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From Strong Roots…..

Grow Mighty Girls

Crunch Time

I don’t know about the rest of you but this back to school business is brutal!  It’s no small undertaking to transition from the lazy, unscheduled days of summer to the whirlwind of school, band, piano, gymnastics, swimming, packing lunches, and getting to bed on time.  This year we have one child in 4th grade and one in 6th grade (first year in middle school).  This is the first time in four years that the girls have been in different schools.  It is also the first year that both girls have semi-serious athletic pursuits outside of the routine school demands and piano lessons.  The juggling of this barely organized chaos is a full time job.  Oh wait, I already have a more than full time job.  But, no matter.  I have made it my personal mission to master this chaos.

If you want a front row seat, much of this chaos happens on Tuesdays and Thursdays between the hours of 3:30 and 5:30.  It’s what I fondly refer to as “crunch time”.  As in, “All hands on deck, folks!  It’s crunch time!”  On Tuesday swim practice starts at 4:00.  But the lovely folks who run swim practice don’t have kids.  Because if they did, they would realize that when school ends at 3:30, it’s pretty difficult to get to practice at 4:00.  It’s also difficult to get a child to practice at 4:00 when you work until 6:00.  Enter the stay at home dad and the nanny.  So my husband picks the swimmer up at school at 3:30.  She grabs a snack in the car and heads to practice.  My husband then heads home to get dinner ready for our oldest who has practice starting at 6:00.  Our nanny picks up the swimmer at 5:00 and brings her home.  My husband leaves at 5:30 to take the gymnast across town to practice.  (If you are still counting, yes, it takes two people to properly perform “crunch time”.)  My husband and I then meet the swimmer back at home and have dinner.  Then we do homework, reading, reading logs, homework sign off, etc, etc, etc.  At 8:10 I leave the house to pick up my oldest at the end of practice.  Unless we need groceries in which case I leave at 7:40 and play the game called “Let’s see how fast we can conquer Costco!”  Then we bust a move home, grab a snack, brush teeth and fall into bed.  Ahhhh.

Thursdays are slightly better only because it’s early out day.  Which is hell if you’re a working mom but, again, enter the stay at home dad and the nanny.  (The world is not kind to working moms, by the way.  But more on that later).  The girls can ride the bus home, take a break and then reenter the practice shuffle.  One of the trickiest things for me this year is that my oldest starts practice at 6:00 and ends at 8:30.  Which, coincidentally, is her bedtime.  Again, coaches without kids.  There’s probably a hashtag for that.  (Sidenote….my kids have the greatest coaches.  They really do.  It’s just the practicalities that kill me).  So on the nights she has practice she has to eat before I even get home and the rest of us have to eat an hour later.  It would be pretty easy to just have her grab something quick and easy like mac and cheese or some peanut butter.  But, my girls are cursed by a mom who cares passionately about what they eat.  I believe with all my soul that what they eat affects how they feel, how they learn, how they perform as athletes.  So, I set about to find a way to feed her good, nutritious, quality meals before practice.  Some meals, like bison burgers with veggies are pretty easy to pull off in shifts.  I prep her veggies and side dishes the night before and then her dad can grill her a burger a few minutes before she eats.  Other nights are trickier.

Enter the beauty of the pre-made individual meal.  Over the past two Sundays I have set aside a few hours to make meals for my little gymnast that can be frozen and reheated in a short period of time.  I’ve managed to make three helpings of chicken noodle soup, 7 individual chicken pot pies and 9 individual quiche Lorraines.  (That’s 19 meals!!  So exciting!!)  She can reheat them all in about 30 minutes and with the addition of some veggies, have a well rounded meal.

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Start with fresh garden vegetables and herbs.
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Chicken pot pie in cocottes.
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Quiche Lorraine made in mini pie tins.

You see, when the %^&$ hits the fan and life gets crazy and chaotic and jumbled and feels out of control, feeding my family good, healthy food helps me feel a little more in control and a little more connected.  I can’t physically be there to feed my daughter dinner before practice but I’m with her anyway.  I put my heart and soul into making her food and she can feel it and taste it when she eats it.  I can love her ahead of time, putting good food for her in the freezer and depositing good feelings in her emotional bank.  Food is nourishment, and fuel, and love, and caring.  It is a way of connecting us even when we feel scattered.  It’s my way of reigning in the chaos a bit, and it works.

Race Recap Missoula Half Marathon

I decided this summer to race a few half marathons.  Usually when I race, it’s a big production.  I train for months and months.  Tempo runs, hill repeats, 800 repeats, long runs at marathon pace.  I stretch and strength train and clean up my diet.  I have goals and expectations and training plans that go on for pages and pages.  And while there is a lot I love about intense training, I have also realized that intense training creates a lot of pressure for me.  I feel pressure to get in all the runs, pressure to meet my goals, pressure to perform.  And sometimes this takes away the fun of training and racing.  So this summer I decided to do something different.  I would sign up for a few local races and just run them.  Sure, I would train but not intense, crazy, full of pressure training.  I would run 4-5 times a week, throw in some strength training, and throw down some pace work when I felt like it.  I would show up at race day and just run.

My first test run happened at the Governor’s Cup (see previous race recap).  Despite the hilly course and lack of specific training I did manage to pull off a half marathon PR at 1:56.  It didn’t really feel fun, though, mostly because I spent far too much time looking at my GPS watch and worrying about my splits.  I felt the pressure again.

Round two was the Missoula Half Marathon five weeks later.  I wasn’t even going to run this one despite it being my real hometown race.  It was on a summer weekend and I had more camping, hiking and beer drinking to do.  My running partner gently talked me into it, pointing out that I had to do a long run anyway so I might as well run the race with her.  We showed up at the start line more than just a little rough around the edges.  I had been camping for the past week without a shower or a cell phone (which is divine). She had spent the week dealing with her father-in-law’s untimely death.  We had no expectations about how this race would go.  Our big plan was just to run.

If you’ve never run the Missoula Marathon or Half, you really, really should.  Online registration is easy and packet pick up is a breeze with a nice race expo.  The start line was well equipped with an assortment of port-a-potties, music and pre race fireworks.  The course for the half starts on a short incline but soon flattens out and then you drop downhill over the first mile and a half.  It is a glorious way to start a race.  The first 4ish miles are spent running along the river and over a single lane bridge.  You then wind through a rural neighborhood before entering the town of Missoula.  The course winds through residential areas, by a city park and along the university district before turning onto the Higgins Street bridge and heading to the finish line.  Aid stations are frequent and well stocked.  Locals are out in force.  There were bands, a grand piano and bagpipes along the way.  There were wet sponges and lots of sprinklers turned on.  There were creative signs and lots of encouraging spectators.  I’ve run a lot of races now and I think Missoula has some of the best local crowd support I’ve ever seen.  It makes a big difference.  After the finish line there are medals, water, and food.  There’s beer if you want it.  It’s a perfect summer Sunday in Missoula.  For those of you who don’t know, the Missoula Marathon was rated the #1 Marathon by BibRave 100 and for good reason.  It’s a fast, scenic, world class race in one of the most beautiful and friendly places in the country.  This is a feel good kind of town and a feel good kind of race.  It’s the kind of race that makes me proud to be a runner in Missoula.

It was the perfect race for us to just run.  We were tired and a bit distracted which I think played in our favor.  We started out just running and after quite a few miles were surprised to glance down at our watches and realize just how fast we were running.  Hmmm.  Well, let’s just roll with it.  We carried on, running at an effort that felt moderately hard.  By mile 10 my lack of sleep was starting to show in my legs.  My lack of specific training was making me work harder than I probably should have had to.  The beauty of the half, though, is that it doesn’t totally punish you for the gaps in your training like the full marathon does.  So we looked at each other and agreed to push through the last 3 miles as hard as we could.  It was painful.  My muscles ached, my back strained, my mind wandered into “let’s quit” territory.  My lungs burned and my chest heaved.  We turned the final corner and hit the incline of the bridge.  We kicked hard and ran strong to the finish.  Our time of 1:55 was a PR for both of us.  The run was exhilarating, the kind of exhilarating that comes after you have been all out for 13.1 miles.  The run was also freeing.  This “just run” strategy was a total departure for me but it worked beautifully.  I don’t think this will be the last time I run this way.

Traveling Solo SF Edition

My sister and I fancy ourselves to be pretty clever people.  Just ask us, we’ll tell you.  Humbly of course.  We’ve had a lot of great ideas in our time but one of our recent ones is going to go down as an all time favorite.  For a few years now, we have struggled with the idea of gifts.  You know, birthday gifts, Christmas gifts, online browsing and pulling your hair out trying to find the perfect gift gifts.  We wanted to get gifts for each other, but, we didn’t want to spend time or money on gifts that nobody wanted or needed.  Last year we decided that we weren’t going to buy each other birthday or Christmas gifts any more.  We were going to have experiences together.  We decided to take a yearly sister vacation in lieu of material goods.

Now on to the good stuff……where to go, what to do?  The opportunities were endless.  We could go to Europe (too expensive and time consuming), Costa Rica (ditto), Arizona (uninspired), Mexico (hmmmm….real possibility here), wine country (we always have fun in wine country).  We went back and forth for awhile but nothing felt quite right.  Then my sister, who lives in San Francisco, got the happy news that she was getting a raise at work.  While not the kind of raise that allows you to take six weeks off and roam Europe, it was the kind of raise that allowed her to afford her apartment without a roommate.  Which is almost as good as Europe.  Seriously.  So after spending most of her adult life sharing space with people possessing various degrees of compatibility and cleanliness, she gave her roommate notice.  It was time to move on.

Once the roommate moved out, my sister gained a guest room.  Suddenly, operation sister vacation was in action.  What better than a long weekend in San Francisco with affordable (free!) accommodations, allowing us more money for food, drink and adventures.

When the time arrived I packed my bags (including 10 pounds of bison meat and a sourdough starter) and left Montana for San Francisco.  Upon arrival I dashed to my sister’s house and packed the meat in her freezer.  I then walked to the station and took the train downtown to complete a little solo shopping while my sister finished working.  I powered through Cuyana (I’m obsessed) and Anthropologie (spring wardrobe refresh).  I then met up with my sister for oysters and a cocktail to kick off the long weekend.

We spent the next three days hitting the best of San Francisco.  We got pastries at Tartine Manufactory (delicious!) and wandered through Heath Ceramics.  We drank Boba tea and ate pizza.  We browsed the Mission district.  We got a bottle of rosé and drank it in Mission Dolores Park on a gorgeous sunny afternoon.  We wandered through Flora Grubb and soaked in the beautiful plants and art.  We sat on the porch and drank coffee and took afternoon naps.  We ran with my sister’s running group through Golden Gate Park on Saturday morning.  We ate breakfast burritos and drank coffee at Philz in the Castro.  We had cocktails with friends and gorged ourselves on crab at PPQ Dungeness Island.  Insider tip…..go to PPQ.  It’s the best.  While we wandered, we talked.  We talked about things big and small, but mostly, we spent a few days living in each other’s universe.  We coexisted without the distractions of parents, partners, children or work.

It may not have been an exotic vacation but it was packed full of experiences and time with my sister.  Those are priceless commodities.  Those are the vacations that provide happiness and good memories long after they are finished.  Those are the vacations that make life fun, and meaningful and fulfilling.

Here’s to more sister vacations and meaningful travel.

Race Recap

My previous post was all about training my kids to run a 10K in my hometown.  As that post mentions, I also ran the half marathon that day.  I haven’t historically done race recaps on this site but I’m going to give it a try both as a way to document the race for my own memory as well as to provide a format to share race info with fellow runners.

The Governor’s Cup race series is held annually in June in Helena, Montana.  The series includes a kids race, 5K, 10K, half marathon and full marathon.  The half and full marathon courses were new courses this year.  Having not run this race previously, I can’t really compare and contrast.

Online registration is easy.  The website is reasonably well done.  I loved the videos of the course.  I had a question that I posed via the Facebook site which was answered within hours.  I didn’t attend packet pick up as I was working that day and driving in late from out of town.  My dad was able to pick up packets for myself and my daughters.  Totally appreciate that they allowed that to happen.

Race day started at 7:00 AM.  There were buses to the start but I hitched a ride with my dad because it allowed me an extra half hour of sleep.  Getting to the start was relatively easy but not well marked for those venturing by private car.  To be fair, the race organizers definitely encouraged taking the bus.  With the help of the locals, however, I made it to Clancy Elementary School where the start line was with plenty of time to spare.  There was water and gels at the start.  Bag drop was very easy at the start line.  There were ample porta potties.  So, so exciting!

Weather was nice with starting temps in the mid 50’s.  By the time I finished just shy of two hours later the temperatures were definitely warming up and were close to 70.  One advantage of the new route is that the start is somewhat cool and you are protected by the shadows of the mountains for the first half of the race.

We started on time with a nice, gentle downhill.  The course is all on paved road with limited traffic.  Great course monitors helped keep the little traffic that there was where it belonged.  The course is very scenic with beautiful mountain scenery for much of the race.  The first 9 miles or so are hilly with lots of ups and downs.  I felt great until about mile 6 when the ups and downs started to wear on a lower back and hamstring issue that had been plaguing me for weeks.  Regardless, the hills are real.  None are too big but they do start to feel relentless.  There is a relatively long climb coming out of Montana City going into Helena then there is a short stretch of relative flat.  At mile 10 you get the climb “Cardiac Hill”.  I really didn’t find it that steep, it just lasted forever.  The last mile and a half is mostly downhill until you turn onto the walking mall which is a slight uphill grade.  On a normal day I wouldn’t even notice the grade but after having my legs trashed on hills for the previous 12.5 miles, I noticed it.  It felt like a cruel joke.  As always, thought, the finish line came into sight and I crossed it, feeling completely worn out in a pretty good way.

On course support was good with aide stations approximately every 2 miles, more frequently at the end.  There was water and Gatorade as well as gels which I did not partake in.  One station towards the end had a sprinkler set up which was heavenly.  Multiple porta potties along the route as well.  I did find on course spectators, lacking, however.  There were very few people along the route, even along the finish chute.  One of the things I love about racing are the spectators who are out on a Saturday or Sunday morning, cheering on random strangers.  There was almost none of that at this race which I found disappointing.  Once I finished, I did my part and went back along the route, cheering and clapping for runners coming in.

The finish line was extremely well stocked.  The marathon and half marathon runners had their own finish line tent with great foods, cold bottles of water, and cold cans of soda.  Probably one of the best finish lines I have ever seen in terms of quality and quantity of post race fuel and fluids.

All things considered, certainly a well organized, well executed race with a scenic and well supported course.  So come run in Montana, and if you live in Helena, let’s see you out on the race course next year!

Running

Sometimes we go on epic adventures in far away lands.  And sometimes we venture much closer to home.  Or return home, as the case may be.

It was early, early spring in Montana.  Which really means that it was still winter but we just couldn’t stand the thought of winter any longer so we decided that it was spring.  In early spring we hatch a lot of great ideas.  More on that later.

In one of our moments of isn’t-winter-over-yet desperation, my daughters and I decided that this year we really ought to participate in a June race known as the Governor’s Cup.  This race is held annually in my hometown of Helena, Montana.  Every year my brother runs the 10K.  Sometimes my dad has run with him.  They always talk excitedly about the race, the training, the course.  As soon as registration opened this year, my brother signed up.  His enthusiasm must have been contagious because my daughters were inspired to sign up for the 10K, too.  Not to be outdone, I thought I had better sign up for something as well.  As a runner who has completed a few marathons and a handful of half marathons I thought the 10K sounded, well, too short.  But the marathon sounded just a touch too long this time around.  So, the half marathon prevailed and I signed up.

If you have ever run before, you know that there a few moments associated with running where you get this little endorphin hit.  Somehow, that really rare and really fleeting hit is enough to convince you to run mile upon mile, most of which are really just a lot of drudgery and nothing amazing at all.  One of those endorphin hits occurs after you hit the “Complete” button on your race registration and before you realize just exactly what you have done.  Another of those hits happens at the start line when you are all caught up in the amazing potential of the race before you.  The next hit usually happens for me at the finish line.  Everything in between…..well, it can get kind of ugly.

Usually, I only have to worry about my own training before a race.  This time, however, I had a 9-year-old and 11-year-old who were training for their first 10K.  Left to their own devices, I’m pretty sure they would have toed the starting line without any training what so ever.  Which, in retrospect, would have been an amazing learning opportunity for them.  But I am here to temper, to some degree, their learning opportunities.  So, we made a training plan, sprinkled in a few local races and set about meeting our goals.

Those first few training runs were brutal.  Always, someone had an ache or a pain.  There were side aches, stomach aches, foot aches, headaches (those were mine).  We stretched and warmed up (goodbye side aches), talked about fueling properly (see you later stomach aches) and bought new shoes (au revoir $95.00).  The foot pain, by the way, is just my youngest’s way of saying she’s over this.  And she was over this by mile 1 of the first training run.  But, she had committed to this and I was there to make sure she honored her commitment.  Because if you aren’t accountable on the little things, you probably won’t be on the big things, either.

So, yes, there was some complaining.  There were doubts and second guessing.  There were bribes of hot chocolate and lemonade.  We’re only human after all.

There was also some magic that happened in the midst of the hard and ugly.  As we were running (complaining), my girls talked to me.  They talked about things that were frustrating and things they were thinking about.  They talked about things they wouldn’t have talked about if we were busy leading our usual lives.  We spent time together in a way we wouldn’t have otherwise.  We solved problems, we encouraged each other, we got through some tough stuff and we were okay on the other side.  I don’t know if either them will embrace running as a life long sport but I do know that, as always, the journey was totally worth it.

(In the interest of full disclosure, I did not “make” my children train for or run this race.  They wanted to do it, we talked about how long 10K is, we talked about how hard it would be and during the training I reminded them multiple times that they chose to do this.  I also, multiple times, gave them the option to reconsider their participation in the race.  When push came to shove, they didn’t want to back out.)

On race day, I handed my little bundles of race ready children with expensive shoes and a propensity for side aches to my sister.  Somehow, she had also got caught up in the early, early spring excitement and had come home to run the 10K with our brother and her nieces.  I felt like my children were in good hands as I departed for my own start line that morning.  Luckily for my children, my sister does not possess my Type A personality.  She really didn’t care how they got from the start to the finish.  In fact, the slower the better as far as she was concerned.  I’m not entirely sure how the race went down but I do know that my favorite Instagram post of the day from my sister shows a photo of my brother and my daughters with the caption “A rare moment of actual running”.  So it seems that they might not have really run that much.  I’m pretty sure they didn’t “leave it all out there”.  But I think they did a difficult and brave thing.  They committed to an adventure, they started down the path, the path got rocky and rough but they kept going.  They cried and laughed along the way.  They grew closer to their mother, their aunt and each other.  And they crossed the finish line, affirming that they are capable and strong and tough when they need to be.

And then we got lemonade and coffee, because, really, maybe that’s what it’s all about.

You Got This

There are some things that I swore as a parent I would never do.  If you’ve ever raised anything, you already know that most of the things I swore I would never do are things that I have, by now, actually done.  I was a really superb parent before my children were born.

One of the many promises I made was that we would never, under any circumstances, be part of a traveling sports team.  We were not going to spend our time, our money, our WEEKENDS, traveling around to other towns watching our kids play ball or shoot a puck.  While I understand why some families choose (or are coerced) to do this, I’ve never really understood the appeal.  I’m not a natural athlete and didn’t really grow up playing sports.  Plus, I love my weekends.  A lot.  They are necessary to my ability to unwind and catch up after a long week at work.

But something unexpected happened last spring.  My oldest daughter tried out for the competitive gymnastics team at the local gym.  At that point, she hadn’t really found her niche.  She had things she liked to do, friends she liked to hang with.  But she hadn’t found her thing.  And I really felt that she needed a thing.  Something she could work hard at, fail at, succeed at.  I didn’t really think that gymnastics would be her thing but figured that if she wanted to try out, she might as well.  And as fate would have it, she made the team. Fast forward a few months down the road and now it’s competition season.

Our first meet was a three hour drive and two states away from our home.  We were total meet rookies so I was glad to have our good friends there with us.  They showed us the ropes, talked us through the events and scoring and cheered for and encouraged my daughter.

As is my nature, I was worried about the whole thing.  Would she remember her leotard and warm ups?  How would we do her hair and get it to stay in place?  Where was the gym, how long would it take to get there?  More importantly, how would my daughter respond to the pressure of competition?  Would she get terrified and freeze?  Would she just phone it in and give a mediocre performance?  Would she, could she, rise to the occasion and shine?

I was a nervous wreck.  There is little that is more terrifying for a mom than sitting in the bleachers and watching your child mount a balance beam with the intent of staying on it through cartwheels and dismounts.  I literally held my breath through every event as if by not breathing, she would magically be able to hold on, stay on, carry on.  I didn’t want her to know how nervous I was, though.  Before she marched in for open warm ups, I wanted to pull her aside and give a lifetime’s worth of wisdom.  I wanted to tell her to try her hardest, do her best, hold on tight, focus, focus, focus.  But I knew that would be the wrong move.  I knew it could throw her into a tailspin and, being my daughter, she was already nervous enough.  So I settled on a single phrase.  Just one sentence.  That’s it.  No more, no less.  I met her in the athlete’s room, gave her a hug, choked back my tears of pride and said, “You got this.”

And she did.  She had it all under control.  She stepped out there with confidence in front of a bunch of strangers and she performed her routines.  It wasn’t perfect.  In fact, she was dead last in her group.  But she didn’t care.  She held her head high, conquered her nerves, stayed on the beam, and she did it.  All I had to do was trust her, and hold my breath.

You got this.

Unexpected

By now you probably know that I’m a planner.  I plan everything.  EVERYTHING.  When I travel I know where I’m going, when I’m going, who I’m going with.  I have it all planned down to the smallest details.  This is how I roll.

Sometimes, though, plans just don’t work out.  Sometimes we finds ourselves journeying at unexpected times to places we never thought we would go.  I don’t love these kinds of journeys, I really don’t.  But sometimes I’m forced to go on them.

I took one of these journeys recently with my oldest daughter and our oldest dog.  It was a gut wrenching journey.

Our oldest lab was approaching 13 years old when he began to show signs of slowing down.  Nothing specific really, just a little slower, a little weaker.  But he still seemed game for his daily walks and twice daily meals.  He still loved to be petted and eat ice cubes.  He was still the patriarch of our three dog pack.  This was the dog that had grown up my oldest daughter.  He was only two when she was born.  When I brought her home from the hospital, I told him in no uncertain terms that he needed to protect her, look out for her, and keep her safe.  He took those instructions to heart.  As a toddler, she would take her naps with her head rested on his belly.  Once she was out of the crib, he would sleep in her bed. Every night.  The muddy bedding made me crazy.  But the two of them loved it.  When she went out to play, he went outside, too.  When she went down the hill to her playhouse, he went too, and sat on the porch.  He walked to the bus stop with us every single morning, even on his last day of life.  He went to school with a Santa hat on.  That girl and that dog were best friends.

Over time, though, his weakness increased.  He had to be lifted up off the floor.  He needed help navigating the stairs.  His appetite waned and his muscles atrophied.  He made multiple trips to the vet.  He was diagnosed with Cushing’s disease and prescribed a lot of medications.  He took them all but still, he didn’t get better.  He developed large, weeping sores on his torso.  His weakness worsened.  We watched him get worse and worse, spending his days lying on the floor.  I prepared the girls that his time with us was coming to an end.  Either he would die soon or we would have to make the difficult decision to put him down.  They received the message well, took it in quietly.

Another week passed and he worsened still.  My husband and I talked about it and made the incredibly difficult decision that it was time to put him down.  He no longer had anything he loved in life.  I called the vet and we scheduled a time on Thursday to take him in.  Wednesday evening I told my daughters that it was time to put down their beloved pet.  There were tears.  There was sobbing.  There were heads buried under blankets.  I asked them if they wanted to come with me to the vet’s office when he was euthanized.  My youngest said no.  She wanted to stay in school.  She was sad but she and this dog had never been particularly close.  My oldest, though, that was a different story.  She said she wanted to come with me.  I wasn’t sure I could handle that.

She never wavered, though, in her desire to come with me and be with her dog at the end.  So, I picked her up at school at noon on Thursday.  We took the long way to the vet’s office.  She snuggled her dog in the back seat and held his paw.  She helped me get him out of the car and into the vet’s office.  She sat with him while he ate treats and had a sedative injected.  She wrapped her arms around him while the catheter was placed in his left front leg.  She buried her face in his neck while the lethal drug was injected into the catheter.  She held him tight while his heart stopped beating and his soul left this earth.  And she sobbed.  She sobbed, and sobbed and sobbed.

I told her we could stay with him as long as she wanted.  After a while she said, “Mom, I can’t leave him”.  So we stayed longer.  And still, she couldn’t leave him.  So we talked about how sometimes you can’t leave because you just need more time.  And how sometimes you just have to leave because more time isn’t going to make anything any better.  A few minutes later she kissed him one last time, said goodbye, and we walked out the door.

The ensuing days were filled with intermittent bouts of sobbing.  At bedtime when would lay in bed and cry for her dog.  I know with time this will get better.  I know she will move through her grief and come out on the other side.  I know that I’m incredibly proud of her for doing the hard thing and being with her first best friend all the way to the end.  I also know this was a journey I never wanted to take to a place I never wanted to go.  But I’m heartened, at least, that I had the best traveling companion ever.

Solo

Traveling solo with my daughters is something I’ve done since they were babies.  It’s not unusual to find us in the car, traveling to Spokane for some “big city” time, journeying to our cabin on the river or headed to my parents’ house for a visit.  When my oldest was 10 months old I flew solo with her to Boston to visit my sister.  By the time my second child was born, my sister had moved to San Francisco.  So I bundled up my youngest when she was six months old and flew to California with her.  A few years ago the girls and I flew from our hometown to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico.  We got through customs, hailed a taxi and arrived at our resort in one piece.  We spent the night there alone, went to brunch the next morning and were joined later in the day by my husband who was traveling to Mexico from a work function in California.  Needless to say, we’ve covered some ground with just the three of us.  Sometimes it’s daunting to be the only adult with two young children.  There’s a lot of “mom”, “mom”, “mom” and not a lot of peace and quiet.  Over time, though, we’ve kind of figured this out.  Plus, the girls are older now and pretty responsible and could basically travel by themselves if I would just get out of their way.  And give them some money, of course.

If you’ve followed along with us so far, you also know that last summer the three of us flew across the Atlantic Ocean together, arriving in Paris.  Once there, we met my mom who was staying in the flat with us.  When she left a week later, my husband arrived for a few days.  So while we flew there solo, we meet up with family once we arrived and were not ever truly left to our own devices.

Until the day my husband left for Budapest.  Then it was just the three of us.  We had already planned to leave that day for the Loire Valley for a mini getaway.  So…..we locked up the apartment, bought some new leggings at Gap, (yes, Gap, hello global economy) and hopped a train to Tours.  Despite all our adventures so far, I have to admit to some trepidation as we pulled out of Paris and chugged down the line towards the countryside.  Staying in a big city is one thing.  Most people speak fairly good English.  There are grocery stores, wine shops, restaurants, hospitals.  There’s a pretty good chance that all my needs and most of my wants will be met.

In the countryside things are a little more, well, French.  English is NOT spoken by everyone.  Restaurant interactions have to happen in French.  Shopping and buying happen in French.  It’s sudden immersion in a foreign country in a way that just doesn’t happen in the big city.

Despite all the potential for disaster, the biggest adventure in the French countryside at the end of the day was driving.  Yep, driving.  After taking the train from Paris, I rented a car in Tours and managed to get the three of us to our lodging at Chateau de Pray just outside of Amboise.  Before picking up the car I did a quick Google search about “driving in France”.  I spent approximately 30 seconds determining that driving in France looked pretty straightforward.  Drive on the same side of the road as Americans? Check!  Steering wheel and gas pedal on the same side of the car?  Check!  Automatic transmission?  Check!  Road signs with internationally recognizable symbols?  Check!  And most importantly, a navigation system.  We were set.  Our car was an adorable Mini Cooper that we immediately named Sweet Cheeks.  As in”Sweet Cheeks, please deliver us in one piece.”  Or “Sweet Cheeks, what were you thinking?”  You get the picture.

At the end of the day, all I can say is thank goodness we were in very small towns with very little traffic.  Turns out that a 30 second Google crash course on driving in France is completely inadequate.  The assumptions I made about the road signs were like most assumptions.  Ridiculous and inaccurate.  My understanding of right of way is so not French.  I got honked at.  A lot.  I was probably sworn at, too.  Deservedly.

Of Sweet Cheeks’ many virtues, perhaps the greatest was her ability to find the shortest distance between two points.  She could, for example, find the quickest way to get from our lodging to the chateau we were visiting that day.  Never mind that her chosen route took us down the roughest, most narrow, most remote roads in the Loire Valley.  No concern of hers.  It was the shortest distance between two points.  If I thought about it too much, it would freak me out a bit.  What if we broke down miles from nowhere?  What if we got a flat tire jostling through all those pot holes?  What if she didn’t know where the hell she was going?  I could have let my worry stop us.  I could have stayed at our chateau, happily ensconced in good food, good wine and a warm swimming pool.  I could have gone back to the known quantity of Paris, or even stayed home for that matter.  But if I had done that, we would have missed out.  We would have missed out on a grand adventure and a lot of laughs.  We would have missed out on amazing food and wine.  We would have missed out on spending some really great time together, enjoying life and each other.  It turns out that some of my favorite memories with my girls are these times when it has just been the three of us.  So we cranked up the volume on our road trip playlist, sang along, and trusted that Sweet Cheeks would take us where we needed to be.

Getaway

I’ve always loved a good getaway.  You know, just a brief respite from day to day life.  A few days spent in a neighboring city or a weekend relaxing at the cabin, free from responsibilities and interruptions.  Vacations, of course, are usually one long, decadent getaway.  But during an exceptionally long vacation, sometimes you need a getaway from your getaway.  After two great weeks in Paris, we were getting just the slightest bit city weary.  So we hopped on a train bound for the Loire Valley.

(In the interest of full disclosure, I’m not really that spontaneous.  I’d like to be, but I’m not.  Months before I had planned this mini getaway, knowing that a change of scenery might be just the ticket after a lot of togetherness in a tiny apartment in a bit city.  But I digress.)

We grabbed lunch at the Monoprix, hopped on the train and headed to St. Pierre des Corps, a relatively large train station close to our final destination of Amboise.  I picked up our rental car at SIXT, right by the station.  I had some angst about the rental car.  After all, I was the only adult with two children in a foreign country where I can’t even read all the traffic signs.  My original plan was to rent a car in Paris and drive to Amboise.  By some stroke of good luck and genius, I changed my mind and took the train out of the city.  Driving from the train station to our hotel was definitely rural but still difficult.  I was the navigator, translator and driver.  It took about 30 minutes and by the time we arrived I felt like I had more than earned my glass of wine.  As a side note, if you are driving in a foreign country, study the road signs ahead of time.  Trust me.  The rest of the world does not drive like Americans.  They just don’t.

We stayed at Chateau de Pray, just out of Amboise.  Our room was bigger than our apartment in Paris and beautifully appointed.  The loft sleeping area for the girls was an added bonus.  The grounds were amazing, the service impeccable.  The heated pool felt like our own private oasis.  Buffet breakfast in the morning (additional cost) was convenient and delicious.  A definite win and would be ecstatic to stay here again someday.

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Terrace at Chateau de Pray

We spent some time meandering about the town of Amboise.  We loved the specialty market where we stocked up on oils, vinegars, salts and wines at a fraction of the prices found in Paris.

One of the big draws of the Loire Valley of course, are the historic chateaux dotting the countryside.  You could spend weeks seeing all of them.  We picked two, based on our own interests and enjoyed them thoroughly.  I was able to drive to them both with the help of the car’s navigation system.  The first we saw was Chenenceou, a grand estate with glorious gardens and a labyrinth.  There is a cafeteria on site, lunch for three was €40.  We also visited Cheverny, known for it’s hunting dogs.  It is a smaller chateau but offers the excitement of feeding of the dogs at 11:00 every morning.  The girls loved this but found the chateau less impressive than Chenenceou.  Next to Cheverny is a storefront that offers free wine tasting of some of the regional wines.  A few shops and restaurants can be found on the quiet street next to the chateau.

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Chenenceou
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Gardens at Chenenceou

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Roses at Chenenceou

Another big draw of the Loire Valley are the multitude of vineyards and tasting rooms scattered over the region.  There are some truly beautiful wines that come from the Loire Vally that are accessible and affordable.  We stopped at Caves du Pere Auguste one afternoon.  I had a lovely tasting there which included a fabulous history of the wines of the region.  They even offered a grape juice tasting for children!  I bought five bottles of wine there for €30.  Ridiculously inexpensive, amazing wine.  Carting five bottles of wine back to Paris, first by train and then by metro was no small task and I cursed myself at least 100 times but, the wines and I all survived.

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The crowning glory of our time in the Loire Valley was our dinner at L’Orangerie, the restaurant on site at Chateau de Pray.  A Michelin Star restaurant, L’Orangerie offers impeccable food and service.  Reservations are a must.  My children were accommodated and treated like princesses.  The meal lasted for three hours and they made it through the entire thing without complaining!  The food is local, fresh, French and delectable.  My entree of blue lobster and beets with beet broth still has my mouth watering.  There was an endless supply of bread.  The cheese course was stunning.  The dessert of wild strawberries with vanilla ice cream and whipped cream was perfection.  There are multiple wine choices and a sommelier to assist you.  The prices were reasonable, particularly for the children who were able to order a children’s meal for €18.  This included their appetizer, amuse bouche, entree, bread, and dessert.  This was fine French dining at it’s best and a splurge I won’t ever regret!

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Salmon cream foam
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Dessert

My only regret is that we didn’t have more time in this beautiful valley.  This a place I could easily spend weeks, exploring, biking, drinking wine, hanging out with my fellow travelers.  Once you’ve seen Paris, plan a getaway, get off the beaten path and discover the gems.

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