Putting out a fire of my own

Our homeschool group met at a local fire station for a field trip yesterday. I registered for this trip a good three months ago and had to sign the littles up for a 9 o'clock tour and my oldest for the 10 o'clock tour. I received an email from the coordinator, asking me if I could just bring all my kids to the later tour to help balance out the registration numbers. Sure, no prob!

So I showed up yesterday at 10 am and the "sign" came. You know, the "It's not going to be smooth sailing," kind of sign. The coordinator walked up to me, peering over the top of her wire-rimmed glasses, and inquired, "Did you have some of your children signed up for the earlier tour?"

She thinks I'm late. Isn't that special?

"Why, yes. I did. But I was asked to show up with all my chitlins at the TEN o'clock tour." (Hmfff!)

To my chitlins, "Fall in!"

And off we went. Now first of all, you'd have to know my Reece to understand how this was bound to go for me. He talks incessantly. He doesn't always remember to be socially appropriate when desiring to speak and it's something we have to work on constantly. And besides, he is a highly inquisitive child and, well, he just has LOTS to say. ;) And so he began...

"What's down that hall?"
"What's that for?"
"Where do you go to the bathroom?"
"What's this hole on the fender for?"
"Why are your shoes laying by the fire truck?"
"What's that stair climber for?"
"OH MY, MOMMY! LOOK AT HOW BIG THESE WEIGHTS ARE!!!"
Me, to Reece, "Shhhh! Listen to the man quietly please."
Reece, glossing over my words and turning to the man, "Who uses those things?"

It went on,...and on,....and ON!!!!!

That is, until a live call came in. The sounding alarms nearly scared Brandon clean out of his diaper. I tried to calm him down as I checked my own pulse for cardiac arrythmia (Sheesh!) Meanwhile, Reece is spinning with curiosity.

"What's that? What's that? Do you hear that, Momma? (as if) Hey, why are they,....WHERE ARE YOU GOING?" Never mind that they TOLD us where they were going. As usual, Reece glossed over their words and responded from his own world of sensory overload and sensory aversion. It is sometimes concerning yet somehow endearing all at the same time (parents of a special needs child, can I get an amen?)

We got to watch as the guys loaded up onto the truck in only one minute (literally) and were on their way. Touring with the secretary, while I appreciated her efforts, just wasn't the same. Thankfully, it was only a first responder's call and they were back in less than ten minutes (according to the captain, about 85-90% of their runs are first responder calls and only about 10-15% are actual fires each year).

So the very humorous Harry Connick Jr. look-alike fireman resumed our tour. He was telling us that they do try to save personal items when possible, and gave a shining example of braving fallen roof timbers to save a box of photos for one family.
One homeschool mom spoke up and said, "I told my husband that if our house is ever on fire, he's to save our dishwasher."

She giggled at her comment.

I tried to control my twitching eyelid (that's what I get for rolling my eyes.)

Her self-amusing giggle wasn't nearly as hard as I giggled, however, when Harry Connick Jr. spoke up and cracked, "So,...he would grab you by the hand and lead you out!" Get it? Save the dishwasher. Bahahahaha! Harry and I were laughing to the exclusion of everyone else on our tour, who clearly missed or didn't get his joke (it was early).

We finally headed upstairs to take a look at the fire pole. Now, I once visited my dear fireman friend, Dan, at his station in Cleveland (Hi, Dan!!!) It was an old station (I believe they called it the bat cave) and indeed had a pole. Dan told me no one really used it though (curse that 70's show, Emergency, for making us think they do.)


So Harry's telling us that the pole is the only one in our local fire stations and is there for historical significance, that "no one really uses it." According to him, they used to let touring parents or chaperones slide down the pole. That is, until one dad went THUD at the bottom. Good thing he was among EMT's, eh? I'm thinking he might should have, what, held on? Just thinkin'.

So, 'bout the time Harry's finishing up this story, Brandon (age 2) decides it would be a good time to pull my sweater out and take a look-see inside. Mortified, I pulled it all back in place with as much dignity as I could muster. Oh, the game was on. He did it again. And AGAIN. And now, I had an audience. A "we're pretending we don't notice this hilarious power struggle but we actually DO notice" audience. Swell! I couldn't put him down, lest he made a bee line for the pole. At the same time, I wasn't reveling in the thought of defending my pieces-parts and dignity against the will of a 2 year old. Did I mention it was a brass pole? I flushed with embarrassment as it took on a whole new meaning in the midst of our power struggle.

Fire station tour!
Half dressed mom and a brass pole.
Fire station tour.
Half dressed mom and a brass pole.

Oh why, oh WHY could that live call not have occurred in that charming moment?

Needless to say, I was sooo glad to be done with our little venture to the local fire station. And if my house ever catches fire, you can be sure I'm calling the next town over.

Toni

Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale...

Okay, couldn't resist opening with the first line from Gilligan's Island. People, we had a GREAT time. Y'all have no idea how this all came together, so I'll just expand on it a little. Walk with me...

Carl was working the ticket counter one day in January, when our friends from church stopped by to say hi to him as they departed for their cruise. Their excitement stirred a flicker in him, a flicker that would soon ignite a flame. See, we had been blessed to take many cruises B.C. (before children) due to the travel industry discounts Carl gets through his job. The last cruise we took was in May of 1999. Our foster kids had just reunited with their family that week and we cruised to Alaska, hopeful for them that their family crisis was over and yet saddened by the silence of our home, a home without children. We returned from that cruise to learn that our foster kids' mother wanted us to adopt her baby (due to be born that July). That baby is our oldest daughter, Olivia. That cruise to Alaska, our last one.

Fast forward ten years. Carl called me from work in January after seeing our friends at the airport.
"Why couldn't we do that?"
"Well,...uh,...I dunno. I guess we could."
And so began the journey of a thousand miles (1024 flight miles to be exact, Indy to Miami). And it began with the proverbial first step. Calls were made. Childcare was lined up. Expenses were considered. And then...

"Why don't we ask our dear friends Big Doofus and Miss Sniz to join us?" There are many reasons we thought this was a great idea, but it really all came down to one; we knew we would enjoy their company. And so we asked. And after another dozen or so details were addressed, it was a go. And go we did, the four of us, to Miami.

We spent the night in Miami to ensure that there wouldn't be any travel related delays and/or fatigue that interfered with our first day on the ship. All four of us were feeling adventurous, so we decided to access public transportation to head over to Bayside Mall for the evening. And we made it there too, in spite of the fact that there were no less than three bus routes that supposedly were "the one" to get us there. We even met an older Jamaican gentleman who was trying to be very helpful as we maneuvered the transfers from bus to rail, but we were so obviously "tourist lost" that he just kept laughing at us as if we were unknowing characters in a situational comedy. Dinner at Hardrock Cafe and a stroll through the artsy Bayside mall were enjoyed by all.

The next day, we were up and moving, ready to head to the port at 11 am. Check in was a breeze and in no time at all, we were on board and welcomed with a complimentary glass of champagne. Have you seen the movie Groundhog Day? If so, then you'll appreciate the part where we all got lost while exploring the enormous Norwegian Sky and found ourselves back at square one, receiving a complimentary glass of champagne. I had to laugh as we boarded, because the crew was standing there in tropical shorts with big smiles on their faces. I couldn't help but hear Ricardo Montalban's, "Smiles, everyone!" as we passed their grining faces.

From that point on, reality blurred with surreality. It was sooo wonderful to be pampered, to enjoy delicious meals amid dear friends, and to make memories that will stay with us for the rest of our lives.
We shopped at the straw market,



visited Christ Church cathedral,


and made our way to the Queen's Staircase.


We spent a fun day at sea, sunning to a crisp (this was NOT part of our plan, I tell you. I had 30spf on and still fried.) In spite of our sunburns, it was a truly wonderful day of complete, carefree relaxation.

And we also spent a day on Norwegian's private island, Great Stirrup Cay. This was my third time on the island and I love it as much as I always have. The water is a beautiful turquoise blue. The pines and palms rustle in the tropical breeze. The lighthouse stands magestically at one end of the island (a mile by hike). And of course, there's the international airport (nothing more than a heli-pad). The seas were choppy and the tender ride over was quite bumpy, but it didn't put one iota of a damper on our day. Not one.


I'll share some actual photos with you soon (I'm a slug about uploading photos, which doesn't compliment the hobby of scrapbooking too well). Until then, thought I'd give you an update so you know we made it back alive and well. Sniz has some photos posted on her blog so stop by and check them out.

As for our way home, dh and I were flying standby. We got ourselves on the list for Miami to Chicago. I asked him to login to a gate computer just to double check the standby list and see if we were likely to make the flight. Uh, no. That would be a definite no, what with FIFTY standbys ahead of us on the list. That's right, F-I-F-T-Y. So, we flew back to Indy, then purchased standby fares on Continental into Cleveland (yes, ironically Indy is home and we made it back to Indy but our children were waiting for us at their Nana and Papa's house back in Cleveland).

Toni

Hoist up the sails!

It's kind of quiet here In The Midst, as I am knee deep in packing for our upcoming cruise next Monday while simultaneously continuing to homeschool and maintaining some semblance of domestic life. Stay tuned for a cruise recap in coming days.

One of the many tasks at hand was to buy a new swimsuit. A few stores do have them out now. I know this because I spent the last few weeks looking for them and let me tell you, most stores do NOT have them. Not even TJ Maxx, where I could have counted on good quality for a reasonable price. Kohls has beautiful suits out. At uh,...$36 to $40 PER PIECE (sheesh, they're basically just loin cloth). So Target it was. Still not happy with price (given the lesser quality) but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.

Imagine my surprise when I walked out of my dressing room to check the suit in the chamber of humiliation (a.k.a. the 3-sided mirror) and who should walk in? A guy. A young guy walked into MY dressing room. Yes. He. Did. Too. Oh yeah, I'm sure Mr. co-ed college dorm dude wasn't at all taken aback (well, other than the sight of moi in a tankini). But *I*, on the other hand, was quite surprised. Albeit not as surprised as seeing every flaw present on my entire body in that evil mirror. I mean, who comes up with the exposured lighting anyway? Wouldn't they want us to think we actually look good in a swimsuit (as opposed to thinking we look like a 4 year old's lumpy playdough creation).

So, in honor of my uncomfortable swimsuit shopping gala, I thought I'd share a little blast from the past for ya. Swimsuit adventures aren't only for the old, you know. Without further ado, I give you....A BLOND MOMENT!

Toni

Fruitcake!

We had to go to War-mart the other night (as my friend, Vicki, would say). One of the things we needed to pick up was some faux fruit to fill a black wire basket on our new kitchen table. I had seen the fruit there previously and knew it would work perfectly. First though, we had to pick up some hair mousse, which was near the front of the store. As always, dh was the task master, while I was busy talking his ear off. It's a gift.

He headed down the necessary aisle while I waited with the kids in the main walkway.
Returning a minute later, he said, "Look, buy one, get one. Now, let's go get the fruit."

Leading the way, he began walking again, while I, naturally, begin talking again.
"So the girls went to see that Renee Zellweger movie. Well, okay, so it's a Harry Connick Jr. movie too. Which, uh hem, doesn't have anything to do with why I wanted to see it too."
Anything much, that is.

When I stopped to inhale, dh said without skipping a beat,
"Where is this fruit? This way?"

"Uh huh. So, as I was saying,..." and I rambled on, not really aware of where we were heading at all, or even why. I was too busy doing what we women do best, annoy them with our incessant rambling, talking his ear off.

We were almost to the grocery end of the store when dh again asked, a bit more frustrated this time, "Are we headed in the right direction? Where is the fruit?"

Now frustrated with his apparent lack of interest in my story, coupled with his apparent inability to find the dang fruit, I grumbled, "It's this way, in the produce section."

SCRATCH! (enter DJ vinyl album sound effect)

He stopped abruptly, turned to face me and calmly said with a hint of surprise in his voice, "Not that fruit. The fake stuff you needed for our kitchen table. Where is thaaat fruit? The vegetables are clearly right here beside me, but where is the fake fruit?"

A slight pause (and slight chill in the air) followed by all out laughter. I stood there laughing like a mad woman. Yes siree, I was so busy talking that I actually went into auto pilot mode and tried to mindlessly lead dh to the produce section. Good thing this same "auto pilot" isn't responsible for getting us to Florida to catch a ship in two weeks, eh?

Toni