Adventure Mom

Direct Pressure for a Wounded Heart It’s June 21 st in New Zealand (the 20 th in the US) -  the shortest day of the year in the Southern Hemisphere. I’m unaware of both facts as I pedal my bike to the Scout hall to meet the Joggers for a run up the Mount.  Antarctic winds gust against me as I plow forward.   I feel deflated. Today, I want my Old Life back. The one with Sean in Spokane. Barring that, the earth can swallow me like a snake devours a mouse – a single jaw snap transforms the mouse from Creature of This World to Thing That Was. Do I really want to be Someone Who Was?   No. I just don’t want to feel like this. Real Life has invaded my island paradise and it hurts like hell. I’m grieving again. Fresh sorrow ruptures the sutures of my wounded heart. The bleeding that had long ago been stanched has resumed – gushing and spurting, making a mess of the life I’ve largely reorganized. I don’t want to feel like this. I recently took a First Aid course where we lear

Miss Nine Runs Barefoot You’re speeding down the grassy corridor before the finish chute. I recognize your long brown hair tied in two ponytails: one on top, to prevent bangs from flopping into your eyes, the other in back to collect the rest of your thick waves. You’re wearing the navy blue Bloomsday t-shirt you earned walking twelve kilometers in Spokane’s race last year. Tiny pink cotton leggings end just before your knobby knees. You are my colt, my rakish nine and-a-half-year-old, steaming to the end of a mile-long race. I snap a picture, capturing the glow of your pink cheeks.   My heart must be beating as quickly as yours, and I’m standing still. “Go Fiona! Good job, Fiona!” I cheer as motherly pride swells in my chest like a one of those Styrofoam creatures that grows in water from thumb-sized to palm-sized. My girl. You emerged as a four-pound twelve-ounce bundle, so tiny we once placed you in an empty box meant for Sean’s size-ten shoes. Today, you’re running y

Pit Bull Paradise Everyone’s Hawaiian vacation story goes something like this: “We stayed on Maui for ten days at a resort, and it was delightful! The beach was gorgeous, our condo had an ocean view and we spent almost all our time relaxing.” Am I right? Do you have one of these stories? I’ll try not to envy you too much, because in January, I had the anti-Maui experience. The Ewa Experience. I’m gonna say I did it because I needed more material for this blog. Welcome to the Neighborhood We’re traveling South on Fort Weaver Road, driving to the rental we’ll call home for nearly two weeks. “Those houses over there look pretty nice,” says Dad’s wife, Kathe. “But that’s not where we’re staying.” ‘Those homes’ are part of a new community that advertises ‘3 & 4 bedroom homes from the $500,000’s.’ We pass manicured lawns, high wooden fences, landscaping and a new shopping complex with a Safeway grocery store. The Safeway is a tribute to American supermarket architectur