The Plane Truth

Every Sunday I take a vacation. Sadly, it's only an imaginary one, and worse yet I don't get to choose the destination. That is instead the dictate of the AJC's Travel section of the Sunday paper. As soon as I ferret it out of the rest of the advertisements, classifieds, etc. (the Sports section having been retrieved long before by Tim), I take a poll among the family to get them to guess where I'm headed. (Without fail, Danny guesses "yoga," so he's not exactly clear on the concept.) Thanks to the Magic Tree House books, Clare has a variety of destinations she can now suggest. I think she was right once, but since Jack and Annie don't typically go on Caribbean cruises or take romantic getaways within a three-hour radius of Atlanta, the odds aren't great for her, either.

Reading the travel section is sometimes fun for me, and sometimes makes me ache for the freedom of the days before kids, when a trip to Europe or Napa was possible. It also gets me to thinking about what our kids' perception of travel is, and the privileges and opportunities it presents. I'm pretty sure their perspective is a bit skewed, and the following numbers will illustrate why.

While booking our holiday travel a few days ago, we discovered that Clare has almost earned a round-trip ticket via frequent flier miles. This alone is only modestly impressive. After all, Clare is five and a half. The ticket, though, is on Delta, an airline we have flown only since we moved to Atlanta three years ago. Nor have we flown them exclusively. Nor has she earned miles for every trip we've taken, because thanks to Tim's previous positions that entailed a fair amount of travel, we have probably been able to get approximately 40% of her tickets on frequent flier miles.

This begs the question: just how much do these kids (and their parents) fly? In 2008 alone, by the time Christmas rolls around, we will have made eight trips: four to Buffalo, and four to California. As I pondered this, I just had to tally up how many flights I estimate Clare has taken in her five+ years: pre-2008, she took 31 trips. So by the end of this year, she will have taken almost 40 round-trip plane rides. FORTY! Which doesn't even factor in the driving trips we've taken to Florida, Charleston, yadda yadda.

I like to think that my kids will appreciate the chances to visit their grandparents, cousins, and cool places. I'm fairly certain that they take it all a bit for granted, and I suppose that is most people's 21st century attitude toward air travel. We really can get anywhere we want in a relatively short amount of time, and thank heavens, since so many of us live far from loved ones. I hope Clare and Danny will always have a love for seeing new places and seize as many opportunities to travel as they can.

And I really hope they remember dear old mom and dad, and throw us a plane ticket here and there...they clearly owe us a few!

Extra! Extra! Read all about it!

In other words, a new Finicky Files for your entertainment: http://mairecipes.com/2008/10/date-with-a-dietitian/

Timber!

Oh, the joys of home ownership. That beautiful wooded area behind our house, which the two-story windows in our great room showcase so well, and which is one of the things that really sold us on this particular house? Just cost us a pretty penny today, thanks to the two dead (and very large) oaks. They posed a serious threat to our house, and possibly a neighbor's, should they have been knocked down during a storm, so we finally hired someone to take them down.

What a process! The best part, though, is that not only was one of the two workers dangling from a significant height, with a running chainsaw hanging next to him, but he also had a lit cigarette in his mouth. Spectacular!

The scene was enough to rivet Danny and Zach...at least for a while (or maybe they were just taking a milk break):


Ultimately, though, they were swept up in whatever game big sisters Clare and Olivia concocted in Danny's room, which resulted in this:


That would be Quincy, held captive in Danny's crib and sporting a newborn cap. But did he run away from them? Nooooooooo. Another successful kitty visit for Olivia!

Field Trippin' II: The Next Generation

I will be the first to admit that I was a big, fat scrooge when it came to anticipating Danny's class trip to the pumpkin patch at Berry Patch Farms. This is the fourth year in a row that I have made such an excursion, and the routine never varies. You arrive and look at the few farm animals, play on the swing set, and then your class boards the tractor-led wagon for a hayride to the pumpkin patch (which is actually a field they hand-fill with pumpkins, one area laden with baby pumpkins, the other with larger specimens). After frolicking in the fields and choosing your own tiny pumpkin as a memento, you get to take another hayride back to the starting point, where you are greeted with a dixie cup filled with their freshly made apple cider.

Not only is this my fourth year in a row, but it's Danny's third. Of course, the first year he was a mere five months old (and a cranky five months at that). Last year he had just learned to walk a couple of weeks prior to the visit, so he was pretty distracted. This year, though, he soaked it all in, and as a result I had a much better time than I thought I would.

First of all, he got to run around in the beautiful early fall weather with friends, including Parker's big brother Brady (who Danny thinks hung the moon, on the rare occasions he's near such greatness):


For the hay ride, he found himself in the coveted spot on the wagon closest to the driver and the tractor wheels:


And after the excitement of touching pumpkins, running through the fields, and being silly with friends, there was the cup of deliciously sweet cider waiting for him:


It just doesn't get any better. I suppose this day can be added to the other bajillion reminders my kids give me about the simple pleasures of life.

As for we mommies, I think you can guess who the Tin Man is in this picture, because Amy has a much bigger heart when it comes to these things (not that I'm calling her cowardly...guess the analogy falls apart here):

Pumpkin Season

Ever since Tim and I hit the pumpkin patch jackpot in the Chicago suburbs at Goebbert's Farm (with 18-month-old Clare), we've been seeking an equal experience ever since. In years past we've been to Berry Patch Farms, Cagle's Dairy Farm, Burt's Farm, and today we added Stone Mountain's Pumpkin Festival to our squash-laden resume of fall activity.

It's a bit of a split decision between Tim and I on Stone Mountain, at least as far as the touristy part goes. The surrounding park is gorgeous, especially on a sunny October day such as today's. The "Crossroads" area is where we diverge. It bills itself as an 1870s southern town, and it reminds me a lot of Disneyland. I think Tim would agree that it's well done, but he has a hard time getting past the very diverse crowd of attendees. For example, the large, gray-bearded man in the camouflage-like overalls. No, he wasn't an employee. Regardless, the kids had a terrific time. They painted pumpkins, colored animal masks, decorated crowns, watched a show, and went through a maze that emptied into an area filled with tons of bubbles. The one disappointment was the actual pumpkin patch, because a) it wasn't that big, and b) it would have been too far to lug pumpkins back to the car.

Nevertheless, our annual tradition of making a family trip to a pumpkin patch has been fulfilled. And you all know how we feel about tradition.

Mad Libs

I love it when I'm right. While cruising the bookstore the other day, I came across Mad Libs Junior (a Halloween version, no less), and a light bulb went off. I just knew this would be right up Clare's alley, if introduced at the right time. So this afternoon when she arrived home from school and Danny was still sleeping, I thought I'd give it a try. Home run for Mommy! We did the first couple together, and then while I went to get the Danimal up, she started filling in the next one on her own. We read the results together, and her howls were the very definition of side-splitting. Finally, a productive way to channel her penchant for silliness!

Clare obviously comes by her appreciation of and amusement over words naturally, because look at this: my 100th post! I view the milestone as an opportunity to revamp the look of things, which is why See More Seymours has a whole new design. Thanks for reading - and please continue to do so!

Gal Pal

I don't spend a great deal of time reflecting on the fact that Clare is my daughter. She's my child, of course, and as her mother I work hard to give her the love, discipline, encouragement and structure that I believe she needs - as well as her brother. I remember my mom telling me, upon hearing the news from our first ultrasound that we were going to have a girl, that she was so pleased I was going to have a daughter...and many times since then I've wondered why. Ha! I'm mostly joking, although I do think Clare and I butt heads more than I do or will with Danny. I probably have higher expectations of Clare, because I've been in her shoes and want her to wear mine someday, so to speak. Whereas Danny is a totally foreign creature. (Hey, I know you all know what I'm talking about. We don't call him the Danimal for nothing.)

Anyway, yesterday was the kind of day where I really had a chance to appreciate Clare, both as an individual and as a girl. It started the minute I woke up yesterday, or should I say the minute Clare woke me up. Typically Clare wakes up sometime between 6-7. Thanks to the handy digital clock on her nightstand, she knows that when it turns 7, she can come downstairs (on the weekends; during the week we're out of the house by 7:05). Thanks to the ineptness of Georgia Power (and possibly the strong winds), we were out of power from 1-7:30 a.m. Sunday morning. So when Clare woke to total darkness at 6:16 a.m., she panicked (no night light! no clock!) and started crying for me. I anticipated this when the power initially went out, so I made my bleary-eyed way to her room and figured we were ready to start the day. Once I explained to her what had happened, she was fine, and then suggested we go back to bed. Sure! Oh, wait, she meant both of us in her room. Now, Clare never asks us to lay with her, and never tries to come into our bed except on weekends when we go in to wake up Daddy, so I opted to accept her invitation, especially because it was not issued in a whiny manner. It was a rare morning where Danny was actually still asleep, so the two of us got to lounge together in her bed for the next 45 minutes. We didn't exactly snuggle - Clare is simply not a very cuddly kid - but we definitely passed some quality time together. Sometimes she would make pleasant conversation, asking what is my favorite book, etc. Other times we just rested our eyes and enjoyed the lazy moment.

Once our Sunday got going, and the power returned, we slipped back into our usual routine of getting bagels, going to church, etc. I had told Clare that after quiet time we were going to head to Target to find her some shoes, and she was very excited. She loves to shop, especially for herself. Which is a good thing, because her Flintstone feet are very difficult to fit. When she first emerged from quiet time, she seemed a tad tired and grumpy, so I wasn't sure what to expect from our shopping excursion. She perked up once she saw me with my purse, though, and asked if she could bring one of her own. Absolutely, I responded, as long as she realized that she was the one who would carry it. Armed with her purse containing her princess cell phone and camera, plus a pair of sunglasses, she was ready.

I knew it was a good sign when she opted to sit in the row right behind me, as opposed to the seat in the way back. We chatted amiably about what a good idea it is to wear sunglasses, and the bonus fact that they make you look cool. When we got to Target she made sure to take off her sunglasses when I took off mine, and in general tried to emulate me as much as possible. At one point, probably after we got our Starbucks, Clare said to me, "I like hanging out with you," and I remember that I had just been thinking the same thing. We struck out in the Target shoe department, but even that was a pleasant experience, because she remained chipper, and also because I was pleased that she wasn't determined to make cute Hello Kitty shoes work simply because she liked the way they looked. We decided to head to the mall and try our luck at Payless, where we succeeded. As we walked hand-in-hand on our way to the car, I felt very blessed. I won't go so far as to jinx myself by saying that perhaps the teen years won't be as bad as I fear, but I will say that I like having a daughter to gal pal around with. I see a lifetime of shopping joy ahead of us. (Haven't said it in a while: Just work harder, Tim.)

Here's Clare at around age three, wearing the same sunglasses: