Hitting the Wall

When Scott got home from New York in June, he was depressed.  He had spent five magical days with Golda and Ruby in the greatest city on earth, eating the best food there is, shopping in the coolest atmosphere you can imagine, seeing the sights, laughing, bonding, doing all the fun things he knew they would love.

And then it was over, and he had to put them on a plane bound for Iceland and beyond, while he traveled in the opposite direction, home to his regular life.  Did I tell you about his meltdown?  For two days, he couldn't stop breaking into tears at the littlest provocation.  One evening, I came home and he was sobbing like a baby.  Blubbering, really.  He was in agony over the fact that the trip he planned for months was over, and that he would never again have that time with Golda and Ruby at those ages.  That magic time was gone, and they were off on their own.  Not only had the New York trip seemed to be under a spell of perfection, but now his girls didn't even need him.  It was a brutal reentry.  From experience, Scott knew that after our big summer, there would come a day when I hit the wall.

That day was yesterday.

I was morose going into the school year, sad, mad, but I was holding it together.  I was certainly not going to fall apart just because my kids were starting school.

Fast forward to ten o'clock the first morning of the kids being in school.  I'm sprawled out on a chair in my new, grey bedroom, clutching a Mount Rushmore parking pass and bawling.  This is me, not falling apart, I thought miserably as tears coursed down my face.

I had cleaned out the car and found vestiges of the road trip, including the parking pass.  Noticing that it said "Annual Pass" sparked something in me.  I felt like we could, and should, get in the car and go back there.  It's only a ten-hour drive.  I snapped.  I was like a wild raccoon caught in a cage, clawing at anything he can reach beyond the bars of the cage, trying desperately to find a way back to the place where he was free.  At that moment, Scott called to see how I was.  He reassured me that we could go on another trip, and I perked up.

It was a day of extremes, because "perking up" soon translated into a lengthy discussion about travel options, a decision to drive to the nearest Pacific Coast beach, and a reservation for two nights this weekend at the Costa Mesa Marriott.  That's right, Scott stood by loyally and patiently while I planned and packed for a weekend trip to the beach.  Which would be a reasonable idea if we didn't live 10 hours away from the beach.  But what's a ten-hour drive, right?  It's nothing.

I still think it's a good idea to spend the weekend at Newport Beach, and it drives me crazy to know that we COULD do it and we're not, but I concede that our resources could be better spent another time.  We did go to Malibu for the weekend one time, you know, with three kids, five minutes' notice and 8 months pregnant, and we all know darn well that it was a fun trip.  So based on empirical evidence,  Scott knew that if he put his foot down on my beach plan, I would be on my way there right now.  I'm in awe at just how well he navigated my little rift in reality.  If you ever need to talk someone off a ledge, Scott is your man.

Going into the second day of school, I am almost just as miserable as the first day.  Almost.  But I'm here, and I'm happy to be here, and I probably won't get in my car and go to Mount Rushmore later today, but only because it was smaller than I thought it would be.  Not because I couldn't go if I wanted to.