Why I'm not a caterer...

So, most of you who know me also know I am all about the food - and this includes eating it, enjoying it, savoring it, admiring it when it's someone else's work, and also buying it, chopping it and cooking it myself, so I can complete the cycle just outlined above and call it my work. Among the things on my mental to-do-list (you know, to do before I die...) is taking some cooking classes, the fancy kind without the CIA degree.

Now, I have my days. Some days, things go well. The gods of cooking and eating smile at me, and the creations coming out of my kitchen are pretty darn good, considering I'm not a chef. I can play Rachel Ray and do 30-minute meals, I can play Iron Chef and come up with something when there's virtually nothing in my fridge, and some days I think I can play Martha Stewart, but then that may be a bit too much (and it's more like Lucy Ricardo entered the kitchen...)

I had this small jewelry party at my house with a small number of moms from the daycare and their kids - kids went upstairs, where we hoped they wouldn't kill each other, and moms stayed downstairs with the baubles and the wine. And the food that I'd been thinking about and working on from the day before.

So let me say this - I had a decent level of success. And bless my husband, he did call me Martha Stewart. The reason? I decided it was time I tried my hand at my version of petit fours. I have learned my lesson since - they are a royal pain in the ass. I did take some shortcuts, so it looks like I also can play "semi-homemade". The end result was really delicious - I started with a vanilla cake, which I filled with boysenberry jam and a bit of Armagnac, and fudge. I then cut the blocks into strips and then cubes, and then I worked on covering them in sinful semi-sweet chocolate, which is when the pain-in-the-ass factor came in.

It was such a good idea. It looked so simple to implement. It was going to be my piece-de-la-resistance. It could've been better. Melting the chocolate will have to be perfected - not sure double boiler is the way to go. Not sure adding cream to thin it out is a good idea. Not sure I can afford the amount of chocolate that gets consumed in this process.

The petit fours, to my own credit, were sinful. And people loved them. And my husband called me Martha Stewart, which gave me more satisfaction than anything else. But let's face it, some things shouldn't be attempted without adult supervision... let's just say it took me a while to get the hang of it, and while they were delicious and the top of them was decorated prettily, the chocolate covering itself wasn't perfect (which so goes against my anal retentive nature).

So, why should you care? You shouldn't. I just had to get it out of my system.

Holy smokes...

It's been quite a week in Southern California. One week ago today the Santiago Fire broke out, courtesy of some lunatic for whom a $250K reward has been established - that's the latest figure. It was bad enough to know that a fire was close to Irvine and potentially threatening several homes, including the homes of people we know. It was worse when the fire started moving South, courtesy of our frequent visiting Santa Ana winds. In 24 hours, the fire moved exactly 50% in the direction of our home from the point of origin. The foothill areas of Lake Forest (Foothill Ranch and Portola Hills) were under voluntary evacuation, with a few streets under mandatory evacuation orders. (By the way, what is it with people that they won't get out of the @#%^$ way when they're told to leave the area????)

On Tuesday, as I was driving to take Larissa to school, I had a glimpse of the flames on the neighboring hills and the not-so-comforting presence of three sheriff's department cars parked a few blocks away from our house. The 241 Toll Road was closed at this point, and the Santa Anas continued to blow strong. We had blue skies while the rest of our Orange County area was covered in smoke and ashes. But unlike the rest of O.C., the fire was creeping closer to home. This is how we learned the importance of having an evacuation plan and a list in case of emergencies.

Wednesday got worse and better at the same time - the fire continued to travel in our direction, but the wind stopped its unrelenting blowing, which lowered the risk of the fire spreading in our direction, but allowed the smoke to cover our area completely. By Thursday, schools were closed. They remained closed on Friday, and activities all throughout the So O.C. area were rescheduled due to poor air quality.

All through this we received calls from the city reassuring us that we were under no imminent threat - which was nice, but if the city has to call you to let you know to "shelter in place", you're not the only one worried, and for good reason. The Orange County Fire Authority's Web site was my salvation and the one tool that helped me keep my sanity.

My heart goes out to those who lost their homes, those who lost their lives in the fires that continue to batter Southern California. It's been the worst year for this region, at least in recent history. Not even the Laguna or Malibu fires from a few years ago can compare with the devastation that's been experienced this time around. Now we head into winter and the potential for rain. Rain we desperately need, but rain I hope to God will come in small doses to spare the affected areas from the inevitable mud slides.

I am incensed

I am incensed at the increased desensitization in this society. Granted, capitalism is one of the things that have made this country what it is, what makes it flourish, and what makes the American dream a possibility. So are the Constitution and the checks and balances the forefathers so wisely provided for.

However, the fact that socialist thought is looked at as some kind of evil, is one of this country's greater weaknesses. The bottom line is so important it might as well become a religion. I can already see the legions of people who would go and worship not just on Sundays, but every day of the week.

I got an email today from my friend Gina. It was about the Patient Protection Act of 2007 that would require a minimum of 48 hour hospital stays for mastectomies among other things...

THE FACT THAT WE NEED LEGISLATION FOR SUCH A DUH IS APPALLING, SHOCKING AND DISGUSTING.

The fact that this legislation has to be re-entered and Congress can not come to a unanimous vote on this is deplorable and immoral. Medicine is an obvious social profession, but here it's a lucrative business - blame whomever you want to blame, insurance companies, lawyers, HMOs, whatever, I don't care. The bottom line is that this country and its flawd systems has let it happen and now can't find the way to turn the clock back.

There is a petition to sign on the Lifetime Web site that should be signed by everyone. If you are reading this blog, don't waste another minute! My heart goes out to every woman and family who has ever had to deal with something this devastating.

Ode to Technology

For the last 5.75 years I have worked at the Bren School of Information and Computer Sciences at UC Irvine. My job involves fund-raising, alumni relations, corporate relations, and a bit of everything else - notice that most job descriptions include 5% duties "as assigned"... all in an environment where technology changes daily.

The very cool thing about working here, other than the flexible and casual environment, is the fact that I am surrounded by technology. Now, I don't consider myself extremely techy or technologically savvy, although I do have a certain level of comfort around things like computers and the Internet, and I love the access email has given me to stay in contact with friends around the world, and the convenience of instant messaging. All that considered, I assure you that workig at this school also has given me a pretty good idea about just how ignorant I am.

There are incredible developments going on around me every day, and good luck if I can describe most of them in detail. Fortunately, I understand enought about many of them to skim the surface and let the experts do the talking. Where was I going with all this? Oh, yes. I love technology. Some days I hate it too, but for the most part, I love it. I don't understand it on an intimate level, but I understand enough to be grateful for it and embrace it, because it simply makes life easier and some times better.

And that's what started this whole blog. At a visit last week, part of our tour included the "Technology Garden", which I think is a really cool application of computer science from many aspects - for one, there's that biology component of sensors measuring CO2 and O2 levels in the room where plants are displayed. On the other hand, there are sensors that measure the moisture of the soil, and one can monitor the plants in the garden remotely... how cool is that?!? For a woman with a hidden geeky side like me, this is just the answer to all my phitodilemas (just created another word...) I can now aspire to have real, live plants that survive past the critical two-week period, after which all their predecesors have found sure death at my hands... I can be green! I actually have asked them if they need a beta tester off-site, and it looks like the answer is yes. In almost-feverish anticipation, I have gone ahead and purchased a plant - a lovely thing (campanula) that seems to work as ground cover, currently potted on my desk, with a wild profussion of vibrant purple blooms amidst the deep green of its foliage. And I think this one may actually survive my care... I'm so excited!

Aside from this new-found source of excitement, and in addition to using email, I have instant messager - four different ones to be precise. I am on linked-in, wayn, and who knows what else. I have an Avatar on Second Life (my name is "Berangaria Beaumont"), I blog with certain regularity, satisfying my need to write something without having to be Louisa May Alcott ("Little Women", for those of you rusty on your lit), and getting things out of my system. And now I'm about to jump on the bandwagon of Voice-over IP and start calling from my computer for a fraction of the cost, thus making the world a little smaller and the distance between me and those I love a little shorter.

All this said, the day I figure out how to post pictures on this blog in vertical fashion, as opposed to the horizontal default, I will be happier, and I will have conquered yet another frontier...

Idiocracy

I just had a thought - if Democracy is "government by the people", as it is derived from the greek demos, people, and kratia, meaning rule/government, why is it that Idiocracy is a synonym of Idiosyncrasy? Blame it on the English language. But I digress yet again.

I wanted to postulate that I have been living in an Idiocracy for the last three and a half years, as in "rule by an idiot", but apparently I can't. If I could, I would like to announce that I am finally free from that subjugated state in which common sense, truth, honesty, integrity, intelligence, and an appreciation for knowledge were banned. I now am free to think again, but most importantly to have a rational, intelligent, and productive conversation with the new "ruler", the person with whom I shall share the next few years.

Thank goodness for the inevitability of job change! And thank goodness again for removing the over-sized obstacle that blocked the path of enlightenment around here!

Trust your instincts or learn the hard way

I have been dreading the approach of the girls' birthdays for some time. Not so much because they are getting older, but because this year they were getting a joint party, and we know that means a lot of work. Thankfully, most of the mini-guests were siblings in one of the girls' classrooms, which contained the numbers on the obligatory set of parents that come when you celebrate small kids' birthdays. Being an obligatory parent myself, I also should say that the parents who came are friends, so that was a nice bonus.

Anyway, this is not so much about the feast itself (I'll do another one on that), but about the lessons learned. Somebody said that life isn't a destination so much as a journey, so let me tell you about the journey. And let me convince you to trust your instincts from time to time, unless you like to learn the hard way.

At the risk of having this turn into the 5th grade composition paper, let me start this way:

What I learned this weekend:
(a) If the weather report says it's going to rain only in the morning, it's wrong.
And if you think it will, somehow, work out, then you are wrong. As I planned the girls' party for a Saturday in September, the last thing in my mind was the possibility of rain. I mean, this is So. California last time I checked, and last time I checked it NEVER rains in September. Enter Global Warming, Climate Change, or whatever it's called these days, and I guess anything is possible. We were hit by a storm front coming in from Alaska, and by the looks of it, the storm just didn't move quickly enough, because the downpour came on Friday night and lasted through the early afternoon on Saturday. It didn't rain quite enough to flood us, and the thunderstorms never materialized, but it rained enough for us to judge it better to move the party indoors.

(b) You can fit a whole bunch of people and a swarm of screaming little girls in a small space and survive to tell the story.
Our discussion when considering plan B (indoor party in our small house v. outdoor party in the picnic area of our beautiful park, playground included) was quite the tug-o-war. Since plan B hadn't become a necessity until the last minute, we finally stopped arguing about an alternate venue and agreed that the house would be party central in the unlikely event of rain. Unlikely having become likely, we routed everyone to our 1667 sq. ft. home. Take out the master bedroom, the office, and wasted spaces, and it's not so much space anymore. Add in a troupe of screaming five year-old girls, a couple of toddlers, two unsuspecting little boys, and voilá: if you are not ready to have a drink, you will be by the end of the night. We adults ended up knowing each other better due to the close proximity, but everyone seemed to be happy and there was plenty of food. And since the house isn't palatial, then the parents didn't have to run around to keep an eye on their kids. My closet became the hideout at some point, and Katarina ended up with orange juice on her hair, after Larissa and her BFF Isabelle decided it'd be fun to pour it on her. My carpet ended up soaked in the same juice as well, so Jim had to clean the carpet he'd cleaned that morning. And we lived to tell the story, after having a few drinks.

(c) If you think that children should not play with bubbles unsupervised, you're most definitely right
I can't stress this one enough. Maybe it's common sense, but again, remember the small house? Well, once it stopped raining for sure, a few kids spilled out to the patio/yard area, where I rediscovered the bubbles intended for their use. My strategy at this point was to keep them entertained and out of trouble in the patio, while we adults had a bit of a reprieve and time to recharge our worn-out parenting batteries. It didn't take long for me to see the error of my ways. Larissa and her BFF Isabelle (see an emerging them here?) had decided to pour the bubbles on the sodas and one of the toy cars outside. The sodas became the cleanest sodas in the neighborhood, and ditto for the car. And for the driver. Yes... the car had a driver, which made my godson Noah the victim of female mischief, as he became the recipient of their soapy liquid.

(d) Last but not least, I have learned that little girls are skilled at scheming. I have learned that I shouldn't trust them when they are quiet (well, I learned that one long ago). I have learned that watching my kids play with their friends in this early stage is one of the sweetest memories of all.

And off she goes...

Actually, and off she went. Larissa, my five year-old baby, started school on Monday. Now, that's a brutal reality check for parents, if there ever was one.

In a mixed emotional state of excitement, apprehension and sadness, I prepared her uniform for her first day at school at Serra Catholic. I got her dressed in her navy blue skorts, white polo shirt, forest green socks and black Mary Jane shoes. I brushed her blond hair, which is a mix of honey and wheat during the summer, and put on her blue/green plaid headband. She was the picture of adorability (is that a word?), and I just wanted to squeeze her tight and never let go.

We got to the school around 8:15 a.m., late by normal standards, but the administrators have acknowledged that parents need a bit more on the first day, especially those of us for whom it is the-very-first-day. We were welcomed by the principal, Mrs. Trudell, a bubbly, warm and very charismatic lady of Italian descent (no, she's not the matronly type; think blond, California tan, impossibly-high heals, and an unabashed love of everything pink), got to the lunch area where we were treated to coffee and donuts, and eventually made our way to Miss Hunter's classroom, the only Jr. Kindergarten class in the school. There we got to say hi to her and her assistant teacher, Mrs. "B" (her last name is virtually unpronounceable to the kids), take pictures of our precious little baby, see the classroom, say hi to other parents, and feel welcome and cuddled. Eventually, we left. I took care of a bit of paperwork, and then we said good-bye to Serra Catholic until later that day.

I have to admit that some tears found their way through my cheeks, but all in all, I think I was very brave. I did spend the day in kind of a blur, anxious to go back and pick her up from extended care at the end of the day, and feeling guilty because she is there - never mind that she's been in daycare from 8 a.m. - 5:30 p.m. every day since she was three and a half months old. Eventually we were reunited, and the world was right again.

Now, let's skip all the little details of going home and yadda yadda yadda. It's time to fast-forward to day two and the military precision of this small Catholic school...

We got up early and managed to leave the house by 7:18 a.m., three minutes behind schedule, but then I had until 7:40 a.m. to drop her off, and the school is five minutes away... BIG MISTAKE.

The line on one of the access arms was two blocks long, on the other arms I didn't bother to try and imagine. It took me more than fifteen minutes and several lights to make it past the intersection and onto the campus. I didn't drop her off until 7:45 a.m., and here is what I'd like to focus on - the military precision of the drop-off and pick-up system at this school will be left for another blog. Let's just say General Patton couldn't have mapped a more thorough strategy or trained his troops any better. If Lincoln had encountered Mrs. Trudell and her troops instead of Gen. Lee's and his, the Civil War might have had a different ending.

There I go... I digress again. So, back to the drop-off. Once I made it through the organized chaos of lanes and cars vying for the precious piece of land adjacent to the school that signifies you're on your way to actually drop off your kid, I was directed to the inner part of the campus. There, staff direct you to your lanes and direct traffic to stop or go, help pedestrians, and, to my relief and my dismay (yes, both), the assist children out of the car and to their classrooms.

I say to my relief because (a) my baby isn't dropped off curb-side, where any lunatic can snatch her from right under my nose, or in later years where she could potentially meet "the bad kids" and skip school; (b) she doesn't have to figure out how to get to her classroom at the very tender age of five; and (c) it's just reassuring to know that someone is looking after her and helping her with her disproportionately big backpack.

I say to my dismay because (a) I am not the one taking my baby to her building or classroom and kissing her good-bye once there; (b) somebody else, again, not me, is escorting her at the very tender age of five - and this somebody else isn't someone I have necessarily met already; and (c) she doesn't need me anymore. My heart broke. I could feel the weight and the pressure, and I could feel the start of panic rising in my chest as I struggled not to wail and sob while running like a lunatic across the lanes to hug my baby and let her know for the millionth time that I love her.

To say that I sobbed is an understatement. Considering I had my other baby in the car with me as well, I attempted to be somewhat restrained. I'm sure whoever was driving ahead of me had quite the show to keep her distracted while we may our lengthy way out of campus. I kept drying my tears, only to have some more find their way through. I managed to calm down for a few seconds between bouts, and finally decided I needed to talk to somebody. My husband was busy - he tried to make himself available, but I didn't want to interrupt, especially since I felt that I was behaving quite absurdly. My mother was nowhere to be found. My dad was on a meeting. With each failed call my sobbing gained strength.

I finally composed myself in order to drop off Katarina at the daycare, where she clung to me for dear life. Isn't that ironic? As she clung and refused to let go, I thought "but you have to become independent"! There was my last baby clinging to me, while I was mourning the fact that my older baby was growing up and becoming more independent, and all I could think was that my little one needed to let go. Life is just a series of contradictions.

Luckily, we do get used to things and are able to adapt. I got chocked up yesterday, but managed to keep my composure. And today it was a bit easier still. In the end, I am so glad to see her do this well. She's not cried for me or her dad, and she plays with her new friends, whose names she doesn't quite remember yet, or doesn't want to tell.

Blessed be our children and the roller coaster on which they take us. I never knew love like this until they came, and I'm resigned to bawl with every new stage.

How did time just pass me by?

I'm having a bit of a problem today. I'm on post-birthday-celebration letdown, after celebrating Larissa's fifth birthday on Sept. 11. I'll take a tangent here for just a second and say that it was a really fun day once she stopped whining.

We went to Disneyland and did a whole bunch of stuff, and she got to ride on Splash Mountain for the first time. Loved it too. In fact, she went three times and achieved her goal of getting soaking wet. I haven't enjoyed that ride that much ever before. Everyone called her "princess" that day - not sure if that's done on birthdays only, but this is the first time I notice, so perhaps. People wished her happy birthday left and right, and she couldn't figure out how they knew. She was wearing a birthday button (I'm getting one next time it's my birthday!) Instead of pointing out that obvious fact, I told her it was because in Disneyland there was a lot of magic, and that's how people know. She'll figure out I flat out lied to her in a few years, but for now magic is fun.

We stayed until parade time, and that's where the whole button thing became so great. She was greeted during the parade by Pinocchio's fairy godmother, by Cinderella, and by Ariel, from all the way up on top of her float. It was just great. I think I enjoyed it even more than her...

Anyway, back to the hard time. My baby is now five. When did that happen? It seems like yesterday I held her for the first time and heard the doctor say "it's a girl!" Now my baby is indeed a little girl, no more a baby, no more a toddler. She's clever, articulate, and a chatter box. She has a sense of what she wants, how she wants it, and the vocabulary to let me know and justify it. It becomes harder and harder to argue with her without resorting to the traditional "because I said so." She's a princess. And she's so vain, but then I suppose most five-year olds are.

Tomorrow she starts German Saturday school. And on Monday she goes to Junior Kindergarten at Serra Catholic. And that means I get to drop her off curbside, she gets to wear a uniform, and from now on she'll be wearing shoes at school. Gone are the days of bare feet, sand in her hair and water play. At least during the academic year. Summer camps are looming in our future, as are extracurricular activities and homework. Gone are the days when I had to change her diapers, cuddle her to sleep, and sing her a song while we rocked on the chair. Gone are the days when I could dress her as a doll without arguments. A whole new era starts on Monday, and as time continues to pass me by, I just hope for glimmers of memories that I'll be able to keep, since remembering every second of every day with her is not possible.

I'm starting to understand how the last child is the one to get away with murder (I hope I don't do that with Katarina). Katarina is fulfilling that need to cuddle my baby, since she's still my baby. But that is coming to an end too, albeit a bit slower than with Larissa. She's my toddler, but she's my baby. And I've given myself a mental deadline for her to truly transition into toddlerhood, at least in my book. Once she starts talking clearly, I'll have to accept that the baby stage is over. In the meantime, I'm enjoying her baby words, her sentences, and her unexpected flashes of clever speech. And I'm not particularly enjoying the diapers, but since she's still quite happy with a wet bottom and has very little interest in changing the status quo, I'm resigned to clean her butt for a bit longer and hold on to this stage for a few more months.

The next three years will be crazy, having to split the drop off and pick up of the girls in two different locations, 20 miles apart. But for as long as this lasts, my baby will stay at the daycare, where babies go, and where we moms can hang on to a bit of this time that goes away so quickly.

There are days when I "can't wait" for so many things: Larissa to start Spanish class in school, Larissa and Katarina to have their first daughter-father dance, Katarina to be out of diapers and us out of diaper expenses. The truth is that I can wait. That I want to wait. That I want to soak my brain in these days when my kids challenge every fiber of my being and test my patience to the very limit, these days when they're still dependent on me and make some things difficult. I can wait. Because I want to experience it, enjoy it, cherish it, and ultimately remember it.

Day six. Last chance for a good time.

We had planned to visit the Old Lahaina Lua'u grounds for Ho'omana'o on Wednesday, but we got moved to Friday, so this was to be the beginning of our good-bye to the island. We arrived for a program full of education on Hawaiian culture, history and traditions. And I lost my heart to this land and these people, after days of it teetering on the edge of the cliff.

Ho'omana'o starts with the chant the traditionally-clad staff shares with you to ask for permission to enter the grounds, much as they traditionally would ask for permission to enter someone else's house. We were greeted with Kukui leis and told about some of the uses of the nut for lighting in the days of their ancestors. We then enjoyed breakfast, which was good because I was starving, and a Hula show.

They divided the group into three sub-groups and took us through three sections of the "village" to teach us about some of their history and warfare (which turns out was introduced by a Polynesian chief after learning of the peaceful nature of the Hawaiian people). We also learned that the term Hawaiian is a "political" term used to refer to their people - they don't consider themselves a race or an ethnic class, but a "people," which is hard to understand and harder to explain. We then went on to learn about the history and evolution of Hula and a few of the instruments used with it. Here we got a chance to try one of the instruments and two of the basic steps of modern hula, and combining the two, which surprisingly enough turned out to be as hard as rubbing your tummy and patting your head. Finally, we learned about the old customs in Hawaiian villages, gender roles (I particularly like that pregnant women got to pretty much play in the water for nine months, unlike our modern days when we continue to work our asses off), how they made clothes and marked them for recognition, and how they make Poi, which is definitely an acquired taste. At the end, we heard about fishing, casting nets, and enjoyed one last Hula show.

This was the day we learned a bit more about the Hawaiian people trying to reclaim some of their islands and stop the progress that at this point seems inevitable, and which is developing whatever areas can be developed while losing some of the beauty and much of the natural resources, and which makes it difficult for the people of Hawai'i to preserve their way of living. Moloka'i seems to be next on the list of "hot" properties, and the island with the most to lose, as people there still practice more of a communal living where the fruits of the land are shared, and where trends and fashion are a distant concern of a different world. For more information, visit these links on the Sovereign Movement in Hawai'i. See also http://www.hawaii-nation.org and http://www.hawaii-nation.org, if you are curious about this issue or have any inclinations on it.

We returned to the resort and our modern world (which by the way I embrace, especially since I'm sharing all this on an Internet blog, from my laptop, while using wireless connection), changed into our modern bathing suits, and went to lay by the modern pool of one of the latest developments on Kaanapali beach, like the good tourists we can be. Don't get me wrong, as I don't want to sound hypocritical. I just think we tend to overdo it. There is no balance. Some decisions should not be made solely on the merit of the bottom line, but should take into consideration other factors. I would like to go back to the island in a few years and see that it's still the same. And while tourism drives the development in question, how much supply do we really, really need? Enough of that... this blog is about the vacation and not about ideologies.

We run the girls ragged this last day. We went back to the room, so they could rest and I could pack. I packed, and they didn't rest. And that night we went out to dinner, which we enjoyed in relative peace after shaking the guilty feeling at being out with our children completely asleep at the table, past their bedtime, and out of their beds. I pretty much broke all my rules that night, and since I was breaking them, I decided to let go of the guilt and enjoy the wine, the lobster, and the warm, quiet island air that surrounded us in the dimly-lit restaurant.

We said good-bye to Maui the next morning, with the promise to return in a few years, since we can't seem to stay away.

Day five... we're almost done...

Day five started a bit later than the rest. We didn't take too long to adjust to Maui time (heck, we pretty much adjusted by day two), and it took us even less to give a shot at sleeping in a bit. Gina, James and the kids returned to California that morning, which meant alone time at the pool and beach and two inherited bottles of Rum - who can complain with the latter part of the deal?

We also deviated a little from our traditional pool and beach at the resort and instead took off to D. T. Flemming Beach (also see 2006 Best Beaches in America), West of Napili, officially located in Kapalua. The last unexplored territory in Maui from where we stood, having previously explored the South, North and upcountry areas. The beach didn't disappoint. I was a first a bit apprehensive, having spotted a red flag, but now I think they just post red and never change it, and it doesn't hurt to warn those tourists who've never gotten themselves wet in salty waters, as they're more likely to get fooled by the ocean and drown. And at least this is one of the few beaches in the island with a lifeguard tower and lifeguards in it. There were great trees that offered some shade and relief from the sweltering sun, but they also littered the upper sand with branches (which turned out to be a good thing, since it kept the girls entertained.) The water, as all the waters in these islands, was wonderful shades of turquoise, blue and green. And clear, so clear. And wonderfully warm. We wasted no time going in, even if it was in turns.

The girls eventually warmed up to the idea of trying the ocean, since the water was very calm that day and few waves ever made it to breaking point. In a tropical pool such as this, who wouldn't try it? Larissa went in with Jim, and Katarina took a bit more to warm up but got convinced when the water didn't come after her for a surprise attack. She had a blast, and so did we.

Finally, we started getting tired, and mostly too burnt to remain in the heat of the Maui sun. We packed it up, got in the car (have I mentioned I did love the experience of driving an SUV?), and continued West to see some more of this part of the island we never before had a chance to explore. The drive had its share of turns and spectacular views for the ocean and the cliffs. There was green everywhere, and to our surprise, even red clay soil that offered a dramatic contrast to the eyes. We took pictures - or actually, Jim took pictures, and he took pictures, and he took pictures. And I do love pictures, but this was just borderline ridiculous... in any event, we got to a point where hunger won over curiosity and decided to turn back (there's nothing past Kapalua, other than a scenic drive, in case you're wondering) and hunt for some food the tourist way: by finding a restaurant.

We arrived in Napili Plaza a few minutes later and went into Mama's Ribs and Rotisserie. Let me take a moment here to make an important point: yum. YUM. YUM. YUM. I hope you get the picture. The ribs are cooked over a period of two days and smother in a tangy, rich, and just about perfect BBQ sauce. YUM-O. And don't let me forget about the baked beans - mouth-watering-delicious. Enough said. If you're ever in Napili, this is a must. And it's simple and affordable, which sometimes we forget to do on vacation because there's so many other fancy and delicious places to visit as well.

We eventually made it back to the resort, changed, rested for a bit, and headed out for Lahaina for just a bit of shopping. There we found crabs on a little stretch of beach on Front Street, right next to Cheeseburgers in Paradise (which I unfortunately didn't get to try, but then I tried to avoid foods we can easily find on the mainland.) The girls were riveted, and we couldn't get them to turn for a picture, hence the frame above with us and two little butts as proof of their participation in this particular excursion.

This was the day when we stopped by Hilo Hattie's and Jim proved to be extremely adept at spotting the oysters with twin pearls... if you want to pick your own pearl while yelling "Aloha!", he's your man.

Day four... let's see, what happened next?

I must confess that my memory is getting the events mixed between one day and another. I will, however, attempt to get things straight and give a somewhat faithful account of day four, assuming anybody is still interested at this point.

Day four started much like the others - yes, with food. LOL. We spent the morning at the beach and pool and had lunch at the resort's restaurant. I enjoyed a Piña Colada and resisted the temptation to have a hamburger with fries...

We met James, Gina and the kids (by the way, their kids, our godchildren, are Noah and Hope) and headed down to Ma'alaea to the Maui Ocean Center. This was a trip mainly for the kids. Imho, once you've seen an aquarium, you've pretty much seen them all. I mean, it's not like the fish learn different tricks or speak in different languages. And save the occasions when you can find endemic species, everyone seems to be able to get their hands on tropical fish in addition to their local varieties, and somehow there's always a shark or two. Then there's the interactive exhibits where you can touch a sea cucumber, although I still can't imagine why you would want to, and the one where you can feed the dolphin/or-some-other-marine-animal. I should offer the following disclosure: I am not an aquarium cynic. And I do enjoy marine life - in fact, maybe in my next life I'll pursue being a marine biologist, and one of the things I must do in this life is participate in the Pacific Whale Foundation research intern program helping with whale research in the Galapagos Islands... but I digress.

Back to my thing about aquariums. Why am I sharing this, you ask? Because the Maui Ocean Center knocked down all those preconceptions. This is a small aquarium by standards such as the Long Beach Aquarium's. It is, however, much more impactful. I did want to see these fishes, every single one of them. Not just because some of them were pretty, but because there was education in each piece of exhibit. There were details on conservation, on coral rehabilitation, on creatures that prefer darker surroundings, on sharks. They had turtles, so I did have my turtle encounter, just not in the wild. And they had the expected tank with the expected glass tunnel, except their was smaller and nobody was in a rush to get through it. We sat there and watched as fish, sharks and manta rays swam around us. We sat in front of the glass and listened to the docent explain to us what we were seeing, and pointing a pregnant shark that was about to pop "anytime now" (turns out she's 12 months along, but they can deliver anytime between 8 and 15 months... forget that!!) Larissa learned to tell the difference between a female and a male shark and ray.

And then there was the expected diver, except this one wasn't cleaning the tank. She was there to feed the fish, and one of the rays got so excited, she actually started bumping her on the shoulder for her food and ate out of her hand. Then a second diver showed up, and this is where it gets funny: their names were Jim and Larissa, and I just couldn't get over the coincidence.

I highly recommend this visit. The kids had a wonderful time, and we came out grateful for the experience and more aware than ever of the fragility of our marine environment. I for one renewed my commitment to do my part in protecting it, or at least minimizing the harm I implant on this planet wherever possible. Yeah... I know. I'm a bit of a tree-hugger.

The day finished with another educational experience. He headed back to the resort for a special program. The staff at the Westin Villas had decided to have a canoe and a team of paddlers instead of the mainland-customary baseball team. Why a canoe? Because it's part of their Hawaiian tradition, at least as it relates to their ancestors and the early Hawaiians way of life. This was a bit of an anachronistic thing. The ceremony was full of symbolism and tradition, of chants in Hawaiian and men dressed in traditional fashion, and they were blessing a top of the line outrigger canoe that looked very much like the 21st century version of its earlier incarnation. Turns out the outrigger itself is full of meaning. The front represents the Kane, or male, which is the protector and the provider. The middle represents the body and how we must take care of it. The back is the Wahine, or female, wich is the most sacred and must be protected at all times. They talked about serving first the gods, then revering their ancestors, and then taking care of the ohana, or family. And it was beautiful. All of it. They finished by taking the outrigger out into the ocean and bringing it back after its inaugural sail.

Afterwards, we were treated to tea-type sandwiches, some traditional food that was shared during the ceremony by those involved in it, music and a hula dancer who was beautiful and so graceful. And then it started raining, although not too much. Just enough to give us double rainbows above the resort. Couldn't have been more perfect had they planned for it.

We went back to our room, where Gina had decided to play Iron Chef with me by giving me a whole bunch of bell peppers and seeing what I could turn them into with whatever was in my fridge. We had pasta with a roasted red bell pepper cream sauce, roasted yellow and orange bell peppers and chicken. I didn't have basil, but it was pretty good. Iron Chef Lara wins this round.

On to day three... if you care to read some more

Ah... the joys of going on vacation. No schedules, no demands, no rushing, no worrying... unless, of course, you either are me or are traveling with me, in which case you are worried, very worried, about what I'll dish out next...

However, as the picture to the left proves, naps were an option. Jim and Katarina had a chance to catch up on some yummy sleeping later on day three, after a day full of sun and running around in Wailea and Kihei.

We started like every other day, with food. And if you know me, you know I'm all about the food. The resort had a great pool side restaurant that, in addition to the now famous fru-fru umbrella drinks, offered a scrumptious breakfast buffet. Kids eat free all day long, so it was a pretty good deal. After breakfast came beach and pool time. By now, both Jim and I were down with colds and SCUBA diving was completely out of the question, so we resigned ourselves to snorkeling whenever possible and crossed our fingers hoping to have a turtle sighting (seems like the whole crossing of the fingers is a very flawed method, by the way).

While in Kihei, I did come across a turtle - a turtle pendant that is. And luck would have it that it was available both in yellow gold and silver... you get the drift. We did some shopping after eating at Alexander's, which has some of the best fish and chips I've had the pleasure of trying. I highly recommend the Ono, which as its name suggests, is delicious.

Afterwards, we headed down to Wailea to visit the Grand Wailea Resort Hotel and Spa. Wow. Visit it is all we could afford at this place... past the beautiful lobby/foyer area surrounded by Fernando Botero sculptures you see the balconies offering a view of manicured lawns. The feeling is one between European Mediterranean and something else... and it is said this is where the stars come to hide away while in Wailea - I can see why. The pool alone is made of fantasies, with its swim-up bar hidden in a grotto, the "rapids" one can play in on one of the arms, and many other features hard to describe and easy to enjoy. We gawked. We fantasized. We coveted. And then we forgot, as the cheapest room is around $650 per night, and that probably is the one on the top floor facing the parking lot. Yikes! Still, worth the visit if you have nothing pressing to do. Did I mention they welcome registering guests with fresh leis? Yeah... posh, posh, posh.

Back to the resort it was, and then out to the Whalers to meet Gina and James for some really good hamburgers, courtesy of James and his favored Huli Huli sauce (sounds kinky but it's not... it's a Hawaiian sauce made up with soy sauce, sugar and ginger.)

"Sigh!!" cont...

(Disclaimer: I do know Hope is sideways, but I haven't been able to figure out how to post vertical pictures... so deal with it. She's too cute to leave out.)

So we've established that our first day was full of happenings that turned out in our favor, and that after several hours in transit we happily ended up sipping some fru-fru umbrella drink (well, Jim actually had a manly beer), watching the sunset, with our feet deep in the sand of the Hula Grill's barefoot bar. If you haven't tried it, it's a must, and one of the best reasons to visit Kaanapali and Whaler's Village, imho.

Day two begun with what I'd like to call a brave moment. Remember my crazy plans to run on the pinkish sandy beach in Kaanapali as the day got started? Well, call me crazy, or call it California time, but I was wide awake by 4:30 a.m. and ready to spring out of bed for said run. Except that not knowing if somehow in the peaceful surroundings of the Maui beach lurked a serial killer, I judged it better to wait until the sun at least started to come out. So by 0545 hours I was dressed adn ready to go. Running, here I come! And I did. I run through the pool area of the resort while orienting myself to my new, posh surroundings. I got to the board walk and went down to the beautiful beach, right on the sand... and that's when my feet started sinking in the softness of it, which made it difficult to do the graceful run you see Bo Derek practicing in "10". Of course, I also had skipped the bathing suit and was actually wearing sneakers, which didn't allow me to run on the firmer wet sand without getting wet by the light surf... But let's leave Bo back in the 80's and continue with this story.

Have I mentioned I don't run? Well, let me mention it now in case I forgot. I don't run. And I found it quite exhausting truth be told. But I stuck with it, since lap swim was out of the question (posh surroundings had a wonderful resort pool, geared toward more fru-fru umbrella drinks and no lap swimming). I will confess that at some point I had to modify my morning exercise to a swift walk until I hit firmer ground on the other side of the beach and back on the boardwalk. All in all, 20 min. of increased cardiac activity can't be that bad, right? I finished with some floor exercises and felt proud of myself for figuring out how to keep up my workout schedule while on vacation...

Then I got a cold and other issues that forced me to sit on my behind while watching it grow to the tune of 3.5 lbs. I know... who cares. I was in paradise. And hadn't it been for the fru-fru umbrella drinks in the first place, I probably would've done ok.

In any event, let me go back to the story on day two. Or actually, that was the story on day two. After having breakfast consisting of French Toast made with Hawaiian bread and covered with coconut syrup (yum!), the rest of the day was spent on wonderful oblivion by the pool and the ocean with Gina and James and all four keikis. Hope ended up with a stylish pony tail on top of her head, which brought a delighted smile on her mommy's face.

"Sigh!!" or "Seven Days Just Ain't Enough"

What a wonderful place we visited... our week in Maui was purely magical, as usual, save the cries and whines from the keiki, who also made it different in a good way. Discovering Maui through the eyes of our children was an experience in itself, and now we can add them to the many memories we have of this island paradise.

Shall we start at the beginning?

Saturday, September 1, 2007
We're packed, changed, fed, and we have a plan to handle the five pieces we have to check, the stroller, and the two monsters, I mean, kids. We're off to the airport just a few minutes behind schedule, 0715 hours.

We get to the airport, and let's just cut through some of the minute details you don't need to bother with and get to the meat of the story - yes, there is a story already. So let's get to it. We arrive to Orange County airport, I get in line to check the bags while Jim parks the car (I'm sure there's a story there too, but that would be for his blog, if he had one), and after a short but long wait, Jim comes back, takes over the checking and I go to the security line, that as you probably know if you are a fellow traveler, can be excrutiating. Not five minutes go by before Jim tells me our flight has left... LEFT... LEFT. I see my dreams of Piña Coladas with umbrellas, bikinis, sun and surf evaporate before my very own eyes. I go through the mental checklist, ready to blame myself for the time confusion, but NO! I know I didn't get it wrong. We're scheduled for 0900, and it's only 0750 hours.

Turns out Alhoa Airlines moved us to the 0800 flight, because they thought we were already checked in (say what?!?), and they're being nice by putting us on a non-stop flight (wish I'd known...) "Sorry, sir! We may be able to get you out tomorrow (say what?!?)" "No, no, no!" Mr. Helpful Supervisor steps in and works on getting us on our flight, which is now full... and Destiny steps in to get us in first class, which is not full, and therefore even our lap child gets a seat. Now, let me tell you, if you've never flown first class, you should try it. We've been spoiled for life... of course part of it is because it was free... and it's the perfect place for me. They're all about feeding you every time you blink, and I'm all about eating just as often. A match made in heaven, and now flying over the clouds in leathery comfort. They even have footrests!! Ahhh...

We're not done with the story though...

Five hours or so and a Mai Tai later, we arrived in Honolulu and were greeted by the humid heat and distinctive smell of the islands - yes, they do smell differently. We had an hour lay-over before our next flight. Larissa and I went on a potty run, and while in the bathroom trying to prevent her from falling in the toilet and the toilet from flushing automatically (whole other blog subject...), I hear our flight being called - Aloha flight #blank to Maui now boarding on gate 50. We run out, and Jim is calling us to hurry and get on the plane...

Once in Maui (yay! We made it!), Jim went to get the car, I went to get the bags with the keikis. I looked, and looked, and looked for them... but the bags were nowhere to be found. How could they have lost five pieces of luggage, all belonging to us? Weren't they on our plane? That's how I found out the plane wasn't our plane. Thankfully, it did go to Maui. We got on an earlier inter-island flight departing from the same gate as flight 484, so now we had to wait for another hour for our luggage to arrive. No worries. We're in Maui's tiny teeny little airport... and I can smell the ocean if I inhale deeply. The Mai Tai must be working still.

Jim comes back with the car... which after seeing that there were no mid-size SUVs on the lot got upgraded to a full-size. So, despite the setbacks, we started our vacation in style - from first class courtesy of Aloha Airlines, to a Trail Blazer courtesy of Alamo car rental.

Once we got in the car and onto Lahaina and Kaanapali, we checked in at the Westin Villas, which turned out to be amazing, and head on to the Hula Grill in Whaler's Village for Aloha Hour, a Piña Colada plus umbrella, food, the company of Gina, James and their keikis, and a beautiful Hawaiian sunset... life was good...

...but then, who cares...

...yeah... in four days I'll have forgotten all about the Lemon in the first place, while I enjoy the warm sun, the rich air, and the brilliant turquoise of the Hawaiian waters. Four days, and counting...

Ever heard of the Lemon MacBook?

No, not the Apple MacBook - the Lemon MacBook. At least that's what I think I got. Don't think I'm not tech savvy just yet... granted, the machine does have an Apple icon on it, so that would lead me -and any sane person who's following the current technology gadget revolution of all products that start with "i"- to believe that it's actually an Apple Macintosh product. But no, my friend. I must propose in this short ranting that this is actually a Lemon product, or perhaps an Apple product infused with citrus.

You see, I got this new laptop in late July 2006. I welcomed it into my life, protected it and nurtured it. And I was quite happy with it, until it went from tender infant to seemingly rebellious youth (let's not forget technology's extremely short life span for the purpose of this crude metaphor).

Then my once docile instrument started objecting and crashing -much like a temper tantrum. While I attempted to figure out why this was happening, and as we got into the holidays, it refused to produce an image -much like the child who just doesn't want to show up when you call him. So out it went to the Apple hospital, where they replaced something or other, presumably the video card, and sent it back to me.

The previous problem persisted, however, and my machine continued to crash. I finally figured out that it was objecting to the sleep mode -or perhaps it was not happy when I woke it up. Coming to think about it, that's probably what it was, as it would crash anyway if I left it on and used it for too long. Pretty much like a lazy teenager who'd rather sleep than clean his room. So back it went to the Apple hospital, when one day it refused to wake up at all. And then they replaced a whole bunch of other parts, started to send it back, and returned it for additional repairs, since the problem was still present. Then it came back to me.

Now we're talking early May... and it's been great since. We have enjoyed a satisfying relationship, and it's gone back to being my companion when I'm sick at home, or when work takes me beyond the office. And then it crashed again. Apparently, this time, it was the hard drive... now, for those of you keeping count, this is the third time in 9 months. I could have given birth to another child in the time it's taken this Lemon to reveal its true self.

So, you see, while this may very well be an Apple, it is also a Lemon. From every factory there is, at least one will be produced. Judging by the level of Apple use in our office (at least 20 Mac desktops and laptops in the last five years), I'd say we're at a 5% failure rate, max. Is this too much? Is this acceptable? Is this right??? Moreover, is this the way it's going to be from now on? And CAN I TAKE IT????

Remains to be seen.

Seven days to go and counting!!!

As we get closer to our much anticipated trip to beautiful Maui, I start counting the days. Today, we're down to seven before we board our plane and set off to paradise. Excited? Yes, you could say I'm excited. And that wouldn't begging to cover it!

I have been sunbathing for the past couple of months in anticipation of this moment... ok, partially, for those of you who really know me. I mean, sunbathing 80's style (you know, oil, sun, and the willingness to take the risk to get roasted) are practically a Peruvian girls' pastime. But don't let me digress... I've been working on this tan mercilessly, so that once in the island I can perfect it. I've been looking into activities to enjoy WITH kids (yeah... not much chance for diving, zipping, etc.) I've been dreaming of going back and watching the turtles. My hands are itching to grab the paddles of a kayak (and hopefully get my butt in it too, preferably out in the ocean...) I've bought snorkel gear for Larissa, in the hopes to get her to enjoy the view of the coral and fish. I have practically started my mental packing list, and my mental grocery list for once we get there... and I can all but taste the chocolate-chip cookie awaiting us on the plane, and the distinctive taste of coconut syrup we'll pour on our morning pancakes. And I'll look into bike rentals for rides around the area.

I even have figured out how to keep my of-late-insane workout habits while on vacation (with the ultimate goal of being able to indulge in the food, of course). And since it's more than likely that we'll be waking up at 5 a.m., keeping with our somewhat wake up time in California, I've convinced myself that I will be able to run on the beautiful pinkish sand of Kaanapali in pre-sunrise jogs... now that I write that down, it does sound insane. We'll see. You'll have to wait for my next report.

So, you may wonder, what exactly do we plan on doing during our stay? I mean, what could be better than doing nothing in paradise? If you think that, you may want to just stop reading now, before I spoil your fantasies of naps on the beach and umbrella drinks at sunset. Maui is to be explored. And I, my friend, am not one to stay put in one place for too long while traveling. Yes, I vow to work on the tan, but there are many hours to one day, and considering I've made quite a bit of progress on the status of my skin color, I can afford to work on the tan and do other things.

Before I forget, we got an exchange into the Westin Villas, which is where we are staying. Normally, we'd be at one of the Worldmark The Club properties, but what the hell. Among my crazy plans: visit the Old Lahaina Luau for their breakfast program, Ho'omana'o. The kids will have activities to enjoy, and it's during the first half of the day, so we'll get them tired for good naps in the afternoon. Our friends Gina and James will be there, staying at The Whalers, and we'll trade babysitting one afternoon, so we can go and take in a shore dive and swim with green turtles. Cool, huh? We'll take some time one afternoon to go to the Maui Ocean Center, since it's bound to make the girls' day. And I have to send an email to Skippy Hau, aquatic biologist with the Hawai'i Department of something or other, to see if they're monitoring any turtle nests that we can observe (4 a.m., but then that's 7 a.m. California time...) And there'll be snorkeling, and eating, and strolling down Lahaina, and all sorts of other things I'll come up with in the next few days.

Maui, here we come! I CAN'T WAIT! You, on the other hand, will have to wait for the next report.

Aloha!

And he's baaaaack!!! Thank God!

So, Jim is finally back from his company trip to Chicago... a trip I should've been on as well, but that's a whole other Oprah... and since I am bitter, we'll just have to skip it.

He was gone from Thursday to Monday, which sounds like a long time, and then sounds like an even longer time if you are a mom with two little rascals, swim lessons to go to, work meetings, a new boss... and a FULL weekend looming ahead of you with said little rascals - a weekend in which you'll have to figure out how to work on your tan, watch the kids at the pool, read your latest novel, clean house and do laundry. And let's not forget the ever present pets...

Let's preface this whole "adventure" by saying that we all are still alive and well... and fed... and clean...

So here's what I had planned with hubby out of town. I was going to finally have some ME time after the girls got to bed (8:30 p.m. the latest) for luxurious bubble baths accompanied by candle-light, wine or probably the much-loved Cosmo (the drink, not the dog), and the previously mentioned novel. And since I'd have no-one to answer to in the late hours at night, I was FINALLY going to catch up with all that scrap-booking and start Katarina's book (she's almost two, by the way, and yes, I said "start"). Oh, yes! And of course I'd find the time to work out.

Instead, let's go with the reality check of what my week was really like...

...the night before:
I haven't slept. My adorable but highly disorganized husband didn't finish packing until close to 11 p.m. Larissa ended up in my bed, and somehow Jim ended up downstairs. And we both woke up on the hour afraid to miss his 4 a.m. alarm. Finally he's up (thanks to me no less), and now I can go back to sleep... or not!

Day 1, Thursday:
I'm up. I'm organized. I'm in the shower and out... and I'm so freaking tired I can't figure out whether I should soap my hair and shampoo my body or the other way around... but it's early, so a couple of minutes in the shower won't hurt too much. I change, get the girls up and changed. Down for breakfast before 7:00 a.m., as per pre-established routine, so far, so good. Coffee... maybe not (BAD idea). Breakfast for the girls, let's eat, get lunches ready, clean the kitchen... it's 7:35 a.m. per departure goal. YES! I've done it!

Oh-oh... forgot to feed the dog... And didn't get a chance for breakfast, so I'm going to be hungry and cranky pretty soon.

Swim lesson - skip, early meeting. Work day went well, and I did go swim for 20 min., so the workout has been handled. I look forward to the evening after the girls are in bed, and I have my book, and the tub, and whatever...

Evening comes... let's feed the girls, clean the kitchen yet again, and let's not forget the poor, hungry dog again... even if it turns out I fed her cat food. Baths go ok, even if I'm pretty tired by now... I take them to bed; Larissa and I pray together, and voilá! I've done it... now as to me... 8:30 p.m. and I'm out. So much for tub, wine, reading, etc. Didn't even stay awake long enough for "So you think you can dance"...


Day 2, Friday:
Oh... I slept so good... oops.. time to get up and get started all over again. This time, I remembered to clean up the cat litter and refill the cats' food and water. Routine goes as well as yesterday, so no changes there, except now I have coffee I prepared the night before and managed to sit down and eat something too. We leave at 7:45 a.m., which is still good time. No swim lesson today.

Work goes as usual... except I'm so happy it's Friday that I can hardly wait. And I skipped out early from a late afternoon event to go swim for another 20 min (I usually do 30, but time's running short). Go get the girls, and here's where you can tell I'm absolutely brilliant: I decide to go to Costco with the two of them, since we need some stuff... yeah.

I know now the error of my ways. Costco on a good day is ok. With the two of them, it's a challenge. And it's just plain tiring. At least I managed to keep them IN the cart, despite repeated efforts to the contrary on Katarina's part. Add to that I am tired (remember my swim?), and hungry, and so are the girls. 2+2=disaster.

We're out, we're gone, we're at home. I turn into what I consider the negligent mother and feed them chicken nuggets straight out of the box I found at Costco, instead of going into my usual "let's-cook-dinner-from-scratch" routine (I know... I know...) And since it's Friday, I'll just give them a bath tomorrow morning. Fed, changed, and into bed. And here goes my second night. I actually made myself a Cosmo (I prefer them with Cointreau), got in my PJs and hopped into bed. And made it until 9:30 p.m. Woo-hoo! I'm living dangerously... yeah...

Day 3, Saturday:
The weekend turned out to be better than I expected, largely because we were more relaxed without the ever-looming schedule. I did figure I'd have to clean the house some, especially since I could actually enjoy a couple of days of keeping it clean. We went to the lagoon at Rancho Santa Margarita and spent a couple of hours there. I like to get there early around 10:00 a.m. to avoid the crowds and get a nice spot. The girls were quite good for about 1.5 hours, after which time they got into a screaming match over a towel, and Katarina had a meltdown, so I was forced to take them back home. But I was able to work on my tan in preparation for our Maui vacation, finish reading one of my books, and watch the girls without a glitch. Larissa practiced her "swimming" with her hot-pink goggles, and Katarina spent time playing in the sand and venturing a little bit into the water.

We went home, had lunch, and the girls took a nice, long nap (emphasis on LONG). I let out my aggressive tendencies on the kitchen sink and counter, with the help of a sponge and a cleaner with bleach. A little while later, I had a beautiful and sparkling clean kitchen in which to cook... my dream come true!

The rest of the day is now a blur. I did started a new book (Ricochet, by Sandra Brown), made dinner, and left the bathrooms and vacuuming for the next day.

And I made it back into the grown-up world by staying up until about 11:30 p.m. I even watched a whole movie without falling asleep! It's like growing up all over again...

Day 4, Sunday:Sunday started with waffles once the little squirts decided to wake up. I swept and vacuumed, which I haven't done in a long time (Jim's the one who beats me to that chore, and I don't complain about it). It was actually somewhat therapeutic... go figure. We changed and went to the pool this time. While Larissa and Katarina splashed in the wading pool, I read my book (a paragraph at a time if I was lucky). Then I made the mistake of going to the trash can... on the way back, as I turned back in slow motion, I caught sight of my little terror, who had gotten a hold of my book. No big deal, right? I mean, I catch her with my books all the time, paging through and losing my spot, and granted a couple of times she's tried to pull the pages, but what else could she try to do? Especially since I was calling her name to make her stop... right?

Wrong. My little terror very studiously took the book with her to the wading pool, very carefully and slowly lowered the spine of said book in the water, as I moved in even slower motion to try to get to her. She very quickly decided that perhaps that wasn't the best idea. Instead, she just dropped the entire book in the water while I watched it sink to the step below. Yes. My novel was now wet - it originally was supposed to be suspenseful and steamy. So imagine this: a wet book, and pages that have wrinkled to double the width of the spine. It's still drying on my nightstand, and curling some more.

We made it back home eventually, had lunch, and down they were for some more of those long naps. And some more cleaning - this time, the bathrooms didn't stand a chance. I was on a mission!

Eventually night came along. We had dinner, but don't asked me what we ate. Nothing too fancy, but I did make a trifle cake (chocolate, of course). They went to bed, I tried to read some more wet pages. And then the night really got started...

That night...
Katarina was in rare form. She cried at least every hour on the hour, if not more. Eventually, as the cries got louder and more frequent, I capitulated and decided to get her out of the crib and help Larissa stay asleep.

I sent Larissa to my bed to sleep. I then got Katarina on Larissa's bed and snuggled with her in the hopes that she would sleep. It was roughly 1:15 a.m. As I finally started falling asleep with my baby next to me, Larissa started crying. Back up to check on her this time - "mommy, I don't want to sleep here all by myself!" I go back to Katarina, who at 1:40 a.m. now, is wide awake and ready to play, and who very enthusiastically tells me "hi, mommy!!!" I tell her sissy needs me and ask her to come to my bed. She says "no bed mommy". I ask her then if she's ok staying in bed by herself. She nods, and I leave. She sleeps, and finally so do I. It's now about 2:30 a.m.

Day 5, Monday:
5:30 a.m. "Mommy! Pee-pee!!" My sleep is interrupted, the cruel joke continues. I open one eye (not enough strength to open both...) Katarina is smiling wide and proud as she announces her latest bodily function. I assume she's peed on her diaper and get her in bed with me and Larissa. She sits there and babbles on and on. "Katy, want to go to your room?" "No!" she says, so she stays quiet for a few minutes. About 20 min. since her arrival I realize her pride wasn't contained to her words. She had actually taken off her diaper and was on my bed in her bare bottom. "Katy. Bring me a new diaper, so I can put it on you" (all this in Spanish, by the way, the only language I speak to my children). "Ok!" comes the chirpy response. She runs to her room and comes back. Smile wide and proud again, and in her hand the used diaper she slept and peed in... yuck. Time to get up I guess.

The routine starts all over again. Up, shower, change, run mental list of ideas for something to wear, run second mental list of things to do: sheets and blankets for the daycare, swimming gear for Larissa's class, lunches... There's no way I'm getting into the office before class, so I slow down a bit and do some email checking from home. We have breakfast, go through the toothbrushing routine, start getting all the bags and packs in the car... get the kids in. Larissa has no shoes. Go back in looking for my phone and Larissa's shoes, and I can't remember what else. I get the what else, forget the shoes and the phone (actually, at this point I had no clue where I'd left it)... but don't notice until we drop off Katarina...

While I may not get the "mother of the year" award, I figure it's not too, too, too bad to forget her shoes, since they spend most of their time at the daycare barefoot, so what the hell. I carry her in my arms to and from her swimming lesson, and back to the daycare. Go to work on 3.5 hours sleep and not enough coffee to counteract the effects of sleep deprivation. My heel tab comes off as I walk to a meeting across the way from my building, so now I'm forced to take a page off Larissa's book and go barefoot as well, at least in the office. I get my secret weapon out: I've got sneakers behind my door! Doesn't do much to keep me looking stylish, but I can walk outside of my building without looking like orphan Annie. I skip the swim - I can barely keep my thoughts organized, forget working out.

Then Jim shows up!! He's actually back! And he looks rested and refreshed... the bastard... but who cares. I've missed him too much to resent the irony of it. The work day comes to an end, and I go to get Larissa. Turns out I didn't just forget her shoes. I'd forgotten her lunch as well - well, not quite, since it was still in my trunk, but c'mon! I actually forgot my kid's lunch!!! Now I feel horrible.

And just like that, it's over. Jim's back, and now we can go back to juggling an insane schedule and the girls, and hopefully having one remember half of the things the other forgets. It's a balance, and it works. At least for us.

And that's my reality check.

Does anyone want a Cocker Spaniel???

It's become the standard joke to the point where it's just not funny anymore... but I'm serious (75% at least)... does anyone out there want a Cocker Spaniel? She's almost four years old, and really a good dog, except she's high maintenance and needs attention - more than we can give her, since we also have two small children. And considering the kids, my husband and I all require a lot of attention, well, there's just not much left of it for the dog. Thank goodness the cats don't really care one way or the other...

Now, all jokes aside, she is a good dog. Her name is Cosmo (for my favorite drink of late, the Cosmopolitan... I know, it sounds like a male name... whatever...) She is white with buff marks, and absolutely beautiful. She loves to be wherever we are - and there's part of the problem, we're not here that much... And then there's this fine line between disciplining a dog of her kind and pissing her off; and boy, she's testy... and she has no problems letting us know when she's pissed off. Just ask my husband for the times when she's left us unpleasant presents inside the house, despite the fact that she is house-broken.

And while I'm writing this with just a hint of remorse, I'm watching her on the wool rug in the living room - she blends in almost completely, and I wonder if I ever will actually go ahead an find her a new family. You see? She's part of ours, but she's kind of like my brother. I do love him, but some days I want to strangle him ( those of you who know my brothers know which one I'm talking about...) Until the next time she barks for no reason and wakes me up from a wonderful nap... and then we start all over again.

So, does anyone out there want a Cocker Spaniel???