Cross Country Mom: July 2012

Monday, July 30, 2012

DRUM ROLL PLEASE

Sadly for us, but happily for Crystal she is still safe and sound with her mother in the hay-filled barn at Crystal Creek Ranch.

For Gene's very different view of the same journey, check out his blog at www.ConnorsArmy.blogspot.com
To learn more about Connor's Army go to www.ConnorsArmy.org
To see exactly why we're doing this go to www.SunriseDayCamp.org
To make a tax deductible donation go to https://www.wizevents.com/register/register_add.php?sessid=1809&id=1056

Sunday, July 29, 2012

CRYSTAL THE CROSS COUNTRY KITTEN

Crystal was cold.

She’d been nice and warm while the gentle Great Pyrenees had surrounded her with white fur, but now the dogs were gone and she wasn’t quite sure why.

Maybe it had something to do with the big black car that had come to a creaking stop on the dirt road next to where she’d found herself when she’d crawled out the open barn door late last night. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time. She’d been so curious about what was outside the hay-filled confines of the only home she remembered. But as soon as Farmer Bill had shut everyone in for night, Crystal had known she was on the wrong side of the door.

She heard strange noises and could sense creatures beyond her limited vision whose interest in her was not friendly. She’d made a big mistake. She sat in the field mewing faintly and shivering as much from fear as from the chill night mountain air.

From out of the dark two shaggy forms had materialized, circling her as they sniffed. She’d mewed desperately hoping against hope that her puffed up fur would scare away these huge creatures.

The shapes had moved closer and Crystal had backed away as fast as her unsteady legs would let her; but before she knew it there’d been a cold wet nose in her face. She’d closed her eyes and curled up into a ball, crying piteously.

That was when the two dogs began their nightlong guard, wrapped around the tiny terrified kitten. The unlikely trio had stayed like that all night, until the noisy minivan had come rattling down the road in the predawn light.

Now the warmth of the dogs was gone, and Crystal’s tiny mews reached new ears.

Getting out of the car, the woman in pajamas tried to figure out where the obviously very young kitten had come from. She scooped up the shivering ball of fur and held it close, trying to give some of her body warmth to the tiny creature.

“It’s okay, Sweetie,” she cooed. “It’s okay.”

Crystal like the sound of her voice and crawled up to snuggle into her neck.

“Oh, you’re so cute,” said the woman. “How do you think she got out by the road?”

“I don’t know,” came a much lower voice. “But why don’t I hold her while you drive?”

Crystal was handed to a man who held her up to look into her face.

“She’s very young.”

“I’d say about two or three weeks,” answered the woman.

The man smelled like milk and Crystal realized she was hungry. As soon as he held her closer she searched for the source of that smell. When she finally found it, she started licking and sucking as she would have if her mother had been there.

“She’s sucking my lip,” he laughed. She continued, though it was frustrating not getting any milk.

“Here,” said the woman, “wrap her in this and I can hold her on my lap as I drive back.” Crystal was smothered in soft green fabric that warmed her instantly. “See you later,” called the woman as the man rode away on his bicycle.

As the car rocked its way back onto the farm, Crystal forgot her hunger and let herself doze off in the warmth of the woman’s lap.

She stirred vaguely as she was carried into a tidy little cabin, but didn’t fully wake up until that smell of milk came to her again. This time it was on the woman’s fingers, and it was warm. Crystal licked the fingers and nibbled at them, but couldn’t get as much milk as she wanted.

“Not too much, Sweetie. It’s not really good for you, but you just seem so hungry.” This woman knew what Crystal was feeling. And she was so gentle. Crystal liked her.

She tried to purr to let the woman know how happy she was, but she was too busy trying to get more milk. She was concentrating so hard, in fact, that she didn’t feel the woman move her to the soft bed.

“Sarah,” she heard, “open your eyes.” Only inches away, a pair of light brown eyes looked directly into her own and widened.

“A kitten!”

She was scooped up again to repeat the process.

“William, open your eyes.” This time the eyes next to hers were bright blue. And a pair of dark brown ones popped up over William’s head.

“She’s so cute! You put her in my polar fleece! Never ever wash it!”

From that moment things were a commotion of petting, cuddling, and cooing. Crystal was in heaven. She’d never had this much attention before and she definitely liked it.

Even when they left the little house and walked past the barn she’d been born in, she was content to stay wrapped in the soft green polar fleece as Sarah, William and James took turns begging their mama.

“Can we keep her?”

“Where’s her mother?”

“What if she has no mother?”

“What if she needs someone to take care of her?”

“Kiddos,” their mama protested only half-heartedly, “I’m sure she has a mother. Besides, we’re living in a minivan.”

“She’s so small. She won’t take up much space.”

“But, guys, what about Lily?”

“Lily would want to take care of her.”

“We can introduce her to Lily like you’re supposed to.”

“But we’re staying in hotels, and a lot of them don’t allow pets.” Mama’s protests were definitely getting fainter and they could sense victory within their grasp.

“Then I’ll sleep out in the car with her.”

“Sarah. You can’t sleep in the car.”

“Then we can sneak her in.”

“Yeah. She’s not very noisy. Just that little tiny mew.”

“And I can put her under my shirt.”

“She’s too young to leave her mother.”

“But what if she doesn’t have a mother?”

“But I’m sure she does.”

“But what if she doesn’t?”

“If she doesn’t have a mother, can we take her?”

“I don’t know. Let’s not talk about this any more. We’ll ask Bill about her.”

“Just promise you’ll think about it.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Really?!”

“Really.”

“You’ll think about it.”

“I’m thinking, I’m thinking. Enough.”

Crystal listened to the arguments and tried to figure out what she wanted. She liked this bouncy family, but she loved the warm hay in the barn that tickled her nose with its smell. And now she knew the gigantic dogs were her friends.

“Oh, you can take her if you want her,” said Farmer Bill. “She was dumped here a few days ago. People do that all the time figuring we’re a farm and can take care of the animals. But we have no mother cat to nurse her and no time to hand feed her ourselves, so she’d probably be better off with you.”

“Really?” The children were beside themselves.

“Mama?”

“I know I’m going to regret this, but if she has no mother … then, well, yes.”

Crystal snuggled into the green polar fleece and for the first time in her three week life she purred.

ALTERNATE ENDING:

“Oh, she has a mother,” said Farmer Bill. “She’s in the barn. There are other kittens in there, too; but I haven’t seen them. I’ve only heard them. Do you want to help me bring her back there?”

“Okay,” the disappointment of the children was obvious but Crystal wasn’t sure how she felt.

As they opened the door, two kittens came bouncing out of the shadows welcoming their sister back into the fold. The children played with the three balls of fur as they tumbled in and out of the hay until it was time to go.

Crystal watched them leave and felt almost as sad as they did. But then her mother licked her and she remembered she had her own family who loved her, and for the first time in her three week life she purred.

So which ending do you think is the real one?

Wednesday, July 25, 2012

CITY OF HOPE

More than a year ago an F-5 tornado tore through a one mile wide swath right in the middle of Joplin, Missouri. People all over the country, including my own family, watched on television as this city of 50,000 tried to come to grips with the destruction wreaked by this unprecedented cataclysm in their bustling downtown business and residential district.

Sarah was so affected by what she saw that three days later she contacted the Mayor of Joplin to ask if she could help them replant their trees. Within a week she’d begun fundraising and, fueled by the thought of this former American Tree City now bereft of 20,000 trees, by the time we left New York five weeks ago she’d raised $800 for the Joplin Parks and Recreation Department.

Today we drove down to Joplin so she could hand deliver her check to Chris Cotton, the Director of Parks and Recreation. Afterwards we toured the tornado district, and I can categorically state without any doubt that the aftermath images we all saw on our screens and in our newspapers were nothing like the reality.

Seeing firsthand the absolute devastation the people of Joplin had to dig themselves out of was startling.

At lot after lot where once houses just like our own had once stood, crumbling steps led to emptiness. Steps that people walked uncountable times as they went about their everyday lives. Steps that children toted bicycles up and down. Steps that trick or treaters traipsed in their yearly quest for candy. Steps that welcomed someone back after a hard day. Steps that meant home.

Only now there was no home, just those cracked and tumbled steps leading to nothing.

It was the image of those steps and all the loss they signified that made me cry.

But Joplin isn’t just a city of loss.

Everywhere are the signs of rebuilding. The new pool that welcomes hundreds of children on a hot summer day, the hospital that reopened on April 9, the school district that dubbed itself Operation Rising Eagle and welcomed students back to a different campus on schedule only three months after their high school was destroyed.

No, Joplin is definitely not a city of loss. It is a city of strength. It is a city of rebirth. It is a city of hope.

Monday, July 23, 2012

NATURE VS. NURTURE

Here in the heart of America’s beef farms it’s been difficult to make sure vegetarian Sarah gets enough protein. It’s absolutely no exaggeration that every restaurant is either a barbeque joint or a steak house. She’s been surviving on grilled cheese, soggy vegetables, and the occasional spinach salad. William, on the other hand, has been happily living on hamburgers.

That may be about to change.

On our way out to San Diego we whizzed across the country in five and a half days on seventy-five mile an hour interstate highways. Part of what I’ve loved about the return trip has been the backroads route we’re taking home, which has allowed us to really see America in all its glory and degradation.

Its hometown pride and its abandoned towns. Its long held traditions and its technological downfalls. Its amber waves of grain and its drought decimated farms.

While I’ve been most disturbed by the empty storefronts and broken windows that signify the desperate struggle affecting so many of the people living in one-street towns across our country, the children have become focused upon the plight of the animals. Specifically the cows.

At first we passed field after emerald field of grazing cattle in all their bucolic beauty. Then yesterday we hit the industrial ranches.

In other words, the feed lots.

Just having heard about them and how they treat the animals had been hard enough, but actually seeing them was almost physically painful. Hundreds upon hundreds of animals crammed into pens with nothing to do but stand in dirt hardened by the blazing sun. Tiny canopies give brief respite from the heat to a few, while the others mill about trying to find relief in each others’ shadows. Even their feed is dried out and in the 100 plus degree heat, water is nigh on impossible for them to push through the crowd to reach.

Having to explain this inhuman treatment of animals by humans to my children was tough, but having to tell them that this is where all the beef we eat comes from was shaming.

Most difficult to process, though, was the day we passed hundreds of miserable cows walking in each others’ filth who were forced to spend their days watching the contented herd just across the street grazing in the pastoral splendor of a tree studded field with a stream running through it. This juxtaposition of sad cows and happy cows caused much consternation in our car; and was the trigger of a long conversation about the plight of the local farmer versus the corporate farmer, and the temptation of the one to move into the ‘modern’ world of the other.

It’s been an interesting verbal journey that confirmed Sarah’s non-meat diet and began what I’m afraid is her voyage towards veganism, although I’ve told her she can only become a vegan when she’s prepared to make all her own meals to eat with the family. With all we’ve seen with our own eyes, though, I think we’ve all felt pulled towards the meatless world

In the end I think William will continue his carnivorous ways for now, as will the rest of us. But I hope the images of the happy cows and the sad cows will stay with all my children and affect the food choices they make in the future.

I know that I’ll be looking for meat, poultry and dairy from local farms and small ranches where they treat their animals with dignity and with the gratitude they deserve for providing our nourishment like the one owned by the family we spent the day with today.

I may be a card carrying carnivore, but at least I can do my part to support the small farms that were once the backbone of our entire agricultural system.

Sunday, July 22, 2012

DR. SPOCK TURNS OVER IN HIS GRAVE

All right. I will declare it right now for all the world to learn.

I am not the world’s best parent. I’m not even close. In fact, I’m miles away from even being a distant runner up in the competition.

I’m impatient with my kids. I lose my temper. I even scream at them.

I tune them out when they’re chattering away and I’m thinking about something else. I leave Sarah to assist the boys with their homework instead of helping them myself. I let them go to school without brushing their teeth in the morning because I just can’t fight over it for another morning.

I’m not at all consistent. I used to be, but it’s so darn tiring that too often I simply let them keep doing something I know (and more importantly, they know) they shouldn’t be allowed to get away with.

I’ve resorted to “because I said so” because it’s easier, even when I really do have a good and valid reason that would make an excellent teachable moment.

“Ah well,” I used to quip whenever one of those imperfect moments occurred, “I guess they’ll talk about that in therapy in thirty years.” The list of things they’re going to discuss with their therapists has gotten so long that I don’t use that glib joke any more.

In my defense, my children are not angels.

They whine, they push limits, they do things they know they’re not supposed to do (see the previous item), they argue with everything, they don’t listen when I talk even if it’s to answer a question they just asked me, and one of them is a new teenager (no explanation necessary). They bicker with each other and with me until I want to pull my hair out. And I swear they live to annoy each other, and by extension me.

In other words, we’re a typical family.

So why is it that in one day, in a city thousands of miles from my home town, four complete strangers made an observation about my family that has me questioning the state of families all over America?

What, you ask, might possibly cause me such consternation?

The first situations occurred at breakfast.

We were in a highly recommended and obviously very popular local dive. We could tell it was popular because every one of the dozen or so close-packed tables was filled when we arrived. The wait, though, was a relatively short ten minutes compared to the wait for our simple order. More than forty-five minutes after our waitress Amy handed in the ticket requesting two omelets, two pancakes, and a bowl of oatmeal, our grumbling stomachs were finally assuaged by the arrival of said food.

Forty-five minutes.

Any parent will tell you that sitting in a crowded restaurant with three starving children is difficult under the best of circumstances, but once the wait time becomes longer than ten minutes the potential for parental embarrassment rises incrementally with each passing sixty second interval. If you’d asked me to describe the ensuing scene, I would have cringed and explained that my children were not shown to their best advantage.

They squirmed, they told nine-year-old potty jokes, they wriggled, they tried to convince us to let them watch inappropriate movies, they fidgeted, they wondered loudly where our food was.

We resorted to every parental weapon in our arsenal – distraction, joining in the jokes, pretending they weren’t ours; but eventually we simply ran out of ammunition and spent our time praying for the food to arrive.

Eventually our prayers were answered and we spent the next fifteen minutes in a soothing respite of silent ingestion.

Imagine my dread, then, when the man at the next table walked over as he was leaving obviously intending to talk to us.

“You really should learn to control your children,” I pictured him saying. My answer, even in my daydream, was sputtered and imperfect and full of self-justification that even I didn’t buy.

His actual words had me sputtering as well.

“You really are wonderful parents,” he said. I swear I looked behind me to see if he was talking to someone else, but at that moment there were no other children in the place. Gene and I both managed to get out surprised “Thank you’s” before our complimentary stranger left and we exchanged shocked looks of disbelief.

And so the morning continued.

Our excited kids were rambunctious, and a man complimented Gene on his skills as a father.

We tried to hush them up, and a woman commented that she loved the way we interacted as a family.

My theory was that they put something in the water at that establishment to make everyone see the world through rose-colored glasses. I was sorry to leave it.

By the time we were in WalMart shopping for groceries at the end of a day chock full of museum touring and IMAX watching, we were all tired and not a little cranky. At the checkout counter Sarah insisted on carrying only the cupcake she’d bought for dessert rather than putting it in the grocery bag and carrying the entire thing.

I was short with her, Gene was loud. She put it in the bag and walked out in a huff.

“Wow,” said the checkout girl, “you’re really great with your kids.”

We exchanged that look again.

“You don’t know what I see. Just about fifteen minutes ago I had a woman come through here and you should have heard the names she was calling her children. Keep doing what you’re doing.”

Back in the car Gene and I tried to process that whole thing.

“We’re not that great parents,” I stated. “I mean, we’re not terrible, but we’re certainly not great.”

“What does that mean other parents are like?”

“I know!” But I don’t know.

I keep having visions of those children in WalMart whose mother was calling them names in the crowded checkout line. Is that the norm of American parenting? Are Gene and I in all our imperfection the best that America can do?

Boy I hope not.

Thursday, July 19, 2012

LUCK BE A LADY

Ah …

Silence.

It’s six’o’clock in the morning and the usual wild hubbub of three frenetically happy children has been replaced by the gentle singsong of two sweetly waking birds.

It is a big day.

Sarah, William, and James are riding with Daddy for the first part of today’s seventy mile leg. I’ll pick the boys up in Selkirk about twelve miles away then drive on another eighteen miles to Marianthal where we’ll wait for Sarah.

But for the moment I have an hour and fifteen precious minutes to myself.

What to do?

I eat a leisurely breakfast while reading a year old copy of "Better Homes and Gardens" and ponder the possibilities.

I try to get on-line to check my email without three little heads alternating their mutual “Can I get on the computer?” query. In this lovely cottage there is no wifi, but I’ve had a bit of luck tapping into the unsecured networks of the houses around us.

No such luck this morning.

I attempt to call my voicemail and check messages in this signal deficient hamlet where “No Network Coverage” is about the only text message I’ve received for days. Every so often, though, I can grab a stray edge of the cell service that seems to float overhead like an elusive jet stream; and touch base with my life back home.

No such luck this morning.

I do some yoga stretches to loosen up my 52-years-old-in-six-weeks back, which has out of the blue decided it doesn’t like sitting in the car for two or three hours a day. Neither does it like lugging heavy bags to and from upper story walk-up motel rooms every day. Nor does it like sleeping in beds that vary from rock hard to saggy soft every night. For the past two weeks my yoga and Pilates classes have really paid off by giving me tools to help ease the stiffness at the start of each day.

No such luck this morning.

I drive over to the old water tower I spotted yesterday hoping to get some nice early morning shots for a photo study I’m working on. A frail mist of clouds floats in an anemic blue pool of sky. I’d wanted a bright expanse of cloudless azure to contrast with the ragged edges and dingy silver of the tower. Ah, well. Perhaps the similarity will actually create a more dramatic shot than the disparity I’d been envisioning.

No such luck this morning.

I shoot what I can and head back to the car with exactly forty-five minutes to go till I have to meet mi famiglia. It's precisely enough time to have a leisurely drive to our meeting point, and then indulge in one of my secret pleasures. Tweezing my eyebrows. Yes, my favorite location for that grooming ritual is parked in a sunny spot with the car facing directly into the early day’s rays while I use the driver’s seat mirror to pluck any errant hairs. And my shaggy brows are screaming for their toilette.

No such luck this morning.

The minivan’s self-locking system, which has never worked before, has decided to spontaneously repair itself this morning. Perhaps it was because of the unaccustomed quiet in this town of 741 (according to the 2010 census). Perhaps it was because of the tender loving care the car has received from me. Perhaps Tribune, Kansas is some sort of Lourdes for motor vehicles. Whatever the reason, it has done so with my keys and admittedly useless cell phone sitting on the front seat. The nice man who stops to help tells me that the sheriff “should be here in a couple minutes.”

No such luck this morning.

Forty-five minutes later I thank the sheriff and finally get in the car. The clock reprimands me. Gene estimated they’d be traveling about eight miles an hour, so I may still have time to get ahead of them and film my three progeny on the road with their Dad.

No such luck this morning.

When I arrive at our proscribed meeting place, the children are in various phases of melting in the already blazing Great Plains sun.

“Where were you?”

“We’ve been waiting almost an hour!”

“Daddy was having vivid doom-filled fantasies.” (Sarah loves to quote my blog back to me.)

“They went faster than I thought they would,” Gene told me after I explained what happened.

"How was it?" I ask.

“It was great!”

“We rode twelve miles!”

“We’ve never ridden that far.”

“I’m hot.”

“I’m tired.”

“I need water.”

"I need air conditioning."

“Do you have a snack?”

Ah …

Cacaphony.

Sometimes you don’t know how lucky you are until your luck runs out.

Saturday, July 14, 2012

WOMAN TO WOMAN

Today I got to live out my future in animation.

And at least this time Disney didn’t kill off any parents, so I didn’t have to mourn my own demise.

Instead I watched that timeless battle between a mother who loves her children and does the invariably inadequate best she can for them, and a daughter on the cusp of womanhood who wants to find her own path in life without the encumbrance of someone else’s ideas.

As usual it led to botched spells, battles against evil, and life-changing self realization on both parts.

Ah … if only it were that easy. In real life there is anger and hurt, judgment and recrimination, control and rebellion. Finally, if we’re very lucky and very careful, there is communication and hard won reconciliation. Then we get to repeat the whole cycle the next day.

I sat there in the dark with my own cusp of womanhood in the seat next to me and knew I was watching my fate as surely as the early worm knows it’s going to end up being regurgitated into a baby bird’s gullet. And there was nothing I could do to stop it.

But I can delay it.

This trip has been the silver lining in the dark cloud of tweenaged angst. Although there are still those hormonally induced emotional displays of anger wrapped in a strong sense of being misunderstood, as well as all the tears those emotions engender, there are so many more moments of willing openness touched by the last vestiges of childhood wonder and delight.

Sarah is indeed growing into a woman – I can see her body changing before my eyes; but it is the child in her who hugs me in delight as we watch a glorious sunset blooming over the desert, who reaches for my hand when we come upon a nest of baby birds, and who snuggles with me on those few mornings we can sleep in.

It is the child in her who travels in the back seat of the minivan oohing and ahhing as I call attention to the mountains outside our window, who wants me to tell her stories from my life as we drive through mile after mile of boringly similar scenery, and who shares a private look with me when the love of a daughter saves her mother in an animated movie.

But it is the adult in her who tells me how glad she is to be driving the back roads so she can really see the country, who apologizes when her emotions get the better of both of us, and who shares a private look with me when the love of a daughter saves her mother in an animated movie.

It is the adult in her who makes me a better woman.

Perhaps my fate isn’t so bad after all.

Wednesday, July 11, 2012

AN ORDINARY LIST OF EXTRAORDINARY EXPERIENCES

We wandered in the sand dunes of the Southern California desert

We saw the Saguaro cactus flowers during their once a year two-week bloom and watched the fruit bats feeding on their nectar

We soared above the mountains in the wicker basket of a hot air balloon

We soaked in the heated waters of a natural mineral hot spring

We got pelted by hail during the same soak

We walked through history in the Puebloan villages of Mesa Verde

We cheered on our favorite cowboys and cowgirls at a real Southwestern rodeo

We stood in four states at the same time at Four Corners, Utah/Arizona/Colorado/New Mexico

We stood next to a John Deere harvester with wheels bigger than Gene

We tracked dust devils

We swam in the Pacific Ocean

We hiked a mile down into the Grand Canyon

We bicycled on Route 66

We crossed the Rocky Mountains

We drove right through the end of a rainbow (sadly, no pot of gold awaited us)

We observed the graceful flight of rescued-from-the-brink-of-extinction California Condors

We got sworn in as Junior Rangers in two National Parks

We marveled at the beauty of Colorado’s Treasure Falls

We fed wild chipmunks right from our hands

We basked in a glorious sunset over the Grand Canyon

We laughed through the familiarity of a real country auction

We ate Navajo tacos, fry bread, vegetarian burgers, amazing homemade pies, and melt-in-your-mouth ribs from the back of a truck

We rooted on the contestants in a boot race

We got sprayed with water from a fire truck

We wondered at the magic of a double rainbow from the balcony of our cabin

We had a close encounter with an elk

We reunited with an old friend and met a newly found relation

We stayed in cheap motels, funky inns, National Park lodges, historic stage stops, and cabins

We met expatriot New Yorkers, New Jerseyites, Californians, Texans, Floridians, Australians, and Canadians

And we’re only one quarter of the way through this adventure!

For Gene's very different view of the same journey, check out his blog at www.ConnorsArmy.blogspot.com
To learn more about Connor's Army go to www.ConnorsArmy.org
To see exactly why we're doing this go to www.SunriseDayCamp.org
To make a tax deductible donation go to https://www.wizevents.com/register/register_add.php?sessid=1809&id=1056

Monday, July 9, 2012

REDEMPTION

We walked into the room and I held my breath waiting for the onslaught of whining. Luckily, the kids were too caught up in the initial surprise of actually staying inside a National Park and in exploring the room to notice the lack of television right away. By the time the TV issue arose they’d found the balcony overlooking the glorious hundred mile view of Mesa Verde (translation – Green Table) and the point was gratifyingly moot.

And the air conditioning? At 8,000 feet we were just grateful there was a heater!

We spent our first evening playing a cutthroat game of UNO, and our second watching a vicious lightning storm followed by an incredible double rainbow glowing in the rain-washed sunset.

Television. We don’t need no stinkin’ television.

For Gene's very different view of the same journey, check out his blog at www.ConnorsArmy.blogspot.com
To learn more about Connor's Army go to www.ConnorsArmy.org
To see exactly why we're doing this go to www.SunriseDayCamp.org
To make a tax deductible donation go to https://www.wizevents.com/register/register_add.php?sessid=1809&id=1056

Friday, July 6, 2012

MAKING LEMONADE

I have a confession to make. I haven’t told my husband or my kids, but I think I’ve made a terrible mistake. And it’s all because of a previous mistake.

As I explained in my very first blog, I am a person who likes to plan. Some (i.e. my husband and children, my parents, my brother, my sister-in-law, all my friends, well, you get the idea) might say over-plan. But for some reason, or rather for very specific reasons also explained in my very first blog, with this trip I did the exact opposite.

Despite the fact that this is probably the single most complicated thing I’ll ever execute – much more so than my wedding or the countless other weddings and events I coordinated as the owner of a special events company; more so than two moves, one of which was with a toddler and infant twins; more so than the dreaded college application process that we'll be facing in a few years. Despite my absolute knowledge of that truth, I waited till only a few weeks beforehand to really begin the preparation.

Yes, I had made reservations at the Grand Canyon; and I’m darn lucky I did because those rooms all opened for booking twenty-four months in advance and I snagged mine only eleven months before we were to pull into town.

And that’s where this saga of guilt, hasty atonement, misjudgment, and manipulation begins.

Most everything we do on this trip is a first, and more than likely an only. As in “This is the only chance we’re going to have to walk on the sand dunes of the California desert.” Or “This is the only time we’re going to bicycle on Route 66.” Or more to the point “This is the only trip we’re going to make to the Grand Canyon.” And my goal has been to make the most of it by not missing any opportunities.

I thought I had gotten a great room only one mile from the entrance to the park. Yes, there were lodges in the park itself; but they were expensive, not to mention completely unvacant by the time I looked to make a reservation. When we pulled into the Red Feather lodge, we loved it. Although one of the least expensive hotels we’ll be staying in, it was also on the more luxurious side.

It was only when we reached Grand Canyon Village after a long day of hiking, saw the cabins and hotels there, and fully realized the unfettered twenty-four hour access those guests had to one of the seven natural wonders of the world, that my regret surfaced. My family would have had an unforgettable experience if I had gotten myself together far enough in advance and booked one of those rooms. Gene kept telling me that where we were was perfect, but in my heart I knew he was wrong. Every time we went past them, my remorse deepened.

Then yesterday, I remembered it. A way to make up for my mistake. A way to give my family a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

Saturday we would arrive at Cortez, the small Colorado town from which we’re going to explore Mesa Verde National Park. We'd have a day off there to fully enjoy this amazing Pueblo site, and we were booked into a lovely mom-and-pop motel only ten miles from the entrance to the park.

Sound familiar?

Yeah, to me, too.

I immediately got on-line and went to the website of the glorious, but too expensive only hotel inside Mesa Verde National Park. I wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. There are times to watch your budget, and times the experience is far more valuable than the extra $100 a night.

Holding my breath I went to the website that’s the only way to book a room and discovered that not only did they have a room available for us; but they now had a special deal running that included the tours we’d planned to take, and ultimately made the whole package less expensive than it would have been if we’d stayed at the mom-and-pop and bought the tours separately.

SCORE!!

I cancelled the mom-and-pop, snagged our once-in-a-lifetime room, and nursed my surprise like a goose sitting on a golden egg about to hatch into a platinum gosling.

Late last night I went back on the website to gloat over my great wisdom and glory in the gift I was giving my family.

That’s when I saw it. Plain as day and repeated several times as if in warning to make sure everyone fully understood before they made their non-refundable reservations.

“Our rooms are perfectly designed to help you escape the stresses of daily life. No television or air conditioning to distract you from the beauty of the nature around you.”

How many times had I read that before I made my non-refundable reservation?

"No television to distract you." No television to distract three children with whom I’m spending 24 hours a day, seven days a week.

"No air conditioning to distract you." Since when has air conditioning in the desert in the summer been a distraction?

And the only way to go back to the mom-and-pop was to lose the expensive full deposit of our two night stay. In other words, it was impossible. It was time for damage control – Mama style.

We’d already been talking about the fact that James and I were getting so many bloody noses because of the air conditioning. Last night I had another one. This morning I casually mentioned how nice it might be to stay in a hotel someplace quiet where we could sleep with the windows open and not get so dried out. James heartily agreed.

Score one for Mama.

Today when we pulled into our latest motel, we were talking about watching our favorite vacation television show, “Cupcake Wars” and the fact that the next episode is coming up on Sunday.

“We’ll be in a new time zone,” James enthused. “So it’ll be right during dinner. Can we get our dinner and eat it in front of the television? Pleeeease!”

You guessed it. Sunday we’ll be in our fabulous TV-free hotel.

“We’ll have to see,” I responded. “You know I don’t like to plan things around a television show. And anyway if we ever miss it, we can watch it when they show it again.”

“They show it again?”

“Oh, yes. One time during the week. We just have to find out the day”

“Great.”

Score two for Mama.

“Like the time we’re staying in the cabin in Pueblo.” I pushed my advantage by bringing up one of the places they’re most excited about. “We’ll be there on a Sunday, and there’s no television in the cabin. So we’ll have to watch on the second day.”

“No television?” piped in William in distress.

“Nope. It’ll be just like when the power went out and we played games,” I countered quickly, following my disarmament strategy. “I brought UNO and Scrabble, and a bunch of games you’ve never played before.”

“Cool!”

Score three for Mama.

No air conditioning. No television. No problem.

Once-in-a-lifetime, here we come!

Wednesday, July 4, 2012

AS AMERICAN AS ...

No, we didn’t have apple pie, but we did sit on the curb and watch a parade. Granted it was a very short parade, maybe 10 floats and no bands; but it was enthusiastic and it was competitive.

Most of the floats were celebrating the 100^th anniversary of Arizona’s statehood, and a good majority of them included squirting water. No, not squirting. That implies the cute little spray of water from an old-fashioned water pistol. This was more spraying water, even gushing water. Especially when it came from the fire trucks. It was amusing to watch the adults step back from the curb while all the kids ran into the street begging to be soaked.

But this wasn’t the slice of Americana that most touched me. It was what happened after the parade when the entire town – along with the more intrepid tourists – threw a party. And what a party it was!

A double tent had been raised in the field behind the reviewing stand and the sounds of a rockin’ band blasted from it the minute the parade ended. We wandered around the field trying to choose our lunch from an array of stands selling Navajo tacos, hot dogs, and, of course, that Southwestern staple, barbeque.

In the meantime, the kids knocked down cans with balls, threw beanbags into the holes in a handmade target, and each won a heat of the sack race. I knew the woman running the race was a mom when she turned to me during the third run and said, “The other two have trophies already, right?” Each time I look at the three cheap thumbs-up trophies now residing in my front seat cup holders, I send her a little thought of gratitude for her sensitivity in understanding how sibling rivalry that can intensify when you’re living in a minivan for two months.

Probably the best part, though – aside from the delectable authentic barbeque – was the equally authentic auction where everyone knew everyone else and we heard exchanges like:

Auctioneer: Forty, forty, do I hear fifty? Fifty, fifty, I have fifty. Karen is bidding against you, Darla, but her husband doesn’t look so happy about it.

Darla’s husband: Keep bidding, Karen.

Auctioneer: You heard him, Karen.

Once the auction and all its friendly outbidding ended, the band kicked it up and we rocked out while everyone shared the dripping slices left over from the watermelon eating contest.

It wasn’t the picture perfect Norman Rockwell's New England bunting-draped parade and fireworks we're used to on the Fourth of July. In fact, the fire danger in this part of the country is extreme so fireworks are banned all over the southwest.

Instead it was the open heart of America celebrating itself and taking in the strangers in its midst in much the same way it has for generations. And I’m so glad my children got to experience it.

For Gene's very different view of the same journey, check out his blog at www.ConnorsArmy.blogspot.com
To learn more about Connor's Army go to www.ConnorsArmy.org
To see exactly why we're doing this go to www.SunriseDayCamp.org
To make a tax deductible donation go to https://www.wizevents.com/register/register_add.php?sessid=1809&id=1056

Sunday, July 1, 2012

HERDING CATS … ON BICYCLES

The Will Rogers Highway, The Great Diagonal Way, The Main Street of America, The Mother Road.

Whatever you choose to call it, Route 66 is arguably the most legendary piece of pavement in America (apologies to Broadway and Wall Street). So it came as no surprise that Gene’s excitement at riding its famed blacktop would rub off on the kids.

After rising ridiculously early to backtrack to Ash Fork so Gene wouldn’t miss those 17 miles (see yesterday’s blog), the four of us headed back to our luxurious Motel 6 accommodations (see yesterday’s blog again) with plenty of the time for the Sarah, William and James to have a swim in the indoor pool before donning their Connor’s Army Ride Across America jerseys.

When Gene pulled into the hotel’s parking lot two hours later they all hopped on their bikes and, with various versions of “Get Your Kicks on Route 66” playing in their imaginations, they headed off to live out so many people’s fantasies.

I, of course, drove ahead to chronicle this historic moment in Connor family history.

As I filmed the four of them weaving their way through the morning tourist traffic I almost cried at the amazing memory they’ll have for the rest of their lives. Then they passed me and all I heard was:

“Stay in a single line.”

“Stop at the stop sign.”

“Don’t ride next to each other.”

“Look before you ride across the street.”

“Single file!”

“Guys, pay attention to the cars.”

And I felt a moment of guilty but gleeful validation as Gene experienced for a half hour or so what I’m going through every day.

You see, there are three of them and there’s only one of me. Controlling them when they’re excited and want to run off in three different directions is as difficult as keeping three cats in a straight line through a seafood market. And on this trip they’re excited about something almost every day, so I spend a lot of my time herding cats.

Of course, I’m usually doing it on foot without cars whizzing by within inches of their pedaling legs so he was definitely getting short end of the stick.

I let myself spend a few moments zenning out while listening to my music on the radio, before gathering my kittens and heading off towards our next stop.

For Gene's very different view of the same journey, check out his blog at www.ConnorsArmy.blogspot.com

To learn more about Connor's Army go to www.ConnorsArmy.org

To see exactly why we're doing this go to www.SunriseDayCamp.org

To make a tax deductible donation go to https://www.wizevents.com/register/register_add.php?sessid=1809&id=1056