Category Archives: Passover

Keystone Capers

At our Passover seder (meal), we were all tasked with bringing the one item that we would grab if like our ancestors, we were forced to leave our homes in a hurry. As many of you know, I don’t buy anything without asking,” Can I move with this?” — so the challenge for me was not a new one.

I tried to impress the gravity of the task on the kids, and even though Francie kind of got it and brought a book, the boys brought a Frank Gore (NFL) jersey and a basketball. Sometimes I wonder if they really are mine.  (If you were wondering, I didn’t need to bring anything. The only thing I would have brought are baby pictures, and they are saved to the cloud. Do you think that the cloud that the Hebrews followed in the desert had all their data stored on it?)

After a few delightful days in D’Enver with the inlaws, we drove to Keystone for few days of skiing. (D’Enver is my way of compensating for the fact that even though M is practically perfect in every way, he is not French and does not have a family home for me to visit en France. Tant pis.)

We needed a car to get to Keystone, but they ran out of minivans at the rental car place and instead, M was awarded this:


He said it feels like driving a couch. I shall not be finding out.

Although we did not escape in a hurry, nor were there angry Egyptians on our tails, we did have to pack to leave town. The Hebrews may only have had the clothes on their backs and some really shitty flat bread, but a few thousand years later and the inside of our chariot looked like this:


There are five kids hidden in there somewhere. Maybe even a sixth.

When I started to gripe about all the crap we were hauling, M noted that the Hebrews probably didn’t bring three pairs of boots and six novels for four days. (I didn’t think it the right time to tell him that I also brought a pair of sneakers and some ballet flats, just in case I wasn’t feeling the boot thing. A successful marriage is really all about the things you choose not to say.)

We are now at the condo we’ve rented up here. Sidney is on the porch, naked, playing in some snow with Halu and Yendis, the imaginary friends she brought from Seattle. I have no idea where the other children are. M is squealing with joy because, among a stack of the condo’s DVDs, he just found “Caddyshack.”

I am lying down reading book one of six, trying not to panic about tomorrow.

I have skied a handful of times, never particularly successfully, and the last time I did so, Bennett was one.

He turns eleven next week.


Filed under children, footall, France, NFL, parenting, Passover, travel, Uncategorized

I saw Eminem at the Pink Elephant.

Today I spoke to a friend, who lives in a hip city, with two kids. She told me she was taking her kids to a jazz bar that catered to families with small children. They were going for brunch.


I haven’t used that word since 2002.

Wanna know what I did today? In anticipation of Passover, M and I drove our cars to the Pink Elephant car wash so that we could get some professional help removing the 3,000 tons of stale Cheerios, 600 revolting lollipop sticks and 1000 gallons of crusted yogurt that has lodged itself into the very fabric of our cars.

Once again, the glamor of my life overwhelms me at times.

Now that I’ve been in Seattle for (gulp) over six years, I don’t actively miss LA as much. Sure, I think of the beach and the light in Santa Monica in March, and my heart hurts. But, most of the time I shove it to the back of my brain. With brunch.

But whenever I have to get my car washed, then I really miss LA; and it’s a feeling so deep I can’t shove it anywhere.

In LA the car washes are architectural splendors of the 50’s and 60’s, or they’re just built to look that way… so you always expect to see Wally Cleaver or Mike Brady pull up next to you. And gee whiz Alice, they do a swell job washing your car. I swear the hand of God is involved in the car washes of LA.

In Seattle — not so much.

Case in point: The Pink Elephant.


Don’t be deceived by the rosy pachyderm (or the blue sky; it was a one-off). There is very little smiling going on at the Pink Elephant. You drop off your car, some kid who looks like Eminem or the guy who was once married to Britney Spears takes your keys, sneers at you for a few minutes, and then spends thirty seconds removing absolutely no dirt from your car. When he gives you the keys back and you explain to him that he still has work to do, he turns into a pink elephant and uses his trunk to spray tremendous attitude all over you and your car. At some point you just grab the vacuum and do it yourself while he sneers at you. That’s customer service, Seattle style.

While we were there, doing most of the work ourselves, I took the liberty of looking at other people’s cars. This is the car of a woman BEFORE she has had it cleaned.


My brain doesn’t even know how to process this.

This is MY car, or more specifically, what it looks like in between the seats of my car:


I believe there are several strains of penicillin growing right there, people. Again, my life = all glamor.

I could tell you about the one helpful person in Pink Elephant history, who actually spent hours of his life in a hazmat suit, getting my car in respectable condition (“toughest job I’ve had yet.”), but that wouldn’t be any fun at all.


Instead, here’s a picture of two of the kids, sitting in our carseat farm, watching as mum and dad shvitzed like pigs trying to clean six months worth of snack food from the car. Who the hell knew those nasty little snack bags could do so much damage? If you must know, I think they were snacking while they watched us.

There’s nothing like live entertainment.


Filed under children, parenting, Passover, Seattle, Uncategorized