Santa Barbara January 17 - 30, 2007 Swimming, flying, driving and raining and raining.

	Tom is learning to float

Given the fact that Lisa ceased to be mother-attached, she started her swimming classes with Sid. It seemed to us as extremely advantageous to sign up Tom to his class for the same time as Lisa's -- this way one parent can handle both kids. Yet Tommy felt sad when daddy swam with Lisa, and by the second lesson he had completely refused to enter the pool. Sid was in the class with Lisa, I was at home, not knowing about the ensued crisis; the pool staff did not manage to convince Tom to get into the water. Subsequently Tom and I held a few talks on the swimming topic, during which I had promised that next time I would be there with him and watch. This had actually worked and Tommy was eventually willing to try to float. However, it would seem that our ingenious plan how I could enjoy whole thirty minutes off at home, fell completely through. Tom simply needs our attention; he won't be left on his own. Well, at least I can wear my clothes then.

	Lisa swims with her father!!!

Lizzy, on the other hand, has been enjoying her swim classes. Every Monday she runs up and down the house with a swimsuit and tries to put it on. Well -- much more that her own suit with frills she is fascinated by Tom's version with Thomas the Tank Engine. When our pediatrician told me a story some half year ago, how her daughter used to wear her brother's underwear, I reckoned it humorous. Now I find myself in a situation where I must defend laundry baskets from raids by Lisa -- otherwise she'd pull boy's briefs over her little sweat pants, and start promenading as if she wore a suit by Armani. I don't get it -- boys can have their clothes with lots of interesting themes, yet girls only get the over-sweetened Hello Kitties, similarly tasteless Disney princesses, and Dora. Why is it assumed that a small girl wont ever desire to wear a train or a toy car theme?

Another invitation to ballooning came for the weekend. This time we had carefully checked the alarm clock the night before, to avoid oversleeping; at 6:45 we called Jeanne and confirmed half past seven, pulled kids out of their beds and drove out. One half-unfolded balloon was already taking up much of the parking lot at the launch site -- and Jeanne told us that we were at most to kick rocks around that lot -- but she was not flying anywhere. The reason for her changing her mind was obvious -- a relatively strong breeze swished through the frosty morning. A balloon is a heavy beast, the whole circus masses some two tons, most of it quite un-streamlined. A wind is capable to give such bag many nasty jerks, and it truly seemed much more sensible not to chance it. Still, Larry, the pilot of the other balloon, continued in launching. Already on ground the envelope behaved like a buckling goat, and we were expecting him to cancel soon. He did not; he and Brent had put on their helmets and with an unbelievable speed disappeared to the horizon.

	Balloon shot up like a champagne cork, and caused an aircraft disaster.

We joked mildly with his ground crew about how fast they should be leaving to keep up behind the balloon with their trucks. Sid rushed off to pump gas for our bus, I stayed with the kids who entertained themselves with throwing rocks into a puddle. A radio gurgled once and announced -- "we have hit a power line" -- eight years ago, two passengers had perished here the same way. It was clear that anybody able to transmit is unlikely to be dead, but we knew nothing more. Everybody jumped in their cars and drove off. Jeanne hesitated; she had promised Sid to wait for us, but this was no time to dawdle about, every pair of hands might be needed, and so they, too, had left us. They returned in ten minutes; the balloon was still flying and thus the greatest crisis was overcome. When Sid had got back, we all drove out to chase the unfortunate Larry.

We did not drive far. The balloon was stuck in a field, both pilots seemed OK (walking, talking). Local sheriff showed up, for the land owner had complained about the trespassing. Larry told the sheriff he had an aircraft emergency (the power line cut through some of balloons structural cables) and was forced to land. This led to the arrival of a fire engine and an ambulance. And to calling FAA/NTSB and more formal proceedings -- an aircraft disaster is a serious business.

	We won't be flying today, Lizzy The balloon remains packed in the trailer.

Our favorite ballooning party picnic turned this time into a very sober affair. I think that everybody was glad that it went no worse. I personally could add that I have been glad to fly with Jeanne, who does not mind canceling on a moment's notice, when she feels that the situation looks like trouble. I shall prefer throwing rocks into puddles than flying at all cost. The price can be just too high.

On the following weekend, something extraordinary was to become reality; after one year of so far unsuccessful planning, we got invited by our friends and neighbors to Santa Barbara. With the full comfort of a loaned apartment, with entertainment for kids on Saturday morning. KC was celebrating his fourth birthday at the local ZOO. Sid took a day off on Friday, outed the kids in the morning while I packed furiously. We had managed to leave only after lunch. Luckily, the drive went well. After three hours, in Paso Robles, we let the kids out to run some on a playground, and shortly before seven we arrived in front of the house with the promised accommodation. By nine, the children were in their beds and we sat in a kitchen, looking forward to the next day.

	Kitty Lisa with her umbrella

I shall not elaborate on the night -- only perhaps one highlight -- when I finally started to slumber, Sid jumped up claiming that he could not sleep for TOM WAS SNORING HORRIBLY. You see, my Hippo has no scale for how it feels when somebody snores HORRIBLY. His mighty chest is very resonant, and his acoustic expressions can compare with an F-16 taking off -- but now for Tommy's louder breathing, our family circular saw could not sleep?

We were disturbed by other, more serious sounds. It started to rain outside. You might assume that when some twenty adults prepare for a 300 mile trip, at least one of them would check the weather forecast. I, too, would assume it -- but I must be so spoiled by California that I had taken our weather for granted. The greatest worry I encountered during packing was, whether my kids had grown out of their shorts since last year.

	Rain means a welcome change for the kids -- but only for a while

The morning birthday party at the ZOO became quite obviously out of the question. We slowly dragged through the rain across the street to have a breakfast at IHOP. I filled myself with coffee, the kids had juice; we each ate according to our tastes (Sid had something with chicken, Tom and I ordered a pancake with strawberries and whipped cream, Lisa devoured a bowl of mixed fruit), and then we sloshed through the curtains of rain back. We took a few pictures of our cute kids with their umbrellas, trying to remain upbeat.

It turned out that nobody had the energy to organize a backup party at some professional location, and so we showed up at the neighbor father's house, among a crowd of their relatives. Children played in a tent erected in the living room, and on the floor in front of it; adults kept stepping over them and everybody partied. It was all very pleasant and disorganized. Some aunt had greeted Sid cordially, as she took him for another relative. Lisa ate half of a huge vegetable pizza (which her evil mother won't cook for her), asking for it by wringing her hands and hollering "pizzoo, pizzoo".

	Santa Barbara - and it rains and it rains and it rains

When the children began to stumble and whimper, we ordered departure. We had still to wade through a flood outside, while more poured from above. At the apartment, kids and I sailed straight into bed, and we lasted there for three hours. Meanwhile, Sid had all the time to build up his hilarity. When I, refreshed, rolled out, he began to indoctrinate me for an immediate return home. After reviewing the forecast for Sunday, I submitted to the pressure. By six p.m. we had packed everything and embarked on the three hundred miles long journey home. I was worried -- how the kids would cope, how would we manage to drive until midnight. It was not sure we could make it to Paso Robles by dinnertime, but did. Lisa caused a horrible scene at the entrance to a restaurant, for I had taken away her little pink kitty umbrella. Given the advanced hour, clientele consisted mainly of romancing couples and clubbing senior citizen -- Lisa's performance thus caused considerable disturbance. Fortunately no one understood Czech -- another scene ensued, during which Lisa emphatically solicited rice from the neighboring table, whose occupants had a leg on us and already started eating while we were still ordering. By that time she was secured in her seat, and thus could not bodily seize food from her luckier counterpart.

We had made it home shortly before midnight; Sid had to drive for the last sixty miles, as my perception of the surrounding traffic became quite hazy. Our children slept, and no amount of clothes changing and carrying into their beds would disturb them much; thus everything ended well. Unless, of course, you count Hippo's rumbling for the next three days.

	Party in the living room

Overall, our kids have been quite manageable lately, although I am afraid that Lisa had entered, somewhat prematurely, her age of defiance. She can very clearly articulate words, NO, I DON'T WANT (in Czech). Often she responds in a whole short sentence (I don't want dinner, I don't want the doll, I don't want to lay down). The problem lay in the fact that she's unable to specify what is that she WANTS. Thus we fail to fulfill her wishes promptly enough, which brings her into states of anger. I must say that seeing toddler wreaking in the darkest and coldest part of the house, leaves me quite unfazed. Especially when it is apparent that the whole act is just for show. The other evening Lisa had collapsed near our glazed patio door -- and noticed her own reflection. A ten minute tantrum ensued, which she interrupted periodically to check her own pose for artistic effect. She must have forgotten the original reason for her rage, for when she finished reviewing herself, she marched off to play again.

Tommy, on the other hand, verbalizes everything; as long as he is awake, his mouth won't stop. His comments are amusing. For example, Jana played airplane with boys on a meadow. Everybody "flew" with their arms outstretched -- only Tom held his arms to the back. To my asking he answered, he was a jet fighter, flying fast. He owns a model of F-14, which truly changes the wing geometry by pulling the wings back for a fast flight, and so nobody shall tell our Tom how it is supposed to work with these airplanes.

I still keep going, approximately once a month, out with the neighboring moms, to a dinner; and I practice yoga every Wednesday. The other weekend night, Sid cooked, the kids played in the living room and I wrote the journals. Tom came to Sid in the kitchen and said, "Mommy has gone to the pub." I understand that he might have taken my being quiet as being away, but why would he imagine me in the pub? I'm so glad that the teachers at his school still don't understand all of his expressions, for he can certainly talk too much. Many times he would rightfully earn praise for correct grammar, yet I'm not so sure that applying English rules on Czech words is the right way. Especially since Tom picks really unusual words -- not long ago, he wanted to show off how nicely he can count, and began - "One prdel, two prdels, three prdels..."
Prdel is Czech for ass - not the donkey kind.

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