Ahh, the movies

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Yes!  For the first time in a long time, I went to the movie theatre for a 9:30 PM movie.  Jon’s parents took Maria and Mario for the evening and Jon’s leg was hurting so I went all by myself to see Colin Firth’s amazing performance in A Single Man (boy, is he a good lookin’ lad (of course, only topped by my hubby!)). 

There is nothing better in life then to go by yourself to a movie theatre, grab a popcorn and large drink and a box of Goobers, find the perfect seat just a few rows up from the middle aisle, plop down a few minutes before the movie to get adjusted, and then have the previews begin.  Ahhh.  The only issue I had tonight was that there was only one preview – I am one that likes at least four.  I simply melted into my seat, popcorn in my lap, pepsi (rather have coke but I had a night alone – I won’t bitch!) in the cup holder, and Goobers on the chair beside me.  I coul literally sit in a theatre all day long if someone would bring me refills of all the above.  I usually can’t sit still for a half of an hour at home but there is something magical about the movies for me.  I don’t know if it is because it takes me back to being a kid (I used to walk a mile to the Gold Circle Cinemas for a movie); takes me to another world for two hours; or whether I simply like the time alone in a big theatre with goodies and entertainment.  Whatever it is, thank you god for it.  

Meanwhile, that Pepsi and those Goobers are telling me who is boss right about now.  To the Tums and to bed for me!

My non-life plan

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I have always been jealous of people who have a life plan.  They have it all set out:

I will go to this school, get this degree, have this occupation, live in this state, get married at this age, have a baby at this next age…. 

I have NEVER had the ability to look five minutes ahead in my life, much less plan for years and years ahead.  I got my law degree eleven years ago.  I had no idea what I was going to do with the degree my last year of school.  Other classmates were interviewing, running around hysterically looking for references, networking at all the events.   I did nothing.  I happened to get a call from a friend of mine who worked at a local law firm as a secretary.  It was April or May, close to graduation, and I told her things were good but no job prospects yet.  She got me an interview at her firm and two weeks letter, I got an offer.  

I have thought about this lately because a young law student asked me where I see myself in five years.  Are you kidding?  I have no fricken’ idea!  I may be in my same job, I may be in my same house, I may have my same bicycle or I may be traveling to Africa to scout out a farm to which we could move (that is a dream and a whole other blog entry)…. 

I fear I may be too whimsical or not able to sit still long enough to figure out a plan.  But I really don’t think that is the case.  I think I simply enjoy living without self-imposed necessities.  “Necessities” because it is not that I don’t have goals for myself. I want to do more community service, I want to travel with Maria and Mario, I want to write more.  But I don’t want to impose on myself that I must make partner at a firm by 2015 or that I must buy a new car by 2016 or that I must publish an article by next year. 

Sar and Mar

Visiting my sis in Oaxaca

A lot of lawyers I know feel they cannot leave the law profession because that is not what they had planned and they would be failures.  Others feel they have to stay in that big house that costs way too much each month because that is what they had planned for themselves, and what would friends think if they moved into that little home out of the burbs? 

I am free of those fears, for the most part (of course, I would be remiss if I did not admit that there are times when I have concerns about what people are thinking when they walk in my home and it only takes 2 seconds to hit every room in it) but overall, I am comfortable with who I am.  I think that comfortableness stems, in part, from my refusal to structure a life plan for myself.  If I have to move from my little Grandview home into some apartment near a dump because I lose my job, so be it.  We will survive.   If my car breaks down and we have to take the bus or walk, so be it.  We will get some exercise.  If I move into a different profession, so be it.  Who is really going to care?

I don’t want to ever feel that my life has to be lived based on some external constraint.  I don’t want to work at a dead-end job that I despise to buy the most stylish shoes or stay in the most expensive home.  It is interesting with kids because they put a slight kink in that desire.  To some extent, you have to work, and maybe in a job that is not ideal, in order to be able to buy the diapers, the milk, the bottles.  But, you don’t have to work in order to buy Gap clothing or the bedroom tv or the nicest bike.   

I see people reasoning their continued employment in a hated job with just that: I have to do it to pay the bills, take care of the kids.  Indeed, I found myself doing it at times.  But, I try to stop myself soon after I begin down that path because in the end, I know I would be miserable.  And what good will I be to the kids at that point?  They would much rather have a stable, happy mother than have three extra barbie dolls (at least I think so!).   

I told the student that I have no idea where I see myself in 5 years except that I hope to have two creative, loving children at my side and a hubby who still makes me laugh and my family and a good pair of running shoes.  She seemed relieved at the answer, and we spent the next half hour just talking about our kids, our love of running, and good movies.

Heading to the Prom at age 4??!

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Maria and Mario heading to school

At age 4, she had decided to go to the prom with Logan, a tough lookin’ little guy.  Who asked who to the prom is an unknown question.  She refuses to divulge the details.  I do know from Maria’s teacher that Logan asked Maria if she wanted to go to the Japanese Steakhouse with him some time because it had really good food.   Yeah, Logan asked my girl out to the Japanese Steakhouse.  The first offers I got to eat out were to UDF for a turtle sundae and to Burger King for a Whopper and I was 13.  Times have changed or else I just attracted some cheap guys (actually, I would take a turtle sundae over a steak anyway). 

But wait… am I actually talking about my daughter being asked out on a date and going to a prom at age 4 and not being appalled and wondering about what is happening to this world?  Yeah, I am.  First of all, I am way too tired to try to contemplate whether this is some type of anti-feminist movement at the school and all the little girls are being primed for a life of superficiality.  Second of all, I would guess that half of Maria’s girl friends have asked her if she wanted to go to some restaurant or place with them.  Third of all, Maria and Logan could have cared less that they “went to the prom together.”  They certainly were not standing in the corner holding hands or making out. 

To the contrary, Maria pushed him around most of the time.  

Now, would I have been happier with a dance party themed around loving unconditionally and a discussion about how there are all kinds of people in this world and we need to embrace everyone all the same.  But, that is the trade-off of deciding to work.  I take what I can get at the daycare. 

And the dance was a blast. 

The kids laughed and ran around and gave hugs and got pictures.  They exchanged valentine cards, candy, cookies, bracelets.  Of course, my girl was ready go after 20 minutes or so.  She can only handle so much partying when there is no food.  She kept pulling at my leg and demanding When is lunch coming?  I am so hungry!” 

Now, I say that I am not bothered by the fact that they had this prom at age 4, but I am a little concerned about Maria’s concern in the morning about whether she looked pretty.  This occurs every day – not just prom day – and it is increasingly concerning to me.  Did I ever care about that at age 4?  She is discovering herself and her body, and hopefully, this “do I look pretty” stage is just a part of this discovery.  I have tried to reinforce her entire life that she is a gorgeous, strong, funny, intelligent girl and that being gorgeous is not about having big beautiful eyes or blond hair or wearing makeup, it is about being funny and smart and genuine.  I continue to enforce it with the princess books we read.  “Why did the prince fall in love with that princess?” she asks.  “He loved how she made him laugh and how smart she was.  She had gone to college and become a veterinarian and was so good with animals….” 

She typically responds to my counseling with “I know, mom.  I know…”  Hopefully, that sigh and that response gets embedded in her and she will continue “to know” as she gets older and older. 

And for Mario…. He is way too young to understand that he had a “prom.”  He could have cared less about any of the gals in the dance room.  He ran around with his “guy friends” the entire time, tackling them and yelling at them.  When teachers tried to get his picture, he refused.  When a teacher asked him to be her valentine, he responded “NO!”  He steered clear of anyone from the opposite sex.  He decorated a shoe box to have it to store valentines.  He read valentine’s books.  He got to eat treats, especially Skittles, his all-time favorite.

Overall, a great day.  Their excitement in the morning continued throughout the entire day, and that is a great day for me, too.

Making cookies and valentines for the big day

Night of the Living Dead

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Cancun, beautiful but a jinx?!

I should have known when Mario woke up for the sixth time last night in the matter of an hour that he was sick.  I should have known because me, Maria, and Jon all had been sick over the last week.  But, that hopeful, optimistic, glass half full person that I am told me it was just him being ornery. 

No more. 

I am a jaded, pessimist who sees the world as the cruel dark place that it is. 

On the seventh awakening, Mario began hurling in his crib with the peaches and cottage cheese of dinner landing on every blanket and crevice in a five feet radius.  Just shoot me.  Of course I had a big facilitation to head up today.  Of course Jon was just starting to feel better and I was just starting to feel alive again.   I sware that God is out to get us for taking that Cancun trip.  Ever since we returned it has been hellish between sickness, bad weather, crappy work issues.  How bad of a mother am I?  My little one is puking his brains out and absolutely miserable and I am wailing in self-pity.

But I deserve to wail!

Of course, the only person Mario wants is his momma when he is sick (really anytime!) so I held him and rocked him and put him over the toilet when he started to cry (which was the sign that puke was coming).  We eventually went downstairs to the couch to watch Little Bear.  It seemed like clockwork; close to the end of every Little Bear he would start crying and then the throw up would begin.  By the fifth Little Bear, he was simply throwing up a little water and then there was the fight of trying not to give him too much water to drink even though he wanted to guzzle it because he was so thirsty. 

By 2:30 am, I was starting to teeter and get a little slap happy.  I should have written on this blog at that time – it would have been a lot more amusing.  By 3 am, I had to get Jon to relieve me. I knew I would be worthless at my retreat if I did not get three hours of sleep.   He graciously came downstairs (I knew he felt like crap) and let me lay in our bed and get some shut-eye.  I cannot stand when you are so fricken’ tired you cannot see straight, but then you hit the bed and you cannot get to sleep.  How is that possible, much less fair?  Well, it happened to me and I was pissed.  I think it was 5 before I feel into a deep sleep only to be awakended shortly thereafter by Maria who was supercharged for sleeping in her bed all night (she gets in our bed every night; at first I loved cuddling with her but now I can’t get back to sleep half the time she comes in). 

I somehow gathered the energy to shower (I really contemplated putting my greasy hair up in a ponytail and throwing on some jeans but I knew that I would regret it an hour later as I stood in front of all of those professionals looking like something the cat drug in), and got Maria to get dressed.  She has been a real trooper the last two weeks, so mature for her age and so sweet.  We got out the door, got to daycare, and I got to my retreat.  My body wanted to lay down on the long board table as soon as I walked in but I put on my best face and got through the day.  Now I sit waiting on a colleague to email me her thoughts on a document so I can get it out to others who are waiting on me for it. 

Really? 

Is this what it has come down to?  One concept that came out of our retreat today is that nothing is perfect.  We may want it to be with all of our heart, but it never will be.  These last two weeks since Cancun are a poster child on non-perfection but how bored would I be if both kids were perfectly healthy, work was slow, I had gotten a ten hours of sleep? 

Ok, it is definitely time for bed.  Goodnight.

 

A place of refuge – the local grocery store

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We had been in the house for nearly two straight days with frigid temperatures outside. The living room looked like a bull had been let loose; a tent, bowling pins, markers and drawing pads filled our dining room; the kids’ rooms provided absolutely no space to walk much less tiptoe around anything.  The kitchen remained immaculate because I need at least one room that reflects some semblance of order.

It was getting close to 5 pm and there was not much in the fridge that looked tempting to me (actually, by that time all I wanted was a large veggie pizza from Donatos with cheese garlic bread and chicken wings and apple pizza pie but I knew my stomach would give me a piece of its mind all night if I went that route) so I decided to suit the kids up and take a ride to the grocery.  I even broke down and allowed them to watch tv on the mile trip to the grocery store.  I actually dragged the trip out to five miles enjoying the ability to think without listening to two little munchos’ words bouncing off my brain every 1.1 seconds. 

We park, hop out of the car on the ice and snow, and dart into the grocery store with its heat and foods and space to run.  It was like an oasis for us all.  Maria and Mario jumped in the big car that shakes and rattles if you give it 50 cents. We spent $4.00 on it because I got intrigued with an old New York Times sitting next to it.  Money well spent to read a couple of articles not geared towards a four year-old mind. 

Next, we hit the flower shop and tried to name as many colors as we could find in the flowers.  We admired the Dora balloons and Thomas the Train and moved onto the fruit aisles.  Mario loved the oranges because he falls for anything shaped like a ball, and Maria became intrigued with the apples (“these will keep you from getting sick, mom” – if only she would eat them!).  

We continued down each aisle laughing at the cereal with funny pictures on it, admiring the dog treats and toys, ogling over the baby books, salivating over the pre-packaged donuts and nutter butters, opening all kinds of egg containers to search for the perfect dozen, and finding kids’ tv dinners to indulge on the last night of the weekend.  We stayed in that grocery store for close to an hour but alas, with managers and clerks giving us looks, we finally decided to check out.  Maria and Mario helped load the groceries on the belt, swipe my credit card through the machine, sign my name, and grab the receipt.  We were all giddy with excitement to just have been able to step out of that house for a while. 

We made the trek back out to the car, skidding on the ice and laughing, making up rhymes and talking about “poop” (Mario’s favorite word ever now).  I started up the movie again and stretched the ride home to 7 miles, enjoying the sanctity of the car, the snow-covered streets, and two kids belted in with nowhere to go.  Ahh, heaven.

Now this is Winter

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Maria and Mario with "Frosty"

Frosty with armsWe woke up Saturday morning to at least eight inches of snow blanketing our front and back yard in addition to the double jogging stroller I accidentally left outside – ugh.   Also woke up to Jon moaning and groaning due to my virus deciding to move into him after attacking Maria.  Mario has been the only survivor in this house.  I think the dog even has a touch of it (or he is just moping around because we all are!). 

When I heard Jon moaning, I immediately felt a touch of anxiety move across me knowing that I had an entire weekend with the kids and with no ability to go anywhere due to the snow (I exaggerate only a little – they predicted temperatures in the low 20s, which is not conducive for outside play for the little ones).   Yes, it was my personal nightmare.  However, after a little self-pity and a few bowls of Honey Bunches of Oats, I reversed my mindset to one of excitement for having a full weekend to enjoy in our home, which I have not done in months (I would say that we spend nearly every weekend on the road visiting grandmas and grandpas, cousins or aunts). 

We started the morning with almost an hour of tv (I needed some initial “me” time with the newspaper and some couch vegging) but then we were off to the races.  We played school (Maria teaches Mario and me about “choices” (different games we can decide to play based on her daycare set-up), then how to do a puzzle, and then how to be quiet when she talks (which was most important by far, seeing that I tried to say something to Mario while she was speaking and she screamed right in my face “Mary, Be Quiet, I am the teacher and I only talk!”).  Which takes me on a quick tangent… 

If this daughter of mine does not become a corporate executive, I will be amazed.  The other day I asked her what she wanted to be when she grew up and she promptly responded “the Boss.”  No question about it.  No ifs ands or butts.  And my dad had a hilarious moment with her the other weekend when we celebrated my grandma’s 90th birthday.  He was kind enough to entertain her for a while, and asked her if she wanted to go to a side room to “have a meeting.”  Dad started it up by setting forth some initiatives he wanted to enact and asking if she agreed.  Soon after this charade began, she asked him when she was going to be the boss.  He kindly allowed her to take over, and boy, did she give him a run for his money!  She spewed on and on about things and he finally raised his hand and asked if he could add something.  “No! I am the boss!” she replied sharply surely putting anyone else in their place (grandpa was not deterred!).  He then responded with “You are not too nice of a boss” to which she quickly shot back “that is not a nice thing to say to your boss.”  Beautiful.  Then, if it could not get any better, dad told her that they needed to close up the meeting and he told her the question to figure out was whether they should buy a new car or not.  Maria looked at him intently, thought about the question, and replied “Weather, weather is what is in the air….”  Dad almost fell out of his chair.  She is the quintessential corporate executive – demanding respect, abrasive, ignoring questions she does not want to answer, and finding a way to answer them in some backwards upside down fashion – actually, a career as a politician may be up her alley, too….  Ok, long side note.  Back to our winter fest. 

After playing school, we moved onto storekeeper.  Maria got out the cash register and found some money to put in the drawer, and was all set to be the storekeeper.  However, that pesky little brother noticed that she had gotten it all together and decided that he wanted to take over the show.  He scooted in next to her, pinched her arm, and shouted “I’m storekeeper!”  Now, this is a fairly regular occurence with Mario and I attempt to stop him in his tracks when I am close by and hear it happening.  But there are  a few times when I am not, and in those cases, Maria graciously gives it up for her brother.  No whining, no crying, no stomping around.  She allows him to enjoy it and then takes her turn.  Amazing.  Thank the heavens that she came first.  Maria and I choose something to buy and Mario tells us everything costs 5 dollars.  We give him one dollar and we are off to our tent that is acting as a car.  We drive off with Mario the storekeeper saying “Be careful, don’t let spiders get you” (his latest wish goodbye to everyone he meets).  Then it is Maria’s turn to act as storekeeper and Mario and I engage in the same scenario. 

Next, Maria paints some valentines’ cards and Mario plays with play-doh (“playing with play-doh” is essentially throwing bits of it across the room and laughing hysterically).  After this activity, it is close to 11:30 am, and I think it is finally warm enough to go outside and build our snowman.  We run upstairs to layer ourselves up, and trudge back downstairs almost a half of an hour later with layers upon layers of clothes on our bodies.  Then, as if we could barely move at that point, the kids donned their snowsuits and boots, hats and gloves, and we were off for the great adventure of the front yard.  Our snowman came alive in no time.  We even got sticks for its arms. 

By that time, we all agreed that Stauf’s hot chocolate and muffins were in order so we trekked up to our old coffeehouse for some treats.  I loved every second of that trip.  The hike up there through the high piles of snow (and Maria finally walking the entire trip by herself!).  The warmth of the coffeehouse and the smell of the coffee beans roasting.   Sitting at the wooden table with Maria and Mario, eating our muffins and bagel, drinking hot chocolate, talking about what to name the Snowman (Mario looked at me quizzically and said “Frosty, mommy!” Duh!), what disney characters we liked best, what we were going to do during the week after we got home from school, how we cannot wait for summer so we can swim….  God, it was great.  We packed on all of our winter gear and took off after almost an hour at Stauf’s and with both getting sleepy.  Maria cried that she could not walk home due to a massive belly ache so I carried her on my back while carrying Mario in my arms on my front (yes, the neighborhood regulars do think I am insane).  We had to stop and situate ourselves every half block.  I tried to educate Maria that we would get home a lot faster if she would just walk, but her belly hurt and there was no rationalization on her part. 

We finally got home, tore off our winter wear, laid on the couch, watched a Max and Ruby, climbed the stairs to Maria’s room, turned on the lullabies, and rocked to sleep.  We were all shut-eye within 20 minutes.  What a well-spent day, and one that I would not have experienced if it wasn’t for Jon’s sickness, the piles of snow, and my ability to slip out of that “woe is me” victim mindset and replace it with that “get on with it” attitude.  Indeed, all the powers came together making it a most fabulous, memorable day.

My unwavering, unyielding sick daughter

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Maria

She is unstoppable

My baby girl got what I thought was my food poisoning but what must instead be a bad virus I have been carrying for three days.  Jon got a call from daycare at 3 pm today with the teacher reporting that Maria was throwing up and we should come and get her (like we were contemplating leaving her there…).  Jon picked her up and before they got home (one mile away) she had thrown up twice. Man, I feel her pain and dread the night ahead knowing that she will likely be running to the bathroom and thirsty and throwing up and thinking “why me” in whatever fashion little four and a half-year old girls think those thoughts.

However, she has exceeded all expectations so far with her behavior and demeanor.  I swear this girl of mine is an old soul and simply knows that this too will pass, and so she takes it with ease and resolve and lets it run its course.  For the last two hours, she has run to the bathroom dry heaving or throwing up, then sitting on the toilet, head down, then standing up again, her strong arms grasping the sides of the toilet (for a moment I saw her coming home from a late night out with her girlfriends, her mama standing over the toilet with her trying to calm her down – please let that not happen or if it does, I guess I want to be the one that is there for her to make sure she is ok). 

She peered up at me on the last round and asked for a bath.  I started the water and she climbed in and immediately laid down with her head in the water.  I let it get up to her ears and turned the water off.  She lay there in that bathtub staring at the ceiling, hair flowing like a sea creature, body straight, feet and heels suspended right above the water.  She looked magical.  I feel her depth when I stare at her, especially in moments like these.  She is an angel, a nymph, a fairy. She takes my breath away with her intrepidness and her unwavering courage. 

When she got out of the bathtub and hit the toilet again, she laid down on the floor with a little moan.  I looked down and sighed “I am so sorry baby girl.”  No, she did not cry or whine or stomp her feet.  She simply looked straight ahead and sharply requested “pat my back, mom” to which I immediately did.

To Give or Not To Give

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Mario

The rascal

Mario hits everyone with everything, but especially his sister.  She gets whipped with his fist, his foot, his flute, his ball, his books, his shoes…  She is two times his size and towers over him but she still shrieks when he comes near her with that growl in his voice and those eyes peering up at her.  He can be a brute. 

This morning he turned his hostility towards me as I tried to get him dressed.  “No thanks mommy!” he continued to scream at the top of his lungs as I tried to slip his skinny little arms into a shirt.  My patience continued to whittle away as I moved to his pull-ups.  He struggled, he kicked, he scratched my arms.  I finally grabbed both of his ankles and glared at him with my most wicked glare and firmly stated “Stop, Mario.”  My words mixed with that air and floated right by him as he continued to fight me.  Luckily, he is a mere 30 pounds so I can use my weight when need be to get the job done, which is what I did this morning.   I finally got him dressed and stood him up only to get a big hug from him and a sweet peck of a kiss on my right cheek. “Moooommmy” he sang as held me tight.  Don’t ask me how kids think, I simply don’t get it.  

He begs me to carry him downstairs, which I do, as always.  He grabs his plastic green whistle flute and begins to blow in it producing a shrill output in my left ear.  He laughs.  Maria, meanwhile, is yelling “Close your eyes everyone!” She loves to dress herself in the morning and come downstairs to surprise us with her creations.  Today she is wearing a long hippy skirt with a pair of pink tights, a long sleeve shirt, the Cancun t-shirt that we recently bought her, a red Hello Kitty sweater, and a pink vest.  Her hair looks like a bird landed on it, went berserk, and flew away.  Nonetheless, my response is “You are so beautiful!”  She twirls around a couple of times clearly proud of her morning accomplishment. 

At this point, Mario senses that Maria is getting too much attention so he yells “Mommy, be quiet!”  I ignore him and Jon tries to put his coat on.  He swings around and hits Jon in the knee with his flute. Jon immediately grabs the toy and places it out of Mario’s reach.  “You do not hit” he firmly tells Mario.  Mario breaks down and pleads for his flute back.  Jon tells him he can have it after school.  Mario continues to cry and plead to me “Mommy, please, toy….” 

Here is my dilemma.  I want this day to start well.  It is already hard enough to take the kids to school because they do not enjoy going there in the morning.  They are not like other kids that get excited about heading to school – they want to stay home every chance they get.  It is not that the school is bad, either.  It is a very well-known, high-class school with great teachers and classrooms.  My kids just love their home-life, which in the end is a good thing but I still long for the day that at least one of them shouts “Yeah, it is a school day!” 

Maria is getting better but Mario is a basket case when we drop him off (much worse for me than Jon but still not good for either of us).  It breaks my heart.  So, if I can start the morning off on a good note with everyone in a good mood on the way out the door and into the car, I feel that at least some part of the morning is decent. 

Therefore, I finally tell Mario that he can have his flute back if he does not hit with it anymore.  Jon looks at me with disgust.  “How is he ever going to learn not to hit?”  He is right.  Mario should not have gotten his flute back because he did not use it properly.  I knew that.  I knew that when I told him he could have it back.  But the desire to have that peace when they headed out the door to begin their day – to see smiles on their faces before I spent the day away from them – was more important to me than the lesson to be learned.

My Night in Food-Poisoning Hell

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I do have some understanding of what my personal hell will be if I should end up in that place when I pass someday. I got some mean, mad, fired-up food in my system on Monday and it took a vengeance on me Monday night. It crept up slowly causing me to hold my stomach and sit on the couch from 6 pm forward on Monday night.

The kids received a royal treat – two hours of Little Bear and Dora. “Mom, you need to get sick more often!” By their bedtime, I could barely move and I felt like my intestinal organs were doing double flips and cartwheels. Thank goodness my hubby was in town and could put the two tv-infested children to bed. I laid in my bed moaning and freezing and burning up and freezing until about 9:30 pm when I felt this monster in my stomach rearing its ugly head. I shot into the bathroom and proceeded to regurgitate what had to be every meal I have eaten since the age of 5. Then, just when I thought it could not get any worse, I had to shoot up and sit on the toilet for 20 minutes.

Maria and Mario were absolutely appalled and beside themselves with disgust (I stirred them from their sleep with my exorcist-like regurgitation – one of the downfalls of living in such a small abode). This same scenario recurred all the way through the night into the morning.  Every ten minutes I stared at the clock thinking “how is it possible that it only ten minutes has gone by!” I prayed that life would fast forward itself and take me out of this misery – I was bargaining with a higher power at any cost.  I even think I offered my first-born (sorry Maria) at one point (I would have gotten you back, Maria – no worries).  Until finally at around 8 am, I was able to drink some water without throwing it up like a fountain in the plaza.

My thirst was unquenchable throughout the night. I swore I was on a desert island (minus the beautiful blue skies and palm trees) craving water, water, water.  It was like a piece of heaven when I could actually take a sip and have it stay in my system. Little by little I ventured a couple more sips until I was able to chug 4 ounces without a problem. Nothing like taking certain things for granted in life. Every time I drink a glass of water now, I will remember how precious it is (or at least for another week or two when my memory of this hellish night will fade)!

I am back with the living today, and making sure that I perform a lot of good deeds to avoid any thought that I will be down yonder upon my last breath. Where is the next elder I can help across the street?

Cancun

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My sister just wrote a superbly astute post about the dichotomy of travel.   I have tried to find a way to express my longing for the familiar the second I step on a plane to leave home, and I have failed miserably.  She captured it elegantly and beautifully in about two paragraphs (yeah, she has to one up her big sis – if it’s not through running, it’s through writing).  Her  blog is http://www.posatigres.com.   She talks about “the missing feeling” that she gets when heading out on a trip.

I get that “missing feeling” in different variations when I head out on a trip but I always get it.  When I left for Cancun on Wednesday morning, I got it as soon as I woke up to take a quick run.  I always complain about the running routes in my neighborhood because there are only so many directions that you can take.  Therefore, you would think that I would be excited about a new place, warm weather (it was 20 degrees when we left Columbus on Wednesday), and gorgeous running scenery.  Instead, there I am pulling up my running pants and slipping on my sweatshirt thinking “Why did we schedule this trip?”  What happened between the time that we scheduled the trip and the day the trip occurred that can cause such a divergence?  Then, I am out running and thinking back to two days ago when I was giving Maria and Mario a bath and Mario splashed water all over me and Maria and Maria hit him in the head and he pinched her back and I yelled at them both and Maria yelled back “I don’t like you mom!” with her hands crossed over her chest and Mario splashed me again in the face.  I walked out of the bathroom into the hall, glared at Jon, and asked him to remind me of that moment if there was any time during our trip that I started to miss home.  So, a momentary wish to get away hit me but then – before I even hit the next block – that aching pain for home comes back.

Nevertheless, I arrive home and don that smile of mine as I do my last-minute packing.  “This trip will be so much fun” I pronounce to my hubby.  I continue the back and forth through the trip – experiencing moments of sheer delight in being in Cancun (diving against the waves of the ocean, playing with the dolphins, enjoying a meal without any little person throwing food on me or interrupting me every second) and experiencing moments when I miss my babies and my Columbus life (there were so many kids in our hotel reminding me of Maria and Mario with every turn of the corner).   But, in the end, as I sit here ready to board a plane back home tomorrow morning, I cherish these past five days away.  It has refreshed me, drawn me closer to my hubby, allowed me to appreciate all I have, and most of all, given me a new experience to tuck away in my pocket.  I typically take trips that involve lots of hiking and exploring and sleeping on hard surfaces but this one I spent lounging next to an ocean and eating at fancy, upscale restaurants.

It was nothing like my home life and that was what made it so pleasurable and satisfying.  But, in less than 24 hours I will be back in such a life with my babies – seeing things just a tad bit differently – and forgetting how I could ever have experienced that “missing feeling.”