Mountain Mama

Which is a lyric that has never made sense to me, but I'm not from West Virginia. 

Over the past few years DOB has been working out how to do some off-roading in the Olympics. It started as just a diversion en route to the annual beach pilgrimage, involving a lot of dead ends and occasionally bees. Over the years he has acquired more off-roading capable vehicles and figured out where to print off maps of the logging roads. 

This year we spent Memorial Day chasing down roads along with a few other people. He wanted to do that again on the 5th, but it didn't work out for anyone else, so just Dash and I went along. I suggested a relatively tame loop, but Dash and DOB wanted something more interesting. We went as far as the trailhead for Mount Ellinor, which my father used to climb regularly in his youth and which I ascended with him when I was about 10. My only memory of this trip is clinging to the summit in terror. Still, it was cool to be up there and Dash and I are discussing doing a summit. It's a challenging trail but there were plenty of people coming down with grade school children in tow, so it can't be that difficult, right?  On the other hand, while I walk a good deal on relatively level ground I was getting winded just descending a bit from the parking lot, so I probably should try some lesser elevation hikes first. 

After that we tried various roads. The first one had apparently been wiped out by a landslide several years back (judging from the scrubby trees growing out of it). Fortunately the wipe out was clearly visible from where it turned off the main(ish) road and there was a parking lot, so DOB stayed there while Dash and I hiked a short way down and discovered it would indeed have had incredible views if it had been traversible. But that one would have been a dead end at best anyway, so we were not too disappointed.  

The next one we had passed on the way up and the maps indicated would lead us on a large and windy loop that would eventually get us back to Highway 101. However, as should be indicated by my statement above, the maps are not in any way updated to show that roads have become impassable or closed. It is entirely a use at your own risk system, and often we would see roads clearly marked on the map of which there was no sign that a road had ever existed. 

The entrance to this one was rocky and narrow but clear, so we headed out and DOB was rather disappointed when the rocks dissipated to gravel and a clear but narrow road lined heavily by trees that looked more like an overgrown driveway than a mountain adventure. We continued for quite awhile with nothing more terrifying that a good bit of paint damage when the road began to be more along the edge and we came across a rockslide where a boulder blocked half the road and there was no shoulder on the other side. Dash got out and determined it was *just* wide enough for the truck and he spotted DOB through it while I tried valiantly but not always successfully not to scream. 

There were a few other narrow spots between fallen trees and boulders, and one with loose scree high on one side and a narrow edge on the other. There were also some lovely views and absolutely no other vehicles on the road, which was both a relief and a concern. 

I decided after the first time, that it would be for the good of all if I got out and walked around the next bend and examined the very lovely wildflowers while these locations were being traversed. So we continued on for a couple of hours (at about 5 mph) thinking that at least we would not need to past *those* obstacles again when we came to a place where the road was entirely covered a couple feet thick in loose scree that tapered off into more landslide on the other side. There were tire tracks on it, and the road did continue on the other side, but DOB concluded that it was beyond even his considerable skill except in a Jeep with a winch. (I did not previously realize that having equipment to tie your car to a tree and drag it over such obstacles was even a thing.)

Well. That meant all those obstacles we were relieved to get past were still waiting behind us, and that only after DOB backed the truck the quarter mile back to the closest turnout. I did even more walking ahead on the way back, along with some fervent prayers and, at that hour, some bug slapping. However, we did eventually make it all out alive. (DOB swore that death was not really a potential outcome, although getting the truck stuck in a stand of trees was one, in which case I felt like I would still be in a much better position to render aid if I waited down the road.) We got back to the main forest road and took the more mundane loop back to the highway, although we did pass where the road would, theoretically, have come out. 

Anyway, having discovered that while I do still have some fear of edges, edges with my feet on solid ground are much less scary than edges in the passenger seat of a 3-ton truck with an inch clearance for its tires, so I am looking forward to tackling Mt. Ellinor again. 

Intimations of Mortality

Our new year began with the sad news of DOB's Uncle Dan's sudden passing. This, in turn, spurred an unplanned trip to Ohio for the first time in 15 years, along with Duchess, Mr. Duchess, and Dash.  DOB wound up spending about ten hours on the phone straightening out the tickets. Duchess coordinated entertainment and snacks, Dash navigated, and Mr. Duchess pushed the wheelchair (DOB does not trust his power chair to the tender mercies of the airlines). I showed up and didn't lose anything I was carrying (except my lunch, once) and was very much reminded why we never tried to do this with four small children. 

The bittersweet thing about funerals that starts coming home in midlife is that they are often the only time you get together and see all the rest of the people. We were able to stay parceled out amongst DOB's two youngest brothers and their families, meet the baby neiphlings, see DOB's parents and other aunt and uncle, visit our old church and show Duchess and Dash our early houses and the parks we always played at. (Everything being covered with a foot of snow, we mostly viewed things from inside the cars.) 

We also caught the norovirus, which delayed Duchess and Mr. Duchess traveling back with us. This may have contributed to the unwise moment when Dash and DOB decided to try traversing the moving sidewalk with the wheelchair. The first one went uneventfully, even with DOB dragging a wheeled carryon alongside him and Dash having a massive backpack on. So we got on another, me trailing behind carrying a large carryon, my purse, two coats, a water bottle, and a badly wrapped sandwich. And then at the end of the second moving sidewalk, the front wheels jammed and Dash and I were stuck behind walking briskly in place to keep from being crushed into the back of the wheelchair with no room to get around the extra wheeled carry on. I realized something needed to be done to change the situation and the best thing I could think of was to fling myself--bags, coats and snacks entire--over the top of DOB to get to the other side of the sidewalk and then tug the wheels loose from that side. Somehow I did this and then did indeed manage to drag the chair off the sidewalk, although by this time the back wheel tire had also come off. We were flung about in the debris of this encounter and trying to wedge the tire back on when a flight attendant strolled by and remarked blandly, "You're not supposed to do that." No kidding. (Yes, there was an emergency kill switch, but no, I did not notice it in time to use it.)

After we returned home I went to the eye doctor's to pick up my very first pair of driving glasses. This is probably not a big deal to those who have worn glasses their entire lives, but for me it is a big step, and not just the physical adaptation to having something on my face (hopefully at some point without triggering a headache). Every other sign of aging one could probably address in some way with more yoga or less fat or eating three pumpkin seeds by the light of the crescent moon, but this just is: your eyes are old. They are getting older. It will not get better. It will just get worse, and worse, until you die. I did the math today and realized that Uncle Dan was just about the age DOB and I are now when I joined the family. Those 22 years went quickly and I do not know if I have another 10, like my mother, or 22, like Uncle Dan, or even 46 like some of my grandparents. But I very likely have less ahead of me than behind of me. 

A Biblical Mystery

DOB and I are taking our twenty-year-belated honeymoon this week, back to my favorite place in the world (which is luckily only a couple hours away) and more or less near the spot where we spent a very short weekend after the actual wedding. (Do not get any ideas, creepy internet lurkers, our house is still full of large, cranky teenagers, an alarming number of melee weapons, and very loud dogs.)  

It involved a ferry ride and on the ferry ride there was a vehicle with some kind of small boat tied to the top. (An outrigger?) There was a verse on the side, but because of the way the rope was tied, all I could read was "Zechariah ??:6"

Naturally once we arrived I had to do some research and figure out *which* Zechariah ??:6 was intended. The options are as follows:

1:6 But my words and my statutes, which I commanded my servants the prophets, did they not take hold of your fathers? and they returned and said, Like as the LORD of hosts thought to do unto us, according to our ways, and according to our doings, so hath he dealt with us. (Kind of clunky, not a good fit.)

2:6 Ho, ho, come forth, and flee from the land of the north, saith the LORD: for I have spread you abroad as the four winds of the heaven, saith the LORD. (This sounds exciting, but we were traveling east, not south. They might have had Alaska plates, though, I didn't know to check.)

3:6 And the angel of the LORD protested unto Joshua, saying, (Kind of abrupt, not getting much here.)

4:6 Then he answered and spake unto me, saying, This is the word of the LORD unto Zerubbabel, saying, Not by might, nor by power, but by my spirit, saith the LORD of hosts. (OK, yes, I'm sure it was this one. Shush. We must check them all.)

5:6 And I said, What is it? And he said, This is an ephah that goeth forth. He said moreover, This is their resemblance through all the earth. (Well, I don't know what an ephah going forth is, but I also didn't know what the boat was called, so perhaps it is an ephah and that is their resemblance through all the earth.)

6:6 The black horses which are therein go forth into the north country; and the white go forth after them; and the grisled go forth toward the south country. (Not really seeing the connection here.)

7:6 And when ye did eat, and when ye did drink, did not ye eat for yourselves, and drink for yourselves? (This seems like it would work better on a yacht.)

8:6 Thus saith the LORD of hosts; If it be marvellous in the eyes of the remnant of this people in these days, should it also be marvellous in mine eyes? saith the LORD of hosts. (It didn't seem like a particularly marvellous boat, but I don't know much about boats.)

9:6 And a bastard shall dwell in Ashdod, and I will cut off the pride of the Philistines. (Kind of earthy, I like it!)

10:6 And I will strengthen the house of Judah, and I will save the house of Joseph, and I will bring them again to place them; for I have mercy upon them: and they shall be as though I had not cast them off: for I am the LORD their God, and will hear them. (A nice sentiment, and "cast off" is kind of nautical.)

11: 6 For I will no more pity the inhabitants of the land, saith the LORD: but, lo, I will deliver the men every one into his neighbour's hand, and into the hand of his king: and they shall smite the land, and out of their hand I will not deliver them. (If the land is getting smitten, it's better to be on a boat?)

12:6 In that day will I make the governors of Judah like an hearth of fire among the wood, and like a torch of fire in a sheaf; and they shall devour all the people round about, on the right hand and on the left: and Jerusalem shall be inhabited again in her own place, even in Jerusalem. (Not very nautical, but pretty exciting)

Down to the Sea

The picture at the top of the blog, which I have no desire to ever replace even though the two people on the left side are somewhat fatter now and the two people on the right side are much taller, and the two people who were too terrified of the ocean to come within a hundred yards of it have become comfortable with it, was taken along the Pacific coast in Washington more than a decade ago. I can't remember the exact year because it all blurs together now. It has been our primary vacation spot for a very long time. 

I have many friends who love travel and seeing new and exciting places and I applaud them for their adventures and enjoy their photos and occasionally have a twinge of envy, but mostly I am completely OK with being very boring. I have always been a traditionalist. I was the small child with whom you did not dare to do things one Christmas unless you were prepared to do it every Christmas until the end of time. Also disposable income has tended to be in short supply and this is only two and a half hours away and quite inexpensive lodging if you can fit your food for the week in the car, as the only grocery option is the sole gas station. (Not easy when you are also squeezing in 6-11 people and all their luggage and a couple mobility devices and some beach chairs and boogie boards.)

While we have gone a few times as just us, most of the time it's a group trip with Their Majesties, Wondergirl, and Techboy and Toolboy and their respective families, all staying in separate houses but hanging out together on the beach. (Techboy's children having begun to have children themselves now, it was a four-generation trip this year.) It is not only a great way to spend time together without *too* much togetherness, it is very handy if you are someone like me and always forgetting something essential, because odds are someone else has paper towels on them.

For the past several years we have stretched this out to a week or a little more, which is really an amazing amount of time to unwind enough to actually be able to relax. Unfortunately, this year the Naval resort where we stay changed their reservation rules to give priority to active duty military (Her Majesty as a veteran makes our reservations). Her Majesty, who is a force of nature, after many days on the phone, still managed to find us all three nights at the same time, so we still had time for boogie boarding and s'mores and family taco and game night and ladies' brunch at the one nice restaurant, although it was definitely too short to actually relax. 

Burn bans permitting we have a campfire on the beach and spend most of the afternoon grilling things and toasting things and making smores and counting the heads of people boogieboarding. (Their Majesties can outlast any of the teenagers at this.) Burn bans not permitting, which was the case this year, my brothers have portable gas grills along with any other gadgets needed for comfort. Thus we can have the only fun parts of camping while still staying somewhere with showers and non-leaking roofs. (I have a theory about camping, which is that life needs suffering to be meaningful and people who have insufficient suffering in their daily lives for meaning pick up hobbies to supply it, such as camping.)

Naturally anything done this many times has accreted its own barnacles of tradition, such as the playlist of truly ridiculous songs which must be played each time and gets a little longer each trip, and the milkshakes from the one ice cream shop for the homeward journey. 

The really big thing about going to the same place year after year is that it makes coping with disability so much easier. It actually took us about six trips to be able to work out everything needed to go and make sure DOB was comfortable, could participate, and have adequate mobility to enjoy the experience. I recently came across an online conversation in which many people were criticizing Washington's practice of designating certain areas of the sandy beaches as public roads. While I am sure there is some impact on the environment, those beaches are still undercrowded and full of wildlife and it is immeasurably valuable to have a place where people who are stuck on wheels can get themselves down to the beach. (And no, being able to theoretically possibly rent a "beach wheelchair" so you can be pushed around by someone else is not at all the same thing.)  Washington has plenty more beach that is more protected. 

So though not quite what was hoped for, it was still a good time. DOB and I have plans for a 20th anniversary trip/honeymoon in a couple of weeks that will hopefully afford us a better chance to actually get some rest.

Only Two More Days!

And I get to go here: Charlotte Mason Northwest Educator's Conference. I'm totally excited. I will bring my ugly knitting. But I haven't figured out what I did with my copy of The Living Page.

On the Road (and Boat)

One of DOB's practice areas is serving as a Guardian Ad Litem, which is a court-appointed person who looks into the needs of an incapacitated (or "alleged incapacitated" if the case is just beginning) person and makes a recommendation to the court.

Lucky for us, he got appointed on a case that required him to travel to the San Juan Islands one weekend and the city of Bellingham another weekend in order to make a thorough investigation. (It really was necessary! And court pre-approved!) For the first trip, we brought all the kids along and got a highly adorable rental cabin with a very mossy hill out back. For our second trip, we left the kids with Their Majesties and spent some time poking around used book stores in a very fun historic district.

Unfortunately GAL work isn't usually so glamorous and mostly involves travel to the nearest nursing homes. Still, it was fun while it lasted.

It left me with some more thoughts on accessible travel, such as that while a ramp that runs at a 30 degree angle from the door to the main road and then directly into the sea is technically a wheelchair accessible entrance, it is more than a little terrifying. Actually, hills in general are not all that wheelchair accessible, but I'm not moving us to Nebraska even so. Getting a fully accessible room at the second hotel was awfully nice, though.

In Which I Stay Out of Trouble

We went to the beach this weekend, mostly, I think, to see if we could. To reassure ourselves that we would not be stuck at home for the rest of our lives, and to remind ourselves how nice home is. We got there and back all in one piece, so I suppose we succeeded. We built a sand castle, or at least a Sand Lump. We got the kite up in the air, briefly. We visited the nature center. I even took the camera with batteries, although it may be next year before I download the pictures.

One area we really lucked out was in a hotel with a full breakfast--not a wimpy offering of bagels and orange juice, but the full deal with eggs and bacon and everything, constantly replenished for two and a half hours. This made the children happy, as they got to eat cold cereal in unnatural colors. And it made me happy, except for the effort wasted on packing breakfast food.

For Labor Day weekend the hotel was booked solid and this morning the breakfast room was packed. The petite lady who seemed to be running the hotel all but single-handedly had kindly placed us in a room right next to the short staircase down into the breakfast room, so that DOB could walk down the stairs when he didn't want to use the wheelchair and elevator. However, when we got into the breakfast room that day and there was nowhere to sit, he went back upstairs to await developments while the children wandered around rootless with yogurt cups.

Finally I spotted a tiny table with three seats that seemed to be clearing. I stood beside it for a moment to see if it really was or someone had just gotten up with refills. A woman with an accent that I will not try to classify better than non-English-speaking European asked me, "Are you leaving this one?"

"I'm just seeing if it's available," I said. She wandered off.

A moment later, I saw that a large table was coming clear. I walked over to it. The same woman--the funny thing was, she looked rather like me, not doppelganger similar but enough that if a police description had gone out we both would have been picked up--was suddenly there again.

"I'm taking this table," she said, "You wanted that other one."

"Not really," I said, "This one would work better for us." (At the moment the children and yogurt cups had wandered off.)

"There are five of us right here," she said, "My husband is here." (He appeared to be trying to settle her down, unsuccessfully.)

"I have four small children and my husband can't walk," I said. She was completely unimpressed even by the disability card. I was more than a little annoyed. And then suddenly the mental picture of two middle-aged women duking it out in a restaurant breakfast room over a table overtook my anger with amusement.

Later I wished I could have thought of something very gracious, or very cutting, to say. But both failed me. I just said, "Fine, take it."  And went back to the three-seat table.

Whereupon the children and yogurt cups reappeared and complained about the shortage of chairs. But within a few minutes the next small table over opened up and we squished them together and DOB rejoined us and we had a decent breakfast after all, though we didn't get in line too close behind the other family.

Around the block

We squeezed in another trip after summer had officially ended but before the rains came. This one took us all the way around the Olympic Peninsula. Our first stop was at Hurricane Ridge, where we at long last got to go up in the mountains. Everybody is sketching pictures of forest fires in the picture, although there were none visible that day. (There was some smoke blowing over from the Cascades, though. Canada looked pretty hazy.) DOB had the excitement of driving down mountain roads in a new truck with hand controls. We all got to practice being very, very quiet.

The next day we had wanted to go all the way out to Neah Bay, Cape Flattery and the northwesternmost corner of the state (and the contiguous United States), but we decided it was too far of a drive. Instead we settled on lunch at Lake Crescent, which is a dazzling blue lake dropped in the middle of the mountains (and conveniently located right off Highway 101).

We spent the next two nights in a vacation rental on the Bogachiel River, relaxing, throwing rocks in the river, and feeding cows.

Then we ventured on south, to the Hoh Rain Forest. (That's a fallen tree the kids are walking down, in case you can't tell.) It felt pretty dry, for the rain forest, but everything has its season.

Ron managed to persuade a camp robber (gray jay) to eat off his hat. You had to eat fast if you wanted to keep your sandwich.

Our last two nights were down in Pacific Beach and were less photogenic. We took advantage of YMCA reciprocality, found out our favorite nature center was closed during the week, and spent a couple more hours at the beach, which, surprisingly, still had plenty of sand. We did what we could to remedy that, and we watched "Pirates of Penzance" (kids) "The Princess Bride" (everybody, minus the ROUS and Pit of Despair), and "Horatio Hornblower" (grownups).

Winter Wonderland

We spent the long weekend in the mountains with some friends from DOB's law school days and their assorted increase (though none have increased quite so much as us).

A few days before, our Organizer-In-Chief (who did a fabulous job) sent out an email noting that snow was expected. Well, it was up among the foothills, so this was not surprising. The kids went into raptures and I went into the basement to find snow gear. Much to my surprise, I was able to assemble a complete outfit for each of the kids. This turned out to be a good thing.

Anyway, we had a lovely time in the very elegant setting, and the kids had a great time shrieking and chasing each other around the pillars and up and down the marble staircase. The first day the snow fell elegantly but to little accumulation, but Sunday was definitively snowy, with the fluffy, moist snow that makes ideal snow sculptures, which we proceeded to make and follow up with hot cocoa and everything else necessary for an idyllic snowy day.

That afternoon, conversation turned to the impending departure--we were at the end of a long partly gravel road, and it was downhill all the way to the interstate. Most of our friends are from farther south and were not confident about driving in the snow. DOB volunteered to demonstrate his midwestern snow-driving skills for the benefit of one of the other guys. They headed out. About forty-five minutes later the other guy showed up at the door. Going downhill had worked fine, and DOB had masterly avoided all sliding except as he chose. However, coming back uphill hadn't worked at all. DOB waited in the car for some evening visitors with four-wheel drive and chains.

After supper I decided to make a few more preparations for departure. There were quite a few eggs left, so I thought I would boil some to take for our lunch on the way home. I set them on to boil and went into the next room to chat. Some time--quite some time--later, DOB went into the kitchen to get water and called out, "Is this supposed to be exploding in here?" Sure enough, I had left the eggs merrily boiling until they had boiled dry, and the eggs were beginning to explode. We doused them with water, and then everyone had to come and admire the effect. Apparently most of them did not know you could make eggs explode. (As Atomic Robo would say, "Sooner or later, everything explodes.")

In the morning we parceled our bags out among the other departers, who sledded down to more level ground. We bundled the kids off and hiked down the hill (it had been a seven minute walk for me at a brisk clip earlier in the morning to fetch things) to the car in six inches of snow. DOB assigned them all roles as hobbits and styled himself as Gandalf, facing Mount Caradhras. I could never quite decide whether I should be Legolas or Boromir. Then it was a simple matter of repacking the car, ungearing the kids, and reloading everyone in the heavy snow, before we could proceed slowly, but without further incident, to the freeway.

In short, a good time was had by all, and we have maintained our reputations.

There was a little snow left here when we got home, but not much. Supposedly we're supposed to get a whole lot more tomorrow. We shall see. At least we have enough snow pants.

Same, in pictures

The story behind these pictures is that on our way out the door, we couldn't find the camera. (I still can't find it.) But the camera had served us well for many years and the buttons had been jamming for awhile, so we decided to replace it with another basic model, which we picked up at the Evil Store of Evil on the way out.

So DOB happily took pictures through the trip, and although things looked bad at one point, we did not use up the charge on the one included pair of batteries (I forgot to buy any extras).

Then we got home. I unpacked everything. No camera cord. I panicked. I distinctly remembered coming across the camera packaging in the hotel room and asking myself, "Should I throw this away?" and thinking, "No, it has all the important camera stuff in it!" Unfortunately, after that, my memory was completely silent on the topic of camera packaging.

I tried our other camera cords (Duchess bought her own small camera, too), but none fit. In a panic, I searched online and discovered the cord cost $15 before shipping and tax and wasn't in stock anywhere. I finally emailed DOB in despair: Had he seen the camera stuff anywhere. Half an hour later, he replied tersely: "It's in the car."

In the car? But I had unloaded all the luggage! How did he know? Was he just saying it to make me feel better? Still, I did feel a little better.

That evening, he arrived home and tossed me the box, whose appearance I had completely forgotten. Oh yeah. That box. The one that was sitting on the dashboard and fell in my lap every time we accelerated.

So, anyway, here are pictures.

The Great Escape

Last Sunday morning DOB and I were lying in bed, feeling uninspired about getting up and about life in general. That classic motivational question, "What gets you out of bed every morning?" could by us only be answered, "Someone standing outside our door screaming, "I'm WET!"

As we lay there, thinking of all the things we didn't want to do but had to, and all the things we wanted to do, but couldn't, we finally thought--why not just do one of them? So we decided to spend the Veteran's Day weekend at the coast. Now, we knew the chances were in favor of terrible weather. However, terrible weather on a weekend getaway is not so bad. It gives you the chance to go out and say to yourself, "Wow, big waves. Brr, cold wind. I think I'll go back in and read a book."

So we found a $70 suite with a kitchen attached and packed up the kids and the food and went for it. After all, the worst that could happen was that we would have a horrible time, in which case the return to humdrum life would come as a welcome reprieve.

The town we had happened upon was just remote enough not to pull enough money for modernizing into condominiums, but not so little as to become run-down, so instead it had an old-fashioned, One-Morning-in-Maine sort of vacationy feel, and our motel was simple but cozy and beachy with cement block walls stenciled with shells and extra towels labeled "DOG" for use on small furry or non-furry creatures coming off the beach.

The weather was lousy--the only time the wind didn't blow so hard we couldn't see was the unnatural calm that came when we took the kite down to the beach--but we had The Princess Bride to watch and The Phantom Tollbooth to read and plenty of peanut butter chocolate chip cookies. (I'm terribly indecisive in cookie making; I tend to just throw it all in.) We found two free museums, one of which gave the kids the sand dollars and shells they didn't have the opportunity to collect. We only had one emergency load of laundry and one nosebleed, which, considering our odds, was pretty good.

We live so close to the Sound that it is easy to think we know all about salt water and forget what a great difference there is between our tame little beaches and tidy little whitecaps disrupted by the passing foot ferries and the roaring Pacific. It was worth the drive just to feel and hear the power of the ocean. Although after reflecting upon it and observing the ubiquitous Tsunami Evacuation Route signs, DOB has scratched "beach house" off the fantasy list and is replacing it with a cabin in the mountains.

On the way back DOB tried rerouting us with his Blackberry (much more exciting than GPS, though we did miss one road that apparently had taken up the wrong name) and we found our way up into the rain forest, which after the beach felt mild and dry, so we had a lovely hike and admired the massive trees that had fallen down when Laura and Mary were little girls. (As far as our kids are concerned, there are three basic eras to history: Bible Times, Robin Hood, and Little House).

The biggest hit of all, of course, was nowhere so far and exotic, but the town about an hour away with a climbing structure built like a castle. We will undoubtedly have to take more trips to it.

I learned a few things to make the next trip smoother: Don't pack the oranges on top of the cookies. Take warmer coats than you think you'll need. Don't serve fish the night before you leave and then forget to take out the garbage. (The house stank when we got back, but I remembered a tip I had read and put cinnamon sticks and cloves in a pan of water on the burner. This worked great, as the smell of whatever it was that had stuck to the burner the last time I cooked quickly overpowered the fish.)

Sure enough, it is nicer to be home now. We'll have to do it again.

Places We Went, Things We Did

I feel that I have been exceedingly negligent in posting about the trip, but as someone has said, after a move it's not as if you can just do a few loads of laundry and be done. (In fact, I still haven't finished bringing in the toys and spare snacks from the car.)

The first two days we just drove straight up to northern Wisconsin, where we visited a friend for a few days. We had a lovely time walking in the woods, watching the snow fall, and generally relaxing after a very exhausting week . . . month . . . year . . .

After we left Wisconsin, our first notable stop was at Mall of America, which we visited ONLY because it has a large Lego store. To our bewilderment, D2 wandered off and insisted he wanted to go on a neighboring amusement park ride. We persuaded him that it was impossible and finally left, ears ringing, brains buzzing, the only benefit being everybody had a chance to stretch their legs out of the rain.

Our next destination, near the end of the next day, was the Badlands. This was particularly noteworthy as we arrived near sunset, and the older ducklings were on the watchout for bad cowboys the entire time. DOB and I were more watching out for staying on the road and not hitting antelope.

The following day we had gloriously warm weather and visited Mt. Rushmore. D1 and D2 were most impressed by the "mountain with faces." We stopped for a roadside picnic at a lovely little spot only a few minutes up the road from the main visitors' area--which turned out to be a good thing when a certain child who shall remain nameless realized an urgent need despite ceaseless attempts to take care of all such things before leaving the last available restroom.

The following day we had the choice to drive through Wyoming or Montana and settled on Wyoming, being rewarded by a drive on an even more lovely day through the incredibly beautiful Bighorn Mountains and Ten Sleep Canyon. We were hard-pressed to move on as everyone was ready to settle down as cowboys. (The good kind, of course.)

Bad weather had to catch up with us again at some point, and it finally did at Yellowstone. We still braved the drizzle to watch Old Faithful erupt, and saw a few other features before sleet settled our minds that it was time to move on.

The following day we drove a longish ways to central Washington so we could have a short drive the following day. That also gave us the chance to spend the night with some acquaintances, which was fun and relaxing. Midway we had the serendipity to discover a lovely park when we pulled off to look for gas in Idaho, and gave the kids the chance to climb on play equipment, something that they had found rather absent amid all the scenic beauty.

After putting in five to seven hours of driving each day, our final stretch of three hours seemed effortless. We didn't even bother to stop. We had seen plenty of rocks and trees and trees and rocks and so forth.

Travel Companions

We have arrived, bags and baggage, which are all piled about at random right now. Instead of dealing with them, however, I shall sit and reflect upon the journey. The contemplative life and all that.

The best advice about traveling with a lot of small children is probably: don't. Nonetheless, I'm glad we had a good excuse to do so, because I adore road trips, even though with four small children it takes an hour-long stop just to cycle everyone through the bathroom.

Plus we were at the point where we had the maximum amount of gear per person and the minimum amount of hefting power. The ducklings tried, but they were not always clear on the concept, D4 insisting on hauling the diaper bag back out to the car no matter how many times we tried to point him to the hotel room door. When we could get a place with luggage carts, however, all was well--indeed, riding on the luggage cart was the highlight for everyone. We probably should have gone by luggage cart instead of by van.

D1 and D2 were well stocked with ideas and maps and presents to open and generally enjoyed it all fairly well. D1 was convinced that all the most scenic items were on D2's side of the car, though I tried to convince her that the American West was not carefully arranged to disadvantage her. She worked it out by always announcing she had seen whatever sight there was to see, whether or not she had, and definitely if D2, whose brain seldom switches gears fast enough at 80 mph, had missed it.

D3 was our easiest traveler, as her ideal of life is to sit, hold Doll-doll, suck her fingers, and stare out the window. This she did with great contentment for hours on end, sometimes with her eyes shut, sometimes with them open. She was not without adventures, however, as a tumble off a wall in Wyoming left her with a nice patch of bandaids on her forehead for strangers to remark upon.

D4 was the one we were most concerned about. Sitting still is not on his List of Things To Do any day of the week. Seeing new places and things compensated him greatly, though. The first few days were a bit uneven, and once he started shouting, "Done!" from the back seat we knew we had better be done fast, but once he got used to the routine of travel he was contented and even eager to ever be moving onward. I was then worried he would not be content to remain, but he seemed to know that this was the place to stay as soon as we arrived; perhaps it was finding his bikes all waiting for him to arrive, or his new freedom to wander outside as much as he pleases.

On the Pain of Packing

I made a comment on facebook that packing for a road trip was worse than labor, and got some vigorous disagreement--and some agreement. Perhaps it depends what pain is freshest in your mind. Nonetheless, as I was sitting on our friend's floor, surrounded with eight different receptacles and fifteen different piles, gasping for air, while people brought me water and encouragement but could offer no tangible assistance, it did feel oddly similar. Unfortunately, all the information as to what had to be packed where existed only in my own brain, a place where it was never really at home and kept trying to leave.

I read some wise advice that one should pack in outfits for each person per day. Thus, the advice said, you would only have to take in a bag of pajamas and toiletries and another bag with tomorrow's clothes. This made a lot of sense. So I packed that way. So now, at any given spot, we only have to haul in the bag with tomorrow's clothes, and the bag of kids' pajamas, and the bag with grownup pajamas, and the bag of dirty laundry, and the bag with toiletries and DOB's swim gear, and the cooler, and the box of food/kitchen items, and two beds for the babies, and two booster seats for the babies.

But, you know, there's a small bin of clothes at the bottom that we don't have to haul in every night. It helps.

I hope the beds for the babies survive the trip, as we could find nowhere to put them but down the aisles of the van--which doesn't get in the way of the kids' legs, but I'm not sure what my weight climbing on them a dozen times a day is going to do to them. We put the babies in the very back, in hopes that they would sleep more readily that way, and also because they have a handier shelf for accumulating toys to throw on the floor. This makes for quite an ordeal getting them in and out, however. They do sleep a lot in the car, which means they do not sleep once we arrive at a hotel, instead spending a couple of hours popping up out of their beds like prairie dogs. But the tradeoff is worth it at this point and we will rediscover a Sensible Baby Schedule once we have arrived.

Minor Emergency

Someone asked me if I was planning to pack enough diapers for the whole trip.

"No, of course not," I said, "They have these things called stores that sell diapers."

Which would be true if I remembered to stop and buy them. But I didn't, and thus yesterday when the babies arose from their naps I had two very stinky babies and only one clean diaper. (Later research unearthed one in the car, but at the time we had no idea it was there.)

This called for some improvisation. A bit of digging unearthed some birdseye diapers which DOB uses as handkerchiefs in allergy season. The babies are, it turns out, bigger than a bread bag, but some small bags in which DOB brought his wet clothes home from the gym proved to be the right size. I cut out leg holes, taped up the top with packing tape (a tricky, two-person operation) and we were able to make it into town for more.

Jazz for the Open Road

At 9:49 on Saturday morning, we pulled out of our driveway for the last time. Of course, we had planned to leave at 5:30, but then it turned out the gym wasn't open the night before as late as DOB was able to go, so we had to wait for him to go the next morning, and we certainly had not finished loading everything, but Cicero was there to tidy up the last bits, and so we at last just went.

Our destination the first day was Madison, which meant seven and a half hours on the road--which we hope will be our longest day. D4 certainly hopes for that, though he did surprisingly well. When he started shouting "Done!" from the back seat, though, we knew it was time to find a rest stop. Very soon. And produce snacks in the meantime.

We managed to survive on picnics for the first day, but below forty degrees picnics start to get a bit less fun. Fortunately we were on a toll road for suppertime, and instead of freezing outside in the dark were able to take our food to a food court at an indoor "Oasis" that crossed the tollway.

To mark our progress, we are creating a paper clip chain to which we add a new paper clip every fifty miles. So far it stretches from the mirror nearly to the dashboard. The big kids get a coloring page for each new state we enter.

Sunday we had an abbreviated picnic on a nippy but glorious mountain park with giant boulders buried in golden leaves. We're now in the north woods of Wisconsin for a couple of days, visiting a friend and watching the snow fall on the autumn leaves. And trying not to think about how many of miles of cold lie between us and our destination.