Another Trip to Carlsbad

We're on the beach again. Camping. And this time I brought my camera. Ok. I lie. My sister Tiffany's friend, Dorisanne, brought her camera and took these great pictures.

This annual trip has evolved and grown and so have the kids. We used to come here before Travis was born. And now he's 7.

 We camp in the same spots each year and eat pretty much the same foods. We play in the same sandy area and the kids build a tree fort in the same trees.

 Sometimes new families come and bring new faces. And sometimes we don't celebrate Halloween. But we usually carve pumpkins.

 Ride scooters.

 And sit around the camp fires singing to guitars and sometimes to ukeleles.

Left to right: Dorisanne's son, girl, Sydney, Matt, Travis, and Brooke.

Do Parking Lots Grow Vines?

Sometimes I meet people here, and it feels like I've known them for longer than I've lived. I told Tom about how often this happens to me and to my surprise he is having the same sort of experience here too. Maybe it's more familiar here than I thought.

Nine years ago my sister visited us in Southern California in the fall. We found this pumpkin patch in Moorpark with a miniature petting zoo and a wooden train.That's all I really remembered about it.

Somehow I got in my head the pumpkin patch went out of business, so I begin asking around for a similar farm nearby that sold pumpkins.

We were referred to this farm in Moorpark, and as we drove into the parking lot I recognized it as the same farm and pumpkin patch we visited years ago, except as we entered the gates I realized the farm had expanded 10 fold and included so much more.

The petting zoo was still there, but they also had face painting and tractor rides, lasso training and a corn maze, animal feeding and hills to run and play, a pumpkin patch and our new favorite...pig races.

We also really enjoyed the corn maze. Our family split into two teams when we entered the maze. Matthew and I were determined to win. Maybe we took longer because we stopped to take pictures or maybe I should have let Matthew lead. Either way, Tom's team won, but everyone still got to pick out a pumpkin.

Each year the kids pick their own pumpkins to carve. But...they must be able to lift the picked pumpkin into the wheelbarrow. It's my only rule.  This pumpkin was Travis' second choice, but only because he could lift it. His first choice he rolled over to the wheelbarrow, but was unable to lift the pumpkin that was bigger than an 8th grader!

 

In the past 4 years, we've picked our pumpkins from a parking lot. Never again. We've found that farm we've known longer than some of us have lived.

62 Days of Numbered Unfamiliarity

It's been 62 days since I've vacuumed my baseboards. The hose to my portable vacuum is still in a moving box, which means two things. I haven't unpacked all of the boxes, and I have dirty baseboards because of it.

I don't know how long I can keep it up. It's dustier here, so the filth collects quickly.

It's hotter here too, so we spent our first 4 weeks at a nearby pool where Travis learned to swim, like face in the water, legs and arms both moving, confident swimming. And because we missed out on soccer signups, both boys are in swim camp, which turned out to be a real blessing with the extra heat this summer.

Luckily, our house has air conditioning though and luckily, I had a lot of indoor projects this summer.

Makayla didn't make the move with us because she was visiting her dad in Utah and wasn't expected back until August 24th. This meant I had 22 days to transform her room, which began with an extraordinary long selection process to find the perfect color of turquoise and ended with making an entire king sized quilt.

I was preoccupied and tired and neglecting the boys in the house as the deadline of her arrival approached. And that's precisely why I didn't notice them building catapults in the room entirely void of furniture, until they launched 400 marshmallows. At me.

I deserved it.

Twelve days after we moved, I flew solo to Portland, OR for my nephew's wedding. My sisters, brother-in-law, nephew and niece met me at the airport, and we drove to the hotel to join my other nephew and the youngest looking, cutest, funny bride-to-be ever.  Right then and there, I started a new life experience of being the aunt of the groom.

Which is different than friend of the groom or even sister to the groom...by about 18 years.

But I didn't notice the age gap while visiting Multnomah Falls, or having breakfast at the Stepping Stone Cafe, or midnight runs to VooDoo donuts.

I noticed it on the dance floor at the reception. Not that I lacked the desire to dance, or that I lacked the skill to move in high heels, but I felt this invisible, intangible division. And then it hit me...this is what a generational gap felt like.

It was so unfamiliar and unwelcoming and strange just like moving to a new place where everyone is faceless and everything remote. And just like that I remembered how lucky I was to have an older sister. To not have to experience this along with whatever else comes with having a child get married.

Imagine.

Before the Hike

Nine friends from Torrance came to bring us some joy and familiarity and to go hiking before they started school. Notice how the sun is out and how Karalea is lathering on the sunscreen because it's sure to be 104 degrees as we walk to Paradise Falls.

We packed for a picnic at the falls and then planned for shaved ice after. My favorite flavor is the sugar-free lime with coconut ice cream.
Tom usually gets sugar-free melona. We've been to the shaved ice place at least 26 times. See we're creating familiarity here and memories.

And we are rewarding ourselves for work well done or for surviving one more day in this heat wave. You better believe Matthew earned a shaved ice after he mowed the front lawn. In his flip flops.

Who allowed this?

And you better believe the kids earned a shaved ice after their first day of school. The first day back to lectures, classrooms, teachers, friends and school work.

And homework.

I deserved one after homework.

There are 20 pictures propped against the wall in the upstairs hall waiting to be hung up. All of them are family pictures taken anywhere but here, except this one. This one was painted by a good friend in Torrance. She painted it when I still lived a mile from the ocean, and my other good friend bought it as a gift for me not even knowing I was getting ready to move away from the ocean.

I haven't found that one spot I want to hang it. Where I'll walk by every day and be reminded of friendship, of beach, of familiarity. I'll hang it soon.

Right after I vacuum the dust off the top.

Waiting At The Finish Line

First of all, I'd like to thank the 9 dedicated visitors to this blog over the past year even though I've offered nothing in return. Nine.

I opened the last rough draft and saw this:

"The highlight of my summer was the family reunion on my side of the family."

And so, I must finish it. I must finish writing about the highlight of summer. Last summer. Shocking I know. Luckily though, nothing worth highlighting happened this summer, unless you count moving. Again.

Our typical family reunions happen about every two years either at Disneyland, or in Vegas, or camping in the mountains. But this year, we all agreed to meet up in Indiana. My husband told everyone we were flying to Chicago out of embarrassment and it was true, we were flying into Chicago. And it was true, the first part of our vacation was in Illinois (pronounced without the 's' on the end please) and not even Indiana.

The five of us flew into Chicago and stayed a night there before traveling down to Nauvoo. Visiting Nauvoo felt similar to going back in time, and not because I had been there as a child, but because the town is so remote and the restaurants were antiquated and maybe because we stayed in a log cabin. Our cousins from Nevada joined us by our second day in Nauvoo. I remember it was hot and uncomfortable and I got tired of all the walking. But the highlight of this leg of the trip was watching Makayla hoist Travis on her shoulders because he was hot and uncomfortable and he was tired of all the walking.

And after all the walking around that remote town, we drove to Liberty on our way to Indiana. This was most memorable to me as a young child and hope my children feel the same way. We were only here a short time partly because it's a small tour, but mostly because we couldn't wait to see cousins waiting in Indiana for our arrival.

We arrived to my home town for a reunion, which was centered around a triathlon, but which included much more than just that event. I was sure to parade my family around my favorite spots growing up; Hier's Park, 354 Sherman St, Memorial Park, Sunken Gardens, the Wabash River, the High School, and my mom's grave site. I showed off how to use maple-tree seeds as Pinocchio noses from the same tree in my yard growing up, how I used to sled down the bank of the Wabash in the winter, and where I used to ride my bike past my friends' houses to the park two blocks from home.

Now my family knows where my grandma and aunts lived, where my mom is buried, how to eat an elephant ear, and some key people who were a part of my life growing up in that small town. They were bored. I could tell. But they never complained, except once when I sat on a swing at the park for too long. I was lost in the memories and the joy of that swing. And so they waited.

And they got used to waiting. On me. Especially on the day of the triathlon.

All 6 families were represented with 8 of us competing participating.  Thirty two family members all wore red to the triathlon event. Those not participating held walkie talkies and were spread through out the race in groups to spot us and cheer us on.

The race began with the youngest male participants and ended shortly after my age group of women, so of course I was going to be one of the last of our family group to cross the finish line. I didn't want to be the last one, though. Amy and I started the race together, and I especially wanted to beat her. I rented a faster bike,  had more swimming training, and I was hopeful. But I lost my goggles in the swim, wrecked my bike, and finished about 10 minutes behind her in the end. The highlight though was finishing my last mile with my niece who happened to still be on the course with me.

Crossing the finish line, I saw my family there waiting. All 32 of them wearing red t-shirts that read, "Miller Family Reunion". The paparazzi was there too to take our pictures and our statements for the local newspaper.  I wanted to collapse with exhaustion and then freeze time and keep my whole family with me forever.

One of my favorite pictures I took was in the restaurant after the race and after crying. It was ending too soon and I needed more time with them. All 32 of them.

Directly after eating, our family of 5 left my family of 32 and drove back to Chicago to fly home. We were exhausted, but our hearts and our cameras were full of memories. I enjoyed every moment of this family reunion.

I'm sure my mom was there. I bet she was at the finish line even. Wearing red.

I imagine she enjoyed every moment of this family reunion too. And she keeps waiting.

Families are forever.