Buf January 6 - 16, 2007 Outdoors in winter, Tom's new nickname, and overslept balloon chase.

	"The ball goes into the hole," advises Tom Lisa at the museum

	"Don't feed me," says the sign on the bridge

Sid had agreed that while I was munching antibiotics, I probably felt really bad, and he stayed at home on Wednesday morning. He took my healthy and annoyingly frisky kids out on a walk, which had tired them so much that in the afternoon, when the duty fell back on me, the children would nap heavily. We somehow kicked through the evening and on Thursday my antibiotics showed some effect. And Tommy went to his school, and I could cope.

On Friday I had followed Barbara's instructions and sought out the Children's museum in Palo Alto. It's tiny but nice, with lots of displays based on balls -- with had put Lisa in seventh heaven. When the crowds had thickened beyond tolerable, we fled outside into a mini-zoo. Tommy rejoiced for he had spotted little sharks in their aquarium; Lisa got carried away by a small bridge over a duck pond. To the horror of by-standing mothers I left her on her own, running across the sloping bridge up and down. Lizzy has been lately training her walking off road, and such a nice uphill and downhill is hard to come by. We had spent a very long time right in front of the museum -- they have a walk built out of variably cut logs. Tom bounced on it a few times, up and down; it was a bit too long and complicated for Lisa.

Naturally, with the arrival of the weekend, Sid began to rumble that he did not feel well -- the illness thus made a complete circular trip through our family. We we bound to choose a program less strenuous for us parents. On Saturday we headed for our favorite Seymour Center, to see the fishes. One could notice there quite visibly, how much progress Lisa had made. She ran from one aquarium to another, carrying a local issue stool around to see well, and loudly commented on everything that was to see behind the glass. Tommy had checked out his favorite displays and then at length devoted himself to petting sea critters in a shallow open trough. In the end we took the kids out on a trial that runs along the cliffs outside the museum -- well, took the kids... we would rather trot after Tom, who started forwards with the zeal of a continent discoverer. He's been doing that a lot lately -- demanding to walk far and into the unknown, and refusing to return.

	It's a starfish, dad; starfish, mom!

	Lisa comments on a little shark behind she aquarium glass

Children's swimming lessons had resumed, beginning on Monday. Christmas made Lisa's mommy-attachment mercifully less intense, and so we decided to re-try the alternative with Lisa swimming with her daddy. We had no such luck in the fall, when I was forced to take his place. This time, Lisa was delighted to go swimming again, and took dad for granted. Tommy remains wary in his relationship to water; Lizzy is a "duckling". As soon as I begin pulling towels out from the cabinet, she shouts "plava, plava" (swi', swi') and interferes with my attempts to pack by pulling things out of the bags and putting on her swimsuit. While in water, she kept looking what Tom would do, who now goes to class at the same time, with bigger children without the assistance of parents; she pointed at him with her little finger and hollered, BUF, BUF. We have no idea where she'd found the word, Buf, but that's what she has been calling Tom, consistently, whenever she refers to him. For example, she gets up in the morning and declares ""Buf hají," which seems to be her way of saying, brother is still sleeping.

Tommy has been playing with Lisa a lot lately. Despite commanding her around and advising her on everything, Lizzy does not mind. I would actually say that she's been grateful for so much attention. Our evergreen toy is the wooden railroad. Tom spends most of his play time laying among his trains, and most of the time does not stop talking. He comments on what's going on, occasionally scolding his trains for not behaving, then he runs off to help Lisa connect her cars into a train, or throw her off the set for breaking it to pieces. Before you reach a conclusion that it has been an idyllic time, remember that there are whole days when I feel like a policeman and don't cease to resolve controversies, separating the fighting children from one another. There are days when Tom just slips into his role of a principal protestant ("no" is his answer to anything) and Lisa acts up and makes scenes for every silly thing (like if I give her toroid-shaped cereal instead of spheres that she had wished, or vice versa). It's interesting that Tommy has been having much more patience with an mad Lisa than I would. He tries to console her, brings her toys, drinks, food, and tries to calm her down. It usually ends with me consoling Tom who becomes frustrated from Lisa ignoring him, or alternatively shouting at him and being a bad girl.

	Both kids love to telephone

Such mad days followed after this very successful day of swimming -- Tom got his ping eye, with which they would not take him into school, so he had been at home with us for three days in a row. We had a complete submarine syndrome, one could see how much Tom would miss his regular schedule and the other children, and how much he gets bored with the rest of us. I think that he was much relieved to get back to school on Thursday. He had simply become a big boy, and it's no fun accommodating a little baby sister and a mother who also needs to take care of a household.

	Lisa does "hají" in her doll's bed

Furthermore, it's been difficult to come up with activities for the children. Unusually frosty weather has descended upon California, often accompanied with a strong, icy wind. This cancels our trips to playgrounds -- I cannot imagine peeling off my kids skin frozen to icy swings and jungle gyms. Thus on the weekend we had decided to grant Tom his wish and go to the "big airport" (SFO). On the way there we stopped at Coyote Point, over which jumbos fly on their final approach. Kids enjoyed a walk under the noisy corridor, especially when a Korean airliner overhead pulled in its landing gear and took another circle 'round a half of the Bay.

Feeling sufficiently chilled, we drove the last mile directly onto the airport. I'm not entirely certain whether we qualify as normal parents, but we consider SFO a wonderful place. Our children can watch large aircraft there, and all the busy goings around them. They are free to use elevators and escalators. Automatic shuttle between terminals are free of charge, and running on elevated tracks makes them an ideal place for a sightseeing viewpoint. Tell me, which children's playground offers so much fun? Alas, parking fees apply, and restaurants are mediocre at best.

	Our little daughter has grown a lot

An aeronautical theme continued on Sunday. Jeanne andTom had invited us to a ballooning session in Morgan Hill. We put the kids earlier to bed on the evening before, and did the same ourselves, to be fresh in the morning. Balloons fly at dawn, and so we had to set an alarm-clock to six-thirty. Winter time is merciful; summer takeoffs around six are much harder to wake up to. I woke up to sunshine seeping through our curtains. I had found it strange -- yet the alarm-clock said 6:34, and so I rolled around a bit longer. Within next five minutes, children had gotten up, and I said to myself how nice it was that we did not have to wake them. Then Sid came back to his senses and began to swear like a pagan, that we had overslept. A closer examination of the alarm-clock had shown that my Hippo, through some error, had set this infallible, atomic clock to some nonsensical time-zone, and it would show one hour less.

I thing we broke a record - after less than twenty minutes we were all, completely dressed, sitting in the car and speeding toward Morgan Hill. In the rush we left our camera back at home, but it was not a life threatening loss, although we felt sorry. Our secret hopes that we would still find the ballooning crew making preparations, had fizzled: as soon as the valley opened before us, it was clear we were late. The aerostat hovered in the distant sky. Now we had to do the real balloon chase, driving on local roads and trying to converge onto a spot where the pilot was likely to set down.

	This quiet marina at Coyote Point is located directly under the final approach corridor of SFO

We stopped near one promising stretch of a field, over which the balloon seemed to hesitate, and we released the kids out onto frozen puddles. Let them enjoy some exotic water forms in California!! Lisa had attempted to walk over thin ice; Tommy tried to break the ice with rocks -- he succeeded and proceeded in throwing rocks into the mud. Soon a balloon chase pick-up truck with a trailer showed up at the other side of the field. We attached ourselves behind the official crew and followed them to the next stop. It was cold outside like in a Russian movie, and we did not feel like getting out of the car. Soon, however, the big Tom approached us -- he said that first he thought us rubberneckers, but then he noticed our WT HIPPO plate and it dawned on him that it could be no other than Sid, in this new white bus.

The next leg took us to a local church. Jeanne had landed (very) closely on a neighboring field. Lisa shouted balloon, balloon. Tom yelled that he would not get out of the car. Sid rushed to hang himself onto the basket, I unstrapped Lisa, made sure several times that Tom really wanted to stay locked in the bus, and took Lisa to see the beauty. Tommy was glued to the windshield and whispered "it's beautiful, it's a beautiful balloon", but his fear of the burners was stronger still. Lisa was completely captivated. She stretch herself backwards in my arms to have the best view to the inside of the balloon. In the end she got frightened by the burners, and so we backed off by a few yards. Meanwhile, big Tom had dragged a new propane tank to the basket. I went back to the car to check on little Tom; I got almost run over by an irate old man, apparently the property owner. He was all beside himself that such a monster would land on his field. I expected him to start exorcising the devil, but it was not necessary. He roared up once and Jeanne took off over the head of this fuming man. Tommy broke into a desperate cry. Unlike me, he noticed that the wicked balloon was carrying away his father.

	A fluffy hummingbird at Palo Alto airport

	The roomy balloon basket can carry a pilot and two human passenger, or a pilot and one Hippo (photo by © Ron Satterlee)

So we had a long talk about daddy WISHING to fly with the balloon, and how great it was, just like flying in an airplane (Tommy loves airplanes). Tom had expressed his concern whether dad KNOWS how to fly the balloon. Tommy, he'd say, does not know how to fly a balloon; Tommy knows how to fly with a big airplane. Eventually he'd said that next time he will fly with daddy. To disperse his worries, I had issued him his favorite toy truck. Lisa had received a toy stroller, and both kids ran them over a deserted church parking lot.

Then we drove out on a balloon chase. On every stop, Tom demanded to get out of the car, to check on the aerostat. He visibly would not trust this devil's apparatus to keep a good care of his daddy. Jeanne had eventually landed at an airport, but by then Tommy was at ease. He circled the tied-down aircraft there and his previously mourned-over father was long forgotten by the time he made it back to Earth. A hump near a port-a-potty was much more interesting. Lizzy got to collecting rocks in the grass and carefully watched two half-year puppies run and play. Ron Satterlee, a freelancing photographer, happened around the balloon, and had promised me pictures of Sid the aeronaut.

Finally the balloon had been stuffed into a bag, all packed back into the trailer, and time had come for a picnic. We had not seen Jeanne and Tom for over a year. Partially due to incompatible little Tom (we did not want to take him along to the larger meetings, with lots of wickedly roaring, flaming balloons), or the ballooning events would interfere with our other plans. Some people, however, are not subject to the flow of time -- after many months without, one just slips into their kind friendship like into a comfortable, familiar, warm sweater that fits perfectly. And so we ate a bit, drank a bit, chatted a bit in this cold morning -- and pleasantly tired headed back towards home. Our kids got to be thoroughly outed, my Hippo was happy to have flown, and I was thrilled to have spent several hours with a greater number of people who talk in whole sentences, don't require diaper changes, and muster to feed themselves without my aid.

Copyright © 2007 by Carol & Sid Paral. All rights reserved.