This is a kid who knows his Grandma very well

Each week, I take Mark to drum practice at 7:30. And each week he complains bitterly about the cupcake store half a block away, which, to his dismay, closes promptly at 7 p.m.

I'm not sure why Mark believes I'd buy him cupcakes if the darn shop was open, but he does, wholeheartedly. (Hey, I'm all for the occasional cupcake, but EVERY week? Dream on, kid!)

But this week was a little different. Mark's lesson was Sunday afternoon, and since my mom was visiting, she went with us.

I parked in front of Mark's class, and told him we'd be back in an hour. Mark silently exited the car, and then, just before shutting the door, he popped his head back in and said quietly to his Grandma, "OK. Oh, and the cupcake store is open."

He shut the door, smiled at me slyly, and headed for class.

But the damage was already done. My mom, who has a wicked sweet tooth (and a propensity for spoiling her grandkids), called out the window, "Cupcakes? What? Where?"

Mark was walking into his lesson, but he turned and pointed down the street, still smiling at me. My mom obediently exited the car, and asked what kind he wanted.

"I don't know what they have," he answered.

He dropped his bag and sprinted down the block toward the bakery. He returned a moment later, still sprinting, and called out, "German chocolate!" as he passed us. I just shook my head, and watched my mom head in that direction. When she came back, she was holding a plastic box full of cupcakes (including one German chocolate) in her hand.

Well-played, my son...well-played.

Introducing...Fernando!

A few months ago, my cat Elvis passed away. I seriously thought my heart had broken forever--I'd raised Elvis since he was a little bitty kitten, and boy, did I love that cat.

Elvis was the sweetest cat when he wanted to be (but God forbid you catch him when he didn't want to be!). Yes, he had a bad attitude; he was definitely king of the castle, the alpha cat. But he was also a big ol' loving cat. He loved being scratched under his collar, for a little while, but you never knew when, exactly, that while was up until he suddenly turned on you, hissing, with fangs bared. I became adept at reading his signals, and could usually avoid it, but we all got bit by Elvis at least once. 

Elvis is the all black cat; he just looks like he will tear you up, but he only really did that occasionally.

He was a good cat--he never ripped up the house, like Frankie, or messed it up. He was low-key, and loved to hang out, usually napping right on me while I watched TV. Elvis was just an all-around great cat, and I miss him dearly.

So much, in fact, I refused to get another cat after him. I couldn't imagine replacing him; nobody could replace The King, and I wouldn't even try.

However, the boys in my house convinced me otherwise. Mark the Cat Whisperer has always wanted a kitten, and man, did he turn up the sales pitch. But he wasn't the one who finally changed my mind. My cat, Frankie, did. He was lonely. Whenever we came home, he told us off, meowing loudly and angrily at us.

And so, I caved. I'd get a companion for Frankie, and fulfill one of Mark's dreams. I'd make everyone happy, right?

What I didn't anticipate were my own feelings. I figured I'd like the new kitten, because really, who doesn't like kittens? What I didn't anticipate was how much I'd like this little kitten.

Here he is. Go ahead. Oooh. Ahhhh. You know you want to. 

His name is Fernando. Mark named him after a seagull at Boy Scout camp, who'd steal all the boys' fishing bait. 

We got him from a friend, and picking out just one kitten was almost impossible for Mark. (In fact, the little snit tried smuggling two kittens home in the carrier!) Fernando was the first cat Mark picked, but then a little silver cat caught his eye. Mark wavered between the two, right up until Fernando crawled into his lap and fell asleep. Turns out it wasn't Mark's choice after all--it was Fernando's, and he chose Mark.

He was the littlest, tiniest guy. Seriously, he was smaller than a book! 

And fluffier than anything you've ever seen. Which, while adorable, turns out to be something I'm highly allergic to. But I don't even care! I still pet and kiss him non-stop, which probably doesn't help. But I did rush out and spend hundreds of dollars on HEPA air purifiers, which I hope will.

Fernando's a wild cat, obsessed with feet and shoes, which means he stalks us and attacks our toes whenever we're sitting on the couch. He also chases us down as we walk through the house, clutching our legs with all his might.

"Hurry up and set the table," my mom told Mark this morning.

"I can't," Mark sighed. "There's a kitten biting my foot!" Sure enough, Fernando was locked on to Mark's leg.

It's been hilarious to watch him grow. Every day, he learns something new. Last week, it was running. He'd pranced and bounced sideways everywhere, but one day, he started running! He was so proud he spent the whole day running, then napping, then running again, then tripping us while running throughout the house.

The kitten looooooooves Mark. He sleeps on Mark's bed, and runs off to Mark's room when he gets tired of being held. ("He's going home," my mom says, when Fernando runs off to Mark's room.) He's so cute, Mark and I actually fight to hold him, and my mom yells at us to leave the little kitten alone. 

Even the kids next door love him--our little neighbor Sage, who's 6, comes over every day to play with him. I thought she was looking for Mark and her brother the first day, so I told her they were playing at her house.

"I know," she said. "I came to play with the kitten." She's been back every night since, slinging him over her shoulder, or cradling him like a baby.

The only one who doesn't think Fernando is the cutest thing ever is Frankie. He's slowly accepting the kitten, which I'm not surprised about, because Frankie is always jealous when anyone else gets attention. He always refused to come when called, unless we called out for Elvis. The minute he heard Elvis' name, he'd come running over, meowing and acting all cute, as if to say, "Hey, who needs Elvis, look how cute I am!"

At first, Frankie hissed at Fernando, which scared the crud out of the kitten. But that little cat won't be dissuaded. I'm not sure if he's super brave or just has a death wish, but he actually stalks Frankie now, running by and swatting him on the tail. Frankie just gives him the stink-eye. Everybody but Fernando knows Frankie could send him flying across the room with one swat. But Frankie tolerates him, which I think is about the best we can ask for right now.

And so, our household has been conquered and is now being held captive by a little ball of fuzz that weighs less than half a pound. The fuzzball is, however, intent on changing that. I'm not sure if he's a little piglet, or if he's just trying to grow quickly so he's no longer a potential Frankie snack. But that baby cat eats nonstop, and he's 90% belly because of it. Seriously. He looks like a tiny baby cat who swallowed a tennis ball. 

But boy, do we love that big-bellied, mewling, hyperactive, little baby!

The cook quits

I was foraging through the fridge for dinner when Mark asked if we had any eggplant left. I told him he was in luck.

"Oh, I'll make some spaghetti, too," I told him.

"Nah," he answered. "I just want the eggplant."

"OK," I said. "I'll just add mozzarella and spaghetti sauce like I did last time--it'll be eggplant Parmesan without the pasta."

"No cheese," he said. "And no sauce--I just want the eggplant."

So I made just the plain ol' breaded eggplant. And you can guess where this is going in 3...2...1...

"Hmmm, this was better last time you made it," my unappreciative gourmand observed.

"Oh, really?" I said. "You mean when it had cheese and sauce on it???"

He grinned sheepishly and shrugged. I silently told my hand not to smack him upside the head. Surprisingly, it listened. Barely.

"Next time, I'm just gonna make it with cheese and sauce," I said, getting up. I reminded Mark it wouldn't kill him to listen to me every once in a while, and that sometimes, I actually know what I'm talking about.

But in the meantime...I still made him eat that eggplant. Because sometimes life lessons are more memorable when they're served up piping hot, breaded and plain.

Mark loved his camp, too

I was not the only one worn out by camp--Mark returned quiet but happy from his own time away from home.

I was very excited to see him--he'd been away from home for two weeks before but this year, I really missed him. I was ready for the little guy to come home!

Despite his denials, I could tell Mark was equally excited to see me, as he waved briefly out the bus window. (Yes, it was a small wave, but he made eye contact, too! That is huge for my non-emotional child.)

The first words out of his mouth were, "Hi, Mom," and then "Can I go to camp for two weeks again next year?" Yes, the boy who'd been grousing about camp non-stop since I paid for it in March, wanted to get back on the bus and return to camp, right then and there.

Of course, I said yes. :-)

He shocked me again, asking if he could shower when he got home. My nose agreed right away, and my head screamed, "Hallelujah!"

Of course, I said yes.

I asked if he'd showered at all while he was gone--he'd said everyone had to shower on Thursdays, and he was gone for two Thursdays.

"No," he answered. "I didn't shower at all--I just washed from the waist up in the sink."

And all I could think about was how gross boys really are. And how, the next time Mark asks why I always say that, I will use this story as proof.

Even he could see that was bad, and amended it with, "Well, I mean, I wasn't totally dirty. I did go swimming a few times."

And hey, that's the same as bathing, right? I mean, you wear a bathing suit in the pool.

The cool thing about this year was that the camp has a Facebook page, and they posted camp photos. In previous years, I'd ask Mark what his favorite activities were, and he'd just shrug. And that was pretty much all I had to go on.

But this year, I could reference the pictures and ask him what they'd done. He told me all about the Halloween party where they carved up watermelons. 

He talked about his favorite activities, shooting BB guns and doing archery, he described the vampire comic strip his cabin all acted out in photos. I heard more about camp this year than I ever have before!

I did notice one curious picture, however--a photo of three baby ducks.

"What's the deal with the ducks?" I asked him. He just shrugged.

"Yeah, they have ducks," he said.

"What for?" I asked. "As pets?"

"Maybe to eat," he said. He saw the horrified look on my face, and pretended to chew.

"You know, like duck fries," he said, referring to a local restaurant's specialty dish.

"You're a sick puppy!" I told him, hugging him tight. "I've missed you!"

I asked about the dance, and he told me he was too busy playing pool to dance. I asked about camping out, and he admitted it was fun, albeit cold and a little scary because of the coyotes howling.

I asked if he saw any wildlife, and he said there were squirrels all around. He even hand-fed a chipmunk.

He totally dug his cabin mates, including one kid who's gone in years past and bugged him. I was proud of him, and his budding maturity.

Mark showed me his eye glasses, and how he'd broken the side of them. I was sooooooo glad he'd left his brand-new glasses at home.

"How'd they break?" I asked.

"Under a mattress," he explained. "You know, we were wrestling, and they got shoved under the mattress. Then everybody jumped on the mattress."

And I just smiled, knowing that was exactly what camp was supposed to be like.

Mark even got a new neckerchief. It said, "Ragger" on it, and Mark described the Ragger's creed. He couldn't exactly remember all of the words (any of the words!), but he remembered the main idea, which was to take care of your health. He's worn the neckerchief faithfully every day since he's returned from camp.

So all in all, Mark had a fabulous time. He keeps talking about camp, and sharing stories about his adventures. He's talked more about it than previous years, and I'm just so grateful. Grateful I can afford to send him, grateful for the amazing staff of counselors and medical staff to watch over him, grateful he gets to prove his independence and just be a kid away at camp. And, most of all, grateful he has a safe place at camp, the one camp where he's not the only kid with diabetes.

And so he can't wait for next year. He's even more excited because he turns 13 this year, and will move up to the teen camp (which totally freaks me out!!!). 

As for me...I just got him home. I can't even think of him being gone another two weeks yet. 

Heather and Michelle master the art of relaxation

My mom and I had such a blast in San Francisco--we literally exhausted ourselves so much that when our flight home was delayed, we didn't even care. We were just glad to sit still and rest for the extra few hours!

But I didn't rest long. Mom went home on Wednesday, and I headed east for a little wine adventure with my friend Michelle. We arrived in Temecula that afternoon ready to get in to the grape.

Our first stop was the Ponte winery. The wines were okay, but the air conditioning was better. It was a scorching 108 degrees outside! Which is hot enough, but considering I'd just come back from 60 degree weather in San Fran, it was pretty. damn. hot.

We were staying at the South Coast Winery, which I love because they have villas right on the vineyard. But the villas are set back a bit from the main winery restaurants and tasting room, so we decided to enjoy happy hour before checking out our room.

That was a good move. Not only do I like happy hour, I also like cute men, and firemen. Which worked out well, because our young waiter was starting fire school in a couple weeks, so he was kind of like a fireman-to-be. We really enjoyed our wine, our appetizers, and our cute, smiling waiter.

We checked in to our villa, which was right next to the pool. I was indeed a happy girl. We were in that pool in about 10 seconds, sipping a complimentary bottle of wine, and smiling at our good fortune. Physically, we were only 85 miles from home, but it felt like a million.

That last bottle did us in. We realized around 9:30 that WE NEEDED PIZZA, and we were not to be dissuaded. Even though we were in the middle of nowhere, and could not figure out the phone system or even our address, we knew that we needed pizza. And we finally got it, too, although I fell asleep before it finally arrived. (Michelle once again saves the day by waiting up for the pizza--just like our good old college days!)

We slept in late the next morning, and after a breakfast of cold pizza, we hit repeat: pool, wine tasting, pool, dinner. The wine tasting took place at the end of a winery tour. 

The tour was really nice--I've been on a lot of tours before, so I always worry the info will be the same. But this tour guide taught us lots of new stuff, and did a very nice wine and food pairing. It was nice and relaxing.

What Michelle and I learned on this trip is that we aren't, in fact, still reckless party animal college kids who can go big every night. Which might have bothered me before (my fleeting youth!), but now, as a more mature adult (stop laughing), I really appreciated the nice dinner and the guitar player in the restaurant. And of course, after dinner, it was back to the pool. (Did I  mention it was hot out there??) It was a lovely way to spend a vacation day.

We slept in late again the next morning, then feasted on the house specialty--bananas Foster pancakes. Oh my God, they were good! We dined al fresco on our attached patio, with some fat alligator lizards nearby for company. We had just enough time for a quick dip into the pool before check-out at noon. We arrived at the office at exactly 11:59 a.m., to return our keys.

It was an awesome, relaxing way to end Mommy Camp. San Francisco with my mom, Sasha and family was a blast, and Temecula with Michelle was equally fun. I think it was one of the best Mommy Camps so far--so thank you to everyone who participated with me! :-)

Mommy camp in San Francisco, Day 2

Sasha returned Sunday morning bearing good news--she was taking us to the Golden Gate Bridge! It was overcast in the city, and you could only see half the bridge, but Sasha turned that into a positive.

"This is the true San Francisco experience!" she told us. "This is how it really looks most of the time." I smiled at her optimism, and embraced it, screaming with joy as we drove over the foggy bridge.

We parked in the massively crowded viewing lot and got out--there was no way I was gonna drive this far and NOT walk on the bridge! It was cold and windy, so my mom improvised, wrapping her head in a scarf. Sasha and I cracked up, teasing that she looked like a Russian woman with her babushka.

We walked about a quarter of the bridge, giggling the whole time. I was super excited to hug one of the supporting cables. In a moment that seemed just out a movie, I posed, smiled for my close up, and then tripped on the sidewalk. For a brief moment, I thought I would fall, but I caught myself just in time. Of course, my mom was watching the whole thing--I saw her expressions go from laughing, to scared, to "You are an idiot!" all in a microsecond. 

But then it was time for our next adventure--lunch with the family! Tim, Kim, and their kids live about an hour away, and came to visit us. They even brought along Kim's mom, Susan, who was in town visiting them.

I was so excited about the bridge, and seeing the family, and just vacation in general, that I popped out of the car a little too excitedly--sending my smartphone into the gutter for a bath. I stood there, disbelieving, but Sasha was on it--she dove down and grabbed it, immediately removing the battery. She saved the day! (And my smartphone!)

We met them for lunch at their favorite restaurant, Tarantino's. I was a little worried when we walked into the restaurant, which was very quiet--we are not a quiet bunch, and I realized we were about to ruin everyone else's peaceful meal. Luckily, the server  seemed to sense that, and guided us to a separate empty room.

The room was great, though.

It had a perfect view of the wharf, where we watched the Bush Man scare unwitting tourists. The Bush Man is this random guy who sits on the sidewalk behind a bunch of branches he's picked. If you're not paying attention, he just looks like a bush--but then he jumps out and scares the crud out of you. We could've watched that all day, if he hadn't earned enough money and gone off to lunch!

Hannah and Nick also kept me entertained with photos of the previous day, when they unintentionally went hiking at a park filled with little kids.

"There were toddlers EVERYWHERE!" Hannah exclaimed. She wasn't sure why until they heard a train approaching--which turned out to be a life-sized Thomas the Tank Engine! I was laughing so hard at that, and the pictures they took at the nearby Sasquatch museum.

After lunch, we headed to Nick and Hannah's favorite SF hangout--an arcade. But this wasn't just any arcade--it was an old-time arcade, filled with creepy games of times long ago.

There was a creepy giant doll you could make laugh for a quarter, but she freaked us out. We moved on to a fortune telling machine, and laughed at everybody's fortunes but mine. I got some creepy fortune, so I put in another quarter to cleanse my spiritual palette. It still wasn't a happy fortune, but it was less dark and ominous as the first.

The kids crowded around a more modern game--hockey. It was Tim and Hannah against my mom and Nick, and it got so heated, it actually drew a crowd. They were loud!

Sasha and I cruised around the arcade, becoming more and more troubled by the "games." They looked like dioramas, with figures that came to life when you put in a coin. There were some funny ones with old Western towns or rodeos in them, but there were also creepy ones reenacting the Spanish Inquisition, the English taking out Native Americans, and this one, the creepiest one of all:

That's right, an opium den! We had to see what happened. The addicts didn't really smoke opium, but they looked a hot mess. We put in a quarter and the machine came to life--skeletons and the Grim Reaper appeared, and Death was lurking behind all the addicts. There was a guy in bed who started convulsing--I'm telling you, it was all CREEPY! I try not to repeat myself, but the whole arcade was creepy like that! (One "game" had a sign warning "If you are easily offended, do not play this machine." Another sign said, "Warning! By today's standards, this does not sound like music.")

There were actually a couple games that were funny--we all tried a strong-grip game. Tim was the strongest, getting up to Gentleman. Nick got Nullity, Hannah got Sucking, and I got between Madly in Love and Boy. (Guess I'm madly in love with a boy! Lucky fellow!)

we strolled along the wharf, stopping only when Nick and Hannah found a place they liked--a candy shop! Sasha and I pushed them inside, saying we'd buy them whatever they want.

But they proved to be the exact opposite of what you think when you hear the phrase "like a kid in a candy shop." They were quiet, reserved, walking through the displays, just staring at the candy.

"What's wrong with them?" Sasha asked. "Why aren't they picking out any candy?"

"I'm overwhelmed!" Nick confessed.

I was as confused as Sasha was--seriously, who has to beg a kid to buy candy?? Finally, Sasha took matters into her own hands. She grabbed and opened a bag, shoving it into Nick's hands. 

"Go!" she told him, opening the closest bin of candy. "Fill it up!"

Hannah also overcame her initial reluctance, and was off like a shot. They filled their bags with peanut butter cups and every kind of sour candy you can imagine, and they. were. in. HEAVEN.

We continued on with our stroll. Well, most of us did, except Hannah, who was not strolling at all. She walked quickly, hellbent on some unknown destination. I just followed along, unnerved at how much faster I have to walk now that she towers above me. (Dang kid is all legs!) Nick and I joked and acted silly, but Hannah walked purposefully.

We reached our destination--Ghiradelli Square! Hannah pushed right on through the crowd, straight up to the register, and ordered a mocha ice cream cone. Suddenly, she turned around, as though seeing us for the first time; as if remembering she was actually with her family. Talk about hyperfocus--that kid's got it!

Nick and I ordered ice cream, too. The line was long, but the kids didn't mind--they were seriously tucking into their candy bags.

"You have to put that away when your ice cream's ready," I told Nick. "You can't be eating candy AND ice cream at the same time!"

He just looked at me, truly shocked, and said, "What? Why???"

I didn't have to enforce the rule, though. Tim came by and scooped up their bags.

Alas, he was too late. By the time Nick got his ice cream, the candy sugar had kicked in, and he was smack dab in the middle of a full-fledged sugar rush. I don't even think he finished his cone--he was bouncing around so much, we sent him to run laps. He ran a giant circle around us about 10 times, while Hannah, Sasha and I cheered him on, cracking up.

After leaving Ghiradelli Square, we ambled down the street again. A gallery was showing off some Dr. Seuss artwork, and Sasha took the kids inside.

"Do you think it's a good idea for Nick to be jumping all around priceless art right now?" Tim asked, and we all agreed probably not.

When they came out again, I passed out the San Francisco postcards.

"Write a message to your cousin!" I said, so they did.

Hannah was trying really hard to concentrate on hers, but Nick was too distracting. He was still bouncing around. He wrote that he'd just eaten candy and an ice cream cone. I debated sending it to Mark--it didn't seem appropriate to send to a kid at diabetes camp, after all.

Before we knew it, we were in front of the Buena Vista again, in front of Sasha's car.

"Well, okay then, goodbye," Mom said to the rest of the family.

Now I felt like Nick--"Wait, what?? Are we done then?" She caught us all off guard--it was only 4 p.m.!

But she was done. So we hugged everyone and bid them farewell. Apparently, Mom was done for the day and needed a nap.

Sasha said she'd return after my mom's nap, but I wasn't tired, so I said "Let's keep playing!" We pulled up to the hotel to drop off my mom, but when we told her we were going to Twin Peaks to view the city, she waved and told us, "Let's go!"

"I thought you were tired," I said.

"I am," she said. "But it won't take long." She just didn't want to miss out!

And so, we kept going. Sasha navigated us through the city, pointing out Haight-Ashbury and the beautiful houses. She showed us the Opera House, and a community garden that had previously been a freeway off ramp. It was great.

She zipped through the narrow, windy streets. In one quiet residential neighborhood, my mom said, "Hey, there was a bride in that car!" It seemed kind of random.

When we arrived at Twin Peaks, we were blown away, both figuratively, and literally. The view was amazing--you could see the entire city, from the Oakland Bridge all the way to the Golden Gate Bridge. It was sunny, clear as a bell, and the city below was magnificent. 

It was also windy. So windy, in fact, that we saw a group of kids laughing and pointing. Turns out they were pointing at a bird who was trying, unsuccessfully, to fly in the high winds. He was flapping wildly, but going nowhere. It was really funny!

And then, out of nowhere, the bride appeared! We saw her bridesmaids first, at the top of a close-by ridge. You could only see their matching dresses around their legs--the rest of them were covered in coats and boots. They'd climbed to the top of the ridge.

The bride and groom were being photographed about halfway up. Her hair was flying all over the place, and when she attempted a "king of the world" move, her veil went flying!
 But she had a good groom--he immediately chased it down, recovering it. (A little dog also chased after it--poor guy flipped himself over, he was running down the hill so fast!)

 

They also had good groomsmen--two of them carried a bench up the hill for the photo session. The happy couple sat down, and someone held her veil above them--it flew right out, flat as a sheet above them! We really enjoyed the whole show, watching for about half an hour.

Sasha darted through the city, driving us back. When we were a block or two away, we hit an unexpected traffic jam--a cop was guiding the cars, and the street was just teeming with people. I looked around quickly to see what was up. The street sign said it  all--Lombard Street, the famous crooked street!

"Turn right, Sash!" I yelled, and without hesitation, she did! She almost clipped the police officer, and she totally cut in front of another car, but she did it. She was driving down Lombard's eight gnarly hairpin curves, and I was laughing like a crazy little kid.

You can't really get a good photo of the street as you're going down it, so Sasha pulled over.

"You want a picture?" she asked. I hesitated--signs all around said no stopping.

"I do," I admitted, so Sasha pulled over directly in front of a no stopping sign. I bounded out of the car, took my photos, and quickly returned.

We stopped for a quick dinner, then Sasha delivered us back to our hotel. Within minutes of arriving, text messages from Hannah and Nick were blowing up my phone.

"They want to know if you have their candy," I said, puzzled, to my mom. When I turned to get her answer, she was holding up the bags and looking guilty.

"I do," she said, "But I have no idea how I got them."

We figured out that Tim had given them to her to stop himself from eating it. This bit if sleuth work did not impress the kids, however--they were super bummed and immediately started working in a plan to get them back. My mom and I went the other direction, plotting how to further torture them about this.

All giggling aside, we were exhausted. It was only our second day there, but we'd ticked off all the sights on our list, and we still had another day in town! It's tiring to be an overachiever...

Mommy Camp goes on the road (Day 1)

Mark spent the past week and a half at sleep-away camp. I refer to this time of year as "Mommy Camp," because honestly, I'm out there whooping it up and trying to be as irresponsible and carefree as possible (OK, maybe not that wild, but I did go to happy hour every night and see four movies while he was gone!). As Homer Simpson said, "That was fun--and I mean, before-we-had-kids fun!"

This year, my mom and I planned a long weekend in San Francisco during Mommy Camp. She had an exhaustive list of sights to see and restaurants to visit, and we hit all but one of them in the first two days. Not only did we wear ourselves out, we also wore out everyone who came to visit us--our family friend Sasha, my brother Tim, his wife Kim, and their kids Hannah and Nicholas (what up, Hannah and Nick-ay! :-).

We left early on Saturday morning, arriving in San Fran for breakfast. Sasha picked us up, shuttling us from the airport to our hotel, and then around the entire city. We walked around Fisherman's Wharf, marveling at the giant crabs at a fish market trying to escape their open tanks. 

We walked along Hyde Street Pier, pointing huge telescopes at Alcatraz, which was clear and easy to see, and the Golden Gate Bridge, which was not. (I also used my telescope to stare at my mom's face up close. It's amazing what you can see for just a quarter!)

We stood along the edge of the pier, watching swimmers go by. There were a whole lotta swimmers out there, which was crazy, because that water was super cold! (Even the air was cold--60 degrees!--and we were shivering on the dock, fully clothed and wearing jackets!) A curious seal was swimming along one swimmer, occasionally popping his head out of the water.

Sasha had to leave around noon, so we said goodbye, and consoled ourselves with Irish coffees at the historic Buena Vista.

It was cool to watch the bartender make them--he lined up a whole mess of glasses, then drenched them in steaming hot water. He then went down the line, dropping two sugar cubes in each glass, filling them first in coffee, then with whiskey. At the end, he topped each with pure cream, which melted into the coffee. 

 

I usually hate whiskey, but man, those were good!

Warmed up by the whiskey, we started our next adventure--the cable cars, which were just outside the door. We waited in line with all the other tourists, a great many of whom were European. It was fun to hear French, German, and other languages spoken all around us.

The cable cars seem like a cool idea, except that they pack you in so tightly, you can't even see out the windows. So we rode up and down the steep hills of San Francisco staring at some French guy's backpack. Oh well, we still had a good time!

The cable car dropped us at the end of the line, in Union Square. That's when I realized what a busy, bustling town SF really is--I mean, it was Saturday, and the streets were jam-packed. I can't even imagine how busy they are during the work week!

Mom and I meandered up a few blocks, toward China Town. Along the way, we passed a Scottish store, with a big cut-out in front. I coaxed my mom into it, where she stood and gave me her sweetest smile.

"No, Mom!"  I told her. "You're Braveheart. Look mean!" So she did.

(And if you ever wondered why I am the way I am, look at the following pics of my mom. They address that pretty well!)

I wanted to get a pic of my mom in front of the China Town gate, but she had other ideas. She kept acting silly, taking pictures of me, taking pictures of her. This was as good as I got.

We walked the pseudo-Chinese streets, curbing the urge to buy $2.99 t-shirts (good quality!) or other cheesy souvenirs. (OK, I admit it--I couldn't pass up the 7-for-a-dollar post cards--Mark got a whole bunch of postcards from SF!) 

I was astounded by the herb shops, which had a huge supply of weird, dried stuff and giant jars of powders, all labelled in Chinese. I loved the red lanterns lining the streets, and the occasional dragon crossing with the band.

 

But the craziest shop we saw was the fish seller. There were gigantic tanks of live fish in the window, and smaller tanks all around. The store was as crowded with people as it was with live fish tanks, and as I stepped inside, I was assaulted by a strong odor. It emanated from a big box on the ground, which I saw was filled with live frogs. Tons of them, crawling all over each other. I quickly stepped out.

Sasha, an avid animal lover, looked at me in horror when I relayed that story.

"For pets," I said quickly, amending the story to protect her sensitive nature. "I'm sure they were selling the frogs as pets." Sasha remained unconvinced.

We'd walked halfway back to our hotel, then somehow found the returning cable car. We got on the wrong line, which we didn't know at the time, but proved serendipitous, as it dropped us off a block from our hotel.

Our day had started at 5 a.m., but we still had a little left in us. After a quick nap and a wine reception in the hotel lobby, we rallied and walked to dinner at Scoma's. The seafood was fresh, and amazing, and definitely worth the wait!

We were exhausted by the time we left dinner, but I refused to go home until dark.

"Come on, Mom!" I told her. "We have to wait for sunset! We're on VACATION!"

She didn't want to, but that's the great thing about my mom--she can rally with the best of them. And like me (and Mark!), she doesn't want to miss a thing. So she did it--finished dinner, strolled slowly, and humored me, arriving at the hotel just after dark.

We were exhausted, but dang, we saw half the city that day!

Christmas in July

Yesterday, I had the distinct pleasure of sending my son Mark to sleep-away summer camp. It's only a pleasure because each year on this day, Mark turns into a surly, growling, mouthy little beast. (If he really didn't want to go, he'd do the opposite--act all sweet and loving--and I wouldn't have the heart to send him away!)

I love that kid dearly, but contrary to what he believes, I am not sending him off to camp to torture him.

"Yes, you are," he groused, when I told him that.

"No, I'm not," I said. "I'm not sending you to prison! You won't be tortured. This is something fun, not a punishment. I know you don't believe me, but I really do miss you when you're gone."

"Uh huh," he muttered. "You're too busy having fun to miss me."

I pondered this momentarily, smiling, then caught myself. "No, I miss you so much, I try to keep myself busy," I said, in my most reassuring voice.

One steely glare told me he did not believe me.

"Anyway, you'll have fun," I said, ending the conversation.

On Sunday, Mark insisted on packing himself. The camp provides a packing list, so I handed it over and let him pack.

My first worry came when he threw in some shorts I know he doesn't like. "I'll just throw them away up there," he said.

Then, because I'd told him they'll do his laundry over the weekend, he said he only packed four outfits.

"You need at least a week's worth of clothes," I said. "And don't throw anything away until you leave, or else you won't have any clothes to wash and wear again."

"Oh, yeah!" he answered. Not that I worried he'd go naked--I'm sure he'd just "borrow" someone else's clothes. (Then again, the last time he camped away from me, he wore the same clothes for three days. Ate, slept, and wore them all for three days straight. Boys are gross. And honestly, by this math, Mark was right, he only need four outfits.)

He refused to pack a sweatshirt, telling me not to worry about it. So I didn't--I'm not going to be cold here at home.

When he finished packing, his duffel bag looked suspiciously empty. He insisted he had enough clothes, so I just shrugged--he likes to learn his lessons the hard way.

Since Monday was our last night together for 12 days, I suggested we go for ice cream. Mark shrugged, and suggested a game of Smashball out back instead. I thought that was fun--I was just looking for a little bonding time. However, halfway through the game, he asked if he could go play with the kids next door.

"No," I said. "You're not gonna see me for 12 days, and I'm gonna miss you."

"Well, I'm not gonna see Kadyn for 12 days," he said. "I'll miss him!" 

I sighed, knowing our bonding was over. I sent him in to shower.

"What!" he screeched. "I'm gonna shower up there. They make us shower every Thursday."

"And today is only Monday," I observed. "Which means your next shower is four days away! And the next one after that is another week! Ugh, get in there!"

He went, still grumbling.

I overslept on Tuesday, and was running around frantically. I woke Mark up, reminding him he had to eat, change his insulin pump set, get dressed, get his room picked up and be ready to go in an hour. For Mark, that is Herculean effort--it would normally take him twice as long to get all that done.

He did get up, but only to pet the cat. I realized he might not make it to camp after all--if he kept up this pace, I might throttle him.

Some how, we made it to the drop-off location only 20 minutes late. But I wasn't worried--we always stand around waiting for an hour and a half anyway.

This is usually the time Mark separates himself from me and refuses to talk. I gave him an affectionate little hug, and he muttered "Go away" under his breath.

"Did you just say, 'Go away'?" I asked, incredulously.

"Yes," he mumbled back.

I threw my arms around him and proclaimed loudly, "I'm gonna miss you sooooooo much!" The other mothers around me smiled sweetly, while the other 12-year-old boys all cringed and died inside a little bit for Mark.

Still smiling, I whispered my own threat to him. "Give me a hug and kiss now, and I won't make a scene when you leave."

Mark pictured me screaming, "Good-bye, baby! Mommy wuvs her widdle baby boy! I miss you, love you, sugar!" and crying giant crocodile tears in front of the whole camp. He immediately gave me a little squeeze, and a quick peck on the cheek. I smiled and discreetly returned the love.

When the final call came to load up the buses, Mark and his group sauntered over as slowly and loudly as possible. The whole group ignored their mothers, who refused to be ignored.

Mark immediately ran to the back of he bus and planted himself in a window seat on the other side of the bus. The other parents stood around, teary-eyed and waving wildly at their kids hanging out the windows.

I quietly made my way through the crowd, toward my car. In years past, I waited until the buses drove away, but really, what was the point? My kid was blatantly ignoring me--I could be ignored just as easily from my own car.

And so, he is off. Away at camp for the next week and a half, having lots of fun, all of which he'll forget the moment he sees me again. He'll pout that he's not with me, but only because he hates to miss out on anything, not because he actually misses me. And I will have just as much fun as he imagines I will, not because he's gone, but as a happy side affect of it.

I will eat what I want to eat, see as many movies as possible, not make my bed, travel with my mom, relax, and take care of someone who always gets pushed aside in favor of my son's care--myself. I will relax, go to fancy restaurants, miss my son, not worry about his care, and have fun. Mommy Camp 2012 will be awesome.

And at the end of it, when Mark comes home, I'll be thrilled to see him. I'll be glad to hear all about camp (though I know his answer to every question will be, "We did the same thing as last year"). I'll be glad to hug him, and kiss him, even though he last showered on Thursday.

And I'll be restored, rejuvenated, and ready to be a full-time mom again...until next summer.