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The Post in Which My Son Misunderstands the Meaning of “Safety School”

Report cards came out last Friday. Both kids did beautifully, both are right where they should be, perhaps a little ahead in the reading areas. But the third grade teacher sent home a class letter reporting that he was no longer hounding the kids to turn in their reading journals–he was merely giving them one reminder–and as a result some kids aren’t turning in their reading journals. If that was the case with our student, it would be noted on the report card. Reading journals are done in school, and kids have different due dates for them. Doodles’s reading journal is due Mondays. Sure enough, on the report card, it said, “This term his reading journal wasn’t always turned in.”

Me: This is unacceptable. Why don’t you turn it in?

Doodles shrugs.

Me: You need to be responsible for your work. Your grade suffered because of your lack of effort on doing your reading journal.

Doodles: But I don’t like doing my reading journal.

Me: Doesn’t matter. You still need to get it done. There will be lots in life that you don’t like doing, but you still need to do. We need to brainstorm a way that you can remember to write it and turn it in. Maybe we tape an index card to your desk that reads, “Thursday: Do writing journal.”

Doodles: But it’s not due till Monday.

Me: That doesn’t mean you should do it at the last minute. You know, you tell me you want to go to M.I.T., but to get into M.I.T. and survive at M.I.T., you need to be organized and responsible for your work. No one is going to nag you and tell you to turn in your assignments when you’re at college.

Doodles: Well, you could call me every day–no, not everyday. You don’t have to call me on weekends. But you could call me five days a week and nag me to get my work done when I’m at college.

Me: That is so not going to happen on so many different levels. Kids who can’t turn in their reading journals don’t go to M.I.T.

Doodles: Fine. Then I’ll go to Princeton.

You, Me, and a Bottle of Wine (Minus You)

When Pie came home from school today, she said, “Mommy! You had a lot of candy today, didn’t you!”

“Huh?” I cleverly responded.

“You had a real lot of candy today! I see a lot of candy wrappers in the garbage! Exactly how much candy did you eat today?”

I ate a f*ckload of candy. What do you expect? I want a freakin’ medal for surviving this week. Oh wait. It’s only Wednesday.

As you know, Adam went to Germany on Sunday. “Oh the travel is so hard! Oh, I’m so tired!” Yeah, bite me buddy.

This was day 1, aka Monday:
Write 1,000 words of work in progress novel
Supervise homework, Hebrew school homework, and the building of Neptune
Run lines and practice songs for Doodles’s play audition
Teach son how to wash face (he has a medicine he uses on his face that needs to be washed off. After breakfast, I said, don’t forget to wash the medicine off your face, plus you have egg yolk on you. On way to school, notice the egg yolk is still on his face. “You didn’t wash!” “Yes, I did!” “But you still have egg yolk on you.” “Well, yeah. It’s not like I use water when I wash my face.” Uh….)
Take child to play audition at 6:30 p.m.
Be wrangled into chairing a committee for play
Argue with son in car on why Eli Manning is superior to Tom Brady; yelling ensues.
Get child back from audition, retrieve daughter from neighbors, in time for hosting a 7:30 meeting for the synagogue at my house

Deep breath, on to day 2:
Volunteer for Books on the Go in first grade
Write 1,200 words of Work in Progress (WIP)
Back up WIP to Dropbox
Volunteer for workboard in first grade
Daughter meltdown in first grade
Mother meltdown in first grade
Mother takes away every extra activity
Mother immediately regrets taking away every extra activity because it messes up carpool and brother’s plans
Mother, in a most unauthoritative way, recants
Bring boy to Hebrew school
Bring girl to ballet
Post office, library, bank
Pick girl up from ballet
Feed children
Bring boy, girl, and Pinewood derby car to Cub Scout meeting that goes an hour past girl’s bedtime

Deep breath, on to day 3:
Daughter wakes me up at 6 a.m.
Reprimand daughter for washing hands for too short of a time after using the bathroom. “You need to wash for at least 20 seconds,” I tell her. “Wet your hands, soap up, rub, rinse, dry.” The girl informs me, “But there’s no soap in that bathroom.” Excuse me? “There’s been no soap for a few months.” “So you and your brother have been going to the bathroom and not using soap to wash for a few months now?” “Yeah.”
Write school newsletter
Go to mall to buy socks, birthday present, and underwear (for the boy)
Tweak WIP a little
With five minutes till school pick up time, realize that the work in progress I’m currently working on is actually a version from a month ago, as Dropbox somehow synched my computer’s version with the one on Dropbox from February
Freak out
Pick up daughter
Freak out some more
Take daughter to ice skating
Yell at daughter because I’m freaking out about WIP
Try to find a current version of work in progress
Take son to to string instrument concert rehearsal
Go to store, playground, and freak out
Pick son up from string instrument concert rehearsal
Freak out
Realize kitchen lights are somehow broken as the circuit keeps flipping and won’t stay on
Feed kids in the dark
Play with computer some more
FIND CURRENT WORK IN PROGRESS!
Feel guilty for yelling; tell kids they can eat extra hamantashen
Take the kids to synagogue for the Megillah reading and Purim party
Load kids up with sugar
Get children, who are normally in bed by 7, home at 9 and to bed

And the sad part? I don’t drink when Adam’s not in town! So I’m here, beat, done, exhausted, and stone cold sober.

Tomorrow night, when Adam is home, I’m holing up in front of reality TV with a big ass bottle of wine. Don’t call. Don’t write. Don’t even think about me. Just leave me and bottle of wine in peace while I find my happy place.

Tea for Two (Okay, Four) and Two (Okay, Four) for Tea

“They’re changing guard at Buckingham Palace -
Christopher Robin went down with Alice.
‘Do you think the King knows all about me?’
‘Sure to, dear, but it’s time for tea,’
Says Alice.” –A. A. Milne

Which means it’s time to head to Fortum & Mason for an ice cream tea:

Sated? Then it’s off with their heads at the Tower of London! Or, as the kids learned about the wives of Henry VIII at the Horrible Histories “Barmy Britain” show later that night, “Divorced, beheaded, died. Divorced, beheaded, survived.”

And that was just day two…

Running Is Hard

This morning I went out for an easy five-mile run. On my way down the hill, I saw a friend running in a different direction than I normally go, but running with someone is always better than running alone, so I switched direction and tagged along. We had a lovely run for about a mile, although she pushed me a bit–I hadn’t planned on going quite so fast. I was huffing, but I felt great. We were booking. I looked good! And then she said it. “I’m sorry I’m going so slowly. I’m at the end of a 22 miler.” And sure enough I looked at my watch and we were running a blistering 10:37 pace. How humiliating.

When I was a kid, at bedtime my father often sang me a song about an old Cadillac trying to keep up with a Nash Rambler. (My father was not known for his traditional lullabies.) The gist of it is the Cadillac gives it everything he has and he finally thinks he’s going to take the lead, when the guy from the Nash Rambler calls out, “Hey buddy! How do you get this car out of second gear?”

I am a Cadillac. Old. Slow. Out of fashion.

I hadn’t run in over two weeks. In London, Adam left before 7 a.m. for work and no way was I getting up at 5:30 on vacation to go running. When we got back I had a wicked cold and then we had our lone snow storm of the year, so I’ve been out of commission for a while. I wasn’t really in the mood to start back up today, but Adam just left for yet another trip to London (I don’t envy this trip; he flies overnight to London, goes straight from the airport to meetings, then instead of getting to sleep, he hops another flight tomorrow night to Germany), and I knew that if I didn’t run today, it would be another week.

I did five miserable miles. At points I was running as slow as 10:45. Okay, that’s a lie. I was running 11:00 minute miles. Which wouldn’t be so bad if that hadn’t actually been 11:12 miles.

Running is hard. Stopping running and then running again is even harder. I hate being slow. (At my peak I was doing my “easy” runs at a 9:30 pace. I haven’t seen my peak in about five years.)

And this bowl full of Hamantashen dough isn’t helping, either. Mmmm, Hamantashen dough!

My routines have been completely thrown out of whack lately. My writing has slipped. My running has slipped. My general hygiene has slipped (many folks may recall that when I don’t run, I don’t see the point of showering). This is the week I take charge! Exercising! Writing! Showering! Getting through my to-do list!

Charge!

Although, at a 10:37 pace, it’s not really a charge, is it? It’s much more of an amble. If I could only get out of second gear.

Tally Ho! Off to London Town!

My father informs me, now that I’m back, that I’ve been derelict in my posting duties. He is right, of course, but having returned from a glorious week in London, I now am sick. The cause of this illness is quite clear. The headache. The stuffy nose. The sneezing.

My tragic deathbed illness? Why it can only be attributed to laundry. Yes, I’ve been forced to do laundry today. (Gasp!) We all know how desperately allergic I am to laundry, but it’s been unavoidable that I put in a load or two, and now my body is rebelling. Perhaps it’s time to invest in an EpiPen?

But like the stoic guards at Buckingham Palace, I shall solider on and tell you about our trip. And what a great trip it was!

The impetus for this trip was Adam’s work. As those who receive our holiday card know, Adam gets to travel to all sorts of great places for work (San Francisco! London! Germany!) while I stay home and make lunches. Not too fun. But in January Adam said, “I have to go to London the week of February 5.” I thought for a moment and asked, “Any chance you could do it the week of February 20?” which is that illustrious New England novelty, February vacation. A few arrangements later, and Adam said, “Done!” So we tagged along on his work trip.

Friday after school was a mad dash for home. We had an hour to get school backpacks transformed into travel backpacks, get last minute things done (stop the mail, clean the dishes, pack toothbrushes), and then get to the airport. The flight to London isn’t long enough for a decent night’s sleep, but the kids got a short nap out of it.

Our hotel, St. Ermin’s, was fabulous. Although we arrived at the hotel at 8 a.m., they still allowed us to check into our room. But we didn’t want the kids passing out too early, so we headed to Portobello Market to check out the scene.

Why, yes, my eight year old is drinking coffee. Thanks for noticing.

How was the scene? Full of whiny, tired children. So I gave in and let them return to the hotel for a nap.

Mean mother that I am, though, I didn’t let them sleep too long. Must keep them on Boston time, after all! So we headed to the British Museum, to traumatize my daughter with skeleton bones and entertain my son with the museum’s scavenger hunt for art objects.

Dem bones, dem bones

Hunting for clues in the exhibits

They roamed, the sketched, they oohed at the Rosetta Stone. And by ooh, I mean they said, “That’s all it is?”

For dinner we headed to a traditional English pub, for fish and chips and bangers and mash, and the most amazing dessert, at least for me. Pie wanted cake, Doodles wanted brownie, Adam had sticky toffee pudding, and I just wanted beer. “I’ll have an ale,” I said.

“You’ve drinking lager,” Adam point out.

“Oh, right. I’ll have a lager.”

But our waiter was having none of that. “You’re in London,” he said. “You should really try the ale. Will you trust me to bring you an ale I think you’ll like?”

Hey, I was game. Sounded like fun. Even more fun when I was presented with this:

Dessert!

Turns out I do like ale.

And on that note, I must arm myself with tissues and advil so that I may brave the laundry room once again. Stay tuned for more of the adventures of Doodles and Pie in London. Cheers!

…London

London calling…

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Where in the World Are Doodle and Pie?

The bags are checked, we’ve passed security, we board in minutes. The adventures continue. The next time you hear from it’ll be from…

Valentine’s Day According to Pie

Pie: You give out 18 percent of your love on Valentine’s day.
Doodles: That sounds like a scientific fact.
Pie: Valentine’s Day is the day you dance with someone you love and that’s you, Doodles!
Doodles: I’m honored and all, but that’s not going to happen.

What’s Up with Jenny Brown (European Version)

First Dubai Jenny Brown started living it up. Now, it’s worse. Now there’s Genoa Jenny Brown. I would like it known that Genoa Jenny Brown is having infinite more fun than both Dubai Jenny Brown and Boston Jenny Brown. I cite as proof this e-mail that was mistakenly sent to my e-mail account:

Hello to everyone who is coming to see the Van Gogh/ Gaugauin exhibit,

Just a quick reminder that if you would like to meet with the group for an aperitif before the going into the exhibit, here are the details:

Where: Deouce Bar, Piazza Mattiotti (next to Palazzo Ducale)
Time: 11:30 am.

If you can’t make it for the aperitif and would like to meet directly before the exhibit, please meet…

For the people that have to get back to school early to pick up their children, we should give precedence to these people first to take the tour at 1PM. If you’re not pressed for time, than it’s suggested that you take the 1:15PM tour

Okay, let’s point out that these women have children in school. Yet they are meeting for a fancy shmancy art exhibit. And even better, they are going to have an aperitif beforehand at 11:30 a.m. Aperitif? That’s a drink people! An alcoholic drink. At 11:30 in the morning! Um, hello local friends? We think we’re so hardcore, but we have never sat around drinking and going to exhibitions while our children are in school.

Boston Jenny Brown is not feeling happy. Perhaps there’s an opening for a Madrid Jenny Brown or a Paris Jenny Brown. I may need to investigate….

The Post in Which I Realize I Watch Too Much “Downton Abbey”

My Daughter Exhibits her Worldliness
Looking at a book on London, she spies a picture of Westminster Abbey.

(Photo from About London Picture Gallery)

She looked at it and then asked in her most astonished voice, “Mommy! Is that Downton Abbey?”

My Husband Makes Me Feel Incredibly Old, Part 1
Waiting for Downton Abbey to begin, there’s a show on about British weddings.
Me: Hey, Adam. Ring ring!
Adam: Huh?
Me: I’m calling you.
Adam: Oh. Hello.
Me: Do you have Prince Albert in a Can?
Adam: Do I have what?
Me: Do you have Prince Albert in a Can?
Adam: What the hell are you talking about?

Sigh.

My Husband Makes Me Feel Incredibly Old, Part 2
Again, Downton Abbey is about to start.
Me: I read that Laura Linney’s stupid intro causes a few seconds to be trimmed from the show!
Adam: Really?
Me: I can’t stand those intros.
Adam: Why do you think they have them?
Me: I dunno. Because Alistair Cooke is dead?
Adam: Who?
Me: You know. Alistair Cooke. [in my British voice, otherwise known as my "hold my nose" voice] “I am Alistair Cooke and this is Masterpiece Theater.”
Adam: I have no idea who you’re talking about.
Me: The old guy who came on before your parents watched Upstairs Downstairs.
Adam: Still no idea who you’re talking bout.
Me: Well, what about Alistair Cookie? Do you remember Alistair Cookie?
Adam: Sure.
Me: Really?
Adam: No. I have no idea who that is either. But I’ve seem to have done pretty well despite it.

Again. Sigh.

And as a point of comparison: