21 posts tagged “holidays”

Christmas Eve and Christmas Day did indeed happen in Vermont for our family!  We are so happy to be here.  Here's how we finally arrived:

The day before Christmas Eve, we left California at 6... no, make that 8:40 pm, for Houston.  Instead of our planned six hours of sleep, we got three.  We would've gotten half an hour more, but the convenient little tram that runs from the Houston airport to the in-airport hotel doesn't run between 2-5 am -- meaning that we had to walk a quarter of a mile with drop-dead tired kids and too much stuff (e.g., a car seat) in tow at 2:30 am when we arrived.  Hey, Houston Airport Marriott?  Bite me.

We woke up at 6 am on Christmas Eve to catch a blessedly on-time flight to Newark, where my father-in-law picked us up to drive us to Hartford, the nearest spot that would allow a one-way car rental.  Then, the real adventure began!  (As if it wasn't enough to have a flight cancelled, twice rescheduled, late, and almost no sleep!)  It took nearly seven hours to drive to Hartford Airport -- what should usually be a three-hour drive.  We had to stop for groceries en route, as all stores seemed to close at 6 pm on Christmas Eve; so it looked as though we'd be eating Barilla pasta for Christmas dinner -- that is, the family would be eating that as I ate a Thai soup, since the store we stopped at had no gluten-free pasta.  Hey, Big Y in Newtown?  You can bite me, too.

At Hartford's airport, we picked up our one-way rental car to Vermont.  Blessedly, that trip -- though rainy and icy still -- was uneventful and timely.  Singing Christmas songs the last hour to keep each other awake, we pulled into our driveway just past 10 pm.  The Guv hauled out the artificial tree, and Petunia decorated it while I hung stockings and dusted a bit as the Guv changed the water filter and vacuumed (a necessary thing because of Petunia's dust allergy).  I went to bed exhausted and dizzy, but Santa had come, and we slept until past 8 on Christmas morning.

The kids awakened to find that Santa -- via several large, checked pieces of luggage that surprisingly arrived with us -- brought Petunia the coveted, soon-to-be-retired Samantha American Girl doll, and a Buzz Lightyear and army guys for Dash, among other things.  Fait accompli.

Thanks to some Jewish friends posts on Facebook and Twitter, it occurred to me that I might find better food options that Thai ramen for Christmas dinner; they were all (and I pretty much mean all -- is this a tradition I didn't know about?) ordering Chinese food on Christmas day.  It occurred to me that we could search for Asian food, then the Guv remembered that there was a Japanese steakhouse nearby.  And voila, a new Rox and Roll family tradition was born: the Christmas Day Japanese Hibachi Dinner.  Entertaining, delicious, and not prepackaged.  We all loved it!

This morning, December 26, we started the day with a huge brunch at our very favorite localvore restaurant, The Farmers Diner -- "food from here."  The place has the best coffee in the entire universe, and every morsel of food is more delicious than any food I've ever had anywhere.  You could offer me Le Cirque, my once-favorite Olive's, anything -- and I'd trade it all for farm-fresh eggs, maple sausage, home fries and coffee at the Farmer's Diner anyday.  Finally, our vacation had begun!

We headed to LL Bean to gear up Dash for his first ski lesson, having learned that he way, way outgrew last year's snowsuit -- jumping from a 2T being too big last year to a 4T fitting well!  We bought Petunia some used boots and used poles (for a total of $39!) to go with the used skis we bought her last year -- and the kids hit the slopes. 

Petunia glowed as she strapped on her skis, and her last run down the hill with her rosy-pink cheeks is something I'll never forget -- just like I'll never forget Dash's raw athleticism shining through today as he mastered skiing, stopping, and even using his edges as he glided across the snow.  He didn't want to take his skis off!  We bribed the kids to dis-equip as darkness fell by bribing them with a couple of sledding runs. 

When our flight was cancelled, I started to question coming here for Christmas -- snow can really get in the way.  When our flight to Houston was delayed, I started talking about spending Christmas in Texas.  When I had just three hours of sleep, I talked of Christmas in Hawaii next year.  When we sat in the rain and traffic en route to Hartford with my ramen dinner in the trunk, I said "Never Again."

I take it back.

It was all worth it, because my kids -- especially my Dash, but Petunia too -- love it here so very much.  They both call this place "home" too.  And when they're so happy, it's easy to forget how tired I was.   Next year, we'll leave as soon as school lets out.  Next year, maybe we'll actually plan  to spend a night in Texas -- because the kids were so excited to see Texas that they even wore their cowboy hats on the plane to no avail!  Next year, we'll try to do it differently -- but even if we experience the same or more difficulty getting here, I'll know that in the end, it'll all work out alright.  Santa will come, the kids'll hit the slopes, and us parents will have a few minutes to sip hot cocoa from the warm ski lodge and marvel at how they've grown.  That's a Christmas present worth all of the trouble!

In addition to our travel woes, I had quite a scare yesterday; I left my purse hanging on the back of a chair in a Starbucks in East Palo Alto.

I have never in my life lost a wallet or left my purse anywhere before.  To leave it in EPA -- not the best of 'hoods -- was extremely unwise, to say the least.

When I realized what I'd done, my blood pressure hit the roof, I was hyperventilating and crying and dizzy all at once, and I could barely get out the words to tell the Guv what I'd done.  He high-tailed it back there as I called the store and explained the situation.  We were still a good fifteen minutes away.

"I don't see anything," the barista said, "but hold on a minute... Oh, wait... Is your name Roxane?"

They had my purse.  When I showed up to claim it, they even had put it in the safe.

After thanking them profusely, I dropped a nice tip in their bucket and headed back to the car, my faith in humanity restored.  I had left my bag in an extremely poor area for half an hour, and, not only were all of my belongings, credit cards and money in there, someone had put it in the safe for me.  That Starbucks has been a family favorite since our move, and especially since this story, and now?  I'll be a loyal customer for life.

Of course, this is a Rox and Roll drama, so it couldn't end there.  I met my friend P at the Four Seasons this morning for breakfast, and, when the check came, my wallet was missing.  I almost started hyperventilating again.  My first thought was, "I must've been pickpocketed in the City yesterday!" followed by, "At least I have a passport so I can still get on the plane..." followed by, "Wait!  I paid for takeout last night, so my wallet has to be somewhere in Palo Alto!"

Followed by my trip home to find my wallet sitting on my kitchen counter...

I thanked P for breakfast and will owe her one... meanwhile, our flight to Houston's delayed a couple of hours.  The kids are super-excited to be heading to Texas, but I don't think they understand that we'll be there for all of six hours if we're lucky.  But since the return of my purse, I'm looking at things on the up-side: if they have a good attitude, and boy do they right now, the trip will go well for all involved. I hope so; Santa's watching!

Another late night, another new set of plans to arrive at the North Pole our barn-red cottage in Vermont in time for Christmas Eve:

Instead of a Christmas Eve departure landing us in Vermont in the wee hours of Christmas Day, the current plan is for us to depart on Tuesday evening, the 23rd, for Houston, Texas.  After a six-hour sleep in the airport hotel, we fly to Newark, New Jersey, arriving at noon on Christmas Eve. 

From Newark, we planned to pick up a rental car and drive five hours to Vermont -- but there are no one-way rentals available anywhere in the greater New York area.  The Guv offered to return the car to Newark and then train back up to Vermont, but that would wreck a whole day of his vacation -- so no thanks.  There are some one-way rentals from other locations in New England, so the Guv is working on getting one of Santa's elves (also known as grandpa) to drive us from Newark to someplace in Connecticut, where we'll pick up a rental car, stop for some groceries, and get to Vermont in time to put up the tree and some lights so that Santa can find us.

This is so very, very complicated, and the Guv and I have questioned multiple times if it's worth it.  Should we stay home and promise to adopt an outdoor cat instead?  Would the kids like to see Vegas?   Tahoe?  LA? 

But in my heart, I know that, like me, my kids love having a white Christmas in Vermont.  When I see their faces light up as we drive down our long, snowy drive, and when I hear their squeals of delight on the first sledding run of the season, I'll stop questioning whether or not all of this trouble was worth it or not.  We're packed and ready... just one more day to wait!

This morning, the Guv and I woke up at 4:30 a.m., ostensibly to load the car and hustle the kids out the door at 5 am for the airport.  I showered quickly, dressed, packed up a few last things... and at 4:47 a.m. had the genius idea to check the flight status.

Cancelled.

Huh?  Other flights to the East Coast were operating as scheduled.  Weather delays looked possible, but we'd even called Continental at 11 pm last night to find out the status -- thinking and fearing that our plane might have been the one that veered off of the runway in Denver.  Continental said "weather" was the cause.  We said, "from where was our plane coming?  Because we're on the first flight of the day, and that's the one flight for which the plane is usually sitting there ready to go."  [The Guv should know from his seven years of commuting out here!]

Continental refused to provide the origin of our plane -- something they've always done in these situations.  Was it the ill-fated Denver flight?  We don't know.  (Our hearts go out to those affected by that horrible accident.)  But we are mad as all get-out at Continental, because we are increasingly of the mindset that we could've been rescheduled last night and avoided what we're looking at now: arrival in Vermont near midnight on Christmas Eve.  Near midnight -- when the rental car counter is closed, when the grocery stores will be closed, when we'll wake up Christmas morning happily in our house but foodless.  We're not quite sure how this is going to pan out. 

Being the hero, the Guv tried to buy us some one-way tickets to New Hampshire; we'd be on that flight right now.  They were high, but not sky-high -- and since we could travel home on half of our tickets previously purchased with reward miles, we thought we could do it in order to get to Vermont for prime, uncrowded skiing.

Then Continental kiboshed us again.  Reward tickets (purchased with airline miles) must be used round trip -- even when half of the flight is cancelled.  The Guv is a Continental "Star" -- the highest level of frequent flier status -- but that mattered not at all in the end.   We decided not to lose both north of a grand and a hundred thousand miles and, instead, took the Christmas Eve flight.

Since it's supposed to snow again at Christmas, we're hopeful, but doubtful.  We may miss Christmas in Vermont, courtesy of Continental Airlines.  There are so many points in this saga where Continental could've given us other and better options that we're pretty bitter.

So a big "Bah Humbug" to the airline that still uses high fuel cost as an excuse to charge for checked baggage.

Meanwhile, we just had a nice "afternoon tea" of homemade peppermint hot cocoa, waffles, apples and cheese, and we're heading to the movies.  Tomorrow's another day -- a day in which we'll try to figure out how, God willing, we'll get both groceries and a ride to our Vermont red cottage in the woods.  I believe we can do it -- perhaps by hitching a ride on Santa's sleigh?

Dash and I stopped in Whole Foods to pick up a case of soy milk drink boxes for our upcoming travel.  The store didn't have his preferred flavor ("Very Vanilla") in stock, but they did have buckets of Feed 100 bags for $25.  I've been looking for some small, appropriate gift for Petunia's third grade teacher, a tree-hugging surfer dude.  The bag!  It'd be perfect, I thought, as I put it into the little cart Dash was pushing.  Here's what ensued:

Dash: "Mama, what's that thing?"

Mama: "It's a reusable grocery bag."

Dash: "No it's not."

Mama: "Actually, it is.  It is a very special reusable grocery bag, actually."

Dash: "Why is it special?"

Mama: "When you buy this grocery bag,100 hungry school children in a faraway country called Rwanda get some food."

Dash (stunning Mama): "Rwanda is in Africa!"

Mama: "Wow, dude, I didn't know you knew that!  Cool!  Rwanda is in Africa, and there are lots of hungry children there, children who don't have healthy food and clean water like we do.  So when I buy this bag for Petunia's teacher, some of those kids -- a hundred of those kids -- will get some food.  It's magic!"

Dash: "It's a magic bag!" ... pausing, then walking over to the bucket to pick out two more bags tied with green bows ... "And now we have to get this one for my teacher Meg, and this one for my teacher Liz, because they will like to have magic bags to help Africa too!  For Christmas!  From me!"

Well, I was going to bake them cookies, but how in the world could I say no to that?!  We bought three bags, and the store rang a bell -- then announced over a loudspeaker that a three year-old boy just bought bags that'll feed 300 school children in Rwanda.  I don't get choked up often, but I admit that I'm still a bit tearful thinking about Dash's unbridled joy at picking up those two extra bags for his teachers.  And it's not lost on me that he didn't ask for one for himself, either.  I work pretty hard trying to teach my children how to be socially conscious, caring citizens of the world -- and on these days when I can see one of them understanding how it all works, it's like getting a big fat bonus check.  So no more cookies from my house... I think that Dash has set a standard that we'll keep up over the years.  As the Guv pointed out, everyone wins: kids in Africa get fed, teachers get a present, kids in my house feel good about doing good, and there's no messy kitchen for he and I to clean up!  A magic bag, indeed.

Update: Shipping our two boxes was going to cost $170!  So we're checking the luggage full of "stuff" after all.  And the Guv reminded me to stop stressing out about stuff like this.  Then I reminded him to stop stressing me out about stuff like this.  I think this means we're back on the same page... or at least in the same chapter of the same book, which is close enough!

Last night, Santa and I were packing two boxes of gifts to ship to Vermont for the kids' Christmas.  In past years I admittedly have overshopped by a mile.  This year, I did buy things off of their "Santa lists," but I kept the quantity reasonable and contained -- and their main gifts from us parents are the free items I received at a Leap Frog party plus the experience of ski lessons.  In other words, I feel like I've exercised a huge and successful amount of control.

As ever, Santa thinks it's too much stuff anyway.

On the one hand, I can understand Santa's irritation that we have to ship stuff, an option we exercised because our airline charges for checked baggage, making the cost a wash.  (I do think we'll be able to carry most, if not all, of the stuff back, though.)  Santa thinks it's not environmentally friendly to have stuffed shipped here, then there... and he's right; we've wasted some oil, and that sucks.  On the other hand, we have two children, and it's Christmas.  I want their eyes to marvel at their little piles of the stuff from their Santa lists under the tree on Christmas morning.  Especially because I had to figure it out all myself on top of everything else I do to keep the house running with neither a babysitter nor a housekeeper, I didn't have time to plan exactly how and when and where to ship it so that the environmental impact is lessoned.  I could have held off on most of the shopping until arriving in Vermont, but our shopping options there are blessedly limited.  I wanted to be able to carefully choose a small quantity of good, special stuff  -- since, after all, if we are going to buy some "stuff," I want it to be good stuff, not junk.

So, here I am, in the same place I usually find myself a week before the holidays whether here or in New Jersey or in Vermont.  I've bought all of the gifts, wrapped and sent packages, ordered/addressed/signed/mailed cards, prepared gifts for the teachers, worked my tail off...

And what does Santa bring me for this?  Environmental impact lessons?  Hand-wringing about the quantity of "stuff" when it's the smallest quantity in family history?

Mrs. Claus has learned a lesson.  Mrs. Claus is no longer going to discuss holiday budgets, preparations, or any other holiday-related item with Santa or involve him in any way at all in future Christmases in the Claus household.  He can wake up on Christmas morning and find out alongside the children what has happened.  This new plan will help to ensure that Mrs. Claus does not have homicidal tendencies toward Santa in future years.

And now, Mrs. Claus is leaving for Target to shop for a big, fat lump of coal for a special someone's stocking.

When I say that we've looked high, low, and everywhere in between for a Bob the Builder Halloween costume, I really mean it.  We've been looking for a month, and there is nary a Bob to be found.  Considering that "Hit Entertainment" seems to be spewing out Bob videos at a rate of one per month, still, I wonder, WTF?  From what I hear, mine is far from the only disappointed little guy out there.  The stores' responses are always: We have "Handy Manny."  Well, my kid doesn't even know who Handy Manny is.  We don't really watch TV anymore.  (Mama got sick of the "I want I want I want I want" that seemed to accompany each TV advertisement.)  We watch videos.  Bob the Builder videos.  We own ten.  We need a Bob costume, yesterday.

I could order the costume on-line, but they're nearly $50 and wouldn't get here in time for his preschool's fall carnival on Sunday.  They also vary widely in size, and he's almost 4 but little -- so what size do I order?  Thinking on my feet, I realized that we have a Bob helmet and toolbelt; maybe I could talk him into those things being the costume.  When I dressed him in overalls and a red shirt, Dash made the astute point that Bob's shirt is orange and red, and Bob's overalls are more blue.  I showed him how I could stick orange squares on his red shirt.  His response?  "That's not real." 

Hit Entertainment, this mom thinks you suck.  WHY did you have to make the character's shirt orange and red checked?  Do you think the kids would love him less if his shirt were solid orange?  red?  or a normal plaid?  By crafting Bob the way you did, you've backed us moms into a corner: quilt a shirt, or disappoint a kid.  I don't sew.  And my kid is not backing down.  Something's got to give, and it might be the Bob videos, which might suddenly disappear.  He likes Popular Mechanics for Kids more, anyway.

Meanwhile, I'm trying to get Dash to change his mind, something I don't like to do because of its near-impossibility.  He tried on an awesome policeman costume today.  It wasn't "real" either -- his complaint for that one being the sewn-on eight-pack abs.  If I every saw a policeman who looked that ripped through his shirt, I'd... well, I'd be in trouble with the Guv.  I thought maybe he could be what he calls "an Army guy," but I don't want him toting a gun and fake-killing people, and the two are inseparable to his three year-old mind.  He wants to be a fireman, maybe, but only in a red suit that's not plastic.

Back in my day, my grandma would sew my Halloween costume.  I remember being a bride, a Pilgrim, a clown... I don't remember these plasticized un-real costumes.  Petunia will be a witch this year, but not an old-school witch -- an American Idol-style "young lady you have to wear a leotard under that you can't bare your belly" kind of witch.  And then there's Dash.  I'm off to check another few stores for Bob, because I don't want him to go as Disappointed Kid, which is how this is all probably going to end.  Me, I'm thinking of going as Joe Sixpack.  Forgive me if the cans are empty; this Halloween has done me in!

ILOVERMONT.  I even love Vermont when Dash wakes up in the middle of our first night of spring break with a 103 fever.  He'll get over it quickly in all of this great mountain air.

Today, the Guv dropped Petunia at ski school first thing, and, soon after, I had my first-day-back-in-Vermont frolic.  My first stop was The Farmer's Diner, a.k.a. localvore heaven, for the cup of diner coffee that I'd been dreaming about for three months.  And when I walk in, the waitress greets me with, "Hey, welcome back!  You guys up for Easter?"  And I was home.

After a couple more stops, I moseyed on over to the ski school to watch Petunia for half an hour before pick-up.  As I pull into the parking lot, I do a double take.  Riding the t-bar in front of me BY HERSELF is my seven year-old child.  I park, stunned, and head into the lodge to watch Petunia descend the mountain -- and that's when it hits me.  Petunia is about to descend the mountain.  Not the bunny slope -- the MOUNTAIN.  I can't watch, so I grab a bowl of chili and a seat by the window, in case I change my mind and decide to take a peek.  When I finally look up, she is almost at the bottom and in one piece.  I figured they might be done early, so I wolf down my chili... and wait!  What are they doing? 

And then I see my seven year-old child get onto the chair lift with her instructor.  A lot of thoughts are going through my head, foremost among them is: "What in Sam Heck is some dumb-assed teenager ski instructor doing taking my kid to the top of the double-black on the chair lift???!!!"

So I start praying, because let's face facts: this was Petunia's approximately seventh day on skis, her first day in three months, and I just didn't think that this was going to end well.  And I'm an optimist, and I remembered that I'm an optimist, so I got even more freaked out.  So I wander over the to ski school office.  My conversation with one of the instructors goes something like this:

Mama: "Dude!  I saw the young'uns going up the chair lift!"

Dude: "Yeah, the ones that could hack it went up for their last run!"

Mama: "What if one of the kids freaks out at the top and doesn't want to come down?"

Dude: "Naw.  The kids beg us to take them up." He pauses, thoughtfully.  "Well, there was this one girl, she wasn't sure about it, but her instructor gave her a gold medal and a pep talk."  He looks out the window and adds, "They're starting down now."

Mama, having to ask: "The girl, was she in a pink jacket and purple pants?"

Dude: "You mean Petunia?  Yeah.  She yours?  She's a great kid."

Mama, gulping: "Yep, she's mine.  Wow.  I think I should probably head out to see this." 

Thus, I processed, funereally, to the bottom of the hill.  I'm asking myself if I told her that she should never do anything outside her comfort zone.  Then, I'm beating myself up, because she'll never accomplish anything if that's my standard.  And before I can get through all of this rationalizing, I look up, and, lo and behold, I see one of the most amazing things that I've ever seen.  Crouched ski-racer style, Petunia is coming down the mountain.  Periodically, she slows down, but she's actually skiing -- turning from side to side, gliding over the snow.  By the time she gets to me -- a long, somewhat slow ride later -- I'm jumping up and down, throwing up "You Rock!" signs and yelling "Whoo-hoo you did it OH MY GOD YOU DID IT!"  Her little skis pointed straight for me, I start trying to get out of the way.  She does a pizza stop right in front of me and says, "Mom, relax.  I know how to stop."

And, apparently, she knows how to ski.  I get a big thumbs-down for doubting the girl -- and for doubting the instructor, who, as it turns out, was not a teenager but, rather, the director of the school.  He saw my baby down the mountain, and that lesson will stick with me as I see her confront other challenges that I'm not so sure are surmountable.

Tonight, on the eve of Easter, I'll say a little extra thanks for Petunia and Dash, the gifts that keep on giving.  My people believe that hundreds of years ago, a Jewish carpenter was nailed to a cross, died, and rose again from the dead to sit at God's right hand to save us from ourselves.  To some people, belief in Christ is like belief in the Easter Bunny -- magical, but surreal.  Though I do Believe, I can't define my faith adequately except to say that something holds me up when I'm standing at the bottom of a mountain fairly sure that my baby soaring down it is about to meet a bad end.  Happy Easter, and may you and yours also find renewal on this blessed day.

Today was Petunia's last day of school before spring break.  As usual, I picked her up and gave her the go-ahead for a half-hour of playground time, and I enjoyed hanging out with a couple of other parents doing the same thing.  Petunia had an ear-to-ear smile pastered across her face, spent much of the extended-to-45-minutes time running herself ragged playing tag, chase, and general wilding.  So when the time came for our quick walk home, I was surprised to see that she was almost in tears as soon as her friends were out of sight.  Finally, we had this conversation:

Mama: "Petunia, what's wrong?  You look so sad!"

Petunia: "Mama, is the Easter Bunny real?"

Mama, pausing: "What do you think?"

Petunia: "Well, I think the Easter Bunny is real, but my friend said that he's not, that it's just your parents who bring the treats."

Mama: "Uhh, Petunia, do you think I would ever actually give you as much candy as the Easter Bunny gives you?"

Petunia: "No.  But Daddy would.  But then you'd be mad at Daddy, and I don't remember you being mad at Daddy on Easter." 

Mama, stifling laughter: "That's right, Petunia.  I wasn't mad at Daddy last Easter because he did not bring you loads of candy.  And if he did not bring you that candy, then who did?"

Petunia: "THE EASTER BUNNY!"

And the smile returned, ear to ear, and, honest to God, she started skipping.  Of course, then we had to talk about what the Easter Bunny might bring this year, and would he find us in Vermont?

I know that someday, Petunia will stop believing in the Easter Bunny, and in Leprechauns, Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy and all of the other magical creatures in which she still has faith.  So, I was careful not to lie to her, but I am also happily clinging to these days of youthful fantasy... for they are fleeting, and, while I enjoy watching my kids grow, I will miss their wide-eyed wonder as it fades.

... I hope there are no house showings today, because the leprechauns made a real mess!

That was Petunia's reaction to finding these green footprints running from the front door, through her leprechaun trap, and out the window. (The trap is the yellow construction paper, which is folded, stapled and has a ribbon web at the far end.)

The white piece of paper was a happy note to the leprechaun from Petunia and Dash (nice of Petunia to include little brother!).  He wrote back "You are good kids, Signed, Seamus the Leprechaun" and left some great treats.  All in all, it was a festive St. Paddy's day, complete with a shepherd's pie dinner and green-dyed pudding for dessert.  Petunia was extra-hyper, though, leading me to fear for the day when she and her frat-boy-already brother discover green beer.  Somedays, I'm glad that they're small!