I'm sitting in bed for a bit today while the toddler naps and the two oldest boys take over the living room. Occasionally the sounds of crinkling paper and whatever show they are watching are interrupted by a fit of coughs, a throat clearing or a trio of sneezes. Being here, again, in the role of nurse and servant was not on my agenda but what this winter has lacked in moisture it has definitely made up for in ick. I thought we were all past this latest bug after we fell, one by one, several weeks in a row but nope, at the start of our Spring Break we caught the newest incarnation and disappointment ensued.
For as long as I can remember my birthday has fallen on Spring Break, which I loved as a kid. Then, for seven or eight years it didn't matter because when you're a single, childless, working person a week off at the end of March is generally just wishful thinking. Once kids come into the picture there is a pressure and a need to mark the transition in some way - the arrival of spring feels both hopeful and congratulatory, a celebration for having made it through another winter of lost mittens, errant ice balls thrown "by mistake" that do just enough damage to get the game shut down, freezing early mornings trying to shove the damn car seat buckle through the extra bulk of a snow suit and feet like icicles being warmed on an unsuspecting spouse in the middle of the night. Generally, I think we do pretty good. I give my husband endless credit for his constant optimism and determination to honor the week and try, in whatever way possible, to make my birthday stand out. Typically alternating between Santa Fe and Salida, this year was a "mountain year" and we had plans to spend the week with our neighbor buddies, who own a house in downtown Salida. We often joke that we are simply driving two and a half hours to recreate what we have at home in Golden (rushing water, walking to town for coffee, a large mountain with its initial labeled at the peak standing sentry right outside our front windows) but still, we loaded up mountain bikes and skis and headed out. With four boys between us, the trip was off to a rocky start - two of them feeling crummy with fevers the first day. Despite our cabin fever, we rallied the two kids left bouncing off the walls and did our best to salvage the time outside while still entertaining and attending the two sickies parked on the couch armed with an ipad, a remote and a platoon of tea mugs. By Friday morning another kid was down for the count and a storm was rolling in so, we decided to save ourselves and head home. Once we were unpacked we collectively agreed the trip had been a bust as far as group adventures go but I was grateful for a few days of solo bike rides, coffee dates with my guy and frequent trips to my favorite vintage shop to make sure I hadn't missed any gems in the $5 record bin. I'll look back fondly on those afternoons spent chatting with my good friend, when time seemed to stand still in the way that only sick kids can cause, their low energy creating a vacuum for whatever motivations we may have to get out, to see something, do something or be productive.
However "meh" this last break may have been, it was a break nonetheless and also reminded me of last year's trip to Santa Fe, in a gorgeous house just outside the city with sagebrush covered hills as far as the eye could see, and our perch from up high served as theater seating for every sunrise and sunset. I woke up early one morning to spread my beloved Uncle's ashes and the boys spent hours and hours beating down the dirt roads on bikes and on foot. Every window in that house seemed to hold a view unlike any of the others and we dutifully followed the owners' instructions on plant care in the sunroom, determined NOT to be the ones who killed off the gorgeous blooms growing from floor to ceiling. That week was a stream of visits to Santa Fe favorites - Whoo's Donuts, rosemary garlic fries and mochas at Chocolate Maven, forcing ourselves to deviate from our standard orders at Bumble Bee's Baja Grill, drinking margaritas in the courtyard of The Shed and taking an incredible day trip to Kasha-Katuwe Tent Rocks National Monument that felt so surreal we were all left a little speechless.
No matter how off the rails this last trip may have gone I don't need a redo...just a morning to look back on past travels and start daydreaming about next year.
If you're curious about the house we stayed in, check it out here.
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