Recovery

It’s taking a while to recover from our vacation. The part where we traveled around with the kids was great. The part where we were near my family was mostly fine – just fine, but there were some moments, of course, and fairly classic ones at that. What I am recovering from is some mother comments and sister stunts.

Now, I would love to dish with you about what was said and done. Truly, I have some juicy stories. Or, I should say, typical stories. Those of you who have heard sister or mother stories before would be amused and/or aghast. But as we all know, the Al Gore’s Nifty Invention is not all that anonymous and one must take care. Even what I have written thus far is risky.

I’m also trying to start scanning pictures of my father for a photo book I am putting together. I intend to give this book to my siblings and niece and nephews (and my own kids) for Christmas. I borrowed some photos from my sister and brother, and am digging through a couple of boxes of old family photos.

That, along with the recent visit, is churning up some memories.

So here I am, feeling a little bit whiny and self-pitying, wondering why it is that families can be the way that they can be. The emotional support that I have yearned for over the years is just not there, even as I have made my best efforts to offer up support and a listening ear. I know in the end that it’s really not me, it’s them, but it still aches deep down.

At the same time, I continue to feel resolve to not let this happen in my own nuclear family. I can’t guarantee this, of course, but I do and will try to keep communicating and to keep being there without being overbearing. And always to love and accept, of course.

I seem to have done a decent job of shielding the kids from my issues with my family. They love visiting and seeing their cousins and aunt and uncle and grandmother. C even talks about going out there for college to spend more time with them (Note to the higher power: Please, no!), even as my two oldest nephews talk about leaving there. I am glad for the kids’ enjoyment of the trips/visits. It helps balance my anxiety, and in their glee they don’t notice my moodiness as much.

I haven’t been able to get organized since we’ve been back. I’m getting through the basics in a day, but I’m scattered and slow and I’m not getting as much time outside in the sun as I should be. The sunshine would help.

School starts bright and early tomorrow. C’s bus comes at 7:00AM. M’s at 8:30 starting on Wednesday (just visiting day tomorrow). S will see all her friends at preschool tomorrow and is beside herself trying to wait for that.

(Meanwhile, my husband just took C up to the city for an x-ray of his foot. C seems to have broken his little toe on his left foot yesterday – while hanging out with his pediatrician’s son. The toe is swollen and purple. They won’t be able to do much, but C will get a note to be excused from gym for a couple of weeks.)

I’m looking forward to getting back into a regular routine. Routine, time, space, and distance seem to be what I need to recover from these trips. I’ll get over the whiny-ness and self-pity in short order. Going through pictures of dad will be more sweet than bitter and the kids will have a more even mom.

Bumper Stickers

One of the things that can make my commute almost enjoyable is bumper stickers. It's interesting to see what people put on their cars. Some recent sentiments that made me smile:

"God Bless Everyone. No Exceptions"

"Are you a Good Witch or a Bad Witch?"

"Less War, More Dancing"

"Stewart/Colbert 2008"

In honor of the weekend, I recall a long time favorite (and in case my political leanings weren't already clear):

"The Labor Movement. The folks that brought you the weekend."

Happy Labor Day everyone.

Leave Them at Home

We saw some crazy things on our vacation. I already mentioned the French Elvis Fan Club.

On one of our first couple of days there, we dropped by a local mall to pick up some sandals for S. I'd accidentally left hers back home. S was in her stroller as it was a big mall and I wasn't familiar with which exit and parking lot was closest to the store we needed.

At one point, we waited for the elevator to go upstairs. The elevator car arrived and before going in, we - of course - let the previous riders out. One woman exiting was pushing a nice stroller that looked like it had totally enclosed area for the rider. I thought this would be a good idea for avoiding bugs and such on outside walks, but didn't really understand it for inside a mall.

Then I looked more closely.

The occupant of the stroller wasn't a baby or small child. It was a dog.

Yes, I did say dog.

One of those little dogs that I call yip-yip dogs. Typically barky and shrill and jumpy. Ick. Thankfully this one was not barking.

I was fairly horrified, but tried to just move on. But then ten minutes later while walking back to the car, we saw a second yip-yip dog in such a stroller.

Granted, I am not a little dog person. I don't get this whole carrying little dogs around thing. But if that's someone else's thing - fine. I can even understand needing a stroller for an older or convalescing dog. But to go shopping? With your infantilized yip-yip dog?

Let me be very clear about this: non-service dogs do not belong in malls!!

Forecast

While we were on vacation, C and M asked to watch the Weather Channel.

I asked them why.

They said so they could see what the weather would be like.

I said, "The forecast is 'Sunny and very hot.' "

I was never wrong.

Tides

Summer is waning.

We arrived home late, late Monday night – or rather early, early Tuesday morning. Just today I was able to make some headway through the piles of dirty laundry and such that spilled out of our duffel bags. But we had to get to the beach. Had to. I made a quick dinner and we headed down.

The light is different. There are fewer cars out there, fewer families picnicking. The tides are bigger right now (I think that’s because we are approaching the full moon - and if I remember all this correctly, the tides at the full moon closest to the autumnal equinox next month should be even more dramatic) and there was a bit of sandbar visible that usually is not. It’s cooler earlier in the evening. We built a fire, put on our sweatshirts.

The kids went running out and started digging around to see what they could find amid the tidal pools around the sandbar. They found a wild looking sand worm (8 inches or so long) and some really big quahogs.

It’s odd to think that on Monday morning we were getting in a last bit of pool time in 100+ degree heat. Our trip was overall good. I’m still trying to process some of the more classic and/or painful family moments. It was hot. I’m glad to be home.

C has middle-school orientation tomorrow and he’s extremely nervous. S’s sleep routines are all disrupted from the trip and bedtime has been tough the last couple of nights. M, surprisingly, is the most even-keeled of the bunch right now.

My husband’s bad schedule at work starts Friday. School starts Tuesday. My office is approaching some big milestones and deadlines.

When everything is busy and intense - or tiring and dramatic as our trip was, I seem to need that beach time even more. The ebb and flow of the tides is reassuring and calming. It reminds me that there is an ebb and flow to life – and even if I don’t recognize which stage of the tide I am at, it is happening.

I breathe deeply, warm my feet by our small fire, sip some wine and watch my kids dig and discover, laugh and play. This is where I belong.

French Elvis Fan Club

Monday, August 20th

We pull in to a trading post and inn in a fly speck of a town in the northern part of the state. We’ll be staying there that evening as we make our way toward bigger sights. As I park the car, we see a man with rather poufy hair and sideburns. Were it not for the otherwise European aura about him, he could be an Elvis impersonator. My husband and I giggle a little as we collect ourselves and step out of the car.

I stretch and look around. I haven’t been to this part of the state in probably 30 years. As I take a drink from a water bottle, I look over to the tour buses in the parking lot – and almost spit out my water.

On the side of one of the tour buses is the sign, “French Elvis Fan Club.”

I look again. Yes, it really says that.

We go into the trading post to register for the evening and there are more of them – more would be Elvis impersonators. And of course, they are all speaking French.

Let the Games Begin

Both for our impending visit west and for the home town team.

While it's just not appropriate to talk about the stuff happening with my family around the coming visit (exhausting stuff and we aren't even there yet), I can talk about baseball.

The boys haven't been playing with much spark. Sure, they are at the top of their division, but that something extra hasn't been there. Their archrivals are closing in.

Tonight was the return of a young hot shot pitcher to the local park. It was an emotional return, as the pitcher left the team about a year ago to be treated for cancer (a lymphoma), and this was his first local game since returning to the big show.

He pitched fabulously, giving up just one run on four hits. The opposing pitcher threw well, too, and we were behind 1-0 going into the bottom of the ninth. But the last play of the game may start the spark the team so desperately needs.

So it's two out in the bottom of the ninth, we have tied the game and it's 1-1. Our captain stands at 2nd. The batter is a very likeable player in his second year with the club. The count is 3-2. There are two outs.

Wouldn't you know it, the very likeable batter hits one into right field and brings the captain home. It's a walk-off win.

The crowd of, course, goes wild.

(And it doesn't hurt that the archrivals lost 12-0 tonight.)

Baseball is going to get a little more exciting over the next 6-7 weeks, I think.

If only this visit west could be a little less exciting. We'll see.

Summer Baseball

C’s summer baseball league is winding down. Not that it ever really wound up. Summer league is thankfully, enjoyably fun. No keeping score, no worries about homework or the school bus the next morning. No pressure, just playing late into summer evenings.

This week is especially relaxed as about half of all the players seem to have left town. Monday night only ten kids total showed up between the two teams, so the coaches improvised a little and played with the kids.

Last night only eight kids showed up, and again the coaches improvised. Then C asked his coach if M could play, too. Sure, the coach said, get him out here.

M is not technically old enough for summer league baseball. The kids are supposed to be at least eight and M is only seven. He was disappointed with this early in the summer, but found ways to entertain himself at the games. Still, last night, he was thrilled with the opportunity to get out and play with the big kids – and even though he was wearing only Crocs.

M played his heart out with the big kids. He loved every moment of it. He ran harder and with more determination than the big boys. Then the big boys started to notice this and started trying a little harder themselves. Then M poured it on just a little bit more - and some of those big boys were getting tired trying to keep up.

M held his own, and then some. He had some good hits, made some great plays. He had fun. He played with a grin on his face.

The coach noticed. The coach high-fived him several times and at the end of the game, asked him to join the team…officially join the team. There will be a uniform shirt waiting at the game tonight for M, and a hat.

It doesn’t matter that tonight is the last game of the season. M is so excited. He is one of the big kids now.

How Can it be Over When it Just Started?

Yesterday afternoon I was going over the calendar with C’s French Horn teacher when I realized with horror that today may be my last real beach day of the summer. The kids will have more, but possibly not me.

How do I figure that when it is only August 9?

• Tomorrow is supposed to be rainy and yucky.
• Saturday a friend is coming in from out of town.
• Sunday is usually a chore day (maybe I could tweak that – though Sundays typically are exceptionally crowded days at the beach and less relaxing).
• Monday I work.
• Tuesday I work.
• Wednesday I have to be in another town with C and a friend’s son for a sailing thing.
• Thursday I work.
• Friday we leave on our trip.

We get back late on the 27th and I work that Tuesday and Thursday. I can’t depend on that Wednesday and Friday being beach days, though I hope mightily they will be.

With that in mind, I packed a lunch and took the kids to the beach.

However, it wasn’t a great beach day. Sure, the sky is pure blue, the temperature isn’t overbearing (70s), and it’s not particularly humid – inland, that is. But at the beach it was 68 and very windy. Sweatshirt and sweatpants windy. I’m serious. Also the surf was really rough. I would not let the kids into the water.

So we stayed for half an hour, then came home and picnicked in the front yard.

And so, that possibly was my last beach day of the summer.

That's me you hear sighing. I'll get over the self-pity shortly, but if you could tolerate an hour or so of self-indulgence, I'd appreciate it.

Why Do I Bother?

Certain relatives have been asking me for a good long while to visit again.

But then I buy plane tickets to get the family out there and they say they're really busy and they don't know how much time, if any, they will be able to spend with us.

Family

I noted with sadness this morning that Cardinal Lustiger of Paris has passed away.

I’ve been intrigued by Cardinal Lustiger’s story for many years. I knew one of his cousins out west. This cousin worked for my father in the early 80s and the cousin's wife and I went to the same college. The last time I saw the cousin was at my dad’s memorial four years ago.

It’s interesting how families evolve….one part is a conservative Catholic clergyman in France, another is a Jewish lawyer in the American west.

And yet they were still family.

Mortage?

The New York Times needs to hire back some editors - or just run a spell checker.



Saw this just a couple minutes ago. Might still be there.

It’s Not Burned, It’s Carmelized (Or, Adventures in Cooking for Children)

Like many women I know, I was a spectacular mother before I had children.

My children would be perfectly behaved at all times.

My children would be the smartest kids around from day one.

And my children would eat a healthy, balanced and varied diet. My children would love their veggies.

Okay, all you mothers out there, stop laughing. You thought it, too. I know you did.

I was anal about C’s diet once he started eating solids. I made most of his baby food. I figured that if wouldn’t want to eat the gray strained peas out of the jar, I wouldn’t expect him to eat it either. This really was not a hard thing to do. As my husband and I were cooking meals for ourselves, we’d steam and puree and freeze some of whatever basic ingredient we were using. Truly green peas, peaches without additives and stabilizers, and so on. As such, C ate some interesting and tasty and colorful foods in his first year of solids. (The book Mommy Made and Daddy, Too was our reference.)

Oh, I was smug. So smug.

But then, pretty much all of a sudden, he stopped eating the varied offerings, and narrowed his palate. I remember talking with a friend about it. She had read something about the developing taste buds of toddlers; that at a certain stage, veggies really do taste pretty awful to them (I’ve never been able to find said study or other documentation of that, unfortunately). Still, we were down to more macaroni and cheese than I care to admit, and a few other carbohydrate-based staples. Occasionally, I could sneak vegetable matter in (pureed peas mixed in to scrambled eggs), but mostly not. Thankfully, C always liked fruit. I could always get some kind of fruit into him – though he preferred the expensive stuff (mangoes).

(When C was 19 months old, we dressed him up as a bee for Halloween and took him to a few houses. He was really into the candy that he was given, although he had no idea what it was. At home, he put the candy in his dump truck and carted it around the house. He never quite understood why the load was lighter every morning. That pretty orange package was gone…then the brown one that felt like it had beans in it…)

After M was born, I had the chance to try again. Again I made the baby food, offered variety. M liked tofu. After a driving vacation to a cousin’s wedding, during which 9 month old M ate very poorly, the kid downed ¾ pound of tofu straight from the container in one sitting.

Again, toddler-hood hit, and the palate narrowed. And again, I could sneak vegetable matter in occasionally, but mostly not. And again, I was really thankful he would at least eat fruit.

I realized when M was about two that we were making two complete meals every night: one for the kids and one for the grown-ups. I was getting tired of that routine pretty quickly. Granted, the kids were still small and with my husband’s long hours it wasn’t always realistic on a nutritional need, mood and routine level to have the kids wait until Daddy was home to eat a meal. But two complete meals was one too many.

Slowly, I started cooking just one dinner a day. I chose carefully. I chose menus that had interest for both kids and adults, and were fairly well-balanced. Some were more kid focused and some were more adult focused. I scoured cookbooks for interesting meals (one, One Bite Won’t Kill You, gave us some good jumping off points) and surveyed friends. I committed to one dinner per night, and, after C was sick, to family dinner the majority of evenings each week (this sometimes required a lite snack about 5:30 to get the kids through to when Daddy would get home).

There were battles at the dinner table. There was whining and crying on the kid front. There were nights I wanted to give in. There were times it was logistically hard to make a meal (when S was tiny, for example-nursing and chopping ingredients don’t mix) I reminded the kids that 1) there was no “Mom’s Diner” sign and a menu at the table, 2) I didn’t choose meals to torture them; I chose meals with ingredients they like, and that I think they will like (and will not serve them anything I won’t eat myself), and 3) we are a family and we eat together. They had to have at least one bite of each “undesired” item, and each meal had to be followed by fruit. Also, dessert was not a given. They learned to ask, on weekends only, “Mom, will you be offering dessert this evening?”

Somewhere along the way, C started to eat salads. Then C and M started to ask to help make the salad dressing. Then C asked to go for Indian food for his last birthday. I didn't make a big deal out of this outwardly. On the inside I was jumping for joy.

This is not to say that everything is perfect and my kids eat that perfectly varied diet I dreamed of. They still prefer the macaroni and cheese and other kid fare. They would eat Nutella morning, noon and night if I would let them. S, still very much a toddler, is the most challenging in this. She picks at just about everything, but she’s clearly getting something. If I didn’t see her growing out of clothes and climbing the growth charts, I’d be worried.

When I make my weekly shopping list, as I am doing today, I enlist their help. I have written our standard meals on index cards. I ask each of the boys to go through and pick one meal, my husband picks two, and I pick three. That way everyone gets at least one thing they want, and I can balance the meat and carb heavy meals with my choices (I can also help balance the food bill as I review the local circulars for the sale items and apply those to my choices). There are still complaints, but they have gone down a bit. I can also say, when one asks why we are having something for dinner, "Talk to your brother. He chose it."

There are times I lament my kids’ limited diet and wish they ate more things, but then we’ll have one of their friends over who has an even more limited diet, and I feel blessed that they eat what they do. They are healthy and thriving – and most importantly, we have food on the table.

Mostly what I have learned from this is that it all balances out in the end. Really. I could have saved myself some grief if I had taken that to heart much sooner - but I think it's a lesson every mother has to learn for herself.

Someday (I hope) my kids will like the grilled asparagus I adore, but until then, more for me.

Wildlife

There’s a hawk I’ve been listening to for a week or so. It’s a very noisy hawk.

As I have sat at my desk, I’ve heard this hawk screaming at various points during the day. I assume it’s protecting a nest. I sent the boys outside to look for it, but no luck.

The morning I came down stairs early with S. I was trying to give my husband a morning to sleep in, as he so kindly did for me yesterday. I thought I might doze myself while S watched PBS. But then S said, “Mommy, there’s somebody in out back yard.”

Huh?

Well, turns out she meant something, and that something was the hawk.

The hawk was hopping around the back planting bed, near where we recently put in that patio. It was maybe 10 feet from us, though through a glass door and a screen door. S hopped off the couch, and watched if for a moment through the door. The hawk hopped around some more before flying away.

I thought to myself, wow, that was cool.

A few minutes later, I went into the kitchen to try to make coffee. Turns out we have no coffee filters. But as I was standing at the sink contemplating what to do (I need my coffee in the morning), I noticed the hawk was still out there, sitting on a low branch of a white pine tree just on the other side of the fence bordering the back planting bed.

Very quickly I located my camera. I managed one (slightly fuzzy at full digital zoom) photo before the hawk flew off again.

It’s nearby. I can hear it. I just can’t see it yet.

I think we’ll be on high hawk alert today.

Lifetimes Ago

Tonight as I was reading S a bedtime story, I was reminded of something that happened when C was just her age.

We were reading No, David! by David Shannon. Brilliant book. A few pages in is the illustration of the main character's bare bum running down the street. The words for that page are, "Come back here, David!"

About 8 years ago, while we were still living in the south and I was a few months pregnant with M, my sweet husband encouraged me to sleep in. He would wrangle our then 3-year-old C for the early morning. I appreciated the offer and fell right back asleep.

Sometime later, I awoke to a voice in the side yard. We lived in an end unit in a complex of townhouses, and voices actually were not common. I rose from the bed and tried to look out the window, but the angle wasn't right (there were no windows on the side of the townhouse, only front and back). The voice was not quite decipherable, but it was still out there.

I went downstairs and no husband and son. Huh.

Then I opened the back door near the side yard and heard very clearly, "Come back here, David!" in my husband's voice. I was very confused.

I stepped out onto the patio and looked around. There was C running around the side yard stark naked, and my husband calling after him.

They were playing, "No, David!"

I Don't Get It

Doesn't anyone believe in honesty anymore?

Some little things are swirling today. They all come down to dishonesty. And amid that I have decided that I am either incredibly naive or hopelessly optimistic. I don't know how else to describe it, and certainly wouldn't have used those terms to describe myself before.

C is in a series of sailing races yesterday and today. Yesterday he saw some cheating by other sailors but the organization running the races decided not to accept protests. He felt very frustrated by this when he arrived home, so we had a long talk about it - what he could and couldn't do, and why. It was tough. He's an aggressive, competitive sailor, but would never dream (I don't think, and he says he wouldn't) of doing such a thing. It really bothered him - and there's really nothing he can do. No recourse. I'm hopeful he can move beyond it and have a good day today.

C also has a situation with a boy from school. At the Harry Potter event at the local bookstore, this boy (who had tried to tease him through much of baseball season) stole his new summer league baseball hat off his head, threw it into some bushes, thus losing it. And since is refusing to take any responsibility for his actions. We went back in following days and looked for the hat ourselves with no luck.

If this boy had apologized and helped look for the hat, we would have cut him a ton of slack, and found a way to replace the hat ourselves. No luck. So C has asked him to replace it in some way, and the boy will not acknowledge he has any responsibility or tell his mother. (I just learned that, when asked by C to please have the boy return or replace the hat, the mother replied, "You must be mistaken. My son would never do that." Um, sure.)

C and I are talking a lot about dumb, kinda thoughtless things kids do, and how harm probably was not meant, but that taking responsibility is important. Also, we have talked about how, if the situations were reversed, he would be in more trouble for hiding the situation and/or lying about it than for losing a friend's hat in the first place. I don't yet know how or if this situation will resolve.

The final thing is a blog I've watched for a while. The writer (which I will NOT point you to - but it is three judicious clicks away from this site) admitted in a recent post that she cheated her way through high school, and was quite cruel to a teacher and a friend, lied to her parents to go on an unchaperoned trip, spilled red wine on a friend's wedding dress, among other less than savory things. She is most remorseful about the red wine incident and being cruel to a friend. She has only minimal remorse for the cruelty to the teacher, and none at all for the cheating ("Everyone was doing it."). The tone of the post was attempting to be humorous (inappropriately so), but it was more flippant. I am just floored.

I left a stern comment and deleted her from my bookmarks. I was on the edge of doing that anyway.

The first two issues can be explained away - somewhat - because it's mostly kids, and they are still learning. Heck, I'm still teaching this stuff to the kids! The last, well, as I said, I'm floored. How does someone make light of dishonesty and cruelty?

Is most of the world like this and I am obliviously cruising down a lovely river in Egypt?

(Wait. Don't answer that. I'm pretty sure I know the answer.)

I don't even know where to begin to address the issues!

I also started thinking about my dad again. Wakeupandsmellthecoffee is having some parent issues and it reminded me of issues we had with my father and the people around him.

When we went out for Dad's memorial service, my aunt asked my sister and me to put together an obituary for him. It was an honor to write it - even though it was later thrown in my face as the reason we would not be allowed to speak at his service. My favorite thing I wrote in this obituary was, "Through it all, he held fast to his belief that people are essentially good."

That trait was both one of my favorite things about my dad and possibly the most infuriating.

But maybe I am becoming more like him - because I am so shocked and upset when I see people not doing the right thing or not taking responsibility for their actions (and even when it's a person with a history of bad behavior). Do I so deeply believe that people are good and will do the right thing?

I don't know where to go with this. Just more to ponder, I suppose.

UPDATES:

1. The second day of sailing was better. No obvious cheating this time. Overall better day.

2. The boy who lost the hat handed C $20 today to get a new hat and said sorry for the first time. Ironically, last night at baseball, C's coach said he really doesn't care if the team has the "correct" hat or not, just that they show up. Since we don't really need a new hat for the sake of a new hat and it would be wrong to spend it on anything else, C is considering what to do. It's come down to returning the money and saying thank you for the apology and that the apology and some help looking for the lost hat are what I really wanted in the first place or giving the money to charity and telling the boy and his family that we have done that. What do you think C should do?

National Fairytales

Most American school children know the sweet, heartwarming story of the Pilgrims landing on Plymouth Rock. How they set sail in search of religious freedom and arrived directly at Plymouth, stepping out on a rock at the edge of the harbor.

When I used to hear the tale, I thought of a fairly decent sized rock – more a boulder. Something impressive.

Have you seen Plymouth Rock? It’s closer to a pebble than a boulder, and wasn’t noted (identified? claimed?) as the rock until over a hundred years after the Pilgrims landed. It’s rather a let down.

There is, however, a larger, more impressive rock that entered Pilgrim history before any rock in Plymouth, albeit a mere days before. The trouble is, it’s on a privately owned island that has no electricity or running water (just a couple of generators), and that doesn’t make for a very good tourism business, either for locals or the National Park Service. In fact, Plymouth Rock isn't a national monument or historic site. It's run by the state.

When the Pilgrims, on the Mayflower, entered the area, they made a couple of stops along Cape Cod, looking for a reasonable place to stop. At some point, in some way, a decision was made for a search party to set out in a long boat, leaving the Mayflower anchored in Cape Cod bay, in search of this harbor that was known to a crew member. (There had been trading up and down the coast since before Columbus)

The long boat set out, and the weather turned very bad. With the boat in a bit of trouble, the scouting group made it into the harbor area, but couldn’t make it to the actual shore. They landed, after dark in a storm in December, on a small island.

In the morning, the group went to a high spot on the island – a large glacial boulder – at which they held a vote among themselves whether to go to shore in this harbor and make a home or go back to the Mayflower and work their way further down the coast. After the election (in favor of the region, I might add), since it was a Sunday, they held a religious service. It was December 20, 1620.

Thus this large, glacial boulder is called “Election Rock” or “Pulpit Rock.”

Every year, the local rural and historical society hosts a picnic on the island. They arrange for a few launches from the harbor, but otherwise it’s an “if you can get there on your own” affair. They also arrange from brief remarks from a local clergy person.

We managed to get seats on one of the society’s launches this year and I took the kids out for the picnic. We were some of the first out there – and so I took them directly to the rock to climb and play. It’s a lovely walk from the temporary dock to the rock.

And truly – you can climb it.

The day was lovely. The remarks by the minister were appropriate and brief (in the mid-day sun), speaking of the efforts made to get to this place and holy ground. The inscription on the rock reads, “On the Sabboth Day wee rested 20 December 1620”.

We were invited to wander the island. People do still live out there in the summer, and the picnic happens with their cooperation. The historical society owns the island (bequeathed to the society in 1969 by a descendant of the original owners), but certain homes on the island have been used/leased/something by some families for generations. Their descendants have continued residency privileges, but I’m not sure what the legal status is for their structures. There is a small cemetery on the island, too. The gravestones are 200 years old.

It’s a beautiful island. Quiet, too, even with several dozen people wandering about.

Our day ended in a downpour when thunderstorms came rumbling through the area. We were soaked to the bone by the time we made it in to the harbor.

A sign next to the Plymouth Rock says something to the effect of, “It matters not where they landed, but that they did land and stayed.” I suppose that’s true.

But I’ll take Election Rock over Plymouth Rock any day.

Lazy Saturday Morning

It seems like we’ve spent every possible moment in the last few weeks wrapping up our summer house projects in preparation for the house guests. Now that their visit is over and done, I feel a weight lifted.

As I said before, it was a nice visit. There were some cultural differences and I found myself getting a little resentful on Thursday morning – but pulled it together and the visit ended well.

This morning, we’re lounging for the first time in a while. There are dishes to be tended to eventually, and, yes, I’m quite behind on weeding in the garden, but there’s no imminent pressure to pull it all together. I should try to make it to the grocery store, too.

The summer has been plugging along nicely for the kids. C has been sailing and will be a couple of regattas over the next few weeks. M has been in a theater camp, and his performances are done tonight. S has been enjoying the beach and the playground and the library with our sitter and the sitter’s daughter.

C finished HP7 yesterday. M has completed six chapters thus far. He’s intimidated by the size of the book. I am considering photocopying chapters so he can read it in less intimidating chunks.

We’re having a couple of families over for dinner tomorrow. We know both well enough that we don’t have to stress out making the house pristine again. The kids will play well together in the yard while the adults hang out in the screened porch sipping wine. I am looking forward to that.

We have a few more weeks before the trip west. It’s started to stress me out a bit. C is counting down the days with excitement – I try to hide the dread on my face. My sister apparently is speaking to me again, yet I have not actually spoken to her. She sent me an email saying she was going to start answering the phone and expecting me to hop to it and call her right away. Um, no. We’ve exchanged a few emails, but the visitors were a nice excuse not to perpetuate her warped view that we all revolve around her.

Yesterday’s helicopter crash was a little surreal to me. The ‘copters crashed in a park that used to be the site of the local Indian school…directly to the east of the park is the VA hospital where my dad resided (inappropriately – because of his wife’s lack of ethics) for several years, and directly to the north of the park is my high school. There are high rise buildings just across the street and so it’s very lucky that the helicopters didn’t hit them, or land in a busy street, or closer to the VA, or the high school.

(The crash occurred while the two news helicopters were trying to follow a police chase. There’s a news report this morning that local police might charge the suspect in the chase with murder because of the crash. I think that’s ridiculous. The helicopters were not helping the police with the chase in any way, but were competing against one another in pursuit of sensationalist news.)

Between the helicopter crash at the site of the old Indian school, a visit with our guests on Thursday afternoon to a local historical site, and as we plan some of our trip to include some Native American areas, I've been thinking about the old Indian schools and how our government used to separate families and send the kids to boarding schools for assimilation. There are some interesting Web sites and articles on the topics.

I have a lot of memories of the mostly Navajo kids who were behind the chain-link fences at that school next to my high school. It never seemed right to me; these kids would look so sad, looking out on us walking to or from our school. I tried to avoid walking by at times I knew the residents/students would be out in the yards. Most of the adults around us still tried to tell us that this was "for their own good."

Though this particular school remained open until 1990, I'm glad the schools are long since closed. There is still much understanding that needs to be acquired and healing to occur around this portion of American (and not just western American) history.

First Sunflower in the Garden, Etc.

A couple dozen more should follow shortly.



Our out-of-town guests left this morning. As enjoyable as the visit was, I'm tired and happy to have my house back. We took them to the beach last night for dinner. The sky looked like this at sunset.





Back to laundry, sweeping, exercise, perhaps a nap, and (thankfully) quiet. Hopefully more interesting thoughts will be flowing in the next several days. They have been scarce lately (obvious given the state of this blog).

It’s the Little Things

Good: Finished Harry Potter 7 this evening.

Better: Was carded when I picked up wine for dinner.

Best: By a woman who probably was younger than me.

Summer of Poop

S, for some unknown reason, has been regressing on potty training.

The dog has, too.

Sigh.

And Then There Was One

Goldfish, that is.

I suspect it was overzealous feeding by a certain three-year-old.

We haven't pointed it out to her yet. We did point it out to the boys after she was upstairs and then disposed of the remains.

(Can I just say how relieved I am that they didn't ask for a funeral?)

I never did pick up that new fishbowl.

The Outdoor Shower ROCKS!

My husband finished the surround for the outdoor shower this evening. I was given the opportunity to use it first.

I thought we'd use the outdoor shower for just rinsing off after the beach - that kind of thing. But his evening's shower changed that. I'll be using this outdoor shower quite a bit, I think.

The warm water washing over me while looking up at the emerging stars, crickets chirping....aaahhhh....

Sweet Sixteen

Today is my sixteenth wedding anniversary.

When I think back to when we were married, I was so, so young. And so was he, really. We’d been together for five years already, so it’s not like getting married was a rash decision or anything, but still, so young. I loved him then, and I love him more now.

We’ve been through so much in these sixteen years of marriage, twenty-one years of being a couple. We’ve been together more than half our lives. There have been times it’s all been fairly smooth – and times it’s been really, really hard.

I’m glad we’ve stuck it out. I’m glad we both take our wedding vows seriously. I’m proud of what we have built as a couple and as a family.

I’m looking forward to a lifetime more.

3,000,000

In the next few days I’ll reach an exercise milestone: 3,000,000 meters rowed on our rowing machine. It’s taken me almost two years to reach this milestone (22 months and 1 day, to be exact).

To put that in perspective, 3,000,000 meters is about 1,864 miles. In 5000m (3.1 miles) to 12,000m (7.45 mile) increments. I average 34,000m to 40,000m a week.

Given this milestone, you might think I enjoy exercise.

You would be wrong.

I hate it.

Hate it. Hate it. Hate it.

Hate.

It.

Hate it.

I have reached this milestone out of sheer discipline. I have an exercise schedule and I stick to it, even when I really, really, really don’t want to. Which is pretty much every single day. I participate in online challenges set up by the company that makes the rowing machine - I try to create goals and challenges for myself. Anything to keep going.

Every time I am supposed to get on that blasted contraption, I battle myself to 1) set up the environment (movie to watch, fans on, water nearby, etc.), 2) stretch, 3) begin actually rowing, 5) deal with the sweating and dripping (I really hate that), and 5) keep going when I want to stop – which is most of the time I’m rowing.

Clearly for me, exercise is a mostly mental challenge. I can do it – it’s a matter of making myself do it.

So why do I do it? Several reasons, and not necessarily in this order:

1) Understanding that regular exercise really is an important part of a healthy lifestyle.

2) Balancing risk factors for health issues that may (or may not) arise as I get (ahem) older. My mother has pretty bad osteoporosis and recently had spinal fusion surgery, for example. I don’t want that in my future.

3) It’s always nice to look better than the moms in the snotty cliques around town. (Me? Catty much? No!)

4) A good example for my kids. Especially my daughter. There are eating disorder issues on my side of the family (me included, actually) and I want to break the cycle.

5) I like to eat.

I bought this rowing machine for my husband for Valentine’s Day in 2004. I had just done a little contract work and had some non-budget cash – and he’d long been looking at getting one. He rowed (on water) some in college and knew that it was great, complete exercise – a lot of results for time spent and non-impact. (I tried rowing when I started college, but gave up quickly when I realized I would be required to get up early most days. I am not a morning person.) When I gave it to him (“for your heart,” I wrote in the card), he declared that it was too much, too big a gift and he would only keep it if I would agree to use it, too. Did I mention I was 7 months pregnant when I gave it to him? I said, “Yes, I’ll use it,” while chuckling to myself, “Not likely.” I hadn’t exercised with any regularity since….since….well, I guess the correct answer is ever.

My husband started using it immediately. He loved it. It was still hard for him to integrate exercise into his schedule, but intermittent time on the rowing machine was better than no exercise at all.

A bit over a year after I gave him the rowing machine, I realized that my high school reunion was going to be during the same time that we were visiting out west. Not that I intended to go – I didn’t! But I felt that the possibility of running into someone from high school during our visit was high, and I didn’t want any of those old ghosts to see me as I was right then – with still quite a bit of, um, softness left over from that last pregnancy. And so it began.

By the time we headed west that summer, I almost had abs.

Shortly after that visit west, I started logging my meters online – and that was almost 3,000,000 meters ago.

As much as I hate getting on the rowing machine, I am proud of my efforts and that I’ve become fairly strong. My back doesn’t bother me as much as it used to (scoliosis, a car accident long ago), and even though the last couple of weeks don’t reflect this, I feel that my lungs are stronger and I need my asthma inhaler less often.

The kids see exercise as part of a regular routine. That’s something I never saw growing up. C plays around on the rowing machine, and I encourage him to do more. I bet it would help his baseball skills to just plain get stronger, especially upper body. S is too young to do anything other than push buttons on the monitor, and slide around on the seat. (M, however, isn’t allowed near the rowing machine due to his valve issue – this frustrates him, of course. We need to find another exercise example for him.)

So my online logbook stands at 2,990,449 meters. I’ll do 6000m on Friday, and either 6000m or about 12,000m (an hour) on Saturday to put me over.

And just like every other day on the rowing machine, I’ll curse it the entire time.

(As a side note, I’ve long since surpassed my husband in total meters rowed. He’s just over 1,000,000m, I believe. :-D )

Duh

My asthma has been pretty bad lately and I’m struggling a little to keep on top of it - but the inhaler hasn’t been helping as much as it usually does. Sunday night, I woke up a couple of times overnight needing the inhaler. I gasped through exercise yesterday.

I’ve been on some allergy medicine, too, to try to address the triggers, but it seems to be helping very little. I’m still congested and sniffly. I feel just tired and a little fuzzy.

Then it occurred to me on my drive in to the office this morning: it’s not simply allergies or asthma. I’m sick.

Duh.

I have no time for being sick. I have work to do and a house and family to take care of. Kids to feed and shuttle. Deadlines. Projects. Laundry.

That line from Finding Nemo comes to mind, “Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming. What do we do? We swim, swim.”

Time for some Tylenol Cold and Starbucks.

What My Husband Did on His Summer Vacation

My husband is a workaholic. He knows this about himself. I know it about him. We work with it. Most of the time.

Because of his workaholic ways, the end of the benefits years often comes around with unused vacation time. And at his place of work, it’s use it or lose it. So several times in the last few years, he has taken a week or so off at the end of June to use up some of that time.

This has been incredibly handy as there often is a week at the end of June when the kids need coverage but I’m already tight on vacation time or need to bank the time for an actual planned vacation.

Very often during these “vacations” he resolves to do some hose projects. Such was the case this year. We had two planned projects hanging over our heads – and visitors from Sweden arriving in less than a month.

So here they are….

The brick patio and outdoor shower (click to enlarge):

This area of the house is between a screened porch and a deck. It was a poorly, improperly done stone patio when we moved in (hadn’t been raked in years and the realtor didn’t even know there was anything under the leaves). It was just an icky area, and we avoided using it. Now that we’ve put in a proper brick patio – WOW! We’re hoping to find a firepit and a couple of cool chairs to put there. The grill will go on the right by the chimney. And see that gravelly area? That’s the outdoor shower. The surround isn’t done, but soon, I think Those are the pillars for them.

It will be so nice to have an outdoor shower! No more tracking sand through the house!

Just on the other side of the window back there is a bathroom that we had half-renovated a couple of years ago. Never got around to replacing the nasty old tub and tile in there – until now:

A beautiful new white tub and white tile surround. The band of mosaic pebbles at the top are small rocks, shells and seaglass we picked up at the beach.

Yes, we still have bits to finish in there – patching up the walls and painting the walls and ceiling, but it’s darn close. Heck, I might even start using this bathroom instead of the one upstairs.

I feel lucky to have a husband that is so handy. Sometimes it would be nice to just call someone to do it, but it’s tremendously satisfying to complete a project like this - even when it takes a little longer than initially planned. We really like doing projects together as much as possible (though it’s been less possibly in recent years with the kids and such), and often we can do it nicer than if we hired out.

(What's the "we" in these projects? I helped set bricks, and swept sand over the finished patio several times to lock the bricks in place. I helped set the tub in place, tiled and grouted. I'll be painting, too.)

So yes, another weekend or so of wrap-up and clean-up, a load of debris to the dump, but overall, great progress. A couple more little things inside, but we can do those things evenings. Just in time for our visitors….

Also just in time for visitors – lilies and hydrangea are blooming….

Echinacea, too.



And just for fun - sunset on July 4th.

Wishing the Internet Were Truly Anonymous

Family crap over a decade old rears its ugly head again.

All over us wanting to buy a chair.

I wish I could talk about this. I can’t.

I’m shaking and feel like I want to vomit.

Fascinating?

Wakeupandsmellthecoffee has tagged me to share seven fascinating tidbits about myself. Whether this information is really fascinating is subjective, I think, but in the spirit of the game, here are seven bits:

1. (taking one directly from wakeupandsmellthecoffee) Favorite Celebrity Sighting: Carly Simon and Sally Taylor. It was ’77 or ’78 and my family was visiting relatives in LA. My sister and I were in a grocery store, and there was Carly Simon kneeling down and cleaning up the face of her young daughter.

2. When I was 10 years old, I was a ball girl for a professional tennis team. Even though I don’t play tennis.

3. I am good at trivia games. Which ties into the next item....

4. Favorite Time I Outsmarted a Teacher: In 9th grade, our Algebra teacher used to play trivia games with us on short days. During one such trivia game, the scores were close, and the teacher asked one last question, adding (because he was sure no one would get it ) that the members of the team that answered the question correctly would receive an automatic A on the next exam. The question was, "What was the name of the band Linda Ronstadt was in before she went solo?" I raised my hand, he called on me, I answered correctly, his jaw dropped, and my team mates were mighty appreciative. The answer, by the way, is the Stone Poneys. (I also answered "Warren Zevon" to a question in a trivia game in 8th grade, and all my classmates thought I made up the name. Losers.)

5. I went to grade school, high school and the same church as Lynda Carter's (Wonder Woman) niece. They looked eerily alike but for height and hair color. Seriously, there was no hiding that they were related.

6. I have a thing for china and crystal and flatware. Totally frivolous. I have five sets of china (two everyday, one medium fancy, one very fancy, one Christmas), three and a half sets of flatware (two everyday, one and a half fancy), two sets of crystal (currently slowly acquiring this pattern from overseas as it's not sold here), four tea sets, and lots of fun bits and pieces. Pizza and cheap chianti taste better on the good stuff, by the way. Which is to say, I do use it, and not always in expected ways.

7. I hate anything pickled. This made for an amusing Thanksgiving a couple of years ago. We invited a young couple that my husband knew from work, knowing they had no where else to go. Both are Russian and are in the process of immigration. They asked what they could bring and we said something that you would bring to a family dinner at home. They brought a dish that included several pickled elements. And I took a normal serving and ate it (to be a good hostess and set an example for the kids) and felt like I wanted to throw up for 20 minutes.

So that's my seven things. I'm still considering my tag-ees..

Wishing Rocks

We went to the beach for dinner tonight. It was a nice end to a day that was hot and steamy and a bit sad.

I told C about his classmate while sitting on the dock at the harbor. He didn't know him well - just hellos in the hallway. C says he feels sad and that it's a little creepy. He expressed concern for a close friend of the boy who died, how J was doing with the news. We went by the church and put up a prayer card for him. C was subdued the rest of the afternoon.

By 5:30 the school's information dispersion system kicked in and all the families in his school had received a prerecorded message asking that parents look at the school Web site. That notice was careful and considerate, conveying just the necessary information, and directing parents to helpful grief Web sites.

One of the things we like to do at the beach is look for wishing rocks: rocks that have a natural circle around them. They look a little like Oreos sometimes - usually it's a layer of quartz making the circle part.

Just before we left, I asked C to help me find a wishing rock. I needed to make a wish. He found such a rock - a nicely tumbled little stone. I went to the edge of the rising tide and threw it as far as I could as I made my standard every-time-I-find-a-wishing-rock wish for my children's future. It felt a little more precious tonight.

Kiss your babies.

Ache

I have just received word that a classmate of C's was killed in a car accident yesterday in Pennsylvania.

I haven't told C yet. He's at sailing class right now. After I pick him up, I'll take him over to the beach and tell him there. Give him some space for whatever reaction he might have.

My heart is aching for this boy and his family.

This is Why

This is why I endure long commutes and local politics


(click to enlarge)

Anti-Oxidant Pie

Another first today: the first blueberry pie of the season is in the works.

I'm not much of a traditional blueberry pie fan. Fully baked blueberry pies are too cloyingly sweet for my taste. And if it's made with canned filling, I usually think I can taste the tin. Ick.

A couple of summers ago I noticed a recipe in a cookbook I own (The Pie and Pastry Bible, by Rose Levy Beranbaum) that was different. This recipe was for an open-faced blueberry pie, and only a quarter of the blueberries were cooked then folded into the remaining fresh blueberries which were then poured into a precooked shell. Blueberries were on special at the grocery store that week, so I decided to take a chance.

One bite of that pie and I was hooked. Ditto my husband and children. I think I made that pie once a week for the rest of the summer. All those antioxidants in the blueberries, after all. Only C claimed to be sick of it by September.

With this pie, the burst of fresh blueberries rules the palate. Just enough sweet, but not too much. It's a treat. When I saw blueberries on special at the grocery store yesterday, I knew that I would make this pie today.

So if you can get your hands on the recipe for "Open Faced Blueberry Pie" from The Pie and Pastry Bible, try it.

And if you need a good pie crust recipe, "Basic Pie Crust 1" from Judy Rosenberg's Rosie's Bakery All-Butter, Fresh Cream, Sugar-Packed, No-Holds-Barred Baking Book has never let me down. You can even do most of it in a food processor.

A Crack in the Fishbowl

It sounds like a metaphor for serious life stuff, but it's not. There really is a crack in our fishbowl.

Back in March, when C went to the awards reception for the state-wide art program, he came home with two goldfish. Yes, that's right...a small trophy, a certificate and two goldfish.

Their names are "Pasta" and "Noodle." I like to say they have the same name, but in different languages.

Anyway, sometime in the last few weeks the corner/edge of the fishbowl sustained some kind of an impact. It's barely visible, and the fishbowl is not in danger of shattering at any moment. It is, however, leaking just enough to be noticeable. We tried duct tape, but that didn't work - it managed to leak right through. (Maybe just plain more duct tape?) We have a plate under the fishbowl now to catch the leaking water, and empty it every few days. We continue to change the water and feed the fish as usual. Just this ongoing slow leak.

I keep meaning to get to the pet store to get a new bowl, but somehow forget each time I am out running errands. I am hoping that by writing about it now, it will be in the front of my brain a little longer, and I'll remember when I am out later this afternoon.

Pasta and Noodle don't seem to be bothered by it. They just keep swimming along.

A Day of Firsts

First day of summer.

First day of summer vacation for the kids.

First time I’ve completed the Concept2 Summer Solstice Row (almost a half marathon).

First daytime beach trip. It was a gorgeous day. Gorgeous.

First time S has gone to the beach diaperless.

First time in a new bathing suit for me. This may turn out to be one of those trying-so-hard-to-look-young-that-she-looks-old pieces of apparel, but I AM NOT FORTY YET!

First sea glass of the year.

First time actually getting in the water for the year. It wasn't so bad. It was kinda warm in spots, probably related to it being near low tide. Usually I can't stand to get in until August, but I did today.

First time C took of his shirt at the beach since 2002. Lots of extra sunscreen on the scar.

C told me something interesting today - related to another first. Apparently the first, or one of the first transatlantic telegraph cables terminates in our town. He said he'd point out the cable house tomorrow when we go to the beach.

It was also a day for a last. It was my friend M's last day in town. She and her brood (including six kids, 2 weeks to 13 years) are moving to Texas. I stopped by to give her another hug on the way to the beach. I'm excited for her. I am worried for her. I am going to miss her.

Illuminated

In college I majored in art history and studio art.

Yeah, really useful stuff.

In my studio classes, I focused on printmaking. Lithography in particular, held my interest – lithography the traditional way with the big stones and the physically intensive work to create the image. I liked the challenge of creating textures on a two dimensional surface. I also worked a fair bit in intaglio, and it was easier to create textures on the metal plates with acids and tools found at the hardware store.

As a home print studio isn’t really realistic (with a standard size press), I had to drop printmaking in the forms I enjoyed when I graduated college. I also had to make a living. Since then, the creative side of me has been limited to choosing paint colors, various arts and crafts, mostly with the kids, and fiber arts (which I have loved, but it’s different).

Now, many years after my last foray into the print studio, we are developing a friendship with the family of one of M’s preschool friends. Really nice, fun people. He is an art teacher, and when we last had dinner we discussed a method that has been developed to create litho images using polyester plates and a laser printer and hand held tools to transfer the image to paper. He sent me links to appropriate information to get me started.

So basically I have no excuse not to get back to it.

As such, I’ve been thinking about what I would like to image. What is it that interests me now? What kind of images am I attracted to? What speaks to me? What of my old works do I still like? I’ve also been thinking about the history side of my degree. What were the periods and themes I connected with most?

I feel a bit embarrassed that I can’t necessarily remember some of those details. I’m disconnected from that time in my life – nine addresses, seven jobs, sixteen years of marriage, three kids and many life events later, art appreciation and participation doesn’t happen in expected or even concrete ways.

Clicking through the Internet today, I was reminded of one of my art historical interests – the Lindisfarne Gospels. Illuminated manuscripts of the late 7^th/early 8^th century produced on the island of Lindisfarne in Northumbria, northeast England.

These pages are amazing. Intricate, colorful manuscripts of the gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. The techniques used to create the materials were intensive as the creation of the words and images themselves – the tanning of sheepskin to create the parchment, grinding of minerals and plant material to create the pigments, work by candlelight and no room for error. In the world of Celtic illuminated manuscripts, the Book of Kells is more well-known, but the Lindisfarne Gospels are what hooked me.

And it occurred to me that my affinity for illuminated manuscripts and printmaking and works on paper ties in to my life now in a way. I work with words, print, and paper, and as dry as the subject matter can be, the process of creating a document is still a creative one.

So maybe I’m not so far away from that time when I would look at a space or a scene and see that space or scene, but also see the light and the shadows and the structure and the composition and the texture. Creativity is a muscle that I need to exercise more and frequently. Maybe I can light that creative spark again.

Speaking of Peonies

They came in well this year.

This and That

Again, plenty happening but no time to sit and reflect - much less come up with coherent and interesting writing. I've taken to keeping a small notepad in my bag to write ideas and notes. And shopping lists.

Some highlights:

• A coworker turned me on to a farmer's market near the office. Fresh zucchini flowers + fresh goat cheese = yummy dinner of squash blossom fritters and salad.
  
• Little league baseball season almost over. Woohoo! It's so fun, but tiring, too. C's team didn't do so well. M's division doesn't keep score, but if they did, his team would be doing quite well.
  
• School is out on Wednesday. Grades closed over a week ago, so it's been party, party, party. What a terrific use of time. Not.
  
• Just when I thought we had completed potty training successfully...blech.
  
• Peonies.
  
• I bought those plane tickets. Since then, my sister appears to have stopped speaking to me. Again. I know why - I called her on some of her antics. She'll probably call me in a couple of weeks pretending nothing happened.
  
• C and M are excited for the trip, however. I have two months to wrap my head around it and steel myself.
  
• Father's Day was good. We did our traditional day of blintzes and fresh berries for breakfast, cleaning up my mother-in-law's grave, visiting a museum, stopping by a winery, then a beach, finally a nice dinner.
  
• Geocaching is fun.

Full

I’ve sat down to write several times over the last ten days. I deleted everything because re-reads sounded too whiny. Nothing in particular has been wrong. In fact, many things have been quite right. We’ve been very busy and, consequently, very tired.

Then came yesterday – and it was an awesome day.

First of all, yesterday morning was our walk for the hospital. It was a beautiful sunny day, high in the upper-60s/low 70s, slight breeze off the water at times. Stunning day for a long walk. C even wanted to run the last half mile.

We raised over $2400 for the hospital, and bits more still may come in. I’m really proud of C’s efforts. His bake sale at school raised $350 and T-ball coffee sales totaled just over $200 - $550 in dollar and fifty cent increments!

We went to lunch in the city afterward at a funky harborside restaurant. There we ran into two of C’s nurses from the PICU, J and H. It was so fun to see them. They’ve had updates on C, of course, at mobile time each year, but this was the first time they physically saw him since the spring he was sick. It was very exciting for them and for us (C played embarrassed, but I know he thought it was cool, too) and I now have a lovely picture of C with J and H.

After lunch, on a whim, we went over to check out a new museum - rather, an established museum in a stunning new location. We’ve been meaning to go since it opened in December and it was just a five minute walk from the restaurant. This museum is really, really cool. The building is amazing and much of the art on display is very accessible for kids (but not all..ahem).

On the way home, a friend called and their family was heading down to the beach to chill out after a long day of yard work. We decided to join them and it was great. The kids played in the sand while the grown-ups sipped some nice wine. There was even some surf at our normally placid beach, so my husband took the surfboard out and grabbed a couple of waves. I have the pictures to prove it.

We and our friends decided to meet back at our house for pizza dinner on the porch. We chatted until past bedtime for the kids, enjoying the cool evening air. (If you like red wines, the Rombauer Zinfandel is lovely, by the way.)

We fell into bed early but we were still exhausted this morning. It was okay, though, because yesterday was a great day. After the walk, we let go of the to do lists in our heads and let the want tos carry our day instead of the have tos.

Sometimes you just have to do that.

No Forwarding Address

My husband and I used to joke about moving and not telling any of my family members. No notice, no forwarding address, nothing. We wondered how much time it would buy us before we were found - time away from the dramas and crises and guilt and other crap. We also ruled out an entire side of the country for jobs and living in general because it would be too close; they physically could get to us too easily.

I'm having those ideas pass through my mind again. I do love them, don't get me wrong on that. I just don't always like them very much and feel that the 3000 miles of distance is a good thing. It's lots of little things that are happening out there. Dramas. Crises. Guilt. Crap.

C desperately wants to go out for a visit this summer. I'm more than a little mixed. I did go so far as to investigate air travel. Several days ago, I found a spectacular fare. I could get the whole family out on non-stop flights at reasonable times of the day at a reasonable cost. At other times I might have jumped on such tickets, but not this time. I could not compel myself to click Confirm on the order page. Just couldn't.

I want the kids to have good relationships with their relatives; I try not to cloud their perceptions of time out west among family with my prejudices and other crap. But this summer it feels extra hard to keep those lines clear.

I'll probably click Confirm one day soon, and at a much higher price. I'll suck it up, I'll go. I'll do my best to keep on a game face while we are there. I'll even try to enjoy the time, especially with my oldest nephew (he's 20 and loads of fun - going to be in Chicago this summer on a cool internship).

But I also won't be surprised if the daydream of no forwarding address pops into my head on a regular basis.