Kleiboemer Clan Descends

Grandma gives Max her signature smooches.

My mother-in-law, Adrienne, and her beloved, John, as well as my husband's older brother, Adam, came into town last week to soak up some serious family time.

"Soak" being the operative word. We've been in a drought all summer, and it's been ridiculously hot nearly everywhere that Adrienne and John have been touring in the U.S. to escape the burst-into-flames conditions at their Arizona home. But of course the rain decided to show up right around the time they all did.

Eating at Biaggi's is always good to do on a rainy day.
Gabe, Adam and Max would agree.

We scrubbed plans to go to Marblehead on Lake Erie, figuring a visit during especially optimal weather could be done in the future. Since the timing matched up, we tried to go to the Flag City Balloon Fest in Findlay, where Gabe and I used to live, but the wind kept the balloons safely packed up in their trailers and all we managed to do was eat some fried concession stand food.

But nothing phases my mother-in-law. Just to be near her grandbaby was enough to keep her sunny smile going.

Brothers bundle up and bond at Balloon Fest.

Hello, There, Sailor!

How did I let a whole week go by without blogging? Because that was the week that my husband's ship was in U.S. ports.

Everything revolves around when I might get one of those precious phone calls from him. Depending on what kind of bridge watch he had or how many hours it had been since he had slept, the calls ranged from quick check-ins to lovely chats. My job is to be available and to keep my phone charged and nearby.

Most importantly, I let one of those calls go to voice mail so that he could record a message for Max. When I play the distinctive voice of his daddy to him, his eyes get very wide and he holds very still. It's one way we're trying to help his memories connect for when they are reunited.

We had very little advance warning before Dan went out to sea this time, but hopefully by the next cruise we will get around to my idea of video recording him reading children's books. Playing those videos for Max would make a very special bedtime routine indeed.

But now it's back to my routine. Which apparently will include bathing my husband's dog, Hippo. She is filthy.

Fair Winds and Following Seas

Bye-bye, Daddy.

This afternoon, I stood on the curb outside the Toledo Express Airport and bid goodbye to my husband, Dan. His sea bag and briefcase at his feet, he held me and gave me the encouragement I would need to face the next few months on my own:

"You'll do a great job. Thanks for being such a good mom."

I cried the whole way home.

I am grateful that baby Max and I spent the rest of the afternoon and evening with my parents and brother, hanging out at the farm and eating steak. But now it's nighttime, and Max is sleeping in his playpen, Gabe is with his dad, my dog Johnny is with my ex, and Hippo is passed out on the cool tile after her misadventures of letting herself out in the 100-degree heat while I was gone. I feel alone.

Luckily, HBO is running the entire miniseries of "John Adams," one of my favorites and a great way to reflect on the nation's birthday. And I'm trying very hard to resist a binge-eating urge. (I'm full of steak and corn and melon anyway.)

I've spent many long months with Dan away at sea before, so I know the loneliness will come and go. I know that just one conjuring of his image in my mind or, more profoundly, a whiff of his shirts in his closet will make me smile one minute and weep the next. I know that I will grow accustomed to not hearing from him and then shoot to the moon with happiness when his ringtone jingles my phone if he happens to hit a domestic port at a reasonable hour.

But this is the first time he has ever been away when we've had a baby. I was willing myself to hold it together, but my knees went weak when he kissed Max, rubbed his chubby little arm and told him to be a good boy for me while he was gone.

Lots of parents, especially those deployed in the military, spend long stretches away from their children. Each time is hard at any age, but perhaps especially so during these rapid stages of babyhood. We all will manage as best as we can.

I will do most of the crying, I'm sure.

On the Road

Max continues to snooze in his car seat as we finish our
meals at Sokolowski's University Inn in Cleveland.

My baby has become Jack Kerouac in just under four weeks.

Today we hitched a ride to Cleveland, which is about 130 miles east of our home. Hubby-daddy needed to travel to a ship chandler to fetch supplies he needed for work, and we needed to get the heck out of the house.

We actually have been dragging Max out and about from the very beginning. A lot of folks follow the six-week rule before they start exposing their infants to the wide world, but I figured that as long as I didn't let a lot of people hold him or touch him or breathe on him, it was OK to head out as soon as I felt up to it.

Really, this is one of the easier stages during which to travel with a baby, on short trips at least. Parents just need to be willing to do the proper planning, and stock the diaper bag with lots of diapers, wipes and extra outfits -- for the baby and for you. (Haven't you been peed on yet?)

Parents also must be willing to watch carefully made plans go to complete hell. Allowing for plenty of buffer time before and after any externally scheduled moment will help somewhat; forcing too much into too short a time span will bite everyone in the poopy butt. And a daddy who waits patiently in a parking lot while his baby is nursed or burped (forever) in the car gets a gold star.

Today worked out remarkably well. We happened to arrive at Turnpike rest stops right when Max needed to nurse or have his diaper changed, and the one time we had to nurse while parked on the street we were in a very out-of-the-way place. I'm really glad I remembered to bring a pillow, and nursing in the car turned out to be way more comfortable than trying to find some tucked-away chair in a public building.

Max did let loose his fire hose once, while we were changing diapers at our lunch stop. But I just cleaned him up, pulled out a fresh outfit, put the wet one in the plastic baggie I had stocked, and kept going. I was full of sauerkraut and blueberry pie at that point, so I was going to be happy regardless. (Hey, you eat what you want at a Polish cafeteria, and I'll eat what I want.)

Of course, Max snoozed for hours in the car. Most babies are vibrated off to dreamland in a moving vehicle, and sleeping is pretty much what he does for most of the day now anyway, so it works well for day trips.

As soon as a baby figures out he can be fussy on purpose, ruining the good time his parents are having, day trips become far more difficult to arrange. I say that while mommy is on maternity leave, take her and her baby as many places as you can.

Help a Mama Out

Life continues to go well here in newborn land, although I had hoped to blog more often. It's not that I couldn't find the time. I just often spend it doing something else.

I always had planned to extend an invitation for guest bloggers, so please don't feel like it's just a desperate, unshowered, overtired mommy begging for others to do her work. No, not at all.

I will keep posting, but it will be good to publish someone else's thoughts when I've suddenly realized what feels like one long day actually has been four in a row and Mommy Remix is getting a touch stale. In journo land, this is what we call having a well, from which we dip when it's a slow news day.

Please send your submissions to me via email at rckleiboemer@gmail.com and I will happily put them in the lineup.

You can write a full-length post or just a paragraph. Send pictures if you'd like. You have my full permission to be as snarky and foul-mouthed as I have been to this point, but no worse.

Topics could include:

• Your own family story
• What you do/did or don't/didn't enjoy about pregnancy
• Adventures in fertility, or disappointments and challenges 
• Why you don't want to have a baby
• What you can't stand about how parents raise their kids
• Thoughts on co-sleeping, nursing in public, crying it out, cloth diapers, etc.
• Hilarity of traveling with children
• How you keep your marriage and adult relationships going
• Public policy regarding education or health care
• What you like or don't like about your OBGYN or pediatrician
• Tips and warnings for new parents
• The best baby shower game or birthday party theme
• How you're raising your kids to deal with their peers
• To give or not to give an allowance
• Methods of discipline
• What phrase of your parents you swore you'd never repeat but did

For the record, Gabe often hears, "What the hell's the matter with you?" The more I say it, the more I like it.

And this post took me more than three hours to write, interrupted by two nursing sessions and one pee blowout that soaked both Max and me to the point of complete outfit changing.

Chicago: Big-City Birthday

I'm headed down memory lane again, this time on a family trip to Chicago to mark Gabe's 11th birthday.

The following was originally published on The Courier's travel blog On the Road.

Chicago: Big-City Birthday

In early August 2007, I clambered into the Yukon -- the only leather-padded, reclining way my father was willing to travel -- with one Daddy, one son and four diet Cokes to drive through the night from Whitehouse, Ohio, to Chicago. I have made this trip several times, and I must say: Driving at night with just a few random semi-trucks is the way to go, provided you can stay awake or have the blessed chance to chat with your usually reticent papa for five straight hours.

We descended upon my mother -- in town as a voting member of the ELCA Churchwide Assembly -- at the Hyatt Regency at 151 E. Wacker St. at 3 a.m. like gypsies, complete with brown paper bags under our arms. (I was mortified to discover my father had packed his toiletries in such a manner but was thankful the ungodly hour presented only one pair of valet eyes to behold them. I paid him $5 to keep quiet.)

I would rarely do this, but our hotel really was beautiful: Click here for a slideshow of images, although only the first few showcase the impressive atrium. My son, Gabe, was less impressed. There was no swimming pool anywhere in this sky-scraping multi-towered building, and he was unsuccessful in brow-beating us into paying the "discount" $25 access to an athletic facility a block away just to go swimming.

Gabe and Dad brave the komodo dragon entrance to
Shedd Aquarium, a nod to a 2007 special exhibit.

Instead we took him to Shedd Aquarium, where everything from frogfish to beluga whales were swimming around. The periodic dolphin shows are wonderful, although the aim is more educational science and less theatrical Sea World. The best part about the show in the Oceanarium is the illusion provided by the building's ingenious circular design, situated right on Lake Michigan; the dolphin pool spills over the edge near windows that provide an endless view of water. There are more than just aquatic creatures among the 24,000-plus animals here, including birds, spiders and the weirdest looking shield-tail agama I've ever seen in the Lizards and the Komodo King exhibit. We had a wonderful lunch right there at Shedd's fine dining restaurant, Soundings, which features sustainable seafood and locally grown organic produce. I had the best seat in the house, in the corner with windows that overlooked both the lake and the downtown skyline.

After lunch we headed just down the street to Adler Planetarium, where we tilted our heads back and rested our exploding knee caps during a most instructive lecture on constellations. Admittedly this place held more interest for my son, who turned 11 that very day, than either myself or my dad. Gabe would have gladly stayed there all day, especially once he found the robotic moon rover that visitors can program by computer and then watch roll over rocks and bump into walls.

That's a root beer Gabe is drinking
at the bar at Ditka's restaurant.

But he was turning 11 after all, and such a momentous occasion called for a fantastic experience at Mike Ditka's, the former Bears coach's restaurant. While one does not have to check her ovaries at the door, this is truly a man's man kind of place, with sumptuous yet muted decor, dark wood detailing, and sports-themed artwork everywhere. Waiting for my mother to arrive after a day of national church business, Dad and Gabe sat at the bar sipping scotch and micro-brewed root beer, respectively, while I accidentally spilled the best $12 dirty martini with blue cheese-stuffed olives I've ever had all over my birthday boy. What a milestone -- his first alcohol abuse. Upstairs the attendant in the women's room helped clean us both up, and when we returned to the bar there were complimentary replacement drinks awaiting us, "on the Coach." Upon my mother's arrival, we were comfortably seated in one of the smaller dining rooms and waited on by efficient, courteous staff. We enjoyed pot roast nachos, lobster bisque and steaks even better than our own farm-raised beef. My son ordered, and devoured, calamari and rack of lamb. That's how you celebrate 11.

We would have enjoyed the nearby observatory in the John Hancock building -- one of the five attractions on our City Passes, THE way to do tourist-type things and save money -- but we were too full, too tired and too loaded down with hats and T-shirts from the restaurant gift shop. Instead we chatted with the valet as we waited for our truck, learning that our night was a rare exception to Mike Ditka's typical presence at the restaurant. The fireworks exploding over the city that night weren't really arranged for Gabe's birthday; a display is presented over Navy Pier every Wednesday and Saturday night during the summer.

The next day we visited Field Museum and the most complete T. rex skeleton in the world: Sue. We probably could have spent six or seven days exploring the myriad exhibits here, but we made do with dinosaurs, Egyptian mummies and dirt. Yes, dirt. We were "shrunk" to microscopic size and plunged into a tunnel for a bug's-eye view of what's underground and learned about beetles, roots and conservation.

Gabe admires a stained glass piece
honoring Martin Luther King Jr.

For lunch, we went to Navy Pier via water taxi, providing a welcome breeze and water spray in such sweltering heat. We took "Gotta Go" there and "Wai Wai" on the way back; after seeing another boat named "Andale," I suppose the whole fleet is christened for whatever means "get me there quick." We met my mother for yummy fare at Riva's Cafe and then enjoyed a stroll through the magnificent Smith Museum of Stained Glass Windows. We shopped a little, but it was mostly overpriced tourist kitsch and we bypassed it all.

While Dad rested at the hotel, Gabe and I walked across the Chicago River to the Tribune Tower, one of my personal must-sees in the Windy City. Designed to be the "most beautiful office building in the world" in a 1922 contest, its cathedral silhouette is formed with stones plucked from famous sites all over the world. But more importantly, carved into the walls of the newspaper lobby are several quotes pertaining to the freedom of the press and the importance of watching one's government like a junkyard dog. I made Gabe read every single one.

We then flitted down Michigan Avenue, the "Miracle Mile," the Land of Serious Shopping. We picked up some birthday gifts at the Lego store, which was impressively stacked with life-sized statues of R2-D2 and Darth Vader made completely from Lego bricks, and a thank-you gift at Hugo Boss for our family farm sitter tending dogs, cats, goats and "all creatures, great and small."

As only an 11-year-old boy can, Gabe fixates on the plop
of poop a Lego bird left on this Lego man's jacket.

We then bid my mother adieu and headed back east, regrettably through daytime traffic and construction delays. Chicago is a notorious pain to navigate, but I have been remarkably lucky -- and decidedly aggressive while driving a big truck -- and have always gotten through there just fine.

My only caveat: This was an expensive trip. Apart from the elevated train, which my father wasn't about to get on, or walking, which my father wasn't capable of doing, getting around town is pricey, especially when you're using the valet everywhere you go. At least the water taxi was fun too. But such an expense is SO much better than driving around trying to find a parking place. We of course took the standard tourist approach to the city, which is solely purposed for making a lot of money, but it was an easy way to keep three generations happy at once. I've hung out in Chicago before with far fewer funds and still had a good time, but I'm glad to have had this kind of experience as well.

Still, it's only a teeny fraction of what Chicago has to offer. Art museums can be one vacation all to themselves. Funky ethnic neighborhoods, lake cruises, sporting events and deep dish pizza are also signature experiences. Gabe has decided that each double-digit birthday (11, 22, 33, etc.) should be declared a "Big City Birthday," and I bet he just might find himself in Chicago again one day. I hope we're invited.

Why Gabe Deserved to Go to D.C.

Gabe, then 11, wades through floodwater to our Findlay home in 2007.

Before our 2009 trip to Washington, D.C., Gabe and I had tried to visit there in August 2007, a month of infamy for residents of Findlay, Ohio, who would soon become quite flood-weary.

I was the online editor for the local newspaper, where my then-husband and Gabe's stepfather also worked as the wire editor and front-page designer. A story like this was major work for us, and like all big news stories likely would have energized us journalists if we hadn't also been dealing with six feet of water in our own home.

We had flooded a few times prior to this major citywide event and had a good system in place, so please don't think too badly of me that I left when water was first coming in. I paid for the decision dearly over the next few weeks.

I worked overtime at the paper trying to inform the community and then to the point of exhaustion trying to clean out my house. I already had lost some things in previous flooding but had to sacrifice even more belongings this time around, including a set of American Mint porcelain dolls dressed as brides from different historical periods that my mother had given me long ago. *sniff*

I am glad that I aborted the D.C. trip and returned home. This was the first big test for our newspaper's fledgling website as a primary source of information for Findlay residents. (We did a great job, IMHO.) I am more grateful that I eventually got Gabe to our nation's capital. As you may infer from the following recollection, originally posted Aug. 22, 2007, on my Courier blog Whirled Peas, he certainly deserved it.

Pancakes in Pittsburgh, Flooding in Findlay

Before we could get to our house (the bright blue one
in the right background) through several blocks of
flooded streets, we had to stop and buy boots.

Decisions, decisions.

I happened to notice my cell phone glowing in my carry-on bag and realized I was getting a call. I had silenced the ringer so as not to waken my fellow travelers bound for Washington, D.C. The call, around 2:15 a.m. Wednesday, was from my husband.

"Where are you?" he asked.

"Uh, on the train," I replied.

"Can you get off?"

While my son and I had left town Tuesday night for a much-anticipated vacation, there was a paltry 3 inches of water in our basement and a well-oiled machine cranking out the news online at The Courier. I had broken my toe earlier that morning, but come hell or high water I was going to take our history buff boy to our nation's capital.

Well, both hell and high water showed up, pouring 6 feet of water into our basement. The Blanchard River and our backyard had become one, in a Zen-like, picnic table floating kind of way.

I was torn. What the hell was I going to do about it if I came back? But could I in good conscience continue on to D.C. and be a little tourist while Ted was dealing with our wreck of a house? A big part of me felt, "You betcha."

The terse tone on the other end of the phone prompted some more consideration.

The conductor cautioned against exiting the Capitol Limited 30 at the barren Elyria stop, and getting off at Cleveland and catching the westbound train would have been great except that our own eastbound train's lateness would make us miss it. While Gabe snored away in our seats, I cried and cried in the observation car, making frantic middle-of-the-night calls and textings to family and friends.

As we crossed into Pennsylvania, Gabe rustled a little bit and I broke the news to him that we had an emergency at home and that I was considering canceling our vacation. Gabe blinked a few times and mumbled, "Don't worry, Mommy, you can use my souvenir money to buy some tickets home." Then he promptly went back to sleep.

What kinder kid deserves a special trip? I eventually concluded that I was too tired to be taking my son anywhere and that we should just sit tight and go all the way to Washington. Even if we just made one quick trip to The Mall to see monuments and then turned around and came home. I caught two dreamless, hard, 20-minute naps.

Then we stopped in Pittsburgh.

And stopped, and stopped and stopped. For as late as we were, it was strange to be at Penn Station for so long. The train even turned "off" at one point, shutting down the air flow and the ceiling lights. Gabe was still snoozing, but I was growing increasingly alert. The first muted rays of pre-dawn were beginning to illuminate the scenery, and my eyes were drawn to some bridges outside the double-decker train window. There was a big blinking sign on one bridge that read:

"WRONG WAY."

As it flashed my heart beat faster. I was going the wrong direction, farther away from home where I was needed. I jumped up and started throwing our bags and pillows into a big pile. Gabe and I were getting off of that train.

We made it with seconds to spare. The kindest Amtrak employees in the history of humankind helped us find a car rental, and Gabe and I took a long 10-block stroll through downtown Pittsburgh. We got a vehicle, drove by the stadiums and where Heinz ketchup is produced, and scarfed down the absolutely best crepe-style pancakes at Pamela's, a diner in the Strip District with funky retro flair. A quick trip to a gourmet chocolate shop, and our accidental tourist stop in Pittsburgh was done.

I drove all the way back to Findlay, bought some boots and rescued cats. Gabe and I are now going back to a hotel to swim, sleep and dream of another time we might get to go on a D.C. holiday.

Get Thee to D.C.

Taking your kid to our nation's capital definitely should be on your bucket list.

I first tried to take Gabe to Washington, D.C., in the summer of 2007, but we made it as far as Pittsburgh before national disaster-level flooding recalled us to our home in Findlay, Ohio. I'll share those lovely tales some other time.

Below is my diary from when I finally got him there in August 2009:

Mother-Son D.C. Trip

Gabe and I headed to Washington, D.C., this past weekend to celebrate his 13th birthday.

We stayed with Megan -- my senior-year Syracuse housemate, Daily Orange coworker and all-around gal pal -- and her husband and adorable baby in Springfield, Va. Their hospitality was amazing.

We drove from Findlay and made good time, even poking around Hagerstown, Md. for a little bit. The drive back for me was a little more stressful, since an accident in the Allegheny Tunnel clogged up the highway forever. But I just shut off the car, wandered around the lanes and chatted with the other motorists. It had that creepy destruction-of-the-world movie scene feeling, but it worked out well.

On Friday, Gabe and I went to the National Archives. We ate first, and then promptly got evacuated after a fire alarm. So we walked toward Capitol Hill, just far enough to see the buildings and snap pics. We returned to the Archives and saw the Declaration of Independence, a real highlight for Gabe. The whole place was very educational, and Gabe is beginning to put "archivist" into his imagination for his future. (Although really he wants to be the one who builds the model scenes.)

We next visited the National Gallery of Art Sculpture Garden, and Gabe took a lot of pictures there. Then we walked to the National Mall, starting with the Washington Monument. Gabe was bummed we couldn't go inside, but after my infamous freak-out atop the St. Louis Arch after two hours of waiting in line and only 30 seconds of being able to stand being up there in that teeny space with all of those people, I was relieved I wasn't going to be seeing the D.C. metro area from 555 feet.

We skipped the Tidal Basin because we knew how much more walking was ahead of us, and we wanted to save something new for future trips. Gabe really liked the World War II memorial and the Reflecting Pool, and he got "overwhelmed" at the Lincoln Memorial. We also took in the tributes to those fallen in the Korean and Vietnam wars, and the latter wall makes me cry every time.

We walked up Constitution Avenue and discussed Gabe's sudden realization that he was getting older and that his life was unfolding before him. I think he was steeped in the idea that as an American he was part of something larger, something profound, something meaningful, and he wanted to contribute. It was a good chat. And a long walk.

We weren't planning on doing any museums this trip, but we still found ourselves inside the Museum of American History after our walk. We took in just the wings on transportation (which was excellent) and, of course, American military action. I was pretty war-ed out by then. We shopped for family gifts and got the heck out of there. It will be good to spend an entire day in there on another visit.

Gabe was desperate to hitch a ride with one of those poor fools who would peddle our body weight through the streets, so he treated me to the fare and we ended up at Harry's sharing the biggest plate of chili cheese fries I've ever seen. Megan picked us up from the Metro station and we ended the day with some ice cream.

On Saturday, Gabe's birthday, we drove to Mount Vernon and had a delightful experience, even though it was pretty hot. We did not see the gardens or slave quarters, again saving something for a return visit. Without prompt, Gabe took off his ball cap, put it over his heart and stood silently outside George Washington's tomb to pay his respects. It was really sweet. We took a cruise of the Potomac River from a wharf on the property, and the experience was better than I thought it would be. I learned a lot about the river itself and Fort Washington.

Gabe snoozed as I drove to Arlington Cemetery, and it was super muggy as we walked around there. We both enjoyed the Women in Military Service for America Memorial. We of course visited the eternal flame at JFK's grave, and I was pleased to read the inscriptions at Robert Kennedy's grave. We came upon the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier right at the changing of the guard.

In the evening, Megan took us to a Japanese restaurant for a teppanyaki experience. Gabe even caught a piece of shrimp in his mouth that was flung from the chef's spatula! A piece of cheesecake with a candle arrived with a piped rendition of "Happy Birthday," and it was the perfect cheesy end to an all-together good birthday.

I had planned to worship at the National Cathedral on Sunday morning, but we had packed a lot into two days and I was tired. Gabe slept in, and I did laundry and got to snuggle Lexie and talk with Megan a little more. Then we packed up, thanked our gracious hosts and headed to Old Town Alexandria for a lunch of oysters on the half shell, calamari caesar salad and crab-shrimp omelet. (Can you tell we like seafood?)

Then I did something completely unnatural: I left Gabe with total strangers.

Gabe entered his first summer camp experience at Mar-Lu-Ridge, a Lutheran Outdoor Ministries camp about four miles outside Frederick, Md. He signed up for the Civil War theme week, visiting historical sites in the morning and participating in traditional church camp activities in the afternoon and evenings. They'll even have an overnight trip to Gettysburg. How perfect is that for him?

Mr. Jack, the counselor, was really excited that Gabe had the new Lutheran study Bible, even though it had gotten soaked in diet Coke in my back seat, so that helped reassure me I was leaving Gabe in good hands. Mr. Matt, the volunteer, was into re-enactments and brought just as many flags and sundry memorabilia that Gabe had lugged along, so they became fast friends. The whole staff seemed kind and sweet, and you can't beat folks who give you a snow cone while you register.

So, my baby boy saw our nation's capital and sent me away from camp with a casual wave, engrossed in swapping Civil War trivia with another enthusiast.

*Sniff.*

I called my mother.