Red House: Part Eight

Read Part One
Read Part Two
Read Part Three
Read Part Four
Read Part Five
Read Part Six
Read Part Seven

Getting The Princess out of the water and onto the dock is proving to be a bit more difficult than I had anticipated. Did I mention the fact that the lake is over fifty feet deep out by the swimming dock?

Thank goodness we’re the only family down here right now. Grunting, holding a squirmy Princess in one arm and grabbing onto the ladder with the other, I heave us out of the lake. The Princess is not happy, to say the least.

Huffing and puffing like hippo with a hernia, I flop myself into the small shaded portion of the swimming dock. The Princess, who is still unwillingly attached to me (whoever invented the little handle on children’s life jackets, I love you), is pulling with all her might to get back to the water.

Whirling around to stare me in the eyes, she gives me the look: the one that tells me I have mere seconds to rectify the situation before I lose her. Unwilling to let autism win this one, so soon after we’ve arrived, I spring into action.

I call out across the dock to Gumma and Umpa to let them know we’re coming, then crouch next to The Princess and tell her we’re going to go on the boat. I ask her to walk with Momma over by Gumma and Umpa, and I promise the holy grail: fruit snacks.

Holding hands, we make our way to the stall that shall be our boat’s home for the rest of the trip. The whole way, I’m giving her a play-by-play, trying my damnedest to let her know what’s coming so she’s not caught off guard. Sometimes I feel as though I’m talking to myself, but the mild embarrassment is worth it if she understands even a fraction of what I’m saying, so I keep going despite the heat in my cheeks.

We’ve arrived on the finger pier next to the boat, and I’m crouched down again, looking her in the eye. I explain that I’m going to hand her to Gumma, and that we will all ride in the boat together.

The look she gives me in return is priceless. Grinning, she turns to Gumma and raises her arms.

Stay tuned for Part Nine.

Red House: Part Seven

Read Part One
Read Part Two
Read Part Three
Read Part Four
Read Part Five
Read Part Six

The water barely even feels cool against my skin.  I have to dive down about six feet before I feel any real relief from the heat.  Coming up for air, I find myself face-to-face with The Princess, who is laughing her you-know-what off.

Apparently, it’s funny stuff when Momma dives over ya.  Who’da thunk?

We giggle and splash by the swimming dock while Gumma and Umpa get the boat in the water.  I’m trying to show The Princess how to propel herself forward by kicking, but – hard as she tries – she can only seem to go backwards.  To me, this is entertaining as all get-out.  A fierce look of determination as she angles herself toward me in the water is quickly replaced by utter confusion when she starts to go backwards.

As we’re both laughing about the fact that her little transmission seems to be stuck in reverse, Gumma comes around in the boat.  They’ve successfully launched, and Umpa is going up to the resort compound to dump the trailer.  He’ll be back to meet us in a few minutes.

It’s time for a boat ride.

Stay tuned for Part Eight.

Red House: Part Six

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Read Part Two
Read Part Three
Read Part Four
Read Part Five

While Gumma and I unpack, Umpa and The Princess explore the cabin that shall serve as home base for the remainder of our trip.  She grins and runs at top speed from one end to the other, giggling the whole way.

It’s about a hundred degrees outside, and by the time we’re done unpacking we can’t wait to get in the water.  All four of us hop in the truck and head down the treacherous hill to the dock area, which is about 20 feet higher than normal.  The regular parking lot is under water, and people are using the road as a boat launch rather than driving over to the marina two coves away.

Now, let me preface this next part by reiterating how much I love my Pop.  He is far and away one of my very favorite people on this earth.  But he’s got a bit of a temper.  Sorry, Pop.  Love ya, man, but you can’t deny it.

When we get down near the launch area, there is another vehicle ahead of us.  This vehicle is, honestly, blocking the road unnecessarily.  There are a few kayaks poking out of the bed of the truck, which could easily be walked down to the water from the parking area to our left.  Granted, the folks in and around the truck seem to be taking their sweet time, but it isn’t nearly as catastrophic an event as Umpa would have you believe.  To hear the cuss words streaming out of his mouth in increasing volume and see him pounding the steering wheel, you’d think someone had popped him one in the nose…or worse, insulted his granddaughter.

The atmosphere in the truck is quickly turning toxic, and it suddenly occurs to me that The Princess and I don’t need to deal with this.  We’re not at the marina; we’re at our own dock, for crying out loud!  I grab my little girl in one arm, her life jacket in the other, and march off toward the dock to get her properly outfitted.

Now that she’s secured in her life jacket, The Princess can safely walk out and explore the dock.  The very moment she realizes she’s walking on a floating thing in the middle of the water, she loses all pretense of disinterest or composure.  Her eyes get as big as saucers, and every part of her little body begins to quiver, she’s so excited.

I take her down to the swimming dock at the end and carefully lower her into the lake.  She bobs there for a few seconds with a bewildered look on her sweet little face.  Never in her life has this little one seen so much water.  Finally, awe replaces the shock.  She looks up at me on the dock and cackles.

I laugh and jump in.

Stay tuned for Part Seven.

Red House: Part Five

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Read Part Two
Read Part Three
Read Part Four

I think this is the first time in my (ahem, cough, cough) years of going to Red House that we’ve actually arrived prior to check-in time.  The Grumps, while I love ‘em to pieces, are those people.  You know the ones: they’re perpetually late and the family tends to tell them things are happening two hours before they actually are?  Yep, that’s my folks.

Today, though, we’re all so jazzed that we actually get out of Bob’s hotel before the regular check-out time.  Another first for The Grumps, I’m sure!

Leaving the bustling town where we’ve spent the night, The Princess and I watch our surroundings turn more and more natural, the roads more and more red.  I feel my blood pressure going down with every mile we travel through the beautiful landscape.

Along the way, The Princess sings and smiles, dances and plays.  I just can't believe how well she's doing with all this car travel.  In a million years, I never would have guessed.

Within a couple of hours, we’ve arrived in town, completed our grocery shopping, and wound through the turny, hilly, red-paved roads that lead back to the lake.

Umpa parks his truck and boat near the front office, and I finagle my little car into a gravel patch right next to the pool.  Reaching into the cooler in the boat, we pull out a couple of PBRs, pop the tops, and breathe in the fresh air.  We can't help but grin.

We’re here.

Stay tuned for Part Six.

Red House: Part Four

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Read Part Two
Read Part Three

The next morning, The Princess is bright-eyed and bushy-tailed by 7:00.  Whatever it is that we’re doing with all this driving and sleeping in funny places, she’s on board.

Gumma and I drag The Princess out of our room in her swim suit.  She’s been game for everything we’ve thrown at her since leaving Gumma and Umpa’s house yesterday morning, and I am in awe. 

We walk hand in hand across the red-paved parking lot to the deserted pool.  The closer we come to the water, the flappier my girl gets.  When she finally realizes that we are actually going in, she lets out a squeal of glee that melts my heart. 

We get in the shallow end, and she happily bounces around like a rubber ball.  I pick her up, and she kicks.  I blow motor boat noises in the water with my mouth, and she cackles.  She sits on the edge and splashes into my arms.  We make no less than eighty-five laps around the shallow end before heading back to our room, where Gumma has returned with breakfast burritos from Sonic and Umpa, Jessie, and Arlington are patiently awaiting The Princess’s return.

Snarfing down a couple of burritos each, we pack up our stuff and load the cars back up with the necessities we had brought in.  It’s just starting to get hot out, and I’m getting excited.

In only a few hours, we’ll be at Red House.

Stay tuned for Part Five.

Red House: Part Three

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Read Part Two

I simply can’t believe how well she did in the car on the way to Bob’s hotel.  I mean, I don’t even remember being that agreeable on my trips down here with the fam when I was younger, and I didn’t have as credible an excuse as The Princess would have.  I’m just floored with how well it went.

Yes, the first leg of our trip was a smashing success.  And The Princess knows it.  She’s tearing back and forth across the hotel room, from the door to the bathroom and back, in a frantic attempt to burn off some steam.  The kid just sat in a car for ten hours, for goodness' sake.

Giggling all the way, she and Arlington make that mach-speed trip from the door to the bathroom and back no less than eighty thousand times.  Hair flowing behind her, smile plastered on her face, she kicks it into gear and runs.

By the time she starts slowing down, The Grumps and Momma are getting famished.  Leaving Arlington the Attack Giraffe back at the hotel with Jessie to guard our precious belongings, the four of us jump in my little car and head down the hill to Applebee’s for dinner.

Little Miss Picky shows us her true potential in the back corner of this smoky Applebee’s.  After successfully polishing off her mac and cheese, she turns her fork on Momma’s plate, proceeds to eat half my broccoli and then starts trollin’ the Grumps’ plates for more.  Apparently, I’m not the only one who craves veggies after an entire day of junk food being eaten at 70 miles an hour.

After dinner, we head back to meet up with Jessie and Arlington.  The Princess resumes her running after going – again – in the potty with the funny blue water.  She and Arlington zip back and forth like a couple of track stars.

By the time she collapses on the bed with me, the soles of her feet are black as tar.

Stay tuned for Part Four.

Red House: Part Two

(Let's just continue on as if we hadn't just taken a month-and-a-half break, shall we?  If you need to catch up, read Part One here)

Cruising down the road, following The Grumps’ truck, we’ve got the windows down and the radio up.  That’s right, The Princess is jammin’ to Zac Brown, dancing in her seat.  She doesn’t like Rascal Flatts, though.  Slightly creepy how much like her momma this little gal is turnin’ out to be.

Ah, hell.  Silly old Grumps have decided to take us through H-Town, where the main road has been under major construction for more than a year now, and traffic crawls at the best of times.

An hour later, we’re still jammin’ to the radio in our little car, though the windows have gone up and the air has been turned on.  I catch her eye in the rear view mirror, and she flashes me her pearly whites.

We drive and dance, snack and play.  Each time we stop, we hit the potty.  Momma’s always armed with a fresh Pull-Up, but – joy of joys – we don’t need even one during the ten-hour first leg of our trip.

We pull into the parking lot of Bob’s hotel, where we’ll be staying the night before completing our journey in the morning.  We go inside.  She tinkles on the toilet and laughs at the blue water in the bowl.

Stay tuned for Part Three.

At This Point

Wow, for someone who prides herself on being a glass-is-half-full kind of gal, I sure am complaining a lot lately.  For that, I apologize.

But seriously, at this point, it's getting comical. 

Yesterday afternoon, I went out to my car before taking my lunch time walk around 1:40, and all was well.  When I left work at 3:45, someone had hit the side of my car and left white paint scrapes right under the sideview mirror that they had completely sheared off.

The fun part?  The weenie didn't even leave a note.  Isn't this what insurance is for?  I'd have left a note. 

Now I'm responsible for taking care of the damages, which - surprise of surprises - we can't afford, even through insurance because of our astronomical deductible.  I filed a police report and the hospital security team is checking surveillance footage to see if they can find who did it.  If they can, that person will be responsible for the repair.  IF.

So, after wasting half an hour assessing the damage and making my report, I missed dinner.  I drove directly to school for my Spanish class, holding my mirror in my left hand the whole way to avoid it beating itself to death on the side of my car during the ride.  You see, it's an electric mirror, and the electrical is still intact, even though the housing was completely broken off.

Once I made it to the school parking lot, I found a black canvas bag under my seat and used it to secure the mirror as best I could.  At home, we busted out the duct tape.

In case I haven't already made this perfectly clear, I'm done with July.  D-O-N-E, done.  Come on, August...help me out a little, eh?

Taking a Deep Breath

Okay, so we're all running around like chickens with our heads cut off.  I get that.  It's summer, and things get busy and hectic and frustrating and, and, and.

But this is ridiculous!

July has been one of those months.  You know, the ones that test your limits by nudging you closer and closer to the edge until you finally fall off?  Yeah.  One of those.

First, there was the stupid traffic violation on vacation.  Can I just say that red light cameras leave a lot to be desired?  There are situations in which you cannot safely stop; for example, say, if some jerk is two inches off your bumper and you have your kid in the car.  Slam on the brakes and get rear-ended or sneak through the light on pure hope...which would you do?

Then there was the storm.  The one that knocked out our power for four solid days, effectively spoiling every perishable item we had in the house.  We'd gone grocery shopping a few days before the outage, and we shop for two weeks at a time...usually a good thing.  This time?  Not so much.

We had to re-purchase all of our groceries.

Oh, and did I mention the three gigantic fish in our downstairs freezer?  I think I may have posted about that already. 

And then I went to turn on my home PC on Monday for the first time since the storm.  It's fried.  Kaput.  Dead as a doornail.

I'm worried about my computer.  I'm worried about paying the bills.  I'm worried about putting food on the table.  I'm worried about school.  I'm worried I simply have too much on my plate at the moment.  I'm worried that if I don't do something about it, something's gonna give...and it ain't gonna be the right thing.

Y'all know I've always been a glass-is-half-full kind of gal.  Still am.  I just think the universe is trying to tell me something here, and perhaps I need to take a break from some of the other stuff until the important bits straighten themselves out.

Taking a deep breath now...but don't you worry your pretty little heads about me.  I won't be gone long.

Just Too Tired

This past Monday morning, a particularly strong storm blew through our area and knocked our power out.  An astonishing number of large, mature trees were struck by lighting, snapped off at the base, or picked up and thrown by the wind.

Fortunately, our house remained unharmed.  The same cannot be said for others around here, though.

To make a long story short, our power was restored on Friday morning.  The work week was interesting, and involved things such as driving to the lake to get jugs of water to be used to flush the toilet, and taking my shampoo for a swim in the lake. 

Since the power has been restored, we've surveyed the situation and found that everything in our refrigerator went bad.  We had hoped the freezers would be okay, but those hopes were a bit naive.  The food in our small upstairs freezer was, for the most part, salvageable. 

Downstairs, however, we didn't fare so well.  Our large chest freezer apparently doesn't have as great a seal as the one up here, and we lost everything that was in it.  This includes three large fish that were waiting to be mounted: two Northern pike and one walleye.  Not only did we lose them; they also thawed completely and coated the bottom of the freezer in rotten fish sludge.

Oy.

Since our garbage collection is on Mondays, we put off the cleanup until this evening.  We figured it made more sense to let the food re-freeze, rather than plopping it all into the garbage can days in advance when the forecast called for ninety-five degree temperatures.

So, that part was a good call, at least.

Since the mount fish were now frozen in about an inch of nasty ice on the bottom of the freezer, we had to get creative to get them out.  We figured out that a hammer did a great job at breaking up the ice, so we proceeded to empty the freezer, laboriously and noisily.

One by one, I brought the huge fish up to pitch into the garbage.  On my last trip upstairs, I noticed The Princess was crying.

She was standing at the gate between the bedrooms and the living room, her face as red as could be.  Tears streamed down her face, and she wailed long and loud.

Right.  She's extremely sensitive when it comes to sound.  Why hadn't I thought of that???

After washing the scum from my hands and arms, I tried my best to comfort her while she let loose with her siren wail.  Eventually, this most pathetic of cries tapered off into a shuddering sob.  There seemed to be nothing more I could do.

And I was sweating buckets from hauling twenty-plus pound fishcicles up the stairs.

The Hubbs and I plopped in our chairs in the (much cooler) basement in an attempt to bring down our temperatures.  Through the floor, I could still hear her crying in her room.

As soon as I cooled off, I was back in her room.  I apologized for not warning her about what we were going to do downstairs and explained that, as hard as we try, sometimes these things don't occur to us until it's too late.

Now, as I sit here typing this post, she's singing herself to sleep.  I think I actually just heard her laugh.

It's been a long week around here, folks, and I'm hoping it gets back to our twisted version of normal very quickly.  As soon as that happens, you can expect the next installments of The Princess's visit to Red House.

But now?  I'm just too tired.

We Interrupt this Broadcast With a Very Important Message

Sprinklers are fun!

And now, back to your regularly scheduled programming.  :)

Red House: Part One

Oil change: check.

Full gas tank: check.

Bags, pillows, Pull-Ups and potty packed in the trunk: check.

Cooler and assorted snackies within reach of the driver's seat: check.

Non-verbal four-year-old with autism who is two years into potty training, the results of which are questionable on the best of days: strapped into her booster seat with Arlington, DP and an arsenal of toys.

Gumma and Umpa pull out of the driveway with Jessie in the truck and the boat trailing behind, and I slowly let my foot off the clutch.  We are commencing the first leg of our 600-mile journey to Red House.  Lord, help us.

Stay tuned for Part Two.

Vacation for Everyone

Twenty-nine years ago, my mom and pop packed Hambone and me in the back of our poo-brown Datsun 210 wagon and headed south.  Hambone and I were both in diapers, and Mom's little brother came along to play with us and give Mom and Pop a little bit of a break.  We ended up at a charming resort full of little red cabins, just up the hill from a gigantic, pristine lake.

Each and every one of us fell in love with the place, and our family has been vacationing there every year since.  Mom and Pop have graduated to going about three times a year now, and I introduced The Hubbs to this family haven a couple of years back.

***

As I sit here in Pop's chair typing on Mom's goofy little netbook, I can't help but feel like a kid on Christmas Eve.  The Princess and I are heading down there in the morning with The Grumps and Jessie (their fur-kid).

This will be The Princess's first adventure there, and I can't wait to show her all of the water.  This kid lives to swim, and you really have to watch her near pools, lakes, puddles...you name it.  She is all about the water.

Well, this lake is a hundred and fifty feet deep in some places, and the water is crystal clear.  We'll see how she does in the boat, and if she likes it, then great.  If not, that's cool, too.  They also have an in-ground pool in the middle of the resort compound, and I have a feeling we'll be spending quite a bit of time there.  I believe, between me and The Grumps, that we've packed something like six little swimsuits for her.  We're anticipating a very wet few days.

And while we're there, The Hubbs will be taking a well-deserved breather of his own. Have I mentioned lately how much this wonderful man does for The Princess and me? He'll be up for sainthood one day, I just know it.

All of a sudden, I find myself breathing a little easier and smiling a whole lot more.  Between my full-time job and full-time school schedule (both of which I love...don't get me wrong), I'm ready for a break.  I'm under no illusions that the road trip will be pleasant the whole way, but I think the pot of gold at the end of that particular rainbow will be worth the hoops we'll have to jump through to get there.

Wish us luck, folks.  We're all on vacation.  (Happy sigh...)

The Movies (according to The Princess)

 Well, hi, all you big people!  My name's The Princess and I went to my very first movie this weekend.  I know, right?  I'm four whole years old, and I ain't never been to a movie before!

Momma and Da say that's because I'd hate it.  They tell me it's noisy and boring, 'cause you, like, have to sit still and junk.  I think they're right.  That sounds about as fun as getting a haircut or going to the dentist...two more things I wouldn't be any good at.

So, anyway, Momma and Da decided to try takin' me to the drive-in movie theater by our house to see how it went.  On Friday, we ate dinner and then piled into the car.  I thought it was really neat, but kinda weird, when we pulled into this huge party parking lot and Momma and Da let me get out of the car.

Da was on me-duty while Momma put down the back seats in our little car and spread out my blankies and toys.

Then, Da and Momma decided it would be hilarious to put me in the back of the car to see how I liked it.  Here's me, sayin' something like, "Whatchoo talkin' 'bout, Willis?"

It was really kinda neat.  The car turned into my own little fort.  The only problem was that the back windows weren't open enough for me to escape.  But I tried.  Oh, boy, did I try.

Here's my Momma and Da standin' in front of the car with the movie screen behind 'em.  They may be older than dirt, but I think they're cute anyway.

Just before the first movie started, I curled up with Momma in her lawn chair (yeah, we roll HIGH class 'round here).  Don't let this picture fool ya...I'm not just here for the cuteness; she also has a bag of super-yummy potato chips in her lap, and that's the REAL reason I've decided to stay put.

The movie hasn't even started yet, and I'm ready to chill out in my car-fort with Arlington and DP.

Momma and Da say that the movies that played on Friday were Cars 2 and Pirates 4, but I'll have to take their word for it, since I slept through the whole thing. 

All in all, we had a pretty stinkin' good time at the drive-in.  Momma and Da even say we might be able to do it a few more times this summer if I'm good.  Yeah, right.  Like I'm the one they need to worry about!

Under the Radar

Well, folks, it's that time again.  The summer semester is well under way now, and it looks as though I'm going to have to take a bit of a break.  I'll try to post as often as I can, but chances are that updates here will be sporadic at best.

Wish me luck!

Any Pointers?

¡Hola!  Me llamo Una Madre.  ¿Cómo está?

Seriously.  I keep trying to translate everything into Spanish!  Did you know that I can now successfully count to 39 in Spanish without really thinking about it?  We haven't learned how to say "forty" yet.  And I can count backwards from 39 to 0, too.  Word to the wise: if you’re trying to learn to count in a different language, take up knitting or crochet.  I’ve been counting my stitches in Spanish, and that’s the best way I’ve found so far to help the information to stick.

Sounds like I have a bit too much time on my hands, doesn’t it?  Well, I can assure you that is not the case.  I’m looking for ways to incorporate this into the stuff I’m already spending oodles of time on, in a futile attempt to help at least some of the new information take up residence in my brain.

I know at least a few of you who read this blog have studied Spanish or another language in the past.  Any pointers?

And last, but certainly not least:

La Princesa starts her summer school classes today.  She conked out at 6:30 last night, and was up again by 12:30 playing.  That's 12:30 AM, as in just after midnight.  I just put her on the bus about ten minutes ago.  Anyone care to venture a guess at what time the Chris Farley dead-fall will occur tonight?  :)

Zonked

Remember when I was raving about the magic pills that made my back feel better?  Well, they're still working...but I've discovered a side effect.  I can't seem to wake up in the mornings.  Especially on the mornings when I come into work an hour early, I feel as if I'm in a fog. 

I sleep like a brick all night after taking these things, but my body seems to be telling me I still need more rest.  Here's hopin' this doesn't last too terribly long, 'cause it's no fun feeling like a zombie.

To All the Dads

As I sit here staring at my computer screen, entirely too late in the evening on Father's Day, I can't help but erase everything I start to write.  Nothing I put into words seems to be enough, and most of it comes across as silly or cheesy when I read it back to myself.

So I'm just gonna go ahead and say it, cheese-factor be damned.

Every little girl has a daddy, a man who she loves unconditionally, who she idolizes like no other.  Mine is called Pop.  The Princess's is called Da (or The Hubbs, but, hey...this is about daddies, not hubbies, so we'll use her name for him).  Others in my family include Grampy, Great Grampy, M, A, Uncle J, Uncle C, and Hambone.

No matter what you're called, you all have one thing in common: each and every one of you is a daddy.  Each of you is high up on that pedestal with good reason, and each of you is loved more than you could ever possibly know.

Here's hoping your Father's Day was half as special as your kiddos think you are. 

Happy Friday

...from one cool chick!

Hope y'all have a fabulous weekend.

Heaven is for Real

Does the title of this post sound familiar?  Have you read the book?

If not, I'm here to recommend it to you.  It only took me a short afternoon, and I'm glad I made the time.

In case you've been living under a rock, this is the story of almost-four-year-old Colton Burpo's visit to heaven during an emergency surgery.  It's told by his father, a preacher from a small town in Nebraska, and - whether you believe in the subject matter or not - it has a way of tugging on the ol' heart strings.  Especially if you're a parent.

I'd offer to lend you the copy I read, except for the fact that it isn't mine.  One of the surgical nurses at work brought it in for me, and it's already been returned to her.  Ask around, though.  Chances are good that someone you know owns a copy they'd be willing to share.