Disclaimer: I promise to edit this again after I get a good night’s sleep. Cross your fingers that it is tonight.
Usually my Frequent Flyer is upgraded to Fancy Class. Here he is slumming it with me so Kyle could get some sleep on the Lie Flat Bed. Yay, Dave!
Ok, as I sit, indisposed, with my laptop in my lap, I know I should be sleeping. Alas, several hours ago, and I am certain, less than twenty-four, I had this crazy thought. Why don’t you blog every day of your trip? You travel a lot. You like to travel and you like to write. Yes, I am that person that when I make a commitment, I really cannot break it. My over-sense of responsibility, not failing or whatever, has me sitting here now.
I should be sleeping and shortly I will be. I should edit this a few times before going to bed. My brain won’t allow either. So here I sit in my dark London hotel room bathroom. I call this old school blogging. You know, just writing stuff, posting it online, and thinking that no one really reads it. Time and internet speeds have changed and blogs are something I no longer know. I don’t even know if people blog, but really that is not what this post is about. It is about London: Day One.
Yesterday. 10:46 AM. San Francisco Airport, United Lounge.
The boys and I have been up most of the night. I am fighting to stay awake. Our flight to London leaves in two hours. I figured I should start journaling again. I like looking back and remembering. Yes, life goes super fast and yes, it is nice to stop and take it all in. It is kind of a pain writing, because I am so tired. To my right, sitting closer to the window, is Eli. He is suffering from either the fourth or sixth case of the hiccups in the last few hours. I feel bad for the kid. We keep teasing him about his mullet. See, the other day I finally took the boys in for trims. The specific instruction to the stylist was: “No mullets.” I begged her to cut an extra half inch off and Eli still has mullet hair. I promised to fix his hair once we arrive in London. Ah, London, I was just telling the boys. [PS it is more than twenty-four hours after I wrote this paragraph and Eli’s hair still is more party in the back. I am hoping some sleep will solve the issue or at least not make my hand so shaky when I trim his hair with my nail scissors – of course I am not kidding.)
Big Ben, London, England
“Who wants to go exploring with me?” Dave says from across the tiny United Lounge table. “I do.” As Kyle stands up, immediately unplugging his cellphone. Tethered like an umbilical cord, he cannot be without this lifeline. I encourage him to plug his cellphone back in the charger. As I begin to talk, I notice that Kyle’s grey shorts are covered in powdered sugar. He’d been eating donut holes. I interrupt myself and ask, “hey, wipe that white stuff off.” I insist. Wiping his hands in broad strokes across his legs Kyle responds, “See, It’s magic –all gone.”
Why I started journaling today is that I wanted to capture these moments. How many months will I remember Eli’s fancy mullet? Will Kyle always be tethered to his phone? Will he be ok without it? Yes, the years remaining with Kyle and Eli are much too short. Remembering seems to make it last. See, I hold these moments in words, because really that is what I have. Pictures and words are what we all have.
Kyle and Eli will have families – I hope. And I hope that I do not become the proverbial crazy mother-in-law. I can get pretty crazy so I am hoping the boys and I can ebb and flow into a beautiful and well communicated adult relationship. It is coming too soon. I want them to grow up and be the best men they can be and I want to find a way to stay close. Yes, what does this have to do with our trip? I will tell you. It’s about jet-lag, sleep deprivation, hours on planes, and boys telling you they can’t sleep because you asked them to. And following those words up with, “If you had not said anything, MOM, I would sleep.” I shut up and thank God about ten minutes later that same son was gently snuggling up to me. I love sitting in the middle, grabbing stuff, holding pillow and empty ginger ale cans.
A few minutes before now:
My laptop battery is about to die. And just moments ago a sign was shown to me that I need some sleep. I was trying to be all responsible and get all 1800 of our portable electronic devices properly charged. As I was trying to plug the second European adapter in to its special European outlet, once in the little outlet holes, the adaptor wiggled and then bounced down the back of the television cabinet, through a hole int the back of the cabinet, into the cabinet, and behind the hotel refrigerator. Don’t ask. After moments of frustration, with me encouraging Dave (also jet lagged) with the following phrase: “the word no simply reminds me that there is an opportunity,” Dave could not resist my self-help-charm and he tried one more time. Go Little Engine that Could. You may huff and puff, but you will get up the mountain or perhaps blow that house in. Dave did even better. He moved the credenza (the very cabinet that he swore five times was nailed to the hotel room floor) and dislodged the adaptor. High Fives, Dave! Adaptor now in his sore hand Dave admonished, “Really, find another place to plug this in.”
As if.
Everyone is fast asleep. My jet lags need to be re-set so I must go.
Day One of blogging London is complete. Goodnight or better, enjoy your lunch people in the US.
When nothing makes sense and I am not quite sure what my purpose on this crazy planet is, thank the heavens I have a partner, who likes me just the way I am.
Dave & Kyle finishing their ride on the Slickrock Bike Trail
We spent the weekend in Moab and every single night Big Daddy agreed participate in our nightly movie rental. It was awesome and watching movies was exactly what we (I) needed to do to end the day.
Dave at the place where I almost blew a fuse, mentally, that is
This morning began with Dave showing Kyle the ropes at Slickrock Bike Trail, and they both rocked it. Way to go! It was so cool seeing the confidence and pure joy in Kyle’s eyes as he described how, “Mom, I would stop and walk it the angle was steeper than 45 degrees.” Our hikes at Arches National Park later today were delightful, and so what if I nearly blew a major blood vessel watching Dave climb up the super scary cliff. He made it! Oh thank God he did!
See, here is why Dave rocks my world. It was Friday early afternoon of our frist day here. We got a late start and Dave was less than thrilled. I had already freaked out because I left my phone at the condo, and insisted Dave go back. Then we both bit our tongues and we compromised. We drove back to the condo and decided to wait until nighttime to run my errand. We made it to the Monitor and Merrimac Bike Trail. Dave patiently took all four bikes off the rack and proceeded to put all four wheels on while I made a stop Nature’s Bathroom.
We were on our way and when I saw the deep sand and craggy trail, I was pissed and wanted to go back. Eli was on a new bike and was also freaking out. Then the phone call came. Dave received an important business call in the middle-of-wherever-we-were. “Really? Really” I thought. The kids and I threw our bikes to the ground and climbed a gigantic rock formation. Dave was a tiny speck yet I could still see him talking away. Once off the phone he called out to us. We took our sweet time climbing down and asked if we should just go bak to town. Gently he encouraged us through the cattle gate and said, “If we can just make it up this hill, I promise we can turn back.” We made it through the crazy sand and up the giant hill. Then more encouragement came. “Let’s go a little farther. You want me to show you how to change your gears?” He gently asked.
“Nope! No I don’t” I stiffly responded.
Us on our crazy bike ride
He stayed, always quietly by my side. Honestly, I do not know any other person who would have so kindly listened to me (and Easy E, for that matter) scream-shriek-bitch-whine for the first 75% of our long mountain bike ride (not super long, really) through that thick, thick sand (very true), and treacherous uphill-biking conditions (not really, but I did do a lot of strenuous uphill accompanied by a fair amount of huffing and puffing). As we were approximately fifty-seven percent complete I felt myself relax and started to unwind enough so that I could breathe. Eli had also let go of his new-bike anxiety and was seriously feeling the thrill of biking all the way. “Mom, this isn’t so bad. It is actually really fun now that I am more comfortable with my new bike.” Go figure. Frankly, so was I. Dave never tried to out do me. He never tried to compete or tell me what an awesome mountain biker he is (he actually is a spectacular technical mountain biker). Instead he patiently let my complaints wash over him as he road by me side, which he did the entire way. I think most people would have unfriended me or at least punched me in the mouth by then. Dave didn’t. He knew I was scared and he understood I was out of my comfort zone. He listened when I said, “I am really slow to get things like this,” and he pushed only as hard as I could handle. Somewhere in there, after we chowed down on some turkey jerky and granola bars, and while at this giant amphitheater in the middle-of-nowhere, he came over, grabbed me tight, looked into my eyes, and gave me a big squeeze. Then he proceeded to tell me how cute he thought I looked in my biking outfit. As we stood there, at a time when there was ample opportunity to give me a firm scolding, he never ever mentioned my bitching.
Arches National Park
We encouraged the boys ofd of their high climbing perches, got on our bikes and headed back. Aside from the super-sized fear I had believing it was possible that Eli could fall to his death on this crazy steep drop-off section, the ride back was a much happier, more confident journey.
When we were close to the end, and at a super cool downhill part, I urged Dave to go ahead. He hesitated. I insisted, he went for it and once down, he waited again. Dave, when I needed you most, you were there, no strings, no requirements, no jusdgements, you just stood by my side. Thank You!
I love you! I needed that ride! I needed this weekend.
My brothers, sisters and me. And yes, the girls were rocking some most amazing Go Go Boots
Music, like a certain smell, always transports me to the spot where a song’s melody means the most. Mumford and Sons is playing overhead and instantly I feel like I am standing in Whole Foods in the lovely Kensington neighborhood of London. Dave and I would live there if we could. I feel the autumn warmth, sunshine is peeking through the doorway, where I see a ginormous cornucopia display surrounded by colorful autumn leaves and Whole Foods treats. Davy holds my hand as we stand there trying to figure out what part of the store we should go to first. There are three levels of awesomeness. I am missing my boys something fierce, and decide to distract my longings by venturing in and look for some yummy dark chocolate. That is what this song does for me. It feels like a big, giant hug, a hug filled with so much love I may just explode.
The Beatles’ Blackbird is playing in my mind and as many times as I have looked up the simple lyrics I cannot keep them in my brain. Every night as we put Kyle to sleep, or each time baby Kyle (that is what we called him) took a nap I sang to him and most days it was, The Beatles, “Blackbird.” His birth was a tough one, and in those first few months he was so tender and new. We thought he might break. Each time I sang to him the memory of his crazy, terrible, and long birth eased, I stopped fearing things like those solid five minutes when his heart did not beat. I began to let go of the horror that day was. Instead, I began to breathe, I began to see that our little Kyle would be ok, at least for now.
“Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
Black bird singing in the dead of night
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see
all your life
you were only waiting for this moment to be free.”
We would play the song often, and those lyrics gave me hope and then Dave and I would sing,
“Kyle bug sleeping in the sweet dark night,
Please sleep and rest your heart tonight.
We love you!
Sweet little Kyle Bug. We love you.”
I know. How sappy. It was and yes, it totally helped.
Music has always been a big part of me, a love given to me by mom that I wanted to pass onto him. I did because eventually as we played Blackbird, baby Kyle began howling along. It was pure delight.
Further back my mind takes me to Yellowstone National Park. Riding along in our Camper, the six of us sat in the back, driving ourselves crazy. My mom made a valiant effort, quizzing us with her name-all-the-presidents and-name-all-of-the-states flash cards. I could name them then. I am sure I cannot name them now. Without the use of electronics we were forced to entertain ourselves! It is crazy we even survived [wink, wink]. We had a few cassette tapes. Roberta Flack’s, “Killing Me Softly;” Simon and Garfunkel’s, “Bridge Over Troubled Water,” and Elton’s John’s, “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road.” Wait, and looking back, my parents weren’t so musically lame after all. We listened to those songs over and over again, often fastforwarding to Simon and Garfunkel’s, “Ceceila,” as we belted those words at the top of our lungs:
“Cecilia, you’re breaking my heart,
You’re shaking my confidence daily.
Oh Cecilia, I’m down on my knees,
I’m begging you please to come home.
Come on home.”
We played that Simon and Garfunkel tape so often I think it broke. Yes, the tape wore so thin it literally snapped and broke in half. We prided ourselves at harmonizing to “Bridge Over Troubled Water,” and after we were bored with that we made our up own songs.
Growing up in a true Brady-Bunch-Styled family was no picnic. Out of respect (and because it hurts her feelings every time I do) for my mom I try not to mention my childhood. My parents have since divorced, and in my youngest-child-point-of-view, our family is more Humpty-Dumpty-after-he-fell-off-the-wall then Humpty Dumpty before-he-was-put-back-together-again. Honestly, some days, like this one, it feels like I do not have many good memories of the six of us getting along and enjoying each other. Then I push further, and I find those happy spaces. Because in that rickety old camper somewhere between Yellowstone National Park and the Needles Highway, we, the six kids, came together, united and made up our own lyrics for Elton John’s Goodbye Yellow Brick Road. Those crazy lyrics still make me smile.
“Goodbye Yellow Brick Road.
There is a toad in the road.
It is red.
Because it is dead.”
And thank God our song is part of my soundtrack too.
PS And if you think of it, maybe it is these happy memories that took place on the road that instilled in me my always-and-forever Travel LOVE!
Heading west, we are leaving Great Basin National Park. I see the reflected sunset blend pinks, blues and purples across the mountains. I wish I could capture what I see. These mountains’ die cut shapes are now printed in my mind.
We are literally yards away from the little town of Baker, NV, population, 385. Of course Dave and the boys are once again listening to Brandon Mull’s “The Beyonders.” It is never lost on me, because my boys tell me so, that Brandon Mull is a friend of Uncle Denny’s. I think it is hilarious how the Mormon Church and consequently living in the state of Utah, we end up playing our very own game of Six Degrees of Separation. In the Mormon Church, especially here in Utah, however, you are never separated by more than one degree. Because of this Utah-and-Utah-Mormon-phenomenon, it is no shock that I am also friends with one of Senator Harry Reid’s sons, or that the now famous author of Book of Mormon Girl, and outspoken Mormon Scholar, Joanna Brooks, is a good friend of mine; so is her lovely sister, MB. If you knew how closely connected the Utah-based Mormon culture is or is it was, you would understand that it is commonplace that I am (no joke) one degree away from the Mormon Mommy Blogger who was horrifically burned in a plane crash, and found the strength to rise above, Nie Nie, although we have never met. Everyone I know has or is somehow related to her or at least that is what they tell me. I promise you that a good friend of mine, a friend who also dated my brother, is very good friends with the Twilight Lady. So when my friend Robin introduced me to the lovely and talented Carrie way back when, within a millisecond I knew I had hit paydirt. Then and literally my eleven-year-old-girl heart skipped two beats as I learned Carrie’s Dad is like the most FAMOUS MORMON EVER! If you were both LDS and alive in the late 1970’s through mid 1980’s you knew the uber popular Mormon Musical, and now parodied, Saturday’s Warrior, a musical in short based on the Plan of Salvation through song. And if you know Saturday’s Warrior, you also know that Mr. Lex De Azevedo is the musical’s great producer and co-writer. Ok and yes, it is very cool that Lex De Azevedo was also the musical director for the Sonny and Cher show, The Jackson Five and The Osmonds, but as a young Latter Day Saint living in the heartland, Saturday’s Warrior was EVERYTHING! No. Seriously! EVERYTHING! Ok. Don’t mock, but listening to the soundtrack on my little tape recorder and belting, “Line upon Line. Precept upon precept. That is how he lifts us. That is how [insert dramatic pause here] he teaches his children…” I was transported. I was full of hope. I was one of those stars in the sky. And back in say, 1982, every congregation put on their own production of Saturday’s Warrior. I make no excuse for the fact that I wanted to rip perfect little Tana Call’s vocal chords out when she got the part of Julie, female lead. Saturday’s Warrior, like it or not, was the soundtrack of my Mormon youth. So the fact that my friend Carrie is also related for you older folks, the King Sisters (her Grandma), and to you Indy-Rock-Hippies, Arcade Fire (her cousins) really makes Carrie the Holy Grail of what-Famous-Mormon-do-you-know. Thankfully Carrie is as normal as any person who grew up LDS can be [wink wink]. Might I add, for eleven-year-old me, knowing Carrie would have honestly been better than seeing those Golden Plates for myself, taking photos and stashing a plate or too in my safety deposit box. And yes, I have told her so.
On and on the silly connections go. Oh wait, and speaking loosely of the Osmonds, because they really are the Kevin Bacon of this Mormon game, my favorite secret connection of all time is that my very good friend Eric’s sister is married to Jimmy Osmond — so awesome! (Sorry for outing you Eric.)
I promise you if they were or have ever been a Mormon and you were or ever have been a Mormon, you would know them or be just as connected to them too. Alan introduced me to (love him or hate him) Orrin Hatch and Orrin claimed to even know my website. I, to this day, am sure he was prepped. And yes, everyone I know knows Mitt Romney or went to BYU with his sons. Years ago I saw him at church. He was playing with one of his grandchildren in the back. He stood right next to me while I chased Kyle around the gym. And in fairness I have seen Donny Osmond twice, once at church in Minnesota, the Wayzata Chapel, to be exact, and once at the Orem Costco, where he held the back gate open for us so we could sneak in.
I digress. Wow. I really digress.
Great Basin National Park
As the boys listen to The Beyonders, I am wearing my headphones to block out the story’s narration. My iPod is on full volume, I do not like the song playing, and fast forward to Radiohead’s, “Creep,” the acoustic version. Is there a better road trip song? If only I could scream the words out loud? “I am a creep…what the hell am I doing here? I don’t belong here…you’re so very special. I wish I was special. Whoa, whoa. She’s running out. She run. run. Runnnnnnnuuuunnn.”
Great Basin National Park
Dave and I are trying to decide if we should stay for the night. We’re pulling over. I have no idea what the little grocery store/bar/restaurant/ice-cream-shop is called. Great Basin National Park, home of the Bristlecone Pine (the world’s oldest tree), is the least visited national park for a few simple reasons. It is on the western middle-of-the-desert-middle-of-nowhere border between Utah and Nevada. Great Basin is hard to get to, is not on any major highways or byways, and is not at all close to anything else. Years ago since learning she was there (yes, Great Basin is a she), I have always felt a kinship to this stunning and forgotten place. We drove through Great Basin in our camper van many years ago. Eli was a baby and the night we camped was stark, cold and I was convinced that the only other camper chose to camp right next to us because he was a serial killer. If I closed my eyes, even for the split-est of seconds, he would most certainly get us. I asked Dave to lock everything up and sleep on the bottom section that night. My guess all these years later and maybe because the boys are old enough to protect me, is he simply did not want to feel so alone. Because the Bristlecone-Pine area was closed for the winter when we were here before, Dave has always wanted to come back.
Stopped on the side of the road, we were in Baker, NV, which is a “blink once” and you’ll miss it little town. We drove to the other side of the street, parked, walked up the stairs, into the restaurant and agreed that the boys could have ice cream shakes. Our tall waiter, with blue jeans he wore just a few inches above his waist and the only waiter, by the way, directed us to take a menu and a seat. Here we sat in this eccentrically delightful restaurant colored in bright reds, yellows, and filled to the brim with art, framed, crazy sculptures hanging above us, displayed in the bathroom, and all with affixed price tags.
The restaurant is the size of a Starbucks bathroom and oddly enough they were using various Starbucks flavored syrups for the Italian Sodas. We looked over the menu while Eli looked around. “Hey Mom, our waiter looks just like Bill Nye the Science Guy,” Eli said and we all agreed.
Outside the restaurant in Baker, NV
There was no caramel for the shakes, and then our waiter kindly suggested,
“I like it when he mixes flavors.” “Do you think we can mix ours’?” the boys both asked him. “I’m sure you can,” he said in the mellow warn-out voice of an outgrown hippie, who may or may not have moved to tiny and remote Baker, NV to follow his dreams.
Dave decided on an enormous ice cream with homemade cookie sandwich.
Me, well, I had some green tea. I was cold.
Inside the Baker, NV restaurant
Our day began in Tonopah, NV. Have you ever been in sweet travel slumber only to be assaulted by the unfamiliar repetitive beeps of an obnoxious hotel alarm clock? Happened to us. I swear it was 5:30 a.m. Dave, who was wearing his watch, assures me it was 6:00 a.m. I was the closest to those piercing beeps. Unable to ignore them I started swatting at the nightstand. Imagine my arm completely outstretched hitting fervently into the darkness. That’s what I did. Later on the kids even said while pointing at that mean hotel clock, “Mom, what did you do to that alarm clock?” Thankfully the sleep-induced damage was nothing and I was able to set the clock upright and snap the iPod dock thingy back in. Yay!
Exactly nine minutes later I heard it again. Beep. Beep. Beep. “Damn it! I only hit snooze.” Swatting at it again I could not make that ugly and unfamiliar sound stop. Pleading, I asked, “Dave, please. I cannot see. Please read the buttons and make it stop!” I may have handed him the alarm clock. I honestly do not know. Dave fixed it and we fell asleep that is until I heard the familiar sounds of my own alarm. I allowed myself two snoozes. And after yesterday’s falling-down-the-rabbit-hole day, I wanted us up and out the door.
We stopped at Giggles, yes, of course the gas station. Gas was down to $4.19 a gallon. We filled up, and were on our way.
[Update: I originally wrote and then tried to post this entry on May 27, 2011. Thank Mercury that Raquel called me today. Thank Mary and Carrie for appreciating that which is Free to Be You and Me and its 40 years on this planet. Happy Anniversary to my very favorite Kids Album-television-special ever! If it were not for these stars aligning I would not have found this forgotten post. And really, this post is how I am feeling now and today, exactly 18 months later, I am feeling brave enough to re-write and post it!]
The word that keeps popping into my brain is override. I could be all ninth-grade-speech-contesty and start my lengthy diatribe (post) with the definition. (Yes, I was in a ninth grade speech contest and yes, I did quite well I must say with my dictionary definitions and poems I stole from the Especially for Mormons special thought book.) No and simply writing out the definition of the word override just will get in my way, an earnest poem will totally distract me. I will giggle as I think of ninth-grade-me boldly reciting the words from my ninth grade speech contest, “Stick to your task, till it sticks to you. Bend at it. Sweat at it. Smile at it too. For out of the bend, the sweat and the smile, will come life’s victories after a while.” I will totally get caught up in the Kitsch Factor, yet I will actually see that ninth-grade-me was on to something.
Rocks on Volcanic Beach, Maui, Hawaii
As I think of that earnest poem, the one I recited all those years ago, I think that maybe I had something on all those Midwestern non-Mormons, something that now I need to embrace, not delete, perhaps just reorganize. I need to fight the urge to hide the whole me and not hide, for starters, my intensely religious upbringing. Sure, my classmates were convinced and often told me that my crazy cult family could not drink Coke or dance, but because I was a Mormon, I also had my secret-poem-book weapon. In fact I had two volumes of my secret-poem-book weapon, a poem-book-weapon that carried me to the ninth grade Oratorical Speech Contest. Mormons, in all their cultish ways [wink wink] are on to something. They have cornered the market on public speaking. Steven Covey’s 7 Habits ring a bell? While all the other ninth grade orators had to go to the library (no internet back then) and read card catalogs that led them to books which led them to quotes, quips and impactful sayings, I had two action-packed and organized-by-topic volumes of thought-provoking anecdotes in my arsenal. Pow! Pow! My topic: Endurance. And in my special Mormon book were pages and pages of stories and quotes all about enduring to the end. Those Mormon books made the research easy, painless and involved no Dewey Decimal Systems. Take that Card Catalog. All I needed to do was speak, and with my Mormon training, speak I did well. That memory is something I can keep. I do not need to re-write or change.
OVERRIDE
The word looks like it is spelled incorrectly, and really it seems like it should be overwrite. I checked. It is not. It is also not two words either, over and ride; and there are two r’s, not one. Override is today’s epiphany and yes, I plan on having as many epiphanies as my soul can handle. When I heard the word override in reference to my life, instantly images and pieces of my past shot into focus, yet all in a new and restructured view. Of course, what was bouncing around in my brain is the utter realization that you really cannot delete your past. Instead, you can reshape, reform and, most importantly to me after today, you can override.
Our feet in Volcanic Sand, Maui, Hawaii, 2011
As I sat listening to the sage advice that I can override my past images shot through my head. I immediately saw myself hopping over my crappy dark memory abyss. Ok, too vague. What I saw was me hopping over a Volcano. I mean, me, leaping with long, sinewy legs over an awesome Hawaiian volcano; steam rising out next to the deep black volcanic rock with the lush green Big Island backdrop. Did you ever listen to Free to Be You and Me? I did. I loved the soundtrack and cartoon TV special and still love it today. Free To Be You And Me is [insert super awesome chorus here] Awesome!” If you are too young to know or lived on another planet in the 1970s, let me tell you. “Free to Be… You and Me, a project of the Ms. Foundation for Women, is a record album, and illustrated book first released in November 1972 featuring songs and stories sung or told by celebrities of the day.” As I heard the word override I saw me as Free to be You and Me’s character Atalanta, based on the athlete in Greek Myth. In Free to be You and Me, Atalanta wins the race and thus overrides her destiny and wins the rite to choose her husband. And seriously, without even remembering the story at that moment, that is what I saw: Atalanta, leaping, in her 1970s-sinewy-legged-animated glory, leaping over the giant Hawaiian volcano.
Volcanic Rock, Maui 2011. We still had no idea how sick Kyle was
I can override. When I get in my way, I can push easily-influenced-by-others me off to the side. I can hop over confined me and I can simply override the dark and crazy me stuck in one place. Pretty cool, that whole ability to override.
At the Ahwahnee. Stick figure made by Dave. Changed into a woman by me.
Heading east. Heading home. Writers we met along the way were all female writers. Kyle tells me we need to write a book together. I am convinced I need to write. He wants us to share our story, his story. We should. I like that he wants to share it together.
Looking into the flat, dark night, I think about our day. Fighting is all we did. We’ve been fighting a lot, dying on swords for patterns we hope to break. Eli freaked out. Kyle pestered. I screamed. Dave screamed once and then remained quiet. Wrapped into the backs, forths, up and downs of our uncertain day, Dave made lunch reservations at Yosemite’s lovely and grand Ahwahnee Hotel. I did not know they close at 2:00 p.m. “How on earth would we not be in Yosemite by 1:00 p.m.?” That was Dave’s complaint.
Our Super Hero Boys climbing over Yosemite’s Giant Rocks
In the enormous expanse of granite peaks and giant redwood trees I felt small. We were little action figures, really superhero action figures, and we were working our way through the dollhouse that is Yosemite National Park. My super power is still hearing and Dave’s, well, I will ask him. I am back in Utah editing my post. It is Monday morning and he is sitting next to me. Surprisingly his “current” super power is close to mine. He looks over at me and sweetly says, “listening.” “Listening?” I ask and then because his power appears to be so close to mine, I look back at him and laugh. “Listening to someone talk about their friends and all of their friends’ problems. Listening.” Dave responded and I laughed again.
Back in the car: I am writing while listening to music. I’m always listening to music. I should have been today. These headphones could have prevented the angry, sad and nonsensical words that were hemorrhaging from my lips. The Avett Brothers, that is what I am listening to. Their new album, The Carpenter. Eli reaches his hand up. I think he wants to hold mine. Letting go he begins tapping, tapping fervently on my head then my shoulder. Fear filled, I remove the headphone from one ear. “I am not ready to re-enter that world. I am not ready to listen to the narrator’s voice on Disc 3, Track 2, read another word of the “Beyonders.” My headphones are keeping me safely tucked away in the sweet melodies. “I have been homesick for you since we met. I have been homesick for you blah, blah, blah if I die, its for you,” the tapping wont stop and the headphone is removed.
“Mom, can I use my iPod?” Eli asks and as if they had written their very own, (sing with me), “Mom, can I use my iPod,” song together, Kyle really, without missing a beat, then asked, “Mom, can I use mine too?”
They knew they had me. They know I want some space. I said, “yes,” and started handing said iPods over my seat while Eli stated firmly, “Mom, that is Kyle’s!” I kept passing those electronic babysitters/fight inducers back and encouraged them to work it out. “Eli, Take yours and pass Kyle’s to him.”
As I get farther along in this Avett Brothers album I am feeling lukewarm. I have sped through a few songs and hung onto a few others. If only I could have pushed pause on those moments. I was losing my mind or completely fast-forwarded through my less-than-lady-like language. I hate swearing in front of my kids and as hard as I try not to, I do.
El Capitan, Yosemite National Park (Yes, there are climbers on that rock!)
Eli melted down hard at El Capitan. Before the collateral damage was too great, I walked him, while holding his upper arm, to the car. I can’t blame him. His mom and dad were not being especially nice, and when I say not nice, I mean that Dave and I were not being nice to each other. As I think about Eli and our El-Capitan-incident, I also remember how insane I thought those rock climbers were as I stood and watched while they scaled El Cap’s 3,500 feet. I wanted to take pictures and Dave wanted to drive on. He wanted to see the sun set at the top. I did not know that. I just knew he wanted to go. In those short seconds of meltdowns and miscommunications, I thought I might lose my mind. Instead, I took a breath, made space for Eli, and once near the car I stopped Eli. I did what my mom has always told me to do, “Even if they push back, even if they are mad, don’t. Don’t let them push you away. You hug them. You hold them close.” I felt Eli relax in my arms, where he safely looked into my eyes, and told me why I suck. I listened. I apologized, told him that I thought we both had made some big mistakes today and I was sorry. I held him close. His eyes are so blue and the late afternoon sun pierced those blue eyes into my heart. I looked at him and heard my mom say, “You are the mom. Don’t let them push you away. Hold them close.” I held him close and have not stopped. Since this moment Eli and I are better. We’ve been talking about grizzly Halloween costumes, and at least six times a day he says, “Mom, I love you!” Thank God for that kid.
Eli let go and we both walked. Only a few more steps and we were at the car, where Eli immediately slipped, and because our car was parked at such a severe angle, his door bounced back and slammed hard on his legs. “I hate this!” He shrieked. He struggled his way in the car, where he desperately tried to shove his head deep under a pillow. He took a deep breath and then sobbed, “We should have stayed home! I mean it! I know we should have stayed home.”
Out of my seat I maneuvered the crazy-way-our-car-was-parked-angle, and made my way to Eli. Safely in the car, I shut his door and made my way back. “Boys, give me your iPods. I think we all need a break.” And somewhere between losing their iPods and Eli’s meltdown Kyle shared, “Mom, I need more music on my iPod. I really like “Green Day.” They totally calm me down.” Flashbacks of my older sister Brenda blaring, I mean, blaring songs like Led Zeppelin’s Blackdog, “Hey, hey, mama, said the way you move, gonna make you sweat, gonna make you groove,” I didn’t see it coming. Eli seems like our Green Day kid. Kyle? Is it all of our fighting? Is Green Day his teenage right-of-passage, which will hopefully lead him into the alternative and easy-listening music of Adulthood? Will Green Day bring him to Feist or The XX or maybe even Coldplay? My twelve year old is listening to Green Day for relaxation and somehow I think it is my fault.
Dave and I are great partners, but somehow today we threw ourselves down the rabbit hole. We left El Cap and headed east-ish toward the Tioga Pass, stopping at a, and I am not kidding, $5.49 a gallon gas station. Dave was hoping for some caffeine and before I could get out of the car he was on his way back. “it’s closed.” I got out anyway and asked Kyle to stay in. Eli was now snoring. Really. I even told him later on, “You snored. You know that sound Wawa makes? That’s what you did,” and then I promptly made the noise [insert swallowing, snorting noise here] so we were clear. We both laughed and he seemed a little proud of his great snoring snort.
Out of the car I looked at Dave and said, “This isn’t good. I think the boys are acting crazy because you and I are fighting.” he agreed. “Are you ok collectively apologizing?” First we told Kyle and once Eli was awake we told him.
Damian Rice’s, “Cold Water” is now playing and as I typed this paragraph’s first seven words, Dave literally almost hit two wild horses in the dark Nevada night. Damian Rice’s mellow serenade is perfect and would have calmed me, even if Dave had hit those horses. Thank God he didn’t. Oh thank God!
We left the gas station, gaining elevation as the sun began to set. “If we had been twenty minutes earlier we could have seen it set on Half Dome,” Dave said and I heard his disappointment. Along the way I realized I was missing something and then I said as much, “Dave, I am sorry. I am sorry that I did not appreciate how important it is for you to maximize your days off.” I knew Dave was feeling discouraged and that traveling with me was for the birds. We kept driving and I kept thinking.
Seconds after the lady asked if she could take our picture we took this & yes, we are “Facebook Happy,” if you know what I mean?
I thought of the lady who offered to take our picture when we were on our Yosemite Hike. She asked and I responded with such disturbing laughter I believe I hurt her feelings. I saw her down the way and apologized, “it’s been a hard day and I would have loved for you to take our picture. Thank you for offering.”
Dave wasn’t talking much. I think that’s what guys do when there really isn’t any more to say. I wanted to make it through the other side of this. I heard words I have been told before, “You fight for your marriage! There is no autopilot, ever! You see things from their perspective. You back down and then you fight some more.” I took another breath and apologized for our rotten day. Insecurely I asked him, “are you still in — even a little bit?” he said, “a little bit.” I don’t know if he was being literal, sweet or funny, but I took it. I talked about how when the boys were young he always took them to the pool while I was getting ready and now when we travel we do all boy/men things and I never take a minute to decompress or shop or drink a green tea without a, “MOM, Mom, can we go? Mom, mom, I want to leave. We are SOOOO bored!” I can’t go with the boys without them fighting and many of our current trips consist of Dave working and me 24-7 testosterone managing. I think Dave heard me because he seemed more relaxed. I asked him if he did and he said, “yes,” in a very nice way. I reminded him that it goes both ways. We need to make space for each other and for each other’s priorities and then I think we can travel better.
We left it at that and stopped. Dave pulled into the backside of a look out point. Immediately my eye saw a woman in a pink jacket. She smiled. Kyle, Dave and I got out of the car, walked up to the edge and then walked further to get a better view. Eli, who had been sleeping, woke up and made his way. As we walked back to the car the lady in the pink jacket’s (Stacey) boyfriend asked me, “where in Utah are you from?” We talked canyons and the awesome hippie gas station just south of Boulder, UT. Dave walked up, Eli got back in the car and Kyle entered our conversation. I started talking to Stacey. I needed to talk to Stacey. Immediately we connected, “sometimes I just do not care what rock formation we are looking at,” I said to which she laughing responded, “Seriously. Monoliths. He wants me to understand every little canyon and geologic formation.” We were laughing so hard I was crying. I was relaxing and oh thank God she was there. “As Dave and my boys get older I feel less in touch with them and all of their man-ness. I am this alien female creature trying to communicate with three dudes. They have no idea what to do with me. It’s lonely and sometimes I just need a moment to catch my breath. How many Sci-Fi-Fantasy-Books-on-tape can one mom listen to or tune out?” She understood and even said something like, “they just don’t get it, but women do. I am glad I am here.” I was glad too. Thank goodness for the overlook, sun gone or not.
At the Look out Point and this is literally the moment Easy E stumbled out of the car to catch up with us.
We exchanged emails and stories. She shared her favorite books and by the time Dave made his way back to me, after walking straight into a pole first (ouch and yes, blood), of course he had one read one of the books too.
We are not perfect. We are scarred, flawed. I swear and yes, I have to tell Dave exactly what I want for Christmas, pick it out online and put it in a shopping cart. He does the same for me. It helps. It’s not easy being married. It is not easy being a family. Friday, October 19, 2012, it was not easy being on the road. I don’t blame Eli for wanting to go home. I am understanding and respecting Dave’s silence and totally get Kyle’s newly acquired Green Day need. I, well, I couldn’t turn my mouth off and even suggested I have my vocal chords removed so I would shut up already. Kyle immediately said and then Dave, “but you have a lovely singing voice.” (Those words meant the world to me.)
We made it through. We fought our way to the other side. Once over the
Tioga Pass, which parallels the Donner, by the way, we did not starve, we were not stuck in snow with know way out until spring and mostly we did not have to eat each other. Although there were moments when I would have.
