I finally lose it.... It had to happen!

Tuesday we needed to make our way from Montana into the Black Hills of South Dakota.  This was a significant driving day—which the kids prefer!?! They ask each day if we are going to have “long drives,” as this is somehow more enjoyable than the amazing places we have visited.  Go figure!

Our most notable stop today was at the Battle of Little Bighorn, of the Battle of Greasy Grass as it’s known by the Lakota Indians.  We enjoyed learning about the players in this battle, including Sitting Bull, Crazy Horse and General Custer.  This site was the major victory for the Plain Indians who refused to be forced into reservations during the Great Sioux War of 1876.  Sadly, the loss of General Custer galvanized support for the war, and after an infusion of funds and people, within a year the Sioux had surrendered.  This National monument was so well done, and the kids found it to be appropriately sobering.  If you are ever near Billings, Montana, check it out! 

That evening we had planned to top off the day, after more driving, by going to the Crazy Horse memorial in South Dakota, near our campsite.  I didn’t have a lot of time to vet this location, but it seemed fitting given our stop in Montana earlier that day.  We arrived later than we wanted but I had planned to have dinner that night at their restaurant which serves traditional Native American dishes.  But, things went off the rails as soon as we arrived.  For those who may not have been here, this site is designed to be a memorial to Crazy Horse carved into rock, similar to Rushmore.  However, there is a kitchy-ness to this immediately.  We learn that there is a light show, and a fire show planned for that night, because it’s the anniversary for the Battle of Little Big Horn.  And clearly the family which supports this site planned to benefit from that.  The monument is not complete and not much progress seems to have been made in the last 20 years.  The family of the original sculptor has died and his family runs this whole organization.  They are packed for these “special nights,” but I can’t get the exploitation slick off me as we wonder around.  Top it off… the restaurant is closed.  The snack bar, which has ice cream and hot dogs, has a line a mile long.  Now I’m embarrassed that I’m here, and I’m hangry.  Brian and I can’t decided what to do.  A light and fire show will certainly interest the kids, but I do not want to spend another dollar here.  We leave.  I want to stop for dinner. Brian does not.  We don’t.  We’ve had a few days of sandwiches, and I want a real meal.  We arrive at our campground.  It’s nice enough.  But learn when cooking that it’s not level and the hot pan keeps sliding off the stove—not a feature! Then the kids have one million requests for us, within a few minutes of arriving.  One was to go bike riding.  That’s another pain of getting the bikes off the racks, finding the helmets, and getting good shoes.  The kids are being good, but I’m on my last nerve.  They bike off and I think I’ll get to work on the dinner.  Minutes later they are back, in tears, with a big crash of two out of three.  I know I should have been better, but I really didn’t have a lot, okay any, patience left in me.  I overhear Brian say to Simon, the only one not injured, “go help your mom, or she might kill you.”  After hear this, I laugh, I breathe and I try to calm myself.  So the night didn’t go as planned.  We are all here and all well, minus a few bicycle crash scratches, and we gave $30 to a scam-artist family. I apologized to my crew for my grumpiness. Live and learn, right?!