Tales of Vacation

There’s hardly a “celebrity” death more grisly than the suicide of Sylvia Plath in the early 60’s.  On a February morning not long after writing The Bell Jar, she crept past her two little sleeping children and headed for the kitchen, where she then purposely and fatally misused her gas oven.  Tragic, sad, unbelievable…yet on some days (or on some vacations), I toss around the idea that Sylvia Plath was not actually a suicidal head-case (inappropriate pun intended), but instead a really resourceful stay-at-home mom who had finally had enough. 

Obviously I’m joking, and also exaggerating for effect the difficulties of family vacations.  On this particular family vacation, there were only two or three times when I felt like sticking my head in an oven, and only one time when I yelled to my entire family “I’m done with ALL of you!” and hid downstairs with my book.  And even then, an hour or two later we were all down by the fire pit passing the marshmallows and drinking giant gin and tonics.  I was expecting several more near-disasters which would have been harrowing while living through them, but hilarious after some time had elapsed. 

See, we Tholen kids have racked up stories and quotes from a bevy of unfortunate vacation incidents.  In 1995, on a trip to Mackinac Island, my then-10-year-old brother, who was sleeping on the floor in a room with my dad, stepmom, and stepbrother (we four girls had the room next-door), got up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom.  He kept all the lights off, which was very considerate, until he locked himself in the bathroom and could not find the light switch or door handle, at which point it became very unfortunate.  His cries of frustration, then anger, then hopelessness, awoke my stepmom.  She turned on the lights in the room so she could launch a rescue, and to her horror, flapping near the ceiling were no less than a dozen bats, which had entered through an undetected hole in the window screen.  Another rescue was launched in the room, this time by Animal Control.  There are not many vacation experiences more harrowing than having bats swoop on you in the middle of the night in your bedroom, but now of course we all find it hilarious.  Plus, our family got a free night in the Presidential Suite to make up for the troubling experience.  That is all completely true. 

One of my siblings and my most often used quotes, “What’s funny about it?” comes from a particular vacation experience, again on Mackinac Island, ca. 1999.  It was really my dad’s personal experience (which we his children cruelly found to be hilarious before any amount of time had elapsed) during which, after a bout of extreme seasickness, followed by a fall off his bike on a dirt road which left a large scratch in his timepiece (his refusal to call it a “watch” gives you an idea of both its personal and monetary value), he walked back into our cabin, tripped over the rest of the family’s shoes, banged his head on the staircase and found himself having to utter for the first time the very words which we have smilingly repeated in similar situations.  “What’s funny about it?” said with a pathetic groan, is just what is called for during experiences that are both painful and comedic.            

The closest thing to a “harrowlarious” [that is an awesome new word that I just made up] experience that this latest cabin trip offered was a near break-down of the pontoon boat with half our family on it, which nearly necessitated a canoe-tow by Dave and Rich back to shore.  Once the canoe made it to the pontoon, they realized they did not need a tow after all – the pontoon would work as long as they never went into reverse and only made clockwise turns (or something like that).    

The near-rescue of the pontoon

Ellen caught her very first fish with Uncle Brother (my brother Michael) and showed absolutely no fear or repulsion at touching the bait, though Uncle Brother did help her hook it.  

Ellen's first fish

Celie spent most of her time hanging with her favorite cousin Scout and just generally looking cute and getting into things she wasn’t supposed to get into.  


Bear chair

 

Scout and Cecilia



It’s hard to be away from home with little kids – you have to be on high alert all the time for things that aren’t baby-proofed, especially with kids old enough to be mobile and young enough not to understand danger.  The sleeping part is very challenging as well – when one’s Pack ‘n’ Play is mere inches from one’s parents’ bed, or when one is snuggled between two cousins on a bed loaded with Pillow Pets, Thomas the Train pillows, and teddy bears, and it doesn’t get really dark until about 10, one tends to feel rowdy and disruptive, so it seems.  But we made some good memories, and had some good times…and we used the gas oven only for cinnamon rolls.  

Dakota and Addie had a fabulous time as well

We Wish to Live Deliberately: Cabin Life 2011

In the past few days, the following events have transpired:

Ellen did her own hair (with copious amounts of hair gel) while I sat in the next room at my computer playing Hangman and yelling, “I’ll be there in a second to do your hair Ellen!”  (That’ll teach me).  She models below.

Cecilia finally decided that a sippy cup was worth a try.  I cheered for her loudly (I believe that she is a “Words of Affirmation” kind of girl) and she smiled and posed for pictures.

Then she pushed her tray off of her high chair and it landed squarely on the top of my foot.  I have a giant bruise and am actually sort of surprised that my foot is not broken. 

The air-conditioner man finally came to fix our ailing unit. 

Cecilia climbs up stairs now, which I’m thankful to have noticed when she was only three stairs up, as opposed to ten or more. 

So now, for all of us to access our inner Thoreau, we’re heading up to a cabin on the lake for four days, with my mom and stepdad, brother, sister and brother-in-law, two of their three girls, and our dogs.  Yes, Thoreau was completely alone, and obviously the differences don’t end there.  For one, I don’t think he was roasting marshmallows over his fires, which he probably did not light with water-resistant matches.  Also, I think Thoreau did actually manage to simplify his life, whereas (let’s be honest) our excursion may actually increase the stress which we’re trying to diminish.  But we’re ready for anything that does not resemble our day-to-day existence in St. Louis Park.  Dave has skillfully squeezed all of our stuff into our sedan, I’ve dutifully reminded him that a minivan is both roomy and accessible, and the girls have saturated their brains with way too much Sesame Street while their parents did all this preparing.  Extremely amusing memories-in-the-making await us.

All About Celie

Little Cecilia Madeline turned 1 on May 25^th, and true to stereotypical second child convention, the observation of her birthday (in a more public forum) was eclipsed by other events, mainly Family Road Trip Downward Spiral and Interstate Highway Urination Adventure.  Now, after a whole year of brightening our world, she is long overdue for a little blog attention and a letter to her Future Self from her Present Mommy.  Especially since today she walked on her own for the very first time, it seems apropos.

Dear Cecilia,

Sweet girl, how has it been a year – in fact, almost 13 months by now?  By the time you read this letter yourself, I’ll be wondering how an entire childhood could have passed before my eyes, leaving in its wake so many memories but only enough physical evidence to fit in several photo albums and a hope chest. 

Today you took your first steps!  You’ve been toddling along for weeks with the help of my two hands, then my one hand, then my one finger, and then with nothing except a whole lot of enthusiasm, top-heaviness, and gravity (not a recipe for success; the resulting physical flails are inadmissible as a milestone claims).  But TODAY, in your room just before bedtime, while wearing your striped pajamas that say “little sister” on them, you couldn’t stop giggling as you walked back and forth between Ellen and me, over and over.  I’m sure Ellen’s and my excessive cheering and clapping (not to mention Ellen’s exuberant shriek of “THIS MAKES ME THE HAPPIEST BIG SISTER IN THE WORLD!!”) helped motivate your decision to keep doing it and doing it (and to be so happy about it), but there’s no doubt that you were completely upright and balancing all on your own. 

It’s a cliché, but this milestone really and truly feels like we’re moving into a new day, you and I.  We had a rough first year together – a lot of happiness of course, but also a lot of challenges and struggles.  The transition from one child to two children would have been hard enough on its own, but when you factor in some pretty severe post-partum depression (all me), and some pretty severe colic/acid reflux (all you, hon)…your entry into the family was like the perfect storm.

Now after a year, I think we’ve got our bearings.  Your personality is shining through, and I’m a slightly less raving lunatic than I was immediately after your arrival.  You are very active (have been since before you were born, in fact), and it’s clear that you learn about your world through movement and touch.  Your dancing moves (so far limited to the seated bounce) begin as soon as any music comes on.  You show love with snuggles and hugs – we scoop you up and you nestle your little head right on our shoulders and pat our backs.  You love dogs and point them out (“Da! Da! Da!”) whenever you see one – including Addie, which keeps you busy since she lives with us.

Soon, when Charlie arrives, you won’t be the youngest of the cousins anymore.  I think you are on track to walk, all on your own, down the hall at the hospital to meet him for the first time.  So many more memories are about to be made, and with the building of each one, you become more and more the person that you already are – Sweet Cecilia Madeline, cherished daughter.            

Little One, you are so loved.

     

Some Days are Diamonds; Some Days are Stones

There’s a counter-saying in there somewhere – something like, “If life gives you stones, make a Zen garden.”  My Zen landscaping skills are leaving much to be desired, because I’ve got a stone quarry in my hypothetical yard.  Perhaps I should turn to feng shui. 

But really.  Two weeks ago, a considerably long and intense battle with Ellen occurred (over whether or not it should behoove her to get in her car seat), and I emerged the victor by juuuuust a hair.  (Hair idioms are quick to pop in my mind, since these days I deal with frequent bouts of insubordination, during which Ellen loves to spout her favorite response to my requests, which is “Mom, not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin.”)  After she was finally in her seat and strapped down, I realized that I forgot something in the house, which I had locked already.  Exceedingly annoyed, I went inside, found said item after a search that took waaaaay longer than it should have, and when I came back out and locked the door, I was muttering something under my breath (or maybe not so much), which was probably self-deprecating, but certainly peppered with color.  I looked over and my nice neighbor Mary, who is a brand-new young mom, was retrieving her mail and looking over at me with a grin.  “Are you having a moment?” she asked.  There is just no masking of my moments anymore. 

Last night, my mom and I took the girls to watch my brother-in-law’s game with my sister.  My car is newly leaking radiator fluid, so we had to do a car seat shuffle and lots of moving of stuff from one trunk to another so that we could drive my mom’s car to the game.  This resulted in my leaving my own keys (including my house key) on the wrong side of the front door, which of course I did not realize until after the game.  45 minutes past bedtime, I was in the backyard with the girls and my sister, waiting for Dave to return from his soccer game.  Mary came outside to her own backyard with her two-month-old son, Drew.  “Another moment?” she asked.  Mary is privy to some very winning portrayals of my darker side.  I’m not sure if she should feel privileged or terrified.

It’s not all bad, though.  Stones AND diamonds, right?  Here’s a diamond moment – one for the ages, I think.  It’s the kind that we’ll be telling when the girls and their cousins are in high school and sure to be completely embarrassed by our laughter.  My little unborn nephew Charlie (coming soon) may feel especially sheepish after the future retelling of this little gem.  I almost hesitate to include it in my blog, but it has to be recorded somewhere.  So here it is:

Ellen was taking a bath and my sister was helping her (though at 35 weeks pregnant I don’t know why I was allowing her to do that – must have been a special request from Ellen for Auntie’s help).  I could hear them from the dining room methodically washing all the body parts.  “Arm,” my sister said.  “Armpit.  Tummy.  Bum.  Legs.”  Ellen’s little voice piped up: “It’s vulva time.”  I could hear my sister stifling laughter as she took the opportunity to practice boy and girl differences with her niece.  “Charlie won’t have a vulva, will he?”  “No,” said Ellen, “he will have a vuh-JIN-yah.”  Trying even harder to stifle that laughter (and beginning to fail), Rachel said, “no, he will have a penis.”  Ellen responded, “Oh THAT’S right,” as though she had known the answer all along.  “A tiiiiny penis.”  (Sorry Charlie).

For the Love of Trains

Often, when Ellen meets a new adult, it takes a moment for her to warm up.  Her first “hello” usually needs to be prompted, but if the adult sticks with it and gives her a chance to come out of her shell, she gets pretty chatty.  Usually, the conversation goes something like this:

New Adult: Hi there!

Ellen: [Sucks thumb and checks on Terry the Turtle].  Me [whispering]: Can you say hello?

Ellen [quietly]: Hello. 

NA: What’s your name?

Ellen: Ellen.

NA: How old are you?

Ellen: I am three-and-a-half.  [Considers whether or not she should share any more personal information, and decides continued conversation is likely safe].  And I am even a big sister!

NA: You are?!  I bet you are a WONDERFUL—

Ellen [interrupting NA to deliver the line that indicates that she has reached minimum comfort level necessary to disclose even the most personal and incriminating identifiers]: And I even love Thomas SO MUCH!

At this point, I respond to the amused but confused look from NA with something like, “Yes, we are BIG fans of Thomas the Train at our house.”  If the NA knows even a little about Thomas, he or she might ask her which train is her favorite, and from there Ellen has won a friend. 

I don’t remember how it all started, so it seems that Ellen has always liked Thomas.  I have no idea when she got her first train, and who gave it to her, but I know she’s been a Thomas fan at least since she wore a size 2T, because one of her three Thomas shirts is that size and now she’s in a 4.  At any rate, it’s been long enough that her affection for Thomas and Friends has mellowed and deepened into a love for the ages, somewhat like a long-term couple whose relationship is hallmarked by the security of many years of shared memories, rather than the new couple whose relationship revolves around the fresh excitement of constant (and varied degrees of) togetherness. 

She used to share her trains readily, but now if Cecilia goes after one, she yells “Nooooooo!” followed by “Mom, Cecilia has one of my trains, and my trains are VERY special to me!”  Now she calls them her “pets” and they join the ranks of important people in Ellen’s life such as her imaginary children (she informs me that she has ten children – Claire, Elizabeth, and eight more with names that change every time she refers to them but which always have a Russian flavor).

Last week, I heard the water running in the bathroom sink, and a brushing of something other than teeth.  When I went to investigate, Ellen was using her toothbrush and quite a bit of hand soap to scrub Thomas over the sink.  Three or four more trains were in line for the same sort of attention.  “Mom, they need a wash-down,” was her explanation.  We replaced her active toothbrush with an old one and agreed that no more hand soap would be used, but a minute or two later, she requested a second wash-down toothbrush for water only, no soap – (“the other is too bubbly, and they need a rinse.”).  Now, after several days of this, the wash-down process has reached a complexity which involves scrubbing with bubbles (hand soap), scrubbing without bubbles, rinsing under the faucet, repeating either or both of the first two steps, and finally air-drying to perfection on the bathroom countertop.  Every day, someone is due for a wash-down.                

Below, Ellen demonstrates her wash-down technique, which includes both slow scrubbing and fast scrubbing.  Every nook and cranny must be cleaned; it’s a full-time job.  (The red mark on her left cheek is the largest pimple I’ve ever seen, especially on a three-year-old, and was caused by my overzealous sunscreening in West Virginia over Memorial Day weekend). 



Hiro prepares for his wash-down



Lovingly scrubbing

Happy(?) Trails: Road Trip Part II

We’ve been back for just about 48 hours, and I was determined to ignore the laundry until this blog post was done.  Vignettes from the rest of the trip:

J  On the first night in Bloomington, IL, in our cozy hotel room, we all hunkered down at about 8:00.  We put C in the Pack ‘n’ Play right next to Ellen’s bed, tucked Ellen under her Curious George blanket, and climbed into bed ourselves, since we figured we could handle an evening of catching up on sleep, especially after being on the road all day.  One minute later, Ellen was yelling to us, “Celie is awake!  Celie is awake!”  Yes.  Thank you.  Cecilia eventually fell asleep, but Ellen definitely had a bit of trouble doing the same when she is all wound up from the car trip, and is in the same room as her entire family. 

J  On the second night, somewhere just past the border of WV and Kentucky, we had time for a quick pizza party in our hotel room, and then it was time to wind down.  Cecilia went to sleep easily, and then it was Ellen’s turn.  After reading stories (in the lobby so as not to disturb Little Sister) and tucking in, I told Ellen that Daddy and I would just be right outside the door (where we could hear them but Ellen could not see us).  So I kissed her goodnight and crept to the other side of the room, where I saw the bathroom light on and realized that Dave had camped out in there instead of going into the hall.  So in I went, and made myself comfortable on the tile.  A minute or so later, we heard little footsteps, then the unmistakable sound of the room door opening.  Dave and I looked at each other.  “She’s in the hallway,” he said.  Realizing that she was expecting to find us there (NOT in the bathroom) and figuring that she’d be pretty freaked out when she discovered an empty corridor, I quickly pulled myself up from my cozy spot in front of the toilet and opened the door.  By the time I assessed the situation, Ellen was halfway down the hall, high-tailing it with all her might in her monkey nightgown.  I watched her check the ice machine nook, and finally she heard my “Ellen!” stage whispers and turned around to high-tail it back to me.  I tucked her back in, but that wasn’t the end of the bedtime disruptions.  She visited the bathroom (a much lighter door to open), and had to be escorted back to bed several more times before we felt confident in our safe exodus.

J  We all loved seeing a new state (beautiful driving through West Virginia) and were so excited to be at graduation ceremonies for my stepsister Abbey (now Dr. Burger, OB/GYN).  Commencement did get a skosh long for the girls.  Cecilia had to be removed about 15 minutes into the speakers (to her credit, we arrived about 45 minutes early, so that was an hour of sitting in the seat for her), and Ellen made it about 2 hours (total 2:45) until she (and probably every other child under age 12) moved to the large grassy area right next to the tent.  There, it took about 10 minutes for her to befriend another little 3-year old named Annabelle, and they walked around the lawn hand-in-hand, as though they’d been best friends for the entirety of their short lives. 

J  That night, we all had an amazing dinner at a restaurant in downtown Lewisburg called the Stardust Café.  As we were finishing up our desserts (sticky toffee pudding…soooo good), Dave turned to me and said with a grin, “hey, look who’s here.”  It was Annabelle and her family.  We walked over to say hi, and the two girls shyly gave each other hugs and posed for a picture.  Running into an old friend is always a good time. 

J  The drive back was overwhelmingly not fun.  Some parts were fun – singing songs together (about 30 minutes total), listening to Great Courses lectures while girls slept (about 3 hours total), reading books and magazines while girls watched DVD’s or played with toys quietly (about 2 hours total).  Other parts, not so much – running interference, waiting by the side of the road for Ellen to decide she was able to pee and wouldn’t have to try again at the next rest stop, plugging ears against one-year-old boredom shrieks, unbuckling myself and kneeling backwards on my seat to reach a snack/toy/book/crayon, generally loathing my status of confinement (about 14 hours and 30 minutes total). 

J  We did have one especially enjoyable stop in IL, during which we danced on the grass, then sat on a picnic bench and found two caterpillars and one inchworm. 

J  When, at long last, we pulled into our driveway, Ellen said, “See, Ceece, everything’s back to normal.”  Hallelujah.     



Cecilia enjoying her book



Dave's home (toddlerhood through 5th grade) - Lexington, KY