Summer 2013

Quinn sat between us last night, on the front row couch at our local movie theater. She had on a yellow tshirt, striped leggins, polka dotted socks and her sneakers, a tall bag of popcorn in her lap. For longer than I imagined she would, she sat captivated by her first movie on the big screen. I watched her watch it, and couldn’t help but smile at all the possibilities that keep opening up.

Our whole summer has been like this--a happy arrival into the warm light at the end of the tunnel. Many of the things we feared would happen when we had a kid, happened--we had less freedom, we lost a lot of sleep, we had fewer adventures. But through it all we’ve kept thinking, someday...Someday we’ll be able to move around more. Someday we’ll travel with her. Someday she’ll enjoy doing things we like to do...

This summer we accomplished a lot. We got her in a canoe without her screaming to get out. We took her rock climbing with some friends (the little people snacked while the four adults took turns belaying and climbing). We had some good long walks, went berry picking, went to swimming holes and had some picnics. And we even got her in a plane and flew across the country.

In June, as we were getting our school year wrapped up, we were putting finishing touches on our summer plans--the perfect blend of family and solo adventures. The first of which was the big adventure: a trip to Wyoming to see our friends, Scott and Julie, and their daughter Eloise who is just a bit older than Quinn. Scott and Sam have been friends since they were about five years old. Julie and I were like old friends the first time we met; it’s not often I can be my unedited self right from the start. With Julie I could.

Getting to them involved an early morning flight out of Boston to Denver. A subway within the Denver airport to get from one terminal to the next. A bus ride from the airport to the rental car agency. Then a seven or eight hour drive to Wolf, Wyoming. All but the long drive would be new experiences for Quinn. I was worried and nervous a few days leading up to it. I was worried about getting Quinn and all of our stuff through the airport under time constraints. I was worried about missing the flight because toddler pace is so excruciatingly slow. I was worried we’d be those people on the airplane with the screaming toddler. I was also worried that by the time we got to our rental car we’d be so exhausted we wouldn’t make it to Wyoming. 

But Quinn wasn’t worried; she was excited. She was excited to use her new ladybug suitcase on wheels. She was excited to see Nonna & Poppa who live near the airport. She was excited to go on an airplane, even though she had no idea what that meant. And she was really excited to meet “The Eloise.” 

The travel day was almost effortless. Quinn was so engaged in everything going on that she was easy to deal with and fun to watch. The only minor snafu came when the flight attendant told her she had to put her seatbelt on so the plane could take off. She’s not particularly fond of being told what to do and, up to that point, we had managed to disguise most of our commands well enough that she just went along with them. But when the flight attendant leaned in and told her what to do, Quinn started screaming, as I knew she eventually would. “I wanna get off!” 

My reaction was to succumb to the inevitable humiliation and slouch back defeated in my seat. “Here we go,” I thought. Sam’s reaction was to lean down to her eye level and start talking in a very soft, high pitched voice, very very quickly. “Quinn! It’s okay! Don’t worry! It’s okay! We just have to put on our seatbelts...It’s just so you’ll be safe. Please put on your seatbelt! No, no, no, don’t cry, it’s okay. Really. It’s okay. Listen...” 

The truth is I have no idea what he said to her. I just remember thinking, “Oh my god, he’s totally panicking.” I became less concerned with Quinn than Sam. I wanted him to calm down, slow down, and stop the insane chatter. But before long, Quinn stopped screaming and just started staring at him. I’ve been calling it The Filibuster ever since: he just kept talking, as fast as he could, without a break, until she wore down and gave in. She was mesmerized, I was laughing, and Sam was winning. 

After that, we read Peter Rabbit about a thousand times and she gave me “haircuts” by rubbing my hair around in all the wrong directions. I looked like a wreck when we landed, but I was feeling pretty good.

And in the week that followed, I felt better and better. Within moments of our arrival, Eloise was taking Quinn in to see her bedroom and her toys. Scott and Julie were cooking the first of many incredible dinners. And we were settling in to our vacation on 12,000 acres of beautiful Wyoming grassland. We felt really spoiled.

We spent our days planning and executing all kinds of two-family adventures: truck rides out over the grassy hills to find good swimming holes, trips into town over 25 miles of dirt road for coffee and cupcakes, group hikes, picnics, some fishing for the dads, some more hiking and polo watching for the moms, lots of chicken feeding and kiddie pool time and cupcake baking and family meals, and daily vigils by the picture window watching early evening thunderstorms rolling in from the Bighorn Mountains.

Because Julie is even more organized than I am, she had both families settled into the same routine almost immediately--I loved it! And I especially loved the evening routine: One parent would accompany each kid to her respective end of the house for the bathing, toothbrushing, book reading, back rubbing and negotiating. One parent would help with dishes and general clean up. One parent would put the chickens to bed and water the garden. After all creatures great and small were tended to, four parents would meet in the kitchen to pour another cocktail and commiserate in hushed voices. It was so good for our spirits to be with friends who are almost exactly where we are in life...fighting the same battles, sharing the same joys. It bolstered us. Standing in the backyard, on the Fourth of July, the four of us watched fireworks on the wide horizon in two different towns. It was a good metaphor: when you’re in the fireworks, your own are all you can see. It’s nice to step back and see you’re not alone.

Admittedly, Scott and Julie’s fireworks seem a bit more mild than ours. Eloise is literally the nicest toddler ever...she shared everything with Quinn and, when Quinn swatted her away, or gave her a dirty look, or refused to share any of her few things, Eloise just offered Quinn more things. They were challenged by each other, regularly, but I think they loved each other too. Two months later Quinn is still talking about Eloise and we are still savoring the magic of those Wyoming days.

A few weeks after our return to Vermont, Sam and Quinn dropped me off at the ferry dock to cross Lake Champlain and meet up with Char on the other side so we could embark on another canoe trip, this year closer to home. The Nine Carries Route in the Adirondacks was a good concept, but somehow, preoccupied with whether or not we’d be up for the long portages (up to 1.6 miles), and whether we’d be able to pack light enough that we could carry our packs and the canoe at the same time, we failed to notice the ratio of portaging distance to paddling distance. This “paddling” trip was a lot like backpacking with a canoe. 

We camped in some of the darkest, dankest mosquito-nest campsites I’ve ever seen. And, on one occasion, when Char made a slight misstep off a slippery log with the canoe up over her head, she sunk to her crotch in mud, with both legs. I’d show you a picture but I can’t because I was laughing too hard and scrambling too much to take one. I’m not sure she’ll ever forgive me for failing to document that feat. What was also a feat was the fact that on the 20th anniversary of losing my mother, a date I worried about for weeks, if not months in advance, instead of being totally depressed, I spent the time cracking up. When you find yourself hiking up and over miles and miles of shitty trails, with a heavy pack and an essentially useless canoe, swatting bugs and sweating your ass off, there’s really nothing else you can do.  

Next year we’re planning a river trip.

Sam and Quinn came to pick me up at Char’s camp and, from there, we drove down for our summer visit with the Jacksons in the Poconos. This year the Madrid clan was home, and the California clan was there, and the local cousins came too for an afternoon picnic and birthday party for Jesse. It was a short visit with a lot of family news to cover, so we didn’t truly feel like we had enough time. With loved ones, I suppose, it is always that way. 

The next adventure was Sam’s. It finally worked out that he could get away for a real trip. With two other guys, he traveled north into Quebec to find and run some new rivers. There was map work to do, and a language barrier, and the water they were looking for was remote. I knew he was having a good time when I heard his message on the answering machine one day: “Hi, Ker! I’m just calling to let you know we made it off the river today, and now we’re headed into the wilderness a bit. I won’t have cell service; we’re not sure what’s up there. I’ll call when I make it back out.” The excitement in his voice was unmistakable; it’s good for him, I thought as I listened, to get back in touch with his adventurous self...it’s also good we have life insurance.

He came home happy, but I wouldn’t say satisfied. For Sam, scratching the boating itch is like scratching poison ivy...it just makes you want to scratch more.

And that’s okay, really, because we both feel like we’ve finally arrived to that place where the future we imagined for ourselves is possible. The place we’ve been working to get to for years and years. Even before Quinn came along, we were always working toward something. Toward a house, and gardens and land with a view. Toward a time when there might be a little money in the wallet so we could afford to leave the driveway. And we imagined having a happy, adventurous kid who would want to come with us. 

When we went climbing that morning earlier this summer, after I got lowered down from my climb, Quinn showed up next to me and whispered, “Great job, Mom.” And when we were riding the bus from the rental car agency back to the airport after our Wyoming vacation, Sam and I looked down at her between us and realized she had one arm around each of us. And last night, when I was saying goodnight, she hugged me and said, “I had a lot of fun with you at the movies tonight, Mom. Thank you for taking me. I love you.” And the same again today before her nap, "Thank you for taking me raspberry picking, Mom. I had a lot of fun."

It’s taken a long time and a lot of work, but the work has been good, and we’re proud of the results, and every day Quinn is our reward. We are really grateful.