IEP

She entered the world with a perfectly round face, big blue eyes and rosy red lips.  Absolutely beautiful.  We'd get stopped by strangers for months to tell us our baby looked like a porcelain doll.

For the first 7 days, we had a rough time feeding.  She'd latch on, and then stare at me.  No sucking.  Any milk she did get down she'd quickly projectile vomit all over me.  I was frustrated.  I was scared that they'd make me start her on a bottle if I told the doctors.  So I would call my mother in the middle of the night, sobbing and seeking advice.  But she figured it out--eating--and did just fine.

She didn't crawl like other kids at first, instead rolling with great expertise to her destination.  But she figured out the crawling too, eventually.  At 16 months, she figured out the walking.

Even with these delays, it was not until she had hardly figured out talking at 3 that we started to seek professional advice.  And this was the beginning of a four to five year period of testing, wondering, misdiagnoses, discovery and therapy.  It was a period of fighting against what I both knew to be wrong and hoped to be wrong.  I'm not sure I handled it well, but I am also not sure how I'd have done it differently.  That medical journey is the topic of another post.

At three years old my #1 had her first IEP developed for her.  I have found that this is something that either a person's child has or that they have never heard of before.  It is an Individualized Educational Plan.  Yesterday, #1 turned 14 years old.  This morning, we developed her 12th plan.

Her first four IEPs were exclusively for speech therapy.  It was a relatively easy process.  But by first grade, she was not keeping up.  Even remotely.  Teachers were frustrated with her, and I think with me.  At my request, she was tested for the possibility of more intervention.  That process was conducted by the school psychologist and took several weeks of testing #1, interviewing me and her teachers.  Just after her 7th birthday was the IEP meeting to discuss those findings.

The psychologist pulled me aside just before the meeting to prepare me for the label.  Mild mental retardation.  IQ of 68.  He said he didn't want me to be thrown off in front of everyone.  I was grateful, and went through the meeting in a numb, out-of-body sort of fashion.  This was not what I had expected.  I did not want a retarded child.  Let me rephrase that.  I loved and wanted my daughter.  I did not want her to be retarded.  I got all the way to my car before I broke down.  I cried for a while then had to pull it together to get home to my mother in law who was watching numbers 2 & 3.  I wasn't prepared to discuss this with her.  I wasn't prepared for this at all.

For several years, I would leave the IEP annual reviews and go cry in my car.  I often felt that #1 was misunderstood, and not appreciated for the sweet girl she really was.  I also continued to mourn, and to hope that somehow she would grow out of this and catch up with her peers.

Three good things happened to change this.  First, my aunt, who has disabled children of her own, told me, "A label doesn't change who she is or how you deal with her.  It just lets her get the help she needs from others."  I must admit, however, that I appreciated that wisdom intellectually long before I could embrace it emotionally.

Second, we signed her up for AYSO special ed soccer, or the VIP program.  It's been good for her over the years, but that first year it was good for me to meet other parents of special needs kids.  Good to see them happy and hear them discuss life like any other parent.  I realized that I was unhappy about my girl because I kept hoping for something more.  Larry and I both did.  And that was the year that I began to stop doing that.  It became easier for me to advocate for what would be best for #1 when I no longer had unrealistic expectations.  It was no longer sad.  It just was our life.

Third, we moved to a new community the following summer, just in time for a little maturity to kick in.  #1 was no longer misbehaving at school, and kids and faculty alike did not realize that it was a change.  Peers reacted to her much differently--better.  Teachers thought she was sweet.  And every resource teacher she's since had has quickly come to love her and want to look out for her almost as much as I do.  I stopped crying after IEP meetings.  I'd often come away with a smile on my face, feeling blessed to have such great, caring people to help my daughter get an education.  We'd still sometimes encounter problems, but they were workable.  We'd find solutions.

This morning's IEP was our first here in Idaho.  The only hesitation I had in moving up here was #1's schooling.  New resource teacher, new friends, big, crowded hallways.  I'd heard good things about the special ed programs, but I still did not know how it would compare until we were here.  Well, I am thrilled.  #1 is happy.  Her resource teacher is fabulous.  There is a much smoother transition here from middle school to high school, which will make next year easier.  Her IEP has reasonable goals and sufficient accommodations.  Things that need some tweaking are already being tweaked.  I walked out of our meeting toward my car with a stinging nose and watery eyes.  Not because I was sad but because I am blessed.  Any stresses that this move is causing are worth what we have here for my girl.

I used to think it would have been easier had #1 been born with a visible disability.  Something that we could see and accept and research and deal with.  Our experience has been a little less straight-forward.  But here we are, and I wouldn't change a thing.  We adore our "sunshine" just how she is.  She makes us better people.  We've had associations and made friendships and had opportunities to serve that we'd have never had without a special needs child.  And special needs or not, she is still simply our sweet baby girl.  With a perfectly beautiful face, big blue eyes, and ruby red lips.  

Happy birthday, baby girl.

Please Indulge Me for a Moment

Oh boy.  A couple of years ago, when I first began writing this blog, I participated in a "tag," noting that I'd not do it again.  But I think I am going to.  Maybe just this once more. 

Let me explain.  I don't really feel like what I do here is your typical blog sort of thing.  I don't post often.  I don't have broad readership, and that really doesn't bother me--very often.  But I have discovered the past couple of months the larger blogging community and I've been dipping my toes in it.  There are a few that I really enjoy, and many more that I find tedious with out personal knowledge of the author.

One of the more interesting authors, who is also my one and only "follower," has tagged me.  (Thanks, by the way, Brittany, though I'm not sure if it looks worse to have 1 lonely follower or none at all!)  Out of  a mixture of gratitude and slight curiosity about the results of this, I feel compelled to participate in this blogging ritual one more time.  If this doesn't interest you, please read my coat battle post below.

1. I have a tattoo of a bleeding heart flower above my left ankle.
2.  I have an unhealthy relationship with refined sugar, particularly as an ingredient in chocolate.
   
3. I wish I had minored in Humanities.
4. I love Jane Austen Novels.  Especially Pride and Prejudice, Emma, Sense and Sensibility and Persuasion.  There are really only a few more, but these are my favorite, and I am usually in the middle of reading one of them--even if I am also reading something else.  I wish Jane had written the scriptures, because then I'd have that commandment down pat.
   
5. When I was little, I wanted to be Jewish.  I loved the tradition, the symbolism, everything.  I felt Mormonism was lacking in those types of things.  I've since discovered that it's there in force, just not in daily and weekly worship.
   
6. My favorite number is 2.  (Not to be confused with "Number 2," which I do not like so much and have had issues with.)  It always has been.  I'm not sure why.
   
7. I think I'm relatively talented at a lot of things, but I lack the attention or discipline to really be GREAT at any of it.  This bugs me.  I wish I had that one "thing" that I did really well.  Then I could say in a tag, "I do (insert talent here)," and not feel a little like a fraud.
   
8. (because I just thought of one more) I'm pretty geeky.  I love Mythbusters, Deadliest Catch, and Numb3rs, scifi, crossword puzzles, and statistics.  This is not a great thing when you're in HS.  As an adult, it works pretty well.
   

Okay.  Here is the lame part.  Like I said, I've not been blogging, as in, with others, for long. Most of my readers don't blog.  Therefore, I don't have seven people to "tag."  A couple who I'd get have already been tagged.  Another has a closed blog.  So here's my proposal.  If you are interested in doing this, leave me a comment, and I can stick your link in this post after the fact.  

The other lame caveat is that if you blog on Blogger and I haven't been to your site, I have to wait to check you out until I can clear you with my filtered internet service, which usually takes about 24 hours.  Sorry.  Of course, others can still link to you through your comment.  I can't say I was thrilled when they blocked Blogger a couple of weeks back.

When hell, er, Boise, freezes over

The time is 6:53 am.  It is still dark.  The temperature outside is about 27 degrees Fahrenheit, which is exactly what it was at 6:10 when I first checked it.  A cold front is coming in, and we may even get snow flurries on Saturday.  

I've been asking my kids to dress warmer for a week or two, to which I've received replies of, "We're fine, Mom."  They probably were.  I am a cold person.  Even in the summer I get cold after I've eaten, or in an air conditioned store.  Or looking at a picture of frolicking penguins. 

Yesterday afternoon, #3 actually asked me to make her wear a coat in the morning, because they got cold walking to school.  Imagine.  Exercising AND cold.  Welcome to my life.  Anyhoo, I felt like the Negligent Mom of the Year because I had indeed quit pestering them about the jackets.  After checking out the front window for CPS, which I was sure her teacher had tipped-off, I dug out our outdoor thermometer from the boxes in the garage, and hung it on the back porch.  A mom armed with information is ... well, still going to face a fight from some.

So this morning, I gleaned my precious information, aroused the middle school set, and went about the task of digging those winter coats out of the boxes in my closet.  Each child's coat was updated with our current phone number and hung on the back of her, or his, dining chair.  

Number 2 was the first to see hers.  Amazingly, her coat had morphed into the spawn of Satan as it hung on her chair.  More amazingly, she was the only one who could detect this transformation.  Doing what any red-blooded American would upon seeing the spawn of Satan right there in her dining-room, she instantly tried to kill it with her laser-vision-evil-eye-glare.

My unfeeling response?  "You ARE wearing that to school today."  

"Wha-at?"  (as in, geesh, mom, what is your problem?)

"You are glaring at your coat like it's evil.  It's not even 30 degrees out there."  (See how helpful it is to have information?)

"I'm wearing a sweatshirt."

"And you have to stand at that bus stop for almost 10 minutes.  Do you not understand how cold it is?  30 degrees, as in, it would snow if it was raining.  Snow!  You are wearing that coat."

"oKAY." (as in, geesh, mom, what is your problem?)

Luckily #1 came down not to the spawn of Satan, only to a coat she did not want to wear to school.  And doing what any red-blooded teen-aged girl would do, she started complaining.  I'll spare you that conversation, which went remarkably like the conversation with #2, only at a higher decibel.

Mom did win this round, if you call producing two long, pouty faces winning.  As they were walking down the drive-way, #1 sulkily remarked to #2 that it was warmer today than yesterday.  "That's 'cause you're wearing your coats!," I yelled after them.  If they heard me, they didn't acknowledge the fact.  Of course, if they didn't hear me, I should get their hearing checked.  This afternoon.

Well, the sun is coming up, the temperature has dropped a few degrees, and I've just woken up the elementary school set.  I anticipate a better response.  Being warm is still cool in 1st and 3rd grade.

Thin Skinned

Am I mental?  No wait, I know the answer to that one.

But even so, what I do not know is why random people--strangers really--can get under my skin.  Why on earth would I give more than three seconds worrying about them.  But I do.

For instance, I just got a call on my cell.  "Hi, is this Jenny?"

"Um, no, it's not."

"Is this Sarah?"

"It's not, you have the wrong number."

At least 5 seconds passed here, and I started to wonder if she'd hung up when, "Okay, thank you for being so rude" sounded sarcastically through the other end of my phone.

I'd like to inform you (since you can't read tone) that I was in a pretty good mood at the moment I'd answered, and I thought I had a friendly, smiling sound to my voice as I answered this person.  I had no opportunity of inquiring what about my manner had been so rude.  Maybe that's best. 

I related all of this to #2 who laughed a little at the silliness and went right back to looking through the Pottery Barn Teen catalog.  I realized that in telling her I was searching for validation and comfort, which I was not given.  I should have been able to follow her example;  laugh and move on.  This was such a tiny thing.  And tiny things like this seem to happen to everyone now and then.  It wasn't really about me.  I should have been able to blow it off.  But that accusation continued to ring through my ears.  I wanted to defend myself as a generally un-rude person.  

So how do I do it?  How do I disconnect my self-image from the misunderstandings of people who hardly know me or don't know me at all?  Imagine how I fall apart when folks who DO know me disagree with me or the way I've handled something.  It can be days and weeks of internal turmoil.  I need a thicker skin.  Well, Christmas and my birthday are coming up, so if you needed any present ideas ...

Sweater Weather

Autumn is my favorite season.  By far.  It always has been.  Of course, I attribute this to having grown up in New England, where autumn presents itself like nowhere else on the planet.  When I went to university in Utah, I was slightly disappointed by the fall season.  But then I moved to Southern California, and realized that Utah, though no Vermont, wasn't half bad.

I love crisp, cool, Canadian air.  I love vibrant reds, yellows, and oranges in the trees and crunchy browns underfoot.  I love fresh apples and apple cider that looks like cloudy tawny potion, and not store-bought juice.  I love pumpkins for carving and baking and stacking whole for decoration.  I love Halloween and Thanksgiving and cold weather back to school clothes.  Most perfect days, in my opinion, occur during autumn.

Every year growing up we'd pick a Saturday in October and drive the Mohawk Trail in the Berkshires of Western Mass.  We'd stop off first at Atkins Farms, an apple orchard with a rather large market attached, pick up apples, the afore described cider, and mini red-wax covered round Vache-Qui-Rit cheeses.  Sometimes we'd pick up a pastry, my choice always being a cheese danish.  We'd munch these as we drove the mountain highway.

The foliage on the Mohawk Trail was always fabulous.  At least it was in my memory.  I'm sure some years were better than others.  Western Mass is brimming with big old trees--maples, oaks--and as they color they create a warm toned patchwork laid across the hills and valleys.  This patchwork is as warming to my heart and spirit as a quilt of cotton and wool is to my fingers and toes.

Seven years ago, Larry and I took the girls (and the boy in utero) to Massachusetts in October.  We spent a day in Boston at the Commons,  Fanuiel Hall, and the Children's Museum.  We spent an afternoon at Yankee Candle, which even then was on it's way to becoming Disneyland East.  We hung out with my dad and step-mom for a couple of days, and of course spent time with my mother and brother.  We even celebrated #1s 7th birthday.

But, for me, the best part of that trip was the 24 hours that Larry and I spent in Woodstock, Vermont.  The fall colors were not quite at their peak in Mass, and driving up Interstate 91 we could watch them become gradually more vivid.  We stayed in a quaint B&B and toured a dairy farm, tasting cheeses and maple syrups.  We drove over to the New Hampshire side of the Connecticut River, and crossed the longest covered bridge in New England.  We shopped at Basketville, a great huge store that sells just what you think.  It was a quintessential autumn vacation day.

While back east, I kept trying to convince Larry that living in Vermont or New Hampshire would be about the best thing we could do.  It has not been meant to be.  The west calls us.  I hear that this area has some pretty decent fall foliage.  We'll see.  I'm not holding my breath.  I do happen to know, however, that sugar maples will grow well here.  So you'd better believe we'll be buying some sugar maples when we landscape.  Then at very least I'll be able to grab a sweater and crunch around in my front yard.

Bragging Rights

This summer has seen a lot of big changes for our family, and so there has been a slight trend of these self-indulging sort of personal posts.  I promise that I don't want to make a habit of that.  But early this morning there was a ground-breaking ceremony for Larry's warehouse.  Forget the fact that they'll be ready to raise the walls later this week--this was a photo-op/news event sort of thing.  Several papers were there as well as one of the local news channels.  Biggest of all, and certainly attracting much of the media attention, was Governor Otter's attendance.  The House Majority Leader was also there along with several city officials.  So we brought the kids, and the camera.  Here are some shots:

Breaking Ground

Here are a couple of employees, some politicians, Larry,

and some of the builders.  

The Governor is the 5th from the left 

and Larry is on his right.

Governor Otter has a cowboy hard hat!

State House Majority Leader on the left

City Councilman on the right

Palmer "dug" next  

Larry's brother, Eric, is in the green

...and then it was our turn

Larry and Governor Otter

The Governor and The Fam

There you go.  I should maybe mention that the Governor lives in our town, and probably came to this on his way to work in the capitol.  At any rate, we're finding it is much easier to be a big shot in a small place like Boise than a big place like Southern California.  Not that being a big shot is our goal, of course.  But on days like today, it's exciting just the same.

Back to School Night

Parents will be familiar with the concept of "Back to School Night" where moms and dads go to meet their children's teachers.  At elementary schools this is often accomplished in an open house or multi-session format to accommodate parents with more than one kidlet attending.  In middle school, however, parents spend a couple of hours following the schedule of their child on an abbreviated clock, thereby hearing from each teacher.  Fortunately, although we have two kids at the school, we also have two involved parents.  Unfortunately, one of those parents is in California on business.

My #1 is mentally disabled, therefore I feel the need to be extra visibly concerned and involved in her schooling.  But #2 is a self-motivated learner, and if I don't make the effort to become informed, I get left out of the loop.  Being the fretter that I am, I spent several hours pouring over the two schedules in front of me, trying to meld them into one super-schedule which would give me optimal accounts of each girl's educational experience for the year.  I even emailed my oldest daughter's resource teacher for her advice on the matter.  The end result was a balanced product of four core classes of each daughter.  Not ideal, but under the circumstances, not half bad.

Unfortunately, it was a busy day.  Errands and an appointment in the morning, and a church activity, which I jointly lead, for the 8 & 9 year-old girls in the afternoon, finishing at 5:30.  Fortunately, I was prepared.  House was picked up, dinner was in the crock-pot.  Instructions for the evening were given to the older kids.  I arrived at the middle school at ten to seven.  

Unfortunately, nearly EVERY parking space was already taken.  Fortunately, after driving around the bus route to the rear of the school I found ONE spot on the curved driveway.  Unfortunately, I would have to parallel park, which I stink at.  Also unfortunately, this was one of several spots that a revolving sprinkler was hitting at regular intervals.

I pulled in.  I backed up to try to maneuver myself closer to the curb.  No change.  I am sure all of you good parkers are at this moment knowing exactly how I should have steered to get in closer.  Myself, after three backups and pull forwards, I decided to check the curb to see if I was close enough to call it a night.  Put it in park.  Opened the door.  Okay, not bad.  Grabbed my purse and class schedules.  Checked the sprinkler.  Enough time to run.  Locked the door.  Shut the door and ran for it. 

Unfortunately, over the noise of the sprinkler and the music playing (don't YOU function to constant background music in YOUR life?) I couldn't hear the engine running until I was to the back of the Suburban.  Engine running?  Seriously?  Unfortunately, yes.  Unfortunately, no AAA or "OnStar."  And there is no "fortunately" coming.  

Trying to fight off the panic that set in, I called Larry, who as you will recall is in California, to think for me.  I've never locked my keys in the car, let alone with it running.  He suggested I call his brother to look up the number of a towing service to come let me in.  My sister-in-law answered and kindly gave me several numbers to try.  Unfortunately, I had no pen in my purse, which I had noticed earlier in the week and had never remedied.  Fortunately, I had lipstick.  Try, however, writing legibly in lipstick.  Not as easy on a half sheet of paper as it is looks on a huge high school bathroom mirror.  Unfortunately, the first guy was an hour away.  Fortunately, the next guy was a little closer.  

So I waited.  I called my sister back to let her know I was okay.  I tried to call my husband back to let him know I was okay, but I got his voicemail.  I called my kids to check on them, because I felt like a dork just standing there.  All of that time and thought and energy and worry over which silly classes to attend.  All of that, just to stand there, missing them all, and wait.  Larry finally returned my call, and I cried.  I'd been holding it back, but when I heard his voice, that was it.  And the last thing I had wanted to do was cry.  

Fortunately, the guy had hurried as best he could and got there sooner than I'd feared.  He got me into my car quickly, wrote up a bill quite slowly, I paid and thanked him, and was off.  Unfortunately, I'd missed a full half of the night.  Fortunately, I was able to spend some one on one time talking about #1 with her resource teacher, with whom I was actually quite impressed.  In the end all was not wasted.  Fortunately, I feel pretty good about being back to school.

Have you ever seen this?

I was leaving the Albertson's parking lot yesterday after picking up instant tapioca, cooking wine, and ground turkey, when I was stopped by a strange sight.  It was a very pale yellowish, octagonal metal shape fixed to a post.  It reminded me of other similar shapes that frequently catch my attention, except that they are generally red and read "STOP" in white capitals.  

Okay, it was in fact a stop sign.  But I've never seen such a faded one.  I could hardly make out the ghost of the word.  This is a relatively new complex.  I mean, it's not like that sign has been in the sun for 50 years or even 15.  So what gives?  Cheap paint?  I know the government is frugal here.  And that's great.  I try to watch my expenditures too.  But when we go to paint the exterior of our house, I'm not going to use Deltacolor acrylics.

Already Idaho is switching to what Larry is calling "gift shop" license plates, where the numbers are not raised.  A few surrounding states are doing the same thing.  I feel like I'm driving a Barbie car.  I assume this is a money saver.  My brother-in-law has offered other possible motives for the switch such as ease in traffic photoraphy.  I guess.  But it also seems like they would be easier to falsely modify with some navy blue model enamel.  Twenty dollar bills have gone hi-tech while license plates and stop signs are going down the toilet.

What is the world coming to?

Speaking of which, did anyone else notice Bob Barker up there on the stage of the Price is ... er ... the RNC, kissing all of the Palin girls last night?  Or was that just me?  

Please spay and neuter your cats and dogs.  Good night, folks.

Phase 2

Well, my son is in first grade, and I feel I am now officially out of that baby/preschool phase and fully into the school-age kid stage of life.  And to that I say, "hurrah!"

I've loved my kids since the day each was born.   But I must say the older they've gotten, the more I enjoy them.  I prefer conversations and subtle humor and sarcastic remarks to Barney and sippy cups and toilet training.  I'd rather be busy carpooling than taking care of every physical need of another human being.  I have kids who can take their own showers, get their own snacks and do their own laundry.  And two of them even DO do their own laundry.  Life can slow down now.  We can hover here for a while and enjoy family life.

I generally hate he start of school.  I hate the routine and I like having my kids at home.  But with the crazy summer we've had, and the way my youngest two were bickering, I actually was relieved this year to get going.  

At the moment I feel like I now have all the time in the world I could possibly desire.  Two kids leave for the bus (buses in Idaho are free, unlike some mental states) at 7:05 am.  Two more kids leave to walk to school at 8:30.  The first two kids get home at 3:10.  The second set ideally arrives at 4:pm.  (Their first solo trip they were 30 minutes late, turning the corner on to our street just as I had started the engine of the Suburban to go look for them.) That's 6 hours and 40 minutes without any children.  And there is no dropping off or picking up.  I got the entire garage cleaned out yesterday.  But we do live in a new place, and responsibilities that are sure to come have yet to find us.  I am know that the nearly 7 hours will shrink quickly over the next few weeks.

In the meantime, I think I'll head out to prune the shrubs, then come in and shower, work on my talk for Sunday, and maybe head to Subway for lunch.  That sounds perfect.

Empty Nests

There are things in life that can take on opposite meanings depending on context.  An empty house is one of those things.

One of the traits that Larry really likes about me is one I share with his mother.  I am a "nester," he will say.  In other words, I like stuff around me.  Homey stuff.  Photos.  Candles.  Paintings.  Flowers.  Curtains and drapes.  Anything that softens the edges of a house and makes it feel like a home.  Not only do I like to have this in place, I get it there quickly upon moving somewhere new.  In my mind it is part of unpacking, which is also something that I do quickly.

There are times when an empty house is a blank canvas for my nesting artistry.  Those are exciting moments.  Hope is thick in the air, waiting to be cut into slabs of celebration and tradition and be served up to our family on the plates of our existences.

When we were packing a couple of weeks ago, I wondered if our dog noticed.  If she did, she took it in stride.  Lucy is a Golden, after all, and I should have expected nothing less.  She was even there as the movers were emptying our home, box by box and finally room by room.  And still, she was unfazed.  At 10:30 pm we were ready to leave.   I took Lucy out to her dog run to go potty before we headed down the hill to my in-laws' house.  On the way back in, she noticed that her dog house was missing.  She then began to panic, running in the house and then around in circles, barking and growling as if an intruding person or object had been brought in without an introduction.  We got her settled before walking out to our car on the dark street, which she gratefully jumped into and sat down for a trip.

My experience was not unlike Lucy's.  I was so stressed to get us packed on time that I hardly acknowledged that we were moving away.  Saying goodbye to friends was difficult, but even so, we'd return home and I'd continue my preparations.  On moving day movers kept telling me to sit back and relax, but that was clearly impossible.  Once they were gone, Larry and I finally took a last look in each room--each beautiful empty room which contained somehow some piece of me still.  Some mural or fixture selection.  Baseboards.  New carpet and a new kitchen I'd designed.  

Moving through this empty house was not easy.  The air was now thick with emotion and memory.  Four years of birthdays, two baptisms, two first days of kindergarten, holidays, soccer seasons, family home evenings, dinners, illness, swimming, bike-riding.  I sobbed taking it all in.  And then I sobbed more while Larry held me.  I'd have run around in circles barking, had it seemed helpful.  But rather, I made myself say goodbye and drive away.

Much like childbirth, I'll quickly forget the pain of the empty house and will be left with good memories of all that passed in our mountain home.  It was a special place for our family.  We will always look back fondly on our time there.  Yet as we prepared to drive off from my in-laws' to Idaho the next morning, Larry's mother looked at him and pointed to our kids in the Suburban.  She said, "Everything important in this life is right there in that car."  She was right.  It may be sad to leave a place, but when you get to all leave together, little else really matters.