Total Eclipse of My Plans

Emmie starts kindergarten in TWO DAYS.

I'm not freaking out or anything; I just couldn't sleep last night. 

Don't tell her that.

We've been trying to put on a brave front for Emmie, who's nervous about starting a new school in a new town. Well, actually, it's an old school in an old town, but not really to her.

You see, we did decide to move into my parents' house in Bruce's and my hometown, the same town we lived in when Emmie was a baby and we were living with my in-laws. (Try to wrap your brain around that one!) Now we're moving back, and Emmie will be attending kindergarten where I once went. My parents moved us to the town before fourth grade, and I started there the year the school opened - nearly - can this be true? - 30 years ago. Fun fact: I sang a solo of "My Favorite Things" at the dedication ceremony. Now my kid is going there.

Since getting back from San Diego (which was awesome, by the way), we've been taking the necessary steps to enroll Emmie. Bruce switched the gas bill at my parents' house into his name. He got a driver's license with my childhood home's address on it, which is really weird for me to see. I made the calls to the school secretary, filled out all the paperwork, took the kids a couple times down to the school office, and arranged everything. I also had to tell the school here in our current town she would no longer be attending.

We've also been slowly getting the house ready for sale. I try to do a little task each day, box up some books or tidy up a closet, but it's so hard to do with the kids around. Especially Hannah. Every time I get one part of the house clean, she goes right behind me and has her toddler way with it. Little hand prints on stainless steel, toys strewn about, crayon on the walls. It's maddening, but she's so cute she gets away with it.

How are we ever going to get this all done? This is on top of my work; I still have the two writing groups, the house museum, and an upcoming online class to prepare. Insert wailing-face emoji here.

Starting Wednesday, we will be driving Emmie to school, 40 minutes away. She goes from 8:40 to 11:15 a.m., which means on the days Bruce has a meeting and can't take her, Hannah and I will, and there isn't enough time to come back home and work on anything. Bruce's father has generously offered to pick up Emmie on Tuesdays and Thursdays, which helps out some, but I can't squash the rising tide of panic welling up in my throat. I feel completely overwhelmed.

We'll get through it, I tell myself. We've gone through plenty of chaos before. At this point, it will be such a relief to sell the house and be all moved in to my parents'. We just have to get it done.

Today is Emmie's school orientation. We are scheduled to arrive at 2 o'clock. Bruce has to go into the office this morning, so he will meet us there. However, there's a damn eclipse happening right in the middle of the day! Normally, I would be so excited. Originally I planned to take the girls to a viewing party. But like many plans I made for this summer, like working on my novel, practicing the art of wood burning, and getting some poems published, they have fallen by the wayside of motherhood, home ownership, and general adult responsibility. Now I have to get the kids over to my folks' house early this morning so we aren't driving when the moon overpowers the sun, potentially burning our eyes out and sending the world into partial darkness.

My plans, you could say, have been eclipsed.

Going Somewhere

Tomorrow I'm doing something I haven't done in over ten years.

I'm going to get on an airplane and fly away. 

By myself.

For many people, this isn't anything to take note of. Many people fly for work, to visit family, and take vacations without their spouses and families. Bruce even went on a short work trip to Tulsa, Oklahoma recently. (It was as glamorous as you'd imagine.) I, however, have not done so since I was single.

I'm pretty nervous.

If you asked me, and I'll pretend you did, I would tell you that I've flown my whole life. Some of my fondest memories are of being little, in my footie pajamas, being woken up by my parents in the middle of the night, to get dressed all sleepy-eyed and drive to the airport. There we would be greeted by familiar and unknown Thai relatives, who would wait with us in the terminal (you could do that back then, kids!), until it was finally time to board the plane and undertake the nearly-twenty-four-hour journey to Thailand. My brother and I were in awe of the double-decker planes (that was a thing, too). Sometimes the pilot would give us wings or a miniature plane (made of metal, not plastic). We usually flew an Asian airline, and the kid's meal was always exotic and served in a cute cartoon tray, like Hello Kitty. Flying, as a kid, was super exciting.

My parents were great about travelling. Besides Thailand, they would take us on long road trips across the U.S. and Canada. Sometimes we would fly other places, too, like the time I begged to go to Cancun, Mexico. I credit my love of travelling to them. I'm so happy they instilled in me the desire to discover new places and culture.

As I got older, I got the wanderlust. Hard. I was Belle on the cliff's edge, twirling and singing, "I want much more than this provincial life." I remember driving to the airport just to watch the planes taking off.

In college, the English department offered a credit course for a week in London to study theatre. I think about that now, and I marvel at how cool that was. We witnessed famous actors in famous roles (including Alan Rickman in Private Lives), toured Shakespeare's Globe, and had plenty of opportunities for sightseeing. That was the first time I flew without my parents.

In 2002, I met a German guy with whom I'd end up in a long-distance relationship. I applied to do my graduate studies nearby in the Netherlands, was accepted, and off I went. Thus began a few years' time when I would fly by myself, back and forth between Europe and the U.S., as well as on budget carriers to other European countries for short trips. Back then I liked to think of myself as something of a jetsetter.

That guy and I broke up, I graduated, my permanent Dutch residence status expired, and my dreams of living abroad came to a devastating end. But I believe everything happens for a reason, and it was when I moved back home that Bruce and I got together. We moved to Chicago, another dream I've had since childhood.

That was when I got robbed, and everything changed for me.

Gone was the fearless, independent adventure girl. Paranoia took her place. Bruce and I only flew a handful of times. Those times are marred in my mind by the fears I had - I didn't want to walk anywhere, especially at night; I worried about break-ins wherever I was. The flight home from our honeymoon in Italy was the worst, one long panic attack. I wasn't the same. My wanderlust wasn't just put on the backburner, it was left to grow cold. 

I've only flown a couple times since. Once was a short trip to New York City, when I was pregnant, and once again with Bruce and Emmie to San Diego for my friend's wedding. Prior to the latter trip, I went to counseling to get a grip on my fears. My doctor prescribed me something to take for the flight. That was four years ago.

I've been working on getting back to "me" since having Hannah. I'm pursuing my writing goals. I'm trying to make fitness more of a priority. And, thanks to various factors, my wanderlust is back in action. Later this year we're taking a huge trip with Bruce's family to Barcelona and Sicily. I'm obsessed with it, doing much of the group planning. I feel like myself again, excited about travel. But there is this growly feeling in my gut that asks, what if you can't handle it? Can you stay calm for an overnight, overseas trip with the kids? And the ever-present question a person with anxiety faces: what if something bad happens?

I feel shaky even typing it.

*walks away from computer to feed the kids breakfast*

Good thing I took a break from writing. I was started to revive those old feelings, the ones that presume if I think something bad, it could manifest and actually happen. That is a dark, misguided tunnel to go down.

I had breakfast with the girls and read the newspaper to clear my head. Then I got a text from my bestie in San Diego, whom I am going to visit TOMORROW! That's right; that's the whole point of this blog post.

My friend Lorelei, who lives in San Diego, had a new baby in March. I've been yearning to meet that adorable little guy every day. With the big trip coming up, we couldn't afford to go out to California as a family. So Bruce started encouraging me to go alone. He knows how important it is to me. But noooo, I couldn't leave the family, especially the baby! That would be blasphemous! Plus, I had an undercurrent fear of flying.

A month or two ago I had a playdate with another friend who has twins the same age as Hannah, and she told me that she went on a trip to South Carolina without her husband or kids. I was shocked. "What was that like?" I asked, mouth open.

"I bawled my eyes out on takeoff," she admitted. "The flight attendant had to comfort me. But it was the best decision I could have made, and I came home refreshed and better for my family."

Wow.

So I booked my flight. I'm going Friday through Sunday, 48 hours exactly between landing and takeoff. I got new luggage, a new journal (that says Wanderlust on it), a new book to read, and a pedicure. Bruce and the kids will have a nice time bonding, and I'll get away for a bit. I'm hoping to find some of the old me on this trip, or rather, work on building a stronger, more confident me. Let's do this.

The text from Lorelei was to tell me she has a nanny for her older son when she picks me up, so "we can go somewhere. Anywhere."

That sounds pretty good to me.