Amazon Adventure: Day 3 - On Top of the World

Today is the day LJ has been waiting for -- we're heading to the canopy zip line.

Given that it was named by Fox News as one of the Top 15 Craziest Zip Lines in the World, I have some pretty high expectations. (No pun intended).

We load into canoes and begin the 20 minute trek through the dense rainforest that lies behind the Tahuayo Lodge. 

We are visiting right at the end of the Amazon's wet season. As the dry season begins, the water level of the river will drop rapidly -- so much so that Cesar tells us that in just a few days, the water we are now canoeing in will be replaced by mud.

*******

The zip line platforms tower over us. In fact, I can barely see the top, which is more than 100 feet in the air.

LJ on his way up to the canopy zip line platform

Using their bare hands, our guides work a pulley system to hoist us, one by one, above the rainforest. It's exhausting work for them, I am sure. There are nine of us in the group and three guides take turns with the pulley.

Once atop the platform, the view is incredible. It gives me an entirely different perspective of the canopy, its birds, and yes, its flying, buzzing insects. 

LJ wants to be the first across the zip line -- and nobody stops him. I'm content to be the last one through the course. I figure that if the other eight group members make it across without the line snapping, chances are pretty good that I'll make it too.

It's my turn now, and our guide, Samuel, urges me, Vamos!

But I'm frozen. Even though I've been zip lining before, I'm mentally stuck.

The view from the top

This course is so high, so remote, I just can't will myself to move.

I take a few deep breaths and remind myself what Cesar told us when we first arrived at the zip line. Each year, engineers are brought here from the U.S. to check the safety of the course. Because the trees (which serve as the anchors for the zip lines), are under water for about half the year, they must be checked with regularity.

I survey my options and figure I don't have much of a choice. After all, I'm 100 feet in the air and attached to a rope, a harness, a steel wire, and a couple of carabiners. 

I don't really see any other way out.

I take a deep breath and decide to go for it.

Besides, if I chicken out now, LJ and Julianna will never let me live it down.

There's no turning back now

Amazon Adventure: Day 2 - Termites, Poison Frogs, and Bats

On the Rio Blanco, en route to Terra Firma 

Today, it gets real.

Today, we're going hiking in the Amazon jungle.

We each are issued a pair of rubber boots so as not to introduce foreign microbes into the jungle with our own shoes. We also are told to wear long pants, long sleeves, bug spray, sunscreen, and hats.

I have a bit of an allergy to mosquitoes, so I'm not taking any chances. By the time I am dressed -- in the 90 degree heat and 95% humidity -- I feel like I am sporting full body armor. And I look ridiculous ... sort of like a cross between Panama Jack and Martha Stewart in her gardening clothes.

We head out in the motor boats for Terra Firma or "dry ground." This elevated area is one of the few places that does not succumb to the rising waters during the Amazon's wet season.

Soon, we veer off of the Tahuayo River and onto Rio Blanco or "White River."

The White River gets its name from the color of the water within its banks. It's really just a muddy, brown color -- nothing close to white. But where the Tahuayo meets Rio Blanco, you can actually see the water change from nearly black to light brown.

It's not that either river is dirty -- far from it -- there is no visible litter in or along the rivers. The dark water colors come from the sediment in the river and the decomposition of the jungle's plants.

After about an hour on Rio Blanco, we unload into a clearing and split into two groups for our jungle hike.

LJ at the foot of the Terra Firma trail

This time our guide is Cesar (pronounced Say-czar). Through his thick Peruvian accent, Cesar tells us he's been a jungle guide for nearly a dozen years.

I calculate that if Cesar's been in the jungle a dozen years and he's still alive and well, then I should feel pretty good about my chances of coming out on the other side.

As long as I don't lose sight of him. 

Also guiding us is Celeste (pronounced Suh-lest-eh). I learn that the word Celeste, in Spanish is a color -- essentially what we would call "sky blue" in English. She's only been on the job about 9 months, and appears to be in her late teens or early 20s.

I try to remember what I was doing when I was 20 years old. I'm pretty sure it involved a fake ID and some poor decisions. But I'm also fairly certain it didn't involve machetes, anacondas, and tarantulas.

*******

The humidity in the jungle is oppressive. The air is so thick it feels like a weight bearing down on my upper body. For a moment I wonder if I can possibly survive hiking like this for three hours.

But as I begin to focus on my surroundings and not just my sweat-soaked clothing, I am enthralled by what I see.

I have been on jungle hikes before -- both in St. Lucia and Belize -- but there really is no comparison.

The richness of biodiversity is evident from the moment we step onto the trail. Cesar points out a variety of native trees, including those used for medicinal purposes like the iodine tree, as well as those used for household purposes like the rubber tree.

WHACK! 

Cesar strikes the trunk of the rubber tree with his machete, and a white, milky-looking sap begins to ooze. Cesar places a bit in my hand, and after rubbing my palms together for just a moment, a rubber band appears where the sap once was.

Next, Cesar stops our group at a huge dirt ball that clings to the trunk of a tree.

WHACK!

Bug spray for the brave, aka termites

Suddenly, hundreds of small, red termites swarm from the mound. Cesar summons Jack to the tree and tells him to place his hands over the termites.

This is definitely one time where I'm happy not to be picked first.

Cesar instructs Jack to smash the termites in his hands to make a paste, and then spread it on his arms and neck.Why? Because termite mush makes an excellent homemade bug repellant.

And we Americans think termites are just wood-eating, house-destroying nuisances.

*******

The elusive poison dart frog

One reason we came to hike at Terra Firma is to find poison dart frogs. They are supposed to be plentiful in this part of the jungle, but this has to be a hundred times worse than finding the proverbial needle in a haystack.

While brightly-colored (yellow, red, blue, etc.), poison dart frogs are no more than about a 1/2-inch long. So after a lot of searching and even more sweating, I am beginning to feel like this is a hopeless quest.

And then, Colby, one of the boys in our group, spots it.

How, I have no idea. The teeny tiny yellow and black frog was clinging to a tree, camouflaged by leaves. Carefully, Cesar catches the frog by scooping it up with a leaf.

But now, the frog is hopping up Cesar's arm -- and he's NOT in long sleeves. And now it's moved to the nape of Cesar's neck.

And he's cringing.

And you can tell he wants that frog off of his neck -- NOW.

Cesar with the dart frog on his shoulder -- before it lands on his neck

This is because Cesar knows that the poison dart frog -- depending upon the species -- could be carrying a very toxic substance on its back.

One of our group members is able to shoo the frog off of Cesar's neck and back to the jungle floor.

Crisis averted.

Cesar laughs and seems very relieved. He'll live another day -- maybe even see year number 13 as a jungle guide.

I ask Celeste whether she's ever touched a poison dart frog before.

Yes, she tells me. Once she got some of the poison on her hands, and after touching her mouth, could not feel her lips for four agonizingly long hours.

Crisis averted. Truly.

*******

My little super hero braves the "Bat Cave"

Eventually, we approach an enormous, rotting, hollowed-out tree that is sprawled across the jungle floor.

Along with two of the older boys in our group, Julianna -- without hesitation -- crawls inside.

No big deal, right?

Except that this tree is home to a colony of BATS.

Fruit bats, fisher bats, long-nose bats, and even vampire bats. Dozens upon dozens of them hang from the top of the tree's inside.

A closer look at a group of long-nose bats

Despite wading through ankle-deep puddles of bat guano, Julianna emerges no worse for wear.

But I cannot believe what I just saw.

Is this really the same 11-year-old girly girl who's afraid of houseflies?

Amazon Adventure: Day 1 - The Arrival

View of the Amazon River as we land in Iquitos

My high school Spanish is failing me other than simple words like "nombre" and "pais" -- I'm having a very difficult time deciphering the declaration ticket for Peru. Between the four of us - and with a little guesswork - we piece enough together that I feel comfortable that I won't be detained by the Peruvian immigration authorities. At least I think I won't ...

*******

Long, long customs wait

After an hour-long wait at customs in the Iquitos airport (there was just ONE official working and he was painstakingly thorough), we board the bus and head for our boat to the jungle. The bus ride is both fascinating and sobering. Iquitos, which is the fifth largest city in Peru, is not what I expected. 

I expected a more modern city, but instead, the population of 400,000 seems to be very impoverished. Stray dogs roam the street, many citizens wander barefooted, and the majority of the homes look uninhabitable by American standards.

The kids' reaction? SILENCE. Until now, there were lots of questions, excited chatter, and a few complaints in the customs line. 

Now? Nothing.

For Julianna, who is outside the U.S. for the first time, and for LJ, who probably doesn't remember much about his only other trip abroad, I am pretty sure they are in shock. 

Iquitos sure is a hell of a lot different than the "bubble" they've known in North Carolina and Florida.

Julianna says she was expecting a city with skyscrapers. LJ says he thought the city would be in "better shape."

Iquitos homes

That aside, LJ does manage to find silver lining.

"Mom, there is something WAY better here ... the stoplights actually have a countdown so you know when they'll turn green."

Hmmm ... we could be in for a long week.

No doubt this is a kid who loves to know exactly what is coming next. 

But I'm thinking the only thing he may be able to count during this adventure is that there will surely be surprises at every turn.

Iquitos is the largest city in the world with no road access. You can only get there by boat or air.

Going off the Grid

Two days from now, I'm going to do exactly what each and every mother of a young child has dreamed of doing at least once.

I'm going off the grid.

It's true.

I'm turning off the cell phone and leaving my laptop behind. If you need to reach me, forget about it. I'm as good as gone.

For seven nights and eight days there will be no email, meetings, conference calls, deadlines, laundry folding, dish washing, lunch packing, grocery shopping, homework correcting, checking for monsters under the bed, or picking up dog poo in the back yard.

I need a break. And I'm getting one.

But I'm not opting for the white, sandy beaches of the Caribbean, or the secluded mountains of the Rockies. In fact, I'm not even heading for the Hampton Inn right up the road.

Moms, I know you're with me when I say that some days, a room alone at the Hampton Inn would be a freaking 5-star vacation.

Instead, I'm going to the Amazon jungle.

To stay in a hut.

With no air conditioning.

With no roads in or out.

With the kids.

And I can't wait.

I've never experienced anything close to this type of adventure, and as I begin my 40th year, I'm at the top of the proverbial hill looking down. It's exactly the perspective I need. I'm hoping to push both my mental and physical limits in a way I haven't done since, well, ever.

As for the kids?

They will be so far out of their iPod element that they won't know what hit them. And what could be better than that?

This will be a week with nothing but family time, new experiences, and immense challenges.

I'm sure we'll have many stories, photos, and memories to share when we return from Peru. But all in due time.

For eight days and seven nights, as they say in the jungle ...

Hasta luego y no trates de encontrarme.



For more info on where we're headed, visit www.perujungle.com. 

You Must Be THIS Tall

Life is measured in milestones. First words … beginning steps … birthdays … graduations. And while I certainly use the same technique to measure my own children’s growth and development, I also use a different system. I call it The Tweetsie Method.

As we walked along Main Street during our most recent visit to Tweetsie Railroad, I wondered if my son, LJ, now 10, and my daughter, Julianna, 8, would still find the same magic they had on previous trips.

The kids made a beeline for the Turnpike Cruisers, and LJ confidently marched up to the You Must Be This Tall to drive alone sign. Last year, he came within an inch or two of clearing the mark, and this time it wasn’t even close. He stood proud and beaming as the ride attendant waved him through to his own shiny green car.

I, on the other hand, had a flashback. I saw the 3-year-old toddler who sat wide-eyed as I bumped around the track. I pictured the 5-year-old Kindergartner who gripped my hands in his as I steered the path. And I envisioned the 7-year-old little boy who jerked into the safety wall as he managed the steering wheel and I controlled the pedals.

And then I watched. I marveled as this young man – my son – maneuvered easily around the turnpike, focused intently on the path ahead, never once looking behind.

It wasn’t a first word, a birthday, or a major life event. But to me, this was a milestone. A Tweetsie Milestone.

And there have been many. Staying awake long enough to watch Tweetsie’s Fourth of July fireworks from the car rooftop; moving up from the kiddie rides on Miner’s Mountain to the big kid rides at the Country Fair; LJ and Julianna getting up the nerve to enter the Black Hole at the Ghost Train Halloween Festival; and me getting up the nerve to let them ride the chair lift by themselves for the first time – that was a big one.

I remember visiting Tweetsie when I was a child, and now, it’s become an annual tradition for my own family. The beauty of the park is that, although it remains frozen in time with the steam engine, arcade games, and good old-fashioned Southern hospitality, there’s room for children to grow and discover new adventures each and every visit.

I can only hope LJ and Julianna continue the tradition when they are parents someday. What a Tweetsie Milestone that would be.

Note: I wrote this post specifically -- and happily -- for the Tweetsie Railroad blog.

Life is a Highway

It was an out of body experience. Or maybe it was in slow motion. Or it could have just been that time seemed to stand still.

Apply any cliche you want to, but it was certainly not your ordinary rest stop.

On our way back from the Woolly Worm Festival in Banner Elk last weekend, we had to pull off of I-40 near Winston-Salem. Some luggage in the back of our SUV had slipped and was crowding Julianna, so we exited the interstate and edged onto the right side of the shoulder about 50 yards from the highway.

Jack opened the tailgate and, just a few moments later, I heard him scream, "Indy, NO!"

Indy must have mistaken "NO" for "GO" because I jumped out of the car just in time to see him shoot straight down the exit ramp like a 100-lb black, furry bat out of hell.

With Indy hurtling at full speed toward his certain demise, a car headed up our exit ramp. Jack waved his arms frantically and the car slowed to a stop, but Indy was not to be denied his date with destiny. Making a sharp right, Indy headed off the exit ramp and across the median directly for the highway.

There was really nothing Jack and I could do but stand helplessly and call his name. This was puppy play, and the "come" command was falling on deaf ears as he bounded closer and closer to I-40.

But he's just a puppy, you say? Surely you could have caught him, you say? How fast can an oversized 8-month old bear be, you say?

Now I do realize that Newfs are not known for their grace or their speed. But for those who believe that giant breed dogs can't move fast, I offer you Indy.

No, really, I offer you Indy. He's already house-trained and I'll even throw in a bag of dog food for free.

My mom calls Indy the fastest dog she's ever seen. Of course, that assessment is based on the time he tore away from her grip to run down a motorcycle in our neighborhood.

Indy may not actually be THE fastest dog ever, but he was certainly fleet-footed enough to escape our middle-aged, out-of-shape efforts. So, clinging to hope alone (and with Newfie fur and slobber clinging to me), I yelled:

"OVER HERE, INDY!"

He immediately stopped, turned and started racing back toward me.

Knowing that I only had one shot to wrangle this steer, I crouched into sumo position and decided I was going for it.

This was my goal line stand. My now or never. My one shining moment.

This was my chance to tackle the Newf.

What came next is a bit of a blur.

There was a collision, a cloud of gravel dust, and a splatter of drool flying through the air.

Then Jack swooped in to latch leash to collar. The near nightmare was over and the lone casualty was a small cut on my knee.

I can only imagine what this whole episode looked like to those watching from their cars. And I do wonder if any 911 calls were placed from drivers on I-40 who reported seeing a miniature black bear attacking a woman on the side of the road.

As we walked an out-of-breath Indy back to our SUV, the driver of the first car that had stopped to avoid hitting him on the exit ramp gave us the "thumbs up" sign and then continued on.

But the next car in line stopped and the driver rolled down her window.

"Everyone okay?" she asked, as she peered from under her sunglasses.

I nodded, smiled, and said, "Yes, thanks."

She just shook her head, pushed her sunglasses back into place, rolled up the window and drove away muttering one four-letter word ...

"Newf."

Independence Day

I didn't hear my phone ring, nor did I hear the buzz of the text message. But when I realized there were two messages from home awaiting me, I knew it couldn't be good news ... and it wasn't.

LJ's consolation prize

Hoppy II, the replacement for LJ's African dwarf frog that died two weeks ago at the paws of Indy, had also, well ... croaked.

The text message also said that LJ wanted to talk to me, so even though it was well past his bedtime, I left my co-workers at the dinner table to call home.

After few words of reassurance and a promise to bring home something special from my business trip, LJ was fine.

Nearly 1,000 miles away from home, and I couldn't be there to hug LJ, wipe his tears, or tell him there would be many more amphibians in his future. It made me feel sad -- even a bit guilty -- that I couldn't be there to console him when he needed me most.

But, there was another twinge ... some other feeling lurking beneath the surface. It sounds callous, I know, but I felt just the slightest pang of happiness. Not that the frog died, of course. But it felt good that I was needed. LJ needed me to call home. He needed to talk to me.

Fast forward a few days and I was in my bathroom at home helping Julianna get ready for the day.

As I started to brush some tangles out of her hair, she immediately grabbed the brush and admonished me.


"No, I don't need any help with that. I am trying to be INDEPENDENT!"

If my coffee hadn't already kicked in that morning, then the tongue-lashing from my 7-year-old little girl did the trick.

There's nothing like a daughter's verbal rebuff to remind you who is really the queen of the castle. And it stung.

Seriously? Independent?

Is this the same girl who insists someone always be upstairs with her because skeletons might jump out of the closet? Is this the same girl who thinks it's impossible to spread the peanut butter on her own crackers? Is this the same girl who sleeps ensconced in a hot pink Snuggie and a pile of stuffed animals?

Yes, this girl is one and the same.

UFC

This girl -- my "baby" -- doesn't need me like she used to ... doesn't want me to do her hair ... calls me "Mom" instead of "Mommy" ... is embarrassed to hold my hand in public ... thinks Barbie dolls are too babyish ... reads the OpEd section in the Wall Street Journal each and every day ... just informed me of her new naval piercing ... and only likes watching television if Ultimate Fighting Championship matches are on.

Okay, so not ALL of those are true.

But even though it hurt for a moment, there was also another twinge ... some other feeling lurking beneath the surface. It was happiness. Or maybe pride. It was hard to quantify but most definitely there.

It was the realization that THIS was the moment that all parents strive for. We want our children to grow up to be well-adjusted, independent and self-sufficient. It starts when we wean them from a bottle to a sippy cup, and it ends when we hand them the keys to their college dorm room and remind them to call home ... every once in a while.

How paradoxical it is - the contrast between LJ and Julianna - the yin and the yang - the dead frog and the hairbrush. As parents, we want our children to take flight ... and yet, we don't want to let go.

I always swore to myself that I wouldn't be one of those ... one of those helicopter parents. The ones who need to be needed so badly that they stand smack dab in the way of their child and his or her independence.

But here I am, hovering perilously on the edge of the helipad ... just waiting to take off ... yearning to swoop in for that phone call, that hug, that need.

I know I'm not alone in this. If I look over my shoulder I'm sure to see a line a mile long of moms and dads who aren't sure which way to go. NEED vs. INDEPENDENCE.

Deciding which path to follow -- and striking the right balance -- is a daunting challenge. And it's one that all parents can empathize with -- no matter how young or old their child.

There's no right or wrong, open or shut, black or white. It's a monumental battle and it's one I may not be truly ready to face.

Now that I really think about it, you better save me a paper bag on that helicopter ... because it's gonna' be a bumpy ride.

Back in the Saddle ... Courtesy a Dead Sea Animal

It's been a month since I last blogged, but it's not for lack of material. I've just been lazy about getting it all down on paper (or on screen as the case may be).

But since it's spring break, I have a little extra free time ... so I'm attempting to get back in the saddle.

We just returned from a few days at Myrtle Beach. Not surprisingly, spending so many hours with the kids wielded a bevy of memorable moments.

Yesterday, Julianna insisted on a last visit to the beach to search for seashells. And as I walked with her toward the water, a small sea urchin washed up with the tide.

The urchin (or "sea urgent" as she calls it) was dead, and with LJ's empty bucket, Jack scooped it up and rinsed it off so we could take a closer look.

I would have been happy to launch it back into the sea, but Julianna had grander plans. She immediately bonded with the urgent, named it "Spikey" and carried it back to the hotel room.

Once there, she lined her bucket with tissues and gently placed Spikey in his new bed. Then, she surrounded Spikey with three of her favorite shells ... to keep him company.

Julianna requested (and was denied) permission to take Spikey out to dinner with us, but this morning, she was more committed than ever to her new buddy.

After being reminded that Spikey was now in urchin/urgent heaven, Julianna told me that "dead things have feelings too ... Spikey is my friend and I just want to treat him the way I would want to be treated."

Apparently, the golden rule includes making "Spikey and me" signs for everyone in the family and then forcing us to take pictures with the rotting ball of thorns. (LJ refused to pose).

Spikey made the trip back to Raleigh with us and now has a permanent home in a Tupperware container. Julianna has placed the container on display on the console table in our foyer so that "everyone can see him as soon as they come into our house."

She also plans on bringing Spikey to show and tell at school as soon as possible.

Spikey would not have been my first choice for a spring break souvenir. But at least I didn't give in and get her one of those t-shirts ... the one that says:

My mom went to Myrtle Beach and all she got me was this lousy dead urchin.

A Religious Experience

Last weekend, we traveled to Atlanta for my cousin Micah's Bar Mitzvah. Although I am Jewish, this was the kids' first visit to a synagogue. Since it was our family's first time attending a Jewish service together, it was truly a religious experience for us all.

Shortly after I turned 13, I was also a Bat Mitzvah, and I have fond memories of the entire experience -- from the service itself to the endless stream of parties that followed.

But, of course, that was 20+ years ago. This is now, and everything (including a Bar Mitzvah service), must be considered from the perspective of a mom ... who has two human pogo sticks ... who believe it is sheer torture to remain in one place ... for more than 30 seconds at a time.

I decided to mentally prepare LJ and Julianna for sitting through the two-hour service by briefly explaining to them what a Bar Mitzvah is.

Then, I told the kids they would need to wear "nice" clothes to temple. (For LJ, wearing a collared shirt is torture akin to sitting still). I also told Julianna she would need to wear a dress.

"Great," she said. "I will wear my fanciest dress!"

"Which one is your fanciest dress?" I asked.

"My green one ... my Christmas dress!"

I sat silent as I considered what to say next.

Fortunately, LJ took care of that for me.

"Christmas is a Christian holiday, Julianna ... you can't wear that dress to temple."

Excellent, I thought ... he GETS it!

"Temple is Jewish," said LJ. "You have to wear your Chanukah dress there."

Then again, maybe not.

On Saturday morning, we headed to the Bar Mitzvah. And I should note that during the 15-minute drive to the temple, LJ must have asked us at least four times, "Are we going to the ancient temple?"

Once we arrived at the modern-day Temple Sinai -- in our fancy dresses and collared shirts -- we lingered in the lobby as we waited for my parents to arrive. LJ picked up a program for the service and started glancing through it. Julianna, ever the social butterfly, immediately approached an usher who stood by the entrance to the synagogue.

"Hi," she told him. "I don't really know if I'm Christian or Jewish."

Oy ve!

I mumbled something about me being Jewish and her father being Christian, but I doubt the usher heard me because he had to be laughing out loud on the inside.

"That's okay," he said to Julianna. "Are you happy?"

"Yes, I'm happy," she said.

"Well, that's all that matters. As long as you are happy, it doesn't matter."

Excellent advice for Julianna, to be sure.

Embarrassing for me nonetheless.

The kids were very well behaved during the Bar Mitzvah service. Micah did a wonderful job, and I think the children learned a few things about their mom's ancestry.

That night, we all attended an amazing party at Turner Field with great food, a terrific DJ, and much to LJ's delight, an open bar (He is not usually allowed to have soda, so the unlimited refills were a special treat).

During our road trip back to Raleigh, I asked the kids what they most enjoyed most about the Bar Mitzvah weekend.

"The scrolls," Julianna said, referring to the Torah. "I liked the scrolls."

LJ, on the other hand, was still relishing his sugar rush from Turner Field.

"The drinks at the party," he said.

"How many Sprites did you have anyway?" I asked him.

"Actually I had Shirley Temples -- four of them," he responded.

"Wow -- then I guess you had your fill, didn't you?" I said.

"Yes, Mom, I did," he said.

"Surely," he smirked, "I had enough temples."

Goin' to Tweetsie Railroad in My Mind

If you've ever been to Tweetsie Railroad in Blowing Rock, then you get it when I say that it is truly a slice of life. The Wild West theme park attracts an incredible cross-section of people from all walks ... and they converge en masse in the High Country of Western North Carolina looking for some good old-fashioned fun.

We first took our kids to Tweetsie in the summer of 2004, and we have made countless visits in the years since. In fact, for the last three years, we have been loud and proud card-carrying members of the "Golden Rail Season Pass" club.

Tweetsie has been around since long before I was born, and some of my first memories are from when I was about 4 years old, being terrorized on the three-mile train ride through the woods. Back then, after the train would make an "unscheduled stop" in the middle of the forest, actors wielding hatchets and donning war paint would race through the train cars threatening the passengers.

It's not nearly as frightening these days. The cowboys and Indians skip through the train cars without whooping and hollering. In fact, during a visit last summer, one of the "bad guy" Indians even stopped mid-show to console Julianna when he noticed she looked scared.

They might as well hold hands and sing Kum Ba Yah.

And while I love every minute of our trips to Tweetsie, the train rides, shows, and kiddie attractions ooze such cheese that it's enough to nauseate even Mortimer J. Mouse on Miner's Mountain (again, if you've been there, you get it).

Earlier this week I was thinking about our trips to Tweetsie because of LJ's bout with the flu. Strange connection I know ... but when LJ was 5 years old, he started running a fever on a trip to Blowing Rock. We went to Tweetsie anyway because he didn't have any other symptoms. But by that night, he was in terrible shape. Two days later, he was diagnosed with pneumonia. That may be the only time I've seen him sicker than this past week.

Remembering that trip prompted me to pore through our photos. And in looking at our Tweetsie album, I noticed that you could make a pictorial time line of our family using just those photos. Our kids really grow up in the Tweetsie pictures ... summer after summer ... from wispy-headed, bandanna-wearing babies to independent, gun-toting kids. (No worries, they're cap guns. And Julianna's is pink).

So while I sometimes like to poke fun at the whole "Tweetsie experience," I wouldn't trade it for the world. As a family, we have enjoyed a lot of really wonderful times there ... and the photos that document our visits are just the icing on that slice of life cake.

Home Alone

I returned home from Denver last night after being there for the CASE/NAIS Conference. Without any assistance from the outside, Jack took care of the kids from Saturday morning until Wednesday morning, and as we like to say in our family ... "no bones are broken and nobody's bleeding" so everything appears to be okay.

Actually, I give Jack a lot of credit. He works 30 miles north of Raleigh, so he had two extra hours of driving each day since he had to take the kids to school. Not easy, and I do appreciate that I didn't have to even worry for a minute while I was gone.

I admit that I left him a long checklist of "Mr. Mom" duties ... complete with items like "pack lunch" and "review spelling words." But I also know that, list or not, the three of them (and even Viking), would have fared just fine.

But as my plane took off from RDU airport, I was trying to figure out why I had any nerves at all about leaving the kids for five days. Nothing bad has ever happened when I've left the kids with Jack or anyone else ... so why couldn't I just relax?

And then it hit me ...

In 2004, when LJ was 3 1/2 and Julianna was 18 months old, we moved into an apartment while our new home in Raleigh was being built. We were only in temporary housing for seven weeks, but with two little ones and crazy dog in cramped quarters, I quickly went stir-crazy.

So, every night, as soon as Jack got home from work, I would take Viking for a walk around the apartment complex. I needed any reason at all to get out for just five minutes, and exercising Viking was a perfect excuse.

One weeknight, as usual, I took Viking for a walk and left the kids playing with Jack watching them. I was gone for no more than 10 minutes. When I returned, this is what I saw:

• LJ had somehow moved Julianna's booster seat from the dining room table to the floor of the den.

• Julianna was now strapped into the booster seat.

• LJ was pointing a full spray bottle of Lysol kitchen cleaner directly at Julianna's face. He was locked and loaded.
  

• Jack was sitting on the sofa, about 10 feet away, reading the newspaper.

I look back at this now and laugh -- hysterically. All parents have had those "zone out" moments and our kids come through them just fine.

I vividly remember a "zone out" of my own just a few months after the Lysol incident. We had just moved into the new house, which had a two-story foyer with an open staircase. I was on the phone and happened to walk into the den ... where I found Julianna halfway up the staircase, clinging to the outer railings.

And there was also the time I found her, at about 10 months old, standing on the dining room table playing with the chandelier.

Or the time we couldn't find two-year-old LJ anywhere ... only to discover he had locked himself in our car in the garage.

We've all been there, and no matter how much we love our children and worry about them -- those "moments" are bound to happen. Sometimes all we can do is lock up the Lysol and hope for the best.

Oh, and fold up the treadmill too ... but that's a story for another day.





Snow on the Blue Bear in Denver