Eyjafjallajokull

Eyjafjallajӧkull

Eruption of Eyjafjalla - Iceland 2010

          There are streams of flood water coming down, although the ones that came down last night were much thicker and filled with mud, ash, and large clumps of ice.  We are still on alert but have not been evacuated.  We are luckier than those in surrounding areas as our village is not under direct threat at the moment.  All the roads east of us are closed from our village and the bridge that crosses the river is in danger of being washed away after the river adjacent to our village was flooded.  Diggers had to break up our main road in four places to allow the bridge to hold and let the flood water through, but the damage is extensive and many of the farmers have lost their fresh water inlets.  This road is the ring around Iceland, and is the only connection with the rest of the country.  We are hoping that the flooding will start to decrease soon so that the road can be salvaged and at least people can start getting through.  So reads Gina Christie’s eyewitness account of the 2010 eruption of Eyjafjallajӧkull (Christie, 2010).

           
           Located, where the North Atlantic and Arctic Oceans meet, atop the Mid-Atlantic Ridge, sits the Nordic European island country of Iceland.  It is a popular tourist destination built of stunning waterfalls, steaming geysers, sheer cliffs, soothing hot springs, and glacier-covered volcanoes, and every few years now, one of its hundreds of volcanoes, unpredictably wakes.
          
           For almost 200 years, Eyjafjallajӧkull, one of the smaller ice caps of Iceland, has peacefully slept.  The first known eruption was in the year 920, followed by an eruption in 1612, and then again from 1821-1823.  The latter of the eruptions, began on 19 December 1821.  It was reported that the volcano erupted so suddenly; that villagers only had 20 minutes to gather their belongings.  During that particular eruption, the ash released, contained a large fraction of fluoride.  It wasn’t until years later that farmers realized that the extreme amounts of fluoride had poisoned their cattle and sheep, slowly killing them off (Larsen, 1999).
          
          The eruption also melted large segments of the glacier, causing great amounts of flooding in nearby rivers.  Eyjafjallajӧkull continued to erupt for two years, eventually causing a nearby volcano, Katla, to erupt.  The Liverpool Mercury described that when the eruption began, ice was dispersed in every direction.  A number of stones, of different sizes, rolled down the mountain, accompanied with a noise of thunder.  This was immediately followed by a discharge of an enormous and lofty column of flame, which illuminated the whole country (The Liverpool Mercury, 1822).
        
          On 26 February 2010, unusual seismic activity was registered by the Meteorological Institute of Iceland.  The seismic activity continued to increase, and from 3 March to 5 March, close to 3,000 earthquakes were measured at the epicenter of the volcano.  Kurt Feigl, a professor of geosciences at the University of Wisconsin, said the volcano had been showing signs of restlessness.  “Several months of unrest preceded the eruptions, with magma moving around downstairs in the plumbing and making noise in the form of earthquakes.” (Jha, 2010)
          Just before midnight on 20 March 2010, a half a kilometer long fissure (a long, narrow, crack) opened, right across from a popular hiking trail, emitting a small eruption.  Lava soon began flowing down the trail, melting snow and causing the rivers to swell. People were temporarily evacuated from the area and roads were closed, but were again opened that afternoon and the people were able to return home. 
        
          After 2 weeks of spectacular lava fountains, the eruption of Eyjafjallajӧkull was winding down and even came to a pause for 2 consecutive days.  However, small earthquakes suggested that magma was still moving underground.  A high increase of water in nearby rivers and streams alerted the Icelandic Civil Protection Department and an evacuation of nearby farms and towns was ordered and 800 Icelanders had to leave their homes and farms.
        
          “I woke up on Friday with a weird feeling that something just wasn’t right.  It wasn’t light as it normally is – we don’t really have night-time at this time of year.  I looked outside and there was a thick, black cloud of ash directly above us.  It was exactly like the middle of winter.  What is even more surreal was the absolute bright daylight on either side of our village” (Christie, 2010).
         
          On 12 April, Eyjafjallajӧkull erupted for a second time, punching through the ice cap at the top of the mountain.  This eruption was estimated to be 10-20 times more powerful than the previous one in March.  
          
         “This is a very much more violent eruption, because it’s interacting with ice and water,” said Andy Russell, an expert in glacial flooding at the UK’s University of Newcastle.  “It becomes much more explosive, instead of a nice lava flow oozing out of the ground” (Helgason, 2010).
         
         The water exploded into steam and rapidly cooled the magma.  The magma turned into a fine-grained ash cloud rising 30,000 feet up into the atmosphere.  Christie’s eyewitness account of the falling ash is as follows, “The wind changed and it rained ash.  Everything, absolutely everything is coated in a thick, black gloop.  All my beautiful flowers and rhubarb are soaked in it.  I have no idea if any of them will survive or not” (Christie, May 2010).

          Amongst the falling ash, the billowing ash created phenomenal lighting displays, colored sunsets of fiery red, and forced the largest commercial air-traffic shut-down since 9-11 (BBC News, April 2010).  The shut-down led to air travel disruption in northwest Europe for six days from 15 April to 21 April.  The closures caused roughly 10 million passengers to be stranded not only in Europe, but across the world.
        
        Flights were cancelled as the ash cloud quickly moved across the globe.  Volcanic ash is abrasive and dangerous for aircrafts.  It reduces visibility, causes damage to fuel and water systems, and can clog engines causing them to fail.  It can also affect landing gear.  One of the biggest difficulties for flight crews is the problem of distinguishing ash clouds from ordinary clouds, both visually and on radar. (Mail Online, April 2010).
         
          The ash cloud caused further disruptions to air travel in many of the countries on 4 May and 5 May, and then again on 9 May and on 16 May, cancelling over 107,000 flights.  The International Air Transport Association (IATA) estimated that the airline industry worldwide would lose $200 million a day during the disruption.  IATA later stated that the total loss for the airline industry was around $1.7 billion.
         
          Scottish passengers were the first to feel the impact of the eruption.  Christine Campbell, 55, was at Glasgow Airport to fly to La Rochelle, in France, for her son’s
wedding.  She said, “When we arrived we were told there were no flights going out today and to go home.  But I wanted to come and wait anyway because I didn’t want to miss anything.  I’m really disappointed and upset because I’ve been looking forward to this wedding for two years and at the last minute there’s this hiccup.” (Mail Online, April 2010).
         
          The ash indirectly affected many people as well including the funeral of Polish president Lech Kaczyński on 18 April.  The funeral was to have been attended by 69 presidents, prime ministers, and other heads of states.  Almost half of these, including Barack Obama, were unable to travel to Poland because of the disrupted air traffic (Cook, 2010).
         
          In regards to the disruption, Christie responds, “I know that some people are very upset to have missed their flights, but that is just a temporary inconvenience.  The affects from this volcanic eruption will be felt for a very, very long time here in Iceland.  And, if Katla explodes, it will do so without warning.  It will make the eruption from Eyjafjallajӧkull look like a storm in a teacup” (Christie, April 2002). 
         
          Katla, a volcano just 25 kilometers east of Eyjafjallajӧkull, which in the past has erupted simultaneously with Eyjafjallajӧkull, is a bigger worry for Icelanders. It is much more active and known for its powerful eruptions and its large magma chamber. An eruption could cause widespread flooding and disrupt air traffic between Europe and North America.  The last major eruption took place in 1918, and volcanologists say a new blast is overdue.
         
         Pall Einarsson, a geophysicist at the University of Iceland, said, “So far there have been no signs of the reawakening of the Katla volcano, but a lot of things can still happen, so we are monitoring it quite closely” (Mail Online, April 2010).

          On 23 May, the London Volcanic Advisory Commission declared the eruption to have stopped, although it continued to have several earthquakes daily.  Volcanologists watch it closely, but consider it dormant (Met Office, 2010).
         
          After the Eyjafjallajӧkull eruption, Icelandic President Olafur Ragnar Grimsson was proud to announce that there were zero casualties.  However, he warned European officials that they should be prepared for future eruptions.  He advised industry to develop engines that are less sensitive to ash.  European countries, including the United Kingdom who don’t have volcanoes of their own, are brainstorming their own ideas and solutions for when the next volcanic eruption occurs and sends an ash cloud billowing over their skies. 
         
          Although scientists know a lot about the formation, structure and history of volcanos, predicting the eruption of a volcano is still a mystery and predicting what problems they will create is even more of a mystery.  Researchers stress that the study of the events leading up to the eruption will not necessarily help predict future events either.  “We’re still trying to figure out what wakes up a volcano.  We’re a long way from being able to predict eruptions, but if we can visualize the magma as it moves upward inside the volcano, then we will improve our understanding of the processes driving volcanic activity” (Fiegl, 2010).  Needless to say, the eruption of Eyjafjallajӧkull is going to become textbook example of how a volcano will affect the modern, technologic society in the 21^st century.  Volcanologists will continue to study sleeping volcanos, as they patiently wait for the next one to erupt.

Works Cited

BBC News.  “Iceland’s Eyjafjallajӧkull Volcano Reduces Activity.”  BBC News, BBC

News. Web. 23 May 2010.

Christie, Gina.  “Eyewitness: Icelandic Volcano.” BBC News. BBC News, 16 Apr.2010.  Web. 17 May. 2010.   

Fiegl, Kurt.  “How Icelandic Volcanos Issued Warnings Months Before Its Eruption.”
The Guardian.  Web. 17 Nov 2010.

Helgason, Gudjon. “Iceland’s Eyjafjallajӧkull Erupts Again, Hundreds Evacuated.” TN
Global Travel Industry News. 14 Apr 2010

Jha, Vik. “Icelandic Ash Cloud Part Two?” The Guardian. The Guardian. Web. 13 Oct 2011.

Larsen, G.  Reykjavik:  Science Institute. p. 13. Research Report RH-28-99, 1999.

Liverpool Mercury, “The Last Time Eyjafjallajokul Erupted.” Volcanism.wordpress.com.
13 Sept 1822, p. 86.

Mail Online. “Back Into the Clouds.” The Economist. 16 Apr 2010

Met Office, Metoffice.gov.uk. 23 May 2010

Family Road Trip

          It was an image I will never forget.  For all I knew we could have been in the Sahara Desert; except for the fact there weren’t any camels to be seen, let alone any creatures—including any other humans.  All that could be seen for miles around was sand, sand, and more sand and one small, leafy green bush about 25 yards away.  The sun was high in the sky and it was a blistering 98 degrees.  The sky was a cloudless, cool cerulean blue.  There was a slight wind that blew hot air across our faces as if we were standing in front of a heater.  There hadn’t been a car in sight for over an hour—except for our two-toned, 1984 Ford Country Squire station wagon which was sitting on the shoulder of that old, desolate highway.  We were on our first ever family road trip to Yellowstone National Park.  When we left the house this morning, the car was packed to the hilt; filled with sleeping bags, pillows, backpacks, two coolers, food, a five-man spring bar tent, a row boat, fishing poles, marshmallow roasters, cooking equipment and everything else you need to spend three nights camping in the wilderness.  Now—all of that stuff lay right beside our station wagon on the black, gritty, asphalt.  I peered through the passenger-side window watching our cell phones as they rested peacefully, out of reach, on the center console.  The car keys hanging obediently from the ignition.  I tugged at the car door handle one more time in hopes it would magically open.  It didn’t budge.  At that time I didn’t know if I should laugh or cry.  Maybe it was my negative attitude that brought on this misfortune.  My thoughts went back to this morning before we left. 

 The clock reads 9:00 a.m.  It is an hour past our agreed departure time.  I irritably stand behind the kitchen sink washing the dishes from breakfast.  Excited screams come from the other room as the kids play video games with their father.

          “You know, if you spent more time helping me clean up the house, we could leave sooner!” I angrily think to myself. 
          Just then, Jenny runs into the kitchen.  “Mom, dad wants to know if you’re ready to leave yet.”
          “Are you kidding me?  Are you flippin’ kidding me!?”  I think to myself.  “You tell your father that if he wants to leave soon, it would be nice if he would spend more time helping and less time playing stupid video games!”  Men, I swear!  How do they not see a sink full of dishes, toys spread all over the floor, bathrooms that look like they haven’t been cleaned for weeks and feel that it’s okay to leave on vacation without even vacuuming?
          “Mom, Dad told me to tell you that you don’t have to be like your mother and have everything spit-shined just to go on vacation.  He also told me to tell you that no one is going to come over anyway.”
          I decide after that comment that I might as well clean out the refrigerator, straighten the pantry and dust the whole house.  I am finally ready to leave.  It is two and a half hours later than expected, “And I don’t care because I have a clean house,” I smugly think to myself.
          Tom happily helps buckle all the kids in the car and we are off.  We haven’t been driving for more than 3 minutes when Kate blurts out, “Are we there yet?”
          “Almost,” Dad replies.  “Only 5 hours and 53 more minutes to go.”
          “Is that true, Mom?” she questions.
          “Yes, Kate.  That is the truth,” I reply.
          Fifteen minutes haven’t gone by when Kate asks for a second time if we were almost there yet.  At this moment, I know this is going to be a long car ride.  Thankfully it is Sam’s naptime and he crashed moments ago and should stay out for at least two hours.  I decide to take advantage of not having to entertain him and try to catch some z’s myself. 
          I quickly fall asleep but am awakened just as fast.
          “Ninety-four bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-four bottles of beer.  Take one down, pass it around, ninety-three bottles of beer on the wall.”
          “Seriously, honey?  You could teach the girls a hundred songs and this is the one you decide to teach them!”
          “What’s wrong with this one?” he asks with confusion.
           I attempt to fall asleep to the tune and must have been somewhat successful because the next thing I hear is, “Four bottles of beer on the wall, four bottles of beer…”
          Well, at least it kept them occupied for the past hour.
          “Hey, honey.  Are you sure we are going the right way?” I ask.  “I don’t ever remember driving through the desert to get to Yellowstone.”
          “Yeah, I’m sure.  I know right where we are,” he answers with confidence.
          “There’s a gas station right there,” I reply.  “We could stop real quick and make sure.  I really don’t ever remember driving this way and it kind of looks deserted up ahead.  I don’t want to get stranded.”
          He scoffs and says, “You worry way too much.  We don’t need to stop.  I’m positive we are going the right way.  Why don’t you ever trust...”
          E-rum, e-rum, e-rum.
          “Woah!  Gotta stay away from those rumble strips,” Dad remarks.
          “Dad, what’s a bumble stick?” questions Kate
          As serious as can be, dad replies, “They are called rumble strips, darling.  Those are for blind people.  It helps them know when they are driving off the road.”
          “Oh.” Kate responds pensively.  “Good idea.”
          I roll my eyes and wonder, “Are my kids going to turn out normal?”  I can just hear them now repeating everything to their friends, just the way their father explains it to them. 
          “Mom, is that true?” asks Jenny.
          “What do you think, Jenny.” I say
          “Dad!” squeals Jenny as she shakes her head at him.
          I sit back, looking out the window.  None of it looks familiar.  There is more sand and less trees the further we drive.  I haven’t seen any sign of human existence for miles.  We are passing fewer cars every minute.  “Where the heck are we?” I nervously think to myself.   
          “Dad, why was there a mattress in that ditch?” Jenny asks, interrupting my thoughts.
          With a big grin he says, “That’s what they call a ‘Rest Stop’, where you can take a nap if you’re too tired.”
          “Mom, is that true?” suspiciously questions Jenny.
          “Why can’t you just say, ‘Must have fallen off a truck,’ like a normal dad?” I ask with a bit of annoyance.
           Tom looks over at me with “the look” and it grabs my heart.  It’s the same look he gave me when I knew he was the one.  The one he gives me to let me still know he loves me.  I start to think of his witty remarks and how his sense of humor is what attracted me to him, but all of the sudden my thoughts are broken up by a loud and fast thwup, thwup, thwup sound.  Tom carefully pulls the car to the shoulder of the highway and gets out.
          I anxiously wait the report.  “Flat tire!” he yells from the outside.
          “Oh, great!  Just what we need,” I say under my breath.
          Knocking on my window , Tom shouts, “We are going to have to unload the entire back of the car to find the spare.  Jenny, come help mom and me unload.  Kate, you keep Sam entertained.”
          We unload for what seems only a few minutes when Sam starts screaming. 
          “Kate, give him his milk,” I say.
          “I did.  He doesn’t want it.  He just throws it down every time I give it to him.”
          “Give him some Smarties then.”
          “I am, but he just throws them at me.”
          The screaming continues.  It’s so hot though, that I ignore the screaming and continue to help remove bags, fishing poles, coolers, sleeping bags and equipment. 
          “Are you sure there is a bottom to all of this stuff?” I sarcastically ask Tom.
          “Yep,” he says as he pulls out the other cooler exposing a small rectangular section of the car floor.
          “Mommmm!” yells Kate.
          “What, Kate?” I ask with a bit of exhaustion.
          “I have to go the bathroom and I can’t hold it anymore!”
          “Ugh – really?  Jenny, you stay here and help dad.  Just in case any cars drive by, I am taking Kate behind that bush over there so she can use the bathroom.  I will take Sam with us too, and maybe he’ll calm down a little.”
          I quickly unbuckle the screaming Sam from his car seat and grab Kate by the hand.  We hurry over to the bush.  Teaching a 5-year-old girl to use the bathroom in the wilderness while holding a screaming baby is almost as exhausting as unloading a packed car.  Luckily she does it without too much trouble.  Sam finally starts to calm down as we head back from the bush.  We see Tom removing the lug nuts from the tire.  Jenny is intently watching him.
          When we get back to the car, I decide it’s best if I buckle Sam back into the car to avoid him running out onto the highway or getting into any of our camping things.  I pull the door handle.  It doesn’t budge.  My heart skips a beat.  I try again.  It still doesn’t budge.  I try the driver side door.  It doesn’t budge.
          “Tommm!” I frantically scream.  “The car is locked!  Do you have the extra set of keys in your pocket?”
          He stands up and checks.  No keys…

          I find myself standing at the window.  No matter how many times I pull the handle, the door will never open. 
          I sit in the small spot of shade next to the car with the kids as Tom finishes replacing the tire.  I intently wait for a passerby.  No one comes.  I’m not sure how much time has gone by.  The sun has noticeably moved in the sky.  At least we have food.  I pull out some drinks and make sandwiches for dinner.  Still, no one drives by.
          I didn’t say a word as I helped repack all of our junk into the back of the car.  I am full of mixed emotions.  Tom was the last one to shut the door.  But was it really his fault?  Were we doomed from the beginning because of my awful attitude about the house not being clean?
          We now drive in silence.  Five hours have gone by, we took a 113 mile detour, we have three sleeping kids, one frustrated husband, one anxiety-ridden mom, a broken window and we have arrived at our final destination.  I see the Yellowstone National Park sign—and it has never looked so beautiful.

He Is Gone

The crisp morning air stings my fingers as they tightly grip the ice cold metal on the fishing pole.  I bite down hard as I begin to hear my teeth chatter.  I anxiously wait for the sun to come up to give me some warmth.  The tug, tug of the trolling line lulls me into the mist of my childhood.

Wrapped up like a cocoon, the warmth of the sleeping bag keeps my eyes from opening.  Nature's alarm clock sounds and the singing birds tell me I need to get up.  It must be about five thirty in the early morning.  I struggle to emerge from the coziness of my sleeping bag, yet the lake calls me.  The brisk early mountain air sends a chill through my body as I reluctantly slither like a cautious water snake out of my bag.  I interrupt the natural sounds of nature as I unzip the tent.  The brook that runs through out campsite babbles as it hurries down the mountain side as if escaping from danger.  The crunching of dirt and rocks beneath my feet bring a feeling of freedom from the constant everyday walking on man-made concrete and cement.  We are silent as we make our way down to the lake; taking in the beauty nature has to offer.  The smell of pine awakens our senses and a magical excitement reflects in our eyes as we see the lake.

The mountains tower over the south side of the lake.  As the sun rises, the mountain is reflected off the lake as if to take a morning swim.  The water is as smooth as glass, giving the impression you could walk on top of it.  We climb into the small metal fishing boat.  The smell of fish slowly floats past our noses.  The cool crisp mountain air whips our faces as we zoom to the other side of the lake.  The motor pushes us to top speeds of 15 miles per hour.  With that style of speed it only takes us 15 minutes to reach the opposite side of the lake.  We unwillingly accept the shower given to us as the boat comes to a halting stop.  But, this is when the magic begins.  We ungrudgingly wipe the water drops from our faces.  The white Styrofoam cup of worms is passed from person to person as if it is champagne and we are celebrating a special occasion.  I stir the worms with my finger looking for a fat juicy one.  I am only 8-years-old, but I prefer to worm my own hook like a true fisherman.  The worm wriggles through my fingers as though it knows this is its last chance to escape its fated doom.  As the hook pierces through the flesh of the worm, I know I have won.  I drop the hook into the clear, frigid water and allow the boat to drag out my line.  I watch as it is swiftly let out down into the depths of the lake.  The icy water drips onto my leg from the water-soaked line as it unwinds from the reel.  My thumb becomes numb and feels raw as the line slides under it.  I count the line colors as they change.  Seven is a good number to let out.  The game can now begin.

We patiently wait.  With our eyes closed and our faces pointing toward the sky, we rest our heads on the backs of the old, orange safety vests awaiting the arrival of the sun's rays to warm our faces.  The hum of the motor sings to us like a lullaby and the tug of the pop gear rocks us into an indescribable peace just long enough to sooth our tired souls.  We are quickly brought back into reality when we are bitten with excitement - a fish has decided that worm for breakfast is a special treat.  Hearts pound with excitement as we wait to see the size of the fish on the end of the line.  And then, without
seconds to think, two more fish decide to join in on the morning's "worm breakfast special".  The feeling of franticness embodies us as three poles start reeling in at once.  My Grandpa struggles to net the three fish and keep the boat steered in a straight line as to keep the lines from tangling.  Yet, he always accomplishes it like a professional fisherman who could do it all in his sleep.

Not an hour passes and we are already up to 14 fish.  As I sit, I admire my Grandpa.  He looks like he belongs on the lake.  He is humble as he teaches us the art of trolling.  He is dressed in his flannel coat and his white lips are covered in zinc oxide.  He never fails to break the silence.  He bursts out into song and starts singing about beans and how they are the magical fruit as though nothing has happened.

The morning passes by quickly and we easily reach our fish limit.  The sun is now high in the sky.  The white clouds resemble cotton candy and it feels as though we can reach out and grab some for a tasty treat.  The leaves on the Aspen trees start to whisper as the afternoon wind comes for a visit.  We watch the eagle as it soars above us in search for food.  Its nest is in sight and not far off from where we are.  In this moment, I take in my last breath.  What I have experienced for the last few hours was a bit of a fairytale.  There is no doubt in my mind that a higher power has created such beauty.

The motor revs as we begin to leave and I am quickly brought back to the present.  I am not in an old metal fishing boat, but on a pontoon boat.  It has been hours and we haven't caught one single fish.  The lake looks the same.  The eagle's nest is still there.  The white clouds are just as fluffy, but the feeling is different.  I am much older now.  The fish must have gotten tired of the "worm breakfast special".  The orange fishing vests are gone and we are now sporting life jackets.  The metal boat has been upgraded and the maximum of five people on the boat has been transformed to 15.  My Grandpa has since passed on and I feel alone.  So much has changed since I was a child, but the memories of Fish Lake will stay unchanged.  As I return, year after year, and the crisp mountain air travels across my senses, I will always see my Grandpa sitting in his metal boat with white lips, singing crazy songs, and creating amazing memories which I will never forget.

We Have All Had One of Those Days

    

It is just past 8 o’clock.  I find myself slipping into the covers of my bed.  The coolness of the sheets soothes my tired body and I feel myself taking a breath for the first time today.  Ever since I committed to watch my two nephews, Fridays have become so exhausting.  I didn’t expect this Friday to be much different.  However, a thought I had that morning may have been a little more than I had asked for…
The doorbell rang.  It was 10:30 in the morning.  I was in the middle of French braiding my daughter’s hair for her kindergarten western dance.  By the time I finished and headed down stairs, my sister-in-law had already dropped off her kids and left.  That is when it all began.  My four-month-old nephew woke up.  His curdling screams let me know he was ready to eat.  I began rummaging through the diaper bag.  No bottle.  I dumped the diaper bag.  No bottle.  I called my sister-in-law.  No answer.  I thought there might be a way to get into her house to get a bottle.  Her baby uses a bottle with an unusual nipple.  I have a toddler who uses a bottle, but toddler bottles are different than infant bottles. The flow consistency is a lot faster in a toddler bottle, but what was I to do?  I filled the bottle up with formula and attempted to feed him.  It didn’t work.  The flow was too fast that he ended up spitting the milk out, drenching his shirt in the process.  Plan B.  My neighbor just had a baby – she was sure to have a bottle I could use.  On my way to her house, another neighbor found out of my distress and offered a bottle for me to use.  As I was transferring the formula from my bottle into the borrowed one, I noticed it said “quick flow” on the top.  I tried it anyway only to find a river flowing down his shirt a second time.  Back to the beginning of Plan B – borrow a bottle from the neighbor with the newborn.  It worked.  No drenching; only familiarizing a starving infant with a foreign bottle.  Six ounces down, a diaper change and a clean shirt and there was peace once again. 

That peace shortly ended as we were about to leave.  My four-year-old nephew squished his red otter pop all over my daughter’s white shirt she was wearing for her program.  I didn’t have time to put it into the washing machine so I carefully pulled it off her head, attempting to not mess up her hair in the process, and began rinsing it out in the sink.  I added some bleach which removed the red spots right away.  I then began blow drying the shirt in attempt to quickly dry it while at the same time giving orders to get shoes on, find backpack, and grab the diaper bags.  Meanwhile, I looked down at the shirt and noticed the red spots, which had turned white with the bleach, had now turned purple as they began to get dry.  It was useless. Time was running out.  She would have to wear a damp, purple blotted shirt to her program.  I carefully pulled the shirt over her braids, grabbed the baby and two diaper bags in one arm and the toddler and car seat in the other arm and headed out the door.  It was 15 minutes later than I intended to leave, but we were off and on our way, content once again…I thought.

We were halfway to school and my 15-month-old threw up all over himself and his car seat.  The smell was breathtaking.  I removed my seatbelt and leaned over my seat to the backseat as my husband drove down the highway.  I struggled to clean up the stomach acidy chunks from off his shirt and behind the seatbelt of his car seat with a diaper wipe.  Why did I not pack the container of bleach in the diaper bag!  Meanwhile, we made it to the school in just enough time to slide past everyone and parade into the seats in the front row marked with bright green “Reserved” signs. “Yes, we are the ones who get to sit in the special reserved seats – I am Mrs. McDougal’s daughter,” I said to myself in a loathing sort of way as stares from every which way fell into our laps.  I didn’t want to be noticed.  I spent all morning solving problems all I had time for was to throw on some jeans, pull up my oily hair and wipe the remaining makeup off my face from the day before.  My in-laws walked in shortly after us and sat down next to us in the last two remaining “reserved” seats.  It took my thoughts off all the stares.  The program was only minutes away from starting when my Grandma and her friend walked in expecting to sit in seats marked “reserved”.  My in-laws graciously slipped out of their front row seats and found some of the only remaining seats in the back corner.  Finally, the program started.  My mother unexpectedly decided she needed to introduce two important people.  I was one of them.  If everyone wasn’t staring at me earlier, they were then.  The dances began and my husband started recording.  Four dances went by.  BEEP!  The memory card was full and there were still three dances left!  

I simmered in my frustrations until my father-in-law invited us to lunch at McDonalds.  We had an hour to burn before the kids got out of school so we graciously accepted.  As we began to eat, my 15-month-old showed signs of throwing up again.  I frantically tried to grab napkins without any success.  He vomited into my husband’s hands - appetizing.  He seemed fine after a few minutes and decided he would try and eat again only to end up throwing up all over his entire Happy Meal.  I felt like my father-in-law bought a meal just so we could throw it away without even eating it.  My son threw up two more times as we were leaving McDonalds.  We fervently left to pick the girls from school.  “Could this day get any worse?” I thought to myself.  as we picked the girls from school.  As my daughters climbed into the car, one said, “It reeks in here!”

I roll over.  My stomach churns.  That thought I had this morning about not expecting this Friday to be any different had been that I actually hoped there would be a little drama.  My husband had work off and was spending the day with us.  I wanted him to see why every Friday night I was too tired to go out and why I was too exhausted to stay up past nine o’clock to watch a movie.  I wanted him to experience what I had to experience for the last ten Fridays.   I wanted him to know that holding a crying baby for two hours and taking care of four other kids at the same time was beyond exhausting.  I wanted him to know that it was as tiring as I made it out to be.  Maybe hoping for a little drama was just a little too much to ask for!

Intention is a 9 Letter Word...

If writing was as easy as solving the square root of the reciprocal of the diameter of the apple I ate this morning, you might be entertained by my writing. However, because it is not you may be bored after reading the first sentence if not the first 3 words. I struggle with the usage and definitions of words that contain more than 5 letters and have more than two syllables. Thank goodness though for a government that sees it necessary for everyone to attempt to speak and write its own language properly. I haven't always enjoyed writing or English class and to be honest it doesn't get my heart pumping with excitement. I do really enjoy reading great written novels, blogs, stories etc., and so am going to look at this opportunity to join the ranks of an "interesting" and possibly more "entertaining" writer who actually uses a few adjectives to paint a somewhat interesting picture that a 5-year-old listening would stare at me with much confusion because I sounded as though I were speaking a foreign language. I guess my point is, I feel as though my writing is very elementary and I would like to not only improve my vocabulary, but also to be able to express and paint the feelings and thoughts that I have on the inside - outwardly in a more adult-like fashion. I don't expect to become a literary genius, but I would like to improve my writing skills so I don't sound like I grew up in the backwoods of Arkansas with the hillbillies handfishin' for a livin'!