Family – Page 5 – Angel Wheeler

A Sesame Street Shindig

This past weekend we had a fun 2 year old birthday party, complete with the whole Sesame street gang. Initially I was just going to do Elmo, but once I got to checking out the internet, a.k.a Pinterest, for ideas, I knew the whole gang should be invited.

Every single idea was stolen fair and square. I take no credit.

I bought this cute Sesame street skirt and top from an Etsy shop called Sweet Sophia Designs. There was about 3 seconds in my thought process where I thought I might attempt to make it, and then I quickly decided that my sanity was worth the price of the outfit.

I made the Welcome sign with cardboard letters wrapped in wrapping paper and hotglued with ribbon.

I decided to go with cupcakes instead of a cake. With the cupcakes we served a fruit tray, some goldfish, and some cookies. To fit the theme; you know…..cookies for cookie monster, goldfish because Elmo loves his goldfish.

This was an easy idea for making an Elmo face, except either my platter was too big or my strawberries were too sparse and it didn’t help that EK kept sneaking in the kitchen and stealing strawberries.

These cupcakes were deceptively easy. I watched several different methods and decided to go with the easiest. I was so stressed about the amount of time these would take, but once me and my niece Ashlynn sat down, we had these decorated in less than one hour. Probably 36 cupcakes. I made cupcakes from a box cake mix. Then I bought that canned colored icing like Cheez Whiz comes in. I think if you study them they are pretty self-explanatory. For the eyes, I used round white candy melts and we used a tube of black icing to draw on the pupils. Cookie monster has a half chocolate chip cookie for a mouth and Elmo and Oscar have half an oreo with gumdrop noses for Elmo. We also just did some cupcakes with white icing and sprinkles just to change things up.

The cupcake tower is made with three cardboard circles, size 8″, 10″, and 12″ inch (or you could buy cardboard cake circles but I’m cheap). I used styrofoam flower circles as the base, hotglued together, and green beans as the center dividers covered in cardstock paper. The circles are covered in wrapping paper and then ribbon is glued around the cardboard circles. Easy peasy, just a little time consuming.

We played a couple of games. One was pin the nose on Elmo, which was just hilarious since noses were put all over the place and then a cookie monster beanbag toss, sort of. They mostly just stood and placed the cookies into his mouth instead.

It is simply a cardboard box with a cookie monster face glued on with the mouth cut out. I made 3 beanbag cookies by hot glueing felt circles together partway, filling it with beans or you can use rice, and glueing it closed. Those little triangles on top of the cookies are supposed to be chocolate chips, hehe.

Emma had four 2 year old and three-year old friends come and I think they had a fun time.

The sweetest part was telling Emma to tell her friends “Thank you” for the gifts. Well, she was confused and thought the gift was FOR them instead of FROM them. So she would open the present and then try to give it back to the giver. So sweet.

I had also told her prior to the party that her friends would want to play with her toys and that it was okay and she needed to let them have their turns (she’s two remember?) She did real good and let everyone do as they pleased, but as soon as the door closed after the last guest left, she ran to her little pink jeep and yelled “Emma’s turn!”

Oh the fun we’re having!

Blogs where I stole ideas:

http://www.chickabug.com/blog/2013/07/sesame-street-second-birthday.html

Kate’s Sesame Street Birthday Party!

2 Years Old

Emma Kate Darling,

Happy, Happy 2nd Birthday to you!!!

Oh I hope you know how much you are loved. But I’m sure you don’t. Of all the thousands upon thousands of words I have to use, there aren’t enough to convey it.

And not to boast or anything, (well maybe just a little), but you love your mommy right back. I mean a whole lot. Me and you? We’re like peanut butter and jelly. Or milk and cookies. Like hot chocolate and marshmallows or strawberries and cream. The two are better than one. Of the two years of your life, so far we have only been away from one another for a few hours at a time. 24/7 that’s me and you.

I keep thinking back to this day two years ago when you came screaming and crying into our world. People said my life would never be the same, and boy is that the truth. It is all the more enjoyable because of you.

So what does a 2 year old like you like? Right now, you really love Cinderella and you sing a lot. You pick up items to use as your microphone, and sing into it. You like to play dress up in your plastic, clompy heels and have tea parties with your daddy. You really love the playground and don’t like leaving once we’re done. There’s so many other things. Your dogs: Drew, Grace and Ozzie, your chickens, and your new fish Snowman. You make sure we wait for you to get your purse and put it on your shoulder when we take out the trash. You like to drive your daddy’s truck, so for Christmas you received a pink Barbie jeep but you barely push it to make it go one inch, then stop it.

People think you are timid and shy, but I think you are cautious. And that is a smart thing to be. You like to stay close to your people when we’re in a new place or around a lot of people and you don’t really talk to strangers or even look them in the eye. And that’s just fine for now. There’s not an impulsive bone in your body. You are an observer and a thinker. You wait and watch rather than jumping right in. And even though others might think they can boss you around, you know how to stand up for yourself. You have a strong voice and an opinion and you aren’t afraid to use it. Some of your favorite things to say right now sound very oppositional if you know what I mean.

But you also say so many sweet, kind things too. You are learning your manners very well and say thank you so much, please, excuse me and you tell people bless you when they sneeze. You say “I love you much” and if we’re really lucky we get hugs and kisses. You like to give long kisses until we start to laugh and our teeth bump. You give love pats and like to snuggle up in bed. You have a tender little heart at times and are learning compassion. You crawled into my lap and placed your hands on my face and asked me what’s wrong the other day when I was frustrated with something. Just last night you made me laugh when you fell upon the ground with your head resting on your forearms repeating, “It’s no use. It’s no use.” (learned from Cinderella) when you didn’t get your way. It is very obvious that you are a result of your environment and your daddy and I are trying our very best to show you the right way and give you strong examples to follow.

Of course books are still one of your favorite things but you’re pretty fond of movies as well. We take a weekly outing to the library for a story time and we take a weekly outing to a play group where you have lots of friends. Right now we’re working on learning to share and not be a Bossy Bessie!

Of course you’re smart. You have been from day one when you looked at us with those big alert eyes and understood everything we said to you. You are a talker with a big vocabulary, but you get a little frustrated at times when we don’t know what you’re trying to tell us. You have things memorized already like songs and the previews to Cinderella. You found this Youtube video months ago called egg surprise that you watch over and over and can recite verbatim. You are fully potty trained right now and are showing your independence with wanting to dress yourself and put your shoes and socks on.

You are a small, petite child. And healthy!!! Fortunately, we haven’t had to see a doctor in quite some time, so by our calculations you are about 32 inches tall and weigh about 22.5 pounds. You’re fearfully and wonderfully made and uniquely you. There is no one else like you sweet Emma. I must say I believe I won the jackpot with you.

Two years ago, you came into our world and settled right into our hearts. I have a very special place for you in mine. You will always be my little baby no matter how old or tall or heavy you grow and my desire is for you to have the best possible childhood available to you. I want you to know you are loved. I want you to remember good times with your family. I want you to understand that spending time with you is more important to us than spending money on you. I want you to be kind and generous and compassionate to others. I hope you read this letter when you’re sixteen and you think I hate you. I want you to know that always and forever our love for you is full, unlimited, and unconditional. That nothing you could/would/should ever do will change that. Ever. You are my joy, my love, my sunshine, my hope, my wealth, my legacy.

You are my love.

Happy Birthday, cupcake.

XOXO,

MomMEE ( how you say it, with emphasis on the second syllable)

Toddler Selfies

My almost 2 year old (like in 3 days) is a phone snatchin’-selfie takin’-Instagram postin’ whiz kid.

When I got a text from my sister asking if I posted some pics to Instagram, it caused a bit of alarm knowing I hadn’t. Geez, what could it be? I quickly popped over to see what she was referring to and discovered these.

I think EK has been taking lessons from the teenager in the house.

But after looking through my camera roll, I noticed she forgot one more so I felt obliged to add it here.

I have a teenaged toddler. Lord help.

At least she’s graduated from the placemat photos and has learned to turn the camera around. These were a bit bizarre.

It’s progress people.

The best magic show ever

Over the Christmas break my family was treated to the performance of a lifetime by my nephew ~~Harley~~, I mean Hobo Joe the Magician.

Move over David Copperfield.

Hand over your wand Harry Houdini because Hobo Joe is in da’ house.

Hobo Joe began with humble beginnings living in a cardboard box that was discarded after Christmas of 2013. But as fate would have it, his wonderful auntie (that would be me) bought him a magic show kit for Christmas and encouraged him to put on a show for the family.

Hobo Joe diligently learned his tricks and was ready for performing the very next day.

Admission was reasonable and well thought out for a 10 year old lad.
General admission—-$1.00
Kids under 4 (his brother and Emma)—free
His grandmother was free, ‘since she’s a senior citizen’, he added.
His dad was free because he owed him four dollars. Now his debt is only $3.
Teenage girls were $5 each. (He had 3 cousins in this category).

He lost his magic wand before the show and even after offering an award for free admission to the person who found it, with no success, he carried on without.

Hobo Joe will not be stopped by something so trivial as a lost wand. The show must go on.

Hobo Joe turned his cardboard box upside down for his table, threw a table cloth over the top, and began the show.

We all assembled to watch his debut performance.

The audience was wowed by illusions, coin tricks, and sleight of hand. We laughed and cheered and oohed and ahhhhed. And when Hobo Joe got frustrated and threw his trick and said he quit, the audience chanted Hobo Joe, Hobo Joe, Hobo Joe, Hobo Joe till he mustered enough courage to carry on.

It was the best magic show ever and I honestly can’t remember a time where my family laughed together so much. Truly an experience I treasure.

On a side note, Hobo Joe is no longer living in a box and is saving up for a tuxedo.

Here Hobo Joe is thinking of a number or a color or something that Emma picked.

Hobo Joe poses with a picture with his dad, whose been there for him since the beginning (taken before he lost his wand, obviously).

The Reason I Cried on Christmas

We left Christmas day, loaded up the family and the dogs and drove to my mom’s house, 6 hours away.

I wanted to have Christmas morning at home, open the presents with just the few of us, then leave. But after opening presents, we had to take down the tree, because I didn’t want to come home to a dry, crusty tree with needles littering the floor. And then I needed to clean out the fridge, because I didn’t want to come home two weeks later to green, fuzzy mac and cheese. Because obviously, the mac and cheese has been in the fridge for two weeks already.

Of course, then I wanted to get all the laundry done because I didn’t want to come home with suitcases full of dirty clothes to add to Mount Washalot that has erected itself in my laundry room.

We all know when you’ve been away from your house for nearly two weeks, what you want to come home to is not laundry, your dead Christmas tree, or month old leftovers, but what you want to come home to is your bed and your shower. I was being proactive, longing for the day I would return before I ever left.

After arriving at my mom’s house, we opened presents. Now there are families who have organized Christmas present opening, and then there are families who don’t. I would belong to the latter. Paper is flying, kids are screaming, you practically need ear plugs for all the shouting and people talking at once. It is sheer chaos. Someone inevitably opens someone else’s underwear and looks quizzically at it until someone shouts out “that belongs to uncle herbert” or something like it. Also there is usually a lone, leftover present buried under the wrappings that is discovered during clean up, which the recipient grabs with glee.

I got towels. Which is not the reason I cried on Christmas.

The reason I cried on Christmas is because tucked inside the box with the towels was an envelope addressed to me, written in my dad’s printed hand, with my mom’s address (I haven’t lived there in more than 20 years). No matter how many years he’s been gone, I doubt I’ll ever forget his handwriting. I held the card and studied it curiously, much like the kid with someone else’s underwear in hand. The room shouted and carried on around me, but I was alone with this envelope.

I turned it over. My uncle, my dad’s only brother, had written on the back. He had found it and decided to send it on to me. You see, my parents separated when I was about 12 years old, and my dad moved to Oklahoma. It was still the age of letter writing so it wasn’t uncommon to receive his cards and letters, usually with a little cash tucked inside. While we were growing up, we talked on the phone every Sunday after church. That’s when he knew he could reach my sister and I together, along with the rest of the family, because we all met together at my grandmother’s house,( the very house I sit in while typing this), for Sunday dinner that always, without fail, consisted of roast, mashed potatoes, green beans, corn, and rolls.

I held the card in both of my hands and with a bit of a nervous nature I opened it carefully, trying not to tear off any of the writing, the post mark, or any part of the envelope. It had instantly become precious to me. A message from my dad, nearly three years after he died.

Inside was a card. A Valentine’s card for a little girl. With hearts, a rainbow, and a teddy bear on the front. I didn’t bother reading the message inside the card, but instead my eyes fell to the blue ink underneath the commercial greeting, where my dad had written, “I love and miss you daily—- DAD”

And that’s why I cried on Christmas.

Tears began to fall uncontrollably. You see, I expected to receive the towels. (My mom’s been harping on me for years about my towels.) I expected the sweater, the oil and vinegar bottle, all the things I had told people I wanted. But this card, this was an unexpected surprise. A Valentine’s Day card on Christmas Day.

And the message he gave me, although he meant it years ago and it was intended to be read in the past, was more than fitting for the present. Because now, our situation has changed and he’s the one who is loved and missed daily.

I wiped my tears away quickly with the palm of my hand to no avail. More fell just as swiftly as I wiped. I then showed the card to my family. I don’t think any of them understood, until I face timed my sister.

She got it. She understood.

My dad was with me for Christmas this year.

It was the best gift I have ever received.

Uncle Leon, Thank you so much for sending it on.

Chopping Down the Tree

I’ve talked about it before, about this imaginary world inside my head. Fantopia, it’s called. It’s a fantasy utopia where my life is perfect. It’s a nice place, until I try to merge Fantopia with Reality, then it’s just depressing.

Case in point: Since we moved to the mountains, we thought it would be a fun, new family tradition to go to the forest and cut down a Christmas tree. Can’t you picture it? The fun, the family, the forest. Just us and an axe and a small pine tree.

I have looked forward to this for a few months. In Fantopia, where everything is perfect, we adorn ourselves in flannel grays and reds and caps with earflaps and we load up in the truck. We sing Christmas carols on the way to the woods where we trek through the snow to find the perfect Christmas tree waiting just for our family. We hold hands and encircle it, singing Oh Christmas Tree, Oh Christmas Tree, with wide smiles on our faces.

Then we chop it down, while posing for a family picture that would later be sent out in Christmas cards to friends and family near and far. After we get home, we drink hot chocolate while listening to Christmas carols on the radio, the house warmed with fire and love.

In Reality, this is what happened instead: We had no matching flannel grays and reds or hats with flaps, we barely found everyone’s jackets. We loaded up in the truck, along with a pink ladybug potty seat, since EK hasn’t learned to squat in the woods just yet. We drove way too far and way too long to find the perfect Christmas tree. EK sat in her seat and complained the whole time, arguing with Ashlynn and fussing when she touched her carseat. We trekked around in a little bit of snow, not finding a tree even close to perfect.

So we loaded back up in the truck and drove some more all the while analyzing trees. Too short, too tall, too thin, too scraggly. Let’s get out and check that one out. Nope. How about that one? Nope. Finally we agreed, more from exhaustion than satisfaction on a small little tree with a split trunk. Thankfully EK had fallen asleep by this time and we were all breathing a sigh of relief, but unfortunately the family photo op didn’t happen with her in it.

Once home, we couldn’t find the tree stand because obviously I’d thrown it out in one of my decluttering stages. After one run to Walmart for a tree stand, we discovered we didn’t have any working lights, so back to Walmart again. JDub went to work on the tree. He trimmed it up, cut it off, and dug out an old bird’s nest. And then it took a good long while to put the tree in it’s stand without tipping over.

It is a monstrosity! Here’s a tidbit: A small tree in the forest is a big tree in your living room. It may look small out in the big old wilderness next to behemoth pines, but indoors next to the Lazy Boy, it’s quite impressive. It’s got one side that’s bare and one side that looks pregnant. It’s crooked and crazy. Some limbs grow up, some grow down.

Instead of the family joining together and decorating, I did it begrudgingly, realizing much too late that we should have said to heck with family traditions and put up the dadgum prelit Christmas tree sitting in the garage with its tree stand tucked safely in its green vinyl bag.

So while everyone in the world displays and enjoys their perfectly shaped trees with color coordinated ornaments, I give you our tree with no lights on the top because there’s no way I could have reached it even if I had enough lights to put on it, with its hodgepodge mixmatched ornaments from way back. It’s not pretty, it’s not decorated well, the bottom strand of lights flicker on and off sporadically, and it sticks out nearly to the front door.

But after all the hoopla, today I have to say it’s kind of growing on me with all its imperfections. It’s like so many of us. Messed up in all sorts of ways. But that’s the way it was created, just like us. So instead of looking upon it with contempt, I embrace this messed up tree and rid myself of the perfectionistic attitude that society forces upon me as to what our Christmas tree should look like.

It is what it is.

And so am I.

‘Tis the season.

The Top 10 Funniest Things EK says

EK is 21 and a half months old now.

It’s a fun age.

She is a talker, y’all.

She can say anything she wants. The other day she told me “Ozzie chews on Emma’s hair clip”.

It’s good and it’s bad.

It’s good because she can express herself and answer questions and ask them.

It’s bad because even though she has this vast vocabulary, she still chooses to kick and scream and stomp at times.

But, hey, don’t we all?

I’m sure none of the things she says will be funny to my readers, but I wanted to get them down so I didn’t forget them. Time is flying so fast.

So, here we go……the top 10 funniest things EK says.

number 10) No, I not. (This means I don’t want to. I hear it ALOT!)

number 9) What da heck? (Remember, we also have a 14 year old in the house)

number 8) Hi durls (girls) {When addressing the chickens accompanied by a sweet little wave}

number 7) Aw, so toot. (meaning cute) This is said in the sweetest high pitched voice, usually when she sees a picture of herself.

number 6) I love you much (melts my heart, but I rarely hear it addressed to me)

number 5) Whose tripping over my bidge (bridge) asks the troll. (This is her newest favorite story. Move over Rapunzel)

number 4) I love my hair (A Sesame Street song)

number 3) Mama needs to poop! (What she actually means is Mama, I need to poop)

number 2) What’s going on? (We read this in a book and she finds the best times to ask)

And the number one funniest thing EK says:

I so funny.

Yes, you are a bushel of laughs, darling.

And so toot too!

This is how she gives two thumbs up. I love it!

Fingerprint

I have a new item to add to my most prized possession list. On second thought, it’s more like the only item on my most prized possession list.

I’m in love.

It’s a necklace and it deserves an explanation.

It was a gift to me from my darling, dear, precious friend Mrs. Z when EK was born.

At first I was baffled by it.

It was a brown cardboard box labeled Priceless Prints. Inside was a ball of clay with a page of instructions.

The idea is to press a fingerprint from your loved one in the clay and then return it to the company and they will turn it into a silver pendant.

A keepsake treasure of a loved ones fingerprint.

I waited a while to do this, simply because her finger was just so tiny.

You can see that the whole pendant is the size of my pinky, her little fingerprint only claiming a small part of the silver.

Recently, I felt it was time to capture it forever.

That small indention is the fingerprint of my daughter. At close inspection, you can make out the wavy lines.

The gem is her birthstone. A garnet for January.

The back is stamped with her initials EKW.

I will carry a piece of her with me for the rest of my life.

When I leave her at school for the first time in a few years, and then return to an empty home, no doubt I will touch this necklace, thinking of her and hoping she’s doing alright. And I will check the clock a hundred times before 3:00.

When she packs her bag for her first overnight sleepover, the first time away from me for the night, I will still have her near me, secretly hoping the phone will ring and she’ll ask me to come get her. I’ll jump up in my pajamas, not bothering to dress myself and rush right over.

When I drive away from her dormitory, tears streaming down my cheeks, continually looking in my rearview mirror, I will think back to the day I pressed her tiny forefinger into the clay to make this necklace.

I will wear it around my age spotted neck, through all the days, weeks, months, and years to come.

I love her little hands, her little fingers, the tiny fingernails with chipped red polish. I think of her fingerprints. Their uniqueness to her and no one else. They are her mark. I wonder where her little hands will go, what they will do. And I pray that she will leave her fingerprints on this world in a good way. That she will do good with her hands, that she will touch people’s lives and make a mark. A one of kind, unique touch that only she is capable of.

As far as I’m concerned though, she already has.

Halloween 2013 wasn’t a total bust

Months ago, I mean months ago, I saw a darling handmade owl costume on Pinterest. You know Pinterest? That website that will suck the hours right out of your day?

I pinned it on my board entitled Possible Attempts.

Around September, I knew I needed to get started, so I gathered the felt and began the process of cutting out owl feathers.

I just knew EK would look precious. I never imagined EK wouldn’t wear the costume.

But that’s how it all came down.

Our town had a fallfest carnival the weekend before Halloween. I was ready with the owl cape and hat. I’d bought sweats to go underneath it. She had glittery boots. Glittery boots!

And she refused to wear it. She threw her arms back throwing the cape off like it was burning her flesh. If I managed to get it put on, she tugged at the neckline, crying and fighting.

I decided to give up, and I carried her costume around the whole time.

The only time she put it on was in my lap and we managed to get a couple of pictures of her on a hayride with me.

That was the Saturday before Halloween. I decided to revise the costume and added a button, thinking maybe the tie was a little too choking.

I was up for another attempt.

I noticed a few years back that Halloween lasts a week these days. When I was a kid, Halloween was on October 31, no matter what. But this day and age, if it doesn’t fall on a weekend, there are Halloween events the weekend before and sometimes the weekend after. You’ll even find churches participating on Wednesday night, no matter what day it fall on. Then there is, what I call, “Real Halloween” the day people actually dress up and go trick or treating.

After the Saturday fallfest, we had 3 more events to wear our costume. Our play group was having a party on Tuesday, our Library Story time was having a party Thursday morning and then there was “Real Halloween” that night.

Attempt #2: On Tuesday, she wouldn’t wear her costume. I kind of threw a fit, but not as bad as the Saturday one I threw.

Attempt #3: On Thursday, I didn’t make a big deal out of it at all. I just merely asked if she wanted to wear it, and lo and behold, she did. So we donned the owl for Library time and she kept it on most of the time.

She was so tired after that, we didn’t do anything else for Halloween, which was fine with me.

I bought some Twizzlers for the trick or treating crowd, but ended up not having any trick or treaters. I might have, but I had to turn my light off at 7:30 after Ashlynn came in with a church group in the big middle of a scavenger hunt and took all our candy.

I guess I can’t complain since I did get a couple of decent pictures, although no smiles.

Even though we didn’t get to do “Real Halloween” and got trick or treat, I bet you can still guess “whoooooooo” was the cutest owl in town?

Hiking the PCT

I woke up this morning moaning.

The first thing that came into my mind was, “oh my neck, oh my back. Oh my neck and my back”.

It’s nothing more than a mass of knots and pain. Caused from carrying EK on my back yesterday on a hike in the woods, you know in one of those backpacks that holds kids.

This one to be exact.

You see, I read a book called Wild, by Cheryl Strayed and it’s kind of sent me into a frenzy. I can’t explain it. The book is a memoir about a lady who hiked the Pacific Coast Trail by herself. If you’re not familiar with the PCT, like I was, it is a stretch that runs from Mexico to Canada, through California, Oregon, and Washington. It took her three months, carrying everything she needed to survive on her back, living, eating, sleeping, and pooping in the wilderness. All alone. A switch went off in my brain. A desire to do the same.

Then a flash of reality went off in my brain reminding me I am 1) married 2) a mother 3) nearly forty 4) smarter than that.

So me and my brain, we compromised. I may not be able to hike the PCT, but I can go hike in the woods around me, my own personal PCT known as Perk Canyon Trail. So me and EK decided to do just that.

I strapped her on my back and we headed up.

About 14 steps up a very easy trail, I questioned my decision. It wasn’t easy.

It proved to actually be pretty hard. And I was reminded of a poster that hung in the Dyslexic teacher’s classroom at my former school. In big bold letters it read, WE CAN DO HARD THINGS.

I can do hard things, I kept telling myself.

In the book, Strayed keeps mentioning the weight of her pack was heavier than most backpackers. She never said the weight, but said it was at least half of what she weighed. I’m figuring an average 26 year old lady at about 120-130 pounds, so she’s probably carrying at least 60 pounds. Me, on the other hand, I’m carrying probably 25–30. And it ain’t easy for me.

A little ways up the trail, the air became a little nippy, so I stopped at a log to remove EK and put her jacket on her. It was a welcome relief. She then wanted to walk a little ways, and I was glad to have to only carry the pack without the added 22 pounds.

It is a real joy watching her exploring the woods, considering how she’s gonna cross this bride.

With mama’s helping hand of course.

Even getting off of logs proved to be a challenge.

Of course she had to stop and tie her “untie able” shoes after watching me tie mine, since she had been the one to bend over and untie mine, of course.

Later, I strapped her back in and we continued on. The leaves this time of year are remarkable. The colors are vibrant, although pictures don’t really do them justice.

The silence surrounds you. The only sounds are the crunching of your feet, the occasional call of a bird or flutter of their wings, and the rush of the water in the nearby stream falling over the rocks.

Eventually, EK fell asleep, her head bumping into mine, forbidding her to get a good sound rest. She finally laid her head against mine, pushing my neck forward, causing the tension in my upper back to increase. I lifted up on the pack, adjusting it, trying to relieve some discomfort without disturbing her, but it was only temporary.

It was a great time. It wasn’t the PCT. Thank goodness. It wasn’t 3 months but only shy of 3 hours. But it was enough.

If my back didn’t hurt so badly today, we might even do it again. Maybe.

I hope EK learns to love nature. There is just something about it. Something everyone should experience. We need to escape this modern world every now and again, and find solace in the wild.

And sometimes, we need to trade in our hiking shoes for some heels.

There’s nothing wrong with that.

****The youngest to hike the real PCT was 9 years old. Something to think about.