the pieces of my life

At camp family night I was chatting with one of Doodles’s counselors.

Me: He seems to be making friends, no?
Counselor: Oh, yes. He does very well here.
Me: I’ve heard a couple of names at home. I’m actually pleasantly surprised that he plays as much with the girls as the boys.
C: Oh those girls adore him.
Me: Yeah?
C: Every week they come to me. “Oh, Doodles is so cute! You need to give Doodles a blue ribbon this week for being the cutest boy!”

At that moment one of the said girls passes by.

Girl, to Doodles, with big grin: Hi, Ticklish Boy!

Uh…

Growing up, my father played Quiz Questions at dinner with me and my sister, although the game quickly became known as “Quiz Questions Me First!” because that’s what we’d shout out as soon as he sat down. The questions would be current events or history or science or whatever, such as “Who discovered the theory of relativity” or “Count to ten in binary numbers.” One of my mother’s great pet peeves in life is that my father loved to ask us geography questions, but he never used a map or globe to show where he was asking about. To this day, the only reason I remember that the capital of Ecuador is Quito is because of “Quiz Questions Me First.”

This weekend my parents were in town, and my father started discussing geography with the kids. Only we don’t own a globe. We tend to use maps on the computer, but it doesn’t give the kids a real sense of perspective on where things are. Yesterday morning, we took a trip to the Museum of Science before we brought my parents to the train station so they could head home. Lo and behold, my mom spotted in the gift shop a globe, which my father then purchased for the kids.

This morning, the kids were playing their own version of geography. Doodles would ask Pie a question and she’s randomly spin the globe as fast as she could and point.

Doodles: I got one for you, Pie! Where’s Israel?
Me: Can you find Israel?
Doodles, with a sigh: Yes, Mom!
Pie spins the globe with a quick jerk and then just sticks her finger out.
Doodles: No, Pie. That’s South America. Where’s Israel?
Pie spins again and points.
Doodles: Nope. That’s Hawaii.
I look over. Sure enough Pie has her finger planted in the Pacific Ocean in the general vicinity of Hawaii.
Me: How do you know that’s Hawaii?
Doodles: I just know!
I can’t figure out if he knows where things are or if his reading has improved that much, but either way, who am I to complain?

Doodles eventually gives up–Pie clearly has no interest in playing his way–and Pie just continues to spin this apparently amazing top.

Pie: Mommy?
Me: Yes?
Pie: Is it going to glow?
Me: Glow.
Pie: Yeah, glow.
Me: Um, no. It doesn’t glow.
Pie: Then why is it called a glow-b?

She’ll do okay, even if she doesn’t know where Israel is.

I’m putting Doodles to sleep in his room. We’re about two-thirds of the way through Harry Potter. Adam is putting Pie to bed–in our room, of course. The rooms are, oh, twenty feet away from each other. Pie, the delicate flower that she is, let’s one rip.

Pie: Oooh, stinky!
Adam: That’s what happens when you toot. What do you say?
Pie: It wasn’t me. It was Doodles.
Adam: No, it wasn’t. It was you. Say “Excuse me.”
Pie: It was Doodles.

I think she’s training for a career in politics.

Ah. The end of one of those days. You know, those days. Those days when all you can do is say, “It’s 8:20 p.m. and both my children are still alive.” It may not sound like much of an achievement, but it’s all I’ve got today, and I’m pretty darn pleased. Because the little one came this close to being throttled. By her own mother.

The day started well enough–I had a pleasant run with a friend. I felt good. Ready to tackle my novel. Got home. Took a shower. I had a teeny tiny, itty bitty little blood blister on the very tip of my nose. Got out of the shower and it was bleeding. I know, exciting stuff. Except that it wouldn’t stop and I had to put a band-aid on it. On the tip of my nose. To wear all day. On my nose. The tip of it. A band-aid. And when I told Adam, “Must be cancer,” all I got was, “Must be a blood blister.” He has this crazy idea: “If you hear hooves, think horses, not zebras.” Which is wrong. When you hear hooves, think cancer.

But this is not about my hypochondria. This is about keeping my children alive. Which I did! Even though my daughter did everything she could to push me. I picked her up from camp with a plan. We’d hit the farmers’ market. Then over to ballet class. Then a quick trip home to put together the food from the farmers’ market to take to a picnic at Doodles’s camp’s family night.

Ah, a plan? Did I say a plan? Ha! Pie decided she wanted to show me how she can use the monkey bars, so I figured we could do that and still squeeze in a trip to the market. Pie showed me. Her ability on the monkey bars? She can place her hands on two bars and then drop. Whoo hoo! A few friends were on the playground, so she wanted to stay. Fine. She can stay. We can make it a very fast trip to the market after ballet class.

When it’s time to leave, I get the first hint of Pie’s evil twin, Tart. The clingy, whiny Tart. We head to ballet class. Now, this girl loves ballet. Lives for ballet. But suddenly we arrive at ballet, and she doesn’t want to go. Well, not exactly. She doesn’t leave the car, but doesn’t say she wants to go home. In fact, when asked, she claims she does want to go ballet. I get her into the class, only she refuses to go in. Fine. We’ll leave. But she doesn’t want to leave. Won’t stay, won’t go. My voice is getting that edgy anger us moms get when we’re furious in a public place. I really don’t care if she does ballet or not, but I’m not going to sit in the waiting area with her while the class is going on. So we leave. And we drive two blocks when she announces she really does want to go to class. So I pull over. I get her out. And, yes, I’m angry. And I walk her back to class. We don’t even make it through the front door when she’s pulling me back to the car. So we get into the car. And ten minutes later, she starts screaming, “I want to go to ballet! I want to go to ballet! Turnaround! Turn the car around! I want to go to ballet!” And of course, we’re all done with ballet. But not with the screaming. The screaming lasts for a full hour.

So we go home. And thank goodness for Beetle, because I called her up and told her she needed to take my child before I left her on a street corner in a box with a note that reads, “Free to a Good, Decent, Clean Any Home.”

And damn, if Beetle didn’t walk in to find my daughter on the floor screaming. And within seconds, Tart/Pie was up and acting like her charming self. “Today I made a fish bank! And look, here’s my sand castle. I glued and put sand on. Mommy, made blueberry cereal bars. Do you want one?” A different child. So with the child safely ensconced with Beetle, I headed solo down to family night. With no farmers’ market goodies. I searched the house for dairy goodies (Jewish camp–no meat allowed), and I ended up with lots of veggies and quesadillas made with American cheese. Mmmm!

On the highway. I leave at 3:45, which is cutting it a little close for the 4:15 start, but I shouldn’t be too bad. Except for the traffic. Which is bad. So very, very bad. So bad that I finally arrive at the camp at 5:17. Luckily, Adam got there about twenty minutes earlier, and of course lots of folks got caught in the traffic. The family night was great and Doodles really belted out the camp songs during the performance. I even forgot for a second that I have a huge band-aid right on the tip of my nose.

And then we get home. Pie is happy to see us, excited because Beetle gave her some hand-me-downs from Tab. Can you count to five? Quickly? Because that’s how long it took for Tart to return. And she went down screaming. And then giggling. And now screaming again.

Me: What was up with your behavior today?
Pie: I was tired. It’s because I don’t take naps anymore. [She hasn’t taken a nap in well over eighteen months]
Me: Oh?
Pie: Yes, I should take naps again. I need to take naps
Me: Okay, I’ll cancel your playdate tomorrow so you can come home and take a nap.
Pie: Noooooo! I don’t need a nap!

I repeat. It’s 8:20. My children are alive. Give me a freakin’ medal.

My son came home from camp and announced it was “wicked fun.” Yikes. I swear, the second “wicked pissa” comes out of his mouth, I’m packing him up, putting him on a plane, and moving him to the Midwest. If there are any families in the Midwest who speak proper English who’d like a fairly well-mannered, occasionally ornery, Bakugan-obsessed almost six year old, let me know!

At 4 a.m. a little voice spoke into my ear. “Mommy, my head hurts and I feel heavy.” A few cuddles and a Motrin, later, the boy was fast asleep. Luckily, he doesn’t technically have a fever, a fever being 100.4 and when he woke, he had 100.3 (no, really!). The benefit of this being that he can have a sick day today, and as long as his temperature doesn’t go up .1, I can send him to camp tomorrow guilt-free (kids must be fever-free for 24 hours before being allowed back at camp or school).

I think his body is just demanding a little downtime. It’s been go go go for him. Camp is a loooong day for him. The bus picks him up at 8:30 and drops him back off at 4:30. Everyday he has Instructional Swim and Free Swim. Yesterday he had boating and dance and street hockey and music and a activity with his whole unit. I think he’s plum worn out.

While it’s disappointing to me when I lose a day of writing to a sick kid, it’s not a big deal–not like I have a deadline or anything–and it’s days like this that I feel downright giddy about not working anymore. A whole morning alone with my baby boy!

“What should we do?” I ask him.

“Um, I don’t feel well.” Doodles gives a little moan for emphasis.

Me: Well, we can play a game. How about Go Fish?
Doodles: I can’t because I’m sick.
Me: Actually Go Fish is perfect when you’re sick. Nice and mellow.
Doodles: No, we better not. Because then I’ll get my germs on the card and when Pie plays with the cards, she’ll get sick.
Me: Um, no, actually it’s okay. We can play Go Fish.
Doodles: No, I don’t think so. I need to do something I can do from the couch.
Me: Okay, how about another game? We can play on the couch.
Doodles: Nah.
Me: Should we finish the Encyclopedia Brown book?
Doodles: I don’t think so.
Me [with a hunch where this is going]: How about I pull out the colored pencils and our drawing pads. We can do some drawing.
Doodles: Um, too much energy.
Me: Do you have any ideas?
Doodles: No. Well…
Me: Yes?
Doodles: I suppose I could watch some TV.

Sigh. So while I may not get to work on my writing today (and, yes, I am writing! Just ask my poor beleaguered readers who have been so fabulous in giving me feedback. I actually have even more to send them, but I fear for their free time… I owe those three women more martinis than I can count at this point. I’m feeling optimistic about having a really solid draft done by the end of the summer), this is a good catch-up day–blog, order photos, all the things I can do on a computer next to a mopey child watching SpongeBob. (I told him, “This is a one time thing. I disapprove of SpongeBob. I will never record SpongeBob. I will deny allowing you to watch SpongeBob. Enjoy.”) I will do all I can, without getting off the couch. Can someone please bring me the bonbons?

While it wouldn’t be quite accurate to say summer has arrived to New England, we do finally have a day decent enough to sit outside. I’d be happy if it were a tad warmer–lower 70s would be perfect–but it’s not raining at the moment and I’m happy to simply accept that. Our yard is finally in, and while the backyard is not-yet-suitable for walking upon, well, we’re walking upon it anyway. We put down grass seed in the back and all this rain has washed a third of it away and the birds have gotten the another third. So our backyard currently looks like a failed Chia Pet. Lovely. I do appreciate the fact that the wireless connects in the backyard so I can play on the computer while Pie plays with her friend. The front we used sod on, which kind of depresses me, because it is the ultimate in suburban lawns. However we’ve got a lovely planting plan that will transform it into something romantic and inviting–we just need to wait till the coffers are refilled enough to afford all those romantic and inviting plants.

But summer it apparently is, and we had a lovely 4th of July and now both kids are at camp. I had a hard time sending Doodles to camp, putting him on a bus to be carted off with all these children who were about twice his size to go off to swimming and boating and ropes and T-ball on his own. Pie is at her preschool camp and she, in her spunky way, “LOVES IT!” while Doodles in his typical more subdued way “kinda likes” camp, but definitely enjoys it more than he would staying home. And me? Me, I’ve got a three and a half hour stretch in front of me every day. And while I am doing a bit of puttering and cleaning–finally getting the clothes Pie has grown out of out of the house, doing the grocery shopping and baking cookies for friends with a new baby–I am also working on the novel. I’m getting in a good hour a day of decent writing time. It’s one of those things that I have a hard time starting, but once I get started, I have a hard time stopping. I find my thoughts frequently drift back to my characters and I’m trying to take notes at odd times so I don’t forget ideas. It feels good to get back into a writing routine again. I’ve got three more weeks of kids’ camp (maybe more!) so I hope to really get a solid portion under my belt. (I’d like to write “under my typewriter ribbon” but it’s been too long since I’ve used one of those… Maybe “under my web camera”? as that’s what’s atop my computer.) I make myself a pot of tea (because, yes, it’s been that chilly), sit at my computer, attempt to ignore Facebook and Twitter, and plug away. My novel readers are awesome and have been giving me great feedback, which I’m working hard to incorporate. Writing is a lot like exercise–when you’re not doing it, you can’t imagine doing so. But once you start, you simply can’t stop.

So yes, the blog posts may be a bit more infrequent. But that’s only because there’s other writing to be done. Because it’s summer time. And the writing is easy.

I’m blogging on Adam’s computer. His work computer. Apparently. Although I don’t get it. I called him because I couldn’t figure out how to turn the computer on (yes, I know. I won’t even go there). I was hitting some button but nothing was happening (turns out it was the WiFi switch. Not the power button):
Me: How do you turn on your computer?
Adam: My computer?
Me: Yeah.
Adam: What about your computer?
Me: I’ve given up on my computer. It’s slow and the WiFi goes in an out [and let’s be frank–it’s upstairs and I’m downstairs].
Adam: Okay, but it’s my work computer.
Me: Your work computer?
Adam: Yeah.
Me: How is that possible?
Adam: What do you mean?
Me: I mean I’m here. Your computer is here. You’re at work. You have a computer there. How is this your work computer?
Adam: It’s my work computer. For home. My home work computer.

Uh… okay. Whatever. I don’t buy it, but if that’s how he wants to play it, let me just say that this post is being brought to you by TripAdvisor.

I’m relaxing at the moment as my kids–somehow–play quietly on their own. We’re on day 16 (okay, that’s a guess, I lost count) of bad weather. I know the quiet won’t last long, but for the second is good. I just had a long protracted “explaining” session with the boy (don’t know how else to refer to it). It was one of those really roundabout things, too.

For my birthday last week, I received a bounty of goodness, including Carrie Fisher’s book Wishful Drinking, which I’m thoroughly enjoying. Reading it, though, made me realize that my music collection is lacking in Paul Simon’s earlier music, so I downloaded The Essential Paul Simon, which I’m currently listening, too. (Ah, “Kodachrome!” Will the song go the way of the film? First Polaroid, now Kodachrome.) Doodles complained about having to listen. “This isn’t my kind of music. Can you please put on the Beastie Boys?”

Pie was into it, and the two of us were dancing in the kitchen to “Late in the Evening.” I said to the boy, “You’ll like this song. It’s about boys getting into trouble!” His eyes widened as I put on “Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard.”

“What are they getting in trouble for?” he asked, fascinated. “Are they going to jail?”

“Just in the song. Um, I think they’re getting in trouble for smoking.”

“You can go to jail for smoking?”

“For smoking drugs.” But then I wasn’t sure, so I looked up the song and Wikipedia came to the rescue. Turns out the song is most likely about an arrest during an antiwar rally on a college campus. Which lead to “What’s a campus” which lead into “What’s an antiwar rally” which lead into “What’s Vietnam” which then finally ended up at “What started the Vietnam war?” At that point I used a lifeline and called my father to explain it to him. I did attempt diplomacy, because while both my parents were antiwar, Doodles’s grandfather on the other side actually fought in Vietnam.

So there you go. Reading Carrie Fisher can lead to the Vietnam War.

I’m enjoying this quiet. Yesterday was a bit hectic. Both kids had morning playdates. Doodles’s went well, and Pie’s eventually went okay, but there seemed to be a bit of confusion: Pie, the girl’s mother, and myself all thought it was a drop-off playdate. No one, however, told the girl and she asked every few minutes when her mom was coming. The kids started playing exactly seven minutes before the mom came to pick the girl up. I really want to make a dig at the mom here, because I know she reads this (Hi, D!), but my mind is filled with Paul Simon and I’m not coming up with anything clever.

I was in uber-haus frau mode yesterday and I used up a batch of overripe bananas to make yummy strawberry-banana mini muffins. Only my boy and Pie’s playdate don’t like strawberries. So I made a second batch of banana mini muffins. And in a rare show of generosity, I spiked those muffins with a plethora of chocolate chips. Am I a cool mom or what? Of course the answer is “or what,” as my son took one bite and announced, “I don’t think I like chocolate anymore.” Anyone want 48 chocolate-chip banana mini muffins?

To continue the haus frau theme of the day, I have a collection of fat quarters, which are large squares of cloth. At Pie’s request (who by the way, has been calling me “Jenny” for months now, but in the past week or so has started calling me “Gin-tay”) I made her a headband. But when I went to try it on her, she threw it across the room in a fit of something. She’s been in a throwing mood lately.

So after a quick errand, I stripped the kids and let them loose with fabric paints. Doodles thought it was “boring” and he wasn’t going to do it, but of course the minute Pie started, he was all over it. I made one for Adam and the kids spent about an hour working on their masterpieces. I then spent about an hour trying to get the paint off of them. Doodles still has some large streaks on his neck. I’m pretending he’s just a punk rock kid because it’s easier than cleaning him.

I planned a lovely family dinner for us–a quiche filled with our Boston Organics veggies–but a quick kid meltdown let me see the error of my ways, so it was a fast mac and cheese and off to bed for those two. The quiche was enjoyed by adults at a later hour.

And now, I’m going to read the final chapter of The Great Brain and then it’s off to the library for the next round of books before our afternoon playdates. Exciting life, I know. But it’s the only one I’ve got.

Okay, computer, I’m done with you. You may now go back to work.

Well, instead of ice cream and sprinkler parks, we celebrated the first day of summer with chicken soup and tea. Some summer weather. Happy summer.

Even though school didn’t end till yesterday, Doodles had his end-of-year celebration last Thursday. I think he’s a little sad the school year is over, but he’s not talking about it. He’s just been a little off these few days. It’ll be hard to leave kindergarten–his teacher and the assistant were fabulous and Doodles has made such huge strides. He did a self-evaluation at the end of the year. He wrote the two things he learned in kindergarten were “read” and “write.” The two things he is still working on are “write using spaces” and “keep my fingers out of my mouth.” Of course, there are some downsides, too. We were introduced to the world of Bakugan. Think Pokemon. But more expensive. Way more expensive. Oh my goodness. Adam and I both have masters degrees. We both read those instructions about twelve times. Both of us have no idea how to play. Apparently, you need the mind of a six year old to operate these things.

On a random side note, Pie and I were listening to the album Celebrate Kids: Kids Kosher Cuts, and on it is a song called “Deli-ightful.” It’s about food. Kosher food. Pie says to me, “Mommy, I want to keep kosher.”
Me: Okay. We can consider that.
Pie: Good.
Me: But you realize, if you keep kosher, you can’t eat bacon or ham?
Pie: Why?!?
Me: Because they’re not kosher.
Pie: Hmmmm. That’s a problem!

Anyway, see the pretty picture of a cake? That was my contribution to the elementary school picnic cake walk and the final nail in the coffin that is my urban, cool life. I have officially given up all of my final vestiges of hipness. Just because I like to listen to “Modest Mouse,” it only means I’m a suburban haus frau who listens to “Modest Mouse.”

The Pie has discovered Barbies. She’s been asking for Barbies for months, and finally for an end-of-school-year gift, I bought her a Barbie. And the, just a few days later, a big score. A Freecycle offer. Barbies. Two little bags of them. I managed to get them and we picked them up within twenty minutes of the item being posted. Pie is so happy. And I’m in a time warp. Because it was an older woman. Whose daughters are in their thirties. And it was their Barbies. Which means all these dolls are about twenty-five years old. We have the neon-colored “Rock” shirted Barbie with the big hair and the oversized earrings. We have the crocheted dress Barbie. We have the over-the-shoulder light blue chiffon dress Barbie. We have the Barbie accessories. Including the Walkman. The big Walkman. With strap. And plastic cassette. I tried explaining that one to Doodles.
Doodles: So when you were little, you listened to tapes on a Walkman?
Me: No,no! Not till I was much older. First when I was little I listened to records. Then I listened to eight-tracks. After eight-tracks, I started listening to cassettes. The Walkman didn’t come till high school. And then when I was in college, I got CDs. And then, in the past few years, it was MP3s. You know. iPods
Doodles: Huh?
But Pie doesn’t care about any of that. All she cares about is that she has Barbies. Lots and lots of Barbies. She has no interest in that one guy doll, but the rest is Barbie heaven. They now travel with us (maximum allowed out at any time, though, is two).

Which is good. Because apparently summer isn’t coming to our neck of the woods. So it’ll be Pie and Barbies. Doodles and Bakugan. Mommy and martinis. You know. Life as usual.