: Because I was careless.
Pie: So you cut yourself?
Me: Yes.
Pie: With a knife?
Me: Yes.
Pie: Why do you have a Band-Aid? [Repeat ad nauseam]

And then, the coup de grace: On Sunday morning, I got up early and without thinking I grabbed a Band-Aid and stuck it on. It wasn't until it was out of the paper that I realized my error: I had grabbed a Sponge Bob Band-Aid.

Pie: What's that?
Me: A Band-Aid.
Doodles: Is that a Sponge Bob Band-Aid???
Me: Yes.
Doodles: Why do you have a Sponge Bob Band-Aid?
Me: I took it by mistake.
Doodles: I LOVE Sponge Bob!
Me: What do you possibly know of Sponge Bob? You're not allowed to watch it.
Doodles: I LOVE Sponge Bob. Can I have a Band-Aid?
Me: No.
Pie: Can I have a Band-Aid?
Me: No.
Doodles and Pie: I WANT A BAND-AID!

Luckily I was running a half marathon that morning so I only had to deal with the Band-Aid bandits' demands for a mere three hours before being dropped off in Hampton, New Hampshire. I met up with my friends from my boot camp class, although I knew I wasn't as prepared for the race as they were, so I chose not to run with them and ran with a friend from my Saturday running group who assured me she'd be going slowly but still beat me by a good minute (Hi A.M.! Good run!). The race itself was pretty good--not too hilly, nice scenery, lots of the run was on the coast--but the weather wasn't great. Started off chilly, but nice, in the lower 30s. By about mile 8 the rain started. By mile 9 it turned into a heavy snow that kept flying into my eyes. By the end, I was jonesing for both the soup and beer waiting for me. But I did much better than I had thought I would--I ran it in 1:54:34--although I was sore for a good two days after.

Anyway, after the race Adam and the kids and my in-laws met up with me, and we all went out for a nice lunch at the Old Salt. Doodles has made HUGE strides in his feeding group, and he will now eat a fish stick or two, which means our dining options have grown. So we went for lunch where I smell (no showers after the run), Doodles is eating fish sticks, and Pie is trying to choke herself with my medal. Halfway through the meal, I look down and comment to Adam, "Um, my Band-Aid is gone and I have no idea where it is." But the highlight was when Doodles hopped up from his seat and proclaimed loudly enough for the next five tables to hear: "I need to poop!"

Adam quickly shuffles him toward the bathroom, and I can hear him calling loudly, "I have poop inside me! I also have--"

Adam quickly cut him off with "We can talk about it when we get in the bathroom."

So of course, in the bathroom, Doodles completes that thought: "I also have sperm inside me."

(Note, I've tried explaining to him that, no, he doesn't have sperm in him yet, but that conversation has gone nowhere fast.)

So now I'm sore. Doodles has sperm. And, for the record, Adam found my Band-Aid. In the wash.

And no. You can't have a Band-Aid, either.

Labels: doodles, pie, sporty mom

When Pie has a temper tantrum, I've learned to just walk away. They come fast, they come furious, they come frequently. Every little thing turns into a temper tantrum. If I walk away, the tantrum will eventually end and things can proceed as they were. Except...

Except...

Except it's no longer just me that Pie has to break. It's not longer me who has to stick with the "When you have a temper tantrum, you get nothing" rule. Because now there is Doodles. And Doodles can't stand to see his sister in distress.

Pie was having a meltdown. I can't remember over what. It could have been a) because I forgot and smooched her b) because she wanted a yogurt and couldn't be bothered to ask me in a normal tone of voice c) because she wanted 2-3-4-5 pencils and I only gave her 1-2-3 and then I took them away when I realized she was using them to write in Doodles's books d) because she breathes or e) none of the above. The rule in our house is, you have the right to have a temper tantrum. But I also have the right to not listen to the temper tantrum so you must do it in the playroom. If you won't do it in the playroom, you will be put upstairs and the gate will be closed until you are done.

So Pie was tantruming. Rather than put her upstairs, I decided to retreat to upstairs, to sit in a chair and leaf through a magazine till she was done. I offered to have Doodles come with me, but he opted to stay downstairs with his sister. Sitting upstairs, I could hear the conversation:

"Look, Pie!" I can hear from top of the stairs. "It's a creepy crawler! You've got creepy crawlers!" (Creepy crawlers being one of Pie's favorite games.)

Pie: Waaaaaaa!

Doodles: Don't cry, Pie! It's okay! It's really okay! Look, Pie Pie! Creeeepy crawlers! There are creepy crawlers on your arm.

I come back downstairs and Doodles pulls me aside and loudly whispers in my ear, "Just give her what she wants!"

A couple of days later, she's having a tantrum because she wants a third yogurt of the day. Those yogurts are so sugary sweet that I of course said no. I retreated to my office while she screamed. Yet, suddenly, the cries suspiciously end. I mean immediately. I of course hurry back to the kitchen where I see the refrigerator open and hear Doodles asking, "Now, what would you like Pie Pie?"

Pie's favorite words are "I can't do it." Walk to the car? "I can't do it." Put on her jacket? "I can't do it." Feed herself lunch? "I can't do it." Yet, on the food issue, Pie's found herself a new sucker. Doodles, apparently, doesn't realize that the girl won't starve if she misses a meal. Hell, she eats about fifteen of them a day (nonstop, all day. "Snack, Mommy!" We set a new record last week. Hard-boiled egg at 7 a.m. Two bowls containing four kinds of cereal with milk at 7:30 a.m. Carnation Instant Breakfast milk at 8 a.m. Strawberries at 8:20 a.m. And then, in the car to preschool at 8:40 a.m., she starts whining as if she hasn't been fed in weeks, "Mommy! I need a snack! Mommy, I'm hungry!"). Last week was no exception. I gave Pie a bowl of mac and cheese. She demanded to be fed. I refuse, walking into the kitchen to get my own lunch. I expect to hear screams, but I don't. And walking back in, I discover why. It's because Doodles is standing precariously on the edge of his chair, leaning across the table to delicately shovel macaroni and cheese into his sister's mouth (quote of the day: "I don't think that one wanted to be eaten, Pie. That's why it fell onto the floor. Because it didn't want to be eaten."). And Pie is happily allowing her brother to feed her.

On one hand, I want to commend him for being such a great big brother. On the other, I want to make him deal with her every temper tantrum if he's going to encourage them. If you're looking for me, I'm hiding upstairs. No. Seriously.

Labels: doodles, pie

And then there's the Doodles, who's no longer a bug in any way shape or form. The questions are nonstop. And they're getting tougher. Keeping in mind the advice of a fellow preschool mother, who told me that when kids ask about where babies come from, they're often asking something else (like "Where was I born" or "Are babies born in hospitals"), we've been reading How Are Babies Made, which I think is both informative and age appropriate. Just enough details, but not overly specific ("The baby squeezes out of the opening between the mother's legs"). So I guess no one reading this will be surprised when I tell you that he looked at me with a puzzled expression and asked, "But how does the sperm get from the daddy to inside the mommy?" After I stopped laughing hysterically, I went back to the old tried and true "special naked hug" and for the moment, it appeased him.

Then there are the religion questions. I wish I could remember how this topic came up--I think it started with one of his pronouncements that when he grows up he wants to be a daddy and also various discussions about who is and who isn't Jewish--but somehow, we ended up here:
Doodles: What if I marry a Santa person [Doodles's own term for a gentile].
Me: What if you do?
Doodles: Will my children be Jewish?
Me: If you and your wife want to raise your children as Santa children, then you will. If you and your wife want your children to be Jewish, they can be converted and become Jewish. [Note: Judaism is a matrilineal religion.]
Doodles: They can be Jewish?
Me: If you and your wife both decide on it.
Doodles: How do they get converted?
Me: Well, a rabbi would perform a ceremony and they'd become Jewish?
Doodles: How will I find a rabbi?
Me: I'm sure you'll know some rabbi who you can ask.
Doodles [slight panic in his voice]: But what if I don't?
Me: Well, you can always the rabbis you have now, Rabbi L. or Rabbi J.
Doodles: Oh. Okay.

So there you have it. Doodles will get married. He will have a special naked hug. And he will find a rabbi. And all is well in the world. Until his next question....

Labels: doodles, jewish

Hey, it's me! I know, it's the middle of the morning, my working time. And God knows I need the working time given that I get a whopping 2 1/2 hours a day three days a week and last week we had one snow day and this week had MLK day, leaving me with just 2 1/2 hours twice during the week. Not like I have assignments due. No, not at all! But here it is, 11 a.m. and I'm just lounging away, blogging, TV on, bonbons by my side.

Oh, wait, those aren't bonbons! That's just an empty pot waiting for my son to throw up into. And Ernie and Bert are getting a little grating on that TV. Sigh...

The thing is, Doodles is actually bona fide sick. I always have my doubts, given that he's been having a tough time separating from me at school. Every morning it's "My bones hurt. My head hurts. My chin hurts." I just "yea, yea" him and pack him off to school. But last night at about 4:30, he told me his throat hurt. Hmmm. Then at 5 p.m., he had a massive emptying of his belly onto the kitchen floor. Okay, now I'm starting to believe him. I quickly try to mop up the mess, get him out of his clothes, keep Pie out of the throw up, IM Adam to get his butt home, and start to run a bath. At 5:14, the house reeking of vomit, I get him into the tub. At 5:16 the power went out. For over an hour and a half. Shortest bath on record as I hurry him out, hunt for flashlights and candles, and settle everyone in the living room to wait for Adam. The house still smells because there's a pile of disgusting clothes and cloths in the kitchen that need to go downstairs, but no way am I attempting the basement in the dark. I can see the neighbors fleeing their houses for evenings out, but because of little throw-up boy, we're stuck in the house. Adam finally gets home, I send him right back out to Panera for plain bread and yogurt for the big little one and a sandwich for the little little one. Panera, though, is mobbed because it turns out a huge portion of town is without electricity.

Kids get fed. Electricity goes back on. And an e-mail appears in my in-box that strep is going around the preschool.

So here we are. One prescription for Amoxicilian. One morning of PBS Sprout. And one morning (more) of no work getting done. The joys of motherhood. Adam seriously better be bringing me home bonbons tonight. Oops. What's that coming up on the other side of the room? Gotta go...

Labels: doodles

Doodles was having his morning constitutional and Pie was bugging him, so to distract her, I said, "Pie, where's your baby?"

Pie ran to get her doll, but of course, ran back to be with her brother again. He, though, didn't mind. Here's their chat:

Pie: I have my baby!
Doodles: Oh! It's your baby!
Pie: Yeah.
Doodles: I can be the baby's daddy!
Pie: Okay. You be baby daddy.
Doodles: Pie, I'll change your baby's diaper and do her laundry.
Pie: Okay.
Doodles: Because they're daddy jobs.
Pie: Yeah.
Doodles: I'll take good care of your baby.

Feminist heart of mine, be still!

Labels: doodles, pie

In all seriousness, my little boy is showing some big boy interests. Doodles is currently obsessed with Star Wars. He comes home from school with pictures that he's asked his teacher's to label, which he calls his "movies": "Luke Skywalker and light saver," "Star Wars reflections in outer space," "Someone from Star Wars caught one of the laser blades," "That's the end, Star Wars laser blade movie." At our neighbors house, he ogles the Star Wars pop-up book. He can tell you all about Anakin, who turns into Darth Vader. Thing is, he's never seen the movie. And he won't. Not for, oh, about a zillion years. You think I'm going to let the kid who is frightened of Swiper on Dora watch Star Wars? The kid who walked out of Ratatouille because it was too scary? Who refuses to go upstairs alone at night to get his pajamas? Oh, how he begs for the movie, but I stand firm. But it just seems so odd for my little guy to be blathering about Darth Maul and "light savers."

But his interests really are changing. He wants to be read chapter books. He's really trying to expand his food repertoire (with a bit of success, I should add!). He's reporting with pride his job each week at school (this week he's attendance taker). And today we got his kindergarten registration forms. I teased him about it: "You're not old enough for kindergarten!" I said. He agreed. "I know. I'm four and a quarter. But soon I'll be four and a half and after four and a half is four and three quarters and then is five and five is old enough and then I'll go to kindergarten!" (Yet he can't read a digital clock?)

My little baby. Not so much. How is this happening?

Labels: doodles

Every other Wednesday, I go to a boot camp class at 5:30 a.m. I leave the house at about 5:15, so Adam's on his own with the munchkins. This conversation was reported to me this evening (note, Doodles makes his way into our bed in the middle of every night, so this conversation is taking place with a half asleep Adam in bed):

Doodles: Daddy, can we go downstairs?

Adam: What are the numbers on the clock?

Doodles: Um. Five. Four. Eight.

Adam: Okay, when the clock numbers are Five, five, five, let me know and we can go downstairs.

Adam dozes off again. He's woken up again.

Doodles: Daddy?

Adam: Mmm, hmm?

Doodles: Daddy, it's taking a very long time.

Adam: Well, what are the numbers on the clock now?

Doodles: Um. Six. Zero. Two.

My father thinks he's going to teach Doodles about Fibonacci series. I think he may want to start with a few more basics. Community college, here he comes!

Labels: doodles

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

As some of you may know--I'm pretty sure I've blogged about it before--my parents traumatized me at a young age with laundry. Suffice it to say, I don't do laundry. I just don't. In New York, I dropped it off to be done at the Laundromat. In Seattle, I simply bought new underwear. In Boston, I leave Adam to do it. Oh sure, he complains every now and then, and I tell him, if he actually left it long enough I would get around to doing it. But he doesn't seem to want to wait and see just how long "enough" is.

So my kids are fully aware that laundry is a "daddy job." Mommies don't do laundry. It's just how life works. Pie, for Hanukkah, got the book Knufflebunny. It was a favorite at her day care and we'd checked it out many times from the library, so she was very excited to own a copy. Doodles got Knufflebunny Too. Our house is full of "Aggle Flaggle Klabbles" and "Snurps" these days (and often at very random times0. But I pointed something out in the book tonight as I was reading it to the kids:

Me: Hey, who does laundry in this book?
Doodles: The daddy.
Me: Who does laundry in our house?
Doodles: Daddy.
Me: How come?
Doodles: Because laundry is a daddy job.
Me: That's right. So you better learn how to do laundry so when you grow up, you can do laundry for your family when you're a daddy.
Pie: I want to do laundry!
Me: I'm sorry, sweetie. Mommies don't do laundry.
Pie: But I want to do laundry, too!
Me: Oh, okay. You can do laundry, too.
Doodles: No!
Me: You don't want to do laundry?
Doodles: I don't want to be a daddy! But I do want to do laundry!

Even if Doodles doesn't become a daddy, some day, some lucky person in Doodles's life owes me a great big thanks.

Labels: doodles

As a family, we're very active in our local synagogue. The kids go to a Jewish preschool, I co-chair a regular kids' activity there, I'm studying myself for my b'nai mitzvah (better known to you goyim as my bat mitzvah--most kids have their bat or bar mitzvah when they're thirteen, but I never had one, so I'll be doing it when I'm forty. Of course, for all you Jews out there who want to be technical, yes, I was a bat mitzvah whether or not I read from the Torah at thirteen, but you know what I'm talking about).

But one of the things I've made no secret of is that I struggle with the concept of God. I partake and enjoy Judaism from an historical, intellectual, and cultural basis, but have a difficult time with the actual religious aspects. Doodles and Pie get a healthy dose of God at school, and I try to temper it with my own beliefs. At their school, they never say, "God did this." They say, "The Torah says that God did this." It's a subtle distinction but one I'm comfortable with, as it gives me a basis for discussion with Doodles (and eventually Pie). But yet, we still have these conversations like this:

Doodles: Why did God create sharks?
Me: Well, I know the Torah says God created sharks, but that's not what I believe. I believe in evolution. Remember we talked about evolution? I don't think God actually made sharks.
Doodles: Yes, he did. But why?

Then I had a conversation with another preschool mom the other day, during which she said to me, "So J. [her son] came home and said, 'God is a man.' My husband and I explained to him that God isn't really a man or a woman, but more of a spirit, in everything, blah blah, but J. said, 'No. God is a man. I know because Doodles told me he was.'"

So my budding theologist had me cornered in the car this week (all conversations seem to happen in the car where I have to tell him to yell so I can hear him clearly--damn big minivan!), and he hit me with this conversation:

Doodles: Is God made up?
Me: Well, different people believe different things. Some people think God is made up. And some people don't. Rabbi L. and S. [the preschool director] believe God is real. Peter [my father] doesn't. Peter thinks God is made up.
Doodles: So is he made up?
Me: Let me ask you, do you feel God in your heart?
Doodles: Yes.
Me: Then he's not made up. He's in your heart so he's real.
Doodles: Does Pie feel God in her heart?
Me: I don't know. Pie is a little young to express that kind of stuff. When she gets older, we can ask her. I know Daddy feels God in his heart.
Doodles: How do you know that?
Me: Daddy and I have talked about it before.
Doodles: Do you feel God in your heart?
Me: I feel something. Perhaps it's God. [hedging] I can sometimes feel God in my heart.
Doodles: So Rabbi L. and S. feel God in their hearts?
Me: Yes.
Doodles: But Peter doesn't feel God in his heart?
Me: Correct.
Doodles: So does Peter feel God in his neck?

For the record, Peter doesn't feel him in his neck, his armpits, or the back of his knees. I didn't ask what is in his pinky toe. Some things I just don't need to know.

Labels: doodles, jewish

My son wants, more than anything else these days, to help me clean. "Mommy, can I clean? Can we clean something?" It's a sweet thought. Only I have no idea where it comes from because I have never, ever cleaned anything.

Seriously.

We had a bunch of people from the synagogue over for brunch