I hadn’t had a chance to google the information yet, so I asked the man on the phone, “Okay, he has that he worked at this company in Port Wentworth. Is Port Wentworth in Georgia?”
“No, Ma’am. Port Wentworth is just outside of Savannah.”
“Oh… Savannah,
“Yes.”
“Great! Thanks for clearing that up for me.”
Curious as to whether she was ready for breakfast yet, I gave her a choice. “Claire, which one would you like to do: play or eat?”
“No,” she said in the sassiest little voice ever.
It must be the shoes. 
On the Tuesday evening of our trip to Santa Fe, Linda, Cameron, and Mallory decided to have a low-key dinner at the hotel on their own, and Chris joined the three of us for dinner.
We walked the two blocks to The Plaza, and explored our options. Santa Fe is known for being the home of excellent southwestern cuisine, so we knew we’d find something good. We arrived at the top-rated burrito place we’d considered, only to discover that it was only open for breakfast. With the aid of modern technology (i.e. an Internet search via Chris’ cell phone), we remembered the Coyote Café & Cantina.
My hubby and I remembered hearing such good things about this place during our other visits to Santa Fe, but we’d never had a chance to see for ourselves. We found the restaurant and perused the menu in the lighted case on the outside of the building. The most expensive meal was around $13…perfect! We were still dressed in our Bandelier exploration clothes, and we had a toddler and stroller with us, not exactly your fancy dining attire.
Inside the door, we ascended the winding staircase. The pretty hostess asked if we wanted seating in the café or the cantina. Thinking the cantina was the bar and the café was the restaurant, we answered in unison, “Café.”
She told us to follow her, and she led us back behind the wall that was dividing the hostess desk from the rest of the dining room. All of a sudden, we found ourselves in a dimly lit, very expensive looking restaurant. Everyone there looked like they belonged there as they chatted quietly in the candlelight, and I wouldn’t have been surprised to see a man on bended knee proposing to the love of his life.
“Uh, this doesn’t look quite right,” I thought to myself, suddenly feeling very underdressed. I silently willed Claire to behave in this restaurant.
The hostess showed us to our table. The four of us got settled and I picked up the bound menu that was sitting on the plate. “Ummm…$42 rabbit tenderloin medallions??” I gasped. “This doesn’t look like the menu from the front!” The guys agreed, and we realized we’d made a very embarrassing mistake. I mean, all of us enjoy an expensive meal at a fancy restaurant now and then, but this wasn’t one of those times. Chris jumped up from the table and said, “I’ll go check out the Cantina. Maybe it isn’t just a bar after all.”
When he got back to the table, he confirmed our suspicions. The Cantina was a rooftop bar and restaurant. It appeared to be a more casual environment than the Café. Whew. Just at that moment, the waitress arrived. “So, can I get you folks anything to drink?” she asked. We all looked at her and before we could even open our mouths, she said, “Let me guess. You’re looking for the Cantina.”
Yep, that would be correct. What was the first clue? She was very helpful and said she’d go check on seating availability. When she came back, she said the wait would be 25 to 30 minutes and we were welcome to wait at this table until then. We thanked her, and she left to go put our names in with the hostess.
As soon as she left the table, I became ultra-paranoid that Claire would not be able to last half-an-hour without eating. I didn’t want to get out the Cheerios if we weren’t going to be staying at this table. And, I didn’t want to spend more on an appetizer here than what we would be spending on an entrée there. I told the guys my fears, and we decided to just find another restaurant. We got up from the table and found our waitress. I thanked her for her time, pointed to Claire, and said, “I really don’t think we have 30 minutes. We’re sorry.” She said, “Well, let me see what I can do.” She checked on the rooftop and came back to where we were on the landing, a balcony area just outside the hostess table and at the base of the steps. “Can you do 15-minutes? I think they can be ready for you in 15-minutes.” I told her we’d try, and if we had to leave, we’d let them know.
As we were waiting, I was holding Claire close. We were looking over the city from the balcony and just enjoying the cool night air. Just then, a woman with long black hair and delicate turquoise jewelry came up behind me. She touched me on the shoulder and said, “I just have to tell you…your daughter is beautiful. She’s just…wow. She’s so beautiful. I saw you two standing here and just thought I’d say something.” I was speechless, but I managed to thank her as she turned to leave. After what had happened in the restaurant that morning, I needed to hear just that.
A few moments later, they called our name, and we went to our table at the Coyote Rooftop Cantina. It was perfect. Claire was calm and relaxed throughout the entire meal, and the food was unbelievably delicious. In fact, I’m still dreaming about the chipotle shrimp and avocado quesadilla I had. Remembering the woman’s comments make me smile, and I’m glad we’d swallowed our pride, left the Café and stayed to check out the Cantina. That night, we were Cantina kind of people, and it was the perfect place for a beautiful Santa Fe evening.
We had devoted a majority of Tuesday, August 7th, to exploring Bandelier National Monument. My hubby and I had been there three years ago, and we had really enjoyed it. We knew this exploration trip would be different, since we had kiddos with us, but we were still excited to go.
After a lovely breakfast, we headed out. Bandelier isn’t too far from Santa Fe, so it didn’t take us long to arrive at our destination. Once there, we got Claire strapped into her stroller and we were ready to roll!
The weather was perfect. The skies were a crisp blue, and the few clouds that dotted the sky were so white. It wasn’t too hot, and with no humidity, it was quite pleasant. We explored some of the dwellings on the main level, and when we got to our first non-stroller-friendly spot, I offered to watch the girls while the others visited the cliff dwellings. Because I’d seen this section before, and since the girls were so happy in their strollers, we thought that was the best option.
While the boys did more exploring, Linda came back to check on us. We got the girls out of their strollers, and they had a blast playing in the sand. Claire loved it, but decided after a while that she liked having her hands clean, too.
The boys joined us, and we made our way farther into the park. When we came to the next non-stroller-friendly part, Chris stayed with the girls, and Cameron and Linda joined Daddy, Claire and I on our trek to see Long House. Cameron and Chris had walky-talkies, so they were able to communicate with each other about what was happening on each end. As we made our way back, we met another group of people. The man said, “Oh, are you guys the people on the other end of the walky-talky?” We told he we were, and he thought that was a great idea. He asked if the girls were twins, and we told him they weren’t. (They are only two-weeks apart, and with their hats on they look very similar, it’s no wonder that was assumed…) When we got back to Chris, he told us that the girls had been just fine. Claire had greeted everyone as they came down the path and started to ascend the steps. “Hi! Hi! Hi!” she’d say. Such a polite little greeter.
Because Chris wanted to see Long House, my hubby went back up with him, and Cameron led the rest of us back toward the visitor center. We found a nice, big shade tree and waited for the guys to join us. Because she’d been such a good girl in the stroller, we let Claire run walk all the way back to the visitor center. Once again, we’d had a fabulous time exploring Bandelier.
Somehow, we’d totally lost track of time, and it was well after the typical lunch-time. Luckily, we’d eaten a late and large breakfast. We drove into Los Alamos and found a Subway restaurant. Purely by chance, we also found a free science museum. The Bradbury Science Museum had free admission, so we decided to check it out after lunch.
From what I saw of it, it looked really cool. Claire was quite a handful in the museum. She didn’t act out or make a lot of noise, but she was only happy “exploring” at top speed. I tried to hand her off three times to Daddy, but he was too engrossed in the displays to really understand what I needed. Claire was tugging on my arm to GO-GO-GO!, and I didn’t want to cause a scene, so I just decided to handle her myself. By the time we got to the TechLab Discovery Room, the prefect place if you’re four to six years older than Claire, there was just too much for her to “discover.” Rather than reach the point of meltdown, I scooped her up and took her outside. After a while, the rest of the crew joined us.
As we’re all piling into the car and getting everyone settled, my hubby says to me, “Wow. That was really cool! What did you think?”
“Yeah, I’m sure the museum was really cool. I’d like to see it sometime.”
After I was able to relax for a bit in the car and have a Diet Coke, my mood improved. The views of the landscape on the way from Los Alamos back to Santa Fe were just magical. Overall, we had a successful day of exploration.
“Ma’am, you see, the thing about the baby-doll is this…” a polite, yet very concerned and very serious-looking Security Guard said to me as we entered the Georgia O’Keeffe Museum. “We don’t want her throwing it at any of the artwork.”
“Is the baby-doll okay if I hold her like this?” I asked, as I tucked the baby-doll safely under my arm and patted her hard plastic head.
“Oh, of course. That would be fine.” Situation assessed. Threat neutralized.
The puppy, of course, posed no threat.
Don’t tell Puppy. It would only hurt his feelings.
I’m not sure if you remember me. We went to college together. My friends and I would watch Sesame Street in the afternoons, after our classes. I know that sounds weird, and that we weren’t the primary demographic for your show, but we thought the blast from the past was fun, and you guys always featured really cool bands. Plus, you always seemed to enjoy our company.
You and I were great friends before you became famous. In 1996, I graduated and got a real job, and you hit the big time. As soon as you became wildly successful, you changed. We lost touch. Another friendship fell victim to the price of fame.
Prior to your success, you were my favorite. You were so cute and innocent. As soon as your face and voice became plastered everywhere, I realized you weren’t the same as the Elmo I knew and loved, and I was actually glad you’d stopped returning my calls.
Now, 11 years later, my daughter has discovered your existence. You are like crack to her innocent little brain. I’d tried to spare her from your wily charms and mild annoyance until she was a bit older and could handle rejection, but I’ve failed.
On a recent trip to the Midwest, a trusted relative gave her an outfit dedicated to your honor. I was appalled, but thought she was too young to fall victim to the propaganda. I was wrong. I could see that she’d started calling every little red fuzzy creature she saw “Elmo.” Thankfully, the outfit went in the laundry, and it hasn’t made it back to her room yet.
The last straw was on our most recent trip to Santa Fe. The little girl we were traveling with has a small, travel-size replica of you. After four days of being submitted to your charms, my daughter is hooked. Both my husband and I have been forced to recreate your likeness a million times over on a travel-sized MagnaDoodle. To get 15 minutes of peace yesterday, I was forced to do a Google search for coloring pages, and sure enough, there is an endless supply online. Obviously, my daughter isn’t the only one afflicted by this obsession. It has reached such a level that I’m actually going to let her wear your outfit today. I hope her little heart can withstand the pure joy.
If things continue at this rate, I may be forced to put you on her Two Year Old Birthday Cake in November. I was hoping to enjoy at least one more year free from the faces of famous creatures, but I guess that was too much to ask. I doubt I’ll be able to keep this from the relatives much longer, because she already talks about you. It’s just a matter of time before she mentions you to her aunts and grandmothers, and soon, countless versions of you will start arriving in the mail.
So, I know we’ve had our differences in the past, but I was hoping we could reach an agreement. Please be nice to my daughter. If you, or your agent, could find the time in your busy schedules to return her calls, at least until she’s old enough to handle rejection, it would be greatly appreciated.
Thank you for your time and consideration in this matter.
Sincerely,
An Old Friend
So, today has been challenging.
My hubby threw his back out this weekend while working on the tiling project. This is so bizarre for him. He’s relatively athletic and very healthy and has never had back issues. He first tweaked his back on the Wednesday of our trip to Santa Fe, and after a day of pushing Claire around Bandelier in the stroller, we thought that’s what did it. This weekend, he was scrubbing the tiles, in preparation to grout, and it tweaked again…only this time, it was bad. He was completely incapacitated all weekend, and he worked from home today. Luckily, we haven’t had to go to the doctor, and I think it’s actually getting better.
I wanted to take him to the ER this weekend for some pain relief, but he refused to go. I told him that when his pain was worse than his feelings for the ER to let me know. We never reached that point. Like I said, I think things are improving.
Claire decided that since Daddy was home today, she would refrain from taking a nap this morning. At least, I hope that’s what was happening. I’m not sure how many files I’m going to be able to do if she foregoes many of her naps from here on out. I’ll adjust. I always do.
And the files? Hmmm…where do I begin? I’ve been completely inundated. My hubby thinks that when I complain about the files it means that I, 1. want him to fix it, and 2. hate my job. Neither of those things is correct. I don’t want him to fix something he can’t, and I actually love my job. I know I should be working, but I’m only writing this blog now, rather than making calls, because she is standing in the play area in my office screaming at me. She wants to be picked up. That is a trick. She really wants to play with everything on my desk and try to type her own emails, regardless of whether I am here or not. I’m on to her ruse.
Speaking of screaming…did you know that Claire screams at the exact frequency they use on my phone service to skip messages in voicemail? Awesome. I was trying to listen to them, and they kept stopping and jumping ahead and doing wacky things. How bizarre. I finally figured out what was happening, and if I listen to my voicemails with the mute button on, things work perfectly.
Claire did take a relatively long afternoon nap, so I can’t complain too much. I was able to get a lot of files done, so I don’t feel as though the entire day was a waste. I didn’t get as many done as I wanted to, but it is what it is.
When she woke up from her nap and started screaming at me, I took her to sit on Daddy’s lap. That’s when I decided to run away. But, I only made it as far as the mailbox, when I remembered that I hadn’t checked the mail yet. I love checking the mail. So, I did that and forgot I was in the middle of running away. When I got back in the house Claire was having so much fun playing with Daddy (He was playing her “Draw Elmo!” game on the MagnaDoodle.), that I was glad I hadn’t made it very far. I’m such a big talker. I could never run away without those two…and then, what’s the point, really?
Of course, Daddy had to finish up some things for his work, so she’s standing in her play area in my office right now, screaming for me to pick her up…again. It looks like my workday may be coming to a close sooner than I anticipated. I was ready for a break anyway.
We love the Georgia O’Keeffe Museum. The first time we went there, we were visiting Santa Fe as a young childfree couple. We weren’t restricted by the attention span of a toddler, and we spent a long time appreciating the artwork and letting it all soak in. We fell in love with Georgia’s work. We even purchased a print that now hangs in our dining room. I hadn’t realized that her work was more than skulls and female anatomy-reminiscent florals, nor how powerful even those would be in person.
This trip was a bit different. The family we’d traveled with to Santa Fe had never been there, and we were excited to go again. Claire is obviously too young to truly appreciate the artwork on certain levels, but she liked seeing the pretty colors. And, really, isn’t that where the appreciation begins?
I can’t wait to take her back when she’s a bit older, so that she can tell me what she sees when she gazes at the brilliant blue sky through the hole in a pelvis bone, or tell me what she thinks the white dot in Black Abstraction is. I can’t wait to share with her an appreciation for the tangible products of creativity, whether it be at the Georgia O’Keeffe Museum or elsewhere.
I can’t wait to see art with the freshness and naïveté that only exists in a child’s mind and have conversations that are fed by that energy.
“Did we go to the Georgia O’Keeffe Museum three years ago?”
“Yes.”
“And that’s when we got Georgia*?”
“Yes.”
“Didn’t we almost hit Georgia with the ladder when we were trying to install the ceiling fan?”
“Yes. And, you nearly had a heart-attack.”
“We were installing the ceiling fan for my 30th birthday. We did that the day before my 30th Birthday Party. Remember?”
“Right.”
“I’m 33 years old. I turned 30 in March of 2004, and we didn’t go to Santa Fe until June of that year.”
“Uhhh…”
“So, we had to have gotten the print when we went to Santa Fe six years ago, but I don’t remember going to the museum on that trip. Do you?”
“We did? We had to have…I guess…”
“Keeping track of things like this will be so much easier now that we have a little walking and talking reference of the passage of time. She’s like a little living calendar.”
* “Georgia” is what we affectionately call the Georgia O’Keeffe print we purchased and had framed. “Pelvis IV” is the technical name.
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