RA, TP, and Hydrocortisone Cream

“Keep your love for one another at full strength, because love covers a multitude of sins.”  1 Peter 4:8

 

In celebration of Mother’s Day this week, and a lack of progress in my book writing endeavor, I have decided to reactivate my blogging in hopes my writing will bring enjoyment to someone.  Me.  You.  Anyone??  Plus, I need to chronicle these stories in case I forget in my old age.  

Anyway, as stated before, I grew up thinking I never wanted children.  And some days I’m still right.  There was no lovey dovey feeling when they handed me my first writhing child, but as luck would have it they’ve grown on me.  Good thing, huh?  I blame endless entertainment as the bond that holds us all together.  

About a month ago, one of my children, who will remain nameless to protect the innocent, had a serious case of the RA*.  In babies, they call it diaper rash, but since he hasn’t seen a diaper in eons, I’m calling it the adult version:  red, chapped, whatever you want to call it, it’s not good! 

This was not the first time inadequate wiping had reared its ugly head, so I had showed him previously my face wipes that he could use to help clean himself up if he suspected the job was too much for toilet paper to handle.  They’re the cheap face wipes from the dollar store, but they contain aloe and are better than dry paper on an already tender crack.  And they won’t set you on fire like baby wipes. 

Not that I know personally.

Okay, maybe I do…

Maybe RA runs in the family. 

Said child had complained at bedtime of pain, burning, overall agitation, and restlessness due to the RA.  I tried everything I knew to help make him comfortable, but nothing was working.  I finally suspected stalling tactics to keep from going to bed, but when he came to me the third time flopping around and actually crying real tears, I knew there was more to the story. 

I asked him what he’d done.  He said he’d used some wipes.  Which wipes?  I asked. 

These…. 

Clorox wipes. 

So child ended up taking a shower about 11PM, got reslathered with the A+D ointment, and finally stopped being hysterical and went to bed. 

Nobody died. 

But good advice would be not to use Clorox wipes as butt wipes.  Just saying.

*****

We went out of town last weekend and stayed in a hotel for two nights.  On the morning after our first hotel stay, I have this conversation with the same child:

“Boy, that new toothpaste of yours really works!  My teeth even feel clean this morning!” he says.

“I know.  I got a whitening one this time and it really cleans your teeth good.”

“I don’t think I even need to brush my teeth this morning, they’re so clean!” he says.

“You still have to brush your teeth.”

“But they’re still clean!” he says.

“No, really, you still have to brush your teeth.”

(Goes into bathroom where father is brushing his own teeth.)

Overheard from father, “Hey, let me see that….  That’s NOT toothpaste!!” 

And what was it? 

Hydrocortisone cream.

That’s why I love them.  Because they make me laugh!

 *Red ass.  That’s what we call it in my house, although we usually use the abbreviation.

Roy's Wheat

"Do not be deceived: God cannot be mocked. A man reaps what he sows." - Galatians 6:7

Turns out that the side effects of too much sleep, inhaling too much smoke, and eating just plain too much on Fourth of July makes the Fifth of July National Cranky Mother’s Day.  So, I need a diversion, or a time out, or both, and maybe a nap.  I decided to write this instead. 

My stepdad, Roy, died when he was 36 years old of alcoholism.  More specifically: cirrhosis of the liver caused by chronic alcoholism.  I believe that’s exactly what the death certificate said.  Odd that I still remember that.  I can still picture the document.  He was, however, the best stepdad I could have asked for and he loved me.  A lot of my favorite childhood memories involve Roy and his family and all the stuff we used to do together. 

Lately, I’ve had several dreams about Roy.  Now I have weird dreams all the time, but not usually involving people I know.  When they are about actual people, I can really get upset over them because they seem so real.  Anyway, a few weeks back I dreamed I ran into Roy in a grocery store.  He was buying dog food and wearing his red baseball cleats.  I kept telling him how much I missed him and that I hadn’t seen him since he died.  He just kept acting like he had no idea what I was talking about.  And I woke up nearly in tears.  This November 20th will be 17 years since he died.

Now back to real life….

Roy’s family was full of farmers.  His dad raised pigs.  His sister raised cattle.  We had horses.  We picked pecans.  We fished.  We always lived in town, but Roy would plant wheat in our yard.  Usually out by the alley behind and around our redbud tree in a little patch.  It was always shocking green compared with the rest of our grass and I liked to pick the heads of wheat when they finally matured.  I remember hulling out the wheat seeds and sprinkling them around. 

Then one year his family raised a whole field full of wheat.  I remember playing in the back of an old farm truck full of wheat, running the seeds through my fingers.  I also remember we ground some of the wheat with a hand grinder.  I don’t remember what we did with the ground wheat, probably fed it to the pigs, but I remember my hands hurt. 

So, when I think of wheat, I think about Roy.

Three years ago, I had a couple of wheat plants come up by my back porch.  Must have been planted by the birds.  But I thought of Roy.  This was my first wheat crop:

 

I don’t know why I kept the seeds.  Nostalgia, I guess.  Maybe I thought I’d plant them and didn’t, but they’ve been in my laundry room ever since.  I ran across them every now and then.  And I thought about Roy. 

This year I am the same age that Roy was when he died.  I’m not a drinker.  Now that doesn’t mean I never tried a beer when I was younger, or that I didn’t send my husband to the liquor store for whiskey when I was sick of coughing last winter, but I’ve never acquired a taste for alcohol.  I even choose the grape juice at communion.  I have Roy to thank for that.  Living with an alcoholic for 10 years of my life pretty much snuffed out any alcoholic fantasies I might have harbored.  In fact, I find myself suspecting all people who drink of being alcoholics and wondering if it might kill them.  What would their children do without them?  How would they die?  In a car crash?  In their sleep?  Would they kill someone else?  Do their family members know how serious drinking is?  Do they?

I get through holidays, family gatherings, stressful times, relaxing times, and most generally every day of my life with nothing harder than lemonade.  Why can’t they?  Why couldn’t Roy?  And they drink in front of their children. 

I was one of those children.


He’d still be alive today if it weren’t for beer. 

Cases and cases of beer. 

 

This year I have 11 wheat plants that I’ve found in my yard.  I’ll probably collect their seed heads yet again.  This time, though, I think I’ll plant them in my garden area for next year.  Roy’s life was cut short by his habit, but the seeds he sowed into my life are evident every day.  I hope I’m as patient, kind, involved, and hard-working as he was, or at least I hope my kids see me that way, because that’s how I saw Roy.  I saw though that Roy had a character flaw that was a dark shadow on all things about him that were good, and I couldn’t fix that about him.  I hope my children see nothing but sunshine when they think of me! 

Am I in a better mood now?  Probably not.  But my focus is on “reap what you sow”, so I vow to be less cranky and maybe try some sunshine! 

Thanks for the therapy.  I hope I didn’t drive you to drinking!

My Garden

My garden has things I did not plant.  Things I try to keep out of the garden. 

It is full of sunflowers, mint, and children.

Today I am planting hope. 

We dream of ripe tomatoes, cucumbers from the vine, and potatoes deep beneath the soil.

We search for the perfect plants at greenhouses near and far.  We choose them by how healthy they look.   

But the ground is not good. 

So the plants wither. 

We add compost, manure, leaves.  We till and hoe until we think there is not one weed left. 

But we always miss one.  And from one come many.

And the plants die. 

We water, water, water, but it is never enough.  We pray for rain.

Then the rain comes and the potatoes rot. 

The cucumbers yellow. 

The tomatoes die. 

Let’s plant something else say the children.

So we plant flowers.  It is too late in the season to expect that any vegetable will grow before it gets too hot.

Then we water, water, water, but it is never enough. 

Then it becomes a water fight. 

Then it becomes a slip and slide.

Then we are muddy. 

Then we all have sunburn. 

And the flowers die.
 

But the sunflowers, mint, and children grow.

CSI: The Holey Shower Curtain

"No one who practices deceit shall dwell in my house; no one who utters lies shall continue before my eyes."  Psalm 101:7

 

Occasionally we have an unsolved mystery here at the house.  Real whodunits since no one ever fesses up to committing the crime.  I told you of how I’d become the Toothpaste Detective a while back and now I’ve had to broaden my scope.  I’m now Captain Bathroom!

You see, most of our crimes occur in the bathroom.  From mystery pee spots on the wall, to walking in hours after someone has been in the bathroom to the water in the sink still running, to the child in the bathtub who has no towel to use when he gets out because someone stole it, we have a litany of bathroom offenses.  Most punishment for noticeable offenses falls back to the known repeated offender, who admittedly may not be the offender at the time, but I think it sends a message.  Plus it evens out the workload in case they might be in cahoots.  And they clean the toilets for me. 

Our most recent bathroom crime: The Case of the Holey Shower Curtain. 

I have one child that showers and one child that bathes, so when I stepped into the shower one morning and found the plastic curtain had finger shaped protrusions all over it, it wasn’t hard to discern a culprit.  Said culprit was brought to the crime scene, asked to confess, and told to never do that again or suffer the wrath of Captain Bathroom.  Said culprit was agreeable to all terms of his verdict and we’ve lived with protrusions on the shower curtain for weeks without further incidents. 

Yes, I could have replaced said shower curtain, but I thought leaving it for a while might be a visual reminder to his conscience in case boredom strikes in the shower again.  Wash yourself and GET OUT!!  How many times do I have to say it?

So last week, after a late night at soccer practice and a messy bathtub from bathing baby ducks, I commanded my usual bather to shower after his brother.  All was fine and dandy and it was business as usual until I stepped in the shower the next morning. 

Here’s what I found:

 

Now where the simple protrusion had once been there was a distinct hole.  I called the two primary suspects to the crime scene.  Both entered a plea of not guilty.  But since I have one showerer and one bather, and one honest-to-a-fault and one liar, I could pretty much tell you who did it without even asking them.

The incriminating evidence was as follows:  

• The showerer had already been read the riot act on poking the shower curtain and swore he’d change his ways. 

• We’d not had any repeat occurrence of a maimed shower curtain until the appearance of the bather.

• And bather just happens to have a history of innocence when all fingers point to him.

I sent them to their room to decide between the two of them who had poked the hole in the shower curtain.  After much deliberation, the prime suspect comes in with the verdict.

“Since your finger fits in the hole, YOU must have done it!” 

I had flashbacks of the OJ Simpson trial:  If the glove doesn't fit, you must acquit! 

 

And so the mystery of The Holey Shower Curtain remains just that, and Captain Bathroom is still on the case.  From the looks of things, my investigations may never cease!

Cat Attack

“Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn.”  Romans 12:15

 

Remember the orange cat?  He’s grown up nicely into a very sweet loving kitty cat that I love despite his color and has provided us loads of entertainment with his sweet gestures of flopping down in front of where ever we may walk wanting us to rub his belly.  He’s also started a little game with us called “Sneak into the House”. 

It all started about a month ago when we had a little cold snap.  The kids wanted to bring him in. 

Okay, it was me.  I thought his little kitty paws might be cold. 

Anyway, I let him wander around the house and he found a wonderful spot called “Under the Bed”.  He could hide just behind the dust ruffle and then when he noticed I sat down on the floor right on the other side of the dust ruffle to play with him, he could sink his claws right into my bottom causing me to holler and my son to almost wet his pants from laughter.  It was quite the little game we had going.  Ha ha, hee hee. 

Then he found that if he moved to the exact center of Under the Bed, no human arm could reach him.  Well, it had been so long since we’d had a cat in the house, I’d forgotten about flushing them out from Under the Bed with the broom handle, so we just let him be, thinking he’d come out when he was ready. 

We thought he’d come to us.  But he decided to go out the other way and see what adventures he could find in the rest of the house.  What he found was the Hamster Cage!! 

We found him with front paws wrapped completely around the hamster cage, and his kitty nose pressed in desperation up against the thin bars that separated him from his prey, and a look of unfathomable luck upon his face.  We had to practically pry his claws off of the cage and sent him back outside. 

And then he had to live with the fact that we keep tasty cat treats in a cage in a nice warm house. 

And it was just too much for him to live with. 

So, for the past several weeks we’ve occasionally found Sunny hiding under the bed waiting for the right moment in which to unleash his Master Plan.  Lying in wait, I believe it is called.

He’d only made it into the room with the hamsters a couple of times, but was quickly discovered and ushered back to his natural outdoor habitat.  Sunny practiced his murderous skills several times in the past few weeks, picking off several birds that have visited my bird feeders.  He’s left their lifeless bodies on my front porch as a sign of things to come. 

Or maybe affection.  Depends on who you ask.

And so it was tonight that Sunny decided to finally unleash his Master Plan for either liberating the hamsters or having a tasty treat. 

I had left with the children to return two friends to their home, and the hub sat at the kitchen table working a Sudoku puzzle and reading the newspaper.  Sunny apparently sneaked in the laundry room door when one of the four children was exiting the house to get into the car.  In my mind, he probably went straight for the center of Under the Bed to wait for the perfect moment. 

So while the hub was enjoying an otherwise uneventful quiet moment to himself, Sunny pounced.  He jumped on the top of the hamster cage, ripping it from its perch on a stand by the window, knocking a hamster bedroom insert completely away from the cage itself, and exposing a large gaping hole through which he would retrieve his snack.  Unfortunately his plan did not include the hub grabbing him by the scruff of his neck, spanking his bottom, and depositing him back outdoors so quickly. 

Pine pellets and hamster bedding slung all over the floor, it wasn’t surprising that the hamsters had escaped.  The elder of the hamsters has been out at least on one other occasion since we’ve had her and she tends to run in a circle around the cage until the humans show up, but the other hamster is young and new and really doesn’t care for humans that much in the first place, so she decided to make a run for it. 

The hub said he could see her hiding behind the cabinet peeking at him, but as soon as she noticed he saw her, she would run to another spot.  The hamsters are robo dwarf hamsters, which the lady at PetSmart said meant “fast”.  The hub confirmed this definition after having several misses in catching the baby hamster before snagging her back into her cage. 

I returned after depositing the excess children at their home and found the hub at the table reading the newspaper and working a Sudoku puzzle.  He told me of all his action while I was out and I thought I would die laughing.  He didn’t find the experience as funny as I did. 

Probably a classic case of:  “Guess you (didn’t have) to be there!” 

The pine pellets and hamster bedding still remain on the floor.


He’ll probably laugh tomorrow when I have to clean them up! 

The ADD Apple Tree - Part 1

"There is surely a future hope for you, and your hope will not be cut off."  Proverbs 23:18

 

Let’s talk about ADD.  Attention Deficit Disorder.  Lack of attention.  Inability to focus.  Executive order problems.  Forgetful.  Being scatterbrained.  Social ineptitude.  Impulsive.

These words, among others, have been used to describe my child.  The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, I guess.  I won’t say which child, but really that’s only because the other one hasn’t gone through the official “diagnosis” process and probably never will.  You see, my children are borderline ADD. 

As am I – admitting it is the first step, right?  I take all these labels personally, as if it is MY fault, although my husband admits he was a bit of a daydreamer as a child too.  We’re fighting genetics!

Anyway, my kids have been plagued since beginning school with not conforming to the rigors, expectations, and distractions of the public classroom.  Teachers complain, principals call, and recesses are taken away.  They are square pegs trying to be shoved into round holes.    

I have been told for YEARS that something is WRONG with my kids.  And I began to believe it. 

I began to nitpick every time they forgot their lunchbox at school.  I freaked every time they forgot a homework page.  I began questioning whether or not they had a learning disability when they failed to retain information.  Weekly, I would make a mental tally of all the times I’d had to remind them twice about something and it began to add up. 

Maybe there WAS something wrong with my kids!   

So, even though the teacher would start telling me about all the problems she’d had with HER son every time we talked about MY son, I decided to take her advice and consult with my pediatrician.  (It should be noted that my husband was not in agreement, but he did fill out his “parent” survey paper on behaviors and social interactions.)  The teacher submitted her papers as well and the pediatrician said, “I’m seeing some tendencies of mild ADD.”  Then she turned into the teacher from the Charlie Brown cartoons and pretty much said, “Mwah, mwah, wah, wah, mwah, mwah.”  What I did take from the conversation was “…9YO on a controlled dangerous substance that you’ll have to register with the Bureau of Narcotics to be able to pick up at the pharmacy….. appetite suppressant, so you may want to LOAD UP at the Chinese buffet on the weekends.” 

I asked what we had to gain my medicating him.  She said he would have more learning opportunities and would be able to be more successful in the classroom. 

I told her, “Keep in mind that he is a straight A student and is already in Gifted and Talented.”

She then had a puzzled look on her face and said, “Well then, in your case, not a lot.  I typically see patients who are in peril of being held back in school.  Here’s the prescription.  If you don’t want to medicate him, don’t medicate him.”

At this and other doctor appointments throughout his nine years, I’d mentioned to the doctor that he was stiff, asymmetrical, and walked on his toes a lot.  We actually took him to the doctor because his left ribcage was protruding farther than his right in his abdomen area and the doctor laughed at us and said it was totally normal and sent us home without a charge.  This will be important later. 

Anyway, in shock from our controlled dangerous substance discussion, I began to research alternative methods for treating ADD.  I say “research”.  Google was my laboratory.  My friend, who has a slightly autistic son whom she homeschools, had told me she’d started giving him a cup of coffee in the morning before starting his school work and that it really helped him to focus.  So caffeine was where I started. 

Based on internet calculations, I determined that my child could safely consume up to a half a caffeine pill as an alternate to the prescription drug.  I called my pediatrician, jubilant that I’d found something common that I wanted to try before trying medication.  She quickly shot me down, telling me she did not recommend caffeine for children his age. 

Wait a minute….  You would prefer a controlled dangerous substance over caffeine? 

I got a second opinion from my pharmacist who said she would ABSOLUTELY try the caffeine pills over the prescription drug.  And that was good enough for me!

I told the teacher that I was not willing to medicate him and that I would be giving him caffeine pill every morning before school.  And that was the end of that.  She never commented on his lack of focus for the rest of the school year, and he ended up with high Bs and As as his final grades. 

During this time too, we took him to a pediatric neurologist for the toe walking who didn’t see any immediate concerns, but wanted to do a sleep-deprived MRI, just in case, and had him evaluated for physical therapy due to stiffness with his gross motor skills.  Naturally, the physical therapy office wanted to sign us up for six months worth of appointments for which I would receive an immediate 15% discount if I pre-paid. 

None of these appointments gave me the warm fuzzies! 

I quickly cancelled all future appointments, relying on my gut instinct.  Then I gave it one more try and took him to the orthopedist we’d used twice with his brother’s broken arms because I felt like he would shoot me straight.  He assured me that nothing was physically awry in his feet or legs, but it would be up to my son to fix the way he walks and carries himself.  He said we could do all the physical therapy in the world, but that if it wasn’t a problem for my son and he continued to walk on his toes, he would undo every bit of progress we would make.  He looked right at my son and said, “It’s up to you, buddy.  Mom wants to help you, but Mom can only do so much.”  He said regular exercise, stretching, and sports activities would help with his stiffness.  We continued to play soccer and swam during the summer.

And then summer was over, and he was back to his old tricks, but with a new teacher in a new grade.  She is quick to communicate with me her concerns, which I appreciate.  Better than going along thinking everything is hunky dory and then one day having a bombshell dropped on you that your kid has been having a problem for six months and this is the first you’ve heard of it.  Not that I’m bitter… 

Anyway, she had some serious concerns about his ability to handle this grade’s school work and his ability to focus in the classroom.  She said it was causing him unnecessary and undue stress in the classroom and at home. 

And so, I contacted the Special Education Services office at my school system.  I told them I wanted him tested for a 504 plan under other health issues.  I told them I wanted him evaluated for modifications in the classroom.  I was told they would have a meeting and then decide if he needed to be evaluated. 

This was during the week of Fall Parent/Teacher Conferences.  We’d started playing Fall Soccer and had met a nice family on the sidelines in which the dad was a chiropractor.  His office was in Tulsa and his wife talked to me about chiropracting on numerous occasions. 

Now, let’s get my opinions of chiropractors out of the way.  I was not a fan of chiropractors.  I’d had spinal manipulations all my life, but I always went to a D.O. instead of a chiropractor.  I don’t know why.  My family just saw D.O.s.  I began to think that chiropracting was a racket when I worked for the government and had a co-worker who would get out of work assignments on a regular basis because “she had to go to the chiropractor.”  (Say that in a whiney voice.)  So I wouldn’t say that I thought they were a bunch of quacks, but that wouldn’t be far off. 

So we’d met this chiropractor, and I’d talked to his wife on the soccer field.  Then, one of the ladies whom I do exercise classes at the Y, out of the blue, says to me one day, “Hey, is your son still having trouble paying attention in school?  Because we’ve been taking my grandson to the chiropractor and now he’s off his medication and everything.”  Weird.  Two chiropractor coincidences. 

Then we had our Parent/Teacher Conference.  We went all through the meeting with the teacher telling us what behaviors our son needed to work on and what he does typically in the classroom instead of his school work.  Yet his grades remained high.  My husband and I were feeling beat down and destitute and without a clue as to what to do next.  So I asked the teacher, “If he was your kid, what would you do?”

She said, “Off the record?”  (I agreed, but I guess it’s on the record now….)

She said, “Now this is going to sound weird, but I’d take him to a chiropractor.”

The hub and I looked at each other like “whoa, that was weird,” and we left with the distinct feeling that someone was trying to tell us something.   I made our son a chiropractic appointment the next day, the day before his 10^th birthday, and the same day the school decided he wasn’t bad enough to be evaluated for a 504 plan.   

 

*To be continued………………….

Being Related

..."Go home to your family and tell them how much the Lord has done for you, and how he has had mercy on you."  Mark 5:19

We took a trip to Portland, Oregon over the summer.  I was amazed at their greenness.  I was wowed by snow in July.  I was aghast when I returned home to 111 degree temperature.  But, what has stuck with me, besides a secret longing to move there and never have 100 degree summers again, was how me and my distant cousins were definitely all RELATED.

My great-aunt Norma (my mom’s dad’s sister) had come to Oklahoma to visit several times throughout my life, as had my great-uncle Don, my cousin Kari, and my cousin Erik.  But, they have another “kid” I’d never met.  His name is Mark, and he’s 50, so he’s hardly a kid, but the last time he’d stepped foot in Oklahoma was in 1973 before I was born.

He told stories of putting a toad in my grandma’s drinking water and how she was going to beat his butt.  We exchanged grandma stories and related quite well, right off the bat.

Did I mention that I run a small toad farm here, and that my kids love toads?

Mark’s family and mine took a trip out to Multnomah Falls and hiked all the way to the top.  On the way through the pedestrian tunnel we bought bags of rainier cherries that we stowed away in the minivan and then returned to after our hike.  We all sat out in the parking lot with the windows down blowing seeds out our mouths like uncouth cannons into the parking lot the exact same way.  I said it was like we were all related or something!

And then he said those fateful words that led me to believe that some ties must be genetic.  He told my kids, “You betta check yourself, before you wreck yourself.”  I tell my kids this all the time, but I hadn’t yet said it in front of the Oregon folks.  I told Mark that I tell them that all the time.  He said, “Those exact same words?” and I said yes.  Funny how an affinity for Ice Cube quotes could be common halfway across the country.  Coincidence?  I think not!

So then the other day, I was out rinsing off the crystals we got at the Great Salt Plain with the hub and I wondered if they’d lost their saltiness.  So I licked one.  Yep.  Tasted just like a rock.  My husband looked at me like I was nuts. 

A few weeks later, I was sitting out at the picnic table with the hub going through the crystals and our youngest son came over to see what we were doing.  He picked up one of the crystals and licked it.  Again my husband rolled his eyes and looked at us both like we were nuts. 

Then a couple of weeks ago, my dad came to visit.  We were sitting at my kitchen table showing him the crystals we’d dug up when he picked one up and licked it!  I died laughing because that made three generations of rock lickers!  Good grief!  My stepmother was quick to note that SHE did not lick the rock.  I said it must be a Taylor thing.

So the next time you’re thinking “why did I do that?” you might look no further than the people you’re related to. 

And for the record, I don’t lick ALL rocks.  I think that’s an entirely different syndrome altogether and I am (so far) undiagnosed.

Hug your family today.  You’ll need them to blame later!

The Great Salt Plains

"You are the salt of the earth.  But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again?  It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled by men."  Matthew 5:13

After driving approximately 267 miles from home, with a detour to Ponca City to see the Marland Mansion, and another stop in Enid to see Leonardo's Discovery Warehouse, and find a hotel room since the Little League World Series was in town, we finally made it to the Great Salt Plains of Oklahoma.  Unfortunately, we had no idea where we were going and went east when we should have went west and ended up on the east side of the lake where there is actually water.  There wasn't a whole lot of scenery in the area.  Apparently the wheat harvest is just getting started. 

We asked several people where to dig crystals by the lake, but they'd only heard of it and had never been there themselves.  Okay, we drove 267 miles and these people had never been there?  Anyway, we found a bathroom and vowed to press on and find the salt plains before sundown.  We also conveniently found a water hydrant outside the bathroom with a hose so we filled up our two water containers with lids that we had in my trunk. 

Things you need to know #1 - you'll need jugs for transporting water, possibly long distances, so you'd better have a lid for it unless you want a wet trunk. 

The outside of the bathroom also had a map of the lake area, so we figured out we were on the wrong side of the lake.  We were approximately 20 miles from where we needed to be.  And we were burning daylight! 

Thing you need to know #2 - The digging area is located on the west side of the lake, west of Jet, Oklahoma.  There is a dirt road cutoff that we took that takes you to the salt plains.  There is a large sign on the right-hand side of the road for the cutoff.  3 miles on dirt road, 1 mile on pavement.  My car can take it!

We finally arrived about 8:00pm, but I'd forgotten my camera at the hotel and so there is no photographic evidence of our maiden entrance into the great salt plain.  I will tell you, it looked a lot like this.  Only I was totally freaked out driving out into it.  There were no other people there.  The bathroom and "scenic" overlook greeted us at the gate and then let us out into the white plains ahead.  It was probably a quarter-mile to the parking area from the gate/bathrooms and it was completely white and sandy.  To me, it felt like we were driving out onto ice, or snow, or water, none of which I am a fan of driving out onto.  I felt a bit claustrophobic or something. 

Then we arrived at the designated digging site and our excitement was only briefly squelched when all four doors of my car were nearly ripped off their hinges from the constant wind gust we experienced while we were there.  I instructed the children to "hang onto your doors" and then we tried again.  This time, no doors were nearly damaged.  Unfortunately, I had to pop my trunk and the wind tried to take off with it too.  It bent the hinges of the trunk so that it closed funny until we got home and my husband took a board to it.  Now it is as good as new.  Well, close.

Things you need to know #3 - It may be quite windy out on the salt plain.  Hang onto your doors, even if it doesn't sound windy to you from inside the car.

We dug about 30 minutes before the sun turned a deep red color that was warning me to get the heck out of there before it was pitch black.  So we heeded its warning and vowed to return in the morning.

The hub was so excited.  He said he'd never done anything like this in his life.  I told him that made sense since this was the only place in the world you could do anything like this.     

  

  

This is us the next morning.  We arrived at 8:00am.  We were the last ones out on Saturday night, and the first ones in on Sunday morning.  We began to wonder if very many people visit here or not?  Anyway, that's the hub and children up there with visual examples of our water jugs, and our digging gear.  We wore pool shoes and brought along regular shoes to change into after the digging was over.

Things to know #4 - you'll need a shovel, and possibly a change of clothes/shoes.  Oh, and sunscreen, definitely going to need sunscreen!    

Yes, the wind was blowing 999 mph on Sunday too!  

  

Obviously people had been here before, but it really is quite deserted.  We felt like we were at the end of the earth or the surface of the moon.  I wonder why more Hollywood Armageddon movies aren't filmed here?  Apparently the military used it as a test bombing site during WWII.  There is a sign when you first go in instructing you what to do if you find any leftover bomb paraphernalia.  *Call 911!!*

  

The salt plain is also home to the Least Tern, whom we saw several times.  Kind of like a killdeer, but smaller and faster and tougher.  Most killdeers I know make there homes in cemeteries, where there is at least grass.  These guys have NOTHING!  I don't know how they do it. 

  

 It goes without saying, but it is very salty - hence the name, I suppose.  Salt crystals actually form at the top of the abandoned holes after the water evaporates.  I was apparently the only one in the family that was fascinated by this because.... 

...  the "boys" all headed straight to work.  I told the kids, "Stay where we can see you" which by all accounts was approximately 10 miles in any direction.

Here they are digging the hole.  It is just sand, so it goes pretty quickly.  The hub decided the best bet was to find the clay "bottom" and start there.  He had quite a bit of luck with this theory. 

  

After digging the hole, we filled it up with water and then started scooping through the sandy soup with our hands.  If you find something hard that almost cuts your finger off, then you've found a crystal.  We worked for about 2 1/2 hours this day and finally..... 

More people showed up!  Some were ill-equipped.  Some dropped their buckets and they immediately flew right to Kansas.  Some probably had their doors ripped off like I did.

  

And this is what we found.  Singles, clusters, all shapes and sizes.  Selenite crystals!  And no fingers were even lost in the process. 

When we got back in the car and began to dry out.  Even my jeans began to crystallize from all the salt on the ground.  I was glad that I'd asked for a late check-out from the hotel and that we could all go back and take a shower before we headed home. 

Things you need to know, #5 - You're going to need a shower.  Sand is not my friend. 

I suspect that our ease and success of finding so many crystals in such a short period of time was based on the fact that we were there relatively early in the season.  The Great Salt Plains open on April 1st and I suspect are quite picked over by October when they close.  So, if you're planning a road trip, here's my advice:

• Secure a hotel room in advance (just in case the World Series is going on or something).
• Take bags for dirty clothes.
• Take large sealable containers for water.
• Take small containers for rinsing/transporting crystals.
• Don't forget your shovel and spade.
• Wear clothes you don't mind ruining (although miraculously it appears everything came out of the clothes we wore) .
• Take extra shoes, sunscreen, and water to drink.
• Make sure you go to the west side of the lake instead of the east, unless you need water and don't want to drive all the way back to Jet. 
• Fuel up before that last strip of highway through Nash and Jet.  Gas was 30 cents higher there per gallon than in Enid!     
• Get ready to get dirty!!   

The kids are already asking when we can go back.  I am not a road warrior by any means, but I suspect we'll visit again.  Probably not this season, but perhaps when we run out of crystals. 

Now, what to do with them all???