As if we weren't intelligent enough from studying all that 18th-century American history yesterday, today we planned a jaunt over to Cambridge, to take in the Harvard Square scene. Like seasoned Bostonians, we managed the Red Line perfectly, then began walking (again with the walking) up and down the picturesque, busy streets radiating out from the T stop. It's an interesting, eclectic place--where easily-recognized national chain stores and restaurants mingle with funky independent shops and cafes. The mix of people is just as diverse; you can spot students (backpacks being the dead giveaway), natives (dressed for work, striding purposefully toward their offices), and tourists of all kinds (speaking in a wide variety of languages). We wandered in to the Harvard Co-op (so Riley could peruse souvenirs, naturally) or as I prefer to call it now: Heaven. Imagine a 3-level bookstore with a wrought-iron spiral staircase curving up the middle, so all you can see from floor to ceiling is BOOKS. I could have been content to stay there for days. We did eventually escape, but not until Derek (my little nerdling) had chosen a book to read on the drive home tomorrow. Then, seeking lunch, we encountered a cool little burrito joint where all the ingredients are Fair Trade and organic; the meat contains no hormones or antibiotics; and instead of trash bins, you sort garbage into "compost" or "recycle". (Even the "plastic" cups we drank our water out of were made entirely from plants!) AND I could choose grilled spiced tofu for my burrito bowl: totally my kind of eatery (Yes, the food was delish too). From there, we strode over to Harvard University itself, to admire the ivy-covered halls of learning. Crossing the Charles River on the JFK Bridge, we peered over the edge to watch a rower getting what looked like quite a workout, then meandered onto campus. I swear, the place even feels smart; I guess after 350 years of educating the best and brightest, it can't help but exude a certain...brainiac ambience. (One can only hope it's infectious, right?) But now, having worn out our legs once more, we needed to touch Home Base to rest up for the evening's festivities.
In fact, the crowning moment for our entire trip, the event that determined the timing for the whole week's travel, was set to take place at 7:10 p.m. at Fenway Park, when the Red Sox would take on the Kansas City Royals. I purchased the tickets the first day they went on sale in February, since I know the Bosox have sold out every home game since...the dawn of time. So I sat on my bed in pjs and fuzzy slippers, a cup of coffee in hand, and waited in a warm, cozy Virtual Line until I reached the imaginary Ticket Window. It turned out that a Monday night game against the non-rival KC team offered the best seats for 4 people who actually wanted to sit together in a row. But we were pretty stoked anyway, since the kids had never been to Fenway at all, and we scored bleacher seats, where Husband and I had never sat before. So excitement ran high as we prepared to leave for the game...right up until we saw the rain tumbling from the sky. Really? Now? After a week of weather so hot and dry that, if Hades boasted a baseball team, they would have felt perfectly at home? It brought back vivid memories for us of last summer, when the exact same thing happened as we attempted to catch a Phillies game. Derek accurately expressed the exasperation of the group when he said, "Revolutionary War and baseball just do not go together for us!" He's right--we visit a city saturated with fascinating history and we soak it all in...then it storms during the time we're supposed to be watching the game. However, we were undaunted as we optimistically donned more clothing and made our way to the T. It must be true that "hope springs eternal", since we joined a throng of other Sox enthusiasts in red caps and jerseys packing the train towards Fenway. As we entered the ballpark, the poncho-wearing ticket taker unnecessarily queried, "You know they're in a Rain Delay, right?" Um, you think? Yeah, we're damp, and shivering, and completely aware of the situation, thanks! Once inside, the trusty souvenir shop kept us--and hundreds of our closest Fan Friends--dry for a while. Then we braved the drops to shuffle our way through the stadium and take some soggy pictures while rubbing elbows with...loads of Sox-supporting humanity. Everyone seemed to be in a great mood, but maybe that's due more to the proximity of the Beer Stands than anything else. We made a point of visiting our seats (not sitting in the puddles on them, mind you) to appreciate the view: directly across from Home Plate in straightaway Center Field...it would have been an awesome perspective. But when 8:15 came and went, and there was no letup in the precipitation, we made a Family Decision to surrender. Husband and I are veterans of many, many baseball games and more than a few Rain Delays, so we knew that even if the shower abruptly stopped at that specific moment, it would take significant extra time to roll up the tarp and whip the field into playing shape before they could even throw the first pitch. Sigh. Yet another baseball game thwarted by fickle summer weather. (That's it, next time before leaving Maryland we make sacrifices to Mother Nature AND the Baseball Gods! That should do it...)
When we returned to the hotel, we found out that the game had eventually gotten underway...after a 2-hour and 21-minute delay. No, thanks. Then this morning, when I checked the final scores, I discovered that the Royals had won the contest...in 14 innings! Oy. We would have had to spend the night there, had we not bailed. We'll just need to give Fenway another shot in the future...and I think it might be time to go home, anyway, as the following conversations occurred yesterday: Riley: "Moo--ooom, Derek is trying to pillage and plunder me!" (Um...quit it? Yes, it's clear that the boys have just about used up their tolerance for 24-7 togetherness, I'd say); and Derek: (snuggling up to me on the way to the T) "Mom, as much as I liked Niagara Falls, Cooperstown, and Boston, I like Home the best." Okay, Team WestEnders, the majority has spoken, so today I declare Back to Olney Day. Ready, set, go (437 miles, we can do this)!
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Day 6: Walking our way to freedom
Our first full day in Boston dawned slowly and surprisingly...the surprise was due to the overcast sky and rare raindrops that greeted us when we opened the curtains. (Not only has it not precipitated much this summer, but the past few days have seen record heat up and down the East Coast. So count us as major fans of the sprinkles that ushered in a dramatic temperature dip. Again: are we lucky on this trip, or what?) The sluggish start could be attributed to the fact that we all seemed to have contracted a mild case of mid-trip-fatigue. In particular, my own condition was exacerbated by the overgrown frat boys who unfortunately resided in several rooms near us last night. I knew they were trouble from the early afternoon, when they slammed in and out of each other's doors, laughing loud enough to echo off the hallways, and distinctly NOT using their inside voices. Then they had the gall to rowdily stumble in at 3:45 a.m...really, morons? This is not a dorm! I really hoped that they were painfully hungover in the morning...and more importantly, checking out!
Therefore, the jump-start process required extra coffee, but we managed to get ourselves mobile by 10. We aspired to stroll the Freedom Trail today, a 2.5 mile path from beginning to end, with 16 historically-significant stops along the way. But first, we had to locate the nearest T-stop. Armed with pre-printed directions from the front desk (albeit rife with grammatical errors and misspellings--that really should have been a Red Flag), we set out...in the absolutely wrong direction. Now, Husband and I nonchalantly shrugged it off with a collective "Eh, we'll figure it out." However, Derek is the one who tends to get stressed and nervous when he doesn't know precisely what's going on and where we're headed. So I believe this was a valuable Life Lesson for him: "Stuff happens, deal with it." Of course we eventually found another T-stop and got back on track, arriving at Boston Common to commence following the Freedom Trail (literally, a painted or brick line down the sidewalk, leading you in the right direction...which explains why a large number of people in Boston walk around looking at their feet!)
And we stuck faithfully to that red line through all of the awesome historical sights: the Granary Burial Ground (final resting place of Paul Revere, John Hancock, and Samuel Adams), the Old North Church (famed for the "one if by land, two if by sea" signal), various statues of important Founding Fathers (best "yes, I'm paying attention" comment of the day goes to Derek: "Hey, is that B-Frank?" That's Mr. Franklin, SIR to you, History Homeboy), Faneuil Hall (where citizens held Town Meetings to discuss...well, I don't really know, but "grave colonial matters", I'm sure. Related side note: in Faneuil Hall a helpful sign informs you that when participants heard something they agreed with during a debate, they would yell "Huzzah!" in support. So naturally, what do you think Derek's response was when I suggested we take a break and find some lunch?) In the interest of pleasing our empty bellies, we took an exploratory journey through Quincy Market, where tantalizing smells of all kinds (pizza, chocolate chip cookies, chow-dah) tickled our noses. This turned out to be one of Riley's all-time-favorite places, as it also houses many, many stores offering a veritable smorgasbord of Boston mementos. (If Riley had been a patriot in America's early days, his revolutionary rallying cry would surely have been: "Ooh look, a gift shop!" The boy is a souvenir hound, I tell you.) Anyway, after we pried him away from the Colonial Commerce, we made our way to the waterfront to see the U.S.S. Constitution and a three-masted Coast Guard ship that just happened to be docked as well.
From there, we had to cover only a few more blocks to Bunker Hill, and the end of the line. By this time it was late afternoon and the boys were fading a little, as evidenced by Derek's cheerfully-delivered motivational speech, "C'mon, people, let's get to Bunker Hill and get this over with!" (I'm convinced that's the technique General George Washington utilized to encourage the Continental Army in times of despair...) The monument itself looks exactly like the Washington Monument, only shorter. But unlike the one dedicated to George, you can climb this one without arranging for a timed ticket and waiting in line. Huzzah! Of course, it's 294 steps to the top...and our quads and calves may never be the same...but onward and upward we go! The view from the top was...nice...not entirely sure if it was worth it...however, the true reward came when we arrived back down at the bottom just in time for an authentically-dressed Redcoat portrayer to demonstrate loading and firing a musket. That was cool.
Finally, having satisfied our historical Boston agenda, we sought another T-stop to return us to hotel-land. (And this time I'm ecstatic to report that we succeeded like seasoned pros...we might not have even looked like Stupid Tourists any more!) With a deeper, richer appreciation for our nation's heritage and the hard work and sacrifice tendered by our Founding Fathers to achieve it, we felt it appropriate to exercise our own freedom...to order a pizza and watch SportsCenter. Huzzah!
Therefore, the jump-start process required extra coffee, but we managed to get ourselves mobile by 10. We aspired to stroll the Freedom Trail today, a 2.5 mile path from beginning to end, with 16 historically-significant stops along the way. But first, we had to locate the nearest T-stop. Armed with pre-printed directions from the front desk (albeit rife with grammatical errors and misspellings--that really should have been a Red Flag), we set out...in the absolutely wrong direction. Now, Husband and I nonchalantly shrugged it off with a collective "Eh, we'll figure it out." However, Derek is the one who tends to get stressed and nervous when he doesn't know precisely what's going on and where we're headed. So I believe this was a valuable Life Lesson for him: "Stuff happens, deal with it." Of course we eventually found another T-stop and got back on track, arriving at Boston Common to commence following the Freedom Trail (literally, a painted or brick line down the sidewalk, leading you in the right direction...which explains why a large number of people in Boston walk around looking at their feet!)
And we stuck faithfully to that red line through all of the awesome historical sights: the Granary Burial Ground (final resting place of Paul Revere, John Hancock, and Samuel Adams), the Old North Church (famed for the "one if by land, two if by sea" signal), various statues of important Founding Fathers (best "yes, I'm paying attention" comment of the day goes to Derek: "Hey, is that B-Frank?" That's Mr. Franklin, SIR to you, History Homeboy), Faneuil Hall (where citizens held Town Meetings to discuss...well, I don't really know, but "grave colonial matters", I'm sure. Related side note: in Faneuil Hall a helpful sign informs you that when participants heard something they agreed with during a debate, they would yell "Huzzah!" in support. So naturally, what do you think Derek's response was when I suggested we take a break and find some lunch?) In the interest of pleasing our empty bellies, we took an exploratory journey through Quincy Market, where tantalizing smells of all kinds (pizza, chocolate chip cookies, chow-dah) tickled our noses. This turned out to be one of Riley's all-time-favorite places, as it also houses many, many stores offering a veritable smorgasbord of Boston mementos. (If Riley had been a patriot in America's early days, his revolutionary rallying cry would surely have been: "Ooh look, a gift shop!" The boy is a souvenir hound, I tell you.) Anyway, after we pried him away from the Colonial Commerce, we made our way to the waterfront to see the U.S.S. Constitution and a three-masted Coast Guard ship that just happened to be docked as well.
From there, we had to cover only a few more blocks to Bunker Hill, and the end of the line. By this time it was late afternoon and the boys were fading a little, as evidenced by Derek's cheerfully-delivered motivational speech, "C'mon, people, let's get to Bunker Hill and get this over with!" (I'm convinced that's the technique General George Washington utilized to encourage the Continental Army in times of despair...) The monument itself looks exactly like the Washington Monument, only shorter. But unlike the one dedicated to George, you can climb this one without arranging for a timed ticket and waiting in line. Huzzah! Of course, it's 294 steps to the top...and our quads and calves may never be the same...but onward and upward we go! The view from the top was...nice...not entirely sure if it was worth it...however, the true reward came when we arrived back down at the bottom just in time for an authentically-dressed Redcoat portrayer to demonstrate loading and firing a musket. That was cool.
Finally, having satisfied our historical Boston agenda, we sought another T-stop to return us to hotel-land. (And this time I'm ecstatic to report that we succeeded like seasoned pros...we might not have even looked like Stupid Tourists any more!) With a deeper, richer appreciation for our nation's heritage and the hard work and sacrifice tendered by our Founding Fathers to achieve it, we felt it appropriate to exercise our own freedom...to order a pizza and watch SportsCenter. Huzzah!
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Day 5: Barreling on to Beantown!
We seem to be settling in nicely to this nomadic life...we awoke in Cooperstown, breakfasted on the porch while drinking in the landscape of the lakefront one more time, then threw our luggage in the car and hit the ribbon of two-lane asphalt by 9 a.m. Today's To-Do List read very simply: 1. drive to Massachusetts 2. stop and hike 3. navigate the rest of the way to Boston. The first part went smoothly and without any noteworthy tale to tell (which I suppose is desirable, from a traveling perspective). The second task required us to locate Beartown State Forest, which we accomplished by following a gravelly, narrow, potholed track through thick trees until we finally arrived at the parking lot (Husband took a great deal of abuse for choosing this entrance to the park, like every time we bounced up and down in our seats over a broken part of the "road"). We then set off to hike around the small-but-pretty lake, with a short additional trek northward on part of the Appalacian Trail so we could say we've added another state (or Commonwealth, in this case) to our checked-off column. The walk was pleasantly challenging--flat and woodsy for a while, then rocky and uphill, until we reached our scenic overlook goal.
With that accomplished, all that remained was to finish the car portion of our day. And this is one of the few cases in our ramblings so far about which I can say: thank goodness for Babs the GPS. Husband and I know quite well, from bitter experience, what a...goshdarnawful (family-friendly version) trauma driving in Boston can be. I realize the city has its origins in the 17th century, when horse and wagon travel was the norm, but it still seems as though the streets were laid out for farm animals...and designed by inebriated Pilgrims. Babs instructed us in her clipped Australian tone to take a turn and we thought we complied...until 2 seconds later when she "recalculated". (Drat!) So she patiently told us what to do next and we confidently did so..."Recalculating". What the? Now we were just stymied and flustered, weaving about the road like...out-of-towners or something...as we awaited her next incomprehensible command. I swear if she had the capability to yell at us in frustration, she would have. ("Would you people just listen to me? Don't make me stop this car!") At last, we succeeded in deciphering the ridiculous maze of intersections and pulled gratefully up to our Courtyard Marriott. Then we parked the trusty Subaru, hopefully until Tuesday when we leave for home (until then, it's all T-trains, all the time). Therefore, in summary: halfway through Road Trip 2011, 973 miles under our butts--I mean "belts"--and tomorrow we officially take on Boston (in a non-confrontational, sightseeing kind of way, of course)!
With that accomplished, all that remained was to finish the car portion of our day. And this is one of the few cases in our ramblings so far about which I can say: thank goodness for Babs the GPS. Husband and I know quite well, from bitter experience, what a...goshdarnawful (family-friendly version) trauma driving in Boston can be. I realize the city has its origins in the 17th century, when horse and wagon travel was the norm, but it still seems as though the streets were laid out for farm animals...and designed by inebriated Pilgrims. Babs instructed us in her clipped Australian tone to take a turn and we thought we complied...until 2 seconds later when she "recalculated". (Drat!) So she patiently told us what to do next and we confidently did so..."Recalculating". What the? Now we were just stymied and flustered, weaving about the road like...out-of-towners or something...as we awaited her next incomprehensible command. I swear if she had the capability to yell at us in frustration, she would have. ("Would you people just listen to me? Don't make me stop this car!") At last, we succeeded in deciphering the ridiculous maze of intersections and pulled gratefully up to our Courtyard Marriott. Then we parked the trusty Subaru, hopefully until Tuesday when we leave for home (until then, it's all T-trains, all the time). Therefore, in summary: halfway through Road Trip 2011, 973 miles under our butts--I mean "belts"--and tomorrow we officially take on Boston (in a non-confrontational, sightseeing kind of way, of course)!
Friday, July 22, 2011
Days 3 and 4: Exploring the Empire State
Part 1: After conquering Canada (on second thought, maybe our Northern Neighbor won...at least the War of the Wallet) we embarked on the next step of our Northeast Tour by pointing ourselves towards New York. But first we had to weather an encounter with a surly Border Guard (great, we get the one who didn't have his coffee this morning) to re-enter the United States. He examined our passports and gruffly asked what we were bringing back into the country. "Just a t-shirt!" I said brightly, in what I hoped was a winningly non-criminal kind of way. "One t-shirt?" he shot back suspiciously. Law-abiding citizen that I am, I quickly confessed to additional souvenirs: 2 squishy footballs with maple leaf logos, and one Christmas ornament, which I'd felt totally silly listing a second ago, except that apparently this guy performed his job with excessive seriousness and a healthy dose of Tourist Harassment. But it all turned out okay, and no one was detained or searched for either purchasing cheesy mementos or failing to declare them.
From there, it was just routine driving--although the HEAT counted as a bonafide event in-and-of itself. For now, let's just note that around 9 a.m. when we vamoosed from Canada, my car's thermometer was already reading 87 degrees. I don't know what percentage of humidity there was, but from a purely anecdotal standpoint, I'd say approximately 175%. (Yes, I know that's impossible, but trust me, the only way the air could feel wetter...is if it had actually been raining. Stay tuned for more meteorological news later in our broadcast.) Our eventual destination for the day was Cooperstown, but along the way we had the opportunity to stop and visit some old friends near Rochester. We happily made the small detour, in order to enjoy a delightful lunch, catch up on the respective family happenings, and introduce the kids to each other. As a special bonus, J led us to Lake Ontario, just a few miles from her house, so we could experience and appreciate yet another spectacular body of water on our vacation. Up close, Lake Ontario resembles the Atlantic Ocean: sea-green with waves lapping at the sandy shore. With the wind whipping around us, and wavelets bouncing over the rocks to sprinkle us with a refreshing mini-shower, we could almost forget that it was the hottest day on record in Rochester since 1955. Now I ask you: do we have impeccable timing, or what?
Then we bade farewell to our friends and tackled the next leg of the journey. We logged lots of winding, up-and-down, tree-lined miles (and let me just note how grumpy my little Subaru got when asked repeatedly to climb hills, with 4 passengers and luggage, in 100-degree heat, blowing air-conditioning). After about 97 turns (required to continue following the same State Road, which evidently loses its way quite often...even the crisp Australian-voiced female programmed to speak directions on the GPS started to sound a bit peevish...or that could have been my imagination...coupled with heat exhaustion) we spotted the Bay Side Inn on Lake Otsego, our home-away-from-home just outside of Cooperstown. After the Radisson, I would describe it as "quaint", but clearly I'm working the Wi-Fi, so it can't be all that rustic! However, it does lack two things that we really needed: laundry facilities and food. (Of course, after all, Derek hadn't eaten in four hours or so...the horror!) So we drove along the lake for a couple of miles to venture into the adorable little burg of Cooperstown for dinner. It was a quick...recon if you will, since we'll be spending the better part of tomorrow wandering the town (all 4 blocks of it) and absorbing the Baseball Hall of Fame. Thus ended our first day as victorious, returning Americans. Tomorrow we brave the thronging crowds that will gather to celebrate our National Pastime! (Whew, sounds rigorous, I'd better get some sleep...)
Part 2: The first thing remarkable about Friday is that it dawned noticeably cooler--big yay! Yes, we're here to see "record-breaking feats"...but NOT of the climatalogical kind, thank you very much! So, we aimed for Cooperstown after breakfast, not sure what kinds of teeming masses to expect right before the annual Induction Weekend begins. And we were oh-so-pleasantly surprised; not only did we find parking (10 bucks for the day, which we counted as a true bargain at this premium time), but we strolled right into the Hall of Fame with no line, and had oodles of time and space to read and gawk at and photograph whatever we darn well pleased. Things in the tiny town (literally one stoplight, I kid you not) were hopping, but not out-of-control just yet, since the actual ceremonies take place on Saturday and Sunday (after we bail...we are geniuses, right?) Even though Husband and I had been there once before, we enjoyed revisiting the historical exhibits on Babe Ruth, Hank Aaron, and the Negro Leagues, and discussing them with Derek and Riley. (Fun...and educational...shhh!) However, the last time he and I went, Cal Ripken Jr. hadn't been inducted yet...so seeing all the articles related to his career with the Orioles--and particularly The Streak--was awesomely nostalgic for us. And of course we spent a good deal of time perusing the rows upon rows of inductees' plaques, pondering the amazing athletes and their stellar careers. But as luck would have it, we also happened to be there when a well-known artist was presenting a workshop, and creating a special picture to hang in the Hall of Fame. This guy uses paper cutouts to create colorful 3-D designs, and for today only, anyone who wanted to could stop by, draw something, and glue it onto the matting that will go around his finished piece. So we all used the Sharpies to draw something baseball-related, and now our contributions will reside in the Hall of Fame...forever! How freakin' cool is that? After that, the boys' brains were packed full-to-overflowing with baseball trivia and such, so we meandered around the streets of Cooperstown (all...2...of them) for a bit. Then we paid a brief visit to Glimmerglass State Park (across Lake Ostego from our hotel) for a short hike and a toe-dipping. When we returned to "our side of the lake", the boys borrowed a canoe from the hotel while I chose the exciting...nap option. (No, I do not need to try yet another mode of transportation in which I'm trapped in a close space with my children.) Finally, as the sun dipped and the temperature dropped nicely, we ate an alfresco picnic dinner on the deck overlooking the water. Aah...who knew Life on the Road could be so relaxing and peaceful? (At least until tomorrow, when we invade the bustling metropolis of Boston!)
From there, it was just routine driving--although the HEAT counted as a bonafide event in-and-of itself. For now, let's just note that around 9 a.m. when we vamoosed from Canada, my car's thermometer was already reading 87 degrees. I don't know what percentage of humidity there was, but from a purely anecdotal standpoint, I'd say approximately 175%. (Yes, I know that's impossible, but trust me, the only way the air could feel wetter...is if it had actually been raining. Stay tuned for more meteorological news later in our broadcast.) Our eventual destination for the day was Cooperstown, but along the way we had the opportunity to stop and visit some old friends near Rochester. We happily made the small detour, in order to enjoy a delightful lunch, catch up on the respective family happenings, and introduce the kids to each other. As a special bonus, J led us to Lake Ontario, just a few miles from her house, so we could experience and appreciate yet another spectacular body of water on our vacation. Up close, Lake Ontario resembles the Atlantic Ocean: sea-green with waves lapping at the sandy shore. With the wind whipping around us, and wavelets bouncing over the rocks to sprinkle us with a refreshing mini-shower, we could almost forget that it was the hottest day on record in Rochester since 1955. Now I ask you: do we have impeccable timing, or what?
Then we bade farewell to our friends and tackled the next leg of the journey. We logged lots of winding, up-and-down, tree-lined miles (and let me just note how grumpy my little Subaru got when asked repeatedly to climb hills, with 4 passengers and luggage, in 100-degree heat, blowing air-conditioning). After about 97 turns (required to continue following the same State Road, which evidently loses its way quite often...even the crisp Australian-voiced female programmed to speak directions on the GPS started to sound a bit peevish...or that could have been my imagination...coupled with heat exhaustion) we spotted the Bay Side Inn on Lake Otsego, our home-away-from-home just outside of Cooperstown. After the Radisson, I would describe it as "quaint", but clearly I'm working the Wi-Fi, so it can't be all that rustic! However, it does lack two things that we really needed: laundry facilities and food. (Of course, after all, Derek hadn't eaten in four hours or so...the horror!) So we drove along the lake for a couple of miles to venture into the adorable little burg of Cooperstown for dinner. It was a quick...recon if you will, since we'll be spending the better part of tomorrow wandering the town (all 4 blocks of it) and absorbing the Baseball Hall of Fame. Thus ended our first day as victorious, returning Americans. Tomorrow we brave the thronging crowds that will gather to celebrate our National Pastime! (Whew, sounds rigorous, I'd better get some sleep...)
Part 2: The first thing remarkable about Friday is that it dawned noticeably cooler--big yay! Yes, we're here to see "record-breaking feats"...but NOT of the climatalogical kind, thank you very much! So, we aimed for Cooperstown after breakfast, not sure what kinds of teeming masses to expect right before the annual Induction Weekend begins. And we were oh-so-pleasantly surprised; not only did we find parking (10 bucks for the day, which we counted as a true bargain at this premium time), but we strolled right into the Hall of Fame with no line, and had oodles of time and space to read and gawk at and photograph whatever we darn well pleased. Things in the tiny town (literally one stoplight, I kid you not) were hopping, but not out-of-control just yet, since the actual ceremonies take place on Saturday and Sunday (after we bail...we are geniuses, right?) Even though Husband and I had been there once before, we enjoyed revisiting the historical exhibits on Babe Ruth, Hank Aaron, and the Negro Leagues, and discussing them with Derek and Riley. (Fun...and educational...shhh!) However, the last time he and I went, Cal Ripken Jr. hadn't been inducted yet...so seeing all the articles related to his career with the Orioles--and particularly The Streak--was awesomely nostalgic for us. And of course we spent a good deal of time perusing the rows upon rows of inductees' plaques, pondering the amazing athletes and their stellar careers. But as luck would have it, we also happened to be there when a well-known artist was presenting a workshop, and creating a special picture to hang in the Hall of Fame. This guy uses paper cutouts to create colorful 3-D designs, and for today only, anyone who wanted to could stop by, draw something, and glue it onto the matting that will go around his finished piece. So we all used the Sharpies to draw something baseball-related, and now our contributions will reside in the Hall of Fame...forever! How freakin' cool is that? After that, the boys' brains were packed full-to-overflowing with baseball trivia and such, so we meandered around the streets of Cooperstown (all...2...of them) for a bit. Then we paid a brief visit to Glimmerglass State Park (across Lake Ostego from our hotel) for a short hike and a toe-dipping. When we returned to "our side of the lake", the boys borrowed a canoe from the hotel while I chose the exciting...nap option. (No, I do not need to try yet another mode of transportation in which I'm trapped in a close space with my children.) Finally, as the sun dipped and the temperature dropped nicely, we ate an alfresco picnic dinner on the deck overlooking the water. Aah...who knew Life on the Road could be so relaxing and peaceful? (At least until tomorrow, when we invade the bustling metropolis of Boston!)
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Road trip continued, or: Day 2 as temporary ex-pats...
Further evidence that we are either totally dorky or just easily entertained: I can report that we thoroughly enjoyed sleeping in another country. Honestly, this is probably due to the fact that our hotel room came with Sleep Number beds, and we got a big kick out of pumping them up or down to find that all-important, exact level of maximum comfort (this ranged from "hard as a board" for Husband to "marshmallow" for Riley). In the morning, Derek and Riley amused themselves by leaping between the two beds, acting, in Derek's own words, like "Godzilla on too much espresso." (When I'd had absolutely enough of their shenanigans in close quarters, I sharply forbade them from continuing to behave like "spastic goats"...which everyone instantly deemed "a great name for a band!" Sigh.)
Clearly we needed to get our day started, so it was time to leave the hotel and commence walking. Our ambitious agenda encompassed two countries but one firm goal: to cross Rainbow Bridge to the New York side of the Falls and survey all that majesty from the American perspective. In what is becoming a theme of our trip so far, we had progressed about 3 blocks from the Radisson when Derek (who obviously had the best-working brain of the bunch that morning...perhaps Husband and I should have stopped at one of the FOUR Starbucks outlets we had already passed in 5 minutes of foot travel) suddenly asked, "Did you remember our passports?" Crud. But I'm SOOO glad he mentioned that before we got any further into our journey! After I traipsed back to the hotel and retrieved our proof of citizenship, we pressed onward. Strolling into the U.S. felt kind of funny, and of course we did the obligatory "Look at me, I've got one foot in each country" thing that I'm sure everyone does, just because they can. The view from the bridge is nice, and the breeze is even better, but the real surprise lay in how much park space and how many scenic spots there were to find on the New York side. Much like the previous night, we oohed and aahed at the roiling rapids, and the sheer volume of water cascading over the enormous cliff, and the pounding on the rocks so very far below.
But then, the moment had arrived to ride the famous Maid of the Mist boat to the foot of the Falls. Feeling oh-so-stylish, we donned our flattering blue plastic ponchos and left the dock to chug our way into the mist. And got almost-immediately D-R-E-N-C-H-E-D. At times it seemed like standing in a driving rainstorm, with the wind blowing the drops into your eyes so fiercely that you couldn't even open them! Even when you could gaze around, you were standing in the world's largest shower, under a massaging showerhead set on high so that it continuously pelted you with a cold stream of water. Being that close to such an unbridled force of Nature was astonishing...and a little bit frightening. So how could you follow that amazing experience? Why, keep your charming poncho for a few more minutes and climb the stairs next to the Falls, of course...more wind, more water, but another very beautiful vista. Having soaked ourselves to the skin (ponchos or not), and satisfied with our brief return to American soil, we trekked back to Canada to dry off, get out of the heat for a while, and rest a bit.
One last item remained on the to-do list before we could vacate Canada: to see the Falls lit up after dark. In the meantime, Derek naturally required feeding again, so we sought a non-budget-breaking dinner. Believe it or not, we stumbled across a small Sushi Stand trying to sell off their stock for the day...at 1/2 price. Score! Then we parked ourselves next to the railing to wait for the light show. And, what can I say--it's water, it's different colored lights...we were underwhelmed. Also, TIRED (it takes a lot out of you, meandering back and forth between countries, you know). Day 2 in Canada was a ragingly good time, but right now, it's "hello, good old Sleep Number"....and good night!
Clearly we needed to get our day started, so it was time to leave the hotel and commence walking. Our ambitious agenda encompassed two countries but one firm goal: to cross Rainbow Bridge to the New York side of the Falls and survey all that majesty from the American perspective. In what is becoming a theme of our trip so far, we had progressed about 3 blocks from the Radisson when Derek (who obviously had the best-working brain of the bunch that morning...perhaps Husband and I should have stopped at one of the FOUR Starbucks outlets we had already passed in 5 minutes of foot travel) suddenly asked, "Did you remember our passports?" Crud. But I'm SOOO glad he mentioned that before we got any further into our journey! After I traipsed back to the hotel and retrieved our proof of citizenship, we pressed onward. Strolling into the U.S. felt kind of funny, and of course we did the obligatory "Look at me, I've got one foot in each country" thing that I'm sure everyone does, just because they can. The view from the bridge is nice, and the breeze is even better, but the real surprise lay in how much park space and how many scenic spots there were to find on the New York side. Much like the previous night, we oohed and aahed at the roiling rapids, and the sheer volume of water cascading over the enormous cliff, and the pounding on the rocks so very far below.
But then, the moment had arrived to ride the famous Maid of the Mist boat to the foot of the Falls. Feeling oh-so-stylish, we donned our flattering blue plastic ponchos and left the dock to chug our way into the mist. And got almost-immediately D-R-E-N-C-H-E-D. At times it seemed like standing in a driving rainstorm, with the wind blowing the drops into your eyes so fiercely that you couldn't even open them! Even when you could gaze around, you were standing in the world's largest shower, under a massaging showerhead set on high so that it continuously pelted you with a cold stream of water. Being that close to such an unbridled force of Nature was astonishing...and a little bit frightening. So how could you follow that amazing experience? Why, keep your charming poncho for a few more minutes and climb the stairs next to the Falls, of course...more wind, more water, but another very beautiful vista. Having soaked ourselves to the skin (ponchos or not), and satisfied with our brief return to American soil, we trekked back to Canada to dry off, get out of the heat for a while, and rest a bit.
One last item remained on the to-do list before we could vacate Canada: to see the Falls lit up after dark. In the meantime, Derek naturally required feeding again, so we sought a non-budget-breaking dinner. Believe it or not, we stumbled across a small Sushi Stand trying to sell off their stock for the day...at 1/2 price. Score! Then we parked ourselves next to the railing to wait for the light show. And, what can I say--it's water, it's different colored lights...we were underwhelmed. Also, TIRED (it takes a lot out of you, meandering back and forth between countries, you know). Day 2 in Canada was a ragingly good time, but right now, it's "hello, good old Sleep Number"....and good night!
Inaugural WestEnders Summer Road Trip
Back in my rambunctious 20s, I determined that I needed to see more of the US than the East Coast where I had grown up. My family vacations as a kid consisted of spending a week in Ocean City, Maryland, visiting relatives in the wilds of Kentucky (a hellacious 14-hour drive, as I recall), or--in the really adventurous years--jaunting down the length of Interstate 95 to stay with my Great Aunt and Uncle in Florida (another double-digit "in-car-ceration"--hahahahaha! sorry!--but at the end, the reward of course was a date with MICKEY). But suddenly as a young adult professional I had free time (summers off, since I worked for a public school system) to go exploring. In the true spirit of early American pioneers, I would pack up my wagon (Dodge Neon) with essential supplies (Diet Dr. Pepper, energy bars, changes of clothes, and a few personal care items) and head out on the highways of our enormous land. I did tours of the South (y'all), Yellowstone, and even a gigantic loop that took me through Texas, the Southwest, and all the way to California before cutting back through the Midwest.
So it was with great impatience and anticipation that I awaited the glorious day when my sons would be old enough to tolerate a good old American Family Road Trip. And finally, the time seemed ripe--we're past babyhood (diapers and bottles) and toddlerhood (constant-need-for-entertainment and frequent independence-asserting tantrums) and into the awesome stage of "We've got our electronics, Mom, leave us alone and concentrate on the directions!" For our very first Automobile Vacation, we chose a north-eastern route that would include stops in Niagara Falls (sleeping on the Ontario, Canada side), Cooperstown (New York), and Boston (Massachusetts, I know: DUH!) It was designated as a good "training trip" to see how well our 11 and almost-8 year olds did in the car over multiple days, for up to 8 hours at a time. First, of course came the all-important packing. (Well, technically there was planning...but mostly this involved me and the Internet during the Winter, and it's not so exciting, so let's just skip ahead, shall we?) For the boys, I swear this step lasted all of 5 minutes. Shorts, t-shirts, undies, socks, shoes, bathing suit, deodorant, toothbrush, DS and games: Done! (Yes, there are definitely times when living with males has its advantages!) I won't even bother mentioning what I packed; suffice it to say, I'm a girl and I need more...stuff. Then there's the obligatory portable DVD player and movies, car games, cooler full of snacks, iPod loaded with showtunes for family singalongs (yeah, like THAT was gonna happen...wishful thinking, there).
With the back of the Forester loaded-but-not-stuffed, we were ready to face the Open Road! My hopeful departure estimate was 8 a.m. The actual figure: 8:25. Honestly, for a family of 4, that's pretty darn close, and I'm putting it in the W-column. We turned off of our street and made it a full quarter-mile from our house before I recalled that the printed directions were...in the extreme back corner of the trunk area (I had attempted to program Babs the GPS, but found out that she doesn't acknowledge Canada, apparently. Snob!) After that slight false start, we successfully navigated all the way to the Breezewood entrance of the PA Turnpike before requiring a gas-and-drink break. So far the brothers had very pleasantly played a rousing card game (which I don't understand at all, but evidently it encourages slapping one another's cards and lots of raucous laughter), gone a few rounds of magnetic Hangman (excellent purchase, yay Mom!), and moved on to video-game time. By this point things were still humming along--we were making good time, cruising through central Pennsylvania--but we could all sense impending hunger. No problem, we'll just stop to eat lunch, somewhere on this little State Road...there must be some fast food...surely they EAT in this state...don't they? We honestly were forced to stop for an unscheduled, desperate 2-minute run-in-and-pee drill because the food prospects looked so dim and the, um...Nature's call was so strong. Becoming giddy with low-blood-sugar, we rolled into Johnsonburg, where the most noteworthy attraction was a sign on a construction company worksite that said, "Danger never takes a vacation." At the time, this was utterly hilarious, trust me. Then, we spotted our oasis: a Subway counter...inside a gas station. Beggars will scarf down anything to avoid passing out on the street (that's the saying, right?), so it would have to do.
Fortified with cheap sandwiches, we felt ready to tackle Canada (well, not all of it, perhaps, but at least one small city). We showed our passports at the border (and for some reason this is much more thrilling than it should be...or we're just easily amused), declared our intentions (fun and scenery, eh), and entered the Great White North, land of kilometers and Celcius. (Yeah, we were immediately confused and disoriented--how fast am I supposed to be going? The kilometers on my dial are too small to read, Officer! And don't even get me started on multiplying by 5/9 and adding 32--"it's stinkin' hot" is accurate enough for me.) We pulled into our hotel at 4:30, beating the MapQuest estimate by about an hour when you factor in pit-stops: another W for Team WestEnders. I'd booked us into the Radisson, which is MUCH swankier than we normally go, but we could see the Falls from our window, as promised. I think Riley summed it up for all of us: "I can't believe we're in Canada...and wow, look at Niagara Falls!"
From our 10th-floor room you could ogle the rapids leading up to the dropoff, and a corner of the waterfall itself. Even that small part is jaw-droppingly gorgeous, but we quickly stowed our gear and went down to get a much closer look. That first night, we stayed on the perimeter, gazing down at the water, which is a magnificent and powerful spectacle. You can even get close enough to the edge to watch how the river approaches in a deceptively calm manner...and then tumbles over willy-nilly, bursting into foam and spray as it roars down the rocks to crash at the bottom. Super-cool. (And when you stand in a spot that gets spritzed with some windblown droplets, literally cool!) We were awestruck, we were grateful for this natural wonder...we were hungry again. As we quickly realized: we were in a popular destination, at the peak of visitation season, with only high-priced dining options available to us. Oh well, nothing could be done about it, so we chose IHOP of all places. And as a reward for our decision, we ended up with a (ready for this?) $67 bill for dinner. Excuse me? Is that supposed to be in some currency I'm not familiar with, like maybe Tourist Trap Dollars? (Drat, I forgot to check the Sucker Exchange Rate for today.) Let me tell you, that incident sure left me with less friendly feelings toward our Neighbors to the North!
But anyway, I would have to deem Day 1 of our excursion a success. The children (bless their little pea-pickin' hearts--a shout-out to those Kentucky relatives) behaved beautifully in the car, there were no mishaps to report, and a good time was had by all. Time to rest up, for tomorrow, we test our walking shoes...and get wet!
So it was with great impatience and anticipation that I awaited the glorious day when my sons would be old enough to tolerate a good old American Family Road Trip. And finally, the time seemed ripe--we're past babyhood (diapers and bottles) and toddlerhood (constant-need-for-entertainment and frequent independence-asserting tantrums) and into the awesome stage of "We've got our electronics, Mom, leave us alone and concentrate on the directions!" For our very first Automobile Vacation, we chose a north-eastern route that would include stops in Niagara Falls (sleeping on the Ontario, Canada side), Cooperstown (New York), and Boston (Massachusetts, I know: DUH!) It was designated as a good "training trip" to see how well our 11 and almost-8 year olds did in the car over multiple days, for up to 8 hours at a time. First, of course came the all-important packing. (Well, technically there was planning...but mostly this involved me and the Internet during the Winter, and it's not so exciting, so let's just skip ahead, shall we?) For the boys, I swear this step lasted all of 5 minutes. Shorts, t-shirts, undies, socks, shoes, bathing suit, deodorant, toothbrush, DS and games: Done! (Yes, there are definitely times when living with males has its advantages!) I won't even bother mentioning what I packed; suffice it to say, I'm a girl and I need more...stuff. Then there's the obligatory portable DVD player and movies, car games, cooler full of snacks, iPod loaded with showtunes for family singalongs (yeah, like THAT was gonna happen...wishful thinking, there).
With the back of the Forester loaded-but-not-stuffed, we were ready to face the Open Road! My hopeful departure estimate was 8 a.m. The actual figure: 8:25. Honestly, for a family of 4, that's pretty darn close, and I'm putting it in the W-column. We turned off of our street and made it a full quarter-mile from our house before I recalled that the printed directions were...in the extreme back corner of the trunk area (I had attempted to program Babs the GPS, but found out that she doesn't acknowledge Canada, apparently. Snob!) After that slight false start, we successfully navigated all the way to the Breezewood entrance of the PA Turnpike before requiring a gas-and-drink break. So far the brothers had very pleasantly played a rousing card game (which I don't understand at all, but evidently it encourages slapping one another's cards and lots of raucous laughter), gone a few rounds of magnetic Hangman (excellent purchase, yay Mom!), and moved on to video-game time. By this point things were still humming along--we were making good time, cruising through central Pennsylvania--but we could all sense impending hunger. No problem, we'll just stop to eat lunch, somewhere on this little State Road...there must be some fast food...surely they EAT in this state...don't they? We honestly were forced to stop for an unscheduled, desperate 2-minute run-in-and-pee drill because the food prospects looked so dim and the, um...Nature's call was so strong. Becoming giddy with low-blood-sugar, we rolled into Johnsonburg, where the most noteworthy attraction was a sign on a construction company worksite that said, "Danger never takes a vacation." At the time, this was utterly hilarious, trust me. Then, we spotted our oasis: a Subway counter...inside a gas station. Beggars will scarf down anything to avoid passing out on the street (that's the saying, right?), so it would have to do.
Fortified with cheap sandwiches, we felt ready to tackle Canada (well, not all of it, perhaps, but at least one small city). We showed our passports at the border (and for some reason this is much more thrilling than it should be...or we're just easily amused), declared our intentions (fun and scenery, eh), and entered the Great White North, land of kilometers and Celcius. (Yeah, we were immediately confused and disoriented--how fast am I supposed to be going? The kilometers on my dial are too small to read, Officer! And don't even get me started on multiplying by 5/9 and adding 32--"it's stinkin' hot" is accurate enough for me.) We pulled into our hotel at 4:30, beating the MapQuest estimate by about an hour when you factor in pit-stops: another W for Team WestEnders. I'd booked us into the Radisson, which is MUCH swankier than we normally go, but we could see the Falls from our window, as promised. I think Riley summed it up for all of us: "I can't believe we're in Canada...and wow, look at Niagara Falls!"
From our 10th-floor room you could ogle the rapids leading up to the dropoff, and a corner of the waterfall itself. Even that small part is jaw-droppingly gorgeous, but we quickly stowed our gear and went down to get a much closer look. That first night, we stayed on the perimeter, gazing down at the water, which is a magnificent and powerful spectacle. You can even get close enough to the edge to watch how the river approaches in a deceptively calm manner...and then tumbles over willy-nilly, bursting into foam and spray as it roars down the rocks to crash at the bottom. Super-cool. (And when you stand in a spot that gets spritzed with some windblown droplets, literally cool!) We were awestruck, we were grateful for this natural wonder...we were hungry again. As we quickly realized: we were in a popular destination, at the peak of visitation season, with only high-priced dining options available to us. Oh well, nothing could be done about it, so we chose IHOP of all places. And as a reward for our decision, we ended up with a (ready for this?) $67 bill for dinner. Excuse me? Is that supposed to be in some currency I'm not familiar with, like maybe Tourist Trap Dollars? (Drat, I forgot to check the Sucker Exchange Rate for today.) Let me tell you, that incident sure left me with less friendly feelings toward our Neighbors to the North!
But anyway, I would have to deem Day 1 of our excursion a success. The children (bless their little pea-pickin' hearts--a shout-out to those Kentucky relatives) behaved beautifully in the car, there were no mishaps to report, and a good time was had by all. Time to rest up, for tomorrow, we test our walking shoes...and get wet!
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Hello Muddah, Hello Faddah
Every Summer, because of the densely-populated, highly-busy area in which we live (one instance where residing this close to the Capital of the Free World does NOT prove beneficial), the race to sign kids up for camp swings into gear when the temperature still measures below-freezing. That's right, we parents start trolling websites and quizzing our friends for recommendations in January, while bundled in 3 layers of fleece, wearing fuzzy slippers, and sipping hot coffee. (Okay, maybe that's just me...) Each year I schedule the boys for 2 fun-filled (hopefully) weeks of Day Camps, so they can escape the house, take a little break from each other, and stop driving me absolutely nuts for a few hours. (Wait, was that last part out loud? Oops.) I've always chosen local camps, ones with lots of activities to keep them occupied, and they invariably come home every afternoon reporting how much they enjoyed themselves. (And I get a respite from refereeing--yay, everyone's happy!) This year, however, I noticed an intriguing phenomenon occurring among our family and friends: this happened to be the Summer that nearly every kid we know went off on their own for part of the vacation. Some took solo airplane rides to visit relatives, some attended Sleepaway Camp for the first time...I must have missed the Major Memo on this one, because my children stayed right here in their hometown, like they always do.
So one night in the car, I was musing out loud, and I happened to mention that next Summer Derek and Riley should try Sleepaway Camp for a week or two. Now, I was expecting a response along the lines of: "hmm, okay, we'll think about it", or "tell me more, Mom" or (Heaven forbid) "yes, that sounds awesome!" Instead, what I heard was a simultaneous, emphatic, "NOOOOO!" from the brothers. (Honestly, they sounded so panicked you would have thought I'd suggested sending them to Kiddie Prison Camp...in Iceland.) Frankly, I was shocked by their reaction...Really? Why the heck not? They couldn't really articulate a coherent argument at that time, the best they could offer being "because we don't want to!" Alrighty, then...I dropped it for the moment, but then the next day I of course proceeded to regale them with stories of how much of a blast their buddies had; I even brought up one of the camp's websites to show them all of the super-cool things to do...I think I won Derek over when I reached the part about "all-you-can-eat buffet" meals (not kidding, the boy lives by his stomach). Riley, however, startled us all by bursting into sobs and mumbling something about "not wanting to eat or sleep or shower with strangers." Sigh.
Yes, it became apparent that my little homebody is going to need some serious convincing to leave the nest for a while. Which leads me to the obvious question: have I sheltered them too much? Kept them too tightly wound up in the proverbial apron strings? Not allowed them to explore the Big Wide World quite enough? Well, I'm sooo glad I broached this topic a year ahead of schedule, let me tell you! I have the next 12 months to bolster my fledgelings' confidence and reassure them that they'll be just fine without the Parentals for a few days. (Derek may already be showing signs of succumbing my early attempts at brainwashing--when he returned on Friday from his last session of Day Camp, he wistfully said, "I wish I could go to camp all Summer, it's great." Hold that thought, Sweetie!) Then, when they're on-board with the plan and all revved up to go, Mama can book herself a nice Spa Retreat...I mean Mommy Camp!
So one night in the car, I was musing out loud, and I happened to mention that next Summer Derek and Riley should try Sleepaway Camp for a week or two. Now, I was expecting a response along the lines of: "hmm, okay, we'll think about it", or "tell me more, Mom" or (Heaven forbid) "yes, that sounds awesome!" Instead, what I heard was a simultaneous, emphatic, "NOOOOO!" from the brothers. (Honestly, they sounded so panicked you would have thought I'd suggested sending them to Kiddie Prison Camp...in Iceland.) Frankly, I was shocked by their reaction...Really? Why the heck not? They couldn't really articulate a coherent argument at that time, the best they could offer being "because we don't want to!" Alrighty, then...I dropped it for the moment, but then the next day I of course proceeded to regale them with stories of how much of a blast their buddies had; I even brought up one of the camp's websites to show them all of the super-cool things to do...I think I won Derek over when I reached the part about "all-you-can-eat buffet" meals (not kidding, the boy lives by his stomach). Riley, however, startled us all by bursting into sobs and mumbling something about "not wanting to eat or sleep or shower with strangers." Sigh.
Yes, it became apparent that my little homebody is going to need some serious convincing to leave the nest for a while. Which leads me to the obvious question: have I sheltered them too much? Kept them too tightly wound up in the proverbial apron strings? Not allowed them to explore the Big Wide World quite enough? Well, I'm sooo glad I broached this topic a year ahead of schedule, let me tell you! I have the next 12 months to bolster my fledgelings' confidence and reassure them that they'll be just fine without the Parentals for a few days. (Derek may already be showing signs of succumbing my early attempts at brainwashing--when he returned on Friday from his last session of Day Camp, he wistfully said, "I wish I could go to camp all Summer, it's great." Hold that thought, Sweetie!) Then, when they're on-board with the plan and all revved up to go, Mama can book herself a nice Spa Retreat...I mean Mommy Camp!
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Of Taco Salads and Old Pals...
Disclaimer: I feasted on a heaping helping of nostalgia along with my tasty lunch yesterday, so this post is bound to have a Blast from the Past feel to it. Okay, you've received fair warning, so here goes...
Way back when I was a newly-minted, inexperienced, barely-keeping-my-head-above-water parent, I joined our local chapter of the Mom's Club. Derek was just 5 months old, not yet crawling (or doing much of anything, really, outside of the usual Baby Activities: sleeping, crying, demanding meals, protesting uncomfortable diapers, and such). I was soon placed in a Playgroup with other mothers whose children were of a similar age to Derek. Initially there were 8 adults, each with a munchkin ranging from 3 months to 10 months old. Obviously, the early "Playgroup" meetings involved a bunch of kids in carseats or on blankets, staring around the room at each other while we moms chatted, munched muffins, and sipped (or chugged, depending on how rough the previous night was) coffee. I'm not sure how much they got out of it, but we sure amused ourselves, and benefited from being able to ask each other questions ("yesterday he did such-and-such, has anyone else seen that yet? more importantly, is that normal?"), vent about the frustrations inherent in Life with a Newborn ("Haven't. Slept. In. D-A-Y-S!!!"), and share ridiculous stories about the behaviors of the small creatures in our care (many of which followed a theme of "Can you believe Susie ate/threw/spit up dog food/my cell phone/mashed peas?" Yeah, babies are precious, all right...)
Since we were all trying the Stay-at-Home Mom thing at that time, we greatly anticipated our weekly therapy--I mean Social Hours. (Yeah, yeah, the children are learning valuable interactive skills, blah, blah, blah...but Conversation with Actual Adults! Worth more than a paycheck, for sure!) As the tykes grew, our heartfelt girl-talks were punctuated by distractions such as: chasing the walkers, keeping the crawlers from being stepped on, preventing curious hair-pulling or exploratory eye-poking, feeding whoever got cranky, and enforcing toy-sharing. Over the months and years, each member in turn would announce that another kiddo was on the way, so we got to enjoy and support each others' pregnancies the second time around. Then the chaos grew exponentially, as the Wild Animals (I mean "our beloved offspring", of course) began outnumbering (and outyelling, and outrunning...) the Zookeepers. I'm not sure we ever succeeded in following a train of thought all the way to the end during that crazy period, but at least the kids entertained each other for a few priceless hours. Eventually the older siblings reached Preschool age, and Elementary School age, and a few of our close-knit tribe moved to distant locales. It became harder to get together, with all of the academics and sports and other extracurriculars that fill our busy lives...not to mention that whole "gender issue" that polarizes the former playmates these days (Imagine: 11-year old boys and girls just don't mingle with the same lighthearted, carefree abandon that they did when they were toddlers. I mean, Derek will not be pleased with me for mentioning this, but for heaven's sake, he used to unselfconsciously--happily, even--dress up in a fairy costume for games of make-believe with his Playgroup friends...Sorry, Sweetie!)
Therefore, our recently-scheduled sessions mostly involve the Moms getting together for coffee or ice cream (shhh! don't let that one slip to the kids, or we'll be in trouble!). These days, we still dish about what's new, exciting, or annoying about the children, but we also do a healthy amount of gossiping (totally positive and healthy comments only, naturally!) and catching up on each others' lives. (Since most of us have returned to some form of employment, at least part time, we actually have reclaimed a bit of our own existence...finally!) But we experienced a rare occurrence the other day: one of our re-located original members had returned to our hometown for a visit, and those of us who were available met for lunch at a local restaurant. There were 4 moms and 8 kids who have known each other for...almost 11 years. Wow. And even though we moms may have a few more wrinkles and gray hairs, and the kids are several FEET taller than they used to be, it felt like old times as we sat around eating and laughing and chattering. Besides which, it's an awesome feeling to know that these wonderful women, who have seen me frazzled, exhausted, and clothed in drool-stained sweats, are still around after all these years...and that now we are all fit to be seen in public! So here's to treasured friends, "lunch meetings", and the long-awaited, ultimate reward: getting to complete our conversations!
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Freedom on two wheels...
The theme of our family life these days seems to be Experiencing New Things. There was Derek's Middle School visitation, and Derek getting a 21-gear bike, and...hey, wait a minute, how come Derek gets to do all the interesting stuff? Well, Riley finally decided that he was not going to get left behind for one minute longer. (not that he can follow his brother to 6th grade, but then who wants to leave for school so early in the morning, anyway?) Although for the past couple of years we've been desperate for Riley to learn to ride his own bike, he has dug his heels in and stubbornly refused to jump on the two-wheeled bandwagon. Tactics have run the gamut from pleading (please learn to ride, so we can take fun family jaunts together!) to encouraging (c'mon, you have great balance, we know you can do it!) to bribing (if you figure this out, you can choose a new bike!) to pressuring (everyone else in the neighborhood can do it, don't you want to join them?) But Riley insisted that he was perfectly content performing daring (reckless, heart-stopping for Mom) feats of skill and speed on his little Razor scooter and did not need a bicycle at all, thank you very much....until the moment Derek pedaled off on his bigger, cooler, faster new wheels and Riley was left eating his (metaphorical, thankfully) dust.
Then all of a sudden it was imperative that Younger Brother be able to keep up with and chase after his Older Brother. So Riley strapped on his helmet with stony-faced determination, and set off with Husband to practice. I'm not kidding about this: it took all of about 10 minutes for him to completely master riding a bike. (Gee, you think he was ready? And may I just seize the Parental Prerogative here and say WE TOLD YOU SO!) He spent the next several hours whizzing in circles around the cul-de-sac, his face becoming tomato-red in the Summer heat, pausing only to dash in the house and chug a glass of ice water before returning to the circuit. By the end of the day, he was venturing as far as 2 cul-de-sacs down, confident that he could brake well enough to control his speed on the way down, and also push hard enough to conquer the slight hill on the way back up. Just before bedtime that night--apparently still feeling the effects of his exercise endorphin rush--he asked if he could ride by himself to the little playground around the corner. Whoa, there, cowboy, let's not get all wacky with this brand new power of yours. How about we try riding somewhere together before you request permission to take your bike to Starbucks for an afternoon snack?
Silly, silly me...I forgot that the problem inherent in teaching your kids new, exciting things that they can do all by themselves...is that then they want to leave you and go off to practice them. Rats. Okay, okay, tomorrow I'll let Riley designate a destination for the Inaugural-Out-of-Our-Neighborhood ride. But I'm coming along...and I definitely get the biggest Frappuccino!
Then all of a sudden it was imperative that Younger Brother be able to keep up with and chase after his Older Brother. So Riley strapped on his helmet with stony-faced determination, and set off with Husband to practice. I'm not kidding about this: it took all of about 10 minutes for him to completely master riding a bike. (Gee, you think he was ready? And may I just seize the Parental Prerogative here and say WE TOLD YOU SO!) He spent the next several hours whizzing in circles around the cul-de-sac, his face becoming tomato-red in the Summer heat, pausing only to dash in the house and chug a glass of ice water before returning to the circuit. By the end of the day, he was venturing as far as 2 cul-de-sacs down, confident that he could brake well enough to control his speed on the way down, and also push hard enough to conquer the slight hill on the way back up. Just before bedtime that night--apparently still feeling the effects of his exercise endorphin rush--he asked if he could ride by himself to the little playground around the corner. Whoa, there, cowboy, let's not get all wacky with this brand new power of yours. How about we try riding somewhere together before you request permission to take your bike to Starbucks for an afternoon snack?
Silly, silly me...I forgot that the problem inherent in teaching your kids new, exciting things that they can do all by themselves...is that then they want to leave you and go off to practice them. Rats. Okay, okay, tomorrow I'll let Riley designate a destination for the Inaugural-Out-of-Our-Neighborhood ride. But I'm coming along...and I definitely get the biggest Frappuccino!
Friday, July 8, 2011
Nature: 1, Team WestEnders: 0
I'm sure everyone has a list of Things They Want To Do during the Summer. (Other people make vacation-time agendas...it's totally common behavior...right?) Our Master Plan includes various places we want to sightsee...but first, Riley determined that he needed his Summertime Haircut. (Why mention a routine trip to the Barber Shop? Stick with me, you'll see.) He decided to get a Mohawk, and later that night, as he was preparing to be tucked in, he declared, "Tomorrow, I want some gel in it!" Um, why? He pondered for a moment, then decisively replied, "So I can look COOL!" He proceeded to flop into bed quietly singing "Baby, you were born this way" by (the ever so normal and well-adjusted) Lady GaGa. Oh. Good. Grief. He's a rebel, that one (should I be pleased by his...uniqueness? or just go ahead and sign him up for therapy?)
And speaking of rebels: how fitting that immediately after Independence Day--when we celebrate the proud American traditions of all-you-can-eat picnics and blowing stuff up...I mean winning our freedom from Mother England, of course--Derek staged a mini-uprising of his own. Okay, not really. What happened was, he politely requested, "since we just visited a Civil War location last week, can we do something else on Friday?" What? My little historian has Battlefield Fatigue already? So, being the Benevolent Dictator that I am (it's just another synonym for Mom, you can look it up), I scrambled to appease the troops and come up with an alternate Field Trip...which is how we ended up 70 miles away from home, at the Jefferson Patterson Park in Calvert County. This place, situated on the Chesapeake Bay and Patuxent River, boasts nature trails, Native American exhibits, active archaeological fieldwork, and the site of the largest naval engagement ever to occur in Maryland (during the War of 1812...see, I managed to sneak in a historical component, too...I'm just good like that!).
After we made a brief stop at the Visitor's Center for the all-important map, we chose to tackle the Woodland Trail as our first order of business. Bravely we marched into the trees, following a weedy, narrow walkway. We experienced instant success, as within the first 5 minutes, we had met our Creature Quota: a black snake hurriedly slithering off into the brush; a box turtle crouched in the center of the trail (who seemed quite alarmed by us and hightailed it into the leaves, much faster than I thought turtles could move, attempting to bury himself and become invisible to the big, scary humans); and an even more nervous salamander, skittering over the mossy ground. Perhaps we should have just turned back at that point, especially since, upon spotting the turtle, Riley exclaimed in a hushed, reverential tone, "This is the best day of my life!" (He has a current, unexplained fascination with reptiles.) What happened next was NOT so pleasant--I barreled straight into a spiderweb (the perils of being the tallest...and in front of the pack). I took it pretty well, brushing it off and even chuckling a little...until it happened again, and again, and again. With each Arachnid Attack, all three of us flinched a little harder and screamed a little louder, until ultimately we just gave up and hopped around like demented monkeys, waving our arms about to remove the offending strings. (And let me just admit right here that YES, we have been completely spoiled by the wide, well-groomed paths we are accustomed to hiking at State and National Parks. Anyone in the vicinity who happened to see and/or hear our ridiculous rantings would probably have laughed hard enough to pee themselves. Oh, and for the record, none of us would last even 5 MINUTES as Boy Scouts. I'm just sayin'...) Finally I had the bright idea of picking up a long stick, and we spent the remainder of the hike with me in the lead, thrashing our way through the woods, whacking the webs down Indiana Jones-style (or so I imagined--made me feel less dorky. However, detracting from this heroic picture was the fact that we were so unnerved by this point that every time a bug of any kind so much as got near us, we all squealed like a pack of tweens at a Justin Bieber concert. Yeah, not our finest Nature Warrior hour...)
Finally we fled from the forest and went in search of...tamer interests. We examined the archaeology exhibits, stopped by the Indian Village, admired the picturesque view of the Patuxent, and patronized the Gift Shop (my children are huge fans of the Souvenir). Then, having satisfied all of our excursion needs, wilting from the hours spent in the hot, sticky weather, and let's not forget, covered in the remains of spiderwebs, we opted to head for home. Our northbound drive proved fairly uneventful, and upon arriving I eagerly anticipated a nice warm shower. I wouldn't bother mentioning the, um, personal hygiene moment, unless I had one last brush with Nature to report. As I was soaping off the day's sweat and sunscreen, I discovered an unwelcome little guest that had hitchhiked home with me: yes, a tick (the first one I've had to pull off of myself in...I can't even TELL you how long!) I think it's safe to say that's entirely enough Nature for a while, thank you very much! That's it, I'm planning our next Field Trip to the good old (indoor, air-conditioned) Movie Theatre!
And speaking of rebels: how fitting that immediately after Independence Day--when we celebrate the proud American traditions of all-you-can-eat picnics and blowing stuff up...I mean winning our freedom from Mother England, of course--Derek staged a mini-uprising of his own. Okay, not really. What happened was, he politely requested, "since we just visited a Civil War location last week, can we do something else on Friday?" What? My little historian has Battlefield Fatigue already? So, being the Benevolent Dictator that I am (it's just another synonym for Mom, you can look it up), I scrambled to appease the troops and come up with an alternate Field Trip...which is how we ended up 70 miles away from home, at the Jefferson Patterson Park in Calvert County. This place, situated on the Chesapeake Bay and Patuxent River, boasts nature trails, Native American exhibits, active archaeological fieldwork, and the site of the largest naval engagement ever to occur in Maryland (during the War of 1812...see, I managed to sneak in a historical component, too...I'm just good like that!).
After we made a brief stop at the Visitor's Center for the all-important map, we chose to tackle the Woodland Trail as our first order of business. Bravely we marched into the trees, following a weedy, narrow walkway. We experienced instant success, as within the first 5 minutes, we had met our Creature Quota: a black snake hurriedly slithering off into the brush; a box turtle crouched in the center of the trail (who seemed quite alarmed by us and hightailed it into the leaves, much faster than I thought turtles could move, attempting to bury himself and become invisible to the big, scary humans); and an even more nervous salamander, skittering over the mossy ground. Perhaps we should have just turned back at that point, especially since, upon spotting the turtle, Riley exclaimed in a hushed, reverential tone, "This is the best day of my life!" (He has a current, unexplained fascination with reptiles.) What happened next was NOT so pleasant--I barreled straight into a spiderweb (the perils of being the tallest...and in front of the pack). I took it pretty well, brushing it off and even chuckling a little...until it happened again, and again, and again. With each Arachnid Attack, all three of us flinched a little harder and screamed a little louder, until ultimately we just gave up and hopped around like demented monkeys, waving our arms about to remove the offending strings. (And let me just admit right here that YES, we have been completely spoiled by the wide, well-groomed paths we are accustomed to hiking at State and National Parks. Anyone in the vicinity who happened to see and/or hear our ridiculous rantings would probably have laughed hard enough to pee themselves. Oh, and for the record, none of us would last even 5 MINUTES as Boy Scouts. I'm just sayin'...) Finally I had the bright idea of picking up a long stick, and we spent the remainder of the hike with me in the lead, thrashing our way through the woods, whacking the webs down Indiana Jones-style (or so I imagined--made me feel less dorky. However, detracting from this heroic picture was the fact that we were so unnerved by this point that every time a bug of any kind so much as got near us, we all squealed like a pack of tweens at a Justin Bieber concert. Yeah, not our finest Nature Warrior hour...)
Finally we fled from the forest and went in search of...tamer interests. We examined the archaeology exhibits, stopped by the Indian Village, admired the picturesque view of the Patuxent, and patronized the Gift Shop (my children are huge fans of the Souvenir). Then, having satisfied all of our excursion needs, wilting from the hours spent in the hot, sticky weather, and let's not forget, covered in the remains of spiderwebs, we opted to head for home. Our northbound drive proved fairly uneventful, and upon arriving I eagerly anticipated a nice warm shower. I wouldn't bother mentioning the, um, personal hygiene moment, unless I had one last brush with Nature to report. As I was soaping off the day's sweat and sunscreen, I discovered an unwelcome little guest that had hitchhiked home with me: yes, a tick (the first one I've had to pull off of myself in...I can't even TELL you how long!) I think it's safe to say that's entirely enough Nature for a while, thank you very much! That's it, I'm planning our next Field Trip to the good old (indoor, air-conditioned) Movie Theatre!
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