Reel Around the Sun Chips



"Hear my cry in my hungering search for you
Taste my breath on the wind
See the sky as it mirrors my colors
Hints and whispers begin

I am living to nourish you, cherish you
I am pulsing the blood in your veins
Feel the magic and power of surrender to life"

Reel Around the Sun

Riverdance on Broadway

The Sun Chips sat, discarded next to the Stop & Shop bag on the bench in mudroom, as if they had been considered, but rejected at the last minute as too big or too much of a nuisance to carry.  I noticed them early this morning when I returned from dropping off the princess for the much anticipated 8th Grade Trip to D.C.  These were the very same Sun Chips that I had searched for in three stores yesterday, all because I asked the very stupid question, "Is there any snack or something you want to bring on the trip?"  "Yes, mom, can you get me a big bag of PLAAAIIIN Sun Chips?"

So, Sun Chips went on the list, along with the other odd bits that I had to locate and purchase -- stupid, little things that we need to go to Fwance; you know, because they don't have stores there or something.  Yet, for some reason, these small purchases -- batteries, shampoo, travel size bottles -- eluded all of my efforts to buy them at the same time when I went shopping earlier this week. 

So, I reeled around on my search for the odd bits and apparently rare big bag of PLAAAIIIN Sun Chips -- to Costco (only big box of small bags), Riteaid (small bag), Target (no PLAAAIIIN) .  I found Sun-Dried Tomato Sun Chips, French Onion Sun Chips, Some Other Flavor Sun Chips, until, at last, I located them at Stop & Shop -- though not at eye level, I might add.  They tuck the big bag of PLAAAIIIN Sun Chips up high, as if on an altar to the snack food gods, so you really have to look for them.  I get them home, tell the princess that I had procured her one snack wish for the D.C. trip, put them on the bench in the mudroom so she could grab them on the way out the door . . .

On the way to school this morning, it was quiet in the car.  The princess spoke, "Admit it, you're happy I'll be gone tonight."  I didn't say anything.  I had been thinking (at that very moment) that a break from the princess might be a good thing.  "That was weird," I thought to myself.  I still didn't say anything.  We got to school; the princess left for a sure to be cold, wet D.C. trip.  "I have extra socks.  Don't worry."

Now, I have to wonder whether the princess offered up her remark because she knew she had left the chips and felt bad about it?  Or, whether she knew I would find them and just sigh -- you know, that mom sigh -- and she was glad not to hear it?  Or, whether she knew (as I did in that weird moment of synchronicity) that sometimes it is good to get away from those we care the most about, even just for a little while, and that I didn't need to worry about her getting sick in the rain in D.C. because she has extra socks?
Later that morning, I mentioned to my older son that the princess did not take the big bag of PLAAAIIIN Sun Chips to D.C., he said, "It's not like it's a waste, mom.  I'll have them." 

Reel around the son's chips? 



Man Cannot Live on Croissants Alone, But My Kids Will

Les musees passes arrived today.  I booked our car to the airport.  I set up the mail hold.  I am starting on packing lists.  Yet, I still pause.  France, hmmm.

It's not that I don't want to go to France.  I fell in love with France nearly 30 years ago when I first visited the country.  I majored in French.  I can read and speak French -- at least enough to get by, I hope.  My husband lived in France for three years when he was a kid.  It should be a great adventure to return with his own family, right?  And, besides, what's not to love about great food, great wine, beautiful art and architecture, and the rich history and sense of place?   Well, it's the kids, really.

Our kids have grown up listening to stories about when my husband lived in France.  They have heard stories about their dad and uncles being forced to go the Loire Valley with guests for "punishment."  They have heard stories about their uncle who, at the age of 5, told his parents that he did not like three things in Fwance -- museums, churches, or chateaux.  "But that's what we are going to see," I want to scream.  "Stop, re-telling that story!"

 France, hmmm.

And then, there's the whole food thing.  Let me think about the foods my kids don't like.  Well, there's anything with a sauce, most vegetables, anything other than chicken, steak and some types of fish, most cheese . . . Now, let me think about the foods my kids love.  There's bread, french fries, croissants, ham, and eggs.

Wait a minute, omelettes, frites, croissants, and baguettes.  It might just work, especially if we include dessert.  And, there are lots of places to go for dessert in Paris, like:  La Patisserie Des Reves, www.lapatisseriedesreves.com, which is down the street from where we are staying, and Pierre Herme, www.pierreherme.com, which is not too far a walk from where we are staying, and . . . 

I think I might be onto something.

Sunday Afternoon: Can You Fire Your Kids?

How did I get here, typing a blog?  It all started back in January when the snow rose feet high in the backyard.

Snow, snow, snow.

"A spring vacation, I thought, that's what we need.  Someplace warm, like the Turks & Caicos where the beaches are gorgeous.  Friends of mine have gone and loved it.  Wouldn't it be great to relax for a nice, warm week?"

Sun, sun, sun.

"Why would we ever spend that much money to go to a beach?" was the response from my husband.  "We go to the beach in the summer.  What are the kids going to get out of going to a beach?  If we are going to spend that much, why not go on a real trip.  Let's do something meaningful.  Let's take the kids to France."

"France, hmmm."  And, so it began, planning our trip to France.  Given my tendency to research and plan everything to death, I have spent a lot of time with books, maps, and the internet searching for places to stay in Normandy, apartments to louer a Paris, getting restaurant addresses and advice from my in-laws, figuring what to see without overdoing it with the kids.  We have tickets, passports, and a plan.   We have luggage and rain gear.  Are we there yet? 

No, of course, not.  Why do I know this?  Because, this afternoon, I took my older son (10) shopping to get a pair of good walking/trekking around shoes, in addition to the skate board sneakers he loves.  I should have know it would not go well after he said, "I really hate shopping for shoes."  After what will surely go down in history as the Great Effingers Shoe Battle, I guess we go to France with just the board sneakers.

  

I get home and take the dog for a long walk.  I do some laundry and decide that this is a good time to figure out how to make a blog.  I sit down at my computer, and behold, my husband had the instructions for me.  I create this site.  I am so proud.  I go to share it with my 14 year old daughter because I thought we could blog together about our trip.  I go to talk to her and say, "You have to come see this."  She looks up from her desk, scowls and me and in a voice that would turn Medusa to stone said,  "Do you know the way you taught me my algebra last week was ALL WRONG?  Now, I can't do my homework.  It makes no sense. What did you want to show me?"  "Nothing."  I shut the door. 

I ask my husband whether I can fire the kids.  He looked at me puzzled, "No, no, I don't think you can."

France, hmmm.

Later, the kids are traipsing into the kitchen; my daughter looks at my computer.  "I would love to be fired. And, I already made my blog."

A little while later, my youngest son (5) says, "In Fwance, they have French poooo-dehls near the Eiffel Tower.  Lots of them. You'll see."  Maybe, France will be okay. 

Maybe, I won't fire my kids, at least not today.