My three-day getaway begins tomorrow and I am ambivalent about going.  I’m filled with unexpected longing and regret.  My daughter has been waking in the wee hours of the morning from bad dreams.  What will she do without me?

My 8-year old son has “swimmer’s ear”.  Can I really leave while he isn’t feeling well? 

The laundry is piling up at an alarming rate.  The perennials cry out to be replanted into my new garden.  Items destined for Goodwill sit in closets and cupboards (“pick me!  pick me!” they cry–can you hear them?).  The kitchen counter clutter pile of unread magazines hasn’t shrunk an inch and the living room is growing its own fungus of clutter.  The twins still haven’t finished their spelling from school-at-home.

I have to much to do!  How can I go?  And my daughter, especially, will miss me!  How can I go?  And my husband . . . will be in charge of all this (she says, waving her arms at her kingdom with great drama) and how can I leave?   

Well.  I’ll tell you.  I’m not indispensable.  So, I will just get into the car and go.  I’ll drive south, stop at the outlet malls, feel the adrenalin thrill of finding the correct exit in Portland traffic, and find myself in a different world, once in which no one starts a sentence with these words:  “Mom, do you think . . . ” and one in which no one will holler at me to come and assist them in the bathroom:  “Mom!  I’m done!”

But I do feel guilt and senseless panic that I will never return, not because I’ll run away and start a new life which does not involve laundry (because that life could only be lived at a nudist colony), but because something horrible might happen and the safest place for me and my children is right here, under my popcorn ceilings, in this messy house.

Irrationality.  It’s not just for toddlers anymore.

We’ve only been home one entire day, but the children didn’t waste a moment.  From my vantage point at the computer desk, I see legos scattered far and wide.  The heavy wooden blocks I spent a hundred bucks on a decade ago (best money I ever spent) add to the chaos.  My daughter flung her clothes to the floor as she prepared for her bath.  Her sandals, my white sneakers, her yellow boots, my son’s black Vans, and my daughter’s black and pink Chuck Taylors, litter the floor.

Things are back to normal, except that there are currently four gallons of milk in the refrigerator.  (Usually, half a gallon of fat-free milk and an empty gallon container of 2% milk are all you’ll find, but I just got home from the grocery store.)

Now, back to those blocks (which look like these, kind of.)  I can’t remember where I got them, but I ordered them back when my twins were about three.  They weren’t thrilled to unwrap them at Christmas, but I knew they’d love them.  Eventually.  And they did.  In fact, these blocks are the best toy I ever bought my kids.  Even now, the 13-year old boys play with them and so do my younger children. 

What was the best money you ever spent on a product for your kids?

We’re going home today.  Rather than take the train, we’ll all be going home in our van.  (My husband had to drive up here a day after we arrived.)  So, in a few hours, we’ll wave goodbye to the waves of Lake Whatcom and anticipate arriving home in our little 1973 house with no view.  And no washer or dryer.

Right before we left town, I bought a new dryer (at the Sears outlet) and a new washer (at the regular Sears store).  I picked up the dryer myself since they don’t offer delivery, but scheduled delivery of the washer for August 5, so I’d have plenty of time to clean out the pigsty laundry room (home to kitty-litter box, gateway to the boys’ bathroom, home to the kitty’s food and water bowls. 

In a quest to be helpful and generous and kind, my husband undertook the cleaning of the laundry room himself while I was gone.  He reported this fact to me by telephone–several times, in fact–and I responded with the same horror that you might if a stranger cleaned out your refrigerator or toilet or both.  “Don’t do that!” I said, but alas, it was too late.

Not only did he clean out the laundry room, but he also disconnected and removed both the washer and dryer.  He and his friend were unable to connect the new dryer, however, because they needed some kind of part.  (A dryer kit, apparently?) 

The problem is that my new washer isn’t coming until August 5.  In a week’s time, the laundry will have grown to frightening, mountainous proportions and we will all die in a laundry avalanche.

I guess I’ll be carting my laundry to the laundry-mat, which will make me appreciate my new machines all the more.  (I have washed everything we have here so I’m only taking home clean clothes.)  

Meanwhile, I have to go pack.  Fittingly, a foggy haze is moving in over the lake.  Buh-bye, beautiful lake!

My french-braid smells like a campfire because tonight, our friends cooked dinner on a huge grill over an open fire by the lake.  The fire mesmerized my boys and then they ate plate after plate of bacon, pancakes, sausages, hashbrowns and eggs.  Sometimes the amount a teenage boy can eat alarms me. 

The sun wakes us up very early in this home by the lake.  The windows face the rising sun so when we wake up, it’s as if the sun is shouting at us to GET OUT OF BED!  My daughter joined the sun in rousing me from precious slumber . . . she poked me and announced, “Mommy!  The sun is up!” 

It was 7:00 a.m.  I dream of the day that a vacation means sleeping in.  Oh wait!  I am having that vacation next week when I head to Portland for three days.  If you live somewhere around Portland and would like to meet me for a casual dinner or lunch or something, email me and let me know.  I intend to shop, sleep, and mindlessly wander.  Mostly, I look forward to not having anyone say “Mommy!  Mommy!” to me.  (My daughter’s newest phrase begins with, “Mom, do you think . . . ” and then, after buying time with that beginning, she thinks of something (pointless) to say.)

Anyway, though it’s really fun to vacation with the family and all, I must admit that this much time with people wears me out.  I’m such an introvert.

Today, we took the kids to the mall, handed them $20 each and let them shop.  My twins put their money together and bought a video game for their GameCube.  My youngest son didn’t spend a dime.  I bought my daughter a pair of Converse high tops (oh, so cute! for only ten bucks) and she picked out Dora shoes. 

Then we ate lunch in the food court and returned to our home away from home.

We spent the whole afternoon at the lake.  My youngest son’s favorite activity was riding on the inner-tube, being pulled by the boat as fast as it could go.  All the boys went fishing from the dock.  My oldest son caught a fish big enough to eat, which was cause for great celebration among all the children.  They all jumped from the boat house, dunked each other, floated on noodles and wore themselves out.

I even got into the water, which was cold, very very cold, though I admitted that it did feel marginally less cold after awhile.  (My friends were saying, “It’ll feel warm in a minute!”   Uh, no, it did not.)

Oh, and I dropped my trusty Olympus Stylus camera onto the stone path so hard that it bounced twice and then refused to turn on again.  Big, super-big bummer.  Although, since I couldn’t take any more pictures, I did find myself relaxing more, rather then jumping up to photograph this moment or that.

We’ll be going home (to our man-eating tiger) on Friday.  I’ll be glad to sleep in my own bed again and have a little bit of space between me and my children, but in the meantime, we are on a continuing rampage to Have Fun and Make Memories. 

I write tonight from Cari’s laptop computer.  We are staying with Cari and her family at her new house on Lake Whatcom.  They have twin children, who are almost 9 years old, a boy and a girl, so it’s been a kid-fest around here, with six kids frolicking.  Today, the children swam in the lake, road in the boat, went tubing behind the boat, jumped off the top of the boat house, soaked in the hot tub, played X-Box and got a little sunburned.

Last night, the five oldest kids all slept on the deck overlooking the lake.  My 8-year old son didn’t fall asleep until 12:30 a.m. and at 5:30 a.m., I heard the whoops and hollers of the children waking in the bright sunlight.  That was the first time my kids slept outdoors.  What an adventure they had!

Yesterday, we traveled by train from Tacoma to Bellingham.  That seems like an easy thing, right?  (My husband made the 3-hour drive today because he had to stay behind for a memorial service.)  So, my husband dropped us off at 2:30 p.m. for the train scheduled to depart at 2:40 p.m.

The train didn’t leave until 3:00 p.m.  Midway through the hour-long journey to Seattle, I became aware of a man behind us several seats speaking in an unintelligible, loud voice.  A while later, the same man appeared in the company of two Amtrak employees who insisted that he sit down immediately.  Unfortunately, they forced him into the seat across the aisle from two of my sons who were sitting in front of me.

I watched the man in some alarm.  He appeared to be hearing impaired, which explained his odd voice, but as it turned out, the guy was drunk.  He reeked of beer.  The two employees firmly told the man to “STAY HERE” and they disappeared.

A few minutes later, the scary guy stood and started to holler at two women sitting in front of him.  He seemed to be asking them to help him put his hearing aid back on.  (It was one of those that attach to the skull directly, somehow.)  The main woman handled him so gently, yet firmly, that he responded to her.  He’d sit, then stand and bellow again. 

For some reason, he never made eye contact with me or my kids, although he grabbed at people walking down the aisle.  As the train approached Seattle, the woman he’d bugged the most moved out of the her seat and into the aisle and he reached around her in a bear hug, slurring, “I LOVE YOU,” to her. 

I was not amused.

But, once we exited the train, we never saw him again. 

Then, we went out to the street to catch a bus to the waterfront.  I’d researched it and the bus-route seemed to stop right by the station.  By the time I figured it out (by asking a bus driver) and we ran across the street to the correct stop, the bus already stopped and started again.  We literally missed it by 10 seconds.

Did I mention how hot it was in Seattle yesterday?  Oh boy.  Hot, so hot . . . record-setting, remind me of Texas hot.  Sweating in my shoes, rubbing blisters on my toes, hot.  Shiny forehead hot.  H O T. 

So, we waited for twenty minutes for the next bus and a few minutes later, arrived at the waterfront where we went to Red Robin for an early (hot!  no air conditioning hot!) dinner.  I was just happy to be in a safe place without a belligerent drunk scaring me and my kids. 

We had enough time to hurry through the Aquarium again before catching the return trip bus.  I started to worry that we’d miss our train, though.  When we got close to the station, I asked the bus driver if we would get any closer to the Amtrak station.  He said no, so off we went, rushing down two city blocks, sweating . . . h-o-t.  I carried my daughter on one hip, a large canvas bag slung over my opposite shoulder, my purse dangling from my other arm, my feet rubbing in my sneakers.  Fun, really.

We practically ran into King Street Station, hurried to the information desk with seven minutes to spare . . . and received the bad news that the train was delayed for an hour.

The train station had no air conditioning.  H-O-T.  We found a corner to inhabit and the boys played their Nintendo DS games and my daughter watched a DVD on our portable player.  I read my Vanity Fair magazine–sort of.  I was interrupted a lot and basically, read the same paragraph about 27 times.

At last, we boarded the train for the two and a half hour trip to Bellingham.  The scenery on that route is gorgeous.  I watched the sun sink lower and lower, but missed the actual disappearance of the sun behind the Olympic Mountains because we were stopped at a station, behind some buildings.

So, we arrived at our home away from home at 10:30 p.m.  The kids got to bed (outside, on the deck, in sleeping bags) at 11:00 p.m. 

We spent the day on the shore of Lake Whatcom today, just a few sets of stairs below the house.  As I mentioned, they had a great time and most importantly, no one drowned.

My husband arrived tonight, just in time for dinner.  He brought our van, filled with all the things I remembered I forgot–my hair-dryer, the beach towels, the phone charger . . . best of all, he brought the luggage in which I had packed my pillow. 

I know this was a disjointed post . . . I write it on a borrowed laptop, across the room from our friends and my husband who make remarks designed to make me laugh and lose my train of thought. 

But the kids are also asleep, the air has cooled, finally, and tomorrow will be another gorgeous day here in the Pacific Northwest.  I’ll be vacationing, and hopefully, finishing that Vanity Fair magazine.  But I’ll be back because what is a vacation without obsessively checking email and writing blog posts?  (Don’t forget to check my other blogs . . . links to the left and right.)

[Thumbnail pictures in this post are best viewed by right-clicking and then opening the picture in a new window.] 

Midway through my Vacation Without Leaving Home, I had second thoughts.  Driving two hours to Mt. Rainier with four kids sounded as unappealing as crawling out from beneath the covers.  My left bicep already ached from the exertion of carrying Miss Hold-Me-Mommy around Seattle. 

Yet, the kids remembered that I’d mentioned Mt. Rainier, so I really had no choice.  I also had no granola bars and no water bottles, so I formulated a plan.  I’d stop by 7-11 to get ice for the cooler, then stop by Costco to pick up water and granola bars.  I’d also drop off my film for development.

By 11 a.m., we’d made it as far as 7-11.  (About a mile.)  My daughter came in with me to pick up the ice, which explains why I left the store with four chocolate donuts and a Big Gulp full of Diet Coke, in addition to the ice.  As I climbed back into the driver’s seat, I thought maybe I’d just go back inside and buy granola bars and then I wouldn’t need to stop at Costco. 

But my gas tank was half-empty and so, I decided we’d do the Costco stop after all.  Plus, I couldn’t stand to not see my pictures from the day before.  (I will add them to the post below.)   

Too bad I didn’t have my Costco card.  I had to get a temporary one.  Then, I dropped off the film, found granola bars and a case of water and off we went.  By then, it was 12:30 p.m. and the kids immediately started asking, “Are we there?” 

Alas, it would be two more hours before we arrived.  (And only one incident in which a red SUV flipped me the bird after I very courteously pulled over to the side of the road to let three cars go ahead of me.  It’s a good thing I don’t carry a revolver, because, frankly, that was just uncalled for, Mr. SUV-driver.)

The children were delighted to see snow and had to get out and cavort.   I, being somewhat of a party-pooper at this point, hurried them up and down the big snow-hill, cautioning, “Do not fall!  Do not get wet!  Be careful!” as if those words lingering in the still mountain air would prevent them from sliding on their bottoms.  Yet, a miracle occurred and no one slid or splashed in the melted-snow puddles.

(I promised a stop on the way back down the mountain, but as fate would have it, I didn’t see the turn-out until it was too late and on a narrow mountain road, you don’t have many, if any, opportunities to turn around.  So, all the way down the mountain, my daughter asked for the ice . . . and I offered excuses like, “It’s melted,” or “I think we passed it,” but she remain undeterred and never gave up hope of seeing the ice/snow again.)

In the parking lot at the Grove of the Patriarchs, we unloaded our cooler and had a little picnic at the tables sitting right by the lot.  A raven hopped closer and closer to us, finally turning sideways and sidestepping slyly toward us.  We saw a tiny chipmunk scurrying across the path.

We finished our picnic and after a bathroom break, slipped into the woods.  I couldn’t stop taking photographs.    The stillness of the forest reminded me of a cathedral, which is so cliche’, but so true.  I wanted to be silent and reverent, to tip-toe along the dusty path, to whisper.  Unfortunately, the children felt no such compunction and could not use their “indoor voices” because we were outdoors.  Duh.  I did continue to shush them from time to time, though, in consideration of the other hikers we saw (including a girl with orange-like-a-safety-vest hair). 

Only the mosquitoes spoiled my hike, unless you count the 36-pound girl who clamored to be held along the path.  I killed several mosquitoes and carried the girl.

We came to a suspension bridge with a sign indicating only one person should cross at a time.  The reason for this became clear while I traversed with my daughter, who did her best to fall over the edge.  She zigged while I zagged and the bridge swayed and rocked.

Once across the river, the children zeroed in on the rocky sides of the riverbed where they pelted the clear, rushing waters with rocks.  This may have been the highlight of the hike for them.  On our return trip, we spent even more time throwing rocks.  (They threw rocks while I couldn’t stop taking pictures.  Mossy trees hanging over the rippling brook, water so clear you could see every smooth stone underwater, the swishing, trickling sound of water . . . I kept trying to capture it on film.)

We meandered along the wooden-planked path, stood to worship at the giant trees (up to 1,000 years old, they say), and the kids were ready to go.  One day, maybe, I’ll return without children who have the attention span of gnats.

When we returned to our starting point, I checked the map and realized that the waterfall was also within walking distance of that particular parking lot.  So, off we went, down the path to see Silver Falls.  My daughter refused to walk at all, so I piggy-backed her all the way down (and down and down) the path.  We saw a frog hop across the path, which was the only wildlife we saw while hiking. 

The falls were spectacular, worth every drop of sweat and itchy mosquito bite.  I could peer over the edge of the cliff and see logs bobbing in the tumultuous water.  Each one was worn smooth and bare by the powerful crash of the water.  A sign warned hikers not to cross the fence and mention certain death by bashing.

Then we climbed back up.  And up and up. 

And so our hike came to an end.  We returned home at 7:30 p.m., just in time for a bath and the ritual nightly viewing of Spongebob.

The next morning, do you think I wanted to get up and drive to the ocean?  I did not.  However, my daughter (sleeping with her feet in my back) woke up and asked, “What are we going to do today?” and I said, “We’re going to the ocean,” as if speaking the words would turn my intentions into action.

I sprayed the children with sunscreen.  I packed the cooler.  I did not shave my legs because the ocean water is salty and stings freshly-shaved legs.  I gathered towels and baby powder (when you sprinkle a sandy foot with baby powder, the damp sand brushes right off).  At long last (noon!) we were ready to go. 

I packed the van with kids, the cooler, buckets and shovels, towels and extra clothing.  Two driveways down, I realized that we had a flat tire.  The night before, after I took out the trash at 11:30 p.m., I thought our van looked off-kilter in the moonlight, but it was too dark to really determine if I were insane or not.  So, when I heard that strange noise and felt the odd sensation, I knew it was the tire.

Back into the driveway.  Repack the car with kids, cooler, towels, buckets, shovels and extra clothing.  Try again.

We had to stop by the grocery store for ice and lunch provisions.  When loading the stuff into the cooler and dumping ice into it, I felt that gooey-ooey feeling of warm gum stuck to my shoe.  I hate that.

Finally, we were off!  Only, first, we went through the McDonald’s drive-thru because lunchtime had arrived.

The ocean turns out to be 90 miles (a 2-hour drive) from my driveway, so can someone please explain to me why we don’t go more often? 

I have a few ideas:

1)  Sand.  Everywhere.  Children rolling in the sand.  More sand.

2)  Wind.  Temperatures inland were expected to reach 95 degrees.  On the beach, the wind rushed in, giving us all goosebumps.  I forgot to pack myself a jacket, so I wrapped a beach towel around myself and tried not to die.

3)  Water.  Ocean waves here in Washington state are so dangerous.  The kids would be standing in waves coming to their knees and I’d shriek, ‘BACK!  BACK!  Get BACK!” and they’d look at me as if I were a deranged lunatic saying, “It’s only to my knees!” and I’d say, “This wave was to your knees.  The next wave might knock you off your feet and the wave after that?  Would drag you out to sea and then you’d die.” 

If the mountain air compelled me to whispery silence, the ocean inspires me to scream.  The crashing waves and rushing wind create such a ruckus that you have to holler just to be heard.  The children bellowed and screamed and whooped and hollered.  They literally rolled on the sand, they faced the incoming waves on their bellies, they dug holes and wallowed in them like pigs.

My daughter wanted only to rush at the waves and then holler in retreat. 

I wanted to walk along the shore and search for sand dollars.  I found one, but it was crushed on the top:    I wandered more and found one that was broken:    My daughter helped me look: 

  I found another broken one and began to despair: 

But then what to my wondering eyes did appear?    And a moment later, a smaller one:

 

So, my day at the ocean was complete.  The children, though, were not quite finished splashing, running and shouting.    They still had to get sand in every crevice of their bodies. 

After three hours, I dragged them away from the shore.  We had a picnic–after rinsing off sand and leaving the public park bathrooms rather sandy.  (I’m so sorry, park employee.)  Then, once everyone was dry and dressed and full, we went back to the beach for a final farewell.

My daughter did not want to leave, but then again, she didn’t want to leave the Seattle Center fountain, the mound of snow on Mt. Rainier or any other fun location.

We returned home in time for Spongebob and baths.

When I ask them, the children report that they loved Seattle and the ocean the best.  I loved our whirlwind tour of a few of the amazing attractions in this area.  I didn’t love the sand and the incessant noise in the car (“Can you please.  Just.  Be.  Quiet?”)

We’ll have to make our Vacation Without Leaving Home an annual event.  It’s crazy that we don’t take advantage of our own backyard when it’s full of such wonder and beauty.  My twins will be grown and gone all too soon and I want them to have powerful memories other than the ones of me losing my mind and yelling about dirty clothes on the floor and sticky dishes next to the couch. 

The end.

 

 

Awhile back, Jill from  BusyBodyBook emailed me and asked if I’d mention her product in my blog.  I thought about it for awhile and asked her if she’d send me a sample book so I could examine it (and use it) before I plugged it here.

And she did.  So, you should know that I received compensation (one fabulous BusyBodyBook) in exchange for this post.

However, you should also know that this organizer is a beautiful product and extremely well-made.  The calendar pages go from August ’06 to December ’07.  It provides space to “organize and track the schedules and activities of up to five family members.”   (You could also use the five columns for five school subjects . . . or five aspects of your business.) 

The covers also contain pockets, three months at a glance, tear-out shopping lists and other features.  The pages are spiral bound, so the book opens flat and there is plenty of space for notes each week.

So, head on over to BusyBodyBook.com and check it out.  Tell them Mel sent you.  (For once, I vow this school year to keep my records up to date at all times.  This book will help!)