Quick, here's Halloween before Christmas

When I was a kid, I remember one big fat festival of fun at the elementary school followed by some unchaperoned trick-or-treating. How is it that for my least favorite holiday, we end up going through the whole to-do thirty seven times? School carnival, church trunk-or-treating, actual halloween night trick-or treating.... Okay, so maybe it's just three times, but it feels like a like a lot. I'm not sure if the kids love it, or just love the candy. Would it be just as well to plunk them down in front of three big bags of candy combo packs and let them go? I suspect so. Anyway, here they are. I'll throw down some photos of Thanksgiving in LA soon.

Boston: the end

Our last day in Boston was as ideal as the rest. We walked back to the Navy Yard to inspect the dry dock and the destroyer, both of which were interesting.

I found the destroyer disturbing on so many levels. While the kids oohed and aahed over the size of the torpedoes and guns on the ship, I was just dumbstruck that we create such beastly things. It overwhelms me to think about it. I did enjoy the giant KitchenAid-style mixer on board. As Miles put it, "That could make a lot of cookies." Again, conflicting images for me.

We ate lunch at Umberto's Pizza again (I'm salivating just thinking about it) and walked past this door. Every time we passed it, I wanted to stop and stare. It's so pretty! So I took a picture.

After lunch, we strolled along the harbor, past some high-end hotels and the yachts that accompany them. The pictures really don't do them justice. This was one of my favorite walks.

We made it to the Children's Museum, where there was your usual assortment of bubbles, water, marbles--all the things kids love. There was a green screen that made it look like you were in the TV with Arthur, and we got sucked into a "gift shop" of sorts where they sell all sorts of recycled or donated random things. Very strange. There were also some pretty interesting things there for adults, like a Japanese house that was given to the museum in it's entirety which you could explore, and an amazing exhibit about China that we could have spent all day in. Here's Paige in the Construction Zone. She's in some kind of zone, anyway.

The girls loved dressing up in the Chinese garb.

Miles made a new friend.

And the kids could have happily spent the whole time climbing around on this.

And that's it. We'll go back. I doubt we'll be able to stay away. Here's the city behind us.

And here's the last sunset from our last walk across the bridge we used every day.

I'm so very sick of all the propaganda, but..

I get about 700 emails a day with various ads and messages in support of proposition 8, which is mostly just annoying because I already support prop 8. Enough, already. And most of you who read my blog probably support the proposition, too, so this might just annoy you. But I know of at least one potential reader who doesn't support the prop, so here you go. My sister put it on her blog, and I thought it was pretty clear (although do we really need to emphasize the lawn-mowing man and the woman in the kitchen? I'm not sure that really helps the cause).



I don't believe it's about the rights of gay couples. They have those rights. What they don't have is the power to redefine their minority behavior as mainstream. I think it is a cleverly couched attempt to thrust the values of a very small minority on the majority. It's not about tolerance anymore. Those who oppose prop 8 want to take it a step beyond tolerance, to teach my children that it's a choice they can make. And while you hear that teachers won't be required to teach about it in schools, the fact is that 96% of CA schools do teach about marriage. It seems pretty turned around. It's not OK to sing Christmas songs, because that infringes on the rights of those who don't believe in Christ, but it's OK to teach kids about homosexual relationships? Majority values go unprotected and trivialized, while the minority is carefully preserved. I reserve the right to teach my children my morals and values. If you feel differently, then feel free to pass those values on to your children. Which you probably don't have because procreation happens between MEN AND WOMEN!... OK, now I can't help but get a little irreverent here. But I don't want my kids learning about homosexuality as a normal and acceptable life choice, one equally likely to result in happy life.

I have tried to write out my viewpoint several times, but I oppose redefining marriage on so many levels that I find it nearly impossible. Call it a moral issue. Call it a social one. Call it whatever you want to: just vote.

New Hampshire in October

So on day four, we went to church and then headed up to New Hampshire where Mike's Uncle and Aunt live. The drive took a couple of hours, and even that was good enough for me. As we neared their house, we passed a little waterfall and a beautiful covered bridge, neither of which I took a picture of. Sorry. But here's a glimpse of what you might see in Andy's driveway.

Uncle Andy built a fire out in the woods behind their house, and we enjoyed a relaxing evening with the Paraskevas. The next morning, Andy led us along a scenic route up to a trail by lake Squam. This is what most of the hike looked like, although somehow in the pictures you don't get the sense of color--the red escaped somewhere--but, oh, it was there.

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So after this peaceful and woodsy trail, you come out--rather suddenly--to this. This is lake Squam, and you can see for what looks like forever. Off to the left, you see these lakes and island sprawl for miles. Point of interest: This is where they filmed On Golden Pond.

The kids loved hiking around the rocks and giving me a heart attack--I'm sure Diane and Andy enjoyed my crazy. That handsome kid by Raelynn is Mike's cousin Collin. He's twelve, and Raelynn particularly enjoyed having him along.

Last installment of the Boston Chronicles still to come. But I thought New Hampshire deserved a post of its own.

I'M MOVING TO BOSTON

Well, I would if all the details didn't get in the way. We just spent the most jam-packed delightful week with Mike's parents in Massachusetts, and I have to record it before it slips from my all too slippery memory. I forgot the camera. I know, I know, but I remembered all the kids, so shut up. Fortunately, Mike's mom and dad gave us all the pictures they took, so it's not a total loss. Some of the pics are off of Mike's phone, too. I know I don't have the words to describe the awesomeness of this trip, but I also know I can't bear to forget any of it. So if you're not interested, quit here. I'm nothing if not verbose.

First let me say that I am quite fortunate to have in-laws that I actually like. I told my physical therapist guy that I was going to my in-laws for the week and he gave me the old sarcastic uuugh--I bet you're happy about that. And I was genuinely confused for a moment, because Mike's parents are so easy to get along with. They really love their kids, and if you marry one of their kids, you're in that group. They have a way of supporting you and loving you while still letting you be.

So I was going to write about everything we did, but that turns out to be pretty long. I'll just break it up into two very long parts. Frankly, I don't want to forget a minute of it.

Here's the first installment.

Day one (or really night one, since we got there around 11 pm):

We drove through the city to their house, which is only maybe ten minutes from the airport. It was dark, but we went under a tunnel and over a bridge, so I could tell we were surrounded by water. Of course we were--it is Boston, after all. But the physical fact of it felt different from just knowing it in the abstract. Their house is situated at the bottom of a hill less than a block from Bunker Monument. It's all brick and old and charming, with four levels that are connected by one tight winding staircase. The whole place smacks of a different time, (built in the 1850's) and it felt authentic in some way that all these new tract homes in California don't. It was beautiful. This is the street they live on viewed from the top of the monument.

Day one, actual:

We woke up the next morning late to an empty house since Mike's mom was working in the temple. We got dressed and headed up the street to Bunker Hill. The kids were understandably impressed by the giant monument, which to Paige looked just like Rapunzel's tower. I felt a little queasy looking at the one tiny window peeking out from the top of the tower, and Raelynn voiced the thought--we aren't going up there, are we? Oh, but yes we were. So 294 steps and one history lesson later, we looked out at the city of Boston. We were all duly impressed, and after a little break we headed down again. I felt pretty good about making it so well on my foot, but couldn't congratulate myself too heartily since Mike had to do it with Paige on his shoulders.

Then we headed a few blocks away to the Navy Yard where we toured the oldest remaining warship, the USS Constitution. The kids loved the cannons, and Miles enjoyed asking the officer on board all about the gunpowder and the process of loading and firing the cannons. I'm sure he'd be willing to explain it to you.

Mike's mom met us there, and we walked through the north end where we stopped at a little place called Umberto's for the cheapest and best pizza ever. I mean really. And then we went to the best pastry shop ever across the street and split some decadent treats. I mention the food because it was one of our favorite things of the trip. I'm not sure if Mike's mom knows the good places, or if the food there is just better. But I didn't see a single McDonald's the entire trip, and every single thing we ate was excellent. Here are some random photos of what we saw.

Once we were all full and happy, we walked across the bridge to the aquarium.

The kids loved it (both the bridge and the aquarium) and then we took the ferry back across the harbor. That was thrilling for all of us, I think, and that was when I realized how really beautiful the city is. We made it home in time to make dinner--and what would eat but lobster? The kids liked them both before and after cooking.

During the evening, the kids disappeared into the basement to play with Grandma's old Fisher Price Little People and with Super Mario Galaxy. The house is so great that way, because then we were free to talk and play games in peace. It was a beautiful day.

Day two:

After a leisurely morning, we set out on the Freedom Trail which is pretty much right out the front door. We saw the North Church and Paul Revere's house, and everything in between. The kids enjoyed the walk in the city, and I enjoyed the history. We went down to Fanueil Hall and saw some fun street performers which the kids loved. How often to you get to see a guy hoist a woman up to his shoulders and walk around on a giant ball while she stands on his head? Fun stuff.

Then we went to the Hay St. Market. That was an experience. The vendors were aggressive, loud, and armed with a thick Boston accent (which we all enjoyed imitating). The new family phrase is GIVE ME A DOLLAH! after we saw a vendor really unleash his full vocal volume on a poor Asian lady who clearly did not understand better, despite the decibel. Eventually she did give him the "dollah", and violence was avoided. But it was touch and go for a minute, I tell you. Paige, especially, caught the Boston Fevah, and I think it may take a while to fully retrain her to say those R's.

So after we bought some very cheap and delicious raspberries, we made our way to the Science Museum, where the kids naturally had a blast. Here's Paige, who was at first highly disturbed, but then highly amused by this mirror.

After the beautiful walk home (I quickly realized that just about any walk is a beautiful one there), we got in the cars and headed to--where else--a fish place for dinner. The kids pounded more fish and chips...and clams and shrimp and oysters...than I thought possible. After this, we went for a drive through the parts of Boston where Debbie grew up, and it had to be one of my favorite parts of the trip.

Something about seeing the actual houses where she lived and the schools, and haunts she went to--it just fills me with a satisfying sense of continuity to see Raelynn soaking all of it up. I love to hear the stories about what life was like for her in those places and those times; it's akin to reading a good novel for me, that feeling of getting a peek into a world I'd otherwise not know. Debbie's great for telling stories and painting a picture for you, and I was really happy to have Raelynn in the car with us. I'm sad Mike and Miles missed it in the other car.

This was all on the way to get ice cream, and this was the weirdest part of the trip. I expected an ice cream store. You know, Cold Stone, Baskin Robbins--that kind of thing. So we pull into this giant parking lot at a store that looks more like a mall. In fact, I think it is the mall. So, OK, we go in, and the first thing I notice is that there are giant (and I mean as big as I am) flowers made out of Jelly Bellies that run along a path. It feels like I've just stepped into Wonka World. And that's not all. There's a couple of stores within this big space that actually appear to be made out of Jelly Bellies. Giant Jelly Belly dump trucks on the roof moving giant piles of Jelly Belly dirt. A giant state capitol-looking dome made form jelly beans. Understand, we live about an hour away from the Jelly Belly factory. I'm not easily impressed by jelly beans. But it was downright disorienting. I begin to adjust to this, when I turn and see a flying trapeze set up with acrobats flying around. WHAT? Acrobats? And why not? It's a school, of sorts. Lessons, you see? We watch for a while the fascinating display of talent (or rather lack thereof, which is equally entertaining as the students fail to grasp the hands of the man on the far trapeze and fall into the nets.) We finally buy the ice cream and sit down to eat and soak in the .... ambiance? And suddenly the lights go out and on the wall next to us is a liquid fireworks display set to music mostly from kids' movies and Disneyland rides that is more spectacular than most real fireworks. And as the kids literally scream with delight at the colored and synchronized streams of water shooting and spiraling, Mike's mom leans over and informs me that the whole place is a furniture store. And I still can't understand it, but it was definitely memorable. Also, the ice cream was delicious. This is a giant monster eating a life-size Yankee mannequin (Go Red Sox, and it's risky to say different) on the wall by the escalator.

Day three:

Kane's Donuts. I thought, really, we're going to drive so far for donuts? How good can they be? Answer. That good.

Then to a flea market, where the kids fell in love with flea markets. Raelynn made her first comment about how lame Sacramento is. And it's true, we don't have flea markets like that one.

And here's another sample of that Boston edge.

Mike to vendor: Do you know what that DS game is? It doesn't have the label on it.

Venor to Mike: I'd rathah give it to you than ansah that question thuhty times.

So we scored a free Super Mario Brothers.

Once we got home, Mike, his dad and I headed out on the most beautiful bike ride along the river over to Harvard. This picture is from Carrie and Jeromy's ride the week before.We walked around the campus there and then Debbie drove down with kids switched places with David.

Yeah, I rock a bike helmet. What.

We rode back along the river past BU, through Back Bay and Boston Gardens, and back to hay market where we were disappointed with the lack of raspberries, but made up for it with peaches, cantaloupe, pineapple and blueberries. Here's Boston Garden.From there, we rode home and gathered up the kids and a couple of Mike's parents friends who stayed with them that night to walk back down to the USS Constitution to hear the canon go off, which it does every morning and evening. The sound caused a car alarm to go off, and the kids loved it.

We then went back home and ate an, of course, delectable dinner of barbecue ribs, Italian sausage and peppers, strawberry spinach salad, corn on the cob, and a peach berry cobbler.

So that was the first half. I think the second half can be told largely with pictures. So don't be afraid of my next post. It's New Hampshire in the Fall--and that's worth seeing.

Tagged

Aryn tagged me, and while I normally try to tactfully ignore a tag, I thought this one was enjoyable. Here's the fourth picture of my fourth folder. I call it "A Boy and His Cat".

You know when you get a family pet, how the animal just sort of attaches to one member of the family? That didn't really happen. Leo spent months trying to hide from and outwit Miles, and would regularly stalk him like prey. But Miles so immediately attached himself to the cat that Leo never really stood a chance. You can't resist that kind of affection, even if it comes with a little bit of child roughness. So now, Leo has grown to actually seek Miles out, and clearly the boy couldn't be happier.

And since my little man turns 7 tomorrow, I might as well take a minute to paint him at 6 so I can remember. Miles is a sociable little fellow. He will talk the ear off of you if you give him the slightest opening--and even if you don't. He knows a lot for a kid his age, since he reads at least an hour a night, and often two or three. He can tell you an unlimited number of facts, things like how many species of sharks there are, or how to make a salt crystal. He loves to learn things, and rarely shies away from a challenge. I use this regularly to get him to perform basic functions like getting dressed. Tell him he loses if he doesn't do what you've asked, and he can't resist. He's particularly motivated by my loudest rendition of "I AM THE CHAMPION".

Miles is all sunshine--unless he's feeling tempestuous. He's a kid who's on or off, go or stop, all or nothing. He might rage if he's restrained in any way, but is so ready to flip to laughter if you give him the slightest chance. His laugh is like a foghorn, and you can't help joining in. He's a naturally happy kid, so despite his need not to be fenced in and the rage that can result, he always returns to cheerful quickly.

He thinks he can do anything better than anyone, and his confidence is such that he almost convinces you. Miles hears advice, but almost never takes it because he's sure he knows better than his advisor. He has to try things on his own. When he was 3, he fell off (more like flipped off) his bike going down a hill. Mike screamed, "Brake, Miles!" at the top of his lungs the entire time, but Miles was going for speed. After we got him home, cleaned off the dirt and blood, and determined not to take him to the ER, I asked him if he would be scared to ride his bike. Nope. Would he do anything differently? He really thought for a minute, and then said simply, "brakes." That's Miles. Trial and error. Heaven help us when he can drive a car.

Lately, Miles has taken to experimenting with his room. He has knocked holes in his walls, carved his name and various other chunks in several surfaces including his bed and desk, and cut several holes the size of a soccer ball in his sheets. Mike, the genius, thought he needed fewer toys, and more tools. Like pocketknives. I think Miles does most of this just sort of to see what will happen, or maybe it's more the way I might doodle if I'm holding a pen. I ask him WHY, and he sort of shrugs, like I'm odd for wondering. So this is what his room looks like now.

Of course, he doesn't mind that I've removed virtually all his stuff--he's started using his bed as a center for exercises and does a little routine each night before he goes to bed. Naturally, we do a lot of checking out his muscles.

Miles is currently loving the first grade, where he thinks of himself as more tutor than student. He's thoroughly enjoying soccer this year, and loves being goalie since at his age, the goalie sees a lot of action. Of course, virtually all activity for Miles is sport. He loves piano lessons, sings all the time and is counting the days until he's allowed to take guitar lessons. He tolerates his sisters beautifully, and is just so full of life and energy that I love the moment he walks in the door after school. He laughs hard and plays hard, and keeps things lively with his never-ending projects and experiments. I feel that if we can survive his childhood and instill a little self-control in the boy, he's really going to be a spectacular adult! Happy birthday, my middle child.

Boy, I hardly ever post these days, eh? Well, my two readers probably hardly ever check. So I won't even think twice about going on a little rant. Here's the thing. I just read this book, and it so perfectly sums up a thought that I've been having and need to vent.

I've posted before about the feeling of entitlement my kids tend to have and how it drives me crazy, and it's partly that. But not just the feeling they have; it's the total lack of effort they are willing in to put into achieving anything deserving. And here I should clarify that I don't mean my kids this time. I mean the good old US of A and it's inhabitants, particularly the more youthful among them. There's a bit of scorn for effort in general, like anything you have to work for is an infringement of your rights, is a drain on your freedom, man. I'm just saying that respect in general ought to be based on worth, and it seems like we've become afraid both to demand achievement and call out garbage when we see it. There's a real push, it seems to me, to be so very careful not to offend, not to place our own values on other people's work. But that just means we lie a lot, and promote sub standard achievement.

Which brings me to the second point--tolerance and political correctness. I find it irritating to be pushed into sounding so conservative, but are we so ashamed of having values that we have to pretend that all values are equally valid? I mean, don't values by definition mean that we hold certain ideas or behaviors above others? How have we become so bullied that we just pack our ideals away and say, hey, sure--anything goes! I'm sorry, but I believe that there are some ways of living that are better than others. I'm not going to stone you for choosing different values, but I'm not ready to be shamed into denying my own. And it's that shaming that I see going on all around me and that is so wrong.

OK, I can't say any of this well. So here's a passage from Wallace Stegner's All the Little Live Things, wherein the character speaking has just been asked what he thinks about the [human] race in the context of a disturbing young man named Peck.

"I think the race will multiply, for it is unfortunately very fertile. Since marriage is one of the conventions the Pecks are busy breaking down, more and more children will be illegitimate or deprived of the dubious advantages of what we used to call a home. Because of that and other strains, more and more adults will be hoodlums, criminals, and the effectively dispossessed, and from these both our demagogues and our novelists will increasingly take their morals and their attitudes and their lingo. First we help create these underworlds, and then out of guilt and sympathy we imitate them...."

Proposition 8, anyone? And this was written in the 60's.

"We imitate it out of pity, and we create it out of pity. Any civilization that achieves anything has losers--one of the reasons it achieves is that it has clear ways of telling its losers from its heroes. We have given up heroes--they go in for achievement. So we have more and more surviving losers, whom we imitate because we can't be ruthless enough to put them down...."

I guess I believe in heroes and losers. I believe in effort. In achievement. In making choices and living with the consequences. In respect, for the love of all. Whew. I feel better.

McCaaaahhhhhhhll

When I was in college, I wrote a piece about McCall. I just came across it today, and since I'm due for a McCall blog, here's an excerpt that sort of sums it up.

"The waters of Payette Lake in northern Idaho hold more than some old wooden docks and a lot of sucker fish; they're filled with my growing up. These secure waters among the tree's blanket cradle me like a child fitting perfectly in her mother's hold. They have always been here--at least as long as I have--and the regular rhythm of the chilly water assures me of their permanence. Like smoothing wrinkles from a cloth, the tensed muscles of everyday flow into the free moving grace of sunlight on water. "


I read somewhere that you can open your soul to a mountain and it won't fling it back at you, but will catch and hold it. I guess McCall feels about like that, and going there is purely restorative. I don't know if my dad feels this way (I suspect deep down he does, though I certainly can't imagine him waxing poetic about it), but I know all my siblings do. It's like going home to your most essential self, like stripping off all of the life that has been quietly accumulating on you like dust, and you didn't realize how very heavy that life was until you felt it drop away with the rush of the water. Really, I think I could go to McCall and stay just long enough to head down to the dock and have one good clean dive. It's like being baptized once a year. That clean.

I sometimes wonder how much of that feeling comes from the company I'm in when I go to the lake. I'll have to do a seperate post about this year's trip, but running across the old bit I wrote so long ago reminded me just how little has really changed for me about McCall. Here's a picture of Autumn and Laine that speaks where my words are failing. Because it's beautiful, isn't it?