London calling

An old acquaintance is traveling around Europe this week. She’s posting her status on Facebook. Today she was heading to Bath, England.

I’m so jealous. To see the things she seeing. To muse the Museums she’s wandering in. To eat the foods she’s eating… and oy! the bookstores and markets and parks!

I’m glad for her– I really am– she’ll appreciate the trip she’s taking.

But I wish it were me.

And that’s crappy and ungrateful for all the things I have that she doesn’t. Husband. Small son. Little pup. House.

I wish I were on the Isle of Man tonight with plans to visit London for the weekend. I wish I would wake up in a small cottage near Ramsey with a view of a rolling green pasture. Or the gray, choppy sea. That there would be, in my pantry, scones and clotted cream and damson jam. A pot of hot tea. A box of jam tarts. A Rumer Godden novel. And something delicious on the BBC.

And nothing to do but watch Jack run in the green, green pasture.

Our Moses

Today we met some friends for a day at their lake house. It was a great way to spend the day. Great friends– and their really nice boys…  Beautiful blue, blue skies and sunshine… absolutely perfect weather.

Their lake has a sandbar that is right in the middle of the deep water. It’s a big sand bar– big enough to accommodate over a dozen pontoon boats. They anchor themselves into the sandbar with poles that screw into the ground. It was it’s own little world where we saw nifty solutions like floating foam squares made into make shift bars, etc.

Jack had a wonderful time on the boat ride out– he hung over the edge of the pontoon (with his Dad holding the straps of his life jacket) to watch the “deep water!” and weeds. When we reached the sand bar Jack wanted no part of going down the ladder into the water. Even I jumped in (and I’m not a water bug like the rest of the family)– the water was deliciously cool (once you got past that first shock of needing to yell “Mother of PEARL!”). We all showed Jack how shallow it was– how he’d only be in it to his stomach. That it was perfect.

JackRabbit, in all his stubborness, refused. 

Finally I got him to at least come out if I held him. So he wrapped his monkey legs and arms around me and clung while I waded around. I tried to subtley lower the two of us into the water but clever boy caught on, “Mommy! No!”

Me: Jack, I’m holding you. I won’t let you fall in the water!
Jack: But you’re trying to! 

And then it dawned on me… we’d come out to the sand bar through deep water. It was the middle of the lake. Everything in Jack’s little world of knowledge regarding lakes warned him that there would be deep water hence. Poor kid was waiting for Moses to let his rod down and have the lake come crashing in on him.

Me: Jack, it’s really shallow here– there’s a hill in the middle of the lake. It’s not deep here. It’s deep over there. And over there. And over there– but not here. Here it’s shallow. I promise. It’ll stay shallow here.
Jack: It’s shadow water here?

(You say shadow, I say shallow. It’s the same thing.)

And then we couldn’t get the little water bug out.

I wonder if Moses had the same problem with some of the Israelites. For sure at least with the Egyptians.

New rule… Don’t just bring snacks– bring water, too.

This weekend Robby, Jack, and I met up with some friends to celebrate the 40th birthday of our pal Chris. The original plan– put in place months ago– was for a huge contingent of us to go camping in the woods together. We had grand visions of all the best camping aspects– s’mores, stars, campfires, and comraderie.

But then we had a mix up in who exactly was supposed to make the reservations for all of us at the campsite. And we were shut out of all the good sites. By this time the originally intended contingent had been reduced to just three families so we went to Plan B. In hindsight Plan B was better. It blew Plan A out of the water. Plan B was a beautiful stone cottage in the middle of the Hocking Hills (Ohio) area… Plan B had a fully stocked kitchen, DVD player, gas grill, and oh! did I mention the huge hot tub?

All three families have one child so all of could relax in the knowing that children make noise and play and squeal and grow weary. Jack took great delight in the slightly older Kathrine– she shared her Star Wars toys (half of which were her father’s) and patiently schooled him in the world of all things Lucas.

And the rest of us delighted in the great stores of food and drink and merriment.

On Saturday we went off to see the Hocking Hill caves. There’s a huge one called Ash Cave with layers and layers of ash from some long ago fires– was it for some sacred ceremonies? Sacrifices? Cremations? Barbeques?

I’m a Michigan girl through and through. We don’t have an abundance of caves. I am always fascinated when the scenery turns rocky and cliffy. Caves send me over the moon.

At Cedar Falls (which we missed somehow. Ohio doesn’t exactly excel in great signage…) we had to go down a great distance of stone steps at a good incline to reach the bottom (where, again, we somehow missed the falls). Chris had the baby backpack on with little Adrian in it and did not relish the idea of climbing up the stairs to the parking lot. He wondered aloud if the walk between Cedar Falls and Old Man’s Cave might be “easier” since it was only “2.0 miles”?

The group split– Robby and Susan agreed to move the cars from the Cedar Falls parking lot over to Old Man’s Cave while Rick, Anne, little Kathrine, Chris and the baby, and myself decided to take the nice little walk. (Jack, thankfully, went off with Robby.)

We set off over a little scenic bridge and around a bend and remarked how lovely the area was. About a 100 yards in we encountered the ledges we had to snake along and then a series of boulders that had us climbing up and over, up and over, up and over in succession. The path would level out again and give us false hope that we’d passed the worst of the uneven ground then, looming, would be another collection of roots and boulders and logs.

I was grateful that Jack had gone with his Dad. As I scrambled down the steep sides of boulders I would think, “How would I have managed to get Jack across this safely, too?” Little Kathrine did beautifully– she’d take the hands of whoever went in front of her and slip easily down where she’d land on her little plaid slip-on sneakers neatly. (For my part I had on my sturdy boots and wool socks. I was grateful with nearly every step for that choice.)

Baby Adrian was a wonder in his patience. He mostly looked around with a perplexed look while he sucked in his bottom lip. He fell asleep for a stretch and woke up only when his Daddy had to climb under a huge log putting the backpack parallel with the ground. Adrian woke with a start and made one little cry before sucking his lip in and deciding that maybe he’d be better off staying awake.

On and on we walked. When we got to the sign that told us there was still “1.5 miles” to Old Man’s Cave we cried out in disgust. We weren’t prepared for bad signage and worse measurements. (It might have been two miles– but it was as the crow flies and not in actual pathage!) We hadn’t brought along water.

We walked on along a creek and under the shade of huge rock ledges. And, despite our thirst, found the area excrutiatingly beautiful. The hikers from the other direction (and the two that passed us and disappeared completely) were all well equipped with their canteens and water bottles, walking sticks and maps. We resented them.

Chris and I started lying to the people going in the opposite direction, “Going to Ash Cave? It’s just around that next bend– passed that tree there…” (Of course, they countered with, “Wow! Do you still have a long way to go if you’re going to Old Man’s Cave! It’s quite a ways off!” Curses.) Anne and I thought murderous thoughts about the smaller people with water. The ones we could overtake if we really wanted to.

By the time we’d passed the halfway point (an area called Whispering Falls where we had to walk on boards strung across the marshy ground) we’d ceased remarking on the beauty of the area. Our thoughts had turned to wondering how worried poor Susan would be at the other end without her baby… and the evening’s promise of a shrimp boil. We’d have long stretches where we didn’t talk at all then stretches where we would… or spurts of tired laughter.

Little Kathrine rarely complained– something we all later realized and remarked on. I had granola bars and Tootsie Pop Drops in my pockets (of course) so the latter kept her somewhat distracted for a while from asking, “Are we almost to the cave Mama?”

And then, finally, after the little bursts of oncoming people (which we no longer let by but instead just plowed ahead…) Chris, in the lead, and I, behind, encountered a family with three very, very small children. It was a good sign. These weren’t hikers– this was a little family. We had to be close. Chris had heard the main road just a bit earlier and soon there was the sound of the echoes off the cave area walls.

And the longest set of stone stairs any of us have ever seen. Longer than the ones we’d tried to avoid in the first place at the falls…

But all’s well that ends well. And any night that ends in a shrimp boil ends very, very well. Throw in a hot tub with the jets on the back of one’s weary legs– and, well, it ends particularly well.

Zoo-topia

As a parent there are some things you intend to do and then forget to do. Which might be why I was over 20 before I ever was taken to the circus. But that’s another story.

We’ve intended to take Jack to a zoo for quite some time. We’ve toyed with wondering which zoo it would be for his first visit– London? New York City? Chicago? Columbus? Cinncinnati? San Diego? Detroit? Toledo?

There are a lot of zoos that have been on our radar. But then the summer would pass and we’d have to add it next year’s list. Yesterday we finally managed to check it off.  We loaded up my mother’s snazzy car (it holds us all) and took Jacky to the Detroit Zoo.

The Detroit Zoo is actually in Royal Oak. Confusing tourists and residents alike for years. I lived in Royal Oak for a few years when we were first married. We liked it there– it was a fun place to live when you have only another adult to think about. We could easily walk downtown from our apartment to eat or window shop. There was a great arthouse theater and a favorite boutique and a fantastical grocery store that I still miss at Christmas. The zoo was there, too. We passed it all the time but never managed to walk through the gates and see what was on the other side of the thick brick walls.

I assumed that I’d gone there as a kid. I had vague memories of trips to the zoo when I was small. There are photographs of my sister and I sitting on a giant tortoise. (I don’t suppose that’s allowed anymore? There’s probably some ethical group out there to prevent that from happening.)

In the middle of the day yesterday I turned to my mother and said, “It’s weird that absolutely none of this is familiar.”
“Not really. We never came here. We always went to the Toledo Zoo.”
Oh.

The Detroit Zoo, it turns out, is really nice. It’s huge. Sprawling with scattered picnic areas and lots of green places. It’s a great place to take a small child which I’m sure seems like a dumb thing to type– but there are an awful lot of places that proclaim to be Family/Child Friendly and, in actuality, are really only meant for well-mannered adults to enjoy. At the Detroit Zoo there are lots of little statues to climb on and garden walls to balance on and an amazing playground that is just the sort of place you can’t quite keep your eye on your child easily– which makes it a great place for a kid.

At the Prairie Dog area there are clear tubes jutting out of the ground big enough for a child. You’re looking at the little colony of prairie dogs skittering about their tunnels when suddenly your own kid pops his head up his own tube. It’s a great idea and well executed.

We saw almost everything. The river otters were off exhibit (a grave disappointment for Momma and I who both love otters) and there was only a very lazy gorilla and two chimpanzees to see in all of Monkeydom. [We have a theory about that. One of the two remaining monkeys on display had the horrifically engorged arse of a she-monkey in heat. Momma noted that on an earlier and other zoo excursion with one of her 5th grade classes she learned that monkey, uh, love isn't exactly gentle and sweet. Apparently there can be a lot of violence and sometimes a monkey doesn't survive the, uh, encounter. So our working theory is that this seemed like a REALLY good time for the zoo workers do be able to do some necessary work/repair/cleaning to Monkeydom. We had a thousand unanswered questions... where do the monkeys all go? How do they herd them there? Why couldn't they tell us where and why the monkeys were?] We also didn’t make it to the zippy little train ride– we’d gotten tangled up in the snare of the spitting froggy statues and a very hot little boy whose mother had the foresight to pack a swimsuit…

We had a great day. Momma and I coordinated a picnic– we’ve had two great picnics, the five of us together– the last one was in Ireland where we feasted on the spoils of a local farmer’s market. This one, under the trees of a shady area, was just as good– croissants and chicken salad and ham, olives, chips, strawberries, cookies, and cold drinks.

We took advantage of the opportunity to “feed a giraffe”– the zoo has a clever fundraiser where 50 people get to feed the giraffes twice a day. You pay $5 for a piece of giraffe food and get a ticket. The money all goes to the zoo so it’s a win-win for everyone. We bought 4 tickets and lined up when it was our turn. I come from a family of good line waiters. We don’t freak out at the length of a line. We wait, mostly patiently, for our turn at something. The people behind us were insulted at the wait. It makes me grateful that my parents weren’t greedy and wouldn’t let us be greedy in turn. At the right time we were given, one-by-one, a piece of Giraffe Food– or, as you and I know it, Rye Crisps. (Blech!) We pooled ours and let Jacky feed the friendly giraffe from the platform up in the trees. The zoo rangers let us break our pieces into halves so we had 8 pieces to dole out. I got to feed one, too. It was cool. We all thought it pretty neat. Jack wasn’t scared at all. He cackled when the giraffe made his funny burping noise and stuck out his quivering black tongue for more.

It almost put out the sight of zebra sex from our minds. That was pretty graphic and something I might have happily gone for another 39 years without seeing. Poor lady zebra stood, looking annoyed, while man zebra climbed on her. Momma and I both assumed she was thinking, “Really? Now? We have like 18 hours of the zoo being closed but you’re choosing to do this now when everyone’s watching?”

Jack, for his part, noted, “That funny zebra is climbing on the other zebra’s shoulders!” Much easier than the poor schoolgroup chaperone next to us trying to find the right words to explain the sudden and large appearance of the man zebra’s, uh, part.

We all had favorite areas:

Jack liked the hippos. We learned that they excrete a sunscreen. It’s the pink on their cheeks. This made us happy. And it made re-applying sunblock to a tired little boy in the middle of the afternoon much easier. Jack was also keen on the “fairydog holes” — the tubes at the prairie dog enclosure– where he would pop up suddenly in one, disappear, then reappear in another.

Momma and Eric liked the Artic Ring of Life area where we saw polar bears up close. And the icy wall at the end of the underwater walkway. We marveled at the construction of it and the way it cooled off our hot necks when we put our chilly hands there. We also laughed a lot at the seal that was treading water in front of an airjet. It reminded us of our Little Black Pup putting his nose near the air vents in the car…

Robby got the biggest kick out of watching Jack and I feed the giraffes. (Partly because he thought the giraffe might yak up some Rye Crisps at one point.) And liked the meercats. One meercat stood guard while the others were eating the pink pills in the back– he stood so straight and erect. Robby does a great impression.

I liked the meercats best if only because Jack called them “fairycats” after I’d explained, “They’re kind of like prairie dogs.”
“Fairy dogs, Mommy. Let’s go see the fairy cats!”

The zoo was very clean– the bathrooms and picnic areas and pathways free of litter. The little toilets in the family bathroom delighted Jack and Robby (and the fact that Robby used the family room on the Women’s side delighted Momma, Eric, and I). There are great FYI signs everywhere– little historical factoids about the zoo. All of us grown ups really liked them.

And kudos tenfold to the many zoo volunteers we encountered– they were fantastic. Informative, kind, patient– one guy sat near the Lion enclosure with a piece of lion hide for us to touch and a chewed upon, clawed up ball that the lions had nearly destroyed. He answered the questions peppered at him from school groups with a grace and ease. He told us how that the two of the three lions in front of us were rescued from Detroit– one from a crack house. Idiots emulating idoit rappers who purchase illegal exotic animals. Make that two lions in front of us. The former crack house lioness was in the back. “Katy” doesn’t like male lions so she waits till he goes in back to come out in front. Poor Katy. The rainforest immersion volunteer helpfully pointed out all the animals we were missing– the iguana (who sat blissfully on the air vent), the stingray, and the toe of the sloth. (Robby’s convinced there is no sloth– just a toe.) The frog volunteer found all the frogs we couldn’t possibly see easily.

We stayed until they closed. A full 8 hours of zoo and we still didn’t see absolutely everything. Jack watched Madagascar in the backseat with Momma and Eric on the ride back home slack-jawed and droopy-eyed. Last night he barely made it from bath to bed.
“Mommy,” he informed me soberly, “I have to go to bed now because I’m very tired.”

Now about that circus…

Now Serving No. 39

I’m right up against 40 now. Up to my shoulders at least. And I’m starting to take stock… because that’s what you’re supposed to do, I guess. That and panic. I’m not where I thought I’d be in some ways– and in others I am.

1.I thought I’d have more children.

2. I’m grateful, very grateful for the one I do have.

3. I’m glad to still be married.

4. No books yet, by which I mean I thought I might have written one by now. So that’s still on the ToDoList.

5. No real vocation yet. Which disappoints me. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be doing (outside of motherhood and wifehood)… When I was little I thought I’d be a writer, a teacher, a script-supervisor (blame Lucy VanPelt), an ad man, a Museum curator (blame the mixed up files of Mrs. F. E. B.), a photographer, and a restaurant owner. I’m none of those things.

6. I haven’t been to all the places I really, really want to go… but I’ve been to some.

7. The long, long list of Things I’ve Read is ever shrinking in the face of the Long, Longer List of Things I Haven’t Read Yet.

8. I’m not very good at not having a disposable income. I miss having pocket money. Mad money. See a new pair of shoes and get them money. Sometimes I can be very, very good and think of the Bizarro Terri that lives in some wretched, teeming place that has nothing and yet is joyful in the very midst of that less-ness… but mostly I wish I had some green in my pocket.

9. I am better, in most ways, than when I was 10 0r 20 or 30 at some of the big stuff– more patient, more honest, more generous, more kind, more empathetic, and more aware of the power of Grace… but better is only that… better. Not perfected. Better is quantified only by the fact that I was worse before.

10. I can’t really remember what my parents were like when I was Jack’s age– so I can’t say if I’m the kind of parent I thought I would be at this stage. I hope so… but I think probably not. They were younger than me– but I still think they had their acts together. My mother was far more creative at 39 than I am now– she could sew circles around me then and now. And my Dad, at least at 39, was walking closer to God than I do. He had the discipline to read a little Bible every day and pray.

It’s not that I’m having a mid-life crisis. I don’t have any desire for a bright red car or a trophey husband. I’m just trying to figure out what it is I should be doing so I can get myself there.

Insomnia

Can’t sleep tonight.

I’ve done all the stuff to welcome sleep– drank some milk, took a bath, read some, facebooked some… but it’s no use. I’m wide awake.

So here are some random thoughts:

1. Read any good books lately? I just finished Geraldine Brooks’ People of the Book. It’s good. Not as good as her Year of Wonders but good. I wonder why her stuff isn’t optioned for movies.

2. I’m down to my last box of Mallomars. And I’m getting nervous about it. My Mother-in-Law gave me two cases of them for Christmas. There’s nothing like a good Mallomar and orange juice.  A little chocolate, a little marshmallow, a little juice– ah, bliss. My bliss, unfortunately is about to run out.  Stupid midwest.

3. I’m wanderlusty lately. I want to pack us all up and go someplace for a few days or weeks. Live out of a well-packed suitcase and eat new things, see new places, return home sated.

4. On Sunday night, also unable to sleep (stupid time change?) I found Mark & Olly on television. Two british men who go off on tangent adventures because they can. The series has them living with an Amazon tribe in some far part of Peru. I watched two and a half episodes that night– this is how I fell into the trap of loving Deadliest Catch, too– but it’s interesting TV.

5. Jack’s vocabulary has exploded again. This time it’s all the funny little in-between words… adjectives and adverbs and the ilk. He used the word “also” today. It broke me up. He’s delighted in our recognition of his new words. And he’s a great mimic. He’ll try out phrases he hears from us or his movies. This week we’ve watched A Charlie Brown Christmas a few times so there is a lot of Linus, Charlie, and Snoopy coming out.

6. I can’t beat Robby in Scrabble. Or Lexulous rather. We play it on Facebook. It’s disconcerting to lose to him when it is a matter of words and not numbers… but he’s a much better strategist than I am. My problem is I get so delighted in discovering a word I forget to pay attention to what might be more advantageous. Sometimes the two letter words get more points than the 7 letter words. It’s frustrating, too, because Lexulous circumvents the rules of Scrabble. I grew up on the rules of Scrabble– my grandmother was unyielding when it came to those rules. And there was no use of the Official Scrabble Dictionary unless there was a challenge thrown– you had to rely on the words you knew and could defend– not thumbing through the dictionary to find a word that incorporated the tiles in front of you. You can cheat quite a bit in Lexulous against those rules– it takes a lot of the fun out of it.
And it makes me a crabby opponent. The other day Robby started a new game (which irritated me– the loser gets to do that, not the reigning champ) and played a word that I didn’t know.
“Oooh! A new word! What’s it mean?” asked me earnestly.
“I don’t know,” came my husband’s hesitant reply.
“Yeah, then we’re done with this game then, aren’t we?”

7. To do: Learn the Kitchener Stitch so I can finish up two pairs of socks. Sew Jack’s teddy a little cape so that he can be “Super Georgia.” Drag Robby to IKEA to look at ideas for the kitchen and dining room (we’ll pay the Swedes in lingonberries). Paint a family tree on the upstairs hallway wall for Jack. Clean the basement. Get Robby to do his Charo impression again.

8. I need to come up with a fun treat for Friday at Jack’s preschool. I like bringing in the treat. It’s fun to try to find something that all 20 kids will eat.

Okay.  This hasn’t helped. I’m still not sleepy.

And now I want a Mallomar.