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Wednesday, July 23, 2008And On The Way Home..."Daddy, that trucker was signaling to us." You know how it feels when another driver is wildly gesturing, and you've got no idea what he's trying to tell you? It was one of those moments. Immediately, Eric feared for the bike rack. It was the first time we'd used one, and he admittedly had spent the majority of his driving hours worrying that it might, you know, fall off. Or something. The bikes were still clearly visible through the back windshield, though. "Maybe the bikes are loose." Poor Eric. I could see the tension around his eyes. We drove for a minute or two, Eric all the while eying the bikes and wondering what the trucker had tried to warn him about. He had pretty much made the decision to pull over at the next exit to check the bike rack. That's when we saw the trucker. He had pulled over to the side of the road, right before the exit. He waved to us as we passed him. "Why did he stop?" Eric sounded panicked. "Why was that trucker still waving at us?" Honestly, I wasn't worried about the overly friendly trucker. If anything, it seemed to me that he was looking out for us. We pulled into the first empty parking lot we came to. And as Eric pulled on the brakes, our trucker friend pulled into the lot right behind us. "Why is he following us?!" If I had ever suspected Eric's paranoid tendencies, this clinched it. "Why is that trucker following us? Why did he follow us?" "Ur, maybe he's just trying to help us." I don't know what made me so particularly calm. It was probably a complete lack of coffee over the past forty-eight hours. Sure enough. About six or seven miles back, the guy had noticed something blow off our roof rack. Two somethings, actually. He knew we were completely clueless, so he did everything in his power to get our attention. Everything, including following us off an exit ramp. I wanted to hug him. It seemed as though my stellar packing of beach towels and bed sheets didn't quite hold up to the 65 MPH sheer winds on top of our van. The garbage bags (yes, garbage bags...I know, I know...) had shot off the rack like overheated popcorn kernels. "As far as I could tell, they were still intact when they landed," our trucker angel told us. So. What to do? Were beach towels and bed sheets worth turning around for? At first, we were less than inclined to do so. In the end, Rachel's emotional attachment to her beach towel turned the tide. "Let's just go back ten miles," I said. "If we don't see them, we'll give up." We returned to the highway and began to travel back north, eyes peeled. Three miles passed. Four. Five. Five-and-a-half. "That's Maggie's beach towel!" We all saw it at once, on the other side of the highway. And not far from it lay the rest of our ejected linens, in a haphazard line on the shoulder. We exited, turned around, pulled over next to our lost goods. And of course the first thing I thought of was the camera. It's a good thing, really. Because how many of you have pictures like this from your family vacation?     We gathered all but one item -- Spencer's beach towel -- which we were willing to accept as a loss. But just as we pulled out onto the highway again, we spotted the errant towel. It had blown across the road and was nestled against the cement barrier. Eric risked life and limb to retrieve it. And so we got everything back, and went along our merry way. I wish I knew who that trucker was, though. Think about how far he went out of his way to help us. It's a redefining of "Good Samaritan," surely. I thanked him profusely; of course I did. But it doesn't seem like enough. He was an amazing example of loving one's fellow man. It's not that beach towels and bed sheets are irreplaceable. They're not. It's that a complete stranger cared enough about our family to interrupt his own life to honor ours. And, yeah, I won't use garbage bags next time. Saturday, July 19, 2008Oh, Vacation, Where Have You Gone?We've left our hearts in Cape May...  Live Long and Prosper  Legs and arms and a little bit of boy  Frying eggs in the condo  Tell me again how cute I am...  And again...  Date Night  Two enduring loves: My baby and the ocean...  I dare you not to love me  Daddy and son  Final evening... 
Thursday, July 10, 2008Cape May Blues: No Longer Mad About The Mad Batter
 It used to be one of our all-time favorite places in Cape May, NJ. Now, I'm not so sure. One of the highlights of our week-at-the-shore is to have a special Dinner Date, just the two of us. Last year we went to The Washington Inn,, which rates high on our list for quality of food (gourmet), excellence of wine list (Sonona Cutre Chardonnay), and ambiance (ahh, romance!). This year, however, we decided we needed to spend a little less on our special date. The cost of gas on our drive up practically killed us, you know? Naturally, we were delighted to discover that The Mad Batter, which is just a few doors down from the place we rented for the week, offered an "early bird" special: Buy one entrée, get the second one for half price. Perfect! We simply had to get there by 5:30 in order to qualify. So imagine the scenario. I kept Molly on Central Time during our vacation in order to avoid a scheduling mix-up once we got home. (Once anal retentive, always anal retentive.) Consequently, her "dinner time" in Cape May was around 4:30 pm. That's bits of food followed by a nursing. I figured I'd be able to get it all done and still make it to The Mad Batter on time. While she was still sleeping, I did my hair and make-up. Then I fed her and nursed her, all the while watching the clock with sharp eyes and a rapid pulse. Had to finish on time! Had to get to The Mad Batter on time! Eric was calm as ever, naturally. After all, the restaurant was about forty paces from our front porch. And it wasn't even raining. By the time I handed off the baby to the nearest older sibling and slipped into my sundress and sandals, it was past 5:20. Almost as an afterthought, we paused on the front porch for a few photos. (I mean, what's the point of dressing up if you're not going to have proof afterward?) Then, hand in hand, we hastened down the street with just a few minutes to spare. Success! "Good evening! Table for two?" The hostess picked up two signature menus from the podium as she spoke. "Yes," Eric said. "Do we get the early bird special?" "Oh. Um..." She looked behind her, where another woman was standing. "Um, do they get the early bird special?" The other woman -- the Woman Of Authority -- spun round to face us. "No. No, you don't. It's past 5:30." Short, blunt. Passionless. Eric pulled out his Sprint phone -- the one that's linked up to the atomic clock, mind you -- and pressed a button. "It's 5:29." Woman Of Authority craned her neck toward the computer monitor against the back wall. "No. Our computer says 5:33. So, no, it's past 5:30." "Dumbfounded" does not begin to express what we felt. "So, you're not going to give us the early bird special, then?" "No." We left. Where moments earlier I had been feeling light as souffle, I now felt deflated. Icky inside. Abused, somehow. Where had my magical "date feeling" gone? Eric was angry. Indignant. I let him vent a bit as we hurried away from the traitorous Mad Batter. Then, right before we reached our front porch, he stopped. "I need to go back," he said. "I have to give them a chance to make it right." "I'm not eating there." Well, that's me in a nutshell. My good opinion, once lost, is lost forever. (Mr. Darcy fans, unite.) "Jilly, I have to go back." "Well, I'm not coming." "You have to come, so that I can motion to you to come inside." "I'll walk back with you, but I'll wait out here where you can see me." Call it pride, call it mortification, call it I'm-not-setting-foot-in-that-stinkin'-restaurant-ever-again, that's where I was at the moment. So Eric returned, and I waited. Moments later, he emerged, and his face was dark. Woman of Authority was under no circumstances going to allow us to have the early bird special. Period. Almost every table on the restaurant's porch was empty, and they could've used our business. But no. Nothin' doin'. She was going to let us walk away over a four-minute discrepancy. Four lousy minutes. And she lost two customers for the rest of their vacation. And possibly forever. Interestingly, we met Vickie Seitchik, one of the founders of The Mad Batter, last year while on vacation. At the time, she also owned our condo at 41 Jackson Street, and was often sitting on the front porch as we came and went. She was a kind woman, a bit on the sad and quiet side. She seemed passionate about Cape May and everything she'd invested there over the years. I don't think Vickie would have turned us away from the early bird special. Obviously, the Mad Batter's new owners feel differently. Woman of Authority was quick to blame "Mark" for being a stickler about the 5:30 cut-off. Shame on you, Mark. At any rate, we had a lovely, albeit more expensive, dinner at The Merion Inn, a beautiful, historical restaurant where you can get plain, simple seafood done the way you like it. I ordered broiled haddock with browned butter. Delicious. I'm proud of myself, too, for not allowing the complete lack of decent customer service at The Mad Batter to ruin my evening. It really felt awful to be treated that way at what used to be one of our favorite haunts. We've been there for a late breakfast. We've been there for a romantic dinner in the rain. We've been there for a quiet lunch. We really loved the place. And see? I'm speaking in the past tense, and I can't help it. Loved. Not love. I feel betrayed. Woman of Authority had no idea, of course, that I had purchased a new dress, managed the care and responsibilities and feeding of five children, gotten myself ready in record time, and nursed a hungry baby before hurrying down the street to her doorstep. No, indeed. To her, I was simply the woman standing beside the man who claimed it was only 5:29. So there it is. I will no longer recommend The Mad Batter to anyone. I will, however, recommend The Merion Inn, where a phenomenal jazz pianist was playing that evening (in between surfing on his Mac -- I kid you not). I will also recommend The Washington Inn for a truly superb dining experience. In fact, I will continue to recommend Cape May in general. It is such a special place for vacationing -- as a family, and as a couple. As for The Mad Batter? I don't know what it would take to win back my loyalty. Perhaps two completely free meals -- a dinner for two, and a breakfast for seven. That might tempt me. We are, after all, already talking about the possibility of returning to Cape May next June. And Eric is known for his mercy. And nostalgia. Right now, I'm unbending. Labels: life, stinky stuff Tuesday, July 08, 2008Home, With The Sea In Our Hearts
 Are there any words to describe a child's first experience with the ocean? Molly is just like the rest of us Boehmes -- one glance at the blue-gray Atlantic and she was hooked. I could see it in her eyes. We had a wonderful week in Cape May. We also spent some cool time with my parents, and had another painfully brief visit with my dear sister. Naturally, I'm going to have lots of Vacation Stories to tell. They are forthcoming. For now, there's the First Officially Posted Molly-at-the-Beach photo. And the news that we are, indeed, back in town. Wouldn't it be something if I actually began posting regularly once again? Do I have any readers left? Ah, but that was rhetorical. I know you're still there. And I'll be sharing some beach moments and non-beach moments in the days to come. And no, I don't have a tan. Keeping Baby on her nap schedule makes unlimited sunbathing a tad challenging. 'Tis good to be home! And one of my "July projects" is to purge my office (which, in the past eighteen months or so, has morphed into a storage closet) and to actually find the surface of my desk. Clutter does not lead to productivity. And trying to do anything creative in this walk-in junk pile is nearly impossible. So. Wish me luck. And stay tuned for what will most likely become a nauseating amount of children-at-the-shore photos! Labels: life |
About Me
I am: Mother to five stunningly individualistic children... Writer of young adult fantasy... Passionate advocate for Women At Home... Madly in love with my husband... In need of Organic Gourmet Chocolate on a regular basis. I've got a Paypal account if you'd like to contribute to the cause....
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