First Flight

 The tears hit me out of nowhere. Unexpected. Raw. And real. As I walked through the airport corridor, my daughter bouncing at my side, I felt like something was missing. Something precious I could never get back.

We had just dropped her sister off for a flight to Space Camp. SPACE CAMP. Every child's dream! I vividly remembered my own experiences from thirty years before. I still have my mission patch and pin and flight notebook. I cherish them memories of not just the fun and the friends, the simulators and the missions, but the feeling of independence at spending a week away from my family. Space Camp nurtured my need for knowledge both of astronaut life and of myself. 

My parents wouldn't let me fly to Space Camp alone. They flew to Florida and took my sisters to Disney while they waited for me. I was embarrassed that they felt the need to do that and wished that they had just stayed at home and let me go on my own. (I much preferred Space Camp over Disney and was glad to skip that vacation actually!) I desperately craved the opportunity to develop a sense of self, to be on my own, and to have the opportunity to make real, meaningful choices. My overcautious parents robbed me of that by arranging every mundane detail and overseeing every tidbit.

My older daughter is mature and independent. I have no doubt that given a credit card and a cell phone she could book her own flights, arrange transfers, handle delays, and probably stop at Starbucks on the way without any adult help at all. However, the airline had other plans and required me to sign forms, walk her to the gate, and wait until she took off. She suffered the indignity of having to wear an 'unattended minor' wristband and was polite to the airline staff despite them being completely unnecessary. I knew that once she tolerated their policies, she'd be off on her own in no time.

At the gate she met some other campers and the trio of them boarded the plane happily when their group was called. She walked onto the plane without even looking back. 

I'm proud of her and excited for her (and maybe a little bit jealous too!). I hope this week is a joyful experience of self-discovery in a new environment as she learns to step out into the world and take on new adventures alone. We have talked a lot about good decisions, consequences, personal behavior, etc. Too much in her opinion, I'm sure. But, I've raised her well and I'm confident that she's ready. 

I can't wait to hear all about her adventures when she gets home, and we'll be traveling together next week. So for this week, I'll sit at home, dry my tears, enjoy my other kids, and hope she texts me when the plane lands.

To the mom . . .

To the mom who talked to me tonight: THANK YOU.

As I walked into gymnastics, I vaguely recognized you, but I couldn’t place you until I saw your twin sons. Then it hit me - they’re in my son’s class at school. I started to hide, to cover my face, to look away, to leave. You wouldn’t want to talk to me - I’m the mother of that kid.

You greeted me warmly and asked how I was doing. We walked towards the bleachers where we sit to watch our kids. You took the seat right beside me. You asked me how I do it. It was all I could do not to cry and tackle you with a hug right there on the spot. You didn’t mince words or pretend everything was normal. You went right to the heart of what we have in common - little boys who struggle in a big classroom. You said that you admired me and understood that the negativity is rough. We chatted about our interactions with the teacher, our concerns for our sons, and ideas to try. We pointed out our daughters to each other and talked about crazy schedules and being moms of three. We compared jobs and shared laughs. Te mom next to us joined in our talk of sending two snacks to school for hungry little guys. Not once did you belittle me for having a son who has poor impulse control. You understood that he’s the youngest in the class (11.5 months younger than yours in fact). You were honest, even mentioning that your sons talk about mine at home and empathize with his struggles.

We had such a normal parenting conversation - a rarity for me where my son is concerned. That judgment free hour was one of the best I’ve had in a long time. You showed me that there is hope in the world and a light in the future. You made me feel alive and rich in community. For one short hour I was in a judgment free zone where struggles were accepted and shared and support was offered. A true community. Thank you.

When I go out into the world tomorrow and every day, I hope to remember this lesson, and judge less and support more. Thank you for making me a better person.

Where are you Christmas?

It's 10:30pm on Christmas Eve. I'm standing in the kitchen staring down a massive pile of dishes. The remains of a delicious Mexican dinner intermingle with the congealing leftover icing from the sugar cookies. Not the cookies my mom used to make, but a dairy-free modified version. I sneeze, for the thousandth time, and wash my hands again. Ugh, this mess, this cold, and I still have to fill the stockings. Some part of me wishes I could just jump into bed and wake up in the morning to the smell of frying bacon and wander into a room full of gifts that someone else wrapped.

Late at night on Christmas Eve my dad used to slip over to my grandparents' house to visit them after midnight service. Sometimes we went to church with them. As I got older I sometimes got to go on the late night excursion. This year I will have to make due with a visit to a headstone tomorrow afternoon. I'll have no gift to deliver, but I know that being in their presence will still be a gift to me.

In the morning my children will bound down the stairs, eyes aglow and eager to open the gifts we have for them. My sweet in-laws have contributed to the pile of goodies and the kids have even brought a few things. We will have fun tearing off wrapping paper and wearing bows on our heads, but this year I will be the one piling the trash into a sack when the melee ends.

It hit me a few days ago while my phone played Christmas songs and I shoved gifts into shiny paper with too much tape. Christmas has changed. I yearned for the warm glow of the past with my old Reba McIntyre Christmas CD and the little tree in my bedroom. The warmth of my parents nearby and a full cohort of grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends to share the holiday. Somehow being an adult seems to have lessened the glow of the Magic of Christmas.

Tonight we went to my cousin Melissa's house for Christmas Eve Mexican dinner. The differences were striking - as we sat down to dinner, I had to change poopy pants. My grandparents didn't come, my parents are far away, and no one made Mexican casserole. However through the newness, some things remained - my aunt Cathy's pralines, the group picture of the kids (our kids!), and the love of family. We spoke of Christmases past - of Cindy's cookies, Melissa's piano playing, and funny pageants. The year we played Taboo for hours, the running around in the back yard, the gifts we used to exchange - the memories flooded me. Somehow this gathering replenished my soul on a level I never knew I needed.

I realized that Christmas isn't about Magic that finds you, it's about Magic that you make. Tonight as we ate my Aunt Cindy's old weaving loom leaned against the wall next to our table. Seeing that piece of her past tied some thoughts together for me. Weaving the threads of Christmases past with the new strands of Christmas present produces a kind of beauty all its own that blends nostalgia with a strength that will enable Christmases future to continue to be spliced into the tapestry.

So I'll head back to those dishes with my Pentatonix Christmas playlist and look forward to being the one cooking that Christmas breakfast. Merry Christmas to all the Santa Clauses out there who make their own Christmas Magic.

Letting Go

Since the day we are born, our lives are a series of goodbyes. Many of them are triumphant ones such as taking first steps or heading off to college, but for the ones left behind those moments are often bittersweet. Today, with tears running down my face I'm reflecting on some of those moments.

This morning a friend of mine left her sweet baby for her first day of daycare. Just reading her facebook post left tears sliding down my cheeks. It included an adorable sign the daycare made to welcome the little girl and the cute baby happily playing. While I absolutely believe that this child will have a wonderful day with loving caregivers, I still experience the empathetic pain of the separation the mother feels at letting go. That first day where your baby is not with you (or a close family member) holds a special place in every parent's life. It's an important step, for both mother and child, but not an easy one to take.

When dropping my girls off for their first day at a new elementary school last week, I lamented the fact that they each hopped out of the car and headed inside without looking back. As I drove off I realized that the street was lined with cars and crying parents walking their (also crying) children inside. A part of me felt proud that my strong, beautiful, independent young ladies had simply hopped out in the carpool line (and that I had managed to keep driving the car after they exited it). Another part of me felt like it had been torn in half after spending a wonderful summer with them traveling and enjoying life. I'd like to tell you that the rest of the day went smoothly. I'd like to tell you that I didn't pull into a random street and sob . . . but my son in the back seat would likely tell you the truth.

Each season of growing and changing brings new challenges, new firsts, new skills, new successes, and new goodbyes. They need me less and less for small tasks and daily duties. But they need me more and more as a guide, a compass, a source of wisdom, and a friend. I'm sure those days will pass too as they continue to grow up and our relationship will grow too.

I'm preparing to say a final goodbye to my grandmother - a woman who has been a role model to me for my entire life. She's shown me the meaning of love through the life we have shared together. She has always embodied a quiet strength hidden under a funny and cheerful nature. Her work in her church made her the much loved grandmother of her entire congregation. She never missed a school event, birthday, or trip and she cheerfully supported me through so many crazy endeavors. From my earliest memories the warmth of her love has been a part of my life.

While I know that there is a season for everything, I'm struggling. She and I have talked so much about Grandpa in these past few years since he's been gone. She misses him. She's ready to go and be with him. But I just can't imagine life here without her.

Just like a new mother leaving her baby or my little girls climbing out of my car, it's time for me to embark on a new stage of my journey.  A chance for me to learn and grow and find my grandmother's strength inside myself. Even though she won't be here with me for much longer, she will be with me in my heart forever.

Letting go is never easy . . .

Lost Days

Yesterday was my husband's birthday. I remember almost none of it. I spent the evening in a daze of blinding pain trying not to throw up or look sick in front of my family. This morning I woke to pick up the pieces: the pile of still wet swim clothes I don't remember where they came from, the disaster in our kitchen floor, the review I didn't write yesterday.

I met my husband and some coworkers for a nice lunch, then spent the afternoon doing carpool and music lessons with the kids before dinner. I could feel the headache building at lunch, but hoped to stave it off before things got too bad. After lunch, I returned home and did I don't know what. That's right, I spent several hours in my home with no idea what I did. Maybe I read, maybe I slept, maybe I sat and stared blankly. What I didn't do is the laundry, or the dishes, or work on the conference I'm planning, or anything else tangible.

I made it out of the house in time to be only slightly late to the first carpool line, but still early to the second. I bumbled through the kids' first music lessons at a new music school. (Note: a children's music school may top the list of terrible places to go with a migraine.) After dropping off my niece and nephew I drove home and the really, really bad part hit. The nausea threatened to overwhelm me and the blackness tugged at the corners of my vision. I fought back. For myself, and for my family.

At home my husband selected one of our favorite sushi places for his birthday dinner. He loaded the kids int he car and graciously allowed me a few moments alone in the restroom to get things under control. As we drove off, he even offered to take the kids and leave me home alone in the quiet. An offer I almost took him up on! But I wasn't going to miss his birthday dinner.

I was present in body anyway. I remember almost nothing of the meal except the overwhelming urge to put my head on the cold table, or better yet the counter with the fish in it. I'm not sure why putting my head on cold fish sounded so appealing . . . . but looking back, I'm not sure about a lot of last night. I'd like to think that I tried to be present and pleasant . . .

On the way home I got in the car, and woke up in our driveway. Woke up isn't the right word, but I don't know what is. Woke up seems to imply a restful sleep instead of a blind stupor. I don't know what happened; the time just vanishes. And then suddenly, it's later.

The pain hits in waves. Some with more nausea, some with more pounding, some with such overwhelming force that I just freeze into a zombie and don't remember. As each wave passes I get a break. A short time with sanity and memory and functionality. I try to capitalize on that.

I put my kids to bed quickly with lots of hugs and snuggles. During the reprieve I was able to be a good mother. Then I slumped into my rocking chair for I don't know how long to recover.

I tried to watch the game, but gave up and went to bed. This morning I was greeted with leftover chaos. I didn't sign my daughter's folder last night. I don't know if she did her homework. I have texts I didn't return, and messages, and e-mails.

I spend today trying to pick up the pieces. Sign the contract. Start the laundry. Return calls. At least I didn't forget my son had a doctor's appointment. The pain still shoots through my head and I rest frequently, but at least for today I'm functional.

Yesterday, I did the best I could. I made the coffee. I didn't miss the birthday dinner. I hugged my kids.

Yesterday. Yesterday is a lost day. At least mostly. I didn't do much and I don't remember much, but it was still a day. A day in my life. A day that I can never live again.

The Adventures of Nana, 5 preschoolers, and a 2000 mile road trip . . . Day 5

This morning's breakfast took place in what appeared to be a Mexican restaurant attached to our hotel. The generic hotel 'hot' breakfast did seem somehow classier in a restaurant. However, the promised 'we're making more bacon' never appeared leading to some disappointment among the adults. The kids were happy to load up when they heard that we'd be at grandma's house tonight!

After a couple of hours on the road, we stopped in Yakima for playtime and lunch. We enjoyed the Kiwanis Park and I even talked Nana into attempting a 'jumping picture.' (See results below . . . ) Then we braved a local restaurant and were delighted by delicious ribs at The Flying Pig.

The final leg of the trip was lengthened several times by road work and accidents, but we made it without incident, and without accident (of the potty variety).

We hope you've enjoyed following our journey to Seattle. You can see pictures now that we're here an facebook, and who knows . . . maybe I'll blog some more if the kids will ever let me get a full night's sleep.

The Adventures of Nana, 5 preschoolers, and a 2000 mile road trip . . . Day 4

Sorry for the uneventful blog post, but today we mostly just drove. Nana got 'ready to get there' and didn't want to stop at any touristy-things.

We made driving fun by opening scratch off art projects in the car and listening to all 3 Mrs. Piggle Wiggle CDs again. (In Mrs. Piggle Wiggle, each episode features a kid with an ailment like 'talker baker-ism' whose nitwit mother cannot figure out what to do. She calls her equally ridiculous friends whose children are named
Paraphernalia and Calliope but they are no help. She eventually calls Mrs. Piggle Wiggle who basically says to let the kids keep doing their terrible thing until they decide to stop on their own. This leads to scenes such as a kid locked in his room because he won't pick up his toys or a girl who won't bathe so her parents plant her with radishes. The obnoxiously overstated morals seem lost on the kids, who we surmise are listening for ideas on how to misbehave better in the future. The stories are read in a pedantic manner with everyone's full names used all the time. After several hours of these stories, I can quote most of them and I fully expect to hear them from my kids mouths again and again.)

We stopped in Baker City for gas, and in an oddly nostalgic turn of events, pulled into a gas station that Brian and I stopped at when he was moving to Texas. If it weren't for food allergies, we would have eaten at the same Pizza Hut too. The funny part for me is that I didn't realize it was the same city since we entered from a different direction, but something about the gas station jogged my memory.

We ended up eating lunch at Chick-fil-A and letting the kids play of the playground for a while. For dinner the leftover chicken nuggets made a reappearance, along with some peanuts, popcorn, and leftover bananas. Our dinner picnic took place at Candy Cane Park in La Grande, Oregon.

After dinner we continued on towards Kennewick, but since all the hotels were sold out, we ended up stopping a bit sooner in Hermiston. Our early arrival meant time for a pre-bedtime swim, followed by a quick bath, and sleeping soundly.

The Adventures of Nana, 5 preschoolers, and a 2000 mile road trip . . . Day 3

We seem to be falling into a routine already. The kids get up, get dressed, load their bags, and obediently march to the car. We load it up, then take the hotel's complimentary breakfast by storm. For added amusement today a group of businessmen were seated at the table behind us trying to have an important meeting in the breakfast room of the Residence Inn complete with suit jackets on and massive piles of spreadsheets. We, at the table next to them, had a full-on two year old tantrum because someone had been given the banana they requested, but then wanted to steal his sister's Fruit Loops. It culminated with him grabbing the bowl, her pulling it back, flying cereal, and him wailing in the floor. I tried to look graceful and in control while crawling under the table to retrieve him and drag him outside. He immediately calmed down and said, "Eat nannana." He then took my hand and calmly led me back to the table where he climbed into his oversized chair and asked the Fruit Loop eating sister to peel the banana for him. 

On the road we played the find 10 things that start with the letter game for C (car, clouds, cactus, etc.) for a bit, but held off on opening our first surprise until after an early bathroom stop. With a full tank of gas, we gave the kids "magic pen" books to color and set out for Wyoming. We stopped at the border to take a picture, and noted that we'd also taken a 15 minute detour. Thankfully it wasn't worse and we headed on our way.

After noting the dearth of options for lunch, we opted to stop in Laramie at 11am even though no one yet wanted food. We found a local playground and enjoyed some fun in the sun before dining at a local McAlister's. It's a good thing we did! Back on the road we observed that once again the scenery was unbroken by civilization for hundreds of miles. In fact, restrooms were scarce too . . . .

The kids enjoyed an afternoon of car bingo games and listening to books on tape. Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle proved to be a favorite - stories of children's bad habits and how this crazy lady corrects them, usually after their terrible mothers declare them incorrigible. Around 6pm we reached Evanston and had Subway for dinner. We used the time to scout hotels for the night and the kids enjoyed running around a bit. 

Nana drove for the last hour of the day while I completed the hotel reservations. I also worked on the blog and played an endless stream of Disney sing along songs on my phone. 

We reached the hotel in Ogden, UT with plenty of time for an evening swim. After a quick bath, we breezed through bedtime.

The best part of the day: hot water! And Nana sneaked down to the front desk to procure overpriced chocolate!

More adventures tomorrow . . . 

Today's bonus pictures:

The Adventures of Nana, 5 preschoolers, and a 2000 mile road trip . . . Day 2

We awoke this morning to the kids stirring and before long everyone had risen, dressed, and packed. Our hotel breakfast offered fruit, baked goods, cereal, and juice, so we ate our fill before loading up again. 

Our first stop was the Don Herrington Discovery Center in Amarillo, which proved to be an excellent free diversion. Like most children's science museums, it contained a variety of pseudo-educational, mostly functional, brightly colored activities such as a wall size lite-brite, a dance/theater stage, a room full of taxadermied birds of prey, a dog mating simulation, and pool table on the floor made of soccer balls. 

We enjoyed meeting a very fat tiger salamander, a great horned toad, and a shy hedgehog named Finn. After several hours we dragged the children out only because we needed to get on the road for a long day of driving.

We hopped into the car and hit the road, planning for an immediate stop for lunch and gas. However, we found ourselves instantly in the middle of nowhere. Yes, that's right the town immediately disappeared with nothing to be seen for miles around but grass, shrubs, rocks, fences, mountains and the occasional farmhouse. While we enjoyed the scenery the hungry children and the rapidly emptying gas tank began to make us nervous. In fact, we franticly searched the internet for the nearest gas station while calculating whether or not our gas would hold out. As we entered the first "town" the Google-proficied gas station failed to materialize. Our last hope, the next town, waited 13 miles down the road. Only 18 miles of gas remained. We turned off the the air conditioner and tried to avoid braking as we coasted into town. Luckily our salvation was right where Google maps indicated. We purchased 25.4 gallons of gas for our 26 gallon tank. 

With that crisis averted, we offered the kids mini-notebooks and mechanical pencils to placate them for twenty miles until a town with a decent selection of food. We survived lunch at Taco Bell and the afternoon's drive passed without incident.

"I have to go to the bathroom," and our thirst caused us to pull off the road in Trinidad, where we ran into their National Night Out celebration. We grabbed some happy hour Sonic drinks and they graciously shared hot dogs, chips, and cotton candy as our children enjoyed the playground and bounce house. We knew that we'd be pushing our time, but we let the kids play a while. 

We boarded the car happily, except for Troy who lost it over leaving the bounce house, and started the long push for Denver. We opted to get past the city at night to avoid morning traffic - a gambit for sure with the kids, the time change, and the sugar they ingested. We located a hotel in Loveland just north of Denver and set out. As we neared it, darkness set in, and we realized that the kids had eaten at 4pm and would need something to eat before bed. We formulated a plan to stop at a fast food place, pick up a snack, and eat it in the room before bed. To placate the troops in the back seat, we handed out glow bracelets. For the second time that day our luck held, Chick-fil-A was near the hotel and open, the kids ate happily, and this time everyone did go to bed nicely. The best part: hot water. (Confession: I spent forever in the shower washing my hair, shaving my legs, and savoring the hot water. That might be why I didn't write this last night.) 

Stay tuned for the next installment, coming whenever we have time to write . . . 

Bonus pictures: