Finally, the Inauguration -- What a day!!!

Wow, I am sitting here exhausted, just trying to process this whole day. What a crazy, amazing, unforgettable day.

It started off early -- we woke up at 5:30, because we didn't want to miss a single moment. We were the second Metro stop, but by the time the train rolled in, it was already full! The seats were all taken, and everybody at our stop filled in the middle. I wasn't sure how they were going to fit in any more people, but I soon found out -- not easily!

At each stop, more people shoved on in, but I have to say it again -- as crowded as the city's been, I've never seen such happy people! Doesn't matter where you go, or what you do, everyone is smiling and polite and just nice. They are so happy to be here, so happy to be part of this, that it's impossible to get mad at anything.

And so we stood on the Metro train, watching people squeeze into an unbelievably small amount of space. Each station we pulled into was crammed, some stations so full, the train simply didn't open the doors. The 30-minute ride we took yesterday dragged on to an hour and a half, but nobody seemed to care. Instead, they spent the time laughing, singing, and taking pictures of the huge crowd, both on the trains and in the stations.

Our final stop was so jam packed, they passed it by. Unfortunately, so were both the stops before it. We had to decide whether to get off at an earlier or a later stop, and opted for the later one. Here's what it looked like after the train emptied out:

And did I mention the people were happy? Including the Metrorail employees! One funny woman kept chanting over the speaker, "Keep it moving, keep it moving!" The crowd responded, chanting it back to her, and to each other. And move they did, politely, apologizing when they stepped on you, and even clearing a path for Mark and my Mom.

"Let the baby through!" they shouted when they saw Mark. "Look out for the baby!" My Mom loved that, and maneuvered her "baby" through the crowd unharmed.

The people poured out of the station and into the streets. "Blue and silver ticket holders this way!" shouted one cop, so we followed her directions. One very excited young man found out we had silver tickets like him, and glommed onto us. He was jubilant, and kept shouting, "It's here, people! The day we've been waiting for is here! O-BA-MA!" He surveyed the crowd and said, "Wow, there's a lotta people here -- it's like March of the Penguins!" (Not exactly how I'd have described it, but to each his own.)

When we got to the bottom of Capitol Hill, we encountered the first line of ticket holders. We could see people in line forever -- we never did find the end of that line. Not only that, the line snaked back and forth, doubling itself up in some places. It was for the Blue ticket holders. By now, it was 9:20 a.m. Security had opened 8, but nobody was moving -- the line was completely still. We searched for signs or police officers pointing to our gate, the Silver gate, but never saw them. And we certainly couldn't find the Silver ticket line.

It was pure chaos and total control all at once. The Blue ticket holders stood in line patiently, letting people cut across the line, or pointing them toward some vague end of the line. But everyone else wandered the area aimlessly, looking for the Mall, or the Silver ticket line. There were no police or volunteers helping out, so we wandered through the masses for another 45 minutes before we finally found the Silver ticket line.

"I've never been so happy to find a line before!" I told my Mom, but my joy was short lived. People in the Silver line pointed behind them to the end, so we followed along the line (along with a huge group of people), looking for it. I am not kidding when I say we followed the line for about a mile and a half, walking at least half an hour before coming to it. It was now 10:10, and we heard the music beginning. We started to panic a little.

My Mom finally found a volunteer and asked if there was any way we'd get into the Mall if we got into our line. "No," she said bluntly. "Not in time to see him sworn in -- you'll never make it through security in time."

And so we received our first blow. "Well, I'm just happy to be here," my Mom said. "Whether we see it or not, I'm just glad to be here." I agreed. We immediately scrapped our plans for using the tickets, and decided to find our way onto the Mall -- anywhere -- somehow.

After a short stop at the African Museum to heat up and use the bathrooms, we rejoined the crowd. It was just an amazing sight -- all the streets were closed to traffic, and just filled with people. People on the sidewalks, ticket holders in line, people in line for the portapotties, vendors hawking t-shirts and buttons. Just people everywhere.

We found another guard and asked what our options were. She didn't shoot down our Mall plans, but did tell us that the Mall was almost full, and they were closing up all the entrances. "They've closed the 14th Street entrance, but the one at 23rd Street's still open," she said.

"What street are we on now?" I asked. (We had no idea where we were!)

"Seventh," she said, apologetically.

What else could we do but keep on walking? We headed down Independence Avenue toward 23rd Street.

The weird thing was, we didn't really mind. Sure, we were bummed our tickets didn't work out. But if you could have felt the electricity, the simple joy, that reverberated in the streets, you'd understand. We'd traveled across the entire country to be here, and even if our original plans didn't work out, it wouldn't slow us down.

Well, not quite. We did worry a bit when we hit a mob near 12th Street. It was now 11 a.m. (the ceremony started at 11:30), and people were panicking. "What do you mean, the entrance is closed?" one man asked a guard. "They close each entrance just as I get to it!"

That did not sound encouraging. But there was no way we were gonna miss out! We walked a couple streets further, until we got to 14th street. There was a wall next to us, and a fence beyond that. We could see tons of people back there, walking about freely. All I could think of was how long it was gonna take us to get through security when (if) we made it to 23rd Street.

Suddenly, a group right next to us yelled, "Let's jump the wall!" We watched most of them go over pretty easily, and I looked at my mom. "Wanna jump the fence?" I asked, and to her credit, she never even hesitated.

"Yes," she said. "Let's go."

It was hilarious. One girl was having trouble getting over the wall, and proclaimed, "I can't do it! I don't wanna do it!"

"Then can you move aside?" I asked her, not really waiting for her answer. I was halfway up and all the way over by the time she moved away.

We had to hurry. To say security was tight is an understatement, and I didn't come this far to get separated from my family at this moment. (And I really didn't want to watch the swearing in from jail!)

"Come on, Mom, push Mark over the fence!" I called out. Before I could finish the sentence, she was shoving him over.

And then she was coming over herself. "Step here, Mom, use this part like a ladder," I said. I was worried the Mall police would appear, but instead of the police, two really nice guys grabbed her arms and pulled her over. In less than two minutes, all three of us were on the Mall, without the hassle of a security check. (Besides Obama being sworn in, watching my mom scale a fence was definitely a highlight!)

We passed a family, the dad photographing his group of five little kids. They had huge smiles, and when he clicked the picture, he told them, "Say Obama!" instead of "Say cheese!" They obliged, yelling out "Obama!" proudly.

But now the program was really starting. We muscled our way through the crowd, and found a final resting place. We were smack dab in the middle of a crowd so thick, you couldn't move, because if you did, someone else absorbed your space. Yet, again, they were unfailingly polite, and again, they all watched out for "the baby" so that Mark didn't get crushed. We could see the swarms of people at the base of the Washington Monument -- it was, again, unbelievable how many people there were! (Yes, unbelievable was the word of the day.) We couldn't see much, not even a full view of the Jumbotron screens, but it didn't matter.

We talked to a few people with great stories -- one family had driven up five hours from Alabama that morning, another had come from Tennessee. They had brought all of their family members -- kids, parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles. Everyone was so excited, and though they couldn't see the screen, just a rumor of Obama appearing onscreen sent them into overdrive. "Did they say Obama?" "Is he there?" they asked, excitedly, breaking into cheers. One woman who could actually see the screen narrated for the rest of us. "He's getting into the limo," she'd say. "Now they're driving up the street."

One woman beside me was really funny. She (like most everyone else) had been there a good five to six hours already, and it was starting to show. "I'm HUNGRY!" she said loudly, and heads all around nodded in agreement.

I'd just fished out a snack for Mark, and I offered her one as well. She shook her head, politely declining. "Thanks, but I need more than a snack -- I need some LUNCH! There should be a buffet for us common folk!" The musical interlude began, and my neighbor started singing along.

"Do you know this song?" I asked (because I didn't).

"No," she said. "I'm just trying to forget about being hungry!"

There was a tiny Tourmobile booth behind us, and people were scaling the roof to sit atop it. At one point, there were so many people on it, I thought the roof might crash, but it held. A CNN camera man even climbed on up, where he filmed us waving and cheering wildly. He didn't want to get caught, so he'd wave at us to quiet down, and we did. "We don't need police with guns to control this crowd," I told my Mom. "Just camera men pointing cameras!"

People were sitting on top of portapotties, on signs, even in a coupla trees -- whatever they could shimmy up for a better view.

It was also quite evident which way their political beliefs leaned. Anytime George Bush was mentioned, they booed -- quite loudly. And not just the people around me, but people all along the Mall. You could hear it echoing along the sound system, until it reached us in the back. They even booed Laura Bush and Lynn Cheney, though not as loudly as for their husbands.

Jimmy and Rosalyn Carter appeared, then Bill and Hillary Clinton, and the crowd cheered. George Bush appeared, and again, the booing started, followed by an enthusiastic round of "Na na na na, na na na na, hey hey hey, goodbye!" (We heard that song more than once throughout the day.) People really did not like him.

Rick Warren gave the invocation, and because he is so controversial, I thought the crowd would be more vocal about him (they were about everyone else). He said his part, but what really moved my Mom was when he started saying the Our Father, and everyone joined in. It was pretty moving to hear 2 million people praying together (and I'm not even religious!).

The Vice President-elect appeared, and was sworn in. People were happy, but you could tell they were waiting for the Man of the Hour to appear.

And when he was announced...well, I don't know quite how to describe it. The crowd, simply put, went wild. They were cheering and screaming and yelling and I even heard a couple Hallelujahs. No one around me could actually see the new President, not even on the big screen, but it didn't matter. They cheered and wept and I really felt, at that moment, I was in a moment bigger than even the humongous sea of people along the Mall.

Senator Obama was sworn in and became President Obama, and the crowd cheered yet again. "At last!" a man behind me yelled, and a thousand heads around me nodded and cheered in agreement.

Boy, was it loud. The noise of all those happy people was impressive, but what moved me even more was the silence. Throughout the ceremony, people had chattered to each other. But when President Obama took the microphone, all that stopped. Suddenly, where there was tittering and talking among 2 million people, now there was only silence. He commanded their silence. They listened to him intently, shushing people around them (even though no one else was talking) so that every person could hear every word. Clearly, they all realized what a momentous occasion this was, and no one wanted to miss one word of it. That was just remarkable to me.

It really was an inspirational moment. Even when it ended, the crowd was riding high. A really nice older lady who'd stood beside us silently asked where we were from.

"California," I told her, and she nodded.

"Have a safe trip back home," she told us, and I wished her the same. I just couldn't get over the kindness of all these strangers -- but that day, no one really felt like strangers.

The crowd tried leaving the fenced off area, but couldn't find a way out, and just stopped. "Hey, guy in the tree, which way is the exit?" someone shouted, and the guy obliged by pointing in the opposite direction. "Go that way!" he called, so the crowd surged to the right.

That's when it got kinda scary. We followed the mob up Independence Avenue, and again, they moved quietly, happily, making room for each other. There were a few bad seeds (always are) who pushed and shoved, and at one point, I thought Mark might get crushed. I turned into Mama Bear, and told a grown man to back up or he was gonna squish my son. Some women walking by called out, "Happy happy, joy joy," reminding the crowd it was a joyous day, and not to let any bickering get us down. (As soon as Mark was safe, I returned to Happy Heather.)

For the most part, it was okay. At one point, we bunched up at a corner by the Metro station. There were no police in the street, no one directing traffic, except some man who was determined to drive a tour bus through the huge mass of people. No one moved for a good 20 minutes, and the crowd got a little restless, then more so when they noticed another bus next to us was filled with lounging police officers. They sat there on break, watching, even photographing the crowd from the bus, and people became pretty agitated. "Hey officers, why don't you come out of the bus and help direct traffic?" they shouted. I really did panic a little then -- we were so smashed against one another you couldn't even move, and if the crowd turned, it would be very dangerous, especially for Mark. But the police never did come out of the bus. One jumped on top trying to direct the crowd, but it was hopeless -- he needed all the other officers. The only volunteers we saw were later on -- wearing vests that said "Girl Scout Volunteers."

So my Mom did what she does occasionally, when need be -- she pulled out the D card. "Please let us through!" she said. "My grandson has diabetes, and we need to check his blood sugar RIGHT NOW!"

People weren't quite sure what that meant, but hearing "diabetes" and "right now" spurred them into action, and they let us cut through. It was still pretty hairy, but a few minutes later, we found an empty bench in front of the Sackler Gallery and breathed a sigh of relief. This was definitely NOT the place for anyone with even the slightest claustrophobic tendencies. It was very scary, especially after having spent the rest of the day smushed in the crowds.

We ate lunch, some sandwiches we'd packed and brought with us. Our hands were freezing, so popped open the disposable hand warmers we'd brought. Turns out, they take 15 minutes to heat up, so the three of us kept asking each other, "Is yours hot yet?" or saying, "The right one's hot, no wait, the left one's hotter!" We were cracking ourselves up with those dumb heaters!

Finally, we just went back into the African Museum to warm up again. (It was MUCH colder today than it was yesterday -- windy, and SUPER cold! But the one good thing about being in the crowds is that you didn't feel cold.) There wasn't anyone inside the first time, but now it was packed. People were lounging everywhere, thawing out from the cold, napping on the floor, waiting out the throngs overtaking the Metro stations. They weren't even putting up the pretense of looking around the museum -- they were just splayed around the exhibits, or asking where the bathrooms were.

After we were warm, we left, and found a little outside fair at L'Enfant Plaza. My mom was buying souvenirs, and a vendor from the next booth asked where I was from.

"California," I answered again, and he grabbed my hand into both of his.

"Thank you for coming," he said very earnestly. "How was the ceremony?" He explained that they couldn't hear it outside of the Mall, so I gave him my review. I told him what moved me the most was the silence, when almost 2 million people stopped talking so that they could hear the new President's every word.

"Wow," he said, shaking his head. "That's so cool."

He shook my hand again, and thanked me for visiting his city. I just loved that -- there was such a feeling of inclusion -- by everyone, for everyone. This wasn't just one city's celebration, or even one political party's -- it was the nation's, and no matter where you came from, no matter what you looked like, or believed in, you were welcomed, literally, with open arms.

We gathered our souvenirs and headed for the Metro. The Inauguration had ended two hours ago, and on the other side of the Mall, the parade had started 30 minutes earlier. We thought we were safe, that the crowds would've died down, but again, we were wrong -- there was a huge mob in front of the Metro station, pouring out into the street. Nobody was moving at all, and worse, there were Army guys perched above. We weren't sure if they were preventiative or if they were controlling the crowd before it got unruly, but we didn't want to find out. We immediately walked on, hiking up toward the Capitol South station.

Capitol South was equally crowded, and our hopes of ever going home were waning. "Let's keep going toward Eastern Market," I told my mom. That was my station when I used to live in D.C., and I thought it would be less crowded.

Which it was. I was exhausted by the time we got there -- we'd spent most of the day walking, sometimes two and three hours at a time, without stopping. (I'd say we spent a total of six hours today just walking, trying to get to or from the Mall or Metro.) But luckily, the station wasn't mobbed, and we actually got seats this time. One girl cracked me up, saying the whole event was a little bit Katrina-ish. "There were no trains, no police," she said. "There were only Girl Scouts!"

And so we finally returned home, almost 12 hours after we'd left. It was a long day -- it was dark when we left the house, and it was almost dark when we returned home. We were exhausted, hungry, and not wanting to see another group of people for a long time, but it was all a happy exhaustion. Throughout the crowds, and challenges, we spent the day laughing, and having a really fun time. Mark was a trooper -- he spent the day being pushed, prodded and pulled back, and he never once complained. (Honestly!) He did so great -- I don't know how much of it he really absorbed -- he spent most of the time staring at the back of people's jackets, but he still went on without complaint. He was awesome.

And my Mom...what can I say, except that we had a blast. There were certainly times when I was tired and frustrated and could've lost it, which instead, turned into funny moments we laughed about instead. We cracked up the whole day, and even after dinner, reliving the whole day.

So that's the report. Crowded, but inspirational and very moving. We may not have gotten into our ticketed section, but it didn't dampen our spirits at all. We still had the best time ever, and have really enjoyed talking to all the wonderful people we've met these past few days.

We made it!

That's right, we're here in D.C. and loving it!

We got in late last night. The flight was completely full, but instead of the usual grumbling and rude people, it was the exact opposite -- everyone was really happy and friendly. Everyone was wearing Obama shirts and hats, and were all excited to be going to the big party.

We arrived in D.C., and could see the Capitol Building and Washington Monument all lit up from the plane. We found a super helpful cab driver who asked where we were going, and then replied, "I don't know where that is." But he kept driving anyway, and after stopping at a local 7-11 for directions, we made it safely to Jamie and Suzanne's house.

This morning we awoke bright and early (for the West Coast, anyway). We rode the Metro into town. We were the second-to-last station, so we got seats -- which was good, because the train got more crowded than I'd ever seen!

But again, the happy mood prevailed! We passed one of the House office buildings, which had a loooong line wrapped around the building. But instead of being angry, the people in line were smiling, happy. They were thrilled to line up and receive their swearing-in ceremony tickets.

We walked passed the Library of Congress, the Capitol Building and the Supreme Court. I was thrilled to be back in D.C. and see all the amazing sites. I don't think Mark saw much of them, as he was bundled up, with his sweatshirt zipped halfway up his face. He saw the ground, mostly.

We found the Hart Senate building, where Senator Feinstein's office is. Carmen, a mutual friend, and her sister met up with us -- I had an extra ticket for Carmen (I felt bad I didn't have one for her sister, though). After passing through the security line, we headed upstairs to the Senator's office, and received our tickets. They're beautiful, like printed invitations. (I'll scan them in when I get home.)

After meeting our new friends, it was time to meet an old one. Seth was also in town! He came down from New York City yesterday, and we were thrilled to spend the day with him. (I was especially thrilled because I missed him at Christmas this year.) It was so crazy to travel all the way across the country, and meet up with a friend from home.

Here's a shot of Mark, my mom and Seth (just for you, Ann!).

Our little group wandered around the Capitol building, making our way down to the Mall. Along the way, we heard them doing a sound check/rehearsal for tomorrow's ceremony. The announcer introduced Yo-Yo Ma and Itzak Pearlman, and beautiful music wafted through the speakers. I assumed it was a recording, but Seth said, "I think that's live!" He was right! Serendipity...

And when Mark heard the music, he told us very seriously, "I beat Yo-Yo Ma at pizzicato." I had no idea what that meant, but I was so proud of my little man and his musical (and musician) knowledge! (He later explained that pizzacato was plucking the strings on the cello.)

There were a LOT of people out on the Mall today!

And in the museums. We spent our afternoon in the Air and Space Museum, where Mark's favorite exhibit was the trash can with an automatic trash compactor. It had a red light that flashed every time it compacted the trash, and Mark kept racing to feed it more trash and set the light off.

He thought the planes and rockets were pretty cool, too. Unfortunately, I proved myself to be an unworthy tour guide. My dad and brother Scott are awesome guides -- they can tell you the name and history of every plane or rocket there. I, on the other hand, could not.

"See that space suit there?" I asked Mark. "Astronauts wore that when they were working outside on the spaceship...er, rocket ship." He just walked away.

I also pointed out the cockpit of a plane from the '60s. "Look at all the instruments!" I told Mark. (I thought all the stuff was called the instrument panel, which made the blinking lights and stuff...instruments, right?) But I was immediately corrected by the little kid behind me, who said, "That's the control panel."

"How sad is it that 9 year olds know more about planes than I do?" I asked Seth.

We spent a couple hours in the museum. It was really fun to hang out with Seth, and watch Mark run around pushing all the buttons. At first it was nice to get out of the heat, but after a while, it got just plain hot in there, between the thermals and the wool coats we were carting around.

It was cold outside when we left, but not nearly as bad as we thought. I thought we'd freeze, but our layers kept us pretty warm.

Here's a shot of Mom in front of the Washington Monument:


And in front of the MSNBC booth on the Mall:

We were glad about the cold for another reason, too. We'd ordered groceries online, but the store didn't deliver them before we left. They said the groceries would be fine outside until tonight, and they were right. I unpacked the milk, and it was as cold as refrigerated milk usually is! I guess there is some benefit to below 30 degree weather after all.

All in all, it was a pretty awesome day. We did a trial run for the weather (confirming that we need layers for tomorrow), and we got to spend the day in a cool museum with Seth. But best of all, we got a taste of tomorrow's ceremony, and we got to feel the electric vibe coursing through the city. It's just all so exciting.

There's a huge, diverse crowd -- young, old, black, white, individuals, travelling groups, Army guys and civilians. Everyone's got on shirts that say "Hope" and that's exactly what it feels like -- hope.

And now we're off for one last time tonight. Off to my favorite little deli, the Lost Dog Cafe, for dinner. It'll be an early night, because we have an even earlier morning tomorrow, and I know it'll be hard to fall asleep tonight just thinking of it.

Compare and contrast

Current weather reports:
Southern California: 82 degrees, feels like 82

Washington D.C.: 16 degrees, feels like 0

Heather: 98.6 degrees, feels like she might freeze to death in D.C.

I've spent a lot of time online the past few weeks, researching our trip. I've purchased advanced tickets for museums, monuments, Metrorail, the Tourmobile, even ordered groceries online (note to self: next time, don't order them right before lunch, when you're hungry. Second note to self -- cancel the donuts).

I've also spent a lot of time obsessing over the weather -- just like I did when I actually lived in D.C.! It really is a homecoming.

Yesterday, I read my two favorite articles. They were unintentionally hilarious, and should've been categorized under the topic "If you need to read this, you are too stupid to attend -- PLEASE stay home and watch it on T.V."

The articles were from http://inauguration.dc.gov. The first one, entitled "HHS Advises Inauguration Attendees to Prepare to Avoid Cold-Weather Related Health Problems," contained this little gem:

The average temperature in Washington in January is 35 degrees Fahrenheit. Visitors from warm climates may be more sensitive to the cold and should factor in any sensitivity in deciding how to dress for outdoor inaugural events. Dinsdale family, this means YOU.

OK, I added the last sentence, but I definitely felt like they were talking to me. I love how they tell us wimpy little warm-climate visitors what a world of hurt we're in for. Hey you thin-blooded Californians, when you cry from the cold, your tears will freeze on your face!

The second article had an equally snappy title: "National Park Service Emphasizes Common Sense Thinking and Practical Advice for Ways to Best Experience Inaugural Events while enjoying Inaugural Interpretive and Educational Offerings."

So many comments for that title! First, sounds like it was written by the same guy who gave an equally lengthy title to the Borat movie. Secondly, didn't they ever hear that quote about how common sense is not so common?? Lastly (and most importantly), what the hell are "Inaugural Interpretive Offerings"? (Will there be interpretive dances? Interpretive paintings? I'm confused here...)

But the title wasn't even the best part of the article. The best part was a single line, buried in the text:

Wear waterproof footwear; leave the open-toed high heels and flip-flops at home!

Really? It's gonna be 35 degrees, and I shouldn't wear flip-flops? Good to know -- I will unpack them immediately.

Oh man...I was worried about the size of the crowds before. Now I'm worried about the intelligence of the crowd, who apparently aren't smart enough to wear close-toed shoes in 35 degree weather!

Stay tuned -- I will post all pictures I take of people sporting flip-flops.

Just a matter of perspective, I guess

I requested D.C. tour tickets from my Congressman in November, but never heard back. So I called his office yesterday for more info.

The phone was answered by an 18-year-old intern. (I hope he was an intern. Otherwise, I am worried about my Congressman's hiring abilities!) I gave him my name, and told him I was calling about the status of our tickets.

He seemed to recognize my name. "Yeah, I sent you an email," he said. "Didn't you get it?"

(Yes, I did, I thought, rather snarkily -- that's EXACTLY why I'm taking time out of my day to call you and ask again!)

What I said (in a much politer tone) was, "No, I didn't. That's why I'm calling. Can you tell me which tickets you're helping us with?"

He ran down the list of options. "White House...no, White House is closed all month. Library of Congress, no, also closed. Supreme Court -- maybe, but they only take a few people. Oh, you have tickets to the Capitol Building tour on the 22nd at 10:10 a.m."

Now that was good news! Except that...

"How long does the tour last?" I asked him. "We have tickets for the Washington Monument at 11."

"Oh, you're never gonna make that," he said helpfully.

I waited for alternative suggestions. He had none.

"Um yeah," he said, breaking the silence. "And all the other Capitol tours are full."

Fine. I moved on. "What about the Bureau of Printing and Engraving?" I asked. I really want to take Mark there -- I think he'd dig seeing how they make money.

Mr. Helpful Intern replied, "Nope, closed for the month."

(Busy printing all that worthless bailout money, I'm guessing!)

I was surprised to hear that. "That's closed for the month, too?"

"Yup," he answered, and then, he actually chastised me, saying, "You picked a really bad week to visit Washington. There's like 4 million people coming to town that week!"

I almost burst out laughing! A really bad week, huh? Funny, I planned my trip for the exact OPPOSITE reason -- because it's gonna be a really GOOD week! Crowded, yes, but worth every minute of the crowds, I'm sure.

Guess I shouldn't be so hard on the kid. It really is a matter of perspective. My Congressman's a Republican, and they are swearing-in a Democrat as President next week. So maybe to the Congressman and his employees, it really is a bad week.

Whatever. Political beliefs aside, I'm excited to share this historical event and the nation's Capital with my son (and the other 3, 999,997 visitors coming to town).

I also bought new tickets for the Washington Monument on Friday, so everything worked out.

Oh, and today's D.C. weather report -- according to weather.com, it's 28 degrees but feels like 8. EIGHT DEGREES! In the words of the immortal Jar Jar Binks, "Wesa gonna DIE!"

Only four more days...

...until we head off to the Inauguration!!

I'm so excited I can't stand it. My mom is, too -- every day, we talk about the news pertaining to the Big Day. My mom gives the weather report. It's 28 degrees right now, and it'll be 21 (TWENTY-ONE!!!) -- degrees on Friday. (But it'll warm up to a crisp 35 degrees on Inauguration Day.) I share the latest updates I've read online about transportation, security, etc.

We've both packed, unpacked, and then re-packed our clothes (and disposable hand warmers!). It's hard to plan for winter when I walk outside and it's 80 degrees and sunny. (Gotta love California in January.)

The other night, I took out all the sweaters I owned, layering on as many as I could before my jacket no longer buttoned up (after three, I started sweating). Then I took off the sweaters and tested other options. Shirts, thick sweaters, thin sweaters, sweatshirts, you name it. I realized how really ill-prepared I am in the winter clothing department, and how under prepared we wimpy Southern Californians are for ANY weather (other than 80 degrees in January). This point was proven clearly on the way to school, when some kid biked past us wearing a big jacket, gloves, a hat and a scarf -- it was probably 60 degrees out, but he was dressed for much colder weather.

I settled on this winning combo: long-sleeved shirt, sweater, fleece jacket, wool coat. All finished off with a scarf, hat and gloves. I think it'll be enough -- we'll find out on our trial outing Monday.

Then it was time for Mark's dress rehearsal. I didn't bother with his thermal shirt, but I made him put on all the other layers -- long-sleeved t-shirt, pullover sweatshirt, zip-up hoodie, and his big jacket. He was so bulky, his arms raised up a bit from his sides.

"Oh no," he said, of the final layer. "I am not wearing this stupid jacket."

"You don't have to wear it, you just have to bring it," I told him. Thin-blooded little California boy has no idea what cold really is -- I know he'll change his mind about the jacket the minute he steps out of the airport and into the cold.

"Fine, but I'm not wearing that ugly hat," he protested. I giggled and thought of Kelley and I saying the same exact thing to our moms when we lived in Washington D.C. Our loving mothers bought us these horrendously ugly knit hat/scarf combo sets, and we both refused to wear them. We refused while we were in California, that is. The minute we returned to D.C., we put them on and left them on the rest of the winter, constantly praising our genius mothers.

I also shared my winter wear philosophy with Mark. "There will be at least two million people there next week," I said. "Not one of them knows you, and none of them will ever see you again. So stop worrying about what you look like -- worry about staying WARM!"

(Oh my God, I REALLY am a mom! Only moms say stuff like that.)

He'll stop arguing about all the layers once we get there. I lived through Washington's worst winter in 100 years -- even though it was a long time ago, I remember what cold is, and I don't want any part of it!

Anyway, I'm just excited. Thrilled to go to my first Presidential Inauguration ever, and even more thrilled to go to this Inauguration in particular. I'm excited to return to Washington -- it's been waaaaay too many years since I've been there. I'm excited to show Mark around my adoptive city (OK, the adoption didn't stick, but I still love the city and all its beauty and history). I'm excited to return to the Lost Dog Cafe, and to show Mark the apartment where I lived in Arlington. (My mom still refuses to go see the...um, "urban"... rowhouse where I lived in the city -- even now, 15 years later! Yes, the same place my dad warned Scott NOT to tell mom about. It may have had some personal safety issues...)

Only four more days until we fly into history...but hey, who's counting?

Sometimes it's more entertaining NOT to say no

Last night, Mark said he wanted a bunny.

"Not a big bunny," he explained. "Just a cute little baby bunny."

"What do you think baby bunnies grow into?" I asked.

He thought for a moment before giving me a knowing, "Oh, yeah. Big bunnies, I guess."

"And what about your cats?" I asked. "How do you think they'd treat a little bunny?"

"I'll keep it in my room so they can't get it."

I just nodded. Which to Mark meant, Start talking! (I swear he's going to be a lawyer when he grows up; that kid can -- and will -- argue anything.) I usually just say no right off the bat, but this time, I let him plead his case.

"I'll keep his cage in my room, and shut the door," Mark said.

I nodded. "And what about cleaning his cage?"

Mark winced at that one. But he could see from my face it was a deal breaker, so he said, "OK, I'll clean it. They just have little droppings anyway."

"True," I said. "But dirty animal cages are stinky. Think about the litterbox."

This time he shuddered. "OK, I don't want the cage in my room then. I'll put it somewhere else -- like your room!"

That kid is a very quick thinker!

But I shook my head and said, "Nope, that's where the cats sleep. Try again."

He listed the other rooms in the house, but none had doors to keep the cats out. So he conceded the cage could go in his room after all, he'd just keep it clean -- this from the boy who gags and takes an hour to clean out the cats' litterbox!

I finally relented (or so Mark thought). I said, "OK, fine. If you can prove you're responsible, you can have a little bunny." His responsibilities included feeding the cats everyday without being asked, and cleaning the litterboxes.

"If you can do those for one month without whining, you can have a bunny," I said.

Which prompted the very first whine. "What!" he cried. "But you clean the boxes! It's my job to feed them."

I pointed out that if he doesn't take care of his existing pets, he can't have more.

"Fine," he said. "I feed the cats every day anyhow."

I reminded him he forgot to feed them last night.

"I did, too! Oh wait, no, I forgot to..." He grimaced.

And so we agreed that February is the test. If he can feed and clean up after the cats for the whole month without reminders or complaining, he can have a little bunny. He even came up with a bunny name -- B-Bunny ("I don't know what it stands for, it just sounds cool," he explained.)

I felt pretty good walking to school this morning when Mark said, "Hey Mom, I thought you'd say no to the bunny right away. I'm surprised you said maybe."

For the record -- I'm not worried about this. If past experience proves anything, Mark will either a) forget about the bunny request by Feb. 1st, or b) tire of cleaning the litterbox by Feb. 2nd. Either way, I come out ahead -- it looks like I actually considered Mark's request instead of immediately saying no.

He doesn't need to know otherwise.

Five years from now, it will STILL be funny!

Let me preface this by saying, Mark is a very cute kid. I know I'm biased, and shouldn't be since technically, I had nothing to do biologically with his cuteness. But he is, and I am.

That said, he is the most non-photogenic cute child I've ever met. I don't know why. When I asked him, he said it's because he's always making goofy faces (true). He also doesn't like the flash, and manages to shut or half-shut his eyes in virtually every photo. (He's lucky to live in the digital camera era -- I end up deleting and re-taking most photos.)

It's kind of a joke now. I tease that when he gets married, I'll present a slide show of the silly school and sports pictures with half-open eyes, closed eyes, cheesy grins and otherwise unusable photos.

When he DOES take a good picture, we rejoice. He took a super good one with Santa this year, and I praised him all up and down about it.

The reason I bring this all up is because Mark got a passport. (You can see where this is headed...) I took him into the post office, where the woman looked over our paperwork and gave me a small heart attack by taking away Mark's birth certificate. (Yes, the one I waited 14 months for -- she just filed it in the stack of papers to send off to the government office.)

When all his papers were in order, she sent us out to the hallway to take Mark's passport picture. She told him to smile, which he did. But she didn't tell him to open his eyes, so the picture came out eyes closed.

"That's okay," she said patiently. "That's the beauty of digital pictures. We can take another one."

Which she did. Then did again, because his eyes were still closed. By the eighth picture, she was not feeling quite as patient, and she barked, "Come on, kiddo, just open your eyes!"

I could tell she was getting frustrated, and the pictures were getting worse. I had to help out, or the kid would never get a passport!

"OK, Mark, try this," I told him. "Close your eyes, and when I count to three, open them REALLY WIDE and smile." I figured that would cut down the chances of another closed eyes picture.

"One, two, three!" I counted, and the flash popped. But Mark didn't open his eyes quick enough.

"I thought you meant after three, not on three" he said.

"It's okay," I said. "Try again."

We tried another three pictures, and finally, we got one. The post office lady showed me the picture, which wasn't all that great -- his eyes were, indeed, open wide (even bugging out a little!) and he was wearing a silly grin.

"Well, at least his eyes are open," I told the lady, and she shrugged okay. We realized it was probably the best we were gonna get from him.

We went back to the passport desk and she brought in printed copies of the photo. They looked even funnier printed than they did in the camera. Mark and I immediately started giggling, and I reminded him that he'd have this passport for five whole years.

"Imagine when you're 13," I said. "You'll hand over your passport, and laugh at the goofy little 8-year-old in this picture!"


He laughed too, and said he'd throw it away as soon as it expired. I said oh no he wouldn't -- I'm gonna keep that hilarious passport forever!

Hopefully, he doesn't have a future of bad government-issued photo IDs (yeah, I'm talking about you, driver's license!) to look forward to.

A day at the park

Yesterday, I took a stroll down Memory Lane -- literally! My friend Joe arranged a picnic in a park that was, appropriately enough, right off a street called Memory Lane.

The picnic was an informal get-together of Prosoftians (people I worked with at a company called Prosoft). I was only there for a year, but I worked with some of my close friends (Jud, Susan and Patrick) and made some other really great friends there as well.

I was a little nervous because after I left, there were waves of new people who joined the company, people I didn't know very well (and probably wouldn't have had a lot to say to). But imagine my surprise when I turned up to see my core group of friends there! This was gonna be a fun afternoon for sure!

Joe, party organizer extraordinaire, was there when we arrived. So were RuthAnn, Bill and their kids Natalie and Buddy, who all drove down the mountain (they live in Crestline) for the picnic. Jill arrived, then Jud, announcing the Lanes were on their way. They arrived soon after, Patrick carrying little Tabitha, and Susan carrying her own surprise.

"Got any questions for me, Joe?" she asked, unzipping her jacket to reveal a baby bump.

We all cheered, and congratulated Susan and Patrick. They're such great parents, and new babies are always wonderful news. (They're expecting another little girl in May -- Susan worried it might push Patrick over the edge, having THREE Gemini women in the house!)

Mark, meanwhile, took this opportunity to transform into a loner. He shook hands (and perhaps even made eye contact) with all my friends, but then moseyed away with a ball he kicked at a wall. Buddy and Natalie tried to engage him, but he refused. At one point, he found a giant broken tree branch and dragged it across the park. Every time he stopped dragging it, the other kids casually sat on top or leaned against it, but still, he refused to be drawn in. It was pretty funny -- at one point, five-year-old Buddy was just chasing him around the park, and Mark couldn't avoid interacting with him.

I could understand his moping if I'd taken him to a party with all adults, but man, there were lots of kids running around here. I think he was really bummed that Gillen, Jill's son and Mark's buddy, wasn't there.

But I was just glad to see all my friends again--it had been too long! We sat in the park, enjoying a sunny Southern California day, and each other's company, laughing, catching up, and occasionally looking for or feeding the kids. (I gave Mark a granola bar, and poof! He woke up, and instantly transformed from Sulky Mark back to Happy-Go-Lucky Mark.)

After a while, the kids got bored, so we packed our stuff and headed over to the playground. Mark climbed up on the play structure, announcing he was a bus driver, and asking where I wanted to go. Jud suggested San Diego, to see his grandparents, and Mark loved that idea (he loves my parents!). I asked how much the trip was, and Mark replied, "Three dollars."

"That's a deal!" I said. "I'll take one ticket."

Mark realized maybe he'd undersold the tickets, so he amended the price to "Six dollars. Each way -- that'll be 12 dollars please!"

I shook my head, and RuthAnn commented on how quickly inflation rises these days.

Behind us, her husband Bill was twirling their son Buddy around like an airplane, swinging him by one arm and a leg. Bill didn't know Buddy had filled his pockets with acorns, which were flying out of his pockets as he spun, smacking him in the face.

A bit later, I was sitting at the table, when I realized I didn't see Mark anywhere.

"Hold on a second," I told Jud, mid-sentence. "I lost my kid."

I took a quick stroll around the playground, but didn't see him. "Mark?" I called out.

I heard a voice behind me call out, "A little help?"

I tuned to see Mark just below the ground, gripping onto a tree branch -- he'd just climbed up the steep ledge behind me. I walked over to see a rocky dried riverbed below -- Mark said the ball "fell" down into the riverbed, but I'd bet my money he kicked it over the edge so he could climb down there.

"Next time it goes down there, you call me," I told him, pulling him up onto the grass.

"So you can go get it instead?" he asked.

"No," I said. "So I can stand at the top of the ledge and make sure you don't hurt yourself getting up and down there."

Jud laughed and said, "Yes, a good parent always supervises their child."

I thought we'd be there a couple hours, but it turned into a long, lazy afternoon. It was just so good to see everyone again, and hear what they were up to. I could've stayed longer, but it was getting late. Some people had to leave because they had babysitters coming, and some had to leave to go babysit (Mark and I were watching the nieces and nephew). And so, with lots of big hugs, we bid each other farewell, and promised not to wait so long for the next gathering.

Thanks Joe, for setting up such a great day!

That was knot fun!

Mark's Cub Scout meetings always prove very entertaining. Last night was no exception.

The boys worked on knot-tying. They each got a length of rope and strict instructions not to tie said rope around their necks. Of course, they immediately did just that.

There were also some Boy Scouts present -- older brothers who'd been recruited for their knot-tying abilities. But instead of teaching the younger boys, they scampered around the room, jumping on and off a target on the floor.

The dads leading the activity lined the boys up. One had a long rope, tied to the end of a bag. He showed the boys how to loop the rope around their elbow and hand, then swing it gently, tossing the bag at the target. The Boy Scouts were dodging the bag, and one mother suggested THEY be the targets -- "Moving targets are more fun to hit!"

The father said that wasn't a good idea.

"Why?" the mom asked.

"Because the bag is full of ROCKS!" he answered.

So it was agreed that the (non-moving) paper target on the ground was, indeed, good enough.

The boys took turns hitting the target. After the first kid threw the bag, the dad realized the "wall" in front of them was really windows. "OK everybody, go line up on the other side of the room!" he said. "We're throwing toward the chalkboard instead!"

Mark did really great -- he hit the target dead-on the first time, and came pretty close the second time. (As he was wrapping the rope around his arm, I noticed his arms were FILTHY -- seriously, they were black with dirt! I was mortified -- he'd washed his hands before dinner, but obviously not his arms.)

After the target toss was over, the boys moved to a table. The Boy Scouts had stopped scampering and started teaching. Unfortunately, they'd forgotten which knots were which.

"...And that's how you tie a double-knot," ended one Boy Scout.

"No, that's a square knot!" corrected another.

"No, a square knot looks like this...Hey Dad, how do you tie a square knot again?"

The dad came over to teach the life-saving knot (sorry, I can't remember the technical name!). You use this knot to create a loop to toss at someone who's drowning, and pull them safely to shore. After watching the boys' loops fall apart numerous times, I realized I was probably gonna die if I fell in the lake.

Next, the dad placed some chairs upside down on the desk and asked who'd ever watched any Western movies.

The boys stared at him blankly; no hands raised.

He tried again. "I mean, cowboy movies...who's ever seen a cowboy movie?"

This time all the hands shot up, along with a chorus of, "I have! I did! TONS of them!"

The dad smiled. "OK, good. You know how the cowboys always tie up their horses? Well, we're gonna tie our ropes like that now. Pretend the chair is the hitching post, and you're tying up your horses."

The boys loved that! They tied their little hearts out, until one of the chairs fell off the desk.

"You just crushed your horse," I told one boy. He shrugged and ran off with his rope.

Then it was time for another reminder NOT to tie any nooses around your necks, or you would be on a time-out in the corner with the Boy Scout who'd already done so. There was a quick release of nooses around necks, which was followed by a new reminder NOT to whip the ropes all around. I'm beginning to think Cub Scouts is kind of a dangerous activity!

The last activity of the night was to perform a magic trick with the rope. One Cub Scout demonstrated this by crossing his arms and grabbing the opposite ends of his rope with his arms still crossed. He then slowly pulled the rope through his arms, and we watched the rope pull into a knot.

The boys LOVED that! They immediately stopped the nooses and whippings to try.

The poor dad leading the activity looked wiped out by then. "Is it time for snack yet?" he pleaded, so we put him out of his misery and called snack time.

The boys dropped their ropes and ran to the snack table. It was my turn, so I'd brought Pirate's Booty, Go-Gurts and Fruit Falls (flavored water pouches with only 2 carbs).

They devoured the Go-Gurts immediately. I watched one little guy shotgun three yogurt tubes in a row. "My tongue is numb," he told me after the last one.

He then implored, "Can I have another one?"

"Ask your mom," I said. "I don't want you to get a stomach ache!"

She said no, but I saw him downing another one later.

Another kid handed me his drink and said he didn't want it. "It tastes like mucus," he told me.

"OK, throw it out then,"I said.

But I obviously didn't give him the reaction he wanted, because he repeated himself, very slowly. "It tastes like muuu-cussss!"

He didn't realize I have an 8-year-old of my own, and these things don't phase me. "Then throw it aaaaa-waaaayyy," I replied, with the same inflection.

And so ended another fun den meeting. The kids cleaned up the room, collected their ropes and headed home for baths. And I headed off giggling, and checking off another skill Mark completed in the Cub Scout book.

Clothes your eyes

Mark has a den meeting tonight, which means he wore his Cub Scout uniform to school. Most of it, anyway.

He couldn't find his neckerchief, so he improvised, wearing a new Christmas gift instead -- a clip-on tie. (My mom bought him two, which I thought he'd hate -- but he loves them! He wore one clipped onto a t-shirt last week.)

Mark's shirt was casually unbuttoned, revealing his undershirt. Rather than buttoning it up and adjusting the tie under his collar, he just clipped the tie onto his shirt in the middle of his chest. It looked pretty funny -- I'm sure he'll be the only Cub Scout tonight wearing a tie.



I had my own clothes drama this morning, as well. I'd been at work a whole two minutes when I noticed a thread dangling from my blouse. I brushed it away (and perhaps tugged at it absentmindedly) when suddenly pop! A button dropped onto my desk, and in my hand was the thread that, mere seconds earlier, held it in place. Dang it!

"So it's gonna be one of those days, is it?" I sighed.

It wasn't a discreet lower button, either -- it was smack in the middle of my blouse. I panicked briefly, then thought "It's OK, I can fix this." Turns out no, MacGyver, I can't.

If you have an emergency sewing kit or safety pins at your desk, you're more prepared than I am! I glanced around my office and saw a stapler, a long T-shaped push pin, and some tape. I'm embarrassed to admit I considered using each one. (I even tried the stapler!)

I finally found a passable solution -- my dad will be proud to hear I used a binder clip. (He loves binder clips so much I gave him a box for Christmas once -- and he was genuinely excited! Now I know why.) I clipped the inside of my blouse and voila! the gap was gone. It was replaced by my awkwardly bunched-up blouse, but whatever. At least I wasn't flashing my belly at the whole world!

Luckily, I didn't have any meetings this morning. I hid out in my office, and had just one close call when my boss stopped by to chat. I tried to look natural, but you can only fold your hands over your belly for so long before it makes people nervous ("My, that Heather's such a...pious employee!")

During lunch, I'd planned to buy Mark wool socks for our trip next week. I also ended up making another purchase -- a new blouse for myself, which I changed into before returning to work.

And I made sure there weren't any buttons on it!

Back on schedule

Thankfully, Mark is back on his school schedule. After two weeks of sleeping in late, I was afraid this week would be Battle of the Insolent, Sleepy Third Grader. Luckily, I got the condensed version (just one morning).

Monday dawned bright and cheery; Mark, however, did not. He refused to get out of bed, citing, "I'm stretching" at least four different times, and "I'm still tired" three times. (Are those valid excuses for showing up to work late? Because maybe I should try those!) I finally "stretched" his little body right out from under his warm blankets. This, as to be expected, was met with resistance.

After a grumpy breakfast and an immediate return to bed while I was in the shower, we were ready for school. Mark alternately walked seven steps behind me, or four ahead of me. I've seen grumpy before--but this beat all!

His bad attitude stayed with him all day long. I picked him up from Kid's Club and asked how his first day back was.

"Bad," he answered.

I was surprised. "Why?" I asked.

He held out his hands in his patented "DUH!" gesture, and said, "Because I was at SCHOOL!"

"But you like school," I said.

"No, I don't."

And so I dropped the subject.

Tuesday morning, I woke up, mentally preparing for the second day of battle. But the little guy surprised me, and woke up happy. He ate his breakfast, and cheerfully completed all his chores. He even held my hand walking to school (a first), and talked about living in a Rainbow House when he grows up (he's going to paint each exterior wall a different color). He even skipped off to school with an "I love you!"

It's weird...I can't figure out if it's a grumpy-get-back-on-schedule thing, or if it's a blood sugar-related thing. When Mark's blood sugar is high (above 150), there's no reasoning with him. He's an angry, combative, mouthy little man. And when it's in range, he's the sweetest kid ever. Monday, he woke up high (264) and yesterday he was perfect (99). So it's a whole chicken and the egg thing--was he grumpy because of his blood sugar, or did the anxiety of returning to school send his blood sugar soaring?

I dunno...I'm just glad that two days later, he's back on schedule, and back to being Happy Mark.

Where's my unicorn?

This morning was bittersweet. I slept in late, woke up lazily, then realized it was my last day of vacation. Dang! Talk about jolting yourself awake.

During breakfast, I asked Mark, "What was the best thing you did during winter break?"

He shrugged and answered, "Everything."

"Well, what was your favorite day?" I persisted.

He shrugged again. "I don't know," he said. "I can't answer that until tonight -- maybe it's gonna be today."

And...point well taken! Gotta love an optimistic kid.

We met up with our friend Vicki, who'd suggested a trip to the Observatory. I like the Observatory because it has amazing views of the city, from the mountains all the way down to the ocean, especially on a day as clear as today. Vic likes the Observatory because James Dean made a movie there; Mark likes it for the same reason -- his favorite movie stars (the Transformers) made a movie there, as well.


He also likes it because there are lots of buttons to push, and miniature model things to move. Except that today there weren't -- he tried setting off the Tesla Coil and moving the model of the giant telescope, with no luck. So he settled for running around the perimeter of the front lawn instead.

It wasn't a total loss though. There were lots of other cool things to learn about -- the seasons, the stars, the tides, the element table. And no discussion about stars is complete until Vic points out Orion -- "Look, there's my boyfriend in the sky!"

We even saw a real live image of the sun -- Vic went back a couple times, checking for sun spots.

We had lunch, then Vic and Mark weighed themselves on all the planets. We decided Pluto is the best place to live, weight-wise, because Mark only weighed 2 pounds, and Vic weighed about 5.

We thanked Vic for a lovely day, and headed home to enjoy our precious remaining vacation hours. Yesterday, Mark lost some good behavior rocks for mouthing off, so on the drive home, he said he'd earn them back by washing my car.

"Are you sure?" I asked. "It's 3:30--it's gonna get cold and dark soon."

"Yes, I'm sure."

I agreed, and said I'd clean up the garage while he washed. (How could I say no to a boy wanting to work off his penance?) I tried to change his mind once we got home (mostly because I didn't feel like cleaning the garage), but he told me, very confidently, "No, Mom. I said I'm gonna wash your car -- just stick to the plan."

And so I did. I am happy to report that my car is now bright and shiny, my garage is a little cleaner, my boy earned back his rocks, and all is right with the world.

Except for one pesky little thing...it's now Sunday night. Which means...

"Go get your uniform out for tomorrow," I told Mark, as he readied for bed.

"My WHAT?" he called back. Apparently, he's forgotten at least one vocabulary word during his school break.

"Your uniform!"

He came out of the room and told me, with a very straight face, that he did not have a unicorn.

"Not your unicorn -- your UNIFORM!" I called, and before I could help myself, I added, "Because tomorrow, you're going back to school!"

"Well, you're going back to work!" he shot back, and boy, did that stop my smirky little dance.

We've thoroughly enjoyed our two-week vacation. I'm sad to say goodbye to it so soon, because as my friend Amber said, "I really should be a lady of leisure, because I'm so good at it."

Couldn't agree with you more, Amber!

Jambalaya and a crawfish pie and filet gumbo

Edra, Mark and I took a little trip to the Farmer's Market today. Not just any one, but the original Los Angeles institution, now celebrating its 75th year.

It was a blast! The market is not your average produce stand -- it's lots of little gourmet food shops and restaurants. It's a foodie heaven. They have every kind of food you can imagine, and even some you can't (seriously, what would I do with chicken feet or turkey necks??) We sampled the wares (gourmet olives, confetti popcorn), and drooled at all the desserts. Mark feasted on handmade bubblegum ice cream, and an enormous chili dog. Edra and I had a harder time deciding what to eat -- we just stared at every one's plate as we walked by, to see what looked good.

The longest lines were at a Brazilian churrascaria and the Gumbo Pot (when it comes to good food, I say follow the crowd!). I was still undecided when Edra came back with a steaming bowl of jambalaya on a plate of sweet potato chips. I took one bite and I was sold -- it was the best jambalaya I've had outside of my favorite U.S. city, New Orleans.

I ordered up a bowl for myself, along with some beignets. Edra and Mark had never tasted beignets, which are like little bread-y donuts, fried and dusted with powdered sugar. I did not play the beignet trick on them (warn them the beignets are hot, and to blow on them to cool them off -- hello, powdered sugar all over your face!), but I was tempted. Didn't matter, we all ended up powdery anyway.

Mark, ever the adventurous eater, loved the jambalya. "I loooove to eat!" he proclaimed happily, and Edra and I laughed.

"You sure came to the right family," Edra told him. "What would we have done if you'd been a picky eater?" We laugh about this all the time, how lucky I was to get a kid who tries anything, and doesn't limit his food choices to the kid's menu.

Afterwards, we drove home, bellies full of good, spicy Bayou food. Not a bad way to spend an afternoon...

And now we'll never have to do THAT again...

As a child, the best part of New Year's Day was always the Rose Parade. My brothers and I woke up early, pulled all the blankets off our beds, and spread out on the pulled-out sofa bed to watch. My parents let us lounge in our pajamas all morning until it was over.

As an adult, the Rose Parade still plays a big part of my New Year's Day tradition, though now it's more of the background than the main event. Now I don't watch it so much as turn it on and go about my morning, listening to Bob Eubanks and Stephanie What'shername discuss the floats. (You can tell they're aging because this year Bob kept talking about how he hasn't been on a horse in 2 1/2 years, since he had his hip replaced.) But it's still an integral part of New Year's Day--I remember the year we spent in New York City visiting Scott, and the parade didn't come on until noon because of the time delay. It really threw us all off--Scott, Smed and I were used to watching it when we first woke up, and it just seemed wrong to wait until lunch.

So the parade's always been part of my life, and this week, I decided it should be part of Mark's as well. We don't live all that far from Pasadena, and I thought it would be really cool to go see the floats I've seen crawling across my T.V screen my whole life up close.

Mark was not as enthusiastic. When I told him the plan, he shrugged and said, "I'd rather just relax at home."

To which I replied, "If I stay home today, I'll do laundry, which means you'll be sorting and putting away clothes." He said, "Then, no. Let's go see floats."

Man, I should have listened to him. I didn't really put that much thought into the whole day other than, "Ooooh, floats!" Which means I didn't plan for lunch, or snacks, or long lines, or even cold weather, which all turned out to be the realities confronting us.

I used both the L.A. Times and my GPS to find the floats on display. However, the floats were not where they were supposed to be, and after a couple extra miles, I got nervous. I was about to give up when I hit Pasadena City College, and a sign that said "Float viewing." Perfecto!

We parked in the lot, and headed toward the bus line. It didn't look that long, but some man pointed toward the other side of the parking lot, toward a sign that read "Tickets."

"Start there," he said, pointing toward a much longer line.

Mark took this opportunity to show off his dance moves. First he danced blindly across the asphalt, and right into the line of people waiting for the porta-potties. As you can imagine, that is not the group of people you want to tick off!

But that didn't slow him down. He kept on dancing, and this time almost got run over by a bus. I grabbed him, and pulled a maneuver from the Virginia Dinsdale School of Mothering. I dug my fingers into his arm and dragged him away from there. (I don't have any nails, or I'd have dug them in like dear Mom did!)

And that's how we entered the line, me cursing under my breath, and Mark wailing that I was hurting him. Did I mention it was a loooooong line? It took us about an hour to get to the front of it, during which time Mark alternately kicked the broken pavement, tried to knock down the temporary line dividers and cried some more while I dug my hand into him again as a consequence. At least we put on a good show for the other people waiting in line.

We finally got our tickets, and permission to join the bus line. By then, I'd calmed down, so Mark and I joked and played, wiling away another 30 minutes, during which time I fed Mark all of the snacks I had in my backpack. Besides being hungry, he was also cold--he insists that California means sunny all year long, so he had on shorts and a thin sweatshirt in the 55 degree weather.

Once on board, it was a 10 minute ride to the floats. It was kinda cool to see all the old Pasadena bungalows along the way.

I was so excited by the time we got to the floats! Mark, true to form, was more hungry than excited. We pushed our way through the throngs of people--there were a LOT of people there. I pointed out all the flowers on the first two floats and talked Mark into a few quick photos. The floats weren't as big as I expected, but the flowers were really colorful.





By the fifth float, Mark was losing it. He was hungry, with a capital HUN. Did I mention there were a lot of people there? Because those people weren't just waiting in the tickets and bus lines, or looking at floats--they were also crowding up at the street vendors to buy $6 pretzels. Which Mark refused to eat. Which meant we blew past the remaining floats on the street to find food for him.

We found a mini food park, and while in line (of course), Mark started crying, a sign of him having a low blood sugar. I tested him, and sure enough, he was 59 (anything under 70 is low). As I'm handing him a juice box, the man in our booth starts calling out, "We're out of soup, and corn, and potatoes. [All Mark's choices!] All we have left is fried food."

And that, my friends, is the point in which I removed my Rose (Parade) colored glasses and ended the fantasy. I was shivering, correcting my diabetic son's low blood sugar, waiting to feed him chicken tenders literally dripping oil, being slammed by people cutting through my line. It was at this exact moment I realized why people watch the Rose Parade on T.V. every year--because the real-life experience SUCKS!!!

"We are so out of here," I said, grabbing Mark's hand, and pulling him through the crowd. "Hold onto your food," I told him--his poor sugar-deprived body could not afford to lose even one bite of the (oily) fuel it needed.

And so we left the float display. We got caught in a crowd trying to exit, and I tried to suppress all the claustrophobic feelings rising up. "Take a good look at the floats," I told Mark, as we passed the same 10 floats we'd already seen.


"Why?" he asked. "Because they're so pretty?"

"No," I answered. "Because we are never ever coming back here again. EVER!"

Turns out we spent four times as long in lines as we did actually viewing the floats. But for my money, I didn't care. Some ideas, like watching the parade snuggled up on the couch, are very good ones. And some ideas, like fighting the crowds with a crying child to see the floats in person, are the very opposite of good.

Guess where we'll be watching the parade from next New Year's Day?