road trippin'

We recently drove a half day's distance from our home to a family reunion with my Chicago family. Long before we rolled out on this expedition, I was consumed by preparations. With the mental image of four restless children bickering with each other and chiming in on a chorus of ear-piercing screams not all that difficult to imagine (ahem), I searched high and low for ideas to while away the hours peacefully.  Thanks to lots of help from the bambini's grandmothers and that new-fangled time sucker Pinterest, we came up with an array of "amusements" that kept the kiddos engaged both in the car and at the hotel during "downtime" (such as it was), all tucked neatly (for a while, anyway) into "treat bags" with the bambini's names written on them.

I packed some sticker books, of course, Lego- and big truck- and build-your-own-cupcake-themed, in various sizes and formats according to age of the child who would be using the book. We brought along a haul of fresh library books too.  There were also -- thanks to the grandmothers -- car games (including this license plate game), flash cards, mazes, and Color Wonder markers and paper.   There were these nifty magnetic baking sheets complete with magnet-backed family photos which were perfect for playing with both in the car and using as a lap desk in the hotel (and now back at home).  Here are lots of ideas to run with the magnetic trays.

There were games Grandmare authored herself relating to the family favorite "Cookie Mouse" books and guessing games to play with siblings, stuffed animal puppets for impromptu puppet shows, and books to read as the miles went by.

For the youngest traveler I was more than a little concerned about how to keep her happy on the long drive.  She flipped through the picture books and fiddled with the sticker books a little bit, but here again the grandmothers really came through with great ideas.  The younger lass loved fiddling with all the flash cards: putting them in the box, taking them back out, stuffing them into her treat bag, shuffling through them.  She and her sister were both mesmerized by these "I Spy" bottles filled with rice, small trinkets, and tiny photos, then glued *and* Duct taped closed.

What?  My piano cabinet is dusty?  Why would it be dusty?

The lassies also each got tiny little purses ...

if ever there is a perfect pastime for a toddler, it's a tiny purse from which she can pluck things then stuff them back in

filled with, of all things...

what's in there?

 tiny little piggies (and band-aids -- Grandmare knows these girls well.)

show me the piggie!

With all these amusements (among others in the treat bags revealed one at a time) as well as those to see out the window (a truck that can run on the railroad!  huge Mack trucks!  enormous oddities of all stripes!), the traveling was, for the most part (and except for the last leg home), peaceful.  Even still, the biggest trick up our proverbial sleeve came in the form of one Mimivan, in which rode Mimi, Papa, and Annie, sometimes in front of us, sometimes behind.  The bambini were able to trade off riding in the two vehicles, and this was a great coup.  We realize what a blessing and help this was in the overall success of the trip and are most grateful.

Packing for the trip came down to stuffing packaging whole outfits (including underwear, socks, bows, etc.) into separate zippered bags such as those that sheets and comforters come in or plastic ziptop baggies (I didn't devote the time to cranking out my own homemade mesh bags, though this is where I got the idea).  While it might seem wasteful to use so many ziptop baggies for this purpose, we didn't throw them away when we got home.  We'll find ways to reuse the baggies.  This did simplify the dressing process on the trip a great deal.  I've put this idea to use in the bag I keep stocked with fresh changes of clothes for everyone that goes with us everywhere.  Interestingly, the bambini seem to take real pride in having their separate bags tucked into the larger one. 

My beloved packed the Bambini Ride the night before we rolled out so that early the next morning we could wake up, get everyone freshened up, retrieve the smoothies we'd whazzed up the night before, get in the car and go.  We had breakfast cookies and other snackies at the ready for breakfast on the go.  We stopped a couple of times to freshen up and allow the bambini to switch cars.  We still made good time to our destination and had the afternoon and evening to visit with our family.

Our return trip home went fairly well, though there were no nappers as I thought there would be since we left for home after a full morning of playing at the fabulous children's museum.  This made for some dicey times midway through the trip, but eventually the overtired bambina was placated enough to make it home in reasonably good spirits.

It wasn't without its bumps in the road, but our first major family road trip was a success thanks to many prayers and a lot of preparation (and not just by me).  Along with the renewed family ties and great memories we made, each of us learned some valuable lessons in flexibility and adaptability -- skills we all need for the long haul.

family reunion

You know that scene at the end of Christmas Vacation when Chevy Chase's character Clark Griswold surveys the scene around him after all of his relatives have witnessed firsthand the collision of reality with his dream of a "fun old-fashioned family Christmas" and says in amazement to himself, "I did it."?

I can relate.

Last week our young family mounted an expedition unlike anything we'd done before.  We took a road trip.  Not just a short jaunt to visit my parents and sister -- a trip upwards of 350 miles.  Sure: other families have done this sort of thing plenty of times.  I myself was a veteran road-tripper by the age of five, driving more than twice that distance one way with my father (who did the actual driving) to visit our Chicago family before my Papa Jack passed away.  Still, this was the first time the family my beloved and I are privileged to parent went on such an adventure.  We, along with my parents and sister, met our Chicago family for a reunion.  There were some among them we'd never met (children, that is), and vice versa, and although Grannie had come to stay with us a couple of times and each of my aunts had come for short visits, it had been a long time since nearly all of Grannie's descendants were together.  Even still, we missed my cousin the doctor who recently began her residency. 

The first moments of our reunion were similar to the scene in Cynthia Rylant's The Relatives Came, illustrated by Stephen Gammell.  There was lots of hugging and chattering and more hugging and laughing and more hugging.  In the story, the relatives have driven a long, long way from their family farm to visit their loved ones.  They pack the house and sleep practically piled upon one another (not unlike the many Fourth of July holidays happily spent at Grannie's lake cottage) and stay for weeks, helping the host family tend to their garden (while eating up all its produce) and other household upkeep.  Then, after lots more hugs, they pack up their station wagon and head home with visions of next summer when the ones who made the trip this year will be the hosts.  In spite of the physical distance that separates the two branches of the family tree, there is a bond evident that isn't diminished by time and space, one that every family surely aspires to retain.

For our family reunion we met not quite in the middle and stayed at a hotel, which was a grand adventure for our bambini.  Our Bambini Ride isn't rainbow-colored like the station wagon in the story, but it was packed pretty much to the gills like the fictional vehicle. 

The book's illustrator Stephen Gammell won a Caldecott Medal for the artwork that brings this story to life, as he did for (among others) Song and Dance Man by Karen Ackerman, another book we enjoyed about a grandfather regaling his grandchildren with stories of his days as a vaudeville performer.

Seeing the cousins I'd spent many summers with as a child now all grown up like me (or are we?), one with children of her own, the bond between us was renewed.  When we were much younger, we'd write letters to each other.  Yes: letters -- as in paper, pens, envelopes and stamps.  I'd write them to my cousins, I'd write them to my Grannie, and they'd write them back to me.  So when I stumbled upon David Ezra Stein's Love, Mouserella, I hastily requested it. 

Mouserella has just bidden her grandmother farewell after a visit, and already Mouserella misses her.  Sound familiar?  So Mouserella writes a letter to her dear grandmother, telling her about anything and everything that's going on and providing illustrations.  This sweet story conjures up memories of me writing to my Grannie upon my return home from her house, missing her already and eager to keep the conversation going. We still try to do that now by phone and e-mail, not so much with letters.  The occasional card is always considered "fun mail."

Though we are separated by nearly 800 miles, the connection we have to our Chicago family is important to us to keep alive.  Though traveling has been difficult for us in recent years, we saw an opportunity to give it a go with lots of help from my parents and sister along the way as well as lots of help from my beloved's parents before we left.  Our family is blessed beyond measure to have the love and support of so many relatives and friends.  For all of that, for the gift of time we've recently had to spend together, and for the safe trip we made, I will always be grateful.

I think Clark Griswold would be proud.

do-over

We took the Bambini Ride to the car wash not too long ago, an outing the bambini usually heartily enjoy.  Even without my glasses or contacts on I could tell that the wash we'd been through was not satisfactory, with soap left on the vehicle as well as dirt.  At first I thought I'd go rinse it myself at the quarter car wash, but that didn't seem right. So I called the car wash manager, explained the situation, and asked for a pass through to rinse off the vestiges of soap and dirt.  He said to bring it back, so we did.  He gave us a higher dollar car wash on his nickel than the one we'd purchased, and the Ride looks great (snack remnants on the inside notwithstanding; vacuuming wasn't part of the deal to begin with).

My dad has been known to describe himself as essentially lazy, preferring to do a good job the first time with the requisite preparation and seemingly extraneous attention to detail that makes for the best end result than having to go back and do the job over again.  He says he learned this the hard way, having to wash his grandmother's windows more than once when his first effort didn't pass her muster. I've had to redo some lackluster jobs of my own, and I always think of him saying that bit about him being lazy, which is the last word I would ever use to describe him.

Speaking up for myself to ask someone else to redo a job they did for me that wasn't good enough does not come easily for me, like so many other conversations with conflict potential.  I did it anyway.  It's part of the growing up I'm doing as a mother.

We all make mistakes.  We all might even cut corners from time to time for whatever reason.  Don't we all hope for the opportunity to do it over when we know we need to?  That's a tactic we've employed with our very young bambini -- the chance for "do overs" when they've mishandled a situation.  Second chances aren't just for toddlers learning how and when to use their "inside voice".  Adults need second chances sometimes, too.

The car wash conundrum may have been a first world problem (and an insignificant one at that), but it afforded a teachable moment for our bambini (and for me) about the inherent dignity in and importance of doing a good job at whatever task is at hand, to take pride in the work we do for the glory of God, and to hold ourselves and each other accountable for doing that kind of good work, accepting responsibility for when we don't quite make the grade.

That's what I tried to tell the bambini on our second pass through the car wash, but I think the colored foam, octopus-like brushes, and blow dryer might have drowned me out.  That's alright.  Perhaps the actions of speaking up, going back, and seeing the final fantastic result spoke for themselves.

likely story

me: "What's that on your shirt, babe?" as the elder lad boards the Honeywagon after school.
him: "I think it's mud."

me: "that's a strange place for mud -- it's just a little bit and right at your collar."
him: no comment.

me: "I ask because I want to know how to treat the stain."
him: "It's chocolate milk.  I got it because it's Thursday -- almost Friday."
*As in, bring on the weekend!  Chocolate milk all around!
 
I've used this logic myself, but the shirt still hasn't come clean...

minor victories :: mobile edition

The two passengers in the Way Back of the Honeywagon (they of the lad variety) have mastered two skills about which Mama can scarcely contain her excitement:  the elder lad can now buckle himself in (as well as the reverse), and the younger lad can *unbuckle* himself (and vice versa).

O happy day!

Those who've seen me leaning over the lassies in the middle row to buckle in the lads or climbing into the back row myself to get the job done (as well as those who've taken this endeavor upon themselves, among them my beloved and the bambini's grandparents) will easily understand my glee at these accomplishments.

backseat drivers

heard in my Honeywagon:

elder lad: "whoa." [not whoa!] "We are waayyy too close to that car."
me: "I'm watchin' 'im.  I know he's coming over."

younger lad: "Mama.  You need to slow down."
me: "I'm going the speed limit, babe."

lass: "Go, Mommy."
me: "See the red light?  We have to until it turns green.  Then we can go."

cabin fever cure

Some loyal readers might wonder if cabin fever resulting from more than a week of snowbound conditions has induced me to plumb the depths of decency and post about such things as Honeywagons.  Perhaps (well, that and a sinus infection).  But really, 'tis the season.

My daily doings include a lot of time spent dealing with such (in)delicate matters, so I've chosen to take a light-hearted approach and go with the flow.

(oh, sorry -- there I go again.)

It's nothing a little homemade baked potato soup and brownies won't remedy (along with a trip in my Honeywagon to the doctor for antibiotics -- much as I loathe them -- to clear up my sinus infection *and* a weather forecast calling for temperatures near 50 degrees this weekend)...

wishful thinking

Cruising the parking lot with a Ride full of bambini awaiting my beloved on a quick jaunt into the hardware store, we scoped out the outbuildings and dog kennels along one side of the asphalt spread.

"When [my brother and I] have our own house, we'll have one of those for our dog," the younger lad declared.

"Will it be a big dog or a little dog?" I asked him.

"A big dog -- but we'll still be your sons," he assured me.

***

When his fanciful request for Chocolate-Covered Sugar Bombs (that's the blanket term my mom used for any of the myriad nutritionally-bereft offerings in the cereal aisle) was denied, the same lad brightened and said, "when I'm grown, I'll get those."

civics lesson

Are votes marked by a five year old giddy at the idea of using "a marker that stains" at his mother's direction still valid?   Let's hope so.

I fulfilled my civic duty this election day with four little helpers in tow (which attracted the usual marveling) -- the littlest one in a sling, the middle two in our double stroller (though one made his escape), and the eldest pushing the rig. 

The prospect of seeing the sea foam green vintage charter bus with the name "Patsy" displayed in its destination marquee parked on the lawn adjacent to the church that served as our polling place with a "for sale" sign in its window piqued the collective curiosity in the Bambini Ride (she wasn't there, though).  After an explanation of the term "polling place" and why it was a church (but not ours) and a probably inadequate reasoning for this whole voting business, we unloaded and went in...

They did pretty well with the short wait, as they have when I've taken them with me to vote before -- even though it was after school and snacks were in short supply and we'd been in the car for a while already.  I'd read the ballot online before we set out on this endeavor, which sped up the actual ballot-marking process.

Choices made, I asked if either of the lads wanted to put the ballot in the reader machine.  They both just looked at me and then at the machine, curious about the beeps and clicks it was making and not wanting to be responsible for them.  That was alright.  The polling place attendants were generous with the "I voted" stickers anyway.  Each child (except the slingling) got one.

I was halfway expecting an election to be organized to determine the dinner menu this evening, but alas it did not come to pass.  (The gravitational force field of the planter box full of dirt out back won out).  I wouldn't be surprised to see one soon, though.  Someone I know has an insatiable interest in permanent markers, the cutting up of paper into smaller pieces, and the stashing of said paper tidbits into discarded Amazon.com boxes that could very easily be transformed into ballot boxes (minus the beeps and clicks)...

safety first

Somehow, a few Goldfish were spilled into the cup holder of my elder lad's car seat sometime during the drive home from school.  As it happened, a little bit of water then found its way into the cup holder.  Turns out Goldfish don't really swim all that well.  The resulting aroma gave rise to some exclamations as to the degree of stinkiness the mixture of Goldfish and water measured, which led to conjectures regarding the hazardous situation now present.

"Mom.  We'll clean this up.  You won't have to." 
"Oh.  Thank you."

"We'll wear our masks and safety glasses."

Good plan.

nesting: family-style

While we wait on the stork to bring Quattro, the whole family is in on this nesting business.  Yesterday the lads helped* my beloved clean up the Bambini Ride and rearrange the car seats to make room for a fourth one.  Both lads are now in the "way back."  Mama is hopeful there will be a minimum of fisticuffs. 

*by "helped", I mean they unearthed the younger lad's long-missing favorite ball cap, helped vacuum up a school of Goldfish crackers, wiped down seats scuffed with footprints, then climbed into the front and pretended to be driving their firetruck.  This was followed by some construction with PVC pipe outside the vehicle which soon devolved into whacking things.

The washer is on overdrive, laundering teensy tiny (or "tinsy", as the elder lad used to say when he was about the lass's age) baby clothes, blankets, bedding for the helping hands who will be staying with us once Quattro comes home, and car seat covers (in addition to the usual queue).  The current incarnation of our drinkable yogurt recipe is posted prominently on the fridge for hasty refills.  We're baking things in big batches to "feed the freezer" -- pancakes, cookies, muffins...

The recently-unearthed infant carrier is drawing lots of attention.  The lads have each tested to see if they can fit in it (just barely) and laugh at the thought of themselves small enough to have been strapped in.  The lass says "baby! baby!" and tucks her baby doll safely inside.

I'm wondering if Quattro will have dark hair like my beloved's, sea glass-colored eyes like the elder lad's, or his or her own unique combination of features and coloring.  And speaking of "his" versus "her", will Quattro even the gender score in this household or tip the scales even further? 

We're so looking forward to meeting you, Quattro.  We love you already.

dates with mama

The bambini and I function as a unit most of the time.  By this I mean we are usually in the same area of the house together, sometimes doing things each on our own (lads playing trucks or dinosaurs while I unload the dishwasher and the lass unloads the contents of the plasticware drawer) or sometimes doing things together like reading or playing.  I usually take them all with me to the grocery store or on errands (and because of that have curbed the number of errands I run).

Our daily structure is one of togetherness, and that's the way it has to be.  None of them is old enough to be left unsupervised for much time at all, and they all still seek out my attention and interaction.   It's not that I am here to entertain them all day, but there is a lot of Mama-directed activity.  I hope to foster within them the imagination and drive to cultivate their own interests, but these things take time.

Each child needs and deserves attention, though, and lately I've been able to take each one on a "date" or two, just that child and me.  For the elder lad, it's been to doctor's appointments for such things as eye exams, allergic reactions, and check-ups.  Such appointments hardly constitute what I would consider *fun* times, but I've tried to make them so by afterward taking him to lunch or to a store he enjoys visiting because of the sweet rocket ship shopping carts this particular store has.  He gets to choose the music as we drive in the Bambini Ride, and he has a captive audience for claiming all the neat-looking trucks he sees. 

The younger lad was my date to the tag agency to renew my driver's license.  He didn't really care where we went, I don't think.  He just wanted to go with me.  That was just fine with me.  He also had a running commentary going the entire drive, but I had more difficulty hearing his soft voice from the way back of the Bambini Ride over the din of the air conditioner.   Nonetheless, his presence made the experience far more pleasant.  I welcomed the time with him.  His cheerful companionship more than makes up for the unfortunate picture on the license.

While I might frame an outing as a date with me, if it's grocery shopping, I think the lass would probably rather pass.  She's not so keen on the whole sitting in the shopping cart for a while thing.  I know this from times I've asked "want to go shopping with Mama?" and her response is "no."  'scuze me?  Let's try this again...  The lass and I do seem to have a little more time together regularly since the lads often want to do things with their daddy on the weekends such as check on the garden or go places in his "big truck".

I am so grateful for the help I've had caring for my other bambini while I've had this one-on-one time.  I've relished these dates as much as they seem to, so whenever opportunities present themselves in the future for such occasions, I'll do my best to capitalize upon them.

locked out

On one of the last morning drives to preschool, the iPod I received for my birthday a few years ago that has somehow become a staple for road trips of any distance or duration turned up locked.  It was insistent upon having a code entered.  None of my guesses passed muster, and that was the end of that. 

"Mom, when I get home from school, I'll take the case off and check on the pistons," the elder lad promised.

Grateful for the offer but not quite ready to take such drastic measures, I tried a few things to get it working again (plugging it into the charger for the baby monitor wasn't one of them), but to no avail.  So it sat for a month or so.  The younger lad would periodically ask, "is the iPod still locked?"

Alas, "yes," I'd have to answer.   In a last ditch effort, I decided to charge it up and try using it again before "restoring" it to its original condition and starting from scratch.  It worked!

With great glee I held it up in the car one day as we drove and said to the younger lad, "look what I have!"

"Is it working?!"  he asked, eyes wide with wonder and disbelief.
"Yes!  Any requests?"

"You fixed it, Mama!  You did it!"
'T wasn't me -- it was the pistons.

books to fuel the imagination

Have I mentioned how much my lads love trucks?  Maybe it was obvious from their trip to the car show yesterday.  Not a bambini ride passes without several exclamations of "that's my dually/Mack truck/lawn care truck/cement mixer, Mom!"  At times there is dispute as to ownership, but the rule is if we're *imagining* a truck is ours anyway, then it can belong to both lads.   Girls can drive trucks just like boys can, so now the lads declare the occasional purple or rare pink truck as their sister's.  We stand for gender equality here (but I'm not sure where the whole pink and purple being "girl colors" came from).

We have a cache of vintage Reading Rainbow episodes, including one featuring the book Tooth-gnasher Super Flash by Daniel Pinkwater.  As fun as that book is -- and it is -- two of the books the kid reviewers at the end recommend are among our most-oft requested books from the library.

We can scarcely get through Truck Song by Diane Siebert (pictures by Byron Barton) for all the "that's my ____!" claims on the semis and other trucks that fill the pages.  The rhyming text and colorful graphics make it appealing for younger gearheads, and the variety of trucks (not to mention the subject matter) keep it interesting for those well-versed in the lingo of "rigs" and such.

Fill It Up: All about Service Stations by Gail Gibbons conjures up memories of the small town gas stations of my small hometown that are not so common anymore.  Depicting a fictitious full-service station from the day shift to the night shift, the station offers not only gasoline but also towing and auto repair services.

The lads relish these books each time we check them out as though they've never read them before.  I myself am so accustomed to truck-spotting as I drive that it is my default mode to point them out.  When I'm driving somewhere with just the lass in the car, sometimes I catch myself wondering whether to draw her attention to that sweet-looking dump truck or not.  On a recent outing, though, the lads got all excited about a purple Mack truck, deeming it to be hers.  She was quick to turn her head in the direction they were pointing.  I guess that's my answer...

scenes from the Bambini Ride

We're driving to pick up the elder lad from school when this conversation unfolds:

younger lad: "Mama, you're a giant blimp."

?! 

me: "What?"  (trying to think up a snappy albeit nonchalant comeback)  "I'm not a blimp............................  I don't float."

he: "yes you do -- in Papa's pool."

me: "oh."  (words fail me here)

he: "I'm a whale."