the pieces of my life

Tonight was Adam’s work party. When Adam started at the company six years ago, he was the thirty-fifth employee. Tonight we were told that over 600 people had RSVP’d for the party. It was a fabulous party–the view was great, the food was good, and the booze was plentiful. I found a handful of people I like, and I stuck with them.

But the best part of the night? You know how at every work party there’s some boozy person who takes center stage and then completely overshares? She’s the one you whisper about for a few weeks, with a bit of pointing and laughing? Well, that person was there tonight. And for the first time ever, that person wasn’t me!

Hey, how about that! Maybe I will get a grip on this growing old gracefully thing!

My mother has something to say! This is a guest post from Carol K. Brown, herself:

I (Jenny’s mother) had an equipment malfunction on my bicycle that threw me—literally. OK, I now look like the creature from the black lagoon with face bruises and have a cast on my fractured elbow, but it was my left and I’m a righty so I’m doing quite well, actually.

Jenny prepared the kids who are planning to visit us in Miami Beach in about a week. I got a very serious call from Pie. She explained that she understood I couldn’t play with her, but she would just have to play with Peter (her grandfather) instead. I insisted that I would definitely be able to play with her, that there were only a few things I wouldn’t be able to do as usual. Neglecting to mention that she was getting way too big for it anyway, I explained to her that my only limitation would probably be that I could no longer pick her up, turn her upside down, swing her a lot before throwing her on the bed. She got very quiet and after a long pause announced, “I guess that Peter will just have to do it!”

Now, normally I don’t shill on my blog. I’ve had offers of things to “review” or links to add, but I always turn them down because I don’t believe in promoting things because, well, I just don’t. That’s not what you come here for. (What do you come here for, anyway?) However, one of my top three favorite honorary Jews asked me to plug his benefit show (not sure who the other two are, but I don’t want him to get a big head), and I don’t want to be a grinch about the whole thing. Okay, here’s the truth: I’m plugging him because in his very personal (read: form) letter, he called me “an influential local blogger.” Who am I to turn down flattery like that? Plus, it’s his daughter Mimi who’s going to be living with Pie at NYU, so I need to be his good graces so he’ll take turns with me hauling our asses down to NYC to bail the two of them of jail. Here’s what my buddy has to say:

I’m the guitar player in the Vivs, an Arlington-based band of some modest renown. To help out the Children’s Room, a non-profit organization in Arlington that provides support to bereaved children and teens, we put together this holiday benefit show at Arlington’s Regent Theatre.

We’ve had some nice press already, including a piece by Jonathan Perry in the Boston Globe. But we certainly can use more, so I’m reaching out to ask you if you’ll tell your readers about the show this week.

More about the show:

Line up:
Franc Graham
The Vivs
Bill Goffrier (of Big Dipper)
Carrie Bradley (of the Breeders, Ed’s Redeeming Qualities)
Scatterfield (reuniting for this show)

Emcee: Brent Milano (former entertainment editor of the Phoenix)

$10, plus $5 suggested donation. Bear and wine. All ages.

More info here.

Tickets at the Regent.

You have now all been duly informed of the show. I’ll be there. You should come. I’ll even let you buy me a drink!

This is what happen when Jewish children watch the Christmas specials on TV:

(And for those who need a translation: Dear Santa, What I want for chrismass is a nerf gun. I also want a pet. I really celobrate chanakka. I just wanted to write a leter to you. Why do you live in the north pole. from, Doodles. P.S. My chimny to the fire place is blocked. I do not have a xmas tree. leeve the present in the family room. thanks.)

When the boy became a Cub Scout, the girl started saying, “I want to be a Girl Scout! Can I be a Girl Scout?” It was a refrain I heard often enough that when she started kindergarten, I sought out a Daisy troop (Daisies, which didn’t exist when I was a child, is the first level of Girl Scouts, before Brownies. It’s for kindergartners and 1st graders). Of course, there wasn’t one for her.

So I started one. Of course.

Today was our second meeting. The girls are working on their “Use resources wisely” petal, so for the past month, I have researched crafts. I have experimented doing crafts at home with the girl to make sure they were doable. I have checked out kid recycling books from the library. I have begged friends and neighbors to save me their toilet paper rolls. I’ve shopped for paints and jingle bells. I annoyed Adam with the mounds of recycling that I wouldn’t let him get rid of “just in case I needed it for one of the projects.” I carted three huge bags of supplies over to the school. I got yummy–yet allergy-free–snacks for the girls. I send the boy off to hang with a friend. I, with the help of another mother, shepherded the children through egg-carton jingle bell ornaments, toilet-paper roll bracelets, bottle lid magnets, foil ornaments, toilet-paper roll ornaments. I read about where our garbage goes. I listened to them share ideas about how they can reuse–and about their stuffed animals. I clean up the mounds of paper mess.

We get home. I unload the bags from the car. I sort things and put them away. I eye the wine. I ask my daughter, “So, how was the Daisy meeting?”

She looks up at me, cocks her head, and shrugs one shoulder. “It was medium,” she tells me.

“Medium?”

“Yeah, medium. Not good, not bad. Medium.”

And that’s when open the wine and count the minutes till Adam gets home.

The boy is way into Calvin and Hobbes.

Me: What are you reading?
The boy: Calvin and Hobbies. I found it on the shelf downstairs.
Me: It’s pronounced Hobbes.
The boy: Oh.

Five minutes later.
The boy: For the next holiday, I want some more Calvin and Hobbies books.
Me: It’s Hobbes.
The boy: How do you know?
Me: Just one of those things a mother knows.
The boy: Hmmm.
Me: Are there other comics you like? [Every Sunday morning, the boy rushes out–usually in his underwear–to get the paper, which he then destroys in the family room to get to the comics.]
The boy: No, just Calvin and Hobbies.
Me: Hobbes!!
The boy: Uh, yeah, right.

Forget pronunciation. I think we need to work on basic “Trust your mother” issues!

I think of holidays in terms of the food most abundantly used. Fourth of July is totally a hot dog holiday. Hanukkah, as you can guess, is oil. Don’t let anyone tell you that Passover is the Feast of Unleavened Bread. It’s not. It’s the Holiday of the Clogged Arteries because more than anything, Passover is about eggs. And Thanksgiving? Thanksgiving is the holiday of the dairy farmer. Yes, that’s right. Butter. Butter. More Butter. I don’t even want to think about how much butter was used in tonight’s cooking. Half a stick of butter on the turkey. One stick in the pumpkin layer cake. Two sticks in the frosting. Two sticks in the crescent rolls. A dollop in the spiced nuts. A heap in the stuffing. Butter, butter, butter. My hands are nice and soft.

The dinner was lovely and I can definitively say I can taste no difference between a brined and an un-brined turkey. The bourbon in the cranberry sauce is a keeper. And there’s no such thing as “just a tiny taste.” My pants are unbuttoned, and I’m ready for bed, as I plan in hitting Target at about 5 a.m. Hanukkah is T minus six (or perhaps five at this point), and I need to be prepared! Adam will be present-less this year, as he just recently bought his iPad. I suppose I will be too, as Adam went out to buy us Hot Tub Time Machine, thus starting a new Thanksgiving tradition.

Off to bed. Great white buffalo.

No, not my kids. My husband. Getting ready for a trip, he’s got all his toys laid out. His Galaxy Tab. His iPad. His Blackberry.

And what’s wrong?

“I can’t find my iPod! My old-fashioned iPod! Damn, I guess I’ll have to go without it.”

Poor man. Not enough gadgets for a six-hour plane ride. What will he ever do?

The boy had hockey at 6 a.m. today. Stop rubbing your eyes. You read that right. 6 a.m. So he and Adam were up at 5 a.m. Which means Pie was up at 5 a.m. Way up. Wide awake. Wanting to chat with Mommy who was trying to hide under the covers. At some point I gave up and let her engage me in a conversation. I decided to quiz her on what she learned at school.

Me: So, who fought in wars?

Pie: Veterans. Some people in my school thought veterans were doctors who take care of animals.

Me: Oh. What are vegetarians?

Pie: I forget.

Me: They’re people who don’t eat meat.

Pie: Right! You’re a vegetarian!

Me: No. Remember, I had chicken for dinner last night. So I’m not a vegetarian.

Pie: Do we know any vegetarians?

Me: Well, Jasmine’s Daddy is a vegetarian.

Pie: Oh!

Me: Would you like to be a vegetarian?

Pie: NO!!

Me: Why not?

Pie: Because my favorite animal is meat!

Pie: Today we learned about vegetarians.

Me: Really? Wow. I’m surprised you’d learn that at school. What did you learn about vegetarians?

Pie: That they fought in wars.

Wars? Well, I suppose if they tried to make Adam eat eggplant, they’d have a war on their hands.