Sunday, August 30, 2015

Road Trip

Several weeks ago, we decided to take a road trip across the country to visit family.  You may notice that this is a recurring theme in my stories.  You may wonder why we don't just fly.  That is a very good question.  Maybe, flying is too expensive for us right now.  Maybe, we want the children to experience different parts of the country.  Maybe, we're crazy and like to exhaust ourselves.  Maybe, it is all of the above.  Regardless of the answer, you will find us winding along our favorite mountain roads again.

Thirty hours into the road trip, we were hungry for real food from a restaurant.  Surprisingly, we had eaten fairly healthy food along the way.  My husband and I tried to stop at regular meal times for the boys.  We also tried to make time for play as we traveled through the various states.  So that we didn't completely run out of energy, my husband and I would trade off driving every several hours.  The lucky one in the passenger's seat would try to rest during that time before having to drive again.  On the thirtieth hour of the trip, I found myself in the driver's seat listening to a George Strait CD and cruising down an empty highway.  It was almost supper time and everyone was hungry.

I nudged my husband to wake up.  "Hey.  Where do you want to eat?"  I asked as we raced by fields of corn, wheat, and alfalfa.  I could see mountains in the distance and a large river winding around the foothills.

"Ugh.  What?  What?"  My husband mumbled as he slowly opened his eyes.

"Where do you want to eat?"  I repeated.  "The kids are hungry."

My husband sat up in his seat and rubbed his face.  The kids were playing with their toys in the back seat.  As we discussed the options, their heads perked up to listen to the conversation.  "We could eat in Mountain Home."  My husband suggested.

"We could."  I shrugged.  "I don't really want to eat in Mountain Home.  It would be nice to get further down the road.  Do you want to eat in Boise?"

"Yeah.  That sounds good."  My husband agreed.  "There's more options in Boise but let's get gas in Mountain Home.  We're almost out."

"O.K."  I said.  "Where in Boise do you want to eat?"

Before my husband could answer, Son #1 popped up from the back seat with a look of alarm on his face.  "What?!?  We're going to eat poison?!?"

My husband and I burst out laughing.  "No!  We're not going to eat poison!"  My husband chuckled. 

"We're eating in a place called Boise."  I explained.

Son #1 furrowed his brow.  "Boise."  He murmured.  "Not poison."

"Yes.  Boise."  My husband confirmed.

"Not poison."  I emphasized with a giggle.


Tuesday, August 11, 2015

Las Mananitas

When I was a little girl, members from our church used to serenade families for special occasions.  The groups would start in the wee hours of the night.  It was a great way to wake up.  My brother, sister, and I would rush to the door with our parents to listen to our friends sing.  On one particular Mother's Day, the group sang a song called "Las Mananitas".  As the guitarists accompanied the singers, the stars twinkled in the dark sky.  Off on the horizon, a dim glow proceeded the sunrise.  Now when I think about it, the memory of those early morning serenades seem to brighten my day.

One evening, the kids had just finished bathing and getting ready for bed.  They were playing with their cars in the living room while I watched a documentary on PBS.  I rinsed dishes from our dinner and loaded the dishwasher while the narrator described the plight of children from impoverished countries traveling alone to find a better life.  Several children were interviewed at various stages during their journeys.  Their stories captured me and pulled at my heart.  At the end of the documentary, a mariachi band began to sing "Las Mananitas".  I was undone.  I had not heard the song in years.  As nostalgia swept over me, I danced with my boys around the kitchen.  When the song was finished, the kids cried out.  "Again, Mom!  Again!"  I grabbed my phone and pulled up a video of the song on YouTube.  Then, we began to dance again.

The kids and I danced to "Las Mananitas" several times.  At one point, Son #1 did a tango across the house with Son #2.  They laughed and squealed as they bumped into furniture.  A few times, I had the boys stand on my feet as we waltzed to the guitars and trumpets.  We spun and twirled around the kitchen floor until we were completely out of breath.   Then, we all collapsed onto the chairs around the table. 

Son #1 gasped.  "Mommy, I'm thirsty." 

Son #2 reached out with his hands and said.  "I want water." 

I opened the cabinet door and pulled down three glasses.  Carefully, I filled the glasses with ice and water.  Then, I passed the drinks out to the boys.  We sipped our water quietly for a while watching the sun sink into the horizon.  Soon, the boys' eyelids began to droop.  They were getting sleepy so I walked them to their beds.  After tucking each son into his bed, I went to the living room and listened to the "Las Mananitas" once more.  As the last notes drifted into the air, I smiled at the memory of my brother, sister, and I peeking around our parents' legs while friends serenaded us in the middle of the night.