The New and Improved Dungeon

It's clean, it's painted, it's organized... it's the dungeon! Over the past week I have smiled every single time I walk by it - and I keep smiling when I actually spend time on the treadmill or use the newly purchased exercise ball.

Toothless Wonder

Since losing his first tooth a few weeks ago John has lost three more. He hung onto two of them for the duration of our trip to Arizona but decided to pull them both out the night before last. Here he is - without his four front teeth.

They're growing up

Seven-year-old John recently lost his first tooth. Overall it was a pretty non-traumatic event as he figured out he had a loose tooth one Saturday morning, he spent all day wiggling it, and by bedtime, it was out and the tooth fairy was on her way.

It went by so fast – I didn’t have time to prepare for it. With Lucy a tooth can be loose for months before she’ll get up the courage to pull it out – and even then it’s with lots of drama and by the time it’s out she’s lost a tooth and I’ve lost my patience. Sophie is pretty nonchalant now but when she was younger we had to coach her through it. With her first one she let Dave take the pliers to it but after that she wanted to do it all on her own.

Over the last twelve years there have been lots of firsts, seconds and thirds. And usually I’m fine with it all – I was excited for Sophie’s first steps, Lucy’s first words, and John’s first bed. I was happy to send Sophie off for her first day of Kindergarten, then Lucy and then John – there weren’t any tears shed by me for any of the kids. But this first tooth thing took me by surprise – after the tooth fairy had put the $1 bill under the glass that held the tooth, I shed a little tear.

Maybe it’s because Dave was out of town, maybe it’s because I was starting to get sick, or maybe it was because the kids had all been sick and I was tired – but actually I don’t think it was for any of those reasons. I think it had everything to do with the fact our kids are getting older and there won’t be any more losing of the first tooth at our house. We’re done – we’ve passed that milestone and we won’t see it again – until grandchildren start losing teeth.

The thing is, I wonder why this hit me so hard when other major events haven’t. Is it that our life has finally slowed down enough that there are times during the day when I actually have time to drink my coffee and just think? I have to admit that having three kids and one miscarriage in four years meant there was a whole lot of blurring of our days and nights but I must have still had some time to think and process, right?!!?

I don’t know the answer but I do know it hit me hard that all our kids are growing up – by July Sophie will be able to babysit, Lucy will hit double-digits on her next birthday, and John will be in second grade. The grade I used to teach and when I was teaching I certainly never thought of those second-graders as little ones.

My plan on coping with all this: sit back, grab a cup of coffee and give a kid a hug every chance I get. Oh, and I guess there might be a tear or two shed along the way.

Checking on Dakota

I've been thinking about Dakota...and missing her. So this morning I called the kennel to see how she was doing. I didn't get the owners but I got another person who knows Dakota and she reassured me Dakota was doing fine and that she was sure she missed us.

With the phone disconnected but still in my hand I looked over to Dave and said, "I don't know what I really expected - I mean it's not like they'd let me talk to her or anything."

The strange thing is this - a year ago I never would have dreamed I'd call from vacation to check up on our dog. I don't think I ever did that with Dasher, (our "before kids" dog who we treated like a baby and slept with us every night) but then again Dasher usually stayed with family while we went on vacations. I think she only stayed in a kennel once in twelve years.

This dog has touched me in a way I didn't think I'd feel about an animal again. I love her smell, her soft paws, the way she licks my toes, and how she sleeps diagonally on her back with her legs all sprawled out. I miss her.

We'll all be happy to see her Sunday morning - and I think she'll be happy to see us too.

Heights

I'm a bit afraid of heights. Perhaps it's because I grew up in North Dakota where the spring ritual for our track team was to run two miles just to find a small incline on which to run "hills." And then, even that hill was not much more than a dip in the gravel road. Or maybe it's because I have some distant childhood memory of traveling in a Winnebago and making our way around windy mountain roads. I'm not sure why I'm afraid of heights but I'm reminded of it every time we're in Arizona.

This year I told myself I wasn't going to climb right outside Mom and Dad's backyard (the red rock in the above picture). Last spring I climbed higher than I ever had before and well, I guess I thought that was high enough. This year the kids and Dave knocked off that same climb before lunch the other day - they came back happy and exhilerated and I was just as happy that I'd stayed on the ground. On another day I talked them into going for a hike, not a climb. There was lots of complaining going on during that four mile walk (too much walking, not enough climbing) but I was loving every minute of it.

Then came our last day in Sedona. John wanted to make to climb again - not hike - and I couldn't talk anybody into going for a hike around Bell Rock - or even a small jaunt to Cathedral Rock. So while Sophie and Lucy stayed back and made cookies with Mom, I went for a climb with Dad, Dave and John - with every intent of coming back on my own once I felt that familiar stomach tightening.

It started out wonderfully - I was amazed at John's climbing and his enthusiasm for leading us up the wash. He reminded me of Dad with the way he just scrabbled up the rocks. Here's a pic I took right after one of our water breaks.

We kept going and I was feeling great - beauty surrounded us everywhere I looked and the rocks in the wash were solid and strong. We kept climbing and climbing and I started kicking myself for not doing this the previous days.

Then came some loose rock that involved some hunching over and maneuvering sideways on all fours. Dave stuck with John but I could see the look of concern on his face - he knows me well enough to know that I had just reached my limit. But unfortunately, there was no going back down the way we had just come. So I sat, took a drink, and talked to myself. I looked over at Dave, with his smile and his shorts and hiking boots full of red dust and took this picture of the view. I told myself I've come this far and I'm fine - and I can keep going. So I did - slowly and carefully trying to breathe and willing my legs to keep moving.

By the time we all stopped for another water break Dad knew I wasn't doing so well. He came over to me and talked me through a narrow pass full of loose rock, "Hug the rock Marc, hug the rock. Get down on all fours, face it. If you fall you're not going anywhere. Hug the rock, hug the rock. Great job Marci Miller!"

I was less than reassured. By then I knew I had to make it to the top - we could try to find a different way back down but they knew, from past experience, that there was an easier way down on the other side of the rock. So, up we climbed.

John was starting to get a bit nervous - I'm sure I wasn't helping him feel any more comfortable on the rock even though the only thing I said was "Dave, stay with him. I can't watch him climb." Meaning - it was all I could do to worry about myself and worrying about him was making me even more stressed overall...

During this last stretch, Dad was climbing around like a mountain goat above us - back and forth, back and forth, trying to find the best way to get to the top. He called out, "Oh I don't know, we may need to go back down." My heart skipped a beat. Dave whispered, "What do you think?" and I replied, "There's no way I can go back down there." So we kept climbing to where Dad's voice was. John was chattering saying he wanted to go back down when suddenly he came to a complete standstill and exclaimed, "Holy Moly!" I looked up from my position on all fours and reiterated John's words, with a bit more emphasis.

Dad was sitting on the other side of a twenty foot drop - as calm as could be. But it was clear to us we'd have to walk across a ledge less than a foot wide and about eight feet long to reach him.

John was all for it. If he would have had a harness and a rope and been at the climbing wall in Grand Forks, I would have been fine. And although he didn't have those things, he had Dave and Dad and no fear. And he made it look so darn easy - he grabbed the rock, shuffled his feet and made it across without any problem. Then it was my turn. I certainly didn't make it look easy to anybody who might have been watching. The first shuffle step or two were all right but when I felt I couldn't get a good handhold I started to sweat. I willed my right leg to move but it didn't. I felt like my 94-year-old Grandma who has Parkinsons and tells her legs to move but they just won't listen. Dave reached over to it and said, "Move it on 3... 1,2,3." It moved on four... or maybe five.

I made it across and tried not to watch as Dave made his way. From there it was a relatively easy climb the next twenty feet or so to the top. Once we got there and I saw long distances of flat land I sank to the ground and gave a silent prayer. And thought, I don't care if I ever do this again - for the rest of my life.


We rested up a bit and then had a leisurely walk down the back side and around the hill...and I've made up my mind. I'll stick to regular old hiking from here on out.

PG 13 for a Reason

Last night Mom and I went to the video store because I had it in my head that we (as in me, Dave, Sophie, Lucy John, and Mom and Dad) should all watch Ghost Town. In February I watched it all by myself when Dave was away on a trip and loved it. So much so I actually recommended it to quite a few people - including our wonderfully wholesome dentist.

Mom and I found the DVD at the store but I was surprised to see it was rated PG13. I racked my brains trying to figure out why - I didn't recall any nudity or violence. There was that one scene in the beginning of the story where a man is talking to his wife on the phone and we slowly figure out he's a jerk and is having an affair with a young woman named Amber. I took a minute and thought about what the kids would think and decided that the movie, as a whole, was worth it. I couldn't think of any other scenes I might object to so we got it and put it in.

Well, once the movie was playing it didn't take more than three minutes for me to see why it was rated PG13 - there was a major cuss word right in the beginning of it. I jumped when I heard it and looked at Mom who raised her eyebrows at me. We kept watching - my first mistake.

Then there was the part where there's talk of a mummy's private parts. We kept watching - my second mistake. (Oh wait - can it be a second mistake if I'd already made it once?!!)

There were various references to women, body parts, and lots of muttered expletives. Each time I jumped or coughed or made some other noise to try to drown out the movie. My final cough sequence, the one that came immediately before I told the kids they couldn't watch anymore, was so loud and lasted so long that Lucy asked me to be quiet so she could hear the movie.

They put up a fuss about having to leave. I tucked them in and as they lay on their air mattresses at Grama and Papa's I explained that I'd made a bad choice in ignoring the PG13 rating. And that even though I truly felt the overall message of the movie is an important one to learn, the movie itself was certainly not appropriate for them to watch. I summed up the movie for them - trying my very best at storytelling while all the while knowing I couldn't compete with the Hollywood version.

And then I hugged them and kissed them and said good night - all the while kicking myself for not heeding the PG13 warning.

So I've apoligised to our children - now what do I say to our dentist?!

Valentine Celebration Catch Up

The 2nd Annual Chocolate Fondue Party

Dakota in her Valentine Gear (poor puppy!)

He's heading to Lovejoy Drive

So last night I'm in an overheated room curled in a ball on the couch covered in two blankets and wishing my throat would stop throbbing. Dave is sitting in the Big Chair getting ready for his trip to Indiana - every few seconds I hear him state a destination into his new TomTom (a portable GPS device). The first few times he says something I grunt "What?" This goes on until I realize he's not actually talking to me. So I start to zone out again and in my cough-medicine induced haze I hear the following: County Road 39....Lincolnway....Jefferson Road...Lovejoy Drive...

I perk my ears, sit up and give him a look as in "Where exactly do you think you are going?"

He smirks and we both crack up. Can you imagine being the CFO of the company that is actually housed on Lovejoy Drive? I'm sure they've heard it all. But last night, in the middle of feeling sorry for ourselves and our sick kids, it gave Dave and me a much needed laugh.

Sick Germs

We fly to Arizona on Friday and I'm already a bit nervous. My nervousness has nothing to do with flying and everything to do with all the germs we're more than likely going to pass on to all the other passengers and crew members. Sophie has been coughing like crazy for over two weeks and now John has started. Lucy just finished up antibiotics yesterday but now both Dave and I are feeling pretty awful with sore throats, headaches and general aches.

So I called the doctor today and tried to get three of us in. Unfortunately there was only one slot left in the entire clinic - with any doctor or any nurse practitioner. I nabbed the single appointment for Sophie and made a seperate appointment for me for tomorrow. My plan is that if our doctor doesn't think antibiotics will help Sophie, then they probably won't help John either. I've already increased his advair to twice a day and we'll take the nebulizer to AZ with us, just in case. We'll keep pumping Sophie full of expectorant for her cough.

As far as Dave and I - we'll go with the same plan except for totally different symptons. It's one of those things - I don't really think we need antibiotics but I sure would feel bad if it turns out we should have had them and we needlessly exposed all the other passengers and grandparents to our germs.

So wish us well at the appointments - and steer away from our part of the country if you can.