What we did over Christmas break--San Diego chapter

We were mad travelling fools over the winter break. After Tucson, we returned to San Diego to celebrate Christmas with the family.

We usually reserve the day after Christmas to celebrate my niece Hannah's birthday (happy belated birthday, Hannah!). But since Hannah and her family weren't in town this year, we opted for the zoo instead.

The plan was to meet up with Scott and Mary's friend Donna at the zoo. Donna and her husband Josh were bringing their two daughters. They also brought Josh's sister, her son, and a couple other little nephews. That's right, we ended up at the zoo the day after Christmas with NINE kids! (They outnumbered us adults -- there were only 7 of us.)

I would best describe my day as an elaborate text scavenger hunt. My brother Scott seized the first opportunity he had to ditch us. He followed part of the group to the orangutan exhibit, and was nice enough to text me and tell me to meet him there. Of course, try herding 6 kids quickly through the zoo -- it's virtually impossible. We didn't even make it past the flamingos. They ooohed and ahhed at the pink birds, but as soon as they marvelled over the ducks, I moved them along.

"No fawning over ducks," I told them. "Save that for the tigers!"

It's been a long time since I've been to the zoo, and I ended up lost on some crazy path. We did come across this great photo op, however:

By the time I reached the end of the path, Scott had texted me three more times. I was two feet from the orangutan exhibit when he texted that he was now at the pandas.

So it was off to the pandas. Then the next text came in.

"Pandas too crowded. Going to the elephants."

Before I could even relay the message, the next text came in.

"Panda line moving fast. GET HERE QUICK!"

So it was off to the pandas after all. We had to shepherd the kids through an aviary and down three flights of stairs, all of which provided endless distractions. We got to the pandas just as Scott and Josh were at the front.

I'd like to say the pandas were beautiful and amazing. They were pretty, but they were also sleeping lazily in the trees above, facing away from us. I couldn't believe I'd rushed around the whole zoo to get a rare glimpse of a panda butt.

It was unusually cold for San Diego, so Mary and I stopped to get some hot coffee. The operative word here is "stop," something Scott refused to do. He grabbed all the kids but Mark and ran off. I knew I'd get a destination text momentarily.

"Take walkway up to elephant exhibit," it read.

Unfortunately, we took the wrong walkway and ended up back at the aviary. We had to re-trace our path down the three flights of stairs, this time holding two cups of hot coffee each. Mark was mad his cousins were off having fun without him. But I was having a good time laughing with my sister-in-law about my crazy brother.

We finally found the right walkway and ended up by the lions. I was a little nervous about a graphic picture of a lion with his tail raised that warned "Lions can spray 7-10 feet."

"Gross!" I told Mark. "It's bad enough when Frankie sprays. Can you imagine getting sprayed by a big ol' lion?"

We quickly moved away from that exhibit.

We finally found Scott and family by the elephants. He assured us that the lions were in their little cave, and we should go see them.

They were very cool to look at. But I felt really bad for them -- people were packed up against the glass, snapping endless pictures of them. The cave was dark, so with every picture, a flash popped, and the poor lions seized a little from the sudden light. It was like watching the paparazzi attack; it didn't seem very "king of the jungle" at all.

The kids were begging to go on the skyfari ride, so that's where we headed next. I have a very healthy fear of heights, and a son with a sick sense of humor, so the last place I wanted to be was in a tiny car in the air with him swinging it around. I reluctantly agreed to go provided I could also take my niece Nathalie (who wouldn't swing). Mark promised not to make any jarring movements only because Nathalie begged him not to; apparently, my motherly fears held no weight with him.

But I had the last laugh. As soon as the skyfari car rocked into the air, Mark turned to mush. He gripped onto the bar in the middle with all his might. I broke into a cold sweat, which didn't help much when Nathalie, then Mark, started freaking out.

"I'm scared!" Nathalie shouted.

"We're gonna die!" Mark shouted.

"I know!" I almost shouted.

Then I remembered I was the adult and was supposed to be the calming influence. They were not helping any, let me tell you. I finally calmed them down, and by the time we reached the other side of the zoo, Mark was half-heartedly threatening to rock the car again.

By then, we'd had enough. I was thankful I'd bought annual passes, because the zoo was so crowded, and frankly, I was tired of chasing after Scott all day long. I promised Mark we'd return soon.

All the craziness didn't deter the kids, though. They still had a blast, and even posed for a very good picture:


I wonder if the zookeepers even realized four little monkeys had escaped...

What we did over Christmas break--Tucson chapter

We spent some of our Christmas vacation visiting the Gludts in Tucson. Prior to them moving there, I'd never actually been to Tucson; after they moved there, I didn't have much interest in visiting Arizona. But I do love my friends, and so I visited. And I have to say, each time we've gone, the Gludts have shown us some pretty cool sights; now I really look forward to our trips.

This trip was no exception. I was excited to see Rob, Kelley and the little Romster. He has gotten so dang cute! He's also a funny little kid, and like most other kids, took an immediate liking to Mark. (Mark's like a rock star when it comes to little kids.)

Each morning, Romi greeted me with a smile and a little grunt. He'd point to our room, and I realized he was asking where my famous son was.

"He's still sleeping, Romi," I'd tell him. "Go wake him up!

And Romi would scamper off to pull the sheets from Mark's bed. Even Mark could not withstand the attacks of an active 20-month-old. It's hard to be grumpy when someone so happy wakes you up.

Romi's favorite activity was waking Mark up every morning.

Considering their age difference (8 years), Mark and Romi got along great. This is partially due to Mark's obsession with other kids' toys (he'll play with anything, even toddler toys) and Romi's laid-back personality. Romi may not speak much yet, but he had no trouble telling Mark what he wanted -- and most of the time, he wanted Mark to push him around the house on his little bike.

The boys played very well together.

Kelley always plans cool stuff for us to see. This time, she chose the miniatures museum, which had a conspicuously large front entrance. However, there was also a little bitty miniature entrance off to the side.

The entrance to the miniatures museum was surprisingly large.

The museum was...well, kinda weird. It was filled with miniature scenes -- elaborately decorated doll houses with lavish furniture and an attention to detail that gave me a headache just thinking about it. There were people and animals carefully arranged throughout the scenes, and even the tiny rooms had been painstakingly decorated with custom wallpaper. It was...different.

Mark dug it at first, when he learned there was a little fairy hiding in five of the scenes throughout the museum. He was off like a rocket to find them.

I tried to appreciate it all, but it wasn't long before Kelley and I slipped into a fit of inappropriate giggles. Mine started when Kelley pointed out a glass floor, under which an entire tiny town was covered in fake snow.

"Romi hates that part," she told me. "It freaks him out."

Well, that was more interesting to me than any miniature dollhouse, and I wanted to see what "freaking out" meant as far as 20-month-olds go. So I placed Romi in the middle of the glass-covered floor, and he just froze. Slowly, he melted down onto the floor -- it was if his body went just went limp. And then, to my amazement, he executed a reverse commando crawl off the floor faster than I could possibly have imagined. He was getting the heck out of there, and it was hilarious!

We spent another hour in the museum after that, mostly looking for that stinking little fairy, but Romi on the glass floor was definitely my favorite part.

The Gludts planned to take us up to Mount Lemmon the following day, but the weather had other plans. First a giant wind/sand storm blew into town while we at the museum. Undeterred by foul weather, Kelley, Mark and I packed up hot cocoa and cider and drove out to a place called Winterhaven to see all the Christmas lights.

Of course, five minutes later, it started to rain. But Kelley and I were not to be stopped. We drove all the way out there, convinced the rain would let up. It never did. Mark was crushed. He didn't care about the lights; he was just bummed not to get any apple cider. His mood improved considerably when I promised him cider at home.

All the rain in the valley turned into snow in the mountains. I'd seen plenty of snow over Thanksgiving, so I gave Kelley's back-up plan a thumbs up.

The plan started with breakfast at a local diner called Gus Balon's, which is famous for its enormous cinnamon rolls. We split two rolls, and it was still waaaaay too much to finish.

We ate cinnamon rolls as big as our heads.

We also scarfed down the rest of our breakfast as quickly as we could, as we had a small table and a squirmy toddler with us. The food was really good, though; Kelley even raved about her oatmeal, which came with about a quarter cube of butter in it, and a side order of cinnamon sugar.

"This is the only place I know of that can make oatmeal unhealthy!" Kelley exclaimed.

After breakfast, we headed out to another museum. The Gludts had never been there, and were not sure how good it would be. They were still a little gun shy from the miniatures museum.

Romi picked this time to nap, so Rob, Mark and I went into the museum. It was sooooo cool! It was filled with all these amazing formerly-alive stuffed animals, which sounds creepier than it actually was. It took Mark and I an hour just to get halfway through it.

The coolest room was filled with every kind of goat, deer and bear imaginable. Kelley and Romi joined us, and we sat on a huge sofa admiring the giant posed animals. Of course, just looking was not enough to keep the boys amused.

The boys dug the animals--especially the fierce ones.

After a while, the boys lost interest in the animals. Instead, they decided to wrestle all along the floor, which was kinda funny.

It was more fun to wrestle than look at stuffed animals.

We had a lot of fun--and I'm not lion!

The Gludts definitely kept us entertained. We spent the afternoon bowling, and then went to dinner with 21 of their friends. Afterwards, Kelley and I were determined to make it to Winterhaven to see all the Christmas lights. (Have I mentioned what a good friend Kelley is? She's Jewish, and still takes us to see Christmas lights!)

The lights were totally awesome! The neighborhood was huge, blocks and blocks of families who'd decorated their yards. My favorite one depicted the 12 days of Christmas, complete with ducks in a telephone booth (four calling birds), parachuting men (10 lords a' leaping), and birds in berets, smoking cigarettes at a bistro table (3 French hens).

Kelley argued with me about one decoration, a bush protruding from a home. It was wearing a Santa hat, but also clearly had antlers and a red nose. Kelley couldn't figure out what it was.

"It's Rudolph!" I said. "Who else would it be?"

She argued back that even Rudolph wouldn't dare to wear Santa's hat, and ultimately decided it was actually a potato.

"A potato?" I asked, dumbfounded. "Really, Kelley? You actually think that's a Christmas potato?" I just shook my head.

But Christians didn't hold a monopoly on tacky yard displays. We stopped in front of one yard with a humongous inflatable Jewish polar bear. The bear wore a kippah, a blue prayer shawl and a Star of David on its foot. After a long pause, Kelley said simply, "Wow. I'm a rabbi, and I have no idea where to get something like that!"

Our last day was spent celebrating Kelley's birthday. Sadly, we had to leave the Gludts and return to San Diego and the Land of Christmas. But don't worry, Gludts, we'll be back to Tucson soon enough!

Happy New Year

Our New Year's family tradition has always included the Rose Parade. As kids, we woke up early and planted ourselves in front of the T.V. to hear Bob Eubanks and Stephanie Edwards describe the floats.

Last year, I even tried to make it part of Mark's childhood memories, although the results were nothing short of disastrous. I vowed never to step within 50 feet of a Rose Parade float again.

Until...my friend Vicki invited us to a Rose Parade party. And not just any party, she said. A party at Aunt Nosy's house.

Aunt Nosy is not actually Vic's aunt, but rather a friend's aunt. She lives right along the parade route, next door to the big white house where all the parade festivities begin. Vic promised us a parking pass, indoor plumbing, and gin fizzes, and suddenly, I was willing to give the Rose Parade a second chance. (Can't say the same for gin fizzes, though -- yuck!)

So we celebrated New Year's Eve at Vic's place, and then awoke at the crack of dawn. Actually, even before the crack of dawn -- at 4:30 a.m., to be precise. Luckily, Mark wakes up pretty easily when travelling or attending fun events like this.

Pretty soon, we were on our way to Pasadena. It was still pitch black outside, and the road was fairly empty, except for all the buses. They were heading in the same direction we were.

We followed the buses off the freeway and toward the parade route. Edra flashed the magic parking pass and voila! we were travelling behind the road blocks. Our only hiccup was when we reached the top of a steep hill and realized a bus was heading down directly at us with no room to pass.

Once the bus crisis was averted, we parked at Aunt Nosy's. I could tell we were close because the street was filled with T.V. vans and trailers.

It was now 6 a.m., and we were the first guests to arrive. Aunt Nosy greeted us warmly, and pointed us to the street. "Go walk the floats," she said, so we did exactly that.

It was incredible! We were literally steps away from the floats. There were people along the street, but most of them were T.V. or float crews. We stood mere inches from the floats. It was so cool!

Randi, Vic, Mark and Edra in front of the floats.
Three out of four of them were glad to be there!

It was still dark when we first got there -- the floats were lit up with floodlights.


We even got a sneak peak at the driver's seat -- there's a little T.V. screen in there to help them navigate the street.

About 30 minutes into the viewing, the sun started to rise. To our left, the sky was pink and blue, just beautiful. To our right, the full blue moon shined brightly over the white house. It was an awesome morning.

Blue moon.


Sunrise.

Mark and I stopped in front of the big white house. I was just staring at the house when the man next to me said to his son, "You know who that guy is? It's Captain Sully, the pilot who landed his plane in the river and saved all those people."

My head whipped around at that. Captain Sully was the parade's grand marshall and I was so excited to see a real live hero!

Turns out he was right in front of me. I pointed him out to Mark, who was completely uninterested. Instead, he fell to the ground in a heap and whined, "I'm going to sleep!"

I watched as a T.V. guy started interviewing Sully. I thought it was pretty cool, and even raised up my camera to take a picture. Unbeknownst to me, I was actually right in the shot, between Sully and the interviewer (see it here, around the 2:33 mark). My mom and cousin Kathleen both phoned me as soon as I got home to say they'd seen me! My mom also asked if the lump on the ground was Mark, and I confirmed that it was. "I knew it!" she said excitedly.

Captain Sully!

It was time for the parade to begin, so we returned to Aunt Nosy's. She's put out pastries and mimosas, and even bleachers for us to sit on in the front yard! We had the whole yard to ourselves, and a perfect view of the floats -- they were seriously 10 feet away from us!

Viva Mexico! The float of mi gente.

Very cool puffer fish/jelly fish/reef float.

One of my favorite floats had a huge bulldog on the front. It also had a small slope of snow, which we soon realized was for some real-life bulldogs, one of whom was wearing a tu-tu. The dogs were supposed to snow board down the slopes, but because they weren't quite at the starting line of the parade, the people on the float weren't doing anything. This did not sit well with Aunt Nosy's friends. The older ladies started shouting, "We want the dog! We want the dog!" They got the whole crowd to chant along with them, and next thing we knew, the dogs were snow boarding down the slope. It was hilarious! And even more so when the float passed us by and the dog trainers gave Aunt Nosy's friends a thumbs up signal to let them know they'd been heard.

We seriously had the best seats on the route. Not only were we on bleachers above the crowd, we were also at the point where the marching bands converged into the parade. They marched right up to the street across from us, playing loudly, and waited until the parade volunteers waved them in. The floats stopped, waited for their signal, and then moved up.

My favorite band was the Guatemalans. They were happy, dancing, playing and very glad to be there. They samba-ed and danced and then shouted, "Guatemala!" and danced on down the street.

One thing I couldn't believe was my son's reaction to the whole parade. He'd woken up okay, but went downhill shortly thereafter. He was grumpy and mad and wanted no part of the floats or the parade. I told him some day he was really going to appreciate all this, and he snarled back, "Not today!"

As soon as we got to the bleachers, he laid down and immediately fell asleep. Seriously! Not 30 feet from the marching bands playing as loudly as they could -- he slept through it all. (Later, when we watched it on T.V. at home, he said, "Wow, that's loud! I can't believe I slept through all that noise!")

Seriously? You can't hear that big marching band in the upper lefthand corner??

I woke him occasionally to see the really cool stuff (like the snow boarding dogs) but he immediately went back to sleep. He woke up just in time to see the last three floats pass by.

Even when he finally woke, he wasn't much interested in the parade. He was more interested in telling me how boring parades are.

Hey Mark, the floats are behind you!

By then, the parade had ended, and my own fatigue set in. Aunt Nosy set out quite a feast, but I was suddenly exhausted, and in no mood for my now well-rested, hyperactive son.

We stayed long enough to eat, and watch the crowd thin out. When both sides of the road were moving again, we packed up the car, thanked Aunt Nosy profusely and headed home, tired but very, very happy.

It was a pretty great way to ring in the new year.

Merry Christmas! (2009 edition)

It's my very favorite time of the year, Christmas! And I feel really fortunate to have spent another one with the people I love most -- my family.

Christmas began with the traditional Christmas Eve mass. We dressed up really nice, and then straggled until we were too late to get seats inside the church. Instead, much to my Mother's dismay, we piled into the overflow building and celebrated Christmas mass in the bingo hall (I was sorely tempted to yell "O 15!" when I dropped my money in the collection basket.)

The family.

Me and my parents.

Mark behaved really well at church, which is a semi-miracle since we don't regularly attend services (much to my chagrin, he said, "What's 'mass'?" when Kelley asked if we were attending midnight mass. And last year, he kept pointing at the Virgin Mary stature and asking loudly, "Who's she?").

After church, we drove home with a car full of caroling kids, and sat down to a lovely dinner my mom prepared. The kids could barely sit still -- they wiggled and squirmed the entire time, quickly gulping down their food so they could open a present.

Nathalie pointed out this present for me, and gasped when I said, "Who's getting a bowl?"

"How do you know what it is?" she asked.

"Look at it!" I answered. "It's not a violin!"

She made me promise to act surprised when I opened it. As soon as I promised, my dad walked in the room and said, "Oh look, a bowl!" My sister-in-law Mary, who'd wrapped it, was mortified. My dad suggested she use gift bags next year.

Hmmm, wonder what THAT is??

Finally, the kids plated some cookies and milk for Santa, then ran off to bed. The countdown for Santa began, and they almost couldn't take it. I could hear them giggle excitedly in their rooms.

I tried convincing the kids that Santa doesn't come until 7:45 a.m., so they'd better steer clear of the living room until 8. They did not listen to me, and came tiptoeing into the family room just after 7.

Gabi, Grant and Mark's eyes were big as saucers, and they told me Santa left Mark a note in his stocking. Mark told me what it said, and their eyes grew even bigger.

The note.

"Well, Mark's had a tough year," I said. "I've been warning him to behave for the past month!"

The kids held their breath and watched Mark unwrap the gift. They gasped audibly when they saw the contents -- two lumps of coal!

"I made Santa's naughty list," Mark whispered.

Hey, Santa tried to warn you, Mr. Sassypants!

The nieces and nephews couldn't wait to share the news. When the neighbor kids came over, Gabi immediately blurted out, "Mark got coal!"

Leilani stopped in her tracks, then said, "Let me see." She told us her cousin's friend had once gotten coal, then reminded us she'd been very good this year.

But Mark wasn't all bad. He got some of his favorite things for Christmas, like this bottle of mayonnaise from Gabi (he loves mayonnaise).

He also got a new robe.



And in the theme of keeping warm, I got my parents matching presents -- Snuggie blankets! My brother Scott said they weren't allowed to wear them outside of the house. I'm pretty sure my mom loved hers, because she told me, "Don't worry, I'll get even!" (That's a term of endearment, right?)

See, Snuggies keep your hands free to wave!

Or to hold hands with your beloved spouse.

Even Chuck the dog got a present -- a new stuffed squirrel to chase and attack. He was thrilled.

Get 'em, Chuck!

The afternoon was spent with our family friends, the Roppe's. It was fun to catch up with them.

My mom was still working on the big family feast. I helped by peeling the potatoes, but when Scott walked by he shouted, "Mom, Heather's cooking! Make her stop!" Nathalie repeated him, telling the kids, "Aunt Heather's cooking!" I could hear Gabi yell, "Eeeewwww!" all the way from the living room. So much for the loving, supportive, nurturing family!

After dinner, we had one more set of guests, the Fera-Schanes family. I love when they come over, because you know you're gonna spend the night laughing. And laugh we did! Seth and I almost lost it when my nephew Johnny convinced his dad to give him a snack. Johnny opened the pantry and pulled out a bag of mini-marshmallows. Brad said, "No, Johnny," but the bag was upside down, and marshmallows fell everywhere. Without hesitation, Johnny dropped to the ground and stuffed marshmallows into his mouth with both hands. I grabbed him, and he tried to protest, but his little cheeks were too stuffed for any sound to come out. Boy, was he mad at me for foiling his plan!

All in all, we had a wonderful day. It was everything Christmas should be -- family, friends, kids ripping open presents, and then playing all day with their new toys. It was good food and loud laughter. It was home.

And it was great.

Christmas carols

It's almost Christmas, and Mark is in the holiday spirit. He's been sporting an increasing filthy Santa hat and singing Christmas carols non-stop for the past week.

Some of the songs bring me back to my own youth. Most notably is "Jingle Bells," which I remember belting out loudly and proudly just like my son -- "Jingle bells, Batman smells, Robin laid an egg..." Definitely not the version they play on the radio, but it's quite popular with the under-10 set. And what I love is how happily they sing it, as though they were the first generation ever to do so (again, just like we did!).

But Mark is not limited solely to timeless classics. He's also written some holiday ditties of his own. On the drive to San Diego, he serenaded me over and over again with a tune he wrote just for me.

He sang, "We wish you a beery Christmas, we wish you a beery Christmas, we wish you a beery Christmas, and a happy New Beer."

I just smiled and applauded. I was impressed with his rhyming skills and ability to hold a tune. I was equally impressed by his unrelenting enthusiasm, as he sang it over and over and over again.

And by the time I got to my parents', I had a curious craving for a beer.

Is this that "new math"?

Last night in the car, Mark and I were discussing college. He wanted to know how often the college calls your parents when you misbehave or skip class. Then he asked me how much college costs, and I answered, "A lot."

"How much?" he asked again.

"How much do you think is a lot of money?" I asked back.

Mark shrugged. "I dunno. Like, $1200?"

"That is a lot," I agreed. "But college is even more than that, depending on where you go. UCLA is $27,000 a year, if you live in the dorms."

Mark whistled from the back seat. "That IS a lot!"

I nodded. "And that's for a state school," I told him. "If you go to a private school, it can cost up to $50,000 a year."

"OH MY GOD!" he shouted in disbelief.

"Yup," I answered. "A year! If you go for four years, how much would that cost you?"

"Over a million dollars!" he answered immediately.

I glanced at him in the rear view mirror. "Try again," I told him. "Break it down to smaller numbers. What's 4 times 50?"

"Um, 20," he said.

"No, it's not," I said. "Add another zero."

"Oh," he said. "200."

"And now add the three zeroes for the thousands," I prodded. "How much does that add up to?"

"Oh my GOD!" he cried again. "That's like $400,000!"

I almost stopped the car at that point. "No, it's not," I insisted. "It's $200,000!"

I heard a "Hmph," then he said, "Really?"

"Yes!" I said indignantly. "You need to study harder for your math test on Friday!"

"No, I don't," he shot back. "That test is all about fractions, not multiplication."

I just sighed, and drove home. I guess the good news is that based on this conversation, Mark probably won't major in math in college. Which means there's still a chance I'll be able to help him with his college homework when the time comes.

But the bad news is, also based on this conversation, he probably won't get any academic scholarships, either. So I'd better start socking away even more money for his college fund -- because apparently, I'm gonna need somewhere between 400,000 and 1 million dollars.

MC Marky Mark

I am really lucky to have the same close friends I had in college. However, I'm learning this has both pros and cons.

The cons include them knowing where all the bodies are hidden, so to speak. They knew me during my formative collegiate years, when I experimented (unsuccessfully) with things like fashion, and they now revel in sharing those stories with my son. Who can't get enough of them, of course.

Mark's current favorite story involves an unfortunate clothing choice my friends have dubbed the "MC Hammer pants." They were part of a set, really, a pink sweatshirt with matching sweatpants. The sweatshirt was emblazoned with a large Italian flag, while the pants sported the word "Firenza" spelled out vertically down one pant leg. Oh, and the pants also had a little extra flair -- they were jodhpurs, which meant they flared out theatrically on top (hence the MC Hammer reference). They were my favorite pair of pants, and I wore them more often than I should have. (Even once was too often!)

(It should be noted for the record that my cousin Kathleen had a similarly stunning sweat-pantsuit. Hers just didn't have the jodhpur feature mine did.)

I laugh along with my friends when they tell the story about my MC Hammer pants, because really, what the hell was I thinking??

Like I said, Mark has fully embraced this story. And he has learned how to work my iPod. So he couldn't wait to play a little song for me this weekend.

"Hey Mom, I've got a surprise for you!" he shouted from the dining room. He was grinning like a fool when I entered the room, and quickly hit play on the iPod.

"U Can't Touch This" filled the room, and I watched as my son slid, danced and shimmied across the floor in what he assumed was Hammer's signature side-dance move. I could barely contain myself, laughing uncontrollably.

"Hey Mom, you wanna get your pink pants?" he taunted. He grabbed his knees and moved his hands back and forth across in some crazy dance move.

And so now I have my very own theme song. I swear, Mark played that damn song every time I entered the dining room this weekend. I always wanted a signature song, but I envisioned something more regal (a la "Hail to the Chief").

Instead, I'm saddled with a 20-year-old bad rap song. And the memory of pink jodhpur sweatpants to go with it...

Oh Tannenbaum

It was with surprise and a bit of concern that I finally realized Christmas is upon us. I'd like to say that the tree and lights are up, the cards mailed and the house filled with holiday cheer.

In rea lity, I have a messy house, two unpacked suitcases full of dirty clothes from our last two weekends out of town, and the best intentions to remedy all of the above in the next week.

I may not get to putting the Christmas lights up on the house; it's rainy and cold out there. But I drew the line at not having a Christmas tree; what kind of Mom would I be if I skipped that?

And so we trudged into last night with smiles and rain on our faces. My friend Edra was kind enough to accompany us, as she has an S U V big enough to hold a freshly-cut tree. Because we'll only be home another week, I explained that we were getting a small tree -- I didn't want to deal with all the hauling, setting up and cleaning up after for an 8-foot-tree.

Mark announced he wanted a Charlie Brown tree. I could tell by the way he said it he didn't know what that meant. His explanation confirmed my suspicions.

"It's a little tree," he said.

"A little tree that's lopsided with no needles on it," I corrected him. "It's a ski nny, sad little tree."

He frowned and immediately recanted. "I don't want a needle-less tree," he said.

Mark bounded into the stalls full of trees laying on their sides. After climbing to the back of the bunch, he reached down to grab one at the bottom wedged under all the other trees. After much grunting and struggling, he pulled it out and yelled, "I want this one!"

I simply reached down and pulled up the tree closest to me. "I like this one," I said.

Edra followed my lead as Mark set about unwrapping the string around his tree. She picked up a tree and fluffed out the needles. "This one's cute, too," she said. We held up the three contenders, and let Mark choose. He then told me to grab the trunk. As I bent to do exactly that, he walked away with the tree, leaving me bent over and empty-handed. He glanced over his shoulder and laughed at me.

Back home, I lit a fire, turned on some Christmas carols, and filled a glass with wine from Napa. The rain outside was dancing on the roof. I dug out the lights, ornaments, and tree holder. I propped them up on a table to make the tree taller. The cats raced to the tree and claimed their new favorite spot




Mark loved our little tree. As soon as it was up, my spiritually-confused son clapped his hands and happily started singing, "Tonight is the night we light the menorah!" (Kelley's influence reaches far beyond the state line...) Which I was about to deem not-quite-appropriate until I realized it was, indeed, the first night of Hanukkah.

Mark ransacked the box of ornaments, choosing all his favorites. There were some pre-Mark ornaments ("Sloppy Joe's Bar, Mom? Really? A Christmas ornament from a BAR?") and some post-Mark ones that I love (a hand-colored bear with the following inscription on the back: "7 age, 2007, to Mom from Mark Dinsdale.")

We finished pretty quickly because our tree was so small. I loved it, though -- all our ornaments are from cities we've visited, so each one triggers a little trip down vacation memory lane. It was fun because I relived half the vacations with Edra ("Look, Edra, Pinocchio from Italy!") and half with Mark ("Look Mark, Disney World!"). We did have one small tragedy, when one of my favorite ornaments fell off the tree and immediately shattered into a million tiny pieces.

"Dollywood just took a dive!" I cried. I swept up the pieces and mourned; who knows when I'll ever get back to Pigeon Forge, Tennessee? (Honestly, I never thought I'd go there in the first place.)




At the end of the night, our tree looked lovely. I added decorative snowmen and Santas all over the house, and suddenly, Christmas had arrived. The messy piles of mail and luggage had been replaced by the holiday spirit.

Or rather, holiday spirits, as Mark admired the tree, and hummed Hanukkah songs.

Donald Trump's got competition

Feeding Mark is an endless task; I spend half my days shopping for snacks to keep that child satiated. Everyone says growing boys are always hungry, and if that's the case, Mark is well on his way to becoming a 9-foot-tall man.

I sent him off to school yesterday with two packs of string cheese and instructions to take them to the nurse's office before school (she has a refrigerator in there). He was thrilled to have 24 cheese sticks all to himself.

"How many do you eat at recess?" I asked, curious.

"I eat three," he answered, then added, "And I take a fourth one out to recess for this other kid."

My heart swelled with maternal pride. Four years of relentless chiding to share were finally coming to fruition! I was so proud of my thoughtful little boy.

"Because then I get money!" Mark said.

...and my heart deflated.

"You what?" I asked.

"I get money," he explained. "I sell the extra cheese stick to this kid in my class."

I managed not to ask how much he ripped that kid off for, and instead phrased it in a more delicate manner. "How much does he pay you?" I asked, expecting to hear a price somewhere near a quarter.

"A dollar!" Mark told me gleefully. He rubbed his hands together and cackled--yes, cackled!--at the thought of his impending wealth.

I just sighed. Some days I don't know whether to be proud of his entrepreneurial spirit or worried about his penchant for scamming his fellow stu dents.

Something to wine about

The only thing I like more than holidays are birthdays. Especially milestone birthdays, which usually mean a trip out of town.

This weekend it was my friend Edra's turn to celebrate a certain birthday. That's right, she turned...umm...29 again! And we celebrated by traveling to Napa in her honor.

We had such a blast. Our early morning flight consisted of six lovely ladies and one sleepy little boy. After arriving in Oakland, we crammed into a mini-van and headed for the famed Napa Valley, where we eventually met up with my parents, who dubbed themselves the granny nan ny and the manny nan ny. (Seriously, have I mentioned how excellent my parents are? They drove to Napa to watch my son while I went wine tasting!)

After lunch at a local grill, we got into the grape. We entered the Goosecross tasting room next door, where a super helpful woman poured us some fantastic wine. The girls cozied up to the bar, Mark cozied up to a checker board set, and I happily moved between the two. I wasn't planning to buy any wine, since we'd have to check whatever we bought onto the plane, but one of the girls smartly realized that my perhaps my parents could drive it home with them. We all loved that idea (which my mom also suggested as soon as she saw us), and promptly embarked on a wine shopping spree.

After our first tasting, we could hear Napa calling, and we certainly answered. Vic and Edra had arranged for a wine tour at the Frog's Leap winery, which was 30 minutes away. We stopped by the hotel to pick up my mom, confirmed the directions with the winery, and promptly got lost. Did I mention there were now seven women and a no-longer-sleepy boy in the van? Well, all of them yelled different directions at poor Edra, who was driving. Somehow, instead of hitting the main highway 29, we ended up in the backcountry of Napa. It was a high and curvy road, and the van swooped and turned, hugging each and every curve. The scenery was most beautiful, with luscious fall colors and lots of green trees all around.

Unfortunately, that wasn't the only green around. Our van was filled with a now-quiet crowd of passengers prone to carsickness. Those roads weren't doing us any favors.

We finally came across civilization in the form of a gas station and three people who claimed they were locals. Locals who seemed painfully unaware of any wineries nearby. One man told Edra to follow the road and make only left turns, and she'd hit the 29 in 9 miles. My heart soared a bit (9 miles wasn't far) then sank a bit when he revised his estimation. "Well, maybe 12 miles," he said.

"That's okay," Vic said, "We've been lost a long time."

The lone woman in the group answered not-so-helpfully, "Well, you'll be lost a while longer."

The trip was beautiful though, as we drove alongside Lake Hennesey and an occasional house. Mark marvelled at the moss growing in the trees, and asked me why it grew there. "I guess it likes the trees," I answered and he nodded thoughtfully.

"Moss's gotta grow somewhere," he noted.

Eventually, after more turns and much laughter, we found the Frog's Leap winery. It was worth the wait! The late afternoon sun was lighting up the vineyard in bright reds, yellows and dark oranges. "What am I gonna do here?" Mark inquired, but within moments, he found a friendly house cat, and was happy. By the time they placed us at a nearby table to sample the wines, the cat had crawled onto Mark's lap and they were both content.

After one more brief stop, we returned to the hotel to dress for dinner. Then we drove up to St. Helena, about 35 minutes away, for Edra's birthday dinner.

We ate at a restaurant called Market, which was FAB. It was warm, cozy and filled with attentive waiters. They had all sorts of haute cuisine, but also some of the most wonderful comfort food I've tasted -- a homemade mac n' cheese to die for, champagne-battered fish n' chips, and spicy chicken empanadas. And for dessert -- oh my! My mom and I split the s'mores plate, which came with homemade graham crackers, chocolate sauce, Rice Krispies treats, and our own little personal burner to roast the marshmallows. The menu claimed the dessert was for two, but I kid you not, there were at least a dozen marshmallows on the plate, plus all the Rice Krispie treats. Everyone passed their desserts around for sampling.

Slowly, the restaurant emptied out around us, until Mark observed we were the last people left. The table was full of half-eaten desserts and laughter, so we packed up and gave the wait staff a break.

Sunday brought with it sun and the promise of a beautiful day. I handed over Mark, his meter and his Gameboy to my parents, and we girls loaded into a swanky shuttle bus for our wine-tasting adventure.

Breakfast by the fire

The bus had two couples already onboard, and we picked up another two along the way. Usually, the tours start out with everyone politely quiet and shy, and end with everyone a little loopy and best friends. This tour was the exception; we immediately connected with our fellow passengers, and the bus was loud and raucous before we'd even touched a single drop.

We started at the Peju winery, with its gorgeous vineyard and equally lovely gardens.

I realized I love Napa not just because of the wines, but because of the wineries themselves. The estates are beautiful; wonderfully kept houses and buildings invoking the Italian countryside. As an added bonus, we got to experience something we don't get much of down South: autumn! The fall colors were vibrant and bold, and I wandered off most of time to capture them with my camera.

The Peju vineyard

Here are a few shots of the trip as it (d)evolved:

Beginning of the trip photo op at Peju with Kevin, our guide extraordinaire

End of the day photo. We looked a little more...lively.

Our new friend Frank, who finally agreed to wear Edra's tiara at the end of the day

We decided to end our jaunt with a trip to the hotel bar. I warned everyone to keep it down, as my parents' room was nearby. I knew if my mom or Mark heard us, they'd be there lickety-split. (I also knew the warning applied to me more than anyone else, since I have the well-deserved reputation of being the loudest in the group.)

However, we didn't even make it into the hotel unnoticed! Perhaps it was our loud singing or boisterous mood, but as we climbed off the bus, we spied a woman peeking suspiciously through the curtain of a nearby room.

"Dang it!" I cried. "There's my mom! She already saw us!" And so she joined us for a drink at the bar. :-)

Our wonderful tourguide, Kevin, managed to get us something that had eluded us the night before: reservations to Michael Chiarello's newer restaurant, Bottega. He made a call and got us dinner reservations at 8.

We decided dinner was too fancy for Mark and my dad, so we ordered them room service and left them watching the History Channel. Mark was not happy to be left behind -- he hates missing out on any party.

Bottega was wonderful. We started with appetizers. I had a warm mozzarella burrata, which I'd never heard of before. It was a plate of warm butternut squash and mushrooms topped with fresh buffalo mozzarella cheese and tiny beads of balsamic vinegar. It was fabulous! Then I moved onto a creamy risotto, and split dessert with Vic. We shared a chocolate cake covered with bananas and served with a chocolate-peanut butter bar. "Itsa like an Italian chunky monkey," was how our waiter described it.

Monday morning brought with it storms and the possibility of my parents being snowed in for the second weekend in a row. But they drove off optimistically, heading toward Harris Ranch.

We returned to St. Helena for a little bit of shopping. We found some divine little shops: an olive oil store, and a chocolatier filled with the sweetest little chocolates. They were amazing!

Hand-made chocolates shaped like champagne corks!

We also found a warm bakery featuring rustic breads and a giant gingerbread house that Mark kept staring at and licking his lips.

Hungry little Mark

I bought some yummy-looking English muffins and passed the bag around for everyone to smell. Next thing I know, our whole group was in line and had bought out the rest of them. We left as one happy group.

Now that's some good-lookin' bread

There was just enough time for a quick lunch at the Bouchon Bakery. We bought some fancy panini sandwiches and ate them in the garden, surrounded by little blackbirds waiting for us to drop something.

As we loaded back into the mini-van for one final time, I thought we'd exhausted ourselves laughing, but Vic set us all off again as she busted out her famous Ethel Merman impersonation. While the rest of us cried with laughter. Mark just shook his head and rolled his eyes at his crazy mom and her silly friends. I'm sure he'll have some good stories of road trips with his crazy aunties when he grows up.

It was such a great weekend. I'm certainly thankful for such wonderful friends to celebrate and laugh with, and for such great parents who joined in all the fun.

Things to be thankful for

I love every holiday, but one of my faves is Thanksgiving. I love the smell of good food cooking, a warm fire crackling, the comfort of my family together, the sounds of us all laughing wildly, and the clomping/screaming/joyful noises of the kids running through the house en masse. No matter the craziness outside, for a few days at least, everything is right in the world.

This year we traipsed up the mountain to celebrate in Big Bear. My brother Scott and his wife Mary have a cabin up there, and we filled it to the rafters. Scott, Mary and their kids were already there when we arrived, as were my parents and Mary's mom, Fran. My other brother Smed, his wife Brandy and little Johnny arrived later in the afternoon.

It was gorgeous outside--hot and sunny. The kids immediately took to the street on their scooters. I don't think I saw them the rest of that first day.

We spent Thanksgiving Day cooking, gorging on appetizers, and herding the kids outdoors. After spending most of the day inside, my mom and I decided we needed to get out a bit. We packed up Nathalie and almost-three-year-old Johnny and drove to the lake for a walk. The sun was shining, but the semi-frozen lake reminded us the nights were still chilly. The ice provided endless amusement, as Nathalie tossed rocks onto it, creating air bubbles.

Johnny loved throwing rocks into the lake. He could scarcely believe we let him; he's usually reprimanded for throwing things. He was not as happy about the 15 ducks that flocked toward us, thinking our rocks were a free meal coming their way. They continually squawked and rushed at him, which slowed down the rock tossing and aggravated him.

"Stupid dammit ducks!" he cried angrily (and appropriately) at them. I turned to my Mom to see if she'd heard what I heard. "No bad words, Johnny," she called out, confirming that she had. I could barely control myself. If that had been Mark, he'd have been in big trouble, but for some reason, when other people's little kid's cuss, I find it beyond amusing. (Johnny's phrase became the phrase of the weekend--in fact, I've found it appropriately describes just about anything bugging me!)

The ducks didn't bother me much, but three vocal, aggresive Canada geese certainly did. One of them, as tall as Johnny, climbed out of the water and waddled toward us, honking angrily. I grabbed Johnny, told Nathalie to run, and backed outta there as fast as I could. We retreated to the boardwalk, where my mom watched the same goose approach another family who really was feeding the ducks (with food, not rocks). She saw the goose snap at a woman, biting her on the hand.

"Stupid dammit goose!" I whispered to my mom, who giggled.

We returned to the house to find my brothers had finished their turkey cook-off. Smed fried his and Scott smoked his--both tasted amazing. The table was loaded with wonderful food, but the family protested when Mary set down a steaming dish of yams.

"They need more marshmallows!" said my father, he of the notorious sweet-tooth.

"I mixed them in the yams this year," Mary explained. And with that, they promptly disappeared. I think Nathalie, Mark and my dad had three heaping servings each. I've never seen a vegetable eaten so fast by my family before!



By Friday, we were good and relaxed. We'd spent three days eating, watching movies and just relaxing. Smed and Brandy decided to go home; Johnny wasn't sleeping well, and when Johnny doesn't sleep, nobody sleeps.

My mom kept worrying about snow. Scott and I dismissed her concerns, mostly because it was sunny and warm outside (and because we didn't have a TV). We didn't know she'd been watching the weather reports on the news, which were predicting a 30% chance of snow on Saturday, the day we all planned to leave.

"It'll just be a light dusting," Scott said. Boy, did those words come back to bite him!

When my parents arrived at the cabin Saturday morning, they were freaked out. Though they'd only driven a couple miles, it was through powdery snow and zero visibility.

It was very obvious we weren't going home that day. No matter to me; the only plans we had were to pick mistletoe with the Cub Scouts at a nearby camp. I knew the Scouts were leaving soon, so I called to warn them of the snow and improbability of reaching the camp. They decided to soldier on, but as our street was covered in fresh powder and nary a snow plow in sight, I told them we wouldn't make it.

In case you're wondering what four inches of fresh snow looks like, here ya go:





Except for my worried mom, we were all giddy and smiling as the thick snow fell. Though the house now had 10 occupants and no departure time in the near future, we didn't mind. It was kind of fun to be snowed in.

The kids couldn't wait to get into the snow. They suited up, grabbed some sleds, and ran into the street. Unfortunately, the new snow was powdery and four inches deep, and instead of skidding off, they merely sunk down into it.

"Go, sled!" Gabi yelled at her useless ride. She yelled at it again, then finally climbed out of the hole she was sitting in and ran off.

Gabi, Nat and Grant had their fill pretty quickly, and retreated back to the warm house. Mark, however, couldn't get enough of it. He'd been outside for a long time, and I started to worry a bit. I searched the yard, where I found him hunched down on all fours, face planted squarely in the snow.

"I'm eating the snow!" he said happily. An icy white beard covered his face, but couldn't hide his smile.

We hoped to clear out by Sunday, but the news greeting us that morning was grim. Another four inches of snow had fallen, and the first four had iced over during the night. ("Stupid dammit snow!" I told my mom.)

We listened intently to the radio, and heard that chains (which none of us had) were now required to get down the mountain. The news only got worse as the day went on; a car crash had closed off the front way down, and the back way was now crowded. The usually one-hour trip was now taking 4-5 hours, and was slippery with ice. We'd be staying another night.

I helped Scott plow the driveway for the second time in as many days. It was harder going this time, as the surface had frozen over. Where we'd shovelled snow the day before, we were now shoveling snow and ice and trying not to fall. I even cleared off the entire front deck, bulldozing the snow onto the ground below.

"Don't worry about that stuff," Scott told me. "It'll all melt off anyway."

But I just shrugged. "Not like there's anything else to do," I told him. I'd finished reading five magazines and most of my book. After sitting around the house for four days, it felt good to be something active. And then I realized, Oh my god, I'm so bored, I'm actually shovelling snow! It killed a good hour, though.

As dinner time neared, there was a collective groan at the mere thought of one more meal of leftovers. Mary called the local pizza joint, and was thrilled to hear they were delivering. All I have to say is thank God for small mercies and snow tires!

Monday morning arrived, and with it, a sense of urgency. It was fun being snowed in a day or two, but we were getting cabin fever. The kids were thrilled to miss school, but the adults were getting a little gritchy. I busied myself by taking photos of the ever-growing icicles that grew jaggedly along the roof line. They were so cool!

Finally, around 11 a.m., we got some good news. The roads were open, and chains were no longer required. Still seemed a little hard to believe, as the street out front was still covered in snow. But the temperature slowly passed 35, then 45 degrees, and the ice turned to slush.

We packed up the cars, and headed out. After a quick lunch, our caravan headed down the mountain. When we finally hit sea level, we were amazed to see sunny skies and 70 degree weather. It was like travelling to a distant land in another season.

So our Thanksgiving holiday turned out to be a little longer and a little colder than we initially expected. We got a few added days at the cabin, but we were warm and dry, and had plenty of food stocked up. We had a lot to be thankful for, and though my mom swears she is done with mountains and snow forever, it was a really great holiday.