Let me just start before the beginning . . .

I made a trip to my cabin on Day 1–400 miles with 4 kids by myself.  Day 2–160 miles, dropped down to “home” for 24 hours–during that time we had everything scheduled by 30 minute intervals–our main objective was to see and spend time with Grandpa–but since 4 kids can be a lot and Grandpa is recovering . . . we spread ourselves over the town.  Day 3–160 miles back north.  Play, Play, Play.  Day 7–400 miles back home.  That was our last very busy summer travel fling.

When I went back “home” we were everywhere at once and it was chaotic–normally our travel isn’t as jam-packed as that and although it had moments of meeting with friends and singing with Grandpa–I’m sure I looked like Granny from the Beverly Hillbilly’s show with a van that resembled their mode of transportation–things spilling out and my being a little more barky–I felt like we were always in a parking lot–parking lots and kids make me nervous.

Ok, thanks for sticking with me.

I was in Whole Foods trying to buy the exact amount of food we would need and I was standing there–no doubt in a daze because I could not remember what else I wanted to get–we do not have a Whole Foods where we live so it was a huge treat for me.  I was a weary traveler with 4 kids who were a little nutty by this time of the trip.

“Renee?” the voice said.  I looked up and it was an acquaintance from the MOMs group.   I immediately went to a place that was not joyful, loving or kind.   I caught myself in an instant and gave my best fake “Hi, how are things going?” (I was so proud of myself) but I did not get that fakeness back!  I was hoping for fake:fake:move on with our lives.  But NO.  She asks me, “So, what do you DO?”  in a very snotty way.  I had the proverbial boxing gloves ready to go and again, I caught myself.

In my mind I went to my James Thurber place.  The secret life of Walter Mitty was one of my favorite books when I was younger.

As I looked at her perfect nails, and her freshly blown dry hair, her matching outfit and her heels–I knew that she didn’t DO what I DO.  She couldn’t.  She was a different kind of a mom.  I doubt that worms, fishing and being in a car singing years of old VBS CD’s was her thing.  I imagined getting the gunky stuff from the inside of the worm container under her French manicure–that would take forever to clean.  But how would I answer her question, “what do I do?”  Since so many people ask me I feel like I should have a really good answer ready to go!

All of the above happened in an instant–but my fashion minded daughter did buy me some time by asking a question of her shoes . . .

Then I had the brilliant idea to ask her what she was doing.  It worked–the question of what I was doing was lost in the shadow of ALL that she was doing and how IMPORTANT she was at her job . . . she was so joyful in telling me–in a very condescending way–how she decided to go back to work “to get out of the house”.    We were so different.

At that moment I grew again.

At that moment I did not need to prove myself to her.  To justify my choices.  To make excuses for what I value.  I didn’t let my past disappointment affect this moment.  I accepted that we are all at different stages of our journey–maybe someday I will have my nails done or wear heels–ok, maybe not–but if it works for her–why am I concerning myself with it?  I did not let it bug me–well, it bugged me for a while–but now that it is written down . . . I will let it go.  Let it go.  Let it go.

Gone!

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