The Heat is On

2 p.m. yesterday
Air temp: 104 degrees; pool water temp: 90 degrees
10:45 p.m.: 100 degrees.

9 a.m. today
Air temp: 96 degrees

Yes, we love that it took its time in getting here this year, but the heat -- the real, "I can't believe it's so freakin' hot" heat -- has reared its ugly head in our little cul-de-sac of the universe.

Everyone here says, "It's so nice here 7 months out of the year." And then June comes.

We lived through it last summer, we knew it was coming, but still, I don't think even the lifelong Arizonans are ever fully prepared. You're never ready when -- sorry, I know this is so cliche, but it's true -- you get in the car and the steering wheel is so hot that you really can't touch it.

When it's 10 p.m. and still hovering above 100 degrees. When your pool feels like a bathtub at 2 p.m. Or, when those lovely hot winds come whipping around out of the blue -- nothing like an unexpected fire-like blast to unleash your hanging towels to send them twirling around your back yard. And then there's the pile of coloring papers Allie left on the outdoor table. Night before last we saw towels, papers and various other back yard debris, whirl about reminiscent of the tornado scene in Wizard of Oz.

Returning home from our California trip, we were greeted by the overbearing dry heat. This week it's 110+. Last night the weather caster (who, by the way have the easiest gig in the world here in Phoenix -- warm, hot, hotter ... and rain once in a while.) said, "The good news is that it's not going to get any hotter; the bad news is that it's not going to get any cooler."

That's summertime in Phoenix.

So, what do we do? We venture out to our pool two or three times a day. We buy sunscreen nearly every time we go to the store. We go to the movies. We run our errands and do our grocery shopping early in the day or later in the evening. We grimace when we pay the $400 power bill. We write about how hot it is. We take the kids to evening swim lessons and summer soccer sessions and make them drink lots of water. We suck it up when we have to go outdoors in the middle of the day. But most of all, we think about those seven beautiful months of the year.

Check out how hot it is right now: The Phoenix heat

Highlights (and lowlights) of a Family Road Trip

We did it as kids -- piling up in the family car and driving cross country, memories being born in stories that would be told, retold and laughed about years later -- the hubcab spinning off the wheel driving through the desert, the suitcase full of shoes flying off the top of the car and showing up on our doorstep weeks later, the car breaking down and then watching Prince Charles and Lady Di get married on a TV in an auto repair shop. Somehow, when it comes to family vacations, it seems the "getting there" is always part of the memory, part of the family history.

Now as parents, it's our turn to orchestrate ...

So, a couple weeks ago we loaded up the kids -- well half the kids, Zach and Allie -- to venture out on the first leg of our trip to the Monterey/Santa Cruz area. Blake and Nick flew to Sacramento a week earlier to spend time with their grandparents.

What used to be about a 3-4-hour drive to the Central Coast from Sacramento is now about 13 or 14 hours from Phoenix, depending on traffic and how many times you need to stop to give the kids (or me, much to Brett's chagrin) a break. As we considered the scenarios of how such a lengthy trip would go with two 3-year-olds, we decided to break up the drive and stop at Disneyland for a day.

Here's a glimpse into some of our adventures in the Dawson Honda Odyssey:

• If you live in the Phoenix area and you plan on traveling on any highway, chances are there's either major construction going on or you'll be stalled by an accident. It was so weird to get used to checking newspapers and web sites last fall before Blake's weekend soccer tournaments to see which sections of which highways were closed. I've gotten used to it now. But sure enough, almost an hour away from home, on Highway 10 (or as Arizonans call it, "the" 10), we're at a standstill. Brett is a bit on the impatient side when it comes to driving (I love you, honey!), and apparently little Zach inherited this trait. After moving what felt like just inches at a stretch for more than half an hour, Zach begins his mantra, punctuated with sobs and tears ... "I WANT TO GO HOME ... I WAAANT TO GO HOME ... I WANT TO GO HOOOME!" He goes on and on. Relentlessly. I feel like a human blood pressure monitor; I can see Brett's start to rise. I unstrap my seatbelt and make my way to the back to dig out some trail mix and a drink. Seems to do the trick ... for both Zach and Brett.
  
• On the highway, you come across several larger-than-life cut-outs of humans -- babies, children, adults. It's really quite bizarre. The first time I came across one and it started to come into view, I thought, "What is that thing that looks like a baby?" You get closer, and you realize it is a baby." Take a look:
• 

• We brought our trusty Garmin GPS. At one point, somewhere in Southern California, we're on the highway. Garmin tells Brett to veer left. I try to tell him that the left lanes are the Express Lanes for motorists who have a toll card. But it's too late. We're in the left fast-track lanes, separated from the other lanes by tall, skinny columns of some sort, placed every few feet. It reminds me of the episode of the office where the GPS tells Michael Scott to turn right and he ends up turning into a lake. Brett and I talk about what could be at the end of the Express route -- maybe a machine where you slide the card (only we don't have a card so we'll be stuck), a person manning a booth (we figure if this is the case we'll plead ignorance or blame the GPS), a cop (again, we'll plead ignorance or blame the GPS). This lane seems to go forever, running alongside the regular lanes. "Do you think I can run over those things?" Brett asks. I can't quite tell if he's serious. "What -- you're kidding, right?" This isn't the Dukes of Hazard. Finally, the lane separates from the regular lanes and finally it feeds us back into the normal lanes.
  
• It wouldn't be a Dawson family roadtrip unless one of the kids got carsick. Sure enough, about an hour out of Anaheim on our way north, Allie -- with no warning or symptoms whatsoever -- gets sick. All I remember is turning around, looking at her sweet little face, and her losing it -- three times. So, we pulled into a nearby Chevron station, changed her clothes, cleaned up best we could ... and rode with the windows down for a while.We arrived back home on the day that all the fires started breaking out on Highway 1 and then throughout Northern California.
  
• On our way to California, we saw three small roadside fires. The California Govenator is encouraging Californians not to buy fireworks, which I don't have any quibbles about. BUT, those who smoke while driving and choose to flick the butts roadside onto what amounts to the hottest, driest, stretch of the country (it was 119 in Palm Springs on our way home), should be ... I don't know ... dealt with ... punished ... forced to live in Phoenix in July.
  
• One thing I've learned about road trips with kids is that they go through three distinct phases: sleep, calmness/relaxed state and hyperactive craziness. Usually you try to time it so the crazy occurs right before you're about to make a stop. But sometimes it doesn't always work out that way. About an hour before arriving at the beach house, Zach and Allie entered the crazy state. And the thing about twins, or any siblings, really, is that they feed off each other. One gets crazy, so the other gets crazier. So their big thing was chanting, "Are we there yet, are we there yet, are we there yet?" It's so funny and so cliche -- the kid asking the parent this timeless question -- but there it was and they were chanting/singing/yelling this for what seemed like forever. But to them it was just a big game, trying to sing in tune with each other and bouncing their heads back and forth in rhythm. Mental note: next time, bring my IPod.
  
• On the ride home, we didn't break up the trip -- we drove all the way from Watsonville to Anthem. We left at about 10 a.m. and arrived home right at midnight. During the last half hour, the twins both got cranky and Zach, plagued by a fear of the dark, begged us to turn on the lights. During the week we were gone, the real heat -- 110+ degrees -- finally hit Phoenix. And as we entered our oven of a house, having turned off the a/c while we were gone, we tucked the kids into bed and waited for the 88-degree house to cool off.
  

It felt good to be out of the car -- no sick or hyper kids, no giant babies on the roadside, no fires, no sitting in traffic. Just the memories.

A Conversation Between Zach and Allie ...

So yesterday morning as I was milling in and out of the bedroom, straightening up and gathering laundry, Zach and Allie were brushing their teeth -- or at least attempting to clean up their pearly whites.

Zach has the little tube of kid-friendly toothpaste -- with not much left in it it -- in hand as he tries to squeeze some out onto his Cars toothbrush.

Allie: "Hurrrryyyy up, Zachy. It's my turn. I need toothpaste."

Zach: "I'm trying to get it out, Alliiieeee."

Allie, growing increasingly impatient: "Zachy, I neeeeed some toothpaste."

Allie then thumps Zach on the back.

Zach lets out a cry. "Allie, stop it!"

I intervene, helping them both squeeze toothpaste onto their toothbrushes.

About 30 seconds pass as they're busy brushing their cute little teeth.

Allie, in a muffled voice with the toothbrush still in her mouth: "Zachy ... do you like me?"

Zach, matter-of-factly, not having to think twice about it: "Yep."

As a sidenote, I think it will be so interesting to see who these two end up marrying and if their spouses will be like their twin. It is kind of bizarre when you think about it -- having a built-in partner since birth.

How R U? My Leap Into the World of Texting

So Blake and Nick have been gone for four days now. The house has been quieter than usual -- or at least as quiet as it can get with two of four kids gone.

Blake took his phone with him, so in the past few days, I've been practicing my text messaging skills -- something I never thought I would do.

Actually I think I have Amy to thank for getting me started on the whole text thing, which months ago just seemed way too complicated for me.

A text message popped up on my phone one day. Cool, I thought. Fast forward a few weeks and I'm sitting at the indoor soccer complex at Nicky's practice. Bored, I start playing with the phone and figure out how to text. So I send Brett a series of messages: "Hi. I'm trying this out." "Did you get this?" "Pls make sure AI is set up to record." To which, if I recall correctly, I received a "Yes, dear" reply. Code phrase for "You're getting on my nerves."

So there began my journey on the text messaging highway. After a recent girls day out with Amy, I saw that she's an avid texter. So I began texting her.

Fast forward to this past Saturday morning as Blake was getting ready to leave for his trip to visit my parents in Sacramento.

"Hey, Blake, do you know how to text?" I ask him.

"Yeahhh," he said, with the "duh" inflection in his answer.

"OK -- text me."

So there it began.

"Mom, we're at a restaurant eating."

"Mom, we're at jamba juice."

"Mom, we're setting up our tent."

"Mom, yes, record some of the Euro soccer games 4 me."

"Mom, Nicky's not eating his dinner."

So clearly Blake's enjoying his texting privileges. I didn't realize, though, that he'd use it to try to rat out his brother.

"He'll be OK. Have fun. Luv u," I reply, quietly soaking up the week-long respite from the brotherly bickering.

And they're off ...

So yesterday Blake and Nick flew to Sacramento -- alone. They did this last June, too, to go on their annual camping trip to Lake Tahoe with Grandma and Grandpa.

Last year, they did fine. No real pre-flying jitters. But this year was different. As the day drew near, Nicky, 7, grew increasingly antsy about it, hinting about his fear of flying.

"What if the plane crashes?" he asked me the day before the flight.

Me: Gulp. Long pause.

Then my spiel about how flying is so much safer than driving, yada, yada, yada.

"But what if the plane starts to crash -- does it go back to the airport? Will someone be there to pick us up?"

I'm thinking fast and wishing SO hard for the magic words that will put his fears to rest.

"What will happen if it crashes?" he asks again, as I'm trying to muster up all the motherly wisdom I can. The pressure's on. This feels like one of those big questions that determines whether I pass the Mom test.

My mind races. I revert to old public relations techniques from years ago -- namely not answering the question directly, but providing an answer that reassures.

"Grandma and Grandpa are going to be at the airport in Sacramento to pick you up," I tell him. "Dad will be with you at the airport in Phoenix until the plane leaves. Blake will be sitting right beside you during the plane ride."

This didn't seem to appease him much; I could tell his original question was still dangling on his mind waiting for finality, like a 6-year-old with a wiggly tooth, ready to pop out at any moment.

I'm desperately wondering how to bring this to a close so my little boy's mind is at ease.

"Dad will buy you some candy at the airport for the plane ride."

His head spins toward me, his eyes are twinkling.

Bingo.

"Skittles?" he asks, as a smile consumes his face.

"Skittles it is."

Dusting off the treadmill

The diagnosis is in -- I still have the running bug. Even with the heat and summer vacation forcing me to run on our at-home treadmill.

After spending the past seven months running outside and on the higher-quality treadmills at the gym in preparing for my first half-marathon last March, I'm relegated back to my treadmill that sits in our bedroom. I know -- not very romantic, but for some reason, our master bedroom is humongous and there's plenty of room for it.

So about a week ago I dusted it off, made sure it was stable, and grew frustrated when it wouldn't start because the annoying safety key wasn't engaged properly. All the while, I'm thinking there has to be a better alternative -- maybe I should just force myself to run at night. It felt like being 19 and reuniting with a boyfriend you hadn't seen all summer -- you're just not sure if that feeling is still there.

But after a good five minutes of fiddling with this silly red piece of plastic that controls this $600 piece of equipment, it finally clicked just right and away I went. Even with its flaws, I still love running. But I quickly became reacquainted with the challenges of running on a treadmill at home.

First, in a room facing the East and being a morning runner, it's HOT. I turn the ceiling fan on high and kick the A/C down about 4 degrees lower than normal while I run, but it's still not like the air-conditioned gym.

Second, I actually attempted it one morning with all four kids home. Just a note to anyone who tries this -- it isn't very relaxing and your mind can't wander freely. You know when you have your IPod cranked up and Elton John is screaming "Bennie and the Jets" in your ear and you can still hear kids crying/shouting/fighting in the background, you're going to have to hop off to get your kids to chill out.

And then there's Zach and Allie, wandering into the room and posing inquisitive questions. "Mommy, can I run with you?" "Mommy, can I put on my swim soup (yea -- Allie says soup instead of suit ... so cute)?" "Mommy, why is there lemonade on the floor in the kitchen?" Ugh! Another day I ran at about 6:00, before the kids (well most of them) woke up. No interruptions, but I'm not an early-morning runner. No food, no coffee and three miles was grueling.

So, yes, it can be challenging, but it's doable ... and definitely a requirement for me to keep my sanity around here.

Scorpions and other Summer Fun

It's been two weeks since Blake and Nick finished up the school year and, I have to say, other than the hours of 3-5 p.m. when running around scaring each other and screaming is the popular thing to do, it's going smoothly so far.

We've been enjoying the lazy summer days, swimming and inviting friends over. Zach and Allie are having a ball splashing around in the pool. So much so that we're going in about three times a day. Zach still wants me to catch him from the slide and he gets so frustrated that it takes me a good 5-10 minutes to get all the way in, even though the water really isn't too cold anymore. It's that thinning Arizona blood.

And while the boys have done their share of video-game playing and TV-watching, they've already pieced together a 500-piece puzzle (with some help from Brett, who loves doing puzzles; I never was a puzzle person) and Nicky's already created a huge Mission from Mars Lego rocket thingy. Blake's already read about 5 300-page books (I'm not exaggerating or trying to boast -- this boy does a LOT of reading). His latest fixation is learning a language, specifically Dutch, of all things. This is on the heels of a soccer Dad/fill-in-for-the-coach, who happens to be Dutch, barking orders and I'm not sure what else (and not sure I want to know), in Dutch, at recent practices. So lately Blake's had the Netherlands on his mind.

But today we ventured out and not much luck at the library or book store. Instead, we came home with a couple more Pendragon installments (a popular tweener series) for Blake and a writing workbook for Nicky (I don't think he noticed when I slipped it up to the cashier -- he'll be thrilled, I'm sure).

Meanwhile, Blake and Nick are getting ready to fly to Sacramento on Saturday. They'll go on their annual camping trip at Lake Tahoe with Grandma and Grandpa Joe, spend a few days with Grandma and Grandpa Rex. Then Brett, the twins and I will meet up with the boys, my parents, my brother Joey, his wife Erika and their son Trenten, in Monterey, where we're renting a beachhouse (this is the actual place we're staying in the pic) for the week. We'll probably freeze our Arizona-blooded tails off, but that's OK. It's about 90 degrees here today and it actually feels cool to me -- how crazy is that?

Meanwhile, in other exciting household news:

A couple days ago, upon returning home from running errands, I was met by a pale little scorpion on the kitchen floor. At first I thought it was a little piece of thin cardboard kinda rolled up. But as I leaned over to pick it up, I did a double-take. I think this was about the fourth one we've found in the house since moving here a year ago. It looked dead, but I wasn't sure. So I called Blake and Nicky over -- I know ... I'm such a wimp. Blake grabbed my flipflop and kind of poked at it. It's little tail mustered a tiny wave, just enough to give him a good jump. Blake was the hit-man, doing the dirty work, and Nicky his accessory-after-the-fact, having grabbed a wad of paper towels, picking up the remains and tossing them in the trash. I have to say, I was really impressed -- OK, maybe relieved is a better word -- that they took care of that the way they did.

My daughter, the flirt

After this past weekend, there's no denying it, no trying to explain it away. The simple fact is that my 3-year-old daughter Allie is already a huge flirt.

Her friendly ways have always shone through. Of the four kids, she's the most gregarious. She's the one who walks up to people in the grocery store or at a restaurant and will say "Hello" and strike up a conversation, usually involving whatever stuffed animal she is carrying around that day.

When it comes to preschool or activities like swimming lessons, she's the one who quickly kisses me good-bye and runs up to give her teacher a hug.

This is all quite new to me; two of her brothers are on the shy, keep-to-themselves side (like me, I guess) while her third brother Nick is more middle-of-the-road when it comes to sociability.

So, that's all been good and well and fun to watch. But then Saturday we got a glimpse of another side of Allie's friendliness.

We were all at Blake's indoor soccer game, watching from the bleachers. Midway through, Allie decides to sashay down the bench, some 20 feet or so away, to a trio of boys -- probably 9 or 10 years old. She starts yukking it up, smiling, giggling, asking them questions ("Are you watching soccer?" "Do you like my bear?") and then running back to Mom and Dad. This keeps repeating itself.

Finally, in an effort to give these poor boys some relief, we (more specifically, Brett) tell Allie to come back and sit with us. "No, Daddy," she says, smiling coyly. "I liiiiike these boys."

This sent two of the boys packing while the third remained. Brett, still reeling from Allie's candid confession, tried to whisk her away again, this time physically, and said to the boy, "Sorry if she's bugging you."

"No, she's funny," he replied.

Great. Cute, flirty, AND funny.