Since Cooper has started to school, Brisco and I have had lots of time together-alone. We’ve done practically everything with one another, and enjoyed most every minute. Other than the occasional bowl of oatmeal spilled all over the kitchen or the random basket of folded clothes strewn about the living room, things have been quite nearly perfect.
He’s very excited about having his own school time, so I try to prepare something for us to do together every day. Whether it is coloring or cooking, glittering or gluing, lately, the two of us have been pondering deep thoughts and examining nature and whatever else a four-year old boy can think up to do when he’s got his mother all to himself for seven hours a day.
I began thinking that with all our time together, this kid should be getting to know his mom pretty well. I mean, little kids can do lots of talking, and the number of questions they’ll ask is limitless. So just what does this little guy know about his mommy? Thanks to a set of creative interview questions I borrowed from a friend, I just found out.
1. What is something mommy always says to you?
“Don’t pick your nose.”
2. What makes mommy happy?
“Coloring you a picture.”
3. What makes mommy sad?
“When I make you have to spank me.”
4. How does mommy make you laugh?
“Being funny.”
5. What was mom like as a child?
“Like me!”
6. How old is your mom?
“37”
7. How tall is your mom?
“40 pounds. Really tall.”
8. What is her favorite thing to do?
“Play catch with me.”
9. What does mom do when you're not around?
“I don’t know?”
10. If your mom becomes famous, what will it be for?
“She won’t.”
11. What is your mom really good at?
“Exercising.”
12. What is your mom not very good at?
“Playing softball. Well, not anymore.”
13. What does mom do for her job?
“Computer stuff for Grandmother.”
14. What is your mom's favorite food?
“Peppers.”
15. What makes you proud of your mom?
“When she gives me ice cream!”
16. What do you and your mom do together?
“School and cook.”
17. How are you and your mom the same?
“We’re not.” (Upon further consideration) “We both have brown in our eyes.”
18. How are you and your mom different?
“You don’t like ice cream and pancakes and I DO!”
19. Where is mom's favorite place to go?
“To Yankee Stadium and the mountains.”
20. How do you know mommy loves you?
“Because you tell me!”
What can I say; the kid knows me pretty well. It seems our first few weeks at home together have definitely been time well spent.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Monday, August 30, 2010
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Back to school
It was the first day of school for the boy I seemingly just gave birth to yesterday. Everyone seemed excited (on the outside) except maybe for little brother who isn’t starting school yet, but really wishes he was. We all got up early that morning, dressed, ate breakfast, and walked the half block from our house to the school house to send him on his way.
As we left the back gate, the butterflies began their work. We talked as we walked, and he held my hand a little tighter than usual. Or maybe it was me who was holding on for dear life.
We paused at the stop sign, seemingly looking for a reason stand there a second or two longer than what we normally might, admiring the perfectly shaped skid-marks that had strangely enough just appeared in the road overnight. Finally, we were pulled onward by an over-anxious little brother, and we crossed the street and headed to the lunchroom to meet with dad.
The thought of tossing down a breakfast as hearty as the one we were smelling sent the butterflies into overdrive, churning up that early morning, empty stomach feeling, leaving me wishing I’d at least grabbed a piece of dry toast to settle my nerves. But still onward we trudged.
With huge smiles plastered on our faces, we walked the last leg of our journey to the door of the Kindergarten classroom. I fumbled with my camera and begged him to pause in front of the door which read “Hop Into K”. He hesitated at first, but then agreed, somehow knowing that taking a picture might keep us hanging around for just a few minutes more.
We entered a classroom with too many kids to count, some excited and talking, some laughing, some crying. “Let’s find your name and hang up your bag,” I said with as much enthusiasm as my melting heart could muster. He continued hanging on to my hand, tighter still, knowing that in just a moment I’d be walking out the door we’d just walked in, with Brisco alone at my side.
I helped him with his name tag and pointed out his old friends that he’d spent last year going to school with. Still, he stood beside me, eyes wide, watching as children and siblings and mothers with strollers scampered all around him.
“Ok, boys and girls. Everyone find a number on the floor and sit on it.” The teacher had given her first directive. But Cooper simply looked up at me and stared. He knew it was the moment of truth. The instant when the transfer of power went from parent to teacher. The second before I would have to leave. The time had come, and we both knew it.
I walked him to the green line on the floor, as he chose number nine to be his spot for the day. I squatted down until his eyes met mine and said, “Well, I guess I better go, Buddy.” He didn’t say much, but offered a hug even before I could beg for it to be given. A kiss as well, which doesn’t usually come cheap, and a watchful eye as I backed out of his classroom, this new home away from home, waving and smiling with every convincing, albeit contrived expression I could muster.
The three of us walked back to where Brisco had parked his bike, and I kissed my husband goodbye, wishing him, too, a good first day of school, all the while being certain not to make eye contact lest my sentimentality get the better of me. However, as we headed for home, I felt the first ball of emotion begin to well up in my chest. My throat tightened; my stomach churned; my jaw clenched. And suddenly there was nothing that could harness the tears that finally began to flow.
I walked home slowly that morning, shoulders heaving, voice quivering as I tried talking myself out of this sudden crazy, onset of emotions I was under. “It’s is just a part of growing up!” I argued with myself as I trudged nearer to our back gate. But he’s our first child, and my one and only Cooper, and I’m pretty much still a rookie at this parenting gig. So I just let myself cry a little more until I entered the back door to a smiling, angel of a child with a blanket in one hand and a book in the other. And with that “you-can’t-tell-me-no” look in his eyes, he begged, “Momma, will you just hold me on the couch for a little while?”
God sure knew what he was doing when He didn’t stop at one. I’m not sure what would have become of me that sad, Thursday morning if I hadn’t had Little Brother there by my side to cheer me on. And while the two of us are still learning to adjust to a daily routine without our Cooper in it, we’re finding ways to lean on one other. And have a little fun while we’re at it.
Back to school sure doesn’t mean what it used to. And in another year or two, I can only imagine the toll it will take. But I guess it really is just part of growing up…for them and for me.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
As we left the back gate, the butterflies began their work. We talked as we walked, and he held my hand a little tighter than usual. Or maybe it was me who was holding on for dear life.
We paused at the stop sign, seemingly looking for a reason stand there a second or two longer than what we normally might, admiring the perfectly shaped skid-marks that had strangely enough just appeared in the road overnight. Finally, we were pulled onward by an over-anxious little brother, and we crossed the street and headed to the lunchroom to meet with dad.
The thought of tossing down a breakfast as hearty as the one we were smelling sent the butterflies into overdrive, churning up that early morning, empty stomach feeling, leaving me wishing I’d at least grabbed a piece of dry toast to settle my nerves. But still onward we trudged.
With huge smiles plastered on our faces, we walked the last leg of our journey to the door of the Kindergarten classroom. I fumbled with my camera and begged him to pause in front of the door which read “Hop Into K”. He hesitated at first, but then agreed, somehow knowing that taking a picture might keep us hanging around for just a few minutes more.
We entered a classroom with too many kids to count, some excited and talking, some laughing, some crying. “Let’s find your name and hang up your bag,” I said with as much enthusiasm as my melting heart could muster. He continued hanging on to my hand, tighter still, knowing that in just a moment I’d be walking out the door we’d just walked in, with Brisco alone at my side.
I helped him with his name tag and pointed out his old friends that he’d spent last year going to school with. Still, he stood beside me, eyes wide, watching as children and siblings and mothers with strollers scampered all around him.
“Ok, boys and girls. Everyone find a number on the floor and sit on it.” The teacher had given her first directive. But Cooper simply looked up at me and stared. He knew it was the moment of truth. The instant when the transfer of power went from parent to teacher. The second before I would have to leave. The time had come, and we both knew it.
I walked him to the green line on the floor, as he chose number nine to be his spot for the day. I squatted down until his eyes met mine and said, “Well, I guess I better go, Buddy.” He didn’t say much, but offered a hug even before I could beg for it to be given. A kiss as well, which doesn’t usually come cheap, and a watchful eye as I backed out of his classroom, this new home away from home, waving and smiling with every convincing, albeit contrived expression I could muster.
The three of us walked back to where Brisco had parked his bike, and I kissed my husband goodbye, wishing him, too, a good first day of school, all the while being certain not to make eye contact lest my sentimentality get the better of me. However, as we headed for home, I felt the first ball of emotion begin to well up in my chest. My throat tightened; my stomach churned; my jaw clenched. And suddenly there was nothing that could harness the tears that finally began to flow.
I walked home slowly that morning, shoulders heaving, voice quivering as I tried talking myself out of this sudden crazy, onset of emotions I was under. “It’s is just a part of growing up!” I argued with myself as I trudged nearer to our back gate. But he’s our first child, and my one and only Cooper, and I’m pretty much still a rookie at this parenting gig. So I just let myself cry a little more until I entered the back door to a smiling, angel of a child with a blanket in one hand and a book in the other. And with that “you-can’t-tell-me-no” look in his eyes, he begged, “Momma, will you just hold me on the couch for a little while?”
God sure knew what he was doing when He didn’t stop at one. I’m not sure what would have become of me that sad, Thursday morning if I hadn’t had Little Brother there by my side to cheer me on. And while the two of us are still learning to adjust to a daily routine without our Cooper in it, we’re finding ways to lean on one other. And have a little fun while we’re at it.
Back to school sure doesn’t mean what it used to. And in another year or two, I can only imagine the toll it will take. But I guess it really is just part of growing up…for them and for me.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Granma Camp
Summertime brings many opportunities for children to pack up and head out. For some kids it’s ball camp, for some it’s band camp, and for others still, it’s church camp. The Smith kids are still a bit young for all of that. But this summer they were old enough to depart on one special for-kids-only excursion: Granma Camp.
After seven days on the road trip of a lifetime, Cooper and Brisco had only 24 hours to rest and recuperate for the first annual Granma Camp in Duncan. See, Granma Donna had been making plans for weeks to hold a special session with her favorite little people on earth, and the boys couldn’t have been more excited.
Of course Granma has a total of eleven favorite little people, so she set her sights on anyone over the age of four. This made one daddy, who was a little unsure about his mother being bombarded by that many Smith children, feel a little better about the whole event. There would be six excited campers and one brave Granma.
We were instructed to pack lightly no doubt to help reduce the amount of laundry and chaos that can be created when six little kids (four of whom are boys) decide it’s time to change clothes or dig through a suitcase. The campers would be attending Vacation Bible School every evening where they would receive a T-shirt, as well as their First Official Granma Camp T-shirt that Aunt Becca would be helping them tie dye. Such a brave soul.
That is pretty much all the information we received as far as the itinerary for the week, but I was sure that Granma-this mother of eight-would have them lined out and entertained in a manner far better than any of us parents could do on our own…if she could just get all the grown-ups to go home.
We were to drop the kids off on Sunday afternoon, and by 10 p.m., or somewhere thereafter, the last of the big people finally drove away, leaving Granma to corral her six rowdy stallions and convince them it was time to hit the hay. It seems it was us parents who put a kink in Granma’s schedule right from the start, but she was able to calm their high spirits and dry a few tearful eyes, soothing them to sleep, as only a granma can.
And so the week began. Like an actual summer camp--the kind you usually have to pay for--Granma had events and activities scheduled to keep their hands and their minds busy and engaged. From picnics and baseball to just hanging out in the pool, there was always something going on for the kids to enjoy.
One morning was spent at the Chisholm Trail Museum, which apparently made a lasting impression on every child attending. I wasn’t sure our kids were really old enough for the experience, but it seems Granma knows best, as all the children had stories to tell about their day. “We got rained on during the movie! And the seats moved!” Cooper remembered. “Real water came our of the TV and got us wet!” Mattie added. There was apparently lots of interactive learning, as the boys recalled beating on the drum so it would “toot” and say, “Not beans again!” Mattie and Cooper remember how scared Brisco would get every time he pushed the button to hear the Buffalo sound. “He would run back to the rail every time!”
But it wasn’t just the museum that had the kids talking. For Tyler, the oldest, his favorite part of the week was playing with Cooper. Two little boys with different talents and interests, but the same gust for playing hard and having fun. No doubt he gave the little guys (and girls) tips on climbing trees and put on a show with his unbelievable acrobatics on the trampoline. Mattie had fun swimming, but enjoyed it most of all when Granma taught her how to swim on her back. Cooper loved having a water balloon fight, watching “the Babe” and “getting Granma awards”. My son, always the competitor.
Haley, the youngest of the two girls attending, enjoyed spending time with Mattie and painting the rocks that Granma provided for all the kids to decorate and put in her pathway off the back porch.
Brady, the lone brother in a house full of girls, had an especially good time being surrounded by a bunch of boys. “I liked playing water balloons with Tyler, Cooper and Brisco. We would try to hit each other with the balloons!" He also enjoyed it when Granma got in the pool “because it made her hair all smooth".
For Brisco, the youngest of the crew, his favorites had to include the food. “Swimming, watermelon, and Granma’s biscuits”.
It’s not easy on a family when you’re spread out from the Oklahoma panhandle to near the Red River. But what better way for children to enjoy their grandparents, and each other, than to pack their bags and head to Granma’s.
Generations of grown-ups can recount the history of their childhoods told from memories they made with their grandparents. And now ours will too. From Sunday dinners at Grandmother Hightower’s, to running downstairs on Christmas morning at Martha’s, to summer camp at Granma Donna’s. What more could a little kid ask for?
And that’s All in a day’s work!
After seven days on the road trip of a lifetime, Cooper and Brisco had only 24 hours to rest and recuperate for the first annual Granma Camp in Duncan. See, Granma Donna had been making plans for weeks to hold a special session with her favorite little people on earth, and the boys couldn’t have been more excited.
Of course Granma has a total of eleven favorite little people, so she set her sights on anyone over the age of four. This made one daddy, who was a little unsure about his mother being bombarded by that many Smith children, feel a little better about the whole event. There would be six excited campers and one brave Granma.
We were instructed to pack lightly no doubt to help reduce the amount of laundry and chaos that can be created when six little kids (four of whom are boys) decide it’s time to change clothes or dig through a suitcase. The campers would be attending Vacation Bible School every evening where they would receive a T-shirt, as well as their First Official Granma Camp T-shirt that Aunt Becca would be helping them tie dye. Such a brave soul.
That is pretty much all the information we received as far as the itinerary for the week, but I was sure that Granma-this mother of eight-would have them lined out and entertained in a manner far better than any of us parents could do on our own…if she could just get all the grown-ups to go home.
We were to drop the kids off on Sunday afternoon, and by 10 p.m., or somewhere thereafter, the last of the big people finally drove away, leaving Granma to corral her six rowdy stallions and convince them it was time to hit the hay. It seems it was us parents who put a kink in Granma’s schedule right from the start, but she was able to calm their high spirits and dry a few tearful eyes, soothing them to sleep, as only a granma can.
And so the week began. Like an actual summer camp--the kind you usually have to pay for--Granma had events and activities scheduled to keep their hands and their minds busy and engaged. From picnics and baseball to just hanging out in the pool, there was always something going on for the kids to enjoy.
One morning was spent at the Chisholm Trail Museum, which apparently made a lasting impression on every child attending. I wasn’t sure our kids were really old enough for the experience, but it seems Granma knows best, as all the children had stories to tell about their day. “We got rained on during the movie! And the seats moved!” Cooper remembered. “Real water came our of the TV and got us wet!” Mattie added. There was apparently lots of interactive learning, as the boys recalled beating on the drum so it would “toot” and say, “Not beans again!” Mattie and Cooper remember how scared Brisco would get every time he pushed the button to hear the Buffalo sound. “He would run back to the rail every time!”
But it wasn’t just the museum that had the kids talking. For Tyler, the oldest, his favorite part of the week was playing with Cooper. Two little boys with different talents and interests, but the same gust for playing hard and having fun. No doubt he gave the little guys (and girls) tips on climbing trees and put on a show with his unbelievable acrobatics on the trampoline. Mattie had fun swimming, but enjoyed it most of all when Granma taught her how to swim on her back. Cooper loved having a water balloon fight, watching “the Babe” and “getting Granma awards”. My son, always the competitor.
Haley, the youngest of the two girls attending, enjoyed spending time with Mattie and painting the rocks that Granma provided for all the kids to decorate and put in her pathway off the back porch.
Brady, the lone brother in a house full of girls, had an especially good time being surrounded by a bunch of boys. “I liked playing water balloons with Tyler, Cooper and Brisco. We would try to hit each other with the balloons!" He also enjoyed it when Granma got in the pool “because it made her hair all smooth".
For Brisco, the youngest of the crew, his favorites had to include the food. “Swimming, watermelon, and Granma’s biscuits”.
It’s not easy on a family when you’re spread out from the Oklahoma panhandle to near the Red River. But what better way for children to enjoy their grandparents, and each other, than to pack their bags and head to Granma’s.
Generations of grown-ups can recount the history of their childhoods told from memories they made with their grandparents. And now ours will too. From Sunday dinners at Grandmother Hightower’s, to running downstairs on Christmas morning at Martha’s, to summer camp at Granma Donna’s. What more could a little kid ask for?
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
“The family vacation experience: The final episode”
When morning came, we packed our bags and said goodbye to Missouri and to our temporary lap of luxury and headed south to Arkansas. We had planned to break up the next leg of our trip by driving a while and then stopping to explore an underground cave. Cosmic Cavern to be exact. An experience fit for two little boys.
We pulled in to what appeared to be an old RV site with a trailer house sitting on top of a hill. The boys were somewhat confused since they were expecting to explore a cave, which to them clearly meant something right outa Scooby Doo.
We headed inside to prepare for our descent and check out the goodies on display. As I stood listening to the employee explain how things worked, I could feel someone tugging on my shirt. “Momma,” he said in a whisper. And again, “Momma, Momma.”
Since our boys have been taught not to interrupt when grown ups are talking, I was a bit aggravated and gave him the palm-toward-the-face, not-now-maneuver and tried to continue listening to the worker. He didn’t give up so easily, thank goodness, and when I finally bent down to impatiently ask, “Cooper! What do you want?” He said, “Momma, I’m gonna throw up.”
My cleverly disguised Supermom strength kicked in, and I picked up the boy, and tucked him under one arm, dodging a rack of adventure guides and oncoming explorers in the fray. We barely made it to the end of the porch before the poor child could hold it no longer.
I was frantically scrounging for a tissue of some sort but kept coming up empty handed. I sent Dad to the car and he came back with a Coke and a day old biscuit--to help calm his stomach--and a wadded up, partially used single ply. Geez.
Aside from the uneasy looks we received from the other paying customers, and the personal visit from what appeared to be the proprietor of the place, I’d say we handled the mess quite well, and by the time his stomach had settled, it was our turn to head underground.
The opening of the cave was like an old cellar door. Steps right on top of one another made the trip down and up a challenge for some, but it seemed a perfect fit for two little boys. The guide spent way too much time explaining the differences between stalagmites and stalactites and the origin of the latest bat disease, but the boys were patient, knowing somewhere in this underground world were two bottomless lakes with blind cave trout bumping into one another, no doubt. They could not wait to feast their eyes upon something as crazy as that.
We finally reached the lakes, but as luck would have it, the cave trout had all been eaten by some other kind of trout and all that was left was a giant whisky barrel some old-time explorer had discarded along the way. The boys’ first lesson on “truth in advertising”.
By the time we emerged from the old cellar door, we were all glad we lived above ground, despite the warmer climate, and were ready to continue traveling to our next destination: Devil’s Den State Park.
The place wasn’t as ominous as it’s name, but the caves it housed were closed due to the same crazy bat disease the tour guide had previously told us about. Arkansas, however, was not about caves for our boys. It was all about the great outdoors. You see, those new fishing poles we bought three days ago had yet to get wet. In fact, they weren’t even out of the plastic, so our first order of business was to catch some fish.
They learned rather quickly that just because they had a new rod and reel, and just because there was a bunch of water in front of them, and just because they really wanted to…well, that didn’t mean they were going to catch a single fish. A little moss, a stick or two maybe, but no fish.
And for the next three days…still no fish. They tried top water lures. They tried bobbers. They even tried real live worms, thanks to a nice lady fishing from the dam. But nothing. It was a real test in patience, and we all learned rather quickly that one of them has it, and one of them does not. I think Brisco could have cast and reeled all day long without getting a bite. Coop on the other hand, quite simply would have rather been playing ball.
The next two days were spent in a rustic cabin hidden in the trees of the Ozarks. The rain killed our swimming plans as well as our satellite and cell service, but there’s no way it ruined the fun of our stay.
We spent one morning on a mile and a half hike through beautiful terrain and saw a waterfall and the many crevices in the earth that had formed in the area. The boys seemed to enjoy their discoveries but were even more impressed with the convenient places provided for hikers to tie their shoes (i.e. trail markers). Thanks, Dad, for that bit of comic relief.
We took walks in the rain and perfected our rock-skipping techniques on the creek. We cooked out on the grill and enjoyed catching fireflies and meeting the baby owls that frequented our spot. One morning we watched as a baby deer wandered to within a few feet of our car.
We discovered huge daddy longlegs spiders and walking sticks that were so big and incognito that they could have been mistaken for a stalk of wheat. We eyed Heckle and Jeckle lurking overhead in the treetops above us, and Dad even came across a snake on the hiking trail. Now who says you need a satellite to have fun?
The drive home was no less exciting than any other part of our journey, and as the boys talked about the fun they’d had, all that seemed to be missing was a good, long swim. Being the old softy that he is, Dad steered his car into the first hotel with an indoor pool--and a working air conditioner--that he could find, and rallied the troops for a night and a day of all the swimming they could handle. It seemed the perfect ending to a week of fun and togetherness and to a successful first family vacation experience.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
We pulled in to what appeared to be an old RV site with a trailer house sitting on top of a hill. The boys were somewhat confused since they were expecting to explore a cave, which to them clearly meant something right outa Scooby Doo.
We headed inside to prepare for our descent and check out the goodies on display. As I stood listening to the employee explain how things worked, I could feel someone tugging on my shirt. “Momma,” he said in a whisper. And again, “Momma, Momma.”
Since our boys have been taught not to interrupt when grown ups are talking, I was a bit aggravated and gave him the palm-toward-the-face, not-now-maneuver and tried to continue listening to the worker. He didn’t give up so easily, thank goodness, and when I finally bent down to impatiently ask, “Cooper! What do you want?” He said, “Momma, I’m gonna throw up.”
My cleverly disguised Supermom strength kicked in, and I picked up the boy, and tucked him under one arm, dodging a rack of adventure guides and oncoming explorers in the fray. We barely made it to the end of the porch before the poor child could hold it no longer.
I was frantically scrounging for a tissue of some sort but kept coming up empty handed. I sent Dad to the car and he came back with a Coke and a day old biscuit--to help calm his stomach--and a wadded up, partially used single ply. Geez.
Aside from the uneasy looks we received from the other paying customers, and the personal visit from what appeared to be the proprietor of the place, I’d say we handled the mess quite well, and by the time his stomach had settled, it was our turn to head underground.
The opening of the cave was like an old cellar door. Steps right on top of one another made the trip down and up a challenge for some, but it seemed a perfect fit for two little boys. The guide spent way too much time explaining the differences between stalagmites and stalactites and the origin of the latest bat disease, but the boys were patient, knowing somewhere in this underground world were two bottomless lakes with blind cave trout bumping into one another, no doubt. They could not wait to feast their eyes upon something as crazy as that.
We finally reached the lakes, but as luck would have it, the cave trout had all been eaten by some other kind of trout and all that was left was a giant whisky barrel some old-time explorer had discarded along the way. The boys’ first lesson on “truth in advertising”.
By the time we emerged from the old cellar door, we were all glad we lived above ground, despite the warmer climate, and were ready to continue traveling to our next destination: Devil’s Den State Park.
The place wasn’t as ominous as it’s name, but the caves it housed were closed due to the same crazy bat disease the tour guide had previously told us about. Arkansas, however, was not about caves for our boys. It was all about the great outdoors. You see, those new fishing poles we bought three days ago had yet to get wet. In fact, they weren’t even out of the plastic, so our first order of business was to catch some fish.
They learned rather quickly that just because they had a new rod and reel, and just because there was a bunch of water in front of them, and just because they really wanted to…well, that didn’t mean they were going to catch a single fish. A little moss, a stick or two maybe, but no fish.
And for the next three days…still no fish. They tried top water lures. They tried bobbers. They even tried real live worms, thanks to a nice lady fishing from the dam. But nothing. It was a real test in patience, and we all learned rather quickly that one of them has it, and one of them does not. I think Brisco could have cast and reeled all day long without getting a bite. Coop on the other hand, quite simply would have rather been playing ball.
The next two days were spent in a rustic cabin hidden in the trees of the Ozarks. The rain killed our swimming plans as well as our satellite and cell service, but there’s no way it ruined the fun of our stay.
We spent one morning on a mile and a half hike through beautiful terrain and saw a waterfall and the many crevices in the earth that had formed in the area. The boys seemed to enjoy their discoveries but were even more impressed with the convenient places provided for hikers to tie their shoes (i.e. trail markers). Thanks, Dad, for that bit of comic relief.
We took walks in the rain and perfected our rock-skipping techniques on the creek. We cooked out on the grill and enjoyed catching fireflies and meeting the baby owls that frequented our spot. One morning we watched as a baby deer wandered to within a few feet of our car.
We discovered huge daddy longlegs spiders and walking sticks that were so big and incognito that they could have been mistaken for a stalk of wheat. We eyed Heckle and Jeckle lurking overhead in the treetops above us, and Dad even came across a snake on the hiking trail. Now who says you need a satellite to have fun?
The drive home was no less exciting than any other part of our journey, and as the boys talked about the fun they’d had, all that seemed to be missing was a good, long swim. Being the old softy that he is, Dad steered his car into the first hotel with an indoor pool--and a working air conditioner--that he could find, and rallied the troops for a night and a day of all the swimming they could handle. It seemed the perfect ending to a week of fun and togetherness and to a successful first family vacation experience.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
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