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
