To Tortola

Before we took off on vacation last week, I read a book called Amazing Airplanes to Bobby and Mary to reground them in high flying travel.

The book took the kids from ticketing, through the terminal, onto the jet way, up 30,000 feet and down again in a manner that I associate with my earliest air travel experiences. Stewardesses with little hats, compartmentalized meals on the plane, peanuts, drinks, magazines, leg room, guests waiting to greet you at your gate, and lots of happy, eager faces.

'Airplane up!' said Bobby.
'Yes, honey, we're going up, up, up in the airplane tomorrow!'
They couldn't wait for vacation.

***

Shortly after I put the kids to bed that night, I checked my phone's news feed out of habit. Nice was under attack; terrorism striking again. I went to bed jittery. The photos of the massacre on the front page of the Wall Street Journal in the morning were horrifying. Uneasily, I finished packing up the car. I looked at my phone as we backed out of the drive way and saw another message from my Mom to coat myself in insect repellent on a daily basis. She had new facts about Zika to share. The unfriendly mosquito WARNINGS at O'Hare echoed her worries.

The prominently displayed Zika placards weren't the only annotations in the airport to the book I had read to the kids. There were quite a few others and Mary was quick to point them out asking for explanations. Security dogs roaming through the lobby of O'hare. Customer service representatives acting more like the first faces of security rather than bubbly cruise directors. No leg room. No peanuts. And nervous faces masking the happy ones. Or maybe that was just mine.

'Can I pet the dog?'
'No, he's doing his job.'
'What's his job?'
'Making sure there are no bad guys at the airport.'
'I don't want to wait in this line.'
'This is how we make sure everyone is safe.'
'Why is there another dog smelling us?'
'To keep us safe.'
'Can I get a hashbrown now?'
'In a second, but you have to share with Bobby.'
'No.'
'Mary you have to stay right by me. Hold my hand.'
'No.'
'Come here! This is a busy airport, and I don't want someone to grab you.'
'Mommy, are you happy?'
'Yes, honey. Of course, honey.'

I felt bad. I knew my anxiety was apparent, and I just wanted my kids to have the innocent airport experience in the book, but I couldn't shake the recent events.

Somewhere along the four and a half hour flight to Puerto Rico, managing two kids who spent most of the trip running up and down the aisle of the plane while the rest of the passengers slept off the early morning wake up call, the stress started to melt away. By the time we boarded the 8-seat Cessna to hop from San Juan to Tortola, I felt an even greater sense of relief. We had made it. Everything was going to be okay.

We were welcomed into paradise with open arms by our ever generous hosts, Tia and Tom. My kids immediately jumped in the pool, while Tia handed me a glass of Cloudy Bay Sauvignon Blanc.

For the next five days, we lived with a group of 27 friends, some old ones, some new ones, some adults, some babies, most somewhere in between, and I felt like there wasn't a worry in the world. The vacation was filled with so much good: food and wine, adventures that took us to the bluest parts of the ocean and the whitest sand beaches, swimming, soaking up the sun, trail running, and sharing everything: toys, parenting advice, dances, laughs, kitchens and the meals served from them.

And noticeably absent was the bad. Removed from the constant headlines that our world is anything but at peace, I was able to find my own sound bites that told the story of fun, rather than fear.

• The only princess among twelve little princes, wearing her blue bird dress and lip gloss to dinner, was more interested in climbing rocks and playing super heroes with the boys than playing the part of a little lady. Good on you, Mary. 
• Mary and Bobby make great roommates. (Something to put in my back pocket for now.)
• There is a name for the dance party that is always happening in my heart and it's called Club Rouge.
• In the absence of Catastrophe de Menthe, Mount Gay provides an awesome, giggle inducing alternative.
• When trying to explain to your kids why Daddy is breaking coconuts by himself on the front lawn at dinner time, blame it on the Mount Gay. 
• Never Have I Ever done anything of illicit interest. 
• The idea of a kids dinner time and an adult dinner time is ingenious, especially when on vacation.
• Cooking for 14 people is actually quite easy when you get to cook in a kitchen with not just one view, but two.  
• There are far more good people in the world, than bad.  
• And despite what the media continue to tell us, you got to live your life, hey-a-hey-a-hey-a, and keep on living it. Because we should 'have nothing to fear, but fear itself.'   

Lo.

Flights and Fireflies

Tuesday night, we were camped out on the front lawn waiting for darkness to claim the day.  Only then would the fireflies start to share their soft glow, illuminating our little part of the world. Bobby was asleep already. It was Mary's special time with Mommy and Daddy.

Is it night yet, Momma?
Do you see one yet, Momma?
How come it's not dark yet, Daddy?
It's hard to be patient, Daddy.

Finally, one by one, their lights came on. First gathering under the bigger trees that line the street and then spreading their sparks across the green canopy connecting our house to the others on the block.

It was the third night in a row that we were catching lighting bugs. And Mary was finally getting the hang of the soft cradled catch that it takes to scoop up a firefly without smashing it. She was so proud each time she grabbed one out of the warm summer air, feeling its little legs tickling the inside of her palm.

Momma, look! I got one! I got one!

She demonstrated even more joy though, when she loosened her clenched fist and watched the little bugs crawl up her finger and then take off, granting them freedom once again. Watching her, soaking up her blissful innocence, I didn't want the moment to end. But it was bedtime and I knew morning would come too soon.

It was another (very) early one too. At 4:00 AM the alarm went off, by 5:30 I was standing in O'Hare's security line being sniffed by the new K9 unit. I was on yet another leg of my ongoing fast food tour of the nation. The destination this week was Raleigh-Durham to make and showcase fried chicken. Last week, I was in Nashville tasting it (over and over and over again.)

Travel, whether it's one day out of the office or five, is the most taxing part of my job. Not just for me, but for my family. As much as I try to prepare them and myself for the Mommy gaps in their week, I know my road trips can take a toll. And whether in mid (turbulent) air or going to sleep in my (too) quiet hotel room, I tend to feel a little remorse at my company for sending me on the road so much.

But there are times, like last week, where I give in to the experience. Where I think, Daddy's got it; everyone's fine; I might as well enjoy this.

Last Thursday, I had woken up early, still full and a little bubbly from my dining experience at Hattie B's, Edley's Barbecue and Husk the day before. I was running along the Cumberland River in Nashville, Tennessee, when I stopped to reply to my Mom's morning request for news. I relayed the last 24 hours of Southern food sampling, and she responded, 'I think I would like that job.'

I paused to think about my reply, half torn between the guilt of being away from my family and the sheer ecstasy of my French 75 paired with Shrimp and Grits the night before. I started typing.

'I have an awesome job,' and I meant every character of it.
She replied,  'you are blessed to have the skills to do it.'

As I made my way back to the hotel, I thought about those words, reflected on their truth, but identified a significant gap in them. I am not only blessed to have the education and experience set that enables my employment, I am blessed to have a  husband and my kids are blessed to have a father that makes the ups and downs and delays of my weeks feasible and even fun.

I sometimes dread the email or conversation, letting Peter know that I'll be gone yet another two days next week. But he never flinches. Okay. You will be missed, he says. I wonder deep down if he gets stressed, but he showcases more pride and excitement in his solo parenting than worry.

The debate on whether women can have it all is still unsettled. I'm currently in the camp, that 'all' includes near exhaustion seven days a week. But I know one thing for sure; 'all' in my world - a rewarding job and a happy family - would not be possible without my husband. And one day, even one whole weekend, is not enough to showcase my thanks for him as a partner in business, care giving, and semi-stress free living.

    

Lo.