Fairbanks: Sled Pups and Sibling Smackdown

I'll talk more about Alaska now but likely will not have much time to do so -- the foster puppies are fixin' to do something awful soon, I'm sure of it, and I'm going to have to stop them. They've so far today peed on my pile of papers destined for the filing cabinet, chewed up a flip-flop, and ripped a hole in Lucien's jeans with their shark-like puppy teeth.

Atticus is off to live his new life

but I've got a newbie, Pickles the black lab, now
and still have Waffles the foxhound mix. 

Pickles and Waffles.

Who the hell is naming these dogs.

When I was last here talking about the road to Alaska (Chapter One here, Chapter Two here), we had crossed into Alaska "for real" and were heading towards Fairbanks. Driving through central Alaska is a strange thing. The isolation of the place is so palpable, you feel the most chilling sense of being all alone immediately after crossing the border at Port Alcan.

Port Alcan is not like our usual border crossing between Washington State and British Columbia where you can expect to sit in line anywhere between 10-1000 hours. There's nobody around at Port Alcan. You go through with no fuss after a nice chat with the border agent, who honestly seems a little desperate for company. Then the road stretches ahead of you into nothing, the surroundings so wild and expansive and still, it sometimes feels like nobody has ever been there, you are the first, you are a pioneer!

The rusted cars sitting alongside the road will eventually tell you otherwise. Sometimes those old abandoned cars are down in ditches or wedged between trees. Try hard not to think about how they got there. Just maybe slow down a bit.

One of the reasons those cars may have ended up there was ominously insinuated by the numerous "HIGH ELK COLLISION AREA" signs showing elk being gratuitously smacked down by vehicles. Those signs are unnerving. I pictured unassuming kindly elk coming at me from all sides, maybe not realizing what a car is since there are so few around, or maybe not paying attention to their surroundings due to a riveting elk conversation with a friend, when suddenly whammo. I did indeed slow down a bit. Or maybe a lot. At one point Coco asked, "Are we even still moving?" to which I replied, "Coco, the elk need you to be patient right now."

Our first day in Fairbanks was a catch-up day. Alex and I don't like catch-up days because we're itchers. We're fidgety and antsy to get out there and see all of the stuff that needs to be seen but sometimes laundry must be done and storage containers/label makers must be purchased to make more organized use of the space inside the Winnie. Even though living space is minimal inside the RV, maybe the size of your average walk-in closet, none of us can ever find anything. Sometimes even toothbrushes get lost in a bathroom that is the exact size of your body. Lucien lost a shoe in there somewhere and it still hasn't been found which makes no sense at all.

The Fairbanks Fred Meyer store is pretty nice, FYI, though they have way too many storage container options. We spent an obscene amount of hours in the aisles thinking hard and staring at storage containers and measuring them with our hands in a haze of indecision.

We watched a movie that first night in Fairbanks, cozy in the Winnie with fresh laundry hung outside for a final dry. During the movie, an overwhelming stench of sewer wafted into our space. It burned our eyes, it was so, so bad. Al and I opened the door and tumbled outside frantically, hoping and praying we didn't have a big problem on our hands. Thank the RV gods, it wasn't us. But somewhere in the campground, a row or two over, we heard angry shouting. Lots of swear words. Then people were running back and forth with buckets of water.

Somebody, somewhere in the campground pulled the wrong lever under their rig and paid for it dearly. It's a real downside to traveling with a container of poo strapped to your house. We watched the rest of the movie with scarves pulled up over our faces. A canister of Febreze was generously deployed yet we wished we had another.

The sun never goes down in parts of Alaska during the summer months. The further north you go, the more hours of sun you've got. It would set to a twilight-y level in Fairbanks and stay that way all night. We have blackout shades in the Winnie B so weren't much bothered by it sleepwise. In fact, I was bummed we weren't more bothered. I wanted to be bothered, to see it, to suffer it, wanted to experience what it's like to be in the middle of permanent day.

I set my phone alarm for 3:00 a.m. that first night but I didn't need it. My body was so excited to see light all the time I awoke every hour to peek out the window and giggle.

I took this picture out the window at 2:30 a.m. 

Delightful giddy stuff.
I'll see you in another hour, permanent day.

As for Fairbanks, I loved it. It's a sleepy city in the summer, not much going on, not many people walking around. We hear it comes alive during the winter when residents are out and about playing winter sports on the frozen Chena River in giant snowsuits, revving up their snow machines (that's what they call snowmobiles up there), plugging their car's engine block heaters into outlets posted in all the parking lots so car engines don't freeze and can start again after grocery runs, getting their sled dog teams in order, and generally trying to stay alive.

Unfortunately, unique of a place as it is, Fairbanks is where all hell broke loose sibling-wise. It was an outright sibling fight in downtown Fairbanks. It may have been too much constant togetherness in a confined space yet we weren't even half finished with our trip so....ohhh shit --

"Fight! Fight! Fight!"

(Alex and I were not yelling this,

though we may have been speaking it softly to each other

behind cupped hands.)

Get it all out, kids, we've got a couple weeks left to go.

Regarding this next part, I'm not going to debate the merits/cruelty of sled dog teams. I know I felt one way when I went to Alaska but felt another way when I came back. I suggest only that, if you've got an opinion on an issue that doesn't really effect your life, go talk to someone whose life it actually does. (Related... don't tell an Alaskan to give up their guns nor be a vegetarian. They will roll their eyes hard then stroll away to shoot animals to smoke and store for their long ass winters.) 

Sled dogs are breeds born to work, born to run, born to pull. These are working dogs, not pampered pets like my spoiled Natani and two foster puppies who are currently sleeping on top of the heater vent because they felt a slight breeze. Sled dog breeds are instinctively more ready to work hard than my posh doggies who are like, "Huh? Work? Does that mean I have to eat my own poop today because... -- okey dokey, actually I'll just do that, you don't gotta ask twice."

The above pups playing in the water are descendants of Susan Butcher's dogs at her home in Fairbanks, viewed from aboard the terribly touristy but ultimately awesome Riverboat Discovery tour. Susan Butcher is a famous victor of the Iditarod with a handful of wins and another handful of impressive records to her name. Besides her many Iditarod wins, she was also the first person to take a sled dog team to the summit of Mount Denali, the highest peak in North America. I have no idea how she and her dogs did that. How did ya'll climb a mountain in a sled? I just.... I don't.... so much stuff I don't understand in this world.

Susan Butcher died of leukemia in 2006 but her husband and children carry on with raising and racing the descendants of her beloved team at their family home.

Below is a video of the sled dog running demonstration. Susan's widower, David, is doing the presentation via microphone on the ground and riding the four-wheeler behind the team. The dogs were ready to roll -- those who had not been chosen for the demo were circling in fits about being left out and those attached to the "sled" were anxious to get moving. 

(The tiny little dots back to the left behind that fence are puppies. I did not take one home. It was hard.) 

The dogs were happy and healthy and so breathtakingly strong, and I say this as an absolute dog lover, I was in awe of their drive and power and loved every single minute with them. 

It's a shaky dog video indeed

If you are still not a fan of sled dog teams, here's a picture for you depicting your feelings. It's a sled dog taking a poop in the middle of the demonstration --

We saw a handful of other demos from the Riverboat, too, one of them being a bush plane take-off and landing by a gray-bearded man who's been doing it his whole life, since he was a teenager. People in the more remote areas of Alaska depend on him to bring them supplies at any time of the year because as I mentioned, there are no dang roads out there. He can take off or land on whatever surface the season requires anywhere in the state -- land, water, snow -- he just changes the "feet" on his plane from wheels to floats to skis and lands soft as silk with one leg lightly skimming the surface first, then bringing the other one down gentle as a sigh to meet it.

I was like, "Man, I should stop complaining when there's a slight chill in the air and I can't get the first several spots next to the Safeway entrance." At least some dude doesn't have to bring me my groceries in a plane in subzero temperatures once a month.

But The Dude does have serious pilot skills

The best part of the Riverboat Discovery tour was listening to the tour guide describe what winter is like in Fairbanks. I hear it's harsh as hell with almost 24 hours of darkness and temps down to -40 degrees Fahrenheit yet also a rosy hunky dory example of the best of humanity coming together for a common goal (survival). He spoke at length about how everyone helps each other, stops for every stranded motorist with a broken down car no matter what because it's a life or death situation, shares their moose with their neighbor if their neighbor didn't bag a moose that year, and most importantly of all, "likes" all of their neighbors' Instagram photos.

He said, "In Fairbanks, we don't care who you're holding hands with, or what color your skin is, because all bodies freeze at the same temperature and we all need each other to get through the winter."

It kinda sounded like a place I wanted to be. I am a real sucker for humans being human to each other. I immediately set about dreaming of being there for a full winter some year. I can't wait to be one of those helpful people saving the lives of my neighbors on a regular basis, even if I scream in agony every time I step outside and see their confused expressions when, after I save their lives, I ask them where to find the tastiest quinoa bowl in town.

I may not be able to share my moose, though, because I don't even know how to go about getting one of those giant suckers home with me. At least I'll have the Northern Lights to keep me company on my fool's journey -- an earthly phenomenon that, alas, you cannot see in summer in Alaska because THE SUN NEVER F*CKING SETS.

We also panned for gold at an old gold dredge outside Fairbanks. We compiled the tiny gold flecks found in all of our pans and made them into a necklace for Coco instead of cashing them in to retire for maybe about thirty seconds --

And we visited the Ice Museum. Not much to look at from the outside but very cold fun inside. I was so cold, I often had to retreat through the insulated doors to the warmer heated part of the museum. This does not bode well for my future winter in Fairbanks.

Ice slide

We saw other sights in Fairbanks but that's enough, I think. My eyes are crossing from trying to locate all these pictures in my massive photo library. I may take too many pictures. 

Next Alaska chapter -- where Lucien's childhood went to die! (or so he says...)

I call them my "not-quite-ready-for-the-sled" dogs

Mush on, little doggies,

MJ

Alaska is on hold because Waffles doesn't give a damn.

I'd like to get in here and talk more about Alaska -- I've had a post in the works for weeks now -- but I've gone and done something that has made doing so much more difficult than it already was. My thought process on this one was enthusiastic and brief, perhaps too brief. It was a spontaneous "Imma do that!" without much thinking about what came after. I'm an Aries, which, from what I understand of astrology, means I am easily filled with childlike enthusiasm for stupid things.

I must have been longing for more chaos and less sleep. Maybe I wanted to buy a lot more paper towels. Maybe I just wasn't happy with the level of poop on the floors of my house because my recent foray certainly fixed that last one --

Waffles and Atticus

They're not mine forever, I swear! I've volunteered to be a foster dog mom for an organization that rescues pups from high kill shelters in the South. These are my first two charges, a brother/sister duo, hyper little foxhound mixes from sweet peachy Georgia.

It's tough to keep up with two puppies, even with both of them barricaded in the kitchen most of the day and watched with exhaustingly constant vigilance. If I see Atticus sniffing suspiciously and run forward to grab and run him outside, Waffles will definitely take advantage of those two seconds of inattention to pee and poo in all corners of the kitchen and chew through Lucien's headphone cord. When she's done destroying the place, she pounces on my ankles with a jubilantly wagging tail. She's always so dang pleased with herself.

I'm so tired. It's kind of like having an infant again minus the "they sleep in a cage and I can put them in that cage when I go to the grocery store, too" parts.  I hear you definitely can't do that stuff with human babies.

Natani loves the puppies. I think she sometimes yearns for her lonely days, stares into the distance and pines for solitude as puppies crawl all over her and chew on her ears, but overall she is the best foster dog mom I could have hoped for.

Sigh.

This is my life now.

I mentioned in my previous post we'd lost a pet. It obviously isn't Natani, thankfully, because I need her right now. We thought Bobo would be the next pet to go -- he is one old, old lizard -- but no, Stella the parakeet went first.

Stella made us crazy all the time. The chirps were redundant, constant, loud, shrill, and made us all mental. "STELLA, STOPPPPP!" was a regular refrain from dawn to dusk. Yet the day they disappeared, those constant chirps and learned phrases ("You're a pretty birdie!" was a regular one and unfortunately, thanks to the siblings, "Shut up" was another), the vastness of the silence that descended upon this house hurt our ears more than her constant noise ever did.

I emptied out a box of checks and lined it with cotton balls. I placed Stella's body on top. I wanted the kids to see her comfortable when they came home from camp. I didn't have time to bury her after our tearful goodbyes were said so I chucked that box of checks into the freezer, where it remains to this day. I feel intense guilt whenever I open the freezer to grab some frozen peas for dinner and see her check box coffin lying there. One of these days we're gonna bury that pretty, pretty birdie.

I am now assisting Bobo in daily exercise routines and feeding him a high protein/low carb diet. We can't lose another pet so soon, dragon!  Keep moving those little lizard legs!

I'm throwing my big Halloween party this weekend. And after the weekend, I'm taking on yet another foster puppy. Somebody stop me, what the hell am I doing?

they're just so damn cute

Waffles doesn't give a damn,
MJ

Natani the Navajo Dog

I was reluctant to leave the state of New Mexico even when given three other solid options at Four Corners National Monument.

Nearly three weeks in, the Annual Mother/Children Road Trip was drawing to a close.  It was time to head towards home where "real life" impatiently awaited with crossed arms and tapping foot. Can't escape it forever, though I sure would like to try.

perhaps if we hide out in one of the cliff-dwelling abodes

at Bandelier National Monument...

Alex flew back to Seattle after our week together in Santa Fe/Taos and the kids and I jumped back into our trusty duct-taped car.  We pointed the vehicle just slightly north because let's not be too hasty.

The first planned stop on the drive towards Seattle was a sunrise visit to Monument Valley on the Navajo reservation.  We awoke at our hotel at 5:30 am and were soon thereafter on the long, empty road headed towards the entrance.  The road to Monument Valley at dawn is well worth the early wake-up call, the several cups of crappy hotel coffee and the hours worth of yawns to follow from all parties involved.

It's peace in your face

I missed the entrance road a couple times thanks to the sun rising in my eyes.  When I finally turned onto it, and exclaimed at the magnificent landscape rising all around us, I spotted something in the middle of the road.  I slowed down, assuming it was a coyote and feeling excited for the nature we were about to experience.  But as we drew closer, I realized it wasn't a coyote.  It was a lot smaller.  It was more of a.....more of a...... it was a puppy, a stupid little puppy in the middle of the road running straight at our car.

I pulled over to the side of the road and got out to scold the puppy. "You stupid puppy!" I said.  "Get out of the middle of the road before you get hit by a tired person driving a car! Now go find your people!"  I picked her up and carried her to the side of the road where I made emphatic shoo-ing motions with my hands then turned back towards the car. She pounced, wrapped her paws around my ankle and began biting it, tail wagging.  She was very happy to spend some quality time with me.

I shook her off my leg, picked her up again and released her further into the brush.  I then jogged back to the car but when I opened the driver's door to climb back in, I looked down to see her face staring up at me.  She'd caught me.  Her long tail wagged like a windshield wiper in a very heavy rain.

I ignored my children's delighted cries.  I told them I was going to start driving and hopefully the puppy would get out from under the tires and run back to find her people.  I rolled slowly and she darted away.  As the car picked up speed and the kids assured me she was well away from the wheels, I breathed a sigh of relief.  I did not want to deal with a dog, I only wanted to drive my kids through Monument Valley at sunrise.  That was the plan.  I like plans.

I picked up speed but a nagging feeling compelled me to look in the rearview mirror.  And there she was -- running after us as hard as her little legs could carry her, tongue hanging out of her mouth, eyes fixed on our retreating vehicle with a desperate wildness.

"Mom!  Mom!  Stop!" began the hysterical cries in the backseat.  She'd been chasing us for over a quarter of a mile when I surrendered.  She needed help and she'd chosen us to give it.  F*ck.  I took my foot off the gas and put it on the brake, hard.

I chucked the puppy into the car.  She immediately fell asleep in Lucien's lap.

She was bone thin, no collar, and quite dehydrated judging by the dullness of her eyes and the cracked dryness of her nose and mouth.  But I still told the kids, "OK, we're going to help her find her owner" because I am delusional when I really want something to be true.

I rolled up to the Monument Valley entrance station and greeted the Navajo woman working within. "Well hello there!" I said cheerfully.  "We just found a puppy in the middle of the road.  May I have a list of campsites so I can drive around and find her owner?"

The woman looked at me with a mix of pity and regret and said slowly, "Ma'am, I guarantee you that dog does not have an owner."  She told me the Navajo reservation, Monument Valley in particular, has become a depressingly popular place for people to abandon unwanted litters of puppies. The wild dog population has exploded.  Judging from the looks of "our" puppy, she was either dumped there or was born of the wild dogs already dotting the landscape.

My mind reeled as I pulled into the parking lot of the Visitors Center, which was not yet open given the early hour. We were the only people in the parking lot save a group of hikers strapping on packs for what looked to be a days-long trek through the valley.

I walked around the parking lot holding the puppy, debating what to do and chatting about the situation with a few of the hikers.  The German woman leading the hiking group suddenly approached me and said sharply, "You cannot take that dog."  I was a bit taken aback by her tone and asked cautiously, "What do you mean?"  She responded, "You must put her back where you found her.  She is wild, it's just how it is here."

It seemed ridiculous to call the small puppy chilling in my arms "wild."  "She's just a puppy.  I can't leave her where I found her. It's a desert, there are coyotes," I said.  The woman shrugged and said "There have been many puppies and many coyotes before her. Take her back where you found her right now, maybe she'll find her mother and maybe she'll survive. It's all you can do."

I gripped the puppy more tightly as the woman spoke in an increasingly angry voice.  She was really passionate about abandoning puppies, it must be one of her hobbies and she pursues it with impressive vigor.  Her heartless response ignited a stubborn combative fire within me.  Do not tell me to leave a puppy in a desert.  Do not tell me it's all I can do. Because that is bullshit.

A decision was made in that second.  Because yes, "maybe" she'll find her mother and "maybe" she'll survive.  But she will absolutely survive if she comes with us.

let's get out of this drab hellhole, puppy

I walked away from the woman and whispered to the kids, who were by then wide-eyed and near tears, "Is the mean lady still glaring at us?"  And they whispered back, "No, she's putting on a backpack now" and then I whispered, "Get in the car fast, before she sees us and starts yelling again." The kids hustled into that car faster than I've ever seen them move and I tossed the exhausted puppy back onto Lucien's lap. "This is our puppy now" I said as I climbed back into the driver's seat, peeled out of the parking lot, and pointed the car Dead North.

And that's how we got a new dog.  I soon texted Alex the following: "We found a puppy in Monument Valley and I'm bringing her home."  A couple very long minutes followed in which I could feel Alex's initial shock then hear a long deep sigh before receiving the response, "Of course you are."  He then requested pictures.  Alex, despite his outward bravado, is also a soft touch when it comes to animals.  Thankfully.

The trip back to Seattle was....eventful.  At one point the puppy jumped into the back of the car and pooped on top of our suitcase.  That's tough to do at 70 mph on a twisty road but she's a survivor and probably used to less-than-ideal pooping conditions.

she slept a lot, which was preferable to the pooping

The hotels I'd booked in advance did not accept pets so the kids and I became co-conspirators for a greater cause, speaking in hushed voices and smuggling the dog into rooms in our emptied-out cooler.  The dog accepted this situation without complaint.  I think she knew we were trying to help her so she trusted us completely even when I (loosely, I'm not a monster) closed the lid.

The hotel staff thankfully never questioned why I kept carrying a cooler in and out of the hotel past the front desk.  If they had asked, I would have told them it was my "therapy cooler" and I needed it to get me through a difficult emotional time.

that's our puppy in a cooler

she was remarkably "chill" about the situation

ha ha ha ha

We managed to stop briefly at Bryce Canyon but didn't do the hike I planned because dogs aren't allowed in national parks and leaving a dog alone in a hot car is dog murder.

we'll be back someday
hopefully with no dog
but you never know

We named her Natani, a Navajo name for a Navajo dog.  She's a sweet dog but is also a total pain in the ass.  The most commonly heard sound in our house these days is a loud, "Natani!  NOOO!"  Then she goes streaking past with some forbidden object in her mouth, like a shoe or a cleanly chewed through laptop cord.

She is desperate to please yet she's not very good at it yet.

She digs holes the size of Texas in our yard.  She's eaten our sunflowers and pulverized our watermelon plant.  She's not yet housebroken.  She's eaten several socks and one pair of underwear. She broke the vase Coco made me for Mother's Day.  She jumps on all the furniture with dirty feet.  She sheds like crazy.  She's drawn blood from all of us with her sharp little puppy teeth. She scavenges and eats whatever she can find, especially if it's inedible.  You'll be like, "Hey, Natani, stop eating that plastic bag, it will definitely kill you" and she'll be like, "NOM NOM NOM." 

On top of all that, Oscar is very unhappy with the situation.  As a schnauzer of 14 years, he is not into this puppy bullshit.  She tries to play with him and he tries to rip her head off.  It's like a toddler constantly jumping on a crabby old man.  It's not a good match and we've managed so far with several baby gates to keep them separated.

Natani is making it her life's work to get on the other side of that gate and play with that damn schnauzer.  Lots of hurling her body at the gate, chewing on the gate, attempting to jump the gate and falling backwards.  Oscar, in a silver lining, has more pep in his step than we've seen in years.  He now lives for his white-hot hatred of her.  He's got renewed purpose in life and it's REVENGE and DESTROY HER.  He spends most of his time growling under his breath and plotting.

She's kind of a nightmare, I ain't gonna lie.  Alex just ran past the window outside, pointed at me sitting in here at my desk and yelled, "We did NOT need a puppy in our lives right now!" It appears Natani's gotten a hold of the garden hose and is having the time of her life.  Yikes.  

She's the worst.  Truly.  But she's home.

(And she's awesome)

Over 3800 miles traveled, three weeks, seven states, one dog.  It was an immensely successful road trip this year.  I'm not sure how I'm going to top it next year.  I may need to rent the Oscar Meyer Weinermobile and bring home a bear.

See you next year, New Mexico

Goddammit, Natani!  NOO!
MJ

The search is over

Stella the parakeet is an excellent mimic and her vocabulary is growing rapidly.  Her favorite phrase to repeat is "pretty birdy!" followed by a low wolf whistle.  It was amusing and pleasant to hear her repeat our words until the day she began repeating them while vigorously humping her favorite mirror.  Then it turned a little weird.

Stella's "Pretty birdy pretty birdy you're such a pretty birdy" is now accompanied by vicious cage shaking as the mirror gets what's coming to it.  If we have visitors over, I try to distract her by waving towels at her cage, "Stella, stop it, my God, you're in the middle of the kitchen and I'm serving appetizers!" but she will not be swayed from her mission of making love to that pretty, pretty birdy.

Lucien has asked lots of questions and I've answered them honestly.  I think it's great for him to have a front row seat to the birds and the bees -- the bird part anyway -- over his cereal bowl in the morning.  The teacher has already called to report Lucien told her, "my bird wants to have sex with herself all the time" but after my explanation we had a good laugh. 

Stella is a true Narcissus. It also appears she's reaching sexual maturity.  It also seems fairly obvious Stella is a male.  We're not changing her name, though.  I don't think she'll care, doubt she'll even notice because she's so busy -- *bang bang bang bang* -- over there. 

Alex and I took part in a scavenger hunt over the weekend.  We were teamed up with dear old friends who live in Tacoma.  Our team name was Panda Lovegods.  We dressed in black and white, chewed on bamboo, dragged a few stuffed pandas around on leashes.  Nobody on the streets gave us a second glance because such antics are par for the course in Seattle.

The scavenger hunt brought out the seething competitive side that exists in all four of us.  We're pretty laid back people in daily living but something happened as soon as the competition began.  Alex was our driver and was so amped up he didn't break just some of the driving rules, he broke ALL the rules as we careened around the city screaming. 

Our friend and teammate, Tacoma Dad, said last year they were paired with a much less competitive couple who, instead of rushing from clue to clue, insisted on moseying.  He said by the end of the evening the woman was crying and begging him to slow down, then telling him he had ruined the entire evening for her and it wasn't fun anymore.  He tried to tell her, "There's no crying in scavenger hunts, hippie!" but it didn't get her to move any faster.

This year's hunt led us to parks, laundromats, a mambo dance lesson, and a karaoke bar where we were forced to perform Simon and Garfunkel's "The Boxer."  It's tough to get the crowd on your side when you're singing "The Boxer." They all stood there, bored, arms crossed like "Who are these clowns with pandas on leashes singing a snoozefest song in the middle of our party?" 

And why is the one guy dressed like the Hamburglar?

One stop had us throwing darts at balloons in a park.  There may have been one errant dart accidentally thrown at a dude on a bike but thankfully he didn't get hurt.  As an aside, is it legal to throw darts in public parks?  Because it shouldn't be.

My favorite task was reproducing the Miro painting currently hanging outside the Seattle Art Museum --

The art museum is where we pulled ahead of the other teams thanks to exquisite teamwork.  Tacoma Mom drew the shapes, the rest of us intertwined our arms at odd angles and climbed over each others backs to get them colored in. We were like a writhing ball of pythons clutching markers.  A group of tourists took pictures of us.  "It's true, Seattle people are so odd!" they may be telling friends back in Saint Louis right now.

At the second to last stop, things got rough.  The clue handed to us at the pitstop was a bag of fortune cookies.  As we ran to our car, which was parked in front of a fire hydrant obviously because anything to win, I opened my fortune cookie, pulled out the fortune and popped the cookie into my mouth.  I couldn't help it; fortune cookies are delicious.

Suddenly Tacoma Dad said, "Guys, there are two pieces of paper in the cookies! Find both of them!" and my heart sank.  "Uh-oh," I thought looking down at the solo piece of paper in my lap, "I'm pretty sure I'm eating a clue."

Indeed I was.  I fished the second piece of paper out of my mouth but it was no longer legible.  We hoped to figure out the clue using just the other three but those clues put together read, "GO....TO....PIER..."  and Tacoma Dad yelled, "Dammit, MJ, you ate the pier number!" We all agreed it was the most important piece to the puzzle and a most unfortunate circumstance.

We got back on track but then things got worse. We really botched it at our last stop after having been in first place for a long, long time.  In a catastrophic misinterpretation (with just a touch of laziness), we gave the tickets we were supposed to use for ourselves on Seattle's Great Wheel to a passing couple.  They were crabby people and in retrospect probably did not deserve our gift --

It's a long story.
We were wrong.

Immediately after it happened we received a phone call from the organizers telling us even though we were in first place and technically were finished, we were going to finish as "incomplete" because we hadn't completed our final task.  Our dream of victory was dashed, it was over. 

We walked back to the car (parked in a "police vehicle only" spot obviously) with heads hung low.  We are all buoyant by nature, however, so soon decided we won in our hearts and were the best scavenger hunt team ever.  Then we went to a bar to kill time while waiting for the other loser teams to finish.  We took pictures of the animal puppets we obtained earlier in the evening drinking beer because what else are you going to do with them?

We're going to do the hunt again next year, only this time I'm not going to eat any clues and we're going to make sure we don't do any wrong things.

Alex dozed off to sleep next to me later that night -- but suddenly he sat bolt upright in bed and said with a hint of panic to his voice, "Are you sure it's OK to leave the car here???!!!"  I smoothed his hair and spoke soothingly, "It's OK, baby, it's over...it's over....go back to sleep....hush....hush....."


Competitive scavenger hunting does things to people,
MJ

Four-way purgatory and hobos under the porch

When the weather improves in Seattle, life for those of us in cars happens at 10 mph.  The drive to and from the kids' schools takes twice as long because everyone in the city has decided to make their way to work entirely outdoors.  No car nor bus shall block the sun from touching their pasty pale skin.

Pedestrians and bikes and skateboards and dogs on long leashes jump out from every corner.  People in cars inch forward at four-way stops waiting for the crush of pedestrians to cross, then wait for more straggling pedestrians to cross, then wait for the bike to get out of the way, the one with the rider who ignored the four-way stop and careened through the intersection with a serious case of bicycle privilege.

It makes four-way stops nearly impossible to get through.  All the cars have been waiting for so long nobody remembers whose turn it is anymore.  Then begins the courtesy waving -- "You go.  No, you go.  No, really, please, you go.  No you, I insist, please."  After many rounds of waving all the cars lurch forward at the same time only to stop with a screech of brakes when everybody notices everybody else is moving too.  Then there's another round of crossing pedestrians followed by another round of waving.

Welcome to the Pacific Northwest, where everybody refuses to go first when there's the possibility to let somebody else go first.  It's a miracle any of us ever get anywhere.


We had a good Mother's Day.  Alex and the kids made me breakfast then Alex went upstairs to catch up on some work, leaving me alone with two kids and a necessary grocery store run.  I couldn't help but think something had gone wrong with my Mother's Day as I pushed the cart through the grocery store -- filled almost exclusively with men and their young children -- and listened to my two kids fight over dumb things such as the best Tic-Tac flavor.  (ORANGE!  STRAWBERRY!  ORANGE!  STRAWBERRY!)  One man chuckled as he passed me and said, "Oh no, what are YOU doing here today?" and I replied, "I'm wondering the same thing."

Al's workload is intense, no doubt about it, but sometimes I think he makes up "work" so he can get out of taking the kids to the grocery store.  He's a really smart man, wouldn't surprise me.

We had friends over for Mother's Day dinner.  Our friends sunned themselves on the back deck while Alex and I prepared the food.  All our kids played together in the yard.  It was a glorious evening.

Suddenly, Lucien ran up onto the deck and yelled, "You guys, there's a hobo under the porch!"

Now, I've mentioned before our family's issue with the hobo spider, which is the poisonous spider we have to deal with here in Seattle, the very spider we found in our house last year.  Our family is therefore more aware of and paranoid about the hobo spider than most Seattle residents. Our confused visitors, who were not familiar with the spider, instead understood Lucien to be telling them there was a homeless person under the porch.

They jumped up in concern, "Wait... WHO'S under your porch?" Lucien didn't answer, only babbled on with flustered excitement, "You know what? Mom and I discovered a hobo can live for two weeks without food when we captured one last year."

My friends love me, this I know, but for just one brief second, before I came outside and explained, they likely wondered if they really knew me at all.  They also probably made plans to get themselves and their children out of my house as quickly as possible.  Because I was obviously a psychopath who starves homeless people for sport.

The blog may suffer in the coming months because I am working on the Paris book and am having a hard time making time for both.  I want to thank those of you who stuck with me for the duration of the Paris blog because as I read it all over again, I realize how crappy a lot of that writing was.  I was definitely too attached to the exclamation point.  I promise I'll make it up to you! and make it! better! this time around.

You better believe I crush hobos,
MJ

Lizard Disco

Lucien just turned eight.  It's a number that makes me say "wow" but not yet a number that freaks me out.  My guess is that will come around 10.

Lucien wanted to take a birthday treat to school to share with his classmates.  His teacher said, due to all the food allergies in the class this year, the only "treat" allowed was fruit.  So I sent him to school with a bag of bananas.  Happy Birthday, son, get buckwild.

I'm confused about my own school days, back when our parents were free to send in piles of gluten-filled gut bombs for classroom birthday celebrations.  Were there fewer allergies when I was a kid?  Or were there a bunch of miserable moaning kids on the ground out in the hallway I just didn't notice? 

I'm not making light of food allergies.  I know kids with severe food allergies; if they come into contact with the wrong thing, it could kill them.  It's scary as hell.  I'm just trying to understand how food allergies got so omnipresent that kids now have to blow out birthday candles stuck into browned pieces of pear.

Lucien has wanted a lizard for a long time. Whenever we went to Petco to get something for one of our other animals, Lucien stood transfixed in front of the lizards.  He especially liked the baby bearded dragons because they would always come check him out, pressing their tiny bearded dragon faces against the glass with their heads cocked to the side.

Then the begging would begin and I'd have to remind him of the cold hard truth -- no way we're getting a bearded dragon, those things can live up to 15 years and that's more of a commitment than I'm willing to make to a lizard.

But lizard fate is funny.  A middle-aged bearded dragon dropped into our laps last week when a woman posted on a local parenting listserve that her son was headed to college in the fall and was leaving behind his beloved pet bearded dragon named Bobo.  She wanted Bobo to go to a good home, preferably a home with a kid who would love Bobo as much as her son had.

We went to meet Bobo the next day after school.  The woman who welcomed us was visibly moved; Lucien reminded her so very much of her son at the age of almost-eight.  There were other people interested in Bobo, too, but the woman and her family discussed and decided to tell them to BUZZ OFF.  As soon as they met, it was obvious Bobo belonged with The Loosh.

When Lucien met Bobo

I wanted Bobo to be a surprise for Lucien on his birthday so had to stall for a week.  I hemmed and hawwed and made up all sorts of reasons why we couldn't get Bobo, at least not yet.  It made Lucien crazy to the brink of disowning me as a mother.  He pulled his hair out and cried, "What?? His eyes are too blinky for your liking?  How is that even a thing!?"

The crisis was solved by telling Lucien he had to "earn" Bobo.  He had to take exclusive care of our other pets for one week to prove he was up to the responsibility of caring for Bobo.  It was a pretty brilliant idea; Lucien stopped pestering me AND I no longer had to clean the bird cage. 

The plan may have backfired on our pets, though.  Lucien was so excited to be working towards Bobo he arose early every morning and completed the entire pet care checklist by 6:00 a.m.  Oscar was groggy and confused as Lucien dragged him outside to go to the bathroom and gave him a bath before dawn.  Stella no doubt grew concerned when the kid with the crazed eyes and shaky excited hands changed her water every five minutes.

On Lucien's birthday, while he was at school eating his celebratory banana, my sister Raba met me at Bobo's house to help carry his 50 gallon tank to my car.  Carrying that tank was similar to carrying a Volkswagen -- as in, you know it's going to be heavy in theory but you have no idea what "heavy" means until you're up under the thing.

Bobo's owner had to jump in and help as we descended the steep and uneven concrete stairs outside her house.  All three of us felt it necessary to holler "Careful! Careful!" every few seconds just in case the other two had suffered sudden mental impairment and were about to go all gangbusters with the thing.

It was slow treacherous going made more exciting by the fact we all decided to wear stylish heeled boots that day.  Not the most practical footwear for what we were doing but dang we looked good doing it.

Raba and I were on our own once we got back to our house but after a pep talk, some stretches and some heeled shoe removal, we successfully installed Bobo in the newly redesigned kid room.  I rushed to finish the room last week because I was concerned about the possible effects of paint fumes on bearded dragons.

Kid room before --

 

Kid and lizard room after --

The look on Lucien's face when he came home from school that day and saw Bobo in the middle of his room was worth all the effort it took to get him there. Even my severely bruised thighs, which had been used several times as a tank resting place until feeling returned to my arms, ached a little less because of all of the happiness.

Bobo is the coolest animal.  He's docile and likes to be picked up and held.  He loves basking under his basking lamp.  He enjoys being outside in the grass in warmer months.

 He also likes piña coladas and getting caught in the rain

We've never had a reptile before so there were some things to get used to.  For instance, as soon as Bobo's basking light turns off (it's on a timer), Bobo immediately flattens himself against the floor and falls into a deep, impenetrable sleep as his body temperature drops.  We thought we'd killed him the first time he did that.

Bobo was fine again the next morning but Oscar the schnauzer was a jittery mess.  He sniffed and pawed and whined all over the kids' room in an attempt to understand what kind of creature had just invaded his territory.  In a spastic fit of nerves, Oscar knocked over Bobo's cricket container.  Dozens of crickets poured out and hopped every which way in joyful freedom.  The Great Cricket Escape of 2014 was unfortunately timed given we were supposed to be in the car headed to school at that very moment.

I screamed for Lucien to help me and he came running.  We grabbed crickets as fast as we could, stuffed them back into their cage and held Oscar at bay with our feet because he was intent on capturing ALL THE CRICKETS NOM NOM NOM with his mouth.  Alex stood in the doorway and laughed until he doubled over. That man's worthless sometimes.

We're pretty sure we got all the crickets back into their cage except the two who hopped under Coco's bed never to be seen again.  God I hope they aren't a male and a female and, if they are, don't find each other irresistibly attractive.

Later that morning, the men working on our house showed up and started messing around with some exterior electrical work.  This involved a few crossed wires and a few tripped fuses.  Bobo's heat lamp was on one of the affected circuits.  When the circuit blew, his lamp turned off so Bobo would flatten himself down and go to sleep.  Then I, worried about the lizard, would re-set the fuse and he'd get back up again.  A few minutes later the circuit would trip again so he would lie down again.  I would run and re-set.  Repeat. 

His first full day of life with us and he was living in some kind of surreal lizard disco.

So Happy Birthday to you, Lucien, our sweet, funny, loud animal-loving boy.  You are a unique individual and a wonderful son and a source of great joy and amusement in our lives.  I never could have imagined all the ways you'd change my life for the better in just eight years. 

 For starters, I never thought I'd see a big lizard in a bed

GO SEAHAWKS!
MJ