Reflecting on Mother's Day

As I sit here the day after my second Mother’s day away from my exhusband, I realize that my life is so much better off.
I have good friends that care about me as a person. My kids are well adjusted and love me unconditionally. My family is on my side, and tries to help in every way they can.
I spent my Mother’s Day with my kids, Grandma Betty, Aunt Casey, Mom & Dad, and my sister and her husband. There was no drinking, there was no fighting and there was no smoking. There was no animosity, and there was no fear of judgement. I forgot how lovely that free feeling was.
I dropped my kids of at my ex’s house after Grandma and Aunt Casey got on a plane. I thought that they should have some time with his Mom. When I dropped them off, I saw her in all her leathery drunken glory. I don’t miss that. I don’t miss the constant judgement. I don’t miss the drinking all day. I don’t miss the questionable morals by the random family and ‘friends’ that came by. I don’t.
My parents got me a card with a vocal message that made me want to cry. I love my parents and all that they’ve done for me. I want to be a good mom for my kids. I think that I am. They’re mostly well behaved (they save the Gremlin parts for me…).
My roommate got me a sweet pep talk card and my sister gave me a purse that I love. It’s got the right size handles. Can’t misjudge the importance of those handles.
I called my Grandma Eunice and talked to her for a while. She’s doing good, lonely I think—but good overall.
I guess I’m just extremely happy to be out of such a negative situation. Despite any strife or trouble I have now, my wellbeing is much higher. My happiness doesn’t dissapate as quickly. My head isn’t continually twisted into knots and discouraged thought processes.
It’s hard now, I’ve got to work full time. I’ve had to learn how to keep house in a way that demands responsibility proven by me. I did it though. My kids are happy and carefree. Ok, not totally carefree. William still thinks that he’s batman…but I think that’s ok.

Continuation of Mount Lemmon

Social Disgust.
When we were hiking on Mount Lemmon, we stopped at a stream. Ryan asked if I thought he could drink from it. I said yes. Then almost immediately I became concerned that the stream could be filled with a chemical from a bio terrorist, or bear poop, or mabey contaminants leaching from the ground that has been so polluted throughout the years.
Or that it just wouldn’t be good for us to drink. Unhealthy. Can you imagine? It’s as if my brain was so warped that I had been trained to think that man came up with water…and somehow Earth hadn’t gotten it right yet. Like the U.S. Government and atomic bombs, versus—new zealand and atomic bombs.
I don’t know. In the end: the dogs survived, my feet remained unwebbed after being submerged, and Ryan didn’t die from the quick drink he took while waiting for my answer…
Go Earth.

Mount Lemmon

Ryan and I decided to go to Mount Lemmon on a whim. By whim, I mean 4am--"Hey Karla, let's go to Mount Lemmon". I say, "ok". By 6am we're out the door with the dogs and all the stuff we need (which is ironic, since we didn't have a knife....) into the back of the newly lifted pickup.

Ryan grew up in San Manuel, so he has the type of knowledge about back roads in that area, as I do on the 'Mountain'. He drove up the back road. It was dirty, curvy fun. We got to the top and decided that I wanted to see the 'town' at the end of the road. Not much there really. A store that sells only cookies...I would have thought that if you were an entrepreneur, and felt like the location location location for your dream business was at the top of a mountain, you might sell something people NEED. But whatever right, I cant sell boats to drowning people. Anyhow. We found a hike that sounded good. It was called the "Butterfly Hike". I'm thinking, great, butterflys. Jillian will be so happy. I WAS WRONG. Not only did I not see 1 stinking butterfly, I didn't see anything pretty. 10:30a.m.---I ended up doing this strange lurching, jerking, quasi-bouncy, slide-ey, longest fall down the hill. While being pulled by a 120 pound Malamute. He had no idea I was there, but I was. Following his farty ass down a hill. Straight down. For about 1.9 miles. 1.9 miles down the hill, into the burned out valley. There was a cryptic sign, it said: 3.9 miles ---> to insert vague trail name or 4.6 miles <----- to repeat. When I said that Ryan had knowledge of the area, I meant general--. He hadn't been to the exact area in over 20 years. (Did I mention that I was wearing amphibious Teva sandals?) Ryan : "Karla, I believe a hike should go somewhere." Karla: "I agree, where should we go now?" Ryan: "That way, towards the towers."
Karla: "Ok, my feet hurt."

And off we went. The dogs were wearing their packs with 4 liters of water each. I had the foresight (thanks for the training mom) to grab two granola bars and some fruit leather. I cannot measure how far uphill we hiked. Much more than the beginning downhill, that's for sure.

We got to a couple cool looking places, there was a HUGE rock...

There was an awesome view looking out over the valley....

I finally got a picture of me with the dogs, so that it doesn't seem like I'm stalking them. It's easier to prove that I do know them now.

We hiked up and up and over and around. In several meanings. It felt like we were literally only going up. Each time we turned and curved out from going towards the towers--I got discouraged. Not only did we not know where we were actually going, but we did not know how the trail was supposed to lead us there. Then next really neat area we ended up at was a waterfall. Which was WELCOME since I NEEDED to put my feet in the water. They were on fire.

The waterfall was a nice reprieve, the dogs enjoyed it--I fell on my padded behind only one time, albeit a rough fall straight onto boulders covered in primordial ooze--slime.

We hiked up and down, cursed the skies and the blazers of such a crappy trail. When we finally got to somewhere that people had seen before, we realized that the 'trail' had dumped us out on the road, about 3 miles from the truck. So my dusty, grimy, disgusting body had to hitch-hike until someone would pick me up and take me to the truck. (5:30p.m.) The dogs were done, Ryan had blown out his knee again, and I as the woman was the most likely to get a ride. So I walked, I walked and hung my arm out the way I've seen in movies. I watched so many rich turds speed by, I made eye contact pleadingly with so many travelers. Finally, after 2.5 miles, a little red rental car stopped.
A very nice man from Wyoming stopped and was astonished that nobody would give me a ride. He asked if I was with "that guy with the dogs". I said yes, and that I had been sent on a mission from god (minus the dry white toast). I clearly wasn't hiding any weapons, I was at the point of exhaustion--therefore not much of a physical threat. He was so nice, I offered him beer in lieu of cash, he said "thank you, but you don't owe me anything". I wished him a happy visit.
I got back to Ryan and the dogs and we set out to find a campsite. How naive we are. We were looking for a campground in the spring, on a Saturday night? They were all taken. We found a clearing that could once upon a time have been called a road. Ryan in his "badass truck" decided we should try it out. We did, we found a site and (remember how we didn't have a knife?) there was a hatchet laying aside the stump. I prayed that the hatchet hadn't been used to murder anyone, and went to work to get some wood. Ryan got the dogs set up and we made fire. Haha.
This was Oberon's first camping trip. He was a trooper, he made it and was sore but happy at the end.

This was also the first trip in the dirt for Truck.
Truck had gotten a lift the day before, and was
rearing to go.

So, after a while of no sleep
in a cold hard truck bed. I moved into the front of the truck. Where I continued to not sleep.

At 8a.m. down the mountain we went. We stopped at a couple campgrounds to see the sites, we stopped to see the Vistas---- and we stopped for about 250 crazy cyclists riding their road bikes up, that's right UP the mountain. I presume that was so there was the down part afterwards, but I think that if I wanted the down part, I'd have someone drive me for the UP part.




Anyway, once in Tucson, we visited Ryan's stepdads grave where we told the dogs to be respectful...





We went to Eegees, since there is no reason to be in Tucson without Eegees. Then we went home and went back to the dirty, dusty, poinkey, scratchy, dark, dank, depressing, pressed for time--real world. Where we couldn't move for 3 days. 11 miles without any preparation is tough.


It was the perfect escape.

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