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By Richie Ann Ashcraft
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Warning: I’m cranky today and you shouldn’t talk to me.
I have a post-vacation hangover I guess.
I wish I were still lying on Shipwreck Beach. It was among the nicest beaches I’ve ever been on.
I’m sporting a little sand rash on my knees and my head from a particular gnarly wave that planted my face in the sand and then pushed me several feet face first. (Microdermabrasion!) It was awesome! The waves were nice once my body went numb. The Pacific is COLD in July in the Northwest! There were pelicans flying so low over the water I thought I could touch them and tried.
Babycakes smooshed sand between his baby toes and tasted the salty sea. Mostly he slept because he didn’t like to subject his eyes to such brightness. He still has leftover sand in his ears that I can’t get out.
Notice the actual ship carcass in the right hand corner. Aaarrgh! That’s the Peter Iredale
, now home to barnacles and mussels. It is a favorite plaything of young children who like to climb on her hull and pretend to fight pirates. It also makes a nice landmark when you are trying to find bearings after pulling your face out of the sand and choking on seawater.
This is what it used to look like:
A tourist kiosk in Astoria informed me that guiding ships in the mouth of the Columbia is one of the hardest of sailing feats. Something about opposing currents. Unsuccessful navigation brought the Peter Iredale where it rests today mostly buried by sand and odd looking tourists.
The first family vacation was a roaring success. The baby slept for a good chunk of the way; waking for food or a diaper change. We quickly learned to slow down, relax, and resign ourselves to slow travel. I learned my husband has a remarkable ability to quickly find the city park in any town in the USA. Most of them were really nice especially the one in Boise.
Knowing that my family can travel so well gets the wheels a turning about future trips. I can’t wait.
By Robin Dearing
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Check it, Soren. Jack has your back!
By Robin Dearing
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
We all made it back from our road trip to California, not really worse for the wear.
The 800-mile drive went well, thanks to the portable DVD player that streamed episode after episode of the Simpsons directly into the impressionable brain of my 6-year-old.
In the past, we split the drive up into two days, staying at the lovely resort town (insert sarcasm here) of Wendover, Nevada, which marks the half-way point for the drive.
This time we decided to try to drive straight through. It was the right decision. Margaret is old enough now that she's content to color, solve problems in her math workbook and play with her beloved stuffed animals for hours on end.
But really the success of the trip is firmly pinned on that DVD player.
Being able to watch her favorite movies or TV shows staved off the boredom and kept her giggling — and sometimes even laughing out loud — for the majority of the trip.
The concept of television as babysitter has been discussed in terms of infants here
before, but what about for older kids?
I wonder at the damage I am inflicting upon my daughter as I let her watch TV and movies. Her favorite shows are the ones on PBS Kids, but she also loves the Discovery Channel's Dirty Jobs
— for those unfamiliar with Dirty Jobs, the host, Mike Rowe, joins the average Joe on the site of jobs that are considered for one reason or another to be dirtier than most, often involving the ickiest forms of grease, dirt and poop.
Margaret is an incredibly bright girl. She’s a great reader and sometimes can be found curled up with no less than 18 stuffed animals and a stack of books.
But the question remains, am I ruining her chance at an Ivy League education by letting her spend some of her time watching a guy shovel poop out of a flooded basement? … I wonder.
Monday, July 10, 2006
Three days into the great Alaska adventure and so far, so good! Alex called Saturday evening from Butte, Montana, although he pronounced it as if the “e? was not there. I suspect it will be the last I•ll hear for a while, since cell phone service will be spotty at best as they head into the Yukon Territory.
On Friday they made it as far as Hill Air Force Base in Ogden, Utah. Since my brother is a retired military officer, he can stay at pretty much any military base for cheap. Hill AFB happens to be where my sister was stationed about 18 years ago, and where she met her husband. Alex is having second thoughts about life as a Navy SEAL after spending an evening on an Air Force base.
“Mom, this place is unbelievable! They have two swimming pools, an arcade and a bowling alley! Plus, we were there all night and all morning and never saw or heard a single jet! Forget the Navy, I’m joining the Air Force.?
So far, they•re having a great adventure. Alex told me how some couple along the way locked their keys in their car and Uncle Mark had to smash out their car window to get their keys. Why they couldn’t use a coat hanger to jimmy open the lock was not clear to me, but smashing out a window is far more memorable.
Cheena the dog is proving to be a great traveling companion. Cheena (named after one of Alaska’s rivers) is half Alaskan husky and half yellow lab. She is the coolest, most tolerant dog I know. She was abandoned by her mother at birth and literally left on my brother’s doorstep in Juneau - by her mother, who apparently didn’t want to be tied down with a litter of pups. Hey, even the best mother has toyed with the idea of leaving her kids on someone’s doorstep!
Cheena rides in the back of the truck and sticks her head and paws through the cab window, wondering how her place on the front seat was confiscated by my son. Hopefully she’ll forgive him and keep him warm on the nights they’ll be camping out in the Yukon Territory, where the highs are only going to be in the 50’s the next few days.
I’m looking forward to the next communication from the traveling duo, however, and whenever, that may come. I know Alex is having a great time, but I miss him.
Friday, July 7, 2006
Ya’ll know I was struggling with what my son would write about in his What I Did Over Summer Vacation
essay. If not, you can refresh your memory here
Sometimes opportunities come out of nowhere.
My brother Mark called a couple weeks ago and asked if Alex would like to drive with him to Alaska. My bro moved to Grand Junction a couple years ago from Juneau where he spent his last tour of duty before retiring as an officer in the US Coast Guard. He owns some property there and is in the midst of building a lodge he’ll eventually use as an outfitter’s post, or cabin, or whatever they call it in Alaska. Anyway, he drives back there every summer to get away from his family, I mean the heat, and this year he invited Alex to go along.
The only catch is that Mark's planning to stay well past August 21, the start of the new school year, only 46 days from now (yes, I counted, again). So Alex would have to fly home solo. No problem. Alaska Air has relatively cheap flights from Juneau to Denver with only one stop in Seattle. My child has traveled almost more than I have, so I’m not worried about him getting home safely. In theory.
In reality, I’m totally freaked out!
First, there’s the whole 9/11 thing when personally we were one flight away from losing three family members. I’m guessing not too many knife-wielding-Allah-crazed
-American-hating-Muslims are flying out of Juneau, but you never know! Next, there’s relying on Alex and Mark to actually make it to the airport on the right day at the right time. Apparently time tables and schedules don’t mean much in the Alaskan outback. Their departure has already been delayed a week while my bro got new tires and some other stuff for the truck so I had to change the return flight. (It’s only money.) Then there’s the whole relying on his dad to fetch him on time from D.I.A., an airport which has the potential to become a vast wasteland of lost or abandoned children wandering around for months like Tom Hanks in Terminal
, a great movie you oughta watch if you haven’t already.
These are just the fears I harbor about the travel arrangements over which I have some ability to monitor. What about all the inherent dangers lurking around each of the 2,779 miles of treacherous highways, snow covered roads and ice-packed byways between here and there? And don’t think I haven’t considered the reality of grizzly bear attacks, capsized fishing boats, avalanches and rock slides, falls into a bottomless glacial crevasse, and eating virtually no fruits or vegetables for an entire month!
What kind of mother would let her son go on a trip like that?
The kind whose kid will have an awesome What I Did Over Summer Vacation
essay. The kind who really wishes there was room for her in the truck!
By Robin Dearing
Thursday, July 6, 2006
I'm 36 and I still call my dad, "daddy." He is, always has been.
I wonder how long Margaret will call Bill "daddy"?
She calls me "mama" and "mom" interchangeably. I'm sure she has special names — unprintable here — that she saves for special occasions, which she mutters under her breath.
I am definitely my father's daughter. We share the same high cheeks bones, blue eyes and we’re both pretty excitable.
I’d like to think that Margaret is a blend of both her dad and I. However, her quick temper is definitely a Dearing trait, as is her fair skin.
But, there is a bond between Margaret and her dad that is undeniable.
I can’t count how many times I’ve found him snuggled up next to her in her twin bed after she’s had a bad dream.
I’m more of a tuck-and-run mom — I’ll sleepily accompany her to the bathroom in the middle of the night and tuck her back into bed. But I never hang around long enough to fall asleep.
And really neither of them wants me to deprive myself of sleep, because a tired mama is a surly mama.
When she gets hurt, she runs to her dad. I’m the one with the washcloth and hydrogen peroxide; he’s the one with the hugs and sympathy.
When she wants to tell a silly joke, have someone wrestle or feed her … yep, Bill’s the guy for the job. There are times when they break out the potty humor and giggle themselves to the point of exhaustion.
And I’m glad of it. She’s a lucky girl to have a dad that is not only present, but also ready for duty. He’s the parent that volunteered in her kindergarten class and bakes cookies with her.
I’m the one who makes sure she’s wearing clean underwear and is dressed in some sort of reasonable manner (Bill’s taste in children’s clothes leans more toward the bizarre than the practical) with hair combed and teeth brushed.
I like the division of duties involved in rearing this child. It works for us and as with all things parenting, what works is always going to be the most successful.
By Richie Ann Ashcraft
Tuesday, July 4, 2006
Step Off Jack! SoJo look gooood in black!
By Robin Dearing
Monday, July 3, 2006
Like the Clampetts, my family and I have packed up and headed west to California ... for vacation. But instead of Beverly Hills, we stopped in the Sierra Nevadas and are staying in the town of Truckee.
Truckee is kind of like Grand Junction in that it's a town that many people have passed through on their way to some place else. Or they come to Truckee to enjoy the outdoor recreation that the area has to offer: skiing, snowshoeing and snowmobiling in the winter, rafting, camping and hiking in the summer.
We drive the 800 miles across Utah and Nevada — not so much to partake in what the Sierras have to offer, although I'm glad to be out of the heat for a while — but to visit my family.
After my parents retired, they sold their house in the San Francisco Bay Area and moved to the mountains. It was a logical move since they had spent the majority of their vacations and many weekends enjoying all that the glorious California gold country has to offer.
I've made this drive numerous times since moving to Grand Junction in 1996. We've spent many of my precious vacation days visiting my parents.
We have a good time together. And a lot of that is because of my husband. He's gets along very well with my mom and dad. He was the one who planned this trip with my mom while he was visiting with them last month.
That's right, my husband visited my parents while he was working a consulting job a couple hours from Truckee. I was at home; he was playing blackjack at a casino in Reno with my mom.
I know that I am a truly lucky person. I mean, really, how many spouses do you know would voluntarily spend time with their in-laws?
This relationship between my husband and parents makes me wonder what kind of relationship I'll have with whomever Margaret chooses to spend her life with? Will we be close like Bill and my mom and dad? Will I even like the person who will be closer to her than I ever will?
I realize that I have many years before this becomes an imminent issue. But I wonder what my parents did that made me see them now as not just parents, but as friends? How can I make Margaret's husband love me like Bill loves my mom and dad?
By Robin Dearing
Saturday, July 1, 2006
By Richie Ann Ashcraft
Friday, June 30, 2006
I guess I’ve always done things “my? way. And, I realize sometimes •my? way is not always the normal way. The same can be said for my homemaker qualities.
I tend to hold on to the traditional. A good example is cloth diapers. I like them. I like that I•m not piling up the landfill with my kid’s excrement. I like that I’m not consuming valuable natural resources just to cover his butt. It’s not that I am trying to make any kind of political statement. I just like them and they work for me. And I feel good about my choice. Oh, and I have ABC Diaper Service
. No dumping, rinsing or boiling for this working mom.
I also like that my husband and I sit down to family dinner every night. At least five nights a week the meal is homemade. It rarely comes from a box and almost always includes the protein, starch, and vegetable combination. This meal is good for us in a number of ways. I think it’s unfortunate more families don’t do it.
Now that the baby has reached the four-month mark, it’s time for us to include him at the family dinner table. He’s not quite ready for food yet. The first time I gave him cereal he just looked at me in bafflement. The sensation of something being on his tongue was too much for him. He proceeded to cry while the runny cereal dripped down his chin. Swallowing was out of the question! But, we keep trying and despite his protests he still joins us at the dinner table without food.
I want to make my own baby food. I tried my hand at it last weekend by mixing breastmilk and mashed banana. He hates cereal so I thought maybe we’d try this. He took a couple of mouthfuls and then he was done. That’s cool. But, since there are starving babies around the world, I couldn’t see just throwing out the rest of his gruel. So I froze it into individual ice cubes.
If we have carrots, he should have carrots. If we have peas, wait, I hate peas…but anyway you get the point. I assume the food I prepare has to be better for him as it will be lacking in preservatives and whatever else may be in a jar product.
The thing that surprises me is how many people find this to be a radical idea. I guess most think that jar baby food is better. Huh.
But, despite that I’m going to try my culinary hand at the fine culinary art of baby food
. Maybe I’ll find it too time consuming or too whatever…but I’m going to give it a shot. Plus, it will save us a wad of dough!
!!! That way the next I have to justify a new skirt, I can say "Hey, I save us a wad of dough!"