the pieces of my life

Since Adam is so erratic in updating his blog, I suggested that he let me guest blog for him when he’s too busy to write. That idea didn’t go over real well. So, my next thought was I’d blog here as Adam, to let everyone know what he’s thinking and what he’s up to. Except, well, he spends much of his evenings downstairs doing school work in his office, so I’m not sure what he’s thinking and I assume he’s doing problem sets and reading case studies, but since I’m trapped on the living room chair beneath a sleeping Doodlebug, I can’t be sure.

Maybe I should write about the Red Sox, I thought. Only, of course, I don’t really know anything about the Red Sox. So I figured I do what Adam does: visit the Sons of Sam Horn board and find some original thought about the Sox that I could pass off as my own (ethical? no. But possibly entertaining). (Okay, I realize that was a poorly constructed sentence that implies that Adam passes off others’ baseball ideas as his own. He does not do that. What he does is he visits the board frequently. However, he is an MBA and occasionally has poorly constructed sentences in his blog, so I’m going to let it stand.) Okay, I peruse SoSH. And I study the topics. Looking for something semi-intelligent to say. Something… baseball related. But what do I find? Threads on “The Official American Idol Season III Thread” and “Trading Places ending…” and “Best ‘Hair Band’ song.” Hello? Where’s the baseball? Is the board run by a bunch of tween girls?

I can mention what little I know of his semester. He’s taking one class that’s really hard, and it has hours of problem sets each night. He has another class that meets at 8:30 a.m. Oh, and he’s working on a negotiation. Which means he has a BATNA. Which is no relation to BAFTA.

Other things that have been going on his life: he occasionally leaves the house with streaks of spit-up on his back. Before the semester started, instead of reading cases, he read Bringing Down the House: The Inside Story of Six M.I.T. Students Who Took Vegas for Millions, which he loved. He’s sworn off TV, except for his secret, guilty favorite, The O.C.. And he can still be suckered into making the hot fudge sundaes.

I think I’m starting to understand why he didn’t want me blogging for him.

Yes, yes, it’s boring and trite to write about the weather. But I had a number of errands to run today with the Doodlebug and when we were getting ready, I checked Yahoo Weather. High today: 8. Low today: 0. Current temp: -5 (and why doesn’t that automatically trigger the low temp to change?). Feels like: -22. How do you dress a Doodlebug for that? And today’s not even the supposed to be the coldest day of the week!

Sometimes when Adam and I are talking, he’ll say something that makes me say, “I want to blog about that!” Occasionally I’ll make a note in Blogger and leave it as a draft to flesh out later. A few days ago this happened. I made Adam repeat what he said and I wrote it down here. He said, “Maybe I was making it up. Maybe it’s a game that we play where everybody’s making it up.” And now? Now neither one of us has the foggiest notion to what he was referring. So make up your own story that has this as the punch line. It’ll probably be funnier than whatever it was that we originally said, anyway.

So I’ll mention it again: the Doodlebug is the cutest baby ever. That’s all!

During the weekend trip to D.C., I got a chance to hang out with Mike. Mike (or Michael, as he apparently now calls himself) and I met in 1987 in Sight and Sound: Video at NYU. [Completely random side note: I hate it when I’m convinced that I’ve blogged something before but then can’t find it. I wonder, “Should I blog it and risk repeating myself? Or err on the side of just leaving some things unsaid.” For now, we’re going with unsaid.] Sight and Sound was one of the basic requirements for every upper-level course, and we all took the film semester with enthusiasm. If I recall correctly, video was less interesting. Most of us didn’t have any desire to work in video (and really, I just wanted to sit behind a typewriter writing scripts–yes, a typewriter which was much cooler, more retro, more Dorothy Parker and Robert Benchley than the Brother Word Processor I owned at the time), but a requirement is a requirement. What I find frightening is I remember about five people from the class, which includes our teacher who, if I recall, mispronounced Wim Wenders name (she said it with a “w” sound, not a “v” sound, which just goes to prove that everyone does remember every stupid little thing you do). Yet Mike just sent me a list of our classmates, and it turns out, there were a lot of them! I’m amazed that he can remember all those people. Sure, once I read the list, I thought, “Oh, yeah! I remember him! Oh, yeah, he made that awful video.” But there were some names on the list where all I can say is “huh?” I’m drawing a complete blank on these folks.

The last time I had seen Mike was in 1989. I had just graduated college, and on a whim I went to France. I was walking down the street in Paris when I ran into Mike. He was on vacation with his family. So, how much has changed in fifteen years? Interestingly, not that much. We’ve entered a new age of friendships. Even though it’s been fifteen years since I’d seen Mike, we’ve been in contact for the past couple of years over e-mail and of course through our blogs. Getting together with him was oddly familiar. I didn’t need to catch up with him in the usual sense of, “So, what have you been doing the past fifteen years?” I already knew where he was working, who he was dating, what he did for fun. It was kind of like having a Sunday brunch with someone you see all the time. Only we don’t.

It’s amazing to me how the Internet has changed the dynamics of friendship so much. In my freshman psychology class I learned that the number one determiner of friendship was proximity. The Internet, to a certain degree, removes that. I have friends I never see, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t friends. In fact, with some friends (and I won’t name names here, but if I were to name names, the name Eugene would be the first to come to mind), I know more about them because of the Web than I ever did in person. Eugene is such a closed person in real life; you never know how he feels (not even when you push and push and needle and plead–not, of course, that I would ever do that–to find out even the basics such as “Are you dating?” and “So what’s up with that job of yours?”). Yet, I learn so much about him from his blog. Eugene’s former roommate (hi, Sang!) once said to me, “If it weren’t for Eugene’s blog, I’d never know what he was up to!” So all of you friends who don’t have blogs, what are you waiting for?

The three of us headed to D.C. last weekend for my best friend’s baby shower, which I co-hosted. When planning the trip, I said to J., “I guess we’ll come in by train. It’s too much of a hassle to drive so far with the Doodlebug” She said, “That’s fine. But you know, it’s not that much more to fly.” Fly? Fly from Boston to D.C.? Um, why did that never cross my mind? Other than the fact that I’m not crazy about those tiny commuter jets, it was a pleasant journey that took less than an hour and a half.

This is my fourth trip to D.C., and I still haven’t seen much of the city. I saw the city on my first trip, when I was about ten or so (can’t remember) and I went with my cousins and my grandparents. But since then, I’ve been for a single-day trip for a pro-choice rally (from New York), for J.’s wedding, and now for her baby shower. During the wedding trip, Adam and I visited the Holocaust Museum and we walked around a bit. The city was deserted because we were there in September of 2001. But I haven’t been to the Smithsonian in the past few decades nor visited any historic or political sites. However, we certainly weren’t up for it this weekend. Besides the cold weather, it’s just difficult to get around with the Doodlebug. The next time we go, he’ll be old enough to at least have an interest in looking at things, which will make it worthwhile. Besides, I was spending a lot of time indulging my Martha fantasies as J.’s sister and I prepared for the party.

J. and her husband are very politically aware and definitely liberal-leaning. Adam, as you are aware, is, well, not liberal-leaning. The three got into a friendly debate about the upcoming elections that I remained silent in. After we went up to our room, I smacked Adam and accused him of not doing his share with the Doodlebug. “What do you mean?” he asked. I replied, “If you have enough time to read the newspaper, then you can obviously be doing more!” Oh, sure, I’ve read the newspaper. If you count trying to peer at the headlines over the Doodlebug’s head while he’s feeding as reading. I’ve yet to make it to “continued on xx.”

The weekend was great and the Doodlebug was on relatively good behavior, although I thought I glimpsed moments of concern on J. and her husband’s faces (they’ve less than two months to go). I will say that visiting people who don’t have kids (even those without kids who have kid on the way) is challenging. We rely greatly on the Pack N Play, the Exersaucer, the Boppy for places to just set the Doodlebug down so we can have free hands for a few moments. Of course, having extra hands to hold him is great, but I didn’t want to scare J. off with the spit-up, the crying, and the squirminess. After all, it’s way too late for her to back out now.

I had plenty to blog about–during the week, I’ll usually say to Adam, “Remind me to blog about that,” and if I’m really on top of things, I write it up as a draft–but for some reason it’s all escaping me this week. I can’t remember a single thing I wanted to say. Plus, I’m blogging at a precarious angle because there’s a Doodlebug asleep on my side as I sit on the sofa (I know that’s hard to picture but take it from me, this isn’t a position conducive to blogging). So instead of thinking of something new to write, I’ll tell you about 1973. Why 1973? Because when I asked Adam to pick a year, he picked 1974. Only I have no distinct memories of 1974, but I do have distinct memories of 1973, because that was the only year we lived in Miami Lakes, so 1973 it is. (By the way, totally random aside, for all of you who have given up on checking, Adam has finally updated his blog.)

Remember 1973? Picture it. Tony Orlando and Dawn. Billy Jean King was battling Bobby Riggs. All in the Family was the number one show. The Sting was still playing at drive-ins. Roe v. Wade was decided. Watergate investigations were happening. The Miami Dolphins beat Washington in the Super Bowl to cap off the perfect season. Secretariat won the Triple Crown. Pet Rocks. Okay now forget all of this because with the exception of Tony Orlando and Dawn (hum along now to “Tie a Yellow Ribbon”), I wasn’t aware of any of these things. Hey, I was four years old! We lived on a street (Sea Grape Terrace) that had lots of boys on it. I used to play with Patrick who lived across the street from me. Patrick had a lot of siblings, and we used to like to play Cowboys and Indians (I know, it’s not PC, but give me a break, it was 1973). They always made me be an Indian because I didn’t have a gun. I wanted to be a cowboy soooo badly but they wouldn’t let me. I begged and begged my mother for a gun, but my hippie mother was against the idea. This I remember well. I also remember (well, okay, the picture helps) me in my little blue dress, my tiny pigtails, and blue bows in my hair opening up a Hanukkah package that was as tall as I was. It was not just a gun, it was a machine gun that shot sparks! It was waaay bigger than the guns of those boys. I can’t recall if they actually let me be a cowboy after that, but boy did I love that gun. I recently learned why I got the gun: My mom really didn’t want me playing with violent toys. It was a matter of principle. But supposedly I approached her one day and said, “I know why I can’t have a gun. It’s because I’m a girl.” I guess feminism trumps pacifism.

Other memories: I had a smiley face sweatshirt that I loved (sort of like this one, but more ’70s looking). I wore it tons. I used to hang out with Travis next door, and his mother Gail always wanted me to take the sweatshirt off when I was inside. “But you’ll be cold when you go outside if you don’t take it off inside,” she’d say (although how cold could it be? It was Miami Lakes). Yet, I’d stubbornly refuse. This is the same woman who ran a stop light and when I called her on it, said it was allowed once you stopped if no one was coming. I told my mother this and she laughed and that’s when I learned that grown-ups don’t always tell the truth. One day I went to have a playdate with a girl from preschool. I can’t remember her name, but she had short blond hair and I really liked her, but she was always a little lukewarm to me. I’m not sure how we ended up playing together except, of course, that our mothers must have arranged it. Anyway, they had a large dog (at least from my perspective the dog seemed large). I was scared of the dog so the mom put the dog out by the pool, but I was so freaked out by the whole thing that I decided that I didn’t care so much about being her friend and that I wanted to go home early. The girl got really upset and started crying, asking me to stay but the more she wanted me to stay and the more her mom tried to convince me, the more I wanted to go home, so my mom had to come get me. What else? There were tadpoles in the lake in our backyard (yes, Miami Lakes had lakes! And I just learned, for the very first time, from the map above that the lake we lived on was Lake Hilda), which were neato, and then there were frogs in our porch, which wasn’t. My dad had to go into the sewer one day to fix something or another, and I remember his head poking up through the manhole and the kids around watching him (can that be right? Or am I making that one up?) I remember walking on Patrick’s driveway when it had just been asphalted and the bottom of my feet getting black. The babysitter tried to frantically scrub it off of me and she kept telling me how angry my mother would be. I was terrified, but my mom didn’t care and she just used some turpentine to clean me off (and it amuses me to think that really the babysitter must have been worried that my mother would be angry with her; after all, I was just four). I shared a room with the Tweedle Twirp who had to sleep with a brace on her feet (she was born club footed). At night, she’d toss and turn and eventually get her brace stuck in the bars of her crib (she was just one at the time) and I’d have to wake up my mother to get her unstuck.

Hmmm. It looks like my version of 1973 isn’t that interesting after all. Let’s hope something fun happens in 2004 that I can write about next week.

Every year I make New Year’s resolutions. I had intended to write this entry and point out that considering how few I keep that there’s really not much point of my making new ones. Yet, as I revisit last year’s resolutions (which I haven’t looked at since last January 1; if I’m going to go to the bother of making these resolutions, then I really should revisit them mid-year to see how I’m doing), I find that I actually managed to keep a surprising amount of them (meaning, more than one of them). True, some came about by accident, but nonetheless, they stuck. Here are the highlights (I’ve left out some of the more mundane and embarrassing ones, although I did get some of those done, too) and how I did:

1. Revise ten pages of my novel a month or do the equivalent in background writing, if needed (character sketches, timelines, research) Yeah, not even close on this one. But it’s a good one. Might as well keep this one in for next year.
   
2. Eat more fiber This was an easy one. But, no, didn’t do that one either.
   
3. With the exception of the Jazz Fest trip, no alcohol for the year. Ding, ding, ding! I have a winner (more or less)! Of course, being pregnant helped this one considerably, but I can count on one hand the number of drinks I had in 2003, so I count this as a success.
   
4. Visit New York at least three times (it’s so darn close and I’m just too lazy for not going. There are too many people there I want to stay in closer touch with). Well, I was 2/3 successful on this one. Which makes me slightly annoyed because Adam and I were going to make an impromptu trip to NY this past weekend, but we had a prior commitment we couldn’t get out of, so we decided to wait. Unfortunately, that means the trip will be in 2004 and won’t count toward this resolution. Had I just looked at these resolutions a week earlier….
   
5. Read the news section of the Sunday New York Times before the style section. I kept this one up until the third trimester when the hormones made the front section way too depressing. I’m now just starting to read it again.
   
6. Get pregnant. Who knew? Turns out I had fulfilled this one even before this list was written, I just didn’t figure it out for a few more days.

So for this year, I’ll once again stay mum about the majority of my resolutions. I will say there is the requisite writing resolution (this year with a more doable goal since I have to factor in less free time), there’s the healthier eating resolution (no desserts/sweets Sunday night through Friday afternoon [except for holidays]; I did this a few years ago with alcohol, and it worked out great), there’s the exercise resolution (I’ll be running a marathon this year), and assorted resolutions having to do with the Doodlebug. I’ll give you the highlights a year from now if I’ve accomplished any of them (and even if I didn’t). In the meantime, Adam, the Doodlebug, and I will have a quiet night in. I’m making the Mary Cantwell’s Steak in Champagne recipe from last Sunday’s New York Times magazine, Adam’s got a special dessert he’ll be working on, and we’ll be popping a bottle of bubbly Adam got many years ago in France (hope it’s still good!). Hope all of you have a wonderful New Year’s Eve and a peaceful new year.

• Adam and I have decided that we’re just going to make a list now of all the things the Doodlebug is going to want to discuss in therapy when he gets older. It’ll save him the trouble of having to remember everything himself.
  
• More proof that the Doodlebug won’t become a MacArthur Fellow anytime soon: He loves to suck on hands. His own. His mother’s. His father’s. Anyone within a three-foot radius of his stroller. But he’s easily confused on how to get said hand into his mouth. He’ll take someone else’s hand in both his hands. But his left hand will pull the hand in while his right pushes it away. So the hand is in drool limbo as it gets close enough to his mouth to get a nice dousing before his other hand shoves it away. The Doodlebug is befuddled! He sees the hand. He’s holding the hand. Yet the hand is nowhere near his mouth! The agitation grows. He wants that hand! Oh, to gnaw on that hand! Finally, the holder of the hand must show mercy and overrule the hand pushing it away and find its own way to the Doodlebug’s mouth. As a friend once said, someday our child will be smarter than monkey. I hope.
  
• The Doodlebug is showing some definite improvements in other areas. For one, he’s taken well to solid foods. For another, he’s started laughing! What a wonderful sound! Doodlebug laughter.
  
• Of course, there are some not-so-wonderful improvements. Like the teething. It’s exciting to know that someday our Doodlebug will be able to do some damage if he ever learns to guide the hand into his mouth, but in the meantime, the screaming isn’t that much fun. And he’s turned into a fountain of drool. But I could live with that. What I’m having a hard time with is that he’s using me as a teether. During breastfeeding. Ouch.
  
• I find it disturbing that the Doodlebug’s Baby Mozart DVD has a “Play Once” and a “Repeat Play” option. Repeat? That’s simply evil.
  
• One of my New Year’s resolutions is to purge. No, not my stomach. My stuff. I hold on to way too much crap for sentimental value (my new favorite show is Clean Sweep). I need to start ditching things that I no longer use no matter who it came from or what memories I have attached to it. I’ve gotten to a pretty good start, but there’s one object I’m having a very hard time parting with. For Hanukkah, I got the 11th edition of Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary. Oh, how exciting! So many new words! But I’ve had my 10th edition for, well, ten years now. The Tweedle Twirp bought it for me when it was brand new. I’m emotionally attached to that dictionary. All those wonderful words I’ve looked up! I can’t seem to part with it. So now I have two dictionaries. Which makes me already behind in my New Year’s resolutions.
  
• I got Adam the first season of The Office on DVD for Hanukkah. Besides the fact that the show is hilarious (and we can’t watch it on TV because we no longer get BBC America), the amazing thing about this set is we can understand it! We just turned on the subtitles and no longer do we have to ask, “What did he just say?” “What is with that accent? I missed that whole exchange.” We’ve decoded British English! And you know what? The show is even funnier when you know what’s going on.

As usual (as I’m writing this, which is different from when I post it) Adam’s asleep on the couch and the Doodlebug is asleep in his car seat (the only place he’ll now sleep besides right next to me). Our nightly ritual is for me to wake Adam up to go to bed. This night, though, I was up late (okay, late for me; it’s past midnight now), and I shook Adam and said, “It’s time to go to bed. Why’d you let me stay up so late?” And he replied, “I told you this morning, it would take fourteen or two years.” Ah, this game. I play along. “Fourteen or two years for what?” “No, fourteen weeks or two years.” “For what?” “For the dress!” By this time he’s exasperated with me. “The dress for what?” “The dress, the dress. For the whatchamacallit.” “I don’t remember for what it’s for. You tell me. ” “I don’t remember.” Proving he’s awake he peers over at the Doodlebug and asks me, “Is he supposed to be awake?” I turn around and sure enough, the Doodlebug is wide-eyed. I look back at Adam, and he’s already back asleep. I turn back to the Doodlebug and, ditto, he’s already back asleep. True, the Doodlebug wasn’t spouting nonsense. But he will be. How do I know? Because right after he’s fallen asleep, the Doodlebug makes these gurgling noises, babbles to himself, and then lets out a little laugh. The things I have to look forward to.