Archive for Month: January, 2010
Traveling With A Million Kids
“Where ya been, Mishi? Where’d ya travel with four kids, a stroller, a carseat, four carry-ons, and camera gear? Huh? Huh? Tell us!”
Well class, I traveled to the frozen tundra, of course. Ok, ok…not REALLY the frozen tundra, but Buffalo, NY; a place that is pretty damn close to a frozen tundra. And, let me tell you, I was so happy that there was fresh white snow on the ground while I was up there, too, because–dammit–I got to take pictures of the kids in the snow. Catch my drift? My snow drift. Hardy-har-har.
Seriously, enough with the bad dialogue, run on sentences, and poor humor.
How else can I aim low in one post? Simple: I can tell you how I. DID. NOT. PACK.
“You didn’t pack? Mishi, you really have done gone crazy! How could you not pack for yourself and four kids? Huh? Huh? Tell us!”
EASY! My mom shopped like the shop-a-holic she has proven herself to be over the years. She stock-piled jeans, sweaters, fleecies, pajamas, socks, underwear, shoes, coats, you-name-it, it was waiting for us. Not a Snuggie in sight, though, and I’ve decided that I’m definitely not going to buy myself a Snuggie. If I am not bestowed one, well then I just won’t be having one, but I digress.
“So you didn’t pack, Mrs. Smarty Pants? How did you get all the stuff home? Huh? Huh? Tell us!”
EASY! I went to this place called the UPS store, bought some boxes, stuffed the shit out of them, taped them up, took them back, and had them shipped home to Georgia. Not only will our stuff not get lost, I saved myself the heartache of waiting in baggage claim in one of the busiest airports in America. And, that? That’s worth the ten extra dollars I paid to have the boxes shipped as opposed to checking in luggage!
I do have to say that flying by myself with four kids, a stroller, a carseat, four carry-ons, and camera gear is really effin’ hard. Nothing compared to the stressful ten days I spent in NY. But, that’s a TOTALLY different story.
Just Open the Box
The box may be small, but inside there is an infinite amount of hurt. Small things. Big things. Insignificant things. Consequential things. Comments made snidely, comments made with intention, comments made out of ignorance; they get stuffed in the box so tightly that sometimes you have to force it closed.
Then you forget the box even exists.
Then it opens up without warning.
Everything, the weightless yet bone-crushingly heavy contents spill out in front of you. They engulf you, they start to climb up your frozen legs, they seep into your warm, pulsing blood, they suffocate, and they meticulously destroy you; only because they can, only because you let them. The box may be small, but inside there are twisted, heart hardening feelings. It’s easy to let them continuously destroy you.
Then you force it closed again, as always.
Then all is quiet, and you are swayed to believe there is peace.
I hate the contents of the box. The toxic burden has built up for years. There’s been hurt, blame, and flippant words like, “you don’t know us.” On the outside of the box, though, I am screaming, “YOU. DON’T. KNOW. ME.” For years I have not been listened to or understood. For years it’s been only what [they] want to see, hear, and say. Not anymore. The box? The contents? They have been exposed. Now I can release them and refuse to let them hurt me anymore.
Then I realize the box needs to be left alone, on the ground, in the middle of nowhere.
Then it can be filled with happiness, and not negativity.
******
*I want to thank my cousin Pauline for giving me the photographed box. Coupled with the writing theme for {W}rite-of-Passage, I was able to start to verbalize some feelings that have been stirring within me.
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