Here We Go An Oyster-ing

I love having awesome friends.

I really love having awesome friends that can take good pictures.

I really, really, love it when they  meet me at Oyster Festivals

 I have three wishes: To be as talented as my friends. To always have them in my life. And to always be as goofy/happy as I am in this picture.


Sundays in My City with Unknown Mami--check out other people's cities, all online-like.

Sundays In My City: Ladies Love D.C.

Every time I go to a city, I imagine my urban life. I imagine my city-dwelling self, dressed in striped tights and hipster bowling shoes, heading to a concert in the park or my adult kickball league.

My urban self would know the best Asian-Tex-Mex-Fusion Taco Truck, and would eat her Wasabi Burrito on the steps of the art museum, just because I could.

My urban self would buy jewelry and sunflowers at the weekend Farmer's Market, after drinking espresso served with a sneer and a seven dollar prize tag.

My urban self, clearly, would be very wealthy, very young, and most likely childless. In other words, not me.

I am almost completely okay with this. Especially because my children are becoming old enough that I can take them into the city with some regularity, and soak in all the culture without all the hassle.

We always take the Metro into DC.

"MORE TRAIN!" cries Joel as we travel, missing it even while he is still riding it.

On Friday, we went to DC because Joel had an eye appointment at Children's National Hospital (no eye-patching--just bifocals). We used all public transportation, and thus had some time to kill. We decided on the National Portrait Gallery. 

My expectations were low. I just didn't think that Owen and Joel would be all that impressed with musty pictures of  Warren Harding. And yet, in the spirit of this eclectic city, the museum surpassed all expectations.

Three words: LL Cool J

 

Taking up an entire wall, this oil tribute to LL made me proud to be an American. Only in this country can LL Cool J, Willie Nelson, Lance Armstrong, and Martha Stewart be on the same walls as Thomas Jefferson, George Washington, and John Hancock.

Want to see more? Here's a link to the entire Americans Now exhibit.

It's this kinda stuff that makes me grateful that we live in the outskirts of our Nation's Capital. We are privileged to have these funky little wonders, just waiting for our footsteps, our widened eyes, our whispered, solemn "Wow."

You may laugh. But I tell you, in all sincerity, a city that celebrates all of our Americans--including those in Adidas tracksuits---makes me downright proud.

In the words of LL himself, "I'm the best takin' out all the rookies/So forget Oreos, eat Cool J cookies." 

I guess he's proud, too.

This is my first Sunday in My City for a long time---and I've missed it. Check in with Unknown Mami to discover images and words from other cities. 

Sundays in a Historical Tourist Trap City

I am sneaking onto the computer for a minute because my parents, who are visiting from Colorado, are both reading The Washington Post quite happily.

I expect that I will continue to be a spotty poster/commenter for the remainder of the week.

I notice that I have new followers and I love you. Let's get married.

I will visit you soon.

I will also be a better reader/commenter once I return to my hermit-like normal life. The life, that is, where it is not considered socially unacceptable to be on the computer numerous hours each day. 

***
While I was away, the boys and I met up with my parents at Colonial Williamsburg. With the temperatures soaring around 103 degrees, we all got a true taste of what it would be like to live in the days of wool breeches and hand-powered air conditioning.

Miserable.

We did a forced march up and down Ye Olde Roadway, pushing or pulling the red-faced, whining children. We almost got Ye Olde Heatstroke, were it not for Ye Olde Starbucks.

We quickly returned to the pool, where we engaged in a turf battle with Ye Olde Teenagers and their ancient squirt-muskets of annoyance.

***
It wasn't all historic ass-tractions, though. We also went to Busch Gardens, where I learned that my children are stubborn as mules.

Thanks to my parents, who attended a root-canal of a time-share presentation, we got discounted tickets to the theme park.

We went straight to the Sesame Street Children's Lollapallooza of Awesome, where my children refused to play in the specially designed sprinkler park, preferring to frolic in the blazing sun.

Owen was quick to dismiss most of the rides as "too fast" or "too scary," although there were infants riding the rides unaccompanied.

Eventually, after some careful analysis and study, Owen determined that these rides were not designed to torture or injure, and he decided to take the plunge. Joel was quick to follow.

I think they enjoyed themselves.

***
After Busch Gardens and the historical death march, there was only one place left: Bass Pro Shop.

Owen is into fishing, you see, so I thought he would like the fly-fishing demonstration.

I didn't realize it was also a home-design mecca.

I invite you to give me the best idea for how to incorporate this unique and timeless piece of decor into your life. The best entry, as determined by my Dad, will win the title of MOST AWESOME COMMENTER.

Have at it, and I'll see you when my parents find another newspaper or a good episode of Walker, Texas Ranger.

(Thanks to Unknown Mami for hosting Sundays in My City).

Sundays in My City: Triathlon Report

So, this morning was the long-awaited triathlon. Really, I can't think of a better way to honor Paul's diligent work as a father than to allow him to do what he (and I) do best...watch our children while I chase my various flights of fancy.

I had whipped myself into a bit of a frenzy prior to the race. At the informational meeting, there was much talk of the various egregious errors that could result in the dreaded DQ (disqualification). Triathlon, apparently, is the Soup Nazi of endurance sports. One mistake and..."No Race For You!!"

Additionally, the organizer said more than once that Triathlon is a "thinking person's sport." Shit. Nobody told me this was freakin' chess. 

I managed to arrive by 6:30 AM. It was already about eighty-eight degrees. I dutifully set up my items in the "staging area." Note the socks-in-shoes awesomeness. Thinking person's sport.

 (Never mind that I had to take the socks out of the shoes to put them on...)

It takes a village for me to run a triathlon. I borrowed my friend Darlene's tri-suit, my friend Joanne's bike, and my friend Sellina's helmet. I also had an amazing team of ladies who trained and raced together:

I'm sure they will be thrilled I put this picture on the Interwebz. I'm the one rocking the camel-toe.

Something odd about triathlon racing is that they put your age on your back leg in Sharpie. Everybody wears signs, "I'm sixty-three!" "I'm forty!" "I'm twenty-seven!"

I made me realize that when it comes to telling age, I don't know a damn thing. While I was running, I was ready to kick this girl's ass...until I read that she was twelve. I was happy to see how good forty looks on so many people. Yet, if you asked me to guess, I would have been wrong almost every time. As a narcissist, I believe everybody is my age.

Except doctors. I'm too young to be a doctor. Is it possible that doctors were born in the Ford Administration?

I could go on, but I'll cut to the chase. I tried my best. I worked hard. I was happy with the results.

I also won a door prize, for something called "Heed" electrolyte drink in "Subtle Melon flavor." This made me laugh for two reasons:

1) I kept thinking of Mike Myers in So I Married An Axe Murderer, yelling at his son in a Scottish brogue, "Heed! Move! Now!"

2) If you're gonna drink Melon, why be subtle? I prefer EXTREME HARD-CORE MELON personally.

(I guess humor is subjective, because I just cracked myself up, again.)

Just 'cause, here's a picture of Joel eating a sandwich.

Happy Father's Day!

Thanks to Unknown Mami for Hosting Sundays in My City

Sundays in My City: Farmville

My son may have had the best weekend of his life. Honestly, I hope it peaks with this.

In a few years, "awesome weekends" may involve keg stands and ill-fated to trips to Vegas a la The Hangover. 

I am not mentally or emotionally prepared for such weekends.

Weekends like this, however, I can celebrate.

***
Owen got to do a series of activities that were fun, one-on-one, and most importantly, brother free.

He went fishing on Friday with his Dad, and had a tee-ball game on Saturday morning.

So far so good.

Then, Saturday night, he and his dad went to the demolition derby.

Look---I can't even begin to understand this. Paying actual money to watch people crash their souped-up heaps into each other? I would sooner lick Dick Chaney's bald spot.

I had that gleam in my eye, which caused Paul to say, "If you write a snotty post making fun of good people, you're the worst kind of snob."

God. What a buzz kill. It would be so easy. 

Of course, he has a point. Since I wasn't actually there, I would have to rely on him for material. And he's not sharing.

I guess I'll save it for when we go to the Monster Truck Rally. Which is, sadly, inevitable. 

Today, to complete the weekend of awesome, Owen and I went to Children's Day at the Farm. It was 91 degrees and humid. Joel didn't go because he's a baby and he doesn't like the heat. Paul also wilts like a flower once it's higher than 75 degrees.

So, off we went.

 We planted pumpkin and sunflower seeds.

We made authentic farmland...jellyfish? (It's Maryland--I think there's a law regarding necessary inclusion of jellyfish and/or blue crabs at all public functions.)

We viewed the livestock. (Owen took the picture of the sheep. He already has a far better eye.)

I had one of those moments where you catch your breath and blink back the spontaneous tears.  Owen shed his toddler skin so slowly, I didn't even mourn its passing.

 Today

Last Year

I am so privileged to watch him grow.

Keep climbing, Buddy. I love you.

Thanks to Unknown Mami for hosting Sundays in My City

Sundays in My City: Take Me Out to the Ballgame

On Friday, the boys did not nap and we were looking at a long afternoon of choke holds, acrobatics, screeching, and full-body combat.

So, we decided to take the two boys (four, and almost two) to their first professional baseball game, so they could wrestle in public, and we could pay for the privilege.

We took the Metro into DC, which, as always, was the highlight of the trip for all involved.

 http://www.adventurist.net/trips/washington_dc_08-2004/around_dc/photos/metro-3.jpg

Joel got to point and say "Choo-choo." Owen got to ride an escalator. Paul and I got to see two young men "crunking" in the aisle. We also saw an entrepreneurial gentlemen selling soap and essential oils.

He pitched, "I got sandalwood soap. No more Glade, no more Febreeze. Gentlemen, you can smell like Obama! Ladies, you can smell like Michelle Obama."

I had no idea that the president bought his sandalwood soap on the Green Line.  Honestly, though, the salesmen had me at, "No more Glade."

***
We arrived at National Ballpark, home of your Washington Nationals (nee Senators). They were playing the Baltimore Orioles. Since I have no strong feelings about either team, I decided to go for the Nationals because one of their many mascots is Teddy Roosevelt. I mean, why not? 

The stadium is beautiful and still spankin' new.

We sat down for dinner. I ordered a hot dog because that's what you do. This is what I got:

Blink.

Blink. Blink.

I was...impressed.

And frightened.

But I did what needed to be done.

I wonder, though, what this says about me. When I was still living in Arizona, we went to Alice Cooper's restaurant (yes, that Alice Cooper) by the Diamondbacks ball park.

I ordered a hot dog there called "The Big Unit."  I got this:

http://www.thehotdoghalloffame.com/TFC2.htm

I was young. Naive. Single.

Very, very single.

All I know is that I've yet to recover.

I guess my standards are more realistic now.

I'll figure this all out in therapy.

***
We left the game after the third inning. Joel didn't want to sit, and Owen was learning all sorts of colorful expressions involving the phrase, "Your mother."

As we drove home, I asked Owen about his experience. "What was the best part, Buddy?"

His response was quick: "Going in the big refrigerator."

"Oh," I replied. He was referring to a field trip to Papa John's Pizza back in February. He got to see the walk-in freezer on that mythical, revered trip. Since then, that's been the best part of all excursions.

As he snuggled against me, we listened to the humming of the train, and I smelled his sweaty little neck. Perhaps we'll wait a few years before trying this again.

Or maybe not.

Thanks to Unknown Mami for hosting Sundays in My City. 

I Promise I Will Not Quote John Denver

Okay. Take some beautiful mountains. Add a university. Mix in some dogs. Make that a freakin' boatload of dogs. Throw in some organic local produce and just a splash of legally-sanctioned-medical bong water. What have you got?

My parent's adopted hometown* of Boulder, Colorado. This, my friends, is where I spent this last week.

Thus, Friday Fragments, aka Sundays Fridays in My My Parents' City 

*In the spirit of total disclosure, my parents don't actually live in Boulder, because they also enjoy eating and basic medical care. It was either a Boulder mortgage or that, but not both.

***
I really feel like I could live in Colorado because I've always been a fan of dressing like I'm hiking all the time. In the airport alone, I saw hiking boots, several ponchos, and enough hemp necklaces to dock a large sailboat.

It doesn't take long to get sucked into this state's grungy web. This is what I looked like on my second day there:

I am in the bathroom of a REI, because that is what you do when you visit my parents. We visit REI and the Boulder Running Company.

No visit is complete without buying totally unnecessary athletic footwear:

These Keene shoes are waterproof, designed for trail walking, water-hiking, and for being a bad-ass. I wore mine to the grocery store this morning.

***
In Colorado there are running paths everywhere. As I ran, I saw adorable prairie dogs scampering on land specifically protected for their scampering needs. I also saw the state-of-the-art recreation center with a swimming pool and a free indoor playground and a climbing wall.

I determined that I desperately wanted to move to Colorado immediately.

Then, God sent me this little reminder:

This is my parents' backyard on Wednesday. Colorado people tell me that the snow doesn't last, and that it melts quickly and blah blah blah.

I'm sorry. Snow in May? Eff that.

***
The reason for this trip, besides visiting my family, was for Paul to run the Colorado Marathon in Ft. Collins.
Here he is, crossing the finish line:

He did well and enjoyed himself, despite the altitude. He already has plans to do a race next summer in Leadville, Colorado. This race is at 13,000 feet. This is insanity, in my book.

One may conclude that my husband is a masochist, but as long as it stays out of the bedroom, it's not my problem.

Here's the obligatory post-race family shot:

Do you notice that Owen has commandeered Paul's medal? He was telling anybody who would listen that he earned it by running really, really fast.

***
Just as I had determined that everybody in Colorado was disgustingly fit, we went to the movies to see Iron Man 2.

We went to an uber-shitty mall which seemed to sell mostly air and dust mites, because there were no actual stores. We saw lots of people looking like normal people, not like fitness models.

I must admit, it felt good to see that people in Colorado eat nachos too.

The movie was all that I had hoped it would be. Uninterrupted time to look at this work of art:

 Yes, I know that I already posted this picture.

***
The main gift of this trip was time for my boys to see their grandparents. Time for Paul and I to unplug and reconnect. Time to be a family.

In Colorado, plants grow where they can, despite the obstacles, despite the challenges.

Likewise, this time together helped us to grow as a family, despite the distance, or the obligations, or the distractions.

Our roots are still strong.

Thanks to Mrs. 4444 for hosting Friday Fragments and Unknown Mami for hosting Sundays in My City