I don’t know what’s happening. I just bought a plane ticket and I’m leaving for Belize in two weeks.
Yesterday the owner of my agency said a colleague could no longer take the trip, so the spot was open if anyone wanted it.
I watched as one advisor after another said they wished they could go, but couldn’t.
I looked at my calendar. Nothing there aside from a MILLION kids’ activities.
I reached out to our family childcare support. They were a go.
Now I needed to run it by Captain when he got home from work. I wrote on our white board on the fridge: “???BELIZE???” With that many question marks. As if I’d forget to talk about it.
I was on the fence. I just got home from Italy and I’m headed to the Swiss/Austrian Alps the beginning of December. I don’t want to burden my family too much.
Captain thought I should go.
That’s all I needed to hear!
Just when I thought my body was settling into winter-sweatsuit mode, we are back in a bikini, headed for the second largest barrier reef in the world and the best diving in the western hemisphere.
I will continue to shave my legs.
I am not a last minute type of person. I’m a planner. Go figure.
I have been shocked by how many clients book last minute trips. This is great for them and I’m very happy to do it.
My ideal time frame for planning trips for my own family is six months to over a year away. I had my eye on the Galápagos two years before we took the trip. And right now I’ve got my eye on Africa 2027.
I have never in my life booked a flight for myself two weeks before I leave.
Here I am. Ticketed. I just need to shave my legs and repack my freshly put away summer wardrobe.
I’m in excited disbelief that I’m leaving the country again so soon. I said to Captain,
“Who am I? I’m some new version of Jessica.”
“No! You’re the old Jessica!”
That’s right! I AM the old Jessica. Past Jessica’s passport was so full she had to send it away for more pages.
The main difference is that twenty-something-year-old Jessica did not have the word “luxury” associated with any part of her travels. Although she did as a child and she was luxury adjacent during her summer as a deckhand/stewardess on a yacht in the south of France.
Present, middle-aged Jessica has adapted well to the change.
I’m still, as Captain would say, rugged. I can carry my own luggage. But if someone wants to carry it for me, who am I to say no? And there’s nothing wrong with a chocolate on my pillow at night.
BB is not pleased that I’m peacing out again, but the promise of a Belizean stuffie is helping my case.
Are you thinking about somewhere warm? Maybe the Caribbean or maybe somewhere else nearby? Do you want adventure, culture, beach, jungle and amazing sea life?
Yes please!
I leave the day after Halloween. It’s daylight savings weekend. We gain an hour. My kids will be complete, post-Halloween trash and not my problem.
I do not know how to have the kids home and be on vacation and be working and be sailing and be beaching and be blogging.
I got it all done except for the blogging. So here I am. I didn’t forget about you. I never would/could. Someone will have to claw the keyboard out of my old, withered hands.
It will be like taking away my car keys. Until then I’m clinging to my early forties.
A 38-year-old beach friend was surprised to learn I was turning 43. She looked me up and down and said,
“So there’s hope for me!”
Which I have 100% taken as a compliment, but also, how much aging does she expect to incur in five years?
BB turned nine! It’s her last year in single digits. She is quickly moving into her tween years. She’s still wearing a Rufflebutt swimsuit, but I was told this is the last year for that.
I’m still wearing a string bikini, someone can tell me when it’s my last year for that. Maybe my 5-year younger beach buddy.
As I put RB to bed she asked her usual litany of random unanswerable questions, like:
“Why is that calendar with the chickens still here?”
“I don’t know. This is my brother’s room.”
“Didn’t you play in here?”
“Yes, but mainly in my room with my barbies and American Girl doll.”
RB turns to me in shock,
“They had American Doll Girls in the OLD DAYS?”
The old days? Yup. They did.
RB shakes her head. She seems to have forgotten all about the perplexing chickens.
Captain is on the verge of turning 51, so he’s really from the old days.
He just bought a new pair of shoes and I said,
“Those look spiffy!”
“SPIFFY?!?”
“What’s wrong with spiffy?”
“Sounds like a compliment for a guy in his sixties.”
Oh. Hmmm.
He took his brand-new, white shoes and we went sailing for a week. The sibling fighting may have aged us more than a week, but other than that it was amazing.
One of their favorite fights to have is,
“She’s LOOKING AT ME!”
If they have this fight on a huge, wide-open beach, you can imagine how many looks there were on a contained sailboat.
Most looks were mitigated with a bag of potato chips.
This is the wisdom I’ve gained in old age, don’t underestimate the power of a snack.
I’ve also learned that I can beach and work. Sail and work. Parent and work is trickier. And apparently I cannot blog and do any other tasks.
I’ll talk to you in August, before or after Captain gets one year closer to being genuinely spiffy.
P.S. BB is now proofreading my posts… so that’s how old we really are.
I think the dolls are making him look younger, but it’s hard to say.Birthday Lobsta!
Everyday last week I was crying or on the verge of crying. My baby graduated from pre-k. We said goodbye to our beloved preschool where I’ve been taking both of our babies for six years.
All I have to do is look at a piece of art work and tears come to my eyes. And there is so much art work.
Although there’s one piece of art work that does NOT bring tears to my eyes:
Hard to say what Captain has done to edge me out for this win, but if it’s lifting up legos, I’d like to point out I’m also very capable of that. I have lifted many a lego.
The cut off for kindergarten is September 1st. RB is a fall birthday so she’s well on her way to 6. She would’ve gotten on the bus a year ago if someone had let her.
Last year the alphabet and her name were still very mysterious, so it was nice to make some progress there.
RB is ready. I’m ready. IT’S JUST SO NOSTALGIC!
After six years at this wonderful school, I feel a little beside myself. My baby is not a baby and I said goodbye to some of our favorite people.
When RB started, she was two and still in pull-ups. Now she thinks she’s ready for high school.
Meanwhile BB just finished her best year yet and got teary when she needed to say goodbye to her amazing teacher. Yes, I may have gotten a little teary too. It was A WEEK.
I don’t remember having any tears on the last day of school when I was 8. I just remember pure peace-out energy. So that’s a testament to her 3rd grade teacher!
The sweet, emotional tears are over and we’ve moved onto the banshee cries of the wronged sibling.
I’m not sure what this summer will bring. We’re functioning on a week to week basis. We’ve decamped for the Cape, but have already been back home twice. I haven’t booked any summer camps, but that doesn’t mean I won’t. We’re going sailing, but only if my kids can agree to not tear each other apart.
BB says,
“I need my alone time.”
RB follows her around for the next hour.
They both whine and complain.
I say,
“BEDTIME!”
BB says,
“Can we have a sleepover?”
“Really? You just spent the last hour trying to get away from your sister.”
“I know. I still want a sleepover with her.”
Three hours later everyone is asleep.
I’ve instituted a No-Tattling Policy. It really seems to have helped. But ask me again in August.
And as teary as I am about my babies growing up, it’ll be a beautiful thing to put both kiddos on the 8am bus in September.
Until then, Happy Summer!!!
What is going on with that leg? Is that a high-school leg?That’s my beach bag on the kitchen table. This is how I solved the never-ending conundrum of “SHE’S LOOKING AT ME!!!”Bye magical, outdoor classroom at preschool 🥹😭😭Thank you for an amazing six years!!! 💛
I rolled up to a family birthday party with the girls. It was Captain’s side of the family, but there was no Captain.
So where was he?
“He’s replacing the brake pads and rotors on my car.”
“He took it somewhere to get it done?”
“Nope, he’s doing it himself.”
Blank stares.
He’s in his happy place, under a car and I’m in mine, at a party, oblivious to how many juice boxes are being guzzled.
The drive to the party was uneventful. BB played with a new birthday present: a bitzee. And RB took a nap.
You may or may not be familiar with the bitzee mania. It is a small digital pet. The photo doesn’t really do it justice. It’s interactive. It moves, lights up and makes sounds. It’s digitally adorable and highly addictive, at least for the little people in my family.
On the drive home BB whipped out her bitzee. RB begged for a turn. Pleaded for a turn. Whined. Yelled. Grabbed. Tantrumed. Cried the most-heartbroken tears one can cry.
BB clung to her Precious.
She was worried RB would damage it and that I would not want to buy her another one.
Both valid concerns.
As we sat in stop and go traffic on 95 and World War III raged in my backseat, I made the game-time decision that BB did not have to share it, but she did have to put it away so she wasn’t taunting RB with it.
RB couldn’t stop crying. Tears rolled silently down her cheeks for the remainder of the ride.
Then I had what I thought was a brilliant idea. I said,
“RB, if you want to spend your own money you can buy one for yourself.”
“I can buy my own itsy bitzee?!”
“If you have $25.”
The minute we pulled up to the house she made a mad dash for her wallet.
Captain was ready to show off his hard work. He told me,
“The back tires are done!”
“New rotors too?”
I have no idea what I’m talking about. I learned how to spell rotors today.
“Yup, performance ones. You can see them.”
“I can?”
Captain points out my new, shiny rotors.
“Performance?”
“Yes! See those lines and grooves there?”
“Yes.”
“That’s what makes them performance”
Aha. I didn’t know I needed performance rotors.
I head inside. RB is trying to count her money. Ones, fives, tens, twenties are spread across her bed. They’re all being counted as one each. I count out $25. She bursts into tears,
“You’re going to take all of my tooth fairy money?”
“I don’t have to take any of it, only if you want to buy a bitzee.”
RB sobs and says,
“I do want to buy an itsy bitzee.”
And she did. She fell in love.
I tried to keep track of it and put it away when I didn’t want her to be using it. Turns out I failed.
I dropped her off at school and a teacher remarked,
“That’s a cool toy she brought in yesterday.”
“What did she bring in?”
RB is already hanging her head and refusing to make eye contact.
“That little blue box you open up.”
“I had no idea she brought that in! She wasn’t allowed to!”
RB’s bitzee is hidden away until further notice. I recount all of this to Captain.
Our child has always done whatever the heck she wants and couldn’t care less about anyone’s “rules.” Except apparently at school, where she’s mysteriously well-behaved.
At a playdate the other day, I overheard her tell her friend,
“This is my sister’s. Don’t tell her we’re using it. She doesn’t let me.”
If someday she’s climbing out of her bedroom window and sneaking off, I will not be surprised.
I will be jumping in my performance Toyota Highlander, finding my wild child and stopping on a dime, because I think that’s what my new fancy rotors are for?
And if anyone has an answer to the sibling fighting, please send help.
I didn’t know that I would cry tears of joy over a town election, but I did.
National politics may still be deplorable, but short of leaving the country, we’re not going anywhere.
We’re so committed to staying that we bought a new sactional for my home office. I do not think it’s deductible.
For Mother’s Day I received this note from five-year-old RB:
I’ll address this in chronological order:
There are people in my family with blue eyes; I am not one of them.
I do not love to eat chicken. My family loves to eat chicken, so here we are.
One of my favorite drinks may be wine… just wondering why the daily coffee didn’t make the cut.
A box of instant mac ‘n cheese is one of my specialties.
I do dearly love to exercise.
I’m not sure what games she’s referring to, but piggy-back ride up to bed is a favorite of mine.
Snuggles are the best.
And snuggles on my new sactional are great too.
I don’t know who has put together a Lovesac sactional before, BUT it made me question all of my life choices.
I’m surprised there was no offer of white-glove service. Not that we would have paid extra for that. I know a guy. But still.
I ended up carrying in all fifteen boxes by myself, including six that weighed fifty-three pounds.
The boxes arrived at 1pm when Captain was at the office and I had dreams of having my coffee (2nd favorite drink) on my new sactional the next morning.
After blood, sweat, so much sweat, no tears, we hit 11:30pm and Captain pondered the pillows. He said,
“I’m wondering if that pillow should be switched with this one.”
I could not have finished the couch in nine hours without Captain, but I also couldn’t find any level of caring about the pillows.
They’re lucky to be stuffed into their cases and they may now go wherever they want.
“I have to go to bed.”
We are less than a week into our 60-day trial period with free returns, but it’s safe to say, she’s not going anywhere.
In part because she’s very comfortable, but also because I CAN’T IMAGINE BOXING THIS WHOLE THING UP.
As I struggled for hours to stuff cushions into washable covers. I said multiple times,
“I’m never washing this couch.”
Lies. All lies. Three days into the new couch, RB vomited all over it. Into the wash it went.
It came out perfect and putting one cushion back into its case is really not bad compared to upholstering twenty-seven different parts of the couch.
Come on over, have a seat, have a glass of wine, some chicken and mac ‘n cheese and some snuggles. I’m here.
On town election night I was at the Boston Ballet with a dear friend and the bathroom stall had this sign on the door. I don’t remember this from before, but maybe that’s because I’m always in a mad rush. It’s definitely worth holding onto your hopes and dreams. Overrides do happen.I did say I like exercise
Croatia! It was not on my radar, but it should’ve been.
It’s a gorgeous country: beautiful mountains, medieval cities and the clearest turquoise water. Amazing food, wine, hotels and people. Perfect for relaxing and adventure!
And considering adventure is my speciality, you can trust me on this.
Here I am, alive, post white-water rafting.
The rafting trip I did is recommended for kids as young as eight. So while it was super fun and exciting, it was not a life-threatening adrenaline rush.
For this pre-season rafting trip it was more: I’d rather not capsize, not because I might die, but because, despite my wetsuit, I will be chilly.
RB, my youngest, may or may not have missed me. BB, my eight-year old said that a week without me was:
“Really fun and slightly depressing.”
For me the week was a dream come true with pangs of missing my family.
After years of solo travel, I thought wandering through the airport alone would be a non-event. Instead I felt oddly untethered.
I kept peering around as if maybe I’d forgotten a child somewhere.
There was no one to feed, clothe, attend to but myself. No butts to wipe aside from my own.
And even when I’m home, I know the bum-wiping days are numbered. Maybe one day I’ll look back in nostalgia at impatient RB, in downward dog, waddling with her naked butt in the air into the kitchen. All because I didn’t not go running to the bathroom the minute she hollered.
It was a luxurious week of 4 and 5-star hotel rooms all to myself. That combined with hiking, biking, rafting, boating, exploring, relaxing and eating, was a combination I highly recommend.
This is the hard work I’m doing.
So while Croatia would be a wonderful family trip, it would also make for a fabulous friend/mom trip, and leave the bum wiping behind.
Next work trip is in September to Sardinia. I’m sure I’ll be ready for another kid-free week by then.
WHAT A TRIP! Several weeks ago, we left Boston for Quito, Ecuador. Our three hour layover in Miami ended up being a run from one end of the airport to the other to catch our next flight.
The kids were supposed to hang back with Captain as he hauled along our carryons and I was running ahead to catch the plane.
I’m not sure what I was planning to do when I caught the plane all by myself. Maybe I was headed to the Galapagos without my family? I don’t know. But I didn’t have to worry about it, because RB was right on my heels.
I told her,
“I’m going to run, you stay with Dad.”
“I can run too!”
And it’s true. She can run. I sighed. I’d probably spend more time arguing than just running. So I ran. She ran and BB, not to be left behind, ran too.
At some point BB started to get farther and farther behind. Then RB got a cramp and whined,
“Can you carry me?”
So we walked and we made it. Despite everyone wanting to stop at the Lego Store.
We spent two days in Quito, 10,000 feet above sea level and we reached 12,000 feet above sea level at the top of the Pichincha volcano. I may never know how much higher we’d have to go for RB to stop running off. She was the only one NOT out of breath.
She ran everywhere and was determined to be the leader. I was much more worried about breathing than keeping track of her.
She’s still with us.
We flew from Quito to Isla San Cristóbal in the Galápagos. See flight path map below to answer any questions about where the heck we were.
My kids may or may not have grasped it. At some point mid-trip they were surprised to learn we were swimming in the Pacific ocean.
I’m not sure how long I’d have to stay in the Galápagos to get used to sea lions being standard members of society. As in,
“Excuse me sea lion, thanks for letting me share your infrastructure.”
And after seeing the massive amount of pee that came out of one sea lion on a public street bench, I was hard pressed to sit down anywhere without overthinking it.
You don’t want to know how many sea lion photos I took. I will tell you I took a total of 2,600 photos and videos over the course of our two week trip. DON’T WORRY, I’ve culled it down to my most favorite 1,020.
Disembarking
Yes there were sharks. Yes we swam with them. Captain’s anxiety was momentarily mitigated when he was told that only baby sharks are in the warm, shallow water. Meanwhile at a shallow overlook RB shouted,
“That’s a big one!”
I missed it, but Captain was sure to tell me,
“It was at least five feet long. It was NOT a baby.”
Shark food headed in
Halfway through the trip I realized we weren’t going to need all 80 packages of Ritz cheese crackers I had packed. RB branched out. She ate: pineapple, assorted cookies, juice, spoonfuls of jam at breakfast and she liked fish! Especially the one featured below.
It was a giant, delicious, fried fish.
Now RB keeps asking me to make it for her. As in,
“Are you going to make me my favorite fish?”
TBD
For whatever reason, when I ordered octopus, no one even wanted to try it. So I didn’t have to share that.
We hiked, snorkeled, swam, ate, beached, boated, kayaked, relaxed, shopped AND slept. Some. I woke my family up early so many times, that by the end of the trip RB took herself to bed at 6pm and said,
“I need to go to sleep because you’re going to be waking me up to go on a boat.”
Yes. Yes I am.
After Isla San Cristóbal we took the public ferry to Isla Santa Cruz. It is recommended to take sea sickness medication. I popped one pill first thing in the morning because for the whole trip up until this point, one pill per day made me feel fine.
It should be noted that the Dramamine fine print says take one OR TWO tablets per day. This public ferry ride was a two tablet day. I will NOT make that mistake again.
The good news is BB took one pill and felt great the whole time. When we arrived, she climbed off of my lap, I threw out my vomit bag and she let out a relaxed sigh,
“Ah, that was a nice power nap.”
We journeyed into the highlands to see the mythical giant tortoises. We lucked out and saw two mating. SLOWLY. Thrust. Rest. Thrust. Rest. Rest. Turns out it takes about 1.5 hours.
If you’re going to live to 200, what’s the rush?
Slow and steady
Plus they spend no time taking care of their progeny. They lay their eggs and godspeed to those tiny, baby tortoises.
Meanwhile the sea lions are nursing their young until they’re three years old. They reach maturity at 4-5 years so a 3-year-old sea lion is just about full grown.
The pups are almost as big as their amazingly accommodating moms. It would be like if we nursed our 12-year-olds.
That or cart around several industrial size boxes of ritz crackers. I slowly downsized and as we said goodbye to each hotel, we left a trail of unopened cracker packages.
Plus I needed somewhere to put souvenirs. Everyone in my family wanted to know,
“What are you going to do with that: sea lion, tortoise, sea turtle, blue footed booby, you name it, I bought it?”
I’m going to do nothing with them except add them to my tchotchke collection. I will feel a warm glow of happiness every time I make eye contact with my Galápagos-engraved, stainless steel, sea lion, who may or may not still be nursing.
Meanwhile we came home with 3 stuffed tortoises, 1 stuffed penguin, 1 stuffed sea lion, 1 stuffed blue footed booby backpack and 1 stuffed blue footed booby key chain. All for my children.
And goodness knows what they’re going to do with all those.
The penguin and sea lion were last minute airport purchases. They NEEDED them so badly that they spent their own money to get them. This is what happens when flights are delayed.
At which point there was ZERO room left in our luggage so we added the stuffies to our carry-on juggling show.
On our second to last day we started our journey home from Isla Isabela, with all of our luggage. It went as follows and I’m NOT exaggerating:
Taxi pick-up truck
Water taxi
Ferry to Santa Cruz – 2 hours
Water taxi
3 block walk with luggage because there was a giant parade celebrating the Galápagos. I’m all for it.
Taxi pick-up trucks – 40 minutes (Put kids in separate pick-up truck from me, great decision.)
Ferry to Baltra – 10 minutes
Shuttle bus
Plane from Baltra to Quito – 3.5 hours
Van to hotel (slept and repeated the next day.) (Well just repeated the plane part to get from Quito to home via Miami.) (We had time for the Lego store.)
Back home BB was excited to add photo captions to share with her class. On a tortoise photo she said,
“How about I write that Galápagos means tortoise?”
“It does?”
BB looked at me like I was crazy. She nodded slowly,
“It does.”
“How do you know that?”
“I was paying attention.”
The internet confirmed: “The word “Galápagos” comes from the Spanish word galapago, which means “tortoise” or “saddle”. The islands are named after the giant tortoises that live there.”
Sounds like an amazing place.
It was a dream-come-true trip and I’m so happy I was able to do it with my babies. I’m also so happy they’re back in school. Home sweet home.
Mid epic journey homeIt is the rainy seasonIsland taxi! See your luxury travel architect for more carseat safety tips
It’s that time of year again when I marvel at the enormous amount of Hanukkah decor I’ve accumulated and I don’t add anything else. NOT ONE THING.
JUST KIDDING. Home Goods had a giant, metal, light up sign, as tall as my children, with arrows showing you what direction Hanukkah is. It’s HERE!
If I jumped the shark four years ago when I purchased traditional Hanukkah gnomes. I don’t know what I’ve done now, considering this decoration doesn’t even fit in our storage bins
Tutu, our elf on the shelf is back, she had a baby. Which surprised all of us.
I bought a tiny American Girl doll elf, intending to give it as a gift Christmas Day/Hanukkah night. The tiny elf is so CUTE. I couldn’t resist it coming out sooner.
What I didn’t anticipate was that this would send RB down the rabbit hole of how babies are made and more specifically, how elf babies are made.
Things in the Land of Make Believe have deteriorated. I’m not sure who believes what at this point and I’m about ready to wave the white flag or one of my 37 Hanukkah dish towels.
I would like to tell you I did not buy another one this year, but that would be a lie.
RB (my 5-year old) has come down every morning and interrogated me.
A few weeks ago, before our elf appeared, she stared deep into my soul and asked,
“Is the Easter Bunny real or are you the Easter Bunny?”
“What do you think?”
“I think it’s you.”
“Ah.”
She does not like this non answer. She presses her nose against mine and yells
“TELL ME THE TRUTH!”
I cannot hold up to these interrogation techniques. I whimper,
“It’s me.”
“I KNEW IT!”
At which point BB (8-years old) joined us and I thought RB would tell all. RB didn’t say a word.
Then Tutu our elf appeared. BB reminded RB not to touch her or else that would ruin her magic. BB ran around writing notes to Tutu, making her jewelry and when I wasn’t home, putting out a charcuterie board with cheese for her.
Why Captain thought that was a good idea I DO NOT KNOW.
The next morning RB pressed her face against mine and yelled,
“Is Tutu magic or DID YOU BUY HER AT THE STORE?”
“What do you think?”
“I think she’s real and pretend.”
“Sounds about right.”
No one should have to deal with the 7am pre-breakfast wrath of RB. (Who may be hard of hearing, so we’ll give her a small benefit of doubt with the yelling.) She locks eyes with me, staring deep beyond my soul again and shouts,
“DID YOU BUY TUTU AT THE STORE?!! TELL ME THE TRUTH!”
“Yes, I did.”
“I knew it.”
Again BB joined us and I was sure RB would tell her the new information. RB didn’t say a word. Not only did RB not say a word, but she continued to join BB in talking to Tutu and relaying messages for Santa.
Then two nights ago RB lost her first tooth! She accepted her money and hasn’t asked a single question about the toothfairy.
This morning, in what has continued to be my 7am torture session, RB asked,
“Does Santa really bring presents or is it you and Dad?”
Months ago I told both kids,
“This year, because the first night of Hanukkah is the same day as Christmas, we’re not going to do any Christmas presents. We’ll just do Hanukkah presents.”
BB said,
“That’s ok, because Santa will still bring us something.”
And so Santa set aside one gift for Christmas, because as you may have guessed, I have a strong affinity for Hanukkah.
This morning, RB wouldn’t even give me her usual good morning hug, kiss and snuggle. She demanded answers about Santa. I asked,
“What do you think?”
“I think it’s you and dad.”
“Yeah.”
“IS IT?!? TELL ME THE TRUTH!!!”
“Yes, it’s Dad and me.”
BB told me recently that a friend had told her and RB that the Easter Bunny wasn’t real. I asked BB,
“What do you think?”
“She made those muddy footprints in our living room one year!”
“That’s true. I think the Easter Bunny is like a unicorn. You can believe in them if you want.”
“Unicorns aren’t real.”
“Right.”
“The Easter Bunny is.”
So I think we’re in the land of BB wanting to believe. And I’m not sure what land RB is in. She believes and doesn’t believe and hasn’t said a word to BB about any of it.
To put this all over the absolute top. BB came home from Hebrew school this week and asked,
“Why don’t we have a Mensch on the Bench?”
“I don’t know. We have two elves. Isn’t that enough?”
“But the Mensch on the Bench is for Hanukkah.”
“Is the Mensch on the Bench magic?”
This is a huge question of mine. The whole elf on the shelf thing goes along with Santa and all that make believe. BB ponders the Mensch magic dilemma and replies,
“Maybe?”
Our Mensch on the Bench is facing a shipping delay from whichever magical place with tariffs he’s coming from, but he should be here December 20th.
I asked my fellow Jewish yoga buddy,
“I don’t know what I’m doing with the Mensch, is he magic? Where does he go every night? Not back to the North Pole.”
“Jerusalem!”
Of course he does. Please give a warm welcome to our future Mensch and the last bit of Hanukkah decor I will buy. Until next week.
I usually spend every weekend with my kiddos. I don’t try to, it’s just life, unless something extraordinary happens. And all of sudden there are three extraordinary things in a row.
First there was a family wedding on the Cape, kids weren’t invited. BYE!
Now there’s a friend getaway this weekend.
Then a different friend group going away next weekend.
And while it’s not ideal to have two friend weekends away in a row, especially after a wedding weekend away, I’m not saying no!
Bye! Bye! And bye again!
The best part of being away is sleeping all night and into the morning without any needy people.
RB is queen of the 4am shoulder tap to let me know she needs to go to the bathroom. She doesn’t require any support aside from wanting to share her experience.
At 4am I’d rather not share any experiences.
The morning of the wedding, I luxuriate in my morning aloneness. Captain meanders out eventually,
“I’m sorry I slept so late.”
Nothing to be sorry about! There were no blood curdling war cries from our children.
We are well into school and are knee deep in activities. RB marched out of swimming very happy.
“I told my teacher I’m 5 and that I’m in kindergarten.”
“Really?”
“Am I?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
Almost five. In pre-k. And on a tear.
Mornings are a lottery. Today she demanded one small braid with a green clip, one pig-tail on the right with a pink, furry scrunchie and the hair on the other half of her head just down. I asked,
“Are you sure?”
“YES.”
I put the finishing touches on her wacko hairdo.
She admired herself in the mirror, let out a cackle and said,
“I look like a villain!”
“A villain?!” Does she even know what she’s talking about? “What’s a villain?”
She looks at me like I’m the odd ball,
“You know. Like in the movies.” She slides a pair of sunglasses onto the collar of her shirt and she’s ready.
As far as I’ve been told, my little villain is a somewhat quiet character at school.
The other day at dinner, BB ponders her sippy cup and asks,
“Do 8-year olds drink from sippy cups?”
“Depends on the 8-year old.”
Any item on our kitchen table goes flying at any point. BB has a knack for inadvertently flinging everything everywhere. After a routine breakfast of toast with Nutella it is not uncommon to find chocolate on her ankles, ears, chair rungs, and the wall.
Whole strawberries, pieces of chicken, green beans find cover under my table. BB knows they’ve gone missing, she just can’t be bothered to chase them down.
Liquids are the most exciting. A flying fork does not send me running, but a full chocolate milk sloshing across the dinner table is hard to ignore.
I understand that I’m raising BB to go out into the world without me and if all goes well she will drink from a cup.
I said ok to no sippy cup with a two-spill waiver clause. After two spills, we go back to a sippy. Also I’ve been giving her the shortest, fattest, heaviest glasses we have.
They may not withstand a solid arm swipe across the table, but so far they’ve held up to a few rogue elbows.
Three weekends worth of messes, hair-dos and activities that are not my problem.
And if RB thought she looked like a villain today, I can’t wait to see what she looks like after she gives her hair requests to Captain.
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.
Good Times with Jess 