Violent Outbursts of ...

A violent outburst, as of emotion or activity.

The dictionary lists it under tornado, but what it really means to reference are those two week or greater tapes of manic wonder called school breaks. You may mark the seasons by turn of leaves, fall of snow, springs of love, days of dog...I classify them by length of break. Round these here parts, breaks are a violent outburst, as of emotion or activity.

For a solid introvert, the flurry of sudden, well, presence in the house is overwhelming enough. Add to it the near-cataclysmic proportions of bickering, screeching, whining, and all-together nerve-breaking bouts of "I'm boooooored!", and you've got me on the verge of forced escape to a happy any other place.

Then again, sometimes the rays of pre-parenting world break on through. Back then, I thought every moment with the kiddos would be one of eye-opening candor. Of wondrous appreciation. Of almost obsessive observation.And what do you know?

When we're in the eye of the tornado (say, Day 7), we get away. On a getaway. (Get it?) They've become (to invoke a criminally overused adjective) epic in our family's fun album. Yeah, yeah, we grin and giggle. Is it so surprising to admit those are the moments labeled "best 'uns" in the album? But better than best are the ones where we learn a thing or two - or 20 - about each one of the wee ones to whom we gave life, love, and even last name.

We worry about what a child will become tomorrow, yet we forget that he is someone today.  ~Stacia Tauscher

Even when freshly washed and relieved of all obvious confections, children tend to be sticky.  ~Fran Lebowitz

 

Creative play is like a spring that bubbles up from deep within a child.  ~Joan Almon

 

 A three year old child is a being who gets almost as much fun out of a fifty-six dollar set of swings as it does out of finding a small green worm.  ~Bill Vaughan

 He didn't tell me how to live; he lived, and let me watch him do it.  ~Clarence Budington Kelland

All women become like their mothers.  That is their tragedy.  No man does.  That's his.  ~Oscar Wilde, The Importance of Being Earnest, 1895

Sometimes being a brother is even better than being a superhero.  ~Marc Brown

Dad, your guiding hand on my shoulder will remain with me forever.  ~Author Unknown
 

I find that a great part of the information I have was acquired by looking up something and finding something else on the way.  ~Franklin P. Adams

What good is having someone who can walk on water if you don't follow in his footsteps?  ~Author Unknown

 To us, family means putting your arms around each other and being there.  ~Barbara Bush

 

But Colorado

Colorado is beautiful country. Grant you, it's no Alaska - but it's got it's own brand of spit and shine. So, whenever we've the chance to get away, if only for a few days, we pack up the clan and head out to some as-yet unexplored nook of the Centennial state.

Our latest trip was especially notable, though, because of the absence of what otherwise makes for a busy trip: our three children! In honor of our 15th trip around the sun, we headed to High Country for some days away from the normal grind.

I love High Country: most recently, I wrote about it's beauty on our annual summer trip to Dillon.But, this year, we headed even higher to mountain views yet seen...in Winter Park. Neither Craig nor I had been, and if ever there was an occasion to embark on a new adventure together...

The drive was beyond words (but, since this is a blog, after all, I'll give it a whirl). The best one-worder I can contrive is crystalline. They'd just had a massive dump of snow and, being as how they're ski country in the off-off season (think winter's answer to a western Ghost Town), it was absurdly quiet. Silent, even...much like I'd imagine it would be inside the glass of a snow globe.
And when I say we were in the mountains, I mean we were in the mountains.

That's the Continental Divide below. (In case you're not familiar, the CD is the line of demarcation running north-south that separates water flow between the Atlantic and Pacific. Rain or snow runoff to the east heads towards the Atlantic; to the east, the Pacific.) And, considering you can't be just anywhere to see it, it's pretty cool when you actually do.

There's nothing more breathtaking on the initial stretch than this shot.

 Because, until you see it, you're climbing in elevation all gradual like...until boom...Hello, Rockies!

Along the way, we ran across these...my pictorial homage to the Colorado brand of mountain humor.

That's a moose beneath the sheeting and a watermill starring as Jack. Yeah. We shame our landmarks here.

Like Alaska, you can't let Colorado's snow or cold or otherwise challenging weather snafus hold you back: you'll only become a sad hermit if you do. Besides, why else do we have cocoa and toddies if not for nipped noses and tingly toes? So, lest we surrender to Old Man Winter, we spent an afternoon on this gorgeous hike. Think the forest scenes in Narnia when first they leave the wardrobe and you've just about got it.

  We hiked about four miles to the sound of Adams Falls...

Agh! A rare glimpse of me...and just me...I really do appear in photos without my friends or family...I think.

Until we came upon this.

And heard this.

Yeah.
You heard it right.
Nothin' but the water.
Absurdly quiet.

Crystalline.
Like the inside of a snow globe.

But Colorado.

Where Your Story Begins

In keeping with the theme of processes describing personality, here's another to chew on.

Literally.

Since camping always means roasting marshmallows and hot dogs, we couldn't leave them out on our "faux-campout", either. But this process turned out to be one of the most hysterical of the night as our campers attempted to get their yummies done just right.

On a stick. 

Over flames.

They started with the basics

and quickly set to work on the cookin' side of things.

But, when, you're a golden-browned, slightly this side of squishy kind of marshmallow guy this

is not the result you're looking for...which results in the picture-perfect moment of spitting char flakes.

Judsen felt it strongly necessary to bun his own hot dog since we so cruelly disallowed him the opportunity to place himself anywhere near the open flames of a burning pit. (Horribly mean of us, I know).

 And when he got it just right....

 The look was pure glee.

He ate two.

Yes.

Two.

By the time the meal was over, tummies were rounder and grins bigger...

... just in time for sunset and a few rounds of Red Light, Green Light (which somehow became much funnier when Mommy played, too).

It was a day of processes that afforded golden opportunities to study and observe our children simply by dwelling with them in the moments that make memories.

It wasn't without work on our parts, sure. But what's a little sweat if you're carving out the tablets on which their their tales of home are written?

Someday, we hope they remember these tales and great love and devotion floods their very hearts. We pray they recall our devotion as it was and will always be: true and steady and standing the test of time.

Me thinks that would make a great story.

And, after all...

home is where your story begins.

Raising Them

Seems the theme of last weekend was "process". Everything's a process: really, if we think about it, our lives are comprised of batches of hours consumed by processes. Sometimes we call them routines (we brush our teeth, wash our faces, select our clothes, fill our coffee mugs to head out the door for work), but processes they still are - steps we take from spot A to reach our goal of spot B.

The processes we like tell as much about us as the processes we don't: my dearest Jessi and I, for example, both like to iron. My friend, Nic, has the most exact process of making her morning cup of coffee - it makes me laugh every time. Let's face it - we're quirky folk! And processes give us an outlet of expression as well as a vehicle to get it done.

But when you introduce the wee ones into any given process...well, now you're really gonna' find out what you're made of. Last Friday, we had planned to set out on a camping adventure with dear friends when an unexpected family commitment took them suddenly out of town. Though Craig and I considered going alone, it fast occurred to us: Why go through the drive and the work of a tent site when we've got the backyard?

It didn't hurt the Schedule of Fun that it was also the last weekend before Back to School arrived, and we determined to say goodbye to summer with a cap of great memories...and a process or two.

So, after surprising the kids with a trip to Kung Fu Panda 2, we headed home - and announced, "Let's go camping!" Shazam! They were shouting and fist-pumping and great joy was to be had in the kingdom. And so began the process. (Btw, thanks to Micah and Becca for loaning the outdoor room for 10!)

First Step: Working as a team to unroll tarp and tent. So far so good.

Then came malleting the stakes...

Erecting the poles...

 Tying and staking the finishing touches...

And - kaboom! - the process was complete!

Now, I don't know exactly how long it took (enough for Craig to work up a good sweat, but not so long we all fell apart...that math is up to you). All three of the kiddos helped fully in steps of the process while Daddy led them all.
Which then came to the "bestest" part of all - loading their room in the tent with all the necessary supplies. Which meant, from the adult perspective, assortments equaling nearly a third of their rooms but, to the kiddos, the mere necessities needed to make it a home.

For this scenario? Whatever brought them joy made us happy, too.

See?! The process was worth it: we worked as a team for a common fun without friction or failure - my definition of success, indeed! But, most of all, I'm reminded of the following truths:

When you introduce the wee ones into any given process...well, now you're really gonna' find out what you're made of.

Turns out, we're made of fun without friction or failure. Which is pretty good. 

Know what else? As our children age, we discover (at least for the most part) that we enjoy a life of processes with them, realizing that every tent or movie or Back to School Day are single processes in the biggest process of all...

raising them.

Beautiful Just the Same

Vacation is a strange neither here nor there portal that brandishes a considerable effect on the soul: it requires you to be. Usually not where you want, how you want, or when you want, granted: but, ironically, no matter how you map it or plan it to an early grave, the very "free nature" of vacation muscles you into simply being.

It comes as little surprise to me, then, that I can't remember entirely every time we stopped for gas on our road trip...but I remember how that gas powered the Silver Bullet while we shed tears of joy laughing at Elijah inquiring, "Um, did that guy singing just say he farted?" (The lyric is "She got too close so I fought it." But in Elijah's world, he heard...yeah. Funny, right?)

It comes as little surprise to me, then, that I don't care if my derriere is in the shot (at least not for myself: to you, I extend an earnest apology): I love this

because it's a moment captured of me mothering my tiniest son. It's simple. And endearing. And I don't know what that looks like because, well, I'm the one doing it and I don't have eyes outside my body. (Don't tell said tiniest son, though.) Someday, this boy will tower over me. But I'll have this picture to remember my last begotten blessing was once my tiny gift - and, in the heart, always will be, no matter his height.

It also comes as little surprise to me that my honey snapped this one since it's quintessentially me:

Even in the midst of eye-popping mountains, Aspens, and Evergreens, I must stop and check the time (being back before our designated 45-minute time slot expires is essential, dontchaknow?) But you know what else is me? The woman changed by four beautiful hearts who remind me to stop and preserve this sensory delight.

The early 20-something too focused on a task, not yet broadened and deepened by The Love of Four would have paid little to no mind. But, seriously, just look at it.

Want to hear it?

Uh-huh.

I really do have that!

Here ya go.

And let me not forget to mention the least surprise of all: that the escaping moments of vacation push me faster - deeper - into a freefall of love for her.

 

And him.

Or them.

They enlighten me to what is beautiful around me...               

beside me...

 Touching me.

And coming to life from within me.

These moments are of what the heart is made.

Not perfect.

But beautiful just the same.