I am so done with the desert.

I’ve sat down to write this post 20 times within the last month. I write for 20 minutes, proof-read, realize it’s just a bunch of crap, erase, minimize the screen, close my computer, put it to the side and walk away. I have reached a point in my negativity where pithy statements reign over being “creative”. Day after day, I just walk by the sexy sleek green-cased Apple computer and day-dream about the words flowing freely from my hand.

I set my camera down at the end of January and haven’t touched it since. I have zero motivation to take pictures of the girls for the umpteenth time standing or playing in the desert. But we are stuck here until the RV company can replace our broken jack. Yes, in case you were wondering, we have already had one of our 4 jacks repaired 1 month after we purchased the behemoth, so…..theres that.

As soon as they repair it, we are making a B-LINE to Texas. This southern girl is missing the feeling of plush grass beneath her feet, leaves on trees and the natural shade they provide (perfect for taking pictures mid-day), humidity in the air, gently rolling vibrant green hills, natural hospitality, bodies of water, occasional rainstorms, dreary grey days,  offensive religious billboards which challenge my personal beliefs, and the general color green.

It’s so bad right now, I have been pinning dream houses and dream yards with overly manicured lawns in my Pinterest account. No doubt, if I grew up in the desert, I would be totally enthralled. Being surrounded by trees, understandably might make me feel as if I were being encroached upon.  BUT, I was born and raised in the south…surrounded by trees and real grass. I feel too exposed in the desert…I like to play hide-and-seek with the sun. I love when it’s out in full force and we find shade to sit and take pictures in. There’s nowhere to hide here, no matter how much sunscreen I lather on, the sun just beats down on my skin and I can hear my skin aging rapidly.

I will take pictures again…one day. I desperately miss my camera…and writing. Needless to say, we have completed quite a bit of schoolwork and for once, I am proud to say, we are ahead of my schedule. So the desert has been good for us in that regard.

TWO HUNDRED FOURTEEN…Grand Canyon and the Sprangers

We ventured to Peach Springs, Arizona  to see the western rim of the Grand Canyon with the kids on Saturday.

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It was both breathtaking and nerve-racking all at the same time.

As a self-proclaimed airheaded clutz, with 2 out of 3 children who follow in their mother’s footsteps, the no barrier between the edge of the canyon and the 6,000 foot drop was enough to make me develop a severe case of the dreaded ‘what-if’ disease. I am no stranger to the disease, but it took hold of me on Saturday and seized all of my rational thoughts.

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My mind kept running through different scenarios. For example, at one point Greg was walking along the rim looking down into the abyss. Two other ladies were walking towards him also looking down into the void. They were talking and not really paying attention and that’s where my imagination kicked into high-gear and all of a sudden, I saw Greg side-stepping the ladies in an effort to avoid a head-on collision, but the girls lost in their own world, became startled and also began to step to the side…causing Greg to lose his footing and just sort of tumble off the side of the canyon. He didn’t of course, but like I’ve stated before, my imagination is very vivid.

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There was another scenario where Phoebe was being herself and jumping on and off the rocks trying to avoid the cracks. several times, she came very close to the edge and in my mind, the story went something like this: There she is, Phoebe jumping from one rock to another and with all of her gusto and curiosity, she runs right up to the edge. Not realizing the depth of what lies beyond the canyon wall, she just sort of forgets to stop running and runs right off the canyon. News paper articles flash through my mind with titles saying: ‘Little Girl Risks Everything’ ‘The Little Girl Who Couldn’t Stop”Little Girl Leaves Without Goodbye”Christmas Won’t be the Same for RV Family”Mother Flings Herself over the Side of the Canyon to save her daughter’…and they just kept coming.

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With my palms sweating, I became the “Girls, please don’t do that” “Can you just walk in a straight line Phoebe” “Phoebe stay with me” “Phoebe hold onto the stroller and don’t let go” mom on Saturday.

I kept asking myself, “If it were just Greg and I, could I then relax?” The answer was very clear. Absolutely not. I would be equally afraid of my own clumsiness and mis-steps. Like those stories I used to read about people who do things to ‘self-sabatoge’ themselves, I could just envision myself accidentally slipping to my death. All those nightmares I had as a child of falling down stairs and off the side of very high structures laid the foundation for a true fear of heights.

Not to mention, the horror of letting go of someone I love and not being able to at least try to save them would haunt me forever. And there’s no way my 5’6″ frame could save my 6’3″ spouse. Maybe if something magical were to transpire and I could surpass the height and weight differentiation between us…like maybe my love for him would allow me to gain all this strength and lift him, with one arm from the edge, and bring him to safety. But then I think about the 12 pound dumbbell I carry in my gym bag that I can barely do 12 reps with…and subsequently manage to dissolve the dream on the spot. Plus, I’m not a big believer in magic.

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So no matter what, I was way out of my comfort zone. Abby is a lot like me…very curious, but equally cautious. She, like me, didn’t go near the edge. We maintained the safe distance of at least 1 yard from the edge of death.

Then of course there’s the more adventurous/daring/risk taking side of our family: Phoebe and Greg. Phoebe would run right up to the edge and jump, laugh and peek over…I couldn’t handle the over-active stories going on in my mind.

Honestly, if I didn’t develop an ulcer that very day, it was a true miracle.

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Greg was equally brazen with his constant pleads for Abby and I to come to the edge. “You’ve got to be kidding me?” I kept saying, “Can’t you just love me for who I am…instead of trying to turn me into someone you wish I was?” Seemed like a rational question to me. To appease him, if that’s possible in this scenario, I agreed to walk the famous “sky walk”. Even the skywalk was way out of my comfort zone, but I thought it might quell his desires to see his wife do something out of the safety of her little bubble. It didn’t. He continued to pester me throughout our visit.

With all of the vast harrowing depths, I cannot deny the magnificence of this natural feature of our landscape.

After 3 hours of braving the 43 degree weather to visit the 3 areas of the western rim, we stopped for some lunch. Greg, Abby, and Phoebe wanted to climb the “anthill” so they could have a 360 degree view of the canyon. And then it would be time for us to head home. Cecilia and I sat at the base of the hill ready to take a picture of that special moment when Greg and the girls would wave to us from the summit.

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When I heard Greg’s voice echoing, “No Phoebe, come here”, my heart sank to my stomach.

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Moments later, they were making their way to our picnic table with a story of “Phoebe was crawling around up there and actually crawled underneath a man’s legs” Greg said rolling his eyes. “Time to go”, I proclaimed. A feeling of absolute relief came over me and in that moment, I was thankful we were all able to witness the magnificence of the Grand Canyon together. We hiked the treacherous mile back to the bus stop and I watched as Abby and Phoebe chased each other around the poles of the bus top.

I would have asked them to stop, but there wasn’t anyone else around and frankly, I was tired of hearing myself repeat the word, “No” all day long. It was right in that moment, two men came around the corner. Somehow, Phoebe, who was not watching where she was going, ended up right in front of one of the men as he was walking toward the bus stop. He tried to move to the side in an effort to avoid her. Completely unaware of her surroundings, she continued her twirling and ended up moving to the side as well. He was desperately trying to avoid her and damn near ended up falling. It was only when I yelled out at her to, “Watch where you’re going Phoebe” that she realized what was happening. She finally stopped in front of the man and he stumbled out of her net of confusion.

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Apologizing profusely, I took Phoebe by the arm and sat down with her on a nearby bench. I bowed my head, took a breath, ignored Phoebe’s constant, “Mommy are you mad at me” questions, and counted to 25.

On our ride back to the Visitors Center, Greg was asking the girls what their favorite part of the Grand Canyon was. Abby said, “climbing all the cool rocks and seeing everything” was her favorite thing. Phoebe  proudly proclaimed, “It was my very first time riding a bus, so riding the bus was my favorite part.” And there you have it. Riding a bus to the Grand Canyon surpassed seeing the actual canyon.


It’s hump day!!

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Always looking for the next thing to capture my attention. The next project. The next goal. I never stop wondering what’s around the corner. Continue reading

TWO HUNDRED EIGHT…our own private island

It’s official.

There is a place in eastern California on the border of Arizona that gives Mount Shasta, California a run for its money.

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Let me be more specific…the camping spot we are currently in might just beat all other campgrounds put together. Mount Shasta is still one of my all-time favorite small mountain towns on the west coast. I’m talking about campgrounds only. We rolled into Arizona late Sunday night but backtracked to Cali the next day for a potentially better campground. Boy, was it worth it. Due to our experiences thus far, our hopes were not very high…this campground boasted of a water splash pad/park for the kids, Colorado River views, and private beaches.

“Well, I’m sure there’s a catch” I said to Greg, “They probably don’t have anything available…it’s probably one of those places you have to call a year in advance to book a site.” I tried to book a site online but the website was telling me “no availability” for the amenities I was checking off. “I will just call and ask” I thought. Even though when I’ve “just called”in the past, it has always been the same information as the website, no availability for the criteria I was checking off.

I am so glad I didn’t go with my head this time around. When I got the front desk on the phone, I was able to get everything I wanted and then some. We not only scored a River view in the middle of nowhere, we have our own private beach. We share a camping cul-de-sac for lack of a better term with 3 other sites, but have not had to share it since we’ve been here. I guess we nailed the time of year, although we will have to move one night next week. But even then we come back to an even more secluded part of the river with an even bigger beach. I feel so lucky.

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It is so magnificent, we extended our stay for a whole month…and with that came a discount.

W H A T?

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From the entrance of the gate, it is about a 3 mile drive to our site on sandy back roads. There are approximately 20 River Beach Cul-de-sacs or whatever you want to call them. Each cul-de-sac can have 4 RV’s. Right now, there are only 4 of us between 20 campsites. It is Glorious. If I wanted to go in the buck all day, which I don’t, I totally could.  We do have the occasional people who drive by to check it out. And every day, I find myself rubbernecking just to make sure the cars barreling down the deserted road aren’t turning into our special island. I know we won’t have it to ourselves for long, so we are all doing our best to enjoy every minute of it.

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At least for now.

ONE HUNDRED SEVEN…desert vs dessert

Greetings from Needles, California! Otherwise known as the desert. Not dessert, but desert.

I have not taken any pictures in a week. We Cecilia is dealing with Perioral Dermatitis yet again and we are anxiously awaiting for her face to heal. It’s frustrating and not something I care to share at this point. So, I am using photos from our July 2016 getaway into the mountains of Beach, NC. and listening to Phantogram.

Phantogram…thank you…now I’m in a good mood.

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I have a somewhat embarrassing faux pas to admit, but if you know me, it probably won’t come as a shock. Somewhere along our travels, I have added a month to our journey. So I need to  rectify my calculations from a previous post. We have been on the road for 157 Days for a total of 5 months. There, I feel better. On December 10th, it will officially be 6 months.

157 days isn’t quite the same as 184 days I had written earlier. I kept counting the month of May. We didn’t even get this beast until June.

Any who…

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Lately it seems a lot of my posts are about sleep or lack there of…this one is no different.

I had a difficult time falling asleep last night…I was so excited about being in warm weather and having a great campsite. And if I’m being completely honest, I had a difficult time putting my phone down. Damn Pinterest. So I made an executive decision to sleep with Cecilia. She’s a really good cuddler right now. It hasn’t always been that way, so I enjoy the little opportunities to snuggle up with her.

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So I contorted myself to fit inside her single bunk just the way I do twice a day, every day for nap and bedtime. As usual, I fail to remember and correctly estimate the closeness of the top bunk. As I’m taking my right hand off the top, like clockwork (not cockwork as spell check wants me to write, which, by the way, isn’t even a word spellcheck inventor people) I bump the right side of my head. Last night was no exception. I pressed on the bump that has developed on my head like I do twice a day every day to try to relieve the pain. Once the pain had subsided, I settled downright beside her warm body. Her face was turned toward me and I bent my head down to smell her strawberry toothpaste breath. Totally worth the pain. It was wonderful. I took a deep breath, nestled close to her, and closed my eyes.

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Unfortunately after the 4th time of being kicked in the legs and stomach, the 2nd time of being punched in the face with the backside of her hand, I decided to go back to my bed. In that moment, Greg happened to peek his head into her bunk looking for me. “Just checking on you” he whispered. I motioned that I was coming out. He gave me his hand to help me up, but it’s much easier if I just sort of fall out of the bed.

I like to slide my right leg out and plant my foot on the floor…followed by my right arm to brace myself and then I hike up my left leg to my chest and much like a glob of wet play-doh I just sort of flop onto the floor. Jello might be the better visual here folks. So let the sentence above read, much like a glob of jello, I just sort of flop on the floor. The dilemma I have with getting out of the bottom bunk is very similar to getting in. Clearly entering and exiting the bunks weren’t intended for a full-grown adult. Once in the bed though, it is quite comfy. At this point I am just trying to help my scalp/skull retain some of it’s natural shape.

Back to the adult bedroom.

The temptation to reach for my phone when I’m not even the slightest bit tired is so strong. I tell myself, “Just a couple of minutes on pinterest or reading the news” and before I know it, an hour has gone by. So, once I got back to bed, I chucked my phone into the bathroom and shut the door. And by chucked I mean I tried to gently throw it onto the counter, I usually have wicked aim, but missed it by about 4 inches hearing it flop onto the floor.

Fast forward to this morning and I wake up to…wanna guess? A cracked iphone screen you say?

And there in lies my rational for what my Monday might look like…a bit bleary.

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No, just kidding. My screen didn’t crack. Are you kidding? I have to have a sheet of armer on that thing to withstand the beatings it recieves everyday from the Spranger girls.

Nope, it’s just a regular old Monday in the desert. Hope yours is a good one.