Time flies

I am home with the kids, still putting away stuff from being gone. Gary is gone (what else is new?).

And I have no time. None. It is nearly 11, I need to go to bed, and I am on the computer taking care of stuff that I would have liked to do earlier.

Such is life. (Though I did manage to carve out an hour to be in the pool - I was watching the girls, so it doesn't *really* count as R&R time. Just so we're clear.)

One daughter has band camp this week. One wants to play with friends. The oldest? She is learning to drive. TO DRIVE. Not sure I'll survive this part of my life.

Oh god - just dawned on me that she is only one of three. Help me.

Eye doctor visits, birthday preparations, work (much work) to be doing, and we're going away next week. The executive we - no kids. Thank goodness.

This is dull. Enough! May my brain fully engage tomorrow.

The Two Kings

Post-Graceland, we are still a little hyped on Elvis. And I'm not really that into him - truly, the whole phenomenon is just sort of trippy. And you have to sort of love Elvis now don't you? It's all part of being American.

So, with apologies to the Utne Reader, where I first read this many years ago, here are my favorite similarities between Elvis and Jesus:

Jesus said: "Love thy neighbor." (Matthew 22:39)
Elvis said: "Don't be cruel." (RCA, 1956)

Jesus is the Lord's shepherd.
Elvis dated Cybill Shepherd.

Jesus was part of the Trinity.
Elvis' first band was a trio.

Jesus walked on water. (Matthew 14:25)
Elvis surfed. (Blue Hawaii, Paramount, 1965)

Jesus' entourage, the Apostles, had 12 members
Elvis' entourage, the Memphis Mafia, had 12 members.

Jesus was resurrected.
Elvis had the famous 1968 "comeback" TV special.

Jesus said, "If any man thirst, let him come unto me, and drink." (John 7:37)
Elvis said, "Drinks on me!" (Jailhouse Rock, MGM, 1957)

Jesus fasted for 40 days and nights.
Elvis had irregular eating habits. (e.g. 5 banana splits for breakfast)

Jesus is a Capricorn. (December 25)
Elvis is a Capricorn. (January 8)

Matthew was one of Jesus' many biographers. (The Gospel According to Matthew)
Neil Matthews was one of Elvis' many biographers. (Elvis: A Golden Tribute)

"[Jesus] countenance was like lightning, and his raiment white as snow."(Matthew 28:3)
Elvis wore snow-white jumpsuits with lightning bolts.

Jesus lived in state of grace in a Near Eastern land.
Elvis lived in Graceland in a nearly eastern state.

Mary, an important woman in Jesus' life, had an Immaculate Conception.
Priscilla, an important woman in Elvis' life, went to Immaculate Conception High School.

Jesus was first and foremost the Son of God.
Elvis first recorded with Sun Studios, which today are still considered to be his foremost recordings.

Jesus was the lamb of God.
Elvis had mutton chop sideburns.

Jesus' Father is everywhere.
Elvis' father was a drifter, and moved around quite a bit.

Jesus was a carpenter.
Elvis' favorite high school class was wood shop.

Jesus wore a crown of thorns.
Elvis wore Royal Crown hair styler.

Jesus H. Christ has 12 letters.
Elvis Presley has 12 letters.

No one knows what the "H" in "Jesus H. Christ" stood for.
No one was really sure if Elvis' middle name was "Aron" or "Aaron".

Jesus is often depicted in pictures with a halo that looks like a gold plate.
Elvis' face is often depicted on a plate with gold trim and sold through TV.

Jesus said: "Man shall not live by bread alone."
Elvis liked his sandwiches with peanut butter and bananas.

*Peace*

Catch up

Wow. Coming home is tough. I still have not made it to the grocery store (because this is one of my least favorite tasks in the world - ick). We brought home a bunch of fruit with us, ordered a pizza, found stuff in the freezer, so we have not been starving. I must go today.

But I'm nearly done with my mountain of laundry. My washer is leaking - do I fix the 17-year-old washer or spring for a pricey new one? Such a dilemma .... laundry I don't actually mind, in the grand scheme of housework. It's bearable. I've almost folded everything - even the sheets. Though I hate folding fitted sheets. Mine usually look half folded; what's the diff, I figure, as they're either going into the linen closet or back onto a bed. Do wrinkles matter?

I fold my own sheets. For some reason, I do not care to delegate sheets and bed-making to the cleaner. I am more than happy to let her take care of all the rest, but I like my bed done a certain way, so I do that myself. I read recently that Mrs. Mitt Romney folds her own sheets, too. It may be the only thing the two of us have in common.

Much to do this week: Work stuff, eye doctor, getting ready for school, playdates for the girls, a movie day with friends ... and so on.

So, I've covered laundry, groceries, Mitt Romney, plans for the week. Evidently, I lead a very full and balanced life, rife with metaphysical questions. Or so I keep telling myself anyway ....

Home

Ah, to be home. Two weeks away is a looooong time. Fun, yes, but alas, so long.

But it was wonderful. Saw my parents, my brothers, my niece, my brother's girlfriend. Hung out with my family, visited a friend from high school.

Then - and this was fun - spent a week on Lake Murray in southern Oklahoma at a UU camp. Unitarian Universalist. Not the church for everyone, but for us, it is so right. A week of solid community. Fabulous guest speakers (addressing the need for a resurgence of the religious left), workshops (on social justice, nonviolence), music, and friends. We had such fun - it feels so good to spend time with like-minded people. The kids love it, too. It just feels so good to start up a conversation with just any random person. To see a game of Mah Jongg getting started and say hey, mind if I join you? To look at someone at the karaoke party and say, I need someone to sing with. Let's do this together. It's that kind of community.

And now we're home again. It feels good to come home to a tidy house. But now there's laundry to do, mail to sort, an inbox full of e-mails to delete. Must grocery shop. Get organized.

In time, in time.

And ooooohhh, I finished The Book. But that's all I'll say. For now.

Vacation mid-point

First things first:

Visiting family does not equal vacation.

I see it as more of an obligation than a vacation. Vacation, to me, is going someplace really exciting (New York! Hawaii! Graceland in Memphis!) or somewhere lovely and relaxing (the beach) or someplace just fun (skiiing). Yet every year, we must make the trek to visit Gary's family in Missouri. This we do because ... well, because it is what one must do. Family harmony and all that.

So we did. And I am here to say we survived. But I am getting ahead of myself. First things first: We toured Graceland! I should clarify: I am not that big an Elvis fan. I mean, who doesn't find the '68 Comeback Special Elvis hot? (In that black leather get up? Exactly.) And you have to love his early stuff: That's All Right. Heartbreak Hotel. He's Elvis, right? So Graceland was just fun. (Though you see neither the television he shot at nor the toilet where he, um, expired. Too bad ...

And to make the day even more meaningful, we also visited the National Civil Rights Museum, which is housed in the actual Lorraine Hotel, site of the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr. Very moving - I am so glad we took the girls. They saw the footage of fire hoses being turned on school-age children in the south, a replica of the Woolworth's lunch counter (saw the original in the Smithsonian), buses that told the story of Rosa Parks and that were firebombed when the Freedom Riders used them.

Wow. And Sylvia's response? "That's just mean."

Insightful comments from my 8-year-old. Funny that some adults don't see that.

Then came family time. Three days in DeSoto, MO, with Gary's family. The girls enjoyed seeing their grandparents, two great-grandmothers. It was nice to see them, and the girls enjoyed going out on the boat. One of Gary's cousins has a 17-month-old daughter, and the girls had fun with her. (Though the parenting skills I saw displayed were disturbing, to say the least - I'm not big on deception, as in: Eat your dinner or we'll get rid of the fish in the aquarium. Also not big on the need to "use my hand" on a 17-month-old. Nor on describing a not-quite 2-year-old as "horrible." She's just a little girl. Sigh.)

Three days with the Muellers didn't feel like enough punishment: We topped that with three days of Gerlachs, meeting my parents and brothers et al in St. Louis. For me, that actually is fun; my brothers are pretty entertaining to be with. John and Barb are actually quite fun to just hang out and play games with - Yahtzee, Taboo, Scrabble. We got to indoctrinate Andy, Jim and Emily into the competitive fray (my parents did not seem to have the stomach for it ...)

I could try to describe our somewhat unique way of playing Yahtzee. The party that was Shankfest 2007. Norm the Beer Gnome. But I'm pretty sure you had to be there.

To paraphrase a friend, every family has its own level of disfunction; those who say their family doesn't is just lying. It is so true - I saw every bit of it firsthand over the past week. But it's what you deal with. And in the case of my family, it just adds to the ... well, we'll just say "character" or "color" of the group.

Never the less, I'm glad we all got together. They're the people who understand us the best. That's the important thing.

Just don't confuse it with my vacation.

Ten hours in the car

Can make you want to kill your children.

We were up at the crack of dawn - after being up til midnight - and the girls' rooms were disasters. I thought I had made it clear that rooms were to be clean before we left. Who knows - maybe I hear those words in my head and don't articulate the thoughts. I was stunned at the amount of disorder upstairs. So we left an hour later than planned, but the rooms are in better shape. (Something has to change in the coming months ... but that's another post.)

We'd been on the road less than two hours before we heard complaints: I'm hungry. Can we watch a movie? At 11 we gave in, let them watch a movie. Stopped for lunch, then were back in the car.

And the fighting started. Keep in mind that we are driving in pouring torrential rain, and all I hear from the backseat is: She moved my seat up! But she moved it back. But I don't have any leg room. But I can't close the cooler.

Andonandonandon. Good golly. One of these two has the ENTIRE back seat of the van - three seats - to herself. And they are fighting over one lousy inch.

I finally told them I had had enough. Enough! One daughter was mad enough at me for laying down the law that she refused to speak to me til we hit the hotel. I can live with that - hey, it was quieter.

This reminds me of my own family vacations, where we fought in the back seat (in a car that was a whole lot smaller and less comfortable than ours - good grief, our van has every option under the sun) and my dad threatened to pull the car over. He never actually did, but the sight of that arm coming over the front seat was enough to scare us straight. We had no radio (those AM jobs didn't pick up much on the highway), and I'm not sure if we always had AC. (Though we did have the stench of my dad's cigarettes ...)

Just outside Memphis we hit some sort of accident and the Interstate was closed. So, after waiting awhile, assessing the situation, we (the administrative we, that is) riskily maneuvered the car around and headed back the way we came. This is where the Navigation system pays for itself, as it re-routed us and - at last! - we are settled into the Homewood Suites, complete with complimentary Internet access. (The last hotel where I stayed was in Europe, where nothing is free, and the Internet costs a pretty pfennig.)

Our room sort of smells funny. But it's OK. Because tomorrow we see Graceland. The Mississippi delta is shining like a national guitar. For reasons I can't explain, there's some part of me that wants to see Graceland. We all will be received in Graceland

Countdown

I want to write about my moveon.org meetup, about blogging, about people who bug me.

But alas, no time. We leave bright and early tomorrow for a two-week vacation, and I need to get stuff together. Plus, we're meeting friends to see Harry Potter, so I really need to get this stuff done.

Pay bills, stop the mail, the paper, send a package. Tidy the house (hate to come home to a mess). Dog details. And so on.

The laundry is mostly done. Got Maddie to her friend's house. Downstairs is done. But I must pack, check on kids' rooms.

We're heading to Graceland, Graceland, Memphis, Tennessee. We're going to Graceland. The it's to DeSoto, Missouri, to see my in-laws. Then a few days in St. Louis with my entire family: parents, three brothers, one girlfriend, one niece. And us - first time in more than ten years. Wow.

Then we're spending a week on Lake Murray in Oklahoma. It's a Unitarian Universalist family camp - doesn't sound like much, but it's pretty fun. An entire week with like-minded people - wow. We had a great time last year.

But I've blocked my afternoons, no classes: I'm going to read Harry Potter before someone ruins it for me. We won't have media access, so it should work out just fine.

So, much to do. I'll be back, though, at the end of July. Maybe sooner, depending on Internet availability.

Royalty

When eating dinner in the presence of Her Majesty at Balmoral, one must remain until the Queen's pipers have played. To leave before the monarch would be in bad taste. Oh - and this happens every night.

You probably didn't know that.

You might not know, either, that Prince Charles, before strolling the grounds at Balmoral, phones the Queen's private secretary to make sure it's OK - Her Majesty might prefer the grounds to herself.

Or that Prince Philip must contact the Queen's secretary to see if she is free for luncheon. And that some evenings the Queen prefers to eat dinner alone on a TV tray while watching her favorite programs, apparently worn out from a week of people kissing up to her.

And how do I know these fascinating tidbits? It's all in The Diana Chronicles, Tina Brown's retelling of the Diana years.

It is a fascinating read. Well, perhaps not for everyone, but for me, definitely.

I confess, I have not always had this proclivity toward all things royal. Before Diana, the House of Windsor was decidedly dull. This is the woman, the queen, who, upon returning from a lengthy overseas trip, shook her 5-year-old son's hand. The dogs, the horses, the tramps through the bogs in Wellingtons - not exciting stuff. With the exception of Princess Margaret - who early on decided to tow the royal line - they were a rather tiresome group.

But the post-separation Diana made things fun. They needed someone to shake things up. To wear clothing designed after 1955.

In 1976-77, we lived in England, in a tiny hamlet called Repton. It was the year of the Queen's Silver Jubilee. Our village, like all of them throughout Britain, had massive Jubilee celebrations on the green. It was a carnival atmostphere, with games and prizes. All students were presented with Jubilee Crowns (coins) and spoons to commemorate the occasion. And I got a coffee mug for my birthday - it sits in my china cabinet to this day, holding my crown and spoon.

Four years later, in 1980-81, my father was on sabbatical in Northern Ireland. This was the year of the royal marriage, and he brought home some of the many millions of items emblazoned with best wishes for the happy couple - I have a tea towel (a popular British souvenir, for those who don't know) and a T-shirt. He also bought a book called Not the Royal Wedding, a wickedly funny spoof of the nuptials, including a photo of Prince Philip talking to Princess Anne, who looks remarkably like a horse ...

I got up early to watch the weddings of Princess Anne, of Charles and Diana, and of Andrew and Sarah. His occurred just before I went to spend a semester in London, in 1986. This must have been at the height of the Wales' marriage difficulties. She seemed pretty but rather vapid. We heard rumors - I heard that they were adulterous, that if Diana had been off the front pages of the papers for a few days, that she would wear something particularly outrageous.

I didn't believe any of it. Silly me.

I think it was all true. If you've read any of these books - and I confess, I have - from Paul Burrell to Andrew Morton to Simone what's-her-name - they all paint the same picture: a Diana who was sooo young, so unprepared, and left on her own to deal with a very rigid, very strange, and very isolating existence, one where infidelity by one's husband was simply accepted and never discussed, where one simply does as one is told.

Diana, it appears, did not always deal with it in a mature fashion. She threw fits, she was petty and manipulative. She was not that bright, not well educated, not an intellectual by any means. But she did grow into a savvy woman, one who figured out her role and knew how to get what she wanted by using the press.

She could be mean and vindictive. It was she, apparently, who anonymously blew the whistle on others' behavior, hoping to detract from her own exploits. She cut off her friends for minor transgressions, after expecting them to answer her every beck and call, every whim. After the Andrew Morton book, when she told certain of her friend sto cooperate, she later cut off these same friends for betraying her. Her ladies-in-waiting were sent out at all hours to get her whatever she wanted. And if they displeased her, she quit speaking to them and could be cruel.

Yet knowing all this, knowing how spoiled she was, I still have a soft spot for her. She used. She was young - only 19 - and there is no way she was prepared for the role being thrust upon her. She was not sophisticated enough to handle the job nor the stress, and she and Prince Charles had nothing in common. She was duped into thinking this could ever work.

Sure, she was petty and did not behave well. But she used her talents, such as they were, to bring relief to others. You can't argue with her charity work. Maybe her reasons weren't as altruistic as she might have had you think. But she lent her name and credibility to causes when they needed them most - touching AIDS patients, showing the world that they were still human.

And let's face it - she looked fantastic. Not early on, but by the 90s, she was a knockout.

Absolutely fabulous.

Like her or not, the book is amazing. It's the same story, but told in a completely captivating way by Brown, former editor of Vanity Fair and The New Yorker. The details are smoking - more than you ever wanted to know about Charles and his bedroom predilections - and while parts of it are making me uncomfortable, it's hard to put down.

Diana may not have really given us much. But she gave us a story so good that no fiction writer could have come up with it. They wouldn't have dared.

Summer Learning

The rain won't stop.

It has rained here, off and on, for the past several weeks. Those of you who don't live in Texas have, no doubt, heard about the deluge, the flooding. Thankfully - well, for us - we don't live in the part of the state that has been hardest hit - that would be the area northwest of Austin. Here in Houston, it's just daily thunderstorms and showers. We sneak in a dip in the pool when we can.

And I didn't exactly panic about a fire hazard as we shot off fireworks on the fourth - nothing here is going to ignite. We were lucky to find a brief respite from the rain to start the grill, light a few sparklers.

Yet the children must be entertained. As a parent, it is my duty to enlighten them, engage their minds on issues of relevance. History, for example.

Last week we concentrated on mid-century history. Namely, we watched some Elvis Presley movies.

This week? We've turned the clock forward a bit and watched some classic television.

I've already introduced the girls to much-loved television like That Girl, Bewitched, Leave it to Beaver, and Andy Griffith. But it's time now to move to the next decade. Our show of choice?

The Partridge Family.

The girls love it. We discuss the fashions (which don't look as dated as you might think). The music and the way two adults and four talent-free kids sound like a chorus of 15. Even without rehearsal. We take note of the guest stars and who was on before they were famous: Farrah Fawcett, Jaclyn Smith, Vic Tayback, Pat Harrington. Or big stars, like Ray Bolger, Morey Amsterdam, Dick Clark, Johnny Cash.

(And it's a little scary how many of the songs I can sing along to ... I mean really, who can't sing "I
Think I Love You"? or that early one, "Together ... having a ball ..." or "I woke up in love this morning." Now those are some lyrics.)

Clearly education is a value we hold dearly in our family.

Well, that, and a penchant for kitschy television. I can hardly wait to do Get Smart.

Isn't parenting fun?

Summer Weekend

My days have changed, and for the better. No more summer school - Alison finished her three-week PE course, finished her driving school session, so we are free. Free! No more shuttling kids.

Which doesn't mean my days are wide open - there is still plenty to do. Work, kids, house, planning. But my time is more flexible - I am not boxed in by pick-up times.

Gary was gone last week, returned Friday from Moscow. I was there in 1986, when it was the Soviet Union, and it was interesting to compare. The hotel where we stayed - Hotel Rossia - was an Intourist Hotel where they tried to put all foreign guests, in order to contain them. Gary stayed at the Marriott, only blocks away, but he saw the hotel where we stayed. Lenin's tomb was not open, so he didn't see that. But his general impression was that Moscow was much like any other European city, bustling with busy outdoor cafes, the streets full of billboards and western shops. The exact opposite of what I remember as a drab, colorless city, devoid of activity.

But that was 20 years ago. Things have changed.

And I digress. Thursday night we celebrated Alison's end of school by going out to eat and running to Academy sporting goods. New swimsuits for the girls, new workout clothes for me - now I have to exercise more ... Alison and I stayed up and watched Steve Martin's Shopgirl which was ... not the best movie I've ever seen. Sort of a downer. Friday morning was Alison's first day free of PE class. So? She and I got up and went for a run. (The new Nike gear is great, by the way :))

Came home and swam - have to jump in when the skies are clear these days, as we're getting more than our share of rain - cleaned up, puttered around, then took the girls bowling. After three years of league bowling, I've bowled exactly once since moving to Houston. And it showed - all three girls were beating me through the fifth frame. At about frame six I managed to get my act together, and my final score was 114 - bad considering what my average was, but impressive when you consider my score in the fifth.

Saturday was mostly a day of taking care of little details: Spray-painted a shelf for the kitchen to hold cookbooks, put up a new shelf in Alison's bathroom, cleared some clothes from the closet (including all of Gary's ugliest clothes), de-cluttered my kitchen desk. Not tasks of monumental importance, but essential, none the less. Swam late in the day.

And watched O Brother, Where Art Thou? with the girls. They quite liked it. Though if I'd remembered how much language there was, I might have reconsidered. No f-bombs, but GD this, that, and the other. Perfect parent I'm not, but I do try to set a good example.

Today was baseball: The Astros played the Rockies. I'm big on historic preservation, old architecture. Which includes old ball parks. But I have to say, I really like some of these new ball parks. Minute Maid is no exception. They are all designed so well - there are no bad seats, unlike old stadiums like the old Busch, where every seat was a bad one. I'm also not big on watching baseball indoors - it feels unnatural. But Minute Maid has a wall of windows, and the dome opens when the weather is right. And let's face it, Houston is awfully hot. Plus today was raining - it's nice to know there are no rain delays or cancellations.

We got the cheap seats and had a great time - saw two home runs, lots of great plays. But no Craig Biggio - he was off today. Houston beat the Rockies 10-0. And we got lots of good people watching in - my personal fave was the woman wearing a purple floral smock - it looked like something our cafeteria workers would have worn. Hmmm ... the blue heels with the capris made for a nice look.

So the weekend comes to an end. And this week is July 4 - fireworks. Let's hope there's no rain ...

Farewell to an icon

Way back when I graduated from college, I found the perfect dress. It was a perfect black and white summer dress, looked great on me. But it was by Liz Claiborne, and at $100, it was beyond my budget.

I didn't get the dress (I bought another one, and it still hangs in my closet, though I don't wear it). But when I entered the working world, I became quite the Liz Claiborne fan. Her clothing became a wardrobe staple for me during my 20s, back when I was working full time. I loved the cut and style of her working wardrobe - it was very chic and dressy without being fussy. You must remember, this is the late 80s/early 90s, and styles were different. I also loved Casual Corner, The Limited, and Jones New York, shopping from Spiegel Catalog.

So I couldn't help but note that Liz Claiborne died recently. I didn't realize how relatively new her clothing was - it didn't really come to prominence until the 1970s. She is known for single-handedly reinventing style for the working woman who, prior to Claiborne & Co., were relegated to suits with foulard bows (a look I thought was über-chic when I was in high school - it's pictured in The Preppy Handbook - oh wow, haven't thought of that book in years!).

I loved her perfume, her shorts, her swimsuits. I still like her jewelry. Many of her clothes still hang in my closet. No longer worn, but I can't throw them out. They have a classic feel, and I need to hold onto them.

I've moved on a bit from Liz over the past decade - suddenly, when I hit my 30s, styles changed, and but Liz seemed to stay behind. Her casual clothes all felt like golf clothing (women's golf wear is not a look I aspire to - I find the shorts icky and the polo shirts a bit too retro for my taste) and her working clothes felt a bit too frumpy. But I still like some of her brands - DKNY, Kate Spade, Juicy Couture.

I loved the story about how she appeared on Oprah and admitted to giving proceeds from her company to devil-worshipers. Apparently Oprah changed clothes during the break and confronted Liz, saying she'd removed her LC dress and would never, ever wear her clothing again. Naturally, no one had actually seen the episode, but everyone knew someone who had seen it.

Right. From what I understand, the same urban legend has circulated about Tommy Hilfiger. I'm guessing no has seen that episode, either.

So I'm sad to see her go. A woman who saw a need and revolutionized fashion for women. Good going, Liz. The world needs a few more women like you.

Happy Birthday!

A quick Happy Birthday to my high school partner in crime, Tammy Johnson. (How weird is it that not only was there another Tammy Johnson in Springfield, MO, but that not only was she a high school student, but did not go to our high school, yet lived only blocks away from the Tammy I knew?)

I won't give her age - that would be rude - but I will say she is exactly one month younger than I am. Which takes out of the market all the great birthday cards that taunt, "Ha ha, I'll always be younger than you." It's OK, though - I just buy them for my friend Helen :)

I think I've mentioned this before, but Tammy and I have been friends since the first day of fourth grade, when she - wearing the jacket with strawberries on it - said she liked the cover of my spiral notebook (Holly Hobby-like, as I recall). I promptly ripped it off and said she could have it.

We bonded instantly. Bad taste at a young age will do that to you.

We went through those awkward middle school years together, grew into insecure teens, at some point matured, and went our separate ways at college time. Oh, the stories I could tell ... though I'll refrain, because she has just as many embarrassing moments on me. I still have the book she gave me when I left for college, a book of British poetry. Though we got wrapped up in our lives from time to time, we always came back and called eventually - I would bet she could still tell you my parents' phone number.

She isn't home today, or I'd give her a call. But we'll talk soon. And maybe see one another? I certainly hope so - it's been awhile, and I'm always up for a get-away weekend.

Happy Birthday No. ??, Tammy. Drink a margarita for me.

Summer Reading

I read a quote the other day that said there are two types of women: those we read and loved the Betsy-Tacy books, and those who didn't.

Not sure where I ran across it - it's summertime, and I stumble across all sorts of summer reading advice. Newsweek has its weekly author-of-note listing five influential books; People magazine lists what celebrities are reading, and NPR's Morning Edition chats with renowned librarian Nancy Pearl, author of Book Lust, on her summer reading choices.

But I do know which category I fall into: I adore Betsy-Tacy. And Tib, too. The books are charming - they have a certain innocence and simplicty in their story-telling that has been lost today.

Which isn't to say there isn't excellent children's literature out there today - Sharon Creech and Lois Lowry, Kevin Henkes and Lisa Yee. Not to mention JK Rowling.

But my favorite part of reading with my girls is taking them back to books I adored as a child. I always loved to read. I went to school so anxious to learn to read books for myself. I had grown up with Captain Kangaroo reading aloud to me, books like Mike Mulligan and his Steam Shovel, Curious George. I checked out books from the library on Jeanne-Marie, the little French girl who watched the sheep. We didn't start learning to read in earnest until first grade. Which was OK - in kindergarten I contented myself with listening to Mrs. Shipman read aloud. Until we got a new girl, Janet Anderson, and she could actually read. Herself. I was crushed - I wanted to be the one who could read first.

I actually ended up being quite good friends with Janet (her older brother, Jeff, was friends with my brother John, and she and I shared a love of David Cassidy). But the sting of not being the first reader never quite left me, and I made up for it. Once I was a certified individual reader, I made up for lost time. And it's an obsession that hasn't quite left me - the master's degree in literature is testament to that affair with books.

It has been with great joy that I have shared the books of my childhood with my own daughters. I have read aloud to them the Carolyn Haywood books about Betsy and Billy, the Eleanor Estes series on the Moffat clan, and Beverly Cleary's accounts of Henry Huggins and gang. Charlotte's Web, A Wrinkle in Time, books by Lois Lenski and Sydney Taylor. I have read the Laura Ingalls Wilder books aloud three times, all from the well-worn set of paperbacks I got for my ninth birthday - they are taped together, dog-eared, and missing parts of the covers, which only shows how much they have been enjoyed.

I even got Alison turned on to Nancy Drew for a time- I love that she read Nancy critically. Her favorite part, she told me, was when Nancy lost her scuba diving equipment when it was washed overboard - so she rushed home to get her *spare* scuba set - !

I cry every time Mary goes blind, every time Jack the dog doesn't wake up one morning. I cry every time Charlotte the spider dies along at the state fair. And I cringe a little bit when they talk about putting on black face for the minstrel show or describe the Indians as red-faced savages. So I pause and explain to the girls that we don't use those terms anymore, opening up discussion on how life and mores have changed over the years.

I've had to open my canon to explore some other books with the girls, books of their choice. I've read Junie B. Jones and Mary Pope Osborne's Magic Treehouse Books. We've enjoyed many, many picture books over the years - there was a time when I could recite Fox in Socks, Green Eggs and Ham and The Cat in the Hat verbatim. And we enjoyed the American Girl books together; not too long ago I found Sylvia on her bed reading one of the Felicity books, and she proudly told me she had read the entire book in one sitting.

All three of the girls have taken up this same love of reading. Alison adores fantasy, books like Lord of the Rings and a new series of books by authors like Amelia Atwater Rhodes. Maddie prefers books by Sharon Creech, though her latest purchase was The Westing Game, a book I remember reading and that Alison has read, too. Sylvia is still well into Junie B.

And at the moment, we are reading aloud Betsy and Tacy Go Downtown. My girls, too, will fall into the category of women who read and loved Betsy-Tacy. It's the best gift I could give them.

Common sense

Each day as I drive my eldest to driving school, she gets a mini-lesson in how not to drive:

• Don't talk on the mobile
• Don't stop on train tracks (they are in operation - even in the mornings)
• Don't block the intersection just because you hope to catch the green light, thus blocking the entire intersection for the next light cycle.
• Don't block traffic by letting your kid out in the middle of the street
• Don't think you're so special that you do not have to follow the rules, wait in the queue like the rest of us. Hey, it's a drag, inconvenient for ALL of us. But it's the way it is.

I am listening to 106.9, tolerating lots of crappy 80s music, in my possibly futile quest to win Police tickets. Am I dying to see them? Not so much. It's the pursuit of the tickets. When the station plays two Police songs in a row, then you call in at the beginning of song No. 2. They keep faking me out. Devil.

Took the younger two to the mall today, so they could spend their hard-earned dollars. One bought a pricey purse. Gulp. The younger one bought Jibbetz, those ridiculous items used to adorn Crocs. It's her money - $5.39 - wow. She pulled out her twenty, and the cashier typed it in. Oh, I said, I have 40 cents. So what does Sylvia get in change? $14. Um, I said. I gave you the 40 cents. Well, she said, I didn't type that amount into the cash register, so I couldn't make that change.

???

Apparently she cannot do that simple math in her head. She handed me the dollar, but not the penny - she didn't even offer it. I mentioned that her register might be over, and she just stared at me.

This gives me new confidence about the future of the United States.

Last swim meet tomorrow - Maddie is sad, but it's time - we've had enough Saturdays eaten up by this little endeavor. But it's been good for her, so we've been properly supportive parents. Though I'm missing part of tomorrow's meet - I have another commitment.

Swimming, driving, dance class - thank goodness it's Friday. The end.

Stuff brewing ...

... but if I talk about it, I'll jinx it. So, maybe next week.

For now, I am too tired at the end of the day to post. On a brighter note, I am learning how to accomplish little tasks in the hour here, hour there I have between carting kids. Got laundry done, dishes, house sort-of tidied. Returned the library books. Attempted to lend my father tech support on his newly purchased iPod.

And made a hotel reservation for five rooms in St. Louis in July, for our mini-family reunion.

My day is complete. I'm going to watch Arrested Development and veg. Night!

Catching up

You wouldn't think being home with the kids would be so exhausting. But guess again - it's wearing me out.

And they're really good kids - go figure.

I'm blaming living in the metropolitan sprawl that is Houston. Out here in the northwest burbs, we are miles and miles from everything. So when you factor in the driving to summer school (not at our closest school, naturally) and drivers school, along with camp for the smallest this week, it all adds up to many miles spent behind the wheel.

But I am going to stop bitching about this - it is what it is.

So, recapping: Last Thursday, went to Spamalot. The first half felt like watching the movie - with less talented actors. But the second half changed things up, and the ending was an improvement over the movie. Friday night we went to the neighbors to play euchre - can you believe we lived in Indiana for nearly 10 years and never learned to play? Horrors. Saturday was swim meet day, and the meet was interrupted by torrential rain. But we waited it out in order to finish. I worked the concession stand, pulling on my vast fast food experience. And I was exhausted when it was over. Not so used to being on my feet in that way anymore.

One of the girls had a friend over, and I think I've certainly figured out who the Queen Bee is among this crowd. She's a nice girl, but wow - she's something else. We know the family, and the daughter is very different. And the QB, really, is a nice girl. She just has the air about her. I catch myself wondering how my daughter fits into the group.

Went out to brunch yesterday at a place in Montrose - it ranks very highly on the list of Gay Houston's top choices. Good food - and apparently the place to be seen. I'll keep that in mind ...

Must run - I spent a grueling 15 minutes on the eliptical, so now I must go shower. Cheers!

Llife in the car

So. Right now my life is about driving Alison around:

7.15-8 a.m. Drive Alison to summer school (stupid, stupid Houston a.m. traffic)
1.45-2.15 p.m. Pick up Alison from summer school
4.10-4.40 p.m. Drive Alison to driving school (!)
6.10-6.40 Pick up Alison from driving school
7.30 Drive Alison to Tae Kwon Do
8,30 Pick up Alison from Tae Kwon Do

And, of course, there are the other two who need to go places. This week Maddie is dog-watching, so sometimes I have to help. Or drive kids to the dentist, or grocery shopping, or, or, or ...

But this makes it all better: Alison says relax - next summer she'll be driving herself.

Oh, sure, I feel better now.

Home

Tired. Messy house. Suitcases. Laundry. In-box full of stupid e-mails. Pile of actual mail. Groceries. Etc.

But, still. It was worth it. Fun with Gary, fantastic to be in Kiel again, to see friends. The beach, shopping, fabulous cuisine. Excessive use of superlatives. A wonderful week.

(And travel with my husband - I love the perks of business travel. I love flying with gold elite status. I love the nice hotels, the service he gets as a frequent traveler. I loved that the Continental woman was so nice and moved us to the exit row. It's not business class, but it's still five or six more inches of leg room. And to think - I didn't know about any of this when I married him. The stars were certainly in alignment - !)

As an added bonus, the girls spent a week with their grandparents, which I think was good for all for all of them. I asked the girls if they had fun, and they all said yes. Maddie said, "Grandma says we can go swimming at 2 p.m. Not when you're in the mood to go swimming, not earlier if you feel like it, but only at 2." Apparently she asked Grandma one day to go out earlier, and Grandma said oh, no ... it wasn't 2 yet. So Maddie asked if Grandma would watch her swim. Grandma hesitated, said w-e-l-l ... so Maddie said, that's OK, I'll wait (!)

The old folks are not so big on spontaneity.

Sylvia's comment? "Grandma likes to cook. A lot. She cooks something for dinner EVERY NIGHT."

Um. Not sure what this says about me?

Maddie said she quite likes a big dinner every night. OK, I said - I can cook more often.

Oh no, Sylvia said. It's OK, Mommy, you don't have to.

No wonder I love these girls.

We giggled a lot about the differences between parents and grandparents. The old folks were pretty lax with bedtime and computer time. Maddie said one day Grandpa actually sounded like - horrors - a parent, telling them they needed to tidy rooms if they wanted to swim or go to the movies.

I shared with the girls some memories of my parents, back in the day when they were, in fact, a lot like parents. When they raised voices. When my dad yelled. A lot. And used four-letter words with alarming frequency, not to mention volume. And you know? Now that I have children of my own, I think I understand why he was that way. And I know I inherited his temper, something I try every day to control.

Thus a week away from parenting was OK in some ways. However, I am really glad to be home with the girls.

After all, they told me today I am fun - more fun then their grandparents. High praise, indeed. But you'll not I didn't ask if I am more fun than Johnny and Barbie - I already know I'm not, so I'll just bask in the praise I'm sure of.

Summer in Kiel

Global warming is real.

How do I know? Because the entire week here in northern Germany has been sunny and over 80. If you’ve ever been here, you would know what a fluke this is – June is typically cool and rainy.

So I’m having mixed feelings. On the one hand, what a beautiful week. We are outside, really enjoying walking and sitting in the sidewalk cafes. On the other hand – well, it’s global warming. I didn’t come to Italy – I came to Kiel.

I’ve not been here long enough for the German idiosyncrasies to start bugging me. It’s still all humorous and charming. For example, why would you turn on inside lights when there’s a window in the room? Even if it is virtually dark outside? And don’t you like it unambiguous when you enter a room? I do, so I certainly like my room entrances clearly defined: A door that you can pull shut. And lock. And an inch-high threshold that you can trip over. (When we first moved here, our poor little girls tripped over the doorways for the first two months - !)

I like it that the light switch for the bathroom is conveniently located next to the door. On the wall outside the bathroom. I also like that I can choose on the toilet whether I want a large or a small flush – there are two different sized buttons on the wall behind the toilet. I also like that that the toilet essentially doesn’t hold water, but is instead sort of a shelf so you can, well … you get the idea.

If you live here for a while, bagging your own groceries, clerks who grunt at you, and people who mumble their names into the telephone become routine. But for me, at the moment, since it’s been so long, it’s all sort of a game. It’s fun to remember these things, or try to predict what will happen next.

Mostly, the week has been wonderful. I’ve seen friends – I had afternoon tea with Birgit and Heike, spent the night and all day yesterday with my friend Susanne. Tonight we’re going to dinner with Walter, Barbara, Heike, Axel, Claus and Birgit – they are a great group of people. Missing, sadly, are Pete and Sue, who have moved to Switzerland.

(I even sat in on Susanne’s German for Foreigners class – the entire class has passed the Certificate Exam, and I did pretty well – made more grammatical errors than the rest, looked up a few words, but understood almost everything, joined right in the conversation. Wow!)

Gary and I have spent a lot of time talking, making a plan for the next few years, deciding where we want to go after Houston, where we’d like to be long-term. We’ve thrown out ideas – whether or not they come to fruition, or are even feasible, we have yet to see.

I do know how lucky we are to have the opportunities we do. A lot of it we owe to his job – with his work, we’ve been able to live in some amazing places, and we’ve been able to provide out children with a rich and varied lifestyle. They’ve seen places that many people only dream about. The most important thing is – and what I’ve ascertained this week – is that we can create a life for ourselves wherever we go. That much I do know.

But man – das Internet is sooo teuer! Expensive. I have to write offline then quickly post and get off. So, no time for reading or posting to others’ blogs, no e-mails, except to the girls. But next week when I return to real life. Sadly, it’s inevitable.

It's "the little differences"

I’d forgotten how much I enjoy being in Europe.

I love the charm or European cities — the architecture, the layout of the city centers. I like the ease of walking places, the outdoor cafes, the hustle and bustle of urban life. I had forgotten the “little differences” — the things that are the same, yet different: door handles v. door knobs, the funky light switches and outlets, the shower, the way the toilets flush, the telephone rings. The post office signs and mailboxes in Germany are yellow.

There are big differences, too: cash only in so many places. The ever-present aroma of cigarette smoke. The prevalence of bicycles (watch out before crossing the bicycle path).

It all comes together to create this indefinable quality that is life in Europe. For me, it was a life that was definitely not easier. Shops close at 6 or 6.30 on weeknights, 1 p.m. Saturday. Clerks can be brusque – or downright rude. People push in front of you in line without saying “pardon me.”

On the other hand, people walk more, use bicycles, drive more fuel-efficient cars. Recycling is more than just encouraged – it’s mandated. (And I live in a neighborhood that cannot even get curbside recycling for those of us who want it.) Everyone here learns not just one, but mostly two foreign languages in school. The murder rate here is lower, and fewer people live in poverty.

Like anything else, it’s a trade-off. For me, I think the greater good is worth some of the sacrifices (higher taxes, for example). But for others, it’s not. And I’m not I would be willing to give up my life in the USA permanently. But I think we, as a country and society, could sit back and look at what’s good here and try to bring a bit more of that back to the United States.

After a good night’s sleep, my two-day headache is gone. I shopped yesterday, took care of some essentials, and am now ready to hit the streets again. Today I am visiting some friends in our old neighborhood – I am especially anxious to see the kids, who are the same ages as ours. Tonight I am spending the night with my friend Susanne and meet her son for the first time; she and I will spend tomorrow together, searching for new “schöne Sandalen” – we bought sandals together in 2000, and posed for pictures, much to the chagrin of my daughters. So we have to do it again.

I have spoken only German since we arrived – well, not with Gary, but with the hotel staff, in restaurants, with friends. I have not once apologized for having imperfect German, nor have I been asked to repeat myself – nicht schlect, huh?

But sadly, the line between Germans and Americans has blurred. We tried to play “American or German” in the airport in both Newark and Hamburg, and we were failing miserably. We used to always, always be able to tell, and it is getting much more difficult. The family dressed in tank tops, shorts and flip flops? We made the American call and were stunned to learn they were German. I was just sure the tall, thin woman with (very) short blond hair, glasses, black pants and the boxy blouse was German … then a man joined her wearing khakis, a baseball cap and – this is key – white tennis shoes. Aaaack – you make the call.

(Though the scarf around the neck - a dead give away …)

Further evidence: I got called in by immigration – and they thought I was German. And I don’t even have strange hair. It’s the flawless accent, I can assure you (!)

Last night at dinner, I ordered water, Gary got a beer, and his colleague an orange soda. All of our beverages came with glasses, doilies and pub mats that coordinated with the brand we were drinking. That, my friends, is one of the “little differences” that defines Germany for me.