the pieces of my life

I so clearly remember the absolute horror I felt when my father described to me his childhood. What do you mean you didn’t have color TVs? How do you listen to a show on the radio? No tape players? How did your grandmother do the laundry? How much did the movies cost? You couldn’t have copies made? No electric typewriters? WHAT was your phone number? How could a phone number have a word in it. How far did you walk to school? In the snow? Uphill?

And now, it’s a game I’ve inadvertently fallen into with my children. Yesterday they went to get their flu shots. Which I still call flu shots. Even though what they got was actually a flu nasal mist.

“It’s a new thing, guys! It squirts up your nose. It won’t hurt at all!”

“Did you mind getting flu shots when you were a kid?” Doodles asked me.

“Actually, we didn’t have flu shots when I was a kid. They weren’t invented yet.”

“REEEEAAALLLY? So what did you do?”

I shrug. “I guess we got the flu!”

It’s funny, we joke about the kids not knowing why we say “dial the phone” when there’s clearly no dial. But the kids play these games, where I hear Doodles saying things like, “Check us out at jumpingonthebed.com!” or he’ll say to me when I don’t know the answer to something, “Can’t you look on the computer? Use Google.”

I wonder if I’m being naive but it seems like the distance between my father’s childhood and mine is shorter than that between my childhood and my children’s. (And why my father and not my mother? My mother never told as many stories about her childhood, so I don’t have the same frame of reference there.) In other words, life in the 1940s was different from life in the 1970s, but not as much as life in the 1970s is different from life in the 2000s.

In my pre-twelve year old life, we had multiple TVs, but no computer, no cable. Our first computer came in 1980, when we bought a TRS-80 Model III with a cassette drive and what we called “the red button of death” (press it and with no confirmation, everything you worked on disappeared forever). I took BASIC programming my senior year of high school, which put me ages ahead of most of my peers in computer literacy. I didn’t get my MTV until high school. I remember begging my parents–pleading–in the late ’70s for a princess phone. Remember the smell of dittos in elementary school? Ah, the scent of the mimeograph machine.

My son is conversant on using the iPod. My daughter can pause live TV. Doodles begs for time to play the new game on pbskids.com. The both receive their party invitations on evite. “Let’s watch a DVD!” they plead. Pie is capable of displaying all the photos on my iPhone to her friends.

Well, just wait. One of these days they’ll ask for the own cell phones. And I’ll look at them as if they are crazy and say, “You know, when I was a kid, I had what was called a ‘party line,’ and I couldn’t even call my friends when I wanted and I had to get off the phone when a neighbor wanted to us it.” (True story of my brief life in Colorado before returning to my rightly position as a Floridian.) And then when they stare at me in horror, I’ll explain how I had to ride my bike to school, two miles, in hurricanes, uphill… in both directions. See my childhood wasn’t that different from my father’s.

“Leaves trying to get unstuck, but can’t.”

Kate Feiffer visited Doodles’s school today to read from her book President Pennybaker. There’s been talk of the election and as part of the day, apparently an election was held. I didn’t know about this, until I noticed late in the day that Doodles was wearing an “I Voted” sticker.

Me: You voted today?
Doodles: Yep.
Me: Who did you vote for?
Doodles [with no hesitation]: You!
Me: You voted for me?
Doodles: Yeah!
Me: Who were your choices?
Doodles: Um, our choices were, um, Bar-ick O-bama. And, um… Um…
Me: John McCain?
Doodles: Yes! John McCain! And Your Mommy. And Your Daddy.
Me: So you voted for me?
Doodles: Yeah!
Me: Aw, that’s sweet.
Doodles: There was a line to write in another name. I was going to vote for me, write my own name in. But I decided to vote for you.
Me: Why?
Doodles: I dunno.
Adam: What is it that Mommy supports that you agree with?
Doodles: I dunno. I just voted for her.

And with that, Doodles proves himself to be a true blue American. No idea what he’s voting for. Just going with the popular vote. And you? Do I have your support? I make no promises….

This morning was the boy’s first day of hockey. He’s taking instructional, which covers things like basic skating, stick handling, swearing, passing, body checking, shooting, teeth replacement, and all the other necessities of hockey. It’s the first step on the long road of 5 a.m. practices, traveling teams, and hockey dads (which seem to be more prevalent here than hockey moms, sorry Sarah Palin).

Our town is a BIG hockey town. It’s got a rep for it, and I was floored when we went today and saw, seriously, about a 100 kids all decked up in their hockey uniforms. The first day is “try outs,” meaning they place kids into one of four levels, and two of the groups meet at different times (not 5 a.m., thank goodness. At least, not at the start). The orange/blue level is for kids who are primarily in their second year of instructional (which goes from age 4 to 7). The yellow/red level is for the first timers. Doodles was placed in the red level, which is the “I can skate, but I can’t do much of anything else” level. The yellow level is for those kids who were floundering about on crates. But for this first class, they stick all the kids on the ice and see what they can do. It was completely overwhelming for me, never mind the kids. Kids like Doodles were being swarmed by bigger kids who were speeding around, waving their sticks. I have to say, I got the same pangs I got that first day of kindergarten, knowing I was sending my boy out into the world of team sports. knowing there is no turning back. I got weepy watching him wait patiently to enter the ice, excited about finally starting hockey.

Of course, there’s the flip side to this. And that’s the hockey dad. I saw shades of it emanating from my bleacher bench. Right next to me. My darling husband. “Doodles! Doodles!” “What are you doing?” I asked. “Look at him! He’s holding his stick backward. He’s not a lefty; he’s a righty. Doodles. DOODLES!” Adam finally gave up, but I could see the frustration oozing from him. In some ways I think Doodles would be better off if he didn’t have a father who played hockey as a kid (and grown-up, too, until hockey broke him).

So it’s official. My baby is getting big. And he’s totally, completely, 100% a New Englander. I think I even heard him say “wah-tah,” the other day, when he was asking for a drink. As long as he still roots for the Dolphins, though, all will be good in our household.

Doodles: Are Uncle Jon and Alicia having a baby yet?
Me: Not yet. They only just got married a couple of weeks ago. Even if they had a baby right away, it would still take nine months, remember?
Doodles: Do you have to be married to have a baby?
Me: No, you don’t. But being married first is the traditional way of doing things. Not everyone is married to have a baby, and you don’t have to be married to have a baby, but if you follow the tradition, you’ll get married first.
Pie: Were you married when you had a baby?
Me: Yes, I was.
Pie: Why?
Me: You know, having a baby is really hard work. It helps a lot if you have a partner when you have your baby, to help take care of it.
Doodles: Yeah, having a baby is really hard work. But it’s also fun.
Me: That’s true. And I wanted Daddy as a partner in taking care of a baby.
Doodles: Hey, Pie, you know what?
Pie: What?
Doodles: When I was born, Mommy had a partner. But when you were born, Mommy had two partners!
Me: I did?!?
Doodles: Yes! When Pie was born, Mommy had Daddy and me as a partner. It was hard work taking care of you Pie, but I really helped a lot. I gave you bottles of milk. So many bottles of milk. Pie, you drank a lot of milk from bottles [I’d like to remind everyone here that Pie was never what you’d call a bottle drinker. She actually despised the bottle]. Mommy was lucky she had so much help.

Well, I guess that depends on your definition of help. If by help you mean being a screaming, whining, dawdling, getting in the way pain in the tush two-year-old, yep, Doodles, you were a huge help! Thanks for that.

Who is this child of mine and what is this life we’ve gotten into? At pick up today, we could hear the announcements outside, being delivered by a teacher or maybe it was the principal? “And the Red Sox will be playing not just tonight but Sunday night too in the playoffs! We wish them the best and will play ‘Sweet Caroline’ in their honor. Go Sox!!” Really, people? You know their not the underdogs anymore. Does anyone really still care? A friend of mine put it well. She wrote to me: “There is no separation of baseball and state in Massachusetts public education.”

And then there’s the fact that this boy of mine has gotten, you know, cool. After school a classmate came running up to him.
Classmate: Hey, Doodles! Hey, Doodles!
Doodles: What.
C: Hi, Doodles!
D: What did you want?
C’s mom: I think he just wanted to say, “Hi.”
C: Yeah! Hi, Doodles!
D: Oh.
Me: Can you try a few manners? How about, “Hi, C.” or “Have a good weekend, C.”
D, mumbling: Hi, C.
I had a total flashback to the boys of my elementary school years. I can’t believe my son is going to be that kid. Oy.

At a fire safety assembly, Doodles learned all about what to do in a fire. He told me, “You need to leave right away! Just take the phone with you and when you get outside, then you call the firemen. If you left your pet or your toys inside, you just wait for the firemen to come get them out.”

Bring your phone with you? We never learned that. Does the cord stretch to outside? The times, they are a changin’.

“Sweet Caroline
Good times never seemed so good
I’ve been inclined
To believe they never would…”

The boy is inconsistent. Occasionally I beg and beg for a scrap of information, and nothing comes. Sometimes I blackmail and I get an odd tidbit or two. Then sometimes, out of nowhere, a spewing of information erupts from his body as if he just can’t contain it anymore.

I’m at the computer. Doodles comes running up.
Doodles: We heard a book about Johnny Appleseed today!
Me: Yea?
Doodles: Yea! He was a friend of the Indians! Just like the pilgrims!
Me: Oh!
Doodles: And he walked all the way from Massachusetts to India!
Me: India?
Doodles: Yes, India!
Me: Are you sure it was India?
Doodles: I’m sure! He walked all the way to India.
Me: Maybe it was Ohio?*
Doodles: Oh, right. That’s it. He walked to Ohio.

Of course, every now and I then I find the innocent questions actually yield quite a bit of insight into his day. Today Doodles went on his first field trip: apple picking (ah, now the Johnny Appleseed story makes sense, doesn’t it!).

Me: So did you like riding on the bus?
D: Yes.
M: Who did you sit next to?
D: On the way there or on the way back?
M: Both.
D: I don’t remember who I sat with on the way there.
M: Okay, who did you sit with on the way back?
D: I sat with O. and J.
M: Three in a seat?
D: Yep.
Me, frantically trying to figure out how to keep the conversation going: So… did you sit in the middle or the window or the aisle?
D: First I sat on the outside and then the middle.
Me: So on the way there you sat on the outside and on the way home you sat in the middle?
D: No, on the way home I sat on the outside and then I moved to the middle.
Me: In the middle of the bus ride?
D: Yea. A teacher made me switch because J. was sitting like this [he demonstrates] and O. was doing this [he demonstrates] and O. kept sitting on J.’s hand and J. got angry so we had to switch and I sat in the middle.
Me: Ah.
D: Can I go now?
Just goes to show you, there really isn’t ever a stupid question.

*The nice thing about this being my blog is I’m able to use a bit of revisionist history. Because anyone who actually heard the conversation, might have thought they heard me say, “Maybe it was Oregon?” because frankly I don’t remember the story at all, but a quick Google search shows me he only made it to Ohio, which means either he’s lazy or perhaps “Ohio” is what I really said in the first place.

At tonight’s Town Day festivities:

We’re eating hot dogs on the lawn, listening to Ben Rudnick. Doodles becomes agitated in an happy way.
Doodles: Mom, mom! Mom, look!
Me: What? What?
D: Mom, it’s E!
Me: A? Where?
D: No, not A. E! E!
Me: Who? Who is E?
D: Moooom! From my class [can you hear the duh in his voice there? because it’s there]
M: Oh. Do you want to go say, “Hi?”
D: No!
M: Because if you want, you can go by yourself and say, “Hi.”
D: No, Mom!
M: Did you want me to go with you to say, “Hi?”
D: No, thank you.
A few minutes later. Doodles is still staring at this kid.
Me: Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you to say, “Hi”?
Doodles: Mom! When I say “No, thank you,” I mean “No, thank you!”
Hmmm, where did he get that from.

Fast forward thirty minutes. Feeling guilty that I’m not going to let the kids stay up late enough to watch the fireworks, I buy them hideously overpriced, horrible for the environment plastic light sabers.

Wielding his red light saber, Doodles turns to me and says, “You know, I think I’ll go say hi to E. now.”

Long gone, buddy, long gone. But it’s nice to know that Boys with Their Toys starts at age 5.

So, what’s going on with me? I’m not purposely neglecting you guys–I think it’s just that there’s so much going on and I’m just overwhelmed enough that I feel like I have absolutely nothing interesting to blog about. But that stops now! I’m cranking up the iTunes (so loving the new Genius playlist feature), ignoring the copyedit that’s whispering to me from the side of my desk (“Jenny! I have misplaced modifiers! I’m going to secretly removed serial commas! Look, Jenny, look! I’ve got inconsistent numerals…. Jennnnnny! Come fiiiiiix me!”), and I’m now prepared to give you all my full attention.

I’m sorry, what was the question?

Let me tell you some of the things I’ve learned this past week:

• If you give a child 60 cents and tell him he can buy his milk at school, 5 times out of 5 times, he will choose chocolate milk. (Nostalgia: When I was in elementary school, lunch prices increased from 50 cents to 55 cents. And we didn’t have three lunch choices, including pizza pretty much every day.)
• A house with no walls is way more interesting than a house with walls.
• You can watch a cement truck pour cement for hours.
• If your family can’t keep a decent-sized house clean, no way can they keep a 700-square-foot apartment clean. You will be stepping on Legos for the duration. And if your husband didn’t know what clean was in your house, he really won’t know what it means in the apartment. By the way, you are not invited over. Not any of you. Because this place is a mess.
• No matter how little food you put into your son’s lunchbox, he will not be able to finish it. I gave that boy two falafel balls (note: not an entire falafel sandwich, just two of the little balls) and two slices of red pepper. He ate one falafel ball, one slice of red pepper, and complained that I gave him too much food because he doesn’t have time to finish it. Kindergartners get a half hour for lunch. He can’t manage to put away four small pieces of food? That boy is a Chatty Cathy is what it is. Today he said I was giving him too much lunch: a cheese sandwich and two red pepper slices. He said, “Just give me the red pepper.” Um, no? Because I’m not going to be the mom called by DSS for starving her child. At least I won’t starve him in a public setting. We compromised on half a cheese sandwich and red pepper. And this kid wonders why he doesn’t weigh enough for a “big kid booster seat” in the car.
• If you buy your daughter a dress so she can be a flower girl, you’ll need to get shoes to go with the dress. Otherwise, you will wake up two days before the wedding and think, “OH SHIT! I didn’t buy any shoes!” and you’ll have to run to the store and pay top dollar to Stride Rite because your wide-footed daughter doesn’t fit into normal shoes and you don’t have enough time to order them online.
• When your son says he’s not learning anything yet at school… he LIES! At back-to-school night, it was downright overwhelming to see how much they are learning. And sure enough, this morning, I said to Doodles, “In September, for awhile…” and he chimed immediately in, making hand motions, “I will ride a crocodile down the chicken soupy Nile. Paddle once, paddle twice, paddle chicken soup and rice,” and, oh yes, they have gone over some of the letters of the alphabet, and yeah, they do count every day, many times a day, and he has been writing his name, but no, he really isn’t learning anything. Okay, fine. As long as he keeps not learning at this pace, I’ll be happy.
• If you’re size 4 son needs a suit, you will be paying hand over fist for it. In fact, he might even have to give up his brand-new room in his brand-new house, it costs so much.
• Running 19 miles after taking two weeks off of running may not be the smartest thing in the world.
• If, when you move, you think that purging your house of chocolate will prevent you from bingeing when your children are in preschool and you’re working, you are wrong. You will just find other things to binge on.

Okay, enough you people! I hear a “comprised of” (AAAACK!) beckoning me from the manuscript. (Where is my red pencil! Bad of, bad, bad, bad of.) We’ve got one wedding rehearsal, one party, one half marathon, two sets of formal photos, a mountain of logistics, and one wedding to attend this weekend. I’m sure I’ll have something to say about it all next week.

I survived the first day of kindergarten (yes, me. I never had any doubt about Doodles). Preschool for Pie starts at the end of this week. We’re settled into our apartment, and–yes, finally–the construction seems to be beginning. I return to freelance work tomorrow. The temperatures are dipping and suddenly the synagogue is all abuzz about the high holidays. Forget what the calendar says; summer is officially over.

Doodles loved kindergarten. He did have a couple of complaints: 1) “Why can’t I stay for the afterschool program?” and 2) “We didn’t learn anything today.” But other than that, he already found his gaggle of guy friends with whom he sat at lunch. He played with blocks during choice time, drew a picture of himself–with his backpack, learned where to put his folder, raised his hand to use the bathroom, heard two books about kindergarten, and generally enjoyed his day. Pie, on the other hand, wasn’t satisfied with the raspberry picking we did and complained frequently about not going to kindergarten herself.

For lunch, I packed–in his brand-new Star Wars lunch box–falafel, hummus, pita, string cheese, and red pepper (oh how far we’ve come with his eating!). As a treat, I printed out some cute school-themed notepaper and wrote a special note for him. On the note, I taped a Hershey’s Kiss as a treat.

After school, we went to the playground to play, and I peeked into his lunch box. The falafel, string cheese, and half a red pepper were eaten. “You didn’t eat much,” I said. “I ran out of time,” he told me. As we were walking, I asked, “Did you get a special treat in your lunch?”

“Yes!” he said. “I got a Hershey’s Kiss! It was a surprised. You didn’t tell me it was going to be there.”

“It was a special first day of school surprise for you.”

“I liked it, Mom,” he said.

When we finally got home, it was close to five. “Can I finish my lunch now?” he asked.

“It’s just about dinner time,” I said. “Do you want to finish your lunch for dinner?”

“Yes,” he said, and he sat down and opened his lunch. “And when I’m done, I can have my Kiss.”

Confused, I asked, “Didn’t you eat your kiss at school?”

He shook his head. “No, Mom!” he said, in his duh voice. “I didn’t eat all my energy food so I didn’t eat the Kiss.”

Holy cow. Food group would have been proud of him. And for the record, I let him eat the Kiss before he finished the rest of his lunch/dinner.

I did buy Doodles a first-day-of-school present: two easy reader Star Wars books. Which was fine, except Pie announced, “I want a Kiss for my first day of school and for my first day of school I want two books, only with princesses in them!”

Three more days till preschool gets into full swing. Just three more days….