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Be careful what you wish for

Gary and I have great kids.  In fact, we probably would be insufferably proud of our parenting skills except for one major short-coming -- somewhere along the way, it came to our attention that we had failed to instill in our kids an appropriately ardent love of professional sports.  I know I've blogged about this before, notably when we took the kids to the most exciting game ever played in professional football and they spent the whole game either playing video games or cowering in fear of the slavering crowd. 

Sadly, they shared a similar distaste for hockey, baseball (which I grant is understandable) and even basketball.

So imagine our delight when last fall, as the regular football season was winding down, Daniel suddenly took an interest in NFL football.  He should be a natural sports fan because of his inclination toward statistics and categorization.  In the past, this inclination was being squandered on micro-analyzing every single Pokemon ever created and, perhaps slightly more usefully, in researching and cataloging facts about every major tornado and hurricane to devastate the US in the past 100 years or so.  There were side forays into coins, Star Wars characters, Angry Birds and US presidents.  And more recently, he has taken to learning the national anthems of small, foreign nations (true fact: you can find the national anthem of Kiribati online).  (Oh, and another true fact:  there is a nation called Kiribati).

Finally, though, FINALLY, we managed to harness this power for good.  At first he had no interest in actually watching football.  He would spend the week researching the teams and predicting who was likely to win the upcoming games.  When the game would roll around, however, he'd watch for about 5 minutes and then we'd find him in his room having Pokemon battles or using up $40 worth of p-touch organizer labels to make printed lists of team rankings.  Sigh.  Later, though, as he learned more about the rules and gameplay, he started to watch, to cheer, even to yell "NO!" at the top of his lungs when his teams would lose -- all those important sports fan skills.

Fast forward to today, where the love of football has now expanded to hockey, basketball and yes, even baseball. I would NOW be insufferably proud of my parenting skills except for a few unforeseen developments:  

1.  The sports balance of power has shifted.  Gary and Dan are now a powerfully united sports-voting bloc when it comes to TV time in our house.  This has resulted in a disturbing amount of professional hockey air-time, especially now that there are innumerable hockey play-off games on any given night.  [Note to non-Canadian relatives:  please arrange an Intervention].

Not to mention the amount of TV time devoted to Wii Madden football:

2.  In a predictable sibling move, Julie is perhaps even MORE adamantly anti-sports now that her little brother has adopted it so zealously.  I am still holding out hope that we may be able to lure her in with a social or fashion angle. She seemed to enjoy the ASU vs. U of A game after donning her black "Fear the Fork" t-shirt and sun-devil temporary tattoo.  Here is Julie with our friend Rachel who is my best friend because she took me to the NY Giants game this year.

 3.  We have now invested approximately $37,000 in sports gear as Daniel has adopted new sports and teams at a meteoric rate.  His favorite football team morphed from the Dolphins to the 49ers to the Saints in the weeks leading up to Christmas, resulting in numerous Christmas gifts being obsolete long before Christmas day.  Plus, whatever city Gary travels to on any given week for work seems coincidentally to be one of Daniel's favorite teams, requiring another souvenier hat purchase.  In case you think I am exaggerating:

Niners Jersey

Saints jersey:

Hats:

Hats:

And more hats:

4.  Perhaps most alarmingly, my little baby boy (who I can quite distinctly remember being about 4 years old the last time I looked) now has a serious interest in playing tackle football himself in the fall.

Whose idea was this whole stupid sports thing, anyway?

A Tale of Two Puppies

Once upon a time, there was a puppy. 

  

He was little and cute and very, very furry.  Once cool, fall day, the little puppy went to live with a family.  They thought the puppy was the cutest little furball ever.  

After spending a week assessing his new situation from a safe location under an armchair, the puppy decided that he liked his new family too.  He came out from under the chair and began to frolic and play with the family.  He loved to spend time outside.

The little puppy grew.  As the little puppy grew, so did his fur.

  He grew, it grew. 

He grew some more -- it grew some more.  

 

This went on for some time until the puppy was nearly full-grown and he was very, very, very furry.  
 

Unfortunately, for the puppy, as he was growing the seasons were passing by and summertime had come around.  The furry puppy did not like summer. He thought summer was too hot.  So, he spent most of his time panting while spread eagle on the tile floor (unable to fit under armchair anymore).  When he’d go outside, the puppy would scurry for the shade and then get back inside as quickly as he could.

The family was sad that the little puppy was so hot and uncomfortable.  Sometimes, they would let him play in the hose to cool off, but then he’d have to wait outside until he stopped dripping.  The puppy did not like that either.  And the water made his fur very tangly. 

Oh dear, they thought, whatever will we do?

Fortunately, the puppy was lucky enough to have a Fairy Godgroomer.  She heard about the puppy’s plight and just when things seemed most hopeless, she swooped in to help. 

The puppy was skeptical at first.  He thought the Fairy Godgroomer’s magic clippers were a little scary. 

And he wasn’t so sure that it was a good idea to wield those scissors so near his face. 

But the Fairy Godgroomer knew what she was doing and when she was done, the puppy was transformed!  When he went out, no one even recognized him anymore and everyone wanted to pat him!

 

 

 
With his new “’do”, the puppy was happy again. He could run and frolic and spend more time outside.  He could get wet and even go in the pool sometimes!  The puppy decided that he never wanted to be all furry again.  Or at least until winter.

And they all lived happily ever after.  

Caution, Slow Vacationers Ahead

One of the reasons we picked Breckenridge for a summer getaway instead of, say, Vail or other Colorado mountain town is that it has a "summer fun park."  That way we’d have something to do if the kids got bored with hiking to just another gobsmackingly stunning location.  Plus, it kept one of us adults from spending way too much time watching the debt ceiling negotiations on TV.  I probably need not mention here which adult was so inclined but I will say that I attribute it to the patriotic zeal of newly-minted citizenship.  Because otherwise it’s just weird.

So, off we went one morning to the summer fun park.  One cool thing about it is the Gondola ride up the mountain to the park.  The Gondola is “free” (if you don’t count the $70 per person for the all-day park pass) and it’s pretty impressive – crossing over the main road and making stops and turns at various resorts on the way up.   

After getting our tickets, we headed for the newest attraction at the park, a roller coaster that you ride down the mountain.  You hop into individual cars that carry you to the top.  You then have brakes to control the speed of your vehicle as you plunge back down the mountain.   We could see the people ahead of us hurtle past with shrieks of exhilarated glee on their way down.

Here is one of the cars containing a person who would have dearly loved to hurtle down the mountain shrieking with exhilarated glee. 

Alas, the blurriness of the photo wasn’t caused by the blazing speed of the ride.  To the contrary, it was because crammed into my car with me was another nearly full-sized person who refused to ride by himself or to man the brakes.  In a moving roller coater, unable to take a breath, holding a camera in one hand and a brake lever in the other while someone is screaming at you “DON’T GO TOO FAST, MOM!” does not yield the best photographic results.

Needless to say, we did not hurtle.  We were the people who aggravate everyone else by going really, really slow so that the people behind us (including some vociferously complaining family members of our own) had to go really, really slow too.  Yes, we were those people.  But, we did go faster on our second ride and were all primed to become speed demons on our next adventure:  the Alpine Slide.  There it is in the distance.

 

Once again, I found myself in a too-small car containing two too-big persons and holding the brake, but I was determined that we would hurtle this time, darn it.  We were on a simple sled in a low-tech chute built right on the ground – what could go wrong? [Please stop here and try to imagine 2 people in this sled.]

Well, we were flying down the track when Julie – who was in front of us -- came to a complete stop.  There was an injured chipmunk on the track in front of her and, bless her gentle animal-loving soul, she absolutely would not squash it further with her sled.  This resulted in traffic jam beside us akin to I95 in the wake of a jack-knifed tractor trailer.   We were becoming those people again.

The guy directly behind us started urging Julie to just keep going.  After he realized she was too principled to cave into that kind of bad influence, he next urged her to move it off the track.  Now, dear readers, would you allow your 11 year old child pick up an injured chipmunk?  Or, more to the point, would you suggest to someone else’s child that they pick up an injured chipmunk?  I wouldn’t.  I’m still traumatized – and I am not making this up -- by a childhood chipmunk biting incident (it bit Dianne, not me).  Moreover, I couldn’t help with the chipmunk since I was wedged so tightly into the sled by the almost full-sized person sitting in front/on top of me that it would have taken the jaws of life to get me out of that thing.  Finally, to break the stalemate, the guy climbed out of his car and flipped the poor maimed chipmunk off the track.  But our reputation as those people was sealed.

Undaunted, we struck out for new activities like the giant maze -- which was a lot harder than it looked. Daniel was determined, though, and hurtled through it in no time. Then he had to go back in and help me escape.

And panning for gems -- which was a lot easier than it looked since they gave you a large bag-full of sand and gems.  It was really more like sifting than panning.

All in all, we enjoyed the summer fun park although I suspect when we left, some of the other patrons were glad to see the back of those people.

A Summer Outside

As a former New Yorker living in Arizona, there is one thing I miss about summer:  being outside during daylight hours.  To survive the dangerously hot summer temperatures, Arizonans are forced to spend the summer burrowing in dark (and air-conditioned) places far from the withering power of the sun, thereby coming to resemble some weird pale, subterranean species.  Think naked mole rat.

Those who resist a fate as naked mole rats have 2 options:  (1) dessicate and die under the white-hot rays of blistering solar radiation or (2) leave.  Thus, our trip to Breckenridge. 

I can personally attest that even the most preternaturally pallid creature would be safe venturing outside in the the ambient 72 degree summer temperature of Breckenridge.  Unlike Phoenix, there is an abundance of shade and water just about everywhere you look.  Right outside our condo, there was a shaded, woodland trail beside a mountain stream and leading to a lovely lake. 

Looking less pasty already: 

Hardly wanting to burrow at all:

Emerging triumphant into the light!

Of course, there are some perils even in this beautiful spot.  By the time we reached the top of the trail, we were gasping for breath, thanks to the 9,600 foot elevation.  Still, it was worth it to see how the rest of the world spends the beautiful, temperate days of summer, even if only for a few days. Soon enough, we had to return to the sweltering heat of Phoenix.

Now if you'll excuse me, I've got more burrowing to do.

 

My New Favorite Place

Occasionally, I discover a place that makes me want to run home, pack up my stuff and move.  Usually, it’s a city like London (although, ahem, not so much lately) or San Francisco.  This is partly because it must have a good coffee shop in order for me to envision moving there – without my daily non-fat, no-foam latte that I would shrivel up and die.  But I digress.

My new favorite place is not a city; it is Breckenridge, Colorado -- a small town, nestled by mountains, accented by rolling streams and lakes.  I’d like to say that it is of those “undiscovered gems” that the travel magazines try to uncover, but it turns out that I am the last person alive to have discovered this little slice of heaven on earth. 

Of course, most people know Breckenridge (or at least its bigger neighbor, Vail) as a ski mecca.  Those people are seriously misguided.  Breckenridge could not possibly get any better than it is in the middle of the summer when the temperature is a perfect 72 degrees and the abundant “ski” accommodations are being offered at a preposterous discount.  And without all that pesky snow to slog through.

We stayed at BlueSky Breckenridge, a gorgeous condo resort. Here are some photos to give you a flavor.  I wish I had brought a wide-angle lens because these pictures really don’t do the place justice:

You may have noticed that there were several animal heads in residence.  I am still mulling over the cosmic implications of fact that taxidermy features prominently in some of our vacations.   In the meantime, if I did pack up all my stuff and move to Colorado, I probably would not choose to live so closely with animal heads (assuming they were not attached to live animals at the time). 

It did, however, add a rustic hunting lodge aura to our impeccably decorated condo.  I like to believe that the condo owners were hunters/gatherers who ate the animals to survive a cold, hard winter and were honoring the animal spirits, while simultaneously respecting the corporeal gifts that the animals had given them, by using and appreciating every last bit of the animals, including their regal heads.  I’m pretty sure that must be it.  It made me feel much better about them watching over us as we vacationed in their midst.

Speaking of animal heads, could someone please identify that animal on the right?  What the heck is that thing?

 

The punks loved the bunkbeds. One punk did fall off the ladder which I attribute to the fact that said punk grew up in a single-story ranch house and never had to climb anything indoors higher than the step up from our sunken living room.  [Why do they “sink” living rooms anyway? Discuss.]  Fortunately the punk survived and exercised some coveted whining rights for a while afterward.

 

There was a game room, free DVD rentals, various lounges, a pool with three hot tubs, and a gym.   In short, it had all the comforts of home -- assuming your home has impeccable decorating, animal heads, lounges, a game room, a pool with three hot tubs, free DVD rentals and a gym.  My aforementioned plan to move to Breckenridge should give you an idea of whether all (or even most) of those are currently available in my home.

Then it occurred to me that I had much better things to do with all those spare millions I just happen to have lying around at home than frittering it away on some impeccably decorated condo, even if it does feature animal heads.  There was that anti-taxidermy foundation I was thinking about starting up, for instance . . . . 

Christmas in the Country

After spending the few days leading up to Christmas in Washington, DC, we were ready to head out of town for an old-fashioned country Christmas.  We changed into jeans, switched from cognac to beer and started saying "ya'll" a lot.  Well, ok, we were already wearing jeans and we didn't actually say y'all out loud, but my parents did convince my son to pronounce "tired" as "tard".  And he has been saying it that way ever since (thanks sooooooooooo much guys).

Anyhow, we headed to my parents house which is near Lexington, Virginia, deep in the heart of the Shennandoah valley. If you want to see what their lovely farm looks like when it is sunny and warm you will have to look elsewhere because it was most assuredly not sunny and warm this Christmas.  I acknowledge that after living in Phoenix for 10 years I am officially a wimp, but really people, it was so cold and windy it made my eyeballs hurt.  My eyeballs did not enjoy that.

We did discover one "country Christmas" fact, though, that I'm sure ya'll in the country have known for a long time.  Farm with rolling hills + snow = instant sledding opportunity.  As you may recall from numerous prior entries on this blog, my parents would never condone any sporty activity that even remotely looked like a real sport, so normal sledding was out of the question.  Instead, they suggested boogie boarding down one of the hills on their farm.  Here is my daughter demonstrating.

Yes, it looks a little like sledding but since boogie boards are made of light styrofoam and are designed for body surfing in waves, there were some unintended consequences.  One was that it was difficult to get going, which required either a lot of pushing off, or for mom (that would be me) to to run in front of the sled pulling that leash.  I'm confident that I didn't look at all ridiculous doing that.  Here was an example of the pushing off.

Going nowhere fast.

 
Another consequence was that since the boogie boards weren't very slippery, they'd tend to come to an abrupt halt upon hitting anything that wasn't snow, like one too many patches of grass, resulting in a variety of wipeouts ranging from the mundate to the spectacular.  They could have used some of that non-nutritive cereal varnish.  [Can you name that movie?]

My nephew, Austin, definitely embraces the family tradition of hybrid made up sports.  Allow me to present boogie board snow skiing:

Look out for that blade of grass!

My sister did bring along an official sled, so there was some honest-to-goodness sledding that occurred as well. 

Just don't tell the grandparents about that last part.

 

 

Christmas in the City

As we do most years, in a sort of deranged reverse migration, we left sunny warm Arizona to locate a proper winter-weather Christmas.  Our destination this year:  Washington DC.

As we stepped out of the airport, I reveled in those first few moments of gloriously cold, Christmasy weather.  I thought "ahhhhh, this is what Christmas should feel like."  Then, when the first icy blast of wind struck approximately 26 seconds later, I realized we had made a terrible, terrible mistake.  I tried to get the family to proceed calmly back into the terminal and get on the next plane returning to Phoenix but they just wouldn't see reason.  There was nothing for it but to bundle up and carry on bravely with the original plan. 

I'm glad we did.  First we got to see our good friends, Paul and Lisa and their kids. We have never skipped a beat with Paul and Lisa even after years of not seeing each other, so I wasn't surprised that the kids hit it off too.  Within 30 seconds of meeting, our kids disappeared into the house with their kids and other than mealtimes and school hours we didn't see them again for 2 days. 

We also had a great time traipsing around DC.   There were no lines to speak of and it was very educational for the children.  For example, we saw money being printed at the Beaureau of Printing and Engraving.  [Can you believe they wouldn't let me take any pictures inside even though I pinky swore that I wouldn't use them to counterfeit and even though I went to lawschool with President Obama?  Where has the trust gone, people?]

We learned important facts about our nation's currency such as the amount the kids would be worth in stacked $100 bills.

We learned the stark financial truth that the Bureau will only accept genuine cold, hard cash when it sells you an imitation quarter.

We learned that hoodies actually have uses other than as fashion accessories.

That the Washington Monument staff can pack approximately 87 people into a small elevator.  But, it was still better than walking all the way up there:

That it is the best view in town and those of us who failed to ever go up there when we lived in DC were really missing out:

My fellow alum's house:

That Lincoln is still really big and really cool -- both the statue and the man.

And that the Vietnam Memorial can still cause you to choke up even after seeing it about 15 times.

So, it was worth braving the cold to spend the first part of our Christmas vacation in DC.  Stay tuned to hear what happened as the temperature continued to drop and we struck out for the countryside . . .

 

Thanksgiving Afternoon

I love Thanksgiving.  On a spiritual level, I love whole idea of a holiday just to be thankful for stuff. 

On an entertainment level, I love watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade with the giant floats.  I don't like to brag, but my former-sister-in-law-once-removed was in the parade one year, so I'm practically famous!

On an even more self-absorbed level, I love the fact that I don't have to cook a huge Thanksgiving Day meal.  Granted, I have always gotten off pretty easily in this regard since my Mom has cooked the vast majority of Thanksgiving meals I've eaten in my life. Thanks Mom! 

More recently, I have our friends Debbie and Dan to thank since they have taken over from my Mom in feeding me (and my family) Thanksgiving dinner.  Although I know cooking Thanksgiving dinner is a herculean task, they somehow make it look effortless.  Here is Debbie looking cool under pressure.  If I had been cooking, this is the point in the day at which I would have begging for help from the the people on the Butterball Hotline.

Or possibly threatening people with the carving knife.  Dan, on the other hand, was cracking jokes.

Of course, this might have helped.

The table was serene and the food was delicious.

I'm also thankful that I didn't sit at the kids table where it was likewise serene until one child made another laugh and spit food all over the place causing much shrieking and hilarity.  Not naming any names here but I think you can see where this is going.

I am thankful that the kids have friends who are practically family to spend Thanksgiving with.

 

 

And, I am thankful to have these beautiful children in my life.

The verdict is still out on the puppy.  ;)

  

A Thanksgiving Morning to Remember

Now that we are a family of 4 (plus various critters) we have had to abandon the practice of traveling for Thanksgiving to visit relatives. It's just too logistically complicated to take such a long trip in such a short period of time. 

But even though it's just us here for Thanksgiving, we do try to maintain those traditions that make the holiday so meaningful. For example, I'm sure we weren't the only one observing the age-old ritual of guinea pig bathing on Thanksgiving morning.

We all know how clean pigs really get you in the holiday spirit:

Then there was the time-honored Thanksgiving puppy wrestling. Here is Julie demonstrating the reverse chinlock. 

Murphy retaliated with the kneeling figure four leglock.  It's such an advanced move, his poor victim doesn't even realize what's hit her yet.  But she will.  She will.

And, of course, we shared quality family time together visiting the storage locker to return the Halloween decorations.  Because if there's one thing to be thankful for this time of the year, it's that the giant, hairy spider and gory, skeleton pirates have been safely packed away for another year. 

 

Meet the Murph

We interrupt our irregularly scheduled programming to make the following important announcement:  Our home has been taken over by an alien being. 

We aren't sure its intentions yet, but we have discovered a few things about it in the week it has taken up residence here. 

(1) it is a being that operates at an alarmingly extreme level of energy and activity. We are fairly sure a geiger counter would be off the charts around this thing.  Does anyone have a geiger counter we could use? 

(2)  it appears to have a voracious appetite and can apparently digest any random substance it finds from organic matter to rocks.  It takes occasional tentative tastes of the children;

(3) it likes to lure us into complacency by hiding under an armchair in the family room, then later sneaking out to wreak havoc; 

(4) it wreaks havoc with fair regularity;

(5) it is nocturnal and gets very upset if any human in its vicinity tries to sleep at night;

(6) it might be related to an Ewok.  Or perhaps it is just an ingenious disguise;

(7)  it has some indefinable power against which we are powerless.  Despite it's destructive nature, we have become strangely attached to it.

Perhaps if I post a photo some kind reader might be able to identify it and give some tips on how to control this thing.  In the meantime, we have taken to calling him Murphy.

Don't stare into its eyes or you will become its slave. . .

I warned you . . .