Consider it dune February 1 - 21, 2008 Kindergarten woes - back on the road - Pinnacles - Death Valley

	No matter that our princess is wearing dirty sweat pants, but notice she's wearing a necklace!!

	Spring has caught us performing a hat fashion presentation in our train park

One of my worst experiences of the recent weeks was a problem with Tom's pre-school. I was looking for one where our kids could start attending together by next September, although in different classes. Since last fall I had picked a nearby church organization where they were very nice, reassuring me that they were looking forward to see our children and that they had a program exactly matching Tom's needs, as I did not want him to start attending the standard kindergarten yet. Tom's English has been somewhat less developed than his Czech, he's not very interested in drawing and other crafts; he is a lefty -- there were simply multiple reasons to be found why giving Tom one more year of pre-school. At St. Timothy's Lutheran School were repeatedly telling me that their Junior Kindergarten is meant exactly for children who need a bit more time to improve their fine motor skills and other things kids learn at school. I was excited. Then the nice lady called me one day that Tom must come down on Tuesday afternoon so that the teachers can decide whether he should attend Kindergarten or Junior Kindergarten. I had told her that I considered it redundant -- I did not want to put Tom in Kindergarten (0th year of regular school attendance), and I repeated my reasons. The lady reassured me that it was just a formality and Tom simply must come. Well, why not.

On Tuesday I picked Tom up from his regular pre-school and we went to the aforementioned St. Timothy's. I explained to him that he was going to go play at his new school for bigger kids. To my surprise the teachers, whom I met for the first time in my life, led Tom and two more boys away. They said they did not want parents along. They were still very nice, so I let it be. It made me worried though that no one from the teachers would ask me about Tom -- somehow I became used to teachers who would actually be interested in personal details like the kid being left-handed or how his first language was different from the local one. They returned Tom in an hour, he was content. He said he was playing and cutting a circle out of paper -- that surprised me. Given his left-handedness, he's rather clumsy with all the invariably right-handed scissors.

	Our children were quite eager to go on a trip this time.

	Hansel and Gretchen at Pinnacles

Then at home a message from the principal awaited me, alleging that Tom was grossly behind in development and that they could not admit him to the school. I called and asked her how she meant it. She said Tom did not know his name and did not know how old he was. I asked her then whether she was aware of Tom not being a native speaker. That was of no concern for her, they wouldn't need a child like this. Again I tried to explain that Tommy actually knows these facts, but perhaps the teachers could not communicate with him. Again, it did not matter. The child had not performed a required skill during his test and that's all that was relevant. Besides that, he was found lacking in gross motor skills -- that was the last punch. I am not convinced that my kid is an impressive genius (after all, would I plan to defer his kindergarten attendance?), but to claim about Tom that he's underdeveloped was too much. Further, Tom was found not knowing the alphabet, being unable to count or write his name. I know he can do all that, including the signature -- but I would never consider the ability to write down one's name the deciding factor for acceptance a four-year old into a pre-school. When we had reached this point, I was seeing red -- they had been reassuring me for a half year how they offer a class for children who are not to attend kindergarten yet, who need this extra year -- and then they come up with some elimination tests whereby they only accept, as it seems, only Olympic champions crossed with Einsteins, but no regular four year olds.

So inquired with the principal what she would recommend me to do. Her answer was that they had seen Tom only for one hour and therefore cannot make any conclusions. Yet somehow they had enough time to decide that Tom was so horribly underdeveloped that he was not ready to attend a pre-school. But to give me any direction, the hour was definitely insufficient and they did not really know anything about the child. I kept frying her a bit, so she finally suggested me to go and sign Tom up into the regular kindergarten. Again -- he was not ready for pre-school, which can be resolved by going to the next level, a regular SCHOOL. I must admit that till this day, I have to breath deeply whenever I drive past that pre-school building.

	Children attending their family swimming.

	We had reached Tehachapi Loop shortly before dusk.

I briskly canceled Lisa's application as well. She was not (yet) required to pass any tests, but I surely don't intend to stress my pre-schoolers with demands to deliver solid results in the areas of science at their advanced age of four and two years, respectively. Fortunately this school did not hassle us about returning the sign-up fee, however there was still the problem "where to put him". Having been comforted by my (false) knowledge of an already arranged pre-school, we had missed January application deadlines, and now we had a lot to catch up.

The rest of our lives besides the pre-school trouble had been going much more smoothly. We had shaken off our the rainy January hibernation and entered springly February weather. Suddenly we were bound to replenish our stash of sunscreen lotions and shady hats, as well as figure out where I had put my sunglasses. I could not resist and bought Lisa a summer dress, whereby I gave her something to whip me with. Lizzy would wear the dress for several following days -- at home over sweat pants and thick socks. It was rather hard to convince her that the outdoor weather still did not allow wearing dresses. In the end I was saved by a strange sweat-dress, which I bought on sale somewhere.

Spring sun had lured us out into Pinnacles. We sent Gábina with Radim and Lukas on a hilltop trail, and took a creek road through the valley instead. Our juniors had surprised us. Even Lisa would run along the trail at such a pace that Sid and I had to break into a trot to keep up with our kids. It was a welcome change from last year, when our fine lady protested and pretended not having any legs. Tom remained an obvious explorer -- he would keep on climbing something and the stitches around New Year did not cool off his affinity to heights and scaling every boulder. This year's winter had seen enough rain, too, the creek had running water, and the caves deeper in the valley were inaccessible (we did not want to wade with the children). We had a picnic instead and returned back to our bus. Lisa walked all the way, showing signs of tiredness and buckling on the last three hundred yards.

	Wildrose Canyon snow-capped tops of Sierra Nevada in the distance

A new public hour was opened at the pool of the swim school where our children take classes. The pool is shallow, an adult would not enjoy swimming there, but the little ones can play there wonderfully. The first time I wondered how I would cope with two drowning juniors, but Tom can reach the bottom and I only needed to take care of Lisa. They both know the pool intimately, and they enjoyed their disorganized splashing without inhibitions. After one hour when I was seeing cross-eyed from hunger, the organizers had to chase us out of the water; Lisa threw a tantrum that she did not want to leave. Gabina went with us the second time, and she swore she did not mind swimming with youngsters. Jana and her twins, Iva with little Tianna, and Gabka with Lukas (who had a school holiday) came along the third time. By then the pool was quite crowded (what to do with children during a rainy spring break) and it would seem to me that the attending staff were having a bit of a nervous breakdown.

	A castle built of stone

	Everybody according to one's temperament in the dunes Tom bulldozing, Lisa pouring sand, and I enjoy the warm surface

Our greatest February gig was our trip to the Death Valley. We had it planned nicely un-planned. The Kubacki's would reserve the same motels we did, The Breh's had to return early and so the stayed near us only once. We drove out on Saturday, at different times and via different routes. Breh's wanted to do Sequoia National Park as well, on their way to Tehachapi. Kubacki's chose the long way along the Big Sur coast and the romantic "highway One". We took our best way directly to the Loop, which Tommy was looking forward to very much. We were in luck -- reaching it in the remaining minutes of daylight, an extremely long and doubly-connected train was passing through the Loop (engines front, in the middle, and in the rear). This time we had managed to avoid needing medical help, and we drove directly to our established Thai restaurant.

Hungry Breh's were dithering in front of our motel, so we had sent them to the same diner. As soon as we had settled in, Kubacki's had arrived. We found that our rooms were connected by a double door. When our kids fell asleep, we armed Lukas with a cell phone and the instructions to call if our kids were to move in any way, after which we (adults) immersed ourselves into the nightlife of the metropolis. Well -- to stop exaggerating -- the bar that is found right next to our motel. A Mexican DJ was playing so loudly that on could not hear one's own voice; we ended up clinging to our beer mugs, sitting on abandoned chairs in a bathroom corridor. It was a culturally interpretive stay -- another part of the bar was reserved for some kind of party, who's participants were drifting either to the aforementioned bathrooms, or to the equally significant, loud part of the bar with the deejay, to dance. We had helped them to find an approximately two years old boy who had hidden under a counter in the attached kitchen, we timed the shortening intervals in which roughly ten year old misses dribbled over to the bathroom to switch shoes between themselves, and met a chap equipped with a sociable mood, who's conversation consisted of sentences, "I'm sorry" (whenever he was losing balance), "I'm Joe" (whenever he realized we were strangers), "This is my brother" (whenever his brother drifted by to the bathroom or to dance) and efforts to shake everybody's hand.

	Tommy the explorer is disappearing behind those more interesting and distant horizons.

	Two hundred and eighty two feet under the sea

We started our morning with a solid breakfast with Kubacki's. We did not even call Breh's under the impression that these lunatics had long gone discovering the American wilderness. Our restaurant had a view to engines coming out of the Tehachapi Loop and thus Sid was finally able to behold the Dash Nine (C44-9W), with which he drives in his virtual Trainz. We had to more or less violently force him to order food (Hippo!!! food!!!). Then, to our surprise, Breh's called, who did not leave after all. We arranged for a collective get-together at Wildrose Canyon and dispersed to pack, pump gas, watch a model of the Loop in the lobby etc.

When we were just leaving Ridgecrest, Bara called to clarify our route -- sadly, our signal disappeared in the middle of our conversation, never to come back again, not even at our next contact with civilization, a mining town of Trona. I had hoped that at least a portion of my probably confusing instructions got through. In the Wildrose Canyon we had briefly met with Gabka, Radim and Lukas. Our kids sloshed happily through the remaining snow around the parking lot, and hooted inside the ancient kilns. It took us a while to convince them that we were leaving on a trail. Tommy eventually ran ahead as a scout, but Lisa tried to buckle. Thus we crept on at our unbalanced pace along the path, until it disappeared under snow. We camped on the last dry spot, had a picnic, built pillars and castles of stone with the kids. We also wondered if Kubacki's would ever talk to us again, for our trips lately consist of us sending them up some huge mountain, while our family leisurely enjoys the valley. Breh's with their offspring caught up with us and we let the kids play some more with rocks, while agreeing on another meeting spot -- the Dunes.

	Panorama Golden Ridge

Dunes were a big success -- the kids were quite ecstatic about their new huge sandy playground. Tommy played being a bulldozer, i.e. he would push a heap of sand ahead of himself with both hands. Usually down the steep slope of a dune. I expected him to lose his balance and take it down, mouth first, but the sand held well. Lisa was captivated by the smooth flowing quality of the sand, and dug rather statically. I appreciated the comforting warmth of the sun-heated material -- here, at sea level, was much warmer than at the seven thousand feet in Wildrose. Breh's had arrived only with a small delay, and soon a small Czech pre-school group formed in the dunes. We said farewell only after it started getting dark -- Breh's had a drive to Beatty on the other side of Death Valley still ahead of them, while we had to drive all the way back to Ridgecrest.

	The kids (would not) pose at the borax wagon

	It may even rain in the Death Valley in winter, and the desert sets abloom

There we had managed to meet with Kubacki's again, find Sizzler and swallow some dinner -- by then it was nine and kids were falling asleep while still eating. They went to bed without bathing. I must say that the Best Western in Ridgecrest was a disappointment after the same chain place in Tehachapi. Our room was so small that it was practically uninhabitable. This we could still tolerate as we intended to only sleep there, but the bathroom was worse. The door, toilet bowl and tub with shower, were all designed into some twisted three-dimensional knot, taking minimum space, but offering no easy way to get to the shower and close the door, without stepping into the toilet bowl. I regard my ability to eventually use this contraption as the ultimate victory of my mind over matter. Of course since the beginning I lost all hope to perform in the bathroom any extravagancies like taking clothes off or wiping oneself dry -- well, Hippo had seen me naked before, so did my kids, and thus perhaps there were no shocking revelations.

In the morning I had finally received a breakfast according to my taste -- a waffle with fresh strawberries and whipped cream, and about three mugs of coffee. We had planned to meet in the dunes again and each family took off on their own. We drove past Kubacki's in Panamint Valley, where they were taking a picture of themselves next to the sign Welcome to Death Valley. Then we stopped by the ranger's station and subsequently bathrooms, and were probably passed by Kubacki's in turn. Thus we waited for them in the dunes in vain -- when they had not found us, they continued on their own schedule. Yet we had promised our children the dunes since early in the morning, and had to spend considerable time in the sand. Tommy showed signs of wanting to scale the greatest and farthest dune, but we succeeded in talking him out of it (it was really bigger and farther than it seemed).

Our next stop was Badwater -- the lowest places in Death Valley. There we had to change into shorts. Kids ran around a lot, happy to having met with Lukas again. Our juniors seemed to generally appreciate that we would get in random contact with other low-aged friends; I reckon that arranging a steady flow of peers guarantees a major success of the trip.

	It's getting dark, we're leaving the Death Valley, illuminated by the light of a waxing gibbous moon.

	Back in the Dunes

Our expeditions parted again after Badwater; we took a route though the historic borax mine named Harmony. We had a crisis there, for Lizzy began to whimper and walk leaning forward -- I must have broken a record in running with an almost-pooping toddler, seated on my side. I was most aggravated by a celebratory sign at the parking lot, announcing how my tax dollars are being spent for this beautiful exhibit -- but not in furnishing the location with something as lowly as a port-a-potty or a waste basket. Fortunately, we continue to carry an old portable night pot in our bus, hence there was no laundry disaster. The potty is really just a ring on legs, with a plastic bag in the middle -- and soon I was pondering the question, what to do with the smelly present in the bag? In the end I had buried Lizzy's product in the desert sand and I carefully packed the bag to be discarded later. So now they have a token of appreciation added to the fancy sign of theirs. Don't get me wrong -- I'm not concerned that I would disturb desert flora or fauna much -- I'm more worried by the fact that if this place, removed from any other bathroom by about half hour drive, shall be visited by more people in desperate bend forward -- soon there's won't be any desert to walk upon.

It was again getting late and we hurried back to those strategically, centrally located dunes. Lisa fell asleep on the way there and not even stopping the engine would wake her. Tom, on the other hand, demanded to play in the sand. I thus released my men to frolic in the dirt, and joined Lisa in her slumber. Tom, unfortunately, dozed off on our way to Ridgecrest -- and so thoroughly that he urinated in the seat. It never happened to him before in the car, and we did not expect it at all. Luckily, he does already use regular seatbelt over his booster seat, and we could simply pull of the soiled upholstery and have him sit on a blanket in the shell. Kids got finally their evening bath that night, and we started mulling over details of our drive home. It was clear that we would not return into the Death Valley again on this trip, but still we did not look forward to spending a whole day on freeways.

	Last stop of the trip. Lake Isabella is a gloomy foreboding of the rainy weather at home.

We picked a scenic route over Lake Isabella. At noon we picnicked by the Kern River, where heavy clouds would roll off the steep slopes of Sequoia National Forest, and the weather would look unsure whether to unload some snow on us. After our desert shorts, we had to don fleeces and windbreakers again. Perhaps it was meant to prepare us for our return home. Beginning with next Wednesday, it would rain without stopping until the following Sunday, and it was really ugly. Our four-day trip had exhausted us considerably, and so we did not mind being forced to stay in our home at all.

Copyright © 2008 by Carol & Sid Paral. All rights reserved.