Recently, Lou and I got to spend a lovely long weekend (alone!) at Disney (-world or -land, I always get them confused; the one in Florida) and Universal Studios. And I recommend such a trip to all parents of very small children.
There are three main reasons for this recommendation. (Over and above the obvious pluses of time spent connecting with your spouse while your children form lasting bonds with grandparents/responsible adults who aren't you. That's a whole 'nother topic right there.)
First reason: You remember all those cute and adorable things your spouse/so/etc. used to do when you first got married? The ones that allowed you to see the little kid lurking inside the adult and just melted your heart the way only a little kid can? Also, not coincidentally, the ones that became sources of constant irritation once you had kids and wanted your spouse/whatever to be an adult? The beauty of the amusement park is that it allows those cute little-kid-like qualities to come back out and be heart-meltingly adorable again. Reminding you once more exactly what it was you fell in love with.
Second reason: The first night we arrived, we went straight to Universal Islands of Adventure to get in some time on the good rides. On our way up the first hill on the Hulk ride, I closed my eyes and thought, What am I doing here? I'm too old for this! And on the heels of that panicked thought, I wondered how in the heck I was going to go on roller coasters 10 years from now when all my kids are tall enough to ride, if I couldn't go on one now. Then the ride took off. And once it ended, I was young enough to keep riding roller coasters for years to come. :) 2 minutes and 15 seconds of speed and steel took 5 or 6 years off my age. Well worth it, don't you think? The sheer exhilaration of the ride brought out the little kid in me—and I can't wait to share that whole experience with my own kids. Years from now, when they're old enough to enjoy it. Which brings me to reason #3:
Going to Disney by ourselves helped us avoid a similar trip, with kids, too soon for the enjoyment of the family. See, we're big suckers, and we love to spoil our kids. So time and again there was the "Oh, wouldn't they enjoy ..." or "Wouldn't they be so cute doing ..." But every time one of us said that, the other one could point to the: a) little kid having a meltdown because s/he was overtired and overheated and didn't get x; b) little kid separated from his/her parents, lost and crying (always with a member of the park staff helping out); c) harried parents trying to keep track of and make happy their miserable, tired, hot, children.
Now, this is not a cautionary tale for others. Remember, my youngest is under a year old, and the oldest not tall enough to ride a single non-kiddy ride. But for us, it was a great reminder not to spend a lot of money on a family vacation that wouldn't be enjoyed by the whole family. Plenty of time for amusement parks when the kids are old enough to ride the good rides.
Now, if we can only agree on which park to hit first—he says Disney, I say Cedar Point. We only have about 5 years to decide! Hm. Maybe we'll have to try out Cedar Point next summer ... just to say we've sampled them both. :)
Sunday, June 25, 2006
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Rereading
Well, thanks to Google, I stand corrected. I always thought it was Thomas Jefferson who said that if a book wasn't worth reading twice, it wasn't worth reading the first time. Apparently, it was Winston Churchill. Either way, how true.
Several years back—probably 7 or 8 now—I realized I had so many books it was highly unlikely I'd ever be able to read them all again. And that idea depressed me so much that I promptly started on the task of rereading my entire library. Remember, 7 or 8 years ago. I now have only a shelf and a half left! (Probably another year or two worth of rereading.) I've accumulated a bunch more books since I started the whole project, which means I'll have to reread again once I finish this go-round. I figure maybe I can read every book in my library at least once a decade. It takes a lot of organization to make sure I get them all, but it's worth every single moment.
Some people may wonder why bother? You've read it once, the story doesn't change and neither do the words. But of course, that's not entirely true. Every time you read a book, you pick up on nuances you didn't see before. Sections that maybe you skimmed over or that didn't jump out at you with the same significance before you knew where they were leading. Plus, the person reading the book isn't the same twice. A book you read at 20 is going to say something different to you when you reread it at 30. Or sometimes at 21, depending on what happened to you in that year! Plus, I feel there's a fair amount of arrogance in the idea that one read-through (maybe it takes you a day, a week, even a month) is enough to really experience and ingest the artistry that took the author 6 months to 10 years to create.
But lofty pronouncements aside, I reread for one simple reason—to revisit old friends. The places, the people, even the pages themselves of my favorite books, are all very much like home to me. I'd miss them very much if I never went back.
Several years back—probably 7 or 8 now—I realized I had so many books it was highly unlikely I'd ever be able to read them all again. And that idea depressed me so much that I promptly started on the task of rereading my entire library. Remember, 7 or 8 years ago. I now have only a shelf and a half left! (Probably another year or two worth of rereading.) I've accumulated a bunch more books since I started the whole project, which means I'll have to reread again once I finish this go-round. I figure maybe I can read every book in my library at least once a decade. It takes a lot of organization to make sure I get them all, but it's worth every single moment.
Some people may wonder why bother? You've read it once, the story doesn't change and neither do the words. But of course, that's not entirely true. Every time you read a book, you pick up on nuances you didn't see before. Sections that maybe you skimmed over or that didn't jump out at you with the same significance before you knew where they were leading. Plus, the person reading the book isn't the same twice. A book you read at 20 is going to say something different to you when you reread it at 30. Or sometimes at 21, depending on what happened to you in that year! Plus, I feel there's a fair amount of arrogance in the idea that one read-through (maybe it takes you a day, a week, even a month) is enough to really experience and ingest the artistry that took the author 6 months to 10 years to create.
But lofty pronouncements aside, I reread for one simple reason—to revisit old friends. The places, the people, even the pages themselves of my favorite books, are all very much like home to me. I'd miss them very much if I never went back.
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Dear John Hughes
I have two words for you: Special. Edition. Everywhere you look, you can see extras-loaded releases of many, many mediocre (and worse) films. But you look for a true classic like The Breakfast Club and what do you get? A bundle of three straight movie discs with a bonus music CD. Please, Mr. Hughes. Like we don't already have all the good songs on MP3.
Seriously. A commentary track (surely there must be a Brat Packer out there who wants to relive the glory days, right?), some bonus footage, maybe a blooper reel or a behind-the-scenes documentary—is it really asking all that much?
Seriously. A commentary track (surely there must be a Brat Packer out there who wants to relive the glory days, right?), some bonus footage, maybe a blooper reel or a behind-the-scenes documentary—is it really asking all that much?
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
the grass is a different color in the Midwest
I recently had the opportunity to head back to Ohio, my personal definition of "the Midwest", and I got to drive through a lovely rural slice of the middle of the state. And the grass is a different color. Something about the combination of the grass and the light mixes together to create a color with more blue in the grass and more yellow in the sky than we have here on the East Coast. It's a color you can almost smell—late afternoon/early twilight mixed in with slightly damp freshly mown grass. A green, buttery kind of smell. And with it, that perfect temperature—hot, definitely, but not too hot. With a light breeze and the slight touch of the evening's coolness.
For me, that combination of light and scent and feel means summer evenings at my grandparents' house. The times we went down to hang out when my aunt and uncle were in town. With late-night 8-handed games of euchre, and my mother, aunts, and grandmother talking late into the night. What were they talking about? I don't remember. I don't think it matters.
I drove by my grandparents' old house while I was in Ohio. It was for sale, boarded up, and the surrounding neighborhood had taken a few steps down since I was last there. How clearly I remembered the rusting swingset on which my cousin and I had played Dukes of Hazzard; the back lawn where my grandfather's garden had been and my grandmother's collection of ceramic ducks and chickens. The front porch where the family would gather on summer nights, perching here and there and talking, talking, talking. It was in that house where I heard Santa Claus. No, really. Every time we stayed over there on Christmas Eve (probably 4 or 5 times), I would wake up in the middle of the night distinctly hearing sleighbells. (I have a theory about them, but I'll keep it to myself. I prefer the magic.)
My grandfather is gone now. He survived my mother by two years; my uncle Bill by 7; and my grandmother by 11. The last three siblings are scattered by distance or choice.
But I can still smell the night air and hear the laughter like it was yesterday.
For me, that combination of light and scent and feel means summer evenings at my grandparents' house. The times we went down to hang out when my aunt and uncle were in town. With late-night 8-handed games of euchre, and my mother, aunts, and grandmother talking late into the night. What were they talking about? I don't remember. I don't think it matters.
I drove by my grandparents' old house while I was in Ohio. It was for sale, boarded up, and the surrounding neighborhood had taken a few steps down since I was last there. How clearly I remembered the rusting swingset on which my cousin and I had played Dukes of Hazzard; the back lawn where my grandfather's garden had been and my grandmother's collection of ceramic ducks and chickens. The front porch where the family would gather on summer nights, perching here and there and talking, talking, talking. It was in that house where I heard Santa Claus. No, really. Every time we stayed over there on Christmas Eve (probably 4 or 5 times), I would wake up in the middle of the night distinctly hearing sleighbells. (I have a theory about them, but I'll keep it to myself. I prefer the magic.)
My grandfather is gone now. He survived my mother by two years; my uncle Bill by 7; and my grandmother by 11. The last three siblings are scattered by distance or choice.
But I can still smell the night air and hear the laughter like it was yesterday.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
the in-law effect
My in-laws have come and gone on another visit, leaving me to ponder the interesting effect their visits have on me. Months in advance of their scheduled arrival, I'll find myself watching the kids and thinking "Wait till your Grandma sees you!", imagining the pride and interest my MIL will take in their growth and development. I see each new accomplishment and long to share it with other family members who will feel the same sense of wonder I do in these little people who are the glue that bind us all together. Especially since we don't speak that often between visits, so I feel like I save up those moments, enjoying them to myself while imagining the reaction of other doting relatives.
Then they arrive, and I get the chance to point out each new wonderful thing. And mostly it is really nice to watch grandparents and grandchildren together—Charles, in particular, follows "Drama" around like a puppy.
But toward the end of the visit, the wonder of sharing my children with their family begins to pall, and I start to want them back. Pretty normal, I suspect—wanting all my usual hugs and kisses, my usual role in spoiling and disciplining, my established place of importance in their little minds, back. And so the ILs head home, leaving a certain amount of chaos in their week from children who have suddenly gone from the nearly 24-hour-a-day attention of grandparents who are here solely to cater to every childish whim to the ... um, not so constant attention of their parents. Who are not here solely to cater to every childish whim, no matter what my children might think!
In a few months, though, that reaction will have faded, and I'll be right back to "Wait until your Grandma sees you!" Which in the grand scheme of things, is a pretty good place to be.
Then they arrive, and I get the chance to point out each new wonderful thing. And mostly it is really nice to watch grandparents and grandchildren together—Charles, in particular, follows "Drama" around like a puppy.
But toward the end of the visit, the wonder of sharing my children with their family begins to pall, and I start to want them back. Pretty normal, I suspect—wanting all my usual hugs and kisses, my usual role in spoiling and disciplining, my established place of importance in their little minds, back. And so the ILs head home, leaving a certain amount of chaos in their week from children who have suddenly gone from the nearly 24-hour-a-day attention of grandparents who are here solely to cater to every childish whim to the ... um, not so constant attention of their parents. Who are not here solely to cater to every childish whim, no matter what my children might think!
In a few months, though, that reaction will have faded, and I'll be right back to "Wait until your Grandma sees you!" Which in the grand scheme of things, is a pretty good place to be.
Sunday, June 04, 2006
resolutions - time to get back at it!
Just to wrap up all my commentary on this month's resolutions in one day—this month I'm trying to restart a few things. Definitely get back to the exercise, which my vacation really enforced some slacking on. Also, restart my diet. I have done so much slip-sliding, it's a wonder I haven't put every ounce back on! So as of tomorrow, having had my fill this weekend of birthday cake, time to get back to SparkPeople and be good about keeping within my calorie limit. And, finally, get up earlier. We've been sleeping later and later, and our morning routines are really suffering from it.
Last month was really a success, I felt. I think I've done a lot better at finding creative ways to talk to the kids instead of yell at them. And it has helped me realize all over again that nothing works lie novelty. If you yell every time, they get immune to it ... and so do you. But if they expect you to yell, and you laugh, then they're off-balance and somewhat relieved ... and so are you.
And, finally ... again ... still ... trying to work on my writing schedule. Also trying to settle on a project to work on, but mostly trying to first find the time.
Last month was really a success, I felt. I think I've done a lot better at finding creative ways to talk to the kids instead of yell at them. And it has helped me realize all over again that nothing works lie novelty. If you yell every time, they get immune to it ... and so do you. But if they expect you to yell, and you laugh, then they're off-balance and somewhat relieved ... and so are you.
And, finally ... again ... still ... trying to work on my writing schedule. Also trying to settle on a project to work on, but mostly trying to first find the time.
resolution shake-up
Since I've had to shuffle resolutions the last couple of months, I've completely messed up the schedule! So now I need to redo the schedule for the latter half of the year.
The new order:
June — waking up earlier. (Lou's sharing in this one.) Morning routines are getting more and more challenging, and we both need to rise earlier to those challenges. (This replaces "eating schedules" from the original list of resolutions—see December 2005—since the morning routine needs more work and the eating schedules issue is really out of reach for a while.)
July — "Lou's month." Nudge, nudge. Wink, wink.
August — diet month. Time to really focus on improving my diet in the long term, and probably try the "no sugar at all" again in the short term. It worked well for me the first time ... even though it was quite painful!
September — money. Obviously, spend less, but I'm still working on where precisely the fat most needs to be trimmed. (Lou would say, toys, but considering the number he buys for himself, not a lot of room for talk there!)
October — time spent with the kids. More quality time spent enjoying their childhoods!
November — writing. Just in time for National Novel Writing Month, if they're still doing that.
December — month of rest. Relax, reflect on progress, etc. Maybe spend a whole month just enjoying my life without worrying about how to improve it. Since it really is pretty darn good.
The new order:
June — waking up earlier. (Lou's sharing in this one.) Morning routines are getting more and more challenging, and we both need to rise earlier to those challenges. (This replaces "eating schedules" from the original list of resolutions—see December 2005—since the morning routine needs more work and the eating schedules issue is really out of reach for a while.)
July — "Lou's month." Nudge, nudge. Wink, wink.
August — diet month. Time to really focus on improving my diet in the long term, and probably try the "no sugar at all" again in the short term. It worked well for me the first time ... even though it was quite painful!
September — money. Obviously, spend less, but I'm still working on where precisely the fat most needs to be trimmed. (Lou would say, toys, but considering the number he buys for himself, not a lot of room for talk there!)
October — time spent with the kids. More quality time spent enjoying their childhoods!
November — writing. Just in time for National Novel Writing Month, if they're still doing that.
December — month of rest. Relax, reflect on progress, etc. Maybe spend a whole month just enjoying my life without worrying about how to improve it. Since it really is pretty darn good.
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