Panama, geography and more about that cat

Posted on May 18, 2026 by Good Times with Jess

Hello Panama!

I’m here for a travel show and excited to meet with Caribbean, Central and South American travel suppliers. It’s five days of in-person meetings with all the wonderful places I can send people!

And six nights alone in my own luxurious hotel room. I already finished a book.

BB expressed her concern with my being gone. First she said,

“You’re going to be gone for MCAS!”

Nope!

“You’re going to be gone for my field trip!”

Nope!

“I don’t want you to go!”

I know!

Never mind that I have nothing to do with MCAS or the field trip.

BB doesn’t want me to go. RB will miss me, but isn’t having a crisis, Captain is on board and OPAL wanted to know why the heck we woke up at 4am yesterday, but was ready to seize the day until I didn’t take him with me.

We love that cat. He is CRAZY but also ADORABLE.

We took him for his first vet visit before I left. I filled in all the information online ahead of time, including medical records, gender, age, etc.

We walked in and they said,

“How can we help you?”

I pointed at the cat in the plexiglass backpack and said,

“This is Opal!”

“Oh hi Opal! She’s here for her first visit?”

“Yup.”

If we were talking about a person, I would’ve corrected the pronoun, but Opal, Opie, Opester, Opemania, Opalicious, Opamillion doesn’t know the difference and the amount of time I would’ve spent over the last 2 months correcting people would be ridiculous. And for what?

It’s an uphill battle for a testicleless cat, with a “girl” name, for whom gender is a meaningless construct. He has refused to wear his blue bow tie, so what else can we do?

We were shown to an exam room while Opal continued to be referred to as a she.

He enjoyed the room. There were counters to jump between, a window with a bird feeder right outside it, a keyboard to stomp on and a sink to snuggle into.

Aside from the needles, it was a great playdate.

We returned to the waiting area to check out. The woman at the desk, who had greeted us when we first came in, reviewed the notes, gave me a grave look and asked,

“Did you know Opal was a HE?!”

“YES!” Or a they or a whatever.

We picked the name, then got the cat.

Also his parts may be tiny and his sac empty, but it is still very obvious he’s a boy, especially considering the whole area had a close shave for neutering.

He has a light colored body, and dark hair on his face, paws and tail. His pubic hair is in stark contrast to his body. Captain marvels,

“I didn’t know his carpet would match the drapes.”

So it does.

But enough about him.

I disembarked in Panama City and was met at my gate by a VIP meet and greet. She whisked me through the airport, through immigration, through customs and I was in the transfer to my hotel before I knew what happened. I recommend this.

It was lovely, but also did not give me time to stop in the airport for a donut. I will rectify this on the way out.

People were asking what I was doing for Mother’s Day. We went out for Indian lunch buffet, but being away this week is Mother’s Day enough for me.

RB couldn’t remember the restaurant and asked,

“Indian lunch buffet? Do I like that?”

“You better take snacks along.”

As we walked up to the restaurant door, RB exclaimed,

“I LOVE the food here!”

“You do?!”

BB and the rest of us went straight to the buffet and piled our plates up, RB sat down and opened a bag of Pirate’s Booty.

It’s starting to feel like the home stretch to summer vacation!

BB just finished learning all of her states and capitals.

I was surprised to learn that’s still a thing. What is the point of memorizing them? I don’t know who of my peers has retained them, but I have not.

I have now spent many weeks managing BB’s anxiety about learning them. They did one section of the country at a time over the course of months. A perfect score on the practice test earned an exemption from having to take the actual test.

BB is more self-motivated than I ever was. She was determined to get a perfect score on all the practice tests.

In an effort to dispel her anxiety, I tried to reassure her that I didn’t think learning this mattered.

That did not help at all.

Then the first practice test came home with a perfect score and I was surprised to find myself outraged.

The test provided a list of states and capitals. The kids just had to match them up and remember the abbreviation and geographical location.

I found myself ranting,

“When I was a kid we had to memorize it all! There was no list provided!”

BB just stared at me.

Yes, I went from saying I didn’t understand the point, to saying the test was too easy.

I do think there’s value in understanding the geography. I was just chatting with Captain about flight routes to Tahiti. He was curious about why it’s such a long flight.

I explained that it’s past Hawaii and how long it would take. He nods his head,

“I guess I always think of Hawaii in that box not too far away.”

The good news is that Panama is a lot closer than that Hawaii box. It’s a 5.5 hour direct flight from Boston and only an hour time difference. I’ll keep you posted. Eventually.

So excited to introduce the newest member of our family, Mr. Opal Shane Prada Curtis!

Posted on April 22, 2026 by Good Times with Jess

School vacation week and I’m home alone! As much as I love traveling with or without my children. I’m also a HUGE fan of being home alone without them.

And I’m not totally alone. Captain is here and there’s a new guy Opal snoozing in the corner.

Our kitten has arrived! Opal Shane Prada Curtis. Aka Opie. Opes. Opester. Opalicious. Opaltastic. Opalite.

BB named him. We may have been listening to Taylor Swift.

Opal sounds like he might be a she, but he is a he. Or a they. His testicles are long gone.

He is a love and an absolute maniac. He’s a decent split of sweet, sleepy cuddles and pure chaos.

As much as I would identify as a dog person, Opal’s immediate and consistent use of the litter box is EVERYTHING. So maybe I’m a dog person currently in my cat era.

I’m also pretty sure I’ve lost my mind.

It started when I bought the robotic self-cleaning litter box, then a cat tree that goes up to our ceiling, then cat toys, a self-filtering water fountain bowl, cat beds, and last but not least, a cat treadmill.

As I pushed aside kid toys in an already overflowing living room, Captain looked on in disbelief. There was still no cat in our house, but I was ready.

Fast forward to last night when Opal slept for most of the night on Captain’s chest.

I am a love-to-snuggle-while-I’m-awake person, then I want to roll over, have no contact with anyone and fall asleep.

Captain will very happily snuggle while awake and asleep, so Opal picked the right person.

Although really Opal’s person is BB. When she’s here, we close Opal in with her at night. Which is great.

I thought Opal was going to start World War III with my girls having a cat fight for the ages, but not the biggest surprise, RB is somewhat terrified.

Before Opal’s arrival, the original plan had been that we’d try to get Opal to alternate nights sleeping with one kid then the other.

That was probably always going to be impossible, so a near miss on that crisis. RB doesn’t scream every time the cat comes near her, but enough that he’s learned she shouldn’t be his first choice.

If you ask RB what she wants to be when she grows up she says,

“A singer, but not the main one. A veterinarian. A soccer player and a tennis player.”

So after another high pitch scream when the three-pound kitten rubbed her leg, I mentioned,

“It doesn’t seem like you’d enjoy being a veterinarian.”

RB scowled at me, marched to her room, slammed her door and said,

“Don’t let that cat in here. I don’t want him messing up my stuff.”

BB is obsessed with him enough for all of us. Opal and BB have found true love and RB has time for self-discovery before applying for vet school.

After 30,000 cat photos in the last week, it looks like my photo app will now be dedicated to Opal. What kids? Haven’t seen them.

I agree, my hair looks like a wild animal. Opal has killed it.

Portugal, Germany, Austria, Switzerland and home in time for Passover, but it was a close call!

Posted on March 31, 2026 by Good Times with Jess

I don’t know where to begin!

There was a slim chance I was going to write a blog post before we left on our trip. Then Lufthansa went on strike, our flight was canceled, and we left a day early.

I did not write. I didn’t do many things I intended to do. The biggest thing I regret was not packing my slippers.

I also forgot to put air tags in our ski bags, and I could’ve lived to regret that, but the luggage gods were on our side.

With no direct flight from Boston to Munich for days, we scrambled. At first I looked for flights with one stop. When that wasn’t getting us anywhere, we went with two stops: Boston ➡️ Azores ➡️ Lisbon ➡️ Munich.

We rolled up to the Azores Airline’s check-in desk at Logan with our massive ski bags. We had the most amazing agent check us in. He peered at me over our pile of luggage and said,

“You booked a ticket without checked bags.”

I have no idea what we booked. “We talked to them on the phone and they said our ski bags were ok.”

“When did you book these tickets?”

“This morning. Our Lufthansa flight to Munich was just canceled.”

He looks down and types. I add,

“We don’t have seats; if it’s possible for the kids to sit with one of us that would be great.” But also fine if they’re stuck with someone else.

“You don’t have seats?!”

“We just booked these tickets.”

He looks down and types some more.

“I put you all together.”

“You did?! Wow!”

He proceeds to tag our ski bags. Then he points at our carryons,

“You need to check those too. It’s free.”

SEVEN checked bags. I don’t know whether I’ve ever had more than one checked bag before, never mind SEVEN.

I gave up before we even started. What were the odds that three oversized ski bags and four rollaboards would make it Boston ➡️ Azores ➡️ Lisbon ➡️ Munich?

Our Lufthansa flight would’ve served us dinner and a snack. I ask the Azores agent,

“Is there a meal on this flight?”

He laughs and shakes his head. He looks at me,

“You know this is a small plane right?”

So it was. We squeaked through security. I had added a new surprise squishy toy to BB’s backpack… it almost didn’t make it through.

In retrospect those are very liquidy.

The Azores airport is a small, open air, island airport with birds flying through and joining us for our 4am snack.

If we weren’t packed entirely wrong for an Azores holiday, I would’ve said we could just stay there.

As it was we stayed in the airport for hours. And because of aforementioned forgotten air tags, I had to live with the uncertainty of having no idea where two of our seven bags were.

BB alternated between sleeping, writing in her travel journal, and buying Azores souvenirs. RB looked up from her iPad only when I made her go to the bathroom.

I appreciate both of those travel styles.

Twenty-four hours later we landed in Munich. Lo and behold there were our seven bags, and we were ten hours early for the original start of our vacation. Winning!

We skied. We played LEGOs. Before this year I didn’t know there was such a thing as a ski resort LEGO partnership. It was amazing! Back in December I didn’t get to experience the ski school, so we all met the giant LEGO lady for the first time together.

There’s one big thing which we experienced that rarely happens to us in our regular life and that was: elevators!

Adults are quick to overlook these, but the under-12 set DO NOT.

After two nights in Munich and one night in Austria, the elevator situation was all-consuming, and the button pressing was a sibling war zone.

On our first ski morning at 7am, I opened my eyes and stretched. RB, in the cot next to me, opened her eyes, rolled over, and declared,

“I NEED to talk to you about the elevator buttons!!!”

We all have our vacation priorities.

Next trip we’ll just go visit Captain’s office and take turns pressing elevator buttons. Save ourselves some jet lag.

The elevator became such a hot-button issue (forgive me, I couldn’t resist), that I declared the stairs to be “special Mommy and RB time.”

Believe it or not, that worked and by the end of the trip almost everyone was taking the stairs.

We skied our hearts out, swore to come back, and then tried to check in for our return flight: FAIL.

I called Lufthansa. They told me,

“You can’t check in because you didn’t take your outbound flight.”

“YOU CANCELLED OUR OUTBOUND FLIGHT.”

“The only way you can fly back is if you purchase another ticket.”

HELL NO. I spent the next several hours on the phone, but I did not give Lufthansa any more of my money, and we were confirmed for our flight home.

Ischgl to the Munich airport is a three-hour drive. I’ve done this drive several times before without a hitch.

At 9am off we went. Our driver even had gummy bears for the girls.

They have gotten candy from almost every car service we’ve had. I realized how out of touch they’d become when we got in a five-minute taxi ride in Munich and RB shouted,

“Where’s the candy?”

Hour one of the drive we made our way through the valley. Hour two of our drive we drove the switchbacks back and forth over the mountain pass. Then on our single lane road, we came to a stop. A tree had fallen across the entire road, and no one was going anywhere.

There was only one way, back the way we came. So back over the mountain pass we went. We repeated the hour of switchbacks, drove through the valley, and finally made it to the highway. We were still two hours away from the airport and now in the territory of missing our flight.

I cannot say enough good things about our driver or how much I appreciated our 100mph travels.

We MADE IT. And with fifteen minutes to spare to buy a snack.

The silver lining of all this was I’ve been wondering whether a 24-hour travel day to Africa or Asia would be too much for my kiddos, but they have proved that with functioning iPads, anything is possible.

Meanwhile at home, St. Patrick’s day came and went. Nine-year-old BB insisted on making a leprechaun trap.

I expressed my concern. I don’t know what everyone else does, but our leprechaun makes his appearance while my kids are sleeping. So for BB to leave a trap as we get in the car for the airport, I was beside myself with when anything clandestine would happen.

I didn’t want BB’s hopes and dreams to be ruined when there was no sign of a leprechaun. I pressed BB,

“This is a bad idea. What if your trap works? Then we’d come home to a decaying leprechaun.”

She was not deterred by this and set her trap anyway.

Despite our abrupt departure a day early, I remembered to add a bunch of candy to the trap.

Thankfully we came home to candy only and no leprechaun remains.

Did I mention I’m winning?

Next trip will be childfree, but this was a good one!

Blizzard of 26, Litter Boxes and Sex Pillows

Posted on February 27, 2026 by Good Times with Jess

What just happened?!

I have no issue with the three feet of snow, especially considering we didn’t lose power. The most challenging part was the third snow day.

I was mentally prepared for one. Then when we woke up Monday morning, I was mentally prepared for Tuesday to be a snow day too. But Wednesday really blindsided me.

Then someone said they didn’t think it was safe to go back Thursday.

It is NOT safe for them to stay home. They are at each other’s throats. I sent them outside Tuesday and I could still hear them screaming at each other.

Granted the first time I sent them out, they got stuck and were screaming for help.

They went out Monday as soon as the wind was dying down. It took them 20 minutes to make their way from the garage to the front door. The door could not be opened because of the three feet of snow.

I yelled through the closed door,

“Go back to the garage!”

They made it halfway and then there was more screaming. I had to put on my snow pants and rescue RB. They marched straight into the house. BB yelled at the living room,

“Alexa! Why did our mom send us out in the blizzard?”

“If you’ve been cooped up inside because of a blizzard, she probably wanted you to get some fresh air.”

BB nodded.

Everyone is much more amenable with Alexa than they are with me.

I didn’t want anyone to miss a moment. I tell them,

“This is the biggest snowstorm of our lives! I don’t know if we’ll ever see a bigger one!”

“Can we stay in?”

“Yes, but we’re going out tomorrow!”

The next day I spent hours shoveling the two front steps. My children tried to frolic nearby, but could only stagger around. BB struggled through snow up to her waist and RB tried to stay in BB’s footsteps or else she couldn’t go anywhere at all.

BB came to me,

“I hate to say this, but this is too much snow.”

“I know.”

“I would rather have seven to eight inches.”

Anything less than two feet is starting to sound very reasonable.

And not to go on and on about Heated Rivalry, but I need you to know I traded in ESPN for HBO Max. I feel very good about this.

My targeted ads know full well what I’m up to. My ad stream looks like this:

Cat litter box
Cat tree
Cat litter box
Sex pillow
Cat food
Cat litter box
Sex pillow
Cat tree
Sex pillow

After watching, rewatching and rewatching Heated Rivalry, I know full well that this sex pillow does not need to be for HER. There are a couple hockey players who would enjoy it too.

It took me an absurd amount of mindless scrolling to realize these weren’t just regular pillows. I told Captain,

“Litter boxes and sex pillows have taken over my feed.”

“Two things I never thought we’d have.”

Huh.

I’m not surprised he never thought we’d have a litter box. But a sex pillow? Doesn’t seem so far fetched.

We now own a litter box, a cat tree, a cat bed and many, many pillows. They’re just waiting for their chance to identify as a sex pillow.

If all goes well, our new, fluffy, baby kitty will be arriving after we get back from Austria. And believe it or not, we’re all excited for MORE snow.

Sending my children out into the blizzard.

I don’t know who’s more photogenic, the plow or our house. This is also the moment that our mailbox got plowed back in after we’d cleared it out.
I’ve decided we don’t need mail until May.

I had no idea hockey was so sexy and I am HERE for it

Posted on February 3, 2026 by Good Times with Jess

Guys! Heated Rivalry! I’m OBSESSED! And I don’t even identify as someone who watches TV.

I checked out the HBO Max Roku stick from the library Saturday and finished watching the season by Tuesday.

Then I couldn’t stop thinking about it and I watched the whole thing a second time.

I have the Roku til Friday, so maybe there’ll be a third. Especially if Captain wants to watch it with me.

He hasn’t watched it yet, but he’s a big fan of what it’s done to me. He told me,

“I may need to get a hockey stick.”

So I made a joke about his stick.

But really no hockey equipment is required to role play this show. Really not much of anything is required.

Although after a quick Google search for photos for this blog I may be in the market for a Boston Raiders jersey.

Then the other day Captain talked to me about the snow storm. He looked out the window at the driveway and wondered if he’d have to blow it.

You know where I went with that.

I can’t stop.

And with a second season coming out at some point, which I know I’ll need to watch a few times, it makes me reconsider our streaming bundles.

Right now we have the Disney+, Hulu, ESPN bundle, but why do we need ESPN if we can get hockey on HBO Max?

I asked Google,

“Why am I obsessed with Heated Rivalry?”

There is no definitive answer, but I’m not alone. Everyone is obsessed. The amount of Heated Rivalry apparel out there is impressive.

It’s funny, sexy, the love story is gorgeous and Ilya and Shane’s chemistry is INSANE.

A month ago a friend in Australia texted me,

“Have you watched Heated Rivalry?”

“I haven’t even heard of it!”

Then there was book club a couple weeks ago and the entire second half of our discussion was devoted to the show.

People wouldn’t even answer my questions. They kept saying,

“You just have to watch it.”

So I did. Again and again and probably again.

Post book club and mid group chat, someone mentioned watching it during their lunch break.

Lunch break?!? I couldn’t fathom it, until days later I was rewatching it during my lunch break.

Then my morning zumba class was cancelled and I found myself alone on the treadmill. Usually I’d walk briskly to a 90’s cardio mix, but then it dawned on me….

I found the Heated Rivalry soundtrack and I walked it out like I was in a workout sesh from the show.

If you haven’t watched it yet, I’m not sure what you’re waiting for. If it’s because the library doesn’t have the HBO Max Roku stick, I return mine this Friday.

I obviously spent way too long on this image search.

Ski ya later! Have I mentioned how much I love ski school?

Posted on January 23, 2026 by Good Times with Jess

Turns out my children ski like their personalities.

Maybe all of us skiers ski like our personalities and I just have no self-awareness of what that looks like for me.

Heading into our ski weekend, BB’s biggest fear was that her younger sister would surpass her in their ski school levels.

It was not an unwarranted concern since that is exactly what happened two years ago.

BUT turns out when you don’t ski for two years, a 9-year-old has much better retention than a 6-year-old.

So BB started out at a level above RB and stayed that way even when they both moved up. I’m very grateful for this. My sanity is desperate for anything that mitigates sibling rivalry.

We’re still joking (not joking), that we need two cats.

We did two days of ski school and one day skiing as a family. It far exceeded my expectations, especially after a rough start.

It began with BB being beyond anxious. Our ten day trip with seven ski days in the Alps is around the corner, so it’s not an ideal time to have a kid who doesn’t like skiing.

BB ended her day in smiles, with her instructor raving about her confidence. And to think I was just hoping she’d be willing to ski again.

By the time the third day of skiing rolled around and we headed out as a family, I couldn’t believe how happy everyone was. Usually we have no shortage of little people willing to complain about anything at any point: socks, temperature, a sister’s suspect facial expressions.

So to be in our ski gear, headed out the door, all smiles at 8am, was truly a miracle.

And too good to be true.

RB mentioned that her instructor was helping her with the chairlift. That’s all I needed to hear to grab her arm and make sure she got on the chair. Then as we approached disembarkation many many feet off the ground, the bar was raised and I put my arm in front of RB. She shoved it aside and declared,

“I can do it myself!”

We hadn’t even started our first run and I was ready to put her back in ski school.

Twelve years ago when Captain and I were dating we skied at Sunday River all the time. I knew my way around the mountain. My brain seems to have decided that that information was not worth retaining.

On our third evening, BB sat down to make a plan for our final day. She rattled off a list of runs, the order we would ski them and which one to take to get to the next one as well as which lifts we needed to be on. I stared at her in shock and said to Captain,

“Can you believe she knows all the names of the runs and how to get everywhere?”

Captain replied,

“I didn’t even see any names. Were there signs?”

Yes! There were signs! This is what happens when you ski without your readers.

He can’t see the signs and I can’t remember them, maybe we do need to ski with our children more.

Or maybe not based on RB’s behavior. BB was the agreed upon leader but then RB followed so closely she was running her over every two seconds. We tried to let RB lead, but apparently she turns only when there’s someone in front of her.

So Captain took the lead and RB did her best to run him over. I stayed as far away from her as possible and brought up the rear.

RB leaned back in an extra wide parallel stance and was out of sight in a minute. BB made careful, parallel turns. She was leaning forward, using her edges, her technique looked amazing.

This is who they are. RB couldn’t care less about rules. Turn while skiing? Not she, but she’s happy to remind BB to.

Meanwhile BB was following every single rule her instructor imparted upon her. As we spent what felt like five years getting down the mountain, I could see her working on everything she ever learned.

The way they ski is the same way they return home from school.

They ride the same bus and get off at the same stop. RB storms through the front door, goes to the bathroom, eats her snack and is playing toys by the time BB meanders in.

I am very curious about what version of RB they had in ski school. As I snuggled her in bed she said,

“My instructor got irritated with me once.”

“He did?”

“He said I was going too fast.”

“Yeah?”

“I had to go fast because it went down then up to a jump.”

“What happened?”

“I landed it and he said that it was pretty good.”

Great. Positive reinforcement for skiing like a lunatic.

RB adds,

“Why would I go slow? That would be silly.”

Very silly indeed.

Both girls had so much fun they didn’t want to leave.

It’s such a relief that we’re all excited for seven ski days in the Alps and the good news is we have six days of ski school.

Countdown to kitty! And the new year!

Posted on December 29, 2025 by Good Times with Jess

What a whirlwind! Germany, Austria, Switzerland, skiing, working, Hanukkah, Hanukkah, Hanukkah, Christmas… breathe.

It has been a MONTH.

As the cookie crumbs settled on all the new things I need to find a place for, including a cat tree (more on that later), I was desperately craving Jewish-Christmas dinner: Chinese food.

My babies have been playing together 80% beautifully and 20% blood-curdling screams.

Mid-sibling fight I stuff them in the car and head to the restaurant.

There’s a pause in the brawl. BB comes up for air and says,

“Can I ask you something weird?”

“Of course.”

“Can RB and I have a sleepover?”

That’s not as weird as I was mentally preparing for. “If RB wants to.”

“Sure do!!!”

So the screaming is done and they’re ready for snuggles.

The Chinese restaurant is packed! There are multiple tables full of to-go bags. BB asks,

“Are all these people Jewish?”

“No way.”

If all those people were Jewish, I wouldn’t be filing away the millionth Christmas coloring sheet from school.

Many of RB and BB’s gifts were shared. The larger the physical size of the gift, the more likely it’s shared. Who’s got space for two American Girl doll vet clinics? Not I.

I’m still trying to make room for one.

So one cat. Two kids. I joked with Captain,

“Maybe we need two cats?”

He looked at me like I had truly lost my mind. Maybe I have. Maybe when there’s a cat tug of war, I will look prophetic.

Captain has joked about evening out the gender disparity and two male cats would do the trick. As long as we’re not worried about who has balls or not.

So the biggest concern for BB and RB is: where will this cat sleep? Will it understand that it needs to evenly divide its time between the two girls’ beds? Or will they have sleepovers in perpetuity?

Maybe the cat will just sleep with me.

What a year! One of the best and there are still two days left. Happy New Year! See you in 2026!

Come for the breathtaking views and guaranteed snow. Stay for the delicious food, the best après ski and the friendliest hospitality. I went to three amazing Austrian ski resorts:
⛷️Ischgl – ski endless runs in Austria and Switzerland with one of the most high tech lift systems in the world! Think no lines, heated seats and only minutes to the peak. On the Ikon pass.
🗻Sölden – ski on the glacier! Epic pass
🏂Gurgl – super family friendly! Epic

Skiing back and forth between Switzerland and Austria all day!

Who’s ready for Hanukkah?! You know I am

Posted on December 5, 2025 by Good Times with Jess

It’s that time of year when I drag the 3-foot metal Hanukkah sign out of our attic, along with many other Hanukkah bins.

I actually did it two weeks ago. I’m leaving tomorrow for Austria and I’m back in Boston on the 14th right when everyone will be lighting candles for the first night of Hanukkah.

And while my children seem unconcerned about me missing lighting candles, the concern for presents is real.

They are wrapped and ready in our library/office/gym/recycling catch-all room. They are covered in a large sheet. BB knows they’re there, but I didn’t tell RB because she’s RB.

RB wandered into that room to pick out a book for bedtime. She has plenty of books in her room, but it’s a brilliant excuse to go back downstairs.

She wound her way around the odd covered heap and said,

“Is that the wooden car all covered up?”

“I don’t know.” I really don’t know. What the heck is she talking about? Wooden car?

RB struggled to get access to the bookshelf she wanted. She groaned,

“GRRR! This wooden car is in the way! Can we uncover it?”

“No!”

She settled on a book and marched out. As she passed Captain she complained,

“That wooden car is in there all covered up and it’s in the way!”

I swear to you I have ZERO idea what she’s talking about, but obviously she has no idea those are the Hanukkah presents. May they still be unwrapped when I get home.

I have said I have enough Hanukkah tchotchkes, but that feeling only lasts until the next amazing Hanukkah sighting at Home Goods.

Two weeks ago I dropped the girls at Hebrew School, ran some errands and low and behold I found myself in the parking lot, with many other women, waiting for the doors of Home Goods to open at 9:30am.

It was before Thanksgiving, so I wasn’t sure if there would be a Hanukkah display yet, but always worth checking when I’m in the neighborhood.

There was! I went straight for the little, lone, blue table in a sea of red Christmas. And pink Christmas. And turquoise Christmas. Really any color Christmas.

There were two little pink Hanukkah houses. Ah I thought to myself, these are perfect for my traditional Hanukkah village that didn’t exist until last year.

Most of this repurposed Christmas stuff for Hanukkah didn’t exist at all ten years ago. I’m not oblivious to the fact that they’re just taking things and putting menorahs on them instead of Santa, but I’m here for it. Or in Home Goods for it.

As I perused the several pink Hanukkah houses, I felt someone beside me, another mom from Hebrew School!

I was so excited to see her! I have never had competition at the Hanukkah table before.

She sighed and said,

“I don’t decorate for any holidays. I don’t like tchotchkes.”

“You don’t like tchotchkes?” This store is a giant tchotchke.

“No, but my kids are begging for me to decorate.”

“You would die if you saw my house.”

I regard my shopping cart filled with more Hanukkah tchotchkes. Looks perfect.

You’ll be impressed to know that I popped into Home Goods again this week, saw a giant, pink, adorable, stuffed dreidel with legs so short and thin AND I DIDN’T BUY IT.

Also there are now TWO small Hanukkah tables in Home Goods. We’ll see if there’s anything worthwhile left when I get home.

Say a prayer for Tutu, Snowflurry and Menschie. Those are our elves on the shelves and our Mensch on the bench.

I’m not sure who believes what anymore and I have my doubts that they’re going to move when I’m away.

I mentioned this to BB, that they might not move and she looked horrified.

“Why wouldn’t they move?!”

“Oh I don’t know, they might be so busy they forget?”

She shakes her head.

The other day RB told me,

“I believe in reindeer, but I don’t believe in reindeer who fly.”

“I feel the same way.”

We also all still agree that everyone lives in the Land of Make Believe. So either everyone is suspending disbelief to believe in that guy from Israel and two gals from the North Pole, or I have no idea what’s going on.

BB and RB are running around making homes for them, writing them notes and feeding them. As BB reached for a bag of gummies to offer them, I joked,

“You should probably make sure those are kosher if you’re leaving them out for Menschie.”

“Kosher?”

“Does Menschie keep kosher? I don’t even know.”

BB started examining the bag, eyebrows knit in concern. Does she really think he’s real? It’s only last year he arrived after she asked me for him.

So will our magical cast of characters still be alive and well when I return or will they be hungry and stuck in the same corner all week? Only time will tell.

This morning they’re very happy in the Hanukkah village of yesteryear or actually of this week. It’s very new.

A friend from book club has expressed a desire to see my Hanukkah tchotchkes. I’ll be home Dec 14th and anyone is welcome to stop by. Hanukkah shoes optional, but I’ll be wearing mine.

Spending my life savings at the Scholastic Book Fair

Posted on November 19, 2025 by Good Times with Jess

The Scholastic Book Fair. I thought I must’ve already posted about it at some point, but after a not-so-thorough search of my blog, it appears I haven’t.

It has taken five years of overpriced, fluffy, animal-faced journals for me to reach a breaking point.

Multiple times a year the Scholastic book fair has arrived at BB’s school.

The first year I sent BB with $20. Apparently that was enough for 1.5 books. Or toys disguised as books.

The next time I sent her with $30. It’s hard to remember, but I’m pretty sure she came home with no books.

The next time I gave her $40 and said,

“You can buy one non-book item and the rest must be for books. You should also buy a book for your classroom.”

BB came home with two books and another furry journal to join our animal, notebook family. They’re all still waiting for someone to write in them.

BB would try to tell you that she needs the matching fluffy pen for $7.99.

Now it’s RB’s turn. I can’t remember if BB had the Scholastic Book Fair in kindergarten. Those were odd, end of COVID days. But either way, it was not a memorable moment.

This week I gave RB $30 and told her she could buy one non-book item and the rest should be for books.

RB is renowned for making terrible choices, so really it’s on me for giving her $30 and expecting a decent outcome.

Months ago I found nail polish painted all over the downstairs bathroom sink. I took away all of RB’s nail polish. She was unbothered. Warning sign NUMERO UNO.

Meanwhile if I take anything away from BB she’s heartbroken, never mind that she wouldn’t in a million years do something she knows she’s not supposed to do.

So imagine my surprise when I asked RB about the odd sparkly stuff in her doll’s hair.

She looked at me. I asked again,

“What did you put in your doll’s hair?!”

“Nail polish.”

“NAIL POLISH?!?!!”

“Yeah.”

“I thought I took away all of your nail polish?!!!”

“I still had some in my room.”

Shame on me for letting this happen again!

I may now have eliminated RB’s access to nail polish, but only time will tell, because you sure as heck can’t take her word for it.

This Monday I gave RB $30 and off she went. I gave BB $40 so she could also buy a book for her classroom.

I did not give that additional $10 to RB because that was one too many instructions for someone who’s not prone to following any instructions.

BB, not happy with $40, tried to make the case for more money, she said,

“So-and-so gets $100.”

“REALLY?!?”

“Yes.”

That’s a lot of stuffy journals. I stood my ground,

“You can have $30 or $40. Or add your own money.”

Guess what amount she went with.

Meanwhile RB came home very pleased with herself. The good news is that she stretched the $30 a lot further than I’ve seen BB do. She got five books! Only problem is two of them are chapter books with no pictures and one is a board book with a total of ten words.

I’d still say this was a win if she were happy with them. She ran to the couch excited to “read” and yelled out in anger,

“THIS BOOK HAS NO PICTURES!!!”

Good grief! She rushed around, picked books because she liked their covers, and didn’t even bother to look inside.

If anyone needs a Bluey board book, let me know. It does have pictures and is a quick read.

NYC 6th birthday palooza with a side of 10th wedding anniversary – debriefed

Posted on October 29, 2025 by Good Times with Jess

I need to backtrack. I got so excited about Belize that I didn’t debrief New York City.

We saw, we ate, we shopped, we touched an absurd amount of surfaces and we had a normal number of sibling squabbles, plus a bonus one at 2am.

At home the other day, BB and RB were ready to kill each other. I put my beach/swim bag down the middle of our dinner table to mitigate the “looks” that were being fired across the table.

BB sighs. I ask,

“What?”

“You’re probably going to say no.”

“Just ask me.”

“Can we have a sleepover tonight?”

“You can’t even sit at the same dinner table without a barrier between you and your sister and you want a sleepover?!”

“Yeah?”

“…Ok. If she wants one too.”

RB pipes up from the other side of the beach bag.

“I DO!”

What is happening? I feel like a crazy person.

My one rule about sleepovers is that no one can wake me up. In NYC that rule went out the window. At 2am RB tapped my shoulder. BB’s body parts were crossing the midline of their bed.

Aside from bed-territory issues, the weekend was a success and proof that expectations really make or break things.

Before we left, the weather prediction looked very bad: a nor’easter with high wind and torrential rain was looming. I was depressed thinking we’d be navigating the city in that.

I have never been more grateful to be exploring in a drizzle. Four people, four dolls, and one newly stuffed bunny, all stayed very happy and mostly dry.

RB is a reluctant walker. There were moments over the course of the weekend, mainly when she was on my or Captain’s back, when I wondered if I should’ve held on to a stroller.

Months in advance I bought tickets to the Statue of Liberty’s crown. It’s 215 steps to the pedestal and 162 steps to the crown. The staircase is a narrow, double-helix spiral.

I gave the whole thing a 50/50 whether we’d make it up any stairs.

We made it to the pedestal with enthusiasm to spare and up we went to the crown. No one asked me to carry them which would’ve been impossible. I’m still not sure how Captain fit at all.

After the Statue of Liberty, we found ourselves in the M&M store.

I should know better than to go into a candy store where it’s a help-yourself, weigh-it-later situation. We were all drawn to the colorful tubes of M&Ms.

RB held a bag underneath, opened the end of the blue M&Ms and out they poured. They couldn’t have come out any faster.

I took our three pounds of M&Ms and asked a sales person,

“We have more than we want, what should we do?”

Technically we had exactly how much RB wanted, but the hemorrhaging of money had to stop somewhere.

I was told we could dump out what we didn’t want. So I did and then RB added more in a variety of colors. We just about recreated a pre-made bag of M&Ms.

We got the biggest bang for our buck at the Lego store. The kiddos spent half-an-hour personalizing their mini-figures. It is not a process that can be rushed. Lego people have a surprising number of leg options.

Then RB spent the next hour free building. It was Saturday night and the store was closing. RB was in the zone. I chatted with an employee who was deconstructing legos faster than RB was putting them together.

Unprompted she said,

“I’m glad it’s not Sunday.”

“Why?”

“Sundays we stay late and wash all the legos.”

Right. The amount of hands I saw pawing through bins of legos in one hour makes a week’s worth of hands mind-boggling.

And the fact that we’re touching legos almost overdue for a wash, is not something Captain needed to know.

The whole trip was designed around a visit to the American Girl Place. We went on RB’s 6th birthday. There was a hair appointment for her and her doll, a nail appointment for her and her doll and lunch for four people and four dolls.

It was ridiculous and amazing. RB had been insisting she needed a boy doll for months, so Captain got the look-a-like doll he’s always dreamed of.

After a doll-filled day, we took as many dolls and bunnies as fit in our new backpacks, had chocolate cake for dinner and ended the marathon weekend on Broadway at Aladdin.

I thought for sure RB would be a mess walking back to the hotel at 9pm, but she danced and sang in the drizzle the whole way back.

For RB’s birthday night (the night after our anniversary), she slept in my bed and Captain slept with BB, our tenth wedding anniversary a distant memory. And technically it was celebrated months ago in the Galápagos when we were not in the same hotel room as our children.

Did someone say Belize?!?

Posted on October 17, 2025 by Good Times with Jess

I don’t know what’s happening. I just bought a plane ticket and I’m leaving for Belize in two weeks.

Yesterday the owner of my agency said a colleague could no longer take the trip, so the spot was open if anyone wanted it.

I watched as one advisor after another said they wished they could go, but couldn’t.

I looked at my calendar. Nothing there aside from a MILLION kids’ activities.

I reached out to our family childcare support. They were a go.

Now I needed to run it by Captain when he got home from work. I wrote on our white board on the fridge: “???BELIZE???” With that many question marks. As if I’d forget to talk about it.

I was on the fence. I just got home from Italy and I’m headed to the Swiss/Austrian Alps the beginning of December. I don’t want to burden my family too much.

Captain thought I should go.

That’s all I needed to hear!

Just when I thought my body was settling into winter-sweatsuit mode, we are back in a bikini, headed for the second largest barrier reef in the world and the best diving in the western hemisphere.

I will continue to shave my legs.

I am not a last minute type of person. I’m a planner. Go figure.

I have been shocked by how many clients book last minute trips. This is great for them and I’m very happy to do it.

My ideal time frame for planning trips for my own family is six months to over a year away. I had my eye on the Galápagos two years before we took the trip. And right now I’ve got my eye on Africa 2027.

I have never in my life booked a flight for myself two weeks before I leave.

Here I am. Ticketed. I just need to shave my legs and repack my freshly put away summer wardrobe.

I’m in excited disbelief that I’m leaving the country again so soon. I said to Captain,

“Who am I? I’m some new version of Jessica.”

“No! You’re the old Jessica!”

That’s right! I AM the old Jessica. Past Jessica’s passport was so full she had to send it away for more pages.

The main difference is that twenty-something-year-old Jessica did not have the word “luxury” associated with any part of her travels. Although she did as a child and she was luxury adjacent during her summer as a deckhand/stewardess on a yacht in the south of France.

Present, middle-aged Jessica has adapted well to the change.

I’m still, as Captain would say, rugged. I can carry my own luggage. But if someone wants to carry it for me, who am I to say no? And there’s nothing wrong with a chocolate on my pillow at night.

BB is not pleased that I’m peacing out again, but the promise of a Belizean stuffie is helping my case.

Are you thinking about somewhere warm? Maybe the Caribbean or maybe somewhere else nearby? Do you want adventure, culture, beach, jungle and amazing sea life?

Yes please!

I leave the day after Halloween. It’s daylight savings weekend. We gain an hour. My kids will be complete, post-Halloween trash and not my problem.

See you soon Belize!

If you need me, I can plan your trip from here!

Sardinia, Sardegna, what a wonderful two weeks!

Posted on October 9, 2025 by Good Times with Jess

I’m home! Captain said it felt like I’d been gone a month.

It took me a full week to readjust.

I mostly readjusted the minute I made physical contact with my children, but it took me this long to sit down and write a blog post.

Two-hour pasta lunches with a bottomless glass of wine followed by three-hour dinners with a bottomless glass of wine is really not a sustainable lifestyle. But it was an amazing way to spend a couple weeks!

Sardinia is the second largest island in the Mediterranean just south of Corsica and west of Italy. It has a gorgeous coastline, stunning mountains, long lifespans and an ancient heritage of amazing food unique from mainland Italy.

I explored Sardinia with travel designers from Italy, Venezuela, Mexico, Argentina, Portugal, Germany, Ukraine, Russia and one from twenty minutes up the road from me.

Those countries, all in the same group, may make you pause. I did. They’re all amazing people and I was lucky to spend time with them.

I also feel lucky that I was well received. Americans are not the most beloved right now.

And I thought for sure I’d be the only Jew of the group “working” on Rosh Hashanah. I was nowhere near my temple, but I did join the virtual children’s service for a minute between meetings.

Lo and behold I was lucky enough to find out that my new friend from Venezuela is Jewish! A Jewish Venezuelan is not a combo I was expecting.

I was distracted by my news feed and our politics that lack basic human decency. It feels like everything is spiraling downwards. I kept trying to refocus: my bowl of pasta, my delicious espresso, the sexiest cooking class I’ve ever taken.

I mean that. I was looking decidedly not sexy, but our teacher, she was another story. It’s called pasta therapy:

At home I cook occasionally because we need to eat and because if I try to serve one more peanut butter and jelly sandwich there may be a mutiny.

But for me, being sexy and cooking never happen simultaneously.

As I fumbled through making fancy pasta shapes, I was definitely in the moment, so it may deserve its therapeutic claims.

Last year I traveled to Croatia for work, carry-on only. BIG MISTAKE. I left home without an ounce of room in my suitcase. I received so much free swag and people at home were waiting for things and I had NO ROOM.

I vowed not to make that mistake again. For Sardinia I checked a small bag and also had a small carry-on. Both were half empty in anticipation of lots of free goodies.

Clothing-wise I still only packed as much as I would’ve if I’d been traveling carry-on only. For two weeks I planned to rewear everything twice if not three times. As I am always happy to do.

If I can enjoy a month-and-a-half overland safari alternating between two shirts, then the amount of clothing I took for Sardinia was really overkill.

But it quickly felt inadequate. My previous travel style collided with my current travel style.

Not only were my new friends wearing new outfits everyday, they had a nice outfit for daytime touring (which I would’ve called nice enough for dinner) and then an even nicer outfit for our lovely dinners.

I was taking my daytime outfit, adding a sweater and earrings and calling it my new dinner outfit. I kept wishing I had taken a medium-sized suitcase.

After a phone call home bemoaning all my decisions, I headed to dinner wearing my favorite dress for the third time. One of the women exclaimed,

“I love your dress! Is it new?”

No! Not only is it four years old, but I’ve already worn it for two other dinners this week! Proof that no one is paying as much attention as you think they are and maybe my suitcase choice was ok after all.

I left home with an idea that I’d like to buy a new dress if at all possible. As the week went on, it started to seem like it might not be possible.

The days were relaxing in the sense that I was walking around beautiful Sardinia, eating amazing food and talking to wonderful people, but there was very little free time with which to shop.

Near the end of the first week, we checked into what would be my favorite resort of the trip. As we walked into the lobby, in the store window, there was a beachy, floor-length, pink and white dress that was calling to me.

I said “I’ll be back if I can!”

I got a free minute and I dashed into the store. I peered around. Nothing resembled that dress. I peered back out at the window and asked the shopkeeper,

“Is that dress for this store?”

“Yes! It’s our last one and it’s your size.”

How does she know my size? I give her a skeptical look. She adds,

“It’s a medium.”

Ooooh she’s good.

Next thing I know, the mannequin’s arms are on the ground and the dress is in my hands. As I began the checkout process the kind woman asks me,

“Do you have Global Blue?”

“What?” I have no idea what she’s talking about.

“For your tax refund?”

“Tax refund?”

She looks perplexed and I feel like an idiot.

So now I know that it’s possible to get a tax refund on purchases over a certain amount. In Italy it’s over €70. Every country has a different amount.

The shopkeeper is so incredulous she asks me,

“How come you’ve never used Global Blue before?”

“I guess I haven’t done that much shopping.”

The truth is I haven’t done much shopping at the price point required to receive refunds.

The woman shakes her head and admonishes me,

“Italy is very good for shopping.”

“Yes, I see that.”

My suitcase fit all my wonderful freebies: wine, liqueur, jewelry, reindeer-skin luggage tags, candles, chocolates, bags and I bought two stuffed flamingos for my children. Sardinia is known for its flamingos. I did not know this.

My exploration of Sardinia was followed by an intense few days of one-on-one meetings with luxury travel suppliers from all over the world. It was simultaneously exhausting and energizing. There are endless, amazing adventures to add to your list!

Now I’m home, I caught my breath, I emptied my small suitcase and I am packing it back up.

We’re off to NYC for RB’s 6th birthday!

RB’s interpretation of ready for New York City. This is a very large suitcase relative to her doll’s size, so it is safe to say her doll overpacked.

T-minus three days until I ditch my family for TWO weeks

Posted on September 11, 2025 by Good Times with Jess

The owner of my agency recommends at least one travel conference a year. I was accepted to one in Sardinia.

Before and after the conference, there are familiarization trips. I was accepted to one of those, too! Once I’m there, I might as well scope out the whole island.

I was worried that being gone for two weeks would be too long. Captain offered,

“How could you not do it?”

That’s right! How could I not? And without a second thought I confirmed everything.

Now that I see the calendar for the next two weeks, please wish my family luck.

Between my two children there are: 6 swim practices, 2 swim lessons, 2 artistic swim classes, 6 soccer practices, 4 Hebrew school classes, 2 drama kids classes, 2 curriculum nights, one day of school pictures, and a side of Rosh Hashanah.

Putting that in all in one sentence may have been a mistake. We sound like crazy people.

I swear it feels more manageable on a day-to-day basis. Although I’ve only been doing it for one week, and now it’s someone else’s problem.

Monday night I was headed into Boston for work, and Captain, BB, and RB were headed to RB’s soccer practice. I said,

“Don’t forget you need a soccer ball and two chairs.”

They left with three chairs and no soccer ball.

So that’s how I anticipate the next couple weeks may go.

The other morning I was sitting on the couch with my coffee, a hotel website open in front of me. RB snuggled up, saw my computer, and said,

“Again?!? I thought you retired.”

Just getting started.

After this Sardinia trip, I was accepted for a ski trip in Austria and Switzerland. Which brings me back to our recent visit to the ski store.

Thirteen years ago I met Captain skiing. We skied as much as possible. I invested in new ski boots. They were comfortable, performed well, and were a pretty white-turquoise color.

Ten years ago I got pregnant with BB. My feet grew. I went from a size 10 to a size 11. My feet never went back.

I needed all new shoes. Not the worst thing in the world, but I was loathe to spend $500 on a new pair of ski boots. Especially when at this point, with a new baby, I was lucky if I were skiing four days a season.

Each year when I squeezed my feet into my too-small boots, Captain would ask,

“Are you going to get a new pair?”

“Maybe, but doesn’t seem worth it.”

Then another pregnancy, so no skiing, then COVID, so more no skiing. Then back to skiing and good grief the boots are still SO SMALL. Maybe it’s time for new boots?

Nope. Last year we decided to save all of our money for the Galápagos and did not go skiing.

Skipping a year made me realize how much I miss skiing! Now here comes the 25/26 season, and we already have 14 ski days on the books. It is time for new boots.

At the end of August I booked two separate appointments: a daytime rental appointment for the kiddos and an evening, boot fitting for myself. I imagined returning to the store childless to try on boots in peace.

We got the kids sorted out. The ski-store guy asked me,

“You’re looking for new boots, too, right?”

“Yes, but I was thinking I’d come back later without them.” I waved my hand in the general direction of my children clomping around the store. The guy said,

“They seem fine. Do you want to try some on?”

“If you say so.”

My children, still in their ski boots, proceeded to stomp laps, then it was quiet, and all I could see was BB’s head popping up in the middle of one of those spinning, clothes racks.

If this is the sales guy’s idea of “they’re fine,” then so be it.

He measured my foot, and looked at the sizing on my old boot. He was shocked,

“They’re so small for you! How could you ski in these?!”

“I don’t know.”

As my toes luxuriated in the spaciousness of the new boots, I looked at my color options: black, gray, and maroon. I asked,

“Are there other color options?”

“I’m afraid not. You’re into unisex sizing now.”

Apparently white-turquoise is not a unisex color.

I settled for comfort and performance in a unisex black.

As I flexed into my new boots, the sales guy noticed my quads and said,

“What do you do to work out?”

“I walk.”

“You’re in this shape from just walking?”

At which point both kids pipe up from under the snowpants rack,

“She walks with a weighted vest!”

I do now.

I walk with a weighted vest, wear unisex ski boots, and explore Sardinia for two weeks without my family.

I’m some new version of the old me.

Except I’m going to check a bag, which is anathema to my being.

After a two-week sabbatical, the least I can do for my family is make sure my suitcase has enough room to bring home all the free, travel tchotchkes I accumulate at the conference.

They can thank me later.

Traveling carry-on only in Mali. Apparently not a unisex backpack

T-minus two days til school! Let the magic begin

Posted on August 31, 2025 by Good Times with Jess

Final days of summer vacation are upon us.

I’m ready.

RB is ready.

BB is ready.

Captain is ready.

Could we have handled more beach?

Always.

Could I have handled more sibling fighting without having a psychotic break? We’ll never know.

BB is very excited for 4th grade and RB is OVER THE MOON to start kindergarten.

My BABY is starting kindergarten! Cue wailing, sobbing me for one second until my children resume destroying each other and I forget how to feel nostalgic.

RB is almost 6, so really I lucked out with an extra year with her. She is still very munchable.

Socially she’s beyond ready to go. Writing her name is another story. BB is bound and determined to “prepare” her.

From the backseat of the car I hear BB say,

“What is five times two?”

GOOD GRIEF! The kid can barely tell the difference between a letter and a number. Never mind write her name and now we’re working on multiplication?

They’re happy and I’m loathe to get involved if they’re happy, but they can become unhappy very quickly, so it’s tempting to preempt it if possible. I pipe up,

“I think they work on basic addition and subtraction in kindergarten.”

BB groans,

“Yes, but she knows this, we’ve worked on it before.”

I can’t decide if RB having a 9-year-old teacher is helpful or not.

RB adds,

“I’m learning to read!”

BB says,

“That’s right! What words have I taught you?”

“Potion, broomstick, magic and teacup!”

All the most useful kindergarten sight words.

Meanwhile I’m getting ready to leave for Italy in a couple weeks, getting our ski equipment sorted out and also trying to nail down our long weekend in NYC for RB’s 6th birthday.

I ask RB,

“What would you like for your birthday dinner in NYC?”

“Cereal!!!”

“Cereal?”

“Or mac n cheese from Añejo or french fries.”

Añejo is a fabulous Mexican restaurant, with a delicious homemade queso mac n cheese, ON CAPE COD.

I google “best french fries in NYC.”

One result is described as:

“Classic fries done right—potato-forward and refined.”

Potato-forward is what I’m looking for! Refined is questionable. One dinner option reserved.

I will save the ski equipment journey for another post and hopefully I’ll talk to you again before I leave for Sardinia.

As I snuggled RB on the couch the other morning before soccer, I squished her very squishable legs and asked,

“Are these legs ready for soccer?”

“They’re ready to charge!”

“They’re ready to charge?!!”

“Like an angry hippo!”

I don’t think this will be my facial expression

Weighted vests. Need I say more?

Posted on August 14, 2025 by Good Times with Jess

I’ve had my nose to the grindstone this past year and when I looked up everyone was wearing a weighted vest.

Or at least people my age.

My beach buddy uses one and she mentioned it last summer, but unlike this summer, there was no sign of them in my news feed, so I continued to go for my weightless walks.

A couple weeks ago I told her I was considering one. Two more beach buddies piped up about their vests.

Then I was driving back from Cuffy’s (can never have too many things that say Cape Cod), and there was a woman walking with what I can now identify immediately as a weighted vest.

Everybody’s been wearing them and I had no idea. Now it was just a matter of which vest.

As I perused the reviews of different vests, one said,

“If you’re middle-aged and you don’t have one, what are you even doing?”

What have I been doing?

I’ve been walking unweighted.

Some people said the vest is ridiculous and just put on a backpack.

It brought me back 8.5 years to when we lived in Boston and the only way BB breastfed or slept was in a moving sling attached to my body.

I went for so many weighted walks.

I’m not sure how much money someone would have to pay me to do that again, but the feeling of the weighted vest high up on the top of my body as opposed to a backpack or a baby is worth the purchase.

I’m addicted to walking. I’m going to walk no matter what. I don’t have unlimited time for walking. So adding the weight and getting some thigh burn feels ideal.

Don’t even talk to me about running. Not my thing. Not happening. Last time I ran was when we were on the beach and RB said,

“I need to go potty, the poop is coming out.”

Even then I slowed to a trot.

My thighs need to be ready for skiing in the Alps by the first week of December. I do not intend to be the last travel advisor down the mountain.

In the meantime, I’ll be wandering around suburbia 16 pounds heavier. Chest hair optional.

When I put in weighted vests, these popped up. Good to know there are hairy options.

This weighted vest kept gaining weight and was a little fussy.

Forgive the million photos of BB in the sling. There are SO MANY. She lived in there for the better part of a year.

Weighted baby sling arrives in suburbia, circa 2017. I did not consider myself middle-aged yet.

This is 43! My passport is renewed. I’m ready

Posted on July 24, 2025 by Good Times with Jess

What a birthday month!

I do not know how to have the kids home and be on vacation and be working and be sailing and be beaching and be blogging.

I got it all done except for the blogging. So here I am. I didn’t forget about you. I never would/could. Someone will have to claw the keyboard out of my old, withered hands.

It will be like taking away my car keys. Until then I’m clinging to my early forties.

A 38-year-old beach friend was surprised to learn I was turning 43. She looked me up and down and said,

“So there’s hope for me!”

Which I have 100% taken as a compliment, but also, how much aging does she expect to incur in five years?

BB turned nine! It’s her last year in single digits. She is quickly moving into her tween years. She’s still wearing a Rufflebutt swimsuit, but I was told this is the last year for that.

I’m still wearing a string bikini, someone can tell me when it’s my last year for that. Maybe my 5-year younger beach buddy.

As I put RB to bed she asked her usual litany of random unanswerable questions, like:

“Why is that calendar with the chickens still here?”

“I don’t know. This is my brother’s room.”

“Didn’t you play in here?”

“Yes, but mainly in my room with my barbies and American Girl doll.”

RB turns to me in shock,

“They had American Doll Girls in the OLD DAYS?”

The old days? Yup. They did.

RB shakes her head. She seems to have forgotten all about the perplexing chickens.

Captain is on the verge of turning 51, so he’s really from the old days.

He just bought a new pair of shoes and I said,

“Those look spiffy!”

“SPIFFY?!?”

“What’s wrong with spiffy?”

“Sounds like a compliment for a guy in his sixties.”

Oh. Hmmm.

He took his brand-new, white shoes and we went sailing for a week. The sibling fighting may have aged us more than a week, but other than that it was amazing.

One of their favorite fights to have is,

“She’s LOOKING AT ME!”

If they have this fight on a huge, wide-open beach, you can imagine how many looks there were on a contained sailboat.

Most looks were mitigated with a bag of potato chips.

This is the wisdom I’ve gained in old age, don’t underestimate the power of a snack.

I’ve also learned that I can beach and work. Sail and work. Parent and work is trickier. And apparently I cannot blog and do any other tasks.

I’ll talk to you in August, before or after Captain gets one year closer to being genuinely spiffy.

P.S. BB is now proofreading my posts… so that’s how old we really are.

I think the dolls are making him look younger, but it’s hard to say.

Bye preschool!!! Can I still pop by for drop off and pick up just to chat with my favorite people?

Posted on June 26, 2025 by Good Times with Jess

Everyday last week I was crying or on the verge of crying. My baby graduated from pre-k. We said goodbye to our beloved preschool where I’ve been taking both of our babies for six years.

All I have to do is look at a piece of art work and tears come to my eyes. And there is so much art work.

Although there’s one piece of art work that does NOT bring tears to my eyes:

Hard to say what Captain has done to edge me out for this win, but if it’s lifting up legos, I’d like to point out I’m also very capable of that. I have lifted many a lego.

The cut off for kindergarten is September 1st. RB is a fall birthday so she’s well on her way to 6. She would’ve gotten on the bus a year ago if someone had let her.

Last year the alphabet and her name were still very mysterious, so it was nice to make some progress there.

RB is ready. I’m ready. IT’S JUST SO NOSTALGIC!

After six years at this wonderful school, I feel a little beside myself. My baby is not a baby and I said goodbye to some of our favorite people.

When RB started, she was two and still in pull-ups. Now she thinks she’s ready for high school.

Meanwhile BB just finished her best year yet and got teary when she needed to say goodbye to her amazing teacher. Yes, I may have gotten a little teary too. It was A WEEK.

I don’t remember having any tears on the last day of school when I was 8. I just remember pure peace-out energy. So that’s a testament to her 3rd grade teacher!

The sweet, emotional tears are over and we’ve moved onto the banshee cries of the wronged sibling.

I’m not sure what this summer will bring. We’re functioning on a week to week basis. We’ve decamped for the Cape, but have already been back home twice. I haven’t booked any summer camps, but that doesn’t mean I won’t. We’re going sailing, but only if my kids can agree to not tear each other apart.

BB says,

“I need my alone time.”

RB follows her around for the next hour.

They both whine and complain.

I say,

“BEDTIME!”

BB says,

“Can we have a sleepover?”

“Really? You just spent the last hour trying to get away from your sister.”

“I know. I still want a sleepover with her.”

Three hours later everyone is asleep.

I’ve instituted a No-Tattling Policy. It really seems to have helped. But ask me again in August.

And as teary as I am about my babies growing up, it’ll be a beautiful thing to put both kiddos on the 8am bus in September.

Until then, Happy Summer!!!

What is going on with that leg? Is that a high-school leg?

That’s my beach bag on the kitchen table. This is how I solved the never-ending conundrum of “SHE’S LOOKING AT ME!!!”

Bye magical, outdoor classroom at preschool 🥹😭😭

Brake pads, rotors and the itsy bitzee that went for a ride

Posted on June 6, 2025 by Good Times with Jess

I rolled up to a family birthday party with the girls. It was Captain’s side of the family, but there was no Captain.

So where was he?

“He’s replacing the brake pads and rotors on my car.”

“He took it somewhere to get it done?”

“Nope, he’s doing it himself.”

Blank stares.

He’s in his happy place, under a car and I’m in mine, at a party, oblivious to how many juice boxes are being guzzled.

The drive to the party was uneventful. BB played with a new birthday present: a bitzee. And RB took a nap.

You may or may not be familiar with the bitzee mania. It is a small digital pet. The photo doesn’t really do it justice. It’s interactive. It moves, lights up and makes sounds. It’s digitally adorable and highly addictive, at least for the little people in my family.

On the drive home BB whipped out her bitzee. RB begged for a turn. Pleaded for a turn. Whined. Yelled. Grabbed. Tantrumed. Cried the most-heartbroken tears one can cry.

BB clung to her Precious.

She was worried RB would damage it and that I would not want to buy her another one.

Both valid concerns.

As we sat in stop and go traffic on 95 and World War III raged in my backseat, I made the game-time decision that BB did not have to share it, but she did have to put it away so she wasn’t taunting RB with it.

RB couldn’t stop crying. Tears rolled silently down her cheeks for the remainder of the ride.

Then I had what I thought was a brilliant idea. I said,

“RB, if you want to spend your own money you can buy one for yourself.”

“I can buy my own itsy bitzee?!”

“If you have $25.”

The minute we pulled up to the house she made a mad dash for her wallet.

Captain was ready to show off his hard work. He told me,

“The back tires are done!”

“New rotors too?”

I have no idea what I’m talking about. I learned how to spell rotors today.

“Yup, performance ones. You can see them.”

“I can?”

Captain points out my new, shiny rotors.

“Performance?”

“Yes! See those lines and grooves there?”

“Yes.”

“That’s what makes them performance”

Aha. I didn’t know I needed performance rotors.

I head inside. RB is trying to count her money. Ones, fives, tens, twenties are spread across her bed. They’re all being counted as one each. I count out $25. She bursts into tears,

“You’re going to take all of my tooth fairy money?”

“I don’t have to take any of it, only if you want to buy a bitzee.”

RB sobs and says,

“I do want to buy an itsy bitzee.”

And she did. She fell in love.

I tried to keep track of it and put it away when I didn’t want her to be using it. Turns out I failed.

I dropped her off at school and a teacher remarked,

“That’s a cool toy she brought in yesterday.”

“What did she bring in?”

RB is already hanging her head and refusing to make eye contact.

“That little blue box you open up.”

“I had no idea she brought that in! She wasn’t allowed to!”

RB’s bitzee is hidden away until further notice. I recount all of this to Captain.

Our child has always done whatever the heck she wants and couldn’t care less about anyone’s “rules.” Except apparently at school, where she’s mysteriously well-behaved.

At a playdate the other day, I overheard her tell her friend,

“This is my sister’s. Don’t tell her we’re using it. She doesn’t let me.”

If someday she’s climbing out of her bedroom window and sneaking off, I will not be surprised.

I will be jumping in my performance Toyota Highlander, finding my wild child and stopping on a dime, because I think that’s what my new fancy rotors are for?

And if anyone has an answer to the sibling fighting, please send help.

Here’s to my new favorite town

Posted on May 21, 2025 by Good Times with Jess

I don’t have to move after all!

I didn’t know that I would cry tears of joy over a town election, but I did.

National politics may still be deplorable, but short of leaving the country, we’re not going anywhere.

We’re so committed to staying that we bought a new sactional for my home office. I do not think it’s deductible.

For Mother’s Day I received this note from five-year-old RB:

I’ll address this in chronological order:

There are people in my family with blue eyes; I am not one of them.

I do not love to eat chicken. My family loves to eat chicken, so here we are.

One of my favorite drinks may be wine… just wondering why the daily coffee didn’t make the cut.

A box of instant mac ‘n cheese is one of my specialties.

I do dearly love to exercise.

I’m not sure what games she’s referring to, but piggy-back ride up to bed is a favorite of mine.

Snuggles are the best.

And snuggles on my new sactional are great too.

I don’t know who has put together a Lovesac sactional before, BUT it made me question all of my life choices.

I’m surprised there was no offer of white-glove service. Not that we would have paid extra for that. I know a guy. But still.

I ended up carrying in all fifteen boxes by myself, including six that weighed fifty-three pounds.

The boxes arrived at 1pm when Captain was at the office and I had dreams of having my coffee (2nd favorite drink) on my new sactional the next morning.

After blood, sweat, so much sweat, no tears, we hit 11:30pm and Captain pondered the pillows. He said,

“I’m wondering if that pillow should be switched with this one.”

I could not have finished the couch in nine hours without Captain, but I also couldn’t find any level of caring about the pillows.

They’re lucky to be stuffed into their cases and they may now go wherever they want.

“I have to go to bed.”

We are less than a week into our 60-day trial period with free returns, but it’s safe to say, she’s not going anywhere.

In part because she’s very comfortable, but also because I CAN’T IMAGINE BOXING THIS WHOLE THING UP.

As I struggled for hours to stuff cushions into washable covers. I said multiple times,

“I’m never washing this couch.”

Lies. All lies. Three days into the new couch, RB vomited all over it. Into the wash it went.

It came out perfect and putting one cushion back into its case is really not bad compared to upholstering twenty-seven different parts of the couch.

Come on over, have a seat, have a glass of wine, some chicken and mac ‘n cheese and some snuggles. I’m here.

On town election night I was at the Boston Ballet with a dear friend and the bathroom stall had this sign on the door. I don’t remember this from before, but maybe that’s because I’m always in a mad rush. It’s definitely worth holding onto your hopes and dreams. Overrides do happen.

Arts & crafts and the state of the world, but mainly arts & crafts. Also VOTE YES for the Override

Posted on May 1, 2025 by Good Times with Jess

What is to become of us? Deporting people without due process? Deporting US citizen children with cancer? The cruelty is incomprehensible.

I keep reorienting myself with my tiny microcosm of family life, which for the most part is a respite from our country’s chaos, until the pre-school art project homework arrives…

Is there no rest for the weary?

I can’t emphasize it enough, I do not like arts and crafts.

An email came from RB’s pre-k: Everyone needs to make a family shoebox diorama. A part of my soul began to wither.

What 5-year-old can accomplish this independently? RB is one of the oldest kids at her school, so tell me, what are the 2-3 year-olds doing?

Our hefty tuition bill does not shield us from arts and crafts outside of school hours.

I give Captain my take,

“Not it.”

When I melted into goo that first day I met Captain, I had no way of knowing that he’s an amazing artist with the willingness, patience and ability to craft a preschool, shoebox diorama well into the wee morning hours. But he is!

At 11pm I said goodnight to him, as he sat with the hot glue gun hovering over our stick figure family and a fluffy squirrel. He asked,

“How much of this should RB be doing?”

“She picked this scene right?”

“Yeah.”

She’s done enough.

SEND IT IN.

It’s in. We’re moving on. Especially because I know there’s a third grade art project headed our way, i.e. Captain’s way.

Just the fact that he owns a glue gun, owned one before I met him, is all the information we need to know about who’s in charge of the infamous third grade hat project.

Assuming I don’t move from this town in the next month.

Just kidding, kind of. People get it together, vote yes for the override. For all of the three people from my town reading this.

Please.