Nuthin

The Man-cub has been getting me up at night. Last night, it was two hours. So, I'm finding it hard to be witty and really have nothing to say. Nuthin.

Except that, when you've been up with your child for hours in the middle of the night (while your husband sleeps) and you bring the boy to your bed out of exasperation and lack of better ideas for getting him to sleep, and then your husband tells you the boy kept slapping him in the face while he slept -- well, that's kinda sorta funny.

Jack-o'-challenged

OK, I need help.

(Of course, if you have been reading my blog, you already know that.)

My son just turned two and is coming to an age where he is going to start remembering things. So I have to be extra nice to him now.

He is also almost to the age where he is becoming impressed by -- for my lack of a better brain -- things. You know, things.

One of the things coming up is Halloween.

And I am scared.

Not because of Halloween, but because I don't really know what to do for Halloween.

Mainly, I have no clue how to carve a pumpkin and turn it into a jack-o'-lantern. I never did that. my sister did it once when we were kids, but I don't remember much about it other than it was messy and raw pumpkin tastes bad.

Someone out there has to be a pumpkin-carving master who can provide some tips. I know it's early, but I figure it will take me some time to get up to speed. I'm slow.

(And if you have ways of keeping toddlers out of Christmas trees, I'll take those tips, too.)

I figure if I can learn how to make a jack-o-'lantern, then my son will think I'm cool and he'll remember having a fun Halloween and doing fun stuff with his mom instead of growing up to tell his college friends, "All my mom ever did for Halloween was sit with me at the computer to make virtual faces on pumpkins." And maybe then his roommates will lead him around the neighborhood smashing everyone's jack-o-'lanterns because he never had one and it will be a cathartic experience for him and cheaper than therapy. Except he could go to jail for vandalism and need to see a counselor for part of his punishment anyway.

And I know you don't want to see that happen.

So, please, any great Halloween tips?

Some dog

Oh, the things you see while driving around South Florida.

(A couple months ago, I saw a person with a real Florida license plate that said "BOMBS." I sincerely hope that person was with the bomb squad. Still, is that a good plate to have? Couldn't get a picture of that one.)

Maybe this person's dog is smarter than a fifth-grader.

I can't say that any of my family's dogs were smart enough to make the honor roll! How about yours? What's your best smart-dog story?


Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

Tropic of Mom's short stack pancakes

As a college boy, my husband apparently thought he was a cool chef when he took that pancake batter you just add water to, shake in a bottle, and squirt it in a hot pan.

Gag!

Friends don't let friends eat pancakes made from a mix.

Please.

Do yourself, your family, and your friends a favor this weekend and plan to make these pancakes from scratch. It doesn't really take that much more time than Bisquick or Aunt Jemima. Trust me. These are far superior. Heck, even if you don't use this particular recipe, just use any pancake recipe. You'll be converted.

Tropic of Mom's Short Stack Pancakes

Ingredients
1-1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 cup quick-cooking oatmeal
3 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoons salt
2 tablespoons sugar
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1 cup milk
1 egg
1/4 teaspoon almond extract (optional)

Directions
Spray a skillet with nonstick spray and place on the stove over medium heat. Set a plate in the oven set to warm.

Combine the dry ingredients, then slowly add the wet ingredients. Stir the batter just enough to mix everything well -- don't mix it too much.

Make pancakes by dropping a heaping tablespoon of batter onto the hot skillet. When bubbles begin to form in the center and edges start to look dry, use a spatula to lift and flip the pancakes over. Pancakes should be golden brown. Cook for about one more minute. Move pancakes to plate in warm oven, or serve immediately with your favorite toppings (butter, syrup, fruit spread, sliced bananas, peaches, etc.). Makes about two dozen small pancakes.

Please let me know if you make these and get converted!

What do you like to put on your pancakes?

Miami Children's Museum

The Miami Children's Museum entrance


The sealife mosaic tower -- which has a hidden corkscrew slide


Yellow submarine mural

Go take a hike: Take a Child Outside Week

You know you've been indoors too long when you look up at a beautiful blue sky full of white puffy clouds and immediately think about the opening scene of The Simpsons.

Not "Gee, what a great day for kite flying" or even "What are those things in the sky? Oh, yeah -- birds."

So to help make sure my son doesn't become a couch potato, we're going to celebrate Take a Child Outside Week. Tomorrow through Sept. 30 is considered Take a Child Outside Week. People -- particularly parent-type people, I suppose -- are encouraged to lead kids in fun activities outdoors. Not just push them out the door and tell the kids to go play, sans handheld games. Naw, you've got to actually do stuff with the child.

Stuff like turning a blade of grass into a kazoo, looking at the stars, misting a spider web or playing in puddles. Easy and harmless. (Hugging a tree is optional.)

Maybe I'll take the Man-cub to one of our favorite parks that have boardwalks through a swamp. Or maybe we'll go back to our new favorite beach. Maybe we'll just look for caterpillars in our yard.



I think it will make a difference to him. Apparently, kids who are "disconnected from nature" have a greater chance of having attention deficit disorders and depression. Kids who don't play outside are more likely to be obese, which has a way of shortening a lifespan.

And if kids learn to love nature, they will want to protect it. As the Senegalese environmentalist Baba Dioum said, "We will conserve only what we love, we will love only what we understand, and we will understand only what we have been taught."

Or, as Tropic of Mom says, "Teach your kids how to be dirty."

Oops, that's not right. What I mean is "Show your kids the real world." Kids should not shriek in terror at seeing a humble earthworm. They need to know there is life beyond Wii. And because my son would be happy playing with cars and watching Teletubbies inside all day, I know I have to be the one to make sure he gets outside.

And I have to make sure when he looks up at a blue sky dotted with clouds, he doesn't think of this:



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No driving in Davie for me

Even though I've heard great things about it, I will probably not ever take my son to the Young at Art Museum.

And I might not go back to Flamingo Gardens.

Both of these attractions are in the town of Davie, which recently decided it's going to charge people who are in car crashes requiring emergency response. I'm not talking about a $10 fine -- it's more like $800, according to the news.

Let's say I'm even just driving through Davie to get to another area. Someone rear-ends me. An ambulance is dispatched because the crash looked bad and a witness called it in on her cell phone. But the other driver and I are thankfully OK. The police come to write up a report.

Am I going to get fined $800? Just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time?

Even if a person does cause a crash, just knowing s/he could be fined for bringing out the police, fire department or an ambulance, don't you think that will encourage more hit and runs?

I hardly see how this is fair or a good idea.

So, Davie, just know I'm going to be avoiding you and any businesses in your un-fair city. I can't afford to visit your town.

Mystery boy

My husband found some old negatives in a shoe box recently. We scanned them in to try to identify the pictures.

Old negatives being what they are, though, the little boy in this photograph is so overexposed there's no way of knowing who it could be. We have our suspicions, but with my husband's grandparents gone, we may never know for sure.

I like to think someone was trying out a new camera and went outside on a hot summer day. The toddler was running around. Cars being somewhat of a novelty, the photographer may have wanted to make this prized possession the subject of the photo. But the little boy was eager to see what the photographer was doing. "Whatsat?" he might have asked, grabbing at the camera with his Georgia-clay-gritted hands. "Stand right there, son," the photographer might have said. Toddlers don't stand still, though. And standing next to the black car, the boy's paleness reflected the bright afternoon sunshine, and the camera captured a halo around him. Photographs were expensive, but this was just a test photo, anyway -- and how did you get a decent picture out of this new-fangled thing, anyway?

(Come to think of it, this story could have been mine with my digital camera last year!)

I love a mystery as much as the next person, but when it comes to family history, this one is really going to bug us! That's why you can bet I'll be labeling and organizing our current photos.

Just in case, in 80 years, somebody cares.

And doesn't want to make up a story about the photo!




Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

Grown-up snack time

There is a cherished tradition here chez Tropic of Mom: snack time.

I'm not talking about dumping out some Oreos presenting sliced fresh fruit on a plate for my son in the middle of the afternoon. No, this is grown-up snack time (GUST?).

Once my son is sweetly napping, it's time for me to relax with a little refreshment. I deserve it. After all, I most likely wasn't able to finish my lunch or eat enough -- most of the time, the Man-cub considers a meal over after about 3.7 minutes of standing on a chair and sticking his fingers in his food.

Grown-up snack time started way before he was born, though.

Somewhere between about 1:30 and 3:30, the after-lunch lull kicks in. Even when I was working in an office, you could tell others were affected by it. The overall volume in our suite would drop. People's heads would nod toward their desks. They would start yawning and stretching, which would make you want to yawn and stretch, too. There wasn't anything to look forward to other than going home, which was hours away. So, naturally, we would find ways to sneak food to our desks, which was forbidden.

This is what our culture gets for not having a siesta, if you ask me.

When my son came along, though, about the only time I could eat was when he was sleeping. It became almost automatic: put baby down, open the fridge, scavenge for food, eat as quickly as possible, hear baby crying, wipe mouth with arm napkin.

Now that my son is two, though, I can usually (universe, please note: writing this down is not an invitation to mess with things and jinx it, 'K?) count on an afternoon nap. And I can go back to grown-up snack time.

Having some protein is good. Cottage cheese, rolled-up deli meat, peanut butter, a hard-boiled egg, a lobster tail, whatever. (Can anyone tell me why they can't inject protein into potato chips? There are protein shakes, protein granola bars, protein cereal and even protein water. The market for protein chips is wide open.)

Too often, though, I end up carrying a container of cookies or crackers into the office to munch and blog. This way, there's no danger of waking up my son with the cookie container rattling while I open it to take out a few. You believe me, right? Today, though, I am eating just one (really big) cookie and having some iced decaf coffee.

There's also leftover pizza (the small slices nobody wants to eat at dinner), fruit and -- rarely -- baby carrots. I'm not sure that carrots are conducive to blogging, though. They just add fiber.

So I guess it's true: Nap time really is the new happy hour.

Do you snack and blog?

Now excuse me while I finish my cookie....

Broward Center for the Performing Arts

As viewed from on the river

Dara Torres update

Remember my overarching proclamation that I was going to try to interview multi-Olympic medal winner and hometown girl Dara Torres here at Tropic of Mom? I have submitted two polite requests to her managers, PMG Sports, and haven't had a response.

(Can I pull at my collar and do my Rodney Dangerfield impression?

"I can't get no respect.")

I know Dara Torres is a busy woman. But you would think PMG Sports would at least reply to my message instead of ignoring me. Something like this would be fine:

"Dear Holly:

In this world, there are big fish and small fish. You are merely a worm. Or a plankton. Ms. Torres is busy appearing on the Tonight Show and walking the runway for Fashion Week in New York. Not only that, but Ms. Torres recently had surgery on her shoulder. She certainly doesn't have time to chat with you, a mere (cough) blogger.

However, we have penciled you in for a spot that might be open in May 2012. Ms. Torres' medals will need some polishing by then, and if you don't mind cleaning them up, then we'll see if we can make a deal with you for an interview. Don't call us -- we'll call you.

Seriously,

PMG Sports"

See, because I used to actually be a paid writer, I am familiar with being ignored for interview requests. It's fine. You can't hurt my feelings. I'll just keep stalking trying.

A cheap way to get culture

For families who live closer to Palm Beach County -- or who don't mind driving....

If you're always looking for something to do with your children during the day, visit the Norton Museum of Art on Tuesdays from 10 till noon.

Until the end of the year on Tuesdays, the museum has an "early bird" discount that offers adults half-off admission to the museum. There is also a free half-hour docent-led tour at 11:30 a.m. I would be afraid to take my son to an art museum, BUT! They give out Family Activity Packs to kids. The early bird discount also includes a free cup of soup or salad with any entrée purchase in the café, before noon.

Admission is usually $8 for adults, $3 for ages 13-21, and free for members and children under 13.

NAKED CAUTION sign

We recently came across this sign.

Now, most everyone will recognize that the shape of this sign is the shape of the CAUTION sign.

When you are walking around and see a caution sign with the word NAKED on it, well, that certainly gets your attention. And when you're near-sighted like me, and all you can see is NAKED, then you really start to wonder.

For my fellow myopic friends, this is what the sign looks like close up:



Oh, and I should probably mention we were at the Palm Beach Zoo. Someone there sure is a tease.


Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

A baby portrait is worth a thousand words -- I mean bucks

Even before your child is born, people want to know what he or she looks like. It starts with the ultrasounds, and then requests for pictures from Grandma begin to be made before the paint is dry on the nursery walls. Somehow, expecting parents end up on marketing lists, and before your due date rolls around, you're already being guilted into capturing all those precious moments of your baby's adorableness to cherish forever. For many families, the picture taking begins the moment the kid comes out of the womb. At the hospital where I gave birth, Ms. Portrait Lady (I think that was her real name) visited us the morning after and wanted to start snapping pictures.

My husband and I sent Ms. Portrait Lady away.

I love taking pictures of my son -- I have an extensive library of digital photos and videos that I meticulously organize and maintain -- but I haven't done a lot of portrait photography. I don't like the phony poses, the cheesy backdrops and the expensive package deals that leave you with more photos than you know what to do with -- not to mention, just where do you put all those 8 by 10s?

And yet -- and yet! -- I have managed to have my son's portrait taken professionally every six months.

It started when he was six months old and able to sit in a shopping cart. We were bustling through Babies R Us one day, and a Kiddie Kandids person offered to take his picture for free -- no strings attached. My son wasn't wearing what I would consider a portrait-worthy outfit, but it was clean. And he was in a good mood. So we went home with a free picture.

Then in like two weeks, it was his first birthday, and that certainly called for a photo, right? Plus, we'd never had our picture taken as a family. So my husband, son and I all got to sit through the phony poses in front of the cheesy backdrops in the name of preserving family history and appeasing our fans family. We actually had to go back to the studio twice because the Man-cub was so squirrelly. There's only so much prancing, cajoling, singing and silly-face making you can do to keep a one-year-old happy and not chewing all the props.

Another two weeks six months went by, and I succumbed to the pressure to get my son's picture taken again. It was near Easter time, and he now actually had some hair. Those pictures have been the best yet.

My son's second birthday was this weekend, so once again I took him to get his picture taken. The Man-cub is as adorable as ever, of course, but his lack of hair has grown into a wild mass of unruly-yet-baby-fine curls that defy portrait perfection. I tried my best to make his hair look like ... something. Hair set, outfit smoothed, giggles induced, my son was ready to get his two-year portrait taken!

And then the photographer tried to get him to look at her by waving a big fan at him, the breeze parting his hair right down the middle of his head.

This is sort of what he ended up looking like:



I rejected that photo.

In the end, the portrait thing is OK, I guess, if you don't end up spending a lot of money. One of my friends whose children are now out of the house told me he spent over a thousand dollars on his kids' portraits. He begged us to save the money and take pictures ourselves. He had a shell-shocked look in his eyes. It was the look of a dad swimming in overpriced pictures hanging on the walls, stuffed into boxes and falling out of albums.

Will my husband and I learn from our friend's experience?

I'll let you know in six months.

A moment of silence to remember

Do you have $5?

I am nervous. I am sitting here in my office, alone -- just me and my computer. But my mouth and throat are dry and my palms are clammy. I'm nervous because I'm taking a leap and I'm going to do something I am not comfortable doing: asking for money.

Gulp!

But wait, it's not for me. It's for the American Cancer Society. See, I signed up for the Making Strides Against Breast Cancer Walk on Oct. 11 in downtown Ft. Lauderdale. I've never done a walkathon-thingy or anything like this before. I'm a newbie. Green as can be.

But I figured if I can raise a little money for breast cancer research, then, great! If you'd like to sponsor me in my walk, you can donate as little as $5. That's just a little more than a Starbucks beverage, and a little less than a new lipstick. And it's a tax write-off.

My mother-in-law fought breast cancer, and so far she is healthy today. That is one of the success stories I know.

I once had a co-worker, though, who wasn't as fortunate. Only 33 when she discovered a lump in her breast, she fought the cancer for several years before losing. She left behind a six-year-old daughter and a husband in grief. My co-worker led a healthy lifestyle -- exercised, ate healthy, never smoked, didn't have a history of breast cancer in her family.

And to me, that's why breast cancer is so scary. When my co-worker was diagnosed, I knew it could be me. Something like one in four women will have a run with breast cancer.

Fundraising efforts like my walk next month will fund research, provide up-to-date cancer information and education, advocate for all people to have access to cancer screenings and follow-up care and offer free programs for patients and their families.

If you'd like to donate, please click on the "Hope Starts with You" thermometer on the right. I'd appreciate it. If you're a blogger and you donate, I'll make a button ad for your blog in my sidebar. For what it's worth!

Ahhh. Now I can stop being so nervous and stop writing this panic-attack-inducing post!

Biscayne Bay stilt houses

Two of the stilt houses in Biscayne Bay

Two Disney DVDs to give away

The Mickey Mouse Clubhouse sure has changed since I was a kid. Now, it's completely animated. And it's for younger children. It also directly asks kids questions to help them think. (Er ... maybe they used to do that? If they did, I don't remember.)

The Disney folks have provided two DVDs for giveaways! One is the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse Mickey's Storybook Surprises, and the other is My Friends Tigger & Pooh Hundred Acre Wood Haunt. (Click the links for a fun preview of each.)

Mickey's Storybook Surprises includes four episodes of re-imagined familiar stories: Minnie's Mystery, Donald the Frog Prince, Minnie Red Riding Hood (which, after watching it, I can tell is suspiciously similar to a Disney Little Einsteins episode called Rocket Riding Hood) and Sleeping Minnie. Bonus features include a fun game.

Hundred Acre Wood Haunt includes three double episodes, none of which are scary at all! In fact, a few episodes help children with common kid fears. Super-Sized Darby/Piglet's Lightning Frightening, Eeyore's Trip to the Moon/The Incredible Shrinking Roo and Eeyore's Home Sweet Home/Rabbit's Prized Pumpkin are all fun and appropriate for preschoolers. There are also two bonus Halloween episodes from Disney's Handy Manny show, and a Super Sleuth game.

Both DVDs are fun to watch and come with coupons for other Disney DVDs. I'll pick two winners at random on Saturday -- to win, just leave a comment and say which DVD you'd like or if you'd be happy with either one!

Update: The winners have been chosen!

The Pooh DVD goes to:



The first commenter was Pennies in My Pocket.

And the Mickey Mouse DVD goes to:



The second commenter was Chelle.

Congrats!

Yes birth control, no periods

Just about every single magazine I read has these ads for birth control that gives you a way to have only about four menstrual cycles a year.

A recent article I found says more women are interested in birth control that gives them fewer periods.

But I wonder, isn't this messing with nature a bit? I've never known a woman who actually enjoys that special time of the month, but maybe there's a good reason for not concentrating a year's worth of mood swings and cravings into a couple of days:

Happy birthday!

Today is my son's second birthday!

PS: "One of these things is not like the other...." but I won't name the Jedi-obsessed sibling at fault.

How do I like those apples?

The last time I stayed at a hotel, I had the most amazing snack waiting for me in a goody basket. It was a package of freeze-dried apple slices. Oh, man! They were delicious. I'd had apple chips before, but these were even better. They were so good they had to be fake. But I checked the label. There was nothing there but apples. Just apples. I'd never had Brothers All Natural stuff before and had never heard of them. So I grabbed the second and last bag of these apples before my roommates could notice.

I get greedy about my snacks.

But my son ended up eating the second bag anyway. Serves me right.

If I had a case of these apple snacks -- or some of the other Brothers All Natural snacks -- then I wouldn't resort to eating this while my child naps:



I swear I don't eat this for breakfast. Snack only. You believe me, don't you?

This post was written for Parent Bloggers Network as an entry for a contest sponsored by Brothers-All-Natural. And I should win because I am the biggest/newest convert.

My morning guilt trip

So with Tropical Storm Hanna bringing us rain and a light breeze today, and Hurricane Ike expected to hit Tuesday or Wednesday (we have an "another week, another hurricane" attitude around here), I took the Man-cub to the store to refresh our supplies. I thought his jacket was in the car, but by the time the house was locked and he was strapped into his car seat, I realized the jacket was MIA. No big deal. It was barely sprinkling. A little water isn't going to kill him, I thought. I sure wasn't going to wear a jacket or even a hat, myself. Umbrellas? I hate having one more thing to carry, and then you have to deal with this giant wet thing later.

So off we went, first to the Post Office to mail a gift, where I tripped and slipped on the wet pavement. I didn't fall, but my foot slid sideways in my shoe and made it break. (I have to embarrassingly confess what kind of shoe I was wearing. Why won't I ever learn? Maybe I need a 12-Step program.) Limping into the post office carrying a boxed gift and a 30-pound toddler, I asked one of the guys behind the counter if he could spare some tape.

Sure.

Priority Mail tape.

At least it looks ... patriotic?

Then sporting footwear the likes of which fashionistas have never dreamed, my son and I went into Publix. It was still lightly sprinkling, and I was really wishing I had found his jacket, when another shopper passing me read my mind and said, "Hey! Why don't you have something covering his head?"

This person wasn't even a grandma type -- no abuelita -- not even another mom. No, the shopper chastising me for allowing a few drops of rain to fall on my child's head was a young guy, maybe Asian. I stared at him to try to figure out how I could rebut, but he just kept walking, so it was clear he wasn't interested in a conversation. So I pretended I couldn't understand what he was saying, and headed into the store, all while wondering what kind of man tries to make a limping shoe-impaired mother feel bad about herself.

That was a walk-by guilt trip, it was! I'd had enough tripping for the day, thankyouverymuch!

The Man-cub then had a tantrum, either because the full realization of having a mother who doesn't care about his health had hit him, or because he came face to face with his arch nemesis: the shopping cart.

And later my shoe came undone.

Something really should be done about the stickiness of our nation's postal tape.

And also maybe people who make moms feel bad about nothing.

"Great Wilmer Valderrama news" at Tropic of Mom

The Internet continues to amaze me. My Handy Manny review/giveaway led my blog to be captured at a Wilmer Valderrama fan site:



And by posting my recent chicken salad recipe (which is still delicious, by the way) on BlogHer, the Tampa news site picked it up:



I'm ... flattered?

Ft. Lauderdale's New River bridge mosaics

From the water, you can see mosaics under the bridges depicting historical river life.

Tropic of Mom's fruity chicken salad

OK, so to make up for not posting yesterday (Labor Day and all -- we went to the zoo with friends and I got exhausted walking around the in heat), I have two posts today! This one is a first for Tropic of Mom: a recipe!

I think every good recipe has a story, and this one certainly does. If you don't want to hear it, just scroll down to the main attraction. I'll try not to feel rejected.

A friend had a Pampered Chef party, and I was previously uninitiated into the Pampered Chef cult, so I went along. Every single woman there had this handheld chopper thingy that they insisted I must have! (Gasp! How in the world did I live without it?!) My friend said she used it to chop her chicken when she made chicken salad.

Perfect! As a semitarian/flexitarian, I hate cutting meat. I think it's a texture thing. This chopper and I had a date. Er ... and the chicken too. Sort of.

So tonight I made my chicken salad with the chopper! It took me a while to get used to the chopper -- I almost cut my finger because I'm clumsy that way -- but before long, my chicken was ready to go! Then I just added some stuff that was in my cabinet, and the salad came out great. Voila: a recipe is born.

Tropic of Mom's Fruity Chicken Salad

Ingredients
1-1/2 pounds of chicken, thereabouts, chopped
1/2 cup red or purple grapes, sliced
1/2 apple, chopped
1 small can of sliced water chestnuts
1 small jar of diced pimientos, drained
1/3 to 1/2 cup Italian salad dressing
1/4 cup mayonnaise

Directions
Combine ingredients in a large bowl and mix well. Cover the bowl and place in the refrigerator to chill for at least 30 minutes. Serve cold on sandwich rolls, on top of leafy greens, wrapped in a tortilla or mixed with your favorite pasta.

My family liked it. If you make this and like it, please let me know!

County parks closed on Tuesdays

Poor Tuesday. What's so great about Tuesday? There used to be a commercial on the radio that proclaimed Tuesday as the most boring day of the week and that nothing significant ever happened on a Tuesday. (Except for the deeply discounted pizza or sandwich or whatever the commercial was for.)

I suppose Broward County thinks Tuesdays are meaningless, too, because now county parks will be closed on Tuesdays because of budget cuts. The big regional parks will be open, but the majority of the rest will be closed.

To my son and me, this means we can't walk the boardwalk at Tall Cypress, Fern Forest or Secret Woods. No climbing the tower up to the trees at Treetops Park. No listening for the great horned owl at Woodmont Natural Area. I know we could go another day, but we won't be able to get our nature fix on Tuesdays. City parks will be open on Tuesdays -- at least until city officials get wind of Tuesday's image problem -- but city parks are generally smaller and not as green as county parks, which are more "nature-y." (That's the precise ecologist's word.)

So, in a word, "Waaah!" Am I the only person in the county who thinks this is unfair?

Now my son and I will be looking for something else to do on Tuesdays -- something bland, boring, meaningless and insignificant. That's all Tuesdays are good for.