I’m blogging on Adam’s computer. His work computer. Apparently. Although I don’t get it. I called him because I couldn’t figure out how to turn the computer on (yes, I know. I won’t even go there). I was hitting some button but nothing was happening (turns out it was the WiFi switch. Not the power button):
Me: How do you turn on your computer?
Adam: My computer?
Me: Yeah.
Adam: What about your computer?
Me: I’ve given up on my computer. It’s slow and the WiFi goes in an out [and let’s be frank–it’s upstairs and I’m downstairs].
Adam: Okay, but it’s my work computer.
Me: Your work computer?
Adam: Yeah.
Me: How is that possible?
Adam: What do you mean?
Me: I mean I’m here. Your computer is here. You’re at work. You have a computer there. How is this your work computer?
Adam: It’s my work computer. For home. My home work computer.
Uh… okay. Whatever. I don’t buy it, but if that’s how he wants to play it, let me just say that this post is being brought to you by TripAdvisor.
I’m relaxing at the moment as my kids–somehow–play quietly on their own. We’re on day 16 (okay, that’s a guess, I lost count) of bad weather. I know the quiet won’t last long, but for the second is good. I just had a long protracted “explaining” session with the boy (don’t know how else to refer to it). It was one of those really roundabout things, too.
For my birthday last week, I received a bounty of goodness, including Carrie Fisher’s book Wishful Drinking, which I’m thoroughly enjoying. Reading it, though, made me realize that my music collection is lacking in Paul Simon’s earlier music, so I downloaded The Essential Paul Simon, which I’m currently listening, too. (Ah, “Kodachrome!” Will the song go the way of the film? First Polaroid, now Kodachrome.) Doodles complained about having to listen. “This isn’t my kind of music. Can you please put on the Beastie Boys?”
Pie was into it, and the two of us were dancing in the kitchen to “Late in the Evening.” I said to the boy, “You’ll like this song. It’s about boys getting into trouble!” His eyes widened as I put on “Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard.”
“What are they getting in trouble for?” he asked, fascinated. “Are they going to jail?”
“Just in the song. Um, I think they’re getting in trouble for smoking.”
“You can go to jail for smoking?”
“For smoking drugs.” But then I wasn’t sure, so I looked up the song and Wikipedia came to the rescue. Turns out the song is most likely about an arrest during an antiwar rally on a college campus. Which lead to “What’s a campus” which lead into “What’s an antiwar rally” which lead into “What’s Vietnam” which then finally ended up at “What started the Vietnam war?” At that point I used a lifeline and called my father to explain it to him. I did attempt diplomacy, because while both my parents were antiwar, Doodles’s grandfather on the other side actually fought in Vietnam.
So there you go. Reading Carrie Fisher can lead to the Vietnam War.
I’m enjoying this quiet. Yesterday was a bit hectic. Both kids had morning playdates. Doodles’s went well, and Pie’s eventually went okay, but there seemed to be a bit of confusion: Pie, the girl’s mother, and myself all thought it was a drop-off playdate. No one, however, told the girl and she asked every few minutes when her mom was coming. 
The kids started playing exactly seven minutes before the mom came to pick the girl up. I really want to make a dig at the mom here, because I know she reads this (Hi, D!), but my mind is filled with Paul Simon and I’m not coming up with anything clever.
I was in uber-haus frau mode yesterday and I used up a batch of overripe bananas to make yummy strawberry-banana mini muffins. Only my boy and Pie’s playdate don’t like strawberries. So I made a second batch of banana mini muffins. And in a rare show of generosity, I spiked those muffins with a plethora of chocolate chips. Am I a cool mom or what? Of course the answer is “or what,” as my son took one bite and announced, “I don’t think I like chocolate anymore.” Anyone want 48 chocolate-chip banana mini muffins?
To continue the haus frau theme of the day, I have a collection of fat quarters, which are large squares of cloth. At Pie’s request (who by the way, has been calling me “Jenny” for months now, but in the past week or so has started calling me “Gin-tay”) I made her a headband. But when I went to try it on her, she threw it across the room in a fit of something. She’s been in a throwing mood lately.
So after a quick errand, I stripped the kids and let them loose with fabric paints. Doodles thought it was “boring” and he wasn’t going to do it, but of course the minute Pie started, he was all over it. I made one for Adam and the kids spent about an hour working on their masterpieces. I then spent about an hour trying to get the paint off of them. Doodles still has some large streaks on his neck. I’m pretending he’s just a punk rock kid because it’s easier than cleaning him.
I planned a lovely family dinner for us–a quiche filled with our Boston Organics veggies–but a quick kid meltdown let me see the error of my ways, so it was a fast mac and cheese and off to bed for those two. The quiche was enjoyed by adults at a later hour.
And now, I’m going to read the final chapter of The Great Brain and then it’s off to the library for the next round of books before our afternoon playdates. Exciting life, I know. But it’s the only one I’ve got.
Okay, computer, I’m done with you. You may now go back to work.
So I finally made it into your blog! I knew that some day I would do something OUTRAGEOUS enough to deserve it. Didn't think it would be for neglecting to adequately prepare my daughter that I was going to be abandoning her at your horrible-no-good-newly-remodeled-regularly-cleaned-full-of-toys-and-even-a-spinning-chair!-house. I asked her today if she would like a drop off playdate there again. And she said "NO!" with some other choice words for me. So it looks like if Pie wants to play with her, YOU'RE going to be stuck with making small talk with me and my drooly baby! Or lots of drop off playdates at our house, I guess.
Now how to get in your novel. . .
Listen, I know you can parent better than ANYBODY (hey world, if you have a newborn, don't let her over!), but what you really need is a blog. I'd read it! You are too funny to deny the world your bon mots.
I hope you did better at your visit with the new little lady today than I did. The father was very cordial to me this morning at drop-off, so he must have forgiven me for insisting that the baby was too cold, was going to roll off of the sofa, had her diaper on too tight, etc. All despite the fact that she slept perfectly peacefully the whole time I was at their house. Of course, you probably brought homemade cookies.