the pieces of my life

Doodles was a guinea pig today at the Lab for Developmental Studies at our local Fancy Pants Ivy League school. He’s done a ton of these and he loves doing them. Pie loves it too, but they didn’t have a study for her today. Today’s study was on multiplication and kids innate understanding of it (or lack thereof).

Me: So, Pie, someone will come out to play with you while Doodles does his study.
Pie: Someone will play with me?
Me: Yes.
Pie: Yea!
Doodles: But I don’t need you to come in with me!
Me: You want to go in by yourself?
Doodles: Yes!
Me: Okay. Well, then Pie, I’ll stay out and play with you.
Pie, voice rising: No! I want to play with someone else!

Ah, it’s so good to be wanted…

I’m sitting at my computer. I hear a child in the bathroom. He’s singing. He’s telling himself stories. He’s humming. La la la la la.
Me: Make sure you wipe really, really well after you poop.
Doodles: [silent for a moment, then, with true curiosity in his voice]: How did you know I was pooping!

I’m just magic like that I guess.

On a related note: I think I’ve set a bad precedent. Pie was having her morning constitutional and of course that’s when Doodles decided he had to go RIGHT NOW, REALLY BADLY, I MEAN IT, I CAN’T WAIT! So I let him pee in the shower. Anyone want to bet when/where he’s gonna want to pee tomorrow morning? Maybe we should buy stock in the tub cleaner now…

Day 12 of Nanowrimo (and yes, I’m totally behind) (the challenge [modified] “And then she said to me, ‘I know Barack Obama is really talented. But don’t you think your expectations are a bit too high? Don’t you think it’s dangerous to put him on a pedestal?’):

Chaim jumped to my defense. “If she doesn’t like the word, don’t use the word! She’s a guest in our community. She doesn’t know our ways”

Lilach quickly agreed. “Yankel, use another word.”

“Fine, fine. But can you imagine…”

I jumped in. “And can you imagine the alternative? That hotheaded, arrogant, socially repressive McCain?” I sawed into the brisket until I realized that there was absolute silence.

“Perhaps we change the subject,” Tzippi said quickly.

“No, no. I’d like to hear this,” Yankel said, a little snidely. “I’d like to understand how this little one could think that a man with Muslim roots, a man who has publicly sided with the Palestinians, could possibly be a better choice than one who has fought America’s wars, who has come out on the side of Israel, who wants to return real values to our country.”

“Bush has done a truly—” I stopped myself quickly, censoring the “fucked up” out my speech as I saw the flash of fear cross Tzippi’s face—“messed up job with this country and this old man is going to change things? If there’s any hope of ending the war, if there’s any hope of getting health care back on track, if there’s any hope at all of the United States being able to hold our head up when we face other nations, then we’ve got to go with Obama.”

“I really don’t see how the Obama devotees can ever in future mock the Moonies, the Scientologists or people who claim to have been abducted in flying saucers. This is a cult like the one which grew up around Princess Diana, bereft of reason and hostile to facts. The man has no experience.”

Tzippi entered in the fray, clearly seeing that things had the potential of spinning out of control. “Don’t you think that, just possibly, your expectations are a bit too high? Don’t you think it’s dangerous to put him on a pedestal?”

“I don’t think I’m putting him on a pedestal. I’m just not pulling McCain out of the gutter.”

“Listen—” Yankel started, clearly getting hotter by the moment, but Lilach jumped up right then.

Jenny…

…is apparently living with Princess Pee Pee and King La La in the Land of Underwear

…doesn’t understand why–even after she (okay Adam) repeatedly washes her running clothes–her workout clothes drawer STINKS!

…isn’t answering another question (Mommy, why are the lights on? Because it’s dark. Oh. But why are those lights on! Because it’s dark there, too. But, Mommy, what about– It’s dark everywhere, damn it!)

…is annoyed at Trader Joe’s (if you buy a kit that says “Hyacinth Indoor Blooming Kit, Easy to Grow in 3 Simple Steps!” don’t expect to go home and plant them with your kids. Because the first “simple step” is “Remove bulb from kit and chill in a dry, dark, 40-45 degree F location for 8 weeks.” Note, we are skipping that step and reducing the chill time to one hour, which is how long you’re supposed to let the compressed planting mix soak in water. All of which means in about ten weeks, I’ll have to buy some stupid plants, replace the bulbs, and tell the kids they’re magic flowers that develop fully in one single night.)

…has got to stop thinking that Pie is ready to give up the nighttime Pull-Ups, because that’s just invitation to a nighttime soaking.

…is about to harm an inanimate object. {Please refer to the previous status update. Sheets soaked with pee. Jenny puts sheets in a laundry basket, carts them down the two flights of stairs, puts them in the washer, inserts $1.25, washes sheets and mattress cover. In 20 minutes she returns, moves sheets and mattress cover to dryer, inserts $1.25… and nothing. Jenny brings sheets back upstairs and drapes them all over apartment to try and get them to dry decently enough to return to bed by nightfall.)

…isn’t answering another question (Please don’t touch the sheets when we get home. The dryer broke, so the sheets are drying in the apartment on the chairs. But why are the sheets drying? Because I had to wash them and then the dryer broke. Will the dryer be fixed? Yes, I called the management company; they said they’d fix it. Why did it break? I don’t know. But you understand what you’re not supposed to do? What? Please don’t touch the sheets. Why? Because they’re clean and I don’t want you getting them dirty and they’re hanging up in the apartment. Why? Because the dryer broke? So you won’t touch them, right? Touch what? The sheets! Why? Because they’re clean and you’re not. Why are they clean?…)

…doesn’t have a snack for you.

…thinks seven meals a day should be plenty for anyone.

…really, truly, doesn’t have a snack for you. Please. Go ahead. Check my purse.

…is going to make you a snack from the year-old crumbs that are trapped beneath your car seat.

…is done. So very, very, very done.

I am a sucker for holidays. No doubt about it. I love the decorating (both the house and the kids), the food, the crafts–you name it, I like it. And I like all holidays pretty much equally. We obviously don’t do Christmas and Easter, but I’ll decorate and throw a party for anything else–July 4th? How about a BBQ! Rosh Hashanah? Let’s invite all the kids over for apples and honey. Hanukkah? That’s our big bash of the year. Many of you longtime readers will remember the long running debate (like here and here) on holiday decorations at our house.

However, in the apartment, the holidays have gotten swallowed a bit. No decorations for Halloween. No inviting classmates over for Rosh Hashanah. There will be no big Hanukkah party. There’s no where to hang decorations.

But the one thing I can do is my dishes. I have dishes for every occasion. I put most of our toys, apparently some of my clothes (or else they’ve just walked off), our TV, our photos, our craft supplies–I put a lot–into storage, except I, of course, kept out the appropriate seasonal plates for the holidays we’d be spending in the apartment. If there’s a holiday, I have a plate. And preferably a bowl and cup to go with it.

But the thing is, I owned two turkey plates. And one of them got broke. I won’t say by whom (Adam) but it’s now broken and I have just one turkey plate. Which is unacceptable.

So Pie and I made the journey to Target to stock up on our turkey supplies. However, Thanksgiving apparently no longer exists at Target. Because at the beginning of November, we’ve gone straight to Christmas, do not pass Thanksgiving, do not collect any cranberry sauce. Target had preciously one set of wash cloths and a handful of paper plates with a Thanksgiving theme. I was annoyed; Pie was confused. “Where’s Thanksgiving? I don’t see Thanksgiving!” Who has Thanksgiving? Why Pottery Barn Kids, of course. For about five times the price. I like holiday decorations. I don’t like spending an arm and a leg on them.

How did this happen? Thanksgiving is definitely one of my favorite holidays and I’m bummed I can’t host this year. The least I can have is my damn turkey plates! Stupid retailers. Don’t they know they could commercialize Thanksgiving like every other self-respecting holiday?

Gobble, gobble! E-bay here I come.

So, I am to some degree doing Nanowrimo this year. But let me come right out and admit this: I’m cheating. Yep, cheating. I’m a cheater, cheater, cheater. The FAQ clearly states, with no ambiguity:

Do I have to start my novel from scratch on November 1?

Yes.

This sounds like a dumb, arbitrary rule, we know. But bringing a half-finished manuscript into NaNoWriMo all but guarantees a miserable month. You’ll care about the characters and story too much to write with the gleeful, anything-goes approach that makes NaNoWriMo such a creative rush. Give yourself the gift of a clean slate, and you’ll tap into realms of imagination and intuition that are out-of-reach when working on pre-existing manuscripts.

I’m not starting from scratch. Not even close to scratch. The plain truth is I actually liked the novel I started last year, and I’m determined to finish it. I plan on writing 50,000 words–or really the completion–of this novel, however many words that takes. It goes against the rules. They’ll kick me out! They’ll publicly chastise me! They’ll, they’ll, they’ll… Okay, they won’t do a damn thing because it’s all on the honor system and there are no real prizes other than the satisfaction of writing. They don’t give a hoot what I do.

Just wanted to come clean with you guys. But I still need your help. I’ve got one line to work in tomorrow (and, Emily, I will be taking liberties with it, just because the action takes place pre-election), but I still need more props, lines, tidbits, etcetera to work in.

I’m a little behind. But I’ll catch up. That’s just the kind of slapdash, half-assed, writing-without-editing kind of person I am.

Day 9 of Nanowrimo (the challenge: “a french baguette”):

I hid my iPhone under the table, so I could surreptitiously text Gary what was going on. It was rude, I know, but it wasn’t breaking any rules. Luckily, I was very good at the one-handed text. He was having an early breakfast in Paris before his shoot began as I was having a dinner that wouldn’t rate many Michelin stars.
Just served something brown. Could be meat. Might be a basketball. Can’t tell. I texted while smiling across the table.

Gary texted me back immediately. Just served an absolutely delectable French baguette—crispy outside, buttery inside. Spreading on Nutella as I drink the most perfect café au lait I’ve ever experienced. I could practically see the taunting smirk on his face. A moment later he wrote, I’d share it with you if you were here.

I smiled as a blob of what looked like carrot slaw filled with dried out looking raisins was slapped onto my plate. “Can you have slaw with meat?” I whispered to Tzippi. “Isn’t the sauce dairy?”

She shook her head. “Mayonnaise is parve. No dairy in it.”

I texted back, I’d give you all my carrot slaw if you were here.
Tzippi saw me peering under the table cloth. She narrowed her eyes and shook her head ever so slightly.

Whoops, caught. I’ll text later. xxxooo

A bientot, he wrote back.

“Try this,” Tzippi said, watching to make sure I put my phone away. “You’ll love it.” I looked at the blackened noodles of a kugel on my plate and forced a smile. A bacon cheeseburger, I love, I thought, as I smiled widely at Lilach at the end of the table and forced a large bite down my throat.

“Delicious,” I choked out. I didn’t even have any excuses not to eat. One can’t plead lactose intolerance at a meat dinner.

Adam signed up for a site called icovia, which is a site for decorators that let’s you lay out rooms. It’s kind of silly, because we realized that once we’ve paid for our kitchen, there will be no money to furnish the rooms that need furniture (which are our bedrooms, my office, the living room, and the family room). But I’ve been playing with the site anyway, and have discovered it has some pretty nifty features on it. Adam’s not too sure about the Santa, but I figure this is kind of what it’s all going to look like:

(Do all interior decorators have to factor in crime scenes when planning out a house? I mean, it strikes me as fairly practical, but it requires an awful lot of forethought.)

I’m back to Nanowrimo, but, as usual, I’m stuck. Anyone got anything for me? A line, an object, an anything I can work into this thing? Look at that poor word counter in the right hand column. It’s hungry for more words! Feed it!

Me: Dude! I win! You lose!
Adam: What did you win?
Me, making a toking motion.
Adam: Good for you.
Me: Decriminalization of small amounts of pot won, there’s still an income tax, and no more dog racing.
Adam: Not surprising.
Me: Oh, and Kerry won again.
Adam: There’s a shocker.
Me: I assume you voted against him?
Adam: [making a phish noise]: Duh.
Me: Do you know who the other guy is?
Adam: Nope. Not a clue.
Me: Why do you hate him so much?
Adam: Every time I think I could be a Democrat–you know, one of those Reagen Democrats–John Kerry and Barney Frank remind me of everything I hate about the Democratic party.

But he voted for Obama. Pie and Doodles were there and saw it. Either that or the chocolate chip cookie Adam bought for them at the PTO bake sale worked as a bribe to keep their mouths shut.