Me--the Good, the Bad & the Ugly

I wrote this for myself-I wasn't sure if I wanted to share it, as it is very real and very raw.  It's also going to make you think I need A) Therapy  B) medication C) sympathy D) your recommendations on how to improve my mental health E) really nice compliments F) your future avoidance, because you think I am nuts.  

I don't want any of these things.  I am constantly working on improving myself and I really think the tools are within me.  I also think most of you can compile a list of you own realizations that would make me want to offer up any of the above mentioned "fixers"to you.   I read this to Chris though, and I cried.  I really, really hate crying.  He said I should share it.  I know I might regret it.  Here it is though, this is me.  

Recently somebody very close to me told me that it's easier for people to like me online because they don't know the real me.  Harsh I know.  And yes, it hurt me to the core and it made me very angry.  Sometimes though, the people who love you most choose brutal honesty to provoke a sense of self searching, and to help you be better.  So, I have to believe that this person loves me and only wants me to be my best me.  Right?

I had to consider if this was really true.  Do I show the real me?  Am I honest?  After a lot of soul searching, the only answer I have to these questions is Yes.  Yes, I do share the real me.  Maybe just not ALL of me.  Definitely not all of me.  

The ALL includes the bad stuff, and honestly, I don't shield you from the bad stuff in an attempt to make myself look better.  The best part of me is the part that wants everyone to be kind to each other, respect each other, laugh, and share joys...it's better and it's a lot bigger than the bad stuff and it wins out on social media.

Before I share the negatives, I want to share some positives.  We live in a time where we choose not to be kind to ourselves, or to share our positive attributes because we have learned that it's boastful and arrogant to do so.   Instead we (I) self deprecate in an attempt to be honest and modest.  Here are some positive things about me without any disclaimers (which is about to kill me by the way).

I am funny, I am kind, I am smart, I am friendly and my insides are pretty.  

My 13 year old is respectful, kind, empathetic, brave, well-mannered, and positive natured--and I have had a hand in that.  

My 8 year old is witty, spirited, charismatic, strong and clever-and I have had a hand in that.

I always seek out the person in the room who looks uncomfortable or out of place and I do my very best to engage them and make them feel welcome and noticed.

I make eye contact with everyone and I smile A LOT.  

I enjoy making friends

I don't believe in social hierarchy,  I will choose to be around you based on who you are and how you make me feel, not on how much you have or how sparkly you live.  

I almost always let someone ahead of me in the grocery line, even if I am running late myself.

I am generous, I would rather treat than be treated, and give than receive.

I do those "pay it forward" things.

I thank people for things that most people don't require thanks for and I say I am sorry, even if it was you that bumped me.

If I need help with something, I will ask 20 questions first to make sure that the person I am about to ask for help from isn't  tired, overwhelmed or more needy of help than I am.  99% of the time, I will never ask for the help.

15 years of marriage is a huge accomplishment and I am almost there!

You can tease me & razz me, I can laugh-and mean it.

I am good natured and good humored.

...and then there is the life defining, character molding stuff--some you've heard, some you haven't. Most of these things I hardly think about anymore, or I don't think about at all, unless I am forced to, but every bit of it defines me...

Since I can use disclaimers now, I want to say that I know that my hardships aren't any harder than any of yours. Some of you have endured struggles or suffered losses far worse than I can even venture to imagine.  I don't want sympathy, I simply want understanding...and the opportunity to help you see the real me.  

I had to choose the day my mom died, nobody should have to do that.  Her death date I know better than my own birthday because I had to choose it.  It's a kind thing to do,  and the right thing to do, but MAN does it suck.  I am fearful of death, I am fearful of illness, and I am fearful of loss.  These things make you feel like you have no control and if you slip, you can lose the ground under your feet. Now I want to always be in complete control.  I used to drink alcohol socially and fairly often but  now because I don't like the feeling of not being in control, I rarely drink very much (meaning high quantities, don't get me wrong, I still drink).  The quickest way to alienate me is to try to pressure me or control me or the environment around me.  I will avoid you and those closest to you and I will do it in the name of self preservation AND I will feel justified.  

I learned a lot of things too late about my parents, I wish I could tell them how much I appreciate them. My dad was blind and could barely walk and my mom was always so busy taking care of everybody but herself, but they were always there for EVERYTHING, no excuses, no obstacles, they were always there.  Their presence is missed, I hope they know that.   I didn't appreciate them enough-maybe at all, but because of them I hold everyone now to a higher standard and I get hurt easily when I feel like other people aren't choosing to treasure what my parents can no longer be here for.   

Pregnancy was one (two) of the hardest things I have ever done.  I miscarried with Tate, I know this doesn't make sense yet, but bare with me here.  I slipped into a deep sadness and I stopped eating & sleeping,  and then I found out that it was more likely that I had miscarried a twin...because I was still pregnant.  I developed HELLP syndrome later in my pregnancy and almost died.  Taylor was nearly full term and was still only 3 pounds.  I am so thankful she's turned into this strong, healthy, beautiful teen or else I know I would blame myself for that brief period in my pregnancy where I didn't take care of her.

My household growing up wasn't very peaceful, who am I kidding?  It wasn't peaceful at all.  That's part of who I am.  Not a part I like.  I yell.  It's not like it was growing up, but it's too much.  We carry the good and the bad into adulthood and then we have to find new tools that we didn't start with to correct the bad.  I think I have the tools now.

When my parents passed, my past dissolved and kind of disappeared.  I felt so alone and I grasped desperately to hold on.  I am not in any way discounting the people who were/are here for me, but sometimes even when you are in a room full of people, it's possible to feel even more alone than when you are really truly alone.  Sometimes the holidays make me feel that way.   The blessings around me are bountiful, I have a warm place to be, I am surrounded by love and happiness...but sometimes I simply feel like an intruder.  Someone on the outside looking in.  I don't really know where that comes from?  Loss?  Bitterness?  I'm not sure, but it can be sad.  I know why holidays can consume people with darkness...what if you don't have that warm place full of people who love you?  

I like to be liked.  I don't like to make people uncomfortable.  I want to show the world the happy, smiley, fun, enthusiastic me.  When I leave the house and venture into the world I WILL put on my best face, but if I can't,  you probably won't see me.  This makes me noncommittal.    Chris plans things and sometimes I try to get out of them.  I don't make my own social plans all that often, and sometimes I will cancel. Not because of you, but because I don't want to expose you to the part of me that I don't want exposed.

I can be really selfish.  I need time to myself.  I can't always be on the go.  I will nurture my own needs and mental health sometimes at your expense.  If I'm not giving you enough attention, it's not you.  It's me ;) 

I can be bad at nurturing my friendships, and if you lose my trust it's hard to get back.  I don't do discomfort well and I don't handle conflict well, I am way better at avoidance.

I've done things in the past that I am ashamed of.  I know I should say that I wouldn't change anything, that it's all made me who I am today...and part of that is true, but also I have a lot of growing yet to do, and altering some past choices might have expedited that process.  I'm extremely shameful for some of the things I have done to hurt others and myself and you better believe that if able to do it over differently, I would. 

It makes me uncomfortable when people tell me that I am a good daughter, and that my parents loved me and would be proud.  I did a lot to make them not proud and it's a compliment that I have a hard time accepting.  I think in the end I was a good daughter.  They left me on good terms.  The truth is though, I made life difficult for them, I hurt them and I didn't have a perfect or even kind of perfect relationship with either of them.  I built a friendship with my mom, a sincere, real, beautiful friendship, but I waited until the end.  I made mistakes and my parents made mistakes along the way...and when I see myself making the same mistakes with my kids, I get overwhelmed with fear that it will also take them a long time to build a friendship with me.   

I have always prided myself on being non-judgmental.  It's not 100% true though.  I will judge you if I think you are selfish (I judge myself for selfish choices too), I will judge you for taking advantage of people, I will judge you for hurting people who's lives and loves you might not understand, I will judge you if you put material things above your relationships...and the #1 thing I will judge you for is if you don't respect the people I love most.  I will judge you and I will judge you harshly.   I would like to get to a point where I don't judge you, but I am not there yet.   That's just honest.  

I can't fake emotion.  So, if I've ever smiled with you, celebrated with you,  laughed with you or cried with you, it's real.  I promise.   That's 100% the real me.  The bad stuff is also 100% the real me.  If you feel like you are overexposed to the bad, I'm sorry...and it's not fair.   Keep loving the good and working with me on the bad...and know that if you see it, it's because I trust you with it.  I trust you to love me, the good the bad and the ugly.  

Karmichael the Elf

"They" say the road to hell is paved with good intentions. A few years ago, our hell came in the form of one magical little elf.   Before we really knew what the Elf on the Shelf was, we enthusiastically invited one into our home.  It sounded like a good idea at first.  A fun way to build up Christmas, keep our kids in check and add more whimsy to our holiday season.   The older child was fascinated, the little one was terrified.  A spying, tattle tell elf with a creepy, set expression randomly showing up wherever it wanted was far from welcome in her world.   Each night we would have to reassure Caimbry that the elf had strict instructions from Santa that it could NOT show up in her room, some mornings we would have to check her room for her before she could even open her eyes, just to make sure her elf hadn't disobeyed Santa.   She's not a rule follower, so why would her elf be?   Christmas morning brought treasures, smiles, giggles AND finally relief,  the elf went back to his own home and Caimbry could relax, sleep through the night and not fear morning.

The following year the elf was nowhere to be found (it sounds convenient, but we REALLY couldn't find it), Caimbry didn't mention it and we all pretended like that one horrifying December had never happened.  However, the next year, elves had moved into households everywhere....creative, friendly, mischievous elves cleverly bringing joy to children throughout the Walla Walla valley.  Where was Caimbry's elf?  Why didn't Caimbry's elf show up LAST year?  Caimbry wanted her elf.  Oh crap.  Where WAS Caimbry's elf?  It wasn't until we were digging deep in the back of the liquor cabinet for some rum to add to my hot buttered cup of goodness that we realized our one traumatic December hadn't only traumatized us but it had also driven our elf to seek solace in the cabinet containing the booze, probably the only clever idea our elf has ever had!  We immediately forced him back on the wagon and made him get to work bringing our children joy.  Almost every night he would fly back to the North Pole, tell Santa that C was naughty (9 times out of 10), and reappear in a new spot.  Easy enough.  Times have changed though, little did we know that our elf was completely dull and dysfunctional.  It just sat there.  Some nights it didn't even waste the trip back to the NP and would still be in the same spot the very next day.  Our elf was broken.  Other elves turned milk green, hung from rafters, defaced photographs, had tea parties with stuffed animals and made unwelcome advances towards Barbies everywhere.  Caimbry would come home from school with fantastical stories about all of the amazing, silly things her friends elves were doing.  It was time for her elf to step it up or fall off the wagon for good.  

It's been a few years now since our elf was given a name,  a few years and plenty of time to forget it.   We're forgetters.  This year, Caimbry decided to name her elf again.  She also tried changing his gender but we told her that should be his idea and we shouldn't confuse him.  His name is Karmichael, Karma would have been his girl name.  It fits.  I mean, its kind of his job to bring Karma-good or bad.  This year Caimbry told him that he could report to Santa that she was going to allow him to show up in her room, that she wasn't scared anymore.  She also tries giving him suggestions of cool things he can do since he "tends to need a little help".   He's trying this year,  he made himself a banana hammock (tee hee) to sleep in the other night and then last night he got into my ribbons and made himself a swing to hang from my house plant.  He's not very naughty...I think he senses I have my hands full with Caimbry and doesn't want me to have to clean up after any of his misadventures.  

There are questions this year though.  Gotta love the questions.  I've had the same ones though.  Why, if the elf comes from the NP, why do they sell them on the shelves at B&N?  (I also have a beef with all of the bins everywhere, even the grocery store, labeled "stocking stuffers"--my kids read and it's not like Santa buys stocking stuffers at Safeway, but I digress).   Luckily, I can just tell Caimbry that I don't remember the first day our elf appeared, that just like her, I blocked it out.  Elves are people, and you shouldn't really buy them, I do my fair share of trying to screw my kids up,  but a black market for elves just seems wrong.   "Silly Caimbry, you can't BUY elves"  seems to do for now...

This elf business is hard work, you walk a thin line between making memories and emotional scarring.  We've managed to do both in just a short time.  I guess it's all part of parenting.  Screw our kids up and then do our very best to fix them.   Caimbry might get a prepaid therapy voucher in her stocking...I just hope Karmichael sticks around to have a drink with me.  

Edited to add---
Shortly after our first seemingly successful season with Karmichael, Caimbry was "organizing" and found not one but two hidden elves.  Our memory is fuzzy and we aren't exactly sure how and when the second elf came to be.  I'm sure somewhere in that couple year bender that Karmichael spent in the liquor cabinet, we must have replaced him with a new, more reliable elf.  It wasn't a good day for Caimbry, it's already kind of creepy having one around at Christmas, it's really very creepy when they stick around and multiply.  She questioned us and we told her not to feed it after midnight or get it wet, what else can you say??  This year she really, really wants to believe...she tells me that dad is the creepy elf and the inept tooth "ferry" with terrible spelling, but she is afraid if she admits it out loud that the magic will end.  I've told her that the magic lasts as long as she entertains it (which, secretly I hope is always, even if it keeps her from dating, ESPECIALLY if it keeps her from dating).  It's bittersweet to admit, this could very well be our last magical year with Karmichael.   I guess it's time to step it up and make it good!   

Don Ho -- The (in?)famous U-Haul

edited to add--
I just added the details that I thought would be damaging to my reputation.  Please don't judge me too harshly.

(This story has been told, retold, and overtold.  Chris and a few of my friends told me it needed to be in my blog.  They think it's a story worthy of documentation, I guess.  Some of my favorite details were left out in an attempt to spare my image, but then again...you've probably already heard them)

Some people are planners, list making, schedule following planners.  I've never been very good at that.  I can't say I am the most spontaneous person, but I am far from organized and lists are easy to misplace.  So, when I set my mind to something,  I just kind of take a leap of faith and hope it works out.  It helps that I am married to a farmer, you can't really plan things when you don't have a steady schedule.  It helps that he is married to me, because I can't really plan things out anyway.  
This is how we ended up in a U-Haul in Kauai.  Chris & I were loosely "planning" a trip to NYC, a long weekend away for our anniversary and then some stuff happened...unplanned icky medical stuff that really put a damper on things, so we put our trip on hold.  The day before our botched trip was originally supposed to take place,  I got good news and all of the sudden our long anniversary weekend didn't look so doomed, so we planned a trip.  I didn't much want to go to NYC anymore, I needed my babies and we all needed to finally RELAX.  So, 7PM Friday night, we booked a one-way flight for 4.  By 11AM Saturday morning (yup, about 16 hours later) we were on the beautiful Island of Kauai.  Packing was pretty easy,  it was winter and the kids had outgrown most of their summer clothes.  The rest, we didn't have time to stress about, so we just kind of threw some stuff in & bought new swim suits and flip flops there (that's all you really need right?).  Flight booked.  Hotel booked.  Bags packed (kind of).  Psyches fresh & ready.  Car rented....nope, that part wasn't coming together but we would figure it out there.  Maybe...
No available cars in Kauai.  One of those things that a list making, schedule following planner would have worked out prior to jumping on a plane....but not us :)  Heck, we didn't even have a return flight home.  It was the taxi driver who planted the U-Haul seed.  She might have been joking, and Chris was quick to dismiss the possibility, but I am an admirer of creativity and I really wanted some freedom to explore the island.  The next morning after exploring as far as our legs and our kiddos tiny feet would take us, Chris jumped in a cab and was delivered to the U-Haul lot to pick out our rental.   It might have been too much to wish for a pick up truck or a small utility van, but we held out hope.  Chris called me to tell me he was in the rental and was headed back.  He said he was going to park on the main road, a mile walk from our hotel, our only choice of Valet parking had him intimidated.  You probably already know I am lazy and I had a toe injury from a hasty airport pedicure, so I headed down to talk to the Valet guys.  I have a way of talking like I am joking I guess, because I am not sure they took me seriously.  You can drive the entire island without having to stop for lodging, nobody moving from one residence to another usually stops at a nice resort for a rest along the way.   It turns out they hadn't ever parked a U-Haul.  They said they could park a pick up, they weren't sure if a moving truck (a full sized moving truck-did I tell you that part?) would fit in the small parking garage...but they were up for the challenge.   Chris was a little embarrassed, it happens, it's not often but it does.  The irony in this is that being married to him has toughened me, embarrassing me is way harder.  If I can walk out of a restaurant with a grown man wearing boxers, socks and sandals, with wetted pants tucked under his arm (another blog perhaps?) than I can stand proudly watching my husband pull up in our oversized rental car, later to be named Don Ho, while my new valet friends discover that I indeed wasn't joking.  For the next few days we were minor celebs.  "Aloha Kontos family, let me get you your U-Haul",  "Welcome back, we trust you enjoyed your outing today"...I don't want to brag, but we were kind of cool ;)  
Beyond the resort, we were islanders, everywhere you go in a U-Haul, people think you are locals.  I mean, if you don't live there, you probably don't need a U-Haul.  Don Ho's cab had 2 bucket seats, one that fit Chris and one that fit both our kiddos and then there was a big hard open space in between.  It wasn't too uncomfortable when Chris didn't need me on my knees (gutters people!  Heads out!)  to help him navigate.   Eventually (Ok, really quickly) I discovered that my old knees weren't what they used to be and justified our next decision with 2 facts, 1) the maximum speed limit was 45 and 2) We were by far the LARGEST rig on the roads by a landslide.  I'm not sure what the statute of limitations on bad parenting is, and I'm reluctant to share this next part as it goes against every moral fiber of my being, but we put our kids on the floor of the Uhaul (yes, I'm ashamed) and Chris drove very, very carefully while we both played a fun game of whack a mole with our curious children every time a cop car passed us by.  When we stopped somewhere we would all just roll right on out.  And then leaving was never without ceremony as the back up alarm loudly alerted everyone around us (and in nearby communities) our departure was imminent.  At one point, we pulled up to a ranch for a horseback tour and for a long time we were unable to locate the guides, they saw us pull in, assumed we were moving in next door and didn't come out of hiding to greet us.  Tourists don't drive U-Hauls.  I'm not really sure if I should be proud that my kids are also past the point of embarrassment or if I should worry that circumstance has rendered them too resilient to shame and they won't ever develop social boundaries, however, I'm choosing to be proud.  They embraced our adventure with minimal eye rolls and "seriously!"'s.  
After a few days, a rental car became available...we had a choice to make.   We still didn't have a return flight booked and our hotel reservations had an expiration date.  We could pretend we didn't have responsibilities back at home, keep Don-Ho in the event that our hotel evicts us for the next scheduled guests and we NEED to move into his spacious posterior,  or we could book a flight, say goodbye to our celeb status and rent a car for the last couple of days.  I was content, I was loving the life of an Islander (with room service, housekeeping and valet parking as an added bonus), Chris even said we could stay and sell surfboards or Taco's out of the back of Don Ho.  The kids were ready for a comfier ride though, and it kind of made sense at the time to get a car that fit on ALL of the roads.  A little bit of magic left us that day.  We were just tourists to the next shift of valet parkers, tourists with no name and no U-Haul.  It was time to book our flights.   
Sometimes I get discouraged with myself, I want to be organized, create and follow lists and spare overwhelming myself.  Sometimes though by having a plan, you miss out on some of the very best things that probably would have never made it on to your list or itinerary.  Planning might get us what we think we want, but sometimes the things we need, the things that inspire us, lift us, bond us and create the best memories are the things we can't possibly plan.   

Caimbry posing with Don Ho

Sightseeing from Don Ho

Chris holding me up by the britches so I could "safely" navigate

"Pasty feet in Paradise with big blue bandaid"
(because tan, perfectly pedicured feet in paradise has been so overdone)

Pura Vida

(unedited first draft)

I've done a little traveling, not enough to call myself a world traveler, but enough to say with great certainty that the people of Costa Rica are some of the most humble, kind and generous people in the world.  Pura Vida. They live the pure life and after visiting just a small stretch of their country, I feel lazy, greedy and guilty of taking the beautiful simplicities of life and turning them into worries.  

It only took a few minutes to secure our reservation online, only to research and learn later that my "vacation" was going to involve tackling some of the most dangerous rapids in the world.  I was sucked into the beauty of the lodge, the country, the rain forest and the desire to see some exotic creatures.  I didn't really read the fine print.  I knew our lodge was accessible by raft, but because I have virtually no rafting experience, the "Class IV" rating meant nothing to me.  I love adventure though and it sounded fun enough.  Later I would Google "Pacuare" and I would see links such as "The Pacuare: River of death" or "deaths on the Pacuare",  I did not click on these links.  I did however read more reviews of our lodge and travel company.  Everyone, even the inexperienced rafters loved the rafting and everyone who wrote the reviews (I can only assume) survived.  Everyone commented on the expertise of the guides and how safe they were made to feel.  Some people mentioned falling out of the raft, once, twice or multiple times.  Some people mentioned that the rainy season was far more dangerous due to the speed of the water.  Rainy season, that was when our trip was booked for.  Hot diggity damn.  For you rafters, it's unlikely you can relate to my apprehension, but I am NOT physically gifted in the least.  I am a faller outer.  I am a rule follower until panic hits and I forget all the rules.  I am the one who will forget 2 simple rules-float on your back, feet downstream.  I am a drowner.  However, I am fun, really I am!  I won't be discouraged, I turn discomfort into self deprecating humor and I refuse to NOT have fun.  

Day one on the river, lots of rules.  "Forward"-simple enough, row forward & try to stay in sync with the paddler in front of you.  "Backward"-same as forward, only not, it's the other way.  This is where it gets complicated for me.  Left back--that means the left side rows backward and the right keeps paddling forward.  Now I need to think.  I know my left from right, but under pressure, my mind is as uncoordinated as my body.  There is also "high right (or left)", and this is where it gets intimidating--if the raft is about to flip everyone on the left jumps to the right and holds on.  I didn't like this one.  And then there was "DOWN!"--jump into the middle of the boat, hunker down and hold on! ...and then there are all the rules for when you do fall out.  I didn't talk to anyone who said you won't fall out.  My gifted guide Mauricio said "I work hard to keep you safe", he also does shoe checks and if you fall for it, he himself will flip you out of the boat.  Thankfully, while my mind is slow with some things, my wit is quick and I usually "get it" if yours is too.  

My first day on the raft was too short.  The rapids get to maybe a class II, so we had a good opportunity to learn the ropes and hone our skills.  Not sure how I managed to go airborne on a class II but at one point I flew up and was quickly thrown face down into the boat by Chris who was determined to keep me in the boat so I wouldn't bail on the more difficult latter stretch of the trip.  I also think there was a little passive aggressiveness going on and he found it was a fine opportunity to suffocate me while feigning doting protection.  It took a little longer than necessary to release my face from the raft.  It was exciting though, and I was hooked, I wanted more river.  And then it was over, we were at the lodge, the amazing and beautiful Pacuare Lodge.  

Our days at the lodge were all I expected and more, the lodge is what made me brave the Pacuare during the rainy season, and could have easily been the highlight of the trip, and would have been if it weren't for the unexpected treasures encountered.  

The Pacuare is romantic and we met many Honeymooners, Chris made the point that there is always at least one weird couple on each vacation and if you don't recognize that in someone else, it's because it's probably you.  So we proudly wore the "weird" hat.  I mentioned earlier it's an Eco-Lodge.  This over-packer had one small backpack to fit 4 days worth of clothing and other essentials into, keeping in mind that nothing can be worn twice since the humidity allows for nothing to dry.  Most people were wet from swimming, I was wet from sweating.  It doesn't take long to get really stinky and any romance to be had is not without a ripe, raw stench.  Thankfully, our suite came with a small little spring fed dipping pool that was nice and cool and brisk.  Our suite also came with bats!  about 9 little bats who would loudly alert us when it was time for us to go down to dinner or in their case, their hunt.  When we were down at dinner, all of the candles in our room would be lit and we would return to a beautiful breeze-cooled, candle lit room.  The sounds of the jungle were loud.  The rushing Pacuare, the cicadas, the birds, the bats celebrating their successful hunts.  Surprisingly easy sounds to sleep to.  No worries.  

I've mentioned before that I don't do well walking uphill--I wasn't prepared for how much uphill walking I would be doing.  I hiked a mountain in order to zip line 13 different cables in the beautiful rainforest.  Of course, the locals (who walk miles to work and make complaining feel shameful), my strong, virile husband and the young fit honeymooners made it look effortless.  Me-I did a lot of huffing and puffing.   I tried to pretend I  sounded sexy by emulating sounds of passionate lovemaking when in reality, my sounds were exactly that of a chubby, unfit middle-aged American trying desperately to get up a hill.  Small victories though, I made it.  I made it and my later long walks up a steep hillside to my suite didn't feel all that bad anymore.  Zip lining was incredible and I am glad I waited to experience it for the first time in such a spectacular setting.  At the end we repelled down a tree, with a mischievous guide surprising me with a fun free fall at the end.

The highlight of our trip was a horseback riding trip to the small nearby village of Bajo Del Tigre.  We crossed the river on a cable and met our horses.  The riding was fun and again the scenery was amazing but it was the family we met in Bajo Del Tigre that made our trip.  It was just Chris and I and our 2 patient guides, we were greeted by 14 year old Martin who helped us dismount our horses and tie them up for us.  The family invited us in to wash up and to sit at their table while they served us some fresh juice, and a delicious brunch.  The patriarch played music and sang to us, and little Jimena (7 years old) stole my heart with her smiles and hugs.  The warmth of the family made me cry my first and only tears of my vacation and I was so sad to go and again ashamed that with all the luxuries back at home, the smiles in the US don't compare at all to the smiles in Costa Rica.  Pura Vida.  

The huge rains came after our horseback ride.  Rains unlike any I have ever experienced before.  The river was fairly low for rainy season.  It doesn't take long for the rains to change the level of the water, and a small part of me was again afraid that I would not survive the rapids home.  

The next morning the water was deeper and murkier but before I could find Mauricio and beg for reassurance, he found me.  He told me that the river was perfect.  Not too low and not too high and asked if I was ready.  I again asked him if I was going to fall out.  He reminded me "I work hard to keep you safe" and then he flashed me a smile confirming all of my fears "You might fall out".  

This is what I found googling Class IV rapids-

"Long rapids; waves high, irregular; dangerous rocks; boiling eddies; best passages difficult to scout; scouting mandatory first time; powerful and precise maneuvering required. Demands expert boatman and excellent boat and good quality equipment"

The "powerful and precise maneuvering" is executed by me.  Me, Chris and 4 new friends.  The "expert boatman" was Mauricio.  Thank God for Mauricio.  Mauricio meets new people everyday, all with differing levels of rafting experience.  Mauricio might remember me for a couple of days due to my neurosis and sad attempts at humor.  I will remember Mauricio forever.  He worked hard to keep me safe.  I am proud of myself though.  I also worked hard to keep me safe, I paddled while rushing water was thrashing at my raft and trying to knock me out.  I don't have anything to compare it to other than our first day on the river, but our final day on the river was intense, it was unlike anything I have ever encountered before and finishing it was followed by a euphoria and a feeling of victory I've never experienced.  There were several rapids along the way that were classified III's and IV's.  During one rapid, Mauricio had gained enough faith in us that he decided to have a little fun with us.  Those of us on the left paddled forward and those on the right turned around facing the back of the raft and also paddled forward through a long fairly intense rapid we spun ourselves in circles all the way until the water was again slow. Twice during the trip, 2 of my raft mates fell partially out of the boat (this is where Chris wants me to tell you all that he saved someone's life *sigh*), I stayed in though.  I thrashed around a lot and I am quite sure a bystander would not have viewed me as graceful but I stayed in the boat!  I ducked and clung to the boat when Mauricio called out "DOWN!" as we were completely enveloped by large waves, and I didn't get swept away.  At one point my own fist hit my lip and my tooth punctured and fattened it quickly, I can't say I am not proud of the battle wound though.  I stayed in the boat.  We all did!  

What I sought when booking my travel was an exotic getaway with my husband, what I left with I can't put into words (and I am wordy ;)).   The bad and the good- I am spoiled and materialistic, I am also brave and capable.  I didn't need a beautiful suite and fancy meals to feel refreshed, I needed to experience Pura Vida.  Muchos Gracias Costa Rica.  Te Amo.  

Wind and Worries.

Wind and air travel freak me out.  Not necessarily on their own but definitely when you combine them.  Soon I will be getting on an airplane with Chris.  Chris is my favorite travel companion when I like him.  Today, I don't feel like I like him very much, but soon we get on a plane together.  We kiss our kids goodbye and trust them to behave and be good little members of society when we are away.  Taylor doesn't worry me so much, she will be fine. Then there is the 8 year old.   Caimbry is a quick witted independent little thing and absolutely lovely when everything goes her way.   Routine is key for her and sadly when we are away, she loses a little of that, she misses my nagging, she won't admit it, but she does ;)  She needs an authoritative hand to guide her.  I will worry about her.

Right now I am worried about the wind.  My house is quiet, I have it to myself, the sound of the wind along with the clicking of my keyboard is surprisingly soothing.  Until I think about it.  Wind and air travel.  I love flying out of Walla Walla, it's easy and usually a very pleasant experience, I don't even mind the small little roller coaster rolls, they are common on quick flights that don't really get up and out of the weather.  It's the big theme park roller coasters with the huge drops that go on forever and leave your belly in your throat-these kind of roller coasters are only bad when you are in the air and there is no track.  Then I worry.  

I like adventure, I like air travel, heights don't bother me much unless I am teetering precariously on the edge of something that could at any moment give way.  Becoming a parent though has made me a worrier.  

Yesterday, a troubled young man walked into LAX with a rifle  and opened fire.  Soon I will be at LAX.  The practical part of me knows that while these incidents are becoming increasingly more common, they are still rare.  If anything, LAX should be safer following such an event and I will be one of many more suspect looking characters that will get an extra little grab.  I've gained weight recently, an extra lotta grab is more likely, bummer for them and a little humiliating for me.  I don't mind it though, I want to feel safe.  This guy though, he opened fire on his way through security.  I guess there is no feeling safe.  Being a parent made me more of a worrier, but this crazy ass world we live in sure isn't helping make me less of one.  All I know is that life is precious and we damn well better live it.  So, that's what I am doing.

In Costa Rica, we will be rafting, class 3-4 rapids.  I haven't really rafted, just once when I was a kid and probably not as wild of rapids. On the website it says you don't have to be experienced.  You also have to sign a paper absolving them from fault if you do die.  I read reviews from people saying they have fallen out of the raft on this adventure.  That will be me.  I will fall out and the other people on my raft will curse me for being the person that keeps delaying the trip because they have to keep saving my damn life.  This is what worries me, not that my life will be jeopardized, but that I will annoy the other rafters who are likely more experienced or at least more athletic adventurers.  So, I should say this is what DID worry me.  Talking with my friend Amanda the other night, I learned of the prevalence of crocodiles in the Costa Rican rivers.  Now, not only do I need to worry about annoying my raft mates, but I now need to worry that those extra pounds I have put on have made me a hearty meal.  

I love adventure, I don't fear many things, but the sad truth is that clumsy, non-athletic people  make poor adventurers.  

We rarely plan our trips out well in advance, luckily we had time for some immunizations and some we already had.  My chances of getting any of the hepatitis's are greatly reduced, I'm covered against Typhoid and apparently my chances of getting Malaria and Dengue fever are determined by how well my bug spray does it's job.  100% strength DEET is also a chemical you shouldn't put on your skin.  Mosquitos like me,  I like to think it's because I am sweet with a pleasant scent, but I have read otherwise.  I don't want to expose my skin to dangerous chemicals, but I also have read about dengue fever and it sounds really quite sucky.  Thankfully malaria is rare there.  

It's a little humbling for me to admit that I also fear walking uphill, and downhill, but mostly uphill.   Our lodge is eco-friendly which means that there is no electricity, there will be a lot of walking in the dark.  I guess it's a long hike uphill in the dark to our suite.  I guess it's only dark after dinner.  I'm glad I don't fear critters, I hear that golfball sized spiders hang out near the toilet.  I like spiders,  not the kind that eat your flesh, but most are OK.  I guess I can proudly admit I am not worried about critters, the more I see, the happier I will be.  Talking about the loo though reminds me that I worry about where the plumbing empties in an eco friendly lodge with no electricity.  Thoughts?  One of the reviewers said they had to throw soiled toilet tissue in the wastebasket.  I worry about the poor cleaning person that has to empty Chris's toilet tissue.  God Bless them.  

Anyway-last week I was worried about being the out of shape rafter who has to keep getting saved, and DEET vs Dengue fever.

This week I am worried about crocodiles (thanks Amanda), air travel and wind.  

My guess is that next week, I will have no worries as a I sway in my hammock surrounded by the beauty, the critters and the sounds of the rain forest while I soak up some good quality time with my husband of 15 years (who I hope to like by then).

(oh and as I hit "enter" I worry about my poor grammar and sentence structure because I am always so excited to post my thoughts and don't make time to edit.  I also worry that people will think my house is empty and try to steal my crap.  For the record-my house is NOT and you will be shot)    

Letter to my Newborn Teen

Dearest Taylor,

I believe that the job of a parent is to be an authority figure first and a friend later.  However, I also believe that if you play your cards right, you can be the meanest, bossiest, most eye roll provoking jerk when needed and also have the great privilege of being a companion, a confidant, and a friend.  Honestly, I'm sure it has a lot less to do with how I play my cards and more that I was just dealt a great hand.  The best person I have ever met was born 13 years ago today.  You came in the littlest 3 pound package stuffed the fullest with all of the best things...wisdom, humility, kindness, empathy, heart, strength, generosity, pure love (I could go on and on, pretty sure I will ;)).   I haven't been the best mom over the last 13 years, I have had to learn a lot along the way and I make more mistakes than I care to count or list for you here.  There are a ton of books out there.  They can teach you how to change a diaper, how to take a temperature, how to potty train, how to deal with temper tantrums, and Dr Phil will ask you "How's that workin' for you?" and tell you it's not his first rodeo.  Taylor, you were my first rodeo, and you have taught me more than a book ever could.  It's not your job to teach me, it's my job to teach you...but somehow along the way your skills surpassed mine.  You are better at empathy, you are quicker with apologies, you are better at forgiveness, you are better at saying the right thing at the right time and you are better at hugs.  You inspire me and someday I want to be just like you.  Lucky for me, today, I get to be your friend.  I know now that these scary teen years are upon us, I won't always get to be your friend, but I hope I have done enough over the years for you to know that when you are in trouble I am going to be mean and bossy, but most importantly I am going to be there for you.  Happy Birthday Taylor Alexis Kontos!  Thank you for the last 13 years, I look forward to the following years with very little trepidation.
I love you!!
Mom

Chris Kontos

The first time I met Chris Kontos, I was prompted by a friend to say "hi" to a guy who apparently really wanted to meet me. I gave him a friendly "hello", he said "hello" and then he stared at his beer. In that moment we fell hopelessly in love. OK-that last part didn't really happen, our eyes didn't lock, there was no eye contact. We didn't bond over conversation, there was no conversation. It was quiet, really quiet and then awkward and then...over. I felt far inferior to the beer that he couldn't take his eyes off of and I left underwhelmed and unimpressed. Over the next few months, we would see each other around and I would give him that unenthusiastic hello that was first bestowed upon me and he would try to convince me that I wanted to date him. I didn't. Not until he stopped. Girls play games, and I was a girl. I was a bratty immature girl and I didn't like him showing attention to another girl. The stupid hello's and beer stares were for me! So, I gave him my number. My first date with Chris Kontos started every bit as romantic as that first meeting. I agreed to meet him at Dairy Queen and follow him out to a little farmhouse in the middle of nowhere by myself, because clearly my judgement was stellar and I hadn't watched enough horror movies or crime dramas. Our greeting wasn't a hand shake or even a hug. He stared at the menu on the wall (like he had stared at that beer that first night) and then reached back and smacked me right square in the chick-bits. It wasn't intentional, I could tell. He just wanted to ask what I wanted to order (I didn't want to order anything), and then because he felt awkward about that first innocent enough crotch grab, he decided to break the ice with a real one. This next part is where I demonstrate my complete lapse in good judgement--I STILL followed him to that little farm house in the middle of nowhere. It was there that I found out this quiet, shy, slightly perverse, beer romancing farm boy with mismatched clothing and poor social skills was actually a beautiful man child with a huge heart and a kind spirit. He was witty, intelligent and articulate, hard working and not the least bit shy or quiet. Oh, and colorblind, which explains the mismatched clothing.
It's now 16+ years later. On February 20th of this next year, Chris and I will be celebrating 15 years of marriage. What he first saw in me, he says, was my smile. He knew that life and marriage would have it's ups and downs, but didn't know when he married me that a lot of the downs would come early, that the smile would waver and that pain and anger would take it's place. I'm not strong, he will be the first person to tell you that, but together we are strong. What I first saw in him was his humor, it's contagious, and it's therapeutic. Without him, without his humor and without his fierce love I am not sure who I would be today. Though I would strongly advise my children against following a crotch grabbing stranger down a dark country road at night, I will advise them to find that person who surprises them, who keeps them guessing but who never makes them guess if they are loved. I know I am loved, maybe not always liked, but usually liked and very loved.

Then-ish 

Now-ish