Love That Dirty Water (Part One)

Some highlights from our trip east:

As a general rule, getting to places was wonderfully easy. Getting back was more challenging. (On the plane ride home, with Caleb next to me crying in his uniquely shrill way, I had the opportunity to say to a fellow passenger, "Glaring doesn't help, lady." Which was surprisingly fun for me.)

I could have stayed in Vermont for another week. The kids had a blast out in nature, playing with other kids, wonderdog Dude from Tennessee, rolling bocci balls down the wheelchair ramp, and eating their weight in pancakes. Dad read The Audacity of Hope by flashlight while they slept, or while sitting in an Adriondrack chair (want one!) while they played barefoot in the dewey grass. We were high enough up Gove Hill that we could see thunderstorms pass over the Connecticut River in the valley below.

Cathy's excellent observation that while some people might see a vision of Jesus in a banana peel, Caleb sees a vision of bananas in a stained-glass picture of Jesus.

The first hotel in Boston would not work for us, partially because the suite we were promised was not exactly a suite, and partially because it was a swirling vortex of chaos and purgatory. At 9:45pm, I went to the front desk to ask again for the two cribs we'd asked for in our reservation, at the time of our check-in, and twice by phone from the room. The woman at the desk said she was trying to raise the housekeeping staff by radio. "Do you know how to say 'crib' in Spanish?" she asked me. All of this made the second (and hastily arranged) hotel seem all the better by comparison. (The late night margarita, however, was unexpectedly terrific.)

Jason Cabassi arrived on Monday to volunteer as our Manny throughout the week, and did a great job of toddler-hoisting, pram-pushing, and patience-displaying. His ability to calmly eat a spicy chicken dish at The Bombay Club while the boys threw rice, juice cups, and tantrums shows a natural ability to child-rear. Jason was quickly and permanantly adopted by Sam as a BFF, and has earned the honorific of "Uncle" in our family.

After a long walk from Harvard with Jason and Ken, we arrived at Redbones in Davis Square -- the best barbecue restaurant in the mapped universe. Texas beef ribs were probably not the dish to get with two toddler's on one's hands, as there was a bit too much going on to really savor the Redbones experience. Two awesome moments: I changed Caleb in the Women's restroom, a feat probably rarely done in the history of humankind. The pull-out baby changer platform was directly below the automatic paper towel dispensor's sensor, so as I attempted to change Caleb's diaper, a scroll of paper towels was continually unfurling over us. Then, when we left the restaurant, we walked right out into an impromptu street parade and a bedraggled brass marching band playing "Kansas City, Here I Come." To introduce one's children to the twin miracles of smoked barbecue and syncopated Dixieland jazz in one go-round? This is the kind of thing that can happen only in Davis Square, Somerville, MA. (Or, you know, New Orleans.)

Caleb, on the platform of the Airport T station: "Choo-choo, where are you?"

(To Be Continued...)