Love Tours (part 3 of 3)

The finalish stop on the epic Love Tour of 2010 was northern Indiana for a family reunion. I'd literally been home about a week after Lake Charles when it was time to go again, but this time I had Shannon, Leiah, Renee, Ben and Sacagawea with me. Sacagawea is what we named my mom and dad's minivan last summer when my parents did a Lake-ation tour around Kentucky, and boy did she come through when it came to babies on the road.

We loaded up on road snacks (Doritos for the pregnant lady, beers for Aunt Shan the navigator, goldfish and fruit snacks for the babies) and left after Shan got off work on a Friday. The drive was pretty uneventful thanks to the in-van DVD player, but there were moments of toddler potty training emergencies. When they gotta go, they gotta go, and one time Renee, who'd been seduced by the promise of peeing in the grass at Aunt Tina's house, insisted she get to pee in the grass at the gas station. Luckily it backed up to a corn field, like most things in Indiana, so Auntie Am, Master of Peeing Outside in a Forward Squatting Fashion, helped Renee fulfill her dream of peeing in the grass.

There was also that Wizard of Ozian tornado that threatened us the last 11 miles of the trip, but Shan broke out a beer to cope with the fact that we may have to lay on top of babies in a ditch and everything was fine.

Once we got to Tina & Tony's house, things settled into awesome. I swear there were so many boys there it felt more like a fancy fraternity house than the residence of a middle-aged couple whose kids are grown. But then, really, that's just how Tina & Tony's house has always been -- the place to hang out, lose track of entire seasons, eat good food, and drink beer out of oversized cans.

Our cousins Nate and Tee showed the babies the kitty in the barn and gave the city kids a lesson in feeding sheep. I'm a proud member of the city kids. Then our cousin Andrea, with her due-soon belly, her husband Mitch, and her uber cuties Kennedy and Jaden, came over to hang out too. We crowded into the kitchen over one of Tina's famous veggie pizzas and talked way too much while Renee pushed one of Tina's chihuahuas around in a baby doll stroller.Saturday, after the babies had a nap, we hit the road to Hoover for a Scott family reunion at Uncle Carl & Aunt Bea's pig farm. We used to go swimming in the pond at the back of the farm when we were kids, and you'd have to drive through some of the grossest smells ever and a small creek to get there. They've moved the pigs somewhere downwind (thank god) and moved what used to be the bridge to my Grandma's house over the stream at Carl and Bea's. That's progress, 12 Mile-style.
Ben and Renee seemed to be having a nice time walking through the tall grass and over a bridge to a little island in the middle of the pond, which was drained for some reason. Leiah, Shan and I sat and watched them throw sticks and rocks into the empty hole, and Ben got his chance to pee outside, this time on a tree.

I am such a good influence.
The family reunion was good, although I greeted most of the people with, "Hi, I sort of remember playing with you. I'm Amber, of Greg." Weird for a family reunion, I know, but thanks to Facebook, next time I'll know who these people are. Although thanks to Facebook, they are probably dumbfounded at how they can be related to my Buddhistish Socialistish Unemployedistish ass.

At least the babies were adorable. Babies make everything better. Other people's babies that I am the auntie of, that is.

And I found my long lost foot twin. I always wondered who needed smacked for giving me these Flinstones... turns out it's all Scott.
Spending a couple hours at the pond helped Ben and Renee recalibrate their standards, so by the time we visited Aunt Becky, Uncle Vince and Cousin Isaac that evening, Ben had settled into running around shirtless and falling in the grass and Renee was just fine eating dirty strawberries out of the garden.
Our cousin Ryan came over to drink Miller High Life (it's better than low life, haha!) and introduce us to his fianceish Jessie.
We sat on the patio, cracking up at our hilarious Aunt Becky and trying to fight off the mosquitoes with citronella lamps. In the middle of one particularly painful laugh session, Uncle Vince came to the door from inside and said, "I just want you to know that the children are naked and I had nothing to do with it."

Then Ben in his Toy Story tennis shoes and Renee in nothing but her birthday suit came running out of the house having the time of their lives being crazy deliriously happy naked babies. Too bad they didn't pull that stunt at family reunion...

Becky's house had really felt the brunt of the storm from the day before (corn was blown sideways and trees were down everywhere), so we decided to go back to Tina's house since we weren't sure if they were going to get the power back on at Becky's. By the time we left, it was past 11 pm, we'd visited no less than 100 people and, holy smokes, there is only so much love to go around.

As we were pulling in to Tina's we got a text that Mitch, Andrea's husband, had collapsed at a wedding and was on the way to the hospital. What a panicked, awful night that was. Mitch spent a long time in a coma (he had something aneurysmish) but came out of it and is in therapy now. And Andrea just had her baby, Brogen Wayne, a couple days ago.
Finally, I am up to date! Ish.

Let Freedom Ring

On July 3, the day before we left for Ghana, we had a little cookout/going away/4th of July party, complete with a grill, a cooler full of beer and a blow up swimming pool.

Then I got so busy with going to Africa, being in Africa and coming home from Africa, I am just now able to offer you, the six of you who can't live without glimpses into my life, this photo essay from that day.





After Africa, I am loving America extra hard right now. Stay tuned for so. much. more.

Six Years Later

The day after Shannon and Charles got married, Leiah and I went to Indiana for our cousin's wedding and met up with the Scott side of the family, including our dad Greg. That was 2003.

It's almost 2010.

Our dad has been splitting time between here and Iraq, working on the rebuild and shooting guns that are bigger than my nephew for fun. He came back to the states over Thanksgiving, so we made a plan to catch up before I left for LA. He booked a smoking room at the Holiday Inn Express and it was official.

The first night he was here Mack and I met him for a beer near his hotel. It was the first time he and Mack met, and the conversation was aglow with contractor talk. Overseas contractor talk. A subject I know nothing about, which was good because it made me a good listener.

And I realized something.

My dad is happy. He seems to love being on missions, overseas assignments, rebuilds, away from home. He's a Marine, and I think that experience scratched an itch he has for danger and gave credence to his preference for being left alone.

That being said, I also realized he cares about his family. He brought us a copy of some 8mm films my Grandpa made of them as kids -- my dad as a 1-year-old walking up the driveway at my grandparents' house and eating rocks, my uncle Mike who died when I was 11 carrying around their pet raccoons, my aunt Deb leading around a giant horse named Buttercup. I saw my Grandma as a stunning 30-something on Easter morning and that ornery twinkle that my Grandpa has apparently had in his eye all his life. I learned that they lived in 12 Mile at the farmhouse I remember but that they also did a stint in Dayton, OH. And then I saw a video of me, about 6 months old, Shan, at the age Renee is now, and my mom, younger than Betsy is now.

For a lot of my life, my time with the Scotts was spent in the moment, for the weekend, enjoying them as they were at that time... which means that I know very little about who they were before these people assumed the identities of my dad, my grandparents, my aunts, my uncles. I've had the opportunity to talk to my mom about her childhood, about the experiences that shaped who she is, and our relationship is richer for it. I haven't been able to talk to my dad about those things, so while some of me may feel like he's a stranger, a big piece of me understands that when you know nothing, you have the chance to learn a lot.

Cookie Monsters

Laila told me the other day that she'd never made Christmas cookies, and since that was one of my favorite parts of winter break when I was a kid, well, I just could not let her go another year without the experience of cutting cookies, sprinkling sprinkles, and eating raw cookie dough on the sly.

Plus, she needs to learn patience and how to see things through to the end, and nothing takes as much patience and sticktoitiveness as making three sheets worth of cookies and decorating all. of. them.

Homecoming

Five years ago, Shannon decided, in the span of about two months, to get married and move to England.

We were living together at the time, and by we, I mean me, Shannon, Mack and Charles, all of us in a 2-bedroom house with one bathroom and a shotgun kitchen. Outside of our childhood, when we shared a room until she was 14 and I was 12, I have lived with Shan twice in my life -- once in 1997 for a couple of months and then again in 2003 when she came back from her first experience in Cuba . That time when she came back to Cuba made me fall in love with her as a person, not just as my sister.

She would leave little bits of half-noshed snacks laying on an end table or on the counter. And she would go into marathon baking sessions and whip up 5-6 blackberry cobblers. I would leave to go to work, and when I'd come home, the surface of every wall would be covered with Charles' artwork, like I had my own private art gallery.

Shannon dives headfirst into things I'd like to do but that my Taurus need for control doesn't allow. Also, I am a fraidy cat and don't have the courage.

She is as fearless about living abroad as she is about plastering walls with paintings, and for our entire lives, she has blazed paths for me that she has no idea about. When she was 14-17, she had a best friend named Krista... and I had a Krista's little sister Erica as a best friend. When we moved to Kentucky, Shan worked at the dollar movies... my first job (which I kept for nearly 2 years) was at the dollar movies. Then Shannon worked at Billy's BBQ... and so did I, and she worked at Atomic Cafe... and so did I.

Her global pursuits, living in Spain and France and England and Cuba, made me more comfortable with the world we live in, comfortable enough to travel to places that are "scary." Those experiences have shaped me more dramatically than all the years I've lived the suburban American dream in this country.

When Shannon left, with her new husband who I also love, and went to England, I got her out the door, waved good-bye, went into our kitchen, and fell apart on the floor. I physically collapsed, broke down, broke apart. The pieces of her that I needed, the bright spot in my daily life was gone, and I would never get it back. I was never going to discover an abandoned snack or come home to any dramatic surprises like an enormous garden in the middle of the yard. I was never going to wake up to an enormous hand-made banner of encouragement when confronted with a professional challenge. I was never going to watch her pull up in her rinky dink car after a long bike ride with a 40oz. in a paper sack. There would be no more Summers of Abandon or arguments about who has the tightest ass.

She was married and gone, and the bond that allowed us to simultaneously and intensely love and hate each other, reinforced by constant physical proximity, was uncertain. We'd never been through long distance, like the kind where an ocean separates you, for a long time, and I just didn't know what would happen. I mean, I knew I would love her fiercely and miss her every single day, but I didn't know how hard it would be to call each other, how easily our conversations would go. Without her lead, I didn't know what I was supposed to do.

So I followed her. I decided to grab life by the horns and move to Los Angeles... and I loved it. I missed my family, but I had Mack's family to bridge the gap between trips home. And I missed out on birthday parties and little weekend events, but I was always home for the big stuff... the stuff Shannon and her clan come home for. We were both missing links in the tangled chain that is the Hensley family, but it seemed easier to miss out when you knew someone else was missing out too.

Well, in less than 12 hours and for at least the next 4 years, none of us will be missing out. Shannon and Charles are coming home, bringing their sweet English rose Renee back to her kindred spirit Auntie Am, and putting roots down where the rest of their family tree is. I can't wrap my head around how happy I am, how full I feel, how perfect this is, how grateful I am to be in Kentucky right now, how much I love my family, how special I feel to be one of us.

In honor of the boobies...

Saturday, at 8:45 a.m., Leiah, Ben, Lisa & I, all in different shades of pink, met under the awning of Taste of Thai to do the Race for the Cure.

In the pouring rain.

It ended up being an alright time, except that my shoes are still drying out and will likely get that ruinous mildew smell reserved for shoes soaked once in their lives. Lisa is a running champ, and once she started going, she didn't slow down to a walk at all. I jogged probably a total of 1.5 miles and then, overheating from my wet hoodie and with a creeping sour mood from being drenched, shifted into walking mode once we were safely past the crowds of people. I couldn't look like a wuss with an audience. For the home stretch (where the crowd picked up again), I did muster one final jogging push, doing that special kind of bouncy walk/jog that old ladies (and out of shape 30-year-olds) do, and hit the finish line at 41 minutes.Then I walked back to meet up with Leiah and Ben and jogged with them across the finish line 5 minutes later.

If a 5K was made up of multiple finish lines, I could probably talk myself into jogging the entire thing. That finish line thing is a blast.

But the rain, the rain sucks.
(No, I'm not having a stroke, that's just a side effect of exercise apparently, and no, Leiah did not style her hair with pin curls, that's just a side effect of running in the rain with glasses on your head. This is no doubt the sexiest picture we have ever taken together.)

Summer Times

Since summer is winding down and my life hiatus of the last 6 months is coming to an end, well, it's making me need a vacation.

Or at least a look back at one of the best yet.

Create your own video slideshow at animoto.com.

It's a Bird! It's a Plane! It's a Mid-Lift-Off Colllision!

My brother-in-law, Bubba (no joke), is a pilot. He is also one of the funniest people alive and once tricked me into walking full force into a tree.

Well, check out what happened to Bubba yesterday as he was zooming down the runway about to lift off and a blue heron decided to do the same thing in the same place at the same time.

(I know he says it's a buzzard here, but he later found the bird's head,
which, you know, cleared things up.)

I've always sort of thought Bubba was pretending about being a pilot. It's not that he hasn't had the training or doesn't have the brains... it's just that when the people you know well become professionals at something, the eliteness of that position is erased and you're like, they trust Bubba to fly a plane?!! The same guy whose preferred brand of relaxer is the one with the smiling little black girl on it? What's next, Mack becoming a doctor?!!

Beach Baby

My nephew Ben is very particular when it comes to the beach. Like for instance, he only wants to be there when he is unaware that he is there.

In Jamaica, Laila had to keep him distracted with building sandcastles and we only got him onto the sand with shoes on. He was not interested in the water one bit.

It looks like he may just be growing out of that beach-hating phase of his life because the other day, while we were splashing around in the surf, the words "This is so much fun" flew from his lips with the same excitement he uses to say "I wanna watch Cars." And then we all collapsed in disbelief.

Gigi and Dude Build up Ben's Courage


Mommy Helps Ben out of His Comfort Zone


Auntie Am Just Keeps Him from Drowning

Let's talk about the weather. And fatherloss.

My dad is in Iraq and has been for about the last four years. This is my real dad, not to be confused with my dad Steve.

Pretty much everyone I know knows Steve as my dad, but there is this other guy named Greg who is also my dad. Well, my dad insomuch as annual phone calls and once-per-decade reunions make him a "dad." I sort of think of him as this distant uncle it's great to see whenever possible, but as I've become an adult who can barely fit in time to text her closest friends, I get that some relationships are better when there's no obligation behind them.

I don't think most of my friends have ever met my real dad. Heather met him when she went on a weekend visit with me when we were 11, and Liz met him in 2003 at my cousin's wedding. I remember giving him a hug and then Liz saying, "Who is that guy?" And I was like, "My dad, duh. You mean, I've known you for 13 years and you've never met or seen a picture of my dad? Really?"

There aren't too many pictures of my dad. I have one of him when he became a Marine and there are a few of him from when he and my mom were together. The most recent ones I have of him are from my Grandpa's funeral more than a decade ago. Recently, though, he emailed a few photos of the weather in Iraq, and while the sand storm is mind blowing, I really can't wrap my head around how gray his mustache has gotten in the last 6 years.

My dad is the one who can't put his arms flat against his sides, which is a trait Mack shares. And now I'm going to barf up some Freud.

My dad is going through a divorce, leaving the woman who put a lot of strain on his relationship with us. He definitely deserves most of the blame, since the man I remember does what he wants without much regard for other people, but this woman is psychologically stunted and acted like a bigger baby than any of us kids.

Since he's losing her as his family, he has been trying to reconnect with Leiah and I in the last year or so. Leiah is obviously more guarded about letting him in, understandably. She was just a baby when my mom and Greg split up, so she didn't get a chance to really remember him being in her life. I, on the other hand, formed my earliest memories while we were still a family unit.

I remember him playing Bear with Shannon and I, him tucking me in at night, him making breakfast on Saturday mornings, him working on the car while I cleaned his tools, him flashing his belt as a warning that if we didn't chill out he was going to whip us, him throwing a glass of iced tea at my mom's head, him drop kicking our new puppy for having an accident and him explaining to me what divorce was and why my mom was getting one. I remember the good and the bad, so while of course I would have preferred to have my parents together, I'm glad I took a whole picture of him with me when they split up. Leiah was only able to take that image of a hero dad, the one that little girls are promised but few really ever get.

I'm not sure what our relationship will look like in the coming years. I'm not sure that he'll ever meet my husband or my in-laws or my closest friends, or if he even wants to. I really have no expectations, but even if we're just talking about the weather, it's good to know he's alive.

That time I "broke the law" and went to Cuba

It was 2 p.m. on a Wednesday and I was about to go to Lexington to watch Ben for a few days when, in an attempt to delay our goodbye, Shannon said, "Come to Cuba..."

An impromptu airfare search led to an impromptu text message which led to an impromptu ticket purchase which led to an impromptu vacation with Shannon in Cuba. It was an incredible experience, one that started with being pulled over within minutes of getting off the plane, featured a dramatic foot pursuit, and culminated in a day at the beach.
I didn't really know that much about Cuba. I knew that it's under embargo from the U.S. because of Fidel Castro, that it's known for its rum and cigars and that toilet paper, as well as aspirin and sunscreen, is scarce. Beyond that, I was an idiot, especially when it came to Spanish.

The first thing I noticed about the country was definitely its politics. There were Viva la Revolucion billboards everywhere along the highway. Here we have billboards for Love's Truck Stop; there it's pro-Fidel propaganda everywhere you look. It reminds me of Iran in that way, but without the mask of religion. And since religion isn't the driving force, there is sex and art and music and drinking and a hussling so intense it makes you appreciate the cardboard messaging tactics that our beggars use. It wasn't until the end of our trip that I finally learned how to say, "Leave me alone," a phrase that could've saved us a lot of headache when Shannon wasn't around to be our guide.

That being said, when we were with Shannon, I loved Habana. I loved the antique cars that give their passengers an air of class (because of the embargo, Cuba hasn't been able to import many new cars and have kept models from the '50s and '60s on the roads). I loved the swanky hotels with outdated upholstery that's stained with decades-old activity. I loved the mojitos and the national beers (there are two, Bucanero and Cristal).
I loved the crumbling facades on the outskirts of the pristine and antique Habana Vieja and I loved wandering from plaza to plaza and remembering what it was like that time we visited Madrid.
I loved visiting the Necropolis de Cristobal Colon and walking up and down the streets of the dead. I loved stepping into the very U.S.-influenced El Capitolio and gawking at the tense nipple that the enormous bronze female sculpture was sporting, wishing aloud the Ashcroft was there to squirm underneath it. I loved sitting on the steps and having a "romantico" photo taken of the three of us with a 100-year-old pinhole camera.
I loved spending a day on the beach even though the high winds threatened us with Portugese Man O' War jellyfish. I loved touring the Castillo del Morro and realizing how ridiculous a weapon the cannon was. I loved chatting with the man in the watchtower and looking through his gigantic binculars at the Bacardi building and the lovers on the Malecon. I loved watching the sun set from a patio on the sea and will never forget the fishermen pulling up fish after fish from their intertube boats long after the water turned black from darkness.

And, even though it was shattered by theft, I loved the night I spent drinking rum on the Malecon with new friends and my older sister and listening to musicians parading up and down the sea wall. My camera was snatched by a sea crocodile and his accomplice, forcing me to dig into my memory for those precious moments I had during the trip and giving me a great story to tell about CSI: Havana starring Norlin Garcia and Mack Thomas. It sucked to lose my mementos, but even that eruption of tears and the consequential 7 hours at the police station couldn't undo the joy I felt watching Shannon eat $1 cheese pizza at El Rapido.
** If you're a government/legal/prosecution monger type, this is all fictional and a lie.

And I thought I was bad.

Leiah moved into a new place a few weeks ago, so last week I spent a few days at her house watching Ben and helping her get settled. We went through clothes, found a roomful of wedding and baby stuff that could be donated or given away, and then had to tackle her keepsakes.

I have a soft spot for keepsakes. A soft spot that's about two trunks tall by two trunks wide plus an under the bed box full of photos. Mack loves my soft spot.

While I'm good at being practical about things like how many pieces of Gladware you really need, I'm terrible at purging keepsakes. Every time I open my own collection to eliminate things, it's like I get to go back in time, see who I was then, laugh at how ridiculous she was, and then come back to who I am today feeling very grateful and more like I have accomplished something with my life. Something like not being 17 anymore.

Helping Leiah was tough. She has the funniest notes that she passed during class and a love letter from a boy who was so sweet and so helpless in his feelings for her. She has fake wedding programs that she and her friend made for their future alter-ego selves. She has baby photos of a boy I love so much I'll probably keep his baby picture framed and on my windowsill even when he's 75. Those things made it hard to say no.

But there were other things.

When we were kids we had this awful wool blanket that was kept on the couch for us to cover up with if we got cold. This thing was brown and as scratchy as a beard, and it became known as Itchy Scratchy to us girls. Leiah decided she was going to love this blanket and claimed it as her own. Fast forward 22 years when she pulls Itchy Scratchy out of a bag, tattered and torn, aging worse than a smoking woman.

When I asked Leiah why she ever liked that obnoxious blanket she looked at me and said, "Because Amber. It's what I do. I liked Itchy Scratchy and I liked LJ. I don't know why."

We also came across her old orthodontics. When I say orthodontics, I don't mean retainers. I kept my retainers for a few years after I stopped wearing them, but mainly because I knew how much my parents had paid for those things and I felt awful pitching them. I guess Leiah had similar issues because we not only found her retainer but also her rusty headgear and her braces. Yes, her actual braces.


I'm I ever glad my packrattiness was tempered by a tiny apartment and a cross country move.

I think Jesus is the Easter Bunny. And Santa Claus.

What do you get when your parents buy a minivan, your older sister comes home from England, your baby sister gets a lizard, your little sister needs to sleep and (almost) everyone's birthday happens in the spring?

An Easter weekend at Mountain Laurel Lake.

My parents booked a cabin on this bigger-than-a-pond-but-not-quite-a-lake patch of water a while ago, hoping that everyone would be able to come together and spend some QT together. Little did they know that more of us than they expected would be living under their roof, ODing on QT daily.

About 22 seconds after we arrived, Charles started fishing off the deck. And he didn't stop fishing until Sunday afternoon when the car was all loaded up and we were about to drive off. To his credit, he caught the first fish and the last fish of the weekend and increased his manliness by 86%.



Since we ladies don't like worms and cigars, we spent our time doing more ladylike things like playing cards and cooking delicious black bean burgers (Kristin's recipe) and birthday cake. My mom brought an egg dying kit so the mommies of us put on their patience hats and helped toddlers enjoy brightly colored vinegar with epic stain potential.

On the first night, we realized there was no way the babies were going to be able to sleep in the same room. Mainly because Renee kept popping up in her bed and saying, "Hi-lo" to Ben and Leiah while they were trying to sleep. So my mom and dad, you know, the people who PAID for and ARRANGED the trip, relocated from a bedroom to the loft. Betsy and I were also in the loft. On the pullout bed. Next to the prison toilet.

The prison toilet was actually a highlight of the weekend because it was the reason I laughed so hard I drooled. See, they'd put a toilet upstairs, but it was only hidden by a little screen panel so everyone could see and hear everything you might do in a bathroom. Like in prison. My mom was absolutely hilarious acting out a late night trip to the prison toilet, and I was doubled over in laughter and pain from laughter.

Another highlight was Boggle. Which is basically a game that I can add to my list of games no one can beat me at. During one round I actually came up with agile AND genius, and if you want to know how impressive that is, go get Boggle and take it on your family's Easter weekend trip.

I also recommend taking babies on your trip. Babies are freaking hilarious. Renee took her first boat ride with Dude and loved it so much that every time he'd circle in to drop her off, she'd look at me and her dad on the dock and say to Dude, "Let's go, let's go."
And Ben wasn't about to be out-funnied by Renee. After he'd made the goodnight hug-kiss rounds once, Dude asked him for an extra kiss. Well, that baby was exhausted and just couldn't summon the energy to walk over to Dude to deliver. Instead he stood on the other side of the room and blew a kiss AND a hug. And now we have a new family tradition.

During the day we took lots of walks around the lake. Well, we walked and Renee screamed and demanded someone carry her after she crossed the first bridge.


Renee was obsessed with throwing rocks in the water all weekend, an obsession I take the blame for since I showed her how to throw rocks in a puddle. We also took the babies "swimming" in the hot tub, dried off in front of the fireplace and drank beers.

On Easter the babies looked for their Easter baskets and then were sent on a hunt for eggs. Ben was faster than Renee, so Leiah kept having to sneak eggs out of his basket and drop them on the side of the road for Renee to find.

The entire weekend culminated in a pile of us on a hillside, watching the babies blow/lick bubbles, laughing at their new found addiction to jelly beans, and settling into gratitude for having so many people to love and laugh with.