I’m here, I’m here. I’ve got a whole bunch of saved drafts that I’ve abandoned because they’re outdated. I’m feeling a bit over my head right now. I’ve got a suitcase that needs to be unpacked just so I can repack it, Adam’s harassing me to look at closet layouts, I have a program at the synagogue that I’m running next week, I have to buy booster seats for my kids for the tour bus, the apartment has to be packed, our trip has to be packed, my son needs 18 valentines for his class, I have homework for my Hebrew class, we haven’t yet picked out tile for the back splash, the landlord is coming by on Tuesday and the apartment is disgusting, and I’m doing the only reasonable thing I could be doing right now: pouring myself a glass of wine, getting teary eyed over Chesley Sullenberger and his crew standing on the field of the Super Bowl, and baking the Ultimate Chocolate Chip Cookies, courtesy of Foodie at Fifteen. So here’s a brief hodgepodge of the saved drafts in Blogger.
1) As most of the Northeast did, we had a snow day last Wednesday. For once, I didn’t dread it. I had no work to do, the kids get along well, and it was, well, snowy out. Because I had a 5:30 a.m. boot camp class, I was a bit tired, so I set the kids up with salmonella-free chocolate peanut butter sandwiches and a stack of Legos. I lay on the couch, and took a nap. They actually let me doze, on and off, for about an hour. We read some books. I relaxed. They played on their own. It only went awry when we had a playdate that we had scheduled the previous week. I wanted the kids to get together, because they don’t know each other well (Pie is at the same school as the younger boy and she seems very fond of him), and we’ll all be going to Israel together. This family has a four-year-old boy, a six-year-old boy, and a nine-year-old girl. Perfect right?
Almost perfect. Because I don’t drive in snow. I just don’t do it. I refuse. I was about to call and cancel the playdate when I decided to play with Google Maps new feature, plotting out walking times/distances. Not too far. .8 miles. 16 minutes. Doable right? “Hey, guys! We’re going on an adventure! We’re going to walk to our playdate!”
Doodles immediately started groaning. “I don’t want to walk! I hate walking!” But Pie, in her naivete, was game. “An adventure! We’re going on an adventure!” She bravely kept this up for the first 15 minutes, when, with bright pink cheeks and the wind whipping, and snow drifts up to her knees, said, “I don’t like this!”
The 16-minute walk miraculously only took 45 minutes. Did I mention that this playdate was .8 miles… up a hill? On mostly unplowed sidewalks? And death-defying drivers careening on the streets? In snow that turned to freezing rain? I knew I had made a bad mistake with this walk, but it was too late to turn around; we were closer to the playdate’s house. Oh, the false cheer I kept up. “You guys are doing great! You’re doing so awesome! What tremendous adventurers you are! Do you guys know what adventurers get when they get home? Hot chocolate! With marshmallows. So many marshmallows. I think we’ll build you a pyramid of marshmallows! And TV! Adventurers get lots of TV. Lots and lots.” Guilt gets you nothing but hot chocolate and TV.
We made it. Soaking wet and chilled to the bone, we made it. We enter the house and I try fruitlessly to disrobe us without spewing water and ice everywhere. We come into the house and Pie, uncharacteristically, becomes clingy. She had been anxious to play with the boy, asking all week when the playdate was, so I didn’t understand her behavior. Doodles got shy and the boy his age went off on his own. I sat down to have a cup of tea and to chat with the mom, and Pie climbed up into my lap.
“Go play!” I urged her. “You love playdates!”
Pie shook her head, buried her face in my shoulder… and fell asleep. And I mean asleep. I mean snoring you could hear across the room asleep. Doodles ended up playing with the younger boy and I ended up quickly calling Adam (who was working at Panera in town, given that the apartment is too small for him to work from home) to come pick us up.
At home, Pie woke up. And why wouldn’t she? She got hot chocolate. With a pyramid of mini marshmallows. And an overdose of TV.
2) Let’s talk about clothes. Or lack thereof. Because my daughter is a nudist in a way I don’t ever recall my son being. The minute she walks into the apartment, she disappears into another room. And moments later, out she comes, sans clothes. She spends the entire afternoon (or morning or evening) naked. She dances. She plays. She colors. Naked. We do insist that underwear goes on for eating, as hands go all over the place, but other than that, the girl is naked. All the time. If you’re ever wondering what Pie is up to? Now you know. She’s naked.
Digression: Does the ad for SoBe Lifewater, with all the guys in white shirts, kind of remind you of the sperm scene in Everything You Wanted to Know About Sex *But Were Afraid to Ask?
3) Doodles has become a royal pain in the a**. No other way to describe it. He’s been moody, refusing to listen, negative on everything, greedy as all get out, and impossible to live with. Nothing funny here. Just me at my wit’s end with my normally adorable, fun-loving, cuddly son.
Bruce is on. You no longer have my attention. Gotta go, ‘cuz I was born to run….
