Easy Come, Easy Go (& Easy Come Again!)

Last Tuesday was a sunny warm day, and in the spirit of soaking up as much of MN's last few weeks of summer, I decided to take the boys to the beach up the street, where my niece and nephew met us. 7th Street beach is where the "local" neighborhood kids go. It's a smaller, quieter beach and provides many familiar faces and fond memories. The kids parked their bikes and we began our decent down a steep set of wooden stairs to the bottom of a large grassy hill. We played and played. Heading into the dinner hour, I decide it's time to pack it up. (You mothers out there know what it's like trying to gather up a bunch of sandy, soggy & reluctant kids...) We made the climb up the stairs bringing us out to Lake Avenue and that's when it all came crashing down.

Elliott's voice could be heard for blocks... "MY BIKE!" "IT'S GONE!"

About 3 weeks ago, Andy and I broke down and got Elliott a new bike as an early birthday gift. He was in desperate need of 2-wheel transportation that didn't have his knees bumping handlebars - I still giggle thinking about how much he'd outgrown his last one. He carefully picked out his new Invader trick bike. He loved that it not only had pegs in the back, but in the front too. We could clearly see the love he had for this new ride, being as the kick-stand was always in use, and he mildly tweaked out any time a neighbor kid put an alleged scratch on it.

So, back to the beach...

I raced to the top of the stairs and took in the sad view of Noah's little crocodile bike sitting alone. Elliott's was indeed gone.

Elliott was in a state of panic as the three other kids did their best to take in what happened. Even Noah, who had been giving me a good portion of grief up to that point, found it fit to sit quietly as mommy figured out her next move. As I dialed the police, nearby people walking the bike path couldn't help but hear Elliott's painful sobs. Two couples stood and listened to Elliott's rendition of the whole thing. They were all full of anger and sympathy. The police officer brightened Elliott's day a bit by providing him with both a promise to do his best in finding the treasured Invader, and a stack of baseball cards including favorite player Joe Mauer.

After a full week and no luck, we made the drive back to Target for a duplicate bike. Noah fell asleep on the ride home, so we decied to drive around town a bit, enjoying the quiet. Used to keeping our eyes peeled for our stolen property, we drive to some of the more dismal parts of town. Andy joked, stating we would probably find the bike now that we've paid for a new one. As irony would have it, he noticed something... He pulled into the parking lot of a nearby park and walked into the pavilian to take a better look at a very familiar bike. Two punk kids, age 14 or 15, stated it was theirs. Finding it curious that kids their size would ride such a small bike, Andy came back to the car and phoned the police. The punks decided the gig was up, and took off on foot. Andy retrieved the bike and sure enough, it was Elliott's (minus its distinctive stickers).

Since then, Elliott has been buzzing and gloating about his daddy's K9-like ability to sniff out stolen goods. Andy can't help but beam a little too. Good job, daddy!

Brindiamo all vita!

Ahhh...

Here it is and it's finally confirmed. For Andy's birthday this September, I defied my conventional home improvement notions and tapped into my spontaneous self by booking us a romantic 4-day sabbatical to Wine Country, CA. We will stay in Sonoma Valley, and delight in all of its Tuscan-esque landscape.

Though I wanted it to be a surprise, I realized that my sometimes slow-to-accept and afraid-of-change Prince Charming needs time to come to terms with a jolt to our schedule. After buttoning up a few details, he is now as giddy as I am about our upcoming departure.

I will no longer look at the outdated and slightly dilapidated carpet in our sunroom with dismay. I will now smile knowing that its replacement was put off for a much better cause.

Here's to seizing the moment ~ "Salute!"

27...28...29...

I know why they call it "30-something". That 'something' represents the tastefull way we might otherwise curse anything above 29.

Flipping through an Operah magazine the other day in the lobby of my dental office, I read a blurb in the letter to the "fashion" editor section that really struck a nerve. A 24 year old wrote in and asked "like, um (I'm ad-libbing here...) how soon should I, like, start using anti-ageing products?" I wanted to puke... by all means, take care of your skin and gleefully bask in condition of your youthful pores, but don't start whining about wrinkles when you've only just bid farewell to teenage associated acne.

If the inquiry alone had me in a tiz, you should have seem my wide eyes reading the response. Beauty editor whats-her-name says "Oh, honey, the day before yesterday!" and went on to pour salt in my exhasparated open wounds by saying "women as young as 18 should use antiaging products for numerous reasons..." I read through about a third of the list of problems women encounter in their 30's (very much identifying, by the way) before I whipped the mag back on the table and pouted a little.

I'm only now closing in on the end of my 20's. I'm not ready to discuss antiaging creams yet, nor am I ready to scoff at women in their early 20's - but here I am... doing both. Every time I wash my face or slap lotion on, I hear that blasted little voice saying "is that an age spot or sun spot?" "should I moisturize more around those laugh lines?" and of course "is that a hair growing out of my beauty mark?!"

So here it is, gals. The turning moment when I came face-to-face with not only having to check a different age box on miscellaneous forms, but that I too, could use a little wrinkle cream.

Blue Suede Shoes?

It's late Saturday night and I'm just sitting here with my thoughts. Nothing too deep, just a peaceful happy feeling that keeps me content with the world around me.

Our day was filled with accomplishments and rewarded with relaxation.

Shoe shopping. The boys dragged their little size 10's and 3's into the mall, and further into a sea of chaos called footwear. This is the first year that Elliott has offered an opinion - - no, wait - - not just an opinion; a badgering request as to the style and brand of shoes for his return to school. Skateboard shoes. Not just skateboard shoes, they must be Van's or Etney's. Nevermind the fact that the New Balance's are on sale - - we must persue the perfect shoe. After about 5 stores, he found and fell in love with an agreeable pair. We expected that Noah would muster up a newfound delight in his new shoes, seeing as brother was so happy about his, however what we didn't expect was that the boys would be wearing their new finds all night long...(even to bed...!) I can't wait to show Andy.

Andy was invited out with the guys tonight, which he doesn't do very often. After he left, the boys and I popped some popcorn and finished watching The Shaggy Dog. Then, quite by accident, we turned on some music - some sort of XM satalite thing that the TV was tuned to. Salsa music filled the air and naturally, the boys and I danced around the house as if we were...well, not being seen. From time to time, Elliott dabbles with the notion that he is much too cool and/or mature to do such a thing. Though much to my delight, he let loose (foot loose, if you will) and laughed the laugh that has earned him the household nickname "Belly". Noah figured things ought to be done properly, so with a determined look he tromped up the stairs and emerged from his bedroom holding his little 6-string. All of this in their new shoes.

I think these will be some of the images that intoxicate my memory when they're grown.