Unaccompanied Minor

Monday we took our daughter to the airport to fly to Guatemala on a mission trip. ALONE. Her first mission trip. Her first time flying alone.

We didn’t even let our kids do sleepovers until they were in the fourth grade. We didn’t allow them to watch PG movies until they were nine, and PG-13 movies until they actually WERE 13. Now we’re letting our daughter travel to a tiny Central American country. By herself!

Logically, I know she’s 17-1/2 years old. I know she’ll be a senior in high school next year, and after that she’ll head off to college and onto new adventures of her own. Logically, I knew I was going to miss her.

But I think, without realizing it, I’d been suppressing certain thoughts and feelings. And they all bubbled to the surface when we checked her in at the airport and I discovered that I would not be permitted to accompany her to the gate and onto the plane.

My hubby flies a lot for work, so he’s got some fancy schmancy card that allows him (& us when we travel with him) to sail through shorter check-in lines, and sit in comfy clubs nibbling on snacks and sipping ice-cold beverages, while the regular non-fancy-schmancy-card folk have to herd like sheep through endlessly long lines and stuff.

So once we’d checked her in, my hubby confidently requested guest passes for me, our son, and himself, so we could accompany our “unaccompanied minor” through the airport.

“Sorry, no.” we were told. “We can allow only one adult through.”

“What?!”

“But we have a fancy schmancy card! And she’s an unaccompanied minor traveling far, far away, to a scary place for TWO REALLY, REALLY LONG WEEKS.”

“Sorry, no.”

We spoke to a manager. We carefully re-explained the situation.

“Sorry, no.” (Yeesh! Did these people take Jim Fay’s “Love & Logic” parenting classes or what?!)

“You’ll have to say good-bye here,” I was told.

It wasn’t until that very moment that I realized how precarious my emotions really were. I warned them that if they didn’t let me through I’d throw a tantrum. Unfortunately for them, they didn’t believe me. I burst into tears. But those cruel, heartless airport personnel didn’t care! Nope. They made me say good-bye right at the entrance of the BIG, STUPID airport.

I had to stand off to the side, like the shunned, while she moved with her dad through the security check and then ultimately disappeared from my sight. Swallowed up by the crowd.

I felt incredibly deflated.

My son could have accompanied his sister, since he’s a “minor” too, and therefore not considered a security threat like my five-foot-tall self was I suppose. But he sweetly offered to sit with me, trying to entertain me with his cool iPod Touch games for an hour while I pouted. As I sat there wallowing in self pity, I felt even worse when I realized this is only a taste of what it will be like just one year from now.

I remember somebody once telling me that God made kids grow into teenagers so that by the time they leave home you’re ready for them to leave home.

But I confess, so far it’s not workin’ for me. I like hanging out with my teens. When I think about Ashleigh going off to college, it’s going to leave a really big hole that I can’t imagine filling right now. And when it’s Joshua’s turn…oi! I can’t even go there!

I know this is the whole point behind raising these kids we’ve been blessed with. Helping them to have the confidence to step out and carve their own special niche in the world. But when that time really comes, I now have no doubt; it’s going to be incredibly hard to…say good-bye.

Image by: The Shane H

Time Flies

I took my son parking-lot driving several weeks ago. He’s signed up to take driver’s ed over summer break, and I thought he should get in a little practice time before the big event. We’d done the exact same thing with his older sister. So I figured “no big deal” when we pulled into the empty high school parking lot. I put the van in park and climbed out, entering the passenger side while he slid over into the driver’s seat.

Over the past year, my boy has undergone a lot of changes. In my opinion, it seems boys’ pubescent changes occur more quickly and dramatically than girls’. When I look at his school picture from the beginning of the school year, vs. how he looks now at the end of the year, I’m stunned.

His face has lost most of its baby-like softness, appearing more toned. And there’s a whisper of dark hair skipping above his upper lip. He’s shot up in height, starting out the year shorter than me, and is now five inches taller. He’s developing muscles, which he enjoys flexing in front of my face whenever he gets the chance. (What is it with boys and flexing their biceps? My brothers used to do the same thing!)

Most shocking has been the sudden onset of his “man-voice.” What happened to that squeaky in-between phase? I swear boys are just skipping that phase all together now!

(Remember Pete in the Brady Bunch? “Time to Change”)




But as bizarre as all that other stuff has been, NOTHING has freaked me out as much as seeing my BABY behind the wheel of our van.

“This is too weird. I can’t do this. You have to trade me back seats,” I’d said.

He’d given me a look. “Mom. C’mon!”

“I’m serious. This is freaking me out. You’re not old enough to drive a car!”

“But you did this with Ashleigh at the same age!”

“It doesn’t matter. I can’t explain it, but it just doesn’t feel right.”

He’d refused to budge, and after taking some deep breaths, I’d finally calmed down.

As I directed him to drive in large circles around the lot, I thought about what he’d said. It was true. I’d done the exact same thing with his older sister. So why was I freaked out over having
him do the same thing at the same age?

Is this why the youngest child in a family sometimes takes longer to “grow up”? Is it because we freaked out parents try to hang onto our “babies” as long as we can?

As the left-hand circles he drove got smaller and smaller, I thought about how time with my kids, AS kids, is getting shorter and shorter. I remember when they were little, and I was doing the full-time stay-at-home mom deal. We’d flow through our days, playing, attending toddler gym & art classes, running errands. Occasionally a smiling older person would walk up, delighting in the antics of my little darlings, as they shoved clothing racks aside to play tag in stores while I exasperatedly tried to shop.

I’d puff out sighs, feeling exhausted. And they’d always say something like, “Enjoy them while they’re little like this. The time goes by so quickly.” Then a bittersweet smile would flicker across their lips as they’d turn away. At the time, I couldn’t relate at all. When my oldest finally reached the age of five, it felt like it had taken five long years to get there. But once the kids got into school, without me noticing at first, time started to speed up.

Now, I can’t believe I have a 17 and an almost-15 year old. How did it suddenly get to the point where I have only a few short years left with them? It’s like the realization has finally struck. Wait a minute. This is real. They’re actually growing up on me. Instead of getting kids to share a toy, or settling an argument over a T.V. program, I’m facing a lot scarier stuff. Like handing over the car keys.

Time IS really starting to fly. I’ve decided my new goal is to focus on savoring each precious day with them. Yup. I’m gonna treasure every little—oh my gosh! I just realized something. In another year my youngest will be 16, and he can start dating! What were we thinking? Sixteen isn’t old enough to date! No. Definitely not. Uh-uh. Not happening. We’re going to have to talk about this.

Image by Cosmic Spanner

Who Says I Can't?

I saw this really funny Mother’s Day card back in May. It had a picture of a 1950’s June Cleaver style mom, complete with pearl necklace—her arm around a pouting, incredibly sad-looking little boy. And the caption read something like: “You stay right here sweetie, while mommy goes and gives that mean old bully a smackdown.”

That totally cracked me up! Because, it’s so true. Any mom will tell you, mess with our kids and you’ll bring out our inner lioness.

And it’s not just confined to dealing with bullies. It makes no difference if they’re toddlers, or teens (who are bigger than we are), the instinct to protect our cubs arises in any situation where we feel our child is in peril.

The other day my 14-year-old son, Joshua’s, soccer team was playing in the pouring rain. While we parents stood on the sidelines, sinking into the mud, I suddenly noticed Joshua double over, then raise his hand in a request to come off the field.

He NEVER does that.

He sat down on the bench, remaining doubled over, his arms wrapped tightly around his ribs.

“Why is Joshua doing that? Did anybody see what happened?” I asked anxiously.

I received several negative murmurs in response.

“Is it his ribs? Did someone hit him in the ribs?”

“Dunno.”

“Didn’t see.”

I waited several long minutes, my eyes glued to Joshua’s still doubled-over form.

“I’m going over there,” I announced, and began marching around the field’s perimeter.

“You can’t do that.”

I was halted by another team member’s father.

“Why not.”

“You have to wait and see if the coach waves you over.”

“Why?”

“That’s just how it works.”

“But the coach isn’t even looking at him! He’s watching the game!”

The man shrugged sympathetically.

“Well that’s just stupid!” I fumed, sloshing back through the mud. “What if something is really wrong? What if one of his ribs is broken?” What if he needs emergency medical attention? (Have I mentioned before that I tend to have a somewhat, er high-strung personality type? Anyway…)

I stood there waiting a few more minutes. Joshua remained doubled over.

“This is ridiculous,” I finally said. “That’s it. I’m going over there.”

“Don’t do it.” Another dad stood in my path.

“Why can’t I go over there?” I was whining now.

He proceeded to share a story with me, about how when he was 15, and playing baseball, a boy on his team got hit by the ball. The boy’s teammates helped him off the field and onto a bench in the dugout. The boy’s mother raced over and said (in front of everyone) “Are you okay, sweet pea! Let mama check out that bump?” Naturally, the kid was mortified. Probably scarred for life.

“But I would never call Joshua, ‘sweet pea’!” I huffed.

The dad just shook his head at me.

I stood there several more minutes, sighing dramatically every few seconds.

“Would you like me to go over and check on him?” he finally offered, taking pity on me. (Or possibly hoping to escape my dramatic sighing.)

I turned hopeful eyes toward him. “Would you?!”

The nice man trudged around to the other side of the field. I saw him speak briefly to Joshua—still doubled over—then he trudged back.

“Well? Should I call an ambulance?”

“It’s just a stomach ache,” he grinned.

“Oh. Uh—thanks.” I mumbled sheepishly.

For the remainder of the game, though, I wondered why it was okay for another player’s dad to walk over there, but not the player’s mom. Weird ‘sweet pea’ mom story aside, who made up this unwritten rule that if a kid gets hurt on the field, it’s not okay for the mom to check on her very own child?

I posed that very question to my son later, as we drove home from the game.

My boy stopped toweling dry his hair, turned his beautiful dark eyes in my direction, and answered me. “Kids did, mom. Kids made up that rule.”

“Oh.”

A Little Something to Brighten Your Day...

Nothing like a little Julie Andrews to brighten your day. A friend sent me this YouTube link. The video was made in the Antwerp , Belgium Central (Train) Station on March 23, 2009.

". . . with no warning to the passengers passing through the station, at 8:00 a.m., a recording of Julie Andrews singing 'Do, Re, Mi' began to play on the public address system. As the bemused passengers watch in amazement, some 200 dancers began to appear from the crowd and station entrances. They created this amazing stunt with just two rehearsals." Enjoy!

Is This the Face of a Killer?

Last spring I was quite traumatized when my cuddly, little cockapoo became—well, there’s really no other way to say it--a murderer. He killed some bunnies living underneath our deck. It was AWFUL!

Oreo is normally a great listener (better than most teenagers) and responds instantly when I call him. Except then. He reverted back to his wolf instincts, or whatever, and refused to come. He was a dog on a hunting mission and nothing was going to deter him.

We’ve rebuilt our deck since then, and he can no longer fit underneath it. But apparently the bunnies can. Several weeks ago they built another nest under there. I had to keep Oreo on a leash for two weeks straight so he wouldn’t dig holes all around our deck in his attempts to get at them. It was quite frustrating. I wondered how long the life cycle of a baby bunny was and when they would finally move on. But eventually they did, and Oreo enjoyed free reign of the backyard once again.

Then two days ago, I noticed a bunny digging a hole in the middle of our yard. When I went out to chase it away, it just looked at me and laughed. (I hate it when wild life isn’t afraid of me!)

I pulled myself up to my full five feet in height and roared at it. It performed a couple of bunny hops and stopped. I roared again, running at it, and flailing my arms--much to my teen daughter’s hysterical amusement. The bunny hopped just across the border of our property into our neighbor’s yard. I filled in the hole it had dug, and marched back inside.

The minute my back was turned the bunny was back.

In desperation, I let Oreo out, hoping his menacing 15-lb. presence would terrify the bunny enough to find a new home. He sniffed around, keeping the critter at bay.

But the minute his back was turned, the bunny was back. Digging.

I chased it away again, then got our big, orange snow shovel. I filled in the bunny hole again, and laid the shovel on top of it. Ha! Let’s see it try to move THAT, I thought.


But the following morning…yeah. The bunny was back. No, it didn’t move the shovel. This time it was digging next to the shovel. I filled it in and covered both holes with the shovel. The bunny just moved to a new spot in the yard and started digging.

Arrrghhhh!!!!

Here’s something I don’t get. There are no protective bushes where this bunny is choosing to create its nest. There’s no shade. We have a dog. And we mow the lawn regularly.

Our next-door-neighbor’s house is currently empty. They have no dog. And they have lots of trees and bushes. For cryin’ out loud, where would you pick to build your nest? I think I’ve just figured out where the expression “dumb bunny” came from.

Anyway, now frustrated beyond reason, I eyed my husband’s BB gun, propped up in the corner of our kitchen…

Naw, I couldn’t do it! Not only did I have no idea how to shoot the thing, but what if I actually killed the bunny? Could I really handle that? Plus, I could put my eye out, right? But my husband wasn’t returning from a work-related trip for several days. What to do?

Well, I’m sorry to say I’ve become about as cold-blooded as Oreo. I’ve seriously reached my breaking point. I’m just going to let the dog continually patrol the property--let nature take its course. If the bunny’s number is up. It’s up. I know that may sound cruel but this is basic nature, “Survival of the Fittest,” “Circle of Life,” and all that.

Dumb bunny! Sick ‘em, Oreo.

Stayin' Alive

I’m very excited. It’s been over a week and a half and I haven’t killed my Mother’s Day gift yet. As I love flowers, but alas, did not inherit my mother’s green thumb, I tend to unintentionally kill the plants I love.

This is why my home is currently filled with lush, green, fake vegetation.

But isn’t this real orchid beautiful? It’s called a “Just Add Ice” orchid. To care for it I’m supposed to give it a mere three ice cubes per week. That’s it. So far so good…

European Vacation: Adventures in Rome - The Final Episode

For our last full day of touring in Rome we decided to appease our 14-year-old son, and headed out to tour some catacombs. We chose the Catacombs of San Sebastiano. These were a bit further away, but were supposed to be less crowded.

There are around 40 catacombs scattered outside the ancient walls of Rome. The catacombs are burial places, primarily for Christians since they preferred to be buried as opposed to cremated. By law, nobody was allowed to be buried within the walls of Rome. Land was expensive and many Christians were poor; so to make the most of the space available, the catacombs were dug into the ground and contained multiple levels. The Catacombs of San Sebastiano have four different levels.

It was quite amazing how elaborate the underground construction was. We saw empty grave after empty grave dug into the walls of the catacombs, but no bodies remained.

“I’m sorry we didn’t see any actual skeletons, buddy.” I apologized to Joshua after the tour. “I was sure there’d be skeletons.”

“That’s okay, mom,” he replied in characteristic easy-going style. “It was still cool.”

Using the bridge known as the Ponte Sant’Angelo, we crossed over the Tiber River that runs through the city. In the middle ages, this was the only bridge that connected the Vatican and St. Peter’s with downtown Rome.

And the angel statues on it are Bernini designed.

From the bridge we viewed the exterior of Emperor Hadrian’s tomb, the Castel Sant’Angelo. (Because even an emperor’s tomb couldn’t be inside the city.) Originally built in 139 A.D., the tomb has been used over the years as a castle, prison, and papal refuge.

We hadn’t yet experienced the infamous shopping mecca of Rome, Via del Corso, so we headed there next. This street is lined with super expensive, designer shops.

But even more interesting than the stores were the people. Because it was so close to Easter, the street had a distinctive carnival-like atmosphere. It was jam-packed with people. Toy hawkers attracted customers by blowing bubbles at them, clowns made balloon animals, and creative types looked to make a buck from the multitudes combing the streets with Euros to spend.

We came across these street dancers hoping for donations, and Joshua took a short video of them.

We ate more gelato and listened to street musicians perform beautiful music while watching artists create colorful pieces right before our eyes.



We also saw lots of this, too.

I enjoyed mortifying my teens by snapping pics whenever possible. “I want to capture the true flavor of Rome,” I explained as I snapped a few more. Joshua just shook his head and moved quickly away from me. “Don’t they have homes?” Ashleigh wondered.

While Josh and Chris were browsing in a boy-oriented store, Ashleigh and I waited for them outside the shop. We noticed that Twilight is just as popular in Rome as it is at home.

Saturday evening came to an end, and on Easter Sunday it was time for us to say farewell to Rome. But our adventure wasn’t quite over yet…

We arrived at the airport around 4:30 a.m., and wheeled our luggage around until we finally figured out where we were supposed to be. Chris travels so much he has one of those special frequent flyer cards, so we skipped past the long line of “regular” people, sailed through baggage check-in, and the security check. An airport employee directed us to our terminal with an “Arriva Derci” and a smile. We had just started walking when, BAM! All the power in the building went out.

I’m not making this up! At the same time, an incredibly loud siren started wailing in our ears. We stood there, for the second time that week, blinking in total darkness.

Using Joshua’s pocket flashlight, we made it to one of the terminals and sat down in some empty seats while Chris strolled to the massive windows and peered out into the blackness. “Yup,” he called over the siren. “It’s just our terminal. They’ll probably end up evacuating the airport.”

It took all my willpower not to throw myself on the ground and start screaming above that blasted siren, “NOOOOOO!!! I want to go home!”

The weird thing was, nobody appeared to be panicking. Actually, considering our apartment neighbors’ earthquake response, it probably wasn’t all that weird. Security guards strolled casually past--occasionally answering questions in Italian, which we of course couldn’t understand.

We sat in the dark for almost an hour before the power came back on and the siren quieted. Everybody in the terminal cheered.

Slowly everything came back to life. They never did evacuate the building; and we finally boarded the plane a mere two hours late. Thus, our two-hour layover in Amsterdam consisted of 65 people racing through the airport, hauling our carry-on bags, as we attempted to make our flight home.

Believe it or not we made it! And our luggage even made it home too. (There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home.)

So ended our European Vacation: Adventure in Rome. Farewell ancient ruins. Farewell gelato. Ciao Roma! All-in-all it was quite a fascinating trip. Hope you all enjoyed it as well!

Final Family Impressions:

Joshua:“I don’t want to see any more naked people!”
Ashleigh: “Yeah, I’m kind of sick of naked people too.”
Holly: “I hope the next museum we visit has an audiotour.”
Chris: “Do you think we took enough pictures…”



First catacombs image
Second catacombs image