the pieces of my life

I was tweeting the wedding, but I’m not one to keep my thoughts to 140 characters so I decided I’d rather share them on the blog. Here they are in all their randomness. If you have no interest in the wedding, just move along.

—Am I watching the royal wedding because I happen to be awake? Or do I happen to be awake because of the royal wedding? I’ll never tell.
—Okay, yes I will. I’m awake because I have to send out school newsletter, write an op-ed piece for paper and shop for teacher appreciation week.
—But it was fun to be all mysterious and bandwagon-y for a few minutes.
—Well, I did just wake up the five year old to watch the wedding. I’ll regret that at about 8 a.m. when it’s time to go to school. So maybe I am all bandwagon-y.
—Watching Royal Wedding is giving the girl some bad ideas. Some very, very bad ideas. No, we won’t play horns and stand up when you enter a room like they do for the Queen.
—The boy has joined us.
—Trying to explain royal lineage to the kids. Not going well. “So that’s the Queen. And her son is a prince. And her husband is a prince. And the one getting married is a prince.” “So where’s the king?” “There is no king.”
—People think Kate or her mom must be nervous. But really, you know who must be the most terrified person in that room? The mother of the three-year-old bridesmaid. I wouldn’t want to be her if that kid has a meltdown mid-ceremony.
—The boy, “So is that the king?” “No, there is no king. When the Queen dies, her son, Prince Charles, will become King of England, but right now there is no king, just a lot of princes.”
—Pie: “So which one is getting married?” Me: “Not the cute one.”
—Pie wants to know why there are trees growing in Westminster Abbey. I tell her I don’t know.
—Wouldn’t you feel a little like an ass being the only adult bridesmaid among all those kids. Kind of like, “Hey, did they really want me or did they just need a nanny?”
—I hadn’t expected the vows to be quite so cliche.
—Adam’s joined us. He and Pie are providing commentary. Adam asks, “Why are there trees in Westminster Abbey?” Guess what? I still don’t know.
—Adam: “How early did those people in front of Westminster Abbey and Buckingham Palace have to arrive to get those prime front spots?” “I don’t know. Hey, ‘They’re changing the guards at Buckingham Palace. Christopher Robin went down with Alice.‘” Pie: “Wait, so Alice is getting married?”
—Kate doesn’t look so happy. I love that “What the hell have I gotten myself into?” look.
—Ooh, Pippa looks pissed. I bet she’s thinking, “Damn that Kate! She told me there’d be cute page boys. She didn’t say they’d still be in short pants!”
—The boy asked if they can have breakfast in front of the TV. I said sure and I asked the Royal Butler to serve them.
—The boy asked for salami and eggs. The girl asked for salami and bread. But we’re out of bread. “Okay, I’ll have salami and Kix, then.” They’re not eating this well at Buckingham Palace!
—Have you noticed I’m here? I really should be doing that work I woke up to do. At least I got the school newsletter out already. But it’s hard to write an op-ed about the town needing an override to pay for a few teachers when there are trees growing in Westminster Abbey. What is with those trees?
—The prince looks like he’s bored out of his mind. Kate is off in la-la land. Not the sign of a good wedding.
—Why the depressing wedding? Those Anglicans could learn something from the Jews. A wedding is 15 minutes, maybe 20. Walk in, couple of blessings, circle, circle, circle, circle, circle, circle, circle, break a glass, party! None of this sad choir stuff.
—How fast was the guy who dropped ABC’s live feed fired? I—and about a zillion others—just switched to CBS.
—My former Amazonian office mate, Simon, is a Brit, who is up at 3 a.m. Seattle time to watch the wedding. So I asked him all our questions: “Why are there trees in Westminster Abbey? Why haven’t they kissed? What exactly is all this Anglican stuff?” He answered me: “Trees look pretty. William is scared of kissing. Anglicanism gives you all the poetry without having to believe very much.”
—Me: “Wow, look at everyone at Buckingham Palace!” “What’s Buckingham Palace?” “It’s where the Queen lives.” “And the king?” “No, there is NO king!”
—Poor Pippa. From babysitting the bridesmaids to cleaning up after the princess.
—There’s a real pecking order at this wedding. First, did you get an invite? Only 1,900 people did. Then, did you get invited to the Queen’s luncheon? One of 600! Going to the dinner at the palace? You’re one of 300. At the dinner tonight, do you think they’ll all say, “Had we been invited to the wedding, but not invited to the luncheon, Dayenu…”
—My son: “Is it a national holiday there?” Me: “Yes, no one is working today in England.” Boy: “Well, except the police.” Me: “Oh, yes, there’s tons of security at the wedding!” Boy: “Today would be a good day to steal something because everyone’s at the wedding.”
—The boy asks, “So is that Queen Victoria?” “No, Queen Elizabeth.” “Victoria and Elizabeth have been popular with Queens. There was Queen Victoria the First, Queen Victoria the Second. Queen Elizabeth the First, Queen Elizabeth the Second.” “I don’t think there was a second Queen Victoria.” “Oh.” “How the hell do you know any queens of England?” “I dunno.”
—The boy: “Boy, Catherine is going to hate that dress when she tries to get it off!”
—Me: “So there’s the Queen. And the prince.” Pie: “I thought you said there was no prince!”
—I would like to note that we need to be out of the house in 33 minutes, and both kids are still in pajamas lounging on the couch.
—The girl: “They just said Facebook and Twitter! They’re on Facebook and Twitter!” Me: “What does Facebook and Twitter mean?” The girl: “It means you can make e-mails to strangers that you don’t even know by them looking at your stuff!”
—The boy: “Why do they salute with their hand upside down? That looks like a wrist breaker to me. The palace is big! I wonder if they have a baseball field there. Or a football field.”
—I sent the kids to dress and promised I’d stay here so if anything exciting happens, I could pause.
—That girl has never dressed so fast. Although I used “dressed” loosely. Forgot to change her underwear, didn’t brush her hair, and couldn’t be bothered to fasten her dress closed.

Okay, girl has returned, the prince and princess are at Buckingham Palace, and it’s officially time for me to get dressed and start my day. Enough fairy tales for one day. Time for the ogres and trolls of working on the town’s override. Grrrr….

Here’s the dilemma: About a month ago, my son borrowed (with permission) a sheet to build a teepee in the backyard. About 3 1/2 weeks ago, we had a snow, so my son brought the sheet to the front porch. It’s been sitting there ever since.

Do I:
—Bring the sheet in, carry it upstairs, and place it in the hamper, so my husband, the laundry-doer, can magically make it clean?
—Bring the sheet in, carry it down to the basement (which is actually equidistant from the front door as the hamper upstairs), and place it in the washing machine, thereby revealing to my husband that 1) I do indeed know where the washing machine is and 2) I’m capable of operating it?
—Just leave the sheet on the front porch and hope that animals carry it away?

I’m guessing I don’t really have to answer this for any of you.

But, apparently, there is crying in lacrosse.

The girl has been excited for lacrosse for years. She’s been begging to play lacrosse since she first saw our next door neighbor with her lacrosse equipment. There is no preschool lacrosse. I can see why. I’m not really sure why there’s kindergarten lacrosse. This is not a sport for the meek. Or the non-meek, for that matter, all those crazy balls flying, sticks waving, girls screeching.

The girl was super cute out there: When instructed to run, toss the ball out of her lacrosse stick, and then scoop the ball back into her stick, Pie would run, halt, dump the ball out, lean down, pick the ball up with her hand, stroll a little, and then place the ball in the pocket. To her credit, I was informed by a mother more in the know that we were supposed to place a ball in the pocket of the stick, lodge a pencil in to keep the ball in there, and then let it sit overnight to stretch out the netting in the pocket. So every time Pie tried to hold the ball, it would bounce off the flat non-existent pocket (a nocket, perhaps?).

The evil was those stupid goggles. She complained they hurt and when I took them off her face, she had deep red grooves on her little cheeks. But then again, so did everyone else. I tried loosening the goggles but when then they fell off her head. Stupid girls’ lacrosse. Boys lacrosse is contact, so they get to wear helmets. But girl lacrosse? Noooo. None of that contact for them! C’mon, let the girls go at each other, too! So painful goggles it is! She started crying and saying she just wanted to be with me, as my seat on the sidelines was clearly the next state over to her. Yet when I asked her if she wanted to go home, she shook her head and went back into the practice. And despite her goggle misery, she plans on returning next week.

I do suspect that the goggles weren’t the real problem. I think it was the mouthguard. Because with the mouthguard in, she couldn’t chat. I saw her taking it out a few times to say something to another player, but she’d inevitably have to put it back in before she could finish her thought. I’m sure by the end of the season she’ll have figured out a way to communicate with the mouthguard in. In the meantime, she’ll just have to rely on the family motto to get her through it: Suck it up.

The homework assignment: “Write a paragraph about one thing you did during spring vacation. Make sure to include at least three details. Make sure to check your conventions.”

So, am I proud that he fulfilled the assignment? Or mortified that this is what he’s going to turn in:

Hi. I’m Jenny. I’m the one who used to blog here, but lately found life a little too chaotic to visit frequently. But I’m back now. I fear that those who follow me on Twitter or are friends with me on Facebook may find some of my posts redundant, but thems the breaks.

We had a very, very busy week, and I won’t attempt to tell you all about it in one blog post, so we’ll start with the boy. The rocker boy. The boy returned to School of Rock for April vacation. And, oh, did the boy have fun. Last time when I sent him, I was so nervous about my little baby amongst all those great big rocker types. This time, I had less concern, although that the program grew from 7 kids to 21 kids had me a little worried. Don’t know why. I walked him in the first day, and the minute the door opened, a group of kids called out, “Doodles! Hey, it’s Doodles!” One of the boys turned to some new kids and said, “That’s the little dude I was telling you about!” That boy of mine was pumped. Although he did inform me later in the week that the reason he was so popular was that he was the only seven year old they knew who could swear. I’m shepping naches, I am!

The boy continued his drum lessons there, but ultimately decided he wanted to just sing vocals, and sing vocals he did. When he got his song list, I saw he had Bon Jovi’s “Runaway.” “I have this somewhere!” I said, but I searched my CD collection and couldn’t find it. This bugged me for a while before I remembered I did have it. I bought it when it first came out. On 45. Hmmm.

His band decided on the name WTF. He came home and told me, “The band teacher said we had to say it means ‘What to Find.’ No one would tell me what it really means though. But I’m pretty sure I guessed it right.” Yes, he did. See note above about swearing seven year olds.

His show was last Friday. He did an awesome job—sang nice and loud so we could hear him well. The band wrote one original song, for which the boy’s primary job was a “metal scream,” which you can see below. Note, while there is nothing inappropriate in this video, it is loud!

(Want more? I have video of him performing Bon Jovi’s “Runaway” and Soundgarden’s “Fell on Black Days;” if you’d like to see it, e-mail for the link and password.)

Rock on, friends!

I’m in the midst of Passover prep, so here’s just a quick tidbit from this morning.

Me: I wonder if there’s mail today?
Pie: Why wouldn’t there be mail?
Me: Today is Patriots’ Day! Remember, that’s why you marched with the Daisies in the parade yesterday.
Pie: Patriots’ Day?
Me: Yep.
Pie: So, in Florida is it Dolphns’ Day?
Me: What?
Pie: Are they celebrating Dolphins’ Day in Florida?
I think for a moment.
Me: No, it’s not about football. It’s about the Battle of the Green and the Minutemen and the Red Coats.
Pie: Ooooo! That’s why they were talking about the American Revolution on NPR.

I decided it was time for Pie to learn American history they way I did. So I set her in front of Schoolhouse Rock and went back to making my gefilte fish.

My daughter’s sleeping habits—or lack thereof—are legendary in our family. Those who have been reading this blog long enough, will remember Pie’s days as a Ferber dropout. Now, mind you, I don’t mean that she was Ferberized by the book and we failed. I mean we went to see Dr. Ferber at Children’s Hospital (three times!) and still failed! The girl didn’t sleep as a baby. She didn’t sleep as a toddler. And she still doesn’t sleep well as an elementary school student.

To go to bed, she needs someone to sit with her while she falls asleep. At night, sometimes, while Adam and I are watching TV, we hear pitter patters of little feet as they run into our room and somehow end up in our bed. There have been mornings where Adam and I have both woken up to find the girl between us and neither one of us will have a memory of her actually getting into our bed.

She’s crafty. She’s got a gripe. She’s crafty. And she’s just my type. </end Beastie Boys interlude>

Recently, though, I got panicky. She’s in kindergarten. Which means the 5th grade science camp trip is just around the corner! (You don’t believe me? The past five years happened in a blink. This is just 4 1/2 years away!). How is she going to sleepover on the science camp trip?

Time for her to learn to sleep. No, really. I mean it this time. Science camp is at stake.

How much do I mean it? I American Girl doll mean it! I made a lovely little chart with two sections: one for falling asleep with no one staying with her, and one for staying in her own bed all night. She chooses if she does them one at a time or both together. She’s opted to do the falling asleep first, which makes sense because she needs to be able to do that to put herself back to sleep at night.

How to make her want to do this? Easy. I handed her an American Girl doll catalog. “Pick anything out of this catalog for your prizes.” It took her two seconds to flip to the exact page she wanted. “Kanani!” Flip, flip. “And her ice cream stand!”

Thatta girl! Bankrupt Mommy and Daddy! In the name of sleep, they’ll let you!

She sleeps with the picture of Kanani by her bed, so when she gets scared before she falls asleep, she can look at the picture and remember why she needs to sleep on her own. She has to fall asleep on her own three weeks, and the last week must be consecutive nights. So far, she’s gone three nights, unhappily but committed, to bed on her own.

Will this work? Check back in three weeks!

I’m revising my novel right now. Can’t you tell? This is me revising. La di da di da.

Okay, I’m not exactly revising. I’m blogging. But for the time being, blogging will have to halt as I really need to revise, now that I’ve gotten the feedback from my readers on my revision.

Is it really only 11:28? Gads. I’m finding this whole Fit Kids thing throws off my day, because it means I go running at 6:15 and then get to school at 7:15, so by the time I’m done, it feels like morning should be well underway rather than the school day just starting.

Am I digressing? I do that when I’m revising. I digress. I put soccer games in the calendar. I make appointments. I’m very productive when I revise. Well, except for the revising part.

Did someone mention gummy bears? No. Hmmm, then why am I suddenly thinking of them? I’m pretty sure I hear some calling my name from the kitchen. Hold on…

…Okay, I’m back. Very, very hard to revise without gummy bears. Perhaps, some might say, impossible!

I went into the kindergartens last week as a community helper. As a writer. I was told to bring my tools of the trade. But the coffeemaker wouldn’t fit in my bag, I will NOT share my gummy bears, and Adam put the kibosh on the martini shaker, so I was somewhat hampered. I ended up bringing in old writing clips as well as the tape of my interview with Harrison Ford. The kids were somewhat impressed by Indiana Jones. The teacher’s assistant was very impressed by Harrison Ford. I skipped the part where he got all snippy with me.

Things I told the kindergartners: I’ve worked as an editor. A copyeditor. I’ve gotten to go to the movies during the work day. I’ve written well over 100 book and movie reviews. I’ve interviewed celebrities.

What impressed the kindergartners: Sometimes I work in my pajamas.

What I learned from the kindergartners: Lots of them have pets. Some real. Some stuffed.

Okay, I’m going to go revise. Right after another handful of gummy bears…

Actually, it’s supposed to be “Fit Kidz,” but I can’t bring myself to do that. It’s just wrong.

Two moms at my kids’ school (Beetle is one of them!) decided to bring a before-school fitness program to the school. It’s based on the work of Dr. John J. Ratey in his book Spark: The Revolutionary New Science of Exercise and the Brain, which discusses the brain-body connection and how students do so much better after exercise (mind you, I haven’t read this book. I should, but I haven’t yet). I, of course, had to be involved. Fitness for my kids? A no brainer.

A school in a nearby town has implemented a program, and one of the trainers from there came and gave us some training. The program is actually sponsored by Reebok, and we have these official training manuals and everything (T-shirts and shoes for us trainers are coming soon!).

We had a run-through today with just the trainers and the kids of the trainers. Our class is about 35 minutes (our regular school starts at 8:15 and we can’t exactly expect the kids to be there at 7. The program starts at 7:30 and goes to 8:05, giving kids time to get their stuff and head to lockers before the first bell at 8:10). Thursday is the first full day, with all 53 kids who are signed up. My kids loved today’s program, which included warm-up with basketballs, running drills, animal relay races (seal walk, bear walk, crab walk), toilet tag, and a cool down.

All was good for us, except when Doodles’s team was the tagger in Toilet Tag. He spied that sister of his and went for her. He tagged her. She went down. Hard. I will say, in the boy’s defense, that it wasn’t malicious. I will say, in the girl’s defense that she went klonk! Luckily, the teachers and staff at our school are so great that the school nurse–whom Pie loves–came early as a “just in case.” Pie got to be her “just in case.” But one ice pack later, and Pie was fine to come back for the cool down.

The kids had a blast. They were sweaty and happy and ready to go to class when we were done.

So many benefits. Focused kids. Strong hearts. Strong bodies. But, really, that all pales in comparison to the one greatest thing. The best part of this program. The. Coolest. Thing.

I got a whistle. Me! A whistle! I’m so happy I could burst. No, I’m so happy I could whistle! I love my whistle. It’s my whistle to keep. My happiest moment today is when I got to blow my whistle!

Who knew there were so many side benefits to fitness!

My mother was here and getting ready to head to the train to go back to New York. Adam was driving and Pie going with them.

Me: Bye, Pie! Have a nice trip to New York!
My mom: Oh, are you coming? That will be so much fun!
Pie: Really? I can go to New York?
Me: Yeah, sure, why not! You can go.
Pie: Really?
Me: Yes!
Pie: But wait a minute! What about school? I’d miss school.
My mom: There are plenty of schools in New York! I’m sure we could find you a good one. You’ll go to school there.
Pie: Um, nah. I’d miss Jasmine.
Me: What about me? Wouldn’t you miss me?
Pie: Well, we could Skype.