the pieces of my life

That’s it. I must be done. I have nothing left to say because my biggest source of material is no longer cooperating. I don’t see how I can continue this blog after this exchange from the other night.

Adam: Time for you to go to bed, Pie!
Pie: Okay. I need to use the potty.
Adam: Really?
Pie: I need to use the potty.
Adam leads her to the bathroom. In a timely fashion, Pie pees in the potty.
Adam: Ready for bed now?
Pie: Yep.
Adam: Let’s go say good night to Mommy.
Me: So, no crying tonight, okay. Pie?
Pie: Okay.
Me: Okay what?
Pie: Okay. No crying.
Adam starts to take her up the stairs. Midway up she stops.
Pie: Wait! Mommy, one more smooch.
[Smooch]
Pie: And a hug.
[Hug]
Pie: Okay. Goodnight, Mommy. I love you!
Me: I love you, too, Pie.
Pie goes up to bed. Calls us a couple of times, but not a single tear.

Look, did you see that? Out your window? Yep, pretty sure that was a pig flying by.

Ah, Shabbat. Every Friday night, Jews all over the world share a peaceful moment with their families as they welcome in Shabbat. Now, we’re not very observant Jews. We don’t observe the laws of Shabbat. But like many American Jews, we end each Friday with a celebratory meal. Giving of tzedakah. Candle lighting. Blessing of children. Grape juice for the kids, wine for the grown-ups. Homemade hallah (and I have a kick-ass recipe). A lovely, special home-cooked meal, always chicken (and if I decide to deviate, Pie, very agitated, will demand all night, “Where’s the chicken!”). A song or two. In our house, it’s the one night of the week the kids get a dessert after dinner, Shabbat cookies, which they pick out themselves in the afternoon at our local farm stand. All in all, the Shabbat dinner is a lovely tradition and a way to bring Shabbat peace into the house.

Or, at least, that’s what in theory is supposed to happen.

Pie: I want my Dora harmonica!
Me: Okay. Here’s your Dora yarmulke.
Pie: No, I want Lightening McQueen! No, I want a grown-up harmonica! Give me that one. You wear Hello Kitty.
Me: Okay, I’ll wear the Hello Kitty one.
Doodles: Where’s my quarter? I can’t find my quarter! I need my tzedakah!
Adam: It’s right there under your napkin.
Doodles: Oh. Can I shake the tzedakah box?
Pie: Daddy wear the purple harmonica. My harmonica is falling off!
Me: I’ll pin it.
Pie: No! Do it self!
After a three-minute struggle.
Pie: Mommy, put on my harmonica!

Time to start.
Me: What song shall we sing tonight?
Pie: The train song!
Me: Okay.
Me, Pie, Doodles, Adam: There’s a train that goes from town–
Pie: NO! You don’t sing. Just me and Doodles.
Kids sing three lines. Forget words. Look to me for help.
Time to say the blessing over the candles.
Doodles: How does fire get into the match? Why isn’t the candle lighting? Is that candle broken? But how does the fire get into the match?
Adam explains sulfur and striking and all sorts of fun stuff while I struggle to get the candles lit.
Doodles: Okay. But how does the fire get into the match?

Go to bless the children.
Doodles: You blessed her first last time!
Adam: No, actually, I distinctly remember we did you first last time because we were at the synagogue Shabbat dinner. Remember?
Doodles: Oh. I should go first anyway.
Pie picks her nose while we bless her.

Finally we make it through all the blessings. Dinner is served.
Me: Doodles, get your fork out of your nose. Sit down. On your tushie. Pie, that’s broccoli. You love broccoli.
Pie: Don’t like broccoli!
Me: Fine. Don’t eat your broccoli. But eat one of those little trees on your plate, wouldja?
Pie: Okay! [eats broccoli]
Me to Doodles: Eat your dinner.
Doodles: I think I’m going to throw up.
Me [having heard it before]: Go to the bathroom to throw up, please.
Doodles hops down and runs to the bathroom.
Doodles calls out: Can you turn on a light?
Adam does so. After five minutes:
Adam: Why are you taking so long?
Doodles: Now I’m going potty!
After a few more minutes:
Me: Don’t forget to wash your hands.
Doodles: I *am* washing my hands!
Adam: Did you flush?
Doodles: Ooops! I forgot to wipe and my pants are already up.
Adam goes to remedy the situation. Returns to the table.

Adam: So, Pie, what did you do today?
Pie: What? No. Tell me about your day.
Adam: I already did. What did you do?
Pie: I went to school. I played dress-up shoes.
Me: What did you have for snack today?
Pie: What? I had Jasmine’s snack.
Me: What was it?
Pie: What? Jasmine’s snack.
Me: But what did you eat?
Pie: Oh. Cucumber. And…. Cucumber.

Me: Doodles, sit. On your tushie. Facing the table. Do you want to be excused before Shabbat cookies?
Pie: Can I have my Shabbat cookie?
Me: Not till everyone’s done eating.
Pie: I want my Shabbat cookie.
Me: Eat your chicken. Doodles, SIT!

Adam: What did you do after nap today?
Pie: What? What? What?
Adam: What did you do after nap today?
Pie: What? [pause] What?
Me: We did something after nap today. What was it?
Pie: Ice skating?
Me: No.
Pie: Um, playground?
Me: No.
Pie: What? What? What? [leans in closer to me and whispers] What?
Me: [whispering back] Did someone come over today?
Pie: [whispering to Adam] Someone came over today.
Adam: Who?
Pie: What? Um, Jasmine.
Me: No.
Pie: E.?
Me: No.
Pie [whispering again]: What?
Me: D and G.
Pie: D! And G!

Doodles waves his hands wildly, coming perilously close to the candles.
Me: You know how you knocked over the iPod player this morning?
Doodles: Yeah.
Me: Remember how angry I got?
Doodles: Yeah.
Me: Knock those candles over and I’ll be even angrier.
Doodles: Why?
Me: Well, you knock this over, you could set the house on fire.
Doodles: But that’s okay. The firemen will come.
Me: Maybe not in time.
Adam: And then all your toys would burn up.
Me: Like your Leapster! And your Legos.
Pie: [gleefully] And my microphone?
Me: Yep.
Pie: The blue one?
Me: Yep.
Pie: And the pink one?
Me [thinking, What pink one?]: Yep.
Pie: And the white one?
Me [thinking, Okay, there’s definitely no white one]: Yep.
Pie: Okay.

Doodles: Is it time for Shabbat cookies?
Me: Eat your dinner.
Pie: Is it time for Shabbat cookies?
Me: Doodles needs to eat his dinner.

Pie, playing with the food on the plate: Who made this?
Me: I did.
Pie: Thank you.
Me: You’re welcome.

Doodles: I finished my vegetable. Can I have my Shabbat cookie?
I hand out Shabbat cookies. Doodles devours his. Pie takes two bites and then eats some more chicken.

Two hours later, the kids are in bed. Probably asleep. Can’t tell for sure. I kill off the bottle of wine. Sink into a comatose stupor. Swear I’m not going to bother with the trouble next week. Somehow forget that by the time the next Friday rolls around. Wait for the peace to hit. Wait for the peace to hit. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting….

This past week has to have been one of the busiest ones yet. I feel like it was nonstop, and I’m not ready to collapse in a heap at my computer. What have I done? It’s all a big blur.

Adam had a night out with friends, I had a night out with friends (hi Elizabeth! It was fun!), I had (have) a job I’m working on, a preschool project that I got suckered into doing, a family Shabbat dinner, a meet-up with a fellow blogger whom I’d never met before but was in Boston for a conference, a women’s community Passover seder (no Passover hasn’t started–this was a fun, feminist version that involved many tambourines). Throw in some boot camp, a bit o’ running, and a zillion chores (dentist appointment? Made. Eye doctor appointment? Made. Camp for Doodles? Taken care of. Car inspection? Done.) and that’s what I’ve been up to.

Oh, and our little trip to New York. But this time for a day. Eight whole hours. Yes, I know how fun that sounds. Surprisingly it was incredibly uneventful and actually quite a success. I almost hesitate to blog about it, because nothing untoward happened.

After not nearly enough sleep, I roused myself from slumber at 5:30 on Saturday morning. Slapped together some sandwiches, woke the rest of the family, and we were on the road by 6:15 a.m. The purpose of the trip was dual fold: My mom has a show up right now at Nohra Haime Gallery (that’s it on the walls and on the table in the pic; if you’re in NYC go see it–it’s up till April 26) and there was a breakfast at 9 a.m. and we thought it would be fun to go to. And then the other reason is it was my dad’s birthday (random aside: did anyone else realize that when your parent’s age equals the year of your birth, your age will equal the year of his or her birth; so for instance, my dad turned 68. I was born in 1968. And this year I’ll turn 40. My dad was born in 1940. Try it–it works).

We made the trip in 3 1/2 hours, having parked and made our way to the gallery by 10 a.m., and my father was dutifully surprised. We spent the morning at the Children’s Museum of Manhattan, which was cute but nowhere near the level of the Boston Children’s Museum. We had a fabulous deli lunch at Artie’s (it’s the kind of place that has pickles and slaw on the table for you a la Wolfie’s), kids got their subway rides, and then hung out at my parents place. I walked around a bit, hit a flea market. We had cakes from Citarella. At about 6:30 p.m., we put kids in pjs and headed home. Both kids were passed out before we left the Bronx. We were home by 10 p.m.

I wish there was more to tell you. I wish we’d had a meltdown or two or Pie peed somewhere or something, but it was such a manageable trip, I’d consider doing it again.

Me: Doodles! I told you! Stop throwing balls in the house!
Doodles: But Pie is doing it.
Me: Pie shouldn’t be doing it either. But you’re older and you know better.
Doodles: But Pie is telling me to throw balls. And I’m listening to her. Because she’s my sister. And I love her.

At the YMCA, while changing out of swimming suits.
Pie, loudly, pointing finger out at another girl: Look, Mommy! She has a v*agina just like me!

The gate is closed on the kids’ bedroom door. They’re both exhausted and refuse to go to sleep. Pie cries. Doodles resorts to Rickey Henderson methods:
Doodles: Dad! It’s Doodles calling! He needs some more water. Okay?

I’m making a hummus on pita sandwich for Doodles.
Pie: What are you spreading on his p*enis?

Pie: Mommy, cuddle me!
Me: Okay, sweetie!
Lots of snuggling. I even sneak in a few smooches.
Me: Ooh, who’s my favorite Pie Pie? Who’s my favorite little girl?
Pie: Me!
Me: And who’s your favorite mommy?
Pie [with great big, soft, baby eyes looking up at me]: Daphne! Daphne is my favorite mommy! [Daphne is her friend A’s mother]

Just this afternoon, we saw the mom and daughter playing outside, so we went over to play. I’m talking to the mom. Pie runs over from the swing set, with a big grin on her face.
Pie: Mommy?
Me: Yes, Pie?
Pie: Mommy, go home! Go home now!

It’s good to be loved.

Random things said to children on a Sunday night:
Pie, we don’t put artichoke leaves on our ears. Pie, seriously. Pie, get the artichokes out of your ears now! Pie, you can’t hide artichoke leaves in your hair, either. Pie!

No, Pie, you cannot sleep with your shalach manot.

Me: Doodles, you can’t celebrate both Purim and Easter. You have to pick just one.
Doodles: Okay. I’ll celebrate Easter.

Questions asked in the car on one thirty-five-minute ride from home to ice skating:

• Why does your shadow follow you?
• Why do babies wake up at night?
• Why do moms wear bras?
• What is that song about? [Song on radio: “Cruel to Be Kind”]
• Why is the world going to stop and melt? [Song on radio: “I’ll Stop the World and Melt with You”]
• Why did the pharaohs get buried in the pyramids the Jewish slaves built?
• How do they make the pointy part on the top of the pyramid?
• Why do people die in boxes?
• Then who puts them in boxes?
• Some cars, they have DVD players in them, in the top, and the kids can watch them when they are in the car. Why don’t we have a car like that?

Thing on shopping list that Adam insisted the Shaw’s didn’t carry:
Paper towels made out of recycled paper

The thing I bought three packs of the next day at Shaw’s–on special! Buy one, get two free:
Paper towels made out of recycled paper

My week in Facebook status updates:

• Jenny is eating all of her daughter’s “potty treats.” Good thing there’s no danger of her daughter using the potty anytime soon. 3:12pm
• Jenny is not sure where she’s going to come up with a 4T sized king costume by 4 p.m. tomorrow…. 5:27pm
• Jenny can freakin’ work miracles. 1:11pm
• Jenny is making an–ack–princess potty chart. 11:41am
• Jenny is laughing at Adam for not realizing that the “C” in YMCA meant it would be closed on Easter Sunday. 7:08am
• Jenny can’t believe the things she obsesses about. 11:27pm
• Jenny would rather be in Paris. Cafe au lait anyone? 5:19am

Things that surprise Adam:
Pie: I want a Cinderella coloring sheet!
Adam: Look, there’s one!
Pie: That‘s not Cinderella! That‘s Snow White!
Adam to me: She knows the difference between Cinderella and Snow White?!?

My typical Tuesday:

• Argue with Pie about getting into the car.
• 8:45 a.m. Argue with Pie about dropping Doodles off at school. No she cannot stay in the car by herself.
• Argue with Pie about holding hands crossing the street to go to singalong.
• Contemplate a detour to the orphanage.
• 10: 15 a.m. Tell Pie she can’t order her friend, A, to dance with her, no matter how much Pie wants to dance with A and only with A.
• Tell Pie that no, A’s mother cannot take Pie to the muffin shop because I am going to take Pie to the muffin shop.
• Lose Pie’s shoe in the street on the way to the muffin shop, but don’t realize that’s why she’s screaming because she’s always screaming.
• Sheepishly remove shoe from street when a trucker yells to me, “Hey, your daughter lost her shoe.”
• Notice teenlike smirk on Pie’s face.
• Tell Pie that she has to come home with me, she cannot go home with A and her mother.
• Argue with Pie about how many pieces her muffin should be cut into.
• Consider letting Pie go home with A and conveniently “forgetting” to pick her up–for a week or two.
• Reassert with a little less conviction that Pie has to come home with me.
• Argue with Pie about taking juice into the car.
• Noon: Pick Doodles up from school.
• Argue with Pie about lack of snack provided a mere twenty minutes after her juice and muffin.
• Drive an extra twenty minutes to make sure Pie falls asleep.
• Relax with Doodles. Read a book. Play some Legos. Have lunch. Take a brief nap.
• 2:30 p.m. Pie wakes up. Change Pie. Feed Pie. Appease Pie. Pie Pie Pie Pie Pie.
• Take kids to swimming class.
• Sit alone for thirty glorious minutes.
• 5 p.m. Take kids to “Tasty Tuesday” at Whole Foods.
• Try to shush kids as they scream at the top of their lungs, “LOOK! THERE’S ANOTHER SAMPLE! GO, MOMMY, GO!!”
• Get out of Whole Foods with just two $97 bags full of groceries.
• 6:20 p.m. Get kids in bath.
• Argue with them about bubbles. “No bubbles!” insists Doodles. “BUBBLES!” insists Pie.
• Let them play/fight in the tub.
• Tolerate screaming while hair is washed.
• 6:45 p.m. Adam walks in. Hand over kids half bathed and hide in the office.
• Wonder if Adam could function if I decided to take the summer off to travel and do something that’s easier than dealing with Pie, like cure cancer or end poverty.
• Spend one and a half hours trying to cajole Pie into bed.
• Kids sleep. I zonk.
• 9 p.m. Miss the kids. Consider waking them so I can cuddle with them.
• 9:01 p.m. Adam blocks stairs to keep me from making huge mistake.
• 11:45 p.m. Go to bed after working on top-secret preschool project that is taking way more time than I would have thought.
• 11:57 p.m. Set alarm for 5 a.m. Boot camp tomorrow!

Evidence Pie is ready for college:

• She prefers her pizza cold
• She’s up at all hours
• She finds bodily functions hilarious
• You can’t get that girl off her cell phone
• She’s a little cliquish
• She’s perfected the eye roll
• She binge eats
• She’s got the moves

Watch out Dartmouth U Mass Middlesex Community College Blaine Beauty School!

I’ve read a number of times that kids like boundaries. It helps them feel safe in the world. But no one has demonstrated that more the Pie. We’re having a tough time with that monkey, but as she’s both two and terrible, I’m hoping this is a phase she will outgrow. Our lives have become one big temper tantrum. The slightest thing will set her off and I’m at a little bit of a loss as to how to deal with it, as Doodles didn’t go through this phase till he was three and a half and a little more capable of reasoning. (If anyone has any favorite books on this subject, suggest them, please!)

Anyway, as mentioned, she’s in the big girl bed. Which is causing big girl problems. Because Pie has never gone to bed nicely, but at least before, she couldn’t get up. Naps are nearly nonexistent unless I have a specific bribe/lie (“Oh, the rules at the YMCA are that anyone in the Seahorse swim class must take a nap before class. If you don’t take the nap, the Y won’t let you swim. Sorry, it’s just the rules!”). But if I don’t have that, forget it!

The other night was particularly bad. An hour and a half of top-of-her-lungs screaming as she wandered in and out of the bedroom. Finally, Adam threatened, “If you don’t stay in bed, I’m going to put a gate on the door!”

Pie immediately stopped crying. “Want gate!”
Adam: You want a gate?
More screaming, but eventually, “Want gate!” More screaming ensued.

So Adam dutifully went to my office, which is gated off from grabby hands, and took the gate. He moved it to Pie and Doodles’s door. Pie took one look at the gate, one look at us, then looked at the gate again. She then walked over to her bed, climbed in, and not another peep from her.

Frankly, I think it was all a big fat ploy for them to gain easy access to my office. Because that’s just the kind of devious kids I’ve got. More power to them.

Pie loves to “draw.” Coloring, writing, whatever. Loves it. But I’m not crazy about her walking all over the house with open markers, so I generally confiscate them quickly when she’s done, which doesn’t go over so well. Luckily, she’s into her Color Wonder markers, so we’ve found a happy medium as she can keep her own markers. But this causes other problems.

Pie: Mommy, I want to color.
Me: Okay.
Pie: Where my markers?
Me: I don’t know. Where did you leave them?
Pie runs off. Comes back.
Pie: I can’t find markers.
Me: Did you look in the playroom?
Pie: Not in playroom.
Me: Are you sure? Did you check your backpack?
Pie: Yes. Not in backpack.
Me: Are you sure? Your markers usually end up in your backpack.
Pie: THEY ARE NOT IN BACKPACK!!
Me: Okay, okay. It’s just they’re usually in your backpack.
Pie: NO! Can’t find markers!!
Me: Well look again. I can help you search for them in a minute.
Pie: NO, NOW! I CAN’T FIND MARKERS! I NEED MARKERS!
Full-blown meltdown ensures. A good ten minutes of screaming, with me reminding her, “You get nothing when you have a temper tantrum” and her insisting, “I need markers!” Finally, I walk away and eventually she calms down on her own. Three minutes after that, she bounds cheerfully back into the living room.
Pie: Mommy, I found my markers!
Me: That’s great, Pie Pie! Where were they?
Pie [with grin only Pie can deliver]: In my backpack.
Oh. Dear. Lord. That’s 2 1/2. What am I going to get at 12?

On the diaper-changing table (no, that girl is nowhere near potty trained, thanks for asking):

Pie: I’m not feeling [which is Pie’s way of saying she’s not feeling well]
Me: Oh, Sweetie! What’s wrong?
Pie: I want somebody to make me feel better.
Me: Of course, Sweetie! What can I do to make you feel better?
Pie: No, not you! Somebody else.

And there were three in the bed and the little on said, “Smoosh over!”

Adam is in London at the moment, which means the kids get extra TV, extra sweets, and they get to sleep in my bed. Hey, anything to stay on their good side! It wasn’t my best night, although Doodles was such an amazingly helpful kid yesterday. Let me get work done. Helped out with his sister. But I did all sorts of brilliant things like put my pizza in the oven… and set the timer for 350. Couldn’t figure out why the oven wasn’t heating up.

So Pie went to bed last night, eventually, smack dab in the middle of the bed, “Don’t touch my pillow!” wearing her Dora pajamas, her Dora slippers, her fleece vest, her thick sweater, Doodles’s mittens (they were dry and hers were wet), clutching “Hippo the Patamus” and not one but two board books. It was a cozy night.

Of course this was only after the afternoon when I went to retrieve her from her swim class, and she looked up at me with such disdain and ordered, “Go away, Mommy! Go away.”

If only I could, Pie. I only I could.

Only three more nights till Adam was back. Which wouldn’t be quite so bad except that he hasn’t taught Doodles how to make coffee yet. Caffeine!!!!