Who, what, when, where and why

You know you've been really delinquent about updating a blog when your husband and father make mention of it. To illustrate, the last time I wrote a post we had three feet of snow on the ground; today it was 90 degrees and Zoe and I spent a good part of the day in the pool. Once again, I'll try and get better. Now on to the quarterly post.

The definition of a question: a sentence in an interrogative form, addressed to someone in order to get information in reply. "In order to get information" is really the key here. Zoe asks me somewhere in the neighborhood of sixty-two thousand questions in a day and none of them seem to be in an effort to gain information. Questions, quid pro quo sorts of conversations, should really involve some sort of development of intellect. Questions, when Zoe is involved, actually chip away at intellect (and sanity) until your intellect is a puddle of nothing, scampering out the door to avoid further damage.

Questions normally take on a linear form; question gets asked, answer gets replied. I am learning that the mind of a three-year-old works more circularly, the way a sink hole might. Here is one of today's samples:
Me (mumbling to myself, I should learn not to do this): I wonder if I should change lanes?
Zoe: What did you say mommy?
Me: I was wondering if if I should change lanes.
Zoe: Change lanes?
Me: Yes
Zoe: Why are you changing lanes?
Me: Because I want to get around this traffic.
Zoe: Why do you want to get around traffic?
Me: Because it's slowing us down.
Zoe: Why are we slowing down?
Me: Because of the traffic
Zoe: Why is there traffic?
Me (while I am changing lanes): I'm not sure
Zoe: Why are you changing lanes?
Me: Because of the traffic
You can sort of see where this is going.

Normally the questions are more inane. Why is this cup blue? Where are those people (strangers) going? Why are you wearing that shirt? There are no real answers, not good ones anyway. And while I attempt to stop the onslaught of questions with answers (she must be satisfied with one of my conclusions), this strategy works about as well as shooting cement and old tires into a oil leak, I just simply get more questions. I am afraid one day I will have a nightmare where I am talking to Zoe only to have her pull off her Zoe mask revealing she is really Bill Clinton who will then proceed to ask me what the definition of "is" is.

I suppose the inane questions should be a relief. Some day I will be fielding questions involving
existentialism and where babies come from. I anticipate that they will be markedly more difficult to answer than why is my plate is green.

For now, anticipate a post about how the onslaught of questions sometimes deteriorates into my parental pack of lies (all the kids are leaving the playground) and of course I always have the tried and true, because I'm your mother and I said so. Let's just say, I love you Zoe, no question.

Someone give me a hot toddy

New Jersey is really cold. Yeah, yeah, Savannah just got a "once in a decade" inch of snow. But if memory serves me right (and how couldn't it, it has only been five months) that snow will be melted by a nice 70 degree day. With two feet on the ground now, New Jersey is expecting another eight inches on Monday. Awesome. With our incredibly bad luck in the real estate market, it isn't a stretch that Mike and I, after living seven years in the south, would move back north just in time for the worst winter this area has ever seen.

Zoe seems to be OK with it and Sadie just wants to be able to pee without collapsing in a drift that is taller than she is. She doesn't ask for much.

So back to how cold it is here (did I mention it was cold?). Zoe is three and three year olds like to play in the snow, they like to make snowmen, they are just fine with school being cancelled. I remember this. I remember playing in the snow for hours, toes so frozen one wrong move could chip them right off. I remember patiently listening to KYW radio to hear my school closing number (802 by the way) in anticipation of a day off. I remember coming in the house soaking wet and stripping down; one by one icy, wet clothes landing on the radiator. Things are pretty much the same here, I just have a different perspective. First, I like circulation in my feet. Sure, I can still make a mean snowman but you have to be outside in the winter to do it and that seems to be my problem. I also don't remember having to shovel when I was a kid (I guess I should thank my parents for that, Zoe won't get off so easy). And while I am keeping an eye out on school closings, it certainly isn't because I am hoping school is cancelled.

So the day begins (feel free to pick any of the numerous days where there has been over a foot of snow on the ground). Breakfast is lengthy as I stall hoping for some incredible warm up before Mike and I have to go out and face a driveway that miraculously seems to grow to the size of a football field when you have to shovel it. We all begin the incredible task of getting snow clothes on. I've learned to get myself ready after Zoe because putting 17 layers on a child will really cause you to work up a sweat. I wonder silently when I will be a. rich enough to hire someone to contend with the winter wonderland and b. when Zoe can go outside by herself. I quickly check the computer, nope school is still cancelled. Then we head out shovel, throw a few snowballs at each other (although not this last time, those were particularly icy), build a snowman (two actually, one regulation man with Zoe and one small, kinda freaky-looking one Mike and I built on our neighbors yard after a couple glasses of wine) and enjoy the winter; if you can't beat 'em join 'em. Zoe has even taken to sledding and has become pretty fearless.

Ok, so if it going to be cold I guess it should at least be historic (that is what I keep telling myself when I am tempted to check the weather in Savannah).

Also I wanted to send a Valentine's Day shout out to my two favorite people; Zoe, the muse for the blog, and my husband Mike who has no say what I write here and loves me anyway. I love the both of you very much no amount of conversation hearts could express how much you mean to me. Be mine.

I haven't posted since last decade. . .

. . . which should come as no surprise. "But Rebecca", you say, "you are not even working. You are home all day with a three year old. The inspiration for your blog posts should be endless so you should be writing publish-worthy prose everyday; regaling your readers (all three of them) with witty stories about the life of a preschooler." The reason (excuse) is simply, I've found, because when you are in the forest you can't always see the proverbial trees. When I was a working parent the time I spent with Zoe was minimal compared to today's standard. Therefore, every movement, all the "kids say the darnedest things" moments, and every accomplishment and failure as a parent glowed brighter than the boring Tuesday work meetings at a silly desk job.

Now my job, albeit unpaid, is Zoe; all Zoe All the Time is the company name. The hours are brutal, the pay is lousy and the main client is demanding. But strangely enough, one of the most surprising parts of the new job is that the moments with Zoe are so often, each fails to stand out. My weak analogy is this: If someone on the street were to randomly hand me a thousand dollars I'd think I just won the lottery, look around nervously to make sure I wasn't being followed now that I was carrying such a large sum of money and open a Swiss bank account. Bill Gates probably would act differently.

So, in an effort to always remember each day, carpe diem so to speak, here is a timeline of Zoe and my day.

7:30-8:00am - "Moooommmmy" Zoe is more than capable of hoping out of bed but calls for me to come to, I don't know, escort her downstairs.

8:15 am - coffee in hand I try, usually with great futility, do a quick check on Facebook while I think to myself in my office job this time would have been spent checking important email (who the hell am I kidding, I was checking Facebook then too)

8:45 am - She wants breakfast, toast with peanut butter and "she's a big kid, she wants to help!" I hand her a plastic knife and a piece of bread and watch her cover herself in a peanut buttery mess.

9:30 am- I need a shower (and a whole hell of a lot of more coffee). On goes Barney (which requires a long shower so I don't have to watch it).

10:00 am - What are we going to do today ("mommy! Look at me!)

10:15 am - What are we going to do today, it's freezing cold ("Mommy! I'm going to get you!)

10:30 am - Oh my God, I have to get out of this house ("Mommy! I need a snack)

11:45 am - Off to the indoor play area. A recreation area that can basically is a business based off the fact that they secured a loan to afford more toys than I can. I love it an loath it simultaneously.

1:00 pm - Time to leave, cue meltdown.

1:15 pm - Make lunch. "I want the flower plate. No! The orange flower plate"

1:20 pm - "Mommy, so what's new?" huh?

2:00 pm - NAP! Cue dancing

4:00 pm- Break over "mommy!"

4:30 pm - Playdough time. Or doctor time. Or let's play waitress time. Or coloring time.

5:30 pm - Dinner. Possibly I have something planned. Probably I don't. Pizza, chicken fingers, pasta or. . . no, they are usually the only choices.

6:30 pm - "mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy" "Zoe, what?!" "I love you, you're a nice person." "I love you too, Zoe" "I love you too Rebecca"

7:45 pm - Caillou the creepy, whiny bald boy comes on signally the beginning of the end of my day.

8:12 pm - (Yeah, Caillou on on Demand lasts 27 minutes). Bathtime. Bath is ready, Zoe runs away from me for a half hour.

8:35 pm - Clean, in bed, two books (one at nap, two at bed). "Zoe I have to go now." "No, I need you!"

9:00 pm- 13 hours later, my day is done.


Goodnight, boss. I love you.