Life with kids, made better.
Time to hit pause here at Shiny Brite — I hope (think!) it will be a short one, but I’ll have to see how things shake out here in the next little bit.
Mmm, hmmm.
We had an awesome month of December, so thanks for finding us and for reading! It makes me feel better to know you’re there.
Here’s a little something for you today: The Best Beaches for Families, via Parents.com
More to come. Just don’t know when.
Keep an eye out!
XO
– Melisa
Cheers to old friends!
Last weekend I spent some long-overdue kid-free time in Austin with my BFF (thanks, Chrissy, for letting me jet off!) and, oh, but it was nice…. Can I get a repeat? In addition to long, uninterrupted chats with someone who’s known me for 20+ years, here’s the short version of what was on the agenda — I hope it inspires you to plan a little “me” time, too:
* Mexican martinis at Dos Salsas in Georgetown (mmm, see above. And here’s a recipe — I’d tweak the Sprite to a splash.)
* Patricia Clarkson on 7 Minutes in Heaven with Mike O’Brien. Do yourself a favor and watch this. It is highly enjoyable not only because Clarkson is super-appealing and slightly tipsy during the in-the-closet interview, but also because it introduced me to new lipstick shade Cherries in the Snow (which now resides in my handbag.)
* Revlon’s Cherries in the Snow — an excellent pick-me-up in the face of crappy fall weather.
Kiss me! I'm wearing lipstick.
* !It Jeans from Adelante — they hug, they’re snug, and they won’t set you back $200. (You’re welcome.) I snagged the My New Boy style, pictured below.
If fall has to come, at least I can be wearing these.
* New METALSGirl jewelry from Parts + Labour.
Giant 4 color necklace. Yes, please.
* Weird La Lucha Libre wrestling guys for the kids from Tesoros.
Viva, Mexico!
* Chipotle and toasted almond guacamole at La Condesa. Heck, yeah.
Darn good guac. Drinks, tacos, and chile rellenos, too.
* Retro-cool at The HighBall.
Vintage bowling lanes, transported to Austin from New Orleans.
* Big-time cheesy fun at Austin Karaoke. Thanks to my friend Debra, I no longer have to wonder what my karaoke songs would be — let’s just say Sheryl Crow, Journey, and the fine ladies of Heart were all paid tribute to. Surprisingly cathartic. They had to pry the mike out of my hands.
Hello, fun.
* Breakfast nirvana at Monument Cafe and Kerbey Lane.
Serving breakfast 24-7.
* A book called Love Life — and lots of pretty fresh flowers, too — at La Fleur Vintage.
Colette: "You will do foolish things, but do them with enthusiasm."
Thanks, Debra! xo
Related:
Currently Obsessed with…. Moving to Austin
Palm Ray Plage in Carnon, France.
The “premiere ligne” at the Palm Ray on the beach in Carnon, France.
Leave it to the French to make beach-going more civilized.
Today we booked lounge chairs and a big umbrella on the “first line” — aka the front, closest to the water — at the beach in Carnon, on the Mediterranean. For a few Euros, we got our prime spots, plus lunch and a glass of wine delivered to our chairs — with access to bathrooms, a seaside library (!), and a waiter serving cocktails, San Pellegrino, and desserts — right next to the kids while they played in the sand and surf.
Heaven! (And all thanks to our fabulous hostess, Kim, who KNOWS about all of these wonderful things. Everyone should be so lucky as to have her at their side in the South of France.)
Glass of rosé and, in a while, a mojito? Don’t mind if I do, to both.
Does this exist in the U.S.? We gotta find out.
Life's a beach. Cheers!
Chrissy:
The blog, like Facebook, is the place where I show my best face. Happiest moments, optimism, wishful thinking. All reflecting only one side of the coin.
The truth is that as much fun as we are having, there are also moments of the ridiculous, despair, tantrums, cross words, the gamut. You know. Those moments of tension over directions, where to eat, schedules. The kid who has to go to the bathroom the second we leave someplace WITH a bathroom. Not to mention two bee stings (Magnolia, me), a number of large spiders (and me with my phobia) and stinging bugs of every variety (Melisa’s worst fear).
Here’s a little taste of the dark side:
“I want ARMPIT gelato”
“How many ARMPITS does a deer have?”
“ARMPIT!”
“Mom, when can we have lunch?”
“Mommy, can’t we get some gelato?”
“Momma, I can’t walk any further!”
“Mom, can we get a toy? Why nooooottttt?”
“I don’t want to see the leaning tower of Pisa, I want the pool!”
“Mommy, mommy, mommy…(pause) MOOOOOOOMMMY!”
Then: “Not you, OTHER mommy!”
Yesterday, Melisa and I laughed half-way home from Pisa. We were laughing over ARMPIT. It is kind of a funny word.
Melisa:
Chrissy, true to form, has been posting on how fabulous everything is. And, don’t get me wrong — it IS fabulous and we feel very lucky to be here, enjoying exceptional time away from the normal day-to-day of our lives in New York City. But, as you know, we’re a family traveling with young kids. If you’re reading these posts and hating us just a little bit, perk up here — it hasn’t all been great. Here’s what I mean….
Yes, we’ve been seeing beautiful cities and towns and villages in France and Italy, but at a snail’s pace — Magnolia slows EVERYTHING way down. Chrissy and Jasper walk ahead, as if they’re on their own — I have to stop every two seconds with Magnolia, while she gets a rock out of her shoe, scratches an itch, examines a bug bite, picks up something potentially interesting from the sidewalk, stops to smell a flower (yes, she actually does this), or pauses to reflect while asking a pressing question (can we have a picnic on the floor of our house tonight for dinner?). How SLOW can you go? I’m finding out.
Jasper has been giving us the major attitude. He chews with his mouth open, picks his nose (!), touches his sister’s bottom and then laughs uncontrollably, and asks every two seconds for gelato, a piece of Pez candy, chewing gum, or more movies on the iPad. When we ask him to dial it down a notch, he responds with: “Why don’t you quit telling me what to dOOOOOOO?!’ Dude, yeah, no. Get a grip. When you’re like 40, maybe.
And, embarrassingly, our kids are the loudest and the wildest wherever we go. Seriously. Name your nationality or number of kids in a family and we will take their asses down with EASE. We’re the mother-effing international STEAMROLLER of loud and wild.
And you know all those loooong posts from Chrissy you’ve been reading and enjoying? Well, she’s been commandeering the laptop and the kids have had the stronghold on the iPad while I COOK DINNER.
But, you know what? We are having the best time! I’m here with the people I love most in the world, and we are laughing a lot.
ARMPIT!!!!!
And it’s beautiful everywhere we go. Yes, yes. Beautiful.
In Italian: the sweetness of doing nothing. In the words of Lucinda Williams: “Cool, quiet, and time to think.”*
For me, it’s lying like a cat in the sun at the pool, alternately watching the olive trees blow silver in the breeze, the kids creating a tent from towels and cushions, and reading.
For Magnolia, it’s sneaking off to the tree swing on the lawn beneath our house, or stalking the butterflys in the lavender.
Whatever works! And more of it.
*The great Lucinda also mentioned “pens that won’t run out of ink” and “passionate kisses” as must-haves. Those too, please.
Seeing Bramasole, the house outside of Cortona, in Tuscany, that belongs to writer Frances Mayes
Like bazillions of others, I enjoyed Under the Tuscan Sun, by Frances Mayes, so, so many years ago — a confection, a fantasy, light and sweet. Except it wasn’t entirely a fantasy — Mayes really did come to Italy at a time of rediscovery and reinvention, and she bought a house that transformed her life. What’s not to like about that?
Today we drove to Cortona, about an hour and a half away from where we’re staying, near Castellina in Chianti, to see the town and house. The town is lovely, with an appealing, lively vibe; the house and gardens grand and impressive. (After much hard work, of course — go, Frances!)
But what I loved was seeing, in person, a solid, physical manifestation of change, good fortune, happiness — set in a foreign land.
Bramasole was inspiring.
It reminded me that anything can happen.
And I love that.
The shrine on an exterior wall at Bramasole. Say a prayer (or whatever). See what happens.
More things I’m loving about Italy:
Last week, as one of our daily field trips, we drove an hour South to the town of Rapolano Terme, home to a mineral water spring of supposed healing properties. That Melisa and I would seek out a spa is not such a surprise. The surprise is that we took the kids.
We wouldn’t have thought to do it, if it hadn’t been recommended as a great place to go with children. I know, seems unlikely. And in hindsight, I’m realizing the mom in question has three girls (I’m sorry but that HAS to be easier), AND they are older than our kids. Still, no one (including our hostess Mimma) seemed to think there would be anything wrong with taking our brood.
I’m not sure what I was expecting—maybe something like a water park, with slides?—but it wasn’t what we found. The Spa San Giovanni looks like a real spa: quiet, peaceful, painted cool colors, spa music (you know what I mean) playing in the background.
Your mineral water experience, which apparently can heal all sorts of skin ailments, rheumatism, and respiratory issues, starts in a kind of domed sweat room, with one large circular pool surrounded by chairs, and mineral waters spouting out of the mouths of gods. It’s pretty warm, that one.
Looks nice, doesn't it?
A small water walkway and cave leads outside to the other pools, which get cooler as your graduate down the terraces. The kids loved the cave and spent some time there, pretending they were bears. I have to say I wasn’t too excited to get into hot water on a 97 degree day, but once in (Jasper said I needed the full “tour”), it was relaxing.
The outdoor pools vary in size and are surrounded by pretty chaises and umbrellas, on the patio and out on the lawn, all of which is surrounded by the rolling Tuscan hillside (vineyards, olive groves, little umber towns perched on hills, you know the drill). It’s pretty good.
The last pool was my favorite. It’s the largest, and the coolest (i.e. lukewarm). The bottom of the pool is covered in some sort of thick white mud that is naturally created by the springs. This is the other thing the kids loved about the spa: making mud pies and smearing mud on themselves as they saw the other adults at the pool do. How often does that happen? Grown-ups smearing mud all over themselves? Woo-hoo!
Your whole m.o. here is to float. Or smear yourself with mud in one of the little beaches on the edge of the big pool where you can lay half in and half out of the water. All in all pretty relaxing (even with Jasper and Magnolia saying every two minutes, “mommy! More goo!”).
There’s a cafe overlooking the pools where you can get a sensible lunch (and we did) or an espresso. The locker rooms have nice showers for rinsing off the mud.
Final ratings: a 10 from both kids (mud pies, bear cave), a 7 from me (not sure it was worth 13 euros a piece) and a 6 from Melisa, who was expecting effervescent bubbles in clear pools, and not mud.
***
One of my favorite things about our vacation is swimming every day. It’s a rare treat.
Between here and France, Melisa and I have both noticed that every woman, REGARDLESS OF AGE/SIZE is wearing a bikini. And sometimes topless. At the beach, or at the spa, they are out there.
When you are spending as much time in the sun as I have been, it’s hard not to think of the benefits of the bikini. It’s cooler for one. Your tan lines that disappear a little easier under clothes. Dries faster.
I haven’t considered really putting a bikini on since I was 26 or 27, but I’ve considered it on this trip.
The kids in their European suits. Me in my American one-piece.
The day after the mud baths, we took the kids into Siena. My favorite trip so far! So cosmopolitan after all our sweet little towns.
Il Campo, in front of the Torre (and with a little friend)
The kids loved it, too: they ran through shell-shaped il Campo like the horses at Palio, begged to climb the Torre del Mangia (400 steps!), and thrilled to the huge doors, old wells, flags of the Contrade, and castle-like homes.
The sales are on here in Italy, and I couldn’t help but notice all the bikinis on sale, for little girls and big. Magnolia was all over it, too. We wandered into a tiny shop and she immediately started pulling out the sparkliest, spangliest, gaudiest, tart-iest tiny bikinis she could find. Luckily, the worst of the lot were not in her size. Here is the compromise:
"Perfecto" says Magnolia
I looked too—at a couple of stores—but I could never quite get around the skimpy factor. Maybe I’m too American. Maybe I’m just too modest. I left, bikini-free.
Magnolia wore her bikini top (over her clothes), the rest of our time in Siena.
Siena's world renowned Duomo. Oh yes, and also Nola.
She got home, and would not put on her floaties when we went to the pool, for fear of ruining her look. (BTW, where did she learn that pose? We are in so much trouble). Still, by the end of the afternoon, she was swimming across the pool by herself. The floaties are gathering dust.
One afternoon in a bikini, and she’s swimming.
What would happen to me if I took the bikini plunge? Would I try a strapless dress? Write the first chapter of a novel? Cook lobster? Fry soft-shell crabs? Walk out of a boring meeting?
There’s still time. Stay tuned.
We will have been gone two weeks tomorrow — I’m reluctant to type that, the time is flying by so quickly — and Chrissy and I have just started to hear a few fleeting mentions of missing home. (Really, I think to myself with wonder? Really?)
But from the kids it’s pretty sweet. Here’s who’s missing what (crucial stuff, people.)
Jasper:
What do you miss from home?
All of my toys. I miss my three best toys the most — my Spiderman, and my Hero and Thomas trains.
I miss our new TV. And our Scooby-Doo movie, “Abracadabra-Doo.”
My oatmeal for breakfast!
School — I miss Ms. Oram and Ms. P. and Ms. Plasencia and Ms. Bittner.
And all of my friends.
Magnolia:
What do you miss?
My Barbies, my princesses, my castle and everything
Everything, even my own bed.
And I miss my dollies
I miss our cereal.
And our entire house.
I miss Quinn, Carl, Isadora, Abby — all my friends.
Chrissy:
You fessed up to missing some things about home…. So, what are they?
Officially, “no comment.”
After having spent two full weeks of uninterrupted time with our children — morning, noon, and night — Chrissy notes that she does miss some things about home, but has declined to answer this question on the grounds that it may incriminate her (and would like for me to emphasize that she’s having a wonderful time and would not like to be anywhere else in the world.)
Me?
I love Brooklyn but, really, miss nothing — well, maybe our house, just a little — and am busy plotting how we can spend more time here more often. A year abroad, a la Design Mom? Can we figure out a way to make it happen?
There’s only one way to find out.
Breakfast four ways — and my pretty frittata
At home, I often find it annoying when everyone wants something different to eat — that typically means more work for me.
But on vacation — as with other things I’m noticing about our daily routines in a fresh, new setting — I find it less so.
This morning: zucchini frittata (with varying sides) for the moms, eggs sunny side up for Jasper, toast with honey for Miss Magnolia, and fruit all around.
Everybody gets what they want. Lovely.
More things I’ve been loving in Italy:
Our waiter at the hotel in San Bartolomeo al Mare
We’re settling in at Ovile. By that I mean I’ve unpacked, and the days are beginning to have a bit of rhythm:
Sleep in (7:30-8 am), get up, open the doors, breakfast on the terrace, field trip or pool, lunch in or out, gelato, pool, Campari, sometimes more pool, dinner, reading, writing, bed.
Dinner on the terrace
I’m getting better and better at navigating the steep stone drive in the Mireva (the kids say to me, “mommy, that was your best one” when I back down the driveway). The sharp stone turns on the switchbacks to the house remind me of my fifteen year old self, surreptitiously driving my best friend’s dune buggy out in the Texas countryside. I hit a bank of gravel on a turn and skidded through a barbed-wire fence and into a cow field. Those were some times (sorry, Dr. Sumerlin). And yet, times I’d rather not repeat here with a drop-off into the olive grove.
I have managed not to hit any of the deer (so far), which are smaller and prettier than we have at home, but no more brainy. By the way, the deer bark. Our host, (and grandmother) Mimma, told me that and she doesn’t seem like she’d lie to anyone. Though if she’s lying to me, I’m buying it, as long as she keeps saying “Ciao cara!” every time she sees me.
Back to the rhythm. Here’s the thing: “Let’s go to the market in Panzano!” doesn’t elicit, “great mom, do you think we can find that butcher again?” from the kids. There is some coaxing to be done.
So we’re working it out. We’re taking shorter field trips, working in gelato where we can (so far only once a day but I can see a time in the future where we hit twice in 24 hours), and spending a good chunk of the day in or at the pool. We haven’t quite hit the sweet spot on this arrangement, but I’m confident we’ll get there.
The great equalizer
Art? No, we’re not really seeing it. Nor are we doing thorough tours of any place we visit. We are speed-dating our destinations, all of which are within an easy 10-60 minutes from our house, and allowing for the idea that we might want to return to explore further. And so the sunny days here have a slow, lazy pace all their own.
Our first outing last Sunday took us to a market in Panzano, a gorgeous small town perched between two valleys and surrounded by spectacular views of the countryside. This is one of Melisa’s and my favorite out-of-town (or in-town, for that matter) pastimes: wandering a market, picking up local produce and prepared foods, dreaming up meals to cook back at home.
Another day, another view
The Panzano market takes place in a small piazza beneath the old city. A fountain, a large gnarled old tree and some benches mark the square, which is surrounded by a bustling locanda, a fancy hotel, and a bank. The requisite characters for the scene are all here: old men and women—the older the woman, the more shapeless her shift—sitting on the benches, talking. The old men are neatly dressed in button-down short sleeve shirts, their faces tan and wizened. If you are a middle-aged man, you seem to gravitate towards orange pants. Yes, orange.
Younger Italian women walk the stalls in high heels, holding a basket for their spoils, usually with a small child or two trailing behind.
All dressed for market day
Tourists wander through consulting each other, a bit uncertain. Bikers are stopped by the side of the road, grabbing an espresso for fortification against the dizzying hills and heat.
We park on the side of the road, between two trees. The “space” is very uneven, and when I feel one wheel leave the ground, I ask Melisa to get out of the car and help me back in. The Mireva is a rental, after all. The kids, of course, love it, and point out that the car next to us is also on three wheels. Adventures in driving!
We decide to see the old town first, a decision which we pay for later. A steep road takes us to the top of the hill where tiny streets meander past the church—isn’t it pretty from the outside?—and castle.
Panzano!
The castle, with its giant doors, two towers overlooking the hills and gate topped with a crown, is deemed legit by the kids.
Fit for a prince or princess
And that’s enough tourism for the day. Time to wander back down to the market. We’ve already exhausted the kids good-will (“I can’t take this walking!” “No, not another hill!” “Mommy pick me up” “I want to go to the pool”) so this shopping trip is a shorty. Rotisserie chicken (recommended by Mimma) and a quick look around while the kids sit among the seniors under the trees. We’ll be back next week for a more thorough visit.
Our second adventure (Monday) takes us to Radda in Chianti. Radda is a well-preserved small city surrounded by ancient walls. It’s quite pretty, but a bit well-to-do; more of a grown-up place with lovely shops and restaurants. The kids are impressed by the ramparts but even more impressed by the excellent playground in the park just outside the city walls. Twenty minutes exploring the city and 20 minutes in the playground…and that’s it! Pool time! As Radda is only about 10 minutes away, we don’t feel bad about making such a brief stop there. We’ll be back (for the playground).
We follow a winding road up to Volpaia, a tiny village that’s home to about fifty people. The drive is gorgeous; I’m not sure I’d ever tire of the sun shining down on the vineyards and silvery olive groves. We’re really here not for the sights but for lunch. Bar Uchio, presided over by Paola, is a taverna where we can get a simple sandwich or salad. Unfortunately, it’s closed. The sign on the door directs us to the fancy-looking restaurant across the street. Seems to be the only game in town, so we try it.
Sometimes the best things happen by accident. The restaurant is gorgeous. We sit on a terrace, under shady fig trees and large white umbrellas. It’s a family operation, and Paola seems to be the matriarch here as well. She wanders around greeting her diners.
Melisa and I decide a selection of antipasti is enough for us. We order pasta (hers with butter, his with pomodoro) for the kids.
The antipasti easily makes the best Italian meal we’ve had so far. Eggplant and mint in delicate olive oil, three kinds of crostini (tomato, liver, mushroom), radicchio and pecorino salad, tomatoes, mozzeralla and basil.
Shady terrace, amazing food
Everything fresh from the garden over the low wall we are sitting against. Another meal where I think I could linger forever, and quite frankly, no one seems anxious for us to go. Getting the check here, as in France, is a challenge, but a happy one. We leave sated and sleepy.
Tuesday, we switch things up to match our preferred pattern in Martha’s Vineyard: swimming in the morning and driving in the afternoon. The beauty of this plan is that the kids usually fall to sleep on the road. Ideally, we’d all be napping in the heat at home from 1-4 pm when Italy closes down. Since we’ve not been able to pitch this scenario successfully (not EVER, not ONE TIME) to Jasper and Magnolia, this is the next best thing.
And so, after a morning at the pool and a lunch on the terrace, we set off for the “Manhattan of Tuscany”: San Gimignano. Sleep success with one child, but the other needed a longer drive.
We’ve generally thought that the more dramatic the site (the Eiffel Tower! Leaning Tower of Pisa! Coliseum!), the more the kids will enjoy it and remember. So far this is mostly true, the metro being a big exception.
San Gimignano fits the bill. Yet another city perched on a hill, this one is notable for its medieval towers—14 still remain of the original 70—that rise up over the tiny streets. It’s universally accepted as a major tourist trap and a must-see in Tuscany.
High city walls and an imposing gate mark the approach. “Wow that is some fortress!” we say to the kids. They remain unconvinced and grumpy. “Can we go back to the pool?” We stop at the first place we see and buy them lollipops to sweeten the deal. It’s an effective bait and switch.
The streets and towers are impressive, but it’s 97 degrees in the shade. We are all wilting.
San Gimignano
What is the equivalent of a lollipop for the adults? Gelato. That’s the only thing keeping Melisa and I walking. Well, that and the Campari waiting for us at 6 pm. It’s a beautiful day, and the town is memorable. But is every American here? Along with every Australian and Brit? It sure seems that way. And so, after a loop of the city, bypassing shop after shop selling souvenirs and postcards, we decide we’ve seen what we came to see and head back to the Mireva and drive towards gelato.
Gelato deserves a post all its own, but I’ll say this for now: deciding what flavor to try each day is a very enjoyable way to spend your time. That, and twilight at the pool.
Melisa