Joe

I'm going to quit my job and become a professional iPhone photographer.

Highway to (Travel) Hell

Traveling with infants and toddlers is kind of like women having babies.  Stick with me here, because it's true.  

Women who have a baby soon forget how brutally difficult child birth can be, as a result of which they're willing to get pregnant and have another baby or two.  Similarly, when you take a vacation with infants and toddlers, you forget how terrible it is to travel in a car with them.  By the next year, you're ready for another vacation and another car trip.

I think it's some form of selective amnesia.

Last Saturday, Jude, J.P., Joey and I traveled home from Santa Rosa Beach, Florida, in Jude's Honda Pilot.  Aside from the trip home from the Orange Bowl in Miami, Florida, 15 years ago or so - when I traveled with 3 horribly broken fingers on a charter plane that was 12 hours late - our trip back to Nashville was the worst travel experience of my life.  And I'm not even exaggerating.  

What should have been a 6 1/2 hour trip home took 10 1/2 hours.  I clocked it.  And I felt like crying.

Within an hour of departing Santa Rosa Beach and winding our way toward Montgomery, Alabama, on a series of 2-lane highways, J.P. was whining and crying, literally crying, about the trip home taking too long.  Then, he began vomiting.  Again and again and again.  

At one point, with Jude sitting in the back seat between J.P. and Joey, I passed a tupperware container back to J.P., so he could vomit in it.  I hear his window roll down then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the container sailing down the highway.  J.P. started screaming and asked me to turn around and drive back to get it.  I refused.  More crying.  Finally, he explained he was trying to "dry" the container, which apparently had a few drops of water in it, when he rolled down the window.  Makes sense, right?

We stopped in some tiny, tiny town on the Florida-Alabama border to look for a store that would give us a cup of hot water to warm Joey's bottle of breast milk.  No luck.  We ended up parking at the City Hall/Public Library building, which was closed.  While I sat in a rocking chair on the front porch and gave Joey his bottle - in 95 degree weather - Jude and J.P. walked up the road in search of a bathroom.

From there, J.P. cried all the way to Montgomery, where we stopped in a Chick-fil-A.  For the play area, of course.  I fed Joey (or tried to, as he wasn't hungry), ate part of a disgusting chicken salad sandwich and watched J.P. in the play area.  After almost an hour, I suggested to J.P. that he go to the bathroom, so we could leave.  In response to what seemed like a perfectly reasonable request from me, he threw a fit and began yelling, at the top of his lungs, "I want to go the McDonald's play area."  In Chick-fil-A, with customers and employees staring at us.  

Back in the car, whenever J.P. calmed down momentarily, Joey started crying inconsolably.  Jude tried to comfort him while she ducked down and used the breast pump.  It got so bad, at my suggestion Jude removed Joey from his car seat and held him as we drove, state and federal laws on securing infants in car seats be damned.  At that point, I would have let Joey drive if it would have made him stop crying.  No sooner did Joey calm down, then J.P. started crying again.  It was "hell in a Honda."  I plugged my ear buds back into my iPhone and listened to another podcast.

In Huntsville, 1 1/2 hours away from Nashville, J.P. insisted we stop at another Chick-fil-A.  Play area time again.  At this point, I was catatonic.  I had the "thousand yard travel stare."  Finally, we left Huntsville and drove up I-65, headed home.  Suddenly, J.P. began vomiting again, mostly dry heaves because there was nothing left for him to throw up.  Lovely.  

I've never, ever been so glad to arrive home from a trip.  Next year we're flying.  Or not going.

Santa Rosa Beach 2012

It's Friday night - the last night of our vacation in Santa Rosa Beach, Florida.  J.P. is sleeping upstairs and Joey is sleeping in the stroller beside me in our beach house ("Slice of Paradise").  Jude is down the street, visiting with her Tulane friends for a few minutes before she goes to bed.  Yet again, a week at the beach has passed by too quickly.

Things I'll remember from this trip to the beach, our first with J.P. and Joey, in no particular order -

• When we left our house and drove south on I-65, we hadn't even reached the Old Hickory Blvd. (Brentwood) exit before J.P. said, "how much longer until we get there?"  I'm not even kidding.
• J.P. loved the bunk bed in his room at our rental house.  He especially loved taking his afternoon nap on the top bunk the last couple days of our visit.
• Each morning, I ran early, then J.P. and I walked up the street to one of the swimming pools in our complex for a swim.  We had the pool to ourselves and swam for about an hour, just the two of us.  That was probably my favorite part of the trip.
• J.P. loved the ocean, more so than on any other trip we've taken with him to the beach.  He spend a good deal of time in the water.  
• One morning after it had rained, we went to the beach.  Jude and J.P. found several shells.  J.P. walked up and down our section of the beach, showing his bucket of shells to everyone he ran into.  
• I enjoyed feeding Joey his bottle at the beach, underneath the umbrella we'd rented for the week, watching Jude and J.P. play in the ocean.
• Each morning, we carried so much gear to the beach - bouncy seat, blanket, beach towels, kick board, assorted buckets/shovels, snacks, bottled water, sun screen, camera, etc.  Okay, so that's not really a fond memory.
• We rented bicycles and a trailer for J.P.  Jude didn't ride hers the entire week and J.P. and I took my bicycle out twice for short trips.  He and did ride up to "Local Catch" for lunch, after which we rode home in a thunderstorm.
• We spent lots of quality time with Jude's Tulane friends and their children.  Jude and I got a kick out of watching J.P. play with the big boys (Ben Russell, Trent Williams and Nate and Andrew Fitzpatrick).  
• We had a crazy dinner for 20 at Elmo's on 30A, after an hour wait.  
• Joey and I drove over to Grayton Beach every afternoon for a quiet interlude, while Jude and J.P. napped at our rental house.  We found a quaint coffee house - Grayt Coffee House - and spend a couple of afternoons there.
• Once again, I ran on the trails around Draper Lake.  I discovered some new trails on the other side of 30A, across from Draper Lake (single track, mostly sand), in a new development ("Pelican").  One morning, toward the end of a 5 mile run, I tripped over a small tree stump or root and did a complete face plant on the downhill portion of one of the trails in the Draper Lake development.  Fortunately, the trail consisted of sand, pine needles and twigs, so I was uninjured other than scratching up my chest and stomach.

Those are just the high points.  It's been a good week, although there isn't a lot of vacationing to be done with a 4 year old and 4 month old.  We're looking at a long drive tomorrow, but it will be nice to get home.

Grayt Coffee House

It's a lazy Florida afternoon and I'm sitting in a quaint coffee house in Grayton Beach, Florida, drinking a version of a "mood elevator" (Bongo Java) that's not half bad.  Joey is sleeping in his stroller beside me, taking his afternoon nap.  The mood is captured quite nicely by an acoustic remake of "Everybody Wants to Rule the World" playing quietly in the background.  Ah, the 1980's.

It's interesting, but Grayt Coffee House doubles as a real estate office and, apparently, some type of ticket office for tours (a lady just walked in and purchased a pair of tickets to some event or other).  The only other customer is sleeping in a leather chair in the back, dark sunglasses on and sporting a "ZZ Top" beard that runs down the front of his chest.  

Early this morning, as I finished my four mile run on some trails I've discovered over the years around Draper Lake, I listened to a podcast of "This American Life," the theme of which was "fatherhood."  The host of the show - Ira Glass - is a genius and an amazing talent, as I've said before.  I recognized the last act of the podcast and, sure enough, when it was over, Ira Glass mentioned it had originally aired on the program in 2005.

As I sat in front of our rental house and stretched, I became a bit nostalgic, thinking about all that had happened in my life since I first heard the radio story referenced above, most likely as I was running on the trails in Shelby Bottoms.  I was 38 or 39 years old then.  Now, I've got two boys and it's strange, but I can't remember much of my life before they arrived in it.

"ZZ Top beard guy" just left, saying goodbye to the barista.  Jack Johnson is playing in the background now, actually the perfect soundtrack to an afternoon at the beach.

Jude's Tulane crowd began arriving last night for a 20-year Tulane reunion of sorts.  Jim and Colleen from Boston, Jeff and Ellen from California, Jackie and Scott Russell from Washington D.C. (and kids, of course, eight counting J.P. and Joey).  We're expecting Cindy (and kids) from Seattle, Kevin from New York City and maybe, just maybe Terry (and one kid) from Chicago.  It's an impressive turnout, actually.  These are good, good people, as I've discovered over the nearly 15 years Jude and I have been together.

The first 10 years or so after they graduated from Tulane, Jude and her friends had an annual reunion trip.  They met in places like Lake Tahoe, the Outer Banks and Montreal.  As everyone began to have the children, the annual reunions petered out and the gatherings were more sporadic - a trip to Chicago, a trip to Washington D.C, our wedding.  It's cool to see them all together again, with their children.

Joey is awake now and letting me hear about it.  Time to sign off.

Strolling Down Memory Lane

An alternative title for this post would be "Taking it to the Streets," because that's what Joey and I have doing lately in the City Elite (Baby Jogger) stroller.  Walking, walking and more walking in the neighborhood, made more special for me because I realize how soon it will be that he's too big for the stroller and I'll have to park it once and for all.

As he and I make tracks all over the neighborhood, I'm reminded so poignantly of the many, many strolls J.P. and I took together the first 2 + years of his life, until he got too big for the stroller.  Every day, Joey and I are re-tracing the walks J.P. and I took a lifetime ago to Bongo Java, La Fiesta (a.k.a. Chago's Cantina), Belmont U, Mafioza's, Kim and Hal's house and around and around our block.  Those were such special, one-on-one times I shared with J.P. and now, this time around, I'm sharing them with Joey.

I feel so lucky to return to that sacred, peaceful and uncomplicated place, as I stroll through the neighborhood with my son.  It's hard to describe, but I feel so content, so happy, when I gaze down at Joey as we walk, asleep in the City Elite.  It's such a controlled environment - one I can control - and I feel like he's safe, like I can keep him safe.  And, my God, that feeling is so very fleeting, so hard to hold onto before it slips through my fingers and is gone, leaving me helplessly grasping for it.  Soon enough, as with J.P., there will be school, play dates and birthday parties.

But for now, for an all too brief interlude of time, there are Saturday afternoon walks to Mafioza's, where I drink a couple of beers and read the New Yorker while Joey sleeps contentedly in the City Elite (though I might point out that 3 years ago I was reading the actual magazine and now I'm reading the magazine on my iPad).  There are nighttime walks (like tonight, after we put J.P. to bed) to Bongo Java, after which I enjoy a "Mood Elevator" as we take in the sights on Belmont Boulevard as we walk home.  There are other nighttime walks around an ever expanding block near our house, as I listen to random selections of music via the Spotify App on my iPhone (3 years ago, I was listening to downloaded music on my iPod).

In some ways - in many ways, actually, I wish these times could last forever.

  

Singing in the Rain

Friday night, after dinner, J.P. and I drove down to Chago's Cantina on Belmont Boulevard to see our friend, Meghan, who used to work at Bongo Java before she graduated from Belmont U. I had seen her earlier in the day, when she told me she was picking up a few shifts waiting on tables this summer before she resumes her teaching job this fall.

It was raining hard as we parked on Belmont Boulevard, a few doors down from the restaurant. Laughing, we ran hand-in-hand up the sidewalk and ducked into Chago's. We stopped to say hello to Chad - the owner - who always takes good care of us when we heat there. When J.P. saw Meghan, he ran up to her from behind and said, "hey!" She turned, saw him and beamed as she picked him up in a bear hug.

As hard as it is for us when our longtime friends from Bongo Java move on, it's such a treat to see them again. To a person, they mean so much to J.P. (and to me, too, because they've been such a part of his life every weekend and many nights after dinner, when we stop in to say hello). We said our goodbyes, then walked out the door, only to find it was raining even harder. I noticed water rushing down beside the curb of Belmont Boulevard, as it tends to do when it rains. There were puddles everywhere. A light bulb went off in my head and I said, "J.P., come on, let's go!"

We ran straight to the first puddle and splashed through it. J.P. squealed in delight. Next, we ran over to the curb, between the parked cars and the sidewalk, and started running through the rushing water. We ran to the corner, in front of the Circle K, then turned around and retraced our steps, running right back up the side of the street, laughing together with every step. I glanced to my left and saw people waiting to be seated at Cha Cha, Chago's and P.M. (3 restaurants on Belmont Boulevard) pointing and laughing right along with us. It was almost like I could read their minds, as each one reflected on a memory of a rainy day when he or she had spashed through puddles with a parent or a child.

I had flashbacks of playing with my sister in the water-filled ditch in front of my mother's house after a hard summer rain.

When we finally got back into my truck to head home, soaked from head to toe, J.P. couldn't stop talking about how much fun we'd had. And I can't stop thinking the same thing, even now.

Catching Up

It's a breathtakingly beautiful mid-June morning and I'm sitting on the front deck at Bongo Java, eating a quick breakfast, having just droppped J.P. off at Children's House.  I had a cancellation on my calendar this morning, so I thought I'd steal a few minutes to to get caught up.

I have my earbuds in and Spotify open on my laptop (hands down, one of the best tech innovations of past 5 years for music fans like me).  I'm listening to the Byrds and, for some reason, it's the perfect soundtrack for my morning.  Belmont Boulevard is bustling with activity - pedestrians hurrying to class, appointments or just out for a walk; trucks stopped to deliver food to the restaurant; and cars parked up an down the Boulevard.  Bongo Java is hopping, due to a couple of camps ongoing at Belmont U and orientation for incoming freshman and their parents (I guess August and the start of school isn't really that far away).  Sarah and Chuck are working behind the bar inside, along with a couple of newbies, as well.  Fudgecake, the cat, ambled over to greet me as I sat down, then continued on his way to patrol the sidewalk in front of Bongo Java and the businesses on both sides. 

I'm under attack from a squirrel who is dropping pieces of walnuts all around me, stationed high above in one of the large trees that shades the front deck.  And here comes Fudgecake again, back on the deck to greet people, his morning rounds completed.

In other words, it's a perfect morning and all is right in my world. 

I haven't posted much lately, for a variety of reasons, really.  I've been busy, for one.  Also, from a practical standpoint, it's been difficult to type with a brace on my left hand that only really allowed me to use my index finger on that hand.  I've been a bit down, too, to be honest, due to my hand injury.  I've felt a little sorry for myself, I guess.  Fortunately, though, the broken bone is healing quickly and I'm able to take the brace off from time to time.  Better still, I can type, though not as fast as I normally can.  I can see the light at the end of the tunnel now and I know I'm going to be fine.  My goal, unstated but rather obvious, is to recover enough to play in my softball team's tournament in late July/early August.  I want to be there to defend our title and I want to prove - to others and myself - that an injury like this isn't going to be the end of softball for me.  I'm not ready to give it up.  Not yet, anyway.   

I'm rambling, but it's good to ramble every once in a while.