Pelotot. We started Ben young, here he is watching the TdF in 2006.

My husband doesn’t dominate the remote year round watching football, basketball and baseball. But July? Forget it, it is all Tour de France all the time in our household. “Sorry, kids Caillou and Clifford are going to have to wait. Today’s a mountain stage.”
And, that’s fine by me. It took me a few years to catch on to the appeal. But now I marvel at the athleticism and endurance of these riders every day. It is truly awe inspiring.
Plus I love the scenery as the peloton speeds by in a colorful spandex blur through small towns, breathtaking mountain vistas and sunflower fields.

In addition to the scenery there is plenty for the kids to enjoy. They really like the stuffed lions the winner of each stage receives and are even learning a few French words like, maillot jaune (yellow jersey) and domestique (support rider). Plus all of the riders names are infinitely fun to say out loud: George Hincapie, Alberto Contador, Levi Leipheimer, I could go on and on down the list.
Ben pretends he can ride as fast as them when he’s going up and down the driveway on his trike. For that matter I think Peter does to when he’s pulling the kids in the Burley pretending our rolling neighborhood hills are switchbacks in the Alps.

Then there’s announcer Phil Liggett’s voice - so friendly and calming in the background, it lulls the children into nap time mode.

It’s a rite of summer and it is really a letdown when it’s over and we have to say “Au revoir Tour de France.”

Any other Tour de France fans out there?

I recently found the Mike and the Bike site to be a very educational website for kids about the Tour (and I learned a thing or two as well) - Check it out!

My friend Sonali, who had a baby before I did, uttered these wise words early on: there’s nothing purer than a child’s relationship with their grandparents.

Or something like that.

I didn’t really understand until I had my own two. Now I know exactly what she means.

It’s a bond that’s open and unquestioning, filled with delight and pleasure, while our own relationships with our parents, no matter how close, are complicated by decades of life and all the stuff that comes with living.

I thought about this when I read this essay. (Thanks, Matt, for flagging it.)

It’s one dad’s meditation on his young son and his own father, with whom the author had a difficult relationship. It ran in the New York Times last weekend.

Made me tear up.

Once again I am going to turn to Cribsheeters for some advice.
We have two road trips coming up this summer. One to Illinois (about 5.5 hours) and another “up North” (about 3.5 hours).
I realize that is NOTHING compared to May’s annual 48 hour round trip trans-Atlantic flights but those several hours through Wisconsin on I-94 have me wringing my hands. Construction slow downs, weekend traffic, and managing our way through the monsterous mecca known as the Tomah Kwik Trip.
It used to be fairly easy when they were babies - they’d sleep.
Now with a 3.5 year old Ben’s first potty-trained road trip and an alert and active 1.5 year old Vivian - what to do to keep them occupied?
We don’t want to invest in the dual screen DVD player just yet and they are too young for Mad Libs and Car Bingo.
And what about “emergencies?” I’m already imagining hearing a frantic “I gotta go potty!” as we’re stopped in gridlock traffic with no exit in sight.
Should we put Ben in a “pull-up” just in case? Have an empty Big Gulp container at the ready?

Advice from old pros out there? What do you do to keep your little ones busy and somewhat content in the back seat?

Over breakfast this morning, I showed Maya, 3, the picture that accompanied this article in the New York Times: “When do they need a fig leaf?”

She looked at the cute three-year-old in the picture, cavorting joyfully naked through a forest of (dressed) grownup legs, and smiled.

“Look at her hands!” she said.

I loved that. I loved that what struck her was not the lack of clothes, but that the kid was dancing with hands stretched out. I hope she never loses that.

Of course she will.

And it’ll probably be because of me. The story is about kids who like to be bare and their parents’ comfort (discomfort) level with that. Or the grandparents’ comfort level. A naked three-year-old who won’t put on her clothes is cute. But what about a five-year-old? A nine-year-old?

I have to admit that I call away my own five-year-old when, fresh from her bath, she stands by the front door, peering out through the screen door. Yet I’ll blithely change them out of their swimsuits by a public wading pool. Not sure if there’s any real logic there….but there’s always a nagging sense of….something.

I’m less worried about propriety than the fact there may be someone watching whom you don’t want to be watching. Just a slight nagging sense. Not too much but enough to think about.

Cribsheeters? Any little nudists in your home? What do you think is the appropriate upper age limit?

Three weeks ago, I started biking to work.

It’s a 20-mile round trip and I am a New Woman. Liberated from My Car (on most days, anyway).

I’ve never been very steady on a bike. My husband, who both bikes and skates, is the guy with the wheels. I prefer to have my feet to the ground, running and walking.

It took a few things - some directly related, some not - for me to get my bike out of the garage and brush off the cobwebs.

1) The Biking Doc

Last winter, I did a story about Tom Kottke, a St. Paul cardiologist who faithfully bikes to and from work, even in the winter. When it snows, he rides a bike with studded tires.

He also has a foldable bike that he sticks in a suitcase and takes around the world, allowing him to see new countries from a perspective different from that of a car window. Closer to the people, and all that. What a fabulous idea, I thought. Just not for me.

2) The Car Crash

Last spring, I totaled my trusty Honda CRV (the one with the MLF plate, which Kay kindly pointed out (almost) stands for something naughty. Gee, thanks, Kay). The other car ran a red light. Everyone was fine, but both cars were pretty bashed up. 

In the slow-motion moments (it really happens like in the movies) after the crash and before the car fully stopped, I looked down and saw my fleece glove burn up on my palm from the effect of the airbag. Funny what your mind registers at these moments.

Anyway, like I said, I was fine. But after the crash, I didn’t want to drive much. The insurance company paid for a rental but when that ran out, I started taking the bus. The weather was warming up and I appreciated the quiet reading time to and from work.

Mentally, it also helped me give up the idea of driving everywhere.  Read the rest of this entry »