New England Mamas

Where the Streets Have No Name

I'll give you a moment to get the U2 song into your head (or click on it so you can actually hear it). It will set the tone for this post. Then you can be mad at me for the rest of the day when you can't get it back out of your head.

One of the many things that just leaves me staring in amazement is the way streets are named in Massachusetts. Many streets do not appear to have a name. That's not to be confused with streets that change names every block. I've had quite a few debates with people over the names of streets. They will insist that a road may be called Belmont Street or Boston Turnpike, while I will point out that if I follow the signs for Route 9 and ignore when it is called Belmont Street, Boston Turnpike, Highland Street, or any other name, I will get to Natick and see the fabulous new mall with the Cheesecake Factory. Quite honestly, if it takes you to cheesecake, does it really matter what it's called?

This brings me to this past Sunday. I decided to take a second stab at running the course (literally) for the triathlon. Well...most of the course. I didn't do the swimming. I did the biking again with no problem. Then armed with the handwritten list of street names for the running course that I had copied from the triathlon website, I took off. Everything seemed fine, until I realized I was back at the main street without having run through every street on my list. Based on the amount of time that elapsed, there were two possibilities: I had doubled my running speed or more likely, I had somehow lost a mile of the course. How weird does that sound? It's true though. The same thing happened the week before when my triathlon training buddy and I also attempted the running part of the course. The only difference was that time she had written the directions.

Determined to find where I took a wrong turn, I retraced my steps. That's when I realized the third possible explanation. I had stepped into a Harry Potter book. You HP fans know that in order to get to Diagon Alley, someone (usually Hagrid) has to tap a strange pattern of swipes onto what looks to the average person like a brick wall with his umbrella. The wall then magically disappears revealing a magical town. I believe that the triathlon course is similar. I needed Hagrid to bring his magic pink umbrella to tap on one of the luxury driveways in this neighborhood to magically cause another street to appear. I want to tear down the walls that hold me inside.

Of course in this very nice neighborhood it is hard to distinguish driveways from small streets; I suspect one of those non-driveways may be the missing link on the secret triathlon route. I did take a gander down several driveways, but after getting weird looks from a homeowner or two, I decided it was better to hedge my bets that the course will be marked on race day than spend the next several hours in jail after the cops were called on me for trespassing. That would make me want to run and want to hide. This does impact my race gear. In addition to needing shoes, a bike, a swim suit, a helmet, brown and a bag to wear over my head or throw up in (but not in that order), I also need a magic pink umbrella.

Alright, I am sure the prosaic among you may have come up with another explanation for the missing mile on my triathlon route. It is possible that the map on-line was wrong. It could also just be my mistake. My spinning instructor told me that she missed the microscopic street the first time she ran that triathlon while waving back at a friendly (or mischievous) neighborhood kid who waved at her. HP magic sounds way more fun. My favorite explanation remains the possibility that I developed superpowers and ran the until course in record breaking speed... All I can do is what I told my training buddy. "When I go there, I go there with you. It's all I can do."

Cross posted at Formula Fed and Flexible Parenting

It's a Boy (alternate title: Remember Me?)

My creativity has, for the past nine months, been almost wholly preoccupied with the making a human being. This accounts for my absence from the blogosphere and from most other spheres in general. Everything was directed inward. Instead of writing, I read. Instead of walking, I ate. I took copious baths and fell clean into bed for long periods of time. At the end, I even received an hour long pre-natal massage. But as nice as it sounds, I never felt totally comfortable living inside myself.

I came out again--that is, my baby boy arrived--on the 21st of this month, a day after the full moon put the birth process in motion. He weighed 6 lbs 14.6 ozs. He was 19.5 inches long. He looks just like his sister, who looks just like her father. He has no butt and, as The Partner ceaselessly marveled during our two day stay at the hospital, "he has huge balls!" I didn't realize how much I wanted a boy until I got him.

_ __

More stories with a regional slant are forthcoming, like how to achieve a VBAC when the prevalent medical model of childbirth in New England is making such modes of delivery harder and harder to realize. And, maybe, what to do when a toddler-turned-big-sister has her first existential crisis. Stay tuned.

He's here. I'm back.   

My Ultimate: Mr. Right for a Night

("My Ultimate" will run most Tuesdays and will feature any topic that hops into my head.  The views expressed here do not necessarily reflect those of the other New England Mamas. . . although they should).

I have found my poison for the summer.

It is called "Grape Lemonade" and this drink brings me back to those days of. . .well, those days of never, since if I had discovered this when I was younger, I'd probably be sleeping in a gutter somewhere right now.

Grape Lemonade and I met at Providence's Parkside Rotisserie & Bar.  He was sweet but came on strong.  I needed to watch myself around him because he would've had me singing Sweet Caroline and high-fiving everyone at our table if I'd spent too much time with him.   

He's gone now and all that is left is a memory.  I just wish this memory could remember what went into him so that I could recreate his magic myself. 

(so far, I recall that this drink had Three Olives Grape Vodka, lemonade and possibly sour mix; if I hear from the fine people at the Parkside, I will update you all.  Don't say I didn't warn you).

Walking with Really Large Robots

To further our efforts to create an unrealistic sense of the world, we took the kids to see the "Walking with Dinosaurs" show at the Verizon Wireless Arena in Manchester, NH on Saturday.  Last month's expedition included the Harlem Globetrotters.  Just as soon as we can find a play or show that involves truthful politicians or live-action accounting practices, we'll buy tickets to that, too.

With both the Dinosaurs and the Globetrotters, they put on a decent performance and the kids enjoyed it.  Well, with the Globetrotters they were mildly amused but not enthralled; with the Dinosaurs, their heart rates hovered above 120 beats per minute and they were able to sustain a constant state of slack-jawed amazement through the entire two-hour performance, with a slight break during the too-long pterodactyl flight simulation.  Both were decent shows, and fun family outings , so I can't regret the days out... but neither was quite the mind-blowing, family-bonding experience it could have been.

The Globetrotters tiptoed on a fine line between a story of good old-fashioned rivalry and showmanship, with a tendency to err on the side of theatrics.  I'm not sure my kids even realized that the Washington Generals were there, much less that they were representing an opposing team in an actual game of basketball.  There was just so much ball-spinning and shorts-yanking that the idea of the game was completely lost, which leads me to wonder why they even bother with the storyline.  We all would have been perfectly happy to watch a however-long display of long throws and goofy pranks, without needing to crowd the floor with twice as many players.  The whole thing was especially beyond the attention span of my three-year-old, who was more focused on the cotton candy in the hands of the kid three rows ahead than on the action on the floor.

There was also a sense of disjointed chronology amongst the whole thing.  On the one hand, you havd an old-time goofiness and harmless silly pranks, and on the other hand you have emcee's leading the crowd in "Soulja Boy" and making reference to Beyonce. 

Then you have dinosaurs.  Very detailed costumes and robots wandering around with minimal storyline and maximum roar, so that part was good.  Though they tried to throw in some science, which kind of missed everyone there: those of us old enough to appreciate the science were busily watching the remote-control operators and appreciating the sets, and those young enough to believe that these dinosaurs were as real as Big Bird were too young to understand the science.  I didn't feel like the narrative really enhanced the show, altogether, particularly because most of the audience has a hard time understanding the concept of "next week," much less "millions and millions of years."

But the dinosaurs blew my children's minds.  Even the just-turned-eight-year-old, who spent the week prior lecturing her three-year-old brother about how, "They aren't real, you know.  They're just fake.  Just people dressed up like dinosaurs, or statues, or something."  Even she bought into the show, which really was the whole point.

While The Mama's at Work...

This past Friday was a rather trying day for me, work-wise. Not that I wasn't able to keep myself together and my duties as orderly as possible, mind you. Nonetheless, it was - shall we say - a long, 12 hour work day with barely a moment to breath.

And while I toiled away in my office cube, where do you think my little Sweetie and darling Hubby were? If you guessed gallivanting around York Beach, ME with friends on a beautiful spring day, you'd be right.

Lucky guys.

Yes, that's right. Hubby had an unplanned day off from work, and his friend from Portland just "happened" to take a personal day too. So the two of them, plus Sweetie and the friend's 3-year old daughter, got to go play all day while the Mamas worked.

Yippee for them.

Honestly, though - I'm told a fabulous time was had by all. There was a Hubby-proclaimed awesome playground at the beach for the girls to play in and the beach itself was not too big nor too crowded on that particular day. And, of course, Hubby was thrilled to get some quality "Man Time" with his buddy he doesn't get to see as often as he'd like.

Fortunately, Hubby also reports that this beach is only about 1 hour, 15 minutes from our So. NH location - so he's very excited for the three of us to visit there as often as possible in the coming summer months.

Okay! You bet!

'Cuz actually participating in a fun beach day with you and Sweetie sure would be a lot more enjoyable than hearing about it after a long, stressful day at work.

Doug's 8th Birthday Vacation

Today is my son's 8th birthday. Last week, we went to San Diego for school vacation week as a special birthday vacation so he could visit Legoland. We used miles for the airfare and our timeshare exchange for the hotel, so apart from meals, inevitable Lego purchases and the telephoto lens I bought for my DSLR, it was a fairly reasonable vacation.

Recommendations:

The San Diego Zoo is great, but if you have to pick one or the other, go to the San Diego Wild Animal Park in Escondido. We splurged on a one-hour  family Photo Caravan there and got to feed a giraffe.The tour we took, 1-1/4 hours for $69 each extra, does not appear to be offered online, but even if it costs you a bit more, well worth it.

More pictures here.

Legoland. Go before your kid turns 10. Folks had warned me of this, and I am glad we heeded the advice. Doug had a great time but I could see that in a couple years, he would be past the rides. Use your AMEX card, save $12 off admission, and if your kid is a LEGO Brickmaster, s/he gets a free ticket.

Old Town Trolley Tour. Not bad, but unlike Key West (where we had done this before, things are close together and there is no parking), in San Diego I would only recommend this in the high tourist season. We could have driven and parked at the sites we really wanted to see, at about the same cost and far less wait.

La Jolla. Seal Beach. Worth 1000 words:

Restaurants: Highly recommend Monterey Bay Canners in Oceanside (esp. cold appetizer plate),  Old Town Mexican Cafe in Old Town (super duper queso) and Pacifica Del Mar in Del Mar (salt & pepper prawns, yum).

Hotel: We exchanged our timeshare for a week at the Welk Resorts. The unit was small but clean. The restaurant was AWFUL, and the selection of merchandise at the on-site grocery very slim. Dave and Doug enjoyed the mid-week magic show at the theater -- I was up in Santa Rosa at New Comm Forum for two days mid-vacation. The pool area was nice, even though the well advertised water slide was closed for maintenance most of the time we were there. But not all. :-)

(using new telephoto lens)

On the whole though I would recommend it if your plans include Legoland and the Wild Animal Park, both of which are closer to Welk Resorts than they are to downtown San Diego.

Airfare. If you fly United (or any other airline that has a similar offering), buy Economy Plus if you can. It is a little more money, but your legs will appreciate it. We used Amex points for our tickets, but on my side trip to San Francisco, I happened to be in Economy Plus so we upgraded on the way home. Worth every penny.

And that's what we did on our school vacation.

Tags: San Diego

What bugs you?

I was reading an article recently about “Buzzword abusers” (you know, the people who sprinkle every conversation with “at the end of the day” or “think outside the box” or “on the same page” and the like) and it got me thinking about things that bug me.

(Unfortunately, as patience is something I always have to work on, it didn’t take me long to come up with a list in my mind of such things.)

But one stood out…

When I was in college, there was a girl on my dorm floor who was kind of a crunchy feminist post-1960’s flower child. 

One day she came into my room all excited, and extra “grungily” (yes, I just made that word up) dressed. 

“I’m going to see Ani tonight!”  she exclaimed.

I had no idea who Ani was, and just figured she was talking about a friend at another school.  “Cool,” I answered.

“You wanna come?” she asked. 

At this point, I had to find out who Ani was, because if I said yes and Ani turned out to be some back alley drug dealer, there were some serious consequences and ramifications I’d have to consider.

So I inquired about just who Ani was, and found out she was talking about Ani DiFranco, the crunchy feminist musician.

And here’s my gripe… it’s one thing if you actually know someone, and therefore have the right to refer to them in such a familiar fashion.

But if said someone has no idea who you even are, do you really have the right to be on a first-name-only basis with her?

I say no!

I’ve found that fans of Dave Matthews Band have this similar affliction.

When Dave Matthews comes to town, I find that I can’t talk to anyone without being asked, “Are you gonna see Dave?”

Even my grandmother gets into the action sometimes.

If I happen to mention that it’s going to be… oh, I don’t know, a sunny day… she’ll say, “Well, Gary says the rain will hold off until the weekend.”

Gary being a weather guy at one of our television stations, of course. 

And no, Gary doesn’t know my grandmother from Adam.

Wait - does Adam have a last name? 

Wow, I can’t even write a post without contradicting myself.

Oh well, I guess at the end of the day, we all just have to think outside the box and try to be on the same page as everyone else.

I'm So Done With Disney... For Now.

We went to Florida last week, to spend some time with my parents during school vacation.  The time my kids spend with their grandparents is precious for everyone, since we only see them a few times each year.  The days were filled with... well, nothing, actually.  It was great, relaxing and fun and what a vacation should be.

Then Sunday came along, and it was time to go to Orlando.  The last few times we've vacationed in Florida, we have spent most of the time with my parents and no more than a day or two in Orlando before heading home.  The Wonderful World of Disney is overwhelming, and I'm not one of those people who adore everything Mickey.  This year, my husband decided to combine our vacation with the opportunity to complete some of his CME (continuing medical education) credits by signing up for a course held at one of the Disney area hotels.

The course only ran during the mornings, so we figured that I'd hang out with the kids at the pool in the mornings and we'd do the parks in the afternoons.  We spent Monday afternoon at the Animal Kingdom, which the kids had seen a special about and were very excited to experience.  They got to pet a snake, identify birds, and learn about conservation.  The highlight for them, however, was when Mommy got completely and utterly drenched on the Kali River Rapids.  No one else on the raft!  Only Mommy!  Yay!  After squelching our way back to the hotel, we discovered that the lobby barman was happy to give us margaritas in plastic cups to take back to the room.  That was Mommy's favorite part of the day.

The next afternoon, we decided to try the Disney Quest "experience," which we knew very little about.  It turned out to be an indoor arcade extravaganza, including games and virtual rides which were actually pretty fun.  We all agreed that our favorite was the "Pirates of the Carribean" ride, where they usher you into a little room and your group stands on the deck of a ship and fires virtual canons at virtual pirate ships.  My husband has decided he would like to install that game in his basement man cave... which doesn't exist yet.  I tell him it's his "virtual man cave" and offer to bring him a "virtual beer," but he doesn't find me as amusing as I find myself.

Our last day was spent at the Magic Kingdom.  The original plan was to go to SeaWorld, but the kids were kind of animaled out and really just wanted to go on rides.  I took them over in the morning, and we got the Small World ride out of the way first thing.  (I find it's helpful to go there first, so that you can enjoy the earworm all day long.)  We had a pretty good day, but my son started having problems mid-afternoon.  He gets sensory overloaded at times - while it's new and interesting, he can deal with noise and crowds, but after a full day he began to lose his mind.  First he started walking into walls, and by the time the parade came around he was beyond ready to go.

As a result, our exit from Disney was hurried and frantic.  I ended up hauling him down Main Street U.S.A. through the crowds with his little hands pressed against his ears as he cried, "Make them stop singing!"  We even ducked into a couple of stores to escape the singing and dancing throngs, but we could still hear the music.  "Turn off the happy music!" my son begged, and if I'd been able to pull the plug, I would have.  Finally, we made a break for it, scurrying out of the park full tilt. 

As we headed back to the hotel, I sat on the monorail with my son curled up on my lap.  I stroked his back and found myself mentally drafting a post about taking your autistic child to a theme park.  Then I looked around me on the monorail and realized that most of the people had similar dazed expressions and crying children.  One couple actually had two crying children, and they were discussing returning later on in the day!  Not for us, though.  We're officially done with Disney. 

At least for this year. 

Why school vacations suck for parents

Once again, it's school vacation time. Yes, we just DID have a vacation about 6 weeks ago, but you know our poor little children are so stressed out by the terrible big bad school that we need yet another week off. That would be a week in late December, then another one in mid-February, and this one in mid-April. Gack!

The problem isn't that the kids are home. In fact, most of the time I like them home a lot more than I like them in school. The problem is, school vacations are really dangerous territory for teenagers staying around town. Like mine. They get into all sorts of trouble, and the trouble almost always revolves around alcohol, drugs, sex, and lying to their parents. My kids... oh, they're pretty much familiar with all those bad things these days. Just like all the other teens are.

This vacation my daughter didn't even get one day off before she ended up grounded. She invited a friend over. A friend she is NOT allowed to hang out with. A friend who has very sticky fingers and a much to familiar view of our upstairs medicine cabinet, if you get my drift. So my daughter had her freakout and now spends the day drooping around the house crying about how B.O.R.E.D. she is. Awwww. So sad. Too bad.

My son has been hanging out with his friends, but while he was out this evening I found an empty rum bottle in his room. He's grounded forever. I'm furious. He tried hard to blame it on his sister, the one that doesn't drink alcohol. Um, not working. So off to bed he went, screaming at my evident inability to be a good parent. Oh, my feelings are HURT!  I may  never get over it!

Of course, just who is it who is really punished by this school vacation. Yes, it's me. The parent. The one with two grounded kids. Again.

And if anyone even reminds me that summer's coming, I'm gonna scream!

Dad's Week Off

I have been officially de-throned. 

In the span of one short week, my husband has managed to achieve Rock Star status in the eyes of our children.   While he's been home on vacation this week and the rest of us Dynamites had work and school, do you think he sat down for a minute and put his feet up? Or got lost on a golf course for hours? Or slept in? Stayed out late?

No.  My husband used his vacation for one purpose and one purpose only: to show me up.

On Monday the aroma of chocolate chip pancakes roused my children from slumber.  They got out of their beds without being harangued by their mother, dressed themselves without being harangued by their mother, brushed their teeth without being harangued by their mother, and walked like zombies toward the kitchen whereupon they were greeted with warm hugs from their father and a steaming plate of syrupy, chocolatey goodness - a far cry from the eat-whatever-you-can-scrounge-and-hurry-up advice their mother usually dishes out in frantic screams from another part of the house.

Dad packed their snacks and water bottles, checked their homework, and then leisurely walked them to school.  At school day's end, he greeted them at the bus stop with a smile and played outside with them for several hours - badminton, kickball, bikes, scooters - before retreating into the house to make dinner and fold the last of the five loads of laundry he did that day.  By the time Mom rolled in the door, the kids - both showered and wearing pajamas - were quietly doing their homework as Dad washed the dinner dishes.

On Tuesday, Earth Day, Dad walked the kids to school after another calm and organized display of parenting skill and finesse.  With the grace and aplomb of Mikhail Baryshnikov, he seemingly pirouetted through the motions of rousing and feeding the children, packing backpacks, and checking homework.  After singlehandedly stopping global climate change, discovering a plentiful renewable energy source, and ridding the world of plastic, Dad greeted the kids at the bus stop, spent another fun-filled afternoon doing kid-centric activities, cooked dinner, and then waited patiently for Mom to arrive home.  After a family dinner, Dad guided the kids through homework and showers and reading and bedtime while mom wrote a blog and sipped cabernet.

On Wednesday, when Mom tried to gently rouse the children before school, she was met with harrumphs, snarls, and impatient requests for Dad. "Where's Dad? Dad always wakes us up."  Always?

When Mom made an appearance in the kitchen at breakfast time and asked, "Would you like cereal? A bagel? Eggs?" her children quietly mumbled, "Dad usually has breakfast made for us already."

In addition to delighting the children once again in every way, Dad also found the time to end world hunger and restore peace in the Middle East.

On Thursday, the kids crowned Dad Best Dad Ever in the History of Dads, but not before Dad cured the sick, sheltered the homeless, and fixed the economy.

On Friday, world leaders - including the Pope - gathered in Geneva Switzerland and officially declared Dad Divine Lord of Fatherhood, to be addressed from this point forward as His Most Awesome Highness.

It's a real shame that His Most Awesome Highness has to go back to work next week. Yep.  A real shame.

                                    Cross-posted on  Ruthless in the Suburbs.