The "ticking" of times together.

I love the 80's.
Okay yes, those 80's too.
But I'm talking about 80 degree temperatures.
And that's what we were blessed with here in IN today. Ahhhh, mighty nice. We took advantage of the beautiful day and decided to begin our pre-season hikes to get the kids ready for the longer and more vigorous hikes our family takes all summer long. The perfect training ground is a remote park called McCloud Nature Park. The unpaved trails and uneven ground surface are perfect for working little legs out. Add the "new" truss bridge project was recently completed to the other side of the river. This meant a brand new area of the park for us to explore since our last visit to McCloud. 110 new acres to be exact ("Deep in the hundred acre wood where Christopher Robin played...") A backpack of bottled water and one very excited dog later, we were on our way.

We decided to hike along the river first, stopping to let the dog go for a much coveted swim. What a wild man he was. No matter how many times we threw the dang stick in the water, he demanded begged for one more. Such the alpha male. This naturally meant that we got our share of river water too. Ever see that scene in Beethoven where the St. Bernard shakes off mud and water all over the bed? Yeah, well! Think of our dog as Beethoven and think of us as "the bed." Mud and water everywhere. Please feel free to remind me that all little boys need to grow up with a dog (grrr!)

In the world of Alpha dogs though, we were quickly losing control of our "pack". Reece found a plastic shovel in the sand along the river and quickly decided he was sunning and funning at Myrtle Beach. Cierah was busy in her own world of Sanibel, what with the shell collection she believed she would be hauling home. Brandon was busy trying to launch sand like a baseball, no matter how many times we instructed him to "Put that sand down this very second!"

And Olivia,....Olivia?

"Where the heck is Olivia?"

Well isn't that special.
Olivia, unbeknownst to us, had packed a handy sketch pad and pencil in her backpack, and had wandered downstream (while we were distracted with alpah wildman) to sit down on a log and sketch "stuff"; "stuff" being turtles, frogs, and snails. Our budding naturalist LOVES to immerse herself in living things. Why, just a few days ago, she burst through the front door and flew into the kitchen exclaiming, "Mom! I always wanted to breed insects and I think my slug laid eggs in the bug habitat I built for her. 4 eggs. Do slugs lay eggs? The dad is a good dad too. He's right there. No sign of the female though."

We. Could. Not. Be. More. Polar. Opposites.....where bugs are concerned. Ewwww!

So, we calmly advise her that meandering off to sketch a slime trail or two is not okay unless we know where you are. Corraled the troops and away we went again, this time to the bridge that lead to the hundred acre woods (and fields). Ever notice there's just no quick way to cross a bridge? It's like a routine traffic stop on a major highway. Everyone knows the police officer is likely just writing a run-of-the-mill speeding ticket. Yet,....traffic slows to a crawl as curious drivers gawk.
There's just no driving by without taking a look-see to be sure you're not missing something.

And so it is with bridges. You can't just cross. It's wired into our design that we MUST stop to see what we're missing down below. For Reece, it's the opportunity to throw stones into the water. For Brandon, it's the chance to do whatever his big brother does. For our girls, it's the chance to toss wildflowers or leaves down to the water's surface. For Carl, the chance to fish, always to fish, if only with his eyes. For the dog, it's a chance to consider actually jumping off, unaware of the danger of doing so, smart enough to obey our "stay" command and yet passionate enough to want to be in the waters below in spite of the dangerous leap considered. And for me.....for me, it's the satisfaction that comes from that desperate place in a mother's heart. That place where you frequently find yourself wishing you could freeze time and keep them close forever. And for that brief moment on the bridge, time DOES freeze and you ARE close, having left the bank on one side but not yet ready to move forward toward the other. I guess that's one of the hidden blessings of suspension, that time too is momentarily suspended on the bridge, yes? Oh, the ticking of precious time spent together.

So we finally made our way across the bridge and began the uphill climb toward the scenic overlooks of the river and the open fields beyond. And that's when a most unwanted scenario came to our attention.

TICKS!

Don't get me started. Yes. Y-E-S, we know about the dangers of ticks. That's why we stay on marked paths, keep our bodies protected, and frequently check for the presence of any unwanted freeloaders. Sure enough though, on inspection we found a tick crawling on Reece. Thankfully it had not bitten him, but.....I nearly passed out at the sight of it (what with being hysterically afraid of bugs and all.) Not a few minutes later, a tick on Carl's shirt. One tick had me itching and spot checking like all get out. But TWO?
Ewwwwwww! Heebie jeebies in duh house.

We were all concerned at that point, especially as we were unsure of how we managed to attact two very unwanted ticks. But it was too late to turn back. We were far enough along that we simply had to finish our hike. And it wasn't quite so enjoyable at this point. Brandon was all, "My weggs huwt, cawwy me!" Reece was all, "Haha, daddy. You had a tick on you too." And I was all, "We're going to get Lyme disease and I'm going to dream of ticks all over me," as I fought the psychosomatic symptoms of total tick infestation all over my body. Cierah, being our "blonde" daughter, was bouncing along, clueless. I can't be certain, but I think I heard her joyfully breaking out in song, "The hills are alive...with the sound of music." And Olivia took great pride in annoucing her tick-free status every 20 steps (which naturally only fed my tick-induced neurosis.)

Can I just interject something here and say..........
This is not how the first day of shorts-wearing hiking weather in the midwest is supposed to go. Not, not, N-O-T!!! Now, why don't I feel any better for having unloaded that? Sigh.

So we made our way back to the van, completing our b'zillionth tick check of the afternoon before allowing everyone to enter the van and take their seats.
No ticks noted.
Carl began the 30 minute drive home.
10 minutes into the drive, from the third row....
The SCREAM that was heard around the world.
Argh! Arghhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Brandon, clearly scared cleeean out of his britches, began to cry.
Olivia was freaking out as only I can, desperately trying to release her seatbelt as she said with great panic, "Spider!!!"

Wellll! That's all it took for this Arachnophobic mom. I ordered demanded asked Carl to pull the van over "NOW!" I jumped out of the van as Olivia practically flew out herself, me attempting to brush her off like a madwoman as she exited.
Spider check.
All clear.
Van check.
All clear......wait.
From the driver's seat, "Toni, it's on you now."
Freakin' Mike and Jake, what is on me? I was screaming like a banschee about to be boiled.
Screaming AND dancing.
On the side of the road.
Where passersby could get an eyeful, kinda like that routine traffic stop I mentioned a few minutes ago.
Nothing like being the roadside freakshow, I tell ya.
Free of charge.
Oh sure, take a gander 'cause I'm still screaming inside as I type this.

Turns out it wasn't a spider at all. NooOOoo! ANOTHER tick. People, Carl and I practially lived in the woods with our Lab back home in Ohio (chocolate Lab, that is, just in case you were picturing the wrong kind of lab). And I don't mean we just hiked on the main trails like we stayed with today. Off trail and into the woods, fields, etc. Never a tick noted. Not a one. And now we found ourselves dealing with THREE in a single day. Our first hike of the year, no less.
NOT how I'd envisioned our beautiful day together.

To put the icing on the proverbial bug cake, Carl stopped at Kroger to pick up a snack for the kids. We had checked the dog together before we all got into the van after our hike. No ticks noted. He suggested I attempt to search his fur coat again while he was in the store "just to be safe." I'm sure I don't have to tell you this is not a job I feel qualified to do, what with my light-headed aversion to bugs and all. But I also didn't want a tick, if present, to transfer from the dog to our van floor, then lie in wait to crawl up the leg of some unknowing victim (namely moi)for a disease-transferring bloodfeast either.

What to do? What to do?

I decided I just had to check the dog "just in case." As I searched under his right front paw, I felt a small nodule. It didn't freak me out, as I figued it was just dry skin and couldn't possibly be another tick. Better remove it "just in case."
And that's when the second scream that could be heard around the world was issued (locals, I apologize if you dropped your Kroger easter eggs because of me.)
Sure enough, it was another tick. I was sooooo willied out, it felt like my entire skin was crawling. As Steve Corwin once said to his cameraman when frightened by a pack of charging elephants, "What you do in your own pants is your own business."

Heebie jeebies round four!

"Leave your shoes outside."
"Strip to your undergarments and dump your clothes in the wash machine immediately."
"Stand on the tile floor while I brush your hair and check your scalp."
"Let me see your pits."
"Check your underwear. NOW! No, I am NOT kidding."
"Fold those ears over so I can see behind them."

These were the commands of a desperate and crazed mother, induced by her irrational fear of all bugs (but especially blood-sucking disease-spreading bugs such as ticks.) I still can't believe it happened. We were not wandering through the brush. And we've NEVER experienced this problem, even though we're avid hikers and are aware of the possibility of encountering ticks while hiking.

Oviously, I do not wish for a repeat of this particular "adventure" anytime soon. It is likely we were dealing with dog ticks, which unfortunately can be carriers of Rocky Mountain spotted fever. Unsettling (to say the least), even though we're confident we weren't bitten. But I probably don't have to tell you we'll be sticking to paved trails until the end of the initial tick season (yep, there is a fall season as well, sigh.)

At least we got to end the day with a good laugh. When we got home, the kids noticed their Dad's senior picture on a pile of photos I'm organizing for scrapbooking. Olivia quickly commented that it didn't look like her dad. I defended his honor, arguing back and forth with her that yes, it does look like him. She adamently stood her ground, insisting matter-of-factly, "Nope. Doesn't. Daddy does not look like that guy."
In one final attempt at defending him, I boldly stated, "Oh sure it does, honey. Just take away some of the hair and add a well-earned wrinkle or two. It's still your handsome daddy with the amazing blue eyes."
Her response? "No, mom. It doesn't. That guy has a round head and my dad's head is shaped like a pickle."

What can I say? I guess I've always had a thing for blue-eyed Larry Boys.

Toni