Date day

Greg and I don't manage to pull off date nights. Partly, this is because our children have us wrapped around their cute little fingers, and they don't like anyone else to put them to bed. But mostly it is because by 6:30 on Friday night we're wiped out. It's all we can do to coax the children to bed a little early (which isn't too hard because they were usually finished with week sometime around 4 o'clock when the meltdowns began) and drag out poor tired bodies downstairs to watch Thursday's 30 Rock.

We would be required to pay any Friday night babysitter hazard duty pay: Mary acts like she's on speed and David starts, I believe the technical term is, "going bonkers." Besides, what would Greg and I do? Go out for a fancy dinner? Only if I could wear my pajamas! I'm usually in pajamas by 3:30 on Fridays, counting down the minutes until the kids are in bed. If we WENT OUT on Friday nights I would have to change into actual pants, which just isn't gonna happen.

(And I don't suggest going out for a fancy dinner in your pajamas. One time when I was home from college working for the summer, I decided to wear my pajamas to work. I wish I were kidding. I did this because....I was 19. Isn't that enough of an explanation? Anyway, I found out that the PRESIDENT OF THE COMPANY was planning on taking me out for a fancy lunch that day to show his appreciation for all of my hard work. Then he saw me in my pajamas. And he took me anyway. It was a good life lesson.)

BUT Greg and I still like to find time to be together. Usually during the day when we are not comatose. So I arranged for us to have a morning together this week without our kids.

Want to guess where we went?

To the ice! (And, yes, I should spend less time bossing Greg around about where to hold the camera and when to take the picture and more time smiling and removing the bright green glove from my face.)

We drove out to the biggest Madison lake of them all, Lake Mendota.

(You can just barely see the dome of the capitol on the horizon.)

As expected there were ice fishermen out. Some body's prepared to ice fish in style this season:

We walked out to Picnic Point.

It's a hike out to Picnic Point. This is a hike one normally does on a trail on land. But we thought it would be more fun on the ice. Because we live in Wisconsin, you know.

My heart only skipped a beat once, when I thought heard cracking. But we made it safely.

That is a lot of ice. (There's so much ice that it reminds me of the desert. Isn't that strange? How the ice reminds me of the desert?)

The last time I saw that much ice was when I flew over Greenland.

This is Picnic Point.

Six months from now I want to sit in that bench.

And look at the water.

But for now I am dazzled by the ice.

(And my date, who loves me on the ice or in my pajamas.)

Late night with Chewie

This is what Greg wanted for his birthday:

To surprise David by telling him he could stay up late with us and watch Star Wars. As expected, David was thrilled! He's been anxiously, but patiently, waiting to see Star Wars. It was fun to cuddle on the couch, the three of us, late into the night.

For a kid who goes to bed at 7:30, staying up until ten is really late into the night. He had to lean forwards a little bit too keep himself from falling asleep.

I offered several times to let him go to bed and finish the movie another night, but he bravely refused. He was way too into it! And it was fun being up with him, and enjoying the movie together.

David has now seen Star Wars. Yet another important milestone in our family!

Mary's cake

While David took Daddy skiing, Mary made Daddy a cake. (No comments on gender roles, please.)

Mary was worried she wouldn't remember how to make a cake, but, with a little help from Mom, she did a super job.

That evening, after pizza at the Roman Candle, we gathered around Mary's cake for a little birthday celebration.

There were a lot of candles. Thirty-three to be exact.

The kids were nervous about that much fire; they kept their distance.

Greg kept his cool though. Must be that fire marshal training.

We sang the song, and Greg made his wish.

But it was a lot of work getting all those candles out.

And when the job was done,

Mary declared, "Those candles are DEAD!"

The candles were dead, but the cake was delicious.

Thank you, Mary.

And Happy Birthday, Daddy!

Daddy-David Birthday Date

Tuesday was Daddy's birthday. To celebrate, David took him on a little Daddy-David date.

Here:

Are you ready to have a heart attack?

The date was my idea.

Yes, MY family members using OUR family credit card to (can I bring myself to even type the words?).........SKI in the MIDWEST. Shudder.

At MY suggestion! (I'm feeling faint again at the thought of it.)

In case you didn't know, I have strict religious beliefs regarding skiing:

If you're not west of Denver, DON'T BOTHER.

(Hey, we all have the right to be snobs about something, don't we?)

But I got to thinking. About Tyrol Basin:

1. It's 20 minutes away.
2. It's affordable.
3. It's real snow.
4. It's small and manageable.
5. It's guaranteed to have a super gentle bunny slope because this IS the Midwest.

What better conditions for your kids to LEARN TO SKI??

Greg was pretty excited. Having learned to ski in New Hampshire, he doesn't have the same kind of hang-ups I do. (Although, once a few years ago my family took him skiing for his birthday to Sundance and Alta, and he then began to appreciate the snobbery.)

There was no way I was missing out completely on this momentous event in my son's life, so Mary and I tagged along to take a few pictures. We passed a lot of cows on the way to Tyrol Basin. That was kind of weird. And there certainly wasn't that thin mountain air feeling once we got out of the car. I think we gained about 18 inches of elevation. But I reminded myself of the 5 items on the above list.

First was the ski rental ritual. I think the ski rental buildings smell the same no matter which side of Denver you're on.

David with his skis.

For some reason, I think the above picture is so precious. David, with his skis cradled carefully in his arms. Oh, my heart is melting.

What a big boy I have. So big he can carry his own skis.

One of the best parts of my little visit up (more like over) to Tyrol Basin was Mary. She knew she wasn't skiing (maybe next year, when she's old enough for lessons) and she was a good sport about that fact, but she insisted on being very involved in David's first time skiing.

Mary deemed it essential to dress for the occasion, even though she herself wasn't skiing. So she wore her snow pants. And she didn't miss a beat of the ski rental process. Then, once David had his skis on, Mary was quick to grab his hand to keep him from falling. Look at this sweet picture:

It was a momentous and very happy morning for our family.

Did you notice in the above picture that Mary was still dutifully holding David's hand?

Then Mary pushed David up the hill.

She is a very helpful little girl.

I made Greg hang around with us while we waited for David's lesson to begin. I know he was anxious to hit the slopes--he only had one hour during which he would be unencumbered by a five-year-old. But, to me, our first born's first ski lesson was a special occasion, and we should ALL be there to celebrate it. As always, Greg was a good sport.

At last, it was time for David's lesson to begin. Greg sprinted for the lifts. And I helicoptered around for a few minutes until I could sense the ski instructor was like "Get the heck outta here, lady! You think I haven't done this before even though I look fifteen?" So I skulked away.

But not before spying on the class for a few more minutes.

Later, I asked Greg how many runs he got in during that hour. Fifteen. FIFTEEN! In less than an hour. What were they? Twelve feet long?? I guess that's what happens when you downhill ski where there is basically NO DOWNHILL. And now I will end this paragraph on account of "If you don't have anything nice to say....."

But I will say that I have a lucky husband whose wife is, on rare occasions, able to swallow her pride and snobbery. (Doesn't that make him a lucky husband?)

And I have a lucky son.....

of whom I am very proud.

We're already planning our next visits OVER (not up--18 inches doesn't count) to Tyrol Basin. Dairy cows and all.

Hero

On Sunday Greg scooped up his Primary bag, my Young Women teaching materials, my five-year-old, and my sandal-wearing little girl and carried them safely over a snow drift. In a suit and tie.

Greg is my hero. Every day.

(Happy birthday.)

Christmas confession

I considered titling this post "Christmas drive," but the word "confession" in any blog post title seems a bit more titilating. I thought after the forty seven previous Christmas posts, I might need something a little catchier than "Christmas drive."

Bless you if my blog hasn't completely lost your attention. (But I will tell you what. I LOVE going back to look at the Christmases I documented on my blog. Let's not forget that this is for me!)

On the bright side, I do believe this is my last Christmas post.

Okay, so here is the confession...

I love Larry Meiller.

(It's okay, Greg knows.)

Actually, what I love is the Larry Meiller show.

When we first moved to Madison, I was devastated to find that there was very little national programming on the public radio stations. How could there be so little national programming with TWO public radio stations? Sure, there was "Morning Edition" and "All Things Considered," but in between my choices are classical music (a polite no thanks) and local programming. LOCAL PROGRAMMING. Ugh. Who cares about local programming?! I want NATIONAL programming.

Of course, at home I can stream whatever I want over the Internet. But the problem is the CAR. I tried listening to music again. I tried having conversations with my children. I tried quiet meditation. But nothing was very satisfying. So I broke down and started listening to "The Ideas Network"--Wisconsin's 24-7 local talk public radio station--and feel free to laugh at the name, I do.

Fortunately, I tend NOT to be in the car when they discuss such lovely topics as why women are biologically programmed to become lesbians after age 35 (??!!!!)----->Do you see why I was in such despair???

But I DO tend to be in the car a lot during the Larry Meiller show. At first, I HATED it. But, like any true public radio addict, I could not turn it off. And, sure enough, I gradually began to like it. It helped that Larry Meiller sounds EXACTLY like Fred Willard. And, even more so, I began to accumulate bits of helpful information, much of it about Wisconsin.

For instance, I know:

--why barns are painted red

--the pros and cons of various home construction green technologies

--how to get the cat urine smell out of your carpet

--which tomato varieties do well in this climate

--where to eat the best pizza and cheesecake in the state

--that Wisconsin grows more cranberries than Massachusetts

--it's good when only 4 hunters get shot on the opening day of deer season

--that it's helpful to use CCleaner on your computer occasionally

--when the best time to buy your airplane tickets to Europe is

--why it's important that there is not a drastic difference between the humidity in your house and the humidity outside

Recently, I listened to an entire show devoted to ice fishing. As I was learning about ice fishing augers, rods, and shelters, as well as a good technique for drilling your holes, I realized that they were talking about people ice fishing on Madison's lakes RIGHT NOW. I assumed people only ice fished in the northern backwoods of the state because, well, I just couldn't imagine people out fishing on Madison's lakes. They are so BIG. How could they possibly be frozen?? I just couldn't wrap my mind around the idea of that much ICE. (Geez, the culture shock continues.) I also couldn't understand that people just walk out on those lakes, drill a hole, and plop down on an overturned 5 gallon bucket. It was so....foreign to me.

So on Christmas afternoon I declared that I needed to see these frozen lakes for myself. And I needed to see a real, live ice fisherman. Despite my love, I couldn't just take Larry Meiller's word for it.

That is when we set off on our Christmas drive.

We first drove along frozen Lake Wingra.

It is the smallest of our four lakes. This is where we planned to go kayaking but never did. Now it is more suitable for ice skating and cross country skiing.

Next, we took in a view of the Madison skyline across frozen Lake Monona.

That ice is supposedly several feet thick. How did that happen? I guess Physical Science 100 didn't really sink in.

Oh, and then we hit the jackpot! They're real, and they're everywhere. Ice fishermen!

I guess Larry Meiller was right.

But I did have to step out onto the ice myself. Because seeing wasn't believing. I needed to feel it solid under my feet.

The ice was very solid. (I will never doubt you again, Larry Meiller.)

During our drive, we also meandered through the arboretum, which is criss-crossed with lovely trails.

I have another confession. For a moment, I looked at those trails, and I imagined a romantic winter walk over the crunchy snow. Or some aerobic cross-country skiing. Or taking up snow shoeing. I looked longingly at the middle-aged couples out in the snow. And, I admit, that for a brief moment I wished I didn't have small children. That I could be free to take a winter walk with my husband whenever the mood should strike. That I could simply leave the house without finding a babysitter or organizing a play date or figuring out some way to bring the kids along. I wondered if those middle-aged couples knew how good they have it.

I told Greg what I was thinking.

He reminded me of the kids' faces that morning. And the fun we had with the tunnel. And I suddenly realized how good WE have it!

Christmas with children is THE BEST. It does not get any better, in my opinion. Their innocent attitudes and believing hearts and excited faces make up for the inconveniences a thousand times over. It's like we're in the Golden Age of Christmas right now. We have children who are old enough to understand and believe and anticipate. But young enough to be somewhat protected from the deluge of commercialism, young enough to be thrilled with new toys of any price, young enough to say really cute things. Old enough to participate in family traditions; young enough to still think they are genuinely fun.

I am so....lucky. I just feel so dang LUCKY to have such a wonderful little family. I feel so dang LUCKY to have this much fun on Christmas. Is that really allowed? To have such awesome Christmases year after year? (Even when Greg was gone we had a great time!)

So this is my real Christmas confession (sorry, Larry Meiller, but it has nothing to do with you):

I am the luckiest person in the world.

The Christmas tunnel

And you thought I was finished posting about Christmas? Oh no, my friends. But, seriously, I'm almost finished.

On Christmas Eve Eve, David and his BFF started building a snow tunnel. And Christmas afternoon, Daddy finished it:

Nobody was brave enough to crawl through it, so Daddy volunteered to prove that the engineering was safe and sound:

Except that he didn't fit. He couldn't even get his shoulders inside.

So, like any good civil engineer, he expanded it:

At this point, Mary carefully considered giving it a try:

She carefully inspected the tunnel:

And crawled right in:

But she soon backed out and decreed, "I'm too big!"

Daddy was determined to prove that she was NOT too big. So he crawled in:

And got stuck:

And David had to "help" pull him back out:

So Daddy worked on the tunnel a little more, widening it and raising the ceiling. And then he tried crawling through once more:

Is he stuck again??

No! He made it! Hooray!

So then, after much cajoling, David headed inside:

And he made it through too!

Hooray for being brave!

Not to be outdone, Mary (after we convinced her that she was not too big) took her turn too:

Hooray for Mary!

And then she went back for a few more turns.

That concludes the story of our Christmas tunnel.

Hope you had a white Christmas too!