Thursday, August 22, 2013

This summer’s entries seem to all be about travel. That is a good thing. As much as you think with a small child that you are missing out and not doing things, we actually have been doing quite a few. She now has eight states under belt at 16 months. Not too shabby! All her nursery travel posters might not be a joke after all.
Our recent exploration took us east, and north, to the beautiful state of Maine. Baby & I flew a quick 2 hour trip to Manchester, NH on Southwest, The Preferred Airline of Babies and New Parents ™. I just like it. I like driving to midway and leaving my car in the cheapo parking lot with the attentive shuttle busses. I like boarding after the A group. I like that there is no assigned seating so whoever has to sit next to me has chosen to do so (or is last on the plane). I like it that it is usually a big old 747 and not a puddle jumper. Somewhere in the last few years I have developed just the teeny tiniest bit of claustrophobia.
It’s a lot of work packing for a trip alone with baby. I wanted to bring enough, but I only wanted to bring one bag to check. The carry on/diaper bag was the most essential. I knew that I could distract her with food for at LEAST two hours, and then if she wanted to cry in the car on the way to Portland, that would be fine with me too. There’s always pulling over, music, fresh air. And no one else to mind what we do.
So the morning of the trip I had the car packed, organized to go, feeling a bit nauseous but thought if I just got on the road I would be better. Feeling still a bit nervous on the car ride there, a bit more nauseous still and then BOOM. Baby pukes up all her blueberry breakfast all over her car seat and outfit. Well, I guess one of us had to do it. I got us changed and cleaned up before the parking lot, got to airport security and I lost my breath. Standing in line I Just. Felt. Overwhelmed. It’s a lot of responsibility being the adult. I’m the parent! I have to get this kid on a plane and to the other side! I almost got out of line but told myself to just go a few more feet. If I get through and still feel awful, the car is not far. And of course I would feel better once I got in the car headed home, and guilty, disappointed in myself. And my dear friend A. would be so sad. Let’s do this thing!
I think my problem is not with flying itself. I’m fine on the plane. I hate how airports make you feel like cattle. Everyone out for themselves and their own agendas. Employees don’t have to be nice to you, it’s not in their job description anymore. Airplane flight attendants are there for your “safety” and not to serve you drinks. But the secret weapon is actually the baby. Sometimes you get into the easy lane. Sometimes you get a little but more attention, or a thankful grin from a neighbor when they can see that we don’t have a shrieking monster on our hands (this time).
So I got my super surprise upgraded car in Manchester (hello Ford Fusion!) I got to a toll and the woman asked me, “is that a Taurus?” I honestly didn’t even know what it was because at the time I got it, all I noticed was that the car seat was nowhere to be found and then baby fell asleep in her stroller and the kid was a mile down the road getting a few carseats for me to choose from and ok fine it’s a big new Ford and its purple and I’m sure I can drive it. I said, “I don’t know, it’s a rental.” And she just nodded her head and opened the gate for me to move on. What did that mean? Did she like the car? Did she think I was a rich brat for having a new car? Did she prefer Japanese? I was getting my first taste of New England. And I had FORGOT.
People in New England are…reserved. They give you a lot of space. This gets translated in weird ways. Which can sometimes come off as a bit rude or snotty to a Midwesterner. If someone had asked me about the car in the Midwest, you would expect some sort of response, even if it was fake or a lie. “Oh that’s so nice, you have a good day now!” You just say SOMETHING.  A nod, and I was off, confused. Well, it was a toll operator. Lots of other factors there I am sure.
We went to a restaurant for my birthday and the bartender was happy enough (well not very enthusiastically happy, but doing her job properly I suppose) to take our order. After we had all ordered she asked if we wanted to run a tab or close it out then. I said, “well we are waiting for a table so…” and she suddenly got impatient, changed her footing and gave us a stern look. “So you want to close it out.” Brows furrowed, she looks at us. “Umm yeah.” I guess I took too long in explaining? In Chicago you could tell the bartender where you parked and why and they would play along until you paid. We were getting a little bit too friendly with her and I guess it made her uncomfortable.  In New England you give the people the SPACE.
And although A has spent many years in the Midwest, and cultivates a lengthy list of girlfriends from here and elsewhere (including Cleveland) it does give me an enhanced perspective. But she is one of us. She likes elongated explanations. She likes getting in our SPACE.  (We’ve actually been known to cuddle accidentally if sharing a bed.) She likes explaining why she said or did something. But she also is totally unaffected by all the weird New Englandy stuff and that’s why she is the best local ever.
Also she can drink some whiskey and take me to the best diary farm with its own ice cream bar. Twice! And she knows all the good beaches. And restaurants with giant beers and cheese fries.
I had a lovely lovely visit and can’t wait to go back to beautiful Portland again too. It’s a working port town with a lot of charm. Just don’t expect anyone to stand around and blow a lot of smoke up your ass. Ok? Have a nice day now.
Xo
E