Mahalo to Hawaii

......And I’m back since 5am Sunday morning! We had a good flight home from Hawaii, which was without incident. (Which, incidentally, is how I prefer my flights. Without incident.) And Super Hubs and I are now in Post-Vacay Grieving Mode. We look at the Diamond Head webcam every day to note the temperature (warm, always warm) and surf (beautiful waves always. Need I say more?). And we live vicariousy through our Past Selves (“What were we doing last week at this time? Oh yes, ordering drinks poolside and having the time of our lives." Big sighs of wistfulness.)

But I missed my kids, and it’s good to be home with them. (Although Little Squirt had the time of his life with the Hot Supernanny who catered to his every whim and let him eat ice cream for breakfast and go swimming every day. I’m not certain he’s glad we’re back.)

I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention a few people that stood out to me on our trip, as I am all about people:
-The fascinating gentleman that sat next to us on the flight over. After living in San Diego for 30 years, he and his wife moved to the island of Kauai and bought a house in the valley. They discovered from the local island people that they had orchards of noni fruit trees. Noni is a fruit that is discovered to have many antibacterial, antiviral, immune-enhancing properties. So now he farms this fruit and sells it at trade shows. The blessed man struck gold!
-The adorable Russian waitress that served us the night I had a craving for Italian. We found a charming bistro in Waikiki, and she took such good care of us. She recommended a salad that I absolutely adored with its dressing made from blood-red oranges. After I raved about it, she said, “Yes! Eating that salad always makes me happy. It’s like a rainbow.” It’s like a rainbow. Just darling!

And a few last highlights:
-A nightly quest for the “perfect” restaurant; the just-right combination of feast and ambience. We dined at a new place every evening, and were never disappointed.
-The luscious hot dogs we piled high with sauerkraut, cheese and onions and ate for lunch at the beach cabana. I usually hate hot dogs, but somehow they tasted better in Hawaii.
-The glorious sunsets. Everyone of them was better than the last.
-Driving around in our rental (which, by coin-ki-dink was the exact car we drive at home) looking at the sights while listening to the local Hawaiian music station, and laughing about our dorkiness.

It was fabulous. Fabulously fabulous all its fabulousity. I love Hawaii, and it's one of our own. The floral air, the warm breezes, the bluest ocean, the friendly locals....what’s not to absolutely adore?? I’m going back as soon as I can.

Thursday in Oahu

Because of my “back issues” in which I need to walk hunched over like a glimpse into my Octogenarian Future, we enjoyed a relaxing day poolside yesterday. I camped in the beach chair for about 6 hours straight, turning it every now and then to follow the rays of the sun. We read and watched the surfers on Waikiki beach, only interrupting my laziness to go google “Michael Jackson” when a friend texted me that he’d passed away. How sad! An icon from my growing up years!

We had dinner with two of Super K’s work colleagues and their spouses. They are all down here for a work convention and bit of R & R. We went to a Thai restaurant that was a few blocks away, and enjoyed great conversation. I was surprised I had as much fun as I did. Super K’s co-workers are professors and college administrators. They are heady and intellectual and serious, and everything that I am not. Usually I am bored and intimidated at his work shindigs. But actually, we had fun. We talked vacation and kids and cats, and had wine, and it was all amazing.

Super K and I ended the evening with a drink at the Royal Hawaiian, my new favorite hotel ever. It was built in the 1920s, and is a fabulous shade of pink. An army of pink-shirted Hawaiian men greet you at the door, and bend over backwards to accomodate your every need. I usually pretend I’m a guest and use their bathroom when I am poolside at our Sheraton, rather than use the bathrooms at the beach cabanas. I’ve found that if you act like you belong, people will believe you belong. No questions asked. And the Ladies’ Room at the Royal Hawaiin is all that. Just sayin’.

So we enjoyed a drink under the stars and watched the waves of Waikiki beach, while being serenaded to by a Michael Jackson cd. It was a charming way to end the day, and a tribute to a legend.

Wednesday in Hawaii

We’ve been pacing ourselves. (After all, this is a vacation.) One the odd days, we make lazy at the pool reading juicy novels, walk the Waikiki beach, indulge in a little nap, then scout some restaurants with the best of ambience. On the evens, we have an “adventure day.”

Yesterday we drove up early in the morning to the south side of Ohau, drinking in the fabulous beaches and watching the surfers battle high waves. We browsed by some seaside gift shops, and saw street vendors selling fresh shrimp.

We landed at the Polynesian Cultural Center, which was a Disney-like expedition into authentic South Pacific culture. We watching fire-making in Samoa, dancing in Fiji, tasted poi in Tahiti, and tossed a spear in Tonga. At the Mission Home settlement, Super K took a quick ukulele lesson and I bought some quilted crafts.

I was sitting on a bench viewing a large handmade canoe when my back went out. It gave me no warning. One minute I was chuckling with Super K about the sea-worthiness of bamboo, and the next moment I stood up, and was overcome with a lower-back spasm. I’ve had back issues since I was a teen, but it only acts up and gives me real trouble about every three years. So it chose my Hawaiian vacation to rear its ugly head?? I yelped and rested, and then gobbled a few advil, which enabled me to hobble like an arthritic old lady through the park. We watched a Canoe Pageant and a fascinating Imax show on the Coral Reef, as I shifted around, trying to find a comfortable position.

We drove home through a impetuous rain shower, and then chased the most beautiful rainbow. After a mid-week worship service at a local church, we found a cafe, and dined on coconut shrimp and wine from the second story balcony, overlooking Waikiki.

Today my back continues to project ugly little spasms all the way down my left leg. But I’m in Hawaii! And the very worst “back day” here is better than the very best “back day” at home. Capiche?

Tuesday in Hawaii

I think it’s the tiki lamps that I love most of all. They are lit every night along the streets of Waikiki. They, along with the clean, double-wide stone sidewalks and palm trees and tropical flowers, give the city a lovely, laid-back feel. I just love this city! It’s magic. Everyone here is happy because they are honey-mooning. Or on vacation. And if they are not vacationing but working here, they are kind and friendly, because what’s not to like about living in Hawaii??

It’s sure not Chicago. Hawaii is a laid-back, “hang loose” kind of culture. We must deliberately slow down and smell the plumeria. Watch the sunset (which happens at exactly 7:15 every night). Don’t be in a hurry. Chillax, folks.

When I dine, I am all about the ambience and less about the food. We’ve been choosing to eat al fresco whenever we can, sharing our meal with interloping birds and watching passerbys on the sidewalk. One night we dined at a restaurant on the beach with a view of Diamond Head, a live trio of musicians serenading us with Hawaiian ballads.

Last night we attended a luau, because everyone who visits Hawaii must attend a luau. It’s mandatory! It was at the elegant Royal Hawaiian hotel, next door to our Sheraton Waikiki. We were given fragrant leis, fed a schmorgasbord of traditional Hawaiian dishes such as kalua pig, mahimahi and poi, and entertained with songs and dances from the Polynesian nations. It was spectacular!

Being a blond, I am definitely in the minority. The locals are generally of Hawaiian and Polynesian ethnicity, and, other than some vacationers from the continental U.S., the majority are from Japan. Exotically beautiful black-haired peeps that make me stand out like a sore thumb.

We’ve had an abundance of sunshine every day, with scattered rainshowers that make me laugh. They come in for 3 minutes, lightly mist us with just the gentlest of wet, like a spritz of cologne, then scurry on. We get about 10 of those a day. The sun is intense this close to the equator, and my fair skin is getting a tad pinkish.

I am in love. If I could find a way to make a living and import all my favorite people, I would definitely not be coming home.

Monday in Hawaii

Today was rich with adventure...

Super Hubs (or Kouko, as I am calling him on this trip because his name is translated as such in Hawaiian- or “Super K” for consistency) and I decided to tackle Diamond Head. We were well-rested after a good night’s sleep and well-fortified after a high-protein breakfast. Go us!

Diamond Head is Hawaii’s most famous landmark- a volcanic cone where you have a 360 degree view of Oahu from the top. It wasn’t horribly difficult. I workout and am in relatively good shape. But it was an hour of hot, steep climbing, and going through a few dark tunnels. My vertigo got a little crazy on the circular, open stairway at the very top. But I kept my eyes upward, and soon we reached our goal! And if you don’t believe me, I have my very own certificate proving in a court of law that I climbed this very volcano. It was signed by a big Kahuna (ookay....signed by the little man who sold me the certificate for $2. But it’s real and valid and completely authentic. I’m not lying.) We saw a panoramic view of the island in all it’s gorgeousity. Our eyes could spot our hotel (towering over the very pink Royal Hawaiian), Pearl Harbor, and all the surrounding ocean. It was sweeet.

A rugged adventurous-looking man up there gives tours into the wild rainforest, and he offered to sign me up on the spot. I am interested, but Super K believes he has crazy-eyes and will take us into the wild and gut us alive. Hmmm....

We then drove around the valley of Manoa, which was stunningly beautiful with its picturesque mountains and gorgeous foilage. We found a charming little tea house nestled in a banana grove, and had a bite to eat on the veranda, surrounded by bouganvilla. Satiated, we headed onto Adventure #2 of the day, another hike which Super K insisted was “family friendly.”

I’m gonna kill my husband. Or better yet, I’m gonna take the author of the Oahu Frommer’s Guide, and I’m gonna grow some crazy-eyes and gut her alive. Honestly. She described the hike to the Manoa Falls as, and I quote, “terrific for families.” Terrific for monkey families, perhaps. Or the family of Tarazan and Jane, possibly. My gosh. It was an hour of climbing through the mud on slippery rocks uphill in a very warm, very humid tropical rainforest. I felt like I was in Jurassic Park, and kept looking around for a T-Rex. The trail meandered along a stream past mountain apples, guava and wild ginger. (At least that’s what the Frommer’s Guide informed us. I actually didn't see any. I was too busy trying to stay alive.)

Full of mud and sweat, we finally made it up to the Manoa Falls. Now that was worth it! Super K and I had about 10 minutes alone to gaze upon the 100 foot waterfall in all it’s glory. It was peaceful and quiet, except for birdsong. It was a holy moment. We held hands and quietly renewed our marriage vows. Another 20 years? I’m in!

Whew! I’m tired. Now for some rest and relaxation until our Luau, which, I’m hoping will be without any sort of adventure. I don’t want to have to gut someone.

Sat/Sun in Hawaii

Simply put, it’s Paradise. The warm breezes stirring the palm leaves, the scent of hibiscus in the air, the bluest ocean I have ever seen, dotted with sailboats.......I love Oahu. I was last here 23 years ago as a college nursing student. I spent a month on four of the islands studying Transcultural Nursing. But really it was a study in Nightly Partying with The Marine Corps. I was 21 and a Sorority Girl. What can I say?

Now I am here with the love of my life, celebrating our 20th Wedding Anniversary. And we aim to soak up every bit of Hawaiian culture, along with the sunshine.

Half a year ago, we pondered various places to celebrate our anny, considering going as far away as Europe. And then Super Hubs was offered an all-expense-paid trip to Honolulu to attend an Education convention. His boss told him to go, attend one particular meeting, and then just have fun. It was as if God himself handpicked a romantic anniversary destination, paid for it, and then announced, “This is where I’m sending you. You both are going to celebrate your anniversary in Hawaii. Enjoy!” It couldn’t have been more clear.

I read in my Bible this morning, “Come see the glorious works of the Lord.” (Ps. 46:8) And have we! We have spent the past two days utterly relaxing, trying to fight off our jetlag. We wake up gently, taking early morning coffee onto our 12th floor balcony and watch the sun rise over Diamond Head. We lie on lounge chairs by the pool, facing Waikiki beach, and watch the surfers conquer the waves.

Yesterday, late afternoon, we drove all over the east end of Oahu, stopping the car at all the scenic destinations. We parked at one particular place, called Makapuu Point, that was so extraordinary I gasped aloud. We climbed over the rock wall, and sat on steppes, watching the waves crash over the cliff. The water was pure sapphire. “Let the oceans roar and foam. Let the mountains tremble as the waters surge!” (Ps. 46:3) I am seeing God’s glorious works in flamboyant form. And it is soul-filling!

Flight 1 To Honolulu

Aloha! I am blogging from the 12th story balcony ofthe Sheraton Waikiki in Oahu. My fingers are damp, frankly, because I get vertigo with high heights. And it’s a tad windy, so I’m fearing that I may blow over the rails. We’ll see how I do.

What is it lately, about Me and Vacation Travel that equals Adventuring of the Sort I Could Do Without?? We were supposed to fly out to Oahu from O’Hare on Friday morning. But there were storms; very bad storms with lightening and tornados. All flights were grounded. So we sat on our plane for 5 hours at the gate while the winds blew and hail struck with loud “pinging” sounds. Five hours later the storms had passed and we were ready to take off, but the Flight Attendant Crew had surreptitiously stolen away from the aircraft because of overtime or something. I have no idea how they sneaked away unnoticed. One moment they were serving us pretzels, and the next moment they had vanished like smoke, and our flight was threatened with cancellation. We were hustled off the plane while they looked for a new crew, ignoring my offers to serve the drinks so we could just take off for Honolulu, for goodness sake! But an hour later they had corraled some new Flight Attendants, including one who’d been previously a passenger, bless his sweet heart. And we took off, 6 hours late.

I had a moment of angst as we ascended through the bumpy clouds. I picked up my Bible, and turned randomly to Psalm 39. These words jumped off the page and into my heart, “You see me when I travel....” (vs.3). I relaxed and enjoyed the flight.

To The Islands

Three words: Going. To. Hawaii.......Tomorrow. (Okay, that was like, four words. But I’ve always sucked at math.) My point, if you missed it, is that I am going to Hawaii tomorrow. The real Hawaii, with hula dancers and pineapples and volcanoes. It’s my 20th Anniversary Year with Super Hubs, and this is our Celebration Trip.

I have been in Home Improvement Hades for the past 2 weeks, trying to spiff things up for The Hot Supernanny that will be manning the ship in our absence. Such as the master bathroom, which we never touched since we moved in, nine years ago. So that required scraping off a floral wallpaper border, exposure to carcinogens with the chemical mixture used to loosen the floral border, then subsequent nail breakage when the border did not loosen well with the carcinogens. I really hate it when I break a nail! And they're gel, which tells you just how stubborn this pesky border was! But, in short, the house is now ready for The Hot Supernanny’s stay, and we are GOING TO HAWAII tomorrow. I’ll bring my trusty MacBook and blog from on location.

Aloha!

Dante's Error

Poor Little Squirt. Last year his birthday began with a wee-hours jaunt down the stair case to ride out a Tornado Warning in the basement. This year, on his Seventh Birthday, he woke up to the sound of a Rolling-Crashing Thunderstorm And Teeming Downpour. Thankfully, I had the foresight to remember that June is an unpredictable-weather month in our part of the country, and planned an indoor party.

We drove through the buckets of rain to the Hellacious Party Place known as Chuck E. Cheese. Super Hubs tweeted, and I quote, “Dante was wrong. Chuck E. Cheese is the Inner Circle of Hell.” Hosting a child’s birthday party at Chuck E. Sneeze is not for the faint-of-heart. It’s Craziness on Steroids. Wild, adrenalized munchkins carrying weapons of coin-filled plastic cups tear around the place, vying for their favorite video games. They fight over carousels and slot machines, all the while screaming with joy at the top of their lungs. It’s ugly, folks. And very, very loud. I honestly recommend a sedative (for the parents). I think Chuck E. Disease would service parents well by providing a little sound-proof Tea Room where the parents could relax and sip soothing herbal concoctions while their children run around like banshees. I’m pondering opening something like that. Or they should get a liquor license.

Little Squirt had 10 guests who were, I must admit, extremely well-behaved. Most of them had been in his kindergarten class, and I did not know them well. There was one little sweetie who let me call him “Remy” during the entire party, although I discovered too late that his name was, in fact, Aiden. Remy was someone entirely different, and I never figured out exactly who, although he was apparently one of the three that I could not tell apart, with their blond, crew-cut hair styles.

Then it was meal time. I was horrified that I’d forgotten my Germ Blaster, and wondered what kind of bacteria I would be sending them home with as they gorged on sausage and pepperoni pizza. They polished the meal off with Spiderman cupcakes to the accompaniment of a very loud musical performance by the employees and Chuck E. Cheese himself. Half the boys got up to break dance, one even doing some tumbling moves down the aisle. Then, after gift-opening, they exchanged their millions of tickets for twisty-straws and plastic microphones that broke in half by the time they got to their cars.

Little Squirt had an absolutely wonderful party, and Super Hubs and I were wiped out. It was a Loud Day, and that’s all I’m gonna say about that. Next time, I’m bringing ear plugs.

Teacher Extraordinaire

Even harder than watching Butterfly graduate from High School last week was watching my baby officially end kindergarten.

All year long, I have joined the throng of cars lined up along the sidewalk of his school at 11:30. Out of the door comes his teacher, Mrs. Rubin, with her kindergarten class following close behind like little ducklings. Only Little Squirt doesn’t waddle. He usually exits the building hopping. Or swinging his backpack into the kidneys of the child in front of him, always with a big smile on his face. He has loved every minute of this year. And mostly, he’s loved his teacher.

Mrs. Rubin took the spotlight as the most exciting woman in his life last September, and I was demoted to “stupid.” I couldn’t write, read, or help him zip up his coat as well as she. “No, Mom, that’s not the way Mrs. Rubin does it!” he frequently scolded. And I was okay with that. What last fall were little squiggles on paper have now morphed into words he loves to read. His shaky handwriting has greatly improved, and he leaves me phonetically-spelled notes all over the house. “I luf you, mom.” He counts my change, and tells time on the hour and half. That was all Mrs. Rubin’s doing.

I really think it’s hardest to watch your youngest grow up. Little Squirt is my baby, coming 8 years after my middle child. He is the last; the one whose babyhood I was supposed to savor. I planned on soaking in each sleepless night and poopy diaper and peanutbutter fingerprint on the wall, because I knew how quickly my other two grew up. So I thought if I relished every ordinary moment of mothering him to the depths of my heart, it would make the years go that much slower. But they didn’t. Sending him to kindergarten was excrutiating, and I cried many mornings of the first month that I dropped him off. It was hard to let him go.

But it quickly became apparent that he was in excellent hands. There was such a specialness about his teacher that made the transition easier. Mrs. Rubin loved on her students, and by doing so, loved on their parents. She was endlessly patient and encouraging, recognized the uniqueness of each child, and somehow able to create discipline and order out of the chaos of 19 little 5 year olds. She was able to make learning amazingly interesting to my party-animal son. My child was no quiet little angel. But he flourished, felt very safe, and loved getting up each morning, excited that it was a school day, anxious to “tell Mrs. Rubin” about one thing or another.

(Big wistful sigh.) I know he’ll have other teachers down the road that I will love. And some that I won’t. But this year was truly an exceptional year. It was blessed. I am beyond grateful to his beloved teacher. What a way to begin his career as student!

I took Little Squirt out to the restaurant of his choice on the last day of school. As we walked through the McDonald’s parking lot, I grabbed his hand. “Mom, stop!” he admonished. “You don’t need to hold my hand anymore! Mrs. Rubin told me I’m a big first-grader now!”

Premiere League

Soccer season for Little Squirt is over, and I’m actually feeling a bit sad about that. (Gasp of shock and awe heard by the masses.) People who know me know that I am not the Fabulouso Sports Mom du Jour. Not on any jour.

I did not grow up being the athletic sort. Quite the opposite. I wore pink and played Barbies and read Nancy Drew. I feared sports. My head was a Dodge Ball magnet, causing me no end of anxiety on the nights before gym class. I was skinny and uncoordinated, with a brain that somehow couldn’t connect my hands to a ball. So when my children play sports, I suck it up for the sake of love and support, and pretend I love all things athletic. I'm an actor, you know. But candidly, I’m bored. I don’t know what’s going on, I’m easily distracted, and almost always cold on the field.

But this Soccer season was probably the exception, and the most enjoyment I’ve had! Little Squirt has had such a wonderful coach (who happens to be a friend of ours), and he and his wife have been so warm and encouraging and made it great fun. And the parents happen to be an incredible group of people, so our experience has been such a positive one!

I love watching my youngest, who is all about the socializing. Oh, is the ball headed this way? I may try to kick it......or let someone else do it if I’m not in the mood to get winded. Oh- there’s Matthew from my kindergarten class on the sidelines!! Having a chat with him trumps trying to make a goal....... (You get the picture.)

The season ended with a pizza party, complete with the lil giggling soccer munchkins throwing peanuts into each others’ drinks. Besides pizza, there were yummy cupcakes decorated with soccer balls. And then, to Little Squirt’s joy, trophies. Coach Steve brought each child up and affirmed them, speaking into them the good things he saw in them this season.

Little Squirt ordered me to place his trophy on his bedroom shelf. He virtually oozed with pride. Now he has a genuine trophy, he told me, just like his big brother.

Class of '09!

We were living in a hotel in Peru with a 4-week old baby whom we were in the process of adopting. The hotel was archaic by U.S. standards, and the portable crib they loaned us was frightening. It collapsed in the middle every time I grazed by it. There was no way I was putting my newborn daughter in it! So we had been putting the baby to sleep in our infant car seat. It was cozy and snuggly, and she was content.

Every night after her bath, I’d dress the baby in her little newborn nightgown, and tuck her into her car seat with the little mint green blanket I’d crocheted. Shortly later, one teeny left foot would stick out of the covers. I’d tuck it back in, only to have it kick out again later. On and on through the night when we’d awake to feed her, Super Hubs and I would find that little left baby foot sticking out of the blanket, no matter how masterfully we’d tucked. It was somehow prophetic of the independent woman she’d become. She had her own ideas right from the beginning!

That little baby girl grew into a beautiful young woman and graduated from High School this weekend. We are so proud of you, Butterfly! You have blessed us over and over again, and we are thrilled that you are ours!