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.

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.

There’s snow in Canada and I’m here to tell you about it

Posted on March 2, 2023 by Good Times with Jess

To Tremblant and back again. That’s a seven hour car ride one way and when we stopped fifteen minutes in to empty BB’s vomit bucket, the road ahead looked very long.

We made it. It was worth it. I skied. BB skied. RB skied. And Captain snowboarded. We did that for five days straight. As our last morning dawned and my weather app warned me it was -1°F, RB asked,

“What are we doing today?”

“Skiing!”

“Again?!”

I wavered. But not for long. This is why I brought layers: three sets of long underwear to be worn all at once. Captain asked,

“What about their mobility?”

“Mobility? They just need to hold a wedge.”

I never used a ski app before this week. I marveled at my stats. I tell Captain,

“My top speed was 47mph!”

Captain looks incredulous,

“Is that correct?”

“I don’t know, but I’m going with it.”

We ended our last day going much slower as BB led us down her favorite greens. Aside from a hit and run, I didn’t fall all vacation, but my luck ran out.

I spent a fair amount of time pushing BB up a little jump she wanted to do, so when I saw her approaching another one without enough speed I had the bright idea to ski up behind her and give her a push on my way.

Somehow she didn’t move and somehow I managed to ski over her. She went between my legs. Her head caught my crotch and I did a massive face plant on the flat traverse.

It may have been worth it considering BB’s loud cackle, but middle age is taking its toll. It took far too long to figure out how to get myself unface down. I didn’t pull anything falling, but I did pull something getting up.

That’s the last time I go 5mph and try to do anything fancy.

RB seems to have the whole thing figured out. She told me,

“You can get going, but it’s hard to stop.”

I watched her get on the magic carpet all by herself. I exclaimed to Captain,

“Look! She’s so capable!”

She proceeded to notice a pile of snow, swing a ski out to touch it and collapsed. The magic carpet stopped. An instructor walked along next to her for the remainder of the ride.

We did this trip with my dear friend and her family, including two, very cool, big kids. A miracle happened. RB was embarrassed to do her nightly poop in her diaper. Halfway through the vacation she pooped in the potty.

One time. Captain and I weren’t counting any chickens.

Two times. Gotta say things look promising.

Three times. Well this just might do it!

On our last day, after ten hours of travel, we were thirty minutes from home, RB said,

“My tummy hurts.”

“Do you need the potty?”

“Yes.”

We’re so close to home.

“Can you wait until we get home?”

“I need the potty.”

We stop. She settles in to the gas station bathroom. She looks up at me,

“I need a book.”

Fourth poop in the potty. Done deal. Bye bye diapers.

The next night at home, she gets up from the dinner table and declares,

“I need a diaper to poop!”

“OH NO NO. If you can poop in a gas station bathroom, you can poop in the potty ANYWHERE.”

Captain adds,

“Even I don’t like to poop in a gas station bathroom.”

Nor I. Even if I do have a book.

P.S. For anyone going from Canada to the US, you’re not allowed to bring citrus with you, but if you put it in the luggage carrier on the car roof, the border patrol agent will give you a pained, annoyed look and wave you through.

How I thought I’d parent versus reality

Posted on February 14, 2023 by Good Times with Jess

Childless Jessica would be shocked by current Jessica. I was up on some high horse about the type of parenting I would do someday. It was an aspirational list that any childless person can get behind:

no screen time
no sugar
no princesses
no barbies
no bedsharing
no change to my sex life
no change to my wardrobe
no special meals for anyone

These didn’t all fall in defeat the moment BB was born, but I could hear their death knell over BB’s sound machine next to our shared bed.

My sex life and wardrobe were the first to go, but also the first to recover. There’s no way to make my kids untaste a Reese’s.

And as a dear friend noted: once you have cinnamon sugar toast, how can you go back?

The descent into Candyland was delayed, but this morning my kids had a box of chocolates for breakfast, so that’s how that’s going.

No special meals for anyone has turned into cereal for dinner.

No screentime has turned into: You get an iPad, you get an iPad and you get an iPad.

I don’t know who the third iPad is for, but I’m sure someone needs it.

The no Barbies has turned into 70% of Hanukkah, Christmas and birthday presents being Barbies. I like to think there is some redeeming value to there being Barbies of all races, shapes and abilities.

The Barbie wheelchairs are very popular with the mermaid Barbies. When I was surprised to notice this, RB gave an irritated sigh,

“Mo-om, they don’t have legs.”

And then the princess thing. There’s nothing empowering about an old fashion princess fairytale, but I’m on board with the recent releases.

So now we have a houseful of whatever dress-up gear you’re into: crowns, swords, gowns, wings. We have enough costumes for the whole neighborhood.

BB had a friend over the other day and she was thrilled to dress up. She told me she doesn’t have any princess dresses. Without meaning to, I exclaim,

“You don’t have ANY princess dresses?”

“Nope.”

I do not know this specific mom’s reasoning, but I’m sure I’m 100% on board, even if my current choices don’t reflect that.

Part of the problem is that princess dresses are everywhere. They’re even moonlighting as nightgowns.

When the mom arrived to retrieve her daughter, she was greeted by a houseful of royalty.

There was no time to explain. No chance to say,

‘I hear you don’t have any princess dresses; you’d get along well with my former childless self.’

And with that, we’re soon headed to Canada. My kids will be on their iPads eating whatever and I’ll be in the third row of my mid-size SUV cursing childless Jessica for refusing to get a minivan.

Poop, poop and more poop. Don’t say I didn’t warn you

Posted on February 9, 2023 by Good Times with Jess

My baby is rounding the corner on three-and-a-half. RB identifies as a big kid who sleeps in a crib and poops in a diaper.

She’s quick to tell you diapers and cribs are for babies. But like everyone, she is very willing to make an exception for herself.

She’s holding onto the diapers and I’m holding onto the crib.

Once, a couple months ago, she half-heartedly asked for a bed. She demands a bowl of cereal with more attitude than the bed ask.

I told her,

“When you poop in the potty, you’ll be a big kid ready for a big bed.”

“And I still get the bag of gummy bears?”

Many months ago I promised her a giant bag of gummy bears if she pooped in the potty. I thought for sure that would do it. Nope.

But she didn’t forget about them either.

Sure. A big kid bed and a lifetime of gummies. Whatever it takes kid.

As I wipe up a giant 3-year-old poop butt, I question all my parenting choices. How did I end up with both my kids at 3, wearing underwear all day, and then putting on their own diaper when they need to poop?

I blame Captain.

He asks me,

“What do you remember about pooping in a diaper?”

“I DON’T!”

I remember the week I potty trained. I was two-and-a-half and in Disney World. I never looked back. I have no memory of pooping in a diaper.

With a smile, Captain reminisced about his days in diapers.

He described the leather easy chair in the living room, the coffee table and lamp straight off a pirate ship. He remembered his favorite snack, cheerios and raisins, eaten from a little pumpkin cup. Best of all, he can picture the space between the chair and the pirate table where he liked to stand, eat his snack and poop.

The details folks! The details! I can’t say for sure that my in-laws had pirate furniture, but I can say for sure that if Captain can remember all that, then he was at least 3-years-old, pooping in a diaper.

I blame genetics. My kiddos didn’t stand a chance. Nor did I.

As our romantic, dinnertime poop discussion continued, new details emerged. At some point Captain started pooping in the potty. Praise be. But instead of an adult checking his wiping job, he had a magnifying makeup mirror on the floor and he bent over in front of it.

I assumed he bent over in front of it to check himself, but no, he bent over in front of it to wipe. He now regrets the bits of wet toilet paper he remembers leaving on the floor after that.

Proof that there are many strategies to clean our kids and no one seems to be winning.

So I buy another box of diapers. Bigger and bigger diapers.

Every morning I pick RB up out of her crib, snuggle her close and every part of me wants to say,

‘How’s my baby?’

Instead, after months of being screamed at, I cuddle her up and say,

“How’s my big kid?!”

“I’ve got a wiggly diaper.”

Yes. Yes you do.

At least I’ll never have to clean poop out of one of these!

Flying in a diaper, 1983, before safety was a thing.

Skiing with kids: send beer. I’ll be in the hot tub

Posted on January 25, 2023 by Good Times with Jess

Ski weekend success!

Such a small sentence to encompass SO MUCH EFFORT. Any activity that involves the words: “kids” and “gear,” is bound to be work.

This weekend was our warm-up run… It was our first go of what will be all four of us on the slopes for February vacation.

This weekend was our chance to iron out the kinks. Or at least identify the kinks and adjust my expectations. Some things are resistant to ironing.

We lucked out and got to stay with amazing friends. Our last ski trip was February 2020, weeks before the world shut down. BB was 3.5 years old and RB was 4 months old.

So the last time BB and I skied was 3 years ago. The last time Captain telemarked was 9 years ago. The last time he snowboarded was so long ago he never came up with a timeline, maybe 15 years ago.

Captain decided he’d snowboard. Telemarking tore his ACL and he does NOT want to go through that again. NOR DO I. There may be nothing more mind numbing than hearing two people compare ACL surgery notes.

It was Captain’s favorite conversation starter for awhile, and there are a surprising number of people out there with ACL stories. I’m sure it’s only getting worse as we descend deep into middle-age.

For February vacation, I reserved ski school for both kids, but this past weekend the ski school started at age four. RB’s options were childcare, private lessons or somehow convincing her she’s four, but still poops in a diaper.

RB has something of a Napoleon complex. After every meal, she stands up and checks to see if she’s grown. Her goal is to be big enough to go in BB’s art room.

RB finished her breakfast the other day and hopped out of her seat. She looked up to see where she stood in relation to the kitchen counter. Her eyes welled up and she hung her head in a huge mope,

“I’m still little!”

I knew deep in my soul that I would break her if she went into daycare while BB skied. I also knew deep in my soul that I would break if I tried to teach her myself. Private lesson booked for Saturday.

As it was, I didn’t book a private lesson for her on Sunday, just daycare and she was MAD. As we left the condo she kept yelling at us,

“I need my ski boots! I need my helmet! I need my mittens!”

“No. You’re not going skiing.”

Cue full-on guttural wail.

She finally calmed down to the tune of me telling her over and over again,

“You’ll be skiing all week in Canada.”

Saturday apres-ski, the adults slipped into the hot tub, while the kids watched a movie. I had warned BB ahead of time about this situation, but was silly enough to think RB wouldn’t notice. After a glorious soak, I floated back into the condo. RB’s head swiveled around,

“You went in the hot pool?”

“Yes.”

“I want to go in the hot pool!”

“Adults only.”

“I WANT TO GO IN THE HOT POOL!!!”

“In Canada.”

Canada has become my safe word.

Captain and I were reunited on the mountain. Skiing is how we met and to be together again made every tantrum more than worth it. Also stopping midday and realizing, that between ski school and daycare, we had bought ourselves a lunch date, was miraculous.

When we picked BB up from ski school Saturday she melted down. She thought she was going to ski with us. We promised to pick her up early Sunday and make it happen.

Sunday her ski instructor told me,

“She’s made a lot of progress and is turning well.”

Great news! We head for the lift. I can’t believe I’m on a lift with my kiddo! She tells us she wants to lead.

She heads straight off the lift and straight down the mountain. Power pizza all the way.

On the next run, I suggest,

“Lets do some turns.”

BB starts to sob,

“I don’t want to turn!”

And I wanted this to be fun. I back off my grand idea of turning and follow behind BB’s wedge as she plows the snow straight to the bottom.

We pick up RB from childcare. She yells,

“Is it Canada time?!!”

You don’t need me to tell you how this ended.

Circa 1997. They say Tremblant is cold, so I may need to wear this onesie again. Never mind that it looks like onesies are back in fashion? RB loves hers

Hope you have a HEALTHY new year! Even Captain

Posted on January 1, 2023 by Good Times with Jess

Happy New Year!!! I was waiting to stop coughing and then I’d write a blog post, but I may never stop coughing.

I know I’m in the good company of many, many other sick people. There were over a hundred kids absent from BB’s school two weeks ago, so we didn’t stand a chance.

Or maybe we did, but our chances weren’t good and we did NOT luck out.

We’re three weeks out from whatever mucus-laden virus this is. BB went down first and recovered quickly. Although she’s still coughing.

RB went next. Then me. Then our house guest.

Our house guest had a simple choice: Hanukkah with the kids and a lot of snot, or a kid and mucus-free Hanukkah. She picked snot.

RB has wiped her nose so aggressively, for so long, that her upper lip is bleeding and there are smears of blood appearing everywhere she likes to wipe her nose: clothes, lovies, furniture, the wall.

On the 23rd, at RB’s school’s Hanukkah party, someone told me,

“Just a warning, Strep is going around.”

I said a small prayer. And if proximity has anything to do with that working, I WAS in the synagogue. I didn’t say much else considering whatever virus we had, had caused me to lose my voice.

Christmas eve, my throat started to feel worse. The last night of Hanukkah/Christmas day, my throat felt even worse, but going to the doctor was low on my to-do list.

The day after Christmas, I couldn’t get there fast enough. Strep. The test came back positive, but the doctor was so confident just by looking at the state of my throat that I walked out of there with a prescription and ran straight into a fellow school family at CVS. Instead of hello, I offer,

“Strep?”

“How’d you know?!? Is it that obvious?”

“No, it’s going around school. RB says hi!”

I say another small prayer: ‘Please don’t let my children get this.’ I can’t get RB to take Tylenol. A 10-day course of antibiotics would be a curse.

As four of us round the corner on week three of being ill, Captain has never been healthier. This is wonderful. No kiddo bedtimes for me, but also I couldn’t be more envious.

For years I have been happy to lord over him my strong immune system. It seems he falls prey to whatever virus might be wafting by.

I spent a month in India eating whatever street food I stumbled upon and enjoyed myself with a very manageable amount of diarrhea.

I spent four years behind the bar, eating strangers’ leftovers, with no more than a few sniffles.

I spent the last ten years with Captain, feeling bad for his stuffed up nose, but not so bad that I didn’t enjoy every ounce of my congestion free life.

I am now in week three of the most mucus I’ve ever produced in my life. There feels like there’s some lesson to be learned here.

Maybe it’s to avoid small children. I’ll let you know how that goes.

Ariel may be creepy, but you can count on her immune system.

Mom life. Struggling to talk/breath/exist, but both kiddos thought they might not make it if I didn’t hold them at the same time. Somehow managed to keep the strep for myself. I think. A Hanukkah miracle?

When is it enough Hanukkah?

Posted on December 2, 2022 by Good Times with Jess

Hanukkah Christmas is upon us. Or me. I’m under two Hanukkah blankets, in my Christmas jammies, drinking coffee from a Hanukkah mug, by the Christmas tree, with Hanukkah gnomes over my right shoulder, a menorah over my left and that elf that I love to hate staring at me from across the room.

It was a glorious week home alone. Captain asked me,

“Did you put music on and dance around?”

“Did you install cameras?” Because I did. And I was. R&B Christmas played while I finished my Hanukkah shopping.

I’ve reached a precipice. My 30-year-old strategy for shopping for Hanukkah tchotchkes is end of life.

Growing up, Hanukkah themed items were hard/impossible to come by. If one was lucky enough to find anything, snatch it up.

I’ve been snatching it up and snatching it up and snatching it up. This year I bought two more cartons to store it all in.

No one would ever walk into Home Goods and think,

‘I’m going to buy ALL the Christmas things.’

That would require buying the whole store.

Home Goods has a small table of Hanukkah items. And it’s deceiving, because it includes any number of random blue items that don’t have anything Jewish about them.

It’s easy to just keep buying ALL the Hanukkah things. BUT it’s finally starting to add up. Note previous addition of storage cartons. It’s time to be selective.

The problem with Home Goods is that they sometimes have the most random Hanukkah items and if you don’t snatch them up, you may never see them again.

Two years ago, I left Home Goods without buying my precious Hanukkah gnomes, only to rush back an hour later and claim them. Gnome post, 2020.

Now they are a beloved part of our family for five weeks out of the year. Harry, Gimel and Snow.

This week, I stood at the Home Goods Hanukkah table, surrounded by Christmas gnomes, without a Hanukkah one in sight. I dismissed the numerous Hanukkah hand towels, placemats, and random blue balls. My eyes caught on a pair of dreidels. I picked them up. Salt and pepper shakers! Into my cart they went,

The middle-aged cashier picked them up and remarked,

“Oooh salt and pepper shakers. I thought they were dreidels.”

Dreidel salt and pepper shakers, I’m tempted to add. She continued,

“There’s some song about dreidels… I learned it in school.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I can’t remember it.”

Here I’ve been, living my life, thinking it’s the one Hanukkah song everyone knows.

I head home to dance to Christmas music.

Content warning: lots and lots of vomit

Posted on November 17, 2022 by Good Times with Jess

The stomach bug just tore through our home.

That makes it sound like a speedy, whirlwind of a time. It may have been a whirlwind of bodily fluids, but it was more of a meandering pace.

Over a week ago, RB got sick in the car. It had been a long ride: thirty minutes to the trampoline park in Plymouth.

I thought, ‘maybe car sick?’ Although she’s never been carsick in her life.

We leave BB to jump her heart out and I drive thirty minutes straight back home. I put RB in the tub and down for a nap. An hour later she throws up in the crib, wipes her face with her lovey, rolls over and goes back to sleep.

NEXT LEVEL GROSS. But considering I was already going to have to wash everything, why rush in there if she wasn’t asking for me?

An hour later she’s awake and I’ve got her back in the tub. She’s dry heaving in the tub. I get her in front of the TV with towels covering every surface around her.

She refuses any sort of vomit receptacle and will only let it come out wherever it may.

By bedtime she’s done throwing up and sleeps straight through the night. The next day she is her happy, energetic self. Everyone else in the family feels fine.

Seems like it might be a fluke. The next day RB is worse again. Her dinner from the night before returns. She spends the rest of the day in front of the TV and never throws up again.

That night Captain and I eat a hearty dinner. A couple hours later it is clear that that was a mistake. We spend the night separately. Each of us with our own toilet.

Twenty-four hours later we’re on the mend. Forty-eight hours later we’re at a party drinking beers, eating tacos and realizing maybe we’re not as well as we had hoped.

We return home and I ask BB, as I’ve been asking for a week,

“How are you feeling?”

“Good!”

Two hours later, not so good. BB spent the rest of the weekend cradling a trash can. Monday morning she felt all better. I kept her home from school just in case. Tuesday morning I sent her on her way.

Hours later the nurse calls. BB was sick at school. I am beyond sorry about that, to her and to anyone nearby.

Wednesday, yesterday, she spent the day a free woman. No school, no vomit and no mom.

There are real perks to Captain working from home.

Today is the first day everything seems to be back to normal. RB declares,

“I feel like I’m going to throw up.”

“WHAT?!”

“I need TV.”

I’ve been too busy being a rockstar to get any writing done

Posted on November 3, 2022 by Good Times with Jess

There appears to be a max number of words I’m able to write a week. My current writing course requires 1,000-1,500 words, 3-5 pages double spaced, per week.

My blog posts average 500-600 words every two weeks ish. To say I’m struggling to do both, for a total of 2,000 words per week, more than my total previous word count for the entire month, is generous.

I’m not struggling to do it. I’m not getting it done. I would love to get it done. Just not sure which other thing to not get done.

I already stopped keeping up with the laundry and I was already doing the bare minimum food wise, so there’s no time to be saved there, unless we just live on Halloween candy for a couple weeks. That should get rid of it.

This past weekend I could’ve been writing, but I was following a shirtless Captain around.

We went to our first adult-only, Halloween party since we had kids. That’s six years of dressing up in family-friendly outfits.

So maybe I shouldn’t be so surprised that the minute we got the invite this past summer, Captain went the no clothes route.

He had his heart set on being a hairband rocker. We were going for generic 80’s rockstars. We got mistaken for Tommy and Pamela. I did NOT stuff my dress. The only way I could’ve had a smaller chest was if I had no chest, but the size of my hair made up for it.

What I didn’t realize through all the months of costume planning our trophy-winning ensemble, was that the party was outside.

That’s right. I have a trophy in my kitchen. It has made me happier than I ever thought a jack-o-lantern trophy could.

We drove the half mile to the party. It was 50 degrees and dropping and Captain was determined to make a topless entry.

He didn’t shave his arms and apply temporary tattoos for nothing.

As we walk up the driveway, music and party sounds are unmistakable.

Captain turns to me,

“Is this party outside?!?”

“Nooooo. Couldn’t be.”

It could. It was. Captain stayed committed, stayed by the fire and pounded beers.

I attribute our trophy to his cold-blooded rockstar status.

We showed up with a case of Budweiser because I was committed to drinking in character, even if the taste of that first beer was tough.

Nobody believed we were really drinking Bud. Multiple times I was accused of pouring something else in the can. Forced to choose, I’d much rather drink a Bud than a hard seltzer.

A minion pointed out that if we really wanted to be in character we would’ve finished the Bud and switched to whiskey ages ago. But I’m not sure that applies to wannabe rockstars in their forties.

We went to bed as rockstars and woke up as hung-over parents home alone. I can’t say enough good things about being home alone after a party.

Two days later, on Halloween morning, 3-year-old RB, who’s been planning her mermaid costume as long as we’ve been planning our hairband duo, decided a crown was not going to suffice. She NEEDED mermaid hair.

And if that “NEEDED” didn’t sound like a throw-down tantrum on the kitchen floor, it was. I showed her my hairband wig. She looked at me like I’d lost my mind and shouted,

“It needs green and pink and rainbow colors!!”

She went down for her nap screaming about mermaid hair, but she slept and I created a masterpiece. I delivered the rockstar turned rainbow, mermaid hair to her and she sighed,

“It’s so beautiful!”

If there’s a trophy for parenting through a crisis, I’d like to be considered.

“Every school picture tells a story”

Posted on October 21, 2022 by Good Times with Jess

BB’s school photo came home in an envelope inscribed with: “Every school picture tells a story.“

I’m not taking artistic license. The “tells a story” part was highlighted.

That sounds like a diplomatic disclaimer to me. I.e. if your kid’s photo came out odd, it’s the memory that counts.

Then I saw this post on one of our town’s social media pages:

“… I am jealous of my friends from the surrounding towns. Their kids photos seem to be taken with more care. Their kids are making good w expressions. They have great backgrounds and it appears they have slight fan moving hair. I’m not sure why our expensive town has such low expectations and chooses a vendor with limited output. Every year they seem to get worse.”

I watched baffled as everyone seemed to get on board.

Great backgrounds? You want lasers? I’ve got 1989 and 1990 for you. You want a photo with a floating head? See 1987. Hand on cheek? 1994.

School photos aren’t getting worse every year. They’ve always been terrible. The vendor knows this or they wouldn’t be pushing the “story” side of the photo.

If you’re really serious about getting good photos, you go independent. Then you can have gems like these:

Maybe I should get off my soap box, because BB’s photo came out ok. But rainbow cheetah print isn’t always going to be in fashion. If it even is now? She had her heart set on this outfit, high pony included.

I agreed precisely because it’s NOT going to age well and someday when she does a blog post with a collage of her school photos, this will be a winner. Although she really could have used a fan to get that one piece of hair back.