My Vacation From Vacation

Posted by c jane/Courtney K. | February 28, 2007 | 13 Comments

It is late on Tuesday night. I leave Arizona, the residence of my sister, her four children (and husband included!) tomorrow for Utah. I’ve been here for five days and this is my report:

“…breakfast.”

And that is when I open my eyes, dazed, confused (scratch “confused” too over-used, movie title-ish) and tired.

“We’re having breakfast” Claire says again, doll faced, concerned that sleeping past 7:bleeping35 a.m. is just too wasteful. Why would any human being in his/her right mind sleep a second too long when a whole wide day awaits for exploration? This is incomprehensible and utterly unacceptable when you are five years old.

I get up. Slow.ly.

“Hi Courtfee” says Ollie (2 busy years old). Ollie thinks that if he gets the first half of my name out of his little toddler mouth he can pretty much fudge the rest it. Courtliegh. Courtguee. Courtmmmmarshmellow. He has a pacifier in his mouth. His hair is a fluff of sandy brown. Could I love the kid anymore?

I would change is pants for a living. I need a living these days.

Cartoons are in my earshot. I stumble my way outside to sit in the sunshine. Two girls follow me out.

“We are going to ride our scooters for you to watch.” Announces Claire.

Jane is tapping my knee, “And betend (“pretend” in Janeneese) that my name is Blueberry Strawberry.” She glides off, one legged, on the pink razor. “And…” she adds over her shoulder “my middle name is Rainbow.”

“You look lovely riding that scooter Blueberry Strawberry Rainbow!” I say in a scratchy voice. Hoping I got all that correct.

Steph comes out holding the baby. She’s 25. I am 29. What is this 25 year old little sister-let me reiterate-25 year old LITTLE sister doing with four children? Stephanie=4. Me=0. But the thought doesn’t swell because she bounce passes that baby into my arms and wonders outloud when a shower is going to be possible. Given the daily schedule, it looks like she might hit the showers sometime tomorrow. Or, at least, in the near-distant future. But strangely enough, she always looks fresh.

“Jimmy!” Jane is screaming at the dog. While arguing name corrections with Claire, Jimmy ate Jane’s toast (avec honey) right out of her hands. Oh the injustice!

Crying ensues.

And ensues.

And while I am holding the baby I feel something warm on my hands coming through the duck-encoded onesie. Yeasty smelling. Color: yellow. “We have a code yellow.” I say to Stephanie.

Ollie finds his mother’s red lipstick. Stephanie has four gorgeous children, looks like a vintage pin-up and sports red lipstick to the grocery store. Red lipstick fellas. Wow. But this time it’s Ollie who is wearing it and it’s all over his face. Though to his credit, most of it covers his lip area. Don’t tell Daddy.

Throughout the day we stuff children in and out of car seats. I know those contraptions save lives, but Good Hello Mighty those things are a pain in the ask-me-no-more-questions/tell me know more lies (please tell me you know that song…) And I wonder how many calories it requires to lift a child out of those seats, added to the intelligence it takes to figure out which buttons to press for release, divided by time that is a-wasting during the whole process and I start to long for the days when we bounced around in the back of the suburban playing sardines. I survived. You survived. And that is all I am saying…

With all of us SAFELY in the car I stare at the baby. He is so sweet I can’t emotionally stand it. I plot ways to insure that he never feels sickness, hurts, and pain. I don’t want him to meet the girl that will break his heart. And if he does, I better not have anything to do with it. I’ve got more than one Dixie Chick song I can sing at her doorstep (even if her name isn’t Earl…)

“It’s hard to bring babies into the world,” says Steph noticing that I am giving some weird looks at her baby, “a part of you feels guilty. It’s inevitable that because of you they will have to go through trials and suffering.”

The thought floats in the air.

Later Claire does an accidental backflip off the tall counter. In slow motion I watch her body contort, smacking her legs into Steph’s neck as her head hits the ground in a harsh thud. She is in obvious shock and her eyes are rolling around. Christian picks her up and holds her tight to his chest. She is quiet for a long time. Claire, quiet? I thought it once impossible.

At night, after dinner (Steph is too tired to eat, I handle two Masala burgers on my own) the girls insist upon a Night at the Living Room where I pound the Steinway while the girls dance in dress slips. I’ve added a few hymns to my repertoire and you’d be a happy audience member to hear the way I’ve dolled up “Israel Israel God is Calling” Come to Zion and hear my jazzed up rendition Israel, is what I’d like to say.

So I am playing. Girls are dancing. Ollie is binki-ing. Baby is nursing. Steph is nursing. Christian is at Home Depot. I look down to see a big splotch of somethingstinky on my white Anthropolgie shirt.

This, I say, beefing up the chorus, is what I call a vacation.

Category: CJane Speaks!

Comments

13 Responses to “My Vacation From Vacation”

Jamie
February 28th, 2007 @ 4:27 am

Oh, oh, Courtney, I remember the days! They were only five years ago, when I was fun, childless Auntie and motherhood seemed so distantly beautiful and painfully daunting all at the same time, and I went every chance I had to play with my nieces and nephews (I even took my now-husband to play with my niece on our first date, when I was 29 and my little sister–mom of said niece–was 21). Come to think of it, I still go every chance I have to play wiht my nieces and nephews, but I take my three kids, too. Know what? That’s STILL what I call a vacation! (especially when it involves Arizona in February)
Heather H
February 28th, 2007 @ 8:59 am

Arizona in February does sound nice, says I after tromping through the half-melted grimy slush that is covering the city right now. My stroller rocks though; I mean it just goes right through that muck. It brings it right into the entryway of my apartment too, but hey . . . at least I’m not stuck out on the street, up to my knees in slush.

Anyway . . .glad you had a great time!
Maralise
February 28th, 2007 @ 9:42 am

This makes me think of my sister and her kids. My oldest niece was/is the light of my life. Each new member of my sister’s family has added yet another layer to the depth of my love for her. But, the other thing that grows more and more apparent as we both grow older is just how different we are. And those differences have helped me appreciate my unique self and hers.
pflower
February 28th, 2007 @ 11:02 am

Sounds like a wonderful vaca cjane!! I love the polka dot shirt, you look so fashionable in it. Well, you always look so fashionable. I always loved visiting my nieces and nephews when they were little like that. After all wasn’t it Bill Cosby that had the show “Kids Say The Darndest Things” I bet it was hard to leave Blueberry strawberry rainbow behind.
lyle
February 28th, 2007 @ 12:04 pm

Neices and Nephews can be the most devoted fan club. Although most of my neices and nephews think of me as “the crazy” uncle that no one dares mention at the diner table. So in a round-a-bout way I can relate. I spent more time with neices and nephews when I was but a young lad and into the early years of marriage. Now the wind has blown us across the mid/mountain west. sigh!
Leisha
February 28th, 2007 @ 12:29 pm

“With all of us SAFELY in the car I stare at the baby. He is so sweet I canâ€™t emotionally stand it. I plot ways to insure that he never feels sickness, hurts, and pain. I donâ€™t want him to meet the girl that will break his heart. And if he does, I better not have anything to do with it. Iâ€™ve got more than one Dixie Chick song I can sing at her doorstep (even if her name isnâ€™t Earlâ€¦)”

I loved this. It captures our “mother’s hearts” perfectly. That is the dialogue playing in my brain/heart daily (usually when they are asleep).
Emily
February 28th, 2007 @ 2:34 pm

You’re a great writer.
Megan
February 28th, 2007 @ 3:49 pm

I love that you love your nieces and nephews so much. I am sad because I don’t believe my sisters will ever bare (is that right?) me any. My brother is only 8 so he has a ways to go until that comes up. I hope. I must rely on Davey’s family. But they live so far away! Oh, I shouldn’t be envious should I? Adelaide will never have cousins close by to play with. I guess I better have 26 kids to make up for it! Ha, yeah right.
Justine
February 28th, 2007 @ 5:13 pm

I remember very distinctly the moment my children lost their beloved and favored uncle. He used to chase them, tickle them, run them around and giggle on the floor with them.

Several years ago, he came home from the hospital with his own little kid, and ever since then he’s been too tired and beaten up by child-rearing. Now he’s just a boring adult like the rest of us.

I think my kids miss the other guy. So, just keep being that other one. You are treasured!
Jennifer B.
February 28th, 2007 @ 6:26 pm

A lovely slice of your vacation. You describe it so vividly, I feel I was there. Thanks for sharing it.
Lucky Red Hen
March 1st, 2007 @ 12:35 am

You ARE a WRITER!

A WRITER, I say!

And I love you.
Lizzilu
March 1st, 2007 @ 11:21 pm

My boys LOVE their Aunt. A little shine has gone since she went and had 2 children of her own but still….. no one is as cool as she is. For fun my oldest and a female cousin torment Aunties kids with tales of them being here first. That is a special bond. Congrats
Angie
March 3rd, 2007 @ 2:16 pm

I appreciate these comments! I’ve been feeling discouraged lately that I am not much fun around other people’s kids anymore. At one time I actually taught preschool. Now teaching junior primary for a hour a week feels like a stretch. Maybe there’s hope for me as a grandma after all…