All we did was spend a day on the lake yesterday but today it feels like it was a week long party cruise. And this is from someone who snuck back onto the boat for two naps.
Ryan’s best childhood friend has a family house on Beaver Lake with his six siblings and we got a coveted invite this year. Their first adults-only weekend get together. Although I’d never met them, their reputation had preceded them as funny and loud and good company. Fifteen minutes in and I was already gushing over them to them. Warm people. Instantly.
My floppy hat flew off en route to a cove and I screamed as if it were my wallet.
I’d gotten up at 430 to go to the gym, skipped breakfast, and immediately entered vacation mode upon arrival, so by late afternoon after jabbering to anyone within earshot of my noodle, I was already floating on my back fast asleep hanging onto the anchor rope.
14 hours after arriving we drove back home, kinda wishing we took up the offer to stay over. It was a short and fun adventure with the Redington crew, but it worked out because Ruth lost her second tooth while we were gone and only we had the special gold coins. She’d dropped it in the yard and left a note and drawing.
The kittens loved dad. He’s like the cat whisperer. I hope he told them they’re getting evicted to the garage next week after their surgeries. Mom got scolded by the girls for yelling at the cats. I don’t blame her though, they’re so obnoxious, but they’ve helped confirm that I will never get a baby animal ever again.
The night before, we turned on some 60s music and had a dance party. Mom likes to remind us that she grew up during the best decades of music.
And when mom read a chapter of their book and skipped over a few lines, Annie called her out. The era of jumping over sentences to speed up the book is over and we all grieved the loss.
Last Friday was a scorcher, so they scrubbed down the van. The day before, Ruthie begged to go through a car wash but I just couldn’t justify it.
After a good 45 minutes wiping it down, they spent another 45 on the porch filling buckets and playing with the hose. I live for mornings like these.
Annie has been on a love note kick, painting pictures of us then writing the sweetest things on them, folding them up and pretending they’re pieces of trash she randomly found. On one of her last days of school this year she’d painted me a self-portrait and her teacher framed it. She put it by my bed and said “This is me. If you wake up in the night and are scared, just look at me.”
I said, You guys. It’s just me and three of you. Please just listen to what I say and don’t go nuts.
So we went to the Splash Pad, which on the scale of venturing out solo is like a 2, but you just never know. And honestly, I always expect the worst, especially hauling Gertie around. I should’ve known there’d be no issue though since she and water are best buds.
Right off, they found “Camille” in the plants. She’s the lady bug that I somehow convinced is the same one they’ve been seeing since last year when they had to send her back into the garden. They were so worried about her, but ended up reuniting this spring. How amazing that she remembered where they lived and even visited them at the splash pad. What a great gal.
Ryan and I have a few fun things coming up this summer. One of which is leading a new small group through our church. I really never thought we would, but the stars have aligned with another couple to get one going. And, after taking a year off to rest on Sunday evenings (which I absolutely needed and was thankful for), we’re ready to jump back in. You can get kind of eyes-glazed-over when you hear them say over and over while urging people to join one: We’re not a church with community groups, we’re a church made up of them. But now I fully understand the need to have a constant small circle around you.
I’ve only shared with a few people, and not even with my family, but about a month ago I had what I think was a nervous breakdown. Ryan had to come home early every day for almost a week. I was incapable of doing much beyond a simple meal: (think pb&js for dinner). I spent most of the week crying: in bed, in Gertie’s therapy waiting room, with her therapists, in the shower, at dinner. During nap/movie times, I would walk around the backyard sobbing and praying for help. From my core praying. It was probably the scariest it’s ever gotten. I guess in the midst of the news recently, I should add that it never got to a point where I was worried of what I’d do, but I wonder what it would’ve looked like if I didn’t have that single thread of communication directly to God, the frailest of threads that was somehow strong enough to keep me upright.
Afterwards I casually shared that experience with a friend and she asked me whydidn’t I reach out to her. She would’ve been the first person called too. I can share the deepest of my neuroses with her and there’s no judgement. We’ve done online bible studies together. She is a children’s pastor for goodness sakes. So why when I hit bottom did I not call? But I do know why. For someone, and maybe you’re the same way, it’s hard to ask for help. I want someone to just know without me having to explain everything. I want them to proactively send me a text. I want them to show up with a dinner (because everyone knows that’s a mom’s holy grail, a pre-made meal). Even Ryan said that he does me a disservice because whenever anyone asks about us (alluding to life with Gertie), it’s always positive. It’s always, “Great! She’s continuously improving! Hooray Tada!” And while I can see his point of only sharing the good news, it also isolates us from help when we need it. On the flip side, it’s helped me learn what I need to look for and do for others.
This is why we’re excited to start back in with a group. To have people who keep up with us (and us them) weekly, where no one will be expected to cold call a friend from ground zero. Where we can see the progression of a snowball going down hill and either all stand in front of it mid-descent or rebuild it after it shatters at the bottom. I so understand now why these face-to-face relationships are important.
And just to update, I feel really good right now. Another friend mentioned that trauma and the brain go through cycles, showing its recurring face like clockwork. Is it related to when Gertie was born and all that followed? I don’t know. I wouldn’t be surprised if it had a little to do with it. But in the aftermath of everything a month ago, I feel different. I’m starting to be intentional. I am repeating to her the same things I say to the others: I am proud of you. You are a good girl. You make me happy. And she does. She really does, if I’ll just let her. But I do feel it happening. Her personality is coming out and I find myself laughing a lot at her.
Here she is stringing two “words” together (don’t mind her stained shirt). Two words/sounds in a row are a critical step in speech. Yesterday, when Ryan came home, I carried her out to meet him and he said “Hi Gertie!” and she responded without me cueing her a clear “Hi Dada”. Today, at the splash pad a girl came up to her little fountain and said Hi and Gertie said Hi back. To understand conversation, the back and forth. We are so hopeful.
Ryan has been amazing at giving me the evenings to run. And while I can’t do anything but gain weight, it has been very therapeutic mentally for me. Those evenings have been, along with my monthly meeting with a mentor, and then our book club that’s been meeting for the past six months. It has shoved me back into reading, where now I want to do nothing else at night except read. A friend’s therapist told her that reading activates the same part of the brain as hypnosis so is a great way to “self-medicate.” But the book clubs! We’ve been choosing restaurants/flavors relating to the books and it’s so fun. I love the different personalities and we’re at the point now where no opinion goes unsaid (I kicked that off with my book choice that no one liked, ha!)
Our first night. When I made everyone wear name tags and answer an ice breaker question. That lasted one time.
And Ruthie has already asked when we can do a book club together. The other night she wanted to lay in bed with me while Ryan worked in the living room. So she got her reader books, I got mine and it was so comfortable and exactly what I’d hoped to do with my child. I told her once she gets into 2nd or 3rd grade we’ll start it up.
In our makeshift creek again today. 😆 We are the epitome of trash and I’m happy they’ll one day say, remember how we’d play in that big puddle everyday?
I struggle with guilt every darn day. And not to sound one-uppity, it’s a 100 million times worse than regular ole mom guilt. With a special needs kid, you can tell yourself at any second of any day that you should be doing more with them: working on standing up, walking in her walker, practicing her words. You can spiral so deep into the she isn’t progressing because I’m not working with her any chance I get.
And yet I have to believe that letting her sit in a puddle all afternoon in the sunshine is just as beneficial. I have to or I’ll go crazy and I’m already halfway there anyway.
I have a second blog where I let a literal stream of consciousness flow from my fingertips. Where questions and accusations and love and hatred and shame and pride all come to an intersection of prayer. It always ends in prayer unintentionally. But because it’s easier for me to write than to say, and since i hardly take time to pray, I feel God meeting me in the easiest way possible.
The overnight train trip: a cautionary tale. Be forewarned, I get hyped up about the littlest things. Did Ryan think it was as cool as I did? Eh, maybe not as much, but he still enjoyed the adventure. Do your standards have to be set low? Yes. This is not the Hilton. But the characters on board, along with the cozy privacy of the bedroom is worth not being fussy.
We finally arrived at the train station, a different station than planned in fact. There were mudslides up the coast of Washington and so they had to bus us to the next depot just north of us. We were a little bummed because that was the only hour of daylight we’d have looking out onto the countryside.
But, here we were, happy to be boarding anyway.
As you might expect, everything is tight. (I feel like I’m turning into the Amtrak ambassador here. I even started daydreaming about a train-only vacation blog, but then time and money snapped me back to reality.)
Do you see the window? Do you see the silver door jam? That’s our room. Pack light is all I’m saying. Two chairs facing each other (with a table in between) turn into a bed with an upper one ready to come down when needed. The carpeted end table next to me is actually the stair for the bunkbed.
You could not have pinched me harder. I said at least 1000 times, “Isn’t this fun?” We had an attendant named Gul who over-enunciated the “s” sound at the end of words: “Yesssss, your dinner serviccccccce issss going on now.” So we headed to the dining car for dinner. (FYI: If you reserve a sleeper car, your meals are free. Your welcome, Ambassador Carolyn.)
It’s like a bed and breakfast where they sit you with strangers which… I like. People intrigue me. And there were several that made me feel like we were truly in a movie. The two young Australian friends checking off a bucket list before they head back. (They also watched a rocket take off in Florida. It was cancelled the first day because a plane flew right into it’s path before launching. So they had to defuel and refuel the rocket the next day, costing hundreds of thousands of dollars. I laughed so hard. Can you imagine being that pilot? That would so be me, just minding my own business, ruining official government procedures.) Anyway, it was an enjoyable dinner, especially since Ryan could get his Australian itch scratched, talking about his college adventures there.
There was one guy we called The Major. He practically shouted everything he said and was also eager to talk with everyone, a potent combination. Every sentence was a joke where he himself laughed the loudest. Another was a lady who used to be homeless, now with a roommate and a house, traveling to Seattle to visit her homeless friends. She showed us many pictures of said house and I couldn’t have beamed brighter for her.
I’ve found that learning people’s stories, and letting them talk, has become one of my favorite things. They are so interesting, aren’t they? And I can truly say that I’ve never appreciated them more than I do right now in my life.
Maybe I’m just nosy. But I think it’s more than that.
Bedtime was the ultimate part of the ride for me. We had our own little night lights. The train rocked side to side, gently though, and it would speed up and slow down at the stops. It was lovely. Every person I asked how they slept, said “Great!”, usually surprised at their own answer. I was just as surprised in the morning too.
Meanwhile, as we were taking in the silence, the girls were ratcheting it up at Jama & Da-dads. Gertie’s starting to act ornery which is a good and bad thing. It’s a relief for something to feel normal, but it’s annoying too. This series of pictures texted to us pretty much summed up the progression.
Thank you for holding down the fort, in-laws!! I’ll mail you some Excedrin.
When we woke up, it was early morning. I had to apply my make-up in the window reflection. Expectations low, people. I probably still asked Ryan if he was loving this like me, even while messily applying my eye-liner.
We had rented a car in Whitefish, MT so we could drive to Glacier National Park. In the winter the park rangers host snowshoeing hikes for free. I’d never been hiking in snow before, so off we went.
We stopped several times to listen to our ranger give lessons…..very….slowly. It was almost painful, how long the pauses were between words. For all my previous appreciation of people, I was about to break down in impatience. Like, I’d started hoping the mountain lion she said to look out for would actually relieve me of my misery. I’d see it in the woods and would just walk over to it and lay down by its mouth.
After a suspenseful ten minute lead-in, we finally found out that across the river was a 50 year old beaver den.
Mamasita hadn’t eaten since 6:30 that morning and it was nearing 1pm, after a 2 hour hike. We’d heard that the restaurant at the top of Whitefish Resort’s summit was really good. So we bought lift tickets and headed that way.
Okay. Can we pause here to remember that I’ve become (ironically, unafraid to admit) AFRAID?! I’m not a ski bunny. I tremble at the thought of going down a hill with zero brakes. And let’s also not forget, I don’t have the ski lift finesse needed to fake any sense of belonging. The guy who sold me the tickets said that this one goes very fast. I said, Fine, no problem. Inside I was quaking.
We stood in line and it was very peaceful. Watching little groups getting on the lift, shuffling their way out and hopping on. And then the attendant, a lady sturdier than nfl linebackers, turned to see us next. She’d not uttered a word since we got there, but once our feet hit the front of the line, she yelled “COME UP. PUT YOUR FEET HERE. NOT THERE. RIGHT HERE. MOVE FORWARD. IT’S COMING. IT’S COMING. SIT DOWN. SIT DOWN. PULL YOUR LEGS UP. PULL THE BAR DOWN NOOOOWWWWWWwwwwwww!” And I think she was still yelling at us halfway up the mountain. If I hadn’t been scared out of my mind, I would’ve laughed at how ridiculous that scene must’ve looked to the regulars.
I cried turning around in the seat to get this picture of the town below.
We got to the top, ordered our food. Hamburgers, poutine, and pho: a natural combo. I pushed a table to the side of a balcony and we, again, people watched. In silence. We sat there for a long time too, because I dreaded going back down the mountain.
When we got off the lift, there was the linebacker ready for us, with the same commands. It was all a blur.
We had a few hours to kill before getting back on the train, and since we’d already done the three things we really wanted to do (Pike Place Market, Snowshoeing at Glacier, & the Summit Restaurant), we decided to go to the movies. And both promptly fell asleep.
After another night on board, we woke up to watch the last bit of Washington go by before arriving in Seattle. We crossed over the fastest moving creeks I’ve ever seen. There were whitecaps all over it, just forcing its way down the mountain. It was gorgeous. We saw trees that we don’t get to experience in the south. And squinted our eyes at the constant glare of snow on the ground.
Have you heard the saying “You can travel the world, only to come back and see your home for the first time.” Or something like that. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that while we saw so many fun things and made wonderful memories, there’s nothing quite like home. It made us love it more.
It’s already been a week two weeks since Ruthie’s 3rd birthday and I can tell she’s already growing up. When I tell her the show is over and time to go to bed: “Mommy you have GOT to listen to me. There was still some show left. You’re just not listening to me.” Or justifying her poo-poo jokes by saying “You don’t think it’s funny, but I do.” Well, dang. How can I argue with that?! But then there are moments like tonight in our (non-existant) garden where she digs a hole, runs to bring water in the watering can, and pours it over her hole. I ask what she’s growing…. “A fairy god-mother.” I simultaneously go awwwww and then say Yeah, good luck with that one. The deer will eat her before you get a Bibbidy-Bobbidy.
Anyway, back to her birthday. I had what I was calling a glorified play date with her friends… because it’s time she learns, if she hasn’t already (we all remember the Mary Poppins shenanigans), that her mom is not creative in a crafty way. In my head I’m creative, it’s just hard to connect that thought to my fingers. My email to the moms started off with a goonies reference, which then spurred a mom to post a still from the movie.
Hmmmm…..
Yep, I’m going for it. When was the last time kids played pin the tail on anything? I’m bringing it back!
I went to Staples and bought their $3 engineer print of that pic, and that night Ryan and I started coloring it. After watching him use 4 different colors to create a skin tone, I grabbed the dang peach pencil and went to town. Seriously. It’s 3 year olds, Ryan.
I decorated the backyard which to me means moving chairs around and plopping her easle nearby. Done. Here it is kids… don’t be scared.
Oh, hold up. I did do a pinterest activity. Fishing poles with magnets to catch fish with paperclips. Yeah, I think only one fish was caught, and that’s because the magnet was already attached. Whatever, I tried.
It was pretty low key. We sang to Ruthie immediately, during which she looked at me to sit next to her. I was just happy she stayed there and didn’t cry. She’s been regressing a little into a shyer version of her once outgoing self. But I get it. I’m one way with a group, and another one-on-one. I’ll sit next to ya, girl, don’t worry.
Then we just played and talked. Some of the boys were throwing pinecones on top of our detached garage/shed roof… when our mower-guy came that afternoon, he found a copperhead in that same area. I spent the rest of the night imagining everything that could’ve happened. I guess that’s where my creativeness comes into play: Imagining the worst of every situation until I can’t sleep at night. Stay away spider if you value your life. Annie was going nuts, so I asked Mandy to head up the baby ruth game. I really think it was a hit!
One mom commented on the bottles I used for the lemonade and asked if I made my own wine. Why, yes I do! Okay once I did (of dandelion wine) and have never since, but still. And randomly I had one tiny bottle in our fridge that we’ve lugged around for over 4 years. Why? I have no idea… it became sort of like a pet. So I broke it out for a quick taste test to which we all agreed that one tasting was plenting. I swear, don’t light matches next to that stuff, it’ll you’ll scorch your date. Out the rest was poured on the other dandelions in the yard. This is for my homie….
A few days prior we visted my brother’s house where Ruthie and Annie ate about 3 tons of grapes just because they could and because I wanted them to be quiet so the adults could talk. Think of all the crappy wine I could’ve made with those grapes.
We also had a family over that we hadn’t seen in about a year. They were in our birthing classes while I was pregnant with Ruthie, so it was fitting to see them so soon to her birth-day. This mama has 5 kids, homeschools, and still wears make-up. It all intrigues me. Ruthie was in heaven chasing her kids everywhere and making pinecone creations with them. Sometimes Ruthie pulls away shyly, and other times she is instantly someone’s shadow. Annie is the same way and they both just took to these kids so quickly. The parents talked until 10:30 (!!!) and it wasn’t until the last ten minutes when the kids started getting restless and over-tired.
So fun. When I see all her kids running around it makes me want to have a gaggle of my own. Ryan would at least like to try.
Woah. These introverts had two weekends in a row where (don’t say it too loudly) people stayed over. I guess we’re only semi-introverts, because we sure do love company.
First up was my sister. She arrived Valentines day, just in time for me to receive a chocolate-covered strawberry delivery from Ryan. It was sweet. I think it was a groupon too. He remembers, when we were dating, me saying, $5 LIMIT! Looking back, I should’ve milked that holiday.
In walked Amy and Wiley. Ruth loves dogs.. and took advantage of following Wiley around whenever she could. And both nights Wiley would lay under the table to hide from her. That night we celebrated Amy and Des’ birthday. February is the gauntlet of birthdays in our family. Every day from Feb 11 to Feb 15 a birthday is had. Apparently May 7 to May 11 is a happening time between lovebirds.
I can see that. The birds are chirping, the breezes are blowing, the kids are still in school for a couple more weeks so let’s get it on before our energy is zapped all summer, yeah… I see the romance.
Anyway, we had the birthday girls over and celebrated with a sundae bar, complete with a bucket of ice cream and a candelabra.
If you haven’t heard (you must be living in a cave if you haven’t), this is my year for surviving. I was just happy candles were anywhere in the vicinity. I’m scared that Ryan may just get a Bic lighter stuck in a bowl of Frosted Mini Wheats for his birthday coming up. I’ve only got three more months to use the Surviving excuse, so might as well get the most out of it.
Candles were blown, ice cream was eaten, and talks of the world;s end commenced. I had just gotten to a peaceful mental place not 2 weeks ago about that stuff. And then they started talking and now I’m trying to widdle every piece of stone I see into an arrowhead so I can “protect my babes.”
At some point we went to sleep and woke up to a cold, frigid day.
Ruthie wouldn’t eat her eggs. It was a stand off and mama always wins.
Ryan wouldn’t do a dare and eat some of Wiley’s buffalo jerky, so he was made to do three cartwheels in the front yard. The mailman didn’t even acknowledge him.
Snow was still on the ground, so we made a mini snowman.
And Ruthie felt compelled to eat the carrot nose. I was happy she was eating veggies.
After spending a bit of time outside, we laid around and watched movies, one of which was Watcher in the Woods. If you haven’t watched this gem of a thriller, please go do so now. I’ll wait for you.
Done? I know, wasn’t the main girl so annoying? Anywho…
We literally sat and relaxed until Amy left the next morning. It was a rare (and welcomed!) experience for me, but I needed that rest for the energy that was about to come the following day:
My sister Lisa and her two daughters!
There was a three minute window before toys were played with and coloring began. You know I loved it.
I cut up some oranges for them, but Ruthie hoarded them like it was her job.That night we had a very breathy game of “kicking and hitting a balloon in the air without letting it touch the ground.” Welcome to Arkansas, kids, this is your entertainment. It consisted of me and Lisa sitting our lazy bottoms on the couch while the little ‘uns ran around hitting the balloons to us. I pulled a muscle reaching my toe out to keep one from touching the ground. It was pathetic.
It’s my year of surviving. Next year I’ll dive for that sucker.Then we asked Uncle Ryan to read a story.
He pulled many accents out of his arsenal for his captive audience.
Then Elayna read a book and tried her hand at accents.This was the result:Before we went to bed, the girls asked if we could go bowling the next day. I said yes immediately, but then laid in bed wondering how I was going to survive. (It’s all about me this year.) My mind flipped through its mental pinterest and woke up with a suggestion.
Could we make our own bowling alley? It would be top-notch.
I braced myself for looks of disappointment, groans, and maybe an eye-roll, because I was sure they’d read my Mary Poppins crafts post, but apparently they don’t read my blog because they were both so excited! It made my heart happy.
We ate breakfast, cleaned up, and got to it.
Lisa and Kate were in charge of coloring the water bottle pins. Elayna tackled the scoreboard and Ruthie.. I don’t know what Ruth was doing. Just do something and don’t whine. Please!
After an hour or so of prep work, we were ready to go outside under our carport area. The part of the house that I was actually super excited about when we first viewed the home.
Welcome to Boom Bowling Alley!
Bowling on a sunny day? Yes, please. Ruthie whined only a little. Nothing a bag of popcorn couldn’t help stop. She robbed the concession stand even though we were all given fake money. Whatever.I was able to not wear make-up and nurse at ease.
Afterwards we ran around, played soccer, and got dirty. It was my favorite kind of day.
The neighbor boy who is Elayna’s age came over to throw a Frisbee and I’ve never seen Elayna run so quickly before. Inside she went, stating that she really just wanted to “finish this page/chapter/series and can’t come back out.” Ah, the flutters of nervousness around boys. Maybe next time.
Ruthie was all sorts of flutters around Lisa’s nail polish. Immediately when she saw them, she said, “I like your nails!” Lisa thanked her and then off Ruthie went to the other room where it became quiet. That’s never a good sign so I checked in on her.
Ruthie!!
Just wanted to be like her auntie. Can’t blame her.
Ruthie could have slept next to her cousin every night if I let her. And when they had to leave, she pulled out her makeshift violin (out of two sticks) and played a farewell tune.
That tune only had to last a few days though, because we invited a family over that following weekend for dinner. Somewhere along the line, dinner turned into a sleepover. They have six kids and if I were barely surviving with just two, I can’t imagine with six. So instead of making them come over and immediately pack the crew up a few hours later, I suggested they crash so the parents could have alone time longer.
Which ended up being 2:30am and in Carolyn time that was like pulling an all nighter. Whew!
But I was strangely perky the next day even without coffee, because it was the most beautiful day outside, ever. Mid-February and I rocked a tank top and my skin got pink.
More girls = more people for Ruthie to stalk. They dove into the dress up box and came out looking awesome.
And why shouldn’t they have? We had a picnic to get to people! Their dad broke out (our) guitar (that still hasn’t been played by Ryan, ahem) and sang songs for hours while we drank a beer in the sun. Probably the best combo on earth.I heard snapping in a Z-formation behind me and turned around to see Ruth making her entrance. Work it, girl.Magicians arrived pulling The Never-Ending Scarf out of the Hat trick. Afterwards we tried to strike it rich, but only came up with random pieces of metal.As we were lounging inside, something caught my eye and I ran to the window.
Nuh uh.
Forts were in the process of being made, supported by sticks and designed around areas of clover “to keep it comfortable.”
But the kicker was the book laying on the ground.
The Little Prince!
You have got to be kidding me. Does anyone remember when I wrote a whole post on that darn book? Of course you don’t, so let me link it here: The Little Prince post.
Sigh. When I picture Ruthie playing outside by herself, it’s like this. A random book tossed to the side while she climbs a tree wrapped in blankets. You had better be taking notes, young missy.
The family stayed for dinner the next night and then had to leave.
Ruthie never saw them go.
She was out.
But good thing she got some sleep because more visitors came the next afternoon! Jesyka and David! And even more music was played for us. I love these two!
And just because I want to brag on him, David is part of a bluegrassy band called Sons of Otis Malone. You can’t not feel good while listening to them. I dare ya to feel bad:
See? Ya can’t.
All of these caring, funny, talented, and interesting people in our life and we so love having each of them in it.
What a dreary dreary start to Easter weekend. Ryan had Good Friday off and we spent the day organizing and cleaning so we wouldn’t think about anything else on Saturday and Sunday. Little Ruth had other plans… like, getting sick Saturday night. So we three spooned our way into Easter morning and took the day slow. It ended up being a gorgeous day and we were thankful that Ruth could get some fresh air.
Before that, though, it looked like this: So after breakfast, I broke out an easy Easter craft for us to do. Ribbon, tissue paper, and contact paper. Now that’s my kind of craft project. I quickly cut an egg shape out of the contact paper, showed it to Ryan and he shook his head. That’s how we differ. I just jump in and get going, but he likes to make sure everything’s nice and straight and even before, I don’t know, laying down train tracks for instance. I’m pretty much my dad in that regard. I don’t know if the model train in their basement actually runs smoothly on the tracks, but man those are some nice mountains and trees!
Oh well. He’s a good complement to me.
I showed Ruthie how to get started and after crying for a few minutes (that should’ve been our first sign she wasn’t feeling well – she’s happiest in the morning), she got to it.
Me, in my squealing nature, got really excited that Ruth squished up the tissue paper before putting it on the egg. And as always with information overload, I then had to explain what “adding texture” was. She slowly turned her head to look at me. I took the hint and shut up.
Then we ran over and put in our window. It’ll probably be there all summer. Deal with it, people.
We also gave Ruth her Easter basket. Well, it wasn’t a basket, actually. I keep saying “next year” “next year”. I’ve got a lot of things to do before next year. I mean, for her first birthday, we grilled hamburgers and wrapped toys from her toy box. She was excited to see the soccer ball that she’d already been playing with for two months prior. It’s probably laziness (or being snobby), but I just can’t get into the whole first birthday party thing. Next year though. Next year will be fun!
So this Easter, however, instead of a basket, we brought in a little piano found during a thrifting venture on our weekend away. (It was given to her on our clean up day, so don’t judge.) She didn’t touch the keys for the first five minutes, but chose to inspect all sides of it instead. We all breathed a sigh of relief when it passed her inspections. The audience was spellbound: and all it took was one gesture from the pianist to said audience member… before Cleaning Day was thrown out the window and recreating the theme song for Elmo’s World became the most important task of the day. Some nights we will literally watch him “composing” for thirty minutes straight. I can’t wait until Ruthie’s old enough where we can share side glances at each other, then giggle. She has taken it to though, and every so often will run to her little shelf and pull out the one book that shows a muppet playing the piano.
Hope everyone had a good weekend and holiday. It, of course, went by way too fast.
Just a month late. Right on schedule to talking about my family’s get together at a nearby lake. It was drought, drought, drought until my family decides to spend time outdoors. And then rain (which because of said drought, we couldn’t complain about). In fact, it held off for most of the weekend and only really hit hard on our drive home.
We arrived in the dark, walked into the guest house and I immediately ate half a box of cookies my sister brought. Because, you see, she gave me a compliment on looking as if I’d lost some baby weight. That in of itself gives me the right to shove my face with sweets. Hey, I’m on vacation. Even if it’s in my own neck of the woods.
So because we couldn’t see anything pulling into the drive, we weren’t able to see the great lawn area fit for a volleyball king.
We did take advantage of the semi-screened in porch, though. We didn’t see the little holes in the screen until the next morning when I wondered how my ankles could have been eaten alive just on my walk into the house. Ah yes, the mosquitos probably chewed their way through it in hopes they could keep me from continuously talking about my backahe. So finally they shooed me in, but as I was settling into the a/c, a scream was heard on the porch. Does someone else have a backache too? No, E was telling a story and right in the middle of it, a grasshopper landed on her chest. The scream was so brutally high and loud, the grasshopper could’ve been the size of a gremlin. The one with a mohawk. Oh we laughed so hard, but E was not ready to laugh at herself and quickly took to her room.
The grasshopper was forgotten the next morning and out we were again. I wish we had a screen in porch.
M wishes he had a lake. To each their own.
After a quick breakfast, we got dressed and headed down to the lawn for a game of volleyball.
For as much as I complained about my back, it took only one ball about to touch the ground for me to lunge and plie and genuflect my way to not let it drop. Seriously, I thought I was on the Olympic team. And somehow we only got Bronze. Whatever.
We also hung out on the dock. At one point the kids were debating about getting in the water. So Uncle R took off his pants (yes, he had swim trunks on underneath) and charged down the dock to jump in the water. I was so proud of him in that moment. When you’re a kid, there’s nothing better than one of the adults getting on your level. That’s all it took for them to follow him in. All except little K, who would run run run and then stop at the edge. Run run run and stop. That is, until we saw lightening and hollered at them to get ouf of the lake. No, that’s when K jumped in. Stinker.
So as thunderclouds threatened us, we spend the majority of the day lounging on the lawn. I think my dad was up in the screen in porch reading his lastest book. I always say I’m going to read when I go somewhere, but I never make an effort. I wish I did though, talk about relaxing..
R showed cousin W her graham cracker.
And then out ran Kim Kardashian as her mom called her. Big sunglasses, swimsuit, places to be. I sincerely hope paparazzi were no where near for what was about to happen.
After seeing R given a superman lift, my sister A decided to give it a spin.
Everyone avoided eye contact.
Yet we couldn’t take our eyes off of L doing her latest stretching move. The last time we all camped out together, I swear L showed us about 30 different yoga moves. It may have been the spirits in her glass that loosened her up, but all I know is that it was a long and intense workout. For us. From trying not to laugh. She never broke a sweat.
So in honor of that memory, she graced us with her outstretched legs’ presence once again.
Talk about legs. Look at those rolls!
Sigh.
She must have heard me.
Before we left, we got together for some group shots. If this photo doesn’t capture how Ruth is grandpa junior, I don’t know what does. Now, when she wakes up, her hair is all tosseled giving her a mad scientist look that I always associate with my dad. There’s one photo in their basement with him holding up a string of fish and the biggest grin on his face. Looks like R got that gene.
And then one of the whole gang, including those of the four-legged kind.
Good times!
It’s been a busy couple weeks, but let me catch you up in one area:
My sister and her family’s visit to The Shack. It was their kids’ Spring Break and the rest of the kids in their classes were off to beaches or other exotic places. I wish I were a fly on the wall when E told her classmates that she traipsed across the midwest to stay at a mobile home in Arkansas.
She’s still too young to leave out specific details like that.
So, what to do?
How about a picnic? The weather in early March was beautiful.
I threw some blankets and pillows down, set up an unused door as the table, and then got to work…
…but not without helpers.
The menu was extremely fancy: Peanut Butter & Nutella sandwiches, apples, popcorn, and trail mix.
Pretty sure E’s friends were eating the same delicacies.
Well, we tried though, making them special by wrapping them in wax paper & ribbon.
Others were relaxing while we put on the finishing touches.
The table was set.
Entertainment in the form of poetry was performed.
But that’s not all we did, even though I would’ve been happy with laying around in the sun.
The night they arrived, I mentioned to the kids that I had an activity for them to do. They immediately decided we were going to milk a cow.
And I immediately decided to never let a kid guess what we’re going to do again. I suggested they lower their standards a teeny bit and guess again, but they were determined to milk that cow.
Sigh.
So I waited until the last possible second to tell them we were only going on a mini-scavenger hunt around The Shack’s back roads.
Before doing so, I pulled ten year old W to the side and assured him that I knew this was too young of a game for him, but to just play along.
Actually, R asked me to do that.
He said that W would appreciate the nod towards his emerging maturity, even if it were something he would have liked anyway. And heck if I know what a young boy likes, so I followed R’s instructions to a T.
Halfway through the hunt, we stopped to take photos with our neighbors. They’re the only neighbors that wave at us. Usually it’s just to flick flies away with their tail, but we’ll take what we can get.
After the hunt, newspapers were read…
…the adults stayed up late around the chiminea after the kids went to bed, chit-chatted over a couple bottles of wine, and laughed at past dates gone wrong. I could share the story of my sister getting her legs hooked into a bar stool and falling over in the middle of one, but I don’t want to embarrass her.
It did make me double over and cry, though.
Then Woody Allen was read some stories.
Wait, that’s Ruth.
Oh well, I do like his movies even though he’s weird.
…and even more lounging was done before they left. It was quick trip and went by even quicker once they arrived. But it was a lot of fun. I do enjoy a slumber party.
And I highly doubt any of E’s friends discussed how cow chips were used on the Oregon trail.
But that’s okay. I’m proud of those cow chips.
And regular chips too.
Now I’m hungry and about to make my own scavenger hunt… in the fridge for food.
It was mid-50s and sunny. And we were itching to get out. Well, I was, at least. Ruthie was content bouncing on my knee, flying in my arms above my head, and timing her spit-up to land as soon as I open my mouth.
So I bundled her into a carrier and hit the pavement gravel road.
She insisted on wearing her snazzy leopard outfit for the outing. Should I be concerned that she cared more about what to wear than me? So what if I wore that white zip-up for three days straight. Dingy, make-up stained fuzzy outerwear are in now, right?
We discussed many things while on our walk. One spot was of particular interest.
See that grouping of bushes behind Ruth’s cat ears?
They’re raspberry bushes. Wild ones. Most are along the road on the barbed wire, but there’s a semi-circle just steps within the fence. Come springtime, Ruth and I are going to make friends with whomever owns that land to ask if we can scavenger.
It’s like dumpster diving for fruit.
I showed her my imaginary petrified forest. If these trees could talk, Ruth, they’d describe how it felt to have cows rub hairy bodies against their trunks or the tight grip of a hawk perched on their branches before diving down for food. They’d stiffen up as those bitter cold winters were remembered, and gently sway from side to side when talking about the blow of a breeze.
Maybe one day they’ll say we saw the cutest little girl walk down the street with her mom. And they pointed at us and smiled.
And then they would smile.
As we grow old and petrified in our own bodies, remember, Ruthie, that it feels good to be acknowledged.
On our way back home, I pointed out the shimmering reflection on a pond.
And watched as she furrowed her eyebrows against the sunlight.
We spotted some dogs running across the field.
And let the wind brush a dried reed on her head.
The mailman drove by and waved. We discussed the importance of writing letters and how wonderful it feels to receive one.
And then she looked up with inquiring eyes at the electrical pole.
We had a whirlwind weekend, with family visiting, reunions to attend, and alma maters losing. I was worn out come Sunday night. But it really doesn’t take much to wear me out anymore. Just getting the mail is cause for a 2 hour nap. And don’t get me started about using the letter opener. Whew!
I did manage to squeeze in a game of scrabble with the parents, though. The weather was beautiful, so we opened up the windows and sipped on coffee. It felt like springtime and after years of denying it, I’ve finally admitted to myself that I am a Spring lover. More energy, more spunk, more liveliness. Can’t get enough.
I think they rigged the letters so that I’d come out with S N O B. Maybe I should quit teasing them about seeing my life flash before my eyes when they forget this or can’t remember that. Naw, I’ve convinced myself it keeps them young. They probably didn’t slip in O B O E, though, because they knew I’d subject them to a rendition of one of my favorite movie lines in Amadeus: And then high above, an oboe… or something like that, I can’t remember. Go rent it, now.
But don’t watch it with me, I’m warning ya.
I’m the mob boss of movies-that-i’ve-already-seen watching. If you so much as glance at the popcorn bowl and not look at the screen, you best be ready for the array of verbal bullets shot at you. Are you watching? Why aren’t you watching? You’re not watching. You need to see this part for the next part! Fine, hurry and take a sip of your coke, but your eyes better be glued to the screen, so help me.
I’m not proud of it, but can literally not stop myself. My mom likes to remind me of the time when we all watched Inception over Christmas last year. No one understood what was going on, but were afraid to turn to look at me and ask any questions for fear of my wrath. Then, when the movie was over, they did turn around to say something to me and saw I had left the room at some point during the film to go to bed. So the whole movie was them spending inordinate amounts of energy sitting still, facing the screen, and not uttering a sound.
Sorry.
Let’s see… what else did we do. Oh, I know.
We stared at Ruthie’s Chubby McChubberson’s legs.
She knew I was putting her on display for this photo. Lucky for her a circus performer hasn’t travelled through asking for her to join, because I think I could make some big bucks off of those rolls.
Come right up and see the newest attraction ~ The Thigh-Baby! This baby is literally turning into a thigh, folks… Watch the rolls take over her body in front of your very eyes!
Dolla Dolla Bills, yo.
Alrighty, what else. We did a two-stop extravaganza to watch KSU lose to UofA in the Cotton Bowl. Sigh. We do love our Wildcats. First, we popped into R’s brother’s place “Uncle Favorite”, as he calls himself, and listened to Ruth scream bloody murder for 45 minutes. She must have already seen this football game and was mad that I had gone to the bathroom in the middle of it. Just like her mama, I’m so proud.
We quickly bundled her up, stuck a pacifier in her mouth, and drove to my brother’s house. Remember the weather? Yeah, it was taken advantage of as we sat around a fire watching the game outside. I ran into the backyard and stopped short because, I don’t know if M noticed or not, but there was a homeless person that sat down to warm himself. That guy on the right, see him? I guess he wasn’t hungry, just needed a place to watch the game, so I went back inside.
But he followed me! I was about to run to the car for one of the Blessing Bags when I realized it was just my dad… in about every random piece of winter clothing he could find. I must get my style sense from him. Thanks, man.
All in all, a good solid weekend.
We did one more thing over the weekend that excited to talk about… a reunion of blossoming friendships. And blossoming babies. Too fun.
Now onto some of my favorite parts of Christmas with the in-laws:
1. Misty mornings on the lake. One of R’s coworkers graciously let us use her family’s cabin for the weekend. It was more than we could have asked for. You just can’t beat this view.
2. Waking up to our Christmas Canoe filled with presents!
3. FIL preparing his lesson on Jesus’ birth for our Christmas morning church service together. We decided to stay in and break bread with just the family, which resulted in an intimate, lovely experience. I was most worried about singing in front of everyone, but that melted away with the first verse. I’m seriously considering this becoming a Christmas tradition for my little family.
4. Getting our family portrait made. This one was my favorite. Ruth cracks me up.
5. And the pièce de résistance: making snowmen. Can you tell she’s a preschool teacher? They are the only ones that can explain things to me in ways I’ll understand. Plus, she allows for nap time. The only weird part is when she stands outside the bathroom door waiting to make sure I wiped from front to back.
I was a wee bit nervous making crafts with these two because creativity oozes out of their every pore. Visual arts are not my thing. I can hardly play hangman without someone asking what exactly is being hanged. What is that? A walrus? No, a person. Then why are there tusks coming out of the face. Those are the arms. You lose.
What. I can’t take critiques well.
So I couldn’t help squealing at R’s ‘professor with a combover’ creation. Complete with a bow-tie.
I tried hiding my recreations of our family, but alas, they were found.
We staged a scene from our life:
R comes home, eyes red with anger from something that annoyed him at work, and vents to his wife, who apparently has been cast in the next season of Real Housewives of Beverly Hills and is recovering from the obligatory facial plastic surgery. You know, the kind where the nose creates those weird tight wrinkles when they smile? I guess I just don’t understand plastic surgery (and Botox) for vanity’s sake. Reconstruction surgery is one thing. But plastic surgery? I mean, why not spend your money on something more substantial, like bulk Cheese Puffs from Sam’s Club. Now that I’ll firmly stand behind.
Back to the scene:
Wife tries to roll her bandaged, but unwrinkley eyes and hears her baby crying, happy for an excuse to escape the onslaught of frustration.
Darling, the baby is hungry. Let me get her.
(You can tell this is a fictional scene as I used a term of endearment.)
Okay, now go on with your story, honey, while I nurse Ruthie.
End Scene.
And just so you know, R added the cradle cap on little Ruth.
Gotta keep it lifelike, you know.
——–
P.S. An update on diapers. When she was born, we had been given some disposables diapers for her current size & weight. So I used this long weekend as an opportunity to use them. After starting her on cloth at six weeks, I was curious to try them again.
The verdict? I was very happy to get back to my cloth. Despite what you may think, it certainly wasn’t any easier using disposables. They were obviously thinner, which was nice when putting on her tights. I don’t know if the tights would have made it over her bulky cloth ones. However, there was just a different feel about them. I can’t explain it. My friend, J, had mentioned that there is a certain smell to disposables that you don’t notice unless you’re away from them. I was somewhat skeptical, but now know exactly what she means. I don’t know how to describe it. It’s not horrible, but it just smells… well, you know how the hospital or doctor’s room smells? That rubber glove kinda overly sterilized sort of stench? I picked up on it right away. I know you’re rolling your eyes, but I’m serious and not just touting the cloth diaper horn to make me feel better. I did like that I didn’t have to think about the snaps at 3am, but that can be remedied by using velcro only for night changes.
I’m just saying that I feel good about my choice in going cloth. I’m not as stressed out about it as I thought I’d be and think they’re just as easy as disposables. Dollars saved in this department is also a big bonus as R and I discuss our 2012 financial goals. One less necessity to buy. Plus, it saves room in the budget for more cheese puffs. And that’s always a good thing.
Oh, glorious sun.. how I love thee. Not only do you clear up my face in the summertime and bleach my hair to make it look less graytastic, you also get poop stains out of my cloth diapers.
There seems to be a running theme in my posts lately. And yes, pun was intended. Leave me alone, I’m up to my eyeballs in Ruth’s diaper antics and must put other people through my pain as well.
Actually, it’s not all that bad. Even with cloth diapers.
Right now the poo washes right out, but after two rinse cycles as well as a wash cycle, it can still leave stains on them.
Here’s a close -up:
See the yellow stainage? Not horrible, but it’s still poo stains, and who wants to see that.
So I load them up on my expandable clothesline that is in front of a very sunny south-facing window. Did I mention how much I love this set up? It has made my life so much easier.
I basically wash the diapers once every other day, in the morning. I rinse, then wash, then rinse again. Afterwards, I throw them up on the line until dried. For those with stainage, I make sure they are front and center to soak up that sunshine.
And then only a couple hours later (maybe sooner, that’s just when I remembered to check)
….out came the stains! This is not a doctored photo, nor is it a different cloth insert. You can tell by that little cotton nub on the left-hand side.
Ruthie was gracious enough to invite us on a picnic outing over the weekend. The weather was absolutely gorgeous. We packed up a lunch and then about 15 other bags full of random things that were never needed. It’s trial and error right now, trying to figure out the least we can get away with while towing a 5 week old.
I was intent to stay on that blanket for as long as possible. Could you blame me? Check out the color of that sky. Perfect.
I was in charge of getting lunch together while R played with Ruthie. Egg salad sandwiches, cheese and crackers, apples, celery with peanut butter… oh and a jumbo sized bag of Tootsie Roll pops. I fear I have an addiction.
At some point in my teenage years, I must have run into a dealer on the street who opened up his trench coat and revealed hanging tootsie roll pops. “The first one’s free, girlie.” And the rest is history. I’ve been waking up at odd hours of the night to eat them and then disposing of the evidence so R doesn’t know. Not like he’d care. In fact, the only person who is going to care is my dentist. I have my first appointment since having Ruth in a few weeks, and I think there’s about 300 cavities living in my teeth. Two of them found love and have since started a family.
So with a pop in my mouth, I started to spread the egg salad.
And then something flutter by me and landed nearby. Oh, just a leaf… Yay Fall, I thought.
And then I looked closer.
And then I looked at R.
No.
Please, God, no.
The dreaded booger sucker and R was knuckle deep with it.
“Sorry, it’s just not working,” he said. “It won’t suck them all the way in. So I have to find some way to dispose of them.”
And by disposing of them, he means attaching them onto leaves and then throwing them into the beautiful gentle breeze.
So that it can drift its way right next to my lunch-making station.
I looked at the leaf again and dry heaved. They say that, as a mother, you don’t get grossed out by your kid’s excretions. Well, whoever they are, are wrong.
Fricken disgusting, Ruth. Use a kleenex.
That booger sucker must have also sucked out Ruth’s energy because she immediately zonked out.
So what did we do on a wonderful day outside? Watch a dvd of course. We’re crazy about Mad Men and had a few episodes left to watch. Ruth didn’t mind. Next time, we’ll fly a kite we swear.
You see? She really didn’t care. Look at her mouth. When it’s all pushed out like that, she is happily dreaming away.
Probably dreaming of better skin, from the looks of it. We’re in week 3 of baby acne and it took zero seconds before R brought up the classic pizza face commercial below.
We still love you, Ruth. You’re a beautiful before photo of a Clearasil model.
After our romp in the hay with Mad Men, R pulled out our financials to work on for next month. As soon as he said, “finan…” he heard snoring and looked around.
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…. well, I’m still shamin’ on you because no way am I gonna let an 8-legged creature make me feel bad. You got me once in college when I stepped on your furry back, thinking it was a sock on the ground. And you almost got me the other day too. But you didn’t. No, not this time. Hah, not this time ole buddy ole pal.
But I still reacted in a way that would’ve puzzled even the most talented of horror film actors.
It was the first of a series of beautiful mornings, so the hubs and I woke up early to eat at Einstein Bros. There’s only one in all of Arkansas and, yes, we drove 20 minutes to wine and dine there. I had a coupon, surely that offset the gas? I didn’t care, actually, because in KC we literally lived within walking distance of one and, man, do I crave those shmears.
Before leaving, we went out back to try and make nice with our four-legged friends. If there’s one animal that God surely put on this planet to provide for us, it’s the cow. All they do is eat and sleep; and we are lucky enough to enjoy it’s juicy bounty of meat & milk without danger or much effort. I love them.
But they weren’t lovin’ on us that morning, so R turned to leave.
And nearly walked into this garden spider. It is so hard to show how big it is, but I do have witnesses who saw its sister. This one was tucked neatly behind the rabbit hutches, safely out of my line of sight and my foot arches. So I bravely laughed in its face for trying to scare me, and called upon its ancestors in a ceremonial dance of triumph over it.
It just sat there. I took that stance as fear, wanting to stay as still as possible in the shadow of such an angry human. Little did I know that fear was not what I saw, but arrogance.
It knew what was about to happen. And just sat there. Staring at me. Laughing on the inside.
I was still tap-dancing my way through the Shack, sauntered out the front door, and started down the steps. Oh happy day! Tra-la-la-la-la…
And then I saw it. Backyard spider’s big sister had spun a web halfway down the steps. Across the steps. On top of the steps. In fact I think it actually created steps on its web to lure me onto them. I don’t know how I kept my front-heavy body from toppling over it, but after a quick blackout session, somehow I ended back up on the deck.
And then grabbed my breasts and stomped my feet like a 3 year-old, all the while letting out a low guttural growl.
Really?
Is that how I react when confronted with my fears? Grabbing my chest? What exactly is that going to do besides protect me from becoming an Amazonian woman. Please, I’m not looking to fight with bows and arrows anytime soon. And stomping my feet? I guess at this stage in the pregnancy, it might actually cause a big enough tremor to topple an enemy, so I’ll let that one slide. Barely. Really, a low growl? The only time that actually works is if someone is coming near my plate of food.
R must have felt the minor earthquake and came outside. I no longer could talk, but pointed and grunted at the spider’s trap. He chopped off one end of the web, allowing it to fall back away from the steps.
If I could’ve hopped over the railing to the car, I would’ve. But instead had to walk the far side of the steps, white-knuckling the wood all the way down.
Halfway into our bagels and shmears, I forgot about Big Sissy the Spider.
And then we came home to find her missing. I refused to walk any further until the spider hunt was over. It didn’t take long, because guess where she ended up? Right next to my deck chair, where I’ve shared many laughs and thoughts and fears and innocent moments this past year. Right. next. to. it.
I shook my head slowly and glared at her. How dare you. Little did you know that I’m a mama bear now and will do anything to protect my … deck chair? You got that right, Big Sissy. My deck chair. So you best back that thing up.
If, in that moment, I could’ve become an amazonian woman and cut off my right breast to shoot it with a bow and arrow, I would’ve. But then R touched my arm (which made me jump because I thought it was another sister spider) and read to me about the garden spider. One insect they eat are grasshoppers. And since our front yard has become the latest Hedonism Resort for those jumpy creatures, I reluctantly agreed that it should stay.
So here I am, having to endure this big spindly thing mere inches from my favorite sitting spot and watch it eat its prey. After it’s done, it drops the carcas to the deck. So not only am I an undertaker to these mummies, but also a counselor to those still living. I sat and watched a grasshopper stand off to the side staring at the latest casualty. Was it a family member, a friend? I don’t know, but it sure looked grief-stricken.
Now let’s all hold hands and sing ‘Circle of Life.’ I’ll karate-chop you if you lay a fake spider on me though. Just a warning.
R and I had a great day on Friday. He took the day off, which quite honestly surprised me, to hang out together. I was always so protective of my vacation time, only wanting to use it for something special. So for him to use it as an excuse to run around with little ole me? I was flattered.
And we had fun too.
Just as much as bowling with my nephew and nieces the weekend prior.
It had stormed all week, including the day they arrived, so we popped into the local bowling alley.
They were really impressed.
The alley is quite fancy as you can see. I told them I took them there so they didn’t feel so uncomfortable after hanging out at the luxurious Shack. You need to bring yourself down to your guests’ comfort level, you know. And the Shack really just sets the bar way too high.
Before I knew it they were off to my brother’s house the following day. It was a whirlwind of movies, pizza, guitar playing, chalkboard drawing, and There Was An Old Lady That Swallowed a Fly singing.
L later asked if they wore us out.
That’s not a loaded question or anything… But yes, I was exhausted (I sat my big bum on the couch the whole time – how could I be so tired?) and thankful there was a only a singleton in my belly and not triplets.
So R took Friday off…and we had to start the day off right.
I had leftover buttermilk that needed to be used soon, so made some pannycakes. Easy since I’d already mixed together a big batch of wheat pancake mix a while ago and stored it. Now I just have to add an egg and milk for a batch. This, with leftover ham and scrambled eggs. Happiness.
Right now, I am literally eating as if I were in high school again: Non-freaking-stop, without the metabolism. Or the sports. It’s to the point that I imagine peeing as my workout regime and get very excited when it’s been a particular busy day in the bathroom.
So I polished off my plate along with whatever R didn’t eat and headed out. We first had to stop and pick up a craigslist purchase which R is so proud of, and which I will write about later.
After that pit stop, onwards to Eureka Springs.
They were having a Bluegrass festival! And the best part? It was free.
I packed our lunch in a cooler which R lugged for a mile until we found a seat. The park is right in the middle of downtown, and is not so much a park as it is a paved square with lots of benches.
We found one in the shade facing away from the stage, looking onto the street. This was fine, because is there anything better than people watching? Or people falling? One person tripped on their way up to give the band a tip and I could not stop laughing. Later I felt bad, but not after I got a good gut laugh out of it.
Sorry, can’t help it. It’s a knee-jerk reaction. Ask my mom, she’s taken the brunt of it before. And, yes, I laugh when I do it too. Settle.
R dug around the cooler to see what was for lunch. Then dug around some more. And then dug around some more.
“Uhm, where’s the meat?”
“Oh, it’s tomato & spinach pasta with a side salad of tomato, mozzarella, & basil. Great for a hot summery day, yeah?”
“I guess so.”
Folks, I’m married to a carnivore. Meat has to be somewhere on the plate otherwise the meal is incomplete. (Side note: I have made a great black & pinto bean burger that has gotten two thumbs up. Hurray!) But to be honest, for the most part I’m the same way. Especially since reliving my teenage youth, I can’t get enough of meat.
So we ate what we had, all the while R’s stomach grumbling for more protein.
I tried to divert his attention by looking at our surroundings. Eureka Springs has a great downtown, with winding roads and old store fronts.
We enjoyed watching the myriad of people walking by as well as those driving.
And then I noticed that everyone in a car would pause in front of me and Ryan to look up at us. Our bench was set higher up than the street, on a wall, allowing me to look down my nose at everyone figuratively and literally. It was perfect.
Or so I thought.
Until I realized that the very comfortable position of putting my feet on top of the cooler allowed every passerby full viewing up my skirt.
If they’re gonna be all up in my business, at least bring along a razor. You know my fear from last week’s post.
I scrambled to cover myself up and frantically looked for an excuse to get up. The bathroom in the hotel next door was starting to look might fine.
The stairway that led to this view. Complete, I might add, with misters.
I quickly plopped our things down and grabbed some seats while R bought us drinkie-poos. It’s always so lovely drinking my O’Douls in front of everyone’s glaring stares. Oh settle down, people, it’s non-alcoholic.
[Side note: For all my pregnant mama friends, the best non-alcoholic beer I’ve had to date is… wait for it… Busch Light. Can you believe that? I felt like I was in college again! After I had gained the freshman 15 of course.]
This was the best part of our day. We relaxed and talked and got misted upon. I could have sat there for hours, but R’s stomach was grumbling louder than ever. And there’s only one cure for that.
Ribs, baby.
I sat back as R attacked his plate. It was straight up Jurassic Park and I was (finally) the slim-necked herbivore with my plate of greens watching T-Rex go to town.
In less than 5 minutes dinner was eaten, and we were headed back home.
I rested what used to be my ankles on the dashboard the whole way back.
It followed us in yesterday after spending several hours enjoying the cold front that came through (high of 90 degrees). And now it won’t leave me alone. It literally follows me around and sits next to or on me at all times. Does it want me to tame it like the fox in The Little Prince? Well, I don’t care if it would like the wheat fields because you’re too annoying to tame, little fly.
You tickle my skin with your legs and who know how many times you’ve thrown up on me. Where did I hear that flies throw up every time they land on something. Disgusting. I’d rather tame a slug. At least, then, I could rub in the slug residue as moisturizer. See? It would have a purpose. What’s yours fly?
I’ve never cursed so much in my life and it looks like I have severe seizures every 15 minutes trying to get it out of my personal space. Forget trying to swat it either. I’m just not fast enough and, plus, I think this one is different. I think it understands English. So when I mutter I’m getting that damn fly swatter, it mysteriously disappears until I forget why I’m standing in the kitchen.
Hey, remember when PETA went psycho over Obama killing that fly? That still makes me giggle. It’s a fly. I could use those fly-killing skills right about now.
But I’ll put up with it if we could have days like yesterday everyday. It was fantastic.
R and I spent two hours playing scrabble (I won. Barely.), while he also worked on our financial spreadsheet. He amazes me with his Excel prowess. I make one click and three billion things turn red. Sigh. That’s temporary though.
Has anyone done the Dave Ramsey envelope thing? We’re not used to handling cash, as we have airline miles on our credit card… putting everything on the credit card and paying it off at the end of the month. This was my first official pay period with no incoming money and the first time that we’re starting to watch what we buy.
No more buying things because we either a) want it or b) would get a bunch of miles.
It hurts.
Doesn’t everyone work our their finances with a dry erase board in bed? (Side note: Notice the painted toes. Yesterday was the first day R had to paint them for me due to size of belly.)
But Dave is helping. We’re still using our credit card to buy fixed expenses (i.e. buying a Walmart gift card for each vehicle’s gas, because you get the 10 cents discount as well as miles. Shush it. We still like getting the miles.) and also for any other major expenses (i.e. car problems, trips – we are committed to keep this an important part of our life, etc.) But now we’re using cash as well. And that hurts at the moment, because we’re paying off our credit card bill that’s due as well as taking out cash for the current month.
I’ve also become a coupon extraordinaire and have found the trifecta of stores to tackle: Walgreens, Harps, & Walmart. Walgreens has some great cash back programs (Register Rewards that can make you money), Harps doubles coupons up to 50 cents, and Walmart will match any competitor’s price as long as you bring in the flyer.
I’ve even enlisted my mom to look at the flyers and tell me what are good meat deals. So last week I bought a roast. My first time ever.
And it was awesome.
So this is where I give thanks that R supports me staying at home, because this aspect sure isn’t easy. But I already feel us working together to accomplish something that we never had to think about beforehand. It feels good. I feel good making his lunch/dinner that stretches our dollar, I feel good keeping the shack clean & tidy, and I feel good taking care of little errands that we used to argue who would have to do next. I have the time now to focus on that, and I’m so grateful it’s a possibility to do so.
And yes, I do take naps.
But before I do, if anyone has done Dave Ramsey and would share their experience, I’d love to hear it. Right now everything feels a long way off and any little bit success stories help.
Also, check out Passion For Savings, if you’re interested in couponing. She lists out great deals for you so you don’t have to think about it. She also lets you know when freebies become available. I’ve already subscribed to three magazines for free based on her directions (Shape, Everyday Food, & Bloomberg Business Weekly). Love it!
It’s just me and my bladder in the early sun, holding it in and enjoying the sites.
Like the creek that runs next to it for about a half mile. There’s one little spot where turtles like to sunbathe…
The canopied parts are cozy and inviting, but I catch myself looking up to make sure no snakes are dangling. I cannot not look up.
Sometimes I try to go through and force my eyes straight ahead, but then out of the corner of my eye a curved tree branch startles me into a head-twisting, eyes-bulging freak.
And then the wall o’ green, as I call it. You can’t see anything past this and that’s the way I like it.
Sometimes on the trail I see people running. Every time, though, I admire their runner’s bodies. I would give every excuse not to go for a jog not too long ago. But now that I can’t, it’s all I want to do.
One girl ran by and I marveled at her toned thighs. Couldn’t help it.
This photo at the top of White Rock Mountain is proof that we are not still hiking at this very moment.
My friends, S & L, came down for a weekend visit a couple weeks ago, and I still have bug bites as memories. They visited The Shack, we went on a hike, and then played board games until 1 in the morning. A pretty well-rounded time I must say.
When I found this hike, I saw the outlook at the top and knew this was the one. It wasn’t too far south, and you could still get some good views.
Little did I know that you literally had to call upon the native american navigational skills you’ve been studying, because there were moments when the trail disappeared. What, you didn’t study them? Neither did I, and a broken record of “Are you sure this is the trail” questioning ensued.
What. I was nervous! Two of my friends took time away from their busy lives to visit and then I lead them into the woods never to be seen from again?
L registered our names at the trailhead while reminding us what to do if we encounter a bear. I don’t know where I read that you’re supposed to scream, trip your neighbor, then run; but it seemed like sound advice to me. So I dismissed everything L read.
It was kind of warm that day and I was happy to have worn shorts, silently gloating over that fact as S & L changed into pants.
And then it started. Or ended, I guess I should say. The trail, that is.
It ended.
And we had to eyeball our way to what looked like a white rock on a mountain. That meant going through bushes. And bushes. And thorny bushes, and kinda thorny bushes, and not thorny bushes.
My legs got tore up, people. And every so often I would turn around and see…
two smiling faces going through any sort of foliage with ease.
Those smarty-pants.
[let me pause here for awkward laughter as I say, “no pun intended” but you really know that I meant to say the pun and suddenly realize that you’re required to make some sort of noise, so just do a muffled golf laugh and avoid eye-contact]
ahem.
It eventually got so bad, that after finding a map of the trail, yet not being able to decipher which way was north, we took to turning S into a sundial to figure it out.
We kinda just went forward and hoped to see a white rock somewhere. We’d even take a white flower, at that point. Anything white, in fact and we’re followin’ ya.
What we found in the meantime was a nice waterfall….
With remnants of someone’s campfire, complete with homemade chairs. There were only two, so S rolled a couple stones together and formed a third.
We decided to take a breather and snack on fruit and a sip of wine, cheersing to our inate ability to identify plants. For instance, the extremely rare reese’s pieces plant, along with the more common purple gobstopper flower. I know, we’re pretty savvy.
We hiked on and enjoyed streams of sunlight.
Then eventually found a spot to eat our lunch before hiking our way to the main overlook.
On the rock wall, we noticed engravings of various places and the distance away from there.
We followed the arrow and looked up.
Ah, there it is.
Take a deep breath and imagine sitting with your legs dangling on the other side of the wall, and a breeze blowing through your now slightly wet hair. I could’ve sat looking at that view all day.
But we couldn’t. We had to get to our little cabin in the woods before sundown. We don’t know what happens after sundown in these parts.
But I do know what happens at the cabin after sundown. Did someone say hot-tubbin’ time? More exciting than that was forcing L to wear my vintage 1950s swimsuit which I unfortunately did not get a picture of.
Forget Ralphie’s shotgun, the bra on this bathing suit could shoot your eye out. And who knows, maybe it did at one time.. because I’m pretty sure a pistol could have clear, level aim through those puppies.
The night was rounded out by a wine board game, which solidified the fact that I should not get into the wine business. S & L tried their best to help me…
Game card: “What color of wine are you drinking?”
Me: I dunno. Lemme see…. wait… it went down too fast. Ask me again.
But having Anne of Green Gables playing in the background solaced my hurt pride.
The next morning we narrowly escaped getting murdered by Garmin, as the road he took us down turned into a dry river bed. Seriously. But with S’s help, I did a 40 point turn and we made it out.
All-in-all a relaxing weekend with the girls. Thank you so much for visiting, I had a wonderful time!
Yes, she made it over the fence.. right into R’s arms. I think she squealed too. I was *this* close to asking them to hang out with us all day. Just full of laughter they were and a good spirit surrounding them.
We finished up the trail and walked back to the car.
On the way, we spotted this bridge/gate/entrance which I asked R to try out.
And when we finally arrived home to our room, there was a small raspberry birthday cake waiting for us. Yes, we ate it all. Only because we couldn’t take it home and didn’t want it to go to waste. Really. We were being extremely selfless in our actions.
The next day our flight didn’t leave until the evening, which ended up being cancelled and us staying an extra night. If we had known that was going to happen, we’d have rerouted our last hours.
We started on the paved trail, but after I ran into the woods for a potty break (R had to keep watch for cyclists, and counted down 10 seconds as a couple were coming), I spotted an unpaved trail through the woods. Talk about less travelled! It was absolutely crucial to do this one and on we went…
…All the way until we found the official Robert Frost Trail mailbox. You know, for you to send letters to ole Bob.
So, I left one.
Hey Bobby, I took the road less travelled a few years back and I’m still itching from that rash. Thanks for that, Carolyn.
I figured he wanted feedback on that poem, you know. Better late than never.
On our way out, we gave one last glance to the Vermont countryside and headed home. We will be back to this part of the country again, you can count on it.
It really backfired on him, this surprising me with a trip and planning out the major details thing. Because, before, I would do all of the planning and never knew of this state of being called “laid-back.” I just thought that was a synonym for lazy.
Um, no. It’s not. In fact, it’s a synonym for happy and hungry. Because that’s what I was the whole trip.
I knew something was going down, folks, I’m not gonna lie. Everytime I suggested we do something over last weekend, my question was deflected. And R is normally not a planner. So for him to continually push aside someone else’s pre-packaged idea raised red flags.
So did his question to me, “Carolyn, if we were going to go to Hot Springs, what make-up would you bring? No don’t just point them out, pile them up at the end of the counter and leave them there.”
Hmm… so I”m taking it we’re going to Hot Springs. (This shows that I didn’t think R planned ahead even to formulate a hypothetical situation.)
I went to work and R planned to pick me up with our muffler that happens to have an engine attached. When he pulled around, I squealed, “Hot Springs or bust!” and he smiled. All the way to the airport.
I love our airport. It’s so tiny that Economy parking is a car lot away from the main doors. We get excited over things like that.
But he still wouldn’t tell me where were going until the tickets were in my hand. And then they were.
New England! I squealed (again). We had been wanting to go up there for a while now, and this was just perfect timing….with the leaves and all.
Because I was in that particular state of being (happy – not hungry this time) and everything R did made me giggle. He took advantage, too. Like when decided to change his watch forward an hour by comparing the airline map with the view out the window to determine when the exact time changed.
I think I was delirious.
But I especially loved looking out the window and seeing the moon below us. I don’t think I’d ever seen that before on a flight. Both Sinatra as well as Hey Diddle Diddle came to mind. And after the chicken bacon foot long sandwich I put down prior to take-off, like I was actually training to jump over the moon, I thought the latter was more appropriate.
By midnight we had arrived, and we still had an hour to the B&B. The owner, E, said to come whenever, that’d he’d wait up for us.
When we arrived, there E was. He opened up the door to our very victorian room and I was greeted with a Birthday sign, a bouquet of handpicked flowers, and sherry!
My nasal pitch got so loud, E had to close the door. As he bid us goodnight, he said he had another surprise tomorrow.
I’m liking this place already.
The next morning we ate a big breakfast, wandered around the grounds, got chased by a pit bull, and then I unpacked my suitcase that R lovingly put together. It weighed no less than 65 lbs and literally had my entire closet it in. Out of the 5 skirts and 7 shirts he brought, I decided on an outfit and searched in the pockets for my razor.
Where. is. my. razor. (!!!)
He managed to pack up the entire Shack and somehow leave one crucial device behind. And considering I hadn’t shaved since 1872, I was in desperate need. I went back down to the living room and tried to find one from that particular year, but they must have just run out.
Seems that even though their legs were covered up by layers and layers of stockings and bloomers and skirts and who knows what else, the Victorian ladies still shaved their legs more often than me.
My first plan of the weekend included a trip to the nearest Walgreens and a shaving in the car. I’m pretty classy.
It was gorgeous out, so R and I took advantage. We went to an open-air museum with a nautical theme. I’ve discovered I’m not a big boat buff. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I really like them while I’m in them, with a floppy hat and a glass of wine. Looking at them and reading about the history of boats, ummm not so much.
So I spent the majority of the time trying to scare R staring at him stone-faced through various windows until he’d catch a glance. Problem is, everyone else looked first before R and I suddenly became known as that weirdo Shining lady.
R spent his time creeping me out by analyzing a doctor’s office shelf. Seriously, what was all that used for. Wait, I don’t want to know.
For lunch, we headed back to downtown Mystic, Connecticut and decided to go to none other than…
Mystic Pizza! I tried to channel my inner Julia Roberts, but could only squeeze out her 1980s bushy eyebrows.
Oh well, I’ll take what I can get. And the pizza was fantastic! I love when something is not so over-hyped that the food takes a beating.
But hold on!R had another outing up his sleeve. We drove to Newport, Rhode Island which has now become my new favorite place to visit.
He had heard of a “cliff walk” that bordered the ocean. It snaked its way in front of the mansions and estates along the shore.
We picked up a couple small bottles of vino and slowly walked along sipping our drinks, holding hands, and wondering what it would be like to (clean) live in those beauties.
Outside one estate, we heard some people rustling in the bushes.
R found an opening in one and went through. I followed closely behind to find…
a couple escapees! It was the butler and the maid making a run for it. Okay, no it wasn’t but they really did want to climb over the fence to join everyone on the Cliff Walk. R and I laughed so hard because the husband was not shy about lifting up her leg to hurl her over. So R stepped in to help.
We were supposed to go to this a month ago. But it didn’t happen.
It was a Dutch Oven Workshop at a nearby state park. We woke up early on a saturday morning, actually put on work-out clothes and did a workout (as opposed to putting on work-out clothes and then heading to a breakfast joint for bacon and white gravy), boiled up some hot coffee for our thermos, and hit the road.
Literally 2.5 miles into the drive, R asked me to hand over the thermos for a quick drink. I laughingly said, “Maybe you should watch the road. Remember what happened the other night?” and then, feeling guilty, I gave in and gave him the lid for sip. He took his eyes off the two lane country road and..
BALUMP.
The tire popped.
I sat there sitting in the nearest driveway telling myself to schedule a massage asap or there was going to be a warrant out for little miss carolyn.
You see, a few nights prior we had visited some friends for dessert and on the way to their house another incident happened. A “I’m glad no children were riding their bikes along the sidewalk” type of one.
A right-hand turn into their neighborhood caused R’s head to slightly face me. In doing so, the freckles on my legs caught his attention. And if any of you know R, you are quick to realize that he cannot do more than two things at once. So why not test this theory while driving a one ton piece of machinery, shall we?
He saw the freckles and proceeded to lean over to point out each of them with this right index finger. He repeated “freckle, freckle, freckle, freckle”.
And I looked up at the same instant our car hit the curb, and then hit the grass next to the curb, and then the sidewalk next to the grass next to the curb.
R was still pointing out freckles. It wasn’t until I screamed that he jerked the car back onto the road.
Now our already dirty, no-muffler-because-it-still-runs-fine-and-we-don’t-like-spending-that-extra-money-on-that-car car makes a weird scraping sound anytime we make a left hand turn. Great.
Thank you melanin.
So our flat tire happened on the way to the first class and they offered to move us to the second one the following month.
And here we are. Only two other couples attended: one from South Africa, the other from Texas. We slipped into the back and I spied the menu on the board.
Ahhhhh yeaaaaah. (Side note: Does anyone else remember the show were two guys would rub their bums in chocolate pudding while saying Ahhhh yeaaaaah? Or am I the only one who gets that visual every time.)
Well, anyway, if pudding had been on the menu, I probably would’ve had to reenact that skit for the class, so let us all bow our heads in thanksgiving that it was not.
Each couple paired off to do a dish. R was stuck with me even though when asked if we all wanted to stay with our spouses, he responded without glancing “Is she watching me as I answer? Then, fine.”
‘Preciatecha, R.
(Remember? That was the first Arkansas slang I heard when we moved down here. ‘Preciatecha. Another since moving to a smaller town: “So-and-so is a mess.” I’ve discovered this can be used as an insult or affectionately. With the wide range of uses, you can imagine how often it’s thrown out there and for some reason it takes all that I have to swallow a low guttural growl each time it’s said. I know what you’re thinking….. I’m a mess.)
R and I tackled the Charley Bread which was a basic corn bread recipe with a can of creamed corn added.
Hello!
Mama hasn’t been fed this good in a looong time! And by long, I mean since about 8 that morning. Each meal seems like eons since the last…and my mouth was beginning to water, especially every time they opened the peach cobbler lid to check on it.
R checked on our bread and it was coming along nicely. We used the stacking method of heating the dutch oven which threw the time to cook it off. So it ended coming out around the same time as dessert. No one complained.
And then we all sat down for our picnic in the woods. R and I chatted it up with the park ranger, because he graduated from K-State too! What a small world.
It was a good class, I’d take another one. We ending up buying a dutch oven from them and we’re so excited to put it to use.
If anyone has any tips or recipes, I’d love to have them!
Did anyone else walk outside today and immediately start skipping to the car?
After finally admitting to myself that my favorite season is Spring, the feeling of Fall in the air downright filled me with happiness. The heat wave over the past couple months had just sucked every ounce of energy out of me.
But tonight. Yes. Tonight the roommates and I were able to eat our spaghetti dinner outside The Shack with cold drinks and warm sunshine on our faces.
Without sweating.
Glorious, glorious, glorious.
I think I may just turn into a Fall person, after all. That is, until Winter hits.
On down the road from The Shack we noticed cars parked on the side. As we passed, we craned our necks to see what was down there but only caught a glimpse of this dirt road.
So one day we decided to find out what was going on…
Bathing suits – check.
Towels – check.
Leaving Carolyn in the dust while the roommates get caught up in conversation – check, check, and check.
We turned the corner at the bottom and was immediately greeted with a nice mural.
R practiced his best whud-up stance in case the muralists decided to get unfriendly. You know, because doesn’t every gang hang out by creeks in rural Arkansas?
But guess what – No gangs! Only a wonderfully cold watering hole with rope swing included. People had their chairs, their drinkie-poos, and picnics packed. What a nice surprise, especially during this heat wave we’ve had.
I’ve enjoyed exploring our piece of outdoors near The Shack. It can simultaneously calm and reinvigorate me.
Like the semi-canopied dirt roads.
Or the various moths and butterflies that circle me as I walk. (There is one house on the way that I swear keeps a coyote chained up in the front yard. Every time I pass, it groans out of agony for not being able to eat me alive. It would be my absolute last resort, but I’m not taking chances.)
Our small little graveyard.
Which is right next to a tree cemetery. This little grove has confirmed my belief that dead trees are just as beautiful as full, luscious ones. They’re like old, wrinkled faces… I wonder what they’ve seen.
And then scattered throughout are horses of varying colors. The white ones are my favorite.
But most importantly, and probably most simply, open space. I never tire of these views.
On our way to Louisville, mom asked me to try on The Dress. She’s had this puppy since the late 60s when she wore it. So with a groan, I grabbed it from her knowing it would end just like when we tried on The Wedding Dress: A tug here and tug there only to get it over my knees. Man, she was a twig.
So I grabbed the thing, went in the back of the RV and threw it on, all the while trying not to be thrown from one side of the vehicle to the other. Afterwards, I noticed that all of the windows were open to the road.
You’re welcome drivers of Interstate 277.
So you already know the outcome: Lots of letting out.
Whatever. Women were fuller back then anyway, right. Right?
Once arrived, we suited mom up in her (Bavarian maid?) outfit and headed over to the festival. We didn’t have long to explore the grounds because we’d signed up for a reticule class.
It should’ve been called the ridicule class, because my gawd I have no skills in sewing or embroidery.
At one point, mom asked something to the effect of “Can you not even tie a knot?”. And I replied that she had had almost 30 years to teach me.
But no, I can’t tie a knot with thread, thankyouverymuch, so please just do it for me Bavarian Maid. And after you’re done, go bring me some tea.
After the class, we wandered around the property slowly due to mom’s back. But this gave us ample time to throw myself on unsuspecting people trying to enjoy their day.
Oh, you’re relaxing in the shade and eating lunch? Well let me join you!
Click
Oh, you’re seconds from going on stage to do a runway show? Well let me join you!
Click
Oh, this is an all-male club? Well, then I’m definitely joining you because it will make the boys on my husband’s side annoyed.
Click
Oh, you’re trying to have a pleasant walkabout with your husband? Let me join you!
Click
And it went on and on and on…. No one escaped the tornado that was Carolyn (and her maid).
Later, we toured a refurbished home on Locust Grove.
Mom couldn’t make it to the top floor, and how she would’ve enjoyed this tour guide! She was so serious and engaging. “…oh now this is really interesting!” and so on and so forth.
After the tour was over, mom asked what time our tea was to be served because she was quite hungry. Wondering why I wasn’t on par with her hunger level, I remembered having found her near some peculiar-looking larger than life plants.
So we headed to the tea room for lunch.
On both days we had interesting companions.
On day one, we sat with a quirky lady (and you know how much I love quirkiness) from Chicago as well as her sister.
The next day we found some kindred spirits. A mother and her daughter had come to share the day together.
We first toasted to Jane Austen, clinked our glasses, and then cried. No seriously. We teared up. It started when J asked if we watched the series Cranford. Not two seconds after she got the word out, mom and I squealed. And then promptly teared up.
It’s hard to explain. But when you meet people who have the same exact interests as you and love it to the same degree as you, it just makes you feel connected to them.
After tea, we had another class to attend. But the sunny skies and green grass called out to me. So I parted ways with mom and set off on my own. I could’ve walked those grounds all day long, it was so relaxing.
And then I stumbled upon a firearms display: shooting several different styles from that era. Very interesting!
I got up in this presenter’s face for a photo, but I’ll save that for a later time. It has something to do with a husband of mine.
Anyway, all-in-all we had a good time. The weather was perfect (considering it rained all the way up and all the way back from KY) and there were interesting presenters. I wish mom’s back had been better and we’d done a couple things differently, but like I said, it was fun.
It’s even spurred me to find other regency-era events in my area, possibly to partake in? We’ll see. And then so will you.
I don’t have nearly enough time. We have been busy moving, packing, playing cards, moving some more, packing some more, more cards and eating. In the middle of it all, we trekked down to Wichita to celebrate the fourth.
When I get back from a Regency-era adventure with my mom, I will sit down and write a proper blog post about the weekend.
Until then, here’s a snippet of our weekend:
Bus Tour
Barn Dance
Lake Swim
Car Stuck
And, yes, the car is still stuck in Wichita as of today. Didn’t even get to see a sparkler in action. Oh well, I got my barn dance in, so the weekend was still a success in my book.
I hear my parents on their way. A week in an RV with just the three of us.
That night we celebrated Amy and Des’ birthday. February is the gauntlet of birthdays in our family. Every day from Feb 11 to Feb 15 a birthday is had. Apparently May 7 to May 11 is a happening time between lovebirds.
cuethebanjo.com 
