Category Archives: Travel
Niether rain, nor sleet, nor foot in the fire will keep us from our mission.
Pamplin Grove 2013. This was FINALLY my summer vacation – OUR summer vacation. Three solid days of not working. Hanging out in no-reception-cell-range awesomeness. All four of us together. I couldn’t wait.
We arrived. 4 people, 2 cars, a trailer full of gear, and 150 days worth of food.
This isn’t just any camping. This is a weekend where every person in the campground is part of an interrelated family-friends gathering. The gate closes behind us and within the confines of that campground we become part of a giant tribal community. The kids run in packs, the dogs run in packs and the adults do their best to channel low-rent parenting tactics with cocktails in hand and camp-chairs permanently affixed to our butts. Kids are encouraged to scram, armed with a base set of ground rules, checking in only if someone is bleeding or in need of hydration.
We hung our site flag, unpacked our litany of tents and chairs and food and bikes, and joined in the festivities already underway.
Then came day 2.
As I lay in my tent trying very hard to doze and ignore the ridiculously loud prattle of 6 high-pitched child voices around the early-morning campfire, I all of a sudden hear a loud scream emanate from my youngest child, a scuffle and Steve’s voice yelling. Then another more pronounced scream that made me bolt upright and scramble out of the tent. It was all pretty chaotic, and by the time I was out, Steve was already headed out of camp with a screaming Porter. It took what seemed an eternity before I was able to find the mob of kind and helpful fellow campers huddled around my husband and son at the water spigot. Porter’s bare foot had gone into the fire.
It was a bit difficult at first to actually assess the damage. Porter was pretty hysterical, and looking at his foot, the extent of the burn wasn’t immediately visible. One thing was, however, readily clear: it hurt like a mother. Thankfully one of the guys helping us had the dressing materials we needed to get the area properly hydrated, covered and gauzed. From there, one thing was clear – this kid needed some pain meds. And so it was, we headed out to the nearest ER – all the while trying to calm the wails coming from the back seat. “IT FEELS LIKE A THOUSAND ARROWS SHOOTING INTO MY FOOT!”
At the ER, Nurse to Porter: “Okay, so on a scale of one to ten, with one being no pain and 10 being… -NINE!” (the poor nurse wasn’t even able to finish asking the question). Meds were administered and a little more calm evaluation was able to take place. First and 2nd degree burns, side of the foot, most likely no permanent damage, good that it wasn’t on the sole or toes. “You may want to think about cutting your camping trip short.” Steve and I kind of look at each other like, “Um. Yeah, no.” He is going to be fine. We will keep it clean and dry, use common sense if anything looks amiss and you send us back with that nice prescription of pain meds. We will take it from here.
By the time we left, Porter was describing his visions of rainbows and unicorns and proclaiming a gleeful “ZERO!!” when asked by the nurse about his pain level. We got into the car, headed to the nearest pharmacy for a bottle of pills, a bag full of gauze and tube of Neosporin and headed back to camp.
Once back, Porter got a hero’s welcome and the men got right to work on a proper shoe in which he could hobble around. Out. Came. The. Duck. Tape. And that, as they say, was that!
Camp on!
We celebrated Liam and Melissa’s birthdays in appropriate style – with a PBR-themed cape, water balloons, presents and treats. We ate deep-pit pig and lamb, watched the large gaggle of children perform skits and songs around the main communal fire-pit and roasted an insane amount of marshmallows. Somehow, Lynn, Melissa and I all ended up with these sweet Momgyver shirts that another camper had brought for the moms of the group. Porter hung in beautifully. He was disappointed he couldn’t be in the river, but made the best of the situation by parking himself on the beach in a chair while each of us took turns playing rounds of UNO with him.
Last year’s gathering had a broken leg. This year not only had a burned foot, but also a foot-in-wasp-nest episode. Each one slowly fossilizing into legends.
(Psst. You can find the entire photo set here.)
Summer Vacation, blar-de-blar-blar.
Okay folks, I’m going to make this quick because quite honestly I’m already over it just from rounding up everyone’s photos. And when it comes to the “What I did for Summer Vacation” posts, we’ve all kind of been there and done that. At last count, I’ve written about 10 of them, and they have all started sounding pretty much the same. Unless we end up stumbling across a bigfoot or one of the kids grows a third arm, I think there’s not much new to say.
Yes! Steve and I went to Paris, and yes, it was awesome – IT WAS PARIS FOR GOD’S SAKE! AND, we were staying with friends. Yeah, it’s like that. We ate all the great food and drank all the great wine wine and saw all the great history stuff and spoke all our horrifically horrible French.
Yes! The kids were treated like royalty by their doting relatives and given everything short of matching blue ponies.
Yes! We saw the mountains, the beach and the finer points of the Central Valley.
Yes! We are tanned, and tired, and all 5 pounds heavier.
The pictures will sum it up much better. You can click through at your own pace over on Flickr, or you can watch the exquisitely crafted slideshow (not really) over here – but be warned, it will take you a while (about 14-ish minutes at last count) – and it has audio. Oh, and you probably don’t want to watch it unless you really like looking at our kids. Just sayin’.
(Photo credits go to Grandma Judy, Grandma Dani, Aunt Celene and myself – taken with various cameras and phones – accordingly, quality will vary. Amended photo credit: Shannon S. Yodowitz, because she threatened to sue me if I didn’t give her credit for the four photos she took. Effing lawyers.)
My Summer Vacation: 2009 Edition
Okay, so we recently completed our annual pilgrimage to our homeland. I know you know this, and I know you have been waiting. But life returned from vacation, does not equate to life without interruption, and I have spent the better part of the week trying to exhale.
Basically, it was pretty much our typical summer outing. We briefly interrupted regular scheduling by immediately heading out East and leaving our precious cargo behind with the grandparents. Those kooky grandparents – they always insist they love it, but I know, deep down, that is the heat hallucinations talking.
We enjoyed our visit with Andrea and Brian – it was almost like we had never left. Except for the part where their house actually had furniture this time. I’m fairly certain that in the 7 days we were there we doubled our physical selves. I can’t even blame it on water weight because I was so busy experiencing the lovely, sweaty, goodness of the deep south in the summer. We ate infamous hot dogs of rural Hanover County, notable BBQ and sides (um, collards, oh yeah), elegant thai cuisine, greasy local faire and the piéce de resistance: the bar and grill that was prominently featured throughout every season of Dawson’s Creek. There is quite a story surrounding Brian and I’s relationship with Dawson’s Creek – his while he was recovering from cancer, mine while I was stuck on the couch breastfeeding without any cable. I don’t need to tell you how magical of a moment it was for us to each witness the life-sized autographed poster on the wall. It was almost like Pacey and Joey were right there. Sigh.
While gone in NC, the kids effortlessly transitioned between grandparents, living large with all the sights and experiences of summer. The Grandparents Walston kept them busy with swimming, science museum, library and art projects. The Grandparents Anderson kept them busy with rustic cabin living and blow-up backyard water features. There has also been this bizarre ongoing ritual that my kids have established with my mom called “Wedding”, which explains why Porter seems to always be dressed like a low-rent street-walker these days.
And speaking of Porter, this brings me to the part of the vacation that will, undoubtedly be the most triumphantly memorable. Don’t get me wrong – this was a wonderful, and memorable vacation full of friends and family and relaxation – however, when I remember this summer, it will be memorable for one gigantic reason: by the time we returned from North Carolina, Porter was 2/3 of the way potty trained. I KNOW! We were periodically updated on the progress via the various phone calls home, but it wasn’t until we returned that we stood witness to the beautiful glory of Porter running in announcing that he had to go pee, and shooting off to take care of business. Plus, yes there is a PLUS! HE GOES AT NIGHT TOO!!! Wakes up, announces his intentions and heads on in. It is like a Christmas miracle. Except that it is July. So, back to the 2/3rds part. He refuses to wear underwear (will only wear pull-ups) and he REFUSES to poop on the toilet. I have been trying to force the issue by stripping him naked from the waist down the moment we get home. Watcha gonna do now, son? Yeah, that’s what I thought – you’re gonna wait me out until I put you back in a pull-up so you can run into your bedroom and hide in the corner and poop -THAT’S WHAT! So close, yet so far away.
Riding on the high of 2/3rds of the way potty trained, we headed back to our freshly painted home. WOO HOO! No more fluffy bunny yellow and white. Now it is a more appropriate and earth-toned green and brown. Viva lá 1960s!
I gathered up photos from three different cameras and 3 different phones to compile this photo set -which explains the variations in quality and content. Unfortunately, I didn’t end up taking very many photos – except for the ones capturing the Arbogast tattoo outing, and the gist of the set is my mom’s camera. I’ll see what else I can round up and add them as I get them.
(click to see the entire set)
(click here if you want to see 16 variations of angles of our newly painted exterior, otherwise, this one will probably do.)
Journey to the Ends of the Earth (and back)
I know you want to hear all the witty and interesting tales from our epic, 3200 mile cross-country dog & kitty show. And really, there is nothing I’d love more than to provide you with all the inane details. But really? When you spend 12 hours in the car for 6 days straight, the most exciting details you are going to get are 6 consecutive posts that include photos of road signs and my feet. Sure, I could tell you in great detail about that funny podcast we listened to in Nevada, or that time both cars almost simultaneously ran out of gas in middle-of-nowhere Wyoming, or how Brian decided his new “South” name was going to be Cotton Arbogast, or how I got a call from the house-sitter while we were somewhere in the middle of Kentucky telling me she had simultaneously locked herself out and the dog in, or how – no matter how hard I tried – I could not break myself of the understanding that traveling West meant you were traveling towards the ocean. But really, I think it’s all just one of those you-just-had-to-be-there kind of things.
Being that this trip was embarked upon for the primary purpose of alleviating some of the moving chaos for Brian and Andrea, it was not exactly designed as a sightseeing expedition. It was however going to be an opportunity to goof off for a while. Then came the call. The call we got from the mortgage broker sometime during that 600 years we spent driving through Nebraska. This, the mortgage broker who assured Andrea and Brian on no less than 7 occasions that everything was taken care of and ready to close by noon on Thursday. The mortgage broker who was shortly going to learn what it means to tangle with Cotton Arbogast. Let’s just say that on Thursday we headed into Wilmington with the realization that it was questionable if there was going to be a house for us to actually move into. But alas, after about a million mortgage reconfigurations and set-backs and nasty emails, they somehow managed to get keys in hand just before the close of business on Friday. Nothing like trying to buy a house during the apocalypse of the national mortgage market.
And so, we aired up our beds and began the celebrating. Celebrating that the drive was over. Celebrating that the escrow actually closed. Celebrating that we no longer had to relinquish any additional precious hours to the time zone gods. Celebrating that Brian had not done physical harm to their mortgage broker. And the next day? Celebration that we managed to survive the celebrating.
Andrea and I spent a day trying to buy the minimum food and kitchen items needed to sustain life in an empty house being that the moving truck was not scheduled to arrive the until day we left, and the boys set out to make sure the hard-wired speakers throughout the property were given the urgent attention they needed. With some help of a new tuner and switch box, Cotton can now listen to his 80’s Monsters of Rock box set on the screened porch OR in the living room OR on the back patio OR ON ALL THREE AT ONCE! As for the rest of the time? It was spent watching the tropical storm and enduring the 150,000% humidity. Yes, really.
After a very sad good-bye, an uneventful flight out of Raliegh, and an overwhelmingly joyful reunion with our children, we were catapulted back into real life last Thursday, and did what any other jet-lagged, out-of-sorts, family would do, and immediately began a new construction project first thing Friday morning. By Monday afternoon the tile was in and grout set, and by Tuesday Steve began his new career as a cabinet builder. Oh sweet new laundry room / pantry / office / mud room how I anticipate thee.
As for my kids, well, they are exactly the same and completely different. You can interpret that in whatever way you wish. They had an absolute ball on the trip – at least that was my interpretation. I think the various family units did their best to spare me the gory details – telling us only the high points and then leaving us to hear the kid’s version of things, which pretty much sounded like the vacation equivalent of being spoon fed sugar straight from the bag: Parties, swimming, movies, treats, kitties, dogs, unicorns, fairies, and rainbows. Which, incidentally, is exactly how I remember my summer vacations with extended family.
The aftermath is also much like I remember it, except that this time I am on the receiving end. The decompression after 11 days of Grandkids Gone Wild has been pretty much what you’d expect: usual selves, squared. Working from his typical baseline of Emotional Chernobyl, Porter fell back into old routines and habits of unleashing The Angry over all things big and small. With the added bonus that he now does it in complete sentences rather than monosyllabic barks. Stella, on the other hand, is our girl on the cusp of something big.
When she turned 4 I had imagined some big transition. I had read about it in all the books and heard about it on all the blogs. There was something about 4 that was supposed to be magical. A move away from the tumultuous 2’s and 3’s, and a move towards the kinder gentler 4’s. And when we woke up on her 4th birthday, I was ready. But it didn’t exactly come that day. Nor the next, or the next. But as we have bumped and skidded along, there has been a slow metamorphosis, one that I had started to notice in the time leading up to our trip. And upon our return, even more. It’s hard to explain exactly, except to say that the books were right. And I shall call them the fantastic 4’s. It has been a pleasant side-effect in an otherwise challenging transition back to normal life. Whatever that is.
And so. Here we are. Back in real life, adjusting to old routines and figuring out new ones. I’ve made it this far without mentioning one of the more obvious aspects of this – the real and true outcome of this adventure: the Arbogasts are gone. A full coastline away. There is lots of talk of regular visits and such, but the bigger reality – and the one that made the most impact on me when we arrived home – was that they are no longer 5 minutes up the road. Happy for them, sad for us.
I’d also like to extend one last thank you to all the friends and family members that helped make this trip possible, it was an ambitious task, made seemingly effortless by the help and coordination of the Grandparents Anderson, the Grandparents Walston, the Eskras Jr., Uncle Scott, the Bakers and of course, to our neighbors for having the spare key that allowed the housesitter back in before Ranger could successfully complete yet another chocolate chip raid on the pantry.