It's The Only Way To Fly

Travelin' Light...as the song says, is something I have always aspired to, but rarely succeeded. Until now. For THIS trip, I promised myself before I even found out that Delta now charges 25.00 per bag it would be carry-on only. This is hard for me, because I like choices. Lots of them. But I was not going to ever experience again the exhaustion of 11 hours in the air, coupled with 2-3 hours in an airport, and stagger off the plane only to wait again by the baggage carousel. The last time we came, my suitcase was the very last piece of luggage off; we were ready to report it as lost when finally, forlornly, it appeared. Never again, I promised. And this time, I succeeded. 2 tiny bags. One for Flipper, one for me. A large pocketbook, a small backpack with art supplies, two books and two silkies. Nothing else. The laptop cushioned in the rolling bag. Getting off the plane and walking straight outside to a waiting car made it all worthwhile. But what about toys? I get this question a fair amount when I mention our stripped-down plans. I learned, the hard way, how utterly useless toys are to travel with, and I also learned how very successful Flipper is at making something from nothing. Last time we found a stray coconut by the roadside as we drove back from the grocery store, which is more difficult than you might imagine in Hawaii. You see, they are all chopped down as soon as they get large and heavy because, believe it or not, a conk on the bean with a coconut can be fatal. Just ask Keith Richards!! At any rate, the coconut came back to the condo with us and was quickly christened "Stick". Stick became a sort of de facto doll, and engaged her happily for many hours. This time we have found no Stick, but have gathered 6 baby coconut, each the size of an egg. they are, as you can imagine, Stick's babies. Right now they are lined up outside, awaiting a bucket-ride to the beach. I will say that the art supplies are essential. Flipper has spent hours drawing, coloring, cutting and gluing. But that's it. Flipper's preschool teacher once mentioned to me that young children can be completely happy and satisfied with two things (neither one toys): sand and water. I didn't believe her then...and I kept buying special toys, all wooden and organically painted, etc. etc. But I believe her now. And we are still avidly watching gutters and roadsides for Stick Jr., or a mother to the nameless baby coconuts. Until then, sand and sea, sea and sand. Tomorrow we go to another island, to Hanalei Bay, where Kathryn and I will make multiple bad jokes about poor old Puff the Magic Dragon, jokes that will go-blessedly-right over Flipper's innocent little head.

Memories (hopefully)

I read a blog written by a father that debated whether or not to travel with his very young daughter. Readers weighed in (of course), with many definitively saying NO, DON'T DO IT!! And while traveling with small children and babies is a bit taxing, their rationale was surprising to me. Why take you daughter along to Paris, they wondered. She won't remember it. I have to tell you, this surprised me. Little kids don't remember Christmas or their birthdays, but we certainly have no problem orchestrating the whole shebang, do we? I mean, is travel really about remembering it? How can you? I can barely remember what day it is, let alone the name of some tiny beach and the endangered bird that lives on it. Now, granted, I take Flipper everywhere with me, but that is mostly because, well, it is usually just the two of us, and I also take her everywhere because I turned into a freaky ultra-attached parent that had stomach pains and a pounding heart when we weren't together for the first year or two of her life. Now that she's five, I can, of course, go for an entire day without her-and sometimes gladly at that- but a week? My "vacation" would be just one long worry-fest. When I was 15 months old (and still not walking) my parents went to Europe for a MONTH with my grandparents and left me with their neighbors. I walked for the first time while I was there. They had no qualms-and still don't-about taking off for Europe for an extended period of time. Mind you, this was the late 60's, no cell phones, ultra-pricey regular phones, and when I asked if they called to check on me, my mother looked at me as though I were insane. "Do you have any idea what that would have cost??" So while I sit on our new favorite beach here, nodding off and letting Flipper bury me under pounds of sand, I can indeed imagine being here by myself, all alone, with no one else to feed, or put to bed on time, or deny tacky souvenirs. But then I look at her and think, It's vanishing. Soon she will be sneaking off to put on some inappropriate slutty bikini and make cow-eyes at inappropriate boys, and beg to go off on her own and roll her eyes at my desire to turn little hikes and adventures into An Educational Experience, and, well, until then...she's coming with me. And who knows what her memories will be? Even if she has no concrete memories of this-or any-trip, what I really hope she gains is a fascination of people, places, things, history. Enjoy just being somewhere else, regardless of whether or not there is a pool and cable TV. Yesterday we went upcountry towards Haiku and Makawao so Kathryn could take part in a long yoga class. Flipper and I had a few hours to kill, and so we went to a playground so she could be with her own kind. Children, not humans, that is. This playground is incredible, huge turrets and climbing structures and slides, all with an ocean theme of wood and tile. I was hoping she would make some friends, but she seemed to really enjoy playing on her own, around-not with-other little girls and boys. I sat on a bench and read a book and watched her. The children are beautiful, all long long hair on the girls, dark skin, dark eyes, flip flops on every foot. Flipper was the only haole, something she is too young to notice. Maybe the playground will sink into her memory bank, a bank that is getting deposits every minute. My memory bank, however, is making withdrawals, and not necessarily getting the payments back. Too crowded. It will be fascinating, as she ages, to see and hear what she remembers about this-and other-trips. I hope her memories are good, and I hope she keeps on exploring the playgrounds of her world no matter how old she gets.

6000 Miles and a world away

Hello from the Valley Isle!!

We are 6000 miles away from the hideous heat and humidity of Chapel Hill, having survived the lloooonnnggg plane flight(s) from RDU to Kahului. Ironically, it gets harder to fly with Flipper as she ages, not easier. Or, my memory of the past 3 flights out here has become very selective indeed. She is less inclined to want to sit still for 9 or 10 hours, can you imagine? And more vocal about her displeasure, i.e. whining. But endless crayoned rainbows later, multiple snacks with two bites taken out, and a repeat of a violent movie later...we made it. My sister picked us up and we spent the first night at the Ritz Carlton. And so I have a new dream job; I think the Ritz should send me to all of their resorts and let me check in as an anonymous guest and report to them any annoyances I find. Which, being the Ritz, would be very few indeed. Room service. Great beds. Comfy white robes. Gorgeous grounds. Triple infinity pool...I could go on, but I won't. The resort looks out to the ocean, and is set back from the cliffs several hundred yards. When they initially broke ground, it was as close to the water as they could get, but the discovery of thousands of bones from an ancient burial site necessitated the shift back, and now the site is protected, with small informational signs posted. Now it is early morning,and the sun is slowly coming up, coffee is brewing, and grocery lists are being written. I try not to think too hard about the BILL at the grocery store...imagine 11 dollar frozen pizzas. Enough for today.

Memories of sleep. Or the lack of it.

I love to sleep. I mean, doesn't everyone? I had a boyfriend once that told my dad, when asked what he liked to do, answered, "Sleep." Needless to say, he was not a keeper. Back into the ocean with him!! So when I was asked at a meeting a few nights ago how many nights I was willing to go with poor sleep in order to get Flipper out of my bed and into her own, I paused. And had a total flashback, one NOT generated by wandering the halls of Grateful Dead concerts in my impetuous youth, a time period that lasted oh, about 15 years. or, more specifically, until I became "with child," as they said in kinder, gentler times. Anyway, THIS particular flashback was images of her screaming and me also screaming, of a baby that was waking up 8-10 times a night when she was 9 months old. Of a mother (and father) that simply could not stomach any kind of "cry it out" training methods, and so tried to endure life on broken sleep. Jagged-edge broken sleep. Clumsy daytime-life broken sleep. There are a few parenting advice cliches that I loathe, and "Sleep when the baby sleeps" comes in at number 1. How nice that would be, I thought. As long as some sort of magical troupe of hardworking fairies and elves arrived just as she and I were comatose and did all the laundry, vacuuming, cooking, dishes... But magical cleaning fairies were not, in fact, thick on the ground during this grisly time. The person that mentioned "sleeping when the babies sleep" must have also coined the term "sleeping like a baby" because the brutal truth is that A LOT of babies DO NOT sleep very well. Or at all. I literally thought I was going to lose my mind, and understood very very clearly why sleep deprivation is a form of torture. Although perhaps not to Bush and Co. Then, finally, two months before she turned 3, she slept through the night. One would think the term "sleeping through the night" would need no definition, but apparently it does. The "official" definition of "sleeping through the night" is, I believe, 5 hours. MY definition, when asked this by a friend, is "until I feel like waking up." I kind of did think she would be out of my bed by now, but then I would have missed catching her babbling remarks while she sleeps, ones so amusing I laugh out loud, like this one: I don't want any more candy!! Some sort of Willy Wonka-Oompa Loompa nightmare, no doubt. And I would miss being able to feel her right there, all night long. One day, I know, she will indeed be out of my bed and into her own. So when asked how many nights of interrupted sleep I was willing to endure, I looked him in the eye and said, "None."

For once, sleeping like a baby.