paisleysea: March 2008

(Pssst... photos of the vacation in the Flickr badge to the left)

Taking a vacation with young children is not a vacation in the true sense; the word “vacation” conjures up feelings up rest and relaxation but if you put the word “family” before the word “vacation” you get a completely different feelings about the whole thing. Really, a family vacation for us is just moving our whole, crazy routine to a different location and calling it a success if we make it through without any casualties.

Recently we decided to uproot our family and temporarily relocate to a tiny, oceanfront condo about 3 hours away. The fact that we had to bring along so much stuff for Sam, including his beanbag, wheelchair and jog stroller, and were forced to climb over furniture and various children to move about the condo did not diminish our enthusiasm. Nor did we allow the strong winds, which picked up the sand and hurled millions of grainy bits at our exposed skin, to prevent us from enjoying the beach. And when Clara attempted to stick her head through the widely spaced bars of the balcony railing to peer down at the beach 3 stories below we simply put an end to family time on the balcony because, though the her head was just big enough to not fit through, she found the table and chairs perfect for climbing on to peer over the balcony rail.

Still, we were not discouraged and we took several little trips to surrounding towns to visit the various attractions. One of these trips included a visit to Wilmington where we toured the USS North Carolina Battleship. I’d never been on a battleship so I wasn’t sure what to expect. The boat was moored on the Cape Fear River and we crossed a bridge to board the top deck of the ship. I had Clara running free hoping she would tire soon and fall asleep in the backpack child carrier I had brought with us on board. But, see, being from California where everyone is afraid of lawsuits, we were used to the California standards of safety; if this battleship had been located in the Golden State we wouldn’t have been able to get within five feet of the boat’s edge. And, surely, there would have been a metal gate in front of a plexiglass barrier protecting us from falling down to the mesh netting that any good California company would have constructed below. But we’re in North Carolina now. And safety either just hasn’t caught on yet or there’s a lot more faith out here in people’s ability to take care of themselves. Because the only thing separating us from the murky waters far below was some low mesh fencing that began about a foot above the deck. And being much closer to the ground than an adult, a small child is surely going to see that whole foot as an incredible opportunity. There were also raised platforms on the ship that extended to the edge and if you stood up on the platform and walked to the edge like any self-respecting child would, then you only got protection from the top 2 feet of the mesh fence. So I started wondering how many little ones had gone over. There were lots of signs on deck about the battles and the number of men who had died on the ship back during the war. But I couldn’t find anything about tourist fatalities. I had already chased Clara away from edge several times and been over it in my mind how the whole tragic fall might go down and how I would have to jump in after her. Of course, I had no idea how deep the water was. If it was too shallow then we could get seriously injured in the fall. But if the water was too deep then there’d be no way I’d be able to find her in the muddy water.

About this time David and Jackson decided they wanted to explore the inner belly of the ship. Since Sam’s wheelchair could not go down I had decided to stay above deck with him and Clara. But Clara had other plans. The metal stairs leading down into the ship were narrow and almost completely vertical; in other words, they were treacherous. And to an adventurous toddler such objects of peril were irresistible. Unfortunately, she refused to go down without me. So down Jackson, Clara and I went into the ship, leaving David and Sam above, completely unaware of the extensive labyrinth we were entering. Clara was following her bliss up and down the metal stairs that were unbelievably abundant throughout while I held tightly to her hand and followed along. There were arrows with the word “tour” placed throughout the boat but at some spots there was more than one choice and not once did we see an exit sign. After about ½ of an hour it was becoming clear to me that this tour had no end and Clara was starting to get loopy as her naptime had long passed. Unfortunately, I had left the baby carrier above and was left with the options of either chasing her through the ship or carrying a squirming toddler up and down the dangerous stairs as we tried to fight our way through the other tourists back up to the surface. There were many dangerous areas where the floor was made of a metal grate with gapes and holes large enough to swallow up a wayward toddler. More horrifying was the possibility that one of Clara’s shoes might find its way down one of these holes and become lost forever because THAT was unimaginable to my little shoeophile.

Eventually we caught a glimpse of daylight and emerged from the steel maze to find David and Sam waiting for us above. Now in between freaking out about Clara’s safety and freaking out about being lost inside the ship I did take in enough of the tour to realize what a fascinating vessel it was and how interesting the lives of the men were who had served on it. So I urged David to leave the kids with me and go down to have a look. While we were talking I was trying to prevent Sam’s wheelchair from rolling away on the uneven deck and chase down Clara who was making a break for the side of the boat. I decided to put her in the carrier for safety and so she could catch a nap while David explored below.

By then I was feeling pretty good that we had averted all tragedy and I was heading up to the front of the ship. An older man sitting several feet away waved us over to have a look at something he apparently thought we should see. As I approached he pointed down over the boat where the water met some marsh land. I saw a blue heron there wading in the water but then the man said, “No, look there on land.” A few feet away I saw a very large, life-sized replica of an alligator. Except, see here again, I had forgotten we weren’t in California any more and that alligator was no statue. It was real and it had a name: Charlie. According to the sign on the ship that I had somehow missed while averting various perils, Charlie wasn’t the only alligator that lived in those waters. So then I had to recreate all those various rescue scenarios I had already worked out when I envisioned Clara going over the edge to include the possibility of a giant, hungry alligator. And from what I’ve learned watching nature shows once an alligator bites down on you he’s not letting go. After showing Jackson the alligator he informed me that, “Actually, Mom, if you shove your thumbs into the alligator’s eyes then it’ll let go.” So maybe there was still hope for little Clara.

As I relaxed a little with Clara safely in the carrier on my back, we explored the upper deck a bit more and Clara drifted off to sleep. Deciding to take in some more of the boat side scenery I walked over to the edge and stood looking out past Charlie. At this time one of Clara’s arms dropped loose by her side and the tiny baby doll that she had been carrying fell down from her arm. I watched as it tumbled under the mesh fence and stopped just inches short of falling into the murky waters below.

So we had the new aide come this afternoon for Sam (more about that later) and I spent the first few hours going over stuff and that's when I realized how much stuff there really is to do for Sam. I mean, like seriously, I started wondering how anybody could possibly remember all this stuff. So I finally just shut up and figured it was going to be sink or swim for this new aide. So then she took him out for a walk and I was like, shit, now what do I do? I decided to take the other two outside and do some raking so we could mow before we leave on our trip since the grass has been growing so fast lately. But I'm out there with the wind blowing, leaves flying around feeling a little futile and realizing that raking takes a long time. What doesn't take as long is one of those smelly, obnoxiously loud leaf blowers that all our neighbors seem to use. Then I started thinking, if I had a leaf blower out here I wouldn't want the kids out with me 'cause it's too loud for their ears and I wouldn't be able to keep very good track of them. Also, I wouldn't be getting nearly as much exercise. And there was kind of a zen to the whole raking. Plus, the kids have their own smaller rakes to help.

I started realizing how *really* leaf blowers are actually more a waste of time because while I raked: 1) I enjoyed family time with my kids 2) I got exercise 3) it was peaceful and therapeutic. Basically I got more bang for my buck with the raking. Had I had a leaf blower out there I would have had to carve out separate time for the other 3 things and possibly spend money on such things as therapy for the stress inducing noise of the leaf blower. Or, if I paid someone to come do my yard, then David would have to work an extra job to afford it.

This can be applied to the mowing of the lawn too because while everyone else is paying to have their lawn mowed or sitting atop an expensive, loud ride-on mower, we're out there taking turns with our non-motorized push mower.

So either our lawn care routine is the cure to all of society's ills or I'm just trying to justify all the hard work.

And don't you even go there about how it would be better for all if we had no lawn at all because I know that, okay?!