Sonoma: Driving With The Windows Down

This weekend we drove to Sonoma in the wine country where we'd rented a house. Kevin was away so I had the kids on my own. Thankfully our friends visited because the house was one of these places you arrive at and say: "Oh the photos did it way too much justice." We had fun anyway.

The kids and their friends at Girl and The Fig, best mussels ever (they don't heap too much garlic on them)

Back to the fabulous Scooteria coffee shop

Paella at El Dorado Kitchen

And the triple threat lamb

Scarf from French Nest

Re the house: There were coyote statues near the pool, not really an animal that I want see poolside alive or in concrete form.

Swimming with the coyotes (or is it a dingo?)

Inside, all the glasses were smeary, the drawers full of crumbs and black bits, and the windows were dirty. I told the owner's Person Friday. "Oh, this is the country" was her reply as though all of those things were tres charmant and I was a clueless urbanite. Outside I showed her the bottom of the pool which was strangely scrapey and multi-coloured. Dirt? I asked her. She gave me a look. "This is the country" I replied for her.

This was at the entry...setting the tone?

Enough of my complaining. (Why is it when I complain it's legit consumerism and when my kids complain it's just whining... )

Sonoma is the place where the songs on the radio come alive. And especially that cheesy-genius country one called Cruise where baby you a song you make me wind my windows down (resurrected by Nelly sticking it at the end of his equally dodgy Hey Porche and then with a re-mix) which I now know all the words to and so do the kids. If you want to feel good about your life, just picture me, 51 year-old crazy mutha driving a bird-pooped ugly Dodge Minivan with four bickering kids in the back, singing her heart out with the window down.

Before we drove home last night I stopped at the Chocolate Cow on Sonoma Square and gave the kids $10 to buy a couple of gobsful of candy in nuclear reactive colours. Cy, 9, came back to the car with his left cheek bulging. Whajaget? I asked. Chewing tobaccy, he said. Bless.