Chimney Creek campground

When Rocket Boy and I got married, nearly 10 years ago, we received some camping gear as wedding presents: pads to put under sleeping bags, a camping first aid kit, plastic wineglasses, etc. And then we never did any camping! I wanted to, but RB (who has camped all his life) didn't, so we didn't.

One more way in which having children changes EVERYTHING. A week or two ago, Rocket Boy suddenly decided it was time to start camping with the kids. I was delighted at the idea, so we started planning. We bought a kids' size sleeping bag from the local outdoors shop, we researched local campgrounds. We thought about digging through our camping gear, but didn't. We decided that our first camping trip would be Saturday, June 2, and it would consist of one night spent at a campground fairly close to home.

Saturday morning (of course, of course) found us frantically combing the garage for our camping equipment, much of which did not surface. It may be in Boulder, it may be in a box we haven't opened yet. Who knows? Among the things we didn't find were those two nice wedding present pads and both of RB's camping stoves. But we did find 2 tents and 3 adult size sleeping bags (which was fortunate since the outdoors shop didn't have another kids' size sleeping bag -- they have to order it) and various other items. We threw whatever we could find into the back of Rocket Boy's Ford Escape, bought some VERY simple food, added a bag of charcoal and a couple of gallons of water, and we were off.

We drove first to the Walker Pass campground, which is only about 25 miles from here.

I should have mentioned that it was beastly hot in Ridgecrest on Saturday, something like 105 when we left the house around 3 pm. It was cooler at Walker Pass campground (note: the pass itself is called Walker's Pass -- don't know why the campground loses the apostrophe-s), but not THAT cool, and there's very little shade. Plus, to our surprise, most of the campsites were occupied. We walked around them and talked to a guy sitting at one picnic table -- and he explained what was up. Walker Pass campground is pretty much right on the Pacific Crest Trail (you know, the trail that goes from Mexico to Canada?), and hikers often stop at the campground just to take a few hours break. The man we talked to was about to start hiking again, so he said we could have his campsite. But we were concerned about how many people might be staying the night, and how noisy the twins are. We decided to keep going, into the Chimney Peak Recreation Area.

We didn't go all the way to Kennedy Meadows, which is famous as a Ridgecrestian refuge from the heat. Instead we went to the Chimney Creek campground at 5700 ft elevation, which (like Walker Pass) is managed by the BLM, is free, and has no water. Unlike Walker Pass campground, it is very out of the way (though still only about 40 miles from our house).

By the time we got to Chimney Creek, it was after 5 pm, so we needed to get busy and choose a campsite. We had our pick -- none of the 9 sites we could find was occupied (the campground supposedly has 32 campsites, but I don't know where the other 23 were hiding). First we chose a big campsite, high up close to a bunch of rocks, but then I started thinking about what was going to climb down from those rocks during the night, and we moved to a small cozy campsite lower down, away from the rocks, a very short walk from what the twins call a "smelly bathroom," and close enough to the road to see it but not be run over by cars who miss the turn. We only saw 2 or 3 cars on the road the whole time we were there, but you never know.

The campsite was long and skinny: firepit, picnic table, area to pitch a tent, and place to park car, all in a row. We had brought two 2-person tents, and we put them up with the openings facing each other, about a foot apart. Here we are watching Daddy start to put up the second tent (firepit is behind the picnic table):

and here we are looking the other direction, toward the car:

Daddy worked very very hard putting up the tents, and then he started the fire (I've just got to learn how to do some of these things; maybe next camping trip). When the coals had stopped flaming, we put the hot dogs on to cook.

This was my dinner menu: one package of 7 all-beef kosher hot dogs, one package of buns, a can of baked beans (which we didn't bother opening), water to drink, and of course marshmallows. Hey, don't knock it, it worked. We also brought chips, pretzels, and grapes, which we munched during the tent assembly process, so no one but Rocket Boy was very hungry for dinner. The twins each ate most of a hot dog, I had two, and Rocket Boy had three. Then we roasted marshmallows over the coals. At first the marshmallows weren't cooking, but then we moved the grate and they got nice and brown -- to Baby B's horror. "I don't want a brown one!" he cried. My efforts to convince him that roasted marshmallows are supposed to be brown were for naught. I ate that one and he ate a plain uncooked white one.

While we were eating, a few other campers showed up -- on foot. It turned out that this campground was also just off the Pacific Crest Trail, though not as popular as Walker Pass.

After eating we had just enough time to take a walk down the quiet road, where there were wildflowers, bunnies, and lots of birds. I had forgotten my binoculars, but I could tell some of the birds were interesting. There was a beauty with an orange and yellow head, but I wasn't quite sure what it was. As night fell, we realized the moon was almost full.

Then it was time to get ready for bed, and that's when things got amusing. We decided that Baby B and I would sleep in the blue & white tent close to the car and Baby A and Rocket Boy would sleep in the orange tent close to the picnic table. Here you can see both tents, right before bedtime:

I got both boos into their diapers and pajamas in the blue & white tent, and read them 2 stories with a little headlamp strapped to my forehead (boos were jealous). I had brought books about camping and the outdoors, and in one book there was a drawing of the bird we had just seen -- a Western Tanager! Then I sent Baby A back over to the orange tent to sleep with Daddy. Boos are used to sleeping together, not with their parents, so they were concerned about this. But I just wasn't comfortable having them in a tent with no parents, even though the parents would be a foot away. We were in bear country, after all.

Rocket Boy and I had taken our melatonin, we were ready for sleep (at 9 pm!). I haven't been sleeping well in the Ridgecrest heat, and of course Rocket Boy had done all the work of putting up the tents and everything.... we were tired! But boos just couldn't settle down. After a bit Baby A decided he was going to sleep in the big tent with Mommy and Baby B, so he and his sleeping bag crossed over to our tent and we squished together to accommodate him. But it was really a squish. "Do you really want to sleep here with us?" I asked Baby A and he said no, he wanted to sleep with Daddy. So back to Daddy's tent he and his sleeping bag went. Baby B said that he would sleep with Daddy too, but I said no he wouldn't. So no more sleeping bags moved.

I kept tucking Baby B into his sleeping bag, with his favorite blanket and his favorite stuffed toy, Ducky, and then a few moments later he'd pop out again. I decided to tell him a story (rather than read another one, which would have required a light). "Once upon a time," I said, "when I was a little girl, I went on a camping trip with my Daddy and my Mommy and my little sister -- and that was Nonny."

"Oh!" Baby B said. "Nonny's house is near Baba's house!"

"Yes," I said, "but this was a long time ago, and I lived near Baba too, and Nonny and I lived in the same house."

This was too much for Baby B. "Mommy? Can you tell a story about Ducky?"

I'm flexible. I decided to tell a story about going to the duckpond when I was a kid. "Once upon a time when I was a little girl..."

"No! Tell a story about Ducky!"

No problem, I can do that. "Once upon a time when Ducky was a little duck..."

"No! Ducky was not a little duck! Ducky was always the same size. He was born and he grew up and he stopped growing. And then I loved him."

This was so sweet that Baby B and I both laughed together and I hugged him. But he didn't go to sleep. At one point he got out of his sleeping bag and announced that he was going to go outside and look for "creatures." "NO!" I shouted, grabbing him. "You will stay right here and go to sleep!" But a moment later he popped up again.

At some point we both finally fell asleep, and the occupants of the other tent did as well. I know this because later on something caused me to wake up. I was just conscious of being conscious -- and then, through the thin wall of the tent I saw the car flash its brakelights! And it made a soft whirring noise!

I looked at my watch -- it was midnight. It was midnight and we were at a campsite a million miles away from civilization, with two darling small children, and someone was in our car -- which we had left unlocked. Someone was stealing my money, credit cards, and perhaps even the car. And then they would come and kill us. I tried to find my car keys, which I knew were in the tent somewhere, but couldn't find them. (Not sure what I was going to do with them -- maybe lock the thief into the car?) Baby B was sound asleep, lying next to the tent opening. I leaned over him and hissed in the direction of the other tent to try to wake up Rocket Boy, but there was no response.

I was terrified. What could I do? Should I scream? (wake up the kids, disturb the other campers, annoy whoever was stealing my wallet -- maybe they would come out of the car with a knife or a gun) Put on my shoes (if I could find them), crawl awkwardly over Baby B, and go out and investigate? What if it was a bear? I kept calling softly to Rocket Boy. Why didn't the man wake up? Then I found my flashlight, so I pointed it at the car. Maybe if the person in the car realized that someone was awake, they would go away. Sure enough, I heard more noises. A car door opened. "Who's there?" I said, in a really mean, loud voice.

"It's me!" It was Rocket Boy. Of course. He had been unable to sleep in the cramped little tent, so had gotten up to walk around and then tried to sleep in the car.

I was so relieved that I was not even mad at him. But then it was hard to get back to sleep (especially with the moon shining full into the tent).

Later, I did fall asleep, but it got cold in the tent and I kept waking up.

Let's just say that at 6 am when the sun woke me up for good, I was pretty tired. Rocket Boy was even worse off -- he'd hardly slept a wink. But as I looked over at Baby B, snoozing soundly in his sleeping bag, I was a proud and happy mom.

This is getting long, so I'll go to bed (I'm so tired!) and tell the rest of the story tomorrow.

Glendale and the LA Zoo

I know what you're thinking, you're thinking this is going to be another post about how awful it is to do anything with four-year-old twin boys. But it's not! We had a pretty nice weekend! I mean, it was very strenuous and taxing, and I'm so glad to be home and all that. But really, all things considered, it went well.

We left at 9:15 Sunday morning and drove to Torrance with only one bathroom/fuel stop in Mojave. Made it there a little after 12, in plenty of time to partake of the delicious lunch before the birthday party entertainment began. The entertainment was exotic animals, which I always enjoy (though the twins didn't pay much attention!).

The animals included this nice chicken

and this beautiful snake, which I also got to hold.

After the party we drove to our hotel, a Vagabond Inn in Glendale -- chosen because it was kind of on the way home and because it was very close to the zoo. Also, according to the website it had a heated pool and was next to a big mall.

Well, it was not a fabulous hotel, but it was OK. The room was fairly spacious and the air conditioner sort of worked. There was a very nice empty space for setting up the pack 'n' plays for the twins (which they still manage to curl themselves up into). I'd say the worst thing about the room was that the TV had no kids' channel -- no PBS Kids, no Nickelodeon, no Sprout -- but of course the kids wanted to watch TV, in their minds that's the whole point of staying in a hotel room, so we kept watching very odd, inappropriate things. The pool was small and practically in the parking lot, not very appealing. Also, though it was heated, it was not very warm. And there was no hot tub. Rocket Boy and Baby A did go in it and enjoyed themselves, so that was good, but I think I'll look for something better next time. Still, overall it was OK.

When we got hungry we walked about a block to a Jamba Juice and got smoothies and some bread things. Then we walked into the mall-ish thing that is right there, "the Americana at Brand," and discovered a "grassy" area on which to sit and eat our "dinner." This was the view from where we sat:

I'm not sure WHAT that grassy stuff was -- it was extremely short, and bits of it got all over our clothes and limbs as we sat on it. Not like any grass I've ever sat on before, but not like astroturf either. I also don't know WHAT that gold statue is supposed to represent. But there were fountains that shot up, and music played, and there were tons of people out enjoying the evening. There was also a nice children's play area, but it had fences around it and a sign saying it was only open until 6 pm (we got there around 6:45). A bunch of kids (including ours) climbed over the fence and played there anyway, until, get this, a SECURITY GUARD came and shooed them all away. I mean, yuck. Why does a playground have to close at 6 and why does a security guard have to chase children off a playground?

I don't know. Rocket Boy liked it, the twins liked it. I was just turned off by the artificiality of the whole place. It was trying SO hard to be European and quaint, but that security guard gave it kind of a Nazi feel, and I don't think that's the type of European they were aiming for. Anyway, despite that, we had a nice time.

The next morning we got up fairly early and had breakfast two doors down at a restaurant called Foxy's, which we liked very much: we got to eat outside on the patio, we were there early enough that we didn't disturb anyone until near the end, and there was oatmeal (I liked that part). Boos shared an order of pigs in blankets, which the waitress was nice enough to divide for us (and gave them 2 each, even though the order was only supposed to have 3 total), Rocket Boy had a veggie omelet, and we shared a bowl of fruit.

Then we packed up in a leisurely fashion and left for the zoo at about 10:15 am (it had opened at 10). The desk clerk at the hotel had warned us to get there early, but we ignored him, and as we joined a long line of cars taking the "Zoo Exit" I realized that we had made a mistake. However, even though we had to stand in an enormous line to get in, the line moved quickly.

The zoo itself is very attractive and I'd really like to go back. That said, we probably didn't do things the way we should have. First of all, we should have rented a big stroller. Boos are very good walkers now, but a stroller would have given them a chance to rest now and then. Second, we should have ridden the carousel as soon as we spotted it, rather than continued to say "We'll do that at the end, when we come back." Baby B so desperately wanted to ride it that he couldn't focus on anything else, just kept asking me when we were going to ride it. My idea was that we would walk to the farthest corner of the zoo where the lemurs are, see them, and then go back to the carousel, but that didn't work. We finally had to turn around (without seeing the lemurs) and go back to the carousel.

Silly boos are still afraid of the carousel animals that go up and down, so we rode on this nice peacock bench. Everyone enjoyed themselves.

Third, we should have taken out a bank loan before going. It cost us $54 to get in, $37 for lunch, $3 each for the carousel... I know, stuff is just expensive these days. At least it wasn't Disneyland!

After the carousel we saw a few more animals, and Baby A provided some excitement by actually climbing into a tortoise pen. Granted, the tortoises inside paid no attention to him, but the whole crowd looking at the tortoises was yelling "Get out! get out!" and of course we were yelling the same thing, and for a moment there I thought he was going to be too scared to be able to respond, but we eventually got him out. Here he is on the outside of the pen, not looking the least bit repentant:

I was glad I got to see the tortoises, because we did not manage to go into the new LAIR exhibit hall, where most of the reptiles are. But that's a reason to go back. After the tortoise incident we all agreed it was time to go, and we ended up driving out of the parking lot at about 2 pm.

Of course, then we had the long drive home, but we broke it up with the usual stop in Palmdale, where we went to Trader Joe's and our usual coffee place for drinks and snacks. Then it was on to Ridgecrest, getting home just before 6 pm. Everyone (except me) took a good long nap between Glendale and Palmdale, and we were all still in a fairly good mood when we got home. It cheered me up, as we were driving on 14 fairly close to the Inyokern turnoff, to see ALL the cars coming back from the mountains and to think how far they still had to drive.

So that's what I call a successful weekend: a family gathering (the birthday party), getting to see something a little different (the Americana at Brand), and a fun, special outing (the zoo) which we all actually enjoyed. Plus, the chance to buy a whole lot of cereal at Trader Joe's (very important, since my favorite cereal costs TWICE as much in Ridgecrest). Still didn't get to use my Macy's gift card, but that can wait. I'm happy.

The Train

OK, I guess I have to write about the train too, just to get beyond it. It seemed like such a nice idea: there's a train called the Metrolink that runs from Lancaster/Palmdale to Los Angeles and parts beyond. Why not take it some weekend? Why not indeed? Oh, there are so many reasons, most of them involving four-year-old twin boys. But anyway, it did sound like a good idea, in the beginning.

So we looked at the schedule and discovered that very few trains run on the weekends. This is a SERIOUS train, a commuter train. There was a train that left Lancaster around 9:15 am (and Palmdale 10 minutes later), but it would take us nearly 90 minutes to drive to the station, which meant leaving the house at 7:45 am, which meant no, try again. There was an 11:30 train, but that's lunchtime.

Finally we decided to drive to Palmdale, do a little shopping, eat lunch, and catch the 1 pm train. Rather than go all the way to LA, which would take 2 hours, we decided to stop at a place called Newhall, about which we knew nothing other than that the train would get there a little after 2 pm. There was a train from Newhall at 3:30 which would get us back to Palmdale at 4:30. All that sounded reasonable and doable, and really, it should have been. Sigh.

We got to Palmdale around 11 am and went straight to Dillard's, because Baby B needed new shoes. His beautiful flashing Stride Rite shoes, only a few months old, have a huge hole in them. What has happened to formerly dependable brands like Stride Rite??? Might as well shop at Walmart. We managed to buy both boys some shoes, with only a small amount of screaming and running away. Then we had a quick quasi-meal at a coffee place, and we were off to the Palmdale train station.

We got there quite early, around 12:30, because we didn't know how hard it would be to park, buy tickets, and all that. Everything turned out to be very easy, so we had a long time to sit and wait.

It costs $10 to ride the Metrolink on the weekends -- all weekend for just $10. If you were dating someone in LA, you could take the train down on Saturday morning to visit them, stay until 5:40 pm on Sunday, and ride the train back, all for just $10. Unfortunately, we're married and have four-year-old twins, so Rocket Boy and I paid $10 each to ride the Saturday afternoon train to Newhall and back. But still, it was a pretty good deal, and the twins were free.

The train ride was pleasant, at least at first. We sat on the upper level. I didn't get a window seat (preview of my life as a mom from now until eternity) so I couldn't see as well as the boos could, but it was still nice. Here's Baby A, observing the scenery.

Of course, as soon as we got on, someone needed to go potty, but the Metrolink has bathrooms! So we visited them a few times. Rocket Boy and I took turns. The rest of the time boos climbed back and forth between our two rows of seats. "Are they twins?" the teenage girl across from us asked, and I could see that look in her eye, that "I want twins" look. I wanted to say "no you don't" but resisted.

We reached Newhall about 2:15 (JUST as Baby A was nodding off, sigh), got off, and looked for something to do. Newhall is a part of Santa Clarita. It's very attractive, I guess. We spotted what we thought was a Rec Center right next to the train, and went there first.

But it turned out to be a place where school-age kids can go after school to get help with homework and participate in activities. There was nothing for us there, not even vending machines, although they did say we could play on their playground. So we did. But it was so hot.

So then we walked the other direction and through the renovated downtown. Newhall is sort of an odd place, and I mean that in the nicest possible way. First we walked down Market Street to a little park dedicated to veterans. Then we walked down Main Street looking for an ice cream parlor or some such place to have a treat. Main Street just couldn't be prettier or cleaner -- someone spent a lot of money fixing it up and even more money maintaining it. And yet the stores weren't right. You'd be expecting, I don't know, a fancy clothing store, or an espresso place, and instead here's a laundromat, a place to buy lotto tickets, a dollar store. And everything was mostly in Spanish. And it was so hot. We finally found a Panaderia and bought some cupcakes and drinks, which we took back to the train station with us.

The train arrived around 3:30 and we boarded. We sat downstairs this time, within sight of the bathroom, and what a mistake that was. Baby B spent the entire hour-long return trip wanting to visit the bathroom. When someone else was in the bathroom, he yelled or ran up and down the car. Baby A was not much better. They were tired, they were bored, they didn't want to be on a train anymore. Rocket Boy and I were also tired and didn't want to be on a train, at least not with our children. The other passengers also did not want to be on a train with our children.

But we were all TRAPPED. For an HOUR.

A little before 4:30 the train got to Palmdale and we got off. If we'd had any sense we would have driven straight home to Ridgecrest. But we have no sense. And there were all those stores. First we went to Lowe's so Rocket Boy could shop. Then the boos and I went to Target while RB waited in the car. I had all these things I wanted to buy at Target, but I got caught up in helping the boos choose a toy (I had told them before we went in that they could each have one small toy), and forgot about everything else. When we got back to the car I almost burst into tears in frustration.

We still had Macy's and Trader Joe's on our list. I had a $25 coupon for Macy's. But suddenly I knew we had all passed our limit and I needed to get us home immediately. So I got on the highway and drove fast, much faster than the speed limit, all the way back to Ridgecrest. Everyone else slept most of the way, but I stayed awake, driving, driving, all 92 miles. We got home around 7pm, JUST before I collapsed.

So that was our Metrolink experience -- our only Metrolink experience, since we're never going to do it again.

Rancho Cucamonga

Once again I've gotten off track about posting -- sorry about that, devoted fans. We had two really gruesome weekend trips that I was going to post about and then didn't, because they were so gruesome. Coming up this weekend: yet another trip, which I hope will not be gruesome. We are going to a 5th birthday party in Torrance on Sunday and then staying overnight at a hotel in Glendale which supposedly has a HEATED pool and is right next door to a family-style restaurant and right across the street from a big mall. If all goes well, we might go to the L.A. Zoo on Memorial Day, since our hotel is 2 miles from the zoo. But as we all know, all will NOT go well -- probably the pool's heater will be broken, or the entire pool will be closed for repairs, the mall will be closed for renovations, the zoo will be closed because all the animals are sick, my credit card will be cancelled, the car will get a flat tire... Anyway, think good thoughts for us.

Life continues apace in the potty mouth department. Boos have stopped calling everyone a booty butt, but pretty much every other word they say has something to do with bodily functions. It's my fault, partly. We had a cute book out of the library a few weeks ago called The Very Kind Rich Lady and Her One Hundred Dogs by Chinlun Lee.The one hundred dogs of the title are pictured individually and named, and some of the names are a bit suggestive, shall we say (Pipi, Tinkle, etc.). To get through the book you have to read all one hundred dog names twice, and when I got tired of reading the regular names, I would make some up, such as Poop, Dirty Diaper, and Gas. What can I say, I'm a four-year-old at heart. Anyway, this caused great hilarity and almost immediately got out of hand, and so now, even though the book has been back at the library for over a week, Baby A and Baby B are still calling everything Dirty Stinky Diaper, Poopoo Head, Smelly Gas, and other similar names.

How long does this phase last? And how long would it have lasted if I hadn't made it worse?

The two trips that I didn't want to write about... OK, I'll write just a little. The first one was to Rancho Cucamonga, which is about 125 miles straight south from here. Why did we go to Rancho Cucamonga? Because that's where we bought my computer (used) last fall, at a little shop called PC Mart, and my computer was clearly dying. I don't know if there's a place in Ridgecrest that fixes computers, but even if there were, I wouldn't take a computer there, because one thing Ridgecrest is not good at is SERVICE of any sort. So we drove to Rancho Cucamonga. It turned out the hard drive was dying, so we had to get a new one. Unfortunately, on my computer there was a sticker that said it had a 60 GB hard drive, so that's what the guy replaced it with. Unfortunately, my computer ACTUALLY had a 140 GB hard drive. When this was noticed, we had already spent about 4 hours in Rancho Cucamonga and it was too late to have the guy replace the hard drive and reformat it and all that stuff. And we just couldn't come back. (It was exactly the sort of thing that would have happened in Ridgecrest. Might as well just have stayed home. On the plus side, the twins learned how to say Rancho Cucamonga.)

So now I have a 60 GB hard drive, which means my photos won't fit on it. This is OK because I have lost all my photos (they were supposedly on my backup drive, but I can't find them). Lots of them are on the Kodak photo sharing site, but since the Kodak photo sharing site is GOING OUT OF BUSINESS, that's not going to be much help for long.

I am getting madder and madder as I type. I hate computers.

While we were waiting for the guy to fix the computer incorrectly, we went out to lunch (involving the usual screaming and general mayhem) and then drove off to look for a place to recycle the carload of Styrofoam that Rocket Boy had insisted on bringing along (because of course you can't recycle it in Ridgecrest) and which was blocking my visibility. We drove a long ways to a recycling place, only to be told that the minimum charge was $29 and they didn't accept Styrofoam anyway. So then we had to drive to ANOTHER recycling place, miles and miles away, and fortunately that place DID accept Styrofoam, so we got rid of it,

but not before I had a total nervous breakdown, complete with requests for divorce and pointing out to Rocket Boy that the carbon footprint involved in driving all these extra miles to the recycling place was a LOT bigger than any savings to the Earth from recycling the stupid Styrofoam. It really wasn't such a bad experience as all that, but I had wanted to go to the Rancho Cucamonga mall, and now there wasn't time.

Also it was hot and humid (to us desert rats, anyway).

Anyway, the next day was Mother's Day and Rocket Boy and the twins gave me a beautiful hanging basket (my request)

which two days later just completely died on me. We moved it to a more protected location and I watered it and watered it, and now the white petunias have come back, but all the pink ones are dead and gone. Oh well.

Anyway, this is why I haven't been blogging recently. I think I'll stop here and not describe the other disastrous trip, which involved a TRAIN. Maybe in a day or two, if I feel ambitious. I'm sure you can hardly wait.

DISGUSTING!

On each episode of Sesame Street there is a "word of the day" -- such as humongous, separate, etc. Around our house, the current word of the day (or week, or month) is DISGUSTING, or as Baby A and Baby B also like to pronounce it, SCUSTING!

And what is it that is so disgusting and/or scusting, you might ask? Well, everything really, because everything is now described as a BOOTY BUTT.

Note: We did not teach them this term. I may have used the word "butt" around them once or twice, OK maybe even more than that, but not "booty," at least not this kind of booty. They learned it at DAYCARE. It is DAYCARE's fault, not mine.

So here we are walking to daycare the other day, boos in the stroller, me pushing. A perfectly normal man is approaching from the other direction. Baby A spots him. "Euww, look at that booty butt!" he says.

"Shhh," I whisper urgently. "Don't call people booty butts!"

"DISGUSTING!" Baby A and Baby B chorus, as the man passes us, looking a bit puzzled. It is all I can do not to slug them. I want to run after the man, to explain that these comments have nothing to do with him, but he's long gone and we're late for daycare, so off we go. I hope we haven't ruined his day.

Note to everyone: Do not ever feel bad about something a small child says in your general direction.

At home, absolutely everything is a booty butt, and thus scusting, such as whatever I make for dinner, videos, toys, the mail, the laundry, all the human members of the family, and of course Pie Bear, the biggest booty butt of all. It seems to me that this must be limiting the twins' language development, since they no longer have to remember the names for anything. We're all just booty butts.

(Baby B has another scheme for not remembering the names for things. He says to me: "Mommy, do you know what I have at my painting house?" I say, "No, what?" and he says "Think about it." So then I have to suggest something, and then he gets to decide whether that's what he wants to have at his house or not. I have not figured out how to get around that one yet.)

Of course, what is considered the most disgusting right now is what comes out of people's booty butts, i.e., poop. Baby A and Baby B have always been interested in each other's diapers, and later potties, but now it's turned ugly. Whenever either of them uses the potty in this productive way, the other one hurries over in order to say "SCUSTING!" This makes me kind of sad. I suppose it had to happen, it's a normal part of development, but still. Just one more way in which they aren't little boos anymore.

Of course, today a friend stopped by the house to give me something, and while she was standing in our entryway, talking, Baby A unceremoniously walked up, pulled down his pants, and proceeded to sit on the potty. (Yes, our potties are in the entryway -- the bathroom is too small for them -- so it wasn't really Baby A's fault, but he COULD have used the real toilet in the bathroom. But no. Complete lack of modesty.)

"Oh dear," I said, embarrassed both for Baby A and for Donna. "Maybe it's just pee."

"No, it's poop!" Baby A corrected me. "Wipe me, Mommy!"

"I'll take that as my cue to leave," Donna said, leaving. I wiped Baby A's booty butt and then we had to clean out the potty and flush it.

"DISGUSTING!" said Baby A, and from the other part of the house I could hear Baby B's answering call: "SCUSTING!"

The Racetrack

In a Christmas letter we received last year, one of my old friends mentioned that something she'd done that year had been a "bucket list" item for her. And I thought, bucket list? When I was younger I had a long mental list of big things I wanted to do, and I did a lot of them, too. But right now I'm mainly living day to day. Oh sure, I've got some vague plans and dreams. For instance, when the boys are a little older (i.e., old enough to know what a state is), I'd like us to visit a few different states each summer, so they gradually get to know the country. Also, I'd like to have a novel or other book published someday, but even that is all wrapped up in just wanting to do lots of writing, make it better and better -- if I do publish something someday, I won't consider that item checked off, but rather only just begun.

But once in a while I remember that there are a few very specific things I really want to do.

We've been wanting to go to Death Valley for several weeks now, but it keeps getting put off. Finally we decided that yesterday was do or die, because very soon it's going to be too hot for us to go there again until next November. "Is there any place special you want to go?" Rocket Boy asked me, because Death Valley is a Really Big Place and you kind of have to decide what you want to do there.

"I want to go to the Racetrack," I said. Ding! Bucket list item.

The Racetrack is a dry lakebed in the northern section of Death Valley, and it's home to an interesting phenomenon -- rocks that move around the lakebed seemingly by themselves. When you read articles about Death Valley, the Racetrack is always mentioned, and it sounds so intriguing. I've always wanted to go. But what we learned when we moved here and started visiting Death Valley is that it's almost impossible to get to the Racetrack and the rangers don't really want you to try. Each time we've asked a ranger at Stovepipe Wells or Furnace Creek about going to the Racetrack, they've always told us we have the wrong type of car, the wrong type of wheels, the road is in worse shape than usual, try again some other time....

This time we were going. We just absolutely were. Nothing was going to stop us. We packed a picnic lunch, lots of water, extra clothes for the twins, sunscreen, money, everything we could think of. We even left the house really early (for us) -- we were out the door by 9 am.

Of course then we had to stop for gas, and put some air in the tires, and get Starbursts for the road, and that took half an hour. Then we drove to Stovepipe Wells, which is 100 miles. There we stopped and talked to the ranger. "We were thinking about going to the Racetrack," I said casually.

"Oh, you don't want to go in that car," the ranger told me immediately.

"It has really heavy duty tires," I pointed out. We had brought Rocket Boy's Ford Escape, which has huge thick tires.

The ranger took the time to actually look out the window at the car. "It does have high clearance," he admitted. "But you know, punctures are really a problem out there. The rocks on that road are chert, which is volcanic and very sharp."

"I'll talk to my husband about it," I told him, and we were off to the Racetrack.

First we had to drive the road to Scotty's Castle, which takes forever (about 45 miles), except that you turn off just before it and go to Ubehebe Crater instead. We got to the crater parking lot around 12:30 and decided to have lunch. I hadn't seen Ubehebe Crater before either and it's really something. Here are Rocket Boy and Baby B looking down into it.

 

We hiked around there a bit and then ate our nice picnic lunch. No picnic tables, but there's a ledge to sit on, which was an acceptable substitute. You can see our new picnic "basket" in the picture -- Rocket Boy got it from Blue Cross as a thank-you for attending one of their lunchtime wellness talks at the base.

So now it was 1:30 pm, time to drive to the Racetrack, which is 27 miles from Ubehebe Crater. Since we knew it was a bad road, we figured it would take us about an hour. Ha ha ha.

First you drive 20 miles to Teakettle Junction,

then 7 more miles to the Racetrack.On the Worst Road Ever. It took us just under 2 hours, which meant that we arrived at 3:30 -- yes, that's right, six and a half hours after leaving home. We did not get a flat tire, but we worried about it a lot. Each time we stopped, we checked all the tires, and we agreed that if we got a flat, after changing the tire we would turn around and drive straight back, no matter how far we'd gotten. It's not like there's anyone around to help you out if you get stuck. But we didn't get a flat. And we made it to the Racetrack.

Was it worth it? Yes and no. It's quite a sight, though not exactly what I was expecting. I did find a rock with a visible trail behind it (showing that it had mysteriously moved).

 

But what we also found was evidence that people have been doing what all the literature says you must NEVER do -- drive on the playa. That seemed sad. Maybe that's why the rangers try to keep people from visiting it.

The boys had fun climbing on the weird mass of rocks in the middle of the Racetrack, called the Grandstand. And Baby A and I walked way way out in the middle of the Racetrack, looking for rocks. And now I can say I was there.

And I suspect I will never go again. Because then we had to drive back. We only spent about 45 minutes at the Racetrack, leaving a little after 4 pm. We drove the bad road a little faster going out, but it was still slow. We stopped at Stovepipe Wells for a quick dinner, and then drove on toward home -- with just one little detour to Panamint Springs to buy fabulously expensive gas (almost $5.50/gallon) when we realized we didn't have enough to get to Ridgecrest (there's no gas in Trona right now). Got back to the house around 10:15 pm, the latest we've gotten home in just ages. It was an insane trip. But hey, I finally saw the Racetrack!

April Update

Where has the month gone? I just checked this blog and realized I'd only posted once in April. It's not as though we didn't do anything this month... gosh, there was Easter, and the Wildflower Festival, and we went to Los Angeles... I don't know! I can't explain it. Guess I just haven't felt like writing. Well anyway, here's a quick recap of this month before we move on to the next one.

The day before Easter we took a trip to the Desert Tortoise Natural Area, and actually SAW TORTOISES! First time ever (at least without the ranger's help). It was very hard to remember that they are wild and not to be touched! Here's one:

It was so dry and desolate there, though. Just nothing is blooming this year, because we didn't have rain in December/January. We've had several small rains in the last month or two, but it's too late.

 I can't post any Easter photos because this year the boos did what they do quite often these days -- they took their diapers off when they got up (yes they still wear diapers at night) and ran around in their pajama tops and nothing else. I finally got them to put on underpants, but every picture of them with their goodies is pretty much not ready for primetime. So instead I will post a photo from the park in Lone Pine, where we went Easter afternoon:

That really is a cool park -- wish we had something like that here. Of course, part of its appeal is that Lone Pine is in fact cool -- completely different climate from Ridgecrest.

So the next weekend was the Wildflower Festival, which was a bit lackluster, seeing as how there were no flowers. I did sit at booths for both the tortoise club and my writers club, and on Sunday we went to Short Canyon, where we were told there were flowers. Gosh, not many. One or two of each variety, in many cases. But it was something. Here's a photo of a coreopsis (I think):

I don't have a single photo of the boos from that trip, because they were soooo naughty that I didn't feel like recording their behavior. But here's one from around the same time. They're sitting on the back of the loveseat in their room, so you can see the view out their window. My cute, though impossible, boys:

The next weekend we went to Los Angeles for a birthday party for two of their cousins (actually first cousins once removed, but who's counting). Lots of fun. Here's a photo of the party, showing the racetrack cake and the tower of cupcakes:

And that pretty much sums up the month. We've had some very hot weather, learned that the air conditioner in the new house does work, so that's good, though we wish the swamp cooler did too. Boos have been playing with their water table, as they always do when it's hot. And tomorrow, if all goes well, we are planning to visit Death Valley -- because once it gets hot here, it's impossible there, and we feel that we haven't been there enough this year. Supposed to be 88 here tomorrow, 98 in Death Valley. We'll see. I'll blog about it if we do go, I promise. And I'll try to do better about posting in May...

Pie Bear lost and found

Last Saturday morning (NOT April Fool's Day, I should note, but the day before), the twins woke us up at some ungodly hour (OK, it might have been 7:30), and eventually we got up and everyone got dressed and had breakfast, and around about 8:30 am Rocket Boy said, "where's Pie?"

Pie Bear, you'll remember, is our big fat black cat, currently our only companion animal. He normally spends the last part of the night on our bed and wakes us up before the twins do, wanting his breakfast (so as to get even fatter). But that morning there was no sign of him.

Immediately RB and I were panic stricken. Pie Bear has a cat door to the garage and a hole in the garage wall leading to the front yard. He wanders in and out during the night, interacting with other cats and who knows what else. Anything could have happened to him. A car could have run him over. A coyote could have eaten him (though it would have to be a pretty ambitious coyote).

We looked under the bed and in the closet and on all the various chairs and sofas where he likes to sleep. No Pie Bear.

I put on my shoes and went out to see if his enormous black body was lying dead in the street. The twins went with me as we walked up and down the street. No Pie Bear, though we did find a garage sale.

When we got home again, Rocket Boy was in the backyard, where there is a locked gate leading to a sort of alley. He had taken the gate's hinges off and was exploring the alley. But no Pie Bear.

Rocket Boy was ready to take action. "I'm going to talk to the neighbors," he said.

"Wait," I said. "Let me make a flyer."

"OK, you do that, and I'll call the animal shelter." I hastily put together a Lost Cat flyer, while Rocket Boy phoned. However, it was only a little after 9 am and the shelter didn't open until 10. So, taking some flyers, he went out to tape them to things and talk to people.

"Be sure to ask the people having the garage sale," I told him.

"Why didn't you ask them?"

"I was shy."

Shaking his head, he grabbed his wallet and went out.

A while later he came back to drop off the items he'd purchased at the garage sale, to get more flyers, and to report on his progress. He'd met several neighbors to the east of us and given them copies of the flyer. No one had seen Pie Bear recently, in fact no one had EVER seen Pie Bear, but they promised to watch for him.

"Why don't you call the shelter again," I suggested. It was just after 10 am. So he called them and explained our plight. "Yes, a male cat, black with just one tiny white spot under his chin, about 20 pounds." The person at the shelter said they'd keep an eye out for him.

Rocket Boy went out to post more flyers and meet the neighbors to the west of us.

Finally he returned, having met and told at least eight of our neighbors. "I don't know what else I can do," he said in despair. "We shouldn't have moved to Ridgecrest. First Whiskers dies and now Pie. It's just not worth it!"

Just then, Pie Bear emerged from the guest room, yawning and stretching.

Screams, swearing. With great effort I picked Pie up and hugged him.

I took down the flyers and called the shelter, but I made Rocket Boy tell all the neighbors. At least now everyone knows us, though their opinion of us may not be very high.

On Monday, as it happened, Pie Bear had his yearly vet appointment. He now weighs 22 pounds.

My Painting House

When I was hoping to have children, one thing I looked forward to was imaginary friends. I can't remember ever having an imaginary friend of my own, but I thought it would be fun to observe my children having them. Sadly, Baby A and Baby B have shown no sign of having any make-believe buddies. However, they do have imaginary houses. These houses are known as painting houses.

When Baby B first started talking about his painting house, I thought he meant a house he had painted. And actually I think in the beginning maybe he did. Maybe he'd drawn a picture of a house at daycare, or on his Doodler (sort of like an etch-a-sketch) at home. I think it's significant that he started talking about this imaginary house around the time we were moving from one house to another. Baby A listened jealously and then declared that he too had a painting house. It's been a couple of months now, and the tales of the painting houses continue.

The painting houses are like our house, only better. "I have a toddler bed at my painting house," Baby B will tell me. "But it's blue."

"I have a GREEN toddler bed at my painting house," Baby A will say, not to be left out.

The painting houses also contain all the videos that the boos would like to own. "I have a video about Dora at my painting house," Baby B told me the other day.

"Oh, do you?" I said. I try not to argue with them about their painting houses, or ask too many questions, but it's hard. Once when Baby B was talking about sleeping over at his painting house, I asked whether he would sleep there all alone.

"No," he said calmly. "With my grandmother."

This seemed very sweet and sad, since boos do not have any grandmothers.

"I stay with my grandmother too," said Baby A.

"There's one for each of you," I agreed. One ghost grandmother apiece.

Sometimes I say I have a painting house too, but the boos think that's pretty ridiculous. It sounds nice to have a painting house, with everything you ever wanted inside. "At my painting house I have a cook and a housekeeper and eleven desert tortoises," I say.

"Huh," says Baby A, unimpressed.

Sometimes boos seem to get mixed up and think the painting houses are real. This week they were asking me to take them to their painting houses. "I don't know where they are," I said.

"Yes, you do," said Baby B, annoyed. Apparently I am in charge of everything, including their imaginations. Later, he mentioned that he lives at his painting house with his mom and dad.

"Oh," I said, "you mean your other mom and dad?"

"No," he said, as if I were an imbecile. "I only have ONE mom and dad."

"But I don't live at your painting house," I said. "I live here, at my house. It must be some other mom and dad at your painting house."

A look of terror and confusion crossed his face. Immediately I wished I hadn't introduced reality into the discussion. I'm being a bad mom, one who doesn't support her children's fantasy worlds. "Don't worry about it," I said. "I'm wherever you want me to be."

The conversation moved on to other topics, such as who got to hold whatever toy both of them wanted to hold at the exact same moment.

The next day we were making muffins. "I have a video about muffins at my painting house," said Baby B.

"That's nice," I said, and meant it.

Who do you love?

Having my sisters visit -- and then leave -- has reminded me once again of the puzzling contradiction that has been in my life since 1988, when I left northern California to go to graduate school in Michigan. I don't live close to the people I love the most.

OK, you're right, I live with my husband and children, and I love all three of them very much. But they aren't the only people I love. My former top favorite person in the entire world was my mother. She's gone now, but my two sisters are awfully high on the list. I dote on my little boys, but they're so difficult, so much work. Rocket Boy and I get along OK, but not as well as we did pre-twins. And after all, I've only known him for 12 years. Compare that to 51 years for one sister and 49 for the other.

Yet, since I don't live in the Bay Area, where my sisters live, I don't see either of them very often or for very long. When I was younger, I would stay with my mother for weeks at a time. Can't do that anymore, now that I'm a family of four. Most of the time I have to rent hotel rooms. I have to keep my husband and children entertained. I have to pay for a pet-sitter for Pie Bear.

The first summer we were in Ridgecrest, I did take the twins to the Bay Area for a month -- rented a condo and saw one or both of my sisters every day. But that was very expensive and rather a drain on everyone involved. The twins are no longer adorable babies, they're rowdy little boys, and I wouldn't inflict them on anyone for a month, even if I could afford to.

Fortunately there's email, and the phone.

When my sisters come to visit, or I visit them, I'm shocked by how little time we get to spend together. The twins demand so much of everyone's attention. When my sisters and I took the twins to the park on Saturday, Nancy and I couldn't even talk for five minutes without Baby A biting Baby B and causing a total meltdown.

How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives (Annie Dillard).

The people I spend my days with now are Rocket Boy and the twins -- especially the twins. I love you, I say to them, as we read stories or dig in the dirt. I know that for now, I'm probably the most important person in their lives.

Defining the middle of nowhere, or train cakes are HARD

The birthday weekend is drawing to a close -- the twins are now officially four years old -- and I am a wreck. Too much sugar, too much food in general, too much fretting, too much fun. We did have fun. Aunt Baba (Barbara) and Aunt Nonnie (Nancy) drove down from the Bay Area, arriving on Friday afternoon just in time to walk to daycare with me to pick up the twins. Boos were so amazed and delighted to see their aunts that they just lost it: covered their faces with their jackets, ran around in circles, refused to leave their daycare room and come home with us. They really love their aunts.

We went to John's Pizza for their birthday dinner, and for a change we ordered off the menu, just getting the buffet for the boos, who never eat anything anyway. The buffet is so awful, it was very special not to have to eat it, even though the wrap that I had instead was just average. We spent most of our time in the games room, spending $5 worth of tokens on skee-ball and the candy claw and the airplane you can ride on (if you're 4).

After the boos went to bed, we started putting together the train cake. That morning, the boos and I had baked two cake mixes (one chocolate, one lemon), in 6 loaf pans (two large, four small), and in the afternoon I had made a batch of buttercream frosting. Now came the moment (or rather the hours) of truth: assembly. I had some instructions and photos that I'd downloaded from the internet, and I'd even watched a Betty Crocker video. Unfortunately, I liked bits of one internet cake and bits of another and bits of still another, and I hadn't thought clearly about exactly how it would all work. Nor had I thought clearly about where I was going to PUT two train cakes. Nor had I made enough frosting. I had enough cake for each train to have several cars, but there really wasn't enough room on my largest cookie sheet for each train to have even two cars and a coal tender (though we squished them all on).

Fortunately, I had two willing helpers (my sisters). And I did not panic. I kept thinking: my only audience is two four-year-olds. They will not notice that the frosting has big gaps on it. They will not care that the engines are falling over. They will not care that it looks absolutely awful. And I was right, they didn't. Next morning, when they discovered the train cakes in the fridge, they were in awe.

When the aunts arrived on Saturday morning, we opened presents and then played with them. Nancy's stomp rocket launchers were great fun, and soon there were rockets in both front yard trees, as well as on the roof. Later we took a walk to the park, came home for lunch (mostly leftovers), and then it was time to go to Trona. What's a birthday weekend without a trip to Trona?

The trip to Trona was designed to accomplish two objectives: a nap for the twins and a viewing of the Trona Pinnacles for Nancy and Barbara. Baby A did take a nap (Baby B no), and we did see the Pinnacles. This was my third trip to the Pinnacles, and I guess I've gotten a bit blase about the bad road you have to drive on to get there, not to mention the otherworldliness of the whole scene.

Barbara and Nancy were horrified by the road, and I think mildly blown away by the whole experience. At one point, Barbara made some comment about this being the middle of nowhere. I said, "Oh come on, you can see Trona from here. It's not the middle of nowhere if you can see a town!" To which Barbara replied, "Trona is not a town." So then I came up with various reasons why Trona is too a town. But I can see how it's a debatable point. So OK, Baba, you're probably right: you were in the middle of nowhere.

Friday and Saturday were so busy, we just didn't have time to do the pinatas, so on Sunday morning, just before the aunts left, we finally did some whacking.

And now I must pack up ALL the leftover goodies -- and there are many many many of them -- and put them in Rocket Boy's car for him to take to work tomorrow morning. The twins don't even know most of them exist, so they won't miss them. Tomorrow we'll play with the stomp rocket launcher, make a puzzle, read a book, and have a nice morning together. In the afternoon I'll get a little peace and quiet. And on we go, into the beginning of their fifth year of life.

Living here now

Ridgecrest has been very Ridgecrestian the last few weeks -- in both good and bad ways.

The good: the night sky has been fabulous! Do you know that this month you can see, all at the same time, Mercury, Venus, Mars, and Jupiter? I've done it a few times now, just standing on the sidewalk out in front of our house. Supposedly you can also see Saturn, but not until later at night, and so far I haven't remembered to do that, plus by then Mercury wouldn't be visible.

The sky isn't as wonderful at our new house -- now, why is that? It's a narrower street, houses closer together. The night sky is still piercingly black with piercingly white stars, but you can't see as much of it, which makes me sad. Still, all those planets can be seen. Mercury to the west, Mars to the east, Venus and Jupiter above Mercury and somewhat to the south. Just fabulous.

The bad: The city is in terrible financial shape right now, something to do with the loss of RDA money (and don't ask me what that is, I don't understand it). Some residents took out an ad in the paper encouraging people to give money to the city, so it can continue to operate.

I thought maybe I wouldn't do that. It's not that I don't want the city to operate, it's that I completely, 100 percent, do not trust the city to spend my money wisely. And I'm not the sort of person who doesn't trust the government. I trust the federal and state governments to at least try to do the right thing. I trust the city of Boulder. I don't trust the city of Ridgecrest.

There have been the usual issues with local businesses. A while back we were in Denny's and I ordered a dish that had red-skinned potatoes in it. Waitress came back and told me they were out of red-skinned potatoes, so could I order something else? Can you imagine a Denny's running out of potatoes? It was odd. Then a couple of weeks ago I went to a local shop to have three posters laminated. Went to pick them up a few hours later and was given a rolled up cylinder with a rubber band around it. Should have opened it there to look at it, but didn't. Got it home to find that the laminated posters were all on one roll. What did they think, that I was going to put them on one really long wall? Rocket Boy had to take them to work to cut them apart with a paper cutter (scissors too messy).

Our landlord's handyman has been doing some little fixes on the house -- he's very good, but when he says he'll come right back, he never does, and we can usually only get him back by calling him 3 or 4 times. He was here today (after 2 weeks of calling him to remind him to come back) and fixed something. While he was here, he mentioned that he's trying to hire someone to help him with little fix-it stuff like this, but he's having trouble because most people in Ridgecrest who are interested in doing that sort of work have lost their drivers licenses for one reason or another.

Can you imagine living in Ridgecrest and not having a drivers license? You'd be stuck here forever. The mind boggles.

I've been freecycling again, and that's always irritating, but nothing new there. I've started asking my more reliable donatees if they want things, rather than post them on the boards and end up with some weirdo who says he's "coming right over" and then never shows up. Grrr. Anyway, I got rid of a ton of clothes that the kids have outgrown, two huge bags worth, and my old boppy pillow, so now we have room in their closet for new toys...

Then there's the wind, which I guess everyone in the west and southwest is getting right now. Out here, wind means DUST blowing up everywhere. This morning, the kids and I were watching from the front door for a freecycler to arrive. Then I saw the wind pick up a wave of dust from our "yard" and blow it in our direction, and I closed the door quickly.

The ugly: Two nights ago we were burglarized -- that is, our cars were. We don't usually lock our cars when we leave them on the driveway or in front of the house. At our old house there really wasn't any need. It turns out that at the new house, there is a need. We're just down the road from a mobile home park, and I suppose that's the problem. Anyway, they got into both my car and Rocket Boy's, left the doors open (fortunately didn't drain the batteries), and opened all the compartments in the front seat, tossing stuff around. I can't see that they took anything from my car (nothing to take!), but Rocket Boy lost some CDs and more importantly the garage door opener. We have another one, so he had to reprogram the garage door and the other opener (and my car, which has a built-in opener) so that the burglar couldn't come back and break into the house via the garage door. Very annoying. And now we have to lock our car doors, in fact I should go do that now. I suppose next they'll break the car windows (to steal the rest of Rocket Boy's CDs, plus the other garage door opener). Might as well be in Los Angeles.