About Good Times with Jess

I started blogging in 2004. My blog and I have been very single, dating, traveling, bartending, very married and now I'm raising 2 kiddos.

And nothing but the truth so help me

Posted on February 1, 2024 by Good Times with Jess

One of the people I live with has a flexible relationship with the truth. RB will say whatever she wants to get what she wants. Add her darling smile, munchable cheeks, long lashes and I must continue to remind myself that she’s the most untrustworthy person in my life.

If I call her out, she’ll double down and get VERY angry. She can be an absolute lunatic. All she needs is a spray tan and she could run for president. Which is very triggering.

RB does not have stacks of confidential documents in her bathroom, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she did.

I often pick her up from school and one of her hands will be closed in a sweaty, clenched fist. I now know to ask,

“What’s in there?”

“Something I found.”

“You need to go put it back.”

“I found it.”

“Yes, and it belongs to your school.”

The first time this happened one of her teachers was so kind and said,

“Oh a rock, she can keep that!”

I knew she couldn’t. If that’s the route we took back in September she’d have brought home an entire play structure by now.

At one point, she started filling her backpack with toys from inside the classroom.

She seems to have a hoarding personality. She wants more food on her plate even though she’s not going to eat it. She wants all the animals from Noah’s Ark even though her friends want to play too. She wants our entire collection of popsicle sticks, even though she doesn’t know what she’s going to do with them and now I have no idea where they are.

BB got a magnetic marble run for Christmas. It came with 12 large marbles. There are now several missing. RB offered,

“They might be in my room.”

As if they magically rolled upstairs and she had nothing to do with it.

I was in her classroom the other day and I noticed I didn’t see the book we brought in for her birthday. RB tells me,

“I think someone put it behind the book shelf.”

Uh huh.

The other morning I took BB to the bus stop, when I came back in one of BB’s drawings had been ruined. I confronted RB about it. She said,

“You didn’t see me do it!”

The idea of a teenage RB terrifies me.

Another presidential quality of hers is that she is very happy to hold everyone else accountable for things she has no intention of applying to herself. She inspects the trash on a regular basis.

The other day she spotted a Reese’s peanut butter cup wrapper. She picked it out and waved it at me. For someone who’s so OCD about a drop of milk while she’s eating her cereal, it’s unfathomable that she continues to grab things out of the trash.

I have nothing to hide, except my favorite candies, I tell her,

“I ate a Reese’s.” And you didn’t see me do it.

RB looks forward to a bag of fruit snacks AFTER swim lessons. I haven’t eaten fruit snacks in 30 years, but somehow, now that they’re in my handbag, they’re hard to resist. I munch on them on the way TO swim. RB yells,

“How come I smell gummies?! ARE YOU EATING MY GUMMIES?!?!?!”

You are eating my gummies and not until after swim.

The first sign that she may be running for President was when she was two. Her grandmother took her to brush her teeth and asked her which toothbrush was hers. She pointed to it. Her teeth were brushed and off to bed she went.

Grandma then took BB in to brush her teeth. BB picked up the SAME toothbrush and brushed her own teeth. At which point Grandma realized she had been bamboozled and it was too late.

Don’t try to tell me RB didn’t know which toothbrush was hers. She KNOWS. She saw an opportunity to use her sister’s and she took it.

Also at two, RB’s grandma was helping her get her shoes on. She was asked to go get socks. She came back with a pair of her sister’s socks and had a whole spiel about how these are HER socks and she got them for HER birthday.

When we arrive at school, there’s a table with everyone’s name tag. The tags have a photo and their name. RB grabs hers easily. One day all the tags were turned upside down. It had their name only, no photo. RB was perplexed. She stared and stared.

Proof that what I thought was true: she doesn’t know her letters. Another presidential qualification?

She picked up a tag with a name the equivalent of Theodore. I said,

“Good try, but that’s not your name. Try again.”

Instead of going back to the table, she thrust the Theodore tag at me and hollered,

“IT IS MY NAME! It has two “Es”!”

So President Theodore she is.

Reality and the truth have never felt more subjective or imperiled. May there be mercy for our country and my home.

The self-declared fastest skier on the slopes. You don’t need me to fact check that for you

Happy New Year! Do you want to purchase the fart extension pack?

Posted on January 11, 2024 by Good Times with Jess

Happy New Year!

BB asked me,

“Did you make any resolutions?”

“I did not.”

Although based on the YMCA parking lot last week, plenty of people did. They appear to use their membership one month per year.

I resolve many things at many different times and accomplish or don’t accomplish them on a regular basis throughout the year. No need to put so much pressure on poor January.

Years ago I resolved to never have an Alexa in my home. She is now in almost every room. And if you’re in a room without one, you’re close enough to yell for her and multiple Alexas will respond.

I thought I didn’t want her because she’d be listening to everything all the time. And maybe she is. But my phone has the same capabilities, so if all these contraptions want to listen to me as I make my kids’ poop talk, so be it.

Twenty-year-old Jessica did not know this about 41-year-old Jessica. I talk for MANY inanimate objects. So much so, that when they’re quiet, BB or RB will yell,

“Make the Frosted Mini-Wheats talk!”

In a moment of morning merriment, I made a bowl of cereal chat with 2-year-old BB. Now five years later no one will eat until I make the shredded wheat speak.

It has lost its spontaneity, but does not seem to have lost its entertainment value.

I don’t have a ton of different voices. Frosted Mini-Wheats, started out sounding like a Mafia boss, but now sounds very similar to Poop. Pee sounds very similar to Toothbrush. The houseplants vary and sound very similar to everyone else.

“OUCH! Please don’t rip my leaves off while you’re sitting on the toilet.”

Yes I could move the plant away from the bathroom, but that’s a great south facing window right there.

Why, you may be wondering, do I make all these things speak to my children? I do not have a good answer. As I cajoled a belligerent, backed up RB to spend a little extra time on the toilet, she refused. I was at my wits end, I said,

“Hi! I’m your poop! I want to go for a swim in the toilet.”

RB dropped her pants, hopped up on the toilet and said,

“Ok poopy, come on out, you can go for a swim!”

And she pooped.

The talking objects can accomplish in seconds, what my mom voice never will.

The other day RB yelled from the bathroom,

“I need someone to wipe me!”

“Ok!”

“It’s just one, she doesn’t have any friends or family.”

One lonely poop.

Yes, I make poop’s friends and family talk too. RB is in a rush to get off the toilet and the only thing worse than wiping her poopy butt, is wiping it multiple times a day because she won’t sit long enough to let the whole community out.

When we first got Alexa, I thought we turned off the voice purchasing abilities. We did not.

It didn’t take BB long to discover that she could ask Alexa to make fart noises and Alexa will politely accommodate her all afternoon.

After hours of this, Alexa asked,

“Would you like to buy the fart extension pack?”

BB shouts,

“YES!”

Fart extension pack purchased. I rushed to my Amazon account determined to fight this. I was charged $1.60 “to take farting to the next level.”

Fine, I thought. Not a huge expense, despite that the reviews “disagree on value, quality, and sound.”

Turns out the money is the least of it. It’s about how many hours/years of constant fart noises, songs, games my sanity can sustain.

RB has spent the last two years screaming,

“Aleska!!!”

Alexa does not respond to that, which makes RB FURIOUS. She continues to scream ALESKA ALESKA ALESKA, but that is a welcome change to one hundred farts in a row.

AI has won over my kids with potty humor on demand, but still can’t compete with my inanimate object voices.

Yesterday BB burst into the house from the bus singing a tongue twister. I exclaim,

“That’s a lot of alliteration!”

“How do YOU know about alliteration?”

Oh no! I have entered the Land of Parents Who Know Nothing. When in doubt, we’ll ask Alexa.

Very Merry EVERYTHING and Twerking Santa

Posted on December 21, 2023 by Good Times with Jess

That’s a wrap on Hanukkah. RB is more confused than ever and still hoping for candy eggs.

After dinner she ran into the library, where all the Hanukkah presents used to be. It’s the room that has room for everything. Move over exercise bike, giant stuffed dreidel coming through.

RB shouted. She shouts everything. Someone said they have never met a louder 4-year-old. I’m not sure what to do with that information. RB runs back into the kitchen and yells at me,

“Hanukkah present time!!! WHERE ARE THE PRESENTS?”

“Hanukkah is over.”

“HANUKKAH IS OVER? NO MORE PRESENTS?!”

I almost wish I could say no. Instead I say,

“There will be more for Christmas.”

RB runs back into the library, runs back into the kitchen. Yells at me again,

“There are NO Christmas presents.”

“No. It’s not Christmas yet and the Christmas presents will be under the tree.”

As we sit down for dinner RB sighs,

“I love Passover.”

Right. Talk to me in four months.

Then the other day we were headed out for a Hanukkah party. RB jumps with joy,

“I’m so excited for my birthday!”

Which was in October.

RB heads off to her swim lesson with a present for her coach in hand. She tells me,

“I’m going to say ‘Happy Hanukkah!'”

“I don’t think she celebrates Hanukkah.”

“I should say ‘Happy Hanukkah’ because she hasn’t had it.”

Ok.

We have an impressive amount of Hanukkah clothing, thanks Target: Sparkly blue menorah dresses, sequin dreidel sweaters, menorah shoes, dinosaur star of David leggings and menorah underwear.

I try to stay out of the morning clothing selection, any input is ripe for conflict, but RB is relentless in her bugging for help.

“WHAT SHOULD I WEAR?!”

“How about a Hanukkah dress?”

“Ok.”

She comes down in a sparkly red sweater dress. It looks great. She asks,

“Is this a Hanukkah dress?”

“More of a Christmas dress.”

“IT’S A HANUKKAH DRESS!”

Ok! PLEASE STOP YELLING about EVERYTHING.

A day ago I was notified that a yankee swap for the kids was added to a Christmas party this Friday. I wrack my brain and my timeline. I have one brilliant idea. It will not arrive in time from Amazon.

I scour the internet. It’s available at ACE Hardware! It is not an item I would EVER think of going to ACE Hardware for. I order it ASAP for pickup.

I walk into the store. I wait in line surrounded by ACE Hardware clientele. One guy offers me his spot in line. Under normal circumstances I’d decline, but this is a crazy time of year and I’ll save 3 minutes wherever I can.

I approach the counter. The cashier stares at me,

“Hi, I’m picking up.”

He continues to stare.

“Jessica Curtis.”

Still staring.

“C-U-R-“

“What is it?”

“What?”

“What are you picking up?”

I have picked up many things at many stores and I can’t remember a single time when I’ve been asked to declare in front of everyone what I bought. I tell the Hardware associate,

“Twerking Santa.”

I walk out the door to the tune of some Christmas song and Santa vibrating his tuchus.

All of this just to get him home, put him on the counter and realize his twerking is not good.

I intend on exchanging him, but the reason ACE Hardware has a supply of twerking Santas this late in the season is because none of them actually twerk. Their butts just vibrate.

I update Captain, planning to come home and see if there are any books related to poop or farts or the bathroom in any way.

Out of character for Captain, he has become invested in this. When I’m almost home, he calls me back,

“Go to Home Depot! They have a sloth!”

Sloths are the IT animal in our house right now.

“A twerking sloth?!”

“I don’t think so.”

It is not a twerking sloth, but it does have a Santa hat on and dances to MC Hammer. It is now on my dresser awaiting its fate at the yankee swap.

Bottom line is it’s a celebrating time of year and the more holidays the better. If anyone celebrates Kwanzaa, I’m all ears.

My understated take on Hanukkah, a minor Jewish holiday

Dances faster than one would expect for a sloth

Happy Hanukkah!!! Jury is out on this one…

Posted on December 7, 2023 by Good Times with Jess

When we moved to the burbs 6.5 years ago, the only Hanukkah decor I had was our actual menorah. We now own eight menorahs. Some are homemade and potentially flammable.

I added a bin of decor per year. There are seven bins. I will not be needing an additional bin this year, but it wasn’t a buy-nothing season either, despite Hanukkah being moments after Thanksgiving.

As you may know from previous posts, I adore Home Goods’ ability to have the most random, how-did-I-live-without-these, Hanukkah items. I walked in last week just to check and walked out with the most bejeweled, bedazzled, menorah wall-hanging I’ve ever seen.

Considering how sparkly and shiny everyone and everything is right now, this menorah is on trend. And if someone knows where to buy a faux-fur menorah, I’m sure I can find a spot for it.

The kids are ready. RB keeps shouting,

“I’m so excited for Hanukkah and candy eggs!”

“Candy eggs?!”

“Yeah. That bunny holiday!”

Hmmm.

RB has her priorities: candy.

The other day RB peered into her pumpkin bucket in despair. A few starbursts were scattered at the bottom. Then RB got a glimpse of BB’s halloween bucket still brimming with candy.

RB howls,

“It’s NOT FAIR!”

On October 31st, both buckets were equally full.

Every time RB sat down with her bucket, she made it her mission to unwrap and eat as many pieces of candy as possible. She eats candy in a way that’s very consistent with her personality: quick, efficient, and on to the next thing.

Every time BB sat down with her bucket, she picked up the same ring pop from the time before, sucked on it, day dreamed, sucked on it, day dreamed. Then she put her half-gone ring pop back in the wrapper to continue with another day.

She made zero progress consuming her candy bucket. This is very consistent with BB’s personality: no rush, no… rush…, really she has zero sense of urgency. Her candy bucket might still be around by the time we get to candy eggs.

This blog post has been open on my computer all week. I was chugging along, on track to finish it this morning and start Hanukkah tonight, but then everything came to a screeching halt. Yesterday around 4pm RB vomitted everywhere. She continued to vomit all night. Then she woke up in the morning and declared herself all better.

I am NOT all better. I’m sleep deprived, although still healthy. The question is for how long. Can I and the remaining members of my family stay healthy for 8 nights? Seems unlikely considering how much vomit I came in contact with. But it’s not called a Hanukkah miracle for nothing.

In between vomits yesterday I threw a blanket on the floor and put RB on top. She started to scream. Considering she had been maintaining her silent misery, I had no idea why she was screaming all of sudden. I cry,

“What is it?!”

She points her finger at the edge of the blanket on the floor. Half the tassels are out and half are in. RB is clenching her whole body and screams,

“THAT!”

I flick the edge of the blanket back and forth so all the tassels are going the same way. RB relaxes and goes silent.

I would’ve thought that being on a vomit spree would put one’s OCD on hold, but it seems to be the opposite. Uneven blanket tassels are UNBEARABLE. Remind me to never buy anything with tassels again.

RB’s attention to detail was strong all week, even before she got sick. BB likes the Hanukkah decorations and accepts however I put it out. RB has specific opinions about how it should look.

I have one Hanukkah house, waiting for me to start a Hanukkah village. In front of the Hanukkah house I put a dreidel person and a menorah person. The other day RB added a toothbrush person.

I didn’t think of the toothbrush person as someone celebrating Hanukkah, but we need all the support we can get.

Bert and Ernie, our resident armchair experts

Posted on November 9, 2023 by Good Times with Jess

And we’re off to the races. Halloween was successful. Candy is dwindling and space has been cleared for our gazillion Hanukkah decorations plus a Christmas tree.

BB doesn’t have a full week of school until after Thanksgiving. I’m not sure what that’s about.

I cleared space, but not as much space as one would think. Our Sesame Street stuffies are still hanging around.

Captain and I have a running Bert and Ernie joke. He’s Bert and I’m Ernie. That’s the high level explanation.

Six years ago, when we bought our house with its double-sided fire place, I dreamed of a library with two leather chairs.

I accomplished the library portion immediately. Due to necessity, the library became library/office/home gym. As soon as the exercise bike and weight lifting bench moved in, it was hard to imagine where two chairs would go. Also any extra money we have, I’m loathe to spend it on chairs when it could be used for travel.

So the library/office/gym remained full and chairless. There is an office chair and a stool I use for midday one on ones, usually to confirm I can leave a kid behind while I drive the other kid EVERYWHERE.

The first Christmas we were in our house, Crate and Barrel was selling Bert and Ernie pillows at a steep discount, final sale. I’m sure they were intended for a kid’s room. I gifted them to Captain and told him final sale before he had time to voice any misgivings.

I said,

“They’re for our future library chairs!”

“Ok.”

Then they went to live in the closet for the next five years.

A year ago I was at my dear friend’s New Hampshire condo. She mentioned they might be replacing a couple chairs with a couch. At the risk of being too bold, I said,

“If you ever don’t want them, we’d love them! But totally understand if you’re going to sell them.”

Last month they replaced them with a couch and asked if we’d still like them! YES YES YES!

Captain surveyed the home gym. I surveyed the bit of space in the corner, across from the fireplace.

Our amazing friends fit them in their car and drove them to us. Turns out the library/office/gym has room for books, a desk, an office chair, a stool, an exercise bike, a weight lifting bench, a rack of weights and TWO CHAIRS.

Captain and I regard the chairs. I raise my eyebrows at him and ask,

“Bert and Ernie?!?”

“Get them out of the closet! They’ve been in there long enough.”

So they have. They’re out, proud and enjoying the library/office/gym.

Yesterday I poked my head into the library/office/gym and asked Captain,

“Is it okay to pass along the Sesame Street stuffies?”

Captain looks at the picture of Bert and Ernie on his desk. He looks at the Bert and Ernie pillows on the chairs. He says,

“I do have this picture of Bert and Ernie and we do have those pillows.”

“Right. So maybe it’s time to pass along the stuffies?”

“How many Bert and Ernies do we have?”

“Two Ernies and one Bert.”

“Maybe we keep one Bert and Ernie and pass along the rest?”

“Ok…”

“I don’t need to keep Big Bird.”

All the Sesame Street stuffies are still in my living room. I was ready to part with them, but the idea of breaking up the pack has left me immobilized. Maybe we need a third library chair for the entire cast.

WordPress offers AI assistance for editing and generating excerpts. Here are a few AI summaries of this post:

Our ever-evolving home doubles up as a Halloween candy storage, Hanukkah decorations showroom, Sesame Street museum, and a library-office-home gym, sans the comfy library chairs. After years of aspiring to own plush library seats, our pals gifted us their old ones, finally embodying the complete vision of our applaudable multi-purpose house. A long-stowed Bert and Ernie pillow pair now proudly grace the new chairs, undergoing hard negotiations regarding the fate of their Sesame Street comrades. Surprise, we might need an extra chair!

The multi-purpose space in a family home which doubles as a library, office, and gym finally gets the long-awaited addition of two chairs. The chairs, gifts from a friend, accommodate the previously closeted Bert and Ernie pillows. The Sesame Street stuffies face an uncertain future, but Bert and Ernie remain constants in the mix.

The narrator and their partner, affectionately referred to as Captain, have slowly been transforming their home-based library/office/gym into a more comfortable space, recently adding two chairs gifted by a friend. Alongside this transformation, a recurring Bert and Ernie theme has developed, supported by long-stored pillows and multiple stuffies. Looming above it all is the question of how many Bert and Ernie items should remain, leading to a humorous consideration of needing a third chair for all the Sesame Street characters.

In a nutshell, after Halloween and before the festive season kicked into gear, a family sorted their space. They transformed their library/office/home gym by adding two chairs they received from their friends. They revived a Bert and Ernie joke with some themed pillows. However, deciding on whether to keep or part with their cherished Sesame Street plushies has them stumped. Their solution? Perhaps another chair for the entire plushie cast!

And below is what AI thought about my writing. Sounds like I’m doing great work.

Everybody needs a Yeti Body. Not to be confused with the tumbler

Posted on October 25, 2023 by Good Times with Jess

Wellness. I’m not sure when it became a widespread concept that everyone knows what it means, but BB has more breathing techniques and calm-down strategies than I do.

Wellness isn’t just a concept for her, it’s a class. There’s gym, music, art and wellness.

The closest I may have gotten to it as a kid was a health class, but breathing and mental health were not discussed.

A month ago I had to dismiss BB early for the dentist. She was upset,

“I don’t want to miss Wellness!”

“Why?”

“We’re learning about our Yeti Body.”

“Your Yeti Body?! What’s that?”

“I DON’T KNOW! That’s what we’re going to learn!”

Ah yes. Point taken, but considering the dentist is booked solid for months, Yeti Body will have to wait.

Last spring I stood chatting with a dear friend and her husband, who also have two daughters. The husband mentioned that maybe we should have a girls’ weekend at their condo in New Hampshire.

I’m all for traveling with kids and without Captain, but in this case I’m not sure why I’d leave him behind. I’d rather not be outnumbered.

I voice my hesitation,

“It wouldn’t be that fun taking care of the kids without Captain.”

My friend nods in agreement. Her husband shakes his head,

“No! The two of you, without the kids.”

“Oh! Without the kids?! Yes please!” I’m free all the weekends.

I spent 30 glorious hours away:

Two hour car ride without yelling or tossing anything to the backseat
Gorgeous hikes
Outdoor hot tub
Long delicious dinner out
A sleep in
Uninterrupted coffee
Yoga
Another relaxing two hour drive

And all with great company. I’d be happy to do any one of those things, so to do them all was luxurious. It felt like the definition of wellness, but I’ll run it by BB.

As we got out of the hot tub, I had a moment of concern. We had half an hour to shower and get ready for dinner, but then I realized the only person I had to get ready was me and I’m very cooperative.

When I got home and swept BB into a hug, she asked,

“Were you homesick?”

“Not at all!”

Later I ask BB,

“Did you ever find out what your Yeti Body is?”

“Yes. You get into your Yeti Body when you need to calm down. You smell your soup. You blow on your soup. You smell your soup. You blow on your soup.”

I grab my soup. This is a very effective breathing strategy.

The other day BB came home from school with a story to tell. I’m relaying it to you secondhand and I do not stand behind its accuracy. It should be noted that BB is having the best year yet; she adores her teacher and class.

BB tells me,

“Mrs. Soandso lost her temper today.”

“She did?”

“We were in line and everyone was shouting. She told us a few times to be quiet and no one was listening. Then she yelled ‘SHUTUP!'”

“She did?!?”

“So I turned to my friend L and whispered ‘Mrs. Soandso needs to get into her Yeti Body.'”

You did?!

I really hope BB was this quick with her smart-aleck joke. Her sense of humor makes my heart sing. Maybe with wellness.

RB is a BIG KID with a bit of a complex

Posted on October 5, 2023 by Good Times with Jess

The only youngest child in our family is turning 4 next week!

Captain is an oldest sibling. I’m an oldest sibling. BB is the oldest. And RB is the youngest. We don’t understand her plight.

“RB what would you like for your birthday?”

“The same things as BB.”

“The same things as BB?”

“The same Barbies BB has. The same bag.”

BB got a new swim/beach bag for her birthday with an “H” on it. I ask RB,

“You want the same bag, but with an “E” on it?”

“No an “H.””

Right.

Everything that BB does, RB better be able to do too or else she is down in the dumps. RB hasn’t missed a trip to the bus stop yet, despite the disappointment of not boarding too.

RB is very happy to pick out her own clothes, say shorts and a shirt. She’ll be on her way and then boom, BB is in a dress. RB begins to wail,

“I NEED TO CHANGE. I NEED A DRESS TOO!”

Occasionally BB may take into account something about RB and ask for the same, but that usually only applies to candy.

RB, happy and sure of herself, then sees her sister: wearing, doing, being and nothing is right until she can duplicate everything.

When BB got in the pool for her swim-team tryout this summer, RB couldn’t have been madder. She glared at me,

“I’m NOT getting in the pool?!”

“No.”

“I want to race.”

“I know you do.”

Then when BB’s five minute tryout turned into an unanticipated hour practice, I thought RB’s head might explode or that she would jump into the pool anyway. She’s convinced turning 4 is going to solve all her problems.

I’ve got a cake problem. Just like RB couldn’t nail down a color for her coveted beach bag with an “H.” She also couldn’t seem to keep her cake story straight. After many changes, there was a solid two weeks of telling me,

“Chocolate Elsa cake with strawberries. No Anna.”

You’d think she’d identify with Anna.

Yesterday I ordered a chocolate Elsa cake. After school I told RB,

“I ordered your cake.”

“What is it?”

“Chocolate Elsa cake.”

“I don’t like chocolate.”

“What?!”

“It’s ok if you got it wrong mom.”

“I didn’t get it wrong!”

“I want white cake. It’s ok you got it wrong.”

But is it really ok?

I recruit Captain. He corners her in the living room,

“So what kind of cake did you want for your birthday?”

“Mom got it wrong, but that’s ok. I don’t like chocolate.”

I didn’t get it wrong! But I sure did call Market Basket and change it.

For Hanukkah last year BB asked for a watch. I took the path of least resistance and got one for RB too. It’s analog. I’m not even sure BB knows how to use it, never mind RB.

BB slipped hers on the other morning, an impromptu fashion choice. RB hasn’t paid hers any attention since she unwrapped it nine months ago. I haven’t seen anyone find something faster. RB swaggered to the bus stop, her upside down watch swinging on her arm.

And when I dropped her off at school, it was still on her arm. I may have turned it right side up, not that it matters.

When I picked her up that afternoon, I was surprised to see she was still wearing it. She told me,

“My friends asked me why I was wearing this.”

“Why are you wearing it?”

She rolled her eyes and sighed with the attitude of her big sister,

“So I know what time it is.”

Duh.

It’s almost birthday time. I did not buy her a bag with her sister’s name on it.

At school RB wrote her whole name, not just an “E,” for the very first time. I congratulated her. She beamed from ear to ear and told me,

“I wrote an “H” for BB too!”

To a sweet new year! May we make the most of our family time

Posted on September 21, 2023 by Good Times with Jess

Shana Tova! Happy New Year! Captain lucked out that Rosh Hashanah fell on the weekend. Off to children’s services we went.

When it’s on a weekday, it’s work like usual for Captain. He’s saving his time off for when he really needs it, like hopefully in a few weeks to dress up as Shabbat Shark.

He is a very committed employee. A month ago when we got a tornado warning, he went into the basement with us. He watched us get settled with a movie and declared,

“I don’t have time for this.” And went back to work above ground.

I wasn’t sure how to feel. I didn’t want to be in the basement with a Disney movie either, but it would be a bummer to die. I thought about Captain: There’s his life insurance and hopefully some sort of recognition for dying in the line of duty for his IT job.

There was no tornado. Playtime resumed above ground and Captain probably wished for another imminent natural disaster.

Rosh Hashanah morning we walk into the sanctuary, I tell BB she can pick where we sit. She heads straight for the front center row.

I don’t go to synagogue for the people watching or the daydreaming, but I don’t mind a little bit of both. There’s none of that to be done from the front row.

RB declines to sit with us. She sees her Hebrew school teacher several rows back and makes a beeline for her. Smart kid.

BB starts to sag. She says she’s too tired to stand. She’s yawning. Then her head is on my lap. Captain has been casing the joint and whispers to me,

“We’re on the live feed.”

He points out several cameras trained on the front of the sanctuary. I get BB to sit up. RB has no inclination to sit with us ever again. Maybe I should move back to her.

I glance at BB. Half her finger has disappeared up her nose.

WHY did we sit in the front? I manage to recover her finger, only for it to disappear several more times.

The saving grace is that they didn’t hand out the plastic toy shofars that they have in the past. Imagine giving a room full of young families loud plastic horns and then somehow hoping the small children only blow them when they’re told it’s ok.

It was a lovely service and there’s a live feed to prove it. Next up? Yom Kippur on Monday. Captain’s work commitment exempts him from the front row. Middle aisle is my goal and RB can fend for herself.

Unrelated, but shows our commitment to house projects.

Back to school! I’m not crying, you’re crying. I’m really not crying

Posted on September 5, 2023 by Good Times with Jess

And then there was quiet.

THANK GOODNESS.

I adore our summers at the beach. But I can’t say enough good things about being home alone.

This is my unicorn week: Kids at school and Captain at the office. It hasn’t happened since June. And it won’t happen again until October.

I’m soaking in the solo vibes. Vacuuming whenever wherever. Reading my blog out loud without anyone asking me what the heck I’m talking about. (Reading out loud is really the best way to edit.)

And having the run of the place without being scared to death every time I turn a corner and bump into Captain. You’d think by now I’d remember that he lives here too.

Which is what he says when I scream. He reminds me,

“I live here too.”

Maybe he’ll learn to stay at his desk.

BB is thrilled to be in second grade, in part or in whole because she gets her own locker. RB is happy to be in the same pre-school class as last year, but her friends all moved up to pre-k.

In theory this sounded fine to her. Last week she kept exclaiming,

“I’m in the same room, with my same teachers, but with new friends!”

“Yes!”

“I’m excited to see A!”

“A isn’t in your class anymore.”

“Oh.”

We walked into her classroom this morning and she went to put her lunchbox away. She declared,

“I put it next to A’s.”

Hmmm. Maybe it looks like A’s…

RB runs off to play and I chat with her teachers. On my way out, RB gives me a concerned look and mutters under her breath to me,

“These are baby kids.”

She’s not wrong.

Last year she was a baby kid. She was still two and one of the youngest. Now she’s almost four and one of the oldest. I reassure her about what a big kid she is.

That seems to do the trick. She had a wonderful day and was very chatty on the way home. She told me all about her new friends, including one still wearing a diaper. She doesn’t seem to be holding it against her.

Now RB is home and it’s still quiet. There’s no one for her to fight with and there’s no one to scare me. There’s a little bit of peace.

“Pink just looks so good on us”

Posted on August 15, 2023 by Good Times with Jess

I bought Weird Barbie! She’s $50. I’m not sure if she’s for me or my kids.

For that price point she should probably be for me, but then she’ll stay perfectly weird and I’ll be missing the entire point of the movie.

BB missed the point of the movie, but that didn’t stop her from loving it! Her biggest complaint was that the ending was sad. I asked her why,

“I wish Barbie went back to live in her dreamhouse.”

Of course BB wishes that. BB has been the core demographic the dreamhouse was marketed for. So much so that BB thinks we need a second dreamhouse. I hope you can see my pained expression from where you are.

According to RB, the point of the movie was to maintain control of the giant popcorn bucket. She accomplished that.

There’s been so much talk about whether or not it’s appropriate for kids. I’m not sure which part of it is concerning. There are references to genitals. My kids know all about those.

As I stood in the ocean chatting with another mom, RB swam up and wanted to swim through my legs. She yelled loud enough for the whole beach to hear,

“Can I swim under your ‘GINA?!”

Then there’s the language. My kids have heard swears before and will hear them again. BB is on a school bus for 45 minutes everyday with kids as old as 10. Which is probably as good a source for new words as the Barbie movie.

So that leaves us with some of Barbie’s themes: feminism, patriarchy, machismo, existential crisis and death. Otherwise known as reality.

I heard some people with kids walked out in the middle and not for a potty break. Maybe they don’t like choreographed dance numbers?

It makes me feel like I’m missing something. I’ll just have to watch it again. Even Captain enjoyed it and he’s only been playing with Barbies for five years.

We’ve been listening to the soundtrack on repeat. All of us. I was at the Cape with the kids and Captain was home listening to it all by himself.

On his way to work he texted me the lyrics to “I’m Just Ken.” The Ken-ergy seems to be contagious and Captain IS very good at doing stuff.

BB’s favorite song from the movie is Billie Eilish’s “What Was I Made For?” It’s kinda angsty for a kid who thinks Barbie would be happy back in her dreamhouse.

And how anyone could be happy with a lifetime of pretending to drink coffee is beyond me.

My wardrobe already erred on the side of pink. It stands no chance now. The pink options are limitless! There are Barbie clothes, Barbie home decor and Barbie dreamhouse scented candles. What does that even smell like? Plastic?

But it does not appear to have influenced BB’s back-to-school fashion choices. She’s going with Doc Martens and wants to dye her hair black.

Only two weeks left to perfect my summer job: Beach. You know I’m good at it.

Sailing sailing over the ocean blue

Posted on August 3, 2023 by Good Times with Jess

We sailed close to the wind, hit rough waters, turned a corner and stayed the course! It may be possible to write an entire post in nautical lingo without even scraping the barrel. But I’ll stem the tide.

It was an amazing trip! RB saved her blowout, make-me-want-to-look-for-a-ferry meltdown for the last day, a few hours sail from our car.

BB and I get seasick, but it hasn’t stopped either one of us yet. Last year BB sprayed the side of the boat blue when her frozen slushy resurfaced.

I came prepared with plenty of vomit bags and after the first two days I was worried I hadn’t packed enough.

With a storm headed our way, we left Newport and sailed straight past our original destination. We headed to the second night’s harbor, hoping for a good place to weather the storm.

BB and I took turns throwing up and RB took a massive four hour nap. The first sign that maybe it wasn’t a mistake to take her along.

We had a lovely dinner on land and went to sleep on the boat very happy. We woke up on our mooring rocking and rolling. The storm had arrived and rain was pouring down. I went up on deck, stood there with BB while we stayed somewhat dry, and threw up in our bags.

RB was in iPad heaven and never showed a single sign of being bothered by the motion.

The options for the day seemed to be: get on the launch boat in the pouring rain and get to land or stay on the boat and continue to vomit.

We got on land, got coffee and got a more peaceful mooring. Dinner was in a boat house. The kids were free to run laps. Captain was concerned about the anchors and other random sharp objects they might run into. I was concerned about having them at our dinner table.

The next day we set sail for Shelter Island and from there on in we had seven days of sun and smooth sailing. Every beautiful sunset, fun activity, good meal, made me very glad RB and I took our chances. And that my in-laws took a chance on us!

RB is now a restaurant going pro. At one point the server had barely introduced themselves and she was shouting,

“Lemonade!”

She might’ve just as well yelled “make it a double!”

At another we had just arrived at, I saw the server bend his head toward her, but I couldn’t hear what RB said. The server continued to welcome us to the restaurant. I asked him,

“What did she say to you?”

“She ordered buttered pasta.”

Perfect. Really the only thing different about each restaurant’s kids menu was the order of menu items: Hot dog, chicken fingers, pasta or maybe chicken fingers, pasta, hot dog.

At night I slept with RB in the V berth and Captain and BB took the center berth. It was very comfortable and snuggly, especially compared to the narrow bunk I had when I worked on a boat.

The boat is like one giant SNOO and RB and I fell asleep quickly. At home I sleep with no children and I don’t usually hear from either kid all night.

Several nights in on the boat RB woke up at 2am screaming,

“My blanket! Straighten my blanket!”

Normally I wouldn’t comply with a 3-year-old shouting orders at me, but bleary with sleep I’d do just about anything to make her stop. I smoothed the blanket.

3am. Screaming again about the blanket. I smoothed it.

4am. Screaming. Blanket. I took it away.

No blanket is worth this torture.

Captain got himself a 12-foot paddle board for his upcoming birthday and strapped it to the boat. The plan was to paddle around the harbors in the evening. As we pulled into Shelter Island, the sea was glassy, the views lovely and then we looked into the water. Jellyfish EVERYWHERE.

That was NOT going to be the spot of my first paddle boarding attempt.

Two days later, in Three Mile Harbor, Captain made it look easy. Then he took BB out on it too and made it look even easier. Then I tried it, thinking I was going to make a massive fool of myself. I wanted to do it away from an audience of my closest beach friends.

It was much easier than I thought! I didn’t add any kiddos to my board and I can’t imagine why I would do that.

RB said no at first, but soon changed her mind. She said,

“I want to do it! I’m getting to be 6 you know.”

She’s 3.5.

One morning our engine wouldn’t start. At work Captain has a report who often remarks,

“We’re dead in the water.”

As Captain and his dad worked on the engine, I lounged nearby sipping my ice coffee. I couldn’t help myself, but inform Captain,

“We’re dead in the water!”

Last stop was Block Island. That harbor is a scene. There’s a coffee boat. It’s like an ice cream truck but a boat, and for coffee, donuts and breakfast sandwiches. I regret not getting a picture. I was too busy drooling over my first hot coffee in days.

As we were going to bed we checked the weather: 50% chance of thunderstorms in a few hours. That would’ve been a great time to close the giant hatch over my and RB’s bed. I did not.

I thought to myself: ‘It’s hot, if I close it, it will be stuffy. I’ll leave it open and if/when I hear rain I’ll close it.’ I pulled the shade closed and passed out.

I awoke to the sound of a torrential downpour on the shade over my head. I couldn’t feel the deluge yet, but it was only a matter of time.

The only thing to do was open the shade, remove the screen and close the hatch over our bed. But that would also mean water pouring out EVERYWHERE.

I sat in bed paralyzed for what felt like an eternity. The water still accumulating in the shade. Captain dashed out of his bed, whipped the shade back, and water poured EVERYWHERE.

I started sobbing. Captain says, and I don’t really remember this, that I just kept saying,

“This is bad. This is bad. This is really bad.”

And it was. The waterfall hit RB mid snore and she came to screaming. Her hair was dripping. Her jammies were soaked. My pillow was soaked, our bedding was soaked, my blankety was damp.

Of all the things I thought to move to higher ground, Blankety was my priority. My child might’ve been a better choice.

Several years ago, while eating a nice COVID dinner outside with a dear friend, a thunder storm swept down upon us. She noted that I rushed the wine inside first, then came back for baby RB sitting outside in her highchair. If those chairs are going to be that high, they should be grounded.

So as I cried on the boat, envisioning no sleep for the rest of the night, a sopping wet RB curled up and resumed snoring.

I put down as many dry towels as I had. I put on dry jammies and set aside a dry shirt for RB. Then miraculously I also went back to sleep. RB woke up a few hours later, I changed her shirt and she went right back to sleep. We both slept straight through until 7am.

RB woke up, looked down at her random, dry shirt and said,

“What’s this? Why am I wearing this?”

It’s a long story.

LESSON LEARNED. If there’s even the most minuscule, chance of rain. I will NEVER leave a hatch open again. Or else I’ll choose a different bed.

Captain offered to switch beds with me. But sleeping with BB means accepting that at some point in the night her feet will be on my pillow and the risk of injury is high.

We finished the sailing trip off strong with a dinner out in matching shirts. I LOVE matching. RB adores matching BB. Other people have mixed feelings about it, so it felt extra special.

All was well until the final sail home. BB and my father-in-law were wearing another set of matching shirts and RB didn’t have one. That and no nap several days in a row was reason enough for RB to lose her mind. After an eternity of screaming, she demanded to be left alone and slept for the rest of the trip.

Now we know the ropes. Sign us up for next year!

Gone Sailing… if you hear from me soon, it’s bad news

Posted on July 12, 2023 by Good Times with Jess

“Where are we going?” RB asks for the millionth time.

“CAPE COD!”

“I call it the Cape.”

Me too.

I’m forty one! And this is year four of spending the summer at the beach. Not to toot my own horn, but I’m getting good at it.

I can make lunches, pack snacks, drink coffee, coordinate swimsuits, apply sunscreen to small, wiggly bodies, one large cooperative body, all while texting, washing dishes, mitigating sibling fights, doling out popsicles, then walking the ten steps to the beach balancing a giant inflatable unicorn. All before 10am.

And all while maintaining my relaxed, beach persona. Or at least I’m hoping that’s what my hat and sunglasses are doing for me.

I bemoaned my last day of being forty. There was no sympathy for me. Everyone seemed to think: What’s the difference?

I agree, what’s the difference? I’m not sure, but I can’t wear my “40” tiara anymore. I can’t look over my shoulder at my thirties like it was just yesterday. I can look at the guy on the beach my friend gestured to as she said,

“He’s about your age right?”

Oh good grief. He was exactly my age. He had just turned 41 and was NOT a shining beacon of youth.

Over the winter we invested in an umbrella upgrade: the cool cabana. Good choice. A large portion of the beach appears to agree with us. Our friends got one too.

After many days of neither one of us even taking it out of the box. I couldn’t even remember what color I ordered. My friend asks,

“When are you going to try it out?”

“I’m waiting for a second adult.”

Refer to previous preparation list. By the time I get to the beach, the most effort I want to exert is opening my book.

We also ordered an inflatable paddle board. Jury is out on this. We’re hoping to try it next week when we go sailing with my in-laws.

BB has loved their boat since the minute she was born. She was doing overnight trips by the time she was two. BB and Captain have gone on several week-long sailing trips with my in-laws.

RB has done nothing to make me think she’s a good sailor.

Two years ago I looked at 1.5-year-old RB and said NO WAY to the week-long sail. Last year I looked at 2.5-year-old RB and said NO WAY, but then proceeded to feel like MAYBE we could have done it.

This year I looked at 3.5-year-old RB. HARD TO SAY. But I can’t let Captain and BB have all the fun without me!

A few weeks ago, we did a one-day sail with no overnight. Even RB’s iPad didn’t seem to stop her from pinging around the boat. My feelings swayed toward NO WAY. Everyone else seemed convinced it was worth a try.

Okay. As long as I’m not the only one to blame when we’re all ready to throw RB overboard.

Now I’m excited. I love adventures. If RB does make me regret taking her, no one will be able to tell. I’ll be wearing my hat and sunglasses, transforming my relaxed beach persona into my relaxed sailing persona.

Anchors aweigh!

Captain’s matching suit is coming next year.

Nothing like the sound of gurgling gushing water… IN YOUR HOUSE

Posted on June 24, 2023 by Good Times with Jess

Happy summer! I made a mad dash to the Cape and I left my laptop behind. I left many other things behind: my bra, my hairdryer, not my children, but nothing left me more flummoxed than the laptop.

My plan was to have written a blog post already. Pen and paper crossed my mind, but I haven’t composed anything on paper longer than a thank-you note in 20 years.

I spent this week considering the pen and paper route and that’s as far as I got until I was reunited with my precious.

Last Saturday I made a solo trip down to open the Cape house. Anything with the word solo in it sounds lovely.

It did not turn out to be lovely, but I was still very grateful to be solo.

I went down to the basement to turn on the water. Something sounded funny. It’s at this point when it would’ve been a great idea to turn the water right back off.

I didn’t.

I took my time. I wandered around the backyard. I soaked in the ocean air. I enjoyed my coffee. I meandered back to the front door.

I may have taken more time from turning on the water to getting back in the house than ever before.

I opened the front door. I heard water gushing. It sounded like a bathtub was turned on. I panic sprinted to the other side of the house. Water was pouring out from under the laundry-room sink.

I dashed to the basement and turned the water off.

I spent the next hour mopping up water and regretting ever leaving the basement to frolic in the backyard like someone who has never dealt with a burst pipe.

I also spent the hour mopping and being so grateful I wasn’t also fielding a barrage of questions from my small children.

Although if said children had been here, I may or may not have gotten my butt inside a little faster.

Miraculously a plumber came within the hour. Water off to the sink. Water on to the rest of the house. I thanked him profusely and off he went.

I headed to the kitchen sink so excited to wash my hands for the first time in what felt like a lifetime. I turned on the faucet and water sprayed EVERYWHERE.

What is going on?! I looked at the faucet. It was corroded and there was a giant hole in it. That’s two sinks down.

We’re left with the bathroom sinks. That seems like enough water and sinks to start our beach summer, but not ideal.

The landlocked option is hanging around Captain, while he attempts to work from home. Also not ideal. We pack up (minus many items) and head to the Cape where everyone can scream as much as they want and we’ll only disturb people on vacation.

I get the kids in bed. RB is in her travel crib. She slept in it all weekend at my in-laws no complaints. She tells me,

“This is too small.”

It really is. I tell her,

“I’ll take that into consideration.”

I’m still considering it.

The weather has been hit or miss. Then along comes a bright, sunny, warm-enough-for-a-kid, beach day.

We’re down there for a minute and then I get the text: Plumber arriving in 15 minutes. I drag the kids and a very angry BB back to the house.

She’s desperate to go back to the beach. I explain,

“We need the plumber because we need to be able to use the sink.”

I’m in the process of putting RB down for a nap. She doesn’t nap everyday, but might as well if we’re home for the plumber.

BB is standing two feet away from the plumber who’s working hard to restore our way of life. She shouts,

“I WANT TO GO TO THE BEACH!”

“Go ahead!” Our friends have said she could stay with them, but BB wants me to hand-deliver her. “I can’t leave RB here and they know you’re coming.”

“Why can’t you come with me? The plumber can watch RB!”

The plumber’s hourly rate is $200. I do not want to know what it is if you add on childcare.

Back to the beach and I won’t take kitchen faucets for granted for awhile.

Nothing like a merdad with reading glasses.

What do you get when you combine mermaids, barbies, legos and one merdad? My living room

Posted on June 8, 2023 by Good Times with Jess

I’ve been obsessed leading up to the live-action Little Mermaid. A week before the release, I bought movie tickets, mermaid dresses, nightgowns, shell purses, dolls and books.

It’s a magical upgrade to the original and the perfect first movie outing for mermaid obsessed RB.

RB is convinced the mermaids are real and BB is more believing than I would’ve thought. BB remarks,

“I just don’t understand how they got Flounder to talk.”

Somehow the talking crab and seagull are a given.

Reviewers said the movie was a cash grab by Disney pandering to Millennials’ nostalgia.

Sure and I’m SOLD. I loved The Little Mermaid and I love that I can share this new diverse version with my kiddos. I’d be wearing a mermaid dress too, if the youth XXL wasn’t so short.

Yes I bought the Target girl’s size 18 to match BB and RB. The waist was up around my armpits, so I just wore my favorite Mermom tank.

It’s a gorgeous movie and LONG. RB bounced from recliner to recliner. If I have my way, I’ll be watching Barbie in a reclining seat too. I’m as excited for Barbie as I was for The Little Mermaid.

We have no shortage of Barbie dolls, BUT there’s always room in my wardrobe for more pink.

People have asked me if I’m taking the kids to Barbie. It’s PG-13. I may live to regret it, but I’m planning on it!

I thought Ursula was going to be the end of us. Before seeing the movie, RB was terrified of her. She made me hide the 3-inch-tall Ursula doll. But then somehow the ginormous Ursula who filled the entire movie screen didn’t phase either kid. Maybe by the two hour mark they were in a candy-popcorn coma.

I asked RB about it. She said,

“The mermaids are real, but Ursula is pretend.”

And the 3-inch Ursula doll is somewhere in between?

BB, who I can count on to parse every random thing that comes out of my mouth, asks me,

“Why is childhood precious?”

“What?”

“You said childhood is precious. Why?”

“Well… you have a magical brain.”

“A magical brain?”

“Your brain makes your toys come alive, talk, act things out. I remember the day my brain stopped doing that: I had a Barbie in each hand and they couldn’t talk anymore.”

“They couldn’t talk anymore?! But Dad has a magical brain. He’s great at playing Barbies!”

“Dad IS great at playing Barbies.” Who knew?

It’s one of those intangible things I didn’t know about him until we were thrown into the child-rearing trenches. Captain knows his way around Barbie’s Dream House.

Days later BB yells for me. She wants her completed lego sets down from the top of her wardrobe. The last time she played with them they fell apart and her yelling, screaming and crying is why I put them back together and out of reach.

I ask,

“Are you sure?”

BB is in a panic and starting to hyperventilate,

“I need to play with them NOW before the people stop talking!”

“What?”

“You said they’re going to stop talking when I grow up!”

I have never retrieved a toy faster.

The legos are talking. Ursula is hiding in my closet. Barbie is waiting for me to remember how to play with her and I’m shopping for a Merdad shirt for Father’s Day.

Moral of the movie: Don’t let anyone share your popcorn no matter how large the bucket is.

But WHY???

Posted on May 24, 2023 by Good Times with Jess

There’s been a lull in exciting questions. But not a lull in questions. RB has entered the Land of the Reflexive Why.

“What are we doing today?”

“Going to the grocery store.”

“Why?”

…

“Where’s BB?”

“School.”

“Why?”

…

“Where’s Dad?”

“At the office.”

“Why?”

Good question!

BB never went through a “why” phase. Instead she had two pandemic years of: “What do you mean?” It went like this:

“Time for breakfast.”

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s go for a walk.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m losing my mind.”

“What do you mean?”

“I MEANT WHAT I SAID!”

And I’m not the only one who felt that way. I heard another 5-year-old tell her the exact same thing. It was validating.

The other day I was trying to get us all out of the house for some kid activity. The process is two steps forward, one step back.

RB bugs to go before it’s time. She has her shoes on, her bag over her shoulder and the baby doll of the day tucked under her arm. I can’t seem to round up BB. The momentum is lost. RB decides to put everything down and throw off her shoes.

BB asks what feels like the millionth question in the last fifteen minutes. I tell her,

“It’s hard for my brain to get us ready to go and answer all these questions. Please hold off unless it’s really important.”

BB hovers nearby. The quiet sounds like a ticking time bomb. She ponders the tiles.

“Why is there a crack in the floor?”

“Is that an important question?”

“Yes!”

I’m doomed.

I head for the car. RB starts crying,

“Where’s my baby? Where are my shoes?”

Several days later, with no sequitur, BB informs me,

“I really was wondering about that crack in the floor.”

“What were you wondering?”

“How did it happen?”

“I don’t know.”

“Has it always been there?”

“Ever since we moved in.”

Moral of the story: the only thing accomplished by trying to minimize questions is more questions.

Yesterday BB sat enjoying a ginormous rainbow swirl lollipop. It was the kind of lollipop that looks so beautiful that I want one despite not really wanting one.

RB asks,

“Can I have a lick?”

Two years ago, if RB had so much as looked at BB’s candy, BB would’ve been ready to throw it away. A year ago, RB’s light touch of a finger, never mind a bite, would make BB gag. A year ago BB would’ve rather licked a Disney World handrail, then risked getting a single one of her sister’s germs.

I watch in stupefied awe as BB extends her lollipop to RB. RB takes a big lick and BB puts the lollipop back in her own mouth. RB declares,

“BB is the best sister! Can we keep her?”

Best question yet!

And if you thought inane questions were for the youth…

Yesterday BB returned from a field trip with her sweatshirt tied around her waist. I had recommended leaving it behind so she wouldn’t lose it. She tells me,

“They told us to take our sweatshirts along.”

“And you didn’t lose it?”

“MOM! You can see my sweatshirt!”

So I can.

The Birds and the Bees

Posted on May 11, 2023 by Good Times with Jess

Content warning: this post contains no further mention of birds and bees, it’s all penises and vaginas.

It was a calm, sunny night and we were enjoying a standard-issue, family dinner: BB spitting unwanted food out on the floor, RB dabbing a minuscule bit of peanut butter off her upper lip, everyone more or less trying to fill their stomachs.

BB asks,

“How does the sperm get to the egg?”

BB has known for many years that you need a sperm and an egg to make a baby. She has know for at least two years that the sperm comes from a man and the egg from a woman. She knows that two women or two men can have babies, they just need to outsource parts of the equation.

She has known for a year that sperm comes from the testicles and the egg comes from the ovaries into the uterus.

Six months ago she asked,

“What do sperm look like?”

“They’re microscopic but they look like tadpoles.”

“Dad’s body is full of tadpoles swimming around?!”

“They’re just in his testicles.”

Every year questions have been asked and answers given. So here we are: the sperm’s journey to the egg. I take a bite of tortellini and tell BB,

“The penis goes in the vagina. The sperm comes out of the penis and finds the egg in the uterus.”

“The penis goes in the vagina?!?” BB’s jaw is on the table.

“Yes. This is something for grownups only. Both grownups need to agree to it.”

BB looks at Captain. She looks at me. She asks,

“Dad put his penis in your vagina?!”

“Yes.”

Captain pipes up,

“All mammals do this to make babies.”

THANK YOU. I jump on this train,

“It’s called sex or reproduction. If we lived on a farm, this would be old news.”

BB still appears to be in a state of disbelief. She shakes her head,

“I thought babies were made at a doctor’s office.”

“That’s one way, but that’s not how Dad and I did it.”

Family dinner returns to its previously scheduled conversation about everyone’s day. BB interrupts the mundanity to ask,

“Where did you do it? In the bathroom?”

Oh good lord.

“Really anywhere there’s privacy.”

BB studies RB. She seems to have remembered about her for the first time since we went down this rabbit hole. BB points and asks,

“So Dad put his penis in your vagina a second time to make HER?”

“Yes.” I will refrain from reminding her about the third time for the baby between the two of them.

Captain is almost 50-years-old and refuses to accept anything other than his parents having sex twice to make him and his brother. Proof that BB can live the rest of her life with this story intact.

And that was that. Until toothbrushing that night. BB garbles,

“I’m still thinking about that penis in the vagina thing.”

“Sex. Yeah.”

She shakes her head. I feel it’s a necessity to add,

“It can also be two men or two women.”

BB’s eyes go wide. She exclaims,

“A vagina can go inside a vagina?!”

“No. There are other ways grownups have sex.”

And that’s where things stand. For now.

BB scorched away any sensitivity I may have had about these conversations, when in a busy public restroom, for the millionth time, she screamed,

“WHY DO YOU HAVE HAIR ON YOUR VAGINA?!”

I hope my millionth, public puberty discussion did the trick. Either that or my newfangled, laser, hair remover will. Just in case Captain and I want to have sex a fourth time.

Squishy squashy mommy milkies

Posted on April 28, 2023 by Good Times with Jess

Yesterday, I had my first mammogram. OUCH. Maybe only small-chested people over 40 will understand. It was PAINFUL.

I’ve always had small breasts. They got somewhat larger when I gained weight in college; they just about quadrupled in size when I had babies. Then poof. I really don’t know where they went.

The other night I attempted to change into my PJs by myself, BB came in my room, put her hands on my chest and remarked,

“Your breasts are very small.”

“Smaller than they’ve ever been.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. It’s like they fed you two and now they’re saying ‘our work here is done.'”

They are completely deflated. Or maybe that’s how my 40-year-old breasts were going to look no matter what they’ve been up or down to.

BB adds,

“They’re really saggy.”

Captain pops his head in,

“No they’re not!”

I’m not sure when putting my jammies on became a family activity, but here we are.

And they may be floppy, but they’re not that saggy. There’s nothing to sag.

A month ago, my midwife mentioned a mammogram may hurt. She said,

“It can be difficult when there’s not a lot of breast tissue.”

If I was looking forward to my mammogram before, I wasn’t anymore.

Yesterday I was in the doctor’s office for something else and on my way out I ask,

“While I’m here, could I schedule my mammogram?”

“Sure. I have February or how’s right now?

“I’ll take right now.”

The woman doing my mammogram starts with the small amount of breast tissue on my left. My face is smushed against the plastic shield. I’m trying to breathe through the pain. Then she tells me not to breathe.

We move onto the right. EVEN MORE PAINFUL. The mammographer observes,

“Maybe this side is smaller?”

“It is.” I squeak.

Remind me to start with the right next time.

I felt like I just about got a rib bone on there too. I contemplate my sore chest. I stopped nursing a year ago, but I can still hand-express breastmilk. Seems odd, but I don’t mind. Nostalgia’s got me clinging to any last signs of babyhood.

RB still has fond memories. Every once in awhile, she looks at my chest, sighs and says,

“Can I kiss the mommy milkies?”

Might as well love up whatever is left.

I may never think of s’mores the same way again.

Passover, Easter, Summer?

Posted on April 13, 2023 by Good Times with Jess

Homestretch to summer! My children are already running around outside in their swimsuits. I don’t know why, but really whatever keeps them out of the house.

We’re recovering from our sugar high over the weekend, or not, given the amount of crying there was Monday.

I left a post-meltdown RB asleep in the living room and I went outside to get the deck furniture out.

I passed by the kids’ set-up from Sunday. They had raced in the house and demanded,

“We need birdseed!”

“I don’t have any, but I’ll put it on my list.”

There are any number of requested items on my list. The girls hang their heads.

“But what will we feed the birds with? We’re setting up a nest.”

And the next day there it is, an offering to the birds: gummies and nerds.

How do you know your kids have way too much candy? They’re willing to sprinkle it around the yard.

Passover and Easter were a success. BB read from the Haggadah for the first time, which was amazing. RB, not to be outdone, “read” from the Haggadah, but only while someone else was also reading. So that was special.

When RB got tired of “reading,” she moved on to caressing my face and pressing her cheek against mine. It was very sweet, until it got aggressive. Note to self: try sitting farther away from children next year.

The afikomen was found quickly and neither kid managed to bargain at all. RB accepted the $3 I proffered without a second thought. When I offered BB $6, she wavered, but RB held out BB’s hand for her. Deal.

BB regrets not asking for more money and is going to try harder next year. They’ll learn to bargain yet.

Elijah came and drank wine and maybe some year I’ll remember to get a special cup for Miriam.

The second night, we went to the community seder at our synagogue. In the morning RB asks,

“What’s today?”

“Tonight is the seder.”

“Again?”

Yes. I had my doubts about putting us through it again. But at the very least, dinner was provided and I was surrounded by fellow gefilte-fish lovers, Captain and my children aside.

Then the Easter Bunny came. BB and RB are some sort of egg-finding match made in heaven. The minute RB got to her basket, she sat down and started eating. BB has never really cared for eating and she dashed around finding eggs.

BB dropped the eggs in RB’s lap. Thrilled, RB continued to stuff her face. At one point RB stood up, found an egg, and returned to her roost to continue her candy buffet.

BB ate nothing and continued to find all the eggs. BB stared at chocolate coated RB and declared,

“I feel nauseous.”

Both kids were thrilled. This is what happened last year, but I thought it was because RB didn’t understand. RB understands. Why would she work for candy if it’s being dumped in her lap?

BB ponders the loot,

“I wonder why the Easter Bunny brought us so much candy. The other year she just brought us a lot of bathing suits.”

“Yeah.”

Consistency might have been a good tactic. Too late now.

Next up: school vacation. Captain is in the office all week, proof miracles do happen. Meanwhile we’ll be running from room to room screaming at the top of our lungs. Or outside in our swimsuits, putting Cadbury eggs in nests and waiting for more chocolate.

Doesn’t everyone’s seder plate have a Calico Critter sheep?

No pink zebras were hurt for my adornment

Posted on March 30, 2023 by Good Times with Jess

Gearing up for Passover and Easter. Which really just means buying a massive amount of eggs and candy and making sure I have enough small bills for the afikomen. No one wants to pay $20 for a piece of matzah.

It’s going to be all candy in the Easter basket. One year the Easter bunny brought bathing suits and BB had a lot of questions. The last thing these kids need are any more toys, whether or not they agree with me. They don’t.

Last night we read about the artist Augusta Savage. The story mentioned that she didn’t have toys, so she used the clay in her back yard to sculpt animals.

RB was beside herself,

“No toys?”

“No.”

“NO TOYS?!”

“No. You’re very lucky to have so much.”

Meanwhile the other day I recorded an eight minute video of RB playing family with all the shoes in the front entry. There were mamas and daddies and sweeties and a lot of twinsies.

On ski vacation, faced with minimal toys, RB played family with chess pieces. In the car she’ll play family with her fingers.

If you happen to be going by our house, chances are you’ve seen BB wandering around talking to thin air. All proof that despite them acting like they might keel over and die if they don’t get whatever thing just flashed before their eyes, they’ll just as easily declare any rock, acorn or stick to be so precious as to deserve shelter in my house.

I try to stand by my rule of no outside things in the house, but based on the number of rocks along any given windowsill, you can see how that’s working out for me.

Of course this is hard to apply to myself too. I need no new things, just candy. I don’t really need that either, but it turns out BB knows where my stash of chocolate is. I’m not as sneaky as I thought.

Over vacation I noticed that the zipper on my 10-year-old, beloved, pink, ski jacket was pulling away from the material. My heart sank.

I love that jacket. I’m not the most fashionable person on the slopes, but that coat matches my skis.

I emailed Obermeyer and asked them if they could send me something to fix my zippers. They wrote back and said,

“We are not able to fix your jacket, so we are offering to replace it with a new one. Please tell us a desired color so we can narrow down our search.”

What?! For a moment I considered all colors. I already have a red ski jacket from Obermeyer that used to match my old red skis. Now I have pink skis and I’m not planning to get new ones.

There’s no rule my coat has to match my skis, but why pretend I want any other color? They send me eight choices, all very standard variations of the color pink except one.

There is a beautiful, neon pink, zebra jacket with a rainbow zipper. I have never seen a neon pink zebra on the slopes. I would never spend several hundred dollars on a neon pink zebra.

I LOVE my neon pink zebra jacket and I’ve been wearing it everyday since its arrival. Yes I know it’s spring.

So I need no new clothes. My children need no new toys. But I did buy them new bathing suits and I couldn’t resist getting a matching one for myself. Unfortunately not in pink zebra.

How I actually look. The lighting of this photo is not doing the zebra justice. I assure you it’s very neon.

Bye bye crib

Posted on March 17, 2023 by Good Times with Jess

Is bribery a sustainable parenting tactic? I think RB was motivated by embarrassment to poop in the potty, not the carrot of a car bed I dangled out in front of her.

When we returned home from vacation, she slept in her crib for three nights before she remembered,

“I pooped in the potty, I’m supposed to get a car bed!”

“Yes.”

SIGH. Crib, we had a good run.

Who knew when I sent Captain off to fetch a giant, plastic, toddler, car bed I found on Craigslist, that I would then have a subsequent car loving kid who has just about outgrown the car bed before she ever set eyes on it.

I was never concerned enough to end our crib days a minute sooner. And I’ve been googling full-size car beds. They exist.

The bed is a huge success as far as RB is concerned. I’m not a huge fan of two free range kiddos.

RB is on week four of no diapers. Last week she exclaims,

“I pooped in the potty! Do I get another car bed?!!”

“Nope.”

This is why I’m not so sure about bribery. Where do we go from here? Also this is how some people end up with a driveway full of vehicles. Captain.

Last night RB declares from the toilet,

“I’m not going to get a lot of car beds, just one car bed.”

“Right.”

“Could I have a lot of car beds?”

CAPTAIN!!

Two weekends ago BB begged for a sleepover in RB’s room. BB hasn’t slept in her own room since.

Both kids are thrilled with the situation. In between being thrilled, I hear RB’s bloodcurdling scream.

I’m ready to separate them. RB wipes away tears,

“BB is touching my car bed.”

“Do you want her sleeping here next to you?”

“Yes.”

“Then you need to be flexible.” And it IS a used car.

Another parenting tactic I need to let go of is assuming any behavior BB does is predictive of what RB will do.

BB will relax in the bathroom reading and daydreaming for ages. She won’t move until she gets someone to check her. She doesn’t need this. She knows she’s capable, but for whatever reason, she waits however long it takes for someone to come give her the all clear.

RB went to poop and I wandered off. I came back. No one was in the bathroom. The toilet was full of poop and no toilet paper.

It never occurred to me that RB would poop and abscond.

I turn the corner and there’s RB’s bare bum in the living room playing Barbies.

I shout,

“RB you need to wipe!”

She turns. One hand is clutching a wad of toilet paper. Annoyed, she waves it in my face,

“I DID!”

I hold my living room to a very low standard, but free of poop and poopy toilet paper is one that I will continue to aspire to.