American Road Trip!

This post is a bit late, yet wanted to share our road trip to the Midwest to visit family over Christmas. I had our tickets booked but my husband wanted an adventure (insert cringe here*). It has been a number of years since our last road trip and I think time had wiped out the memory of his last declaration after the 1,400 mile each way journey ("We will never drive that again!"). Twelve hours a day for two days was the goal in each direction, starting off at 5am to stop by 5pm.

For weeks we looked at atlases and historic sites along the way. He made some good arguments. This is an educational experience for our son! Getting him out on the open road, breathing that American air, seeing the vastness of the land...an agenda was hatched. We would make stops at historic spots such as Lincoln's log cabin, the St. Louis Arch and the house Laura Ingalls Wilder lived in (we could see Pa's violin!). Yet it wasn't until he threw in the rented luxury SUV, four star hotel stay with indoor pool and hot tub that I agreed.  If we were going to be driving all day, at least we would be able to exercise the kinks out at night- I would just have to ignore the germophobe within for the sake of childish fun. The overall trip would be more expensive than flying but would be a memorable family experience.

My husband is a stubborn man. Really, really stubborn. Although I offered to drive many, many times, he had it in mind that if he let me take a turn, even for a few miles, then he would no longer have the right to claim that he had driven us the entire journey. I respected this in the manner that he respects my need to check the stove ten times before leaving the house. Sometimes in a long and happy marriage you just have to compromise. Plus this worked in my favor...I tried to staunch the guilt by keeping him entertained - but it turns out that singing Gangham style thirty times in a row at the top of your voice is not what he finds entertaining. Nor is beat boxing on a lap tray or distracting him with lots of geography questions.

It turns out we had a LOT of fun. It was found in unexpected places. The bathroom breaks in small towns. The rough housing breaks in truck stop parking lots. The laughter over big poppa pickles and funny bumper stickers. There was an intimate family joy in marveling at spectacular sunsets and gorgeous sunrises.

I was prepared with tons of car games, DVDs and scavenger hunt ideas yet the best times were spent in simple conversation. Yes, we did manage to locate a lot of state license plates (although mom and dad were more excited about adding license plate stickers to the state atlas than Monkey.) Trapped in a small space for ten hours a day led to organic connections. Monkey talked about his friends at school and asked truly soulful questions we hadn't realised he thought about. We enjoyed each other's jokes and stories without the distractions of "what has to be done" or the thousand and one other things that compete for our attention.

I once again appreciated the beautiful Midwestern sky under which I was raised. My family traces back nine generations born within the same 50 mile radius. Really and truly. Before (and during) that we branch off into Cherokee Indians (both sides of my family, those romantic lots), French fur trappers from Canada, English settlers, Dutch adventurers and Scottish ancestors. There is even a rumor of a bit of Irish somewhere - like many Americans. They were US Marshals and farmers. Soldiers who have fought in every single American war since 1776. Safe house operators for the Underground Railroad, cowboys, mischief makers and survivors of the Great Depression. Business owners and not so simple people who took chances and put down roots in a wild territory. Is it any wonder than tenacity is my greatest characteristic?

It made me appreciate the vast dome of sky that is missing from New York's mountainous, populated region. Although we passed through 6 states, there was a commonality to every town we passed through. We remembered that people are really nice in America. They hold open doors to pass through and wish you a good day with sincere smiles. People in New York are nice too - there is just a protective wariness about them that often prevents unsolicited kindness. New York was the first time anyone asked me where my "people" came from. It was years before I realised this was because there were so many second generations in New York, the melting pot and traditional gateway to America.

The best part of the journey, however, was reaching our destination. Seeing the folks and hanging out with the cousins. Listening to my dad whisper to my son and the utter adoration my son has for my parents. It was weird passing by my old high school and seeing how much things change while your memories stand still. I love seeing how my foreign born husband melts into the landscape. How much heartfelt joy he demonstrates for his adopted country. Although a US citizen for many years, it is still a surprise how much he enjoys our history and defends our missteps. How effortlessly he is part and parcel of our extended family and how he shares my love for them in equal measure. It was sad to leave them, holding close for one last hug before hitting the pre-dawn road.

Coming home was more relaxed and we had a new GPS to play with - which actually got us lost in Ohio. We were alone at the hotel's indoor pool and had a blast being as carefree as we liked. The weather turned rough but we thought of the pioneers who first crossed the same land years before us. How had they driven animals through this wind and ice? How did they make camp without bathrooms and kitchens or soft adjustable beds - for months on end? Drive wagons over uncertain paths instead of smooth interstates with signage? Once again, it made us value what sacrifices the people before us made in order to map out and build our country and how meaningless the little conveniences truly are. How important human connections are. 

It turns out that the road trip was one of my husband's best ideas. Even the challenges turned out to be fond stories (ex; pulled over for a missing light by a state trooper in Illinois who turned out to be a really helpful person.) We enjoyed the entire trip so much and it turned out to be a great learning experience for Monkey. That is not to say we did not all dive individually for laptops and iPads upon our return home. A little bit of space is valuable in so many ways.

Mamma Bird

The sweet little birdhouse built by Monkey and Daddy in cubscouts is now home

to several little eggs. When they lifted the hinge to peer inside (they promise not to

going forward), little mamma didn't so much as flutter a feather.

She fixed them with a very stern "go away" glare until they dutifully closed her ceiling.

Mammas do love their babies...

Plants vs Zombies Birthday Cake!

I shared my uber talented friend L's cupcakes, but she also spoiled us by making this incredible birthday cake for Monkey, complete with the humerous note from the silly zombies. Our family has been addicted to this fun game and its hilarous how we all try to "help" each other win. You can see our new hermit crab in the picture as well. This is by far the coolest cake ever. We shared a few pictures and boom! She is a wonder - and the best part is that it was so delicious. I am talking ridiculously yummy. She's agreed to let me share her contact info with anyone interested in having her repeat her talented ways...

Plants Vs Zombies Cupcakes

My amazing friend L is so very talented - and also very generous. She bakes cakes as a side hobby and made these super fun cupcakes for Monkey's school friends on his birthday. Several adults (ahem) had to try one for quality control - yum-oh!

No Jumping in the Pool!

"There has been an accident at the pool and your son is in an ambulance on his way to the hospital".
I could have lived the rest of my entire life without hearing these words. Without the second that ticks by as slowly as an hour, when your vision expands and contracts to the leaping beats within your chest.

After confirming that he was fine (define "fine" to a mother who is in a meeting 50 minutes away from that ambulance that is speeding along an unfamiliar path), I clutched the directions that appeared in my hands (thanks to amazing co-workers) and stumbled quickly to the parking lot. I don't even remember the drive with the exception of reminding myself not to hyperventilate because if I crashed the car it would take longer to get to him (Realise now that this was not logical).

Entering the hospital it felt like a super heated GPS unit was attached to me. I moved through halls and doors, asking directions and moving before the person had stopped speaking. When I entered the room he was waiting in, it was with a fake, calm smile on my face. I was determined that he not be upset with my reaction. His small frame was covered with a hospital gown, his eyes glued to the cartoons dancing on a nearby screen. I fought against the urge to smother him in my arms, which would have clued him in that there was something really wrong with him, and simply kissed and touched him wherever I could. Between the sweet, damp counselor (still in her bathing suit and camp T-shirt) who had ridden with him in the ambulance and my son, the story gradually unfolded.

Monkey was in the pool, heading to the surface when his friend J jumped into the pool. J's chin connected with Monkey's head and both split wide open. When I arrived at the hospital, Monkey was perfectly calm, although I suspected it was partly due to shock. Seeing the dried blood and the 1 1/2 inch wound was an out of body experience.

When a twelve year old girl walked in the room and introduced herself as the resident intern that would be caring for him, shock wore off and the mama bear in me came out. I explained that, although I did not want to offend her, I would need an experienced physician to evaluate my son. She left to retrieve him. The camp director and counselor stayed with us throughout and we got busy researching whether staples or stitches would be better. I got enough reception on a borrowed cell phone to call our pediatrician, whose nurse recommended stitches. It made sense. Plastic surgeons do not use staples. Closing the wound was critical yet I envisioned him as a grown man, perhaps with a receding hairline, traumatised by the scar that his mother could have prevented if she'd only she'd questioned how to reduce this possibility.

Apparently staples are faster (excellent) but there would be some pressure as the doctor pressed the stapler down on his head (revolting). The stitches would take longer (bad) but the result would be a finer line (hopefully) where hair would re-grow.  So after conversing with Dad to make sure this was a team decision, we went with stitches.

It was the single most traumatic event in my life since his birth. Not sure yet where it places in his life but I'd guess it was the number one suckiest thing ever. They placed his arms in a pillow case behind his back while several adults held him down. I held his shoulders down while trying to soothe him. Three days later and I still feel nauseous with the memory.

The end result is that he received 6 stitches and is just fine. I have also made good on several desperate promises I made in my attempt to distract him from a needle repeatedly piercing his scalp. Examples include letting him sleep in our bed for a week, allowing him root beer with lunch yesterday and unlimited Wii time for an entire day. We still owe him a Lego train set and I am pretty confident we will be reminded of this tomorrow while running errands. At six he is learning to milk parental guilt - something to watch out for but in this case we are okay with it.

In one of those heart wrenching moments of parenthood, we nestled with him in a mound of pillows and bed covers the night it occurred. Drowsy between us, I whispered that Mommy was so sorry this had happened to him. That if I could I would take the experience and pain for him a million times over for myself if only to prevent him going through that. He roused enough to lay a hand on my cheek and told me to "Never say something like that. I will never let you have pain like I did today, Mommy. I will never want you to be hurt." I am often surprised by the depths of his generous and loving heart but he undid me that night.
No swimming or crazy, active activities for ten days. I know he is a boy and all children have their bumps and bruises. But for the next eight days I am going to just be grateful. My natural inclination has been to feverishly plot how to avoid this from ever reoccurring. Yet the reality I am still struggling to accept is that I cannot put him in a bubble. As he gets older, my influence and ability to protect him from any and all accidents will continue to lessen.

I also struggled with the illogical guilt of being at work and not with him when this happened. If I had been there I could have made sure they were not jumping into the pool, If I had been there I could have prevented the accident or...yet the reality is that I could have been standing right next to him in the pool and been looking elsewhere in that instant. I could have been distracted with a conversation with another adult or looking at my child and not seen the approach of the just-as-unsuspecting-of-what-will-happen, fun loving jumper, who was also injured. I do look on the bright side that this was not the worst case scenario and this experience ensures others will be more vigilant with children playing in pools. I hope this is true.

Time helps gain perspective and it helps that he is safe and running around again. And although I wish this had never happened, it does help mend us a bit that he thinks it's cool that he rode in an ambulance and that he may have a scar like a pirate.