Masquerading as Teens

When I was in 6th grade we had square dances. 

I'm thinking this is way more fun.

   

Parental Torture 101

My job as a parent is to torture my children, and I'm very, very good at my job.

They have to clean their pretty, custom-painted, private rooms before they're allowed to play with their electronics (quelle horreur!); and on a sunny, gorgeous Sunday I sometimes wake them up to go skiing.


"Wha? It's 7am on a Sunday. What's going on?"

"We're going to Telluride, Cayenne. WooHoo! Let's hit the slopes!"

"It's 7am. On a Sunday."      Roll over.


"Acacia! Tiiiiiime to get up. Telluride, baby!"

"Why are you waking me up? It's Sunday and it's early and..." she falls asleep mid-sentence.

"Yoo-Hoo... wakey wakey."

"Wha? Huh?...... Can we get doughnuts for breakfast?"


Oh why not. Bribery is also a parental tool. Doughnuts all round!

These poor children, having to ski in such horrible conditions.
At least they're not on that stretcher passing Cayenne.

And then, just when they thought they were having a good time, in order to ski the awesome slopes they saw from the chairlift - "Let's go do those!!" - 

they had to walk and - yes, it's true - carry their own skis up to the last part.

That would be Acacia in the pink. Like she just climbed Everest.

See the smile on Nicolas's face? That's the look of a parent who has succeeded in torturing his children juuuuuuuust enough to have a brilliant day.

(The ride home was far more exuberant than the way there.

"Oh man! Remember Baldie? That was EPIC!"

"Where should we have dinner? Let's go to Francisco's. Yum!")


 Pure torture.

 

Like Grandfather Like Father Like Daughter...

(Note to Acacia: Your grand-père says congratulations!)

  

The Mah Jong Olympics

"Don't forget peeps, you're playing against a Canadian. Your chances of a gold medal these days are slim to none!"

But alas, I didn't even medal in our Mah Jong Olympics. Or, as Cayenne likes to say, Mom won the Copper.

Cayenne won the gold. You go girl! Clearly, lots of Canadian in you.

Acacia created the medals last week when Ilona and Michel were here while I attended a Keller Williams convention, which happened to be in Phoenix. Handy! 

That's also when Cayenne got the shiner on her right eye, but that's another story...

  

Some Days are Diamond, Some Days are Stone

While the eastern half of the country enjoys blizzard after ice storm after deep freeze... we are enjoying the warmest winter in, according to the Telegraph, 150 years. Okay by me! As the Chief Shoveler and Primary Snowblowerer around here these days, I'm quite happy with the lack of in-town snow...

... and the unbelievably amazing effect it has had on Vallecito, a nearby reservoir. Without any snow cover to insulate the lake at night, the ice has grown to a foot thick, and the warm days has provided an almost glass-like surface.

It was so warm it didn't take long for the coats to come off...

Well, at least mine and Acacia's came off. 

Cayenne is always dressed for the North Pole...

...unlike this lad, who sped past us in shorts - carrying a fish in his left hand. Huh? 

His friends near the shore had built a fire on the ice,
and that one little fish fed the multitudes.

It was a diamond day.

 

Tuesday on the slopes

One of the not-so-great things about my job is that I often work on weekends. One of the very great things is when the kids don't have school on a Tuesday, there's no one to tell me we can't hit the slopes. We had the mountain to ourselves, skied for five hours and never took the same run twice.

Cayenne had a fun time, I swear. ha!

What an easy way to make the whole week better.

 

Happy Birthday Mom

Mother Nature thwarted my Mother's birthday party. A huge storm passing through my sister Diane's town and heading to my Dad's meant she couldn't make the trip down. He called the bakery and explained his dilemma and they offered to bake him a new one tomorrow. (Quelle service!)

"Mom won't know if her birthday's today or tomorrow," he said, so best to play it safe.

But she might know what cake is. Or what singing is. My Dad has always maintained that we don't know what she knows or hears or processes, so he treats her as though she understands, and if the nurses need to speak to him about her, he leads them outside the room, and he includes her in those conversations happening in the room. He doubted there was any recognition, but you just never know. How could you know?

Then a few months ago my father took a break and went to Holland for ten days. He only agreed to go after securing Diane's and Terence's promises that my Mom would be visited every day in his absence. Holland was good for him and he enjoyed spending time with his brother and sis-in-law, eating the comfort food of his youth and travelling.

And it was good to come home, too. He went to go see my Mom, who is home for him... and she cried.  She took his face in her hands and cried and kissed his cheeks over and over and over again. She knew. And she'd missed him.

He spends every afternoon and dinner with her, and always will until death parts them. In the meantime, he will bring her roses every June 25th, and cake every January 13th, but most importantly, he'll bring her love and companionship every day in between.

Happy 77th Birthday Mom. Enjoy your twice-baked cake.

I love you both.

♥

(My sister-in-law Carala took this photo about four years ago and I love it. I believe it's the last portrait where she looks like herself.)