Several years of daydreaming and whining have finally come to fruition with the Williams' girls: they got to ride an airplane. The countdown started when the tickets were bought approximately 5 weeks ago. Gianni however got stuck on the phrase, 'I'm going on a big airplane in two weeks!' so that was his answer (and will continue to be) for the past, present, and future of air travel. As anyone knows, getting there is half the fun. Unless you're the parents and then getting there is a headache of logistics, luggage, directions, time, tickets, hunger, expense, pockets stuffed with items bribery, and the occasional wet underpants. The take-off was everything their fevered imaginations had concocted and we did well until we all remembered Anna has a tendency to get car sick. 'Nuff said. Moving on.
We were very pleasantly surprised to learn that Michigan (which I may or may not had to learn both to spell correctly and to find on a map) is quite loverly. Everyone I told our destination to only had this to say about it,
People there however have this to say about Idaho,
'Isn't that the potato place? Are there any cities there?'
So, I guess I learned we all need to get out more.
I also may or may not have offended the locals when I snapped a photo of not one, but two, tractors getting gas at the Quicki-Mart. Sorry about that, locals, I couldn't help but find it funny.
Gianni discovered a fierce loathing of vans. Odd, since we in fact own a said minivan. But you never heard so much howling in your life as every time we switched vehicles. 'I don't like the green van! I wanna get out!' Since his future involves a lot of vans packed full of a lot of kids, we are hoping to get past this mental block of rectangular shaped automobiles without full-on head-shrinking help. I'm thinking tapes played at night on a continuous loop encouraging him to love the vans, embrace the vans, find joy in the vans...
The humidity and the mosquitoes are something for an Western-er to reckon with. Suddenly my husband looked like Harrison Ford in The Mosquito Coast and I couldn't help but worry that he was going to go bonkers and our tale would take a tragic turn for the worst. Then I remembered Harrison Ford is a looker and so it couldn't be all bad. Which made me think of River Phoenix. Which in turn made me think of Corey Haim, whose death I am still not completely over. Please wait here while I go grab some Cheezits for comforting.
Our entire week was a bit of an audition and we felt like we were in a fish bowl. A parenting fish bowl. One where the guppies were alternating between various degrees of naughtiness. There was a lot of saying the right things while simultaneously shooting laser beams out of our eyeballs and whispering threats to shorten their life spans considerably. In spite of that, we enjoyed our trip immensely and look forward to moving forward in this adventure that is life.
We got to spend time with all the group home kids. At first I was terrified to think of being Mom to teenage boys whose feet are bigger than my legs, but after meeting them, most fears diminished. Teenagers kinda crack me up actually. Mostly they wanted to know if I can cook. That seems to be the only prerequisite for mothering in their book.
Our move there will consist of driving exactly 1952 miles which I had cheerfully been complaining about until the person I was speaking with casually mentioned his missionary son who lives on the Amazon with his wife and four tiny adopted children and recently traveled 1000 miles in a wooden canoe, killing deadly snakes along the way and fearing for their lives, and loving every minute of it. And probably not complaining. So I gather from that no one will feel sorry for me in my air-conditioned minivan complete with snacks and dvd players. I will still complain and beg for sympathy. Naturally. And you will give it to me, my loyal readers. All four of you. 'Cause that's how you roll.
As far as the certainties and for-sures and the whens and the whys, the directors are not in a rush to hire people in a business where turn-over is high. So, we wait. Waiting on the Lord. Much like the waiting room in Beetlejuice...hmmm, first The Mosquito Coast and now Beetlejuice. I need slightly less off the wall movies to parallel my life. So for the next few days we are once again at the mercy of friends and family for floor space, table space, and showers. It's amazing and amusing what you learn when you live with people and I considered writing a whole blog post on just that, but then I was afraid that my muses would rebel and write their own blogs on having me as a house guest. And no one needs to read about my weirdness. They might learn about my ninja skills when you put a dirty dish in the sink I just cleaned (sorry, Ike, I feel I may have wounded you for life and also given you a tic when you approach your own sink), or my frightening bed-head in the morning, or my knack for canceling your dvr recordings behind your back (sorry, Sadie). I also may or may not, snore. I do wonder if our respective hosts and hostesses are secretly starting a support group behind my back...
'Hello. My name is (insert your name here). And I'm a recovering Williams' family host.'
There probably should be a 12 step program.