Back From a Club Med Vacation

Photo by Masana.

This will be a quick post since we just returned from our family vacation and I still have sand in my hair.

Let me start by saying that our family vacations are usually anything but relaxing. Dave and I have always taken the kids on adventures rather than vacations. We map out a course whether by car, plane, foot, or a combination of all three, and soak in the local surroundings. Our first real vacation with the kids took us on a plane to San Diego, CA, where we rented a car and drove over 1,000 miles along Pacific Highway One.
We slept in a yurt, ate on the beach, went for hikes, and hugged redwood trees. When we finally got home after 10 days of nonstop action, I was in dire need of a vacation from my vacation. Between 2007 and 2008 we drove to Baltimore, Philadelphia, Washington, and the Outer Banks on separate road trips. We took the kids to see shows, visited museums and aquariums, and ate a LOT of food. In 2009, we drove out to Chicago from New York. On the way we stopped by Toledo and Cleveland, Ohio to watch the Mud Hens and the Indians play baseball. The kids discovered Arby's, Dairy Queen, and the fact that Pennsylvania is one boring state to drive through (my apologies to the state of Pennsylvania). Last year we took the kids to London. We rented a flat in the Southwark section, walked everywhere, ate everything, and collapsed every night with full bellies and tired feet.

This year I demanded a real do-nothing (or die trying) vacation. So despite Dave's pleas for Ireland or Scotland, I firmly planted my foot down and said NO. My only requirements were: 1) warm weather and 2) that we not leave the country. So Dave booked a Club Med vacation in Florida.

At first I was skeptical because the website for the Club Med Sandpiper Bay resort didn't have any real photos at the time Dave booked our vacation. It was undergoing extensive renovations and had these strange computer generated* images. And for someone with a fairly active imagination, that part of my creative brain couldn't grasp that I could be just like the happy and brightly colored avatar in virtual Club Med world. *(Their website has been updated with actual photos, though they are still building their wellness center.)

But I'm quite happy to report that our family vacation was a complete success.

The view from my covered beach bed. I saw lots of jumping fish,
birds that I think were pelicans, and dolphins. (Yes, I said dolphins.)

The boys abandoned their shoes at the beginning of every day.

Sand art?

One of the many sand castles we built. 

New sea legs created by my daughter.

I'll try to write more about the experience later on. There is a lot to say about this place that may be of some use to another do-nothing vacation seeking family. But right now I'm just going to bask in the glow of our first REAL family vacation.

Many thanks to the chief of the village, Lionel Pirotte, for a fantastic stay.

And, of course, thank you, Dave. Now that wasn't so terrible, was it? ;)

More Newspaper Duct Tape Murses

It's not a glamourous-sounding name, but a murse is a murse.
Though I do suspect that a guy wouldn't be caught dead sporting one across his manly chest. I think that maybe I should change the size to make it more like a camera bag. What do you think?

I'm normally not a gray duct tape kinda gal, but this illustration from last weekend's New York Times made me reconsider it. And simply put, it's a lot more manly than the sky blue duct tape I used for a friend's utility bag-- despite the fact that I mixed in some black duct tape. (Please excuse the horrible photo. It reads "STUFF" on the front with an arrow pointing to the opening of the bag.)

My daughter Masana has also been searching through the newspaper for pretty pictures, though I am not quite sure what her intentions are. Sometimes, she'll squirrel away a page with interesting type or photographic images. Other times, she'll leave a stack of her findings on my chair as an offering to the crafting gods. Last week, I found the front page of the NYT Science Times section smiling at me from my perch. Well, maybe "smiling" is the wrong word. Take a look.

I am laughing as I write this because it has now dawned on me how appropriate this nonsmiling/smiling illustration is for my lovely daughter. And if you're a mother with a girl or (heaven forbid) girls, then you'll understand that the laughter is laced with a little anger, sarcasm, and heartache.

We had a rough few days. Did I mention that she's 9 years old and testing her boundaries? And that she's got mood swings that could give a person whiplash if you tried to follow them? I won't say exactly what she did to get me going because that wouldn't be fair. So let's just say it was a public display of her dissatisfaction for something she perceived as a slight, though for the life of me I cannot figure out what it was that I did wrong. I barely said anything to her before the metaphorical daggers came out.

When my husband Dave came home, I already had relegated the offending child to her room without dinner and the non-offending child (my son Mack) was sitting obediently on the couch reading a book. The eery silence immediately set off alarms in Mr. Dave's head and he found me sipping a beer in my work room. That night, dinner and dessert for the boys were gotten outside of my usually busy and warm kitchen.

The ups and downs of the mother/daughter relationship. That was certainly a down. And today I'll be spending some one-on-one time with Masana (or, as we call her when she's exhibiting bad behavior, Boo-sana) to change the trajectory of our arc. May it swing upward today.

And thanks for letting me vent.

This Ain't High Art, Buddy

Someone accused me of having a "high art" phase at the moment. To this person I say, "High art?? Really? That's what you consider a wallet made out of a Trader Joe's brownie baking mix bag?"

Here is the original packaging.

A little clear packing tape to make the surface waterproof, some sky blue Duck brand duct tape, and-- voila!--a wallet is born.

I've been trolling around my home for more Shade the Changing Man inspiration. Newspaper bin, magazine rack, the linen closet, the kitchen pantry--no place is sacred. I feel like there are so many interesting graphics out there, which really helps me since I can't draw very well.

A few months ago, I bought some pillowcases that were marked down to the "so cheap you have to buy it even though you don't need or want it" price at my local Home Goods store. And they had been sitting in my linen closet ever since. I imagined them giving me dirty looks every time I went in there to grab a clean towel. So guess what I did?

I used one of the pillowcases as the lining for this wallet. For the outside material I used black 3M duct tape.

So while it may not really be a high art phase I'm going through, I'm certainly experiencing a crafty phase. Maybe it's the crazy weather here in New York that keeps me indoors and somewhat chained to my work table, but I am churning out a lot of "stuff."

Speaking of crazy weather, today the kids stayed home from school AGAIN. I am considering home-schooling them at this point. Just kidding. That would require me to actually know math and the English language rather than simply possess opinions on these subjects.

This is the fourth snow day that the kids' school has used this calendar year. In addition to school closings, there have been two delayed openings and one early dismissal. I am sure that I am not the only mother who is feeling like her kids have suddenly regressed to the nursery school years. Back when my daughter and son were newly toilet-trained humanoids, I kept the peace in our house with oatmeal raisin cookies. And after my daughter harumphed at me for forcing her to practice the clarinet and my son rolled his eyes at me for not helping him figure out how to fix his video game, I made oatmeal raisin cookies. Because I didn't want to reach for that beer before lunchtime.

I loaded my cookies with my ultimate guilty pleasure: dark chocolate. And I made sure there was plenty to go around.

Yes, dark chocolate. It is quite possibly the answer to all my problems. So bring it on, Mother Nature!

If Helen Came For a Visit

A few weeks ago, my friend Helen and I traded tweets (yes, I said tweets) about an imaginary trip she would take to NYC. This inspired me to write down all my favorite places and think about how much fun it would be to play tour guide.



Helen hasn't been to NYC in quite some time and I'm still exploring new/interesting places to go. This is the list that I have so far:

1. Get massages at Great Jones Spa. Hang out for a few hours at the water lounge. (Helen: bring your bathing suit...or not!)

2. Go to my favorite independent bookstore McNally Jackson. Sit in the cafe, have a cup of coffee or tea, and just hang out for a while.

3. While NYC has many great museums and galleries, one of my favorites is the Museum of Art & Design . The space is intimate yet it doesn't feel so small that you feel like you didn't get your money's worth. And the exhibitions are inspiring, especially to the crafter/artist in all of us.


4. Decibel on East 9th Street is a serious sake bar--and probably the only one in NYC. I don't remember how I got home the last time I went to Decibel's. So we'll be sure to bring cab money and our address written down on a piece of paper.

5. Shake Shack in Madison Square Park--the place where it all began. It gives new meaning to the burger-shake combination. Oooo, I love a good burger!

6. High Line and the Pace Galleries. While the High Line is still just a promise to most New Yorkers, it's worth the scant 9 block walk. The views are amazing. Start at Gansevoort and exit at West 20th Street. Walk over to the Pace Galleries. The first one is on West 22nd Street, and the other two are on West 25th Street. The exhibits never disappoint.

7. One of my favorite bars in NYC is d.b.a. in the East Village. It has something for everyone--except food. But there are several places to order in food (yes, they will deliver it to the bar) and the bartender has a binder with menus.

8. Cafe Habana on Prince Street in NoLIta. They make really awesome fish tacos.

10. Menku Tei in midtown (West 56th Street) is the perfect spot for lunch or an early dinner when exploring the touristy midtown area of NYC (think MoMA, Rockerfeller Center, shops on 5th Avenue, or even Broadway shows).

11. Joe's Shanghai in Chinatown is a place that is not too scary for tourists interested in the NYC Chinatown experience. I happen to really like the food and it's on a quiet street rather than the hustle and bustle of the main Canal Street. It's also near the Chinatown Ice Cream Factory for a little red bean ice cream cone afterwards.

12. Urban Exploring on the 6 train. This "lost" subway station is one of the few spots that many urban explorers do not need to break into (and you know who you are). Just stay on the 6 train after it's final stop at Brooklyn Bridge and be sure to be in the first train car for the best view.

13. Grimaldi's Pizza in Brooklyn (right over the Brooklyn Bridge). Brick oven pizza--probably the best in NYC, but there are so many foodies in this town with strong opinions on what their favorite pizza is. So let's just say that it's my favorite pizza--and I was born and raised in Brooklyn. So what do I know, right?

14. Brooklyn Flea is one of the most interesting and unique venues for handmade wares. Wear good shoes and be prepared to carry out a lot of goodies.

Okay, Helen. Here's your list! Happy Holidays, my English twin. I do hope you get to come play on my side of the pond sooner than later.

Much love,
Your American Twin Richela

On The Road Again

Dave and I have taken the kids on yet another one of our road trips. This time we're heading to North Carolina to spend Thanksgiving with Grandad and Grandma Morgan in North Carolina. (Can you say barbecue ribs? Oh, yeah.)
We decided to leave our house at the crack of dawn last Tuesday, which meant skipping a much needed coffee stop at Starbucks. As we pulled out of our driveway, I could tell that this decision was a really stupid one. Skip coffee just to get a jump on the traffic? How dumb is that? We still hit traffic and my hands were shaking by the time we made our way into New Jersey.

Everywhere I turned, there were signs that my body needed caffeine.

We finally pulled off the highway and got whatever coffee we could find.

The halfway point for us is Washington, D.C. I have a soft spot for the cafeteria food at the National Museum of the American Indian (is that weird?) so we decided to stop and stretch our legs.

This is the Historical Society of Washington. I really love this building.

This is an octopus at the National Aquarium. (Note to self: the National Aquarium is not free nor worth the $30 we paid in admission fees. What a rip off.) We spent 15 minutes in this place. Tiny and horrible. I took a picture of this octopus despite the "NO PHOTOGRAPHS" sign above the tank. I needed to feel like I got my money's worth, so there!

Here's the Washington Monument, which we were unable--again, and for the 4th time--to get tickets for. Seriously, what's wrong with us? Why can't we remember to get tickets for this thing?

And the last shot we took in Washington was of my son eating a man on the horizon:

Here are a few shots taken as we traveled south on Interstate 95:

More to come...

Day One Hundred: Want Versus Need

I started my One Hundred Days Of Norma with this photo. 

On this last day of my One Hundred Days of Norma, I would like to discuss a topic that caused a minor marital Mexican standoff.


I recently had a conversation with my sensible husband regarding something I really wanted. I won't mention the object of my desire, but let's just say that it's bigger than a pair of diamond earrings but smaller than a German sports car. Being fairly agile in the area of mental gymnastics, I thought I proved that what I wanted was something that I needed.

But my logic was skewed. Instead of displaying sharp reasoning skills, I had a Daffy Duck moment a la "Fool Coverage," producing a stampede of wild elephants--and one baby zebra-- during a hailstorm between 3:55 and 4:00 PM on the Fourth of July, just to say that I do, indeed, need this thing rather than simply want it. I should have just argued that wanting something should be reason enough to have it, and that's that.

Of course, we don't always get what we want, which means, no, I am not getting my coveted thing. Well, not now, anyway. (If you are reading this, Dave: I have no intention of letting up!)

Want versus need. It's something we always encounter in life.

When I began writing/venting after my Mom passed away, I needed to get past the grief and get on with my life. But as time went on, I realized that this need was an impossible one, that the grief never completely goes away. The hole she left will never fill up, no matter what I put in it. And I've heard it from many of my friends who have lost a loved one: you never forget or stop missing them. The hurt becomes a familiar face and you welcome it into your life. You greet it whenever it stops by for a visit, and you wave goodbye when it leaves knowing it will come back again.

So now I'm learning to want rather than need. I want to remember my Mom and all the ways she shaped and touched my life. I want to remember her kooky laugh, her silly mannerisms, the way she would tell me things with a sideways glance or slight frown, or the sounds she would make when words failed her.

I want to remember the last conversation we had and how we had the foresight of telling each other "I love you." I want to remember the way she felt when I last hugged her, and the way she smelled when I last kissed her. I want to hold on to every last memory of her as best I can and move forward.

I've reached the end of my One Hundred Days of Norma, but I'm not finished yet. I still want--I'll forever want--to share a good story about my Mom. But now I will take my time and get there when I'm ready.

This is the finish line for this self-assigned period. The next one has no ending.

Day Ninety Six: Sundays

My lil peanut playing flag football.

A typical Sunday in the Morgan household revolves around sports.

If we're not rushing from one kid's game to another, then we're buying gear for upcoming events.

Trading in used equipment.

Sometimes it makes me crazy because I find myself sitting in the passenger seat of our car, watching the world go by.

Yep, that's me.

I don't think we've ever just kicked back and did absolutely nothing on Sundays. But that actually sounds a little boring to me. 

It's all about rituals and expectations. These are what Sundays are like for us, what they've been for the past 4 or 5 years. In the beginning, I found them exhausting and wished for days that did not include racing around town to fit everything on our schedule. Sometimes, to make life a little more interesting, a birthday party or family dinner was thrown into the mix. And I had to prepare wardrobes for everyone--occasionally, Dave included--ahead of time so we could jump out and then into the appropriate clothing. 

To use (how appropo,  I know) a sports metaphor, life has thrown me a couple of curve balls this summer, and my sense of what is normal has been sadistically skewed. I've questioned the meaning of family for months now.

This evening I made a chocolate cake for dessert.

This is what Sunday is all about. The chocolate cake at the end of the day. We run around like maniacs, hoping for a sweet reward when all is said and done. 

I've made this cake a thousands times before, and I'll gladly make it  a thousand times again, if it means enjoying our Sunday rituals together.

Day Ninety: The Bridge

Yesterday my daughter Masana had her "bridge" ceremony for the junior girl scouts.

For an event that she initially didn't want to attend, Masana was all smiles. In fact, she was beaming.

Ever since she was a toddler, Masana has always hovered on the periphery with hungry eyes. But whenever asked if she wanted to join in, her guard would go up and she acted aloof. Of course, this would frustrate me because I knew the truth: she's just painfully shy.

When she was 4 years old, she met a girl who was twice her size and four times her personality. She was Masana's first real friend, and they are still very close. I credit this not-so-little dynamo with helping my daughter cross her first bridge and giving her the confidence to make other friends. And when Masana was figuring out who she wanted to invite to her 9th birthday party, this particular friend was the first on her list. Masana crossed another bridge; she learned what it meant to be a loyal friend.

Bridges are everywhere in life, and watching my daughter last night cross this silly wooden one brought a tear to my eye. But not for the reasons that every other mother might have had in that room. Masana  didn't shrink under the weight of everyone's gaze or the clapping and whistling that filled the room. She learned to take pride in her accomplishment.

Masana may be a little suspicious of strangers, which I take comfort in. But is she still shy? Nah. After seeing her on that bridge, I am confident that she has completely outgrown that word.

Day Eight Nine: Clown School

It's been a hectic weekend.



But instead of feeling accomplished with all the "stuff" that we did, I am left feeling a little cheated. Where did the time go?

My kids have social and sports-related obligations that supersede everything else, which sometimes include sleep (my sleep, not theirs--I'm not that neglectful). So my projects that were progressing nicely during the week came to an abrupt halt early Saturday morning. And Dave and I became chaperones and chauffeurs for their various appointments. Football. Girl Scouts. Play dates. Birthday parties.

There is never enough time to do everything. Whenever the weekend sneaks up on us, I am ever hopeful that one of my kids will turn around and say, "You know what? I really don't want to go to ___'s birthday party. Can I just hang out with you, Mom?" But it never happens.

This morning over eggs and and orange juice, my son Mack asked me what college I went to. I jokingly replied, "Clown School."

Because that's what it takes to be a parent these days, to be a master juggler and all around clown, happy on the outside and a little sad right beneath the surface.

Day Eighty Six: Taking A Step Back

Ever since I gave myself the arduous (and cathartic) task of blogging for 100 continuous days about my Mom's death and my grieving process, I've become tied to my computer.
I've written and re-written sentences that last two seconds on the screen. I've gotten up at 3 am to review comments on my blog while sitting on the bathroom floor. I've surfed youtube.com for music playlists while making dinner in the kitchen. I've shut the door to my work room and ignored pleas for snacks and play time from my kids just so I could contemplate a recipe or a craft that I had just finished. I've slept with my computer next to me on the nights Dave has been away, only to wake up every few hours to write.

Needless to say, Dave has had enough.

He towered over me last night as I hunched over my laptop, ready to upload yet another photo from my digital camera. When I sensed his presence, I looked up and saw his face. "Not happy" would be an understatement. He was disappointed, a little angry, and, above all, sad. Yes, sad. And this man is NEVER sad. So I did what any other sane person would do: I shut my computer off and followed him into the next room.

For a few hours, I was back home circa May of this year, before all the craziness ensued. We assumed our usual spots on the couch, sat on opposite sides but with our legs tangled in the middle, drank some hot tea, and talked--well, more like I listened, which I really haven't done in months. Dave talked about his work and I followed as best I could (bank stuff goes over my head, wouldn't you know). I let him make me laugh like he used to, silly inside jokes and all. We gossiped about our kids and what's going on in their lives, planning out sports and other activities for them. We discussed vacations and holidays, visits to his family in North Carolina. After I drained a second cup of tea, exhaustion came over me like a warm, fuzzy blanket. Night, night.

I slept last night for almost 8 hours, the most sleep I've gotten in a long, long time.

It's good to take a step back. Thanks, Dave.

Day Sixty Four: First Day of School

Today was the first day of the new school year for both of my kids. Hallelujah!
The three weeks between the end of summer camp and the start of school has been the longest three weeks of my life. I love my children, but they are loud at the most inappropriate moments, hungry every 20 minutes, and constantly in need of a referee. I am exhausted.

So when Mack wanted to wear his France soccer jersey that's two sizes too small and ripped at the collar, I didn't complain. And when Masana wanted to wear a skirt that's she's worn every day for the last three days, I looked the other way. I fed the kids a less than nutritious breakfast, took an extra long shower, put on a pretty dress, and wore lip gloss. We left a little early and walked to school in the sunshine. Nothing would ruin my first day--I mean, the kids' first day--back at school.

As soon as we dropped them off, Dave and I lingered in the school yard. And wouldn't you know it: I suddenly I became sad. Where was all the commotion that surrounded my life for the last three weeks? Where was the whining and tattle-taling, the begging for 5 more minutes on the computer, the shower of kisses for the extra scoop of ice cream after dinnertime? I missed their little bodies in motion, running around me like a maypole. I looked at Dave hoping that he would get loud at an inappropriate moment and then ask me for a snack. But since he's not much of a talker or an eater, I had to wait until pick-up time for my fix.

Oh, to be a mom...