My Very Own Tailor's Bunionette

Tailor's Bunionette.  It sounds adorable, doesn't it?  Small, unobtrusive...Wait, scratch that.  What am I talking about?  Being obtrusive is the Tailor's Bunionette's whole game!  That's why I had surgery to remove it today.

But allow me to back up.  Before school ended back in the spring, the side of my left foot started to hurt.  I thought it was a bruise, but didn't remember receiving an injury.  When it worsened, I thought I may have somehow fractured my pinkie metatarsal bone, but still couldn't imagine how.  As anyone who has ever kicked a wall back in 1994, because her car got stuck in the snow, making her late for violin making school knows, broken toe bones have to heal on their own.  And also, you wouldn't think it would be THAT IMPOSSIBLE to sit at a bench and make violins with a broken toe, but it is.  Talk about shooting yourself in the foot.

But back to 2013, I made the assumption that my pinkie metatarsal was cracked, so I waited for it to heal.  It didn't get worse; it just hurt, especially if someone kicked me in the foot, which happens with alarming frequency when you have kids orbiting you all the time.

When the little pinkie didn't improve with with time, I was concerned about it worsening while we were on our road trip.  I had some sandals Coco gave me that seemed not to bother my foot, but I left them in the hot sun one day and they shriveled up.  Apparently, Crocs don't like prolonged, direct sunlight.

It was really the side of my foot that hurt, on the joint where the pinkie meets the foot.  For how much it hurt, I didn't give it a whole lot of thought.  It was mostly subconscious that I always sought out the one pair of shoes that were the most comfortable.  I never shop for apparel, but when those sandals shrank, I went to Park City and bought two new pairs at the outlets.  It was so out of character.  I'm so oblivious, I didn't realize I was acting out of self-preservation.

In fact, it wasn't until this week that I connected the dots.  All summer long, the pinkie pain had stayed steady.  It didn't worsen during the trip, even with all the walking, thank heavens.  Only when ballet started again and I pulled on my exercise shoes several hours a week did the toe start crying for attention.  It was hurting, my poor, faithful little foot!  I analyzed my favorite Crocs and, what do you know, the sandals weren't touching the part that hurt, at all.  My ballet teaching shoes and all the others I had started slipping on were squeezing that area.

When I told Ruby I was going to the foot doctor, she glared at me.  HER foot had been hurting and I didn't even care!  The doc agreed to see Ruby at the same time, so we went together, just so I could alleviate my Calloused and Uncaring Mom guilt.  As we waited, we studied a medical poster.  I joked, "Hey look, Ruby, how would you like to have a Tailor's Bunionette?  That is so cute!  But how can you take it seriously?"  We imitated a pretend doctor:  "'Well, it looks like you have a Tailor's Bunionette.  We're going to have to do surgery."

Then Dr. Flitton came in and he said, "Well, it looks like you have a Tailor's Bunion.  We're going to have to do surgery."  At least he had the decency to call it a bunion, although I think the diminutive is rather cute.  I always thought a bunion was like a corn, but when the x-rays came back, there it was: a big bone growth protruding from the side of my metatarsal like the petal of a fleur de lys.  No wonder it hurt whenever some clumsy kid kicked me, and whenever a shoe even gently pushed on the fragile, tenacious little frond.

There was an option two, Dr. Flitton informed me:  For the rest of my life, I could take all my new shoes to Ray's Shoe Repair and have him stretch out a balloon-like area of the left pinkie toe, thereby minimizing inflammation.  Because the bunionette wasn't going anywhere, ever.

Four minutes later, I was on Dr. Flitton's surgery schedule.  Sorry, Ray.

In general, a case can be made for not going to the doctor, because we walked out of there with a steroid shot in Ruby's ankle and plan to cut open my foot, whereas before, we had been pretending our problems didn't exist with moderate to above-average success rate.

Now, though, Ruby's ankle feels much better (don't let anyone tell you a steroid shot doesn't hurt like the dickens, though!)  and I am reclining on my bed with a much happier foot, resting much easier going into winter, when a non-sandal shoe will inevitably come in contact with my foot.  Now I don't have to worry about the pain.

Sometimes, you get used to things you shouldn't get used to.  I admit to feeling a level of camaraderie, almost, with the pain in my foot.  It tried not to bother me, and I babied it.  Its presence was almost comfortingly familiar.  Yes.  I anthropomorphized my Tailor's Bunion.  It's scary!  But how often do we invite nettlesome discomforts into our lives, then slide over and politely make room for them, instead of going the more painful route and extracting them?  Something to think about when you can't reach your car keys, eh?

You're Grounded

Ptolemy used this week to learn how to levitate.  Me, I began the week clutching an eleven-dollar parking pass and sobbing, and I ended the week how you never want to end your week:  by saying to two other moms at preschool orientation, "Ohhhhhh, so you're not...I thought..."  Lesbians.  They're not.  It's a...long story.

In between Mental Breakdown Monday and Faux Pas Thursday, I raved about carpools being undependable (forgetting it was MY turn to drive), got in a fight with the counselor at Ruby's school, yelled at a nurse from Tanner Clinic, threatened my Relief Society president, booked and cancelled a trip to California, alienated Ari's 6th grade teacher at Back-to-School night by asking if they really had to do their homework, called one of my own children a "pompous @*$," and burst into tears in public while eating a half-price shake.

As you can imagine, there's a backstory behind each one of my blunders, indiscretions and tantrums.

I dare you to stop by and ask me about them.

But seriously.  That first week of school was brutal!  For everyone around me!  I think I was having anger management problems, the way a wild horse has anger management problems when a cowboy tries to break her in.  The cowboy in this scenario is the school year, and it looks like the cowboy has finally lassoed me into submission.  And just to make sure I don't make a break for the open range, I have scheduled foot surgery for tomorrow.  A fittingly outlandish way to wrap up a rather bizarre week, me with my pinkie toe being sliced open.  I'm looking forward to the surgery.  I need to lie down for a minute anyway, and I may as well do it while someone is fixing my Tailor's Bunionette.

You can't make this stuff up.  Like I said, a bizarre week.  You know what, though?  I secretly liked it.  This week was just the slap in the face (and the pain in the foot) that I needed to bring me back to reality.  Ptolemy may be free to levitate, but I'm ready to stay grounded.  And tomorrow I'll have the stitches in my foot to prove it.

Hitting the Wall

When Scott got home from New York in June, he was depressed.  He had spent five magical days with Golda and Ruby in the greatest city on earth, eating the best food there is, shopping in the coolest atmosphere you can imagine, seeing the sights, laughing, bonding, doing all the fun things he knew they would love.

And then it was over, and he had to put them on a plane bound for Iceland and beyond, while he traveled in the opposite direction, home to his regular life.  Did I tell you about his meltdown?  For two days, he couldn't stop breaking into tears at the littlest provocation.  One evening, I came home and he was sobbing like a baby.  Blubbering, really.  He was in agony over the fact that the trip he planned for months was over, and that he would never again have that time with Golda and Ruby at those ages.  That magic time was gone, and they were off on their own.  Not only had the New York trip seemed to be under a spell of perfection, but now his girls didn't even need him.  It was a brutal reentry.  From experience, Scott knew that after our big summer, there would come a day when I hit the wall.

That day was yesterday.

I was morose going into the school year, sad, mad, but I was holding it together.  I was certainly not going to fall apart just because my kids were starting school.

Fast forward to ten o'clock the first morning of the kids being in school.  I'm sprawled out on a chair in my new, grey bedroom, clutching a Mount Rushmore parking pass and bawling.  This is me, not falling apart, I thought miserably as tears coursed down my face.

I had cleaned out the car and found vestiges of the road trip, including the parking pass.  Noticing that it said "Annual Pass" sparked something in me.  I felt like we could, and should, get in the car and go back there.  It's only a ten-hour drive.  I snapped.  I was like a wild raccoon caught in a cage, clawing at anything he can reach beyond the bars of the cage, trying desperately to find a way back to the place where he was free.  At that moment, Scott called to see how I was.  He reassured me that we could go on another trip, and I perked up.

It was a day of extremes, because "perking up" soon translated into a lengthy discussion about travel options, a decision to drive to the nearest Pacific Coast beach, and a reservation for two nights this weekend at the Costa Mesa Marriott.  That's right, Scott stood by loyally and patiently while I planned and packed for a weekend trip to the beach.  Which would be a reasonable idea if we didn't live 10 hours away from the beach.  But what's a ten-hour drive, right?  It's nothing.

I still think it's a good idea to spend the weekend at Newport Beach, and it drives me crazy to know that we COULD do it and we're not, but I concede that our resources could be better spent another time.  We did go to Malibu for the weekend one time, you know, with three kids, five minutes' notice and 8 months pregnant, and we all know darn well that it was a fun trip.  So based on empirical evidence,  Scott knew that if he put his foot down on my beach plan, I would be on my way there right now.  I'm in awe at just how well he navigated my little rift in reality.  If you ever need to talk someone off a ledge, Scott is your man.

Going into the second day of school, I am almost just as miserable as the first day.  Almost.  But I'm here, and I'm happy to be here, and I probably won't get in my car and go to Mount Rushmore later today, but only because it was smaller than I thought it would be.  Not because I couldn't go if I wanted to.

All Good Things...

Preposterous Plan 2013 ends now.  Stupid School Schedule 2013 has begun.

Golda took a picture of her schedule with her phone moments before leaving the house to conquer her junior year at Davis High, just so she'd have a vague sense of where to go, when.  That's confidence!

And there they go.  My babysitters, my housekeepers, my travel companions, my friends.

Us and the cousins and the Goodsells.  A pretty cute line-up!

We found Xanthe's 3rd grade class first.  She will be a great third grader, with her new glasses and determination.

Tizzy thinks she would be an excellent third grader, too.

"I'm a pizza the 5th grade."

New teacher, new friends, 6th grade.

At least I still have these two, and Ruby, whose high school doesn't start until next week.

And then I vacuumed and shampooed the car, removing all traces of our beautiful road trip.  And then I dyed my hair brown.  Ptolemy cried and cried because he wanted my hair to be blue.  But I'm feeling blue enough already without blue hair.  Sorry, little guy.  Maybe next summer...

Seventh Child Takes the Lead

At 18 months old, our work is done with Tziporah.  At least that's what she thinks.  She is confident that she can take care of herself.  The other day, she took off her own diaper, went to the closet where we keep the wipes, and wiped her own bottom.  She doesn't wait around for someone else to solve her problems, that's for sure!

 At the pool, Tizzy was so determined to get up on the diving board, I finally let her.  Instead of being scared, she was even more determined to jump off like all the big kids.  The next time we went to the pool, she pointed and said, "Be board," before heading off in that direction, hoping her little legs could carry her fast enough that her pursuers couldn't intercept her fun.  After much cajoling from Tizzy, we found a life jacket and let her jump off the diving board.  She loved it!  Actually, she couldn't quite figure out how to get airborne, so Ruby would throw her in and the rest of us would wait for her to plunge in and bob to the surface, water streaming off her beaming face.

Tziporah is the happiest when she is allowed the freedom and responsibility she craves.  Nothing harshes her mellow faster than being prohibited from carrying out her sometimes dangerous plans.  I don't know if it comes from being the littlest person around, or if she takes care of herself out of necessity.  Sometimes, in the sturm und drang of a large family, nobody notices your diaper needs to be changed except...you.  Likewise, when you're the tiniest person on the block, you may just be the only one in the crowd who realizes you're ready for new challenges.

So jump, Tziporah!  Lead the way.  We'll all be right behind you.

The Hair

The pink hair.  How, why?  A preposterous summer needed a preposterous hair color.  I was inspired by my friend Nor's cotton-candy-colored locks, but light pink didn't look good on me.  That's when, with Scott's encouragement, I went magenta.

People across the country reacted in all different ways.  On the whole, black people loved my hair so much that, if I encountered an African-American who didn't give me a compliment on it, I was genuinely surprised.  At home in homogeneous little Kaysville, I have gotten more nasty looks than anywhere else.  It might be due in part to me feeling a tad more self-conscious here than away from home.  On the trip, I forgot about my hair.  Here, I can't, and I don't know if that makes people more sensitive to it, or if I'm more self-conscious because of the looks of judgment people throw my way.  I would have to say, the more comfortable I am, the less people seem to be bothered by the unusual hair color.

In church, where I teach music to the children, the kids seem to like it.  It makes them smile.  At ballet, my students like it too, and it coordinates nicely with our pink-and-black ensembles.  Adults have reacted with comments ranging from "Fun!"  to "Did you do that on purpose?"  I take all comments in stride because, yes, the hair is crazy.  And I've had a lot of fun with it.

Having pink hair has given me a sense of freedom I didn't expect.  As a mom with pink hair and a minivan, I am more difficult to categorize than if I looked more normal.  Who is she?  Traditional stay-at-home mom?  Someone we should call child services about?  I'm harder to put into a box.  It made me think more deliberately about how I categorize people, and how erroneous it is to do so.  It's a natural inclination to try to figure out who people are based on their appearance.  However, I am the same person with pink hair that I am with brown hair or Paint the Town hair, so what do you do with that?

I have become more acutely aware of the fact that each individual is infinitely complicated.  I honestly began looking harder at people, wondering what was behind the facade of what their appearance happened to be that day.  We are, quite literally, wholly separate beings from the bodies our souls are housed in.

On the other hand, I suppose we do tailor our appearance somewhat to what we want people to think of us.  That's my only problem with the magenta hair.  See, I'm not necessarily trying to make a statement.  I was just having fun, and I think people who know me get that.  If you don't know me, though, you'll wonder if I'm having a mid-life crisis or trying to be all punk or something.  I don't like standing out in that way.  If there is any statement I'm making with my hair color, it is, "I can do whatever I want, and what you think of it is none of my business."

That statement might be construed as aggressive, though, and I'm not an aggressive person.  Thus, I will most likely be happy to get back to my normal hair color when the time comes.  For now, I am still having fun.  My grandfather Bill used to call me "Pinky-Poofer" when I was a little girl.  Was he prescient?  No, but I like to think the pink hair in some way is a tribute to him.  In any case, it has been liberating and educational, and I highly recommend trying it.  You'll be surprised how amazing it feels to get past worrying about what people think and just enjoy their reactions, as varied and unpredictable as the unique people they are.

Scott Shrank!

Ptolemy is very proud to have "pants in all the colors like Dad's pants, even grey!!"  And he can ging with the best of 'em!  Ready for preschool? You betcha!

Preposterous Plan 2013 FAQ's

Was it fun?

So fun.  I felt like I was in a bubble of fun where nothing could touch me but fun.

Was it hard?

Doing whatever I wanted, all day, every day, while constantly seeing and experiencing new things?  No.  It was the most "in the moment" I have ever been, and that was incredible.  I never had time to think about the future, or anything at home.  I never cracked the book I brought.  I just lived in the moment with the kids and Scott.  It was unique and wonderful.

Are you glad you took Tziporah?

Absolutely!  I was so happy to have her pudgy little self there with us, I didn't even consider sending her home on the flight with Scott from Chicago.  She loved every minute.  She even thought Mount Rushmore was huge. :)

Was it the right length of time?

It could have been longer, but I think 24 days was just right for this trip.  We may have gotten tired had we not had the week in D. C. where we were in one place and had a home base, but they was it was structured, it always seemed like we didn't have enough time, right up until the very end.  I don't want to be greedy, but I wish it were longer.

How much did it cost?

Well...that's complicated.  My plan was to fund the trip by not taking any of our regular lessons over the three months of summer.  That gave us a substantial amount of money to start with.  It takes $300 in gas to drive from here to Maryland, but we took a longer, more circuitous route.  I usually spend a hundred bucks in gas a week at home, so calculate that.  Then plan to spend $100-150 a night on a hotel, including tax, less if you want to stay somewhere that got bad reviews.  After our experience in St. George, we didn't.  We were fortunate that we had about 11 days with cousins where we didn't pay for a hotel.  We also probably spent less money than most people on food, but more on treats.  Scott and I both like to be able to do treats whenever we want, like an ice cream cone.  But we hate to drop $70 on dinner for 9, so we share food and figure out cheap options, like breakfast at the hotel, dollar menus here and there, pizza and street food.  The kids had received money from Coco and Bill and Tricia that they spent on souvenirs, and that was fun!  So the short answer is...I don't know.

What were your favorite places?

St. Louis was a big favorite.  Council Bluffs.  Annapolis.  Chicago.  Pittsburgh.  Actually, everywhere.  I can't narrow it down.  There is no place that we wish we hadn't gone.

What were your favorite things?

The time we spent with David and Marilyn, Krissy and Sin and Laura and Gordon were our favorite memories.  Also, seeing my friends Suzanna, Gwyn and Bryan and their family, Christian and his daughter and Natalie and her children just made the trip more meaningful.  In the future, I think I'll always try to incorporate strengthening ties with family and friends like that.  Being in real homes, too, is a good way to relax when you're on the road.  It's different than a hotel.

So, other than friends and family, what would you recommend seeing?

That's hard.  Narrowing it down:  Deanna Rose Farmstead in Kansas City...City Museum in St. Louis...Old Friends Horse Farm in Lexington, KY...The beach on Lake Michicgan in Chicago...National Parks whenever you can...Annapolis...Mt. Rushmore (really)...

What about in D. C.?

My top choices with kids:  Air and Space, Natural History, Holocaust Museum, if even just the "Daniel's Story" section, for which you don't need tickets, the monument loop of course, the Portrait Gallery, the Botanical Gardens, Mount Vernon, the National Zoo, the National Cathedral, Arlington, and the museum where all the art is.  What is that called?  Plan on walking a lot.  Parking was do-able, if we got there early.  Bring snacks and drinks.  One thing we didn't do this time that is neat are the free 6:00 concerts at the Kennedy Center.  It's an hour long, it's casual and it's a good way to see the Kennedy Center, which is inspiring.  Scott and the kids loved the Newseum, where 4 kids can get in free with a paying adult.  For the most part, we found plenty to do that was free or very affordable.

How did you choose your route?

From here, I would drive straight to at least Omaha.  For us in Kaysville, I-80 is the fastest route, at least to Omaha.  From there it just depends on what you're interested in.  Omaha is where you either stay on 80 or drop down to 70, or take other routes.  My kids voted to do Kansas City and St. Louis, and we loved both.  From there, we veered out of our way to go to Indianapolis and Bloomington, which I wouldn't recommend as tourist destinations.  On a personal level, I'm glad I chose those over some of the LDS church history sites that we missed, which we'll have to catch next time.  For every place we visited, there were at least 2 or 3 other options that would have been great, too.  The route we took to get to Louisville from Bloomington just happens to be the most scenic part of Indiana, so don't be afraid to go off-interstate.  Lexington and the surrounding countryside, loved.  If I could choose a different route as an adult, I would certainly switch out Gatlinburg for Nashville, but with kids, that would be like trading in Disneyland for Denver.  Besides, I really wanted to see the Great Smoky Mountain National Park.  I wish we had had more time there.  I originally planned to camp in the park, and looking back, I wish we had done that.  It would have been less touristy than Pigeon Forge, and it's so darn beautiful!  Once you get to that point, there are a million options.  I was going to drive through the Shenandoah Valley, which I saw on a list of  "10 Drives to Make Before You Die," but David suggested Charlottesburg, VA, where UVA is, and the kids and I had a great time there, with all the fun shops.  We walked all over the UVA campus, which is essentially Thomas Jefferson's masterpiece.  Once you have a plan, you can definitely change it last-minute.   I guess what I did was take my top choices and work around them.  The website I became addicted to is distance-cities.com.  Invaluable for planning your route.


What ages of kids are good for road trips?

All ages, and I know because I had one of every age group.  Several times on the road trip, though, I was glad I didn't have Golda and Ruby with me.  I think it's better to take them when they're young and still think everything is fun.  In short, whatever age your kids are now, hurry and take them before they get too old!!  Teenagers in cars for long stretches...could be bad.

Was it hard to do the drive with just one parent?

Even though I love Scott, loved it when he was there with us, and would have loved for him to be there the whole time, I'd have to say no, it wasn't harder without him.  The ways in which it's easier to have just one parent outweigh the ways in which it's harder.  There is more freedom when two adults aren't trying to work together.  The kids are better in the car because there is nobody to wait on them hand and foot.  It was sad that Scott missed some of our experiences, but it's not often in a marriage that two people can go and have completely separate adventures, and I think it's good to shake it up.  But that's just me, and I am a bossy individualist.  In fact, Scott probably needs breaks from me once in awhile. :)

When you don't have much time, what is the best way to get the flavor of a city?

Baseball games.  Divey restaurants in seedy neighborhoods.  

How did you plan the trip?

distance-cities.com, booking.com and googling "Free things to do with kids in.....blank." and "Cheap eats in...blank."  We planned extensively before we left and also as we went along.  I think you could really not plan at all and have a great time, but not without an internet connection and a good GPS.  We relied heavily on both.

Are you sad to be home?

Yes.  And no.  And yes.

Home, Where My Love Lies Waiting...

...to take a picture of my reaction to the changes he made to our house while I was gone!

 Notice anything different?  We have lived in this house for almost ten years and never had a hood or a backsplash in our kitchen.  I knew we would someday, I guess, and I have always been so thrilled to just live here in this nice home, it never seemed like something that we urgently needed.  It's funny how bare it looked, and how much we didn't notice, looking back.  Part of the delay was money, of course, and part of it was indecision.  There are a million tile choices!  The very best part of having this done, other than the fact that I absolutely love it, is that I didn't have to choose it.  That's not something you would expect to hear from a control person like myself, but it's a relief to have it in and looking so sharp.  Scott was lucky to find craftsmen who somehow were able to fit it into their schedules to have all this done by the time we returned.  There was a lot of serendipity involved.

Scott went all out accessorizing the kitchen, even buying new plates and glasses and setting the table with a centerpiece of roses.  Coco was helping him until he got so manic, even she couldn't keep up with him.  Oh, but he didn't stop there!  He totally redid Golda's room, which was a happy surprise for her when she got home, all by herself to an empty house.  He sure has an eye for decorating.

After I got over the shock and joy of seeing the kitchen, Scott told me to go in our room.  I was immediately scared, because I LOVE that room.  I had four walls with four colors: slate blue, dark blue, tangerine and orange.  The two orange colors made me happy every morning.  I rushed in and the whole room was slate grey.  A beautiful muddy grey!  The room looked fantastic, like a high-end spa hotel.  Scott did an amazing job and worked so hard.  He chose the colors because, remember, he thought I said, "We should paint our room grey and do cherry blossoms," when we were in D. C.  I did say we should paint a room like that, but I didn't mean the room that I already loved.  So my reaction was not what Scott was hoping for, and it was disappointing to me that I reacted that way, too, after all the work he had done, and how nice the room was!  Trajan broke the ice by saying, "Well, one for two." lol...kinda.

The room is luxurious, and I love it.  I think I might need at least one of my happy walls back, though.  But we won't think about that right now!  Scott was exhausted from painting and contracting and keeping secrets.  (He also had the bathroom in the basement finished!  Whoo hoo!  Now all the kids are fighting over it.)   I love to relax in the bedroom now.  I have been wishing for more luxurious bedding, and now I have it, along with all the perfect touches Scott invested to make the room tranquil, comfortable and unique.

I love the picture of the Coney Island roller coaster.  Even though our summer didn't include roller coasters, this is symbolic of a great American summer, and that is exactly what we experienced.  (Except for Golda and Ruby!) It's good to come home.  I feel an empty, heavy sadness that Preposterous Plan 2013 is over, but also a great sense of accomplishment and satisfaction, and a thankfulness that we were all blessed to return home safely.  We are fortunate to live in a beautiful place and be surrounded by people on all sides whom we love and revere.

Today in church, a man spoke who had returned home from a mission in St. Louis.  I looked at Ari, remembering our crazy night at the City Museum and the river boat on the Mississippi and seeing the arch for the first time, and no words were spoken.  We both just smiled.

Cooke City to Kaysville

 When we turned off the main road to the cabin, Ptolemy said, "Wait!  Mom!  There could be bears in those woods!"  Yes, there are definitely bears in those woods.

 Freestone looks like he's in his element, doesn't he?

 Isaac, Jacob, Free, Adaline and Ari hangin out like old friends.

 The darling room Tizzy, Tolly and I got to stay in.  Every foom of the cabin, and there are many, is decorated to the nines in cabin style.  Paul and Rita have created a masterpiece!

 We only had one day at Cooke City, so the kids went to the Broadwater to fish pretty early.  The rest of us followed them out to canoe.  The water was fairly warm, so they tried out the rope swing, swinging out over the water and letting go.

 When Tziporah reached the water's edge, she did not stop.  She did not hesitate.  She plowed right into the water and was surprised when it was wet.  She was determined to be the first one to take a ride on the canoe.

 I am grateful we had the chance to stop by Cooke City, if only for one night.  We missed the official DeBry trip this year because we were in D.C.  In fact, Krissy and Sin were in Montana while we were staying at their house.  It was a special honor that Laura and Gordon invited us.  Finishing out our trip with them at Cooke City was perfect.  I can't imagine a better way to go out.  We left at 2:00, after lunch.

 This is Cooke City, right at the Northeast gate of Yellowstone National Park.  The bulk of our drive home was through the park.

Upon seeing the herd of buffalo, Tziporah said, "Bunny!  Aaawwww, bunny!"  Ptolemy squinted and said, "Are those TURTLES?!"  My Instagram hashtag was #aremykidsdumberthanaverage?  If they are, at least they're funny.  Those comments kept me cracking up as we sped through the park.  The kids were content to slow down rather than stop at the sight of animals, hot pots and geysers.  I might have downplayed some of the sights. "Oh darn, I think Old Faithful is broken.  No!  We're not stopping at the steaming hot pots.  Did you know people have died falling in those?  A moose!  You missed it?  Good thing we have those in our yard."

"Mom, we don't have moose in our yard."

"Well, we have deer.  Just picture them taller with antlers."

We got through Yellowstone in record time and happier than the larks that we probably missed seeing.  But after driving along with the herd of buffalo, pulling out the binoculars for a hawk or a mule deer would have been anticlimactic anyway.  We even blazed through West Yellowstone, which means I have done the impossible:  I have saturated my kids with enough rock shops and t-shirt stores that they have no desire to stop and fill a bag with polished stones.  That's saying something.

The last leg of the drive was West Yellowstone to Kaysville.  It was peaceful.  The route was familiar, and having spent the night in Cooke City with family, I already felt like I was home, in a way.

When we walked in the house, Scott, my parents and Trajan were waiting with cameras to capture my reaction to the surprises Scott had been working on while we were gone!

But that's another story...

Beartooth Pass

 The big ride was a couple of weeks ago.  Sturgis was a quiet town.

 Milkshakes along the way.

 Minnesota

 Red Lodge, Montana

 Going into the Beartooth Pass

 Looking for chipmunks at the top of Beartooth Pass.

I felt fine about the cabin debacle by the time I got a good night's sleep.  We got a fairly early start and had all day to make the drive to Cooke City.  It's one of the "Most Breathtaking Drives" in the country, so I was full of anticipation.  My car's GPS didn't recognize Highway 212, which is the Beartooth Highway, so it had me routed on a 9-hour drive that looped around Cooke City and back.  Ridiculous!  The GPS on the phone was able to route me through the faster way.  Honestly, I don't know how anyone, myself included, got around without GPS.  I wouldn't have known where to go without it.

Before we left Rapid City, I thought we all deserved a treat of our choice at Starbucks.  Ptolemy always wants a cake pop, and never gets one because they're expensive and I'm cheap.  But after they were such good kids during Mount Thunderstorm (except you-know-who, but I'll cut her some slack), I let them get whatever they wanted.  We all started the day off happy.  That's what I like about Starbucks:  it's always a clean, happy place with a good vibe and comfortable chairs.  After a quick stop at the grocery store for our Cooke City food contribution, we were off!

The traffic was light, mostly because Sturgis was over and also because there was construction over Beartooth and signs discouraging "Sunday drivers."  Lucky for me!  (Driving into Rapid City, I told the kids it would be another half-hour.  Freestone said, "Unless we hit rush hour."  I said, "I don't think they have rush hour in South Dakota."  Free said, "Really!?...Do people in Chicago know this?"  Funny kid.)

212 is a two-way, one-lane highway, so I was glad not to be too stuck behind too many trucks and motorcycles.  And I didn't want to go too fast, the scenery was so amazing.  I did have a brush with death, despite the dreamy traffic.  We were driving along when an oncoming semi started drifting into our lane.  I slammed on the brakes, veered off to the side and honked for all I was worth.  He corrected and we didn't die.  I was shaking from adrenaline for the next hour.  I could hardly breathe.  To think that all of our lives could have ended so abruptly on that highway in northeastern Wyoming...I couldn't stop saying prayers of thanks that God's plan was not for that to happen.  During all of our various travels this summer, I really felt reassured that we would all come home safely.  I do wonder how many angels it may have taken to steer that semi back into its lane, though!  :)

I can see why the Beartooth is one of the country's most famous drives.  It's incredible.  As we approached and I told the kids we were going up over the mountains, they couldn't believe it.  It was fun to look down at all the switchbacks we had covered and up at all the switchbacks we were going.  Coming down the other side was where the construction was, but traffic was negligible and it didn't take long to navigate the one-way section through the mud.

When we arrived at Paul and Rita's cabin, Laura and Gordon and their kids were there waiting.  It took the kids about one second to find someone their age and start playing as if they were best friends.  It was so lucky for me that Laura and Gordon decided to be at the cabin at the perfect time.  It was a great winding-down for the trip because I felt so at home with them and in the cabin, where my kids were familiar with the surroundings.  So really, I was rested up and relaxed before I even got home, thanks to Laura and Gordon and their family.  I wish we had had more time, but you never really have enough time in Cooke City.  The night we arrived, we were able to talk and catch up.  Laura and I hardly ever see each other, but we feel connected through the blogs.  It's a blessing, one that, among other things, allowed us the chance to decompress with the limited time that we had together.  Aaahhh....home without being home!