I just returned from a Washington D.C. excursion with a pack of sixth- and seventh-grade children. I was among a group of teachers and chaperones that endured the six-plus hours each way on the bus and then 14-hour days of activities.
The children were overstimulated, over-excited, over-sugared and overtired. It seemed the perfect recipe for a quality blog. And trust me, there were some precious moments that left me thinking, “I should really write this down.”
For example, my charges were a small collection of pre-teen boys with very different interests. While trying to engage one child at the National Archives, he informed me that he hates museums. It seems he did not read the itinerary nor was he aware that within the definition of Washington D.C. in the dictionary is the description, “the place with all those museums.”
Another in my group made a quick stop at a water fountain, took a long sip, lifted his head and declared, “Tastes like America.”
And then, while still at the National Archives, the very first stop of an extensive trek through our nation’s capital, I was surprised to see that the Declaration of Independence was so faded and I mentioned this to my son. His response, “Yep, as faded as the principles on which it was written.”
I have no one to blame but myself.
But though these kids left me exasperated, made me proud and, several times, caused me to burst out laughing, the true comedy was happening back here at my house, where my husband was creating his very own Home Alone movie. Except no one left him behind by accident. And he had a complete itinerary for each of the days I was gone. And my daughter slept elsewhere. Oh, and he’s a grown-up man.
I’ll admit, day one of my absence was a rough one. There were several scheduled events for that evening and he had to attend to each of them. On top of that, we have the menagerie of animals that require food and water and the like. Plus, he needed to eat, too. Because of this, I had left dinner in the fridge. It only required re-heating. He ordered take-out.
I won’t mention the fact that the schedule was not too outside the scope of a normal evening for me, except I also have two kids to care for and feed while juggling the other obligations. Oops, I guess I mentioned it.
Day two was much calmer. His morning itinerary included getting himself ready for work, which happens most everyday, with the added chore of getting the dogs outside to relieve themselves. Normally, the dogs do not stir before sunrise. Or even after sunrise. As a matter of fact, my lazy beasts will happily stay in bed nearly all morning. However, their afternoon relief would not be coming until noon, so a 4 a.m. stroll about the lawn was a necessity.
This probably set him back a good five to seven minutes, not a real concern for most of us, but that’s nearly a third of his total allotted time for morning prep. I can almost guarantee this threw a wrench in the works for the whole day.
After work, the to-do list required that he retrieve his daughter, feed her and provide transportation to and from dance class, then return her to the house where she would sleep. After that, he was in the homestretch. All that was left was the next afternoon routine and then I’d be back home and he would be relieved of all of this.
Though I heard very little from the homefront, the change in tone from day one through day three was significant. Day one texts included proud declarations of chores completed and feats accomplished. He even remembered to put the recycling to the curb (that’s huge in this house.)
Day two was strangely quiet, but since I was working on five hours of sleep and fully engaged in a three-hour walking tour with 30-something of my favorite pre-teens, I didn’t really notice.
Then came day three and the desperation started to show. At various points throughout the day, I received these messages:
Are you on the bus?
What time do you expect to be home?
We can never divorce btw.
On LI?
When I finally arrived home, I was afraid of what I’d find. I always am when I’m gone for more then 45 minutes. For the most part, it wasn’t horrible. I had a few questions, like why was the dishwasher light proclaiming it was finished when there was only eight dishes in the racks? He responded, “Don’t judge.”
And I’m still waiting for the explanation as to why the baby blanket that my mother crocheted for her granddaughter on the occasion of her birth, was in the puppy’s crate. (Don’t worry, Mom, I have since washed it on the “sanitize” cycle.)
There were other concerns, but since I’m apparently allergic to Washington D.C., I was too stuffy-nosed, scratchy-throated and exhausted to perform the usual psychological dance that garners me real answers. Instead, I took a hot shower, ignored the tumbleweeds of animal hair rolling across the kitchen floor and dragged my weary self into my bed, the happiest place on earth.
There were several occasions during the trip that I was in desperate need of a baby wipe-type item. From the morning trek around a pond that left me with muddy toes (the mud actually came over the tops of my Tevas) to the sticky face of my son after an ice pop and most especially, for the hands of every child that ran their filanges along the railings in every museum. Can you imagine how many germs are on those things? You can make your own hand wipes and keep them in a resealable plastic bag, pencil case or any other small, watertight portable container. Keep an additional plastic bag with you for the dirty ones.
Ingredients:
25 Fabric squares cut to about six inches by four inches (I use old t-shirts or cloth napkins)
1/4 cup water
1/4 cup vinegar or witch hazel
10 drops each essential oils tea tree and lavender
a few drops of liquid castile soap
Put the fabric in the watertight container. Mix the rest of the ingredients in a pitcher or liquid measuring cup. Pour over the fabric and shake well. Depending on the absorbancy of the fabric, you may need more or less liquid. These are a cheap and green way to keep the cooties at bay.
Have a great travel story to share? Send it along to laurie@riverheadlocal.com.
