Homework, homework...

Now that Mark's back in school, he's back to the nightly homework grind. But he's been taking it very seriously, and I'm so proud of him.

I caught him in a contemplative mood last night. It was definitely a Kodak moment, my boy and his studies, so I captured it for posterity. 

And this is one of my SMART friends...

Recently, some friends came to the States for a visit. They flew in from Australia, where they live. He's American, she's Australian, and my friend Nicky and I were very excited to see them.

We were also excited to meet their gorgeous baby girl. Sophia was beautiful, sweet and super happy. She doesn't talk yet, but she's very vocal, so Nicky and I spent a lot of time trying to make her giggle.

Later on, we were discussing how cute Sophia is, and what great parents Ted and Nicole are. We also marvelled at how Ted has absolutely no Australian accent whatsoever, even though he's lived in Sydney for 15 or 16 years. 

Nicky paused for a minute, and then said, "I wonder what Sophia will speak."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"You know," Nicky explained. "Since her Dad's American, and her mom's Australian."

Now it was my turn to pause. Then I burst into laughter, and I told Nicky, "You know they speak English in Australia, right? She's gonna speak English, like both of them!"

Nicky got all flustered and said that's not what she meant, she really meant would Sophia have an American accent or an Australian one, blah blah blah. But for the rest of the evening, I couldn't get that thought out of my head, and I just kept giggling about it. Every time I looked at Nic, she glared at me and told me to shut up.

Which I would have done...if only I'd known which language she meant, American or Australian.

The Phantom Menace

Who knew I'd spend so much time obsessing over an inanimate object that is not even mine?? (Honestly...this is what my life's been revolving around--now I know why some of my friend's refuse to get cell phones!)

Mark's had his cell phone back for a week now, which is commendable. But what I've realized this week is that I spent too much time telling him not to lose it, and not enough time teaching him how to use it. 

I know this because my own cell phone has been ringing non-stop. So far, I've gotten calls from my mom, my brother Smed, and my sister-in-law Mari. They called to say Mark's phone is repeatedly calling them.

"Tell him to hang up," I told my brother, Smed, who called this morning.

"I did," he said, in the same tone I use with Mark when I'm irritated. "He's not listening--I can only stand in the street yelling at the phone for so long before people think I'm crazy."

That made me giggle. Bonus points to Mark for making his uncle look goofy on the job.

So I called Mark myself. At first the phone went straight to voicemail--guess he was still (not) talking to Uncle Smed. I called back a couple minutes later, and someone answered--but forgot to talk. I listened to the playground chatter for a couple minutes, all the while shouting, "Mark. Mark! MARK!!!" progressively louder into my phone (I feel your pain, Smed). Mark finally hung up on me, so I called back.

"Hello???" he answered, in a very surprised voice. Apparently, he's only used to making, not receiving, calls.

"Mark, turn your phone off," I said. "Keep it off during class, and don't turn it back on again until after school!"

"HELLO??" he said, again. Seriously. He couldn't figure out who was calling him. I could just imagine him staring, baffled, at his phone, wondering who had his number, and why they were calling.

"TURN OFF YOUR PHONE!" I yelled. "You keep calling Grandma and Uncle Smed, and it's bugging them."

"What?!" he exclaimed. "I didn't call anyone!"

I just sighed, and realized it's a good thing God made Mark cute.

I finally hung up. I assume Mark turned off his phone, since no one else reported any more phantom phone calls.

I did learn, however, that Mark is right on par with his peers and their phones (I'm talking to you, Sean!). On his way to school, Sean asked if I'd text his mom, because he forgot his phone at home. I told Liz to call Mark if she needs Sean, but who knows how successful that will really be. We decided there's some kind of cosmic force at work that allows only one boy to have his phone on him at any given moment. Inevitably, the other boy's phone will be at home, lost, off or busy calling someone else.

So, my apologies in advance if Mark calls you. I've only put a lucky few of you into Mark's contact list, and he's been hard at work using up all your minutes.

On a related note...if this is a timely topic, and you've been wondering if your own child is old enough to have a cell phone, let me save you some time and energy. The answer is no. They are not old enough. Not now, not soon, not until they have moved out of your house and gone off to college. Where, presumably, they will use said phone only to call you and ask for money.

But on the upside, you probably won't get those calls very often. Because, you know...they can't find their phone.

Mommy lessons

I like to read a lot, and some of my favorite things to read are mommy blogs. They have a calming effect on me, as I realize I'm not alone in raising a savage beast smartly disguised as a very cute little boy.

I was reading one of my favorites when Mark came into the room. He was so quiet, I didn't even hear him at first. I just felt a presence, turned slightly, and there he was, reading over my shoulder.

"Ack!" I shrieked, startled. "You scared me! What are you doing?"

"Nothing," he shrugged, but he wasn't looking at me, he was scanning the web page in front of me.

I closed it out of habit. There was nothing objectionable onscreen, it was just irritating to have someone reading over my shoulder.

"What are you doing?" he asked. "Getting new tips?"

"What?" I asked, confused.

He nodded at the screen. "Is that where you learn everything?" he asked. "That's where you get your instructions?"

I suddenly realized what he was asking, and burst into laughter.

I'd been looking at a blog called The Meanest Mom (http://themeanestmom.blogspot.com). Mark thought it was an INSTRUCTIONAL WEB SITE, and that I was doing research on how to be the meanest mom!

"It's not a teaching site," I told him. "I read it because it's funny, not instructional."

He just stared, and I could tell he didn't believe me.

"Really!" I exclaimed.

He still stared, then finally walked away.

"I didn't learn all this from a web site!" I called to him as he left the room. He was shaking his head in disbelief.

But it's true--I learned my mothering skills firsthand from The Master, waaaaaay before there even was an Internet. I learned from the original Meanest Mom, who took great pride, not offense, in the name--my own Mother. She's the one who raised us with the motto, "I'm your Mom, not your friend," and I'll always be grateful to her for that.

Even if Mark thinks I'm cheating, and getting the answers from a web site...

This makes me sad

CNN.com runs daily polls on their web site, usually in conjunction with a popular news story.

I was shocked to see the results from a poll the other day. Seems more than 47,000 people (52% of the respondents!) rarely go to one of my favorite places on Earth. And they admitted it!

I'm giving them the benefit of the doubt. Maybe they said "Rarely" because they get their books old-school style--from the library. Or maybe they order their books from online retailers. (Which I also do when I'm pressed for time.)

But still, there's nothing I find more intoxicating than roaming the aisles of my local brick-and-mortar bookstore. I love the feeling of going through the new hardcover bestsellers, of sorting through the oversized trade paperbacks, of laughing at the colorful kids books with brightly colored covers and funny titles. And don't even get me started on finding hidden treasures in the clearance section, gorgeous photo coffee table books or funny craft or skills books.

I can't believe that 52% of the people who took this poll experience that feeling only rarely. And don't even get me started on the bottom 18%--I'm just chalking that up to criminals and housebound sick people. Because really, I can't think of a reason those people wouldn't want to go to a bookstore, other than that they were busy serving time or physically unable to!

I'm (not) listening

I thought Mark was the only person who doesn't listen to me, but now I'm starting to worry. My co-workers aren't listening either. Not even when I write something down and a little window flashes it in front of them. 

Case in point: here's a real instant message exchange I had with a co-worker in another office. I removed last names and identifying product names to protect the innocent (and my job), but otherwise, the conversation went down just like this. 

At 10:01 a.m:
Adam: Hello Heather
Heather: Hi Adam
Adam: are you still the primary contact for Product ABC?
Heather: Yes. Also for Products 123, and XYZ.
Adam: can you update the migration documents with a valid migration quarter?
Heather: Yes, I will do that.
Adam: thanks!
Heather: n/p

At 10:10 a.m.:
Adam: Lorna is listed as the contact for Product XYZ, should I change that to you?
Heather: Yes, please. Also change Product 123 to me as well.
Adam: will do thanks

At 10:38 a.m.:
Adam: hey Heather, do you know if Lorna still owns Product 123?
Heather: Nope, that's me. >>Bites down on fingers to keep from screaming and/or typing something very negative.<<

Adam: ok thanks
Heather: Sure.

You should note all absences of snark or "WTH??" comments. And you should be super (super!) proud of my professional demeanor, because honestly, it took more restraint than I thought I had to type the same answer three times in a row. To a man who clearly was not paying attention. And can't read.

Well, the upside is that even if Mark doesn't listen to me, it obviously won't hinder his job prospects. 

My son is slowly trying to drive me insane...

...and it's working.

Mark swears he's old enough for a cell phone, while I quietly contend he is not. This belief is based on the number of times and places I have searched for Mark's lost phone, including (but not limited to) go-kart tracks, baseball fields, summer camps, his friends' houses, and even my own car. I have fished it from his pants mere seconds before dropping them into the wash, after he's sworn he checked the pockets multiple times. Three weeks ago, he tired of losing it, and completely killed the phone when he took it for a swim in the ocean. Apparently, saltwater is bad for cell phones.

But this weekend, he almost pushed me over the edge with that dang phone. After spending the day at a theme park with the Boy Scouts, he returned to the church, where a parent's meeting was in progress.

"Hi mom, bye mom," he called, as he passed by. He joined the other scouts outside, where they were busy not interrupting the parent meeting.

But an hour later, Mark came back in like a hurricane, talking fast, and grabbing my stuff on the table. I isolated the words, "your," "phone," "call," and "me," but everything else was just babbling.

"What do you need?" I asked, plucking my cell phone from his hands.

"You need to call my phone!" he said, urgently. "It fell out of my pocket while I was wrestling!"

And though I didn't quite get the urgency, I called the phone and followed Mark outside.

Where it was now pitch black.

I headed toward the school lunch area, but Mark headed out to a giant athletic field instead. Did I mention it was pitch black? And giant?

I stared at the giant, black field and sighed. I'd never actually looked for a needle in a haystack until that very moment.

While Mark and a few other boys scoured the field in the dark, I called his cell repeatedly.

"That's weird," I called out. "I can't even hear the phone ringing."

And somewhere, out in the dark field, Mark shouted back to me, "That's because it's on vibrate!"

I don't know how Mark lived past that particular moment in time, but I think it has to do with him being out in the dark field. If he'd been anywhere close to me, I might have strangled him immediately.

"It's on VIBRATE?!?!?" I yelled. "Are. You. Kidding. ME??"

I think smoke actually billowed out of my ears, and I may have blacked out in rage for a minute.

"It should still light up when you call," said another logical young scout. I think his calm manner shocked me out of my momentary rage. I took a deep, calming breath, stopped dialing Mark's phone, and used my phone as a flashlight instead.

We covered that field two, three times, with no luck. Finally, after 40 minutes, I thanked the other scouts and parent and called off the search.

But Mark didn't get off so easy. We returned to the field at 7 the next morning, where he resumed his search, again with no luck.

He left his contact info with the church. I made him empty his backpack again, and call the Scout leader he drove to the park with, on the off chance he left the phone in the car.

"It's not there," Mark insisted. "It fell out of my pock--" He stopped short when he saw me glaring at him.

"You'll buy a new phone tonight with your allowance," I said quietly. Mark immediately began to protest, but I snapped my finger and hissed "SHHHHH!" a la the Dog Whisperer, and like a good pup, Mark went silent.

"You have to pay for it because YOU LOST IT," I said. "No more discussion!" He opened his mouth, and I SHHHHHshed him again.

Mark moped all through dinner. He'd been saving his money for a new bike, and this would put a serious hurt on his savings.

"Well, think how much it'll cost you if you keep losing your phone every month," I told him. "Twenty bucks a month to replace it, over 12 months a year--that's $240 a year."

He gasped. "That's more than bike I want!" he cried. "The bike is only $200!"

I smiled, and channelled Jon Lovitz from A League of Their Own.

"Well then, this would be more, wouldn't it?" I said.

Mark continued grumbling. I didn't quite understand all the mumbling, but I gathered that he could see the bike slipping from his future, and he was not happy about it.

We were literally heading out the door to buy a new phone when the home phone started ringing. I looked at the familiar caller ID number, then shouted, "It's your phone!"

Turns out, Mark HAD left the phone in the car. It was safe and sound at the Scout leader's house, and we could pick it up whenever.

Mark whooped it up all the way home. He sensed how close to death he'd really come, and he was grateful he'd gotten the phone back. I smiled at him, finally ready to forgive the little bugger, when he pushed me right back to my unhappy place.

"This phone's okay," he said nonchalantly. "But can I still buy another new phone? A cooler phone?"

I couldn't answer him. Instead, I simply pointed to his bedroom, and from my crazy eyes and the smoke once again pouring from my ears, he knew exactly what it meant. It meant, for the second time in as many days, he was about to have another near-death experience.

"Fine, good night," he conceded. And smartly headed off to bed without another word.

I shoulda put a ring on it

Raising Mark is a daily living example of Newton's third law of motion: For every action, there is always an equal and opposite reaction. No matter what I say, Mark says the opposite. No matter how strong my opinion, Mark has an equally opposite and strong opinion. Whenever I say black, Mark says white. Or, to paraphrase the Beatles, I say stop, and he says go, go, go.

This weekend was a prime example of that law. I let Mark practice his "manly" work skills by putting together a new bookcase. At first, he was all excited. His voice dropped a few octaves, and he grunted a la Tim Allen in Home Improvement when he answered that yes, he wanted to put the bookshelf together. He told me exactly what kind of tool he'd need (a Philips screwdriver) and lined up all the screws and book shelf pieces in order before he started.

Mark was excited because he digs anything that involves tools, right up until he realizes he's doing manual labor. With this realization comes the whining about how hard the task (whatever task) at hand is.

He was 10 minutes into the bookshelf when the whining started. I was about to shoot him a steely mom glare, when he suddenly perked up.

"Do you hear that?" he asked, jumping to his feet.

Our neighbors were having their wedding reception next door, and it was time for the bouquet toss. The DJ summoned all the single women to the dance floor, and in the background, Beyoncé was singing about all the single ladies.

"All the single ladies!" Mark repeated, in a falsetto singing voice. "Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh-oh, oh oh oh oh!"

And before I fully realized what was happening, he was doing a spot-on, hip-shaking, finger-waggling version of the single ladies dance. Right there, in the middle of my living room, among the loose screws and various shelving pieces, was my very own male Beyoncé impersonator.

I watched him for a moment, then burst into laughter. The more I laughed, the more he exaggerated his booty shaking and the higher his voice became. Finally, the song ended, and Mark fell to the floor, also laughing.

"Come on, Boy-oncé," I finally said. "It's time to finish building the bookcase."

"OK," he answered. And so he set about putting the pieces together, all the while humming about the single ladies.

The pitchmen are winning

Mark's always been susceptible to advertising, especially on T.V. When he was little, I'd find him watching cartoons with a pad of paper next to him, where he'd scrawled toll-free numbers and the names of wonder products we simply must have. I spent a good deal of his fifth year explaining that we did not need water globes or clay-like plastic you could mold into shapes. He was crushed every time, but not dissuaded. The next Saturday morning, he'd have a whole new list to run by me.

Now he's more into the radio than T.V., but he's just as highly attuned to the ads. The other day, he tracked me down and excitedly explained that he'd just heard the most amazing commercial. 

"It's for a new cell phone," he gushed. "It's only $50 a month, with FREE unlimited minutes and texting."

"You already have a phone," I reminded him. He snorted. He's got a cheapy pay-by-the-minute phone that doesn't even have Internet access. (The shame!!)

"Yeah, but this phone is better," he scolded me. "Free unlimited minutes and texting! Didn't you hear that part? FREE!"

I shook my head, and sighed. I reminded him of the first thing he said--the $50 a month part. He just looked at me blankly.

"So...can I get it?" he finally asked.

"Sure," I said. "As long as you pay for it."

And suddenly, it all came together. I actually saw the light go on in his head.

"I don't have $50 a month!" he shouted.

"Me neither," I answered.

"Guess my other phone's good enough," he said, glumly.

"Guess so," I agreed.

And then, just like that, we were all on the same page again. Can't blame him for trying, though...

New math strikes again...

Today was not only the first day of school, but also Mark's first day as a middle-schooler (ack!!). 

In our time-honored tradition, I took his first-day-of-school photo, along with his friend Sean. Mark always flashes the appropriate number of fingers, according to the grade he's starting. Today, he started 6th grade.

Turns out school can't start soon enough, as far as math is concerned--and maybe Mark should've put in a little more time with those math worksheets this summer.

 

Day 19 Boston, Mass, 5 1/2 hours flying

Today was the last day of our vacation…Although I felt more than a twinge of sadness at that realization, I was bound to make the most of our day.

We started the morning with a harbor cruise, included with our hop on/hop off bus fare. The streets were already humid by 9 a.m., but it was nice on the water. 

After our boat ride, we had to say good-bye to Donna. She’d driven her own car down to Boston, and was heading home. It was sad to say goodbye, especially for Mark, who could no longer tease Donna about how she pronounces “Connecticut.” ;-)

But it was on to our next adventure—the Sam Adams brewery tour! I was beside myself, like a giggly, excited little kid on Christmas. Besides the Rock N Roll hall of fame, this was what I’d looked forward to the most!

We took the subway, also known as the T. We navigated to the right line, and congratulated ourselves on finding the right train. We were so busy patting ourselves on the back, we almost missed the announcement that this was an express train, on its way to the end of the line. We quickly jumped off, and caught the next train, which did, indeed, stop at Sam Adams.

I could tell the brewery was a popular destination—there was a note taped inside the subway operator’s kiosk with directions to the brewery. They must get a lot of dopey tourists asking which way to the brewery!

We followed the sign to Porter St.—I love that! (Don’t think Sam Adams makes a porter ale, though.) The only thing better would be if it was on Lager St.

We got there just as the tour was starting—while Amber and I were outside taking silly pictures, Edra got us tickets. The tour guide led us to a presentation room, but I could barely make it past all the big silver brewing barrels. I hugged one big barrel, thanked another for its golden delicious offerings, and stopped at a third for more pictures. Then I finally joined the rest of the group for the presentation.

The tour guide was busy telling us about the ingredients in Sam Adams beer. The stars were the hops and barley, which were passed around in plastic cups for us to smell. Mark was very excited to taste the different kinds of dried hops and barley, and seeing as that was as close to a beer as he'd get, I let him.

My favorite part of the tour, of course, was the tasting room! It was a bar, with four taps and pitchers of beer already drawn. I was giddy at the sight. 

 

Mark was equally excited, because the guide offered up full bottles of root beer to all the non-drinkers, which Mark willingly accepted. 

We tasted four different kinds of beer: the original Boston lager, a seasonal summer ale, some rare kind of cherry ale, and a fourth one I can’t remember (did I mention I was a little excited?). We had a good time, and were determined not to let those pitchers of beer go to waste. Mark eventually tired of us, and went off in search of the gift shop.

By the time we finished, it was just past lunchtime. Since we’d be on the plane for dinner, we decided we needed a good lunch to tide us over. Luckily, the brewery offered a shuttle over to Doyle’s pub, the first place to sell Sam Adam’s beer. As luck would have it, the shuttle pulled up just as we were leaving.

We hopped on. Our driver was friendly at first, but turned when some other tourists asked him where to eat in Chinatown. He didn’t have much interest in Chinatown, or tourists who did. He seemed pretty mad, so we said, “Let’s go to Doyle’s!” which cheered him up and let him re-focus.

We were already in a happy mood, but when the shuttle driver yelled, “Hang on!” and gunned, it, we lost it. We all went flying to the back of the shuttle, and just erupted into laughter. Which egged on the crazy driver—he started pumping the gas and brake pedals so that the shuttle hopped down the street like a bunny. We laughed again, until the traffic light turned green, and he pounded the gas pedal, and set the tires screeching. He turned the stereo up as high as it could go, and then, just when we thought we couldn’t handle any more, he flipped on some disco lights! We were dying!!!

Doyle’s was great. It was filled with other happy brew tour patrons. There was even a Sam Adams cut-out, which the young hostess told us was her prom date (yes, she really took him to the prom!). We loved that story. Amber wanted to bring him to our table, but the hostess said there was a closer Sam in the phone booth by our table we could bring over for a visit.

Which is exactly what Edra and Amber did. I watched them make a beeline toward the phone booth where Sam was lurking, then watched them drag poor Sam to our table. I immediately started cracking up. Mark, on the other hand, tried diving under the table (poor guy doesn’t realize how funny his mom and aunties are!!). A loud, laughter-filled photo shoot ensued. 

Along with lunch, we ordered beers, not because we really needed any more, but because we got to keep the magic glasses it came in. (The glasses were specially designed for maximum enjoyment of the Boston Lager.) We enjoyed our lunch, our magic glasses, and our nice buzz, and before we knew it, it was time to go. We waited a few minutes outside until Mr. Crazy Shuttle Driver screeched around the corner and up to the curb, “Forever in Blue Jeans” blaring, and gave us another memorable ride back to the T.

We suddenly realized that it was almost 3:30, and we had a plane to catch. We’d packed all our luggage before, so we collected our bags, the car and directions to the airport. Amber dropped us off, and hugged us tightly. After almost three weeks away, it felt good to be going home, but it was also sad to see our vacation end.

And then it was time to board the plane. That was the best part of all…because even though it took us three weeks to get to Boston, it only took us 5 ½ hours to get home. And boy, was it good to see my own bed after all that time!

Day 18 Boston, Mass No driving

OK, sorry I’ve been missing from the blog…here’s the second-to-last day of our trip…

Did I mention Boston is hot? Because it is—hot and humid, a condition we delicate Californians are simply not used to.

But we made the best of it. Today, per Amber’s request, we started our day with a duck. A duck boat, to be exact, although if we’re really being exact, it’s more of a duck boat/car. We piled onto the duck…vehicle…which was driven by a genuine Boston character. Mack was his name, and he had a Boston accent as thick and rich as a Boston cream pie. 

Mack was hilarious—he gave us a great historical tour, and lots of corny jokes. Then he drove us into the St. Charles River, where we cruised along, through the locks, and around the parks. It was pretty darn cool. Not often you can say your tour bus made such a splash…

We walked the city a bit more, looking for a hop on, hop off bus stop. The buses, which were super tall and lime green, were easy to spot all throughout the city, but finding an actual bus stop proved more than a little daunting. We walked from the duck tour all the way back to the Public Garden without seeing a bus stop once.

Luckily, there was a little restaurant next door called Parish next to the Garden. The duck staff had highly recommended it, and we were not disappointed. We ordered sandwiches, and they were all wonderful. Mark got a mac and cheese that was to die for. He couldn’t keep our forks away from it! 

After lunch, we strolled through the public garden, Edra and Mark playing football, Donna and Amber taking photos. We ambled over to the Boston Common, and then trudged uphill toward the State House (did I mention it was hot? And humid? I’m just sayin’…)

We finally flagged down a bus, and climbed aboard, ready to part with the $12 ticket fare. Which actually turned out to be $38, a good deal more than the sign on the side of the bus said. But we were just glad to be on the bus, so we paid the fare, and sat back in our seats.

Our goal was to get to the U.S.S. Constitution. What we didn’t know was that while it was close, the bus had to loop back around to get there, which took about an hour and a half. Edra got off a few stops later to take a different bus to Harvard, but Amber, Donna, Mark and I enjoyed the ride. We had a super cute, young tour guide who was really knowledgeable and taught us a lot about the city.

We were also stoked because the bus stopped at one site we hadn’t seen yet—Fenway Park! That was very cool. I met up with some old friends here.

Our next stop was the U.S.S. Constitution, aka Old Ironsides, the oldest working battleship in the country. I’m not big on boats or military history, but the ship was lovingly restored and gorgeous. We had to go through airport-level security to get on the ship. Donna, who was wearing her sling, made quite an impression with the security guards. They were in awe after she explained she was injured during roller derby, and they congratulated her on being a tough chick!

Like I said, the ship was beautiful. 

The cute sailors weren’t so bad, either.

Kris called, and said she was at a nearby tavern. That was all we needed to hear—we bailed off the ship and walked a few blocks to the Tavern on the Water, where we met up with Kris and her family.
 

 

The tavern was awesome—right on the water, with a killer view of downtown. We ordered the local beer, Sam Adams, which also happens to be my favorite (I loved ordering it right there in Boston!) and nachos.

It was early evening when Kris and Dennis left, to take the sleepy little Caroline home to bed. We opted to stay a bit longer and take the water taxi home. We missed one taxi, but I got the phone number from the side. However, the taxi never came back, and no one answered the phone later. So the bartender called us a different cab, captained by a young guy with a thick accent named Chris, who looked like he wasn’t even old enough to drive a car, let alone a boat.

There was another couple in the taxi, too, and we quickly made friends. We were all in awe of Chris’ Boston accent, and asked him any question we could think of, just to hear him answer.

Chris was only allowed to drop us off at a certain pier, which was nowhere near our hotel. We begged and pleaded, and knew we’d won when he asked, “Do you have anywhere to be tonight?” We assured him we did not, thereby winning an extended sunset harbor cruise.

We cruised to the other side of the harbor to drop off our new friends. Chris then slowly headed back to the main pier which was private but unoccupied after 8 p.m. He was doing us a favor, and we didn’t want him to get in trouble, so we paid him and quickly exited the boat. Our 45-minute private cruise cost us a whopping $5 each!

We decided to grab a quick dinner on the way back to the hotel, but by 9 p.m., everything was closed, even Quincy Market and its 1000 stalls of snacks. We opted for the one open restaurant, enjoying pizzas and one final Sam Adams before bed.

Day 17: Portland, ME to Boston, Mass 2 hours

We started off our final day in Maine at the Miss Portland Diner. It’s such a cute little restaurant, and though the food was super yummy, I was reluctant to finish, because that meant it was time to leave Maine.

But eventually we did finish, and began our 2-hour drive to Boston. I was excited because I’ve never been to Boston, and I’ve heard great things about it. Plus, there’s so much American history there, and I couldn’t wait to see all the places I’ve only read about up till now. And, best of all, we’d get to see our friend Kris, and meet her husband and baby. Hooray for friends in a new city!

Amber did a bang-up job of navigating to and through the city. There were cars everywhere, and it was definitely a big city with crazy big-city drivers--we were a long way away from our sleepy, empty two-lane highways. Amber took us right up to the door of our hotel, where my mouth fell open. I double-checked the address, because after all our stays in chain motels, I couldn’t believe this fancy hotel! I mean, seriously, there was even a castle outside our room!

We met up with Kris and her sweet baby, Caroline. I hadn’t seen Kris in forever and ever, so it was awesome to see her again, and that baby Caroline—I wanted to scoop her up and cover her in kisses, but I deferred and let her Auntie Amber have first crack at her.

It was definitely warm in Boston, much warmer and more humid than any of the other cities we’d been in (with the exception of Moab, which had a dry heat that tried to kill me). Kris lead us through the public garden and Boston Common, to the beginning of the Freedom Trail. The trail is a 2 ½ mile brick path winding its way all through the city, past all the historical sites. We were ready to learn all about it!




We strolled to the first couple stops, past a church and the State House, which was gorgeous. We ended up at the super famous cemetery where all the early patriots like Sam Adams, John Hancock, Paul Revere, the Franklin family and Mother Goose were buried. To my surprise, Mark LOVED the cemetery. He spent a good hour in there, cruising from headstone to headstone, taking pictures. He was so excited that at one point, I turned, and saw that he had joined a walking tour. He followed the tour guide on to the next few stops, until I stopped him and said he either had to cough up some money for the tour, or come with us for free.




I couldn’t get over how old some of the tombstones were, until Edra said, “I thought they was old too, until I went to Greece.” Had to agree with her on that…




Saw some other incredible sites—including where Sam Adams called for the Tea Party revolt, where the Declaration of Independence was first read, where the Boston Massacre occurred, and where Paul Revere saw the lanterns (one if by land, and two if by sea!). We walked through the Quincy Market for a snack, then continued on through the Farmer’s Market and to the oldest bar in the country. The Freedom Trail was super awesome, because it had so much history, so much about the birth of our nation, and it was humbling to walk along and see those places.




There were also some very funny sights like this one—just a couple of friends enjoying a cold beer and some good conversation.




And we lucked into a wedding at the Old North Church. We never did see the bride and groom, but we saw the bagpiper outside in the back courtyard, and listened as he serenaded all the guests leaving the ceremony. That was so cool!







The trail led on to the U.S.S. Constitution, the oldest working battleship in the country, but that was a long walk across a bridge and then some. We decided to end at the Old North Church, and head back into Little Italy.

Kris was a fantastic tour guide, sharing historical stories along the way. Her baby, Caroline, was a trooper, and did the whole trail with us, never once complaining. Kris’ husband Dennis is a proud, loyal Boston native, so when he arrived after a harbor cruise, he gave us even more great stories, including the one about the great molasses flood, then pointed us to one of the most congested sights in the city—Modern Pastries, home of some pretty dang amazing cannolis. We waited in line a long time, but it was worth every second!




But we still hadn’t seen the water, so we cruised down to the waterfront, which was filled with tourists, locals, and even another newly-wed couple posing for photos. It was some great people watching.

Baby Caroline had to go home to bed. We were getting hungry, so Dennis and Kris recommended the Barking Crab for dinner. It was a busy Saturday night, but we found some seats to wait and sample the local beer—which happens to be my favorite, Samuel Adams. They even had a red Sam Adams sold only in the Boston area, so I happily tried (and loved!) that.

Mark enjoyed his dinner as well, but even more, he loved when the waiter paraded around a 10-pound lobster!




That thing was ENORMOUS! Our waiter said they sold a couple of them a week, though Mark was shocked at the price.




By the time we left, it was late and we were full and happy. However, we had no idea where our hotel was in relation to where we were. Luckily, it turned out to be only a short cab ride away. I put Mark to bed, tucked into my whipped cream cannoli, and realized I really, really dug Boston.

Day 16: Portland, ME to Camden, ME 4 hours driving

We woke up this morning with a task at hand—homemade lobster rolls. Sadly, it was the end of the line for our little friend in the refrigerator.

Edra took Amber to work this morning, and returned with a bag of lobster rolls (the bread itself, not the lobster filling). She prepped the water, boiling it, and tossed in some spices. Mark was obsessed and repelled all at the same time—he didn’t want to look or be involved with the lobster boiling, but he didn’t want to miss anything, either. So he shadowed Edra carefully, from a distance, camera in hand, repeatedly asking, “Bob, how’s the water? Bob? BOB!!”

(He’s got a sick sense of humor, like me—we both thought this magnet, which Amber gave us, was HILARIOUS.)




I kinda felt like Mark—curious, but I also kept my distance. Edra shouldered all the hard work, and I washed the dishes afterwards. She kept cracking jokes, which she later admitted was a way to tune out the fact she was about to cook a live lobster. I totally understood the joking.

We had a little mechanical difficulty (Amber was right, the stock pot was too small), but 12 minutes later, we had a bright red lobster and some toasted rolls, all thanks to Edra. We thanked the lobster for its sacrifice and for providing us with sustenance, then rinsed it off and broke into it, slathering the pieces with melted butter. It was delicious!!!




I also got to see another Maine native in action today--the little groundhog who lives under Amber's garage! He's elusive, and although Edra and Mark had seen him, I still hadn't gotten a good view. Today was my lucky day! I just wanted to go out and hug him, he was so cute!




We were meeting Amber for lunch, but we had some time to kill first, so we headed back to Freemont. We still hadn’t tried a whoopie pie yet, and figured we’d pick some up at Wicked Whoopies.

The entire store was filled with whoopie pies! I wasn’t quite sure what they even were—cookies? Filled with frosting? The lady behind the counter explained they were like inside-out cupcakes—two cake discs with a marshmallow-fluff frosting on the inside. They had a bazillions different flavors—maple, banana, red velvet, pumpkin, chocolate chip, lemon, mocha, orange creamsicle, oatmeal, strawberry, just to name a few! They all looked fantastic, and I couldn’t decide on just one flavor.

So, I didn’t. Instead, since there were four of us, we picked four flavors: mint, red velvet, peanut butter and a basic chocolate pie, which the woman recommended if we’d never had a whoopee pie before. It was gonna be an awesome whoopee pie sampling!

We still had some time left, so we moseyed across the street to the chocolate factory. That’s right—homemade chocolates! We were gonna have a sugar high all day long.

While drooling over the goods, the cashier announced they were having a hands-on lesson in the back—they were making chocolate owl cake lollipops. You could decorate two owls for $6, so I signed Mark up before he even asked.

The store was actually empty except for us, so Mark got a private lesson from the chocolate chef. She taught him how to dip, decorate and dry the owls, and when he accidentally lost on in the tub of melted chocolate, she just handed him another one. He had a blast, painstakingly stinking eyes and a mouth, and then a colorful little Mohawk to his owls.







Amber finished working the same time Mark finished his owls, which was perfect. We bagged up the owls, and rushed over to get Amber.

We drove back to the super cute lobster shack we’d seen the day before for a late lunch. On the way, we stopped at a roadside farm stand. The young girl working there was super chatty—I think she was just glad to have someone to talk to. She had everything-- homemade blueberry pies, fresh vegetables, even challah! (It was Friday.) It was the cutest little stand.

The lobster shack was amazing. I’d already had my lobster for the day, ad honestly, by Day 4 in Maine, I was getting a little burned out on lobster. (I know, I know—blasphemy!) Instead, Amber and I got shrimp and chips (phenomenal!), Mark got more clam chowder, and Edra tried the lobster roll and onion rings. We were all super happy!

By about 3:30, we were ready to go on to our next adventure, to Camden, Maine, where Amber had promised Mark a boat ride on a pirate ship. What I didn’t know was that Camden was about two hours away—don’t know how I missed hearing that, but I did. After 14 days in the car (and three days out of it), my mental state immediately crumbled at the thought of a long drive. But Amber was really excited to show us Maine, including the cutest town in the state, and her favorite harbor in Camden.

Maine was beautiful, and Amber was right, the little town was super cute. However, I am not proud to admit that my mental state continued to degrade the longer I was in the car, an Mark was not far behind me. (So much for being a good example!) Suddenly, half an hour from Camden, we came upon a little wine tasting store and I shouted, “STOOOOOOP!!!” My wonderfully patient beyond words and dear friend Amber complied.

Not only could you sample wines, but you could pair it with cheese, too! It was all so good…I purchased a hunk of Maine white cheddar and a bottle of light, summery wine, and a corkscrew. (The cashier gave us some cups.) With a happy buzz and a renewed spirit, we finished the drive to Camden.

No one was starving, even though it was now evening. But we parked right next to a little deli, so we went inside and purchased some salami, crackers and water to go with our cheese and wine.




Unfortunately, the last pirate ship was leaving the dock as we got to the bay. Instead, we found a couple empty benches, and enjoyed a happy hour by the bay. We divvied up the whoopee pies, which were AWESOME. The classic chocolate was good, the red velvet, not so much. The real winners were the mint and peanut butter filled pies, which made us happy, happy, happy!




They were rich, though, and even between the four of us, we couldn’t finish them. Instead, we spread the happiness, and gave the leftovers to the grateful man sitting next to us.

We wandered through the streets of Camden, weaving in and out of the little shops. It was Friday night, and kinda late, so most of the shops were closed. I liked this sign with the shop hours:




But we did find a couple cute stores that still had the lights on. In the last one, an employee walking by noticed the camera around my neck and asked if I’d seen the moon outside. I said no, so she pointed me out to the back deck, where I saw the most incredible full moon ever. The mosquitoes swarmed me as soon as I walked out there, but it was so pretty, I let them bite me while I took about a hundred pictures.




We finally packed up around 9:30. We had a long drive back, but we had friends and that gorgeous full moon to keep us company along the way. We also had bellies full of good wine, cheese and whoopie pies, and really, how much better can life get than all that?

I’ll tell you: not much.

Day 15: Maine, Day 3, No driving

Sadly, Amber had to work the whole day, which meant we were on our own. Which turned out to be not so good for Amber’s fridge. ;-)

Edra, Mark and I returned to the port. Edra wanted to shop, and she’d seen a cool tour she wanted to go on—lobster fishing! Mark and I were game for that.

While Edra headed to the shops, Mark and I headed to lunch. I lived up to my “lobster every day!” decree and ordered a lobster roll from the Portland Lobster Company. (Lobster roll rating: 10 claws, out of 10. Was going to subtract points for not using the traditional mayo recipe, but it was made with drawn butter instead, which was incredible. So, no subtraction.)

(Oh, and other scary fact—you can buy lobster rolls almost anywhere—including Arby’s! And you can buy fresh, live lobster at the gas station! So gross!)

Mark didn’t want lobster, and opted for the roadside hot dog stand instead. He returned holding some weird neon red dog that I swear would glow in the dark. It definitely freaked me out.




“Why is your hot dog HOT CHEETOS RED?” I gasped, but apparently, only I was alarmed.

“It’s a Maine dog,” Mark shrugged, as if that explained anything, and lit into it. I actually stopped eating my lobster roll to watch him, horrified. (Amber later explained that it was, indeed, a Maine hot dog, and that Mainers swear by their bright red dogs—they refuse to eat a normal, brown hot dog. Well, OK, then…)

Edra joined us, with her lunch. The sun was shining, and after eating, we headed toward the lobster boat, excited to get out on the water.

Once aboard, we donned bright orange rubber aprons and gloves—it was time to work!







Our two awesome guides explained the ins and outs of lobster fishing. They showed us how to find the right buoy among all the other buoys, and how to pull in the traps. There were some other kids on the boat, and while Mark wasn’t as crazy about touching everything as they were, he held his ground when they tried to shove him aside. He had a prime spot for reeling up the lobster pots, and he didn’t give it up.

It was a lucky day—we hauled in at least one lobster per pot. We tossed a couple back for being just shy of legal size, and another one because she was a breeding female. But we ended up with five or six keepers.

After hauling in the pots, we learned to re-bait the traps, and sink them again. Mark was the master of pushing the traps back into the water.




Mark overheard the guides telling a kid he could buy a fresh-caught lobster for $6, and take it to the Portland Lobster Company next door, where they’d cook it for $9. Mark was intrigued. Even though he doesn’t eat lobster and refused to hold a live one upon boarding the boat, he couldn’t be swayed form wanting one. Edra said she’d buy him a lobster if he swore he’d taste it, and before I could protest, Mark agreed and was holding a bagged lobster.

Which was a little problematic, since we were going out for the night, and weren’t sure what to do with our crustacean. (That’s right, we had a little crustacean frustration!) I didn’t know what to do with the lobster, because we were on our way to a baseball game, and probably wouldn’t be ready to cook it until the next day. The captain assured us we could keep the lobster in the fridge overnight, and so, a little apprehensively, that’s what we did.

I planned to gently break the news of the crustacean house guest to Amber, but Mark beat me to the punch.

“Uh, so, you’re fridge is gonna smell bad,” he told Amber bluntly. I thought she was gonna crash the car when she screamed, “WHY???” She was right to be alarmed!

I explained about our trip, and about Mark’s souvenir, but Amber wasn’t sold. She was gracious as only Amber can be, but even she could take only so much. She wanted to know exactly what we were gonna do with it, and then immediately changed her mind and DIDN’T want to know. We told her we were making our very own lobster rolls the next day.

“I don’t have a lobster pot!” she protested, but we insisted (incorrectly, it turned out) that her stock pot would be big enough.

Amber tried to put the news out of her mind. Instead, she drove us to our next adventure, to see another really cute lobster shack nearby. But when we drove by a super cool cemetery on the way, I yelled at her to stop.

The cemeteries back East are so different than those in California. Every once in a while, you see a historic California cemetery with the giant granite headstones. But here in the East, they are the norm. I wanted to get out and look around closely.




The headstones were old, old, old—some from the early 1800s! Mark was very excited to find one guy who died in the 1800s and was a veterinarian.

“He was in a war!” Mark yelled, and I realized he meant “veteran,” not “veterinarian.”

“There are lots of veterinarians,” he called out. “This guy was in the War of 1812.” He paused, looked at me and asked, “Which war was that?”

And although I am no history buff, for once, I was smarter than a fifth grader.

“It was called…the War of 1812!” I told him. Luckily, sarcasm is usually lost on him.

Then it was on to the lobster shack, which was really cute. We didn’t have time for dinner—we had to get to the baseball game. The local favorites, the Sea Dogs, were playing, and the stadium was PACKED. (It’s the minor league team for the Boston Red Sox, so the fans were rabid!)

Amber had a volunteer commitment, so she didn’t join us, but before she left, she told us we had to do three things: 1) Take a picture with Slugger the Sea Dog, 2) Eat a Sea Dog Biscuit and 3) Fill up the Trash Monster.

We succeeded in two out of the three. We took a pic with the Slugger statue, but then I grabbed the real Slugger and got my photo with him.




Mark wolfed down a Sea Dog Biscuit (an ice cream sandwich), then proclaimed it “just okay.” The Trash Monster passed us by, but we were so busy cracking up at it, we forgot to put our trash in there.




The game was a blast. For seven bucks each, we got general admission tickets, and sat just behind home plate. It’s the closest I’ve ever sat to the players at a baseball game! I was a bit scared by all the fly balls dropping around us, but my fear proved unfounded—we never got hit.

What I loved was the whole small-town feel—everyone loved those Sea Dogs, and all the fans seemed to know each other. (The game was almost sold out, with 7,100 fans in attendance.) I also loved the whole local vibe—there was a giant L.L. Bean duck boot out in right field, and whenever the home team hit a home run, a giant lighthouse arose from underground in the scoreboard. It rotated its light a couple times, then disappeared. I thought it was hysterical.




The game, like any other baseball game, had a loud, obnoxious guy seated behind us. The difference here was that everybody knew him, including the security guards, so he never got too out of control. I loved when he started yelling at the players (who could totally hear him, we were that close!) to hit the dang ball.

“Hit it outta the ballPAHK!” he screamed in a thick Maine accent, and I silently applauded him in my head for his awesome accent.

“Yeah, Mahk,” I whispered to my son., “Hit it outta the pahk!” We both giggled uncontrollably.

Amber picked us up just before the game ended. Mark was bummed, because it was bobble-head night, but only for the first 1,000 people (which we were not). He was scouring the seats for any forgotten bobble-heads and was mad I dragged him away before he found one.

I was finally able to lure him away by gently reminding him that there was a lobster in the fridge at home, just waiting to scare the bejesus out of Amber. He didn’t care much about the lobster, but the thought of Amber’s face when she saw it—that actually made him giddy. He left willingly with that promise.

Amber lived up to her part, too. When Edra took the lobster from the fridge and held it up to Amber, I thought Am might scream. Instead, she squirmed and gagged and quickly moved away. Which Mark thought was hilarious, so Edra did it again. Amber was finally brave enough to actually touch the lobster, but I saw her shiver when she did.



And so we ended another busy day in Portland. I was really beginning to dig Maine…