NYC 6th birthday palooza with a side of 10th wedding anniversary – debriefed

Posted on October 29, 2025 by Good Times with Jess

I need to backtrack. I got so excited about Belize that I didn’t debrief New York City.

We saw, we ate, we shopped, we touched an absurd amount of surfaces and we had a normal number of sibling squabbles, plus a bonus one at 2am.

At home the other day, BB and RB were ready to kill each other. I put my beach/swim bag down the middle of our dinner table to mitigate the “looks” that were being fired across the table.

BB sighs. I ask,

“What?”

“You’re probably going to say no.”

“Just ask me.”

“Can we have a sleepover tonight?”

“You can’t even sit at the same dinner table without a barrier between you and your sister and you want a sleepover?!”

“Yeah?”

“…Ok. If she wants one too.”

RB pipes up from the other side of the beach bag.

“I DO!”

What is happening? I feel like a crazy person.

My one rule about sleepovers is that no one can wake me up. In NYC that rule went out the window. At 2am RB tapped my shoulder. BB’s body parts were crossing the midline of their bed.

Aside from bed-territory issues, the weekend was a success and proof that expectations really make or break things.

Before we left, the weather prediction looked very bad: a nor’easter with high wind and torrential rain was looming. I was depressed thinking we’d be navigating the city in that.

I have never been more grateful to be exploring in a drizzle. Four people, four dolls, and one newly stuffed bunny, all stayed very happy and mostly dry.

RB is a reluctant walker. There were moments over the course of the weekend, mainly when she was on my or Captain’s back, when I wondered if I should’ve held on to a stroller.

Months in advance I bought tickets to the Statue of Liberty’s crown. It’s 215 steps to the pedestal and 162 steps to the crown. The staircase is a narrow, double-helix spiral.

I gave the whole thing a 50/50 whether we’d make it up any stairs.

We made it to the pedestal with enthusiasm to spare and up we went to the crown. No one asked me to carry them which would’ve been impossible. I’m still not sure how Captain fit at all.

After the Statue of Liberty, we found ourselves in the M&M store.

I should know better than to go into a candy store where it’s a help-yourself, weigh-it-later situation. We were all drawn to the colorful tubes of M&Ms.

RB held a bag underneath, opened the end of the blue M&Ms and out they poured. They couldn’t have come out any faster.

I took our three pounds of M&Ms and asked a sales person,

“We have more than we want, what should we do?”

Technically we had exactly how much RB wanted, but the hemorrhaging of money had to stop somewhere.

I was told we could dump out what we didn’t want. So I did and then RB added more in a variety of colors. We just about recreated a pre-made bag of M&Ms.

We got the biggest bang for our buck at the Lego store. The kiddos spent half-an-hour personalizing their mini-figures. It is not a process that can be rushed. Lego people have a surprising number of leg options.

Then RB spent the next hour free building. It was Saturday night and the store was closing. RB was in the zone. I chatted with an employee who was deconstructing legos faster than RB was putting them together.

Unprompted she said,

“I’m glad it’s not Sunday.”

“Why?”

“Sundays we stay late and wash all the legos.”

Right. The amount of hands I saw pawing through bins of legos in one hour makes a week’s worth of hands mind-boggling.

And the fact that we’re touching legos almost overdue for a wash, is not something Captain needed to know.

The whole trip was designed around a visit to the American Girl Place. We went on RB’s 6th birthday. There was a hair appointment for her and her doll, a nail appointment for her and her doll and lunch for four people and four dolls.

It was ridiculous and amazing. RB had been insisting she needed a boy doll for months, so Captain got the look-a-like doll he’s always dreamed of.

After a doll-filled day, we took as many dolls and bunnies as fit in our new backpacks, had chocolate cake for dinner and ended the marathon weekend on Broadway at Aladdin.

I thought for sure RB would be a mess walking back to the hotel at 9pm, but she danced and sang in the drizzle the whole way back.

For RB’s birthday night (the night after our anniversary), she slept in my bed and Captain slept with BB, our tenth wedding anniversary a distant memory. And technically it was celebrated months ago in the Galápagos when we were not in the same hotel room as our children.

T-minus two days til school! Let the magic begin

Posted on August 31, 2025 by Good Times with Jess

Final days of summer vacation are upon us.

I’m ready.

RB is ready.

BB is ready.

Captain is ready.

Could we have handled more beach?

Always.

Could I have handled more sibling fighting without having a psychotic break? We’ll never know.

BB is very excited for 4th grade and RB is OVER THE MOON to start kindergarten.

My BABY is starting kindergarten! Cue wailing, sobbing me for one second until my children resume destroying each other and I forget how to feel nostalgic.

RB is almost 6, so really I lucked out with an extra year with her. She is still very munchable.

Socially she’s beyond ready to go. Writing her name is another story. BB is bound and determined to “prepare” her.

From the backseat of the car I hear BB say,

“What is five times two?”

GOOD GRIEF! The kid can barely tell the difference between a letter and a number. Never mind write her name and now we’re working on multiplication?

They’re happy and I’m loathe to get involved if they’re happy, but they can become unhappy very quickly, so it’s tempting to preempt it if possible. I pipe up,

“I think they work on basic addition and subtraction in kindergarten.”

BB groans,

“Yes, but she knows this, we’ve worked on it before.”

I can’t decide if RB having a 9-year-old teacher is helpful or not.

RB adds,

“I’m learning to read!”

BB says,

“That’s right! What words have I taught you?”

“Potion, broomstick, magic and teacup!”

All the most useful kindergarten sight words.

Meanwhile I’m getting ready to leave for Italy in a couple weeks, getting our ski equipment sorted out and also trying to nail down our long weekend in NYC for RB’s 6th birthday.

I ask RB,

“What would you like for your birthday dinner in NYC?”

“Cereal!!!”

“Cereal?”

“Or mac n cheese from Añejo or french fries.”

Añejo is a fabulous Mexican restaurant, with a delicious homemade queso mac n cheese, ON CAPE COD.

I google “best french fries in NYC.”

One result is described as:

“Classic fries done right—potato-forward and refined.”

Potato-forward is what I’m looking for! Refined is questionable. One dinner option reserved.

I will save the ski equipment journey for another post and hopefully I’ll talk to you again before I leave for Sardinia.

As I snuggled RB on the couch the other morning before soccer, I squished her very squishable legs and asked,

“Are these legs ready for soccer?”

“They’re ready to charge!”

“They’re ready to charge?!!”

“Like an angry hippo!”

I don’t think this will be my facial expression

This is 43! My passport is renewed. I’m ready

Posted on July 24, 2025 by Good Times with Jess

What a birthday month!

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.

Bye preschool!!! Can I still pop by for drop off and pick up just to chat with my favorite people?

Posted on June 26, 2025 by Good Times with Jess

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 🥹😭😭

Brake pads, rotors and the itsy bitzee that went for a ride

Posted on June 6, 2025 by Good Times with Jess

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.

It turns out I do have children, but one may be moving out soon

Posted on October 16, 2024 by Good Times with Jess

My baby is five! And if she were coauthoring this, she would add that she’s not a baby.

On the drive home yesterday she told me,

“When I’m a high school girl, I’m getting my own house and moving out.”

As opposed to BB who’s current plan is to live with us forever. Maybe we’ll compromise and both will reach some happy independent place somewhere between high school and forever.

High school seems to be the current pinnacle. RB was using her pretend tools to fix a pretend car. Captain asked her,

“Are you going to help me fix up my truck?”

“Do I get to use REAL TOOLS?!”

I pipe up,

“When do you think you should use real tools?”

“When I’m a high school girl.”

“Sure thing.”

At pre-k they start their day outside and it’s getting chilly. RB told me,

“I need gloves.”

“How about mittens?”

“I want GLO-OVES!”

“WHAT?!”

“I want GLOVES PLEASE!”

“OK. If you can put them on yourself.”

“I can.”

She proceeds to stick several fingers in one finger hole. With her other hand she feels the empty fingers. She waves her misshapen glove at me and says,

“This glove has too many finger spots.”

It’s the gloves fault?! It couldn’t possibly be an issue on her end.

And as much as RB is ready to move out, she still wants to be BB, but doesn’t hesitate to get in an all-out brawl if so needed.

Both girls pressed their faces against the same living-room window looking for their grandparents. It soon devolved into screaming and pushing. I remind them,

“We have plenty of windows! You don’t need to fight over the same one.”

BB doesn’t move. She says,

“This is the best one for wiping my nose on!”

Just when I thought I was cleaning all the right high-touch surfaces, I forgot to consider the WINDOWS! Children are GROSS.

For a while now BB has been insistent that she really wants a digital watch. We had already given her and RB perfectly good analog ones years ago. I told BB,

“You already have a watch.”

“It’s too hard to tell the time.”

Last year she studied telling time in school. Captain or I could work on this with her. I opted for the $16 digital watch.

She’s thrilled. RB had a major meltdown. I remind RB of HER analog wrist watch. RB is unfazed.

“I want one with the NUMBERS like BB’s!!!”

“But you can’t tell time with either of them.”

“But I want the same one as BB.”

But there’s no argument for that. I tell RB,

“Sorry, no watch, but your birthday is coming up!” This was more a reminder of presents to come, not that I had any intention of adding a digital watch to the pile.

Today, still watchless, RB put on her ski jacket and pulled out her compass. She exclaimed,

“I can tell you the time! It’s Ten Eighty.”

The compass says it’s Ten Eighty, the gloves have too many fingers, my living-room windows are covered in snot and my 5-year-old is moving out in 9 years. My work here is almost done.

Hippo had a hard time taking a selfie with Unicorn

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?

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.

Let them wipe each other’s butts

Posted on March 18, 2021 by Good Times with Jess

I can almost taste this vaccine. And it feels like it’s going to be an amazing summer.

When the pandemic started, I had two little people who were determined to fight over anything no matter what. I went with the motto of not negotiating with terrorists.

Then at some point during the slog of this past year, as both kiddos screamed and fought over one puppy stool because the 5 other stools in our home are NOT the same as the puppy stool, I thought to myself: “Maybe life WOULD be better with TWO puppy stools.

I put it in my Amazon cart to think about it, then immediately clicked “buy now.” Sure, I’ll throw $20 at the wall and see if it brings us a little peace.

It did not.

It has proved my initial reaction correct. No negotiating. If they are determined to fight with each other, duplicate items will not appease. I’m better off saving my money for a rainy day or whatever day it is when we go out without our children.

I just read an amazing parenting book. It covered many tactics I’ve read elsewhere, but the way this book put everything together and told me exactly how to do it, really resonated. We’ve made changes and things are looking up.

The book makes the case for few or no toys. I’m not rushing to get rid of everything, but I sure wouldn’t mind scaling back on the gift giving. Why does the Easter Bunny already have a huge bag of gifts in my closet? We don’t have room for what we have. I climb over a trampoline to get to my couch.

And if I thought duplicate items would also be interchangeable. I was very VERY wrong. BB knows which puppy stool is hers and RB is NOT allowed on it.

This post has more all caps than usual. Maybe a reflection of the strong competitive feelings around here.

BB claims she and RB are “besties.” I want to believe that. And considering BB is now willing to change RB’s poopy diapers, maybe it’s true. And don’t get confused. Willing is very different from able.

One theory of the book is that allowing BB to “help” with the dirty diapers today, creates a go getter, self initiator who may, two years from now, wipe RB’s butt all by herself. And if that isn’t parenting success, I don’t know what is.

You’re right. They’re not EXACTLY the same. The original is missing some whiskers. It’s been noted.

Bring on the vaccine or a flood…

Posted on January 6, 2021 by Good Times with Jess

Happy New Year! Thank you Georgia; thank you Stacey Abrams. Thank you to my child’s preschool. I feel grateful for every day that BB is in school.

When we started in September, we thought three days a week was good. I cannot express how wrong we were. I shot out an SOS email and we switched to four days. If her school had space, she’d be going for five.

They say Americans have been drinking more. All I know is that RB’s 4th word is “cheers.”

And in the morning she drinks straight from her pretend coffee pot, which is what I’d do if it weren’t for Captain.

Christmas was good. Only problem was that Santa brought presents for RB too.

BB’s survival instincts are unstoppable. Faced with plenty of food, love, shelter, clothing, attention, toys, she will not relent until RB is screaming because she ripped whatever it was out of her hands.

And RB has perfected the 30 second tantrum. She throws herself face down on the ground, screams, pops up and moves on.

Santa stuffed BB’s stocking full of Frozen underwear. BB asks,

“Have these been washed?”

They have been, but now I see the error of my ways. I ask,

“Do they smell like they’ve been washed?”

“They do!”

“Maybe Mrs. Claus washed them?”

I instantly regret that. Who am I to force stereotypical gender roles on characters I feel very ambivalent about? Neither of whom are doing any laundry.

I’ve had enough of this Santa guy for awhile. Everytime BB misbehaved, not only did I have to tend to that, but then I had to deal with her anxiety over whether or not Santa would still bring her presents. I reassure her for the millionth time,

“You’re going to get Christmas presents no matter what.”

“That’s not what M at school says.”

M is a fellow four-year-old. “I understand she thinks that, but no matter how you behave, there will be presents.”

The next day it happens again: BB screaming, then screaming and crying because of the aforementioned screaming and now worry over presents. Again,

“You will be getting presents.”

“I told M that and she said you’re wrong.”

I have fallen hard and fast. Not only am I no longer seen as all-knowing, I am somewhere below BB’s pre-school peers.

By the last day of school vacation, we’re about to self-destruct.

Despite our living room being overrun with every type of plaything imaginable, Santa did bring presents after all, BB decided to drag the lifejackets out of the basement.

RB was happy to take the lifejacket that BB wasn’t using, but then BB wasn’t going to be happy until she took it away from RB.

With both children screaming, Captain emerges from his “office,” otherwise known as the room next to the screaming. He facilitates the donning and doffing of lifejackets until everyone is happy and there’s no risk of drowning.

BB sighs,

“I can’t wait for the vaccine.”

And you know she’s not talking about the flu. She continues,

“I’m excited to go somewhere.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“Anywhere!”

“Anywhere? No place in particular?”

“Everywhere!”

I’m with you girlfriend.

2021? Our underwear is washed, our lifejackets are on, we’re ready for you.

When your new car has a perfectly good door, but you can’t be bothered.

We take water safety very seriously around here.

Our overburdened dishwasher just quit

Posted on August 1, 2020 by Good Times with Jess

We’re home and our dishwasher is broken. This may be what sends me back to therapy.

Like many of us, I’m totally fine and about to lose it. I just didn’t know the dishwasher would be the tipping point.

The Cape doesn’t even have a dishwasher. Maybe that’s in its favor. It makes no pretense of anything washing the dishes besides a person.

As the dishwasher-detergent subscriptions pile up, Captain is on the case. He’s fixed the fridge, the washing machine and the clothes dryer so I have faith even if we did call some repair people.

They’re backed up. Everyone’s dishwashers are breaking. Should’ve know. It’s another symptom of this pandemic, just like the backorder on exercise bikes, puppies and sweatpants.

I made that up. They better never run out of sweatpants.

We’re headed back to the Cape as soon as possible, but being there without Captain has brought BB’s lingering jealousy into relief.

At 6 am I’m jolted awake. BB’s little face is peering at me over the side of the bed. She whispers,

“I’m your first baby.”

“Yes! Of course!”

GOOD GRIEF and with that RB startles awake and starts wailing.

Never thought I’d get to the beach by 8am, but this is my year.

With Captain around to play Barbies and otherwise dote on BB, she couldn’t care less that RB is in bed with me. Without him around, she’s inclined to snatch every single toy away from her sister regardless of whether the toy is something she truly wants to play with.

She grabs a pot and pan lid from RB. RB screams. I mention,

“RB was playing with that.”

“But I NEED it.”

“You need it?”

“I don’t have any cymbals.”

And for many reasons this is about when we leave for the beach.

BB asks,

“Who do you love more?”

I have answered this question several ways. This time I try a new tactic,

“You love Frozen right?”

“Yes.”

“Do you love Frozen I or Frozen II?”

“Can I watch Frozen II?”

Sigh.

I pop into my obgyn office to get a mysterious spot checked out. No kids allowed. Yes I really had a spot. All is well. The doctor asks,

“Any postpartum depression?”

“No.” But can I tell you about my dishwasher?

FUNNIEST-1410975713317-articleLarge

Blog-life balance is hard. And to BB, I’m sorry. Just sorry

Posted on November 18, 2019 by Good Times with Jess

One month postpartum. I’ve been DESPERATE to write a blog for a couple weeks and finding time feels hard.

Aside from that and BB being mad at me, things are good. Maybe it’s the placenta pills.

When my placenta came out covered in meconium, RB’s first poop in the womb, the nurse said,

“You don’t want this.”

I spent 9 months making and maintaining that thing and I’ve already paid $400 to get it made into pills, so I DO want it.

“Did you see your placenta? You don’t want it.”

“I do want it.” And considering it’s 2am, I want to save it until I can check with my placenta person and see if it’s still good to ingest.

“We need to send it to pathology.”

“Why do you need to send it to pathology?”

“When there’s meconium we send it to pathology.”

It avoided pathology and was allowed to go home with my mom who was kind enough to escort it out a day early.

And in case you were thinking:

‘Hey! Whatever happened to Jess’ varicose veins and those sexy tights?’

Well let me tell you.

Immediately after delivery the veins in my legs felt better. That or a million more important things were going on and I forgot I had legs.

I had 2 pairs of compression tights in my hospital bag and I didn’t think about them for a second.

The day after I delivered I woke up at 4am to intense pain. All my bulging veins had clotted. They were super hard, hot and painful. I could barely walk.

The irony of having an intact vagina but hobbling about because of my varicose veins was not lost on me.

At the time I didn’t realize there are all different types of thrombosis and what I have is painful, ugly and not life threatening. The blood clots are superficial and can’t move anywhere in my body, unlike deep vein thrombosis. That’s the deadly one.

At 4am we alerted the powers that be, but no one was alarmed. After multiple calls to the nurses, they told us that the doctor isn’t concerned and someone will be in to see us eventually.

Captain and I did the only logical thing to do if you’re in a hospital and think you might have something deadly going on. We consulted Google. It was unclear what signs of imminent death we should be looking for, but to be on the safe side we didn’t go back to sleep.

The nurse put a loose heating pack on my leg. I asked her for a way to strap it on. She said,

“Like an ace bandage?”

“Yes!”

“We don’t carry those on the maternity floor.”

“Ok.” I’m waiting for her to follow up with how she’s going to get one from somewhere else because we’re in a HOSPITAL. She proceeds to tie a baby swaddle blanket around my leg.

After an ultrasound to confirm what they suspected: nothing deep and deadly, we went home. They recommended I start wearing my compression tights again. A month later my newly found vascular surgeon tells me,

“Yes, wearing your tights after delivery definitely could’ve helped.”

Screw you people. I wore them my entire pregnancy, through JULY AND AUGUST. I could have worn them for one more day and maybe prevented or minimized the clots, but no one told me.

My vascular surgeon adds,

“It could be helpful to wear them now.”

Maybe, but now the pain is so minimal and the stockings are so annoying, that the pain-annoyance ratio is not in the tights’ favor.

Three months until surgery to remove the clots. I’m sorry BB and RB. It’s hereditary.

But BB has enough to worry about right now. She’s not happy. I’ve taken a lot of my love and attention that would’ve gone toward her or no one and directed it toward 10 pounds of screaming, helpless cuteness.

With the rainbow theme in full effect in RB’s room, BB informs me,

“You know I like rainbows too.”

“Yes! Of course you do!” There are plenty of rainbows for everyone.

Three days postpartum my placenta began the process of being turned into pills in my kitchen. The meconium did not disqualify it.

At this point I’ve swallowed about half of my placenta. And if you thought this would be free from the sting of sibling rivalry, you’re wrong.

BB had a lot of questions including,

“What did you do with my placenta?”

Sorry kid. We threw it out.