peskypippi.comBecause I have a lot to say…

It is nearing the end of summer and our family is a bit weathered. You can feel the energy slowly eeking, wearing us down.

• My kids seem tired. Too much playing? Too much fun?

• The flowers are spent. Too much blooming? Too much color?

• The car is filthy. Too many road trips? Too many activities? Too many snacks?

• My skin is weathered. Too much sun?

The community pool is now closed for the summer. Already. Drained. Empty. A drained pool is so depressing, I tweeted. My friend @RayChatie tweeted, “I love this tweet! In a simple fact it speaks of emptiness when once there was joy, the passage of time, memories of lost days.”

Time to rest up this week and re-energize because Fall is upon us. Next week: Labor Day. Bringing early morning schedules, school, homework, shuttling, deadlines, practices, commitments, appointments, kids’ sports, activities, meetings.

All the “have tos” that are Fall in a busy family.

Good-bye Summer. We will miss you.

You know those fancy wicker picnic baskets? The kind that are lined with red-and-white checkerboard fabric? The basket with the miniature plates and cups and silverware snuggled inside?

Yeah. I don’t have one of those.

Every time I see one at the store, I think I want one. Ah, the picnic. Perfected.

Well, let me tell you, the perfect wicker picnic basket is not needed for a perfect picnic. Neither are the perfect “picnic fixings.” In fact, I used to spend a lot of time making the sandwiches, chopping up a fruit salad, packing homemade cookies, adding carrots and dip and extra snacks. Then we would arrive at our destination with a frazzled (slightly resentful) mother; smashed, soggy sandwiches; limp carrots; and–oops–watermelon juice oozing all over our Igloo cooler.

Our new-and-improved family picnics are more like this.

1. Stop by Subway.
2. Pick up sandwiches, chips, drinks.
3. Simple. Done.

Our family picnics are not drawn-out, check-off-your-grocery-list-kind of picnics. They are pick-up picnics. As in let’s-go-on-a-hike-around-the-lake-and-grab-some-food-while-we’re-out kind of picnics.

What’s important is who you’re with. Not what you’re eating. And it’s not about the “perfect presentation.”

My buddy @NoRegretsParent reinforces this nicely: “It’s not where you go but who you’re with and what you do there.”

With Subway sandwiches in-hand, we sit on the grass. Or the boulders. Or a park bench. We talk. Chomp chomp. We drink. Gulp gulp. We laugh. Chomp chomp. We slurp. We throw away. And head on our hike.

And you know what? No heavy-ass wicker contraption to lug around.

It turned out that I needed to bring my six-year-old son to work because there were no other babysitting options. I work in a smallish office in a fancy schmancy loft space in the hip part of town.

Where people don’t bring their children.

Realizing this, I told my son to please pack a backpack full of toys that he could quietly play with.

So, I’m in a meeting and he’s in the corner unzipping his backpack. What did he pack?

A kazoo.

A Zsu Zsu Pet.

And maracas.

You’d think I was raised in the Great Depression by looking at the contents of my stocking hung at the mantle  at Christmas. All I got in my stocking were oranges and whole walnuts.

Someone must’ve known I needed Vitamin C and heart-health Omega-3 fatty acids back then.

Maybe it was to counter all the sweets I enjoyed at Christmastime:

1. Divinity–the gooey white marshmallow-like candy
2. Peanut brittle
3. Cracking walnuts with a real nutcrackers and picks–ya really appreciate the nut when it takes like 5 minutes to eat just one.
4. Ribbon candy–remember the gorgeous colors? And when your aunt said to take “just one,” you actually took like 7 because they all stuck together?

Enjoy the simple things this Holidays. And take time to crack some nuts…or crack your tooth on a piece of ribbon candy.

I never really liked Carol Brady.

Maybe it was the way she whined, “Miiiii-iiiike.” Or maybe it was because she seemed to take credit for all of Alice’s hard work. Or maybe it simply Carol’s horrible hair styles that were annoying.

It was Alice who was the center of The Brady Bunch family. Even physically, she was the middle tile in the intro. Alice wins “mother of the year” in my book. Here are 12 reasons why:

1. She was always dependable.
2. She was a good listener.
3. She had a great sense of humor.
4. She was practical and sensible.
5. She could make a mean chocolate cake.
6. She knew how to comfort.
7. She was a great whistler.
8. She was good at breaking up fights.
9. She was kind-hearted and always smiling.
10. The kids confided in her and trusted her.
11. She was patient and could deal with lame-o Mrs. Brady.
12. She rocked blue like nobody’s business.

Without Alice, the show would’ve sucked.

I am becoming a global traveler—making connections with the locals—all through Twitter. Oh and if you are visiting Alaska from any other part of the United States, passports are not required, Silly. If you do visit, check out Erin’s blog at www.AKontheGo.com/, the resource for all things family travel in Alaska, or follow her on Twitter @akonthego. She is a witty one, I tell ya.

Oh, and if you’re really traveling to Alaska (not virtually like me): the six months of snow has already begun. So pack a jumbo parka and some boots. But not the furry mukluks because those scream “tourist.” Erin says so.

So, here we go, continuing with Pesky Pippi’s highly popular interview series. I asked Erin to tell us a little bit about her favorite state.

Pippi: Is that a totem pole or are you happy to see me?

Erin: Totem poles tell an incredible history of southeast Alaska Native tribes. Sitka National Historical Park is excellent.

Pippi: Do all Alaskans wear mukluks?

Erin: Mukluks are big, clumsy, but they work in the Arctic. If you wore them here in Anchorage, people would talk. And stare. And laugh.

Pippi: (Note to self: must return mukluks. Pronto.)

Pippi: Do you own a Husky dog?

Erin: I used to own a Husky/Golden Retriever. Mushers race hybrid dogs now, hardly anyone uses Huskies. Sled dogs are scrawny running machines.

Pippi: Do you live in an igloo?

Erin: No igloos. Not even among the Eskimos. They have dug into the hills of their homeland and lived fine that way, thank you very much.

Pippi: (Disappointed.)

Pippi: Do moose walk through your neighborhood?

Erin: Moose are everywhere. They were outside last week eating my leftover Jack-O-Lanterns. They all prefer expensive shrubbery.

Pippi: Do all Alaskans work on the pipeline?

Erin: Tons of folks work for BP, ConocoPhillips, Alyeska pipeline. Dark, cold, isolated work; good pay though.

Pippi: Do you drink Alaskan Amber Ale? I do.

Erin: Alaskan Amber, Midnight Sun, Panty Peeler, Sockeye Red. Yep. Beer snobs, we are. Oh, and I make a mean crowberry cosmo.

Pippi: (Note to self: must Google “crowberry.”)

Pippi: Does everyone in Alaska go to the Iditarod?

Erin: Most Alaskans stay away from the Iditarod, at least, the start of it in Anchorage. Too crowded, too full of out-of-town volunteers. I go to the ReStart in Willow, all-business. Mushers are kick-ass ready for 1,100 miles of Alaska wilderness.

Pippi: Final question, for today at least. Can you really walk to Russia from Alaska?

Erin: Not unless you are Jesus or Sarah Palin. But sometimes the folks on Little Diomede Island can see Russia from their houses.

Pippi: Thanks so mush (I mean much) for participating, you, Snarky Alaska Girl, you.

I have a lovely stack of books. And they are staring at me from my nightstand, just waiting to be read:

• Wesley the Owl by Stacey O’Brien
• How the Garcia Girls Lost Their Accents by Julia Alvarez
• Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet by Jamie Ford
• The Dressmaker of Khair Khana by Gayle Tzemach Lemmon
• The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein

But I ignore their stare. It seems the second I pick up a book, these days, it’s pushing midnight, and I nod off like an old man and then re-read the same page over and over.

I have always loved to read. Growing up, I had lots of quiet time to enjoy my books. My mother was great at fueling my reading habit and has always surprised me with new book selections, just perfect for a child, then a tween, then a teen.

And she still buys me books whenever we meander through book stores together. Uh, you still remember book stores, don’t you? I admit, I’m not a Kindle gal (yet). I find pleasure in holding a physical book, turning the paper pages, and marking the paused page with a fancy bookmark, hand-drawn by my daughter.

For now, I think I’ll move the books under a heap of laundry. As they sit there unread, they are making me feel guilty and overwhelmed. And books shouldn’t feel like a “to do” list.

Until then, off to read Charlotte’s Web to the two little ones.

I realize I’m a little late to the my-what-yellow-teeth-you-have-Miss-Lindsay party. That was soooo two weeks ago. For image-conscious starlets, yellow teeth simply are not an acceptable accessory. When I read the headline:

“Lindsay Lohan debuts newly-whitened teeth”

I thought, hmmm, white teeth on a Hollywood actress shouldn’t be making news. That’s the ol’ dog-bites-man headline = not news.

Check out the article; it’s for real.

http://www.nydailynews.com/gossip/lindsay-lohan-debuts-newly-whitened-teeth-days-s-set-admit-probation-violation-article-1.969941#ixzz1ccahe2JH

In order for white-teeth-on-a-starlet to make news headlines, those chompers must have been way bad. So I did some sleuthing and Googled some stuff to see how bad Lindsay’s teeth looked. Yikes! Sweet Lindsay from The Parent Trap and Herbie Fully Loaded shouldn’t have yellow teeth. Check out this funny man-bites-dog headline and article about just that:

“Lindsay Lohan flashes smoke-stained yellow teeth on Hollywood red carpet”

http://articles.nydailynews.com/2011-10-13/gossip/30294012_1_fiore-films-kim-gotti-irwin-smigel

People get their teeth whitened every day. People have dental work done all the time. Glad that my trips to the dentist don’t make news headlines. Otherwise, you might read this:

“Cavity Suspected, Yet Dentist Appointment Reveals A Simple Case of Over Brushing”

Yep, turns out I was just brushing too hard. Hey, you can’t blame me for making my chompers white.

So it seems to me, that if a parent of a child who plays on a recreational soccer team really wants her child to receive a trophy–regardless of how well (or not so well) the child played during the season–she needs to pay for it. The whole thing. I’ll explain in a bit.

First off, I’m fine with giving out fake trophies. You know, not fake gold, but fake as in “these trophies don’t have meaning but are a symbol of completion.” Back in the day, we didn’t get trophies unless we won championships or tournaments. Or if we were singled out in high school as playing above-and-beyond. Shout out for me: I received Most Inspirational in tennis in high school. (Are you laughing at me?) I do realize that “Inspirational” has nothing to do with skill.

As a coach of youth soccer–six-year-old boys–I try to do the right thing. And if the parents want trophies, I will order them and collect money from the parents and then hand them out at the end of the season. I really do hate ponying up money ahead of time and then asking for reimbursement. It is belittling and makes me look desperate. But, oh well, it’s all part of being a volunteer coach. So, I find a good deal, supporting a local trophy shop, and place the order. The trophies are a great deal, at $6.43 each. I send the email to the parents explaining that I ordered them and to please pay me at practice.

Then I have to remind them at several practices and several games to please pay me. Now, I’m a nag (see post on being a nag). A nag pestering for a measly $6.43.

Finally, the parents pay. But one parent paid only $12 for two trophies, as if buying multiples gives her a discount. Shortchanged. Chumped again. I don’t really need the money (but some of these parents drive Range Rovers). I don’t really need the extra $.86 either. It’s the principle.

I should have broken off the trophy player’s arm or something and handed that out at our end-of-season celebration. Because, really, if you don’t pay the full amount, you shouldn’t get a total trophy. Hence the saying: “You get what you pay for.”

Kim Kardashian: say it isn’t so! Not the divorce. We knew that was coming. But the spending. I am horrified at the frivolous spending. A few numbers to ponder:

1. Kim and what’s-his-name’s wedding cost $10 million;
2. Kim’s engagement ring cost $2 million;
3. Kim and what’s his-name’s wedding cake cost $20,000.

My jaw continues to drop, especially when this money could help spread goodwill and kindness around the globe. Consider this:

1. The $10 million “wedding” could build every family in Haiti a new home;
2. The $2 million ring could fund more than 66,000 flu vaccinations across the United States;
3. The $20,000 cake could fund ecology sustainability projects in South Africa.

Kim, perhaps you should trade in your $1,000 Louboutin heels. And try walking in someone else’s shoes for once.