A Move To Remember

A couple words to describe the 4 day, 36-mile Glacier hike the men folk recently returned from: exhausting, draining, challenging.... And I'm not describing the men's experience, by the way. I'm talking about all of us ladies who had to stay home and care for the young'ns while they were gone. A description of a simple walk around the block with all four children will provide a suitable analogy to our entire 4 day experience, I believe.

First of all, just getting out the door had its own array of problems. From going on an all-out manhunt for lost shoes and then forcing a reluctant walker out the door, to explaining to the tween in the group that the reason she didn't get to take ice cream along (like the other 3 children) was that she chose pie earlier instead. (Sometimes basic logic that, on the surface, seems abundantly clear is easily corrupted in the complex brains of adolescent first-born girls-- I won't name any names specifically.) But eventually we all got outside-- which, in my humble opinion, is the best place to start a walk.

Once outside, we began to move. Now, please don't mistake the verb "move" for "walk". We were doing no such thing. In fact, I'm not sure what exactly we were doing, but it closely resembled some sort of interpretive dance. There were children romping around all over the place, and trying to get them to form a cohesive walking unit was like trying to organize a litter of kittens. (Ever tried to herd cats? There's a reason you never hear stories of lonely shepherd boys with their flock of felines.) But eventually we were able to guide the movement in one general direction.

Of course, the minute the children saw a big excavator (I can't believe I just spelled that right on the first try-- yay me!) moving earth a block away, they made a beeline right for it. And on the way, Mister managed to drool most of his fudgesicle down the front of his naked belly (my sister had wisely stripped him for such an eventuality). Ah, but I haven't adequately described the fudgesicle carnage here. Ever seen horror movie covers at the video store? You know, the kind where blood is dripping rivulets down the body of some hapless victim? (Now there's something for you to dream about tonight!) Well, Mister looked remarkably like a character from one of those movies. It was almost embarrassing to be within 20-feet of him, actually. That, and the fact that he played in whatever dirt he could manage to escape into when his mother lost hold of him-- well, let's just say that mess doesn't even begin to describe it.

When the children's excavator curiosity was adequately satiated, we once again began our slight "movement" down the street. We'd lose a kid here or there in a construction site (one of the many in my parents' neighborhood), have to manage my very obnoxious dog (who feels as though the mere sight of another animal is cause for foaming at the mouth), console crying children (I can't even remember about what) and sometimes have to stop to admire somebody's lawnmower (don't ask). But eventually we made it around one entire block! It was a feat to be admired-- and it only took about a half hour! Not even joking. Wish I was, but I'm not.

So, who was more worn out after their 4 day excursion? I think it might be a toss-up.