1m2aSandbox

We spent a glorious four days last week
with the entire family healthy, and I look back on them fondly and
reminisce.


Why look back, you ask?


Because the lucky streak is over.

I ain’t what I used to be.


I acknowledge that four years of my life have gone by with me in
some sort of denial. Four years ago, I was a cool New Yorker. I
worked in Union Square, bought my food fresh at the organic
farmer’s market, picked up handmade pasta for dinner on a
whim, and shopped the shoe sales on my way home on a Friday night.
Why not? I had nowhere I “had” to be; Brian was
perfectly capable of feeding himself. I walked everywhere, and
since I was a Pilates teacher, I worked out four or five times a
week, and though I bemoaned my butt in jeans, I looked pretty good.


Fast forward four years.

A good friend of mine came over last night to hang out, and at one point she chased Cora up the stairs. When she came back down she was laughing.

“I walked into Cora’s room, which was totally dark, and before I said one word, Cora whipped around and said, ‘Nuffin!’ I can’t believe it – I’d just read about that in your blog today!”

People think I make this stuff up, but I am here to tell you, I do not.

Ok, sometimes I exaggerate when I tell you they are the most beautiful girls in the history of the world, but not by much.

Cora’s hit the stage where she knows
she’s done -or is contemplating doing -something wrong.


I’m so thrilled, I say dryly.


I don’t think she’s hit the intentional sin point
– where she knows it is wrong and should resist, but it seems
so delicious that she deliberately chooses to do wrong – but
she’s definitely arrived at the age of sensing
something’s not going to get the parental seal of approval,
and thus should be done in secrecy.


This translates to Cora’s new favorite word –
“Nothing”. As in, “Cora, what are you
doing?” “Nothing!” Though in all fairness, she
actually says, “Nuffin!”

I feel as if I’ve been living in a
bubble forever now; the girls and I have been sick for so much of
the winter that our regular routine of somewhat frequent playdates
has been completely shot. I’ve been avoiding people
assiduously, trying to stop the germ spread, and now can’t
remember what it was like when we lived in New York and would head
out to the park EVERY DAY for a playdate with Maddie’s pal
Naomi.


We seem to be coming out of the latest round of germs, for which
I’m supremely grateful – and I am SO ready to set up
playdates. My life for the noticeable past has been waking up,
getting the girls going, and hear Maddie say plaintively,
“Where are we going today? What are we going to do? I want to
do something fun. I want to play with friends.”


And since no one’s been one hundred percent healthy, we often
haven’t felt like walking to the park. Which leaves indoor
fun – the mall, library, or Chick-Fil-A – or the other
alternative, which requires no money and no schlepping tired kids:


Mommy comes up with a brilliant, stay-at-home, fun idea.

A few weeks ago, a good friend of mine was
suffering from an obviously painful headache that had been going on
for weeks. We met up at one of Maddie’s classes, and
afterwards I asked how I could help her for the rest of the day.
“Other than taking my kid?” she jokingly replied. I
answered that taking her kid was exactly the sort of thing I had in
mind! She demurred, saying she didn’t want to impose.
“Why not let me take your child for a few hours to play with
Maddie while you rest?” “Oh, I couldn’t do that
to you – you’ve got two kids yourself!”


“Ok, how about if I take your child for lunch?”
“No, no, it’s ok. I just need to hit the drugstore on
the way home and we’ll be in for the day.”


Knowing my friend’s car had been having trouble starting that
day, I said, “Alright, how about this. What if I follow you
to the parking lot, and you leave the car running while you dash
in? I’ll park next to you and stand outside your car so you
don’t have to do the in-and-out-of-the-carseat thing, and
you’ll make sure your car stays running.” Again, she
politely demurred.

Thousands of screaming fans. Girls,
collapsing, sobbing, at the sight of their hero. A stage with
hundreds of lights focused on the star, and beefy security guys
down front to make sure nobody mobs the talent.


The Jonas Brothers in concert?


Nope. Bigger.


Elmo is in town.