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Today grandma was in town visiting while daddy is away on a week-long fishing trip to Canada. When daddy is away, grandma likes to come and help mommy out (a.k.a. keep mommy sane). Grandma thought it would be nice for us to all go out to dinner so that I could have a break from cooking. It wasn't nice, and I'll tell 'ya, it was no break!
I'm going to just jot down a few notes for myself for future reference. The next time I think it would be a good idea to take three kids under the age of 5 out to a restaurant, I hope I'll take a few minutes to come back and read this post. Real slowly.
1. Why is it that the restraints or straps on every shopping cart or public high-chair that I come in contact with are broken?
2. Why is it that restaurants don't fully wipe down their broken high chairs after each use, so as to prevent the next occupant from sitting in a sticky, filthy mess?
3. When will I learn that I should always, no matter what, put my kids' milk into my own cups from home that have secure lids that won't bust off (and spill milk all over the table).
4. Why does Jack have to do his gutteral scream in public places?
5. Why can't Jenna and Kara speak in a normal, conversational tone when they're in a restaurant?
6. Why is there never enough room on the table to safely store all of the table's contents (salt, pepper, condiments, silverware, glasses of water, etc.) out of the reach of a toddler?
7. Why don't all servers instinctively know that they should never, under any circumstances, place a beverage, plate or utensil within direct reach of a toddler?
8. Why is my container of wipes in the diaper bag always empty when we're in a restaurant?
9. Why do I continue to order meals for all of my children when all three of them could eat off of one plate and still have left-overs to bring home?
10. Why do all of my children remove their shoes and kick them under the table as soon as we sit down?
11. Why is it impossible for an adult to reach under the table when sitting in a booth to retrieve the shoes, crayons, utensils, straws, napkins, etc. that end up down there?
12. Why, oh why, do I ever think it's a good idea to go out to a restaurant with the kids?
Sensing my crabby mood during and after the dinner, grandma pointed out that I shouldn't worry. The kids are fine, nobody else notices or cares about their behavior, and they're not bothering anyone.
I point out that they're bothering me. I care. I do not enjoy dining with my children at any public place.
*sigh*
At least it was "kids eat free" night at IHOP, so we didn't have to pay for all of that uneaten food we left on the floor.
July 30, 2008
July 28, 2008
The Bond
Today was the first day of Vacation Bible School at the Lutheran church where Kara will attend preschool in the fall. Both Jenna and Kara are signed up to attend, and this will be a first for Kara. The "first time" mommy will drop her off somewhere and leave! They were wiling to accept a three year-old as long as they were potty trained. We crossed that bridge last month, so I figured that this might be a good opportunity for her to get used to being dropped off somewhere, and still have her "sissy" with her. Boy was that lucky!
Let me pause the story here to give you an aside. For those that don't know, in my former life I was a teacher. An early childhood teacher. Now this is information that I don't give out as readily as I used to because (1) people then assume I have answers to their questions / recommendations about education (I don't) (2) with my background one might assume that I'm a super-cool mom who does lots of arts and crafts and projects and trips with her own children (I don't).
I can vividly recall the first days of each school year . . . the children who came to me crying . . . the parents who just didn't seem to know how to seperate from their kids on that first day. Back then, I was very matter of fact: I told the parents I could handle the crying, I was a master at persuading children to come out of their shells and feel comfortable with me, and I was pretty adamant about the parents just dropping off, giving one last kiss, and hitting the road.
Fast forward three years, and now I'm on the other side of the fence. I'm the parent of the sad little child, crying and begging mama not to leave.
Kara's hemming and hawing began last night when suddenly, she wasn't as taken with the idea of "going to school" as she has been all summer. One thing I've learned from my five years experience with this job as a mom is that I can never properly predict or plan for my childrens' reactions to a new situation. When I prepare for the worst, they hardly bat an eye . . . when I assume there will be smooth sailing, they throw me for a loop. Today I set off for VBS with a sense of dread, but the hope that I would be proven wrong. I wasn't.
Kara cried and clinged and begged and pleaded me not to leave her. This all took place in the parking lot before we even entered the building. Once inside, we found our nametags and searched for our assigned groups: Kara was group #13 (a.k.a. "unlucky 13") and Jenna was in group #7 (a.k.a. internationally known "lucky number"). I gulped, took a deep breath, and prepared to watch Kara confront the reality that she wouldn't be spending the morning with her sissy, but with other 3 year-olds in her group.
We made our way through the packed assembly room and found our numbers. As luck would have it, Jenna's group was stationed directly in front of Kara's group. I introduced them each to their "teacher" (a.k.a. teenage counselor) and tried to scoot away. Nothing doing. I sat down right in the middle of the two groups and put each of my babies on the side nearest their corresponding group. I told them they could be right next to each other. When they were distracted by the opening announcements, I ran for the door (well, as fast as you can run with a 20-pound child in a stroller that doesn't have any operational wheels left after 5+ years of service).
Once out in the atrium, I began walking back and forth with Jack and sneaking peeks into the gathering room. There stood my two darling babies, the big "sissy" and the little "sissy", holding hands, right smack in the middle of their two groups. They had found their Switzerland, their "neutral" territory where neither would be completely abandoned. Mommy had left them, but they still had each other.
We have about one month to go until school starts. I'm hoping this VBS experience will teach Kara about being without her mommy . . . that she'll get used to being dropped off . . . that the drop-offs at preschool will go smoothly given this previous experience. . . that she'll learn to trust that school is a fun, safe place and that mommy always comes back for her at the end of the day.
I also have one month to prepare myself. I just know I'm going to be one of "those parents" who just can't seperate from their child on the first day of school.
Let me pause the story here to give you an aside. For those that don't know, in my former life I was a teacher. An early childhood teacher. Now this is information that I don't give out as readily as I used to because (1) people then assume I have answers to their questions / recommendations about education (I don't) (2) with my background one might assume that I'm a super-cool mom who does lots of arts and crafts and projects and trips with her own children (I don't).
I can vividly recall the first days of each school year . . . the children who came to me crying . . . the parents who just didn't seem to know how to seperate from their kids on that first day. Back then, I was very matter of fact: I told the parents I could handle the crying, I was a master at persuading children to come out of their shells and feel comfortable with me, and I was pretty adamant about the parents just dropping off, giving one last kiss, and hitting the road.
Fast forward three years, and now I'm on the other side of the fence. I'm the parent of the sad little child, crying and begging mama not to leave.
Kara's hemming and hawing began last night when suddenly, she wasn't as taken with the idea of "going to school" as she has been all summer. One thing I've learned from my five years experience with this job as a mom is that I can never properly predict or plan for my childrens' reactions to a new situation. When I prepare for the worst, they hardly bat an eye . . . when I assume there will be smooth sailing, they throw me for a loop. Today I set off for VBS with a sense of dread, but the hope that I would be proven wrong. I wasn't.
Kara cried and clinged and begged and pleaded me not to leave her. This all took place in the parking lot before we even entered the building. Once inside, we found our nametags and searched for our assigned groups: Kara was group #13 (a.k.a. "unlucky 13") and Jenna was in group #7 (a.k.a. internationally known "lucky number"). I gulped, took a deep breath, and prepared to watch Kara confront the reality that she wouldn't be spending the morning with her sissy, but with other 3 year-olds in her group.
We made our way through the packed assembly room and found our numbers. As luck would have it, Jenna's group was stationed directly in front of Kara's group. I introduced them each to their "teacher" (a.k.a. teenage counselor) and tried to scoot away. Nothing doing. I sat down right in the middle of the two groups and put each of my babies on the side nearest their corresponding group. I told them they could be right next to each other. When they were distracted by the opening announcements, I ran for the door (well, as fast as you can run with a 20-pound child in a stroller that doesn't have any operational wheels left after 5+ years of service).
Once out in the atrium, I began walking back and forth with Jack and sneaking peeks into the gathering room. There stood my two darling babies, the big "sissy" and the little "sissy", holding hands, right smack in the middle of their two groups. They had found their Switzerland, their "neutral" territory where neither would be completely abandoned. Mommy had left them, but they still had each other.
We have about one month to go until school starts. I'm hoping this VBS experience will teach Kara about being without her mommy . . . that she'll get used to being dropped off . . . that the drop-offs at preschool will go smoothly given this previous experience. . . that she'll learn to trust that school is a fun, safe place and that mommy always comes back for her at the end of the day.
I also have one month to prepare myself. I just know I'm going to be one of "those parents" who just can't seperate from their child on the first day of school.
July 27, 2008
Aspirations
Every now and again, the girls and I have a conversation about what they would like to be when they grow-up. I usually start with the predictable speech about how they can be anything that they want to be as long as they try hard and do their best, etc., etc.
This week's career choices, as indicated by my aspiring little dreamers:
Jenna -- "I want to be a veterinarian, but I don't want to take care of the sick animals. Only the healthy ones."
Kara -- "I want to be a statue."
There 'ya have it folks. Stay tuned!
This week's career choices, as indicated by my aspiring little dreamers:
Jenna -- "I want to be a veterinarian, but I don't want to take care of the sick animals. Only the healthy ones."
Kara -- "I want to be a statue."
There 'ya have it folks. Stay tuned!
July 23, 2008
Thank You God and Jesus!
After putting the kids to bed, I was downstairs trying to finish up my day when I heard Kara crying my name. Well, if my name were "MMMmmmmooooooooommmmmmmyyyyyy!".
I ran up the steps, two at a time, and raced to her room to "shoosh" her before she woke Jack. When I got into her room, she was sitting up in bed with the covers pulled around her, wide-eyed and crying about how she was afraid of monsters in the back yard.
I sat down on the edge of the bed and looked out at the quiet, pre-dusk evening through her bedroom window. Hesitantly, Kara joined me and took a peek herself. She said, "I see my swingset, and one of Alyssa's balls (our neighbor), and . . . hey! There's Jesus and God!".
The rest of the conversation is too difficult to comprehend, let alone re-create, but it went something like this:
Me: Where are Jesus and God?
Kara: Right there! Jesus is green and God is orange.
Me: Green and orange? Where?
Kara: (giggling) Right there!
Me: But I don't see anything green or orange. Where? In our yard?
Kara: No, over there!
Me: (realizing I'm not going to see Jesus or God at this point) Well, isn't that nice! Jesus and God are both outside of your window, watching over you and protecting you. See! There's nothing to be afraid of! You have Jesus and God!
Kara: (face full of smiles and wide-eyed excitement, presses her face against the screen and yells out into the quiet night) "Thank you God and Jesus!"
I'm sure the neighbors are wondering what kind of revival we have going on over here, but I don't care. My baby has God and Jesus watching over her, making her feel safe, and putting her to sleep with a smile on her face. We should all be so lucky. Sigh. The faith and innocence of a child. How can I recapture that for myself?
***UPDATE***
Since this story, we have looked for God outside of Kara's window every night. We haven't seen him again. Until today, 8/23/08.
Tonight the girls and I "stayed up late" watching Cinderella, eating popcorn and snuggling on the couch. When the movie was over, I commented about how late it was and how dark it was outside. Kara stood up on the couch to look out the window, and exclaimed, "There he is! It's God again!". From where we were sitting, I had a good view of the bright light coming from the streetlight on the next block.
I ran up the steps, two at a time, and raced to her room to "shoosh" her before she woke Jack. When I got into her room, she was sitting up in bed with the covers pulled around her, wide-eyed and crying about how she was afraid of monsters in the back yard.
I sat down on the edge of the bed and looked out at the quiet, pre-dusk evening through her bedroom window. Hesitantly, Kara joined me and took a peek herself. She said, "I see my swingset, and one of Alyssa's balls (our neighbor), and . . . hey! There's Jesus and God!".
The rest of the conversation is too difficult to comprehend, let alone re-create, but it went something like this:
Me: Where are Jesus and God?
Kara: Right there! Jesus is green and God is orange.
Me: Green and orange? Where?
Kara: (giggling) Right there!
Me: But I don't see anything green or orange. Where? In our yard?
Kara: No, over there!
Me: (realizing I'm not going to see Jesus or God at this point) Well, isn't that nice! Jesus and God are both outside of your window, watching over you and protecting you. See! There's nothing to be afraid of! You have Jesus and God!
Kara: (face full of smiles and wide-eyed excitement, presses her face against the screen and yells out into the quiet night) "Thank you God and Jesus!"
I'm sure the neighbors are wondering what kind of revival we have going on over here, but I don't care. My baby has God and Jesus watching over her, making her feel safe, and putting her to sleep with a smile on her face. We should all be so lucky. Sigh. The faith and innocence of a child. How can I recapture that for myself?
***UPDATE***
Since this story, we have looked for God outside of Kara's window every night. We haven't seen him again. Until today, 8/23/08.
Tonight the girls and I "stayed up late" watching Cinderella, eating popcorn and snuggling on the couch. When the movie was over, I commented about how late it was and how dark it was outside. Kara stood up on the couch to look out the window, and exclaimed, "There he is! It's God again!". From where we were sitting, I had a good view of the bright light coming from the streetlight on the next block.
July 21, 2008
"That Mom"
So on Tuesday night, Mark was away for the night for work. I was quite proud of myself for getting the kids out of the house all day and keeping ourselves busy. I joined a playgroup in our new town right when we moved here, but hadn't gotten around to attending any events until today. It was fun -- nice to meet some new people and not spend the day alone.
See, I'm "that mom". The kind that isn't shy about meeting new people and can just show up and immerse herself into a whole new group in a whole new community. Aren't I brave and outgoing?
Tuesday evening came around, and I got the kids to bed and was spending some quality time on the computer, reading blogs. Around 11pm, Jack began to cry. Not the kind of cry that makes you mad or frustrated, but the kind that makes you want to go in there and rescue him. I scooped him up in my arms and took him to the glider where we rocked for a good, long time. The good kind of rock. The kind that he snuggles in tight, rests his head on my shoulder, and lets me just rock-a-bye my baby. Pure bliss. To add to my bliss, every so often Jack would, as he occasionally likes to do, pick his head up, look right in my eyes and come in for a kiss on the mouth. This particular evening it was lots of kisses, many of which were the open-mouth, drooly variety. Love it, love it, love it! When I finally lay him down for the last time, I tiptoed into my room and went to sleep with a heart full of love.
See, I'm "that mom". The one who lives in the moment and truly apprecaites and recognizes the little gifts that God has given me. I'm blessed and I'm greatful for all that I have.
Wednesday morning Jack woke with a fever. Hmmmm. That was what the crying/fussiness/permission to rock was all about. Well, he did have immunizations last week and I did note that one of them had on it's fact sheet something about "fever, possibly developing 1-2 weeks after shot". So that's probably it. No other symptoms, no big deal. Just lay low for the day.
Yep, I'm "that mom". The one who has three kids, who is calm, cool and collected and doesn't worry about a simple fever. I'm invincible.
Thursday morning, Jack woke up with a rash on his chest and tummy . . . and a few dots on his face. Not a horrible, hive-like rash . . . just little red dots. The kind my kids sometimes get with a fever / hotness. That's probably it, no other symptoms, no big deal.
See, I'm "that mom". The one that doesn't get worried, remember?
Until we get dressed and go downstairs. And I try to put him down on the floor. And he falls to the floor crying. And doesn't get up for a long time. And when he does get up, he screams and limps to the chair and stands with left leg in the air. This goes on for a while, and I sit on the floor trying to coax him over to me to see how he walks. He limps, and it looks like he's in pain. After a quick exam, I call the doctor, just as they're opening, and get an appt. for the same morning.
Great. Now I'm "that mom". The one who ignores her child's symptoms and makes nothing of them until it turns into a serious illness. The one who appears on a show like Dateline, warning other parents not to ignore "the signs" that she should have seen. Fabulous.
We rush to dress, eat, get cleaned up, packed up and out the door. As we're preparing to leave, Jack is walking around the house just fine. No more limping, no more tears.
Great. Now I'm "that mom" who panics over nothing and brings a perfectly fine child to the doctor's office.
I contemplate cancelling, but decide to go. He does have a fever and a rash, so he does have something going on, right?! We get to the office, park in back, and use the "back door" reserved for special people (i.e. people who's kids have a rash of unknown origin). We're ushered into an exam room, and as I undress him and explain to the nurse how he's suddenly better, I see the bottom of his feet. They're both red, but the left foot is puffy, kind of hard feeling, and warm to the touch. Jack recoils in pain when I touch it. Ah-ha! There is something wrong with his feet. I feel a sense of victory -- quickly followed by a sense of "wait a minute. My poor kid has something wrong with his feet!"
Now I'm "that mom" again. The one that ends up on Dateline.
The doctor comes in and agrees that the fever is probably immunization-related, and the rash is probably fever-related. But what about the feet thing? Was he walking barefoot on pavement? No. Somewhere where he could have burned his feet? No. Does he have bug bites? No (how would that happen on the bottoms of his feet?) Hmmmm. His ears look fine, his throat is . . . red! Ah-ha! Doctor now knows what's going on. Strep culture is negative, so it's probably . . . drum-roll please . . . hand, foot and mouth disease. What?!
Now I'm "that mom". The one whos kid has the nasty illness. The mom who must be dirty to have such scummy kids that can get such nasty diseases. Great. Nothing we can do about it, nothing to take, just give it 1-2 weeks to work its way out of the system. And stay away from other kids. Like the ones I just spent Tuesday with. You know, our "new friends" in the "new playgroup" I just joined in our "new town".
Great. Now I'm "that mom". The one who brings her sick kid to a playgroup and exposes all of the other kids. The mom that has to make phone calls to inform other parents of today's discovery. The one that swears up and down that she "didn't know" her kid was sick and that he "didn't have a fever" until the day after we saw you.
Yep, I'm "that mom". And tomorrow, I'll probably be a whole different one. Again.
See, I'm "that mom". The kind that isn't shy about meeting new people and can just show up and immerse herself into a whole new group in a whole new community. Aren't I brave and outgoing?
Tuesday evening came around, and I got the kids to bed and was spending some quality time on the computer, reading blogs. Around 11pm, Jack began to cry. Not the kind of cry that makes you mad or frustrated, but the kind that makes you want to go in there and rescue him. I scooped him up in my arms and took him to the glider where we rocked for a good, long time. The good kind of rock. The kind that he snuggles in tight, rests his head on my shoulder, and lets me just rock-a-bye my baby. Pure bliss. To add to my bliss, every so often Jack would, as he occasionally likes to do, pick his head up, look right in my eyes and come in for a kiss on the mouth. This particular evening it was lots of kisses, many of which were the open-mouth, drooly variety. Love it, love it, love it! When I finally lay him down for the last time, I tiptoed into my room and went to sleep with a heart full of love.
See, I'm "that mom". The one who lives in the moment and truly apprecaites and recognizes the little gifts that God has given me. I'm blessed and I'm greatful for all that I have.
Wednesday morning Jack woke with a fever. Hmmmm. That was what the crying/fussiness/permission to rock was all about. Well, he did have immunizations last week and I did note that one of them had on it's fact sheet something about "fever, possibly developing 1-2 weeks after shot". So that's probably it. No other symptoms, no big deal. Just lay low for the day.
Yep, I'm "that mom". The one who has three kids, who is calm, cool and collected and doesn't worry about a simple fever. I'm invincible.
Thursday morning, Jack woke up with a rash on his chest and tummy . . . and a few dots on his face. Not a horrible, hive-like rash . . . just little red dots. The kind my kids sometimes get with a fever / hotness. That's probably it, no other symptoms, no big deal.
See, I'm "that mom". The one that doesn't get worried, remember?
Until we get dressed and go downstairs. And I try to put him down on the floor. And he falls to the floor crying. And doesn't get up for a long time. And when he does get up, he screams and limps to the chair and stands with left leg in the air. This goes on for a while, and I sit on the floor trying to coax him over to me to see how he walks. He limps, and it looks like he's in pain. After a quick exam, I call the doctor, just as they're opening, and get an appt. for the same morning.
Great. Now I'm "that mom". The one who ignores her child's symptoms and makes nothing of them until it turns into a serious illness. The one who appears on a show like Dateline, warning other parents not to ignore "the signs" that she should have seen. Fabulous.
We rush to dress, eat, get cleaned up, packed up and out the door. As we're preparing to leave, Jack is walking around the house just fine. No more limping, no more tears.
Great. Now I'm "that mom" who panics over nothing and brings a perfectly fine child to the doctor's office.
I contemplate cancelling, but decide to go. He does have a fever and a rash, so he does have something going on, right?! We get to the office, park in back, and use the "back door" reserved for special people (i.e. people who's kids have a rash of unknown origin). We're ushered into an exam room, and as I undress him and explain to the nurse how he's suddenly better, I see the bottom of his feet. They're both red, but the left foot is puffy, kind of hard feeling, and warm to the touch. Jack recoils in pain when I touch it. Ah-ha! There is something wrong with his feet. I feel a sense of victory -- quickly followed by a sense of "wait a minute. My poor kid has something wrong with his feet!"
Now I'm "that mom" again. The one that ends up on Dateline.
The doctor comes in and agrees that the fever is probably immunization-related, and the rash is probably fever-related. But what about the feet thing? Was he walking barefoot on pavement? No. Somewhere where he could have burned his feet? No. Does he have bug bites? No (how would that happen on the bottoms of his feet?) Hmmmm. His ears look fine, his throat is . . . red! Ah-ha! Doctor now knows what's going on. Strep culture is negative, so it's probably . . . drum-roll please . . . hand, foot and mouth disease. What?!
Now I'm "that mom". The one whos kid has the nasty illness. The mom who must be dirty to have such scummy kids that can get such nasty diseases. Great. Nothing we can do about it, nothing to take, just give it 1-2 weeks to work its way out of the system. And stay away from other kids. Like the ones I just spent Tuesday with. You know, our "new friends" in the "new playgroup" I just joined in our "new town".
Great. Now I'm "that mom". The one who brings her sick kid to a playgroup and exposes all of the other kids. The mom that has to make phone calls to inform other parents of today's discovery. The one that swears up and down that she "didn't know" her kid was sick and that he "didn't have a fever" until the day after we saw you.
Yep, I'm "that mom". And tomorrow, I'll probably be a whole different one. Again.
July 16, 2008
Now I get it!
Earlier this month (6/30-7/5 to be exact), our family spent the 4th of July holiday week up in Door County, WI at my in-law's cottage in Bailey's Harbor. This year it was our turn to stay at the cottage, while Mary Karen and Rob's family rented a place in town. This year also marked the first time that we took the trip for a full week, not our usual long weekend. Due to the lengthened travel time from our new home in Illinois (7 hours driving time, 9 hours driving with the kids) and the fact that this would be our family vacation for the year, we decided to make a week out of it. And I'm so glad we did!
The girls loved spending time with their grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins, playing in the sand and water, and visiting all of their favorite places on the penninsula (The Farm in Sister Bay, The Sandpiper Restaurant in Bailey's Harbor, Wilson's Ice Cream Shoppe in Ephraim, Novel Ideas book shop in Bailey's). Jenna's highlight of the week was "going Sea-doo-ing with daddy". Kara loved "jumping on the trampoline" that Aunt Jen and Uncle Steve had up on their beach. Jack wasn't a big fan of the sand, or the water for that matter, but he loved all of the extra attention bestowed up him by all of his grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins.
The highlight of the week, as usual, was the 4th of July and all of it's traditional components: being in the Bailey's Harbor parade with "Buck" and his model-A club . . . having hot dogs in the park after the parade . . . visiting the "crap" fair after the parade . . . BBQ-ing with the whole family for dinner . . . staying up late to watch the Phillips family fireworks on the beach . . . having smores by the campfire . . . staying up even later to watch the fireworks from town, across the water.
For the first several years that I spent the 4th in Door County, I have to admit I wasn't as taken with the whole thing as the rest of my husband's family. After all, it was their tradition and I never fully felt a part of it all. That is, until I had children of my own. Now I'm as excited about the trip as they are, and are finally seeing the whole thing for what it really is: the making of some of the best memories of growing up that these Muehleck grandkids will ever have. Thank you Grandma Muehleck and Buck! We love you both, and we love the memories you've allowed the third generation of your family to create in your home!
The girls loved spending time with their grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins, playing in the sand and water, and visiting all of their favorite places on the penninsula (The Farm in Sister Bay, The Sandpiper Restaurant in Bailey's Harbor, Wilson's Ice Cream Shoppe in Ephraim, Novel Ideas book shop in Bailey's). Jenna's highlight of the week was "going Sea-doo-ing with daddy". Kara loved "jumping on the trampoline" that Aunt Jen and Uncle Steve had up on their beach. Jack wasn't a big fan of the sand, or the water for that matter, but he loved all of the extra attention bestowed up him by all of his grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins.
The highlight of the week, as usual, was the 4th of July and all of it's traditional components: being in the Bailey's Harbor parade with "Buck" and his model-A club . . . having hot dogs in the park after the parade . . . visiting the "crap" fair after the parade . . . BBQ-ing with the whole family for dinner . . . staying up late to watch the Phillips family fireworks on the beach . . . having smores by the campfire . . . staying up even later to watch the fireworks from town, across the water.
For the first several years that I spent the 4th in Door County, I have to admit I wasn't as taken with the whole thing as the rest of my husband's family. After all, it was their tradition and I never fully felt a part of it all. That is, until I had children of my own. Now I'm as excited about the trip as they are, and are finally seeing the whole thing for what it really is: the making of some of the best memories of growing up that these Muehleck grandkids will ever have. Thank you Grandma Muehleck and Buck! We love you both, and we love the memories you've allowed the third generation of your family to create in your home!
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