the pieces of my life

http://www.blogger.com/img/videoplayer.swf?videoUrl=http%3A%2F%2Fv1.nonxt1.googlevideo.com%2Fvideoplayback%3Fid%3D112bafbbd7894d43%26itag%3D5%26begin%3D0%26len%3D86400000%26app%3Dblogger%26et%3Dplay%26el%3DEMBEDDED%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1274574231%26sparams%3Did%252Citag%252Cip%252Cipbits%252Cexpire%26signature%3D639DF6DA50BC9F16FB848F5E9EC0F0A1B59D90FC.1803489FDD6B42830726C206D3CDEAEC4A761D85%26key%3Dck1&thumbnailUrl=http%3A%2F%2Fvideo.google.com%2FThumbnailServer2%3Fapp%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D112bafbbd7894d43%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw320%26sigh%3DeCrrxLsMBJw1vfxfhPt5xC8m8K8&messagesUrl=video.google.com%2FFlashUiStrings.xlb%3Fframe%3Dflashstrings%26hl%3Den&nogvlm=1

Things are tense in my oh-so-tiny apartment and I’ve consolidated my life down to miniature size, which is why I’m having such a tough time blogging these days. I no longer think in blog terms–the most I think is one-line Facebook statuses. Writing actual paragraphs, strings of those oh-so-pithy status updates, if you will, now seems a colossal task. My mind is thinking things like, “Jenny is contemplating tossing all of her children’s toys out the window to see if anyone notices” or “Jenny is thinking of moving abroad for three months with no forwarding address” but this empty Blogger box seems to want more from me.

But here I am, with a rare moment of peace as Adam has the monsters at the playground. Our house is in total destruction mode–the roof comes off this week–but progress is happening. I can’t envision this thing done, but apparently it will happen. I have an incredible lack of imagination on this. All I see are dollar signs as we need to pick out appliances, counters, fixtures and our savings account–like all of yours, I’m sure–is spiraling down, down, down, down, down….

My daughter is enmeshed in wedding planning (at 5 a.m., she woke up, literally screaming, “I NEED MY BRIDE DRESS NOW! Where’s my white bride dress! Get it for me now!). We had a lovely conversation on Wednesday, mere hours before the start of Kol Nidre:

Pie: I’m getting married today.
Me: Today is not such a good day to get married. Kol Nidre is in just a couple of hours.
Pie: NO! I’m getting married today!
Me: And just who do you think is going to marry you today?
Pie: Jasmine!
Me: No, I meant, who is going to perform the ceremony? All the rabbis are busy today!
Pie: But my wedding is today!
Me: And what kind of reception will that be? You can’t serve any food! The grown-ups will all be fasting.
Pie: [getting furious] NO! MY WEDDING IS TODAY!

Doodles is so Doodles. I can’t even elaborate on that. He’s just… well, Doodles.

And me? Well, “Jenny is going off to see a movie by herself. No kids or spouses allowed.” And that sums it all up nicely.

I have a nemesis. This is quite exciting for me, because I haven’t had a nemesis since Adam was at HBS (ah, RS, where are you now?). But now, now I have one. And it is… our mail carrier! I’ve never loved our mail carrier–she shoves envelopes in magazines and flyers so they’re hard to find and occasionally get tossed and then retrieved from recycling. She often misdelivers mail. But last week was the kicker. Our mail stopped coming. I mean completely. I went to the main post office, dragging a sleepy Pie, and picked up my mail. “She’s deemed it unsafe to deliver to your house because of the construction,” I was told. “You can call her in the morning to figure something out.” Unsafe? I walk into that house everyday with my two children. Would I do that if it were unsafe? There’s no construction at all on the front porch.

I was so annoyed by this that I made Adam call, because I knew I wouldn’t be nice. “We have to move the mailbox to the light pole or the tree,” Adam told me. Adam went in the morning to try and move it to the light pole, but whatever he bought to do it, didn’t do the trick, so our contractor moved the mailbox to the outside of the porch, as you see here:

I came home that afternoon to no mail. “I saw your mail person,” my contractor said. “She said its still too dangerous.”

“That’s too dangerous?”

He shrugged. “The box has to be on the pole or the tree.”

“She said that?”

“Yep.”

“And she didn’t just give you the mail to place in the mailbox?”

“Nope.”

The next day we had mail delivery. I asked the contractor but I knew even before he answered that it was our weekend guy subbing in. He didn’t deem it too dangerous.

The box has since moved to our tree. But I’m bitter. And annoyed. And I have a nemesis. I am plotting my revenge….

So, what’s going on with me? I’m not purposely neglecting you guys–I think it’s just that there’s so much going on and I’m just overwhelmed enough that I feel like I have absolutely nothing interesting to blog about. But that stops now! I’m cranking up the iTunes (so loving the new Genius playlist feature), ignoring the copyedit that’s whispering to me from the side of my desk (“Jenny! I have misplaced modifiers! I’m going to secretly removed serial commas! Look, Jenny, look! I’ve got inconsistent numerals…. Jennnnnny! Come fiiiiiix me!”), and I’m now prepared to give you all my full attention.

I’m sorry, what was the question?

Let me tell you some of the things I’ve learned this past week:

• If you give a child 60 cents and tell him he can buy his milk at school, 5 times out of 5 times, he will choose chocolate milk. (Nostalgia: When I was in elementary school, lunch prices increased from 50 cents to 55 cents. And we didn’t have three lunch choices, including pizza pretty much every day.)
• A house with no walls is way more interesting than a house with walls.
• You can watch a cement truck pour cement for hours.
• If your family can’t keep a decent-sized house clean, no way can they keep a 700-square-foot apartment clean. You will be stepping on Legos for the duration. And if your husband didn’t know what clean was in your house, he really won’t know what it means in the apartment. By the way, you are not invited over. Not any of you. Because this place is a mess.
• No matter how little food you put into your son’s lunchbox, he will not be able to finish it. I gave that boy two falafel balls (note: not an entire falafel sandwich, just two of the little balls) and two slices of red pepper. He ate one falafel ball, one slice of red pepper, and complained that I gave him too much food because he doesn’t have time to finish it. Kindergartners get a half hour for lunch. He can’t manage to put away four small pieces of food? That boy is a Chatty Cathy is what it is. Today he said I was giving him too much lunch: a cheese sandwich and two red pepper slices. He said, “Just give me the red pepper.” Um, no? Because I’m not going to be the mom called by DSS for starving her child. At least I won’t starve him in a public setting. We compromised on half a cheese sandwich and red pepper. And this kid wonders why he doesn’t weigh enough for a “big kid booster seat” in the car.
• If you buy your daughter a dress so she can be a flower girl, you’ll need to get shoes to go with the dress. Otherwise, you will wake up two days before the wedding and think, “OH SHIT! I didn’t buy any shoes!” and you’ll have to run to the store and pay top dollar to Stride Rite because your wide-footed daughter doesn’t fit into normal shoes and you don’t have enough time to order them online.
• When your son says he’s not learning anything yet at school… he LIES! At back-to-school night, it was downright overwhelming to see how much they are learning. And sure enough, this morning, I said to Doodles, “In September, for awhile…” and he chimed immediately in, making hand motions, “I will ride a crocodile down the chicken soupy Nile. Paddle once, paddle twice, paddle chicken soup and rice,” and, oh yes, they have gone over some of the letters of the alphabet, and yeah, they do count every day, many times a day, and he has been writing his name, but no, he really isn’t learning anything. Okay, fine. As long as he keeps not learning at this pace, I’ll be happy.
• If you’re size 4 son needs a suit, you will be paying hand over fist for it. In fact, he might even have to give up his brand-new room in his brand-new house, it costs so much.
• Running 19 miles after taking two weeks off of running may not be the smartest thing in the world.
• If, when you move, you think that purging your house of chocolate will prevent you from bingeing when your children are in preschool and you’re working, you are wrong. You will just find other things to binge on.

Okay, enough you people! I hear a “comprised of” (AAAACK!) beckoning me from the manuscript. (Where is my red pencil! Bad of, bad, bad, bad of.) We’ve got one wedding rehearsal, one party, one half marathon, two sets of formal photos, a mountain of logistics, and one wedding to attend this weekend. I’m sure I’ll have something to say about it all next week.

What time is it? Oy. It’s move day. The house is only half packed. If I start to wrap dishes in paper, will I wake the kids? What the HELL did I do to my foot? This week’s 10 miler was a mistake. Which podiatrist should I see? Maybe Adam’s right and we shouldn’t have chosen to move into a teeny-tiny apartment and remodel during an election year. How did I end up with a Republican? My baby isn’t ready for kindergarten. I wonder where Mrs. Ferrer, my kindergarten teacher, is? Ugh, those stupid red mats we had to lie down on, and how often I did end up napping. “I pledge allegiance to the flag…” Mrs. Ferrer wasn’t Mrs. Ferrer though, till I had her in first grade. She was Miss Rios in kindergarten and after a couple of weeks of first grade, when answer me when I called her Miss Rios. Gads, she was probably half my age right now when she was my teacher. My baby is so not ready for that big elementary school. My baby. My babies. Remember Sophie’s Choice? How did she make that choice. I could never do that. But what if the Nazis were about to get them? Don’t think about it! Don’t think about it! Is it time to get up yet? Ugh. Not yet. Man, my foot is buggin’ me. What kind of paint should I let the kids use to mess up the walls tonight? Doodles wants to write, “Good-bye house” on the walls. Are we really doing this? This is the house I had my children in. Do I really want to mess with it? Will this stupid project ever get underway? Did I really agree to be a room parent at the preschool? And I’ve got to plan that Sukkot program soon. What can we do that’s different from the last one? Can I bake round hallahs in that tiny apartment kitchen? I said I’d start working again tomorrow. Am I really going to start working again tomorrow? I’m too tired to start working again tomorrow. How are we going to get all the crap out of our house? Is it time to get up yet? Ugh. Sleep or coffee? Sleep or coffee? What time does Starbucks open on Labor Day? What time is it now? Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. It’s move day. Ugh.