Can You Hear Me Now?

Sabrina is -- how shall I put this delicately? -- exuberant? Lively? Energetic? High-spirited? We have longed joked that she has two settings, Loud and Off, and Off is broken. But some days there is a limit to how much Rose can take of Sabrina's zest for life.

While driving in the car, Sabrina was expounding on something (loudly) from the backseat.

Rose: Sabrina! You're too loud!

Sabrina continued her story while whispering.

Rose: I can still hear you.

The gift that keeps on giving

After seeing how much Calvin loved a golf class he took last summer, my dad got Calvin a kid-sized starter golf club set for Christmas. While Calvin was thrilled to have his own clubs, he was mightily disappointed when we forbid him from ever swinging them inside the house. Being unable to use the clubs, his attention, therefore, switched to the tube the clubs came in.

The tube was around four inches in diameter and three feet tall and was perfect for launching rockets from your shoulder. He spent the rest of the evening running around the house, poking the tube into people's faces, and firing an endless barrage of ammunition. Unwrapping presents suddenly became fraught with danger. I glared at David, my eyes sending the clear message that he had better handle this and soon. He finally spoke up:

David: (In a threatening tone) Calvin, if you ever point that bazooka at someone in this room . . . the explosion will kill you as well. Make sure you put more distance between you and your target.

That's parenting at its finest right there, folks.

Pretty in Pink

I love getting pedicures -- the warm water, the foot massages, the pretty toes at the end. And since I neglected to write this important promise into my wedding vows (I promise to love you, honor you, and rub your feet whenever you desire), I pay to have some stranger do it.

Generally I walk out of the salon with my toenails painted red or a pretty pink. But last week I tried something different. It's fall. I don't need pink. Why not try an edgier color on my toenails? After consulting with my daughter, I chose a really dark purple.

Unfortunately, this dark purple actually looked black once applied. I wasn't sure I liked it, but thought it might grow on me. It hasn't. I think I have to face facts. I'm not edgy. I don't look down at my toes and think, "You're really rocking the biker chick look, Jen." I look down at my toes and think, "Mmm, licorice." I think I'll go see if the kids got any for Halloween. Excuse me while I go raid their secret stashes.

What Happened to Jennifer?

You never know what life's going to throw at you. I was happy, relatively speaking. Granted, my job was mind-numbingly boring. And yes, I was wasting money on shoes no one would ever see since there is really no need to wear sparkly blue heels when you wear your pajamas to work. But I was content . . . sort of. I certainly wasn't out searching for a big change. Change is scary. Change makes my stomach hurt.

But one day this summer, I received a phone call. Would I consider teaching music part-time to upper elementary students? I almost hung up on them, just like my brother (a virulent sports-hater) actually did when Major League Baseball called trying to recruit him to manage their websites. I stayed on the line, probably more out of shock than politeness, and sure enough, they were offering me a job.

What should I do? Up until this exact moment in my life, I had never considered teaching, EVER. Anyone who knows me knows I have steadfastly maintained that I hate children. Good grief, I can barely stand my own. Why would I willingly walk into multiple classrooms filled with dozens of children, none of whom were mine? I repeated this over and over to my husband, but he expressed the opinion that I obviously don't hate children that much considering the number of hours I've spent volunteering in the classroom at my kids' school. I countered that it was my duty, and I have always been a slave to duty. (Said while looking martyr-like and staring off into the distance, Pirates of Penzance music playing in my head.)

But there it was, a legitimate offer of a new job, one that wouldn't bore me to tears, one that would let me interact with the human race, and one in which I might be able to wear those blue sparkly heels. So after some consideration, I decided to jump. When that kind of opportunity lands in your lap, you would have to be a fool to turn it down, even if it does require an anxiety pill or two to cope with all the scary change.

So now I'm a teacher. God sure does have a funny sense of humor. And despite David's protestations to the contrary that he thinks I'm well-suited for this job, I found him chuckling and shaking his head the other evening. When I asked him what he was laughing at, he said, "I was just thinking if someone had told me five years ago that in the future my wife would be a teacher, I would have asked, 'What happened to Jennifer?' followed by, 'Is my new wife hot?'"

Inside-Out

My kids took a trip to Mount St. Helens while visiting my parents last week. It's so interesting hearing what your kids take away from little educational trips like this. In a nutshell, here are my kids' reactions.

Sabrina: First, we went to one visitors center and saw a 16-minute video. Then, we went to a second center and saw two short 5-minute videos. So we saw about 25 to 30 minutes of video altogether.

When asked by my mother what they saw after one of the videos, Sabrina just looked at her blankly. And it took some prompting for her to remember that after the video, the screen was raised, and they were able to see up close and personal some of the area devastated by the eruption.

Rose: Well, there were two different gift stores. And they had these cute little moose earrings. Wouldn't it be cute to wear moose earrings? I would love something like that. And they also had this cool multicolored volcano putty. I sure would love to get my hands on that.

After about 10 more minutes of hearing about the wonders of the gift stores, I asked Rose if she actually learned anything about the mountain itself. She had far less to say about that. "It blew up. It was big."

Calvin: We were sitting in this theater looking out over the mountain. Guess what, mom? If we had been sitting there when the mountain blew up, we totally would have been taken out!

There was some later discussion comparing Pompeii to Mount St. Helens. Rose asked if we dug under the ash and mud, would we find intact houses, lodges, bodies, et cetera, like they did with Pompeii. David told her that no, it was a different type of explosion. Calvin piped in with, "Oh, so Mount St. Helens had a different pyroclastic flow?"

Say what? When challenged by Sabrina that he didn't know what that meant, he shot back with a decent definition (the way the ash and rocks flow down a mountain after it explodes). I was totally impressed.

Of course, this is the same kid that five minutes later informed us he had just discovered his pants were on inside-out.

Movie Review: Inception

I don't go to the movies all that often. This is partially because going to the movies never makes it into David's top ten list of favorite things to do. It probably doesn't even make it into his top 20 list. My guess is that for him going to the movies falls somewhere below yard work and above getting a root canal. Or perhaps it's because he catches all the movies on his long, long flights to Asia.

I, on the other hand, love going to the movies. I love the darkened theater, the smell of the popcorn, and the chance for a couple of hours to escape reality. I don't ask a lot of the movies that I watch, simply that they entertain. And, boy, does Inception entertain.

I will admit that when Inception first arrived in theaters, I wasn't too keen on going to see it. This was for one reason only: Leonardo DiCaprio. I've never been a fan of his, although I can't really give you an explicit reason why. I never got all the hoopla around Titanic. Guess what, folks? The ship sinks. No big mystery there. But the reviews for Inception were resoundingly positive, and the storyline sounded interesting. So when a friend called me up and asked if I wanted to join her, I said yes, despite my dislike of Mr. DiCaprio.

Movies require that you suspend disbelief, and this movie is no exception. I don't know about you, but my dreams have never, ever been this crystal clear, coherent, and complete. My dreams tend to be rather fuzzy in appearance. I'm never able to run away from bad guys like they do in this film. My legs never seem to work, and I end up trying to get away in an awkward G.I. Joe crawl. Or I'm going to a final for a class that I haven't ever attended. And nobody in this movie seems to have problems with an embarrassing lack of clothes in a public arena. On the other hand, nobody would ever want to spend two-plus hours in my dreams, so maybe it's a good thing they didn't base this movie on the kinds of dreams I'm familiar with.

I've seen a few movies this year, mostly children's flicks, some of which were quite entertaining. But I will say that Inception is definitely the best film I've seen all year. It was so engaging I found myself smiling the whole way through and thinking and wondering about it afterward, always the mark of a good film. I haven't enjoyed a movie this much in ages. And maybe, just maybe it changed my perception of Leonardo DiCaprio just the tiniest bit.

On Educating a Whole New Generation of Drivers

Rose:  There sure are a lot of idiots on the road aren't there?

Me:  What makes you say that, honey?

Rose:  Because you sure seem to come across a lot of them when you're driving.

Lydia

I was sitting on our deck eating breakfast at 8:30 a.m. watching golfers slowly work their way through the third hole. They finally got up to the green, and I heard the following conversation:

Golfer 1: In the hole, Lydia, in the hole!

Golfer 2: What do you think I'm trying to do?!?

Golfer 1: Missed again. Man, this is taking forever.

Snack truck lady: Would you like anything to eat or drink?

Golfer 1: I would like a Budweiser.

STL: In a can or a bottle?

Golfer 1: Whichever has the most.

Man, I'm glad I'm not Lydia.

Hypothetical Situation Police

The other day David and I were driving somewhere in the car. Somehow the conversation turned to helicopter rides, and it all went downhill from there.

Me: Your mom was talking about how often she reads about tourist helicopters crashing and everyone dying. She said if she has anything to say about it, she will never let us go on one of those rides. That's okay with me. I wouldn't go anyway since helicopters make me sick.

D: How do you know that?

Me: How do I know what?

D: That helicopters make you sick?

Me: That's what you're taking away from this conversation?

D: No, I really want to know. How do you know that helicopters make you sick. Have you secretly gone out and had helicopter rides without my knowledge? Because I'm pretty sure you've never stepped foot in one.

Me: No, I've never had a helicopter ride.

D: Then how do you know helicopters make you sick?

Me: Well, I got really motion sick that one time you made me play the Jane's helicopter simulator on your computer. I think that's a pretty good indicator.

D: You're kidding, right?

Me: And then there's the fact that every form of transportation ever invented makes me sick: cars, trucks, trains, boats, big planes, little planes. I do my part in keeping Dramamine in business.

D: I know that. You'd probably barf up a lung if you rode in a helicopter. But you can't know for sure because you've never been on one.

Me: I think it's a reasonable assumption. And who made you the hypothetical situation police anyway?

D: I just think you should speak more accurately. You saying, "Helicopters make me sick" when you haven't ridden in one is like me saying, "Playing in the World Cup makes my muscles sore," just because I limp around after playing rec league soccer.

Me: That is not a valid comparison at all!

D: Why not?

Me: Because while there is a possibility that sometime in my life I will actually have a helicopter ride, there is no chance you will ever play in a World Cup soccer match.

Her Dream Job

Sabrina:  Oh, my gosh, those judges sure repeat themselves A LOT on this show Chopped. Hey! I love to eat, and I love to repeat myself. I could totally do that job!

Europe 2010, Part 4, or My Husband Really is Trying to Kill Me

I woke up with a rash. Not exactly an auspicious way to start our first day of hiking. Unfortunately, this was not a unique experience for me while traveling. Once when I was in Israel I wound up with a head-to-toe itchy, hivey rash from eating one too many eggs over the course of many days, forcing me and my travel companion to spend a good portion of our Sunday morning hunting down a pharmacy in Jerusalem that (1) was open, and (2) had proprietors that could speak English so we could get the proper medicine to treat the rash. Good times!

I was not happy about this new rash for a few reasons. (1) It was red, blotchy, and somewhat itchy; (2) we had a relatively early train to catch if we wanted to be able to complete our first hike of our trip, so there was no time to hunt down pharmacies and/or doctors; and (3) a tube of cortisone hadn't made it into any of the first-aid items we had packed (but we did have a compass!). The good news was that it was only on my left arm, from shoulder to wrist. Since it wasn't too uncomfortable and we were under time constraints (did I mention we had a train to catch?), we decided to ignore it unless it got worse and/or spread.

Having spent a little too much time worrying about my mysterious rash, we left for the train station a bit later than we had planned. Our original thought had been that we would stop at a boulangerie and pick up a pastry for breakfast to eat on the train. Things did not work out this way. We were hoofing it to the train station from our hotel, and I discovered that once David slings 80-plus pounds of luggage onto his shoulders, he goes into "determined march" mode, and will not stop for anything or anybody. I longingly looked at each pastry shop as he determinedly marched past.

We finally got to the train station, set our luggage down, and I told David to go buy the tickets. He protested. "But you're the one that knows French!" I pointed out that that hadn't proved to be particularly useful so far, plus he had deprived me of my breakfast, so he could damn well go buy the tickets himself. Quickly deducing that he would not win this argument, he resignedly stepped into line to buy our tickets. It was good we hadn't stopped, though, as the ticket line was a half-hour long. We just barely got our tickets in time to determinedly march to the train before it left the station.

We cheered up once we got on the train, and I dug a granola bar out of my backpack.

When we arrived at our destination, La Brigue station, David started determinedly marching toward town. I followed.

As we navigated the narrow streets, we were greeted by the sound of cowbells -- or, in this case, goat bells. Around the corner, filling the street, comes this huge herd of goats accompanied by two big, shaggy sheepdogs. As we squeezed against the edge of the road to let them pass (Ha! Even the determined march has to give way to a herd of goats!), we noticed: no humans. We marveled that these two dogs knew what to do with the goats with no human direction. Or we assume they knew what they were doing. They might have been trying to find a pub.

Here's a picture of our bed and breakfast.

Our hosts were Robert and his wife. Robert showed us to our room and gave us the keys to both the room and hotel in case they left for any reason during the day and we needed to get back in. He then heard his wife calling him, so he hurried back downstairs, telling her he was just explaining things to les jeunes. It amused me to be called "the young ones" when he couldn't have been much older than we were.

Here's the view from our room.

Our first hike was a circular "taster" that would take us to the next town of Tende and back again. I looked out our window and jokingly commented that it was a good thing we didn't have to go over those mountains to get to the next town, huh? That statement was greeted with complete silence from David. Uh-oh.

Before we hit the trail, we wandered through the town.

Once we started on the trail, it didn't take too long (about 10 meters or so) for me to figure out this was not exactly what I thought I had signed up for.

Notice my smile has dimmed somewhat from the train. Also take a look at the steep, rocky path. Where were the wide paths with leafy trees shading us? Where were the wineries? We later found out from Robert that this particular area was not good for growing grapes. It was tried once long ago, but the wine produced was terrible, they had a rash of suicides, blamed the wine, and tore all the vines out.

"Only 900 feet of climbing to go!" David exclaimed cheerfully.

The path hugged the side of the mountain with a steep drop-off on one side, and this is when I made the unfortunate discovery that I'm really not fond of heights . . . or hiking. About halfway up, I was thinking, "He really is trying to kill me!" At that precise moment, David turned around, grinning, and said, "So, are you thinking I really am trying to kill you now?" The tone in which I was thinking the words, however, was not remotely similar to the jovial tone in which those words were verbalized, highlighting the gaping chasm between our interpretations of the same words.

We took a wrong turn, and dogs started running towards us, barking furiously. A lady who lived up that path intercepted us and, after David shrugged at her French, told us in clear English to go back and take the other fork. David asked how she knew to give us directions in English, and she told him very kindly only the English make the mistake of taking the wrong fork there.

We backtracked and kept going, finally making it to the top of the mountain.

He's obviously having the time of his life. Me, not so much.

Here's the town we were headed towards. Notice we still have a long ways to climb down.

We finally made it into Tende. I was exhausted and wondering what in the world had I gotten myself into. We sat down at a café to rest. And while I was silently weeping into my ham sandwich, David drank beer and looked at train tables to see if we could take the train back instead of finishing the hike. I was grateful he was willing to consider that option, but humiliated that it even had to be considered. I was also terrified of what was to come. If this is supposed to be a "taster", what the heck was in store for me over the next week?

After the food had time to settle, I felt a lot better. I decided I'd rather hike back over the mountain than take the train, if only to prove to myself that I could do this. We took a few minutes to wander around Tende and take a few pictures.

And then we started to climb back over the mountain.

Look at the relief in that smile. By this point I was convinced I would survive! At least for today!

And so I don't leave you with the mistaken impression that everything was doom and gloom from here on out. I will leave you with a picture from early the next day.

As you can see, I'm back to smiling, and I'm pointing at the path snaking down the side of the mountain that I conquered the day before. A hearty dinner, a satisfying breakfast, and a good night's sleep does wonders for a person. Lesson learned: Don't hike the Alps with only a granola bar in your stomach . . . or don't hike the Alps with a maniac husband . . . or don't hike the Alps at all. Beaches are nice.

GOOOOOOOOOOOOOALS!!!!

Rose is not particularly inclined to be athletic. I believe she merely endures the sports we encourage her to participate in. And by encourage I mean, "No, you don't have a choice. Now get out there and play!" But in general she is a good sport (ha ha!) about the whole thing and rarely complains. And she does greatly enjoy the social aspect of team sports.

But because of her distinct lack of enthusiasm for sports in general, you can imagine my surprise when she volunteered to "help" David earn his D/E license to coach soccer. This constituted of two VERY long weekends where she had to get up every morning at 5:30 a.m. for a total of four six-plus-hour days in the hot sun. She was there every minute, participating enthusiastically. When the instructor would ask for critiques of the participants' drills, Rose's hand would shoot up in the air.

Instructor: Yes, Rose?

Rose: I found Coach B's drill with the three cones to be a good one. It was structured quite well, and I learned new things. Overall, it was thoroughly enjoyable.

Everyone was quite bemused by her. She became what I would call the class mascot, essential in some indefinable way to class morale. And in the end she was given an honorary D/E license.

Since she had such a good time with David's class, I thought she'd be really looking forward to the soccer camp that the kids are involved in this week. I was wrong. Things went downhill fast after some brief excitement upon meeting the class coaches.

Rose: (In a loud whisper) Mom, I think that guy was our coach last year.

Me: (Whispering back) I don't think so, sweetie.

Coach: (Also whispering) Actually, yes, I was.

That, unfortunately, was the highlight of her day. She came home dragging her feet, complaining about how hot it was (15 degrees cooler than when she was with David), how long the class was (less than half the time of David's), and how disappointed she was that nobody was listening to her instructions and suggestions on how to play. I encouraged her (see above) and went about my business.

A little bit about this soccer camp. Being run by young British men, it has been designed to function as a cross between Hogwarts and the World Cup. They have divided all the kids into four teams. The camp consists of learning soccer skills interspersed with World Cup games. Each team earns points by scoring goals and answering questions correctly. (10 points to Griffyndor!)

Now, even though Rose's first day didn't go as well as she had hoped, she decided to not let those recently acquired coaching skills go to waste. It was time to take her team in hand. Her first decision was what country they should be. While many kids were voting for Spain, she pointed out that there had been a Spain in last year's camp, and do we really want to repeat countries like that? No, we do not. She informed everyone they would be Canada. And because Rosie's airy-fairy exterior houses a will of steel, everybody agreed.

Her next move was as follows:

R: Mom, our team has some goals!

Me: Uh-huh. Well, you are playing soccer.

R: No, mom, not goals you score, goals you set.

Me: Oh, okay. Did your coaches tell the teams to set goals?

R: No, I just thought it was important. So I told our team that our goal would be to score one more point than we did the day before. Monday we scored nothing. Tuesday, I scored one goal. And today we scored two. I've told everyone they're doing really well, and tomorrow we would need to score a minimum of three goals.

Cower in fear, people. Today this charming girl has taken over the soccer field, tomorrow the world.

Betrayal

I thought we had a deep and meaningful relationship. I thought we enjoyed each other's company while we whiled away countless frivolous hours. I thought the time we spent browsing sites and exploring social networking was pleasurable for both of us. I thought what we had was special. I thought we had an exclusive relationship.

I was wrong. I've learned that my faithful companion had a secret life that it kept well hidden from me. I've learned that it consorted with characters of an unsavory nature. But when you play with fire, eventually you get burned. You acquire things you'd rather not have -- infections, viruses, worms.

I valued my relationship with my laptop. I didn't want to throw it all away. I bought protection. I tried to patch things up. I tried to ignore the signs that things really weren't getting better. But I finally had to admit that our rapport was not what it once was. My laptop was now serving the selfish purposes of a stranger, insisting that I click through to sites that it never would have asked me to view before, separating me from my applications like a cult leader trying to draw me into a life of subservience and take all my money.

I insisted on treatment, and we sought professional help. I'm giving it a chance, but therapy may not fix this problem. The interloper may have wormed its way in too deeply. I haven't decided if we will stay together or part ways. I may have to turn it in for a newer, sleeker model. But even if we stick together, things will never be the same. The implicit trust and comfort level has been lost, never to be regained.

My computer has betrayed me.

Europe 2010, Part 3

We (David) decided we should see Monaco. Here's what I know of Monaco.

1. James Bond likes to gamble in Monte Carlo.

2. They have the Grand Prix race here.

3. Grace Kelly married Prince Rainier.

Since then I've learned that Monaco has a population of 30,000, only 10,000 of which are native. The rest are extremely rich people that have residences here so that they don't have to pay taxes. The population doesn't sound too terribly high until you think about the fact that the country comprises about two square kilometers and you could walk across the entire country in under an hour. When you think about that, 30,000 is a lot of people to pack into so small a space.

We took the bus to Monaco based on the advice of Rick Steves. According to him, you could take the train from Nice and get there in about 20 minutes for approximately six euros. Or you could take the bus for one euro. The bus trip takes an hour, but unlike the train that spends most of its time in tunnels, the bus follows the lower corniche road, and you can see all the sights. Because we're cheap, and because we preferred to look at the Mediterranean and all the charming villages along the way, we took the bus.

I don't have any pictures to show you of our bus trip for two reasons.

1. Pictures taken from a moving bus are inevitably blurry.

2. The pictures I did take on my camera are lost forever because I left it on the bus. I didn't discover this fact until we had exited the bus and climbed the hill to the palace. Thank goodness David had bought his very own camera just before the trip, which he wisely refused to let me borrow.

Here we are at the top of the hill, in front of the palace overlooking the port.

Monaco is kind of strange. It reminds me a little bit of San Francisco, believe it or not. It has a bustling port and it built on hills. It also has the mix of old and new, skyscrapers next to old homes.

But unlike San Francisco, it doesn't feel very, I don't know, I guess authentic is the word I would use. It's too clean. The streets with the old-fashioned residences look like nobody actually lives there. It's very Disneyesque in look and feel.

It certainly didn't feel as welcoming as Nice. But then, I'm not a millionaire.

Ian and Fabio, our lunch companions of the day before, had recommended we visit the Jacques Cousteau Aquarium, so we did. It had pretty fish to look at.

In addition to that, the museum had exhibits devoted to 19th century history of scientific thought. They had a timeline that included mostly French and American discoveries, although I found it odd that they thought it necessary to include Custer's last stand. They also had a giant sculpture that showed a human's insides.

It was beyond a doubt the strangest aquarium I've ever been to in my life. Highly entertaining.

We then hopped a bus and headed down toward the casino and lunch. Ian and Fabio had also given us a lunch recommendation, the Café de Paris.

And not knowing anywhere else to go we decided to try it. That was one of the best decisions ever. While we were contemplating the menu, I saw the dessert the gentleman next to us had ordered. It was the most amazing confection of strawberries, gelato, and whipped cream I had ever seen. While I rarely make food decisions based on what I'm going to have for dessert, I made an exception in this case. I immediately modified my lunch selection to something light so that I would have more than enough room to indulge.

Unfortunately, there are no pictures of what this dessert looked like, because when it came I fell into it face first and inhaled. David was lucky to get one spoonful. But here is a picture of me after I had finished it. And yes, I ate every bite. The only reason I didn't lick the plate clean was because I was afraid they might escort me out of the restaurant before I was ready to go. Truly, in a vacation filled with wonderful food, this took the cake, so to speak.

The café was next door to the casino, so we strolled over after lunch.

We didn't see much of the inside as you're not allowed in the salon unless you have paid an entrance fee (yes, they charge a fee for the privilege of losing more money gambling) and are wearing a suit and tie. So we amused ourselves looking at the cars parked in front of the casino -- a Ferrari, a Lamborghini, and a Rolls Royce -- and watching other tourists have their pictures taken next to these cars they didn't own.

We had missed the Grand Prix by about three days, but the stands were still up. So I sat in the stands --

-- while David took photos of tire marks from the cars racing through in front of the casino. David insisted he had to get this picture for our friend, Doug, who loves Formula 1 racing.

After that, we decided to take the train back to Nice. This is the view from just outside the train station.

Later that evening, still full from lunch, we decided to return to the Cours Saleya and have a drink while people-watching. We sat across from the "American Bar" where all the waiters wore jeans and cowboy hats.

Always a pleasure to see Americans aren't the only ones that stereotype other nationalities. In addition to watching people, we also watched the moon rise.

Then we headed back to our room to prepare for our first day of hiking.

The Calvinland Bee

A conversation between my seven-year-old son and me.

C: I think it's time I start my own newspaper. I'm going to call it The Calvinland Bee.

Me: I see. And how did you come up with that name?

C: Like our local paper, The Sacramento Bee.

Me: I'm well aware of what our local paper is called. I just didn't know you knew.

C: Oh, yes. I like the comics. Also, sometimes they have interesting articles, like the one about big slugs.

Ice cream. We're gonna have ice cream.

Sabrina asked if she could have ice cream after dinner. I said sure, why not? She then announced this fact to the other munchkins. Rose, calling shotgun, immediately said, "I want mint chip." Mint chip and vanilla were the options.

Sabrina got out her bowl and the ice cream scooper and then the carton of mint chip, which, upon opening, revealed about one bowl's worth of ice cream. She and Rose looked into the almost empty container and started the following "conversation." Calvin and I sat back on the couch to watch the entertainment.

R: I called mint chip.

S: But I don't like vanilla.

R: But I called it.

S: But I don't like vanilla. (grabs the carton) I don't like vanilla!

R: But -- (grabs the carton back)

S: I don't like vanilla!! (more grabbing)

R: Sabrina!

S: I DON'T LIKE VANILLA!!!

R: I get it! You don't like vanilla. You don't like vanilla. You don't like vanilla! You don't like vanilla!! YOU DON'T LIKE VANILLA!!!

Thereafter we were treated to incoherent screaming and some impressive physical contact. I decided to call an end to the show and sent the girls to their rooms. Later, as Calvin and I ate our ice cream in peace --

C: You know what's weird about that, mom?

Me: No, what?

C: Everybody knows Sabrina likes vanilla.

Europe 2010, Part 2

On our first full day in Nice, David went for a long run at an ungodly hour, and I slept in. We then took a short walk. This is outside our hotel, walking to breakfast.

And here's our view while we enjoyed our pain au chocolat and coffee.

Our hotel is on the other side of that hill. We discussed visiting a museum -- there's a surprising number in Nice -- and decided to visit the museum of contemporary art over the Matisse or Chagall museums because (1) it was close, and (2) it was free. Art connoisseurs, that's what we are.

This was a sculpture outside the museum. It amused me.

The museum included rooftop exhibits, most of which included the gorgeous views.

I especially liked this mirrored piece where you see part of the city reflected.

We left the museum and wandered around, saw a pretty fountain.

And pretty houses.

Our house is almost that exact pink color. I always thought the builders were weird to paint our house pink. Who has a pink house? Apparently every other person in Nice. It is one of the most popular colors. Now I know I just need to get shutters and paint them green.

By then we had whiled away a few hours and started feeling like maybe we needed something more than a croissant and coffee. We considered this place --

-- but decided against it when we couldn't figure out what meal that might be. I know what brunch is (breakfast/lunch) and I know what linner is (lunch/dinner), but flunch left me confused.

We decided to pick a restaurant in the Cours Saleya, which is a street just behind the Promenade.

Our hotel is just out of sight on the far right.

In the morning this long street holds one of the biggest flower markets in southern France. Around noon, the flower merchants start clearing out, and the restaurants put out all their tables and chairs.

We picked a restaurant at random, mostly because they had one of the only free tables on the whole street. After we were seated, we perused the menu and ordered our meal. The two French men sitting next to us struck up what would be the first of many tableside conversations with strangers. They asked if we were British. I don't know what tipped them onto the fact that we were foreigners. Maybe it was because we had to point at the menu to help the waitress completely understand our selections. Or perhaps it was the fact that David would throw in an occasional Japanese word when finger pointing failed.

Very charming (although smoking incessantly), they gave us their unfinished bottle of wine insisting that they wouldn't finish it themselves, and it was a crime to let it go to waste. I probably didn't protest as much as I should have. Introductions ensued, and we learned that our dining companions were Ian and Fabio, although I was a mite suspicious of this since they had to look at each other and confirm that these were indeed their names.

They asked what our plans were over the next few days and encouraged us to visit Monaco. After we mentioned that Monaco was indeed on the agenda for the next day, they asked if we would like to go boating. Ian (or was it Fabio?) gave us his card (which had the name Nicholas on it, by the way) in case we decided we were in the market for purchasing or renting a boat. They departed soon afterwards, giving us a suggestion for lunch in Monaco and also insisting that if we happened to see them again during our visit we must sit down and have a drink with them.

Our bellies full with a delicious lunch and fabulous wine, we decided to climb the hill behind our hotel next. It's called Castle Hill, and has steps to take you to the top. How hard can it be, I thought? The answer -- pretty hard. I stopped to rest here on the pretext that I was admiring the amazing view.

The next time I stopped was about halfway up (the hill is higher than it looks, I swear). My excuse this time was that I wanted to listen to the accordion player that was on a viewing terrace. (Music to climb by.) As we neared the top of the hill, I started getting passed by elderly people, which was really embarrassing. We finally got to the top, and I leaned against the balustrade panting while David took lovely pictures.

We decided to go down the other side of the hill and walk back around through the city streets to our hotel. As we started down the backside of Castle Hill I saw the tourist train, filled with around 200 elderly people, starting to motor back down. That explained a lot and made me feel much better about my performance, although it was still admittedly on the pathetic side. (Note to self: don't eat a heavy lunch and drink a bottle of wine before hiking.)

Feeling mighty pleased with ourselves, we bought a bottle of wine, a baguette, and some snacks and headed back to our room to enjoy the beautiful sunset.