SPFD Discovery Center

We thought the kids would enjoy an afternoon exploring a space that wasn’t a Schlink household. After one too many occasions of Margo desecrating the Christmas tree, scaling the brick fireplace, and attempts to conquer the stairs, I figured a room filled with scientific toys was a safer place. We took them to the Discovery Center in Springfield, which contains over 50,000 square feet of scientific exploration. The center offers hands on learning such as playing with blocks, water, or magnets, brushing giant dentures or putting together skeletons. They have imagination-powered activities like home grown puppet shows and play-news desks to teach communication and the pleasures of airway media transmission. It was a heyday for everyone involved.

After checking out what I considered exciting activities involving wind tunnels, electricity, airplanes, and fossils, Deets and Margo decided on their favorite exhibit: playing “house.” Of course they did. In a familiar habit, I watched Deets gather up all the dishes from the miniature house and stack them into the sink. He shook his head, saying things like “this house is a mess.” (I’m not sure where he gets that.) Margo grabbed anything resembling food and stuffed it into her mouth, including a fake sacrum and bottles of glitter. Both of them were pretty pleased with themselves.

Pure Admiration: Pee and All

I had a friend growing up where every time I got to see her my heart would palpitate with delight, my stomach would lurch with excitement. In fact I would get so excited to see her, that sometimes I’d even pee my pants. She’d see me shake with unbreathable laughter and say something just funny enough that I’d completely lose all bladder control. Both of our moms were divorced and worked full time jobs so it was a rare but joyful occasion that we’d get to hang out. But when we did, our families went all out: trips to zoos and parks, camping and ski trips, and even the occasional concerts and theater performances.

That’s Erin in her cutie-pie visor. I’m just picking my nose. As usual.

I loved how she put up with my bullish, awkward self. Usually I was the culprit and getting us into trouble: breaking window panes, bathing pet hamsters, picking locks with toothpicks, chasing boys… but she loved me anyway. I loved her imagination and passion, particularly when it came to music and dancing. We’d create songs and dances, convinced everyone thought we were as amazing as WE thought we were. Above all I loved how she could make me laugh and I wanted us to be friends forever. And ever and ever.

I emulated everything about her; I pretended my short and curly rat’s nest hair was as long and beautiful as hers. I was even jealous when her hair got sucked up into the mini vaccuum while cleaning up the car after a co-family ski trip, “Why can’t MY hair get sucked up?” I’d secretly whine. I would torpedo down terrifying ski slopes to keep up with the girl in the hotpink get up; I sprained many body parts trying to do gymnastics like she could and I would try to mimic her hip sense of style and attitude well into high school. Through all the changes we suffer through as children and adolescents, she always remained the same person. I loved her for that.

My Erin: always unconditional. Please enjoy the silverback in the background.

When college rolled around, I accepted the fact I would not be seeing her often. While she applied to the University of Colorado that required decent SAT/ACT scores and college essays, I applied to a school requiring a single page application. Go Pokes! Through the flurry of sorority living, she met Sarah who would forever change the course of Erin’s life. It was through Sarah, who would introduce Erin to her first and ultimate love. They were both 19. He grew up with Sarah in Hawaii and attended school in California. Friends and family wondered how a long distance, young love could possibly survive. But it did. On his own, he picked up his life, moved to Colorado and made his way through junior college, then university, intertwining his dreams with hers.

For many of us, the year after college was rocky and terrifying. Erin struggled with finding a job. In between job hunts, she babysat and sold Mary Kay. At one point she and Dustin lived in her parent’s house to make ends meet. It would have been so easy to give up but Erin remained the ebullient individual I knew her for and eventually the pieces came together. After some enlightening career counseling, she began a career in PR that complemented her journalism degree. In describing this discovery Erin said she loved PR writing and it was “without the hellish hours and abysmal wages of a reporter.” Dustin soon graduated and the two of them didn’t just survive. They thrived. Marrying in 2007, the two of them are the type of couple everyone makes fun of but secretly wants to be. Their love is timeless and down to earth. They share a ridiculous closeness that most people only dream about. And they know the value of a good Bloody Mary on a Saturday morning.

The Dolins doin’ it up EXACTLY how they imagined it…

Nowadays we are all grown up with families of our own. Erin morphed her career into owning her own PR business with no intentions of ever updating her resume. She has found the independence and success she deserves working for herself. She and Dustin have a giant baby boy who is the perfect perfection of genes. He will no doubt compliment and continue a family lineage that this world desperately needs more of. While I am glad I fell into my own successful and happy mold, I still get overwhelmingly excited to see my childhood friend who always holds me in positive light no matter what the circumstances. Even in pee soaked pants.

Home Leave: 8,200 Feet

Jim's photobomb.

Today was the Ripley-Dillon-Schlink Christmas celebration. We grilled steak, drank beer, watched 007 movies, opened presents and took a family hike to ward off a family-wide food coma. It’s our tradition. Deets and Jim took charge completely ignoring the chafing wind and his dripping snot. Mark was sweet enough to bring his camera along. He’s been honing his craft (along with playing copious amounts of World Soccer Manager) to pass the time during home leave.

Grandpa Tom and Deets. 

Dillon, Ripley, Schlink, Schlink, Ripley, Schlink, Dillon.
Not pictured: Schlink

My beautiful seestor.

The happy couple.

The Romanian Departure

4:30am. The sound of the doorbell rang, jarring Mark and me into a fury of flying bed sheets, flying appendages, and flying curse words. We slept through the 3:45am alarm that was geniusly set to silent. Thankfully the embassy drivers assigned to haul our butts to the airport were kind enough to ring the doorbell and check on us. Ignoring our daughter's protests from her crib, Margo watched us race back and forth through the house throwing last minute items into a bag, waking up my other child (Deets) all the while trying to remain calm.  Luckily Mark had the foresight to load our 6 bags, Jim-dog's kennel, and the stroller into the garage the night before and we managed to get everyone dressed, out the door in 20 minutes and into the van for the airport.

We practically skidded into the airport terminal throwing bags, stroller, and kids to a halt just inside the sliding glass doors. Neither of us had the wherewithal to move out of the chill of the morning, so while Mark took charge of getting Jim squared away, I stood in the airport surrounded by our pile-o-Schlink  pretending that I meant to match the fuzz of unbrushed teeth with my unbrushed hair and ignoring the sideways glances of my family's disheveled state. 55 minutes later Mark re-surfaced from the depths of the check in lines mentioning Jim's kennel might not fit onto the plane. This would mean he and Deets would take a different route, while Margo and I would continue on, but we would not find out until our arrival at the gate.

However, one step at a time. We received our boarding passes and bee lined to security where we had to wait for a couple to drag two sweater-clad pups out of their kennels by the scruffs of their necks where they were undressed and redressed with the leisure of a Sunday afternoon. I glanced at my imaginary watch nervously (no time this morning for such luxuries). Not that our sh*t-show was any better: we needed to break down the stroller, unload the electronics, unload Jim, and unstrap Margo only to walk through the metal detector and put ourselves back together again. We made it through border control and sprinted to the gate. Ignoring the stink-eye of our fellow passengers we boarded successfully after confirmation Jim could come with us after all. Off to Frankfurt...

...and two hours later we touched down for a 4.5 hour layover, hopefully enough time to drink a beer and wear down the children on the airport playground. Up to this point Margo and Deets held their own, though the former certainly had her beasty moments. I can't say I blame her; uprooting her reality didn't exactly help. The minutes ticked by to boarding time and we were off again. Thank goodness Deets is such a great traveler, we because this time Margo unleashed her inner beast. I'd say 7 out of the ten hours of flying time she hysterically fought sleep forcing Mark and I to take turns dealing with her. She walked up and down the aisles until Margo determined she needed to drink from stranger's cups, and grab at the crotches of unsuspecting passengers to say hello. Then we carried her up and down the aisles until her banshee sleep deprived shrieks reached a fever point. Only then did we put her in the car seat and waited for her to pass out.  I wonder if we will ever "break" her resistance to travel. Considering she's MY daughter, probably not. Karma's a mean one.

Freshly arrived sans deodorant and shower.
They took us home anyway.

The crew practically applauded us off the plane as we sleeplessly landed in Denver. I dared to feel relief when we flashed the Dip Passports, bypassing the throbbing line of exhausted travelers at Customs.  We collected our bags and dog and everything else that came with us and walked straight into the arms of our family who clearly didn't care about our bedraggled state of existence or the mysterious smells that we always seem to acquire during travel. We were home.