letters from barcelona

Most of the vacation so far has been about finding pools and swimming in them. This is not going to be a Sagrada Familia – fancy lunch – Picasso Museum visit to Barcelona. In fact, we’re lucky, so far, if we eat three meals that don’t involve Abe running away. But why should Spain change that?

We started our tour of swimming holes by going to a public converted moderniste water tower, which is now surrounded by five-year-old-size wading pools. It is in the middle of a city block and you’d hardly know it was there, but it has sandy beaches, trees for shade, and it costs 1 Euro per person. Awesome. After that we tried to get a quick lunch, but the kids were too far gone and Max wound up throwing a lot of straws around the place and had to be removed by force. He is generally refusing to eat everything except for jamon serrano and some pizza, perhaps in a rejection of the idea of being yanked from his homeland (no pun intended). We do play baseball everyday in the courtyard (see below) outside of the apartment, which helps a lot, but the other day we had this sad little exchange.

Max: I was excited to come to Barcelona, but I think that was a mistake.

Me: Why?

Max: (sigh) Because I can’t use my language. No one understands my words and I can’t ask kids for my ball back if I miss it.

But then, today, when he wanted Leah to watch him jump into a (different) pool, he yelled, “Mama, mira!” So that was cool.

The next day was pool-less; I honestly have no recollection of what exactly we did for the activity part of the day, but I know Max and I watched Arthur (the cartoon, not the Dudley Moore movie) in Spanish and Max yelled out words he recognized while Leah went to the grocery store and Abe took a nap. On Friday we started the day with a haircut; well, I got a haircut and Max hung out and waited to be given some candy by the barber. I got an unexpected scalp massage which spiced up an otherwise dull haircut, and Max demanded only one pastry in exchange for the errand. Fair enough. He has become addicted to the ensaimada.Plain, or filled with custard, it’s not bad at all for someone who mostly gets Trader Joe’s cheerios for breakfast. Later we took a train to Sitges, a beach town where our friend Jose’ lives. He has a 5-year old, Colby, and he and Max played in the condo pool and palled around once the initial “what the hell language do we speak together” thing got sorted out and Max got a little less shy. Abe was not at all shy and leapt at things, including the pool, which he believes he can swim in unassisted, with the sunny confidence of a happy 2-year old. Abe is Abe. We ate dinner on the balcony, walked along the beach to get ice cream cones, slept 4 to a room, and got up to get back in the pool at 10:30 am.

Upon returning to Barcelona for dinner, Max decided he wanted to watch the Spain-Paraguay match instead of bedtime stories. I know that this is “Stuff White People Like” fodder, but it’s nice to have your kid want to watch sports with you, so it was an easy trade for me to make. He had approximately 17 questions for every 5 seconds of soccer, but as long as I answered each one quickly, he was happy. Finally, at 11, he and Abe were asleep. Seriously, what the hell?

Here are some pictures of the apartment:

And here is Abe eating raspberries last week:

Nothing to do with Spain, but a nice picture.

Ok, first both toilets broke, but then everything was fixed. Also, we ran out of money, so maybe the house knew that it could not wring any more repairs from us. Then we cleaned the bejesus out of the house (Raise your hand if YOU have cleaned your basement and attic in the past two weeks. I thought not.) and decided that it looked just good enough for our planned house swap with our ultra clean friends, Maria and Jacobo. Luckily, they live in Barcelona, and so the house swap meant that we got to head over there for a month. Ok, we had already decided to do this, but it did make us clean the house. After two very very sweaty days of packing, our good friend Rachele drove us to the airport and off we went.

Abe is not designed for airplanes. He likes to move and airplanes like you to sit in your seat. But, with enough Bob the Builders and little bags of pretzels, anything is possible. A flight to Europe feels like it is going all night, but what it really is is two hours of taking off, getting settled, and serving dinner, three hours of nothing when you can sleep, and one hour of landing. But what a dinner it was: on Lufthansa, they just keep bringing you alcohol. Though it was tempting to give it all to Abe, he turned out not to need it and soon drifted off to sleep, his sticky hand tangled in Leah’s hair. The mom can never get comfortable. But when else can you have your two sleeping kids draped all over you and have two uniformed pursers say to you, “Baileys? Cognac?” and then, fifteen minutes later, “White wine or red?” Yes, that is a wine chaser to an apertif, for those of you keeping score at home.

Then we had two hours to kill in Munich. At this point the kids had sort of slept from 10 pm EDT to 1:30 am EDT and then were awake from then until 4:30 am EDT, which is about 10:30 am in Germany. They were not in what you might call “public” moods. Mostly there was grabbing, screaming, and escaping. But they fell sound asleep on the plane, such that we just sat there at the end until a steward asked if we were planning to leave. We were. Off to Barcelona!

We arrived at our awesome borrowed apartment (photos to follow once I dig the card reader out of the luggage) and found it surrounding an empty courtyard. Perfect for whiffleball. This is a good way to make friends in Spain, since it looks like riding a unicycle or something: kids sort of know what it is, but it clearly has some novelty. So we are sharing. Leah has brought 3 extra mitts and we will try to start up a traveling all star squad.

Since then, we have introduced Max and Abe to the joys of daily croissant breakfasts, 9:30 bedtimes, and ice cream every afternoon. Max has adjusted, sleepwise, and has dozed until 10:30 am both mornings. Abe, not so much. He sees the time following his bedtime as a Boston nap (that is, it is only 3:30 in the afternoon in his head when he goes to bed) so he wakes up at midnight ready to rock. Not so fun. But then he sleeps until 10:30 as well. I am not sure how they will manage to get up for school in the fall. But it will be worth it.

Broken thing 1: Car made a horrible noise while driving to Cape Cod. Of course, we ignored it. Because who wants to miss a trip to the Cape for something silly like an unsafe car. Yes, super dumb, I know. Anyway, it was 4:30 pm on Saturday of Memorial Day Weekend. Lots of mechanics on duty then. Hello, Midas. Actually, they were pretty nice and only terrified me once when they said that after looking at the car up on the lift, they would not be willing to drive it 10 feet. New struts in the front to fix the issues with the, um, car, were in order. I really don’t know what struts do, to be honest. But they are not supposed to be broken. They said it would be done on Weds, which would let Leah drive down there (in our shiny new rental car – aside: renting a car makes you want to buy a new car like nothing else) and get back in time for all of my graduation festivities. Then they said it would be done by 11 on Thursday. Then it was 11 on Thursday, Leah was at Midas, and a very important spring was not. Same story at 12, 1, and 2. Finally, around 3, Leah got in our newly-strutted automobile and headed home. A delightful use of $900.

Broken thing 2: Max tried to execute a 2.5 twist in the pike position off a chair at Ron’s Bowling Alley, the best candlepin-and-ice cream establishment in the land. Love this place, we do. When Max walks in, they all come out to greet him. That’s right, my son is recognized as a regular at a bowling alley. Anyway, the degree of difficulty was too great and he fell on his wrists and burst into agonized tears. We tried the traditional remedies: a band aid and a root beer float. Neither worked, so we were off to punch our frequent-faller ticket at Newton-Wellesley Hospital’s ER. The only exciting, if awful, part, was the X ray that Max scream through as  I held his arm in a painful position to get the right shots. But four boring hours later, we had a new splint, a tiny sling, doc’s orders for another visit the next day, and more root beer and ice cream. Two days later, Max was fine. Co-pays, in total, $150. Less than struts!

Broken thing 3: The sewer backed up into our house, and that smells worse than anything, ever. After a few slimy (literally, which is not really an insult) guys “snaked” the line with some machines caked in, um, something, it was established that the 150-year old pipe had broken. Amazingly, excavation contractors will actually come out on a Sunday morning. There must be something about a job that costs somewhere north of $3 grand that gets people out and about. I would actually pay just about anything to be allowed to flush the toilet and take a shower again.

In truth, our neighbors have been super generous with their bathrooms. Go Roslindale!

It feels like the Moleskine notebook of blogs, and so I figure I should come up with something more worthwhile to say.

Hmm.

So I have nothing at all really to do for the first time in a few years. I actually think I get to do this more often than most adults, so I can’t complain. I’ve also sort of had the summer off for 34 of my 36 years, so that’s not so bad. But that all comes to an end now that I have sunk 100G’s into a shiny new education that probably is going to require a steady income to pay back.

In the interim before our trip to Spain and after my exams, I have been trying to have the house painted. From the propensity of the best rated painters on Yelp to actually give you an estimate, I think most unemployed people should learn how to paint houses, provided they are willing to write estimates. It doesn’t make sense to me that these guys don’t write the damn thing while they are standing in your yard. Do they have an estimate writer locked up at home? Does it need to be on fancy paper that is somehow too special to carry out of the house? Honestly, this problem – I think it is common to all tradespeople – is screaming out for an iPhone app. Apparently you can get a translator to tell your Brazilian roofers to be careful, but no estimate tool.

Or a guy in Bangalore that can write 1000 of these things a day based on texts from the field would work, too.

Either way, my house looks like crap and I want it painted before July. I just don’t think it should be this difficult.

Last week our friends Ariel and Taylor came over to cook mole (not the garden rodent – I don’t know how to make an e with an accent in Blogger). They brought their dog and made fast friends with Max and Abe. Chicken mole is very complicated to make and involves instructions like, “Heat the ancho chiles on a griddle until just a wisp of smoke emerges.” Seriously, Rick Bayless? One man’s wisp is another man’s smoke alarm going off.

But the food was, in the end, delicious, and a good time was had by all. See?

So we went for a walk in the woods with our neighbors, Jennifer and Bill. Max considers them some of his best friends and I believe they feel the same way. They all like us, too, but they have a special little thing going. Jennifer is a master gardener and teaches Max how to identify perennials and various herbs. It is likely that he is the only member of his K-1 class able to identify both chocolate mint and lemon balm. Nearly every day in the summer, Max insists on going to visit them whenever we return from anywhere, at any time of day. We do our best to not be the kind of parents who will let our kid bother you because we want him to feel validated and all that jazz, but sometimes he wears us down.

So the walk. The Boston Nature Center is a big preserve on the site of a former bedlam-style state mental hospital. Now, it is lovely. See? That there is one of them green buildings everyone is so crazy for. And that little red fella is Abe.

We wandered about and looked at some wetlands and identified wildflowers. It was a good time. We also started to run out of steam, at least some of us. Like Max. He gets very tired on weekends because, for no good reason, he wakes up very early, something which never happens on a school day, and he won’t nap. So he collapses on my head and gets very heavy. But in front of such a pastoral backdrop, who could complain?

In order to keep him engaged, I showed him the camera, and he was entranced. All he wanted to do was take pictures. Of course, we wanted to encourage the little darling. And of course, the camera is a) not really ours and b) pretty damn expensive and c) attached to a strap that would protect it if I dropped it, but not if someone 3 feet tall did. So it was nerve-wracking. But we are parenting in 2009, so we are powerless against the ambitions of a 4-year old. Here is a sampling of his work:

Also, we saw a snake:

Next stop, Halloween. A sneak peak:

August came and we headed for Cape Cod. Then I had to go back to work for a couple of days and got on a boat. I liked that, as it had wireless. When I got home, I was treated to an awesome sight. Our neighbors have been destroying house, little by little, ostensibly to rebuild it later. The one with the sexy back, squatting by the trunk of the red car, is the drunk fella who used to own our house. Now he is helping with the construction. They started in March and have proceeded with the following schedule: work from 7 to noon, drink in the driveway until 7, go home. What you see there is 2000 beer bottles being recycled. Good drinking, neighbors. Some people on our street are planning to move if the drunk guy actually finishes the project and moves back in. Wild times.

Then, back to Cape Cod. Abe got into the beach this summer and ate about 4 pounds of sand. He showed no fear of the water, which is, of course, terrifying. Max was a little more skittish and was purchased a life jacket, which ended that. Later, my parents arrived, followed by my sister (plus 3) and my brother (plus 1 girlfriend, slightly shellshocked at being tossed into a Labor Day wknd of 11 Barcans). Much bumping into each other ensued, culminating in my cooking three enormous lobsters on the grill.

And then, just like that, it was September, after two solid weeks of 90 degrees every day and one more with 75 beautiful degrees – nicer for living, not so nice for swimming – each day. Max starts KINDERGARTEN in a few days. More on that later.

Summer, Part I

Max has discovered that, in addition to clowns, he enjoys some me time each day in the bath. He gets this time by floating on his back and knocking on the side of the tub, reveling in the echoey sound of fiberglass being bonked under water. He cannot be disturbed while he is doing this, mostly because he can’t hear you, or at least pretends not to. This selective deafness led to a terrifying moment when Abe was doing something dangerous and Leah called for me to help catch him. When we leave Max alone in the tub (something we do very rarely, I assure you) we talk to him the whole time so we know he’s alive. So we called to him and, of course, as it was me time, he did not answer. Running into a bathroom in which you have recently bathed a wild, splashing one-year old at the pace you run when you think your kid is drowning: extra dangerous.

But not as dangerous as complications from surgery, and we thought we were tangling with that, too, when Abe busted out the 102 degree monster when we went to NH to visit Sue and Jeff. A tense conversation with the surgeon on call turned comical when he asked if Abe was lethargic and had lost interest in eating. At that moment, he was swiping Max’s soup from across the table and eating it with his bare hands. So, no to both. He just had Parent Scare Syndrome, in which kids get a fever and a rash but no other symptoms. Fun! Max decided that he wanted to sleep with Sue and Jeff and got to use Matt Gallup’s king size air bed. They were very good natured about it and welcomed him into their room. The adults stayed up late playing Wii. I am an excellent boxer in Wii world, but my arm still hurts.

Next post, on to August.

So Max got a little sunblock in his hair and, not having much hair of my own to do funny things with, I could not resist. He was very pleased and ran around shouting, “I’m Dan Zanes, I’m Dan Zanes!” He also wanted to recreate it for school on Monday, but since it’s probably not great to put a lot of zinc oxide in your hair on purpose, we said no.

He is very excited for school these days because 1) it is really summer camp, so they mostly go outside, and 2) he got “promoted” to the oldest group, Las Mariposas. It is a proud day when your oldest son becomes a butterfly, I can tell you that.

Last night as I was putting Max to bed, he asked me to lay down next to him. Though he is supposed to be able to just go to sleep without a whole lot of song and dance, I agreed. Then he said, “Dad, can I touch your face?”

“Why do you want to do that?”

“Because I like you.”

Then he put his hand on my cheek, sighed, and fell asleep. Max rocks.

About an hour later, Abe woke up and screamed for 30 minutes. He did that three more times before morning. But Abe rocks, too.

Summer is cranking along. My job is great, completely different from anything I’ve done before. So apparently my gargantuan investment in grad school was worth it.

In more interesting news, the kids are doing fun stuff. Max’s garden is thriving and there are peas for everyone. I think it is a sign of excellent parenting when a 4-year old cries because he has to stop eating peas and chard and come in for dinner. I don’t think Max has asked for candy in months, and that’s not because Leah and I don’t buy candy for ourselves. Well, for Leah. In fact, the only time Max got interested in candy recently was when he was buying a fancy chocolate bar for our neighbor, Jennifer, who lets him pick raspberries from her yard.

Max’s cousins from the west coast recently came to visit, and Max was happy to share his peas with Jesse. These two could not be more different: Jesse does not mind the occasional fall out of a tree, and Max, well, let’s just say that he would mind. A lot. Plus, they only see each other at best once a year. Yet they interact like the best of (4-year old) friends: half hugs, half bickering.

Max also recently graduated from pre school and is headed to kindergarten in the BPS. Fun times ahead as we become “that family that cannot get their goddamned kid here on time and packs those weird lunches.” Max’s school is sort of on the edge of the hood and on the edge of yuppieville, so his classmates will be very different from those in his private pre-school. We think he will do wonderfully, because why not? Max got to be first across the stage at graduation and loved every second of it. Abe liked the reception better than the ceremony, because the ceremony did not involve noodles.