the pieces of my life

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!

(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?

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

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.

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.

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.

[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!

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…

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!

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.