Marketplace: right time, wrong place

February 20, 2026February 28, 2026 Amber WalchLeave a comment

Well, where do I begin on such an embarrassing anecdote?

From the beginning. Last summer, I was perusing the Marketplace for a bike for my daughter. Hers wasn’t cutting it anymore, and she looked like a bear on a tricycle, and that needed to change. Coming up, one bicycle, but I have standards. It needed to be able to change gears, be at least a 24″ tire, and be in good to great condition. Because I’m not doing this again, nor am I buying a brand new bike for you to ride sporadically, even though you tell me you will ride it ALL THE TIME.

I locked eyes-to-tires on a beaut. It met all my criteria and was pretty too. Now I have to pick it up. It isn’t far away, just into town a couple of miles. The plan, per discussion with the seller, is to pick up the bike and deposit the $15 in the mailbox. No muss, no fuss.

I asked my husband to come along to get it, and that wasn’t going to happen, so I asked my 16-year-old to come with me. She’s always up for an adventure, so we load up. We find the place easy enough, and I can see my new purchase parked right there underneath a tree just waiting for me. You cannot and should not purchase a bike without taking it for a spin. So I did. My daughter caught it on vid. The bike rode great, but the brakes were a little tight. Either way, good to go! We loaded it up, the money was put in the mailbox, and away we went.

See for yourself.

The next day, I get a message from the seller asking when I’m planning on picking up the bike. WAIT, WHAT?! I already picked up the bike! What is she talking about? But she couldn’t be wrong because she is the seller and obviously can see the bike is still at her own dang house. I might have just stolen someone’s bike. Ermergerd. I’m at work during this exchange, and my co-workers are finding this hilarious. Me? My stomach hit my butt, and I was racking my brain on how I was going to remedy this eff-up. Could I just go and deposit the stolen bike back under the tree? Were the police already called? Would my husband come with me this time? I can’t even believe this. I’m wrecked. There goes my pristine record. There goes my nursing degree and my livelihood. It’s all gonna be gone.

Okay, a little dramatic, but now you may understand how I felt in that moment. A grievous misconduct – nevermind, that’s for work-related issues. But something like that! I have never stolen something so large before and in broad daylight! (Disclaimer: as a teenager, I may have taken things that weren’t mine. Shame on me, I know.) What am I going to do!?

Let’s get to the meat of the story. I can’t remember who I told from my family, but they had a big mouth, and when I got home from work that day, my son ran out of the house and yelled, “You stole a bike, Mom?” Well, yes, yes, I did, but not intentionally, and now I have to make it right. It’s pouring rain, by the way, but I can’t wait to remedy this unfortunate mistake. I have to go now – raining cats and dogs or not- time’s a tickin’. My husband refuses to go with me- he doesn’t want to be caught up in the judicial system, but my daughter agrees to go. Honestly, she is just looking for the adrenaline high, I bet, but whatever. I guess I have a friend in all this.

The bike gets loaded (again), and we hit the wet road. The windshield wipers are on high, matching my heartbeat, and the rain is sluicing away like my future. What an idiot I am. What a gosh-darn idiot. And to be honest, how did this all happen? I confirmed the address, and I had a picture of the bike! One really needs to just literally put 2 and 2 together. Clearly, I did not confirm the address nor compare the picture of the bike to the real deal parked so lovingly in the front yard.

We arrive, and before returning the bike to its rightful owners, I feel I need to fess up. So up to the door I go. There is a sign on the door that reminds knockers that a camera is in use. Great, so they saw me steal the bike in the first place. I knock and wait, go back to the car, write a note to stick in the door, and wait; knock again and ring the doorbell, and nothing. So I heave the bike out of the car in the pouring rain, roll it to its rightful place beneath the tree, tuck the note in the screen door, and bust ass outta there. I deserve to be soaking wet right now; it’s my punishment.

The Note

I’m returning the bike I thought I was buying off of Marketplace yesterday!

I went to the wrong house! Sincerely sorry and embarrassed. Keep the $15 for any inconveniences.

Amber

Back in the car, we drive literally 2 blocks, and there it is. The correct bike – parked neatly in the driveway where even someone with 0/0 vision could see it. The owner was making this easy for me. Thank the heavens. It matches the pictures, and the address is correct. I load a bike for the third time and nearly drive away without paying. Good god, this has been a disaster from the start. My daughter cannot even believe what an idiot I am, and frankly, neither can I.

Finally, it is over, and the good news of the debacle is that my daughter loves her bike! I paid double for it, but it was worth it (right?).

Or so I thought. The next day, my co-worker damn near runs to me with a shit-eating grin on her face to show me a post. I read it. OMG. It’s public! This isn’t looking good. I hadn’t heard from the cops nor seen an APB out for me, so perhaps Facebook was as far as the victim was going to take it. One can only hope, ammiright? I had already scanned fb posts and hadn’t seen any reports or requests about a stolen bike, so this was a little unnerving. Turns out, one sister works with the thief, and the other sister works with the victim. Small world.

But life sometimes throws a curveball that brings delight. This is one of those times. The post included a lot of laughing emojis (good sign) but spelled out the bike heist they never saw coming before, during, or after. How did the sister even know about the stolen bike, you may ask? Solid question. Someone had a big mouth and was gossiping with family members, clearly, so she recognized the story being told. Classic.

The victim found the bike heist hilarious, thank the Lord, and not one soul had noticed that said bike was missing. That answers why there was no police report. She wrote on Facebook that it was the funniest shit ever, and even wanted to find me to give me the money back. No, thank you. Meeting in person would be more than mortifying, and there is only so much small talk before it gets weird(er).

The perp and the victim did chat on Messenger, and had a good laugh about it. Apparently, I picked the best person to steal from (and return to). I still can’t believe I just sauntered right up, took the bike, rode it, rated it, and left the money.

Idiot.

Family

Pack it up, Pack it in

Featured Amber Walch1 Comment

Well, as promised, here is my follow up since the APB (All Points Bulletin) was cancelled. Thank you, btw.

We arrived unscathed across the Florida line after a two-and-a-half-day road trip, going as far East as Gatlinburg, Tennessee, and as far south as Orlando, Florida, which was our destination and home for one week.

The road trip was both eventful and uneventful. Let me explain. We had no major mechanical issues with the rented minivan – no flat tires, or worse, blown tires; no accidental door dings or car crashes; no engine overheating or tranny giving up. Minor issue – the oil change message showed up on day one informing us that the oil needed to be changed. Ummm, forget something rental company?? The message remained even after the pit stop at Valvoline. No one could figure out how to reset the dang thing. So, yes, annoying, but pretty uneventful in the grand scheme of things.

SIDE NOTE: WE DID NOT RENT A TRANSIT VAN. We determined, pert near last minute, that we would save nearly $1000 if we compromised on a mini-van. So that is what we did. We did not need the faux body bag for luggage either. We fit all six family members, six suitcases, a laundry basket with food, seven backpacks housing things to do and sets of clothing (so we wouldn’t have to unpack the whole van to get out the suitcases during our first two nights), three pillows, five blankets, a small cooler, and a partridge in a pear tree.

At any given time while driving, my husband and I would hear, “How long until we are there?”, “Are we in Florida yet?”, “Why are we traveling East?”. Ugh. And to explain over and over again that we were road-tripping and that part of this vacation was seeing what we could see on our way to Florida. Tough stuff to understand apparently.

Now for the eventful portion… we drove through many cities with the 80s and 90s country XM station soundtracking our movements (I totally impressed my husband with my country singer knowledge, guessing the correct artist nearly every time) with our first “road-trip” stop at a giant fireworks store in Missouri which has two giant Transformers outside of the store with thirteen more inside. The kids and I ran around the store snapping shots with them all while my husband talked shop with the owner.

Up next, Paducah, Kentucky for some shut-eye. This was our first night after a 10-hour drive plus pit stops. The next morning, we crossed into Metropolis, Illinois over a fog-covered bridge to see the giant Superman and what the townspeople made of their own little Metropolis. It was pretty impressive. They have a store on the main street filled with Superman paraphernalia including Superman Museum, which we didn’t buy into. Shirts, capes, bobbleheads, stickers, and so much more. I bought a sticker for my water bottle that replicated the 1st picture below but without my kids’ mugs. My oldest daughter came across a phone booth and was mystified, we took bites out of giant burgers, and kissed superman. It was worth the stop.

After our Paducah/Metropolis stop we headed even further east to Tennessee and the land of Dolly Parton. We rolled into Gatlinburg around 5:30 p.m. and went to Ober Mountain. It’s a huge facility for alpine sliding, skiing, snow tubing, rock wall climbing, ice skating, a tram and so much more. The tram, the main reason for the visit, was delayed and a giant line clued us in that we wouldn’t be partaking in that! We only had two hours to experience all they had. We chose wisely with alpine sliding for everyone but my husband who instead rode the ski lift to the top for pictures and saw a bear, rock wall climbing, and ice skating for the little kids, which they had never done before (and we live in Minnesota! Shame on us). The big kids and adults were more on the “sit and wait” bench and overall, it was worth the stop.

From there we wanted to keep driving south, get a few more night hours in before we called it a day. One option was to go through the Great Smoky Mountains, but after speaking with a couple of Ober Mountain employees, it was deemed too dangerous to go through those mountains at night. There had been a dip in temps the night before and most of the roads near the top would have been frost-covered or worse, spotty with black ice. Imagine THAT in a minivan. We rerouted a different, safer way and stayed the night in, well, I can’t remember, but I drove as we left Ober mountain, down tight turns into the night towards a faraway hotel.

Leaving our hotel the next morning we traveled south again. Today we would arrive in Florida. As the kids said, FINALLY!

We had two full days at Cocoa Beach where the waves chewed us up and spit us out, but we had so much fun regardless. The kids learned to boogie board, one attempted to run into the waves holding the board parallel with her body and was slammed back, and our oldest learned to skimboard as well. The sun was hot and so was the sand. Not everyone ended up looking like a lobster which was a success in my book. Okay, it was me. I didn’t look like a lobster; everyone else was rather red and needed aloe.

We also hit up SeaWorld which had awesome rides, sea turtles, alligators, manatees..well, anything seaworthy I guess. Did you know there is a Sesame Street Land there!? By far my favorite! Big Bird’s Nest, Hooper’s Store! Ermergerd. My oldest daughter absolutely loves sea turtles and she was able to see some rescued turtles as well as a sea turtle in the wild while fishing.

An embarrassing moment here… For our second park, we chose Busch Gardens and drove an hour there to find out they closed at 6 p.m. because of their Howl-O-Scream. My response was a one-word response…use your imagination. We had 45 minutes to go on rides and enjoyed each one immensely. It was such a disappointment that we had such a short time there. I think it would have been a super cool evening park to be at. Maybe next time.

In consolation for my big screw-up, we went to Andretti’s Indoor Karting. We drove go-carts at 40mph (just the older kids and adults) while the littles had their own race at a lower speed. We had a package deal that included VR as well; super fun playing Dreamscapes with the little kids, while the older two played a zombie game. We all played a game where you sit in a theater with 7D glasses on shooting clowns – my husband wasn’t impressed and the glasses were small for our heads. Lastly, we played laser tag and my oldest son crowed about his victory and my youngest son blamed his loss on the gun not working. Typical.

In between all of the above excitement, there was pool time at our resort, excursions to find a Barnes & Noble and Sephora for the two oldest, Gator Golfing (pics below…I got third, which thinking about this now is also what I got racing), relaxation in our condo, Bananagrams (super fun for all ages and not without the younger two getting upset when they lost), smoothies and ice cream, and off-shore fishing (pics below as well) and many, many laughs.

There are so many more pictures but I’ll spare ya. Your retinas are probably bleeding by now anyway.

You may be asking how the heck we could afford a Florida vacation for six. Groupon is a key component to saving money. I bought a two-park ticket/person and saved 50%; the parks we got to choose from were Aquatica, SeaWorld, Busch Gardens, and Adventure Island. The Andretti Indoor Karting was another Groupon find along with Gator Golf and all the experiences were worth the money and the discount! This is not a plug for Groupon although Groupon, if you read this, you now know my contact information. Hook me up.

We also packed lunches for those days we were out on an adventure – beach days, theme park days, and we set off from home with an exceptionally large quantity of snacks and drinks. Every cent we saved made a difference.

We left Florida on Wednesday at 10:00 a.m. and reached home on Thursday at 10:30 a.m. My husband and I drove straight through with stops for gas, bathroom breaks, snacks, coffee, and a light nap. We became delusional and had a blast doing that together. Safety came first, of course. Always a co-pilot keeping watch, music surfing, and keeping conversations going.

To do my crucial job of co-pilot, I drank two Starbucks double-shot coffees with a triple-shot mixed in between those two. I felt sick afterward, but it was a source of laughter for us. We slept hard when we got home and were delighted to be in our comfort zone. The scenery was great in Florida, but until we got home, we hadn’t realized how much we love our trees and brown crops here. We missed it and have decided the next time we go on vacation it isn’t going to be in Florida.

The tap water was fishy-tasting anyway.

Family · This and That

Meatloaf struck again

Featured Amber WalchLeave a comment

A while back I posted about an upcoming trip to Superior Wisconsin; a birthday jaunt where my twin sister and I were going to celebrate another year alive and well. The apogee (such a fun word meaning climax, peak, or the highest point – add it to your vocab and enjoy) would be reliving our 8th-grade versions of rollerskating at a legit rink (not my particle-board barn floor) called World of Wheels. Well, we did it.

We planned our birthday trip around Friday night adult skating. We figured that was the safest time for us to lace up 5-pound skates and wobble around the rink; no kids to run over or into. We were right.

What we, umm I, was wrong about was building up my confidence.

The DJ/semi-professional skater had a sign-up sheet for song requests. Meatloaf signed up and within the hour his vampire video and song were played. I skated and sang while my sister, who was on a break, watched, laughed, and inwardly (and outwardly) cringed at my antics.

At about the fifteenth or sixteenth time around, I had made the adjustments like a pro. My legs were slightly bent to make for better skating and my left foot took the lead on turns while my right foot completed slight wiggles to assist. My confidence was soaring, my hair was flowing breezily behind me, and my eyes weren’t trained on my skates. I was feeling so alive! So 8th-grader-like!

If our DJ had actual records, this next moment would have been a giant screech of music coming to a halt. Much like my body did. Hard impact.

No one can say for sure if my skates were faulty or if my wheels collided or if I was pushed. Well, we can actually eliminate being pushed, can’t we. That seems far-fetched at a skating rink.

What we know for certain is the sound my body made when it hit the floor, the position my body was in for a good twenty seconds before I “popped” up, and the amount of laughter that ensued after I went down. Besides my sister, one person asked if I was okay. As soon as Alicia said, “yes, she’s fine”, he burst into laughter. And it was funny; I was laughing, partly because falling is always funny, but more because I was so embarrassed. My god, roll me off the floor into a corner, please!

Instead, I drug myself up and off the rink, found a bench away from prying eyes, and nursed my wounds.

Bruise on my left knee, bruise and a giant skin burn on my right knee, and let’s not forget, a bruised ego. One giant bruise, COMING THROUGH PEOPLE!

We sat for a good ten minutes, laughing and reliving the “Fall heard and seen by all” and then resumed skating like nothing had happened. I mean, come on, Meatloaf would have gotten back on the horse in the name of love.

I don’t have any pictures of my wounds, but I do have one that encompasses how awesome this place was. The only video I shot was after my crash to the floor, and it was of Alicia, unscathed and upright. Not worth adding to the post – she would vote “nay” on that addition.

Once you get my past my face – take your time -you’ll see the great art in the background.

It definitely was a memorable event for our yearly trip. No guarantees we will carve out time for this on our next birthday party, but who knows? I’ve got skates here and time to practice my skills.

I still have one question though. What the hell wouldn’t Meatloaf do for love?

Family

What Moms say during hiking.

Featured Amber WalchLeave a comment

I took the kids hiking the other day to Whitewater State Park. After we had gone up 300 stairs and walked 500 miles, I noticed that I was yelling warnings pert-near the whole time, instead of enjoying the views of the great, glorious nature that God has given us.

While I was shouting out ominous opportunities for children, I thought to myself, “Let’s record this.” So I did. And it took several takes and we never got it right. But here they are, and remember, they weren’t born actors. They had to work at this…really hard.

Hey, be careful climbing trees!

Hey, careful for roots!

Hey, don’t touch the mushrooms! They might kill you!

Hey, don’t get too close to the edge!

Hey, watch out for loose rocks!

I’d love to say that no children were hurt in the process, but I’d be lying. My son injured his finger faux-falling out of a tree. He’s fine. My daughter, in one of the videos above, faked a fall but ended up hurt and scuffed her arm while her brother was “saving” her life from a long tumble. She’s fine too. Resiliency is a fine thing in children. Laughing about it helps (yes, I did check to make sure nothing was broken–No, I did not have a first aid kit…They’re fiiine).

As you could see from this high-tech videographing, we had fun, we didn’t spend close to enough time rehearsing, and we didn’t spend any money on props. Low-budget filming at its finest.

I’m afraid to take them back hiking again. I’m scared it’ll be another version of cautionary tales and too much idle time standing around waiting for them to learn their lines. And even more time yelling Take 2 or was it 3?! If we do this again, I’m afraid they’ll want perfection, and well, that’s simply not me. And frankly, perfection is not them either.

They are messy, and not the best listeners, squabblers among siblings, and terrible child actors. But I love them, and they’re mine. And dammit, I’ll probably take them hiking again.

So if you are ever at Whitewater State Park and hear some shrill voice shouting “Take 12!”, that’s me. And you’ll find my kids hanging off branches that don’t break (so no lesson there) or tripping over roots (even though they were warned) or, worse yet, getting too close to the edge of a cliff (Don’t grab my hand! I said my forearm! It’s a better grip!). Feel free to join us and bring some reinforcements. Apparently, child actors need “breaks”.

Family

In case you weren’t aware…

Featured Amber WalchLeave a comment

Black and white stick-on tattoos are only cool when they aren’t on your child’s neck.

In our case, my son was given a stack of fake tattoos and found the best one to portray him as a 10-year-old felon. He made sure no piece of that tattoo was left on the paper. He probably had a soaking wet washcloth plastered on that thing for a good 60 seconds before he peeled it off, leaving a perfectly tatted neck. This thing was placed with skilled precision. On the side of his neck. On his birthday. Right in time for pictures with his cake. All that was missing was a teardrop tattoo.

First picture. Go ahead, zoom in. Take a closer look. It’s worth it.

And here’s the picture once I realized what we were dealing with. Just a smidgeon of his past peeking out from behind his carefully placed hand.

But, my god, even as a birthday felon, he sure is cute.

I found him, not long after snapping those pictures, in the lavatory with yet another sopping rag scrubbing his skin red trying to get it off. Per dad’s request.

I don’t know what his wish was when he blew out his candle, but I was wishing hard that his future was not going to be one behind bars. Only toddlers look good in stripes and cheap flip-flops.

Happy Birthday our little faux-felon. Enjoy double-digits.

Family

Pedal Pull 3.0

Featured Amber WalchLeave a comment

At our local town’s festival, along with other towns, suburbs, and cities across America, there is an event for children of nearly all ages. Starting at four years old, and up to the ripe age of eleven, children can engage their vastly different-sized legs to travel the longest distance while pedaling a mini-tractor pulling a weighted trailer.

A weekend or two ago, my daughter signed up (well, I printed her name and inked my John Hancock) to pursue her week-long dream of garnering her third 1st place trophy for the Pedal Pull. She had been successful at ages 5 and 6 and was betting she could pull off another win. She had just finished walking the parade route for her softball team, which we all considered a great warm-up, and was sitting on the sidelines (err, sidewalk) waiting her turn.

They called her name after the 4, 5, and 6-year-olds were finished, and she walked towards the tractor with a smile a mile wide and dimples on her cheeks. Her entire family (cousins, aunts, uncles, siblings, parents, and grandparents) were rooting for her. She hopped on that tractor and pedaled her little heart out. Just when we thought she had nothing left in those legs, she pushed those pedals around one more time for a total length of 24 feet and 9 inches!

We cheered, and she walked away from the announcer and tractor knowing she had done her best.

When all the seven-year-olds had completed their turns, the top three were announced. Third place…who cares, Second place…not our kid, and First Place…Three-time champion Fiona!

Up she strolled, to the tractor placed at a perfect angle for picture taking. She whipped her leg over the seat, sat proudly, and smiled with glee for pictures. Atta girl. Making your dreams come true.

Her aunt and uncle offered to host her for the upcoming State Pedal Pull Championship during the Minnesota State Fair, but she’s young, and competition may be stiff, so we will wait until she has more trophies under her belt before we send her north.

Who knows? Maybe she will be pedaled out at the tender age of eight.

In the meantime…she’s busy admiring her trophies and dreaming of next year.

Family · This and That

A water hose

Featured Amber WalchLeave a comment

Yesterday I spruced up a wicker rocker. It had been painted black a summer or two ago, been sat in and rocked a million times, was stored in the barn during winter, and now looked disheveled and half dead.

It needed a fresh paint job, but first, it needed a bath to get off the dirt, cat puke, and cobwebs.

The hose was handy, so I turned it on full blast and situated the chair a good 15 feet from the porch. The hose is one of those space saver kinds that shrinks when it is empty and expands when the water is on, which still doesn’t give you a strong blast and top speed, but we only needed to have some force to clean off the chair so it was going to have to do. I get busy and what do you know? Here comes a child. Apparently, a child cannot resist the sound of water coming out of a hose. She probably heard the squeak of the water spigot being turned on. “Can I do it?”

Ugh, there goes the job! The 10 minutes I’d take will now be at least 20 minutes, and someone will get wet. No doubt about that.

I let her, because A) she was helping! and if I turned her away, another offer from her would be slim to none, and 2) I knew she would have fun.

So I turn the hose over to her, she focuses on the chair, and is getting it relatively clean. Impressive. I see her focus the stream on the seat of the rocker and yell, “You’re taking the paint off!”. She stops and turns around and says, “There is cat puke there!”. “Oh,” I say. Thwarted. And then I felt like Wayne and Garth and said, with Garth’s twisted mouth, “Spray on”.

Once she was done cleaning the chair and it was sitting in the sunlight to dry, she morphed into a kid again. She checked to see how far the water could go if she had her thumb covering half the opening (pretty far!), she checked to see if the dog was waterproof (he is not), and she checked to see if she could see a rainbow in the mist (she could).

I finally had to huff and trudge to the spigot and end her fun. My god, how had I gotten so damn wet!? The water petered out and so did her smile. It was over. I had a clean chair, she had her fun and we all know that will NOT be the last time she gets her hands on the hose.

I’m a strong believer in water being really fun, especially from a hose, ONLY if you are the person holding that hose. The power you have! Don’t want to get wet? Let me see how close I can get the spray to you. There is a bike sitting close by? Let me wash the whole thing because I saw a speck on the seat. Don’t mind the giant splatter coming back at you or others!

She’s a kid, I get it! Eventually, I’ll learn to hand the hose over and get the hell out of dodge. And throw a towel out for her when she is done. And thank the good Lord we don’t have city water, AKA a giant bill. But when the well runs dry…nah, I won’t let it get that far, but in the meantime, spray on, little girl, spray on.

As soon as the chair was dry, I got out the spray cans and got to work painting the chair black (again) and finishing it with a clear coat. Every shake of the can, with that dang ball clicking and clacking in there, was an announcement to her, and I was hoping the tv volume was up too high for her to hear it. The hose is one thing, but spray paint? Ab-so-lute-ly not. I’m kind, not dumb.

I got through the task of spray painting the chair with no helpers, and while I’m writing this, I’m rocking in that chair, and each creak I hear is a reminder of the help she offered, the fun she had, and the relief I felt when I finished the project…solo.

She’s sleeping now, early-ish still, but when she wakes, she will notice there is a pile of dirt and wood forms ready for cement. She will get excited at the prospect of another project and will want to help. This time, I’m not in charge, but I’ll have to tell her to take it easy on the crew. This’ll be fun to watch.

Family

Cue Willie…

Featured Amber WalchLeave a comment

On the Road Again, by Willie Nelson. Fits perfectly for the words you’ll read. My favorite parts are the clapping in the full version. I daydream that perhaps it’s not my two hands coming together, but my hand meeting a kids head. This may be used for dire situations, nothing less. (I’m kidding! Don’t sic CPS on me for Pete’s sake!)

In 2020, before Covid hit, we decided our kids’ Christmas gifts were going to be a trip to Florida. This was a big deal for them, as it should be. A) I don’t know about your state, but money in Minnesota doesn’t grow on trees, and 2) our yearly family trip prior to that was a long weekend away to Wisconsin Dells which is only 2.5 hours and one state away from home. This was going to be a road trip through many states and a week at the beach.

We love to see the positive when planning a trip, don’t we? Why in the heck do we block out the negative possibilities? We know that at least a small percentage of the undelightful crap we conjure up WILL happen.

For example, My husband and I, when deciding to rent a van instead of flying, only thought of how great it was going to be to spend such uninterrupted quality time on the long trip! Gah. We didn’t let ourselves see further than that. Idiots! What we really had was uninterrupted quality time for the first hour. From then on we experienced “normal” life. Kids arguing about individual space, being bored and hungry, dead electronics, and worst of all, asking 8.5 million times, “Are we there yet?” in some form or another. And no one thought to pack duct tape. What we were thinking? Oh yeah, of the pure bliss. We forgot about the other side of the coin.

Rookie mistake.

We ended up having a great time. (Yes, there were some hiccups but that’s life, right?) The white sand beaches, the trolley that bumped down the roads to little souvenir shops and eateries, the beautiful sunrises and sunsets from the beach, and being able to look out across that big, expansive ocean and wonder about the life below.

Three years later we have decided to try another long-distance family trip. We took a hiatus from big expensive vacations because A) see A above, and 2) traveling long-distance during Covid was enough “excitement” to last us three years.

Destination; Orlando area. Close to all the touristy commotion and maybe an hours ride to the beach. It’s a compromise for all. The teens love the beach; the younger two love the commotion. Mom and Dad are clearly the chauffeurs.

Flights are expensive for a family of six, and it would be regarded with disgust if I flew and let my husband drive solo with the rugrats. Also, I’m pretty sure they don’t allow 7-year-olds to lap sit during the flight, but please confirm, if you will. That could be a game-changer. I’m sure my husband wouldn’t mind her on his lap for 3+ hours. So, like last time, we aren’t flying.

This year folks, we are going with…drum roll please…a transit van. One step up, maybe two, from a creeper van. This has plenty of windows and seats ten passengers! Check her out! The picture is from kbb.com and my expectation is renting one very similar (fingers crossed we don’t get a doozy!)

With that much space, I don’t want to hear a peep from any child of mine about their siblings being in their personal bubble. I’m going to assign seats; one in each corner of the van with all our luggage in between them. If I’m really good with my stacking, it’ll topple over on the one trying to break through to enter another’s domain. Take that you winged spawn of sa-tan! (“Ace Ventura: When Nature Calls” for you non-movie buffs from the 90s.) No, my kids really are not the spawn of satan, but sometimes, even I wonder.

So come October, we will be off to drive highways and byways, reliving memories from three years ago and making new ones.

Wish us luck, and clip and send any coupons for duct tape. This time we must be prepared.

Family

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Featured Amber Walch1 Comment

Today’s chosen suggestion from the book “The Story of My Life”: “Describe your first car you owned. How did it come into your life, and how did it change your life?”

A delightful mini-van, not even close to being as classy as ours, in a setting also not even close to being as classy as ours.

Do you remember the AutoTrader? Back in the day, it was in print, not online, and you’d flip and scan each page searching for your dream car, truck, camper, motorcycle, or mini-van. Most likely, you’d find your beaut, show your parents which one you want, and then go wash the ink off your hands. P.S. They didn’t say yes to the car. Today, you can surf the web, and within seconds, buy your car and have it delivered. My, my, my. Times have changed.

My first car was actually not spotted in The AutoTrader. It was spotted in my Granny and Gramps’ garage, purchased either with an I.O.U note or possibly cash and driven 100 feet from their home to our driveway; they had upgraded and my twin sister and I finally had some wheels. Since we were pert near attached at the hip, we were to share a vehicle too. A Plymouth Voyageur circa some year in the 1980s. Well, that’s what the outside of the driver’s door proposed, but Dodge Caravan was printed inside so…she had some body dysmorphia.

That mini-van drove well at 55mph and hummed at 80-90. When riding together, I’d have my sister turn and look out the giant rear window while I moved the steering wheel left and right, again and again, while we laughed and watched our own comedy unroll, all while hoping that our vehicle didn’t, ummm, roll. We were successful. No accidents during those skits called “Watch this!”.

She may not have been a fancy Lotus, but she sure cornered like she was on rails (Thank you Julia Roberts AKA Vivian Ward). We aptly named her the “Screaming Bitch”. Ahhh, the memories.

A mini-van for your ride as a high school student may have bumped us down the “Cool” ladder a rung or three, but we didn’t care. We had freedom. Well, kind of. There were rules like two weeks of being grounded from driving if we didn’t wear our seatbelts, and mom was an eagle eye. It only happened a couple times and since my sister and I shared the car, the Law Breaker just had to ride shotgun while the Angel drove. You know, the Angel who loved making the van sway back and forth by cranking the wheel left and right? She didn’t know about that, but my guess is neither one of us would have been driving for a month if she did. Another rule, and the last one, ask before you go and let Mom know the destination and time of arrival home. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.

The Screaming Bitch and we sisters became good friends, great friends really. The cool mornings and the sweltering afternoons after school, the glare ice and slushy snow in the wintertime and the maroon fabric bucket seats really brought us together. She handled our country roads like a dream, fit so well into our circle of friends, and without her, we would have been begging for rides to school from our sister or riding the bus. Living 40 minutes from our building of learning (surrounded by farm fields), and having a van allowed us a life.

I can’t remember the length of our relationship with the Screaming Bitch, memories have faded with time, but on a summer night many years ago, our time together ended.

That night, bad decisions were made and she met her demise in a ditch north of town. Soon after, her care was transferred to my Uncle. That day, I remember clearly; my uncle rolling into our drive hauling a trailer under a hot Minnesota sun, while I watched from the front step of our house slowly scanning The Autotrader, turning the pages with ink-stained fingers. She was probably going to be sold for scrap. Dammit. It wasn’t supposed to end this way. We loved her though and think of her often. She and her wheels are a well of laughs and we will always remember her dearly.

R.I.P. Screaming Bitch. May every heavenly road you travel be long and straight so you can sway and hum to your heart’s content.

Family · Farm Fanatics · This and That

Fur and Feathers.

Featured Amber Walch2 Comments

Meet Trixie and Dixie. Our Barnyard bandits. The Dastardly Duo. Just kidding, these two are sweet as pie. Although in the picture below, they look quite serious, like they are determining the best moment to ram their rock-hard horns to knock me on my butt. It looks like Trixie has made up her mind (devious), and Dixie isn’t re-thinking Trixie’s proposition.

Trixie is the pygmy on the right, beautifully tri-colored, and Dixie is the beautiful black, half-fainting (but never has), and half-pygmy Goat Queen on the left (Thank you Captain Obvious!) Dixie is the leader of the duo and is much more comfortable with the human touch, while Trixie is skittish but tolerates us when we have treats. User.

How did we choose such great names for such cute, little goats? Let me tell you the tale. I don’t know when it first started, but my twin sister and I made up these personas called Trixie and Dixie. We make our bottom jaws recede and use a different voice with lip-smacking noises, made worse by the excess saliva build-up. We are aware that twins do weird things…this is one of them. And no, I don’t know if I’m Trixie or Dixie. That’s part of what makes it so funny (to us anyway). I’d add a picture of the original T&D, but it isn’t really a good look.

Over the years, Trixie and Dixie are just fun “people” we bring out, and surprisingly, or not, wit and intelligence exude from them. So when my husband and I decided to get two goats, it made sense to me to pass on two great names!

The chickens and the goats share space in our barn. The goat pen is the first area and on the back end of that is an enclosed chicken coop. The chickens can come and go through the empty screen on the coop’s door, but the goats cannot get into the chickens’ abode. If they get in, and they’ll try as soon as the door is opened, they will knock over the hanging food dispensers while trying to eat all the food. If you aren’t careful when gathering eggs you’ll find yourself with hairy company. ”Trixie, go on! Get out!” and “Dixie, I told you once already!” Man, they know how to put me on high alert.

In the nicer months, from when the snow melts and the grass is lush and green to the time when the air is crisp and the leaves are falling, the animals (and children) have free rein on our land. Trixie and Dixie stay pretty close to home, with the chickens on their heels, and will run back to the barn when they get spooked or hollered at when they are eating my plants. And run they do, along with kicking sideways and jumping around. Such nimble creatures they are. Super cute too.

Fiona, my youngest, and I did evening chores last night and we spent time loving on those goats and one of the chickens; the others wanted nothing to do with us. But if the chickens don’t hunker down in a posture that is considered docile, you won’t be seeing me chasing them trying to get my hands on them. They run around like chickens with their heads cut off (guffaw). Ain’t nobody got time for that!

Meet Fancy and Fiona.

Fancy, our friendly chicken (I’ll be honest, all the brown chickens I named Fancy because I can’t tell them apart) was such a good sport and tolerated being held. Now Fiona on the other hand was too chicken, err, nervous to pick her up so Fancy was transferred by yours truly into her waiting arms.

My most recent purchase from Amazon is a red collar with white polka dots for Trixie and a blue and white striped collar for Dixie. Once they arrive (come on, come on, come on), I’m going to acclimate the goats to them. It’s a new feeling for them, and the goats will wear them for short periods, but my goal is to take them (or they’ll take me) on walks.

I’ll keep you posted. If you don’t hear from me again…send a search party. The goats are strong and fast.