the pieces of my life

First, let me tell you, the sheet is still on the front porch. It’s moved a little, from the swing to the ground, but it’s still there. At this point, it’s just kind of blending in with the scenery.

Second, I’m feeling a little adrift because my revisions are in, Teacher Appreciation Week is over, Daisies are done for the month, and I haven’t yet started a new project. I have some ideas, but I need to get cracking. A writer who isn’t writing is, well, not a writer. See, if I were a writer, I would have been able to come up with something much more clever there.

Third, I had intended to start a new project today, but as I sat down, I noticed a flagged e-mail (flagging is my useful way of saying, “Hey, remember to do this!”). When I looked at it, I saw that summer camp forms were due… May 2. Oops. (In defense of the flags, I did remember eventually! Without the flags, the forms never would have been done.) So I spend half the morning tracking down immunizations and insurance cards and looking up phone numbers and that sort of exciting stuff, because if I don’t, I’ll have a summer of, “What can I do? But what can I do? No, what can I dooooo?”

Fourth, the ants are back. I was most disturbed when I saw Adam just crush one in the middle of the kitchen. “What are you doing?” I asked him. “Killing ants.” I demonstrated how we lovingly catch the ants and then take them outside to live free among the grass and trees. Adam looked at me like I was crazy and then stepped on another ant.

Fifth, I cannot figure out this blog. I’ve tried to make changes, move things, add things, make things pretty in my side bars. But it foils me. Having a self-hosted domain (as opposed to a blog-hosted domain) really screws you. It’s frustrating me. To the point where I’ve decided the only way to reclaim my photo blog is to go back to Blogger and simply use a blogspot address. So it’s there in the sidebar (that I could do), and I now have the ability to update it from my phone the old-fashioned way. Not that anything you can do from a phone could be considered remotely old fashioned, but I think you know what I mean.

Sixth, I have no sixth. But I do have a…

Seventh, there’s a school dance on Friday. A school dance! Who has a school dance for elementary school kids? Granted, it’s being billed as a “family dance,” but as you all well know, I dance no where sober unless it’s my kitchen and I’d say it’s a good bet there will be no bar.

Eighth, which leads me to the very important question, which I ask just about every year: Why do I still not own a flask? (Hey Adam! Someone has a birthday next month! Hint, hint!)

Ninth, why does my second-grade I-hate-girls want to attend this school dance? I will be taking him—and his sister—but I fear I will live to regret it, as I’m guessing it either means he has some devious scheme to set off a stink bomb in the cafetorium (yes, it’s called a “cafetorium”) or he’s going to eye the girl he has a crush on from across the room and then leave in a grouchy fuss when he doesn’t talk to her at all. Note: I’m not completely sure about that crush thing, but I have a very strong suspicion that the boy has a slight crush (or rather,in second grade parlance, he “likes likes” someone) on a girl we know, but of course, it’s not a subject I’m allowed to even think about, never mind ask him about. I’m not sure which of the outcomes is the more scary; I think a flask would solve whatever problems may come up.

Tenth, well, I would have told you the tenth, but the girl is being dropped off from ballet and she’s whining about a hurt leg and she’s hungry and can’t she wear a party dress to synagogue tonight because it is Israel’s birthday!, so I’ll have to leave you all wondering what the tenth thing was going to be.

Every Passover, we celebrate the freedom of the Jews, that Moses led us out of slavery. We remember that we will never be slaves again. It’s a joyous holiday, with storytelling and singing and wonderful food.

Yet, in the midst of this celebration, we recite the plagues that were sent down to Egypt and, for each plague, we dip a finger into the wine and put a drop of wine upon our plate. The idea is that we take some of the wine away, diminish some of our joy, in remembering the suffering of the Egyptians, the despair they went through as they suffered through the plagues, their fear, their death as they drowned in the Red Sea.

I, like everyone else, feels—well, something, relieved, maybe? worried? uncertain?—in the death of Osama bin Laden. I can’t help feeling, someone died. We can feel avenged. We can feel vindicated. But I don’t think we should be rejoicing. Too many on all sides have suffered. And I can’t help but feel like we’ve just cut the head off of the Lernaean Hydra, and I fear what will come in its place.

Last night we lit a candle for Yom Hashoah. Holocaust remembrance. An odd coincidence, no?

I don’t normally blog about serious things here. I like to stay out of politics, unless it’s a matter of mocking my husband for his Republican ways. I like to keep things light and fluffy. But given that one of my very first posts, back in October 2001 when my blog was still searching for a voice, was about a woman who died in 9/11, I feel that it is something I should address. I feel as if things have come full circle. If I were looking for an excuse to end this blog, this would be it, although I still have stories to tell, so I’ll stick around.

Last Friday, I let Pie get up early and watch the royal wedding before school started. Today, I wrestled with the decision, but ultimately let the boy get up early to watch CNN. Both things they’ll most likely remember for a lifetime; the two eliciting such diametrical emotions.

On the way to school, I asked if the boy if had any questions. He didn’t, but he told me much of what he learned. At one point, he said to me, with a twinge of concern in his voice, “I guess I should be careful. They said Americans should be on their guard.” For the first time in a long time, he held my hand as we walked to school.

I nodded. And I said to him, “I’ll tell you what. You don’t have to be on your guard. I’ll be on guard for you.”

With that he gave me a smooch (a block away from school, where we won’t be seen) and ran off to school.

I don’t have an end to this blog post, no nice and neat wrap up. Because we can only wait and see what happens next.

I was tweeting the wedding, but I’m not one to keep my thoughts to 140 characters so I decided I’d rather share them on the blog. Here they are in all their randomness. If you have no interest in the wedding, just move along.

—Am I watching the royal wedding because I happen to be awake? Or do I happen to be awake because of the royal wedding? I’ll never tell.
—Okay, yes I will. I’m awake because I have to send out school newsletter, write an op-ed piece for paper and shop for teacher appreciation week.
—But it was fun to be all mysterious and bandwagon-y for a few minutes.
—Well, I did just wake up the five year old to watch the wedding. I’ll regret that at about 8 a.m. when it’s time to go to school. So maybe I am all bandwagon-y.
—Watching Royal Wedding is giving the girl some bad ideas. Some very, very bad ideas. No, we won’t play horns and stand up when you enter a room like they do for the Queen.
—The boy has joined us.
—Trying to explain royal lineage to the kids. Not going well. “So that’s the Queen. And her son is a prince. And her husband is a prince. And the one getting married is a prince.” “So where’s the king?” “There is no king.”
—People think Kate or her mom must be nervous. But really, you know who must be the most terrified person in that room? The mother of the three-year-old bridesmaid. I wouldn’t want to be her if that kid has a meltdown mid-ceremony.
—The boy, “So is that the king?” “No, there is no king. When the Queen dies, her son, Prince Charles, will become King of England, but right now there is no king, just a lot of princes.”
—Pie: “So which one is getting married?” Me: “Not the cute one.”
—Pie wants to know why there are trees growing in Westminster Abbey. I tell her I don’t know.
—Wouldn’t you feel a little like an ass being the only adult bridesmaid among all those kids. Kind of like, “Hey, did they really want me or did they just need a nanny?”
—I hadn’t expected the vows to be quite so cliche.
—Adam’s joined us. He and Pie are providing commentary. Adam asks, “Why are there trees in Westminster Abbey?” Guess what? I still don’t know.
—Adam: “How early did those people in front of Westminster Abbey and Buckingham Palace have to arrive to get those prime front spots?” “I don’t know. Hey, ‘They’re changing the guards at Buckingham Palace. Christopher Robin went down with Alice.‘” Pie: “Wait, so Alice is getting married?”
—Kate doesn’t look so happy. I love that “What the hell have I gotten myself into?” look.
—Ooh, Pippa looks pissed. I bet she’s thinking, “Damn that Kate! She told me there’d be cute page boys. She didn’t say they’d still be in short pants!”
—The boy asked if they can have breakfast in front of the TV. I said sure and I asked the Royal Butler to serve them.
—The boy asked for salami and eggs. The girl asked for salami and bread. But we’re out of bread. “Okay, I’ll have salami and Kix, then.” They’re not eating this well at Buckingham Palace!
—Have you noticed I’m here? I really should be doing that work I woke up to do. At least I got the school newsletter out already. But it’s hard to write an op-ed about the town needing an override to pay for a few teachers when there are trees growing in Westminster Abbey. What is with those trees?
—The prince looks like he’s bored out of his mind. Kate is off in la-la land. Not the sign of a good wedding.
—Why the depressing wedding? Those Anglicans could learn something from the Jews. A wedding is 15 minutes, maybe 20. Walk in, couple of blessings, circle, circle, circle, circle, circle, circle, circle, break a glass, party! None of this sad choir stuff.
—How fast was the guy who dropped ABC’s live feed fired? I—and about a zillion others—just switched to CBS.
—My former Amazonian office mate, Simon, is a Brit, who is up at 3 a.m. Seattle time to watch the wedding. So I asked him all our questions: “Why are there trees in Westminster Abbey? Why haven’t they kissed? What exactly is all this Anglican stuff?” He answered me: “Trees look pretty. William is scared of kissing. Anglicanism gives you all the poetry without having to believe very much.”
—Me: “Wow, look at everyone at Buckingham Palace!” “What’s Buckingham Palace?” “It’s where the Queen lives.” “And the king?” “No, there is NO king!”
—Poor Pippa. From babysitting the bridesmaids to cleaning up after the princess.
—There’s a real pecking order at this wedding. First, did you get an invite? Only 1,900 people did. Then, did you get invited to the Queen’s luncheon? One of 600! Going to the dinner at the palace? You’re one of 300. At the dinner tonight, do you think they’ll all say, “Had we been invited to the wedding, but not invited to the luncheon, Dayenu…”
—My son: “Is it a national holiday there?” Me: “Yes, no one is working today in England.” Boy: “Well, except the police.” Me: “Oh, yes, there’s tons of security at the wedding!” Boy: “Today would be a good day to steal something because everyone’s at the wedding.”
—The boy asks, “So is that Queen Victoria?” “No, Queen Elizabeth.” “Victoria and Elizabeth have been popular with Queens. There was Queen Victoria the First, Queen Victoria the Second. Queen Elizabeth the First, Queen Elizabeth the Second.” “I don’t think there was a second Queen Victoria.” “Oh.” “How the hell do you know any queens of England?” “I dunno.”
—The boy: “Boy, Catherine is going to hate that dress when she tries to get it off!”
—Me: “So there’s the Queen. And the prince.” Pie: “I thought you said there was no prince!”
—I would like to note that we need to be out of the house in 33 minutes, and both kids are still in pajamas lounging on the couch.
—The girl: “They just said Facebook and Twitter! They’re on Facebook and Twitter!” Me: “What does Facebook and Twitter mean?” The girl: “It means you can make e-mails to strangers that you don’t even know by them looking at your stuff!”
—The boy: “Why do they salute with their hand upside down? That looks like a wrist breaker to me. The palace is big! I wonder if they have a baseball field there. Or a football field.”
—I sent the kids to dress and promised I’d stay here so if anything exciting happens, I could pause.
—That girl has never dressed so fast. Although I used “dressed” loosely. Forgot to change her underwear, didn’t brush her hair, and couldn’t be bothered to fasten her dress closed.

Okay, girl has returned, the prince and princess are at Buckingham Palace, and it’s officially time for me to get dressed and start my day. Enough fairy tales for one day. Time for the ogres and trolls of working on the town’s override. Grrrr….

The homework assignment: “Write a paragraph about one thing you did during spring vacation. Make sure to include at least three details. Make sure to check your conventions.”

So, am I proud that he fulfilled the assignment? Or mortified that this is what he’s going to turn in:

Hi. I’m Jenny. I’m the one who used to blog here, but lately found life a little too chaotic to visit frequently. But I’m back now. I fear that those who follow me on Twitter or are friends with me on Facebook may find some of my posts redundant, but thems the breaks.

We had a very, very busy week, and I won’t attempt to tell you all about it in one blog post, so we’ll start with the boy. The rocker boy. The boy returned to School of Rock for April vacation. And, oh, did the boy have fun. Last time when I sent him, I was so nervous about my little baby amongst all those great big rocker types. This time, I had less concern, although that the program grew from 7 kids to 21 kids had me a little worried. Don’t know why. I walked him in the first day, and the minute the door opened, a group of kids called out, “Doodles! Hey, it’s Doodles!” One of the boys turned to some new kids and said, “That’s the little dude I was telling you about!” That boy of mine was pumped. Although he did inform me later in the week that the reason he was so popular was that he was the only seven year old they knew who could swear. I’m shepping naches, I am!

The boy continued his drum lessons there, but ultimately decided he wanted to just sing vocals, and sing vocals he did. When he got his song list, I saw he had Bon Jovi’s “Runaway.” “I have this somewhere!” I said, but I searched my CD collection and couldn’t find it. This bugged me for a while before I remembered I did have it. I bought it when it first came out. On 45. Hmmm.

His band decided on the name WTF. He came home and told me, “The band teacher said we had to say it means ‘What to Find.’ No one would tell me what it really means though. But I’m pretty sure I guessed it right.” Yes, he did. See note above about swearing seven year olds.

His show was last Friday. He did an awesome job—sang nice and loud so we could hear him well. The band wrote one original song, for which the boy’s primary job was a “metal scream,” which you can see below. Note, while there is nothing inappropriate in this video, it is loud!

(Want more? I have video of him performing Bon Jovi’s “Runaway” and Soundgarden’s “Fell on Black Days;” if you’d like to see it, e-mail for the link and password.)

Rock on, friends!

Actually, it’s supposed to be “Fit Kidz,” but I can’t bring myself to do that. It’s just wrong.

Two moms at my kids’ school (Beetle is one of them!) decided to bring a before-school fitness program to the school. It’s based on the work of Dr. John J. Ratey in his book Spark: The Revolutionary New Science of Exercise and the Brain, which discusses the brain-body connection and how students do so much better after exercise (mind you, I haven’t read this book. I should, but I haven’t yet). I, of course, had to be involved. Fitness for my kids? A no brainer.

A school in a nearby town has implemented a program, and one of the trainers from there came and gave us some training. The program is actually sponsored by Reebok, and we have these official training manuals and everything (T-shirts and shoes for us trainers are coming soon!).

We had a run-through today with just the trainers and the kids of the trainers. Our class is about 35 minutes (our regular school starts at 8:15 and we can’t exactly expect the kids to be there at 7. The program starts at 7:30 and goes to 8:05, giving kids time to get their stuff and head to lockers before the first bell at 8:10). Thursday is the first full day, with all 53 kids who are signed up. My kids loved today’s program, which included warm-up with basketballs, running drills, animal relay races (seal walk, bear walk, crab walk), toilet tag, and a cool down.

All was good for us, except when Doodles’s team was the tagger in Toilet Tag. He spied that sister of his and went for her. He tagged her. She went down. Hard. I will say, in the boy’s defense, that it wasn’t malicious. I will say, in the girl’s defense that she went klonk! Luckily, the teachers and staff at our school are so great that the school nurse–whom Pie loves–came early as a “just in case.” Pie got to be her “just in case.” But one ice pack later, and Pie was fine to come back for the cool down.

The kids had a blast. They were sweaty and happy and ready to go to class when we were done.

So many benefits. Focused kids. Strong hearts. Strong bodies. But, really, that all pales in comparison to the one greatest thing. The best part of this program. The. Coolest. Thing.

I got a whistle. Me! A whistle! I’m so happy I could burst. No, I’m so happy I could whistle! I love my whistle. It’s my whistle to keep. My happiest moment today is when I got to blow my whistle!

Who knew there were so many side benefits to fitness!

My children are 5 1/2 and 7 1/2. And already I’m becoming obsolete as a mother.

My kids had a growth spurt. I don’t mean in height—my poor boy is still shorter than some of the kindergartners when he leaves school through the girl’s classroom. But they’re definitely growing. My kids are their own people. This week, Pie had a dentist appointment and I was told, most definitely, that I should stay in the waiting room and not accompany her in. She’s becoming this sporty little creature, feeling sad that hockey was over, but happy because T-ball, soccer, and lacrosse all start up again soon. She brings home private papers from school from her BFF, Jasmine. She has a BFF. She has announced that there are two boys she has a crush on.

And then Doodles. When Pie had to be at the dentist, Doodles had an after school class, so he simply walked over to the neighbor’s by himself when it was done. He rides his bike around the neighborhood with a friend. He puts himself to bed. He gets himself up and dressed in the morning. He calls Tab himself when he wants to play with her. He can change a roll of toilet paper. Recently, it was a gorgeous spring-like night, and my two were simply gone. They left the house and I didn’t see them till it was dark, except for my occasionally peering out the window to see if I could find them. They teemed up with four other neighborhood kids and played basketball in another neighbor’s backyard. When they were hungry, they came home. I didn’t even mention that it was a half hour after bedtime.

I read the entire Little House series to my kids. In These Happy Golden Years, I found myself teary as Laura and Almanzo marry and Laura leaves home. “I’m going to move with you,” I confide in my kids, and while Doodles rolls his eyes, Pie grabs my arm happily, as in “Of course you will.” But, of course I won’t. And she’ll be grateful for that.

But for now, I still relish their childhood. And there’s still plenty of it left. The boy will still, almost without thought, grab my hand as we walk home. The girl still crawls into our bed late at night. And they both still love for me to read to them. The two are currently in competition to see who can memorize the Four Questions in Hebrew because they both want to be the one to say it at our seder. Pretty soon, my youngest won’t be so young anymore and they’ll try to pass the job off onto someone else.

Sigh.

On Sunday, I, apparently, did everything wrong. Adam normally takes part in the hauling of children duties on Sunday, but as he was conveniently on the other side of the ocean, I had a full weekend day of managing my children. I:

—Drove them to Hebrew school
—Shopped at the grocery store and Wilson Farm because my kids hate doing it with me
—Ran three miles and showered because the girl hates it when I’m sweaty
—Picked them up from Hebrew school
—Fed them lunch
—Drove the boy to his drum lesson
—Drove the boy to the craft store for some supplies he wanted
—Drove the girl to a birthday party and made arrangements for her to be dropped at a neighbor because I then…
—Drove the boy to hockey, where I finally found a warm spot to watch him, only to have him rotate to another game
—Got the boy dressed after hockey
—Drove the boy home
—Provided dinners, baths, and put children to bed

And the the boy? What was his input for the day? Apparently I forgot to bring his shirt and jacket to hockey. And then when he was taking his hockey shirt off after the game, he moaned at me, “Mom! My pad is on backwards!” To which I could only look at him in an “I don’t give a rat’s ass” way and tell him, “You put on your pads.” Did that silence the whine? I think not.

And today? Today I got:

Me: So you’re buying lunch tomorrow?
The boy: Yes. It’s hot dog. You know I can’t stay away from my meat long.

Me: You missed a few on your homework, there.
The boy: I know, Mom! I’m not done. Your help is getting in my way.

Yes, that’s my boy. Aren’t you jealous?

Continuing the trend in which I expose my children to things which are not completely age appropriate for them (the “F You” song, which Pie has deemed too offensive for her to sing even alone in the house with me; The Princess Bride, which scared Pie; The Wizard of Oz–a children’s play version–which scared Pie), I allowed my children to watch the TV cut of School of Rock… which scared Pie.

Yes, that’s right. My girl jumped at School of Rock. When kids were disobeying. “Scary!” When it looked like Jack Black was going to get into trouble? “Scary!” When he got caught? “Scary!” She didn’t want to leave the room (with me), but she didn’t want to watch it either. Up till the end. When the kids rocked out. At which point, she “loved it!”

The boy was a little bored by it at first, but by the end, he was dancing around the family room, shirtless, in his pajama bottoms.

For tomorrow’s movie night, I’m thinking Fast Times at Ridgemont High. It’s about a school, so it’s fine, right? Right?

Yes, my husband did go by the store today for an iPad 2. The AT&T store was supposed to get in a shipment, but alas, they had not. They could order one for him… that would come in two weeks. No thanks, he said. He’s going on a business trip overseas and he’ll simply buy one when he returns.

He didn’t want to deal with the mall lines, so he came home without one, much to the distress of my children. “The iPad 2 came out today?” the little one asked with wide eyes.

“Yes, it did,” he said.

“And you didn’t get one?”

“No,” he told us. “And, you’ll be disappointed to hear that the St. Patrick’s Day version of Angry Birds came out.”

“I want to play it!” yelled the boy.

“Too bad,” I said. “Daddy is going out of town.”

“So? Can’t I still play it?”

“The iPad goes with Daddy,” I told him.

“Harumph,” both kids said.

“You can play it when I get back and I get my new iPad,” Adam told them.

“Who gets your old iPad?” they asked.

“I do,” I said to their disappointment. Until…

A thought occurred to me. “You know,” I told them, “just because Daddy’s going away doesn’t have to mean anything. Daddy isn’t the only one with a credit card.”

“So?” asked the boy.

“So, we have a whole week to go buy us a new iPad 2. And then Daddy is the one stuck with the old iPad.”

And, once again, I am the most loved parent.