the pieces of my life

I’m not one of those people who know how to embed video into my blog (although I’m sure after I post this, Adam will show me how). This link will take you to Fox25 where they ran a piece about Baby Loves Disco that I’m in with Pie! Thanks to my friend L. who told me it was out there. I won’t tell you who we are, but if you know us, you should have no problems spotting us.

My running has been really stale lately–I just haven’t had any oomph to it. I even had a dream not long ago that I was running the Miami Marathon. I was on the MacArthur Causeway, just about two or three miles in, when I suddenly thought, “Why the hell am I running this again? I just ran this marathon a month ago! What am I trying to prove?” I decided in my dream that I’d stop where Adam, Doodles, and Pie would be watching me, from in front of my parents’ place, which is around mile 8. I’d just head in, have some breakfast and call it a nice morning run. But then, suddenly, I couldn’t move my legs. They felt like lead. I just had to run a measly five or six miles, but I was completely stuck.

I’m sure this dream has more far-reaching meaning, but I opted to take from it that I’m a bit burnt out on running. So I’ve venturing out. I’ll still run three or four days a week, but no more than three miles on weekdays and no more than six miles on Saturday. So now, on Wednesday nights I’m taking a yoga class. I started a Friday morning Boot Camp class at my gym (the local Y). And this morning, for the first time, I took a spinning class.

First of all, man did it kick my butt! But the thing is, the minute I sat on that bike seat and had the familiar “ooh it’s been a long time since I sat on a bike seat” burn on my tushie, it brought me back seven years (really? Has it really been seven years) to when I was a bike rider in Seattle. And, then, as I thought about blogging it, I thought, “I’ll just link to my STP training.” And then it hit me–I wasn’t a blogger back them–I only started blogging in October 2001. I have no record of my training. I’ve fallen into this mode of “I blog therefore I am,” so if I have no blog history of it, did it really happen? Of course, I’m staring at the patch I got from the race, which is on a bulletin board next to me, with all my running medals (I need the constant motivation to get my ass out there and moving), so I know it happened.

Way back when, when I was free and single and childless, I had a life (no, really!). Although I was so wrapped up in my job, that some might dispute that life. I worked Amazon, I played Amazon, I was Amazon. No surprise that Adam and I actually met through Amazon (he was evil finance; I was cool editorial). But even before my Adam days, I worked hard and played hard.

So, Amazonians (at least in those days when it wasn’t just a bunch of MBAs) used to make the most of their off time by going extreme. Folks didn’t just ski–they drove late in the evening after a full day’s work to get in a little night skiing to tide them over till their weekends at Whistler. People didn’t just go mountain biking for an afternoon–they spent entire vacations flying at top speed down the sides of mountains. People didn’t just go out for a beer after work–they spent days in a alcoholic stupor wondering where they hell they had just woken up. So I had to find my niche. I admit, my original sport was martinis. But slowly I began to develop the sporty gene. I had a hand-me-down mountain bike and, with some girlfriends, I trained for and competed in the Danskin Triathlon for Women. I thought I was hot stuff, doing a triathlon, especially as I went from biking nothing to biking a whole sixteen miles! I mean, sixteen miles! That’s really far.

I was in this hot stuff mode when my buddy and coworker, Weegie, casually said, “I’m doing the STP with Todd and Scott. Do you want to do it with us?” Now, the Seattle to Portland bike ride is a big event that sounded pretty cool. Ride 100 miles. Camp out. Ride the second 100 miles and arrive in Portland. But going from 16 miles to 100 miles? Was it doable? At the time it was February and the ride was in July. What the hell, I thought. “Yah, sure. That could be fun. Where do you think you’ll camp?”

To which Weegie responded, “Camp? Well, if you want to do it in two days you can. But we’re doing it in one day.”

What did he say? More importantly, What did I hear? (Which, of course, is often not the same thing.) Did someone just challenge me? Challenge me to keep up with the boys? Hmmm! Would it be foolhardy and dumb to ride 200 miles just to keep up with the boys? Um, yeah! Did I do it anyway? Hell ya! Five months of training, including seven or eight hours every Saturday, a couple of hours on Sundays, rides to and from work. I ended up riding the STP by my lonesome–as macho as I was (am), I couldn’t keep up with the boys–but after fourteen hours, I crossed that finish line to the cheers of my buddies. So worth it.

I have so many fond memories of training. Weegie used to write up these extensive training manuals, with tips, routes, and motivation. The first time I went out riding with Weegie, he promised me an easy ride. Thirty miles and a zillion hills later (I still remember that little weasel saying to me, after promising a flat ride, “Wow, that was actually a really hilly ride), I couldn’t move, nevermind sit down in my seat. By the end of the summer, a ninety-mile ride wasn’t a big deal. I had calves of steel. After all my various training–triathlon, marathon, strength training–that bike training had me in the best shape I’ve ever been in.

Lately, I’ve been getting more of these flashes back to my old life. Even at tonight’s yoga, I can’t help but think of standing in the big workout studio at Olympic Gym (man, do I miss that gym!), contorting my body as Ricardo, the teacher, exhorted me to raise my hips higher in downward facing dog. Lying in Savasana, I feel exactly the way I did back then, but instead of builds and blurbs and deadlines elbowing into my quiet space as I tried to still my mind and live in the moment, I have diapers and dramas and, well, deadlines, wandering through my head.

I like these flashes of the old me, these tiny glimpses into my life pre-family. I don’t miss it. In fact, I often see younger versions of me out on the street, childless, happy, carefree. And I can feel pleased that I was once just like them, that I had my wild fun. I remember once saying to a friend that I could never imagine myself married, that it seemed such a constricting thought, because I couldn’t stand the idea of never having another first kiss. And then I reached the point where I met a guy who made me think, “I’ve had enough first kisses.” So I married him.

And now I have a different kind of fun. The kind of fun where ordering in sushi and watching a video on demand is a cozy and romantic night. The kind of fun where I look at my son in amazement and think, “Where did this little person come from?” The kind of fun where my daughter can make me wonder, “What would it feel like if you plunged both hands into the paint and rubbed them on your belly?”

Amazing what one simple spin class can bring up. I’d better not sign up for the abs class. God knows where that will lead me.

Shhh! Don’t tell Adam: I’m supposed to be cleaning but instead I’m blogging. I took today off of work just to make a dent in the mess that is our basement but I’m all sniffly from the dust and my hands are so dry they’re papery and I just don’t know what to do with all our crap! So, here I am instead….

We’ve hit a common stage of preschoolers, but I’m still not sure how to handle it. It’s the “do something wrong/total honesty” phase. You know, when Doodles does a misdeed but very clearly tells me what he did. On one hand, the misdeed needs to be punished. On the other hand, I want to encourage the honesty. Of course, it generally involves violence to his sister. Here’s a standard exchange that is becoming all the more common.

Me: Why is Pie crying?
Doodles: I was running back and forth and she got in my way, so I pushed her.

or

Me: Why is Pie crying?
Doodles: She was playing with the rocket ship and then she put it on my head and I didn’t want it on my head so I pushed her.

What I generally do then is pick up Pie, lavish her with attention, and put Doodles in a time out. On getting out of time out, he has to apologize to Pie and ask if she’s okay. By then she’s generally playing and giggling, and doesn’t respond aagain.

It actually, happily, doesn’t all the time. But just enough that I suddenly have to be wary of leaving the two of them alone together in a room. And if it were just the pushing, I could live with that. But it’s not. Pie has gotten grabby hands. If Doodles has a toy, she wants it, too. And she wants it NOW! And if she doesn’t get it–watch out for those sharp little teeth!

Which is bad both because, well, she’s biting and because when she nurses, she likes to stick her fingers in my mouth and I lightly chew on them. I love chewing on Pie Parts! But alas I know that must end because how can she tell what’s biting and what’s a love nip? It also makes it very difficult to tell who the instigator is in any given situation and besides, how do you punish an 18 month old? I’m not one for punishing in general, but when violence is involved, then it’s a must. Sigh.

Speaking of nursing, per the book Mothering Your Nursing Toddler, it’s a good idea to codename breastfeeding so when your speech-happy toddler wants to feed, she doesn’t yell out, “Mommy, give me some boobie!” in public. (And Pie is becoming speech happy; a sampling of her words: Where’d it go? jump [as in on the bed, with lots of glee], ball, balloon, baby, Cheerio [which actually means Kix], shoe, book, choo-choo, doggie.) I was at a loss for a codename that I liked. The ones that people had in the book–num num, nummies, milks–just weren’t doing it for me.

One evening, I was nursing Pie (and for the record, we are now up to about six nursings a day; I’ve completely capitulated and have chained my br*easts to my daughter for the foreseeable future), watching Doodles’ show, Wonder Pets, with him, trying to come up with my word. “This is sewious!” I said to Doodles, who laughed. That’s when it hit me: Ming-Ming! That’s our new codeword. (And if you don’t watch the show, never mind. But you should. It’s a fun show. And just to annoy those of you who do watch it, get this out of your head: “The phone! The phone is ringing! The phone! We’ll be right there!”) So if you’re in the playground and you hear a little girl demanding, “Mi-Mi!! Mommy, Mi-Mi!” you’ll know it’s us. I feel so original!

Okay, it’s back to spring cleaning. I need to de-toy the playroom of excess toys before the kids get home from school. Which shouldn’t be a problem per our conversation last Monday:

Me: Doodles, time to go pick up Pie and head home.
Doodles: I don’t want to go home.
Me: But it’s time.
Doodles: I want to stay here.
Me: You told me you didn’t even want to come to school today.
Doodles: I don’t want to go home.
Me: Well, that’s where we are headed.
Doodles: I want to go somewhere else. Can we go to Grape’s house?
Me: We weren’t invited to Grape’s house. Let’s go.
Doodles: I don’t waaaaant to go home. I don’t have any toys.
Me: You don’t have any toys?
Doodles: Yeah.
Me: You have more toys than some small nations. What are you talking about?
Doodles: No, I don’t! I don’t have any toys.

Therefore, he shouldn’t mind when half of his nonexistent toys head out. Those kids of mine!! Arg!!

Last week was school vacation week, which meant all regular activities (like music class and ice skating class) were canceled and I needed to come up with a game plan. On the days that Pie had day care, Doodles and I had a lot of fun. It’s weird going out with him now as I no longer need three bags of paraphernalia. He doesn’t need diapers. He eats real food (sort of). I don’t need a collection of distracting toys. The days out with Doodles and my regular Friday-morning alone time with Pie makes me realize that, yes I love my children, but I sure like them better individually. I actually have fun when I’m alone with either one of them. It’s when I have to deal with two of them that I go insane.

So last Thursday I was desperately trying to come up with something for us to do. I at least knew we had lunch with Adam to get us out of the house, but I wanted something to occupy our morning. It was pretty cold and muddy and icy out, but I came up with a few ideas.

Me to Doodles: So, this morning, we can go see the cows and pigs at Drumlin Farm. We can go to a greenhouse and look at plants inside. We can just go out and take a walk. Which of those would you like to do?
Doodles: I don’t want to do any of that.
Me: What do you want to do?
Doodles: Um, what are my choices?
Me: [Sigh]We can go see the cows and pigs at Drumlin Farm. We can go to a greenhouse and look at plants inside. We can just go out and take a walk.
Doodles: No. Um, we can go to Starbucks!
Me: No.
Doodles: A toy store?
Me: No.
Doodles: I want to get my hair cut.

At which point I call our salon (yes, he gets his hair cut at my salon), and find out that his stylist doesn’t come in till 12:30.

Me: Diana isn’t cutting hair this morning.
Doodles: Oh. Is someone else there?
Me: Yes.
Doodles: Then someone else can cut my hair.
Me: No, let’s wait for Diana.
Doodles: So what are we going to do?

I ended up building a cave out of chairs and sheets with limited success, because Doodles wanted to hide in the cave and Pie just wanted to rip the sheets down. I found that if I hid out in my office, I could pretend I didn’t hear the “Nooooo! Noooo, Pie! Noooo, don’t do that!” and the maniacal laughter from her.

Ah, just think. Less than two months till spring vacation in April. Gee, I can’t wait.

Following in the Brittney Spears tradition, Adam and I decided to take the kids clubbing last Sunday. We headed for a bar in the city, got the kids liquored up, and then let them loose on the dance floor. Well, sort of. It was Baby Loves Disco, which is apparently making its way around the country. One afternoon a month, a club is opened for the toddler set, complete with tattooing (Doodles picked out a lovely triceratops tat for himself; since Pie couldn’t seem to make up her mind, I chose her tattoo for her), “chill out” area with books and toys, egg shakers and scarves on the dance floor, and a spread that included organic cookies and juice boxes. It was a pleasant enough afternoon, although I wish the music had been a tad better.

Of course, the afternoon just highlighted the differences between my children. The minute Pie got downstairs, that little butt started its shake. She grabbed as many egg shakers as she could in her hands–and then tried to grab even more–and she tossed her chubby arms out and shimmied on the dance floor. She’d run and go crazy when the bubble machine went off and then shimmy a little more. And Doodles? He sat at the bar. For over an hour. Nursing a glass of water. And when it was time to go, we had to force him from his bar stool. Unfortunately, I fear that not much is going to change in the next 18 years: the vixen on the dance floor; the loner at the bar. God help me.

Doodles has been asking a lot of tough questions lately. About life. God. Sex. He asked me the other day:

Doodles: How do people get built?
Me: People aren’t built. They are born like animals are born.
Doodles: How do they get born?
Me: Mommies and daddies make children.
Doodles: And they go in the mommies’ bellies?
Me: Yep.
Doodles: And how do they get out?
Me [yes, I know I completely cheated here!]: Babies come out in different ways. When you and Pie were born, for instance, the doctors cut me open and took you out. See, here’s the scar.
Doodles: How do the babies get into the mommies?
Me: The daddies put them there.
Doodles: How?
Me: They give a special hug.
Doodles: A special hug?
Me: Yep, a special hug that only grown-ups do.
Doodles: How do they do it?
Me: By hugging?
Doodles: By hugging?
Me: Uh, yeah. [Then thinking is he going to worry about making babies when he hugs his friends?] But it’s a different kind of hug. A special hug. A, um, a naked hug.
Doodles: A naked hug!!
Me: Yes.
Doodles: A naked hug!!
Me: Yes.
Doodles [shaking his head]: You hug naked?
Me: Yes.
Doodles: But it’s only for grown-ups!
Me: Absolutely.
Doodles: Can I see?
Me: No.
Doodles: Oh. Does Daddy work in a skyscraper?

I sigh a sigh of relief and tell myself I’ll be prepared when this comes up again (these topics come up every two weeks, each time with more questions), but I never am.

Adam is back from his travels and life is back to the way it’s always been. You know, loud, chaotic, and messy. But with nightly relief for me. Just like it’s supposed to be.

Today Doodles and I had one of those perfect New England days that make me happy we live here. The weather is turning nice, with highs in the midforties, which is exactly where I like my winters to hang out. Doodles has school vacation week (and this February vacation week is new to me; growing up we had spring break in–surprise!–spring. How did New England folks get this extra week? I don’t think it’s a very Puritan thing to do!) but Pie’s daycare is still open, so we had a special Mommy/Doodles Day.

First thing we did was take the T into the city. And we could have ended things right there. Doodles stared out that window into black nothingness (because, as I pointed out to him many times, the whole point of a subway is the sub part) with absolute rapt fascination. When we exited the train, he wanted to just stand there and watch the trains come and go, until I reminded him that we’d be going home on the subway as well.

Heading out into daylight, we walked through Boston Common on a mission to the Frog Pond. And while he was a little tentative about the frog statues at the end, he was extremely excited about ice skating outside. Oh the wonder of it! He went around by himself a couple of times and then wanted to skate holding hands so he could actually glide (in his ice skating lessons, they’re teaching him to first sort of walk/skate on the ice). Which was really fun, but given that it was my second time ice skating, a little challenging for me (hey, I’m a Beach gal! Great swimmer, not so great at winter sports). We were going pretty slowly, but I’m guessing I’ll have some nice soreness tomorrow.

(Rant: Doodles is actually pretty decent on the skates, and there were a ton of kids out there that were clearly very new skaters–going down every step or two. But Doodles and I were one of only four people [out of over a hundred] wearing a helmet. Doodles asked why no one else was wearing a helmet and he seemed to accept my answer: “They’re not very smart.” Although, now that I think about it, one of the groups was a YMCA group, so perhaps the parents didn’t think about it when they sent their kids off, much like my mother didn’t think I’d be humiliated and traumatized for life when she sent me on a fishing field trip with my YMCA group and outfitted me with, basically, a string on a broom handle [think Curious George], but you don’t really want to hear about that–I’ll save it for when I go back into therapy.)

We skated for just over an hour, then went and had pizza for lunch. Walked around a little. Took the T back. Hit a Starbucks for hot chocolate. Doodles was so worn out, he actually told me he was sleepy and took an hour nap (I had to wake him to pick up the Pie).

Of course, the Pie undid all my happiness with her nightly temper tantrum. For the first time, it started at school (as I tried to get a jacket on her), and her teacher looked surprised and said, “We’ve never seen this Pie before!” Great. That’s it. She uses up all the good stuff at school. No, no, we did have some good moments at home, especially in her pre-bath naked strut that is just the cutest thing. Although she did get ejected from the bath after the fifth time I told her she couldn’t drink the bath water and she just smiled at me, stuck her face down, and took a big gulp. And then had another temper tantrum. Doodles and I had the perfect New England day. And Pie is preparing to be the perfect New England Red Sox fan. A Boston day all around.

And all the mice are tucked happily into their (or my, as the case may be for the older child) beds and I am officially off duty. That fourth snow shoveling completely did me in and I know that tomorrow the walkway and driveway are going to be a sheet of ice, but for now, I’m off to a well-deserved shower, a little dinner, and then some reading time in bed (I’m so digging my book!) before an early shut eye. I’m going to ignore the disaster area that is my home (how did the colander end up in the living room?) and deal with it tomorrow. Hopefully the roads will be clear enough to tomorrow to head to ice skating. Otherwise, we’ll go for day two of snowbound! Dear God, please let’s not have day two of snowbound. Adam, you owe me big….

The sweet potato muffins are in the oven. I’m headed out for my fourth and final shovel of the day (I was worried about how I’d get my exercise while Adam was out of town. I think this falls under the “Be careful what you wish for.”). Pie is amusing herself by spilling milk out of her sippy cup and using a dish towel to wipe it up. Doodles is putting pots on his head and dancing (note to Adam: when I can’t find all the pot lids later, remind me that they’re in the paper bag in the playroom). Both kids are bathed and in pajamas. And I have a mere two hours and twelve minutes till the first bedtime….

(Note the pink boots!)