Rivers, planes and GOLD in them thar hills!

July 1, 2009

Today was the official beginning of our cruisetour. The beautiful weather has continued (it was in the 80s today!) and we are thankful for it. Of course, we are running out of t-shirts to wear, but it’s a small price to pay for all the sunshine.

For our first activity, we boarded an old stern wheel riverboat and cruised down the Chena river for three hours. It was really cool, because every 20 minutes or so, we’d stop for a demonstration of some kind.

The first one was a floatplane demo. We watched the plane taxi in the water alongside us, then rev up the engine and ascend. It was so cool! We could actually see the pilot in the cockpit as he flew right past us.

The next display was at Susan Butcher’s home. She was the first woman to win the Iditarod dog race, then she won it three more times. She died from cancer a couple years ago, but her husband and daughters still run the kennel, and they told us all about the dogs. They brought out some of the puppies, which were solo cute. Then they hooked up the adult dogs to an ATV with its engine removed. As soon as the dogs saw it, they went NUTS! They barked up a storm, running in circles around their dog houses, and jumping up on top of them. They were jumping everywhere, and they all wanted to pull the cart. It’s obvious how much they love to run and pull.

The next stop was at the end of the river, where the Chena meets the…um, other river whose name I now forget. But it was pretty cool to see, because it’s where the freshwater Chena river meets the other river of melted glacial runoff.

Our last stop was a replica of a Native Alaskan village. It was supposed to represent a typical Athabascan village, where the Athabascan people showed off their way of life. We saw them model beautiful fur coats, a salmon fishing wheel, little camping huts, and even reindeer. (My smart friend Edra informed us that reindeer are domesticated caribou – so they’re caribou out in the wild, and reindeer when they’re raised on a farm.)

Reindeer with BIG antlers

Athabaskan house

I thought the drying salmon looked good; Mark did not

Big bear, little boy

They brought the sled dogs over to the village, too, so Mark loved that. He was really excited to pet all the dogs. But those dogs are HYPER, and never stayed in one place for very long, so they were hard to pet.

Then it was back on the river boat for the cruise home. Edra and Mark decided they needed a little snack, so they purchased reindeer hot dogs to eat. Yeah, that’s right, REINDEER hot dogs! They were all right – a little fatty, but not all that different from a regular hot dog.

Now that's a good (reindeer) hot dog!

The narrator told us all about the homes along the river, and he seemed to know everyone who lived in them. Fairbanks is a pretty small town!

The tour ended back at our hotel in time for lunch. Then it was on to our second activity for the day, the El Dorado Gold Mine.

The mine was about 30 minutes outside of town. We drove out of the valley and up into the mountains, and made a short stop before the mine. We stopped to see the Alaska pipeline! The pipeline itself wasn’t that exciting, but it was interesting to learn that it runs the length of the whole state, and pumps out a million gallons of oil a day.

Vic sitting on the Alaskan Pipe Line

Mark, of course, missed it all. He was busy sleeping on the bus.

But he woke up in time for the gold mine. We hopped on a narrow gauge railroad car, and listened to a local guy relive the time he met Johnny Cash. It was certainly a high point in his life, and he relived it all for the next hour, even talking like Johnny Cash, and singing Johnny Cash songs.

The train dipped into a tunnel, then stopped inside the mine. A coal miner (a fake one) explained all about excavating for gold, but to be honest with you, I don’t remember much of it. He also narrated some other spots, telling how the miners lived and how they got the ore out of rocks they mined.

But the exciting part for us was the demo. The two hosts (who owned the mine and are proud Alaskans) were a couple of characters. The first was a woman named Yukon. She wore gold rings and bracelets, and carried around two gold nuggets worth $7000 in her jeans pocket. When the demo started up, she called out, “You hear that? That’s the sound of money!” She certainly seemed to love her job!

I can’t remember her partner’s name, but he was a crusty old character himself. He’s exactly what you’d picture an Alaskan man looks like. Funny hat, big beard, jeans and boots. He dumped a craneful of dirt into a sluice, and ten sent a high-pressure waterfall through it to wash out the dirt. Then he handed over the trapped dirt to his interns, who showed us how to pan for gold.
They panned out about $35 worth in just a few minutes.

Then came the really fun part – WE got to pan for gold! It was hilarious! No one in our group really knew what we were doing. We dumped the little bag of dirt into our pans, then swirled water around the pans waiting for the gold flakes to appear. The interns finally helped us separate the gold flakes out. Edra was hilarious – she had a big pile of gold flakes, $24 worth! But she turned to help Wende, and as she did, she almost tipped her whole pan into the water. Luckily, she’s got good reflexes and saved it.

Here’s the nugget I found – it weighed 19 ounces and clocked in with a value of $40,000:

Eureka!

Just kidding…Wende was the big winner, with $25 worth of gold. I had a whopping $4.50 worth, and Mark panned an even more impressive $3. He mistakenly handed over a little container of rocks he’d saved, so that the guy weighing the containers eyes grew really big (until I explained it was rocks, not gold nuggets).

Our first moose sighting!

Then it was back on the train for the end of the tour. They mine staff all came outside to wave goodbye and wish us well. Some even helped lock the car doors. We waved back at them, and prepared for the journey back. It took all of two minutes, and the staff we’d just left walked right beside the train, unlatching the doors as we arrived. We were really cracking up at that.

We decided on a nice dinner out tonight, and cabbed it over to the Pump House. It was right on the river, with a spectacular view. I also liked the garden outside, which was rich and colorful. The growing season in Alaska is short – only 100 days, but the sun shines 24 hours a day during those days. As a result, enormous flowers and leafy vegetables fill the flower boxes and gardens (cabbage grows to 20 pounds!).

Here’s the garden in front of the Pump House:

By the time we finished, we were full and happy, but not tired. Then someone mentioned it was 9:30, and I gasped. It seriously looked like it was 2 p.m., not almost 10.

I don’t know if I could live in Alaska, with its extreme weather – four hours of sun during winter, and no dark during summer. But it sure is fun to vacation here – you can tour and explore the state until all hours of the night with unlimited energy. Even the mere suggestion of light has kept me awake these past few days. There’s a little sliver that peaks in through a gap in the curtains, and I’ve woken at all hours, amazed to see it’s still sunny. My body loves the endless hours to fill with activities, but it’s starting to mess with my head a little bit.

Raise your hand if you’ve been to the North Pole!

Today was a really exciting day, because at the end of it I got to say, “The North Pole? Santa’s house? Oh yeah, I’ve been there!”

Yeah, THAT North Pole. And THAT Santa!

But let me backtrack a little…

It’s our first full day in Fairbanks, and we rented a mini-van to make the most of it. I picked it up at 9 a.m., and returned it 12 hours later.

During that 12 hours, Amber and her parents (collectively, the Stricklands), Edra, Mark and I piled in and out of that van approximately 372 times. But our first and most exciting journey was to North Pole, Alaska, where it’s Christmas year round.
North Pole was about 20 minutes from Fairbanks. It was a pretty drive, green and loads of trees everywhere. There was almost no traffic on the highway, which in itself was a nice relief from congested California.

We knew we were getting close when we saw the Universal Welding company sign, held up by two 20-foot candy canes. Santa was close!

We exited in North Pole, and followed the signs onto Santa Claus Lane. All the light posts were candy canes, too, as were any kind of pilings or poles sticking out of the ground. We passed the North Pole post office, which receives all the letters to Santa at Christmas. Somehow we took a wrong turn and ended up in a neighborhood, but even that was fun. We turned left on Snowman Ave., and passed Santa’s Senior Center. We also passed a house with Christmas lights and trees in the front yard, which made us laugh.

We finally found a local shuttle driver who pointed us in the right direction. Soon enough we saw a ginormous Santa Claus, next to the Santa Claus House. The passengers in our car were downright giddy with excitement.



We spent the next hour browsing in the shop, and reading the letters decorating the walls -- letters children to Santa. But the highlight was meeting the Jolly Old Elf himself!!

With jingle bells ringing and Christmas carols in the background, Santa made his entrance. He ho ho hoed into the building, and headed straight for Mark. Grasping Mark’s hand in his, he told him very earnestly “Merry Christmas!” and continued on.
It felt like meeting a rock star!

Mark sat on Santa’s lap and talked to him for a bit, then Santa took a picture with all of us. We were laughing the whole morning.

We made a quick detour to see the reindeer out back, and then it was off to our next destination. We stopped for a quick lunch, which we ate outside because it was so nice (70 degrees and sunny!). We couldn’t believe our luck with the weather – everybody had on short-sleeved shirts, and when we ran into the Wawerchaks later, they were wearing flip-flops! In Alaska!

Vicki in flip flops

After lunch, we drove to the museum at the University of Alaska. It was a gorgeous building, and the exhibits inside were amazing. Lots of stuffed arctic animals and hands-on touching stuff. We all dug it a lot.

Plugs to keep car engines from freezing in winter

Mark contemplating Fairbanks

But we weren’t even halfway done with our day. We had a car, and intended to use every minute of it! Our next stop was at the Large Animal Research Station (LARS), which studies musk ox, reindeer and caribou. We could see the animals in the distance. They had huge heads and fur all the way to the ground – they kinda looked like compact little buffalo with ram’s horns drooping down. I was excited to take a tour, but we saw a tour in action and they were nowhere near the animals. Standing in the sun for an hour while the musk ox were still far away didn’t sound like any fun, so we bailed on the tour.

But all was not lost! Amber read about a local place that made homemade ice cream, so we headed over there for our next stop. The ice cream was amazing! They had all sorts of crazy flavors – cinnamon showers, carrot cake, chocolate walnut, kahlua just to name a few. Mark and I ordered the Nanook Nosh, which was vanilla ice cream infused with chocolate, caramel and honey swirls. It was outta this world! It was hot by this time, 84 degrees, so we sat in the sun, eating ice cream and marveling how wonderful Alaska is.

We dropped Edra back at the hotel after that, then headed back out to Pioneer Park (this was not a relaxing day at the beach kinda vacation!). Pioneer Park was funny – half public park with playgrounds and local kids, and half old town with tiny museums and tourists. We wandered the streets, reading about each little cabin. Mark and Amber stopped to play checkers outside one cabin, and then we found the cabin we’d been searching for.

It was a place called 40 Below Fairbanks. For five bucks, we donned giant parkas and entered a small, refrigerated room that was about (you guessed it) 40 degrees BELOW zero. Seriously!!! I’ve never been that cold in all my life. I was wearing cotton pants, and my legs instantly chilled. Next were my ungloved hands, which fumbled clumsily with the camera. The girl working there sent us in with cups of hot water, which we tossed into the chilled air. The water turned into an icy mist before our eyes! That was really cool. There was a banana in there, which you could hammer a nail with, and a thermometer which showed it was actually about 45 degrees below zero.

My eyelashes and nostrils froze quickly. I tried to be brave, but I’ll admit it, I was the first one to run from the building. I could hear Mark shouting, “Party pooper!” as I rushed out of the cold, almost tripping as my glasses fogged up from the sudden temperature change (from 40 below to 84 above zero!). Amber came out next, and after a while, her dad Bill and Mark. Mark apparently wanted to stay in even longer, but Bill was done.

Here’s us inside in our parkas:

45 degrees BELOW zero! And we paid for this!

Mark throwing boiling water into the air -- and watching it turn to an icy mist!

In the 80 degree weather afterwards

We perused Pioneer Park for a bit, looking in the museums. Then we wandered over to the Salmon Bake, which had been very highly reviewed.

It was a bit of a bust – very touristy, and the salmon wasn’t all that great. The halibut was good, but fried. They also had fried cod (the halibut was better) and prime rib (Mark said just okay). It was pricey and touristy, and we vowed not to make that mistake again.

It was nearing time to take the car back, and we were all pretty tired. After one last stop at the local Safeway, I dropped the crew off at the hotel and then returned the car. Amber had sent the hotel shuttle after me, and as we drove back, I marveled at how light it still was. If I’d returned from any other vacation day at 9 p.m., it would’ve been dark, and I would feel exhausted. But the sunshine messes with you here – your body says it’s tired, but your brain says it’s till daylight. And you can’t decide whether to go to bed or keep playing!

It’s now 11 p.m., and still light as it was at noon. But I’m going to bed anyway – got another big day tomorrow, sunny night or not!

Along the fair banks of Fairbanks

Well, we made it to Alaska and our big Alaskan adventure!

Our trip was long, with many delays. I can safely say that, barring our return flight from D.C. after the Inauguration, this was the strangest flight ever.

It started in L.A. We sat on the tarmac for a while, and then finally pushed back toward the runway. But then instead of turning onto the runway, the plane looped around and passed the runaway again. Then it headed back to the terminal, as the pilot informed us a flight attendant was sick and needed to de-plane.

Paramedics and airline employees rushed onto the plane, and escorted the flight attendant off. They completed all the paperwork, and finally pushed back from the terminal again. Again, they drove the plane toward the runway, and again, they looped back around. I looked up to see we were heading back to the terminal AGAIN! This time the pilot informed us there was a battery in the plane that needed to go below, in the luggage compartment. So we had to wait for all that and its accompanying paperwork to finish before we could leave, now 90 minutes late.

“This is why I don’t get excited until I get there,” Edra said. I had to agree she was right.

But we finally got into the air, and were treated to some pretty spectacular views. We flew past Mt. Shasta covered in snow. Four and a half hours later, we reached Alaska, and I was disappointed to see only clouds below us. But the clouds parted, and I saw the most tremendous sights below. Giant mountains just covered in snow, followed by enormous valleys blanketed in snow. I even saw a few glaciers, blue-white just like in the books, melting into tiny rivers running down to the ocean. I thought I was gonna cry!

“Oh my God!” Edra exclaimed. “I already know I have to come back here, it’s too big to see all in one trip!” We were cracking up at her – the girl who wasn’t excited until just the very minute was already planning her return trip – before she’d even landed!

We landed in Anchorage, where were supposed to add more passengers and then continue on to Fairbanks. Instead, we had to change planes. Which was fine, until it headed for the runway and then stopped. I was almost panicked – by this time, we’d been up for 11 hours, and travelling for 7. I just wanted to get off the plane! But the pilot announced that there was a dog running around on the runway, and they’d had to catch it. Sick flight attendants, batteries and now runaway dogs—this was some kinda flight!

But we arrived safely. We got to our hotel, and were treated to rooms along the river—what a view! We also saw Amber and her parents outside and ran to greet them. We were all starving and headed to a restaurant close by.

Everyone was wearing long-sleeved shirts, pants and light sweatshirts or coats. But it was gorgeous and sunny outside – so sunny, in fact, that by the time we sat down, we started sweating! It got downright hot during dinner, and every one of us was overdressed for it.

Cute little bench outside our hotel

The little cabins on our way to dinner

We sampled some Alaska Ales and fish and chips made from local halibut, which were amazing. I could’ve stayed there all night, exhausted as I was, but Mark had other plans. It was only 8:30 Alaska time, which was really 9:30 California time, and he’d been up since 4:45 a.m. He was so tired that after whining a bit, he simply picked up his stuff and headed home. “I want to go to bed!” he cried when I caught up to him, and he was dead asleep less than 15 minutes later.

Mark by the Chena River

I watched out the room window a bit, because I couldn’t believe how sunny it was. I’d heard all the stories about how it’s light for 21 hours a day, but until you’ve experienced it, you can’t really grasp that. It really is as light at midnight as it is at noon. The curtains in our room let in a tiny sliver of light, and I woke up a few times during the night – that sliver never disappeared. If it really did get dark at some point, I didn’t see it!

View outside my room at midnight

So that’s my story for our first vacation day. Overall, the travel was tough, but the glaciers and mountains made up for that. The people are wonderful here – very friendly and helpful. The food is good, and the state itself is lush and green. And surprisingly sunny and warm! Without mosquitoes!

I think this really is gonna be the trip of a lifetime…

Big boy, little boy

One thing I love about my kid is watching how much other people love him, too. I've always thought he was pretty great, but then again, I'm totally biased.

Today was kinda cool because Mark got to be both the younger, admiring kid, and then the older, cool kid little kids look up to. Talk about parallels!

We went to lunch with my good friend Jill, and her awesome son Gillen, who I refuse to admit is going into high school this year. (I still think of him as a laughing 2-year-old running through the halls at work.) Jill's a totally cool mom who always lets the boys get their own table, and I'm always the shocked mom who can't believe they really behave when they aren't sitting with us. (They actually behave better.)

I'm always glad to see Jill, and thankful when Mark gets time with Gillen. Gillen's great, a real boy's boy, into all the things that Mark loves (clothes, music, drums, Boy Scouts, guns). And Gillen is fantastic with Mark -- patient, interested, a good role model who falls into wrestling matches outside the restaurant after he's okayed it with his mom first. He's everything I want Mark to grow into -- and Jill, the wonderful mom who raised him, is everything I want to grow into as a mom!

After lunch and some errands, we returned home. I'd agreed to watch my nephew Johnny for a couple hours, and at exactly 4:30, he was knocking at our door. He ran into the house, right past me as he always does, shouting out, "WHERE'S MARK? WHERE'S MY COUSIN?"

Mark had hidden behind the couch, and Johnny turned to me, concerned, unsure. He wasn't here for playtime with Auntie Heather.

Mark finally popped out from behind the couches, and Johnny's eyes lit up. "There's Marky!" he said, and ran to punch him (he gets a little overexcited when he sees Mark).

And then I got to see a recreation of the scene at lunch -- happy little boy following patient big boy around. Only this time, the roles had switched, and Mark was now the big boy. Johnny was staring up at him with the same expression Mark had bestowed on Gillen -- the look that said, "You are the coolest kid I know!!!"

It was such a trip -- you see your kid one way during the day (look at my baby boy with Gillen!) and then, as the people around us change, so does the context (look at my big boy being so good with Johnny!). It's just crazy.


So that's it...no funny stories today, or deep thoughts. Just an observation of an everyday type of day, and the little things that make me happy. :-)

A really big show

Work has been a little stressful lately. There's a new software release coming up, which means loads of prep work to do before I even get to writing the help. In addition to that, my boss asked me to give a presentation about my project.

My immediate response was to break out in hives. Luckily, he asked me over the phone, and couldn't see the hives, nor the cold sweat that quickly followed. (I'm a writer -- we like to hide out in our offices and write dazzling prose. We don't want to actually talk to people -- we pride ourselves on written, not spoken, words.)

He took my fearful silence as tacit agreement, and ended the call with an upbeat, "Well, it's settled then. You'll present at the next department meeting." I could almost hear him smiling over the phone.

I sweated it out for the next few weeks, planning, re-planning, scrapping plans, and planning anew. I finally felt pretty good about my presentation, until I gave a dry-run to a couple fellow writers. I tripped over words, forgot whole sentences, and pretty much choked. It was ugly -- I started out okay, then tripped over one slide with too many technical words. I lost my momentum, and apparently any prior knowledge of the product I'd just spent the last six months writing about.

But the writers gave me good feedback (more examples, more pictures), and the department head moved the meeting back a week, giving me more time. I used every last minute of it.

The night before the meeting, I gave Mark the presentation. He was very excited to hear it, bless his little heart. He listened to the first few slides, then held his hand up to stop me.

"You need to slow down," he said, channelling my mother.

"You're right," I answered. He told me to take a deep breath, and start again, slowly.

So I did. I read a few more slides, and started tripping over words again.

"Just read what's on the slide," Mark told me. "Stop adding stuff."

"But it's really boring listening to someone read exactly what's onscreen," I explained. "People can read that themselves -- they want more information."

"Well, then use smaller words," he said. "Or say the ones onscreen better."

What's that about everybody being a critic?? I was proud of him -- I thought he'd be bored silly, but he was giving me really good advice! I was so proud of my mature little man, and how quickly he was growing up.

Until he asked the next question, one I was pretty sure no one else would ask during the presentation.

"Can I sit on your lap?" he asked. I nodded.

And so we went through the remaining slides. His eyes finally glazed over, but it was about 10 slides later than I thought they would.

I was still nervous, though. "I totally choked," I told him. "I'm gonna mess this whole presentation up tomorrow!"

But he hugged me and headed for bed. "No, you won't," he called on his way out the room. "Don't get choked out -- just do a good job."

Wise words from a little guy. But I still worried if I messed this up, my boss really might choke me out.

But it turned out okay. I got to work early, and found the server for my demo was down. Got that fixed, paced a bit, bit my nails, and ran to the conference room, which was empty. Time was running out, so I called into the meeting from my office instead. I took a deep breath, imagined Mark telling me to slow down, and gave my presentation.

And didn't choke! The irony was that I did slow down, but the meeting ran late, and I got cut off at the very end during the demo part. But I didn't care, I got through the slides, and the demo worked perfectly. I sighed hugely, and tried not to throw up.

I was grateful to be done. I survived speaking in public (well, over the phone, but still...) I realized that I could do it, and that I owed a big debt of gratitude to a little guy. A little guy who likes to sit on my lap.

Fine dining with Señor Piggy

Last night I had a hot date at a popular eating establishment. Unfortunately, the date was my son, and the establishment was a fast-food terriyaki restaurant (but boy, is it good!).

I say unfortunately because said eatery has TVs in every corner, which only broadcast sports. This is troubling for many reasons: 1. I'm not into sports, 2. TV renders Mark deaf, mute, and unable to pry his eyes away, and 3. It's not much fun to eat dinner with a deaf, mute kid who forgot you're even there. (I'm beginning to sympathize with all you football widows!)

In addition to zapping Mark's attention, the TVs also stole his good manners. First he chomped his dinner quite loudly, with his mouth open, until I reminded him we weren't in a cud-chewing contest. (Sometimes I think you have kids just so you can say things like that -- "Whaddaya think this is, a cud-chewing contest??")

Next, he proceeded to remove every gristly bit of steak he encountered. If that doesn't sound gross, then imagine what I watched firsthand -- Mark saying, "Ewwww, this piece is all FATTY!" then spitting a half-chewed piece of steak onto my tray. (Thanks, son!) This happened more than once, until I suggested some discretion might be more appropriate. Mark looked at me like I was winning the cud-chewing contest and turned back to the TV wordlessly.

Suddenly, a basketball game started and Mark lost interest in dinner altogether. He still had half a plate of rice and about 4.5 units of insulin coursing through his veins (that's about twice as much as a normal dinner without high-carb rice and sugary terriyaki sauce). I encouraged him to finish up, but he'd blocked me out. All he could hear or see was basketball.

So I had to pull out the big guns. I started telling him about a TV show I watched at Uncle Scott and Aunt Mari's house. (Fight fire with fire, right?) He still wasn't listening until I mentioned the words "giant" and "burrito."

I told him about this TV host that travels around eating giant food -- hamburgers as big as basketballs, and omelettes made with 12 eggs. I hooked him with a tale about a guest star on the show, who was a competitive eater. Then I reeled him in describing how the guy devoured a 5.5 POUND burrito in less than three minutes.

Mark was all ears now. When I finished the story, he smiled broadly, and I realized what I'd just done. Before I could let out a slow-motion scream ("Nooooooo!"), he was tucking into his rice with alarming speed, mimicking the competitive eater. He sucked down seven huge forkfuls in just under a minute.

He smiled at me, wiping rice from his chin. A terriyaki stripe was smeared across his cheek. He patted his belly, stifled a belch, and laid back into his seat.

"Oh man," he said, chewing the last of his cud -- er, rice. "I am sooooo full." He let out another belch to prove it. He closed his eyes a moment, resting, and I thought he might really fall asleep.

"Wow, you're a piece or work, you know that?" I told him. "What a wonderful dinner companion you are -- ignoring me, stuffing yourself, belching, then falling asleep at the table. You're quite the charmer."

He laughed. "I love you, Mommy!" he answered, and just as my heart melted a little, he fished out a piece of gristle from his mouth and shouted, "Yuck! That is SOOOO gross!"

It was definitely a dinner to remember. Just not in a good way.

More fun than a boogey board to the head

Yesterday was Father's Day, and we decided to spend it with the family, at the beach.

So we packed up no less than 25 pounds of food, a giant cooler of margaritas, 17 beach chairs, 13 sweatshirts, five kids, three towels, and one boogie board decorated with sharks. We took everything but the dog, and loaded it into a wagon which Tim (Kathleen's boyfriend) then pulled to the beach.

The weather was great as we started out on our adventure. Warm and sunny, not too hot or too cold. It was going to be a lovely sunset dinner, and the kids were all giddy with excitement. (And by "giddy," I really mean "whiny" about carrying the assorted beach gear half a mile to the beach.)

However, as we turned right and headed onto the sand, we realized somebody forgot to tell the wind about our party. The sun remained, but the warmth dissipated immediately, replaced by an arctic 85-knot gale force wind storm.

But we Dinsdales are a stubborn bunch, and we like our parties. We weren't gonna let a little wind slow us down.

Sand, however, was another story. The sand definitely slowed us down, particularly Tim and the loaded-down wagon. He dragged that wagon across the sand without complaint, until Mary tried to help him. She grabbed the back of the wagon and pushed with all her might, remarking, "I don't know if I'm helping or making it worse!" And that was Tim's cue to save face -- he said it might be making it worse (he's so polite!). Mary then grabbed half the handle and helped Tim pull the wagon, which would've helped if my niece Nathalie hadn't taken up Mary's post behind the wagon. Now it was her turn to weigh down the back.

We finally reached a spot near the water. The kids proceeded to run around us in a circle, kicking up sand and getting in the way. Scott ordered them to stop, then gave them tasks to set up camp. Chairs were set up, small wooden tables were assembled, and food was set out. Everyone helped except my brother Brad, who insisted, "It's Father's Day, and I'm a father, so I don't have to help. And on Veteran's Day, I'm a veteran, so I don't have to do anything that day, either."

He was so proud and smug, I asked, "Oh, and do you get Jackass Day off too?" He replied, "No, but I think you do!" (We aren't your typical loving family.)

Mark was running across the beach, pulling the attached boogie board over the sand. Two-year-old Johnny thought that was great fun, and hopped on, which slowed Mark down a bit.

I set my red cup on the cooler to help Mary, and it immediately flew at me with alarming force, splashing my margarita everywhere. The good thing about the beach is that you don't have to clean up your mess -- I simply covered the spill with wet sand.

Mark and Nathalie decided to brave the water. I thought they were crazy (that water was COLD!), but as I stood on the beach watching over them, I realized it was much colder standing there in the wind.

I watched Mark and Nathalie get beat up by the waves for about half an hour. My cousin Kathleen was hilarious -- she chased Mark into the water, then grabbed up Nathalie and tossed her into the waves. She was laughing so hard about it, she didn't notice that she'd gotten herself all wet as well.

Mark and Nat did their best in the pounding surf. At one point, they turned toward us and waved their arms triumphantly, as if to say no waves could slow them down. Right behind them, a HUGE wave rose about about six feet in the air, and crashed down upon them. I'm not proud to say that Kathleen and I erupted into laughter.

Finally, I could take the wind no more. We headed back toward the family, where Mark refused to change clothes and insisted he wanted to eat first. He helped himself to a giant plate of pineapple, which the wind immediately sent flying. That put him off. He fixed another plate and brought it, shivering, to the table, where he covered it protectively. Between his teeth chattering and his cold body shaking, I don't know how he got any of it down.

I watched the family eat, guarding their plates, and occasionally chasing rogue parts of dinner across the windy sand. I watched Grant, who had leashed himself to the boogie board, run across the sand. The wind sent the board airborne, like a kite, and I wondered if Grant might go flying. I turned away just briefly, during which time Grant ran past me, whipping me in the head with his flying boogie board.

Mary made Mark a steak sandwich, and I made myself a chicken one. We each got approximately three bites down before -- you guessed it, our plates and food went flying.

At this point, we were all just laughing. It had become so outrageous, almost dangerous, that it was truly comical. Our Father's Day picnic was becoming hazardous, with plates, food, and other shrapnel regularly flying at us.

"When's dessert?" the kids asked, eying the pies Tim and Kathleen brought. At that point, Mary said, "Let's have dessert at home instead." And then, in less than two minutes, the picnic was broken down, and the wagon fully loaded.

And so began the reverse trip, similar to the trip there, but uphill. Mary was loaded down with chairs and backpacks, and Grant was running around. Mary gave him a backpack to carry, which made him unhappy. However, we Dinsdales are a hardworking bunch that insists on fairly dividing any and all work. We are also a compassionate group, so as 4-year-old Grant started crying about the backpack, no less than three family members admonished him to "suck it up."

Somehow, a few minutes later, he managed to give away his backpack and loudly announced, "Hey, now I don't have anything to carry!" I tossed him a giant towel and said, "Now you do!" His sister Gabi shook her head at him -- she knows that if you aren't gonna help, you don't announce it!

And so we arrived at Casa Dinsdale, our entourage of sandy, windblown family members. The air was completely still, balmy but not an ounce of wind in sight. It was like we'd returned to a completely different country.

We broke out the pies and alcohol (beer for the men, champagne for the women), and everyone retired to a safe place by gender or age (the kids to the playroom, the women to the front porch, the men up on the roof deck). We ate our dessert in peace, and laughed at our crazy picnic adventure.

At one point, I looked over at Mary, whose hair was windswept and just...well, crazy. It looked exactly the same as mine, and I couldn't stop laughing. It just reminded me that in my family, there's no such thing as a quiet, peaceful, uneventful family picnic.

It may not have been the most serene family outing, but then again, I don't have the most serene family, either.

And I wouldn't have it any other way.

Mr. Generous

Last night I was tired, and tired of cooking, so we went out to dinner. We chose a local place I like for the turkey burgers and Mark likes for the big bowl of free lollipops on the counter.

While I parked the car, I reminded him of the lollipop rule -- one per customer. Breaking the rule comes with dire consequences -- immediate dismissal of any and all lollipops. Mark has learned this lesson the hard way, on multiple occasions.

I ordered while Mark rummaged through the bowl. He also broke Rule #2 -- the Rainman rule. (A leftover habit from his earlier food deprivation days -- he sniffs all the candy bars at the grocery store.) I reminded him no one wants a pre-sniffed lolly, so Mark pocketed his final selection.

Mark's pockets also produced some little ninja figures to occupy us until our food arrived. We played for about 10 minutes, until hunger got the best of me.

"I'm hooooongray!" I told Mark.

"You should have a snack," he advised, but I shook my head.

"I don't want to spoil my dinner," I told him. "If I eat a snack, I won't eat dinner."

We played a little more, until my stomach rumbled loudly. Mark pushed the yellow lollipop toward me and said, "HAVE A SNACK!"

Which I thought was very generous -- he doesn't usually share sweets so willingly. I thanked him but said I didn't want to take his candy from him.

"It's okay," he shrugged. "I've got another one."

He suddenly realized what he'd said, and turned bright red -- he'd broken Rule #1 and ADMITTED IT!

"I mean, I'll go get another one," he clarified. "Just for you!"

And then flashed me the biggest, cheesiest, cutest smile he could muster. If he couldn't outwit me, he'd try to outcharm me.

I was about to collect the rogue lollipop when they called our number. As often happens, Mark was saved by something shiny distracting me.

Luckily for me, Mark has a genetic defect that renders him unable to stash his belongings in their proper places. When he went to bed, he simply tossed the purple lollipop on his bookshelf, right next to his blood glucose meter.

Which made it very easy for me to collect and toss out. Of course, I waited until after I'd tested his blood sugar first. Because with my luck, he'd be low, and in need of some emergency sugar -- something like, oh let's just say a purple lollipop.

No wonder he's not impressed

I was researching things to do in Fairbanks during our upcoming Alaska trip, and came across this gem:

Santa Claus House
101 St. Nicholas Drive, North Pole, AK 99705
Unique theme shop w/gifts, apparel, ornaments & Original Letter from Santa!

Turns out the North Pole is a scant 20 minutes away from downtown Fairbanks -- we can actually visit the Jolly Old Elf himself at home!

Oh my goodness, I was beside myself with joy. A chance to visit Santa at the North Pole -- what could be better than that?

I shared the exciting news with Mark as soon as I got home. I knew he wouldn't be outwardly excited, because 9-year-olds do not believe in Santa. (Not when their friends are around, anyway -- but ask any kid right before bedtime on Christmas Eve if they believe, and you'll get a positive response. Even 9-year-olds are smart enough to believe the night before!!)

But Mark's response surprised me. He simply shrugged his shoulders and said casually, "I've already been there."

This stopped me in my tracks! "What do you mean?" I asked. "You've already been to the North Pole?"

He nodded. "My parents took me there when I was a baby."

I could sense a good story coming on. I prodded him for more info.

"Really?" I asked. "What was it like?"

"It had a big red and white striped pole," he answered. "And there was snow everywhere."

"What else?" I asked.

"You know, lots of elves," he said. "And some reindeer."

"So cool!" I exclaimed. "What were they like?"

"I don't remember," he said. "I was just a little baby!"

"Huh," I said, scratching my head. "Well, then you can show me around, because I've never been there. I've only seen the North Pole on T.V."

But he was tired of this story already. "I told you, I was just a little baby!" he said. "I probably won't remember any of it!"

And so, in just a few short weeks, I will be visiting Santa and the North Pole for the first time in my life. And Mark will be returning for his second triumphant visit.

I wonder if Santa will remember him? ;-)

Well, when you say it like THAT...

Mark saw an interesting bottle in our fridge the other day.

"What's that?" he asked.

"Acidophilus," I answered, absentmindedly.

He immediately started snickering. I looked at him, hand clasped over his mouth, body shaking from pent-up laughter, trying very hard not to guffaw.

I sighed. I grew up with three brothers, and I've learned how boys think.

"It's not a bad word," I said.

"It is if you say it really slow," he answered. And that was that -- he couldn't hold back anymore, and erupted into full-out laughter.

He was right, it did sorta sound bad if you said it slowly. I started snickering, too, and was unable to regain my motherly composure.

Mark never recovered his composure, either. He spent the rest of the day giggling and snickering about it. It was no monkey butt, but it was pretty close.

Hey, the upside is I don't need expensive video games or electronics, because my kid is just as easily amused by funny words.

That's gotta be worth something, right?

OK, fine, I'll admit it

Today is my birthday. I'm not exactly proud to say I'm 40 years old today, but I'm not all that embarrassed to say it either.

Forty's kind of a funny age. When I was a kid, 40-year-olds were grandmas and grandpas, or just about. 40-year-olds were oldsters, dining and retiring to bed early. They weren't, well, me.

Truth is, I don't feel all that different than yesterday, when I was still young, hip and in my 30s. (OK, I was never really all that hip, but I was still in my 30s. Nowadays, I'm more worried about breaking a hip than being hip.)

What has changed is the way I celebrated my birthday. When I was a little kid, I always had swim parties, with lots of friends and a pinata. When I turned 16, my friends threw me a surprise party, which I loved. When I turned 18, I celebrated because I could finally vote, and I did exactly that in November, for Michael Dukakis (turns out my vote didn't help).

When I was 21, I started the celebration early, at midnight, at a bar, with some friends and a shot of liquor somebody lit on fire. (What better way to prove I was finally a responsible adult than to drink my 21-year-old self into oblivion?) The last big milestone, 30, was also accompanied by shots, but at a much nicer bar, where my good friends had rented out the patio. The theme was over the hill, which didn't seem so funny at the time.

But this year, the celebration was much tamer. It started Thursday night, when my friend Cindy brought a huge beach scene birthday cake to book club. I couldn't stop smiling!

Then yesterday, I had a family barbecue, hosted by my cousin Kathleen and her boyfriend Tim. Tim cooked up some tasty tacos, and Kathleen made all the side dishes. (My aunt brought a yummy cake cooked by Mrs. Albertson's, who sometimes provides our Thanksgiving feast.) There were children running everywhere, and their parents (my brothers and sisters-in-law) sitting close by. My parents were there, too, and as I surveyed the yard, I felt so proud, and happy. It was perfect.

I even got a lovely striped goblet with a polka-dotted 40 on it, wearing a little party hat. I loved that. I loved it even more when I discovered my goblet held a full beer! I immediately proclaimed that I'll be drinking out it for the next week straight, and that it's coming with me to Alaska, where I'll be celebrating my birthday with friends. (I tell everyone I picked Alaska for its beauty, but really, I've heard the average age of tourists there is like 65 -- which will make me a young, hot mama!)

And today, the actual day, was pretty good, too. I got a lot of birthday wishes, by email and by phone, including a happy birthday song that degenerated into howling dogs. (Good job, Hannah and Nick! :-)

Maybe that happiness I felt all day Sunday was the real gift this year -- the contentment of turning 40, without all the showy trappings (or hangovers) of other milestone birthdays. I got the best gifts of all yesterday -- laughter, memories, and being surrounded by family. And I got a pretty spiffy goblet, too.

(And yes, so far, I've kept my promise -- I lugged my goblet to dinner with me to dinner tonight.)

Last days

This was Mark's last week of school, and it was a veritable junk food fest at school. Monday was root beer float day during c lass, followed by cupcakes in after school care. Tuesday was cake day. Wednesday was another cupcake day, and yesterday was Slurpees at lunch followed by more cake in the afternoon.

Needless to say, Mark's blood sugars have been all over the place, and he's had a fairly constant sugar buzz going since Monday.

Today, however, was the crash.

Today is the first day of summer vacation, and so far, it's been a dreary one. It's cold and gray outside, and as of 11:30 a.m., there have been no parties or celebrations yet. Mark is not a happy camper.

Instead, he has the excruciating task of spending the day at home while I work. (Summer camp starts Monday.) He is less than thrilled by this.

At first he was happy. He jumped out of bed at 7 a.m. and rushed to the T.V. (He recently discovered that getting up before me allows him some prime cartoon-watching opportunities.) After breakfast, he decided to check on his Webkins, and started up my lap top. He was again very happy, but his mood switched when the computer shut down due to a low battery.

And....cut to the world's unhappiest child.

"I'm SOOOOOOOO bored!" he sighed, since all entertainment had stopped exactly three minutes earlier. "There's nothing to do..."

"Find something," I told him. "I'll make lunch in 20 minutes, but find something to do until then."

He sighed again, then said in his snottiest voice, "Let me guess -- nothing with screens, right?"

"No screens," I agreed, and was met with another, "There's nothing to do."

I nipped that in the bud -- my son has a flair for the dramatic, and he could repeat that one phrase for the rest of the day. Instead, I sent him outside to water the plants, knowing full well how that would turn out.

I heard it almost immediately -- the hose splashing water against the windows instead of the plants. (Drought? What drought?) I also knew that in a few short moments my son would enter the h ouse sopping wet, after converting the front porch into a small lake. He walked in the front door like a zombie, arms raised from his sides, and told me he needed to change shirts.

All that took exactly 10 minutes -- only five more hours to fill!

I offered him lunch, but he declined. Until five minutes later, when he was suddenly ravenous and about to keel over from starvation.

"Test your blood sugar and I'll feed you," I said but he howled, "NOOOOO! I don't want to test, I just want a snack!"

"GO TEST!" I warned. "You'd better be really high or really low!" From his crabby behavior, I expected to see either 400 or 50. Instead, he was 159 -- right on target. He was just being grumpy all on his own.

Silently, I went back to work. No point trying to reason with Mr. Grumpy Pants in this mood.

Soon enough, I heard him rattling around in the kitchen, and calling out, "Don't we have any other bread?" He found a loaf in the freezer and started making his own lunch.

"Whatcha making?" I asked.

"Peanut butter and butter," he answered, trying to annoy me. I stifled my gag reflex and returned to the office.

And now we have the whole afternoon before us. Mark has finished his lunch, including some hot Cheetos. It was only half a bag, but enough to bring back his junk food buzz, and he's once again a happy little kid. (Paging Dr. Jekyll! Paging Mr. Hyde! Pick up your tickets, the Mood Swing Express is about to leave the station!)

Hot Cheetos hands -- messier than jazz hands!

We're off at lunch to buy a new Boy Scout uniform (he's becoming a Webelo, for those of you who speak Boy Scout), and I'm pretty sure that won't go well either. I am fully anticipating a meltdown at the store when I ask him to try on the new uniform without the reward of a root beer float, cake or cupcake.

Sigh. Life is indeed tough for my poor, bored kid who never has any fun at all.

My little drummer boy

Mark has a love-hate relationship with his drum set. He loves it whenever he discovers a new accessory he ABSOLUTELY must have, and hates it when it's actually time to practice. (Which is kind of oxymoronic -- why does he need MORE stuff he doesn't want to play?)

He's been nagging me for a practice pad for about a month now. I don't understand why he needs a specific pad to drum on, when he has a whole set of perfectly good drums out in the garage. But he won't let up about it, and I'm tired of hearing, "Mom, I neeeeeed a practice pad!!"

And so I purchased a practice pad. Not, I might add, because of the relentless nagging, but because I realized he can take it on vacation and can keep practicing. (Between vacation and diabetes camps, he'll be gone most of July, and I don't want him to lose everything he's learned this past year.) I'm sure my fellow travellers will enjoy listening to Mark drum nonstop.

I had to special order the practice pad. I picked it up yesterday, and quickly discovered it will not work for travel -- the thing weighs about five pounds and is the size of a drum head! There's no way Mark can drag that thing around in his backpack.

But at least he can still practice his padiddles on it at home (or whatever they're called -- something with "-iddle" in it).

I thought he'd be thrilled to see it, but when I handed it to him, he tossed it unceremoniously onto the car seat beside him.

"That's it?" I asked. "After all that begging, not even a 'thanks'?"

"Thanks," he said, then proceeded to show me all the Spongebob stickers he got at school. I could've saved myself a lot of money buying him stickers instead!

But he changed his mind after dinner. "I'm gonna play on my new practice pad!" he said excitedly. I didn't understand his newfound eagerness until I reminded him he still had to practice on his drum set as well.

"WHAT?!?" he screamed, as though I'd suggested something far worse...like, perhaps, a shower.

"It's a supplement, not a replacement," I told him, but he scrunched up his face and said, "What?"

"I bought it as another tool to practice on -- it doesn't replace your drums. You can't play your songs on that!"

He scowled, but complied. He played his lesson, and then his two songs, and came back inside.

I was very proud of him, and about to tell him, but he opened his mouth first.

"Hey mom," he called to me. "I need a new ride cymbal -- my other one is a crash-ride, and I'm supposed to use just a ride instead."

And then there really was a crash -- which had nothing to do with cymbals or drums at all. Instead, it was more of a reality crash, involving a mom, a 9-year-old boy, and a lecture on entitlement and the household policy against it.

Sometimes raising them into cultured, well-rounded adults is more trouble than it's worth!

Yeah, I..."lost"...it

Today, while riding past us on a scooter, a kid yelled out, "Hey Mark, where's your backpack?"

Mark glanced down at his plastic box, then at me and stammered nervously, "Uh...." I could tell he didn't want to tell the story, which did not exactly place him in a good light.

But the kid didn't even slow down long enough to listen. He passed Mark by and said, "You lost it, huh?"

Mark seized the excuse for all he was worth.

"Yep!" he called out happily. "I lost my backpack!" He'd never been so proud to lose something.

Then he grinned at me, daring me to call him out on it. Instead, I mimicked him and squeaked out, "Yeah, I lost my backpack. Silly me!"

We both cracked up. I wasn't gonna rat him out anymore than he was gonna rat himself out.

"Try not to lose anything else today!" I called out as he crossed the street. He turned and shook his fist at me, laughing, and I laughed in return.

Hey, at least we can laugh about his plastic box now, which is more than I can say for the day he got it!

The kindness of strangers

Mark went on an all-day field trip today, and for the first time ever, I didn't go with him. He's been managing his diabetes pretty well, and his teacher feels comfortable with Mark's diabetes, so I thought it was time to reward Mark with a little independence.

And then, the best-laid plans all went to hell.

First, Mark dropped the diabetes ball, and made a really bad choice. Luckily, his amazing school nurse saved the day. Then, late yesterday afternoon, she phoned to say the teacher wasn't actually going on the field trip, a substitute teacher was.

That put us both into a bit of a panic! I couldn't take the day off, and she wasn't working, so we did a little troubleshooting to handle the situation.

The nurse came up with the best solution ever -- she enlisted the mom of another student with diabetes to substitute for Mark's class. This is a kid we both respect and admire -- he's in 8th grade, and a shining example of how to manage your diabetes. I figured any kid like that must have a pretty awesome mom. :-)

So today, instead of reporting on Mark's usual shenanigans, I'm here to praise the diabetes and nursing communities! I'm telling you, spending an afternoon in the company of families living with diabetes will renew your faith in humanity. They are the most helpful, caring people you could meet, always willing to give a hand, some advice or a quick-acting sugar source if needed.

And the people who help care for our kids -- people like our school nurse -- are literally guardian angels. I can't heap enough praise on her, or the school nurses that Mark had before her. It's the scariest thing in the world to hand over your kid and trust that someone else will keep him safe. She keeps him safe, keeps him laughing, and has become not only his nurse, but his friend as well. (And she's a wonderful sounding board for me as well!)

So thank you, Nurse King, for going above and beyond caring for Mark. And thank you Roman's mom, for knowing exactly which questions to ask, and for agreeing to watch over my son when I could not. You'll never know how much that meant to me! (Or maybe, as a fellow mom of a child with diabetes, you will...but you still have my gratitude.)

Nice way to spend an evening

Last night, we had the pleasure of hosting dinner for our good friends Rob, Kelley, Romi and Marilyn. Three out of the four live in Arizona, and one lives down the street a couple miles. (Hello, Neighbor Marilyn!)

It was so much fun. We hadn't seen the Gludts for six months, which may not sound like very long, but was actually half of Romi's lifetime ago. So Mark and I were thrilled to squeeze the baby and laugh with his parents and Grandma.

Mark kept Romi suitably entertained while we made dinner. Romi liked Mark, but he liked the T.V. remote control that lights up even better. He spent most of the night gnawing on or chasing it down.

Since the weather was nice, we schlepped all the food outside to enjoy. (I only use words like schlep when Kelley's around.) We made a veritable feast of pasta, fruit, salad and garlic toast. Romi seemed to like the pasta sauce -- unfortunately, he liked to wear it more as much as he liked to eat it.

Romi was not only a good guest, he was a good audience as well. I raised my hands in the air and did a little "Ooh ooh!" club call at one point, and he laughed his cute little head off. And then implored me to repeat the "Oooh ooh!" for the rest of dinner. Which usually I wouldn't do, but how can you resist this little face, which cracked up anew each time I did it? I certainly couldn't resist him -- the force is strong with this one.

Marilyn laughed at one point during dinner, remarking that she never thought she'd be having dinner with this crowd.

"You mean Rob, Kelley, me and our KIDS?" I asked, and she laughed and said, "EXACTLY!" We all agreed she was right -- for a long time, it seemed like the only kids in our group would be Brunk kids.

And speaking of kids, we had a monopoly on the cutest ones. Not only did we have have Happy Romi, we also had Silly Mark.

After dinner, it was time to wash off all the boys. Mark and Rob headed toward the jacuzzi, and Romi won himself a free bath. He chose this moment to show us how well he could stand, but Kelley wisely nipped that trick in the bud. (Slippery bath + unstable standing baby = DANGER!)

Sadly, the Gludts eventually did leave. I was sad to see them go, but not that sad, as I will see them again tonight -- for the third night in a row! Talk about a fun week...

Mr. Safety

After rummaging around in the medicine cabinet Saturday night, Mark went to bed. He forgot to put away the step stool he was standing on.

I realized this about 20 minutes later, when I walked into our very-small bathroom and collided with the step stool. Pain immediately shot through my entire body, starting at my shin, and exiting as a curse word out of my mouth.

I left the bathroom, and popped my head into Mark's room.

"I just smacked my shin into the step stool you left in the bathroom," I told him. "I hope you don't do the same when I wake you up later, because that really hurt." Then I walked away.

Mark really is a bright boy, and usually, a statement like that would send him scurrying to put the stool away. But an hour later, he was fast asleep, and the step stool was still there.

I simply moved it -- a classic case of picking your battles, and to me, this was not a big one. I just didn't want to bruise my other shin.

When Mark woke up Sunday morning, I noticed something unusual. His hand was blue -- or at least, covered in blue ink.

"What's all over your hand?" I asked, and he smiled sheepishly at me.


I looked closer. In blue ink, he'd written himself a reminder -- "There's a stool in the bathroom. Do not trip. Ouch." There was even a sad face to reinforce the "ouch" part.

I couldn't believe this kid! Instead of getting up and putting the stool away, he wrote himself a note not to trip over it! A note he had no recollection of writing, let alone reading, when I woke him up that night to use the bathroom. (He's a zombie when I wake him -- I usually have to physically point his body toward the bathroom, or else he wanders down the hall.)

"Where'd you get the pen?" I asked.

"From the office," he answered.

"You walked PAST the bathroom, PAST the step stool, and into the office to get a pen?" I asked, incredulous. "And then wrote all over your hand? Instead of just moving the stool?"

He nodded. Made perfect sense to him. And to his shins, which were bruise-free.

Maybe next time, I'll just write myself a note, too.