Packing Part 2

We have packed 110 boxes. By now we were supposed to have packed 130 boxes, but I am not complaining. Rocket Boy has FINALLY decided to help me pack, so it is going faster. I plan to do at least 20 boxes tomorrow. Maybe 30.

I'm so tired. And there are still so many things NOT in boxes. Two more days until the packers come (to pack the kitchen, mirrors and framed pictures, and whatever else they have time for).

We have sold our bedroom set. Sold the pack n plays. Given away two baby backpacks, the changing table, my old bike, and some other miscellany.

The little tortoise has moved three houses down the street. We took him over there this afternoon and then spent a long time watching him get acquainted. The yard he is in now has a lot of plants growing in it, and he got busy checking them all out. We had brought along a pie pan with his favorite weed in it (redstem filaree), but once he saw what was actually GROWING in the yard, he ignored the filaree. Fifteen minutes later, one of the other tortoises who lives in the yard, a big old guy, came up out of his burrow and spotted the dish. He hurried over and began wolfing down the filaree.

The TV is on most of the time and the twins are allowed to watch it as they please. I know this is horrible. I just can't think of any other way to keep them occupied while we pack. We don't have any nice friends who could take them to the park. Anyway, it's too hot to go to the park. The other thing they like to do is make mud pies in the front yard, but Rocket Boy doesn't approve of that. (I do, though.)

Must go to bed. So many things to do tomorrow. I'm so tired.

Last week

The twins and I leave one week from today. I seriously can't believe it. I also can't believe how much packing I still have to do.

Last weekend the boys and I took one more trip to Los Angeles, to say goodbye to my relatives there. We had a really nice time with my niece and nephew and their spouses and kids and in-laws and and and (all of whom we refer to as the twins' "cousins" because it's too complicated to distinguish the relationships further).

The twins are particularly fond of their boy cousin who is two and a half years older than them. They insisted on sleeping in the same bed with him, even though his older sister had a sleepover our second night there, so her bed was available. "That's a GIRL'S bed," Baby A told me scornfully, when I suggested it. "We don't like PRETTY beds. We're BOYS." Here they are, all crammed together in the non-pretty boy's bed at story time.

My niece and I wonder whether they will remember this friendship. If we don't see each other for a year or two, will they forget all about each other?

I have some memories from the year I turned five. My family flew from California to New York to visit my uncle and aunt. I remember my aunt teaching me the alphabet. Then my mother, my little sister, and I drove all the way back across country in my uncle and aunt's camper. In South Dakota -- or was it Minnesota? -- I got a tick on my scalp and my mother's cousin removed it. I remember that. So maybe my boys will remember the fun they had at this young age.

One of the unexpected benefits of our visit last weekend was that it made me pay attention to what's been going on in Boston. I have to confess that the whole Boston Marathon tragedy didn't really penetrate my consciousness until I got away from all my boxes. Isn't that awful? Talk about self-absorbed. People are having their legs blown off and I'm fussing about dental problems and undone packing.

I think it's partly because it was too weird to process. Since last December, I've been so focused on gun control. Yes, guns were involved in this disaster, but they weren't the cause of most of the mayhem. What do we do now, ban pressure cookers? Or just keep on keeping on, waiting for the next awful thing to happen?

But when we arrived at my niece's house in LA on Friday, she and her husband were watching live coverage of the tracking and eventual capture of the surviving suspect. The kids ran off to play without glancing at the screen, and we were free to watch, spellbound. As I saw all the police officers, trying so hard to do good work, and then the Watertown residents cheering them, I felt a bond that I hadn't felt before. I've been to Boston a few times, I like Boston. I wanted to feel a bond with the people there, and finally I did.

Of course, as soon as we got back to Ridgecrest, all my attention went back to the packing and the dental problems. (More on that later -- I just can't write about the awfulness of today right now.) But I know that in a very short time all this will be over and we'll move on, essentially unscathed. Unlike so many people in Boston.

What we won't miss

I've got to tell this story, but where to begin...

Ridgecrest has some issues with medical and dental care. There are decent practitioners here, but there are also many who are not so good. At one point I got fed up with the incompetence and just stopped going. "That's it," I told Rocket Boy and anyone else who would listen. "No more doctors. No more dentists. I'll go when we move back to Boulder."

Unfortunately, our move to Boulder was postponed, and I've thus been paying for my decision -- seriously, PAYING, as in MAJOR MOOLAH, because I didn't go to the dentist for three years. When bad tooth pain finally forced me to go back, my mouth was a mess. In the past two months I've had a root canal, a filling, and two crowns. And they tell me I probably need at least one more crown. Since our health insurance covers almost no dental work, this has been expensive.

But the worst of it is that I said "No more," to the twins' stupid dentist too, about 18 months ago? Two years? I could look it up but I don't want to, because it'll make me feel bad. "When we get back to Boulder, we'll go to the dentist," I said, but then a couple of weeks ago, Baby A started complaining that one of his teeth hurt. Then he refused to eat because it hurt to chew. What to do? I didn't want to go back to his stupid dentist. Rocket Boy, always proactive, called the adult dentist he and I have been going to and asked if they ever saw children. Wonder of wonders they do! So yesterday we took Baby A in for a consult.

Unfortunately, the news was bad. He has a large, deep cavity in the molar that was hurting. It's approaching the nerve. Worse, the repair is beyond what our dentist can do (they don't have the equipment to do major operations on small children's teeth). "I'll send you to a pediatric dentist in Lancaster," he said. "You need to take care of this right away."

His receptionist made the call for us and set up an appointment with the Lancaster dentist for Baby A for Friday afternoon at 2 pm. (This was a bit of a problem, because Rocket Boy is busy at work on Friday and daycare is having an in-service day, so I would have to bring both boys, but you take what you can get.) She even filled out a cute little appointment card for him, which listed the dentist's name and address (the card had obviously been given to our dentist by the Lancaster dentist at some point).

The Lancaster dentist's office called us at home later that afternoon to tell us that they didn't accept our insurance. (Who doesn't take Blue Cross? But whatever.) I told her it really didn't matter, because our insurance pays a pittance anyway. "So you want to be a cash patient?" she asked, sounding surprised. "Sure," I said. "Whatever." She told me it would cost $75 and they would see us on Friday at 2 pm.

Today, RB called me at home to tell me that he'd called the dentist himself and gotten an appointment on Thursday afternoon instead, so that he could come with us. OK, I said, we can make that work. So he called them once more to confirm the change. During the conversation, the topic of their address came up. They said they were on Devonshire Street. RB had never heard of a Devonshire Street in Lancaster, only the San Fernando Valley, so he asked what the cross street was. Winnetka and De Soto entered the conversation. "Wait a minute," he said. "What city are you in?"

Turns out they were in Chatsworth, in the San Fernando Valley. Nearly an hour's drive from the address in Lancaster we had been given. They only see patients at the Lancaster office on Wednesdays. Not Thursdays. Not Fridays (the day of our original appointment). (How lovely it would have been if I had driven ALL THE WAY to Lancaster with both boys on Friday only to find the office closed. Rocket Boy would like me to note that it was HIS proactivity that saved me from this fate. He is right. Duly noted!) RB asked if we could possibly get an appointment today, Wednesday, and they squeezed us in at 2:30.

[An aside, to put this in perspective. Many doctors in Ridgecrest are only in town one day a week, or in some cases, one or two days a month. Our gastroenterologists, for example, practice in Lancaster, and come to Ridgecrest one day every other week. I once had to see an ear-nose-and-throat doctor who had the same set-up. But we were going to see an LA dentist who only comes to LANCASTER one day a week. What would they think of us?]

When RB called me back and reported this interesting new development, I remembered that there was a website for the Lancaster dentist on the little appointment card we'd been given, so I tried to look it up. However, it no longer exists. Concerned, I googled the dentist's name. Apparently he gave up his private practice in 2010 and now teaches at a dental school. So who, exactly, were we going to be seeing? After some more googling I figured out that the dentist had sold his practice (and his address and phone number) to another dentist.

We had to go through all sorts of contortions to get to Lancaster by 2:30 (it's a 90-minute drive from Ridgecrest). As we drove through Mojave, RB pulled out his cell phone and called our adult dentist, the one who had sent us to this Lancaster dentist (or rather, to the former Lancaster dentist who now teaches in a dental school). As politely as possible, he asked the receptionist whether she knew that the dentist they'd sent us to was no longer practicing. No, she most certainly did not. He was going to ask whether they thought THIS dentist was worth going to -- but lost the signal. Not much cell phone coverage out here on these desert highways.

So we found the office (see above), and had the appointment. We didn't care for the office set-up, but I suppose since they're only there one day a week, they don't put much money into it. We DID like the staff, especially the very nice hygienist who cleaned Baby A's teeth, and the dentist -- a young woman. She felt strongly that Baby A needed something called a "pulpotomy," so we made an appointment to come back for that NEXT Wednesday at 8:30 am (incidentally, exactly one week before the twins and I start our drive to Boulder). Which means, if you're doing the math at home, that Baby A and I will have to leave Ridgecrest at 7 am. Whatever.

On the way home, Rocket Boy said, "Did it seem to you that they thought we were hicks?"

It did. "The whole 'cash patient' thing," I said. "I suppose me being dressed in my packing clothes didn't help either." (I had been planning to spend the whole day packing boxes. Ha ha ha.)

"I got the impression they thought Baby A's teeth were bad because we don't know about things like brushing and flossing," Rocket Boy went on.

I can't get mad. If I do, I'll lose my mind.

I just keep telling myself we're getting out of here. Some things we won't miss.

Once more into the desert

The Wildflower Festival was this weekend, so I spent several hours on Saturday sitting at the booths for my various clubs (while Rocket Boy lost his mind trying to take care of the twins). But despite all the boxes that still need to be packed, we set aside today for a field trip. We're going to be leaving this area so soon!

Both RB and I really wanted to get out in the desert once more, so I suggested Surprise Canyon, in the Panamint Valley. When we visited there back in January we agreed that we should come back when the wildflowers were in bloom. Of course, nothing much is in bloom this year, but we thought maybe...

It's a bit of a drive out there -- through Poison Canyon to Trona, Searles Valley to Panamint Valley, the road to Ballarat, Indian Ranch Road to Surprise Canyon Road -- which is such a rough, narrow, rocky road.

Classic desert. I got almost teary as we drove along, thinking of leaving this strange world we've come to know. "You know," I said to Rocket Boy, "Once the twins start school in August, it's going to be thirteen years before we can come here again."

"How's that?" he asked, puzzled.

"Well, the only time we'll be able to come out here will be in the summer, and it's too hot to come out to the desert in the summer."

"There's spring break," RB argued. "And winter break."

"Yeah, but what are the chances we'd come to Surprise Canyon if we had one week to come out to the desert for a visit? We'd visit the relatives, we'd see the major sights. We wouldn't go to Surprise Canyon."

"Hm," said Rocket Boy.

When we reached Surprise Canyon, we found other cars parked there, and even a tent set up. Probably the guys camping there were hoping for a little peace and quiet. (And then we arrived.) We walked up the trail a little ways until we found a place to sit down and have a small picnic. Then we took the picnic stuff back to the car and headed up the trail in earnest. We were hoping to do some serious hiking...

...but after 15 minutes, the trail started crossing over the stream that runs through the canyon, and over, and over, and pretty soon the trail WAS the stream. Our shoes were soaking wet, and of course I hadn't brought anything to change into. So we decided to go back down. Oh well!

Surprise Canyon wasn't the wildflower paradise I'd expected. Too early? Or just not enough rain, despite the running water? Still, we did see flowers. When they aren't all over everywhere, you look more closely. And sometimes you find surprises.

This, I'm almost positive, is Stream Orchid, which my book says is "only occasionally found in the Mojave Desert." So we were psyched to find it.

There were bushes of this all over, and I thought it was a kind of primrose. But after studying my book more carefully, I have decided it is Rock Nettle. It's quite attractive, with all those pale yellow flowers.

And this! All alone amid the rocks near the stream. I'm pretty sure it's a Phacelia, though not sure which kind. I never would have seen this if there'd been wildflowers all over.

And we saw frogs! Can you spot this one? He's right in the middle of the picture, but you can't see his head. Baby B also said he saw a snake, but he went tearing up the trail to tell us and then tearing back down again to show us, and of course it was gone by the time he got back. He said it was orange, so we're guessing it was a Red Racer (Coachwhip), because those are very common out here (and not poisonous). Wish we'd seen it.

Since our hike ended so early, we decided to drive further across the Panamint Valley, and then take Wildrose Canyon Road to Wildrose Station. There's an enormous cool wildflower called a Panamint Daisy that you can sometimes see on that road (we saw it once), but not this year. Still, it was fun to wander around Wildrose Station. Apparently there were functioning stores and cabins for rent here until 1972 when the National Park Service got persnickety and closed it all down.

We had a little picnic (leftovers from lunch) at the picnic table that you can just barely see above and to the right of our car.

We went a little further and then turned around, in order to retrace our steps back to Ridgecrest. And on our way back down the road we saw the coolest thing -- quail! At least we thought they were quail. But they looked different. And they didn't have plumes. "What are they?" I shouted in desperation. "Oh, wait! Could they be Chukars?"

They were. (Sorry about the quality of the photo, but it was taken through a closed car window.) Three funny chukars (a type of partridge from India and thereabouts, imported here in the '30s and now happily settled all over the western US). I knew they were around, but I'd never seen one. So fun. And they were not very worried about us, walked right across the road in front of the car and on up the hill, instead of hiding in the bushes. Rocket Boy commented that they were the perfect game bird for lazy Ridgecrestians.

And then just down the road we saw one more interesting wildflower, which I would NEVER have seen if we hadn't been driving slowly, looking for more chukars.

I'm not 100% sure what this is, but I think it is Mojave Indigo Bush. It was just clinging to the side of the canyon walls (this photo is a zoom-in, taken from across the road).

On the way home, the twins were awful (tired, mostly), but Rocket Boy and I were pretty blissed out about the trip as a whole. And then as we approached Ridgecrest we noticed that the sky had changed color. No longer blue, now kind of whitish. And the wind was whipping the creosote bushes beside the road. A dust storm. You couldn't even see the mountains. I tried to take one more picture, but my camera's battery had died. "Just think," Rocket Boy said. "This may be our last dust storm in Ridgecrest."

Parenting on the road

You know the saying about wanting to be the person your dog thinks you are? I want to be the person an old lady in the Mojave Denny's thinks I am.

We took our next-to-last trip from Ridgecrest to Los Angeles this weekend, and once again I remembered that THOSE TRIPS ARE HARD. We got off to a pretty good start. There was a little fair in the park on Saturday and the kids had heard about it at preschool and wanted to go, so we let them go for an hour.

Of course, we had to drag them from the bounce house kicking and screaming, but that's par for the course. As we dragged Baby A past the shaved ice vendor, he decided he wanted that too, and screamed all the way to the car about how he wouldn't spill it, etc. I didn't yell at him, though. If I start yelling when we're still in Ridgecrest, we might as well cancel the trip.

An hour later we drove into the Mojave Denny's parking lot, and there we had our first real disaster. Rocket Boy had to get his fanny pack out of the back of my Subaru, and then he accidentally closed the rear "lift gate" on Baby A's head (who of course had his head stuck in the back to see what Dad was doing). My last-minute gasp caused RB to close it with less force than usual, otherwise we probably would have had to go to Urgent Care, but still it was awful. Baby A cried and cried.

No blood though, so, after a lot of kissing and comforting, we went into Denny's. I'm always on my best behavior in restaurants, probably because of all the attention we receive in them. Really, it might be better for all of us if we just lived at Denny's.

I took the kids to the restroom, and I was so good with them, helping them use the toilet and encouraging them to wash their hands and all that. As we were finishing up, an older woman came out of one of the stalls and said to me, "You are such a good mother! So sweet with those children, not nasty and sarcastic like so many mothers these days."

"Oh no," I said, thinking of the myriad ways in which I am not a good mother. "I can be nasty and sarcastic too."

"No, I know that's not true, because you didn't know you were being observed," the woman said, shaking a finger at me. "You're a wonderful mother. I just know it."

It seemed like too much trouble to explain about the transformation that takes place when I walk across the Denny's threshold, so I thanked her and took the twins back to our table. But later when we were paying, there she was again, telling the hostess what a good mother I am. "I'm really not," I said again. "But thank you." It was embarrassing, but at the same time cheering. I kept thinking how nice it would be if I really were a wonderful mother.

The trip continued. We had a low-stress visit with Cousin June, her daughter and son-in-law, and their two dogs. The twins did not break anything, though Baby B did fall down and scrape his knee and stub his big toe, requiring bandaids, and the more excitable dog chased Baby A around the backyard. No photos of the relatives, but this is Peanut, the calmer of the dogs. Everybody loves Peanut.

We stayed, as always, at the bowling alley hotel in Canoga Park, which has a pool and hot tub and PBS Kids on TV, all of which we made use of. Here we are watching Sesame Street.

I went to bed early, when the kids did, which was fortunate since I woke up at 5:18 am on Sunday with a leg cramp. Several hours later we went out for breakfast with our friends who also live in that area. Our friends, who I like very much, are childless, and therefore think that no one today, including us, is a very good parent, though we perhaps could be if we followed some of their suggestions. (I don't mean to be too snarky. I was exactly like them before I had my own children.)

So, as the kids misbehaved in the restaurant, and later ran wild on the lawn out in front, I had to listen to comments such as, "You need to discipline them more effectively," and "They'd be fine if you'd just set boundaries and enforce them."

Where was the Mojave Denny's lady when I needed her? I'm sure there are things that Rocket Boy and I do wrong with the twins. Lots and lots of things. Probably we need more effective discipline and more boundaries and more enforcement. And more liquor. No, seriously. But I'd like to leave the twins with our friends for a week, and see what happens. See who's alive at the end of the week, for instance.

OK, so then we began the long drive home. A stop at a store. The hour's drive to Palmdale. A stop at Trader Joe's and the coffee shop. And then there's still 90 miles to go until we get to Ridgecrest. Baby A managed to nap on the way to Palmdale, but Baby B didn't, and I think he really needed to. Anyway, he started kicking Baby A, who started screaming, and on and on, and eventually, after lots of threats, while still driving, I reached behind me into the back seat and pulled off Baby B's shoe (from the foot he was using to kick Baby A).

Of course, that action caused Baby B to lose it completely, and he screamed AT THE TOP OF HIS LUNGS until Rocket Boy finally gave the shoe back to him. At which point Baby B took the shoe and threw it at us (it landed on the floor of the front seat).

Right around then I was pulling into a gas station in Rosemond, so I parked the car, unfastened my seatbelt, reached over to get the shoe, and threw it back at Baby B. Yes, that's right, the Wonderful Mother threw a small Spiderman shoe at her beloved second son.

It hit him in the head, causing a nosebleed. And I thought, if the Mojave Denny's woman could only see me now.

Rocket Boy decided to sit in the back seat between the twins on the rest of the way home, which first caused Baby B to scream even more loudly, but eventually calmed everyone down. And now we're home, and no one is mad at anyone anymore, and life goes on. Somehow. But oh, I'm so glad we're moving back to Boulder. If we can just survive the drive!

Packing, Part 1

And so it begins... I've decided to try to pack 5 boxes a day, starting yesterday. The packers come on April 29th. 28 days of April makes 140 boxes. Does that sound like a lot? When we moved out here 4 years ago, we had 270 THINGS that were given moving stickers, 270 THINGS that were loaded onto the truck. I'm not sure how many of those THINGS were boxes, but I know it was a lot. Thus it seems prudent to try to pack 140 boxes myself, and then the packers can do whatever I don't get done.

I wish the packers were doing it all. I've been packing for 2 days and I'm already losing my mind.

All the moving books and websites say to get your packing supplies together ahead of time. We already had the boxes, saved from our move out here and our move across town last year. (I've been told a good moving box can last 3 moves, so this will be it for our boxes.) They've been living in the rafters of the garage.

On Easter Sunday, I nagged Rocket Boy to get some of them down for me, and finally he did. Only a couple of bundles, but it was enough to get started.

On Monday, Baby A had his kindergarten physical. My big boy! His doctor was fascinated by the Colorado medical forms, which I had printed off. Far fewer requirements than the California forms. I was just as glad. Baby A still had to get 3 shots, including the dreaded MMRV vaccine, which hurts going in and for a long time afterwards too. He was so brave, didn't cry. (I have a vivid memory of having a total meltdown at the doctor's office when I had to have a shot at around the same age.) He got lots of band-aids and stickers and two pencils as rewards. I took him home and gave him Tylenol and a cookie, but then he wanted to go to daycare, so I took him there.

Came back home to start packing. But first I had to be nervous for a couple of hours. That's kind of a hobby of mine. Then it was lunchtime (nice healthy meal, consisting mainly of chocolate ice cream). And then it was an hour and a half until I had to pick up the boos, so I began frantically packing. Got 4 boxes packed. Terrible. Behind already, and it was only the first day.

Today there were no appointments, nothing to distract me. I took the kids to daycare, came home to pack. But first I got on the computer and started making hotel reservations for our drive across the country. Sent some emails. Did a little daydreaming. Finally around 11 am I was ready to pack.

And then I couldn't find the tape. I'd used it the day before, so where was it? I turned the house upside down, but no tape. I ended up having to drive to the little packing store near us to buy another roll. Then I ate lunch. Finally at about 12:30 I was ready to pack. I packed like a madwoman. But the new tape that I'd bought did everything it could to thwart me. Absolutely awful stuff, kept sticking to the rest of the roll, and then when I'd try to pull it off, it would split into strands. Plus, it wouldn't stay stuck to the boxes. Much profanity could be heard (though only by the cat), but I got 6 boxes done, so I'm caught up.

Tonight after dinner I drove out to Staples and bought 3 big rolls of the good stuff, Scotch Moving & Storage packaging tape, "Long Lasting" variety. Plus another dispenser. Plus more Sharpie markers. Nothing's going to stop me from doing 5 more boxes tomorrow.

But first I've got to take Baby B to the doctor for HIS kindergarten physical. My sweet little boy!

I am going to survive this month. I am. I really am. But oh, I am so tired already. And it is only the second day.