August 17
In which we go where our imaginations take us.
Almost every Saturday a wonderful woman named Donna comes to our house with her son Justin and watches Owen while Robin and I go out and try to remember how to speak to one another in uninterrupted sentences. Owen worships Justin as the older brother he'll never have and Justin loves being a role model.
This Saturday Justin told me he wished he could be Owen. "He gets to go to Mexico, Paris and KANSAS CITY," he said. (And I'm not exaggerating-- Kansas City was the emphasis.)
While I tried to soothe Justin's disappointment over never having been to KC, I did have to admit that Owen is a well traveled and well visited little boy. We started in June with a visit from Grandma Pat and have been running non-stop ever since.
Grandma Pat's oxygen makes traveling a logistical adventure, but everything went great. We had her for a week and showed her all the sights in Beantown (including a harbor cruise) and visited a few of the neighboring towns, namely the quaint shopping village of Rockport. This was a vast improvement from her last visit where the only attraction she saw was our kitchen and the pile of boxes in it that we needed her to unpack.
Owen loved having Grandma in town and found it especially convenient to lead her about by her oxygen tube. He's been disappointed to learn
that the rest of his grown-ups will not be similarly leashed.
After Grandma's visit, the family loaded up for our annual visit to Paris. Owen was underwhelmed by Notre Dame, the Eiffel Tower and Sacre Coeur. He did, however, discover nearly every playground in the metro area and the only American (naturally) working at a French carnival. We paid said American four Euro to let Owen bounce on a trampoline for an hour while Robin and I drank wine from a nearby refreshment tent. (Yes, they serve wine in glasses at the carnival in France. Do you know now why we love this country?) It was the best money we've spent in the last decade.
The only acceptable tourist attractions in Paris, as far as Owen is concerned, are the Pirate ships you can sail in the fountains at the Luxembourg Gardens and the sculptures you can play on in Tuileries. He found the food in Paris tolerable, but only barely. The people, he decided, were a mixed bag.
Some, like Virginie, the French speaking only babysitter who watched him a couple of nights, were cool. Others, like the screaming brat on the playground outside of Les Halles, were not. Owen discovered with chagrin, like many an American before him, that repeating yourself more loudly in English does not help a French speaker understand you.
Robin and I, however, discovered that we speak FLUENT four-year-old French.
The best part of Paris, Owen tells us, is our apartment. I thought the place was wonderful, too, except for the night our neighbors had a party until 3 a.m. (albeit with REALLY good music). The early morning when Owen crawled under the covers with me and then subsequently wet the bed was kind of a bummer, too.
Shortly after our return home, our next set of visitors appeared-- Grandma Gloria and Grandpa. They helped us celebrate Owen's birthday and discovered with us that, when Owen eats yellow cake with blue Cookie Monster frosting, he poops emerald green.
Poor Grandma and Grandpa were tormented for the entirety of their stay. Not only did jet lagged Owen wake them promptly at 6 a.m. each day, but dogs Betty and Murray decided that their bed was preferable to ours.
Robin and I, on the other hand, slept like logs.
We did manage to slip in a little fun with Bob and Gloria as well, though. In particular we hosted cousin Lisa, her husband Ron, their son Matthew, their new daughter Monica, and Aunt Mary. We also managed a little sight seeing including a trip to Newport, Rhode Island to see some of the famous mansions there.
After saying good-bye to Grandma and Grandpa, we had a bit of break before journeying east to catch up with our old Kansas City pals, the Bensons. Roy and Eileen and their kids, Shane and Jessica, live in North Carolina now but they've been vacationing in Cape Cod with Roy's parents for years and years. Since we live so close now, they were kind enough to invite us up to their parents' home for a weekend stay.
Owen was amazed by Shane's mastery of iPod technology (as, in truth, was I). Jessica dubbed Owen the King of Kitties (she was the Queen) and all three of them built an elaborate sand castle at the beach.
The parental units, meanwhile, consumed a startling amount of crab dip, cheese ball, fried food and beer. Generally speaking, fun was had by all.
The only down side was being reminded of how much we miss everyone from home.
There was no rest for the wicked, though, and the next weekend we packed up the car and headed north to Vermont for another getaway-- this time with new friends, our neighbors Ann and Joe. Sam and Lilly, Ann and Joe's kids, were amazingly kind and patient with Owen who insisted on doing everything the big kids did.
We were fed like royalty and had a wonderful time hiking by the gorge, swimming in the lake and visiting an actual maple syrup farm. Sadly, we forgot the camera so you'll just have to take our word that it was beautiful.
The adventures continue. Right now, Robin is in Seattle settling Abuelita Pamela into her summer-time condo. Coming up, we'll be hosting Uncle Kirk and Uncle Doug for a weekend stay followed by a visit from my childhood babysitter who is coming to Boston to enroll her daughter in college.
After a weekend of solo fatherhood, I look forward to the company.
Still, it isn't all visits and vacations. Robin's begun to hunt in earnest for a new job and is doing well-- she's had several interviews and there are several more lined up.
My work goes well and without too much travel. On Monday evenings I've begun taking a fiction writing class, as well. This comes in handy as Owen now wants to make up stories at bed time rather than read books. I provide the narrative, he gives me the details.
Most of our stories involve traffic, good guys or bad guys (they do the same things only bad guys speak in a growl and good guys talk with a falsetto) and, of course, car traffic. The characters are always named Owen or, occasionally, Daddy. They're always journeying to Boston or Kansas City and the item they seek is always, strangely enough, under a beehive. Sometimes they run into dragons and last night there was a goblin (although I don't think Owen really knew what that was.)
There may come a day when Owen won't visit Mexico or Paris quite so frequently, but at least he can still imagine.
