the pieces of my life

There are two main reasons I don’t post: one, I have nothing to write about. Or two, I have so much to write about that I can’t find the time to sit down and when I do sit down, I don’t know where to begin. It’s been more of the latter. At the moment, Doodles is in kindergarten (I started to write preschool–still can’t wrap my head around having a kindergartener) and Pie is actually, kind of, sort of playing nicely behind me. If this post ends abruptly, you’ll know it’s because “playing nicely” turned into “complete meltdown,” which is what happens every day. The question is the when.

I’ve had two trips to New York, a kindergarten conference, holiday shopping, and house building shenanigans. But that’s not what’s compelled me to blog today. Today I blog because my bedroom smells. Specifically, of bologna. Why does my bedroom smell of bologna? I have no idea. No one in the family eats bologna. Why does that compel me to blog? Again, no idea. But lying in bed last night, unable to get the smell of bologna out of my nose, I thought, “I should blog about this.” So here I am.

Actually the whole apartment smells. I sort of think that this might be a reflection upon my cleaning skills. I’m pretty good about vacuuming almost daily (the kids eat over a rug), but the nice bottles of environmentally-friendly cleaners I bought in a fit of optimism when we first moved in have remained pretty much untouched. But they sure do look pretty! Our contractor feels pretty optimistic that we can move back into the house the first week of February. That’s just about seven weeks. And we’re spending a week and a half of that in Miami Beach for New Year’s. So that’s just five and a half weeks of smell. Clean? Or stink? For five and a half weeks, I can live with stink. I’m practical like that.

While I’m here, I might as well tell you about New York. The first trip with the family over Thanksgiving was actually a real success. The kids were engaged and had fun and basically left me alone. Perfect! On Thursday morning, after we all watched the parade, I cooked and my dad, well, I guess he kind of supervised, the Nana, the Tweedle Twirp, and the Adam took the kids ice skating at Bryant Park. A lovely (but ill timed–even with a pre-cooked turkey, I was off) dinner ensued. The next day, the foursome of my family headed to the Fire Museum, which was quite interesting, although I made the mistake of attempting to explain 9/11 to Doodles. I thought he’d think it was something removed, a long, long time ago, but when he realized it was only seven years ago, he said, “Mom, that’s not long ago at all!” After the museum, Adam and Pie met up with my parents to go to MOMA. Pie loved the video exhibition and the “painting with the farmer. The green one.”

Meantime, Doodles and I went shopping in SoHo. The boy is game, I’ll tell you. I haven’t really blogged much about it, but I’ve become quite crafty in my old age (“crafty” in a Martha Stewart way; not a Beastie Boys way). I haven’t written much about it primarily because I plan on giving some of my handicrafts as gifts and I don’t want any of the surprise given away here. I really wanted to make a pilgrimage to a fabric store I remembered from my days as a New Yorker, and Doodles was actually very well behaved. Of course, we stopped at Evolution and we picked up a pair of glittens for him, but he sat almost patiently while I went through button boxes. We then headed up for the East Village to Tweeds’s apartment, which is better than any store for the toys in it. We had to tear Doodles away to head for lunch at Benny’s.

And with my quesadilla grande, I’m going to leave you for the moment. No, no meltdowns (yet). Just time to run off to kindergarten pickup….

It’s a sad comment that we live in a ‘burb fifteen minutes outside of Boston, and yet when we say we’re going into “the City,” we mean New York and we tend to do it about twice as often as we go into Boston.

Normally we host Thanksgiving. It’s one of my favorite things to do. Yes, that’s right, I enjoy hosting Thanksgiving. I love the planning. I love the cooking. I love the decorating. I even love the cleaning up after and that satisfaction of a fridge full of leftovers. Yes, I am a geek. Yes, my mother will wonder how she raised a daughter like me after that paragraph (rebellion against childhood upbringing, of course).

But, obviously, with our tiny little apartment kitchen, our dining room table in the middle of the living room, and the general disarray of our house life, we’re not hosting this year. Next year, ah, next year with my 36″ stove and wide counter space… But this year, we decided to make the trek down to the City to have Thanksgiving with my parents and the Tweedle Twirp. Of course, my parents’ city apartment is considerably larger than our home apartment, but the kitchen is 1) not that big and 2) completely not set up for cooking. It’s set up for getting bagels from Murray’s and burgers from New York Burger Company. In preparing what to cook (my mother’s exact words, “You can have Thanksgiving at our place. But I’m not doing any cooking!”), I quizzed my father. “Do you have a muffin pan?” I hear rustling and clanking, “Ah, no.” “Do you have a baking pan of any size? 8 x 8? 9 x 9? 9 x 13? Even a pie plate?” “Ah…no.”

So we’re not exactly cooking a full meal. The Tweedle Twirp ordered a turkey, stuffing, gravy, and green beans (who really likes cooking green beans?) from Balducci’s. I’m making bourbon-spiked sweet potato (and, yes, I’m going the gauche route and still added marshmallows; the bourbon is for me, the sweet potato is for my kids), sour cream-thyme muffins, and cranberry sauce. Tweeds is baking the pumpkin pie.

There’s the background. Yesterday I convinced Adam to work from home. He got up early and got online while I buzzed around like a madwoman. Got Doodles to school. Plopped Pie in front of a very rare morning of TV. Packed. Cleaned. Organized. Got us all out the door and to Doodles’s school by 10:30 a.m. (“We’re late! Come on, Pie and Adam!” “It’s only 10:25. Doesn’t it start at 10:45?” Does this man live on some planet where the time is adjusted funny? Whenever I tell him a starting time, he adds at least fifteen minutes to it.)

We make it to his school just on time to see our little pilgrim enter the cafeteria for their big feast. Each class made a part of the feast. Doodles’s class made corn bread. Another made soup. One made apple pies. And the fourth made–just like the pilgrims–fruit kabobs. After the feast, all the pilgrims got up and performed for us, such Thanksgiving classics such as “Albuquerque Turkey,” “The Tom Tom Song,” “There Are Many Things I’m Thankful For,” and “Tony Chestnut.” The singing ended at 11:14. At exactly 11:14:02 I had those kids in the bathroom and then out the door. We were on the road at 11:22. Which is awesome because apparently a few hours later there was an accident that caused the Pike to close a bit.

We made it down in decent time; we took on short cut and hit traffic outside of New Haven and Hartford and there was one relatively long pit stop when Pie had to pee, but we arrived in the city (meaning we crossed into the Bronx) about 4:30. It took a bit to get into Manhattan proper, but the great moment was when we got lost in Central Park. In my defense, in all my years living in New York, I never, ever drove. Really. Even on my own student film shoots at NYU when I had to rent a van, I got someone else to drive.

Why were we in Central Park in the first place? I had the brilliant idea that Adam would drop me and Pie off to watch the Thanksgiving Day balloons inflate (Doodles was invited as well, but he had no interest). I got the directions from Google Maps, which told us to take the 79th Street transverse. Only the 79th Street transverse was closed. So we entered at 72nd street. Which apparently takes us back up to 110th Street. By 5:30, Pie and I decamped at Central Park West and 81st.

In my mind, I envisioned a casual stroll among the balloons, a little oohing and ahhing, and then a quick subway back for dinner with everyone else. Not quite…

As we got to the corner, where we could see Buzz Lightyear and Spongebob we were stopped by barricades. First we were just stopped as Mayor Bloomberg passed. And then we were stopped as we were told that we had to enter the balloon inflating at 79th and Columbus. Pie was a real trooper and just kept periodically shouting, “New York! Yea, New York!” We headed over to 79th and Columbus. And waited. And waited. In masses and masses of crowds. Just waited. Finally we got to cross over and into the barricades where we got shuffled down to 77th Street.

We were smushed in, but that Pie didn’t care. “Where are the balloons? Where are the balloons?” Finally, after about an hour, we made it to the balloons. And Pie was entranced. “Who’s that? Who’s that?” We saw Pikachu (who I originally said, “Look, it’s Homer Simpson!”) and Ronald McDonald and Hello Kitty (who I said, “Look! A turkey!”) and Dora the Explorer (recognizable at 1000 paces), Snoopy (who I said was, “I have no idea who that is”), the Energizer bunny. At the end of the row was a Smurf. “Pie, I said. That’s a Smurf!” At that moment we came to a sudden halt (I will say that we were able to get right up to the barricades and see the balloons and it moved at an easy pace) as the mayor gave a press conference just in front of the Smurf. “That’s the mayor,” I told Pie.

Finally we made it down 77th Street. I did gave Pie the choice of going to the balloons on 81st Street or heading back down to the apartment for dinner. She thought about it and decided to head back, which was good because it was already after 7 and I was hungry.

We headed to the subway. You’ve never seen a kid so excited to be on a subway. “It’s the subway! Yea, subway! Why isn’t the subway moving? Oh, that’s silly! It is! Is this our stop? Is this our stop? Is this our stop? Yea, subway!”

Back at the apartment, we got ourselves some burgers, came back, played. My kids did nap in the car. Their normal bedtime is 7 p.m. At 10:15 Pie finally fell asleep. Doodles fell asleep shortly after.

So 10:15 bedtime. Any guesses on wake up time? Yep, 5:45 for Pie. A cranky 5:45. But she got up. And since she was up, we had the obligatory conversation about whether or not to go see the parade in person (general advice is to arrive by 6:30 a.m. to get a good place to see the 9 a.m. parade). My daughter exhibited a rare moment of wisdom and opted for the TV.

Happily, the Nana was up soon, so Pie had a playmate while Adam and I went back to sleep. I got up just in time for the start of the parade. The kids were very enthusiastic and sure enough, Pie yelled, “I saw that last night. I saw that bunny last night! I saw that star last night!” And as that giant Smurf passed by, that great big blue inflated Smurf, Pie yelled out, “Look! It’s the mayor! Doodles, that’s the mayor!”

And that’s our Thanksgiving until now, 9:30 a.m. Doodles is playing with Tinker Toys. Pie is doing naked tushie dancing in front of the parade on TV. Adam and my father are off picking up a pre-cooked turkey. And we’ve got a whole weekend ahead of us. Tune in for more turkey adventures. And happy Thanksgiving!

The object of the board game Pretty, Pretty Princess is to get the crown, two earrings, bracelet, and necklace (look, it was a gift!). You can’t win, though, if you have the black ring. We were playing, just me and Pie. It’s Pie’s favorite game (surprise!). Pie had everything but one earring. She landed on the black ring. “No!” she shrieked. “I don’t want that! Here.” And she moved her piece one extra spot to get the last earring. Very pleased with herself, she announced, “Now I’m a pretty, pretty princess!”

***

Reason #326 I love my neighborhood

Yesterday, at kindergarten drop-off on our first frost-bitten day, one of the moms brought a Thermos of hot chocolate. And the real stuff, made with vahlrona chocolate. None of that Swiss Miss crap. She topped everyone’s coffee cups off with the stuff. What a heavenly way to start a day. Yes, that’s right folks. I have nothing snarky to say here. I just really thought it was a nice moment that I’d share. Don’t worry–this moment will pass quickly. Oh wait, there it goes…

***

Me: Why didn’t you put away Doodles’s Leapster when you were done with it?
Pie [whispering, arms held wide]: Because I didn’t want to.

Oh, silly me. Of course.

***

In the car ride home today from swimming class, Doodles said to me: Mom! You won’t believe what happened today!
Me: What?
Doodles: During snack time, Mae (not her real name) came up to me… and she kissed me!
Me: She did?
Doodles: Yeah! On the forehead! For no reason at all!
Me: No reason at all?
Doodles: No reason at all! Mae kissed me on the forehead. And then all the girls laughed.
Me: Oh, they did?
Doodles: Yeah. Why did Mae do that?
Me: I have no idea…
Doodles: It was so strange!

So here I am, mentally picking out his senior prom outfit, when I report this to his mother. Only Doodles apparently is back-up guy. Because Mae told her mother that she was in love with another boy in class, Z., only another girl, J., was going to marry him. Ah, the complicated romances of kindergarten…

***

Time to start planning for next year, when I have my yard back. I’m TOTALLY hitting the after holiday sales for one of these.

***

Reason #327 that I love our neighborhood:

I love Pie’s preschool. Love, love, love it. And I really, really love the moms and dads I’ve met there (and I think it’s so nice that I have gotten to know dads–they’re definitely an active part of the life there). I’ve made some really good parent friends. But the thing is, at Pie’s preschool, I feel like I’m the bad influence. I’m always the one saying, “My daughter did what? Oy. Time to hit the martinis,” or “Damn, why don’t they serve wine at these things?” or, “It’s a Wednesday! That calls for bourbon!” And I have to say, I get shot down every time and I feel like I’ve somehow gotten a reputation for being the juvenile delinquent mom.

But kindergarten–ah, kindergarten is a whole new world! Today I did my volunteer stint in the classroom. Workboard. I helped kids find words that started with the letters in “G-I-V-E T-H-A-N-K-S.” I prompted them to write a sentence. I supervised some serious coloring and cutting. Two other moms and the teacher were also working the room. After the kids were on their way to lunch, I made the comment, “Let’s go get our martinis now.” One responded, “I’m more of a margarita person,” and the other one said, “I make a mean gimlet. Let’s go back to my place for drinks now! Seriously, I can mix up just about any drink.”

Friends, let me tell you, it was painful being the responsible adult, but I pulled through, knowing I had just an hour till I had to pick Pie up from preschool. I apologized profusely, not wanting to be that mom, you know, the mom who doesn’t drink (aaagggg!). The mom understood, and she promised me that anytime she’s happy to mix up a drink.

“It’s true,” another mom said. “It doesn’t take much to get her to pop the cork.”

“It’s always five o’clock somewhere,” she assured me.

Be still my heart. I’ve found my home. And it is kindergarten. Let the drinking begin.

Did you guys know that there’s a show called Paris Hilton: My New BFF, and I haven’t been watching it! What has my life turned into?

But that’s not what I came here for. This past weekend I headed down to Miami for a weekend without my children. It was a novel event. Although, little do they know, it’s the start of a trend because I also have a trip without them planned for both December and January. This weekend, in theory, was for a serious family event, however, if you know my family, it was pretty much anything but.

For starters, that lovely photo above was taken off my cousin’s boat. It’s a gorgeous view isn’t it? The weekend was unexpected. I arrived a little late on Friday to a house full of people at my parents’ place. I stayed up too late talking to my parents and then, all because of a five minute nap on the plane, I couldn’t sleep (um, remind you of a daughter of mine?). Which would have been fine except my eight-month-old cousin woke me up in the pre-7 a.m. hour the next morning. Now, don’t get me wrong. This cousin is incredibly cute, very well behaved, and exceedingly quiet for a baby. But you know how it is. Once you have a kid, you’re programmed. The slightest baby noise and you’re up, calling, “What! What! Bottle? Diaper? Potty? Bad dream? What??” And then you’re up. I swear, I felt bad for my other cousin, the eight-month-old’s mother, because I’ve somehow reverted to single gal in babyhood terms. I took the baby, and pretty much felt like I was holding her at arm’s length, like, “Cute baby. What do I do with you again?” Those early years have been erased from my mind. I seriously didn’t know what to do! Yes, my child-bearing years are done. The family is complete. Done. Finis.

Saturday though was a whirlwind. My favorite cafe con leches and Cuban toast. A pedicure. A ride on the Triple Play (and here comes the inevitalbe shout out to B., her freakishly smart daughter, H., and her always charming mother, C. Hi guys! It was fun!).

The next night I was up way too late because I spent the night at my cousin’s house and he’s building a new house around the corner, and of course I needed a tour. And then we got up at 4:50 the next morning to run a half marathon. (My cousin is running his first marathon with me in January. I called him and said, “We should do a long run while I’m home.” He said, “I can’t, I’m doing a half.” So I signed on! He did amazing for a first half. Really pushed himself. Wait till he sees what I make him do at the marathon!) Family function. Family drama. Trip to the airport. Make my way home to my claustrophobic little apartment.

And what did I come home to? I came home to kids who were clearly happy to see me (or perhaps it was the Epicure cookies I brought home for them). But the euphoria was short–very short–lived. I stayed up waaaay too late in order to spend time with Adam–I got back to the apartment at 10 p.m. and he had to leave at 6 a.m. for an almost-week-long trip to L.A. and there was oh-so-much to catch him up on. So I’m exhausted but at 5:42 a.m. I hear, “Mommy, you’re back! How was your trip? I got a flashlight. Daddy, Doodles, and I walked to Trader Joe’s and I got to use my flashlight. It’s green. That’s your favorite color! I want breakfast. Where’s Daddy? Is he at the gym or is he on his trip? The clock? It says thirteen hundred o’clock. Did you bring me something? I went to a movie, and I got glasses! The astronaut scared me but I laughed when he broke the glass and…”

I get the kids up and fed and clothed with little trouble. Pie is definitely in a volatile stage–so much so that after nearly a year, she’s sent me back to the parenting books–and I made it to Doodles’s school on time. Pie and I went back to check on the house. Progress is amazing. Shingles going up on the family room roof, electricians doing their thang, things are just falling into place. Only Pie tells me she has to go to the bathroom. I run her to her preschool, and magically, she no longer has to go. Hmmm. She didn’t go all morning. Of course, she doesn’t want to enter her preschool, so I end up slinging her under my arm, a la a football hold, and carry her in screaming. But I make it out with nary a scratch.

I head home to do a little Nano-ing. A note on the Nano. As you can see by my word count, I’m woefully behind. But I’m psyched to say that I’m making steady progress on my novel (doing editing as I go, which is verboten in Nano world), and I’m feeling good about it. So no, I won’t hit 50,000 words, but I just might finish this damn thing! Anyway, a smidgen of Nano and then off to volunteer at Doodles’s school. I started out in the cafeteria at kindergarten lunch. Um, do you guys remember your kindergarten lunch? As far as I remember, it was sink or swim. Not anymore. For starters, kindergarten, first, and second graders are not allowed (plastic) knives. Today was pancake day. So my job was to go around and cut pancakes for kids. Seriously! I also opened milks, peeled clementines, and told kids to get their butts back into their seats. I also spent five minutes consoling my son when it was time for me to leave. He was happy to see that I was there, and pretty much ignored me. But toward the end, he got the rubby eyes and the teary frowns and then the clinging for dear life to my arm. Eventually the teacher’s aide was able to release me, but it’s a terrible way to leave your child. Thank goodness I had to pass by the room later, and I saw him very happily building a habitat out of blocks with friends. Otherwise, the guilt would have stayed with me all day.

And then I went to pick up Pie. Pie Pie. Potty-trained Pie. Potty-trained Pie who was wearing the school’s pants because she had not one, but two pee accidents at school today. And did she care? No. She was just happy because Jasmine’s mom told her she could wear Jasmine’s sandals (someone was shoeless because she peed all over her shoes) so we didn’t have to go straight home after school. Oy.

So now, I should be sleeping. I should crawl into bed because tomorrow is all Pie all the time and I know she’ll be up at 5:42 a.m., I’m instead telling you about my life. Actually, I’m not crawling into bed because of the five (yes five) cups of coffee I had today. But let’s pretend it’s because of you. Somehow that just makes it all a little better.

Doodles was a guinea pig today at the Lab for Developmental Studies at our local Fancy Pants Ivy League school. He’s done a ton of these and he loves doing them. Pie loves it too, but they didn’t have a study for her today. Today’s study was on multiplication and kids innate understanding of it (or lack thereof).

Me: So, Pie, someone will come out to play with you while Doodles does his study.
Pie: Someone will play with me?
Me: Yes.
Pie: Yea!
Doodles: But I don’t need you to come in with me!
Me: You want to go in by yourself?
Doodles: Yes!
Me: Okay. Well, then Pie, I’ll stay out and play with you.
Pie, voice rising: No! I want to play with someone else!

Ah, it’s so good to be wanted…

I’m sitting at my computer. I hear a child in the bathroom. He’s singing. He’s telling himself stories. He’s humming. La la la la la.
Me: Make sure you wipe really, really well after you poop.
Doodles: [silent for a moment, then, with true curiosity in his voice]: How did you know I was pooping!

I’m just magic like that I guess.

On a related note: I think I’ve set a bad precedent. Pie was having her morning constitutional and of course that’s when Doodles decided he had to go RIGHT NOW, REALLY BADLY, I MEAN IT, I CAN’T WAIT! So I let him pee in the shower. Anyone want to bet when/where he’s gonna want to pee tomorrow morning? Maybe we should buy stock in the tub cleaner now…

Dante thought there were nine circles of hell. The lustful. The gluttonous. The heretics. The violents. And so on.

Dante was wrong. There are ten circles of hell. That final, forgotten circle? That e 10th ring? It is, of course, is life with a three-year-old and five-year-old. A sampling from our past week:

“Pie, will you have a muffin or a scone today?”
“I’ll have a muffin. I only eat scones when it’s hot.”

At 4 a.m. I can’t sleep. My mind won’t stop churning. And what is it churning? “I love being a princess. I love being a princess.” Over and over. By the Backyardigans. “If you want to dress like this, and wear a shiny crown;
If you like how people look when they are bowing down; If princess life is what you want, your choice is crystal clear; Go find some other country, pal; ‘Cause I’m the princess here!” If you know the tune at all–ha! Now it’s in your head too.

Full scale meltdowns that end with me putting a jacket on my naked daughter because the boy is not going to be late for kindergarten. And what sets off these kinds of meltdowns? Isn’t it obvious? I picked out the wrong underwear.

A Halloween treat: scrambled eggs made in one of those impossible-to-use impossible-to-clean William Sonoma pancake molds. And the verdict? “Mommy, I don’t like pumpkin eggs! I like skeleton eggs!” From the girl terrified of skeletons, mind you.

A son who declares to his friend (the architect’s son, mind you), that his house, which is undergoing what seems to be a multimillion dollar renovation, is “so totally not cool.”

One bathroom. Two kids. One who might as well be taking the entire Sunday New York Times in with him; the other who doesn’t have to go, no really, doesn’t have to go… until someone else is sitting on the toilet in which case she has to go right now this very second!.

A five-year-old son, who yells, when his 14-year-old babysitter walks by the playground with a friend, “Hey babes!”

My life. In hell.

I noticed a bunch of kids wearing “I voted” stickers today at kindergarten pick up today.

Me: Did you vote, Doodles?
Doodles: Yes!
Me: You didn’t get a sticker?
Doodles: I put it on my notebook.
Me: Ah. Is it a secret or will you tell me who you voted for?
Doodles: I’ll tell you.
Me: Who did you vote for?
Doodles: John McCain.
Me: And how did you decide on him?
Doodles: I liked what he promised.
Me: What did he promise?
Doodles: He promised to pay for college.
Me: Ah.
Doodles: But my guy didn’t win.
Me: No?
Doodles: Barack Obama won.
Me: Oh.
Doodles: When they announced the winner, I said, “Awwww,” because my guy didn’t win.
Me: You must be disappointed.
Pie: You voted for John McCain?
Doodles: Yes. And when he’s president, he’s going to keep his promise, because presidents always keep promises.

Doodles: I don’t eat junk! I’m a vegetarian.
Adam: You are?
Doodles: Yes!
Me: But you eat pepperoni.
Doodles: I know.
Adam: But that’s a meat.
Doodles: I know.
Adam: But vegetarians don’t eat meat.
Doodles: Yes, they do.
Adam: No, they don’t.
Doodles: Oh. I guess what I mean is that I’m a meatatarian.