the pieces of my life

The object of the board game Pretty, Pretty Princess is to get the crown, two earrings, bracelet, and necklace (look, it was a gift!). You can’t win, though, if you have the black ring. We were playing, just me and Pie. It’s Pie’s favorite game (surprise!). Pie had everything but one earring. She landed on the black ring. “No!” she shrieked. “I don’t want that! Here.” And she moved her piece one extra spot to get the last earring. Very pleased with herself, she announced, “Now I’m a pretty, pretty princess!”

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Reason #326 I love my neighborhood

Yesterday, at kindergarten drop-off on our first frost-bitten day, one of the moms brought a Thermos of hot chocolate. And the real stuff, made with vahlrona chocolate. None of that Swiss Miss crap. She topped everyone’s coffee cups off with the stuff. What a heavenly way to start a day. Yes, that’s right folks. I have nothing snarky to say here. I just really thought it was a nice moment that I’d share. Don’t worry–this moment will pass quickly. Oh wait, there it goes…

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Me: Why didn’t you put away Doodles’s Leapster when you were done with it?
Pie [whispering, arms held wide]: Because I didn’t want to.

Oh, silly me. Of course.

***

In the car ride home today from swimming class, Doodles said to me: Mom! You won’t believe what happened today!
Me: What?
Doodles: During snack time, Mae (not her real name) came up to me… and she kissed me!
Me: She did?
Doodles: Yeah! On the forehead! For no reason at all!
Me: No reason at all?
Doodles: No reason at all! Mae kissed me on the forehead. And then all the girls laughed.
Me: Oh, they did?
Doodles: Yeah. Why did Mae do that?
Me: I have no idea…
Doodles: It was so strange!

So here I am, mentally picking out his senior prom outfit, when I report this to his mother. Only Doodles apparently is back-up guy. Because Mae told her mother that she was in love with another boy in class, Z., only another girl, J., was going to marry him. Ah, the complicated romances of kindergarten…

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Time to start planning for next year, when I have my yard back. I’m TOTALLY hitting the after holiday sales for one of these.

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Reason #327 that I love our neighborhood:

I love Pie’s preschool. Love, love, love it. And I really, really love the moms and dads I’ve met there (and I think it’s so nice that I have gotten to know dads–they’re definitely an active part of the life there). I’ve made some really good parent friends. But the thing is, at Pie’s preschool, I feel like I’m the bad influence. I’m always the one saying, “My daughter did what? Oy. Time to hit the martinis,” or “Damn, why don’t they serve wine at these things?” or, “It’s a Wednesday! That calls for bourbon!” And I have to say, I get shot down every time and I feel like I’ve somehow gotten a reputation for being the juvenile delinquent mom.

But kindergarten–ah, kindergarten is a whole new world! Today I did my volunteer stint in the classroom. Workboard. I helped kids find words that started with the letters in “G-I-V-E T-H-A-N-K-S.” I prompted them to write a sentence. I supervised some serious coloring and cutting. Two other moms and the teacher were also working the room. After the kids were on their way to lunch, I made the comment, “Let’s go get our martinis now.” One responded, “I’m more of a margarita person,” and the other one said, “I make a mean gimlet. Let’s go back to my place for drinks now! Seriously, I can mix up just about any drink.”

Friends, let me tell you, it was painful being the responsible adult, but I pulled through, knowing I had just an hour till I had to pick Pie up from preschool. I apologized profusely, not wanting to be that mom, you know, the mom who doesn’t drink (aaagggg!). The mom understood, and she promised me that anytime she’s happy to mix up a drink.

“It’s true,” another mom said. “It doesn’t take much to get her to pop the cork.”

“It’s always five o’clock somewhere,” she assured me.

Be still my heart. I’ve found my home. And it is kindergarten. Let the drinking begin.

Did you guys know that there’s a show called Paris Hilton: My New BFF, and I haven’t been watching it! What has my life turned into?

But that’s not what I came here for. This past weekend I headed down to Miami for a weekend without my children. It was a novel event. Although, little do they know, it’s the start of a trend because I also have a trip without them planned for both December and January. This weekend, in theory, was for a serious family event, however, if you know my family, it was pretty much anything but.

For starters, that lovely photo above was taken off my cousin’s boat. It’s a gorgeous view isn’t it? The weekend was unexpected. I arrived a little late on Friday to a house full of people at my parents’ place. I stayed up too late talking to my parents and then, all because of a five minute nap on the plane, I couldn’t sleep (um, remind you of a daughter of mine?). Which would have been fine except my eight-month-old cousin woke me up in the pre-7 a.m. hour the next morning. Now, don’t get me wrong. This cousin is incredibly cute, very well behaved, and exceedingly quiet for a baby. But you know how it is. Once you have a kid, you’re programmed. The slightest baby noise and you’re up, calling, “What! What! Bottle? Diaper? Potty? Bad dream? What??” And then you’re up. I swear, I felt bad for my other cousin, the eight-month-old’s mother, because I’ve somehow reverted to single gal in babyhood terms. I took the baby, and pretty much felt like I was holding her at arm’s length, like, “Cute baby. What do I do with you again?” Those early years have been erased from my mind. I seriously didn’t know what to do! Yes, my child-bearing years are done. The family is complete. Done. Finis.

Saturday though was a whirlwind. My favorite cafe con leches and Cuban toast. A pedicure. A ride on the Triple Play (and here comes the inevitalbe shout out to B., her freakishly smart daughter, H., and her always charming mother, C. Hi guys! It was fun!).

The next night I was up way too late because I spent the night at my cousin’s house and he’s building a new house around the corner, and of course I needed a tour. And then we got up at 4:50 the next morning to run a half marathon. (My cousin is running his first marathon with me in January. I called him and said, “We should do a long run while I’m home.” He said, “I can’t, I’m doing a half.” So I signed on! He did amazing for a first half. Really pushed himself. Wait till he sees what I make him do at the marathon!) Family function. Family drama. Trip to the airport. Make my way home to my claustrophobic little apartment.

And what did I come home to? I came home to kids who were clearly happy to see me (or perhaps it was the Epicure cookies I brought home for them). But the euphoria was short–very short–lived. I stayed up waaaay too late in order to spend time with Adam–I got back to the apartment at 10 p.m. and he had to leave at 6 a.m. for an almost-week-long trip to L.A. and there was oh-so-much to catch him up on. So I’m exhausted but at 5:42 a.m. I hear, “Mommy, you’re back! How was your trip? I got a flashlight. Daddy, Doodles, and I walked to Trader Joe’s and I got to use my flashlight. It’s green. That’s your favorite color! I want breakfast. Where’s Daddy? Is he at the gym or is he on his trip? The clock? It says thirteen hundred o’clock. Did you bring me something? I went to a movie, and I got glasses! The astronaut scared me but I laughed when he broke the glass and…”

I get the kids up and fed and clothed with little trouble. Pie is definitely in a volatile stage–so much so that after nearly a year, she’s sent me back to the parenting books–and I made it to Doodles’s school on time. Pie and I went back to check on the house. Progress is amazing. Shingles going up on the family room roof, electricians doing their thang, things are just falling into place. Only Pie tells me she has to go to the bathroom. I run her to her preschool, and magically, she no longer has to go. Hmmm. She didn’t go all morning. Of course, she doesn’t want to enter her preschool, so I end up slinging her under my arm, a la a football hold, and carry her in screaming. But I make it out with nary a scratch.

I head home to do a little Nano-ing. A note on the Nano. As you can see by my word count, I’m woefully behind. But I’m psyched to say that I’m making steady progress on my novel (doing editing as I go, which is verboten in Nano world), and I’m feeling good about it. So no, I won’t hit 50,000 words, but I just might finish this damn thing! Anyway, a smidgen of Nano and then off to volunteer at Doodles’s school. I started out in the cafeteria at kindergarten lunch. Um, do you guys remember your kindergarten lunch? As far as I remember, it was sink or swim. Not anymore. For starters, kindergarten, first, and second graders are not allowed (plastic) knives. Today was pancake day. So my job was to go around and cut pancakes for kids. Seriously! I also opened milks, peeled clementines, and told kids to get their butts back into their seats. I also spent five minutes consoling my son when it was time for me to leave. He was happy to see that I was there, and pretty much ignored me. But toward the end, he got the rubby eyes and the teary frowns and then the clinging for dear life to my arm. Eventually the teacher’s aide was able to release me, but it’s a terrible way to leave your child. Thank goodness I had to pass by the room later, and I saw him very happily building a habitat out of blocks with friends. Otherwise, the guilt would have stayed with me all day.

And then I went to pick up Pie. Pie Pie. Potty-trained Pie. Potty-trained Pie who was wearing the school’s pants because she had not one, but two pee accidents at school today. And did she care? No. She was just happy because Jasmine’s mom told her she could wear Jasmine’s sandals (someone was shoeless because she peed all over her shoes) so we didn’t have to go straight home after school. Oy.

So now, I should be sleeping. I should crawl into bed because tomorrow is all Pie all the time and I know she’ll be up at 5:42 a.m., I’m instead telling you about my life. Actually, I’m not crawling into bed because of the five (yes five) cups of coffee I had today. But let’s pretend it’s because of you. Somehow that just makes it all a little better.

Doodles was a guinea pig today at the Lab for Developmental Studies at our local Fancy Pants Ivy League school. He’s done a ton of these and he loves doing them. Pie loves it too, but they didn’t have a study for her today. Today’s study was on multiplication and kids innate understanding of it (or lack thereof).

Me: So, Pie, someone will come out to play with you while Doodles does his study.
Pie: Someone will play with me?
Me: Yes.
Pie: Yea!
Doodles: But I don’t need you to come in with me!
Me: You want to go in by yourself?
Doodles: Yes!
Me: Okay. Well, then Pie, I’ll stay out and play with you.
Pie, voice rising: No! I want to play with someone else!

Ah, it’s so good to be wanted…

Dante thought there were nine circles of hell. The lustful. The gluttonous. The heretics. The violents. And so on.

Dante was wrong. There are ten circles of hell. That final, forgotten circle? That e 10th ring? It is, of course, is life with a three-year-old and five-year-old. A sampling from our past week:

“Pie, will you have a muffin or a scone today?”
“I’ll have a muffin. I only eat scones when it’s hot.”

At 4 a.m. I can’t sleep. My mind won’t stop churning. And what is it churning? “I love being a princess. I love being a princess.” Over and over. By the Backyardigans. “If you want to dress like this, and wear a shiny crown;
If you like how people look when they are bowing down; If princess life is what you want, your choice is crystal clear; Go find some other country, pal; ‘Cause I’m the princess here!” If you know the tune at all–ha! Now it’s in your head too.

Full scale meltdowns that end with me putting a jacket on my naked daughter because the boy is not going to be late for kindergarten. And what sets off these kinds of meltdowns? Isn’t it obvious? I picked out the wrong underwear.

A Halloween treat: scrambled eggs made in one of those impossible-to-use impossible-to-clean William Sonoma pancake molds. And the verdict? “Mommy, I don’t like pumpkin eggs! I like skeleton eggs!” From the girl terrified of skeletons, mind you.

A son who declares to his friend (the architect’s son, mind you), that his house, which is undergoing what seems to be a multimillion dollar renovation, is “so totally not cool.”

One bathroom. Two kids. One who might as well be taking the entire Sunday New York Times in with him; the other who doesn’t have to go, no really, doesn’t have to go… until someone else is sitting on the toilet in which case she has to go right now this very second!.

A five-year-old son, who yells, when his 14-year-old babysitter walks by the playground with a friend, “Hey babes!”

My life. In hell.

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.

Doodles is completely looking forward to the Switch Witch. He’s talking about it nonstop. Is she real? What is she like? What’s she going to bring? Doodles is Switch Witch stoked. But Pie? Well, Pie is Pie.

Pie: I don’t want the Switch Witch to come.
Me: But she’s a nice witch!
Pie: I don’t want her to come.
Me: Don’t you want to get a toy?
Pie shakes her head vehemently: No!
Me: But the Switch Witch always comes.
Pie: I don’t want her this year.
Me: Why?
Pie: I don’t want her to take my candy.
Me: But she’ll bring you a toy in return.
Pie: No! I don’t want her taking my candy!
Me: And what do you think your going to do with all that candy?
Pie: Eat it! All if it. I want to eat all my candy. So tell the Switch Witch not to come.

Yeah, Pie. But the problem is, I want to eat all your candy, too. And I’m bigger than you.

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.

Things are tense in my oh-so-tiny apartment and I’ve consolidated my life down to miniature size, which is why I’m having such a tough time blogging these days. I no longer think in blog terms–the most I think is one-line Facebook statuses. Writing actual paragraphs, strings of those oh-so-pithy status updates, if you will, now seems a colossal task. My mind is thinking things like, “Jenny is contemplating tossing all of her children’s toys out the window to see if anyone notices” or “Jenny is thinking of moving abroad for three months with no forwarding address” but this empty Blogger box seems to want more from me.

But here I am, with a rare moment of peace as Adam has the monsters at the playground. Our house is in total destruction mode–the roof comes off this week–but progress is happening. I can’t envision this thing done, but apparently it will happen. I have an incredible lack of imagination on this. All I see are dollar signs as we need to pick out appliances, counters, fixtures and our savings account–like all of yours, I’m sure–is spiraling down, down, down, down, down….

My daughter is enmeshed in wedding planning (at 5 a.m., she woke up, literally screaming, “I NEED MY BRIDE DRESS NOW! Where’s my white bride dress! Get it for me now!). We had a lovely conversation on Wednesday, mere hours before the start of Kol Nidre:

Pie: I’m getting married today.
Me: Today is not such a good day to get married. Kol Nidre is in just a couple of hours.
Pie: NO! I’m getting married today!
Me: And just who do you think is going to marry you today?
Pie: Jasmine!
Me: No, I meant, who is going to perform the ceremony? All the rabbis are busy today!
Pie: But my wedding is today!
Me: And what kind of reception will that be? You can’t serve any food! The grown-ups will all be fasting.
Pie: [getting furious] NO! MY WEDDING IS TODAY!

Doodles is so Doodles. I can’t even elaborate on that. He’s just… well, Doodles.

And me? Well, “Jenny is going off to see a movie by herself. No kids or spouses allowed.” And that sums it all up nicely.

I believe in giving my kids thorough and honest answers to whatever questions they ask. I might have to reconsider. Today Pie announced, “Last week my water broke. And then my baby was born!”

I’ve undertaken the massive project of switching our wardrobes over from summer to fall/winter. This is only massive because all of those clothes were in storage, so it involved a trip to the storage unit, hauling out the boxes of clothing, driving them home, carrying them up the stairs, going through children’s drawers to see what is worth putting away till next summer and what no longer fits, putting all the summer clothes into the bins, and returning them to storage. Not a big deal, I know, but inconvenient and right now the apartment looks like it’s been ransacked with piles of clothes everywhere.

Last winter (and even spring), Pie insisted on sleeping in both her vest and her sweater. I pulled them both out of storage and was surprised at how bulky the vest pockets were. So I peeked inside. This is what I found:

My daughter is clearly living a much more exciting life than I am. A French franc. A shekel. Frogs. Dollars. A man’s watch. I don’t even want to think about the implications of what I’ve found. Let’s just say, I better investigate a little more thoroughly exactly what goes on at that preschool of hers!