Nirvana in Wisconsin?

We left South Dakota heading towards Wisconsin.

The loading up process was hampered when Nick and Chase prematurely loaded into Sherman, blocking the middle row. They seat belted themselves in, refused to move, then screamed murderously as B and Ronnie crawled over their laps to get to the far back. The younger ones, for their part, took full advantage of this opportunity to kick, gouge, rib and knuckle all in the name of simply getting into the car.

Scenario B, full blown, with asses and elbows and some nasal blood involved.

“Chase! Nick” I intervened, ordering the blockade out.

“Here. Observe carefully” I enunciated in my best pissed off mommy voice.

“Lower the back seat, let your little sisters in. Then, and only then, do you get in. What is so hard about that?”

Chase muttered something.

"What did you say?" I demanded.

“Huh?” She said, looking directly at me.

“What did you say?” I repeated, becoming more vexed.

“Huh?” She repeated, face solid as a Buddha.

I pointed wordlessly to the car door. She feigned all sweetness and light as she strapped herself in.

Sheesh. It wasn’t even 7:30.

We were off, but not far. After 27 showings, Ratatouille lost its charm, as did Enchanted and Weird Al and Roots and Alvin and the Chipmunks (even though that had a scratch which made the singing very funny for the last five showings). The M children, already bilious, didn’t need any encouragement for an all out revolt. Yes, We Can to family harmony? No we couldn’t. Not without videos. We made a pit stop before leaving town. D. stocked up with The Pink Panther, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and two Scooby-Doos.

Finally, an hour later then we had planned, we pulled away from the video store. Shirley (the GPS) instructed us towards the highway and shortly thereafter we reach a smooth and easy sixty-five mph. Which, fifteen minutes later, was interrupted by a brain- pithing shriek from B.

“Squeak’ems! Squeak’ems! Where are you? We left him at the hotel! We left him! Go back.”

“Who the hell is Squeak’ems?” I ask D., unwilling to slow Sherman down without good cause.

“It’s her bear she got at Yellowstone” Clarified Chase.” You know, the defective noise one”

O. That one.

“Are you sure it’s gone?” Asked D., turning around for a better view. “Chase” he commanded “help her”

Chase obediently unstrapped.

“He’s gone. Heee’sss goooone. I’ve lost him forevveer" B sobbed.

I reluctantly brake, looking for the next exit.

“He’s gone. He’s gone.” B wailed “He’s-“

She stopped mid convulsion. “Oh wait. Here he is. Never Mind” She said sweetly.

“Fucking doll” I muttered.

“Not doll” D. corrected “Fucking bear”

“I love you, Squeak’ems” snuggled B

And then, unhindered, Sherman reached cruising speed.

As we left South Dakota, we passed an enormous statue in the middle of a brown field surrounded by rows and rows of barbed wire. It was a statue of the Virgin Mary with a sign that said ‘Madonna of the Prairies’.

“Look, kids” I pointed. “It’s the Madonna.”

“Oh” said Chase, looking out the window. “Did she do a concert here?” This, from an alter server. Can hormones do permanent damage?

There is just a whole lot of nothing out there and we saw most of it. Along the way I gave up counting road kill, too many slow raccoons and ill- fated deer. Eventually the craggy brown cattle ranches mottled into greener dairy farmlands of Minnesota. We got cell coverage. D. called everyone to let them know how glad he was to be out of South Dakota and how much prettier Minnesota is. We drove through miles of corn fields and grazing cows, grain towers and red roofed houses. And, something rather surprising, churches the size of football stadiums. And then, miracles of miracles, we got NPR on the radio.

“How stands the empire, Caesar?” I asked

“Don’t know yet” said D., turning the dials.

We were headed to meet the Colemans at The Wilderness Lodge Water Park in Wisconsin Dells which I found ironic; Ironic because Wisconsin Dells was the site of all that flooding mere weeks ago. And I said as much in the car.

Flooding. Water Park. Flooding .Water Park. Get it?

But the kids don’t and replace their headsets after staring me down. I gave up trying to explain my little joke.

What should have been the last 15 minutes of the journey to the lodge wasn’t. Traffic crept down to a mere inching, then a complete halt. I switched off NPR searching for local news and what the hold- up was. I hoped for something exciting. A mudslide? Perhaps a house fell, maybe one of those enormous pigs who got displaced? Nothing. No word

D. and I took advantage of going no- where- soon to discuss two family vacation etiquette.

“Language” said D. when asked why we needed to change anything.

“We really have to watch our language.”I clarified

“What do you mean language?” said Chase

“I mean like cuss words. We are lax about swearing. Lots of families are stricter”

“Well, can I say crap?” Said Chase.

“Please don’t.”

“How about suck? Is that ok?”Asks Nick

“Preferable not. If at all possible” I hastily amended, considering that suck is the lexicon of all M - speak.

They pondered this from the backseat

“How about the S-word” asked B.

“Youre not allowed now, or ever” I said, giving her the hairy eyeball from the review mirror.

“You say it” She giggled. “All the time”

“I know what the S- word is” Ronnie jumped in.

“No you don’t” Challenged Nick

Insert Scenario A.

Turned out Ronnie did know the S word.

But D. and I stuck to our guns, insisting despite how WE talk ALL the time, ALL of us must be more polite in company.

I hear reluctant grunted agreements.

“And” I said “ I am hoping we could leave off the farting and burping for a few days”

Absolute silence for the consideration put on the table. This apparently is just TOO much to ask.

“Mom” said Nick firmly “It’s your fault we fart. You married a farter, I’m the son of a farter and my son will be –“

Alrighty then. Nobody light a match.

The traffic jam was a fender bender, long cleared to the side of the road. Nothing exciting there.

When we got to the hotel the parking lot was a zoo. D. jumped out to go to the lobby. I shoehorned Sherman up its narrow curvy driveway, past double parked cars before I figured out that I couldn’t go forward or backward. And there we sat for ten minutes until the guy behind me honked SO insistently that the guy in front of me moved the ¼ of the inch I needed to get around and complete the circle. Then I parked on the street for another 20. Eventually, I sent Nick in search of D. He returned saying there were at least 15 people ahead of his father.

A few minutes later D. exited and made me drive to a second lobby and the whole process is repeated except D. returned with the keys and in a foul mood, made worse when we couldn’t find the map to the villa.

“I can’t believe I went through all of this and you lost the map” he grumped.

As we turned Sherman around in the parking lot, Chase let out a whoop. She had spotted the parks, huge buildings with hamster- trail waterslides coming out of every level. The closer we got, the more audible the din. I rolled down the window. You could hear hundreds of bodies thundering down the tubes. The kids started unbuckling their seatbelts and stripping off clothing in anticipation.

Come’ on, Hurry up. We’re missing ALL THE FUN!

Nosing Sherman into our parking space, I demanded calm. “Stop screaming. We still have to unpack. And get our suits on. And the Coleman’s aren’t here yet.” Then D. opened the door and I started whooping. It’s huge! Absolutely beautiful! Bedrooms (plural- yippy!), a living room, a kitchen, a dining room, three TVs and TWO bathrooms. I thought I might just be in heaven.

D. shared my enthusiasm. “This does NOT suck” He pronounced, looking for the remote. The kids skedaddle to the far corners. Moments later, I hear Naruto at full blast

Clearly, an M kind of a place.

Austin and Melissa arrived with Elisha (9), Isaiah (7) Sophia (5) and 2 year old Josiah. Between us, we had two 11 year olds, one nine year old, one eight year old, two seven year olds, one five year old and one two year old. Within a matter of minutes, the kids paired up and dissipated to various rooms of our adjoining condos.

Parents are, you know, ok, unless you have someone else to play with.

After unloading 5 backpacks, 1 suitcase, 1 essentials bag, 1 technology bag, and three laptops, Chase found me in the kitchen.

“Hey, Mom. Where’s the seltzer water?”

“In the refrigerator. Why?”

“Oh, we are having a burping contest.” She pointed to Nick, Elisha and herself.

“Wouldn’t you rather go swimming” I countered hopefully.

“Nope”

The Ms are obviously the lowest common denominator.

I asked what the plans were for dinner. Should we head to the store?

“We have it all taken care of” said Melissa. That was an understatement.

12 plates, ten bowls, 7 cups, one sippy cup, 4 wines glasses, 20 assorted utensils, To-die-for-Mexican lasagna, garlic bread, salads and fruit. By the time the scraggly Ms arrived, the table was set, the food was on and it was all over except the blessing. Which Austin did, posthaste and with aplomb.

“Please let me do something” I said, my mouth full.

“O no” said Melissa “You’re in our neck of the woods”

Minneapolis, last time I checked was three hours away. I am really going to have to brush up on my hostess skills. I am way behind the curve.

D. and Austin had the kids at the water park by early morning. I meandered slowly over with Melissa and Josiah. It took a few minutes to find the right park (there are seven).We found them in Klondike Kavern. This is Disney with water: Inner tube slides and body slides and racing slides and drops and careening funnels and a 1000 gallon water bucket drop. Given all my choices, I headed directly for the old people hot tubs but I got Shanghai’d by Nick instead, and found myself in line for THE HURRICANE with Nick, Elisha and Austin.

I tried to get out of it. I just got here. I need to find Ronnie. My knee hurts or might hurt or could possible hurt.

“Are you scared????”Challenged Nick.

“No” I lied. We walked up the three levels to the top to await a four sitter raft.

“Hey Austin” I huffed next to him. “Did you ever think when we all were sitting in muddy Bremerton that we would be here, at a water park with eight kids someday?”

“Noooo” he said, shaking his head.

“Me neither. Well, maybe one kid”

When I took the kids to Disneyland, I learned one thing. I could do any ride as long as it was over before I could think: I am going to die. As we load up on the inner tube, I tried to remember Splash Mountain at Disneyland. How many feet drop was that 30? 40? 50 Nick told me. And this one? More he said and that doesn’t include the funnel.

Funnel? There’s a funnel?

Yes, there was a funnel but not before a drop of cataclysmic proportion where I hit the water so hard my bathing suit pants ended up around my ears. Then we slipped and slid and nauseatingly zigzagged to each new crux. Every time I opened my eyes we were sliding down. Again.

“Wasn’t that great!” thrilled Nick “Want to go again?”

“You couldn’t pay me enough” I said, dislodging my wedgie.

I headed back to where Josiah was sitting by a water flower, much more my speed. I wiggled my toes in the water, splashed a little water, when I see Ronnie and Isaiah take their positions underneath the 1000 gallon water bucket, its bell ringing to warn of an imminent downpour. They grabbed hands, turned their expectant faces upward and greeted the water crashing down on them. Cute. Beyond Cute. Cute together. As they run off, I plotted. I would make a terrific MIL.

Later, somewhat recovered from the wedgie, B. talked me into going down one of the body slides. Sadly, I was off kilter almost immediately because I couldn’t figure out if I should be sliding on my butt or my back. I opted for something in between. I bumped my head and my knee all the way down and hit a huge pool of water on my exit. The flow of water went directly up my nose, both barrels. Through the curtain of water, I saw Chase and B cheering wildly for me. Then their expression changed from ones of excitement to horror. They stopped clapping.

“Ewwh, Mom, you have snot coming out of your nose.” B said.

Only snot? I thought it was my brains.

After that, it was the hot tub and nothing more challenging then the lazy river (a gentle flowing circle) with Sophie.

And in the middle of this, D. said “You know all that national park and history stuff? Pffft. This is a vacation”

Agreed.

The next morning I got a chance to write while the kids and D. take on even more water challenges, and races and an amazing fourteen runs on the hurricane. My computer was still up when Nick got back. He read my stories and took issue.

“Mom, he said, you’re making fun of us.”

“It’s my blog. It’s all about me” I joked

“It's embarrassing” said Nick seriously, “Take it out. It’s gross.”

“Nick” I soothed” My friends know me and they know us and-“

“Do you have to put EVERYTHING in there?”

“Hey- I left out plenty” I countered.

“My friends are reading this” he insisted.

“Your friends?” I said, taken aback.”Your friends are reading My blog?”

He nodded.

This gave me pause. Twelve year olds are reading this? I looked over what I had written and got a little anxious. Nick had a point, I conceded gloomily. I deleted a scene. Then I deleted another one. By the third deletion, I was unhappy. The stories didn’t read smoothly, weren’t true to the moments and weren’t nearly as funny.

I sat at the computer deflated, unsure of what to do. Then D. came. He made a huge argument: This was my first amendment right. Nick can write his own perspective! Who cared if he didn’t like it?

Still.

“Look, Nick” I said, hoping for a compromise “I took everything out. Instead, I put ‘deleted scene’ in. That way the reader can use their imagination”

Nick didn’t look convinced but eventually I persuaded him.

“I disagree” D. said “I wouldn’t alter a thing. Not a thing.”

“I just love their bodies” said Melissa as we walk over to the park. The kids were running in front of us. “Didn’t God just make them perfect?” I looked. Jumbled legs and freckled noses, round bellies and gap tooth smiles, strong backs and perfect bottoms, tilted heads and long black lashes, braces and ponytails and pudgy fingers and deep brown eyes. Yes, God made them perfect. And beautiful. And healthy. And utterly miraculous.

That afternoon we had some excitement. I did a head count and B was MIA. There were outdoor pools and I headed there. Outside I noticed huge black clouds rolling in. I saw the lifeguards high tailing it to cover and the big cheese lifeguard stopped me saying the outdoor pool was closed. Just looking for a kid I said, turning back to the indoor site.

Chase greeted me saying “Hurry Mom, B is losing it. They said a tornado is coming and she is scared”

“Who said a tornado?” I ask thinking of those black clouds but am interrupted by a hysterical B.

Are we going to die? Is it coming? What should we do? Can we start praying?

B played Toto in the school play. She knew all about tornados, little dogs, wicked witches and being a long way from home.

“No to the first, yes to the last” I said, looking for D. Others park goers were quickly gathering their things. Surely, if there was a tornado warning there’d be a formal announcement. Assessing the sheets of rain now hitting the glassed ceilings above, Austin said “Well, it’s probably just a storm”.

I ask a life guard, who said, “There’s a storm outside?” This didn’t not reassure me. How cued in to a tornado would he be if he didn’t even know about the storm pounding over his head.

Melissa insisted D. and Austin go to find out. If there really was a tornado coming, we didn’t want to be anywhere NEAR shattering glass, she pointed out. We needed to know. Hey, I was down with that, the Wizard of Oz notwithstanding. But it turns out it was just a really big storm and the resort really does have a system in place for severe weather and this was not it. B finished praying and we head back to the villa, safe and sound.

Our last night, Melissa and Austin came over after the kids had fallen asleep. We hooked up the baby monitor, listened to the sounds of sleepy silence, opened a bottle of wine, ate Tabasco popcorn and watched a movie. Simply wonderful.

Later, D. readied to upload the South Dakota stories to the blog.

“Hey” he said, annoyed “I look like an asshole.”

Deleted scene.

Our last morning we go to a Denny’s fixed up as a retro diner, complete with James Dean, Elvis and Marilyn Monroe statues.

“How many kids?” The Hostess asked.

“Eight.” I replied.

“How many under twelve?” She specified.

“Eight.” I said. She blinked first.

There were so many of us we divided up the tables; parents at one, kids at the other. The poor waitress took warring orders (us versus them) with at least three different outcomes. Water got knocked over. Confusion reigned. M distemper flared.

“You’re the worst brother I ever had!!!” B screamed

“I’m your only brother, which means, I’m the nicest brother you ever had.” Nick said

“No you ARE NOT!!!” She frothed purple

Finally, D. brings Nick over to our table.

“We’re going to do a little test, Nick. We want to see if things quiet down if you sit here with us.”

And things do quiet down.

I said “Gee, Nick, that table sure is quiet now that you’ve left it for the adult table.”

Without missing a beat Nick said” That must be because I’m more adult then they are”

Indefatigable.

“A lawyer” laughed Melissa.

After breakfast it was a long heartfelt goodbye, with hugs and scribbled email accounts and pictures. Then more pictures and more hugs and a few tears ( mostly from me).

And little Sophie said “I can’t wait until I see you again”

Sophie, we couldn’t have said it better ourselves.

Take from Wilderness Water Park: 4 shirts, three hats, and a key chain.

Take from outlet store two blocks down: 3 Hollister shorts, two Hollister pullovers, two The Children Store skirts, size 8, two sun dresses, size 8 and ten.

Memories: Incredible ones, worthy of a lifetime.