The Beach?? THE BEACH!!

I’ve struggled lately with the idea of whether to take Kensie to the beach in the wake of the Gulf Oil disaster, but this past weekend, the universe finally intervened. I had called a family friend hoping to take K to their house to swim on her birthday (before I started back to work, we went swimming in their pool on Mondays and Fridays as often as we could), but when I found out their whole family was going to the beach for the holiday weekend, I took it as a sign. I had to get K down there! So within 24 hours, my mother, Kensie, and I were headed to the beach. P.C.-bound baby!

Growing up, I’d always vacationed in Destin, about 60 miles away from Panama City, and had migrated over there only a couple of times (once with my softball team when I was in middle school, and once to watch my Jayhawks lose in the Sweet 16 in a bar packed with KU students on spring break). I was excited to try something new and different, even though that “new and different” place was nicknamed “The Redneck Riviera.”

So we headed out on our voyage into the unknown with GPS in one hand and portable DVD player in the other (an absolute necessity when driving more than an hour with K in tow). We had expected that the trip might take a little extra time being it was Fourth of July weekend, and everyone and their brother and all 22 of his cousins headed down to the Gulf during summer holidays. A normal driving time to Panama City would be about four-and-a-half hours, but we expected it to take a bit longer, and we were OK with that. We’d get there when we got there, and we’d enjoy every minute of the drive in the meantime.

So with Giselle singing “True Love’s Kiss” in the background (Kensie’s new obsession, “Enchanted”), my mom and I chatted excitedly about everything from Kensie (a near-constant topic in my household) to our impending move to Kansas to the most recent rerun of “The West Wing.” And we drove. And drove. And drove. Finally, we began to notice that not only was there no (and I do mean no) traffic, but we were driving on back country roads (not just back roads, mind you, back country roads) and, on occasion, being led down dirt roads with names like “Daisy Duke Drive” and “Opie Taylor Trail.” It had quickly become apparent that our GPS was taking us the “short” route rather than the “right” route, and we seemed to be smack-dab in the middle of Deliverance country. Everyone who grows up in the Deep South knows that the path to Destin is Highway 331, and the path to Panama City is Highway 231. Well, we were on neither. But we decided that since we’d come this far following GPS Lady’s advice (and seemed to have made really great time), we might as well keep going.

So after five hours of driving, at about 8 p.m., we seemed to be on track (what track, I’m not sure, but GPS lady seemed to think we were almost there). We were headed right into Panama City, and we were making good time! At some point, GPS Lady tried to get us on the beachfront road, but I remembered the last time I drove that road (heading to watch the ’Hawks in college), and if I recalled correctly, it took us a good hour to go just one mile. This is Fourth of July weekend: Ain’t no way I’m gonna take the beachfront road! Finally, not knowing exactly how close we were to the condo but assuming we had to be pretty close at this point (and knowing at some point we had head toward the beachfront to get to the condo), I hesitantly hopped onto the beachfront road. Immediately, I knew it was a mistake.

Two hours (and about 10 miles) later (we had left at 3 p.m., mind you), we arrived at the condo. I was completely frazzled and almost in tears, and Kensie had taken to asking me over and over again, “Mommy, are you mad?” My response: “No baby, I’m not mad, I’m frustrated!!!” Wait, now I know where she gets that line!

After a 20-minute search for a cart, we headed to our room. Immediately, I noticed an odd smell, but with so many other things going on at the time, I chocked it up to the ocean (you all know the ocean can throw out some pretty unpleasant smells at times). We began to unpack and get settled. Kensie was excited (so much so that bedtime was pushed back to about midnight), and I was beginning to return to my normal, happy-go-lucky self (aided by a much-needed glass of red). But that smell lingered. After a couple glasses of wine on our balcony (which overlooked the Gulf and a poolside filled with karaoke-ers belting out “Sweet Home Alabama”), we went to bed.

The next morning, K woke bright and early (before 6, if I recall correctly) on her third birthday, and we began our day. (At this point, I had begun almost unknowingly looking around the place for the source of that foul odor.) We took K out to breakfast, hit Starbuck’s, Target, and the grocery store, and four hours later, headed back to the condo (as early as K wakes on most days, four hours is nothing in the morning, as we were back by 11 a.m.). Immediately, it became apparent that I was not going to rest until I found and extracted whatever was causing our condo to smell like a Port-O-Let at a rain-soaked Drivin N Cryin concert (can you tell I’ve actually experienced this?)! My mother, noticing my unrest, calmly suggested, “Maybe it’s the rug.” The rug!! That’s it! Unfortunately (or fortunately, I should say), that was it. The extremely heavy, not-too-cheap area rug was, apparently, soaked with urine. URINE! (Just FYI: This condo was nice. Granite countertops, stainless-steel appliances. There was no reason for it to have a urine-soaked rug right in the middle of the living room!)

After adiosing the rank rug and having a stern talk with the front desk people, we went on to have a fabulous time in Panama City, Florida. Kensie had a great birthday party with our oldest family friends. I got to see a college buddy I hadn’t seen in 15 years and meet her husband and adorable kids (who were older than K but wonderful with her, even though she grabbed them by their hands and dragged them all over the condo showing them her new toys). We swam in the pool and the ocean. Kensie playfully jumped waves as they crashed into her body. We got to see what had to be the most amazing fireworks show on the beach (I swear we could see for miles and miles!). And Kensie got to stay up until nearly midnight three nights in a row! (I paid for that later, by the way.) Most importantly, I got to share with my daughter a place that I have visited and treasured since I was five years old.

All in all, we had a fabulous weekend with some of my favorite people in one of the most beautiful places I have ever been. My now three-year-old little girl is one lucky kid.

PS: Thanks, Mom, for your acceptance of my fanciful whims and your spontaneity. Kensie and I love you!

Has Funny Left the Building?

Lately I find that I have little to say to others that I would consider funny (minus when I talk about my ever-so-hilarious little girl!). I never used to worry about things like I do today, and that made the world a much funnier place to live! Hell, I used to actually have fun every now and again (if memory serves), and I used to find others quite funny, as well! Ah, those were the days (or so they say). Lately, life has sort of become, well . . . unfunny.

I’m sick of reading about natural disasters, unemployment, political infighting, murderous rampages, and celebrities’ tweaked-out lives. I’m tired of turning on the news and seeing nothing but how this world in which I will someday have to leave my daughter is turning to shit. More and more I find myself deflated by the negative state of our world today. I try and stay positive, but with a young child to bring up in the ruin our world has become, sometimes it’s a struggle.

I miss the good ol’ days. No more are the days when a kid can get up in the morning, eat breakfast, and head outside for eight hours of exploring whatever it is he finds to explore. Today, he has to play in his fenced-in backyard with Mommy peering through the window every five minutes. No more are the days when parents could drop off their kids at the pool or golf club, and leave them there all day long without worry. I’m pretty sure that would be considered bad parenting now. You can’t even leave your kid strapped into the car seat for two minutes and run into the 7-Eleven to take a pee without fear of someone snatching your kid or being handcuffed upon return to the car!

The world we live in today is hurried, polluted, starved, frustrated, scared, abused, and strangled. Everything is crying out to be saved: the earth, its people, animals, and plants, our oceans, all the way down the tiniest forms of life. It seems that everything human beings touch is doomed!

I don’t mean to be overly dramatic. I really don’t think what I’m saying is anything that hasn’t been said hundreds of times before. What I want is to not be part of the problem but to help create a solution. Problem is: I don’t quite know where to begin. Recycling: obvious. Renewable energy: on the horizon. Volunteer to help clean up whatever mess we get into next: necessary. But then what?

My generation now bears a colossal burden, and we have a seemingly never-ending road ahead of us before even scratching the surface of the damage human beings have done to, well, everything. Our kids will learn from our mistakes and our example, and they will also inherit whatever we leave behind. Why not teach them now how to help heal our world so that someday they will be proud to pass on what we worked together to mend?


Note: If you want to know what your kids are thinking about our world today, check out this 2009 study by Habitat Heroes:

• 1 in 3 children (ages 6 through 11) fear that the planet won’t exist when they grow up.
• More than half (56 percent) believe the Earth will not be as good a place to live when they grow up.
• Girls worry more than boys, but overall, kids in metro areas worry more than those in rural settings.
• 28 percent say they fear the extinction of animals more than anything else.
• Nearly 25 percent worry about not having enough safe drinking water.

The good news:
• 95% of the children believe their parents are trying to help save the environment by recycling, using reusable batteries, and conserving electricity and water.

The Grass is Always Greener

The old adage “The grass is always greener on the other side” could not be more profound in my life than right now. Why is it that no matter what, many human beings just can’t seem to be happy in the moment—right here, right now? Well, I am definitely human.

I have this issue I deal with on a daily basis no matter what my situation: I want to be a full-time professional, and I also want to be a full-time mom (not to mention an entrepreneur on the side!). And I want to always be the best at both! But I’m not sure it’s possible for these two worlds to come together in perfection.

As you know, I started a new job this week, whereas for the past eight months, I was freelancing and at home with Makensie. While at home, I wasted a lot of time worrying about the fact that I wasn’t working enough and needed to find a full-time job to support my kid. Now that I’m back at work (and grateful to be here and loving it, for the most part), I’m spending too much time wishing I were at home with Kensie. See my dilemma?

Many mothers (fathers, too, I presume) struggle with this dichotomy on a daily basis. How can you be your best on the job when you know you’re missing out on so much at home? How can you be at home with your child and enjoy every single moment of your time with her when you want or need to get back to work? It’s a constant struggle, and one that weighs heavily on this single mom.

My biggest fear heading back to work is simple: I’ve worked hard these last eight months building a strong relationship with my daughter, and I don’t want to lose that. Kensie and I spent nearly every moment together—at the pool, with friends and family, at the zoo, on trips here and there. I made a point to get her out nearly every day, and we spent a lot of real quality time bonding with not only one another but with my parents, and my friends and their kids. Kensie and I really became close, and I am just not ready to lose that connection! But already, only one week in, I can see things beginning to change.

The first incident was the other night when Kensie wanted her Nana to put her to bed, not me. Ouch. Then yesterday, I left for work just after K got up, and I didn’t see her again until this morning (it was girls’ night out last night, and don’t get me started on how hard it is to have a social life in this mix!). This morning, instead of calling for me when she woke, Kensie called for my mom. Sniff. This thing is tough!

I don’t know if these recent happenings are a sign of what’s to come (the collapse of everything I’ve worked toward since the day of her birth!). Yes, I can be dramatic. Or maybe it’s just a normal adjustment that Makensie and I must endure to prepare us for this new chapter in our lives. Whatever it is, I know that we are lucky in so many ways, and I am grateful for our life. Instead of a stranger caring for her five days a week, Kensie gets to begin preschool and spend lots of extra time with her grandparents. Lucky kid! Instead of me spending all of my hard-earned money on daycare and babysitters and rent, I am lucky to be able to tuck some of it away for a rainy day instead (thanks Mom and Dad!).

The truth is, whether at home or working full time, in my eyes, nothing will ever be good enough for my girl. Makensie, she will adapt to whatever life throws at her. She’s happy, healthy, and strong at the ripe old age of (nearly) three, and she has lots of people around her who love her to pieces. But me, I will suffer. I will think about Kensie constantly, tear up when I get a picture text of her riding her bike playfully, feel cheated every time she chooses her Nana over me, and regret every moment I miss while away from her. But I will also be doing what is necessary to raise a gracious, grateful, grounded human being, one who understands that life is not always what you expect it to be and adapts. With that in mind, I can be at ease in my current situation. Here’s hoping the turbulence of the past couple of years is beginning to settle.