the pieces of my life

Doodles: Are the Red Sox playing the ‘ankees today?
Me: I don’t think so. I think they’re playing the Blue Jays, but I’m not sure. Do you want me to call Daddy and find out?
Doodles: Yes.
I pick up the phone and dial.
Doodles: Are you calling the Red Sox?
Me: No, I’m calling Daddy.
Doodles: Oh. The ‘ankees are nice aliens.
Me: They’re what?
Doodles: The ‘ankees are nice aliens.
Me: How do you know that?
Doodles: I just do.

I’ve had a terrible cold. Bad enough that if Adam had it, he’d be lying in bed moaning, instead of doing the only adult thing I could do: Walk around moaning and completely martyring myself in the name of caring for my children. I’m proud to say there wasn’t even any extra TV involved.

Last night, I felt truly horrible. I pulled a muscle in my neck at the gym and it was getting better except that Pie, with her amazing sense of timing, has decided that now that she’s been walking for six months, she’s completely over it. “Carry!” she stands and screams. “Carry!” So picking her up has completely aggravated the pain. So my head is stuffed (and thanks to the joys of ming ming, Nyquil is off-limits), my nose is running, my neck is sore, and suddenly I get a nice bout of heartburn. I think it’s heartburn at least. I call Adam upstairs. “I just want you to know that my neck hurts, my head is stuffed, and my chest hurts.”

Adam looks confused. “For what? Your tombstone? That’s a pretty lame tombstone.”

I reply, “No, you moron. For the paramedics. Because once I’ve passed out, I won’t be able to tell them my symptoms.”

Adam looked relieved. “That’s good. Because that would be horrible tombstone to have to make. People would think I was weird.”

Did you hear that? The shot heard ’round the world? Of course you didn’t because apparently those Minute Men came out of their houses, saw a bit of rain, and decided to call the revolution off. Sigh. As I’ve mentioned previously (2003 and 2004; we participated in 2005 and 2006, but I apparently didn’t feel it was blog-worthy), I love Patriot’s Day. I’m a full convert. The Nana came to town for a visit and I made her stay till late on Monday just so she could attend the Lexington re-enactment, the Concord re-enactment, and all the parades with us. So, of course, they were all canceled. The battles. The parades. The Red Sox did play but after much wishy washiness. The only ones still unequivocably game for Patriot’s Day are those die-hard Boston Marathoners (and despite the wicked head cold I have, watching them makes me just long to be out there too!). Apparently those Minute Men are afraid of a little Nor’easter. What’s a little rain and 50 mph winds? Wusses.

By the way, for all those who ask when I’m going to run the Boston Marathon, I should be able to qualify when I’m 65 years old; I’ll definitely be able to qualify when I’m 80.

As I mentioned, the Nana came to town for a visit, which allowed me to get some work done over the weekend, which was direly needed as this is Spring Vacation Week forDoodles but we seem to be lacking the spring, which means we’ll be spending most of the week all cooped up. Of course, the Nana does some odd things, but I’ve learned it’s best not to question. For instance, I walked into Doodles and Pie’s room and I found a blanket tied over the top of Pie’s crib, my son standing in the crib–seemingly naked (turns out he did have his underwear on)–throwing balls at a laughing Nana while Pie jumped and squealed on Doodles’s bed. I did the only sane thing: I pretended I didn’t see it, turned around, and walked out.

By the way, note to those who wish to give my child gifts: While the thought is always nice, let’s stay away from toys with wooden balls and mallets. (My sister bought one for Doodles for his second birthday–you know, days before the birth of his sister–and I looked at her in horror and said, “You bought my son a toy with a wooden hammer? Right when we’re going to have a soft baby head in the house? You know this toy is never seeing the light of day.” Apparently it runs in the family because the Nana brought a similar toy, but to her credit, all baby heads are more or less fully formed.) It’s not rocket science, people! It is balls through Adam’s nice new flat-screen TV. (And of course that toy was the biggest hit of all–both kids love to play with it.)

Statement of the day, while watching the Boston Marathon, from Doodles: “If they win the race, do they get a lollipop?”

So apropos of practically nothing (there’s slight relevance; I’m just not sharing it), I’m singing all my favorite songs of the ’70s to Adam, arguing with him about what song is on which album and what year they were released and who owned the albums. Adam keeps claiming to have owned LPs of albums that came out when he was, like, two (don’t forget, I’m five years older than the boy). “I’m hotblooded! I’m hotblooded!”

Suddenly, I had a flashback to a conversation I had with my mom when I was about nine years old. I was singing, “If you want my body and you think I’m sexy, come on baby let me know!”

My mom heard me and said, “That song is terrible! I don’t think I approve of that song?”
Me: Why not?
Mom: “If you want my money and you think I’m sexy”? What is it about? A hooker?
Me: No! The line is “If you want my body.” His body.
Mom: Oh. I guess that’s okay then.

Is it any wonder I let my kids listen to Liz Phair? I think not.

Not to keep bringing the subject up, but I will have my limits for the Pie:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=POfwvFNbVfk]

Passover has now passed, and this morning we brought the hametz (bread products) back into the kitchen. The Pie was so excited she nearly jumped up and down and she immediately plopped herself on the kitchen floor and began opening different boxes of cereal, plunging her hand in and cramming her mouth full as if we’d been starving her for the past week, as if she hadn’t had her fill of fruit, chicken, matzah balls, veggies, chocolate matzah–you get the idea–for the past week.

And Doodles? When asked what he wanted for breakfast, he said, “Um, Magic Cereal” (meaning the Passover cereal).
Me: But Passover is over! You can have your real cereals?
Doodles: Isn’t there any Magic Cereal left?
Me: [lying because that stuff is nasty and sugar-filled] No, we finished it off.
Doodles: Okay. I’ll have Oatmeal Squares. And matzah!! Matzah, please! Plain matzah! Can I still have matzah?

Doodles Sprat would eat not fat, his sister would eat no lean…. A couple of real gourmands I’ve got here!

Currently it’s rainy and 37 degrees. Scratch that: it’s snowy. My son has no school because it’s Passover. My daughter has no school because she woke up this morning with a fever of 105.2. I am able to type this now thanks to the combined power of puzzles, stickers, and chocolate matzah. Today has already been acknowledged as a “way too much TV” day, especially at the point where Pie was nursing exactly every 6.35 minutes and I needed to keep Doodles calm and quiet. So here’s another peek into the exciting world of our household:

On the night before Passover there’s a ritual you’re supposed to do called bedikat hametz. Doodles’s preschool sent home the blessings and everything you need to do this. Basically you hide bread around the house to find before the start of Passover. You light a candle and sweep the bread up into a spoon with a feather. I thought Doodles would like it, so I hid a few Cheerios around for him to find. But there was a flaw in my plan. I forgot about the human vacuum cleaner (HVC). I’d put a Cheerio down, move on to the next, only to discover that the (HVC) could detect the smell of that Cheerio from the other room and come running in to grab it. Doodles not only had to find the hametz (the bread) for Passover, he had to get to it before the HVC did. After the HVC cleaned out all the hametz by mouth (it’s supposed to go into a paper bag and be burned the next day), she furiously signed for more.

There was a point on Sunday where the only person not wearing my underwear was Adam. Apparently, my underwear is the hot new thing neckwear for fashionistas under the age of four.

Doodles is very excited for Passover. “You can’t eat miniwaffles,” I warned him. “Or pancakes. No Veggie Booty. No crackers.”
D: But I can eat matzah!
Me: Yes, you can eat matzah.
D: I loooove matzah!
Me: We’ll put something on it to make it energy food.
D: No thank you. I just want plain matzah.
Me: Plain matzah?
D: Yes!
Me: For eight days!
D: Yes! Is it Passover yet? Can I have my matzah yet?
By the end of Passover that child will either be very, um, backed up or he’ll have to finally relent and eat a new food. I’m guessing the former.

We went to a seder on Monday night with the intention of letting the kids fall asleep there. Of course, it didn’t go quite as planned. But Doodles was happy to get to bring pajamas. I asked him, “Do you want to bring your cars pajamas?” He replied, “No, because everyone will want to touch my pajamas and I don’t want them touching my cars pajamas. I’ll bring my Wiggles pajamas because it’s okay if people touch those.” Good thinking, that boy of mine.

The Pie has been exceedingly quiet at day care, but alas, she’s found her voice. Sweetie chats up a storm at home, but she would never say anything at school. Her teachers have even called her shy. But last Monday, she was playing with a bike in the gym when another child tried to take it away. Her teachers report that she very clearly told the other child in no uncertain terms: “Stop it! It’s mine! I want it!” That’s my assertive Pie! You go, girl! (It’s like that old joke: Little Irving was five years old and had never spoken a word. His parents were concerned and took him to doctors and specialists but no one could ever find anything wrong with him. One night, the family was eating dinner when Irving looked up to his mother and said, “There’s too much salt in the soup.” His mother was shocked! “Irving! You can talk! And perfectly! But I don’t understand; why have you not spoken till now?” Irving replied, “Up till now everything’s been fine.”)

Pie is also grasping the concept of Passover slowly. Yesterday she said, “Veggie Booty!” I said, “No, sweetie, that’s hametz. I can get you some more fruit or some matzah.” She became quite agitated and said, “All done,” so I pulled her from her booster seat. She made her way to the cabinet, and I obliged and opened it for her. She started searching the cabinets, looking very confused. Finally, she threw both hands out and asked, “Where is it?” “Hametz,” I replied. Finally she shrugged, grabbed some raisins and was happy.

Adam had his fantasy baseball thingamajig on Sunday. He wouldn’t let me pick any of the players. It’s not like it’s for money or anything! There’s a player called Looper. And he wouldn’t put Looper on his team. How can you pass up the Looper? My God! The next day at work Adam was having some sort of crisis. I told him it was his own fault. Because no one with The Looper could possibly have a bad day.

Doodles has been giving me lots of “Huh?” moments, such as:
Doodles: I don’t like chicken.
Me: You’ve never had chicken. You can’t say you don’t like it if you’ve never tried it.
Doodles: But I have had chicken.
Me: No, you haven’t.
Doodles: But I did. When Pharaoh existed, I had lots and lots of chicken, and I don’t like it anymore.
Can’t argue with that logic.

My son will not eat a strawberry, but he devours this disgusting matzah-based cereal called Magic Max’s Fruity Magic Cereal, which is made by Manischewitz. “Can I have more magic cereal? Pleeeeeeeeeease?” I tried it myself and considered just tossing it before I ever gave it to him. Egads does that child have miserable taste!

Pie has become very polite with her nursing. “Mommy, Ming Ming?” I can only sigh and say, “What do you say, Pie?” And then she looks up at me and gives me her most charming smile and say, “Peeeeassse!” Man, that girl is good!

We’re back to zombieland. The Pie is up at night, she’s up in the morning, she’s wailing, she’s yelling everyone’s name trying to find some sucker to rescue her. She’s put us all in the land of the walking dead and, frankly, I’m a little cranky about it.

Pie is also speaking up a storm. She will stand there and speak in 43 word sentences. Unfortunately only every 29 1/2 words is an actual word I can understand so we end up with some very odd conversations with her looking at me expectantly waiting for an answer:
Pie: og reg mel pofgot wereer lom bol quack quack.
Me: You want to going bowling with a duck?
Pie: No. kaj ew lioop toxk wash wogart.
Me: You want to wash in yogurt?

And of course, Doodles has a firm grasp of conversation but not so much of numbers:
Me: Whose birthday is it tomorrow?
Doodles: I don’t know. Um. Peter.
Me: Yep!
Doodles: Are we invited to his birthday party?
Me: We are, but it’s too far away for us to go.
Doodles: Why?
Me: Because his party is in Florida and we live in Massachusetts.
Doodles: Oh.
Me: We can have our own party. A parallel party. What should we have for Peter’s birthday dinner?
Doodles: Coffee!!!
Me: That’s a good idea because Peter loooooovvvvves coffee!
Doodles: Me too!
Me: You know you’re not allowed to have coffee until you’re twelve!
Doodles: I know. Is Peter going to be 12?
Me: Peter is going to be 67.
Doodles: So he can’t have coffee, either?
Me: 67 comes after 12 so he can have coffee.
Doodles: 67 is after 12?
Me: Yes.
Doodles: Peter was 12 and then he was 67?
Me: Yes.
Doodles: Oh. I want coffee.
Me: Yeah, me, too.

I have found that during Pie’s naptime I can sneak in a nap if I let Doodles brush his teeth. I found a stepstool tall enough for him to reach the bathroom sink by himself (we’re a very short family). The dentist told him he has to practice spitting out because apparently by age four, kids are supposed to be using toothpaste with fluoride. I still have children who like to put toothpaste on the brush and suck it all off. So Doodles will stand there for a good 45 minutes, putting on paste, sucking it off, taking some water in, and dribbling it down his front. And the best part is… it’s fully allowed!

I am so tired. I feel a toothbrushing coming on….

So once again, Adam deserted his family and headed for the West Coast for a “business trip.” Yeah. They played team sports, partied at Jillian’s, and had dinner at the billionaire CEO’s house. This “business trip” took place at the Ritz-Carlton. Oh, do pity the man and his sleep-filled nights.

And me? Me, I’m home with the Doodles and the Pie. Bless her tiny heart (tiny physically, as everything about her is tiny; not tiny figuratively), the Tweedle Twirp came to stay Sunday and Monday night. That made my kids exceedingly happy as Tweeds is the ultimate kid plaything: she’s got grown-up privileges, but she comes in a kid size. What could be better?

And she got the ultimate seal of approval from the kids, too. Normally when I go for a run, Doodles starts to whine, “No, Mommy, don’t go for a run! No, Mommy, no!” This past Monday, I got dressed and asked, “Doodles, do you think Tweeds can handle you while I go for a run?” He gave me a “duh” look and said, “Yes!” Pie looked up at me, smiled, and said, “Bye!”

But now the Tweedle Twirp is gone and I’m left answering the endless questions: “Mommy, why is the neighbor’s dog outside by himself? Is he a grown-up? Is that why he’s allowed outside by himself? What was he born? How are dogs born…” And of course Pie decided upon a 3:30 a.m. wake-up call, only to fitfully sleep then from 4:30 to 6:30. At which point we all got up and I got my coffee made (so much for being caffeine free! Those days are long gone) and got those kids to school in record time.

Yesterday afternoon I took the kids to Whole Foods with the intent of buying something totally junkie for me to eat for dinner after the kiddies went to bed (it was in lieu of a glass of wine, which I won’t have when I’m alone with them). But can I tell you, I found nothing! I thought a box of chocolates or–even better–marzipan or maybe some yummy bread and their crab or spinach dip. But they didn’t have the dips I like, they didn’t have boxes of chocolates (just the fancy stuff behind the counter, and as much as I wanted a treat, I couldn’t buy myself a box worth of chocolates when they were $1.69 per piece of chocolate) and no marzipan! How pathetic is it that my special treat ended up being balsamic portabella mushrooms and olives from the antipasto bar? I can’t even junk it up right anymore.

At least tonight Adam comes back on the red eye, so he’ll be home by the time we wake up in the morning (he should even be back in time for the 3:30 a.m. wake up call!). Of course, where he’ll sleep, I have no idea, because since he’s been gone, Doodles has taken up residency on Adam’s side of the bed. But that’s between Adam and Doodles.

And as for me? Don’t look for me tomorrow morning. I’m sleeping in!

I love my daughter more than I ever could have thought possible, but I have to say, I sometimes wonder about her. Let’s just say she’s not the sharpest crayon in the box. We have a Fisher Price Intelli-Table (with the “Intelli” part clearly optional). It’s a cute toy for which you can remove the game table and replace the toy band with different bands. Which is great for a child like Doodles who was able to grasp this notion at an early age and who derived great fun simply changing the toy insert.

Not so for Pie. What Pie likes to do is climb upon the table. Which is risky, yes, but something I allow because, really, it’s not so far to fall. Except that now she has a new trick, which is to remove the top part and then climb on top. Which means that no matter where in the house I am, I know exactly what she’s up to by the high-pitched wails of “Stuck!! Stuck!! Stuuuuuuuuuuuck!! Mommmy! Stuck!”

Ah, my children. Adam and I have been dutifully putting money away for the college educations and arguing about where they should go (he wants his alma mater, Dartmouth; I want, oh, anywhere else). Looks like we might be able to use the money on a vacation home, as so far, doesn’t appear that either child will make it to college.