Are We There Yet?

Posted on December 27, 2013 by missemtoo

Greetings from the highway.

Two days after our truly magical Christmas, we’re off to begin the second half of our holiday festivities, this time visiting my mom and stepdad in Westchester County outside of New York City, where we used to live before we moved to Rochester. And, due to the wonders of modern technology, I can actually write about it live – from my computer, not my phone. I know you’re thrilled.

Nick and I have a long history of road trips together, starting back in college when we thought it was no big deal to jump in a car and drive five or six hours just because, and continuing on our trips to Colorado and Minnesota, plus literally dozens of sojourns around the Northeastern USA. Many of them come off without a hitch and fade into a blurry mesh; others are much more… memorable.

There was the time, as college students, when Nick and I were visiting my family’s condo in Okemo, Vermont and decided to drive to Montreal – a good eight-hour journey – to see the Canadiens play. We left early enough to tour the city a bit, then scored tickets to the game that night. When the usher guided us to our seats, speaking in rapid French, we were to embarrassed to admit that we hadn’t quite understood what he’d said, so we muttered, “Oui!” and hoped it would suffice. Disgusted, the usher glowered at us and reprimanded – in English – “You didn’t understand a word I just said, did you?” Um, nope. “Then why did you say ‘yes’?” Merd.

Newly married, we made a similar one-day round-trip trek to visit my BFF, Kiki, for her dad’s 60th birthday. My mom was out of town at the time, and we were watching her dog, a Sheltie named Jasmine, who got along just fine with our Madison. Knowing we’d be gone for, oh, fifteen hours or so – with no one available to let the dogs out mid-day – we opted to take both hounds along. Jazz was used to traveling in her crate, so we set her up in the back of the car, with Maddy chilling on her dog bed nearby. All went well until Mads got up to shift positions and a low, menacing growl emanated from the kennel; it seemed that Jazz didn’t so much like being cooped up in a moving vehicle with another dog encroaching on her territory, and began snarling viciously, snapping at the crate’s wire walls, each time Maddy so much as breathed. I managed to crawl over the seats and into the way back, where I draped a blanket over Jazz’s kennel to block Madison from her view, which worked nicely until we rounded a corner, and the blanket would slip, and Maddy would move, and suddenly it was Wild Kingdom all over again. The dogs were more than a little frazzled by the time we arrived in New Hampshire for the celebration. Surprise! Happy Birthday! We’ve brought dogs! Let’s party!

Come to think of it, we’ve done a heckuva lot of driving with dogs, from our cross-country disaster with Madison to taking our CCI pups with us anywhere and everywhere. On one such occasion, we had our first CCI dog, Diamond, with us as we again made our way to Vermont. About halfway through the trip, we began to notice this… odor… enveloping us any time Dizey stood up to circle and lie back down again in, in that dizzy-making way that dogs do. Yep, Di had gone into heat and was making a mess all over the floor of the minivan. Awesome.

In case you’re wondering, WalMart does sell doggie diapers. They’re gross, but effective.

Diamond isn’t the only one of us who’s had… trouble… in the car. Sure, we’ve had our fair share of kid-vomit moments, but those are a dime a dozen, no? More unique was the time we were driving with a potty-training Ella who desperately needed to make a pit stop. Careening off the highway, we looked for a gas station, restaurant, or anyplace with indoor plumbing, only to be met by the northern Massachusetts wilderness. We decided our next-best bet was to find a safe spot to pull over and have Ella let loose on the side of the road, but everywhere we turned, the road either had no shoulder, or we were in a residential neighborhood. As Ella’s pleading became ever-more dire, we finally found a field-like area and skidded to a halt. Vaulting out of the front seat, we undid her carseat buckles with lightning speed and placed her on the ground to take care of business, careful to hold her hands and help her squat down…

… when this man appeared out of nowhere. “What are you doing here?” Um, sorry, but our daughter really needed to go to the bathroom… “Well, you’re on my property.” Right. Our daughter is now peeing on your lawn. Super. Reeeally, really sorry about that. We’ll just clean her up and get on our way.

There was also the time when we were visiting my sister- and brother-in-law in Colorado, and Nick was working all day, so I thought it would be a good opportunity to drive the girls up into the foothills, because when you’re this close to the Rockies, you can’t not see them up close, right? Ella had said she didn’t really feel well – and, in fact, she did have a fever – but after a dose of Tylenol, she perked up considerably. By the time we’d cruised west out of Denver and were winding our way amongst the peaks of the mountains, the Tylenol had begun to wear off, and Ella started to fade. Not wanting to let this first-in-a-lifetime moment pass by, I found a spot with a beautiful view and had the girls get outside for a photo op.

denver60

Best mom, ever.

ARE WE HAVING FUN YET??

We flew home the following morning with the sickest, most feverish, vomiting, hacking kiddo, then raced her to urgent care as soon as we landed, where they immediately proclaimed she had severe pneumonia. But at least we have the photos.

Most of our road trips these days are taken with just the four of us (and our hounds), but occasionally, friends or family will join us. On one such occasion, when Ella was about two, we were dragging my sister-in-law, Emi, along with us, and things began to go south. Both of our kids have always hated being trapped in their car seats (you know how people say they’d go for a drive to calm their kids down? HAHA. I would rather take a 12-hour flight than a 3-hour drive with our girls), and have generally been miserable travelers after the first hour or so. On this particular trip, Annie was screeching like a banshee despite my attempts to calm her (ever tried to breastfeed a kid from a moving vehicle? NOT EASY, MY FRIENDS), and Ella – who was growing ever-more agitated with being stuck in her own seat and listening to her sister’s wailing – requested “Daddy’s song.”

And so Nick began singing “Faith” by George Michael, a song he’d sung to Ella countless times before, but whose lyrics he’d never really contemplated. “Well, I guess it would be nice… if I could touch your body… I know not everybody has a body like you…” Emi’s head whipped around so fast, I thought she’d injure herself. So this is how it is with your family. Not awkward at all.

Today, it’s just the four of us again – the dogs are happily home with our fantabulous house sitter – and, three hours in, it’s already been an adventure. The moment we closed the doors, Annie began watching newly-downloaded episodes of Sofia the First, oblivious to everything around her.

Ella, preferring to wait till halfway through the drive to watch the 6th Harry Potter movie, began chatting with Nick and me, laughing out loud about that time when every single one of us forgot something and we had to turn around and return only minutes after we’d departed. The chuckles had barely escaped her lips when Ella drew a startled breath and confessed, “I left my American Girl doll at home.” Another time, we’d have said too bad, but this trip, her brand-new, much-beloved doll might actually be… important… so Nick and I both took our own deep breaths as we turned that car right around. At least we were only twenty minutes from the house – let’s add forty minutes to the trip! It’ll be fun!

As we rounded the bend in the park near home, Ella poked her sister to show her the mushroom house, and Annie – still wearing headphones, looking up from her screen for the first time since sitting down – clearly registered that we’d been in the car for quite a while (so we should be well on our way to Grandma’s), did a double-take, and stage whispered, “Why are we going home??”

Look kids! Big Ben! Parliament!

Family ~~bondage~~ bonding is the best.

Take Me Out To The Ice Rink

Posted on December 17, 2013 by missemtoo

Living with a certified Hockey Maniac, it was inevitable that we’d introduce our girls to the sport early. They wore their first ice skates before they were two (not necessarily gracefully or skillfully; being on the ice is different from being good on the ice); they know that the NHL rules the television from November through May (which isn’t the length of the season, but is the length of the bulk of the televised games); they craft a bazillion Rainbow Loom bracelets out of Minnesota Wild colors; they await the construction of the backyard ice rink that we erect each year; they cheer Daddy on with his beer league teammates; and they have seen a good number of Rochester Americans games (our local AHL team, usually referred to as the Amerks), although they have yet to make it to see the Wild (or any NHL team, for that matter) in person.

This year, the Amerks decided to up their game (see what I did there?) and host a 10-day outdoor hockey fest on a rink that would be erected in Frontier Field, where our AAA-league Rochester Red Wings play baseball in much warmer months. Over the course of these ten days, there will be all sorts of hockey played on the rink, from high school tournaments to private skating parties, but the Amerks kicked off the festivities on Friday with a nighttime game against the Lake Erie Monsters.

An outdoor hockey game. In a baseball stadium. Opening night of a ten-day celebration. Frozen Frontier, they’re calling it. There was pretty much no way Nick was going to miss it.

That seemingly iiiiiiitty bitty little pond out there? A full-sized rink.

And, in turn, there was no way that the rest of us were going to miss it, either, because we are nothing if not all about introducing our girls to as many cultural opportunities as possible. Especially where hockey sticks and beer-wielding fans are involved.

As Friday loomed, it became increasingly clear that it was going to be a really cold night. Sitting in a baseball stadium in the middle of December in Rochester is pretty much guaranteed to be cold no matter what, but we’ve endured a particularly chilly December thus far, with temperatures not really rising much out of the teens and “real feel”s well below zero. While we Rochesterians are known for our snow, deeply frozen temperatures are not really what we’re about.

But, as much as tried to argue with Mother Nature, she gave us the cold shoulder (ah, see, I did it again!) and told us to suck it, so we had no choice but to embrace the frigid temperatures. “Bundling up” took on new meaning, as we donned shirts, sweatshirts, jackets, skiing “shells,” gloves AND mittens, our warmest socks, leggings, pants, snow pants, our winteriest boots, hats, and scarves. Actually, we didn’t don these right away, because we were meeting friends for dinner – the same fabulous friends who’d joined us for Thanksgiving – pre-game, because the idea of removing one’s gloves in order to eat a tepid hotdog in 14-degree weather just wasn’t really appetizing. And so we wore only our under layers (which still made us, how do I put it… thick) as we dined, then put on the rest of our outerwear in the car before heading off the game.

Have you ever tried that? Putting on snow pants (while you’re already wearing your snow boots) and two jackets and gloves and hats and opening up hand warmer packets and shoving them inside your mittens while you’re in your car? If you haven’t, I have a recommendation: don’t. You will need to remove your boots, which will already have snow on them, and said snow will plop unceremoniously onto your car seat or onto your daughter’s hair. Or you might slip slightly while putting on said pants – shoeless – and put an un-booted foot into a pile of snow, which will then make your feet feel oh-so-lovely for the rest of the freezing evening. You might also realize that you can only find one of the super-warm waterproof mittens you’d brought to wear over your not-at-all warm gloves, which will set you into a panic. But that panic will be nothing compared to the meltdown that will be had in the back seat as your cherubs attempt to wedge themselves into their boosters and buckle their seatbelts while essentially being unable to move. Can the Michelin Man buckle himself into his booster seat? Enough said.

While we love Rochester for many, many reasons, well-executed crowd-control is not one of them. Nick had assumed that there would be “pomp and circumstance” before the game — introductions of all of the players, some sort of commemoration of this Frozen Frontier awesomeness — and that the game would probably begin at least a half-hour late, by which time our girls would be a) icicles, b) bored, and c) begging to go home before the puck had even dropped, so we were in no hurry to arrive on time. Which was a good thing, because we got stuck just outside of the stadium in traffic so terrible – despite the police officers “directing” the cars – that it took us over twenty minutes just to move one block. We had three blocks to go. At least we got to stare out of our windows from our warm, cozy car seats, onto the chilly field… at the players zooming around on the ice, because of course the game had started absolutely on time.

Thankfully, the other blocks were quicker than the first, and we eventually found parking and tumbled out of the car. Ella announced that she had to go to the bathroom as soon as we set foot in the stadium (which was odd, considering that she’d just been given the opportunity to use the facilities when we’d left the restaurant and she’d declined; none of your children has ever done this, I assume?), but we elected to forgo the line of port-a-potties immediately inside the gates because we both wanted to at least find our seats and also, port-a-potties? No, thank you. We’ll wait for the real thing.

Finding our seats wasn’t quite as easy as we’d imagined, however, in part because they were (of course) located a good distance from where we’d entered, and also because the stadium was absolutely packed… with people layered up as though ready to tackle some black diamond slopes. You know how everyone moves in a ski lodge (even without the robot-step-inducing ski boots), with wide, just-got-off-a-horse steps, and how everyone is always bumping into one another because you’re all so padded, it’s like banging about in a slow-motion pinball machine? Imagine doing so in the bowels of a baseball stadium when it’s 15 degrees out and… yep.

This being Rochester, sufficient snow gear is not exactly in short supply, so our fellow attendees had also come prepared. Seventy-five percent of them were wearing snow pants (this is an extremely well-researched fact), fifteen percent were wearing full-body hunting gear (I had no idea that “camouflage” came in so many colors), and although it wasn’t clear what the others were wearing to stave off the chill, they were also doing the slow-motion ski-lodge walk, so they must have been sufficiently layered. The toddlers in attendance were particularly amusing, because their parents had (wisely) bundled them up so fiercely, they could scarcely bend their knees, so they waddled and tottered everywhere they went, swaying back and forth like chiming bells.

We eventually hobbled to our seats just in time to hear the announcement that the period would be ending in one minute. Fantastic. Ella still needed to use the restroom, so – hoping to avoid the crush of onlookers flooding out of their seats and toward the loos – I ushered her and Annie (just for kicks and giggles) back out in search of the toilets. We were greeted by these signs instead:

Super.

The girls and I fought through the teeming hordes all the way back to the entrance, where gigantic lines had formed in front of every port-a-potty because a) THERE WERE NO WORKING BATHROOMS (have I mentioned this yet?) and b) the majority of the crowd had – perhaps in a bid to stay warm – been consuming copious quantities of alcohol, which, having gone in one end, had to come out of the other sooner or later. Also? Port-a-potties and ridiculous amounts of snow gear do not mix. It was like trying to peel off a full-body wetsuit inside a disease-ridden gym locker; don’t touch the walls unless you want to lose a hand to gangrene.

As a result, it took approximately 4.57 minutes for every single person to do their business, which, when you multiply that by a minimum of five people in each line, meant… well, I still suck at The Math, but it meant a really long wait. By the time we finally emerged from the johns and had gotten ourselves all suited up again, both of the girls declared they were starving and freezing, so we attempted to scrounge up some food and drinks that could be consumed without needing to remove our gloves. It was almost surreal, seeing the vending stations – which we normally visit in the summer – surrounded by icicles and snow piles up to the counters.

The chili was selling like it was liquid gold.

Just a typical evening at the ballpark…

At long last, we waddled our way back to our seats – hot chocolate, a big ol’ pretzel, some popcorn, Twizzlers, and Swedish Fish in hand. The hot chocolate and the pretzel were immediately consumable, but the other items proved a bit trickier. Turns out that Twizzlers and Swedish Fish become rock-solid when the temperature hovers around 15 degrees, making each bite a bit of an adventure — who might break a tooth today? Popcorn is deceptive; it seems easy enough to scoop some up in your gloved hand and then shove a handful into your face, but apparently human beings actually use their sense of touch when they eat popcorn – a sense that is lacking when one’s hands are covered – and, as a result, we were unable to determine when the popcorn was actually in our hands and when it had fallen out. Not to worry, though; more popcorn fell into my purse than went in my mouth, so if we’re hungry later, we can go back for more.

Bladders empty, food and drink in hand (and purse), and nestled into our seats, we were finally able to just sit back and truly take in everything around us. The cliché at sporting events is that the feeling amongst the fans was electric. I could say the same, but instead, I will say it was electrified – there was such a charge running through everyone, it was as though the entire place was humming. Although there’s a certain general loyalty shown to the Red Wings and the Amerks, none of the games we’ve attended previously has been all that well-populated, so enjoying the true “roar of the crowd” has been virtually impossible. By contrast, this Frozen Frontier game was sold out; there were people almost literally hanging from the rafters and they were extremely excited to be there, which added to the carnival-like atmosphere.

The majority of adults were – in Nick’s words – well-lubricated, which also gave the event a Mardi Gras flare. You know, if Mardi Gras were held in a baseball stadium in the middle of a very wintery December and onlookers threw snow, not beads. People were chanting raucously, singing with gusto whenever there was a break in the action. It was the first time that the girls got to see people at a sporting event successfully do the wave, which was awesome but looked pretty freakin’ hilarious with everyone bundled up to within an inch of their lives.

Annie and Ella were particularly taken with the Amerks’ mascot, a large moose very cleverly nicknamed The Moose. The Moose took the job of whipping the crowd into a frenzy very seriously (not that the crowd was all to hard to whip, given the level of revelry and intoxication), and became especially excited whenever the Americans scored, pumping his hooves into the air with a very un-Moose-like flare.

We jammed along with the music. We stood up and cheered like maniacs whenever the red goal light went on (which was pretty much our only indication that the puck had crossed the goal line, since we couldn’t really see the puck from where we were sitting). We threw our hands in the air and waved them like we really, really didn’t care whenever the wave came crashing our way. We clapped madly for anything and everything, which was a particularly amusing phenomenon, because gloved and mittened hands make no sound when they are smacked together. We marveled at the people who’d been smart enough to bring sleeping bags and goggled at the beer seller wearing shorts.

As for the game? Well, I know that the Amerks eventually won (in a wildly exciting and unexpected finish, as the Monsters tied the game with 0.1 seconds left – I kid you not – which had the inebriated ~~party~~ sports-goers shouting BULLLLL-SHIT!!! over and over again, to the shocked delight of our friends’ 9 year-old son, and the victor was eventually decided by a shoot-out). But the truth of the matter is that we really couldn’t see a damn thing that was happening on the ice.

In a hockey arena, the action is right there – quite literally, with only a couple of inches of glass separating the fans from the players. In a baseball stadium, the players are typically yards and yards away (save for the odd ball that is caught right at the bleachers) and the field is vast, so the hockey rink was positively dwarfed. Add to that the angle of the seats and the boards along the rink’s edge and we could only see about half of the sheet of ice, anyway. We could “follow” the play by watching the players swarming about the ice, but had no idea where the puck actually was.

But that wasn’t really the point. We weren’t there for the game; we were there to say we’d done it. We’d braved the frigid elements and donned every drop of winter gear we owned to teeter our way into a bathroom-less baseball stadium in the middle of December with a crap-ton of drunken revelers, just because. Because that was what it was all about. The hot chocolate and the singing. The wave and the bright lights. The nearly palpable joy and anticipation surging through the air. Come to think of it, it was, in fact, one of the most Christmas-y things we’ve done yet this season.

By the end of the second period, with the action stopped and The Moose taking a potty break (good luck with that), everyone seemed to realize all at once just how unbelievably cold they were. The universal Dance Of The Cold sprung up all around us, with people standing and jitterbugging about back and forth in a futile effort to get their blood pumping again. Our girls were frozen through, and asked to go home; as soon as the third period began (and the majority of fans returned to their seats, making navigating the stadium far easier), we obliged.

Naturally, Annie needed to go to the bathroom on our way out, so our departure was delayed while we waited for her to de-robe in the e-coli infested portable john, but we could still hear the patrons cheering frantically. By the time we reached our car, we could hardly feel our fingers and toes and the girls were beyond exhausted. We agreed that we had, indeed, been there, done that – just because – but we were glad that it was over.

And yet, somehow… we had a total and complete blast. Do I want to brave another Frozen Frontier game? No, thanks. Been there. Done that. But I’m awfully glad we did, because it was pretty much the best damn hockey game I’ve ever been to.

The popcorn that’s still in my purse is just a bonus.
Why are the girls not wearing their hats even though they’re allergic to the cold? I DON’T KNOW. They must have terrible parents.

Golden Slumbers

Posted on July 2, 2013 by missemtoo

For quite some time, Ella and Annie have been begging to have a sleepover with our next door neighbors at the lake (girls who are significantly older, but with whom they get along famously). They’d never slept over at anyone’s house before, and I wasn’t sure how it would go… But, with us visiting our family’s lake house this week, last night seemed as good a chance as any to give it a whirl. The girls were thrilled. (And, hey, it would ~~mean that Nick and I wouldn’t have to share a room with them~~ give them a chance to develop a little independence. Win, win!)

I expected Annie to maybe struggle a bit, both because she’s the youngest and also because she gets scared at the slightest provocation (taking her to Brave may have scarred her for life; her resulting determination to use bows and arrows in the house may have scarred me for life). I decided it would be a good idea to walk her and Ella next door, check out where they’d be sleeping, visit briefly with their friends’ mom, and give a few reassuring hugs before I returned home for a night ~~of freedom~~ with my family.

After dropping off their overnight bags (they’d been instructed to bring only necessities, so naturally they each brought 286 stuffed animals, two changes of clothes, several blankets, a bag of toiletries, and maybe 63 books), we went upstairs and I chatted with the mom. Then, to my surprise, Ella pulled me aside and whispered that she didn’t think she could do this. (Just when you think you’ve got your kids down, bam!, they let you know what a presumptive idiot you are.) She was too nervous, it wasn’t her own bed, what if she couldn’t fall asleep??

I talked to her for a minute, reassuring her that I thought she’d be fine — but if not, she could come home anytime. This seemed to placate her, and after I gave her a hug, I turned to do the same with Annie – but she’d already run off to play, dismissing me with a single hand wave. So much for my natural motherly instinct.

Like everywhere east of the Mississippi, it had been raining basically all day, and the ground was absolutely soaked. On the way over, we’d eked our way up the (normally grass, now mud) hill between our houses, and so I gingerly started the short journey home, taking painstakingly slow stutter steps to avoid my feet sliding entirely out from under me.

Yeah. You know when you’re holding something, a towering pile of boxes or library books or plates you’re balancing for the circus, and you feel them start to go off kilter… and you try to recalibrate, to calm the swaying, to stop the inevitable, but suddenly you know – there is just no doubt – that everything is going down, and there is absolutely nothing you can do about it?

Yup. Behold: the inevitable.

Shorts, legs, shoes and forearms (where I’d tried to brace myself): covered with mud.
It should be noted that this photo was taken by my mother, who promptly put it on Facebook, saying I’d “hurried” down the hill. Ahhh, family…

It took a good thirty minutes to remove the mud and the stench, but when I finally did, I rewarded myself with a nice big bowl of peanut butter cup ice cream (with homemade fudge sauce, FTW!), half expecting Ella to come walking in any moment… But, for a solid two hours, the doors stayed blissfully closed. I’d just settled in to savor a glass of Sauvignon Blanc when my phone chirped all-too-happily at me to alert me that I had a text. It seems that Ella had borrowed our neighbor’s iPod and just needed to check in…

8 year-olds and hyperbole = BFFs.

The texts continued for a good half-hour, and although it is endearing being loved so so so so much, it’s even more endearing when your child powers through her first sleepover and actually falls asleep. After a couple of “I might come home but I’m not sure” exchanges, I told her that either was fine — stay, or return — but that she really needed to get some sleep. Amazingly, she agreed, and the texts stopped… so I assume that she fell asleep shortly thereafter. Or perhaps she robbed a bank and then wrote the great American novel – but hey, I didn’t hear from her… so yay, sleepovers!

Although both of my girls usually awaken early, there’d been talk amongst them and their buddies (who, as middle-schoolers, tend to go all Edward and [post-gruesome-Renesmee birth] Bella if they see the sun before noon) that they’d try to sleep until 9:00. I said a prayer to the sleep gods that maybe their friends’ habits would rub off on Annie and Ella, hoping they’d all get some decent shut-eye, and then went to bed myself. Despite the rare opportunity to sleep in ourselves, Nick and I both got up early today – and, as I looked down at the neighbors’ beach shortly before 8 a.m., I saw all four girls, pajama-clad, groggily dipping toes in the lake and checking out the foggy morning. Sleep gods, you totally slacked on this one.

Around 10:20, they finally came home, having had a marvelous time and looking surprisingly zippy.

Ella’s eyes are closed probably because she’s trying to concentrate on corralling the stuffed animal tribe she brought with her.

I girded myself for the exhausted meltdowns that I was sure would come today… But, again, both girls completely disregarded my superior parental instincts and had a great, cheerful, not-at-all cranky day. They pushed all the way through until 8:00, when I began to notice that they looked a little droopy as they ate their dessert, so I encouraged them to move along and head to bed. They brushed and washed and pajama-ed, protesting that they were just fine, not tired at all… But, a mere three minutes later when I came to check on them and say goodnight, they were both completely zonked, already snoring away.

Looks like mother does (occasionally) know best. Holla!
I’d definitely recommend not following me home, however. At least not after it’s rained.

The Family That Bunks Together…

Posted on July 1, 2013 by missemtoo

We are spending the week at my family’s lake house on Canandaigua, as we do every Fourth of July. It’s one of the only times each year that my extended family gets together en masse, and we four always look forward to it … except maybe for the sharing of one bedroom (including a bunk bed, with Nick and me on the bottom – you know you’re jealous).

“Pssst! Mommy!”

Ggbufmmpz…

“Mommy! Daddy!”

Zzzggbvooa…

“ARE YOU AWAKE??”

I am, now.

“I’m trying to be quiet, but I don’t know what to do.”

You could raise the shade a little.

“What?”

I’m trying to whisper. Because other people are sleeping.

“WHAT, MOMMY? I CAN’T HEAR YOU!”

You could raise the shade a little so that you have enough light to read.

“Oh, good! That means I can put on some pants!”

Do I even want to know why you don’t have…

“What the heck is happening in here?”

“She does this every morning, Daddy.”

This is why we don’t all sleep in one room at home.

You’d think, inventing games like this each day, that they’d go to bed exhausted and sleep in niiiice and late.

Nope!!!

Epic *

Posted on June 29, 2013 by missemtoo

* both the trip and the length of this post…

It started out so simply: a family gathering for Bill’s birthday, a weekend spent together – which is, in and of itself, a revered once-a-year occurrence. When Mary (my stepmother-in-law) upped the ante by saying she’d envisioned a weekend of games, Minute to Win It style — an all-ages tournament complete with prizes and, surely, plenty of opportunity for embarrassment and hilarity — we were even more stoked. If there’s anything this bunch does well, it’s competition and laughter. Bring it ON.

The end of school is always bittersweet for Ella and Annie, so this trip provided a welcome distraction from their sadness. We arrived at O’Hare on Friday morning with no trouble and began to get even more excited that we’d totally be Brady Bunch-ing out soon.

Jambi was an expert aviator.

Four hours later, after our layover was “extended” by two hours due to weather-related issues and my sister-in-law called to say she was ill and her family wouldn’t be coming, Nick and I turned to one another as we sat for 60 minutes on the runway and wondered aloud if this trip was cursed.

By the time we arrived in Minnesota, ravenous and grumpy, we told ourselves that surely things would be superb from here on out. His sister was feeling better and, happily, they were coming after all, so Nick and I hightailed it to Target to purchase a gift for our nephew, who’d turned three the day before. (We’d already sent him his “real” birthday gifts, but a family celebration had been planned for the following day, and we wanted to be sure he wasn’t empty-handed.) While I perused the aisles of Target that were clearly marked Appropriate Kid Stuff Available Here, Nick perused the automotive and camping aisles, which were clearly marked Stuff Appropriate Only For Grown-Ups, where he found a little red lantern that he insisted our nephew would enjoy. I tried to talk him out of it — some bubbles? Color Wonder markers? A puzzle? — but Nick was adamant that our nephew would get a kick out of turning the light on and off. I skeptically put it in the cart and remained ready to explain, when the time arose, that this was all Nick’s fault.

We returned to the house in time for a delicious dinner and proceeded to get dressed for a birthday performance we’d planned for the night. All started out beautifully… Then the storm came. And the power left. And suddenly, the weekend seemed less The Brady Bunch and more Little House on the Prairie.

After procuring some candles, we tucked the girls into the truly fantastic new bunk beds that Grandpa Bill and GranMary had gotten for them, finished the performance, and went to the airport to get Nick’s sister and her family. The drive was dark and ~~terrifying~~ exciting, having to dodge the literally dozens of live power lines and downed trees that had been uprooted in the absurd winds and 2.5 inches of rain that fell in less than an hour, but we got them and made it back safely, only to discover that the candles we were using wouldn’t quite cut it, because a) wax drips, and b) three year-olds and fire don’t mix well. We did, however, have a brand-new lantern… so we stole it right out of the birthday gift bag (tag still on to preserve its not-used status) and turned that sucker on. Let there be light!

Alas, no lantern in our bedroom, but I think Laura Ingalls would have approved.

I awoke on Saturday morning feeling filthy, and not in a good way. Despite sleeping as close to the open window as humanly possible, it was still hot and so humid, you could practically hold the air in your hands, and the “sleep” I’d gotten had been fitful and sweaty. I also hadn’t showered in two full days (and, in that time, had mowed the lawn and traveled for 11 hours), so I desperately needed to get clean. After overhearing a brief discussion the night before on whether or not we still had hot water after the power had gone out (the verdict at the time: there would be some hot water for a short while), I decided that I didn’t want to waste the precious little we still had, so, as Little House on the Prairie gave way to Survivor, I cleaned myself up using water so freezing, it would surely be illegal in most countries.

After a quick trip to the store for some absolute necessities (ice, bagels, and – most of all – coffee, duh), the adults filled coolers with items from the refrigerator while Ella and Annie met their baby cousin and played with his brother. We discussed the possibility of playing some of the games that Mary had so thoughtfully planned and prepared, deciding that we’d begin the official festivities after lunch.

Feeling mighty proud of themselves while holding the baby for the first time.

Thank God for windows with lovely natural light…

Enjoying the most awesome playhouse ever.

Nick’s other sister (who lives locally) and her best friend arrived shortly after noon, bringing with them not only lunch but a gluten-free slice of cake for me to enjoy while everyone else devoured birthday cake later on. Additionally, they brought four entire containers’ worth of gluten-free goodies — brownies, cookies, spice bars — treats so delicious-looking, I’d have endured several more glacial showers just to show my appreciation. Mercifully, a thank you sufficed, and after lunch, we were ready for the games to begin!

Except… it was nap time, both for the wee ones and the ~~old~~ wise leader of our tribe… And so we took Ella and Annie bowling (electricity AND air conditioning, hallelujah!).

Jambi approves of Cosmic Bowling.

Returning home, we found… everyone still asleep and the power very much still off. And, as her awesome activities sat idle and the weekend continued to careen off the rails, I’m pretty sure that Mary started utilizing calming breathing techniques. This was not what we’d planned, damn it! Right about then, my sister-in-law returned from a run, dripping with sweat, and declared she needed a shower. I was about to warn her that doing so might cause frostbite when we learned that, actually, the water heater wasn’t affected by the power outage. Meaning we’d had hot water all along.

As a toddler, stomping feet and screaming are acceptable responses when things really don’t go your way, but, to my dismay, such tantrums become far less okay if you’re thirty- or sixty-something. Drinking lukewarm beer, however, is always appropriate.

Yes, that’s sand, not mud.

We took the girls down the road to a nearby lake, where they splashed happily and played in the sand. Once the nappers had awakened, they joined us at the beach. We agreed that dinner back at the dark, sauna-like house wasn’t terribly desirable and elected to have a pizza picnic and birthday celebration by the lakeshore instead. I returned to the kitchen briefly to bring back some paper plates and other needed accoutrements and decided to grab the refreshing-looking watermelon on the counter. Pizza, cake, and watermelon on a hot summer night? Perfect, no?

Well, actually, no. When I mentioned the possibility of consuming it right then and there, Mary was visibly stricken. Apparently, the melon was being saved as part of the Minute to Win It games and, so help us God, something would go as planned this weekend and we would be playing those games!! (Except she didn’t freak out on me at all; exclamation points are mine because, if I’d been in her shoes, I’d have just about lost my mind.)

Good photo? No.
Until you notice Bill’s adorable blond ponytail.

The pizza hit the spot (best GF pizza I’ve eaten – word!) and the birthday cake was divine (or so I’m told; I was giddily stuffing one of my sister-in-law’s fabulous gluten-free treats into my mouth). The treat was so good, I’ll even concede that Nick’s idea was fantastic: our nephew was, indeed, ecstatic to open his new-to-him lantern.

Yes, the candles blew out early – 24 hours after the storm, it was still crazy windy.

As the meal was winding down, we decided to introduce my nephew to his first game of telephone, with the rest of us passing simple one- and two-word phrases down the line: Swimming. Happy Birthday. Ice cream. Then it was one of my girl’s turns to start the chain, and we all dutifully passed on the word until my brother-in-law caught Mary by surprise, turning to her and whispering, “Watermelon.” Her face registered an odd combination of confusion, frustration, and what might be categorized as rage, as she clearly had not realized that we were still playing telephone – and thought, instead, that he was asking her if we could eat the fruit.
We’ve been through this already, people!! How many times do I have to tell you that the watermelon is being saved? For the games! FOR THE GAMES THAT WE WILL HAVE, I SWEAR IT, THERE WILL BE GAMES!!!

After the kids went to bed, we stayed up to play our favorite cut-throat card game, Hand and Foot (with Nick and me both on teams that lost spectacularly), and then headed to sleep ourselves. Or, at least, we tried to sleep, but between the heat and the deafening thunderstorms that caused me to awaken levitating – not one part of my body was touching the bed – it wasn’t the most restful night.

Nick and I were the morning’s designated coffee-runners, and we were surprised to see — two days later, in the daylight — just how much damage had been wrought all around us. As we groggily stood in line waiting for our to-go coffee box (the barista had taken one look at us and simply said, “No power?”), I asked if he’d “ever lived through” a power outage like this. Nick barely stifled his delirious laughter, because although I meant, Have you ever been with a dozen people in one house for what was supposed to be this special weekend with 80-degree temperatures and no power for 48 hours?, it came out sounding more like Have you ever lived through a famine and a plague of locusts while asking for asylum as you flee a war-torn country. Ah, first-world problems. Reality check accomplished.

Notice the power pole hanging diagonally over the street…

After a candlelit breakfast (watermelon, anyone?), we agreed that the time had come: we would play games, and they would be awesome.

And, in fact, they were. Mary’s careful research and preparation meant that the games were totally ready to go; all we needed to do was show up (and I mean that both literally and in the sports metaphor way – clever, no?).

Tossing marshmallows through a hula hoop.
Which seems easy until they hit the wet ground, become soggy, and congeal together so that you’re forced to throw a softball-sized marshmallow.

Our official scorekeepers.

Bouncing ping-pong balls into cups filled with water. Not to brag, but I totally won this one.
See, kids! You don’t have to drink your way through college to dominate at Beer Pong!

Distance bubble blowing.
Which we would have nailed, if the gale force winds hadn’t been blowing at us.
Also, please ignore my Cowardly Lion mane; no power and natural curl result in some interesting ‘dos.

Tallying the scores so far.

Examining the leader board.

When the festivities were over, it was time for lunch, and Nick suggested that we order some sandwiches. Right before he and his sister left to pick them up, he announced that he couldn’t find the rental car keys — which seemed impossible, because he and I had driven home from getting coffee that morning and no one had left the property since then. After a brief search, we decided that surely they’d turn up any minute now – but we were so hungry, we might crack open the watermelon, so procuring lunch needed to take priority. As we divvied things up, everyone began hungrily digging in… Except Nick. Because, despite his being the one to suggest them in the first place, we’d neglected to actually order him a sandwich. It just wasn’t there.

And neither were the keys.

Hours later, we finally paused our search for the entire crew to go bowling – another of the originally scheduled tournament games – and reveled again in the air conditioning and light.

Cosmic bowling is less mysterious when it’s fully lit…

With bowling complete, as we pulled into the driveway, we noticed that the outside lights were on: the power had been restored!! And, with it, our spirits — and our resolve to find the keys. Despite combing through virtually every inch of the house, the yard, the garage, the trash, and our suitcases, however, and despite my insistence that it was, technically, impossible for them to be gone, the keys remained missing. This is definitely not what we’d planned, damn it! Nick and I may have thrown actual tantrums, but the fact remained: the keys were lost. Meaning that a 6 a.m. tow to the rental car repair lot was in our future for Monday morning, which is so totally what you want to be doing on your vacation.

As it turned out, Bill accompanied Nick and the tow truck to the lot (where Nick was informed that he didn’t even need to be there in person, which made him super happy), and I took a shower. A nice, un-freezing shower. We played one final game before divvying the prizes that Mary had stashed away — at last, something had gone as planned.

Balancing M&Ms on straws stuck in a raw baking potato. (What, you don’t do this at home?) Again, not to brag… But I won this one, too.
And we never did get around to the watermelon game.

We said our goodbyes, joking about how we would never, ever, ever forget this weekend, as his sister and her family flew home and Nick, the girls, and I went on to visit my mother-in-law and stepfather-in-law for the afternoon. Bill and Mary drove us to the Mall of America, a relatively central location, where we transferred our gear from their car to Karen and Ray’s and then hit up a few MOA amusement park rides.

No, they didn’t ride this one…

I tried to get them to pose with SpongeBob, but they wouldn’t have it.

The remainder of our visit with them was delightful – so delightful, in fact, we felt assured that our traveling curse had ended.

My mother-in-law sewed them dresses. On the spot, just like that.

Modestly modeling their new duds.

Rehashing their performance from the other night…

One last story before bedtime.

And then we tried to get home.
Twenty-one hours later, at 1:30 a.m. on Wednesday, we pulled into our driveway, feeling less Survivor and more Walking Dead. Zombified, we immediately fell asleep, vowing to do nothing on Wednesday but try to become human again.

Two days later, having had the chance to reflect on the trip, I can definitely see that it was not without its advantages. For one thing, I learned how to use the commode in total, astounding blackness, a skill that could be useful someday, especially in the event of a real zombie apocalypse. I also discovered that, unlike I’d previously thought, I will not keel over and die if my children don’t brush their hair, although I might experience a few slight body convulsions.

An added bonus to living without power for a couple of days is that it gives you the perfect excuse to offer up absurdly stupid excuses. Mismatched shoes? Couldn’t see. The kids subsisting almost entirely on soda, strawberries, and birthday cake? No way to properly cook a meal. Single-handedly consuming fifteen (yes, I counted) gluten-free goodies that my sister-in-law had so generously purchased for me? Without refrigeration, they wouldn’t last anyway, and I do hate to let things go to waste.

Most of all, though, this trip reaffirmed what I already knew: that my in-laws are fantastic. Throughout everything, no one lost their temper (except those under the age of five, but they got a pass). At each turn, with each this cannot possibly be happening, the gasps of disbelief would be followed by repressed giggles that gave way to peals of laughter, not only because it was better laughing than crying, but simply because they’re incredible folks and we crack one another up. The entire experience, simply put, was epic.

No, it wasn’t what we wanted. This was definitely not what we’d planned. Damn it. And that was hard, in part because it’s always difficult letting go of long-held expectations and hopes, but also because, as adults, you understand the importance of making your time with loved ones count, especially when they live across the country. As parents, Nick and I tell our girls not to dwell on the negative, not to focus on their disappointments – but instead that it’s okay to grieve for what could have been, to then acknowledge what actually is, and to pick themselves up and move forward. Easy to say; not so easy to do.

Nonetheless, my in-laws — no, my family — and I took that advice to heart, coming to terms with how the reality of the weekend diverged from our fantasy of the weekend, shedding a few tears, and then dissolving into laughter as we moved forward. I’d be totally lying if I said we didn’t complain — because, oh, did we bitch and moan maybe literally beat our heads against walls and tables — but it was always done with the understanding that this was simply the way it was, and it would be okay. In fact, it would be good. Not so much because we’d “make the best of it,” but because it already was the best of it — just being together.

They say that when you marry someone, you marry their family. I can easily say that I married very, very well.
We are getting together again in August, and I can hardly wait. I’ll be bringing my sense of humor.

And a generator.
And definitely a watermelon.

Shuffle off to… Buffalo??

Posted on June 25, 2013 by missemtoo

“Heeeeey, there, Emily’s family! Have I got a sweet deal for you! You know how you’ve got this amazingly special birthday trip planned?? How ’bout I spice it up a bit by throwing in crazy weather so you’ll be 3 hours late? And what if I also make your SIL get sick so she and her family won’t make the trip??”

Thanks, Universe/Fate/Mother Nature/Satan, but we’d rather…

“But wait, there’s more! How ’bout your SIL gets better, so they’ll come after all, but those crazy storms will knock out the power for 48 hours, so the 11 of you will be ‘celebrating’ in the dark? I’ll throw in 80+ degree temps with a bazillion percent humidity for FREE!”

No, thanks, that really doesn’t sound like much…

“Act now and you can also get one lost set of rental car keys, a 7 a.m. tow truck pick-up, annnnd a several hundred dollar fee!! (Offer only good while supplies last; prizes may vary.)”

That does sound tempting, but no thank…

“Order in the next 20 minutes and you can also get a 3:30 a.m. wake-up for a 6 a.m. flight home, but then MORE nasty weather will cause you to need extra fuel so your plane can be rerouted around the storms, which will cause the tire pressure to be too low so they’ll need to change the tires… And by the time all is said and done, you’ll sit on the runway for 2.5 hours and miss your connection home!”

Well… I do love waking up at ungodly hours for a flight that’s super delayed…

“In fact, for one day only, all flights to Rochester will either be full or cancelled, so you can get stranded in Chicago – in the rain! With your service dog-in-training! All day long!! AND THEN you can fly home to Buffalo, rent a car and drive to the Rochester airport, transfer everything to your car, return the rental, and drive home… All by midnight!”

You drive a hard bargain, Universe/Fate/Mother Nature/Satan…

“As a bonus, I’ll throw in softly candlelit rooms…

Bowling alleys with power and air conditioning…

A few of your originally scheduled birthday games and activities…

Visits with family (who needs power when you have cousins?!)…

Lunch at the Mall of America (your family can pick you up after the rental car has been towed)…

Visits with more of your family…

And, last but not least, some delightful Windy City experiences.”

Do we have a choice?

“Nope!”

Well, then… Sold, I guess…

“Trust me: this will be a trip you will never forget.”

Thanks ever so much, Universe/Fate/Mother Nature/Satan

“And remember… no exchanges or refunds.”

I had a feeling that would be the case.

*written from Navy Pier in Chicago. The adventure continues…

Apocalypse? Now!

Posted on June 24, 2013 by missemtoo

I am sticky.

The power went out over 40 hours ago, it is 80+ degrees with the humidity at approximately 400%, sleep has just not been happening, I awoke at 6:00 a.m. this morning *levitating* due to an especially sonic thunderclap, the children have been threatening mutiny, and we are redefining “family togetherness.” I love summer!!

We are in Minnesota to celebrate my father-in-law, Bill’s, milestone birthday. This trip had been in the works for months – all of Nick’s family coming together! Celebrations! Cakes! Gifts! Games! Prizes! An entire weekend’s worth of activities carefully and thoughtfully planned, eagerly and excitedly anticipated.

And then.

While our 2-hour layover turned into a 4-hour weather-related delay, we learned that my sister-in-law had a stomach virus, so she and her family would be unable to make the trek from Denver. Although we understood, we were crushed (we hadn’t even met our 5 month-old nephew yet!), and we got onto the airplane with heavy hearts.

And sat on the runway for an hour.

Once in the air, we learned that all flights from O’hare had been grounded – only minutes after our takeoff – and we breathed a sigh of relief that something was going our way. The flight was 30 minutes longer than scheduled as the plane was diverted around the storms, but we finally landed, ready to rock. Only after navigating baggage claim and collapsing into the rental car did Nick and I realize that it was 5 p.m. New York time and, thus far, we’d fed our children breakfast, popcorn, and a handful of almonds. Seeking to remedy our neglectful parenting choices, we quickly purchased “lunch” for the Ella and Annie, and thus pulled into my in-laws’ house with them clutching Happy Meals as if their lives depended on it.
Winning.

Plus, they hadn’t exactly dressed up for our flight and, after the 11 hours of traveling, looked a bit like tiny, adorable hobos who had foraged for dinner in a nearby dumpster.

Yes, Annie’s shirt has a cactus and says “Hugz?” and Ella’s reads “I (heart) NICK”.
Still winning.

Happy Meals aside, we were thrilled to be here, and even more thrilled that my sister-in-law had begun to feel better, so she and her family had rebooked their flights and were coming after all. We ate dinner and changed our clothes just in time for the guests to arrive — Nick (a forever guitar player and singer) had long wanted to perform for his dad, a concert of sorts, and we had prepared several songs as the evening’s entertainment.

We began with our family’s favorite song, “L.O.V.E.” by Nat King Cole.

The Von Trapp Family singers? Not…

Toward the end of song, just after the last of the guests arrived, the winds began to pick up. Mid-second song, the rains came. Ten minutes into the gathering, the apocalypse surely seemed upon us and lights began to flicker.

Apocalypse or not, as performers, we knew that the show must go on, so onward we went, singing, strumming, and playing in the dark.

Those trees outside the window? Bending all the way to the ground? Yeah. It was like that.

We remain in the dark today. Except with less singing. And more stickiness. And by now, we – all eleven of us – definitely look and smell like hobos.

I’d say that “someday” we’ll laugh about the events of this weekend… except that we’re already chuckling, because my in-laws are generally awesome – and because, really, what else can you do? Except drink, but we’ve already established I’m not so great at that, and the beer is all warm anyway.

I’ve got plenty more to share, but the car adapter isn’t happy with me draining all of its power, and there are, like, eight more cell phones and i-devices that need charging. Also, it’s time to go bowling (electricity and air conditioning for the win!). Or maybe look for the lost keys to the rental car.*
Either way, it’s sure to be an adventure. And we’ll still be laughing.
I think.

* This post was originally written at 2 p.m. but couldn’t be published until later because the computer died. We did get power back by dinner, nearly 48 hours after it had gone out.
The car keys, however, remain missing. A 6 a.m. tow to the Hertz repair lot has so totally been on my bucket list. Winning!!!

One more for the road

Posted on June 7, 2013 by missemtoo

Nick and I moved to Denver in 1997, just after graduating from college. Colorado is a great place, and we eagerly participated in all of the standard Coloradan practices: hiking fourteeners, following the Broncos’ every move (including whatever John Elway’s son was up to in Pop Warner football), consuming burritos with copious amounts of green chili, enduring – even celebrating – the uniquely Denver-ian weather (one April day, we took in a Rockies game where it first snowed and then became so hot, we had to change into shorts), scoffing at the Trust Fund hippies in Boulder who wore dreadlocks and Abercrombie backpacks, sagely warning visitors against the very real effects of altitude sickness (while being proudly cocky that we’d become so acclimated to Denver life, we no longer became ill when we’d return from an out-of-state visit), consuming too many three-shot margaritas at Rio Grande, taking off into the mountains to ski or camp in the Rocky Mountain National Forest, chortling at the (then-relatively-new) Denver International Airport with its odd, white, nipple-peaked design, eschewing a map so long as you could see the mountains (WEST, people!), and finally — after 3.5 years — adopting a dog.

Very spiffy in her new bandana.

She was a not-quite-one-year-old Beagle/Lab mix and – knowing we were going to move back east that spring, but wanting to take a bit of Denver with us — we named her Madison, after Madison Street (on which we lived). She had been mistreated prior to our adopting her (the vet said that she was so dehydrated, it was only due to sheer will power that she was still standing), but she had the sweetest demeanor imaginable. We instantly fell in love.

Maddy became our constant companion, accompanying us to pet-friendly restaurants, friends’ parties (where she’d join the pack of dogs already there), and on road trips. Because we didn’t know when we’d next be back in Colorado, we decided to tour the area before leaving, from Breckenridge to Mesa Verde to Wyoming and back.

Great Sand Dunes National Park

Maddy-bug was an excellent traveler – quiet and patient, but eager to explore. Despite her smallish build, she was tireless going up and down Colorado’s many peaks.

Earning her ‘Mountain Girl’ nickname.

When it was time to drive back to New York, we meticulously researched dog-friendly hotels (which, in pre-Google 2001, was a form of internationally recognized torture: you actually had to call places and ask. The horror). And so, armed with our handy dandy AAA Trip Tiks (holla!), we began the trek across the country, with Madison taking her place in the footwell on the passenger side (the rest of the car was entirely full of our stuff — all of our most important belongings, especially the box with the wedding paraphernalia for our upcoming nuptials, the ones we didn’t want to send in the U-Haul because we wanted to keep them safe with us).

Posing by one of the most awesome mistakes ever.

We first drove through Kansas, where we narrowly avoided being hit by a tornado (no joke). In Missouri, while Maddy lounged in our hotels, Nick and I ate amazing Kansas City barbecue and saw Mark McGuire hit a home run in Busch Stadium in St. Louis. We then moseyed into Tennessee, planning to stop first in Memphis and then make our way over to Nashville.

The two days we spent in Memphis were fantastic. We reveled at the bizarrely American experience of somberly visiting the National Civil Rights Museum (and feeling awe, sadness, and gratitude as we stood in the hotel room where Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated) one day and then frolicking on over to Graceland and taking in the shag carpeting and Elvis’s many sequined jumpsuits. We ate more delicious barbecue and took in some excellent street music before collapsing in our hotel that final night, ready to head over to Nashville in the morning.

And that’s when we got the call.

When the hotel phone rings at 6:00 a.m. and you didn’t schedule a wake-up call, you can pretty much assume they’re not calling to offer free breakfast in bed. The desk clerk informed us that there had been several auto break-ins the night before, and that our car had been one of the unlucky ones. The good news was, although the other cars had had their windows smashed and had been obviously ransacked, our car was intact and it looked as though all was okay — but perhaps we should come take a look, anyway.

We roused ourselves as best we could and, knowing that Madison hadn’t done her business that morning, took her with us as we headed down to the parking lot. At first, all seemed well; the car looked unharmed. The moment we opened the doors, however, we realized that the thieves had not skipped our car – they’d simply been able to get in without breaking any windows by playing with the code on the keypad and unlocking the doors.

Since we were only staying for two nights in the hotel, we’d taken the bare minimum with us; everything else was still in the car. Clothing was everywhere – they’d gone through our suitcases and discarded whatever they didn’t want, casting things off and scattering them around like drunken sorority sisters – making it seem as though very little was missing.
Um. Not so.

By now, it was closer to 7:00, and the sun was already high in the early summer sky. Several police officers were on the scene to document the damage and were asking us questions to determine just what was missing. The cop who was assigned to us was probably a very nice guy… except that I don’t really know, because we could hardly understand him. Not only did he have a very thick Southern accent, he also had a bit of a speech impediment, thereby making it even more difficult to understand what he was saying. (Not that we were contributing much ourselves — being roused at 6 a.m. in a strange city, being on the road for a week already, and, you know, having all of our stuff stolen, we weren’t really at our best.) Communication was… difficult.

We began trying to rattle off the stolen items, but it was a bit like Who’s On First because everything had to be repeated, except without the cute Twitter #hashtags.

#Canyoutellmeexactlywhat’smissinghere,ma’am?
Pardon me?
What. Is. Missing?
Well, they took our CDs.
#Theytookyourseeds?
No. Our SEE-DEEs.
#HowmanyCDsdidyouhave?
I’m sorry, could you repeat that?
I said, How. Many. CDs. Did. You. Have.
I don’t know.
Third base!

Still, we pressed on, listing item after item… clothing, CDs (our entire collection – nearly 2,000 discs), original documents (birth certificates, social security cards), Nick’s early adoption photos, our wedding rings, the entire wedding box filled with every contract or magazine clipping I’d put together so far, my wallet, Nick’s travel guitar… All of the MOST IMPORTANT ITEMS that we “couldn’t risk” leaving in the U-Haul.

We’d rattle off yet another missing item, the cop would try to confirm what we’d just told him, we’d ask him to repeat himself because we didn’t understand what he’d just said, he’d repeat himself more slowly, we’d repeat ourselves, and then finally he’d write it down. Listing each stolen item, I became more and more distraught — stealing our clearly amazing wardrobe I could kind of understand, but why on earth would anyone want the handwritten “We’ll Miss You” notes my students had given me, or the freakin’ Graceland souvenirs that could be purchased just down the block?? And then we discovered the missing item that put me over the edge: the bag of bags.

Knowing we’d have to pick up after Madison on our journey, we’d arduously collected plastic bags for months, stuffing dozens of them into another grocery bag so we could keep them all together. And they’d taken them. They’d taken the bag of bags. Now, not only were our wedding rings and my driver’s license in someone else’s possession, we couldn’t even pick up Madison’s poop because some hoodlum jerks had stolen THE BAG OF BAGS.

It was the discovery of the missing bags that prompted us to remember that Madison was there. Up until now, through our wailing and teeth-gnashing and Who’s on First wrangling, she’d been completely silent, so we kind of forgot about her. By the time we snapped out of our fog of disbelief, the Memphis sun had been blazing down — on a bare hotel parking lot — for a good hour, making the pavement feel like lava. Or, at least, I imagine that it felt like lava, because of how poor Madison was behaving.

She had clearly figured out that the white parking line was cooler than the blistering pavement, and had carefully positioned her paws one in front of the other — all four in a row — so that they were on that white line. But the heat must still have been getting to her, because she was lifting up one paw at a time (which was the most she could do; two would cause her to topple over) to give herself some relief. Another time, this might have been adorable — aww, look, it’s like some kind of puppy ballet! — but when we realized that we were effectively burning her feet off, we quickly took her back indoors. Thank God she didn’t have to poop, because, you know… NO BAGS.

(You’ll notice the lack of photographic evidence of our cross-country excursion; naturally, our camera was stolen too, and cell-phone cameras were, like, not invented yet.)

Eventually, we settled things with the cop, reorganized what was left of our belongings, and took off east again, very grateful that the car itself hadn’t been harmed, but grumpily flipping through radio stations because all of our music was gone. A week later (after stops in Atlanta and Charleston), we reached our final destination in New York. And Madison was still at our side, feet soothed, additional plastic bags procured.

And so it has been for the past 12 years — off on adventures, our Buggo at our side. We’ve taken her with us to 25 states, acquired two other pet dogs, two daughters, have raised three service dogs, and have lived in three homes since then, but the adventure has continued. Until today.

Today, we said goodbye to our Madison. To our constant companion, our long-ago Therapy Dog. To our Golden Girl, who endured the Memphis heat, puppies nipping at her ears to get her to play, children climbing on her, and countless other indignities — all patiently (albeit sometimes grudgingly – that dog forgot nothing and let you know it) and without complaint (well, except when we brought the kids home from the hospital; Maddy never forgave us for that). There was something about her incredible personality that made everyone who encountered her feel better, loved, calmer. She never tired of being petted or cuddled, but somehow you were the one who benefited from it; friend after friend visited us and would invite Madison to sleep with them. More than one guest threatened to pack her in their suitcase and spirit her away with them.
She was, very simply, the best.

Thanks for twelve-plus amazing years, darling Mads. You are the very sweetest, most endearing dog imaginable, and you’ll always be our first baby. May your days from here on out be filled with mountain smells, delicious treats, ducks to chase, and endless windows to look out of and watch the world go by. We adore you, and will, forever.

Godspeed on your new adventures, Maddy. xoxo

All Together in a Scattered Sort of Way

Finding humor in even the most inappropriate places

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