Buffalo, Forts, Guns, and Names I Wouldn't Wish on Anyone

There's a place in Southern Alberta known as "Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump". Despite my 15+ years as a citizen I've never visited before now. While Grandma worked, Grandpa decided to join us on our adventure. And we picked the perfect day for it.

(I tried to get one of the kids to kiss this buffalo...but no one would do it.)

As we pulled up to the entrance, we noticed a bunch of people seated on bleachers surrounding the courtyard. As soon as I heard the drums I knew what we had in store for us. Pow Wow! We got there as the last few dancers demonstrated tribal dances and costumes. It was fascinating enough to keep Curtis entertained (though it might have had something to do with the announcers talk of "warriors" and "weapons").

We then made our way along the pathway that leads to an overlook area near the cliffs. Here's a little historical information regarding the site:

For 5,000+ years, the buffalo jump was used by the indigenous people to kill buffalo. They would drive the buffalo from grazing areas towards the cliffs. Young men would dress up as coyotes and wolves to help stampede large herds toward the edge. As the buffalo reached the edge of the cliff, the weight of the herd behind them, running at full gallop, would force them over to their deaths.

At the bottom of the cliff, the buffalo would then be processed. Most of the animal would be used in some way to help the people survive the cold winter.

This particular site was in use at least 6,000 years ago and the bone deposits are 39 feet deep. 

Did you wonder why it was called "Head-Smashed-In"? According to legend, a young Blackfoot wanted to watch the buffalo plunge off the cliff from below. He found a small crevasse at the base of the cliff and watched as the buffalo began to fall. As the bodies began to pile up, however, he was buried underneath the falling buffalo. He was later found dead under the pile of carcasses, where he had his head smashed in. 

Ian tried to use this as a warning to the kids that they should always listen to their moms and dads. If you ask Curtis about it, he'll tell you that the kid got smashed because he didn't listen to his mom.

Here's Curtis not listening to his mom telling him to smile for the camera.

Our next stop was Fort Macleod. It was originally founded as a barracks for the North-West Mounted Police. Their goal: to stop the illicit trade of "firewater" among the Blackfoot tribes. And, as a bonus...it put a federal presence in an area that was being eyed by the United States. (Ha!)

While I was seriously disappointed that we didn't see any real-life Mounties, we had a good time running around the Fort. 

Here's Curtis not listening to his mom tell him to stay off of the cannon.

(No one listens to me...)

The girls favorite part was the goats. They could have spent the entire day in the corner of the fort feeding these critters whatever they could get their hands on. (Ewww!)

Curtis' favorite part? The guns.

Here's Curtis asking, "If anyone wants a gun, please raise your hand!" (At which point he quickly raised his own hand.)

Oh, and he was a pretty big fan of running along the ramparts. But then...it was a lot of fun for all of us.

My favorite part? These two gentlemen. I hope I don't offend anyone, but I just couldn't help but laugh. Bachelor # 1: Bad Dried Meat. Bachelor # 2: Squat a Few.

(I know, right?)

Food, More Food...Oh, and Some Other Stuff

Each visit to Canada involves a trip to the "big city" to stock up on the goods. You know...Canadian chocolate, Canadian potato chips, and other various goodness. In addition to this typical mission, I had another goal in mind this year. I wanted to sample some more Poutine. For those of you unfamiliar with the term...allow me to enlighten you. 

Poutine (pronounced Poo-teen) "is a French Canadian dish, made with french fries, topped with brown gravy and curd cheese. Sometimes additional ingredients are added." (see Wikipedia)

My past Poutine experiences have been at Costco. (Apparently other international chains, including McDonalds, have been known to serve it as well.) While walking through the mall, however, I was excited to see that one of my favorite places (from when I was a teenager) had embraced this Canadian food. Yup, that would be New York Fries serving Poutine. (I know, I know...it's hilarious.)  

But not just any Poutine. Oh no...they've gone and ramped it up. They have the regular old Poutine (fries, gravy, cheese curds) AND they have 1) Pulled Pork Poutine 2) Butter Chicken Poutine 3) Braised Beef Poutine 4) The Works Poutine and 5) Veggie Works. SO MANY CHOICES!!!

They let us sample each kind (boy, Canadians are friendly!) and Ian and I finally settled on the Braised Beef and the Butter Chicken. 

I can't possibly explain how delicious this stuff is.

No, really...it's AMAZING. 

Now...as if our arteries weren't taking enough of a beating, we also stopped at our other favorite place, Tim Horton's. 

Oh. My. Goodness.

Their honey crullers are enough to make you weep! The only other place I've had something this light and delicious was in Paris (France, not Idaho).

Do me a favor. If you ever find yourself near a Tim Horton's (there are a few in the USA here and there) make sure you go in. Try a cruller. AND, trust me on this one, try a 40 pack of the Tim Bits. You won't regret it.

In case you think our entire Tuesday revolved around food (well, it kind of did)...we also took the kids to see Madagascar 3 (we all loved it), spent some time people watching (quite interesting), and stopped to appreciate Canada's commitment to dry grocery carts.

They really are such nice people.

And, no wonder...they have happy stomaches.

Hiking, Freezing, and Glacier Water

We left for the Great White North on Saturday evening. 4 (ish) hours later we landed on the doorstep of our dear friends, the Davidsons. Our gracious hosts provided us the perfect stop to help break up an otherwise horrific drive. Even though Curtis managed to scare Amy near to death (I thought she was going to faint) and nearly break his legs falling down their stairs...it was a wonderful night. Followed by a relaxing morning and a most delicious breakfast! (I heart you Davidsons!)

We met with little resistance trying to cross the border (though they are getting a little grumpier, in my humble opinion) and descended upon Grandpa and Grandma just in time for dinner. 

We didn't have any real set-in-stone plans for the week. I was mostly interested in not setting an alarm and not rushing to get anywhere. Mission accomplished. Monday started me off on the right foot. We all slept in until 9ish, woke up and had a leisurely breakfast, then decided to jaunt on across the border again to visit Glacier National Park in Montana.

I grew up only a half hour or so from this beautiful place...and this was officially my first visit. (I'm a sucker for Waterton--the Canadian side of the park--so I guess I just never thought about it.)

We chose a relatively easy hike up to Virginia Falls. Curtis practically ran the entire way. I guess he was just excited to be out in the open.

When we did manage to get him to hold still (usually by some type of restraint) he would pull, what I call, an "Uncle Jeff". (Basically, he would act like a doofus for the camera.)

Since Grandma and Grandpa were there...everyone had a hiking buddy so I wasn't as nervous as I could have been about Curtis running through bear country.

The top of the trail ended at the base of the falls. The mist from the glacier water pretty much soaked us to the bone...and dropped the temperature several degrees. Ian stood up on the platform and tried to take a picture of Curtis and I on a rock below. You can't tell, but Curtis is screaming and crying for Grandpa (to the left) to get him OUT OF THE WATER! His little rear end was clenched like it was his last moments on earth. I must admit...I laughed at his expense and stood there for the photo.

And, because it makes all the sense in the world to Canadians, we stopped for a little romp in a lake. A glacier lake. A very, very cold glacier lake. And they LOVED it. (I have learned over the years that they will not catch their death of cold just because their legs turn bright crimson red...so we're good.)

What a great first day of vacation!

Tooting His Own Horn

So. We've talked about The Boy before. 

He's seriously going to kill me. Or himself...I'm not sure which will come first.

Last night we were all sitting around the house, minding our own business, when the (relative) peace was broken by a sudden blood-curdling shriek. I've been around the parenting block enough to know the difference between a sympathy-fishing scream and a real-life-I-just-got-hurt-badly scream. This was the latter.

Turns out, our son was walking up the stairs blowing on small PVC pipe (he was calling it his musical instrument) when he suddenly tripped...stabbing himself in the back of the mouth! By the time I got there he had blood bubbling out of his mouth and his nose. Not pretty. After a rocky few moments we were able to get the bleeding, and the screaming, stopped. And he seemed okay.

This morning I called my pediatricians office, just to make sure I shouldn't be more concerned than I was...it was still looking pretty grotesque. The nurse asked a couple questions then suggested that we follow up with an ENT to make sure he hadn't "done any damage to his palette". I asked her which ENT she would recommend only to be told that I should take him to whoever could see him immediately. (Red flag?)

So, we found someone.

Curtis was sufficiently prepared for a doctor visit with his gun/holster and a pair of Cars bandaids on each shin (covering his other blood-letting fall down some stairs). The doctor came in, looked at his injured mouth, then excused himself to "make a phone call". (Red flag?)

He came back in, the picture of calm, to inform me that he had called the emergency room at Primary Children's and that they were expecting us.

(Um...huge, bright, crimson-red flag!)

This is what I learned: Apparently the carotid artery lies dangerously close to the location of his injury. They were concerned that any blunt force to the area may have damaged the artery and created a risk of it rupturing. It was possible that the ER doctors might choose to inject a dye into his bloodstream and do a CT scan to see how the artery was faring. (Oh, crap.)

Off we went. I numbly called to try and find my husband at work, made sure my girls were okay with Ivana, and called my sister to freak out a little bit.

Meanwhile, Curtis was having the time of his life. He shot all the "bad guys" on the freeway. At the hospital he threw coins in the fountain and wished "that his mom could be so happy" (awww!). He flirted with all the nurses. And he was so very, very excited to watch Spongebob Squarepants. (We don't have cable.)

The highlight of the experience, however, was his "very own room at the hospital place". He has since asked to return to "his room" many, multiple, times. Go figure.

He patiently allowed 8 different doctors and nurses to look in his mouth. They consulted, we waited. They called others in to look, and we waited. Then, as an answer to some fervent prayers, we were given leave to go. No injection. No CT scan. Nothing besides a reminder to make sure he doesn't walk around with stuff in his mouth. (Thanks. I'm fairly certain I knew that. I'm sure I will continue to help my son know that...and I'm also pretty convinced Curtis will do whatever he feels like doing. But, thanks.) 

For now? Well, we are simply thrilled to have him safe and sound and fatal-injury free. Thank heavens!

Literally.

The New House: Take Two

WARNING:

This post contains disturbing images. I wouldn't recommend reading while eating,

right before eating, or right after eating. Or if you plan on eating ever again. If you have food or beverage items in hand...back away! Seriously.

It's been a rough month, folks. Quite a doozie, in fact. Looking back I must admit that I'm surprised I made it. Literally. I was sure that either my mental or physical status would be far beyond repair...and yet, here I am. Phew! (Though I suppose some may still question the mental status...)

After moving into the new house, unpacking all our crap, and starting to settle in we became aware of an odd smell. It was small at first. Then, like the Grinch' s teeny-tiny heart, it grew, and grew, and GREW! It was the worst in Curtis' room. We decided it must be the carpet. So, like any normal person would do, we had the carpet cleaned. And that, my friends, was a mistake. (Or a good thing. I haven't decided yet.)

The moment the hot steamy water found it's way into the fibers of that carpet...it let loose a host of evil like nothing I've ever encountered before. We couldn't even walk into the room, it was SOOOO bad. Armed with rubber gloves and a vow to breath only through my nose I walked to the corner and started tearing the carpet back...and was witness to the most disgusting display of animal filth I've ever witnessed. Wait for it....

Yes. Apparently the house was used as a litter box for some very large, very naughty, animals.

E V E R Y W H E R E.

Needless to say, I wept.

Then I may, or may not, have used some inappropriate language.

We started by talking to a restoration company that does heavy-duty cleaning. He said he could clean it...but couldn't guarantee the smell wouldn't come back. Then I called my new friend, Larry. Larry the Carpet Dude. For a whole bunch of money we could simply replace the carpet. (A whole bunch of money.)

Ian clinched the decision by asking me, "If we went ahead and got it cleaned, would you ever feel comfortable enough to go ahead and lay down with your face on the floor?"

NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

So, we chose new carpet and padding. The plan was this: we would save ourselves a little money and rip out all the carpet ourselves. This would give us time to bleach the subfloor then paint over the stains with a nice layer of Kilz. (Kilz happens to be the brand responsible for helping me get rid of the Sharpie disaster in Curtis' room last year...we're familiar with it's goodness). We also decided that since we would have the carpet up...what a GREAT time to paint the walls and ceilings! (Both the walls and ceilings were a color I wasn't necessarily a fan of to begin with.)

So, we bid farewell to our yard budget and dove head-first into ripping up the putrid pile of nastiness. I am sure I said things I shouldn't have during this particular process. (Ivana will attest to that...though her presence probably prevented me from saying more ghastly things.)

This 2 week process (mostly done while Ian was out of town) looked a little something like this:

Play Room

The white is the Kilz...applied to (hopefully) lock away odor from the "accidents" that went through both carpet and padding--and rusted the nails to boot.

 Master Bedroom

Ellie's Room 

The Boy's Room 

The Loft 

The Stairs (no joke)

Then, if you can believe it...we found MOLD! No...not surprised.

The Family Room

Done one-half at a time...they had replaced the carpet (so we were able to save it) but they hadn't replaced the nasty padding. That was a tricky part. Not to mention painting those big stinking peaked ceilings!! 

 The Kitchen from the Family Room

This was how most everything looked. CHAOS!

Master Bedroom -- getting new carpet/padding= sigh of relief.

We completed this whirlwind project literally minutes before my book group showed up at my house. Minutes. I'm not kidding.

(And when I say "completed" I actually mean "as much as I'm going to do until I forget the awfulness of it all". There are still 2 bathrooms, 2 closets, and a laundry room to paint. Ugh.)

Dining / Family Rooms Grand Reveal

I am grateful for our new home. This move has been an adjustment...for more reasons than I could mention here...but, I know we're supposed to be here. That knowledge has helped me through this recent trauma, as well as other moments of doubt. So, I'm grateful. Grateful for what I do have. Grateful for kids who put up with the insanity as well as they did. Grateful that we were able to get clean (another sigh of relief) carpet. Grateful for friends who helped/did most of the work. Grateful for those who supported us (me). Grateful.

(And I'll keep reminding myself of that every time I see those "before" pictures.)