S'now big deal - Weston, MA

Snowplow hill at dead end of our street.

So we've reached that part of the winter where in general we're all just done with the white stuff. I am probably the last of the lovers of snow and even I have had my crabby moments. Like when I shovel out the walk for 12-year old labrador Haifa to get out and the town plow comes behind me (literally!!) and chucks a whole mountain of icy snow up behind me again. I might have cried. There were no witnesses. 

Other things I'm done with: black ice. I slid through a stop sign in my All-Wheel Drive monster truck like no one's business. Fortunately no one was coming and I played off with my kids that fish-tailing is fun. It's not. 

Otherwise, I am still amused. It's such a crazy dang winter here and we are so unprepared for it that it's comical. The other thing that is comical is the media coverage. We went from arctic blasts to polar vortexes to the completely unpoetic "ocean enhanced jackpot." According to a friend in New York, we have a "polar plunge" in temperatures later this week. I can hardly wait for the next superlative. I just read that Boston has now broken the 30-day snow record...in 16 days. We're #1! Let's have a victory parade in duck boats!

Image credit: CBS Local, Boston

I have enjoyed my southern and western friends thumbing their noses at me about the temperatures. I used to be a southerner (Miami and Brazil), and here is root of the root as my friend ee cummings would say -- I would not trade. Nope. Not for the warm temperatures of February. I don't want to live in Houston, San Antonio, Miami, Dallas and anywhere else from where I have gotten cute notes. I want to live right here.

I want to live here because I had the best snow day ever. Oh, okay, best since I was maybe 13 years old. When we lived pressed up to the radio to hear if school had been cancelled. And ironically, it started on a lonely note. When the call came in last night close to 5 pm, I was here at the house, and my kids were tired and cranky from a busy Sunday.  I admit I finished off the white wine (it was technically 5 pm at this point, and only one glass left, promise) and said to myself, screw this. After checking with Friebor (remember my friend-neighbor bestie) about my sanity, I sent out a note to the neighborhood moms saying send the kids over for the Embrace Winter Olympics at my house at 1 pm today. And then texted the 17-year old babysitter for help. I envisioned games of knocking cans over with snowballs (what is that weird Olympic sport of rifles over the shoulder cross-country skiing? Kind of like that only no guns and no skis. Okay, not like that) and 100 yard races through four feet of snow. Find the tennis ball before Finley the wonder dog does.

And then I went to bed. The snow started during the night. Six inches were down by the time I got up at 6 am. I went out to shovel for the first time at 7 am, and then I thought, what am I doing? I just want to curl up on the sofa and read. But the kids don't. The kids need to run around.  

As I stood there at the end of the walk thinking all this, another neighbor came by. With the huge pick-up truck he drives that I envy. King cab, cool looking racks and stuff (yeah, I don't know what you use those for) and an engine that rumbles the asphalt. I would look cool in that. The environment would not thank me but I would look cool. 

Anyway, this neighbor rolled down the window and we chatted and laughed about the freaky weather. He had grown up on our street in the house right across from ours--he now lived one house down with his family. And he told me that this was the worst winter he had ever experienced--at least since his daughter (now 14) was a wee one. And he offered to front-loader out the snow from our driveway, lend us a roof rake (clearly insane, he mentioned that roof raking is "fun") or whatever help we needed. This offer came after last week when another neighbor took pity on me digging out and snowblew the front mountain where the Weston bulldozer had made me cry another day.  Neighbors are awesome. I love neighbors. I should write a blog about neighbors. They take care of our betta fish, watch the house when we travel, snowblow, lawn mow, feed me and my kids and make me sane. Most days.

Joe the snowplow guy who was having a wicked good "stahm"

Then, as I went back inside to make cookie dough for the roll cookies I was planning to make with all the kids for Valentine's, the snow plow guy came (hooray!). I have a love-hate relationship with the snow plow guy. I love him when he shows up before 11 pm. I hate him when he doesn't. He doesn't seem to care either way. Can't really tell because I can't understand his Bah-ston accent.

After watching him pile up the snow to 15 feet in front of the third garage (when is this going to melt? July?), I made the cookie dough. Then stared at the kitchen sink faucet which broke two weeks ago. And as I am giving it the evil eye, Friebor texts and says she has sent her husband over to fix it for me! And let me tell you it was a devil to fix--it took almost two hours.  And did the neighbor say "wtf am I doing here in the middle of a storm fixing this crazy lady's kitchen faucet?" No. Did I mention I love my neighbors?

Suddenly it was time for all the neighbor kids to come over and I wasn't ready.  I hadn't planned the games, and I hadn't made the cookie icing. But it didn't matter. The kids leaped on the mountain of snow in the driveway, sledding and rolling, then playing snow hockey. And the dogs played and the kids played with them and they all looked for tennis balls lost in the snow. And ran through four feet of snow.

Then one by one the kids trooped in and we made cookies. Flaky funny fat cookies with sugary frosting. And the adults talked and laughed. One of the middle schoolers helped roll the hard dough. Friebor made the frosting. All the cookies were eaten. Every single one. At one point we had 10 kids crowded around the table slopping and dipping each cookie. Coal, the puppy lab, ate all the sugar on the floor. So clean-up was more than easy.  Haifa, the senior lab, sniffed all the snow clothes left in a huge pile on a beach towel and lay down on top. It was chaos and it was impromptu awesome. That's my media soundbite: today was impromptu awesome. 

The kids then played in the basement and finally went out in the snow once more.  Then the babysitter (the same one who teaches my kids tennis and is the goalie to Lalo's million shots in the backyard--when we can see the backyard, the ball or the goal) decided she was going to shovel out the walk. She was at the end of my driveway when the town plow came and created a huge mountain (the ones that make me cry) and because she is 17, cute and blonde,  the public works plow stopped, backed up, and cleaned out the driveway--she waved joyfully at him. We know because all the moms gathered in the window to watch and marvel.

Finally all the kids wandered home two hours after the impromptu awesome Embrace Winter games began. Every one a winner. And I opened the mailbox and found a postcard from Nico from Antarctica--there are fairy penguins there I learned. 

So sorry all those who wish that I were suffering. Snow days are fantastic--gathering neighbors and kids for simple fun. Cookie fun. Snow fun. Fun with dogs. Fun. 

It's snow big deal. 

Neighbors - Weston, MA

Photo credit: happyhomewownergirl.com

I am sitting here this fine morning eating berry crisp. It's delicious, and more so as it is 7 am and it just feels like a guilty pleasure (and 5000 calories). The crisp was not made by me since I am a true disaster at two household areas--baking and gardening. Oh, and ironing. Not so great at cleaning either. But I digress. The crisp has a longish story that accompanies it.

Two weeks ago a gorgeous yellow labrador suddenly appeared in our backyard as if materializing straight out of a tree. Very Harry Potter. My son and I ran outside and he ran to us and we played for a half hour with him--throwing a ball, petting him, my son body-hugging him. His collar read "Finley" and showed his address to be four houses down the road. It finally occurred to me that we were dog-napping and we walked down the street to return him.

When we walked into the driveway of a very large yellow house, arguably the prettiest in the neighborhood with a big red barn in the backyard, a young woman came out and greeted us and told us that Finley had escaped from "quarantine"--he had had surgery a while back and was not supposed to run around. My son and I looked at each other and said "ummm, well, we might have played with him a little bit." The young woman (turns out that she is the au pair) said she had to get back inside because there was a child sleeping. My son reluctantly left the yard--that boy needs a dog. A young dog. We have an old dog. Who is still in Brazil.

Later that afternoon when I was out with the kids, BH said two kids came by to thank us for returning their dog. I peppered my husband with questions--how old were they? Which school did they go to? Where does the bus come? BH answered that they looked a little bigger than the twins and that was all he knew. Sigh. As my mom would say "oh, mens."  

Every day my son asked if we could visit Finley. We walked by the house several times, too shy to ring a doorbell, but hoping we'd see someone around. We saw kid toys, a badminton net, but no kids. But then we had Neighbor Day yesterday. I love Neighbor Day. I moved back to the US for Neighbor Day.

Yesterday had already started well--the kids were off to the local farm for the third and final day of Amphibians Camp. They had actually become amphibians after a hard rain the whole day on the second day. I went to get my Massachusetts drivers license, which was less painful than I expected (though not a lot), visited the Community Rowing mega-complex on the Charles River to find out about going back to rowing, and headed home. Once home, I walked out the door, up the street and into the woods. We are surrounded by conservation land here and the trail network goes for miles. 

After picking up the kids at camp, we dropped by the grocery store to recycle our cans (not my favorite US experience but the kids love it because they get to keep the money) and ran into our next door neighbor and her 9-month old daughter. A quick chat then we got our money and our sushi (the kids love sushi--even supermarket sushi. I really can't figure out why recycling the cans is always a money-losing proposition. We made $1.75. Kids had $20 of sushi).

When we got home, I saw that the neighbor in front was out gardening. The labrador-loving kid saw that he had a huge black lab with him. We ran across the street. The neighbor is a lovely man in his 80s, a small twinge of a Scottish accent still with him, and we talked about neighborly things. The lab belongs to his son--Colby is 14 years old, staggers like Caju used to stagger, and is a gorgeous black bear. The neighbor suggested a pellet gun for the woodchucks--he had one in his yard the size of a cocker spaniel. Yikes.

While we chatted, the neighbor we had seen at the grocery store walked by. More chatting. Then we went inside to snack the sushi (not me--4 pm is a bit early for me), then set up the bird bath and decided to take a walk through the neighborhood. And bingo.

There was a little girl playing in the backyard of Finley's house. My two boys ran around the house and flushed like beagles the father and three boys from the backyard. Two of the boys are older--10 and 13--and one is younger (6). The girl is 2. Should I feel a bit sorry for this little girl with three older brothers? Wait, no, I feel sorry for any boyfriend she may ever bring home. 

The mom came out of the house as well and she said she was about to start an online writing course but she invited the kids to stay within about five minutes of us arriving. The kids played soccer, on the giant swing, in the woods, in the grass, in the house, and were still invited for dinner. And to stay later. One of the big boys would walk them home. From five houses away. Probably no American who has lived in a slightly sketchy place can understand the elation that I felt last night. My kids walked home, in the dark, with older kids. 

And I got a huge piece of berry crisp to take home with me. And I did. For breakfast.

A great Neighbor Day. To be celebrated every single day.

What Could Possibly Go Right - Weston, MA

So yesterday I posted about what went wrong on our return to the US: TSA checks, temporarily-lost cars, broken arms, that kind of trivial stuff. But I forgot to talk about what went right. And many things did:

All nine of our bags made it through customs and to the final destination in Boston. Nothing was broken. Everything is here. Yes, two of the bags are literally exploded on my bedroom floor but since I don't have any place to put anything (the dressers are not yet here and I am opposed to hangers in general), that's just the way it's going to be.

My brother and sister-in-law surprised us even before the baggage claim. They were holding a huge sign welcoming us to the United States and had two perfect kid-sized Boston Red Sox hats for the boys. I haven't lived in the same town as my brother since 1995 (and technically we are still not in the same town since he is downtown and I'm in the 'burbs) but he took time off of work (as did my sister in law) to make our arrival special. He even helped us find our lost car in the parking lot. Love.

Three of my new neighbors came over to introduce themselves--one brought cookies, and one loaned us a soccer ball since we had forgotten our ball inflater in Brazil. We are sitting on several useless deflated balls. Lalo is no fan of deflated balls. One of my neighbors is clearly insane since she volunteered to stay with the twins if I needed to run out and do some errands (clearly she doesn't know that I would never ever return--just kidding, BH!) I now know more of my neighbors in Weston than I did during six years in São Paulo. Love.

My parents. My wonderful parents. My parents live near Chicago but they drove cross-country a couple of weeks ago to get us set up here. We arrived to a giant soccer goal and art supplies for both kids, food in the fridge, cold beer and wine, extra sheets and towels and a whole lot of love.They have been helping with the kids too as we run around with various errands. They even rented a car to help with the vast quantities of luggage and braved rush hour Boston traffic for us. Mom has weeded the flower beds and gifted us plants which I will try really really hard not to kill (but know that their days are numbered). Love.

And when things did go wrong and my son Nico broke his arm, the forces of good came together. The pediatrician got him in quickly, various people offered doctor recommendations and other support, my sister in law came in to the hospital with a fluffy toy and a card, later taking his six-year old cousin's out of camp early so she could visit the hospital too. My brother again stopped by, taking time off work. My parents sat for hours with us in the uncomfortable hospital room. My mom stayed with Nico at the beginning of a rough second night so the rest of us could have some time out. Lest you think I have forgotten, the much maligned BH won massive numbers of points from his overnight stay, his taking-care of the whole insurance mess, and for dealing with a very upset mama bear. 

As we were leaving for the hospital, a beautiful vase of flowers was delivered from a São Paulo friend. A homecoming gift. More love, and from afar. And the response of friends through email and facebook about the injury to Nico has been overwhelming. His two godmothers sent him a remote control tarantula--yes, he loves spiders and he can control it with just one hand. Perfect. Love.

I don't have a single friend yet in Weston but I have one incredible support team.

And that is what has gone right.