The Heart of Rock'N Roll Is Still Beating

I'll try to keep this brief. I know most of you don't really care about this stuff.

U2.

It. Was. Awesome.

And I didn't bring my camera. Molly that I am, when Ticketmaster told me no cameras were allowed, I took them at their word. No matter that EVERY OTHER PERSON in the entire building (all 70,000 of them), except, of course, for MommyJ, Josh, or CPod, brought a camera. We had to make do with sub-par camera phones. And those pictures are not even worth putting on here. So. I have no proof. Only memories.

While U2 was fantastic, the awesomeness did not begin with them.

It began with these guys:


That's right, folks. Muse opened for U2. This was a huge bonus, since opening bands for the Atlanta concert were not announced until a few months ago -- long after we bought our tickets.

Now. The last time we saw U2, Gavin Rossdale's short-lived venture Institute opened. We were not impressed -- more like disappointed since both CPod and I had been fans of Bush for a while. Let's just say the difference between studio recording and live performance was . . . significant.

Not so with Muse. They were absolutely spot on in a live venue. Go see them! It was a fantastic performance.

Enter U2. Talk about huge. Take a look at this:

I have never seen a concert set like this before. Between bands, we watched all the tech people take their places on the set. I'm talking dozens of follow spots, camera operators, and guitar wranglers, many of them perched precariously on tiny chairs high above the audience, harnessed to the giant claw of a stage.

It was a spectacle, worthy of the price of the tickets, and impressive in it's sheer size and scope: excessive, larger than life, grandiose, self-indulgent, and absolutely one of the most fun experiences I have ever had in my life.

They played, and played, and played some more. Inexhaustible. They changed up their set list enough to keep us guessing even though we (read: CPod) are total nerds and thought we knew what would come next. We heard old stuff, and new stuff, and rare stuff (Stuck in a Moment, acoustic version, thank you very much!) and the greatest stuff. Can I say it again? It was awesome.

And I have some notes.

The Edge -- you are amazing. You are a quiet, bald Irish dude and in ordinary, every day conversation, people refer to you by the coolest nickname anyone has ever had. But man, you can play yourself some guitar. I am never disappointed by what I hear emanating from whichever of your dozens of instruments you have picked up. In fact, I have decided that you may actually be the biggest reason I love U2 so much. Some part of me responds to the iconic strains of The Edge playing his guitar, and I will never stop loving it.

Larry Mullen, Jr. -- oh, my. The arms. Drummers should NEVER wear long sleeves.

Adam Clayton -- I think they must keep you around because you're a pretty cool guy. At least, that's how you look on stage: unruffled by all those people, just playing your bass as though you're the only person in the room.

Bono -- I'll be honest: sometimes I listen to U2 in spite of you. Love the lyrics, and you're quite the showman, that's for sure. But I think the ego required to do what you do on stage must make you a pretty difficult person to live with the rest of the time. Bless your wife and family!

So, if you're jealous, and you should be, then you should watch the live video stream from the Rose Bowl concert on October 25. It will be awesome, and as Motherboard said, you can wear your pajamas. I'm all about the pajamas these days -- they're the only clothes I have left that fit me! You MUST see the set to believe it. It's amazing. Here's the preview:



I'll be watching!

A few little pieces of delightfulness

I saw my OB today. Good news: the baby vault it locked up tighter than Fort Knox. I know, you're all scratching your collective heads. You mean she's 36 weeks along and she doesn't want to be getting ever-closer to finally having this baby?

Au contraire, my friends. But I don't want to drop this baby in some random hospital in downtown Atlanta. And because going into labor is not something the women of our family do well (or, at all, if history is any indicator), I have been cleared for travel. Which means . . . tomorrow night, CPod and I will be rockin' out at the Georgia Dome to first, Muse (bonus!) and second, U2. Go ahead, be jealous. If I weren't going myself, I would be green with envy.

Now, just say a prayer for MommyJ's husband, Josh, who has been feeling poorly as of late. I will dispose of their tickets if I must, but it would make me much happier to be able to share the experience with them.

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We had a superb experience this weekend watching General Conference on BYU-TV via our DirecTV dish. I used to love conference weekend. Until about 3 years ago when suddenly our twins were mobile and chasing/caring for them precluded first, any listening, and second, any retention. This weekend, a miracle happened: they listened. They played quietly. They worked on their conference packets, coloring and doing mazes and decorating ties. They yelled out "Joseph Smith!" or "Temple!" in stentorian tones to earn treats when they heard one of the speakers refer to an image we posted to prompt their attention. (Perhaps it was not the best of ideas to add a picture of our Savior to the other ones from the Gospel Art Kit we posted on the doors to the tv cabinet . . . their references to Him were, ahem, not exactly reverent.)

And my love for General Conference weekend is back. With a vengeance. My sincere thanks to Steph at Diapers and Divinity for her inspiration and ideas about enjoying conference with small children -- she knows her stuff, that Stephanie!

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ConMan & GDog both had a great week at school, and as a reward for their good behavior, CPod took them camping. (Lest you think we reward our children every single week -- this was in response to some poor choices perpetrated by one of our twins who shall remain nameless, and needed some further motivation to learn some healthy respect for the rules at school.) MayDay went, too. I went out to dinner with a friend (and ordered mushroom pizza drizzled with truffle oil . . . truffles always make me feel bought, because you could put truffles on dirt and the dirt would taste better than anything else you have ever eaten in your whole entire life) then came home, watched shows my husband doesn't enjoy, and then went to bed. By myself. In a completely, eerily silent house.

And I slept until 11AM on Saturday morning. I really didn't think I had it in me to sleep that late, but sleep I did, and, wow! I had forgotten what it feels like to get enough.

The menfolk arrived home just before noon, so we scrubbed all the dirty children and then fed them lunch while we listened to the first glorious session of General Conference.

Here's my secret: as nice as it was to sleep in and not be awakened by turbo-charged, energetic preschoolers, I missed them. A lot.

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Sometimes, I think ConMan just lives in his own little happy universe. He is frequently oblivious to the world around him, and, when he's in one of his little reveries, moves at his own pace and cannot be rushed. Saturday, it took him twice as long to finish his lunch as it did his brothers. They had been playing legos for 15 minutes while he was still sitting at the table extemporizing conversations between his Cheez-it crackers.

As I cleared the counter of crumbs left over from making PB&J for all the little ones, I listened to Elder Bednar's talk about expressing love to your family members. Suddenly, ConMan stood up in his chair, turned around and said, "Mommy, I love you!"

He smiled, then said it again. "I was listening, and I love you, Mommy!"

I nearly cried. I was so happy not just that he was paying attention, at least a little, to the words of our apostles, but that he had enough practice saying it in the first place that he was comfortable expressing his love for me so spontaneously. He can say it, because he hears it. And because he says it back. And because he knows it.

Sigh. Sometimes, I do something right after all.

Tongues, Interpreted

Okay, friends. Sorry I'm late!

Here are the answers . . . followed by our winner. Who, I swear, either hacked my wireless network to steal the answers or is a really stealthy stalker. Really, I was pretty sure no one would get any of the correct answers, and I would have to do a random drawing. Not so!

Four-leaf clover:

Alligator:

Lemonade:

Elevator:

Leprechaun:

And our winner is . . . Laree! She got three answers correct, and she is the ONLY ONE who got three answers correct. Which means she wins. Yay! Laree, send me an e-mail with your logistical info and I will mail you the fabulous cilia forceps. I expect you to rave about them on your blog after you've discovered their wonders. My mom says they pluck hairs that aren't there. I tell her she needs new glasses.

Thanks for playing, everyone. It's nice to be indulged occasionally!

The Interpretation of Tongues

I'm back! Wow, that was a long four days. Long, and eventful, and full of blog fodder, but that stuff will have to wait for another post. Because do you know what I was thinking yesterday? How sad it was that my 100th post was posted by someone else because I didn't have internet access. (Thanks to MommyJ, though, for keeping everyone in the loop.)

And then we got our internet up and running again. And I made the happy discovery that MommyJ's post on my behalf yesterday was, actually, only my 99th post. Which means . . . I can still do my fabulous give-away for post number 100!

Okay, so it's not that fabulous. And you have to work for it. And then, still, I'm only giving away one thing.

Here's the set-up: when MayDay was just beginning to talk, he talked a lot, but most of it was indecipherable. Oh, he talked a blue streak -- he was so earnest in his attempts to make us understand what he was saying, but CPod and I just plain didn't get about 95% of what he was saying. He was usually very patient with us, but sometimes this communication barrier elicited some serious weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth. Poor little guy -- he had a lot to say, but lacking a MayDay-English dictionary, we were in the dark. One day, we were sitting at the kitchen table eating dinner. MayDay was rambling on as usual, and, as usual, CPod and I were clueless as to what he was saying, when, all of a sudden, G-Dog piped up and said, "He says, 'I'm all fulled up.'"

MayDay's little face lit up -- he had a translator. So, with G-Dog's help, we figured out how to decipher MayDay's little language until his skills developed enough for his words to sound like English.

He still says some things that sound a lot like gibberish to the uninitiated -- but once you figure it out, you can understand his every word. He's nothing if not consistent, and his mispronunciations were strangely similar in their syntax. But. I did capture some of these moments. And so here is your task: you, dear readers, are charged with translating. I have posted here several short clips of a few utterances that might not be easily discerned by those not fluent in MayDay speak. Submit your translation for each clip in the comments section by Friday at noon (my time -- that's east coast, if you're wondering). I will select a random winner from those who get the most correct answers.

And what will you win? Do you remember this post about my tweezers? Well, friends, I have a brand new pair of cilia forceps just longing to help you shape your eyebrows into something worthy of Vogue. You need them. You know you do. You want them just badly enough to listen to my son butcher the English language for 15 seconds of your life.

A few hints: like I said before, he's very consistent in his mispronunciations. And I have not coersed him into saying any words that he does not use in ordinary, 2-year-old conversation. Granted, his vocabulary is a bit on the extraordinary side.

Let's review.

1. Watch the videos.
2. Make a note of what you think he's saying.
3. Write your answers in a comment to this post.
4. Check back on Friday, because you just might win a pair of brand new, still in the package, unused, medical-grade cilia forceps.

And, please, only one entry per person.

So, go forth! Listen! Translate! And do not be alarmed when your comment doesn't show up. I've taken a page from The Pioneer Woman and turned on comment moderation. We don't want any cheating! After the contest is over, I'll reveal all the comments as well as the correct answers so you can see how you measure up.

There is a good possibility that no one will get any answers correct. That's okay. In the event this is a total bust, I will randomly choose a winner from all of the comments regardless of the number of correct answers. So give it a try. It will be fun!

One last thing -- if you've heard these words in real life (MommyJ, Mom, Melanie, Jessie, etc.) you're disqualified. You're probably getting cilia forceps for Christmas anyway, so don't ruin it for everyone else.

Good luck!

Highlights

You will NEVER guess who I saw this weekend.


That's right. The decidedly upscale hotel at which my husband and I stayed this weekend was infiltrated, nay, infested with NWA (National Wrestling Alliance, to the uninitiated) Legends Fans, all there to meet their idol, the greatest wrestler of all time, Ric Flair, the very Nature Boy himself.

Except he's a lot older now. And a bit fatter. As are most of his fans. Fatter, I mean. And balding, except for the mullet. And toothless. And rude. And -- do I even need to say this? -- single. I'm not kidding even a little bit. I sincerely hope that the conglomeration of people at the Hilton this weekend was not typical of the NWA audience. But I suspect it might have been.

We were childless, which goes a long way to improve the attitude, don't you think? Say what you will -- we did some really great people-watching this weekend.

But our hotel was not the only place we got to scan an interesting crowd.

No, friends, our wrestling experience was overwhelmingly eclipsed by the real reason for our trip -- these fellas:


Stumped? How about now?


Okay, I'll admit that my pictures are not clear or, even, recognizable. But trust me. Coldplay in concert was worth every penny we spent -- one of the best shows I have ever been to. (I speak with zero authority here, since my concert history, excluding big-name classical musicians, consists, in its entirety, of: New Kids on the Block, Tony Bennett, Chicago, Red Hot Chili Peppers, U2, and, now, Coldplay. But CPod's pedigree is more impressive: REM twice, Metallica twice, U2, Chili Peppers, Pearl Jam twice, Ned's Atomic Dustbin, Toad the Wet Sprocket, twice . . . I could go on. He's much cooler than me. And he thinks it was one of the best shows he's ever seen, too. So there.)

CPod and I went with MommyJ (my sister) and her husband, Josh:


We had a blast. We sang along. We danced. They were FANTASTIC. I have loved Chris Martin for a long time -- that dude can play him some piano.


There were huge yellow balloons bounced through the crowd (during "Yellow"). There were millions of pieces of butterfly confetti:


There were three stages, and acoustic music, including a fantastic cover of "Billie Jean". There were lasers. There were mellow drunk people (instead of the usual obnoxious drunks . . . a nice change). A good time was had by all. Even my little pregnant belly. She was dancing, too!


I took a few videos that will do nothing for any of you, because they're NOT good. And because I was having too much fun to stand there holding my camera in the air for longer than 30 seconds at a time. But if you want just a small taste of what we experienced on Friday night, this YouTube video will not even come close, but it'll have to do.

Peace out.

Some fireworks a day late . . .

How was your holiday weekend?

Mine was great. I'm serious.

My entire family went camping. And by entire family, I mean all of the people I lived with growing up and all of our respective spouses and children. 21 people in all.

Wanna know how crazy it was? 11 of those people are 8 or younger. Baby brother has no children yet, but the shakedown works like this (my kids in purple; MommyJ's kids in green; Jared & Mel's kids in blue): 8, 6, 5, 5, 4, 4, 4, 2, 2, 2, 4 months. All boys except for little Lucy. Oh, the energy!

We ate. We swam. We reveled in the cool weather -- no warmer than 80 degrees. Heaven. We watched fireworks. We laughed. We ate some more. We slept on the ground. Well, I slept on the ground. My parents slept on a double-stacked air mattress. Their tent looked like an actual bedroom, complete with handmade quilts and throw pillows.

And now we're home. And clean. The campsite had flush toilets, but no showers, so for two days, no one bathed. I smelled like a Mexican restaurant dumpster. When I finally showered this afternoon, as I bent over to scrub the "dirty burt", as my mom calls it, from under my toenails, my already washed hair swung into my face and it still smelled like campfire smoke.

My kids are all sleeping. Which means it's time for me to turn in, too. Yes, I know it's only 9:15. I promise to be a real person, with some real posts about some interesting things I've been thinking about lately, very soon.

Love you all!

Bubble-icious

My dad has been trying for years now to perfect his recipe for bubbles. We think he's finally got it down:


If you look closely, you can see reflections of people and trees in the bubbles. It's a little tough to see, but it's there, I promise. We're considering using a hula hoop dipped in a kiddie pool full of bubble solution to encase our children in individual bubbles. Wow, do the kids ever love it. My mom calls herself the "PopPop indicator" because as soon as the grandchildren (except for Lucy, who LOVES Grandma) see her, they get excited because they know PopPop won't be far. The bubbles are one of the many reasons why.

My Mom and I serve together in the Stake Relief Society presidency here in our corner of the world. We are in the midst of planning a huge 12-stake women's conference that we will host here in our area. We're talking 1200 sisters (I know, Utah people -- that doesn't seem like much, but many of those 1200 will have to drive 4 or 5 hours to get here!), plus a cadre of men who have also been invited to a training session for Relief Society leadership and stewardship. We've been mulling over what to do with the men after the training session is over. It is, after all, a women's conference, and we don't have enough room to accomodate the extra bodies.

"Don't worry," my dad said, just passing through on his way to the refrigerator. "I'll just take them all out to the parking lot and do bubbles."

Who needs words?

Easter Sunday afternoon, at my parents' house, all the little ones (except baby Liam, who is, after all, only 7 weeks old) hunted for eggs. Here's the line up, L-R: Adley, G-Dog, ConMan, Sam, Lucy, MayDay, Jordan, Aidan, Eli, Henry. (Adley, Aidan and Eli go with this blog, written by my sister-in-law; Sam, Lucy, Jordan and Henry belong to this blog, written by my sister, MommyJ; the remainders, G-Dog, ConMan and MayDay, belong to me.)

P.S. You should read MommyJ's post from today. It's INFLAMMATORY!

Watch out, Boy Bands! InkMama's Boys are in the house!

Happily, mother nature decided to wrap herself up in a big, beautiful, billowy, blanket of blowing whiteness. I love snow. I live for snow days. I love that we own our own business, so CPod could take a snow day with us. I love having an excuse to throw the agenda out the window and just play for a day. I love my conductor for canceling our rehearsal this evening. (Not that I would have gone, but at least now I don't feel guilty . . . and since we're making it up with a shorter one, I'll still get paid.) I love hot chocolate. I love having another adult around to witness the insanity that is our house every single waking moment of every single day. I also love having another adult around to help clean up the mess that happens when all we do is play.

The snow started for us while we were still at church. Our crazy, must-have-lived-up-north-at-some-point bishop did not send all of us alarmist, weather-novice southerners home right away (even those of use who have lived out west still get excited when the snow begins to fall). (Maybe he should have . . . we have mountains here! One retired couple in our ward took 5 hours to get home, including a foray into a snowy ditch at the bottom of their non-flat neighborhood.)

We lost power twice on Sunday. This precipitated many happy circumstances, the least of which was not bedtime as soon as it got dark -- which equals early at our house. In fact, the power came back on about 5 minutes after we tucked all three boys into their sleeping bags (like camping, right?) but CPod and I still sat on the couch reading with flashlights so they would go to sleep without knowing, yes, they actually could watch a show before bedtime if they so desired.

So, before I explain the other best parts, guess what this is:


Guesses, anyone? Here's the same picture with two minor lighting changes:


All three boys got headlamps for Christmas, so we all donned them and wandered around our house in the half-light of a closing, cloudy day. CPod got out his JetBoil and cooked us up some Mountain House grub. I have never seen my kids eat like they did when we fed them camping food. They very nearly licked their plates. Even I, food snob extraordinaire, enjoyed it enough to actually consider eating it under circumstances other than, A. actual camping, B. power outage with no access to the grill since it's covered by a snow drift, or C. the apocalypse. A good time was definitely had by all.

Which brings me to the title and purpose of this post. I've decided to market my children as a boy band. There's another trio out there of cute-ish brothers, and I am 100% certain my boys have more talent than that Disney-ified, can't do it without a back-up band even though they pretend to play their own instruments, family of hotties. So, without further ado, I present for your viewing and listening pleasure, InkMama's Boys in their worldwide internet debut. Please don't call them Milli Vanilli. At least not until they're old enough to read. Then, I'll begin insisting they do their own stuff. For now, it's The Killers.

Please forward all press kit requests or gig inquiries to my e-mail. It's on my sidebar. I know they'd be perfect for whatever event you have in mind. I mean, where else have you seen moves like these?

Ten Things I Learned at Walt Disney World

Long post alert. We've got lots of ground to cover here, people!

You can't beat flowers like this in January.

Me and cutie ConMan after day two at the Magic Kingdom.

The Mickey Family Portrait.

1. Next time, I'll prepare for the trip by learning how to say "excuse me" in 17 languages. I'm serious. I would bet that English-speaking Americans were in the extreme minority while we were there. If I learn how to say "excuse me" in 17 languages, I won't feel so bad about running over people's toes with my large, conspicuous, where-did-you-think-I-was going-with-this-thing double stroller.

2. You don't have to be American to look like a redneck. Just when I thought I had someone pegged as a good old boy, out they'd come with a "Cheerio, old chap" and I would scratch my head. That's what I get for stereotyping.

3. You should only wear clothing printed with phrases in languages you know. You wouldn't believe the number of t-shirts I saw printed with nonsensical English. For example, "It Maximum Authoritized". I thought about this for a long time trying to make sense of it. But it doesn't make sense. And the cool looping script over a really awesome graphic will never make it make sense. I don't even think "authoritized" is a word. So . . . all of you out there with the Chinese character for "harmony" tattooed on your (fill in the blank with some embarassing body part) . . . exactly how sure are you that it doesn't mean "dog-faced" or "idiot"?

4. If vanity is a reason to not live somewhere, Florida has just been stricken from my list. Because if we lived in Florida, I would be faced with the prospect of never ever again having a good hair day, and I'm just not sure I could live with that.

5. Something nefarious has happened to Daisy Duck. She is absolutely absent from the Magic Kingdom. She is not in either parade, she is not on the merchandise, and she is not mentioned elsewhere in the park. For a sassy, speak-your-mind kind of girl like me, this absence is disturbingly conspicuous! Are they trying to put down the one who says it like it is? The one who tells her boyfriend what to do? Was there some Disney patron focus group that reflected unfavorably on the notorious duckette? I will get to the bottom of this!

6. The Haunted Mansion ride is not appropriate for toddlers. The last time I rode The Haunted Mansion, I was 9. And it was great fun -- harmless ghosts, gimmicky special effects that were easy to see through, and a lot of laughs. I expected it to be exactly the same. Turns out, Disney actually updates their rides every once in a while, and The Haunted Mansion is waaaaaaaay scarier than it was (ahem) 23 years ago. Don't worry, though -- CPod told the boys we were in a Scooby Doo movie and they were cool with it.

7. I could live on French toast loaf (from the Main Street Bakery) and Dole pineapple whip (from the little ice cream stand in AdventureLand). Except that only covers two of my four major food groups (fruit, bread, cheese, chocolate). Guess I'll have to supplement with turtle cheesecake.

8. DisneyWorld is like the Vatican. They own every part of their compound. They maintain their own roads, they have their own police (I actually saw a car with lights on top and a siren blaring down the road), and Mickey is the pope. Disney OWNS the southwest part of Orlando. You can't fly a plane over it, you have to show ID all over the place, they recruit employees from all over the world, and they have more money than . . . well, probably the Vatican. I rest my case.

9. My kids will eat anything shaped like Mickey Mouse, or remotely related to any Disney character. They'll eat food from a Mickey-shaped plate, drink water from a Mickey-emblazoned cup, and eat carrots from a Mickey Mouse bowl. They will eat Mickey-shaped chicken nuggets and mouse head noodles in mac & cheese. I tell you, they're geniuses of catering to children down there. I should have taken notes.

10. Any place where even the bad guys are willing to dress up and walk in the parade at the end of the day has to be the happiest place on earth. And that attitude seems to be pervasive while you're in the Magic Kingdom. People are happy to be there. Kids are wide-eyed and enthralled by all they experience. And in general, people are helpful and pleasant.G-Dog actually said, "Mommy, I want to stay here forever." And no one steals your stuff. We hucked our stroller all over that park, and it was always exactly where we left it, with all of our gear still inside, after every ride. Where else does that happen?!?

And also, FastPasses rock. ROCK!

We lost ConMan for about 5 minutes. CPod took the boys one direction while I went the other to pick up our stroller. ConMan saw someone he thought was me and ran after her, and before CPod realized what was happening, he was gone. I found him standing in front of Mickey's house, holding hands with the Disney employee in charge there. He was not crying, but I could tell he had been . . . and some strange lady who looked like me had consoled him and taken him to a safe place. We are lucky, I know . . .what a relief! The happiest place on earth, indeed.

You can stop reading now if you don't want to see more pictures.

Yes, I know, my child is the same color as the cement. CPod prefers to describe his and our kids' paleness as "fair and delightsome". I think maybe MayDay is the color of fine marble, and Michelangelo would have coveted such lovely skin. MommyJ's Sam calls MayDay "Mayonnaise". Yeah. Nice.

(I must interject a side note here, because this is the only pool picture in the bunch. Since we stayed in a house with a pool, and I didn't want to shave my bikini line every day, I waxed right before we left on the trip. Next time, I'll get an epidural first. I mean, my Brazilian sister-in-law said it wouldn't hurt a bit! Maybe she'll be able to deliver her babies naturally should she have the opportunity to in the future, but I'm a pain wus. Who loves epidurals.)

There are lots of free or cheap things to do at the Disney resorts. The boys rode ponies at Fort Wilderness. (G-Dog is with CPod's dad.)


G-Dog spent a lot of time entertaining his cousin, SpecialK. We were worried he would love her a little too hard, but it turns out, he's one of her favorite people.


Dinner at Chef Mickey's. I thought it was way overpriced, but the kids LOVED it.


G-Dog unofficially adopted UncleC, who was such a good sport that this is how he saw the Magic Kingdom: with a parasitic organism attached to his shoulders.


ConMan volunteered to drive the boat on the Jungle Cruise. Our cute little guide let him drive for most of the trip, and then gave him a little Mickey Boat Pilot's license after we finished. I think I'm going to have to get it laminated.


3-D glasses for Mickey's Philharmagic. Too cute. My kids love glasses of all kinds, and wear sunglasses regularly. Wonder where they got that?!?

Where they really belong.

At the end of the day, everyone fell asleep, even in all the noise of the great exodus that occurs after the fireworks. Can you tell CPod and I both wish we were the ones sleeping?

You're So Vain . . . and other tales of the highlands

This past weekend, my sister and I and our spouses took a long-anticipated, greatly-appreciated, totally relaxing backpacking trip to the top of Mt. LeConte in the Smokies. Relaxing, you say? Hiking in the rain and cold, round-trip 13.3 miles, up steep inclines and across scary-because-there's-nothing-underneath-you cliff faces was absolutely, completely and totally rejuvenating on so many levels -- yes, relaxing. Because, see, at the top of Mt. LeConte are a lodge, some cabins, and even a few flush toilets (wo-hoo!) -- yes, primitive, without electricity and somewhat Little-House-on-the-Prairie-ish, but they cook delicious meals for you and they keep you warm, and there is no noise -- no exaggeration here -- at all. It's like the mountain just absorbs any noise the other guests make and you are insulated from the world (no airplanes, cars or trucks, televisions or radios, no phones, unless you are as tall as my husband and you align yourself like an antennae while standing in the one spot on the mountain that gets any signal). God bless our family -- Mom kept MommyJ's kids, and our little brother and his new wife kept my little ones. (The news is good -- Gramma doesn't want to have anymore children, which is good because, well, she's 56; and The Newlyweds still want to have children even after spending two days with mine!) A good time was had by all.

MommyJ and I are the vain ones. Both of us got up early Friday morning and fixed both hair and makeup before we began our trek up the mountain. Josh totally made fun of MommyJ for "smelling too good" and making an effort to be attractive on the mountain. Who you trying to impress, right? I mean, this is the man who didn't even bring a clean pair of socks with him. Strangely enough CPod refrained from haranguing me. If you know him, you know this is odd. No comment on my perfectly coiffed curls? No poking fun at me as I applied makeup in the car, driving in darkness through the curvy roads of the Smokies? Nay, not even a look askance, nary a word was spoken. I am convinced it's because he's seen how ugly I looked in the pictures taken when we were at Mt. LeConte earlier this summer, and if he is to be allowed to post them on his Facebook page, I have to look good (my requirement, not his), and until he changes his password, I will keep removing photos! I think maybe I'll let him use this one:

We hoped for some great views of fall colors, but with our rainy weather and serious fog, it just was not to be. Instead we ended up with fantastic sunset and sunrise, and some pretty cool shots of people next to Nothing. (You'll see what I mean.) All in all, a great trip -- and we plan to repeat it ever year that we possibly can, and when our kids are big enough that we trust them to not fall off a cliff, we'll bring them with us.

Side note: many of you who have known me for a very long time (cousins, college roommates, high school friends, and such) may notice my wild woman curly hair. I know, you're thinking, "Her hair isn't curly! She must have a perm." I assure, I don't. MommyJ will vouch for me -- she is insanely jealous of the curls and would be the first one to give me up if they weren't natural!

And now for the slide show . . . and a brief explanation for each image.

See, I told you . . . totally Little House. I mean, when you check in, they give you a key to the flush toilets (they have latrines for the non-paying riff-raff who just do a day hike or stay in the AT shelter up above the lodge) and a pail with directions to the hot water tap!

Me and MommyJ in front of our totally awesome sunset . . . the lodge was completely socked in by the clouds, so the hike to Cliff Tops was a bit of a gamble, but we were rewarded for our efforts.

People next to Nothing. This is why Mom can't ever do this hike. She might be hyperventilating right now just looking at the vast expanse of space beyond the edge of the rocks.

Sunrise wasn't bad, either. The best part about it? It didn't happen until 7:45AM, which is just perfect when you took a loooooong nap the day before, and then stayed up until the unbelievable hour of 10PM playing Yahtzee and Trivial Pursuit by lamplight the night before.

On the way home, we started out above the clouds, then hiked through them, and then finally emerged from the mists and finished below the clouds. We also sort of hiked through the seasons -- we had snow flurries on top of the mountain (high of 48, low of 28 when we were there), beautiful fall leaves through the mid-elevations, and a lot of green at the trailhead. Beautiful! We saw at least 4 distinctly different ecosystems, varying by elevation, proximity to water, and exposure. Just amazing. Now you go do it!

For more images of this trip, and a different perspective, visit MommyJ's blog. Or don't. I may have bored you to death!