Cold, Flu, and Birthday Season

My poor big kids have the lamest birthdays. Not only are February and March the most grey and wettest months of the year (disclaimer: I might be making this up, I have no professional meteorology training. Let's call this hyperbole and move on), these birthdays fall right smack dab in the middle of cold and flu season. So even if the birthday boys are lucky enough not to be sick themselves, chances are the guest list will be thinned by the latest phlegm producing epidemic.

Jack's birthday always falls close enough to a three day weekend that we manage to escape town for a mini vacation. This year we spent a snowy long weekend in Black Butte and Jack got to go snowboarding with Brent and Uncle Nick while Sawyer and I broke a sled and crashed into a tree within a matter of minutes.

So Jack's actual birthday was a quiet and peaceful affair with chocolate brownie cake and take out pizza. But as soon as we got home he was all about planning a real party.

Another lame thing about my kids' birthdays is that they have a mom who really can't be bothered to plan a decent birthday party, unless she wins a ridiculously under priced birthday package at the indoor soccer field, and they say lightning never strikes the same place twice. Ahem. Last year's party totally ruled.

This year, not so much. Jack wanted another soccer party and so we eyed the weather forecast for a few weeks until a sunny Sunday was promised. I quickly rounded up everyone on his guest list who was not suffering from the bubonic plague and we set a date at the park.

As we were loading the last of our party gear into the car, right on cue, it started to rain. "No one's going to come!" Jack wailed through tears as we drove through the downpour. Thank god his friends are true Oregonians who braved the deluge and slid through the mud to play a soggy game of birthday soccer.



A week or so after his party, Jack came down with some sort of feverish headachy super sleepy flu. He languished on the couch for a few days, whining for Recharge (hippie Gatorade) and watching way too much TV. Gradually he began to look perkier, until Brent threatened to send him back to school and then he suddenly relapsed.

Meanwhile Sawyer's birthday was approaching. Sawyer would be easy to please since he only has two friends. "Let's go bowling!" he said. Perfect. Except that by the morning of his party, Brent had succumbed to Jack's feverish headachy super sleepy flu.



So he missed Sawyer's birthday, spending the day curled up in the fetal position, sipping Recharge, thanking his lucky stars that the house was quiet as we partied down at the bowling alley with french fries and birthday cake.

And the next day Sawyer woke up sick with the feverish headachy super sleepy flu.

I was a rock. I was the glue that held us all together. My immune system and I could singlehandedly pull off a birthday party, care for the sick and downtrodden, restock the Recharge supply, fold laundry, wrap birthday presents, chase toddlers, and fight off this feverish headachy super sleepy flu bug.

Was it the daily yoga? Was it the probiotics in the yogurt I eat every morning? Superior genes? Excellent hand washing? Steely determination? I was the lone soldier left standing while those around me fell to the ground. I was the picture of health in the gallery of the infirm. I was...

Well, I was starting to feel a little chilled. And then I was hot. And then my head started hurting. And my eyes wouldn't stay open.

Another one bites the dust.

Two days later I was fine. But then the next weekend my superior immune system and I went down with a stomach bug which announced its presence with spontaneous vomiting in the car while Brent was driving us home from Portland. So that was also awesome.

Aaaaaaaaaannnnnnnnnnnnnddddddddddd, Jack was in a play!

My mumbling, awkward, painfully shy now seven-year-old memorized his lines and stood on a stage in front of a crowd and was a talking horse. Who spoke French. And in that moment all of the shuttling and carpooling and carbon footprinting involved in getting this kid across town to the elitist immersion school was all so very worth it.

So happy birthday to my toothless horse and to my fearless bowler. I might not throw a great party, but I can sew you a horse costume in 24 hours while battling fatigue and nausea. That's almost as cool as a pinata, right?

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Winter Olympics: Eugene

Event Number One: Maintaining a blog while working full time, retaining sanity, and raising three children. Clearly I am not winning the gold for this one.

Event Two: Remembering that the beach is only 1.5 hours from our door and escaping the Willamette Valley fog when it threatens our mental health. I can handle the endless rain. But a week of fog? Now that's taking things too far in my book, Mother Nature. You lose this round.

Up next: Latte Art. We bought ourselves an espresso machine for Christmas this year, which is actually probably more of an investment because I am pretty sure Brent has been singlehandedly financing the growth of Dutch Bros. Time to sell your stocks, people. Brent wins at the latte art, for sure. (I think he secretly doesn't want me touching the machine, since he is always desperately offering to make me drinks. Or maybe he just wants to be nice? Hard to tell. For now, he's handing me lattes so I have no complaints.)

And of course there's been lots and lots of basketball, thanks to the new hoop. And when you lower it to 8 feet, everyone is a winner!

Brent has the infuriating habit of making things look easy. He's super coordinated and has really good balance and so you'd expect him to be a natural at yoga. I've been keeping at it, and not to get all zen on you or anything, but I am pretty sure that yoga has changed my life. I will probably never be a swan, but I am definitely starting to become a flamingo, so that's progress. Only now that my Groupon has expired, I might need to take out a second mortgage on my house in order to afford the classes. So that means I've been practicing quite a bit at home and Brent has joined me from time to time.

It turns out that the one thing Brent can't do is yoga. He is totally a penguin. Gold medal for me!

Event Number Six: Dog Sled Racing. Um, wtf Mother Nature? Just 'cause we beat you at the week of fog doesn't mean you need to get vengeful. 

Disclaimer: this event is probably not safe for kids. Or dogs.

I'm not sure this next "event" should be considered for our Eugene Olympics, but what the hell. I'm gonna go ahead and call Dressing Clementine an Olympic sport. She has this strange habit of dragging clothes around and insisting that you layer her outfit with sweaters, mismatched shoes, pajamas, etc. I think she looks like a homeless person and I suggested that we buy her a toy shopping cart for Christmas, but the toy stroller was cheaper so I guess she's not a future bag lady after all.

 Brent: "Are you getting pictures of this? Are you blogging this?"

Now this should NOT be considered a sport, but when you have three kids, Find the Baby is a pretty high stakes game. These days Clementine can be found brushing her teeth on the stool in the bathroom. Brent had the brilliant idea of giving her a toothbrush and it's yielded hours of entertainment. Why we ever buy toys for our kids is beyond me.

And finally, the event that strikes fear into the hearts of all parents of Lego owning kids. I like to call it "Mom, can you find this piece for me?" or, in other words, FML. Ef-Em-El!

This event requires hours of time spent on your knees pawing through Rubbermaid tubs of Legos, countless episodes of optimism, "Here it is! I found it!" followed by eye rolls and wailing such as, "That's grey, Mom. I need chaaaaarcoal!"

I think I take the bronze here. I'll let Brent have the gold.

Team Ross. We do pretty well. Now, where can we get some of those lovely USA sweaters?

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Xmas, DC, NYC, et al

Christmas Eve dinner was at our house this year. Our menu included spinach balls, stuffed mushrooms, butter lettuce salad, smoked salmon and potato chowder, Metropol bread, buche de noel cake, and jam thumbprints.

I watched my incredulous kids open the biggest present they had ever seen (a long coveted basketball hoop from Doug and Mary). Everyone sat at the table and ate and drank and ate some more. The fire was warm and the food was fine. We were all together, which was the only thing I wanted for Christmas this year.

Christmas Eve jammies were finished just in the nick of time. Sawyer's sneeze happened at the exact wrong time.

Christmas morning was cinnamon rolls and ecstatic kids and lots and lots of coffee. And just when I thought I could never eat again, it was time to go to Brent's mom's house for Christmas dinner. I regret nothing.

Just as the weary winter after-Christmas days began to drag, I boarded a plane with Clementine and flew across the country to see my best friend Amberlee in Washington DC.

I've been sort of paralyzed by photo options for this post, so I finally said screw it and just started uploading.

I also don't really know what to say about this trip that won't sound cliche. It was amazing/awesome/once in a lifetime? Surely I can do better than that...

So maybe I will just tell you that convincing Amberlee to drive us 7 hours through a torrential downpour so that I could see New York City was one of the best decisions I've made. And that walking across the Brooklyn Bridge with the lights of the city mirrored by wet pavement, Clementine snuggled into her stroller, camera in my hand, and best friend at my side, was a moment that I won't forget.

We stayed with Amberlee's friends in a tiny apartment where we climbed to the rooftop for a panoramic view of the city. We drank Six Point beers until we couldn't keep our eyes open. We went out for bagels and pizza and pickles from a "real" deli. We rode the subway, ahem, the train, and Clementine charmed even the most morose looking takers of public transportation. We saw Times Square and hated it. Rockefeller Center had too many people and so we pushed our stroller through the crowds and made our way to Central Park. But not before I popped into the Lego store...

New York was cold and dirty and breathtakingly beautiful. I felt small and insignificant and anonymous and alive.  My feet ached and everything was covered in snot and cracker crumbs. My face hurt from smiling. Amberlee spilled coffee all over her pants. Clementine's cheeks were rosy and her fingers turned to ice. We loved you, New York, but it was time to go back to DC.

Tollroads. Travel stations. Utz road snacks. A fruitless quest for Kandy Kakes. Changing a stand up poopy diaper in a New Jersey bathroom. Tomato pie. It had been a long time since Amberlee and I had been on a road trip together, and this one did not disappoint.

 Old Town Alexandria:

We stayed in for New Years and put Clementine to bed early. The evening was spent drinking wine and champagne, eating cheese and crackers and leftover pizza from New Jersey, and playing Phase-10. We missed the ball drop, which was fine with me.

New Years Day was brilliant sunshine and a trip to Baltimore. I had always wanted to make a pilgrimage to Edgar Allan Poe's grave (I am a big fan!) and Amberlee made it happen. Clementine did not bring the wine or the rose, in case you were wondering.

I had read online about the Poe House, where he had once lived with his cousin/wife which was now a small tourist museum. According to the website, the museum was closed and the reviews on this place were pretty interesting. The Poe House is in an apparently rough part of Baltimore, so reviewers were saying things like "Don't go there unless you have a bullet proof vest" and "We tried to go but the cops pulled us over and told us to get out of that neighborhood."

So naturally we went.

We tried to go to the Annabel Lee Tavern (I told you I am a big fan), but it was also closed for the holiday. So instead we went to a 24 hour diner which was supposed to have some of Baltimore's finest crab cakes. My pacific northwest dungeness crab loving palate could not stomach the Maryland blue crab, so it's a good thing I liked the Natty Boh so much.

It had been a long time since I'd lived out of a backpack. Since I'd slept the sleep of a person who has walked nine miles and woken to wonder what new territory I'd be covering that day. It had been a long time since I'd been so tired or hungry or so smashed into complete strangers on subways. I hadn't smelled city smells since I can remember, or felt that real raw, grittiness of urban life. It had been a long time since I'd washed city grime from my face and hair or smelled the subway on my clothes. And for Clementine, it was a week of firsts. She proved to us over and over again that she is a traveler, just like her mom and her mom's best friend.

I think this girl of mine will go far in this world. And if I'm lucky, maybe I'll get to go along, too.

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