Before lullabies tonight, Jack said he just wished he knew where heaven is. "Well no one really knows except God and the people who are there, Jack," I told him.
"I think I know," he said. "I think it's all around us."
"Because God is all around us and heaven is where God is?" I asked.
"Right!" he said.
Woah.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Monday, August 8, 2011
THIS is the right spot
I was just reading Jonniker's latest post on vacations, and had to stop in the middle to come tell you this story. The comment that sparked this little blog aside was about how she and her family slept in a car on the side of the road during last year's vacation, and it reminded me of the summer between college and grad school when I spent a month in Colorado as a... home aide? Horse's aide? I don't know what we were, but my friend Elizabeth called me that June and asked me if I was interested in spending a month on a horse ranch in Colorado with her and helping the 95-year-old couple around the house. Ranch. Whatever. I said yes, obviously, because who would pass that up? We "worked" about 4-5 hours a day, doing household chores and things, and then we got to ride horses for an hour or so in the afternoon and then we were off the clock. I think 90% of our responsibility was probably to be non-95-year-old people on site in case there was an emergency of some sort. It was an isolated ranch.
But that is not what I came to tell you about. I came to tell you about how we went to the Royal Gorge one weekend. According to our Rand McNally Road Atlas, there was a campground about twenty miles or so from the bridge, and that's where we planned to spend the night. In our rental car, because we didn't have any camping gear or anything, but we figured we could just park in a campsite and sleep in the car.
We arrived around dinner time, so we were going to camp out and visit the gorge the next day. So we had dinner in the local hotel - where we saw an impromptu fiddling concert - we headed out for the campground. We drove and drove and drove and drove and eventually discovered that Rand McNally was a big fat liar. (I feel I should point out for those of you who are wondering why we didn't just use our GPS-enabled smart phones to find a place to stay that this was last century, when there WERE no GPS-enabled smart phones. No smart phones at all, and the military were the only ones with GPSs. Imagine!) (For the record, I still have neither a GPS nor a smart phone, although Andrew has both.) So, as I was saying, no campground. Nothing for miles, actually, and it was getting late. So we just slept there. For free! And then the next morning, we drove back to the Royal Gorge.
So let me recap: We were at the Royal Gorge, then we drove twenty miles out to a very specific spot on the highway, parked the car, slept, and drove twenty miles back to the Royal Gorge.
An interesting side note is that the day we were at the gorge, there was a fiddling competition. "Wow!" we kept saying. "This is so crazy! First we saw those fiddlers last night at the hotel, and then today we see all these fiddlers for the competition! What are the odds that we would see SO MANY fiddlers in a two-day span? It's so strange!" We marveled about the amazing coincidence for quite some time.
It was not until we were on our way home, hours later, that we put it together.
But that is not what I came to tell you about. I came to tell you about how we went to the Royal Gorge one weekend. According to our Rand McNally Road Atlas, there was a campground about twenty miles or so from the bridge, and that's where we planned to spend the night. In our rental car, because we didn't have any camping gear or anything, but we figured we could just park in a campsite and sleep in the car.
We arrived around dinner time, so we were going to camp out and visit the gorge the next day. So we had dinner in the local hotel - where we saw an impromptu fiddling concert - we headed out for the campground. We drove and drove and drove and drove and eventually discovered that Rand McNally was a big fat liar. (I feel I should point out for those of you who are wondering why we didn't just use our GPS-enabled smart phones to find a place to stay that this was last century, when there WERE no GPS-enabled smart phones. No smart phones at all, and the military were the only ones with GPSs. Imagine!) (For the record, I still have neither a GPS nor a smart phone, although Andrew has both.) So, as I was saying, no campground. Nothing for miles, actually, and it was getting late. So we just slept there. For free! And then the next morning, we drove back to the Royal Gorge.
So let me recap: We were at the Royal Gorge, then we drove twenty miles out to a very specific spot on the highway, parked the car, slept, and drove twenty miles back to the Royal Gorge.
An interesting side note is that the day we were at the gorge, there was a fiddling competition. "Wow!" we kept saying. "This is so crazy! First we saw those fiddlers last night at the hotel, and then today we see all these fiddlers for the competition! What are the odds that we would see SO MANY fiddlers in a two-day span? It's so strange!" We marveled about the amazing coincidence for quite some time.
It was not until we were on our way home, hours later, that we put it together.
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Jam hands
Do you guys remember that episode of Gilmore Girls when Luke finds out his nephew Jess is coming to stay with him, and he freaks out about how kids always seem to have jam on their hands? How even if there's no jam in the house, they still somehow have "jam hands"?
We DO have jam in the house.
We DO have jam in the house.
Friday, July 22, 2011
OWWWWW.
Yesterday I dropped the shower head on my toe. I was actually showering with the kids at the time, the better to quickly rinse off the sandbox sand and grass and such after splashing around in the wading pool, so I was precluded from letting out a string of obscenities. And I really, really wanted to let out a string of obscenities. Unfortunately, I was stuck with shouting, in a tone that clearly indicated I was NOT fine, "I AM FINE! I HURT MY TOE BUT IT WILL BE FINE! NO, NORA, DON'T TOUCH IT I AM FINE!" Happily, Andrew was home and relieved me of my parental obligations so I could go pace around the kitchen and swear to my heart's content.
I thought I just stubbed it, but started to get worried when the swearing didn't help that much. Upon examination, I discovered that my toe was turning black. And after dinner, I discovered that the pain was getting worse. Worse, not better! But I could move it, and anyway, they don't do anything for a broken toe even if it was broken, so I was not about to go to the ER.
Long story short, I spent the evening with my foot raised over my head - a tricky thing to do when you are not allowed to lie flat on your back. Neither am I allowed to have ibuprofen, so I was stuck with acetametaphin and ice. I was worried I wouldn't be able to sleep because of the pain, but then I remembered who I am and fell asleep during my very favorite show, so there was no trouble there.
I think the worst part about all of it may be that it was such a stupid way to injure myself. Couldn't I have dropped, I don't know, a soup can or something heavy at least? But no, it was the shower head. And I dropped it on PURPOSE, because I was letting it drain and thought I was holding the hose close enough to the head to keep it from hitting the floor. Also I did not realize my toe was right under it, but I'm going to blame not wearing my glasses on that one. And also, I did not know the shower head was MADE OF LEAD. My word, that thing was heavy.
This morning my toe still hurts, but it's better. I'm still trying to keep it raised, so the initial throbbing as the blood returns whenever I put it back down on the ground is no picnic, but then it subsides to a sort of dull ache that at least doesn't make me want to cry.
But please don't touch it, Nora.
"300px" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632152513281251586" />
(That picture does not do justice to the amount of pain that poor toe is in. IT REALLY REALLY HURTS.)
I thought I just stubbed it, but started to get worried when the swearing didn't help that much. Upon examination, I discovered that my toe was turning black. And after dinner, I discovered that the pain was getting worse. Worse, not better! But I could move it, and anyway, they don't do anything for a broken toe even if it was broken, so I was not about to go to the ER.
Long story short, I spent the evening with my foot raised over my head - a tricky thing to do when you are not allowed to lie flat on your back. Neither am I allowed to have ibuprofen, so I was stuck with acetametaphin and ice. I was worried I wouldn't be able to sleep because of the pain, but then I remembered who I am and fell asleep during my very favorite show, so there was no trouble there.
I think the worst part about all of it may be that it was such a stupid way to injure myself. Couldn't I have dropped, I don't know, a soup can or something heavy at least? But no, it was the shower head. And I dropped it on PURPOSE, because I was letting it drain and thought I was holding the hose close enough to the head to keep it from hitting the floor. Also I did not realize my toe was right under it, but I'm going to blame not wearing my glasses on that one. And also, I did not know the shower head was MADE OF LEAD. My word, that thing was heavy.
This morning my toe still hurts, but it's better. I'm still trying to keep it raised, so the initial throbbing as the blood returns whenever I put it back down on the ground is no picnic, but then it subsides to a sort of dull ache that at least doesn't make me want to cry.
But please don't touch it, Nora.
"300px" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632152513281251586" />(That picture does not do justice to the amount of pain that poor toe is in. IT REALLY REALLY HURTS.)
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Her mother's daughter
After a weekend pancake breakfast, Nora decided to clean up. It seems she subscribes to the “Neat piles of stuff” philosophy when it comes to making things tidy.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Some kid stuff
Some kid stuff
A few months ago, Jack had a bad dream and had to come sleep in our bed. The next day, as we were driving somewhere in the car, I glanced in the rear view mirror and saw him looking droopy and tired. “You can close your eyes and take a nap, honey,” I told him.
“I don’t want to go to sleep,” he said.
“OK,” I replied, “but it’s just that you look really tired.”
“But I’m afraid to go to sleep,” he said. “What if I have another bad dream?”
My heart broke, but I tried to play it cool and asked him if he wanted to tell me about the dream he had the night before. I can’t quite remember what it was about, but I do remember thinking, “Wow, that is pretty scary.” I think it was something along the lines of a bad monster chasing him, trying to steal him away from us.
But I can’t have a kid afraid to go to sleep, so I said, “Jack, you know that dreams are just in your head, right? And you’re the one in charge of your head! So you know what you should do? Before you go to sleep, you just tell your head, ‘Head? No bad dreams.’ And then if you have a bad dream anyway, you should just say, ‘Hey! I’m dreaming! That means I’m in charge! Head? Change this dream!’ and then you can just change the dream!” Jack giggled.
“I could turn it into a flying dream!” he said.
“Exactly!” I replied. “Those are my favorite dreams too.”
He did fall asleep in the car because he just couldn’t fight it. And that night, Andrew reported that Jack asked him to wait a second before he sang songs and then whispered to himself, “Head? No bad dreams.” He’s been telling his head what to do every night since.
But this breaks my heart even more, because the trust! In me! When he has another bad dream, which I assume will happen eventually, will he think I lied to him? Which… I did? But on the other hand, did I really? Maybe all it takes to keep away the bad dreams is to truly believe that you just have to tell your head not to have any.
Parenthood, man. It’ll get ya.
***
Yesterday, something small – I forget what, exactly – made a loud noise that surprised us. “Woah!” said Jack.
“Yeah, you don’t expect something small to make a loud noise, huh?” I said. “Loud noises usually come from big things.”
There was a slight pause while Jack processed this. Then he said, “Nora’s pretty loud.”
He’s right. She is.
***
We have started the presumed hundred-year-long potty-training process with Nora, so she’s been spending a lot of time pantsless. As you do. Andrew found her one such time wearing naught but a t-shirt. “Nora, you’re naked!” he said.
She looked down at herself, and then looked back at him with genuine confusion. “I not naked, I still wearing a shirt.”
She was right. She was.
A few months ago, Jack had a bad dream and had to come sleep in our bed. The next day, as we were driving somewhere in the car, I glanced in the rear view mirror and saw him looking droopy and tired. “You can close your eyes and take a nap, honey,” I told him.
“I don’t want to go to sleep,” he said.
“OK,” I replied, “but it’s just that you look really tired.”
“But I’m afraid to go to sleep,” he said. “What if I have another bad dream?”
My heart broke, but I tried to play it cool and asked him if he wanted to tell me about the dream he had the night before. I can’t quite remember what it was about, but I do remember thinking, “Wow, that is pretty scary.” I think it was something along the lines of a bad monster chasing him, trying to steal him away from us.
But I can’t have a kid afraid to go to sleep, so I said, “Jack, you know that dreams are just in your head, right? And you’re the one in charge of your head! So you know what you should do? Before you go to sleep, you just tell your head, ‘Head? No bad dreams.’ And then if you have a bad dream anyway, you should just say, ‘Hey! I’m dreaming! That means I’m in charge! Head? Change this dream!’ and then you can just change the dream!” Jack giggled.
“I could turn it into a flying dream!” he said.
“Exactly!” I replied. “Those are my favorite dreams too.”
He did fall asleep in the car because he just couldn’t fight it. And that night, Andrew reported that Jack asked him to wait a second before he sang songs and then whispered to himself, “Head? No bad dreams.” He’s been telling his head what to do every night since.
But this breaks my heart even more, because the trust! In me! When he has another bad dream, which I assume will happen eventually, will he think I lied to him? Which… I did? But on the other hand, did I really? Maybe all it takes to keep away the bad dreams is to truly believe that you just have to tell your head not to have any.
Parenthood, man. It’ll get ya.
***
Yesterday, something small – I forget what, exactly – made a loud noise that surprised us. “Woah!” said Jack.
“Yeah, you don’t expect something small to make a loud noise, huh?” I said. “Loud noises usually come from big things.”
There was a slight pause while Jack processed this. Then he said, “Nora’s pretty loud.”
He’s right. She is.
***
We have started the presumed hundred-year-long potty-training process with Nora, so she’s been spending a lot of time pantsless. As you do. Andrew found her one such time wearing naught but a t-shirt. “Nora, you’re naked!” he said.
She looked down at herself, and then looked back at him with genuine confusion. “I not naked, I still wearing a shirt.”
She was right. She was.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
California
Last week we went on a secret vacation to California. I didn’t say anything before we left because I didn’t want to advertise that our house was empty because isn’t that one of the things you’re not supposed to do on the internet? Tell all the crazy people that your house will be empty for a week? So I didn’t tell you. But now we’re back, and I can tell you ALLLL about it, which will actually just me putting a bunch of pictures up here. Modern day vacation slides.
Hey, did I ever tell you about a history teacher I had in high school who literally showed us vacation slides? He and his friend “Mel” traveled around… Europe? I think? And took a bunch of pictures of each other crouched in front of large landmarks that honestly would not have been blocked at all if they had just stood up like normal people. That guy was weird. He also got the Mexican and Spanish-American Wars mixed up when he taught them to us. Or rather, when he taught one of them to us but added details from the other one. Remember the Maine! And Tyler too! Or something!
Right. California. So last December, my college friend Dr. Lapp (not her real name) who married an adorable Argentinian named Pato but whom Nora calls “Pasta,” came home to spend Christmas with the Lapp Family. (I mention that he is Argentinian only so I can tell you that we went to their wedding in Buenos Aires, and if you ever get invited to a wedding in Buenos Aires you should go. Those people know how to throw a party. Food! Entertainment! Dancing! More food! More dancing! More food! Hey, look at that, it’s 5am!) We managed to get together for lunch during which Dr. Lapp and Pasta let slip that they recently bought a gigantic house with fifteen to twenty extra bedrooms and that we should come visit. “Really?” we said, “Because we will.” So we did.
First of all, I may have taken some creative license there, because Dr. Lapp’s and Pasta’s house is really only FIVE bedrooms. But it is gorgeous. And so well-decorated. It’s like grown-ups live there. I honestly do not understand how people know what furniture and artwork to buy so that it all GOES together like that. And they’re not really done, as they still have to furnish several of the bedrooms. I have to say, if I had several bedrooms to furnish from scratch, I think the pressure would kill me. It’s helpful to have a slew of hand-me-down stuff to start with if you are decorationally-challenged, as I am.
Since Dr. Lapp and Pasta’s 23-bedroom house is a convenient half hour away from Disneyland, we bought a three-day park hopper pass and spent Monday, Wednesday, and Friday there. I have passed the point in life where Disneyland is where I’d spend my vacation, given a choice of anywhere, but that’s if it were just me. Taking little kids to Disneyland is something else entirely, and lordy, it was fun.
I had been worried that there wouldn’t be anything for Nora to do, but she could do almost everything! Her favorite thing was the Dumbo ride (“I rode effants!”) and her only complaint was that it was way too short, a message she conveyed by screaming and yelling when it was time to get off. Jack’s favorite thing was Splash Mountain, because I seem to have become the mother of someone old enough and tall enough to ride actual roller coasters. Please explain how that happened. Here’s what Nora did while Jack and Andrew rode Splash Mountain:
That’s Baby Minnie Mouse, who is Nora’s new favorite character, and whom she calls “Money.” Also, Minnie came with a sort of Velcro swaddling blanket that kept falling off, and Nora would say “I need help!” and then, “She’s very very very very very cold,” as we reswaddled her.
Speaking of Minnie, Nora was typical about meeting the characters. From far away, she was all about giving them hugs, but as soon as we got close she would cry. So we waited for a minute at Mickey’s house but when she lost interest, we left. She insisted upon waiting to meet Minnie, however, so I forced her to go through with the photo.
She looks thrilled, yes?
There were, all things considered, minimal tantrums or meltdowns at Disneyland, if you don’t count mine. But I was sick, so it totally doesn’t count. ANYONE would have been grumpy, trust me on this.
The days we weren’t at Disneyland we went to a local science museum, the beach, and a tiny nearby airport to eat lunch and watch the planes take off. Then we went swimming in the backyard pool of my friends’ 35-bedroom home. All told, it was a really fun, fabulous trip. And may I take this opportunity to say that we receive multiple compliments on our well-behaved children on each of the four different flights we took, so we win. (Seriously, the plane rides were easy! EASY! I don’ t know how we got so lucky.)
Hey, did I ever tell you about a history teacher I had in high school who literally showed us vacation slides? He and his friend “Mel” traveled around… Europe? I think? And took a bunch of pictures of each other crouched in front of large landmarks that honestly would not have been blocked at all if they had just stood up like normal people. That guy was weird. He also got the Mexican and Spanish-American Wars mixed up when he taught them to us. Or rather, when he taught one of them to us but added details from the other one. Remember the Maine! And Tyler too! Or something!
Right. California. So last December, my college friend Dr. Lapp (not her real name) who married an adorable Argentinian named Pato but whom Nora calls “Pasta,” came home to spend Christmas with the Lapp Family. (I mention that he is Argentinian only so I can tell you that we went to their wedding in Buenos Aires, and if you ever get invited to a wedding in Buenos Aires you should go. Those people know how to throw a party. Food! Entertainment! Dancing! More food! More dancing! More food! Hey, look at that, it’s 5am!) We managed to get together for lunch during which Dr. Lapp and Pasta let slip that they recently bought a gigantic house with fifteen to twenty extra bedrooms and that we should come visit. “Really?” we said, “Because we will.” So we did.
First of all, I may have taken some creative license there, because Dr. Lapp’s and Pasta’s house is really only FIVE bedrooms. But it is gorgeous. And so well-decorated. It’s like grown-ups live there. I honestly do not understand how people know what furniture and artwork to buy so that it all GOES together like that. And they’re not really done, as they still have to furnish several of the bedrooms. I have to say, if I had several bedrooms to furnish from scratch, I think the pressure would kill me. It’s helpful to have a slew of hand-me-down stuff to start with if you are decorationally-challenged, as I am.
Since Dr. Lapp and Pasta’s 23-bedroom house is a convenient half hour away from Disneyland, we bought a three-day park hopper pass and spent Monday, Wednesday, and Friday there. I have passed the point in life where Disneyland is where I’d spend my vacation, given a choice of anywhere, but that’s if it were just me. Taking little kids to Disneyland is something else entirely, and lordy, it was fun.
I had been worried that there wouldn’t be anything for Nora to do, but she could do almost everything! Her favorite thing was the Dumbo ride (“I rode effants!”) and her only complaint was that it was way too short, a message she conveyed by screaming and yelling when it was time to get off. Jack’s favorite thing was Splash Mountain, because I seem to have become the mother of someone old enough and tall enough to ride actual roller coasters. Please explain how that happened. Here’s what Nora did while Jack and Andrew rode Splash Mountain:
That’s Baby Minnie Mouse, who is Nora’s new favorite character, and whom she calls “Money.” Also, Minnie came with a sort of Velcro swaddling blanket that kept falling off, and Nora would say “I need help!” and then, “She’s very very very very very cold,” as we reswaddled her.
Speaking of Minnie, Nora was typical about meeting the characters. From far away, she was all about giving them hugs, but as soon as we got close she would cry. So we waited for a minute at Mickey’s house but when she lost interest, we left. She insisted upon waiting to meet Minnie, however, so I forced her to go through with the photo.
She looks thrilled, yes?
There were, all things considered, minimal tantrums or meltdowns at Disneyland, if you don’t count mine. But I was sick, so it totally doesn’t count. ANYONE would have been grumpy, trust me on this.
The days we weren’t at Disneyland we went to a local science museum, the beach, and a tiny nearby airport to eat lunch and watch the planes take off. Then we went swimming in the backyard pool of my friends’ 35-bedroom home. All told, it was a really fun, fabulous trip. And may I take this opportunity to say that we receive multiple compliments on our well-behaved children on each of the four different flights we took, so we win. (Seriously, the plane rides were easy! EASY! I don’ t know how we got so lucky.)
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