feeling guilty

Iris left about ten days ago to go to California to visit her half-sister, who is in her thirties and about five years older than her mother. (Have I ever mentioned that Iris' dad was in his late 50s when he and Sonia, who was then 18, got bizz-ay? Or that Iris lived with him for the first seven years of her life because Sonia was having some drug issues? Or that he died of brain cancer and that's how she ended up with her mom? I don't think so.)

Sonia accompanied Iris, which is strange to me. I mean, can you imagine that woman in an airport? On an airplane? With the guy in the seat to her right accidentally brushing her elbow with his elbow, and her having to "communicate" with him because he wasn't respecting her "boundaries" and her needing to have her personal space "honored"? Or her getting upset with the flight attendant for not telling her to please buckle her seatbelt? (Have I ever mentioned that once, when our neighbor Pixie asked Sonia if Iris could come out to play, Sonia said, "I'd really appreciate it if you said, 'Please,' and that once, when Pixie's dad said to Sonia, as they were arranging some time for Iris to hang out with them so Sonia could go and say her Hare Krishnas, "Well, okay, just give me a call," she told him, "I'd really appreciate it if you said, 'Please'"? I don't think so.)

So anyway, she's been gone all this time and I have to say, it's kind of nice not having her around. I didn't realize how much stress she has added to my life. Of course, I recognized that Sonia was making things a wee bit crazy for me. But I'm talking about Iris. I used to wonder when she was going to come over on her compost run, or whether she was going to stop over on her way back from the bus stop. And now? Now all I feel is relief.

And guilt.

that counts, right?

On the last day of school before vacation several eternities ago last week, Ezra came home with a calendar on which I--with his involvement--was supposed to keep track of the exercise he had gotten each day. There were suggested activities for the family for each day that I could circle--a 20-minute walk, a game of baseball, calisthenics (especially fun--who doesn't love a jumping jack?). There was also room to describe any "other exercise" if that game of baseball, for example, never got off the ground.

I really do applaud the school's efforts to get everyone off their fat asses encourage physical activity, end childhood obesity, and facilitate quality family time. And I really did want to fill out the form because I want Ezra to get an A+ in life, and at the very least, get into Harvard to give Ezra a sense of accomplishment.

Yet I found it too frustrating to keep up with. I mean, when your kid is on the move more or less the entire day, and yet none of the activity can be technically characterized as "sport" or "exercise," you feel foolish telling the truth, which would look something like this: Played Power Rangers on playground with his brother (20 minutes)...rapidly punched his father's gut (30 seconds)...jumped to floor from top bunk (10 minutes)...played Secret Agent with his brother throughout three floors of home (25 minutes)...temper tantrum (10 minutes).

I gave up on the form, but not before listing thumb wrestling as Monday's activity. Ezra, Levi, and I had kind of a round robin thing going on the couch for a while there, which was awesome, until finally I had to throw in the towel because my thumb was screaming. And my god, I was so sore the next day. Middle age is hitting me hard.

a logical mind at work

About a year ago, Ezra went through a phase where all he ever thought about was flying. That boy wanted to fly so badly he could taste it. He was constantly rigging wings and capes and parachutes for himself out of paper napkins, masking tape, pillowcases, cardboard boxes, string, balloons, and anything else that struck his fancy, physics be damned, and then jumping off of various pieces of furniture and asking, "Did you see me that time? Did you see me fly?" (Sometimes, "Yes, I did!" was the right answer and sometimes, as it turned out, it was the worst answer you could possibly give him and the right answer was actually, "That was a great jump off the coffee table, but people can't really fly." Of course, he never let you know ahead of time.)

After hearing about his obsession, my mom sent a couple of homemade capes in the mail (one for Ezra and one for Levi, who wasn't especially interested in flying but had to have everything his brother had and she didn't want to be responsible for bloodshed); essentially, they were big tee-shirts with the fronts cut out of them. Unfortunately, the flying fad died in our household soon after the capes arrived and nobody ever gave them a second thought.

This morning, I found one of the capes at the bottom of my dresser drawer. (No, really, I did just find it there! I swear I've never worn it myself! I have no idea how it ended up there because I thought I had hidden it with the handcuffs and nipple clamps in that other drawer!) When I showed it to the boys, Levi immediately grabbed it and put it on, and then wore it for the rest of the day. (He still has no interest in flying per se; his delusions revolve around being a superhero and getting the bad guys, which sometimes does require flight.)

Tonight, as we climbed the stairs this evening, he announced that he was going to put it on over his pajamas and wear it to bed too.

My first instinct was not to let him. Can I tell you why? Because I immediately thought of E. from The Incredibles and her long list of superheroes who had died all because of their capes. "No capes!" she insists, and while I'll concede that she probably wasn't offering parenting advice, taking care of our kids is hard and we get guidance wherever we find it.

So I had this image of Levi getting sucked into some kind of secret vortex in his bunk bed, but at the same time it had been a long day and I was alone with the kids and things were running unusually smoothly and I just didn't want to mess anything up. And besides, the sane part of me was pretty certain no ill could come of it. So I let him.

But after I put him to bed, I kept having these lingering doubts. My four-year-old sleeping in a cape--I just knew I'd sleep better if he wasn't wearing it. So I figured I could take the cape off before I went to bed. Two possible outcomes: a) he wakes up and starts freaking out about his cape and then takes forever to get back to sleep, guaranteeing a crappy day for all of us tomorrow; or b) he doesn't wake up.

If b, two possible outcomes: 1. he stirs around dawn and rouses himself enough to notice that THE CAPE IS GONE, and is so worked up that he can't get back to sleep, guaranteeing a crappy day for all of us; or 2. he sees the cape hanging next to his bed and gets up to put it back on, which means that he's done sleeping, guaranteeing a crappy day for all of us.

I think I'll just let him sleep in the damn cape.

found out the hard way

It turns out that even Jewish kids get upset when they ask if Santa is real and their parents tell them the truth. Very upset.

soreness haiku

Yoga again, but
Too many months have gone by.
Pigeon pose, Advil.

(I've been reading hilarious and/or poignant haiku all over the blogosphere, but for some reason, this one inspired me.)

lowest common denominator

Levi and Lilah were sitting quietly side by side in the car on the way home from school today when all of a sudden, Lilah yelled, "Shut up, Levi!"

"Mommy," Levi said, in that self-righteous, sing-song voice he and Ezra use exclusively for ratting. "Lilah said, 'Shut up.'"

This was my first thought, and I had to catch myself before saying it out loud: But Lilah, he wasn't even talking!

crap, I think he's onto me

Earlier this evening, as Levi was finishing his dinner of raw cabbage (I'm not kidding, he took one bite of the very delicious quiche I made and then devoured about half a head of chopped cabbage doused in balsamic vinaigrette), Ezra was running around chasing the giant exercise ball that has become the toy du jour.

"Hey, Levi," he said, passing by. "Wanna play Power Rangers when you're done?"

"How about when Levi is done," I said, "you guys can play Power Rangers Take a Bath?"

Ezra scrunched his eyebrows together. "I know what you're doing!" he yelled. "You're trying to get me into the bath!"

Okay, I knew my son was smart, but I had no idea that he was genius enough to see right through such a highly sophisticated and subtle maneuver. Right through it!