Getaway

Trevor and I left yesterday morning (was it only yesterday?) as early as we dared for Mackinac Island. My sister and brother-in-law came to be with the girls, as we had a mini vacation with lots of kid-free plans.

We swapped lives for the night, which was agreeable to all, for the most part (I'll get to that later). Trevor and I arrived on the island and, after checking into our hotel (quaint and lovely with a four-poster canopied bed and a view of the bridge), took off for an afternoon of biking. He being a trail rider and my being a road rider, we compromised and first flew around the island, dodging tourists and horse poop. We then rode up into the middle of the island, up, up, up to the very top and around to the various sights. Since the island had recently seen rain, we rode on streets and trails that were horse poop soup, and, I regret to write, were covered in the sludge from the tops of our heads ("Your hair looks like leopard print!") to our toes. We had a small lunch, drinks, coffee, showers and went to a fantastic 5:30 church service that was fun, fast and whole. Every parish should follow suit. It was one of our favorite parts of our trip.

We had a great dinner and drinks, a SANDERS CREAM PUFF (Sanders is new on the island this year, and truly, as we were walking down the street I was saying to Trevor, "I was talking to my second-cousin yesterday on Facebook about Sanders and how it's sad that I'll probably never have another cream puff," and he said, "Hey look, there's a Sanders.") and then sat in our rocking chairs outside our hotel and had a beer. Then, we went to bed. Kind of lame, but hey, we got 10 hours of sleep and when was the last time that happened? Four years ago?

In the morning we had a great breakfast, tons of coffee and decided to go for a walk before we hit the bikes again. We started talking and took a few trails that were more "interesting" than "practical," and ended up on a nearly 3-hour walk, after which the ice cream and fudge we then ate were completely justified. We parked ourselves in a booth in Horns Bar, drank beer and played cards for an hour before ordering lunch. We left the island a little wistfully, relatively buzzed from both sugar and beer, and completely tired. We were also looking forward to getting our arms around our girls, because in truth we really did miss them.

They were elated and naughty when they saw us, and pleased with the Elmo tees we brought not because they needed a Mackinac souvenir (we live close enough that going there doesn't require gifts every time), but because we thought they'd really dig the fashion and we were right.

Andrea and Nick were... ready for us to be home, I think. While they love our children nearly as much as we do, they were surprised at how long the days pass while entertaining two under four. I admit that in hearing that I was a tiny bit pleased to know it's not just me who watches the clock each day, and also a tiny bit nervous that they'd assume caring for our kids might be a reflection on wanting kids of their own. "It's different when they're you're own!" we told them. They agreed, but I remember when Trevor and I watched a neighbor's children overnight before we had our own, and we may have put having kids off a bit longer than we had originally planned afterward.

We're already planning our anniversary trip. It was great to get away for the night, bike and walk and eat and drink without sharing, stopping, waiting, bargaining or consoling, and we feel refreshed to get on with it all tomorrow. The girls had a wonderful time painting, swinging, dancing, dressing up, making Jell-o and climbing up Uncle Nick's body like a tower. A vacation for all (maybe not Nick) and a fun week to look forward to. We are a lucky lot.

No, Dessert Before Dinner Is Totally Fine

My sister is visiting this weekend -- a highly anticipated gathering, and not just by me. She is for whom Berit's sun rises and sets, and Marta, though less familiar with Andrea, has quickly decided she's also her Best Person In The World. 

There's been a whole lot of rolling, spinning, running, pretend play, art projects, dress-up, tea parties and general pulling around the house for showing off of precious treasures.

Yesterday I spent three hours in Boyne City, shopping, lunching and visiting without my kids in tow. While I love spending time with my girls more than, truly, anything, there's nothing like saying, "Just pop into a coffee shop for a quick sandwich? Yes, I totally have time." (And listening to an audiobook the whole afternoon instead of Raffi and The Wiggles isn't so bad, either.)

Trevor went to Traverse City to look for my birthday present, and bought a new video camera (which is not my birthday present, but which is equally appreciated), and nearly brought home a thousand-dollar handgun, so elated was he by his afternoon to himself that he was clearly over-romaticizing major purchases.

While taking the girls for a walk yesterday afternoon, Berit, dressed in a unicorn costume, fell asleep in the stroller. She's never been one for naps, taking her last regular nap sometime around 18 months old. Every so often she falls asleep in the car and takes a long, restorative nap, but we rarely encourage it because she then stays up until 10 or 11 p.m. 

Anyway, she fell asleep somewhere around 4:30 or 5 p.m. and slept hard until nearly 8 p.m. -- after her normal bedtime, even. When she does this Trevor usually takes her somewhere active, like the pool, mini golfing or bowling, and out to dinner. Andrea jumped at the chance to spend some one-on-one time with Berit, and took her to mini golf and Big Boy for dinner. Berit loves Big Boy. For some reason I think she's going to get a kick out of this when she's older. 

So, Andrea being Aunt Andrea, she let Berit have a chocolate/strawberry milkshake before dinner (which was pancakes and french fries). Everything was fine when Berit came home at 11 p.m., except Trevor and I were falling asleep in our slippers waiting for them to come home. She played even more, took an extremely reluctant bath, and then absolutely refused to go to bed. She was obviously over-tired, but with Aunt Andrea and the fun of the evening, we had thought maybe we'd let her get a kick out of the circumstances and stay up. Clearly we had forgotten that SHE'S THREE and GOOD PARENTS DON'T THREE-YEAR-OLDS STAY UP UNTIL MIDNIGHT.

She began having those overly tired fits, needing milk but not THAT cup or THAT milk because it was first too cold then too hot, then not "just right." This led into a fit of rage that had me doing my most extreme discipline technique, which really isn't a technique and not technically discipline (to me; I'm sure her therapist will have something to say about it when she's 16 and brooding) but helps her calm down and quiets her screams for Marta's sleeping sake. I put her in the bathtub.

It's empty, it's waterproof (necessary because she occasionally makes herself throw up to be dramatic), and it's near a large mirror that lets her see herself as she cries, and it always distracts her as she watches the funny faces she makes in a tantrum. Also, the big jet tub in my bathroom is too deep for her to climb out of herself, which is helpful in the event (as in last night's case) that she gets violent and I have to walk away. After repeated efforts to calm her down with distraction, humor, sternness and threats of no books before bed, I left her in the tub and stepped out the door. She sobbed and yelled for a few minutes, tried to throw up, then noticed her reflection and began making different crying sounds to (I assume) see what she looked like. Then she calmed down, yelled one "MOM!", I went in and we hugged and kissed and it was finally over. My sister, eternally compassionate, scowled at my bathtub "technique" and took her up for books. I got into bed, thinking it was all finally over at 12:45 a.m. and that she'd never, ever repeat the sequence of events that had transpired since she woke from her nap again.

And then at 3:45 a.m. she awoke in another fit. I sent Trevor up and she went through the original drama about the milk, having Trevor bring her a second, "just right" milk that didn't pass muster (and Trevor wasn't about to go down for a third), and after that I turned down the monitor and went to sleep. Which is why I've been up for hours with Marta while everyone else sleeps in. 

And here I sit, wondering if 8 a.m. is too early for a glass of wine. Aunt Andrea's here. We all get to indulge a little.