What I Learned At Bryce Canyon

My family very recently completed an epic adventure to Bryce Canyon.  (Epic adventures are the only thing we go on according to my husband, Steve.  I think it makes him feel better about where he's at in life right now, that is, NOT on Mt. Everest.)  We spent six days of concentrated family alone time, two of them hiking at Bryce and tent camping at Kodachrome Basin State Park.  During those two days we were chewed on mightily by vicious gnats -- the little buggers made it impossible to stay outside for any length of time; you should have a mental picture of food being shoved into mouths and then the kids running for their lives back to the tents; kept a Staheli tradition alive by cooking some Lallyloop (Grandpa Staheli's name for some fantastic Dutch oven potatoes.  No one knows why.); and I learned something competely unexpected.

The last time I visited Bryce was ten years ago.  We took a day trip from Fishlake and spent half the day at the park.  The three kids I had were six, four and 3 months, and the memories I have of that trip are basically this:  

1)  It was cold

2)  The kids whined

3)  I spent more time than I would have liked trying to shove some cold rice cereal down the throat of a wiggly baby who didn't want to eat in a makeshift high chair in the back of my Land Rover.

That's it.  That may be the reason I was less than excited to go back, this time with four kids, two of them teenagers, in tow.  

When faced with a road trip with kids I've trapped in a car together for hours previously, I was sure I knew how it was all going to go down.  They would fight, I would yell, and we would all be exhausted by the end of the first day.  This is how our trips have gone before.  But from the moment we all got in the car together, something was different.  The teenagers were laughing.  With each other.  The little kids were happy.  Everyone was looking at license plates to see how many different ones we could find.  No one seemed to care when we had to add some extra miles to the trip.  It was *gasp* FUN.  And things went that way for the rest of the week. 

Ezri, now 16, went out of her way to include her little brother, Jack (7) in her vacation.  They hung out in the tent, shared a backpack and water bottle in the canyon, and laughed about more than one private joke.  Evyn (14) was enormously helpful with pretty much everything from cutting potatoes on a paper plate to loading up the trailer with our gear.  Bryn (10) turned on her happy switch, leading the way on every trail and singing while enough gnats swarmed her forehead that it looked like someone had sprinkled pepper on her face.  I was sure the bubble would burst when faced with pit toilets.  Not so.  It turns out that only having one towel all six of us had to use was outweighed by the fact that we got to shower at all.  Every single kid just rolled with it, in every situation, and I was amazed.  Flabbergasted, in fact.  Somewhere along the Navajo Loop in Bryce Canyon, I just started to enjoy myself and being with the people I love best.  

I realized on this trip that we've hit the sweet spot in our career as parents.  We've passed the needy baby stages and haven't yet come to the super-serious, life-changing-decision-making part.  Don't get me wrong -- I've loved every phase so far, but I'd be lying if I didn't say the older my kids get, the better I like them.  I like getting to know who they are as people. I like seeing them make good choices, even when they're hard.  I like seeing them succeed on their own and create their own spheres of influence.  I found that I even like going on vacation with them.  I know this stage won't last forever -- none of them have so far -- but I'm trying my best to focus being present here with them now, so I won't have anything I regret missing later.  And I thank my Heavenly Father every day that I get to be part of their lives, because, you know, I think they're pretty amazing. Even on vacation.

                            

LALLYLOOP

(serving size 8-10 people)

1 lb. bacon

12-14 potatoes, sliced

2 onions, sliced

Water

Salt and Pepper

Cut bacon into pieces and brown in Dutch oven.  You can do this over a fire or charcoal, but we often cheat and make it on our camp stove.  When bacon is cooked, add onions and cook until they are translucent.  Add potatoes and enough water to keep them from sticking, as well as salt and pepper to taste.  Put on the lid (put enough briquettes on top to keep things bubbling if you're doing it that way), but check and stir often, adding more water and salt and pepper as needed.  When the potatoes are cooked and starting to fall apart, take off the heat and serve.  Mmmmhhmmm.

What Was I Thinking?

I'm feeling very historic.  Like, there-should-be-a-banner-outside-and-a-brass-band-playing-with-speeches-and-dignitaries historic.  Instead I've got Phineas and Ferb echoing down the stairs and a sneaking suspicion that I'm going to have to interrupt what I'm doing to go switch my laundry around.  Party.  All of this begs the question, "What was I thinking?"  Why am I starting a blog now when my kids are past their first cuteness (the one everyone appreciates; teenagers aren't nearly as adorable), and I'm past the point I can share existentially important single-life adventures?  Why now, when the calendar on my iPad is so full that I have to look at it in portrait view instead of landscape so I can see all the things that are demanding my attention and/or attendance?  Why am I taking this on now, while I still have 16 years left on my mortgage, a husband in the doldrums of his career, and a kid in every phase of the public school system?  Let me explain.

First a little background.  I've lived my entire life in a peculiar place with a rich past.  I was the youngest, by FAR, in my family with parents everyone mistook for my grandparents.  I grew up in an area where my mom's family went back for four generations.  A tiny town like that gives a person deep roots; it will always be where I'm from, even though I only make it back once a year.  I did well in school, earned some scholarships, and graduated from college with a BS in English, emphasis on Technical Writing.  For all of you out there who are unfamiliar with that particular term, it's basically an English degree with a focus on formatting, editing, proofreading, etc.  A degree like that will get you into a job writing and editing lots of technical information in a wide variety of fields.  

Where it got me was a job as an administrative assistant, and later, an office manager.  Neither of these were part of my intended career trajectory.  During the three years I was working at my less-than-I-expected jobs, I got married, and I happily turned my back on the workforce to do something that I felt really mattered two years after that -- being a full-time mom.  Now, 17 years and four kids later, I'm the part-time librarian at my kids' elementary school, and I can't have imagined a better career path for myself than the one I've taken.  I got to be home with every one of my kids, seeing their first steps, hearing their first words, then turning them loose into the world myself.  I was the one who fixed lunches, bandaged knees, gave kisses, and made doctor's appointments.  I suffered (accurate description) through potty-training, cleaned up more regurgitated red creme soda than I like to think of, and agonized over every fever. I helped with homework, drove to dance, taught piano lessons, and became the resident bad guy.  Along the way, I've learned some things.

I've learned how to manage my time so that I can keep the house from falling down and cook meals appetizing enough that no one will die.  I've proven to myself that I can't always make everyone happy -- an undeniable fact, but sometimes hard to live with.  I've had to make my own peace with getting older and the fact that all those things I vaguely intended to do someday are not all going to happen.  I've experienced grief and loss, up close as well as from a distance, and have been reminded more than once that time is precious and often unexpectedly limited.  All of this brings me back to my original question.  What was I thinking?

I'm thinking that I miss writing about ideas that are important to me.  I'm thinking that all of the things I've lived in the last 40-odd years might give me some common ground with someone else out there who thinks "what the heck?"  as often as I do.  I'm thinking that I would like a platform to speak my mind when I've got something to say, even if I'm the only one who reads it.  I'm thinking that something I can contribute might make a difference to someone out there in Internet Land who is looking for some advice from someone who has survivied the craziness.  I'm also thinking that being afraid no one will care about or listen to my voice is not a good enough reason not to let it be heard.  All of that being said, this is what I've got so far...