Our "Vacation"

I think if they could both sleep comfortably in this crib, they would.

One of the nightly news programs stated the other day that Americans are taking fewer and fewer vacations. Any one of us could guess why that is: high gas prices, inflation, fear that taking an vacation will be perceived as slacking at work, etc.

Kurt has been with the same company for more than 10 years now. It seems he has so much vacation time he could take the rest of the year off. Time ain't the problem; like most families, we're just short on scratch. And using a credit card to take a real vacation (read: any place that's nowhere near Ohio) would be so decadent and fiscally irresponsible that the anxiety and teeth grinding would keep me from enjoying myself.

So, we decided to take a "vacation," just the four of us. Our destination: "The Wilds," [www.thewilds.org]. We pack the Civic to the gills with gear and kiddies and head toward scenic Cambridge, Ohio, a town famous for its breathtaking views of the intersection of I-70 and I-77.

Our journey takes us through scenic Newark and Granville, Ohio. I'm not being facetious, those are pretty nice towns. Kurt had planned the trip meticulously, paying heed to my request that we find interesting places to stop often, since Nater Tot refuses to sleep in the car, preferring, instead, to scream in the 90 decibel range for up to 35 minutes straight.

Our first stop is to be at some place called G Scale Junction, a shop for garden-scale model railroad enthusiasts. Once entered into the GPS (Kurt is Inspector Gadget in a parallel universe), Kurt informed me that this place appeared "a little out there." But, he assured me, "it looked OK on the Internet." [http://www.gscalejunction.com/Show_Room/show_room.html] Tooling along the back roads and enduring the scents of the country, our journey brings us to a gravel road. I swear I can hear dueling banjos, ala "Deliverance." In the words of the immortal Whitney Houston, I proclaim, "Hell to the No!" Kurt slams on the brakes. "What?" he says to me, incredulously.

"No," I state conclusively, summoning my ivory pants-wearing, inner Barbra Streisand. "We are not going down a dirt road in the middle of nowhere with our children in the back seat. We didn't even tell anyone that we were making this stop!" Kurt, murmuring under his breath, cuts a U-Turn and hits the paved road. Next time you see Kurt, please pat him on the back. He puts up with a lot.

World's Largest Longaberger Basket in Dreseden, Ohio. Whoopee.

Between here and thar is the little town of Dresden, Ohio, a paradise for people who are insane for Longaberger Baskets. Since Longaberger has laid off more than half of its employees in the last five years (something like 3,000 people, down from a high of 8,000), it’s safe to say this collectible is on a downswing in popularity. Dresden is almost entirely dedicated to lovers of Longaberger baskets – we take in a few stores and stave off the desire to buy $50 “collectible” baskets that aren’t big enough to hold pencil erasers. The storeowners are positively hungry for business; it’s a ghost town.

Not a lot of thinking going on in Zanesville, Ohio.

We stop at the mall in Zanesville to buy bathing suits. I'm still too baby fat to fit into my old one (curse you McDonald's!!) and Kurt forgot his. We play indoor putt-putt at the mall under black lights in what was apparently once a Waldenbooks store. The walls are decorated with lame psychedelic art, mushrooms, alien heads and beaded curtains. Apparently it's lost on the locals to be offended that a putt-putt establishment where children play has drug-inspired stoner art at every hole. Go figure, since the literate members of the community apparently were not significant enough in number to keep the Waldenbooks in business.

After a delectable meal at Cracker Barrel, (collard greens, yum!) we check into our room at the Amerihost. Ah, the Amerihost. Boy, does that take me back to the time in college when my friend's mom was staying at the Amerihost in Athens, Ohio, and I stupidly (yet stone-cold soberly) dived off the side of the pool and broke my freaking nose on the bottom of the pool in three feet of water. Can't make this up; it's too dumb and embarrassing not to be true. Ask one of my best friends from college, Niki. During our four years together she and my other best friend Anita came to master the art of simultaneously crying with me and laughing at me. They can attest to what many of you already know: I am a high-functioning airhead.

So the lot of us deck ourselves out in our new swimwear and converge on the pool. I am such a mom now, because I don't see a pool when we walk into the pool area. I see a bunch of kids frolicking in a gigantic, chlorine-scented toilet. Germaphobe that I am, I try to play it cool and bite my tongue. No need to pass my phobias onto my children; they're bound to pick up a few of my other numerous bad habits (self-doubt, bad language and obsessive flossing) and their father's love of preserved German pork products in link form. Aron jumps in gamely and I get in with Nate, knowing that I am now allowing my children to bathe in the urine of all those who have swam before us. It's OK, I reassure myself logically. There are enough chemicals in this pool to declare this place a Superfund Site.

The next morning we eat the continental breakfast, which, as with most continental breakfasts, offers less selection that what you would find in the typical bachelor's refrigerator. Aron discovers the powdered donuts. Nate won't eat the baby food I offer him because he's too distracted by his brother whining for another donut.

We check out and head to The Wilds. A former strip mine, it was donated to help harbor and rejuvenate endangered species. Man, is it out in the middle of nowhere. Yet they still manage to bilk us for parking! There is nothing but farmland as far as the eye can see and these people hit us up for $2 to park. The penny-pincher in me is deeply offended; lie to me, ya know? Just bury the parking fee in the ticket price and let me think I’m parking for free. Kurt, ever the Eagle Scout, says something about this being for a good cause. The road to debtor’s prison is lined with good causes, isn’t it?

It’s so hot I instantly regret this entire trip, but finding no one but myself to blame, I decide not to complain. We eat some very expensive hot dogs for lunch (again, for a good cause) and head out on our air-conditioned safari truck to see some endangered species. The 45-minute tour was valued at $37 for our family, but we got in for $18 since we are Columbus Zoo members.

Butter Bean gives us the Mutual of Omaha tour of The Wilds.

I think I would love to come out here again when the kids are older and it’s not so hot. I really don’t get a chance to look around much. The babies are melting in the heat, and as a result of not eating well at breakfast or lunch, Nate wants to nurse several times on the safari. Some newly pubescent teenage boy also on the tour finds this enthralling. I have a blanket over my shoulder so the kid can't get a look at the hydraulics, but he knows what’s going on under there, and is apparently so overwhelmed by the idea of a bare breast on the bus that he forgets about the animals. Every time he turns surreptitiously to check out the procedure, I look him squarely in the face and arch a knowing brow. Apparently he isn’t too stimulated to be shamed. That reminds me; I still have time to get Nate a shirt that says, “Breast-fed baby. Stick around for the show.”

Nate gets his money's worth on the tour.

After the tour, we pile back in our car only to discover that the fuel gauge is acting up and we have no idea how much gas we actually have, and no idea where the nearest gas station is. Super. All I can think is that the GPS and the cell phones aren’t going to save us when some Amish cult finds us broken down on the side of the road, abducts us and assimilates us into the fold. Oh well, I muse, no one will be able to see how huge my butt has become in one of those black canvas dresses. And aren’t vaccinations overrated anyway? Thankfully, we don’t run out of gas; we make it to Zanesville for a refill then head on home. Until next time, buggy people.

In general the animals were not as impressed with us as we were with them.

I highly recommend The Wilds. Last week I was talking to some zookeepers at the Columbus Zoo (you know me, I’ll talk up any stranger that’ll listen) and they said the Sunset Safari was awesome. It’s best, I think, to go in the Spring or Fall because the heat really did stifle our enjoyment. The safari tour guide recommended going on rainy days because the animals are very active.

We have another mini-vacation planned in the next several weeks. We’ll be sure to report on those escapades soon.