……..Let us start this off with a little disclaimer…….
1. I am a mama with a lot of kids.
2. I write stuff from my mama perspective.
3. I would never intentionally rat out, expose, or belittle a kid.
4. I got a kid going to Ireland.
5. The Ireland adventure stories are too good NOT to tell. (and he hasn’t even boarded the plane yet)
6. My kids don’t read my stuff anyhow.
7. Just in case they might, probably when i am deceased…here is my disclaimer:
“Your eldest brother, who shall remain nameless, told me that part of being my kid is learning to deal with embarrassment.”
8. End disclaimer.
I do pretty good at going to sleep…for a couple of hours, but then i wake up. And when i do, my subconscious brain kicks in and reminds me of all the stuff i have to worry about. Next, my conscious half-awake mind steps up and joins the “don’t forget about your list of what to worry about” party. And, well, I’m not one to miss a party. So awake i am…and awake i stay…drifting somewhere between fear and faith. What a party.
Last night was no exception. Sometimes don’t you just wish you could turn off your mind when you went to sleep like you switch off your light? And turn it back on the next morning? Someone ought to invent that. But, i haven’t seen that product on the market yet and there i lay thinking of all the things to do, information to look up and disasters that could happen while my boy is on his adventure in Ireland…alone…by himself…with no cell phone…riding a bike…or hitch hiking…exploring the land…making his dream become a reality…in Ireland…alone…by himself…in the rain…on cliffs…with no contacts…alone…with no helpline…(well, you get it)…yeah.
What was it this time? 2 or 3 hours of partying?
I wake up tired. I wake up grumpy. I wake up on the wrong side of the bed.
I go downstairs to begin my morning routine.
An hour later they start to straggle out of bed, my 3 teen boys.
Middle son slips down the stairs, “Hi, mom.” “Good morning, Ben.”
Youngest son, “Hi, mom.” “Good morning, Noah.”
Oldest of the three pops down, “Hi, mom.” “Good morning, Ireland.”
That’s his new name…Ireland.
Ireland grabs a towel and heads for the shower. He didn’t look tired. He didn’t sound grumpy. His bed is pushed up against the wall so he doesn’t ever get out of the wrong side in the morning. And that annoyed me.
“How can he be so okay?” I murmur to myself. “Doesn’t this kid realize how far behind he is on his “go-to-Ireland-to-do” list?”
Obviously he hadn’t been laying awake at night fearing the lonely unknown roads or bands of little thief children, that his brother Josh told him roamed the hills of Ireland. Looks like he didn’t lose any sleep over lost directions, or misplaced passport, or stolen credit card. Must be he slept through the what if i fall ill, or get abducted, or slide off a cliff into a vast forest movie that was playing in my head.
I continue with my housework, which leads me to pass by the bathroom. I am still a wee bit annoyed.
“He had better get on the ball,” I say to no one but me.
And that’s when i hear it…a sound drifting from the bathroom…
an upbeat traditional folk song from an Irish band…
it is blaring rather loudly…
but on top of that “loudly” is the clear strong voice of my Ireland…
happy as can be…
in the shower…
without a care in the world.
I lean against the bathroom door and i listen. I smile to myself and i shake my head softly.
Hmm, i wonder. I wonder if I’ll ever go to Ireland.