the pieces of my life

Doodles: When I grow up I’m going to have kids.
Adam: How many kids are you going to have?
Doodles: Five.
Adam: What are their names going to be?
Doodles: The first one is going to be Bessie Brown because that’s Peter’s Mommy’s name. The second one is named Nathan Brown because that Peter’s Daddy’s name.
Adam: What are the other names?
Doodles: The third one is named Hair. Hair is a very large girl baby.
Adam: And what about the others?
Doodles: The other babies are named Eyeball and Eyebrow.
Adam: Are they twins?
Doodles: Yes, Hair and Eyeball and Eyebrow are twins.

Because this blog isn’t complete without random conversations of my children:

Me: So, Pie, what did you do at school today?
Pie: Um, crackers.
Me: You ate crackers. What else did you do?
Pie: Peppers.
Me: You ate some peppers. Anything else? Did you play on the playground?
Pie: Um, orange.
Me: Yes, that’s right. Your teacher did mention you had crackers, peppers, and oranges for snack. Who did you play with at school?
Pie: Crackers. Watch Super Why now?

Doodles: How do you spell smart?
Adam: S
Doodles: (writes S) … What else?
Adam: M
Doodles: (writing) I always write my Ms like Ws.
Adam: Oh yeah, you write them upside down?
Doodles: Yes. I need to go to M class. At M class they’d teach me how to write upper case M and lower case m.

Long-time readers of this blog will remember that my son has eating issues. As in, he doesn’t. Oh, okay. That’s not true. He’s a little carboholic but his lips have never been sullied by an actual, real, whole vegetable. Never. Ever. He tolerated the stage one purees as a baby, but never progressed to stage two.

I have a great picture of him on his one-year birthday, absolutely furious at me for deigning to put a cupcake on his face. He wasn’t happy until the Goldfish came out. The teachers of the toddler room insisted that they’d never had a child who they couldn’t get to eat. Doodles made them cry uncle. It was the Tiny Tot teacher who finally said, “This isn’t normal,” which was completely validating. In entered Early Intervention. Doodles had an occupational therapist come to the house every week to work on sensory issues. In the beginning, the boy wouldn’t go near Play-doh, freaked out over shaving cream, and gagged at the mere site of bread. He also entered a short-term feeding group, where many kids came together and wouldn’t play with Play-doh, freaked out over shaving cream, and gagged at the mere site of just about every food imaginable. However, diligence won out and by the time he aged out of feeding therapy, he had added a wealth of new items to his list of foods he’d eat: bread, cake & cookies (oh joy), waffles, pancakes, French toast, and French fries (I know that doesn’t seem like an achievement, but it meant we could go out for a meal without packing up a zillion bags of cereal, Goldfish, and Veggie Booty). Shortly after he added pizza. A real food! (Okay, so not the realest of foods, but let me have my short-lived joy.)

He was making enough progress that we decided not to pursue other feeding resources when he was no longer eligible for Early Intervention. Fast forward to his four-year doctor’s appointment. Still not eating any vegetables. Still not eating any fruit. Still not eating any meat. I could go on, but the list gets boring. The doctor decided it was time, to once again, call in reinforcements.

Today Doodles started a new feeding group. It’s pretty cool, and he seemed to enjoy it. We’ll see how much he likes it once the novelty has worn off. It’s once a week for two hours (right smack in the middle of Pie’s nap time, but we’ll just have to deal with that), and I get to sit in a room with a one-way mirror and observe him (I wasn’t comfortable with the one-way mirror thing so I made sure to show him the room and let him know that I’d be sitting there watching him. I think it reassured him).

Five kids are paired with five graduate students and they’re supervised by a specialist (I think she’s the only one in the area; it’s amazing we got in to this group, which just happened to graduate a couple of kids right before we called. The requirements for the group are pretty strict–such as no allergies–so we were very lucky). Everyone plays at first. Then it’s circle time where they read a book that has food in it in some prominent way. Today they read Chicks and Salsa. Then, the group cooks. In keeping with the theme of the book, the kids made chicken fajitas. Doodles and his grad student cut green peppers together and chopped up cucumbers for the salsa. They had a hot plate out and the kids got to put things in the pan as they grilled them up.

While things were cooking, the kids played and they rearranged the room, creating individual tables for each child and grad student. They then came back for “mouth time.” In mouth time, parents provide a food they’re working on and the grad students work with the kids one on one to help them. Doodles was working on apples. They cut him slices and took off the skin (the way we’ve had a smidgen of success before). He did a lot of gagging but they provided him with a bowl to spit into and he was told he could spit out food at any time (and he was excited tonight to learn the word “spittoon”). They worked with all the kids to lick food, hold it in their mouths, chew it and spit it out and whatever they needed. By the end of the session, he had bitten off a few bites of apples, chewed it, and “sent it to his tummy.” Doodles liked that so much he sent a few bites to his toes and his forehead and other various body parts.

At the end of mouth time, the chicken fajitas came out. Doodles got to roll his own. At first, he tricked them into thinking he was actually eating it, but to one in the know such as myself, it was obvious he was merely eating the tortilla and avoiding the insides. They caught on quickly enough. They had him lick a number of new foods. He even ingested the tiniest smidgen of shredded cheese!

Of course, we have homework to do with him: He has to have three bites of apple make it to his tummy every day (although he’s welcome to spit out whenever he needs to). We’ll see how it goes. And Pie wasn’t thrilled with being confined to the observation room for two hours when there was real food out there (everyone who passed through and saw Pie noshing on her carrots, peppers, and sugar snap peas was wowed with her eating; it’s not hard to excel in that group!).

And me? I’m signing off to go have a big plate of sushi. Mmmm sushi. And I promised I won’t spit any of it out.

I’ve blogged a few times before about how I’m shopping impaired. I hate shopping for myself. Can’t stand buying clothes. Just don’t see the point about shoes. They’re something for your feet to keep them from getting stones embedded in them.

Pie has not inherited this lack of clothing/shoe lust from me.

A while ago, I needed to kill an hour with Pie.
Me: Pie! [Nice tone] Do you want to go to the playground! [Mumble] Do you want to go buy shoes? [Exuberant] Or do you want to go to STARBUCKS!
Pie: Shoes! Shoes! Buy shoes!
So I took her to the shoe store where she picked out a lovely pair of shoes (in the dark burgundy) for herself. (I myself finally replaced those 2001 Merrells… with another pair of Merrells. What can I say? I live dangerously.)

So, anyway, yesterday we were at a kids store as I was looking for a baby gift. Pie is having a blast. She picks up a (admittedly cute) baby hat. “Get this one, Mommy! This hat!” I explain it’s not quite what I’m looking for. I’m still searching the racks when Pie comes bouncing over with huge smile on her face and a very fancy dress in her hands. “Mommy! I like this! I really like this!” I evaluate. She’d have nowhere to wear it, but it is a cute dress. “Buy this dress, Mommy!” I peek at the tag. She’s even picked out the right size. And then I look at the price tag: $50. “Not a chance, kiddo,” I tell her. “Put it back.” She gives one sad, “But I like it!” but does put it back on the shelf for me.

My two year old has better taste in apparel than I do. Maybe I should let her take me shopping…

That Pie and her temper tantrums. Oh are they a force to be reckoned with! In the morning, I lie in bed, pretending I can’t hear the screams coming from downstairs. Doodles is finally starting to sleep in. You know, till about 6:20 a.m., which is heaven. Pie on the other hand is up daily between 5:22 and 5:29 a.m. I hide under the covers until she and Adam are safely downstairs. But the sounds of Pie still manage to sneak in:
Pie: Cheeeeerioooos!
Adam: Okay, here are some Cheerios.
Pie, arm shooting out, sending bowl skittering across table: NOOOO! Not Cheeerrioooos!
Adam takes away the bowl.
Adam: Okay, no Cheerios.
Pie: CHEEEERIOOOOOSSSS!!!
It goes on for much of the morning, with slight variations. If it’s a school day, we get the wagging finger and the tearful “No school! No school!” If it’s not a school day for Pie, I get gleeful screaming and shrieking as she hides from me as I try to get her ready to take her brother to school. There are temper tantrums over coloring. Temper tantrums over food. Temper tantrums over shoes. Temper tantrums over getting into her car seat. Temper tantrums over toys. Temper tantrums over books. Do I need to go on?

I, however, am beginning to learn a few tricks. For instance, the Pie has delightfully curly locks. Masses of curls pouring around her face. However, she will not allow a hair clip near said locks. The curls fall into her eyes and she can’t see. As much as I hate to do it, I’ve had her hair cut twice, because it becomes so unruly. But I don’t want to keep cutting it. This, though, is okay, because I’ve figured out the secret of getting a hair clip in her hair.
Me: Do you want a hair clip?
Pie: Yes!
Me: Which one?
Pie: Um, butterfly. No! Cow and chicken!
Me: Okay, here they are. [Go to put them in hair]
Pie: Noooooo! Want cow and chicken! Want cow and chicken.
Me: Cow and chicken are not a toy. They’re hair clips. As in for your hair.
Pie: No! Have them!
Me: In hair!
Pie: No hair! No hair!
Me: Then no clips!
Pie: No clips!
Me: That’s fine. [Pause] Say, since you don’t want to wear the clips in your hair, why don’t I give them to C.? He loves wearing these clips!
Pie: No! No! Pie wear hair clips! Hair clips in my hair!
And the clips go happily in the hair.

The nice thing about this is that Doodles is picking up the temper tantrum vibe and we’ve been getting a few of the surprising ones from him. The ones that go from 0 to 60 in three seconds flat. The where-the-hell-did-that-come-from tantrum. The ones that start something like, “Mom, can you help me open my yogurt?” to which I reply, “Sure, just give me a second to get off the toilet,” which causes him to drop down onto the floor, bang his arms and legs on the floor, and wail, “I wanted a yogurt now!” It’s oh so charming.

Of course sometimes, he’s a little more straightforward.
Me: So what did you have for snack over at N.’s house on your playdate?
Doodles: A freeze pop!
Me: That must have been nice.
Doodles: I looooooove freeze pops!
Me: I’m sure you do!
Doodles: You should buy freeze pops!
Me: Sure! Just as soon as you start eating energy foods, I’ll start buying freeze pops.
Doodles, with exaggeration, rolls his eyes and says: Oh come on, Mom! Just buy the freeze pops!
Four, going on fourteen!

Every morning now begins with inventory. As Adam gets dressed, this conversation ensues:
Pie: Daddy has a p*enis!
Adam: Yes, that’s right.
Pie: Pie has a gagina!
Adam: Right again!
We don’t feel ogled. No not at all…

Overheard by another mother:
Doodles: Do you believe in Santa Claus?
Little Friend: What?
Friend’s Mom: She doesn’t know about Santa Claus.
Doodles: Okay, but does she believe in him?

Doodles: How are baby horses born?
Me: Just like people. They grow inside of their mommies’ bellies.
Doodles: But how do they get out?
Me: Through the horses’ private parts.
Doodles: How do people’s babies come out?
Me: Most babies come out through their mommies’ private parts. You and Pie, though, weren’t. I had an operation and the doctor cut my belly and took you out.
Doodles: So we were in your belly?
Me: Sort of. You were in my womb. It’s near my belly.
Doodles: Womb?
Me: Womb.
Doodles: Womb?
Me: Womb.
Doodles: Babies are in wombs?
Me: Yep!
Doodles: Are there chairs in wombs for the babies to sit on?

Pie’s first words upon rising: “Did the dinosaurs eat apples and honey on Rosh Hashanah?”

I’m in my office. Ella and Louis are on the CD player. But all of a sudden, I hear Billy Jonas. That’s odd. I thought SteveSongs was the next CD in there. Come out to find Ella and Louis still playing, albeit softly, and the iPod playing Billy Jonas. Doodles sits sheepishly on the coach.
Me: Who turned on the iPod?
Doodles: I don’t know.
Me: You don’t know?
Doodles: Uh uh. It just went on.
Me: You were just sitting here all by yourself and the iPod just magically started playing Billy Jonas
Doodles: Yeah.
Me: Hmmm, that doesn’t sound right.
Doodles: Well… I think Pie turned it on.
Me: Pie turned it on?
Doodles: Yeah. That’s right. Pie turned it on.
Me: And how did Pie turn it on?
Doodles: She just did.
Me: Are you fibbing?
Doodles giggles.
Me: Did you turn the iPod on? You know you’re not allowed to touch the iPod!
Doodles: It’s okay, because I didn’t touch it! [Doodles leans over to the side table that the iPod and speaker are on to demonstrate] See! I didn’t touch the iPod! I used the remote, so it’s okay! I never touched the iPod!

Some view Kol Nidre as a solemn night for reflection and devotion. I personally see it as a night out away from the kids. Whoo hooo! Atonement time!

We survived the holidays intact. Adam didn’t get overly grumpy on Yom Kippur. The kids didn’t break anything when we had our break fast at the friends’ of my parents. And when I ran my half marathon the next day, I not only broke two hours (my been-trying-to-reach-for-many-years-now goal), but I shattered my previous record. (Old record 2:01; new record 1:52:14.) I have my running partner to thank–she really kept me going when I said, “I don’t know if I can maintain this pace,” and she said, “Of course you can!” At the end, her husband said, “Wow, how much faster could you have gone if you hadn’t fasted?” but I told him I opted to view it as I was that much faster because I was so much lighter, running without my sins (although truth be told, if you count malicious thoughts, raised voices to children, and idle gossip as sins, I definitely wasn’t running sin-free. After all, it had been well over 12 hours since the end of Yom Kippur).

I had thought we’d be back to the daily grind–Pie started preschool “full time” (as in three hours a day three days a week) this week. So I loaded up my work assignments and hungrily looked forward to diving in. But wait! No! Nothing ever goes as planned. And today, on Pie’s second day of school… she is forced to call in sick. She’s got a nice, oozy, puffy eye. Which wouldn’t be so bad except that school is closed both Thursday and Friday for Sukkot and also next Thursday and Friday for Shemini Atzeret and Simhat Torah (yes they are off for a holiday that 99.9% of Jews don’t know about, never mind all the goyim out there. I myself hadn’t even heard of Shemini Atzeret until I saw it was a “no school” day on the calendar and quickly took pains to learn what it was. Frankly, it seems a little dubious to me). And the Monday after? Why Columbus Day, of course. Damn that discovering of America! I took her to the doctor to find out if it was conjunctivitis or just a cold and it turns out, they’re one and the same (am I the only one who didn’t know that?).

Doctor said she’s fine for playdates and the playground, but no school is going to take her. It’s just a cold and the stuff that normally oozes out of the nose is now oozing out of her eye. Besides she was unhappy and clingy–she’d been up most of last night. Her eye was gross enough that I was a little embarrassed to take her into public. I put her cool sunglasses on so everyone just thought she was a little hipster instead of Typhoid Pie.

Speaking of school, it’s been pretty hit or miss for Doodles. He clearly loves school, but is having problems again with drop off. We talked about it and he simply said, “I miss you when you’re not there,” which of course about broke my heart. Until we decided on my replacement. Doodles, his teacher, and I were brainstorming what we could do to make Doodles feel better at school when I suggested bringing something in from home. Doodles perked up and said, “Girl Bear!” This was acceptable to all, so now Doodles goes to school with Girl Bear. I’ve been replaced by Girl Bear. Girl Bear is his mother substitute. And what is my issue with that? Girl Bear is a plastic honey jar. I’ve been replaced by an empty jar. Made of plastic. Empty. Jar. Sigh. Anyway, I had the idea of filling it up with kisses in the morning so he can shake kisses out as he needs them. It’s working with mixed results, but there’s been no out and out wailing, grabbing on to me as I leave, so it’s an improvement.

I’m sure there’s more to tell you guys, but I’ll be honest: it’s been a day and I’d much rather have another glass of wine than sit at my computer. So, instead, I’ll share with you what my friend Bettina shared with me:
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w_oc1j5NakY]

Till next week…l’chaim!

We’ve now entered the era when Pie is speaking. Truly speaking. Which means double the fun for you guys. For instance, Doodles takes swimming at our Y. Pie just watches simply because there was no toddler class at the same time, and the toddler classes are just to get used to the water and the preschool classes are to really learn how to swim. After class, I changed Doodles from his swimsuit to his clothes. Pie leans down curiously, sticks out her finger, and says to me, “Look at p*enis?” I explain that it’s a private part, and no, she can’t stare at it. That night in the bathroom getting ready for her bath, Pie looked down and then looked back at me. “Where’s my p*enis?” she asked. I explained that she doesn’t have one. This morning, we did another role call of body parts as I changed her diaper. “Doodles has p*enis?” I respond in the affirmative. She continues, “Pie has gagina?” Again, a yes. “Mommy has a gagina?” Oh, that girl is going to be a hit in preschool today!

Speaking of preschool, Pie went for an hour on Monday. Pie is the only one in class with day care experience. Pie is the only one used to such intense socializing. Pie is the only one who’s used to having teachers as caregivers. Anyone want to guess who the only one in the room to cry at drop off was?

One awwww moment: Doodles and Pie have a toy that you can record into. Adam discovered that Doodles had recorded: “I love you, Pie, but sometimes you make me so mad!”

On Tuesday, I dropped Doodles off at school and realized that Pie had a stinky tush. As I insist that my child retain membership in the Clean Tushie Club, I made a detour home to change her diaper before we headed out on our daily activity. I run in, change Pie’s diaper, set her down to grab a cup of coffee to go, and then go to head out. It’s time to go. We need to leave. So where the hell are my keys? I’ve been home for no more than five minutes, and I definitely used my keys to open the front door. Check the TV table by the front door. Nope. Check in the cushions of the couch. Nope. Check the diaper changing table. Nope. Check by the coffee pot. Nope. Check the floor between the diaper changing table and the coffee pot. Nope. Check my pockets. Nope. Ask Pie, “Do you know where Mommy’s keys are?” Pie tilts her head and thinks, finally saying with a questioning voice, “Stroller?” “Thanks anyway, Sweetie,” I say. “We haven’t used the stroller in days. See if you can help Mommy find the keys,” which is her sign to continue ignoring me. Okay, go back and check all of those places again. One more time. One last time. No keys. Adam never takes the keys to my car with him (“Too bulky,” he says), so I give up and head into his basement office to get them. Would you believe today is the one day he took those keys with him? THOSE DAMN KEYS ARE SOMEWHERE! How did I possibly lose my keys in the space of five minutes? That’s unusual even for me. I’m tracing my steps one more time, when out of the corner of my eye, I see skulking in the corner of the hallway to the bathroom… Pie’s toy stroller. “Stroller?” I mutter. “No, couldn’t be.” I look into the stroller and don’t see anything. I take out the baby doll. I take out the toy phone. I take out the airplane. And lo and behold, what is at the bottom of that stroller? My keys. Moral of the story: Always listen to your child.

Of course, there are those children who don’t like to speak. Last year, everyday when I picked Doodles up from school, I’d ask him, “What did you do today?” and I’d get one of three answers: “I don’t know.” “I don’t remember.” “I sat and did nothing.” Luckily the teacher posted a list outside of the classroom of what they did so I could do a little prompting. “Did you make a bird’s nest out of paper? Did you have movement today?” So now, Doodles is a year older and a year wiser. He adores his school–on the front door of the classroom is an elephant with his name on it, and he needs to take it from the door and place it in a “We are here” chart, which is he absolutely loves to do–but I still want to hear about his day. On the first day of school, I put him in his car seat and asked, “So, Doodles! What did you do at school today?” Doodles gave me his most exasperated look and sighed his biggest sigh. “Mom!” he exclaimed. “The teachers posted in on the wall! Didn’t you read it?”

And thus, our school year begins.

Wishing you a sweet year with no temper tantrums, potty accidents, separation anxiety, spills off the climber, consuming of choking hazards… Oh, wait, that’s what I hope my year will be. You have a sweet new year, too!
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vOTOdBzSpYc]

One of my finer moments, indeed: Standing in the playground next to the elementary school on the first day that school is in session, watching my son holding his crotch as he attempts to scale the climber, and realizing, that, yes, I did just shout at the top of my lungs in front of about 18 parents, “If you need to use the potty, we’re leaving right now!”

Doodles ends up in our bed pretty much every night. Usually he wanders in around 2 or 3 a.m., but he was up pretty late on Saturday night and it was a packed day: Town Day in 96 degree weather (lots of booths, entertainment, food, and such), a gymnastics birthday party, and our block party. Sunday he was pretty much a wreck, and he had yet another birthday party in the afternoon. By that night, he was wiped and cranky and miserable and anxious about preschool starting the next day (all of a sudden, he decided he didn’t want to go), so I ended up putting him to bed at about 6:15. He fell asleep within minutes. But at 10:30, Adam heard little pitter patters upstairs:
Adam: Hey, Buddy. You’re awake early tonight.
Doodles: Yeah, but I went to sleep before Pie.
Adam: Yes? So?
Doodles: So, I sleep faster than Pie.

And Pie? What does Pie have to say for herself these days? Her two current favorite expressions: “Right now!” and “No way!” As in, “I want to see the animals RIGHT NOW!” and, in response to, oh, “time for nap!” a very tearful, “No way, Mommy! No way!”

I’m in the throes of stay-at-home momness. Pie’s two-day-a-week daycare ended two weeks ago and we still have another week and a half till she starts her three-morning-a-week preschool (and how am I planning to do work that didn’t really fit into my 16-hour-a-week workweek into my new 9-hour-a-week workweek? I’ll get back to you on that). Doodles started preschool this week (and, fingers crossed, seems to be happy going), which means I’ve had some nice alone time with Pie. Who is using it to break me.

Pie and I had to go into Brookline yesterday–the center of all that is Jewish in this part of the world–to buy food for Rosh Hashanah and that girl wreaked havoc in these tiny, cramped stores. The kosher supermarket? Oh, what is more appealing than row after row of kosher cookies? “I want that! I want that!” pointing to every box on the shelf. The selection of Israeli yogurts? Worthy of a chant! “Yo-gurt! Yo-gurt! Yo-gurt! Yo-gurt! YO-GURT!” And look at all those bottles of wine! Must touch every bottle of wine! The bakery wasn’t much better, oh Pie with the saucer eyes. “What’s that? What’s that? What’s that?” I had told her she could pick out one thing at the bakery, anything she wanted, and I only blanched a little when she pointed to a very sticky sticky bun, but happily complied when she found an M&M; cookie bigger than her head. In true Pie fashion she took three nibbles of it, handed it to me, and asked for an apple. Who is this child? I took her to the bookstore with promises of a new book about the holidays. Pie didn’t care. She pulled books one by one off the shelf and sat in the middle of the store. She called out, “Circle time!” and held the book open in front of her and began narrating (side note: Pie has never been interested in sitting and being read to–she’s always preferred leafing through books on her own–but I’ve realized I can get her to listen to a very short story if I sit on the floor with the book open, reading upside down, and calling it “circle time.”). People are climbing over her and her pile of books and I’m eying her to make sure that 1) she’s not damaging any of the books and 2) that she’s not trying to have circle time with a sidur or Torah.

And now I’m off to start my preparations. Tomorrow we have friends over for a Rosh Hashanah lunch and then, in a fit of, I don’t know, idiocy? I invited about 20 toddlers and preschoolers over for a Friday afternoon apples and honey snack. Honey. Toddlers. My newly cleaned house. I was thinking what?