Family Road Trip

So I was laying in bed a couple of nights ago, thinking about how to write this entry, and feeling pretty happy about the prospect. But then I got mad at my husband and instead of writing, I lay in bed fuming at him. It was something about me having expressed an opinion very vociferously and loudly and made my point very clear a few months ago, only to have discovered that none of it made any difference in the way that he decided to do things. I felt rather un-listened to. But now, as its not going to change this YEAR no matter how much I yell, I have decided to move on and not be angry any more and write instead about our great road trip to the north.

We packed up 2 bicycles, 2 tents, 6 (yes, 6) sleeping bags (you can never have too many sleeping bags), enough clothes for an army, and every DVD we have ever owned and headed north to Colorado for the excellent (we hoped) destination of Mesa Verde National Park. Even though it was a 6 hour ride, the children were quite excellent. Charlie never lifted his head from the DVD player, and Ella rotated between sleeping, yelling at Charlie that she couldn't see the DVD player, and telling non-sensical stories about her life as a 2 year old.

Mesa Verde is indeed excellent. We signed on for a tour despite the fact that we hate tours. It was the only way to get to the 1000 year old cliff dwellings that require a climb up a 60 foot ladder. Charlie thought that sounded like the adventure of a lifetime. With Ella firmly strapped into the backpack on Jeff's back, and me ready to grab any body part I could reach if Charlie so much as bobbled on the 60 foot ladder, we headed up, and made it. I almost felt like freaking out at about foot 57, but managed to hold it together as my 5 year old son was, and get to the top of the ladder.

The next part of the tour, where the adults stand quietly around and listen to the guide was punctuated by Ella doing her best banshee imitation - because she like the acoustics there, I think, and me whispering at the top of my lungs to Charlie to get away from the edge of the 60 foot cliff.

When camping, we have decided that using 2 tents works best for trying to get kids to sleep. However, what usually happens is that Jeff crawls in to snuggle and falls asleep at the same time as the kids, leaving me to wonder how to pass the night by myself in a dark campsite with a weak flashlight and no more firewood. I thought the tent might blow away with me and Ella in it a few times, but Jeff didn't even notice that it had been windy at all. I also discovered that despite the fact that we own 4 thermarest pads, only one of them actually stays inflated. I thought I had scored the good one, only to find at about 11 pm that I was wrong. It was a long night.

The next day the kids found a kiva. Kivas are traditional, ceremonial, round rooms dug into the floor with a ladder going down through the ceiling to the room below. My kids thought it was their own private playground. Up and down, up and down, up and down the ladder. Running around and around and around the room below. Did I mention that it had a dirt floor? The dust they stirred up was quite impressive, or oppressive, depending on which other tourists you asked. Some of them seemed to think that their attempts at artistic photography were much more important than my children's playtime, and that the dust cloud greatly decreased their chances of winning next year's National Geographic photo prize. Maybe they are right, but I do know that for sure my children had a ton of fun, while I am not sure that they would win that photography prize, dust cloud or not.

We headed next to Durango where we splurged on a hotel with a working pool, showers and real beds for everyone. Or at least shared beds for everyone. At an attempt to snuggle, Jeff and I moved Charlie into Ella's bed before we went to sleep. She awoke in the middle of the night, having peed herself. She was upset at being wet, but furious at the sleeping Charlie who had invaded her bed. The screams were even better than the banshee screams at Mesa Verde just a day or so before. At 2 am, they might have been even less welcome too.

It seems that Ella has really hit her 2 year old stride lately. Whereas I feel that I have spent the better part of the last 5 years lamenting Charlie's behavioral moments, he now takes the backseat to his noisy sister, hands down. It was in a delicious taco joint that the best display of 2 year oldedness showed itself. She decided that she wanted "Buddy" her pink blanket that travels everywhere with her, but who had been left in the car. As the car was a 10 minute walk away, we chose not to go get it. She screamed, and fussed, and moaned and cried and was taken from the restaurant where she continued to scream, fuss, moan, cry and run down the sidewalk yelling at the top of her lungs. It was one of those fits where people leaving the restaurant stopped to reassure us that it was ok, and where the guy cleaning his Harley on the side of the road said he was impressed by how we were handling a fit of such magnitude. Lovely. The biker dude cleaning his Harley is impressed by our daughter's emotional display. What happened to my sweet darling girl of only a month or so ago? I can't believe that I am now complementing Charlie on his good behavior as compared to his sister's. That is a paradigm shift in our world for sure.

We planned to go north from Durango, so while the kids tried to splash all the water out of the hotel pool, Jeff hopped on his bike for a little ride. We were going to meet him in the next town 50 miles away and find our campsite. After 28 miles I got a phone call - it was snowing and would I please come get him? In his shorts and short sleeves, he was cold. We found him on the side of the road, quickly decided that camping in the snow was not in the cards, and turned directly around to head back south.

Perusing the map, Jeff found Chaco Canyon in the general direction of home, and suggested we give it a try. After 26 miles on really crappy dirt roads that elicited countless rounds of Jeff's favorite made up song, The Bumpy Road Blues, we arrived at Chaco Canyon, and immediately fell in love. Gorgeous. Great community feel at the campsite. So great, in fact, that we lost Charlie momentarily, and found him in the neighboring campsite behind the rocks hanging out with 4 grandparent-ish folks and helping to eat their carrot sticks and chips. They reassured me he was fine, and I reassured them that they were free to return to their adults-only vacation and kick him out at any time. That evening we were sitting around the campfire when our neighbor on the other side came by for a chat. Turns out Charlie had invited him to stop by for a while, since he didn't have his own campfire. As I've heard it said, that boy has never met a stranger.

The next day Jeff took the kids on more 1000 year old ruins exploring adventures while I headed off for a bike ride. As I was pulling in to join them in the ruins after a good few miles, I somehow managed to not unhook my feet from my pedals in time, and fell over from a dead standstill in the parking lot. Gotta love the grace and skill that move showed. I scraped up my palm a bit, but was otherwise unhurt, except for a bruised biker ego. I showed the kids my "owie" and they were very impressed. Ella kept wanting to hold hands, but to make sure that she was holding my "other hand." I thought she was so sensitive and kind, not wanting to further hurt my owie. I thought my dear screaming daughter was really making strides in her social skills and empathy. Then I grabbed her Buddy with my owie hand. "No Mama! Don't touch Buddy with that owie hand!!!" The screams echoed off the bricks carved in 800 AD. "You'll get your owie all over Buddy!" Oh, I realized. It wasn't about her being worried about further hurting my hand. It was about her not wanting to touch my gross cut. Ah well...

Now we are home and life is back to normal - I can't sit on the couch because the cushions have disappeared into a large fort-building project in the other room. I can't walk across the living room because all of Ella's puzzles were somehow mysteriously dumped in the middle. I am not sure which clothes to wear, since my drawers are all empty and the myriad laundry baskets are all full, but there is no telling which ones are clean and which are dirty. The kids have been in bed for an hour and 7 minutes now, but neither are asleep. Charlie keeps walking out of his room saying that he "just can't stay in bed. He doesn't know why, but something just isn't right for staying in bed." Ella is yelling that she needs to go poop, for the 3rd try tonight. She's been on the potty multiple times tonight without result except for smiles, giggles, and the thrill of having procrastinated bedtime a little longer. And, did I mention, the enormous pile of toilet paper that is now off its roll and mounded next to the toilet? The girl can figure out how to entertain herself.

Life is back to normal-ish

So Jeff is back from his week long trip to Costa Rica and I feel like the large holes that formed in my children's souls when he left closed up the second he walked through the door.

When I stop to think about it, it has been a rough time for my kids. We lost one of the 2 kittens we had had for just a month to a deadly virus a couple of weeks ago. I think for my wee ones to lose a beloved pet and have Dad go away within a few days of each other was a lot for them to process. Charlie, at 5, understands death and what it means, and could separate the two events. But for Ella, at 2, it was really tough. She cried every morning that I took her to day care while Jeff was away. I think that in her mind, Little Guy, the cat, went away, Dad went away, and now Mom is going away too. All it meant to her was that she was being left, and wasn't sure who was coming back and when.

She was like velcro with me most of the week, but now has transferred that clinginess to Dad, who is loving it. She is usually more of a Mama's girl. But since yesterday afternoon, she is sitting on Dad's lap, asking for him to be the last one to tuck her in at night, wanting him to read the books, etc. And Jeff is eating it up. This morning Charlie's nursery school took a field trip to a local farm for a hay ride tour. Jeff offered to chaperone, and take Ella along too. They came home for lunch, then were supposed to go back to day care for the afternoon. But Charlie and ELla both looked at him with their big blue puppy dog eyes and told him he was great and couldn't they skip day care just for the afternoon? And he, the huge softy, agreed, then complained all evening that he hadn't gotten any work done. How was that a surprise to him? Does he think that I actually get anything done besides playing puzzles, reading books, refereeing fights and encouraging outdoor exploration when I am home those couple of days a week?

One thing I will say in total, 100% support of my husband is that he is a super black widow spider killer. We were lying in bed and I told him all about my adventures with the black widow in the bathroom. He laughed at me, saying that spiders didn't bother him at all. So we went into the bathroom to brush our teeth, and there, not 4 inches over his lofty head was the black widow spider happily building her web.  I calmly said, Look up.  He did, and leapt about 3 feet into the air. I thought spiders didn't bother you, I asked. That one surprised me he said. But then he took his lovely tall self and used his excellent long arms and reached up with a tissue and grabbed that spider right off the ceiling. Of course, he didn't manage to squish it, and when he threw it into the toilet, it had connected itself to his hand with a web and was trying to crawl back up the web towards him. Black widow webs are notoriously strong, and he had a heck of a time shaking it off. I think that spider bothered him. I know it bothered me! And I love him for saving me from it.

Black Widows in the bathroom

So I thought I was done for the night. Shut down the computer, shed my clothes, and went into the bathroom to brush my teeth.

ONLY TO FIND A BLACK WIDOW SPIDER MAKING A WEB ON MY CEILING!!!!!

Its a big, shiny, fat, red hourglass on the belly, male eating, mama black widow spider that is trying to make itself at home in my bathroom. This is the first bathroom I have ever had that was almost exclusively mine (except for my husband), and I will not share it with a black widow spider! I turned on the fan, thinking to suck it up and out of my house, only to realize it was near the AC vent, not the fan, and would just blow down on my head if I turned it on.

I watched it in the mirror while I brushed my teeth, figuring that keeping a close eye on it was the best policy while I came up with a plan of attack. I could only think of trying to squish it with a tissue and having it drop down on my head, climb in my hair, and bite me on the neck before I could even start screaming loud enough to wake the neighbors! Before I could muster the courage to even consider trying anything, it climbed in to the AC vent, which is connected to my kids' bedrooms. AC off for the night, no matter how hot it gets. I am not blowing poisonous spiders on them in their sleep. Luckily it is not that hot yet.

Jeff comes home tomorrow. Will he be in time to rescue me? Many things I can deal with myself (I was a Peace Corps volunteer in Zambia, Africa), but black widow spiders on the ceiling of my bathroom are not one of them. I am too short to deal with spiders on the ceiling. On the floor, no problem. Low down on the wall, been there- done that- squished- even black widows, as Charlie will delightedly attest to not one, not 2, but 3 times. But not on the ceiling!

My only line of defense now is my tiny black and white kitten. If I keep her in my bed will she warn me if the spider emerges under the crack in the now closed bathroom door? I don't want her to get bitten at all, but even less I want to get bitten myself. Maybe her super kitten senses will allow her to miaow in time for me to grab my shoes and squish the beast on the floor before it gets me.

Is this somehow related to the bat that was flying around my bedroom at 4:30 am only last week????

On Domestic Violence

I attended a conference on Friday where one of the breakout sessions was on domestic violence. I joined the session looking to learn and to share the knowledge. And was disappointed.

Disappointed that there is no easy, quick fix to this problem. Disappointed that even the experts really have no better advice than listen, support, be there for her, make sure she has an exit plan, and listen some more. Not that I don't think that all of that is extremely important. Not that I thought that there was an easy, quick fix. But I was hopeful that they might share a secret that I had so far missed because of the women I know who are being belittled, controlled, disrespected, and beaten on a regular basis. It is not ok that they are forced to live their lives like this and I want a solution for them. I want them to be free.

But they don't want to be free in the way that I want them to be. One woman has been with her partner for 2 1/2 years and they have a child together. Even though I have twice seen huge bruises on her face, and she admits that he calls her whore and slut and daily goes through her phone to check who she is calling and texting, she loves him and can't decide to leave him. Another woman who I have known for a few short months has admitted that two men since I have known her have hurt her physically. Yet every time I return to her house, one of them is there in the back bedroom.

I don't understand. My heart breaks for these women, and for their children who will grow up believing that this is how men are supposed to treat women. I want to step in and yell at the batterers that enough is enough. I want to scream at them to leave these women alone. But I can't. I feel helpless. I hope beyond hope that allowing these women to talk and share their pain somehow lessens it. But the pain behind those bruises doesn't go away with words. I want the women to know that they are better than the treatment they receive at the hands of the ones who tell them they love them. I want them to know that love doesn't have to be like that. I want so much for them. But I don't know how to give it, and I don't know how to help them know that they are worth more than what they are receiving.

The real truth about our trip to Santa Fe

So I was thinking that my Facebook post saying that our trip to Santa Fe was refreshing and rejuvenating was actually a joke, given the real events of the trip. I guess that since I am a single mom while my husband is away chasing volcanoes in Costa Rica, anything out of the house, short of a trip to the ER is considered a success. Here are the real details-

Beg the kids all morning to please get dressed so we can go. Dream of leaving by 9. Hope to leave by 10. Out the door at 10:30, and think that is actually pretty dang good. The kids would rather stay home and play with the cat and build forts out of the couch cushions than have a weekend away in Santa Fe. Too bad for them that I get to decide today. BTW- I have been unable to sit on our couch for approximately 3 months now because the cushions are constantly in use in various forts around the house. I finally bribe them to get in the car with promises of long hours of uninterrupted DVD watching and sugarless bubblegum.

The drive up goes pretty well. The kids zone out on Fantastic Mr Fox and I plug into my latest library audiobook via one earphone on my ipod. This way I can hear the traffic, and the kids yelling that they need water, sunflower seeds, fish crackers, grapes, a napkin, etc. I can also hear Ella yelling that she spilled the entire bag of sunflower seeds in her lap and that Charlie won't drink out of the same water bottle as Ella because she slobbers too much. I pretend that I can't hear any of this, and eventually we arrive in Santa Fe.

Trying to make this a good weekend for someone, we pull into the first McDonald's that we see with a playground. I give in and buy both kids Happy Meals with toys rather than making them just share the usual 10 piece nugget order sans toy. They both take one bite of a nugget, ignore their apples (caramel dip quickly hidden in my purse) and ask why they have to have milk when everyone else has soda. I tell them that the other parents don't know how bad soda is for them and slip an apple into their mouths before they can whine some more.

2 minutes later Charlie has to pee, so we leave everything at the table and procede to the restroom. Ella, my dear 2 year old, vehemently refuses to go pee. We return to our table, relieved to see no one has swiped the Donkey-from-Shrek toys that came with the Happy Meals. I try to eat a few bites of my southwest grilled chicken salad, only to see Ella climbing down from the playground stairs, holding herself and saying, I have to pee!

Charlie had finally just sat down to eat too, so I scan the area for suspicious looking people, and tell him not to move while I take Ella to the bathroom. She skips and plays and tries to take every detour possible, but we finally get there. She pees, then poops, then wants us both to examine the poop, then poops some more. Meanwhile I am certain Charlie has been kidnapped. She washes her hands, then wants more soap, then wants to turn the water on herself, then wants to use the air dryer to dry. Finally we return to the playground to find Charlie still there, happily munching on his chicken nuggets. Phew. I am the only one who eats more than a few bites, but at least the kids are busy on the playground while I just sit there, trying to convince myself that my iceberg lettuce is as good as the fries, burger and shake the woman 2 tables over is shoveling in.

Recently Ella has been begging, just begging for a bike like Charlie's, only pink. Her tricycle just isn't cool enough anymore. I checked Craig'sList Santa Fe before we left and found a listing for a Specialized 12 inch pink bike in Santa Fe. I can't decide whether to actually go and check it out when I look up and realize we are at the exact intersection of the people's house. Figuring it must be karma or fate or something, we go look at the bike. Even used it is still more expensive Charlie's brand new spiderman bike, and Ella probably won't be able to actually reach the pedals for at least another 2 years. But for some reason I buy it. At least we will own it for a long time before she outgrows it. Note that own it and use it may be 2 very different things.

We finally show up at the casita where we are staying. I have never met the family that owns it, but have stayed there before and it is gorgeous. The woman's mom lives 3 houses away from my parents in Washington state. I have been known to be found on her mom's deck drinking margaritas, with my parents wondering where I have gone and who is watching my children. I figure that I have a good chance of really liking Susie.

"Charlie hit me!" Penny cries desperately. An only child, she isn't use to this kind of treatment. "Charlie," I ask, "Were you behaving inappropriately toward Penny?" "Yes Mom, but she was playing ..." He launches into a long, detailed explanation of why he hit Penny and how it isn't actually all his fault. I give him a look, and tell him that if he behave inappropriately one more time that there will be privileges removed. He sees the look on my face, and returns promptly to playing nicely.

Meanwhile, Ella, bored because there is only one room filled with toys, starts asking if she can ride her new bike. Not wanting to leave my adult conversation with Susie, I tell her I can put it in the yard and she can ride it there, knowing full well she won't actually be able to go anywhere on it since she can't reach the pedals. She starts whining that she wants to ride it in the road. At home, on our wide, straight cul-de-sac, this would be an option. Here on the curvy, winding, no-sidewalk road of the historic part of Santa Fe, there is no way. She starts to lose it completely, and I realize it is long past nap time. With her laying on the floor screaming, "I want to ride in the road" and kicking her feet in a full blown tantrum, I excuse myself to our casita to check out where to put her down for a nap.

I shove a boob in her mouth to shut her up, and it works as always. She falls asleep finally and I tiptoe out to assure Susie that she can leave Penny to play with Charlie while she runs a few errands. That way Charlie will be occupied and I might actually get a few seconds to myself to enjoy the gorgeous luxury of the guest house. Charlie and Penny explore the casita, climbing to the top shelf of the antique wardrobe and pulling the covers off the throw pillows on the couch. Maybe I should stop reveling in my luxury and watch the dang kids. Charlie looks in the freezer, spots some ice cubes and asks if they can play with them. Thinking it should be pretty harmless, I send them outside with the ice and tell them not to throw it over the walls or at anything breakable. A few minutes later I hear the neighbor over the wall yelling at the kids to stop throwing ice over the wall at him. Oops. I dash outside and shout an apology to the invisible man, but can't take the ice from the kids as it has all melted, or been thrown over the wall.

The kids switch to playing Fantastic Mr Fox. As Charlie has now watched the movie 6 times, twice on the way to Santa Fe just this morning, he is the expert. He has also assumed the role of Mrs. Fox, which confuses Penny to no end. Who is she supposed to be if Charlie is Mrs. Fox, the only decent female role? And why is Charlie a girl? Charlie responds by crawling under the sheets and telling her that her is pregnant with Ash and is about to give birth. A few minutes later he emerges triumphant, a new mother. Penny's mouth just hangs open.

Susie returns and I woo her with offers of adults only weekends spent antique furniture shopping or backpacking or just about anything else once my husband returns. We'll see if she ever calls.

I take the kids to dinner at the Cowgirl restaurant. They argue the entire way there over whether it is the Cowgirl or the Cowboy, to the point of tears. I tell them they can each go wherever they want to, but it will all be at the same place. They are so confused by this that they quiet down for a minute. I dream of ordering a $7 drink, but realize that if I am lucky I will have 2 seconds to slam it before returning to reading the endless stack of books borrowed from Penny that I brilliantly brought with us. So I forgo the drink. Luckily the books entertain the children enough that they don't have to be pulled from under the table even once. They even stay sitting down- granted, arguing over who gets the booster seat and who gets my lap and where the booster seat sits. Ella sits on the booster on the floor for a brief moment before realizing that will not work to reach the table. She shoves Charlie off my lap and crawls up. Luckily, he is now excited by the thought of taking her chair. We read and read and read, hoping the food comes before the books run out.

After dinner I shove the kids into bed as quickly as possible with dreams of reading a book in front of the fireplace downstairs while sipping soothing organic tea and wishing it was a beer or 6. But when I wake up 3 hours later in bed with both of them, I simply roll over, realizing the dream of quality alone time has faded and give in to the reality of sleeping in a bed with both my kids. In the morning Ella is sprawled out in the middle, limbs extended to their tiny fullest. Charlie has his feet on the pillow, his head at the other end, and is clinging to approximately 4 inches of space on the edge. I am clinging to the other edge, but at least with my head on the pillow. How does my tiny girl commandeer almost an entire king sized bed? A skill I would like to learn.

At breakfast at the Tea House around the corner, the waiter suggest strawberry shortcake made with scones instead of simply scones. Towers of strawberries, whipped cream, strawberry syrup and scones emerge from the kitchen. My children stare at me with smiles of dumb wonder across their faces. I am allowing them to eat this for breakfast? They dig in gleefully and before I even get a crumb across my lips the towers are reduced to a few scattered crumbs. Charlie is now trying to scale the tree behind me. I quietly ask him not to climb the restaurant trees, so he turns his skills to the rock wall encircling the garden area instead. Honey, please don't climb in the restaurant, I beg. He jumps down, but is so sugar-wired that he is wiggling out of his own skin. We flee before he tackles the elderly folks at the neighboring table for a friendly wrestle and make a dash for the nearest playground.

At the playground, Ella has to pee. We squat in the corner, and she pees all over her shorts which are around her ankles. She really doesn't have this squat-without-soaking-the clothes-thing down yet. She refuses to wear her wet shorts, so takes them off. She runs around gleefully, yelling at the top of her lungs, I am naked! Luckily, she is wrong. She, unlike Charlie, is wearing underwear. Luckily Charlie still has his pants on.

I time the return to Socorro extremely well and Ella is asleep before I have turned the engine on. She sleeps all the way home. Charlie watches Fantastic Mr Fox another 2 times, and I return to the fantasy world of my audiobook in one ear.

All in all, not a bad trip.