PROLOGUE: In the Weeds
Why am I so damn tired?
Didn’t we just spend twelve days in Maine? Rocky coastlines, buoys ringing gently in the salty breezes, slow tramps through deep piney woods? All of these things were there. And so were we…with the Frenchies. “The Frenchies” is what we sometimes call our two-toddler collective, otherwise known as Dave and Trin, as French is their last name, at least for the time being. And “the Frenchies” make a mockery of quiet bliss.
So picture this: I decide to drive to the store in Newport, about 10 miles down the road from Nancy’s mom in Corinna. David says he wants to go for a “silver car ride.” I ask, “Do you want to go to the store with me?” He says, quite clearly, “Yes.” So we get in the car. I start the engine and begin down the driveway. David starts to wail. “Momma!” “Do you want to stay here with momma?” I ask him. “Yes,” he says. I go back up the driveway, stop the car, and start to get out. “No! Silver car ride!” he yells. Do you want to go to the store with me or not?” I ask. “Silver car ride!” “OK,” I say. I get back in the car. Repeat. I have no idea what he wants and everything he says he wants is not quite what he REALLY wants. We’re at loggerheads.
It puts me in mind of another vacation episode, though not my own, from 1991. Nancy and I had jobs waiting tables at the Grant Village restaurant in Yellowstone. Sometime in August, a group of tourists from France came in, sat at my six-top, and proceeded to run me ragged. Every time I stopped by the table, one of them ordered something from the bar (they did this one at a time – they never ordered two drinks at the same time). For those of you who have waited tables, you know that going to the bar can really slow you down, put you “in the weeds” as they say. So, I went into the weeds very quickly with them. And then there were the multiple and unevenly spaced orders for appetizers, and so on. Now, I wasn’t the best waiter in the world, but I was really trying, and they were just killing me and telling rude jokes about me in French. Little did they know that my busser, Marc, was from France and was reporting back to me occasionally. Of course, I wasn’t worried about the fun they were making of me. I was worried about them stiffing me on the tip. I even had Marc go over and try to explain to them that I was doing everything I could. To no avail. Their bill came to $106 and my tip came to $0. I was defeated. Marc came up to me, put his arms around my shoulder and said, “Sometimes, Jonathan, the French can be a real bitch.”
PART 1: You may NOT move about the cabin.
The good news is that we didn’t have to bail out over Amish country. And, in fact, the flights to Maine were surprisingly uneventful thanks to the US Airways folks, from the curbside check-in clerk who took care of our incredibly heavy and cumbersome bags, to the flight attendants who entertained Trinity from Indianapolis to Philadelphia, right down to our fellow passengers who maintained patient good humor throughout, and the kids who slept from Philadelphia to Portland.
The flights back to Indiana were another story.
Our first leg was from Portland to Detroit and the flight was scheduled to leave at 6:00 am. Nancy and I arose at 4:00 am in the darkness of our digs at the Embassy Suites near the airport and got dressed. I took the luggage downstairs, and then we went in to get the kids. For some reason, we thought that the early hour would mean that they would continue to sleep even after we packed them in the car and did the airport check-in routine. It seems that one side effect of sleep deprivation and deep fatigue is acute optimism. The kids woke up in their usual manners: David slowly and somewhat stormily easing into consciousness, Trinity giggling and bouncing, ready to rumble.
We also thought that the early hour and smallish city would mean a relatively quiet airport. No such luck on either account. The line at the Northwest Airlines counter was long and awkward thanks to a small flight of steps far too close to the kiosks, and a soldier en route to Okinawa who didn’t know what happened to all his paperwork and thus held up the line for far too long. (By the way, does it worry anybody else that a young man in the military would be so careless about his paperwork for international travel?). Once we finally got our boarding passes (at 5:15), we scurried up to security (with me starting to sport a caffeine-deprived ‘tude about incompetence, etc.) and were met with a line that I can only describe as Space Mountain-like in its length. “We’re not getting on this flight,” I said, ever so helpfully. But thanks to a crackerjack crew in security, the line flew and we boarded our very full flight at 5:52.
And then Dave decided that flying was for chumps and began to chant “Airplane. NO!” We tried Play-Dough and that worked for a time, but then he truly broke down. The WMDs came out: kicking, hitting, hair-pulling, biting. The boy was exhausted and confined – a dangerous combination if ever there was one. The fit was atomic. After walking him up and down the aisle for several minutes he finally fell asleep (as did Trin) for the last 20 minutes of the flight. Nancy has bruises on her arms, and the cabin of the plane is probably still spotted with blue Play-Dough.
On the second leg, from Detroit to Indianapolis, David found a friend in the seat behind him and played happily the whole time. Trinity, on the other hand, turned into a combination of Jackie Chan and a cornered badger: flipping, shoving, jumping, kicking, biting, yelling. I never knew that 23 pounds of baby would be so hard to hold (I’m seven times her weight after all) but the girl put me through the wringer. At one pint, she got under my seat as if she was carry-on luggage for the person behind me and was about as difficult to remove as a cat under a car seat upon arriving at the vet – dead weight clinging to the floor.
We finally landed, got off the plane, got coffee, got our luggage, got our car, and got the hell out of there.
I must add that one of the more enjoyable moments of the trip was the shuttle ride that David and I took to get the car out of long-term parking. We rode the “orange bus” and David held my hand the whole way.
PART 2: Hello Strangers
Our two brief stays in Portland before and after staying with Nancy’s mom in Corinna afforded us the opportunity to do two important things: introduce Dave and Trin to the ocean, and meet up with some old friends.
On Sunday morning we drove out to Two Lights State Park and crawled around on the rocks that lead down to the water. Dave was skeptical at first, but then took to it and didn’t want to stop. But we left Two Lights without incident and headed down to Crescent Beach to let the kids run around on the sand and stand in the water while the waves rolled in around their ankles. The sight of them stamping their feet in the water and laughing uproariously was worth the price of the trip. We got soaked with salt water, chased some sea gulls, explored some seaweed, and then returned to the car to change clothes and get ready for our next adventure.
We met Doug and Gretchen at a restaurant/bar called Three Dollar Dewey’s. I was once thrown out of Dewey’s back in the late 80s when a friend of mine decided to help herself to one of the beers in the fridge behind the bar. I have the feeling that Nicole, our waitress on this day in 2007, would have liked to oust me once again. It was fantastic to see D & G again and we were hoping that the kids would be their charming selves and let us catch up with our friends in the manner to which we’ve become accustomed: a nice cold beer and lively, intelligent conversation. Well, it was lively. But I can’t say that there was much conversation between David hurdling through the wait stations and Trinity throwing her entire lunch on the floor and trying to wash her hands in my water glass. Honestly, I don’t recall even eating my own lunch or what anyone else ordered for that matter. It was chaos. At one point, David was prostrate on the floor crying, at which point I gently reminded him that laying the floor in a bar and weeping is behavior reserved for the end of the evening, not mid-day. Doug and Gretchen were impossibly understanding and calm through it all, and made the very wise suggestion that perhaps we should go for a walk and continue our visit outside. We got the bill, paid up, and I apologized to Nicole who, clearly unaccustomed to the ways of toddlers, gave me a quiet, withering stare that said simply, “I don’t like you.” As D & G pointed out, she should just be thankful that we managed not to spill any liquid, despite David’s fascination with the mixing popcorn into Nancy’s water glass. In any case, our visit took a turn for the much improved while walking. Trin and Dave stayed in their respective strollers (Dave eventually fell asleep) and the four of us were able to actually have some conversation – not as much as I would have liked, but some anyway.
After a good long walk, we ran into two of Nancy’s friends, Greg and Ann, who had come up from New Hampshire to see us and meet the kids. We bid adieu to Doug and Gretchen (far too quickly for my liking) and continued on to Arabica Coffee with Greg and Ann. Dave continued to sleep for a while and Trinity got her groove back pressing her nose and mouth against the window next to our booth. Greg told us the story of one of his sculptures causing a stir and a call for censorship at Plymouth State’s faculty show. He showed us some pictures of the work and, as usual, it was very good and, unlike some of Greg’s other work, not very shocking (I see more offensive displays on the backs of pickup trucks every day). It’s really a shame to see our institutions of higher learning bowing to the whims of so-called “moral guardians.” To them I say, pshaw!
After our visit with Greg and Ann, the kids were done meeting new people and we returned to the hotel, had some dinner, and called it a day. The next day, we were on our way to grandma’s house bright and early.
PART 3: Nichols
Getting to Nancy’s mom’s house in Corinna gave us all a chance to slow down and relax a bit. Nancy’s mom thought that the kids might take a few days to warm up to her. But within the first few minutes, Trinity had asked to be picked up, wrapped her arms around Grandma Nichols and gave her one of her patented smooches on the cheek. Love at first sight! And David wasn’t far behind. After lunch on that first day, grandma went to take her customary afternoon nap. David started to get a little rowdy and we told him that he needed to be quiet because Grandma Nichols was sleeping. He obliged. After grandma got up and came out to the kitchen, David went into her room, pointed at her bed and said, “Nichols. Sleep.” From that moment on, she was known to him affectionately as “Nichols” (though sometimes “grandma” too). The upshot of this is that she likes it, and I now have something to call her after 17 years of simply avoiding any kind of formal address.
The kids fell in love with all the family members quite easily. There was Aunt Susie who has chickens that they could go see and feed. David even let Aunt Susie give him a bath. There was Uncle John (Susie’s husband) who let David ride his “orange tractor” and had a cool chainsaw and hydraulic wood splitter. There was Cousin Beth with her bicycle. There was Uncle Bob and Aunt Amy who had horses and a big back yard with a hose for them to play in and a fountain (not) to throw rocks in. There was Aunt Cathy and Uncle Paul who showed them all sorts of cool bouncy games and let them play in a big box (which IS endless fun!). We learned a lot about parenting from Nancy’s family, especially her mom who is the paragon of patience. While we spend too much time saying “No” when they are doing something they shouldn’t, or making quick and panicky moves to keep them from mortal danger (such as bread knives), Nancy’s mom moves at an even pace and speaks with an even tone. She just picks them up and redirects them to some other activity, or takes the sharp implement out of their hands and says, “Thank you.” All without incident. We’ve been trying to emulate her at home and it has produced some good results so far.
Outside of the house, there were also all sorts of things to see and do on the farm. There were, of course, the chickens, which had to be fed their raisins every day, sometimes twice – maybe three times – a day. There were the blue tractors up on the hill just begging to be touched. There was the cornfield that we tramped through to get to the blue tractors, and the mud puddle that David fell in (much to his delight, believe it or not) right next to the blue tractors. And then there was grandma’s tractor
that got a whole lot of “riding,” and a dirt road on which to run (and sometimes fall and get very impressive scraped knees). There were birds and squirrels and even two raccoons in the bird feeders just outside the windows every day. And there was even a wild thunderstorm that produced nearly golf ball-sized hail.
Unfortunately, I think we may have witnessed the birth of a phobia for Trin during the thunderstorm. In the midst of it all, I was playing with David on my lap while Trin sat next to me looking out the window. The storm was right over us and there was a lighting strike probably no more than a quarter mile or so away. David flinched a little, but I made a funny face at him and he laughed. Trin was totally quiet for a couple of minutes, but then got off the couch rather hastily and crawled into Nichols’s lap and just stayed there looking terrified for about a half hour. When I took her to get ready for bed, she let me do the whole greasing up/hydrocortisone routine without any struggle whatsoever (not normal). She went to sleep easily enough, but once the storm started up again at about midnight, I found her lying awake in her crib watching the bright flashes, seemingly frozen with fear. Poor little thing. We’ll see how it goes the next time we have a big one here in Terre Haute.
All in all, it was a great visit and very hard to leave. It was a relief to see how easily Dave and Trin took to everyone, especially Nichols who is probably glad to have some peace and quiet again.
EPILOGUE: Hello Strangers Redux
Our return to Portland allowed us to meet up with our oldest Maine friends, Todd and Gigi, who now live in Lowell, MA. Given the short amount of time we had that day, we decided to just meet at the hotel and order pizza. They brought the kids two fantastic stuffed animals: an elephant for Trin named “Winks,” and a dog for Dave that we named “Herbert” but he dubbed “Ross” (because Trin has a dog named “Ross”). We decided to name it “Herbert Ross” and now Dave is the proud owner of perhaps the only stuffed animal in the world named for the director of “The Goodbye Girl” (not to mention “Footloose”!). Once again, it was hard to have much more than child-based conversation, as Dave and Trin flew about the room eating (and dropping) raisins, tearing up bits of wrapping paper, and pushing the buttons of the air conditioning unit.
But who needs adult conversation when Dave is there to sing his ABCs to you (which he can do!) and perform his amazing ability to recognize any and all numbers up to and including ten? It was like he knew he was in a room full of professors and was reciting his lessons for the day. And who can really feel all that exhausted and fed-up when Trin crawls into a friend’s lap, rubs and then kisses his closely shaved head? Nobody. Not me. Not Nancy. Not even Nicole, I bet.
Yes, the French can be a real bitch sometimes. But they can also charm the pants right off you.
