Anticipation

Whenever I've experienced something so thoroughly that I begin to reflect on what it really means, I rest easy knowing I've drawn from the event more than I had expected. If you've been on vacation long enough you begin to wonder what a vacation really is...

Vacation is anticipation.

It begins with planning but quickly escalates on the morning of departure. After many talks of the fun waiting for us in the mountains the boys were counting on, hoping for, and dreaming of snowball fights, sledding hills, and hot chocolate. I think I was hoping for a reprieve of my daily routine and a breath of fresh air -- literally and figuratively. When all plans to leave by 10 a.m. started to dissolve into something more like noon, they were whipped up like squirrels eating chocolate covered coca nuts and I was ready to cancel the whole adventure.

But finally we were in the car and ready to go.


Upon arriving at our anticipated location -- a gorgeous lodge in Keystone -- they were open-eyed, openmouthed, and eager to explore the entire house. From there it was giggles for hours while the grown ups set to cooking the Thanksgiving feast (another highly anticipated event).


Now it's your turn to anticipate what else we found on vacation... see you tomorrow.

When Does Vacation Begin?

When does the vacation begin? Is it when the dreaming of a vacation begins? Or when the reservation is made? Surely not when you are trying to pack for your vacation and your kids are unpacking even faster.

I take great pleasure in imagining the trip before it's taken. I know it is a habit rooted in limited traveling when I was younger, followed by slightly less limited travel as I age. I've never been to Puerto Rico or Portland or Paris. My passport is virtually empty. But I always find a way to escape via my mind.

In case you haven't noticed, we've been on vacation. But we're back, stop in all this week for highlights from the trip.

Foreman Cooper Under the Tree

People, we have a problem. Our family -- or quite specifically I -- got a wild hair a few years ago and bought a fake, pre-lit Christmas tree. That first year it was just plain pretty. I loved it, all sparkly and stuff. Now I've noticed a few problems.

1) Some of the lights don't light anymore
2) It looks like it lives 11/12vths of the year in a box


But never fear, we have Foreman Cooper to assist us in any fearful tree troubleshooting. Namely, as we were assembling the tree (no, it is not turned on, nor is it decorated) and assessing the damage that only storage can ravage, he sidled next to Steve and me under the tree and said, "What's seems to be the problem, guys?"

Can you stand it? He is so helpful. But seriously, what does seem to be the problem and someone please tell me how to fix it.

PS -- Spending hours with your head in a tree will give you such a case of static cling.

Barefoot in November

There's always a day or two late in November when my kids can play barefoot in the grass. I patiently wait for it with my camera at the ready. This past week, it happened.

And to Think...

When I was pregnant with my second son I literally went into the hospital thinking I was going to give him the middle name of Adam. The times I had spend with that particular brother during the previous year were wonderful and I was wanting to remember that by naming my baby after him. Well, then Mason was born very early and was very small. When I looked at him I just couldn't imagine him being name after a man who more than 6 and a half feet tall.

Now Adam is expecting his first child. I am so excited for him and his sweet wife. Best of luck... and here's a little gift.

Where's Mason?

It starts with an eerie silence. I usually find myself wrapped up in NPR as I unload the dishwasher and then realize, I don't know where Mason is. I can't hear him playing. So, I start walking around the house calling, "Where's Mason?"

He responds with a stifled giggle.

Then I spot him. (Though I must say his hiding spots are pretty clever.)

Caught Sugar-Handed

In the minutes it took me to make a bed upstairs, my boys found some really old candy. (Left over from toilet training Cooper almost 2 years ago!) When I started down the stairs, I could tell something was up. You see, there's a certain silence when you're about to find a colossal mess, an overflowed toilet, poop water in your basement, or little boys eating their weight in candy. A creak on the second to last step broke that silence and sent Cooper scurrying. In his haste he ran right into me.


I'm not sure if it's a gene that all children come equipped with, or not. But he immediately started to squirm his way out of trouble. "I only ate 13, but Mason is still eating. I bet he's going to eat 100. You should go see and send him to time out."

Go see is exactly what I proceeded to do. I didn't have the heart to tell them that they could have just asked for some nice, decently fresh Halloween candy. It was too fun watching their jaws strain under the pressure of, "Must eat this hardened candy before mom realizes how much is in my mouth."