bloggin' poolside (or ain't technology great?)

Spring Break.

We packed the kids and several large containers of food and belongings into our trusty minivan, headed for the cabin in the mountains to meet up with Grandma & Grandpa visiting the Eastern Seaboard from a state far, far away. Well, "cabin" is stretching the truth a little. The cabin was a spacious four-bedroom townhouse style double-unit in a timeshare resort. The low-maintenance Bear and Schmoo slept upstairs in Grandma & Grandpa's unit and the littler, more-likely-to-wake-in-the-night-and-need-something Hercules and Princess stayed in the lower unit with us.

The first day was spent settling in, planning for and carrying out the unprecedented "lunch with all four Grandparents." Our parents last met, last spoke as a matter of fact, more than a decade ago at our wedding ceremony in the fall of 1995. There was no bad blood or feud between them; of the many paths taken in the past years, they never seemed to cross until now. The plan for Easter morning was not discussed until after the kids all disappeared when our traditional viewing of "The Sound of Music" was finished at 10:30 Saturday night. It was then we discovered that the children would need to be up and ready for their egg hunt before the Easter Sunrise service. Think think think.....think faster it's almost 11! We decided to save the hunt until the return of the grandparents. Somehow.

The plan was to delay until the church service ended, meet the Grands for lunch, then return to find their fun and a smart-aleck note from Mr. E. Bunny himself decrying our lack of thoughtfulness to leave a note of our whereabouts. It was pure genius. We stayed up until 1:00 am writing poems and rhymes and puzzles, taking the kids on a multi-story giant treasure/egg hunt. Each clue scribed on an origami fortune-teller note was designed for a specific child to solve. Each child led them to a different room with a set of eggs and small Easter basket goodies hiding within. Each clue brought them closer to the end of the hunt and the grand-mother of all the goodies for the day: a set of four giant, beautiful, hearty, well-made kites. There was a colorful butterfly, a Patriot jet, a black shark with Hot Wheels flames, and a gorgeous mermaid all made from high quality ripstop fabric, tri-winding reels holding 75-lb hard-to-tangle kite string. Did I mention how cool these kites were?

Easter morning the kids awoke to nothing. No towering baskets stuffed with candy, animals and dollar store wares. No hidden eggs, real or plastic. No festive decor. Nothing. And they didn't even notice. We fed them cold cereal and scrambled eggs, hoping that no one would snap out of their reverie and notice that today was the day that the Bunny forgot them. We dressed the kiddies, then lured them into a bedroom with cartoons, gently shut the door and scattered. Thank goodness our kids are so television deprived that the allure of Cartoon Network can leave them slack-jawed and drooling in an almost comatose state for hours. If we let it last that long. We hid everything in the upstairs unit and locked the door securely. After peeking in on them, we finished off two of the downstairs rooms. I made a big fuss about me not being ready on time and sent Fergus out to buckle the kids into the car while I raced to finish hiding the last four eggs and goodies.

It was as successful as we'd hoped. The Grands had no idea what we had planned and delighted in watching their grandkids solve puzzles and run screaming up and down the stairs searching for their precious booty. The screams told me that the kids thought the kites were as wonderful as I did. Fergus & I hunched onto the floor and assembled the four kites (which wasn't as difficult as I was afraid it might be) and we headed out the door. Fergus suggested that we load up and find a place down in the valley for flying; Grandpa & I scoffed at the idea since we were practically at the top of the mountain, the stiff breeze up here would be perfect for flying. We walked to the end of the row of houses and we were in a clearing. The wind swooshed straight up the mountainside and whisked the kites into the air....for a few seconds before abruptly stopping and sending our prized possessions crashing to the ground nose- and head-first. It soon became obvious that there was not enough constant wind, nor space to fly four kites at once. We heard a shriek of joy and found that Grandma and the Princess had successfully managed to hold the butterfly aloft. Grandma handed the string to a triumphant Princess who promptly ran down a hill to "show us her kite" and let out enough string along the way to lead it straight into a grove of trees. It was stuck. And then some.

I did what anyone would do, if they were hellbent on saving the kite flying from melting into vats of tears. I shinnied up that damn tree to fetch that kite. About twenty feet off the ground, I realized I still had about 15 feet up and four feet to the right to go. And I had run out of thick branches, courage, and feeling in my hands. You see, it was only about 40 degrees outside and I had shed my coat to make climbing easier. And just then the wind picked up. Grasping the trunk with one arm, I leaned out as far as I could. The string wasn't caught, that fabulous wonderful string. The streamers were wrapped, wrapped and then wrapped once more again around several branches, but the string was loose. I thought if I could get hold of the butterfly wing, I could snap the plastic streamers (easily replaced with surveyor's tape at the hardware store) and save the beautiful kite and be a big hero. At this point the hero part was fading quickly and all I wanted was a death grip on that damn kite. The wind got stronger and stronger, and the kite actually brushed my fingertips three separate times, but I couldn't get any closer. I had to give up. I hate giving up. The next dilemma became, "How the hell do I get down?"

Needless to say I am down, thanks to someone who could see better than I what was under my butt to hold my weight (darling, devoted, dear husband of mine....) and I sustained no injury other than that of my pride. I did the I- Told-You-So Dance for Fergus, which consists of me saying "You were right and I was wrong" over and over to a little jig. It's a matter of pride that I very rarely have to do the dance at all so I make sure he has witnesses when it happens. We still have four more days here and every time I drive by, I see the poor, pathetic, beautiful kite flapping forlornly in the cold mountain wind, it saddens me. I just hope I can get hold of another kite to replace the one I lost by foolishly choosing to fly them close-by, rather than driving down the mountain to a better location. I guess that's why it's called "live & learn."