Summer Vacation: Stop #3

Next stop: The beach. La playa. Just like heaven.

But, for today, heaven (and blogging) can wait.

Summer Vacation: Stop #2

Our second stop: Our nation's capital where we stayed at the Dupont Circle Hotel. I felt so Sydney Ellen Wade-ish! (Looove her.)

After we checked in, we relaxed, ate lunch in the groovy bar, watched the crowds walk by and, just as we were headed out to explore the city, Son #1 fell ill. Different son. Same illness? So the kids and Grannie hung for the afternoon as I walked over to my girlfriend/BFF Kim's yoga studio to meet her and her darling daughter. Later that night, my fabulous girlfriend Kristy came in from Northern VA and, due to the torrential rain, we had an overpriced, bland, nondescript dinner (followed by watery, bland martinis) just across the street at Kramerbooks and Afterwords Cafe as the lightening lit up the skies over the atrium in which we were dining. Scary and yet very cool.

The next day, we did many of the requisite kid-friendly things in town: walked from the Capitol to the Lincoln Memorial stopping at the WWII Memorial and Washington Monument along the way. (Long walk! Oppressive heat!) We ended our day of sightseeing at Son #1's favorite stop: The Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum, of course.

Madeline showing a strong proclivity toward her hippie parents' liberal bias.

Afternoon tea for some; dinner for others.

Cupcakes and chocolate croissants for breakfast at the Firehook bakery! Yum! All's fair game when traveling with Grannie. No need to use your hands. 

Riding on the metro . . .

Is that a monument in the distance or are you just glad to see us?

I have better pics of everyone under their favorite states at the WWII Memorial; however, this photo is my fave because it captures Son #1 clearly complaining about something that I'm, as usual, doing to annoy him!

Next stop: the beach. Amen. Amen.

Summer Vacation: Stop #1

I didn't realize the extent of my soothsaying capabilities when I posted the pre-vacation "for tomorrow may rain so I'll follow the sun" song. Damn Irene. Based on photos of storm damage throughout Central PA (i.e., our path home), I feel like we made the right decision to come back a day earlier than planned. Sorry to my brothers, their wives and my mom who were all given the bum's rush.

Our first stop: Hershey, PA. The kids had been watching YouTube videos for weeks planning what roller coasters they wanted to ride. We got there and Son #2's face drained of all color and his lips turned grey. Maybe it was the heat; maybe it was the size of the coasters. Regardless, I did what any responsible adult would do: I let Son #1 stand on line by himself for 45 minutes and go on the Fahrenheit all alone. Is that so wrong? Son #2 chose what we thought was a mellow ride, the aptly named Wild Mouse, which we rode together and then he collapsed on the floor of the gift shop. Not to outdo myself, I then left him alone on a bench while Son #1 and I went on more rides. Mother of the Year.

Many hours and hundreds of dollars later, armed with a stuffed silver kiss named Milton and a cookbook filled with chocolate recipes, we arrived back at the hotel. The day I thought was a bust was later cited as one of the best parts of the trip. Go figure.

Where next? For travel advice, it's always best to consult a balding, newspaper-reading monkey and Milton.

I'll Follow the Sun

Goodbye work. Hello ten day vacation!

Me: This is the longest vacation I've ever taken.
Hubby: No, you went to Australia for six months.
Me: That was in 1987!

Redact. This is the longest vacation I've taken in 24 blinkin' years.

I. Cannot. Wait. A. Moment. Longer.

Lost in Amsterdam

Not sure why I'm posting so many songs lately, your very own blogger DJ (hooker, waitress, model, actress). Regardless, today's song goes out to my niece who is not even a reader of this blog. Alas.

She was just a tiny little kid (one of the cutest, black haired, alabaster skinned kids ever) when I started dating the hubby a million years ago. I remember her reading a picture book aloud. She couldn't pronounce the Y in yellow; however, she called Indians, "yindians." "How can you say yindians and not yellow?" he asked and she started laughing. And then she started practicing her Ys.

We've watched from a far as she went through her goofy sock stage -- where she would wear two different crazy socks every day -- to her endless fascination, at a young age, with storm chasing. Of course, as the hubby's family is prone to intellectual pursuits, she was the valedictorian of her HS class and got a free ride not just to undergrad but also for her (not-just-one-but) two Master's degrees. She's now an environmentalist living in DC with her foodie boyfriend and having the time of her life.

Brainiac.

The one constant through all of these years: a love of Guster. When she was too young to go to alone, the hubby took her to her first Guster show. Tonight, she's going to her umpteenth Guster concert at Wolf Trap. My kids don't like the band at all but I have a bit of a sweet spot for them just because they remind me of Christine. All grown up.

Holdin' on to Black Metal

I daresay, this darling of the college airwaves is growing on me. Maybe because it's on the radio every time I step into my car? Or because it sounds like something I would have listened to in the 80s? Crowded House meets . . . who knows. Anyhoo, they're coming to a city near you, my lone reader, on Wednesday, August 24. Git yer tickets now!

Wrecking Ball

Did you ever wonder what nine year old boys dream about? No? Well, that's good 'cause I'm not allowed to tell you. Suffice it to say, their dreams are a bizarre mix of plunging roller coasters, being chased by chainsaw massacrers, priests wearing bear suits and fat giraffes being used as wrecking balls -- that last part being the worst part of all. "Giraffes should never be used as wrecking balls."

But you didn't read that here.