Day 3: La Dordogne and Castles

We woke up on our first morning on the ground in France to the smell of coffee and the sound of children -- the three sons of the other family staying in our B&B. We breakfasted with the family -- two parents, three kids and a Frency granny -- and our hostess, Anne, on croissants and fresh bread and butter, yogurt and jam. Conversation was lively, and we were happy we'd chosen a bed and breakfast instead of a more solitary hotel stay.

After breakfast we headed out on foot, leaving our car in the parking lot, to check out the castle that had been floodlight the night before and visible from our window. It's called Castelnaud, and it's a medieval fortress that has been renovated and turned into a museum of medieval warfare. The morning was cool -- 49 degrees with mist hanging over the river -- but as we walked up steep cobblestone roads and stone stairs up to the castle, we quickly warmed up. By the time we emerged from the castle in the afternoon, the day was positively summerlike.

 The museum was right up our alley. We loved walking up the narrow, steep stone staircases winding through the corner turrets, we loved noticing the differences between original castle materials, and newer, machined replacements, and we loved the exhibits -- trebuchets, catapults, armor, canons, etc. The castle is built on a rock cliff, and so when you enter the floor below you is not smooth because it is actually just the rock surface the place was built on. When you step out into a courtyard or onto a rampart, the view of the valley below is panoramic. You can look down the valley and see the next castle down in each direction, and joke about how you see your neighbor getting his trebuchet ready to roll over to your walls. There were two large groups of students moving through the museum, and I liked eavesdropping on their guide's lectures to learn tidbits like about how the lords enjoyed the privilege of the hunt.

 After the museum we walked down the cliff to a brasserie on the riverbank and ate a pizza and a salad - with foie gras and cheese, of course. We could see the village canoe company from our table, which interested us very much because one of my big goals for this trip was to kayak or canoe the Dordogne River. But the shop appeared deserted, which was not unexpected -- our hostess had told us that the local canoe companies might open for the weekend but not on weekdays at this time of year. Just as we were finishing, though, we saw someone go into the shop's shed and come out with a paddle. I walked over and caught the guy just as he was dragging his kayak down to the river, and asked if he worked there. He said yes. I asked if they would open tomorrow, and he said no, that we should go to La Roque-Gageac, the next village down the river.

 So after lunch we made a short stop at our B&B to freshen up, and then walked down the road to La Roque-Gageac. That walk was not as easy as our walk across the bridge to Castelnaud. There was little to no place alongside the road to walk, and the road was busy. I hit a stinging nettle bush with one bare leg. But after about half an hour we arrived in the village and found a canoe company that looked open. Only problem was, no one was there. By this time it was about 4:30 p.m. The sign said that you could only canoe if you started out by 5 p.m. So we waited around for about 15 minutes and then gave up and took a walk around the village, which according to the sign is rated one of the most beautiful villages in France, instead. The village is very steep, with stairways and roads winding up a cliff face. There were windows high in the face of the cliff, making it apparent that someone had at some point inhabited caves way, way up there. A red hot air balloon rose slowly from a little farther up the river. It was nice.

After we came down, we saw that there was no someone at the canoe shop, so we went back to confirm that they were closed for the day. He looked at the clock and said yes. But they would be open tomorrow? Yes. And did we need reservations? No. The canoe man was very nice, and I was feeling good that I could handle everything in French. I said I'd see him tomorrow, and he said, "avec plaisir."

 We walked back to the B&aB, stopping to check out a castle on the way that turned out to be private property. When we got to the B&B, all we did was grab a wine opener and we were off again, this time in the car, to a garden just up the road where we thought we could eat a picnic dinner and watch the sun set. The garden turned out to be a pay-to-enter thing, and it was closed, but that was just as well, because there was a lush picnic area at the edge of the site -- this was also on a cliff -- and absolutely no one else there. So we took a picnic table on the grass, just outside an ancient stone barn, and ate our bread with truffle mustard and drank our wine, first facing away from the sun because it was just too bright, and then watching the cloud streaks in the sky turn pink as the sun disappeared behind the opposite cliff. A peacock and a few peahens wandered up to see if we might offer any handouts, and a cat showed up just to make friends, but the peacock chased it off. We sat in that beautiful, isolated spot until floodlights turned on to the walls and castle that the garden was built around, and floodlights turned onto the castles across the river as well. We just couldn't believe how much we'd packed into this first, beautiful day in France. We corked the wine and drove back to the B&B, where we found our hostess and her dog, Rose, out for the evening, snuck into the kitchen for a couple wine glasses, and hung out in the living room using the Internet for about an hour before heading to bed.

40 in France: The Journey

OK, I'm not literally turning 40 in France, but the trip is my 40th birthday present to myself (and from my parents, who are giving me TWO whole weeks of childcare to make it possible).

On Wednesday, Oct. 16, I leapt out of bed, knowing that it was The Big Day. Since Epu was not going to work, he took Toth to school while I ran around attending to last-minute details. When Epu got back we went and got haircuts, deposited a large payment to myself from my business account into our checking account, and then took BART to the airport.

Everything went so smoothy that I was afraid to post on Facebook, lest I jinx us. There was no BART strike as had been threatened. A neighbor walked by just as we were stepping out of the house to take the bus to BART, and insisted on driving us there. We got to the airport in plenty of time and were even able to get one of those desks with charging stations. The plane boarded on time.

When we got on the plane, though, it was clear that our 11 hours was not to be spent in luxurious comfort. I don't know if coach seats have gotten smaller since I last flew internationally or if we have gotten bigger (I think it's both) but these seats were nuts. You could not easily unfold a newspaper because you are so close to the seat in front of you, and besides the motion would cause your elbows to hit passengers on either side. I can't imagine flying in the middle seat between strangers, because Epu and I were pressed up against each other so I could avoid leaning on the lady on the aisle seat.

That lady, by the way, turned out to be a super nice nuclear researcher who lives in Paris' Bois du Boulogne, with large round red glasses, who had just been at a conference on nuclear radiation at Lawrence Berkeley. When we told her that we were going to the Toulouse area her face just lit up, and when I got out my guidebook she pointed out all the places that she considered "magnifique." In particular she pointed out a cave painting site that we hadn't thought to visit, which is much closer to our friends' house and might make a great day trip.

Chatting with Marie-Terese made me feel much more confident that I would remember how to speak French. And aside from the crowded quarters, the flight was good, with a decent dinner, a nice glass of wine and a lot of movies on the personal TV screens (we watched "The Heat," which was dumb). My only beef with Air France is that they passed out ice cream bars when the lights were out and people were trying to sleep, and the ice cream bar packages were very crinkly.

I slept a little on and off, but gave up 7 or 8 hours into the flight, which would have been 10 p.m. my time but as 7 a.m. France time. Before we knew it we'd eaten breakfast and were landing at Paris Charles de Gaulle. Being there brought back so many memories of my junior year in France -- mainly of meeting loved ones who came to visit me. Then we boarded our flight to Toulouse, which literally flew by as I read the new David Sedaris book on the iPad, and it was time to pick u our rental car and drive to the Dordogne river valley.

At the point when we got into our rental car, it was 4 p.m. local time, or 7 a.m. according to our body clocks. So we were operating on a night where we'd slept just a few hours -- Epu more than me so I made him drive -- but at least our bodies thought it was morning. The drive was challenging. Erik hadn't driven a stick shift in awhile, I had to translate all the signs for him, we had disagreeing sets of directions from our B&B owner and Google maps, and man -- All. Those. Roundabouts. About half way there I started to nod off, but Epu told me I had better goddamn stay awake to help him read the signs, so I slapped my cheeks a few times and hung in.

Right about then the scenery got amazing, which helped me stay awake. River gorges, cliffs and castles started popping up. A few sheep here and there, and a medieval village or two. Each town had a large sign with an attractive illustration of the local attraction. The road was a toll road, which we hadn't expected, but fortunately we had gotten some Euros. When you got on the toll road, you were issued a ticket, and you paid when you got off. Clever!

After driving fast along an autoroute for an hour and a half, we took an exit and made our way toward the country bed and breakfast, going much more slowly on windy roads and through villages. The sun was going on and we kind of felt like pulling over and going to sleep in our car. But we finally pulled into the B&B's parking lot and our hostess stuck her head out an upstairs window and welcomed us. We had made it!

The first thing we did is ask our hostess if she could recommend a local place for dinner -- by now it was about 6:30 p.m. local time and we hadn't eaten since that breakfast on the plane to Paris. She made a couple phone calls and found a place that was open. Apparently weekdays are pretty quiet in this area now that tourist high season is over. We went to the place she recommended, down the road in Begnac, and enjoyed a Salade Perigourdine (I think?) and a plate of sauerkraut with sausages (my husband is weird). Better yet, I inquired if it was OK to bring half our bottle of wine with us, and of course it was. So after dinner we drove back to the B&B, put on our jammies, and finished our wine while gazing out our bedroom window at the floodlit Castelnaud Castle. Then we took some melatonin and hit the sack -- and slept for about 10 hours! We were so happy since we'd expected to either not be able to stay awake until a normal bedtime or to wake up way too early. But we woke up to the smell of the coffee our hostess had made us, and headed downstairs to start our first day of vacation.

My Fabulous 40

Once upon a time, about 10 years ago, our friends go married. In France. In the South of France. Erik and I thought it would be lovely to attend the marriage, but the airfares were high and our bank accounts were low. I don't remember if Nutmeg had been born or not. We didn't go to the wedding, and the rest of our friends did, and they had a wonderful, wonderful time.

Ever since that day, my husband has mentioned now and then that he still would like to go to the south of France. But we were busy having babies, and moving across the country and back, and working on old houses and losing and finding employment and launching and scrapping blog empires, and travel took the back seat for many years.

Until now. We decided that we should celebrate my 40th birthday by going to France. Oh, I also celebrated by getting diagnosed with a cataract today, but I'm going to focus on the France part.

Forty eight hours from now, Epu and I will be on a jet plane, headed for France. We'll be staying with the same friends whose wedding we missed so many years ago, who are now living on the old farm where they wed all those years ago. And we'll go a few other places. And, listen to this part, people, because I may only say it 20 or 39 more times: WE ARE NOT TAKING THE KIDS.

Wow, you may say. I didn't know you could go to southern France and back in a quick weekend. And here's where I blow your mind: We are not going for a quick trip. We are going for two weeks!

For two weeks, my parents are going to be in charge of the kids here in Alameda. They're flying out here to take on this task. Yes, I have the best parents. You don't even know.

So I'm sitting here with my hair blueing, experimenting with melatonin for the first time as a jet lag prophylactic (Status report: I ingested 1 mg and so far I do not feel very sleepy. Tomorrow night I will try taking more.). And I thought, I think the Internet needs to know our itinerary. Actually, I thought, I should write down our itinerary so we know where we're going, and whenever I write something, I pretty much just publish it, so here it is.

Day 0,.Tuesday Oct. 15
Mom and Dad arrive at Oakland airport around dinner time. They embark on intensive initiation.

Day 1. Wednesday Oct. 16
Depart SFO at 3:40 p.m., Air France, because I want my flight attendants to be French!

Day 2, Thursday Oct. 17
Arrive Paris CDG at 11:10 a.m.
Depart CDG 12:45 p.m.
Arrive Toulouse 2:05 p.m.
Pick up rental car, drive to Chateau Nineyrol. It's not really a chateau, it's a bed and breakfast! It's on the Dordogne River, near a castle called Castelnaud, and it was "rebuilt in 1860 on medieval cellars, by a returning war hero from Napolean's army."
Rad, right?
6 p.m.-ish crash in exhaustion

Day 3, Friday Oct. 18
We'll see how we're feeling. We could get up early and try to get tickets to see a Neolithic cave, or we could just take a little walk up to the castle and try to stay awake. Or tour Sarlat.

Day 4, Saturday Oct. 19
Kayak the Dordogne, past castles and picturesque villages! Weather.com predicts a high of 72 degrees! The company Couleurs Perigord, just up the road from our B&B, says their shop is not open in October but as long as we call the night before, they'll have a canoe or kayak for us. This will only take part of the day, so we can go to Sarlat or Castelnaud after.

Day 5, Sunday Oct. 20
If we haven't seen a cave yet, visit Font de Gaume and/or Lascaux II.

Day 6, Monday Oct. 21
Drive to Maleville to visit our friends.

Day 7, Tuesday Oct. 22
Go on a day trip in the area. See some really old stuff like menhirs.

Day 8, Wednesday Oct. 23
Another day trip. Horseback riding with the horse rental place up the road?

Day 9, Thursday Oct. 24
Head into Villerfrance de Rouerge for the weekly market, then return the car to Toulouse airport and take the train to Carcassonne. Check into the Carcassonne Guesthouse, sit on the terrace, and enjoy amazing views of the medieval city.

Day 10, Friday Oct. 25
Explore Carcassonne.

Day 11, Saturday Oct. 26
Rent bikes and ride to a country winery or along the canal du midi.

Day 12, Sunday Oct. 27
Take a day trip by train to a nearby city? Possibly all the way to Nimes to see Roman ruins.

Day 13, Monday Oct. 28
Undetermined! If we are loving the Carcassonne area we can ask our hosts to extend our stay for one more night, if not we can take the train to Toulouse and get a room in the city for one night.

Day 14, Tuesday Oct. 29
Check into Ibis Budget Toulouse Aeroport Hotel, from which we can actually walk to the departures terminal. (1/3 mile!)

Day 15, Wednesday Oct. 30
Depart Toulouse airport at 7:15 a.m. Arrive CDG at 8:45
Depart CDG at 10:40 a.m., arrive SFO at 2:15 p.m.
Hug kids and try to stay awake until their bedtime!

Wanderlust

We don't have any more babies. As I type this, former baby Toth is at his five-day-a-week preschool, and the girls won't be home from elementary school for hours.

Because I take all my emotional guidance from Grey's Anatomy, let me sum up the feeling of watching your kids happily dance off to a day that doesn't involve me with the following paraphrased quote: "When someone lets go of your hand, you get it back."

Sure, I'm a little sad that I don't have babies anymore, especially when I see one squirming and unfurling in a car seat and I'm reminded that I'll never again breastfeed or feel a fetus move in my abdomen. But most of the time, I'm excited about the work my newly independent kids are letting me get to. I've been freelancing like crazy for the past year, with publications in San Francisco magazine as well as my old standbys like The San Francisco Chronicle,  The Chicago Tribune and WiseBread.

But! Not only that! Epu and I will soon be traveling again. We're currently planning a two week (you read that right! TWO. WEEK.) trip to Southwest France, just the two of us, to celebrate my 40th birthday. And we're cooking up ideas for trips we can do with the kids as well.

We're supposed to be relaxing. On vacation. But of course, in the back of my mind, I'm thinking, what can I write about this trip? For whom?

Those of you out there who are also writers, I'd love to hear your suggestions for publications that might be interested in some quick-and-dirty travel essays, blog posts or articles on Southwest France. So far, these are the things I've uncovered myself:

• List of sites that pay for travel content
• GoNomad writer's guidelines
• Fodors blog
• Afar's writer's guidelines
• Gadling (edited by Don George, for whom I wrote about Beijing when I was a little baby writer)

Goals

I read a lot on blogs about goals, and how setting goals is essential to getting where you want to be in life. Then instead of being inspired I think about how I have not achieved many of my goals. I have not completed a novel or even a really polished short story. I haven't traveled as much as I would have liked, and I haven't enabled my kids to become bilingual while their minds are still in that language-acquisition stage. Et cetera.
But today, I rode my bike across the bumpy wooden bridge to Bay Farm Island, taking in a crystal-clear view of the San Francisco skyline, and that glimpse of Alcatraz beyond the Bay Bridge, and that scrap of red that makes me wonder if I am seeing both bridges, superimposed, from this angle.
My 3-year-old son was behind me in the trailer, telling me with great seriousness about all the things he was going to write on his Christmas list this year: Spiderman pedals for his bike, more engines and cars for his train table (specifically, Gordon and Emily), Spiderman pants, a Spiderman shirt and Spiderman underwear, and also for his birthday he would like a Spiderman cake with four candles because he will be 4.
I rode through splotches of sunshine and shadows of trees. And I thought, this may be the happiest moment of my life.
I certainly never planned for that. I didn't sit down when I turned 30 and say, "At the end of this decade, I would like to take bike rides on beautiful mornings and have deep conversations with my son." But there I was, and I realized as I pushed the pedals, that even if I hadn't known where I was going, I had arrived.

Lie to Me, I Promise I'll Believe

A friend recently broke the news to her 9-year-old twins that there is no Santa Claus. They asked, and she found that a lie just wouldn't come out of her mouth. Out came the truth instead.

It got me thinking. When I was a child myself, old enough to be in on the adult secret of Santa but young enough to know that this is the tiniest of the truths that adults keep from children, I swore that I would never lie to my kids. Not about Santa, not about anything.

I have one friend who holds himself to this standard today, but not me. I lie, lie, lie to them, and I plan to lie to them some more. I've lied about how babies get inside mommies (mommy and daddy share a special kiss), I've lied about having not only eyes in the back of my head but also on both sides, and I plan to keep lying about Santa as long as I possibly can (Could this really be the last year for Nutmeg?)
Just yesterday I lied again, by omission.

A School-Day Morning at Our House

Why describe the carnage at our house on a Monday morning? Oh, I don't know -- in case anyone is trying to decide whether to have more than one kid? Because if you do, you might have a morning like this. Or hundreds of them.
The alarm goes off and I stumble into the kitchen to make two Aeropress lattes. After grinding beans, heating water and milk, pouring, squeezing every last drop of coffee out of the grounds and stirring, I sigh with anticipated pleasure and take a sip.
And spit into the sink. Because the milk went sour before its expiration date.
I start over with the other gallon of milk in the fridge, and lower the temperature, which I notice has been set at two notches warmer than "recommended" since we moved in here three months ago.
When Epu emerges from the shower and claims his coffee redo, I try to tell him what happened, but by this point all three kids are at the breakfast table and Nutmeg is singing "It's the End of the World as We Know It" and Toth is screaming for Nutmeg to stop so Epu can't hear me.
I try again to tell him what happened with the coffee and the fridge, and then give up. Instead I read the kids today's lunch menu, which is corn dog, Nutmeg's favorite food ever.
"No way," Nutmeg says. Because apparently the school food tastes bad no matter what the menu choice is.
"Aren't you ever going to get school lunch?" I ask her. "Because we put $100 on your account."
"Maybe another time," she says. "But not today."
I stand at the counter, filling out the form for Pebbles' school picture today. Epu appears in the kitchen and tells me, "It's Picture Day."
"I know," I tell him. "That's why we gave them all baths last night, remember? That's why I picked out a special outfit with each of the girls."
"I set an alert on my Google calendar," Epu said. "Because sometimes in the past I didn't know it was picture day, and the kids looked messy in their pictures."
"How would YOU not knowing it's picture day affect how they look?" I ask him. "I always made sure they were nice outfits on those days. It's not my fault if their hair got messy after I dropped them off at school."
"Also it was in the e-mail newsletter from school," he tells me.
"Why aren't I getting the email newsletter from school?" All school emails are supposed to go to both of us, because of an elaborate email system Epu set up. But apparently it's not working.
"Anyway, it's picture day," he says, and I ask if perhaps he would like to fill out the order forms, or do the girls' hair.
"Gotta go," he says.
I remind Epu to take a lunch and he leaves for work. I decide to order the kids' pics online instead of with the form and sit down a the computer. I have to get up twice to tell Nutmeg to stop singing "It's the End of the World as We Know It" because for some reason it causes her brother to scream and he is never going to finish his breakfast if he keeps screaming, and then we are never going to make it to school on time. She finally stops singing and makes her own lunch -- a jelly sandwich.
I send the kids up to get dressed and put the girls' printed out picture forms into their backpacks along with their recess snacks. When I get upstairs the girls are dressed but they can't find their hairbrush. We need to leave in 10 minutes or be tardy. Toth is still in his footies and whenever I try to grab him to start dressing him, he crawls under the shelf next to his bed where he knows he's hard to reach.
"I want to play iPad!" he yells at me.
I give the girls some flack about not putting their hairbrush away when they're done with it, and Nutmeg reminds me that I was the last one to use it, when I combed out their hair after baths last night.
"Everyone look for it!" I tell them.
 While they stand still and watch me while I pull back the covers of their beds and feel underneath their beds and search their bathroom.
"What is all over all these wet towels in here?" I ask.
"Marker," Toth tells me.
I don't really want to ask any more questions about that. I drag a huge plastic storage container out of their bathroom, which apparently had been used to add extra height to a stepstool so someone could reach the top shelf.
I give up on the hairbrush hunt and have them use mine, while I get Toth going brushing his teeth. I dig some clean clothes for him out of the clean laundry bin. Then, just at the moment when we absolutely must throw on his clothes and dash out the door to beat the tardy bell, Toth makes the morning announcement I dread most:
"I HAVE TO POOP."
Like all males, he will now spend a ridiculous amount of time in the bathroom. I put the finishing touches on the girls' hair and tell them to go without me, and I pray that Nutmeg will get Pebbles to the kinder entrance without ditching her.
Then minutes later, Toth is suddenly all cooperation, gets into his clothes practically unassisted, and tells me, "Now I'm fast."
Sure, now you're fast.
I remember that Pebbles was supposed to have show and tell today so I grab her Halloween costume, and get Toth out the door and into the bike trailer. As we ride toward the school on our way to Toth's school, I notice that all the parents and students are on the blacktop, because Mondays are assembly day.
Oh yeah, I forgot about that.
This is actually good because although I missed the assembly, I am able to visually confirm that both my kids made it to their classes, and I give Pebbles her devil costume as she heads into her classroom. I have a quick word with the already-busy kindergarten teacher about when Pebbles might be able to fulfill her dream of bringing one of our cats for show and tell.
Wednesday, we agree.
Pebbles starts crying because she wanted to do it today. She buries her face in her hands.
"DON'T MESS UP YOUR HAIR!" I beg her. "It's picture day!"
And then I look over her shoulder and notice that the other kids brought apples to school today, and I do not remember any note coming home about bringing apples.
I kiss her goodbye and bike Toth off to school.

Letting It All Fall Away

Another post about a movie, but this one is not a paid post, guys! Just all me.

I just finished watching this movie on Netflix: Following Sean. Did you ever hear about a film from the '60s about a 4-year-old boy living with hippies on Haight Street, who claimed that he "smoked grass"? This second movie shows what happened to that little boy when he grows up.

I won't spoil the movie by telling you whether people's predictions that he would grow up to be a drug-crazed criminal are true. Watch the movie, it's pretty good. But I will say that I found it comforting to watch the 30-year-old Sean talk and see how much of the 4-year-old survived in the man. There is enough footage of 4-year-old Sean in the second movie that you know his little mannerisms and his face, and to see those same things come out in the adult is thrilling.

This weekend I let go of some of the kids' baby things. The Parenthesis Sale happened, and since we are moving at the end of the school year, I took this opportunity to sell our old Dutailier glider -- for $5, I'll get $2.50. I miss it already. I spent so much time in that chair over the past 8 years.

Last night I was washing dishes when I heard a loud clunk over my head. I ran upstairs, shedding my rubber gloves on the stairs, and found poor little Toth sitting on the floor and rubbing the back of his head. Normally, I would have scooped him up and sat down in the rocking chair to soothe him.

So, I climbed into his bed with him. Within seconds he was breathing deeply, his cheek against my chest.

It was the best moment of my day. I stared at the bedroom and hallway walls that we've had painted to prepare the house for new occupants. As the rhythm of Toth's breathing calmed me, the constant worries about all the things I am supposed to do to move our family across the country began to fade.

I thought, I can do this without my rocking chair. I can do this without our house. I can do this even as the children stop being babies, because the kernal of who they are will endure, and I will never stop being their mommy.

TWINteresting Movie Roles

This is a sponsored post.

In Jack and Jill, Adam Sandler plays a guy named Jack, and he also plays Jill, his "identical twin sister." Looking at the Jack and Jill Web site got me thinking about other twins in movies, and how some twins are played by real-life identical twins while others are played by the same person.

I wonder what the casting calls are like when movies need to cast identical twins. Are there hundreds of sets of identical twins available who fit the age and general physical description of a given role, or are the pickings pretty slim? Do a huge percentage of identical twins go into show business to fill the demand for such roles?

Here are some of my favorite sets of twins in movies:

The Weasley Twins in Harry Potter. Of course you love these guys. Twin teenage troublemakers with red hair who like to say things simultaneously? I was kind of wondering if they are actually twins or if they are really played by just one guy. So I IMDB'd them, and found out they are real twins, named James Phelps and Oliver Phelps, and oh my, they are now 6"3. Is that silly of my to think that they might have been played by just one actor? I guess that movies never have one person play a set of twins out of convenience. Obviously, in Jack and Jill, the movie is written around the idea that it would be funny for Adam Sandler to play both parts. For a supporting role that is not showcasing a star, I guess that even with modern video effects, it would seem unnecessarily tedious to digitally splitscreen scene after scene.

(Photo from IMDB.)

Which makes me think of another favorite twin movie characters -- probably everyone's favorite when "everyone" is of a certain age:

The long-lost sisters in The Parent Trap.

I tried to get the kids to watch the original

1961 Parent Trap starring Hayley Mills and Haley Mills, because, well, need I say that both Hayley and Hayley were adorable with those bangs? It blew my little mind as a kid when I was told how the scenes were filmed. Once I knew, I had fun searching out the dividing line between the two frames, semi-hidden by a doorframe or other prop on the set.

(Photo from IMDB.)

Sadly for me, the kids fell in love with another version of the movie:

• Lindsay Lohan and Lindsay Lohan in The Parent Trap.

This was turned on at grandma's house one day and has since become a favorite of theirs. I can't vouch for whether Lindsay is as good as Haley because I have not sat down to watch it with them. It would make me too sad to see Lindsay all young and innocent, knowing the troubles she would have in the next few years of her real life.

(Photo from IMDB.)

One thing that cracks me up about the premise of this Adam Sandler movie is the biological impossibility: Identical brother and sister? I love it, just as much as I loved that other biologically improbable opportunity for one actress to play two parts.

The Patty Duke Show.

OK, this is a TV show, not a movie, but how could we overlook it?

Did you ever watch this on Nickelodeon as a kid? (Or, hey mom! On regular TV?) My favorite thing about that show was of course the theme song:

They're cousins! Identical cousins, yes it's true!

As if they could refute all the genetic science of the time by assuring us, yes, it's true.

Sponsored by "Jack and Jill", Now on Blu-ray™, Combo Pack & DVD.

Poutine!

In my post about my first night in Montreal, I mentioned having poutine for dinner. What is poutine, you may ask? Why, it's a Montreal specialty -- french fries with cheese curds and gravy. Here's the one I got that first night, at Franx Supreme, a hot dog restaurant in a mall food court.

It didn't taste very good. The gravy was kind of nasty. But I felt I should press on. After all, there are all sorts of poutines and chances are this just was not the best poutine Montreal had to offer.

The next day, just before we climbed Mount Royal, the city's namesake, we stopped at a cute little cafe where the French guy behind the counter was chatting with an English-speaking friend. We got the house specialty poutine, which was covered with grilled vegetables.

LOVE.

I'm not usually a big curd fan, but the heat of the fries and gravy melts the curd into gooey globs and makes it palatable.

Montreal With No Kids

Epu's unemployment has not in general been a good thing for our family, but a couple happy side effects have occurred. One is that the number of companies inviting him to interview and urging him to consider relocation has been a great confidence boost to him. He did not realize his skills were so much in demand!

The other side effect, we are living right now. We were offered the opportunity to travel to Montreal for a job interview/getting-to-know-you trip this weekend. Our only expense would be my flight, which I got with miles, and of course our meals while we are here. We're still in Montreal as I type this at a cafe near his possible future employer.

When you get an email on a Wednesday telling you you fly to Montreal on Friday, some scrambling ensues. We had house guests for the weekend, who willingly converted themselves from guest status to babysitter/cat sitter status. I demonstrated diaper changing for them and thanked my stars that one of them has worked as a lifeguard and therefore knows CPR. It would just be for one night, until my parents could get there to pick up the little ones and Nutmeg's best friend's parents would pick her up.

You have to appreciate friends and relatives who are so willing to step up even though they DON'T want you to move away. It kind of makes you think, would I be able to get this kind of support if I moved 1,000 miles or more away? Well, maybe, after years of cultivating new friendships.

We flew separately, because the company put Epu on a flight on a different airline than my miles. I strolled through O'Hare kid free, enjoyed a smooth flight with an empty seat next to me (wish I could have given it to Epu, who had to take a later flight with a connection and layover), and touched down in Montreal at 5:30 p.m. local time. The customs line zigzagged through a large room but moved pretty quickly. I was sad to realize that my smart phone would not get data here in Canada unless I paid for roaming or upgraded my plan to an international one. Oh well.

Once through customs, I took a bus to the city center for just $8. Canadian and US dollars are about the same right now, I guess, but you can assume I mean Canadian when I quote prices here. The bus driver was the first person I met who did not speak English, so I was able to pull out my dusty French to ask, "Is this stop No. 7?" It was, and our hotel was just a few steps away.

Downtown Montreal looks much less dense than downtown Chicago. There was a parking lot directly cross from the Hyatt hotel charging just $8 a day. Not a parking garage, just a lot. With a car wash next to it.

I soon found out that what Montreal lacks in high rise, it makes up for with low, um, sink? That is, there are several levels of corridors, stores and other stuff below the street level downtown, and you can walk for miles without going outdoors.

So after I checked into the hotel, I strolled underground, bought some poutine for dinner at an underground mall food court, and then wandered through the Place des Arts -- a museum/theater complex -- until I ended up at the subway entrance. There was a drunk man with a very bushy black beard singing The Doors' Riders on the Storm, keeping perfect time by stomping with his big winter boots. His deep voice sounded just awesome in the underground chamber, and yet, with him booming out, "Killer on the road ..." I was not about to go close enough to give him any change.

I went back to the room and watched the local news in French, pleased to discover that I could follow most of it. What I didn't pick up the first time, I caught the second time they played it, and by the time Epu showed up around midnight, I was able to fill him in on local events (unarmed man shot by police in the subway, that afternoon before we arrived) and the weather report (cold, snow).

TO BE CONTINUED

Wish We Could Just Pray

Recently I had dinner with a devout Christian who I have admired from afar for years: Crystal Paine, author of the blog Money Saving Mom. I've interviewed her before and she has featured one of my guest posts on her blog, and despite how different we are, we really like one another.

During our dinner, she mentioned that, like all parents but especially we self-employed moms, she had trouble balancing work and family and deciding how much time to spend on each.

"But I know God wants me to be doing this right now," she said.

I'm an atheist, and a lot of other atheists I know would respond to that statement with an eye roll. Me? I felt sincere envy.

See -- for those few remaining readers here who don't know us IRL -- we've got some crazy decisions looming in our lives right now. Major, unexpected life changes. And I so wish I believed that we could pray about it all and get some direction from on high about what to do.

I might have mentioned that I was laid off from my job last summer. This was disappointing, but not a huge deal financially, since my job had been part time and we weren't depending on that income to pay our bills. I immediately started building my a blog, Frugalistic Mom, and hoped to soon be earning enough to replace my Tribune paychecks.

But on Dec. 2, while I was typing away on Frugalistic Mom, Epu called me from work to say that most of his company had just been laid off.

Oh.

I immediately Facebooked a friend in a similar situation and typed the F-word many times.

Thank you, friend, for listening to my digital freak out.

I assumed, in this economy, that it would be weeks or months before Epu would be able to line up any job interviews. Although I had been looking around for job opportunities since my lay-off, I got more aggressive in my own search.

To my surprise, Epu lined up two multi-hour interviews during his first week of unemployment.

During his second week, he flew across the country to an in-person interview.

Across the country.

Epu makes video games. Since we moved to Chicago in 2006, the game developer scene here has shriveled. When we moved, Electronic Arts had a big studio in the Loop which is now closed. Midway was still in business.

Now, there are just a few other companies in town, mostly small. So if he's going to get another full-time job, he's looking at either scoring a slot at one of these smaller firms, getting a job outside the game industry, or moving.

Or, if I'm able to score a really good full-time job, he could do what I've been doing -- take care of the kids and pursue an independent project on a part-time basis. What with the world of cell phone games, this is a realistic and tempting prospect for him.

After we both had some promising interviews, this Longest Holiday Week Ever descended upon us. Do you know how long the week between Christmas and New Year's Eve feels when you are waiting for job offers? Do you know how weird it feels to go to holiday parties and have no answers for all your sincerely well-wishing friends and family who want to know if you're going to leave them and rip your adorable children out of their grandparental or friendly embrace?

Yeah. We had a lovely Christmas, and we went to a fun New Year's Eve party last night, but the days and hours between parties drag on as we run all the potential scenarios in our heads right now.

I love adventure and traveling to new places. And yet, our whole family is happy where we are right now. We've spent the past four years putting down roots in a community we love and are finally in a place where we have a local network we can count on for friendship and support. This was not easy to build.

We moved to our town in 2007, with a preschooler and a newborn. I spent the first 2 or 3 years here mostly getting settled -- well, that and having babies. It's only been since Toth was born that I've been able to rev up my career again. And now that I finally got to a place where I can focus on building a part-time, at-home career on my terms, I'm faced with either going to work full-time (albeit possibly at a really cool job) or starting over and spending another year or so doing nothing but getting settled in a new community.

And that's just me. The kids are upset at the prospect of moving, our parents don't want to lose the opportunity to see their grandkids on a regular basis, even our babysitter has been depressed since we had to let her go. Epu is faced with making some really huge career and family choices that might just contradict one another.

So we wish there was someone -- God, village elder, Siri, anyone -- who would just tell us what to do.

Despite all this angst, I have to admit that I do feel lucky. I'm so impressed with Epu over the enthusiasm that companies are showing for him. I'm grateful for some very interesting prospects that have cropped up in my own career -- prospects that I would not have been pushed to investigate had this unexpected situation not come up. I'm so glad that we were able to save some money while I was working, even if we didn't really want to spend it all on living expenses.

This will all work out. And despite the agony of waiting, it's exciting too to wonder what is going to happen next.

Happy New Year, guys. I hope we all make good decisions in 2012, with or without divine guidance.

Holiday To-Do List

I just put a bit of a spin on all these plans by deciding to send the family car up to the grandparents' house (with Epu and the little kids in it, as well as all our presents for everyone) on THURSDAY! The good thing: After Thursday night, I should be pretty chill.

THINGS TO DO BEFORE CHRISTMAS

• Shop for gifts. (Sublist to be completed at later date but not published.)
• Decorate house.

• Declutter house in order to decorate.
• Create custom gifts online.
• Order more holiday cards.
• Search for friends' addresses that have changed over the past year and try to figure out which version of address database is most current.
• Address and write holiday cards.
• Mail holiday cards.
• Get a tree.
• Trim tree.
• Have friends over to enjoy tree.
• Verify sitter arrangement for family adult Xmas party.
• Bake 8 dozen cookies for nursery school fund raiser. (Easy, thanks to the Wilton cookie press I got for just over $2 on Black Friday! Tried it today and got all 8 dozen out of one batch.)
• Ignore everyone who thinks it's stupid to bake 8 dozen cookies for a school fundraiser.
• Promote school fundraiser online.
• Volunteer at prep shift for school fundraiser.
• Shop at school fundraiser.
• Make soap with Nutmeg for her school's charity market. Pray it turns out.
• Wrap presents.
• Get or make some kind of advent calendar.
• Make gingerbread house with kids.
• Drop off toy drive gifts in Girl Scout box before it's too late.
• Possible trip over to Hepzibah children's home to drop off gifts there too.
• Bake the one teacher gift I haven't bought.
• Deliver teacher gifts.
• Assess wrapping paper supply and buy more if needed.
• Look for a good deal on Scotch tape and buy a lot of it.
• Wrap gifts.
• Take kids to Danish Brotherhood Xmas party in Kenosha.
• Attend Oak Park holiday event of some kind.
• Write Gifts for Cheapskates guide on Frugalistic Mom, in addition of course to day-to-day blog posts.
• Drink mulled wine, cider and egg nog.
• Make cookies with the girls to bring to family celebrations.
• Prepare broccoli cheese soup for Xmas Day Night Packer Game.
• Pack up family's stuff for several days in Wisconsin and NOT wait until the last minute to do it and end up being late to Xmas Day at Mom and Dad's.
• Order Xmas Eve sushi platter.
• Not gain holiday weight.

That's all I have at the moment, and I'm sure I'm forgetting about half of it so I will log onto this post and add things as I remember them. Some of the things that look like only one item will take lots of steps.


Is my list par? Do you think I'm crazy or hey, maybe I don't do enough? What's on your holiday to-do list?

Halloween: The Weekend

Halloween is not a day, you know. This year, it's a four-day weekend.

Friday night, we dug the ice skates out of the crawl space, put on costumes and went to the Halloween Edition of Friday Night Family Skate. I hate ice skating, but it was worth it for this picture.

Today, Pebbles had an in-costume birthday party at 10:30 a.m. As soon as I dropped her off, I took Nutmeg and Toth downtown for trick-or-treating to businesses. Epu made the kittycat costume Pebbles is wearing.

Then after the little ones went home to nap and Nutmeg and I had hit the gym for swimming lessons and rock climbing, the kids carved pumpkins with dad.

We're not the only family in America who did that tonight, either. I know this because "pumpkin seed recipe" is the No. 17 most popular search on Google tonight. Here's the one that's baking at our house right now: Spicy Roasted Pumpkin Seeds.

Pedal Pushing

Nutmeg rode her bicycle up and down the block this afternoon, over and over. No training wheels, no adult "getting her started."

I raised both arms and sang "We Are the Champions" for her. But my feeling was only part pride. The other part was relief.

See, Nutmeg asked to have her training wheels off more than a year ago, right after the end of kindergarten. She tried riding without the training wheels, found it difficult, and has subsequently refused to try riding her bike outside a few isolated occasions.

Usually, I didn't press it. Because we're not supposed to force our children to do things, right?

But today, it was a beautiful September afternoon, and as we pulled the car into the driveway, i said, "Kids, it's a perfect day to grab these bikes and ride."

Toth and Pebbles were all for it, but Nutmeg, as always, said, "No thanks."

She wanted to go into the house and read instead.

For some reason, today, I put my foot down. "Nutmeg, there will not be that many more nice days before winter. Get your bike and get out front."

She pouted, but she dragged her bike out there. A few minutes later, one of the neighbor kids joined them with her bike. Her training-wheels-free 2 wheeler. This was a 6-year-old neighbor.

Then, a 5-year-old neighbor joined them, riding his training-wheels-free 2-wheeler.

I didn't see exactly when Nutmeg turned from sulking to earnestly trying, but it happen. She pushed herself up and down, peddling, veering off to the side, falling and getting back up.

It really didn't take long before she was smoothly gliding up and down the block, and even stopping with confidence. Maybe half an hour.

I didn't even tell her that one of the neighborhood dads told me, while we were watching the kids ride, that his 4-year-old had recently gotten his training wheels off. No sense rubbing it in.

Once I saw how happy she had made herself with that little bit of effort, I started thinking. She could have been enjoying bike rides all summer. She had let that tiny obstacle shut her out of bike riding for too long.

Should I have let her let that happen? Or should I have been more insistent a year ago that she get out there and ride that bike?

I read Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother this summer, and while I agree with most of "normal" America that browbeating and pushing your children constantly is not the way to go, the book still made me think. The Tiger Mother's basic premise for why she pushes her children to practice their musical instruments for hours every day goes like this: Nothing is really fun until you are good at it. Children never want to work hard at first. Therefore without a loving parent there to override their preferences, children are denied the joy of mastering a skill.

I have to admit that, watching Nutmeg's joy -- she literally said, "I am so happy!" I can see where the Tiger Lady is coming from.

So do I get in the habit of forcing my kids to do things they don't want to do? As luck would have it, I'm facing another such decision right now. Nutmeg had a wonderful time in Spanish class during summer school, and she made great progress during the short class. At the time, she said she would definitely want to join the before-school daily Spanish classes offered at her school.

But now that it's time to sign up, she doesn't want to do it. I know she'll love it if I force her to sign up, but ... I never thought that would be my style.

To Tiger Mother, or not to Tiger Mother*?

Of course, the real Tiger Mother would probably have her getting up at 4 a.m. to add Latin and Chinese to her Spanish curriculum. But if you read the book, you know that one of the Tiger Mother's cub's totally turned on her.

Laura Ingalls Wilder, Global Warming and 9/11/2001

This weekend we drove a very long distance in a supreme act of indulgence. We went all the way to the town of Pepin on the Mississippi River, and back again, all because someone just had to attend the Laura Ingalls Wilder Days festival in Laura's birthplace of Pepin, Wisconsin. And if we didn't go, there would have been a major tantrum.

The girls kind of wanted to go, too. Toth got to stay at Grammy and Grampy's, which was more than fine with him.

The festival featured some old timey children's games, like the one Nutmeg is playing in the picture, and some people demonstrating 19th century crafts and occupations. One demo that especially captivated Pebbles was the spinning wheel. She got to see just a little spinning, and then the spinner took a dinner break so we went to our campsite and had our own dinner. But afterwards, Pebbles grabbed my arm and hauled me back to that spinning wheel.

The whole family watched for awhile, and the spinning lady entertained us by explaining how her hobby saved her money by allowing herself to make high-end yarn for free when friends give her the raw materials like angora rabbit hair. Then for some reason I made a comment about global warming.

"Oh," the lady said. "Do you believe in global warming?"

Nutmeg spoke up that she did.

The lady assured her that "they" have by now learned that it's all part of the earth's natural cycle of warming and cooling, and nothing to worry about. An awkward silence ensued, before we were able to resume chatting about spinning yarn.

Later, our friend complimented Nutmeg on her restraint in not arguing with the nice old lady about global warming. I suspected that this was not restraint at work, so I questioned Nutmeg about it.

"I was so relieved to find out that global warming isn't happening after all!" Nutmeg said.

Was it wrong of me to set her straight? I hate to think of her little 7-year-old brain stressing about global warming, but after all this is her future world it's happening to and I don't want her to grow up with her head in the sand either.

Anyway, we had already saved the kids from exposure from disturbing fact that we were having this conversation on the 10-year anniversary of a fatal attack on American soil. I'm glad to say that they were not around a single television on Sept. 11, and on the car ride home we changed the station whenever talk turned to remembering the tragedy. The girls are only 7 and 4 -- they have plenty of time to learn about things like that.

Looking back at the past decade, for me, brings into sharp focus how much personal lives can diverge from the broad sweep of history. It's like when you ask someone what it was like to live during World War II or the Vietnam War, and what they remember is that their mother was very sick or that they fell in love and got married. terrible decade, nationwise, one that began in my mind not so much with the awful tragedy of 9/11 but with on Dec. 12, 2000, when the Supreme Court handed the presidency to George Bush. Funny that we -- at least Democrats -- don't commemorate that day and wonder what the 2000s might have been.

And yet, for Epu and I, the past 10 years have been the best of our lives. If I could turn back the clock 10 years and a few days, I'd live in a world that could not imagine an act like the terrorist attacks of Sept. 11. It would also be a world where I am still young enough to get carded in bars and have the free time to go out and do that, incidentally.

Yeah, and a world without Nutmeg, Pebbles and Toth in it. Life is not fair. I know that thousands of families would do anything to turn back the clock, and my heart goes out to them. For us, erasing the past 10 years would be unthinkable.

I couldn't tell the kids why I was doing it, but I could gather them up in a hug on 9/11, and feel in my arms how lucky we are.

The Kitten and the Little Girl

Acorn Ranger has a new home. And I have a 7-year-old who now knows what it is to have the blues.

This whole episode makes me really proud of Nutmeg.

The day that I found out that Acorn Ranger tested positive for FIV antibodies, and that he should therefore move to a home without other cats, Nutmeg cried and cried. I think she cried longer and harder than I've ever seen her cry when punishment wasn't involved. As in, she wasn't crying because she'd been sent to her room or because someone made her angry. Just sorrow.

I hugged her and explained the good reasons why Acorn Ranger should live with another family. And hugged her, and let her cry. We petted Acorn Ranger together. After a few minutes, I asked her if she would like to take some photos of him.

She took at least 100 photos. She was quiet up in her room with the kitten for like, an hour.

She finally came out of her room when Pebbles woke up from her nap. To my surprise, before I could say anything, Nutmeg took it upon herself to explain to her little sister that Acorn Ranger would be leaving us, and why. She hugged her. They petted the kitten together.

Pebbles, being 4, took the news much easier.

I was so touched to see my Nutmeg deal with her sorrow, work through it alone, and then comfort her little sister. I was impressed that she remembered my explanation perfectly even though at the time she seemed to be sobbing almost too loudly to hear.

When we dropped the kitten off with his new owners the next day, Nutmeg shed not a tear. She helped me show the new owners his things, and she kissed the kitten goodbye and waved. We got back in the car and drove off to drop off Nutmeg, too, but only temporarily. She went to Girl Scout Camp and it was no surprise to anyone that she handled that like the big girl she is.

P.S. Acorn Ranger was adopted by a deaf family we found via Freecycle. It was a new experience to meet someone for the first, and likely only time, do something as emotional as turning over a pet to them, and not be able to speak with them at all. We exchanged lots of emails later, though, and I'm confident that Acorn Ranger, now known as Garfield, will be well cared for and loved.

Acorn Ranger

We found this kitten in the woods. Actually the kids' cousin found him and took care of him, cleaned him up and gave him some love. He's probably about 8 weeks old.

We're trying to find a home for him. So if you know someone who wants a kitten in the Chicago area, and who doesn't have other cats, please let us know. He tested positive for FIV antibodies, which doesn't necessarily mean that he has the disease. He could have gotten it from her mother's milk if she was vaccinated. He can be retested in about 2 months.

Freeze

I wish I could freeze time for my little family and enjoy this summer for a few years at least. Why should time advance beyond this precariously perfect moment?

Nutmeg is 7. OH, seven.

I just finished poring over one of her latest obsessions with her, a big coffee table book I checked out from the Oak Park Public Library about the National Parks. While walking in Muir Woods together this spring, Nutmeg and I concocted a plan for our family to visit as many National Parks together as possible. This year, of course, was Muir Woods itself. Next year, we hope to do the Sleeping Bear Dunes in Michigan, which Nutmeg read about in Family Fun.

Someday? Yellowstone and the Grand Canyon. She knows she's already been to Yosemite (twice), although of course she doesn't remember it.

I wish Nutmeg could stay 7 for a few years not just because she is so interested in everything and helpful and steady, but because I remember age 7 as a heavy dark line dividing the two parts of childhood. When I was 7, we moved into a new house. There was nothing in particular wrong with the new house, but because of my memories I can classify all my memories as pre-age-7 and post-7.

Pre 7? Idyllic. Playing with neighborhood kids, and ringing elderly neighbors' doorbells to visit them. A mom and dad who existed only to have fun with me. A backyard heaped so high with snow that you can't see the swingset.

Post 7? Messy. Noticing adult issues like car trouble and the mortgage. Getting made fun of by the kids at school. Not doing my homework and then lying in bed worrying about not having done my homework. Getting two dogs that die.

But that was then. This is now, when everything is what it should be, somehow all at the same time.

Pebbles is sweet and funny at 4. She plays with her friends and look at books, but still loves to climb onto Mommy's lap. Toth is still cuddly enough to be called Baby, even though he turns 2 this week. He's talking a little more every day, and for a linguaphile like me that is the BEST part of toddlerdom. He's balanced on the corner between baby and boy and that's an adorable place to be.

They are all perfect the way they are. Although, I wouldn't complain if all the kids could advance to age 7 and then stay that way for 5 years or so.

Also, Epu and I are 37. Who's in a rush to get closer to 40? Let's linger.

The summer has finally become perfect, with the loveliest breezy evenings, and now that the kids are all old enough to have fun doing kid stuff, we've been enjoying more family outings than any summer before -- Great America, the cabin. We'll be spending three nights in Lake Geneva later this month. I can finally see beyond all the diaper changing and night wakings of three babies and look forward to all the fun things we'll do as a family, and the looking ahead is so sweet.

Everyone's healthy, in our house and in our extended families' homes. We got our first nieces and nephew in the past year. The car's still chugging along pertly at 128,000 miles. Epu and I like our jobs. OK, the Cubs are stinking it up, but you couldn't say everything is perfect, could you? That would be just tempting fate.

Or maybe this whole post is is a big fat, ill-considered nanny-nanny-boo-boo to fate. Well, I know things can't always be perfect. At least, when one part or another of our lives goes to hell, I'll have this one moment in pixels, so I can read it and think, Those were the days.

These are the days.

Fourth Generation Girl Scout

After devoting a large chunk of the past 72 hours to things Girl Scout, I just logged onto a GS alumnae page and set up an account. It asked me what generation girl scout I am, and since my mom was a scout, I put, 2nd.

Which means, this little girl?


Third Fourth-generation girl scout.

(After posting this, my Grandma informed me that she had been a Scout too. I didn't know that! So I am actually a third-gen Girl Scout, and Nutmeg is Fourth.)
Kinda cool, isn't it? That picture was taken Friday night, when her troop held a little ceremony to bridge the girls from Daisies to Brownies. She's wearing her brownie sash for the first time. See the blue daisy vest in her arm? Headed for the lucite case in Mother's Trophy Room. (AKA the crawl space.)

Not only was Friday evening dedicated to me choking back tears while jostling with other parents for the best photo angles, I mean, scouting, but today was all about the scouting as well. We drove to Wisconsin to visit the Girl Scout Camp that Nutmeg will be attending this summer. Just two nights, but still.

My baby is going to CAMP!



Girl Scout Camp produced some of the most positive memories of my childhood. Since I was not popular socially at school, I relished the chance to start fresh summers and make at least temporary friends. I had read lots of books set at camps so I came prepared -- a little too prepared -- with contraband candy, Mad-Libs and lists of practical jokes, most of which we fortunately never pulled off. I still sing the songs I learned at camp all the time, like Linstead Market, which I just found out is Jamaican. I always pictured it being an Alaskan Eskimo singing for some reason. Sometimes I even sing the one terribly un-PC song where you are supposed to pull your eyes into a slant as one of the hand motions. Nutmeg won't be singing that one at camp because it's been removed from the Girl Scout song book, but too late, it's part of my psyche and I'll never be able to forget it, because it's so dang catchy. (Tangent: This one time, in China? A Chinese kid came up to us and pulled their eyes and mouth wide open to make fun of US

In my later years of Girl Scout Camp, I went to a session where we went horseback riding, and I made some good friends and we arranged to share a platform tent together the next year, and wrote each other letters. It was a big thing for me, both the riding of horses and the making of friends.

So when we pulled into the camp to tour it today, I expected to be flooded with memories. In reality, nothing looked all that familiar. Never mind, I had a wonderful time watching Nutmeg's excitement grow as she made and ate a s'more, visited the cabin where she's be sleeping in bunks, and chatted with some counselors. She'll be going along with her best friend, and I just reveled in the way she held her friend's hand in the beginning and introduced the both of them to the counselor who asked their names.

The lodge looked familiar, yet not. I found out that an entire section had been added in recent years, which explained that.

Then I went home and started Googling, and I soon realized that this was not the exact same place where my Girl Scout camp had taken place. I had noticed that the names were different, but I thought that it had just been changed because my camp had an Indian name and the mascotization of the Native American stuff is not so popular these days.

But on a map, I saw that they are actually two different camps, six miles apart. They're on two different lakes. I found some photos of my camp, which looked much more familiar and brought back more memories.

We probably did take a long hike at some point to that lodge, so it makes sense that this would look familiar to me.

No matter. To my newly minted Brownie, everything was fresh and new, and she came away bounding with excitement for her return visit. Can you imagine, that my little baby is going away to camp?

She's not worried about it at all. And honestly, neither am I. Let the camp games begin!