I absolutely love the idea of biking. But the biking itself? Yeah, that doesn’t usually work out.

One college summer I had tremendous plans to go on a two week biking tour through the French countryside. But at the last minute, I backed out. I mean, it suddenly sounded like an awful LOT of biking. Instead I could stay home in Connecticut, waiting endlessly for my crush to call, while spending the rest of my time trying to get into bars with my fake ID. Now that’s a summer.

Who needs the French and all that pedaling?

Many years later, my husband, daughter Dylan and I traveled to Tuscany. And that’s when I had an absolutely brilliant idea… What could be more lovely than riding around Tuscany on our bicycles? Oh, it will be just perfect.

In the August heat. On the Tuscan hills. While 5 months pregnant.

Rick mentioned that he thought I was perhaps being a bit too ambitious. But I laughed at that Debbie Downer and told him to bulk up. Man, if that guy wasn’t married to me, he wouldn’t do anything adventurous. He is so damn lucky to have me. This was going to be awesome.

You know what? Despite that joyful smile plastered on my face, not really all that awesome.

Expensive? Well, yes… with the bike rentals, the bike seat, the helmets, the locks, the bike rack, the bike pants….

Tiring? Oh, definitely. I was exhausted after schlepping into Florence just to pick up the bikes.

Hot? I mentioned it was August, right?

But I apparently have no memory retention because I am, once again, obsessed.

I am already lost in visions of scenic, family bike rides along New York City’s waterfront bike paths. When I imagine Rick biking, I sort of envision… Leonardo DiCaprio. You know, all urban and sexy and eco.

And, of course, not to brag but doesn’t that make me his bike-loving-ex-Gisele?

But maybe with a little less thong showing.

As you know from my previous post, this is definitely NOT how I imagine Rick and myself hitting the bike paths…

Although these two don’t look dumb enough to blow off a parent paid trip to France in favor of trolling the Connecticut suburbs.

So this time I’m serious. We’re getting used bikes. We’re getting bike seats. Dylan and Summer are totally on board with the plan. We’re doing this thing.

Rick – don’t say anything. This is going to be awesome.

mama bird notes
Click on drooling over this for the perfect dessert for wine lovers. You will seriously wow your dinner guests.

Don’t forget our TWO awesome giveaways from Lands’ End. I’m giving away a Girl’s Swim Package (bathing suit, short sleeve rash guard shirt + beach towel) and a Boy’s Swim Package (board shorts, short sleeve rash guard shirt and beach towel). Sun sensible with 50 UPF Protection. Winners will get to pick the sizes.

To enter, leave a comment this week on the mama bird diaries and let me know if you are interested in the boys giveaway, the girls giveaway or both!

I’m desperately in love with the organic food chain Whole Foods (except at lunch time when it’s so busy I want to grab my two kids and hide under the locally grown heirloom tomatoes). So my husband and I jumped at the chance to attend a Whole Foods event, highlighting “extraordinary food artisans.” Sounds fancy right?

It took place at Studio 450 which is so gorgeous with enormous windows, panoramic city views and clean, white space that I begged Rick to marry me again at this beautiful venue. Uh… he said no. But the food and beverages rocked. We nibbled on a yummy artichoke spread from Ciolo Foods, sipped all natural sodas from GuS (Grown-up Soda) and cleansed our palate with Wine Cellar Sorbets.

Say what? Yes, sorbet made from wine. Seriously. I tasted the Riesling, the Cabernet Sauvignon and even the Sangria Rojo. It’s like eating a glass of wine. Plus, no fat, dairy, corn syrup or gluten. No, it won’t make you tipsy (yes, of course, I asked!). But it does contain enough alcohol that you have to be 21 to consume this sweet treat. Now that’s my kind of dessert.

One last important note… Whole Foods is currently selling a reusable shopping bag called FEED 100 at their stores. Each bag purchased ($29.99) will help provide 100 nutritious meals to hungry school children in Rwanda through the United Nation World’s Food Program. So pick one up if you can.

It’s just so darn cheesy when parents force their kids to wear matching outfits. Puh-lease. How about a little creativity? A little individuality? Why must we subject young, innocent children to such hokey torture?

Oh, right… because it’s fun!

Poor Dylan. She already knows her street cred is toast. Holla!

And what better way to show my never ending love for Rick than his and her’s sweat suits? I mean how friggin cute as a button is this couple?

Are they part of some creepy Siamese jogging cult?

Or maybe I should just take it up another notch and go family style.

Listen, I can’t get a single photo of my entire family smiling, so maybe they are on to something. Plaid and v-necks not your thang? Well, let me see if I can dig up a little something for you out there. Floral? You like the floral? Who doesn’t like the floral? Aloha, happy family!

Yup, you can actually wrap up your whole clan, head to toe in hibiscus. People, dreams really do come true. And look at this…. There is actually a company that will help. Matcheez gives you tips for dressing alike and insists, “You can show your family unity to the world by dressing alike.”

I think I’m a long way from showing my unity to the world because every time Rick puts on a shirt that is even remotely similar in color to my top, I make him change. You can never be too careful.

Gotta scram. Just called Julie Andrews. We are off to sew Dylan and Summer matching play clothes from my old blackout shades. Yeah, I don’t really have curtains.

mama bird diaries

Daphne Biener set out to create a laid back, relaxing summer for her girls. Umm… that’s not exactly what happened. Click on contributing mamas to read more.

Click on New York City Moms Blog to read my latest piece, Mother of Two Seeks Adventure.

Finally, this week, we have TWO awesome giveaways from Lands’ End. I’m giving away a Girl’s Swim Package (bathing suit, short sleeve rash guard shirt + beach towel) and a Boy’s Swim Package (board shorts, short sleeve rash guard shirt and beach towel). Sun sensible with 50 UPF Protection. Winners will get to pick the sizes.

To enter, leave a comment this week on the mama bird diaries and let me know if you are interested in the boys giveaway, the girls giveaway or both!

By Contributing Mama Daphne Biener

Allow me to explain why my nose is up so high in the air. I carry it thus to signify my utmost disdain for those mothers. You know the ones: ‘Sure, little Johnie can come play; he has a window between cello lessons and soccer practice but only on alternate Tuesdays when he’s not occupied with agility camp and chef school.’ Overscheduled. It’s something I would never do.

I am of the camp where summertime means children luxuriously lounging in the grass weaving dandelions into necklaces. Where the quiet streets ring out with the laughter of carefree kids playing tag beneath leafy trees. Lemonade on porch swings and fireflies in a jars with holes poked in the lid. Shooting stars, that kind of thing if you know what I mean.

Oh hell, why don’t I just airbrush a fuzzy glow over my whole life and photoshop my nose back into joint? You see, despite my valiant efforts to the contrary our summer is INSANELY OVERSCHEDULED!

Let me take a moment to thank those of you who refrained from rolling your eyes and laughing in my face as I repeatedly and obliviously uttered the following statement:

Oh, no, we’re not doing much of anything this summer. Hanging out mostly. Well, except for swim team three nights a week. And Acadia’s ballet camp. And Kira’s jump rope clinics. Oh yes, and one week of camp for both girls at the museum; they do such nice job with camps there, you know? And Kira ,of course, is doing the town play again. And camping, oh yes, we’re going up to the mountains a couple of times to camp. And visitors too, we have guests coming every weekend of June…

How did this happen? I swear, with every ounce of my being, that I believe unscheduled children are healthier, more creative and less likely to look like me (that is, running in circles with my hair on fire looking for a cell phone which is, of course, in the band-aid box in the medicine chest and the keys which I manage to stash repeatedly in the freezer). Shame on me! I know I’ve rolled my accusatory eyes at mothers who spend hours juggling their kids’ frantic schedules. At least those moms always appear to have brushed their hair and showered. I’m lucky if I remember to change out of pajamas before hopping behind the wheel of the Activity-Express.

Hello. My name is Mommy Daphne. I have a problem.

You want to know the worst part? I actually believed that I had created a carefree, activity-free, free-form summer. Am I really this clueless? Maybe we could sit down and talk about it? Just not on Tuesdays or Thursdays – clearly I need to sign up for that class on logistics. And Mondays, don’t even get me started on Mondays. Come to think of it, count out Wednesdays and Fridays too. I need those days to start searching my sanity. It must’ve fallen out when I lost my head.

Rick, the girls and I headed back to my in-laws’ on the Jersey shore this weekend. You know how it goes. We threw a couple things in an overnight bag.

What? Seriously, what? Like who doesn’t need a few outfit options? At first, everyone is a bit les miserables in the car but then it gets good.

and then it gets awesomely good.

On Saturday night, Rick and I decide, gosh damn it, we are still young and sprightly so we head to “The Pool” bar at Harrah’s casino and resort in Atlantic City. As you can see, the joint has a small, quaint pub like feel….

Rick and I grab drinks and scan the scene of bikini-clad cocktail waitresses and almost 20-somethings. We hang particularly close to a group of gray haired, middle age women in the hopes of looking younger and hipper. I am reasonably confident that it’s working.

Then Rick starts acting ultra, super perky and I realize it’s because these gals are in the house.

In fact, there is a whole posse of guys ogling them and Rick (who always takes the time to help those in need) says to a couple of the guys…

“I’m married. Go for it. Com’on! Go talk to them.”

I’m telling you, that man never thinks of himself.

Then we did a little white man overbite dancing…

But alas, it’s time to dump this taco stand, and hit the casino. Of course, hanging out at the casino is like being on an airplane in 1978. Smoking is only permitted in certain areas but the whole place wreaks.

Still, there is something electrifying about all those slot machines, crap tables and seniors pouring their social security funds into video poker. You can’t help but feel the casino fever.

Rick decides to play a little black jack. I think it’s kind of sexy when a guy gambles. I mean, not when they risk the college tuition savings but like the preschool savings.

Shortly after that picture was taken, it became abundantly clear to me that you are, in fact, most definitely not allowed to take pictures inside the casino. Therefore no snapshots here of those smokin’ hot pit bosses who keep order at the tables, and apparently (although this can not be confirmed) have never actually had sunlight on their faces.

After a few hands, we realized we are kind of tired and maybe-not-so-sprightly after all, so we head home.

Upon leaving, I notice the elevators smell remarkably like a gerbil cage, which I’m sure studies show encourages people to gamble more.

But thanks to my husband’s savvy blackjack skills, we end up $31 dollars richer. That’s right. Get out the passports and ring Chevy Chase because we are now going on a 1st class European vacation.