Welcome Home

After a few gluttonous days in Denver, I needed to excrete some sugar and alcohol imbued-sweat by going for a jog this morning. It was a beautiful morning – a top ten day with partly cloudy skies, dewy grass and a slight breeze. I was running along, thinking about our time in Denver, with our fun kids and their lovely partners, listening to a song by the Silversun Pickups called "Empty Nest" (coincidentally) when I came across this:

A blurry screenshot of the video

Turkey vultures. Our daughter had just informed us of a fun fact: a group of ravens are called a murder. I couldn't help but wonder what a group of turkey vultures was called. Could it be a murder too? Or perhaps they are just called creeps. I was far enough away to stop and record, sending some Jungle Boy commentary to our family group chat. But as I was filming, one of the creatures faced me and extended its wings. I decided to scoot. I would've zoomed in and taken a photo, but I didn't want to. I skedaddled and took a quick glance behind me to see that the other turkey vultures were also now facing me, wings stretched wide. Apparently, they suspected someone was about to drop dead from running. Suckers. It only made me run faster.

As I turned on our road into the safety of less creepy animals like cats and skunks, I considered metaphors. Strangely, the Frontier plane we traveled home in had a condor on its fin. Undoubtedly, God was making me consider vultures while obsessing about our kids who are making lives for themselves in the wild west: Denver and now Scottsdale. But if I learned anything this weekend, I realized what a joy it is to see our progeny making lives for themselves. It doesn't seem all that long ago that we were the ones to stress about money, jobs and living arrangements. Sure, we met a few vultures along the way. We faced them. We studied them. When they threatened us, we ran home. I'm not suggesting the kids need to run home anytime they face a vulture (although they are quite welcome.) But I am suggesting they find the people in their new communities who are their home and their security. I think, our kids already they know this. They have wonderful people by their sides.

How about a cow metaphor now?

Possum Kingdom

A few mornings ago, at approximately 4:30 AM, just as the dawn was beginning to crack we heard the awful, guttural cry of our cat sitting outside the ledge of our bedroom window. It's "camp-out" time for Quinn, our 12-year-old feline wonder who doesn't care to sleep in the garage with all the exciting nocturnal activity of summer. Needless to say, there's nothing that makes you sit straight up in bed than a growling cat. I went to the window in attempt to pry him inside but he merely swatted me away as if to say he was busy. It took Doug's heavier hand to pull him inside. It was too dark to see what our kitty was sneering at. I wasn't sure I wanted to know anyway,

A Hard Night

Fast forward to 5:30 when my alarm went off. I traipsed through the kitchen and glanced out the patio door. And what appeared before my groggy eyes? A pink-nosed possum planted comfortably near our shade tree. He leisurely glanced at me, then looked away, not terribly concerned. Then, upon close inspection of the yard, I see another pink-nosed snout! Once again, this possum didn't seem to identify me as a threat. No wonder kitty was so grouchy. Critters have invaded his territory! I called out to Doug. Without hesitation,  he offered to get his gun for these easy pickings. "Don't you dare," I said. No matter how ugly these animals are with their wee, beady eyes, the thought of killing a helpless animal tugs at my heart. And I didn't care for the idea of possum guts all over our yard. Doug then pontificated on the "good" that possums bring to the natural world.  I really didn't know. Later, a coworker of mine told me they eat bugs and ticks. I think that might win Doug over. He hates bugs.

I had a dream the other night that we got ourselves a new dog, similar to our beloved Percy who would bark his brains out all night long. We know now that he was merely on possum patrol. Doug and I keep discussing the possibility of getting another dog. Well, discussing might not be the correct term.  I bring it up. He vetoes the idea. With two kids living far away and with plan to travel more, I can't argue that it's a bit impractical to have a dog. But often, the heart isn't practical.

Until we reach a mutual agreement about this dog thing, Doug and I will just need to channel our inner Ace-Ventura: becoming one with nature and welcoming creatures to our possum kingdom, with the cat in charge, of course. Two kids out of the nest. Two possums under the deck. I think I'll name them Digger and Roscoe.  I'm not convinced they will fill that hole in my heart left by kids growing up and dogs passing on. But I'll give it a try.

Well, Hello Roscoe!

The List that Keeps Giving

I'm on a stay-at-home vacation this week, so lists rule! There's nothing quite like the feeling of crossing something off your to-do list. My intention this week was to get some stuff done: organize, weed the flower beds, edit my novel! It's Thursday, so time to take inventory of my accomplishments:

1. Weeded flower beds. Pretty easy job in a drought.
2. Organized one junk drawer. The main junk drawer that is. Found four sharpies. Score!
3. Finished Season 4 of Stranger Things. Whew. Time-consuming. Emotionally draining. But completely awesome!
4. Started Season 4 of Modern Family. Laughing should always be on a to-do list.

So, the week is running out and here I am, blogging instead tackling the furnace room or a closet I had my sights on. Truthfully, my purpose in organizing those areas was to find our wedding video to get it transferred to digital before our thirtieth anniversary (next August). When Mom told me she has a copy, my drive to organize areas drifted a bit.

I truly do believe in the power of lists though. Anyone remember Phil Dunphy mentioning how his wife, Claire, can create to-do lists that last for days? I'm with Claire. The only problem is my hubby doesn't usually see the need to do these pesky household tasks unless it has a monetary value associated. "If it doesn't make us money, why do it?"  I should say that to him the next time he feels amorous.

I can be a bit sneaky in my approach in getting Doug to do something. Sometimes it's appealing to his need to be challenged. "Think you can mix me up a cocktail of weed killer?" He's on it.  Sometimes it's appealing to his sense of fun. "We should refresh the basement. Maybe add a bar." We conquered that in a few months. Sometimes it's appealing to his sense of adventure. "How many limestones do you think we can dig up in the cattle yard?" My Indiana Jones found so many we were able to recreate Stonehenge. And sometimes, if it's possible, I find a way to make it a smart financial decision. "Couldn't we write-off a new garage if you use it for agricultural purposes?" 

Our son figured out how to manipulate the list process at a young age. I usually left a list of chores for each of the kids in the summer. One day, when I was cleaning out a drawer, I found an old "list" notebook and came across something interesting – and just a bit off. It was the kids' lists with a few normal chores like filling the dishwasher, vacuuming and cleaning the toilets. But Alex had more on hers. And she had a special task in her column: Play video games with Cole. It even really resembled my handwriting. I'm not sure it worked, but I liked the thought behind it – integrating normal chores with the thing he really wanted done. And having Mom sign off on it.

I have just a few hours left of this stay-cation to get things done. (Tomorrow we leave for Iowa City to perform the critical job of cheering on our Hawks at the season opener.) So, there's still a furnace room and closet to conquer. But there's also a cat that needs petting. And it's almost lunchtime. And I wouldn't mind playing a little piano. And hey, when I return to work next week, I'll be armed to discuss my main accomplishment for the week: Finishing Stranger Things. Kidding. Sort of. Truly, and not kidding one bit, the best thing I did this week was spending time with my best friend: Doug. I'll never cross that task off the list.

Hello Neighbor

We live on a dead-end road, the only inhabited house on our stretch of 1800th Street. There's not much traffic this time of year. The postman. UPS. Fed Ex. An occasional farmer crop-checking. An occasional kid coming home to visit.  Needless to say, I've become quite accustomed to our privacy. Maybe a little too comfortable.

Almost every morning, I get up as soon as there's just a bit of sunlight to go for a jog or a walk. When I get back home, I love to soak up every bit of morning outside. The slight cool breeze. The chirping birds. The sunrise over Earling's steeple. So, with my ear buds on, I lay on our driveway and stretch and stare at the blue skies above. Sometimes I twist into some yoga moves to crack my back. Sometimes I grab my cat and set him on my stomach to give him love. Sometimes I pray. And sometimes, I get into the mood to do dead bug abdominal moves. You know the kind where your legs are raised and you tap your feet to the ground? It's also known as a dance move which can be a high point at a wedding, for guests who like to laugh at the weirdos laying in the middle of the floor.

Well, imagine my surprise when I sat up the other morning after some dead bugs to see Larry, one of our neighboring farmers, doing an early morning check of his crops. Hi Larry. Don't mind me. I'm just laying on the driveway. Like an idiot, dead-bugging it.

Last night I went out for a walk because it wasn't 105 degrees outside. I slipped on my ear buds to 10,000 Maniacs. (After a weekend of seeing college pals, I was in the mood for some alternative classics to relive my youth.) And there's just something about Natalie Merchant that makes me want to wail along and dance. So, on my walk, in which no one in the world would see me, I sang and danced to These Are The Days. It's a song you HAVE to sing and dance to.  I mean, Natalie sings about about shafts of light hitting your face! What can you do? So, I'm skipping along, swaying my hands when I hear the sound of Doug's ATV coming from behind. I turn around, hand on hip, trying to be cutesy for my hubby, still swaying to the song.

But it's not my hubby. It's Phil, another neighboring farmer, on his four-wheeler. He waves politely, as if I'm not a fruitcake.

So, here's my confession and apology to my neighbors. I am not crazy. I just forgot that we're not completely isolated here. So please, please don't send our freaky neighborhood turkey vultures my way.

You know what's funny? This past weekend, as we attended a college friend's wedding, even after a few cocktails, I didn't dare show off my dance skills. Too embarrassing! And these are people who saw me do some pretty stupid stuff in the day. Like practice my auditions for an MTV VJ. Or strike a pose to Madonna's Vogue. Almost every weekend.

Apparently, I needed the neighbors at the dance. THEN, I could've shown off my wonderful dead bug...while others killed it with their Humpty moves.

With Preacher/DJ John & the Ultimate Usher Dom.

In Centerfield

Softball. Baseball.

Those were the only youth sports when I was young, that I remember anyway. When I asked Mom if I could go out for softball, she convinced me, in that loving tone of hers, that softball was probably not my sport. As it turned out, "my sport" ended up being piano. With my father being a motorcycle guy, and a mother who had her fill of chasing older brothers' fly balls her entire childhood, I grew up knowing very little about America's pastime. 

Then I met Doug. He told me he played town team ball. I said, "Oh! I'd love to come and watch you play softball sometime!" He was quick to set me straight. "Baseball. Not softball. Baseball." 

Now, I wasn't completely clueless. I had attended a few high school games. But the summer of 1991 was my first real education of the sport. Admittedly it started off as an excuse to watch my cute new boyfriend in his uniform. I'd drag my high school buddy, Jill, along. (Her Mom did not talk her out of playing softball.) Jill taught me terms like "warning track" and "tag up" and "full count" and "cleanup hitter." I learned a lot that summer! Most notably? How a slice of lime completely enhances the taste of Bud Light.

Fast forward a few years, beyond Doug's town team baseball days. Doug taught me more as we watched and attended MLB games where concessions of hot dogs, popcorn and nachos trumped all the Michelin restaurants of the world. By the time we signed our kids up for tee-ball, I knew important things about the sport. Like the Yankees were the devil. 

Little League was our first foray into "extra-curricular" activities for our children. It didn't take me long to adopt the mindset of every parent who watches their kid play a sport for the first time. You know the mentality: "My six-year-old clearly has talent! Is it too early for colleges to be scouting?" By Middle School, both of our kids were done with summer ball. They had other pursuits. 

But we remained a baseball family. Every year, we religiously watch baseball classics: Fever Pitch, Major League, Bull Durham, Moneyball, 42, Trouble with the Curve. (There are more we don't catch every year, for all you Field of Dreams fans.) The baseball formula works beautifully in cinema. It's sooooo feel-good! And it provides us a plethora of lines that speak to life itself. "Careful kid, they'll break your heart." or "How can you not be romantic about baseball?" 

Some of my favorite family memories took place in Kaufmann Stadium (Kansas City), Target Field (Minneapolis), Busch Stadium (St. Louis), and at the stadium of stadiums: Fenway Park in Boston. The Green Monster where the soundtrack of the Dropkick Murphy's doesn't leave your brain and fans loiter to celebrate well after the game has been won. 

There are many things to love about this game. Some say it's too long. Too slow. Too boring. But the pace of the game and the patience required to watch is one of the best things about it. For a person who can rarely sit still and has five million things jumping around in her brain, baseball is the best. Watching and waiting for a hitter to smash the ball out of the park forces me to do something I rarely do: be present and live in the moment. 

During harvest, when Doug is in the fields and the kids are gone, I turn on the TV to listen to a baseball game. There's something soothing about the dull roar of the crowd and the smooth voice of the broadcaster announcing "the 2 and 2 pitch." And when there's a perfect catch, a strikeout ,or a grand slam, I cheer with delight! Because we all need something to cheer for that's not political or divisive, even if you happen to cheer for those damn Yankees.

The Homecoming Hangover

It's been a week since homecoming. The preparation! The anticipation! The pageantry! Now it's just a dim, fond memory. Wait a minute! Am I the parent or the student?

Cole was excited about homecoming this year. He skipped his sophomore year, because, well, we all know that your sophomore year is usually the worst. (Alex skipped that year too.) But now he's a junior. And he had a date!

A few weeks before the big weekend, we had to figure out clothes. My first inclination was to revive his confirmation garb. Then he told me, politely, that he had worn that same gray shirt/black pants combo for his last several dress-up events. True, true, true. (I never would've considered having Alex wear something she had worn before. Shame on me.)

So, one afternoon we went shopping.

At first I wasn't convinced of Cole's wish to do black on black. (Black pants. Black shirt.) But after accessorizing with the royal blue bow tie, suspenders, and colorful checkered socks, he won me over. He looked cute. He didn't disagree. As he stood admiring himself in the mirror, I had a flashback. Homecoming dress shopping with Alex. If only she would've admired herself in the mirror! But as is typical with almost every female I know, she focused on parts she didn't like about herself. And there was nothing that wasn't beautiful about her. Every girl needs to adopt Cole's sense of self.

Moving on.

Spirit week had arrived. And since Cole is officially an upper classman, he decided he needed to participate this year with the theme days. He usually doesn't! So I was refreshed by his energy! I was excited about the week. Of course, I had some ideas to contribute to his outfits. But my attitude soured the first night after the vollerama. He claimed his keys had been "stolen." I had to pull myself out of bed to bring him an extra set. I hate, hate, hate getting out of bed. I thought it strange that the culprits stole the keys without stealing the car. And as it turned out, Cole discovered the next day that one of his best friends had them. How he had forgotten this, I do not know. But I don't like to hold a grudge, so I moved on. There was more fun to be had.

Then, the next morning I received a text that made my heart fall. My friend, Ann, (mother of another one of Cole's BFs) had sent this:

"OMG! Kate said the WORST thing ever last night!!!"

Context: Kate is the cute little sister of Cole's buddy. My heart raced. What now? It was morning, so I wasn't getting an immediate response. I waited. And waited. Then heard the ding.

"She said, "Mom, you should've seen Cole yesterday. He dressed like a nerd. But umph... he was like a hot nerd!!" Double angry emoji.

That made me laugh. And breathe a sigh of relief.

In truth, Cole has a decent amount of nerd in him. (He gets this honestly from me.) As a matter of fact, one of his soccer buds suggested he complete his nerd look by carrying around one of his many comic books.

Anyway! Back to homecoming. The day of the big dance came. We went to take pictures at the designated spot. After getting a few shots and maneuvering the crowd of kids and parents, I lost sight of Cole. Apparently, he had left. When I texted him to say that he was missing out on some pictures with his friends, he just said, "We had enough pictures." I didn't disagree. But again, I had a flashback to Alex's homecoming days. There were never enough pictures with friends.

It was all wrapping up. The kids were off to dance in their new duds. The parents were off to partake in a few adult beverages, taking any edge off the worrying. Would they have fun? Would they be safe? Of course they would, as my husband would aptly remind me.

That evening I got a text from my old college roommate. She sent me a picture of her pretty daughter going to homecoming for the first time. I'm sure she was feeling the same anxiety and pride as every parent. Homecoming has a way of filling us with nostalgia. It seems like yesterday when were pinning corsages on our dates. Then we get a glimpse of our kids transforming into young adults. We want them to have great memories to share with their children someday. Maybe their kids will lose their keys. Or find their inner nerd. But one thing we know with certainty. The kids will shine.

Toddler Sock Wisdom

Today as I was rummaging through one of my cupboards, I came across this:

A toddler sock. Never mind my poor housekeeping skills. I was instantly sad. Yesterday I had toddlers. Now those toddlers are 21 and 17. Not that I miss wiping poopy butts. I absolutely do not. And I find great joy in watching our kids turn into fine young adults. But here's what I do miss: my unmistakeable purpose. As in wiping poopy butts.

Right now I have a disgusting cold sore in my nose. (Sorry for the gross nature of this blog post so far.) It's something that happens when I'm stressed or overwhelmed. Of course, I can't admit this to my husband, because he will accurately point out that I do this to myself. (And who can stand a spousal "told ya so"?) But he's probably right. I don't need to teach a class, but I do. I don't need to help my mother at her shop, but I do. I don't need to write a book, but I do. I don't need to work at the bank, but... wait, yes, I do need to work at the bank. My point? I seem to fill in any little crack of time to the point of cold sore or migraine hell. Yesterday, I realized why I do this when I found that little toddler sock.

Every mother either remembers or looks forward to the day she can shop at a supermarket (do people say that anymore?) without having to mediate a meltdown or worry about a pile of apples tumbling on the floor. Going to the grocery store without a toddler seems to be one of the first benchmarks of parental freedom. Before that day, our world consists of ensuring the kids are fed, bathed, schooled, soccer'd, etc. So, when I wrote my first book about ten years ago, I'm guessing Cole had learned to cut his own meat. No, that's not right. I think that was last year. But he probably, most certainly, had learned to wipe his own butt, somewhat anyway.

Wrong colors, Kiddo!

Don't get me wrong. I'm still a mom, first and foremost. But I feel like I'm more on-call than 24/7. And in between signing up for ACTs or wielding a stressed out college girl, I dabble in these other roles in my life which I completely enjoy. But that's the key: dabble. Not immerse. Dabble. It might save me on Abreva. (That's cold sore medication for those of you who haven't had the joy of pustules in your nose or mouth.)

And perhaps, just perhaps, I should be stepping up my maternal helicoptering in spite of having nearly grown children. I discovered yesterday that kid #2 is considering the wrong state university! Excuse me, I have some talking to do before the next cold sore sets in and Cole forgets his Hawkeye pedigree.

A Splash of Orange

For many years now, my most consistent form of exercise has been walking our gravel road. With its Mt. Everest hills and ever-changing scenery, I never get bored. The wildflowers in the ditches change each year. Once in a while, a goldfinch or cardinal will show off their colors. And sometimes, Percy gets to chase a deer.

Yellow. Yellow. Yellow.

The other day I was walking along, admiring waves and waves of yellow flowers (the technical name), and I noticed a small splash of orange. I stopped my trek to admire this small and almost obscure spray of flora. I even stepped into the ditch to inspect. I was enamored. I might still be there if I hadn't been a bit concerned about snakes hiding in the long weeds.

This experience took about two minutes of my day. And it preoccupied the rest of my walk. How often do I ever take a minute to enjoy something? How often do any of us do this?

When the kids were little I would walk with them on this same gravel road. And I'd become impatient with the all of the stopping to collect rocks and pick pull-apart grass. I had stuff to do! I can't remember what. But apparently it was something important. Probably laundry. I'd do anything to go back to that time and let them take as long as they wanted. Skip the laundry.

We do everything so fast in our lives. We eat fast. We have sex fast. (Did I say that?) We DVR so we can get through our shows more quickly. Sometimes, and I realize this is a sin, I skim books. Now that is a shame.

We're too busy to savor.

I attended the funeral of a best friend's grandmother today. My heart flipped when I had heard she died. She was a very young 96, living in her house up until a few weeks ago. Violet was the sweet lady who always, always had time for you. Like all good grandmas, she fed us well and created amazing concoctions like Tang with 7-Up. But the best part of visiting her was how she always listened and laughed – always having time for you. She had the loveliest of laughs that will be forever imprinted in my heart. There was a reason her funeral was packed full of people.

Between the recent loss of a childhood icon and my brush with pretty orange flowers, I've decided I need to make some changes. Instead of calling Alex only to remind her to take her allergy meds, I'm gonna let her educate me on something she's passionate about, like being the laxest vegan on the universe. And rather than focusing on how Cole still can't flush a toilet, I'm gonna share his enthusiasm over a story about that one NBA player that did something cool that one time. And maybe, just maybe, I'll make them some Tang and 7-Up. The perfect splash of orange.

Can you see the prettiness between the weeds?

Our Colorado Adventure, The Final Entry

It was our last evening in Colorado. We had one more thing we needed to check off our list: Annette. Not a person, but a place. Not possessive, as in Annette's. Just Annette – one of the top restaurants in Denver where Alex's pal and roommate works as an up and coming chef: Jacob Taggs. (Yes, that Jacob Taggs. Local celebrity. You might've read about him in the paper! See the link on his name.)

Disclaimer: I'm no food blogger. The most sophisticated culinary description I can think of right now is "delicious." But I think even Bobby Flay would agree there's not a better word to describe the food we enjoyed at Annette.

On to the actual experience.

As soon as walked in, I fell in love with the atmosphere. It was swanky and intimate without being one bit pretentious. Think of McDonald's. Then imagine its polar opposite. We settled into our table wearing the fanciest clothes we brought to Colorado. The boys sported their best American Eagle T-shirts, because nothing says fancy like a graphic tee.

our last supper

We were given dinner menus by the chummy server who already felt like a good friend. (To be fair, she was a friend of Alex's).  And after the "I'll give you a few minutes," it got quiet in a hurry. Our heads were buried as we perused our food options. Pork Tonnato? Grilled Beef Tongue and Marrow Toast? What were these things? We might've been in over our heads.

A few years ago, Doug and I decided to start sharing meals. Yep. We hit that age. We're the little, old couple who splits their ham sandwiches. We don't always do it, but when we're on the tail end of our vacation and are scraping for pennies, it's pretty much the expectation.

As we studied the menu, Doug asked if I'd like to share something. I was a bit reluctant. Jacob had recommended the "roasted whole fish" which was served with kale, salsa verde and other ingredients I didn't understand. So, I responded, "Sure. Can we have the fish?" He kept looking at me, as if I hadn't responded. Finally, he said, "So you don't want to split anything?" The sharing program only works if I don't eat fish or salad. We agreed. We'd each order separately for this meal.

The server came back, ready to answer a round of questions. Our first task was to get drinks. Seemed easy enough. But it came with its share of complexities. Doug had a house brew, which doesn't sound terribly bold unless you know that Doug is as loyal to Bud Lite as he is to his wife and the KC Royals. I had something called the Palisade Pisco. (I have no idea what it was, but it was dangerously tasty with its tart cherry essence.) My sophisticated Alex stuck with a bourbon concoction. Cole had a lemon and rosemary soda. Michael ordered an Earl Grey and dill soda. When I asked Michael if he liked tea, he said, "Oh, yeah!" Then he quickly changed his order to a Sprite.

Once the drinks were done, we discussed the appetizer. We had all agreed to be adventurous. Thus, we ordered the popcorn. But it wasn't your run-of-the-movie-theater butter-laden popcorn! It was light, fluffy, and spicy. In other words, the popcorn had character. It was gone in sixty seconds. Along with our drinks.

Fred Flinstone Portion!

Finally, after a few refills of beverage, it was time to order. We were ready. Pasta called out to Alex, so she ordered the gnocci. The boys began to order separate dishes when our server cut in. "Just so you know, many of these portions are huge. Most people share." I looked at Doug. Doug looked at me. Fish was off the table. We'd need to regroup. The boys decided to split the Maschhoff family bone-in pork chop which reminded me of the dinosaurus burger from The Flinstone's. Doug and I settled on the wood-fired half chicken. I couldn't be disappointed as I sipped on my yummy cherry drink.

The food came. After one bite of the melt-in-your-mouth poultry with its tangy glaze, I didn't have one regret about passing on the fish. Neither did Doug. We tried each other's food and dined on the side dishes – things like dandelion greens, asparagus and lentils, and fries with garlic aioli. I wonder how many times we shook our heads and said, "mmmm." Amazingly, we had just enough room for pecan pie and vanilla ice cream that made me wonder if I'd ever be satisfied with Dairy Queen again. (I found out a few days later, I would be.) Nonetheless, everything tasted like heaven. As I sit here remembering the feast, I'm a little sickened by the tater tot casserole I made earlier tonight.

Fierce Competition.

After a few hours of a delightful evening, we left bellies full and awestruck by the delicious food. (Jacob had prepared everything we ate, so we extended our highest compliments to the chef.) To walk off our gluttony, we toured the historic Stanley building. Lo behold, what did we find? A foosball table. Game on. Alex and Dad challenged Cole and Michael. As usual, Mom played spectator. It was a vicious match. Early on, the youthful Kramer/Heithoff team dominated. Then memory muscle kicked in for Doug. He and Alex slowly made a comeback to defeat the youngsters who think they're so hot with their Fort Nite and soccer skills. They were good sports, sort of. It was all in good fun.

We were ending our Colorado journey on the perfect note, having shared divine food, comaraderie, and lots of laughter. It was like vacation zen.

Then next morning we bid adieu to Alex and set off on the nine hour trip home to Iowa. The boys would get to watch a little more Star Wars. I'd finally finish 1776 with a few well-timed catnaps. And Doug would drive without the stop and go's of Denver drivers. Vacation was wonderful. We had a spectacular time. And best of all, we got some great pics for Cole's Instagram. But as soon as we saw the familiar cornfields and pulled into our driveway to be greeted by our dog and cat, I felt happy to be back. Maybe that's the best part of vacation: remembering how much you love your home.

Thanks for taking this Colorado journey with me. I hope you enjoyed.

Our Colorado Adventure, Part 3

Have you ever noticed how some people take on a whole new persona when they go on vacation?Take Cole's buddy Michael, for example. He's always a very affable and polite kid. But we all know he isn't necessarily a morning person. So, we were all a bit surprised to see Michael up at the crack of dawn one day as peppy as peppy could be. Then he looked at the clock and said, "That's weird. The time says 7:00." He had been bamboozled by Cole who had told him it was 10:30. He needed to get up! Needless to say, Michael remained very pleasant even at the early hour.

So, Doug can't swim. He doesn't particularly love water sports. But it was vacation and people do silly things on vacation like get up at 6:30 in the morning. I thought maybe, just maybe, Doug would bend. So we continued our debate. Rafting or ziplining?

I have never cared for the idea of free falling from great heights. Roller coasters? Yuck. I did them because I'm a good and attentive wife/mother. And didn't want to witness my family falling to their deaths. But I can't say that I enjoyed those rides. My heart speeds up even as I recall these memories. Ziplining would be no different. So, I continued my plea.

Doug! What could go wrong? Floating down a creek? Safely wearing life jackets?

He wasn't buying the life jacket bit, as if I was exaggerating the reliability of a life vest. Eventually, Doug won. He claimed it would be much better to fall six stories to a hard ground through prickly pines versus being flipped from a raft into... water. How do you argue that? So, that was that. It would be another roller coaster event for me.

The day didn't start off so hot. On the way to Idaho Springs, an accident shut down I-70 rerouting us to take a highway up the mountain. Of course, this was going to make us super late for our appointment with death. You could taste the disappointment in the car. But Driver Doug wasn't giving up. He navigated the hairpin turns as our ears popped. But despite everything happening, the view was spectacular. I wish Doug could've seen what he was driving through. But I didn't dare point out the sights.

Eventually, we made it. The Colorado Adventures Company was entirely accommodating and got us into a different slot. Apparently, Stef Kramer would be ziplining that day.

Lots of quality car time.

Here are the highlights:

• I panicked on the first line. Suffered slight whiplash. Everyone else landed beautifully. 
• Guides love Doug. This happened at ski school. And it happened ziplining. I think they either find it fun to break through his stoic facade, or they appreciate his tough exterior. What fazes that guy? (If they only knew his aversion to that lovely creek we were gliding over.)
• I broke up the only sibling fight of the trip. Only one! And it was a very mature argument. Alex took the side of a proud feminist. Cole took the side of a 16-year-old boy. The kids are growing up.
• Despite my ten push-ups a day, I must look weak. I didn't quite make it to one of the towers – which isn't completely unusual. So, I was easily pulling myself home, hand over hand, when the guide zipped over to rescue me. I was slightly offended.
• By the third line, I was loving it. It was swinging without having to pump forward. A lazy person swing. It was quite exhilarating, really.
• Guess who won Tarzan screaming contest? Out of 11 contestants, Doug and Michael won! They didn't take home any prize. Just pride – sort of. The guide attributed their interesting screams to cracking voices.
• There are no pictures of this event. We couldn't take our cameras, but luckily we could purchase a photo package for $50. After a glance of the proofs, we declined. I was really shocked how short I looked with our group. Apparently, I'm a shortie and a weanie.

It was a good day. I'd even do it again sans the fear. To celebrate our survival, we found a (wait for it) craft beer place in the quaint old mining town. The nachos were never-ending and delicious. But it wouldn't be the most delicious food we would eat. That was yet to come. Just a little more driving ...

Don't look now Doug! You won't look away.

P.S. We couldn't have gone rafting if we wanted to. The water was too low. I had no choice but to brave it up.

Our Colorado Adventure, Part 2

When Alex arrived in Colorado, she quickly noticed how much better her allergies felt. Thus, I was quite excited about the possibility of waking up in the morning without a sinus headache. However, there was just one problem with this theory. Craft beer. Did I mention Colorado is not only known for cannabis, but also for craft beer? Thank God for migraine meds.

Anyway,  our second day arrived. We had been debating between ziplining and rafting. Stef was pro-rafting. Doug was pro-ziplining. The kids wanted to do it all. And why not? It wasn't going to cost them a cent. So we delayed the decision and decided to venture to the Garden of the Gods in Colorado Springs. I was told admission was free, which was good. But I was also slightly skeptical of the coolness factor. I mean, free is often... disappointing.

As is usual for me, I came out of our bedroom wearing a carefully planned outfit. I envisioned us taking a casual stroll, taking a few photos of us in the pretty rocks. Then Alex said, "Mom? You're wearing white shorts and sandals? You're gonna get filthy." Amazingly, the boys were already appropriately dressed. But not to worry! I brought plenty of activewear which would give me the opportunity to wear my new baseball cap. So after a quick change, we were off.

After learning how to drive the I-25 which involves breaking at 70 MPH every five minutes and uttering a few well-placed "how fucking dumb are these people," we made it.

We set off on a path amidst towering red rocks. Cole froze for a second when he caught sight of the "Beware of Rattlers" sign. (Note the foreshadowing here... ) But we convinced him that rattlers are very shy reptiles who do everything possible to avoid humans. I have no idea if that's true, and my maternal sense questioned my sensibilities right then. But we had Doug. He's the sworn protector of the family. I have no doubt he'd give a rattler a darn good fight while the rest of us fled.

Can you see them?

We walked and climbed, walked and climbed. We met other fellow Iowans. We witnessed scenery so beautiful that Cole and Michael could only describe it as being as good as CGI (computer-generated imagery), which I found ironic. We saw fathers videoing young tikes zipping up the side of tall rocks. Would I have allowed that? Not in a million. And while I might've had to hold a toddler Cole back on the idea, I wouldn't have had to worry about Alex. She was the little girl whom I had to coax down the park slide. She was the girl who practically had her father sign a contract to never let go as she learned to ride a bike.

Apparently, she accosted those fears. It wasn't long after we were near the top of a certain climb when she led Cole and Michael into a forbidden area as I yelled at them not to go. It was the weirdest thing. They acted like they didn't hear me and went right over the blocked off area without one ounce of hesitation. I'm extremely happy to report they all came back out unscathed of falling debris without getting a $500 fine.

We made it through the day without any snake bites, twisted ankles, nor rocks hitting our heads. We got fresh air, exercise, camaraderie, and great pics. We topped the day off at yet another craft beer joint, in which Michael in his adventurous spirit attempted an unfortunate PB&J burger and the legals tried a new and different ale. We quickly understood why Colorado is known as the fittest and drunkest state. It strangely reminds me of my marriage. And it works! Really, really well, in fact.

Better than CGI!

Anyway, the Garden of the Gods didn't disappoint. The only real challenge was helping Cole come up with a a caption for his Instagram post. We capped off a good and successful day without spending hordes of money. That would change soon enough.

Upcoming episodes: Whose fears were conquered? And which unlikely spot did we find a snake of all snakes?

Our Colorado Adventure, Part 1

Last Sunday we took off for a family vacation. With our daughter in college and using her time off to do spring break-ish things and the rest of us doing the soccer tournament circuits for the past twenty years (it seems), the old family truckster was due for a trip – a real Clark Griswold and his gang type of trip.

We debated where to go. Then fate decided for us. Alex got an internship in Denver for the summer. The Rocky Mountains became our destination. I didn't quite know what to expect, but I was certain we'd discover majestic scenery while pacifying a mother's heart by spending more than just a few hours with our long-lost daughter.

So, we set off for the nine hour drive to Aurora where Alex dwells this summer. In the Traverse was me, Doug, Cole, and Michael (the honorary Kramer kid and soccer brother to Cole.) I decided to do a little video diary to capture our spirits. I love the anticipation of a trip! Who doesn't, right? The chance to experience a different world. The thrill of trying new things. And the simple delight of not having to respond to 100 emails in a day. I was certain our troop felt exactly the same way!

Okay. So there was just a tad bit of skepticism as we took off. (I had to cut off the end due to my son's vulgar nature.) But I wasn't deterred. As a matter of fact, within minutes of our departure, we came across the sight of two eagles! Two beautiful eagles! I couldn't help but think it was a sign of many more great things we'd see. We just had to get through Nebraska first.

We crossed through the all-too-familiar cornfields and cattle pastures. The boys continued their in-depth study of George Lucas with a Star Wars marathon. I toiled through some light summer reading – David McCulloch's 1776. And Doug took the bullet and drove. After several hours, we were never so excited to see the Colorado welcome sign! The scenery was certainly about to change.

Except that it didn't. As we drove through dry and barren plains, Doug kept repeating a line from Dumb and Dumber. "I think that John Denver was full of shit." In truth, it was a bit boring. I kind of missed Nebraska. Yet! I was still undeterred. The unremarkable nature of that scenery was offset by the anticipation of seeing the mountains and, of course, our daughter.

Eventually, we began to see the outline of the Rockies. At first, I wondered if it was my imagination. It was like seeing a pencil drawing with some light shading. Then, boom. They were there in all of their glory as if they had been waiting for our arrival – like someone else actually was: Alex!

Alas! Father and Daughter

After a full day of driving, Alex guided us to downtown Denver for some art and the first of many craft beer joints. The boys especially enjoyed the art after discovering a large painting of what appeared to be Star-Lord from Guardians of the Galaxy. Doug especially enjoyed the beer. We all loved the pizza. But my joy was more straight forward. I was happy we were all together. And I was still anticipating great things, as the first travel day seemed to indicate. And there were many great things.

In the background: Star-Lord?

There'd be adventure forcing us (mainly me) to face our fears, intense competitions, deep conversation (obviously with two 16-year-old boys), incredible scenery, a culinary splurge, and plenty of laughter. Too much for one blog post. So, I'll sign off for now. But be sure to stay tuned for the next post to read about what we found in the Garden of the Gods.