Camping, schmamping, let's go to the beach!

The day after Mark got out of school, we hit the road. Our destination: a small beach campground just north of Santa Barbara.

I'd packed the car with so much gear, there was barely room for me or Mark. Which thrilled Mark, because he got to sit in front with me, fiddling endlessly with the radio, and telling me when I made a wrong turn. (New rule: Person sitting shotgun on roadtrips must offer up more helpful comments than "You're totally lost, aren't you?")

We took the scenic route up through Malibu, along PCH. It was a gorgeous drive, albeit a bit scary at one part, when we raced a semi-truck carrying half a house on the winding two-lane road.

Our camp was halfway set up when my brother Tim and his family arrived. Their mini-van was even MORE tightly packed than our car, and Tim proudly explained, "We brought everything in our house to live outdoors."

Seeing this scene reminded me I'd forgot to pack towels.

Tim wasn't kidding, especially when he unloaded his outdoor kitchen--a barbecue, camp grill, table, tablecloth, one million utensils, and even a coffee maker.

Yeah, when's the last time YOU brought Calphalon pans to cook with??

Dude likes to travel in style! But I'll say this--we never went hungry, and all the food was top-notch. If I had a bigger car, and/or any talent for cooking, I'd purchase everything Tim has!

I could tell Hannah and Nick have grown since we saw them at Christmas. Mark and Nick are six months apart in age, and very competitive about...well, everything, including their height. They both posed for the "who's taller" picture, where Mark was dismayed to learn it wasn't him (he'd been taller at Christmas).

Our site was four spots away from the ocean, which is what we love most about it. I walked with the boys along the beach in search of caves. We found them, but even better, Nick found a shark egg on the sand.

Because I'm not much of a cook, Tim only put me in charge of one meal, and was very specific as to what I should make (burgers). But I've been camping with the Boy Scouts, and was impressed with their amazing little Dutch ovens. I realized it's just a camping Crock Pot, and hey, I rock the slow cooker! So I volunteered to bring my new Dutch oven and try out some recipes. Since I didn't want the pressure of making inedible meals, we declared everything in the Dutch oven as "bonus food." If it came out good, great! If it came out terrible--well, hey, at least we weren't counting on it as our meals.

The first dish was rocking! I made and soaked French toast overnight, then cooked it Saturday morning. It was driving Tim crazy, because he likes to cook, and by cook, I mean fiddle with the food the whole time. He kept wanting to lift the lid, or check the coals, and I finally kicked him out of our camp.

But the French toast came out DELICIOUS! At one point, Nick and Tim both yelled, "It smells soooooo good!" And I pointed out to Mark they were, indeed, talking about my cooking.

The only downside was the mild sunscreen taste. Because the French toast was so fluffy, everyone wanted to touch it. Like phones in the car, I'd recommend going hands-free next time.

After (our second) breakfast, we dragged just about everything but our tents down to the beach. We even dragged down more family members, when my parents and my two San Diego nieces arrived just before lunch.

I love watching all the kids together. They get along really well, and instantly just melt into a giant roaming band of cousins. 

 

They're all teens and pre-teens now, and not only are they physically growing, they're also comedically growing, too. Their humor has evolved into biting, sharp-witted, and terribly funny insults. Hannah hacked in to her dad's Facebook account, and used it to insult me in all my status updates. I couldn't stop laughing with them (and at them) all weekend long.

The kids and Tim boogie boarded all day, and my parents, Kim and I relaxed on the beach. It was awesome.

Tim barbecued ribs for dinner, and I made cornbread in my Dutch oven. It was from a boxed mix, so it was good, but not great. Still, I was gaining confidence in my cooking skills and my Dutch oven.

Little Diva Gabi insisted on staying with my parents in the hotel--she's no dummy! Nathalie opted to camp with us, so she and Mark set up their tent. However, I forgot to bring an air mattress for that tent, but my dad solved the problem.

"Here," he said handing us the day's newspaper. "Put that in the tent, it'll be one more layer of protection from the ground."

"The rest of us just stood there, stunned and a little confused. But hey, it was my dad, so I silently handed the paper to Mark and Nathalie, who obediently lined the tent floor with it.

(When I asked Nat the next morning if she'd slept well, she answered, "Yes, except the newspaper rattled every time I moved in the tent...so that kept me awake." My brother Tim also noted that we'd intentionally added another layer of kindling to an already flammable tent, but I just ignored that observation.)

Since we were out in the wiled and without a TV, we did our best to entertain ourselves. Tim used the flaming logs to create fiery initials for our names. However, he only had three logs, so he made everyone's initials but Mark's, which needed four logs.

On Sunday, it was Kim's turn to use the Dutch oven. She made the most amazing cobbler with fresh-picked blueberries, and we dang near licked the oven clean. Which is saying a lot, since half the group doesn't even like blueberries! We voted Kim's dish the best all around bonus food of the trip.

The cobbler turned out teeth purple!

My mom and I decided to go wine tasting, and tried to talk Kim into joining us. She balked, saying she should really spend the day with Tim, since it was Father's Day. I pointed out that Tim wasn't her father, but she wasn't swayed. I also pointed out my dad was staying at camp to relax, and that he and Tim could handle the kids, but that didn't work either. Then I stopped trying because honestly, I just wanted to drink wine, and my mom was more than willing to join me.

We drove to Los Olivos and sampled some of the local wines, then headed out to the Bridlewood winery, which makes one of my favorites viogniers. It's also a gorgeous winery, with horses, a race track, and rolling hills covered in vines. Mom and I brought a picnic lunch and really enjoyed the view (and the wine).

Mark is trying to rank up in Boy Scouts, so he was in charge of making dinner that night. He barbecued burgers, and thought he dropped mine right into the charcoal, he did a great job otherwise (luckily, I brought extra turkey burgers!).

Monday was our last chance to use the Dutch oven. I baked breakfast in it, a hash brown-bacon-egg-and-cheese casserole. 

It was awesome! ("It smells like Carl's Jr.," Nick said, dreamily. "That's a compliment," Kim clarified.) Mark even ate two huge helpings, and he hates eggs. That recipe is definitely a keeper. (Unlike the broccoli and cheddar cheese quiche I was going to make, but didn't since Hannah and Nick hate broccoli. Or rather, as Nick told me, "I LIKE broccoli, I just don't like to eat it.")

The food was so hot, it looked like they were breathing smoke out.

The San Diego crew left Monday morning, and we were sad, until the sun came out and distracted us. Most of the campground had emptied out on Sunday, so we had the beach to ourselves. It was a beautiful day, and we spent it much as we had the past few days--Kim and I lolling on the beach with our books, everyone else in the water.

So it was bittersweet when we finally had to pack up our camps later that afternoon. I was sad to leave my family, and the beach, but I was really looking forward to a soft bed and a hot shower. (Even Mark was excited to shower--he never showered once while we were there. Boys are gross.) And I'll see Tim, Kim and the kids again in a couple weeks, so I wasn't that sad.

Ahhhh...summer vacation. It's seriously the best kind of vacation ever, even if it only lasts four days.

We are the champions

Mark went out for track this year. His team was really good, a fast team, and they ended up winning the championship title for their division.

The season lasted only four weeks, but it was enough to net Mark tickets to not one, but TWO, sports banquets last week.

The first was put on by a local philanthropy group, the Century Club. (Coincidentally, they've only been around for 55 years! I couldn't stop giggling about that. Maybe century is what they aspire to.) We were invited to a barbecue and the awards ceremony afterwards.

My friend Karen told me Mark's school always dress up for this banquet--collared shirts and ties. Mark didn't mind, because he just got a new bow tie, which he loves, and had  already worn for three days straight. He was excited to wear it again.

But that excitement died down as soon as I pulled into the parking lot. Two kids in shorts and t-shirts walked by, prompting loud protests from both Mark and his friend Sean.

"What!" they exclaimed. "Rip off! No one else is dressed up!" They refused to get out of the car.

"Let's go!" I told them, but Sean wouldn't leave until he'd put on a sweatshirt and zipped it up to his neck.

I signed us all in, and the boys made a beeline for the food. Plates in hand, we surveyed the dining area, until I spotted their coach, Mr. Sam.

"Do you mind if we join you?" I asked, and he smiled, offering up some chairs. Mark and Sean ditched me, moving four seats away.

I sighed. "Well, do you mind if I join you?" I asked, and Mr. Sam just smiled again. I can't believe I've got two more years of middle school left--I'm only one year into it, and I'm already tired of being invisible and ignored by my obnoxious son.

The boys were still grousing about being dressed up.

"Don't worry, at least one other kid will dress up," I called out. "Jonah will be here any minute. And besides, it won't kill you to dress up occasionally for a special event."

They both snorted. Apparently, they disagreed.

Sean's mom, Liz, arrived. The boys ran off to the banquet room, and, after Liz finished, we followed. The room was huge, filled with hundreds of people.

Liz and I found seats toward the back, where we could gossip and talk without disrupting the ceremony. It didn't even occur to me to look for the boys until about 30 minutes later.

"Where do you think they're sitting?" Liz asked.

"I don't know," I admitted. "I just assumed they were in here somewhere." Yeah, parenting a pre-teen is a lot less hands-on than parenting a little kid!

The ceremony started with, of all things, a spelling bee. Now, I'm not perpetuating stereotypes, or making judgments, but this seemed...out of place. We watched kid after kid go down, misspelling almost every word they got.

"What the heck?" I whispered to Liz. "These kids are ATHLETES! They excel in sports, not academics!" But God bless the incredibly optimistic Century Club MC, who also threw out some math problems later on. He sure seemed to have a lot of faith in the kids' scholastic abilities!

The MC was hilarious--he was intent on making jokes, paying more attention to what he said, than what the kids said. The spelling bee finals came down to one girl from Mark's school, and a boy from another school. The MC asked the girl, Kailey, her name every single time he handed her the mic to spell a word. Even then, he couldn't remember it.

"This is a big word," he warned her. "So think hard, Kimberly."

"KAILEY!" yelled every kid from Mark's school.

"That's what I said," he told them. And then he immediately asked Kailey her name again on the next round.

We sat through a whole lot of awards, until finally, our school was called. It was pretty easy to spot our boys then--Sean and Jonah walked up onstage like gentleman, and waited politely. Mark, surrounded by girls, pushed his way to the front, where he raised his arms triumphantly, and gestured for applause. He popped his collar, adjusted his bow tie, and winked at the audience. I sank into my seat, while Liz laughed out loud.

The awards kept on coming, tons and tons of them. At one point, the MC implored the audience to stick around till the end, for a special award. It hadn't even occurred to me to leave until he said that, and I immediately became restless.

Luckily, we didn't have to wait long. The evening ended with the big award, for sportsmanship, as chosen by all the schools. Mark's school won, and erupted into a giant screaming mass of middle schoolers. They ran onstage, where they proudly posed for pictures for the local newspaper with their coaches and the principal. Sean hid next to the podium, and there was Mark, down in front, flashing a double thumbs up to the photographer. He may be a runner, but he's also quite a ham, as well.

All in all, it was a really nice night. I still think it lasted longer than the actual track season, but hey, we got free dinner. And Mark got a spiffy plaque to take home, and a few minutes onstage. So everyone went home happy, even though their terribly mean moms forced them to dress up.

Man lotion

Mark's always been kind of a spa-boy in training. He appreciates the finer things in life, like hot tubs, fuzzy slippers, or a warm robe. He's also big on moisturizing--when he was little, he'd slather my lotion all over his body, and then deeply inhale.

"Smells so gooooooood," he'd sigh.

But he's not so little now, and whether or not I like it, he's becoming a man. As he transitions from a little boy, we have conversations like this.

"I need some man lotion," Mark told me yesterday.

Luckily, I was driving, and not facing him. That made it much easier to stifle my giggles.

"What is 'man lotion'?" I asked.

"You know, lotion for guys," he clarified. "I'm tired of smelling all girly, like flowers."

"Huh," I said. "Pearberry's not your scent?"

"No!" he said. "I need to smell like a MAN."

I don't even know if they make specific lotion for men only. So as we shopped, I asked a few more questions. Would unscented lotion do--was it enough to just not smell like flowers?

"No," my 72-pound (soaking wet) son said, in his deepest voice. "I need to smell manly."

I wasn't sure if it they had...um...manly lotion...but then I found it! Manly, indeed--it said "MEN" right on the label, in all caps. 

I wasn't sure if it was really lotion at first. The biggest words said, "Cooling hydration," and I didn't want Mark drinking it. But then, just below, I saw the words "body lotion" and I knew I had the right stuff. 

Mark was thrilled when I brought it home. He immediately slathered himself up, and sure enough, he emitted a manly aroma. Mark's a big believer in a little is good, but a lot is GREAT, and pretty soon, the entire house smelled...manly.

"It's okay to just use a little," I explained. "And make sure you only wear one scent at a time. If you put on the lotion, you don't need your pine tree spray, and vice versa." 

"I KNOW, Mom," he groaned, and for a moment, I felt bad for harshing his scented buzz.

But he recovered quickly, strutting around the house, calling out, "YEAH, I smell like a MAN." 

And though I tried to reign it in, I couldn't help it--I laughed. Out loud. A lot. 

The man of the house just smiled proudly.

Oh, I see, you weren't just being bratty, you were teaching a lesson

The school year is drawing to an end, and with each passing day, I lose a little more of whatever sanity I had left. State testing, final projects, open house, band concerts and choir shows, after school programs that end and leave me scrambling for childcare--it's all completely exhausted me.

And on top of all that, Mark chose this month to assert his impending teenage-hood. He continues to mouth off to every statement I make, responding when clearly no response is expected ("Make your bed--it's not a political debate"), and arguing when there is no argument to be made ("I just asked if you were done eating--I don't need a dissertation of the migration patterns of Pacific salmon").

We've finally reached a fragile détente--and by that, I mean Mark's finally worn me down so much I've given up. At this point, I figure it's a win just to get him out of the house within 15 minutes of band practice starting each morning, and if he has a lunch in hand, all the better. I don't even care what's in the lunch anymore. And if he manages to brush his teeth before running out the door--well, that's just icing on the cake. (Hey, I still have all my teeth--hopefully, he will, too.)

But this morning was awesome. Despite a slow wake-up, Mark got everything done. By the time I was out of the shower, he'd eaten, was dressed, his room was clean, and he had a lunch. And he was on time!

"Great job today, buddy!" I told him on the way to school. We were in the driveway, waiting for a break in traffic. "High five!"

Mark high-fived me, and I returned my attention to the busy street.

"You didn't high five me back," Mark said.

Without taking my eye off the road, I reached backwards, awkwardly facing my hand toward him. He high-fived three of my fingers.

I gunned it into the street. "That was kind of a challenge," I told him.

"I like to give you lots of challenges," Mark answered.

I chuckled and said, "That's true, you are a challenge every day."

"I'm building up your stamina," he said.

And at that, I laughed out loud. Because, honestly, leave it to Mark to present it like that. He doesn't mean to be bratty--he's just doing it for my own good, to build up my tolerance. I shouldn't be disciplining him, I should really be thanking him instead.

I guess you really do learn something new every day...