Here Comes the Bride

June 18th, 2008 § Comments Off on Here Comes the Bride § permalink

Part One
We hit the local thrift shop and Pie immediately gravitated toward a particular book,What Is a Princess. The last spread of the book reads, “And princesses live happily ever after” with the final page a picture of Cinderella in her wedding dress with her prince (in all fairness, it also tells that princesses are smart and brave as well). Pie declared it a good bedtime book, “because it’s such a good story.” But it prompted this bedtime discussion:

Pie: Is Cinderella getting married?
Me: Yes, she is.
Pie: Can I get married?
Me: When you’re a grown-up, you may get married. But only grown-ups get married.
Pie: Can I marry Daddy?
Me: No. I’m afraid Daddy is already married to me. You can marry someone else.
Pie: Who can I marry?
Me: You’ll grow up and fall in love. And that’s who you’ll marry.
Pie: I can marry a man?
Me: You can marry a man. Or you can marry a woman. You’ll marry another person.
Pie: I’ll marry another person?
Me: Yes.
Pie: I want to marry a man.
Me: Okay.
Pie: I want to marry Daddy.
Me: Sorry. I already married him.
Pie: Can I have a baby and get married?
Me: Sure! Most folks do it in the other order, though. They get married and then have a baby.
Pie: I want to have a baby and get married.
Me: Okay.
Pie: Will you hold it?
Me: What?
Pie: Will you hold the baby? When I get married?
Me: Sure.

This feminist mommy is sure trying to be supportive, but no one told me it would get so political so young!

Part Two
Friday night dinner conversation:
Pie: Mommy, when I’m big, can I marry you?
Me: I’m ‘fraid not. I’m already married.
Pie: Can I marry Doodles?
Me: You really can’t marry anyone who’s related to you.
Adam: You can marry [he lists two boys from her school] Alberto or Englebert!
Me: Or you can marry Marvin. Or Angela or Jasmine!
Adam: Right, this is a progressive household.
Pie: I can marry Jasmine?
Me: Sure!
Pie: I want to marry Jasmine!
Me: Okay!
Doodles: That would be good. Because if you marry Jasmine, then there could be two mamas to have babies.
Pie: Can I wear a dress?
Doodles: Silly, you have to wear a dress when you get married!
Me: Actually, you don’t. But, yes, you may wear a dress.
Pie: My fourth of July dress?
Doodles: That won’t fit you by then!
Me: Yes, you may wear your fourth of July dress.
Pie: Can we dance?
Doodles: You always dance at weddings.
Me: Yes, you may dance.
Pie: Dance! And I marry Jasmine.
She goes back to eating her cookie, happy that one of the major decisions of her life are complete.

Random Notes from the Front Lines

June 11th, 2008 § Comments Off on Random Notes from the Front Lines § permalink

I’m at that point of parenthood where when my son asks at 1:11 in the afternoon if he can take off his clothes so he can marry his sister, I don’t even look up when I say, “Sure.”

I also say ridiculous things like, “I’ve told you! No shoes upstairs on the carpet! I want to keep this carpet clean! Now go downstairs while I finish cleaning your pee out of the rug.”

Pie’s new thing: “When I’m big…” All of these uttered at random within the past four days: “When I’m big can I drive?” “When I’m big can I paint your toes?” “When I’m big, can I have coffee?”

The most popular song these days for naked tushie dancing is Cake’s “The Distance.” Pie calls it “the flag song” and she holds a plastic Israeli flag left over from Yom ha’Atzmaut as she listens. The second “the flags go up” is sung, she raises her little flag, giggles, and says, “Play it again.” The other day, I heard Doodles explaining to his friend what the song is about: “This song is about someone riding a horse and he lost his cup.”

Do you remember way back when on game shows when one of the prizes offered was a shopping spree? Someone would have ten or fifteen minutes to run through a store and throw as much stuff as s/he could into the shopping cart. Well, that’s what shopping has become like for me. I went to TJ Maxx today to make a return, and as I’m desperate for some new summer togs, I decided to check out the clothes. The other problem was, I had Thing One and Thing Two with me. Thing Two in particular was a bit trying. I didn’t have to worry about losing her–her ear-piercing screeches (“Aieeeee!”) as she ran from one end of the store to the other was as good as any homing device.
Me: Pie, stop running. Pie, use your walking feet. Doodles, tell your sister to get back here. Pie, get back here. Pie, use your indoor voice. Pie, walking feet! Pie, you are going to lose your playdate if you don’t get over her right now! Doodles, go get your sister.
Meanwhile, I’m walking through the aisles, grabbing anything that looks remotely interesting and remotely in my size and tossing it over my arm. God forbid I hold anything up to me, never mind even try it on.
Pie: Mommy! Is that for me?
Doodles: No, Pie. It’s for Mommy. It’s all for Mommy.
Pie: Buy me something! Buy me something!
Me: You’ll get stuff for your birthday!
Doodles: Mommy can I get–
Me: No.
Doodles: But–
Me: No. For your birthday.
Pie: Mommy! Mommy! MOMMY! Look! LOOK! They have PRINCESS PAJAMAS! Mommy, can I have princess pajamas? I want princess pajamas. Can I have princess pajamas? Please? Please? Please? Puh-leeeeeeeeeeeeeease? Can I have princess pajamas? Can I?
Me: For your birthday.
Pie: Can I have them Right Now?
Me: No. For your birthday.
Pie: I want princess pajamas. Can I have princess pajamas? Please? Please? Please? Puh-leeeeeeeeeeeeeease? Can I have princess pajamas? Can I?
Me: For your birthday.
Pie: Okay. For my birthday.
Me: Good girl.
Pie: For my birthday. Can you buy them now?
Me: No!
On my arm is very random assortment of clothes. I pay for them as my kids threaten to bring down the rope barriers holding up the aisles. Suddenly, I hear another screech.
Pie: Mommy! Mommy! Look at the backpacks! Look, Mommy! Hannah Montana backpacks!
Doodles, excited: She’s right, Mommy! Hannah Montana backpacks.
I halt. I turn to Pie.
Me: How the hell do you know who Hannah Montana is?
Pie shrugs. I turn to Doodles.
Me: How does she know who Hannah Montana is?
Doodles shrugs: I don’t know. But you know, she’s a real person! She’s a real concert singing person.
Pie: Yeah! A concert singing person.
Me, mumbling, as I hand the credit card to the sales clerk for a pile of clothes that I’ll more likely than not be returning: She knows Hannah Montana.
We retreat to the car. I swear not to shop with them again. Not at least until these clothes need to be returned and I still don’t have anything to wear.

Math Is Hard

June 11th, 2008 § Comments Off on Math Is Hard § permalink

The Nana was visiting last weekend, and while she was here, we decided to watch Walk the Line, the Johnny Cash biopic. In the opening of the film, it reads, “Folsom Prison, 1968.”

Me: 1968! That’s the year I was born!
Adam: Yes it is.
Me: That was forty years ago, you know.
Adam: Yes it was.

A couple minutes in, the screen reads, “Someplace, Arkansas, 1944.”

The Nana: 1944. I was one years old.
Me: What?
The Nana: I was one years old. You were talking about how old you were and now I’m telling you how old I was.
Me: Um, but you were born in 1945.
The Nana: Oh. [pause] I guess I did that backwards.

I guess you can say I come by my math skills honestly.

Onward Ho!

June 4th, 2008 § Comments Off on Onward Ho! § permalink

I find it hard to post when Adam’s out of town–as he is again. Normally, throughout the day, when I’m supposed to post, I think, “I can blog about X. Maybe I’ll blog about Y.” But when Adam’s gone, only one thought runs in my head, all day, the constant refrain, starting at 7 a.m.: “Only twelve hours till they go to bed. Only eleven hours and forty-three minutes till they go to bed. Only…” And then when it’s finally the magic hour, we are inevitably running behind because it always takes 27 minutes longer to get anything done than I think. And then, once they’re finally in bed, I have to convince them to sleep. When that’s finally done, I think, “Hmm, blog? Or that case of wine Adam bought last weekend?” I’ll sit here and blog till the wine kicks in.

Today was Pie’s last day of preschool for the year, and tomorrow is Doodles’s last day of preschool… forever. We had his “kindergarten chat” yesterday and the chat itself–with one of the teachers–went just fine, but when he saw all the “big kids,” he totally froze up. I felt so bad for the little guy. Adam and I talked about holding Doodles back from kindergarten, but he’s clearly ready to go. And even if we held Doodles back three years, well, he’d still be the shortest kid in the class. That’s just the way genetics work, kid.

I had this angsty moment, as I got all worked up about the last day of preschool, the end of toddlerhood, the beginning of kindergarten, and then it hit me… I’m going to be having these angsty moments now for the rest of my life. There’s always going to be that next big thing they grow out of/into. First day of kindergarten. First time they have a sleep over. First time they have a crush. The last day of elementary school, middle school, high school…. Getting ready for camp, college, first day of work. The first time they travel without me and Adam. Some of the milestones, I won’t even be aware that it’s the last time, until the pangs hit me in retrospect. The last time they’re small enough for me to carry. The last time they crawl into our bed at night. The last time they cuddle down and beg me to read them a story.

So, I’ll just do what moms have been doing for generations. I’m going to pour myself another glass of wine.

I Don’t Think We’re in New York, Toto

May 28th, 2008 § Comments Off on I Don’t Think We’re in New York, Toto § permalink

We went to Storyland last weekend. Overall it was a successful trip. No meltdowns. The kids loved the rides and the shows. We all ate too much junk food. Driving up, though, we crossed the bridge just before the New Hampshire border (in this picture). Doodles was thrilled. “Look, Mommy!”

“What?” I asked.

He exclaimed happily, “It’s the Triboro Bridge!”

Ah, the sense of direction of his father. Next time the kid misbehaves, I’ll simply spin him around three times and threaten to make him find his own way home.

Her Father’s Daughter

May 28th, 2008 § 1 comment § permalink

Me: Pie, do you know what your shirt says?
Pie: What?
Me: It says, J-A-S-O-N. And here it says V-A-R-I-T-E-K. Do you know what that spells?
Pie: What?
Me: It spells Jason Varitek. He plays for the Boston Red Sox!
Pie [giving me a look]: And he’s captain, too.

Let me tell you, I didn’t teach her that!

End of School Blues

May 28th, 2008 § 1 comment § permalink

End of school year time. I’m up to my ears in projects for the preschool. I should be sleeping–I miss my sleep–but I’m too anal not to do these projects right. I’m also about to have my hands full of children. However, the prospect isn’t as daunting as it seemed even a few weeks ago. Pie and I have come to some sort of unspoken agreement, and it seems to be working. (Does blogging count as speaking? If so, then it shall no longer be unspoken.) Basically, I let Pie get away with whatever she wants, and she no longer makes my life a living hell. For instance, we’re skipping the “sleep in your own bed” charade. Pie goes directly to our bed, do not pass go, do not collect $200. In order to avoid jealousy, Doodles beds down in a sleeping bag on the floor of our room.

In return, I’ve had three–yes, three!–days of no diapers. That’s right. Pie declared on Monday, “No more diapers for me, Mommy.” And she’s been an underwear girl since. Few accidents along the way, but nothing too serious. She’s also getting much better about actually speaking to me (as opposed to grunting and temper tantruming) so we have conversations in which I can understand what she wants. She’s gotten uber-polite about all sorts of things (“Mommy, thank you for getting me dressed.” “Mommy, thank you for putting a towel down for me to sit on” [that last one when I didn’t want to risk my chair for the sake of her underwear]).

And she and Doodles are getting along as well as ever. He’s erupting into kid, and as such is giving me more grief as Pie gives me less, but overall, he’s workable. There are certain things he wants that I control (TV, computer time, bike riding time, playdates), so he’s willing to work the system. He’s taking lots of “big kid” leaps–besides losing the training wheels, he can now tie his own shoes, read a simple book, jump into the pool without freaking, and he’s attempting more foods on his own.

I’ve been so focused on the progress of Doodles–end of preschool, getting ready for kindergarten–that it slipped my mind until this morning that Pie is about to leave toddlerhood. She’ll be an honest to goodness preschooler in a few months. Which is great. Because it means that I’ll have a preschooler and a kid sleeping in my room. That’s progress. Right?

No Comment

May 28th, 2008 § Comments Off on No Comment § permalink

Looking at a web site, Adam saw a shirt that read, “Speech impediments are thexthy.” He laughed. “I want that shirt,” he said. Then he reconsidered. “Nah. I can’t get away with that kind of thing anymore.”

Anymore? Uh, that’s just too easy, so I’ll let it go…

Speak and He’ll Snore

May 21st, 2008 § Comments Off on Speak and He’ll Snore § permalink

Adam swears he listens to me. And yet he gives me ample proof that he’s not. Then he demands, “You never told me that!” Uh, yes I did!

For instance, last night, I call Adam as I’m entering the store with the kids:
Me: Hi. I’m at Whole Foods. I’m not sure what we’re having for dinner.
Adam: Did you want me to pick something up?
[Me, thinking, yeah, why don’t you stop at Whole Foods and get something.]

And then, there’s the infamous, “I’m not asleep!” I get from him pretty much every night when he, hey! falls asleep in his chair. We (and by “we” I mean “me” because clearly I was the only one awake) are watching BBC World News and it’s talking about the U.S. presidential election. I’m trying to have a conversation with my husband about current events, but his eyes keep shutting (“I’m just resting them!”)

Me: Do you still think John McCain is a little soft in the head?
Adam: Yeah. I heard him speak once in a small crowd and he really rambled a lot.
Me: Who was the wacky admiral who ran for vice president?
Adam: I have no idea who you’re talking aobut.
Me: Did he run with Mondale?
Adam: I highly doubt Geraldine Ferraro was an admiral.
Me: Oh, yeah, right.

As I always do, I called my personal political pundit for clarification on this and a few other issues (in other words, Tweeds, professor extraordinaire in the political sciences). Tweeds gives me the answers I’m looking for (“He ran as Ross Perot’s running mate; England still calls it Burma because they don’t recognize the government that named it that. We don’t either, but we still for some reason call it Myanmar; John McCain is soft in the head.”) and I report back. Of course, by now those resting eyes are deep in REM, despite my husband’s protests to the contrary.

Me: Did you know it was a Republican who named him Senator Hothead. Tweeds told me that one time, he was with his wife in front of reporters and she ran her fingers— [I hear snoring coming from a certain direction]Are you listening to me?
Adam: Yes!
I look at him skeptically. Finally, I ask: What did I just say?
Adam finally opens his eyes. He responds: You said… Um… wait. I had it!

And he wonders why I always end up talking to strangers in the supermarket. It’s because they LISTEN!

Pie on Ice

May 21st, 2008 § Comments Off on Pie on Ice § permalink

I know I have a tendency to complain about my children a lot–probably because they give me so much to complain about and I’m not really one to get all sappy on folks. But humor me a moment while I kvell a moment. Last Saturday, my sporty little Pie had her first ice skating show. Her coaches had approached me about her participating last fall, and I hemmed and hawed without ever actually saying no, which they took as acquiescence. I had real reservations about letting her skate in a “competition” (at her level, Tot 2, it’s not actually a competition plus she skates the whole program with her coach, so she’s not alone on the ice) but she so enjoyed working on the program with her coach, I figured, “Hey, why not?”

For weeks she’s been talking about the show, and it was only heightened when I borrowed a skating dress for her. “Time to wear dress?” she’d ask. “Time to go ice skating?”

Saturday finally came. We put her in her outfit, and pleased as punch we headed for the rink. It was overwhelming. It was a serious show with two rinks worth of skaters going on, and lots of noise, crowds, and cheers. Pie took one look around and her eyes went wide. I took her into the locker room, where not even Doodles was allowed in, and sat her down. At one point, I had to run upstairs to get her helmet (the photo here was taken at the end when her coach took her helmet off specifically for the picture [**Photo upload is down–it will be up when I can get it up]), I left her with one of the coaches–not hers. “Is that okay, Pie?” She gave me a wide-eyed nod. I left fully prepared to come running back at the sound of tears. There were none. I returned to find her just watching everyone. “Hey, Pie, can I take your picture?” I asked. She immediately hopped up, smiled wide, and posed like a champ. Then sat back down and watched the action. Every few minutes, she’d quietly ask, “My turn to ice skate?” and I’d say, “Not yet, sweetheart.”

A half hour before she was to go on, she lined up with her coach. “No parents! All parents please return to the seats!” I didn’t think they really meant me–Pie was there with a coach who wasn’t her own–but they did. “Is it okay if I go upstairs, Pie?” Again the wide-eyed nod.

I go upstairs and flip through the program. Hundreds of events going on. I went through it once. Twice. Pie is the only two year old in the entire show. Finally, they announce her name. Out she goes to the far end of the rink with her coach, just the two of them, looking tiny on the ice. She stands there, and then her music starts. And she skates her little one-minute program (video, for those with the password, is up, but very hard to see). She falls. She doesn’t do all her spins. But, damn! She was cute! She got so many cheers. I was so proud of her, and what’s more important, she was incredibly proud of herself.

That little Pie. Feisty in all the right places. You go, girl! (Now to return to our regularly scheduled kvetching.)

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  • Who I Am

    I read, I write, I occasionally look to make sure my kids aren't playing with matches.

    My novel, MODERN GIRLS will be coming out from NAL in the spring of 2016.

    I mostly update the writing blog these days, so find me over there.

    More about me and my writing.

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    jenny at jennyandadam.com


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  • Who I Am

    I read, I write, I occasionally look to make sure my kids aren't playing with matches.

    My novel, MODERN GIRLS will be coming out from NAL in the spring of 2016.

    I mostly update the writing blog these days, so find me over there.

    More about me and my writing.

  • Where to Find Me

    jenny at jennyandadam.com


    Instagram

    Follow Me on Pinterest

    Goodreads

    Writing Blog: Jennifer S. Brown

    Photo Blog: jPhone Jenny

  • Meta