Getaway

I don't know anyone who has ever said, "It's easy to get away". Even my single friends have a hard time escaping from Something for a day or two. For our family of eleven, it's exponentially difficult. Even harder still? When it's just me and Kel.

Of course, there's the initial concerns of expense, time away from earning income as well as the time spent spending it. And there are the concerns about actually finding a few open days on the calendar that would accomodate a small excursion. But the greater logistics involve our nine children and who possibly could manage managing them. We don't get many offers. And, we don't often get away.

Lucky for us, we have my mom, a retired 6th grade teacher who doesn't scare easily. She regards our home as a small classroom with laundry facilities. Over many childbearing years, she has made it possible to survive labor/delivery/first few days home. She has cooked and cleaned and taken kids on endless trips to McDonald's playland. She has covered carpool obligations and carted kids to doctor appointments. She comes through the front door with a huge sweeping announcement of her arrival, and arms laden with grocery bags full of ice cream (for breakfast) and junk food (for whenever the mood suits you). She lets the kids eat on my livingroom couch, but swears them to secrecy. She does not enforce bedtimes. She thinks absolutely everything my children do is interesting and fun.

And she lies.

She lies that she loves getting rose scented perfume or another frog gift. She lies that my children are helpful and well-behaved. She lies that she is available the 4th weekend in July for an anniversary getaway.

She also lies that everything is "Just fine" when we call home to make sure that the kids are following the rules (they aren't) and we left enough milk in the fridge (we haven't). Friday night, a mere 6 hours after our departure, I detected a slight shrill in her voice in the background when Kieran answered the phone: "Well, it's pouring down rain, Mom. Mimi says I have to get off the phone." My fast fingered texting and subsequent phone calls had my children informing me that "Well, the tornado sirens are going off and we're waking kids up to get into the basement" and then "The power is out", and then "We're waiting for an okay from the fire department."

She lies by ommission too. Not only is my mom selective about the kinds of details she shares, she is quite inclined to embrace a martyr approach, at least until she has to own up when someone else spills the beans. Saturday evening I got to speak to Maddie, and she is an experienced bean spiller. "Hi Sweetie! How was the picnic and pool party?" "Oh, it was lots of fun Mom, until the ambulance showed up." And, our dear screaming Mimi was heard yelling in the background, "I TOLD YOU NOT CALL YOUR MOTHER!"

By all accounts, we had at our door this weekend every local emergency service organization except the National Guard. But honestly, we would have had to read it in the newspaper first. Now, I've matured enough in my parenting to not get so bent out of shape over such news and information, and more than likely I'm just numb to it. Shoot, I live it.

But mom? I fear she may never want to return.
Or, at least she'll lie about it.

I Forgot My Camera

In honor of our 23 Wedding Anniversary, Kel found a way to solicit my mom's help in watching the children so we could enjoy a weekend in St. Louis.

But I forgot my camera.


No pictures of fireworks over the arch, the revelry and musicians on Laclead's Landing, or a foreign taxi driver from the casino. No pictures of the historic (but newly renovated) Mayfair hotel, back door tour of the Clydesdales at Annhauser-Busch, or Llewellyn's Irish Pub. No pictures of the reflecting pond in Forest Park, Chuck Close's amazing painting of Keith or Gerhard Richter's thoughtful grey glass reflection in the Art Museum. No pictures of the expansive city skyline, or tiny mosaic tiles at the Cathedral Basilica. (Or, the Archbishop giving us an anniversary blessing afterwards). No pictures to help me remember the characters in the European-like open market at Soulard's, nor the gorgeous fresh cut flowers, produce, meats, cheese, fish for sale. No pictures of us under the patio lights at the Italian restaurant on The Hill, nor meandering through the prayerful walkways at Our Lady of the Snows.

I don't have a photographic memory.
Fond memories will have to do.

The Real Vacation Packing Story

We went camping for our family vacation, and of course ended up packing more than just swimsuits and toothbrushes because of it. Despite renting two cabins, we still had to haul linens (for ten), shoes (for nine), sunscreen (for eight), recharging cords (for seven), badminton rackets (for six), five golden inner tube rings, hair thingies (for four), life vests (for three), margaritas (for two), and a porta-crib (for one). I think there is a Christmas song with a similar theme which must have originated from another overzealous Dad who had to pack up a family for vacation. We also hauled cooking supplies, including a small fridge, smaller microwave, 10 cup coffee maker, and perhaps most surprising of all, Kel's coffee grinder. (Pummeling Dunkin Donuts coffee beans with rocks and sticks is just not the same!) I won't complain about the extra appliances one bit, except to say it does not look much like camping when you back into your campsite with a U-haul. Good thing we only have a 15 passenger extended van, and really long extension cords.

Michigan was wonderful: big dunes, warm sand, lake waves, and blueberries. After the squirrel episode in our van, I half expected an ominous tone to our trip. But honestly, the three nights away were simply wonderful.

Packing a Car for Vacation

I'm a decent organizer. I can plan ahead, make lists, anticipate obstacles, strategize solutions. And I'm getting much better at organizing as the years go by (and as we accrue more and more children).

But tonight as I collected bathing suits and counted toothbrushes (what more do you really need when you're going to the beach in the morning?), there was one thing I absolutely could not have planned for: the rotting carcass of a BB ridden squirrel in the engine of my 15 passenger "going to the beach" van. I might have laughed aloud if the stench were not so awful and sucking the very air right out of my lungs.

Camden surmised the corpse was about a week old. He determined this primarily from recalling the last time he had the BB gun out and shot at squirrels. He recalled one squirrel that disappeared under the van, and did not reappear even when he gave that van a little rocking action. Can you just picture the child walking away, shrugging his shoulders, tilting the head wearing that half cocked baseball cap?

The solution for this pre-vacation dilemma was not immediate. In fact, the efforts of several hours, gloved hands and long crowbars could not free the vermin from its almost final resting place. In the end, Kel had to consult a local mechanic neighbor friend, who braved the reeking funk for a closer look. The rapid blinking of his eyes may have been to protect them from toxic fumes, but I think it was from the fond memories of raising two hooligans of his own. I left when he shared his expert advice which included extension tools and bolt unfasteners. Ugh.

I'm happy to report that the van is reassembled, and we are still going to the beach in the morning, sans squirrel. Thank God for Febreeze... It really works!

Negotiating for Candy

We have a 15 passenger van, because, well, we need it to transport our family. And, being in such close quarters for any length of time can provide ample writing topics that can come from just listening in to conversations like the exchange below:

Maddie: Mooooommmm! Why does Kieran get the last
Smarties? Why can't I have more Smarties?
Kieran: Because I'm 13 now.
Maddie: Well, I'm sixteen.
Kieran: No you're not! You're eleven.
Maddie: Well, I'm GOING to be sixteen.
Kieran: Well, I'm going to be 40.
Maddie: And I'm going to be 90.
Kieran: And I'm going to be dead!
Maddie: Then I can have your Smarties!
Kieran: No you can't! I'll be in heaven!
Maddie: No you won't! You'll be in Portugal.
Kieran: (***pause***) Portugal? PORTUGAL? Oh! You mean Purgatory!
Maddie: Yea. Whatever. You should share your Smarties and stay out of Portugal.