A fish tale (of sorts)

If you know me personally or have read my blog for any length of time (don't all three of you wave at once) then you know the incredible way that Brandon appeared in our lives and was grafted to our family tree.

Fast forward.

Brandon will be 3 in December. Three! Goodness, it's the most true cliche out there; they grow up so fast (I tell mine all the time to "stop growing this very instant", but kids being kids, they never listen.) Brandon is a character, let me tell you. He's very smart and able, 'gets' humor (it's a hoot to share a funny with him because he truly gets it), and he is independent in ways that our other children weren't at the same age. I suppose he's farther along developmentally because of the age gap between him and his older siblings? It's my best guess anyway. But it makes interacting with him a lot of fun.

Tonight, Brandon asked me to play Let's Go Fishing with him. It's a battery operated game where little plastic fish open and close their mouths as the "pond" spins, while you try to catch them with a tiny plastic fishing pole. Oh believe it, I looove playing this game (not really, but more than Old Maid anyway.)

So we got things set up and Brandon began to run the show almost immediately.
"Dis is my pole. It's not broe-kin."
I'm thinking, "What the heck, he gets the good pole?" I immediately had reason to believe I was going to be fishing for plastic fish with a toothpick. Not off to such a good start, know what I mean? And that's when he shoved a dinky plastic yellow pole in my hand and commanded, "Dis is yowze, Momma. You fish heeuw!" whereby he literally pointed to my "area" of the pond.

Great.

Just great.

I've been banned to a specific "spot."

In a plastic pond.

Kid's taking this game waaaay too seriously.

And tell me, do you think that's where the fish are known to be biting? Oh, I'm certain not.

(Let me interject something at this point; Why is it that all toddlers sound like Asian elderly men speaking broken English? "I tell you go NOW," or, "I no play wit you any more." 'Nuff said.)

Okay, so. I was sitting there (in my "spot" and all) contemplating the many skills needed to be an almost 3 year old master angler (which basically, as I see it, amounts to controlling the game and getting away with it) when he suddenly flicked on a switch to start the action, then quickly demanded, "Wait!"

Wait???
Did he just start the game and demand that I wait?
Oh no he did NOT tell me to wait,...only to proceed to fish his little heart out,...right?

Oh. Yes. He. Did. Too.

Every time I attempted to stick my stinkin' toothpick pole in the pond, he whined convincingly, "No, momma. You wait!"

Okay, what the heck am I waiting for?
Because seriously?
I'm ready to catch me some plastic walleye already.
But nooOOoo! Mr. Tiny Tyrant 2009 has not granted "permission" to enter the plastic pond.
So I sat miserably on the bank, losing the "early cast" advantage, while Brandon proceeded to rack up a score of THREE-ZIP before he'd even entertain the thought of allowing me to enter the pond.

Finally, he gave me the green light and away I went, putting my years of trout and walleye fishing to the test. Could I do it? Could I catch up to Mr. Advantage or was I destined to tell the proverbial tale of the one who got away?

Oh no, it's o-o-o-o-on!

I fished and I fished. And I caught some too. And it even appeared at one point that I might at least tie for the big plastic win.

That is, until Brandon decided that wasn't ever going to happen. He started with a little something I like to call the whine tactic.
"StooOOoop, Momma. Stop dat wight now. You don't catch doze fish, okay Momma?"
But I tell you, it's hard NOT to catch plastic fish when you've been an angler for many years. It's in my blood, I tell you. Like a hunting dog who just has to fetch the duck from the pond because it's what he does, I had to catch those fish. And I had to make up for lost time in the pond too.

That's when Brandon pulled out the heavy guns.
Enter....the man handle. In a moment of clear frustration with the gains I had made (even though he had done everything in his toddlerhood power to give himself the advantage), he reached for his secret weapon, the dreaded men handle.
Grumbling and with eyebrows scowling, he barked, "Dis fish won't git on my pole!" And with skill and timing that would rival any Bill Dance fisherman, he grabbed a plastic fish by its googly head and man handled him right out of the plastic pond.

No pole.

No fisherman's patience or luck.

A total man handle.

Score one for the little guy.

Then, to make my own fate sealed even more, he gloated, "Haha! I got DIS one wiiiight heaw. You don't haff dis many, do you, Momma! And you don't catch deeze eeder, okay? You oniy catch duh pink ones."

Come again?
Did my boy just pull the "traditional roles" card on me, banning me, a woman, to the pink fish only?
Are you kidding me?
Hmmmf!

I tell you, it's a lonely spot on the plastic pond when you're banned to the area where the action is nil and you're limited to a pink catch only.
Need I tell you who won?

Like I said, this boy's sharp. No wool growing over his eyes. But I'm going to have to teach him a lesson or two where his little attitude is concerned. I'm thinking a pole in the "big pond" might be just what the doctor ordered.

Ever see a 3 year old try to bring in a real walleye?

HA HA! (evil grin)

I'm just sayin'.

Toni

What were the chances?

Reece has been asking for one specific thing for quite some time now. This "thing" happens to have four paws and fur. Uh huh, I know. But since his last birthday, the idea has not died. A whole year and he's still asking for a dog.

I grew up with all kinds of pets; fish, turtles, ducklings, rabbits, kittens, cats, puppies and dogs. We've had mixed breeds and pure breeds, hunting dogs and companion dogs and cats. You name it. At one point, my parents had four kids, 3 hamsters, 2 cats, an dog and a rabbit. What can I say, we loved our little zoo.

Sure, pets are hard work. They can be expensive (though generally speaking, cats are waaaay less expensive to care for than dogs.) They get dirty. They make messes we must clean. They can be smelly, sometimes even when they're clean (have you ever smelled a wet dog? Ick!) Some shed. Some aren't well suited for children. And you know, they can infringe on your freedom to come and go. All this is true.

But there is a flip side. A good pet is a good companion, and a good companion is wonderful company. When you've had a bad day, a good pet is happy to see you. When you're at your worst, a good pet doesn't seem to mind. When you're sad, a good pet can really be a source of comfort (something about that unconditional love.) And children can learn so much from a good pet. Compassion. Caring for "someone" outside themselves. Patience. And lessons about living and dying, and learning that good memories are ours to keep forever. These are just some of the terrific things about having a good pet.

So you see where I'm going with this, right? This whole, "I want a dog," thing with Reece. He just wouldn't let it go. And his birthday is in two more days. Last week I explained to him (and read the resulting disappointment in his eyes yet again) that I was sorry, that he would not be getting a dog this year either.
It wasn't that we were totally against the idea.
It's just that we had our,.......our rules.
Rules like, "No dog until all people in the house are potty trained first."
Or, "No dog until we have a run added to our backyard fence."
Or how about, "No dog until summer, when we can devote more time to training."
But yet......sigh. Reece was just sooo looking forward to "a real dog." Have you ever read the Debbie Maycomber book Where Angels Go? Among other dilemmas in the book, a little boy wants a dog with all his heart (trivial note; the angels' names are Surely, Goodness, and Mercy, lol.) Anyway, the boy in that story wanted a dog in the worst way, just like my Reece.

Fact is, I've been checking local humane societies, rescues, and breeders for quite some time now. We definitely have a preference for one particular breed, the Lab Retriever. For us, there simply is no better dog for kids (you're entitled to your own preferenc and opinion, but for us Labs win, hands down.) I occasionally would find a Lab mixed breed. Or a very senior Lab (which would be fine for Carl and I, but there's more to consider there with four active kids around a senior dog.) But otherwise, I didn't have much luck on locating a pure breed Lab and the local rescues' fees were more than we could afford at this time anyway.

The other night, I tucked Reece in and again reminded him that a "real dog" would not be unwrapped for his birthday again this year (he often brings the topic up as I tuck him in.) On a whim, I decided to check rescues and humane societies further away from us, something I had not done in the past. I found a humane society several counties away and noted that their fees were much more reasonable than our local area. "That's good," I curiously thought, "but I'm sure I won't find the dog we're looking for." I mean, I'd been searching for a year. What were the chances? Famous last words (literally.)

I began searching through the list of available dogs. A very cute Lab mixed breed caught my attention. "Hmmm, could make a great pet. I mean, she's cute as can be, on the small side, and....maybe." I was curious about her, but continued on down the list. As I neared the end, I came across a dog that made me lean in to my screen for a closer look.
I was truly surprised.
There it was, a purebred Lab Retriever, and only 10 months old.
"No way! Can't be!" But it was. We have a preference for female dogs and this was a male. But wait, does it say his name is..........Cleveland?

Really???

Okay, my heart raced a bit as I began to think it was meant to be. We moved to IN several years ago from Cleveland, and now we were coming full circle, metaphorically speaking. Yes, this dog's kennel name was Cleveland. I felt compelled to run this one past Carl and we both agreed we should "just go look." HA! As any Lab lover knows, there is absolutely NO SUCH THING as, "Just go look." If you're looking, a Lab is coming home with you. This is why Carl and I have avoided "just looking" for soooo long now.

So we did. We packed the kids into the van on Monday and made the drive to the humane society, over 90 minutes away. Our intent was to check out the female mixed breed and the pure male Lab. When we pulled in though, Carl said, "Ut oh. There's the female now, walking with those people out in the field." Sure enough, it was her. While we waited in the office to see the available dogs, hoping the Lab was still there, the couple came in and announced they would be taking the female mix. I'm glad we got to see her. She was very sweet, gentle, and great on the leash. But I'm fairly certain we would not have selected her. That's because the male Lab was indeed still there and we all fell in love with him immediately.

We took him out of his kennel and ventured outside with him on a leash. Carl took him for a walk through the field. He loved on our kids. They loved on him. He was HAPPY to be with us and we noticed our kids were happy to be with him. A "pros and cons" discussion quickly followed, the result being that I went back inside and stated, "Our family is in love with Cleveland and we would like to adopt him."

Paperwork was started as I chatted with the office worker. She informed me that we were "lucky" to see and adopt our dog, as Central Indiana Lab Rescue had been notified and he was scheduled to move there within 24 hours. We had visited in perfect time. She also told me that they weren't sure he knew his name, Cleveland, or if it was even his official name. She asked if we would change the name. We all kind of liked Cleveland, but it was by chance that so many things fell into place and so we decided that CHANCE should be his new name.

He is being neutered and micro-chipped before he comes home with us this coming Saturday. We were glad for the extra time to gather all the things we'll need to make our home his home as well. We found a crate on Craigslist for a good price. Food, toys, feeding and water dishes, snacks, and a chew bone are now purchased and ready. All we need is our handsome boy, Chance. When you see him, I'm sure you'll agree.

Toni

The funny, the scary, the heartwarming!

The fall weather has, for the most part, been dismal here in Indiana. It's rained a lot and the cold snuck in way too early and came on way too strong. Admittedly, these things do NOT make me happy. I praise God in the midst of it anyway though, since abiding spritual joy (unlike the emotion of happiness), has NOTHING to do with what goes on outside of me. Rather, it abounds because of Jesus Christ, who lives IN me. Blessed be the name of the Lord.

So anyhoo, given the ugly weather, I knew there was a very real chance the kids would not get to trick-or-treat this year. I hoped for the best and kept watch via the long term forecast. It rained several days this past week, including on Friday. But thankfully, Saturday was partly sunny and no rain. Chilly, very chilly, but no rain.

After an early dinner, the kids' excitement grew to a moderate frenzy. I think we had to ask them to sit down and chill out a good ten times or more. Reece reminded me of a toy with a short in it, fritzing out in warp speed because he simply could not contain his enthusiasm. After several rounds of hair, makeup, and warm layers, the kids donned their costumes and were transformed. Olivia, a cowgirl. Cierah, "old man Jenkins" (an idea we got from a character on Spongebob). Reece, Spiderman. And Brandon, Thomas the train (isn't that what every 2yo boy wants to be?) I must say, they all looked terrific!

That said,
Cierah was initially less than thrilled about having to dress as old man Jenkins (you MUST click on the photo to get the gist of how cute she really was; can't see it well in the photo but we painted a gray mustache and eyebrows on her as well.) Thatw is, until she realized the attention and compliments her costume drew, then she beamed. And I have to say, she fooled more than one passerby who commented, "Your son's grandpa costume is adorable." People didn't realize a little girl was in there.
What a hoot!

So, everything was going pretty status quo (although candy distribution was noticeably down this year; the recession has now reached the pumpkin buckets of little children all across America, I suppose?) We decided to hit a couple streets we normally don't frequent, as the kids wanted their buckets to be "full like last year." Hey, you're only a kid once, so we figured what the heck!

Away we went.

And that's when it happened.

Now, let me just back up and say Carl had just commented not two minutes earlier that a few kids burned out his retinas with their high powered flashlights. But when our kids headed up a driveway behind those same kids with the mega-beams, we could not have known what would soon occur, even as the doorbell summoned the homeowner.

A shuffle of feet was heard. A slow creak.
And there stood a little elderly lady who very much reminded me of Grandma from Sylvester and Tweetie, only with darker hair. Well okay, that and a grumpier spirit perhaps. Fact is, the glare of one of the mega-beam flashlights caught her eyes, and reflected off her glasses, and....well,...probably acted as a magnifying glass because she suddenly scared the jeebies out of all the kids, angrily screeching, "That better not be a strobe light. Turn that thing OFF!" (I won't even share that I myself was scared to the point of near incontinence. TMI, to be sure.)

But it was too late. It just was.

The mega-beam (and perhaps her banschee cry) had knocked grandma off her game. Shifted her center of gravity. Rotated her universe if you well. I just didn't see her it coming.

Grandma fell out.

Literally.

Yes, that poor old woman fell out of her doorway and onto the outside step, candy flying everywhere. WHOA!
"Are you okay???" My Reece was quickly concerned, bending down to help her pick up the spilled goods. I was so concerned for her myself that it wasn't until long after the incident was over that I realized that something incredible had happened in that moment.
Reece had responded with compassion.
And maturity.
These things don't necessarily come easily to my little man. It's not that he is incompassionate. He is. But Reece has some special needs that make his reactions sometimes inappropriate, though not deliberately unkind. It was entirely possible that he would have "read" that incident as funny and then responded as such. Instead, he realized it was most serious and he wanted to know if the lady was okay. What a great moment to witness.

But he didn't stop there.

He also bent down and began to pick up the candy for her. This too was a mature gesture that Reece might not think to extend in such a circumstance. But he did. He did. And again, this was a big (BIG!) deal. I'm soooo grateful to God for our little man showing us how, in his time, he is learning to gain wise perspective on a situation and to extend compassion.

Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you. Ephesians 4:31

Oh, and by the way? I'm listening to PANDORA as I type this. It's absolutely soothing. If you, like me, prefer NOT to miss your blessings, to see your glass as half full, then I will HIGHLY encourage you to head over to Pandora, go to the genre box half way down the center of the page, and select "holidays" and then "peaceful holidays." Then, sit back, a relaxing herbal tea in hand, and be soothed and ministered to by the gifted musicians whom you will experience. No, it's not too early for this Christmas music. Do yourself a huge favor and trust me on this one, would ya? ;)

Toni

IN PURSUIT OF COLOR

So I got this coupon in the mail the other day for a free quart of Glidden paint. Always one to enjoy a freebie, I quickly visited the website and selected my winning color, a most lovely shade of reddish(ish).

Okay, fine.
So I don't really know what my color selection was called because "they" (the apparent paint naming gods) tend to come up with crazy names I could never remember. Names like buttered sweetcorn, guilded pear, or frosted pine. Sheesh, why does every can of paint need to be a "newborn baby" just waiting to be named?

Now if *I* were to have the coveted paint naming job, I assure you your trip to Lowes would be much easier. Forget all that buttercup sweetcorn fluff. Friends, you would be free to explore paint colors like sunburned red, fake-bake orange, or my own personal favorite, puke green (because every mom or auntie knows what that color looks like. Much easier to remember, yes?)

We recently painted our kitchen green(ish). According to the paint naming gods though, we officially have not a green(ish) kitchen, but rather (look out, here comes the posh name) a "dry grass" kitchen.

Ooookay.

Ironically, we actually have plenty of genuine dry grass, only we have another posh name for it.
We call it our yard.
And let me tell you, our yard is the most beautiful shade of "dry grass" you've ever laid your eyeballs on (snark, snark.)

Seriously? We've tried every trick we can think of to obtain to a more refined shade deserving of a really posh name. You know. Something like, oh say, "Alive Grass"?
Yes, "Alive Grass" would be a nice choice. But not happening, I tell you. No amount of watering, weed-n-feeding, organic wheat glutening, or scolding (yes, I even yelled at our grass in frustration) has made one iota of difference. It seems that dry grass is our resident color.

And naturally, the nextdoor neighbor is the poster child for Better Homes and Gardens.
And get this. It's a B.I.G. secret what makes his lawn so green (Toni waves hands in a most sarcastic manner as she rolls eyes and spits nails.)
I've never seen Chemlawn over there and his children don't run around with third eyes or anything, so I have to believe him when he says he uses an "organic" product. But,...what?
I called the local co-op. They had no idea.
Carl asked him what he uses. You'd think the neighbor choked on a butterfly, what with his trying to dance all around the answer to avoid telling us. I asked his wife, who quickly deferred back to her husband ("Oh, J does all that. You'd have to ask him, but it's something organic.") She even snickered, yes SNICKERED, as she laughed an annoying little "wish you could grow some green grass, don'tcha" laugh and boldly pointed out to me, "Our yard is even greener than C's yard and he uses Chemlawn, hee hee."
Why, I oughta!

So a lil' gift came today. I saw it in the in-flight shopping magazine when we flew to Albuquerque recently. (do those mags carry thee coolest overpriced products or what?)

Aeration shoes.
Eureka, I found it!
Carl needs aeration shoes.

It wasn't a thought I could simply push aside, what with our lovely perpetual shade of "dry grass" and all. So I ordered them. And they came today. And it was sunny and just a perfect day for stompin' around like a manly caveman in your brand new aeration shoes.

"Will I look like a dweeb in these?" he asked.
Me, eyelids batting, "What, in your man-boot aeration lawn cleats? Why noooOo, honey. No. You won't look dweeby at all. A bit Clampetty, perhaps, but definitely not dweeby."
I reminded him that J (a.k.a. Home and Garden) played basketball with his kids in our cul-de-sac one Saturday morning, wearing nothing more than a bathrobe and a smile. Ewwww, now that was dweeby looking. And the family across the street occasionally gets their drink on and then makes dweebs out of themselves for all to see. And then there's one who, well, just IS dweeby, plain and simple. So, no. Walking around in his Clampett aeration shoes couldn't be that dweeby.
Right? Because when it comes to yard-czar of the year, a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do.

Ah! What we won't do to keep up with the Jones's.

Toni

WHERE I SPENT MY (INDIAN) SUMMER VACATION!

We had plans to take our annual family vacation in Charleston, SC. We were so looking forward to Fort Sumter (where the first shots of the civil war were fired), Boone Hall Plantation (our family is very interested in learning about the history of slavery and civil rights in our country), and of course some ocean beach time for the kids.

The best laid plans (sigh!)

The flights to Charleston were very full. We fly standby and would have needed SIX open seats on FOUR different flights. Way too iffy for us. Next? We tried several other destinations.
Columbia, SC., full.
Corpus Christi, TX., rain predicted.
Boston, MA., rain and cold predicted.
Ft. Myers, FL., rain predicted.
Savannah, GA., a possibility, but not exactly "sure thing" flights and then there was the dilemma. Stay in Savannah and make the best of it or drive the 2 hours to Charleston to stick with our original plan. It gave us headaches and twitching eyeballs just to think about it.
Pensacola, FL.? Okay, a maybe. The flights were better. But the few things we would have desired to do were either closed due to previous hurricanes or not open during our time there. And as much as we enjoy the beach, we're totally not beach vacation peeps. We could not spend more than a day on the beach without losing interest (genetic mutation, I know.)

As a pathetic last ditch effort, Carl said, "Pull up a map of the United States and let's see where we might have overlooked." (Wasn't it Miss Teen SC, ironically, who said that some U.S. Americans don't have maps? Good thing we weren't among them.)

Albuquerque. We decided to check flights to Albuquerque.
BAMM! Available seats for our party of 6 going in and out.
And banner weather predicted.
Oh, and looky here, lots of neat things to see and do.
Alberquerque, here we come! And so it was, from Saturday, September 26th to Wednesday, September 30th.

We even got to take a rare afternoon flight because A) there were available seats all the way (pretty rare for traveling standby in the afternoon) and B) because Carl's co-worker, Danielle, was kind enough to trade shifts with him (we ALL really appreciated that.)

Our hotel sat right on historic route 66, which was really cool. And we had a heated indoor pool and free breakfast. It was only a Travelodge, but the staff was friendly, the price was very right, and the location was great. Win-win!

A few highlights:
We took the Sandia tramway over 2 miles up the side of a mountain to an elevation of over 10,000 feet. It's the longest cable tramway in the world.


We were personally saddened to see a few remaining pieces of wreckage from a 1955 TWA flight that crashed into the side of the mountain in fog. To say that the location was highly inaccessible is an understatement. There were sadly no survivors.
There is a very nice restaurant with amazing views at the top. It was too pricey for our family vacation budget, but I would love to dine there someday when our kids are grown. In the evenings, the tram crowd changes drastically from school groups and tourists sightseeing to D.I.N.K.s and urban professionals going to dinner.

At the top, we hiked along a dirt road through the pines, taking in the most beautiful scenery and freshest air we've ever breathed. It was wonderful. That is, until a very funky looking "squirrel" (we weren't exactly sure what it was at that point) scampered out onto the road and proceeded to hop-hop toward us in a very confident manner.
"Kids, back up. Back uuuup! Uh oh, no. No, don't try to go to it. Kids, back...back...RUN!!!!!!!" In a panic somewhat based on an irrational fear of rabid animals, we were instructing our four kids to run.
To RUN, for cryin' out loud.
From a squirrel.
Clampetts!

Fact was, it was not at all rabid. Just not scared of humans because it clearly doesn't encounter them often enough to need to fear them. But this is what we saw coming at us.
I ask you, would YOU know it was a squirrel? Oh sure, if you're familiar with the Abert squirrel, you would. But where I'm from, squirrels have teeny little ears, not rabbit-sized mutent antennae on their heads. SHEESH!

When we had wandered a good three quarters of a mile from the tramway, it occurred to us that we were in fact not alone. Lions, no tigers, but bears, oh my!
Yes, mountain lions and black bears are on the mountain.
Suddenly, every stump was a wild animal.
Every sound a potential ambush.
I was not amused. I pointed out to Carl that we were not well versed in our food chain defense tactics where bears and mountain cats were concerned.
He quickly comforted me. "Hey honey, we have nothing to worry about. After all, you see how well we handled a rabid squirrel coming at our kids." Honestly, we told them to RUN from a 2 pound squirrel. What were we going to tell them to do if we saw a bear?
Sing show tunes???

We did figure out (later) what you should do if you encounter bears or mountain lions. Let me just say, it wasn't what we would have thought to do and so we'd have been up the creek without a paddle (and that's a heck of a place to be in a torrential rain.) We also decided to let the kids have a much safer encounter with nature, by heading straight for the local zoo when we got off the mountain. Zoo animals, btw, are GROSS! You know the various behaviors you've seen. But this guy was just waaaaay too cute for words, I tell you. I think you'll agree. We also spent a day at Bandelier National Monument in Bandelier national forest. The drive up was both spectacular and heart wrenching. We saw the gorgeous desert terrain agains the mountainous backdrop. Then we saw the amazing and intimidating rock exposed cliffs (and the falling rock warnings to remind us that beauty and danger often coexist.) Finally, rocky cliffs yielded to spectacular Ponderosa pine forest (which was on fire in one area as we headed back out at the end of the day, a sight that was sobering to see.) We passed through many tiny mountain towns, several of which were on Pueblo Indian reservation lands. The poverty in those towns was truly difficult to take in. They are so very, very proud of their heritage and their history. And so gracious to share it with all of us (as I'll get to.) But their lives are drastically different from the life I know. I wondered if their basic needs were met. I wondered if they were content in their circumstances. I wondered if my perception didn't equate with their reality. All questions not easily answered, I suppose.

So, if you're not familiar with Bandelier, then I'm sure you definitely ARE familiar with Pueblo cliff dwellers from one of your history classes along the way. We had the privilege of hiking out to see an archeological dig, the Tyuonyi Pueblo (a permanent village of the Pueblo people, which consisted of multilevel adobe apartment dwellings of terraced design, clustered around a central plaza.)

Even more incredible was the opportunity and experience to ascend ladders along an enormous and intimidating rocky mountainous cliff to physically enter the cliff homes of Ancestral Pueblo people who would have lived there in the 1300's A.D. Unbelievably moving experience that I would fail to adequately describe to you.

Most of the cavates were easily accessible by climbing a short ladder to one of the cliff dwellings above. However, for the more adventurous, you could hike another 1.2 miles to ascend four ladders (140 rungs) to enter both a very large cliff dwelling known as Alcove House, as well as its restored kiva (kivas were circular structures that were entered by descending a ladder through a hole in the roof. The kiva was the center of community life. Knowledge was passed on from parent to child. Faith too. And important decisions, a la tribal business, was also conducted there.) The height of this particular dwelling was dizzying (literally for me.) The view, while absolutely spectacular, reminded me that we must remain very cautious and focused at all times. Folks, we were HIGH up on a rocky cliff, I tell you.

Our kids have had some experience with ascending ladders on cliffs, as we hike in several state parks here that have similar ladders. I do believe it gave us ALL the confidence and experience to be able to enjoy this one time experience at Bandelier. If you're ever in Albuquerque or Santa Fe (or you enjoy native American history), I would highly encourage you not to miss a day trip to Bandelier. $12 got our entire family into the park to enjoy this otherwise free experience. We all enjoyed it fully.

We did make it over to Santa Fe for a day of shopping in the old town section. Lots of funky, artsy boutiques and stores. I purchased a beautiful, colorful costume jewelry earring and necklace set to remind me of our time there. We toured a gorgeous historic Catholic church, the Cathedral Basilica of St. Francis of Assisi.
Somehow, don't ask me how, we forgot to visit Loretto chapel, whose famous staircase you may well have heard of. I know I have. Two blocks away and we forgot to stop and see it. Isn't that special? Grrr!

We had to wake our four kids up at an unthinkable hour, 3:45am, to catch a 6am flight back to Indy. Yeah, we were all packin' a few extra bags there, if you get what I'm putting down.

Seriously though?

Our kids are wonderful travelers. They know the drill at this point, even our 2yo. We gave the pep talk the night before, reminding them there was no slow-poking allowed when the dreaded wake-up call came. All hands feet on deck. We had 2 suitcases, a diaper bag, a carry-on bag, a backpack, two carseats, a purse, a stroller, and four kids (up, dressed, teeth and hair brushed) out the door and on our way to the airport in 25 minutes' time.
Sheesh, not bad, eh? ;)

But this travel tale would so not be complete without telling you about the knot. When we got to the rental car return, Carl and I hurried to unpack our 6-party load so we could sk-diddle over to the shuttle bus back to the airport. Carl yanked the stroller out of the back, while I grabbed a a few bags and started for the side of the car.

That's when it happened.

The stars. The momentary confusion. The PAIN!

For just a brief moment, I seriously thought I had been struck in the head by an attacker in the parking lot. But remember, I was passing the back of the car, where Carl was busy getting the stroller out in a hurry.

You don't think he'd inadvertently hit me in the head with a heavy-duty stroller, now do you? Of course not. He'd use the hatchback door. And I so have the knot on my head to prove it. Nothing says, "souvenir" like bodily injury, what with no customs declarations needed on that one.

Toni

Our annual send-off/Kick-off

Reg'lars know that we take a short trip at the end of each summer, heading north to stay at a Jellystone campground and then to an amusement park the next day (just a half mile from the campground.) It's what we H's call our Send-off/Kick-off, sending summer on its way and kicking off our upcoming homeschool year. We swim in the two pools (did swim), roast hot dogs (did roast them), make S'mores (did make 'em), and the kids love sleeping in the cabin bunks (did love it.) See where I'm going with this?

In keeping with my life theme (If it can go wrong so we can laugh at it later, it definitely will), some things were gonna rock our boat this year. It all started back in July....

Carl got online in early July, as usual, to reserve our amusement park tickets at the homeschool rate (it's a significant discount; normal price is around $36 pp, homeschool rate is $10 pp.) I was in the kitchen when I heard him sigh like an elephant and grumble something unitelligible.

"What, babe? Did you say something?"

In a tone heavily laden with frustration and surprise, he fired, "Yes. I did. I s-a-i-d,...they moved the homeschool week."

Oh.
Okay. So we weren't going to enjoy the last week of August.
Last week.
No crowds.
No lines.
Lots and lots of rides just waiting for us to step right up and enjoy.

But not this time. Because this time, they moved the week.

"Oh," me thinking out loud, "okay,...so,...do we have to go like next week or something?"
"NooOOo, we had to go the first week in June."

Me, suddenly high pitched and with a twitching eyebrow, "JUNE???"
Up-speaking now.
"Ju-u-UNE? Why the heck did they move it to JUNE? I mean, who does that?"
"Gee, honey. I dunno. It's not like they sent out a memo or anything."
Ah, Sarkey in duh house.
(That's what we say when one of us gets so frustrated that sarcasm sets in, which happens easily seeing as we both have a sarcastic sense of humor anyway.)

So now we were both clearly frustrated. The park moved the date from the last week of the summer to the first, without notifying any of its homeschool customers (yes, they may have had our information on file somewhere, as you have to order the tickets in advance each year.) What to do? I'm not a defeatest type of gal. If there's an angle to work, I'm on it.

"Get me their email."
Hubs saw it. I saw that he saw it. (Remember Dodgeball? "You know that I know that you know.")
He saw that "I have an idea" twinkle in my eye.
I saw that "Oh snap, there she goes again" wrinkle in his brow.

And off I went, feverishly tickling the keyboard until I had fully explained myself to the group sales office, asking them point blank to extend the rate to us as a courtesy under the circumstances.

It took nearly three weeks (I was disappointed and apalled that they wouldn't at least respond with a respectful "no way, lady") but finally an email arrived. With an apology for the oversight regarding my request.
They did in fact honor the rate, which we so appreciated.

But the fox pox fau paux was NOT over yet.
The cabin.

We always book a single night at Jellystone. The rate has been between $79-$90 for a cabin that sleeps six. And during those last August weeks, the campground is always nearly empty, with maybe 3 or 4 cabins filled (I think there are 14 of them) and perhaps 10 lots camped on.

"Sir, there is a 2 night minimum and it will be $170 per night."

Sweet mother of crime sprees, they're robbing us BLIND!
For an empty campground, mind you.

Me to hubs, "When did THOSE rates kick in?"
Hubs in frustration, "Gee, I dunno. They didn't send out a memo or anything."

See where I'm going with this?

New management + New rates + New 2-night requirement = empty cabins, lost customers (namely us.) Yep, this was the first time in 4 years that we drove to the amusement park DAY OF, no overnight.
Disappointing? Sure.
Paying $340 for a pool and a marshmallow on a graham cracker?
Shh-yeah, right.

We did have a great time at the park, I'm happy to say. Cierah conquered her fear of upside down coasters (loved it). Olivia squeezed her lanky self into kiddie rides for the sake of her baby brother. Reece was ELATED that we couldn't ride the "scary" pirate ride (denied boarding because there were 3 of us; another policy change from the previous 3 years). And Brandon is already asking me if he'll be big enough to ride the "roasters" next year (my thrill seeker of a toddler, I tell ya.)

I love (LOVE!) being in the midst of truly magical childhood moments, the ones you KNOW are being etched into conscious memory in the "good times" category. The memories that you KNOW they'll resurrect to share with their own children someday.

"Did I ever tell you about the amusement park and campground we always visited at the end of the summer when I was a little kid? Well, 'cept for that one year when we missed the homeschool week and....sit down. Let me tell you about it."

Toni

Ace of Cakes fan???

I've never watched the show myself. I am aware of it though, and can certainly appreciate the artistry and talent of Duff Goldman. He created a cake in honor of the 70th anniversary of the American Airlines Admirals Club (American Airlines being near and dear to my heart, as most of you know.)

It depicts a business traveler seated in the privacy of the members-only club, as an airplane takes off out the window. Wow! Can't believe it's a CAKE. I'll not tell my kids (they think my creations ARE Duff worthy, lol.)

Toni