Patchin' Things Up

Crawfords young and old wait breathlessly for this time of year: is there anything in this world more glorious than a Rocky Mountain Fall? In which to while away our fall breaks, two birthdays and Halloween festivities? Nope, nothin' like it in the world.

Anderson Farms is our favorite Pumpkin Patch, worth every second of the 1 hour drive each way, and worth every penny of admission. We hit it on an 85-degree day, and, apparently, timed our visit with every field trip taken by every preschool and daycare north of Denver. Still worth it? You betcha.

After face painting, hay-bale mazes, corn mazes, pedal karts, barrel-train rides, and petting zoo, you climb onto the hay wagon and ride on out to the patch, where you pick your pumpkins straight off the vine. Gracie's was just perfect: all she needs is her Fairy Godmother to change this gorgeous orb into a coach and hook her up with a fabulous dress.

How you like me now?

We hit the patch early enough in the season, and before any heavy rain or snowfall, so we got the pick of the crop. Shane's favorite part was stamping off those stems, and watching them ooze all over the wagon bench.

And the Great Pumpkin rises over the pumpkin patch...

My kids love to "milk" this plywood cow, and it's disturbing on so many levels.

Trike obstacle course. The boys are about 2 years too old for this, but they're always back to it, like dogs to vomit. How's that for a visual?

On a day this warm, one go-round on the pedal karts was all they could manage. Did they lap everybody? Is that really a question?

The bumpiest train ride in all of creation. How would it be to be five, where your body could take that kind of abuse? I mean, you slip off the haybale maze and require multiple band-aids for a scrape, but endless trips on the spine-warping barrel train leave them unscathed. Go figure.

'Til we meet again, Anderson Farms. Sniff.

Just one week prior, we hit the Chatfield Botanical Gardens Pumpkin Fest - about 20 degrees cooler, and, as you can detect, early enough in the season that my little California kids completely forget that one occasionally needs hoodies during a Colorado autumn, particularly when they're about to spin themselves into a coma.

After daddy absconded the boys to hit the batting cages, the ladies hit the face-painting booth. Gracie's pick: puppies! Everything's puppies with that gal.

Belly did what all the cool gals are doing: bright pink Broncos horses with glitter. I'm all about to hook her up with pink leather gloves and pink cleats, just like all the Broncs are sporting this month.

Just before we trucked off to the parking lot...
on yet another hay wagon, surrounded by those heartbreakingly beautiful changing leaves. Some say overkill. We say: you only get to ride on hay wagons once a year in these parts, carpe that diem, baby!

Dollop of Daisy

Our latest first: Gracie's now officially the youngest in a family of scouts, our 2nd and final Daisy. Sigh. For Grace's investiture for Daisy Scouts, she wore Eve's Daisy t-shirt, which she wore the year Gracie was born...aren't I too old and worn out to be brought to tears over such coincidences? Some people can roll with the punches. And then there's me.
Precioso. Sassy. Just the way we like her.

On my honor...I had kinda forgotten how precious Girl Scouts is. And I'm just so thrilled for the experiences Grace will have with this group of girls - Eve's Daisy and Brownie years were just pure bliss, girls and leaders that we still love to this day, and every now and again Eve will pull out her Girl Scout good-bye scrapbook made by Miss Julie and Miss Laurie and we just giggle over the happiness of remembering those people.

So relieved that the patches are iron-on - I have never been accused of being an overachiever in the sewing quadrant of my life. Wait. There's a sewing quadrant in my life?

First official Girl Scout activity: District Troop Sing-Along at the Douglas County Fairgrounds - how many giggling and screaming girls can you fit in one room?

It's hard to follow along in the song book when you can't read. But is she game? Ooooh, baby...

Oh, Beautiful! For heroes proved...

Adding to my near-monthly testimonial to Shane's Pack 780...Friday, September 10th Shane and Ty were invited to attend Meadow View Elementary's flag ceremony commemorating the events of September 11, 2001. As that flag was raised to half mast, I felt that bittersweet satisfaction that my boys were finally at an age in which they could begin to grasp the complete horror of a tragic national event - and as I teared up I couldn't decide whether that was good or bad.

Ty was not even a year old on that numbing day, Shane not even a thought in our heads. They beg for stories - as we watch the requisite programming featuring plumes of smoke, falling debris, crashing buildings, clouds of ash and terrified people, they just want to know what it felt like to watch the whole thing unfold, live. Being blessed enough to not know anyone personally involved in that diaster, they want to know what it was like for me, the closest person to them, to go through the motions of caring for small children as eras changed in the blink of an eye - we need diapers, do I dare trundle them in the car and go to Costco, when there could be hijackers over us right this second - what was that like? How scared were you? Did we understand? I wish they never had to.

September 11th itself was spent at the Air Force Academy as they hosted BYU on the gridiron - there is nothing like an AFA game, and now that the Y is out of the Mountain West, I'll truly miss bringing the fam down there every other year for their match-ups. There's no venue like it, particularly on that day - though it was a titch too hot and the stadium could use more bathrooms, it was just a touching display, start to finish (where else am I going to get handed a pocket-size copy of the Constitution while I wait to be frisked?)...above is a flag flown at Ground Zero and unfurled at the halftime show by rescue workers who survived the ordeal, returned veterans from Afghanistan, and cadets who will someday soon be sent to protect the interests of the U.S. abroad.

Each home game, all of the cadet squadrons are introduced and file onto the field in a display that can be called nothing but impressive - all those young men and women of the highest moral and intellectual caliber (that aren't already attending BYU, ahem!), the best of the best. Due to high winds we didn't get the parachute jumpers (man!) but as always, that fly-by makes your heart stop (and I can never get a picture of three jets going that fast).

You've gotta give 'em props for having a live mascot who performs at halftime - the Falcon had a bit of a crash toward the end, and my kids were just sick over it. I just think it'd be a hoot to let a live cougar loose at the next BYU home game. If only they had a suggestion box...

Cosmo isn't probably the best performing costumed mascot in the world, but to BYU alum kids, he's the bomb, they just line up for pictures, slap him high-fives, probably dream of him at night after they pray for Heavenly Father to watch over him. And there were a ton of us in force that day. Not that we had anything whatsoever to cheer for after the first quarter.

After the first touchdown. When we had hope.

Driving. In vain. I'll tellya what: I've never seen a BYU squad perform that badly before, at least not while I was sitting right there to witness it (we'll forget 1992's Holiday Bowl, thank you very much). We got stomped. And getting out of the parking lot took a millennium. But I'll miss it. A class act on both sides.

Hogwarts Express, Castle Rock Style

The tykes' presence at Clear Sky Elementary was demanded, and so we complied, that hot, hot August 6th...we started off with a neighborhood potluck breakfast, and, just like that, off they went - daddy and his oldest gal (sporting the Justice backpack)...
I'm a tradition and special-occasion junkie, so I LOVE the Clap-In they stage to send the kids off into another year of academic rigor and glory - check out this second grader!

His brother, entering fourth!

Their sister, entering sixth!

And, dangit, they just missed Sturgis.

Four days later, the kinder sissie made her debut at Clear Sky - she'll attend two full days a week, plus some random Fridays, and couldn't be happier about her new environment: Barbie backpack, the ability to eat a lunch in the Biston Bistro that she has packed for herself, checking out her own books out of the library. Sometimes, it's just the little things that are the big things.

If You're Lucky Enough to be in the Mountains...You're Lucky Enough

We are faithful converts to the two-week fall, winter and spring breaks we receive in exchange for an obscenely short summer, and rarely travel during peak season. For unknown reasons we made an exception to take the kids on the (relatively) short trip to the Black Hills of South Dakota and, in our attempt to wend our way home to Castle Rock, make a pit stop in Estes Park, Colorado, adjacent to Rocky Mountain National Park. If the signs are correct, and I believe they are, this is where heaven and earth meet.
Our gift shop-to-gift shop tour of middle America took us to the famous rock engravings (are they kidding? You don't take cards at the window?), as well as Rushmore Cavern, an alpine slide, a bomber-and-fighter plane graveyard, as well as a drive through Bear Country, U.S.A., which featured several deer, goats, arctic wolves and yes, bears galore, featuring this punked-out brothah who paid us no never mind as he wandered through the huge wired pen.
Reptile Gardens was another great stop: crocs and alligators, boas, komodo dragons, you name it. Me, I just can't handle the odor of reptiles. I'm petty and I know it. Clap your hands.
The littles in front on a mammoth dig site. THIS IS NOT A REPLICA. Apparently, back in the day, that little corner of pine-covered paradise featured a rather large sinkhole in which several adolescent-aged mammoths went to die, and they're still unearthing them. Right there, behind us. I don't know why it tickles me so much, but, there it is.
Once in Estes Park, we were awed by this great waterfall which goes by the name "Alluvial Fan" on all the maps and signage. Many hours could have been expended here, and, as you can see from Shane's lack of enthusiasm that we had just announced our intention to press on to even greater heights. He wasn't havin' it.

We got just this high, which was wicked cold, offered wicked views above the timber line, and exposed mom to-die-for offerings at the gift shop, which, of course, featured wicked price tags.

Once back at habitation level, we stayed here. Not tricked out or especially luxurious, we LOVED this rental: three bedrooms, a loft, a huge dining room table that could probably seat, oh, I dunno, twelve?, living room, wrap-around deck just across the road from the Big Thompson river, horseback riding, what-have-you. I'm a fan of hotels in a big way, but this was superior: can't put a price tag on a place where your kids can speak at above-normal decibel levels and jump on the ground or the beds without the neighbors freaking out. No neighbors. Just a healthy dose of "When can we buy ourselves a cabin, mom?"
Not a second too soon, babe.

Paddle boating on Lake Estes, which we fit in between hiking, amusements at Fun City, leisurely drives, window shopping, and consuming an almost inhumane amount of ice cream. Special tip: Hayley's has Pralines 'n Cream that'll bring tears to your eyes.

What I forgot to post was the best memory of all: our brand-new (to us!) Acadia conking out on the way home and being towed for major repairs, courtesy of our brand-new (to us!) On-Star service. Seems the Acadia is prone to transmission problems. Yay! Check it on the slideshow.

As we were ridiculously hot, flustered and far away from home, we lost track of the cooler in which were icily wrapped Eve, Ty, and Shane's first fish catches of a lifetime...some poor groundskeeper in Thornton is hating us right about now.

But This One Goes to Eleven

That's a standard line of dialogue in our home...I can't urge you enough to avail yourself of the nearest copy of "This is Spinal Tap" and discover the joy of its usage.

And on with the post.

Eve Westbrook celebrated her 11th birthday with...wait for it...swimming. Standard! For our only summer birthday, it's the perennial go-to party activity, and it never disappoints. What does disappoint, on nearly as consistent a basis, is her birthdate itself - since the move to Colorado, we've discovered that EVERYONE travels in July. And with meets and games stacked throughout our Saturdays, party dates are hard to come by.

We nailed down Friday the 23rd to have a Mad Hatter's Tea Party, complete with pool time and slumber party: should I count my blessings that only two lovely young ladies invaded our home for the night? I daresay that I shall: as far as these occasions go, it was perfect. All personalities meshed, no one was left out, no one's feelings were hurt, blah, blah, blah. Only a few crank calls that we know of. Made from a guest's cell phone. Bonus!
Matt, taking the "Drink Me" challenge. Sparkling apple cider, so don't get your panties in a wad.
Desi and Kaylee, sampling our various tea party pastries: as a kid, I was a regular muncher on such delights as cream puffs, eclairs, tarts and the like, but these girls were just in experimental heaven. Childhood ain't what it used to be. And don't get me started on that.
The ladies decorated their mad hats, went nuts on the sugar, watched Johnny Depp in the newest "Alice" movie (all editions of the twisted tale are beloved in our home, but, well, hello! Johnny Depp!)

The ubiquitous tribute to our 'tween: this kid is heaven-sent in every way. When she's out of the picture, say, for a week with friends at a girly camp filled with pottery painting, amusement park riding, crafting and milkshaking, the shift in family dymanic is tectonic. Eve is my right-hand gal; she knows every domestic trick, can solve every problem, comfort every broken heart, bring anyone to hysterics. A joy, in other words. She's lost none of her muchness.