What We Do

We hit the road last week to go on another road trip.  This time we upped our game, we brought along Tim and the dog, the whole family.  All seven of us hopped in the minivan after Peyton's baseball game on Thursday and left town.  

We left town to reconnect.  We left town to make memories.  

This trip marked the very first time in the history of our family that we have been on a vacation that didn't involve visiting other family or going on trips with other family members or traveling to a baseball tournament.  This trip was something I've wanted to do for years--just us.

Up North was our destination, actually Big Lake in Gaylord, Michigan.  If you live in Michigan you understand that going "up north" means going anywhere north of where you live and it involves a lake. In the land of great lakes, that phrase covers a lot of ground.  But it really could have been "out west" "down south" "across the river"...I only cared that we were going to be together for a few days.  Together to make memories that we would talk about forever.  

I tried to keep expectations low, but we were all really excited about this trip.  Especially Tim and me.  Even though the pressure was on, the trip worked out, it actually exceeded our lofty expectations.

It was the kind of trip that reminds you about all the good there is in growing up and summertime and family and S'mores and simple pleasures and being together and laughing from your gut and soaking up sunsets.

We jumped off the dock, skipped rocks, caught fish, kayaked, went on boat rides, sat by the fire, roasted marshmallows, played cards, told stories and more.  It was like summer camp.  It was buggy and un-fancy and familiar and comforting and relaxed and happy.

 
We left the cabin to do a few tourist-y things.  We found a festival in town.  There were rides and caricature artists and flower crowns.

  

Tim was terrified of the Ferris Wheel.

We took a ferry to Mackinac Island.  The island is car-less, everyone rides bikes and horses.  And everyone eats fudge, the island is famous for making delicious fudge.  

The whole island was picturesque and sort of perfect.  Well, until we showed up.

 We brought a gluten-free picnic lunch and ate it on the lawn of Fort Mackinac overlooking the boats and the town.  It was perfect until JT threw a potato chip to a seagull.  Yup, then a million seagulls surrounded us and we grabbed our food and took cover.

After our hilarious picnic fail, we did a little sight-seeing.  The island is also famous for a hotel, the Grand Hotel.  

So, I thought we should go take a look at it.  We marched our way across the island laughing and bickering and people watching.  We were stopped right before we got to the hotel.  "Excuse me, are you guests of the hotel," the woman asked looking my motley crew up and down already knowing our answer.  

Maybe it was the holes in Tim's shirt, the bird poop on Peyton's neck or Wade and JT wrestling on the sidewalk, I'm not sure what exactly gave away the fact that we were way too un-fancy to be guests of her hotel.

"Well, just to let you know there is a charge for non guests going any further," she smiled.

I felt like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman except I'm not a hooker and I have a gaggle of children always following me--remember the scene in the clothing store. Ahhhhhh!  "Come on guys, let's get out of here," I informed my family who looked confused.  As we walked back to wear the common folk gathered, I might have muttered "who needs your dumb fancy hotel anyway, even if I had extra money I wouldn't pay you to stand on the porch."  

Down by the ferry dock, we found an outdoor, free graffiti art board. Creative self-expression, color, messy, un-fancy...right up our alley.

This trip reinforced who we are as a family.  That wasn't my plan, it just kind of happened. When one of us tried kayaking for the first time, we cheered each other on and when we got the hang of it we raced each other because that's what some of us do.  When one of us only wanted to fish the entire time and didn't particularly enjoy scary ghost stories at the bon fire we said "that's cool" because that's what we do.  When birds pooped on our picnic, we ran and squealed and laughed our heads off because that's what we do.  When we couldn't afford a million souvenirs or walking around the fancy hotel porch some of us got dissapointed but we got over it because that's what we do.  When all of us were sitting on the boat together not racing to a practice or a game or work or a friend's house, we had fun because that's what we do.

I don't think the children understood how precious this whole weekend away was the way Tim and I understood it.  I doubt they were looking at each other and wanting to hold onto the moment forever like I was.  But maybe they will remember it, maybe they will be stronger for it and know that we are an un-fancy family that loves big, accepts, supports and encourages each other, gets on each other's nerves like all families but gets over it quickly and that we love a sunsets and road trips.

Quieter Than Normal

The house is little quieter with only two little boys here (the big kids are away at Grandpa Camp for a week).  Baby Wade plays with his cars like normal and then all of a sudden looks up and says "Where's Buddy?" He asks like he just realized his big brother wasn't around, even though it's been days.

Wade then goes back to the business of making another "set up" with his cars.  He's very intense, then he'll look around and ask "Where's Lucy?" Again, like he just noticed she too wasn't around.  These scenarios are repeated about 500 times a day.

JT is taking full advantage of not competing with his older siblings for attention. Nature walks and baseball with dad.  Lots of Wii.  He seems to be living it up and loving it.

My husband does indeed have an extra large head, but this picture is ridiculous. I promise, it's a big head, but it's not a scary giant head like this picture implies.

But at night, they both get sad and insist on snuggling together on the floor of their room.  

They miss their big brother and big sister, and cannot fall asleep unless they are side by side.

I feel sad too and miss my older babies.  But I'm treasuring the time with my little ones.

Walk the Line

This week I will be playing the role of an over emotional, slightly irrational almost 40-year-old mother of four who struggles with change.  Oh wait, that's my role every week.  Ugh.


Sorry folks, but this week it's going to be a little more intense.  I dropped my two oldest children off in another state and I am prepping to go back in time (to a sometimes not so happy time) circa my 20th high school reunion.


I drove to Pittsburgh, PA straight from closing ceremonies of a busy week of vacation bible school (VBS) at our church.  A week where my kids sang sweet songs, made new friends, hung out with old friends, learned mildly (and not so mildly) scary stories about the Crucifixion and made crafts. 

A week where I ran the snack room and felt like a youth group volunteer hanging with my buddies in the kitchen.

Most of the snacks we served were healthy.  I bought 40 pounds of grapes last week.  Okay, the most popular snacks involved spray cheese and other not so healthy options.

Armed with our VBS CD, snacks and a slightly better working AC (still no husband who happened to be out of town for work) we headed off for the Burgh where Grandpa Camp awaited my two oldest children.  


Last year was the first year Peyton and Lucy went away for a week with my dad.  It was hard for me, but amazing for them.  They have looked forward to going back probably since the day they left last summer.


This summer has been an interesting challenge for me as a mother.  After JT broke his arm, I went through an "everything is scary, danger lurks everywhere" phase for a couple weeks.  I thought I was over it, but my "don't be afraid of living" attitude was challenged within the first 30 minutes of our arrival to Pittsburgh.  

My dad lives on a cliff in the south side of Pittsburgh.  An incline car used to carry people up the cliff many, many years ago where his house now sits.  There are remnants of those old incline cars/lines still on his property.  There is a roof top deck, 30-foot walls, steep staircases, a hot tub and more.  These are some of the reasons why Grandpa Camp is only for the older kids.


But those older (supposed to be wiser) kids proceeded to sit on top of that 30-foot wall upon our arrival.  My dad and I knew not to react too excitedly or they might fall.  I am not kidding.  We had to talk my kids off the ledge.  They had no idea of the danger, they hadn't even looked at the other side.  How did I raise such not-very-smart kids?


I couldn't sleep that night.  I couldn't get the image out of my head of what could've been.  Then every could've been ever started running through my mind.  It was 1 a.m. and I called my husband who was driving home from the airport in Michigan.  "Tell me stories of all the dangerous things you and your brothers did growing up," I begged.  I needed to hear kid survival stories.


He sure gave them to me.  Stories of riding 40 mph on dirt bikes with no helmets through the woods at age 10, jumping off the roof of his house, seeing how long they could hold onto the electric fence before being knocked down to the ground with electricity and more good stuff.


Kids do scary things, dumb things.  It's normal to be not-so-smart.  My dad and his wife will love them and look after them, they will be safe. And I am beyond happy that my children get to spend time with my father and make such special memories.  They will have the time of their life and look forward to camp next year.  And I will dwell in a place of happiness and anxiety, joy and fear.  I will walk the line of parenthood (and sanity).


As I drove away to head home with my two littlest boys in the van, they asked to hear the VBS music.  Reluctantly, I put in the CD and started playing the songs that we heard only 2,035 times the last week.  I started singing louder and louder.  I cried a little.  I felt the music.  I felt the lyrics.  "Isn't this great kids?" I yelled back.  No reply.  My little boys were sleeping.  I shrugged and continued singing to God to give me strength for the journey home and beyond.

Camp Part Two-It's Never Too Late

So I went to camp with my kid last weekend.  

Click here to read about how amazing it was to connect with my kid, because this is not that post.


As I packed for camp, I worried about the whole "unplugged" aspect of it all--24 hours without my iphone?  And could I bring my sound machine, because sleep doesn't happen without that.  I worried that the camp would be too rustic and unheated.  And don't get me started on my feelings about nature.  (Click here for some back story.)

But my pal, Steph, reassured me that I would love camp.  And I trusted her, sort of, and set off for an adventure. On the long car ride there (really it was only 30 minutes), I wondered if my anxiety about camp involved more than just my fear of unplugging.  Guess what? There's always more to the story.


I went to fifth grade camp with my elementary school a million years ago and I remember it being a pleasant experience.  But I never went to summer camp.  It looked cool.  My cousin went to camp and came back with all these fun songs and great memories.  


Summer campers and camp counselors seemed very wholesome and wonderful to me, very grounded.  Something I didn't think I was.  My parents got divorced when I was 12 and I promptly quit the band, dance classes, the softball team and getting good grades.  All of a sudden I became a wannabe burnout.  My role models were all those trashy video vixens from the mid-eighties.    


I smoked cigarettes in the woods next to my middle school, stole my parents car, threw parties at my house,  drank a lot of alcohol and did other things that even I don't feel comfortable sharing here.  All BEFORE high school.  Tough, too cool for school, trying to be way too grown up before I even got braces.

By the time I was 14 I felt guilty for so many of the things I had done and my bad behavior, I felt like there was no turning back.  So yeah it's safe to say I sure as hell wasn't a very grounded kid, but wholesome and wonderful I think I still could've been.


But here's my lesson to all you wholesome, grounded, wonderful wannabes--it's never too late.


Sure at camp last weekend I felt a little bit like the Ally Sheedy character in The Breakfast Club...misunderstood, dark and twisty, weird, but sweet and creative if you gave her a chance.  Middle school/high school shit is hard to shake out of you sometimes.




But after being at the camp for just a little while, things started to get really good.  It was fun.  We helped the kids unpack and I got a room where I could plug in my sound machine (yay!). The campfire was amazing.  The kids told jokes and sang songs.  Several of the chaperones had to go help push a car up a hill (it was a very snowy night) and my pal Steph and I ended up leading some of the songs.  Without a real camping background, I was at a bit of a loss....so I led the kids in a fantastic version of "Celebration."  When in doubt, Kool and the Gang is always a safe bet.  Not very church camp, but hey remember where I'm coming from, at least I wasn't singing Motley Crue's "Shout at the Devil."


It just kept getting better--there was gym time with fun games, ghost stories, nature walks, cafeterias, crafts, sharing and more.

This is my pipe cleaner craft.  We had to make something out of seven pipe cleaners that described us: mine was a big heart, that is a bit dark and twisty inside, but full of love for my four babies.  I don't know if the kids got it when I shared it with the group. (Remember I never claimed to be crafty....this is not a craft blog, obviously.)

After settling the kids in their bunks, the chaperones met in the main room to hang out and talk.  

Look at these wholesome and wonderful snacks, albeit not very healthy.

We stayed up until 3 a.m. talking about all sorts of silly things and important things.  It really was a little like The Breakfast Club because we were all very different people coming together and having this bonding experience.


It was just all good.   My inner 14 year-old bad ass inner child finally felt worthy.  Just like how I discovered running in my 30s and felt like an athlete for the first time, it's never too late. It's never too late. And just so you know, I didn't leave the bad ass all the way behind...I tweeted from my bunk bed and talked during the silent nature walks.  Yup, there's still a rebellious part of me too.


We (I mean me and Steph) re-enacted the dance scene from The Breakfast Club--yup we did all the parts.  We are totally fun campers for real.

Camp Part One--Connecting with my Kid

Last weekend I went to camp.  I signed up was signed up by my pal Steph.  She excitedly wrote both our names down to be chaperones at our kids' church retreat.  It sounded like a great idea, but the closer it got, the more apprehensive I felt.


It's no secret that my oldest child, my most serious and thoughtful 10-year-old son, Peyton has started to pull away.  Not in any abnormal dark and twisty way.  In the I am one year away from middle school way.  My jokes are embarrassing.  He leaves the room when we start to dance in the kitchen.  He rolls his eyes just a little, calls me "mom" instead of "mommy" and is almost as tall as me (which isn't too tall, but still a little crazy for me).  

For years I've been telling sarcastic jokes to my imaginary friend.  You know like when the little kids tell me they are not going to brush their teeth ever again and they've decided to wear socks on their hands forever; I laugh a little and say "okay, great, see how that works out for you" under my breath.  Nothing too harmful or scary.  But now when I make those comments I hear laughter.  The littler kids still run away unaware that I might be making fun of them a little and excited about their brilliant idea to wear socks on their hands, but Peyton gets it.  Sometimes that's good, sometimes that's bad.  


Even though I do get a laugh when I am making fun of his brothers and sisters, he rarely laughs at anything else I do. And I get it, I shouldn't be making fun of anyone to bond with him.


And to be honest, I don't need him to think I'm funny or cool.  I need him to know he can talk to me, trust me.  We need to stay connected, because I know it will not get easier during the teen years.  And quite frankly, I can't get much cooler.


So, when Peyton, my shy, not really happy about trying new things son wanted to go to the church retreat and didn't mind that I would be chaperoning, I jumped at the chance.  Okay, maybe I didn't jump, but I felt hopeful.


I'm not a girl who gets really psyched about new things either, wonder where my poor son gets it. I like sleeping in my own bed, with my sound machine and waking up and to have a cup of coffee in the same cup every morning.  So as the day got closer I asked Peyton, "Are you sure you want to go to camp?  And you are okay with me going?"  He did and he was, so I packed.

It turned out to be the perfect scenario- we were together, but not too together.  You see, I could help out and be around, but I wasn't all up in his business.  He slept on the boys' side of the cabin with the dad chaperones and I got a swanky (I use this term lightly) middle room where I could plug in my sound machine (diva behavior alert).  


I got to to watch my quiet son have fun, sing songs, tell jokes, play catch, go on nature walks and more with his friends.  And he saw me devoting my time to his friends and him, helping to make the trip fun and meaningful for his friends and him. 

It just happened to be the snowiest and coldest weekends we've had here this winter. 

The highlight of the retreat was at the campfire when my very own son requested that I sing "Sama Kama Wacky Brown" (An old Brothers Four song my parents used to sing when I was little, that I now sing to my children; but couldn't find on YouTube to share with you, but trust me it's fabulous(-ly silly).) to the group.  And you better believe I brought the house down with dance moves and vocal range (if I do say so myself).  

Peyton was watching with a smile, not the "god mom, you are so dumb" smile.  It was a "you are a goof ball, but I'm glad you're here mom" smile.  I might be wrong about it, but I don't think so.


So very glad I went on the retreat even though I didn't sleep much (Read more about that in the next installment Camp Part Two coming tomorrow. Yup, a teaser!) and didn't have my normal coffee cup.  I connected with my kid and that feels great.




On a totally different note...I think you should subscribe to my YouTube Channel, Jumping W/My Fingers Crossed, click here to ch-ch-check it out.  There's a bunch of fun videos I've featured here on the blog.