What a "Wet Wednesday!"

To celebrate "Wet Wednesday," we planned to go with friends to the Whitney Ranch pool, but then the rains came. I woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of the rain on our back patio cover and it didn't stop all day.

My kids monitored the water level in our pool and played in the rain in our back yard. I used the time to finish cleaning and prepping the school room. Here's the fruit of that labor:

I could have cleaned all day, I'm weird that way, but the kids had other ideas so we headed out after lunch to the library and then to Lowe's to go cactus shopping. Last week the kids made "poured paint" pots and we needed something to plant in them. As we drove around town, the rain kept tumbling down.

The library was flat-out depressing. A sign on the door told of budget cut-backs and resulting weekly closures beginning at our branch in October. Once inside, towels and buckets were placed all around the floor to catch water from numerous ceiling leaks. The children's section was darkened because of the number of leaks and several areas were roped off and the books removed from the shelves to prevent water damage. Despite the darkness and the dampness, everyone went about their usual business but it was all a little bizarre.

From the library we made our way to Michael's for a few last-minute school supplies and then to Lowe's where we picked out miniature cactus plants for seven kids. It's slightly harrowing to carry that many cacti around and get them to the register and then out to the car, but we did it.

Back at the ranch, we spent some time transplanting the cacti and getting soaked outside as the rain continued to pour.

We never got to swim, but it was still a thoroughly wet Wednesday. The rain finally ceased around dinner time and we ended the day in the cul de sac with a few other families in total shock and delight that the temperature was in the high 60s - a full thirty-plus degrees cooler than usual for this time of the year.

One of my favorite scenes from the day - Joe offered to read to John and Dominic when we got home from cactus-planting. Their heads were still wet - it was a day soaked in fun.

"Take A Trip Tuesday"

"Take A Trip Tuesday" is great alliteration-wise, but it doesn't work so well when you're on a budget and when the temperature is over one hundred degrees.

We were already on the Strip to go to Confession (only in Vegas, truly!) so we headed to the Bellagio with our friends. Indoor and free!

It sure was pretty. But, honestly, it's not the best place for kids. Once they've marveled at the flowers and the fountains, it's pure torture: a bridge you can't cross; a carousel you can't ride; a lighthouse you can't enter.

Oh well. There just aren't many options in the "indoor and free" category. I think we all made the best of it, and concluded the experience walking by the giant chocolate fountain - which no one could drink from, of course.

With Kevin out of town, and my step-mom out of state, my dear old dad took the kids and I out for pizza. Sunset Park beckoned after that and I got fun photos of the kids on the giant sundial - by their corresponding ages. Except for Bethanie, because there was no "7."

"Make Something Monday"

I'm trying to survive the last week of Summer break.

Today was "Make Something Monday." Tomorrow: "Take a Trip Tuesday." Then "Wet Wednesday;" "Thinking Thursday;" and "Friend Friday." These all ensure that the weekend will be "Super-Tired Saturday and Sunday." 

I found this idea on Pinterest. However, the mom who shared it used it as the basis for her entire summer, whereas I just need to get through one. last. week.

This afternoon I had a delightful and idealistic vision of my sweet children engaged wholeheartedly in craft projects, but I also wanted to weed the shelf-full of "project kits" that has been accumulating since Christmas.

Bethanie pulled out her Shrinky Dinks fairy land.

Joe tackled a bridge-building kit.
Cayna painted plastic butterflies.
And John used the dot-painters.

What did I do? I came very close to hiding under a bathmat upstairs behind locked doors. It is not my forte to facilitate "craft time" even for my own kids. And I'm afraid that my lack of patience made more of a mess than the paint in the hands of the four year-old. But I did do it. That's gotta count for something. Now if you'll excuse me I have to come up with where we're going for "Take a Trip Tuesday."

Fletcher Peak, First Try

As we made our way up a canyon yesterday, my friend Michelle kept saying, "I am out of my comfort zone." So was I. On a day to day basis, I try to avoid insects, wild animals, and super-strenuous activity. Conversely, I love adventure, exciting goals, and nature. So once in a while, I gotta get "out there" and try to climb a mountain.

I caught Michelle as she was adjusting her hat in this photo, so we re-took it. But I like this version because it looks like she's giving a "tip of the hat" to the trail ahead. 

Our goal was Fletcher Peak, at 10,319 feet. It's not the highest spot in the Spring Mountains, but supposedly it offers fantastic views all around. We wouldn't know, though, because we didn't make it to the peak. As I've browsed through a few websites today, I've realized that since we lacked a professional guide, we probably should have taken the North Loop trail rather than Hummingbird Hollow - I'm fairly sure that only crazy people take Hummingbird Hollow. This is evident in the photo below. The happy, cool blue route is the North Loop trail taken by smart hikers. The route we took is shown in red. Red means STOP! Danger! Beware! Only lunatics take this route!

In the Hollow, we were treated to lots of scrambling, stressfully steep inclines, and no other hikers until about the last half-hour of our descent. This made for an exceptional wilderness-y experience. The "route" shouldn't be mistaken for a trail. It was more of what I might call not a trail. How I WISH we had had a trail. It would have made the whole five hours so much happier. As it was, we saw approximately three cairns, all within the first hour of the hike... and then never again. I've never felt closer to Bear Grylls.)

These cairns offered a lot of hope, but they were too darn rare. This may have been the last one we saw on the way up. See the smile on my face? I like cairns. I need WAY more experience before I start trekking up mountain trails with no cairns.

Speaking of smiles, here is a nice shot of Michelle with a smile on her face:

There was good sunlight on that log so I told her to pose for a photo. Only after I got home and viewed the photos did I notice that her butt is not actually touching the log. She's hovering, relying on her quads, which have run marathons and half-marathons, and can log-hover like a pro. But in case anyone is reading my blog to gain knowledge about hiking, let me share some log information: if you sit on them when they're wet, you're going to get the butt of your pants dirty (this is something they won't tell you on those "manly" hiking blogs). And furthermore, wet logs are very very slippery. We learned that the hard way. Very slippery.

Despite all the wet logs and our increasing realization that we weren't really on a trail, per se, we continued upward!

And then more upward:

As I stated earlier, Michelle is no wimp -- she is a kick-butt runner who once talked me into a 15-mile run to train for our 13-mile half marathon! But here you see, by the fact that she has to use her hands, that we were on a significant slope. You should also note that soon after this, we stopped taking pictures for a while. Moments later we got to a portion of the hike where all we said to each other was, "Are you kidding me?" and "This can't be the right way!" over and over and over again. After hefting ourselves up mini-cliffs, (nearly five feet tall, which might not sound like much but I don't make a habit of climbing fences that high, much less rocks) and endless steep piles of talus - we came to a high point (not in mood, in elevation) and with the accompanying cell phone service, I promptly dialed my friend Layla. Layla hiked to Fletcher Peak just a few weeks ago, and she had assured me that the hike was reasonable and she only had to use her hands once. We had used our hands more often than not. I called under the pretense that we needed directions, but really I just wanted someone to yell at. (Just kidding, Layla. Kinda.)

We rested for a few minutes at this point and enjoyed the little brook we discovered.

 
It is true, we never made the peak. We hiked for another hour after the brook and the cell phone call (I ended up leaving a voice mail) but there was an entire tree-covered mountainside ahead with no view of a peak and still no sign of a trail. Our strategy was: go up. Which we did, heartily, for a long time. But we became hungry and steadied ourselves on the slope to eat our sandwiches. After lunch, we gave up the peak and started back down.

It's not an exaggeration to say that I spent most of the descent in mild panic. We refused to go down the way we came up - we knew it would be too hard. So we took an alternate leg of the canyon until we knew we had passed the trickiest part. I was disappointed, but I didn't have time to wallow because that's when the booming thunder began. Followed by a rainstorm.

Here is the last nice view before the crazy no-trail canyon:

After this, it was all shaky legs, maneuvering over loose rock, through bushes, and climbing giant fallen tree trunks. Oh yes, and lots of deer poop and one big deer carcass that Michelle saw first and just said, "Oh. Gross," and we went another way.

We didn't reach the peak, but we did get back to our car, which is the next best thing when you've tackled a hike like this one. We'll try again another day.

11,300 Feet - The High Point of My Year

Bear spray. River crossings. Snow fields. These are nifty terms that I had no context for until three days ago when I hiked Table Mountain in Grand Teton National Park.

In order to prepare myself for this hike, I did the following: set my treadmill on an incline and walked until I didn't feel like it anymore; Googled "hiking tips" to see if there was any new wisdom on hiking downhill, at which I suck; diligently avoided looking at too many internet sites pertaining to the actual hike for fear that I would discover it might be impossible for me.

And so, on the morning of July 12, 2012, my last day of being 41 - I got up really, really early and packed my peanut butter and jam sandwich into my borrowed Camelbak. We left Rexburg, Idaho for the trailhead in Wyoming about an hour away. There were six of us women riding in a minivan toward the sunrise and chatting casually about many things completely unrelated to bear spray, flares, whistles, toilet paper-in-a-baggie, and other elements of emergency preparedness which were included in our backpacks.

Just before we met up with the seventh woman in our party, it was established that I was the oldest in the group, and also the only hiker coming from a low elevation. Henderson is 1,330 feet above sea level. All my fellow hikers are from Rexburg, situated at a handy 4,865 feet. I tried not to let this discourage me, and, in fact, it didn't. I wasn't discouraged until three minutes into the hike when I had to start panting. Read this little tidbit about the beginning of "The Face" trail we ascended to Table Rock: "Rather than gain elevation gradually, it leads straight up the hillside with hardly a switchback to moderate the ascent. It gains 2,100 feet within a mile of leaving the parking lot. In addition, much of the trail is covered with loose rock and "ball bearing" gravel (gravel round enough to roll underfoot when stepped on). In fact, just as The Face trail leaves the parking area, a prominently placed sign warns 'Trail Not Maintained, Very Steep, Not Recommended.'"

Our plan was to hike up The Face, and down a separate trail called Huckleberry. It was a 12-mile round trip hike with an overall elevation gain of 4,100 feet -- topping out at 11,300 feet.

Here I am with my sister-in-law, Rachel - who I love and admire and was happy to be standing next to near an aspen grove probably at that first mile mark. So far, so good.

I really love aspens. And I love saying "aspen grove." Even more, I love that I passed by hundreds of them during the course of this hike.

Much of the rest of my uphill journey was marked by my heavy breathing. It is fortunate that one of our group was pregnant, about to begin her second trimester, so I could tell myself that everyone kept stopping to let her catch her breath. This is, in truth, hilariously not the case since Annalise, "pregnant girl," was nearly always in the lead and probably could have shaved two hours off her ascent time if I wasn't tagging along. Since I'm naming and nicknaming one of Rachel's friends, perhaps further introduction would be fun.

Left to right: Rachel, mother of three, wife to an adventure guide employed by the same University where my brother works. I sat by her at the top of Table Mountain while we ate lunch and she described for me the routes she's taken to climb the Grand Teton TWICE. Annalise, mother of three boys and currently pregnant with her fourth child. Her husband is a farmer in Idaho. She is an energetic, fun, leader personality with seemingly no fears. Lindsey, mother of six - her husband has a degree in "Turf," and she has a degree in Forestry. My sister-in-law says that if she was stranded on a desert island and could only bring one thing, she'd bring Lindsey. I loved that she could name all the flowers and trees along the trail, and I have no doubt that if we had encountered a bear, she would have known what to do - perhaps not even having to resort to the spray. Fourth from left is Debbie, mom of five boys. Her husband allegedly told her she "hadn't trained enough" for this hike and that makes me want to snort Gatorade out my nose. This girl was a speed demon, hiking athlete (though purportedly new to the sport), and probably would have helped Lindsey fight the bear. Rachel, far right, is mom of four and the woman who married my brother fifteen years ago on the date of our hike. Well, if I was the one stranded on an island, I'd bring her. Not only do I believe she is resourceful, but her calmness and perspective keeps me "level" and she sort of diffuses my drama. This came in handy on the hike when I fell into a snow bank, clutching at the frozen stuff while fearing slipping down the steep slope, and she coolly stated, "Hey, Teri, that snow must feel good in this heat." Not pictured is Stacy, who I would have loved to spend another day or two with. She was often close by and we had a chance to get to know each other when I had enough breath to talk. She has four kids, boy-girl-girl-boy, just like me, plus a ready smile and a kick-butt casualness that kept me motivated more than once.

To read plenty about the technicalities of this hike, here are some fun sites: Trail Mutt; Yellowstone Park; and a blog we found written by another hiker mom.

On the eve of my birthday, I couldn't have picked a better way to celebrate than hiking in the mountains surrounded by flowers, trees, and the sound of birds chirping. It really was poetic. In fact, in addition to spending some of my hiking time (I had 11 hours!) praying for my husband and children, I also brought to mind some Robert Frost poetry. It was marvelous. Also, I had a hard time believing it wasn't all a dream. How crazy to be hiking so far from my usual setting - in July! - and come across snow! We even hiked through it a couple times. Here you can see our first close-up sighting of it as well as our first tiny stream crossing.

If you follow any of the links I recommended above, you'd see that this hike is "not recommended for beginners." By the time we traversed a million meadows, many uphill climbs, trillions of rocks, including a loooooong pile of scree - I was exhausted. During the last mile, I forced down a peanut butter Power Bar that Stacy offered and I would compare this leg of the hike to transition in labor. I wanted to quit but couldn't - I was driven on by the need to finish. Making it to the top of Table Mountain was the equivalent of holding the baby in my hands. I have to admit that my steps were VERY slow and I felt miserable a few times. It is entirely possible that I got Rachel to take this photo of me just so I could stop. But we were getting really close here!

A view of the goal:

If you say, "That looks like a breeze!" I will kill you. This picture doesn't do justice to it's difficulty. In fact, as I look at this, I think it appears that you could walk right up whistling a tune and picking at your fingernails. To lend some perspective, we probably had a good mile to go at this point and there is scrambling involved to reach the summit. Peeking out on the left side is none other than The Grand Teton - all 13,770 feet of it.

We reached the top just five hours after our start. My feet were cramping and I felt the elation I've only felt two other times: upon successful completion of four natural childbirth and three half-marathons. Some shots from the top:

It was mightily incredible. We sat up there for an hour and ate our lunch and shooed away a rock chuck. I wanted to relish the scenery for as long as possible, but I also wanted to quell the anxiety that crept into my chest and gut by beginning the downhill that I feared. Here is what I was facing:

That was taken from the top and the trail is visible zig-zagging away toward a fork we would eventually take to descend the Huckleberry trail. Thank God. I think the loose rock and constant slope of The Face would have torn apart my nerves and my knees on the return. Huckleberry held more lovely views, numerous river crossings, four over logs, one with shoes off, pants rolled up, and icy water cooling our toes. Huckleberry was two additional miles compared to The Face - and though it was downhill, it took us the same five hours we'd spent going up.

I had many philosophical, analytical moments, most of which I'm sparing you. I spent a lot of time considering why I'm so fearful. Why did it seem as if those other girls pranced down the hill like sure-footed mountain goats, while I tiptoed with caution? I was afraid to disturb the mountain lest it hurl me off its side and into the valley below. Kevin says I just need more experience. I'm all for it. And like I told Rachel as we strolled a path through Indian Paintbrush, Bluebells, Columbine, Monkshood, Huckleberry, and Stinging Nettle - after this hike, nothing is going to seem very difficult for a long, long time.

"Did I Hear a 'Niner' In There?"

There she is! My nine year-old. This picture is rare because she doesn't sit in my lap very often anymore. She's too old for that. She has moved on to things like: getting braces, doing her own hair, diving into musical theater, and asking theological questions that sometimes I can't answer without research.

This year, to celebrate, she wanted a luau complete with a real pig on a spit and an apple stuffed in its mouth. Seeing as her dad has gone all vegan on us, that wasn't going to happen. But he did take her out shopping for decorations and they found a paper pig with an apple stuffed in its mouth. To say she was delighted would be an understatement. Cayna, in general, is all about OVERstatement.

On the day of her actual birthday, we went out to dinner with grandparents and that's where this photo is taken. I love my daughter. I love that I HAVE a daughter (two, in fact!), and I love seeing life through her eyes. Last year, she proclaimed her birthday with chalk on a park sidewalk. This year, she simply wrote CAYNA surrounded by the number 9 in crayon on a paper doily. I'm saving it. I want to remember this day because she won't let me hold her on my lap much longer.

News on my Neck

I have a funny lump on my neck. Had an ultrasound the other day, and I have two cysts and a nodule on my thyroid. I don't like the word "nodule," nor "cyst." And here's the REALLY fun news: they're going to stick a needle in my neck to biopsy the sucker and drain it. My doctor, who I want to trust, does not think I have cancer at this point. And in the world of words, I'd rather have a nodule than a cancer.

Here is where I do not like being a grown-up: I do not have anyone to hold my hand while they stick a needle in my neck. In middle school, I had a mole removed from my scalp. They stuck a needle in my head (only one step up from a needle in the neck) to numb the area before they cut off the mole. (Who is still reading this? This is totally gross but I gotta talk about it somewhere.) My mom was there. But now I'm the mom and all of my possible hand-holding resources should probably be watching my kids so they don't have to come to the appointment with me and observe everything and ask the questions I know they would ask: "Mom, what are they going to do with that needle?" "Mom, that needle is really long!" "Mom, what are they going to do with the juice once they take it out of your neck?" "Mom, what's a nodule?" "Mom, does that hurt?" "MOM! Wake up!!! MOM! - Oh, there you are, Mom - you were looking white as a ghost!" "All the stuff came out, Mom. We saw it. It looked like coconut milk." "Are you going to have a bandaid on your neck?"

So please say a little prayer for me. And maybe for all those people out there who are getting news that is scarier than a needle to the neck.