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Category Archives: field trip follies

Sally may sell seashells at the seashore, but we whack waves with (w)abandon.

It always gives me a gigantic thrill to see Aura run straight to the waves when we visit my mother in RI, to watch the way she throws her typical caution to the salty wind and splashes right in, going deeper until we warn her to stop. I take greedy breaths of the ocean air,…

I’m telling you: It has not once offered me 50 cents off a box of Ring Dings.

Preschool’s been out for only a few days, yet the adventure pickings suddenly seem rather slim. This is in large part because Aura and I jumped the gun a bit on summer once the warm weather appeared on the scene, what with the mini golfing and the playgrounds and the hiking. (See how I sneaked…

For what it’s worth, taffeta is hell on wheels around rice and beans.

Kate’s Tips for Surviving Your Child’s First Dance Recital 1. Know your own hair limitations. After you attempt to put your four-year-old’s hair in a “ballerina bun” 501 times and she continues to resemble a geisha after a particularly rough night, admit defeat and pay an actual stylist. Ignore all Toddlers & Tiaras guilt and…

If they leave a chocolate on the pillow, I’m moving in.

I’m not sure any of you have seen one of these before, but let’s try it on for size, shall we? Yes! Indeed! It is what you suspect: that rare, elusive thing called a “hotel room all to oneself.” It has the usual suspects: a bed, a chair, a desk, a bathroom. But do you…

Trust me. You don’t want to see how they decorated the bathroom.

I know I’ve been remiss around the blog lately, but I have vacation as an excuse. We’re in Maine, smack in the middle of a prolonged heat wave, in a rented cottage that was built eons before air conditioning was even a spark of genius in anyone’s imagination. The view from the windows is pretty…

Also, there weren’t nearly enough people wearing bandanas.

I have dreams, you know. Big ones. Like, explore the Great Barrier Reef. Tour Hagia Sophia. Return to Paris and prove to the French once again that it is possible to eat one’s body weight in crusty bread. I also have little travel dreams. For instance, someday I plan to drive cross-country and find me…

And I didn’t even trip and fall flat on my face. Much.

Look! I survived BlogHer ’10! And I am here to tell you about it! Actually, you don’t need me to give you the lowdown. There are an armload of splendidly written BlogHer recaps out there, many of them written by lovely women I myself met this past weekend, and to whom I hope to link in future posts….

Three things that prove I need to get out more. As in, way more. As in, you have no idea how much more.

#1. You get catcalled by a panhandler. I tell you, a girl opts out of elastic-waist pants ONE NIGHT and it’s like hell freezes over. Add some shiny red peep-toe pumps and you get an extra lewd remark (please see below). I really think that we mothers of America are not giving the male homeless…

It's refreshing that highly paid comedians enjoy a hearty game of Whack-a-Mole.

Oh, how time passes. Was it only a month ago that I said I was going to write a post on our First Family Trip to New York City? I apparently have come to my senses sometime between then and now, since nothing is more brain-numbingly boring that someone else’s account of her vacation. Except…

I can't promise not to hyperventilate if someone suggests also going to a movie.

Apparently, the planets have aligned, the stars have crossed, and a ritual sacrifice of a Polly Pocket or two (RELAX, one of them was already missing her left arm and the other one bore an off-putting resemblance to Mickey Rourke) has been made, for we have a babysitter. This is a rare occurrence, so rare…