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It's All Relative

When Gary and I moved to Arizona -- far, far away from any of our family members -- we were DINKs (dual income, no kids).  We were carefree.  We were independent.  We had disposable income.  You know the expression "it takes a village"?  Well, we didn't need a village.  Just a few friends, frequent dinner reservations, and a phone to keep in touch with our families.

What we failed to appreciate at the time was how the arrival of children in our lives would so dramatically change things. Turns out, those pesky little punks need to be supervised and cared for at all times.  Who knew?  When Julie had various colds and coughs and couldn't go to pre-school for a day or a week, when Daniel had colic for approximately 2 years, when Gary and I both had business trips scheduled at the same time, we found ourselves wondering how in the world we found ourselves so far away from the most important villagers of all, our families.  Because it also turns out that grandma can't babysit by phone.

More importantly, though, I often regret that we moved so far from our families because the kids (and us parents) do not get to see our relatives frequently.  So, we do try to at least visit as frequently as we can, as we did on Fall Break last week when we visited Vancouver.

Our kids always love such visits because they have some pretty terrific relatives.  Take, for instance, Grandma Elsie.  Grandma Elsie was a school teacher and she has that gift that some teachers have of sneakily teaching the kids something while they're having fun.  For instance, while we were on Vancouver Island, Grandma Elsie brought along the game Vancouver Islandopoly to the hotel where we were staying.
  In addition to learning about Vancouver Island, we learned about money and banking. This young gentleman was our banker.  I have to say that he was a really, really good banker who tried to slip a little extra money to his mom when she was short on cash:

We learned about buying property, mortgaging property and wheeling and dealing.  Auntie Kim was a particularly good wheeler/dealer:

We learned about risk vs. reward.  This young lady was very risk averse and enjoyed stock-piling cash:

We learned about each others' hidden aptitudes and talents, like Grandma Elsie's wicked Ninja moves. 

In the end, though, we mainly learned that even though our "village" is spread over a wide territory, it's still there supporting us and helping to care for our children.  That's what family is all about.

Vancouver

We went on a trip to Vancouver last weekend for Fall Break.  While I like living in the Phoenix area, one reason I enjoy visiting Vancouver is that it is, essentially, the polar opposite of Phoenix.

In Phoenix, it is a hot, dry desert.  In Vancouver, it rains. A lot.

In Phoenix, it is hot, dry desert.  In Vancouver, there is an ocean.  A big one.

If we left our Phoenix-area home and wanted to stroll around town, we'd have to go 2 miles before hitting a shop.  And it would be a chain grocery store and gas station.  In Vancouver, there is vibrant, diverse street life everywhere you turn.

In Phoenix, there is no White Spot.  In Vancouver, there are several.  This is very important.

In Phoenix, we have no relatives to hang out with (sniff).  In Vancouver, we do. 

 

In Vancouver in the winter, the city is full of Canadians.  In Phoenix in winter, the city is, um, full of Canadians.  Okay, so maybe the cities do have some similarities this time of year.

 

 

 

TGIS(ummer)

I know lots of parents are relieved when their kids go back to school in the fall, but I for one am thankful that it's finally summer. Sure, it's 110 degrees here in Arizona.  Yes, the kids are already driving each other crazy.  But when the alarm clock goes off each morning I smile, grateful for another day in which there are NO MORE SCHOOL PROJECTS. 

Let's see, this year alone there was the weather report/broadcast; the "photo essay"; the influential person biography; the Native American peoples project (in our case a fictional newspaper of an ancient tribe), the school vice-president candidate speech and, of course, the science fair project.  Actually, "school project" is a misnomer for these tasks because none of the actual work on these projects occurred in school.  It was all at home -- with an emphasis on parent participation.

When I first heard about the science fair, I was hoping (for once) we'd try something easy like, maybe, sprouting seedlings under different conditions.  But no.  Julie elected, instead, something more challenging:  teaching her guinea pig to run through a maze.  Here are our 2 guinea pigs:

 

Since we had to document each step or our experiment, in accordance with proper scientific method, I can share the process with you here in case you want to try this at home.

Step 1.  Buy $100 worth of supplies.  No school project can ever be completed for less.  If you've only spent $97.50, you will assuredly find that you run short on poster board and will need an emergency last minute trip to the craft store.  And then to Walmart because if it's a real emergency last minute trip, you will find the craft store closed.

Step 2.  Hot glue your fingers.  Designing and building a maze is much trickier than I expected.  First, we had to figure out a maze design (skill level: moderately difficult), then we had to convert the 8x11" paper maze into guinea pig-sized maze dimensions (skill level: extremely challenging for lawyers who became lawyers because of their lack of math skillz), and then we had to build the maze out of poster board , a craft knife and hot glue (skill level: hazardous). A tangential observation:  hot glue has much more of an affinity gluing human fingers together than gluing together 2 pieces of poster board (perhaps an experiment for next year's science fair?).

Step 3.  Bribe your pig.  Put lettuce at the end of the maze and your guinea pig at the beginning.  This is the fun step where you put your pig into the maze and watch her gallop off in search of lettuce.  Except for one thing:  guinea pigs are the most timid animals on earth.  Our pig, Patch, huddled in the corner for approximately 30 minutes, completely unwilling to move, aside from occasionally trying to look over the top of the wall.  Here she is:

Step 4.  Bribe your pig more directly.  It turns out pigs are not masters of subtlety.  Here is Daniel luring along our other pig, Curly. 

Step 5.  Record results.  It took Patch over 40 minutes to finish the maze the first time, but after a few tries, she made it through in under 2 minutes.  Scientific success!

   

The finish
 

Step 6.  Allow your child to bring the pig into school for the science fair (which was their real motive for selecting this whole project in the first place).

Step 7.  Thank your lucky stars that another year of school projects is over.

"European" Vacation IV

I know some of you readers will be as shocked as we were that after a couple days we discovered that were weren't in the real Europe at all, but some glitzy simulation of Europe. I knew those ads for a beautiful "Venetian" hotel and "Paris" only a few short hours from Phoenix were too good to be true.  Some small points of clarification, for future reference:

• You cannot drive to the real Europe from Arizona, especially in a minivan, because the real Europe is not located in the Southwestern US.  Turns out, it's actually located in Europe.
• Venice and Paris are not dominated by casinos. In fact, the real Eiffel Tower does not even have a single giant casino attached to it at all.
• Venice's sky is not painted on a ceiling.

Believe me, folks, once we discovered that we were not actually in the real Europe, we immediately struck out for a much more authentic Spring Break locale: India.

Okay, okay. We didn't really go there either.  Once we discovered we were in that ultimate party town, Las Vegas, we just decided to embrace it and "do" the whole Vegas thing.  Thus, we went to see the Blue Man Group (which we loved).  [As an aside: Does anyone other than lawyers use the word "thus"?].  And thus, we went to Siegfried & Roy's Secret Garden to see the famed white tigers.

They even simulate the tigers in Vegas:

The real "baby" tigers were especially cute although awfully big for 9 months old.

\

There were lions too.  This guy seemed like he'd seen it all -- Vegas will do that to you after a while.

 

And the fish they raise to feed the big cats:

 

I jest.  The dolphins were on display too -- and you could see them underwater which was really cool.

I'm pretty sure the original Flipper retired to Vegas, because this looks just like him.

So, who needs to fly all the way to the real Europe or Asia when, in Vegas, you can visit Venice, Paris and India all in one day and still have time left over for dinner and a show?   Although in the end, you may end up traveling just as far -- just to get to your room.   We must have stayed in the same room as Clark Griswold because the directions to his room in Vegas Vacation were pretty much the same as ours:

Now in order to get to your rooms, you're going to have to go this way through the casino, veer to the left. Take a sharp right at the first giant palm tree. You'll see a group of blackjack tables. Not baccarat, not craps, blackjack. Keep going, then wind around to your left. If you get to the pool, you've gone too far, back up and take another right. You'll see a bank of elevators. Those aren't your elevators, stay away from them. But keep going, you'll see another bank of elevators, the gold elevators, those are yours. Take them up to the tenth floor, take a right at the end of the hall and you'll find your room. Any questions?

Which brings me to a key question, friends:  which was your favorite National Lampoon vacation movie and do you relate to the Griswolds as much as I do?

"European" Vacation III

Not content just to visit the shops and canals of "Venice" on Spring Break, we decided to swing by "France" also.  Aside from an odd fixation with casino gaming that we had also noticed in Venice, what stood out in my mind about France was breakfast.  We ate at this lavish restaurant, called Bouchon.  This was Bouchon -- please disregard the pint-sized international jet-setters looking bored with just another lavish "European" dining experience.  It's not easy when your mean parents drag you all over the world on vacation.

Turns out breakfast at Bouchon wasn't boring at all.  First of all, I would have just been happy drinking in the beautiful surroundings while drinking the latte I ordered (although, honestly, I'd be happy pretty much anywhere with latte in hand).  But at the same time, Julie was discovering the epicurean delight of the chocolate croissant -- reminding me of the first time I ate a chocolate croissant in Paris.  It was a revelation.  The flaky, buttery pastry.  The semi-sweet chocolate.  It made me question every breakfast choice I'd made up until that point in my life, put 2.1 pounds on my hips instantly, and caused me to seriously re-examine the second law of thermodynamics.  I'm sure Julie's little world was rocked as thoroughly as mine was -- she just isn't fully aware of it yet.

Daniel had fruit and ham. Sadly, aside from candy, the boy has not yet developed a meaningful relationship with food.  His modest goal in life is to get something to eat without ever again having to taste something new.  Thus, fruit and ham, thoroughly vetted and approved by the Extremely Picky Children's Standards Institute.

I was feeling penitent after the pasta in Venice the night before, so I had oatmeal.  But, not just oatmeal -- glorious French oatmeal.  With brown sugar and candied orange peel.  It was also a revelation. 

Yes, I have at lot of food-related revelations.  It's a problem.

Gary also ate something but I was too busy re-examining the meaning of the universe in light of my French oatmeal that I failed to register it or take a picture of it, so it has been lost in the mists of time.

I'm sure there were many other wonders of "France" to be seen, such as that pointy tower we glimpsed somewhere or other, but we were off to more exotic lands for the rest of our trip.   More to come . . .

In the meantime, readers,  feel free to share what is the best breakfast (or food revelation) you've ever had?

National Lampoon's "European" Vacation II

I know you are all dying to know where we ended up on our Spring Break 2010.  Although with all the hints I dropped about it being a "European" vacation and canals and all, you really should have guessed it.  But, rather than keep you in suspense, I'll just go ahead with the big reveal:  We went to Venice.

Yes, Venice.  City of Canals; Queen of the Adriatic.  I know it seems far to go for Spring Break, but we are daring adventurers, after all.  Of course, once we arrived, we had to abandon our wheeled vehicle for more appropriate transportation. We switched to that most beautiful and iconic vehicle of Venice, the gondola. 

We were poled under bridges,

 

past the beautiful plazas full of people, shops and restaurants

Our rugged gondolier sang for us.  He was born in Rome and was delighted to hear we had come all the way from Arizona.  His prior passengers were on their honeymoon from New Zealand.

 

What's that? You didn't know the water in Venice was so blue, the paint so perfect, the lighting so "indoorsy" and the Gondoliers so stereotyped? 

Well, ahem, let's keep moving because we have a lot more to see.

Our hotel room was elegant and lovely in that ornate, gilded Italian style.  Daniel proclaimed it the most beautiful hotel room he's ever stayed in and wondered why we couldn't just live there forever.  And, really, that is a very good question.

 

The bathroom (darn those mirrors).

But, we couldn't just stay in boring old Venice for our whole Spring Break. What kind of lame vacation would that be?  So, be sure to stay tuned to see where else we went on the next day of our "European" Vacation.

National Lampoon's European Vacation

It's time for another round of that exciting game:  Guess Where We Went on Spring Break!  And believe me, people, it isn't anyplace nearly as obvious as the Grand Canyon where we went for the last round of this popular game.  This was much more exotic.  There were canals, there were cherubs painted on the ceilings, there were glorious fountains and scenic plazas.

But, before we get there, I'll tell you about the first stop on our journey -- lunch in a remote, quaint town.  The name of the restaurant roughly translates to House Berlin. It was a small place -- about 6 tables, lots of dark wood, a table full of elderly locals leisurely sipping beer and chatting in the corner.  I am sad to say that I do not have any pictures of this atmospheric establishment because within moments of our arrival, Daniel cut his finger open on a piece of broken glass that was somehow wedged into the back of his chair (and Gary -- for solidarity reasons I presume -- tried to recreate the accident and cut his finger open too) so we decided to beat a hasty retreat from the House Berlin to go in search of medical supplies.

After securing bandaids we wandered around town, dazed and bloodied, until we spotted the perfect haven for us to sit, regroup and have lunch.  The name roughly translates to the Horseshoe Cafe.

Speaking of atmospheric, this place is a wonderful re-creation of a cowboy restaurant that you might find out in the desert somewhere (do cowboys eat in restaurants out in the desert?).  There was cowhide on the walls and beef on the menu.

 

As we Americans (and Americanized Canadians) are wont to do, we fortified ourselves with burgers and hotdogs (and since I am all about full disclosure these days -- salad and soup).  We planned our itinerary and played that quintessential cowboy game, Uno.  Whoever suggested Uno is Carribean anyway?

 

Patched up and fed, we headed back out on our journey to our final destination.  Through rain, sun, snow, mountain passes, past dizzying bridges and crystal-blue lakes we forged on.  Ipods and DSi's gave some of us the strength to keep going.

 

I took this one over the back of my seat:

 
So, is anyone prepared to venture a guess yet as to where we ended up? 

Mean Mom

I learn so many things from the comments that you kind readers leave on my blog.  One lesson from last week:  it really riles up the grandparents when you compare their grandchildren to weeds.  And, while those grandparents can be protective of their grandpunks, they have a point -- I am a mean parent.  I do, for example, occasionally make the kids stay in less-than-5-star hotels when we're on vacation and I take pictures of them when they can't stand up in their brand-new rollerblades.  I leave them home for a weekend with their father knowing full-well that dinner might include Twinkies and donut holes (and since another comment demanded full disclosure:  fruit).

But that's not all.  I sometimes also {tut, tut} make them exercise.  Take the Run 4 Ryan House, for example.  We received a notice from the kids' school asking people to come out on a Saturday to  participate in a 1 mile fun run to support Ryan House, a new respite home for children with life threatening conditions and their families.  In my ongoing but mostly futile quest to follow the parenting guidebooks, I thought this would be a great, wholesome, healthy family activity.

My husband was on-board, rugged outdoorsman and treadmiller that he is. One of my children was on-board.  She likes to run; she likes to participate; she likes to raise money for charity.  This was right up her alley.

The other child -- erm, not so much.  He has lately gotten it in his head that Saturday is the day when he gets to "make-up" all of the time he was allotted for each weekday to play Wii but for some reason didn't use up.  He seems to believe that the right to "bank" his Wii-time is some immutible law of justice akin to life, libery and the pursuit of happiness.  Plus, the poor kids was soooooooooooo tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiired.  I mean, I'm sure we can all remember how utterly exhausting it was being a 7 year old, right?  He had barely enough strength to push the buttons on the Wii, so expecting him to run on Saturday morning was obviously out of the question.

But as I mentioned, I am mean, so we went anyway.  I figured our boy would change his mind about the run because (1) we were fueling up at Dunkin Donuts (in complete contravention of the parenting guidebooks) which would provide enough sugar rush to see him through; (2) he would be inspired by our friend Jason who was running the 5K that was right before our race. 

This is Jason.  As you can see, Jason is blinker. I'm sorry, Jason, if this is the first time you are hearing about this.

And this is Jason's wife, Wanda.  She's there, she's just hiding behind Gary.  But don't worry, I promise you'll get to see Wanda soon.   

I also thought Daniel would get caught up in the excitement of the race when everyone took off running.  He'd want to compete; to keep up with the crowd.  

Let's just say that I was wrong.  Dead wrong.

We lined up at the starting line. He was sooooooooooooooo tired.

 

 

The race started.  He was sooooooooooooo tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiired, he just couldn't run.  There was whining and tears that went on for some time.  Exactly a mile in fact.

Finally, crossing the finish line was the sprinting hare:

Followed by the rugged outdoorsman reveling in his athletic accomplishments and the cranky tortoise:

So, yes, I admit that I do make my children exercise for charitable causes. But, mean as I am, I do have some limits.  For instance, I would never make my children do back-breaking labor like, say, just to pick a random example off the top of my head, shoveling and hauling gravel.

Or would I?  MUAH-HA-HA-HA-HA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

No Moms Allowed

I went on a girls' weekend away with two of my girlfriends a couple weekends ago.  Of course, we were being completely responsible and up-standing citizens -- eating healthy, hiking, discussing the important political and social issues of our time (such as the new healthcare legislation and, oh, whether we've gotten over Hugh Grant's previous indiscretion or whether he still seems a bit creepy).

Meanwhile, back at home, apparently the husbands and kids had a wild rumpus going on. It was difficult to make out exactly what was happening when we called home (as we responsible, upstanding citizens do) to check whether everyone was healthy and in bed at a reasonable hour.  But the screaming, giggling and sound of running feet in the background definitely raised suspicions that our loved ones might not be comporting themselves in an entirely responsible and up-standing fashion.

This was confirmed when I arrived home to find the following on the kitchen table.

 

Note the tell-tale food stains.  It wasn't too hard to wring a confession out of the youngest miscreants.  They were still a bit peaky and weak from dinner the night before which it turns out consisted of at least the following:

• Jelly beans
• Popcorn
• Doritos
• Donut holes
• Tortilla chips
• Twinkies

Believe me readers, after this shameful episode, next year things are most definitely going to change.  We aren't going to stand for our kids eating all that junkfood.

Instead, next year we girls are bringing all the junkfood with us.  To protect the children, of course.  It's only what any responsible and up-standing citizen/mom would do.

Let's Roll [erskate]

Granted, my childhood feels like a long, long time ago, but I do have a crystal clear recollection of roller skating a lot.  It didn't seem all that complicated: you clamped those heavy metal skates on your sneakers, pushed off and away you went.  We had an unfinished basement with a smooth concrete floor and my sister Dianne and I would skate like maniacs, whipping ourselves around the corners by holding onto the beams that (come to think of it) were holding up the house.  This would continue until we were exhausted or until our Dad -- sneezing uncontrollably from all the dust -- would "request" that we stop.  Then, we'd head outside and crab-walk our way sideways up to the top of our steep driveway, in order to come bombing back down at supersonic speeds, trying to avoid the car before crashing into the garage door.  Basically, we were awesome roller skaters. 

I'm sure Dianne would back me up on that.  Assuming she didn't suffer memory loss from that time we went to an actual roller rink and she wiped out and hit the back of her head resulting in blood, trauma, an ER visit and stitches.  It's a fact that even awesome roller skaters suffer the occasional injury when they push the limits of their sport.  Just look at Roller Derby.

With this illustrious skating background, I was all nostalgic and excited when Julie received roller skates for Christmas.  She'd be able to have all that wholesome, outdoorsy fun AND take advantage of modern safety equipment such as a helmet.  Plus, the new skates are so hi-tech.  They have straps and levers and laces that make sure they fit your feet like a glove (or, er, a sock, I guess).  They even have a brake!  Dianne and I would have killed for a brake when we were barreling headlong for the garage door.  Plus, the plastic wheels must reduce that metal-against-macadem vibration that left our feet numb and tingling for  hours after we'd take off our skates.

So, on Julie's first outing with the new skates, I strapped and levered and laced her in, fully expecting her to push off and skate away.  I'd proudly relive my days of skating glory through my child -- a new generation to carry on the illustrious family skating tradition.  Instead, there was this:

and this

and finally this:

What is the deal, people?  Are in-line skates harder to master than those old 4 wheelers we used to have?  Is the girl skating challenged? Am I a bad skating teacher (if those who can't do -- teach; then those who do -- can't teach?)? 

Or [shudder] did I really also flail and crawl around like that when I first started skating?

Help me out readers.  I have a reputation to uphold here.

[Note:  No children were hurt in the creation of this blog post.]