The Donut's Best Friend (no more)

Today, was a good day--of sorts.

To start out with, B.J. and I have been having some misunderstandings as to what creates a good marriage, a sound relationship, and what mutual respect looks, sounds, and behaves like. We were having one of our (rare) spats. I was trying to communicate with him (explicitly--since we all know expecting him to know implicitly is a pipe dream--really, for all men) what it is, exactly, that I need as a female to feel loved and appreciated. I really am not asking (in my opinion) for much: I need to hear 'I love you' more than just at bedtime before we both fall into unconsciousness, I need him to make some decisions on his own, as a man, without me telling him what to do (imagine that!), and I need him to be a partner in raising our children--as in every weekend day if I'm otherwise engaged between 9:30-10:00 am they need a snack and instead of telling them everything they can't do, please, please, please, take my one piece of parenting advice (to save us all some sanity): re-di-rect!!! I really don't think that is too awful much to ask for. Truly. I'm not asking for a Ferrari, or diamonds (though, I likely wouldn't object to them too much), or a bouquet of roses every night after I clean the house (hmm...again, wouldn't protest if it were to happen). I just want simple respect.

Anyhow, our 'discussion' of the aforementioned issues spilled into this morning. Yuck. I was so annoyed and agitated I just couldn't think. I couldn't say anything nice (and shutting up was excruciatingly painful) so I decided to listen to that little 'nudge' that the Spirit gives me every so often: It told me to leave the house and go for a walk. A walk? You mean exercise? Fresh air? Movement? GASP! Well, I did. I wound up lacing up my sneakers and stuffing my head into a winter cap to go for a walk. As I went about my preparations I went to grab my iPod for entertainment: dead. So, I thought I'd call my neighbor who I often talk with about personal issues and who, like myself, is trying to get into shape: still asleep. So, I stomped out my front door expecting to wilt of boredom on my walk. My walk was anything but boring.

For about the first 1/2 mile of my walk (uphill!!!) I grumbled and griped and complained in my head about what was vexing me. My mood was not improving. Then something happened: I remembered that I could take this time of quiet and solitude to talk with my Creator. And talk I did. I talked to the Boss for nearly a whole hour.

It was wonderful. I poured out my heart and my soul, begging forgiveness for my shortcoming and weaknesses as a mother, wife, friend, and human being. I let out my fears and anxieties. I prayed for B.J. and for myself. It was such a conversation, I nearly didn't want it to end.

By the time I returned to my front doorstep, my mood was improved, I felt a lot better (mostly from my time with my Maker, but also from a vigorous mostly-going-uphill walk in the South Hills), and I was ready to face the day.

With my amended attitude (though still somewhat annoyed--see 'what I need to be loved' regarding Snack) we left for church. We decided to try out a new feature of church: CORE. It was designed with married couples with small children in mind, to meet their spiritual and emotional needs at the point of time in life they are. It is a group of about 40 or so people. Often, I have issues going into established groups like this. I feel all sweaty and nervous and turn into a wallflower (I know, hard to believe, but true). I feel intimidated and I get a case of 7th grade ego: where I think they're all judging me, talking about me in a negative way, and generally finding me not member material. It is silly, but its true.

To my great pleasure they were very welcoming, friendly, and they approached us. They made us to feel a part of the group immediately. I would reckon that about 5 separate couples came up to us and introduced themselves, welcomed us, and inquired about who we are and our children. It was amazing. Truly. In my experience with churches in this town, we have not had a very warm or even friendly reception when we've visited or tried anything out. This was just what I think we needed. One of the topics that they address is marriage building. Visiting this group couldn't have come at a better time. It was also an answer to a small but honest prayer uttered this morning on my walk. Thank you, Lord, for small miracles, and for nudges in the right direction.

I have many lines from movies that are among my favorites; one of my favorite lines comes from the Sandra Bullock film HOPE FLOATS, it is one character addressing another about a formerly chunky high school classmate (who had gotten thin in the interim years):

...Oh, you know Dot: the donut's 'best friend.'

Normally, at gatherings like the one at church today that describes me: The donut's best friend. I always find a way to meander over to the donut and coffee table and find a sugary carb-cake to keep me company (or my mouth full, and unable to talk) when I'm nervous. Today, I went with B.J. over to the donut table where he loaded up a dessert plate full of cookies, brownie, and donut, whereas I, even after being offered said new and improved lifestyle offending consumables, politely declined. Yup. Another small answer to prayer: staying with my decision and not cheating or short-changing myself. I was not the donut's best friend. Amen!

As I've said before, thank God for small victories: I've added another to my list.

B.J. and I will be OK. We're fighters; we don't give up. And, despite all that has gone on this weekend, I'm OK, too.

Blogger Homework

I'm excited to go to the blogger get-together here, and while getting ready I have homework.


How great is this? I almost have a built-in post ready-made for me. I just have to add a few important details, and Voila! Instant post for NaBloPoMo!


Yee-haw! Thanks girlies.


Here it goes:


What is your motto? Uhhh...I don't really have one? I guess if I had to choose I'd pick the one my mother told me many moons ago: When the going gets tough, the tough go shopping. What sage words of wisdom she imparted upon me. Nothing gives quite the pick-me-up as a little retail therapy. Cheaper than the shrink, too!

What superhuman power would you most like to have? Gotta agree with Alida, here. I'd love to be able to fly. I've always fantasized, since I was a kid, how neat it would be to fly. As an adult I'd love to be able to do that Star Trek transporter thing. Just think, how easy would long-distance travel be with kids. Uh-huh. Now you're crackin'...

What makes you laugh? Reading all these wonderful blogs. I'd also have to admit to a gloriously unrefined joy in listening to the 'Blue Collar Comedy Tour' CDs.

Cats or dogs? Once upon a time (read: pre-children) both. Nowadays, 1 kitty cat. In the future, say in 20 years or so when Sparkle-boo kicks the bucket, none. The chublet was tested at the allergist's office, and he's super allergic to cats and to a lesser extent dogs. **sigh** B.J. was really hoping to get a Bengal Cat, guess it has to wait 'til chublet is in college.


Would you rather be a little smarter or a little sexier? Sexier. Hands-down, sexier. (not PC...but ya know what? I don't care!!) See, I know what its like to be a bit of a brain, but the sexy part...well, all you have to do is read this previous post to get your answer. This pic is for you, Alida (the one I finally got around to scanning):

I'll just get someone to whack me with the 'smart stick' and I'll be both sexy and smart!


What is the one thing you'll never understand? Why, despite all our education, technology, and free social programs, there are such a high number of unwanted children born in our country. I just HATE this social epidemic, and I'll never understand it. There is absolutely no reason for it, and EVERY child should be wanted. Ok. Climbing down from my soap-box, now. However, I am still debating getting my very UN-p.c. bumper sticker made to stick on the back of my mommy-minivan:


Abstinance is best...but, it is easier to change a CONDOM than a DIAPER.


My life would be simpler if? I had all the answers to solve the moral, social, and ethical dilemmas that face our world. I don't, but it doesn't stop me from getting angry and outraged.

A self-cleaning house would be a good second-runner up to make life easier.


The big decision I'm currently wrestling with? Do I accept my Dad's offer to help pay for us to fly down to Florida for Christmas? The last time we flew down (on our nickel) we had such a lousy trip. In a nutshell (and to save this from being a rant) my Dad was a terrible host. So, do we chance it, with his financial help? Or do we stay here? What to do, what to do...

Ok...gonna jump in feet first

I've really been thinking a lot about NaBloPoMo and I'm gonna go for broke. I'll do it.

I am not going to rigidly stick to any one theme, but I'll probably hit on these two the most: My hubby and I, and, travel. Two of my favorite things (if you don't count my kidlets!).

Wish me luck. I'm gonna need it. And, some Zoloft or Prozac, or something (I'm right there with ya, Leslie!!).

Let the Games Begin!

An Hour

Today was a good day. Things were hopping at work, light bulbs were going 'on', and nobody wigged out. In my line of work, you can't ask for much better.

The kidlets are safe at the sitter, taking their naps, I have managed (how?) to escape work on time today, and now I find myself at home. My bookwork is done, the kitchen is reasonably clean (not sparkling, but we won't get salmonella poisoning, either), and I find myself with an entire hour. Alone. To myself.

A whole hour and I can do whatever it is my little heart desires. Hmm...this is difficult. I'm a hyper and naturally high-strung person, and as a result sitting still and just being isn't always an easy task for me. I am much more easily able to obsess about cleaning, organizing, or my all time favorite de-stressor, scrubbing the WHITE grout on my kitchen floor. (You all knew I was a bit neurotic, before, right?) Who on Earth puts WHITE grout on the kitchen/dining room/bathroom floors? WHO? It is the constant harbinger of strife in my life. No matter what I do, I don't seem to be able to keep the grout as clean as I'd like. Sigh. I digress...

So, here I am with my free hour. What do I do? I'm already wasting some time blogging (my dirty little not-so-secret hobby). I have vowed, to all that is mommy, I will NOT clean (grout included). That leaves me with what to do? I'm thinking, that with the remnants of my hour (51 minutes to be exact) I'm going to don a baseball cap, strip down, and hop into my hot tub. Yup. That sounds pretty nice. I'll pretend I'm at some sort of lovely day spa, in a warm and comforting meditation room waiting for my Lomi-lomi (hot rock) massage, and with my orange baseball cap (NOT Beaver, mind you, I am faithful to my Alma Mater) I will ignore the large, cold, October raindrops pelting my skull. Yep. I think that's just what I'll do.

An hour...

Le Pièce de Résistance

Okie-dokie. I made it. I am a card wielding member of the elite group of folks who've completed the 'Wilton Cake Decorating Course 1'.

Ain't I somethin' special? (she says while grinning her best Clampet smile)

Here's the cake I did for class 3 (two weeks ago):

This is my first 'attempt' at roses. Notice how they're a lovely shade of orange...and that they appear to have had, perhaps, a bad LSD trip.

What can I say? Roses are a heck of a lot harder to do than they look. Now, every time I go into Safeway (or some store with a bakery) and I cruise past the 'ready to go' birthday cakes that are loaded with roses, I have a whole new appreciation for just what a pain it is to do them (and at the point this picture was taken I could only do roses very badly).

See, I learned (besides technique) that to properly create roses out of sugar and hydrogenated fat (or, if you must, butter creme icing) you need two separate consistencies of icing: Stiff (for the foundation of the rose) and medium/stiff (for the petals). You also (clearly?) need two different icing tips, and as a result, two different bags of icing with their respective consistencies. Furthermore, you need to have a 'flower nail' to build your rose upon. If you're me, this is approximately 3 too many separate objects to manipulate at nearly the same time.

Creating roses, beautiful roses that is, is a true art form. I am utterly a novice.

This Wednesday I completed my final Course 1 class. Sadly, J., my friend whom I was taking the course with, couldn't make it due to a non-life threatening illness (she just felt like crud). I was bummed that she wasn't able to make it (and thus is not a certified Wilton Course 1 card carrying member...oh the division of the classes, will it never end?). But, I carried on and completed the last class, with J. in my mind, and I did my Girl-scout best in her place. Here is the artsy view of my pièce de résistance:

The cool thing about my cake is that while I was making it I really had no idea what direction I wanted to head as far as decorating it. I just started making roses and plopping them onto the cake. I was so thrilled that I was finally starting to get the rudimentary elements of forming the flowers down, I forgot to plan what they were going to ultimately 'do' on my cake. So, due to copyright laws I can't show you the picture of the Wilton cake in the course book, but trust me this one looks pretty dang similar (in the book the roses and sweet peas (on the base) are lavender whereas mine are sort of a pink-ish color). Unfortunately, when I took the photo I had the white balance on my camera set for 'incandescent' lighting, when I truly should have had it set for 'fluorescent' lighting, so the picture is a bit dark, but I think you can still get the main idea.

For your viewing approval (or not):

In the end, I'm glad I took the class. I had a great time, and felt a myriad of emotions that ran the gamut from frustrated and grossed out to a sense of accomplishment and renewal.

It is true what 'they' say (whomever they happen to be): when you run yourself ragged and have given everything you have away and you don't stop and spend some time renewing your own spirit, your reserves do run dry. After taking this class just for something fun for myself, I feel renewed, and I learned a few new skills.

I'm looking forward to being able to improve on what I've learned, and to use the skills to buoy the spirits of others. I need to get back into the habit of giving to others and this might just be one small way I can do that. Who wouldn't be pleasantly surprised (diets not withstanding) with an out-of-the-blue cake or confection?

Cake Decorating & Other Forms of Torture

I'm becoming so domestic these days.

Times were, many moons ago, that I was a young independent woman who worked a simple little job and lived alone in her own house, and rarely touched a pot or pan. In fact, my friends from 'once upon a time' used to complain when they came over and tried to raid the 'fridge only to find no real food to speak of. I had been accused of having a 'bachelor's refrigerator' and I'd heard many refrains of: 'you have every condiment known to human kind in here but no food. That's messed-up!" (One of my co-workers, if she reads this, is going to throw up at that particular phrase--sorry! Just tellin' it like it is)

These days, I often cook. In fact, some months I cook nearly every night except "left-overs" night. Don't get confused, I still have those weeks where I still have every condiment known to human kind and no food, and well, we simply go out to eat. Yes. It is expensive, wasteful, and causes my waistline to creep further and further out latitudinally. However, for the most part, I cook. Healthy-ish meals, from scratch. I hate boxed 'convenience' food--it all tastes the same to me (bad) and let's face it, anything with a 3 year shelf-life shouldn't go into our bodies (note: I conveniently forget this piece of rhetoric as I order our dinner at the golden arches.)

So, along the lines of my newly donned domesticity, I have decided to take a cake decorating class with my friend, J. J. and I go out for walks on average of 2x a week. We're getting in shape--something other than round, preferably. And on one of our walks J. asked me if I'd be interested. Sure. Why not? Sounds fun. So I have officially signed up and attended my first Wilton Cake Decorating I class.

The tuition was $30.00. Not bad. Especially compared to some of my Grad School classes. On the syllabus it says that an additional $25-50 dollars in supplies may be needed. No biggie. Well, after the first class I purchased the 'essentials' and to date my total investment (not including gas for transportation) is around $90.00. Pretty spendy for a hobby. Or, I'm just a cheap-o.


The first class was great. Friendly people (around 15 of us in all), and a nice instructor. The instructor made everything look like, well, a piece of cake. At the end of the class she gave us our supply list, and our first assignment: bake a cake, frost it using the recipe for butter creme frosting Wilton requires, and bring in frosting for decoration in a differing color than what you use to frost the cake. Easy, right? Well, this is me we're talking about. Heh heh heh.

So, comes the day after class. I'm bored and decided to root around to find all the ingredients I need to make butter creme frosting. Turns out, I have it all on hand, and the Peanut and I whip up a batch of the icing. Super fast, really easy, everything is cleaned up and taken care of in 10 minutes. My kind of project. However, I tried to make blue (we're going to make a 'Rainbow cake' at our second class), since I liked how the blue looked in the demo. picture. I found out that if you use 'butter' flavored Crisco (hint: it is yellow-Hell-o!!) what would have been blue icing is actually...you're gonna love this...preschoolers know how to use the color wheel...GREEN!!! Hahahah. Moral of the story? Use white Crisco, that is unless, you like actually want to have off-colored icing. Anyway, I figured I'd still be able to work with my green-not-blue-icing. I'm resourceful, like that.

Now, today (Friday), I'm stressed because the nearly-two-year-old is being fussy and doesn't want to cooperate (will he ever want to cooperate, at any time during the rest of his life? Magic 8 Ball says: Signs point to no.) so I decided we all need a project to entertain us. We'll bake a cake! I thumbed through my 1940's era McCall's Cookbook (only the world's best cookbook, ever. It was my mom's, so I'm very sentimental about it) looking for a good cake recipe. There's a bunch of them, too bad I was feeling lazy. I stuck a post-it note in the cookbook, and proceeded to get out a red-velvet cake mix (the box kind, yes, I know I'm totally contradicting myself, here) and we slap that together, and bake it.

At class the teacher said that we could use a box cake-mix, but it would be harder to frost because of the crumbs. The teacher is right, box cakes make LOTS of crumbs. Frosting a cake using the decorating tools the right way is much harder than it looks. I did my best to frost my cake. That doesn't mean I'm gonna take home a blue ribbon at the county fair.

I'm glad I 'practiced' tonight. I'd hate to have brought my FUGLY green frosting red-carpet-cake with red crumbs in the frosting lopsided cake to class. How embarrassing! But, it was a good learning experience.

Peanut will wake up tomorrow and see a hideous crumbs-in-the-green-should-be-blue-icing and she will squeal with joy, because, this cake will be her 'birthday' cake that she's been asking for since Thursday, when we made the icing. So, even though it is ugly, and not at all professional looking, it is worth it because I know it will make a certain 4 year-old some one's day.

Once I finished admiring my abstract art and thinking of how much Peanut will like it I was really good. I cleaned up my mess right away, rather than wait until the morning and hope the magic husband fairy would come along and clean it up (never happens, but I can hope, right?). Holy cow! Butter creme frosting is a pain to clean; in fact, it is just plain icky. Let's just say, if you ever want to stop eating sweets, make a batch of butter creme icing, wash your utensils by hand, and look at the residue left in the sink. I now know exactly what the insides of my thighs look like--it ain't pretty. Yech!!! A good thing, though, 'cuz now I won't eat frosting.

Chopitty-chop-chop-chop!

I finally did it!! I have been saying I'm going to chop off my hair for what seems like forever. It is Go-one.

It feels great.

Anyone who has known me for any long length of time knows that (This is for B.J.'s Foster Sister, if she's reading...) my hair style, length, and color changes about as often as the seasons. If you look at photographs of me that are in my home, say in my living room, you'll notice that my hair has been many different shades found in nature (and the rainbow). I have had short (as in shoulder length and a little shorter) hair, and I have had long (down to my bra-strap) hair. I have been blond, brunette, red, and at one point in time a favorite purplish color (I found out the hard way, pumpkin orange, is, truly, for fruits and veggies only).


About the only thing that has stayed consistent over the years is the fact that my hair is fine (yag-I hate it) and that the longer it gets the curlier/kinkier it gets (and, no, it's not meant to be a pun). Curly hair is--great if that is what you want. However, like all people with one hair-type or another, you always want the texture/type that the good Lord didn't see fit to give you--so, in my case, I've always wished for thick, stick-straight hair. It has never happened, and after all these years I've resigned myself to the fact that it may only be able to accomplish straight for approximately 2.3 minutes, or until I walk out my front door and the humidity hits it. *Sigh* Such is life.

So, after about three weeks of serious contemplation (and seriously resisting the urge to purchase a set of Whal clippers) I decided to take the plunge and CHOP IT OFF! I have hated my hairstyle for a while now--I sometimes like it, on "good hair days" but those are too far and few between. [B.J. informs me I always love my hair for a few weeks after I get it cut/styled, then inevitably I decide I hate it. I think he's on to something there...] I decided I wanted the type of hair style that I can shampoo and shake my head and be done. The ultimate 'wash and wear' style. I think I have achieved it:



It is short, baby! Really, really short. And, true to what B.J. says, I love it. I love it so much because I can get up, shower, shampoo, fix my hair, and make-up and be dressed and ready to go in a whopping Fifteen Minutes!!! That just rocks. I am beginning to understand and appreciate just how easy guys have had it all these years. I think I'm going to like super-short hair. It is so incredibly liberating to just have hacked it all off (well, not me personally, my stylist--whom has watched me chop it shorter and shorter each time until I have finally reached this length, or the lack there-of!).

It is funny, how right the writers at Allure magazine got it, when they wrote about cutting off your hair, and the catharsis that you feel. It is like, at the risk of cheezy-ness, being remade, new, all over again. And, I definitely feel new.

Sunriver

Well, here I am, at last, with time to write about our little holiday in the mountains. In a nutshell: we had a blast, and we definitely got the most 'bang for our buck.' We were up in Sunriver from Friday through Wednesday--our first real 'vacation' since Chubbers was born.

Our Holiday week started out on a funky note. But, then, when you're talking about me, would it start out any other way? We had hoped B.J. would luck out and get Thursday, July 5Th off, so that we could head up on the Fourth of July--but no such luck. Ya win some, you lose some, and with that we packed up the van on Thursday evening/Friday morning and were about ready to head out of the driveway (quite literally, we were all buckled in, engine running) and B.J. gets a call on his cell phone.


'Oh crap.' I thought to myself. Something has come up--the house caught fire, the roads were washed out, lemmings are falling from the sky (hey, when I panic, I do it up right). Nothing so dramatic as all that, thankfully. Just an hour and a half detour added to our drive to swing by the in-laws house and pick up the accidentally forgotten pool passes for our vacation (they were going to be dropped off at the Sunriver house...but life got in the way). No biggie. There's a reason why I have a built-in DVD player in my van--PARENTAL SANITY!

En route to getting the passes in Eugene, my meticulously mapped out Letterboxing (click the link, and it will fill you in--yes, I keep saying I'll write a blog, I've been too lazy so far...) route got all messed up--as in the stops were off of HWY 20/22 and we would be driving up HWY 58 to get to our destination. I decide this won't work, and, besides, after my raspberry mocha from the Evil Empire I had to pee, and thus the Peanut and I detoured to the U. of O. to a) go pee, and b) print out a new letterboxing agenda that worked with HWY 58. (Yes, indeed, I am insanely obsessed with my hobby.).

It was interesting to see the changes at my Alma Mater. It has been a total of 7 years since I received my B.A., and 5 years since my Master's degree. The exterior of the university hasn't much changed, but I noticed subtle interior changes; changes that made me feel old. That surely sucked. I had to ask the librarian for help (how on earth do you print out stuff anymore...?). But, with a little patience we were 'good to go.' With new letterboxing agenda and little Peanut in hand, we walked across campus, met B.J. outside of MacArthur Court, and yo-ho-ho and away we go.

The drive is beautiful, and we've forgotten how green and lush the vegetation is on the way up to Willamette Pass. It had been a full 4 years since we had driven to Sunriver via 58. Time flies when you're having babies.


We stop in LaPine to do a little letterboxing/hiking. It is good for the kiddos (and us) to stretch and move around; we reach our box and are rewarded with views like this: The view of the Deschutes river from the hidden letterbox location at "Big Tree" (incidentally, a 1,000 foot tall ponderosa pine tree--'big tree' as a site name seemed a trifle understated).



When we make it to Sunriver we immediately dump off our stuff and head to the pool. It is hotter than a frying pan, and we're all hot, dusty, tired, and in serious need of some refreshing. The pool definitely does the trick. In fact, we spend every afternoon for each day of our holiday at either the North or South pool--miraculously (and thanks to a neurotic sunblock-a-holic) nobody but B.J. (who refuses to wear sunblock) gets burned. Yippee! I have accomplished my personal goal of no sun burnt babies and very little tan lines. I just love the new continuous spray sunblocks--I can even get my own back with them, and they dry almost instantly. (Yes, this is me in my swimsuit from hell.)


We did a lot of walking around in Sunriver, but the majority of our walking around and hiking came in the form of letterboxing. This is the insane (and utterly fun) letterboxing itinerary we followed: Pilot Butte--I just love this picture I took of of Peanut and Chub-chub on the top of the butte:


Peanut climbed up on the post all by herself, with no prompting from me, and as you can see Chubbers is in the dirt--something that would be repeated again, and again, during this trip, prompting us to nickname Chubbers "Pigpen" in honor of the chronically filthy Peanuts character.

We also went to sites at: Shevlin Park Covered Bridge (in Tumalo); Sawyer Park: #1 (couldn't find box 2 or 3--very frustrating); Hollinshead Park; Widgi Creek (next-door to the Seventh Mountain Resort) and Cascade Lakes Scenic Byway.


Another box we found was called Quacker Backer Central Oregon Where I waited with the kiddos in the van since it was out in the brush (we're talking no paved roads, here) and not developmentally appropriate for a 1.5 year old and a 4 year old to tag-along. While waiting I got out of the van periodically to look to see if B.J. had headed back yet (he was far enough out I couldn't see or hear him) and in the process, brain-trust that I can be, [I am not thinking of wild animals out here] I startle and in turn am startled by an 800lb. ELK! I about peed my pants (I had to go already and was doin' the dance) with fright.


It was at that point I, after I recovered my wits, I began looking at the various animal tracks in the dust and mud where we were, and only then did I notice the abundance of Elk and Deer tracks (cool) and (gulp) Lynx tracks! I could hardly wait for B.J. to get back--all the while having visions of him being mauled violently after unknowingly startling a sleeping wild cat while looking for a letterbox. In the end, no harm, no foul. It turned out to be a really cool and really, really, remotely placed stamp.


We had several other 'attempted' letterboxes--boxes we tried to locate but later found out I missed finding one by 5' (grrr! how frustrating) and also finding out a number of the boxes were missing (double grrr! it would be nice if the box owners would take the 'clue' out of circulation if they aren't available!!).


One of our adventures that resulted from chasing down a missing box was visiting the Lava Cast Forest. When we embarked on this journey, we didn't realize that it involved going off-road to get to the hike. Off-road. In. A. Mini-van. (secretly, I think that this was so totally exciting!). If I still had had my Explorer, going off-road, down dirt trails, over curbs, through small rivers--no big deal. But, this was in a van. Pretty gutsy. The picture doesn't look too bad, but just imagine an old-time aluminum wash board. Yep, you know the kind. Now, apply that zig-zag pattern, horizontally with 3-4" grooves to the road. For NINE miles. Then you have an idea. The kids had a blast. Little kids love to go "uhhhhh" (a monotonous tone with the voice) when going over a few bumps in suburbia, well, they had the time of their lives going 'uhhhh' for 9 miles each way. B.J. and I laughed so hard. Where is Bill Cosby, when you want him? We ended up not finding the box (the author informed me it was missing) but the sites, and geology we learned about was worth it--me being the dyed-in-the-wool-geek that I am, I just ate it up. (I'm going to ROCK! at Jeopardy! some day, all because I went to the Lava Cast Forest). We saw where the Lava flow had gone around the trunks of trees and, miraculously made 'casts' of the trees. Pretty cool beans.


We also went on a wild goose chase at Newberry National Volcanic Monument. It was o.k. though, because, again (me being a geek) we learned a ton about our local geology, and got in a couple of cool hikes (Big Obsidian Flow & Newberry Crater). The views were spectacular.



We spent the entire week together, as a family. It was fun, relaxing, and a good way for all of us to connect. However, like all good things, this too, had to come to an end.

We (B.J. and I) have been coming up to Sunriver together for the past 11 years (B.J. has been coming since he was 4 or 5 years old). We have shared a lot of good times together at the Sunriver house, we've grown, changed, and learned a lot. So, it was with bittersweet tears that we said goodbye this time. This visit was our last visit, ever, to this house. The family has decided that the house has served its purpose and it is time to move on. And thus has ended another chapter in our lives together: Goodbye Sunriver.










We made the most of it, and it was a good run.

Singles

After my last post, this one is a bit more light-hearted. *sighs of relief* Sometimes It is so cathartic to whine about something, get it out, and then move on. Anyhow...

B.J. and I got to experience life in the single lane. The single lane, you ask? Well, I'll tell ya--life sans fils for a whole weekend (right about here, you should be hearing the Hallelujah Chorus).

Yes. That's right. We spent an entire weekend ALONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Holy cow, Batman, would someone knock me upside the head with a Louisville Slugger to see if I'm dreaming?

A little background: (cue the violins) We have not had an entire weekend to ourselves in approximately 4 years, 2 months, 7 days and some hours, but who's counting? With the introduction of my beautiful little girl into our lives, we ceased to be a duo, and (duh) became a trio. Great, you say. Congratulations. You had a baby, feel special yet? Well, yes. We love having kids. I cannot imagine my life without them. However, every once in a while they get on ma' nerves. I did get a 'two day break' (thanks to B.J.'s aunt for watching the Peanut) when I gave birth to the Chublet--however I don't really count natural childbirth as a vacation. If you do, then I thoroughly recommend you see some sort of mental health professional because, clearly, your mind is warped or you're having a permanent acid-trip back flash. Seek help.

So, to continue on with our sob story, most folks have relatives who take their kids off of their hands once in a while (I have a dear friend who gets a week off from kids every couple of months, I love her, yet if pygmies attacked her and began to violently stab her with their tiny little spears I might hesitate jumping in to save her...just kidding. I'm happy she gets a break. I live vicariously through her). We would likely have said relatives, but we are, sadly, without grandmothers. Everyone knows grandmas are the ones who really love to take on the kids and spoil them utterly rotten and send the steaming carcasses of your children back to you acting like the wild children of Borneo (revenge, I gather?). But, not in our cases. Ma, why'd you have to go and meet our maker so soon?

Back to the present.

We had a whole weekend.

Alone.

For a short time I ran around in circles, blindly bumping into walls like a demented chicken with her head cut off.

I didn't quite know what to do with myself. B.J. with his zen-like demeanor calmed me down and suggested we go to a movie. A night time movie. So, we did. Just. Like. That. (scratching my head here, that is what we used to do all the time, if I remember correctly) We saw Pirates of the Caribbean: World's End [on a side note, Johnny Depp is just so beautiful]. Then, we went out for tapas and soda (If I'd had a beer I would have fallen asleep at the table-lame, I know. But, I don't generally stay up past 10:30pm on a late night). We sat there and ate our food in a leisurely manner. Talked quietly. Did not have to once threaten "If you aren't going to eat your food, we're going to go sit in the car while daddy and Chub-chub eat their dinners" (it sucks, but it works. I've only had to sit in the car with her a couple of times...). Who knew that boneless buffalo wings were ambrosia of the gods?

Saturday we woke up late (read: 7:00am), ate a lite breakfast at home, and then loaded up in the two-door sports car! YES!!! A two door Mitsubishi Eclipse. No mommy-van that seats 7 for us, instead we crammed ourselves (especially funny as B.J. is 6' 4" tall) into a tiny tuna-can on wheels and scooted to the coast. We drove from Lincoln City down to Florence. It was glorious. We sat in utter silence just absorbing one another's presence. We spent some time doing hikes in state parks and letterboxing, gaining like 11 stamps for the day (the best hike involved crawling along a downed tree below a section of HWY 101 that crossed a river--felt like we were Indiana Jones or something cool like that). We hiked up communication hill at Yaquina Head Lighthouse--what a spectacular view. The car almost got towed from the turnout that we parked at, even though there was no signage to prohibit it. We came down from our hike just in time to see the tow-truck pull up to take the car--a little bit of an adrenaline rush resulted in preventing the towing. It wound up 'all-good' with no mishaps. The lighthouse was gorgeous, and the views...for lack of better diction, utterly breath-taking.

We bummed around in little local shops here and there, full of trinkets and junk, read that as totally and completely inappropriate for kids to enter. It was fun. We even ventured into a glass float shop, chock full of finely blown glass floats, thin glass sculpture, and miscellaneous glass artworks--just because we could.
We didn't hit Florence until about 9:30pm, and decided to head across 126 to Eugene. It was a fun drive. B.J. got to pretend he was on the autobahn (or something) and test out how well the Eclipse held the corners (I do believe that there are little crescent-shaped indentations in the passenger side arm-rest from my death grip as we careened through the corners--yes, I'm a big 'ol baby when it comes to speed). By the time we hit Eugene we were famished and stopped at a favorite place for some appetizers (was way too late for a heavy meal) to fortify us for our hour drive home.

We finally crashed, in our own bed, at about 12:30am. I hadn't been out that late in ages, and could barely keep my eyes open. It is funny to think that I used to stay out until 2, 3, 4am on a regular basis before we had kids. I could do it, I suppose, since I could sleep-in the next day until noon (aah...such memories. Now-a-days I consider 6:30am sleeping in. Ha ha.).

We concluded our weekend as singles by one last-ditch effort at romance--Sunday breakfast out, alone. The coffee was good, the food was sub-par (what I get for letting B.J. indulge in choosing a greasy spoon to eat at...) but it was the company that I was after. It was so nice, again, to eat our food s-l-o-w-l-y, look at one another and just 'be.'

I truly enjoyed the weekend. Big thanks to our friends K & P for taking on the monumental task of watching our rug rats. You allowed us to renew our spirits, our friendship, and get a much needed recharge. It, as I said to a friend of mine, is amazing what being on-call for 4 years straight can do to you. We so completely and totally needed this recharge. We're blessed to have good friends who love our kids and were willing to take them so we could be better parents and a better husband and wife to each other. And-gulp-they said they want to take the kids again for us, at least once, before the end of summer...

Hmm, I'm thinking this time (God and our friends willing it happens) maybe B.J. and I can fire-up our motorcycles....