Remember when it used to cost a few bucks to see a movie at the theater? We all know those days are long gone. Movie ticket prices had a record increase last year – and they'll only keep climbing.

The Olympics are over; our evenings just got a lot duller, and last night, as we watched the closing ceremony, we felt decidedly deflated. August is definitely a dark period in TV watching, and the Olympics were a bright spot shining in the midst of lots of bad reality shows and tired repeats of Law & Order episodes. Plus, everywhere we went, people were talking about the Olympics. On our parenting support group's Yahoo board, people were excited about Michael Phelps.

When I told people this past week that we were heading out of town for a week at the beach, I got lots of oohs and aahs about how fun it would be, and lots of sighs of envy. But then when I went into the details and dropped in the bit about how we were going to a family reunion and would be staying in a beach house with seven other families, everyone I talked to shrank back, holding their hands in front of them in horror (or as if they were warding off some evil force).

A family reunion?

Because we're always willing to try things at least once as parents (I could write a small book on motivational charts, behavior charts, chore charts, reward systems, etc.), we've recently instituted a Family Cook Night. This night takes place every Sunday and involves a lot of mess, a crowded kitchen, and small hands helping out with food prep and mixing.

On Friday I wrote about how amazing it was going to be to have a weekend with the carry-over of the glorious 80-degree weather we'd had that day. In reality, though, the temperatures plummeted some 40 degrees and both Saturday AND Sunday were cold and rainy and blustery. We even lit a fire on Sunday--long after we'd thought we wouldn't be doing that again for months and months to come. But Scott brought in armloads of wood and the kids gathered around, jumping up and down as they watched the flames leaping up into the chimney.

I like to shop at thrift stores. I like thrift stores because you can find the most amazing and startling things there--and finding a small treasure amid trash is thrilling. A few weeks ago I found a wonderful robin's-egg-blue vase with a white daisy on it and if I hadn't looked closely at the shelf where it sat I'd have missed it because it was almost hidden by a tacky enormous china rabbit and a broken wire basket. Last winter I found a red plaid thermos that was exactly like the one my mother used to pack into my matching red plaid school lunch box.

I don't get much one-on-one time with my son anymore, despite often superhuman efforts to make this happen. Before T. was born he was my buddy; I took him everywhere, even to classes with me sometimes when he had a day off preschool, or wasn't feeling well enough to go to school. He always sat quietly in the back of the class, drawing on paper, or listening to me even  while students snuck amused glances at him and tried hard to win his attention. The last really special walk we had together was the day I went into labor with T., who arrived ten days early.