weekend getaway

We've never stayed in a hotel room as a family. With kids, I mean. I've heard it can be really tricky and I'm sure those parents are no liars. It's tricky sometimes to get our whole family to sleep in our own cozy little beds. So . . . . here's the closest thing to us staying in a hotel. Brett's doing a 4 week rotation in Clay Center ks. We went out for a visit this past weekend and had a grand old time there. Just for the record, there are 4500 people residing in the sweet little town. No McDonalds . . . not that I frequent the place, but hotcakes did sound better than the nutrient void breakfast I got at Sonic. What a bad decision. Anyway, here's the skinny on our funny sleeping situation. The student apt. is located at the back corner of a partially finished basement under the hospital. That alone is funny to me. One minute, you are in the clinic . . . unlock a door and go down lots and lots of concrete stairs and you meet . . . Some kind lisping lady in a cage surrounded by taller than normal shelves full of colorful files and files and files. And I'm serious. It was a cage. Studded for sheetrock and then instead, covered with chicken wire stuff. Smaller squares though. Small enough holes for Warrick to get his finger stuck in and cry about it. Then to top off the weird cage file lady . . . they had hung small stuffed animals all over the chicken wire. So odd. And ironic. The animals are on the outside and kind lisping lady is inside. Raw cement floors, ceiling, walls and fluorescent lights. So, one minute you're in the clinic and the next you're stuck in a weirdo movie. I thought it would be unfortunate to work in these conditions, but, of course, there are worse things. Pass through the "lunchroom", complete with brainstorming posters about creating a better workplace and lots of leftover good food from the drug reps (thank you kindly for the free panera and pizza hut pasta) and we come to Brett's apt. door. Inside, looks like a mostly regular hotel room but with hodge podge towels and sheets that some one, no doubt, kindly donated. Furnished with small fridge, sink with disposal and microwave. One very nice feature was the small room shelved full of insurance claims to Blue Cross Blue Shield and every other insurance company, and oxygen masks or something I'm not familiar with. In our case,this small room was the nursery. Vera slept like a queen in her pack and play in this little room smelling of paper and envelope sticky. Perfect. It was on the other side of the bathroom. With the exhaust fan going, we were set. Warrick slept comfortably on a blow up mattress (don't tell me kids aren't supposed to sleep on them, I already know.) Here's another funny thing. You open the "closet" door of your "hotel" to find the secret land of record keepers. SHOCKING. One is always alarmed to find another human in their closet, but here are 5 more kind ladies, none of these lisping, but all working away in the little basement office room you thought was your closet. The records team. With quick access to your hotel room. Awkward. Awkward. Awkward. Try to stop your 2 1/2 year old from opening that door when you're changing clothes . . . since of course, he's made friends with these lovely women and they all think he's charming. But am I charming in my underwear? I guess it depends on who you are. And yet, another funny thing. What do you do when you are on vacation and the weather is worse than expected and your husband is working away and you have no where to go, but to play in a hospital basement? You bring matchbox cars, for one. You utilize your resources and unload the "lunchroom" drawers of their utensils and make up games with them, you push your son around on a wheely office chair. And then you let him push you. And then he pushes you so fast that you break the chair. Oops. Well . . . Brett pulled a wheel from another broken one and fixed it anyway. Then you drive to the grocery store in town, then to the John Deere and tour the machinery. We actually went the night prior when Brett was with us and climbed up into several large something or others. Sprayers, combines, big big somethings. I'm sorry, I'm not entirely ignorant about farm equipment, but mostly. And get this, the keys were in one of them. But we opted not to drive it around. Very tempting though . . . . very tempting. Utility park is a really lovely place. The Pipeliner's Wives, whoever you may be, chose a wonderful community service project by repainting the park swings and merri-go-round, everything parkish, by the way. Beautiful. Utility park also is home to the Clay Center Zoo. Interpretation: Cement and chain link cages housing wild animals smelling of urine. Now, while this sounds incredibly negative (it would be, if you were made to run in grass and climb trees and interact violently with other animals). But the positive side, is that you get to view very wild animals up very close and very personal. Arctic foxes. Deer. A bizarre assortment of birds. Wolves. Bunnies. Emu, which make the weirdest dinosaur noises, if you didn't already know. A black bear. Tiny twin goats that made friends with Warrick and let him pet them for a long time. And the highlight . . . . the monkeys. They entertained us well, and even inspired Warrick to climb fences. But, here was the grown up funny highlight. The guy that feeds the animals in the morning says, "Yeah, the mommy is the mommy of the daddy, and the daddy got one of his babies pregnant. So, we're a little worried about what this one's gonna look like - maybe five legs or some kind of deformity. " Draw that family tree. I guess it's funny, but kind of sad and gross too. So . . . a funny substitute for a vacation, but Brett and I both agreed that it was memorable and that the people of Clay Center, with great consistency are very kind and generous of spirit.

tonight

Don't tell me I'm pathetic. I already know. It doesn't matter. But . . . whatever. Here I am again.

I was reading one of my old posts tonight and realized there are some precious and funny memories I need to record before they vanish from my hazy mind.

We have become quite good friends with some neighbors, Kent and Tiffany. Our children adore them, particularly Warrick, as he is of age to really communicate and connect with people. Recently, they were over in the evening and Kent was relaxing and icing his knee, I believe, when Warrick began the go to bed routine with Mr. Kent. Piling pillows and quietly referring to him as "Kenty", he imitated what Brett does for him every night. He tucked him in and Kent played the part so very well as he lay on the heaps of pillows, two of them were pillow pet lady bugs. But then things took an interesting turn. First, Warrick carefully placed a plastic praying mantis on Kent's chest, "Here you go Kenty." So quietly, so sweetly. Then a felt pancake from their kitchen set, then he gently placed a tiger puzzle piece on Kent's forehead (all the while Kent's eyes are closed as he is sleeping for Warrick) and moved in so very close to Kent's face.

"You're a tiger." He whispers. His nose an inch from Kent's. "You're a tiger. You're a tiger." over and over and over.

It's funny as it is, but when Kent is thinking that W is just doing the nighttime routine, imitating what Brett does, he's begun to wonder now if we're subliminally training our child to become some fighting animal. We laughed really really hard.

We're in the process of keeping heads above water. Barely . . . anyone with 2 children under 3 would understand, I would think. But we really like our kids, and we still like each other. Brett will finish school in a few short weeks and we'll begin the transition again . . . . starting over, again . . . making new friends, finding a good church, getting our bearings, grieving over what's left behind . . . again. It's hard.

And it's harder still when you're not exactly excited about where you're headed. Mostly because it's not what you originally imagined, but also because we like what we know and I don't know this new town. So . . . I have lots of days where I need to vent and be upset and then try to get some perspective and correct my attitude.

I'll try to get some pictures up soon. My daughter is turning into a beautiful, sweet little thing. And her brother is still a chatty, sturdy, silly and emotional charmer. Still doesn't know a stranger. Still doesn't understand being quiet. "LOUD MUSIC MOMMA!" It's been so precious to watch them love each other and make each other laugh. "hold her momma" while Vera giggles and tries to grab whatever she can get her hands on of him.

And my husband . . . don't even get me started. He's incredibly helpful, an expert on our son, so supportive of my endeavors, so level and steady, such a hard worker and so kind and careful with his words. Even though the dishes aren't altogether "clean" per se, after he's done the dishes, he still does help sometimes. He's brilliant and is excelling in school. He wakes up at 5:30 in the morning so he can study for at least an hour before anyone else is awake, and so he can spend time with us in the evening. And he's really nice to me and he still likes me, even though I'm tired a lot of the time and stressed because our lives are so full and unsettled right now. I'm really proud of him, and so lucky to have him.

That's all I've got right now. Should be in the shower or packing or asleep. But will try to be here more.