Upsy daisy

Sharing the love

Ever since I married Spence and moved to Roaring River Valley, we both talk nonstop about how to share its wondrousness with our friends. Even after 7 years there, I still love driving the tar-and-chip road upriver toward our farm under a long canopy of trees. I still walk to the barn on misty evenings to call in the horses and marvel at the peaceful, nestled feeling of being surrounded on all sides by steep soaring mountains. (I know they're probably hills by definition, but still, they're big). Sometimes I daydream that I'll quit my job, we'll go off the grid, blow up the TV and just hibernate for the rest of our lives in our little green haven on the river. It just feels like a safe place to hide away from an increasingly chaotic world. I also sometimes look up at the ridge towering over our house and expect to see a fierce line of warriors emerge on horses. (That's probably watching Dances With Wolves too many times.)

I feel okay about bragging on the beauty of our homestead because I really had nothing to do with it -- I simply married a pretty great guy who had the guts to build a home far, far from a grocery store. As such, we don't get many visitors. That is, unless we lure them out under the pretense of seeing something "purdy."

And boy, have we got it -- the surrounding rivers and streams and hollers and mountain tops (hill tops!) are simply as stunning as Middle Tennessee gets. But these are not the places you see by stepping out of your car and strolling a few steps. As blogamiga Julia put it, Inman Adventures are not for the faint of heart. To witness the good stuff you gotta work a little. Or a lot.

After one such "sharing the love" adventure, one of my friends jokingly created the Inman Adventures Difficulty Scale, which is based on a special LOG-arithm (how many life-threatening log strainers in a river will you have to portage?). This particular excursion was a 9 on the scale.

Last weekend was a 3-4 on the IADS. We invited two amazing blogamigas and their families to come out and see the spectacularity that is Roaring River Gorge. This is the river that runs beside our house, but about 10 miles upstream where the rock walls soar hundreds of feet above your head. The kids we toted ranged in age from 2 to almost 11 (or maybe exactly 11). We waded about a 1/2 mile, anywhere from ankle to hip deep, to a great swimming hole, where the two oldest and most exuberant boys gave me repeated heart attacks as they slid down chutes and leapt into swift water. Spence, who thankfully is a mountain goat, had to hoof it after them, giving them a multitude of safety tips, while those of us with toddlers hanging off our arms picked our way over boulders, poison ivy and very slick river rock.

Theresa's pictures tell the story best. She was our official photographer and I'm coveting her camera...and talent. We had only one loss: 3-year-old O's very nice sandal went floating downstream. (The river giveth and the river taketh away.)

While the river adventure was fun, the real love occurred back at the house over beer, sangria and Ethiopian fare. Julia graciously made misr wat (lentils) and I tried my hand at a vegetarian version of doro wat (chicken stew) with tofu. The kids explored every cranny of the house (eek!) playing hide and seek, a couple of lucky ones got to meet and greet the horses and even scoop some poop. And one daring soul dangled from the monkey bars, patiently and silently waiting for an adult to gently help her down (O, you know who you are!). Later, the girls (and one boy who will remain nameless) had a princess dress-up party. Although I'm dying to share it, I am saving that picture for future leverage.

While the six kids ravaged the indoors, we grown-ups got a rare few minutes of peace to sit on the front porch swings and talk about parenthood. It was like therapy for Spence, who as a SAHD doesn't get as many opportunities to learn from and trade ideas with other parents. We discussed education, discipline, sibling rivalry, gender differences, the diversity limits of living in a very rural area, and whether or not it's cool for your 2-year-old son to dress up like a princess (it is!). After everyone left, Spence couldn't stop talking about how comforting and validating it was to learn that the challenges he experiences every day are normal and not some byproduct of terrible parenting.

I am so dang lucky to know these amazing gals AND their families. They're so beautiful and hilarious and fun and wise. And I'm not worthy!

Here are a few pics to supplement Theresa's awesome ones. In case you didn't look the first time, go now, you'll be glad you did.

Very exuberant boys about to embark on a river adventure

Very wet and slightly less exuberant boys

Three blogamigas on the rocks (caption courtesy of Theresa)

Buds

The long walk home

Wading and swimming

Rosemary shows off her driftwood creation

D and O loving the mud

What a beautiful day.

WW - planning some squirrel stew

Wordless Wednesday - fishin' with Daddy

Better

My back is better. It still looks like a hickey fest, but it's much better. Was it the acupuncture and cupping? I think so, but I don't know for sure. Just like I don't know for sure my bed was the culprit.

I've always wanted to believe alternative and holistic therapies are superior to traditional medicine that tends to take the form of a pill. Something that gets to the root of the problem, not just cover it up. But honestly, I think it takes a combination of all that. For 3 weeks I took 2400 mg of ibuprofen a day just to function. After that I decided to tackle it from all angles: better bed, more stretching, ab exercises, massage, and in 3 more weeks another acupuncture session. I'm not sure what bag of tricks she'll pull out next time, but I'm going for it.

Maybe I'll become an advocate of cupping and recommend it to everyone. Yes, you can handle it.

My tangle with an octopus

So I have been experiencing lower back pain off and on for about 6 or 18 months, I can't really remember how long. It was mostly characterized by standing up from my desk, feeling the grab, then slowly easing my way to the upright position. No prob. I figured it was just another lovely side effect of turning 40-something (like the day I miraculously discovered that reading glasses make reading a whole lot better).

But about a month ago, I went down. For about 3 weeks I creaked around the house clutching my back like an old lady. It took many minutes to get into or out of bed, into or out of my car. I finally realized why every other cable channel is dedicated to beating back pain -- it sucks.

I finally went to my doc. She did an x-ray, told me my bed was to blame and gave me some muscle relaxers. I stripped the memory foam pad off my bed at home, and moved to the other side of my pillow-top mattress (a big no-no according to my doc) in Nashville (where I stay 2 nights a week), and once the pain meds allowed me to move semi normal again, I got a deep tissue massage. It was good. But not the miracle I was hoping for. So I scheduled an appointment with my acupuncturist. I've seen her before for other stuff, and I like her style.

She did her usual history, pulse, tongue examination, then asked me to bend all directions. Then she put me on my stomach with my face in a hole the size of a large lemon -- this is going to be fun -- and placed all the needles. They usually don't hurt, but the one she placed behind my knee hurt like a %$^$#@#. As she wiggled it around, she apologized, "Sorry, it necessary. Connected to back." Then she says, "Okay, you sleep." Um, I don't think so.

She returned 45 minutes later and reprimanded me for turning my head to the side (I explained that the lemon-size hole made my nose close up and when I breathed through my mouth I drooled on the floor), then plucked out all the needles. That's usually the end of the session. NOT this time.

For the next 10 minutes, she put my deep tissue massage therapist to shame. She dug a hole and buried him in the yard. This woman is about 4'10'', just a whisper of a woman, but she had hands of steel. At one point she was on completely on the table straddling me. She might have even hung from some hooks on the ceiling and tap danced.

Then she said, "I do a little cupping. It might hurt." I have NO idea what cupping is. I pictured her rolling a cup around on my back. Or pressing the rim down like she's cutting out cookies. Being face-down, I couldn't see the contraptions of torture. I'm scared, but my dad (or somebody) taught me to suck it up, so I did. Caroline perhaps described it best: It's like going to the ocean and being grabbed by an octopus. First she cranked on one suction device, then a second. After the second was in place, she released the first. So 10 seconds or so. It was unpleasant.

I knew our time was almost up, so I figured I could endure whatever she threw at me so I kept quiet. Then she said, "You perfect. I have men come in here and scream, 'Ohhhhh, that hurts!' You don't make peep." Yeah, well, my first epidural didn't take. I can handle this.

So a few minutes later she sends me on my way, feeling very loose and kneaded. She adds as I'm walking out the door, "Sometime you need a little torture to feel better." Ain't it the truth.

So after work, I zip to my mom's for a quick visit with Caroline. As I'm leaving I say, "Hey, do I have any bruises on my back?" I lift my shirt and she gasps.

The end.

A procrastinator's day in photos 2011

If I had to title this day, it would be "No-Adventure Saturday." Usually at least one weekend day is spent on some kind of family adventure: paddling, swimming, fishing, wading, camping, etc. But occasionally it's necessary to stay home and bring order back to our lives. This is one of those Saturdays.

7ish: Watching Super Why on PBS. They were quiet for so long, I came in to investigate and found a most unusual scene: sharing daddy's chair. No elbowing, pinching or bickering. It warmed my heart and finally inspired me to document our day in pictures.

8ish: Breakfast of cinnamon toast and Cheerios. Once again, no one attempting to poke the other's eye. Makes a mama proud. 

9ish: So begins the attempt to curb the chaos, bring the entropy under control. 

Also 9ish: Outside chores continue with Spence hard at work since 6a. I was not up yet to document it. Numerous times floods have taken out our fence and numerous times Spence has rebuilt it. Now we're employing a new strategy of widely spacing the posts to cut down on debris snags when the river floods. The government is paying us to do this. Weird, huh?

10ish: Playing outside. You might notice that C always seems to be in PJs. She pretty much would live in them if I'd let her.

11ish: Lunch! I don't routinely feed my kids Lunchables. We bought them for taking on river trips, but if the kids spot them in the frig they're history. Note C's runner-up wardrobe of choice: nothing.

Early afternoon: (I missed a few hours taking a nap.) Spence continues his field chores. Bushhogging is usually a twice-a-year commitment. It sure makes our fields look nicer.

3p: Dawit helps wash Mama's car, then continues to wet down the entire front yard and porch while I prep dinner inside. Luckily I've got big windows in the kitchen so I can see who's spraying who and intervene as necessary.

5ish: Prepping veggie fried rice with all the appropriate accoutrements: beer and the company of a talented artiste. And yes, I use jarred garlic! Sue me.

6ish: I finally take the yucky bucket to the compost bin. I don't know why I resist this chore so much. I usually end up with fruit flies and some disgusting smell in my house before I make the run. 

Green pepper!

Deer stay out! Floods too.

I come back in from the garden to find this lovely painting on the kitchen counter. How many times have I preached: only on paper! I guess the world is her canvas.

7ish: After dinner, a little Curious George so mom and dad can wrap up barn chores.

Hauling...

...and scooping poop. A never-ending job.

Skip coming in for dinner, a little slower than usual thanks to the 90-degree weather.

And Delilah bringing up the rear, kind of like I did on posting our Day in Photos 2011. Her pokiness cost her her sweet feed tonight as Skip helped himself. 

It probably appears as if I have a sweet deal in this chores thing. Spence kind of looks like he's serving a life sentence of hard labor. It's true. After the weekend when I return to work, he continues his superman status as stay-at-home dad. And let me tell you, chasing our two whippersnappers around all week makes hauling poop, hogging bushes and building fences seem like a day at the beach. I'm a lucky girl.