Unfit Mother

We Here Already?

We’re at my auntie’s house. My aunt is a children’s book author and the kids went to bed with quite the storyteller. We took a side trip to Atlanta at the last minute on Tuesday to visit an old friend from Portland school days. Tavi and Bea fell madly in love with her pink house.

I’m feeling less severed now. Coming to family (who ironically never lived in Tennessee when I did) made a difference. I felt more southern in Atlanta as well – somewhere I never lived, but it reminds me a lot more of Memphis there. We arrived in Atlanta early and had lunch with my friend and then she directed us to the Atlanta Zoo and Grant Park. We had a great time and my cheap little dates chose the pictures of the animals over the price of admission. They romped on the playground and we did a little sightseeing. When Elizabeth came home, we went out for some yuppie BBQ (E’s description) and came home for sweet tea vodka drinks while the girls watched “Finding Nemo”.

It was fun to catch up with my pal but during the night I woke to the familiar sound of rain pounding over me. The rain here is very different to the wet stuff we have back at home. If the native Inuits in the north have multiple words for snow, we have as many for rain in the precipitious northwest. But the wet accumulation pouring overhead was much heavier than the spritzing I deal with from October to June in Portland. The rain continued all morning as we struggled out of Atlanta and back up to Tennessee. Driving through the Smoky Mountains was so trying and arduous, I had to make a long stop for gas in Whitwell. That drive is a little harrowing on a clear day; adding the downpour made my palms sweat and my whole body burst into tiny painful pinpricks of adrenalin every time I set my foot anywhere near the brake. I even felt a little hydroplaning action under the wheels more than once curling through the bends and sharp turns.


Once off the mountain, the skies opened into tarps of clear blue against the autumnal scenes of changing leaves and a very appropriate soundtrack of Gillian Welch. Tavi and Bea were tucked soundly in the backseat so I enjoyed the peace and cruised all the way into Nashville. We arrived in good time and Tavi and Bea showed off their pumpkins, Mama and Baby, before beginning their chores of destruction on a home that no longer employs three-year-old grabbers-of-breakable-objects and juice-on-carpet-spillers.

At each new destination, Tavi and Bea ask where the previous occupants are. Where’s that kid? Where the pink house? Where’s that girl? I find it amusing that they drive for hours in a car and expect to be in the same place upon arrival. They have adjusted to spans of time on the road, but the concept of space eludes them. I tried reading a little Einstein at bedtime, but they asked too many complicated questions like, “Where’s my Aladdin movie?”

While we were stationary in Knoxville for a few days, I took Tavi and Bea to the store and a little sightseeing. As soon as they were buckled in, they were ready to go for another long haul. When we arrived at the grocery store a mere ten minutes away, I opened the door and they had pulled all their toys out and I found them deeply engaged in the tedium killing activities they enjoy over hot cocoa and endless stretches of open road. "We here already?"
Tavi is now using the I-need-to-get-in-the-car plea when she is transitioning with difficulty. I had to sit with her in my aunt’s driveway for about ten minutes while she adjusted to new surroundings once again.

We will rest this morning and head to Memphis this afternoon. My reunion is tomorrow.

Fish and House Guests

We’re moving on this morning. It has been a bittersweet reunion with Knoxville; sometimes you can’t go home. It is interesting how some of the things I liked about Portland when I moved there in 1994 was really part of a larger movement and not just about the west coast – the place I held as the great Mecca of all things cool and progressive. Some of those same things exist here and everywhere across the US. I still prefer the anonymitity I enjoy living in a city with many like-minded people, but there is also some loss of community in that. Still, it is easier to live in a city where I am one of many moms with tattoos and not someone upon which to cast sideways glances and who startles the other moms at the park. I was exhausted from swimming against the cultural current and was tired of being the “weirdo”. In Portland, I blend into the status quo.

I think what I have to resolve is that I am no longer a southerner. I am only sort of from the south anyway. My father is in the army and we moved around my whole life. Even as an adult I kept in the habit of storing things in boxes and moving every few years even if it was just to the apartment down the street. I still have a hard time putting holes in the wall to hang pictures because I can’t make any permanent changes. As a result, I’ve been looking for “home” my whole life. I remember crying inconsolably as a child and just wanting to go home.
But you are home, my mother would say.
Even I didn’t know what I meant at the time. I guess I just wanted things to be the same for a terminal designation of time.

Being here now feels a little like being the bastard child, the outsider, the Yankee-go-home. I never wanted to live in Tennessee when I put there in 7th grade. I was miserable, but it was the place I remained throughout the duration of Junior and High School (we didn’t call it “Middle School” back then). I even stayed in Tennessee for college until the first opportunity presented for escape. Once out of the south, being from the south provided an identity in the homongenous northwest where few people are natives. I banded with other ex-pats and settled into a niche. I always meant to make it to California, but when I went to work for the regional planning government as a graphic design intern, I fell deep in love with the well designed antics of Portland. And once I met my husband and gave birth to my children there, I went native.

Back in the south, my southern identity seems false. As I entered Kentucky I immediately re-affected my accent, but it was more like knowing a foreign language. There have even been a few times when I honestly could not understand what someone said to me because of their speech. And now here for the last several days, the novelty is wearing thin. Once again I feel displaced. I imagine grappling with this identity crisis is like integrating the various and sundry personas of someone with disassociative identity disorder.

My friends have been good to us and I can only offer the return in kindness for future travel. It is time to be on the road again. We mark our heading for a brief jaunt into Georgia and then to Nashville and Memphis. I have an old shoulder injury that is proving to be a real problem. I’ve had a torn rotator cuff for years and I think I have made it worse somehow with the repetitive motions of driving. It hurts like the Charles Dickens.

Past Louisville

I’m in heaven. Really this is Knoxville, Tennessee and a former homestead during the college years. We arrived early Friday afternoon following a disappointing bout of nostalgia through Louisville, Kentucky. Knoxville is our furthest destination east before I head to my 20th High School reunion in Memphis via a stop to my aunt’s house in Nashville - the Tennessee trek.

I’m sitting on Mama Tried’s back deck (the one build by the Handyman) and listening to the cicadas. It's the one sound I miss the most in my pacific northwestern life. I am finding this travel back to the south to be disorienting; some things are the same and many things have changed beyond recognition. My southern comfort tonight is in the ebbing siren of the cicadas while I sit outside in perfect October temperatures with the autumn sun setting a soothing golden glow over the backyard maples. The light is picturesque and even the mosquito nibbling my ear doesn’t bother me in this serene setting.

On Thursday we scooted through four states on a detour to Louisville: Missouri, Illinois, Indiana and Kentucky. Passing through St. Louis, I double-checked my route at a rest stop in preparation for an Interstate change. I noticed that I would have to hitch on a state highway to avoid the interchange from 70 to 64. But along the way, due to construction, I was detoured and managed to circle the entire city before reaching its limits. It took over an hour and a half and waned my patience. It was not nearly as irritating as our experience in SLC, so I shrugged it off and plowed through to a lunch break in Mt. Vernon, Illinois. I’m glad that state was a quick pass because the speed limit dropped to an intolerable 65 mph.

I was looking forward to landing in Louisville – pronounced Lou-E-ville by natives – and looking for old friends. The drive through these midwestern states was unbelievably gorgeous. I passed through gauntlets of amber and fire tipped trees as the leaves began their seasonal change. I could not have timed this trip better with the scenic views. I was excited and nervous on the way to Louisville. When the bridge crossing the Ohio River into Kentucky revealed the cityscape of Louisville, my spirits soared. I pulled off the interstate when rush hour traffic slowed us to a halt and tried to remember my way. 

After a couple of redirections with the aid of a map, I found my old apartment. The neighborhood at the end of an up and coming street 10 years ago was stacked from brick wall to brick wall with hip-ness. It made me feel unsteady and a little old. Some of the same anchor stores were still there, but the street was now in the leagues with Melrose in LA – I was blinded by coolness. Had it been that way when I lived there, I may never have left; but I was too full of myself and too eager for the west coast.

I don’t know what I was expecting to find there, but I didn't feel a connection. I decided to motor on to a hotel and look some folks up in a phone book. I ran into some bad traffic and was limited to a night’s stay with my Best Western gift card. (Due to some owed reimbursements ala G’s employer, I was low on available cardage.) I found a BW by anxiously pulling off at a rest stop where I used my fancy iPhone internet technology. We stayed in Shelbyville with a reasonable rate and excellent wifi plus amenities. The girls were treated to their nightly reward of the Cartoon Network while I set to work to look up old pals. 

I found no one. Not one. People move, change their names, use cell phones. I had to let go of a time as I drove out of a place that no longer exists. It was an unsettling feeling, being untethered by ties undone. Once when I returned by bicycle to the small German village where I lived for several years as a child, I was greeted to an unusually warm welcome with everything short of a parade welcoming home the “Little American Girl”. It’s not that I was expecting the same homecoming in Louisville; maybe I expected to feel more, like an ownership. I only lived there for 18 months and knew the minute I rolled into town that I wouldn’t stay long.

I gave up after an unprofitable internet people search attempt and left Louisville in the past. We ate a crappy dinner at an all you can eat Asian buffet and fell asleep to the static sounds of cable television fading in the background. In the morning I slept in and packed my hopes for a more assured reunion in Knoxville. It was a quick drive and was elated to reach Mama Tried waving us into her driveway.

The last couple of days have been a much need respite from the road before we journey again on Wednesday. I’ve caught up on sleep, replenished supplies, and basked in the renewal of old friendships. Not to mention a lovely outing to a pumpkin patch for a hay ride and plucking orange bumpy gourds. I hope to store up this gorgeous weather since the forecast at home is all rain.

There’s No Place Like Home

THIS IS YESTERDAY'S POST 10/1/08

Well, I have no wifi tonight because I opted for another cheap ass hotel. But seriously, $31 – how was I supposed to drive by that one? I am writing this in word and will post tomorrow as soon as I have access to the Internet. Like over a decent cup of coffee. Do I sound bitter? Because maybe that’s what I like about coffee, but the brownish substitute I had masquerading as coffee this morning was burnt.

We’re outside Kansas City, Missouri tonight. We blew across the state of Kansas like Dorothy’s house to Oz. I didn’t sleep well in the Bates-ish motel in Limon, CO. After lying awake for more than an hour, I got up about 5:30 and started prepping for another day. I had trouble sleeping because every little noise made me nervous last night. There is nothing like the paranoia of darkness to make for a bad night’s sleep. Tonight is the last cheap hotel to save money. I think I would rather pay for my security; at least the illusion of security.

Before leaving Portland, when I discussed my plans for this trip, many people commented on how brave I am. And my BFF, awaiting our arrival, mentioned it yesterday. I don’t think of what I am doing as brave. My traveling-with-children philosophy remains: I would be feeding them, scolding them and entertaining them everyday anyway, I might as well be somewhere interesting while I do it. I don’t think this is significantly harder than our life at home. It’s just a different routine. It a little harder in the sense that I don’t have the luxury of the long breaks I enjoy from them in Portland because our babysitter is not here, but they do sleep. And they are old enough now that I can ignore them for periods of time. Like now; as Tavi and Bea straddle the luggage rest and have devised some sort of play involving the precarious entanglement of limbs in nylon straps and hinged metal tubes. But they are playing together nicely and they are being quiet. So hey, I’m fine with it.

Tavi and Bea had a pretty good day in the car, and it was the longest one of straight driving. We left earlier than usual after Bea threw me a few of her best toddler tantrums. I caught the sunrise heading east and enjoyed the solitude of the open morning road. Bea was consoled over some hot chocolate in the back seat and we rode quietly for a couple of hours. I finally took advantage of a rest stop today. I was reluctant to stop “unnecessarily” since they offer neither food nor gas, but after two hours it made a nice break. Even without a play ground, Tavi and Bea had a great time chasing each other, a beautiful orange butterfly, and me. I also took the opportunity to redistribute the Polly Pocket pieces and we were off for another couple of hours of uninterrupted driving time.

Along the way I saw a sign for the Oz Museum at exit 238 in Wamego, KS. It was just the kitschy roadside Americana I was looking for (one that was oddly absent along our Wyoming trek). I was anxiously counting down the miles and really pumping it up for Bea who was really starting to lose it in the back seat. It was close to lunchtime and our timing was off because we entered another time zone today. I kept insisting she "just hang in" when she fell asleep. Tavi hit the sack about 10 minutes earlier. I was considering skipping the attraction but realized we would have to eat at some point, but just as I approached the exit, there was nothing there. I couldn’t figure it out and was frankly quite pissed. We were still a good solid half full on the tank in a car that gets close to 50 mpgs, so I put on some music that didn’t involve counting or having seen the accompanying movie, worked on my what if scenario in case I was pulled over by a trooper and enjoyed the ride.

Then about a hundred miles later, just as Bea woke fussing from her post, I saw the sign for the Oz Museum. At exit THREE twenty eight (328). I had transposed the most crucial numbers and was thankful Bea had chosen that mistaken moment to conk out. as she whined in the back, I appeased her with pistachios and made the remaining 20 miles to the exit before Tavi joined the caconophy of fussing. We pulled off at the exit that was obscured by roadwork and I nearly missed it, only to find a sign explaining that the Wamego Oz Museum was just another mere 10 miles down the road. I have never been so tense in my life. I held off the girls and we made it!

It was well worth the effort and Tavi and Bea had a blast. The employees in the gift shop were awesome and even checked upstairs for the one forgotten dress-up box containing the proper attire to outfit Dorothy, Glenda and The Wicked Witch of the West. Only Glenda was represented on the ground floor and the whole box was only $10 more. A very kind volunteer even directed us to a park only two blocks from the museum that turned into another amazing opportunity to run and stretch our legs.

After satiating their need for physical activity, Bea asked to “go home”. It’s the fist time they have mentioned it on this trip and the irony given our coordinates was more than a little funny. Tavi echoed her sister and I understood their lament. I am feeling the slightest pangs of homesickness myself, but I am trapped between “homes”. I’m not sure if it the pain of nostalgia for another time as I travel towards the ghosts of homes past or if I already miss the (m)other life I have come to know in Portland.

When we had our fill of the playground, we ventured on to Toto’s Tacos (they tasted about as good as you would imagine by the name and location) before hitting the road for our final leg. They girls were appeased and played quietly, for the most part. We stopped one more time for gas and cruise controlled all the way to Missouri. I chose a CD we haven’t listen to yet and my cargo was quite amused by the toll road from Topeka to KC. Tavi and Bea had not even started to fuss yet when I pulled up to the lobby doors.

Don’t mind the woman behind the curtain! While I appreciate the accolades of bravery from so many, I have a confession. My bad parenting secret about how I manage to check in hotels with children in tow is: I don’t. I always pull the car as close to the lobby doors as possible (on the curb once even), crack the windows, lock the doors and leave them in the car like a hot puppy. I can see them from the counter. And once I tell them I’m getting our hotel room, they are so excited they just sit quietly listening to the music and watch me through the layers of pane.

So while I console Tavi and Bea’s homesickness, I continue down my own private yellow brick road...

BTW- the name of the Wyoming critter is the Pronghorn - and fun tip of today is: anyone may camp (for one night) in the Kansas state rest stops.

no wifi

boo hoo
this is from my phone
will post double duty tomorrow

UneventfulI

That’s exactly the kind of day I wanted to have. Up early, on the road, coffee in hand – ahh. Today, day three, we found our groove. We left Evanston, WY at 7:30 and rolled across the high plains at a formidable clip. It is hard to stay at the recommended speed limit when there is no one on the road and you can see five miles ahead and behind. The truckers in Wyoming were very courteous partners of the road (I can't say the same for Colorado's 18 wheelers).

I have to say, it gives me a chuckle when the ranchers filling their heavy 450 ton pickups at the diesel pump do a double take when I start pumping the green hose in my little Jetta wagon. Almost every time, some friendly cowpoke asks me, "You know that's diesel, right?"

Tavi and Bea were entranced with the Polly pockets entourage for hours. Every time we stop I have to dig all the dinky rubber accoutrements out of the seat cracks and resupply their stock. It makes for peaceful driving, but if I have to listen to the damn Aladdin soundtrack one more time on this trip, I might strangle someone.

The girls only lost it once in the car today. Like I said, we've all found our groove. To be fair, they were really hungry and I was on a power run for three hours straight. We were in the middle of freaking nowhere - which I am only slightly surprised to find so often in the west- so I pulled over and retrieved all the crayons, stickers and plastic apparel from various nooks and crannies, promised lunch soon and we were off to Laramie. We ate lunch and then I found an awesome park with a playground.

Laramie is teaming with little cartoon caption listings from the playspace finder tip provided by Mom Voyage. And once the girls started slowing down and asking to be carried, I knew I had at least another couple of hours of solid driving time while they napped. We made it on to Cheyenne and then to Denver. About an hour and a half past Denver, I lost my stride and my leg started cramping up and about this time I remembered how to turn on the Cruise Control. duh! At least I have it for the next 17 days.

We stopped in a crappier hotel than the past two nights standards, but I couldn't beat the price. At least they have intermittent wifi - as long as I remind the front desk to reset it every couple of hours. We are about an hour from Kansas, in Colorado this evening.

I spent a lot of time today thinking about other road trips around the country and my youth. Traveling back in time...

Ok, pop the daydream bubble, here's more pictures:




Three year olds with cameras.

We also saw some really cool deer like creatures - they have a proper name, but I can't remember it now. Anyone? (Too fast for the camera.)

Good night!

Girls! To the bath...

Dodge

You are not even going to believe the day I had. Forget about bad weather, somehow I descended, or actually ascended into some kind of cloudy karma as soon as I hit Utah this morning. It didn't help that Bea developed a nasty fever last night. I wondered why she was sleeping in the car so much and I should have figured it out when she complained about being cold and then too hot and then cold again.

We had a big lunch yesterday so decided to snack on food stuff from the car and just watch endless cartoons in place of dinner. But when I touched Bea to hand her a juice box, she was burning with the whole glassy eyes thing. I gave her several cups of water at her request and then put her to bed where we all collapsed at 6:30. Except Tavi, I don't know what she was doing that whole time, but when I woke up a couple of hours later she was happy to see me.

Bea was fretfully fitful and I finally dosed her with baby Motrin after she kept whined about how her eyes hurt. She also gratefully accepted a cold wash cloth across her forehead while she slept. Tavi finally gave in to sleep and I watched that new Anna Paquin Vampire show on some cable network whose acronym escapes me at the moment.

I let myself wake without an alarm this morning to get enough rest, but it was still pretty early. We went to the Continental breakfast after a shower - no bathtub for little girls. Then we hit the road and were on our uncaffeinated way by 8:00 Mountain Time.

Utah's most redeeming quality for drivers passing through is the landscape is it is wide and flat and yellow. The color of any common dog and seemed to be the most colorless color I have seen. Forget black and white, I can not describe it; it is the absence of color.

ANYWAY, I had filled the tank with diesel way back in La Grand, OR where we stopped for lunch the day before and made it all the way across central Idaho without refueling.  (Oh yeah, and yesterday, I finally figured out the name of Ore Ida fries. The Ore Ida company sits right on the OREgon / IDAho border - duh. ) Like I was saying, I stop for gas in Snowball (that's what I kept calling it in my head, its really Snowville, but I kept thinking of it's chances in hell) and cleaned the windshield. I was feeling pretty proud of myself for making such great time.

Back on I-84, passing a car on an incline, the car dropped acceleration. I was pushing in the gas pedal to the floor and barely making 40 mph. I think this might be retribution for slightly speeding through the flat colorless plains behind me, but I could not get this car to go faster than 55 mph. I pulled over and called G. He decided this was a problem the car had once before: the turbo fails to engage. G called ahead to the SLC area to find a VW dealership and sent me a text with the location in Ogden. Since I was at least a half day ahead of schedule, I figured it would be a good time to break for lunch. And I was also hoping to borrow on the VW luck we had for an easy fix with the Vanagon last month in California. The mechanic turned out to be a real jerk and I could just feel my good fortune slipping out of grasp. Where's St. Christopher when you need him?

G found another mechanic a few exits down in SLC proper and  zooming on my way again, the traffic suddenly came to a dead halt. There was a nasty accident on the highway and I sat still for 30 minutes while Bea screamed from the backseat. After two or three ambulances, a couple of firetrucks and a state trooper or two cleared one lane of the FOUR that were blocked by this mess, I made my exit which OF COURSE was right after the wreck. (Yes, I realize this had nothing to do with me, and I really hope the prople are ok.)

But THEN the worst happened. Well, not really, but it was more than I could handle in my highly fragile anxious state. I followed G's directions and the street was not where it should have been. As it turns out in this part of Salt Lake City, the streets are numbers in the hundreds. They are also noted by N, S, E & W. So once one has completed the course of the North Hundred Series, the next street becomes South x hundred street. (Eg, North 100 Street is followed by South 100 street where the numbers continue increasing in the opposite direction.)

Meanwhile, I am driving completely parallel to the interstate and passing all the available exits I could have taken to avoid the car accident stand still. After exchanging profanities and other colorful expletives with G over the din of screaming feverish toddlers, TWO HOURS later and three redirections via a phone and a computer in Portland sporting google maps, I reached one salty dog of a mechanic. He was the sunny little curmudgeon I needed in my crisis. He checked my car from stem to stern, drove it to make sure and charged me nary a coin.

So the problem? NOTHING. After reviewing the circumstances of the incident, he determined that this was merely a case of a scrappy little diesel engine against the altitude. He even told me where I might continue to have this problem on my anticpated route, encouraged me to down-shift proactively and sent me on my way with a wink and my gratitude. The VW dealership was going to charge us $100 for their diagnostic and I am sure they would not have been a fraction so kindly.

In an instant my bad juju lifted and I tested my turn of fortune by ducking into the Mal Wart and treating the girls to some Polly Pockets for the road. Bea dozed, but those little landfill flotsam bought me another two hours in the car with Tavi's interst held. And so here we bed for the night in the Evanston, Wyoming Comfort Inn (I have a new secret weapon for the hotel discount) where the girls can bounce on the bed and damage someone else's property.

And now enjoy the following scenic shots taken from my 80mph bug encrusted vantage.

PS
Utah is beautiful, but I wouldn't want to break down there. =;?}
10-4

Where Are We?

Goal: Boise, Idaho
Actual: Mountain Home, Idaho

Goal: Leave at 7:00 am
Actual: 8:30

Lesson Learned: Don't keep small toys in a gallon size Ziplock bag. Once emptied, it fits perfectly over Bea's head. I just happen to find an infant rear seat mirror in the glove box while rummaging for other items and checked on her just in time to see her breath fogging the plastic.

Tavi and Bea were actually pretty good in the car. They tagged teamed me on naps which completely changed the energy in the car. Tavi is pretty good about keeping herself entertained with little toys, but Bea needs more interaction and has a harder time sitting still.

We stopped for lunch and gas and made good time. I scored a room by talking the price down $15 - everything is negotiable. The girls stayed quiet in the car with the promise of: cartoons! I may let my children indulge in a generous portion of DVD viewing at home, but I am all old school when it comes to disallowing a player in the car. Besides it leaves the enticement for good behavior at the end of the day.

I packed with the intention of leaving the big luggage in the car and only bringing a small overnight bag inside so I wouldn't have to drag a suitcase AND three year old twins into a building. I deviated by leaving them in the room while I ran back out to the car for forgotten items.

I've been up since 4 am so I am dragging. Day One accomplished.Thank you Boise for the 75 mile speed limit!

Look Away! Look Away! Look Away! Dixie Land.

I’m off again soon. Bound by the car but also by destination. Tavi and Bea and I will head East and South to Dixie. I have a distorted vision of my life in Tennessee. In my mind’s eye I see black and gray and crumbled ruins, destitution and shame. Three years ago, I went back to my old college town, Knoxville, with hesitation. We were on our way home from Florida where we purchased a blue Volkswagen Vanagon on eBay. When the engine checked out and the money doled through an escrow account, we headed to Portland. I was 6 months pregnant with twins; my belly round beyond belief and my feet propped on a cooler consoled by Ziplocs full of ice.

We made that voyage home without air conditioning but soothed by a 65-mile breeze through every open window as we soared through the ancient ruins of my past. I didn’t have the guts to go through Memphis, but I had more motivation to stop in Knoxville.

I was shocked by how green and simple the town was. I remembered a much more complicated life in Knoxville and the ghosts that chased me to the West Coast did not live there. With the demons exorcised long before I was a mother, I saw the place that I had fallen in love with when I first decided to attend UT. Knoxville is beautiful and I am eager to return in the next couple of weeks.

After we leave the comfort of reconciled history hosted by my BFF, we will move on to Memphis. It's the process I’m afraid of. Time traveling. With only my children to anchor me I’m about to face these demons that only exist in my mind, trapped in place where I have sent them to exile.

What are you running from?

She was leaning over the bar, pouring me another drink. I could feel the drum beats in the counter as I slung back another whiskey shot before wiping my mouth and peeling strands of sweaty hair from my eyes. On the dance floor I could transport myself out of the south.  I was offended by the remark; I considered myself running towards something, not away from anything. Just moving forward on a mantra: west coast west coast west coast.

But now I am going back. To people, to events and to the past. I am going to get in the car and drive. And then I will be there.

Home Dentistry

As a mom, I love having a revolving evolution of assimilated occupations to add to my repertoire. Today it was dentistry.

Bea managed to pull a pen apart (obviously not meant for children under three, although she is one month shy of the big triple...) and crown the little round metal ring from the middle of the pen around one of her molars. I immediately had a bad reaction (me yelling, her crying) which gave no one an advantage. I recovered and then donned my camping miner's head lamp and armed myself with a screw driver. I had Bea lie back on the couch and open her mouth big big big. I few gentle hammer taps and the ring popped off on the second try with very little blood loss - a dinky bead the size of an ovum.

The whole time I was wondering if I should call the dentist and rush her in, but then I thought: I can do this! I am just glad she has actually had a dental appointment under her adjustable elastic waistband; she knew exactly what to do. Which reminds me I need to reschedule their next 6 month check up since we'll be hitting the road to Memphis at the time.

The Patient:

(please notice the tiny little tears on her cheek and lashes)

The Outcome:

This will be the kid who gives herself braces at age 10.