One of the perks of being on a traveling vacation is that I get to watch normal TV when we stay at hotels. At home we have the Roku thingy and stream shows on demand. We also have a digital antennae thingy so we can watch network stuff, but I almost never do. I hate ads and I don’t have a life that allows much of anything to happen on someone else’s schedule. I learn about world events in quick bursts of time on the web, relying on my go-to news trio — NY Times, Facebook and the Onion.

Needless to say (but I will anyway), I’m culturally out of touch. Once in a while it bothers me so I read People or Us, or I browse Yahoo, and I marvel for a few moments at the world of Celebrity swirling around my void.

This morning I turned on the TV in our hotel room and Today was on. It’s one of those morning network talk shows. But you probably already know that. It was superficial, jangly and jarring, with bright colors and smiling faces, except when they put on their serious faces. It made me feel anxious and vapid.

As I pottered about, I learned from Today that the POTUS had a state dinner for kids who submitted recipes. The Dutch are angry about how their compatriots’ remains are being handled in the Ukraine. There is weather all over the country. A ball girl at a Sox game snagged a fair ball. Kate Hudson has a new movie out.

We didn’t recognize Kate. With her extreme-straightened hair and extreme-smoothed forehead and extreme-coverage makeup, she looked just like everyone else I see in the mags now. Anthony commented dryly, “She’s done something to her face.” We speculated about Botox.

As I hustled Nick out the door for a delicious continental breakfast in the hotel lobby, Today posted up a snapshot of some people with this caption underneath: “Adam Levine weds model in Mexico.”

Oddly enough, I know who Levine is and I know that he was dating a Victoria’s Secrets model. I know she hawks panties and bras and sells her made-up face and primped body for pictures. Still, the caption bothered me. Some Today execs or writers sat around deciding on what to say. They chose not to use the bride’s name or a word that ordinarily describes a human being in a relationship. They could have referred to her as a partner, girlfriend, fiancé, lover, friend. Instead the caption objectifies her utterly, completely. She could be a person or a train set or a blow-up doll. I wondered if she’s okay with being pegged that way.

And this is one reason why we got rid of normal TV. Why should I be wasting my time worrying after the feelings of Adam Levine’s model? Yeesh. It’s a good thing we’re heading to the mountains for a few more days of camping. Continue reading →

We just left a week of decadence in Corolla, North Carolina, on the Outer Banks. We stayed in a beach house populated by 30 people, 24 cell phones, 15 televisions, 12 iPads or similar devices, 18 DVD players, 9 laptops, 8 electric and acoustic guitars, 48 board games, 2 hot tubs, 3 tons of stray sand, and 300 empty beer bottles and cans. I was so busy having fun and being grumpy in turn that I never bothered to write anything, so that story will have to wait for another day.

Right now we’re relaxing at a Holiday Inn Express in the Richmond, Virginia metro area. We get one easy night’s rest before we hit the Shenandoah mountains for 3 nights of camping.

It’s been so long since I’ve spent any time in the south. I got sucked into the arctic vortex of Wisconsin 8 years ago, and I forgot all about the delights of southern life. Friendly, warm people; more diversity; good food. We stopped by the Richmond Whole Foods and found amazing southern eats at the hot bar — several kinds of pulled meats and barbecue, amazing sauces, mac and cheese, and so on. I was really happy.

Then I got on the hotel elevator and saw this sign glaring at me.

I thought to myself, is this a joke? Is it some sort of post-modern, absurdist segregation? Is it a sardonic riff, a subtle mockery of the history of apartheid in the south?

(Hold on. Nick just told me he needs me to hang out with him while he poops. Excuse me while I go live the good life for a moment.)

Right. So while I wiped Nick’s little ass, my racing thoughts spun out of hand. Why do Coke people get the snacks and Pepsi people get the laundry? What was it about my family that made them place us on the Pepsi floor? Don’t we deserve snacks too? What happens if I vend a Coke and bring it to my room on the Pepsi floor? Will one of those completely insane Virginia highway patrol guys on a motorcycle come do horrible things to me and my kin?

I’ve been partying too much. I need more sleep.

We’re now in the first camping interlude of our vacation. We’re at the Assateague Island National Seashore. We drove from Big Grandma’s home and arrived in the early afternoon. It was scorching hot in the campgrounds. We pitched the tent, Nick got sunburned, Jesse had a tantrum, and we all got dehydrated. We went to the beach. It’s the kids’ first ocean experience. We warned them that it might first seem like Lake Michigan or Superior, but it’s not. Salt. Real waves. More tow. They came over the rise of the dunes and first remarked on how dark the water is. They got down to the water and exploded in excitement over the water’s energy. Nick spent an hour attacking the waves with imaginary weapons and declaring them vanquished whenever they failed to reach him. Jesse watched the surfers in jealous awe and made daddy take her into the rather tough, tow-bedeviled surf. It was great.

We got back to camp in the evening. It was cooler but rain threatened. We managed to get a fast dinner (hot dogs and a salad) and quick showers before the rain came. We all jumped in the tent and got snippy with each other as we tried to set the tent innards straight. Then there was a massive thunderstorm and a ton of rain. Jesse freaked out a bit but now everyone’s asleep. It’s still raining. The tent is sweltering hot because we had to close the fly for the rain. I can smell my feet. I have to pee. I don’t think there are enough Kegels in me to get me through the next 8 hours. Inside the tent is a desperate need to pee. Outside is rain and bugs. Lots of biting bugs.

I love camping.

I’ve been at my in-laws’ house since noon yesterday. 34 hours. 12 more hours to go.

Today is Nick’s birthday. He’s five. But yesterday was the day Anthony’s brother and family could come around, so we celebrated then, which mostly means I baked a cake and made frosting (can’t buy it because of Jesse’s egg allergy). There was a singing of happy birthday. Nick got a couple gifts – a little construction truck, a Spider-man figurine. A rubber water vest. He’s such a good little guy. He was totally satisfied by this modest hurrah to the day of his birth.

Nick’s never been to Big Grandma’s house, for reasons that can’t be discussed here. Yesterday was the first time he met Anthony’s brother and sister-in-law, and his nephew. His life hasn’t really encompassed this paternal cohort. I’m glad he got to meet them all, but I’m also a bit bummed out that we had to celebrate his birthday here.

I could whine about what a struggle it is for me to be here. I could make fun of myself, grumble about the stupid things getting under my skin. I could get bitter about the edges that won’t dull. I could express pride in myself for not doing anything that I’m angry with myself about — though I wouldn’t be surprised if I’ve offended other members of Anthony’s family, as inevitably seems to be the case. I could make noise about why so many families waste energy blaming in-laws for dysfunctions that are obviously indigenous to the genetically-connected family.

But I shouldn’t do any of that on my son’s birthday. I know I know, I’ve passive-aggressively gone ahead and done it. Don’t be difficult and call me on it, dear reader. I’m trying to get through 12 more hours here.

Instead of moaning and groaning tonight, let me leave it at this: I have an awesome five-year-old son. He’s the sunshine to offset my daughter’s moonshine. He lifts my spirits again and again. He’s cheerful, kind, decent, inclusive. I watched him kiss his grandparents goodnight this evening, unbidden, so sweet and guileless and wise. He wants everyone to love everyone. I want to make his dreams come true. So I’ll keep working on it. Happy birthday, my beautiful Nicholas Lee.

We drove a few miles off course yesterday on our way to New Jersey, so that we could visit Oberlin College. I remember it as an idyllic little college in the middle of an idyllic little town, in the middle of a forty-mile-radius cornfield.

The campus has a lot of beautiful old stone buildings and beautiful grounds. But I remember a lot of dumpy flat fields too. They’re still there. They look just like I remember.

I also remember a kind of dumpy little town. Still dumpy in 2014.

We had this idea that the kids would enjoy seeing where their parents met. But Jesse got very upset when we said that THIS (wide sweep of arms encompassing entire campus and surrounding terrain) was where we met. “What does that MEAN???” She snarled. “People don’t meet all over the place! That doesn’t make ANY sense!! People can’t MEET for the first time in more than one place!!”

Uh, okay. So we walked over to Burton Hall, the dorm where we were housed our sophomore year. It was locked up, but we pointed out the windows of the specific room where we actually met for the first time. The building looked kind of dumpy. Jesse was underwhelmed. We made the kids pose for a shot next to the corner of Burton where our rooms were. They displayed their enthusiasm.

We drove past the house we shared senior year with a bunch of friends, in four separate apartments. We remember a lot of good times there. It’s a dump.

Nick pondered why we had brought him to this strange place, and why we seemed so happy to be here.

And I realized I don’t have an answer that’ll make much sense to a little kid. A great college experience is one of those definitional things, forming and informing a person’s beliefs and social values for the rest of her life. Plus I just had so much fun in my four years at Oberlin. And Anthony happened to me there. The seeds of our long journey together were planted in our imaginations in that beautiful, dumpy place.

Look! There we are, just a few paces from where we first laid eyes on each other almost 29 years ago.

Something’s changed… A few more pounds (okay, more than a few on me). Grays and wrinkles. And what’s that on my leg? Oh. Spawn. Who could have imagined? Not me while I was at Oberlin. But it was a school that taught us to re-imagine ourselves again and again while holding on to our moral centers. I hope I’ve done that.

I know the years have left me kind of dumpy, but I hope it’s the same kind of dumpiness that I saw at Oberlin – superficial, a mask over something more magical and robust. I was happy to introduce Oberlin to Jesse and Nick, even if they were bored and annoyed. I think someday they’ll pass through Oberlin — maybe even as students — and they’ll understand why Anthony and I were content after we wandered the streets of our alma mater.