Son of a...Sailor (Eh, sort of...)

 One final adventure of our Belizean vacation awaited us on the last full day of our stay: snorkeling the barrier reef that lies just off the coastline. Team WestEnders' mission began after breakfast, when we picked up our fins and masks and convened with the rest of our fellow seafarers on the dock, for the resort's boat to ferry us out to where all the fun and fishes awaited (we fervently hoped!).

Although it would only be a 20-minute journey, Riley was a bit nervous, given his...ahem..."negative reaction"...to his previous boating experience in Seattle last year. However, the ocean proved calm and agreeable this morning, which certainly helped encourage his stomach to remain so as well. When we arrived at the dive site, he and I were among a handful of...ever-so-slightly less intrepid?...explorers to request life vests for extra security during our time in the water. He feels he's not a terribly strong swimmer, and as for me...it's probably more psychological than anything else, but I just like the sense of safety it gives me, knowing I don't have to rely on just myself to stay afloat, in a spot where they told us the surf would be 18-20 feet deep. (Gulp!) I'd much rather focus on watching the marine life, and putting the waterproof camera to the test by snapping photos at will, without worrying about sinking down to join them!

With that all arranged, we slid off the boat into the Caribbean, and cruised away from it, following our guide, Neal. He brought a long blue pole to point out creatures of interest, then would name and describe them for us. Most of these, I'll admit, I don't remember anything about...but they were fascinating at the time, I promise! Some of those that DID stick with me were the tarpons (impressively LARGE!), barracudas (surprisingly innocuous-looking...perhaps because we weren't close enough to see their teeth? That's probably for the best, of course!), a moray eel and various lobsters hiding under rock formations (which Neal obligingly poked at, until they showed themselves...which begs the question: is this entirely ethical eco-friendly tour guide behavior? Whatever--I'm not gonna tattle on him!), and a delightful school of...blue thingies (I TOLD you the details didn't stick, right? But they were lovely, nonetheless...)

But, as entertaining as all of these species were, none of them compared to the Big Three that we considered the stars of the Main Event. First, a lionfish, its brown, black, and white coloring and spiky quills making it instantly recognizable. It was also notable because we'd been educated about this specific beastie in our week at the resort. You see, it's an invasive species, with no predators, and therefore is multiplying out of control and throwing off the reef's ecosystem. Thus, hunting them is condoned--even applauded--in an effort to control their numbers. (In case you're wondering, spearfishing is the method of choice...and no, we were NOT issued spear guns as part of our equipment for the day. Can you imagine Derek and Riley being given that kind of deadly weapon...and permission to use it? Oy, the possibilities--all of them DIRE--are practically endless....)

Okay, that was pretty darn cool. But the next sighting blew it out of the water (Sorry!). Directly below us, clearly visible as it lay on the sand, was a stingray. Now, I'm not a great judge of size, but I'd say it was probably several feet across, if I had to guess. Then, as we watched, captivated, it slowly lifted from the ocean floor and gracefully glided off. Yippee! And then, for the Grand Finale (as far as Team WestEnders' Bucket List o'the Sea, anyway) Neal found us...a sea turtle! It was calmly munching on grass near the bottom as we approached (as quietly as possible...yeeeaaah, for landlubbers, so in all fairness, we probably sounded like the...underwater cavalry...charging in to capture it. What can ya do? We're only tourists in the watery realms, with add-on flippers made of rubber rather than the real thing...but still, we tried our best not to scare it...)

It stuck around for a short time, then calmly rose from its snacking spot (probably sensing our presence) and swam away, still appearing as though it were in no particular hurry. Seriously, if I witnessed nothing at all for the rest of the time, or even called it a day and returned to the resort, my snorkeling needs would have been met. I'd have to say, being that close to an animal--in its own habitat--that you've only admired on TV nature documentaries was possibly one of the most awesome experiences of my life.

All of that happened in the first 45-ish-minute part of our session. Then we rejoined the boat as instructed, to motor over to a small island for refreshments, rest, and reapplying sunblock. In an unexpected, unfortunate turn of events, I'd discovered that being rocked by the motion of the water during our swim-time...makes me extremely queasy. (Husband pointed out that this may have been the life jacket's fault, since it made me bob around on the surface more? Who knows...whatever the reason, my stomach was waaaay unhappy.) There was a solution, though: Husband gets migraines (unluckily) and thus is prescribed anti-nausea medication (luckily)...that he carries with him in...non-car-travel...kinds of situations, just in case. The scenario he's preparing for doesn't usually involve ME needing a pill, but I certainly wasn't going to turn it down, that's for sure!

Aaaaand...it did the trick. Enough that I was able to participate in the second half of our underwater extravaganza, tolerate the return boat ride...and even eat lunch after I'd had my feet back on dry land for about 30 minutes. Altogether, a wildly successful and profoundly satisfying day...although I have to conclude that, no matter how much I might enjoy the music of Jimmy Buffett, I think I can ease any of my family's concerns (you know, in case this might have occurred to them...ever...) about me taking off and sailing away to live out any pirate fantasies...at least, not without packing a whole....shipload...of DRAMAMINE--ha!

Lots of Belizean nature on display...

Okay, day...whatever it is...at the beach in Belize began at a ridiculous hour again, (that would be "5:45" in case you're wondering) which was unfortunate but necessary, to allow us to scarf some breakfast and pile into the resort's van at 7. The purpose, however, was worthwhile: a trip to the Cockscomb Wildlife Sanctuary and Jaguar Preserve for another jungle hike. (Because Team Westenders’ motto has apparently become “The more rainforest, the better”…)

The good news/bad news of this fact is that if you've gotta drag yourself out of bed that early, at least you get to witness the lovely sunrise...and the dining room is already open and prepared to ply you with delicacies like fresh tropical fruit, homemade passionfruit yogurt...and of course COFFEE. (Bonus treat for me, brought to the table as soon as I appeared: specially made gluten-free carrot muffins—yummmmm. I’m starting to enjoy being treated like royalty…this is getting seriously dangerous).  

Thus fortified, we slathered up with sunscreen and got settled into our ride, along with our driver and guide for the day, Hartfield. Aaaannnd, about that little expedition…at the outset there was the bumpy, unpaved village road—which at least we expected and are somewhat used to tolerating. This was followed by a stretch of smooth highway for a few minutes. Then we turned off onto the path leading to the park—a rutted, rocky, muddy affair which was also so spine-jarringly bumpy that my Fitbit recorded almost 5,000 steps while we were sitting down, bouncing along for 6 miles. (No one ever said the Great Outdoors had to be easy all the time, right? Ay yi yi…)

When we arrived, we added copious amounts of insect repellent to our skin’s coating, to hopefully avoid being a juicy meal for the many flying, crawling bugs we were sure to encounter. (Even so, I still got nibbled a few times—but at least I didn’t end up as one gigantic bite, so that’s a win, as far as I’m concerned.) Then we headed off into the dense greenery for an up-close-and personal glimpse into the native flora and fauna.

Once again, the rainforest did not disappoint. It wasn’t long before Hatfield spotted an anteater scurrying up a tree—either hot on the trail of his preferred snack, or seeking a place to hang out and rest, which he eventually did when he reached a high branch. There were colorful butterflies galore, including the Blue Morpho, which is absolutely stunning--an electric, shimmering shade of cerulean—but which refuses to land on anything, or even hold still long enough to capture it on film. (I swear they were taunting us after a while, “Nyah nyah, can’t catch me!” Oh well, at least we saw them in the wild, even if we have no photographic evidence to prove it. You believe us, right?)

Hatfield pointed out various types of birds and lizards for us when he glimpsed them, and shared information about some of the plant life as well, especially the medicinal properties of the many that are still used by the Mayan people’s shamans for healing. And, like Lorenzo the other day, he coaxed a tarantula out of its hole—but this one actually emerged all the way and stayed for a while. Plenty of time to admire it…feel appropriately terrified…and snap lots of photos. (Mission accomplished! Thanks for that! Now how about you just crawl back into your nice den, that’s a good…massive…spider…)

Eventually our sweaty band of walkers came to the payoff for all of our work: another waterfall and chilly pool (fed by an underground spring) in which to refresh ourselves and rinse off before returning to the Visitor’s Center. Surprisingly, it was almost too cold to be comfortable…but we mustered the resolve to dunk ourselves anyway, and were glad we did. Aaaahhh…

 From there it was a short trek back to where we began, for a picnic lunch that the resort’s kitchen had packed for Hatfield to bring along. Sandwiches, chips and salsa, more fresh fruit, juice, and cookies—and it’s amazing how much tastier your meal is when you’ve earned it, isn’t it? Then we reversed the whole brain-rattling driveway-to-highway-to-local thoroughfare journey to enjoy the rest of the day pondering nothing more perplexing or strenuous than “Do I feel like swimming in the sea or the pool?” Or “Can I muster the energy to stroll the 20 steps to the bar and ask for some iced tea?” Or, perhaps most crucially “Would I prefer to snooze in a hammock on the porch, or a chaise lounge under a palm tree?”

Yes, I think it’s safe to say that our wild vacation is wearing us out…but our experiences so far have been priceless, so we’ll keep going…at least for one more day of Belizean fun, that is! Now, one last burning question for the day: I wonder what delectable dishes they’re offering on the dinner menu?

Resort Life

Well, it's midweek here in paradise--um..."Belize"--and Team WestEnders chose to take a "rest at the resort" day in between all our scheduled outings, tromping through the rainforest, snorkeling with the fishes and whatnot. What this meant, first of all, was that we didn't have to set an alarm...although Derek still needed to be rousted from bed before he woke up on his own, in order not to sleep through the breakfast hours...and for some reason my eyes keep opening at 5:30 anyway (which is 7:30 at home, and apparently my body just doesn't want to bother adjusting. What can you do--at least I'm waking up at the BEACH, yeah?).

We've been at our little vacation home-away-from-home for two days now, long enough for us to fully appreciate how very different it is from anyplace else we've ever visited. For one thing, there are a total of 25 rooms on the property, so it's small and cozy. This might explain why, from the moment you arrive, the staff go out of their way to learn your names and engage with you on a personal basis. I'll be honest, it takes a little getting used to--for example, at mealtimes, when your server already knows (from when I reserved the accommodations...in March!) that I'm a vegetarian. And this morning, when another employee brought over a basket with gluten-free banana muffins just for ME, so I could partake of the special baked good of the day.

It's also an eco-friendly place (I know, right? Totally up my alley!), so the "welcome gift" they provided was a stainless steel water bottle for each of us, that we can use during our stay and take home when we leave. And speaking of hydration, each day there's a dispenser of infused water in the lobby of the Great House, like today's offering of watermelon/ginger, or yesterday's pineapple/mint. And we found out--from wandering through one day and stumbling upon it--that there's a garden on-site where they grow some of the ingredients they use in the cuisine, so those fruits and herbs might not only be fresh and tasty, but also "backyard-to-table"!

But the attentiveness goes even further: last night one of the managers stopped me as I was heading off to bed and asked, "I see that you and your family have a free day tomorrow, is that right? I just wanted to confirm with you, because we recommend to our guests to take a day off to relax!" Aww, how sweet--they're looking out for our well-being! Then this morning--I'm not kidding--she greeted me with, "How are you, Johna? Did you sleep well?" Okay, let's not take it too far...I'm likely to start feeling guilty about all the pampering! (But...not just yet...I think I can take it for a little longer!)

So, how to spend one's leisure time? Well, there were big storms last night, mostly while we slept--thunder, lightning, wind, heavy rain...the whole nine yards. When we woke up today it had cleared up and was brilliantly sunny...but also extraordinarily muggy. Still, the ocean breeze keeps it bearable, meaning that I began our "take it easy day" with a long walk on the sand, taking a million photos of the scenery, like I tend to do. Meanwhile the Male Trio took advantage of the free kayaks and tried their hand at paddling around in the surf for a while. Then we all convened at the POOL to cool off before lunch. So far, so good...

Later, because evidently we need a refresher (Ha! Sorry...) on the definition of the term "lounge", we borrowed bikes from the Adventure Center and pedaled the sandy, gravelly, potholed "road", into the nearby village, called Hopkins, to see what there was to see. The short answer is: not a whole heck of a lot. A couple of shacks with handwritten chalk menus out front, marking them as restaurants of sorts...a few larger establishments with a general-store-vibe to them...and several tiny souvenir shops that boasted handmade crafts from local artisans. One of them, "Alex's" beckoned us--literally, since the man sitting out front was its namesake, who entreated us to come explore his wares.

We decided to take him up on the invitation, and therefore got a very specialized tour of his unique jewelry, bowls, and decorative knick knacks--all made by him and his children, with natural materials found in the coastal environment. Alex obviously took great pride in his work, and even told me that if I didn't see a design I liked, I could draw something for him and he'd customize it for me. I ended up selecting a necklace and earrings made from conch shells, pleased that I'd be taking home a unique piece of the country, created by a native whom I'd actually met. Super-cool!

Whew, that was quite enough exercise...and tourist...ing...for one day, so we returned to the resort to clean up for dinner. Funny how our low-key Wednesday left us so worn out...but that's okay, since we should get to bed early anyway, to prepare for our next excursion...the van leaves for the Cockscomb Wildlife Reserve at 7 a.m. tomorrow, after all! Zzzzzzz........

Wandering in Nature

On our first full day visiting the lovely country of Belize, how did Team WestEnders choose to mark the occasion? Why, wake the teenagers early (again) for a half-day excursion...in which they'd be required to wear HELMETS, of course! ('Cuz that's just the kind of parents we are...and our sons are very well aware of this by now, fortunately, so there are no ugly surprises when our vacations aren't actually, you know, what you'd call "relaxing".)

Luckily, we didn't have to convince them to repeat any of that 4 a.m. nonsense--we got to sleep in until...5:45! (Siiighhh...) After a brief-but-yummy continental breakfast at the Great House (and JAVA, it goes without saying, right?) we convened at the front porch to meet our guide for the day, load our gear into the van, and hit the road. Our little gang included just the four of us and a very friendly young married couple (both teachers) from Connecticut. We chatted (well, the grown-ups did--the boys were mute and snoozy) and watched the Belizean scenery go by for about 40 minutes, until we arrived at Bocawina National Park, the site for our Rainforest and Waterfall hike.

After being issued the aforementioned protective headgear, refilling our water bottles, and getting a quick-yet-thorough orientation regarding what we'd be attempting, we forged ahead...into the wild. Now, let me back up a second and explain that when I signed us up for this...walk in the woods...we noted that, on a scale of 1-3, it was rated "3++" for intensity, and if that weren't enough to inspire the proper amount of fear, they gave it a "double red" designation as well (for extra-extra notice of "be careful what you get yourselves into", we could only assume). So suffice it to say, we were advised, we were cautioned, and ultimately we were outright WARNED about the potential dangers...and strenuousness of what we were about to undertake.

Team WestEnders, however, remained undaunted. We figured, "Pffftt--we're super-active, we're fit, and we can totally handle this...no matter how many pluses they throw on there!" With this attitude, we began our adventure on the flat, easy portion of the trail. Lorenzo, our fearless leader, stopped periodically to point out interesting flora and fauna, like the leaf-cutter ants hard at work on the ground below us, and the footprint of a tapir--although we didn't see the creature itself...which might have been a good thing, since that sucker's paw was easily as big as my hand! Lorenzo also informed us that these beasts can be 600 to even 1,000 pounds. (And their nickname is the "mountain pig", which is sooooo not flattering, so I wouldn't want to meet a ticked-off tapir looking to avenge his disparaging moniker...just sayin'...) Lorenzo even--after asking if we were okay with it--poked a stick into a hole to encourage a TARANTULA to emerge for a second. We got a good peek at it, but were not disappointed when the 8-legged creepy-crawlie opted to scuttle back into his shelter after coming out to see what all the fuss was about.

Aaaannnnd onward we marched. It wasn't actually raining, but the air was so humid it might as well have been, as we trudged along the muddy path. One positive: although insects buzzed around us constantly, we'd been instructed to lather up with repellent, so no one got eaten alive. Then we came to the "steps" part of our journey, which involved climbing upward on primitive wooden footholds, really--while definitely lung pumping, heart-rate-elevating work, still not TOO difficult yet. That is...until we reached the "grab hold of roots and nylon guide-ropes placed there to help you haul yourself straight uphill over boulders, on a narrow strip of land with a sheer drop a few inches to the left at all times "...section.

Holy scare-the-pants-off-ya, Batman, that was so far out of my Comfort Zone that I couldn't even catch a glimpse of it in the rearview mirror as we zipped past, and came to a screeching halt at "just this side of abject terror"! (Was that dramatic? Trust me, I was thinking all of that and more while convincing myself to keep going...) Thankfully, this was one of those rare times when an innate, deep-seated trait of sheer stubbornness won the day, and I pushed myself to get through it. (After all, the BOYS were doing it, and there was NO WAY I was missing out on this precious family death-defying bonding experience...or whatever...) Seriously, this ranked right up there among the most challenging things I, personally, have ever done, and you'll forgive me if I take moment to pat myself on the back for persisting and seeing it through. Okay, thanks! Moving on...

At last, the reward for all this toil was: a spectacular waterfall and icy, utterly refreshing pool in which to splash, float, rinse off the dirt and sweat, and rest the tired muscles for a while. TOTALLY worth it! Oh, and lest I forget, we were now so high up that we were looking DOWN on the rainforest canopy. Breathtaking! (Metaphorically, as well as literally, since were still panting a bit--ha!) Right...the flip side of the stunning vista...we then we had to slip and slide all the way back from whence we came, with weary legs. Lorenzo came through with some homemade peanut butter cookies before we began our descent, though, which was a very welcome physical pick-me-up for grumbling stomachs...and also a moral boost to our flagging energy. (And they were scrumptious--that man not only conquers the jungle...he brings a mean baked good!)

By the time we strolled triumphantly out of the trees, Team WestEnders had already ranked this among the best tours we've ever taken. As we re-hydrated and ate some fruit that Lorenzo had brought (from his garden, no less. The dude's talent apparently knows no bounds...) I reflected on the fact that we'd already enjoyed quite a full day of natural beauty, exercise of both the cardio and strength variety, and appreciation for the endless wonders of the Great Outdoors...and it was only 11 a.m.! Whoo boy...it MUST be nap time, yeah?

So we weren't at all dismayed when it began to rain on the ride back to the resort--one of those pleasant tropical downpours that provides warm drops and a fresh breeze...making it absolutely perfect for a well-earned afternoon snooze! (Again, for the adults--the youthful crowd reportedly spent a delightful couple of hours trying out hammocks in various spots on the property, horsing around in the swimming pool, and--contrary to the usual plan--taking some downtime to chill in their own way. Now all that's left to do for the day...is EAT a few more times! Yaaaayyyy!

Bound for Belize, baby!

Today Team WestEnders set off on their Summer 2017 adventure…reeeeaaally early--as in, the alarm went off at 4:20 a.m. If that wasn’t shocking enough, we rolled out of the house at 4:50, which has to be some kind of family record…although in retrospect, it might have been at least in part due to the fact that the boys weren’t even truly awake, just blindly following simple orders like “Put on your shoes” and “Get in the car”. Then on the ride to the airport, suddenly everyone (except me, it goes without saying) wanted to TALK. Seriously, people? It’s still dark outside--can we all just agree to be calm, quiet and mildly disgruntled for a while?

Fortunately, at that beastly hour we made it to the airport with plenty of time to spare, so at least there was no “stress” element to complicate our weary journey. Riley did have a small bit of excitement in the Security line, as they arbitrarily assigned him a TSA Pre-Check pass, allowing him the benefit of leaving his shoes on…and whatnot. In his fragile low-blood-sugar state, however, he decided to take umbrage with this decision, ranting that, “They’d better not pick me because they think I’m 12!” Um…nooooo, honey, I don’t think anyone will look at your 5-foot-9 frame--and whiskers--and mistake you for a tween anymore. After that he changed his mind and milked it for a while, answering every question—whether appropriate or not—with “Well, you know, I AM TSA Pre-Check.” (Until I whacked him with his passport enough times to discourage this behavior.)

Anyway, I would characterize flight #1, a packed plane to Ft. Lauderdale, as smooth (little turbulence), silent (not even a peep from any munchkins who might have been on board), and sleepy (for the obvious reasons)…with Starbucks (which I’d brought with me). Once we landed and scoped out the airport, the top priority was (not surprisingly) FOOD, since it was finally a decent hour to eat. However, we were disappointed to find the terminal pretty small, offering only what we deemed to be a lame selection of dining options. Nevertheless, we made do, since we had a hefty layover until commencing the next leg of our excursion.

Even though I pointed out that we had now successfully left home, the boys firmly declared that we weren’t “on vacation” yet, just “traveling”. (The biggest laugh of this portion of our trip came when I turned to Derek and asked, “Hey, is it time for you to get up yet?” To which he laughingly-but-vehemently replied, “NO, it’s NOT!” Sorry, teenager—being an international jet-setter means hauling your butt out of bed for the cause!) 

From there, we (at last) boarded our next airplane, headed for Belize. Again, the airtime was uneventful…until I looked out the window when the Captain announced our “final approach” and saw…lots of green below us. Excuse me, I don’t want to be a bother, but is there some kind of, you know, “runway-type-thingie” we’re headed towards? At the last minute, a tiny airport appeared, and we did, in fact, land on a strip of concrete, rather than a hiking path, which was reassuring. We disembarked via a staircase, instead of a tunnel, and were herded into Customs—which proved to be the usual delightful experience. Especially because Southwest had given us misinformation, telling us that only one form per family was needed…when really they wanted EACH of us to have our own. So we, and the rest of the people who’d been on our flight, spent some minutes standing around and filling out the requisite number of papers to fulfill the regulation.

Then we showed our passports no fewer than 3 times, once for each new line we were instructed to queue up in, until we ultimately ended up in a packed waiting room with wooden benches. “No problem,” we thought, “since it’ll only be about a half-hour until our next jaunt.” Yeeeaaah, about that…from the resort’s website, I’d gathered that Belize lies in the Central Time Zone (a one-hour difference)…when it actually is TWO hours behind the East Coast. So we had more time than we’d anticipated…to sit around some more. Oh well—it was definitely feeling like a substantial trek, at this point (for better or worse…).

This was borne out when we were led outside to our next mode of transportation…a 10-SEATER PROP PLANE, for crying out loud. Holy guacamole, folks, I’m not sure how I feel about this…not that I had a choice in the matter, of course. Honestly, though, it was fascinating--once we got safely in the air--to peer out the windows at the ground, not so very far below. You could certainly appreciate the terrain from that vantage point—forests and rivers and the coastline and eventually clusters of buildings that marked the small pocket of civilization at which we were apparently aiming.

But wait, we weren’t quite done yet! (Siiiiigh…even though we’d been up for almost 12 hours, but who was counting? Oh yeah: all of us…) We had one more piece of the travel puzzle to complete: a 45-minute van ride to the resort. Our driver did his best to make this interesting, regaling us with facts about Belize, such as “it’s similar in size to Vermont, with only about 370,000 people” and “they grow lots of oranges, but export the juice in concentrate form, to prevent spoilage” and “English and Creole are both spoken, along with Spanish and some Mayan dialects”. (Yes, I was listening—you never know when there’ll be some kind of, I don’t know…Pop Vacation Quiz? It’s best to be prepared, I always say…or whatever…)

At long last (drumroll) we arrived! Whoo hoo! We were greeted with a cold lime-y drink (I have no idea what it was, but it was delicious) and told that, although the kitchen was officially closed at that time, they’d make us something anyway, because they didn’t want their honored guests to starve. Well, I’m liking this place already! After some super-tasty nachos, we were free to explore the grounds—the pool, the ocean, the rooftop deck…so much to see! Before we crash from exhaustion! We wandered around, checked in with the Adventure Center to confirm our tours for the week, and most importantly, stuck our toes in the sand and (Caribbean) surf.

Now our last order of “business” for the day is to wander over to dinner, and see what’s on the menu this evening. Then we’ll most likely go the heck to BED, since we’ve been moving for a loooooong time, and our Rainforest and Waterfall Hike leaves at 7 a.m. tomorrow…sooooo, peace out for now from Belize!

Wake me when we're at the beach, 'kay?

Ah, the week before ye olde yearly vacation. A time of glorious anticipation, of methodical preparation...of staggering around in circles like the proverbial headless chicken. A sampling of the mayhem: Don't forget the passports! (Retrieved from the fireproof box.) Do everyone's bathing suits fit? (Excursion to Target to replace as necessary.) What about TSA-approved-size toiletries? (Dang it, another Target run.) Oh, and reef-safe sunscreen....and Deet-free bug spray! (Let me just pause here to bless Amazon to the moon and back, for saving me a third jaunt to the T-zone.) But, #@$%*--after Riley came home with his vicious...seashell wound...it seemed like a wise idea to purchase water shoes to protect our tender toes from such future occurrences. (Siiighhhh...at this point, it's fortunate that I actually LIKE the T-store-that-shall-not-be-named...)

Then of course there are myriad details like "instruct the post office to hold the mail while we're away", "download (cheap but hopefully entertaining) books to the Kindle to enjoy while on airplanes" (and also at the BEACH, of course--keeping the ultimate goal in mind...might keep me from losing my mind? Fingers crossed...), and "print travel documents that there could be any chance we need to access, since potentially spotty international WiFi might make them unretrievable on my phone, later". You know, tiny, insignificant stuff, yeah? Ha!

Hmm, what else?  Right: PACKING! Also known as "cramming all of the aforementioned items...along with some others...into bags that we can tote onto the plane, since we try our darnedest not to check anything when we fly". The Male Trio naturally takes all of approximately 10 minutes to arrange their suitcases (with room to spare, mind you...), while I find myself having to carefully, thoughtfully--over the course of several days--fold and tuck things into every square inch of mine. What with the extra personal care items (because I'm a GIRL...one who apparently requires products...), to the gluten-free/vegan snacks I have to bring along so I don't starve while en route, to the laptop and big-ass camera (Yes, an honest-to-goodness Nikon. So I'm old school--sue me!) for chronicling our adventures. When I'm done, the thing might very well weigh 50 pounds...but it closes...and it fits in the overhead compartment, so I'm gonna go ahead and call that a win, I guess.

Thankfully, I believe we're down to the final steps at this point, which involve #1: charging every device that's coming with us. #2: making sure we use up all the perishables from the fridge--even if this means some...unusual...meals on the last day (No juice boxes--drink the milk! Cereal will keep, so make a sandwich with the bread and lunchmeat! Throw every vegetable in the crisper into a salad! I don't care how it tastes, just DO IT! Says the semi-crazed Vacation Police...um..."Mom"...).

Next, #3 clearing the laundry and dishwasher, for obvious sanitary reasons (the only trick being to have this taken care of before bedtime, which will be a bit earlier than usual tonight, as we're being forced to rise at the unholy hour of...4:15...A. Freakin'. M...to leave for the airport. (But that's tomorrow's post...that is, if I'm ever awake enough to actually formulate it...perhaps after a(n already) planned infusion of coffee during our layover in Ft. Lauderdale...you have to stay on top of these things, y'all. See, that's how you can recognize a veteran globe-trotter. OR my rambling may just be a symptom of the pre-getaway stress by now...whatever...it's almost time to turn in, anyway, thank goodness...)

And finally, #4: prepping the house for departure, as in "closing the blinds to keep the heat out as much as possible", "emptying wastebaskets", "taking out the garbage and countertop compost bin", blah blah blah. You know, all the last-minute-non-fun-chores that have to be addressed before the awesomeness...of an-11-ish-hour transit day...can be embraced. So, whoo hoo! Get ready for Team WestEnders, Belize, 'cuz here we (eventually) come!

(Mis)adventures of the boys...

During my precious weekend of alone time I kept myself amused in various ways—such as cheering for female superheroes at the theater (while eating popcorn) and exploring…exotic new locales (yeah, yeah, that might be overstating “Winston-Salem, NC”, but do me a favor and just go with it…). Husband and sons, meanwhile, relaxed, romped on the beach, reportedly helped their parents/grandparents out with household chores, and eventually returned to me...although not quite in the same healthy state I’d last seen them. Or, as Husband ruefully (and dramatically) proclaimed upon entering the house, “Sorry, I apparently broke the children!”

Um…oh-kaaay…what’s up with THAT? I was already somewhat alarmed, especially since I’d gotten this text from Derek earlier in the day:

“We’re just headed back now. We had to stop by urgent care to remove a (see right) from Riley’s foot. Then we ate a[t] Dairy Queen cuz their blizzards are upside-down thick. We’ll be back in 6 hours.”

Now, I admit I reached for my reading glasses, just sure to be sure of what I was seeing. But it appeared that my beloved child was trying to tell me that Riley’d had…a…cute…pink…octopus extracted from his foot? 

I do know my teenager, and his tendency to…shall we say “embellish”? Nah, let’s be honest: “outright make stuff up for entertainment value” is more accurate. So I decided to ignore the DQ reference for now, and address the larger issue, as I replied with motherly skepticism, “Is any of that actually true (besides the time you left)?”

He responded, “All of it.” I was not terribly...reassured…by this response, but figured that the best thing to do would just be to wait until they arrived, and get the true story (from someone ELSE, preferably).

However, when Riley came limping into the kitchen later that evening, I began to suspect that there was at least a grain of truth to the tale. It turns out that one day when they’d been jumping around in the waves on Hunting Island—and Riley confessed here that he’d also been attempting to whack his older brother with his boogie board, for reasons known only to him—Riley landed on a sharp shell fragment. What he didn’t realize at the time was that a tiny piece broke off and lodged itself in the ball of his foot, near his toes.

Then over the next several days it began to bother him, until they finally opted to have it taken care of at an Urgent Care facility on the way home, rather than waiting and allowing it to continue to worsen (as Derek had more or less faithfully related…well, without the OCTOPUS, that is. He claimed it was the best he could do, since he couldn’t find a seashell emoji—uh-huh, suuuure…)

As an added bit of…excitement?...the doctor prescribed an antibiotic and strongly encouraged Husband to fill it. Why the medicine, for a minuscule cut on Riley’s foot? Just because the presence of something called Vibrio has recently been detected in the ocean water near the beach where they had been so lightheartedly playing. What’s that, you might wonder? Eh, nothing much to worry about….only a FLESH EATING BACTERIA. Can I just say, “Yikes, y’all—I’m in full agreement: bring on the preventative germ-killing super-drugs!”

Sheesh, I suppose it’s no wonder they felt the need to try and cancel out the negative start to their homeward-bound journey by indulging in some burgers and milkshakes at the aforementioned greasy spoon joint. Aaaannnd, about that…a couple of hours afterward, Derek’s stomach (which is typically cast-iron-reliable) rejected the meal he’d so graciously…inflicted upon it…resulting in an…ahem… “unfortunate incident” in Blenheim, South Carolina (in a restroom, thankfully, NOT Husband’s car).

When they shared this with me, all I could think of was, “Blenheim? It even SOUNDS like barfing!” To which Husband gleefully exclaimed, “Yes, that’s awesome! Derek, you don’t feel like you’re going to Blenheim again, do you?” (And just like that, it became a part of Team WestEnders’ family lexicon. Feel free to use it as well…it’s just too good not to…)

Whew, I’m kinda glad I missed this jolly little getaway, to tell you the truth! But I’m happy to follow up with the addendum that all is now well. Derek’s tummy evidently was hunky-dory after the removal of whatever had offended it so strongly. In fact, the next day he felt completely normal and passed the test of being able to work a shift at Subway (which of course involves preparing food—so if he hadn’t been fully recovered, that would have quickly posed a problem). Riley continues to apply ointment to his foot and cover the spot with a bandage for protection…but he insisted he was hale and hearty enough to attend soccer camp Monday through Friday evenings, this week. One night down, and he says it didn’t hurt whilst running around on a field and kicking a ball.

And there you have it: a thrilling vacation…that has all of us wishing for another one, just to finish decompressing! So, as we tackle the current chores and To Dos, just keep repeating…fruity drinks and tropical paradise are NEXT week…

Solo Saturday Sightseeing

The Male Trio is off on their Summer Sojourn to South Carolina (I honestly didn't mean to alliterate...but sometimes these things just happen--what can you do?), and you know what this means: Solo Field Trip for the Queen of the Clan. This time I decided to storm--um, "visit"--Winston-Salem, a city about 70 miles west of our hometown, in the area known as the Triad. (This is not to be confused with the Triangle, comprised of Raleigh/Durham/Chapel Hill. The Triad is a whole other thing, made up of Greensboro, High Point and Winston-Salem. I think it took us a full year of living here before we finally figured that out...so you're welcome...)

And right off the bat, let me clear up another confusing issue: Wake Forest University is located in Winston-Salem....NOT in, you know, "Wake Forest". What's UP with that, right? Well, I learned that the school used to be situated in the town bearing its name, from its founding in 1823, right until it up and moved to the current campus in the 1950s. Alrighty, then, since I'd gotten THAT all squared away, I decided to take a stroll around and see the sights. Now, in the interest of full disclosure, this is not because Derek has any intention of applying to the institution (it's both too small...and wildly expensive), but...I just like walking around colleges, okay?

I have to admit, it was picturesque--even if there was a ton of construction happening at the moment. (Powerwashing the bricks, painting the wooden window frames...putting the finishing touches on the building that will--apparently, according to the helpful signage--house a rock climbing wall and other recreational facilities...nice return on that super-high tuition, I guess...)

After a pleasant half-hour leg-stretching meander, I moved on to my next stop, for which I'd chosen the Old Salem Museum and Gardens. When I'd been researching on the web, I'd gotten the impression that this would be a single structure (which I'd skip, since I'd prefer to be outside, even if it IS blazing freakin' hot in July around here) and some charming gardens (which I'd photograph, since the compulsion to do so seems to be programmed into my genes, somehow). But oh, was I wrong--turns out that it's quite an operation, with a whole village worth of buildings to tour, demonstrations to watch, shops to patronize...and learning opportunities to experience. (And yes, the promised flowers! C'mon, say it with me....yaaaaayyyy!)

So, here's what I picked up on my educational Saturday: Salem was originally settled in the 1760s by a religious group called the Moravians, (who had come to the U.S. from Germany as missionaries around 1735). Their goals included pursuing religious freedom, and ministering to local indigenous populations, including blacks and Native Americans. It was interesting to hear that the church owned slaves (unfortunately), but at least believed in educating them along with their own children in reading, writing, and trade skills (including math, as it related to business transactions). All the inhabitants of Salem also worshipped together side by side; that is, until communities outside the congregation protested their treating enslaved people as equals. After that, the Moravians bowed to the pressure to segregate the populations by color, each in their own chapel.

All of this history was fascinating to me, of course...as was the cemetery, called God's Acre, where Moravians are still buried today (separated into sections for men, women, children...and choir members, for some reason). Notably, since all members are considered to be the same, spiritually, the Moravians inter people chronologically by their date of death, and with identical, flat white stones rather than raised tombstones. However, on the site of the black church grounds, there were also 131 bodies laid to rest in the 18th and 19th centuries...but only a few of these are even marked, and then only with the word "Adult" or "Child" to identify whose final resting place it might be.

Whew...that was a lot to take in--and all of it captivating, for sure--but after tromping up and down the cobblestoned lanes for a couple of hours, I'd had my fill of...historical hoopla. I was ready to make one last excursion, into the city itself, to get a feel for the modern urban personality of Winston-Salem. I honestly didn't have a whole lot of energy left (Hey, wading through the past really takes it out of ya!) so I found a parking spot and hit the pavement on foot for a several-block radius. I suspect there's tons more to do and see, when I have more time and motivation--including a minor league baseball team, the Winston-Salem Dash, which means that on my next jaunt I should easily be able to convince the rest of Team WestEnders to tag along...at least, as long as I promise not to make them study on a weekend!

A little less wisdom (and good riddance?!)

On Friday the 17-year old underwent--involuntarily, but necessarily--a momentous...rite of passage...of sorts. You see, during Derek's last routine dental checkup, Dr. R had recommended that he have his wisdom teeth taken out, sooner rather than later. Although the extra teeth weren't currently causing him any trouble--seriously, Derek didn't even know he HAD them--Dr. R's professional opinion was they they would eventually lead to crowding in Derek's mouth...thereby messing up Derek's lovely, straight bite...for which his parents had paid a pretty penny in braces, orthodontist visits, etc. So, yeeeeaaaah, let's NOT have that happen, thankyouverymuch!

Therefore we waited until after the school year (because obviously, who needs THAT on top of classes and homework?), and made an appointment with the oral surgeon to whom Dr. R had referred us. Since the practice had never seen Derek before, the preliminary steps would involve us showing up, and them performing their own examination of Derek's mouth to decide if they agreed with Dr. R's assessment of the need for extraction. From there, a number of things could happen: they could tell us the teeth could stay right where they were for the moment (and we'd simply go home); they might determine that it would be best to wait until another time down the road (again, in this case we'd just wave goodbye and take off); or they'd support the dentist's evaluation...and we'd be sticking around for the procedure, to be completed right then and there.

Regardless of how all that would turn out, however, the process had already tortured Derek in small ways....such as having to set an alarm to wake up during the Summertime (at 8:45, so don't waste TOO much time feeling bad for the "poor tired teenager")...and, even worse, not being able to eat anything beforehand (which of course is standard advice for those who may be experiencing the...joys of anesthesia...in their near future. Suffice it to say, he was....semi-loopy...from a combined whammy of sleep deprivation (ish) and low blood sugar by the time he and I set off for the oral surgeon's office. Oh! And lest I forget, I should mention that Derek up to this point had never even had a cavity (pausing to knock on wood for him), so he had no frame of reference for anything...mouth-repair-related. No Novocaine (much less an IV!)....no drilling...no nothing. Hmm, this was gonna be FUN, right? (Sheesh....)

To condense some of the more trivial details of the tale, they took a look, decreed that the pesky wisdoms should be removed, clearly explained the reasons to us using the handy-dandy X-Ray, and got the old ball rolling in short order, with informative visits from the surgical assistant, the drug guy--um, sorry, they probably prefer "anesthesiologist"--the surgeon himself, and of course the billing department, to inform me of how much this was all going to cost (which fell into the category of "not too horrible"...and also "thank goodness for insurance").

It was understandable that Derek seemed a bit dazed at this point, since things had just gotten very REAL in a big hurry--but this was probably for the best, since he'd be put under sedation soon anyway. As for me, it was back to the lobby, to read magazines, catch up on Facebook....and wait. However, it didn't feel like very long at all, before they were announcing that it was over, and calling me back to see him. (When Derek asked me about it a few minutes later, I told him "time enough to get through one issue of People...but not two!")

I stepped into the Recovery Room and witnessed....well, how should I put this? You've heard the expression "deer in the headlights"? That's always been a useful metaphor to me, but I've never actually seen someone embody the stark truth of it like Derek did at that moment. His face conveyed several facts--he was super-groggy....extremely confused...somewhat panicked....and not at all sure what to do. As a parent, I've gotta say it was a little terrifying to see my kid like that--but knowing the cause of it, and that he was absolutely okay...I admit that it was also the teensiest bit...hilarious...as well. Especially when the first thing he did upon spotting me was throw his hands dramatically up in the air and--around a mouth full of gauze--vehemently sputter, "I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE I AM!"

(Hold on a second--not laughing, NOT laughing, being supportive and soothing... okay, I'm ready to respond...) I patted him comfortingly as the assistant assured him that he was fine, and that everything had gone perfectly. She then began reviewing the post-op instructions with me, until Derek suddenly interrupted by loudly attempting to ask a question. We both stared at him uncomprehendingly, since the cotton prevented him from actually, you know, forming anything resembling recognizable words. That is, until he pulled out his phone and muttered something close enough to, "I'll text you, Mom!" Before he could do that, the assistant handed him a clipboard and he scribbled, "How'd it go?" I repeated what he'd been told (approximately 3 minutes ago), and he gave me an exaggeratedly enthusiastic thumbs-up.

A couple of minutes later, when the assistant was still going over how to care for Derek at home in the next few days, he broke in again with..."How'd it go?" Siiiiighhhhh...it's gonna be a looooong afternoon, isn't it? We reiterated how swimmingly he'd come through the...trauma...and earned another cheerful thumbs-up. Aaaannnnd, then they turned us loose--with a burly male attendant to help Derek ambulate more or less in a straight line, and to hold his head to keep him from whacking it on the roof of the car when he awkwardly heaved himself into the passenger seat. On the way home, Derek confined his actions to woozily leaning back against the headrest...except when he abruptly turned to me and asked, "Do you have my phone?" The answer was "Yes"...both times.

Next up, the first order of business in "Operation Nursing Derek Back to Health" was filling his prescriptions, and purchasing soft edible items he could manage with a sore mouth for a few days. I'd briefly entertained the notion of doing it on the way home and saving myself another trip out to the store--until I interacted with Derek after the surgery, and quickly realized I wouldn't be able to leave him in the car by himself for any length of time...or herd him around a supermarket, either. There was no doubt in my mind that he'd forget where he was, where I was, what we were doing--and wander off somewhere to try and figure it out. That's the kind of nightmare scenario we didn't need, so I deposited him at home and went out solo, to pick up food and pharmaceuticals.

I stocked up on yogurt, applesauce, bananas, and pudding, and we already had mashed potatoes and macaroni and cheese in the pantry. Although the assistant had laughingly commented, "Teenage boys tend to bounce back quickly, so if he's hungry tomorrow and wants a cheeseburger, go ahead and let him have it!", I didn't want to take any chances and deprive him of nutrition (like he'd allow THAT to happen? Pfffttt, right...). For the first day, however, he had to get through the "stop the bleeding" phase, and then we opted to err on the side of caution with a policy of "all mushy, all the time". (He did actually EAT, though, not just drink, so that was an encouraging sign.) He was careful to take his meds on schedule, which he said kept the pain at bay...and used small plastic bags of frozen peas that I set up for him, to ice his jaw on both sides. (Yes, that WAS a sight...with a towel over his face and gloves on, to protect his skin from getting TOO cold. And you'll notice I refrained from photographing and posting on social media...because I'm practically a SAINT, y'all...)

For several hours, Derek was still reeeealllly foggy and kind of out-of-it, as he sprawled on the couch and half-watched SportsCenter. I also kept noticing him touching his face, and when I asked him about it he chuckled and said, "It's just SO WEIRD not to be able to feel my lip...or tongue...or chin!" Of course! You've never been numbed before! Not to worry: a couple of hours later he was completely acting like himself again--which meant sarcasm, verbally sparring with his brother (in their typical back-and-forth teasing manner), and basically exhibiting normal adolescent male behavior.

So in terms of updates for Days 2 and 3: he's continues to get by with his Ibuprofen/Acetaminophen combo (without ever needing the narcotics--which I didn't even fill at the pharmacy, hoping that would be the case). The first morning, he consumed a yogurt/banana smoothie and two packs of instant oatmeal for breakfast. He had enough energy to accompany Husband to Costco because, "Eh, it's not like I have anything else to do." Today he's moved on to "real food" (albeit still under the heading of "easy to chew"), like croissants, and even the meatloaf Husband offered him for dinner. Yeah, besides the fact that he said it feels like he's "eating around a balloon" in his mouth, I'd say he's recovering quite nicely at this point. So far, so good--but I still might make him wait until at least tomorrow for that cheeseburger--just to stay on the safe side!

Traditions Times Two

Team WestEnders continued our own personal Maryland Festival o’Fun with a family get-together on Friday. We chatted and caught up with my dad and sister…the cousins got to run amok all afternoon…my brother fired up his new toy—I mean “grill”—to cook everyone’s dinner…and a fabulous time was had by all. I snuck out for a few hours around noon to meet a couple of my college girlfriends nearby for lunch, which besides being enjoyable and relaxing in its own right, was also a delightful break from the aforementioned adolescent antics that were simultaneously occurring at my dad’s house. (An interlude of peace and quiet…nah…more like “gabbing and guffawing”! But it was definitely a treat to have yummy food and adult conversation, so it totally worked for us!)

When I returned to the scene of the…shenanigans...I found the resourceful quintet of cousins (ages almost-10 to 17) trying to beat the Summer heat by McGyver-ing a makeshift slip-and-slide in the back yard, using a tarp, a garden hose, and some dish soap. They would then fling themselves down the hill in a vain attempt to travel as far as possible--before inevitably veering off into the grass after only a few yards. All of this was “supervised” by my brother (aka “the biggest kid of them all”), so what could possibly go wrong? Fortunately, there were no…low-budget-thrill-ride injuries, and the gang soon enough moved on to safer pursuits…like full-contact basketball, and later, highly competitive flashlight tag.

For once, we didn’t even have to be sad when we left, since we’d be seeing most of the clan the very next day for an Orioles game—whoo hoo, Bonus Family Time! I hadn’t realized it when we’d planned our trip, but the game I just happened to choose included a giveaway: Zach Britton bobbleheads. If you’re not familiar with that particular player, he’s the team’s preferred closing pitcher (currently on the DL, but the 2016 AL Reliever of the Year, so still a pretty Big Deal). But the reeeally important thing is: free collectible! From (sometimes bitter) experience, we knew this meant that we’d need to arrive at the ballpark earlier than usual, to ensure that we were among the first 25,000 fans through the door, before they ran out of the souvenirs.

So we hit the road at 1:30 for the 4:05 game…and just happened to meet up with the rest of our group making their way to the stadium at the same time. And lemme tell ya what a slow…sticky walk THAT was. I’m just saying: it was steamy outside, y’all. But it was all worth it when we spotted those orange and black boxes, stacked high and ready to be placed into our waiting—and grateful…and damp—hands. Sooooo, there we were…having successfully obtained our objective…and with a full hour to kill before the first pitch. (Okay, so maybe we didn’t actually need to be in quite such a hurry. Who knew?)

We decided that we could at least find our seats and get settled, since we knew they were situated in the shade of an overhang, and we could get the Heck. Out. Of. The. Sun. (Major thanks to my sister for arranging that for us!) No sooner had we sat down, however, than a message appeared on the Jumbotron.

What the WHAT? Did I mention the blazing yellow thing, clearly visible in the sky? I mean, sure, there are a couple of clouds that look as if they MIGHT be developing something of an…unpleasant attitude…but surely that’s an over-reaction, yeah?

Still, we watched as the Grounds Crew dutifully wrestled the tarp onto the infield to protect it from…I don’t know…UV rays? Impending…potential drenching? We were still skeptical…and keeping our fingers crossed…when suddenly the wind began picking up noticeably. Next, those formerly light and fluffy clouds got a whole lot darker and more serious. Aaaannnnd then, with no further warning, the heavens opened up in dramatic fashion and commenced dumping breeze-blown sheets of chilly rain down on the world below. Oh, about that roof we were under? It didn’t matter one bit, when you were smack in the middle of an onslaught of droplets being buffeted in all directions.

Suffice it to say, in a remarkably short time, we became…rather drippy…baseball enthusiasts. On the plus side, there’s nothing like an impromptu natural shower to cool you down, for sure…but…let’s just say that sitting around in wet…skivvies…for the several hours afterwards isn’t terribly comfortable. (We did make sure our precious bobbleheads were sheltered from the storm, in case you were wondering. Hey, we have our priorities straight! Or whatever…)

Anyway, the weather event was actually pretty spectacular while it lasted, which mercifully wasn’t too long. Better yet, the Baseball Powers That Be determined that the game would begin after about an hour-and-15-minute delay. However, that turned out to be the last good news of the day, as the Orioles quickly fell behind by a couple of runs, and proceeded to spend the entire contest on the losing end of the score.

Given that fact, and also the extra hours we’d already spent on this excursion, we made a Collective Executive Decision: we’d stick it out until the 7^th inning stretch—which is mandatory as an Orioles supporter, so you can participate in the unique trifecta of musical entertainment comprised of America the Beautiful, the standard Take Me Out to the Ballgame…and John Denver’s Thank God I’m a Country Boy, which to the best of my knowledge occurs ONLY at Camden Yards. (It’s a goofy, beloved hometown tradition that dates back to the ‘70s, what can I tell ya? Come to think of it, maybe that explains it well enough…)

Let’s see…annual Os game with the fam, check. Mementos, check. Junk food, check. Well, look at that, our baseball goals had been met! So we felt free to pack it in and call it a night, wishing both our team and our relatives farewell until next time. Even though we didn’t get a victory out of the squad on the diamond, it was definitely one in the Win column for Team WestEnders!