There are many stages in the life of a parent, and it never ceases to amaze me how quickly the unfamiliar becomes the standard. Each new phase seems so life-shattering, so daunting; but before you know it, it either comes to an end or has become a new normal. A once-obedient toddler learns how to use the word "no"; a small child straps on his backpack for the first day of school; a compliant, loving young man turns 13. And an ambitious 16 year-old passes his driving test to take another step towards independence.
Nick obtained his license in November, and I'll admit that a small part of me didn't want him to pass the test. As a mother, it is very rare to desire failure for your child, but my heart wasn't ready to set him free on the roads, to travel alongside drivers with many more years of experience. He'll tell you that I wasn't the model passenger while he was still operating under the limits of his permit: I was tense, panicked unnecessarily, and nearly wore a hole through the floor while using my imaginary brake pedal. Under Florida law, a new driver must have his or her permit for 1 year, and driven at least 50 hours, in order to become eligible for licensure. I thought a full year would provide adequate time for me to come to terms with the fact that my firstborn could be facing incidents of road rage, drunk drivers, and distracted motorists talking on their cell phones, unaware of the fact that they could be endangering my baby boy. But it wasn't.
When he walked into the lobby area of the DMV, his smile spoke volumes to me. He proudly held out his shiny little rectangle of freedom, and I gave him a hug. He probably thought I was showing him how proud I was of him, but in reality, I was holding on for dear life. I wasn't ready to let him go yet. It felt like it was just yesterday that Dan and I strapped our tiny newborn into his carseat for his first ride. He was so small, dwarfed by the safety gear surrounding him; his head lolled to the side, and we tucked blankets around it to prop it up. Dan drove so very carefully on our way home that day, both of us feeling the tremendous responsibility that came with this tiny person. And now here he was, looking me in the eye and holding out his hand in hopes that I would allow him to strap himself in and take me for my first ride.
Later that day, he took the wheel without an adult in the passenger seat, and I bit my lip as tears sprung to my eyes. His excitement was palpable, and I ran inside to retrieve my camera. The grin on his face filled my viewfinder, and then he was off. That day was more than two months ago already, and the transition has been much easier than I had anticipated. The convenience of having a third driver in the house has been monumental: he is more than happy to make the spur-of-the-moment run to the grocery store for a forgotten ingredient, is able to transport himself to-and-from work and activities, and is even willing to chauffeur his younger siblings around town.
My time sitting in the driver's seat has decreased a bit, and we have adjusted to our new normal. However, Andy will be able to apply for his learner's permit in June, and Cris's 13th birthday is just around the bend....
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Monday, January 21, 2008
happy camper
This weekend, I had the opportunity to learn about outdoor education, Girl Scout-style. Not just from perusing a manual or listening to a trainer teach a class, but a hands-on lesson. Yes, I went camping.
I have never really been one to fully enjoy all that a camping trip entails: the lack of a fully functional bathroom facility, the sleeping on the cold ground, the bugs, the dirt. I do love the campfire, the food cooked over the open flame, the fresh air filling my lungs and the sound of the breeze blowing through the trees. I found all of this, and so much more, on my weekend excursion to Camp Mah-Kah-Wee.
The journey began before dawn, when I crawled out of my snug bed to finish packing and preparing. My friend Wendy came to pick me up in her van, and we were on our way. We were looking forward to spending the weekend together, even if it had to be in a tent. The weather forecast wasn't very favorable, and we drove through heavy fog and mist on the way to the facility. When we arrived, we unloaded all of our gear and checked in. At that point, we found that we had been split up; I was to hike to one campsite, she to another, on opposing ends of the campground. We were unhappy at this development, at the prospect of having to bunk with strangers.
As I hauled my bags over the trail, I walked behind three ladies, with whom I struck up a conversation. They had come together, had managed to stay together, and they invited me to be the fourth in their tent. They were very welcoming, and I felt the awkwardness melt away. We finally reached the campsite, found an unoccupied platform tent, claimed our cots, then checked in to the Scout house. We settled in, ready to learn from the trainers, one of them having been in Girl Scouts for more than 40 years. They were full of great information and experience, and shared both with us throughout the two days.
There were 40 ladies staying at the same campsite as I: Racoon Run. Many of us had been split from friends, and many were not, but the trainers had another surprise up their sleeves. We played a game called Barnyard Bedlam, in which we were randomly given a small token with the image of a farm animal on it. We were to close our eyes and walk around, while making the sound of our chosen animal. Mine was a pig. Soooo, I closed my eyes and oinked, bumping into other ladies who were also making fools of themselves. I hooked arms with my fellow swine, and dismissed those who were baa-ing, moo-ing, or clucking. I had a lady on either side and was laughing hysterically and yelling "OINK", when the trainer told us to stop; we were in our groups, so we could open our eyes. The first thing I saw was another woman, standing right in front of me, looking at me as if I were crazy. Seems that we had been in our group for several seconds, and only I and one other piggy were still behaving as if we were sows. Oops.
These four groups of 10 women each were our new patrols, which meant we were to learn and work together to get tasks accomplished. We headed back inside to reshuffle our seating arrangements, forcing us to split up even further. My three bunkmates were in different groups, so I knew that if Wendy and I had been able to stay together, we most likely would have been separated at this point, anyway. We all settled in to learn the first of many lessons, including camping preparation from planning to evaluation, which is quite a lengthy process.
Unfortunately, we somehow fell far behind. Before we knew it, it was well after noon, and we still hadn't eaten lunch. This posed quite a dilemma, due to the fact that we were to cook our food over fire, but hadn't yet learned how to build or maintain this fire. By the time we were educated on this skill, our lunch had been pushed back to 4pm. We were understandably grumpy, and took matters into our own hands, starting our dinner prep while keeping the fire burning. The dish was to cook for 90 minutes, and we were all in agreement that we'd like to eat before bedtime.
As our dinner boiled and bubbled over the hot coals, we were greeted by the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps. Another trainer had run to tell us that we were to immediately remove the dutch oven, put out our fire, and batten down the hatches. A storm was coming, and we were given 30 minutes to gather our valuables and hike to the safety of the lodge. We went into action, unaware of the severity of the situation: this storm had produced tornadoes, hail, strong winds, and blinding rain.
We gathered with all of the camp's 100+ occupants, and I was reunited with my friend Wendy. The storm thundered and the lightning flashed as we sang songs, ate pizza, and performed skits, which we were to have done around the nightly campfire. Two hours later, we were told that the worst of the storm had missed us, had actually split into two storms, and both had gone around us. We felt blessed, which helped to ease the bitterness over having missed the traditional s'mores around the campfire.
After donning our ponchos and hiking through puddles and muck, we made it back to our campsite, where we found our lukewarm supper waiting for us. We munched on it a bit, learned how to tie knots, and were finally released to retire to our beds. The weather forecast was for a cold front to move in, which is usually preceded by strong thunderstorms here in Florida, as the cold northern air collides with our warm air. Even though the storm had passed, it was still relatively warm, and I fell asleep on top of my sleeping bag. I was awakened in the night by more rain, and a chill in the air. I huddled in the warmth of my cocoon, only to wake in the morning to freezing temperatures. The cold front had arrived.
Our second day was spent trying to stay warm as we attempted to absorb as much information as possible about knife safety, wood chopping, and cooking in a box oven, among other things. Suddenly the jobs of fire starter and cook were coveted, and that of the clean-up crew were even more despised, as cold hands met cold water. We made chili and cornbread for lunch, baking the bread in a box oven, over coals. I saw it as a grown-up version of the Easy Bake. One of the other piggy ladies and I were enthralled with this invention. We decided that if our state was hit with another hurricane and we lost power, we could provide our neighbors with comfort foods, such as cakes and breads, all baked in a box. Another of our teammates, who was a bit more cynical, stated, "Oh, yeah, while the contents of everyone's freezers are rotting, you two can bake up a cake!" When we stopped laughing, we enjoyed the fruits of our labors, which was the best meal yet, having been made from start to finish without assistance.
As the sun crossed the sky and began it's descent, we completed our training, carried out our kapers, or chores, and met back at the campfire pit. We participated in a Girl Scout ceremony, during which we all shared what was the most impactful part of the weekend to each of us. Answers ranged from "Learning what to do in case of emergency" to "Working together with people who began as complete strangers and ended up as friends." I commented that I was a bit reluctant coming into the situation, but was excited to tell my troop all about my adventures, and to share a camping experience with them. We sang a song, handed out hugs, and went our separate ways, with promises of emails to be exchanged.
Upon my return home, I soaked in a luxuriously hot shower, bundled up in my new fuzzy robe (thanks, Mom!), and sipped a mug of hot cocoa. I counted my blessings as I watched the Packers and Giants play on the frozen tundra in Green Bay, calculating that it was more than 40 degrees warmer here, before the wind chill was factored in. What had I been whining about?
Today, it's 70 degrees and sunny, with a nice easterly breeze blowing in off the ocean. Figures.
I have never really been one to fully enjoy all that a camping trip entails: the lack of a fully functional bathroom facility, the sleeping on the cold ground, the bugs, the dirt. I do love the campfire, the food cooked over the open flame, the fresh air filling my lungs and the sound of the breeze blowing through the trees. I found all of this, and so much more, on my weekend excursion to Camp Mah-Kah-Wee.
The journey began before dawn, when I crawled out of my snug bed to finish packing and preparing. My friend Wendy came to pick me up in her van, and we were on our way. We were looking forward to spending the weekend together, even if it had to be in a tent. The weather forecast wasn't very favorable, and we drove through heavy fog and mist on the way to the facility. When we arrived, we unloaded all of our gear and checked in. At that point, we found that we had been split up; I was to hike to one campsite, she to another, on opposing ends of the campground. We were unhappy at this development, at the prospect of having to bunk with strangers.
As I hauled my bags over the trail, I walked behind three ladies, with whom I struck up a conversation. They had come together, had managed to stay together, and they invited me to be the fourth in their tent. They were very welcoming, and I felt the awkwardness melt away. We finally reached the campsite, found an unoccupied platform tent, claimed our cots, then checked in to the Scout house. We settled in, ready to learn from the trainers, one of them having been in Girl Scouts for more than 40 years. They were full of great information and experience, and shared both with us throughout the two days.
There were 40 ladies staying at the same campsite as I: Racoon Run. Many of us had been split from friends, and many were not, but the trainers had another surprise up their sleeves. We played a game called Barnyard Bedlam, in which we were randomly given a small token with the image of a farm animal on it. We were to close our eyes and walk around, while making the sound of our chosen animal. Mine was a pig. Soooo, I closed my eyes and oinked, bumping into other ladies who were also making fools of themselves. I hooked arms with my fellow swine, and dismissed those who were baa-ing, moo-ing, or clucking. I had a lady on either side and was laughing hysterically and yelling "OINK", when the trainer told us to stop; we were in our groups, so we could open our eyes. The first thing I saw was another woman, standing right in front of me, looking at me as if I were crazy. Seems that we had been in our group for several seconds, and only I and one other piggy were still behaving as if we were sows. Oops.
These four groups of 10 women each were our new patrols, which meant we were to learn and work together to get tasks accomplished. We headed back inside to reshuffle our seating arrangements, forcing us to split up even further. My three bunkmates were in different groups, so I knew that if Wendy and I had been able to stay together, we most likely would have been separated at this point, anyway. We all settled in to learn the first of many lessons, including camping preparation from planning to evaluation, which is quite a lengthy process.
Unfortunately, we somehow fell far behind. Before we knew it, it was well after noon, and we still hadn't eaten lunch. This posed quite a dilemma, due to the fact that we were to cook our food over fire, but hadn't yet learned how to build or maintain this fire. By the time we were educated on this skill, our lunch had been pushed back to 4pm. We were understandably grumpy, and took matters into our own hands, starting our dinner prep while keeping the fire burning. The dish was to cook for 90 minutes, and we were all in agreement that we'd like to eat before bedtime.
As our dinner boiled and bubbled over the hot coals, we were greeted by the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps. Another trainer had run to tell us that we were to immediately remove the dutch oven, put out our fire, and batten down the hatches. A storm was coming, and we were given 30 minutes to gather our valuables and hike to the safety of the lodge. We went into action, unaware of the severity of the situation: this storm had produced tornadoes, hail, strong winds, and blinding rain.
We gathered with all of the camp's 100+ occupants, and I was reunited with my friend Wendy. The storm thundered and the lightning flashed as we sang songs, ate pizza, and performed skits, which we were to have done around the nightly campfire. Two hours later, we were told that the worst of the storm had missed us, had actually split into two storms, and both had gone around us. We felt blessed, which helped to ease the bitterness over having missed the traditional s'mores around the campfire.
After donning our ponchos and hiking through puddles and muck, we made it back to our campsite, where we found our lukewarm supper waiting for us. We munched on it a bit, learned how to tie knots, and were finally released to retire to our beds. The weather forecast was for a cold front to move in, which is usually preceded by strong thunderstorms here in Florida, as the cold northern air collides with our warm air. Even though the storm had passed, it was still relatively warm, and I fell asleep on top of my sleeping bag. I was awakened in the night by more rain, and a chill in the air. I huddled in the warmth of my cocoon, only to wake in the morning to freezing temperatures. The cold front had arrived.
Our second day was spent trying to stay warm as we attempted to absorb as much information as possible about knife safety, wood chopping, and cooking in a box oven, among other things. Suddenly the jobs of fire starter and cook were coveted, and that of the clean-up crew were even more despised, as cold hands met cold water. We made chili and cornbread for lunch, baking the bread in a box oven, over coals. I saw it as a grown-up version of the Easy Bake. One of the other piggy ladies and I were enthralled with this invention. We decided that if our state was hit with another hurricane and we lost power, we could provide our neighbors with comfort foods, such as cakes and breads, all baked in a box. Another of our teammates, who was a bit more cynical, stated, "Oh, yeah, while the contents of everyone's freezers are rotting, you two can bake up a cake!" When we stopped laughing, we enjoyed the fruits of our labors, which was the best meal yet, having been made from start to finish without assistance.
As the sun crossed the sky and began it's descent, we completed our training, carried out our kapers, or chores, and met back at the campfire pit. We participated in a Girl Scout ceremony, during which we all shared what was the most impactful part of the weekend to each of us. Answers ranged from "Learning what to do in case of emergency" to "Working together with people who began as complete strangers and ended up as friends." I commented that I was a bit reluctant coming into the situation, but was excited to tell my troop all about my adventures, and to share a camping experience with them. We sang a song, handed out hugs, and went our separate ways, with promises of emails to be exchanged.
Upon my return home, I soaked in a luxuriously hot shower, bundled up in my new fuzzy robe (thanks, Mom!), and sipped a mug of hot cocoa. I counted my blessings as I watched the Packers and Giants play on the frozen tundra in Green Bay, calculating that it was more than 40 degrees warmer here, before the wind chill was factored in. What had I been whining about?
Today, it's 70 degrees and sunny, with a nice easterly breeze blowing in off the ocean. Figures.
Friday, January 11, 2008
worth the wait
I have wanted to adopt a little dog for several years now, but for one reason or the other, we've had to wait. First to convince Dan, then for a house of our own, a fence to be built, the "right timing". As the Christmas break approached, and with Dan home to help keep a watchful eye, we felt that it was time to start the search.
We knew we wanted to find our new little friend at a local shelter, because there are just too many unwanted pets in this world, in my opinion. So I'd been keeping my eye on the shelter's website, watching for a small, fluffy pup with big black eyes and a cute button nose. One day, while scrolling through all the homeless dogs, a new one popped up: a Maltese. A little ball of fur I could call my own. I phoned Dan with great excitement, and got the green light to explore this possibility.
After picking Cris and Brooklyn up from school, I told them the news, and invited them to take the adventure with me. We'd never been to a shelter, so we had a good talk about what we could expect there. We knew it would be difficult to see all those faces, waiting for their "forever homes". And it was. The smell of so many animals in one place was overwhelming, the sound of their cries and pleas for attention deafening at times. There was a big board that displayed the numbers of animals taken in, adopted out, and ultimately finding the end of their lives in this place. The workers were friendly, but very overworked. We asked one if the sweet little Maltese was still available, but were told that no, he'd found a home. "The little ones go quick," she told us. I knew I was being picky about the type and size of dog I was looking for, and was turning a blind eye to the larger dogs in need, but felt that a smaller dog would be a better fit.
We found a door marked with an "Adoptable Dogs" sign, and we turned the knob to open it. A long, cage-lined hall stood in front of us, and we tentatively stepped through. On the left side, several Pit Bulls looked out from behind the bars. They didn't appear to be too interested in us, barely raising their eyes to see who was coming through next. To the right, two smaller cages were stacked one on top of the other. The one on top held a tiny white dog, curled up tightly on top of a pillow. We saw that he was a Chihuahua, and I dismissed him as an option, having heard that they can be a difficult breed. Below him was a black Collie mix, very vocal and active. His info sheet stated that he was younger, and playful. He was cute, but I didn't want to bite off more than I could chew.
We continued on down the canine-laden hall, turned the corner to find even more large, unwanted dogs. I was beginning to feel my optimism fade away. We turned back the way we came, and stopped in front of the stacked cages once again. The small Chi barely acknowledged us, but he looked so vulnerable lying there, less than 3 feet away from those huge dogs known for their violence. According to his clipboard, he was estimated to be 8 years old, was seemingly well trained, liked to cuddle, and was found by the side of the road a week before. The kids and I looked at each other, and we agreed that we'd at least like to give him a chance.
After asking permission to take him from his cage, I carefully unlocked his wire door, and tried to coax him out. He just shivered and ducked his little head, not even meeting my eyes. I let him smell my hand, then ran it down the length of his small back, trying to let him know I meant him no harm. Then I slipped my hands around him and lifted him out. "Awww!" Both kids immediately melted at the sight of his little face. We took him into the socialization room, where I placed him on the floor to get an idea of his personality. He started nosing around, but didn't lift his leg-- bonus points, for sure. The kids were growing more and more excited, and the fact that he didn't yip, growl, bite or scratch made me want to know more about him. We decided to take him out to the play yard.
Once outside, the little guy immediately found a bush to sprinkle, and this show of good potty training moved him to the top of my list. We let him run and explore, and his sprightly gate, little bent ear, and bright eyes won us over. Another call to Dan was placed, and the adoption process was begun. In order to fill out the paperwork, we had to put the little man back in his cage. The Pit Bulls were riled up, filling the hall with their growls and fierce barking. Our prospective pup cowered, pawing at the cage, crying out to us as we walked away. We knew we had to hurry and get him out of there as soon as we could, so we dotted all of our i's, crossed our t's, and in just a matter of minutes, our family had grown by one.
It has been several weeks since we walked into the animal shelter; weeks spent getting to know our first family dog. Chico is a cuddle-bug who loves to explore his new neighborhood, nap on fluffy pillows, and munch on liver treats. The transition has been easy, he has adapted well. He lets us know when he needs to go outside, he is pretty quiet, and he sleeps through the night in his little bed in the master bedroom. He takes us on long nighttime walks, and it is really very amusing to see how he thinks he is so big and mighty, guarding "his" people from harm.
We are looking forward to many years caring for our new pet, and hope we are making his life as enjoyable as he is making ours.
We knew we wanted to find our new little friend at a local shelter, because there are just too many unwanted pets in this world, in my opinion. So I'd been keeping my eye on the shelter's website, watching for a small, fluffy pup with big black eyes and a cute button nose. One day, while scrolling through all the homeless dogs, a new one popped up: a Maltese. A little ball of fur I could call my own. I phoned Dan with great excitement, and got the green light to explore this possibility.
After picking Cris and Brooklyn up from school, I told them the news, and invited them to take the adventure with me. We'd never been to a shelter, so we had a good talk about what we could expect there. We knew it would be difficult to see all those faces, waiting for their "forever homes". And it was. The smell of so many animals in one place was overwhelming, the sound of their cries and pleas for attention deafening at times. There was a big board that displayed the numbers of animals taken in, adopted out, and ultimately finding the end of their lives in this place. The workers were friendly, but very overworked. We asked one if the sweet little Maltese was still available, but were told that no, he'd found a home. "The little ones go quick," she told us. I knew I was being picky about the type and size of dog I was looking for, and was turning a blind eye to the larger dogs in need, but felt that a smaller dog would be a better fit.
We found a door marked with an "Adoptable Dogs" sign, and we turned the knob to open it. A long, cage-lined hall stood in front of us, and we tentatively stepped through. On the left side, several Pit Bulls looked out from behind the bars. They didn't appear to be too interested in us, barely raising their eyes to see who was coming through next. To the right, two smaller cages were stacked one on top of the other. The one on top held a tiny white dog, curled up tightly on top of a pillow. We saw that he was a Chihuahua, and I dismissed him as an option, having heard that they can be a difficult breed. Below him was a black Collie mix, very vocal and active. His info sheet stated that he was younger, and playful. He was cute, but I didn't want to bite off more than I could chew.
We continued on down the canine-laden hall, turned the corner to find even more large, unwanted dogs. I was beginning to feel my optimism fade away. We turned back the way we came, and stopped in front of the stacked cages once again. The small Chi barely acknowledged us, but he looked so vulnerable lying there, less than 3 feet away from those huge dogs known for their violence. According to his clipboard, he was estimated to be 8 years old, was seemingly well trained, liked to cuddle, and was found by the side of the road a week before. The kids and I looked at each other, and we agreed that we'd at least like to give him a chance.
After asking permission to take him from his cage, I carefully unlocked his wire door, and tried to coax him out. He just shivered and ducked his little head, not even meeting my eyes. I let him smell my hand, then ran it down the length of his small back, trying to let him know I meant him no harm. Then I slipped my hands around him and lifted him out. "Awww!" Both kids immediately melted at the sight of his little face. We took him into the socialization room, where I placed him on the floor to get an idea of his personality. He started nosing around, but didn't lift his leg-- bonus points, for sure. The kids were growing more and more excited, and the fact that he didn't yip, growl, bite or scratch made me want to know more about him. We decided to take him out to the play yard.
Once outside, the little guy immediately found a bush to sprinkle, and this show of good potty training moved him to the top of my list. We let him run and explore, and his sprightly gate, little bent ear, and bright eyes won us over. Another call to Dan was placed, and the adoption process was begun. In order to fill out the paperwork, we had to put the little man back in his cage. The Pit Bulls were riled up, filling the hall with their growls and fierce barking. Our prospective pup cowered, pawing at the cage, crying out to us as we walked away. We knew we had to hurry and get him out of there as soon as we could, so we dotted all of our i's, crossed our t's, and in just a matter of minutes, our family had grown by one.
It has been several weeks since we walked into the animal shelter; weeks spent getting to know our first family dog. Chico is a cuddle-bug who loves to explore his new neighborhood, nap on fluffy pillows, and munch on liver treats. The transition has been easy, he has adapted well. He lets us know when he needs to go outside, he is pretty quiet, and he sleeps through the night in his little bed in the master bedroom. He takes us on long nighttime walks, and it is really very amusing to see how he thinks he is so big and mighty, guarding "his" people from harm.
We are looking forward to many years caring for our new pet, and hope we are making his life as enjoyable as he is making ours.
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