Tappy days are here again

While cleaning the kitchen yesterday, I found Mark's ADD pill bottle hidden behind the toaster. Because the bottle wasn't right in front of his face, I figured he probably didn't take his pill.

Mark confirmed my theory when he bounced into the house after school.

"Hi Mom, what's going on? Band was awesome, no, I didn't do my homework yet, I'm hungry, can I have a snack? HI, FERNANDO!" he spewed in three seconds, dropping his backpack in the doorway and scooping up his giant cat.

I pointed him to the snack cupboard. He and Fernando combed it meticulously, emerging with a handful of granola bars, a bag of freeze-dried apples, and some cat treats.

Mark raced to the couch and opened his math book. Humming and tapping his feet, he attacked both his homework and his snack. Mark asked me at least seven questions, none of them math-related.

"Hey, Mark, did you forget to take your pill today?" I asked casually.

He smiled, looked up and said, "Yes, but I did really well without it! I behaved pretty good, even my friends said so."

"Your friends noticed your behavior?"

"Yep," he said, tapping his pencil on his notebook. "They asked me if I took my pill today."

"Who asked?" I questioned.

"All of them!" Mark answered. "They kept asking me all day." 

I started giggling. "So, uh...all of them, huh? Do they usually ask if you've taken your pill?"

"No," Mark said, absently. "Never."
 
He suddenly stopped writing and looked up at me, realizing what that meant. "Well, I thought I acted pretty good..." he said.

I reminded him it's not a matter of good vs. bad behavior, more a matter of controlled vs. "super tappy," which is how his cousin Nicholas (accurately) describes unmedicated Mark.

"Huh," Mark said, thinking that over. "Whatever, I still did everything I was supposed to."

"Did you call me at lunch?" I asked. 

"No, I forgot," he admitted.
 
He shrugged, put his head down, and finished his math homework...which he then left on the coffee table this morning.

Because, you know...the medicine doesn't change anything at all.

Just ask his friends.

My after-vacation vacation

I had a blast at Disney World, but it wasn't really a "relaxing" vacation. Oh sure, we spent a couple hours by the pool, lounging and not doing much, but only because we planned it. 

What I did plan, though, was a short trip to Napa Valley with my friend Michelle. I actually planned it prior to the Florida trip. If I'd known I was going to Florida, I'd have scheduled Napa a little farther out, but hey, it all worked out for the best. What I really needed after Disney was to relax. And all we did in Napa was...relax. See how life just works out for you sometimes?

After arriving in Napa late in the afternoon, we borrowed a couple bikes from the hotel and pedaled downtown in search of lunch. 

It was a gorgeous afternoon, and it got even better when the waitress brought our food--chicken stuffed with cheese, asparagus and bacon, and glasses of viognier. It was all fantastic!

After lunch, we moseyed over to the candy shop, where we sampled more wines, paired with chocolate and chocolate-covered strawberries. We thought about visiting another tasting room afterward, but already had a nice, warm buzz going, and decided we should ride back to the hotel before we endangered ourselves on the busy streets.

We did make a great find on the way home--a giant chair! Which I had to get a photo in, of course.

But no worries, the fun thing about Napa is that there are great wines wherever you go. We returned to the hotel just as a wine-tasting was beginning. A local vintner was happily pouring, so we grabbed a few glasses and a seat out in the back, alongside the river. It was gorgeous out there.

It was such a great day, we didn't want it to end. We remembered the hotel concierge saying the pool was heated, so we donned our bathing suits and waded in...up to our big toes, because turns out "heated" meant all the way up to 82 degrees. Which, it turns out, is not all that warm, even after a few glasses of vino.

We woke bright and early, ready to get into the grape. A smiling taxi driver delivered us to our first winery. During our 15 minute drive, we learned that she'd grown up in Napa, was enjoying her morning, recently had surgery, surgery didn't go well, and she was feeling pretty down about it. About life in general, actually. She idled at a red light, lost in her melancholy thoughts, while Michelle and I wondered how the conversation had gone south so quickly. We actively refused to make eye contact, afraid that we'd set each other off into inappropriate giggles.

But the winery tour went much better. It was an awesome tour, with 90% of it out in the vineyard. We learned all about the farming, science and theory behind growing grapes--usually the tours spend a few minutes showing how the grapes are crushed, fermented and bottled--this tour spent almost all our time out in the vines, and we loved it.

Our next driver showed up after our tour. I'd hired a sedan to drive us around, but apparently that car was busy, so we got this one instead.

 

Michelle and I just laughed when we saw it--it was so big, opulent, and...big. Nothing discreet about this car, but what can you do? We just made friends with our driver, James, and (literally) enjoyed the ride.

We visited Goosecross Cellars, one of my favorites. I didn't realize it was lunchtime, until Michelle and I got caught attacking the pretzel sticks and honey mustard samples. James drove us for sandwiches, and we found my very own street along the way!

 

We enjoyed our lunch--where else?--in the vineyard. 

Next up was Darioush Winery. On the way over, we learned that James was a recovering alcoholic, which was a little awkward, as he was driving our happily buzzed selves to another winery. But we cheered and congratulated him on being seven years sober, and for making a difference as an alcohol and drug counselor. We were just glad he kept driving us to wineries, and not to rehab.

Darioush was a beautiful Persian winery, decorated with tall columns decorated with double half-horses on top. The winery was highly recommended by numerous people, so we were eager to try the wines. Unfortunately, that never happened. The sommelier handed us a menu, which listed a tasting fee of $40 for 5 pours. FORTY DOLLARS. EACH. 

We considered it for a moment, realized $80 was ridiculous for two tastings, and went off in search of James. He shared our outrage, then noted it in his book.

"I'm new on this route," he told us. "So I'm taking notes." We gave him lots of advice after that!

Our last stop was Luna, where were greeted right at the car door.

"How many in your party?" the man asked, as we stepped out. He looked past Michelle and I, and in to the limo. "Just you two?"

"Yep," Michelle answered. "Do we need a reservation?"

"Oh, no," he told her. "I just thought there were more of you...usually, 9 or 10 people spill outta these cars." 

We just giggled. We weren't used to riding in such big, fancy cars alone either.

The wine at Luna was amazing, and a great way to end our trek. Our new best friend Jams drove us back to the hotel, where we fought our urge to nap and instead dined on light appetizers.

"I'm sorry," Michelle said sadly, as we paid the check. "I don't think I'm going to make it past dark." 

I just laughed. I assured her it was okay, and that I probably wouldn't, either. Besides, we had to get up at 5:15 the next morning to catch our flight home, so an early bedtime actually sounded really good.

So, even though our trip was really short, it was just what we needed. There were no naggy kids around fighting for our attention. None of our meals included a kid's menu (but every meal included wine!), no one complained they were bored, and we got to watch whatever we wanted on TV as we drifted off to sleep. It was restful, relaxing, and just what we both needed.

Can't wait for the next trip!

Blood sucker

My darling young son has Type 1 diabetes, and tests his blood sugar by poking his fingers 4-5 times a day. I mention this only because of its relevance to this story. 

Mark is adept at pushing my buttons--he knows exactly which ones to push, and how hard. If he can push those buttons and gross me out all at the same time--well, dang, that's the best of all worlds!

He now drives me crazy by licking the blood off his fingertip immediately after testing his blood sugar. I actually gagged the first time he did it--involuntarily, but Mark saw it. He smiled a mischievous grin and I knew I was in trouble.

The next time he tested, I offered him a huge stack of napkins to wipe the blood off. He looked at it, smiled at me, and licked his finger.

"STOP IT!" I screamed. "That is SO GROSS!"

I gagged a little, then gave him an impromptu lecture on hygiene and bacteria. But he just smiled. He knew he'd hit a sore spot.

I tried the next step, which was no reaction. The next time he tested, I silently handed him a napkin. He silently licked the bloody dab on his fingertip.

Now I waver between yelling and being quiet--it's about 30% yelling (because I can't help myself), and 70% ignoring him. But that doesn't work either, because he knows that even though I'm not saying anything, I'm totally thinking (rightfully so!) how disgusting it is.

I'm also a little worried he hasn't stopped yet. I fear he may be part vampire, and a self-cannibalistic one at that (so. many. things. wrong. in that sentence).

But the last few weeks have given me a little hope that maybe he really isn't one of the fanged undead. No, he hasn't stopped licking, but he's acquired a new obsession--garlic. Yes, garlic--as in, kid can't get enough of it. He follows me around the kitchen with a bottle of garlic powder in hand, sprinkling it on whatever I'm cooking. He spoons diced garlic out of the jar by the tablespoon, smearing it on whatever's going in the oven. I've eaten so much garlic in the last few weeks that I can seriously smell it oozing out of my skin.

I'm a little conflicted, because as much as I love garlic, garlic does not love me back. My stomach's been a little off, and I'm sucking down breath mints like crazy.

But I don't care. As long as he's shoveling in all that garlic, I know he's not a vampire. At least, I'm pretty sure he's not. I haven't looked at his reflection in the mirror lately (note to self: Do that.), but I'm sure we're cool. I also don't keep wooden stakes in the house, so at least I won't accidentally pierce his heart with one.

Because the worst part of him being a vampire is not his filthy blood-sucking habit--it's his age. I love that kid, I really do, but come on, who wants to spend all of eternity with a moody teenager?? Maybe a cute (albeit bloodthirsty) toddler, or an adult Mark I could have endless interesting conversations with--but a mouthy 13-year-old who's convinced he's waaaaay smarter than me at...well, everything?

No thanks. So the good news is that contrary to his behavior, my cute young son is probably not really a vampire after all. But the bad news is he's still a blood slurping disgusting little boy, and the only cure for that is time--the time it takes for him to grow old enough to not gross his dear sweet mom out.

And I'm pretty sure that will never happen...

You're right, you ARE a good listener

Having a teenager is fun because you get to repeat everything you say at least five times. The first four requests are always ignored, but oh, that sense of accomplishment you feel when your teen finally acknowledges you (with a grunt) makes the effort all worth it. (No...no, it doesn't.)

Most of the conversations in my house go like this:

Me: Did you do what I asked you to do?

Mark, rolling his eyes: Yes, Mom.

Me: You put away the (book, clothes, dirty dishes, cat toys, whatever)?

Mark: No, you didn't ask me to do that. When did you ask me to do that? (Then, under his breath once again for good measure: She never asked me to do that.)

Me: (No response. The only sound I make is that of my head banging against the wall.)

Sometimes I just give up and realize he has to learn his lessons the hard way. Like when he packed his bag for a weekend trip to Catalina, a very beautiful and very cold island 26 miles out to sea. Yes, you and I both realize that "island" means a piece of land surrounded by water and chilly ocean breezes, but you and I are not Mark.

Me: Pack a jacket, it's gonna be cold.

Mark: No it's not, and besides, I already packed a jacket. 

I could see a thin sweatshirt falling out of his bag. I thought about discussing the differences between sweatshirts and big, heavy jackets, but then I remembered that Mark is at that wonderful age where he already knows everything, and thus, already made a decision based on those facts.

Me: OK. Good job packing.

Of course, the first thing he said when he got off the boat was how cold he was all weekend. I didn't even have to open my mouth.

"I did bring a jacket," he reminded me. "I brought THREE sweatshirts!"

"Well then, good," I said. 

"Besides, I don't even have a big jacket," he sniped.

"You actually have two," I reminded him. "Ski jackets. In the office closet. They're very warm." 

I didn't add, "Warmer than sweatshirts," but Mark knew I was thinking it and stomped off.

Up until this point, his "listening" skills haven't really harmed him--not permanently, anyway. But he did have a few uncomfortable minutes last weekend. 

"Brownies!" he yelled at the store, throwing a box of these babies into the cart.

"Those aren't regular brownies," I told him. "They have a lot of fiber in them."

"I LOVE fiber," Mark answered. 

"Just...be careful," I warned him. "Only eat one at a time." 

He rolled his eyes and snorted, totally unappreciative of my motherly advice.

Later that afternoon, Mark was sweeping up outside when suddenly, he stopped, stood straight upright, and darted into the house. He was gone for a good 20 minutes, and when he returned, he was pale and a bit sweaty. 

"You okay?" I asked. 
 

"My stomach hurts," he whined, caressing it carefully.

"Oh, no!" I said. "What did you eat today?"

He smiled a guilty grin and answered, "I only had three brownies." 

"Three FIBER brownies?" I asked. He nodded his head.

And I just laughed. Because seriously, he may not listen to me, but he's sure as heck gonna listen to three brownies. And to the life experience that results from gobbling down three of those fiber-filled nuggets all at once.

His listening skills still haven't improved, but at least I've still got half a box of fiber brownies left. 


 

What a difference a few years makes...

Looking at our Disney World pix brought back a lot of good memories...but it also brought up something else. A little bit of wonder, mixed in with surprise, and an overall feeling of how the heck did that happen??

I compared some photos we'd taken on our last trip to Disney to similar photos we took this time...and even though, intellectually, I realize that was five years ago, emotionally, I cannot reconcile that these are the same kids. 

For starters, my niece Nathalie, who's 14, is now taller than me...and she's not the only one (I'm talking to you, Hannah). What's also weird is that Scott, Mary and I don't look all that different (hell, Scott's even wearing the same shirt!). We look almost the same, but those kids...well, 3 of them are now teens, and the "little" one is only a few inches shorter than Mark now.

2013

2008

2013

2008

Sigh. It doesn't feel like they're growing that fast...but now I have photographic proof they are. 

Now I just have to figure out how to slow them down.

Spring Break 2013: Revisiting Disney World

I didn't really have any plans for spring this year, until my brother Scott and his family booked a trip to Disney World.

"Come with us!" they cried, but I just said, "I can't."

Turns out, yes, I could. And did. And loved every minute of it!

Scott, Mary and the kids arrived a day before us, and my friend Lori joined us for most of the trip. Because their hotel was sold out, we booked one night at the Disney Yacht Club. Turns out, Disney gave us a room on the private 5th floor, with access to a 24-hour hospitality room (go there just in time for happy hour!) and a killer balcony. It was awesome!

The Magic Kingdom (i.e., Florida's version of Disneyland) park was open late that night, until 1 a.m. We were still on California time, so that wasn't late at all for us. We arrived just as all the other exhausted families were carrying their sleeping children out. By 10 o'clock, the place was empty, and we literally walked right on to all the rides. We rode more rides in five hours than we could've ridden all day, had we been there. The only casualty was poor Lori, who is an early-to-bed kinda gal, and was in her own time zone. (But she's a trooper!)

We slept in until 10:30 the next day, and almost missed our check out time. But after a quick rally, and an even quicker breakfast, we headed off to Universal Studios and more importantly (to the kids), Harry Potter World.

Even though I'm a Disney girl, I'll admit it--Harry Potter World was amazing. Also amazing--the butterbeer.

Mark tried to ditch us at one point, to head off to Hogwarts. Luckily, the train never left the station.

Nathalie, a huge Harry Potter fan, was in heaven. She just stared lovingly at everything as we wound our way through the castle and finally, onto the ride.

"I don't even want to go on it," she sighed. "I just want to stay in the castle."

The kids roamed the snowy town, which was kinda weird, since it was about 80 degrees and humid. We rode the crazy Hogwarts simulator ride (where a giant spider spit on me--just...NO). We watched dancing wizards, a wand show, and rode some roller coasters (OK, not me!). I waited in a crazy crowded wand shop while Mark tested every model, finally picking the perfect wand 45 minutes later (or did the wand pick him?). He immediately gave the wand to Aunt Mary, who took it home to San Diego.

Friday was my favorite dinner, because we ate at Margaritaville. Lori and I ordered drinks that arrived in glasses shaped like blenders. Mary and Lori discussed menu options, including Cuban sandwiches, which they discussed at great length. Finally, Grant, a little exasperated, asked, "Why does everyone want to eat Cuban people so bad?" That cracked us all up.

We spent Saturday morning at the Wild Kingdom park, where we got super close to some giraffes, and saw the King of the Jungle himself, Simba. Lori, Mari and the kids rode the Expedition to Everest ride a couple times, while Scott took pictures, and Grant and I ate ice cream. Turns out Grant and I like the same kind of rides--fast is awesome, bumpy is okay, big drops are a big NO. We weren't afraid to say no to rides, and were content to wait for the family and enjoy ice cream in the meantime. 

I did convince Grant to go on one ride he hated--Dinosaur. It's like the Indiana Jones ride, but with dinosaurs instead of Indy. I thought it would be okay because it was just an off-road jeep ride, no drops--but I underestimated the scariness of the dinos. Grant HATED it.

Sunday we rode the boat to Epcot Center, which was filled with monsters.

It was also home to our favorite ride, Test Track. You design test cars, then race through a course to see who's design was best. Lori and I sank in the green, safe and handling departments--we designed a car that sacrificed all that for POWER. And when it came to racing 65 miles an hour on the open track outside, we killed the competition!

We saw some other familiar faces in Epcot--like my friend Buzz Lightyear.

After a day full of Epcot, we rested up a bit, then hit the Magic Kingdom--it was open until 1 a.m. again. We spent another late night there, making sure we hadn't missed any rides. Grant informed me he was going on whichever rides I went on, and I smiled.

"Yeah, stay with me," I told him. "I won't let you down!"

"Well, you kinda did on the dinosaur ride," he answered. He was totally right! (Poor guy!)

By Monday, we were all pretty exhausted--it's hard work being tossed all around for 12 hours a day (and probably walking at least 10 miles daily). Lori had to leave us, and we were all sad.

We spent Monday at the other Universal Studios, which was mostly big auditoriums filled with 3-D shows or simulator rides. It was just okay, in my book. I was more excited to return to the hotel for some swimming and relaxation.
 

I met up with an old favorite, too, in the San Francisco replica at Universal Studios. This was a sham, though--they didn't really sell Irish Coffees here. Boo!

We passed a huge outlet mall on the way back to the hotel, which my niece Gabi (aka Diva) pointed out.

"I want to go there," she said, longingly.

"Why?" I asked. "There aren't any rides--it's just a bunch of stores, and shopping!"

"That's what I like!" Diva said, and we all cracked up, because it's true.

(Diva also enjoyed having her own room at the hotel--she ate every meal in bed, just because she could. And those meals included Froot Loops, donuts, pizza and cheese puffs, just to name a few things--when the dietician's kids go on vacation, they eat all the junk food they want!)

On Tuesday, Mark and I were headed home. But we managed to sneak in a little time at the Disney Studios park first.

The kids met up with a movie star.

We really had a blast. I was reminded of what a daredevil Mark is, since he went on every big roller coaster there was, and loved it. And I'm not just talking one or two rides--he rode them all multiple times! He's insane!

But as much as he loved the coasters, he loved the family time even more. Because everyone had different interests and thrill-seeking levels, we often broke up into smaller groups. Without fail, every time I asked Mark what he wanted to do, he answered with, "What are the cousins doing?" He didn't care what we did or saw, as long as he was with his cousins.

Which I loved, because that was actually the whole point of our vacation. We live 20 minutes from the original Disneyland--we didn't fly 3,000 miles across country to experience something we'd never see again. The point was to spend time with our family, to have a great time with them all, and to share some fun vacation memories. Mark got that, and I love it.

So, until the next great adventure...keep on doing those seatbelt checks and getting all shook up (and tossed around)!

Citing all sources

Mark recently turned in his latest history report, which focused on food, religion and sports in Medieval times.

He was very proud of the report, and as I thumbed through it, I was pretty proud, too.

Right up until the last page, where I burst into laughter.

Mark smiled--he knew exactly what I was looking at.

"We have to include our references," he said. "I used my brain, so I included a reference."

I laughed again.

"Well, okay then," I answered. "Good job including all your sources."

I'm just glad he's using that brain...and kind of surprised it has its own web site.

Lazy Easter Bunny

Last year, Mark and I spent an awesome Easter in mecca for chocolate bunnies--Hershey, Pennsylvania! This year, we played it a little more low-key, and went to the family homestead in San Diego.

It was a quick trip, but we packed in lots of fun. Well, most of it was fun. The five stores I spent three hours in searching for Mark's new shoes were not so fun. (Seriously...the girls picked out more clothes AND shoes than my little fashionista managed.)

On Sunday morning, the kids woke up early and started digging in to their Easter baskets. They got enough sugar to choke a horse, or send a diabetic kid into insulin shock. (Luckily, that didn't really happen.)

Mark was excited to open his basket. I was excited, because he got an ENORMOUS plastic Easter egg that took up most of the room in his basket.

 "What was in the egg?" I asked.

"Nothing!" Grant screamed. "It was empty!"

And...dang it! The egg had come with a label showing candy and toys nested inside a couple other eggs. Apparently, the Easter Bunny didn't bother to verify that was the case.

"It's okay," Mark told me. "I just put all my candy in there. It's locked up like a safe!"

"Wow," I said. "The Easter Bunny should fire his elves. Slackers."

"The Easter Bunny doesn't have elves," Grant told me. "That's Santa."

"Well, maybe he should get some then, huh?" I winked at Grant and walked away.

After a big breakfast, we dressed in our Sunday best and made our bi-annual trip to church. (It makes my mom happy.) The cool thing about Easter is we usually score seats in the main church instead of the bingo hall, where we spend our Christmas Eves. I think it's because all during our childhood, Mass started at 10:30, so we're conditioned to leave the house by 10:20. But the joke's on us--nowadays, Mass starts at 11. 

The flowers all over the church were gorgeous. SO were all the cute little girls in their giant Easter dresses, and all the sweet little boys with their hair slicked down. The priest gave an okay speech--you can tell he's a faithful man, but he's not the most inspiring. And it didn't help that he delivered his sermon in a thick Indian accent. That would have been fine, if Nathalie hadn't leaned over to me halfway through the service and whispered, "Richard Parker," in an equally thick accent. (I hated the movie Life of Pi, but the whole "Richard Parker" thing stuck.) I about lost it, and we spent the rest of the service talking about Richard Parker.

It was back home for another big meal. My mom went a little crazy, but the meal was fantastic--turkey, ham, asparagus, potatoes, pineapple, you name it, we ate it. Then we topped it all off with a cake Mary and Gabi made that was topped with candy. Seriously, I could feel my blood sugar rising just walking through the house! 

We spent a little more time just visiting with the family and enjoying the holiday. It was so fun and happy that we hated to end the good times, but we still had a two-hour drive ahead of us.

But I made Mark gather up all the giant eggs before we left.

"Just in case," I told him. "Maybe the Easter Bunny will actually fill them up next year." 

Here's hoping...