Come home, family!

In a few short hours, my week long staycation will come to an end. Around 6:00pm today my family will return to me. Am I ready? I think so. Well, okay, probably not. I should vacuum. And unload the dishwasher. And go grocery shopping. And take out the trash. And ... here we go ... the familiar stresses of being responsible for a household have already arrived! [sigh] So ... early.

But, emotionally, I am more than ready. I cannot wait to take them all into my arms - oh, how I have missed these pieces of me! I think the little one will still let me smother her face in kisses. And the older one may even indulge me this expression, just for today. For sure, the husband will welcome it (and more)! I can't wait.

It's been an interesting week for me. This is the longest length of time I have spent alone, in my own house, for years. Since I have been a mother. Since I have been married, even. Years. As a person whose disposition requires a healthy degree of solitude, in this respect, the week was a welcome respite. Which is not to say that I wouldn't have rather been with my people enjoying the New Mexico adventure. Of course I would have. I missed so much. But it couldn't be helped and I would be lying if I said I didn't enjoy my time. It's just one of those peculiar pain/pleasure kind of things.

The week turned out to be a time of decompression. And I think, ideally, decompression is a slow process. It takes time. Of course I originally had lofty goals for the week. Just think about how many things you could accomplish if you had your house to yourself for a week! Just imagine! It's dizzying, isn't it? But in the end, I succumbed to the lull of the quiet and allowed myself to be rested. And I am okay with that.

(Just to be clear, I didn't do NOTHING. I accomplished a few things. Things I never would have accomplished with the time constraints of my normal daily life. I am satisfied with this. It is enough.)

But now I need my people.

So, am I ready to face the insanity of that is heading down I-10 toward this house? The unpacking, the laundry, the feeding, the bathing, dishes, the clutter, the activities, the back-to-school shopping, the grocery shopping? No way.

But, to quote my best friend, an eloquent man, to be sure, "Bring'eth it on'eth!"

Vacation Vignettes #5 - The Slide

The Slide

Whaddya think? I'm not sure the kids had fun.

Here's the story.

The pictures don't show how big this thing is. It's pretty tall and it's a long climb to the top. Emma was NOT interested in going alone. Which is how I ended up along for the ride. I committed myself to slide with her until she was comfortable going alone - one or two slides oughta do it.

So, you may wonder ... how many times did I drag my 39-year-old body up that slide? More than twice, I assure you. (I included one picture of myself in the above collage, only because, mercifully, the view of me is mostly blocked by my dear daughter - pictures of me in my old-lady floral swimsuit-with-a-skirt don't belong on the internet.)

I tell you, it was quite a ride. (By the way, on the basis of overwhelming empirical evidence, I have concluded that dissimilarly weighted people are at a disadvantage when sliding together.) We held hands and, inevitably, I slid a little faster, resulting in our being turned sideways and me dragging (yes, dragging) the poor girl along to the bottom. It was either that or let go of her hand completely, which I dare say she may have interpreted as abandonment. Embarrassing, to be careening downward, out of control, arms and legs flailing about, but oh! did I laugh!! This turning sideways also had the unfortunate result of a fair amount of water being forced into our ears when we hit the pool of water at the bottom of the slide. Which is why you see Emma with her hands tightly clenched over her ears. It took a while to dislodge all that water.

Eventually, I begged off and suggested she slide with her brother if she was still nervous. Of course, he was thrilled to accompany his little sister (now re-read that sentence with a decidedly sarcastic tone.) On the first attempt at a sibling slide, he left her in the dust, having not taken a good hold of her hand, and having not really waited at all for her to be ready, and really having no interest in sliding with his sister whatsoever. He had flips to do and people to impress.

So there she was. My little girl. Stranded at the top of the slide. She would not slide down on her own. We waited and watched as she let child after child (after adult) take her place next in line. I managed to quell the burning desire to go rescue her. I have learned with this child (and believe she is the better for it), that she must often be forced to face and overcome such hurdles on her own. No, 'force' is not the right word. It is better to say it this way: She must be permitted to fight her own battles. Because it is a privilege to be afforded the opportunity to succeed (or to fail) in the things we undertake and against the things that most frighten us.

But, sometimes we need a little help and it is good when the help doesn't come from mom or dad. Eventually, her brother made it back around the circuit and appeared again at her side. He redeemed himself, proving his tenderness of heart, by being much more solicitous, and down they came.

That ride was all the girl needed to jump-start her engine. For the remainder of the time, she was quite independent and unafraid. And, well, you can see the smile.

Vacation Vignettes #4 - The Tooth

"The Tooth that Wouldn't Budge"
Or, more accurately,
"The Tooth That Wouldn't Stop Budging and Just Fall Out Already!"

This is the story of a girl and a tooth. An obstinate, pertinacious little tooth. A tooth which rather reveled in remaining lodged in the girl's jaw. An irksome tooth that teased and tormented with its wiggling and ever-so-slight loosening for months on end. A tooth, which, with its latter looseness, was the source of no small amount of discomfort and inopportune bleeding. A tooth whose location (upper right central incisor) and degree of previously mentioned latter looseness made the consumption of all things requiring incising (sandwiches, pizza, fajitas, apples, corn on the cob) troublesome, if not altogether impossible.

But this tooth was not equipped to win this battle. It met its match in tenacity. The girl would not rest until she wiggled that tooth out of her head. She was constantly at work. Wiggling with her fingers. Wiggling with her tongue. Wiggling in the day. Wiggling in the evening. She probably wiggled in her sleep.

Each day I inquired, "Still have that tooth?" Each day the answer was the same. Though she hoped it would be out soon, she equally hoped it would remain long enough to make its grand exit in Florida. I don't know why. Perhaps she thought the Floridian tooth fairies are of a more generous sort than the Texas variety. As we shall see, they're a little quirkier, to be sure.

For a time, I was certain the tooth could not possibly remain to accompany us to Florida. Once there, as the days dragged on, I became convinced the tooth was determined to return to Texas as it came - still firmly entrenched.

But, on the final morning of our visit, with only one evening remaining in which the girl's pillow would lie in the realm of the Sunshine state, the tooth, wearied and defeated by the incessant, unrelenting wiggling of its foe, relinquished its hold, and emerged.

And what did the Floridian tooth fairy leave in exchange for this humdinger of a tooth? None other than a clean, crisp $2 bill. (I told you they were quirky.)



And now the other incisor is beginning to budge. Who's up for round two?

What is that wet stuff falling from the sky?

Is it ... could it be ... rain? [sigh] I vaguely remember rain.

No, it's not falling now ... nothing but blue sky in all directions.

But yesterday we had a lovely little shower. One of those sudden, albeit brief, downpours. It started with a crack of thunder - an odd sound because the sun shone brightly overhead. I went outside to try to capture the view of pouring rain mingled with bright sunlight, but I may have been too late. If you look closely at the photo, you can see the rain drops falling against the backdrop of the blue sky.


The bit of rain temporarily perked up the withered grass and brought a little critter out to play.


Unfortunately, the rain didn't wash away the heat -- in fact, I think it ratcheted up the humidity a notch or two. But still, a nice surprise.

Vacation Vignettes #3 - Cribbage

Cribbage Anyone?

I've mentioned previously how one of the things I enjoy when visiting my parents is getting to play cribbage with my dad, and happily on this trip we were able to sneak in a few hands.

While DH and I were on our vacation staycation and the kids were hanging with the grandparents, Grandpa figured that the eldest child (age 10) was ready to be introduced to the game. So on a free evening, Grandpa showed him the ropes and Jared even managed to squeak out a win. He was very satisfied. In fact, when telling me about it, his victory was one of the first things he mentioned. Knowing from personal experience that Grandpa does not let anyone win (oh, the memories! Risk, bowling, ping pong, gin! The man gave 100%.), I was duly impressed.

Grandpa also wanted some play time with the younger child (age 7, not quite cribbage age). Grandma suggested that they play Uno (one of our favorites). Emma resisted, being slightly more interested in Slap Jack. Again, she was prodded to 'teach' Grandpa how to play Uno.

Let it be known that this child is generally pretty clear about what she does and does not want to do. And is always up for a challenge (you just try to tell her she can't do something). Emma would not be enticed to play Uno, and even abandoned the idea of Slap Jack. She said, "No. I want Grandpa to teach me cribbage."

And that was that.

And my 7-year-old now plays cribbage.

Stop! Daddy Time!

Several months ago, my husband and son discovered a book to enjoy together (a rather thick book) and the ritual of the male bonding began. This nightly reading time with Daddy is coveted and Mommy simply will not do. That's mostly okay with me, although I kind of miss being his go-to parent for all things snuggly. But this has afforded me and the girl-child to have some reading adventures of our own. Why, just last night we finally finished Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

So, earlier last evening, while sitting around the dinner table, my son asked me, "How was your day today, Mom?" (And he asks in a way that is so grown up and sincere - I'm just sure he really wants to know!) I mumbled something noncommittal as a response, something like, "Fine." or "It was okay." Not unsatisfied, he moves on to dad, "So, Dad, how was your day?" Whose (better) response was (not necessarily based in reality), "Awesome!"

The next thing the boy said was one of those statements that make a parent's heart swell with pride and a mushy-gushy kind of feeling ...

"And it should get better, 'cause we're going to read tonight!"

It's a good thing that thick book has a sequel.

And so I will leave you with this little snippet of a poem from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, by Roald Dahl (one of my daughter's favorite authors):

Fear not, because we promise you
That, in about a week or two
Of having nothing else to do,
They'll now begin to feel the need
Of having something good to read.
And once they start -- oh boy, oh boy!
You watch the slowing growing joy
That fills their hearts. They'll grow so keen
They'll wonder what they'd ever seen
In that ridiculous machine,
That nauseating, foul, unclean,
Repulsive television screen!
And later, each and every kid
Will love you more for what you did.

Vacation Vignettes #2 - Vacation Staycation

A Vacation within a Vacation

Here is the view from our hotel room where my husband and I had a few days to ourselves (that's right, sans los ninos) while on our family vacation.

My parents generously offered to care for our offspring while we ventured out on our own. Something we rarely ever do. Since our hotel was only about a mile from my parents' house, it was our own little vacation staycation.

It's a strange experience to be away from your kids when you are not in the habit of doing so. It is quite a curious mixture of pain and pleasure.

We experienced unhurried, leisurely, grown-up dining (we didn't order coffee, but we could have), watched cable tv, slept late, enjoyed a late night stroll on the boardwalk, and, at the top of my list -- we swam at the beach, I myself floating serenely on the waves without having to surrender to the nagging compulsion to visually check on my young ones every 30 seconds. That was sheer bliss. It's been years since I floated peacefully in the ocean.

But somehow in the midst of my delight, I couldn't help but wistfully think of the kids and long that we were all together.

Of course, later in the trip (once our little honeymoon was over) we got our family time in the water -- and don't you just know what I was thinking: Man! I wish I could just float serenely on the waves without having to surrender to the nagging compulsion to visually check on my young ones every 30 seconds!

[sigh]

I may never get used to this conundrum that is parenting.

Vacation Vignettes #1 - Mickey Dee's

"You want fries with that?"

On the road to Florida, somewhere in east Texas...

Reluctantly conceding to patronize McDonald's for a bite on the road (mainly for the super cute Ty Teenie Beanie Babies)...

We pull up to the drive thru to place our order. Being a bit of a plain Jane and wanting to be sure to avoid mayonnaise at all costs, I inquire at the intercom, "Can you tell me what comes on the Southern Style Chicken Sandwich?"

A brief pause from the voice on the other side ... then the reply, "Pickles and butter."

Another pause while I cast an incredulous sideways glance at my husband, a glance that says, "Did he just say butter?"

"Butter?" I repeat into the intercom, seeking confirmation.

"Just a sec," the voice says, turning off the mic to (presumably) confer with the McDonald's higher-ups.

The voice returns. "Yeah. Pickles and butter."

Um, okay.

The pickles I get. Mayo, mustard, secret sauce - all possibilities I was expecting. But butter ... as a condiment?

I wondered, would it come with a thick slice of butter? Or a pat of butter? Could I get the butter on the side? Or was it the brushed-on melted butter? Would it be anti-American to ask them to hold the butter? How much more time would this special request take? And the big question - does a fried chicken sandwich on white bread really need extra butter?

Curiosity led me to later consult the ingredients list on the McDonald's website. Consider it my civic duty to inform you that the ingredients for the Southern Style Crispy Chicken Sandwich do indeed include pickle slices and melted margarine.

In the end, I opted not to get the fries.