Tag: family travel

Remtana – Finale

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Final installment (I think) of the Remembering Montana series that documented my family’s three week adventure, ranch-sitting in the Bitterroot Valley. In our charge were three majestic horses, two sweet donkeys, and two rescue dogs. For additional entries, scroll down and navigate back. Some of these reflections were recently written, but mostly I republished posts I’d shared via social media during our experience. I mentioned a few additional stories that I’d hoped to reflect on and add to the documentation, but so far, the words for those aren’t coming. Maybe those stories will still be told…maybe not.

Last Day, October 9, 2018:

I know I haven’t updated in a few days. Just me and the animals today. My family left for home early this morning. Really grateful we packed and loaded as much as we did yesterday in the sunshine because we woke up to rain and lots of mud. Got to get out and muck those stalls at some point today, but I think I’d just make a bigger mess if I tried to do it right now. Feeding the horses by myself in the drizzle and sloppy mud this morning was messy enough.

I’ve done years of inner work around the concept of expectations. I used to be a pretty cranky person much of the time because my high expectations of others (and myself) always led to disappointment. This went for experiences too. I’d get an idea in my head of things playing out perfectly, ensuring we all got the most out of a family outing or vacation that when someone didn’t play along as I’d imagined, the dream shattered and I would end up both livid and wallowing in self-loathing, certain I was doing a terrible job of raising my family.

It’s taken me a long time—seriously years of intentional practice—to come to a place in myself that allows for endless possibilities instead of the one imagined outcome, and to realize that each person in my family is an individual with his or her own agenda. Best to enter into situations with curiosity rather than expectation. And then be okay with messy. Life is messy and there’s beauty in the mess.

This approach is helping me to actually know my kids instead of trying to force fantasy kids I made up in my head before they were even born. It helps me to advocate for their authenticity instead of expecting them to represent me as the world’s best mom. Don’t get me wrong—it’s still really hard to disregard the expectations of others that I will control my children and mold them into perfectly behaved citizens. I’ve decided that my job is not shaping, but seeing and acknowledging. Allowing rather than demanding. Not teaching them, but learning with them—always learning.

It was messy getting my family out the door this morning. There were mistakes, meltdowns, and mud. Agreements were made last night that we’d finish the last bit of loading and work together to clean up, but this morning I could tell the kindest thing I could do was to shower them all in love, get them on the road, and embrace the mess that was left.

I implored them to take care of each other as they drove off in the rain toward the foggy mountains (will there be snow?,) eight hours of travel ahead of them. I’ll lovingly clean the messes I insisted they leave behind because it’s the best I can do as they weather the world without me today.

Remtana – homesick

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The girl took this on one of our final (foggy) mornings.

Part 15 of the Remembering Montana series documenting the three weeks my family spent in the Bitterroot Valley last fall, taking care of a small ranch–something that was completely novel for all four of us. We’re nearing our departure day in this post. For previous entries, scroll down and navigate back.

Day 16, October 5, 2018:

Everyone else is homesick. The kids miss their pets and their friends. Hubby says, “Two weeks would have been just right.”

Since June, I’ve actually spent more days on the road than at home, and my underfed nomadic spirit is feeling quite nourished from the continuous movement I’ve created this year. On the other hand, I’ve learned that my family does not especially share this love of vagabonding with me. The boy has been my most consistent companion, and he’s the most homesick of all. The bittersweet part is now he’s attached to the animals here—he can’t imagine life without Joe, yet his heart aches for his pet fish and his own dog, Crush. Was it cruel of me to put him in this predicament?

The Black and Tan is our dog, Crush, laying in the backyard with the housesitters’ dog. The boy had requested a photo from them and they texted this.

My family moved often during my childhood. Like, really a lot! I used to resent having to adapt to a new school, make new friends, create a new life; but over the years, I came to appreciate the resulting resiliency. I’ve noticed a risk aversion arise in my kids that I think partly grew out of a life that is too easy and predictable, lacking opportunity to experience discomfort and practice flexibility. Is “stability” really all it’s cracked up to be? How do humans learn to ride the extreme waves life will inevitably throw their way, if they spend their childhood on the beach instead of testing the waters?

I think these challenging last days here are the most beneficial part of this adventure. I see my kids stretching themselves in their boredom. Yesterday, we tracked down a cheap taqueria to celebrate National Taco Day. In the car on the way home the kids suggested we practice some of the improv exercises the boy and I learned at Cottonwood.

Rarely are my kids interested in playing board games anymore but last night, the boy capitulated for an epic game of Settlers of Catan with Hubby and me. The girl hung out close by, amicably fulfilling requests from the kitchen upstairs since she wasn’t involved in the game. She’s also taught her brother and me to play a few songs on the piano—songs she’s learned since being here and having unlimited access to a real piano.

The donkeys, Joe and Eddy, wait at the front porch in the morning for the boy to come out and play. We know the faces of the clerks at the grocery stores and the nice man that works at the post office recognizes me when I come in. The once interesting chores have become mundane. This definitely didn’t feel like a vacation—we really did “live” here, albeit briefly. And in a few days, we’ll move away. We’re already starting to clean and pack, in preparation for the journey.

We’ve got more adventures coming up this year, and the kids are feeling somewhat weary. They’ll get 3 weeks to recharge in Boise between our next two sets of travel plans. Maybe I was a little too ambitious this year… Maybe next year, we’ll spread our adventures out a bit more. We’ll find a balance, right? And while we’re home, the comfort and predictability will be appreciated instead of taken for granted, right? Well, If I’ve learned anything, it’s to move forward without expectations. It will be what it will be. And whether turbulent or tame, we’ll ride that wave–just like we rode this one.

Remtana – Driving Lessons Part 2

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Part 14 of the Remembering Montana series reflecting on the three weeks my family got to ranch sit for 3 horses, 2 donkeys, and 2 rescue dogs in the Bitterroot Valley. Most of these are slightly adapted social media posts that I shared while we were in Montana. Others are more recently written. This is one of the former, and I broke it into two parts.

To fully appreciate this entry, I encourage you to read Part 1 before continuing with the rest of Day 15. I link lots of other days in this post since I reference many of the happenings of the past few weeks, but Part 1 is really a must.

Winter is coming…

Day 15 continued, October 4, 2018

So back to yesterday. It was the boy’s and my first full day back from Helena (read about our side trip here and here) and it was rainy and cold. My plan to hole up and work on my projects (writing, jigsaw puzzling, knitting) doesn’t quite play out as intended. Something goes awry with the girl’s morning coffee, and I remember that I promised the kids I’d take them back into Missoula for cupcakes from Bernice’s Bakery and I have some other errands to run anyway, so I offer to take the girl into town for a cup of joe.

We invite the boy but he declines. The girl’s excited because whenever she and I leave the property alone together, it means a driving lesson. Each time she gets to go a little further on the back roads that take us to the main highway and each time she says, “I love this SO much!”

She cheerfully accompanies me on my errands, we get coffee while at Bernice’s, check out another thrift store where she scores a denim shirt she’s been on the hunt for, and on the way home, she muses over the things she’s going to remember about this adventure. In fact, I have to remind myself that she’s a teenager because she’s also this truly lovely person that I enjoy spending time with.

Later that night, as I’m lying awake questioning the wisdom of that afternoon coffee, the light on my phone alerts me that I’ve received a text. It’s the girl, and clearly she thought I was sleeping so would be undisturbed by the text.  I text her back asking what she’s doing. She’s actually in the house on a bathroom run, so I sneak downstairs from the loft where both Hubby and the boy are sleeping, we grab a package of microwave popcorn, make a jar full of Italian soda, and head out to her freezing RV apartment with my laptop to bundle up under a comforter and watch YouTube.

We’re midway through a video she’s really invested in sharing with me and the computer alerts us to a dying battery. The girl says she’ll run over to the house to get the charger. When she returns, she’s breathless and informs me she’s going to walk me back when we’re finished because the sky is packed with stars!

Around 2am, we exit the trailer and crane our necks to “ooh and aah” over the starfilled sky. So few times has she seen stars like this, and I’m again flooded with gratitude for the many new shared experiences with my teenage girl that wouldn’t have happened without the freedom we’ve claimed for ourselves.

I’ve been thinking about how much driving represents freedom and trust for a teen. I notice the more freedom and trust the girl feels she has, the more I treat her with the same dignity and respect I treat the adults in my life, the more she acts like a kind, caring adult.

There were many moments I feared this Montana Adventure would be a complete disaster (read here about why the boy is permanently scarred from this experience,) but the girl will always associate this trip with lots of thrilling firsts–firsts that reinforced that she is respected, trusted, and free. 

Remtana – Driving Lessons Part 1

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Part 13 of the Remembering Montana series reflecting on the three weeks my family got to ranch sit for 3 horses, 2 donkeys, and 2 rescue dogs in the Bitterroot Valley. Most of these are slightly adapted social media posts that I shared while we were in Montana. Others are more recently written.

I broke this slightly adapted social media post into two parts to keep it consistent with the typical length of my entries. Come back tomorrow for the rest of the story. 😉

Day 15, October 4, 2018:

“I love this SO much!” She says for the umpteenth time.

It all started on Day 5. The girl and I had driven into town to engage in what has become one of our signature shared activities: thrifting.

I’m pretty proud of the progress I’ve made at avoiding arguments with my teenage girl by quickly noticing when she’s being reactive and not getting sucked into that reactivity myself. I’m practicing digging for the emotion that is causing her tone, then excavating even further to discover the need she’s seeking to meet through her behavior. It’s tricky with her. She is 14 after all and driven to individuate, so there have been times when I think the mood and tone are purely to agitate discord. She’s also savvy and usually on to me if my tactics lack sophistication.

This afternoon presents a situation with her that is provoking in me my own need to be seen and appreciated. I feel myself getting triggered, finding it extremely difficult to maintain a calm presence, so I alert her to this then fall quiet. We leave Missoula in silence, though she’s plugged into a podcast, while I’m processing my failure to find connection.    

Half an hour later, we’ve arrive at the gate to the property, and she’s about to leave the car to open it, when I suddenly get the inspiration that will dissipate the negativity. I say, “you want to drive us in?”

“What?!” She responds in utter disbelief. She’s never been in the driver’s seat of a real car but she’s been obsessing about it lately, reminding us often that she’s almost of the age to get her permit.

This invitation makes her absolutely giddy, and after I open the gate, I give my oldest child her first driving lesson, and she moves the 2-ton machine a whole 20 feet. She’s over the moon and then proceeds to apologize for how she treated me in town, even articulately explaining the complex emotions that were driving her behavior with some embarrassment but knowing I’m not going to chastise or shame her. Success!

We’ll come back to the day at hand and why I recall the driving lessons on this particular day in Driving Lessons part two.

Remtana – trust and freedom

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Thought I was feeling inspired to write up a new post for today. I wrote and wrote. Usually a theme emerges, occasionally different than what I originally intended, but somehow it always seems to come together. Not so much today. Hopefully, I can come back to all that content and find some nuggets to work with, but to stay on track with my daily publishing, here’s the next Remtana installment.

While on a field trip, I was surprised to discover the Center’s stilts had accompanied us on our walk (through downtown Helena and no one was ordered to “get in line”.) Here’s the boy working on his skills…

This is part 12 of the Remembering Montana series that chronicles the three weeks my family got to spend in Montana the fall of 2018 thanks to trustedhousesitters.com, location independence, and my family’s willingness to indulge me in this somewhat crazy experience. Most are slightly adapted social media posts written during our stay. Scroll down and navigate back to read more about our Montana adventure.

Days 13 and 14, October 2-3, 2018:

I think this may be the longest I’ve made it through a post challenge I’ve given myself (Until now! July 25, 2019 On day 50 of a 60day blog challenge!)–even if I am making up for not updating yesterday! More about the boy’s and my 3-day side trip to Helena:

I have met some amazing people since discovering Agile Learning, then joining the Alliance for Self-Directed Education (www.self-directed.org).   The Cottonwood founders were no exception. They insisted that the boy and I stay with them rather than book a hotel and they treated us with tremendous hospitality.

Our littles played happily together, while we three adults had long, energizing discussions about self-directed education and the implications of this “educational” approach for the future of humanity and the planet we inhabit. We shared stories and resources and established a support connection, promising to collaborate and create together. This visit absolutely reinforced the magnetic pull I felt to the ALC network and while intimidated, I’m so super grateful for them (and all the other ALC founders and facilitators) for their courageous trailblazing and generosity with their hard-earned wisdom.

While at Cottonwood, I had the privilege to have several conversations with a 16yo girl who left traditional school to be there. Prior to making the transition to an ALC, she experienced anxiety-induced migraines and other physical and emotional symptoms of an unhappy life. I can testify that she now has the demeanor of someone who is excited about and highly engaged in life.

When I asked her about the biggest difference she’s experienced between her traditional high school and the agile learning environment, she said two words: trust and freedom—that she’s trusted by both her parents and the agile facilitators to choose her own path and direct her own day, to show up to those things she’s committed to. I dug a little deeper and asked how she feels about that trust and freedom, and in her very animated way, she launched into an explanation of the immense responsibility she feels to maintain that trust. This girl may come and go from the center as she pleases, but typically when she’s not there, it’s because she’s at another of her scheduled commitments including community college classes. She seemed keen to engage in philosophical discussions with me and I must admit, it’s pretty impressive to get the insights of a 16yo girl regarding Machiavellian influence on current politics!

Same field trip as above. Rather than round them up when it was time, a facilitator checked in with the kiddos and reminded them there were some scheduled events at the center in the afternoon. Several were having such a good time they decided to stay rather than cut their play short to return. Others who were excited about afternoon’s offerings, returned to the center. The facilitators went with the flow rather than insist the children succumb to the schedule.

I could continue sharing stories about the 14 yo girl who spent much of her time distributing resumes and following up with potential employers, the 15yo boy who is starting his own business and spends much of his time at the center creating YouTube videos, the ongoing discussion as the kiddos try to establish a video gaming policy (adults weigh in too, but they do not exercise veto power), the continuous self-directed making that happens in the workshop, the amazing benefits of the Improv class for those who choose to attend, and so many more, but instead I’ll finish this post by expressing immense gratitude for the 3 days of freedom and play (aka learning) that the boy and I got to experience with the Cottonwood Agile Learning Community.  

Remtana – disturbed

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Read on with caution. Montana was challenging in many ways, but there was one situation in particular that eliminated the possibility of us accepting future stays on this ranch. A morbid fascination may get you through to the end.

This is part nine of the Remembering Montana series of posts reflecting on my family’s three weeks on a small Montana ranch in the fall of 2018. While most of the posts are slightly adapted from those I shared on social media while we were at the ranch, others are recent reflections. (Scroll down then navigate back to read previous posts.) This one took some time and distance for me to be able to write about it and share it out.

We’d found the gig on trustedhousesitters.com. I’d communicated with the owner of the ranch via Skype and knew the rescue dogs were going to be a handful, but while I got a good view of Kiki (described in the introductory Remembering Montana) post during that epic Skype call with Jane (read Remtana – Let’s get real.,) the other dog was mentioned only briefly and we were not sufficiently introduced until we got to the ranch.

Teddy was…well…gross. I know that sounds terrible and I felt awful for him and his current state, but there was no denying what an assault he was to the senses.

Teddy looked like he might be a Westie, a small white terrier. He was also a rescue dog, and while totally blind, he was able to find his way downstairs to the doggie door to let himself out. Thank God! We had to carry Kiki downstairs to take her out every 2.5-3 hours because of her age and her apathy about where she relieved herself. Got it and no problem, because, well, Kiki had hair.

Teddy only had hair on his face and along the ridge of his spine—the places he couldn’t reach to pull it out. The poor dog was so traumatized from whatever situation he’d been rescued from that he’d developed this disgusting habit of yanking out his own hair. As you can imagine, he was a sorry sight.

We hadn’t been there long when we were treated to the experience of Teddy’s actual hair pulling practice. There were dog beds scattered throughout the house, primarily on the main floor, and he frequented the one near Jane’s Murphy bed. My husband and I shared a concerned look when we heard the loud, wet snuffle/snort sounds that Teddy made while chewing at himself followed by gagging sounds like a cat coughing up a hairball. (You might remember from a previous reflection that our host, Jane, is completely deaf.)

It was obvious he did this several times a day, but it was that first night when we were in the open loft where we’d sleep, right above Jane’s Murphy bed and Teddy’s favorite dog mat, that we both groaned, “Noooo!” when he started up the hair pulling with enthusiastic vigor and it sunk in that our nights would be haunted by these repulsive sounds.

Another result of this nasty habit was the smell. It wasn’t terrible the day we arrived. Jane had said she usually bathed Teddy at least once a week. This routine served to wash away the oils his skin secreted that would normally be absorbed by the curly white hair that covered the bodies of this type of dog. She had bathed him that morning before our arrival and assured us he’d be fine for the duration of our stay.

Wrong. Not fine. The main floor (the only floor with chairs) quickly became a place to avoid because of the strong odor left behind on all the dog mats and blankets. It was unfortunate that there was a pile of mats right off the kitchen area; it made food preparation very unpleasant. Washing the blankets frequently and covering the mats with these was the only thing that made it remotely tolerable.

Jane didn’t have to experience the associated sounds, but it seemed pretty obvious she’d left out the other details. And bless her heart, that dog loved her and knew when she was getting ready to leave that no one else could love him like she did. (We weren’t the first housesitters who would not be returning for future sit opportunities.)  Teddy barked loudly and sharply at her feet the whole time she was preparing to head for the airport, and it was clear she was distraught about leaving him.

Once Jane was gone, Teddy stayed to himself. Both dogs were aloof (and smelly,) to be honest, but we tried to get Kiki to warm up to us. Everyone was amused when she’d run from me on her tiny legs each time I went to take her out. (I dedicated an old sweatshirt worn only for this task because of the strong odor left behind.) Evidently, I was trying too hard? Funnily enough, when Hubby–who had no interest in bonding with the little stinky yet pretentious dog–had to fill in for me on occasion, she’d jump right into his arms.

Jane had encouraged me to take Teddy out in the morning when we took Kiki out for the first time each day, but this involved picking him up and carrying him out. The first day I used a blanket to accomplish this because I just couldn’t bring myself to touch him directly. He clearly didn’t enjoy it either, so the two of us agreed to not do it again.

The family stayed as far away from him as possible. When I brought his food to him in the morning like Jane had showed me, I would talk to him gently and let him know I hoped he was doing okay. I don’t think he believed me; his increasingly fervent scratching and pulling had resulted in some raw, red, even bloody spots on his exposed skin. I reported this to Jane, and she assured me this was normal. Eventually I even offered to bathe him (mostly to address the smell,) but Jane insisted that he was fine and I shouldn’t attempt this.

After a bit, we started finding occasional pee puddles around the house; Jane insisted that Teddy wasn’t the culprit, that it had to be Kiki; however all evidence pointed to Teddy, though we never came upon him in the act. While he behaved as though he were oblivious to us, I think he wanted us to know we were not a suitable substitute for his usual human.

There were many inconveniences we had to endure while we were there that I think, for the most part, were character building for all of us. Teddy, on the other hand, was beyond heartbreaking. It was clear his quality of life was questionable though arguably much better now that he was in Jane’s care. The most difficult part was the shame-inducing revulsion all four of us experienced. Had we been given an honest picture of Teddy’s situation, it would definitely have been a deal breaker. I guess it’s a good thing we didn’t know, or we would have missed out on so many magical experiences.

With that said, my super-sensitive, gentle-hearted, animal-loving son is still a bit traumatized. He has very low tolerance for unpleasant stimuli, and he’s also the biggest dog-lover among our dog-loving family. So to be completely grossed out by a canine that endured such a miserable existence really messed with him. Montana is a dark and troubled memory for the boy, even though he loved the donkeys and horses, especially Joe with whom he had a special bond. Unfortunately the experience of Teddy cast a shadow over all the other amazing things we got to see and do. He will forever associate our Montana adventure with that bald, stinky, disturbed dog. 

No picture this time. You’re welcome.

Remtana – magic

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Ah Montana Magic. One more warm and fuzzy post before tomorrow’s disturbing dose of reality.

This is part eight of the Remembering Montana series of posts reflecting on my family’s three weeks on a small Montana ranch in the fall of 2018. Some reflections are recently written, but this post came from those I shared to social media while we were at the ranch. Scroll down then navigate back to read previous posts.

Day 10, September 29, 2018:

It has been almost a year since I had a relieving epiphany about my little family. The four of us had become seemingly disparate in our daily lives. How had this happened?!

We all had very different interests, and not only was I having a nearly impossible time finding activities we all enjoyed together, but simple conversations with each other could be extremely challenging. My kids and husband were tired and cranky at the end of their “work” days, and my efforts to now intentionally create a tight knit culture after years of distancing ourselves were met with little receptivity. I was getting desperate and coming to believe it was just too late–I’d blew it by not forcing this sooner!

Then, on our annual Thanksgiving roadtrip to SoCal where we always spend the holiday with dear family friends, I noticed how much better we do when we’re interacting with the world as a unit–like we’re forced to do when we travel. We just relate to each other differently. We’ve got to figure things out together. We need each other.

And my absolute favorite part–my kids reach out to each other for company and comfort. There were many moments on this particular trip that reinforced this awareness for me, and it hit me that we needed more of THIS. Adventures might just be the key to the culture I wanted for my family. (Over this past year of intentional implementation, I’ve learned there’s an additional requirement–these adventures must be consensual. And that sometimes means we’re not all there!)

Mind you, we’re still healing and it takes some time to fall into that ease. I’ve learned forcing it doesn’t work; I have to be patient, and watch for the magic and even then, I have to be careful not to “notice it” out loud though I do sometimes quietly point it out to my husband. It starts with just a moment here and there, then longer periods of togetherness emerge.

I can’t overstate the importance of allowance rather than insistence. I’m thrilled to share that we’ve spent many hysterical hours here, downstairs at the ping pong table making up new games with those paddles and the ppball. The boy and I have fallen into an easy routine feeding the horses together each morning; the girl will occasionally slip one of her earbuds into my ear to share podcast highlights with me; Hubby and the boy kick the soccer ball around the yard or hike out to explore something in the pasture…

But yesterday! So far yesterday is my favorite. Because instead of spending most the day each doing their own thing with occasional moments of togetherness, my kids chose to hang out with each other, like ALL day! After freezing our butts off at the Missoula farmer’s market, then picking up some lunch, we went to Lowe’s to pick out the Venus Flytrap the boy’s been dying to get.

He and and his sister talked excitedly the whole 30 minute drive back to the ranch: what to name it (Dragon,) where to keep it, predicting how long the mosquito trapped in the container with Dragon would last, etc. Then they disappeared into the RV for hours–in fact, Hubby and I took off and had a beer together in Stevensville then stopped at the store for the Italian soda supplies the girl had been requesting.

When we got home, the kids came back to the house where they worked together to concoct fruit flavored simple syrups and their first homemade Italian sodas while Hubby and I heated up leftovers for dinner. We enjoyed our meal together at the kitchen island. The conversation was easy and enjoyable. I can’t help but think this is how life is supposed to feel…at least most the time, right? Yet, it was magical. More of this, please.