Making The Best Of Marrakech - Morocco (Africa, Not Europe!)

Our next stop on the great Western Mediterranean cruise of 2013 was Casablanca, Morocco. We were very excited to go here. After all, it's Africa! Not lions and elephants and safaris, but still, we were on the continent of Africa.

Want to read about where we were before? We were in Barcelona and then Seville.

Our boat docked in Casablanca. We chartered a van to drive us the two hours south to Marrakech so we could shop, eat, and explore. 

Right between those green and pink arrows is a whole lotta desert. Not very exciting. Unless you're a camel or a sheik, I guess.

Right as we got off the boat we were happy and all smiles. We were excited. We had no idea how long of a day lay ahead of us. 

On a happy note, I saw my first stop sign outside of America that actually said STOP in a  language other than English. At least I assume it said stop. It was the right shape and the right color but for all I know it could have said 'free milk' or 'bears ahead.' Yeah, I don't really know any Arabic. 

It was at this point in our trip that things began to head south. We couldn't find the driver and the van who we had prepaid to take us to Marrakech. He had very explicit instructions to meet us at the port gate. No one to be found. Mrs. Point wasn't going to have any of this so she ran down past the port gates with our other travel partner, Mrs. Bulgaria (she really is from Bulgaria). Finally, after two hours we found our driver, Hamid. (No joke. His name really was Hamid.) We all piled in the large van and took off through the crowded streets of Casablanca. 

As we drove, Mrs. Point and Mrs. Bulgaria were very mad that Hamid was nowhere to be found. Mrs. Bulgaria was yelling at him from the back, "Where were you, Hamid?!" in her cute Bulgarian accent. (Actually, she can be pretty scary.) Hamid just smiled and turned up the Arabic music of sitars and women wailing a throaty song. No one was going to bring Hamid down. 

One hour into the drive, the youngest Point family member threw up in the van. One and a half hours into the drive, Mrs. Bulgaria's one year old daughter threw up in the van. And it was the really gross stinky throw up of curdled milk. So there I am, riding in this van in the warm Moroccan desert and sun with crazy music playing and vomit dripping off the windows. I was having so much fun. (In the poor children's defense, the youngest Point was sick and Mrs. Bulgaria's daughter gagged on an apple piece. It all got cleaned up. Well, as good as you can clean up vomit in a moving van in Africa.)

After driving through the desert for what seemed like forever, we started to arrive in Marrakech.

The first thing I noticed was the juxtaposition of the living situation. Wealthy walled off and protected from the poor right next door.

The streets of Marrakech.

This tower is part of the walled section of the medina or the old section of town. A medina is usually walled and contains maze like streets that host vendors.

Within five minutes of our arrival in the shopping area, we were accosted by this gentleman here. Meet Mr. Snake Charmer.

Mr. Snake Charmer saw me and my little boys standing off on the side just watching the snakes. He approached me and said, "You like?" 

I replied, "No, not really."
Mr. Snake Charmer - "Your boys! Your boys! They like!"
Which they did. They are after all, little boys. 

So see if you can follow me through this exchange...
Mr. Snake Charmer - "Take a picture of your boys with the snakes! You come! You do it!"
Me - "No, thank you. I have no money." (Which I didn't. We hadn't even gone to the ATM yet.)
Mr. Snake Charmer - "No! No money! Just come! Take picture!"
I've been around the block with my travels so I knew better. That's what really gets me about this whole situation. I KNEW better. I should have left.
Me - "No. It's okay..." I am walking away. But my little boys are standing by with rapt attention. He starts to put his hat on their heads.
Me - "No. No. No."
Mr. Snake Charmer - "It's okay. No money. It's gift. For you. For you coming to Morocco." And that is where he got me. I didn't want to seem rude and refuse a gift. (Deep down inside, I still knew better.)

Mr. Snake Charmer starts draping snakes all over my boys. "Picture! Picture! Take picture! For you!"

Every time I tried to leave he insisted I take more pictures.

Mr. Snake Charmer even grabbed Matt and shoved a snake in his hands. Finally, I had had enough and told him I was going to leave. Matt had already drifted off and disappeared in a crowd. I gathered Aidan and Andre, who were still being charmed themselves by the snakes, and we started to leave. Mr. Snake Charmer at this point grabbed my arm (very hard, I might add) from behind and yelled, "You pay!"
Me - Totally surprised, "I'm not going to pay." He still is holding my arm.
Mr. Snake Charmer - "You take picture! You pay!"
I scan the crowds for Matt. He is nowhere to be seen. All I can see is the fear in my young son's faces.
Me - "I told you. I have no money. I can't pay!"
At this point he calls over his enforcer. 
Mr. Snake Charmer - "She won't pay!" Mr. Enforcer comes running out of nowhere and grabs my other arm.
Mr. Enforcer - "The rule is if you take picture, you pay!"
Me - "I told him I have no money! I told him that!" Mr. Enforcer then lets go of my arm and grabs my camera which is around my neck and jerks it.
Mr. Enforcer - "Then you must delete pictures!"
Me - "I will delete them! Let me go!" Let me remind you I am in a busy shopping square with people all around. I keep scanning the crowds for my husband or my friends. Nobody.
Mr. Enforcer - "I will watch you delete! Do it!"

At this point, I had had enough. I started to get angry. Like really angry.

I wrenched my arm (very painfully) out of Mr. Snake Charmer's grip. Mr. Enforcer still has my camera strap.

Me - (yelling at the top of my voice) "I told you I had NO MONEY! YOU said it was a gift! You said no money! No money, it's okay!" All the time pointing at Mr. Snake Charmer while getting ready to kick some shins and run.

Mr. Enforcer gets a defeated look on his face and starts yelling at Mr. Snake Charmer in Arabic. He drops my camera and I grab my boys and walk as fast as I can into the crowds. As you can see, I didn't delete any pictures. Ha ha, Mr. Snake Charmer and Mr. Enforcer. 

I find Matt and the first thing out of my mouth is, "You jerk." I went from screaming at some snake charmer men to screaming at my husband. I accused him of abandoning me. I may have been projecting my fear and frustration over the situation on him. But. I vowed not to let the morning's events ruin my whole day. Just part of the day. I rocked an awesome bad mood till lunch.

We got some lunch and I mellowed out a bit. Yes, what happened was unfortunate, but in a way, a little bit my fault. I should have just kept walking. We had some traditional Moroccan tea which is fresh mint tea steeped with mint leaves and sweetened with honey. It was so sweet it actually tasted like hot honey with a little bit of tea. But still good.

Something similar happened to Andre. He was standing by the Point family when they were getting some henna done when one of the henna-weilding ladies grabbed Andre and started decorating his arm all on her own. Mrs. Point informed her she that she didn't ask for it and wasn't going to pay for it. 

I was beginning to see a pattern here. I heard stories from Mr. Point about how vendors would shove toys in the youngest Point's hands and say, "See? He likes it! You buy!" Mr. Point would have to take it out his the child's hands and hand it back. Sometimes they would not take it and he would have to put it down on something and tell them that he was not going to buy it. So, keep your traveler wits about you here.

After a great Moroccan lunch and hot honey tea, we went out to explore. (A funny side note here is that all the Moroccan men that Mr. Point came into contact with kept calling him Ali Baba. We don't know if it was the beard or what, but the name stuck and now we call him that too.)

We wandered around the souks or souqs, depending on your spelling desires. We saw spice markets.

And carts pulled by donkeys and monkeys on leashes. 

The medina was full of tourists. But as touristy as it was, it was also filled with locals doing their daily shopping. Picking up fruits, sweet breads, spices, dried meats, and other various things.

In addition to fruits, breads, spices, and dried meats, you can also pick up spare teeth and denture sets. Yes, it is one stop shopping here.

Ashlenne got some black henna done on her arm.

Here is what it looked like all dry. The darkest spots lasted almost a month. But lighter places started to face in two weeks.

My beautiful sister-in-law, Leslie, got the brown henna. 

It dried and stained her skin this fabulous tangerine shade. Lovely!

Some of the souks were in these tiny, twisting streets. The whole place smelled of leather, dried spices, and a thousand years of history. (Believe it or not, history is kind of stinky. Think a combination of dirt, urine, sweat, and animals.)

We went shopping for rugs. It was all a very stressful experience. Shopping and paying for things is all done with haggling. It's something I don't like. I like to walk into a store, see a price tag, know what I have to pay, and be done with it. I don't like being told, "Oh, best price for you!" I don't like having to refuse to buy something and then walk out then be chased down the street with a new deal when they see you leaving. It's a real pain in the neck. Literally.

My younger brother mastered some haggling and scored himself this wonderful carved cane inlaid with silver. He severely broke his leg when we were kids and all this traveling really wears him down. But at least now, he can be dapper and limp in style.

After the long vomit filled drive, the almost assault by Mr. Snake Charmer, the stressful haggling, I finally really started to enjoy Marrakech. I even bought a beautiful scarf. People have asked me after hearing about our day if I would go back. "In a heartbeat," I answer. Why? Because traveling isn't supposed to be easy. The whole goal of traveling is to see, experience, taste, and do things that are different. Things that take you out of your comfort zone. Things that push the limits of normal for you. Check, check, and check on all those things in Marrakech.

I rode back on the long vomitless drive to Casablanca, tired, but oh so glad I had seen Marrakech.

Until next time.

Stay tuned for my next visit to Morocco. Tangier!!

Spinal Tap Is More Than Just A Funny Movie

Last week was a rough one around here. My daughter Ashlenne was running a temperature of around 104.5 and had a heart rate of 155. If those just seem like random numbers to you, trust me, they are high. The scariest part though, was not how high they were, but that after hours in the emergency room the doctors couldn't get them to drop. Her blood pressure was spiking above 190. They ordered every test they could think of and quickly because she was in danger of going into cardiac arrest or having a stroke. I sat there, in that cold hospital room (why are hospitals so cold?), watching my daughters heart rate on the monitor. It seemed to be going impossibly fast. I took my own pulse and her heart was beating four times the rate my own was. As doctors came in and out of her room, a cold fear began settling in my stomach. Real fear. Not the kind where someone jumps out at you or you forget to pay the water bill so you have to rush down before they turn it off. But the kind of fear where you realize your whole life may be changing right before your eyes. Where you realize this child who you have nurtured and protected for eleven and a half years may be in the most dangerous situation of her life right in front of you and you can't do a thing to stop it.

I didn't cry though. Not because I'm an emotional rock. But because part of my brain kept saying, 'This isn't really happening.' Everything happened so fast that I barely had a chance to keep up physically, let alone emotionally.

One of the most difficult tests they did on her was the spinal tap. To do the spinal tap they sedated her enough so that she couldn't move but was fully conscious so she could listen to their instructions. Halfway through the insertion of a needle through the lumbar vertebrae of her back she began sobbing uncontrollably, begging for her Dad. Watching that just about broke me inside.

After hours of tests they finally diagnosed her with bacterial pneumonia. Scary words. But not as scary as bacterial meningitis.

All said and done, at the end of the experience we had been through -

Eight pounds lost (Ashlenne's).
Seven days in bed.
Six doctors visits.
Five missed days of school.
Four shots of rocefin.
Three IV's of antibiotics.
Three blood cultures.
Three chest x-rays.
Two emergency room visits.
Two strep cultures.
Two antibiotic prescriptions.
Two cardiac monitors.
And one spinal tap.

Oh, and countless tablets of ibuprofen and acetaminophen.

She is now back at school and the color has returned to her cheeks. She ran across the lawn last night without coughing. Still out of breath, but she could do it. Here's to doctors. Here's to nurses. Let's hear it for hospitals. Let's hear it for modern medicine. And let's hear it for still having my daughter around to hug and kiss because if this had happened in different time, I would probably be telling a different story. And you wouldn't be reading it on a blog either.

Baby Girl (Not A Baby Anymore)

Eleven years ago on a cold and windy March night, a doctor handed me a tiny bundle. So tiny that regular diapers wouldn't fit on this 6 pound, 1 ounce bundle. So little and delicate. She looked like a china doll. Except for the long, black hair that when it was freshly washed would stand straight up all over her head. I was enthralled with that hair. Having grown up a blonde I was always fascinated by people with dark, ebony hair. I kept taking her hat off to marvel and run my fingers through it and the nurses would come in and see her hat off and get mad at me. She was so small that she had a hard time keeping herself warm. They kept taking her from her rightful place in my arms to put under heat lamps. They would tape cotton balls to her butterfly eyelids and place a metallic sticker in the shape of a heart on her chest that would measure her temperature. I would fret and worry while she was gone because being her mother, I was the only one in the world who knew exactly what she needed.

When we left the hospital, the nurses peeled the temperature sticker off of her chest and most of her skin came off with it so for one month she had a perfectly formed heart-shaped scab on her.  When the scab fell off it left a heart shaped scar that I used to kiss every time I changed her. That scar has since faded and is no more but, the memory of that heart-shaped scar is written on my heart and though she is now to old for it, I wish I could just kiss her where it used to be and make her my baby again.

Eleven years have passed since the scar kissing days and although I miss dearly the little girl who used to let me put bows in her hair, dress her in mary-janes and fluffy dresses, watch Disney Princess shows with, I am amazed and having so much fun getting to know the young woman she is becoming. She is the most determined person I know. Two years ago she wanted to learn to do a cart-wheel and for days she stayed out on the front lawn trying, trying and trying to do a cart-wheel. Finally, after sprained wrists, twisted knees, scraped elbows, she got it.

On Wednesday we had her party and we handed her presents of books and clothes (I kept the bike hidden). After she opened her last present I said, "Well, that's it!" This is the look she gave me.



"Mo-om... What about my bike?" she said.
"What bike?" I replied.
"The bike I asked for. The only thing I wanted for my birthday. A beach cruiser."
"A beach cruiser?" I asked. "I thought you said a beach pooser. You know, something you use to scrape poo off of the beach and I thought if that's what she wants, than a beach pooser it is!"
She didn't think I was too funny, however, my boys were cracking up. The bike was stashed by the washing machine and I sent her down the hall to get something for me. The first time she went down the hall, she walked right by it. The second time, it caught her eye. This is the look I got after she saw it.

Much happier. Just a side note. If you want to see how sibling dynamics work in my home, this picture is perfect. It's Ashlenne's moment but Aidan can't resist letting her have the attention so he strikes a pose next to her. Alexander is oblivious to what's going on and is in his own pre-teen world.

Here she is taking off into the world while I run behind trying to capture the moment and hang on to it forever.

Happy Birthday Baby Girl!

Four Bikes And Crying

My daughter turns eleven on Wednesday and all she has wanted for months is a new bike. Not any old bike, but a beach cruiser. With big fat rims and the old fashioned styling. With wide handle bars and a basket. Being the type of mother who gives in to her children's every whim, I set out last week on what shall now be known as "The Great Beach Cruiser Quest". I hit the two stores that are in a 2 mile radius from my house. Target and Wal-Mart. Target and Wal-Mart were lacking in the beach cruiser department. They both had mountain bikes. Road bikes. Bikes with training wheels. Bikes with spinnin' rims. No beach cruisers.

When I returned from my great 2 mile radius journey I found that she had searched the internet for beach cruisers and found a hot pink one at Target.com that she wanted. I praised her for being so industrious. And then while she was at school, I bought it. This would be bike numero uno (bike number one).

When I first went on the website, Target.com, it informed me that I would receive free shipping on the hot pink beach cruiser. But when I checked out, they charged me $40.00 in shipping. Not exactly free. It had pushed the $130.00 price tag up to around $180.00 with tax. I may give in to my children's every whim, but only if it comes with free shipping. I called up Target.com customer service and was greeted by a man who spoke exactly like Apu in the Simpson's. He then went on to apologize that while the website might be advertising free shipping, my hot pink beach cruiser did not qualify. "Well, that sucks," I told him. "Yes ma'am, it does suck," he said in an Apu accent.

Feeling very taken advantage of, I went on to look at ToysRUs.com and low and behold they had the same bike. For $10.00 less! And FREE shipping! And they could get it there a whole FIVE days sooner than Target.com. I ordered hot pink beach cruiser number two. Then called up Target.com and cancelled bike numero uno. I then also wrote a scathing email to Target.com about how I would never shop in their stores again (a lie). They sent me back an auto-reply about how they were so very sorry to hear that (another lie), but they were looking forward to serving me in the future.

I went on with my day, cleaning the kitchen, doing laundry, counting how many times my neighbors leave and then come back and other mundane things I use to fill my time when all of sudden I realized that I didn't check Walmart.com. If I got a good deal at ToysRUs.com, I would probably get an even better one there. I run back upstairs to the office and immediately log on. Much to my surprise, Walmart.com has an even bigger and better and cheaper selection of bikes. And they will ship it and assemble at my local store tomorrow. And this time it isn't any trashy hot pink beach cruiser. It is a mint green, classically styled beach cruiser with cream rims and brown leather seat and handle bars with a wicker basket for the low, low price of $89.00. I was instantly in love. I order it. It shall now be known as bike number three. I then called up ToysRUs.com and explain that I needed to cancel the order I just placed for bike number two. The woman on the other line (who does not have an Apu accent) tells me that my order that I placed two hours ago has already shipped. She has a tracking number and everything. Crap. I now have two bikes on their way to my house.

Later in the day Wal-Mart sends me a text that my mint green beach cruiser has arrived and is ready for pick-up. I take the seats out of my very large sport-utility vehicle and drive down to collect my daughter's new bike. But when I get there, there is a problem. No one can find it. I stand in customer service for 45 minutes while they search shipping and receiving, high and low, front and back for my bike. They finally tell me to just go home and they will call me when they find it. Two hours later I get bad news. I drive back down and they inform me that the bike was sold by another associate out of the back of the store. Turns out a Wal-Mart employee will sell you anything that isn't nailed down out of the back when no one is looking. And so my bike was gone. Even though it said purchased by me. It even had receipt stapled to it and said customer will be in today. Good-bye bike number three.

Wal-Mart places another order on-line for the same mint green beach cruiser. Hello bike number four. They tell me that it will be there in 48 hours. "Not good enough!" I tell them. I'm trying really hard to give off the annoyed customer vibe but all I can manage is the tired customer vibe. Apparently it's enough because the Asst. Store Manager gives me a gift card for $20.00. I'll take it.

Meanwhile, an unwanted bike number two, a hot pink beach cruiser has been delivered at my home (thank heavens it was in a box). My daughter is dancing around the living room singing "I know what that is! I know what that is! It's my birthday bike!" Very annoying. "It's not a bike. It's a desk. And it's going back." I tell her. "Then why is it from Toys-R-Us?" She counters. "Because," I answer. "It's a desk for your brother but it's too small so it's going back." She still doesn't believe me. But you should have seen her face when UPS showed up with a call-tag for the package and she watched them carry the box out and load it in the truck. She stood there not knowing what to say. "See? I told you it wasn't your bike." Her eyes welled up with tears and she ran upstairs. That scene alone should get me nominated for Mother Of The Year.

Anyway, Wal-mart called me early the next morning to tell me that bike number four was there and assembled and had an armed sentry standing guard until I picked it up. As the bike was wheeled out to me the Asst. Store Manager kept apologizing. "This has never happened before. I'm so sorry." "It's okay," I told her. "I got the cute bike. I got $20.00 bucks out of it. Let's call it good." She seemed very relieved that I wasn't going to be causing a ruckus in the middle of the store. I don't know. Maybe I should have. I probably could have gotten the bike for free.

What lessons did I learn from all this?
Lesson #1- The internet does not make things easier.
Lesson #2 - The internet gives you too many options.
Lesson #3 - Hide any packages that are delivered to your house before child thinks they are for them and then is crushed when they are picked up.
Lesson #4 - I need to be a more decisive shopper.
Lesson #5 - It probably would have been easier if when I went to Wal-Mart, and didn't see what I liked, I just grabbed the nearest associate and asked, "Whatcha got in back?"



Bike Number Four

Well? What do you think? Was it all worth it?

Old Math, New Math, Red Math, Blue Math

Several years ago I was helping my then seven year old daughter with some complicated addition and subtraction. I've never been a math whiz but I figured I could at least handle addition and subtraction. Was I wrong.

She was struggling with triple digit problems. What to do when you've got more numbers than will fit in the one's column? How do I take 7 from 3? And so on. As I worked her through the first few problems I began to notice she didn't know what to do with the extra digit. I told her that she needed to carry it over to the ten's place. "Carry it?" she asked. "What in the blue-blazes is carrying?" She might not have said blue-blazes but I just want to emphasize that she had no idea what I was talking about. "You haven't been taught how to carry?" I asked. "What about borrowing?" And to that she answered "You mean when you borrow something from your neighbor and then you should give it back?" I could tell we were in for a long night.

I then spent the better part of an hour teaching my daughter the wonderful mysteries of borrowing and carrying. Don't forget to carry the one became my mantra for the night. I wanted to write it on her arm in permanent marker so she wouldn't forget. I repeated myself over and over and by gosh, she was starting to get it. But inside I was a little concerned that the school that she had been attending for the last three years hadn't even taught her how to borrow and carry. I mean come on, I know we are underfunded, but borrowing and carrying are staples of second grade math.

Towards the end of the evening when carry-the-one rolled off her tongue as easy as any Hannah Montana song she remarked to me. "Mom, you know this borrowing and carrying are a lot like regrouping. That is what they taught us in school."

Regrouping. Huh. Turns out the powers that be in the last two and half decades since I attended elementary school decided to change the sayings of borrow and carry to regrouping. You don't carry the one. You regroup. You don't borrow from the 7 to subtract the 3. You regroup. My poor daughter. I had filled her head with the cacophony of don't forget to carry the one! When all she needed was being told to regroup. For those of you out there who are not familiar with regrouping it is exactly the same as borrowing and carrying except they call it what? Regrouping. Now they say don't forget to regroup! It just doesn't have the same panache as don't forget to carry the one.

Boompa (Boompa is my stepdad) is helping my son Aidan out with some math this weekend. As I dropped Aidan off at Boompa's he asked what does he need help with. As I showed him the flashcards I had so painstakingly prepared Boompa asked me if Aidan knew how to carry. "They don't call it that anymore," I answered. "It's now regrouping." You should have seen Boompa's face. "Well, who's gosh-darned idea was that!?" I laughed and told him I didn't know. Everyone born before 1990 is basically screwed when it comes to math now. We don't even know how to regroup!

In other math news, my son Alexander is deep in the throws of pre-algebra. One thing I can say about pre-algebra is that it is exactly the same as when I was in it 23 years ago. I think he may even have the same kind of book I had. One night when he was just about to pull his hair out he had a mini-tantrum. "Why do I care what X equals? Why do things change from positive to negative when they cross the equal sign? And how do you even have negative numbers! Nobody ever told me they had negative five apples! You can only have five apples! Not negative! Why do I even have to learn this!" After I got him calmed down a little we continued to work on it and he asked me how I knew algebra. "Well, Alexander, I took pre-algebra, algebra, and then for fun, algebra 2 in school. Pre-algebra is the easy stuff. Just wait." He was none to happy to learn that there was more algebra in his future. He was then quiet for awhile and then he became inquisitive.

"Mom? Have you honestly ever used this? I mean honestly? Have you ever used algebra in your life?" He asked. So I sat back and thought. Hmmm... did I ever use algebra? Did I use it when I tried to figure out how many diapers I needed to get through the week when I had two kids that weren't potty trained? Did I use it to double chocolate chip cookie recipes? Do I even use to balance the check book? The answer to all of these is no. I had to be honest. "No. I have never used anything in my life close to algebra, Alexander. But being a stay-at-home mom doesn't require a lot of complex math."

This answer infuriated him. "Why do I have to learn it then?!" I answered the only thing I could think of.

"Because. You have to learn it because I learned it. Because your dad learned it. Your grandparents learned it. And because someday when you are a parent and you have a 7th grader you will have to help them with their algebra and you won't be much help if you haven't learned it. That is the whole reason." He couldn't argue with that logic. That night he learned that through out history there is a great chain of learning algebra and then never using it. And that night, he was just another link.

Vampires Suck

I just want to warn you. Be careful when you go outside because pigs flew today. And I also let my pre-teen daughter watch, GASP, the movie Twilight. I always said that the two would coincide so there must be flying pigs out there somewhere because my resolve finally broke down.

I have been hearing for two years now that all she needs in this world to make her happy would be to watch this movie. And/Or read the book. Um, nope and nope. I told her the last thing she needed on her then 8-year-old plate was watching movies dealing with the drama of teen love. And not just any teen love. Teen love with a blood sucking creature of the night.

The movie left the theaters and went to video. She asked more. She was, after all, now nine years old. Nine is so much older than eight don't you know. I stayed strong. No, no, no. To which she asked why, why, why. I replied because, because, because.

Then she brought out the big artillery. She started telling me about all the people and small children that she knew who had seen the movie. Her friends had all seen it multiple times and read the books. Her friend's little sister had also seen it. Heck, the four year old down the street saw it. This just intensified my desire to keep my home Twilight free.

I guess my aversion to Twilight began before the movie ever came out. I was at my son's soccer game when a person that is merely an acquaintance informed me that she had just read the best book in the whole wide world!!! I would describe myself as an avid reader so I must say that I was a little interested to hear what the best book in the world was. When she told me it was a book about vampires, I was immediately turned off. I did the whole vampire thing back in the early, early 90's. Interview With A Vampire and The Vampire Lestast books. The vampire movie starring Tom Cruise and Brad Pitt that my friend Cherity and I snuck Chinese food into. Just a side note. Do not eat ham fried rice while blood is being sprayed across the screen. Not very appetizing. I was way over it. Vampires were a thing of my youth, or at least my early adulthood. I told her no thanks. She took my no as a chance to try and convince me more by telling me how GREAT it was. She wasn't a reader, yet she couldn't put this down. I kept telling her I wasn't interested to which she came back with I just have-have-have to read it! I had to get mean. I informed her I liked to read things with substance. I was in the middle of East Of Eden by John Steinbeck. I had just finished Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand. I was also reading Ulysses. This person then told me she didn't know any of those books but she would bet they weren't as good as Twilight. I then told her I didn't read crap (which isn't true, I've read a lot of crap). She got the point.

This single event began a period in my life that I will refer to as the "GREAT TWILIGHT PERSUASION". Everyone began telling me that they read this great book and they knew I would love it. I would immediately hold up my hand and say STOP! If the words vampire or Twilight leave your lips I will lose it right here and now (imagine my voice reaching a crescendo). At the beginning I had many who fought the good fight with me. They were as anti-Twilight as I was. But then the worst happened. They began to fall.

I would be on the phone with a friend and the conversation would turn to books and they would whisper they had not only read Twilight, but they had read all four of them and they loved them. Now that it was out of the bag they could openly embrace Twilight in my presence. They put stickers on their cars and phones. They gushed about Jacob's muscles and Edward's chivalry. They dissected the plot and talked about the choices Bella made to which I screamed she didn't make any choices! She's a shallow one-dimensional character! Somehow my friends and I made it through the great divide and we are still speaking to each other. But not about vampires.

Back to present day. My daughter is almost 11 and has been working her little tush off at school and practicing the violin. I decided this deserved a reward and the reward would be giving her what she has built up in her mind to be the pinnacle of her pre-teen years. Watching Twilight.

I saved it on the DVR. I bought popcorn. We got Panda Express takeout. What is it with me and having Chinese food and watching vampire movies? I guess I got it in my head they went together. We popped popcorn and nibbled M&M's. And we watched. Now hold your breath. It wasn't half bad. I'm not talking Oscar worthy or anything but I was entertained. And it was fairly mild for PG-13. After it was over I kept saying that was it? That was what all my mid-30's (and sometimes older) friends got themselves in a tizzy about? Edward wasn't that chivalrous. In fact, he was kind of a jerk. One minute he couldn't stay away from her and the next he's pushing her away saying she isn't good for him. And then in the second one, New Moon, he tells her she's his life and then leaves her! Not very nice Edward.

Ashlenne loved it. She was happy so I was happy. And hey, I think she learned something. Don't fall in love with a vampire. It's nothing but trouble and heartbreak and then they leave you high and dry and depressed. Like I said. Vampires suck, big time.