Taco the Wonder Crab

Once upon a time, on a hot, summer day in July, I took the kids to the pet store and came home with a hermit crab.

I'm not sure why I allowed this to happen.  I wasn't sitting around earlier that day thinking, Hmm, I don't have enough things to keep alive around here.  Let's get a hermit crab. Nope, that's not at all what happened.  What happened is that a certain eight-year-old boy looked at me with enormous brown eyes and he begged.

And I caved, people.

I'm not proud of myself for this but that's what happened. I just gave in.  We walked out of that pet store with a small crab house, four different shells (because hermit crabs change shells when they grow.  Who knew?), a fake log for him to hide under, tiny water and food bowls, food, rocks, and a sponge to keep damp.

Oh yes, and a hermit crab.  This is him.

He was promptly named Taco.  I have no clue why but we have a cat named Peach so clearly food is held in high esteem in our home. (You’re shocked, right?) In fact, Ben, our fearless protagonist and defender of hermit crabs in this story, was already laying the ground work for a friend for Taco.  “Mom, maybe we could get another hermit crab so Taco isn’t lonely,” he said, on the way home from getting Taco. 

“Um, sure,” I answered.

“We’ll get another hermit crab and we’ll give him a Chinese name,” he said enthusiastically.

“A Chinese name?” I asked.

“Yeah, we’ll call him Burrito.”

(A good mom would have probably patiently explained that burritos weren’t Chinese but I was laughing too hard to do that. I did file it away for a homeschool lesson on countries and languages.  At the rate we’re going, we’ll get to it something like two years from Tuesday). 

But, I digress.  (You’re not shocked by that either though). We get Taco set up in his little home and then I quickly discovered something about hermit crabs.  They are insanely...boring.  They do nothing.  They stay in their shell and sometimes move around.  Mostly, Taco hid under this log for privacy.  Once I flipped on the lights in the middle of the night and saw him half out of his shell—a fairly terrifying experience.  Hermit crabs are not exactly cute and fuzzy. 

No matter what I thought, Ben loved Taco and so did Gideon. Gideon is younger than Ben by 17 months and has severe autism. He loves most animals but it’s in the “love-him-and-squeeze-him-and-call-him-George” Of Mice and Men sort of love.  He seemed taken with Taco right away so we spent the first few weeks trying to find just the right spot to put Taco’s cage that would discourage someone from getting his chubby little hands on a tiny little hermit crab.

But we had a few “incidents.”  One such happened early on when Gideon quietly (but with intent) took Taco out of his cage and when caught, them him across the room.  

Taco survived.

Another time, Gideon dumped out the entire crab habitat all over the kitchen floor.

Taco survived.

About a month after we got Taco, Ben lost interest for a few days.  As in, he just didn’t feed him or bother to check on him.  On the fourth day, Ben came to me terribly upset.  “He’s dead, Mom.  He’s dead.”  

It was true that Taco was not moving much.  And, honestly, it’s not easy to see if a hermit crab is breathing.  All day, Ben mourned the loss of his hermit crab who still sat in his cage high on a shelf in our kitchen.  After my husband got home, we discovered that Taco had been moving around the night before (hermit crabs are not as quiet as you think) and so Ben did something amazing—he gave Taco some water.  Guess what?

Taco survived.

Taco also survived a weird worm infestation in his cage, a transfer to a new cage, numerous handling by grubby little boy hands, a forgotten feeding or two, and one more close call with Gideon.  I have to say I was impressed.  Sure, Taco wasn’t adorable in the traditional sense.  He didn’t play fetch or lay on my feet or anything like that.  But thus far, he’d been able to withstand our family.  Probably

because he was hiding all the time but, hey, this is about survival so I understood.  (I’ve hidden in the closet a time or two so Taco and I had something in common).

A few weeks ago, we discovered that hermit crabs shed their skin? Skeletons? Whatever it is.  Yet another drama-filled morning where Ben was sure Taco was dead.  I have to say it didn’t look good at first but, after some research, we found out that hermit crabs do shed and that if they lose a leg or two, it’s fine. They’ll grow back.   Impressive, right?

Taco survived.  

Then yesterday morning, we were certain we’d seen the end of Taco.  Yesterday morning, Ben gave Taco a bit more food and water and couldn’t find Taco.  It’s not a big cage but it’s big enough to keep Taco secure.  There’s no way he could escape by himself.  And yet, Taco was gone gone.

It took us some time to piece together what may have happened.  Taco’s cage had been left down which meant Gideon had easy access to him.  The afternoon before Gideon had played in the kiddie pool in the backyard.  It was a longshot but Ben trudged outside to look for Taco there.

“Mom!” he screeched thirty seconds later.  “It’s him. It’s Taco.” He raced back inside and shoved Taco’s very empty shell in my hand. 

“Where was he?”  

Through Ben’s tears, I deduced that the shell had been floating in the pool and that Taco was on the bottom of the pool.  It did not look good.  In fact, it looked very bad.

 

A few moments later found me in my nightgown fishing poor Taco out of the pool with a spatula. We placed what appeared to be his lifeless (ugly) little crab body back in his tank. 

“Is he alive?” Ben asked.

I shook my head.  “I don’t think so.”

Ben buried his face in my side and cried.  We left him in his tank (although I’m not sure why) and Ben kept checking on him every 15 minutes, you know, just in case. And then, Taco moved.  After first, it was a little twitch and then he clearly rearranged himself.  Slowly, slowly (I suspect as he warmed up), Taco came back to life right in front of us.  He spent the next 18 hours huddled, shell-less, against the side of the tank.  But he was most definitely alive! This morning, after another moment of panic, Ben found that Taco had set up residence in a new, roomier shell. 

Taco. Survived.

So, if you’re looking for a low maintenance kind of pet.  One that has more lives than a cat.  One that appears to come back from the dead in near-death-by-kiddie-pool experiences.  One that’s ugly and doesn’t do much.  Then, you need a hermit crab.  They are like the indestructible superhero of childhood pets. I am now a fan for life.

I thought we'd all get along famously now with our miracle crab and go about life.  And then today, Ben decided he wants a pet tortoise more than anything else in the world.  “Ah, Ben, maybe another pet isn’t a good idea right now.  Look what just happened to Taco?”

“I know, Mom.  Look what happened to Taco and he didn’t even die. Having a pet is kind of easy.”

Oh boy.

 _____________________________

Guess what?  A Stone's Throw from Perfection now has its very own Facebook page.  It needs friends.  Can you help?  Click here to join: A Stone's Throw From Perfection Facebook page

Did you enjoy this read?  Want a good place to start?  Click here: Telling the Truth

Not Picture Perfect

About three weeks ago, our family had professional pictures taken for the first time in three years.  As you might recall, family portraits aren't exactly something our family excels at. (You can read more about our trouble with pictures HERE). In fact, if I had to describe what it's like to wrangle four kids, two with autism, one with opinions, and a three year old, I would have to say it's something like herding cats.

In other words, impossible.

Thankfully, we attend church with a lovely family who sit behind us almost every week and they do this on purpose.  For some reason, they aren't too annoyed with the rodeo in our row (and yes, I've checked, they have good hearing and sight).  Maria, of said family, is a photographer so a few months ago I asked if she would be brave enough to photograph my monsters children.

"I'd love to, " she said without even thinking about it.

"Um, you know that it might be kind of difficult?" I asked. (Queen of the understatement here).

"I'm not worried.  It will be fine." Maria smiled at me brightly and we set up a date for the session in early September.

It was hot that evening and the humidity was about 1000% (how I wish that were an exaggeration). Maria, with the assistance of her husband and one of her daughters, took us to a quiet dirt road with a privacy gate (so, no real places for any escaping children to go). I'd like to tell you that all the children were excited about getting pictures but that would be a lie.

Daniel decided, rather than be with us, wanted to go exploring on the other side of the privacy gate.  He was so intent on this, he didn't want to be in the pictures at all.  When he is anxious about something, he talks and asks many questions, usually the same question many times.  Things like, "Why can't I go over to the other side?"  "I hate pictures.  Can I climb the fence?"  "I don't want to smile."  He carried in his hand a small (very sad-looking) monkey as a fidget toy and refused to keep it in his pocket.

The monkey made it into a few pictures.

Ben was, for the most part, his easy-going self.  He's never had a problem hamming it up for the camera.

Gideon was . . . Gideon.  New place, new things to explore. Things are always more interesting to him rather than people.  Add to that people who are begging him to just look at the camera?  I don't think so.  Someone told me this week that it Gideon always seemed like he was planning to do something.  Yes, he is. And it's never what you want him to do.  Finally Maria said, "I'll just follow him and I'll get the shot." So that's what she did."  I can't say that he ever quite looked at the camera in any of his pictures but he didn't lay down in the dirt road in protest so I consider it a win.

Lastly, Katherine, who is, well, three and, I think the nice way people say it is, strong-willed.  As someone else pointed out to me recently, Katherine has three big brothers so by sheer necessity she is more aggressive, more bossy, more mean, and much, much more stubborn than all of our other children are.

All that to say, Katherine is the reason I need wine at the end of the day.

She also wasn't on board with this whole picture thing.  She wasn't terribly interested in smiling or cooperating but Maria did manage to get a few good pictures of her nonetheless.

Then, of course, there were the actual family pictures. The ones where all six of us were supposed to look in the camera and smile at the same time.  

Herding cats, guys.  Herding cats.

I'll be honest, I had no idea how these pictures were going to turn out.  I've seen Maria's work.  She takes beautiful pictures.  She's a professional.  She knows what she's doing.

But this was our family, you all. We are not the family who wears matching clothes and then, with matching toothy smiles, poses with grace and ease by staring right into the camera.  We are not the family that will patiently wait to be arranged and rearranged to get everyone just so.  We are not the family that takes direction well . . . or at all.

In short, we are not the picture perfect family.

And yet, this is the perfect picture of us.  Something about it says so much about our family.  Maybe it's the silly expression on Gideon's face or the way Daniel is definitely not looking at the camera.  We aren't standing perfectly straight or still.  Some of us have smiles, some of don't.  Some of us are tired, flustered, done with this picture business.  Some of us just wanted one good picture of everyone together.  Just one!

It's not a perfect picture but it's a perfect picture of us and, because of that, it will proudly hang on our living room wall. I don't consider myself a perfectionist but I do get caught up in trying to be perfect every now and then.  I wanted these pictures to be perfect and . . . no one cooperated.  Yet I love each photograph.  They make me smile and they make me laugh and they say, "This is our family," loudly and proudly. 

Being perfect is hard (and impossible and kind of boring).

Be imperfect; all of my favorite people are.

***Special Thanks to Maria Arcement at Two Cups of Kids Photography for having patience with us and taking beautiful, perfect pictures of my imperfect but beautiful family.  You're the bestest!

________

Guess what?  A Stone's Throw from Perfection now has its very own Facebook page.  It needs friends.  Can you help?  Click here to join: A Stone's Throw From Perfection Facebook page

Did you enjoy this read?  Want a good place to start?  Click here: Telling the Truth

Attack of the Gideon Monster

About a month ago, I got a text from one of Gideon's therapist. He seemed to be pulling on one of hie ears and it appeared red. No fever or other symptoms but they were concerned. So, I picked him up early and took him to our pediatrician.  I didn't expect there to be much wrong with him and this appointment would just be a lesson in patience for me. 

But, to my surprise, Gideon had swimmers ear and a sinus infection.  Huh?  Who knew?  Not me.  He hadn't been acting particularly upset or in pain although it's difficult to tell with Gideon.  A couple of years ago (on Valentine's Day), he broke his arm.  We think it happened on the trampoline where he was playing with Daddy and his brothers.  He never once cried out or stopped playing.  But an hour later, he came to dinner and refused to use his arm. 

Some project that people with autism have a very high pain tolerance but I think it's more that they don't register the pain.  A week after he broke his arm, Gideon got a hang nail and, judging by the way he acted anytime anyone touched it, it was the worst pain he'd ever been in his life.  But he could see the injury and understood what he was feeling.  A broken arm?  Can't see that.

So here we were with two prescriptions for Gideon's ear and infection.  One was an ear drop, the other an oral liquid antibiotic. I laughed when the doctor prescribed the antibiotic.  "You know what it's like to give Gideon medicine?"

"I can imagine.  I expected you'd only get half down him," she assured me.

She was optimistic. 

That first night, a Friday, I attempted to give him the antibiotic (a thick, white, chalky liquid that didn't taste any better than it looked.  I always take a tiny taste of the things the kids are asked to take.  To prepare myself for the backlash). 

This did not go well. 

At all. 

When we were done, both he and I had to change our shirts, his face was covered in a white, chalky film and so was mine.  See, Gideon figured out that the best way to counteract taking medicine was to spit it out.  Right back into my face. 

This little scene needed to be done twice a day. 

But, it seems Gideon was not pleased with this turn of events.  He wasn't happy about the doctor's appointment or the medicine and, yes, he probably wasn't feel great.  So, as Gideon often does, he used his behavior to speak for him and he discovered breaking glass. 

A lot of glass.

At the beginning of August, I owned four 9x13 glass baking pans.  Today, I own none.  At the beginning of August, I had three vases. Today, I have one.  At the beginning of August, I owned an oval Pyrex bowl, a Pyrex measuring cup, a ceramic cross, a George Foreman grill, three bowls and one plate.  Today, I have none of those things.  At the beginning of August, Gideon has a plywood storage bed with drawers underneath and an attached headboard.  He doesn't have that anymore.  At the beginning of August, we had one fully in tact Kindle and iPad.  Both now have cracks.

We also, I'm afraid, had a few finger painting episodes.  Just not with paint.

The broken window (2nd story, of course)

And the piece de resistance? At the beginning of August, the boys had a fully intact bedroom window.  Then Gideon put his foot through it. 

Somehow, through all the glass flying, Gideon managed to not get hurt once, not even a scrape.  Katherine, on the other hand, stepped on a piece of glass and ended up at the urgent care one evening.  (Thankfully, no stitches). 

From the Friday I began giving him the medicine to the following Monday, Gideon went from fairly easygoing to monster mode.  I called the pediatrician and told her we needed to change up the medication or commit me to a mental ward.  So, she prescribed a capsule to break apart and hide in food.  But, friends, if you haven't met Gideon before, he's a smart young man.  He tries hard to make sure no one really knows just how smart he is.  People underestimate him, including, I'll admit, me sometimes.  The capsules weren't easier.  He knew by looking at the drink I'd put it in that it was there and he was absolutely not drinking it. 

I gave up on the antibiotics after he faked me out by picking up the cup, bringing it to his mouth to take a drink, and then quickly dumping the whole thing down the sink. Thirty minutes later, he opened the dishwasher and found a glass to break.

This path of destruction may have started because he didn't feel good but it's definitely ended up as a an activity that garners him attention. Now, he likes it because it's fun.   I've moved any glass I could, switched to silicone pans, kept him busy when I can, added a piece of plywood to protect his window, and prayed for patience. 

Lots of patience. 

Oddly enough, while the Gideon Monster was in full swing, we discovered something else.  We've been working on potty training for four solid years.  Gideon has never really initiated toileting but will go on a schedule (mostly).  One day, Gideon ran in the house, took himself to the bathroom, and then striped off this pants and underwear.  As long as he is au natural from the waist down, he goes to the bathroom by himself.  That's great news.  And also, confusing news.  Around the house, he can be pant-less but schools tend to frown upon nudity. 

What I've decided is that we are in a time of great change in Gideon's young life--a new school, a new routine, more reponsibility--and, I suspect, he's reaching some new developmental milestones.  It seems when he makes about to make a big jump in progress, we seen a noticeable change in behaviors. Maybe he's trying to figure out what's happening to himself. 

He's not alone, we're trying to figure that out too. 

It's been a wild, crazy, "wear your shoes, there might be glass," emotional, frustrating, exhausting month in our house.  As a parent, it's aggravating to not understand what your child is trying to communicate.  It's a guessing game and, sometimes, yours is as good a guess as mine.  I wish this was easier for Gideon and for us.  Sigh. For now, we lock up the breakables and see where this new phase in Gideon's life takes us.

And stock up on caffeine and wine. 

__________

Guess what?  A Stone's Throw from Perfection now has its very own Facebook page.  It needs friends.  Can you help?  Click here to join: A Stone's Throw From Perfection Facebook page

Did you enjoy this read?  Want a good place to start?  Click here: Telling the Truth

The Gift

It's been almost exactly one year (plus a couple of weeks) since I started this blog.  I did it half-jokingly and honestly didn't think I'd do much with it.  And I didn't for about six months.  Then one hard day in a year of hard days, I sat down and starting writing and it just came out of me.  It's been an amazing, cathartic, hard, beautiful thing for me. 

I've always had a secret dream of being a writer.  I've always had my nose in a book and a have a fairly vivid imagination.  In fact, sometimes I think that if my childhood had been just a little different, if I'd had more opportunities to take dance classes and learn an instrument and felt more confident and comfortable in my skin, I would have grown up to be on of those extra-creative, head-in-the-cloud types.  For better or worse, my life forces me to be ruthlessly practical. 

I hate being ruthlessly practical all the time. I hate thinking in budgets and coupons and how many uses I can get out of this one item all the time.  Sometimes, I want to be creative and dreamy and in my own world. 

Also I probably need therapy. But I'm cheap.

So, writing has been fulfilling two very important needs in my life--a creative outlet and free therapy.
I've needed both of those things this last year.  Our family is in a season of constant change and mishaps and it's been . . . difficult.  Honestly, it's been really, really difficult, like "I want to run away from home" difficult. So the writing has become a lifeline.

This all means when my fairly-new laptop decided to freeze intermittently and never again connect to the internet, it was the proverbial cherry on top.  It wasn't exactly the end of the world but it made writing more challenging for me. We have a desktop that's a dinosaur (in people years, it's seven years old; in computer years, it's 211 years old) but it's chugging along and so was I. 

Then, about a week and a half ago, I got a message from my friend Maria.  I met Maria about five or so years ago when both of our sons attended the same ABA therapy center together.  We're both autism moms which means we are card-carrying members of a very exclusive club.  (We also have a special handshake).  She also owns a local Baby Boot Camp and, after I had Katherine, I braved it and went.

It turned out to be an awesome experience. The atmosphere and especially the people encouraged me to keep coming.  I made more than a few new friends through Baby Boot Camp.  But, most of them, I don't see often.  We stay in touch through Facebook, might see each other occasionally, but otherwise, we are sort of friends from afar. 

But a week and a half ago, out of the blue, Maria called me and asked to meet with me.  "I have something for you," she said. 

I didn't think too much of it, to be honest.  So I arranged to meet at a local McDonald's and, while the kids played, Maria and I chatted and got caught up and wrangled kids (mostly mine). 

Then she handed me a large wrapped present with a card. "What's this?"

"It's for you.  It's from all of us at Baby Boot Camp."

"What?"

She smiled.  "God said that it needed to happen so I listened and we made it happen.  Just read the card."

So I did:

"Dear Sharon,

Thank you for sharing your story on "A Stone's Throw From Perfection." Your writing is poignant, honest, and real. You give us a greater understanding of autism but, most important, how God is ever present and always in control. Your friends at Baby Boot Camp Katy want you to keep on writing. We believe your writing can, does, and will inspire others. We believe your writing can reach the hearts of people near and far.  A crappy computer has no business on a writer's desk . . . and now we can add homeschool mom to your resume. We decided the crappy computer had to go.

Please enjoy this gift and we hope it blessed you and your family the same way you bless all those you meet!

Keep on Writing!
Love, Your Friends at Baby Boot Camp Katy
#publishSharon" 

(Yes, I have my own hashtag now).

You may have guessed already what was in that wrapped box--a brand new laptop.  For me.

Our family has been blessed many times over by more people than I can name. Everything from window repair to helping us pay for therapy.  I'm more grateful than I can say to these people and our family wouldn't survive with their help.  I'm not kidding, we'd fall apart. But having children (especially two with special needs) means they always come first.  Always. 

When I opened that box and stared at that laptop, I was speechless.  This was the nicest thing anyone had done for me, just me, in a long, long time. Maybe ever. The thing is that many of these women at Baby Boot Camp may have never met me, some of them know me in passing, a few would consider me a friend. Maybe they've read my blog a time or two and maybe they haven't. But this gift of a laptop was a life-changing moment for me. There aren't any excuses now. Now I write. And I know that I have a whole lot of mamas who are rooting for me. So it won't just be for me that I'll write, it will be for all of them too.

I've had my new laptop for a week and a half now and I haven't told a single person about it except my husband.  Something about this gift needed to stay all mine for a just a little while.  Each time I use it, I smile and know I have a fan club.  Each time I tell myself I'm too tired or too busy to write something, anything, t day, I remind myself that there's a bunch of people cheering me on.

I have no idea what the future will hold but I do know God and I can't help but think that this has His name all over it, in this gift from these women, in the voice He's given me, in the way He allows me to stitch words together.   The future is not clear (it never is) so I'll keep on writing and watching and waiting because God doesn't work by happy accident. God works with purpose and God is working right now. 

__________

Guess what?  A Stone's Throw from Perfection now has its very own Facebook page.  It needs friends.  Can you help?  Click here to join: A Stone's Throw From Perfection Facebook page

Did you enjoy this read?  Want a good place to start?  Click here: Telling the Truth

When I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of talent left, and could say, 'I used everything you gave me'.
Read more at: http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/e/ermabombec106409.html

When I Went Away

Convertible hair!

You may have noticed that I've been a bit MIA the last week or two.  That's because about two weeks ago, I left (on a jet plane) and flew back to my home state of Oregon.

Alone.

By myself.

Without children.

For five whole days!

That's right, my friends, no one called me Mom 73,000 times in an hour or asked me for a drink of water the second I sat down and I slept alone in a bed (albeit still scrunched on about six inches of the edge because some habits are hard to break).  I wasn't in charge of anyone except for me, myself, and I (and we're a handful sometimes).  I didn't make a meal for anyone.  In fact, twice, I didn't even make my bed!

It. Was. Amazing.

A view of the Columbia Gorge

It was so nice to be surrounded by people who've known me since way before I became that "autism/tired/always-late-and-kind-of-flaky mom."  It was nice to joke around and watch whatever I wanted to TV (cable TV in my room. Hello! The Hilton called and they are jealous of my accommodations).  I did silly, fun things like ride in a convertible for the first time or go to a karaoke bar (although I wasn't brave enough to sing).  I saw people I loved and caught up with old friends.  I visited beautiful, familiar places like Multnomah Falls and the Gorge and saw mountains and big trees and many, many hipsters.

And, you all, I haven't laughed that much for a long, long time. It felt so good.
  
While I was away, my husband did a great job keeping the kids alive and entertained.  He didn't even call or text all that much (and I had anticipated he would). 

My first evening away, I got the following phone call:
Me: Hello.
Husband: Hi.  Ah, where's the duct tape?
Me: Um, why?
Husband:  I just need it.  Where is it?
Me:  The cabinet in the kitchen.
Husband:  Thanks.  Here, talk to Katherine.

I then spend five solid minutes listening to Katherine alternate between giggling and heavy breathing.  The husband never comes back to the phone.

I wasn't worried.  Mostly.

A couple of days later, I get a text message.
Husband: Interesting Day.  We are now the proud owners of one very large Rastafarian Banana.
Then I got this picture:

Seems innocent enough, right? It was a little stuffed banana with dreds.  Doesn't seem very big either. Weird but not a big deal. Then I got home and met him in person.

He was just a tiny bit bigger then I imagined.  Even better, our new banana friend, given to us by our elderly neighbor across the street, had a hole in it. So the den floor looked something like this:

Good old Rastafarian Banana was like a gift that kept on giving.  He got duct tape over the hole because Katherine loved him so much, she insisted he sleeps in her twin-sized bed with her.

Sadly, just yesterday, our good friend banana friend rode off into the sunset, his final destination some garbage heap somewhere.  The kids haven't noticed.  Yet.

Multnomah Falls

I should probably say that I feel guilty about going on this trip but I don't.  I needed this mom-cation
more than air.  I love all my little people.  They are beautiful, sweet, loving gifts but they are incredibly high maintenance, a fact my husband now become very familiar with.  He pointed out, after I got back, how lonely it was to be at home with the kids all the time (yup), how much attitude Ben has (um, yeah), how Katherine really commits to a temper tantrum (most definitely) and how Gideon can get into a maximum number of things in a minimal amount of time (very true).  How thankful I am, though, to have a husband that saw how badly I needed a break and didn't bat an eye?

I came back from Oregon calmer, refreshed, lighter.  Of course, real life came back with a vengeance (dentist appointments, Daniel broke his glass, Gideon continued his rage rampage, and Katherine ended up with a trip to urgent care for a cut on her foot--all in the first 48 hours I was home).  Honestly, it seems like those five days happened in the distant past.  But it did happen and I have the pictures to prove it.

And you can bet I'm already planning next year's trip.  

__________

Guess what?  A Stone's Throw from Perfection now has its very own Facebook page.  It needs friends.  Can you help?  Click here to join: A Stone's Throw From Perfection Facebook page

Did you enjoy this read?  Want a good place to start?  Click here: Telling the Truth

Our Great Adventure, Part Two

If you have not read part one of our Great Adventure, take a moment and do so right HERE.

When I last left you, we'd finished three full days of our road trip form Texas to Oregon.  We'd been to the Grand Canyon, seem more of west Texas and New Mexico than any person needs to, and had arrived, exhausted at a sad Motel 6 in the sad desert town of Barstow, California.

I'm not sure what strange voodoo is going on in Barstow but I have yet to meet someone that had fond memories of it.  Then again, after hours of desert and desert and more desert, Barstow seemed like, well, an oasis of Del Tacos and Wal-Marts and gas stations.  But it is, in fact, where our Great Adventure seems to take a turn.

August 4th--Day 4 (Also our 14th wedding anniversary)

7:24 am. Local time

Barstow, California

Katherine takes a nose-dive off the bed, hits the end table and ends up with a mouth full of blood (cut lip inside).

Then the electricity goes off.

Time to get out of Barstow.

_________

Our morning started out with Katherine falling off the bed and hitting, what we thought at the time, the corner of her mouth.  There was a lot of bleeding, as often happens with mouth injuries.  She cried and she threw up.  At the time, I was certain the throwing up was because she was so upset.  It took about 10 minutes to calm her down and then she played happily in the bathtub.  We thought that was that. 

Of course, that wasn't that at all. 

9:47 pm local time

Mohave Desert. Again.

I'm in the land of pop again. :) (If you don't know what that means, you've lived in Texas too long).

10:37 am local time

Mohave Desert

Looks like Katherine hurt more than her lip when she fell. Just called our dentist. Waiting to see if we need to take her somewhere when we hit Bakersfield. Prayers appreciated.

________

About two hours on the road, Katherine became crying, really crying, completely inconsolable. We pulled over.  Guys, we were literally in the middle of dessert. There was nothing around for miles.  Just dirt, a couple of cactus and our minivan.  After I checked on her, I realized that she had hit her mouth much harder than we've first realized.  (Warning: This picture is a little graphic.  If you have kids, you've probably seen worse). 

We took a picture and phoned our dentist's office back home who had me text a picture.  (By the way, I love our pediatric dentist).  They assured me it would look worse before it looked better and I was given instructions on how to care for it including, wiping with a warm washcloth, cut up her food into small pieces, and make a dentist appointment when we get home. 

12:33 pm local time

Bakersfield, California

Eating lunch at Denny's and just realized I forgot the wedding present. Considered sending Carl back for it but it IS our anniversary . . . .

3:37 pm Local Time

Shandon Rest Stop, California

Highway 101, here we come.

Our view from the rest stop.  Sadly, the drought brought brown, brittle grass everywhere we looked.

4:53 pm Local time

Cambria, California

Well, it wouldn't be a vacation unless someone puked. 

________

And it was Katherine.  Who, you'll remember, had fallen and hit her head hard on a night stand that morning and had already thrown up once before. 

5:09 pm Local Time

Highway 1

Look what we found!

The kids seeing the Pacific Ocean for the first time.

7:59 pm Local Time

Monterey, California

Made it to Chili's after a terrifying, beautiful, exhilarating drive up Highway 1. I had to close my eyes a lot which was okay because I wasn't driving.

__________

Ah, yes, Chili's.  Have you ever wondered what would happen if your child projectile-vomited during dinner hour rush at a restaurant?  Never fear, I can answer that.  

Katherine seemed to be feeling better.  It had been a long day on the road and we were all tired and hungry.  We'd just settled in to eat some chips and salsa when Katherine blew.  And she blew everywhere.  They had to move us and the table to get everything up.  We weren't sitting in a quiet little corner of the restaurant.  Oh no, we were in the middle of it all.  

We gave our waiter a very good tip. 

But I wasn't as concerned about cleaning up the puke as much as the fact that this was the third time in less than twelve hours that Katherine, who'd had a nasty run-in with an end table, had thrown up.  I called our pediatricians' office on-call doctor after I changed her clothes and then mine (because, of course, I got it too).  The pediatrician told us we really needed to take her to an emergency room to be checked out.

We drove to Salinas, California (a bit outside of Monterey) and checked into the Wagon Wheel Hotel (can you guess what their logo was?) just after 10pm.  It was decided that Carl would stay with the boys and sleep while I took Katherine to a local emergency room. My GPS did not fail me.  It took me directly to the nearest local hospital.  It was also the county hospital.

"Are you lost?" The woman at the desk asked me as soon as she saw me.

"I don't think so?"  But maybe? "We're here passing through on vacation and she fell and needs to see a doctor." 

"Okay then," she replied and talked me through the admittance process before sending us to the waiting room, which was small and cramped and guarded by two police officers. 

There were two seats left . . . right next to a man in an orange jumpsuit wearing handcuffs on both his hands and feet.  Next to him sat his own personal prison guard.  We sat and the prisoner smiled at Katherine, showing a smile missing quite a few teeth except the few hanging on by sheer will.  

"She's cute," he said.

"Ah . . . ." I mean, really, what am I supposed to say?

"Shut up," the guard growled.  "No talking." The prisoner slumped down and didn't say another word. 

Katherine eventually fell asleep in my arms while we waited and waited and waited and  . . . . well, you get the point.  My phone didn't work in the hospital so I spent most of my time people watching.  An older man who looked homeless sat across from us, his belly distended and uncomfortable looking.  A family sat behind him, the little girl with dark hair and even darker eyes playing peek-a-boo with me. A very drunk young man whose friend had just been hit by a car sat to the left of me. He cried and spoke loudly and I learned more about his life than I ever needed to know.

Hanging out in her hospital bed, waiting
for the doctor.  

Katherine slept on and then, finally, we were called back.  The triage nurse fawned over a now-awake Katherine and then moved us to a second waiting room.  Here, Katherine got her second wind and danced around to "Uptown Funk" for 45 minutes before we were given a bed.  The bed was in the hallway.  For privacy. there was a curtain.  The curtain did not block out the sound of the young man getting arrested in the bed across from us.  

The nurses and hospital staff were all very nice and happily ooh'ed and ahh'ed over Katherine.  I got the feeling they didn't see many almost two year olds with infectious smiles.  After all that, the doctor spent ten minutes with us, declared a very mild concussion, told me what to look for, and sent us packing.  

So, a very tired Mommy and a now rather awake Katherine headed back to our hotel room around 1:30 in the morning. 

1:44 am Local Time

Salinas, California

Apparently it's never really a family vacation unless someone ends up in the emergency room.

She's fine but a loooong night.

_____

That, my friends, is day four of our trip.  But, my friends, I'll warn you now, the puke is just getting started.  Part three will be coming soon . . . .

_______

Guess what?  A Stone's Throw from Perfection now has its very own Facebook page.  It needs friends.  Can you help?  Click here to join: A Stone's Throw From Perfection Facebook page

Did you enjoy this read?  Want a good place to start?  Click here: Telling the Truth