Where are all the cars? We’ve driven hundreds of miles since leaving Las Vegas eight days ago. Yet despite the fact that summer is the busiest time of year for the national parks we’ve visited, the lack of traffic on the roads is astounding. Actually, my use of the word “traffic” here is entirely misleading. Because there is NO traffic, at least not in the “Cross-Bronx-Expressway-is-a-parking-lot-with-bumper-to-bumper-traffic-again-They-should-just-bomb-this-road-into-oblivion” way. We arrived in Moab today and it has the first traffic lights we’ve seen since Las Vegas on July 6. I am not lying.
As we prepare to leave for our next adventure to the Utah national parks (with a detour to the Grand Canyon-North Rim), I’ve had an epiphany. I now know why I am always so excited to arrive at our destination. Our arrival signifies that we have survived the frenzy of vacation preparation which, in our house, goes something like this:
(1) My husband and I yell at the kids to start packing their suitcases. We then yell at each other for yelling at the kids. This vicious cycle continues for at least 24-48 hours and we all lose our voices. And yet Chloe still manages to forget a few things. And then she blames us. Because we yelled too much and she couldn’t concentrate on her packing.
My daughters are growing up. In fits and starts, perhaps. But mostly starts. I find that their recent forward momentum is simultaneously exciting and bittersweet. I haven’t sorted out where I stand in their evolution from child to tween and from tween to teen, but I’m not always as happy about it as I think I should be. Aren’t good parents always supposed rejoice in their children’s self-actualization and maturation? Am I being selfish in wanting to arrest their development for a few years? To stop time in order to collect as many hugs and as much laughter as I can before they no longer want to hug us and laugh with us?
How do you make time? I thought I’d be making a lot of time after I quit my job last year. Hell, I’d be freeing up at least 60 hours a week to do lots of things. Making time to raise my kids, making time to train a puppy, making time to whip myself into shape, making time to take on some consulting gigs, making time to write…
No, I am not pregnant (that factory closed 8.75 years ago). My third child’s name is Truffle. And he’s technically not a child but a canine. But like Chloe and Sophie, he demands much of my time, attention and affection.
If you had asked me a couple of years ago whether I’d ever write about a dog in a loving and maternal way, I would have laughed you out of my house. But look who’s eating crow now.
I thought it was over. The days of Sophie joining me in my bed while her Papa was traveling. Snoring on his pillows. Kicking me in the middle of the night. Rolling over into my ribs.
My Sophie will be nine years old in a few months and the last few times my husband was away, she didn’t ask to sleep in my bed. And I didn’t invite her. I’m not sure why I didn’t ask her. I didn’t really think to ask her, I suppose. And since she didn’t ask, I assumed she wasn’t interested.
As Chloe exclaimed several dozen times during our recent trip together, “London is awesome!” Indeed, London was awesome. But London isn’t awesome simply by virtue of the fact that it exists. Our trip was great in Chloe’s eyes because she experienced almost everything she wanted to experience. Which had everything to do with research and planning before we boarded the plane.
So, for those of you who would like to take a special parent-child trip with your teenager, here are some tips to ensure your experience is as memorable as ours.
Today’s post is NSFW (for those of you who are behind on your Internet jargon, that means “not safe for work”). So if you’re reading this while at your desk, stop now and wait until you get home. Otherwise, you may get fired.
I love my kids. More than anything. I really, really do. But I really don’t care for Mother’s Day. Call me crazy, but every year, I wake up on the second Sunday of May with unrealistically high expectations that involve my being treated like a queen (albeit of a very small kingdom). That fantasy has now officially been quashed.
