the pieces of my life

Me: Okay, everyone out of the car. Little people out. Big people out. Medium people out.
Pie: I’m big!
Doodles: I’m big and Pie’s little.
Me, standing by Doodles: Oh, really? You don’t seem so big to me!
Doodles: Well, duh. Compared to you I’m little!
Pie: I know! You’re big. We’re little. And teenagers are medium.
Me: That sounds good.
Pie: Yeah, I’ll be medium when I’m a teenager.
Me: Yep.
Pie: And you were medium about 400 years ago!
Me: 400 years ago?!?!
Pie: Um, 500 years?

Six. That’s right, six. The magic age when a child becomes embarrassed by his mother. My son has suddenly blossomed into tweendom. Walking home from school, I was chatting up a neighbor girl. A second grader. Who lives on our block. Walking home with her father and her younger sister. The humiliating conversation?

Me, first to Tab and then to Doodles: So, anything exciting happen today?
Tab: No.
Doodles: Mmmph.
Me to neighbor girl: How about you? Anything exciting happen today?
Neighbor: Well…
Doodles, hitting me with his jacket: Mom! Cut it out!
Neighbor: We watched a movie at school today.
Me: That does sound exciting. What movie?
Doodles: MOM! CUT IT OUT!
Me: Sweetie, I’m allowed to talk to our neighbor if I choose to.
Doodles: No!
Neighbor: It was a Magic Schoolbus movie.
Me: What was it about?
Doodles, still hitting me: CUT IT OUT CUT IT OUT CUT IT OUT CUT IT OUT CUT IT OUT!
Neighbor: It was about gravity. Because we’re learning about the moon!
Doodles: Cut it out!
Me: Doodles you’re being rude.
[pause a few seconds]
Doodles: Mom, can I have computer time when we get home?
Timing isn’t his forte. And for the record, the answer was no.

Pie, four-year-old little Pie, isn’t immune to tweendom, either. Her birthday is six months, four weeks and one day away. Pie is suddenly into the rock stars and she’s planning a rock star birthday. (“Can I have a swimming rock star birthday?” “That might be a bit much.” “Okay, then this birthday will be a rock star birthday and my six birthday will be a swimming party.”) She’s obsessed with being a rock star. Which has led to some interesting outfits. Pie has a number of dresses that she loves, but which she’s clearly grown out of. A few weeks ago, we agreed that she could keep wearing the too-small dresses but with a pair of leggings underneath.

A couple of days ago she put on one of those dresses, which barely grazes her tush.
Me: You’ve definitely grown out of that dress!
Pie: Oh?
Me: It’s too short on you. Why don’t you put some leggings?
Pie: Oh, I don’t need to!
Me: I thought we said when dresses are too short, you’d wear them with leggings. Lots of rock stars wear leggings. It’s very popular for rock stars.
Pie: But, Mom, I saw Hannah Montana! And she had on a really short skirt with no leggings! So I’ll just wear tights with the dress.

Just shoot me now.

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

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

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

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

We survived the trip down. Somehow. It started with Adam insisting we needed to leave at 8 for our 11:10 flight, which seemed ridiculously early to me, but I figured he knew what he was talking about. So I woke up before 6 a.m. to finish packing and get the house cleaned, and sure enough at 8, he said, “Oh, wait. We leave at 11:10! I was off on my math. We don’t need to leave for another hour.” And then we left, all packed up and ready to go… except for all of Adam’s New Year’s cards, which he left sitting on a shelf. We had to call Beetle to let herself into our house to get the cards to mail. Then the friends we were traveling with had a very sick (read: pukey) daughter who decided to brave the trip anyway. And when we got down here, I realized I forgot something that was crucial to a promised activity for Doodles. And then tonight at bedtime, Pie decided to completely rebel. I mean totally. Wouldn’t go to bed. Not at all. I was ready to throttle her. She was whining and crying and pouting and nowhere near her bed, so I did the only reasonable thing possible.

I left. And got ice cream. Because that’s the main benefit of being in Miami Beach, having the Nana to take care of the Pie when she’s out of control. While Pie screamed and fussed, Adam and I took a leisurely stroll down to Lincoln Road where we stopped into the Frieze for ice cream. Looking around Lincoln Road, you would have no idea it was Christmas. Folks were out en masse. Stores were open. The movies were sold out. Now, you’re probably thinking, “Well it’s because Miami Beach is full of Jews who don’t celebrate Christmas,” but you’d be completely wrong. The Jewish population of Miami Beach has completely dwindled, and besides, it is Shabbat, which means anyone who is actually an observant Jew is home with family. Miami Beach is now predominantly Latin American, and most of those folks like them some Baby Jesus. So I have no idea what so many folks were doing out tonight, drinking martinis, letting their way-too-young kids wreak havoc, and eating dinners at an absurdly late hour. “Do they know it’s Christmas time at all?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pie asks if we can play Pengoloo, and I say sure. Pengaloo is a memory game in which penguins sit upon colored eggs. You roll the dice and have to find the colors on the dice.

Pie finds the first two sets immediately.

“Wow, you’re lucky!” I say.

“Well, I set up the penguins. So maybe I know where they all are.”

Tonight begins eight days and nights of greasy, oily skin… I mean Hanukkah! Hanukkah officially began about two hours ago, and I’ve already had latkes three times this season. Ugh. Today I went into Doodles’s class to make latkes, but first I had to experiment and make them last week, because–due to allergies–I needed to make egg-free latkes. I did. It was brilliant. And I couldn’t let the first night of Hanukkah slip by without more oily disks of fat. Mmmm, oily disks of fat!

I’m happy that Pie was pleased with her gift tonight. I had my concerns after listening to her talk to my father on the phone. Pie asked for an American Girl doll for Hanukkah, specifically “the Jewish one.” I passed the request on to one of her grandparents, and I’m sure she’ll be thrilled with the results. But in the meantime, I had a hand-me-down American Girl doll and a stroller for her that I wrapped up. She felt it yesterday before I could yell at her to get her grubby little paws off the gifts. And today, when she was talking with Peter, she said with great excitement, “We get to open presents tonight. I’m pretty sure there’s a stroller in one of them! So that’s mean we’ll be getting a baby!”

Did anyone else just throw up a little bit? Anyway, she was thrilled with her doll, and the kids loved the gifts they got from the Tweedle Twirp. I’m preparing for our annual Hanukkah party (which Pie has apparently mentioned to everyone at school, regardless of whether or not they were invited, making for some lovely, comfortable discussions…Not).

Now it’s time for little people to go to bed and for me to clean the oil off the kitchen walls… although what’s the point? I guess I can just leave it there till Hanukkah’s over. Back to baking, gotta get the holiday cards written, and bask in the peace of the season. “GET YOUR PJS ON ALREADY AND BRUSH YOUR TEETH!” Oh, sorry. I wasn’t talking to you.

Happy Hanukkah!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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