Lacrosse and Weekend Recap

Henry and I left Friday afternoon for Palm Springs where he played about seven thousand games of lacrosse while I watched.

Here are a couple of good action shots. Henry is the one on the far left at the edge of the photo, number 15.

Here's another one:

Here's me, watching the field. I have a really shitty sports-mom chair that is sort of broken, and because it was Palm Springs, and the sun was shining mercilessly at times, I rigged my sweater as a sun shield and hid out.

Normally, I wouldn't post such an alarmingly close photo of myself, but I sort of like the weirdness of the colors -- my upper lip has entirely disappeared into what appears to be lily-white skin (that I've never had), there's an enormous line running down the center of my forehead (that I've had for a short time, but it appears to have lengthened and deepened), and some horrifying crepey substance below my neck which I swear to you is NOT my skin. All moles (beauty marks) and errant eyebrow hairs are original. Posting this here is a rather vain attempt to purge myself of vanity. Humor me.

I also got to do my favorite thing which is to sleep in a hotel bed made up with white linens. I threw myself down onto this bed on both nights we stayed in the hotel, eventually making my way under the duvet with my little chapter of War and Peace (yes, I'm still going strong with a chapter a day, are you?) and then a few pages of Magda Szabo's The Door (my Books & Bakes selection for January) before literally crashing around 9:15. Henry, I believe, watched television from his own bed and claimed that I snored. Good thing he's so handsome. Here he is taping his lacrosse stick.

Here's a photo that I took at sunrise from the balcony of our hotel room, where I most certainly did not snore:

In all seriousness, being the parent to a teenaged boy is really the best, especially when your son is nearly always charming and patient, drives well on southern California freeways and never complains. All of the superlatives more than make up for having to charade as a sports mom which means yelling out every now and then in excitement, wincing when said teenager goes sprawling into the ground, tolerating the Screaming Dads and every now and then throwing in a comment or observation about the game which appears out of my mouth like a sort of cartoon bubble. Since I barely know any of the other parents on the team (there are actually some really great ones this time around), I imagine they think I know what I'm talking about, but I can assure you, Reader, I absolutely do not know what I'm talking about when I talk about lacrosse.

What happened up there is that Henry came running toward me -- I mean, the player with the ball -- and I was able to take that amazing action shot. Two seconds later, he lay sprawled on the ground, and good lacrosse mom that I am, I barely winced and certainly didn't gasp and might have even yelled at the ref, but I can't remember.

Did I say anything about living in southern California and how fantastic it is? This venue was just a two hour drive from us -- desert and blue skies and snow-capped mountains ringing the fields. Whoa. Right?

The Insane Caregiver's Week-end Wrap-up

Lots of funny comments on that last post about how we caregivers are going to live a long, long time -- a lot longer than you normal folks.

I left yesterday morning for Palm Springs with my friend Cara. We had a quick, 24-hour getaway, which will probably guarantee that I live even longer than I might have, and I sat mainly here on the bed and played WordFeud with my friend D, read a New Yorker and a Real Simple, and started Jayne Ann Phillips' new novel. We also sat by the pool and then stood in the pool. Then we went back to our room and watched The Butler in the middle of the afternoon. I ate steak for dinner, drank a fizzy bourbon cocktail and a beer, took a bath in an enormous tiled bathtub and fell into bed slightly buzzed by more alcohol than I've drunk in a long time and the hot water of the bath. I fell asleep and woke once or twice to the hum of the air-conditioner and the relief of knowing that in the morning I'd still be here, on the bed with the cool, white sheets in the room with the cool, blue door.

Outside, it looked like this (no filters, baby! -- the sky is that blue!):

and this (no shots of me in my bathing suit, unfiltered!):

and inside it looked like this:

and I looked like this:

and not like this (remember, that's me, sometime in the distant future):

On the way home this afternoon, we passed these guys in this car:

and decided to get off the exit with them and drive away through the windmill fields:

There's no telling where we'll be tonight. Your guess is as good as mine.

Thanksgiving Redux

This is a picture of my two boys, just after our rather large turkey banquet in Palm Springs yesterday. We drove up to Palm Springs on Wednesday morning, spent the night and had dinner at the hotel on Thursday afternoon with my friend Cara and her family.

Cara and I

I used to turn my nose up at eating Thanksgiving dinner out, but let me tell you something. It's awfully nice to sit around and have people clear the plate you're eating from so that you can go back to a different area and load it up again. Afterward, you can walk out of the dining room and into your car and drive back to your house and get into bed. Call me apathetic or Thanksgiving-secular, but it was fantastic.

This is a picture of my parents. My dad will be 77 years old next April, and my mother just turned 74. They're crazy good-looking, right? They've been staying with us for the past week and are going back to Atlanta tomorrow morning. Despite a few fractious political arguments, we had a wonderful time, and I always feel a tad melancholy when they leave.

Oliver insisted on having his photo taken in front of this garish ice sculpture. He was overcome by its fabulousness and decided that when he grows up, he'd like to be an ice carver. I just love my boys' aspirations.

This is the only photo that is halfway decent of my three chickens. Or maybe this one, although Sophie looks tortured (probably appropriately so).

I was hoping for a Christmas card photo, but no go. I've decided that this year (for the first time in eighteen years) I'm not sending Christmas cards. Call me secular.

I'm hoping to be inspired very soon to write a bit more than I've done the past week. How are things your way?

Palm Springs

Nothing is Magic and Everything is Real

Blue skies, rugged mountains

Trees laden with grapefruit, ripe for the picking

Christmas poinsettias among a riot of color

Peaceful fountains

The view from our room

More ridiculous grapefruit trees

Sparkly pool water

Beach balls and hot tubs

What the hell is that?

A little closer

Could it be?

Could it actually be....?

Holey mackerel! It's Santa!

When Santa lands at your feet, it's hard to get a clear photo...

But it was definitely The Man

The tree was dark, 

and then there was light.

One night in Palm Springs, crashing with my friends -- who needs Christmas?

Wish you were here

The boys and I have driven to Palm Springs for a night with friends.

I might dye my hair blonde like the lady above and wear a green bow in my hair and a cute swimsuit.

I might never come back.

Splashtopia

When we weren't stunned by the desert heat, we were in the water.

And no, I'm not showing a photo of myself in a bathing suit. But I will re-post this because every time I see it, I laugh.

Alternative Energy Source

I-10, on the way to Palm Springs

I need one.