I went camping last weekend. Let me reiterate that: I. Went. Camping. My idea of the outdoors is reading a book on the porch rather than on the couch. There are bugs. And spiders. And … dirt. Not to mention the fact that I have a one-on-one relationship with my allergist, who knows how allergic I am to anything green or furry.

My daughter’s Girl Scout troop had a mother/ daughter camping trip. It was a first for this group of 7 year olds. Technically, we slept on (painfully thin) mattresses in a lodge, but we went creek walking, hiking and cooked over an open camp fire (started with kindling, thankyouverymuch). Oh, sure, it was 183 degrees and I was sweating in places I didn’t know I had (even my sweat was sweating), but I endured it for her.

And here’s a surprise for those who knew me. It was a walk down memory lane.

I was a Girl Scout in the same troop from the time I was 6 until I turned 18 and graduated from high school. I spent nearly every summer as a camper and counselor at the Girl Scout camp we visited last weekend, and to my now-adult eyes, it seems so much smaller than it did then. …CONTINUE READING »

My daughter, B, turned seven late last month. In the last 6 years, we’ve had an Elmo party, a ballerina party, a Disney princess party, an Arizona/cowboy party, a Hawaiian luau and a Mexican fiesta. They’ve all taken place at our house, and required a week of cleaning, decorating, cooking, more cleaning and more decorating. By the time the party was over, my husband, Bill, and I were exhausted.

This year, I said “no more.” Short of hiring a party planner, I was clueless on what to do. Couldn’t I just buy her a unicorn and be done with it?

In a fit of genius, I made a huge decision. Bill and I drove past our local bowling alley, which is more 2010-awesome than 1970s-awful. I said: “Hey, does the bowling alley do birthday parties?” I grabbed my smart phone and looked it up.

Yes! They bowling alley had a handful of fantastic packages for kids’ parties, and I did a mental fist pump and high-fived Bill.

Better yet, B has a best friend, A. It’s an amazing story — these girls are literally hours apart in birth. They ended up in the same hospital nursery (and I remember A because of her SHOCK of carrot orange hair) and started at the same daycare on the same day by accident. In the past seven years, they’ve entered kindergarten together, had the same first-grade teacher, spent summers in camp and joined the same Girl Scout troop. These two can finish each other’s sentences, look at each other and giggle and, I think, are as close as sisters.

That leads us back to the birthday party. Since the girls have the same friends, her parents joined us in a joint birthday party for both girls at the bowling alley with eight of their mutual friends. We showed up, had a party coordinator who directed gifts to a dedicated room, ordered pizzas for our guests, kept sodas refilled and set two bowling lanes in motion for the girls. There were two real bowling pins for the girls’ guests to sign. They bowled for an hour-and-a-half, and then we went to the (pre-decorated) party room for cake, ice cream and gifts.

At the end of the party, A’s mother and I paid the bill jointly. And we vowed never again to have another party at home.

We put our house up for sale this summer. I think we can equate this chapter in our lives with a momentary lapse of reason. It’s an incredibly stressful upheaval. Since we work full time and the kids are in camp all day, it’s a challenge to keep the house clean every day. But, we finally worked out a routine, because we have to be prepared if someone wants to see the house during the day when we’re not home. The kids make their beds every day and make sure their rooms are clean at night. We manage to get the dishes in the dishwasher, and somehow keep the bathrooms neat. But, there’s one organizational detail we didn’t think about in this whole process: our dog.

We’ve had Eddie since he was a puppy and he’s a fantastic 11 year-old dog. But, he’s a big dog. You can’t just pick him up and carry him around with you. And, when you have showings and open houses, no one wants to be followed around the house by a furry 40 lb. Chow mix who wants to be petted and cuddled. So, my realtor, who also happens to be my mom, puts Eddie outside in the fenced yard for showings. But, this weekend we had an open house, and couldn’t leave him at the house. We don’t have any friends that would welcome Eddie for this period of time, and my parents are allergic to dogs. We had nowhere else to put him, so he spent the day at the kennel.

We had an open house back in July and had the brilliant idea to take him and the kids for a visit to Grandma and Grandpa’s (my in-laws) house in Tampa. That worked out very well, and he behaved perfectly. And, he enjoyed the company of Grandma’s long-haired dachshund, Lucky. But, we can’t keep inflicting ourselves on Grandma and Grandpa on a monthly basis for our open houses – especially since they are very active and travel a lot.

So, this time, we ended up spending $35 for the day to put him in the kennel. It seems like one of those necessary evils: tough for him, and on us. Not to mention that it will start to add up, month after month. I do wish I had a more inventive way to spend three hours out of the house with two 7 year-old kids and a dog. Do you have any ideas? What can I do with a large dog for an afternoon?

One of our newly discovered family activities is puzzles. I was talking to a friend one day about what activities she does with her kids, and she mentioned that they work on puzzles together. And I thought, what a concept! I’m always looking for wholesome, educational, fun things to do with my kids, and this was a perfect choice. I mentioned it to my husband and the light bulb went off for him, too. In fact, he told me that he used to do puzzles with his family, when he was a little boy. He said they would leave it on the dining room table and do a little bit every day. His parents and his two sisters would all work on 1000 piece puzzles a little at a time, until they finished it a week or so later. He had happy memories – so we would, too. Right?

So, off we went to Target to procure our new, wholesome, mentally challenging, family activity. Brian and I were super excited and couldn’t wait to introduce the family puzzle activity to the kids.  Brian picked out the puzzle and chose a Disney-themed 750 piece masterpiece. We couldn’t wait get started and went home immediately to dump all the pieces on the table and begin to conquer the challenge.

Sophie was pretty excited about the puzzle, but Doran was mildly amused. Of course, this wasn’t how I had imagined it. In my mind, both would be jumping up and down with crazed enthusiastic squeals of joy. But, ok, I had to take what I could get. We promised them we’d glue it together, mount it, and hang it in the room of the kid who spent the most time on the puzzle. That perked them up a little. A very tiny spasm of joy erupted from them at the thought of a giant framed puzzle hanging in one of their rooms. They’re Wii and Nintendo DS kids, so I guess the puzzle is an antiquated activity. Nevertheless, they sat down and started trying to match up the pieces.

And, then they were done. Their patience lasted about five minutes. They got frustrated and left the table. I was a little surprised and very disappointed. Brian and I tried coaxing them back to try again. My cozy family image of us all gathered around the table plugging away at the puzzle was destroyed. But, even I had to admit, this puzzle was a doozy. Do you see that thing in the picture? It was super hard to match up all the little lines and nuances in each piece. Even I was frustrated.

But, then I started matching up the pieces. And, Brian started finishing off sections. Sophie and Doran watched both of us complete a quarter of the puzzle in about two hours. We were hooked. Brian and I fought over this puzzle for the next week. Each night, we would sit down at the dining table and challenge each other to finish sections of it. I usually beat him to it, and I worked on it non-stop every night, until I couldn’t see straight and my back ached.

He would come home from work to find me sitting at the table, working on the puzzle after the kids had gone to bed. It was hilarious. I have never been so attached to an activity like that, except, perhaps a book. I used to read a 300-page book in a night, when I was younger. Brian was always amazed when I finished the Harry Potter books two days at a time. Before we had our kids, I was a voracious reader, to say the least.

But, this puzzle definitely got my attention. We worked on it for a week and a half. But, I finally finished it. Brian barely had a chance to work on it. I felt bad that I commandeered the puzzle, but it was just so deliciously addictive. And, the thrill of piecing together sections was just invigorating. Even so, we decided to take a break from the puzzles. It was exhausting staying up every night trying to finish it. Now, I just have to figure out who gets the puzzle in their room. It would look strange hanging in our master bedroom, right?

Our son was born almost 10 months ago, but we are only now about to become parents.

That’s because we are giving in to the inevitable parental right of passage. We are getting a minivan.

Okay, so I just lied for dramatic effect. We probably aren’t getting a minivan, but we are planning to get an SUV. An SUV was my compromise with my husband who just cannot stand the idea of owning a “mommy mobile” even though I would be the one driving it.

Either way we absolutely must have a larger car.

You would think that one 20-pound individual such as Baby D would not take up an inordinate amount of room. You would be wrong.

Along with our 20-pound bundle of joy comes a gigantic car seat, a diaper bag filled with supplies fit for survival in an underground bunker for a month and a stroller that takes up the whole trunk. And that’s just for a trip to the store. Let’s not even discuss how crammed the car is on a road trip.

Add two bouncy, slobbery canines to the mix and a hoped-for future sibling for Baby D and our sedan just won’t pass muster anymore. It won’t pass anything actually; it will be so weighed down with people, animals and stuff.

So we are researching SUVs and then we’ll look for a dealer with good reviews.

Although shopping for a new car is a hassle, I am excited to become an “official” parent with my very own mommy mobile. Next up in our evolution towards genuine parenthood? Those little stick figure decals for the rear window.

Meet Sam (left) and Julie (right). That’s Beauty Black the horse inserted into the middle of the pair –– and you better not call her “Black Beauty” or you’ll feel the wrath of a certain almost-7-year-old.

American Girl dolls have invaded our house top to bottom. The collectibles, once independently produced for mail-order before the company was purchased by toy-giant Mattel, has been a staple of little girls across the country for nearly two decades. Our daughter, B, received her first one, a Just Like You doll with blonde hair and blue eyes, for her sixth birthday last summer and historical doll Julie, faux circa 1974, last Christmas.

Recently, my brother and I had a discussion about an upcoming trip to the American Girl Place in Chicago. My mother and I are taking my daughter for a girls’ weekend in September completely with shopping, lunch and hair-styling at the Water Tower goldmine. “I don’t buy into all of that ‘American Girl’ stuff,” he said, adding that the high cost of the dolls and accessories adds up. Mind you, he has a two-year-old who’s ALL BOY.

My point of view? She’s only little once. She’s got years to deal with any psychological damage she’ll claim her father and I caused during her upcoming teen years (tell it to your therapist, sweetie. We all do.), but at seven, she’s still in to snuggles, playing hide-and-seek, sneaking candy from the jar in the basement and, yes, dolls. Besides, there’s much to be said about a trip with one’s grandparents. B still talks about a trip in which my mother accompanied us to Tucson three years ago. I can’t say the same for my own grandmothers, one of whom was still raising a family during my youth, and the other who died when I was 12.

After all, memories –– whether big or small –– matter long after keepsakes have been tucked away in attics or sold on eBay. And, for B, I’m making as many as I can.

We all dream of doing it ourselves. Rolling up our sleeves and accomplishing something. And sometimes we succeed. Granted, we spent six months of weekends and almost as much money as it would have taken to hire a pro and have it done five months ago, but doggonit, it’s done and we did it ourselves.

And then sometimes we fail.

It takes a special kind of person to tackle a DIY project and come out ahead in money and sanity, and I’m not one of them.

Perhaps that is why I am giving up on making my son’s baby food, in spite of my high and mighty post about it just a couple of short months ago.

At the start, when Baby D ate maybe two ounces of food per day, it was easy to make a few batches of food in a couple of hours on Sunday and have it last for three weeks. Then he started eating three, then four ounces a day. Then we added a third feeding and he was eating six ounces a day. Now the amount that used to last three weeks was lasting one and I found myself steaming, mashing, pureeing and washing the blender almost constantly to keep up.

As his appetite accelerated, my patience screeched to a halt.

The icing on the cake was a visit to my parents’ house last week in Wyoming. My mom had picked up pre-packaged baby food for the week.

My friends, it was bliss.

No steaming, no mashing, no pureeing, no blender-washing. Just opening a container of organic pear raspberry puree (yum!).

I still advocate parents making their own food for those first few months of solids. It starts out manageable, like changing a lightbulb, or hanging curtains. But with my nine-month-old eating machine, it’s more like laying down tile or adding a sunroom – work best left to the professionals!

What is it about fireflies that chases away decades of adulthood and lures you from the television into the backyard?

Glow

Spotting that soft glow of summer through the deck window Sunday evening, I stepped outside to enjoy the intermittent incandescence. While it’s probably been eight Presidential administrations since I last chased a lightning bug, the 6-year-old within me rejoiced at their presence.

Glow

Watching the bright blips in the dark, I realized how much I’d missed them the past few summers. Had the lack of rain in recent springs lowered their numbers since they tend to frequent moist swampy areas? Or had I been too distracted to notice their nightly love connections?

Glow

As a child, I had no inkling that their greenish-yellow glow meant something. I’ve since grown wise enough to know that the flying flashes are designed to attract females, foraging below. If dating services adopted this practice, somebody’s spending the night in jail.

But back in the day, I chased my favorite bug around the lawn and filled glass jars with their ineffectual fire. I’ve since learned that the chemical reaction producing bioluminescence includes a bunch of scientific words that end in “ase” or “phate.” Let me translate the process.

The male firefly produces light by screaming “Yowza! Who’s hot to trot, tonight?”

Glow

The female emits her soft glow by replying, “You’ve got to do more than that to impress me.”

Glow

The male takes the challenge and draws nearer, flashing “Got something for ya.”

Glow … Glow

The female flirts: “Come closer and let me see.”

GLOW, GLOW, GLOW!

This conversation continues until there’s a reason to light up. At least, that’s the way I interpret all that scientific mumbo-jumbo.

As I stood in the yard enjoying Nature’s display, I felt the flickering blue pull of the television inside and tried to resist.

Glow