Circus of the Barking Dead, Redux

This summer, I did not have our main summer vacation planned out to the degree that most people would plan out a driving tour from Florida to Oregon and back again, with an important stop in Spartanburg South Carolina.

People who know me weren’t that surprised that I just went ahead and went anyway, but my closest friends knew that I was worried about leaving you, husband, even though you weren’t being left alone. We had plans, or at the very least, half-plans, for you in place. And our daughter for whom the trip was planned had a set schedule for her week of competition. Those were going to have to be plans enough. And then our other daughter wound up attending a debate camp that sort of came together last-minute, and of course it happened, in-part, over the first two days that I needed to be driving, which meant that both kids had to fly for different legs of this trip. But the trip did come together. We made it happen!

Thursday, June 27, 2024 - Tallahassee to Panama City Beaches Airport to Little Rock, Arkansas ~720 miles

It is weird dropping J at the airport and knowing that I needed to continue driving down the road myself. It is nice having the deadline of knowing when we must leave so that she would have plenty of time to board her flight. I tend to run things later into the night than is comfortable without set parameters. Given my druthers, I would sleep late and drive uber-late. But if I’m going to drive with any stops at all, I pretty much need to drive all day today. It’s less than 36 hours between dropping J off at the airport in Panama City and picking A up at the airport in Denver. And I need more sleep thrown in there than I used to these days!

It gets to me a little when I’m driving alone. I think about how fun it would be if you were here with me. But also, I have 700 plus miles to log today. I know you would be miserable going that late without more stops to look forward to. I feel guilty- it’s hard not to think that people are judging me for leaving you alone while we take this trip as well as letting the girls fly unaccompanied as young adults when they are just 15. But I’m not really without you. And you’re spending most of the time with my folks.

Soon I’m going to have our girls with me again. None of this would be happening if we weren’t all in it together. I know that you want them to be able to have this adventure. I know that we all wish we were doing this together. But this cram-a-jam, slam-a-jam, occasional tent-sleeping travel is too high octane. I know people with no disabilities at all that wouldn’t enjoy this. It’s okay for you to let ten and twelve hour driving days followed by tent camping go when you’re 20 years into a Parkinson’s diagnosis.

But I enjoy these kinds of shenanigans so much. And driving alone I can listen to whatever I want to. I can stop or don’t stop when I please.

I’m tired. But also, I am exultant. I love the open road. The open road alone is exactly what I have been craving for the last few months. Still, I am so tired by the time I pull into Little Rock that I run way up onto the curb to get into the hotel garage parking and further disintegrate my stalwart bumper in the process. Of course, I do this before figuring out that the digital key on my phone would have opened the dang gate of the hotel garage.

Sunday, July 21, 2024 - No miles, just a day at home, a week after the trip

“I want to help,” you say, “Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

I am trying desperately not to let my anger at our situation flare into anger at you. This isn’t your fault. None of this is your fault. And it is 100% what I signed on for. But it is frustrating. I’ve been cleaning our kitchen for almost the entire day. I have cleaned so much. We really let it get bad before the girls and I headed out, and the cats did not do any cleaning for us while we were away.

I need to be logging hours of legal work this weekend. I desperately need to be exercising this large carcass this weekend. I want to walk/run at the coast. I want to walk the dog. My back is killing me just from deep-cleaning maybe 20% of our kitchen after deep-cleaning 80% of our bathroom yesterday.

I take a deep breath. I hate being the project manager of housework. Hate it. I did not run for this office! But apparently I feel the most strongly out of any of us that certain Standards (involving as close to a total lack of indoor insects as possible) should be maintained. So it falls to me first. And I keep finding myself in this awful position with the kitchen in particular. This was supposed to be the summer of the girls becoming independent cooks. They were supposed to find a love of lentils! Or rice! Or baking! Or anything as long as they also cleaned up!

“I’m sorry,” I say, “It’s not as simple as that. If I break off part of a task happening in here and give it to you, we’ll be tripping over each-other. Or you will need to sit down and I will need that task finished. It’s a small space. It’s the same rote tasks that cleaning always is. Just leave me alone and let me do it.”

And you do. And we’re getting through this. Together.