There could not be a neighborhood party without a jumping castle.

Bill always prepares some special treat for the children.

After two weekends spent outdoors, even repeatedly at Leavitt Meadows, we kind of looked forward to resting at home. Our neighborhood party fell on the Saturday one week before start of school, and we could not miss it. As I have written here several times, the organization of this event runs more or less spontaneously, and the only executive decision needed is about the date of the happening. Then someone distributes leaflets, someone buys burgers and ketchup, everybody brings their own side or dessert, someone does the grilling, someone rents an inflatable jumping castle, and that's it.

Every year we start with a parade — it used to be an Independence Day parade, but since the whole affair had moved to the end of August, the parade is not in remembrance of anything. Nobody minds, as long there's something to start the whole marathon. In the early days, the parade had accommodated two-year old toddlers; those have grown noticeably — and this year ended in a total chaos, for the older kids took it as a race and circled the block on their bicycles in about three distinct groups. Then they perused the jumping castle, Bill exhibited his home-made smoke gun — and most importantly, someone had loaded about a thousand water bombs (small rubber balloons filled with water, which burst upon first contact with anything solid — even a back of a hapless grown-up). It was hot, and nobody objected to being total drenched. And several more someones kept grilling, and everybody ate and drank and chatted with neighbors about all kinds of possible and impossible things. I cheered up at the sight of new amassing toddlers — our neighborhood does not grow old, for a new generation is coming.

Confusion on the bridge.

A snack at Golden Gate Bridge.

For Sunday we had invited Ryzls to our pool and backyard grilling. Last winter had been long and our nights are still cold, so our pool is still cool. Even so the kids managed to splash for quite a long time. We started to organize another weekend with the Ryzls (guess where: Leavitt Meadows), which was a mistake. On the following Wednesday, their Andrejka fell ill, followed by Martin and Lisa, and on Saturday Hippo and Míša got sick, with me closing off on the next Tuesday. Being this decimated (the only healthy individuals were Tom and Anička), we naturally did not go anywhere.

On Saturday, when Lisa still looked all right, and Hippo did not start to whine yet, we had the idea to load our bikes in the bus, and ride across the Golden Gate Bridge — a program not very physically demanding (see Lisa feeling ill and Hippo getting there) while interesting (since we live here, we like to visit the famous landmark from time to time). We had automatically assumed that just like during all our previous visits, pedestrians would walk on the eastern side of the bridge, while the western sidewalk would be reserved for bicyclists. However, currently (or rather, for the foreseeable future), the western side is closed for reconstruction — and all the traffic — bicyclist and pedestrians are permitted to share the eastern sidewalk. That all by itself means havoc. Now add tourists who completely ignore huge signs posted at the entrance, and pictograms on the ground, separating the sidewalk into a biking and walking sections. This would still be manageable, as we could avoid most collision. We were able to coexist with BIKERS in the opposite direction and those passing us by. The problem started with whole tour-bus loads of visitors on rented bicycles — picture fifteen-year old young ladies in flip-flops, who actually don't really know how to ride, so they balance on the edge of a fall with bulging eyes among the other riders and pedestrians. Or dignified Indian patriarchs, who likely know how to ride, but they never heard of any hand-operated brakes and who, in a critical moment, try to pedal backward to engage the non-existent coaster brakes, discovering to their terror that instead the bike just makes a nice buzzing noise, and so they resort to plain heel-on-ground friction (again in their obligatory flip-flops). I must say that we met numerous such parties, each holding between twenty and thirty members of above mentioned qualifications, and my hair was standing on top from fright.

A trip to the beach with granny — Lisa making cakes...

...Tom building a castle.

We lived through it without injury or loss, yet our plan manifested another shortcoming — a considerable time reserve, that is. We were aiming to have a dinner at a new Czech restaurant in Redwood City, but it was opening at five o'clock in the afternoon — and it was only four when we approached Redwood City. Hence I tried to talk Míša Rýzlová to take Anička and join us at a playground for an hour or so. Well, in the end Ryzls invited us in, and we stayed there till six. We managed to stay hungry until we were ready to go to Czech Point, turning down all Míša's lures and temptations, and keeping room for the fried cheese.

To my surprise the children did not choose fried cheese; instead, they wanted a port cutlet. Hippo wanted potato pancakes with a sausage and sauerkraut. Too bad all the beer was only bottled, but they offered perhaps all of the brands that ever get imported here. Service was much worse. We don't know if the cook just called in sick, or whether the owner was just training a new one, in any case, the boss dithered chaotically between the hall and the kitchen, and was apparently cooking as well. We got our meals after over an hour wait, during which I had to get up and walk around the block with both kids, to prevent them from demolishing the restaurant and whining really loudly. The food itself was, at last, excellent — at least my fried cheese and Hippo's potato pancake. I don't have any idea what the cutlets might have tasted like, for even Lisa practically inhaled her two pieces at lighting speed, and there was nothing left to sample. We would return to the food for sure, only we hope that the owner will conquer operational logistics better.

Kids enjoyed last days of their vacations with granny at the ZOO...

... and at the playground.

On Monday, August twenty second, the kids got back to school. Hippo was nursing a virosis and so it was me who participated in this festive event. Festive, yeah, right. There was an incredible amount of people crowding the school, for most families arrived in full set, including remote relations. We had no chance to part the columns and push to the spot where Lisa was supposed to line up, and I took the chance to pull the children out of the melee and take a picture. However, in situations where other kids stand mildly confused and parents suppress a sentimental tear, our offspring was distracted and needled each other, and my attempt to record family history failed. Then Tom had to run away to his own class, where he began to welcome with Nicolas, subsequently ignoring both his mother and his sister. The teacher took them away at last and since crowds thinned up a bit in front of Lisa's classroom, we were able to reach the door. Tom was happy as he got our neighbor Nicolas for a classmate, and Lisa is happy to have the same teacher Tom had last year — and I am happy, for my crazy ferrying kids up and down at different times is over — they have the same schedule, 8:15 through 2:40 (1:15 on Wednesdays).

Lisa is being impacted by the long schedule — she was used to have school only in the morning, and eating lunch with her mom, relaxing after lunch with a movie or some drawing, or simply laying around. Now she leaves school at three totally whiny and uncooperative. And she is apparently not alone, for the other day she reported that the teacher just played a movie for them in the afternoon. Since I know this teacher and I know she's not the time who would prefer letting the kids just watch TV, most children had to be unusable then. My noon guard duty started on the first day of school — I have been a part time employee of the school district since last year, and I could start helping right away. The first graders were generally confused. I had to deal with the same question three times in a row: "Where is our teacher?" They were used from kindergarten that the teacher would stick to them for the whole three and half hours, but in a whole day schedule even the teacher is entitled to a lunch break, which would derail the first graders completely. When I explained that the teacher did not get lost and they, too, are not lost, and there's no need to look for the teacher, for somebody else (me) is watching over them and when they finish eating their lunch, they may GO AND PLAY IN THE BIG PLAYGROUND, they calmed down and concluded that the thing with the playground is a GREAT IDEA after all.

A complete failure of an attempt to snap a formal picture of the first day of school.

Walking the hamster.

Subsequently I caused confusion in the playground myself — to not have to out-shout several hundred children, we were issued whistles. So I whistled at some boys who were hiding in bushes beyond the school property, which the first graders interpreted at a signal to line up for their afternoon class. Even one of the teachers got fooled, and opened the classroom and let the kids in and began to hand out assignments. I had to go and disperse the line-up, and ensure the children and the new teacher that the break ends with the bell ringing instead of my whistling. But at least you can see what a responsibility and important function I got!

Perhaps the chaos and exhaustion from the first few weeks would eventually dissipate, and the rest of the school won't bring any more excitement.