Video Proof & Linking Up With Mama Kat

I've mentioned before how much I like road trips.  As much as I like being on the open road, this year was a little much.  This year was a little far even for me (have I mentioned I spent 46 hours in the minivan last week?) and a lot of time alone with my kids.

One of the vlogging prompts from Mama Kat this week is "Family time. Show us something you did together." So here it is, video proof of my family time, my road trip:

(If you are an email subscriber, click here http://youtu.be/Kij7h9qxU3E to watch.)

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In case you missed it, here were some of my concerns going into the trip:

(If you are an email subscriber, click here http://youtu.be/5YNi7giwHds to watch.)

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Too-Much-Ahhh

I talk a lot about moments.  Living in the moment, embracing the moment, not missing the moment. But what if the moment sucks?  What if the moment is so filled with stress and awkwardness it chokes you?  What if the moment is so crowded with years of hurt feelings and misunderstandings?  What if all you want to do is get out of the moment?

Part of my trip was that moment, that moment I felt stuck in.  I felt trapped in a role I was cast in years ago as the emotional, sensitive one.  The one that has too many feelings.  The misfit, the broken one.  The trip was after all a family reunion.   A reunion with great expectations and well, a lot of messy feelings and broken people.

I usually dig these reunions of past and present and future.  All the generations taking a break from the messy brokenness and going to the beach.  Laughing, connecting, sharing stories of relatives we didn't know, passing down family legends and jokes.  Not hiding from the past, more like embracing the parts that they and we all lived through.  And at the same time making new memories and new inside jokes.

This year, it just wasn't working for some of us.  Sometimes a line is crossed that breaks open a flood of bottled up resentment that has more power than the crashing waves on the shore.  

My brother told this story about his friend from Sicily.  His friend is a well-liked man with many friends.  He loves to talk and listen.  But sometimes when the talks turn into a heated political debate or ideas that are too far out for him, he throws his hands up dramatically, closes his eyes and says in his thick Italian accent "Too-much-ahhh" and walks away.

This, my friends, is what you do when a moment is suffocating you.  This, my friends, is what I did with those moments of my week.  Sometimes it was a joke to my brother, sometimes it was in my room at night after a good cry.  But it worked.  Because most of the "conflict" was way Too-much-ahhhh.

So, I focused on my present and my future....my four kiddos.  And while it was exhausting not to let on that I was feeling any bit of uncomfortableness, I pulled it off.  They had no idea and they had so much fun.  And I had fun with them.

I focused on the moments full of hope and light and wonder and love and magic.

Moments of collecting shells and sea creatures.  Sometimes discovering perfect shells, but finding beauty in the broken ones too.

Jumping waves and running from the big ones.

Playing Marco Polo because it's the best pool game ever invented, duh.

Celebrating 45 years of lasting love and marriage with puffy paint posters and seashell frames (and champagne and complete and total admiration if you're a grown up).

Cheering on brave body surfers.  My kids had no fear of the ocean which is great, but also completely Too-Much-Ahhhh.  While I was on the shore with Wade, the other kids went out chasing waves and body surfing.  I constantly counted heads as they popped up.  I felt like Carol Brady anxiously watching from the beach. Remember the Hawaii episode where Greg was surfing and then didn't pop up after crashing into a wave?  Thank goodness none of my kids were wearing a cursed medallion. 

Making wishes.  Which was all very magical in fountains surrounded my palm trees, live oaks and street performers in Savannah (one of my favorite cities).

Catching Lulu daydreaming.

We left the beach and drove to Alabama to visit more family.  Every summer I go to my spend time with my cousin.  In the same town I've been going to every summer of my life.  It was a great way to wrap up the trip.  We all went to a minor league baseball game in the same stadium that I used to go to when I was a kid.  

Making the 13 hour drive back to metro Detroit yesterday, I was tired.  Tired from all the playing, all the getting stuck in a bad moment and getting unstuck, all the overthinking, overfeeling, all the fun, and all the god damn driving.  

We made our annual stop at GunTown Mountain Kentucky (another one of my favorite places remember this and this?).  "Half Off Everything" signs were posted on the doors of the country store.  We walked in and were greeted by the amazing Miss Della who has run the store for the past 45 years.  (And remembers us when we stop by every summer!)

"It's a big sale today," I told her.

"Yeah, I'm retiring and shutting the place down," she said in a voice that so closely resembles my grandmother's it my makes my heart hurt.

All of a sudden, it was Too-Much-Ahhhh.  My eyes filled up with tears and the kids asked "what's wrong mom?" for the first time the whole trip.

"Um, I'm just sad, this won't be here and we won't see Della," I said, my voice cracking.  It was that and everything else good and bad from the last 11 days.

Della reached over and grabbed my hand and said, "Well hon, it's going to be okay, it's all going to be okay."

And I believe her.

A Bit Off

"Do you need to make out?," JT asked.

"What?," I asked a little surprised and confused.

"What are you talking about?," laughed Lucy.

"You know, do you need to make out or make it out," he said getting flustered.  "I mean do you need to work out, oh I don't know, I mean get it out.  You know, cry and stuff."

"Ohhhh, you mean let it out," I responded.  And we all laughed a little.  

I did need to let it out and cry and stuff.  My seven year old was exactly right.  He knew what I needed even if he was a little off with what he called it.

"Go ahead mommy, make it out," said Lucy and we all laughed while I cried a little.

This whole weekend was about being just a little off.

It started on Friday afternoon after I loaded up the minivan with suitcases and kids for what Wade called our "field trip."  He calls any trip a field trip.  This one was to Peyton's baseball tournament three hours away.  A field trip without Tim because he had to work.  

We hit the road with one mama, four kids and hopes of adventures and indoor hotel swimming pools.

Once we arrived at the Holiday Inn Express the real adventure began.

"Now this is living," exclaimed Lucy when she saw the room.  It doesn't take much to impress this princess and for that I am grateful.

Honestly, for an "express" hotel it really was quite nice.  Within minutes however we promptly made the somewhat fancy space our own.  It went from pretty and clean to looking like John Candy's bathroom in Planes, Trains & Automobiles.  If you don't get that reference, just know it's very, very messy and slightly disgusting.  

After jumping on beds and trashing our room, we made our way down to the much anticipated indoor pool which was awesomely in the shape of our great state of Michigan.  It did not disappoint.

Most of the parents of the other baseball players were hanging out together.  Most of them didn't have younger kids.  Most of them had their spouse with them to help out.  I felt all kinds of insecure--bad because I wasn't with the parent group; nervous because I'm pretty handy behind a computer screen but not the best with social expectations of any kind in real life; worried that people would mistake my nervousness for bitchiness because um, that has happened just a million times before; and a little bit like a helicopter parent because I was having issues with giving my oldest, my 11-year-old some freedom/independence to roam the hotel.  But then Wade splashed me and JT wanted me to watch his canon ball and Lucy was conducting a very important mermaid naming ceremony and you know all that.  So, I just played in what my kids called the "most awesome-est pool ever."

The next morning after breakfast we made our way to the first game of the tournament.  I read the directions wrong.  I made a wrong turn and another and another.  We were late.  I was getting tense. I was saying words that I normally reserve for when the kids are in bed or one of them breaks their arm.

"Shit, where are we, sorry kids, I shouldn't say that word, never say that word," I repeated with a variety of swear words while we searched for the field.

"There it is!," one of the kids shouted as I passed by it swearing.

I did a U-turn.  "Oh shit I think, that was illegal," I said.

"You crossed the law!," screamed JT.  "I am telling Daddy and your Dad."

Whatever.  We were finally at the field.  Peyton ran to join his team.  Then my phone rang.  It was the coach telling me I had been given the name of the wrong field.  It turns out I was the only one that had been given the name of the wrong field.  For a minute it felt like a cruel teenager joke or a plot line in one of those Sweet Valley High books I read a billion years ago.  Tell the awkward girl the wrong party and watch her show up alone. Bwahahaha!  But of course that wasn't the case here. (right?)  We got directions and sped in the right direction. (This is the moment in the story where JT asked if I needed to make out.)

"You can say a swear word if you want to," I told Peyton who was sitting in the front seat next to me.  "Because this stinks and I know you are feeling all kinds of mad and frustrated and nervous."

"Yeah, this really.....um.....sucks," he said and looked out the window.  

I sighed with relief that he felt so horrible swearing and didn't bust out with "why can't you find the F&#*ing baseball field mom!"  

We made it to the game a minute after it started it and they won.  We were a bit off, but it worked out.

Now however, I wasn't just the awkward, overwhelmed mom, I was the lost one who can't get her sh*t together.  Waaaa. A label/identity I know all too well.

We watched more baseball.  We played.  We went swimming again.  We played games.  We jumped on the beds some more.  

Lucy and Wade doing their thang.
And yes, the game is going on BEHIND them. 

And then it was dinner time and time for more off-ness.  Over the last few years, since JT was diagnosed with Celiac disease, we've gotten used to living gluten free in a gluten world.  But there are still moments when quite frankly it sucks (not to steal Peyton's swear word or anything).  Moments where everywhere you look people are eating pizza and cookies and hot dogs with buns and pasta.  Moments where every restaurant is full of gluten or cross contamination fears.  (JT has even a a few crumbs of gluten and he has intense, crippling stomach pain for hours.)  So, while the other baseball families went out to dinner or hung out at a cookout, I was determined to find food for my boy.

I came prepared with gluten free food.
I had bread for a million peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

I sent Peyton to eat with a buddy on the team and his family.  The rest of us went into town where we not only found food but we found a street festival.  A festival with crowds of people and a band. I personally believe a good band outside will cure just about any bad feeling, it's one of my favorite things in life.  So is a crowd.

Lucy was digging the vibe and the people watching too.

I don't like being a part of a crowd or leading a crowd, but getting lost in a crowd? Oh yeah, that's my scene.  We danced in the street to the band that had a banjo player and bongo drum player, so you know they were awesome.  

Overall, it was a great field trip.  Even with the making out and crossing the law and Sweet Valley High flashback moments and getting lost and hating Celiac and feeling awkward and lost.  
It was all a bit off, but it worked out.

The west coast of Michigan is pretty sweet.
Holland is a cool little town and Saugatuck is awesome (and home to an ice cream shop with gluten free cones!!!!).

But we're also pretty glad to be back.  Back to our own little crowd that is always a bit off, but it works (for us anyway).

Fear of Flying

I have a fear of flying.  I have a fear of handing over control.  You know the old joke, the one where they say "When it's your time to go, it's your time.  But what if it's the pilot's time?" I mean, it's too much.

So, flying to Dallas this past weekend was a bit panic-inducing intimidating.  

This is my I'm Afraid To Fly Face.

I tried to distract myself.  I tried several strategies.

I wasn't quite prepared for the secruity check--niiiice fuzzy socks.

When I got to the airport,  I tried people watching to distract my mind.  I made up stories about the people.  That young couple probably just got engaged and they're flying off for a romantic weekend.  The two old ladies probably just got back from Vegas on a Golden Girls version of Thelma & Louise vacation.  But soon the stories turned a little darker.  I started wondering if these people could handle a crisis.  I wondered if it's their time.  I wondered if they could handle their seats as floatational devices.  

I tried feeling really excited about being alone.  I didn't have to worry about entertaining a baby whose ears are popping and hurting.  I didn't have to apologize to the other passengers about that said baby crying.  I didn't have to worry about putting anybody's oxygen mask on after mine, nope, just mine and done.  Oh, oxygen, that means something's wrong with the plane--distraction fail.

I tried deep breathing and eyes closed, it worked a little.  We landed in Dallas. I lived!  And thank goodness there were no problems, because the people on my plane didn't look too dependable or strong.

After an amazing weekend in Dallas, which I'll be recapping soon, it was time to fly again.

The flight was delayed which bothered everyone but me.  Delayed flight=more time on the ground where we humans belong.  People were making makeshift beds out of their carry on bags.  They were huddled around outlets with their iPads/iPods/laptops like they were roasting marshmallows at a campfire.  Checking out my fellow passengers was also making me feel better.  This group of strangers were younger, stronger, more apt to handle those exit doors and floatable seats.  They seemed dependable.

I enjoyed a little dinner on the floor during my delay. 

As I boarded, that familiar feeling of panic started to rise along with the lump in my throat.  This time, I tried a new distraction strategy--the cranky old lady strategy.

Here's how that works:
-Be amazed with the bathroom and tisk-tisk the idea of people having sex in there.  How?  How does that work?

-Get pissed about all the extra charges.  Ask questions like "What's wrong with paper money?  Nobody uses dollar bills anymore?"

-Question what difference it makes if everyone's window shade is down during take off and landing.

-Change the temperature with the air blowing nozzle 25 times in 30 minutes, it will distract you and the person next to you will love it.

-Worry about the age and experience level of the flight attendants.  Point out to your neighbor sitting next to you that the young flight attendant has a blue streak in her hair, talks like a valley girl (just that comparison will age you a few years) and is "busy" reading her Kindle.  Maybe even say a judgemental comment like "I bet she isn't reading, I bet she's sexting."  Because all the young kids sext these days.  

This strategy was working beautifully.  I was actually enjoying being an annoying old lady.  Not sure if my seatmates can say the same.

It all went by rather quickly, it was time to make my connecting flight.  Only problem was, since the flight had been delayed I only had five minutes to make my connection. The other problem was my seat was in the very back of the plane (as in the last one off the plane).

"Excuse me, do you know if the flight to Detroit was delayed?," I interrupted the young valley girl flight attendant.  

She looked up from her electronic device and said "I don't know."  Followed up with a laugh.  Was she laughing at me?

An announcement came on over the plane's loud speaker that said this, "Anyone heading to Detroit needs to run."

"I need to get to Detroit!" I yelled.  "Please, make way, I have to get to Detroit."

Then I made a joke about how nobody begs to go to Detroit and some people laughed.  It wasn't that funny, but it was late at night, so it might have been a tired laugh.  Whatever, I'll take it.  I wasn't a grumpy old lady anymore.  I was a funny, brave, old lady begging to fly.

My fellow passengers made way for me, some of them yelling "get out of her way, she's got to go to Detroit!" and "let her through!"  I told you these people were a strong, supportive looking bunch.

I made it off the plane and sprinted to my gate.  This is where I would put in a O.J. Simpson Hertz commercial reference, but that would make it creepy.  You get it right?  I was running through the airport hurdling suitcases and knocking over babies.  And I made it.  The last passenger on the last flight to Detroit that night.

That flight I told a few more jokes (I mean I was on a roll), complained about the temperature and the price of drinks, and then slept.  Landed safely in Detroit and made it home by 2:15 a.m.

Today, I am a playing the role of tired old lady.  But I think I just might have found the perfect strategy to fight my fear of flying.

What Are You Looking At?

As I drove down the highway, melting in my driver's seat with the hairdryer hot air blowing in my face, I noticed people were staring.  "What are you looking at?" I thought while giving them a Billy Idol sneer.  Except I'm a sweaty, almost 40-year-old mother with a fan full of sweaty, red-faced kids, not Billy Idol.


I may not have the cool swagger of an old-school British pop star, but I have buckets of attitude.  You look at me funny, I'll give it right back bitch.  Go ahead just look at me funny, I dare you.  Pretty good right?


Yeah, I was feeling all kinds of "bring it" attitude in my overheated toaster oven of a minivan.  I wasn't just full of attitude, in the beginning of my trip I was full of anxiety and doubt and defensiveness.  The trip seemed overwhelming, the cards (no air, little money) seemed stacked against me and the world just seemed scary.


And people were staring at me. Judging me. So I sneered and judged right back.


Then people started honking. A white Lexus pulled up next to me and honked. Rich, mean people, great. What the hell?  The woman in the passenger seat rolled (don't we still call it rolled even though there's no roller?) down her window and  yelled "Have a great road trip!"


What? I forgot I painted the windows of my sad minivan. 

She was a nice rich person.  Hell, maybe she's in debt and running from creditors in her nice ride.  Who cares.  She just wished me well.


As the drive went on, so did the well wishes.  I sneered less and smiled more.  I judged less and laughed more. The world seemed a little less scary.


Then all of a sudden the world got a lot scarier.  I read a brief article about the Colorado shootings on my phone Friday morning waking up at my aunt's house.  I didn't watch the news.  I played with my kids in her backyard.  Normally, I am a news junkie who would be waiting to hear Anderson Cooper's take on all the madness.  I would want to know everyone's story.  I would cry and worry and be scared.


But I didn't get the chance.  I played with my kids and got ready to get back on the road for the next leg of my trip.


At McDonald's where we stopped (again) for lunch, the kids went and sat at a table while I ordered.  The place was packed with people.  A lot of men that looked like they had been doing something very difficult and hot outdoors.  One of those men in a ripped t-shirt and a very dirty hat was staring at me.  It wasn't the kind of stare you are thinking, that hasn't happened in a million years.  He was staring at me trying to get my attention. Without putting his cheeseburger down, he pointed to my kids and then up at the TV.  He was concerned about my kids hearing all the Colorado coverage on CNN which was directly above the booth my kids were shoving each other into.  I hurried over to the kids and moved them to another booth away from the TV and nodded my thanks to the stranger.


I found that to be the case throughout my travels.  People looked out for my kids and me.  

Little JT ordering his own lunch at one of the 28 McDonald's we stopped in for lunch.  It felt good to let go a little and let the kids do things themselves.

Every time we piled out of our car at a gas station all red and sweaty, people gave us tips on how to stay cool and let us stay in their gas stations for almost an hour.  My favorite bit of advice we got was from a well-meaning young man who suggested we open the side doors of the minivan and just drive down the highway.  He said he had seen it done.  As tempting as it sounded, I didn't open the side doors going 80 down I-65.


All my good, happy feelings were getting a little tired when baby Wade's fever spiked again on our way to Alabama.  We stopped in Rome, Georgia and my apologies to Rome, but I wasn't impressed with the particular gas station where we chose to stop.  I muttered to myself "I hate this place. Thank god I don't live in Rome. Rome is stupid."  Yes, that was me muttering, not my child.  Okay it was my grumpy inner child that doesn't always stay so inner.  Well, I was sneering a big old sneer at Rome, Georgia, when a nice woman rolled (whatever) her window down and said these words:  "I like your car paint.  Welcome to Georgia, I hope you have a great vacation."


I'm sorry Rome.


Yes the world can be scary.  But it can also be good.  And yes there are creepy people, but there are so many more good people.































On the way home, we stopped at one of my favorite places in the world, GunTown Mountain.  It's kitschy, old-school and just all around fabulous.  We skipped the Haunted House and did the black light mini golf instead.  Next year we said we might be brave and do the haunted house.


In the parking lot, a man was leaning against his motorcycle picking his teeth.  He looked like a cross between a member of ZZ Top, Sam Elliot in the movie Mask, and the bass player from the Muppet Band, you know Floyd Pepper.  Well he sauntered over to us and said "Are you there yet mama?" inquiring about my van paint.  We laughed and he told me about his daughter and his grand kids and how he couldn't wait to see them again.

In a week that should have been scary and filled me with anxiety, I found warmth and community.  I prayed for the tragedy in Colorado and instead of crying, I appreciated life more.  I lost the sneer and defensiveness, rolled (I'm over it) down the window to the world.


By the end of the trip the hot air felt less like a hairdryer and more like freedom.

Back to Life, Back to Reality

We made it home a day earlier than we anticipated.  
It was great to see Tim.  But it's happening already, the post vacation blues.  

Did the past week really happen?

I felt brave, bold and a little crazy traipsing across the southeastern states with nothing but my kids and a sense of adventure. I was the fun mom, the yes mom.  There was nothing mundane or ordinary about any day.

This morning, I woke up to a messy house, a giant pile of laundry and a stack of bills to pay. To just make it more normal,  Wade's diaper leaked and he peed in my bed, the bed he crawled into in the middle of the night.  Yes, I am home.


Here's a short video of our adventure.  It did happen.

C'mon, I had to put this Soul II Soul video up...Back to Life.  I've been singing it all morning.

Driving, Singing, Conferencing

Last week I went to a blogging conference and funny enough stepped away from my blog for the longest time in almost six months.  I just got back last night.

There is so much to say.  I learned so much about what I want to be and even what I don't want to be.
Here's an under 2 minute movie about my experience at Blissdom.





I discovered things about myself like the fact that I get that creepy Tom Cruise overdone laugh when I am nervous around new people. Ugh.  I discovered that I like people, but I am not all of a sudden a super social party-loving kind of gal.  


I discovered that if you asked me "Are you more like Gayle or Oprah?" (because I'm sure that's what you were going to ask me), I would say Gayle.  I would say that because I sang (or rapped) the entire road trip down to Nashville and back (like Gayle on their famous road trip if you weren't making the connection).  


Here's an under 2 minute movie about how I entertained myself on the road.



More deets after I get myself together.