Chapter 22: Life's a Beach

I have this thing for camping.  I really, REALLY like it.  In fact, I kind of glorify it.  But like childbirth, I’ve forgotten the not-so-pleasant parts and only remember the glowing ones.  I feel the same way about beaches.  So I thought there would be no better way to celebrate my birthday and Easter than with the ones I love, doing what I love, in a place that I love.  It would be our first Family Campout!  I imagined running slow motion, holding hands, splashing into the waves.  I daydreamed about watching the sun melt over the gulf while the campfire cracked.  And laughing.  Lots of laughing.

It took a full day to pack and prep, and another day to drive.  By the time we actually arrived to Padre Island National Seashore, our car and our nerves were about to burst.  The anticipation had been killing us.  Everything was exciting:  “Look a seagull!”  “Wow, the smell of salt water!”  “Kids, isn’t this FUN?!!”

We scoffed at the “4-wheel drive only” sign, changed the suspension’s setting to Sand, and plowed through the tire tracks looking for the perfect place to pitch our tent. 

I use the word “pitch” very loosely.  Because in our inexperience, we hadn’t accounted for the hurricane-like-gusts that Never. Died. Down.  It was like trying to drape a table cloth in a wind tunnel.  The only things not whipping violently were the items we threw in the tent or left in the car.  This, of course, also posed a problem for the campfire.  Chris spent  hours trying to dig a hole deep enough to block the wind – and even then it was more meowing than roaring. 

It was hard not to be disappointed.  This was not how I imagined it!  I hadn’t planned on the seaweed drifts, rotting and squishy.  Or the layer of dampness on every square inch of fabric.  Or trying to fall asleep to the pounding of the waves. 

But I also hadn’t prepared for the sunrise.  Or the floating feeling of peace.

We woke up Easter morning groggy, hair-matted, wind-beaten.  And worn out.  The kids smashed confetti-filled cascarones on each other’s heads and then Chris waded out with them, helping them high-jump over the waves.

I was overwhelmed with emotion.  I had been so focused on wanting the Hollywood version that I had forgotten about the Here-and-Now version.  The messy, raw, and beautiful version.

Weeks after we returned, I would still find grains of sand.  I would roll my eyes.  Then smile. And laugh. 

Chapter 21: Believe Me

It feels cliché to even say it, but our Disney cruise vacation was once-in-a-lifetime.  (And no, I’m not being compensated for writing this).  Our family had been planning the trip for years.  It was going to be the biggest excursion we had ever attempted: 10 adults and 8 kids flying into Miami to join other crazed cruise-goers on a floating resort.

The thing is, when doing anything Disney, you have to live by the mantra “if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.”  This is not the place to show any restraint.  This is one of the few places where dressing like a pirate is not only allowed, but encouraged.  As well as joining other strangers in a conga line after dinner.  And ordering two entrees just because you can.

We indulged in everything offered: food, entertainment, service.  We never lifted a finger.  Never chipped a nail.  It was pure vacation.

I realized something though.  The reason the Disney Empire has survived is because it gives people something to believe in.  The stories that sell are those of triumph.  The character is an outcast or the family is broken.  The pain is ruggedly real.  But, the conflict is always resolved; the good guy always wins!  And we see ourselves in the stories.  Maybe I’m being oversentimental, but for one week, we got to experience the magic of Disney.  We got to escape from the trials of daily life and given something with wings.  We left the stress and burdens and drama back on shore.  We got a glimpse of hope.

There’s this line from the movie Failure to Launch where Matthew McConaughey says something about “You don’t love boats.  You love the idea of a boat. But the reality of it is, they’re just a drain on your time, wallet, and emotions.”   I’m pretty sure he was talking about more than just a boat.  But, I’ve always loved that line.  I think a lot of people love things because they love the idea of that thing.  Like Disney, they stand for something bigger and more beautiful.  And maybe that’s the point.  Maybe we could all use a little more belief in our lives.

Chapter 20: Together

I’ve pinched myself a lot this year. I’ll be tucking the kids into bed and be interrupted by Chris’s stomping and “Fee Fi Fo Fumming.” The kids shrieking/giggling. Or I’ll sleepwalk downstairs in the morning to the dreamy smell of rich coffee and see him whisking eggs as only a drummer could: quick and on tempo.

It’s almost surreal to be on the same schedule this year after seasons of being opposite. It feels normal and comfortable and right. We’re no longer single parents sharing an address. We are a family – in the most beautifully messy way.

So by the time Thanksgiving came around, the comparisons between the previous year and this year were startling. Last year, Chris was off for the 24 hours of Thanksgiving Day. It was formulaic and forced. We ate dinner at 10 PM, exhausted, thankful that we didn’t kill each other in the process.

But this year, oh, this year! We had five days off. Together. My parents came down to join us and we escaped to a lake house where we were wonderfully, eerily, alone. Chris morphed into Jacques Pépin as he orchestrated culinary arrangements that were like none other. We ate and ate and then ate some more. There was no agenda. No rushing off to something. No distractions. It was what vacation is supposed to be: a chance to vacate the normalcy and routine.

Looking back at the loneliness of the previous year, I am so grateful for what it taught me. I will never take for granted the simplicity of being with those you love. And I realize the best gift you can give anyone, is the gift of time.

Chapter 19: Last Words

We all thought he was dying. The evidence was piling up: weight loss, excessive sleeping, Hospice nurses, and family phone calls. With summer ending along with our availability, we booked a flight to Orlando to say goodbye to my granddad. Once there, we sat around his and Nancy’s living room eating care-calendar meals of casseroles and lasagnas. My cousin, Will, took lots of photos. My dad gave an emotional farewell speech. We broke out singing a few broken hymns. Tear sliding, camera rolling.

I had worked on an “I Remember” poem while we were there and minutes before we drove back to the airport, I asked Nancy if I could share it with him. I tiptoed back to their bedroom and by the yellow glow of the lamp, I read. Poem in one hand, his frail hand in the other. I don’t think he was cognizant of the moment as he drifted in and out. But I was fully aware of my purpose: I wanted him to know that he mattered. His life, his being, his very essence had imprinted on mine. Part of his blood and lots of his stories flowed through my veins.

It felt so cathartic to have closure because so often in life we don’t. Before I left, I told him “In case I don’t see you again, I want you to know that I love you.” And he replied in his dark coffee voice, “You will. You will.”

Of course, he was right. Maybe it was the new dentures, or the medicine. Most likely, it was his will. But Granddad did make a turn-around. A month later, we were together in Kansas City for a family reunion – his kids teasing him that the next time he thinks he’s dying, to actually go through with it.

But the truth is, we are all dying. And what a beautiful reminder to treat each encounter as if it was our last. To say the words we need to say, to show the love we feel underneath. I don’t know about you, but I would rather share my heart in person rather than in a eulogy.

Just in case.

Chapter 18: Lots of Locks

Perhaps I was being a wee bit dramatic. Duke probably won’t even remember it, but I feared that someday he would be in therapy, sobbing over gender identity and trying to forgive his mother. The comments started sporadically, but soon spread like poison ivy as more and more strangers confused him for a girl. Sometimes it was awkwardly uncomfortable. Other times, downright funny. Like the gentle-eyed woman in the produce aisle who sweetly chirped, “What’s her name?” and I curtly replied, “Duke.” She half-smiled, half-gasped and went to die a slow and painful death of foot-in-mouth disease by the lettuce.

If it had been up to his father, Duke would have grown up looking like a Hansen brother. But I was done with it. The day we were at a lake party and a grandmotherly-type cooed “your girls are so cute!” (Eloise in a bikini and Duke, shirtless, in blue swim trunks), I knew. It was time to make an appointment at the barbershop.

The day of, Duke was a pro. He sat statue-like while his blonde baby curls went fluttering to the floor. We got photos and a certificate and a ziplock of his locks.

What I didn’t anticipate though was the resulting, er, trauma. That afternoon, Duke had trouble going to sleep. I sneaked upstairs to see what the problem was and found him sitting on his bed, holding my mirror. Staring.

It looks like my fear of Duke landing in therapy may still come true. This time it will be identity confusion. And naturally, he’ll blame his mother.

Chapter 17: Queen of the Hill

I think the reason women believe that having boys is easier than girls is that they know a kingdom is only big enough for one queen. And as soon as that queen’s power is threatened, well, it’s all over. The wars will rage on until one day the young royal establishes her own place to rule.

Eloise was born with the ability to reign. She manages to get us to bend to her ways without even realizing that we’re being coerced. So, I’m not really sure who came up with the “Queen Eloise” party theme, but I am sure she was enthralled. We danced (jumped) to hits by Queen and Prince. We decorated crowns. And we accented everything in pink.

The thing I’ll remember most though was not something on the agenda – at least not mine. While the adults were distracted inside, Eloise led the miniatures outside. For days, she had been talking about playing in this dirt “mountain” in the vacant lot. And that’s where we found her. There in her pink tutu skirt and glittery crown, she played. Her majesty. Filthy and giggling.

In that moment, I could not have loved her more. She was a perfect contradiction: a demure adventuress. She reminds me that life is too big to be put in a box. You plan a party. You choose a theme. You have matching everything. And then a giant pile of dirt beckons.

Chapter 16: There and Back Again

I’ve heard before that disappointment comes from unmet expectations. I agree completely. When Chris’s higher-paying job in Georgetown wasn’t what he expected, he decided to go back to Whole Foods. This decision dominoed into our budget and we were forced to give up the Georgetown house and move back to our Austin condo. Disappointment came knocking. All of the work it took moving, remodeling, and settling in was now utterly futile. We never expected to take a step back. I had imagined a different type of future. And yet, life is full of the Unexpected.

We teach our kids to Dream big!, Follow your heart!, and Reach for the stars! (pardon my cliche reflux). But, I think we should also teach them how to handle heartache and overcome obstacles and work through regrets. We tend to advertise our accomplishments (thanks be to you, oh mighty Facebook), yet much more of life is lived in the trenches. And it’s there that character is built.

Having the chance to “Go Back to Start, Do Not Pass Go” has been hard. But at least the game is not over. And this time, we have a better strategy.