The social life of a ditch dog

We went to our first Colorado party last night since returning west. Thrown at a cabin on a lake, it had all may favorite ingredients, music, mountains, Mexican food and margaritas. The party was something of a who's who of town politics. Everyone there either worked for the newspaper at some point or for one of several towns in the area. It was also a who's who of Sawyer's preschool, which I didn't expect. Five families from the preschool were there, not all brought their kids, but enough did that the party was overrun by little boys.

Arden, typically, was the only girl at the party. Which turned into an interesting conversation. I mentioned that Arden is almost always the only girl in social situations. She's the only girl among the Armstrong side of the family. She's the only girl with her babysitter. She's the only girl when we hang out with several of our good friends back east (like the Tovskys or Emerys). And this other mom I was talking to said it's like that for her daughter too (who had a babysitter unlike mine). In fact, she said it's like that at the public school preschool. In the younger preschool classes (2-4 year old), boys outnumber girls by 2-to-1. Yet, in the older classes (5-7 year olds) the opposite is true. Seems to go in waves.

Like any good Colorado party, this was a dog party. In Colorado, people bring their dogs almost everywhere they go, and dogs are almost always welcome to the party. At one point I counted six large dogs — a german wirehaired pointer, a white german shepard, a labradoodle, a chocolate lab, a boxer mix and Duncan — and one a little white Scottie, plus seven preschool children and three tiny babies at the party.

How could we not have adopted this pound dog?

Duncan, who isn't as well socialized as other dogs I've owned after all those years of isolated living in the Northern Neck, has been getting a schooling in proper dog behavior since we moved here. He's a little standoffish with most dogs he meets still, hackles up and all, but he's getting better. I was so proud of him though — he made friends with all the new dogs right away (he knows when he's outnumbered) and he ran around with them until the seven-dog situation became so overwhelming that he found a nice place on the couch and curled up for the rest of the party. I have to say he was the best-behaved dog there.

Mud season is no joke

Evidence of Utah's red dirt brought in on the winds of a recent snow storm.

There is dirt everywhere in my life. It gathers around the edges of my rugs and baseboards. It dangles off my dog's chest hair and settles in between the pads of his paws making him sound like a lady walking across a marble floor with high heels wherever he goes. Grit ruins every barefoot step I take in the kitchen. The treads on all our shoes are caked with mud. One forgotten item on the way out the door leaves tracks that will take 20 minutes to clean. I look down at my pants on the way to a meeting and, somehow, mud is smeared across the back of my calves. Like I sat there and let some kid make a mud pie on my leg, that's how bad it is after I walk through the parking lot at Sawyer's school. I don't know how it gets there. I leave the vacuum plugged in. We take our shoes off at the door. It doesn't help. The mud infiltrates every corner of our lives. You hear them talk about mud season. I'm here to attest — it's no laughing matter.

Play Date

This is what it looked like down the street from my house in Granby the day after my mid-April birthday. There were wild crocuses on the trail last week. Marmots on the rocks. Pelicans in the pond.

Despite our location in the center of the continent, we have osprey. I was shocked, in March, to hear that the osprey had returned. This is bird of a different ilk than what lived behind my family's house on the Chesapeake Bay. Those shuttered at a mid-summer breeze. And more than once I saw an entire family of osprey babies blown away forever by an afternoon thunderstorm.

Today — only hours until May 1 — it is snowing. It has, in fact, been snowing for the past three days. They say that there is a lot of nitrogen in the spring snow here. It melts quickly, like a shot of red bull to the landscape. The ranchers love it. Overnight, the sagebrush blooms into a fragrant, misty green. (I adore the smell of sagebrush. In my days as a backcountry guide, I used to crush it and rub it all over my skin and clothes to improve the overall impression of one who has not showered in weeks.) The ponds fill with ducks and geese. The grass returns — never to the lush Kentucky green — but to desert green.

I don't know about the nitrogen theory, though it's something I may have to look into further, but I can testify that when we woke up on Thursday there were 8 inches of snow on Scott's car. Under that snow was a layer of red dirt. I am told that is dust carried by the storm from Utah, some 400 miles away.

Spring sprung

Spring has hit Granby, Colo. For you east coasters, it's not exactly the kind of spring you might imagine. No daffodils or azaleas blooming here. It's practically Wyoming, after all. Spring is sagebrush, wildflowers and mud.

In the mountain towns of Colorado, spring is more rightly known as mud season. Every place has its weather demons. In many places, it's the wind. The Santa Anna's in Southern California are known to drive folks mad, just as summer's eternal light in Northern Alaska acts like PCP.


In the mountains of Colorado, it's mud season that brings out the crazy in people. Those with money or seasonal jobs flee for places warmer. My washing machine repair man (long story) was beginning a two week vacation as he left my house the other day. His plan — drive south. That was it. No plan. No destination. Just. Flee.

When mud season hits, restaurants shut down, shops board up, the town gets quiet. Those who stay are bombarded with the seasonal tease of 65 degree weather followed by freezing temperatures and 12 inches of snow. In 4-hour stretch last Friday, we had every type of weather imaginable — wind, rain, sleet, hail, thunderstorm, snow, fog and sun. Talk about getting caught up in the Cuisinart of the weather gods. Sure, we got 12 inches of snow in 48 hours, but it's spring snow and by nature melts (almost) as fast as it falls. By this afternoon, it was gone.


These photos are from a hike I took this afternoon — just mud, melting snow and a sure sign of spring — wild crocus (aka Pasque flower).

First Run

We took Sawyer and Arden downhill skiing for the first time this weekend at SolVista, the little locals mountain located literally across the street from our house in Granby. We've been doing the Nordic lessons every Friday and the kids have really grown comfortable walking around with sticks on the ends of their legs. We had shied away from taking them downhill because it seemed like an overwhelming prospect with two young children. With the days warming as spring approaches, we bit the bullet this weekend and gave it a whirl. First of all, it's FREE for kids to ski under the age of 5 (didn't know that). The little learning hill has a magic carpet that Sawyer quickly learned to use himself and we could just stand at the bottom and watch him do laps (so much easier than I realized). It was easy enough for one person to watch two kids. (We rented skis for Sawyer but skipped renting them for Arden. Her little Nordic strap-on skis didn't have enough slide so she actually had to walk downhill. Being our adrenaline kid, she was not happy about that.) Sawyer's first run was PERFECT. He wasn't scared at all (clearly there's been a kid-swap here). By the third run he was insisting he was ready to go on the chairlift and after two runs on that he wanted to go on the BIG chairlift. All I can say is that apparently we have a Jonny Moseley on our hands.

Devil's Thumb

We took the kids to Tommelfest at Devil's Thumb Ranch this weekend, an odd celebration of Nordic culture centered largely around eating meat, skiing and throwing heavy objects. We looked a little goofy out there in our heavy telemark gear and baggy clothes while everyone else flittered around on a new generation of skinny skis wearing bulletproof spandex. Sawyer didn't want to get on his skis. He was way too excited about the "car" we rented, which he kept asking to "go faster." Finally, running into a girlfriend from school (she's 5), he decided to strut his stuff, little Napoleon that he his. (That video is on Facebook). The wind in this video, as always, sounds worse than it really was. But, don't get me wrong. I wasn't stripping down to a bikini either. I figure the combined weight of the kids s about 60 pounds. We each took turns, pulling the kids about 3 km each. Today my whole body feels like Gumby.

All in all, it was the first weekend here that I really started to feel like more than just a visitor. I ran into several different people I know at Tommelfest. It's strange, when you are used to small towns, to go somewhere and not know anybody.

Saturday night we had our office party, potluck style, at the circulation coordinator/delivery driver's house. He had set up 3,000 lights up outside his house. The directions we got were: "turn left and look for the glow on the horizon." The publisher made lasagna and brought a cooler full of alcohol. We all brought the side dishes, appetizers and dessert. We did a white elephant gift exchange (I walked home with the best gift). Steve had a bonefide Man Cave in his basement with working 8-tracks, poker and Foosball, all of which were put to good use. With only eight full-time employees plus spouses (no kids), it was a small crowd and we had a blast. All due respect to my former colleagues, this was the best office Christmas party I've ever attended.

SAHD — Week 3.

Scott had some concerns about me posting this video. I think his exact words were: "Don't you dare put that on your blog." But, I couldn't help it. I had to show how well he's fallen into the SAHD (Stay At Home Dad) role these last few weeks. (Did I mention that we pulled Arden out of daycare temporarily?) He's taken Arden to storytime at the library every week and is keeping track of which books he borrows. Last week, he even checked books out in a theme . . . books about snow. I can see his enjoyment of reading with the children growing. He cooks dinner every night – and not just mac-n-cheese and chicken fingers. He cooks pot roasts and soup and pork chops, and I am finally packing on some much needed winter pounds. He knows the location of all the playgrounds in the valley. He's potty training Arden and already has her in underwear. He's even figured out the benefit of "The Schedule" and has got it down to a science. I think the nice part of being the working mom is coming home and KNOWING that the other parent, the one who stayed at home, had a full and totally exhausting day. Sometimes, when I see how much work it is for the two of us to get everyone to bed and dishes cleared and the house straightened, I wonder how I did it by myself for so long. I don't underestimate for one second how much work it is to stay at home alone with the kids all day. And, that said, after two weeks Scott said he doesn't really know how much more of this he has in him. He sent off about 15 resumes and began the search for work in earnest. But, I think he's over the hump, now. It does get easier after that whole routine thing kicks in and everyone gets used to the new m.o. I think he's better at this than he realizes. Today, after I cut him loose for some personal time, I heard him upstairs whistling in the shower. The tune that drifted down the stairs was quite distinct: The isty-bitsy spider went up the water spout . . .

Meet our new neighbor

Scott caught this little guy on film while he was out scrounging for food in our backyard Friday. He was young, alone and harmless, but after posting a similar photo on Facebook, my mother couldn't resist sending me THIS.

Ham

Sawyer has always been the hide-behind-my-leg kinda kid when we walk into a room. You'll also remember that he was the angel that cried at last year's Christmas Pageant. When we walked into his preschool today, I noticed that they had built a small stage and apparently had been playing "actor" all week. The teachers read aloud books and the children act out the parts and even say some lines. So, guess who their number one actor is? Really. Can you guess? I was FLOORED when Miss Molly told me that OUR Sawyer is the first one with his hand up desperately waving in the air "ooooh-oooooh-oooooh pick me pick me" and that he not only says a few words like the other kids do he recites entire lines, sonnets even. Then, again, I look at his genes (you know who you are people) and I wonder why this should surprise me. I guess I wouldn't be shocked if this kind of behavior was occurring within the confines of our home. But, this is public, people. PUBLIC.

Adams Falls

The Adventure:


The Reward:

Long time gone

Apparently I've used that post title before. The cliches just pour out of me, I can't help it. To update you, after Scott finished scraping the scum off the refrigerator shelves, hauling (most) of the trash to the dump and touching up paint, his truck decided to crap out. To quote Sawyer: "AGAIN!" About every six months or so we have to throw some major cash into the Beast, a big black 1999 Ford F250 with 180,000 miles that's jacked up high enough for Shaquille O'Neil. But, it's paid off and, since Scott's still unemployed, we don't really have another option. This time it was the mainframe computer. Go figure that a computer can leave a truck dead on the side of the road. A week and a half later, plus some major oral surgery to remove an infected wisdom tooth, Scott is sitting at my parent's cottage in the Northern Neck twiddling his thumbs with no way even to get to the grocery store. He's waiting for . . . well . . . waiting for the Northern Neck, if you know what I mean. Things get done when they get done and impatience just isn't tolerated. No t.v. No Internet. Just the dog for company.

Meanwhile, I've gone Martha in my single momhood. Really. I don't know what's come over me. Tomorrow I'm planning to take the kids on a hike in the morning. And then I'm cooking a baked chicken and sweet potato dinner (I'm thinking about putting marshmallows on top to make the kids eat them) and I'm baking . . . no, wait . . . BAKING! pumpkin bread for dessert. I do laundry every night and get on my hands and knees after dinner to wash the kitchen floor. I do think the altitude has caused me to go mad. Also, just to top it off, I love my new job. Not only do I get to edit stories and layout pages up against deadline — love the faster pace — I'm also cranking out two or three stories for every paper (three times a week). I'm in overdrive. Other than a few low moments with the kids, like the pukorama weekend or the 5 am screaming Arden wake-up calls or Sawyer's nuclear meltdown in the grocery store parking lot that sent several women running to help me because apparently I looked like I was in over my head, I'm really happy.

Scott hasn't really been a part of our day-to-day lives in the past year, so it doesn't seem that different having him gone. Over the past year, and especially the last month, I've learned that I can do this alone, something I wasn't so sure of before. I can do it alone, and everyone is surviving just fine. But, now, I'm looking forward to finding out what it's like NOT having to do it alone. To have a companion in the craziness, good and bad. To bring back the male dimension, the Yang. It isn't going to be easy. A year feels like a lifetime, especially to the kids. There's going to be a major adjustment when Dad arrives. It's going to be a challenge, but I'm hoping that we'll all be better for it in the long run, and that ultimately we'll be a stronger family.

Swindled

We all bounced back quickly from the weekend's stomach bug, but now I'm in a total tizzy over the Swine Flu situation. I've NEVER bought into hype, but after covering this story, I'm pretty freaked. Maybe not so much that my kids are going to die, which — let's face it — they could, but that if somebody caught it tomorrow I could be home with sick kids and my sick self and still paying for daycare for THREE weeks! I mean, let's get practical people. I can't afford Swine Flu. So, I'm seriously considering getting the shots when they are "released" next week. They are being carefully "released" by the state government, which makes me highly suspect . . . again, I'm not a big conspiracy theorist, but why dole the stuff out like trick-or-treat candy when 60 kids in a 200 kid school are out with the flu this week alone? By the time they finish distributing the stuff mid-January, most of us will either have already survived it or died of it.

Typical

There are no photos to describe what the past 24 hours have been like for me. So you will just have to use your imagination. The photo here is from a hike two weeks ago with our friend Mary, who visited from the Northern Neck the weekend we arrived.

A very old and dear friend from Salida came to visit me in Granby Friday night. I have seen her only a handful of times since moving away from Colorado and this was to be the first time she would meet my children. Since she doesn't have children of her own and isn't the world's biggest fan of little kids, I was hoping my children would win her over with their charm, wit and utter cuteness. Or at least not be brats.

Five minutes before she arrived, Sawyer said he wasn't hungry, his tummy hurt and he couldn't wait for my friend anymore, it was time to go to bed. (It was almost 6 p.m). I should have seen the warning signs. I should have bolted the door. I should have known.

My friend walked through the door, said hello and set her bags down, and Sawyer promptly welcomed her by exploding from both ends all over the upstairs bathroom. Arden, terrified that I was leaving her with yet another stranger, clung to me screaming while I tried to keep her a safe distance from the contamination. My poor friend sat downstairs, made us some dinner and probably texted her husband several times requesting a rescue mission.

Sawyer was up about every hour for the rest of the night, alternating between vomiting and crying for water, which kept both me and Arden awake. Arden, who was bunking with me due to the puke-o-rama next door, ran around the bedroom munching on Ritz Crackers and drinking milk at 2 a.m. while I desperately tried to sleep a for even two minutes. Meanwhile, something I had eaten was churning in my stomach, and I was trying to imagine how I was going to do this sick and alone.

Eight loads of laundry later, sometime around 4:30 am, I still hadn't slept. Sawyer was finally holding down water but Arden was now too punchy to sleep. She was wailing at the top of her lungs — absolutely and uncontrollably hysterical in a way I have NEVER seen her — and I was facing one of those deep abysses of parenthood. Nothing I did helped. I was completely exhausted and concerned about my poor friend who had sequestered herself in my room, not to mention the neighbors who could probably hear the racket through the walls.

I carried Arden downstairs, bundled her up and did something I've never done in 3 years of parenting. I put her in the car and drove around the neighborhood. Twice. I just crossed my fingers that Sawyer wouldn't wake up. It worked like magic and I got her back to my room. Put her down in my bed and then crashed on her crib mattress in Sawyer's room. An hour-and-a-half later, everybody was up again and for good.

Sawyer seemed to have made a big recovery and was chatting with my friend downstairs, but Arden was still miserable, crying and clingy. I got the kids to sit down on the couch and watch a movie long enough to allow me a shower. That wonderful, refreshing shower lasted for about five minutes before Arden puked all over me and the bathroom.

My brave friend stuck it out, despite my suggestion that she should feel free to leave us with our own misery. She went for a run and, when the kids seemed somewhat stable, I decided we needed a long drive to conquer this day. We headed to Rocky Mountain National Park. Both kids cried and fussed through the whole thing, but we did manage a short walk. Everyone cat napped on and off in the car, and by the time we got home I was exhausted. The three of us passed out together on the couch while my friend was in the shower.

I woke up several hours later, somewhat refreshed, drank coffee, put my on game face. Only then did I realize that my friend had left . . . hightailed it back to saner places. The kids, of course, were now perky and jovial and playing nicely. They took a mellow bath and went to sleep promptly at 7 pm without the slightest sound. Of course, my friend will never believe me.

All I can do is laugh. No wonder there are about a million sayings for it. Murphy's Law. Par for the course. Typical. Really, I should have known that I was setting myself up. Of course I would have the worst night in three years of parenting on the same night it mattered to me the most that my kids were good and wonderful. What's that saying: If you want to hear God laugh, announce your plans.

I talked to the friend later on the phone and she swears she's coming back soon. We'll see about that, but I'm sure I pretty much drove that last nail in the coffin for her as far as having kids is concerned. Honestly, at this point, I'm kinda wondering about it myself.

UPDATE: Sunday night. The universe is laughing at me. I thought I was going to escape this one. Ha. That wouldn't be enough of a challenge. Moving across the country with the kids alone, starting a new job and new schools and then dealing with sickness all weekend, no sleep. Cakewalk. Let's see how I handle it all when I'm puking too. Tried to get the kids to bed before it started. They, of course, would have nothing to do with it. Wish me luck. It's gonna be another long night.

The other half

While we are having these GRAND COUNTY adventures, Scott is still in Pierce-ville dealing with cleaning the house, packing up the last of the stuff and taking care of a rather long 'honey-do' list on the house before the renters move in Oct. 10. He's feeling left behind (stranded in Pierce-ville as he writes) and is bummed to be missing all the firsts - first hike, first snow, first sight of Colorado peaks. But, he shouldn't be too bummed to be missing first night of High Altitude Insomnia or the second night, or the third. Nor should he feel too bummed to be missing out on Arden's first week sleeping on a mattress on the floor (a.k.a. trampoline). Or Sawyer's long stream (excuse the pun) of potty accidents this week. I'm sure it's not fun place to be, left behind to scrape the sticky stuff off the refrigerator shelves. There's no glory in hauling trash and bagging up empty hangers off the closet rods. I have to give him props too, because he's already made one haul across country to rent the house and move all our stuff in so that when we arrived last Saturday we could pretty much just lay down our heads. (And his reward for getting all that crap done will be the opportunity to make a second haul across country with a truck that has 180,000 miles pulling a trailer!) We are routing for him to get it all done this week and to sell those last few anchors weighing him down in order to get on the road! He has mountains to conquer in the process, both literal and metaphorical, but it will be well worth it in the end. Here's a little cheer from the stands. Go Daddy Go!



ps - Mimi's birthday is in January and Pop Pop's is in August. So go figure.

SAHM - day one of four.

One of the little perks of this move is that I get to be a SAHM for one week. Actually, four days, if you don't count Sunday. It's Monday, and this SAHM thing has already kicked my ass. I am wholly exhausted and it's not even 9 p.m. We visited three schools today (one twice), and Sawyer walked away from one stating: That's my school. (I agreed but, sadly Arden can't go there for another year.) It was, of course, the most expensive school and it follows the regular school year calendar (i.e. inconvienant). But, it's in a little red schoolhouse for Heaven's sake. After the school tours, we went to look for horses because Sawyer decided when he woke up this morning that his mission was to talk to a horse. We didn't see any close up but I did find him some in a field, which he yelled at. We explored YET ANOTHER awesome playground, ate lunch at Dairy King (which kicks Dairy Queens ass by the way) and then played in the driveway for the remainder of the day. And, I still managed to get a P.O. Box, which was my number one mission. I had to drag the kids inside (one kicking and screaming) and into the bath, and I haven't looked but I'm sure there's a filthy ring around the tub dirty as they were. I spent almost an hour on the phone talking to red schoolhouse teacher tonight, and now I'm going to collapse. But before I do, here's a photo I took from the driveway:

Home.

The kids were troopers all day, especially Sawyer who wheeled his own luggage through three airports without complaint and not only braved the airplane without a tear, but a train, elevator (had to drag him) and parking shuttle bus (kicking and screaming). Sawyer took the whole thing like a little man and chatted up the lady next to him on the bus about how we were going to our new house and the bus was taking us to mommy's car. I was really impressed with his grasp of the situation. The kids and I had just enough time to walk over to City Market, appreciate the selection, come home and hit the hay. I convinced Sawyer to sleep in Arden's room at least temporarily. We'll see whether it works long term. As I was trying to get everyone to quiet down Sawyer said: Excuse me, Mommy. Can you do me a favor? Can you tell me . . . um . . . What are we doing here?

Here is a totally unedited 4-minute video of us arriving at our new house today. There's something I have to explain before you watch it. Sawyer is terrified of vacuums. Climb up on the couch and scream terrified. My Kirby 2000, which I bought for more than I will ever admit from a couple of door-to-door salesmen when I was single and living in Leadville, is guaranteed to be with us for the next 50 years, longer than I'll have the wherewithal to lift it. I considered getting rid of it before the move but decided it held too much sentimental value (not to mention that I may still be paying it off on my credit card). Anyway, Sawyer apparently shared that sentimental feeling about the old Kirbster as you are about to see.