the pieces of my life

So kids actually do things in kindergarten. They have echo owls to learn their sounds and they make apple trees with their families’ names on them. They check books out of the library that they can leave in the classroom and learn to dance “Eye of the Tiger.” The learn a poem about six little apples and the first day of fall (today!) is marked with a leaf on the calendar.

Who knew? Certainly not me.

“Wow!” I tell Pie. “That’s amazing all the things you’re doing just the second week of school. Doodles, I wonder why you didn’t have the echo owl.”

Doodles, with a mouth full of chocolate peanut butter, trying to do his math homework says, “We did.”

“You did?”

“Yeah.”

“You never mentioned it.”

He shrugs.

“You never mentioned anything.”

He shrugs again.

Pie asks, handing me a sheet, “Do echo owl for me!” Echo owl is part of the fundations program. I call out letters with specified words and the sound and she colors it on a chart she has. The idea is to have each letter associated with a word so the kids can remember what the letter sounds like. “N nut nnnnn,” I say to Pie.

She colors in the N.

“A apple ay,” I say next.

“That’s wrong,” Doodles said. “It’s A apple aaahh.”

“He’s right,” Pie says, as she colors in the A apple.

“Okay, M–”

“Mom, I’ll just do it. You’re going to do it wrong. Here, Pie, H hat hhhhh.”

I sit back and watch. I’m unneeded until I have to check Doodles’s work. He generally gets all his answers right, but I still need to check him for backwards letters and numbers.

While I’m checking, the two chat.

“I want a brother or another sister,” Doodles says.

“Me too!” Pie agrees.

“Not even the remotest chance,” I tell them.

“Why not?” Doodles asks.

“Because I am done. Done, done, done.”

“I want a brother,” Doodles says. “I know what you want,” he says to his sister. “You want a sister.”

Pie shrugs. “I don’t care. I like having a brother.”

And with that, homework time is suddenly worth it. Yea, homework time!

I spend my entire days now counting. Okay, that’s not a hundred percent true. I spend a good portion of my day threatening to count.

I don’t even know where this counting started. I think somehow, somewhere, there was some book that advocated counting. Oh, I didn’t read the book. Someone just told me about it. And about the counting. So I count. Or I threaten to count.

“Doodles! Doodles, get out here right now! Doodles, I mean it! Don’t make me start counting! Fine! That’s one!”

The boy scurries out before I hit “three.” Because “three” is the be all end all of counting. At three, it happens. It goes down at three. Man, you do NOT want to see three.

At least I don’t. Because I’m still not sure what happens at three. So I tend to avoid three at all costs.

“Pie, close your eyes and stop playing. Pie, you are too old for me to still be lying here in bed with you! Daddy may put up with this crap, but Daddy abandoned the family tonight for some freakin’ Red Sox game and so you’re stuck with me, and I DO NOT PUT UP WITH THIS! Close your eyes! Now! Don’t make me count to three! Okay, that’s one! Stop kicking your legs and go to sleep! I’m going to get to two. If you don’t stop, I’ll be at two. Pie! Fine, that’s two! Don’t make me go to three. I’m serious here. I’m about to get to three! You are at two. Do you really want me to go to three? Pie! That’s two and a half! I’m almost at three! Close your FREAKIN’ eyes NOW!”

Thankfully, she generally drifts off somewhere around two and seven-eighths.

Because, let’s face it. What am I going to dole out at three? No TV? God, just let me slit my wrists right now if I can’t plop that girl in front of Disney Channel for a half hour. And what else could I possibly take away? Can’t take away stories–must read to our children every night in order to enlighten and educate and fulfill our duties to the public school system. Can’t take away dessert–we don’t do dessert except for Friday nights. What else is there? Not much. I paid too much for dance lessons and piano lessons and all the other lessons to withhold those. So it’s critical–critical, dammit!–that I never reach three.

And God help me if the two of them ever figure that out.

–My son convinced my daughter that Hebrew school was the evil of all evils. But she announced yesterday afternoon, “Hey, Doodles was wrong! Hebrew school is fun!” And because of that, I didn’t cut out his tongue.

–The Dolphins won yesterday, and my son announced, “That’s not good news. Because I now root for the Patriots.” And I didn’t smack him across the head.

–My son asked this morning, as I tearfully prepared Pie for her first day of kindergarten and got together everything we needed, “Why do you always wait till the last minute to make my lunch for school?” And I let him I live.

That boy likes living dangerously.

Doodles, as security, checked names against the guest list and handed out all-access passes.

Can I get a “Whoo hoo”? Whoo hoo! The birthday party season has ended and I survived. Guitar-shaped cake. Check. Gold rock ‘n’ roll cuffs. Check. Backstage passes for everyone. Check. Freeze dance, pin-the-sunglasses on the rock star, limbo. Check. Beers consumed. Check. Thank you notes all written. Check. I am DONE!

Of course, it all finished just in time. Because we head full-speed into fall. While everyone else has been in school for weeks now, Doodles starts second grade this Wednesday. Rosh Hashanah is Thursday. Pie starts the kindergarten the following Monday, and has three kindergarten events between now and then. Hebrew school for both starts next Sunday. Between the four of us, we have three parties to attend next weekend.

Rock Star Pie with a Rock Star Buddy

Anyone wondering how I’m going to cook for Rosh Hashanah? The same way I cooked for today’s party. By taking my pans and batter across the street to Beetle’s house. Because, yes, we are now on week nine of no oven. Oh, the part came in. The guys came. And surprise, surprise, it was the motherboard. Hmmm, didn’t someone say that already? Like last July 3? So I’m waiting, waiting, waiting….

In the meantime, the stage has shut down, the little rock stars are fast asleep, and I’m going to–shocking, I know–open a bottle of wine.

Pinata booty

Rock Star Cake

I confess. Tonight as I was blowing up plastic microphones and guitars for Pie’s Rock Star birthday party, I had on Bridezillas. All of a sudden, a cold chill went up my spine. I had a flash forward to Pie, twenty-eight years from now at her own wedding (we get married late, us party girls) . That girl is going to be a bridezilla. You can tell by the way she micromanages what I will be wearing to her party. The way she critiques birthday cake decorations. The way she demands that we play Pin the Sunglasses on the Rock Star without closing eyes, because she doesn’t like her eyes to be closed, tradition be damned. The way she melted down over who got what silly bands in his or her goody band. The way she insisted I sew matching rock star skirts for her and Jasmine to wear. They way… well, I just get dizzy thinking about all the ways. She’s been planning this party for six months now.

When she’s ready for the big leagues… I think I’ll be joining the Peace Corps. Although the other side of the world may not be quite far enough away.

Tonight is my last night with a six-year-old boy. And my last few days with a four-year-old girl. I’ve told them both they could do whatever they want on their birthdays.

The girl gave it lots of thought. “I want to go to the Res. And if it’s rainy, then I want to go see the fashion show at the MFA. Or maybe see a movie! I think MFA and then if there’s time, go see a movie.”

The boy also gave it some thought. “What’s it going to be?” I asked. “We could go to the Res, head to the Museum of Science, go to the movies, do whatever you’d like.”

He came up with his plan a couple of days ago. “I know what I want to do. I want to stay home and play Wii all day. And stay in my pajamas until dinner time.” Done.

Both of them have discovered Chicken Yakitori, so on both Monday and Wednesday we are headed to the only Asian restaurant in town that serves Chicken Yakitori. But I said to them both, “You can pick what you have for breakfast and lunch, too.”

Pie thinks. “Um, I want Chicken Yakitori for dinner, and I want… only fruits and vegetables for breakfast and lunch!”

“Okay,” I say. “What do you want, Doodles?”

“Hmm,” he starts. “Let’s see. For breakfast I want hot dogs. For lunch, I’d like a steak with barbecue sauce. And Chicken Yakitori, or course, for dinner.”

I told him I’d be willing to compromise. Eggs and bacon for breakfast. I pointed out that I really am not a great griller of steaks, and that I don’t think I could do one justice, so he agreed to hamburgers for lunch. A return to Camp Carnivore for the boy.

My babies. All grown up and becoming their own people. Yikes.

The Necessity of Disney Channel

Hypothesis: Children are addicted to the Disney Channel and will experience tremors if it is withdrawn abruptly.

Experiment:
1. Take two children to museum specializing in avant-garde art.
2. Place them in a room that is showing a Runa Islam‘s video Be the First to See What You See As You See It, a video with a woman fondling, and occasionally breaking, pieces of China. She also drinks tea.
3. Stand back and observe.

Result: Children stay seated and engaged for 10.25 minutes. The film is 7.5 minutes long, shown on a loop.

Conclusion: Who needs Disney? Any screen in a port will do.

I actually tried posting last night, but the WordPress app ate my post.

Day one of vacation was a success. Breakfast with the in-laws at Rye. Then, over the protests of my children who declared they hate farms, we spent a couple of hours at Billings Farm, where we had to tear Pie away from the milking of the cows. Doodles helped make ice cream the old-fashioned way but didn’t want to eat any because “homemade ice cream isn’t that good.” A small cone of it convinced him otherwise. (Note: I believe I have the photo blog–linked on the right–working again.)

Adam went to college up here, so in theory, this is his neck of the woods. We went to dinner at an Italian place I remembered and liked. At the end, I said, “Should we get dessert here?”

Adam: Let’s go into Hanover. We can get dessert at the Dirt Cowboy Cafe.

Doodles: I want dessert here!

Pie: Yeah!

Adam: You don’t want yummy ice cream? Or cookies?

Kids: Yeah! Let’s go!

Me: Um, it’s seven o’clock in Hanover, New Hampshire. Are you sure it’s going to be open?

Adam: Definitely! The Dirt Cowboy is always open late!

So back in downtown Hanover, as we’re off in search of Ben & Jerry’s (“What?? It closes at six o’clock every night? Since when?”), my daughter is off with her normal stream-of-concious drones when she stops us with “Do you get to take toys with you when you go to juvie?” I’m particularly fond of the use of “when” instead of “if.” Doesn’t bode well for our future.

This a.m. we had breakfast at the Four Aces and then we debated what to do next. Adam asked the kids, “Do you want to see a Hollywood photography show?”

Doodles squealed, “Yes!!!” The boy is completely Hollywood/acting obsessed.

I asked, “Are you sure it’s open? A lot of museums are closed on Mondays.”

Adam said, “It’s always open. We’ll spend an hour there and then head for the Ben & Jerry’s factory and then Montreal.”

I don’t need to finish this story, do I? At least while we were back in Hanover the kids got new Dartmouth shirts to replace the ones they’ve outgrown. Although try as I could, I could not convince Doodles to get a Thing One Dartmouth shirt (Pie was completely on board with Thing Two; Dr. Seuss went to Dartmouth, which is the relevancy).

And now we’re on our way to the Ben & Jerry’s factory. Then onward to Canada. Hope Canada has ear plugs.

Pie: We’re almost there!
Me: Almost, but we’re not too far.
Pie: I know we’re almost there be because when the roads get smaller, it means you’re getting close. … Hey! Houses! I didn’t know people lived in Vermont!

I so heart my podiatrist. I had my third visit with him today. My petroneus longus tendon has been giving me problems. Bad petroneus longus tendon! My podiatrist gave me a brace to wear and some exercises to do. It helped significantly. I can walk without pain. But the running is still an issue.

At the appointment today, I told him, “I know the no-brainer answer to my problem, but I don’t want to do it. My foot only hurts on long runs.”

He shrugs. “The no brainer being, ‘Don’t run long.’ How badly does it hurt?”

“I’m fine during the runs. But I’m totally hobbled after my runs.”

He nodded. “Well, I’ll give you a stronger brace to wear during your runs.”

I was elated. “You’re not going to tell me to not run?”

He asked, “Would you listen to me?”

Me: “Um, probably not.”

Doc: “So I’ll give you a stronger brace. But the minute that marathon is over, you’re coming back in for an MRI so we can see what kind of damage you did to yourself.”

He did assure me that because my foot is improving and that I’m fine on my non-long running days that my foot is recovering and I’m not exacerbating anything. So I’m probably not doing any permanent damage. Which is good enough for me right now, surprisingly so, as I’ve not really been into my runs and looking for excuses to get out of them. But I’ve hit that point where I’m far enough along in my training that there’s no point in backing out now. I did 16 mile last Saturday and I’ll do 18 this weekend, which is pretty much there, so why bother bailing now? It’s just two months till Chicago, which means just six weeks till tapering, which means I better get my plane ticket soon.

Another thing I like:

En garde!

When I signed the boy up for an intro to fencing class, I had to call and manually register him because he missed the cutoff of age seven and the web site rejected him. But he got in. When I took him to his first class, the teacher asked if anyone else wanted to fence. Not-even-five-year-old Pie jumped right in as did another little girl. The teacher immediately nicknamed the two of them Giggles One and Giggles Two. She loves it. They’re both so darn cute out there!

And now, for the things I don’t like:

G.E. My oven is still broken. Yes, people, we are on to six weeks now and the appliance company is getting tired of hearing from me, but not so tired that they’ll fix the damn oven! The part that was supposed to take 3 to 5 business days is now on its 11th business day of travel. If I can’t bake a cake in my own oven for my babies’ birthdays, G.E. is going to understand the meaning of a Mad Housewife.

Running. Yeah, I really don’t like it anymore. And yet… And yet. Ugh.

The fact that my Ivy League-educated husband is incapable of flipping a light switch off or closing a cabinet door/drawer. How hard is it to open the cabinet, remove your coffee mug, and then close the cabinet. Every time I walk into the kitchen, it’s like there was some mass rebellion by cabinetry. Today there were two doors open, the utensil drawer open to its fullest, the overhead light on, and the pantry light on. And then when I went upstairs, his sock drawer was lying wide open. Really that hard? Just a little nudge of the hip and it slides closed again! It’s a miracle! They open and close! What will science discover next?

How freakin’ much airlines now charge. We bought our tickets home for our yearly jaunt to Miami Beach, and we have never paid so much money for that trip. I’m pretty sure the tickets to Florida were on par to what we paid to fly to Israel. And according to Farecast, the flight prices are only going up, which I can verify because between when we priced tickets on Wednesday and bought them on Friday, they had already gone up $100 a ticket.

That I wanted to upload video of the armed punks (well, armed with plastic foils), but my videos are too big and I don’t have time to figure out how to shrink them. So instead of a cute note, we’ll end with a cranky note. Freakin’ oven, cabinets, plane tickets, running, video. Grumble grumble.

P.S. Adam just called. I said, “Oh, I was just trashing you in my blog!” He laughed and said, “Oh good! Another usual Monday!” I like that. So we’ll end there instead of with the grumble.