We left the world behind

This week, my family and I went camping it was exactly what we all needed.

My anxiety had been climbing the week before and it was getting to the point where I was having trouble managing it. The day before we left I developed a massive migraine that left me with this weird, horrible acid reflux and nausea combo of a hangover. I was barely able to finish packing and dragged myself into the car for the two hour ride.

Over the course of that first day, my symptoms faded away, my spirits perked up, and as soon as toes hit the sand on the beach I felt my anxiety start melting away.

There’s just something about the beach that is so therapeutic, so soothing. And that’s despite the fact that I hate wind and sand (or at least I hate that sand gets everywhere).

We were able to book a campsite at a boyscout camp and it was perfect. The actual boyscout camps had been canceled, and so the organization opened up the campgrounds to individual families. We were given a campsite that had 13 huts on it – enough to sleep 26 people – on about half an acre and we had it all to ourselves. Private bathrooms, private showers. We were often the only four people on the entire beach just a three minute walk away. We could see the ocean from our site and we went to sleep listening to the roar of the waves. Aaahhh.

Also, my phone didn’t have service at the campsite, which forced me to put it down. It was the first time I had really put my phone down for any extended period of time in about a year. It was long overdue and very needed.

The kids were able to explore and wander and play and we didn’t have to worry. We took our time and we got dirty and we ran and screamed and played.

We left the world behind for three days and I’m very thankful.

beach

Spaces in-between

We exist in parking lots now.

We have a routine that we do almost every day now since Covid hit. After lunch, we put on sunscreen and bike helmets and we walk or bike or scoot to a parking lot. The kids will ride or scoot or run or kick a ball in the parking lot.  And I will walk laps around the perimeter to try and get some exercise for the day.

We’ve started searching for more unused pockets of space in our town. Little spaces that are forgotten or neglected or just empty. The elementary school parking lot that has been vacant for months now. We venture down to the park-and-ride train station parking lot that is vacant on weekends. In the past week, we found this new-to-us section of parking lot in an apartment complex. The kids were delighted; they gathered pine cones while I walked laps around them, going nowhere.

They are spaces meant for waiting. They are spaces for the in-between, where cars sit and wait to be turned on so that they can take their occupant from point a to point b.

So here it is where we play or bike or scoot or walk or run so that we may pass the time and wait until we can be turned on again and we can continue our journey from point a to point b.

parkinglot

My Playful Little Goober

You know what?

I’m in love with you, you little goober.

In a fellow mommy blogger’s post, she once mentioned that she could characterize each of her children’s behavior in utero using one word.

I think your word is playful.

Sometimes you want to play when I want to sleep.

Sometimes, when I get up to pee at night and probably wake you up, you give me a little tap, tap just to say hi.

The other day, you were tap dancing on my cervix, probably because you thought it was funny.  It was not.  Ouch.

It’s gotten to the point where your little drumstick limbs are strong enough that most of your kicks and punches can be seen from the outside.  This means that your uterine cage fighting often upstages the TV, which is pretty impressive.  I mean, the other day I was minding my own business, trying to watch Derek Hough’s abs Dancing With The Stars, and I actually paused the TV several times just to stare at my belly.  It was amazing.  YOU are amazing.  You already make me feel guilty for doing cardio while I am stuffing my face with Cherry Garcia.  Jerk.

Today, for reasons unknown, you scrunched your entire self over into the right side of my uterus.  Why?!  Why would you do such a thing?  Was it on a dare?  Because I don’t see how that could be comfortable in the slightest; it certainly wasn’t for me.  It looked like my belly was made of clay and that I had fallen down on my left side, causing the clay to squish in on the left and out at a freakishly bulbous angle on the right.  It took several jabs from me to get your cute little baby ass to move back into a more respectable position.  If you were playing sardines, I hope you won, cuz bravo, Little Duck, bravo.  After you’ve broken out and I can’t find you, I’ll remember to look in compact spaces.

Be warned that my abdominal area is prime real estate.  Later on today the cat requested napping space adjacent to your ever-expanding lofted apartment, and things must have gotten a little tense.  I guess I’m going to have to teach you to share a little sooner than I thought, because you ended up kicking the cat several times in the face.  Bless my furry love child, for she either didn’t notice, or didn’t care enough to give up the comfort that is my lap.  I kinda wanted her to notice, though, because that shit was hilarious.  I hope this is an indication that you two will become fast friends who occasionally breakdance fight each other.

I’m so excited, Little Duck.  I can’t wait to meet you, for reals.

I can’t wait to see what kind of person you become, and what kind of parent you make me be.

But so far, I know that you have a wicked sense of humor, which is good.  You’re going to need it.