Westward to Westport

We awoke bright and earlier at 11am the next morning, much rejuvenated from our long night sleep and reminded of how comparatively quiet the country is when compared to our house and it's constant overhead traffic. Over coffee, we decided that our first destination would be Westport, a little less than an hour north of us, and it's euphoniously named Westport House. Before departing we'd for Ireland we'd already decided that we'd alternate between more ambitious day trips, and more downtempo adventures closer to Jody and Sandeep's house. We figured that this would be the best way to keep from getting the kids too strung out and, and -after the previous days odyssey- we figured the kids could use a day "closer to home."

(As a side note: It was surprising how quickly the kids seemed to settle into our new location. Often, when we've traveled, over even visited a friend or family members home, they have a brief period where they'd "warm up" to their new location. With this trip the seemed to settle into our new location almost immediately. And, by day two, they were already saying things like "are we going back home?... and I don't mean our home-home, but our Ireland-home.")

Westport. And our first non-sleeping kid photo of the trip.

Anyhow, Westport proved to be a quaint Irish town, straddling the Carrowberg River, known for it's lively pub scene. We'd been directed to a pub called West by Jody, who had recommended the seafood chowder to Sarah. And, where I got to have my first Guinness of the trip.

Cheers!

Probably the most common question I've been asked, since I've been back is: "Is the Guinness really better in Ireland?" To be honest, it's hard to say because, while I do enjoy a dark beer from time to time, I tend to skew toward hoppier beers, like IPAs, which are more common in the Pacific Northwest. That said, I will say drinking Guinness in Ireland is oddly satisfying in a way that it isn't in the States. And, as the trip went on, I did notice that some pubs did seem to pour a better pint than others.

It is also worth mentioning that, while the Irish are understandably proud of their Guinness, it was interesting to find out that the pride partially stems from the fact that, until recently, Guinness held a near monopoly on beer production in Ireland and that it has only been in recent years that smaller microbreweries have begun to gain any sort of foot hold.

Food eaten and beer sipped, it was onto the Westport House. The Westport house had, at one point been the home of the aristocratic Browne family, and before them had -purportedly- been the castle headquarters of Pirate Queen, Grace O'Malley. Now it's grounds served double duty as a historical attraction and amusement park... that later leaning heavily on the "Pirate Queen" part of the house's history.

Sarah, Stella and Otto outside the Westport House. A rare instance on this trip of Otto willing looking at the camera.

First up, we did a walk through of the house itself, with it's elegant rooms proving too tempting for a certain 3-year-old boy who quickly decided to duck under the velvet ropes which designated the "off limits" area, setting off a loud klaxon bell that rang through estate house. Based on his facial expression, I'm fairly certain Otto learned a lesson that day. But, while Sarah and I could appreciate the peak into the lives of the family that used to reside there, the kids were less interested; and even the peaks at the Victorian era bathrooms barely held their attention. So, after a quick stroll down the river and across a bridge, it was on to the theme park.

The Pirate Adventure Park was apparently usually quite popular with visitors, but given the shoulder season and the chilly weather of the day, it was nearly a ghost town. And, while the miniature train ride along the river, with it's statue of snakes (in Ireland?) and busty pirate princesses, and it's overly enthusiastic conductor, was charming the big win for the day -as far the kids were concerned- was the giant potato sack slide.

...Ok, so maybe the parents enjoyed the slide too.

At one point, after about 30 minutes of sliding, I commented to Sarah: "So, we've travelled halfway around the world to spend the day on a potato sack slide." To which she replied, "Yes, but we have the slide to ourselves." Touché.

After several hours taking advantage of nearly abandoned amusements, the kids started to hit the wall, so it was back home for dinner with Jody and Sandeep. An evening that quickly turned into a cozy blur of red wine and amazing, home-cooked Indian food. Then off to sleep again.

The Gauntlet

They say that the worst travel days make the best travel stories. If that is true, this should make a pretty good entry. Maybe a B. Or even a B+, possibly. The lack of personal injury or bathroom mishap probably keeps it from falling into the A range. Anyhow, here goes... On paper, our travel plans seemed ambitious, but not unreasonable: Eight and a half hour flight to Heathrow, a couple of hours layover, a quickly jump to Dublin, then a 3ish hour drive to our friends' house just a little North of Galway. Kids in tow, or course. But, still doable, right?

To start, things went smoothly. The kids actually did pretty amazing on the first flight. No major meltdowns, but it proved to be pretty easy to get them through the flight by sticking flashing screens in front of their faces. Problematically, neither would fall to sleep during the overnight portion, but it's OK if they are a little tired, since the long haul portion was done, right?

Then we hit Heathrow security. Honestly, I'd always presumed that the United States was the forerunner when it came to esoteric, disorganized, airport security paranoia. Nope. It's the UK. To make matters worse, a helpful British Airlines attendant had informed me that we didn't need to fill out an arrival form until we had arrived in Dublin. This, we discovered as being channeled into the first of a half dozen cattle lines, was incorrect, and -in fact- we needed to fill out a form for each family member. So, soon I found myself battling with an elderly Indian woman over who got to use the one pen chained to a nearby desk, so that I could fill out the four necessary forms, while -back in line- Otto decided to pass out on Sarah's shoulder.

Line two, station two. Apparently the UK does "biometric images" now, where they take a photo of your face and then compare it to later photos to make sure you don't, um, shape-change. Or something. For most people this involves standing in the specified space, and smiling at the specified camera. Slightly more difficult if you are a 3-year-old crashed out on your mother's shoulder. Still, no problem, the woman working the station had a little handheld camera. The image was a little blown out... but still... onward!

More stations! More scans! But, eventually we made our way through all the security. Exhausted and with Otto still slumbering, but in one piece, we slumped into a row of chairs while we waited for them to announce our gate...which of course ended up being on the far side of the terminal.

Waiting to find out which gate we depart from.

Then it was time to board the plane. And, thanks to the small children with us, we got to board early! But, wait! ...what's this? Otto's biometric picture didn't come through? Could we kindly sit over there while they straighten it out? Sure. Sitting is fine. So, we took a seat, while the rest of the flight's passengers strolled by. Apparently, without Otto's biometric image, they couldn't let us leave. But, don't worry... Security is on their way to straighten things out.

Except they weren't.

"So, we are sorry but, the plane has to leave. We're putting you on a later flight."

This is the point in the trip where half the family starts to cry, while one quarter throws a temper tantrum and the final member continued to slumber. I'll let you sort out the who's who.

In the end, the solution was to take Otto back to the start of the security chain to scan him in... so that we could scan him out. Turn the light switch on, so that it can be turned off again. Here's the hoop, jump through it. But, we already did. Sorry, wrong hoop. So, while Sarah and Stella waited with our luggage, one of British Airlines attendants took Otto and I out to a small side entrance, so that the security person could take Otto's picture again. Otto, being three and tired decided to fight this; and I got the singular joy of watching asinine airport bureaucracy collide directly with exhausted, pre-school stubbornness. Win! But, eventually the airport got a clear picture of a screaming and crying child, so we were free to be on our way.

To BA's credit, they hooked us up with their lounge where we were then able to ride out our three or four bonus hours in Heathrow eating croissants and trying to decide which British tabloid to read; all of which went a long way to improving our sour moods.

So, shortly after noon, we were finally able to board a flight to Dublin. On our new flight, we were split up, with Sarah and Stella toward the front, and Otto and I near the planes rear. Otto and I also found ourselves surrounded by a dozen or so women on their way to Dublin to celebrate one of their numbers Bachelorette ...er, Hen Party. As they all ordered their first beers and cocktails, I secretly envied them, but figured I probably shouldn't knock back a drink myself figuring I'd now been up for close to 20-hours straight and still had both Dublin security and Irish highways to navigate.

Stella on her flight to Dublin.

Soon enough we had touched down and made our way through the airport to he Avis car rental. While I debated the particulars of Irish car insurance with the employee there, the kids they... well, let's just check in on them now...

They're... uh... holding in there.

With our Skoda Octavia secured and two passed out children in their car seats, we finally hit the road on our 3-hour road trip to our friends' house just outside of Ballinrobe. A quick audit of the situation here: 3-hour car trip. Driving on the left side of the road for the first time in about 7 years in an unfamiliar rental car. 20+ hours with no sleep. Sounds safe, right?

The kids: Ready to hit the road!

I think it's important to take a second to talk about Irish roads at this point. While the highways around Dublin were fairly safe and sane (despite watching another car clip a truck and have it's front bumper explode across the roadway in front of us within the first 30 minutes of driving); once you reach the country roads, it's a different matter completely:

First off, in the States, speed limit signs are a good starting point. They represent the speed at which a typical person can navigate a typical road and feel safe doing so. Most people feel fairly confident exceeding the speed limit by a good 5 or 10 miles per hour without feeling like they are taking any particular risks.

In Ireland, the speed limit signs read like dares.

"Let's see, this road is effectively one and a half lanes wide, with no shoulders, a blind curve, rock walls on both sides and an oncoming tractor. I dare you to take it at 100 kph! We'll just see how this plays out."

And, on the Irish country roads, the road is always barely two lanes wide. And there is never a shoulder. And always a blind curve. And always a rock wall or two. And always a tractor. Or an oncoming car. Or an oversized truck. Or double decker bus. Or, maybe, just a sheep that has escaped and is roaming free. In the coming days one ongoing joke would hinge on the phrase "what's a narrow road without an oncoming car!"

Rock walls? Check. No shoulder? Check. Barely two lanes wide? Check. 100kph speed limit? Check. I can almost guarantee there is a large truck just around the corner up there.

The dirt road to our friends' house. Apparently, safe to drive at 50mph.

In the days that followed, I would learn to love driving on these narrow country roads. I even once mumbled under my breath "I'm pretending I'm James Bond" while nimbly cutting corners on a snaking bit of asphalt river, curving across a barren, treeless range of hills. But, again, this time I was sleep deprived and eager to reach a destination. Any destination. And, I held my breath again and again, threading the needle between ancient rock walls and oncoming motorists.

But, fortunately, eventually the destination was reached. Sleepy kids and exhausted parents all in one piece. Well... except for our luggage. I forgot to mention our checked luggage was still in Heathrow. But, Y'know, details. The attendant at the Dublin baggage claim had made the dubious assertion that they would get our luggage to us by the end of day tomorrow; and we -sapped of our will to be combative with anonymous airline employees- had just decided to except him at his word. (In the end, the attendant would prove our skepticism unwarranted, and a fairly surly truck driver would deliver our packs unceremoniously in time for dinner the following night.)

But, to revisit the first sentence of the last paragraph: The destination was reached! And what a fine destination it was! Our friends, Jody and Sandeep, are currently renting a guest house at a Bed and Breakfast on a small road outside of Ballinrobe, surrounded by sheep pastures which seemed to merge seamlessly with the shores of Lough Mask across the street. As they greeted us warmly, we were admitted into their home, which between sleep deprivation, an array of well-placed candles and the glasses of wine they handed us, seemed to take on an almost surreal, homey quality. Jody, who has played a reoccurring role in the blog (last seen here), claimed that the pasta dish she whipped up was something simple "for the kids" but after hours of airport and airplane cuisine is seemed downright amazing.

The Skoda and I in front of Jody and Sandeep's house. This photo is from a couple of days later, but figured it fit here.

So, wine and pasta in our bellies, our headed finally hit the pillows of our new home for the week, and all of us crashed into a deep slumber. We had navigated the gauntlet and finally arrived in Ireland.

Three Years and Five-ish Hours Ago....

I got to meet this guy for the first time:

I never doubted wanting to have kids, and I always wanted to have a daughter.  But I'm so glad now, too, to have the experience of having a son.

And not just any son, but this boy in particular.  He is:

 Silly...

 

 Playful....

 

Artistic...

 

And, as this *series* will show, apparently quite the dapper man:

 

Otto was so pleased to have this fancy outfit for a wedding that he insisted on trying it on in another store when he saw that Stella was getting to try her dress on.

 

In a snazzy hat like Dad.

 

 In the new orange vest he picked out by himself.

He's also reinforced what I learned about nature versus nurture with Stella.  While he has his evolved, feminine side due to having a big sister, he's also naturally into cars, trucks, balls, trains, guns, physical play and the like:

 

 A truck--woohoo!

 

 A natural-born Seahawks fan--"They run and catch and crash!"  This picture doesn't show it, but I think Otto was still the happiest I have ever seen him when we came home with the jersey for him (that he still wears at least twice a week).  Tyler often jokes that his natural sports ability/motor skills are a bit wasted on Otto with him as his father.

Otto's also affectionate, kind, thoughtful and loving.  When we were hiking last week, he was riding on my shoulders (like he did last year in the picture below) and said to me, "Mommy, I wish I could be with you always."  And it's not uncommon to have a conversation that goes something like this:  "Mommy, I love your earrings.  Mommy, I love your hair.  Mommy, I love everything about you!"  He's going to be the best husband ever.

 

  Tuckered out after a two mile.

 

On the Hanalei Pier in Kauai, just over a year old. 

 

 

 A pretty recent shot and one of my personal favorites.  His favorite pants.  His favorite shirt.  His special friend, Pig.  One of my dearest loves in life.

Happy birthday, Otto.  I'm so glad you are part of our lives.

Magical Thinking

Earlier this spring I was poking around facebook and came across this post of a mother's rant that she was done making childhood magical.  Childhood is magical enough, she argued.

Provocative, yes.   And, I, for one, don't believe my parents the same pressure to have perfectly plotted, accessorized and managed experiences for kids.

Thought-provoking, too. It got me thinking and talking with Tyler about what moments in our childhood felt magical and what that would mean for what for Stella and Otto.  I was surprised to realize that most of my best memories of childhood involved being outside.  Spending lazy summer days at a lake.  Going to parks.  Playing in the backyard.  Hiking.  Canoeing.  Camping.  Riding my bike and rollerskates.  Pretty simple stuff.  So I quickly dubbed this summer the "Summer of Hiking and Camping."  (Plus we're saving up money and time off to go to Ireland next Spring....)

I had some evidence this would work out.  Last year we managed to get in a couple hikes, even when Otto was just two.   And Tyler and I love camping, though we'd just managed one trip a year out of the last three (including one when I was eight-months pregnant).  Our hope is to get three camping trips in this summer. 

Trip number one happened this past weekend over the Fourth of July.  Serendipitously, someone Tyler works with who also has a two-year-old was camping, too, so we ended up camping together in an awesome primitive spot off the Mountain Loop Highway.  Three nights out on a river, in old forest, with lots of time to relax, play All-Terrain bocce, hike, toast marshmallows, and be outside.

 

View on the way to our campsite.  It would be awfully hard for me to ever move away from this.

Our home away from home.  Thanks, Dad, for the big tent that fits four people far better than my backpacking tent!

All-Terrain Bocce--a last-minute purchase by Tyler that was a major hit for kids and adults alike!

A little bit of quiet time in the sun while the younger kids napped

The kids' first "backwater baptisms" in some impressively ice cold water.  Stella went back for more about four times....


The first full day we hit up the Big Four Ice Caves a second time this year, which is a ridiculously gorgeous (and kid-friendly) trip--one mile in, one mile out, flat (a mere 200 feet elevation gain) with smooth trail to walk along. 

Holding hands to help the younger friends, courtesy of Althea Pomerleau

The pay off at the end--not the greatest shot, but you can get a sense of the grandeur

And snow and ice at the end for the kids to muck around in, not to mention wildflowers, waterfalls and a stream to splash cold water on your face as a reward for all that good walking.

The second day we hiked Heather Lake.  We'd hiked it once before, with the reward of lots of salmon berries.  Of all our hikes with the kids, this was the most ambitious--four-miles round trip, 1100' elevation gain, and not an easy path--lots of roots, rocks, mud, and climbing.  And we didn't luck out with the best conditions--it got drizzly partway up, and I hadn't packed raincoats in our daypack.  Worse yet, the salmon berries had been eaten or picked already, so the pay-off hoped for by Stella didn't quite come to fruition.  But it did lend itself to a good chance to practice "making the best of it", which Stella did (ultimately) with gusto.

 At the lake.  The last half mile got a bit maudlin, and given the conditions, we didn't get to hang out as long as maybe we would have otherwise, but gorgeous.  Someday we'll backpack up here and spend some nights at the lake and really soak it all in.

 

 

So a good time in the end.  Stella hiked all but maybe 100 yards of it.  Otto, in sandals, probably did 1.5 miles up, and maybe .5-.75 miles down.  Not too shabby.

 

 

 

 Happier times on the hike back down from Heather Lake, also thanks to Althea.  It's not terrible to have a professional photographer as a camping companion!

 

So beyond the camping plans, this epiphany about the outdoors also means that we let ourselves off the hook in general and spend more weekend time just hanging out in our backyard.  Or our friend's backyards.  Or checking out low tide.

A new beach we discovered in West Seattle--crabs, jellyfish, anemones and more

Perfectly plotted?  Almost never.  Magical?  Time will tell.

 

Early morning snuggles

 

Playing "Papa Bear" and "Baby Bear"

 

 

Snacking on the beach after a few dips

And it's not too shabby for some good adult bonding time, either:

A Beautiful Mystery

It's been awhile since I've been compelled to post.  These days, our life with the kids is pretty well-chronicled on facebook.  But tonight this happened:

Stella got her first two-wheel bike.  When I picked her up from school and told her we'd be picking up her bike at Tyler's office, she was possibly the most excited I'd ever seen her.  She told everyone we saw, literally jumped up and down with joy, and squealed.

And it feels like a moment.  I remember getting bikes when I was growing up.  The feeling of independence, freedom, the wind in my hair.  The feeling of my muscles working and propelling myself with speed and happiness.  It might have gotten me even more than preschool graduation:

To be fair, I had always viewed preschool graduation with a bit of skepticism before this year. 

But somehow these two events and my wonderful interactions with Stella on a regular basis now that she is five and half somehow just made me realize how much of a wonderful mystery Stella is to me.

She's driven, artistic, focused, and emotionally mature in ways that shock me.

I don't think Stella really understands what a scientist is, but--hey--it's a good ambition!

 

Standing by her self-initiated art project during our trip to Walla Walla, in which she created graphics around morning and evening routines (top row (morning):  wake up, eat breakfast, get dressed brush teeth;  (evening):  put on PJs, brush teeth, read a book, sing songs)

Under the "umbrella tree" she found 

 

 

With her mosaic she made, with intense focus, over two hours, on a special "date" as a reward for lots of good behavior. 

With the table she decided to set so we could have a "fancy" dinner 

The note from Stella's teacher describing her focused work for a week on a definition book.  This one on orcas was the first of three she has made since. 

Hiking, with her backpacking backpack, at the Big Four Ice Caves a few weeks ago.   She is always driven to do the whole thing herself, and is always asking when she can climb a real mountain, not just be at the base or on the side of it.

 At the big gallery room in the Frye Art Museum on another Mommy-Stella date.

 

I really don't share this to brag.  Partially I don't want to lose these memories, these moments we've had over the last few months.  But it's also because they are such an illustration of her as a person.  She doesn't have attitude and artifice.  This is who she is.  She's the kid during the before-mentioned preschool graduation who follows all the rules, stands still, and tries to get everyone around her to also be focused on the task at hand:

(untouched photo)

I see myself and Tyler reflect in her in many ways, but she's not either of us.  She's not some combination or reflection of us.  She's Stella.  And, sure, we are reasonably involved parents, we pay lots of money to send her to a good preschool, and she's got a lot of advantage.  The wind is at her back in a lot of ways, but so much of this she does because of her own drive, focus, and desires rather than because of some agenda Tyler and I have (which frankly is mostly about trying to just stay on top of day-to-day life these days).

 

Now, lest I come across as though I have a perfect child--she can be selfish and self-involved and impatient with others.  She can be stubborn and childish.  She is, really, a child still.  And I know her so well--we had the most intimate relationship that maybe I think you can have with another human being--but she is also a separate person whom I can only know so well.  Which is wonderful, and strange, and necessary (and probably a good way to bring me even closer to the parents in my life).

Here's to you, kid.  Can't wait to see what the next year or so brings to light.