Bringing the Gift Home

We are home again.  I finally earned my traveling with children badge.  I had already gotten the stickers  (four of them) for parenting a child who throws up on an airplane, and I already got the award for the kid who dramatically throws up in the security line (the Cheetos vomit incident in the Denver airport--you know--the CVI).  At last I got the final qualification--having a child throw up on the jet-way leaving the airplane. Yes, there were about 375 people behind us.  Mary--you're going to have to move to the side and let some folks by while you do this. . .

In some cosmic moment of grace and maturity my niece Savannah had grabbed an airsick bag from a seat pocket on the way down the aisle to leave the plane. She has always been my favorite niece. . .

It all started when I volunteered to watch the luggage while Bill and my mom got breakfast food for everyone on the layover in Seattle after an all night flight over the ocean. If I had been the one to stand in line for breakfast at the coffee shop two things wouldn't have happened. Number one, I would have had a caffeinated latte with 2% instead of decaf with skim milk. . . thanks mother for helping me watch my caffeine and fat intake. . . and secondly. . . the littlest traveler would not have had a chocolate covered cream filled donut the size of Texas. . . a grandmother's rookie mistake. You just don't fly over the ocean with that combination.

I love you mother. I'm only teasing. . . all's well that ends well.  I'm still waiting for my parenting badge.

One of my favorite books is Anne Morrow Lindbergh's Gift From the Sea.  Her theme is that she collects shells on her beach vacation and compares each shell to a stage in her life--being single, being married, having children and having the children grown.  Each shell is unique and I was thinking about this while we took a hike along the rocky shoreline to a hole-in-the-wall beach without a name. Bill, Calvin and my mom forged ahead carefully navigating the slippery rocks. Mary and Savannah had their heads buried in the sand, literally, eyes down looking for the perfect shell.  Moving very slowly. Every shell they picked up made their load heavier and slowed them down even more. Hurry up girls, we'll never get there. I pushed them from behind. Then, I saw a smooth stone, like a treasure poking out from the sand. Why? Why are we in a hurry? To get to the beach so we can be at the beach and sit and be at the beach. Why not look for shells along the way?  

We stayed there on the beach for a long time. There was a wild monk seal and a sea turtle. The tide pools were teaming with life, little crabs and fishies and mysterious things and the children played for a long time.

I found a great little piece of coral and rinsed it off and put it in my pocket. I'm no Anne Morrow Lindbergh but maybe the one little piece of coral can help remind me that it's not always about the destination. Mostly it's about the journey.

Part of the journey is at the beach, and part of it is home doing laundry. Okay, 99.9 percent of it is home doing laundry. So, I guess we better enjoy the laundry too. Maybe if I find the little piece of coral in my pocket every Monday I'll remember just a little bit. I'll remember my own little gift from the sea. Don't be in a hurry. Enjoy the journey, the whole journey.