The State of Things: A List

Recent conversations with Jemma:

Looking at a photo on the wall at Annie's piano lesson with Miss Jody:

J: "Who is that man?"
Me: "You know him. Who do you think it is?"
J: "Oh, I know! Mr. Jody!"


Eating breakfast this morning:

J: "I'm not in a hurry for college to get here!"
Me: "What? No, no hurry for you to go to college. Someday."
J: "I want to live here with you forever."
Me: "Oh, when you're eighteen and nineteen, you'll want to live with your friends."
J: "How many rooms are there?"
Me: "Where? At college?"
J: "Yes. For sleeping."
Me: "Oh, hundreds or thousands. It depends on how big the college is."
J: "Are there pink ones? I hope there are some pink ones."

*****

Things the kittens have eaten or tried to eat:

-cream cheese
-butter
-chicken noodle soup
-homemade dulce de leche
-brownies
-oatmeal
-Boursin cheese
-peanut butter
-carrots

*****

Times that Annie has had her seat moved in the classroom since the beginning of the school year: Three.

I assume we'll be hearing about that at conferences . . .

*****

What I spend my time doing, now that the girls are in school all day:

-getting groceries
-cleaning the litter box
-working out
-making food

*****

 Things I thought I would do while the girls were in school all day that I basically never do:

-luxuriate with a book and a coffee in my house
-keep a cleaner house
-write
-nap

*****

I have purchased a single thing ever from Restoration Hardware, and that was an end table on clearance about two or three years ago. But now they send me their ENORMOUS, RIDICULOUS catalogs on a regular basis. I need to make it stop. THREE of the behemoths came yesterday, and it is enough to make me join the Sierra Club. Restoration Hardware: Think of the trees! We have this new thing called The Internet where you can show your overpriced items without killing all the trees in North America!

*****

What I want for Christmas:

a DSLR camera
cute boots
every candle in Anthropologie

fin.

Three Simple Questions

I've nerded out before about my 2012 Happiness Project calendar, I know. But I particularly liked yesterday's page. With no editorializing, the page simply asked, bullet-pointed:

• List five things you do for fun. In the last six months, how much time have you spent doing those activities?
• Is there a quotation, a book, or a scene from a movie that makes you particularly happy?
• What three subjects fascinate you?

I love these questions. LOVE them. They're such good prompts to get me thinking about concrete ways to sneak more joy, more wonder, more fun into my everyday life. So here are my answers, and I'd love to see yours.

• Write, read, walk or run outside, cook and eat with my family, laugh with friends. I think it is safe to say that I do at least one of these every day, and I now realize that "a good day" is usually achieved when I have done all five.
• Oh, I am a sucker for quotations! One of my favorites is from Brian Andreas: "Time stands still best in moments that look suspiciously like ordinary life." The book Dandelion Wine never fails to make me happy; neither do the movies "When Harry Met Sally" or "Love Actually," particularly the scene where Hugh Grant dances down the staircase.
• I have long been fascinated by the 1960's (I used to get actually angry with my mom, who graduated high school in '68 and was in college at the height of the war protest/free love movement, for not at all participating in the era) as well as anything to do with World War II, and I'm currently interested in the intersection of parenting and religion.

“Instructions for living a life. 
Pay attention. 
Be astonished. 
Tell about it.” 

-Mary Oliver

More Good-ish Things

I appreciate a nod to retro and I'm as big a fan of Mad Men as anyone (how great was Sunday's double-episode season 5 premiere?), but when this came in the mail yesterday, I wasn't sure what to think about it:

My reactions, in the order that they occurred to me:

1. Why is she so mad?
2. What, exactly, is L.L. Bean trying to sell with this picture?
3. This reminds me of a funny story Jason's mom tells about the way she used to feel early in her marriage when Jason's dad would take her to the cabin, then abandon her to go fishing all day.
4. No, seriously. Why is she mad? Does she not like fish? Does he want her to clean and cook the fish? Is she mad that her daughter fell asleep? Is it past bedtime? Did he leave without telling her where he was going?
5. That guy is pretty proud of himself, isn't he?
6. What year is it supposed to be here?

(Edited to add Jemma's take: "Oh, I know why she's mad. It's because the little girl is wearing tap shoes to the beach!" They are technically saddle shoes, but she has a valid point.)

I did not find the answers to any of these questions, but I did have a good laugh about the picture with Katie before our run this morning.

*****

Annie has taken to sleeping in her sleeping bag, on top of her bed. I think it's so she doesn't have to make her bed in the morning. That's creative problem-solving, I guess.

*****

Jemma gave herself her entire bath last night: soap, shampoo, conditioner, the whole nine yards. When she got out and I was helping to towel her off, she said, "I'm the happiest yet!"

*****

Sarah and I found ourselves at Target at the exact same time yesterday morning, and the Target employees were not even really trying to hide their amusement at us as we expressed our glee at the new, improved SuperTarget produce section. "Look!"we trilled, "an avocado! At Target!"

Ice Cream, Skis, and Katy Perry

Since taking the girls to get ice cream at Jersey Junction on the day that it opened, March first, they have subsequently asked to go to Jersey Junction every single day since. This, in spite of the fact that on about day three I told them that if they asked to go every day, I would keep saying no until they stopped asking every day. So here is something you don't know about parenting at the outset: Sometimes you will say no to your children seven days in a row, not because you don't want to do the thing, but because you can't let them become the kind of children who expect to go get ice cream every single day of their lives. They get upset when I tell them no about this, and I say, "Life is hard," and they are not amused.

*****

It was freezing last weekend, so the girls were able to finish out their ski lessons for the year. Annie is officially a waaaaaaay better skier than I am, and Jemma is well on her way. Jemma's New Year's Resolution was to learn to ski. I think she is the the only member of the family who has kept it.

*****

Two days ago, it was sunny and 65 degrees by the time I picked Annie up from school. We stayed for a while at the playground and then came home to play outside some more, where I waged a battle with Annie, who felt sure that 65-degree weather meant she should change into a bathing suit and flip flops, and could we have a picnic outside for dinner? We finally came to terms about appropriate clothing and spent over an hour outside, Rollerblading and scooting and drawing animals on the driveway in chalk. I had forgotten how wonderful and simple it is to do those things, and it gave me hope that spring coming will make everyone a bit happier.

*****

Annie is learning to play "Firework" by Katy Perry on the piano. It is awesome.

*****

House status: electrician wiring done, girls' new bedrooms being painted today and tomorrow, dresser and lamps and light fixtures ordered, curtain-sewing lady coming over to measure today, Jason's seven thousand instruments and piles of dental journals moved to the basement. The girls should be able to move up there in the next couple of weeks. It will be strange to have them on another floor, and I have visions of going upstairs for the first time in a few days and finding the floor covered with Polly Pockets, puzzle pieces, doll clothes, and markers. We are going to need A System. (Does anyone have A System?)

Confessions, Unrelated

Sometimes when I'm at yoga and the instructor seems to be paying the tiniest bit more attention to me than average - standing in front of me a few times, adjusting me just a little bit, maybe smiling at me - I play out an elaborate fantasy in my mind whereby the instructor, after class, stops me as I'm rolling up my mat and says something like, "How long have you been practicing? You are really above average at this. Have you ever considered teaching?" This, in spite of the fact that I am, truly, approximately exactly average at this series of poses, and also in spite of the fact that yoga attempts to cultivate a mindset of non-comparison, non-competitiveness, and non-judgement. I know this, and yet the fantasy? It continues.

*****

One of the things I am (sadly) most looking forward to about our potential house renovation is that we hope to create a new back entry/mudroom with main floor laundry. (This is what you get excited about in your mid-thirties?) This is the third house Jason and I have lived in where the laundry situation has been less-than-ideal (read: oldest models of appliances known to man plunked down in the middle of a creepy, unfinished cement basement), and I envision the laundry positively doing itself with me just popping into my Pinterest-inspired space to press a button or two here and there. If nothing else, it will at least change the fact that the girls somehow KNOW when I am downstairs changing the laundry, and they always need to talk to me or ask me something while I'm down there. Always, as in every single time. So not only am I probably getting wet socks from having to walk on the melted snow on the back steps and hanging out with the cobwebs in the freezing basement, but I am also having to carry on an increasingly difficult conversation with my children, who are definitely sticking their whole heads into the laundry chute and yelling down at me. At least in the future, we'll all be on the same floor, though probably still yelling.

*****

Annie's recent assessment of her favorite show, Wild Kratts, went as follows: "Mom, Wild Kratts is a great show for two reasons. One, it teaches kids some really cool things about animals that they didn't know before. And two, it keeps kids from pestering their mom when she's trying to cook diner and do other things." (She actually used the word "pestering.") I heartily agreed with her, and then I felt guilty.

*****

Connie and I met at Anthropologie on Saturday morning. We had been on the phone, simultaneously realized that neither of us were responsible for solo kid duty, and promptly ditched our husbands for shopping and met up at the mothership. The sale rack did not disappoint, much to Jason's dismay.

*****

I took the girls to their well-child annual appointments today, and the pediatrician asked them each what their favorite vegetables were. "Pickles!" Annie said. "Oh, I love pickles, too," said our great doctor, "but what other vegetables do you like to eat with dinner?" Annie looked sad. "Just pickles," she said, and it was then that I confessed that Jemma eats no vegetables at all. Not even pickles. (And yet . . . in spite of their non-eating and general runtiness, they are, at 32 and 40 pounds, respectively, both solidly in the 20th percentile for weight for their ages! It's the highest percentile they've ever been!)

Things That Happened

Jason belongs to a small group of guys, a club of sorts which I should not even be writing about because, like Fight Club, the first rule of the club is: do not talk about the club. But anyways, they get together every once in a while and one thing they do is drink. It's not an excessive, frat-boy kind of drinking but instead a nerd-like kind of drinking that involves blind tastings and rating systems and whatnot. Needless to say, although these events usually occur within a very short distance from our home, I never let Jason go out the door without yelling, "Don't drink and drive!"at him. I'm sure he finds this helpful. But it seems that he is listening, because when I asked him on Thursday morning if he had walked home the night before, he said casually, "Dave pulled me home in the Chariot behind his bike." So there is now a photo of Jason, covered with a blanket and looking for all the world like Mini-Me from Austin Powers (but in a stroller rather than a Baby Bjorn), in a bike trailer.

*****

I went to the mall yesterday. I'd been needing to replace my concealer and procrastinating the visit to the Bobbi Brown counter until I could go on a day when I'd actually showered and was wearing something other than sweaty workout clothes. (Why do I feel the need to look my best for the complete stranger at the makeup counter yet I present my just-finished-75-minutes-of-yoga self at my child's school on a regular basis?) Here's how the interaction went:

Me: Hi, I need new undereye concealer, but I don't see the little pot I have right now.
Beautiful Makeup Lady with Intriguing Accent: Ah, yes. We've discontinued that packaging; the concealer comes packaged with powder now, too.
Me: Ah, okay, I'm not sure what color I'll need, then.
BMLwIA: Well, if you have a moment I can put you in the chair and try one or two on for shade matching.
Me (FATAL MISTAKE): Oh, sure.
BMLwIA, frowning at my face: Now, what are you using for an undereye cream?
Me: Oh, I just use one all-over moisturizer for my whole face.
BMLwIA: (shakes head sadly) No, no. Is most important skin to care for! (Takes pot of thick white cream and begins dabbing it under my eyes.)
Me: That does look . . . dewy.
BMLwIA: Now, next we need to put a corrector under the concealer.
Me: I . . what is corrector?
BMLwIA: You'll see, it brightens the undereye area and really camouflages the dark circles you have.
Me, looking in mirror: Yeah. It does.
BMLwIA: Now I apply undereye concealer, set with powder, and finish with bronzer. Voila!"
Me, looking in mirror, looking about a zillion times better than I did four minutes earlier: My husband is going to kill me.

I don't know, I'm in my mid-thirties, and I suppose it's time to move beyond the drug-store make-up that I've been using since I was a teenager. And when Jason sees the credit card bill, I'll just remind him about that one time he went to Costco to buy eggs and came home with $150.00 worth of groceries.

*****

We're taking the girls to see The Nutcracker this afternoon. To say they are excited would be an understatement. Annie appeared in the kitchen at 7:30 this morning, dressed head to toe in the outfit she's going to wear to the ballet, complete with tights, shoes, and headband. "Can you curl my hair?" she asked. "And can I borrow a pair of your earrings?" In six hours, Annie, in six hours . . .

*****

A year ago right now, Jason and I were in Quebec City. Sigh.

I Have Been . . .

 . . . making lists, checking them twice, losing the lists, and making more lists.
 . . . avoiding getting the mail, because I haven't addressed my Christmas cards yet and I don't particularly want to see the eager beaver ones in my mailbox.
 . . . going to book club and actually talking about the book (Room by Emma Donoghue).
 . . . using an inappropriately large portion of my child-free time at hot yoga, my latest exercise obsession.
 . . . getting up before the rest of the family in the mornings just to drink my coffee in the dark and look at the Christmas tree.
 . . . wishing for snow, even though I usually loathe it, because it just doesn't seem like almost-Christmas without it.
 . . . painting toenails with holiday colors.
 . . . learning how to download free e-books from the library onto the iPad (magic!).
 . . . wishing Annie would stop answering, "a hamster" when asked, "What do you want from Santa?"
 . . . sending out invitations for Jemma's 5th birthday party!
 . . . planning our lives into February, already.
 . . . eating Clementines.
 . . . snuggling with the girls on the couch to watch bits of Polar Express and The Grinch.
 . . . doing laundry.
 . . . scouting for new, improved holiday cookie recipes.
 . . . barely cooking.
 . . . avoiding writing.
 . . . braiding the girls' hair.
 . . . listening to Annie practice her piano.
 . . . swooning over Ryan Gosling in the movie Crazy Stupid Love.
 . . . trying to make this season about cozy joy and anticipation instead of frantic preparation.
 . . . eating more than my fair share of sushi.
 . . . reminiscing that Jason and I were on our way to Quebec City exactly a year ago today.
 . . . thinking about getting a job.
 . . . wanting to freeze time.

Six Things Now

I keep trying to write some sort of coherent post, but it's not happening.  (This afternoon, while I had a little time to write because Jemma was napping?  I took a nap.  So.)  Instead, this:

1.  Sometimes I wonder why the moms I know seem to be just as busy and frantic as our own mothers were.  At first glance, this seems to not make sense, since my generation tends toward fewer children, more modern conveniences, and more helpful spouses.  Do you know what I think is causing this problem?  EXERCISE.  We do it, our mothers generally did not.  And it takes up a lot of time, what with the working out and the post-workout showering and the workout-clothes laundry.  I am not sad about this, I am just saying.

2.  Things I have been requested to bring to Thanksgiving:  rolls, cranberry sauce.  I have never made either thing, but I do love a challenge in the kitchen, so there are two bags of cranberries and a new 3-lb. bag of flour in my kitchen right now.

3.  I have read Three! Books! In a Row! to which I have assigned the rare-but-special five-star rating on Goodreads.  They are Olive Kitteridge by Elizabeth Strout, The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot, and The Art of Fielding by Chad Harbach.  Go.  Read them.  And tell me what I should read next.

4.  I have begun stockpiling Christmas gifts for the girls in the basement since our house is old and lacks sufficient closet space.  I warned Jason the minute that I started this:  "I'm putting Christmas presents downstairs.  Don't let the girls down there from now on."  I didn't think it would be a problem, because the basment is unfinished and creepy and the only things down there are the Costco overflow groceries, the laundry room, Jason's "workbench," and the hundreds of empty beer bottles our teetotaling Baptist-ish contractor was able to see multiple times last week.

On Sunday, I took the girls down to the track to do some bleachers and sprints with me, which they participated in surprisingly well, and when we returned home I promised them Gatorade.  I left the kitchen briefly and when I came back, Jason was alone in the kitchen while the soup simmered on the stove.

"Where are the girls?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

"Getting Gatorade in the basement," he said, and I ran down the stairs like a crazy person, where I found the girls adorably trying to figure out how to un-shrink-wrap the case of Costco Gatorade . . . about three feet away from a giant shopping bag full of most of their unwrapped Christmas presents.  Luckily they had no idea, but you can bet someone got the stinkeye when the three of us emerged from the basement.

5.  I went to Trader Joe's last weekend and have since become obsessed with their mini peppermint waffle cookies.  I bought two packages.  I ate the last cookie today.  (Today, with its napping and its cookie-eating, really makes me look good, no?)  Why, WHY can there not be a Trader Joe's in this town?

6.  Jemma celebrated Thanksgiving today at preschool with a "feast."  She now knows a fair amount about the Wampanoag Indians and how to make butter from cream by shaking it while you dance.  She was able to choose her Native American name, which is Princess Love Dancing Sunlight.

Snapshot, List-Style

On the radio, per the girls' request:

• "That Billy Joel song about the pants"
• "No Need to Argue" by The Cranberries
• "Toy Soldiers" by Martika
• "Heaven is a Place on Earth" by Belinda Carlisle
• "Rollin' in the Deep" by Adele

In the car, because I am messy:

• two children's tennis rackets
• an empty Coke can
• my new favorite Stila lipglass, Raisin
• one carseat, one booster
• yoga mat
• one gallon of sand
• two clipboards with plain white paper
• an entire carton of crayons, scattered on the floor in the backseat
• library books, possibly overdue

On Annie's nightstand:

• Little House on the Prairie
• her portable stereo, with Totally 80's karaoke for kids! inside
• wadded Kleenex
• spare pairs of earrings, yet to be worn
• a pink and white lamp
• photos of her as a baby
• pieces of her doop that fall off
• a ponytail holder
• a journal
• sunscreen

In the fridge:

• leftover chicken pot pie
• Bell's Cherry Stout (my favorite!)
• bacon
• cider
• sage
• kale, rotting in vegetable drawer
• Greek yogurt
• leftover part of a can of pumpkin puree

Channelling Andy Rooney

A list of things making me grumpy:

• Jemma's ear infection/general virus/pinkeye (?), which forced a visit to the pediatrician's early-morning walk-in clinic, which was full even though we got there 25 minutes before it ended, which caused us to need an appointment later in the morning, which caused Jemma to miss her class field trip today.  Sub-grumpiness related to this grumpiness:

               - Jemma has not yet realized that she missed the super-duper-fun field trip to the pumpkin  

                 patch, but she surely will realize it when she returns to school tomorrow.

               - the prescription she is now on for said ear infection pretty much guarantees she'll have

                 diarrhea for the next 7-10 days.  

• The post-race intestinal distress and general body unhappiness brought on by yesterday's successful (2:01) half-marathon.  At least I felt good during the run . . . ?
• The fact that, this many years into teaching and modeling table manners, my oldest daughter still wipes her messy hands on her clothes while eating and my youngest daughter still wipes her mouth on her sleeve.  When, I ask, WHEN will they start actually using the napkin that sits next to their plate without being reminded?
• The word "fav" being used all over the internet.  "Fav" is not a word, people.  Remember that thing you learned in first grade called "the magic e"?  You know, where putting an "e" on the end of a word makes the preceding vowel "say its name"?  If you want it to rhyme with "Dave," you need to spell it "fave."  Like, you know, "rave," "gave," "save," "concave," . . . do I need to go on?
• The phrase "You're young!" being thrown out a lot by people of an older generation towards people in my generation, often as an excuse for their own lack of energy.  Since I am still "young," relatively speaking, I'll have to take their word for it that I won't be feeling quite as spry as I do now come thirty years or so.  I mean, I definitely can't do some of the things I did in college, like pull all-nighters or stay out past 2:00 a.m. several nights in a row and still function the next day.  So I get that energy levels naturally dwindle, etc.  But I take issue with "You're young!" being used to somewhat devalue the effort that those of us who are still "young" put into life.  Yes, we're young-ish, but things still take work and effort and we're still tired as hell sometimes at the end of the day, too.  Being young might make it more possible, or easiER, but it's not MAGIC.  It's not, "Oh, I'm young, so juggling all these things in my life is effortless!"  It's, "I suppose this is easier than it would be if I tried to do it in thirty years, but it is still hard work."  
• Spending money recently on the most boring things possible:  fixing my car's muffler/exhaust system, having the sewer lines roto-rooted, putting in new windows upstairs in our house.  BORING.  

He Remembers Every Word Jon Bon Jovi Ever Sang, Though

The scene:  Couch, living room, late summer night in August
The players:  Jason, listening to music on iPad; Stephanie, reading on laptop

Stephanie:  Huh.  That's interesting.
Jason:  What?
Stephanie:  NPR just reported on a study that shows that babies can be pre-disposed to like certain, specific foods based on the flavors their moms ate during pregnancy.
Jason:  Yeah . . . so.
Stephanie:  Well, maybe that explains why Jemma is so picky.
Jason:  . . .
Stephanie:  Do you remember how I was when I was pregnant with Jemma?  How I only ate yogurt and bagels?
Jason:  . . .
Stephanie:  Remember how I had constant explosive diarrhea and felt nauseated all day long for six months?
Jason: . . .
Stephanie, louder:  Remember how I lost ten pounds?
Jason:  I . . . ah . . .
Stephanie:  Remember how I had to start drinking Ensure every day because the doctor was concerned about my weight loss?
Jason:  I don't . . . remember anything about diarrhea . . .
Stephanie, loudly:  Remember the time you were at work and I had to call my dad to drive down and be with Annie at the house because the explosive diarrhea was so violent that it actually caused me to begin having regular contractions when I was only twenty-some weeks pregnant??!!??
Jason:  . . .
Stephanie:  !!!
Jason:  Heh.  Well, it was five years ago.

These Things Happened

Annie has started taking piano lessons this summer, and she is supposed to practice every day.  So far she really enjoys her lessons, her teacher, and noodling around carefully and happily on the keyboard upstairs for fifteen minutes every day - except when I am up there to hear her.  Then, it is a totally different story.  She plays the songs quickly and messily, and when I tell her to slow down and play well, she collapses in a pile on the keys and cries about how she's no good at the piano.  Does she do this for Jason?  No.

*****

The girls spent last night at my parents' house, both to do some fun activities (see a play, swim in the lake) and so that I could spend three hours at the allergist's office first thing this morning.  (More on that later.)  For this overnight, I forgot to pack 1.  Annie's underwear, and 2.  Jemma's bathing suit.  It's just not summer around here if I don't forget to pack a bathing suit and/or underwear at least once!


*****

The reason I spent three hours at the allergist's office this morning was because I have had "seasonal allergies" ever since the minute I became pregnant with Jemma.  (Thanks, pregnancy hormones!)  In the last couple of years, however, "seasonal" has come to mean "sneezing my head off every single morning of the year and gouging my eyes out while trying to itch my ear canals," and I decided it was high time to do something about it, Jemma going on five years old this winter and all.  So I got a recommendation, called the office, and made an appointment for what people like to call a "scratch test."

I've talked to enough people who have had this scratch test (or whose children have had this test) to have had a pretty solid idea going in about what would happen.  I pictured wearing a gown, lying on my stomach on a table, and a getting a bunch of very minor pricks (scratches, if you will) to the skin on my back.  And this morning, that did indeed happen - 38 pricks, to be specific.  And it really did feel like a quick scratch, and it did not hurt, and it was No Big Deal.

But then.

THEN, there was a part two of the allergy test, which nobody has ever spoken of to me, and which should not be lumped in with the scratch test but should instead be called the "Insert a tiny needle full of allergen subcutaneously under the skin of your inner forearm and jiggle it around until a bubble of blood comes out" Test.  IT DID NOT FEEL GOOD.  I got to experience 13 jabs/jiggles on my right arm and five on my left, and now I have neat rows of red hives marked with ballpoint pen decorating my arms, because it turns out I am allergic to everything.  The good news is that I did not pass out from the needles even though my blood pressure continues to be 98 over fifty-something on the regular.

*****

Jemma has a friend, MC, with whom she has semi-regular playdates.  They usually play every other week or so, alternating houses, and Jemma has been there at least five times.  I had this conversation at the pool yesterday afternoon with MC's mom.

MC's mom:  Jemma, we'll have to figure out a day next week when you can come to our house and play.

Me:  Jemma, that sounds fun, huh?

Jemma:  Yeah, I've never even seen MC's house before!

*****

Jason noticed Annie carrying a dollar around the house the other day and asked her where she had gotten it.  She told him that Jemma had promised to give her a dollar if she would both taste and smell Jemma's finger.  She did.

Two Conversations in the Car

Driving to Jason's office with both girls in the car:

A:  How much longer until we get there?
Me:  Only two more minutes!

*quiet*

A:   . . . fifty-nine, sixty!  That's one minute!  One, two, three . . .
Me:  Uh, well, about two minutes.
A:  You didn't say about!  You said two!
Me:  I know.  But there are stoplights.  See?  We're at a red light now.
A:  I'll pause.

*****

Driving down Wealthy Street with Jemma:

J:  Why is the road so bumpy here?
Me:  Well, it's made of bricks.  Isn't that cool?
J:  Why is it made of bumpy bricks?
Me:  A long time ago, roads were always made of dirt, when there were more horses than cars.  Then people started to use hard things to make the roads, and one of the things they used was bricks.  Most roads are made of hard, smooth things now.
J:  Oh.

*one minute of silence, followed by Jemma's laughter*

Me:  What?
J, still laughing happily:  I was just thinking, What if the road was made OF BANANAS???!!!!

Scribbles

Here are some of the things we did this weekend:

It was one fun activity after another, many involving outdoor gear (skates!  skis!) and some indoor fun, too.  Cirque with my family was just as amazing as we had expected it would be, and I love the fact that we've chosen to treat ourselves to an experience rather than buying lots of gift cards for each other at Christmas.

The downside to cramming seven thousand fun activities into a weekend like this is that it just seems to raise the girls' expectations of The Fun Level.  Like yesterday, when I helped in Jemma's Sunday School class, then Jason took the girls ice-skating at the rink our neighbor makes across the street every winter, then we ate a big roast chicken Sunday dinner, then we made marshmallow sculptures with stale mini-marshmallows and toothpicks, then Jason took Annie skiing for the rest of the day while I took Jemma swimming.  Jemma and I walked in the door a little after 5:00 p.m. and before I had even taken off my boots, she turned to me and said, "NOW what can we do?"  Independent Play Ability = Broken.

In other corners of the house, other scribbles were created this weekend, too.  Like this:

Because even though it's the weekend, Jemma's still following us around, adorably asking for "homework" and copying the alphabet Jason's made for her.

Also, this:

Because sometimes I have to get very stern with myself when I sit down to make my to-do lists for the week.

These scribbles - from last week's well-child pediatrician appointments - are photo-worthy simply because they mark the first time that the girls have boosted their weight percentiles above the 10th!  Goes to show that you can live on air, Goldfish, yogurt, and fruit, especially if you're Jemma.

Lastly, the set of writing around here that makes the least sense so far.  It's this old, white legal pad that I'm slowly filling up with sentences, half-thesis statements, questions, and non-linear ideas that might - MIGHT - be the germ of an idea for a book.  The endosperm of the seed of the idea, if you will.  I don't have the first idea how to begin going about such a thing, but the first step, I think, is writing down the ideas when they come to me.  So I have been.

Your turn:  In the comments, scribble down what you think I should write a book about.  Title it, even, and give a brief synopsis (took me three tries to spell synopsis; maybe I shouldn't think about writing a book).  (Narrows eyes, looks at Google Analytics, knows exactly how many people are reading this blog vs. how many are commenting upon it . . .)

Things That Make No Sense

1.  Every morning, we ask Jemma what she wants for breakfast, and every morning, she says, "Fomps."  And nobody here can remember exactly when, but the term fomps was born a few months back on a day when Annie decided it would be yummy to add a container of yogurt to her Cheerios-and-milk breakfast.  As she was dumping the yogurt out of the container, it make a plopping sound, and as she reached her spoon up inside the container to dig spoonfuls out, she said, "Fomps, fomps."  I realize this is not a word, nor is it really even the sound that yogurt falling on Cheerios makes, but there it is:  fomps.  Sometimes the girls want "Peach fomps with strawberry cereal" which means Special K Red Berries with peach yogurt on it.  Sometimes they want "regular fomps," which is just Cheerios, a little bit of milk, and vanilla yogurt.

2.  After literally years of dithering about it, today was the day that I disappointed generations of my clean-freak, frugal Dutch ancestors and had a cleaning service come over to give me a quote.  Guess what I was doing before they came over?  That's right, cleaning my house.  The shoes!  Must be organized!  The stovetop!  Must be wiped down!  The toys!  Must be picked up!  The ever-present-floor-hair!  Must be vacuumed!  And then when the woman came in the front door, she stopped to put these little blue booties on over her shoes (like at Parade of Home houses) and I said, "Oh, please, it's so dirty in here that you don't need to wear those!"  AFTER I HAD BEEN CLEANING MOST OF THE MORNING.  I can tell it's the beginning of a long, dysfunctional relationship.

3.  The weather has been very fall-ish lately, very cool in the morning and then quite warm later in the day.  I mention this because it's difficult to dress Annie for school when she leaves to walk there in the 45-degree morning and then plays on the playground for afternoon recess when it's closer to 70.  I usually encourage her to dress in layers (short-sleeved top, sweater, fleece on top; skirt with leggings underneath on the bottom) so that she can take things off as necessary.  On Monday, however, I unthinkingly sent her to school wearing a long-sleeved dress.  When she got hot at some point during the day, she did what anyone would do:  she took that hot, long-sleeved dress off!  So when she came running out of school at the end of the day, she was wearing:

-a white, tank-style undershirt, size 3T, that I had argued with her about that very morning and told her to put in Jemma's drawer because it was too small for her;

-gray tights;

-pink tennis shoes.

Where was the dress?  In her desk.

Things They Say

Jemma: "Mommy, can you inside-out my jammies?"

***

Annie, while playing this morning, wherein she is the mom who has just had a baby (Mallory) and I am the grandmother who has agreed to watch the baby for a few hours: "Now, if she cries, don't forget to feed her, change her, and put her down for a nap." Pause for emphasis. "She needs a lot of naps."

***

Annie, while in the car listening to the ever-present Mamma Mia! soundtrack, specifically the song "Money, Money, Money": "Mom, are we rich?"

This Week in List Form

Workouts: Monday swim, Tuesday run, Wednesday swim, Thursday run and bike, Friday yoga and swim, Saturday run. Whew!

Days wearing a bathing suit for recreational purposes: 4

Favorite quote by Jemma: "But I don't want just three wishes! I want to wish everything!"

Favorite read: this New York Magazine article on parenting.

Favorite meal: burgers on the grill topped with bacon and smoked gouda, green beans from our garden, corn on the cob, coleslaw, cherries, and blueberries eaten outside last night with a Sierra Nevada Pale Ale.

Most-quoted movie line: "Eat your food, Tina!" from Napoleon Dynamite, directed to Jemma while at the dinner table.

Approximate number of hours spent in Lake Michigan jumping waves with Annie today: 3

New GAP Outlet record: 12 minutes, 2 pairs of pants, 1 pair of shorts, 1 bathing suit, 1 shirt, 1 pair of underwear, $54.00.

Soundtrack while in the car: ABBA songs on the Mamma Mia! soundtrack

Suggestion (inspired by Jemma's rare but potent fits of rage) for a new SNL skit to replace "I Threw it on the Ground": "I Threw it at Your Face!"

Balance Sheet

In the "good" column:

• I conquered Day 5 of The Shred this morning with Jemma next to me using Veggie Straws as her hand weights.
• I washed, dried, folded and put away three loads of laundry today before lunch. (That last step, the putting-away, usually happens about a week after the first three steps, so this is a big accomplishment.)
• Also this morning, I got Annie off to school and then got to work making turkey lasagna for tonight's dinner. It was assembled and in the fridge by 9:30 a.m. I love being able to put dinner in the oven at 5:00 and know it will be ready 45 minutes later . . .
• I have a week of fun events coming up, including book club, a quick trip to see my nieces and frolic at a water park, and David Sedaris at DeVos on Sunday.
• After YEARS of procrastinating/ignoring the blue Rubbermaid container next to my bedside/being unable to even KNOW what I wanted, much less find it in a store, I purchased a pair of nightstands for our bedroom. I KNOW. It is exciting. Because a bedroom can never really look neat and cute when there's a dusty plastic container holding a stack of books and a clock radio from 1984.
• I'm working on a new article for Rapid Growth, and I'm so excited to be promoting a very worthwhile and unique project.

In the "bad" column:

• Jason and I suspect that Jemma recently underwent a personality transplant. For the last week or so, she's been throwing tantrums left and right, culminating in two very special ones today about shoes and a NutriGrain bar, respectively. Each involved several minutes (AT LEAST TWENTY) of jumping, crying, and falling to the ground.
• My spring allergies have escalated to the point that I blow my nose 87,000 times every morning when I wake up, sneeze constantly throughout the day, and have a strong desire to gouge out my own eyeballs. Zyrtec, you are not cutting it.
• Bees have made themselves at home in the myrtle that grows along our yard and driveway, causing Annie to FREAK OUT each time she steps foot outside our house.
• I got my edits for the aforementioned Rapid Growth article back today, and I have not felt so much like a C- student since that single time I received a C- on a paper from Mrs. Bengelink in 9th grade. The last story I wrote was printed exactly as I submitted it. This story? Full of all-caps-highlighted-in-yellow ADD MORE INFORMATION ABOUT THIS and WHERE WILL THIS BE HELD and WAS THERE ANY CAUSE AND EFFECT SO FAR? and THIS STORY HAS NO HEART. Yeah, that last thing isn't making me feel any kind of pressure to go write it completely over right now . . . yeah. That's where I'll be, with my Kleenex and my wounded pride.

Not Cool

You know what isn't cool? Being unable to fall asleep until after 3:00 a.m. for no good reason. Last night, I had writing to do, so I checked e-mail and read blogs and hunted for recipes and then finally got down to writing the article around 9:00. I was finished by 11:00. I e-mailed the article to my editor, finished the tail end of the book I was reading, and then laid wide awake in bed for about four more hours.

Fun!

I blame the subject of the article, which, when it comes out (this Thursday, I think), I want you to read with a few pieces of information in mind. The man whom I interviewed was, I am fairly sure, high. I don't know much of anything about this first-hand (D.A.R.E. worked for me!), but I don't think it's normal for a person to be talking along, completely appropriately, and then, mid-sentence, stop, cover his face with his hands, pause for a good ten seconds (long enough for me to rip my eyes away from my laptop screen and ask, "Are you OK?"), and then resume speaking as though nothing odd had happened. Repeatedly.

The first time it happened, I was concerned for his well-being. After the fourth time or so, I was more concerned for my well-being. It was at this point that the "urban grittiness" of the neighborhood and the "quirkiness" of the local color started to leak into the edges of my subconscious, so that even as I was merrily asking questions and typing the answers, I was also calmly thinking, Jason's car is going to be stolen while I'm in this store. I'm going to have to call someone to come and get me. I wonder what he'll get to replace it.

All's well that ends well, I suppose, and of course I made it home safe and sound. I had never been in any actual danger, either - just a slightly off-beat store in a down-on-its-luck neighborhood on a sunny Friday afternoon. But I don't think my subconscious has completely recovered, and thus, I ran on less than four hours of sleep today.

Unrelatedly, you know what else isn't cool? The way Jemma pretends to be a dog (or a baby, or a cat, or a horse, or today, a rabbit) 75% of her waking hours, complete with constant, repetitive animal/baby noises and Annie believes that she is starring in a musical version of her own life which must be constantly narrated with song and stage direction ("Iiiiiiii . . . . am getting ready for daaaaaaance classsssss . . . . Jemmaaaaaa, pretend you are my baaaaaby and you are crying because I'm going to leeeeeeeave"). At 4:45 this afternoon, after they had sung/ribbited/high-pitch-squealed their way through destroying the living room by dismantling all the furniture for "lily pads" while I started dinner, I stopped them, looked them calmly in the eyes, and said, "I need you to stop making that kind of noise. You are making me crazy. In my brain."

We went outside. That was better.

Read Elsewhere

I have often described the frustration of trying to get the girls to do very simple things as "trying to herd kittens" and have recently noticed myself actually boxing out my own children, middle-school-basketball-style, in the kitchen as I try to get them out the door (shuffling feet back and forth, "No! Once you have your boots on, don't walk around the rest of the house! We're going out the door!"). But leave it to my favorite blogger, Linda at All and Sundry, to explain it even better. I have re-read this about 17 times now, and it's not getting any less funny to me, so, here:

Everyone knows children’s brains are formed of large chunks of Silly Putty and clouds of easily-distracted bees, but man, sometimes I can’t believe the effort it takes just to get someone to carry out ONE directive. I feel like a deranged border collie, nipping and nagging at the heels of my kids in order to herd them towards the thing I’ve asked them to do: “Brush (yap!) your (bark bark!) teeth! Walk to the bathroom (yip!) NOW, and pick UP your toothbrush (nip nip) and—PUT DOWN THE TOY, and (yap!) GO BRUSH YOUR—WHY ARE YOU SITTING THERE AAARRGGGH (bark bark bark *overwhelmed piddle*)”