A Weekend Away - Act II

During Day Two of our splendid “Pretend-we-are-empty-nesters-even-though-we-have-a-seven-year-old” weekend away, we tootled around (which my spellcheck does not recognize as: "verb; the act of cheerful and mindless wandering, sampling of ice cream from 150 year old mercantiles, and reading of ALL novelty mugs, with complete disregard to schedules, time constraints or dinner times".  Whatever, Spellcheck).  We had the novel experience of finding a dish in an antique shop that was 1. Not "one my grandma had", 2. Not "one my mom had', but, 3. "One we got for our wedding"... and still use.  Big ol' bite of reality sandwich with that one.  Our dishes are getting old.

We talked and teased and held hands, bought ridiculously over-priced toffee, and remembered why we thought it might be swell to spend our lives together. Kids have a way of beating all of that out of ya', what with their constant need of love and guidance, clothing and shelter, and something to eat besides Fruit Loops. I don't care how often I delude myself into thinking that we haven't been wedged apart a little by life, all it takes is one night away for me to see that we have. It's good to floss your marriage once in a while. We did what any married couple of 25 years would do when they are at last alone at an Inn... nap. Before dinner. There is the possibility that other shenanigans were had, but I can neither confirm, nor deny the rumors. The rumors that I just started. Shhhh.

On our last morning, Guy and I planned for breakfast in a quirky cafe off of the touristy main street in old town, that was covid-style-packed with locals, cow print, and a funny old hostess who called herself Cha Cha (who talked to me in Spanish using curse words I didn't understand... 'cuz missionaries don't tend to learn curse words).  While we waited for a table, we chatted with a couple across the foyer, whose company we enjoyed so well that when our table was ready, and because the wait was so long, we invited to join us (it’s okay.  It’s been 14 days and we didn’t die).  We talked all through ordering, waiting and eating, shared stories of hard times, pictures of our kids at arm's length, and the best food I never should have eaten (you know, Hashimoto's.  Bleh.  It gave me hives).  We parted with warm and simple goodbyes.

I often wonder how many lovely friends I am missing out on because life is short and I don't live in Scarsdale or Toledo or Tanzania, and also, may or may not speak Swahili. But mostly not.

In the last few hours before we headed home, we wandered the old roads looking for "something special", and found it at the edge of a well loved neighborhood, marked by a simple hand painted sign that read Bonsai Nursery.  The "Wife of the Gardener" as she called herself, Anne, was such a gentle soul.  We strolled her back yard-turned-gallery (for truly, bonsai is an art), and admired the 70 or so magical little (and some, surprisingly, big) trees, each as carefully tended and shaped as the one beside it.  She spoke with such kindness, and we visited about faith and integrity and parenting and hard work.  She openly shared tree-wisdom, something I have found that confident artists do freely, revealing the secret for growing moss, bonsai and succulents happily all in the same pot without a grain of soil.  To my comment on their dedication to their craft, she replied that most of their trees were young-ish, "only ten years old or so", and pointed out the 75 year old tree that stood regally among it's mates. Her husband was it's steward, not it's owner, she explained. It had come to him, and if he did his job well, someday it would move on to another. Hmmm. Has a nice ring to it.

We brought home two gorgeous potted plants for just $5 each (I am not ready for bonsai trees in my life again yet, as they are sweetly needy), and left her waving gracious thank yous at the gate.  It had indeed been "something special".

I always leave the presence of Life Masters feeling a bit changed. A little lost for a moment, at having to walk away from all of that wisdom and life experience, a pilgrim on the return descent from the holy mountain, cup not quite full enough. But then I feel invigorated knowing that amidst the uncertainty and chaos of this life, there are wise ones and sages hidden on quiet lanes, disguised as the Wives of Gardeners.

Continued in Act III

Tripping Out

We rolled into the driveway a few hours ago, after traveling 2,505 miles on what we hoped would be a grand, family-memory-making road trip.  I have tried to distill our trip here on the written page in a way that will hold onto those hard earned memories for me, and be slightly less boring than a 1970's slide show for you.  I will post in chunks, one chunk a day for a few days, so just know that the suffering will end some time next week and you can stop reading until then if you like (unless you are one of the people we visited, in which case you may want to stay tuned to see if I painted you in a flattering enough light, and to make sure any photos of you do not expose your secret double chin).  Away we go!

Day one...

August 1, 2014

“Mama, when you move to a new state do you have to get a new license plate?” Tessa asks.

“I got Washington!”  Ellie blurts out, checking the license plate off her US map. 

“I got Wassington!” Jonah echos.

We are on the road.  The kids are chattery after a good breakfast (by the way, the Quality Inn in Winnemucca had a really nice room and free breakfast of bacon and eggs or giant stacks of mondo-pancakes. And twern't no puny egg platter neither: five,-count 'em- 5 strips of bacon; it was awesome.  Also, the big room was enough for all 8 of us.  Nice, huh?) (oh my gosh, there's 8 of us.  Still flips my gourd to see it in writting).  We are now leaving Winnemucca, making tracks for Idaho.  

(Well, technically Utah.  But shhhhhhhh.  Don't tell.)

I begged Guy to add the extra 150 miles to our trip so that I could see Melissa, who I haven’t seen in many, -too many-, years.  Okay, three.  But they were very loooooong, trying years of great difficulty, so it felt more like seven.  Or twenty.

The last time we had a big family road trip we spent the entire time visiting loved ones in Oregon, Washington, Idaho and Utah, and felt frazzled at having to cram in so many short visits, always longing to stay a little longer, always late to the next visit.  So Guy swore next time we would take the states separately as different trips.  This year the coin landed on Idaho.  Utah, and all of our dear ones there, will get the next turn.

(We will seriously only be there about 5 minutes.  Well, maybe 10, but some of that will be spent sleeping.  Please don't be mad.  I already have guilt.  Lots of guilt.)

And now that we are close to Utah, I’m sad we won’t be seeing everyone there. 

“We in Wassington!”  Jonah calls from the back seat.

“No we’re not. We’re in Utah.”  Tessa corrects.

“No, we in Wassington.”

Well, at least if anyone asks Jonah, he won’t be able to rat us out for having been in Utah.  As far as he knows, we went to Washington.

Adam's travel buddy.  He has made this trip with her so much easier.

Packin' up at the motel!

(Shhhh.  We were never here)

No,  Not snow in the distance.  

That is a massive expanse of SALT. 

 Yes, people.  Salt Lake was not just a cute name.  I'm thinking the Mormon pioneers got there and said, Well, we will either do really well here, or we will die.  And if we die, they can pickle us with salt.

To be continued...

Road Trip

I am writing this just 100 miles from home, on the last limping leg of our whirlwind weekend getaway to Southern California.  I sit between a finally-sleeping Natalie and a softly snoring Ethan.  And this is what the last 7 hours have been like…

Just before we left for our trip, the radio was pulled by the dealer to be repaired.  It has left us without tuneage, which left me with no choice but to discover how many 80’s songs I could consecutively butcher the lyrics to.  I did learn, however, that I know all of the lyrics to Bohemian Rhapsody, including guitar solos, and can do a stirring one-woman rendition of the opera segment wherein I sang every part.  Sadly, I am the lone witness to this feat, as everyone else was asleep at the time.  Galileo! Galileo! Galileo Figaro! (you’re singing it now, too, aren't you?  I can hear you… “Magnifico-o-o!”).

Sans radio, Jonah’s voice has been the back ground music for this trip.  A while ago he told me, “Uh-oh mama, I foh-got my cwoze” (clothes).  It’s a pleasant change from announcing his farts and burps every few miles, and his asking “we doh-ing home? No!!!  I wan’go Andwoo’s house!” fifty or so times.  My particular favorite was the scream about 10 minutes ago, blood curdling and painful sounding, all because Tessa LOOKED at him.  I know her eyes are a penetrating blue, but really?

This is our first family trip in our new-to-us van.  We have learned that it is the vortex of all sound, and though all 8 of us are contained in what seems like a duffle-bag-sized space, for some reason no one can actually understand each other.  None the less, cries of “Be quiet!” have blasted through the van like air horns at a football game.  I find myself in the middle row, middle seat, leg elevated, because dear Natalie was screaming for about 50 miles.  I climbed back and tried the car-seat nursing that I have done successfully with many a weepy babe, but she would have none of it.  As droopy as “the girls” have gotten over the years, they just weren't long enough to reach her.  She finally fell asleep from sheer exhaustion.

We now carry air freshener with us on road trips, because we have teenage boys.  They smell like mummy breath.  And that is before anything is emitted from their bodies that could be measured on a Richter scale.  If you have ever driven I-5, you will also know that the milk commercials claiming California cows live in lovely, grassy fields are absolute bovine pucky.  The kids are sure to announce these aromas and their respective feelings about each nuance of scent as we pass cattle yards with “happy cows” by the thousands.  Though I detest the cow smell, at least the cows don’t laugh after they blow methane. 

Then there is the food thing.  We are, at best, inconsistent with how we handle food and travel.  I succumb to the hunger cries of my offspring sometimes like a mother bird, and at others like a prison warden in an old movie.  It does not seem to matter how often you feed the children however, they are always like a nest-full of baby birds.  “I’m staaaaarving!” Tessa exclaims 30 minutes after our dinner stop.  Finally, I go from mama-bird to warden to bar-keep, and I cut them off.  The poor, sad babes whimper of their sure starvation until they fall asleep. 

I doubt any of us will remember this particular trip.  Though we might recall that we stopped 4 times in the first 5 hours, but the rest will fade like trips and childhoods do.  And while most are not noteworthy,  I wouldn't mind remembering the moment I am having right now.  The girls are awake and listening to their Mp3 player-  a mix of pop music and ballads sung by their mama.  “Ellie, “ Tessa says, “imagine what if mom was up on stage singing a rock song like on the Fourth of July but not on the Fourth of July.  That would be weird.” They giggle, and as I try to envision what they are seeing, I giggle a little too.  Adam rides shotgun, and as any good co-pilot would, he occasionally points out something interesting in the road signs and billboards we pass, to Guy, who has driven the whole way.  And last of all, to my left, my youngest child sleeps under a well tucked blanket, looking for all the world like Ethan did as a baby, while to my right, that very boy -now so grown-up -, sleeps with his head tucked against my shoulder.  I can feel his warm breath on my arm, and I can’t remember a time since he was small that he has slept on my shoulder.    

I love road trips.

Road Trip: The Final (Epic) Post

If it were only that simple.

(Jonah toddles through Idaho State Penitentiary)

Guy saw that sign and said "The person who made that doesn't have children." 

It's so true. 

You really can't control your kids.  They will do what they will do. 

But one thing we found on our trip was how much they could be influenced for good or not, by things around them.  With hours in the car and no a la'carte media at their disposal, the kids began to play games with each other and listen to stories read aloud or on CD.  We found that our dreaded fears of death and mayhem in the back seat had been unnecessary. 

Or we thought they had.   

From time to time we would stay at a place that had T.V. or Internet or an Xbox, and amazingly, as soon as we would get in the van after they had been indulging in several hours of "the junk", the kids were at each other's throats.  They fought and teased and were impatient and rude. 

I'm not kidding you, that stuff is of the devil.

I guess our trip taught me a few things besides the fact that Sponge Bob is evil.  I learned that I could be away from people I love for a very long time and upon seeing them, feel like we had never parted.  I had reconfirmed to me the importance of family, both immediate and extended. 

     

Aunt Mada and Aunt June... Guy's mother's sister and my mother's sister... what do they have in common besides living in The Great Potato State, the ability to throw down a fabulous spread and to grandma the heck out of kids?  They are magically connected to each other by the very fact that the DNA that made each of them is also in my children.

And so begins our final leg of the Family Road Trip.  This will be a booty-long ol' post, but that is more for my sake than for yours.  I frankly don't expect anyone out there to actually read this to it's belated ending, except maybe Rebekah, who says she always does.  So, without further adieu...

From Idaho to Utah!

First stop, Thanksgiving Point and the Dinosaur Museum!

Roooooaaaaarrrr!!!

Then off to my Alma Mater, BYU to show the kids around.  We visited the art museum with Guy's very funny nephew Jack and his friend Brian, and what to my wondering eyes...? 

My favorite painting of Jesus Christ, no, not a copy, but the 100 year old original!

 (By Carl Heinrich Bloch)

Oh, my goodness, I stood there and wept. 

I did.

The kids all made fun of me.

The security guard kindly waited until after we took this picture before telling us...

no photos allowed!

Oh, well!  I got mine!

From favorite painting to favorite song, we happened into the Wilkinson Center for ice cream and there was a guy playing Claire de Lune on the piano.  Oh, to be 5 years old again and not care what anyone would think if I danced around in my ladybug shoes!

It is a simple door on a non-descript building, but it was where I spent most of my time my last year at BYU as I did my final show for the Bachelor of Fine Arts program.  I thought my heart would hurt from going through that door, because the last time I had walked through it I had believed I was heading off into a successful career as a fine artist.

But quite the opposite happened.  While I do make art, it is not really my "career", but my heart didn't hurt at all as we walked around my old stomping ground.  I was so excited to show the studios to my kids, and they began to see me in a whole new way as they saw the foundry, kilns, and large power tools I used to use here.  By the end of our day at BYU, all four of the bigger kids, even Ethan, had in some way indicated that they wanted to go there someday for college. 

Who knows, maybe one day one of them will load that same kiln.

Sometimes we just had to get out of the van and play!

We got to visit my sister Julie in Herriman which was so wonderful.  I am still waiting for the recipe to her fresh fruit salsa.  Then "a moment" in our family history occured ... Cousin Jess, now a mother twice over and my parents' oldest grandchild, holds little Jonah, the youngest cousin of the clan.

We met up with my former missionary companion and her kidlets at the Church History Museum.  At one point when we were sitting amidst our combined 10 children I whispered in her ear

"Look at all the people we made."

Is he G.Q. or what?

The doors of the Salt Lake Temple

I think one of my favorite moments on our trip was when we visited with Uncle Max.  His eyes, fogged with age and dementia, tried to follow the conversations in the room, but it was too hard for him.  Then he turned to me and said, "You painted that picture of me with my big fish!".  How had he remembered?  For the next hour I listened as he told me stories and showed me his hand tied flies.  He showed me his favorites; the ones that caught the biggest fish, the ones that were so hard to make that men used to come from 3 counties to buy them from him.  It got late and we had to leave, and said so several times, but each time he simply held up another fly and said, "And THIS one..."

I don't imagine I'll ever get to see Uncle Max again, and if I do, he probably won't remember me.

We visited Guy's "little" brother Greg (above) and family, and Jonah thought his cousin Sylvia, 2 months older than him, was his own personal dolly.  We also got to spend some wonderful time with Guy's sweet Aunt Penny and super fun cousin Katie.  I guess I was having so much fun I forgot to even take a picture of them! 

Oops!  I guess we have to go back!

Our good friends, Marty and Sarah, opened their home to us for the entire week, and we thrilled at being there with them.  I was so moved by their loving example of gentle but firm parenting.  They are so consistent with family prayer and scripture study, and I must say that it rubbed off in some small degree.  Since we have been home we are trying much harder to gather our family each night to pray and read the scriptures together.  Sarah also taught me the fine art of Extreme Couponing!  I have already saved $101.  So cool.

Now, when I started this "blogety thingy" I swore that I would never,

no,

not ever,

post a picture of one of my kids with food gobbed all over their face.

I guess I lied.

'Cuz oh, my gosh, I think he is so cute.  And it was, after all, his birthday.  I can't NOT post about his birthday, right? (oh, don't worry, there is more to come.  This picture was only taken halfway through his cake carnage!)

One last trip to the skate park before we say goodbye...

then back on the road.

The boy who could walk on water.

The Great Salt Lake. 

We told the kids not to get wet.  In ten minutes they were all in up to their thighs. 

They ended up riding all the way to Winnemucca, Nevada  in their skivies.

Is it legal to cross state lines in your underwear?

Well, thanks, all three of you, for hanging in there till the bitter end. 

It was a long, long trip, or, as Guy put it, "Five days too long". 

He said that 6 days before we went home. 

It is good to be home. 

Oh, wait.  School has started. 

Can I go back?