Somehow, it wasn't a total disaster, or, how I paid $98 for two stickers for my kids

Last month we went on our final camping trip of the summer.  We went to a place called State Forest State Park, up in the north-central part of the state.  It's a very rugged part of the state, with jagged peaks and moose and lakes full of fish. 

Because we're us, the trip, like every other camping trip we've taken this summer, started out disastrously.

The drive is beautiful, taking you through truly rocky mountains.*

Everything was fine until about a minute before we pulled into our campsite, when it clouded up and started to drizzle.  As soon as we got there, J and I quickly set to work setting up the tent in the rain, which was falling harder and harder with every passing minute.  By the time we were done, it was pouring.  "Torrential downpour" seems like such an overused term, but truly, nothing else describes it.  Plus it was thundering and lightening.  We sat for about 10 minutes in the tent, but there was no sign of any abatement in the storm.  Water was getting into the tent because the wind was whipping so hard, we were already soaked from the tent-assembly process, and it was dinnertime.  We had no fire, and thus no food.

I said, "this is crazy.  Let's drive up to the next town and get some dinner.  Maybe after a while the rain will ease up."

We drove to Walden and had burgers (me and J), grilled cheese (the kids), and wine (me) at the Moose Creek Cafe (it's very moose-y up there).

J and Zeke hug it out at dinner. 

It was still raining buckets by the time it was getting dark.

"Motel?"  I offered to J.

"Yep."

So we slept the night at a local inn that looked like a log cabin and offered us 2 bedrooms and a kitchen for $79. We enjoyed hot showers and watched some TV and the kids bounced on the beds and giggled.

We went back to the campsite the next day and found the tent to have a little bit of water in it, but nothing terrible.  We proceeded to have a lovely day doing camp-y things.

We checked out a wildlife preserve.

We went to the Moose Visitor Center.

We aired out the tent and its contents.

 We built a fire.

 There was a little amphitheater near our site, so the kids put on a show.

We saw an eagle.

We went exploring in the woods.

We found a beautiful lake.

Zeke made a friend who let him help with some fishing.

Muscles were flexed.

Jagged peaks were admired.

This part of the Rockies is famous for its wildlife, so we were hoping to see some moose.  The campsite host told us that the best time to look was right around dusk, and told us some of the spots where they tend to be seen.  He warned us, though, that they tend to keep to themselves and it's not unusual to go looking for them and come up empty.

Well, we hadn't made it 5 minutes up the road when we saw some hanging out in a field.

Bull.

Cow.

 Pretty freaking cool.  And then the next morning, J and I were up before the kids and enjoying a cup of coffee when we spotted another one in a meadow right near our campsite.

It was magical.

We had some stuff to do back in Denver, so we packed up early and hit the road (it was about a 3 hour drive).  I drove.  The bulk of the drive is spent on a county road winding through the mountains until you hit the interstate, and the posted speed limit is 40.  On parts of the road, you really need to go slowly because of the steep turns, but on other parts, driving that slowly was painful to me.  I bragged to J about how I hadn't gotten a speeding ticket in over 20 years.

And then was pulled over for speeding.

The cop was really nice, and I fully admitted that I had been going too fast, and apologized.  He chatted with the kids and then wrote me a ticket for a full 15 MPH slower than I was going, so I wouldn't get too many points on my license.  My fine would be $98. I thanked him, and he asked if the kids wanted some stickers.  I said, "sure, who doesn't love a sticker?"

J pointed out that since we were getting two of them, it was only $49 apiece.  We told that to the cop and he cracked up, and then we all went on our way (at the speed limit).

The stickers are now displayed on our fridge, reminders of a lovely weekend that could have been a fiasco, but somehow wasn't.

*This road is actually now closed due to damage from the recent flooding.  :(

They say it's your birthday, we're gonna have a good time

My dearest Josephine, you are now four years old.  

In the last year, so much has changed, and so much of your you-ness has revealed itself so vividly.

You are fiercely independent, wanting to do things by yourself.  Sometimes you are OK with accepting help from Daddy or Zekey or me, but often being offered help pisses you off to no end.  "I CAN DO IT MAMA!  LEAVE ME ALONE!"

A part of that independence is an increasing willingness to just go off and entertain yourself.  I'll find you in your room or sitting on the floor somewhere, coloring or playing with blocks or toys or "reading" a book, all while singing to yourself.

Speaking of reading and singing, you apparently have inherited my ability to quickly memorize almost anything you hear.  So after reading a book to you two or three times, the next time we read, you will recite the book along with me, verbatim.  Same with movies and songs.  You'll recite the dialogue as you watch.  Or be sitting in the car, or in the grocery cart at Target, and suddenly start singing a Katy Perry song at the top of your lungs. It never ceases to amaze or amuse me.

You and your brother love Katy Perry beyond all sense, and want to send her presents and invite her to our house.

Your relationship with your brother continues to be a source of great joy to me.  While you engage in occasional bickering, you really do love each other like crazy, and you're so sweet to each other.  You snuggle together, play together, giggle together, pretend to be mommy and baby, run around at the park, swim, and do everything else together.  You are each other's best friend, and it's wonderful.

You have a great sense of adventure, a great sense of humor, and are a little bit nuts.  Your hair is never brushed, and when we go camping (which you love), by the third day you wander around looking like Central Casting sent over a street urchin from the set of Oliver Twist, complete with scruffy hair, dirty clothes and soot on your face.  You and Zeke like to bounce around on the furniture, jumping from one surface to another, doing flips, wrestling, and knocking each other around, all while giggling maniacally.  You have this hilarious evil laugh that sounds like an extremely gutteral "BAAAAAAAAAAAH hahahahaha!"  If I don't know where you are, all I have to do is follow the laugh.

But you are still my little snuggle bug.  My favorite time of day is when I wake you up for school in the morning, and you wrap your long, gangly limbs around me and bury your face in my shoulder.  We give each other a big squeeze, and then just sit like that for a minute or two.  We also have a new good-bye ritual at school, in which I will put on some lipstick and then kiss you on the backs of your hands, so you have kiss marks to carry with you throughout the day.

You see good in everyone and everything.  You remark on how beautiful people are  ("Mama, you're very beautiful, and so is Mimi"), revealing your own beauty all the more.

 I love you to the moon and back times a million billion plus one, my little monkey.

Love, Mama

Aussie Word of the Day, Unmentionables Edition

It's been a while since I did an "Aussie Word of the Day" post.  I think at this point I'm so accustomed to Aussie-isms that I now use them myself.  More than once have J and I been discussing the timing of completing a particular activity, and I've said, "no worries, I'll take care of it this arvo."

Now Zeke is getting into it.  He finally embraced riding his bike without training wheels about a month ago, and now rides at every opportunity he gets.  He's allowed to ride around parts of the neighborhood by himself, and many afternoons, J picks him up at school by riding his bike and carrying Zeke's bike with him (dude is seriously strong) so that he and Zeke can ride home together.

Apparently on one of these trips, J explained to Zeke that an Aussie-ism for bike is "treadly."  Zeke thought this was hysterical and now uses it at every chance he gets.  "Mama, Daddy and I are going out to ride our treadlies," followed by uncontrollable giggles.

He has taken to asking J how to say different things in Australian, and takes great pleasure in working his new vocabulary into conversation.

The other morning I was getting him and Josie ready for school, and brought down their clothes to put on while they watched the Sunny Side Up Show.  Zeke looked at his pile of clothes and said,
"time to put on my Reg Grundies!" 

I was definitely giggling hysterically along with him.

It was a head-scratcher, for sure.

We went to New Hampshire last month for our annual family beach vacation.  Which was lovely.  Except that Josie and I came home with lice.

Josie started scratching her head the last few days, but both kids were spending the bulk of their time in the water or rolling around in the sand, so I figured it was salt and sand.

But then it continued when she got home.  And her first day back at school, I got a call from the preschool director informing me she had nits and bugs in her hair.

So I dutifully went to the Walgreen's and bought a lice kit and proceeded to treat everyone in the family.  Which sucked, because our gas got shut off by mistake while we were on vacation and it hadn't been turned back on, so we had no hot water.  And even though it's summer, the cold water was really cold, making it both uncomfortable and difficult for purposes of combing through hair that has just been treated with pesticides.

Plus, there was no way in hell either child was going to get in an icy cold shower or bath, so I had to wash their hair out in the sink.  And Josie's hair is super-fine, but she also has a TON of it, so it tangles very easily, especially when we haven't used conditioner.

I spent two hours combing through her hair with a lice comb while she cried.  It was horrible.  It hurt to do my own head as well, but my pain threshold is a bit higher than hers.

All was well for a week or so.  Then we got another call from the preschool director.  

I went back to Walgreen's, got another kit, and went through the process again. At least this time we had hot water, so it wasn't as awful as before.  But I still spent 3 hours combing through Josie's hair.

A week later - same deal.  The director is getting annoyed with me.  And I was about to lose my shit.

The prospect of going through the whole process again was more than I could handle.  I googled "professional lice removal denver," called the company at the top of the list, and arranged for the lady to come to the house that night.

It turns out that the pros don't use the pesticide shit you get at the drugstore.  They use oil (our lady used olive oil).  Apparently, about 20 years ago, there was some concern about the lice treatments that were available, namely that they were too strong.  So the companies that manufactured the lice removal kits simply diluted the stuff so it was half as strong as what they had been selling before (which, for all its toxicity, worked).  Predictably, there were certain lice that were strong enough to resist the diluted strain, so what has developed over the last 20 years is a breed of "super lice" that is largely immune to the chemical treatment.

The best treatment now is to just smother the suckers.

So Lice Lady sat all of us down and saturated our heads with olive oil and then meticulously combed all of the nits and bugs out of our hair.  

Except that, oddly, Josie didn't have much going on.  She had about 3 live lice and 6 or 7 nits, which would indicate that she was getting reinfested by someone else, rather than being the source of an infestation.  And like her, I had a bug or two and a couple of nits, but nothing else.

She and I went upstairs to wash and dry our hair.  In the meantime, Lice Lady started working on Zeke.

When Josie and I came downstairs again, Lice Lady said, "looks like we found the culprit."

It was Zeke all along.  Zeke, who had never once scratched his head, who never indicated any discomfort and on whom I never saw anything.  His head was crawling with them.

3 hours and $300 later, Lice Lady left us bug-free hair and follow-up instructions.  For the past week, we have been oiling up our hair every night, combing through it, and then sleeping with oil-saturated hair to smother anything living in there.  For the next two weeks, we oil up ever other night.  Then we should be OK.

In the meantime, we smell like italian dressing and have super-soft, shiny shiny hair.    

Let your whole life be a song.

My children are always singing.

Which I assume is a good thing.  Someone once told me that humming or singing to oneself is the sign of a happy child.  Or at least, *a* sign of a happy child -- I'm sure it's not the only one. 

Which, cool.  I'll take it.

Most of their references are from kids' movies.  So when Josie and I were in the checkout line at Target the other day and she suddenly burst into a rendition of Katy Perry's "Firework," much to the delight of the checkout lady, in her mind she wasn't singing Katy Perry.

"It's the song from Afro Circus, Mama!"

They walk around singing "Over the Rainbow" because they've watched The Wizard of Oz so many times.

But we also listen to the radio when we're riding in the car, so for a while Zeke's song of choice was AWOLNATION's "Sail."

Josie digs Mumford and Sons and will go around singing "The Cave."

They're also keeping me up on what's new and hip.

Zeke came home the other day from a camp fieldtrip singing, "she's up all night til the sun, I'm up all night to get some, she's up all night for good fun, I'm up all night to get lucky.."

Which was my introduction to Daft Punk.  Daft Punk is awesome.  (Also, is there any hit song this summer that Pharrell isn't associated with??  And speaking of Pharrell, no way is that guy 40 years old.  He looks 12.  He clearly drinks vampire blood.  Anyway.)  We play "Get Lucky" and dance around the living room.  The kids have some good moves.

Music was a big form of interaction with my parents when I was growing up.  I got my love of bluegrass and 60s rock from my parents.  They exposed me to the Beatles and Willie Nelson and Dolly Parton and Traffic and Motown.  Its fun to be experiencing that with my kids now.

I thought of all of this when I saw last night's Colbert Report.  It's too good not to share.  Happy Wednesday, everyone.

I should print bumper stickers.

All I can say is, I'm really glad that when we went to Fake Steamboat, I didn't know what Real Steamboat looked like, because I would have cried.

I've been to some extraordinarily beautiful places in my life -- southwestern Australia, the Carpathian Mountain region of Romania, the northern mountains and lakes of India, just to name a few.  North-central Colorado gives all of those places a run for their money.

We experienced HORRIBLE traffic on the way out, but we finally arrived at our campsite late Friday night.  It was too dark to see our surroundings, but we were way out of town and the stars were incredible.  Millions of bright stars everywhere, plus we could clearly see the Milky Way.  It was hard not to spend all of our time looking up at the sky.

When we woke up in the morning, we discovered that our campsite was in the middle of a field of wildflowers.

A couple hundred yards away was the head of a little hiking trail that the kids couldn't get enough of.

No matter where we looked, the views were spectacular.

We went into town on Saturday and went tubing on the Yampa River.

That night we made a huge campfire and looked at the stars and made wishes.

We finished the trip by going to see Fish Creek Falls.

When we were driving up on Friday, Zeke asked about dying and heaven.  He's been all into talking about dying lately, because I guess he's realizing that he is mortal.  He asked about heaven, which I was having a hard time explaining well, given that as a Jew, I don't believe in heaven and haven't really given it much thought.

As we were talking, Josie started to cry.

"What's the matter, sweetheart?"  I asked.

"I don't want to go to heaven.  I want to go camping!" 

Amen, little girl.

The real one this time. Also, trust, but verify.

Over July 4th weekend, we decided to take the kids camping.  We figured they're old enough, they love being outside, and it would be fun.

We decided to go to Steamboat Springs, up in the north-central part of the state.  It's a beautiful town up in the hills, and spectacular in the summer.  High alpine meadows full of wildflowers, lots of stuff to do, and a good arts/music scene.  Sam Bush, whose music I've loved since high school, was doing an outdoor concert the night we were due to arrive, so we were excited to be up in the mountains out of the heat, in a pretty, relatively lush area, listening to music and doing fun things.

J called the Colorado parks and rec department to reserve a campsite in one of the state parks, and they put us on a site that they said was about 20 miles outside of town.  Perfect.

We loaded up the car and started the drive.  The kids were crazy-excited and we were all looking forward to a fun weekend.

The drive, which is about 3 hours or so, is beautiful.  Even just 20 minutes outside of Denver, we were all hit once again with how we live in such a gorgeous place.  We sang songs and played hysterical games of 20 Questions (it was Zeke's turn and we were all stumped and asked for a hint.  Zeke said, "it starts with a 'b' and rhymes with 'wutton,'" which for some reason had us all in stitches).  We looked out the window and admired the scenery.

When we were about 30 minutes outside of Steamboat, I plugged the address of the campgrounds into my phone so we could get specific navigation to where we were going.

My phone told me we were still 3 1/2 hours away.

"What the fuck??"  I said.  "J, are you sure that's the right address and name of the campground?"

"Yeah, I wrote it down on that piece of paper.  The lady said it was in a town just outside of Steamboat."

"And you're sure it's 'Rifle'?"

"That's what she told me."

For those of you not from these parts, here's a map of Colorado to give you a sense of what we're talking about.  "A" is Steamboat.  "B" is Rifle.  The route from Denver to Steamboat is in red, and from Steamboat to Rifle is in blue.  Plus, Steamboat is up in the mountains and is cooler and greener and prettier.  Rifle is in a very hot and dry part of the state -- no alpine meadows full of wild flowers or anything like that.

In other words, not only is Rifle Gap State Park not "just outside of Steamboat," it's fucking NOWHERE NEAR STEAMBOAT.

J felt really awful about not double-checking the location before we left, and I was a bit miffed, but honestly, why shouldn't he be able to rely on the person you get on the other end of the line when you call the State of Colorado's official parks department, to reserve one of their official campsites in one of their official state parks?  People come here from all over the world to ski and hike and camp and fish and mountain bike.  The people at the parks department have clearly dealt with folks who don't know Colorado well; they should be relied upon to tell people accurately where their reservations are.  So even though J was beating himself up a bit, it wasn't really his fault.

But in any event, what to do?

We decided to go to the visitor's center in Steamboat to figure out what our options were.  When we told the lady there what happened, she was incredulous that we had been told that Rifle was just outside of Steamboat.  She gave us a list of local campsites and we started calling, but of course, on July 4th weekend, there wasn't an available campsite anywhere.  We then called the U.S. Forest Service and asked what our options were -- they said that we could camp anywhere in the national forest boundaries, but because of fire restrictions (we've had some bad wildfires this summer, if you haven't heard), we wouldn't be able to make a fire.  Fires are only allowed in officially sanctioned campsites.  So we wouldn't be able to cook or roast marshmallows or anything like that, which would rule out a major reason that Josie was even interested in camping (marshmallows).  That seemed like a pain in the ass, especially with the kids.

I said to the kids, "we can see if we can find a hotel room to stay in.  We can still go hiking and do things like that, but we won't be sleeping in a tent or anything."

The thought of another 3 1/2 hours in the car was a bit more than I could fathom.

"NOOOOO!  Mama, we want to go camping!  Pleeeeeaaaase!"

I looked back at them.  "We've already been in the car a long time.  We'll have to be in the car for another long time if you want to camp.  Do you understand?"

"We'll be good, Mama, we promise!!  We want to camp."

I looked at J and sighed.  "You up for it?"

"I am if you are," he said.

"Ok, let's do it."

So we got back in the car and drove another 3 1/2 hours to Rifle.

At least we got to drive through Glenwood Canyon, which is stunning.

We finally got to Rifle 7 1/2 hours after we left Denver.  The kids were amazing in the car.  I sulked a bit because I really wanted to be in Steamboat, but I got over it.

And as far as the kids were concerned, this was the greatest trip they had ever been on.  There were chipmunks!  And lizards!  And sleeping in a tent!  And a fire!  And dead animal bones!  And swimming!  And waterfalls!  And caves with bats in them!

We had so much fun that we decided to go camping again, this weekend.  To Steamboat. 

The real Steamboat.

I hope you don't mind that I put down in words how wonderful life is while you're in the world

Zeke and Josie went to a birthday party last week, and at the beginning of it, one of the kids was having a hard time.  His dad had just left after dropping him off, and he seemed discombobulated and like he wasn't sure he wanted to be there.  I saw him crying and said to Zeke, "hey, Zekey, Darren looks upset."  Zeke looked over at his friend and immediately went to him.  I watched Zeke put his hand on the kid's shoulder and start talking to him, and after a minute or so, they both walked over to where I was sitting.  "Mama, Darren's going to sit with us for a little while.  I told him I'd share my snack.  Darren, would you like some of my snack?"  Darren smiled shyly and nodded.  After a minute, he was happy and chatty, and he and Zeke went and joined the other kids at the party and had a good time.

And Zeke does this a lot.  When he sees that someone is upset, he makes every effort to comfort them.  When a kid is on the playground and isn't really part of the main action, Zeke invites him or her to join in the game.   He'll introduce himself to whomever is around, show them his toy, chat them up and make them feel included.

Last night J talked to his dad on the phone, for the first time in a while.  His dad has been suffering from a rare disease for about 5 years, and it has ravaged him.  He now has lesions on his brain that have destroyed his equilibrium, so he can't really walk or do any of the activities he used to enjoy.  His cognitive function is also suffering -- when you talk to him (as I did the other night, when he called after J and the kids were asleep), you can tell that he's not all there, not quite "with it."  It's really, really awful.

When J called him back last night, I could immediately tell he was having a rough time.  They talked for a long time, and when they hung up, J sobbed.  Sobbed because he was so sad for his father's condition, because he missed him and hadn't seen him for 2 years.

The kids saw their daddy in tears and immediately sprang into action.  They went and sat next to him, bringing stuffed animals for him to hold.  Josie held his hand and kept kissing it, and said, "Daddy, I love you.  It'll be OK."  And Zeke stayed by his side, smiling at him and chatting with him and patting his arm.  "Daddy, I think you need someone to snuggle you.  Would you like me to snuggle you tonight so you're not sad?"  They gave him hugs and told him jokes and invited him to color and do puzzles.  They stuck by him until he felt better.

Of course I want my children to be smart and successful and good-looking and accomplished.  It's fun to see your kids be good at stuff, and to be admired, plus it's obviously easier to go through life when you're attractive and charismatic and talented.

But mostly, I want them to be kind and decent.  My most earnest discussions with them are about the importance of being fair, and generous, and just.  To stick up for people who are being picked on or who might need some encouragement. 

It makes me so thankful that the lessons appear to be sinking in.

There's nowhere to run and nowhere to hide where the water runs free and the mud starts to slide...

This past weekend I did a 5 mile mud run.  I blogged about it over on my fitness site. 

Trains, planes, automobiles, and then some.

Spring break was spent in Washington, DC (northern Virginia, really) with my parents for four days, and then the remaining three days in New York City.

The transportation was varied and was, for the kiddos, the most exciting part of the trip.

We flew on big airplanes that had animals on the tails.  Zeke and Josie argued over whether the one on our plane was a coyote or a fox.  (It was a fox.)

We rode the Metro in DC, which goes above the ground and below the ground AND IT GOES UNDER A RIVER, MAMA!!

We went to the American History Museum, where you can climb around on an old Good Humor truck.  Inside we saw Dorothy's ruby slippers, which was a very big deal.

And I mean inside the museum, not inside the Good Humor truck.

We rode the Amtrak train to New York City -- an astoundingly civilized way to travel (certainly compared to air travel).  So comfy and stress free.

Josie decided to liven it up a bit by coloring the entire bottom half of her face red right before we had to get in the car to leave for the train station.  She looked like a victim of severe sunburn.  But she didn't care. 

Once in New York we rode in a taxi to Brooklyn (where we were staying courtesy of the generosity of my friend Anne).  When Josie got in the taxi, she gave me a worried look.

"Mama, are we in trouble?"

"No, why?"

"Because this taxi looks like a police car."

(Which begs the question, "how the hell would you know?" but I let it go.)

The next day we rode the subway to go see my brother Sam.  Zeke and Josie made friends on the subway.

When we got off the train, the kids yelled, "Bye!  We love your hair!"

The next day we rode the Staten Island Ferry and saw the Statue of Liberty.

Then the next day we took a car service to the airport, and flew back home.  Where we promptly all climbed into bed and slept (and watched basketball).

That was Zeke, rush chairman, he was damn glad to meet you.

Zeke has always been an extraordinarily social kid.  From the time he was able to demonstrate that he knew people's names and their relationships to each other, he has known the name of every kid and every parent from every school/daycare facility he attended, and they all knew him.  When we walk up to the playground in the morning where his class assembles before the bell rings, he's calling out to everybody -- "hi, Costa!"  "Good morning, Mazzie!"  "What's up, Avery!" and also chatting up their parents, all of whom know his name.

"Who was that?" I'll ask.

"That's Leo's mom.  Her name is Lisa."

He likes everybody and says "hi" to everybody, even our Douchebag Next Door Neighbor.  "Hi, [Douchebag]! We're going to school!  See you later!"

Maybe it's just a function of my generally introverted nature, but I barely know any of the kids' or their parents' names.  I recognize their faces (usually) to say hello, but that's about it.

A few months ago my mom came to town to stay with the kids while J and I went to Vegas for one of my high school reunions.  She took them to the Greek diner on the next block for something to eat.  When they were walking home, Zeke said, "Mimi, come here, I want you to meet the guys in the alley."

Mind you, the kid is 5.  But he's simpatico with the "guys in the alley."

So they went around to the back of the row of stores (where the dumpsters and parking are), and there were three old Greek guys who sit outside on plastic chairs, drinking coffee, smoking cigarettes, and kibbitzing about whatever old Greek guys kibbitz about.  I think one of them owns the diner or something.

Zeke walked up to them, introduced himself with a handshake, and started to chat them up.  Turns out one of them has a granddaughter who goes to Zeke's school, but, as Zeke explained to him, she's in Miss Becky's class, not in his class.  He told them about how he had gone to the zoo and how he liked the science museum, and about what he was doing in school.  After a few minutes, he shook their hands to say goodbye, and went on his way.

I think I have a future senator on my hands, God help me.

Springing Forward

Yesterday was the first day of daylight savings time, and it was glorious.  I absolutely adore having long days.  There are always a few days of feeling surprised by the time -- "holy shit, it's already 7 and I haven't even planned dinner!" -- but the light makes up for it.

Toward mid-afternoon Zeke was having a rough time.  He was tired but refused to nap.  I was doing a workout involving a barbell loaded with heavy weights, so when he tried to come near me for a hug -- something I was unable to give without jeopardizing both of our safety -- I barked at him to stay out of the way, which only made him cry more.  Josie was napping, so J decided it would be a great time for Zeke to get out of the house and burn off some extra energy by sledding and snowboarding. Because it's light for longer, they didn't come home until almost 7. 

We happen to have a Zeke-sized snowboard because J is currently working on a job at a Goodwill distribution facility.  The guys at the facility told J and his coworkers to feel free to take anything that "falls on the floor."  (I'm reminded of that line from Married to the Mob: "Everything we eat, everything we own, everything we wear fell off a truck!")

Over the last three weeks, we have acquired 2 sleds, a Josie-sized suspension bike, a Star Wars Millenium Falcon toy, organizing tools for the cupboards, a London Fog trench coat for J, a J. Crew barn jacket for J, and 4 snowboards - 1 of them Zeke-sized.

It's kind of like the summer that my brother Josh got a job as a garbage man in northern Virginia (back when he was in college).  He kept bringing home goodies for all of us, including a life-sized plastic lobster that my parents still have hanging on the wall of their kitchen.  Eventually, Josh was fired for not having "good rhythm."  My dad was so offended on his behalf that to this day, he refuses to pay for the county garbage collection service -- instead he takes the garbage to the dump himself.

Anyway, the snowboarding lesson was hit or miss.  Because Zeke was tired, he wasn't as keen to try something that would have him falling down and messing up a lot, so mostly they went up and down the hill on the sleds.

The onset of spring in Colorado is sort of a confusing time, weather-wise, because it coincides with when we tend to get our biggest snowstorms.  Saturday it snowed heavily all day, resulting in flight cancellations and highway closures.  Today it was close to 60.  Friday it's supposed to be over 70.  Which means that we'll probably get a blizzard on Sunday.

But the longer days means that warmer weather is indeed coming, and bringing with it biking and hiking and camping and summer picnics.  And Spring Break.

We were thinking about heading somewhere beach-y for Spring Break until we discovered that to get anywhere hot enough, it would have been incredibly expensive because they totally jack up the airfare that one week.  We looked at Puerto Rico, thinking we could get in some good surfing.  The week before Spring Break, the plane tickets were around $500 apiece.  The week of Spring Break, they were $900.  Same with Costa Rica.

So instead of south, we're heading east.  We'll spend a few days in Virginia with my parents, celebrate Passover, go to the Air & Space museum and do other fun things like that.  Then we're going to take the train to New York and spend the rest of the week up there.  The kids have never been, but have seen parts of the city in movies, so they're excited to go to the zoo, to Central Park, to the Empire State Building, to the Natural History Museum, things like that.  Plus the train ride up there will be a big deal.

Spring always makes me feel happy and hopeful.  Things are good -- business is great, the kids are doing well, everyone is healthy.  All in all, I'm happy to be alive.

Ghosts of Birthdays Past

It's my birthday.  I am old.  I believe, at 43, this is the last year I could say that I am in my early-40s.  Once you're 44, you're officially "mid-40s."

I was thinking about this number 43, and it seems so impossibly big, when I don't feel remotely old.  That got me thinking about past birthdays, and where I was at the various points in my life.  Which spurred me to do a post similar to my friend Lisa's old Valentine's Day post in which she chronicled various relationships she's had in her life.  Only I'd do it with birthdays.

5 years

I was living in Venezuela, in my last year of preschool at Kinder Snow White.  I don't remember much, but I have fragments.  I remember wearing a long blue dress with some kind of white design.  The party was at our house in Altamira, and I'm sure there was a pinata involved.  I remember that house so vividly, even though I haven't seen it in over 30 years.  It had a tile roof, and there was a wall in the back of the yard that I could scale to get myself onto the roof.  I remember that I loved to sit up there and fiddle with loose tiles.

Now that I have a 5-year-old, if I ever caught him up on the roof of our house, I'd freak the fuck out.  But I had the balance and sure-footedness of a mountain goat (still do), and I felt very safe up there.

10 years

We were living in McLean, Virginia.  The Lake Placid Winter Olympics were going on, and I remember being in a tizzy about Tai Babilonia and Randy Gardner, a duo that was competing in the pairs figure skating competition.  I was in 5th grade and a bunch of my girlfriends came over for a slumber party in the basement of the big townhouse that my parents used to own.  In addition to watching ice skating, we played a game that one of the girls made up -- "Washington Secretary," I think about young women working in city and falling in love with their bosses.  Gloria Steinem would not have been amused.  My brother Josh was 8 and my brother Sam was 2, so I'm sure we thought that Josh was a pest and that Sam was really cute.

Sorry, Josh.  I love you. (You too, Sammy.)

13 years

I don't remember my 13th birthday at all, but I had my Bat Mitzvah a few months later.  The actual service where I read my Torah portion and all of that was in a beautiful little synagogue in Jerusalem (we were living in Israel at the time).  I remember a luncheon afterwards.  I received amazing gifts, because my parents had all kinds of artsy friends -- musicians, painters, sculptors, political cartoonists.  A few gave me original prints that they had made.  I also got some pretty jewelry that I still wear.  I was wearing a peach dress with poofy sleeves, a dropped waist and pastel stripes.  These are not colors or styles I would ever wear today.  It was the early 80s - I have no other excuse.

Thirteen is a horrible age.  I was on the tail end of puberty, mystified by my new boobs and the effects they seemed to have on men, completely unsure of myself.  Awkward, gawky, you name it.

15 years

Back in Virginia, 10th grade. My parents surprised me by getting me out of school early and taking me to see Cyrano de Bergerac at the Kennedy Center (Derek Jacobi, an amazing actor whom my grandparents had taken me to see doing Shakespeare in Stratford, Ontario, won a Helen Hayes award for his portrayal of Cyrano in that production).  I have awesome parents.

Fifteen was a rough year and a great year.  Being in the States, in a wealthy DC suburb, was very odd.  I was used to being in the bosom of the diplomatic community in Israel, in a tiny little school, where everyone knew me and I knew everyone and I felt like I belonged.  In McLean, my parents weren't rich, I didn't get a car for my 16th birthday, and I was in a high school of 2000 people.  I did my best to fit in - being on the diving team and in the GT program at school helped - but I was so happy when we moved to India later that year.  I loved India.

21 years

I was a fourth-year student at the University of Virginia.  I went with a bunch of my sorority sisters from UVa to stay with my parents in northern Virginia.  We went to a bar in Old Town, Alexandria and I used my own driver's license to buy alcohol for the first time in my life.  I somehow managed to avoid getting really shitty drunk, instead maintaining a pleasant buzz.  They had me wear a big sign around my neck that said, "Kiss Me, I'm 21," or some such nonsense.  It was really fun.  I'm still good friends with all of those women.  ZTA love, girls!

Twenty-one is such a stupid age.  You think you're so mature and grown up, but you're really an idiot.

25 years

Law school was done and I was living the single life as a newbie lawyer in Atlanta.  My friend Nessa and Chris took me out to dinner and then made up some reason about why we need to go back to my apartment (which I was sharing with my friends Jane and Nancy).  I was dubious, but we went back to the apartment where there was a surprise party waiting for me.  We ended up dancing the night away at some club in Buckhead (I can picture it, but I can't remember the name).  Fun times.

28 years

Still living in Atlanta, in the big house on Valley Green Drive.  I was dating the scion of a prominent Atlanta family and very much in love with him, but that relationship kind of chewed me up and spit me out into the depths of my first awful bout with depression.  I tried to fit into his world, and when I didn't, I hated myself and felt like a fool and a failure.

Things were still good on my birthday, however -- he took me to New York for the weekend.  We stayed at the SoHo Grand and went to nice dinners and took a long taxi ride up to see the Cloisters.  I felt very special.

34 years

I had met and fallen in love with J two months earlier, and went back down to Costa Rica to surf and celebrate my birthday with him.  He threw a little birthday party for me at the surf camp, including a cake that he had paid some local woman to make, and which he had carried back to the surf camp in one hand while steering a bike with the other hand, as he navigated his way down a steep hill.  Barefoot, as usual.  It was a lovely party, but I was suffering through the early stages of a UTI, so that kind of put a damper on things.

38 years

We were living in Hawaii, and I was a new mom -- Zeke was about 4 months old.  I was still getting the hang of dealing with a baby, changing diapers, worrying about starting him on solid food, getting him to sleep through the night. I was missing my Atlanta crew so much, so J rented a house on the North Shore for a week and all of my peeps, plus my mom, came to visit me.  In order to pay for the house, he had been hoarding cash and keeping it in a sock in his closet.  I had actually noticed that he was constantly taking out large sums of cash from our account, but mysteriously never had any money on him.  Did he have some kind of drug or gambling habit?  Was he saving up to leave me?  When he went to pay the woman the deposit on the house, he actually took the sock with him.  She thought he was nuts.

We had a blast surfing and laughing and hanging out.  It was a great birthday.

43 years

My mother, father, brothers, and my friend Ali call called me to sing/wish me happy birthday.  My mom told me the story of the day I was born.  Zeke asked, "will there be cake?"  So I will stop in at the market on my way home from work and get the fixins to make a cake.  Tomorrow night J is taking me out for dinner.

Life continues...

Dodged a bullet

In spite of the fact that I am an unabashed and, indeed, enthusiastic user of foul language (is there any greater word, with more versatility and character, than "motherfucker"?), the only swear word my children have ever heard me say is "damn it."  I also throw "Jesus Christ" around quite a bit, because it just rolls off the tongue so easily during moments of exasperation.

Occasionally, Zeke will say "dammit" just to see what the effect is -- I always reprimand him and tell him it's not a nice word to say.  Last week, we were at a professional lacrosse game and Josie exclaimed, "look at all these people!  Jesus!"  Once I was able to contain my guffaws, I told her that she shouldn't say that.  Seeing me laugh, she then proceeded to repeat it ad nauseum.

Knowing that they are little sponges, and that they love being cheeky,* I'm very careful to hold my tongue around them.  The few times I've messed up and said, "shit" or something similar, it was either out of their earshot or they weren't paying attention.

 This morning, I was pulling out of the driveway to take them to school.  We live on a somewhat busy street (not a highway or major thoroughfare, but it is on the bus line and there are shops and restaurants on the next block), so sometimes getting a clear shot out takes a little while.  Plus there is a coffee shop across the street, so in addition to cars driving back and forth, people are constantly pulling in and out to park.

I saw an opening and pulled back.  But then I saw one guy backing out of the coffee shop parking lot, another pulling out of a space on the street, and another turn on to the road from one of the cross streets.  Everybody seemed hesitant and it was hard to tell who was doing what or going where, so I pulled back into the driveway and, without thinking, said, "what the fuck is everybody doing??"

Realizing what I had said, I was silent and braced myself for the onslaught of "fucks" from the back seat.

After a moment, Zeke said, "Mama, I think you mean, "what the heck, right?"


Riiiiight.

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*It's like living with Beavis and Butthead.  I can't get changed without them giggling and saying, "I see your boobies! Heh heh...boobs!  Boobies!  Boobs!  Booty!  Heh heh heh."