the pieces of my life

Nothing like mediocre coffee in the morning to pump you up. Yea, Glen Junction breakfast! Or, as Adam says, it would be better called Ultimatum Point because every second sentence uttered is, "If you don't X, then no Storyland!" Children fortified with chocolate chip pancakes. Time to hit the park!

So normally I'd post all my brilliant and oh-so witty (let me have my delusions–at least until I get some coffee) comments on Twitter, but apparently I can now text posts to Blogger so I thought I'd give you guys minute by minute (sort of) updates of our exciting adventures in Storyland. Of course, you may not hear anything for a bit because the other family we're with isn't moving very fast. I just have to remind myself, not everyone can be a Brown. Although a girl can dream…

When I was about eight or so years old, I told my parents that I wanted to go to Hebrew school and have a bat mitzvah. Now, as I’ve mentioned before, my parents aren’t exactly what you’d call, um, observant. In fact, I think the words we’re looking for are apathetic, atheistic, non-joining Jews (adjectives used only in relation to religion). They talked about it and they sat me down. “Jennifer,” they said, because in those days I was just beginning the transition to Jenny, “if you want to have a bat mitzvah, that’s fine. But if you want to have a bat mitzvah, we have to join a synagogue and we will have to attend services. Now we don’t want to go to services, but if this is that important to you, we will do it. But you will have to follow through. This isn’t like dance or the guitar where you can just do it for a couple of months. You have to go to Hebrew school every week, for the next four [or whatever it was] years. No quitting. No changing your mind. So? Do you want to have a bat mitzvah?” And, of course, as they planned, I was terrified and said no.

Flash forward thirty-two years. I finally had that bat mitzvah.

For the past two years I’ve studied with eleven other grown-ups (and a rabbi), arguing, learning, discussing, discussing, discussing, and yesterday was the culmination: the actual ceremony. I learned three verses of Torah–got the trope down, learned to read it without the vowels–and I wrote our group’s introduction to what our Torah portion was and our d’var Torah (a sermon, if you will, and no, it did not start with “Today I am a woman,” although I really wanted it to). But the ceremony was just a small part, just a recognition of all the studying I’d done these past couple of years. I was surprised at how meaningful it was for me. I went armed with the women of the family: I wore a pin made by Pie, a sweater that had been my paternal grandmother’s, a necklace that belonged to my maternal grandmother, my mother’s ring, and a purse that the Tweedle Twirp had bought for me a few years back. My tallit was purchased by me in Sfat on our recent trip to Israel. My non-synagogue parents came up for it, my in-laws came, Beetle and Tab came, as well as my husband and kids. And it was nice. Very, very nice. That’s the only way I can really put it.

Of course, as well as I read the Torah, I didn’t do as well as Pie. While I absolutely made sure to learn the trope and how to read the Hebrew, I also had a CD my rabbi made for me to hear how it was chanted. I’d listen to it in the car, and it was Pie’s favorite. “Mommy,” she’d say every time we got into the car. Put on Rabbi J.!” It wasn’t until I was practicing–“Im Be-hukkotie telechu. V’et mitzvtie–“–and I stumbled that Pie chimed in, “Mom! ‘Tishmru!” that I realized she’d memorized the whole thing. Maybe we should make sure we have the same Torah portion for her bat mitzvah, since she’s already halfway there.

I’m feeling that post-achievement letdown I often get. I’ll keep studying, because I enjoy it. And it’s something I can cross of my lifelong “to do” list. But there’s now this big “what next” feeling. I have no excuses anymore not to finish this novel of mine.

I will say there is one cool thing about having a bat mitzvah at 40. I got an SLR camera with an extra lens for a present. At 12, probably all I would have gotten is an $18 savings bond. Not too shabby!

Doodles comes downstairs, looking tired.

Pie: Hi Monkey Boy. Hi Doodles!
Adam: Hi Monkey Boy
Pie: He doesn’t like to be called Monkey Boy or Bugs.
Adam: Oh really? You know what else he doesn’t like?
Pie: What?
Adam: To wear PJs.
Pie: You know that book where his marble goes down the drain? [She’s talking about Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day]
Adam: Yes, I know that book.
Pie: He doesn’t like to wear his train PJs either.

From the “takes after his father” department:
Doodles had a playdate over, a girl from his kindergarten class, J. They were playing nicely, but at one point J. bumped her head and came to find me. Nothing serious, but I gave her an ice pack and yelled down to the playroom for Doodles.
Doodles: What?
Me: Could you please come up here?
Doodles comes upstairs.
Doodles: Whadda you want?
Me: Doodles, J. hit her head and is going to sit here for a minute with the ice pack.
Doodles throws up his arms and says: So, what did you call me up here for?

From the “in the vault” department [with a spoiler for Kofefim parents]:
At pick up from school, Pie and her teacher were whispering, and then the teacher said to Pie: Now, don’t forget! It’s a secret!
Pie: I know! Mommy, I can’t tell you! It’s a surprise!
Me: Okay.
Almost exactly one hour later.
Pie: Mommy, I made you a pin!
Me: What?
Pie: A pin! I made you a pin! You know, for mother’s day!
Me: Didn’t your teacher tell you to keep it a secret?
Pie: Yeah! So make sure you don’t tell her that I gave it away!

From the “teen angst” department:
Doodles was clearly overtired and just having a rough time. He came downstairs with both his backpacks and tears in his eyes.
Me: Whatcha doing?
Doodles: I’m leaving.
Me: You’re running away?
Doodles: Yes?
Me: But why?
Doodles, starting to sob: I don’t want to move out. I have to move out. I can’t live with all these rules!
Me: That makes me sad. What rules don’t you like?
Doodles, sobbing heavily: All the rules! Like you make me make me eat energy food. J. gets a cookie in her lunch every day for snack. And I never get one! I want to eat junk food every day, too!

Jasmine is over for a play date. The car ride back to the house consisted of this:

Me: Okay, Pie, let Jasmine slide into the car first.
Jasmine: No, I’m Pie! She’s Jasmine!
Pie: Yeah! I’m Jasmine! We changed our names because we’re getting married.
Jasmine: Yeah, we’re getting married.
Pie: Yes. I’m going to be the bride, and you are going to be the bride.
Jasmine: Yeah. And Doodles will marry Belle [Jasmine’s seven-year-old sister, of whom Doodles is fond].
Pie: Yes! And Jenny will marry Adam–
Jasmine: No! Jenny will marry my mommy.
Pie: Right! And my daddy will marry your daddy!

If that’s not a quadruple wedding for the tabloids, I don’t know what is. Adam is going to look darling in an A-line dress. Or should he go Empire with his small waist? Decisions, decisions. All of which, I know, will be made by Pie.

Don’t hold your breath waiting for the invite.

Walking home from school today, Pie announced apropos of nothing, “When I grow up, I’m going to be a doctor!”

Me: What kind of doctor?
Pie: A marathon doctor! A racer doctor!
Doodles: There’s no such thing!
Pie: No?
Doodles: There are four kinds of doctor. There’s no marathon doctor.
Me: What are the four kinds?
Doodles: There are ambulance doctors, hospital doctors, office doctors, and come home doctors.
Me: What’s a come home doctor?
Doodles: That’s the kind of doctor who comes to your home.
Me: Oh.
Pie: I’m going to be an office doctor. A racing marathon office doctor.

Pie, going through her “treasure drawer,” unearthed her shiny flip flops.

Pie, to me: Look, Mommy! Here are my shiny flip flops!

Then, to her flip flops, with longing: I’ve missed you!

Everyday I ask Doodles what he did at school. And everyday he gives me the same answer: “I don’t remember.”

I was flipping through a parenting magazine (can’t remember which one) and it had some ideas for conversation starters with kids. One of the things they suggested was the game Two Truths and a Lie. The game is pretty simple–you name two things that are true and one that’s a lie and others have to guess which is the lie.

This game has completely revolutionized conversation with the boy. He loves the game, and we all go around the table to take a turn. He’s actually gotten pretty good at the game (oh,yea! I’m teaching my child how to be an effective liar!).

But the thing is, Pie wants to play too. And Pie just doesn’t get it.

Pie: It’s my turn! My turn!
Adam: Okay. You go.
Pie [whispering to me]: What did I do today?
Me: [whispering back]: Why don’t I go first so you can hear?
Pie [whispering]: Okay.
Me: Okay, so, um, let’s see. I bought chicken taquitos at Costco. I watched Doodles and Pie get their teeth cleaned. And I watched an alligator at–
Pie: No!
Me: What? I’m not done!
Pie [shaking her finger]: Mama, you’re wrong! You’re wrong! There was no alligator. Remember? They said there was no alligator!
Me: We’re playing the game. I need to make something up.
Pie: But you’re wrong! Okay, my turn.
Me: Go for it.
Pie: Okay. [whispering to me] What did I do?
Me [whispering]: You went to the dentist. You went to Costco. You saw the animal show at the library.
Pie [whispering]: Right. [to the everyone] I went to the dentist. I went to Costco. And I saw animals at the library.
Me: You did all those things.
Pie: I know!
Me: One of those is supposed to be a lie.
Pie: What?
Me: You are supposed to make something up.
Pie: But I did do all those things!

I have one great liar. And one great talker. Why do I think both of these are going to bite me in the butt later?

Ah, Patriots’ Day. The start of spring break. Five days. Me and my kids. At home. With four days of predicted rain. Fun all around!

Actually, I love Patriots’ Day, as I attest every year. It’s like 4th of July, but with jackets and better parades. We started out the day at the marathon. This year they were more enthusiastic about going than last year. Of course, stopping at Whole Foods to buy them both their own box of bunny snacks (cheddar for him; snack mix for her) that they weren’t allowed to open till we got to the race helped tremendously. But we headed down to Framingham, and although we only saw one out of five friends who were running, it was definitely worth the trip. I’m determined that I’m not running another marathon this year, but watching those folks go make me doubt myself. “It wouldn’t hurt to do one more this year, a nice easy fall marathon.” Doodles was fine, coloring a poster, and Pie was fascinated, watching the runners go by. No matter how many times I told her it was not only okay, but encouraged, to use her “outside voice,” she just watched. But for me, I love yelling at the runners, calling out folks as they run by. We stayed an hour, after we saw the slowest of our runner friends (and Pie loved the fact that out of the five runners we knew, the four women beat the guy by over an hour [sorry, Fishy, just telling it like it is!]. A big shout out to Ana-Maria, Sue, Sue, and Saskia for not just finishing the race but really taking it to a new level–two qualified for next year’s race and the other two ran at speeds I can only dream about). When it was time to go, Doodles was ready, but Pie complained. “I want to see more runners!” then she asked, “I want to run marathons. Will you teach me how to run, Mommy?” Made my heart go, Zing! She’s definitely my baby.

We swung by Adam’s office to have lunch with him, which the kids adored. I’m not sure if Pie was more excited about lunch with Daddy or the chance to write on his white board, but she was thrilled. Then we headed back to Lexington. Pie was a little disappointed–“I want to see the runners again! Please can’t we go back and see the runners again?”–but then when she realized where we were going, she perked up. The kids were in their true spirits. Doodles was in full negative tilt: “I don’t want to go to a parade!” Pie was brimming with joy: “I love parades!”

Of course, toward the end, the temperature had dropped, the wind was blowing, and I asked, “Should we go?” and Pie said, “I’m ready,” but Doodles said, “No! It’s not over yet!” I have to learn to ignore everything that boy says and just make him do things, because he never wants to do anything and then always has a great time.

By the time we made it home, we were all exhausted and happy. Another successful Patriots’ Day. Now to think about that next marathon. For me. And who knows? Maybe, one of these days, for Pie.