And Thing 2 was sad. After all, they've been besties since she met him at the club when he was practicing and she was there to claim her ski team awards. Well, not exactly besties but she's a big fan.
We attended the Friday round at the US Open with way too many other people. Surprisingly, The Youngest Pinks were really into it. (Eldest Daughter was in LA with her cousins that weekend.) We parked ourselves at the green on the first hole and watched until Tiger, Phil and Bubba came through. Then we went to the member's only grandstands and watched the eighth and ninth holes until again, Tiger, Phil and Bubba came through. We wrapped up the day with some retail therapy in a tent with an interior as large as and as well-merchandised Nordstrom, and seeing a few groups on 18.
Dave has decided that this is The Pinks' Summer of Golf so they loaded up on adorable US Open logowear in that tent.
The Olympic Club bore little resemblance to the club we know and love; there were grandstands and concession stands and tents everywhere. And people and more people.
On the shuttle bus back to BART we had a hilarious time with four Rickie Fowler groupies. They were dressed in his trademark logowear, monochromatic with flat-brimmed hats. The orange reminds me of European sanitation workers.
It was a long day and definitely one of the best we've had with the kids.
Since then Dave has golfed a bit with the kids and the five of us went to the driving range together. Dave's got the right idea -- incentives and everything is a game. I took golf lessons the year we were married and haven't played since. I may have to get back into it seeing how it's now going to be a Family Activity.
The fire was so close that the local TV news was broadcasting from our gate, the same gate The Pinks walk through to pick up the school bus. We could see the scene from our gate as it played out less than a half mile up Mt. Diablo.
The Pinks were scared at first. Then we listened to the dispatch on firedepartment.org and watched all the fire crews put it out. And then we had dinner and went for a swim.
Our 14-year-old wearing a white dress and six-inch-heels in a sea of 14-year-old girls wearing mostly white dresses and six-inch-heels. Fourteen-year-old boys sweltering in long pants and dress shoes. 88F degrees. Sitting in the sun. Singing. Speakers. Diplomas. A field with a ratio of 3 grasshoppers to each human. Dinner at Chow. Cake. Exhaustion. Summer.
Eldest Daughter just finished middle school. For those of you slow on the uptake, that means we now have a high schooler in the house.
This is a picture of her at the western-themed, school-sponsored promotion party. Some of you will be appalled by the way she's dressed. My mother most definitely. No, I don't think she's showing too much skin. She will never have as perfect a figure as she has right now.
I just came across our travel activity box on an upper shelf in the laundry room. It's a large Rubbermaid container filled with coloring books, small games, stickers, pipe cleaners, finger puppets and puzzles. It's been a few years since I opened it, and of course we are long past needing it. The contents of this box, which I continuously added to as I came across interesting activities, kept The Pinks busy on many a car and airplane ride. Now, of course, they occupy themselves with books, needlework and electronics. I must find a good home for this carefully curated collection of entertainment.
Thing 2 and I reorganized her closet last weekend. Having custom Closet Factory built-ins was one of the best investments we made when moving here; it was easy to reposition hanging bars and shelves. We also transitioned from kiddie hangers to adult-sized ones. If you need 100 teeny tiny hangers, call me.
The Pinks did summer day camp at the prep school adjacent to our house for a half-dozen years. Just walking on the campus during the summer months made me relax, slow down my pace, breathe more deeply. It was the smell, mostly, and the sounds.
Smell is a funny sense. Every now and then I come upon the cologne that one of my high school boyfriends wore and it takes me back 30 years to him and the dark Alaskan winter. Or I smell roses and think of the garden in the home where Dave grew up.
Last week the smell of summer arrived, this time coupled with the smell of ripe fruit and dry heat. I was instantly transported to a market day Provence, where we vacationed a few summers ago. This is our summer to stay local and I'm sad that we're not readying for another European adventure.
Dave and I joined some friends and neighbors and random others for a night in San Jose's HP Pavilion to see Coldplay. This is one of Dave's favorite bands and the second time we've seen them.
It takes a lot for me to see live music. I like it but find it a hassle; the seating arrangements and ticket procurement, the babysitter, the late night. Chris Martin et al put on a good show Friday night and it was fun to hang with the neighbors, who do this sort of thing a lot. At one point Chris forgot the words to a song he was going at solo and paused, said something not suitable for a blog which some children read, and started again. That was funny.
Thirty of us took a private bus to the show; I was delegated the dinner, which the nice caterer at Draeger's assisted with. I also did Kara's Cupcakes, my personal favorite. There was a lot of celebration going on on that bus, and it only increased post show when we were en route home. I heard that it continued once we got back to Danville but I'm not sure; Dave and I were in bed moments after paying Rosa off.
And then I sat next to a woman at the middle school choral concert Wednesday night and ended up telling her about my recent car accident and the angel looking over my shoulder. Her comment was, "Clearly it wasn't time for you to die. G/d thinks you have something big left to accomplish."
I believe her. Now I just have to figure out what that is.