What I Learned from Breastfeeding Two Kids

It's been about ten months since I nursed my son Cody for the last time. I've had an opportunity to calmly reflect on my experience of breastfeeding two kids, and what thoughts are worth sharing. This post is for anxious mothers-to-be, mothers who breastfed, mothers who didn't and wonder what they missed, partners, and especially the (morbidly) curious bystander. 

For those unfamiliar with breastfeeding, here's some basic knowledge. 

1) The "latch" is when baby attaches his open mouth to the mom's breast. It is initiated by the baby and should be instinctive from birth. 

2) After latching, the baby's tongue stimulates the mom's body to make milk, generating a heavy flow called a "letdown." 

3) Milk production works on a supply-and-demand system, so the more milk is removed, the more milk is made. If separated from their babies, moms can pump milk to maintain their supply. Breast pumps artificially stimulate milk production through suction. You can also use your hands to pump or "express" milk through massaging motions. This is called "hand-expression," and it's much slower and more laborious. 

4) During the first few days after giving birth, a mom's body makes colostrum, which is a small volume of milk highly concentrated in nutrients/probiotics. It's like the milk equivalent of lembas bread--one drop is enough to fulfill a baby's nutritional needs and more. 

5) Lactation consultants are professional breastfeeding coaches. They tend to approach health care from the mother's point of view, while pediatricians prioritize the baby's health. It's good to have both, if possible. 

6) Formula is the most common alternative to breastfeeding. It usually comes in a powder, which you mix with water and bottle-feed to the baby. It's convenient but expensive and comes with its own stressors.

I'll start with my most recent experience and move backwards. Both Maria and Cody were born three weeks early, on the cusp of pre-term. Cody was a TINY and very sleepy baby who could not figure out how to latch and could barely stay awake long enough to even attempt nursing. I started hand-expressing colostrum at the hospital every chance I got, collecting it in a little jar and spoon-feeding it to Cody after every nursing attempt. It was exhausting--I was covered in sweat and the skin on my hands actually got chafed from all the massaging. I only got out a few droplets each time, but it was a huge relief to ensure he got food during that first day.

On Cody's second day, I had an appointment with a lactation consultant. She came to our house and, after listening to our story, checked Cody's mouth and observed us attempting to nurse. She suggested using a nipple shield, which is a small plastic cover that goes over your nipple, with small holes for milk to flow through. Cody was able to latch with the help of the shield, and by the end of our session, he had nursed continuously for fifteen minutes. My body produced way more milk as soon as this happened, so I was happy/relieved about my milk supply.

The nipple shield was meant to be a temporary tool until Cody got stronger and better at nursing. Babies often nurse 12+ times a day, and I wasn't keen on bringing a nipple shield everywhere, having to stick it on before each feeding and sterilize it afterwards. Unfortunately, weaning Cody from the nipple shield was a nightmare--trying to latch or feed without it was very confusing and frustrating for him. It also caused me excruciating pain, comparable to unmedicated labor (which I've endured twice). His arms flailed, his tiny sharp nails scratched my chest, and his mouth was always so lost, not knowing when to open wide or what to do with his tongue. My breasts, sensing it was time to give milk, sprayed/leaked everywhere, while I tried to manage this thrashing, crying baby. It was a mess.

Meanwhile, we brought Cody to an ENT, who diagnosed him with "tongue tie." Everyone's tongue is attached to the bottom of his mouth with connective tissue, and Cody's connective tissue was unusually short/thick, which hindered tongue movement. The doctor performed a surgical procedure in which he clipped part of this tissue to release Cody's tongue. Supposedly this would solve our nursing issues; I'd heard MANY stories about "frenectomy" being a game-changer for struggling moms and babies. Sadly this was not the case for us. Not only was it horrible to watch our newborn scream while part of his mouth was cut by sharp scissors, but we were also instructed to do "mouth exercises" twice a day for two weeks, where we manually forced his jaw open for ten seconds, preventing the tissue from growing back. It was torturous, and the nursing problems continued.

I was able to wean Cody from the nipple shield eventually, and my intense pain from breastfeeding subsided a week or two after that. There is no way I could have lasted longer. As he grew older, different issues presented themselves--he'd get distracted and start babbling in the middle of a letdown, so that he'd get sprayed in the face with milk. He became extremely picky and angry if the flow of milk was too fast or slow, if the temperature was too warm or not warm enough, if I had eaten something different and the taste was off etc. At the time, I thought I might be projecting these opinions onto him, but now that I know his personality, I am positive that his protests were DEFINITELY out of pickyness.

Every few weeks, my nipples developed blisters/cracks and bled, so I'd use only a breastpump, feeding my milk to Cody through a bottle so that I could heal. This problem began around two months in and lasted the entire year (though later on, it happened less frequently).

Miraculously, at seven months, we were still exclusively breastfeeding, meaning my milk was Cody's sole source of sustenance (except for solid food here and there). But around that time, Cody stopped gaining weight, so we started giving him formula before bedtime. It helped him sleep, worked well with my work schedule, and alleviated a lot of my pressure. As his appetite for solid food grew, the pressure on me continued to lessen. I intentionally ate meals in front of Cody, making a big deal about how delicious everything was. Perhaps consequently, he loved solid food and did not resist the transition away from breastmilk.

I'm not sure anything else I've done in my life has required more endurance than breastfeeding Cody for ~13 months. I have yet to run a full marathon, but after all this, I have no doubt that I can do it. I’ll never forget all the times I discovered with horror blood in his mouth, only to realize it was coming from me. I’ll never forget the times I was driven by frustration and desperation to yell at my own baby, losing my temper with him when he was only a few months old! I’ll never forget screaming in pain and fury when we were weaning from the nipple shield, never forget nursing through tears and sobbing afterward, even in front of Maria. I knew breastfeeding was only a tiny fraction of the relationship I would build with Cody through his whole life...but it still felt so paramount. All I can say now is, I gave it my all and have no regrets.

When Cody was about three months old, we took a family road trip to Saugatuck. One afternoon we went to Saugatuck Dunes State Park, where there was a beautiful but longer-than-anticipated hike, and I ended up nursing Cody at the beach. The sun was shining, my feet were buried in warm sand, and Cody's tiny baby toes barely brushed the ground. The gentle waves of the lake murmured and sighed, Eliot lay serenely beside me, and Will and Maria played sand castle a few yards away. That is my favorite memory of nursing Cody.

Maria's story involved a lot less blood and a little less sweat and tears. When she was born, we tried nursing right away, but I didn't know that hand-expressing colostrum was an option, and I had no idea what successful milk removal should feel like. I saw her mouth attached to my breast and assumed/prayed that she was feeding properly. Unfortunately, she was not, which we found out at her first pediatric appointment. We had to return to the doctor's office for four consecutive days, meeting with a different pediatrician each time to check her weight. Each doctor had her own solution/suggestion for our problem, and it was interesting to observe the differences, and how each one made us feel. One pediatrician began by asking what problems we were having, which rubbed me the wrong way, because she simply assumed things were going badly. Then she started spouting all these suggestions, a lot of which I already knew and was doing, and some that overwhelmed me because they weren't feasible without insane amount of sacrifice…like pumping after every single feeding, waking Maria up to feed regardless of how much sleep she got, changing my diet etc. and if Maria hadn't gained weight by the next day, we should supplement with formula. This formula-or-not issue felt like a test that we might fail, and that stressed me out more than the actual thought of using formula. Another pediatrician began the appointment by asking if we had questions and listening inquisitively to our thoughts, then being extremely encouraging about certain details of our report. She told us to "keep doing what we were doing" and trust our instincts, which made me feel like a human, rather than a faulty milk machine.

We supplemented with formula after a few days, and Maria's weight went up. After losing those crucial first hours/days of proper milk removal, my body couldn't generate the full amount of milk Maria needed at this point. A week later, Maria and I both got thrush, which is a yeast infection that passes between mom's breast and baby's mouth. I had to disinfect and apply topical cream after every feeding, and Maria took several medicines (which were apparently all delicious). The infection was painful for me, and it definitely hindered Maria's progress of learning to nurse properly. It took a month to get rid of the yeast completely.

We combined formula and breastfeeding for the whole year, which had pros and cons. Pros: we knew exactly how much Maria was consuming from the bottle, and Will could participate in feedings. Cons: it's really complicated to keep track of breastfeeding, formula-feeding, and pumping all together. Every day involved a list of calculations to ensure Maria had eaten enough. We washed nursing cloths, bras etc. with hot water to prevent additional infections, sterilized every bottle and nipple and breast pump part, and timed feedings so that I could nurse and Will could bottle-feed right after. Sometimes I pumped one breast while nursing Maria with the other. It was a constant flurry of milk-related activities, and if you know anything about my daughter, you'll know that she is ALWAYS HUNGRY.

My most special memory of nursing Maria was one night during my first month of being a mom. I had slept about an hour before it was time to feed, and it ended up being a very long session with endless diaper changes and pain, because my thrush-ridden skin had started peeling. I wanted to eat a snack when it was all over, but Maria wouldn't stop crying. After forty minutes or so of torture, I woke Will up for help. He took over and I went to sleep, but had to get up in an hour to breastfeed again. This time, I actually cried from the pain, and it was a low point...until "The Light" by Regina Spektor came on Spotify. (I usually had music playing in the background.) I always knew it was a song about Regina's daughter as a baby, but when I listened this time, I suddenly realized that many of the lyrics are from the baby's point of view--

The light was shining in my eyes before I closed them 

And all the dreams I had the night before were gone 

The faces that I'd seen looked so familiar 

But I forgot them all when I saw the sun 

I know the morning is wiser than the nighttime 

I know there's nothing wrong, I shouldn't feel so down 

So many things I know, but they don't help me 

Each day I open up my eyes to look around 

The light comes shining in my eyes 

The light comes shining in my eyes... 

As I listened, I was so moved that I sat crying and crying as Maria lay in my arms, sucking away so sweetly (but causing me so much pain!). I think I was weeping out of happiness and thankfulness and awe at the little girl in my arms. I'd been feeling SO down, almost resentful of Maria for keeping me up so late, having to sacrifice my body and sanity night after night for her...but now acknowledging the absolute innocence and purity of MY very own baby...I realized that this moment was all I've ever wanted.

The last time I breastfed Maria, she had just turned one and was already eating four full meals of solid food a day and drinking cow's milk from an open cup. At this point, nursing was just five minutes of cuddle time in the mornings before the real food came. This particular morning in her bedroom, we sat in our usual rocking chair. She latched, took a few sucks, then detached and glanced at me with a casual, peaceful smile. Sounds of Will preparing breakfast in the kitchen drifted through the open door. She turned her head toward the noise, slid easily off my lap, and walked out of the room without a backward glance. And that was it!

Amid all the publicized high points of parenting--social media posts of kids hugging each other and being cute and happy and hilarious--we should also share reality. For example, here is a typical day when I went back to work but was still breastfeeding: 

5am Wake up 

5:30am Exercise while waiting for Cody to wake, no cardio because boobs are heavy with milk 

6am Nurse Cody 

Do morning stuff 

8:30am Drop off Maria at preschool, pull into neighboring YMCA parking lot, set up my wearable breast pump 

8:45am drive to work while pumping, pour milk into prepared bottle and refrigerate at work, refrigerate breast pump parts to prevent bacteria 

Do work stuff 

12:30pm Pump in lactation room, store milk in another bottle and refrigerate, wash breast pump parts, eat lunch 

More work 

3:30pm Pack the bottles of milk, set up my wearable breast pump on the car, drive home while pumping Do family stuff 

6:30pm Nurse Cody 

7pm convince kids to go to bed 

8pm alone/snack time while reading food blogs 

8:30pm Wash all pump parts and bottles, organize milk, pack for the next day 

Hopefully sleep through the night 

Does this seem overwhelming? ALL breastfeeding moms do some version of this if they work! Many don't have lactation rooms, wearable breast pumps, private transportation, or a one-hour lunch break! This is reality.

Breastfeeding is brilliant and miraculous when it works. When it doesn't for whatever reason, it can consume your life. Mastitis (serious inflammation of the breast), thrush, blisters, cracks...I've experienced it all. So here are a few game-changers I'd love to pass on: 

1) Practice hand-expressing milk before you have your baby if possible, or immediately after, just in case breastfeeding doesn't go well. You can collect the colostrum and spoon-feed. Removing that milk AND feeding your baby in the early stages is CRUCIAL if you want to breastfeed long-term. 

2) Sleep boosts milk supply. I would regard any advice that prioritizes feeding before sleeping with MUCH skepticism. 

3) Breast milk has magical healing powers. I put it on wounds, bug bites, rashes, basically anything topical. 

4) If you feel blockage/inflammation, use warm compresses right before nursing to loosen the milk, and use COLD compresses after nursing and in general. Don't mix the two up, like I did!! 

5) Get your partner involved. Even if breastfeeding goes smoothly (which does happen for many women), it's still a huge sacrifice that should not be borne by one. In a way, it was a blessing that I had such a hard time, because Will was involved from the beginning by necessity. He was pretty much my lactation consultant after we used up the appointments covered by insurance. He strongly advocated for a laid-back breastfeeding position that made a huge difference in both kids. When I was dealing with severe pain nursing Cody, he took over literally all nighttime duties except feeding. All I had to do was wake up, nurse Cody, then retire to the living room where I slept on the floor futon (and prayed to God for the pain to go away) while Will changed diapers, bounced Cody, got spat up or peed/pooped on etc. in our bedroom. We kept this arrangement even while I was on parental leave and he was working full time. His theory was, the more I slept, the more milk I'd produce for Cody, which was true. 

Aside from these practical lessons, I've learned to joyfully and willfully give everything I've got to my kids, only to have them reject or dismiss my efforts without a second thought...and to be OKAY with that outcome. If there's an area where you're simply unable to be at peace with the sacrifice you're making, DON'T do it! I was okay with the breastfeeding sacrifice, but I was not willing to give up my daily exercise time or alone time for snacking. Even if the kids were howling and crying for me, I gave myself those thirty-minute sessions. For other moms, it might be the opposite. Bleeding nipples? No way. Being with my baby first thing in the morning and last thing at night? Doable.

Every interaction with my kids is an exercise in prioritizing the journey above the end result, no matter how tempting the reverse is. With every new failure, we repair and regroup. If I can still find a ray of happiness/excitement to TRY AGAIN when all else has failed, I'm doing okay. 

In the words of Pete the Cat, "it's all good." :) 

https://youtu.be/FF2-sPaC0-c?si=xBhTp1b3NeIf1pWO

The story of Eliot and Brownie

Last week, we officially re-homed our dog Brownie. Brownie entered our lives in November 2017 when he was transported to a dog shelter in Michigan following Hurricane Harvey. His former family had to surrender him, and a few days after his transfer, we met and fell in love with him. I clearly remember the moment he shuffled hesitantly into the meet-and-greet room, made his way slowly to me, and planted a tentative kiss on my mouth in his classic unobtrusive, quietly longing way. The most important test was how he got along with Eliot. Will and I were excited to adopt a second dog, but very aware of Eliot's high-maintenance and nervous personality. The two dogs sniffed each other, but Brownie was more interested in Will and me than Eliot. Eliot squeaked for attention but never showed signs of aggression or discomfort. We took both dogs for a walk, and they trotted happily by our sides. Before leaving the shelter, Will and I committed to adopting Brownie.

After Maria came, we jokingly referred to Brownie as our "middle child," because he is the ultimate wallflower. The most common question in our household is "Where's Brownie?" and the answer is usually that he's right there, but nobody noticed him. Brownie won't bat an eye if you drop food in front of him--either he doesn't notice, or he can't be bothered to get up and eat it. At the dog park, he goes straight to the people and shyly takes a seat at their feet. If Brownie were human, he might be on the spectrum. (He would also have a Southern accent and drive a truck.) He doesn't know how to properly interact with other dogs, and he doesn't know how to show another dog that he's uncomfortable/angry. Dogs typically give a series of warning signals before escalating to a full-on fight. For example, Eliot raises his shackles, growls, and snaps at other dogs when he's moody, and I've learned this shouldn't be discouraged, because other dogs need to know when to back off.

The first two months with Eliot and Brownie were our best times as a family of four. The dogs played together perfectly, sometimes for 30 minutes nonstop. They chased each other in the snowy backyard, wrestled gently indoors, and took walks together with their double leash. I went on runs with them, leashes in one hand and a couple of full poop bags in the other. Eliot led the way without breaking a sweat, while Brownie dragged along in the back, panting and struggling, his rolls of fat jiggling madly. Brownie seemed like the ideal brother and best friend for Eliot, his calm energy balancing Eliot's penchant for drama and attention. Then, over the holidays, they had their first fight.

It came out of nowhere--we gave the dogs raw hide wreaths, and Eliot went crazy over his. At one point he got the wreath stuck around his head and wore it like a necklace. Brownie is so chill and laid-back that we didn't think there would be a problem. I don't remember exactly what happened, but one moment Brownie tried to take the wreath from Eliot, and the next they were locked in a tussle that sent fur flying. After a lot of screaming and tugging, Will and I pulled them apart. We were all shaking afterwards, Will shut up in one room with Brownie, me in another room with Eliot.

Everything changed. Brownie refused to play with Eliot anymore. Maybe he was scared of losing control and causing another fight. Whatever the reason, if Eliot tried to initiate play, Brownie would walk away or shut down.

It was clear from the incident that Eliot had toy aggression, so we spent the next few weeks training it out of him. We devoted 30 minutes a day to doing drills with his favorite toys/treats, eventually introducing Brownie into the mix. To this day, Eliot's toy aggression is under control, and it's one precious positive outcome from the dogs' troubled relationship. 

Maybe the most discouraging fight was the second one, because it indicated this was an ongoing problem, not a one-time anomaly. The number of fights they've had since then exceed the fingers on both hands. With each new occurrence, the tension/aggression became more engrained, more intentional, more rehearsed. And along with the lessons they learned in how to hurt each other, Will and I learned lessons that we wish were never needed--the most crucial areas to check for injuries (eyes, ears, mouth), how to clean puncture wounds on dogs and humans, and the rule of two barriers (how to keep two dogs separated in one home by keeping no less than two barriers between them at all times). As the years went on, we acquired baby gates, short leashes, harnesses, whistles, and calming medication. We hired a professional trainer who came to our house once a week for several months. We took the dogs to group training, socialized them at dog parks/daycare, and during Covid we trained them for two hours a day. Our first pregnancy upped the stakes. A fight in the presence of a baby was not permissible, and we promised that we would re-home both dogs before letting any harm come to our child.

I have so many nightmarish memories of fights, I could fill a whole notebook, but there are two in particular that are so visceral and painful that every time I recall them, my limbs shake uncontrollably. The first happened while I was nursing a newborn Maria. It was the day after my mom left Michigan. Will came out of the office to check if we were doing okay, and when he headed back, the dogs tried to follow him. He gently nudged them out of the door's way. All of a sudden, the dogs were locked in a whirlwind of flying fur and blood, the growls somehow deafening, and it took a whole minute or maybe more for Will to wrestle them apart. I was paralyzed in the rocking chair with Maria in my arms, screaming at the dogs to stop.

The other incident was when I took the dogs for a walk before their bath appointment. It was the first time in months that I'd decided to walk them together; we kept them separate unless Maria was asleep and we were both watching them closely. I was low on time, the dogs had been doing well, and I figured they would be together during the bath appointment anyway (Eliot is a lot calmer at baths if Brownie is with him). Brownie had been suffering from a hot spot (dry patch of infected skin), and at one point during the walk, he tried to lick it while Eliot and I continued walking, and he sort of fell sideways and stumbled. Immediately the mood changed--Eliot tensed as he watched Brownie struggle, and Brownie tensed as he noticed Eliot watching him. My grip on both leashes tightened as I tried to lighten my voice and encourage them to keep moving. We were only one block from home. Neither dog paid any attention to me, their eyes locked on each other. Inside I panicked, thinking I had no option but to get them home as quickly as possible so that Will could help. I urged them to cross the street, and we managed to reach the island in the middle before a fight broke out. As the two of them thrashed around, Eliot slipped out of his collar, and at one point Brownie sort of threw Eliot into the street. There were oncoming cars, and I froze, trying to restrain what felt like Brownie's insurmountable weight with one hand, while coaxing Eliot over with my other. By some miracle of God, Eliot avoided the cars, and one car actually pulled over. Two women rushed out, asking if I wanted help. I cried, "Yes please!" and one of them immediately took Brownie's leash. I was then able to grab Eliot by his collar and clip his leash back on. There were splatters of blood all over the sidewalk, and I was covered in fur. The women walked Brownie on one side of the street, following me as I led Eliot on the other side, back home. We were both limping. While the women waited outside with Brownie, I opened the front door, met Will's eyes as he looked up from his laptop, and burst into tears.

How could we let this go on for five years before finally letting one dog go? Why would we choose to live in constant fear of our dogs ripping each other apart? How on earth did Eliot and Brownie survive under one roof, in the midst of so many conflicts? When I look back on our time with both dogs, there is definitely an overwhelming onslaught of bad memories. But there are so many more beautiful and joyful ones. Again by some miracle of God, Will and I were able to bring the dogs on so many adventures together and include them in many aspects of our lives. The biggest accomplishment/gift was our cross-country road trip in the summer of 2021 with 9-month-old Maria, Eliot, and Brownie, mere months after the fight I just described. I thought it would be impossible, I was even ready to give up one of the dogs at that point, but Will persuaded me to try. And somehow, we managed it. 19 days of driving 7000+ miles from Michigan to California and back, traversing countless states and cities, resulting in a lot of anxiety for both dogs who spent each night in a different hotel...and miraculously, no hint of aggression from either one. We gave them separate designated sleeping areas, buckled them into harnesses in separate areas of the car, and made sure they got long walks every morning and bathroom breaks every two hours. It was exhausting but completely worthwhile, resulting in one heavenly month in California, where they got to hike in the mountains, snuggle with three extra humans, and sleep in my sister's bed.

We've also gone backpacking with the dogs, both of them carrying their own packs and following us loyally 10 miles per day. We've gone kayaking with them, gotten eaten alive by mosquitoes with them in the UP, and moved houses twice with them. Most importantly, they were at our wedding, by our sides on the beaches of Sleeping Bear Dunes as Will and I vowed to stand by each other forever. Eliot howled during our first married kiss, while Brownie buried his nose in the sand.

I know Eliot and Brownie love each other. They've experienced so much together--being pushed to their absolute limit on hikes (sorry!), enjoying crazy blissful moments chasing squirrels in the woods, sharing the fear and anxiety of moving to a new house, and witnessing their owners going through the highs and lows of early marriage and parenthood. And as devastating as each fight was, with each one came the miracle of reconciliation and the ability to coexist again. Their bond is deep, but their conflict grew deeper, and it ultimately became a toxic relationship. It took a heavy toll on all of us.

By the end, this was our daily routine: Brownie slept with Will and me in our bedroom with the door closed, while Eliot slept on his own in the living room, with those doors closed. When we woke up, we moved Brownie into the play room, where he was behind a baby gate. Will and I took each dog on a separate morning walk and fed them breakfast separately. Brownie went upstairs with me to greet Maria when she woke up, then he would go straight back to his "area." At some point in the middle of the day, we either took them out for separate walks or let them to the backyard separately. Then we rotated them, bringing Eliot to the play area while Brownie was outside, then bringing Brownie to the living room (which is also Will's office). Dinner was given separately, and at the end of the day, Brownie was let outside, given "dessert," then brought to our bedroom where he stayed while Will and I spent some quiet evening time with Eliot and put him to bed in the living room. Both dogs wore short leashes at all times. We kept two barriers between them at all times. Their only glimpses of each other were in passing, though they smelled each other constantly. I like to imagine they left friendly messages for each other with their pee during their separate walks.

Choreographing this daily song and dance put a large strain on Will and me. Dogs should not live behind closed doors, and the stress/guilt became too much for us to healthily handle. Their presence became a huge weight, rather than the blessing it ought to have been. Everything felt painfully wrong. Tearful discussions ensued, the worst of which was deciding which dog should leave. In the end, it was Brownie. While Brownie fits into our current life perfectly (he loves kids, is super low-maintenance, and almost never barks), he is much more capable of assimilating into another household. Without Eliot, Brownie is one of the easiest, most chill dogs you will ever meet. He has a simple heart and mind--all he wants is to be by your side. Eliot is anxiety-ridden, endlessly complex, and a constant work in progress. It's an exhilarating but VERY big commitment to raise him. Also--and this may be a controversial reason--Eliot came first. Before Maria, before Brownie, and even before Will, Eliot was my whole world.

Faith aside, I have but few strong, irrevocable beliefs. I know little about politics and history, have little patience for philosophy, and retain shockingly little information of whatever I read/learn, particularly in the realm of science and technology. I have passionate maternal instincts, but am the first to admit that I swim in a sea of uncertainty on a regular basis. Even in music, my attention span lasts only so long. But one unwavering conviction I've always held is: if you want a dog, rescue one. There are SO many abandoned dogs who need us, who have been undeservedly damaged and mistreated. Their ability to persistently forgive, love, and protect makes us better people and a better society in turn. I truly believe in the unparalleled power of dog ownership and adoption. If you want a dog, rescue one. I never thought I'd change my stance on this...in fact, I never thought I would EVER re-home a dog that I rescued--but now I have done both.

I don't think I'll ever get a dog that isn't a rescue. But I also don't plan on rescuing a second dog while we still have the first. I've learned that sometimes, you cannot change an animal no matter how hard you try. I can't talk to Eliot and Brownie to understand what traumas occurred before I met them, their baggage and how to overcome them. And once you rescue a dog, you are his whole world. His quality of life is in your hands until the end. It's a massive responsibility with massive unknowns. We may love dogs with our whole beings and devote our lives to training/raising them, but in the end, there remains SOME unpredictable barrier that we cannot fully cross. While it's tempting to anthropomorphize, I've become extremely wary of presuming to know how the dogs feel. "Brownie regrets the fight." "Eliot is holding a grudge." Maybe I'm right, maybe not. I'll never know for sure, and it's irresponsible and dangerous to presume.

Brownie now lives in California with my parents, and he will move in with my sister soon. His last interaction with Eliot was during an accidental meeting in the front yard. Brownie was returning from a walk with me, and Eliot had somehow escaped the backyard. They sniffed each other, and Eliot was very tense, while Brownie's tail wagged uncertainly. They stared at each other until I gathered my bearings and called to them in as cheerful a voice as I could muster, encouraging them to follow me into the house. Luckily, they were calm enough to do so, and I brought Brownie in first, followed by Eliot. Two months later, Will drove Brownie to California.

If Eliot and Brownie do still think of each other, I hope they remember the happy adventures they shared, and I hope they both feel safer in their new wholesome and healthy lives.

Thank you, Grandpa

The most singular and noteworthy love story of my life was with my grandpa. We had a 70-year age difference, and he lived halfway around the world. The times we visited each other can be counted on two hands, and we communicated in Chinese, a language neither of us was fluent in. Our unusual relationship grew through three phases.

Phase #1: Words
My earliest memory of Grandpa is him reading a storybook to me. In the book, there were two old men, one who was tall and skinny, and another who was short and round. My grandpa looked like the short and round one. Even at a young age, I thought my grandpa was really cute.
Every grandfather adores his son's firstborn, but a spark was lit between my grandpa and me when I started walking/talking and showing my personality. I can't verify this, but he insists I had a uniquely refined way of speaking that made me seem like a tiny adult.
Once I learned how to talk, my dad encouraged me to call my grandparents (his parents) regularly. They lived in Taiwan and took the 14-hour flight to visit us once in a while, but our interactions existed primarily over the phone. Every Friday night, my dad would chat with them, and afterwards would be my turn.
For some reason, I spoke mainly with my grandpa. We learned to converse, despite the language barrier. We latched onto the few topics we were able to discuss--weather, traveling, food. My Chinese ability/vocabulary will forever be built around our conversations. As I grew older, Grandpa shared stories from his past and current events he watched on the news. Sometimes he took notes throughout the week of things he wanted to tell me, and read them to me when we talked (so cute!).
Home videos show my grandpa as a quiet man, juxtaposed with my talkative and excitable grandma. The few times he spoke were inquiries/opinions about food. However, when it was just him and me, he transformed into a chatterbox. "I don't like talking to people," he would say, "but when I'm with you, I can't stop talking!" Then he would laugh and say it's because he likes me the most.

Phase #2: Actions
When I went to college, I asked my dad if I could call Grandpa on my own. From then on, the 22 digits I dialed to reach Grandpa's home phone in Taiwan became engrained in my memory as I punched them into my cell phone every Friday night at 10pm. (I still remember them: 011886227983-8689534034.)
10pm on a Friday is one of the least available times for college students, but somehow we did it. I swear we never missed a single week. I recall momentarily slipping out of friends' houses, dates, or recital receptions to call him. Even when I traveled for summer camps or tours, we found a way. Knowing that he was faithfully waiting for me was what drove me to call him every time. It helped that he never talked for more than 5 minutes, insisting I had better things to do. The few times I managed to extend the conversation past 5 minutes were proud moments.
During my junior year of college, my grandpa and I discovered Skype. The first time we video-chatted, he was so excited that he completely forgot himself--we talked for 45 whole minutes, most of which were spent looking/waving at each other and laughing. We were like giddy teenagers. He couldn't believe that he could see me, and kept saying that when he was my age, communication overseas meant writing letters and waiting months for a reply.
DSO streams classical subscription concerts online, and for the first few weeks of my job, a smattering of family and friends tuned in to watch me. After a while, my grandpa was the only one left, loyally and punctually tuning in to EVERY webcast without fail, watching from beginning to end. Often, these webcasts started at 3am or ended at 12:45am his time. He said it was no big deal, because he didn't have other plans. But to adjust his daily routine (particularly his sleep schedule) so often must have been a huge endeavor. His dedication inspired me to call him more often, so we started talking a few times a week, rather than only on Fridays.

Phase #3: History
When I was a toddler, I loved to pretend I was driving Grandpa to San Francisco in my toy car. This cute game became a reality when I actually drove him to San Francisco after getting my driver's license, during his last trip to California.
My grandpa spent his later years indoors, despite his love for hiking. I don't think he ever left the house after age 95. But I visited Taiwan during some of his last ventures outside--we climbed a mountain on a family trip, with him leading the way and barely breaking a sweat; I sat with him on the train and walked the streets of Taipei with his hand on my arm.
Last year when I got engaged, my grandpa was the first one I told. His reaction was so funny--I said in Chinese, "Grandpa, I'm engaged!" and he replied uncertainly, "Jennifer, do you know what that word means? Are you sure you're using it correctly?" After assuring him that yes, I know the word "engaged" in Chinese means "getting married," he was overjoyed and started offering congratulatory gifts, like his house in Taoyuan and/or a gold brick he'd been saving.
The last time I saw him in person was last November when he met my husband Will. Subsequently, Will joined our weekly Skype sessions, and my grandpa's eyes lit up whenever Will appeared on the screen, joyously exclaiming, "William!" One time, Grandpa was super energetic from having accidentally overslept. He talked nonstop for 45 minutes straight, and we barely got a word in as he recounted story after story from his past. I'd never seen him so hyper, especially with his calm and humbly reticent nature.
The final time I saw him over Skype was in California with my family. Grandpa gave us the usual advice--health is #1, love your family, love your kids, read good books, make good friends. Don't be angry about the little things. He knew it was my mom's birthday, and noticing our surprise at his good memory, informed us (almost indignantly) that he remembered all of our birthdays. I told him Will's birthday, and he promised to commit it to memory from then on.

A few weeks ago, Grandpa fell when he was alone at home. After that, he was unable to walk unassisted or to live independently. My dad rushed back to Taiwan to help my aunt care for him, arriving at my grandpa's house at 5:25am. Exactly a week later to the exact hour, my grandpa passed away, 7 months shy of his 100th birthday.
During his last week, Grandpa refused to eat. After a few days consuming only water, Grandpa woke in the middle of the night and asked my dad, "Why am I still here? Can we go to the doctor?" My grandpa had never seen a doctor in his entire life, therefore he had no medical records. The doctor asked, "Any history of disease?" No. "Any allergies to medication?" No idea. My grandpa had never even had a dentist appointment.
Learning the details of my grandpa's passing, I discovered two things: 1) My grandpa planned his death. He had his insurance card ready, despite never having used it. He must have researched the most peaceful, natural, and efficient way to go (not eating). Ironically, his plans were foiled because he was too healthy, and his body held on longer than expected. 2) My grandpa didn't plan for his own benefit; he planned for everyone else's. He decided it was time as soon as he became dependent on others' care. He waited for my dad's arrival in Taiwan before refusing food. He visited the doctor even though he hates hospitals, so that my dad and aunt could have the information to expect his death. He gave us a week to prepare.
During that week, I imagined flying to Taiwan to see him. My mom told me, if there's something you want to say to Grandpa, now is the time. I realized I didn't feel urgency/necessity to say or do anything. I certainly wanted to--more than anything, I wished to see or talk to him again. But our relationship had evolved to a point where neither words nor actions were particularly significant anymore...our history had taken over. Everything we'd established and committed to each other over 29 years spoke louder than any words or actions.
From Michigan, I recorded daily videos for Grandpa, in which I talked as if we were Skyping. My dad said Grandpa watched the first video, listening intently from beginning to end with a focus and emotion that was "unusual." I don't think Grandpa was able to watch the other videos, which is perfectly okay. Like I said, there was nothing left to prove.

My grandpa is the person I am proudest of and the person I brag about the most. The reverse was definitely true--anyone who talked to my grandpa during his later years heard about "Jennifer, the best granddaughter."
Grandpa, I miss you SO much already. I miss waving to your smiling face, and I miss your surprise and delight every time I called, even if it was the thousandth time. (27 years of phone calls x 52 weeks a year=1404 phone calls, at least.) I miss your happy chuckle and your jokes that only you understood. I miss the sound of the alarm on my phone, reminding me it was time for us to talk. I miss the green dot next to your name on Skype. I miss the meals and desserts you cooked for me when I visited. I miss playing concerts, knowing you are proudly watching 7000 miles away. You are my hero, and I'm so happy that you're finally enjoying the peace you strove for your entire life.
We loved each other so much. How lucky we were to have each other.

The Long and Winding Road

Day 11: August 2

Road Trip Part 1 has come to an end! (Stay tuned for Part 2 in September.)

First, acknowledgements must be made:

To Eliot, inspired by the Beatles' song "Martha My Dear" (written by Paul McCartney to his dog)-

Eliot my dear, though I spend my days in the hustle and bustle of the World Above,

Please

Remember me, Eliot my love

Don't forget me, Eliot my dear

Hold your head up, silly boy, and see the view up here

There are so many wonders you miss while you sniff and search the ground

For a place to pee

Help yourself to a bit of what is all around you

Silly boy

Take a good look around you

Take a good look and you're bound to see

That you're the sunshine and whole world to me

And you and I were meant to be

Eliot my dear, you will always be my inspiration

To grow more patient, loving, courageous, and kind

Please

Be good to me, Eliot my love

Don't forget me, Eliot my dear

To my mom, inspired by the Beatles song "Two Of Us"-

Two of us driving somewhere

Spending our hard-earned

Time and money

On memories that cannot be replaced

You and me, Sunday driving

Not arriving

On our way back home

We're on our way home

We're going home

Two of us munching Triscuits

Singing "Uptown Girl"

Searching for rest stops and bathrooms

You and me laughing till we cry

Talking and talking, as the hours pass us by

On our way back home

We're on our way home

We're going home

You and I have memories

Longer than the road that stretches out ahead

Two of us, with a dog

Standing so close

To God's amazing wonders

You and me chasing Tetons

smelling Redwoods

falling in love with Glaciers

On our way back home

We're on our way back home

We're going home

Truly, I am blessed and grateful to have a mom with the resourcefulness of superwoman (Superman's got nothing on her), the wisdom of a much older man with wrinkles and a white beard (Gandalf/Dumbledore?), and the ability to make me laugh till I can't breathe...and to have a dog who is as gentle as he is accommodating, as sweet as he is adorable.

Today we finished Beatles 1970 (which ended appropriately with "The Long and Winding Road") and ate our final free breakfast. Quality Inn has delicious food and allows dogs. The only reason I prefer La Quinta is that they offer evening snacks (!) and dog treats, as well as no pet fee. In the morning, we visited Muir Beach (30 minutes north of the Golden Gate Bridge), with dog-friendly hiking trails and a beach where Eliot was allowed off-leash. Then we had lunch at a lovely restaurant in Tiburon called Salt and Pepper. I ordered clam chowder and a crab sandwich, and my mom got a grilled salmon sandwich. It was only a 1 1/2 hour drive from there to home. The sun was shining, Dave Brubeck was working his magic over the stereo, and my dad was waiting in the driveway when we finally arrived home.

Day 10: August 1

Our penultimate day on the road brought us to the mighty and dignified trees of Redwood National Park. To be honest, this was the park I was least excited about, because I'm not a huge fan/connoisseur of trees, but it was awesome. I doubt I'll go back, but I'm SO glad I came. Everyone should experience these redwoods once in his/her lifetime. I've also never smelled air so fresh.

It's only 5 minutes from Crescent City to the park's Information Center. From there, we drove down Howland Hill Road, an unpaved twisty path that carries you through the woods and within inches of the gigantic redwoods. It was early morning, and almost nobody else was in the park. It felt intimate, just us and the trees. Part of me expected Grandmother Willow/Redwood to materialize and offer sage advice about life. Since there were so few people, we were also able to sneak Eliot onto some short trails.

Then we took the highway back around the park and down the coast, past numerous foggy beaches and on winding roads through more forests and hills. Eliot started out bright-eyed and enthusiastic, indulging in the refreshing scents and gazing out the window, but after consecutive hours of ups and downs, elevation changes, and sharp turns through the mountains, he looked miserable and slightly sick in the backseat. He endured in brave silence though. What a hero!

Aside from Howland Hill Road, I also recommend driving the Newton B. Drury Scenic Parkway (tons of trees) and turning onto Davison Road, which leads to Gold Bluffs Beach (dogs allowed).

We exited the park around 2pm and drove 5 hours to Petaluma, where we're spending our final night before arriving home in Saratoga tomorrow afternoon. Everyone raves about Highway 1 (Pacific Coast Highway), and I agree that it's beautiful, even on the foggiest of days (which today was). However, it can be exhausting to drive...it never lets up on twists/turns and ups/downs. I don't typically get motion sickness, but I was feeling a bit queasy, and I know Eliot was intensely relieved when we finally switched back to Highway 101.

Day 9: July 31

We surpassed the 4000-mile mark today! In the morning, we visited a dog park in Vancouver, WA called Ross Dog Park, then drove to the International Rose Garden in Portland. Eliot is very adept at stopping to smell the roses--all the roses. We had lunch at a Cuban restaurant called Pambiche. I had corn/chicken and 3-cheese empanadas, and my mom ordered an avocado and fruit salad.

Then we drove 5+ hours (with breaks) to Crescent City, CA and arrived in time to watch sunset on the beach.

Finished Beatles 1969, which had my 2 all-time favorite Beatles songs, Oh! Darling and Here Comes The Sun. :)

Day 8: July 30

5 national parks down, 1 to go! This morning we were ready 15 minutes before free breakfast was served (7am), so we brought our stuff to the parking lot and loaded the car. At 6:58am, my mom glanced through the hotel lobby window, gasped and exclaimed, "They're bringing out breakfast!", flung the car keys in my general direction, and bounded into the hotel. I learn from the best. 

On the way to Mount Rainier National Park, we listened to Casting Crowns, Westlife, and Queen, and sang along so passionately (as is obviously necessary) that I became a bit light-headed. We also completely missed the visitor's center next to Stevens Canyon Entrance.

John Muir deemed Mount Rainier the "noblest mountain along the Pacific coast." It also has the largest number of glaciers among all US mountains. My overall opinion is that I won't go back unless I plan to climb it (a daunting notion, but not impossible, I'd like to think). The park isn't really designed for people in cars. The setup of the roads isn't very convenient; often you have to exit the park and come in again through a different entrance, to continue a particular driving route.

There's basically one scenic drive that takes you around the park (excluding the surrounding forests), and it doesn't extend to the northwest portion. It's fun though, especially when you reach Sunrise (6400 ft. elevation). Lots of the hiking trails seem exciting, but we didn't do any, because as usual, dogs aren't allowed. There are signs everywhere, explicitly stating "No Pets Allowed," so we couldn't sneak Eliot in at any point. I was frustrated that dogs aren't allowed on even the shortest, simplest trails, but I suppose the park has its reasons. 

It being Saturday, the park was quite crowded. To get through the Sunrise Entrance, we had to wait for over an hour. My mom and I entertained ourselves by making 1-year, 5-year, and 10-year goals for our personal/spiritual lives, career, and health/fitness. (I got the idea from a Lululemon tote bag.)

We spent 6 hours at the park, and stopped by Chipotle before settling down for our last night at La Quinta in Vancouver, WA. (The next/last 2 nights, we'll stay at Quality Inn.) For dog-owners: I recommend visiting Rainier with your dog only if you spend half a day or less, and don't mind missing out on all physical activities. For Yellowstone, I'd say a whole day with your dog is worth it. Half a day for Tetons and Glacier should suffice, and 3-4 hours for Badlands. If you go without your dog, it's a whole different story, of course.

Day 7: July 29

Today, we are making up for unwasted time. Until now, every night after checking into our hotel, we unpack, eat, and go straight to bed with no time/energy to relax. So we decided to spend a couple hours tonight lying in bed and doing nothing.

This morning, we drove from Missoula, MT to Spokane, WA where we ate at a dog-friendly restaurant called Browne's Tavern, and then drove to La Quinta in Wenatchee, WA. Other than walking through Duncan Gardens in Spokane, we didn't do any outdoor activities, because it was a scorching 105 degrees.

After 7 days of road-tripping, I've amassed some general tips for the future:

1) If traveling with a dog, break at actual rest areas rather than (or in addition to) gas stations. The rest stops are quite nice, especially in the midwest. They provide "pet exercise areas," shaded picnic tables, and clean facilities. Some even have pretty viewpoints.

2) Travel through big cities on Saturday/Sunday to avoid traffic. We drove through Chicago on Saturday and St. Paul on Sunday, and saved the boonies for the weekdays.

3) If possible, travel westward in the morning and eastward in the evening, to avoid sun in your eyes. This particular trip has also been awesome, because we've been gaining hours as we go west.

4) Bring physical maps. AAA has awesome ones that show rest stops, highway exit numbers etc.

5) Gas Buddy and Roadtrippers apps are very useful, when there's internet access.

We were blessed with internet for almost the entirety of today's drive, so we finished Beatles 1966-68. My mom became obsessed with looking up lyrics and backgrounds of each song. Our Beatles marathon is turning out to be more enlightening than I anticipated. My mom said that all meteorically famous bands owe much of their success to good timing, being able to discern the public's current sentiment, and capitalizing on it. Then I realized there are many sides to the Beatles, which also contributed to their popularity. (Here comes a long rant. If you're not interested in the Beatles, you'd better stop reading now.)

There are the simple, free-spirited, let-your-hair-down Beatles songs, to which you can't help but sing/yell along, about how you'd die if your darling left, or how she's so fine, or how Beethoven will roll over. The first 2 years/4 albums are filled with such songs, which is why "Yesterday" stood out to me a couple days ago. There are Beatles songs with classical influences; I noticed Bach references a long time ago, but I had NO idea that Beatles were into John Cage, Stockhausen, and even used snippets of stuff like Sibelius 7. In their later albums, they get really experimental, especially in the "Revolution" songs ("Revolution 9" sounds like contemporary classical music to me) and "Tomorrow Never Knows." Speaking of which, there are Beatles songs that speak directly to the people of that time, about frustration with the government and American-Pie-ish, we-might-all-die-tomorrow sentiment (Cold War, Vietnam War etc.). Finally, there are Beatles songs that are downright dark and disturbing (but seem upbeat/casual on the surface). Some of the lyrics gave me heebie-jeebies. I noticed that the earlier albums have more songs about girls/love, whereas songs in the middle and later albums either tell a specific story or contain specific references. Also, there are more songs with specific names (Lucy**, Doctor Robert, Rita, the unfortunate Eleanor Rigby etc.) in the later albums, for some reason.

Recently, Spotify does this really irritating thing that makes me want to punch its stupid, neon green face. It keeps interrupting my playlists by forcibly "suggesting" songs that have NO relation whatsoever to my songs. Why would anyone EVER want to hear "Dark Horse" or "Wrecking Ball" in the midst of a Beatles marathon? It keeps suggesting super mainstream songs, too.

I think my musical taste is pretty diverse, and when people ask what's my favorite type of music, I usually reply, "Anything convincing"...good music is good music, regardless of genre. I can't say that a Beethoven symphony has more worth than a Bruno Mars song, just because Beethoven is more intellectual/complex. All I can say is that Beethoven has stood the test of time, whereas Bruno Mars has yet to prove his relevance for the next couple centuries. I also don't want to fall into the common trap of automatically glamorizing the past. But I have to say, the juxtaposition of Beatles and current mainstream music (aside from simply infuriating me, because I'm picky and want to hear exactly what I want, when I want) makes me a bit disillusioned with how pop culture is defining this generation.

Beatles certainly gave a clear, multi-faceted definition of their generation, and I wonder if artists today are merely depicting their own lives, or general ideas like relationships (cheating etc.) and being confident/empowered, rather than specific goings-on in society. Don't get me wrong--relationships and empowerment are great topics, and I appreciate Beyonce, Taylor Swift, Adele, and Maroon 5 for what they bring to the table. As long as music makes you feel something (besides nausea, irritation etc.) it has worth, I think. But in some contexts, I'm disappointed/confused by the progression of music, especially extreme superficiality in certain artists...is this how our generation is being represented, and how we'll be perceived in the future?

I was trying/failing to articulate these feelings to my mom, and she replied that time will eventually weed out the "bad eggs." During the Beatles' time, there were tons of artists/bands that weren't as good, but by now they've been discarded. We'll only know which of today's artists represent us in the future, when that future arrives. This made me feel better. I also realized/remembered that, as with stocks and fashion (and most things), music doesn't advance in a straight line. It moves cyclically up and down, in an ebb and flow. If I feel like we're at a low point, things are bound to bounce back up sometime. Right?

Day 6: July 28

Today was the smoothest and most pleasant day of our trip so far. Reenergized by our free breakfast (where they had bagels in ziploc bags for guests to take--so nice/considerate!), we sped happily to Glacier National Park with no delays.

We arrived at 11:30am, stopped by the visitor's center at the East Entrance (St. Mary), and drove "Going-to-the-Sun Road." It's a scenic drive running east to west, with gorgeous overlooks and tons of hikes along the way. (Dogs aren't allowed on any trails, except for a bike trail near the West Entrance. There's not much of a view there, just a bunch of trees, but it was a nice opportunity for Eliot to stretch his legs. I think the whole trail was about 2.5 miles.) It took us 3 hours to finish the drive, and we stopped a LOT. It's not really possible to take a bad photograph at Glacier National Park. No matter which way you turn, you're met with a stunning view. Here's a few:

Yeah...I don't think any descriptive words from me are necessary. Just go, before the glaciers melt. The weather was perfect (70 degrees with a breeze), and finally we were able to open all the windows while driving.

Getting to our hotel in Missoula, MT was no problem, and we ordered takeout from Cracker Barrel for dinner. I had chicken 'n dumplins, and my mom had a grilled chicken salad with vegetables. For sides, we got sweet potato, steamed broccoli, and brown rice pilaf. It was glorious.

Day 5: July 27

This is going to be short, because I've been awake for way too many hours, and we've been surviving on snacks (no real meals) for 4 1/2 consecutive days.

Yellowstone is humongous. There's an overwhelming amount of things to see and activities to do. We left our hotel in Cody, WY (a Super 8, which cost $264/night--it was the cheapest option in the area when our Airbnb fell through) at 8am, entered the park through the East Entrance at 9am, and drove maybe 5/8 of the scenic loop, exiting the park through the West Entrance at 7pm. I recommend the scenic loop drive, but it did take us 10 hours, and we didn't even do the entire thing. We stopped some overlooks and did a few short hikes, but for the most part we moved at a fast (if not slightly panicky/rushed) pace.

The defining feature for the Badlands is the eroded pinnacles, and for the Tetons it's the mountains. For Yellowstone, there are sooo many different features/attractions. It's like the Disney World of national parks. But the overarching theme is the giant volcano that erupted there 3 times in the past 2 million years, and its visible effects--the canyons, geysers, hot springs, rivers, and much more. There is also tons of wildlife. We saw herds of bison, some close enough to reach out of the car window and touch. They made amusing grunting noises, which prompted Eliot to emit a grumpy growl from the back seat.

Our progress was significantly slowed for 2 reasons. 1) Dogs aren't allowed on the paths to/from geysers, so at Mammoth Hot Springs and Grand Prismatic Springs, my mom and I took turns staying with Eliot while the other walked to the springs and back. 2) Old Faithful is the most famous geyser in Yellowstone (perhaps the world), and it erupts throughout the day, with wait times ranging from 35 minutes to 4 hours. We waited exactly 1 hour to see 100+ feet of water come bursting out of the ground. I'd say it was worth it.

The most amazing part was Grand Prismatic Springs. It's probably the weirdest thing in nature I've ever witnessed:

^

There are no filters, I swear! That's exactly what it looked like in real life. God/nature/science never ceases to stun and bewilder me.

So we exited the park at 7pm and planned to have a long-overdue, much-anticipated "real dinner" at a restaurant called Naked Noodle in Bozeman, MT. About 30 minutes into our drive north, we were brought to a screeching halt by a long line of traffic that was backed up at least 1/2 mile. Nobody was moving, and everyone's engine was turned off. We ended up sitting for over an hour, clueless as to what was going on. The guy behind me got out of his truck and clomped into the bushes to pee. Another guy a couple vehicles ahead perched himself on a rock at the side of the road, pulled out his guitar, and started playing. After a swarm of boys charged past, plainly playing some form of Tag, I figured there was enough time to take Eliot for a walk. We wandered up and down the line of cars, asking people what was going on (nobody knew). I swear one person had even waded into a nearby river and started fishing.

Around 9:30pm, we finally started moving. Dinner plans were cancelled, and tragically, the Subway at our gas station was closed. Another night spent polishing off cereal bars, grapes, and our fourth/final box of Triscuits...

Day 4: July 26

Today was what felt like the longest drive, followed by the most rewarding view. It took 6 hours (with plenty of breaks for Eliot) to traverse Wyoming, from La Quinta in Gillette to Grand Teton National Park. Parts of the highways had an 80mph speed limit, which surprised me; I've never had the luxury of driving 83mph without needing to keep an eye out for police. But most of the roads were one lane, extremely curvy, and very slow-going. The first half of the drive was mind-numbingly dull, with flat expanses of dried grass and the occasional bush/tree or herd of cows. We passed a town called Highland, with a population of 10. To keep ourselves from falling asleep, we listened to Beatles 1965 and noted "Yesterday," the most surprisingly thoughtful and (in my opinion) sincere song of theirs we've heard so far. I also liked the 10 seconds or so of Bach-ish keyboarding in "In My Life."

During the second half of the drive, the scenery changed. Colorful mountains rose on either side of the road, everything from craggy sand-colored ridges to pastel rolling hills, from formidable rusty red boulders to golden mounds dotted with sprigs of shrubbery. These drastically contrasting formations sat side by side, as if completely unaware of their differences. The sky was blue, and the rainbow of earthy colors reflected faintly in the clouds above. So magical.

However, it was an extremely long and winding road, and we lost cell phone reception for the majority of the drive. Beatles, which I accessed via Spotify, was replaced by a Schumann/Schubert marathon (1 song cycle and 1 symphony each), which I accessed via my iTunes. After rounding a corner, we suddenly spotted the Grand Tetons, a row of gray mountains. Even from a distance, they were an arresting sight. I don't know how to properly describe. They're like an optical illusion--you keep thinking you'll arrive at the base of the mountains at any moment, but in reality you're still dozens of miles away. It's like when you're a little kid, and you think the moon is following you wherever you go. When we first saw the Tetons, my mom and I were like, "Whoa." Then as we drove closer, we kept reiterating the same word, but with more vowels each time.

If I were to describe the Tetons in 3 words, I'd use "majestic" and "must return." There's SO much to do--floating tours (where you observe the mountains while floating around on a raft), biking trails, hiking, camping, climbing, animal-watching...I'd happily spend a week there. Besides for a few added activities, what's the difference between Badlands and Tetons, for me? Both are awesome in full sense of the word--magnificent, massive, mind-boggling. But somehow, the Tetons feel friendly and welcoming, while the Badlands seem at once both austere and lonely. The Tetons make me peaceful and happy when I look at them.

If you visit this park by car, I highly recommend traveling via US 26. The view will drop your jaw, open your eyes, and warm your heart. Be warned--it's a long drive. Bring plenty of snacks, don't rely on GPS/internet, and take advantage of gas stations/bathrooms whenever they're available, because you seriously don't know when you'll ever come across one again. My mom and I enjoyed the scenic drive around the park, as well as Jenny Lake and Jenny Lake Trail. (Dogs aren't allowed on any trails, but Eliot's a rebel, and plus he naturally possesses that "service dog" vibe, so nobody questioned us.) Eliot enjoyed the many bugs he chased, the numerous bushes/trees he peed on, and the array of people who complimented his cuteness. (At one point, he trotted right into the middle of a group of people and sat down, giving them a look that clearly said, "Here I am. You may pet me now." Which they did.)

Coming up--Yellowstone and Glacier. Stay tuned!

Day 3: July 25

What a day.

It started off awesomely, with breakfast. You guys. I love La Quinta! The food at their free breakfasts varies depending on location! Yesterday in Madison was pastries and bread-type stuff, and today in Sioux Falls was scrambled eggs, sausage, waffles etc. plus my favorite kind of oatmeal! I was SO happy.

On our way from Sioux Falls to Badlands National Park, my mom and I had a fascinating discussion about our family history. I learned about my grandma's uncle, who led the Taiwanese Revolution in 1947 and was a major badass. It's important to acknowledge the negative impact his decisions had on his family though. During the rebellion, his wife sold their belongings and scraped up just enough money to flee to New York with their kids. Then, she cut off all ties with him. During his imprisonment, my grandma and her siblings had to travel to his location of exile in Japan with a voice recording from his mother, begging him to cooperate with the KMT government and return to Taiwan. My mom recalls being in elementary school when my grandma would regularly visit various family members in Taiwanese prison.

The conversation was super engaging, but I also got a bit nervous, because when my mom gets excited while driving, she swerves consistently to the right, and her voice becomes progressively louder. When our talk died down, I put on Beatles 1964, and we relaxed in silence. At one point, all 3 of us (Mom, Eliot, and I) yawned at the exact same time.

We arrived at Badlands National Park around 11:30am, and it was 95 degrees. If you use Google maps when traveling to a national park, make sure it directs you to the proper entrance. We went through the Northeast entrance, stopped by the visitor center, and drove the Loop Road, which brought us through the entire park and to various viewpoints. It took about 2 hours to drive from the east side of the park to the west. We stopped at most of the viewpoints but didn't do any hiking trails, because dogs aren't allowed. Eliot came down with us for most of the stops, but the ground was super hot and I was worried about his paws burning (though he seemed fine). If I were to describe the badlands in 3 words, I'd use "outer space" and "bizarre." When nobody else is around, it's like being on another planet. I can see why people (particularly guys) love this national park and deem it their favorite. There are a bunch of cliffs and boulders to climb, and if the weather hadn't been scorching and I didn't have a dog, I'd be clambering over the rocks in a heartbeat. But I wouldn't spend more than a day there, and I wouldn't insist on camping or even hiking much--it's too hot, and after a while, everything starts to look the same. If I return in the future, I'd like to watch a sunset/sunrise and do some stargazing.

We exited the park with plenty of daylight left, so we visited Custer State Park in Black Hills National Forest, SD. The park has a $20 entrance fee, but our hike around Sylvan Lake was worth it. The lake is near Harney Peak (the highest point in SD), and during our drive up, my mom kept commenting on a gigantic, mushroom-shaped cloud to the right of the mountain. She said, "What a strange cloud!" at least 8 times, and I was all, "Okay okay Mom, calm down." Then we arrived at the lake and went on our hike. It was such a fun trail! It seems like your regular old paved path at first, but then you find yourself squeezing through tunnels, scrambling up and down large rocks, and hopping from stone to stone on shallow parts of the lake.

During the second half of our walk, we heard distant thunder. When we were preparing to eat a snack, the sky darkened ominously, so we inhaled our sweet potato and hopped into the car just as the first raindrops fell. We had turned onto the windy narrow road leading down the mountain and were congratulating each other at our awesome timing, when it started hailing. It sounded like gunshots were hitting my car, and I had to pull over (along with a cluster of other terrified cars/drivers). In minutes, the temperature dropped from 84 to 48 degrees, and there were dime-sized pellets of ice scattered all over the ground and my car. I actually thought the windshield would crack from the force of the hailstones, and my mom and I had to shout to be heard over the deafening noise. Eliot was alarmed at first, but then he curled up in a ball and went to sleep. When I started driving again, he discovered a fly that had stupidly found its way into the vehicle, and he capered nimbly about the backseat in pursuit, totally unperturbed by the weather. I seriously have the most easygoing dog ever.

As we inched our way down the mountain at a glacial pace, the hail turned to rain, and then all of a sudden it was sunny, back to 84 degrees, and we even saw a rainbow!

Day 2: July 24

The weather was merciful today, and everything went according to plan. After a nice breakfast, I took a brief jog around the perimeters with Eliot, and my mom checked us out of the hotel. Our drive from Madison to Minneapolis began with a rousing singalong to "All About That Bass" (my mom knows it from her zumba class). Our moods were further cheered by the amazingly low gas prices in the area--$1.95, $2.09, and $1.85 for each of the times we refilled!

The first stop was Minnehaha Park in Minneapolis, MN. They have an off-leash dog park, but like the DFA's in Chicago, you need a special license to enter with your dog, so we explored the rest of the park instead, and there was plenty to do. We admired a decently impressive waterfall and hiked a fairly exciting trail. It was a sunny 84 degrees.

Our second stop was Falls Park in Sioux Falls, SD. Sioux is pronounced "sue." There are no hiking trails, but we spent an hour exploring the paved paths, enjoying the majestic waterfalls, and watching this one hilarious/unfortunate duck who somehow got himself stuck on a tiny rock amidst the swirling water and had no idea how to escape. For all I know, he's still there, mustering up the courage to brave the waves.

We drove 7-8 hours and 515 miles today. We also began our Beatles marathon. I made 8 playlists, 1 for each year the Beatles released records. Today we listened to 1963 (2 albums, "Please Please Me" and "With The Beatles"). Every song except one is less than 3 minutes long, and they're all pretty upbeat. My favorites are "Misery," "Twist and Shout," and "Till There Was You."

Day 1: July 23

This morning, my mom, my dog Eliot, and I set off on a road trip from Troy, Michigan to Saratoga, California. Yesterday we agreed that we'd depart absolutely no later than 9am, so naturally it was 10:10am when we left the house. During breakfast, I was researching our scheduled activities for the day and discovered with dismay that Chicago's Montrose Dog Beach, a well-known DFA (dog-friendly area), only allows dogs with a specific license administered by a participating vet in Illinois. If you're coming from out of state, you must bring your dog to an Illinois vet's office with the appropriate vaccination papers, possibly have your dog re-vaccinated by this particular vet, and pay $5 for the DFA license. So I scratched the dog beach off our agenda and Yelped around for a dog-friendly restaurant instead. That took a while. Then, after loading the car, we stopped at Costco to fill up on gas and realized we'd forgotten some stuff at home. Doubled back, retrieved the stuff, and were on our way.

Today's music selection was as follows: radio (oldies station) until it lost signal, Beethoven last 2 piano sonatas (Rudolf Serkin), Beethoven Op. 18's and Op. 130 (Emerson), Frank Rosolino Quartet, Andre Mehmari, Abba and Adele and Backstreet Boys (my mom's choices), and a bunch of random pop songs on shuffle from my iTunes. I'm saving podcasts and special playlists for later on, when we inevitably run out of topics to discuss.

We took 3 breaks for Eliot on our way through Michigan and Indiana into Illinois--2 gas stations and 1 rest stop with a field. Eliot and I jogged several laps around the field. (It was 94 degrees and I almost collapsed, but he was delirious with happiness and got that crazed "call-of-the-wild" expression on his face.) In the car, Eliot was subdued and rolled around the backseat with a glazed look in his eyes, except when we drove past one of the Chicago subway stations, and he randomly leapt up and gave several uncharacteristically masculine barks.

Lunch was at a funky little restaurant on the outskirts of Chicago called Lula Cafe. Our waitress wore a bright-colored flowery dress and had orange (dyed) hair and bubble-gum pink lipstick. My mom ordered beet bruschetta--beets, creamy feta, and greens over fresh bread--and I got quesadillas with zucchini, ricotta, and other yummy ingredients I can't recall. Eliot spent his time perusing the ground for crumbs, leaping up to catch and spit out the occasional unfortunate fly, and refusing to eat the food I'd brought for him. It dawned on me that bringing Eliot on road trips means that every time we eat out, we will literally be eating out--outside, in 90+ degree weather. Despite the delicious food, I was in mild agony, achieving that level of sweatiness where moisture drips down strange, unpleasant places (elbow, ear, chin etc.).

After lunch, we made our way to Wisconsin. I'd planned a 1-hour hike on the Seven Bridges Trail in Grant Park (Milwaukee), but shortly after crossing the border, the skies turned murky grey and opened with an alarming rapidity. The rain fell in such copious quantities that I had to switch my windshield wipers to panic-mode, the super intense setting where my car looks like it's freaking out and waving in hysterical desperation. There was lightning and thunder and everything. Luckily, Eliot sleeps soundly through thunderstorms, and we survived the drive. We didn't get to do the hike, but instead headed directly to our hotel in Madison. We plan to spend nearly every night of this trip in La Quinta Inns, because they allow dogs and (equally importantly) they serve free breakfast.

For dinner, we had various selections from the feast we packed on the car--4 boxes of Triscuits, 98 cereal bars (thanks Costco), sweet potatoes, baby carrots, celery sticks, peanut butter, 8-grain bread, bananas, grapes, zucchini bread, cuties, and about a dozen hard-boiled eggs.

Currently in our hotel room, my mom and I are watching a track-and-field event on ESPN (taking place at Rice U!), and Eliot is playing with his chew toy on the floor between our beds. I'm looking forward to free breakfast tomorrow morning. :)