the pieces of my life

My kids have personalities as different as can be. But nowhere does it show itself as clearly as it does in their reaction to the weather. Doodles, who claimed that his favorite thing about the trip to Miami Beach was “the hotness,” constantly bemoans the fact that we live in New England instead of Florida. The minute the temperature drops, the boy becomes a couch potato, piling up a stack of books, planting himself in front of the fireplace, and settling in for the day.

The girl has the opposite reaction. She wakes up. “Snow? Can I shovel!” She’s the first one in her snow pants and ready to play outside. This morning as I attempted to shovel us out–attempted because it was one of those wet, heavy snows that doesn’t want to cooperate with the shovel–she proclaimed, “Do you know what my favorite season is? It’s winter!” And then she attempted to make a snow slide out of the mounds being shoveled.

I want to buy all of us snow shoes. Pie says, “Can we go today?” I tell her, “I haven’t bought them yet!” Doodles protests, “I don’t want snow shoes. It’s just walking in the snow with tennis rackets on your feet. And I hate walking.”

My sun worshiper and my snow baby. And never the ‘twain shall meet.

Both Pie and Rebecca Rubin are doing well right now, thank you. It was really touch and go for both of them for a bit. Pie had such a fit this morning that I had a choice to make: Do something that would rightfully have DSS after me or take it out on Rebecca Rubin. I’m sorry Rebecca Rubin. But those moments you spent in the trash can were well worth it, in my book.

Adam’s still in London and the kids have morphed into devil children. Pie refused to walk Doodles to school, which meant that either 1) she’d be home alone or 2) Doodles would miss school (which given what comes next, I don’t think he would have minded). Out and out tantrum about getting on her boots to walk the boy. That’s when Rebecca Rubin made a visit to the trash can (and no, I did not put a $100 doll in the trash can, but she took a little rest on top of the trash can). And then finally–screaming the entire three blocks–we get to Doodles’s school where Doodles–Doodles!!!–had a horrendous drop off. He cried and cried and refused to go into school and his (yes, 1st grade!) teacher had to peel him off of me.

After school, Pie was whiny and insisted on a playdate. It was really against my better judgment, but I agreed. The girl who came over is a charming girl, who I actually really like a lot. (Does this mean there are kids I don’t like? Let’s not go there, shall we?) Let’s just say the playdate did not go well. On either side. Pie didn’t share. The other girl decided we were all mean (I was mean–I insisted she hold my hand when we crossed the street to pick up Doodles. Can you believe what a be-yatch I am?). No one could get along. The playdate ended very early.

I managed to keep both kids alive and occupied the rest of the afternoon without resorting to too much bribery (okay, there may have been a few extra marshmallows in the hot chocolate, but this is survival mode!).

And now? Now the kids are fed, in pajamas, teeth brushed, and parked in front of Phineas and Ferb. If I play my cards right, they’ll both be in bed by 7 and I’ll have my glass of wine at 7:01.

We’re almost at the finish line. Almost….

Me: Did you do anything for Hanukkah at Hebrew school?
Doodles: Yeah. We played Hanukkah bingo.
Me: That sounds fun!
D: No, it wasn't it was really boring.
Me: Doodles, you are so negative all the time! You're the biggest Negative Nelly I've ever met!
D: Mom, you're going to live with me a long time. You gotta get used to it.

I’m watching Singing in the Rain with my kids. We checked it out of the library, “we” being me and Pie, as Doodles swore he had no interest and all he wanted to do was listen to the Harry Potter book on CD he checked out. But about ten minutes in, Doodles wandered into the room and became hooked.

“You know,” I told Pie. “Gene Kelly is a very famous dancer.”

“Really?” she asked. “Was he in Mamma Mia?”

Of course, it didn’t start out well. The MGM Lion? Well, apparently it’s terrifying. It took a lot of convincing to get Pie turned around to watch the film. You know what else is terrifying? When Lena gets a Pie in the face. Yikes! Head buried! And if you’re outside in the rain alone? Sc-ar-y!

But nothing, no nothing, is as terrifying to anyone as the romantic scenes are to Doodles. He literally cowers under the covers (he’s watching in his underwear, beneath our couch blanket) anytime anyone embraces and makes whimpering noises if he accidentally sees kissing.

And did you know the movie is confusing. “Why did his face go all squishy? Who talks yucky? Why is that a yucky voice? Why is he going through that wall? Why is she wearing that?” And on. And on. And on.

Till she passed out. Leaving only Doodles glued to the screen. As long as no one is smooching, that is.

First in…

First out…

Conversation with the Tweedle Twirp and her pregnant friend, kids playing nearby.
Me: And so then I got dressed for the party [my grandfather’s 90th birthday party in Miami in July]. I was eight months pregnant and something just didn’t look right. I called the Tweedle Twirp in and said, “What is wrong with this outfit? The shoes look all wrong. I’ve been wearing them for a year now and they looked fine. Why do they look so weird now?” Tweedles evaluated me for a good long while before she finally said, “Well, they looked better when you still had ankles.” “Ankles!” I said. “That’s it!”
The next night, I overheard Doodles talking to his friend J.
Doodles: Did you know that when women get pregnant, they lose their ankles?

*****

Pie: Mommy, how does Chrysanthemum know who’s Christian and who’s not?
Me: Chrysanthemum?
Pie: Yeah. How does Chrysanthemum know who to bring presents to?
Me: Like in the book?
Pie: Yeah.
Me: The mouse? Who doesn’t like her name?
Pie: Um, I guess.
Me: Do you mean Santa Claus?
Pie: Yes! How does Santathemum Claus know who’s Christian and who’s not?
Me: Remember I told you, Santa Claus isn’t real. Mommies and Daddies buy presents for the kids. Santa is made up, but it’s not something we talk about with our non-Jewish friends. Santa isn’t real.
Pie: I know!
Me: Okay.
Pie: So how does he know? Who’s Christian and who’s not?

After dance class last Thursday:
Me: Doodles, as soon as we get home, you need to do your homework.
Doodles: Mom, do you know what I hear you say? [Puts up one hand and makes a quacking motion]. “Doodles. Blah, blah, blah, homework. Blah, blah, blah, homework. Blah, blah, blah, homework.” [Puts up other hand and makes same talking motion] “Mom, can we stop talking about homework?” [Back to other hand] “Blah blah blah homework.”

In the car, the kids were comparing notes:
Doodles: Do you know what Dad says all the time?
Me: No, what?
Doodles: Cheeses crises! [Say it outloud and you’ll understand it]
Me, laughing: Yes, he does.
Pie: And dammit!

We subscribe to The Week magazine, and this week’s came today, with a picture of Obama and Karzai on the cover, emblazoned with the headline “Shotgun wedding.”

With nary a stumble, the boy took a look at it. “What’s a shotgun wedding?”

I started up with a brilliant move. “Um…. Um…. Um…. What?”

Doodles: “What’s a shotgun wedding?”

Me: “Um. It’s… Well… Um…”

Doodles: “Yes?”

Me: “You know how today all sorts of people have babies? Women by themselves, two women, two men?”

Doodles: “Yeah.”

Me: “Well, it was different in the old days. In the old days, there was this idea that if a woman got pregnant without being married, that it was a bad thing. So if a woman got pregnant and she wasn’t married, the idea goes, the woman’s dad would make the man who got the woman pregnant marry her. It was like he took a shotgun and pointed it to the guy and said, ‘Marry my daughter or I’ll shoot you.’ That’s a shotgun wedding.”

Doodles: “Well, what if there wasn’t a guy? What if she had just gone to the sperm bank?”

Me: “Um, that’s a good point.”

Doodles: “And I don’t understand what that has to do with Obama! Why is Obama going to have a shotgun wedding to that guy?”

Me: “Well, it means that he’s being forced into a relationship he may not want with that guy, Karzai, the president of Afghanistan.”

Doodles, thinks a moment. “So why is Obama having a wedding?”

To which I give the age-old response: “Who wants dinner?” And I hid the magazine.

When we were in Israel, we had an amazing youth counselor, Miriam. Miriam is a warm American-born, Israeli-raised Orthodox young woman. She’s visiting the Boston area, staying with her grandparents and I invited her over for lunch. I went to the Stop and Shop in the next town over, where there’s a kosher bakery. I picked up fruit and paper plates and plastic cutlery because, as any reader of this blog knows, we don’t keep a kosher home. If anything, we keep treif. Not that we eat it that often–for health reasons I actually like to serve as little meat as possible. I can’t remember the last time we had pork. Actually I do. It was Adam’s birthday. Last December.

Because Miriam is studying Jewish education in America, I invited her to observe one of the Hebrew school classes at our conservative synagogue. So after, she said hi to the kids and followed us in her own car back to our house. In our car, Doodles asked me, “Is Miriam kosher?”

“Yes,” I replied.

“So does that mean we’ll be having a kosher lunch?”

Between our synagogue, our trip to Israel, dinners at our rabbis’ houses, and hosting a synagogue event at our house, the boy is well aware of the basic tenants of kashrut. “Yes,” I said, and he asked no more.

Back at the house, Miriam and I sit down and start to catch up while we wait for Adam to return with Starbucks (which is kosher). Doodles walks into the family room where we’re chatting. Sweet as can be, he gives us a big smile. “Mom?” he asks nicely.

“Yes, Sweetie?”

With a big grin, he asks me, “Where’s the bacon?”

That kid. That’s all I can really say. That kid.

Today I made it into Doodles’s classroom to help with pumpkin carving. Luckily most of the class was back–for the past week most kids have been out sick. Well, maybe not most, but half. Literally (and we know I don’t mess around with the word “literally”). Out of 18 kids and 2 teachers, yesterday 9 kids and 1 teacher were out sick. Can anyone say “Treyf flu”?

But going into the class was really fun, even if Doodles does act up specially for me. The kids drew their own designs and I carved them onto the pumpkin for them. While we were working (other parents were there too to help), the teacher put on some Halloween music. Irresistible Halloween music. There was no stopping anyone from getting up and shaking a tush, to the point that by the end, the teachers were teaching the kids how to do the dance to “Thriller.”

The song stuck in my head, and when we got home, against my own better judgment, I decided to show the “Thriller” video to the kids. I know it’s scary, but, hey! The kids are in our bed anyway. Might as well have some fun with it.

Tab is over and so I gathered them around the computer and YouTubed it for them. Big mistake. Not because it was scary. But because the questions came fast and furious. “Why is his arm falling off? How was he a person and then he was a dead and then he was a person again? Why are they chasing her? I don’t understand–is he a person or is he dead?”

And the questions haven’t stopped. So, yes, “Thriller” was scary. But only for me.