Today's Treasures

I love the beach. Winter. Summer. Whenever. Each season holds its own unique charms. I spend most of my time on the beach hunched over combing the sand for shells. There is just something about the vastness of the ocean and of the shore that makes finding a tiny thing of beauty so immensely exciting and satisfying. Over the years I have become more and more finicky, instructing the children that no broken shells, no matter how pretty, are to be put in the shell bucket. (I have a big drawer full of these things at home.)

What I am always on the lookout for is a perfect sand dollar. Not an easy find. My son discovered one a couple of years ago. Who knows how long it remained unbroken under the care of the sea. It lasted about 4 minutes under ours. At least I got a good photo before it was violently dropped into the shell bucket.

Today I found one of my very own. It is perfect. It measures a minute 1/2-inch in diameter. It's tiny. Sure, it has a hole in it. I don't care. It is a perfectly formed hole on my perfect teensy sand dollar.

This little gem was not plopped into the shell bucket, but placed gingerly into my shirt pocket.




Here are some of the other treasures we happened upon today.

Titus found this one for me. We call it a fan. (It may have another name. I can't find it on the internet.) It is flat and delicate and hard to find in one piece. I love them. And they make great embellishments on homemade cards. (Maybe I'll show you my handiwork in another post.)




If you break open a sand dollar, you will find 5 little 'doves' inside. I didn't find the sand dollar that this little dove came out of - most likely it was in pieces nearby (or not nearby).









These are also pretty rare to find intact, for us anyway. The shell is rather thin and delicate. It is a moon snail called a shark's eye.










A scotch bonnet - a thick and sturdy shell, and one we don't find too often.






A perfect whelk, possibly a Lightning Whelk. Hard to find in one piece. Titus usually finds these, and found this one.






I love the colors in this little Coquina!








This one is super cool. I think it is an Imperial Venus Clam.











Admittedly, this one isn't very pretty. And it's fairly common. But I like it. It's a Kitten's Paw.

And that's not even HALF of all the shells we collected today. But I'm hungry and mom's cooking!

Broken

Such things exist once broken cannot be mended.
A fragile bubble,
First floating, iridescent,
Fading, bursting,
Droplets falling,
Irreparable.
A delicate orb of glass,
Shattered,
In pieces, scattered,
Fine slivers, bits of dust,
Irreparably separated.
Though fashioned again into one,
Its nature ever altered.
A frail heart,
Once buoyant,
Fractured, bursting,
Countless slivers, prosperity of dust, mournful droplets,
Irreparably broken.

Tale as old as time

Today I saw a play. Not just a play -- a musical. Is there such a thing as Off-Off-Off-Off-Off Broadway? My son's music class had a field trip to one of the local high schools to watch a production of Beauty and the Beast. I volunteered to be a bus minivan driver. You know, to spend time with my kid ... AND get to see a play. For free. (No, I don't get out much. Culture? What's that?)

Is it weird that I teared up at times during the performance? I venture to admit that I don't think it was the brilliant acting that moved me. (Not to discount the fact that Belle was played by an absolutely enchanting young lady with a beautiful, beautiful voice.) I chalk it up to stress. And something about being a mom. Watching these young people perform was such a pleasure - just knowing the amount of work and effort and dedication and teamwork it must take to put on a show like that just makes you want to beam with pride for them. As if I really were their mom.

Additionally, I, myself, never was much the performing type. (Shocking, I know.) My only foray into the world of theater being in 3rd grade, as the lead in Little Red Riding Hood, thank you very much. Having been such a self-conscious person by nature, I have great admiration for young people who have the audacity to get up on a stage and sing and dance their hearts out. It tugs at my heart.

Or maybe it's the stress.

The entire audience at today's performance was made up of elementary school students (very well-behaved elementary school students, I might proudly add). We must have been their dry run before they lift the curtain on the real performances for a paying audience. It was so much fun! I encourage you to seek out and attend some sort of high school production such as this. You'll laugh, you'll cry, your kid will be impressed with the skills of the high schooler on the snare drum - it's better than CATS.

My favorite part of the outing? I'm glad you asked.

It came at the end of the show, once the spell had been broken and the Beast returned to his previous state of being young, dashing, and uber-princely. Having professed their love, he and Belle gaze at one another ... and then they kiss.

Immediately after which, my son turns to me and whispers, aghast, "Did they really kiss?" "Yes," I replied (because from my vantage point, it certainly appeared so.) Upon receiving confirmation, he uttered some unintelligible syllable of shock and disgust.

When the actors lined up to take their final bow, we got a better look at the cast. My son took notice of the young man who played the dashing prince, a slender, delicate featured teenager with longish blonde hair, and said to me, "Is that a girl?" To which I replied, "No, it's a boy. He just has long hair." (And is SO pretty, I thought quietly to myself.)

"Oh," he says, still disturbed at having witnessed THE KISS. "It should have been a girl. Because if two girls kissed, it wouldn't be so frightening."

Now, call me old-fashioned or whatever, but a girl-on-girl kiss in a high school play performed for elementary kids would have been infinitely more frightening than the innocuous stage kiss we did see. But then, I'm not a 10-year-old boy.

Instant car trip fun - Just add cat

If you read my last post, you're may be wondering how I learned that my cat only behaves like an idiot at home. Well, I'll tell you.

As if this family doesn't have enough trouble getting ourselves out the door for a road trip, what with the packing of the stuff (so much stuff), and then the loading of the stuff (so very much stuff), AND THEN the dead battery - we, the family that finds ever new shades of meaning to the word 'debacle,' decided that we should bring along the old man cat. We had permission from my family, of course. And we tried to warn them; we didn't sugarcoat it. He whines. He wails. He runs into things. With his head. He sheds his white hair on all of your black stuff. There is the hairball issue. And what is that smell? -- It's exactly what you think it is.

And if those aren't good enough reasons to kennel this creature, there is the infamous CAT INCIDENT of 2002. We ourselves can't recall it without reliving the horror. I won't go into the details, but you can do the math: one 14 pound cat + one 6-inch deep shelf approximately 4 feet high + one terrazzo floor + one valuable family antique. Oh, yes he did.

I'm sure you understand why kitty hasn't been invited on a road trip in 7 years and can sense our trepidation at bringing this four-legged furry oaf into another person's home, a home with light colored carpeting and pretty, breakable things.

But, as I learned, it turns out my cat only behaves like an idiot at home. Oh, he was such an angel! So pretty. So white and fluffy. So amiable. So cuddly with his big blue eyes. Waiting patiently to be fed. Quietly mewing in a cute, kittenish way. Not heaving his hulking mass onto tiny antique-holding shelves.

Not that we're unhappy about this uncharacteristic display of good behavior. We just wish he had brought it home with him.

Things I learned over Thanksgiving

• You can never make too much stuffing. I'm serious. Your recipe - double it.

• Mom doesn't like it when you say 'pecan', in a twangy Texas accent, as in, "I'm a fixin' to make me a PE-can pie!"
• Watching a football game indoors, in a toasty house under a warm blanket, is every bit as exciting and fun (if not more so) than actually being there.
• Grandparents just can't help buying stuff for their grandkids wherever they go (say, for example, a football game.) BTW, the back of the girl's new, very pink, A&M shirt says, "The difference between boys and girls soccer? Girls make it look good!"
• My cat only behaves like an idiot at home.
• Guitar Hero (though some most of the graphics & music make me cringe) is a fun game to play.
• It's not Thanksgiving without Mr. Turkey.
• Kids are cute when they are sleeping (Yes, I already know this. I just wanted a reason to post this picture.)

Hap-PIE Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving 2009 - the Thanksgiving of the Pie

Not to be confused with Thanksgiving 1997 - the Thanksgiving of the Pies. It's an important distinction. That was the year we were with my husband's family in New Mexico and for some reason, that particular year, everybody made a pie. The pies that year may have outnumbered the people, but who really knows? It has become such legend now, it is hard to separate fact from fiction. Oh, how fondly we recollect the Thanksgiving of the Pies! Who knew such little people could eat so much pie.

By comparison, this year's festivities only featured 2 pies. But still, the holiday merits its own title: The Thanksgiving of the Pie. With emphasis on quality over quantity. And, boy howdy, did we have quality!

My mom made the pecan pie. Her mother's recipe. You can't go wrong when you take your grandmother's tried-and-true recipe, sprinkle in your mother's perfect execution, with a dash of assistance from your own 7-year-old daughter. We're talking four generations that went into the making of this pie. It was lovely - pecans expertly arranged in concentric circles, toasted to a nutty perfection, and a crust that absolutely did not crack.

I made the cherry pie. And you can, too! Now, don't be intimidated by the lattice top crust. It's not that hard. Here's my secret: The first time you make this pie, have your little daughter help you with it and show her how to weave the lattice. Then, each subsequent time you decide to make the pie, when your brain goes DUH! How do I weave those lattice strips again? Why, your darling daughter, whose brain is not decaying at the speed of light, will be there to assist you and say, "This is how we did it, Mommy, you dolt." (No, of course she didn't say that.) Easy, right? Yeah, I know, I should have my own cooking show.

One Word Tag

Thanks, Hannah, for jump starting me with a blog idea. It is painful to limit my answers to one word.

1. Where is your cell phone? Unknown

2. Your hair? Up

3. Your mother? Generous

4. Your father? Role model

5. Your favorite food? Chocolate

6. Your dream last night? Weird

7. Your favorite drink? Coca-cola

8. Your dream/goal? Debtlessness

9. What room are you in? Living

10. Your hobby? This

11. Your fear? Hopelessness

12. Where do you want to be in 6 years? Free

13. Where were you last night? Home

14. Something that you aren’t? Ambitious

15. Muffins? Yes

16. Wish list item? ???

17. Where did you grow up? Everywhere

18. Last thing you did? E-mail

19. What are you wearing? Black

20. Your TV? Off

21. Your pets? Kitty

22. Friends? Scattered

23. Your life? Messy

24. Your mood? Stressed

25. Missing someone? Family

26. Vehicle? Minivan

27. Something you’re not wearing? Earrings

28. Your favorite store? Thrift Town

29. Your favorite color? Yellow

30. When was the last time you laughed? Yesterday

31. Last time you cried? Today

32. Your best friend? Husband

33. One place that I go to over and over? HEB

34. One person who emails me regularly? Nobody

35. Favorite place to eat? Tree House

Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore

Sebastian, I've a feeling we're not in our twenties anymore.

(Sebastian = my cat)

On the eve of my forties, it is finally beginning to dawn on me - I'm on the eve of my forties. My twenties are long (l-o-o-o-o-n-g) gone. I'm not sure where they went, but I am telling you, those crazy days of boundless energy, oodles of free time, and startling insecurity are nowhere in sight. I am, however, well aware of where my thirties went. They were trampled in a mind-numbing stampede of pregnancies becoming babies becoming toddlers becoming school aged kids. And WHAM! Here we are waking up from the fog at 39. On the cusp.

It's comments like the following that really bring it home:

One of our college student friends who attends the university that I work for recently asked me, "So, hey, do you work with D-Rod's mom?" (It's like he's trying to speak to me, I know it.)

"D-Rod" being his roommate. "D-Rod's mom" being my co-worker.

And here's what hit me at that moment: My co-worker, my colleague, my friend ... is ... D-Rod's mom. Not my friend Sue. Somebody's mom. Somebody called "D-Rod". More startling than walking outside and finding a pair of ruby-slippered feet sticking out from under my house, it hit me that I am now a mom figure, which of course is not new, except in the frightening aspect of being a mom figure to a COLLEGE STUDENT.

Yes, it's comments like these -- and every time one of the twenty-something-year-old grad students I work with calls me "ma'am" -- that tell me it's time we faced facts here.

Dorothy had it easy. One minute she was in black-and-white Kansas and the next minute - BOOM! She was smack dab in the middle of a technicolor world of munchkins, yellow brick roads, and walking, talking, brainless scarecrows. Clearly not Kansas. Sometimes, I'm still not quite sure where I am. Maybe if I click my heels together three times ...?

Three Guesses

And the first two don't count.

I don't mind disappointment ...

... as long as it's not pointing at me.

Guess which kid said that.

Flight Pics

Okay, so I was going to blog about what a big moment it was letting my oldest child take his first trip on his own, on an airplane no less, and even allowing him to return home UNACCOMPANIED (Yikes!) Because when the plan was first proposed to me, I thought, Ha! Like I will ever let my 10-year-old do that! I'm a little over-protective of my offspring. But the funny thing was, when the time came to let him go, I simply let him go. I shared in his excitement and knew he was ready to spread his wings. I was a little surprised at my own lack of anxiety, but hey, I'm not complaining about that. It feels good to let go. One little bit at a time.

Getting ready to board the big blue Southwest Airlines plane.

Having an uncle who's a pilot has its perks. Like getting to visit the cockpit and meet the pilot! (Who also is an Aggie, by the way.)

And getting to test out the controls.

TAKEOFF! Excited?

Settling in for the long 30 minute flight from Austin to Houston ... working the crossword puzzle (That's my boy!)

And more shenanigans from Uncle Mike.

The boy has wings

So, last Saturday we let the boy take a trip with his uncle by plane for the day. It was a grand success. Here's a summary of his day in his own words.

My Trip with My Uncle Mike
by Jared, age 10

Whoosh! The plane set off into the sky. I told my Uncle Mike that the view was awesome. "Yep," he said, "amazing." When he told me we were about 11,000 feet above the ground I was thinking, "What! 11,000 feet!" The rest of the flight went on with my face pressed against the window.

When we got off the plane we met my Aunt Sheila inside the terminal. We signed me up for my flight back (just to get ahead) and went to the parking garage when I asked my uncle where we were going. He said we were going to a place called Kemah Boardwalk.

When we got there I saw the craziest carnival rides you could ever imagine. There were things like the Invert, the Drop Zone, and the Aviator. They all looked crazy to me, but my Uncle Mike and I went on the Aviator and had a bunch of fun! After the ride, I got some Dippin' Dots and we saw a game where you could win a Scooby Doo plushie. Before we did that we decided to walk around and when we stopped at the dock, we saw a bunch of catfish. My Uncle Mike told me to watch as they would swarm for his spit. He spat into the water and they gulped it up. I did the same. We started walking farther and came across a vampire/magician who was cracking a bunch of corny jokes. I told my uncle Mike, “This guys tries too hard.”

We made our way back over to the booth where you could win the Scooby Doo plushie. We were hoping to play only the 3 of us, but we ended up with a few other players, so we had some competition. My Uncle Mike won the plushie and I took it home.

When we decided to go back to the terminal, I decided to eat at Wendy’s, but they didn’t have a kid’s meal. So I ended up getting about a 6-inch slice of pizza from a different restaurant. When we had eaten and gotten ready, I got on the plane and my Uncle Mike told me, “Try to look for me and your Aunt Sheila in the window and we’ll be waving.” I said okay, and when the plane took off, I saw them waving and I waved back.

I had an awesome day!

Everybody's got one

Everybody's got one. That uncle. Uncle fill-in-the-blank. The one that's just a tad crazy, a little juvenile maybe, but a whole lotta fun. The one your parents are not quite sure they want you spending too much quality time around. The guy that's more friend, less authority figure. A little kid in a man's body.

Mine is Uncle George. The one who likes to refer to me as his favorite niece. (Yes, indeed, I am his only niece. But I still like being his favorite.) I love that guy. You all know who I'm talking about. Maybe you have more than one.

Well, my kids have Uncle Mike.

And the other day, I let my kid get on an airplane with him.

She had me at hello

We tuck our kids in at night. Get them into bed, give them a kiss and a hug, tell them we love them. Night night, sleep tight, and all that. We don't sing lullabies, but we used to. Funny aside: when the boy was just a tiny tyke, he asked us to sing the "Cheese is a person in your neighborhood" song every night. (Google "Ben Stiller Sesame Street"). E-v-e-r-y night.

Another aside (just for me): When the boy was just a tiny baby, I used to sing to him,

On the day that you were born
The angels got together
And decided to create a dream come true
So they sprinkled moondust in your hair
Of gold and starlight in your eyes of blue

[sigh]

Anyway ... Back to the present bedtime ritual -- sometimes, if mom or dad isn't feeling well, we ask the kids if we can say goodnight to them in our own room or wherever we happen to be lying prostrate and incapacitated.

The other night, Daddy was listless (cold, fever, etc.) in the living room and had the kids say goodnight to him there. They hugged and kissed him and made their way to their rooms. Mommy tucked them in, according to custom.

After lights-out, the girl crept tentatively into the living room, snuggled up to Mommy and ventured the following statement, fraught with the hemming and hawing of a kid who knows she is not supposed to be out of bed:

I don't know why ... but when one of you comes ... and one of you doesn't come into my room ... I don't feel ... complete.

You can believe that Daddy got up off his sick patootie and tucked that girl in.

He completes her, you know. And so do I. For now, anyway.

Spelling Lesson

'Kitty' is 'cat' spelled a lot differently.

-- Emma, age 7

Here's one for Grandma & Grandpa

The other morning, as I was fixing the girl's hair, she asked if she could have a bun. Not the warm sticky sugary buttery cinnamony kind, but the schoolmarm kind. I helped her put her hair up and she commented that the bun made her look older.

So ensued an early morning discussion about buns and their aging effect.

Jared threw in his 2 cents: That's why Grandma doesn't look old.

(Unspoken, but implied: Because Grandma doesn't wear her hair in a bun.)

And while he was at it, this for Grandpa: And Grandpa only looks as old as Daddy.

Which statement could be either a compliment for Grandpa, or a subtle dig at dear old Dad. Let's err on the side of flattery.

Barbie in Aggieland

For my Austin friends who don't already know this about me ... I am an Aggie.

An Aggie who subsequently attended U.T. (sorry, Mike, t.u.) and now works for said rival institution, and is yet, ever always an Aggie. It is a known fact that graduate school engenders no true allegiance, and well, a job is a job. Any (good-natured) disparaging comments will be tolerated (I know where I live), and if you have a good Aggie joke, bring it on.

As a student, I attended quite nearly every home football game, and happily stood throughout. Thanksgivings were spent in the stands for the big A&M/t.u. game. We camped overnight for tickets. I'm a fan. However, in the past decade, I have attended exactly 3 Aggie football games. The most recent of which took place last weekend.

My brother (also an Aggie and a season ticket holder) kindly invited me to attend with him, as he had an extra ticket, and I happily made the drive to my alma mater to enjoy a little nostalgia, some football, and a little brother/sister bonding time.

On my way out the door, sweet girl asked if I wanted to take a Barbie with me (seeing as she has, hmm, say 20, Barbies, sparing one for the day could be no inconvenience to her). No difficulty for me to stow a Barbie in my bag for the drive down to elicit a smile from my girl.

And then I had an idea...

The pictures below chronicle Barbie's first trip to Aggieland. She'll never be the same.

Barbie chillin' at the tailgate. Soaking up some warm College Station humidity (a humidity like no other) and watching some college ball on the flat screen t.v.

Before the game began, Barbie decided to catch the "Spirit Walk" where we greeted the football team in addition to the Fightin' Texas Aggie Band.

The nationally famous Fightin' Texas Aggie Band is the largest military marching band in the nation and all 350+ members are cadets. Barbie was really into the half-time show.

Here's Barbie performing an Aggie yell. Don't ask. I can't explain it. We're a peculiar sort.

After the conclusion of the game, Barbie joined the hundreds (thousands?) of other fans who flooded the playing field. Dodging flying footballs and dashing children, we made our way to the 50 yard line, where Barbie struck a dainty pose.

Final score: A&M - 56 UAB - 19

Gig 'em.

The randomness of a youthful mind

It's 7:00am and my daughter says to me,

I'm really glad we - you know, you, me, Jared and Daddy - won't be around when the sun explodes.

Me, too, honey. Me, too.

Unfinished posts

How many unfinished blog posts do you have?

I have 22.

They date back to January.

Is this normal?

Do any of you begin a post and then either get distracted by life, or just hit a block? How long do you let it sit there? Do you ever finish these? Should they be finished, or abandoned? I've noticed that once I start a post, if I don't complete it within a day, I usually let it slip away. I'm not sure why.

What do you think?

Delete? or Salvage?

The Tea Party

One fine September day, the girl child had the sniffles and a fever. It was a school day.

Not just any school day. It was Friday, a special day, the day of the Tea Party. A day most eagerly anticipated.

The sick child was made to stay home. To rest. To miss the Tea Party.

She cried.

The mother soothed. The mother made an offhand, un-thought-out promise to the crying child. Something about a tea party. The girl was noncommittal. The mother was subconsciously relieved.

Later, the child remembered the promise. Asked sweetly, Mommy, when are we going to have our tea party?

The mother was noncommittal.

It was raining. The mother was tired. Nobody felt well. Was that the beginning twinge of a headache? To let her child down, to break the offhand, un-thought-out promise, would not have been unexpected. I rather believe it was expected. It would have been forgiven.

But...

I went to the store. In the rain. For tea party supplies. Namely, tea limeade. And cookies. Specifically, Central Market Cranberry Walnut cookies. So. Very. Yummy.

A special table was set, complete with flowers (faux). Individual china tea cups were chosen. We dressed up. I wore a dress. Not nice slacks and a fancy blouse. A real dress. The boy was invited. He dressed up (voluntarily).

We drank our fake tea. We ate gobbled our cookies. We laughed. The girl's heart was cheered. We chatted. We took goofy pictures. When the fake tea was spilled, we laughed. The girl's heart was cheered.

The girl smiled. The mother's heart was cheered.

I must confess to you that I am proud of this moment. Because, quite frankly, I rarely live up to my own expectations. But every now and then, I stumble upon some hidden virtue within myself and manage to do something I feel proud of. It was admittedly a small thing, a fleeting moment in our lives.

I cling to these moments.

But then, it's really not about me. I am ever increasingly thankful for my children. For their gentle, believing, forgiving hearts. For their unwavering, persistent faith in me, their mother, to get it right.

Guinea pig dreams

My son is currently waging a great campaign. The Great Guinea Pig Campaign of 2009. He wants one. Desperately. A few library books have injected the months-old campaign with renewed vigor.

Yesterday in the car, he was presenting his case and making grand plans. What color it would be, what he would name it, how it would take care of it, how he would protect it from the cat, etc. He mused out loud about whether he should get a male or a female.

J: I think I would want it to be a female, so it could have babies. Then we could give them to other people. [a pause, and a sweet dreamy smile] You know, spread the happiness around.

For all of his pessimistic nature, sometimes the boy is just so wistfully optimistic. It's sweet, isn't it?

And in case you missed it: guinea pig = happiness.

What I am reading

This post is in response to Raji's question posed in response to my last post. Um, not sure that made sense.

Her question got me thinking about my motivations.

For background, what spurred my reentry into the reading world was reading the A Series of Unfortunate Events series with my son. Details, if you are interested, here.

I started with Moby Dick. A little ambitious, eh? I actually got the book on CD from the library and tried to listen to it. That was in January. I couldn't get through it in the 3 weeks allotted by the library. I checked it out again later and got a little further. But I have since concluded that listening is not the way to go with this one. I need to put my eyes on the page. Too many big words. Listening and driving = not enough attention paid to either activity. So this one's a work in progress. It is a challenge. You could say it is my Moby Dick. (Okay, I just read that sentence and agree that it is groan-inducingly lame, but I'm leaving it in.)

I think that is the motivation behind my reading a great deal of the books I am reading - the challenge. I am trying to catch up on a lot of the classics that I somehow missed in high school and college (I minored in English lit, yet I missed so much!) It's a lot about the challenge. But that's not enough. It's also about the enjoyment. It has to be.

Here are a few of the books I've finished recently and why I chose them.

• Peter Pan, by J.M. Barrie. This one I planned to read on my own, but ended up sharing it with my daughter, which was magical. It is now a favorite that I will read again.
  
• Night, by Elie Wiesel - This was a difficult read, but worth it.
  
• The Bell Jar, by Sylvia Plath - I read this just because I had always heard of it, but never read it. I had no idea when I picked it up what it was about, nor did I know anything about the author. I liked it.
  
• Persuasion, by Jane Austen - Because it's Jane Austen.
  
• Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, by Roald Dahl - Read with my daughter.
  
• Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator, by Roald Dahl - Also read with my daughter. Roald Dahl is a favorite in our house.
  
• The Penderwicks: A Summer Tale of Four Sisters, Two Rabbits, and a Very Interesting Boy, by Jeanne Birdsall - I intended to read this to my kids, but started it on my own, just to see if it was age-appropriate and interesting. It was interesting, but ended up being just for me.
  
• Old Yeller, by Fred Gipson - I read this one because I thought it would be good to read with my son. Again, I ended up not sharing it. But I loved it! Absolutely loved it.
  
• Wuthering Heights, By Emily Bronte - Not at all what I expected; quite a strange tale.
  
• I'm a Stranger Here Myself: Notes on Returning to America After 20 Years Away, by Bill Bryson - I had read one or two of his other books in the past. The man is funny. Laugh out loud funny.

One of the first things I picked up this year was a book of short stories by J.D. Salinger. It was delicious. I'm currently in the middle of The Hobbit and it is awesome! I am having so much fun.

So, I don't know where you should start, but it really doesn't matter. Half of the books I listed above are children's books. (Another favorite: The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane, by Kate DiCamillo.) Chick lit sounds good; I wouldn't mind reading a good fluffy love story. I also always enjoy a good tale of suspense from Mary Higgins Clarke, just for fun. Predictable, but still fun. I'd like to find a good biography. Years ago I read a good one on Lincoln.

I could go on and on.

Ooh - I'm also in the middle of The Princess Bride, but had to return it to the library because someone else placed a hold on it. But now I have a hold on it, heh-heh. And thanks to Goodreads, I won't forget what page I was on.

Share with me your favorites so I can add them to my to-read list!

My Own Reading Adventure

About 9 months ago, when I began blogging in earnest, one of the things I wrote about was my rediscovery of reading for pleasure. I began to pick up a few books here and there, just reacquiring my taste for the world of words.

This summer, I began to more systematically read through the (many!) titles on my 'want-to-read' list.

By the way, to this end, I discovered a great tool for keeping track of my book lists - Goodreads.com, which is actually a social networking site for readers. The literary Facebook. The idea is to create a network of friends and post book reviews to share with each other, but I have no friends, and I'm okay with that. I have yet to write a review. And that's okay, too. I mainly use the site to keep track of the books I have read, the books I want to read, and the books I am currently reading. Tracking this progress is very satisfying. So now, whenever I hear about a good book (on someone's blog, or listening to NPR, or reading the paper, or wherever), I can find the book on the site and add it to my "to-read" list, instead of jotting it down in crayon on the back of that HEB receipt from my purse whose fate is to be lost forever. Awesome.

Upon checking my progress since July, I found that I have read 10 books in the past 2 months! Wow. This includes a couple of books that I read with my daughter, but still. I'm pretty sure that's more than I read in the previous 5 years (10 years?).

The other day I was telling a friend how I had been catching up on my reading lately and she asked me, "When do you read?" I understood her to mean, "When do you find the time to read that much?" It's a good question. I have 2 kids. These kids have homework and various other activities and needs. I have a husband that I enjoy spending time with. I have a job (part-time, but somewhat consuming). I have a house to maintain. I have bills to pay. I like TV. There's the old man cat (I tell you, he's trouble.) When in the world am I reading?

I read:

• while waiting for the bus that takes me from my parking garage nearer to my office
• while riding on the bus
• while walking up the hill to my office
• while stopped at traffic lights (I NEVER read while actually driving - you've seen people do this, right? I do not.)
• while the kids are otherwise occupied and don't need me (although I have found that when I pick up my book, often that ignites a spark in my daughter who says, "Mommy, let's read my book!" And we do.
• while lying in bed before sleep
  

These are not great spans of time. It's a little here and a little there. Slow and steady wins the race, so I've read.

But time is only one side of it. The other is desire. My husband has a saying: "People do what they want to do." Boy, that little phrase used to irk me no end. (Do any of your husbands have their own pithy observations like this?) Translation: You may say you want to do something, and for sure you even believe that you want to do it, yet you expend no effort to actually do it, meaning you don't really want to do it. Because if you really wanted to, you would.

The bottom line: I do what I want to do. I want to read. It matters to me. So I make it happen.

Apparently, though, I don't want to exercise.

The Reading Adventure

Today I got to wondering. Is one ever really satisfied when arriving at the end of a book? I often feel vaguely disappointed when arriving at the final sentence.* Either the book itself was unsatisfying, or the book was so very enjoyable, that coming to the end of it could be nothing but a terrific let down. I'm generalizing, of course, grabbing the extreme examples, but am I the only one? Does this happen to you?

*The major exception to this (in my experience) is the Bible. Always satisfying. Never a let down.

Well, I know I am not completely alone, as I witnessed my daughter experience this today. We have been working on Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator for the past few weeks. We almost finished last night, but had to stop at the next-to-last chapter. So close. Today, with excitement, we picked up the book to finish the final chapter.

I was sitting on one end of the couch; she was at the other end facing me. When I came to a picture, I would turn the book for her to see, watch her expression, wait for the giggle, then turn the book back around to continue the reading. When I came to the last page (which also had a picture), I read to the last sentence and then turned the book to her so she could see the picture. I was watching her face carefully. She took in the picture, and when she looked away, that's when I realized that she didn't realize it was the end. And so, reluctantly, I told her, "That's the end."

The expression on her face spoke volumes. Utter disappointment. And slight bewilderment. Betrayal, even? It was as if I had slung a bucket of water in her face. She had to know we were close to the end, she knew it was the last chapter. But she was not prepared for the end. She was immersed in the adventure, waiting expectantly to hear what antics Charlie and his crew would engage in during their White House visit. But that will remain forever a mystery (unless there is another sequel that we don't know about).

It was a let down.

Until we picked up a new book...

And the adventure continues...

Come home, family!

In a few short hours, my week long staycation will come to an end. Around 6:00pm today my family will return to me. Am I ready? I think so. Well, okay, probably not. I should vacuum. And unload the dishwasher. And go grocery shopping. And take out the trash. And ... here we go ... the familiar stresses of being responsible for a household have already arrived! [sigh] So ... early.

But, emotionally, I am more than ready. I cannot wait to take them all into my arms - oh, how I have missed these pieces of me! I think the little one will still let me smother her face in kisses. And the older one may even indulge me this expression, just for today. For sure, the husband will welcome it (and more)! I can't wait.

It's been an interesting week for me. This is the longest length of time I have spent alone, in my own house, for years. Since I have been a mother. Since I have been married, even. Years. As a person whose disposition requires a healthy degree of solitude, in this respect, the week was a welcome respite. Which is not to say that I wouldn't have rather been with my people enjoying the New Mexico adventure. Of course I would have. I missed so much. But it couldn't be helped and I would be lying if I said I didn't enjoy my time. It's just one of those peculiar pain/pleasure kind of things.

The week turned out to be a time of decompression. And I think, ideally, decompression is a slow process. It takes time. Of course I originally had lofty goals for the week. Just think about how many things you could accomplish if you had your house to yourself for a week! Just imagine! It's dizzying, isn't it? But in the end, I succumbed to the lull of the quiet and allowed myself to be rested. And I am okay with that.

(Just to be clear, I didn't do NOTHING. I accomplished a few things. Things I never would have accomplished with the time constraints of my normal daily life. I am satisfied with this. It is enough.)

But now I need my people.

So, am I ready to face the insanity of that is heading down I-10 toward this house? The unpacking, the laundry, the feeding, the bathing, dishes, the clutter, the activities, the back-to-school shopping, the grocery shopping? No way.

But, to quote my best friend, an eloquent man, to be sure, "Bring'eth it on'eth!"

Vacation Vignettes #5 - The Slide

The Slide

Whaddya think? I'm not sure the kids had fun.

Here's the story.

The pictures don't show how big this thing is. It's pretty tall and it's a long climb to the top. Emma was NOT interested in going alone. Which is how I ended up along for the ride. I committed myself to slide with her until she was comfortable going alone - one or two slides oughta do it.

So, you may wonder ... how many times did I drag my 39-year-old body up that slide? More than twice, I assure you. (I included one picture of myself in the above collage, only because, mercifully, the view of me is mostly blocked by my dear daughter - pictures of me in my old-lady floral swimsuit-with-a-skirt don't belong on the internet.)

I tell you, it was quite a ride. (By the way, on the basis of overwhelming empirical evidence, I have concluded that dissimilarly weighted people are at a disadvantage when sliding together.) We held hands and, inevitably, I slid a little faster, resulting in our being turned sideways and me dragging (yes, dragging) the poor girl along to the bottom. It was either that or let go of her hand completely, which I dare say she may have interpreted as abandonment. Embarrassing, to be careening downward, out of control, arms and legs flailing about, but oh! did I laugh!! This turning sideways also had the unfortunate result of a fair amount of water being forced into our ears when we hit the pool of water at the bottom of the slide. Which is why you see Emma with her hands tightly clenched over her ears. It took a while to dislodge all that water.

Eventually, I begged off and suggested she slide with her brother if she was still nervous. Of course, he was thrilled to accompany his little sister (now re-read that sentence with a decidedly sarcastic tone.) On the first attempt at a sibling slide, he left her in the dust, having not taken a good hold of her hand, and having not really waited at all for her to be ready, and really having no interest in sliding with his sister whatsoever. He had flips to do and people to impress.

So there she was. My little girl. Stranded at the top of the slide. She would not slide down on her own. We waited and watched as she let child after child (after adult) take her place next in line. I managed to quell the burning desire to go rescue her. I have learned with this child (and believe she is the better for it), that she must often be forced to face and overcome such hurdles on her own. No, 'force' is not the right word. It is better to say it this way: She must be permitted to fight her own battles. Because it is a privilege to be afforded the opportunity to succeed (or to fail) in the things we undertake and against the things that most frighten us.

But, sometimes we need a little help and it is good when the help doesn't come from mom or dad. Eventually, her brother made it back around the circuit and appeared again at her side. He redeemed himself, proving his tenderness of heart, by being much more solicitous, and down they came.

That ride was all the girl needed to jump-start her engine. For the remainder of the time, she was quite independent and unafraid. And, well, you can see the smile.

Vacation Vignettes #4 - The Tooth

"The Tooth that Wouldn't Budge"
Or, more accurately,
"The Tooth That Wouldn't Stop Budging and Just Fall Out Already!"

This is the story of a girl and a tooth. An obstinate, pertinacious little tooth. A tooth which rather reveled in remaining lodged in the girl's jaw. An irksome tooth that teased and tormented with its wiggling and ever-so-slight loosening for months on end. A tooth, which, with its latter looseness, was the source of no small amount of discomfort and inopportune bleeding. A tooth whose location (upper right central incisor) and degree of previously mentioned latter looseness made the consumption of all things requiring incising (sandwiches, pizza, fajitas, apples, corn on the cob) troublesome, if not altogether impossible.

But this tooth was not equipped to win this battle. It met its match in tenacity. The girl would not rest until she wiggled that tooth out of her head. She was constantly at work. Wiggling with her fingers. Wiggling with her tongue. Wiggling in the day. Wiggling in the evening. She probably wiggled in her sleep.

Each day I inquired, "Still have that tooth?" Each day the answer was the same. Though she hoped it would be out soon, she equally hoped it would remain long enough to make its grand exit in Florida. I don't know why. Perhaps she thought the Floridian tooth fairies are of a more generous sort than the Texas variety. As we shall see, they're a little quirkier, to be sure.

For a time, I was certain the tooth could not possibly remain to accompany us to Florida. Once there, as the days dragged on, I became convinced the tooth was determined to return to Texas as it came - still firmly entrenched.

But, on the final morning of our visit, with only one evening remaining in which the girl's pillow would lie in the realm of the Sunshine state, the tooth, wearied and defeated by the incessant, unrelenting wiggling of its foe, relinquished its hold, and emerged.

And what did the Floridian tooth fairy leave in exchange for this humdinger of a tooth? None other than a clean, crisp $2 bill. (I told you they were quirky.)



And now the other incisor is beginning to budge. Who's up for round two?

What is that wet stuff falling from the sky?

Is it ... could it be ... rain? [sigh] I vaguely remember rain.

No, it's not falling now ... nothing but blue sky in all directions.

But yesterday we had a lovely little shower. One of those sudden, albeit brief, downpours. It started with a crack of thunder - an odd sound because the sun shone brightly overhead. I went outside to try to capture the view of pouring rain mingled with bright sunlight, but I may have been too late. If you look closely at the photo, you can see the rain drops falling against the backdrop of the blue sky.


The bit of rain temporarily perked up the withered grass and brought a little critter out to play.


Unfortunately, the rain didn't wash away the heat -- in fact, I think it ratcheted up the humidity a notch or two. But still, a nice surprise.

Vacation Vignettes #3 - Cribbage

Cribbage Anyone?

I've mentioned previously how one of the things I enjoy when visiting my parents is getting to play cribbage with my dad, and happily on this trip we were able to sneak in a few hands.

While DH and I were on our vacation staycation and the kids were hanging with the grandparents, Grandpa figured that the eldest child (age 10) was ready to be introduced to the game. So on a free evening, Grandpa showed him the ropes and Jared even managed to squeak out a win. He was very satisfied. In fact, when telling me about it, his victory was one of the first things he mentioned. Knowing from personal experience that Grandpa does not let anyone win (oh, the memories! Risk, bowling, ping pong, gin! The man gave 100%.), I was duly impressed.

Grandpa also wanted some play time with the younger child (age 7, not quite cribbage age). Grandma suggested that they play Uno (one of our favorites). Emma resisted, being slightly more interested in Slap Jack. Again, she was prodded to 'teach' Grandpa how to play Uno.

Let it be known that this child is generally pretty clear about what she does and does not want to do. And is always up for a challenge (you just try to tell her she can't do something). Emma would not be enticed to play Uno, and even abandoned the idea of Slap Jack. She said, "No. I want Grandpa to teach me cribbage."

And that was that.

And my 7-year-old now plays cribbage.

Stop! Daddy Time!

Several months ago, my husband and son discovered a book to enjoy together (a rather thick book) and the ritual of the male bonding began. This nightly reading time with Daddy is coveted and Mommy simply will not do. That's mostly okay with me, although I kind of miss being his go-to parent for all things snuggly. But this has afforded me and the girl-child to have some reading adventures of our own. Why, just last night we finally finished Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

So, earlier last evening, while sitting around the dinner table, my son asked me, "How was your day today, Mom?" (And he asks in a way that is so grown up and sincere - I'm just sure he really wants to know!) I mumbled something noncommittal as a response, something like, "Fine." or "It was okay." Not unsatisfied, he moves on to dad, "So, Dad, how was your day?" Whose (better) response was (not necessarily based in reality), "Awesome!"

The next thing the boy said was one of those statements that make a parent's heart swell with pride and a mushy-gushy kind of feeling ...

"And it should get better, 'cause we're going to read tonight!"

It's a good thing that thick book has a sequel.

And so I will leave you with this little snippet of a poem from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, by Roald Dahl (one of my daughter's favorite authors):

Fear not, because we promise you
That, in about a week or two
Of having nothing else to do,
They'll now begin to feel the need
Of having something good to read.
And once they start -- oh boy, oh boy!
You watch the slowing growing joy
That fills their hearts. They'll grow so keen
They'll wonder what they'd ever seen
In that ridiculous machine,
That nauseating, foul, unclean,
Repulsive television screen!
And later, each and every kid
Will love you more for what you did.

Vacation Vignettes #2 - Vacation Staycation

A Vacation within a Vacation

Here is the view from our hotel room where my husband and I had a few days to ourselves (that's right, sans los ninos) while on our family vacation.

My parents generously offered to care for our offspring while we ventured out on our own. Something we rarely ever do. Since our hotel was only about a mile from my parents' house, it was our own little vacation staycation.

It's a strange experience to be away from your kids when you are not in the habit of doing so. It is quite a curious mixture of pain and pleasure.

We experienced unhurried, leisurely, grown-up dining (we didn't order coffee, but we could have), watched cable tv, slept late, enjoyed a late night stroll on the boardwalk, and, at the top of my list -- we swam at the beach, I myself floating serenely on the waves without having to surrender to the nagging compulsion to visually check on my young ones every 30 seconds. That was sheer bliss. It's been years since I floated peacefully in the ocean.

But somehow in the midst of my delight, I couldn't help but wistfully think of the kids and long that we were all together.

Of course, later in the trip (once our little honeymoon was over) we got our family time in the water -- and don't you just know what I was thinking: Man! I wish I could just float serenely on the waves without having to surrender to the nagging compulsion to visually check on my young ones every 30 seconds!

[sigh]

I may never get used to this conundrum that is parenting.

Vacation Vignettes #1 - Mickey Dee's

"You want fries with that?"

On the road to Florida, somewhere in east Texas...

Reluctantly conceding to patronize McDonald's for a bite on the road (mainly for the super cute Ty Teenie Beanie Babies)...

We pull up to the drive thru to place our order. Being a bit of a plain Jane and wanting to be sure to avoid mayonnaise at all costs, I inquire at the intercom, "Can you tell me what comes on the Southern Style Chicken Sandwich?"

A brief pause from the voice on the other side ... then the reply, "Pickles and butter."

Another pause while I cast an incredulous sideways glance at my husband, a glance that says, "Did he just say butter?"

"Butter?" I repeat into the intercom, seeking confirmation.

"Just a sec," the voice says, turning off the mic to (presumably) confer with the McDonald's higher-ups.

The voice returns. "Yeah. Pickles and butter."

Um, okay.

The pickles I get. Mayo, mustard, secret sauce - all possibilities I was expecting. But butter ... as a condiment?

I wondered, would it come with a thick slice of butter? Or a pat of butter? Could I get the butter on the side? Or was it the brushed-on melted butter? Would it be anti-American to ask them to hold the butter? How much more time would this special request take? And the big question - does a fried chicken sandwich on white bread really need extra butter?

Curiosity led me to later consult the ingredients list on the McDonald's website. Consider it my civic duty to inform you that the ingredients for the Southern Style Crispy Chicken Sandwich do indeed include pickle slices and melted margarine.

In the end, I opted not to get the fries.

Way back when

Yesterday evening, while enjoying the sounds of the heavy rain and rumbling thunder,

Mom (ever the optimist) mused out loud, "I hope we don't lose power, I need to do laundry tonight."

Son replied, "That's okay. You can do it by hand."

To which Mom replied, with a stifled laugh and roll of her eyes, "You can do it by hand."

Son reflected, "Hmm. It must've been hard in the 70's."

Now, I know I joke about being old all the time. I don't really mean it. The 1970's are not that long gone. I will concede there are a few things we did not have in the 70's:

The internet.
CDs.
MP3s.
Cell phones.
Airline deregulation.
DVDs (you should have seen the mechanical monster of a VHS player we had!)
Digital cameras.
Laptop computers.
Go-gurt.

Yes, son, life was hard. But we most certainly did have washing machines.

And an Atari.

I'll take that ego boost

My hair has finally grown long enough to be pulled into the tiniest of ponytails. I don't know why I'm letting it grow. I actually prefer it short, and when it is long, it resides twisted up in a clip. But I'm stuck in that in-between stage, not sure what I want to do with it. And so it grows.

So the other day, daring to make a grand divergence from the comfort zone of the clip (if that thing breaks, I will be lost), I grabbed one of my daughter's elastic bands, pulled my hair into a perky little ponytail and headed to the gym.

The reactions of the children when they saw their 30-something mom in a ponytail?

The girl proceeded to tell me how cute it looked, put her own hair in a ponytail and proudly declared us twinkies.

The boy was adamant that it made me look like a teenager.

A teenager? You don't say!

So if you happen to see me around town sporting a sporty ponytail, now you know why.

Snuggle up with a good book (and a good kid)

Yesterday, I concluded a most wonderful experience with my daughter. We finished reading Peter Pan. No, not the sugar-coated-based-on-the-Disney-movie picture book that somehow made its way onto my children's book shelves, but the original novel by J.M. Barrie. Reading this enchanting book, finally, makes me want to chuck that colorful little Disney book right out of the window.

You may wonder what took me so long to read the original story. To tell you the truth, the only exposure I had ever had to Peter Pan was the animated Disney movie, and based on that, I really had no interest in the story. Oh yeah, and Hook, the movie with Robin Williams cast as Peter. Oh, and images of Sandy Duncan in a bright green elfish-looking outfit. Yeah, no interest.

But a few years ago, I came across a delightfully well-done little movie, Peter Pan. It had a darker, melancholy feeling to it that was intriguing. (Though the movie is rated PG, my kids have not seen it - the scene with the mermaids is a little dark and creepy, which, while true to the book, knowing my kids, would be too much). Seeing this particular movie awakened the interest in me to read the original book.

As I mentioned in a recent post, my DH picked up the book for me on his library excursion with the kids. I intended it for myself, for my own solitary reading pleasure, but offered to read it to the kids (expecting to receive a lukewarm response). My daughter surprised me by taking me up on my offer, and I would be lying if I told you I wasn't a tad disappointed, thinking it would take too long to read aloud and that her waning interest would slow our (my) progress.

Happily, my prediction couldn't have been more wrong. Though I am sure a great deal went over her head, she was a superb listener - active, attentive, inquisitive. The icing on the cake (as if a good cake really needs icing) was having our own special time together to read "our" book, snuggled up on my bed, snuggled up on her bed, snuggled up on the couch. Oh, the snuggles! It took us less than 2 weeks to read it through.

I think she was perplexed (and amused) when my voice cracked and tears welled in my eyes while attempting to read aloud the sweet moment near the end when the 'gay and innocent and heartless' children returned to their mother. But, what kind of mother would I be if I didn't get a little misty-eyed over the happy reunion?

I'm trying to find a good snuggle-up-book to read with my son. But he's a tougher nut to crack. So independent and above being read to by mom. I'm thinking about Old Yeller. I have not read the book nor seen the movie, though I am, of course, acquainted with the story. What do you think? Too much? Or the perfect bonding vehicle?

Where's Mom?

My daughter is currently watching a movie with one of her best friends who is over today for an extended play-date (i.e. sleepover). The movie is the 12 Dancing Princesses. As they came to a particular spot in the movie (in which the (worn out) king is speaking wistfully to a painting of his late wife, the queen), I overheard the following:

(All delivered in the most hushed whisper. Why they are whispering, I do not know. I am the only other person in the room and I am most clearly and actively NOT paying them any attention)

Daughter's Friend: [whisper, whisper, whisper] What happened to the queen?
Daughter: [whisper] I don't know.

(and then, with a certain authority and air of a person who knows about such things)

Daughter: [still in a whisper] You'll see in stories they just die for no reason.

So this got me to thinking:

12 Dancing Princesses - dead mother
Finding Nemo - dead mother
Brother Bear - dead mother (bear)
Cinderella - dead mother
Ice Age - dead mother
Lilo & Stitch - dead mother (& father)
Aladdin - no mother (?)
Beauty & the Beast - no mother (?)

Anyway ... just wondering.

Through the eyes of another

Sometimes it takes a fresh, objective eye to open your own to something that is right in front of you.

I had the pleasure of making a new acquaintance recently, and in the midst of our conversation she complimented my son and mentioned that he seemed very 'self-possessed.' I made some comment in response, at which point she elaborated on what she had meant, thinking I had misunderstood. She said he appeared to be self-confident and of a thoughtful sort, to which I agreed.

But, of course, I looked up the word as soon as I had opportunity. Just to assure myself that I really did have a full grasp of its meaning. Below is the definition from the Encarta® World English Dictionary © 1999 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved.

self-pos·sessed adj
confident and in control of your own emotions

When I read this, I very nearly laughed out loud.

Not once before this moment had I heard anyone describe my son with any word that implied any sort of hold on one's emotions. Oh, how I would LOVE to share this with my son's former preschool teachers - I'm sure they would appreciate the irony.

He has come a long way. As have I.

May I always remember where we have come from ...

... and never lose sight of where we are going.

The Great Book Quest of Summer 2009

With the advent of summer has come the much anticipated summertime bedtime schedule. We have been putting the kids to bed a little later and allowing them some individual reading time before lights out. I can't tell you what a pleasure it is to see my 7-year-old plugging away night by night at her chapter book.

But, for the past several nights, the 10-year-old has asked to use his reading time to play with his action figures -- because he has nothing to read. Nothing to read?? Yikes!

So I mentioned to my husband this crisis and suggested perhaps we should get these kids to the library soon to find the boy some books.

Lo and behold! This morning while I was at work, I received a text message indicating that my dear husband had ventured out with the children in search of books. Which turned out to be more of an adventure than planned, as they had to visit 3 libraries before they found one that was open on Fridays -- budget cuts. Hence, the "Quest".

Yea for Titus not giving up! (I would have gone home after finding the second branch closed.) And not only that, but remembering my recent offhand remark that I have been wanting to read Peter Pan, what did he bring home for me? Why, Peter Pan, of course!

Did the boy find something to read? Hmmm. Let's see ... 4 Far Side books, 3 chapter books, and 1 Calvin & Hobbes. I think he will be covered for a few days.

Welcome to Austin

I have lived in Austin for 17 years. On Monday I visited Barton Springs Pool for the very first time. I also have never seen the Congress Avenue bats.

But, lest you think I am a poor excuse for an Austinite, I have:

• been to the State Capitol,
• seen an IMAX movie at the Bob Bullock Texas State History Museum (on whose location I used to park when I was a graduate student),
• strolled through the Lady Bird Johnson Wildflower Center,
• canoed on Town Lake (a muggy, fairly forgettable April afternoon),
• shopped and dined at Central Market,
• been to the top of Mount Bonnell (where my husband asked me to marry him - sure, it sounds cheesy, but was, in fact, an unplanned, spontaneous moment),
• ambled along the Town Lake Hike and Bike Trail (I don't jog. I amble.),
• attended a book-signing at Book People (This was fun - Mo Willems gave an animated reading of "The Pigeon Wants a Puppy!" and the kids were thrilled to meet him and get their book signed.),
• visited the Zilker Botanical Garden,
• enjoyed (i.e. sweated profusely) at the Children's Day Art Park in Symphony Square many a summer.

But I have now totally digressed from the original purpose of this post.

The reason I finally ended up at Barton Springs on Monday was that I was given the opportunity to play tour guide to the wife and children of a professor being recruited by my department at the University. I was happy to do so for several reasons, not the least of which being that 'work' for the day meant spending time doing fun things with my kids instead of sitting in my office.

Now, I'm not sure if this is the best way to entice someone to move here -- "Welcome to Texas! It's 101 degrees - let's spend the day outside!" But, we shall see.

We began the day with a trail ride on horseback at Bear Creek Stables. This activity had the potential to be either super fun or super not, given the heat. Happily, there was a steady breeze and ample shade, and all parties involved reported being quite satisfied. My youngest was so enchanted that she is now begging to go to their summer camp. You should have seen my tiny little child sitting atop that big ol' horse like nobody's business! My eldest was certain that he got the best horse of the bunch and afterward proudly declared that he now has 'riding experience'.

After the horses, we headed back downtown to hit the pool, stopping along the way at P. Terry's for burgers and some tasty fries!

Of course, I had heard that the water at Barton Springs was cold, but there simply is no preparing oneself for the shock of it. Almost too cold to be refreshing. (Almost. It's 100 degrees, people.) I laughed because while wading through the water, I noticed goosebumps on the arms of nearly everyone I passed. It was so cold, in fact, that my son really couldn't (or wouldn't) bear it, and sat on the edge most of the time watching the scene at the diving board. (Don't feel bad for him - he was content.) Emma wasn't too fond of the slippery bottom of the pool, but soon found her footing and had a great time with her new friends. Not once did I hear her comment on the water temperature.

And eventually Jared made his way into the pool -- right about the time we needed to leave -- and proceeded to protest the very thought of having to depart this wonderful place. Now, isn't that just typical?

To cap off the day, we were invited to attend a riverboat cruise on Lake Austin and had an enjoyable evening hobnobbing with the faculty. (Not generally a fan of hobnobbing -- still, it was a good time.) The kids had the most fun, running rampant on the boat and helping themselves to the free-flowing sodas and array of desserts. Emma was in tears at the conclusion, not wanting to leave the boat or her new found friends.

I do not know if the family was sold on Austin. I know I am.