the pieces of my life

People here go stupid crazy over Truck Day and not only do I find that annoying, but I find it more annoying that when people say “Truck Day,” I know what it is. In fact, not only do I know what it is, but I know where those stupid trucks are going. (Truck Day is the day when the trucks are packed with the Red Sox *equipment* [Yes, the equipment. Not even the team] to head down to Ft. Myers for spring training. The only thing more exciting [not to me, thank you very much] is the day that pitchers and catchers report, which is February 20 AND WHY DO I KNOW THIS, PEOPLE? That is valuable brain space that could be spent on so many more important things, like how does Bruce Jenner feel about the fact that he is no longer referred to as “Olympian Bruce Jenner” but as “Reality TV Star Bruce Jenner”?)

Even my own husband, when I complained about my Facebook feed being taken over by Truck Day texted me, “I was just about to post on FB ‘TRUCK DAY!!!'” According to Adam, “It’s like the New England version of Groundhog Day, [but] the answer is always ‘It’s almost spring!'”

Bostonians are morons. Including the ones to whom I’m related. Or maybe especially the ones to whom I’m related.

I know I’ve been MIA, but I’m happy to report, I’m done with my manuscript revisions so I am now free to write again. It’s hard to write while I’m writing. But now that I’m not writing, I can write. So here I am.

As I imagine everyone knows, we’re going a little snow-crazy here in Eastern Massachusetts, and I’m going even more stir-crazy because on top of the six snow days we had in a three-week period, I got a bonus two days stuck inside as Pie had a nasty virus. Luckily, she’ll get in one day of school before the one-week February vacation during which another blizzard is coming. Fun, fun. (I’m ignoring the darkening skies that are occurring right now, and the flakes that seem to be fluttering from the sky.) The whole thing would be enough to drive a person to the bourbon cabinet, but I have it on good authority (hi, Peter!) that I have a cousin on the Left Coast (hi, SB!) who reads this blog and fears for the well being of my liver and my sobriety. I would like to assure Cousin SB that both are well intact, and in fact, I have embraced “clean living.” Since January 1, I’ve had only a couple of drinks and–gasp!–no gummy bears. And, I will say, that there is a distinct possibility that I talk about bourbon more than I actually have the opportunity to drink it. That is not the case for gummy bears. When I talk about eating gummy bears it is because I am actually eating gummy bears. Mmmmm, gummy bears.

I’m a little ramble-y today. Sorry about that. That’s what happens when you’re as cooped up as I am. (Coops. Chickens. Chickens go peep peep. Suddenly I crave Peeps. Where was I?) Seriously, the snow is horrific. I wanted an award for taking the compost out, but no one in my family acknowledge my great feat of environmental do-gooding. Heck, I wanted an award for finding the compost bins.

There are two compost bins in this photo. Can you spot them?

But we’ve had some fun. There’s been saucering with the boy (“Climbing back up the hill is soooo hard!”) and snowshoeing with the girl (“This is too tiring!”). There’s been excessive computer and iPad time while I yell from upstairs, “I said BE QUIET! I need to finish my revisions!” There’s been a few days of slow-simmered red beans and rice and soup bubbling on the stove. And now I’m done. I’m ready for this stupid winter to be over. Which is good. Because we’re only expecting, over the course of the next four days, 12 or more inches of snow. And on that note, I will type the final “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy” into my manuscript and send it off to my editor, and I’ll leave you with images from the snowy northeast.

We threatened our son the other day with a cattle prod. Instead of becoming upset, he merely scoffed at us. “You know,” he said, “they don’t use cattle prods anymore. They use tasers.”

Adam and I are so trapped in the 20th century.

With school canceled, Adam’s office closed, and a snow emergency in effect, we’re guaranteed a nice quiet, sunny day tomorrow. I wouldn’t mind some real snow–my snow shoes are crying in the basement from lack of use and the kids have been looking longingly at their sleds. But I’m skeptical. Too much hype. Two feet of snow? We’ll see. But just in case, I did load up on hot chocolate and I’m steeling myself for the onslaught of “Can I go on the computer?” “Can I watch a show?” “Can I play Wii?” I plan on standing firm. The kids have valentines to make, a book report to write for the little one, a science project for the big one, and loads of books to read. So, yeah, we’ll be watching TV all day.

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.

–I’m not sure why my family doesn’t see it as an act kindness that I am willing to eat all the expired gummy bears by myself? What if they’re poisonous now? Why don’t they understand I’m simply taking one for the team?

–I don’t like to think of myself as a fair weather environmentalist, but I officially declare a hiatus on composting until the first thaw. If we could even get to the composter, I don’t think we’d be able to pry the lid off (sorry for the haze–the only way to take the picture was through the window screen):

–Yesterday was a snow day. A sleety/frozen rain/snow-covered snow day. The boy simply stayed in his pjs the entire day (the girl went on a playdate,so she had to dress. God FORBID there is a day without a friend in it!). But when he woke up in the morning, the first thing he did was go to his math workbook, where he has extra math that he requested from his teacher, and he did a few pages of algebra. “I need to warm my brain up,” he told Adam.

–My car got stuck in my own driveway today. Wheels spun. Wouldn’t move. “Move it up slowly and then hit reverse fast,” Adam advised. Um, there is no forward. Forward is only a giant snowbank. I did get it out eventually. “Maybe we should make our driveway double wide,” Adam said. “Maybe we should move our driveway to Miami,” I replied. “Um,” he said, “my way’s cheaper.” Yeah? So?

–I love that when I now use my “Can’t talk; noveling” mug, I no longer feel like a fraud about it.

–I think those gummies were poisonous! I definitely feel nauseous right now. I guess you shouldn’t eat gummies that have been expired for a year. Or maybe it’s that I ate all 3.5 servings in one sitting? And how is it possible that that one little bag could be 3.5 servings? No, it must be because they were expired.

I can’t do another snow day. It’s not that the kids are making me crazy (they do that even when it’s not a snow day). It’s not that there’s snow to be shoveled (Adam actually took care of all the snow himself this morning, with the help of a neighbor’s snowblower). It’s not that I’m tired of the snow (I’m looking forward to some good snowshoeing this weekend).

It’s that all this snow is making me fat. Because there’s nothing like a snow day to make you want to cozy up to a warm oven or stove. So now that we’re on our fourth snow day in three weeks (three weeks that also included one early release day and one MLK day), I’m desperate to cook but my waistline can’t take any more. What have I made in those three days? Well:

Bread. Oh so much bread! Both “artisan” and hallah, multiple loaves of each
Cherry chocolate-chip cookies
Whoopie pies (when I asked Doodles if they were as good as the ones from Wilson Farm, he looked at it, looked at me, and looked at it again and said, “This isn’t from Wilson Farm???” That’s success!)
Candied orange peel
Chocolate-covered candied orange peel
Marshmallows. Lots and lots and lots of marshmallows
Onion Soup
Peanut-butter chocolate-chip cookies

We need sunshine. Fast. Before I start baking/cooking again!

Today was snowshoeing with the Daisies day. Eleven girls. Four older siblings. Seven grown-ups. A wide open field for clomping across. What could wrong? Oh, I know. My kids could be royal pains in the tush. Everyone else seemed to be doing fine. But mine? Not as much.

Remarkably, despite the 20 degree weather, it felt great out (this isn’t just me being masochistic–everyone agreed it was a beautiful day). No wind, pristine snow, sun out. Perfect winter outside weather.

The boy was happy… for a while. When he was off on his own, he was as happy as could be. But then I made him stick with the group. And he was sad. So very sad. And a wee bit angry. Just one Garbo moment after another: “I want to be alone!”

The girl snowshoed. And enjoyed it. For five minutes. And then she was tired. And thirsty. And. She. Wasn’t. Going. To. Walk. Anymore! Thank you very much.

Almost everyone was happy to stop. Well, just about everyone. The other leader and I brought hot chocolate for after and I made cookies for all the Daisies. The boy ate one. He asked for another. He got another! But then halfway through eating it, he overheard someone asking me what kind of cookies they were. “Cherry Chocolate Chip!” I said. The boy looked at that half eaten cookie, handed it back to me, and said, “I don’t like it.”

“But you ate one and half of them!”

“That was before I knew what it was. Now I don’t like it.”

I know, you’re jealous. Sorry. They’re all mine!

I thought the whole point of New England was that the folks up here are rough, rugged. Snow? What snow?

So what’s up with another friggin’ snow day? Seriously. It’s the folks in Seattle who aren’t supposed to be prepared for snow. But we have snow plows up here. And ice melt. And shovels. Why is this our third snow day in two weeks (two weeks that also included an early release day and MLK day)? I mean, we have community schools, so there’s no reason not to bundle up and walk to school (okay, I know, the teachers don’t live nearby, but hey! Don’t go bursting my bubble)!

The kids are happy. And I don’t mind, except that I had a pretty long to-do list for today that’s now a to-don’t list. The boy, though, is happy because we just checked out a bunch of books from the library and I printed him extra math worksheets to do (this is a boy who turned down a playdate the other day because he preferred to stay home and do extra math). The girl is happy because she has a stack of papers and is sitting next to me talking to herself. And, truth be told, I’m pretty happy because I (and the kids) got new snowshoes this week and we’ll have a chance to use them later today. And in the meantime, I’ll bake some bread and make some marshmallows.

But really. It’s just snow folks.

We don’t own a flask. How is this possible? We are parents who like to drink, and we don’t have a flask. Which means I was forced to put the family bourbon in an old honey jar to take to the playground. That must break about twenty etiquette rules. Don’t tell Emily Post.

But I get ahead of myself.

We–along with most of this country–had a snow day (and why not? Did you know that 49 states had snow as of yesterday?). And (except for a flask) I was prepared. I was so prepared! We had everything we needed for the perfect snow day.

Morning in bed, reading to the kids from On the Banks of Plum Creek? Done.

Playing in the front yard while I shovel… and shovel… and shovel? Check.

New paint and plenty of popsicle sticks for the kids to make pictures and towers? Got that covered.

A little excitement of a downed (unused) wire that warrants a visit from the fire department? Arranged especially by me for my darling children’s enjoyment!

Bake cookies with the kids? Complete with whole wheat pastry flour purchased in advance just for the snow day? Of course!

A new book for the Tag reader and a new Didj game? All taken care of.

Quick board game break? Complete with letting the scared-of-losing child win.

A meet up with friends at the playground for an hour or two of snow fun? Would you think otherwise?

Bourbon in a honey jar to keep the grown-ups warm? Duh!

Hot chocolate for seven kids back at the house? You know it.

Snowcaps for the six adults? Oh, yeah.

I used every trick I had. Which would have been great. If we didn’t have another snow day tomorrow.

Can you see “Netflix Streaming”?

I really need to get a flask.

My kids have personalities as different as can be. But nowhere does it show itself as clearly as it does in their reaction to the weather. Doodles, who claimed that his favorite thing about the trip to Miami Beach was “the hotness,” constantly bemoans the fact that we live in New England instead of Florida. The minute the temperature drops, the boy becomes a couch potato, piling up a stack of books, planting himself in front of the fireplace, and settling in for the day.

The girl has the opposite reaction. She wakes up. “Snow? Can I shovel!” She’s the first one in her snow pants and ready to play outside. This morning as I attempted to shovel us out–attempted because it was one of those wet, heavy snows that doesn’t want to cooperate with the shovel–she proclaimed, “Do you know what my favorite season is? It’s winter!” And then she attempted to make a snow slide out of the mounds being shoveled.

I want to buy all of us snow shoes. Pie says, “Can we go today?” I tell her, “I haven’t bought them yet!” Doodles protests, “I don’t want snow shoes. It’s just walking in the snow with tennis rackets on your feet. And I hate walking.”

My sun worshiper and my snow baby. And never the ‘twain shall meet.

We all react to the snow in different ways. While a Sunday snow day is not a terrible thing, I was a bit disappointed because I had been looking forward to a few weekend activities that had to be reshuffled. The Tweedle Twirp was going to come visit, but that got canceled, which also means we were no shows at our monthly game night last night since we were suddenly babysitter-less. Doodles had a cub scout event today that I thought was going to be fun and interesting.

But my kids? My kids are thrilled. Doodles spent the entire day in his pajamas, playing with new Hanukkah presents. When I went out to shovel, Pie eagerly came along, and did “modern dance in the snow.” She shoveled for a minute or two with me, and then promptly went across the street to help Tab shovel her walk.

Me, I’ve used the day to write about a zillion holiday cards (and yet, I’m still not done!). My apologies to those whose last names begin after the letter L; my handwriting completely deteriorated by that point. I also packaged the last of the boxes to be mailed and doing a little last holiday baking (well, not quite last, but I can dream). I also decided to take down the Hanukkah decorations. A little odd, considering most of the country is still putting up their decorations, but our holiday is over and I never like those things to linger. I left up all the lights and holiday cards, but the menorahs, the dreidel pictures, the Little People Hanukkah toy, the menorah tidbit tray, and all the little Hanukkah knickknacks returned to that great storage in the attic. The kids have spent the entire afternoon glued to the TV, which once in a while, is fine by me (Doodles said, “It’s like when we have a fever and we can watch all we want!”). Yesterday was a hectic day–hockey and then to a friends to make ornaments for her tree and then my in-laws came to celebrate Hanukkah with us. So a rest day is well deserved.

Santa was at hockey, and both my kids wanted to meet him. Santa made chit chat with Doodles first. Asked if he’d been a good boy. If he’ll keep being a good boy. Told him that he (Santa) also ice skated up at the North Pole. And then he asked Doodles what he wanted for Christmas. Doodles merely said, “We don’t celebrate Christmas.” No elaboration. I think he threw Santa for a loop, but Santa finally realized what was going on and said, “That’s fine!” By the time Pie got off the ice to meet him, Santa was a little more prepared for her response.

The one unfortunate about the snow is that it cleared up enough for Adam to be able to get out to head to the airport. He’s off to London for a few days, which always makes me sad. Hanukkah over; the short, dark days; the oppression of the snow; Adam’s trip overseas–this time of year always conspires to make me blue.

But soon enough it will be Christmas, which is a very special day in our house, because that is the day that Santa brings us sun. One of the best parts of being Jewish is being able to fly out on Christmas day for warmer climes.

So now, I just need to plug through the next few days. The light at the end of the tunnel is spa day. I just need to focus on spa day…. Ahhhhh….

I’m here, I’m here. I’ve got a whole bunch of saved drafts that I’ve abandoned because they’re outdated. I’m feeling a bit over my head right now. I’ve got a suitcase that needs to be unpacked just so I can repack it, Adam’s harassing me to look at closet layouts, I have a program at the synagogue that I’m running next week, I have to buy booster seats for my kids for the tour bus, the apartment has to be packed, our trip has to be packed, my son needs 18 valentines for his class, I have homework for my Hebrew class, we haven’t yet picked out tile for the back splash, the landlord is coming by on Tuesday and the apartment is disgusting, and I’m doing the only reasonable thing I could be doing right now: pouring myself a glass of wine, getting teary eyed over Chesley Sullenberger and his crew standing on the field of the Super Bowl, and baking the Ultimate Chocolate Chip Cookies, courtesy of Foodie at Fifteen. So here’s a brief hodgepodge of the saved drafts in Blogger.

1) As most of the Northeast did, we had a snow day last Wednesday. For once, I didn’t dread it. I had no work to do, the kids get along well, and it was, well, snowy out. Because I had a 5:30 a.m. boot camp class, I was a bit tired, so I set the kids up with salmonella-free chocolate peanut butter sandwiches and a stack of Legos. I lay on the couch, and took a nap. They actually let me doze, on and off, for about an hour. We read some books. I relaxed. They played on their own. It only went awry when we had a playdate that we had scheduled the previous week. I wanted the kids to get together, because they don’t know each other well (Pie is at the same school as the younger boy and she seems very fond of him), and we’ll all be going to Israel together. This family has a four-year-old boy, a six-year-old boy, and a nine-year-old girl. Perfect right?

Almost perfect. Because I don’t drive in snow. I just don’t do it. I refuse. I was about to call and cancel the playdate when I decided to play with Google Maps new feature, plotting out walking times/distances. Not too far. .8 miles. 16 minutes. Doable right? “Hey, guys! We’re going on an adventure! We’re going to walk to our playdate!”

Doodles immediately started groaning. “I don’t want to walk! I hate walking!” But Pie, in her naivete, was game. “An adventure! We’re going on an adventure!” She bravely kept this up for the first 15 minutes, when, with bright pink cheeks and the wind whipping, and snow drifts up to her knees, said, “I don’t like this!”

The 16-minute walk miraculously only took 45 minutes. Did I mention that this playdate was .8 miles… up a hill? On mostly unplowed sidewalks? And death-defying drivers careening on the streets? In snow that turned to freezing rain? I knew I had made a bad mistake with this walk, but it was too late to turn around; we were closer to the playdate’s house. Oh, the false cheer I kept up. “You guys are doing great! You’re doing so awesome! What tremendous adventurers you are! Do you guys know what adventurers get when they get home? Hot chocolate! With marshmallows. So many marshmallows. I think we’ll build you a pyramid of marshmallows! And TV! Adventurers get lots of TV. Lots and lots.” Guilt gets you nothing but hot chocolate and TV.

We made it. Soaking wet and chilled to the bone, we made it. We enter the house and I try fruitlessly to disrobe us without spewing water and ice everywhere. We come into the house and Pie, uncharacteristically, becomes clingy. She had been anxious to play with the boy, asking all week when the playdate was, so I didn’t understand her behavior. Doodles got shy and the boy his age went off on his own. I sat down to have a cup of tea and to chat with the mom, and Pie climbed up into my lap.

“Go play!” I urged her. “You love playdates!”

Pie shook her head, buried her face in my shoulder… and fell asleep. And I mean asleep. I mean snoring you could hear across the room asleep. Doodles ended up playing with the younger boy and I ended up quickly calling Adam (who was working at Panera in town, given that the apartment is too small for him to work from home) to come pick us up.

At home, Pie woke up. And why wouldn’t she? She got hot chocolate. With a pyramid of mini marshmallows. And an overdose of TV.

2) Let’s talk about clothes. Or lack thereof. Because my daughter is a nudist in a way I don’t ever recall my son being. The minute she walks into the apartment, she disappears into another room. And moments later, out she comes, sans clothes. She spends the entire afternoon (or morning or evening) naked. She dances. She plays. She colors. Naked. We do insist that underwear goes on for eating, as hands go all over the place, but other than that, the girl is naked. All the time. If you’re ever wondering what Pie is up to? Now you know. She’s naked.

Digression: Does the ad for SoBe Lifewater, with all the guys in white shirts, kind of remind you of the sperm scene in Everything You Wanted to Know About Sex *But Were Afraid to Ask?

3) Doodles has become a royal pain in the a**. No other way to describe it. He’s been moody, refusing to listen, negative on everything, greedy as all get out, and impossible to live with. Nothing funny here. Just me at my wit’s end with my normally adorable, fun-loving, cuddly son.

Bruce is on. You no longer have my attention. Gotta go, ‘cuz I was born to run….