I swear this is true...

Have you ever heard the "urban legend" of the baby on the car roof? Impossible, right?

Well, no.

It really happened.

I know because it was my brother on top of the car. Yes, really. His recent post reminded me of this fantastic-but-true family story. I remember this so clearly: remember the lady's expression on her face at the intersection when she rolled down her window and yelled in that shrill, emotion-filled high pitch (she was near tears) "There's a baby on top of your car!!!" (In my mind, she is the one who started the urban legend by telling every one of her 589 acquaintances a slightly different version of this harrowing experience.) I was only 3 or so but these things stick with you.

I need to clarify that my parents were--and are--great parents. This was just One Of Those Things where there were too many people loading into more than one car and everyone assumed someone else had the baby. Ironically, my husband's family (also wonderful parents) left his youngest sister at a rest area in the desert. Didn't notice her missing until the kids in the camper (they were separated from communicating with the parents in the cab of the truck) held up a sign to the back window of the truck that said, "Where's Debbie?" 30 minutes later. Brakes were screeched, hands were trembling, hearts were frantic, and they returned to the rest area where Debbie was eating an ice cream and sitting on the curb. Just waiting.

It's nice to have these things in common, don't you think? (Especially since everything turned out okay...)

I went to the woods....

I live about a mile from Walden Pond, Thoreau's famous nature retreat outside of Concord. I've adopted it as a favorite spot of my own; there's still a reverent, hushed quality to the pond and the trails surrounding it. Last summer we tried to hike around it at least once a week (at first it was the overly ambitious once a day--what was I thinking?) and, while our early enthusiasm wavered in late July, I think we made it probably ten times. I love the idea that Thoreau just decided, "I'm going to live here for now" and set up camp. I wonder what would happen if I did the same thing in the same spot today? Probably be kicked out before sundown, I would guess.

I completely believe in the restorative power of a good retreat. Stie's recent post from her lovely kids-free retreat (courtesy of a certain travelin' oma) reminded me of my great-grandma Brockbank (I've already posted about her here and here). She had nine daughters and, as you can imagine, her life was full of laughter and noise and laundry and teaching. Every once in a while (maybe yearly?) she would say "I'm going to live with the bears" and she would pack up and leave her daughters in good care with a relative (or with each other as they grew older) and check in to the Hotel Utah in Salt Lake City for a week.

She took a whole suitcase full of magazines with her (I really am her granddaughter in so many ways). From her journal: it was "my therapy. I could get a room for five dollars, and I read and slept and shopped and renewed myself for the next year...I'd sleep late, then out for a hearty breakfast, then didn't need to eat until dinner." Only a few select friends were invited to visit or lunch or shop with her and no one else was allowed to contact her, even in emergency. At the end of her stay, she would return to the house rejuvenated and restored and ready to go on mothering. And she sent the message, loud enough so I still hear it a couple of generations later, that it's okay to be good to yourself, no matter who you are or what you do.

Where would you go live with the bears?

p.s. My apologies if any of my few readers actually subscribe to this blog...I've edited and republished this one about five times!

Have you seen this girl?

5'4", blond wavy hair, contagious laugh, wandering the nation's capital with her 8th grade class. Possiblity of paralysis to the fingers, unable to dial the phone.

Apparently we forgot to tell L that part of the deal with leaving your parents for the first time is CALLING THEM to tell them you're okay. Luckily, we have heard reports from other parents that they are all fine and having a good time (wise folks who probably mentioned to their children the communication obligation that is the price of the trip) so we will not be initiating an Amber Alert just yet. Next time we'll attach a little Paddington-bear-like tag reading, "Please look after this girl. And remind her to call home now and then."

Or am I hovering a teeny bit too much?
[Edited later to say: she's home, safe and sound and chatty about the week's adventure :)]

Our own little Freaky Friday week

Didn't you love the original Freaky Friday, the one with Jodie Foster and the 70's guy with the frizzy hair as Boris (trivia: did you know he later played Jimmy in Superman)? I remember being captivated by the idea of my mom having to negotiate the social minefield of junior high, but I was sure that I could handle being a mom. How hard could it be, right?

Greg and I exchanged roles this week in a kind of spousal twist on Freaky Friday. Because I've been in all-day training related to my research work for school, he has played my usual roles: getting the kids up, practicing violin with M, launching them off to their day of school, dashing off until 3, then dashing back home and jumping into the afternoon of homework, more practicing, driving to lessons/sports, getting dinner, answering messages, and doing a bit of cleaning or laundry for good measure.

I'll admit it...I hoped that he would emerge with a glimmer of appreciation for my doings, but I thought I would welcome a few days doing his side of things...you know, the glamorous working life? I ended up feeling in awe of what he does every day. The early up and out the door. The long commute. The L O N G day of concentrating and paying attention and sitting still and being with adults. The sameness of it all. The tiresome commute back and THEN the pasting of a smile on my face to greet the rest of the family at home and the busy evening ahead. Whew.

We both felt jetlagged with the novelty of it all.

So, here's to getting a change of pace and realizing I like my own life just fine, thank you very much.

Ah, the smell of bus exhaust in the morning...

Dear Daughter L,
Tomorrow at 5 a.m. you are leaving on your first lengthy school field trip. Without me. While I hope you have a grand time this week in Washington, DC, I want to pause a moment in sheer disbelief that I have a daughter old enough to go somewhere without me for more than a day. Simultaneously, I am having panic flashbacks to the long orchestra and debate trips that I had when I was just a smidge older than you. Watch out for cute boys in the back of the bus, be leery of the restroom facilities in buses (and sitting near them is a definite don't), keep a wary eye out for practical jokes while you are sleeping on the bus. Try to absorb some knowledge about the nation's capital in the midst of the ever evolving and revolving social drama that is 8th grade. Please don't watch late night t.v. in the hotel room. Know that we love you AND that we know you will miss us even though you'd rather pluck out your eyelashes than admit it. Bon voyage and see you Friday!

*******

In other--but semi-related--news, my brother Chris has received his Peace Corps assignment to Mali. (My kids are especially excited that Timbuktu is in Mali.) Can't believe the Peace Corps thinks that my ten-year-old brother is old enough to do natural resource work for the Malian government until I remember he's actually 27. It's an I-feel-old day.