Road Trip Therapy

There is nothing like a road trip with your honey when you need to get the heck out of Dodge. When the need to escape overwhelms and to go anywhere, just anywhere, takes over. We do enjoy sailing down the highway with the radio on. There is something so freeing about this no matter what the final destination. Along the way we have this little game that we play.

“Who did this song?” he asks.

I lean back in my seat and listen for a few lines. More often than not I can tell him. Every once in awhile I get stuck, and since my hubby is ahem, a few years older that I am, he will often know the answer. I love his knowing look as he nods and gives me the name of the song and the performer.

At times I impress him when I am able to belt out entire songs, word for word. You have to know someone pretty well to feel comfortable enough to do this sober. Who knew all this was still in there? I call it my RAM, random access memory, the stuff l have tucked away that pops out from time to time. It’s just one of those fifty something moments when I can recite the entire lyrics to Maggie May, but will not remember where I put the car keys or my glasses. Maggie May, now there is a song for you. I can name that tune from just the first guitar chords.

Old radio hits can stir up all kinds of memories, some of them shared, some of them unique to our own experiences. Flashbacks from old rock concerts and reminiscences of music festivals in the rain wearing moccasins and frayed bell bottom jeans resurface. Nostalgia takes over as I recall listening to record albums in my parent’s basement until they pounded on the floor or yelled down the steps that the floor was vibrating, again. I was a particularly annoying teenager and loved to rock the house with ZZ Top’s, La Grange. This was a guaranteed floor shaker. I will admit that I had no idea what the song was about at the time. I only knew that it annoyed my mother with its rafter shaking guitar buzz. Sorry mom!

Faces of old friends pass before us in between the road signs with blue skies glowing overhead. Happy times both them and now, we tell stories and laugh over the time that so and so did this or that. With each melody we recall all modes of tacky dress and silly behavior after sucking down sweet sticky drinks like the tequila sunrise, the sloe screw, the salty dog, and the fuzzy navel. Well at least we all got our fair share of vitamin C!

As the sun begins to fade we look at each other and smile. Where did the time go we often say? I wonder, how did this young rebel end up in this old body with sensible shoes? Lots of twists and turns along the way have lead to this place. Even so it’s fun to let it all go for a weekend or a while. As far as getting older is concerned, I have just one comment. What happens on a road trip stays on a road trip.

Mothers Day Reflections

It’s the little things about motherhood that stay with you forever, like the feeling of little fingers grabbing your own and holding on tight. Baby fingers leave me awestruck, these small creations with tiny knuckles and dainty fingernails. Baby toes are equally as pleasing. If there is a more perfect moment in all of motherhood than holding a tiny foot and kissing it over and over, I have not found it. Baby smiles are followed by baby giggles, the best sounds on earth. They come forth from hours of coos and gurgles, mother’s music, as we sit and admire these little creatures from top to bottom. A soft kiss to a child’s head as they sleep, with lips brushing across silky fine hairs and the smell of powder, warms the mother’s heart like nothing else can.

The taste of chocolate, lady bugs, and butterfly kisses, are but a few of the countless discoveries each day. These shared adventures strengthen the bond between mother and child. Small arms reach, stretch, pull, and grasp each experience with innocent joy. The first steps come and we watch as they totter back and forth. We know that they will fall, more than once, and that we have to let them or they will not learn to walk for themselves. Long strolls while learning the words for cow and grass and sunshine, never last long enough before it is time to rush them off to school with a lump in our throats as we turn to leave them.

We watch with trepidation as they take their first turn at bat, their first jump off the diving board, and their first ride without the training wheels. We stand guard at the playground and gasp as they climb just a little too high. We have to control ours emotions so that we don’t give the neighborhood bully a good spanking, but instead teach our children to stand up for themselves when they need to.

Brush your teeth, eat your vegetables, clean your room, and do your homework, the familiar lines of a mother’s tune. A good mother knows that they won’t like us all of the time. We don’t let it break our hearts when they scowl and turn to run to their rooms in disgust after we have to tell them no. We remember fondly the days when they thought mom knew everything, but our chests swell with pride as they learn to think for themselves.

We support them when we can, but not too much. We can tell them when we think they have veered a little off course, but must respect some decisions as theirs alone to make, and can only pray that the road they ultimately take will be a good one. We hope that they will surpass all that we have done and want for them only the best that life has to offer, knowing full well that there will be pitfalls along the way. We must teach them that life is not about perfection, but about doing our best. That is all we can ask of them and that is all that they can ask of us. As mothers we are not saints or angels, but women, who do the best that we can with this awesome responsibility that has been bestowed upon us....

and we treasure every minute of it.