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.