Cousins Forging Ties, Language Barrier Be Damned

We have a small immediate family.  Chloe and Sophie don’t have any first cousins in the United States and their only living grandparent is my mom.  My brother resides in Texas and my husband’s siblings and their kids live in France.  We see my brother twice a year at most and we’re lucky if we see our French family every two or three years.  Despite having my mom nearby and remedying some of that familial isolation by maintaining close ties to a couple of aunts and uncles and their children, it feels lonely sometimes.

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On Concerts, My Teenage Daughter & My Teenage Self

Once upon a time, I was obsessive about music.  So were my friends. We stood in line for hours, often through the night (oh, how times were different), at our local record shop in order to snag concert tickets.  We were eclectic in our tastes and as long as the artists met our discerning standards for what constituted “cool,” we managed to find a way to see them perform live. Bruce Springsteen, U2, Rolling Stones, The Cure, Tears for Fears, Depeche Mode, Billy Idol, Billy Joel, Elvis Costello, Tracy Chapman, Steve Winwood, The Police, Suzanne Vega, to name but a few.  Music defined our teenage years.

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The ‘S’ Word in Our House is Not a 4-Letter Word

The ‘S’ word in our house is not ‘shit.’  Nope. We curse so frequently (yet another reason why we’ll never win parenting of the year awards) that the girls are completely immune to all the expletives that regularly spew out of our mouths like torrents of Vesuvius lava onto Pompeii.

The ‘S’ word that causes groans, glares of disdain and sometimes tears is ‘sports.’  Dr. Seuss may not like green eggs and ham, but we do not like sports.  Our kids do not have the benefit of role models when it comes to physical activity.  My husband and I occasionally and reluctantly exercise to help minimize our chances of premature death and make us feel less guilty about our addiction to chocolate, but we don’t exert ourselves with anything resembling enthusiasm.

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The Day Chloe Ate a Habanero Pepper, Won $10 and Lived to Tell the Tale

Scene: Miguel’s Baja Grill, a cheerfully decorated and deliciously authentic Mexican restaurant on Moab’s main drag.

Chloe is intrigued by the habanero pepper on her plate.  She examines it closely.  She thinks it’s cute. The server warns her that it’s not like a regular pepper. It’s on the plate as a garnish. It’s super spicy, he says, practically challenging her to take a bite.  According to Habanero Madness (don’t you just love how the Internet puts every arcane fact at your fingertips), it’s one of the hottest chili peppers in the world.  The jalapeño is a wimp by comparison.

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Adventures & Misadventures, Part III: Arches & Canyonlands

The last part of our trip was devoted to the Utah desert in all its glory.  As I mentioned in my last post, it was as hot as Hades in Moab.  So we did what all of the locals and tourists do.  We woke up early every morning, much to Sophie’s chagrin.  Comments like, “Mom! Why are you doing this to me?”  “Why are you torturing me? ” “This is not a vacation!” were inevitably accompanied by cold hard stares, harumpfs and groans.

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Adventures & Misadventures, Part II – Bryce Canyon & Cedar Breaks National Monument

Where are all the cars? We’ve driven hundreds of miles since leaving Las Vegas eight days ago.  Yet despite the fact that summer is the busiest time of year for the national parks we’ve visited, the lack of traffic on the roads is astounding.  Actually, my use of the word “traffic” here is entirely misleading. Because there is NO traffic, at least not in the “Cross-Bronx-Expressway-is-a-parking-lot-with-bumper-to-bumper-traffic-again-They-should-just-bomb-this-road-into-oblivion” way.  We arrived in Moab today and it has the first traffic lights we’ve seen since Las Vegas on July 6. I am not lying.

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I Survived Vacation Preparation and So Can You

As we prepare to leave for our next adventure to the Utah national parks (with a detour to the Grand Canyon-North Rim), I’ve had an epiphany.  I now know why I am always so excited to arrive at our destination.  Our arrival signifies that we have survived the frenzy of vacation preparation which, in our house, goes something like this:

(1) My husband and I yell at the kids to start packing their suitcases. We then yell at each other for yelling at the kids.  This vicious cycle continues for at least 24-48 hours and we all lose our voices.  And yet Chloe still manages to forget a few things.  And then she blames us. Because we yelled too much and she couldn’t concentrate on her packing.

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A Mom's Ramblings About the Marvels & Mishaps of Parenting, the Joys of Family Travel & the Writing Life