We hit the road—and made it back home. The actual journey involved the highway, but it might as well have been the Oz mantra, tap your heels together three times, because being elsewhere was magical and being home again is kind of magical, too.
We tend to take the Wednesday before Thanksgiving off from school(s) in order to drive to Philadelphia (my hometown) Tuesday night, before the geese-covered-cloud equivalent of vehicles takes to the road. Needless to say, with four children—all awake and wired—getting out the door is always a process (okay, ordeal). Tuesday was no exception. I won’t go into it—I’ve blocked the minutiae as much as humanly possible, filed it under, not till next year—but I have to say that in the end, a calm grandmother helped immeasurably and a calm papa and eventually, as happens in families, yucky moments morph into better moments. Phew.
Also, fellow parents, especially those with young kids or young teens: never underestimate the power of laughing—punch-drunk variety—with your spouse at moments of stress. Trust me, good strategy. Bonding. Giddy how-did-we-get-here humor is a really good tool to bring along into your child’s teenage years.
Lastly, two notes on teens: they can be loud. They really need sleep and food. As I’ve said before, there are some uncanny parallels between parenting teens and toddlers. Don’t forget sleep and food. This may be all the truly sage advice I’ve got.
Meantime, from the generally near-bursting stress-level we reached before the morph occurred (call that morph, grace), Saskia was up during much of the drive, even after her brothers fell asleep. She sounded like she’d recorded an album (remember albums?) and got stuck in the scratch: “Are we going to Liz and Bob’s house? Will we go home for nap? Are Liz and Bob there? Will I play in the playground? It’s dark.” We’re going to Liz and Bob’s right now. Liz and Bob are there. We’re staying for a few days. We’ll play outside in the daytime when it’s light outside.
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Fortunately, the trip followed our friend Ken’s rule—we did not drive for longer than we stayed. So, by his definition, the travel time was worthwhile. And it really was.
For those who’ve been reading my blog this month, I NanoFinishedMo on Tuesday morning, sailing past the fifty thousand word mark. Do I feel done? Not a bit. Do I feel accomplished? Sure. In writing a rushed jumble of prose in that compressed time period, what I really committed to is a large project—writing a book-length manuscript—rather than putting the task off, as I’ve been doing. So, now, I have a self-imposed charge: keep plugging away on the project.
Put another way: I arrived at my mother’s house exhausted to my core. Exhausted to the core and also, determined not to get sick, as I’ve done the past two Thanksgiving breaks.
Here’s what happened: I slept. A lot. And I rested. Thanksgiving morning, before the steady cold rain, there was a brief but pretty snowstorm, which kept me firmly planted in bed. I lay there. I wrote a blog post. I lay there a little longer. Remy delivered a big bag of string beans and a colander. Saskia came upstairs to hang with me on the bed and I snapped beans in bed while she snacked on the beans. It was kind of like that. I got up to help and then I rested. I didn’t make it to the park for a long walk. I didn’t stay up late talking to my mama (sad face). She sat at the foot of the bed after I got Remy to sleep on Wednesday night. Maybe, if I’m generous, fifteen minutes later, I just conked out on her. It was like being tucked in by her, even though neither of us thought I was about to drift off for the night.
She and my stepfather so saved the day and let the harried parents even slip away overnight. We’d missed out on our hoped-for anniversary supper out and then we got an overnight. Some celebrations are worth waiting for, I tell you. We barely left the dark, quiet room with the comfortable bed. Sleep ensued alongside some delicious quality time just the two of us. We really didn’t need anything more than a very un-busy moment together in a very kid-free spot. Seventeen years in, we love each other, we really truly do, yet perhaps the trick—the why we work so well together—is this: we like each other so much.
I did not get sick.
Over the few days, you know, lots happened and not that much either (as family time can go), but I saw a dear old friend and his totally darling spouse and caught up with other lovely friends and my dear husband saw an old friend and there was plenty of grandparent time and I got to run the pre-Thanksgiving errands all by myself and we all pledged our love for the co-op in Philly and there was plenty of foccacia and an adventure with an emu egg (turned out, it was rotten, but we have a gorgeous shell to show for our efforts and a chicken egg omelet was made instead) and there was solitaire and a hike for two kids and a grandmother and a Japanese dinner out and 3-D puzzles completed and movies watched and baths in the large tub with the toy penguins and ducks and you get it, a few days that were fun and annoying and marvelous and just… just how it goes.
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We drove back a new way, through Pennsylvania. There was barely any traffic and a lot more darkness and a sense—as we passed signs for rifle shooting ranges and Alaska Joe’s restaurant and the Delaware Water Gap Recreation Area—we were passing the worst and best of some America we don’t really know. There are so many malls, so many Wal-Marts. Jeesh. And when we arrived on known roads—getting off 84 for the Blue Colony Diner pit stop in Connecticut—we got the traditional Thanksgiving challah (by broad strokes, it’s challah; in reality, it’s puffy bread), the place was hopping, itself a phenomenon (our favorite line, just about ever, one year, the cashier said, “We don’t make the challah again till Christmas.”).
Travel time back, door-to-door with a couple of pit stops was five and a half hours. En route, Saskia sang, “Pennsyl-van-ia it’s like pencils for drawing.” She also complained at one point, “My penis really hurts.” We couldn’t help but laugh and egged her on about her penis for five minutes, because we were so amused. She has brothers; that’s for sure. The punch-drunk laughter, well, it’s a survival tool and it’s bonding and we are, bumps, bruises, sadness, joy, family. And we are grateful, each one of us. I know that as deeply as I know anything. And I’m really glad of that.
