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!)

Today kicked off the Vacation Without Leaving Home in which I intend to wow my kids with the wonder and beauty of our local area.  We started with the zoo.

The 13-year olds hate the zoo.  Or claim they hate the zoo and refuse to go.  Then they get in the car, have a fine time and forget that they hated the zoo in the first place.

My car smelled like the inside of a kitty litter box combined with the stench of worn-out sneakers worn by 13-year old boys and a touch of undeodorized migrant farm worker.  Why?  Because I had two 13-year old boys within my Mercury Sable and they hadn’t showered since Sunday morning.

Oh, and let me describe the appearance of my children.  My 8-year old wore normal clothing–Teva sandals, black shorts, orange (easy to spot in a crowd) shirt.  My 3-year old wore matching pants and shirt–and underneath it all?  Her swimsuit.  (I have no idea why she decided to do so, but it was a blessing in disguise because she got wet jumping in a fountain and we peeled off her clothes to reveal her swimsuit.)

My twins?  One wore sweatpants with a hole in the knee.  They were too short and stopped right above his socks.  His shirt?  Okay. 

The other wore ratty red shorts fit only for wearing to bed with his yellow Fiesta! shirt from last week.

I was horrified and of course, at Costco, we ran into people we knew twice.  Glory be.  I need a t-shirt that says “They dressed themselves.”  I don’t think any of my boys combed their hair, either, today.

So, the zoo.  Then Costco for lunch, dropping off film and a little shopping.  After that, to the video game store and video store for movies.  We didn’t return home until 4:00 p.m.  At 6:40 p..m, we took the 8-year old to the YMCA for his Judo class.

I am so happy that everyone’s quiet and in bed now. 

Tomorrow?  Either mountains or city.  I can’t decide.  Also, a commercial endorsement for this organizer and this book by Barbara Curtis. 

But now, I’m turning on the television and stretching out in the recliner for awhile.

I sit in dappled shade, paging through an Oprah magazine while my almost-4 year old daughter languidly floats around in the wading pool.  She talks to herself, calling herself by name, having a complete conversation with herself and when she catches my eye, she looks away, embarrassed.

I look up long enough to notice the sleek, tan, smooth bodies of the unselfconscious children prancing and splashing.  I note the pudgy tummies on display, belonging to more unselfconscious children.  The shrieks, the shouts, the laughter and the lapping and splashing of waves speak of carefree summer and pure joy.

The scent of sunscreen mingles with the odor of chlorine and the smell of the warm sun on cracked concrete.  Loose hair blown by happy breezes tickles my cheeks.

The children come bounding over, dripping.  Rivulets of water trickle from sopping hair and I say, “Don’t drip on me!”  Red raccoon-eye indentations ring my youngest son’s eyes.  His goggles were too tight.

“Awww,” he says, “But we only did one kid swim!.”

“We can swim tomorrow.”  I say.

But the days slip away, evaporate like splashed water from the aqua pool. 

Yes, it’s midnight exactly.  And I turned into a pumpkin.  The end.

Okay.  Not really.  I’m still awake waiting for my husband’s underpants.  That’s right, his underpants.  He’s leaving for Minneapolis in the morning (at 5 a.m., I think) and he had not one single clean pair of underwear to pack.  He informed me of this truth when I returned from the grocery store at 10:20 p.m.  Whoops!

I am a dismal homemaker.  But a fantastic Vacation Bible School director!  We had an average of 91 kids over our five days.  Not a single problem worth mentioning, either.  This was my eighth year directing Vacation Bible School and, though I always fret a month of so before the start, the event itself generally runs smoothly.

And the kids had a fantastic time. 

Tomorrow?  I’m staying in bed as long as possible.  (Sure, I’ll have to get up at 7:00 a.m. with my daughter, but I’ll settle her in with the television–my favorite and cheapest babysitter–and go back to bed.)

Oh, did I mention my husband will be gone all week?  I am torn between wanting to scrub my house and clean my closets and wanting to play tourist around the state.  (Let me just be honest.  We are just going to play.  Though tomorrow I will clean.  Yes, I will.  You just wait and see!)

Well.  Okay.  I guess that’s all for now.  I’m all yawny, but I have to wait for underpants to dry.

Oh, finally.  I am dying laughing over this story of the woman who called 911 because she thought the deputy was cute.  (The cute deputy returned and arrested her for misuing 911.) (Here’s another article about her.)