the pieces of my life

Pie, looking closely at my face: Did you know that old people get wrinkles?

Me: They do?

Pie: Yeah. You don’t have wrinkles yet.

Pie puts her hands up on my face. She touches the corners of my eyes.

Pie: But you’re starting to. Right here, by your eyes. You’re starting to get wrinkles.

Me: Oh.

Pie: Oh, I’m serious! You really are! The wrinkles are starting right… here! See? Wrinkles. Starting. Yep, definitely starting.

Uh, thanks?

5:37 a.m.

Poke, poke, poke.

Me: What the hell are you people doing in my bed? Why the hell are you people waking me up! Leave me alone!

Little people noisily stomp off and slam the door shut and then proceed to make enough noise that I can’t fall back asleep

8:15 a.m.

The boy: How much longer till I go to camp?

Me: We leave at 8:45 so thirty minutes.

8:22 a.m.

The boy: How much longer till I go to camp?

Me: Look at the clock. You can read the time.

The boy: Yeah. [pause] So how much longer?

Me: [sigh] Twenty-three minutes.

8:30 a.m.

The boy: How much longer till I go to camp?

Me: What does the clock say?

The boy: 8:30.

Me: And what time are we leaving?

The boy: 8:45.

Me: So?

The boy: So? How much longer till we go to camp?

8:41 a.m.

The boy: How much longer till I go to camp?

Me: Sigh. Okay, go ahead. The keys are on the counter. Go get them and and get into the car.

The boy: I can get into the car!

Me: Yes. Grab the keys and get into the car.

The boy: Pie! We can get into the car! Let’s go!

8:47 a.m.

I grab my purse, close the door, and head outside. I open the car door.

Me: Where are the keys?

The boy: Huh?

Me: The keys. The car keys.

The boy: I dunno.

Me: What do you mean you don’t know? How did you get into the car?

The boy: The front door was open so I climbed through and opened the side door.

Me: So no keys?

The boy: Nuh-uh.

Me: So the keys are still inside the house.

The boy: I guess.

Me: And we’re outside the house.

The boy: Yeah.

Me: You realize this means we’re locked out.

The boy: Huh?

8:51 a.m.

Panicked call to the window guy’s voice mail who was supposed to come at 9:30 a.m. to FINALLY put shades up in our front room and family room so our neighbors once and for all don’t have to see me in the pjs in the winter. Call Beetle’s husband to see if, by any chance, he left any doors unlocked because they have a spare key to our house. Beetle is in Vermont and due back later today. Of course, no doors are unlocked. Contemplate how late we’d be if we take the boy to camp by bus. Leave a message for Adam, who is in London, asking him where the hell he’s hidden the extra key.

8:57 a.m.

Pleading call to neighbor to drive the boy to camp. Go with boy and girl with neighbor to camp. Get home. Beetle’s husband calls. He suspects there’s a hidden key. We look. There is a hidden key! Unfortunately it fits none of the locks to their house. I take Pie back to the neighbor’s house to use the bathroom, window guy shows up (didn’t get message in time, but was really nice and it), and Pie and I walk down to Starbucks. I am grateful that it’s Pie I’m with, as she can handle the mile walk without any complaint. Others, who I shall not name, are not as sturdy.

10:11 a.m.

Pie: Mama, we are so lucky to be locked out!

Me: What do you mean?

Pie: Mama, it’s summer!

10:25 a.m.

After one venti iced green tea with one pump of sweetener, one chocolate milk, and one cinnamon-swirl coffee cake, Jasmine and her mom and sister come and rescue us. (I don’t think I’ve ever named Jasmine’s mom before. We’ll call her Laurel.) We head to Laurel’s house for the morning. I text Adam again. I comment on a Facebook post he made and even leave my own Facebook post asking him to contact me. I start calling anyone I know from his local office to see if I can find a number for the London office.  I leave another voice mail. Another text. And another e-mail.

12:15 p.m.

My husband doesn’t call, but Beetle’s husband checks in. Beetle will be home by 3:30.

1:12 p.m.

Adam calls! He hasn’t received a single one of my messages and is therefore surprised to find that I’m frazzled. He tells me where the key is. Yes! I leave Pie with Jasmine and, in 92 degree weather, walk home (not a long walk, but still a hot walk).

1:35 p.m.

Find key exactly where he described it would be. Hmm, key looks a little odd.

1:37 p.m.

Try key on front door. Curse Adam.

1:38 p.m.

Try key on kitchen door. Curse Adam.

1:39 p.m.

Try key on basement door. Curse Adam.

1:40 p.m.

Try key on playroom door. Curse Adam.

1:41 p.m.

Realize the key is the front door key… from before the locks were changed, oh, about a year ago.

1:45 p.m.

Walk the mile to the bus stop.

3:07 p.m.

Get the boy from camp and take the bus back home.

3:17 p.m.

Walk the mile back up the hill to our house. (“How much longer till we’re there? How much longer now?”)

3:37 p.m.

Beetle is home! She has our key! We enter the house!

3:38 p.m.

Hide a key that works in a location that only I know.

Hurry and get Doodles into his swimsuit, pick Pie up from Jasmine’s, and get to the Y in time for swim class with mere minutes to spare.

5:15 p.m.

Pie is monstrous. She wants to stay at the Y, but we have to hurry home for her piano lesson at 6:15.

5:45 p.m.

Feed kids dinner. Pie is rebellious. Pie loses her TV for the night.

6:10 p.m.

Pie: How much longer till my piano teacher comes?

Me: Five more minutes.

I notice there’s a voice mail. Piano teacher double booked. We lose.

I cave. Kids get TV. I get wine. I am so all done with today.

I stink. I mean this in the most literal of ways (and for you, Dawn, I’ll add, “and I don’t say ‘literal’ lightly!”). You walk into our lovely, more or less clean house, and breathe in the freshness. Then, as you make your way upstairs, you’ll notice this dank, disgusting smell. It was stuffy. And gross. And it didn’t take me long to realize… it was my running clothes.

As you may or may not know, Pie has an extreme aversion to sweat and refuses to come near anyone when they are the least bit sweaty. She nearly had a conniption when she realized that Adam put her to bed post-boxing class but pre-shower. True, he was no longer actually sweaty. But the mere thought that sweat had once been on his body was enough to repel her. She won’t come near me once I’m in my running clothes even if I have not yet gone on my run. “After you shower,” is her refrain.

And smelling our upstairs, I sort of get it now. It’s not tough. It’s not sexy. It’s smelly. Yuck. I thought of putting the clothes directly into the basement where the washer is, but then the basement would be smelly. I don’t want to wash each set of running clothes individually, because that would be a waste of water. Besides, as is well documented, I don’t do laundry. (The one time I did–I think I was washing sheets for guests who were coming over–Adam looked at me with the basket of laundry and said, “So you do know where the washer and dryer are!” My parents like to feel they are innocent of all the childhood crimes inflicted upon me–my father insists all our family moves only made me stronger–but no one can deny that my parents traumatized me in the laundry department. I hated doing the family laundry so much, I took to hiding everyone’s clothes in my bottom dresser drawer so I didn’t have to fold them. This went on a while before people started realizing that their underwear piles were diminishing.)

Pie "built" a fairy house in an Audubon Park as part as an eco-art program. And by "build" I mean, she directed me on what to do, so she wouldn't get dirty. Or sweaty.

So now I shower with my gym clothes. I take them in the shower with me and try to rinse them with water. The bathroom is littered with drying gym clothes as well as various swimming paraphernalia. It’s charming. But considering that it’s been 90 percent humidity and I walk in from even my not-so-long runs literally (there I go again! But you know I mean it!) dripping with sweat, it’s necessary (seriously–some folks get these cute little patches of sweat; my clothes are drenched. I’ve actually been asked if I jumped into the reservoir or something because the sweat is dripping off of me. Boy, I’m painting a lovely picture for you guys, aren’t I? I hope you’re not reading this with your breakfast. If you are, sorry!).

I also stink in a figurative way (please hold off on the “duhs,” folks!). I know I haven’t been posting much. My nice relaxing summer is slipping away and in its place is this psychotic, over scheduled summer that consists of me constantly yelling at the kids, “Hurry up! We’re going to be late!” As of this morning, I have officially given up giving up caffeine. (That sentence is correct. Just read it again.) We’ll see if that improves things or makes it worse. Here’s a random sampling of some of the summer activities we’ve been doing:

Pie: swimming classes, piano lessons, dance camp, preschool camp, Kindergarten Connections (get togethers with other future kindergartners at her school), lots of trips to the library for more Rainbow Magic books (ugh!!) and the summer reading program, building fairy houses at an Audubon park, playdates

It was Pirate Week at Doodles's theater camp, and he made a papier mache parrot, learned pirate songs, and acted in a pirate play.

Doodles: swimming classes, drum lessons, robotics camp, invention camp, baseball camp (not a hit–he’s skipping the last day as it’s “boring”), theater camp (huge hit–he’ll be doing another week later this summer), lots of trips to the library for more books on the interest du jour (it’s been the Revolutionary War, wizards, acting, and the latest is Geronimo Stilton books, karate, and Japan) and the summer reading program

Me: chauffeuring, swimming lessons (yes, for me–I’m taking an advanced stroke techniques class as I’m determined to finally learn to the butterfly and perfect my crawl; who knows? There might be a tri in my future), marathon training, chauffeuring, a pilates/yoga class, working on a program at our synagogue, chauffeuring, trying to finish up the third draft of my novel (could I be close to done?), gardening, chauffeuring, waiting for the appliance repairman (the oven still isn’t fixed!), chauffeuring

Adam: Um, I’m actually not sure what Adam has been doing. I know he goes boxing and takes piano lessons. And he shaved his winter beard. But other than that, you’d have to ask his Blackberry what he’s been up to.

No taxation without representation!

As a family: trips to the Reservoir and the outdoor pool at the Y, a Boston Tea Party re-enactment on a lovely sailboat, camping, my parents in town, going to see Toy Story 3, our neighborhood 4th of July bike parade, our 4th of July BBQ

Adam and I have been managing to get out a little bit. We had an awesome date last week–I found a program through Audubon (I’m really trying to take advantage of our membership!) that was canoeing on the Charles River, followed by dinner. There were two other couples and three guides. We paddled on the river for an hour and then stopped to have a catered dinner by the side of the river. Delicious dinner in a lovely setting, and then we paddled more. Our paddling got cut short by thunder and lightening, but it just gave us an excuse to stop off for a drink on our way home, as we had the babysitter for a while longer. Finding a place to drink isn’t always easy in this part of the world, but Adam remembered that a hotel that his company had been to for an off-site was just off the highway so we stopped at the bar there. Oy! We were in our canoeing clothes amidst a sea of Boston’s version of Bridge and Tunnel. We found a corner, had a nice drink, and then ran into friends who joined us. It was an actual grown-up evening! And we’re scheduled to have another grown-up evening next week! Pigs are flying somewhere.

Normally, I’d scour this entry and look for ways to make it more interesting and witty, but the kids are antsy–we’re headed off to the MFA today–and if I don’t post something soon, my father will begin the harassing phone calls. And I wanted you to know why I stink, both literally and figuratively. If the next month of summer is anything like the first (has it only been one month since school ended? Yikes!), you’ll understand why the posts may be sparse. We still have more camping, a summer vacation, canoeing for Doodles, a family Insects and Ice Cream event, fencing for Doodles, a girls’ night out for me, a visit from the Tweedle Twirp and a visit from the Peter, birthday parties to attend and birthday parties to plan, more preschool camp for Pie, an animation class for Doodles…. I still haven’t figured out the WordPress/iPhone thing, but if I do, maybe I can post a bit more. But if not, happy summer! (Just six and a half weeks till school starts again. Just six and a half weeks till school starts again. Just six and a half weeks till school starts again…. Deep breaths….)

I sent Adam off to the pool with the kids so I can get a grip on the disarray in this house. I got some awesome birthday gifts, but they’re scattered all over the house. Doodles came home with packets of papers that are piled in precarious pyramids all over our counter. Adam found shelves that fit the stairways! So they are sitting empty in Doodles’s room. This is my get-things-done morning.

I’ll do a shopping trip at some point, so I asked the kids what they’ll want in their camp lunches.

Pie: What can I have?

Me: Well, this is dance camp. So no peanut butter.

For three years now, Pie has been at a Jewish preschool and camp (which she’ll attend in a couple of weeks), which for reasons of kashrut (kosher) require a vegetarian lunch. In deference to the restrictions placed on the lunches, they do allow peanut products, as long as they are labeled. The kids with peanut products sit away from those with allergies. Most other places around here other ban or “strongly discourage” peanut products in lunches.

Pie: So this isn’t a Jewish camp?

Me: No.

Pie: Then I want meat! Every day! Meat, meat, meat! Give me lots of meat in my lunch!

My slow introduction of vegetarian ways seems to be making little headway here….

The girl, this morning: Mommy! Happy birthday! I’m going to be extra nice to you today! And we can do whatever you want. What do you want to do?

Me: Well–

The girl: I’ll even go to the Res [the town Reservoir] with you!

Me: I’m not sure about that. I promised your brother he could skateboard at the park this morning. And then we need to wait for the piano to be delivered [a friend very kindly gave us their old piano]. Then we’ll see.

The girl: Then we’ll go to the Res?

Me: Then we’ll see.

—–

A couple of hours later.

The girl: Do you want to go to the Res now?

Me: No.

—–

The girl: So… What do you want to do today.

Me: I’d love to take a nap.

The girl: Or… we could go to the Res!

—–

Fifteen minutes later. A complete meltdown over the fact that her apples were slightly red.

Me: I thought you were going to be extra nice to me today.

The girl: I never said that!

—–

Fifteen minutes later.

Me: I need to run to the drugstore to get something.

The girl: We could walk! And then we could just go to the Res!

Me: It’s too hot to walk and we need to get back for your brother.

—-

The girl, with a deep sigh: I really wish I could go to the Res today.

—-

Driving back home.

The girl: Wow, it’s hot. We really should do something to cool off. Hey! Do you know what? The Res can cool you off! A nice cool swim in the Res!

Me: You know what else will cool you off? Our air-conditioned home. It’s nice and cool.

The girl: Or the Res! Which would you rather do?

Me: Air-conditioned home.

—–

At home.

The girl: So… what do you want to do today?

Me: I know where you’re going with this. And it’s not going to work.

At that moment the phone rings. It’s Adam.

Me: Here, tell Daddy what you want.

The girl: No. I’m not going to say it.

—–

The girl: I’m okay that if we go to the Res, Doodles will get to swim twice today and I only go once. So, Mommy, what do you want to do today?

—–

Sigh. I’m going to put on my bathing suit. Happy freakin’ birthday to me.

The preschool videos are done, the teacher cards are made. Two dozen cupcakes and one cake have been made and decorated for the end-of-year picnic cake walk and cupcake spin. Class gift for other child has just been sent off for completion. Relatives have come and gone and getting ready to come again. Adam is cursing the Celtics and I’m eating spoonfuls of leftover of chocolate frosting.

Summer is about to begin….

We had the invasion of family, which began when the forty-foot RV pulled into our driveway. You haven’t seen so many folks slow down and stare since Adam did his naked dance in the front yard after getting his MBA.* Doodles loved it. Pie felt a little shy and refused to go into it for a few days but then couldn’t stop bragging about how she got a private tour.

In the meantime, little Pie has been on a roller coaster ride. Preschool has officially ended. And she’s really not sure how she feels about it. She vacillates wildly in her “Yea! I can’t wait!” and “Waaaa! I want to go back to preschool!” Last week she had her kindergarten visit. But the night before she lay in bed and wailed, “I don’t want to go to kindergarten! I want you to come with me! I want you stay with me all the time! But I don’t want to go to homeschool!” But we solved one of the major problems. She was worried that she wouldn’t be able to turn on the faucets in her new school (they are the push down kind and she sometimes has trouble reaching them), but we were at the school for Doodles’s art show and Pie’s teacher-to-be took her into the bathroom and showed her how to use them. She also promised that Pie could ask her for help if she couldn’t do it herself and I think that relieved a lot of worries.

Pie did great in her preschool end-of-year celebration. But we had to make a quick exit, as she started getting teary eyed (and, okay, I did, too). She was happy today when I had my last volunteer session in Doodles’s room and she came, and his (her future) teacher announced to everyone that Pie had graduated from preschool yesterday and she had them all applaud her. Pie loved that. And today was a meet-up for the kids in her kindergarten and she had a blast. I find it hard, though, because I look at her and all I can still see is “little.” How can she be heading into elementary school? Of course, as good as the day went, the night was rocky with her crying in her sleep. She made her way to our bed and then demanded, half asleep, that Adam leave as she only wanted me.

Meanwhile, Doodles has mere days of first grade left. It seems as if his school should have been done long ago–I’m ready for summer to be here in full swing. But yesterday was “the best day ever” for the boy. At his school’s fundraiser this year, I bought him the honor of being “principal for the day.” And that day was yesterday. The kid was in heaven. He got to deliver mail. He went into every classroom to “assess the learning.” He got to make announcements, including decreeing extra recess for the entire school. He was allowed to choose two friends to have a lunch of pepperoni pizza with him and the “other” principal. When I went to pick him up, kids were still calling him principal, even though he finished in time to change back into shorts and go to music class.  When I was at workboard today, Mimi and Pie were in deep conversation when Mimi said, “Oh my God. Doodles was so handsome yesterday!” And Pie responded, “I know! Didn’t he look so cute?” And Mimi said, “His hair was really nice and he looked so good!” And then I shut the conversation down because it was just too strange for me.

And I now have to go to bed. Not so much because I’m tired but because Adam’s jumping and twitching over this basketball game has me jittery. And it’s also weirding me out that he’s watching TV with his eyes open. That never happens. Adam + couch + TV = sleep. The universe feels off. So goodnight. Maybe tomorrow things will be right again.

*Okay, so maybe there was no naked dance. But I was really struggling with a way to finish that sentence and that seemed to work so well.

We subscribe to Boston Organics (is subscribe the right word? I guess so, but it sounds funny to subscribe to veggies). Every week a box appears on our front porch full of organic goodies. For a long time we had a CSA, but I found myself overwhelmed. I love eggplant, but I finally lost it on the fourth week of getting five eggplants. Need I say I’m the only one who likes eggplant in this house? With Boston Organics, I have a “no” list (as in NEVER send me cauliflower because we will never, ever eat it) and they send reasonable amounts of each food. We get 2/3 veggie and 1/3 fruit. It works. Well. Except for those times when I leave town for a weekend. Or when Adam has a lot of nights working late or Doodles has Cub Scouts or track and field or Pie simply melts down early and we don’t have family dinners. Which has been happening a lot lately. So the veggies have been piling up. I had three bunches of asparagus in the fridge and six beets and a whole lot of yellow squash. I was determined to use some of this stuff up.

Asparagus? Easy. Roasted for Shabbat dinner tonight. That’s the best way: a smidgen of olive oil, a bit o’ time in the oven, and we’re all happy. Beets? A little more challenging. Adam loves beets. I think I could even call them his favorite vegetable. But he likes them really simple. Roasted. And that’s about it. I dressed them up tonight with a little lemon, onion, and olive oil. Myself, I prefer them with oranges and goat cheese, but my man is a simple man so plain beets it is.

But I refuse to prepare all six beets “plain,” as Adam won’t eat leftovers, which means I spend days eating boring beets until they get slimy and tossed and I feel guilty about wasting food. So today I had a brainstorm. Red Velvet Cake. I was going to make Red Velvet Cupcakes. With the beets. (Which, by the way, is one of the traditional ways of making it. None of that “two bottles of red dye #40.”) Genius.

I roast the beets. I puree the beets. Pie comes into the kitchen. “What are those?”

“Pureed beets,” I tell her.

“Ewww!”

“No, they’re good!”

Her nose wrinkles. “They look gross.”

She goes off to play. I bake hallah. I roast potatoes. I make Red Velvet Cupcakes. Pie returns when the cupcakes are done.

“Cupcakes!” she exclaims.

“Yep!” I say, frosting them with a cream cheese frosting.

“What kind?” she asks.

I hesitate. “They’re chocolate cupcakes. The name of them is Red Velvet Cupcakes.”

“Red Velvet?” Pie asks. And she gets right to it. “Are they called Red Velvet because of beets? Did you put the beets in the cupcakes!”

Luckily, I have the other three beets prepared to make Adam’s plain Jane salad. So I evade the question. “The beets are here in the sink.”

“Oh,” she says. And went back to play.

At dinner tonight, she pronounced the cupcakes “delicious!”

And the boy? He’s nobody’s fool and you’re not going to sneak a veggie past him, even in a cupcake. My Red Velvet Cupcake, which by the way, didn’t have a smidgen of red in them by the end, were pronounced “not for me,” and left half eaten.

You can fool some of the Pies some of the time and all of the Doodles… never.

You all know that I watch most of those silly reality shows, things like The Real Housewives of Schenectady, where when they go away on vacation, they bring their entire closets with them? It’s all so exaggerated, the five bathing suits, the fourteen pairs of shoes, the thirty-seven tops for a weekend getaway.

Or so I thought, before this past two-night trip to NYC with a few haus frau girlfriends (who shall henceforth be referred to as HF1 (who is L., for those of you playing along at home), HF2 (D.), HF3 (A.), and HF4 (N.)). We went for a shopping trip. God knows why. I have never seen anyone bring so many clothes for such a short time away. Not a one of them needed more clothes. HF4 and I shared a room. She had a full suitcase and a garment bag with about a dozen hangers of outfits. The other three changed outfits multiple times a day. And here I thought this was a trait Pie would grow out of; I had no idea it would only grow worse as she aged.

And me? I brought one dress that I wear as a skirt; one short-sleeved black shirt to wear with the skirt… which turned out to be actually long-sleeved (it looks just like my short-sleeved one and I didn’t look closely enough when I packed), which means I didn’t really have a shirt, as the weather was too sweltering to wear it; one pair of jeans; one top to go with the jeans; one cardigan in case it was chilly; and one tank top to wear with the skirt… which it turns out I forgot to pack. I did, of course, bring running clothes. Because running clothes are essential.

And the shopping? We all scored. They bought dresses and flip flops and jewelry and shirts. I bought two necklaces, a bunch of cookie cutters, and books. Lots of books. Enough books to keep me reading all summer (HF2 wrote on my Facebook page, “The NY Times book review is not meant to serve as a shopping list,” although that’s exactly what it did and it was perfect!). I got home and delivered a mountain of presents to my children and Pie said to me, “I want to see the clothes you bought!”

“I didn’t buy any,” I told her.

Her face fell. “But I thought this was a shopping trip!”

“It was,” I said. “Didn’t you see how many books I bought?”

She was so disappointed. “That’s not shopping.” She was so meant to be HF1’s daughter.

Anyway, I’m back and trying to re-enter life. I asked Doodles, “Did you miss me?” to which I got a big hug and a “Yes!” I asked Pie, “Did you miss me?” She cocked her head at me and said, “No. But you can put me to bed anyway.”

Over the next couple of days, I’ll try to retrace my steps in New York and see if I can come up with some explanations for you guys for those incomprehensible tweets (explanations, I should say, other than “gin” or “whiskey” or “wine”).

But for now, I need to make up for the two nights of only five hours sleep (each night, people. I’m not a monster, you know!).

I love the fluidity of summer. How everyone just moves in and out of the house and just lets the mood of the day take them. Yes, I know, it’s not technically summer, as Pie likes to remind me (“Is it really summer yet? How many more days till my birthday?”). But it feels like it. This is the year my kids are old enough to come and go on their own more or less, coming and going being defined as allowed to head out the backyard by themselves or go across the street to play with Tab. Doodles is allowed to ride his bike as long as he has a buddy with him. It’s the first year I’ve ever had to ask, “Where are the kids?” and really not known. I’ll call to the neighbor, “Have you seen my kids?” and generally the answer is, “They’re down the street” or “In my backyard.” It’s a relaxing feeling.

We’re definitely slipping into summer mode–kids up later, less TV (yea!), lots of popsicles. Kindergarten Connections for Pie–where she starts to meet other kids who will be in her grade–starts this coming Saturday, although I personally will miss it as I’ll be on a girls’ trip to NYC. School year is winding down, which means I’m making the preschool class video, trying to finalize camp plans, floundering at making vacation plans (we cannot get our act together to figure out where to go).

Of course this also means I’ve slipped into summer dress. Which pretty much involves leaving my shorts on the floor and then the next morning evaluating if they’re clean enough to make it another day. Usually they are, except for those days when I’ve been gardening (I’m so into gardening! I have three types of tomatoes plants; lettuce, carrots, onions, and squash that are all growing from seed; red peppers; basil; cucumbers; eggplant; and I’m trying potatoes in a garbage bag, and they are growing like crazy!). Except that I now have the fashion police living in the house. I put on my shorts. For only the second day in a row, I might add. And that little girl came in after I was fully dressed, rubbed her eyes from sleep, took one look at me, and exclaimed, horrified, “Mommy! You wore those yesterday!” Why, yes. Yes, I did. What’s the point of being a suburban haus frau if you can’t wear your clothes multiple days in a row?

In general, Memorial Day Weekend was a big success. I had an uber-relaxing weekend. It’s what happens when you self-medicate. On Sunday, I had a BBQ that I was very much looking forward to, but I had the nigglings of a headache and my foot was hurting, so I popped a couple of Advil. Only about three minutes after I took them, I thought, “Hey! I don’t remember our Advil being blue.” I checked. They’re not blue. They’re orange. Those blue pills? Tylenol P.M. My state of mind? A happy place. Turns out you can fight the Tylenol P.M. for a good many hours (might even be longer if you’re not drinking) before finally having to cave to the goodness of a bed. I don’t know which was better: that gooey feeling or not hearing even the slightest peep of Adam putting the kids to bed.

The joys of summer. Bring it on!

Why is it my son who would go an entire week in the same underwear needs to be constantly reminded that he can wear the same pajamas a couple of nights in a row? Not that that’s the point right now. It’s a genuine question. I simply don’t understand. And why can he remember every level of card-jitsu in Club Penguin but can’t remember what he did in school five minutes after the bell rings?

My kids are in a mood today. Both of them. Pie had a complete meltdown on the way home from walking the boy to school because I mentioned we might go swimming this weekend. It’s supposed to be 80 on Sunday. Pie has been begging to swim. We can go. But I happened to mention that the outdoor pool at the Y was opening, and that sent her off into convulsions. She doesn’t want to swim outside. She only wants to swim inside. And only now. Not on Sunday. Thirty minutes of tears commenced.

My son, meanwhile, spends all his time locked up in his room, rereading Diary of a Wimpy Kid (books 1 through 4) or his new discovery, Calvin and Hobbes comics. I forced him outside. Harumph. Given their mood, I thought we should have a nice mellow family night. How about a movie? We can all watch the first Shrek. He hates Shrek. No, he’s never seen it. No, he doesn’t know what it’s about. He hates it. He’ll watch a different movie on his iPod. Okay, then, I say, no movie night. “Oh, oh-kay. I’ll watch Shrek!” Thanks for the favor.

The best part about all of this? It’s a three-day weekend. I get three days of loveliness from my children. And even better? Only two and a half more weeks of school for Pie and three and a half for Doodles. And then there all mine! Whaa haa haa haa ha! Thank goodness drinking white wine or sangrias at noon in the summer is acceptable. It is right? Right?