BATMOM

The Burgundy Road

Today was just funny. Okay, it was mostly not funny but we did laugh.

We set off for The Burgundy Wine road. We knew it would be a challenge with the kids, but when has that stopped us before?

We knew that wine tasting was not the objective and nearly impossible... Especially with George screaming in the back seat, "When is this day going to get better?"

The country side was beautiful as were the small villages. We had some amazing Coq au vin and boeuf Bourgogne in Nuits St Georges (we were trying to make it better for George by eating in his town)!

Babu took the kids to look at the centre ville water fountain. Cole stepped into a tiny street and was only just missed by a large car. I heard the scream from Babu. I was far behind because my sandal had broken so I didn't see it.

I knew what the scream meant and I also knew he was okay because he was crying, but I couldn't bring myself to go closer. I don't know what came over me. At the moment when I finally did make it over to the fountain to look at Cole, George stepped into the same road and was also almost hit. I was furious. And shaken. Poor George.

The wine at lunch was mediocre and I was unable to give much. Tom kept us laughing by ordering and sharing his escargot with the kids. Cole was first. Then George, after Cole told him it wasn't slimey. Adeline just flat out refused. She felt no competition to be cool and happily ate her chicken.

She laughed and smiled. She stood upon her seat and danced and then, yes, started to fall backwards onto the cement. Babu, next to her, screamed and held her arm out. Tom caught her chair in mid air. Whew. I think the patrons were exhausted just watching our adrenalin rushes.

We had one wine tasting in Aloxe Corton, a small beautiful village with a great wine reputation. Yes, we could sample all the wines at a Baune or Dijion wine cave but to meet the family and wine maker is fun. The wines were beautiful and the kids were happy with plenty of kitties and a big sweet dog.

We were happy to get "home" to Semur-en-Auxois and have dinner in the garden. We called Grandma Sheri from the garden for her birthday. Happy Burthday! The kids were pretending to be cavemen at these time and all naked so they literally grunted the first half of the HB song. Sheri told Tom to pick me up and spin me around which he did much to my suprise.

The ducks heard us leave the garden and came down expecting bread which was gladly given.

Tomorrow is our last day and Babu leaves in the morning. It has been so nice to have a relaxing time here with her.

Dinner conversation revolved around what we miss at home and what the kids remember about their bedrooms. George misses his giraffe, Cole wants to see Big Toe and Pink Bunny. Adeline misses the 2 euro car ride at Semur's grocery store! Ah memories...

From the Yonne River

I am sitting in our living room in Burgundy's Semur-en-Auxois. It's a beautiful medieval city with the river Yonne flowing through it. Tom is typing away.

I can see 2 of the city's famous towers from the window. The house is small but on the river and punctuated by the Pont Pinard double stone arches (the oldest and probably most narrow bridge in town... Ask Tom the
driver). There is a private orchard and stone wall garden also on the river. We had dinner
there tonight. Enchanting is the word I would
use to describe it here.

We left Guerande and the Viellard and de Buchet families on Saturday. It was such a beautiful time there. As we took our daily lunch in the garden overlooking the Guerande salt marshes, I knew the kids, Tom, and I were building precious memories.

There is so much to say about our time in old Brittany and so many pictures of Clotilde and her family that I can't do it justice on an IPhone. When we finally get wireless, I'll post again!

We went from Guerande to Amaury's aunt's Bed and Breakfast in Avallon, Bourgogne. Breakfast in the garden on the elegant grounds and a fascinating history (a former cement factory and quarters) made this a
unique experience.

We picked up my mom from the train station. She was quickly thrown into our chaos while trying to nurse a hangover from her time in Paris with my cousin Nicole and Aunt Sandy.

My good friend Ellen from Charleston was fresh off a canal boat and was in Auxois for one day with husband, father and son. I had never met Julian her son and was determined to see all of them.

We raced to our house where we planned to meet and all managed to get lost. In the end, we all showed up and it was a happy reunion! Ellen and I both had dreams of the children playing blissfully, but our kids tuckered out and needed sleep.

Sweet and very funny Julian stayed up and made us laugh while George contimplated the ducks and got his shoes soaked.

All and all, we are having a great time. Tom is anxious to write, and we are all ready to be home soon. The kids are happy and amazing. They spend much of their energy seeking the most precious of precious things: being carried by their daddy. I am constantly in awe of Tom's patience and strong back.

catch up

I am jumping ahead. I've written posts to the end of our American journey through Las Vegas and LAX, a super awesome airport hotel visit from Grandma and Poppy and lift off. I can't post them however. We only have Internet access through our IPhones and my posts are on my laptop.

We are in France driving through the beautiful Normandy villages. We have done the DDay beaches and American Cemetery which were very moving. We even slept in a replica of the bed Eisenhower borrowed (a longer post later regarding this). We could see Mont Saint Michel from our window.

The last 2 nights have been at an amazingly restored 17th century chateau near Volognes. There were peacocks, black swans and lambs, white donkies and geese. It was extraordinary place and we didn't leaveuntil we had to leave.

Now we are headed to Clotilde's family house in Brittany. We can't wait!

Las Vegas - LAX

Las Vegas

I spent 5 days in Vegas once. It was Comdex, and I was working for a start up technology company in Sausalito. For 48 hours, we thought this place was awesome. It had cheap rooms (even if the company was paying), free drinks all night for girls with company money for gambling, great pools, crazy sites, luxury everything. It was the golden age of Silicon Valley and we thought the money would never dry up…

The problem with working a convention in Vegas is that you are awake during the day. You see the people up at 7:00 am, sitting at their stools with their beers in their hands, mechanically sticking quarters into the machines. You see the hang overs doing the walk of shame. You see the dirt that gets hidden by the night and the neon. It’s not pretty.

Why were we going? It was directly on our route. Tom had not been since he was a boy, and even though it’s not really a kid’s town, they’d have fun. We chose Excalibur because it had lots of kid friendly stuff, great pools and was $55 a night.

The kids were definitely loving the castle and knight theme. George most of all, since it is his middle name. He IS a Knight.

The start to our stay was the breakfast buffet, which was unfortunate. It was one of those places you see in grade B mobster movie. A nice Italian girl gets married to a mobster but doesn’t know. It has mirrors and gold, stinky carpet with a floral pattern, and rounded booths (which Cole always likes because they are shaped like a ‘C’).

I got up to explore and got stuck in an omelette line. He was pretty cool.. the omelette guy. He had 6 pans going at once. One know-it-all guy threw down 3 bucks. What did that mean? All of us in line wondered. This guy was kind of confident… at least when it came to eggs. Should I put down money? I’d just paid too much for the breakfast I felt. These rules were different. I’d once gone to a Brooklyn wedding in a room like this and the couple went around hugging people and receiving cash and checks. I gave them Twister and whipped cream. It was the only tangible present.

What were these rules? I never know what I should tip a bell boy, and as a result I run – really – when I see them approach.  I hate not knowing the rules. I feel like George. In the South, the women always exit first. A man will catch the door, get the door, stop the door. It’s a rule. I don’t quite get it, but I can count on it. No wonder George and Cole get overwhelmed on the playground with the rules.

We couldn’t decide what to do after the buffet, so we went to the pool. It was not one pool but four. The kids were in heaven. I asked Tom to wait on the Tournament of Kings tickets because I’d seen them cheaper online – a vague memory of a discount coupon. I checked online, did research and then with his persistence at the reception desk, we ended up saving $170. We also got free drinks and two free spa days to boot. I was drinking my almost free fru fru frozen drink and feeling good with the good life (even if it was not exactly my particular kind of GOOD life) when I felt something below me. George had climbed under my chair and was now demanding I move because I was inhibiting his privacy. I moved to the next lounge chair and was just getting settled again when Tom showed up with the Tournament of Kings tickets and a package for Cole from his cousin Irv. Cole watched as I opened it, unable to believe until he saw that this was, in fact, All Bown Ki’y, whom he had not seen for two weeks. He grabbed his cat and hugged it. Kissed it. Made its goofy face by squeezing its eyes on the sides. He was so happy that when I looked at Tom and saw the tears in his eyes, I realized I was crying too. Cole lay under his towel hugging his kitty.

Later, George admitted that he’d missed ABK too. He’d even helped Cole write a letter to Santa Claus to help find ABK.  We all discussed how when someone you love loves someone, then you love that someone too.

We all napped.  And when we woke up George resumed his seat on the window ledge. It looked out over the Vegas strip and onto New York New York’s roller coaster. We were on level 23 so it was a nice view. We got out of the room slowly and then sought out the M & M store because it was close by. I’d heard about sculptures or some such thing and so had Tom. It would be easy to do before dinner. There was no sculpture. There were 4 floors of crappy merchandise screaming BUY ME with the M&M logo on each one.

There were duvet covers and throw pillows in pink silk embroidered with hella happy M & Ms. It’s all a kind of brainwashing. “Come kids. Be happy. Think fun. Have fun in store with logo. See logo think happy. Buy. Buy. Buy. It will make you happy.” There was a weird journey thought the making an M&M. We skipped the free movie. We’d seen enough propaganda with Presidents.  Does everything in this country have to be sold?

Las Vegas is the grown-up brainwashing. “Come stay cheaply in a hotel pretending to be something else. Drink the Koolaid that makes you feel funny and happy (for some people). Spend. Spend. Spend. Buy. Buy. Buy.”

Tom and I knew going into this that Las Vegas was not going to be our town, so it feels pretty dull to just slam it. We tried to enjoy it. At least Las Vegas isn’t trying to be anything other than what it is.

And let it be proclaimed, the Tournament of Kings was awesome. It was perfect for our kids and goofy fun for us. It had great stage combat, real men on horses clanging swords on shields, real dirt, “real” jousting (break-away lances)… Cole acted out the stage combat next to me. George was riveted. Adeline cuddled close while taking everything in.

We had the naughty Russian king who was, even Tom admitted, very handsome and charismatic. He made it fun to yell and cheer. Afterwards the boys patted the horses and posed with the blondie, new (yawn boring) king. He was pretty self-involved and always playing with his hair. The squire muscle men were much cooler.

We had to pass the kids arcade to get back to our room and therefore got stuck. George and Cole won a monkey while fishing. Daddy won a teddy bear, which Adeline immediately grasped to her and called “Dog.” We dragged them away but they escaped and tried out their knight moves on the hotel hallway carpet. Finally they slept.

Day Two Vegas

We woke up early for Vegas and late for us. The kids played around, jumping and standing on the window ledge. Just for the hell of it, Tom checked, and… the window slid right open. I was frozen. Tom grabbed the kids. We both felt physically sick just thinking of what could have happened 23 stories up. We sent for an engineer who said the window stops after a few inches with a child lock. But it hadn’t.  No more kids near the window,

We had promised the kids a circus at Circus Circus, which is famous for free circus shows every half an hour. We drove there because the kids would never make it there walking, but not before having a grown-up fight. The neighbors heard us, no doubt, but I figured it was payback fro the drunk screamining the night before. I can’t remember exactly what the fight was about other than being tired and stretched too thin.

Circus Circus was not the answer. We had to drag the kids through half a mile of lighty, blinky, flashy, talkie, buy me! things and then up a rounded ramp, through an arcade and into some seats. It was a one woman aerial show, and she was bad. She had a weird triangular cage thing which she did bad pageant ballet on. Her costume had unexplained plush, pointy spikes on it, one coming directly out of her chest.

The kids had to be dragged from the arcade for lunch. Tired of the many meals of just plainly bad food, we headed for the Bellagio. If there was good food to be had in Vegas, it would be there. I’ve never been to the Bellagio, but it was a completely different world. Firstly, there were no slot machine football fields to greet you as you entered. You had to look for the casino and at its entrance was a classical pianist playing a Steinway in a tux (very different from the sparkling bikini girl dancing on the main bar in Excaliber).  The carpet didn’t stink. The garden court had cool glass flower sculptures and garden animals made elaborately out of flowers. There were hot air balloons up on the beautiful art deco glass ceiling. I still don’t exactly know what it all meant, but it was a welcome change to Circus Circus. There was no blinky, blinky and as a result, I think, the kids and parents relaxed a bit.

We had a good lunch overlooking the garden. What great luck! We thought. It turns out there was a fountain show happening so that not many people were inside, which was perfect for us.

George walked around with me while everyone else napped. We walked down the strip and people in “GIRLS: to your door in 20 minutes or less” shirts slapped their wrists twice whenever a person passed and handed a card to them. They’d slap their wrists but pull their hand away when they saw George. We were looking for a short sleeve shirt for Tom, which is harder than you think in Vegas… most of the shirts are, frankly, a bit rude. I HEART TO FART or TELL YOUR TITS TO STOP STARING AT MY EYES. Are those really the big sellers?  Why? I saw a “Sale” sign in a men’s store and went in. “What does that say”” asked George looking at the sign. “Sale.” I said. “The clothes are on sale.” “Aren’t all the clothes on sale if they are in a store?” Excellent point. It was a long walk. We had to find a bathroom for George every block or so, and he is not inclined to walk quickly when he has a lot of questions.

When we got back to the Excalibur, Tom was in the pool with Adeline and Cole who hadn’t napped for long . As we arrived, Adeline was in her lady bug raft at the base of the slide with Tom. I waved hi. Tom looked up at us and asked how it went.  As we were talking, apparently, Cole had come down the slide. There was just this little boy swimming, his head just underwater. He had complete trust that his Daddy would scoop him up, so he just kept dog-paddling along. Tom said later that it occurred to him that he should help this little boy, whoever he is.  It was only when he lifted him out of the water, that we realized it was Cole.  Cole came out, took a deep breath, and shouted, “Again!”

I suddenly realized that my wallet was gone. Tom got on the phone to the credit card company. We thought it had been stolen when I got Adeline and Cole out of the water, but then I remembered Dick’s, the casino bar (“Shame o’ the strip” is its tagline). I was going to buy some water there while George used the bathroom (it was the only bathroom I could find). It was his last bathroom break before the pool. I ran back. “Yeah we have it. Go find Taco.” “Taco? Who’s Taco?” “You know Taco.” “No, I really don’t.” She looked at me funny and then told me to follow her. We went through the entire large bar that drifts inside and outside; upstairs and downstairs. Whenever we would see someone, she would ask, “Have you seen Taco?” Not only did everyone know who Taco was, but everyone had just seen him. Who is this Taco? I wondered.

As we came back down a spiral staircase, someone on a loudspeaker said, “We’ve got a bride-to-be in the house.” My guide stopped to listen. I looked at her strangely. “That’s Taco.” She whispered. A charismatic, funny guy pulled 2 women in their chairs back to back. They both had on pope-sized paper hats on their heads with rude sayings. Everyone was laughing. My guide called over Taco. “She’s the one with the wallet.” “Actually she’s the one without it,” Taco retorted. He went through my wallet asking me random questions about my husband’s mothers last name and all the numbers of my credit card backwards. He then made me buy a drink. I got it in a plastic black cowboy boot (I figured the boys would like it) and he poured in an extra shot. Great. Luckily Tom helped me drink it.

We had planned on a fountain show somewhere to which we would take the metro – the kids had been begging for a train ride – but with no nap, the kids were exhausted. We opted for the one stop, free metro ride to the Mandalay Bay Hotel.  Cole found all of his pajamas (7 days worth) and put them all on, with Spiderman on top. He called himself Fat Spiderman. His arms were so fat he couldn’t put them by his side. It was a good Chinese meal, although our kids made a mess, broke a glass and climbed up into the center of group of booths at the center of the restaurant.

We had joked about getting a babysitter for a night. We’d gotten one in NYC for 2 nights. She had been used as a daytime babysitter for a friend who recommended her. She seemed very steady and strong. George told us later at East Hampton that she shook Adeline when Adeline wouldn’t stop crying. We’d told the babysitter to call if Adeline got upset, but the sitter was proud and wouldn’t. George told us that he and Cole peeked from the bedroom and saw her shaking and shouting at Adeline. She also apparently shut Cole in the bathroom when he was upset. George said he hid under the covers so that she wouldn’t get mad at him.

When we heard this, we were freaked out. We’d never had an experience like this. George was the only one who would talk about it, so we kept asking him questions which may have seared the whole episode in his mind more then it should have been. We asked them all if they’d liked her after the first night, and they were all fine with it. No alarm bells went off. We felt awful. Obviously we weren’t going to leave our kids with a stranger again even if we REALLY needed a break. We might have ended up with one of the Girls in 20 minutes who was looking for cash on the side…

Out. Out. Of Las Vegas we went. There had been this huge city in the middle of nowhere that was created by someone’s dream. Bugsy was it? And here it was bigger than ever. I liked the American dream part and it was easy for Tom to see in it the deadend of the Gold Rush. There is a long American tradition of luck in fortune (with rather poor odds) and a potentially big pay off. My family came out for the Gold Rush but got wise and started a water business – the Sacramento water channels – to get those miners water. I must have inherited the water gene instead of the gold gene, as I have no interest in gambling. Between Tom and me, we spent exactly zero on slot machines. In some class I once studied the statistical chances of winning back your money in a slot machine and haven’t been close to one since.

We drove quickly to Nixon’s Library. We were flying out of LAX to France and had one last President to see. We had planned to see Reagan’s library too, but we wouldn’t be able to. (And since it isn’t a childhood home, and we saw those in Illinois, it is not necessary… but it did start the idea for this entire trip… so it somehow seems somewhat appropriate that it was the only library we missed).

Nixon’s library was fascinating. There was supposed to be an exhibit on Watergate that was truthful-ish, but it was closed for renovation. President Nixon was alive during the library’s opening, and the museum is filled with volunteers who still worship him. Do they not realize that he was a criminal? The only President to resign the office? Nixon was the king of the comeback, and it seemed that he was still trying to make his comeback even to his death.

Even with those who worked there (and some near the entrance from the parking lot who eyed us suspiciously due to our Obama sticker), didn’t see the irony in the joke Nixon items available in the bookshop… the finger lights for breaking and entering, the mousepads with Nixon and a decked-out Elvis shaking hands, etc…

The kids and I got a snack at the cafeteria while Tom snooped around. George was having a naughty moment and ran away “Looking for Daddy.” I couldn’t find him anywhere and enlisted the help of the volunteers. When he surfaced, laughing, I was livid. I have never been so mad and worried, and George knew it. He walked obediently with me outside to see Nixon’s childhood home and helicopter.

When we opened the door to the beautiful garden, pool, park, we walked into the middle of wedding photos. Adeline was actually in the photo with the bride and I had to move her. There was a white iron arbor that had been strategically placed in the park between the museum and childhood home as well as rows and rows of white plastic chairs. Men in slightly dated tuxedos and women in heels sat along the reflecting pool. Who would have their wedding here? And when the museum is still open and people can just wander into the photos. It was just strange.

We toured the house quickly. It was a quick tour, and the kids were doing anything I asked of them (they were a little scared of me). We exited the house and into yet another photo with the bride. Adeline became a nuisance when she kept chasing the Nixon cat into ever photo the photographer was taking. I dragged her to the helicopter where she sat down everywhere she was not allowed to sit on the helicopter. “I understand,” said the nervous volunteer for the twentieth time. “I was once a preschool teacher.”

We stayed near LAX, and the highlight was a visit from Grandma and Poppy. The kids were beyond excited. It was only a few hours and left us all longing for more, but we took what we could get! They then very graciously drove our supermobile back to Berkeley for us, where it will be waiting.

Bon Voyage! We leave for France! Internet options will be minimal and chances to post will be almost impossible. We get back on August 31 and Batmom will be back then!

(Pictures will come at a later stage. Please check back with us... me).

Arches, Work and Light

Breakfast was loud thanks to the Clydes. Someone put a freakin’ candy machine next to the breakfast tables and we spent the morning keeping our kids from shaking the machine. It was broken and when you shook it, skittles came out. A large, stern-looking lady watched over them (and us) and George got his first lessons of stealing. He then asked if kids could go to jail.

(The gossips)

I quickly realized that this was not going to be the Arches trip I’d dreamed of having. The hike to the Delicate Arch which, in the past, never seemed long or hard, was 3 miles there and back. A trip with all 3 kids from the gas station pumps to the gas station restrooms takes marathon training and Tibetan monk stamina. We couldn’t even make it to the first viewing area. We had to settle for the viewing area of the viewing area (essentially). We trekked 50 feet to “see” the Delicate Arch. Tom ran ahead with Adeline in his arms and George running behind him complaining about the heat. Cole had climbed into the front seat of the supermobile and was refusing to get out. “Daddy is waiting for us.” I said. Being tired and wanting something to complain about, Cole began to cry, “Daddy! Daddy!” He jumped out of the car… shoeless… which hurt because the sun had baked the road. He cried harder. I just managed to get his shoes on when he took off running in the direction of Tom, screaming and crying. Other tourists looked me over to see if I was mean. I caught one lady’s eye. I looked back at Cole. His clothes were all on backwards. The zipper of his shorts was facing me as was his shirt’s tag. I remembered that he’d said something about being Backwards Guy. I think he’d even showed me. “Yes, sweetie. Yes, lovie. Eat some oatmeal. No skittles. No! No! No skittles.”

The view from the viewing point was lame. What arch? “It’s pretty,” Tom said, politely standing amongst the other people with children or walkers. The arch looked about 2 inches tall. I have seen it at sunset with cloudless skies and snow-peaked mountains magnificently on display through the arch. When you stand beneath the arch, surrounded by red rock to the left, right and below, it is large, strange and overwhelming. The lady next to me took a picture. Her index finger nail is larger than the arch. I try to explain this to Tom. Cole is nagging him to get back in the car, “It’s too hooooooot.”

With a good zoom:

I went to Arches at that crazy, amazing time when you feel free and strong and infinitely young. And you are. But you’re also dumb and silly. Or at least I was. The first time I went was with Beth and Lilo on a 3-day turn around from New York (someone suggested it, we went, that simple). We ditched classes, took Beth’s sister’s car without permission, smoked foot-long, cheap cigars to stay awake (well, Beth did. Lilo and I laughed too hard and too long to actually do any smoking) and were more or less insane (if we hadn’t already been) by the time we made it up to see the Delicate Arch.

A lot had changed since I was here last, I thought. Adeline dropped Itchy the Frog in the dirt and sat on him while trying to clean the dirt off of her feet. “Clean it, Mom.” Adeline demanded. She doesn’t like her feet dirty for long. It was a dirt path. This could take a very long time.

George was in another world. He was someone fighting someone. Or he was saving someone. Hard to tell. He had a very important stick that he would not let his very determined little sister hold.

When a friend of mine was 23, she decided to have her baby. She arranged an adoption with a couple she liked and thought this would make a good home for her daughter. When pressed about her decision she answered, “I am still center stage right now, even if I don’t want to be. My girl needs to be center stage. She needs everything to revolve around her and be about her. I can’t give her that.” I didn’t know what the heck she meant (the world obviously revolved around me then). I think of this wisdom and what I have chosen often… It’s only an arch. The world is revolving elsewhere.  It’s a profound experience I wanted in visiting it anyway, and I have much more profundity close at hand (literally).

Tom and the boys did hike around Balancing Rock while Adeline slept. Cole braved the heat.  Though he brought back whining boys, Tom said they had fun until the last stretch.

Heading out:

(Above: Cole called this the Elephants).

(Below: Cole said these were eyes)

(These are monkeys:)

Guys in snow hats:

We were done earlier in Moab than I thought. We hit the road in the afternoon, planning on a stop near Zion.

There was a bathroom needed and nothing in sight or on the GPS. We found a quaint place called Fort Cove that looked a little too perfect. And thankfully passed it in favor of the gas station. Even the gas station in the middle of nowhere was a little too clean and cute with barrel wheel benches. It turned out to be owned and run (and funded) by the Latter Day Saints.

I got some soup from the Subway (another Subway with no population to keep it in business) and as I came out, I saw three very busy workers. Those Clydes can work!

 

As I said, we were supposed to stop in Zion. There is a river amongst the rocks where I thought we’d camp and picnic and play. The river is clean and cool and runs along beautiful red rocks. Perfect in this desert heat. This was the plan, but as I’m still learning... Kids and plans; plans and kids… phooey.

It is day 52 I think, and today George cried out that he was tired of being in the car. Amazing that it took to day 52.  I figure we’ve done pretty well for them to last this long. Tom and I also felt that we needed to honor George’s cry out. When he fell asleep with his brother and sis, we made haste and drove into the city of lights. It would now be 3 days in Vegas. Oh dear.

Sick, Sick, Sick

August 4

We woke up way too early (5:30am). Cole had a 103.4 F fever. So the fever of the week before was back. He also said his neck hurt, which freaked us out (it's a symptom of meningitis), so we called the on-call doctor of his pediatric practice. She was not worried and told us to call the practice back at a reasonable hour (Cole did move his chin to his chest while she was on the phone, which was reassuring that we could stop worrying about inflammation of the spine).

Stupidly Tom and I had gone to sleep VERY late, and now all the kids were up. Fun!

So we drove over to the Urgent Care facility in Denver, where all the kids were seen.  We were told by their pediatrician in Berkeley (who we finally did speak to) that we should test them all for strep, since they had all been exposed from the family reunion (a wonderful time, but also, from the reports coming in, a contagious one). When it was time for them to be swabbed, we asked George to go first because, we told him, he is "so brave."  Which is true. He took this responsibility seriously (George takes all responsibilities seriously) and stepped forward to be swabbed. He gagged a little as the nurse put two long q-tips down his throat. 

“Good job, George!" said Tom.  "Cole, you’re next sweetie,” I said. Cole, also brave, rose to his feet and stepped out to where George had stood. “It hurts a little,” George whispered as he passed him on the way back to his seat. “George!” Tom scolded. “Don’t tell him that. It doesn’t hurt.” I wanted to say the same thing.  But George leaned back in to Cole and said, in a hushed, very matter-of-fact voice: “Yes, Cole, it does hurt a little.” Cole cocked his head and listened to George and knew that he was who knew. It was at that moment that we realized that we were seeing a true brotherly moment. George was telling Cole what’s what, and it was clear that there was peer-to-peer respect. Cole trusted George, and he didn’t complain when a moment later he gagged. If George could handle it, he could too, and he did.

I held Adeline’s hand, but she didn’t need cajoling. She'd heard the whole thing. And Adeline never misses a trick. She walked up to the same place Cole and George had been and braced herself. She gagged a little but was soon giggling with her brothers, all of them proud of what they had done.

Next, the doctor had them all line up in a row on the hospital bed, which struck them as even more hilarious. Especially the breathe deeply part when he listened to their chests.

 

He then gave them what were supposed to be "medicinal popsicles" (to keep them hydrated), but were definitely not.  When we got back to the waiting room, waiting for the results (positive for all three) and the prescription (10 days of antibiotics for all three), they lined up three kids' chairs in a row to enjoy their orange sugar-yogurt push-ups... 

George was being quite naughty all day. Apparently it’s his turn. It seems to be cyclical, and just when one child takes the reins as the naughty one, the other two back up and allow he or she to step forward. They must have private meetings late at night over some sparkling apple juice and cookies to decide who is to go next. It actually makes me feel better, now that I’ve realized each one of them does it. They’re trying things out on us... to get a reaction, to feel the power, to learn how to behave and what the rules are. This week it’s George who's stepped forward. You tell him not to do something (poke his brother), and he starts giggling like a maniac and doing it again.

For some reason, as we drove from the clinic to the pharmacy, I had to revoke my offer of a coloring book for everyone. George was MAD and went into a rage. These rages are new. He stomps his feet and makes fists and grunts, telling us, “It’s not fair.” We were all tired of this strep business (which had started so early in the day), and then we had the pleasure of dealing with some not-so-smart Rite-Aid pharmacy workers. They couldn’t fill our entire prescription. They could do ¾ of it. “You can pick the rest up from someone else later.” They crossed out how much was in the bottle. Twice. 

Back in the car at last, when we reluctantly gave the medicine to the kids, they spit it out all over themselves and the car seats and us.  They insisted that it was disgusting.  Great.  Ten days, three times a day for three kids.  How many times disgusting is that?  90?

We were already uncomfortable with the medicine and unsure if it was accurately done (we’re not as trusting as we once were), so we called our pediatrician. “Penicillin?" he said when I read the label on one of the bottles.  "That doctor must not work with kids. That stuff is foul-tasting. I had to have some in medical school.” Our pediatrician sent in a new prescription: the usual pink, milky, delicious stuff.  Parents relieved. Kids relieved.

We saw a dinosaur exhibit at the Denver museum on our way out of town. We went because it was billed as being a journey through evolution, and George (and Tom) really wanted to go. The guidebook said it was great. The guidebook was wrong. It was a waste of an hour. The kids were mostly excited by the escalators. Adeline did lay claim to her first stuffed animal though, as we passed through the gift shop on the way out. She found a green frog puppet that she refused to let go of. She named him Itchy and has not let go of him since.

We drove into the evening to Moab, Utah, arriving about 12 midnight and carrying the sleeping kids to their beds. I have made the trip to Arches National Park three times and was excited to show it to Tom and the kids. I went to sleep dreaming of the Delicate Arch and the almost purple sky against its red rock.

Americana

August 3

We had decided to go slow in the morning. We had much more laundry to do, and we wanted to stay in Abilene for the day and then drive in the night.

Cole woke up last, and he and I went to breakfast alone (Tom took Adeline and George earlier). Cole was excited. “It’s just me and you, Mommy!” He talks nonstop when he’s the only child around. After a few minutes Adeline came running into the breakfast area with her kitty pajama pants below her diaper. Cole went right into silly mode with her, and I suddenly became Mom with the rules again instead of confidant. Ah well.

I took the kids to the pool while Tom edited. Then we swapped and Tom swam with the kids while I added some photos and posted. He then took all 3 of them to lunch while I finished laundry and packed. He said he had to pull some super dad moves to avert some major temper tantrums in the small café (something about a puppet show which told the story of how a fork who refused to stab finally ditched his four spikes of hair and became a spoon).

The Eisenhower complex was our goal today. We saw the Eisenhower museum first. 

Adeline was tired and would only let Daddy push her in the stroller. George wanted only to push the stroller. Cole wanted to be in the stroller. I was so frazzled that I reread the boyhood section over and over again thinking I had missed something. I had learned nothing about him and finally realized that was because the exhibit stunk and not because I wasn’t retaining the information (Tom said he had the same experience).

The museum needs a serious overhaul. The section of his campaign to the presidency is up-to-date and well done, but the rest is confusing and not particularly helpful. There is more information about the first lady (Mamie Eisenhower) than at other museums, which is nice, but it’s mostly about her clothes.

(A skirt with felt cutouts reading 'Atoms for peace' and 'full employment').

Ike’s boyhood home was in the middle of the grassy complex. 

Tom went in with the boys while I had sleeping Adeline. I went in while Tom transferred Adeline in the car. We both had the live flesh animatronic yet angry tour guide. She spoke as soon as the door opened as though you’d pushed a button. She pointed in a general direction, not at something (as if you didn’t deserve to know anyway) and she was angry at you even though she didn’t know you… especially men with kids. Tom needled her in his over-friendly mode, “So six boys lived here! I bet they broke a lot of plates. How many do you think?” “None. They did not break plates.” “Gosh. My boys are good but they sure do break some plates.” “If they broke a plate, their father would take them out to the barn.  That’s how children were raised.” “Whoo-ee! Was he strict? Very religious?” “Yes. They all were.” We assumed she’d been taken out to the barn too many times herself and, hearing that, suddenly I felt sorry for her.

We were on our way out (to try and find the rodeo at the Kansas Free Fair) when I saw this sign. It made me laugh. Does it mean no murder in this particular park? Because a President once lived here?  And the museum is filled with machine guns and anti-tank guns and grenades!

(no parking, no bicycles, no dogs, no killing them if you do happen upon them).

There is a “Place of Meditation” as part of the complex too.  And for a glorious moment we thought it might truly be that. Unfortunately, it was not. It's like the RVs stealing the "camping" verb.

The rodeo was not starting for hours and there wasn’t much else to do in Abilene. Tom checked out the stands and stepped around a lot of pigs lying around in their pens to do so. He spoke with one woman about the schedule and casually remarked, “So right now there’s really just a lot of pigs lying around.” She looked around her, almost noticing them for the first time and wondering if she should be offended. But in the end she saw that he was earnest (I mean there were a lot of pigs lying around) and nodded, “Yep.”

We stopped at a playground rest area and made dinner on our stove, Another family with a 2 year old girl whom we’d sort of met at a gas station about 20 miles back also showed up. Within minutes we had a slice of Americana represented on the playground. There was the yuppie couple with the black BMW, and a young evangelical family who talked to everybody. We met a large, bald carpet cleaner who’d moved from Texas to Washington State and was now moving back for lack of work. There was a young grandmother. And there were those Berkeley liberals cooking their veggies on a camping stove. (Who were they?).

An intense conversation about religion broke out between two salesmen (one was in the health care industry and the other in financials). One salesman literally pitched his church while giving his 6 month old tummy time on an alpaca wool blanket. The other guy jumped into the conversion, and the two got jazzed talking founding fathers while their wives ran after toddlers and tried to connect themselves.

The morose carpet cleaner sat on the picnic bench, asking Tom and me about ourselves. He listened to the conversation happening on the blanket, but wasn’t much interested. It’s hard to worry much about such things when you’re trying to feed a family without a job.

The men on the blanket were attentive fathers and even gave each other parenting advice. “Dude. You gotta read Happiest Baby on the Block. It’ll blow your mind!” I discussed potty training with a mother whose daughter was the same age as Adeline. We traded tips on getting rid of pacifiers, though neither of us has done it.

We chased our kids around the playground, trying to put on their pajamas and then piled them into their seats. The two men from the blanket were talking finances and how much to give to the church. The one with the financial background was packing up his new Beamer and suggesting saving practices so as to give more to the church. The other man slammed his door on his more humble car one more time and suggested a dinner soon in Denver. The carpet cleaner had vanished, but I couldn’t help thinking about him. I hope he finds a job. 

Truman Houses

Aug. 2

Tom and I drove late into the night and stayed just short of Lamar, Missouri, where Harry S. Truman was born. We drove by the little house in the morning on our way to Independence, MO.

We jumped off the highway early when we saw signs to Truman’s farm. The kids and I played in the field while Tom took the tour. Yesterday, we decided no more house tour for the kids unless they want them. They like the museums, where they can run a little and be loud, but the houses, once fun, have become too familiar to them. Besides, they are ganging up on us. Mutinies and uprisings. When George cried with joy at controlling Shrek in his first video game experience yesterday, we realized that even though they’ve been having fun, they haven’t had much power on this trip.  We’re always calling the shots about when and where we go.

So today we went all Berkeley on them and began giving them choices on everything, even if the choices were pretty arbitrary (do you want to put on the red shirt or blue one?).

 

Adeline took Cole's shoes, so he decided to wear hers:

The kid toss:

Tom came back out before the tour was over, “We’re in the wrong Truman house!” As there are many Truman houses and our children have limited patience with us, we left. Actually it was good to be there briefly, because it was the Truman farm where he reluctantly worked with his father through his 20s before he went of to serve in WWI.

Tom dropped me off with the kids at the Truman library and museum in Independence, just out of Kansas City. It had a huge grassy lawn and we assumed, a café. He was going to tour another Truman home and would find us at the museum afterwards (it also turned out to be the wrong home. This guy was beginning to rival John McCain with the homes). Adeline started with a temper tantrum at the bottom of the stairs. George was busy running up stairs and hanging from railings. I had nowhere to be fast, so I let her lay there and eventually sent Cole, who was thirsty, to reason with her.

The guard looked wary as we entered. The ticket person didn’t smile and suggested we go to the kid section on the bottom floor, “first.” We wasted at least 12 minutes at the water fountains after I learned there was no café (the kids were thirsty). The second guard we encountered near the water fountains didn’t look happy to see us either. In fact, Tom and I noticed that many of the people we encountered in Missouri have a kind of dry, common-sense, unemotional style.  Not mean, but not particularly warm either.  We have left the South.

George made a campaign button (Aquaman for President).  It has a beach and water underneath: He wore it proudly around the museum. George, Cole and Adeline went into overdrive when they found the kids’ section. They are always so happy when someone in this Presidential business has thought of their needs. There were clothes and shoes to try on, but they were happiest with the tables and chairs that were their size and the many, many, many books. Cole went to town taking off all of the book jackets. He and George HATE book jackets. They are insulted by them. Adeline spent time finding the books that she knew. She happily had me read them all. George was concerned that he could not recall verbatim “Where the Wild Things Are.”  He rememorized it.

Tom rescued me on round 10 of Margaret Truman’s singing act video. The video was a touch screen at the kids’ level. They had dragged 3 little chairs up to the video and fought over who pressed the button next.

Margaret was his only child and she was one of the “three muscateers” Harry, Bess and Margaret. When she received a terrible review of her recital singing, Harry wrote the critic a scathing letter without holding back. My stepfather would have done the same thing.

Harry Truman fell in love with future wife Bess when he was only 5. He wrote his first letter to her in 1911 which was on display. Through his 20s, he courted her. He built a tennis court for her to come and play at his family's farm and traveled often to see her.

His father was apparently a kind father, but invested in risky enterprises (wheat futures) and lost the chance for Truman to go to college. He was even forced to leave his fortune-seeking jobs (to win Bess) and return home to help the family farm. Truman never seemed to hold a grudge. It was his responsibility, he felt, to help.

He also had eye trouble early on which kept him from too many sports activities. Instead, he read. All of the monuments had him with glasses, which became so much a part of his identity.

Tom took the kids out to the courtyard, and I saw the Presidents as Students exhibit. It was perfect for the book, and I went quickly through so that Tom could get back in to see it. GW Bush did well in the second grade (that’s the only report card they had for him). George HW Bush had a 70 average in high school over 4 years. How’d he get into an Ivy League… Prescott Bush? Clinton was all As. JFK got a 55 in Latin on a report card. The rest of the grades were in the 80s and 90s. There was a note from the teacher remarking that his grade should be much higher… the inevitable “promise” of a student to a teacher.

What was clear from the exhibit was that there were Presidents that were scholarly and some that were not. There were some who were athletic and others who were musical. But every one of them had a passion and a discipline at which they excelled fairly early in life. Truman was an accomplished pianist. Clinton claims that without the school band he would not have been President. Eisenhower had football. Jimmy Carter had the debate team. Ronald Reagan was a lifeguard.

I took the kids to get ice cream while Tom saw the same exhibit. They ran around the hills and lawn of the museum happy and screaming.

On the way out of town, we went by yet another home of Truman's as a boy (now privately owned) and also learned that the first farm was somewhere he HAD also lived briefly as a boy, though changed greatly in appearance. At least Tom saw half the tour!

We made it to Abilene, KS, for sleep. We stayed in a hotel to do laundry and after everyone went to sleep, I snuck out to get change for the machines. They were out of quarters. I went to the car to scour the car for any fallen coins. Being tired and grumpy, I knocked a random bag out of the car and broke a bottle of wine on our thermarests. It was a coveted bottle of Grüner Veltliner. It was only $14, but hard to find in Kansas. We’d been saving it. I sat up too late waiting for the slow dryer thinking of the wine that could have been... not really, I was too tired to think of much. I watched and listened to the sweet babes sleeping. Cole was deep down in the covers at the bottom of the bed. George was half way off the bed. Adeline lay next to her daddy laughing every once in awhile and throwing her arm around Tom. 

Soaking Wet Superheroes

Friday, July 31 - Saturday Aug. 1

Like I said, I had hit a wall last night. I was tired and homesick. I wanted to write, reflect, and feel. We are going at quite a pace, and with no time alone and no time to recharge, I didn’t feel that I had any energy to do more than get by.

This morning Tom was feeling better and took the kids to a playground while I did some writing. It was an hour of catching up with blog postings, but it was an hour to myself nonetheless.

We drove into Little Rock too late for a proper visit to the Clinton Museum. We picked up my prescription at a tiny pharmacy with lots of $1 toys. I waited in line while the nice pharmacist took many questions about sugar levels in fruit drinks from a large sweet Bulgarian lady dressed in purple with painted black eyebrows, a layer of orange hair above brown and glasses protected by a rhinestone glasses chain.  When the conversation moved to the cost of hair color at JC Penny’s, I asked where the bathroom was. I had been waiting to go to the bathroom since the first Graceland sign in Memphis (and there are many) and felt as though my bladder was going to burst. I hopped back into the supermobile (as best I could under the circumstances) to find a bathroom after learning that City Pharmacy did not have a public option.

Neither did the gas station, and they were rude. The drive-through line at Wendy's was so long at that I got stuck with no way to park and go in. I was about to lose my mind among other things.

George has been asking us to help him write a letter to Gray Bear, a bear he lost over a year ago. We smile and nod and say, “Yes. Yes. That’s a good idea. We comment to ourselves, “We really need to do that. We need to honor that” and never do. Today in the car, he asked for some paper and markers. I obliged. He was quiet for an hour or so. I thought he was watching the movie on the screen. Eventually he fell asleep and his book fell from his lap. Looking back, I saw letters all over the page and tried to read it upside down. When he woke up I asked what it was. “My letter to Gray Bear.” “Can I read it?” And I could. I needed some help with his “s’s” (they were embellished with extra loops, quite beautiful), but he had sounded out all of the words and written them down. He had taught himself to write, that's all. I was amazed. We haven’t been reading to the kids much on this trip as we do at home. It’s often late and dark, so we sing together instead (Great Big Stars, etc.). We’re not worried about him learning to read. He‘s been sounding things out and reading them to us for awhile now. He’s curious. It’ll happen. No need to push. This has been my excuse this summer anyway. Apparently, he’s sick of waiting for us and is teaching himself to read and write, too, all at once.

Starting at the upper left side It reads: 

"Come Back 

Gray Bear

For Santa Clause" (George explains that around the green dot it also says "It's a dot," just so Santa knows.)

At the bottom left, next to the frowning guy: "I'm sad."

On the right side, running up and then back down around the smiling guy: "I'll be happy if you come back."

All done with no assistance from Mom and Dad.  He had the insight that if anyone would know how to get the letter to Gray Bear, it would be Santa.

I was very interested in his response when I asked him about the part that says, “I’m sad.” He hid and was embarrassed. “It’s okay to be sad. Everyone gets sad. I’m glad you told us.” “I loved Gray Bear and I’m sad he’s gone.” He said.

I think losing Gray Bear has been a chance for George to examine loss in a benign setting. He loves Gray Bear more in his absence, I think and I may be wrong, than he did when he had him. Cole, on the other hand, is having a hard time talking about ABK. Babu got him another kitty ( a replica of George Washington’s kitty Liberty). He named it All B’own Ki’y, but isn’t able to convince himself. Cole has trouble expressing his emotions in words. We don’t have any ideas how to deal with this or help.

We decided on a campground in Hot Springs. Clinton lived there from 7 years old through high school. The campground Gulpha Gorge was in Hot Springs National Park just a few miles from the town of Hot Springs. A river ran in front of our site with little waterfalls. It was quite lovely.

Tom pitched the tent. 

George and I cooked dinner. Tom tried to clean up our disgustingly dirty supermobile (I won't give you a photo of that. It's too upsetting)! Cole insisted on changing into his seersucker suit and running away with Adeline’s stroller. Eventually they ran together. All three of the kids ended up in the water of the water fountain. We promised swimming in the river in the morning.

There were some teenage night swimmers who kept me from much sleep, but it was nice to be camping again. We’d been away from it for awhile at relative’s houses and in bad weather. The kids rolled around the tent in a slow-motioned 80s modern dance piece. Martha Graham feet and Peter Pucci rolling. If I wasn’t so tired, I’m sure I would have laughed.

Cole woke us up crying, “I do want to go back to California!” (yesterday he had said he didn't want to, and so I think he was correcting the record) and “Turn the lights off! Turn the lights off!” It was 7:30 am, but there was a thunder and lightning storm upon us. We couldn’t take the morning swim because it was raining too hard. Adeline rolled on her stomach and yelled from under and hair and through her da, “It’s too loud!”

We packed up in the rain. During a break, the super heroes explored the river.

(Don't do it, Adeline.)

When the rain started again, off we went to see Clinton’s Hot Springs home from age 8 to 18. It had an aged sign saying, “Clinton was here.” And “No Tours.” It’s a private home.

Clinton was in the band and school politics and the king of the town, I guess. His alcoholic step-dad raised him as his father died 3 months before he was born, but his mother and grandparents showered him with love.

We passed the Hot Spring bathhouses where people snce the 1700s have come to take the waters. It’s 143 degree temp and healing powers are 4000 years old according to the park map. Clinton, like Lincoln at his Sinking Spring Farm, took the water and drank it for most of the days he were growing up. Maybe genius truly is in the water.

We stopped by the wax museum to click some shots of Presidents (Obama Arriving Soon” read the sign). No sign of the wax Clinton, but W and HW were there in the window.

We headed for Hope. I kept waiting for the town to begin, but it never did. I kept thinking of that Elton John song, “When all Hope is gone, you got to move in and turn them on.” Hope was a sad, crumbling town. All of the restaurants on our car GPS guide were closed. I could only find a Subway.

Tom took the tour while Cole slept and George and Adeline ate in the car because of the rain. I took the umbrella and looked around the outside of the house in the rain.

Clinton’s grandparent’s had taken him in while his mom finished her nursing degree. He was doted upon. He attributes a lot of his political views to the influence of his grandfather who owned and ran a grocery store in Hope. His grandfather treated all customers (black or white) equally and always accepted an IOU when someone was hungry, even if he knew he would never be paid.  It was an opportunity for Clinton to see the world in a way that his friends did not.

Like Jimmy Carter, who also lived, played and went to school with black children from the farm, Clinton was able to see through the prejudices of his community.

I also think that being a big fish in a smaller pond helped Clinton gain enormous confidence. His family, his teachers, and his peers all made him feel like the king of Hot Springs and enabled him to reach for BIG dreams.

The Clinton Library and Museum is architecturally inspired by Clinton’s phrase about building “a bridge to the 21^st Century.” It’s one of those corny catch-phrases which somehow Clinton can actually pull off. How does he do it? It’s the thing that annoys me about him. He’s pure politician and because he isn’t a bad person he can’t just say it, he must convince himself he actually believes it. I admire much of what Clinton accomplished (and not always the way he did it… triangulation and such), but he is not a great man, a great leader. He’s no Lincoln. No George Washington.

Tom and I have been talking a lot about what made these great leaders great. First, I think, it’s that they lived by some code of character, some clear outlook on the world which guides them separately from their day-to-day impulses.

There was no mention of the Lewinsky scandal in the museum. The propagandists went to town, and there is no blip in the perfect picture. I didn’t believe the whole “affair” had any effect on the way Clinton would govern and therefore was irrelevant, and I find it pathetic not funny that many of the congressmen who stood in judgment are now refusing to resign their own seats for similar “affairs.” But the country was dragged through the wretched experience and the administration suffered as a consequence. It disturbs me that they wanted us to pretend it never happened, and one day maybe we’ll believe it didn’t (just like many, thanks to Cheney, still believe Saddam was responsible for 9/11 or at least had ties to Al Qaeda).

Adeline and Cole crossed the velvet rope into the reproduction of the Oval Office. That security guards was MAD. George tried to touch the space shuttle replica. Cole turned upside down in his Cabinet Room chair (he was in the Secretary of the Treasury chair). Adeline and George played President, taking turns sitting in the President’s cabinet chair. They had different leadership styles.  As Tom hit them with questions about world affairs (“President Adeline, China wants to sell its toys in the US.  Should we let them?”), they answered.  Adeline gave immediate and definitive responses.  (Yes to the toys question.  She is apparently not concerned about toxic plastic.)  George consulted with his Sec. of State (Adeline) and the butt of his Sec. of the Treasury, then gave confident and lengthy explanations of his reasoning. Cole slid across the table, reaching for a the giant number announcing an audio tour station, which seemed appropriate, with him in charge of the numbers for the nation.

It was a flashy museum, but it seemed to be at only phase one of three. Is there more coming? Too much flash and too little substance? There were Presedential easter eggs:

The father of the eggs:

A truly great egg:

Or could we just not dive into it due to three screaming kids?

Their favorite part was definitely the water fountains out front. They were soaked in a matter of minutes. I guess they were bound and determined to have that promised swim one way or another!

Birmingham, Alabama

June 30

Today was a tough day. We left Atlanta 30 minutes before a replacement ABK for Cole (ABK being our new name for that very same much-loved stuffed kitty) arrived in a package (from a store on the internet).  Tom was sick. I was tired. It was raining.

We drove about 3 hours and then stopped in Birmingham, Alabama, to see the Civil Rights’ Museum, as well as the park next to the 16th Street Baptist Church that was bombed in 1963 by the KKK (and in which 4 little girls were killed).

(the church has been rebuilt)

It was very emotional, and I began to cry as soon as I entered the museum. I put my sunglasses down because it seemed strangely indulgent.

Tom was explaining the events to the kids as we moved along. George was listening. Cole was probably listening more than we think he was, and Adeline was so tired she kept insisting on steering her own stroller into every wall she could find.

I read the poem The Ballad of Birmingham when I was in elementary school in Charleston, SC, and it made a deep impression on me. I didn't know or understand the injustices, but it haunted me. I wanted to see the place where those 4 little girls were murdered. "Who could do that?" Hatred  and fear of that magnitude was something I knew nothing of then. My own children still have that innocence.

"Mother dear, may I go downtown        
Instead of out to play, 
And march the streets of Birmingham 
In a Freedom March today?" 

"No, baby, no, you may not go, 
For the dogs are fierce and wild, 
And clubs and hoses, guns and jails 
Aren't good for a little child." 

"But, mother, I won't be alone. 
Other children will go with me, 
And march the streets of Birmingham 
To make our country free." 

"No baby, no, you may not go
For I fear those guns will fire.
But you may go to church instead 
And sing in the children's choir." 

She has combed and brushed her night-dark hair, 
And bathed rose petal sweet, 
And drawn white gloves on her small brown hands, 
And white shoes on her feet. 

The mother smiled to know that her child 
Was in the sacred place, 
But that smile was the last smile 
To come upon her face. 

For when she heard the explosion, 
Her eyes grew wet and wild. 
She raced through the streets of Birmingham 
Calling for her child. 

She clawed through bits of glass and brick, 
Then lifted out a shoe. 
"O, here's the shoe my baby wore, 
But, baby, where are you?"

- Dudley Randall

Cole and I strolled through the sculptures and memorials in the park. On every bench in the park sat two people and whenever we approached the sculpture next to the bench, one of the people would began to talk to me. The other would nod in agreement and say nothing. It seemed a little too much like a surreal play. It didn’t help that Cole was eating frozen grapes, which were now unfrozen and swimming in a puddle in the bag like little round grapefish.

The first man who spoke first shook his head and then told me, “Everyone does that at first. You gotta take the picture here to get all that in.” I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I always take an establishing shot. I want to be sure to get everything before I adjust for interesting angles (even though I discard most establishing shots). He moved me over to a certain position. He smelled like urine but his hands were wrinkled and soft. He was right. It was a good shot.

 (power water hoses sprayed during Civil Rights' Protests)

At the next statue, an older man took my hand and told me he’d been around before Martin Luther King. He had saggy eyes and a few crooked teeth. He told me that the four coffin-like fountains in the center of the park represented the four girls killed. The young man next to him spoke, “I didn’t know that!” 

The older man ignored him, focusing all of his attention on me. He took my hand. “I hope you didn’t give that fella over there anything because that’s not right.” I was not particularly grounded and blurted out, “No, I didn’t.” “Cause I need it for food.” I didn’t want him to say it. I held out Cole’s floating grapes in water. “I can’t eat those. I ain’t got no teeth.” “You got some,” said the guy next to him, “You can suck ‘em.’” “I don’t have anything else with me.” I said. I waved goodbye.

Cole ran off to Daddy and the parked supermobile before the next encounter so I was alone on this one. I took a picture through a sculpture of attack dogs.

 I was trying to avoid the next bench, but as luck should have it, the man on the bench called out to me. “Let me see that picture! I know I’m in that picture, let me see it.” I obeyed. He flipped through my shots and looked closely trying to figure out what the heck they were.

 “What do you call that kind of camera?”  he asked as I clicked through my photos for him. “Digital.” “How much it cost to buy that camera? $2000?” “It’s my father-in-law’s.” The woman next to him nodded and hummed, smiling. “Where’re you from?” “California.” “Where’s the baby?” he asked looking at the empty stroller. “In the van with my 2 other kids.” “You drove?!” A big smile spread across his face. “Did you stop in Milwaulkie? My daughter lives there.” He pulled out his cellular phone, “She’s working right now, but she’ll call me when she’s done.” He put the phone back in his pocket. “Good luck!” he yelled as I pushed the stroller back to the car. The lady next to him smiled and waved.

We had planned to have the kids sleep in the car and make it to Little Rock, but Tom’s throat began to hurt and I felt like I’d hit a wall. We stopped for dinner in Tupelo, TN, and our food was delayed and delayed and delayed. The kids were running around like wild banshees. Adeline and Cole found an Extreme sport large screen to watch. Cole was the blue and Adeline was the yellow and as these dirt bike sportsters did flips and turns, Cole and Adeline would scream out “That’s me! That’s you, Adeline! That’s me!”  The staff loved them.

Tom on the other hand learned from his MD sister that he likely had strep throat (fever, no congestion or running nose, and bracing yourself every time you swallow because it hurts so badly). Sandy, Irv and Alexa had come down with it at the reunion, and now him. 

We went across the street, got a hotel and crashed.