Fair Winds

It's still early in the season here, but Providence gave My Hero gorgeous weather for his birthday (Happy Birthday!!!) and he finagled one of the only boats that was actually in the water moored just off Long Island Sound. I'm not going to lie. The cold bit through two sweaters and my coat. Wind must be cold blooded like a reptile, because it generally comes out after the sun has been up for a while. In our case, that was the last hour of our sailing time.

It was GLORIOUS!

We met a new friend (NF) who had at least 20 years of sailing experience. NF and My Hero generously coaxed me into taking the tiller while we had the precious wind. Normally, I stick to the sheets (ropes) and follow orders because I find the tiller counter-intuitive. Last season I logged a total of 40 minutes on a Sunfish before a lightening storm blew in. I was holding sleeping Mermaid the whole time. I'm not exactly a helmsman. So I was embarrassed to take the tiller in front of NF and didn't want to steal any of their wind time. This is not what is meant by "willing to learn."

I felt the wind working with our little vessel and the tiller started to make sense on a visceral level. I had to concentrate, but I made a successful tack. That was probably the longest I was ever at the tiller. My Hero fell in love with sailing first. I'm right behind him.

We didn't take any pictures, but it felt something like this:


Click here to learn about the Nortons, a family of 5 from the UK who are sailing around the world, expanding our dreams and spicing up our geography lessons. We all adore them!



I recently learned about this book promoting the value of sailing as a family in this day of decreased family leisure time and increased division due to digital devices. Here is the quote that sold me:

The best way to get people into sailing and keep them interested, says Hayes, is the time-honored relationship of a capable mentor and a keen apprentice: “Mentoring is teaching infused with leadership. Mentoring may center on a principal skill or a capability like sailing, but its mastery isn’t exclusive to the skill or the technique, but to the broader understanding of what makes the skill or technique valuable and relevant.”

Family, Mentoring, and Sailing - three loves of mine.

Fair Winds!

Story Problem

“Can we listen to Hannah Montana?” Already, I was dubious about the wisdom of this endeavor. One pregnant woman on a 30 hour road trip from New York City to St. Simons, Georgia, minus one busy husband, plus four children under ten stuffed shoulder to shoulder in a minivan; great idea or hormonally induced catastrophe?! I had avoided traveling alone with kids since a blizzard stranded me as the sole pair of arms to bear the baggage, car seats and collective tears of three small girls watching an empty luggage carousel make its pointless midnight rounds. Though my devoted husband, My Hero, wasn’t available for this new adventure, we had places to go; life to live! Besides, there are no blizzards in September. True, we had added a fourth child (a boy!) in the intervening years and I was well along in a new pregnancy. Still, I only planned to fill the van for one day each way. I would deposit Star, my type-A firstborn, and Angelfish, my wanderer, with their aunt in Maryland while I continued to Georgia with the clingy younger children, Sparkle and Torpedo. Once in Georgia they would be completely absorbed into the same-age children of my hosting friend. Essentially, it would be a kid-free vacation.

This paradisiacal plan sprouted from an humble intent to tour the White House. My Maryland sister had importuned her congressman and six short months later our extended family had been granted access. New York to D.C. had been the impetus upon which our “side trip” to Georgia embellished. This was also supposed to be the easy part of the journey. But the distance between point A and point B now stretched into a sharp, eternal ray. Near stand-still city traffic meant hours in the car, guzzling our allotment of bottled water, covering very little distance. Even with the aforementioned pop diva, once all that water raced through their little systems the typical whines took on a fevered urgency. Only ten miles outside of the city, I informed my belligerent brood that we could not possibly stop this close to home. Star voiced the growing consensus, “Mom, we’re hungry and we have to go!” Maybe the diaper days weren’t so bad after all. I envisioned unbuckling, entering, sticky fast-food fingers, tense whiny exits, and buckling four sweaty bodies back into the same seats now dusted in pretzel crumbs, all deviations from my plan. My shoulders dropped in defeat and I mildly resented the universal release of tension from my triumphant mutineers as we rounded the next exit.

My boy set a New Jersey Turnpike record for the most items attacked by a single toddler at a single rest stop. I grimaced and supported my pregnant belly with one hand while sprinting past indecisive travelers, blankly thumbing artless postcards, to save the Sunglass Hut from Torpedo's disastrous touch. I did not get there first. Star did. Her steady hand deftly caught his chubby wrists before he even grazed the expensive eyewear. Where did she come from? Still in the astonished moment, I spun chasing Torpedo with my eyes. He was headed for the arcade, but Star and Angelfish were racing after him unasked and with surprising success. His small stature enabled him to dart through travelers, but he couldn’t shake them. My husband calls the addition of each new child a “promotion” to which I respond by rolling my eyes, but maybe he had a point after all. I couldn’t safeguard four children at a busy rest stop by myself, but maybe I could delegate. I had to delegate. Angelfish supervised Sparkle at the food court table. Star shadowed our two-year-old Tasmanian. I shouted directions from my position in a slow line for fast food. A well timed rest stop always lightens the mood. For me it was something more, more than a high fructose corn syrup haze. It was the revelation that I could count on my children for meaningful help. We were becoming a team.

Traveling hours are like dog years, especially when listening to “tween” music. I snuck in a few lectures regarding lyrical subtext, but I also memorized many of their favorite songs as we perfected our stereo time-share. Confession: I actually liked most of it. Star's shot-gun seat gave her the most freedom of movement for car dancing, but Angelfish shook her abundant copper hair to great effect. Miraculously, Torpedo slept soundly despite Sparkle “dancing” in the back of his chair. My short legs didn’t allow much room between my belly and the steering wheel, but I caught some of their standout moves in the rearview mirror. Their car dancing choreography all seemed to fit together coglike until it suddenly didn’t. We were only 90 minutes from our nighttime destination when Armageddon rumbled behind me. “She’s leaning on me!” Push. “Well, she hit me!” Glare. “We already listened to her song five times.” Smirk. Shove. “WuuuaaaahhhHHH.” Torpedo wasn’t sleeping anymore. No debates. We veered onto the exit ramp for another micro-managed rest stop. Well past bedtime I finally pushed in the parking brake at Grandma’s house. We could boast an enviable collection of free local maps from the last rest stop, but that would have to wait till morning. We quietly sank into the deep slumber of those who sit too long and stretch too little.

We had two excursions planned for our time in D.C. The White House tour was obviously the jewel at the center of this chain of events. But first we squeezed in a big kids visit to Mount Vernon while Grandma babysat. We had annual membership passes and a systematic approach. We had already viewed the welcome center, the main house, the herb gardens and slave quarters on previous visits. We determined that an indoor expedition would be wise as the mercury was pushing 100. So we kept a steady, if somewhat limp, march over the few hundred sweltering yards to the education center. Beads of sweat were already forming on Angelfish's brow and Star's cheeks were pink with the heat. We had nearly reached our turn off when a free shuttle bus parked at the stop immediately in front of us. Maybe Torpedo's absence made me adventurous. One glance toward my matted girls raised the question. Our deliberate plan included air conditioning and educational opportunities, but this bus shuttled to a boat waiting on the Potomac River only a mile or so away. They resisted. “We need air conditioning.” Nevertheless, they loyally followed me through the open doors where we joined several elderly women in pastel pant suits and name-tags. I smiled, “Hey! The bus has A/C.”

The half-sized bland colored bus bumped along steep forest trails like some ancient roller-coaster ride. We braced ourselves. More than once, I expected to hit a tree. How many pacemakers had been activated on this pilgrimage? We lived to behold to the lazy Potomac river. Other sweaty tourists who had survived the shuttle bus sat under a pavilion fanning themselves with glossy brochures awaiting the next boat. Dust from the departing shuttle bus had settled before we realized that no boat rides were included in our membership. Bummer. We instinctively felt the miles separating us from the air conditioning so precious in southern climates. The unusually calm river did nothing to abate the humidity and supported an abundant mosquito population. I had gambled and lost.

Trudging up the return path, we discovered a four-acre living museum plantation on our left. We hadn’t seen it in shuttle bus blur and I had never heard of it. No other tourists were there. In fact, it almost seemed we had stepped through a time warp to find farmers planting cabbage, touching tobacco plants and carding cotton. An encouraging breeze picked up and carried the cool of the river just across our cheeks and shoulders. My delighted daughters spent the next two hours receiving private training in the horticulture techniques of the 18th century. Watching Angelfish converse with an elderly farmer and plant cabbages in the dust, dripping in costume jewelry rhinestones and sweat, it struck me that my children were between times. They were between fashionista and farmer, between city and country, but also between childhood and the adult world. They were between following and leading. I realized that ‘between’ was a wide open space full of surprising opportunities.

Emboldened by our Mt. Vernon successes, I felt ready for the White House. My childhood dream was coming true. Background checks and security measures which stripped us of water bottles and cell phones only added to the prestige. We were prompted at every turn of our self-guided tour not to sit, not to touch, and not to breathe too freely in the historic halls. My children complied. They didn’t sit on or touch anything. In fact, I had to catch my breath just to keep up with them. They raced past photographs. They barely registered paintings, décor or the craftsmanship of custom cast doorknobs, molding, fire places, etc. They whizzed through so quickly that I wasn’t sure if they’d seen more than an historical blur which probably looked much like any other blur. After the fact, they did recall “sparkly chandeliers” as the standout feature of the famous building. This 25 minute jog through the big white house with “sparkly chandeliers” had been the premise for my entire adventure. I was flabbergasted.

Nevertheless, a pattern for success began to emerge: if the kids were willing to try new things and I was willing to be flexible we all had fun. I enjoyed being with my children. They enjoyed being with each other. They enjoyed being with me. In this miraculous moment I did not want to leave them behind. Given the choice, I wanted to spend 20 more hours crammed in the car and two more days unbuckling, buckling and spreading Georgian sand everywhere with my children. I invited Star and Angelfish to join us. They weren’t impressed by my palm tree appeal, but to my amazement, their proclivity for sleeping in won them over. Evidently, waking up for the seminary class Auntie was teaching that week was less desirable than squishing in the mini-van for 20 hours where you can, after all, sleep.

On departure morning there was little eagerness. Fearing mal de mer, Angelfish nearly escaped without eating breakfast. Sparkle couldn’t find her shoes because she wouldn’t look for them. And Torpedo arched his back in opposition to the car seat. Only my ten year old gem, Star, sparkled with cooperation. Of course, she was riding shotgun and felt the pleasure of her new privileges and responsibilities; not the least of which was controlling the radio. Before the first CD ended, Angelfish did lose her breakfast in the backseat. Armed with a container of wet wipes, Star bravely released her seatbelt and shimmied into the backseat to minister to her suffering sister. With all of the windows opened, our noses eventually adapted to the offense. I empathized with Star. Responsibility was sometimes overrated. Only nine driving hours left for the day.

As we trekked further south of the Mason-Dixon line an odd pattern emerged. We had to make multiple stops for every break. One stop would provide public lavatories, grassy spaces, picnic tables and huge civil war plaques; another stop to fuel the car and a third stop for food. That meant fumbling with seatbelts at least 20 times and finding eight pairs of shoes. Growl. They were clean and well stocked, but in a region famous for its hospitality, the rest stops were unexpectedly inconvenient. Star chased squealing Torpedo in a game called “Don’t die in the parking lot.” Luckily, she was mostly winning because I was too tired to play. I merely watched from the little nest my crossed arms made for my head on a rough hewn picnic table. Angelfish and Sparkle entertained themselves by balancing on the raised gardens ledges around civil war plaques. They found fun at a rest stop with nothing more than a public lavatory, historical plaques and some picnic tables. Surely I could pick myself up by my sandal straps and exhibit a little enthusiasm as well. I corralled my sticky, smiling family around a huge sign boldly declaring “Georgia” and took a picture to prove to my children, lest any of us forget, that I did take them somewhere…once.

Then, I almost took them nowhere. We arrived on St. Simons island after dark. Even a small island can hold infinite wrong turns. Star instinctively understood “Are we lost?” was taboo and transmitted the message to the backseaters who stopped rumbling about the lack of travel tunes, food, space, light, etc. She shifted calmly into navigator mode and maintained constant cell phone communication with my girlfriend as I repeatedly traversed the same few blocks in the last uncertain minutes of our drive. Thanks to her, we finally parked in front of the correct house and stumbled onto the spongy southern grass. “You made it!” my friend cheered. “What’s that smell?”

We had a singularly happy time with our friends against the gorgeous and varied setting of St. Simons, Georgia. Serendipity netted us 19 live sand dollars, an amazing chocolate bread pudding and countless tender memories. Our return trip was smooth. We functioned in concert; little cogs fitted tightly together in a watch. If the cogs were separate, they wouldn’t bump into each other, but the watch would stop. We bumped into each other constantly, but we could soften the blow by working in rhythm and responding to each other’s needs. Yes, we made more unplanned rest stops. We bought greasy, sticky food to make our blood sugar soar. We buckled on shoes and seatbelts ad naseum. We got lost again. And we may never get all the crumbs from the secret crevices all minivans hide, but we will never forget our journey. Based on this proof, my hopeful hypothesis is that the odd family in this story problem can continue at the speed of happiness from point A forever.

Olympic moment

I ran a marathon today!

I know. If I didn't do it myself, I wouldn't believe it either.

I just want to leave you with my favorite quote from Angelfish:

"Mom, do you feel like an Olympic champion even though you didn't get to stand on a podium and you had to put your medal on yourself?"

Yes, Angelfish. I do. =)

The Oy! in Ahoy!

We had our first solo family sailing trip.  Yep! Everyone came.  All the kids including Mermaid. After a 3 hour drive to Tom's River, NJ (yeesh!) we finally got our boat and hit the water.  Torpedo hated the idea from the get go, Sparkle was inclined to be bored and Mermaid was just along for the ride.  The rest of us had at least done the classes previously.  

It was a new boat, new waters and 3 new sailors, so there was a bit of mayhem (and screaming from a very scared Torpedo).  We dropped one sail-tie in the water straight off, ran into one of the channel posts trying to recover it and then lost Angelfish's hat into the water.  It was a freebee from a conference, so we decided to let it sink to the bottom.  

After the initial turmoil, we regained our bearings, remembered some of what we had learned in our class and managed to make our way up and down the river without running into anyone/thing, not running aground and keeping all the O's in the boat.  BL (Bottom Line):  we ended successfully!

Post-sailing allowed time to throw rocks of various and sundry sizes into the water from the pier, a chance to use the bathroom and eat, then over to the ocean for an hour or two of watching the sun set behind us and watching the moon rise in front of us.  Truly glorious.  

Some bad traffic on the way home.  We arrived at 11:30pm (12 hours round-trip) but we did it! Gosh darn it.  And we're proud of it.

Outcome:  Sparkle changed her mind and decided sailing wasn't boring at all, but rather liked it.  Torpedo decided screaming his head off wasn't helping him or anyone else around him and settled into it gradually, and Mermaid managed to stay upright in the boat thanks to her "Bumbo" seat.  Star, Angelfish & Tangerine managed the sails beautifully and My Hero got some much needed skipper practice time.  (Tangerine even managed trimming the sails while nursing!  Amazing.)  We left with 2 adults, 5 kids and we returned with 2 adults, 5 kids.  Success!  Ahoy matey!

pre season

Our first beach trip this year lasted about 15 minutes, but we met our goals of getting out of town and seeing the ocean.

Slam edition-Des Moines

After Las Vegas we routed through Denver to see family which is always a good time.  Denver marked the end of the vacation portion of our travels.  We had to get down to business, log miles and haul it home.  We hit Des Moines right on schedule, but then we hit a deer!  That was not on our schedule.  

We saw two deer dart into the two lane interstate.  I looked at the speedometer and noted that My Hero was able to slow 10 mph to 60 before we collided with one of the deer.  He didn't swerve, just came to a stop.  I remember saying, "You did a good job.  You did the right thing."  This was later verified by Geico and Iowans alike.  Swerving usually exacerbates the problem.  We were unscathed, but shaken.  The kids were especially scared and we wouldn't let them get out of the car.  There was glass everywhere, but we showed them the pictures that we took.  Four cars (including one Semi) pulled over behind us and they say the deer flew 40 feet in the air before landing beside the road.  The deer did not fare so well.  We used our magic phones to call our insurance company.  Meanwhile a police officer pulled over, walked up to my window and said, "Welcome to Iowa."  He got an accident report for us pronto.  

Then we used our magic phones to google for repair shops near Des Moines (at this point I'll stop being shy about it; I'm completely in love with my iPhone) and there weren't so many shops open after noon on a Saturday, but we found one only 30 miles backwards.  The engine was fine, so I put on some ski goggles to protect myself from flying shards of glass and held a map over the windshield hole with my feet.  My Hero took it nice and easy.  After we settled into the waiting room at the repair shop, I started to get the shakes and tears.  People started telling us stories of untimely death and destruction in similar scenarios.  The inside of our car looked as if it had been sprinkled with pixie-dust, there was so much glass, but no one had been cut.  Finally, the air bags did not deploy.  For short people like me, that can often cause the most damage so I thought that was a miracle, too.  It was basically a three hour delay in our journey and some hotel juggling to get us on track again.  I'm feeling tender about life.

 

We didn't see the deer as we passed the collision spot.  We have two theories.  1.  The deer was merely stunned and eventually scrambled to it's feet and continued on it's way as well.  2.  There is a list in Iowa for people who want to haul away fresh road kill as cheap, delicious wild game (this part is not theory), so we think somebody took the deer home for dinner.  Maybe someone from the list or maybe one of the four cars that pulled over to make sure we were okay.

Hug somebody

Glam edition-Vegas

Now for something completely different...  We went down to Vegas to see a Cirque show ("O" of course!) and visit the incomparable Skouson family.   The "O" show was a no go ;) but I had never been to Vegas so Erik indulged me with a walking tour of the strip.  Nothing compared with the Virgin River Gorge (no pictures because I was busy jaw dropping the entire ride), but my favorite parts of the pleasure town were all at the Bellagio:  Conservatory Garden, Baccarat glass, Cirque sculpture gallery and the fountain show.  I'll have to go back for that Cirque show and a cheap steak dinner...oh yeah, and the world's largest chocolate fountain (also at the Bellagio).

Zion 2

Our second day in St. George, I stayed home with our super sleepy canyon hikers and worked on an article about traveling with children.  ErikMy Hero and  the "big kids" returned to Zion's for horseback riding lessons.  Another gorgeous day for my gorgeous cowgirls and their maverick papito.  Take home lesson:  riding horses is not glamorous.  

All's Well in Zion

On our way home we swung south through St. George and Zion's National Park.  Honestly, I never knew Utah was such a cool state...and I lived there till I was 10 and all through college.  I guess I just never DID anything there before.  It's a lot of fun.

P.S. visit St. George in the spring because I think the 102 degree days dehydrates some of the fun out of it.

Skiing

This was my 4th time skiing, but it was a first for the girls.  It was so fun to watch them go and, I'll admit it, it was really fun to leave them with the instructor.  I mostly stuck to the blue routes but My Hero took on a couple of black diamonds for his birthday.  

WAHOO!

After 12 years of marriage, another first... snowmobiling!  I was definitely nervous because I didn't want to get stuck or hit anything, so we played it safe and went to the gorgeously groomed trails of Daniels Summit Lodge.  My Hero got the hang of it right away and was tearing up the snow off trail.  I think I was more of a 'cross country' snowmobiler.  I was just taking it nice and easy only taking a couple of well worn off-trail circles.  

Slow and steady wins the race.  Because I was taking it slow and My Hero was hopping off the trail every chance, I got ahead of him and we were separated.  When he caught up with me, I think I wanted to show off a little.  You know, impress my man, so I went off trail and ended up WAY off-trail.  I couldn't make the turn back onto the trail and went over the slope.  I fell off the snowmobile right away as it dropped out from under me and it just coasted down the hill until it finally parked itself in the trees.  Wah-oops!  There was no serious damage to me or the snowmobile, but it was exhausting trying to stamp down 3 feet of snow or use a pine lever to help it out.  Unfortunately, I wasn't much help trying to budge a 500 lb. machine buried in powder.

We finally admitted defeat and headed back to the lodge for reinforcements.  Yikes!  I had been taking it about 20 mph on my own ride, but now I was hanging on around My Hero's waist going his normal speed - 40-50+ mph.  There were some awesome off trail rides he just couldn't resist, so he was tearing it up with me hanging on the back.  Did I mention the snowmobile seat was branded with a picture of two people riding a snowmobile with a slash indicated Do Not Do This?  Well, it's a good thing we did because I got to enjoy some adventure I never would have considered on my own and it was a totally blast despite practically blowing out both of my knees as I tried to stay on.  My Hero actually liked riding with me in the hootchie-mama seat following all of his moves and keeping him warm.

Once we reached the lodge the lovely and wind chapped Jesse came to help us.  What?!  I thought we could just tell him where it was and go home.  I could barely stand.  Evidently, we had to show Jesse the stuck snowmobile guru where it was and then I had to be there to drive it back.  So...I hopped back on with My Hero and braced myself for another ride.  Jesse wasn't just a stuck snowmobile guru, he was also a speed demon like My Hero.  We made it to the crash site in record time.  Two brawny men were able free my ride in about 10 minutes.  It's a good thing I was there.  I had to rev the gas as they pulled it in reverse, very important. ;)  

We were finally on our way again.  I was still cautious on the ridges, but when the trail opened up, so did I.  After all, My Hero had shown me how to do it and the worst of my snowmobiling fears had already been realized resulting in little more than a dented bumper.  In fact, I was loving this adventure.  When I came to the flats, I actually pinned the gas and broke 50 mph on my own.  I saw My Hero take a jump and a spill, but he just hopped back on his machine and continued tearing it up.  WAHOOOooooo!

P.S. I think the reason I don't look as cool as My Hero is that none of the adult helmets fit, so I had to wear a squinky child's size helmet w/o fierce face guard.

Feeding Horses

Today is March 3rd. Today is the day that we, (me, Urban Tangerine, Angelfish, Mermaid, Sparkle and Torpedo) went to feed the horses. First we went to ask permission. Then we went to feed them. The first thing we had to do was climb over a barbed wire fence, which to me is always a little bit scary to do with Torpedo. Next we had to walk on a very short but very muddy path that took us into the pasture where the horses were. When we said we were going to feed the horses, I had thought that meant with a fence in between me and the horses. Instead we were feeding them right there with them walking around us. We fed them apples and threw carrots at them (without hitting the horses). When the horses started coming closer to us, I started running. I was so scared, I was the one holding the bag of carrots and the horses were sort of half following me.  Sparkle had already run out of the pasture for fear too and was yelling "Run for your life!" and guess what, I did! Angelfish, Urban Tangerine, Torpedo and Mermaid stayed back and they fed the horses some more. Finally though we did leave the horses but they followed us to the edge of the pasture which made me think that they might follow us all the way out. But thankfully they didn't.

Posted by Star