the pieces of my life

This past weekend was a big running weekend for me. I went up to Alton, New Hampshire, early Saturday morning to run the Big Lake Half Marathon. Supposedly it’s a very beautiful course. I’m not really sure. I didn’t fuel up properly beforehand (normally I eat a peanut-butter sandwich and a banana, but since I left the house at 5 a.m. and the race didn’t start till 9, my belly got all rumbly before then) and I tried to keep up with my much-faster friends for the first three miles, so by the middle, I was just kind of chugging along without a whole bunch of steam. Much more “I think I can, I think I can,” than any speed engine. I did notice some very sweet houses on the lake (oh, how I want a summer home on a lake!), but other than that I was very focused on getting to the end. I did respectably: 465 (out of 1202) and 24 (out of 89) in my division. My chip time was 1:54:47 for a 8:46 pace, which is fine, but not my best. I was heartened to see that if the race were just one and a half months later, I’d have finished 20th in my division (the only reason I can see to truly look forward to turning 40 is that it bumps me up into the next age category).

As a recovery run, I decided on Sunday morning to do the Melrose Run for Women. This is the third time I’ve run it (fourth I’ve signed up, but one year the rains were so bad the course flooded and the race was canceled), and it’s such a lovely run. My kids talked all week about the race they were going to run, as there’s a fun run beforehand. I think Pie was disappointed because the kids’ run for the under 8s was only a dash (“too short!” she said after) but she had a blast doing it. And she ran in the right direction this year! Last year was her first time running it and she kind of spun around confused. Doodles of course took off and proudly wore his ribbon afterward. I’m so psyched my kids are into running–I look forward to the day we can do full races together (remember the days, before we were married, when Adam ran with me? Ah, yes. And we were married–what? five minutes–before he announced he hated running and never laced up any running shoes again?). The race is a nice course and it’s an easy 3.5 miles. I did a fine job on it, especially after the half: no chips, but my gun time was 27:11.5 for a 7.46 pace. I finished 56 out of 644.

Now I have to figure out my next races. My name is in the lottery for the NYC marathon again. If I don’t get into that, I’ll run the Baystate Marathon. I have a half scheduled for September, the same day my brother-in-law is getting married (and by pure coincidence, the race and the wedding are in the same town in Maine and the race is in the morning and the wedding in the afternoon. What luck!). I don’t want to schedule too many other halfs until I figure out which marathon I’m running . But if anyone wants to meet up somewhere for a race, I’m generally game. The races wear me out, but in a good way, and I’m always up for another one.

Run run run. Of course there is one added benefit: Sorry, Adam. I’m really too tired after those races to put the kids to bed. Can you handle it yourself? Snooooooze.

Around the corner from our house is a Catholic church with a great big lovely empty parking lot. Adam took Doodles over to it to learn to ride his bike. Yep, the training wheels are off, and so is Doodles. All that boy wants to do is ride, ride, ride!

From what Adam tells me, there was another family there with a six-year-old who was also learning to ride sans training wheels. The Friendliest Brown was chatting away, telling this family his life story. And a fascinating life story it is.

After a while, Doodles became tired and Adam was bored so they began to leave the church parking lot to head home. Apparently, one of the other parents called otu to Doodles, “Bye! Perhaps we’ll see you here again!”

Doodles wrinkled his nose and replied, “I don’t think so. We’re Jewish.”

The upsides of two kids just two years apart have proven themselves to be many. They can entertain themselves for a good hour playing hide-and-go-see or–their new favorite instigated by Pie (ugh)–wedding. They share dress-up shoes and games. Doodles is just enough older that he can help out when Pie’s being difficult–getting on her shoes or convincing her to eat. But it’s not all fun and games.

The main downside, that I can see so far, to having kids just two years apart is we seem to have hit this perfect storm of question asking. Doodles is at the stage when he has a genuine curiosity about, oh, everything, and Pie just likes to hear herself talk. And God forbid they ever ask when I’m at home and can look answers up or demonstrate something. Take this one fifteen-minute stroller ride to the park:

Pie: What are bicycles made out of?
Me: Um, I think mostly metal and plastic.
Doodles: Wood and metal. Bikes have wood.
Me: I don’t think many bikes are made of wood anymore. In the old days the were made of wood, but now I think they’re primarily metal and plastic.
Doodles: No, I know they’re made out of wood and metal. The wood is inside the metal because it’s stronger.
Me: Actually, metal is stronger than wood.
Doodles: Why is metal stronger than wood?
Me: Um. Well. It just is.
Doodles: What are houses made out of?
Me: Wood. Bricks. Concrete. Um, I don’t know what else.
Pie: What are flags made out of?
Me: Cloth.
Pie: What are cars made out of?
Me: Um, mostly metal and plastic, too, I think.
Doodles: Not wood?
Me: No, not wood.
Doodles: Where do eyeballs come from?
Me: What?
Doodles: Where do eyeballs come from?
Me: What do you mean?
Doodles: Oh, I know. From your head! What makes eyeballs colored?
Me: Um, pigments? I’m not sure.
Pie: Eyeballs! Eyeballs! Where are we going?
Me: To the playground.
Doodles: What are houses made of?
Me: I think we covered that one already.
Doodles: I meant, what are bricks made out of?

There’s no avoiding it in the stroller. In the car, though, I have developed the nice little technique of turning the radio up and yelling, “What? I can’t hear you! It’s so loud in here. Why don’t you ask when we get home?”

A huge shout out to my boot camp buds, Petra and Chris, who ROCKED the Boston Marathon.

Monday morning was Patriots’ Day. As you may know, I first thought Patriots’ Day was a ridiculous made-up holiday. But I was a fast convert. Patriots’ Day should be a national holiday. Battle re-enactments! Parades! The marathon!

Doodles and Pie slept too late to go to the Lexington re-enactment of the Battle on the Green because the previous two nights’ seders went late (and those kids of mine were so cute! Doodles recited the four questions like a pro the first night and the second night, Pie chimed in with a question herself [there’s a video on the site if you’ve got the password]), but I suggested the marathon.

“I don’t want to go to the marathon!” Doodles whined. “It’ll be boring!”

That kid is all about “boring” these days. But I used the ultimate weapon: the TV. I turned on the marathon to catch the start, and the kid was hooked.

“Wouldn’t it be fun to go watch that?” I suggested mildly.

“Yeah! Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!”

Of course, three minutes into actually watching the marathon and he was “bored! Bored! Bored!!!” He and Pie started playing ball on the sidelines, drifting farther and farther away from me. I’ve got one eye on the race, trying to spot my friends, and one on the kids.

“Get back here!” I kept yelling, and I finally grabbed Pie around the waist and pulled her back, yelling, “If I miss seeing my friends because I’m watching you, there will be trouble!” (“There will be trouble!” is the most oft-repeated phrase in our household. I find it menacing enough to put a touch of fear into their hearts and yet vague enough that I don’t have to give up my–I mean their–TV show.) Luckily, the new and improved Friendliest Brown found a young boy to play catch with and I was able to spot not one, but both of my friends. And they looked gooood!

It really motivated me to want to run Boston. I’ve tossed my hat in the lottery for NYC this year, and I plan on running Miami next January, but Boston is out there waiting for me. I determined to get there on my own–no fundraising numbers–and I’m still a way off on my time. Although, the best thing about aging is that the qualifying time for Boston gets slower. I will qualify. One of these years. Of course, Doodles won’t be watching. He’ll be playing his Leapster. Because marathons are bo-ring!

My father’s been calling me the Friendliest Brown for at least a couple of decades now. I’m a talker. Anyone who knows me knows I’m a talker. I’ll chat with anyone, anywhere. For instance, in the early ’90s we took a family vacation to Seattle (long before I thought I might live there). My family flew in from Miami, and I met them there as I was living in New York at the time. By the time I got off the plane, I already had plans to meet up with a woman I’d met on the trip at a bar in the U District. It’s a good thing I’m friendly because otherwise Adam and I would never have gotten together. I wouldn’t call Adam unfriendly, but, okay: He’s unfriendly.

Well, the Friendliest Brown is going to have to pass the mantle. Because there’s a new Friendliest sheriff in town. That boy of mine. Yesterday, we were at a local B. Dalton’s. I left Doodles and Pie in the children’s section while I looked for some books. I could hear him chatting away, and I finally went back and there was a mom there with a son a year or two older than Doodles. I couldn’t hear everything he had said, but I asked the mom, “So, is he telling you his life story?” She laughed and said, “All I want to know is just how do you make matzah pizza?”

Of course, this wouldn’t be so bad if he got his stories straight. He’s been going around telling people that he saw a fight. It was a battle. But it was okay, because it happened a long, long time ago. There were a lot of guns. You know what he’s talking about, right?*

I’m so torn between loving his openness and knowing it’s time to talk to him about “stranger danger.” I see him making connections in his mind all the time, and it’ll crush me to have him learn that not everyone is nice. (We recently read a Passover book that we’ve read many, many times and for the first time, he put two and two together. “So God killed the Egyptians? But why?”)

In the meantime, if you see a short kid in a Red Sox shirt, humor him. He actually makes a pretty decent matzah pizza and if you ask nicely, he’ll tell you how.

*You did get that, didn’t you? We went to the re-enactment of the Battle at the Old North Bridge in Patriot’s Day Celebration.

Ah, Shabbat. Every Friday night, Jews all over the world share a peaceful moment with their families as they welcome in Shabbat. Now, we’re not very observant Jews. We don’t observe the laws of Shabbat. But like many American Jews, we end each Friday with a celebratory meal. Giving of tzedakah. Candle lighting. Blessing of children. Grape juice for the kids, wine for the grown-ups. Homemade hallah (and I have a kick-ass recipe). A lovely, special home-cooked meal, always chicken (and if I decide to deviate, Pie, very agitated, will demand all night, “Where’s the chicken!”). A song or two. In our house, it’s the one night of the week the kids get a dessert after dinner, Shabbat cookies, which they pick out themselves in the afternoon at our local farm stand. All in all, the Shabbat dinner is a lovely tradition and a way to bring Shabbat peace into the house.

Or, at least, that’s what in theory is supposed to happen.

Pie: I want my Dora harmonica!
Me: Okay. Here’s your Dora yarmulke.
Pie: No, I want Lightening McQueen! No, I want a grown-up harmonica! Give me that one. You wear Hello Kitty.
Me: Okay, I’ll wear the Hello Kitty one.
Doodles: Where’s my quarter? I can’t find my quarter! I need my tzedakah!
Adam: It’s right there under your napkin.
Doodles: Oh. Can I shake the tzedakah box?
Pie: Daddy wear the purple harmonica. My harmonica is falling off!
Me: I’ll pin it.
Pie: No! Do it self!
After a three-minute struggle.
Pie: Mommy, put on my harmonica!

Time to start.
Me: What song shall we sing tonight?
Pie: The train song!
Me: Okay.
Me, Pie, Doodles, Adam: There’s a train that goes from town–
Pie: NO! You don’t sing. Just me and Doodles.
Kids sing three lines. Forget words. Look to me for help.
Time to say the blessing over the candles.
Doodles: How does fire get into the match? Why isn’t the candle lighting? Is that candle broken? But how does the fire get into the match?
Adam explains sulfur and striking and all sorts of fun stuff while I struggle to get the candles lit.
Doodles: Okay. But how does the fire get into the match?

Go to bless the children.
Doodles: You blessed her first last time!
Adam: No, actually, I distinctly remember we did you first last time because we were at the synagogue Shabbat dinner. Remember?
Doodles: Oh. I should go first anyway.
Pie picks her nose while we bless her.

Finally we make it through all the blessings. Dinner is served.
Me: Doodles, get your fork out of your nose. Sit down. On your tushie. Pie, that’s broccoli. You love broccoli.
Pie: Don’t like broccoli!
Me: Fine. Don’t eat your broccoli. But eat one of those little trees on your plate, wouldja?
Pie: Okay! [eats broccoli]
Me to Doodles: Eat your dinner.
Doodles: I think I’m going to throw up.
Me [having heard it before]: Go to the bathroom to throw up, please.
Doodles hops down and runs to the bathroom.
Doodles calls out: Can you turn on a light?
Adam does so. After five minutes:
Adam: Why are you taking so long?
Doodles: Now I’m going potty!
After a few more minutes:
Me: Don’t forget to wash your hands.
Doodles: I *am* washing my hands!
Adam: Did you flush?
Doodles: Ooops! I forgot to wipe and my pants are already up.
Adam goes to remedy the situation. Returns to the table.

Adam: So, Pie, what did you do today?
Pie: What? No. Tell me about your day.
Adam: I already did. What did you do?
Pie: I went to school. I played dress-up shoes.
Me: What did you have for snack today?
Pie: What? I had Jasmine’s snack.
Me: What was it?
Pie: What? Jasmine’s snack.
Me: But what did you eat?
Pie: Oh. Cucumber. And…. Cucumber.

Me: Doodles, sit. On your tushie. Facing the table. Do you want to be excused before Shabbat cookies?
Pie: Can I have my Shabbat cookie?
Me: Not till everyone’s done eating.
Pie: I want my Shabbat cookie.
Me: Eat your chicken. Doodles, SIT!

Adam: What did you do after nap today?
Pie: What? What? What?
Adam: What did you do after nap today?
Pie: What? [pause] What?
Me: We did something after nap today. What was it?
Pie: Ice skating?
Me: No.
Pie: Um, playground?
Me: No.
Pie: What? What? What? [leans in closer to me and whispers] What?
Me: [whispering back] Did someone come over today?
Pie: [whispering to Adam] Someone came over today.
Adam: Who?
Pie: What? Um, Jasmine.
Me: No.
Pie: E.?
Me: No.
Pie [whispering again]: What?
Me: D and G.
Pie: D! And G!

Doodles waves his hands wildly, coming perilously close to the candles.
Me: You know how you knocked over the iPod player this morning?
Doodles: Yeah.
Me: Remember how angry I got?
Doodles: Yeah.
Me: Knock those candles over and I’ll be even angrier.
Doodles: Why?
Me: Well, you knock this over, you could set the house on fire.
Doodles: But that’s okay. The firemen will come.
Me: Maybe not in time.
Adam: And then all your toys would burn up.
Me: Like your Leapster! And your Legos.
Pie: [gleefully] And my microphone?
Me: Yep.
Pie: The blue one?
Me: Yep.
Pie: And the pink one?
Me [thinking, What pink one?]: Yep.
Pie: And the white one?
Me [thinking, Okay, there’s definitely no white one]: Yep.
Pie: Okay.

Doodles: Is it time for Shabbat cookies?
Me: Eat your dinner.
Pie: Is it time for Shabbat cookies?
Me: Doodles needs to eat his dinner.

Pie, playing with the food on the plate: Who made this?
Me: I did.
Pie: Thank you.
Me: You’re welcome.

Doodles: I finished my vegetable. Can I have my Shabbat cookie?
I hand out Shabbat cookies. Doodles devours his. Pie takes two bites and then eats some more chicken.

Two hours later, the kids are in bed. Probably asleep. Can’t tell for sure. I kill off the bottle of wine. Sink into a comatose stupor. Swear I’m not going to bother with the trouble next week. Somehow forget that by the time the next Friday rolls around. Wait for the peace to hit. Wait for the peace to hit. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting….

This past week has to have been one of the busiest ones yet. I feel like it was nonstop, and I’m not ready to collapse in a heap at my computer. What have I done? It’s all a big blur.

Adam had a night out with friends, I had a night out with friends (hi Elizabeth! It was fun!), I had (have) a job I’m working on, a preschool project that I got suckered into doing, a family Shabbat dinner, a meet-up with a fellow blogger whom I’d never met before but was in Boston for a conference, a women’s community Passover seder (no Passover hasn’t started–this was a fun, feminist version that involved many tambourines). Throw in some boot camp, a bit o’ running, and a zillion chores (dentist appointment? Made. Eye doctor appointment? Made. Camp for Doodles? Taken care of. Car inspection? Done.) and that’s what I’ve been up to.

Oh, and our little trip to New York. But this time for a day. Eight whole hours. Yes, I know how fun that sounds. Surprisingly it was incredibly uneventful and actually quite a success. I almost hesitate to blog about it, because nothing untoward happened.

After not nearly enough sleep, I roused myself from slumber at 5:30 on Saturday morning. Slapped together some sandwiches, woke the rest of the family, and we were on the road by 6:15 a.m. The purpose of the trip was dual fold: My mom has a show up right now at Nohra Haime Gallery (that’s it on the walls and on the table in the pic; if you’re in NYC go see it–it’s up till April 26) and there was a breakfast at 9 a.m. and we thought it would be fun to go to. And then the other reason is it was my dad’s birthday (random aside: did anyone else realize that when your parent’s age equals the year of your birth, your age will equal the year of his or her birth; so for instance, my dad turned 68. I was born in 1968. And this year I’ll turn 40. My dad was born in 1940. Try it–it works).

We made the trip in 3 1/2 hours, having parked and made our way to the gallery by 10 a.m., and my father was dutifully surprised. We spent the morning at the Children’s Museum of Manhattan, which was cute but nowhere near the level of the Boston Children’s Museum. We had a fabulous deli lunch at Artie’s (it’s the kind of place that has pickles and slaw on the table for you a la Wolfie’s), kids got their subway rides, and then hung out at my parents place. I walked around a bit, hit a flea market. We had cakes from Citarella. At about 6:30 p.m., we put kids in pjs and headed home. Both kids were passed out before we left the Bronx. We were home by 10 p.m.

I wish there was more to tell you. I wish we’d had a meltdown or two or Pie peed somewhere or something, but it was such a manageable trip, I’d consider doing it again.

Me: Doodles! I told you! Stop throwing balls in the house!
Doodles: But Pie is doing it.
Me: Pie shouldn’t be doing it either. But you’re older and you know better.
Doodles: But Pie is telling me to throw balls. And I’m listening to her. Because she’s my sister. And I love her.

At the YMCA, while changing out of swimming suits.
Pie, loudly, pointing finger out at another girl: Look, Mommy! She has a v*agina just like me!

The gate is closed on the kids’ bedroom door. They’re both exhausted and refuse to go to sleep. Pie cries. Doodles resorts to Rickey Henderson methods:
Doodles: Dad! It’s Doodles calling! He needs some more water. Okay?

I’m making a hummus on pita sandwich for Doodles.
Pie: What are you spreading on his p*enis?

Pie: Mommy, cuddle me!
Me: Okay, sweetie!
Lots of snuggling. I even sneak in a few smooches.
Me: Ooh, who’s my favorite Pie Pie? Who’s my favorite little girl?
Pie: Me!
Me: And who’s your favorite mommy?
Pie [with great big, soft, baby eyes looking up at me]: Daphne! Daphne is my favorite mommy! [Daphne is her friend A’s mother]

Just this afternoon, we saw the mom and daughter playing outside, so we went over to play. I’m talking to the mom. Pie runs over from the swing set, with a big grin on her face.
Pie: Mommy?
Me: Yes, Pie?
Pie: Mommy, go home! Go home now!

It’s good to be loved.

Random things said to children on a Sunday night:
Pie, we don’t put artichoke leaves on our ears. Pie, seriously. Pie, get the artichokes out of your ears now! Pie, you can’t hide artichoke leaves in your hair, either. Pie!

No, Pie, you cannot sleep with your shalach manot.

Me: Doodles, you can’t celebrate both Purim and Easter. You have to pick just one.
Doodles: Okay. I’ll celebrate Easter.

Questions asked in the car on one thirty-five-minute ride from home to ice skating:

• Why does your shadow follow you?
• Why do babies wake up at night?
• Why do moms wear bras?
• What is that song about? [Song on radio: “Cruel to Be Kind”]
• Why is the world going to stop and melt? [Song on radio: “I’ll Stop the World and Melt with You”]
• Why did the pharaohs get buried in the pyramids the Jewish slaves built?
• How do they make the pointy part on the top of the pyramid?
• Why do people die in boxes?
• Then who puts them in boxes?
• Some cars, they have DVD players in them, in the top, and the kids can watch them when they are in the car. Why don’t we have a car like that?

Thing on shopping list that Adam insisted the Shaw’s didn’t carry:
Paper towels made out of recycled paper

The thing I bought three packs of the next day at Shaw’s–on special! Buy one, get two free:
Paper towels made out of recycled paper

My week in Facebook status updates:

• Jenny is eating all of her daughter’s “potty treats.” Good thing there’s no danger of her daughter using the potty anytime soon. 3:12pm
• Jenny is not sure where she’s going to come up with a 4T sized king costume by 4 p.m. tomorrow…. 5:27pm
• Jenny can freakin’ work miracles. 1:11pm
• Jenny is making an–ack–princess potty chart. 11:41am
• Jenny is laughing at Adam for not realizing that the “C” in YMCA meant it would be closed on Easter Sunday. 7:08am
• Jenny can’t believe the things she obsesses about. 11:27pm
• Jenny would rather be in Paris. Cafe au lait anyone? 5:19am

Things that surprise Adam:
Pie: I want a Cinderella coloring sheet!
Adam: Look, there’s one!
Pie: That‘s not Cinderella! That‘s Snow White!
Adam to me: She knows the difference between Cinderella and Snow White?!?

My typical Tuesday:

• Argue with Pie about getting into the car.
• 8:45 a.m. Argue with Pie about dropping Doodles off at school. No she cannot stay in the car by herself.
• Argue with Pie about holding hands crossing the street to go to singalong.
• Contemplate a detour to the orphanage.
• 10: 15 a.m. Tell Pie she can’t order her friend, A, to dance with her, no matter how much Pie wants to dance with A and only with A.
• Tell Pie that no, A’s mother cannot take Pie to the muffin shop because I am going to take Pie to the muffin shop.
• Lose Pie’s shoe in the street on the way to the muffin shop, but don’t realize that’s why she’s screaming because she’s always screaming.
• Sheepishly remove shoe from street when a trucker yells to me, “Hey, your daughter lost her shoe.”
• Notice teenlike smirk on Pie’s face.
• Tell Pie that she has to come home with me, she cannot go home with A and her mother.
• Argue with Pie about how many pieces her muffin should be cut into.
• Consider letting Pie go home with A and conveniently “forgetting” to pick her up–for a week or two.
• Reassert with a little less conviction that Pie has to come home with me.
• Argue with Pie about taking juice into the car.
• Noon: Pick Doodles up from school.
• Argue with Pie about lack of snack provided a mere twenty minutes after her juice and muffin.
• Drive an extra twenty minutes to make sure Pie falls asleep.
• Relax with Doodles. Read a book. Play some Legos. Have lunch. Take a brief nap.
• 2:30 p.m. Pie wakes up. Change Pie. Feed Pie. Appease Pie. Pie Pie Pie Pie Pie.
• Take kids to swimming class.
• Sit alone for thirty glorious minutes.
• 5 p.m. Take kids to “Tasty Tuesday” at Whole Foods.
• Try to shush kids as they scream at the top of their lungs, “LOOK! THERE’S ANOTHER SAMPLE! GO, MOMMY, GO!!”
• Get out of Whole Foods with just two $97 bags full of groceries.
• 6:20 p.m. Get kids in bath.
• Argue with them about bubbles. “No bubbles!” insists Doodles. “BUBBLES!” insists Pie.
• Let them play/fight in the tub.
• Tolerate screaming while hair is washed.
• 6:45 p.m. Adam walks in. Hand over kids half bathed and hide in the office.
• Wonder if Adam could function if I decided to take the summer off to travel and do something that’s easier than dealing with Pie, like cure cancer or end poverty.
• Spend one and a half hours trying to cajole Pie into bed.
• Kids sleep. I zonk.
• 9 p.m. Miss the kids. Consider waking them so I can cuddle with them.
• 9:01 p.m. Adam blocks stairs to keep me from making huge mistake.
• 11:45 p.m. Go to bed after working on top-secret preschool project that is taking way more time than I would have thought.
• 11:57 p.m. Set alarm for 5 a.m. Boot camp tomorrow!

Evidence Pie is ready for college:

• She prefers her pizza cold
• She’s up at all hours
• She finds bodily functions hilarious
• You can’t get that girl off her cell phone
• She’s a little cliquish
• She’s perfected the eye roll
• She binge eats
• She’s got the moves

Watch out Dartmouth U Mass Middlesex Community College Blaine Beauty School!

Hey, you! What are you doing here? Are you just trying to distract me. People, I have THINGS to do!

Okay, deep breath. Those of you who know me, know I’m a fairly organized person. I have binders. They’re labeled. They’re color coded. They’re pretty. Adam just went to the accountant to do our taxes. The accountant said we are the most organized folk he’s ever seen. I have systems and techniques and methods for staying on top of things. I have charts. Being type-A makes me happy. Nothing is more satisfying to me than purging the crap from my life. Did you know that I’ve not only made four batches of hamantaschen at home, but I, somewhat successfully, managed to eke out a few dozen batches with a class of nine toddlers and then a class of twelve preschoolers. And I make freakin’ good hamantaschen. (My recipe comes from The New Jewish Holiday Cookbook, which is amazing!) Is it because I’m a good cook? Nah. I’m really not. It’s because I’m organized!

So how is it that it’s now 8:29 p.m. and at 4:30 tomorrow my son is to be dressed as King Ahasuerus and I have nary a king’s robe nor scepter in sight. Yes, that’s right. I’ve got nothing! Nada. Or, to be somewhat holiday appropriate, Klum. Purim, the most joyous of Jewish holidays, is gonna be a tear-fest for one of us.

How did this come about? I’d like to blame the Y chromosome. Because the X chromosomed of this family are all set for tomorrow.

If you recall, Doodles was an astronaut for Halloween. A lovely idea but a less than lovely costume. I ordered it online, and the helmet was this rolled up piece of plastic that supposedly attached by Velcro to an inflatable backpack. Except the Velcro never stuck and I was worried he was going to suffocate behind all that plastic. It’s not a practical costume, certainly not if part of your Purim festivities include a “festive meal,” which ours certainly does.

Exactly a week ago, on the way to feeding group, we passed by a party store that advertised “Purim Costumes.” We stopped off.
Me: What do you want to be?
Doodles: I don’t know.
He flips through the racks.
Doodles: Oooh! I want to be this!
He found a Power Rangers costume. I’m not crazy about Power Rangers, but I look nonetheless.
Me: It’s a size eight to ten.
Doodles: Will that fit?
Me: No. You’re a size 4T. Sort of. [Note: Doodles is still small. Very, very small. Truth be told, there are probably some 2T costumes he could comfortably fit in.]
Doodles: How about this knight?
Me: Nope. I’m not sending you to school with a sword. Hey [pointing to a 2T to 4T sized king’s outfit]. How about King Ahasuerus?
Doodles: No. I think I want to be Superman.
Me: King Ahasuerus is a pretty cool costume.
Doodles: No, Superman. Maybe Spiderman.
Me: [Sigh] Okay, well they don’t have any of those in your size. We’ll have to check another store.

We leave the store.

Over the weekend, we’re pretty busy. In my oh-so-organized way, I take my son to a Shabbat service, co-chair a tot Purim program, take my son to a birthday party, and color Easter eggs with friends. I mention to my son that we need to go to the party store to look for his costume.

Me: Superman, right?
Doodles: No! I’m going to be King Ahasuerus. Remember?
Me: WHAT?! I thought you wanted to be Superman!?!
Doodles, sighing heavily: No, mom! I want to be King Ahasuerus!

On Monday, I tell Adam, “Listen, I need you to go by that party store [it’s absolutely, completely, totally, can’t miss it, on the way home from work for him] and get Doodles his costume.” Adam, of course, replies, “Yeah, sure.” Adam, of course, neglects to stop by the party store.

I contemplate making the outfit, but invariably, I’d end up spending about five times more on materials for a less-than-satisfying costume than if I had just bought the damn thing.

So today, on our way back to feeding group, we stop at the party store. Where they have one king costume left. Size 12 to 14.

Me: Doodles, they don’t have your king costume.
Doodles: Okay. We’ll get it somewhere else. Hey, Pie!
Pie: Yeah?
Doodles: Pie, why don’t you go as Queen Esther.
Me: Doodles, hush up! Pie has already decided to go as Pooh [a costume that our neighbors gave us a long time ago as dress up and is sitting in our basement just waiting for Purim.]
Doodles: No, Pie wants to be Queen Esther. Look at the pretty Queen Esther costumes!
Me: Doodles!
Doodles: Pie, don’t you want to be Queen Esther?
Pie: I’m going to be Pooh.
Doodles: But look how pretty Queen Esther is.
Pie: Yeah. Pie going to be Queen Esther.
Doodles: See!!! She wants to be Queen Esther.

I dragged them out of that store as fast as I could. I told Adam we needed a king costume and he had to stop by a different party store. “Oh yeah. Didn’t you tell me to do that earlier in the week?” ARG!! “I can swing by on the way home.” When I tell him the store in his neighborhood is all sold out, he has the nerve–the freakin’ nerve!!–to say to me, “Well, what did you expect? It’s across the street from a synagogue.” Little does he know that the wine I served him tonight is poisoned.

So, anyway, here we are, now 8:50 p.m., and I have nothing. Nada. Klum. Did I mention that before? I wonder if I can convince Doodles that there’s a ghost in the Book of Esther. A plain ghost. Made out of a sheet. A green sheet. Because, you know, we don’t have any white sheets.

Purim freakin’ Sameach, people. Happy freakin’ Purim. Good thing I’m supposed to get drunk.