On Freedom, Mini Vans and Pigs

This weekend was perfect. We were child-free for two glorious days. Granted, it required driving up to Maine (Vacationland) on Friday evening of Memorial Day weekend with a very irritable child yelling "I want Boohbah (her pacifier)" over and over much of the almost 2 1/2 hour drive that should only take 1 1/2hrs, but the end result was so worth it. We barely slowed the car down as we handed her off to grandma. In fact, we didn't even drive all the way to her house; we called her and grandpa (Corinne calls them Dumma and Dumpa, which just cracks me up) and had them meet us at our favorite Burger place for the exchange. We've been away from the little darling before, of course, even as long as five days when we went to Puerto Rico. But we've always had a big event like a wedding or a company party or a concert. It was just so blissfully relaxing being child free with no particular place to go. After gorging on the healthy dinner of burgers with blue cheese and cheese fries, we came home and watched a mindless movie. We tried to sleep in on Saturday but we were both awakened by my endless coughing from these damn allergies that I have for the first time this year (normally I would rant here about my theory of new species of plant pollens that are thriving due to global warming, but I'll spare you). We lounged around a bit and did not watch Mickey Mouse or Little Einsteins, thank you very much, and then went out to an uninterrupted and leisurely breakfast.

From there we shopped around for the aforementioned mini van (grumble, grumble). Not much to go into here other than to remark about how lackadaisical we were able to be. How inefficient and relaxed. No rushing home for nap time, or trying to work in a healthy lunch on the run. No diaper changes and snacks (I want a een cereal bar!) and sippy cups (Not wa! I want lem-ade! I want a duce-box) and more snacks (I want dandy!). We listened to our music, especially the completely offensive and inappropriate stuff (No! Not momma's music! I want you music!) And we took all day to make this rather expensive purchase, shopping around and doing our homework instead of the way it went down the time we dragged Corinne with us to buy a flat screen TV (to give you an idea, we were talked into buying exactly the opposite of what we had intended to buy, all the while listening to Corinne, covered in chocolate ice cream and up way past her bedtime, repeating "You all done! You doe home now!" until I wanted to rip my ears off my head, and me saying "you need to wait" and "I don't even care anymore, just pick one!". We ended up returning said TV two days later.)

From there we went to a movie. We didn't really care what we saw, just wanted the sheer pleasure of watching a movie in a theater. We ended up seeing Indiana Jones and the Crystal Skull. It was kind of silly, but then again I realized, when I went back to watch the series I loved so much as a teenager, that they kind of all were. Whole lotta suspension of disbelief required there!

Continuing on with our day of parental indulgences, we ate dinner at the Cheesecake Factory. We didn't even mind a wait and we didn't have to get our check with the food. We talked uninterrupted about, well, mostly Corinne and Pete's work, but there's just not much more to talk about in our lives right now. Pete doesn't really want to hear about the plot of that week's Little House re-runs or about how I scooped the whole yard of dog poop yesterday. At no point did we need to negotiate regarding how many more bites anyone needed to eat in order to be considered all done or to insist that anyone please use silverware to eat their mashed potatoes.

On Sunday we attended our annual Memorial Day tradition, "The Pig Roast". Some friends of Pete's family, Clarkie and Karen, have had this party every year for I think close to 30 years or so and we have attended the last 6 or 7. It really is an amazing spectacle.

First of all, there are usually close to 100 people at this party. Each family brings a side dish, appetizer or dessert, so as you can imagine, the food is bountiful. There's always a theme and the place is decorated accordingly, along with many of the guests. Some past themes we have participated in were Halloween, Mardi Gras, the Chinese Year of the Pig, the Millennium, Planes, Trains and Automobiles and this year, the Pig Olympics. I forgot to mention that the pig features prominently in this event. This couple really digs pigs. They literally have hundreds of pig gewgaws: statues, magnets, stuffed animals, signs, coffee mugs, lawn ornaments, you name it. I'm sure it started as a joke gift or two at Christmas and has taken on a life of its own. Pig items aren't exactly hard to come by (unlike Pete's favorite animal, the sloth). Clarkie and Karen are big time collectors. Their house is packed floor to ceiling with things they have collected (I think I'll save that for next year's post).

Also impressive is that the food is served buffet style on real plates with real silverware (100 people, may I remind you. I'd hate to have to do those dishes) and there's even a rumor that they re-use and therefore hand wash the plastic cups. And there's a lot of those: They have a fully stocked bar and 2 or 3 beers on tap in specially designed keg-orators. They also have their own salad bar. I mean like the kind you see in a restaurant, complete with sneeze guard. They have an outhouse, 4 or 5 tents, dozens of tables, and probably close to 100 chairs. All of these things belong to them. They are like their own private catering/ rental company. In fact, four years ago Pete and I hosted his brother's wedding in our backyard, and we got most of our supplies from Clarkie and Karen. They are my party-throwing idols.

Her shirt says: I may be little, but I'm big on the pig

I was going to include a picture of the actual roasted pig but I decided it may be offensive to some viewers and didn't want any PETA lunatics hunting me down. This is the cabana-like bar.

The famous salad bar. I wasn't kidding!

Round One

So as you can see, it was a perfect weekend. We got our little bubaloo back from Pete's mom at the pig roast, and we always appreciate her a little bit more having been away from her for a day or two. I suspect the feeling is mutual.

Goodbye, Dear Friend

Today we said goodbye to a dear friend.

Groucho was (is! Not was! He's gone to a happy little car farm where he can run free in green fields!) a 1998 Mazda pickup truck. In the past few years his health had been failing. It was never anything major, just super-annoying little things. First his "door open" indicator and overhead dome light wouldn't turn off. We finally just pulled the fuse because it was such a pain to drive at night with the light on all the time. Then the fuel gauge went, so we had to use the mileage to determine when it was time to fill up on gas. Then the passenger side seat broke, so you couldn't access the extended cab backseat on that side. The doors would sometimes decide not to unlock, even with a key. The air conditioner stopped working. Then the lights on the dashboard began to go one by one, so you needed a flashlight to see your speed or odometer. Then those went as well, making it a moot point anyway. We had to just fill up with gas two times a week to be safe and just guess-timate how fast we were driving.

For all his annoying ailments, though, Groucho has taken us a lot of places. He's been cross-country twice for Pete and I and once with Pete's brother. He helped us move all our stuff from one apartment to another before we were married (around twenty trips- I don't recommend it. Just rent a U-Haul!) When the house my sister was living in burned down, miraculously sparing her small apartment in the back, Groucho was there to quickly move all her stuff out before the place was boarded up. He's hauled many a yard sale or "free at the curbside" treasure, or a refrigerator or couch for a friend in need. Many a night has been spent in his cap-covered bed; on camping trips, on nights when we were too cheap to get a real room, on nights when we just couldn't/ shouldn't drive... His cap was decorated with stickers and drawings from places like Carlsbad Caverns and the Roswell Museum in New Mexico, 3 Different National Parks in Utah, and the Barbed Wire Museum in Kansas, along with various assorted stickers of things like Ralph Wiggum and Australian Shepherds and our favorite bands. He was like a mobile scrapbook of where we'd been, an icon of sorts for who we were before we were parents, when we were just a young couple enjoying life on our own terms.

When Corinne came along Groucho became impractical because we couldn't safely put a car seat in him. Therefore we only had one car that we could use as a family. We decided that we would hang on as long as we could, but that the next time he developed a problem that was more than just annoying it would be time to say goodbye.

Well, that time came a week or so ago. Pete came home saying that the brakes were pretty much shot, making an awful grinding noise that was probably the rotor. Not a major repair, but a repair nonetheless. It was time to let go. Pete drove him just to and from the train station, feeling that the highway and hour-long commute into Boston was pushing it too much. Sensing that he was about to be cast aside Groucho decided to let his clutch go as well, making our decision that much easier.

The most tragic part of this story is that we replaced Groucho with...... a mini van. I know, yuck! Not cool. And this from me, the woman who fought tooth and nail against the purchase of our Subaru Forester (who is named "The Family Truckster") three years ago because I thought that was too "dorky and family car". My consolation at that time was "well, at least it's not a frigging mini van!" My, the times they are a changin'! Our rationale on why we chose the lamest car possible: the kid + the kid's stuff + the dog + the dog's stuff + the parents + the parent's stuff + traveling to Saratoga and Maine and Vermont and New York to visit family and friends + yard sales and curbside treasures still to be had + lugging my wares to various craft fairs = a big ol' mini van, sadly. Sigh. All I can think of is "This is not my beautiful car. This is not my beautiful life! How did I get here?"

As we cleaned Groucho out and said our final farewell, there was some mourning for the end of an era, the never-really-very-cool-but-at-least-kind-of-fun couple that once drove this vehicle. Now we move on and look ahead to new adventures with our daughter, who's becoming a pretty fun person herself. We may never sleep in the minivan or drive cross country (though I really do hope that we can do that again someday...), but I'm confident that when the time comes to turn in this car (who I've already named "The Family Dorkster" in my head), we'll look back fondly on the memories that we created in it, this time as a kind-of-fun family.

The Family Bed Experiment

Last night we tried a little experiment. It failed.

Just a couple weeks ago we had a conversation about how it's kind of sad that Corinne can't/ won't/ doesn't sleep in bed with us. Not that we want her to do this every night, mind you. It's just that it would be nice, every once in awhile, for her to come padding down the hall, say from a nightmare or during a thunder storm, and we could all cuddle together, just Morgan Incorporated versus the world. She won't even get into bed with us for a few minutes on a Saturday morning for some good old fashioned tickle time. She just ain't into it. You can't even lie on her floor at night as she falls asleep or sit on her bedside. She barely sleeps in the car and never, even as a baby, crashes out on the floor or on the couch or anywhere but in her bed, alone. I think it's a sensory-overload issue She can't make herself shut down unless the conditions are just so, and having other people around doesn't help that.

Now we realize that the pros of this are obvious. You hear stories of kids making this a permanent habit, of couples who, voluntarily or otherwise, share their bed with one or more kids every night. And as it is we only have a full-sized bed that, frankly, neither of us has had a good night sleep in since the fun of spooning wore off (probably sometime about a month after our honeymoon). Then we have to deal with the cats and their inexplicable need to be on the bed, off the bed, on the bed, off the bed... a hundred times a night. And Seven, who wakes up several times a night panting loudly like she's been chasing frisbees for an hour. All these things have wreaked havoc on our sleep cycle as it is, without adding a new nocturnal visitor. But still, it would just be sweet, just once in awhile...

So the perfect opportunity presented itself this weekend while we were visiting my parents. We have the wonderful luxury of sleeping in a king-sized bed when we stay at my mom's, and my sister had decided to crash for the night, meaning she would sleep in Corinne's big-girl bed ( a twin). We decided to let Corinne fall asleep in our bed at her normal time. We would then slip quietly into bed with her when we were ready to sleep and voila!

All went according to plan initially. She was sound asleep (albeit sprawled across the width of the bed, but that was easily fixed), and remained that way for about an hour or two. Then I woke up to find her sitting bolt upright. "Me me have poo poos" Corinne informed me. And indeed she did. Messy diarrhea-like ones. This required the turning on of the light and the searching for diapers and wipes and the undressing and when all was said and done we were all quite wide awake. I read her a book and then we told her it was time for night-night. Easier said than done. For the next hour she read and sat up and lay down and tossed and turned. I would start to drift off and then she would proclaim loudly " hello momma, hello Dadda, hello you!" and "you awake now!" (she refers to herself as "you", and efforts to correct this turn into an exchange that resembles a three stooges "who's on first?" skit). Then she pretended her stuffed Shamu was crying as she kept bumping him into my face. Finally she quieted down and curled up next to me, but every time I opened my eyes, there she was staring at me, three inches away, "boo-bah" (her beloved pacifier) going a mile a minute, Lisa Simpson-style. Finally, finally she settled in, spooning with me as I had hoped she would, reminiscent of that baby I remember napping with post-nursing.

Around that time Dadda got the Jimmy Legs and couldn't stay in bed another second. I sympathize. Already my arm was falling asleep and I knew I would be lying awake, waiting for when I thought she was sleeping deeply enough that I could move without disturbing her. Well, Dadda got out of bed without issue and promptly bumped into Seven, who let out yelp like she had been cattle prodded. This, of course, woke everyone back up and so it began again. We finally admitted defeat and set up a lovely bedroom for her in the bathroom, making a bed out of couch cushions. This required another 20 minutes of baby-proofing the bathroom, getting the night light, white noise machine, books, drink and toys all set up for our little princess, and putting a sign on the door so that no one would enter the bathroom and wake her up once, God willing, she finally fell asleep again.

So there you have it- our botched attempt at a precious family moment. On the bright side we were treated to a laugh in the morning when I opened the bathroom door to find Corinne standing at the sink with all the tooth brushes in her mouth and 7 or 8 Little People all lined up in a neat row on the toilet seat. I hope she was able to sleep with all those people watching her.