Best sailing sisters ever?

Posted on July 23, 2024 by Good Times with Jess

What a week! We sailed, we ate, we swam and when the kids weren’t fighting they had an amazing time too.

Areas of disagreement for BB and RB include but are not limited to:

She looked at me.
She touched me.
I want quiet.
That’s mine.
How come she gets…?
She had two lollipops today and I only had one.
She’s taking my fries.
She’s taking my drink.
She’s following me.
She won’t play with me.
Why won’t she play with me?
She won’t leave me alone.
I love my sister so much I’m going to smother her in hugs and kisses until I really piss her off.
I want to grab the rope!
I WANT TO GO FIRST.
IT’S MY TURN TO GO FIRST.
We both despise sunscreen application, but I might die if I DON’T GO FIRST.

Nothing beats waking up and going to sleep on the water. There were many moments of the trip when I could envision living on a boat again. Maybe when our children don’t rely on us for housing.

Expectations are slippery things. Before the trip, the general consensus was that if we all managed to sail for a week last year and now everyone is a year older, then we’re all set for this year.

I agree that at 42, still clinging to my early forties, I’m in a very similar sailing condition to last year. I’ve stopped saying Captain is 49 and started saying he is almost 50. Aside from his vague expressions of alarm about that, his sailing condition is also the same as last year.

BB, now eight, is ever more independent and capable. Four-year-old RB is convinced she is just as capable as BB and in many ways she is.

The main difference I see from last year to this year is that last year RB took a reliable two to three hour afternoon nap and this year she didn’t. That’s two to three MORE hours that BB and RB got to spend with each other in an enclosed space. I should consider myself lucky that no one started throwing poop at each other like monkeys in captivity.

And there was poop to be thrown. RB was very willing to pee in the boat toilet, but by day three it was apparent she was refusing to poop.

In my best poop voice, I warned her that I wanted to come out and would come out no matter what at some point. I’ll make anything talk if it means furthering the cause.

RB wasn’t hearing it. On day four it came out in her bathing suit and I dumped it overboard. If you saw a large floater on your way to Martha’s Vineyard last week, you’re welcome.

RB then decided it was okay to put the rest of her poop in the toilet and was rewarded with a lollipop. Don’t worry, BB got one too.

RB does not allow anyone to help her with anything, like climbing in and out of the dinghy, If you do, she yells,

“I GOT IT I GOT IT I GOT IT!”

She is also convinced she can paddle board. BB actually can. She did really well this year. RB struggled but persisted despite the paddle being twice as big as her.

One night, at a large restaurant on the harbor, BB was complaining,

“I really want a lemon.”

“You can go up to the bar and ask for one.”

BB shook her head. RB perked up and said,

“You can ask the bar for a lemon?”

“Yes.”

“Do they have cherries?”

“Yes.”

Without further ado, RB was out of her seat and marched herself toward the bar which was way over her head. She walked right past it.

I stayed at our table and kept an eye on her. She headed for the front of the restaurant. She was somehow directed to the general manager. I saw their heads bend together. He disappeared. He returned with a brand-new jar of cherries and scooped a bunch into a cup for her. She returned triumphant.

BB, not to be outdone, headed to the bar. She no longer had any interest in a lemon and asked for a cup of cherries.

This was in addition to the cherries on our nightly ice cream sundaes. I am never so well fed as the week we spend sailing.

Sibling rivalry aside, it was an incredible trip and I’m the first one to blog about it, so there.

Who doesn’t take their pet ox to the beach?

Gone sailing, again!

Posted on July 13, 2024 by Good Times with Jess

My dear pet snails are back in the wild and we sail away today for a week. I’m stocked up on vomit bags, coloring pages and coffee. The iPads are updated. My children haven’t seen them in three months.

Yes, I understand it’s possible for an impatient 4-year-old to sail for eight hours without an ipad, but even if I were that masochistic, it does not meant I want to inflict undue suffering on my in-laws.

I learned a lot last year and I’ve tweaked my packing: fewer clothes and more potato chips, smaller towels and more wipes, and shiny new pencils in pairs. I will keep the sibling rivalry to a low hum if at all possible.

I also packed MORE COFFEE and shelf-stable milk. Mornings on the boat are my absolute favorite time of the day.

My kids may go into a screen-time detox at some point, but I will not go into caffeine withdrawal. Nor should those two ever happen at the same time.

Rhode Island to Martha’s Vineyard and back again! Heave-ho!

Seafaring snail dudes summer at the Cape

Posted on June 30, 2024 by Good Times with Jess

I’ve had many pets in my life: three dogs, one parrot, two chickens, one rabbit, one cat and several fish.

Much to BB’s consternation, all she’s had is one dog who died when she was two.

She’s desperate for a pet.

The family decision is that two years from now, when all our extra money isn’t going toward pre-k or kindergarten, we’ll get a dog.

Two years is a long time. BB found me in the kitchen and presented a large caterpillar.

“I’m keeping him for a pet.”

If by keeping him, you mean keeping him outside.

Then yesterday she fell in love with two garden snails: Swirly and Speedy. She begged and begged and begged to keep them.

Speedy is not a name you might expect for a snail, but Speedy has proven themselves worthy.

Speedy prefers they/them pronouns considering they’re hermaphroditic. Put any two snails together and you can get baby snails. Or so says Google. Yes I’ve been doing my snail research.

I haven’t seen any snail hanky panky yet, but there’s still time.

BB presented her sand pail with her snails and pleaded her case. My initial reaction was,

Absolutely not! They belong in the wild and we’re not buying a terrarium.

Then it turned out we already had a terrarium, with dirt in it nonetheless. It became impossible to say no.

Next thing I knew I was cutting up strawberries for Swirly and Speedy and misting their habitat with water.

I wouldn’t think twice about them out in the wild, but now I fear for their life. I would like to say no pet snail has ever died on my watch.

And that’s why we’ll be releasing them in a week.

It’s either that or take them sailing to Martha’s Vineyard.

As excited as my in-laws would be for us to show up on their boat with the addition of a terrarium, I’m not convinced these are seafaring snails.

Don’t even talk to me about looking into snail-sitting.

If Swirly and Speedy want to stay close by, then maybe we’ll see them again. If not, I wish them the best and pray for whatever new wild animal BB gets her hands on next.

There really are a lot of great snail images. It was hard to choose.

And so we beach

Posted on June 13, 2024 by Good Times with Jess

It’s the final days of school and countdown to beach camp.

My two campers are ready. We’re stocked up on sunscreen, bathing suits and snacks. We’ve added a sloth float to our pile of beach gear because that’s both of my children’s favorite animal.

BB has long loved the sloth for whatever usual reasons people pick favorite animals. Then in the car the other day RB told me,

“The sloth is my favorite animal.”

“Really?? Since when?”

“Since it was BB’s favorite.”

Right.

In 2025 we’re headed to the Galapagos. This has been a bucket-list trip for me since elementary school when they showed us the underwater robots exploring there.

Fifteen years ago as I roamed around South America I counted my dollars. I could travel South America for four months or I could use the same money for one week in the Galapagos.

I chose four months, but held out hope that someday I’d be back. And as we continue to destroy our planet, it seems like the sooner the better for this trip.

It will be in honor of Captain and my ten-year-wedding anniversary. Yes we’re bringing the kids.

There are no sloths in the Galapagos, but there ARE sloths in the Ecuadorian rainforest. I hadn’t planned on going there in addition to the Galapagos, but considering we’ll only be a few hours away when we fly in to Quito I contemplated it. I asked our Ecuadorian travel agent. She told me,

“I’ve been working in tourism and visiting the rainforest for ten years. I have only ever seen a sloth in the wild once.”

Ok. Nix that. Maybe my children would like to consider blue footed boobies as their new favorite animal. I’m sure there’s a corresponding beach float.

RB has an extra week of school that BB doesn’t have. The same thing happened last year and I pulled RB out early to get to the beach. As much as I want to be in my lounge chair with a book, I’m having a hard time figuring out why I would miss out on several days of RB being in school.

Once BOTH kids are out of school, I’ll be in my lounge chair, with my book, counting the paragraphs before they start World War III.

No matter what we do, they will find something to fight about. But the total and complete hopelessness of it was brought home to me a couple weeks ago.

We were at a playground covered with standard-issue wood chips. Thousands and thousands of wood chips. Not as many as grains of sand on the beach, but close enough.

I was head down in my book. I heard some screeching. I kept my head down. The shouting escalated. I peered over the top of my book. Then a blood-curdling yell from one of my beloved children.

I called them over. BB thrust her hand at me. In her palm was one of the MANY wood chips. RB whined,

“BB won’t share her wood chip!”

I looked at BB. She shrugged.

I told RB,

“Go find another wood chip.”

“NOOOOOO I want THAT one.”

I asked BB,

“Can you share that wood chip?”

“But I’m the one who found the most perfect wood chip.”

Of course.

All BB would have to do is declare any other one of the thousands of wood chips “the most perfect wood chip” and RB would want that one. But how to telepathically relay this?

I tell them,

“You have one more chance to figure this out.”

You don’t need me to tell you they did NOT figure it out. I took the wood chip and put it in my pocket. They both lost their minds.

I told them,

“We can leave or you can go play.”

They went to play.

If you’re wondering what happened to “the most perfect wood chip” that everyone forgot about. It is well laundered and living its best life indistinguishable from all the other treasures in my yard.

Here’s to finding the most perfect grain of sand and keeping it all for myself.

I’m ready to beach. May the best person win.

Captain’s cleanse aka his colonoscopy, my middle-age acne and a town hemorrhaging teachers

Posted on May 29, 2024 by Good Times with Jess

It’s that time of year when I’m assessing all of my life choices.

Our town override vote failed by a significant amount and now our schools are losing SO MANY teachers. When we bought our house, I was not paying attention. If a town leans right, it’s bad news bears.

My 42nd birthday is approaching and I have a bottle of blood pressure medication on my counter that promises to cure my middle-age acne, while also giving me numerous other side effects considering I don’t have high blood pressure.

Captain’s 50th birthday is approaching which really makes me feel very good about 42. Also he’s overdue for his colonoscopy since they moved the marker on him and now you’re supposed to start getting them when you’re 45.

RB and I headed to Target to pick up Captain’s Miralax and all that fun stuff.

I would’ve been going on my own, but the day before, RB came home from school, sat down in the living room and wouldn’t get up. Several hours of sleep later she asked me,

“Can you carry me to the art room?”

“Why?”

“I want to be with BB.”

“Go ahead.”

“I can’t walk.”

“You can’t walk?!”

“My knees hurt.”

“Both knees?”

“Yes.”

“Did you fall and get hurt today?”

“No.”

An hour later we were supposed to be headed to a fun event at her preschool. Captain and I stood before a seated RB. I told her,

“I don’t think we can go to the art show.”

“I want to go!”

“Then I need you to walk.”

“You can carry me.”

I stood her up. She screamed like I was trying to kill her. I put her down. I called the doctor’s office. The nurse said,

“Bring her in.” She also asked,

“Does her throat hurt?”

“RB does your throat hurt?”

“No.”

At 6pm we headed for the doctor. My 7:30pm book club plans were vaporizing before my very eyes. I was envisioning a night at the hospital with a child who could no longer walk.

The doctor came right in. She asked a minimal number of questions, shined her light in RB’s throat, took a swab and said,

“Looks like strep, we’ll know in a minute.”

STREP?! She can’t walk and she said her throat doesn’t hurt. The doctor said,

“Have a look.”

I peered down RB’s throat. Yup. Sure looked like it hurt.

I explained my confusion to the doctor. She said,

“Sometimes kids don’t even know what their throat is.”

Great point.

The rapid test came back fast. Positive!

I have never been happier to get a positive strep test. My imaginary night at the hospital was no more. One stop for antibiotics and off to book club I went!

So that’s why the next day I had RB’s company to collect colonoscopy supplies.

On the drive to Target RB asked,

“Is Dad sick?”

“No not at all.”

“Then why does Dad need medicine?”

“For his colonoscopy. He needs medicine to get all the poop out of his intestines so the doctor can go in his butt and look around.”

“She’s going to fit inside Dad’s butt?!”

“I mean she’s going to look inside Dad’s intestines with a stick.”

“The doctor is using outside things inside Dad?!!”

WOW I’m really butchering this conversation.

“No no no. I’m sorry. The doctor is using a special doctor tool to see inside of Dad and make sure he’s healthy.”

“Oooh. I don’t need medicine to poop.”

“Right!” And I don’t either.

When my doctor offered the oral, blood-pressure medicine he said,

“It’s hard to put topicals all over your back.”

Well it’s great for my shoulder mobility and I’ll happily do that instead of taking my chances with the thirty-seven side effects.

My acne is now under control; I have three more colonoscopy-free years and I don’t know what will happen to our schools. Please send help.

Marital love. Measured in gefilte fish

Posted on May 7, 2024 by Good Times with Jess

Another Passover is in the books. It was awhile ago now, but I started writing this awhile ago.

Thank you to PJ library for their kid friendly Haggadah. Every year we’re able to read a little bit more. And if it weren’t for the illustrations, I don’t know that we’d be able to read at all.

BB was a full-on participant this year, which felt extra special and RB was a full-on nuisance despite eating a not-kosher-for-Passover bowl of Frosted Flakes two minutes before the start of the seder.

RB was willing to pause her complaining to ask the Four Questions and bargain for money for the afikomen.

BB declared,

“Twenty dollars!”

I said,

“One dollar.”

“Fifteen dollars!”

“Two dollars.”

“Ten dollars!”

“Three dollars.”

At which point, without BB’s approval, RB shouted,

“DEAL!”

I paid ten dollars, but still felt proud of my bargaining skills.

This is the year I realized the love Captain and I have can be measured in gefilte fish.

I adore gefilte fish. I have adored gefilte fish from the minute I could eat solid food. I also adore Captain. The two of them side by side is an easy pairing for me.

Captain only met gefilte fish when he met me. Turns out he was not as enamored with the fish, but I never would’ve known.

Wikipedia says:

Gefilte fish (/ɡəˈfɪltə fɪʃ/; from Yiddish: געפֿילטע פֿיש, German: Gefüllter Fisch / Gefüllte Fische, lit. “stuffed fish”) is a dish made from a poached mixture of ground deboned fish, such as carp, whitefish, or pike. It is traditionally served as an appetizer by Ashkenazi Jewish households. Popular on Shabbat and Jewish holidays such as Passover, it may be consumed throughout the year.

Historically, gefilte fish was a stuffed whole fish consisting of minced-fish forcemeat stuffed inside the intact fish skin. By the 16th century, cooks had started omitting the labor-intensive stuffing step, and the seasoned fish was most commonly formed into patties similar to quenelles or fish balls.^[1]

Ten years ago, at our first seder together, Captain ate the whole gefilte fish topped with horseradish. One of my favorite combos!

I don’t remember his exact words, but something along the lines of,

“Not bad!”

Each year Captain continued to eat the whole gefilte fish. Then about five years ago, when we were no longer in the stage of ripping each other’s clothes off, Captain ate about half of his gefilte fish.

A few more years went by and he continued to eat at least half of his gefilte fish.

Then this year.

I was so busy slurping up every last bit of my ground-up fish that I wasn’t paying Captain the least bit of attention.

I glanced over. He had taken the smallest, most imperceptible, almost microscopic taste of his gefilte fish.

I looked at him,

“You really don’t like it.”

“No I don’t.”

In that moment all I cared about was being very happy to eat his gefilte fish.

Then days later it dawned on me, we have now reached a place in our marriage where there is ZERO need for him to prove his love for me by how much ground-up, mushed-back-together fish he is capable of eating.

For better or for worse, until death or the end of Passover, he’s sticking to matzo ball soup.

We can’t all be big sisters, but we can dream

Posted on March 22, 2024 by Good Times with Jess

We tell our kids they can be anything. I’ve emphasized that they can be multiple things. But there are limitations. There are things they will never ever be no matter what and RB isn’t hearing it.

RB tells me,

“When I grow up, I’m going to be a big sister.”

“You ARE getting bigger everyday!”

Do I need to crush all her hopes and dreams right now? I’m just trying to get through the day over here.

She’s not oblivious to my evasive response. She doubles down,

“I’m going to be a big sister like BB. OK?”

BB tells me,

“First I’m going to be an olympic swimmer, then a prima ballerina, then an astrophysicist.”

Noted and I don’t feel the need to say anything. Meanwhile with RB, I’m tempted to tell her that no matter what she does, how hard she tries, how well she does in school that she will forever be a little sister. RB adds,

“When I’m the big sister, then I’ll have more toys than BB.”

Ahhh. We’ve hit the crux of it. A fight for resources.

There’s plenty of food, plenty of candy, an overabundance of everything. BUT ARE THE TOYS EQUAL???

BB tells me,

“Dad said when I’m a teenager I can change my room around. I’m going to need more space.”

Sensing an opportunity, I ask,

“Do you want to move the LOL doll house to RB’s room?”

“Yes!”

Within hours the LOL doll house joined Barbie’s dream house in RB’s room. I wasn’t waiting for BB to change her mind.

RB came home from school and her squeals of delight made me hopeful she’d forget her big sister career plan. RB informs me,

“I”m big enough now for the LOL house!”

“You are!”

“I’m getting to be a big sister.”

I don’t know what’s going on here, but as long as they stay outside, it works for me

When the kids are away, the adults will play

Posted on March 7, 2024 by Good Times with Jess

Heaven!

I’ve arrived.

Nothing like waking up in my own home without my children, knowing they’re having the most wonderful time at their grandmother’s. They survived on donuts, Thai food, McDonald’s and ice cream. And no need to share toys because Grandma has two dollhouses.

Captain walked in the door and we were able to finish every conversation we started. I woke up at 6am out of habit, rolled over and didn’t make a peep until 7:30am. This was vital considering we were planning to stay up past 9pm.

The kids weekend away was out of the blue. Captain and I didn’t have anything planned and it didn’t occur to me until a friend asked,

“What are you going to do?”

What WAS I going to do?

It didn’t really matter. Whatever it was, it would be glorious. The highlight being sleeping late and waking up to peace.

A whole two days of peace.

No screaming over who goes down the stairs first. No screaming because their two hot chocolates aren’t completely even. No screaming because someone looked at someone.

If parental love is measured out in the number of marshmallows each child gets in their hot chocolate, then my kids are evaluating my love with as much precision as their counting skills allow. RB doesn’t stand a chance.

Days before our weekend of bliss I ask Captain,

“Should we go into Boston?”

The thirty minute drive from the burbs might as well be the trek of a lifetime.

Captain ponders this momentous idea,

“We could.”

And we do. We park in our old parking garage. It’s nostalgic in a way like:

‘It’s so nice we don’t have to park here anymore.’

We wander through the seaport where I used to wander with baby BB in her sling, but it looks nothing like it used to look. Shiny new buildings are EVERYWHERE.

Around 7pm we walk into a shiny new building for a game of mini-golf. All ages of people are playing. Captain starts with a hole in one and then not realizing it’s a digitalized game, moves my ball to try to help me, but that adds a shot to my score. I was doomed. But who cares about winning?

I do. I didn’t come all the way in from suburbia to hand this game over.

We have a bite to eat. All ages of people disappear and we’re left with twenty somethings. Captain gazes around at the couples. He says,

“They have no idea that in ten years they’ll be living in the suburbs.”

I glance at one young woman displaying a grimace of disdain as her date returns to her. I don’t have my money on them.

We head for mini-golf round two. Captain and I scan the crowd for anyone close to our age. Captain almost shouts,

“See that guy? Gray hair and glasses?”

Yes! And his wife is yawning. I’m with you girlfriend. I didn’t know that a 9pm mini-golf game would finish around 11pm. But it was worth it because I won the second round.

If my children have taught me anything, winning matters, especially when your immediate family is involved.

I was also surprised to feel content with being middle age. There’s peace in my life, even when the kids are home, that didn’t exist in my twenties. Or at least that’s the conclusion I came to after spending a mini-golf game listening to the bravado of “Soupie” and “Sheppie.”

Sheppie said to Soupie or maybe the other way around,

“My second cousin is hot. I mean it. I’m really attracted to her, but she’s getting married next month.”

These are the quality conversations I’ve been missing since I stopped bartending.

The weekend worked out so well for everyone that we put another one on the books for April. Captain and I will go out in Boston again, aiming for the 5pm-9pm window.

I don’t know what we’ll do, but I’m going to win. I mean have so much fun!

It is rich on my part to give Sheppie and Soupie a hard time when I’m walking around playing for Team BJ.

Sugarbush! I went a whole week without making a bush joke, Can’t say the same for Captain

Posted on February 20, 2024 by Good Times with Jess

When Captain and I were whisking away on ski weekends with a bag thrown over our shoulders, I day dreamed about skiing with our future children.

Somehow I forgot to daydream about the impossibly overloaded luggage carts, overstuffed car, and children capable of putting everything on themselves when asked by their ski instructors, but capable of nothing when they see me.

I didn’t know that for ski trips each child would require two stuffies in addition to their lovie, plus RB’s huge music machine that is meant to attach to a crib, which we no longer need.

As our luggage cart obstructed the lobby, I took stock of the next two luggage carts. That family wasn’t traveling light either. They had a snoo bassinet and a full-size high chair.

We don’t need a high chair, so there’s room for extra stuffies.

This does include food for the week. Plus 3 ski jackets for me.
I own them, so if not now, then when?

This was a miracle year. It is the first year we all skied together the four of us. We rode the lift together and went down fun, blue-square trails. Not quite at the speed I would choose, but getting there.

The second best part after skiing was the outdoor hot tub/pool situation.

Skiing is how Captain and I met, and sitting in the hot tub together is a little bit of heaven. I sipped my beer and gazed at our children in the pool. I said to Captain,

“Can you believe this is how it started and now look at us?”

“Not an entirely unpredictable trajectory.”

Right.

I felt the same way after giving birth to BB. It was UNBELIEVABLE, yet millions of people have been giving birth for millions of years.

We’re just one of many couples falling in love in a hot tub and returning to it with the consequences.

My joy was splashed away the minute our children took to deep-sea swimming in the hot tub. There are age rules for hot tubs, but I don’t think that’s necessary. The only rule should be:

“Do you need goggles for the hot tub?”

“Yes?”

“YOU’RE NOT ALLOWED.”

And parents aren’t allowed in ski school. When I say it was amazing to ski together the four of us, it was amazing to ski together from 2pm-3pm.

And it was amazing to ski harder and faster with Captain the rest of the time.

I have perfected getting RB on the chairlift. It only took one time with her dangling down to make sure that didn’t happen again.

This is all thanks to wonderful instruction from ski school.

As I was putting BB to bed, she snuggled up to me and said,

“I’m lucky you’re my mama.”

After I was done melting, I asked,

“I’m lucky! What made you say that?”

“You’re not a mean ski instructor.”

“You had a mean ski instructor?!!”

“NO! The ski instructors are so nice. But some kids have to go from their really nice ski instructors to their mean, ski-instructor parents. I hear them yelling at their kids. And you just say, ‘Lead the way!'”

This is one of the very good reasons we pay for ski school. I can keep the mean, ski-instructor parent dormant inside me.

Of course the minute BB saw RB skiing, she didn’t attempt to hold her tongue. BB yelled,

“Turn RB! Lean forward. You have to stay forward!”

At which point RB told me,

“My tummy hurts, I need to go potty NOW.”

RB and I zipped down the mountain faster than BB would ever want to go. RB skied straight, leaned back, took full advantage of her wedge and we made it to the bathroom. We’ve got the skills we need.

Afterwards BB told me,

“At ski school they say: ‘No pee. No ski.'”

I have a new life motto.

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.

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.

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.

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.