Sofia and the box

I've had a number of questions relating to a comment under a picture on my blog, so here's the full story.

Sofia Singer is 3 years old, and was recently voted "Most Likely To Become A Dictator Of A Central American Country" by her classmates. This was mostly on the strength of her refusal to nap anymore, although she has moved on from deliberately waking everyone else up.

So a couple of weeks ago, when her teachers were putting all the other children down for their afternoon sleep, Sofia decided to get into a box.

The box in question was not large - it was a playbox with games on each side. She took the top off and got in. Unfortunately, she found she couldn't get out again. Her teacher couldn't get her out. None of the teachers in the school could get her out.

They phoned Elise. "Imagine a jack-in-the-box," they told her when she asked for details.

By the time the worried mother had arrived at the nursery so had two fire trucks. Apparently only one was called, but the other was nearby, heard it on the radio, and decided to come and take a look. They also took lots of pictures and asked if they could put Sofia in their 2012 calendar.

Though she became a little distressed when the firemen said they might have to cut her out, Sofia was soon rescued by the realisation that the box was only screwed together. So well done to America's finest!

The moral of the story? I'm not sure. Maybe "the third child is the difficult one", but certainly "make sure you stay friends with Sofia Singer". Who knows what she'll decide to do next?



Keeping her composure even in a highly risky situation.



Charming the fire brigade. Just wait until she starts on the police, the military...

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When will this madness cease?

Allison, a friend I met volunteering at Concord Child Care Center, recently returned from a trip to New York with her husband David.  Where she found this. Something unbelievable in a category already tightly packed with ridiculously unbelievable things.

Yes, it is our future heads of state re-imagined as...tea bags.

The top half is a caricature of our noble Prince and Princess-to-be, the bottom half is filled with high-quality Assam.  But why is "Katea" clutching dollar bills?  Maybe because this was made in Germany.

Let's hope William doesn't find himself in hot water after he gets married!  A little bit of political satire for you there...

Anyway, if you want to know when the madness will actually begin ceasing, it's at 3am PST on Friday 29th April.  Even my strong monarchist tendencies won't be waking me at that hour.

Getting younger every day

It was the moment of reckoning: my three-month fitness assessment down at "the club".  Kim was there, all five-foot of muscled intimidation.  She pinched me, she made me step up and down, she forced me to stretch, she took my blood pressure (how am I meant to appear unpressured at a moment like this?), she pummeled me with questions.  I reported on my routine, which has been surprisingly consistent.  "So how come I don't look like Arnold Schwarzenegger yet?" I joked, attempting to relieve the tension.  "Well, he's shorter than you," was her response.  I didn't know how to take that.

My vital statistics were soon entered into the magic computer program and...well:

Oh yeah, come on, that's what I'm talking about!  30 years old!!  I get to celebrate all those birthdays again!

Still not looking too great in those blue shorts.

Goodnight Mol

Sad news from the UK this week: my cat Mollie has passed away.  She was my sister and parents' cat really, but she was my like-for-like replacement as soon as I'd left for university so there was certainly some ownership.  As with all cats, we were the ones being owned, and I returned to uni from my first holiday with several artistic scratches (before I started going out with Hannah!)

Mollie was a rescue cat.  When Mum walked into the shelter she was the only kitten who padded up to her, and immediately began purring when she was picked up.  It was the last time she ever did that, demonstrating her lifelong expertise in human psychology that led her to be loved by all while remaining aloof, regal and sphinx-like to the end.  She would never drink from her water bowl, only a fine china mug on the kitchen windowsill would do.  Occupy the chair she wanted and she would simply sit and stare at you until her sense of entitlement inevitably overcame your resolve, then you would leave and she would hop up into the still-warm spot.

Every morning she'd miaow at Dad (only once, he knew his place) to join her for a walk up the garden.  She never lowered herself to catching birds, preferring to growl at them from the warmth of the sitting room, but did once bring in a mouse that ran off.  After she'd sat staring at the filing cabinet for a month my parents found that the rodent escapee had taken up residence there and been slowly shredding bank statements into a nest.  It was released humanely, much to Mollie's disgust.

So goodbye Mol.  No doubt you are sitting on a fluffy cloud blanket somewhere, charming the angels into feeding you treats and entertaining you with your favourite grey shoelace.  You'll be missed!

Mollie demonstrates her best sphinx impression.

Thank you for killing this patch of grass specifically that I might stay dry.  Now stop taking photos.

I don't think she'd have enjoyed a weekend in Tahoe.

Apres apres ski

Enough physical activity!  Today was about a gentle walk on the shores of Lake Tahoe before we waved the Singers goodbye (they're up there for the rest of the week) and drove home.  Although the glittering casinos of Reno beckoned to the north, we opted for the suburban paradise of Walnut Creek.

Sofia, who recently got stuck in a wooden box at her nursery and had to be rescued by firemen.  Yep, true.

Maya heads out into the snowfield.

Hannah models the latest in winter fashion.

As does Elliot.  Can you guess what happened here?

Lake Tahoe, looking stunning today.

Davies-Singer conglomerate family photo (also stunning).

Maya, displaying the wanton destruction of her massive snow ball.

Back home, and what more could you want in new free branded mugs?

And when they were up they were up

After one lesson we were obviously totally ready to tackle the slopes.  We returned to Sierra-a-Tahoe, via our favourite Don Cheepo's where we were decked out in the latest ski wear.  The little Singers checked into ski school and Hannah and I sharpened our technique with a few runs on Easy Street while Elise and Elliot got ready.  Then it was up the mountain for real.

Getting on and off chairlifts was the hardest part of the whole adventure and caused the most falls, always in front of the crowds gathered at each end.  But once we'd managed that part the gentle ride up through snow covered pines, watching slightly more skilled skiers tackle the black runs below, was quite relaxing.

Soon enough we were up at the top of Sugar 'n' Spice, which formed the "Mellow Yellow Slow Zone" all the way down the mountain (not a reference to the snow colour).  We unfurled our wedges and zig-zagged in a terrified manner.  Soon we were at the bottom...and could repeat the whole thing!

While Elise and Elliot shot off down the blue runs, we stuck to what we knew.  There was only one major wipeout, as I discovered that the wedge is not fully effective at stopping you at 40mph.  Or maybe it was 5mph, but it was too fast.  Luckily a ski instructor was nearby and whooshed over to offer advice (and a hand to pull me up).  "You've got to complete your turns!" he said, and I nodded knowledgeably.

We managed around five hours skiing, and all limbs were present and accounted for at the end.  Hannah loved it, and is now plotting next season when we can take advantage of the Chevron Ski Bus - 4am start, back home by 9pm.  Those are almost the same hours we had this weekend sharing a house with the Singer girls...

The early morning activity of a future property mogul.

Elliot before 8am.  Not pretty.

And here we are, back on the Sierra-at-Tahoe slopes.

My kind of ski resort.

Trailed up the lift by Elise and Elliot.  Put that iPhone away!

A well groomed piste.

Down at the bottom, Hannah S. shows us all how it's done in ski school.

As does Maya.

Breaking for lunch at the chalet.

Back up the Grandview Express lift this time, all the way to the top!

One of the fantastic views on the way up.

And another.

Final run down, and the snow had started to fall again.

Hannah.  Professional skier.

Boys from the white stuff

Regular readers will know that I consider myself an adventurous type. Nobody agrees, but that's immaterial. What is strange is that I have reached my late twenties without ever venturing onto a ski slope. "You do it once, and then you love it!" everyone has told us. I'm not sure we ever really believed them.

But we're in California, where you can sun yourself on the beach in the morning and ski in the mountains in the afternoon! We skipped the beach part today, and drove up to Tahoe early this morning. Hannah had sniffed out a fantastic deal that included a ski lesson, equipment, and lift passes for all of $35. I was still dubious. Paying to be dragged up a mountain to slide back down?

We arrived a little early and enjoyed some devant ski eating our packed lunch and assessing the severity of the slopes and the snow conditions. Soon enough we were in ski school with our instructor Craig. He was English, as all the best skiers are, and we were the only two people bad enough to be assigned to his Level 1 class. Which was, of course, fantastic, as we gossipped about the old country and didn't even blink at his instructions to "keep your elbows at the same level as your big boobies".

After an hour or so we had mastered "the wedge" (what we Europeans correctly call "the snow plough") and then we got to go on a ski lift! It was only a few feet to the top of the piste called Easy Street, but we felt we'd arrived. Getting off a ski lift wearing skis is a skill in itself, though we managed to acquit ourselves with aplomb and only a few tangles.

Tahoe has a ridiculous amount of snow for this time of year. The best in five years, we were told, and it's falling outside the window as I type. Having enjoyed 28C temperatures in WC earlier this week it is all a bit surreal to be wrapping up in eight layers. We bought some snow chains to complement the insurance on our rental car, and may yet have to use them. The only issue is that the snow is graupel, which is soft and sticky. Yep, check me out, I know my snow! Only another 99 words and I'll be up with the eskimos.

We waved goodbye to Craig, even tipping him in a deeply un-British manner (beer money, we told him) and I'm now thawing in Aston Lakeland Village as we await the arrival of the Singers. Elise knows the manager here, so we got a good deal and a goody bag on arrival (free branded coffee mugs!) All that BODYPUMP has meant that I don't feel too bad in the legs after this day of extreme, low-incline sport, and I'm pretty sure we will be heading to the slopes tomorrow. Do we love it? All I'll say is: watch out for my snow plough on that double black diamond run.

Hannah fuels up before our grueling day.



This guy knows what he's talking about!

Very nice, if you like snow.

I quickly find my level.

Hannah, me, and Craig enjoy a ski lift!  Craig lives in Austria, and runs a tennis school during the summer.  He once went fishing in Frome.

Hannah showing off her skills at the end of a tough lesson.

Down by the lake.  Closed for the season.

Keep Tahoe Dirty Grey.

Local wildlife.  Although he'd fit in better in Berkeley.

The outdoor pool and hot tub.  Might skip this.