the pieces of my life

I find it hard to post when Adam’s out of town–as he is again. Normally, throughout the day, when I’m supposed to post, I think, “I can blog about X. Maybe I’ll blog about Y.” But when Adam’s gone, only one thought runs in my head, all day, the constant refrain, starting at 7 a.m.: “Only twelve hours till they go to bed. Only eleven hours and forty-three minutes till they go to bed. Only…” And then when it’s finally the magic hour, we are inevitably running behind because it always takes 27 minutes longer to get anything done than I think. And then, once they’re finally in bed, I have to convince them to sleep. When that’s finally done, I think, “Hmm, blog? Or that case of wine Adam bought last weekend?” I’ll sit here and blog till the wine kicks in.

Today was Pie’s last day of preschool for the year, and tomorrow is Doodles’s last day of preschool… forever. We had his “kindergarten chat” yesterday and the chat itself–with one of the teachers–went just fine, but when he saw all the “big kids,” he totally froze up. I felt so bad for the little guy. Adam and I talked about holding Doodles back from kindergarten, but he’s clearly ready to go. And even if we held Doodles back three years, well, he’d still be the shortest kid in the class. That’s just the way genetics work, kid.

I had this angsty moment, as I got all worked up about the last day of preschool, the end of toddlerhood, the beginning of kindergarten, and then it hit me… I’m going to be having these angsty moments now for the rest of my life. There’s always going to be that next big thing they grow out of/into. First day of kindergarten. First time they have a sleep over. First time they have a crush. The last day of elementary school, middle school, high school…. Getting ready for camp, college, first day of work. The first time they travel without me and Adam. Some of the milestones, I won’t even be aware that it’s the last time, until the pangs hit me in retrospect. The last time they’re small enough for me to carry. The last time they crawl into our bed at night. The last time they cuddle down and beg me to read them a story.

So, I’ll just do what moms have been doing for generations. I’m going to pour myself another glass of wine.

Me: Pie, do you know what your shirt says?
Pie: What?
Me: It says, J-A-S-O-N. And here it says V-A-R-I-T-E-K. Do you know what that spells?
Pie: What?
Me: It spells Jason Varitek. He plays for the Boston Red Sox!
Pie [giving me a look]: And he’s captain, too.

Let me tell you, I didn’t teach her that!

End of school year time. I’m up to my ears in projects for the preschool. I should be sleeping–I miss my sleep–but I’m too anal not to do these projects right. I’m also about to have my hands full of children. However, the prospect isn’t as daunting as it seemed even a few weeks ago. Pie and I have come to some sort of unspoken agreement, and it seems to be working. (Does blogging count as speaking? If so, then it shall no longer be unspoken.) Basically, I let Pie get away with whatever she wants, and she no longer makes my life a living hell. For instance, we’re skipping the “sleep in your own bed” charade. Pie goes directly to our bed, do not pass go, do not collect $200. In order to avoid jealousy, Doodles beds down in a sleeping bag on the floor of our room.

In return, I’ve had three–yes, three!–days of no diapers. That’s right. Pie declared on Monday, “No more diapers for me, Mommy.” And she’s been an underwear girl since. Few accidents along the way, but nothing too serious. She’s also getting much better about actually speaking to me (as opposed to grunting and temper tantruming) so we have conversations in which I can understand what she wants. She’s gotten uber-polite about all sorts of things (“Mommy, thank you for getting me dressed.” “Mommy, thank you for putting a towel down for me to sit on” [that last one when I didn’t want to risk my chair for the sake of her underwear]).

And she and Doodles are getting along as well as ever. He’s erupting into kid, and as such is giving me more grief as Pie gives me less, but overall, he’s workable. There are certain things he wants that I control (TV, computer time, bike riding time, playdates), so he’s willing to work the system. He’s taking lots of “big kid” leaps–besides losing the training wheels, he can now tie his own shoes, read a simple book, jump into the pool without freaking, and he’s attempting more foods on his own.

I’ve been so focused on the progress of Doodles–end of preschool, getting ready for kindergarten–that it slipped my mind until this morning that Pie is about to leave toddlerhood. She’ll be an honest to goodness preschooler in a few months. Which is great. Because it means that I’ll have a preschooler and a kid sleeping in my room. That’s progress. Right?

I know I have a tendency to complain about my children a lot–probably because they give me so much to complain about and I’m not really one to get all sappy on folks. But humor me a moment while I kvell a moment. Last Saturday, my sporty little Pie had her first ice skating show. Her coaches had approached me about her participating last fall, and I hemmed and hawed without ever actually saying no, which they took as acquiescence. I had real reservations about letting her skate in a “competition” (at her level, Tot 2, it’s not actually a competition plus she skates the whole program with her coach, so she’s not alone on the ice) but she so enjoyed working on the program with her coach, I figured, “Hey, why not?”

For weeks she’s been talking about the show, and it was only heightened when I borrowed a skating dress for her. “Time to wear dress?” she’d ask. “Time to go ice skating?”

Saturday finally came. We put her in her outfit, and pleased as punch we headed for the rink. It was overwhelming. It was a serious show with two rinks worth of skaters going on, and lots of noise, crowds, and cheers. Pie took one look around and her eyes went wide. I took her into the locker room, where not even Doodles was allowed in, and sat her down. At one point, I had to run upstairs to get her helmet (the photo here was taken at the end when her coach took her helmet off specifically for the picture [**Photo upload is down–it will be up when I can get it up]), I left her with one of the coaches–not hers. “Is that okay, Pie?” She gave me a wide-eyed nod. I left fully prepared to come running back at the sound of tears. There were none. I returned to find her just watching everyone. “Hey, Pie, can I take your picture?” I asked. She immediately hopped up, smiled wide, and posed like a champ. Then sat back down and watched the action. Every few minutes, she’d quietly ask, “My turn to ice skate?” and I’d say, “Not yet, sweetheart.”

A half hour before she was to go on, she lined up with her coach. “No parents! All parents please return to the seats!” I didn’t think they really meant me–Pie was there with a coach who wasn’t her own–but they did. “Is it okay if I go upstairs, Pie?” Again the wide-eyed nod.

I go upstairs and flip through the program. Hundreds of events going on. I went through it once. Twice. Pie is the only two year old in the entire show. Finally, they announce her name. Out she goes to the far end of the rink with her coach, just the two of them, looking tiny on the ice. She stands there, and then her music starts. And she skates her little one-minute program (video, for those with the password, is up, but very hard to see). She falls. She doesn’t do all her spins. But, damn! She was cute! She got so many cheers. I was so proud of her, and what’s more important, she was incredibly proud of herself.

That little Pie. Feisty in all the right places. You go, girl! (Now to return to our regularly scheduled kvetching.)

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.

Classes at my synagogue are scheduled for 8 p.m. because they want to encourage people to attend the evening minyan. Minyan is held at my synagogue twice a day (morning and night), which is important if you’re saying Mourner’s Kaddish, because you need a minyan to do so, but sometimes rallying ten people can be a challenge, hence starting classes after minyan.

Minyan’s not so bad in the winter, when it’s simply the evening service. But this time of year, because it’s daylight so late, we suffer through both the afternoon and evening service. So before each class I have this dilemma: Do I go to minyan? Or stay home and help put the kids to bed? Needless to say, I’ve been a very good Jew lately.

Bedtime has gotten intolerable. Doodles goes to bed as easily as he ever has, but the Pie is just digging her heels in and making life miserable for us. Last night, I left the house at 7:15 for minyan. I know that Adam put the kids to bed at 7:30. I got home from my class at 9:15. And before I even had the door unlocked, I could hear the screaming.

It’s this vicious cycle–she doesn’t want to go to bed, she’s overtired the next day making her more temper tantrum-y and unpleasant to be around, she’s so overtired she can’t go to sleep well… I’ve tried increasing naps. I’ve tried decreasing naps. We’ve tried putting her to bed earlier. We’ve tried putting her to bed later. Doesn’t seem to matter: We’re guaranteed about an hour to two hours worth of screaming (thank goodness Doodles, who shares a room with her, can sleep through it all).

She gets so worked up that she can’t articulate what she wants. Sometimes it can be solved as easily as a different train from the train table next to her bed. But sometimes–like last night–it’s a guessing game. Do you need a cuddle? Do you need a train? Do you need socks? What do you need?!? And there is no letting her scream it out because it seriously simply won’t end.

I have another class tonight. Oh, I’m sorry, Adam. I’ve got to go early. They really need me for minyan….

Last Friday was a tough day for Pie. Meltdowns at the playground. Didn’t want to nap. Didn’t want to wake up from nap. Didn’t like what was being served. Not happy at the lack of crackers during Passover. By bedtime on Friday, I was pretty much done, and as I’m wont to do, I turned over most of Pie’s bedtime activities to Adam (Doodles is easy to get into bed). So, at bedtime:

Me: Tomorrow’s Saturday.
Pie: Okay.
Me: That means tomorrow you can inflict your pain on Daddy! Does that sound good!
Pie: [Nodding vigorously] Yes!
Me: You’ll inflict your pain on daddy?
Pie: Yes! Pain on daddy! Daddy, take off your shirt?
Adam: Take off my shirt?
Pie: Take off your shirt!
Adam: Why?
Pie: I pain on you. I pain on you!
Adam: What?
Pie: I pain on you. With paintbrush!
Adam: Tomorrow.
Me: Pie, time to go to sleep.
Pie: My eyes are cold.
Adam: So close them.
Pie: No, I need my sunglasses.
Adam: Not in bed.
Me: Okay, Pie, good night!
Pie: No! Hands cold!
Adam: You can get your mittens on yourself.
Pie: A grown-up has to watch when I put my mittens on.

Pie eventually dons her vest, her sweater, Doodles’s Lightning McQueen slippers, and her mittens. It doesn’t keep her in bed, and it’s generally an hour-long process (whether we start at 6 or 9 doesn’t make any difference).

Last night and tonight I’m on my own. Adam’s in Seattle for work (if you’re in Seattle and reading this, don’t expect to hear from him. He arrived at 9:30 p.m. last night and is returning on the red-eye tonight. He gives a presentation today and isn’t even in town for a single dinner). And I brook no nonsense. So bedtime is just screaming now. Although last night our neighbor, B., came by to sit with the kids as I had a class, and as soon as the neighbor came, Pie demanded a kiss from her and settled down. Looks like B. will be over every night when Adam goes out of town because she’s the only one who can get that Pie settled.

Sweet dreams little Pie. Mommy’s buying ear plugs.

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?”

I’ve been on a conservation kick with the kids. One of my new year’s resolutions was the oh-so-trendy “go greener.” I’m trying to impart the respect-your-earth values to them, with limited success. Of course, I don’t always have the lightest touch. I confess, I’ve been known to say, “Turn off the water! Fish need that water! Don’t kill the fish!” (Which has resulted in Doodles yelling, “Mom! Pie is wasting water! She’s killing fish!”)

Jumping on the plastics-are-bad-and-will-leach-harmful-things-into-my-children wagon, I decided I was going to order my kids some Sigg bottles. Just this morning, I told each child they were going to pick one bottle that they were going to live with for the rest of their lives. It was going to be their bottle for all going-out purposes and there was no switching or changing minds. Doodles picked out an astronaut bottle. Pie picked out Hello Kitty. The pink one. I found a lovely one for myself. Of course only after my little online search did I discover Hello Kitty is out of stock. So I’m searching for a place where I can buy all three because I’m too cheap (um, I mean environmentally aware!) to buy the bottles at multiple stores. I decided I’d hold off a day or two and see if I could find them locally. But no. Heading out to the playground today, I grabbed their sippies. At the playground:
Pie: I’m thirsty.
Me: Here’s your sippy.
Pie: No! I want Hello Kitty! The pink one!
Me: Sweetie, it’ll take a little while to get here. It won’t be here for a while [and that’s only after I order it!]
Pie: I want Hello Kitty now!
I was able to distract her until… bedtime.
Pie: I need my pink Hello Kitty.
Me: You don’t own a pink Hello Kitty yet. We just picked them out today!
Pie: PINK HELLO KITTY!
I think I need to get off my butt and find that bottle in stock. With expedited shipping. So much for saving money and packaging.

And then there was the conversation Pie and I had this week:
Pie: I need a paper towel.
Me: For what?
Pie: To clean.
Me: Use a dish towel.
Pie: Nooooo! I need a paper towel!
Me: That’s wasteful, Sweetie. Use a dish towel.
Pie: I need a paper towel. I need it, I need it, I need it!
Me: Do you know where paper comes from? It comes from trees.
Pie: [sniffle]
Me: Trees are killed for paper towels. Do you want to kill a tree?
Pie: Yes! Yes! Kill the trees! Kill the trees! [sobbing now] Kill the trees! Need a paper towel!

So now you know what conservation is all about. Dead fish. Downed trees. Pink Hello Kitties. Sent Fed Ex. Hope you all had a more productive Earth Day.

Some weeks I really have nothing to say, and I have to scramble for something to write. This week there’s plenty to write about, and I’m still scrambling for something to write, because Adam’s at the Red Sox game, which means I had to put the kids to sleep. I have no patience for putting the kids to sleep. None. Because the ritual goes on and on and on and on…

Today broke 80 degrees. Our house is quite warm. And still Pie needs her slippers, her vest, and her sweater on. Hood up, please. Where are her mittens? Is her watch in her pocket? She needs more trains to sit on the heater next to her. Wipes! She needs two wipes. On the heater. Why? I have no clue. Oh, what! She needs to use the potty. And–damn!–the look of pure sinister when she actually does pee. Finally, she goes to bed. But the whole process takes about forty-five minutes at the end of the day, when I’m done. I mean done. So all rational thought has left me and it’s Passover, which means I can’t even indulge in a little M&M; therapy. Matzah therapy? Just not quite the same ring to it.

[Note: Blogger seems to be having some issues posting images tonight–they’ll be here tomorrow]