the pieces of my life

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.

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.

Pie is already staking her claims.
Pie: When I grow up, can I have your house?
Me: Huh?
Pie: When I grow up, can I have you house? I need a house to live in with Jasmine and our babies.
Me: Well, where are Daddy and I going to live?
Pie: Oh, I mean after you die. Can I have your house after you die?
I guess Doodles is on his own.

Me: Thanks, Pie, for helping me have such a special birthday. It was really nice.
Pie: You’re welcome.
Me: Can I have a birthday smooch before you go to sleep?
Pie: No.
Me: No? No birthday smooch? Really?
Pie: You can have two next year.

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.

Pie: Mommy, let’s talk about piggies. I’ll go first and then you go and then I’ll go and then you go…
Me: Okay. Go ahead.
Pie: I like piggies when they’re nice and they don’t bite.
Me: I like piggies when they oink and snort.
Pie: I like piggies when they make good bacon.

And that pretty much stopped the conversation.

***

At dinner tonight, apropos of nothing
Doodles: Mom?
Me: Yes?
Doodles: When will I start making sperm?
Me: Um, uh. Puberty. So, what like thirteen?
Adam: Thirteen sounds about right.
Doodles: My body is already making sperm.
Adam: It is?
Doodles: The sperm are wiggling and moving all around me and that’s why I can’t stop wiggling.

Another conversation stopper!

We're in Barnes and Noble. I'm reading to Pie from National Geographic for Little Kids.

Me: "Baby bears like to play in trees."
I notice Pie is staring at the table next to me.
Me: Are you listening to me?
Pie: Huh? Oh, yeah.
Me: What did I just say?
Pie, leaning forward, whispering: "Are you listening to me?"

Literal, isn't she?

Here I am. Me and my computer. Well, technically me and Adam’s computer. My computer seems to be on its last legs. Or RAMs. Or whatever the hell it is computers have. Once upon a time, I was a tech savvy person. Those days are gone. I know how to operate my iPhone. I know enough to want a new iPhone. But that’s pretty much it.

Of course, now that I’m having some good quality time with a computer, all I can think is, “Peach crisp is calling my name.” Adam adds, “Nothing Pizza Hut makes is good. You should blog that.” My father just called to tell me he sat next to Peter Greene on his plane ride to Miami. I, however, hadn’t heard of Peter Greene before.

I’ve decided it’s time to get back on the Weight Watchers wagon. Of course, now that I’m doing that, I’m obsessed with food. My BMI is actually in the healthy range right now at 23.3 But I’m anxious to improve my running PRs–so far I’ve signed up for six shorter runs (well, seven, but I’ve already run one) and I plan on signing up for a few halves–and the best way I know to run faster is to haul less weight. Runner’s World has an article this month about avoiding aches and pains, and it said if you’re doing longer runs, you really need to have a BMI lower than 21 to save your knees. I’m at that point of life that my knees need to be safeguarded. But that’s not going to happen. I’d have to lose fifteen pounds to get to a BMI of under 21 and 1) really? and 2) I’d be a little bony. I’m not exactly a small-boned gal, and 3) really? So now I’m obsessing over the peach crisp in the fridge that I made for our weekend guests, but on 18 points a day, that’s not happening. So–

Oooh! iPhone commercial! Shiny! Pretty.

Wait, where was I? Eh, there’s nothing more boring than a person watching his or her weight. But it might slip in sometimes. Because there’s nothing more obsessed than a person watching his or her weight. Did I mention the peach crisp? It is an exquisite peach crisp.

Of course, my son needs to be watching his weight. But in the other direction. The girl is solidly a pound heavier than the boy. That kid is a peanut. I measured both of them today: Doodles is 41″ and 38 lbs. Pie is 38″ and 39 lbs. (Does that make her more or less a square?) I still have him in his car seat in the minvan and he’s been a real trooper about being the only kindergartner in a full car seat. In Adam’s car we have him in a booster with a back. He’s definitely a full year away from the backless booster unless he has a serious summer growth spurt (the rules for the backless are 4 years old, 40 inches, and 40 pounds). I’m ready to cave and put him in a booster with back in our car (he’s more than big enough for that one. For that you need to be 3 years old, 38 inches, and 30 pounds). The five-point harness is the safest for as long as possible, but he’s suffered long enough.

I’m cooking for the boy. I’ve been making magic out of our Boston Organics delivery (a home veggie and fruit delivery service). I’ve been putting my haus frau skills to the test. One night, we have zucchini, peppers, and yellow squash. I didn’t want to make multiple meals. I peered in the fridge and we had cheddar cheese, salsa, green onion, and in the cabinet, I found a can of beans. So I made do-it-yourself burritos. But wait, tortillas? I didn’t have any tortillas. So I made them. From scratch. In time for a family dinner. I was pretty impressed with myself. Of course, Pie refused to eat them.

Me: Look, Pie. Even Doodles is eating them!
Doodles: Yeah! They’re good!
Me: See, Pie! They’re great! They’re even better than the store-bought kind.
Doodles: Well… I don’t think I’d say they were better.

Why do I even bother? Okay, no more food talk. I’ve got to go and not think about peach crisp.