On grandparents, gag reflexes, GPS and other joys of family roadtrips

We had the wheels, the time and we were missing one of my grandmothers, so my parents and Lil E and I took one weekend day to get out of the city and just breathe.

We loaded up the milfivan with kiddie DVDs, bottles of water, giant cups of coffee, and our regular battery of motion-sick-child gear -- Dramamine, a pile of towels, three extra outfits for the boy and one for the mama, and then a prayer for please God, if you have any control over the gag reflex, let it be enabled in these 2-1/2 hours to Indiana and then again on the return trip, particularly in consideration of the penance paid on our last visit to this grandmother when it took double-time with all the sudden stops to catch, clean up, change and clean up some more with a crying and miserable kid in too many gnarly gas stations. Then, like good little test drivers, we sat in our parking space for a half-hour trying to figure out how in the hell to activate the wireless earphones so that my dad and I wouldn't have to hear Handy Manny all the way to Indiana (it gives me shivers just to think about). That dilemma was followed by how to get the satellite radio rolling up front (and not on that creepy Hair Nation station and, for the sake of not murdering the retired folk, definitely not the Margaritaville station). That led us to a nice long discussion over erratic button-pushing to get my grandmother's address inputted to the GPS lady (who, by the way, began to sound a wee bit irritated by the end of the day, I swear).

Click to read more ...

Addressing the address

Lil E and I have been staying with my parents for nearly three weeks. This is not how I would have ever had it, nor has it been easy.  It has, however, been the right place to be while our family figures out what is next.

The state of affairs in my marriage is sad. But it also just is, and so in that time, we need beds that are warm, meals with loving company and time and space away from the tension and heartache that invaded our own home weeks and weeks ago.

It is working out amazingly well, given the full story and circumstances and that there is a three-year old child at the center. I feel a bit like a fifteen-year old when I report my whereabouts and return time to my parents, who I know will be anxiously waiting for me to return while distracting themselves with OnDemand and left-over Halloween candy.  I don't love sleeping on a fold-away couch while our clothes cover one whole guest bed. My whole body and full breaths pull in as I remind Lil E when he asks that we will be home as soon as we can, and until then we sleep at grandma and grandpa's house together -- one conversation no mama wants to have. I desperately want to be back home, to sage the corners of each room and the doors to the outside world, to clear the air of all the toxicity that has allowed so much pain to cross the welcome mat. However, it is in the most raw moments, I think, that we get down to what is really important. And that we are here rather than there right now, matters far less than how we are. Crazy and gratefully enough, I think we are OK.

I'm not thinking about Thanksgiving or Christmas or 2008 at this point. I can barely project into next week or my upcoming deadline days. I can, though, settle into an hour -- and sometimes, a day -- at a time. I can breathe deeper and move calmly through the right here, right now.

If you are trying to find us at home, we aren't there. But call loud enough, and we will hear you. Or leave us a little message. When the moments of grace are sturdy enough to build a pathway back to our little apartment on our beckoning block with the gingko trees and construction trucks, we will find it.

Until then, we're settling in where we are.

Click to read more ...

This is not a shoe blog

Or is it? After all, NaBloShoeMo is upon us and although I haven't yet joined (sigh), I may need some sweet kicks to make an appearance in the final days.

Hello, mama! Have you seen the ahhh-freaking-dorable rain boots at PiperLime? Damn you, Gap, with your continuously luring brands marketed at sassy mommies! And damn you for making me wish the rain would come in buckets that last for so many days that I'd feel compelled to buy these rubber lovelies (now there's a term I haven't used since college) out of necessity and not just for indulgent puddle jumping on occasion.

Who knew walks to co-op could be so koi?  So deliciously, delightfully koi?

Click to read more ...