Adventure Mom

Just Go July 15, 2013 I’m sitting in the international departures area at the Auckland airport, on my way back to the States. It’s not that I’m homesick –  in fact, I need more time to settle into the new country before returning to the old. But life splats across our windshields in strange, messy ways, leaving trails of moth wings and smudges of mosquito blood on a surface that grows grottier each day. Somehow, through the mess, you see the sign pointing home.   The reason for the return this time is family.  Sean’s sister, Stephanie –a major support for me while Sean was sick – is herself experiencing crisis. In late May, after crushing headaches and an episode where she didn’t recognize her hand as her own, she was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor. Glioblastoma, stage three or four. Her husband, John, set up a Facebook page called Steph’s Army and suggested we google the diagnosis to read the average prognosis. Anything measuring average life expecta...

Teacher Conference Fake it 'Til you Feel it It started with mid-year school reports. One of my children’s Discussion Guides describes ‘a capable and confident class member’ who completes class work with speed, reads and performs math at the top of the national standards graph, whose writing lands squarely in the middle of the gray shaded box. The other report shows a child reading near the bottom of the standards; writing below the standard and performing math well below the national standard. This child, according to the teacher, ‘often needs to be encouraged to contribute.’ If you know anything about my kids, you might think the first report is Fiona’s and the second is Finley’s. Nope.  For the first time, my first-born - my compliant, book-loving daughter, is pegged as struggling student.  Finley, however, is excelling in his Year Three class, although his teacher says he needs to pay closer attention to instructions and listen, instead of figurin...

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 c...

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 runni...

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...

Say it With Me It’s Wednesday night, and the kids and I are holding one of our (now-regular) Family Dance Parties. Chris Brown’s “Say it With Me” blares from my iPod speakers.  Fiona, Finley and I jump in a circle, singing (Fiona and I) and yelling (Finley) the refrain: “Say it With Me, Say it With Me, Baby…” I bounce onto the tile patio and face the ocean across the street: “Say it With Me!” The ocean whooshes and rumbles her reply. I turn up the music. Can anyone coming over the rise above the beach see me? I’m too blissed to care. At that moment, Pete strides into the living room. Dapper in his flight school uniform, with the short-sleeved white shirt (he actually irons them), navy and gold epaulets and navy pants. I want to jump him the way you want to jump someone whose looks, warmth and scent give you nerve-deep shivers – the kind you get during a really good massage when, suddenly, the therapist's hands palpitate your scalp. The only jumping we’ll do for no...

Pending What if, when people asked, “How are you?” You said, “Pending.” That’s how I’d like to respond. Decisions are Pending. Actions are Pending. Everything feels Pending. Becoming a stranger in a strange land will do that. Applying for permanent residency in New Zealand will do that. I hired a highly-recommended immigration advisor, who gave me long lists of documents to compile. Plus, the kids and I would need medical exams. I was blood tested for tuberculosis, syphilis, AIDS, and liver problems (among other ailments), had a chest x-ray and even had my waist measured, to ensure I wasn’t too fat to immigrate. The kids had simpler physicals, minus x-rays, blood work (thank God) or waist measurements because they’re under age eleven. I got a certificate from the FBI stating I've never stuffed a corpse into a freezer or failed to pay parking tickets. Pete has provided copies of his New Zealand and British passports, plus notarized affidavits stating we’re in a relationshi...