Indoor Swimming Pools

Some days just don't go as planned. Today is one of them.

The weekend was good but hectic with lots of running running running to get to places on time. Doodles and Pie had their last morning of hockey. Hockey ended at 10:30. Pie had a birthday party to attend at 10:30. Run run run. On Sunday, Doodles had Hebrew School at 9. Pie had an introduction to Hebrew school at 9. So Adam took them because I had a 5k race at 11, a baby shower at 11:30, and, as it turned out, Cub Scouts at 3. Run run run.

I promised a friend to run this 5k with her, to make sure she got over the finish line, which she did in fabulous style. She ran faster than I think she had anticipated and it was great. And wet. Very wet. We've got a Nor'easter going on here with, if I may, wicked winds and rain. Oy, the rain. We were soaked before we even got into the car, never mind the race. But let me tell you, the St. Paddy's Day crowd in Somerville is a dedicated one and the race was packed. And the lines for the pubs after were insane. Not that I went. Because I ran to the baby shower.

Show up at the shower, run upstairs to change my clothes. Only... I forgot a dry pair of shoes and a dry bra. So I put my lovely shirt on over my jog bra (which had been under both my shirt and my jacket), but as it was soaking wet, I soon sported what looked like two lovely milk leaks. Fun times! I spent the whole party with my hands crossed over my chest, a la a junior high girl with new breasts, until I got teased one too many times so I flipped my shirt backwards.

I got home with a whole half hour to dry off, greet my family, change my clothes and then get the boy to Scouts.

All the while, I was keeping my fingers crossed. Every Facebook status, it seems, of local folk, every message on the town's Parents e-mail list, even some e-mails on the school's PTO list, was pleading for help on how to get water out of basements. My fingers are crossed. My fingers are crossed. My fingers are crossed.

Guess what? It doesn't work. Adam is home right now trying to concoct some Rube Goldberg-style contraption to get the water out of our basement. Of course, there's not a sump pump to be found, so Adam asked his father who lives the next state over to scour the hardware stores there and to bring one to us. His father is currently searching. I won't bother keeping my fingers crossed that he'll find one. The next step is to build an ark. I swear I saw two squirrels and two raccoons waiting patiently by our back door.

But at least it's a blessed Monday, so while Adam vacuums out the basement, I can give my novel that final read over and try to get it out the door. Oh, wait! That's right. Pie has no school today. For some random conference. But she does have a room full of Polly Pockets and Groovy Girl dolls that she wants me to play with.

Good times, people. Good times.

Clean Searches

Tonight we were flipping channels, and we hit upon American Idol. Normally, it's one of the few reality shows that I don't watch. But the contestant was singing Chris Isaak's "Wicked Games," so I paused.

"This is one of those songs that I can't help but listen to, but makes me think of years that weren't necessarily the best. This song. k. d. lang's songs. What was that song? Constant... I know it wasn't Constant Contact, but that's what I keep thinking."

Adam replied, "I dunno the song at all. I don't know k. d. lang."

Which of course meant I had to grab the nearest computer and do a search on k. d. lang. "Here's the song! 'Constant Craving.' Here, I'll play it for you."

I play it for him. Doesn't really ring a bell for him. But he does say, "Oh, great. Now Amazon is going to give me a bunch of crap in my recommendations. I like a clean search on my account"

Huh?

First of all, I didn't use Amazon to search for the song. Second of all, he's worried about crap in his Amazon results? Him?? Let's look at what's in my recommended results right this very moment at 9:43 p.m.: Kidz Bop 17. Wow. Can't wait to hear that one. Clarice Bean, That's Me. Think I might join a book club to discuss that one. LeapFrog Leapster Learning Game: Batman. Leaping lizards! StarStruck. Oooh! That Christopher Wilde is soooo dreamy!

That man better hide his computer at night. Because it'll be worth it to me to wake up in the middle of the night to come do stealth searches on his computer on Amazon. I'm thinking: Selena Gomez or Martha Stewart, or, if I'm feeling particularly malicious, menstrual cups.

Clean searches. Bite me.

Whistler Wonder

Now that Pie is asleep, and Doodles is steadfastly holding out till 9 p.m., I can tell you about my last trip to Whistler. All those images of Vancouver and Whistler in the coverage of the Olympic Opening Ceremonies (not the ceremonies, mind you; we're still in the "coverage" of the opening) really make me miss the West Coast. So beautiful. I miss the mountains and the rain (yes, really, the rain) and the lack of snow (although I understand that this winter has proven Seattle to be snowy). The coverage showed the Peace Arch and I spent a lot of time, sitting in my car, looking at that Peace Arch, cursing the freakin' traffic at the border. [Quick side note: the remake of "We Are the World" is on, and save Babs and Michael Jackson, why don't I recognize half of the people singing?]

Anyway, I was in Whistler. I was on a date. With this guy I had just started dating. We went on a mountain biking weekend with a bunch of his friends. Advice to you guys: Don't go on a mountain biking date with a guy you only started dating. I wasn't sure I liked him, I wasn't sure I liked his friends, I was pretty sure I didn't like mountain biking.

I had never been mountain biking before, and now that I'm a sporty gal, I realize that what we did wasn't really mountain biking. It was flying. Down a hill. On a rented two-wheel vehicle of death. The bumpy dirt path went straight down, and I rode my brakes the entire way. Not so fun. And really not so fun when my date when flying over his handlebars, lay on the ground in a bloody mess, with two chipped front teeth. We'd been dating for about three weeks. What was I supposed to do? Be the concerned girlfriend? I wasn't sure I could call myself a girlfriend. Brush it off, like, "Hey, it's all cool"? Did I coo? Get all worked up? Talk about stress! I decided the guy wasn't worth the hassle. I didn't need a bleeder. Besides, he was arrogant as all get out. At least Whistler was beautiful and the Bellinis I drank for the first (and last) time helped numb the pain of it all.

You know what? Sometimes I still think he isn't worth the hassle. But in for a penny, in for a pound, so I guess I'll just keep him.

(Happy Valentine's Day, Adam!)

Got a Fever Burning Inside of (Not) Me

I've been getting grief from my father (hi, Peter!) for not blogging. I'm not completely sure why I'm not blogging, but I haven't. Part of it is that I am writing, just not for you. I've been working steadily away on my novel. I'm at a rough place in it at the moment, not sure if it's all gelling together. I need to just plug away at it. Part of it is also that I've lost that snark factor. Now that I have kids, I feel like I can't let my bitch out. It's one thing to alienate my friends; it's something else to alienate my kids' friends. But I go through this blogging crisis about once a year and the fact is that it's been eight years I've been doing this, which is longer than I've done almost anything else in my life. The only thing more consistent in my life is Adam, as I've been with him for almost ten years. But I've never lived in a single place for eight years. I've never had a job for eight years. Eight years is something to be reckoned with, so here I am.

And right now is my writing time. I should be working on my novel. But my darling daughter pulled the old "I'm healthy but now you can't send me to school" trick. Last night the boy was trying to get out of homework. Pie had just gotten home from a playdate and was cranky, but nothing out of the ordinary. But the boy! Oh the moaning, the groaning. "I can't do my homework! My head hurts! I'm sick!" I feel his forehead.

"You're fine," I tell him.

"Nooooo! I'm sick! Take my temperature."

Which I dutifully do. And he's a lovely 98.4. Pie is standing there. "Shall we take your temperature, too, while I'm standing here?"

She agrees and I take her temperature. 102.5. I do a double take and take her and his temperature three more times, certain something is wrong with the thermometer. But no, she's sick. Just doesn't seem like it other than a cold.

So now I'm sitting on the couch as she overdoses on TV. We started with High School Musical: "The girl with the lipstick and the sparkly shirt, who's hanging with the boy? That's who I am. What's her name? Gabriella? That's who I am. I the character of her and the person of her [meaning Vanessa Hudgens]." Now we're on to Berenstain Bears. She's anxious to go out--because of course she's had no fever all morning--but I can't in these panic-y swine flu times take her anywhere where there might be children, so she's won the TV lottery for today. Given Pie's Law of Health, she'll be chipper and happy all day, till about 5 p.m. when her fever is guaranteed to return.

In the meantime, I can leave you with just a few of the things that have been keeping me away from the blog:

Sukkah

For the first time, we built a sukkah. We have our lovely remodeled house, with an ample backyard and a place to store the sukkah in the off-season. So it was time. "What size should we get?" Adam asked me.

I looked over the Sukkah Project web site. "I think we should get the easy snap together kind."

"That's ridiculous," I was told. "It has to be made with lumber. Or else you're just cheating. What size?"

"Um, 8 by 12 should be fine."

"No, too small."

"Okay, 12 by 10."

So what does he order? 12 by 16. We need a bigger table to fill it, but it was nice as we hosted Shabbat and two kid-oriented meals in the sukkah. I'd show you pictures of Adam and Doodles building the sukkah, but somehow I've misplaced all my September photos.

Cub Scouts
Let me say off the bat that I have very mixed feelings about the Cub Scouts. I despise many of their policies and I'm not crazy about some of the skills they teach. However, Doodles was so excited to do this. A troop advertised outside of his school and he was dying to join. I nixed it, as it was not the most sensitive to Jewish scouts. The first meeting, for example, was on Rosh Hashanah. Monthly meetings are on Friday nights. Doesn't work for us and easy to say no. But then we discovered a troop (although that's the former Girl Scout in me talking; Cub Scouts are not troops, but packs) on the other side of town that was not only Jew-friendly, but populated by many kids from our synagogue. The boy is so excited. He's working his way through his Tiger book and is just about ready to earn his Bobcat badge. He needs to sell popcorn to raise money, and I'm not the selling type. But he's begging to go door-to-door to sell. We compromised as I found a friend or two willing to buy and he suited up to go to their houses. If anyone reading this would like to buy popcorn, you know where to find me.

Apple Picking

The rain finally took a long enough break to get to apple picking. We went nice and early on Columbus Day to beat the crowd. We arrive, and I go to buy the small bag to fill. "We'll fill that in no time. We need a bigger bag," Adam insists (are you seeing a theme here?). So we get the bigger bag. Only Pie loses interests and she and Adam wonder off leaving me to haul around a honking big heavy bag of apples that I still haven't used up.

Hockey

Recognize that player in the blue fleece? I got so confused when I saw her out there, given that last year, that was the boy's fleece, so I kept thinking I was looking at him. But that girl really held her own and did just great. The boy is amazing, how much he's improved since last year. Poor Adam: Doodles made the advanced beginner's group, which meets from 8:50 to 9:30 and Pie is in the beginner's group, which meets from 9:50 to 10:30, so he gets to spend his entire morning at the rink, while I'm off running. That's what you get for saying, "Oh, hockey and the early, cold hours at the rink don't bother me."

And now, now it's time to be a Mom again. To change the channel and make princess soup for Pie and to bake my next apple creation: Spiced Caramel Apple Upside Down Cake. Perhaps I'll try to sneak in a bit of noveling today. You never now.

So, yes, I'm still here. At least for the time being.

End of Summer...

The end of summer comes later for our family than most--our school system has the arcane rule that school starts the Thursday after Labor Day (and the Monday after Labor Day for kindergartners). So this year, Labor Day was as late as it can possibly be, meaning the first day of school for Doodles was one week ago and Pie didn't start start till this past Monday. (well, really Tuesday--Monday was a split session day). I actually didn't mind having the kids home. Yes, they make me insane. But I can (generally) deal. But I hate our school's system because everyone else is done with school at the year end almost a full month earlier. Our last day of school for the coming year is June 23... if there are no snow days.

At the beginning of the summer, I made a long list with the family of things we were going to do over the summer. I was sad that much of the list didn't get accomplished. I wanted to go to Portland (Maine, that is). Pie wanted to go to an art museum. Doodles wanted to do science experiments. Adam had listed kayaking and napping in the backyard.

But there was a fair amount on the list that, when I think back, we did achieve. Between Memorial Day and Labor Day we:

**went letterboxing twice--Pie really enjoyed it and the kids designed and I made their own stamps. On our second time doing it (during our camping trip--more on that later), Pie was a real trooper, dealing with missing boxes, a mom who got her lost, mosquitoes, and finally finding the box as it was beginning to get dark out.

**visited a butterfly place. True, it wasn't the one Pie originally wanted, but we went to the butterfly garden at the Museum of Science and she was pretty happy about that. We made about three or four trips to the museum this summer.

**attended a science program (Doodles) and gymnastics camp (Pie). Doodles spent a week at Club Invention, one of the coolest camps ever. He got to take apart a machine to make a new one (he created the Stopinator 3000, a device for stopping Pie when she's about to attack him), make up a new superhero, and work with a team to make a land sled. Pie tumbled and trampled and tally-ho'd through two weeks of gymnastics camp.

**saw some tall ships.

**write a novel (me). I'm about 3/4s of the way done. All I need is for school to start to finish.

**turned a boy into a fish (the boy swims! the boy swims!).

**picked raspberries.

**visited Storyland.

**had our annual 4th of July party and rode in the 4th of July bike parade.

**attend a baseball game (the Red Sox for Doodles and Adam; the Pawsocks for the entire family).

**tried out--and loved--camping. We went with Jasmine's family for a single-night camping trip. Headed out to Harold Parker State Forest, which was perfect. Close, had swimming and fishing and hiking in the campground. Nice playground. Yes, a lot of rain, but I was able to completely overdose on roasted marshmallows, so really, it was fine. The only downer was that the boy's fishing was cut short. That and the fact that Pie and I were seriously covered from head to foot with mosquito bites. The two of us scratched for two solid weeks.

**swimming time at the Res and at the pools friends invited us to, ran some races (okay, just me, but I ran about six of them), had invention time with boxes and recycled materials, bike riding time in the street, playdates and games and books and general fun.

So that's it. Time to put summer to a close. The weather has turned distinctly fall like. On a walk this morning, Pie started picking up bright red leaves. I'm preparing for our Rosh Hashanah dinners and we've just received our Sukkot kit to build our very own sukkah for the first time.

Onward to fall. L'shana tova!

The Great Sock Debate

Let's get something clear: Socks are an optional piece of clothing. If you need to go without them, then go without them. It's not like pants, in which case one might find oneself arrested for going without. Socks? Eh. Who needs them?

In what case might one need to go without socks? Let's think of one scenario:

Tuesday was a long, long day. It involved raspberry picking with one child who hates all forms of fruit. It involved a playground trip with children who suddenly decided that it was more fun to hang on mom and whine about snacks. It involved a trip to Whole Foods that was half miserable. It involved not one, but two playdates at our house. It involved a "meet the class" playground trip in which my son refused to meet a single new person. It involved children who didn't want to get into car seats, eat dinner, and who in the process lost their shows. It involved everyone going to sleep, but being woken up at 3:45 a.m. by a false fire alarm. It involved knowing that we have one more day to get through till the big one starts first grade. It involved knowing there are still six more days to get through till the little one starts preschool. It involved Adam going to D.C. for a day trip on Wednesday with a 7:45 a.m. flight that gets back home at 10 p.

Knowing all this, at 5:34 in the morning, would you go back into the room where your wife, son, and daughter were actually sleeping to retrieve a pair of socks that you had forgotten, risking waking up the entire family just before skipping town? No. Of course not. What sane person would?

Ahem.

Oddness

If someone said, "This is going to freak you out," and then came at you with a green pepper and said, "Squeeze it. No, I mean, it squeeze it. SQUEEZE IT!" would you squeeze it? I didn't think so.

I still don't know what Adam wanted with that green pepper. But I'm going to have nightmares tonight.

Really? Really?

Adam: That camp picture of Doodles is so typical.
Me: What?
Adam: The camp picture. Didn't you see the camp picture he brought home?
Me: His bunk picture?
Adam: Yeah.
Me: Um, what about it?
Adam: Doodles is the only kid not looking at the camera.
Me: Excuse me?
Adam: Didn't you see? Doodles is looking the other way.
Me: In the bunk picture?
Adam: Yeah. It's classic.
Me: Um, Adam?
Adam: Yeah?
Me: Are you sure?
Adam: Didn't you see the picture? He's looking sideways!
Me: I saw the picture. Doodles isn't in it.
Adam: What do you mean?
Me: We had to preorder the pictures. But Doodles was sick the day they took the bunk pictures. He's not in it.
Adam: Oh. Huh. I thought it was him.

Hah-vahd Revisited

How to begin? It was Hah-vahd weekend for Adam as MBAs crawled out of their holes from all over the world to descend upon Allston for reunion weekend. I tried putting on my nice face, but apparently it didn't work very well, as I did get in a wee bit of trouble: Apparently Twittering through the section event was apparently not the way to make new friends. But since that was what I was up to anyway, here were a few of my observations:

# I'm paying $15 an hour for a kid-free night. That damn well be a midget over there.7:22 PM May 29th from web

# Adam keeps looking at me like I'm supposed to mingle. Sorry, babe. Mingling costs extra.7:36 PM May 29th

# Adam is trying to explain why the lecture "why smart people don't change" was so brilliant. Let's all pat our own backs here. Riiiiight.8:41 PM May 29th

# People are already talking about their second marriages. HBS knows how to breed them. 9:48 PM May 29th

# This thing is supposed to end in 8 minutes and I still haven't gotten my freakin' cake. MBA efficiency, my ass.9:52 PM May 29th

Anyway, it was highly suggested that I have an attitude readjustment for Saturday, and I did my best to comply. In my defense, Friday night's activity was not set up well--too small a space, too short an open bar, too mediocre food, and too many people I didn't remember (wait, does it count as not remembering if you've repressed the memories?). Luckily, I wasn't the only one who behaved badly, but since I'm attempting to be nice here, I'll skate over other peoples' rudeness. I'm nice like that. I will give some folks credit though: After all these years, people finally got my name right. Jenny Brown. Jenny Medros is a figment of MBAs' imaginations (yes, I'm giving them enough credit to assume they have imaginations--I told you, I'm being nice here).

Saturday's day event was fine--the kids' area was okay, although whoever thought that turkey, cheese, lettuce, and raspberry mayo on a sun-dried tomato wrap was a good lunch for kids, obviously never met my kids. The grown-up lunch's mac & cheese and bread was much more kid satisfying. The kids did a fabulous job behaving, even through the section's trip down memory lane (Doodles loved the slide show and now apparently thinks that business school is filled with guys dressed as women). They were amused to be sitting at the same desks that Daddy sat at, and bribing them with gum to keep quiet worked pretty well. The presentation brought up some sore memories (I still can't believe Adam didn't vote for me as a "better half") but also some fun times and surprise, surprise, they even poked fun of me for this wee, little, harmless blog.

The gala on Saturday was actually quite nice. Because of the economy, the event was downsized so instead of a black-tie gala, it was a cocktail-attire gala. I'm still not completely sure what the distinction is there, but apparently to someone, there is one.

Walking in was a bit odd because the halls were lined with security guys. Seriously, we passed four of them before we even entered the event. We couldn't figure out who was coming who warranted this. Turns out... it was us. Signs at the bar read, "No shots, no straight-up drinks, only one drink per guest at a time."

Apparently, at last year's reunion, the MBAs got loaded and there were actual brawls. A beer bottle over a head. A couple battling it out when he thought she was flirting too much. A bit of blow going on in the corner. Way to go class of '03!! I think I might have had more fun had Adam started just a year earlier.

But the food was fabulous, the views were great, and I got to talk to almost everyone I wanted to talk to (Meg, if you read this, I searched for you! I was bummed I never found you). We had friends staying with us and that was fun. Kevin and Shannan were two of my HBS favorites, and Shannan was absolutely my partner in crime at the reunion and we had a--gasp!--good time.

Of course, there were a few revelations this weekend. A marriage ended here. Jobs changed there. And the biggest, most horrifying revelation of all: As I was telling Shannan how I love my new remodel, but I'm starting to take it for granted; as I mentioned that I just don't do crumbs, that's what a house cleaner is for; as I mentioned how nice it is being home with the kids and that I've been managing to have dinner on the table for the whole family at 6:30 every night, it dawned on me.... Of all the CWITs (corporate wives in training) of our HBS years, I am the winner of the Corporate Wife Extraordinaire award. What? Really? Moi?

Dah-ling. It's quite an honor. I'll tell you all about it. Let's chat over martinis and manicures. Your Black Card or mine?

'Til the 10 year in 2014! Ta ta!

Family Randomness

(All of this is from last Friday)

Pie had pizza, salad, and a whoopie pie last night. Oddly enough, it was apparently the salad that gave her a stomach ache.

***

I have my own name plate and name tag for Adam's HBS 5 year reunion, in case I want to go to any academic presentations. The boy came in this morning wearing my name tag. "Monkey boy," he said to me, "you need to get ready for school!"

"Huh?" I said.

"Look," he said, pointing to his tag. "I'm Jenny Brown. Get ready for school!"

I laughed. "You, Mom, need to go drink your smoothie!"

He smiled sweetly and said to me, "Sorry, but you can't direct me, honey!"

***

Adam took twenty minutes to decide what to wear to the reunion academic presentations today. "Can I wear jeans? Kevin's dressed nicer. I should dress nicer. Should I wear khakis? I guess I'll wear khakis. I feel so funny wearing khakis these days. Maybe I should wear nice jeans? I'll wear the khakis." He puts on the khakis and a blue-and-white shirt. "Maybe I'll wear this tonight," he says, at which point I told him I had enough and he wasn't wearing a blue shirt and khakis to a friggin' cocktail party if I had to wear a freakin' cocktail dress. And then he told me to chill. And then I reminded him that all these events are optional for me and he quickly backed down.

***

Doodles announced that he wanted to go to the hardware store.

Me: What for?
Doodles: I need stuff for my invention.
Me: What do you need.
Doodles: Just plastic and wood.
Me: Nothing else?
Doodles: That's it.
Me: Do you have a plan for what you want to build?
Doodles: It's all in my head.
Me: What is it?
Doodles: I'm going to build something special! It's going to be a babysitting machine! And I'm going to make robots and they'll watch the kids. And then I'm going to make these helicopters the robots will use!
Me: Oh?
Doodles: Yeah! So can we go get my wood and plastic now?

Oh, Pork You!

This link here is just for Adam. See, I think about you!

Early Morning Ramblings

Adam swears this actually happened this morning. I'm a little dubious of it, but he insists:

Doodles and Pie were dancing when Doodles announced: "You can find more music on DoodlesandPie.com. And you can order us online for birthday parties and shows."

Of course, while I was sitting in my office typing this, I heard a terrible moan and an "OH NO!" come from the kitchen.

"What's wrong?!" I asked,prepared to leap up to get bandages, call a plumber, or do whatever it is that warranted such an "OH NO!"

"We're out of coffee filters!!" A moment's pause. A big sigh of relief. "It's okay! It's okay! We have that gold one! Thank god. I just saw my life passing before me for a moment."

Too much coffee? Too much computer talk? Too much too much? Might be time for a cupcake. Yes, there are still some left.

Praise Lord!

Our cable company went digital and we got about a zillion new channels, most of them completely worthless. There has never been so much nothing on TV. But... we've had the return of one channel that I'm in enthralled with and that Adam is completely horrified by. This is saying a lot. That man has watched Bridezilla. He's sat through The L Word. He's even been known to put up with Tori and Dean. But I've found his limits. And it's going to cause problems. Because I can't seem to avert my eyes from...

TBN. I don't know what it is! TBN got me through grad school. I'd procrastinate for hours on end by watching it. Something about Evangelical Christians just sucks me in. The other night there was a show hosted by Kirk Cameron (of my beloved Growing Pains), and he was teaching us how we should be witnessing to complete strangers. He had this great analogy: If you saw an elevator plunging, and you noticed that at the bottom there was a gap, and in that gap children were playing, wouldn't you run and save the kids? You wouldn't stop and say, "Wait! They look like they're having fun. And I don't know them! Who am I to ruin their fun?" No, you'd save those kids! So why would you not save the world? Because you don't know them? Because they're having fun? According to Kirk, friends don't let friends go to hell.

They get me! I'm hooked! I'll witness! I'll send in my five dollars! But then it hits me. Oh right. I'm Jewish. Jesus does nothing for me. Damn! (Which, apparently, I am!)

Anyway, I find it fascinating. And Adam? Not so much. He's trying to figure out how to disable the channel. But there's no way to do that without also disabling NESN. And that's not going to happen. Ah. What can I say? The lord works in mysterious ways.

Foggy Head

I have this evil cold that was given to me by my dear, darling children. Of course, they get a cold and keep running. I get a cold and I want to bury myself beneath a pile of blankets in my over-A.C.'d house, with a stack of magazines and a big bowl of chicken soup. So, because I don't have an original thought in my head right now, other than, "Nyquil! Now!" here's a little wrap for you of the past couple of weeks.

Our vacation: Did you know we went away? No, you didn't because I oh-so-cleverly scheduled a post for while we were gone, just to keep you entertained (wasn't that nice of me?). We took our third--and final (boo hoo!)--trip to the Wildflower Inn in Lyndonville, Vermont. It was as heavenly as ever and the kids loved going to "camp," Adam and I loved having alone time, and it was nice to escape computers and work and room parent assignments and all that other good stuff. This is only our last year because the program we go to is for babies, toddlers, and preschoolers. And we'll have but one preschooler next year.

The highlight for Pie was definitely her counselors. Oh, she found one who she fell in love with. Pie came back to the room on Tuesday afternoon.


Pie: I asked my counselor to paint my nails.
Me: What did she say?
Pie: She said, no. She said, ask your mommy.
Me: Does your mommy let you paint your nails?
Pie: No.
Me: When does Mommy say you can paint your nails?
Pie: When I'm three.
Me: And how old are you?
Pie: Two.
Me: Right, two. So no painting nails.

Of course, Miss Thang comes back very proudly from dinner, showing off bright purple-y nails.


Pie: Mommy, look!!
Me: What did Mommy say about painting your nails?
Pie: Mommy said no.
Me: And what did you tell your counselors?
Pie, with absolute innocent glee: I told them YES!

How could I get angry with that joy? We had a little to-do today when I went to paint her (toe)nails for the 4th of July. But I'm talking about the relaxation of vacation, so we'll just not go there now. And it was relaxing: swimming, kayaking, massage, dinner sans kids, hiking, hot tub, swimming, batting cages (for Adam and Doodles), goofing off on the tennis court (for me and Pie), drinking, and a general good time was had by all.

Boot camp: Ever done anything like say, oh, skiing, and there's some person who has the top-of-the-line everything--the professional goggles, the killer skiis, the aerodynamic skiing outfit--but is clearly a completely novice who doesn't know he should point his skis down the hill? That was me, today. Boot camp went on a bike ride and I still had all my gear from back when I biked almost seriously. Back when riding was something I spent entire weekend days on; when I rode to work, from work, and then tossed in an extra ride at the end of the day just for good measure; back when I had money to burn and a Bianchi road bike.

I still have all that stuff. But do I have the biking body that I did in 2002, which as far as I can tell, was the last time I was on a bike? Again, let's not go there. A friend was kind enough to do a tune-up for me on my hybrid (no way was I going with the clipless pedals of my road bike), but I showed up in my little biking shorts and my cute purple biking jersey. Thank goodness I left the fingerless gloves and groovy glasses at home. Because, man, are they wrong. You can totally forget how to ride a bike. "Wait, wait!" I kept asking. "I don't remember! The bigger gear for going up the hills? Or down?" It was humiliating. But fun. And who knows? Maybe I'll start biking again. Once I remember definitively what the big gear is for.

Movies: I've been working my way through the suggestions everyone gave me for flicks to watch (still open to more! Always welcome a good movie recommendation). But I want to give a particular shout-out to Lionness, because a movie she suggested, The Bubble, is one of the most thought-provoking movies I've ever seen.

My birthday: Adam outdid himself. I didn't think he could do it, but he did. Got me my own personalized bowling shirt. Had my sister come up to surprise me. Arranged for his brother to babysit. Rented a limo "happy bus." Stocked it with friends and beer and champagne. Took us all to Jamaica Plain for bowling and food and booze and cake at the Milky Way. And you know what? For once, I don't have a single snarky thing to say. It was perfect.

And with that, I'm off to find the Nyquil. Ah, happy Nyquil. How I missed you all those years. Welcome home.

Morning Brain

[Note: I've been toying with the idea of updating more, instead of just on Wednesdays. I'll give it a try, see how that goes.]

Adam went to Philly for a wedding yesterday morning. He's to fly back this morning. There was concern about him drinking and having fun all night and then making his early morning flight, so as I was lying in bed (with the two munchkins), I gave him a call at 6:25 a.m. to see how he was doing. [And in all fairness, this is the gist of the conversation, not the exact conversation, as we all have colds over here and I was half asleep.]

Me: So, you going to make your flight okay?
Adam: I'm answering the phone, aren't I?
Me: What do you mean?
Adam: I mean, I'm obviously not on my plane.
Me: Did you miss it?!?
Adam: No, it was delayed. But that's clear if you could reach me.
Me: What do you mean?
Adam: Well, if I had left on time, I'd be on the plane.
Me: Your flight leaves at 6:45.
Adam: No. It was a 5:45 flight.
Me: No, pretty sure it's at 6:45.
Adam shuffles around looking for his ticket. Silence a moment.
Adam: Oh. Your right. 6:45. Huh. Guess I got up an hour early.
Me: So you were at the airport in time for a 5:45 flight?
Adam: Yeah. But, still, it is delayed!

And indeed it is. I just checked. His 6:45 flight left at 6:55. Darn that cruel Delta!

No Comment

Looking at a web site, Adam saw a shirt that read, "Speech impediments are thexthy." He laughed. "I want that shirt," he said. Then he reconsidered. "Nah. I can't get away with that kind of thing anymore."

Anymore? Uh, that's just too easy, so I'll let it go...

Speak and He'll Snore

Adam swears he listens to me. And yet he gives me ample proof that he's not. Then he demands, "You never told me that!" Uh, yes I did!

For instance, last night, I call Adam as I'm entering the store with the kids:
Me: Hi. I'm at Whole Foods. I'm not sure what we're having for dinner.
Adam: Did you want me to pick something up?
[Me, thinking, yeah, why don't you stop at Whole Foods and get something.]

And then, there's the infamous, "I'm not asleep!" I get from him pretty much every night when he, hey! falls asleep in his chair. We (and by "we" I mean "me" because clearly I was the only one awake) are watching BBC World News and it's talking about the U.S. presidential election. I'm trying to have a conversation with my husband about current events, but his eyes keep shutting ("I'm just resting them!")

Me: Do you still think John McCain is a little soft in the head?
Adam: Yeah. I heard him speak once in a small crowd and he really rambled a lot.
Me: Who was the wacky admiral who ran for vice president?
Adam: I have no idea who you're talking aobut.
Me: Did he run with Mondale?
Adam: I highly doubt Geraldine Ferraro was an admiral.
Me: Oh, yeah, right.

As I always do, I called my personal political pundit for clarification on this and a few other issues (in other words, Tweeds, professor extraordinaire in the political sciences). Tweeds gives me the answers I'm looking for ("He ran as Ross Perot's running mate; England still calls it Burma because they don't recognize the government that named it that. We don't either, but we still for some reason call it Myanmar; John McCain is soft in the head.") and I report back. Of course, by now those resting eyes are deep in REM, despite my husband's protests to the contrary.

Me: Did you know it was a Republican who named him Senator Hothead. Tweeds told me that one time, he was with his wife in front of reporters and she ran her fingers-- [I hear snoring coming from a certain direction]Are you listening to me?
Adam: Yes!
I look at him skeptically. Finally, I ask: What did I just say?
Adam finally opens his eyes. He responds: You said... Um... wait. I had it!

And he wonders why I always end up talking to strangers in the supermarket. It's because they LISTEN!

System Failure

Hey, you! What are you doing here? Are you just trying to distract me. People, I have THINGS to do!

Okay, deep breath. Those of you who know me, know I'm a fairly organized person. I have binders. They're labeled. They're color coded. They're pretty. Adam just went to the accountant to do our taxes. The accountant said we are the most organized folk he's ever seen. I have systems and techniques and methods for staying on top of things. I have charts. Being type-A makes me happy. Nothing is more satisfying to me than purging the crap from my life. Did you know that I've not only made four batches of hamantaschen at home, but I, somewhat successfully, managed to eke out a few dozen batches with a class of nine toddlers and then a class of twelve preschoolers. And I make freakin' good hamantaschen. (My recipe comes from The New Jewish Holiday Cookbook, which is amazing!) Is it because I'm a good cook? Nah. I'm really not. It's because I'm organized!

So how is it that it's now 8:29 p.m. and at 4:30 tomorrow my son is to be dressed as King Ahasuerus and I have nary a king's robe nor scepter in sight. Yes, that's right. I've got nothing! Nada. Or, to be somewhat holiday appropriate, Klum. Purim, the most joyous of Jewish holidays, is gonna be a tear-fest for one of us.

How did this come about? I'd like to blame the Y chromosome. Because the X chromosomed of this family are all set for tomorrow.

If you recall, Doodles was an astronaut for Halloween. A lovely idea but a less than lovely costume. I ordered it online, and the helmet was this rolled up piece of plastic that supposedly attached by Velcro to an inflatable backpack. Except the Velcro never stuck and I was worried he was going to suffocate behind all that plastic. It's not a practical costume, certainly not if part of your Purim festivities include a "festive meal," which ours certainly does.

Exactly a week ago, on the way to feeding group, we passed by a party store that advertised "Purim Costumes." We stopped off.
Me: What do you want to be?
Doodles: I don't know.
He flips through the racks.
Doodles: Oooh! I want to be this!
He found a Power Rangers costume. I'm not crazy about Power Rangers, but I look nonetheless.
Me: It's a size eight to ten.
Doodles: Will that fit?
Me: No. You're a size 4T. Sort of. [Note: Doodles is still small. Very, very small. Truth be told, there are probably some 2T costumes he could comfortably fit in.]
Doodles: How about this knight?
Me: Nope. I'm not sending you to school with a sword. Hey [pointing to a 2T to 4T sized king's outfit]. How about King Ahasuerus?
Doodles: No. I think I want to be Superman.
Me: King Ahasuerus is a pretty cool costume.
Doodles: No, Superman. Maybe Spiderman.
Me: [Sigh] Okay, well they don't have any of those in your size. We'll have to check another store.

We leave the store.

Over the weekend, we're pretty busy. In my oh-so-organized way, I take my son to a Shabbat service, co-chair a tot Purim program, take my son to a birthday party, and color Easter eggs with friends. I mention to my son that we need to go to the party store to look for his costume.

Me: Superman, right?
Doodles: No! I'm going to be King Ahasuerus. Remember?
Me: WHAT?! I thought you wanted to be Superman!?!
Doodles, sighing heavily: No, mom! I want to be King Ahasuerus!

On Monday, I tell Adam, "Listen, I need you to go by that party store [it's absolutely, completely, totally, can't miss it, on the way home from work for him] and get Doodles his costume." Adam, of course, replies, "Yeah, sure." Adam, of course, neglects to stop by the party store.

I contemplate making the outfit, but invariably, I'd end up spending about five times more on materials for a less-than-satisfying costume than if I had just bought the damn thing.

So today, on our way back to feeding group, we stop at the party store. Where they have one king costume left. Size 12 to 14.

Me: Doodles, they don't have your king costume.
Doodles: Okay. We'll get it somewhere else. Hey, Pie!
Pie: Yeah?
Doodles: Pie, why don't you go as Queen Esther.
Me: Doodles, hush up! Pie has already decided to go as Pooh [a costume that our neighbors gave us a long time ago as dress up and is sitting in our basement just waiting for Purim.]
Doodles: No, Pie wants to be Queen Esther. Look at the pretty Queen Esther costumes!
Me: Doodles!
Doodles: Pie, don't you want to be Queen Esther?
Pie: I'm going to be Pooh.
Doodles: But look how pretty Queen Esther is.
Pie: Yeah. Pie going to be Queen Esther.
Doodles: See!!! She wants to be Queen Esther.

I dragged them out of that store as fast as I could. I told Adam we needed a king costume and he had to stop by a different party store. "Oh yeah. Didn't you tell me to do that earlier in the week?" ARG!! "I can swing by on the way home." When I tell him the store in his neighborhood is all sold out, he has the nerve--the freakin' nerve!!--to say to me, "Well, what did you expect? It's across the street from a synagogue." Little does he know that the wine I served him tonight is poisoned.

So, anyway, here we are, now 8:50 p.m., and I have nothing. Nada. Klum. Did I mention that before? I wonder if I can convince Doodles that there's a ghost in the Book of Esther. A plain ghost. Made out of a sheet. A green sheet. Because, you know, we don't have any white sheets.

Purim freakin' Sameach, people. Happy freakin' Purim. Good thing I'm supposed to get drunk.

Sleepy Heads

We had a very busy couple of weeks. The weekend before the last was of course Hanukkah, filled with all the joy that is Hanukkah as well as all the smelly-house latke-old-oil fun, too-many-pieces-of-Hanukkah-gelt and it's-time-for-the-kids-to-go-to-bed fun, spending-way-too-much-on-gifts-fun, and oy-what-a-mess fun. In the course of one weekend, I hosted a lunch for my in-laws for Adam's birthday, attended two Hanukkah parties, and threw a Hanukkah open house. The next night was Adam's work event. Two nights later was the aforementioned night of kindergarten information, a day which started with a 5:30 a.m. boot camp class and ended with me running from the kindergarten information night to my b'nai mitzvah class, meaning I fell into bed about eleven. Of course there are holiday cards to mail and school events to help organize (remind me again why I signed on as room parent?), and general mishegas to deal with. Adam has been working a bunch, and he's been just as exhausted as I am.

Enter last Thursday. I'm beat. Adam's beat. We're ready for a bit of relaxation. But Thursday was predicted a storm--a biggie--and I was determined to be ready. This was already our second snow storm of the season--the kids have already had one snow day already--so Pie and I ran a zillion errands in the morning (including one where I asked Adam, "What's that L.L. Bean bag sitting in your car?" and he replied, "Oh, that? Remember about a year ago I bought that sweater I wasn't sure I liked? It's been sitting there so I can return it. Here, wait, take a look at it. Do you think I'd ever wear it?" That sweater was returned). We got gas for the car. We rented DVDs for grown-ups and kids. We bought food for both nourishment and for festivity. We picked up things that we were low on at the drug store. "Bring it on!" I said. "We are prepared!"

I got Doodles home after preschool and sure enough, shortly after, the snow began to fall. And fall. And fall. Adam left his office at 1:42 p.m. for the 20-minute commute home... and he arrived at 4:50 p.m. Late in the day, I plopped the kids in front of a video, donned my snow gear, and began to shovel. I shoveled a nice path for Adam to get his car into, cleared the front walk. I'm feeling macho, as I toss that snow away. I shovel until Adam comes home at which point, Adam joins me for a bit of shoveling. All told, I shoveled for about an hour and a half, and by the time I fed the kids and put them to bed, the walks needed shoveling again.

Adam and I had a generally relaxing night. Finished watching The Sopranos. Had a nice dinner. I worked on holiday cards while Adam fell asleep in the chair. We stumbled into bed, both of us pretty exhausted.

In the middle of the night, Doodles, as he is wont to do, stumbled his way into our bed. The next morning, I could feel him stirring, and I looked up and saw it was 6:30. I looked out the window and could see lots and lots of white. Doodles hopped out of bed. Adam stirred for a moment, said, "I'll be up in a sec," and then passed out. Doodles and I got dressed as quickly and quietly as we could and we headed out into the snow. Shovels in hand, we began to dig. And dig. And dig. Doodles quickly bored of the task (remember the song from Free to Be You and Me, "Helping" by Tom Smothers? "Some kind of help is the kind of help, that helping's all about! And some kind of help is the kind of help, we all can do without. Want to guess what Doodles's shoveling was like? "No, Doodles, please! Don't put snow on the area I just took snow away from!"), so he played in the snow and then went inside.

I cleared so much damn snow. At one point, I stuck my head inside and asked Doodles to read me the numbers off the clock. He said, "Um, seven. Four. Three." The night before, on his mega-commute home, Adam's Check Engine light went on. So I told Doodles, "Go wake Daddy and tell him if he needs to bring his car in, he should get up now."

Doodles wakes Adam up and everyone quickly gets ready for school and work. Adam gets out the door by about 8:20. But he's in a mood! He's harrumphing and snipping. Nothing's going his way. Finally, I say to him, "Why the hell are you so grumpy?"

And what do you think my Dartmouth- and Harvard-educated brilliant husband answered? What did he dare to say to me? He replied, "I got too much sleep last night."

I don't think there's a jury in this country that would convict me for murdering him.

And the Award for Worst Mother Ever Goes To...

The Pie, she's a screamer. She was a screamer as a baby when she wanted to feed three times a night. Dr. Ferber cured her of that. For about a month. Now, at almost 2 and 1/4, she's still a screamer. Only now she has a litany of requests.

Anyone who's read this blog long enough (which I think is just my dad), remembers BATNA. It's the Best Alternative to Negotiated Agreement (we used it when car shopping in the years pre-Doodle). BATNA is a concept I had a little difficulty grasping at first, but as Adam pointed out, when it comes to sleep, Pie understands BATNA better than anybody.

First thing you need to understand is how many things Pie has in her crib. Every night there's an inventory. This is a typical night:

7:30 p.m.
Pie: Where's hippo?
Adam: Hippo's right here. Pumpkin bear is here. Pumpkin is here. And look, here's Hello Kitty.
Pie: Trains! I need trains!
Adam goes to get two trains that for some unfathomable reason were actually returned to the train table.
Adam: Here you go. Two trains.
Pie: Water!!
Adam: Your sippy is right here.
Pie: Where my books?
Adam: Here's your animal book. And here's your truck book.
Satisfied, Pie lays down and yells to Adam: Blanket!
He places the blanket on her and can leave.

7:40 p.m.
Pie: Daddy! Daddy! Daddy, I need potty! Daddy, I need potty.
Adam looks at me: Do I fall for it?
I shrug. Pie is still in diapers, but she's been going on the potty about twice a day.
Adam sighs, gives in and gets her. Pie sits on the potty, pleased as punch. After a minute, she pees.
Pie: I peed on potty! [She starts singing the potty song to herself, sung to the tune of "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow"]: Pie peed on the potty, Pie peed on the potty, Pie peed on the potty 'cause she's a great big girl.
Pie goes back to bed.

7:47 p.m.
Pie: Daddy! Daddy! Poop on potty! I need poop on potty.
I look at Adam and shake my head.
Me: Don't fall for this one. That never happens at night.
After 15 minutes Pie falls back to sleep.

12:45 a.m.
Pie: Daddy! Daddy! Put blanket on, Daddy! Daddy!
Adam enters and puts on her blanket. Leaves. Closes door.
Pie: Daddy! Close door! Close door!
Adam opens the door.
Adam: Sweetie, the door is closed.
Pie: Okay

2:45
Pie: Daddy! Daddy! Daddy, I need Daddy!
Adam: What is it, Pie?
Pie: Shma! Say Shma! [The Shma is Pie's bedtime prayer, which is said, surprisingly, at bedtime]
Adam: I already said the Shma. Go to sleep, Pie.
Pie: Daddy, change diaper!
Adam: Your diaper is fine. Good night, Pie.
Adam leaves and closes door.
Pie: Daddy! Close door! Close door!
Adam opens the door.
Adam: Sweetie, the door is closed.
Pie: Okay

These nights aren't great. But they are better than the nights when we have these conversations:

12:45 a.m.
Pie: Daddy! Daddy! Put blanket on, Daddy! Daddy!
Adam enters and puts on her blanket.
Pie kicks off blanket, becomes more hysterical and makes the same demand.
Pie: Daddy! Daddy! Put blanket on, Daddy! Daddy!
Lather, rinse, repeat until Pie is standing in her crib, jumping up and down inconsolable. We go through stages where this kind of thing lasts for a day or two and then we go back to reasonable Pie. During the unreasonable Pie stage, there's absolutely nothing you can do for her but let her cry. Going in just exacerbates the situation.

During these stages, we just hope she doesn't wake up her brother (who often sleeps through it). If he does wake up, he just comes into our bed, which is somewhat of a relief because then I can stop worrying that she'll wake him up. Backward thinking, I know, but it's the way my mind works.

Okay, so fast forward to last night. Adam is in Orlando for work, which means I'm on kid duty 24/7. For what it's worth, she said her mouth hurt in the back and when I stuck a finger in, sure enough I felt a little molar starting to poke through. Before bed, I give her some Motrin. She actually goes down with no complaints, which I find odd, but choose not to question. When Adam's out of town, I just put Doodles in our bed by default. It makes bedtime easier all around and he's willing to go to bed on the earlyish side when he's in our bed.

Now, Adam and I have different nighttime philosophies. My philosophy is that she who cries, will eventually stop crying and go back to sleep. So when Pie started crying at 2:45 a.m., I did the only reasonable thing--I partially closed my door and stuck my head under the pillow. She just hollered for her father. By 3:05 she stopped. By 3:20 she was crying again. By 3:43 she had stopped. By 3:53 she was crying again. I took my head out from under the pillow but couldn't understand what she was saying.

At close to 4:30 a.m. I went into her room cautiously. She immediately sat up and stopped crying. I heard a rather odd noise. In a most reasonable voice, she said, "Train!"

As I got closer I noticed that one of the trains she had was a motorized one. And it was on. And it was stuck in her hair. The wheels had been set into motion and had wound it's way around her hair and was now stuck. It wasn't painful--no pulling involved--but Pie definitely had a train stuck to her head. I tried to remove it, but couldn't.

Me: Hold on, Pie. I need to get a scissors.
Got the scissors, cut it out.
Me: Lay down, Pie.
She complies.
Pie: Blanket! Blanket! Blanket!
I put the blanket on, but she pushes it off.
Pie: Need train! Need train!
Me: That train has your hair in it.
Pie, beginning to get hysterical: Need train!!
I get her another train. She lies back down.
Pie: Blanket!!!
I put her blanket on, I leave, and close the door.
Pie: Close door! Close door!
I open the door.
Me: Sweetie, the door is closed.
Pie: Okay

She falls back asleep till 7 a.m.

The next morning we're talking to Adam in Orlando and I tell him a train got stuck in Pie's hair. He said, in his biggest duh voice: We'll I never giver her motorized trains in bed.

Gee, thanks. You think you could have told me this before you left town?