Our trip to Portland this last weekend proved a nice episode. I took my daughter, my car, and my bike. The idyllic roadtrip feeling did not last because my bike was a bit wobbly on the car and I ditched it at our favorite li’l hippie bakery for Ralph to pick up. Despite this sense of fail the rest of the trip went well. We arrived at perfect weather, I didn’t overdo it on the activities list, I made it to a dear friend’s bachelor party (or actually, I made it to one part of three of said celebrations), and most fun, I saw loads of my brother and sister and we walked most everywhere.
I felt oddly disconnected from my daughter most of the weekend. This was because I spent a lot of time with my siblings who are grownups, and I tend to wish to relate to them in grownup fashion. In fact when I’m around grownups I’m sometimes not “present” for my children which means I start to miss them. Many other adults are amazing with my kids and very sweet, but the only real grownups who don’t pull me off my kid-compass are Ralph and, to a slightly lesser extent, my mother, both of whom somehow integrate with me and the kids, and that’s a good thing, and I appreciate it (best sentence ever for far too many commas).
I missed Nels and Ralph so much. Coming home to them was the most calming feeling.