Mini Getaway
It's been a week already, but I didn't want to miss the opportunity to write about a mini getaway Micah and I were able to enjoy last week. For Christmas this year, he was given tickets to a Weird Al concert. While it isn't exactly my idea of a fun night out, it was a great chance to take some time away together. And, to be honest, something we really needed in this season.
We left straight from school and hit two traffic jams on our way down, so by the time we got to our hotel, dropped off our things, and got to the venue, there was no time for supper. It didn't matter. We were looking forward to the chance to sit over drinks and food after the concert and talk for as long as we wanted. The venue was beautiful. We sat and took it all in, talking and joking, and watching the people around us. It was wonderful. The show itself was a lot of fun, as much as I groaned and rolled my eyes. I can't deny Weird Al is a brilliant song writer and performer, and the look on Micah's face through the concert made it very much worthwhile. He had a blast. Micah told the kids later, "It was a good concert. I enjoyed it, and Mommy almost enjoyed it." It was a fun evening. We left our seats after the show and walked--and walked, and walked--back to our car. It was cold and rainy, and we were frozen by the time we got back, but laughing and enjoying ourselves.
We got back to the hotel to hop on wi fi and look up nearby restaurants. It was almost ten o'clock, but it looked like a few places were still open for a couple of hours. We headed back to the car and drove the short distance to the nearest restaurant. The area we were in was almost completely made up of traffic circles--I joked that that whole region must look like polka dots from the sky--so by the time we'd made our way around about fifteen different circles, figured out where to park, and wandered into the restaurant, it was after ten o'clock. We were tired and hungry, but ready for a fun meal. We walked into the restaurant and the waitress said, "Before I seat you--are you hoping to order food? Our kitchen just closed." We were frustrated, but we thanked her and trudged back to the car. On to the next place. Kitchen closed. Another restaurant was open until 3 am and advertised late night food, so we headed that way. We parked, walked in, and were met at the door by another waitress. "I'm really sorry, but our kitchen just closed--are you here for drinks or food?" At this point, I should probably say that some days are harder to swallow than others (I mean, literally swallow). That day I had opted to skip lunch and have a shake instead, since it was easier to drink. So by almost 11 o'clock, I was ravenous! Frustrated we slumped back to the car. "Now what?" We hadn't packed any snacks this time, and it didn't look like we were going to find an open restaurant. We drove around for a little bit, driving by some of the local places and hoping to catch a lit "Open" sign by a door. Finally we passed a gas station. "Might be our best bet," Micah sighed. We parked and went in. We were hungry enough to eat just about anything, but flaming hot Cheetos didn't seem quite like supper. We spotted some protein bars and cashews, and decided to call them good enough. We paid and headed back to the hotel, now nearly midnight. We sat on the edge of the bed in the hotel room, crunching protein bars, and joking that it wasn't quite the romantic dinner we'd anticipated. But this is the stuff memories are made of.
Since I'd been so long suffering and all that in going to the Weird Al concert, Micah had agreed to a trip to Ikea the next day. I was so excited! We slept in, got ready, and went out for a nice breakfast (to "make up" for our supper the night before). We went to a new place, and it was wonderful! I had crab cake eggs benedict, and it was as wonderful as it sounds. We sat for as long as we wanted and talked over coffee. It had been cold and rainy the night before, but the morning was bright and sunny, even if it was cold. This is what getaways are meant to be. We finished our breakfast, and headed out to the store. Parking was, as usual, as crazy as a theme park. So Micah dropped me off at the door and parked the car. As much as I love the store, I know how much walking is involved. Pride aside, I was willing to use a wheelchair if they had one. We looked around at the entrance, but didn't see any sign of them. So we squared our shoulders and set out with the cane, planning to stop as often as we needed to "test out" the furniture on display and rest for a while. We had a great time exploring the different displays, talking about ideas for our house (OK, that was probably more fun for me than for him, but I had some credit in the relationship bank after the concert...), daydreaming about kitchen islands. Every few displays, I would sit and rest for a while. I could tell I was paying for all the walking the night before, because only a short distance into the store, I was already struggling. We came to a little living area. "I need to really sit for a while. I'm sorry." We sat down in the quiet corner. I was exhausted. Every inch of my body felt tired. What am I doing? This was a mistake! I knew I couldn't do this store. What was I thinking? We sat for a long time, talking and watching people as they passed us. Finally we decided to move on. I walked slowly, but now I was scouting seats. I passed a few people in wheelchairs and looked for some kind of marking to indicate they were store chairs. Nothing. We walked on. We were about halfway through the store, so it would be as easy to finish as it would be to turn around and leave. We picked out a few kitchen things and I smiled as Micah found some things that weren't even on our list. But in the back of my mind, I was beginning to panic. What if I can't finish this store? What if I fall? We walked on and eventually made our way to the check out. We paid for our things and Micah offered to pull the car around. I told him I probably needed to just keep moving, since there wasn't a place to sit while I waited and standing would be worse than walking. He offered his arm and we walked to the car.
I flopped onto the car seat and closed my eyes. My legs were shaking. I was so tired, my eyes were having trouble focusing. And I was so frustrated. We sat quietly for a long while. Finally, Micah said quietly, "What do you want to do? Should we head home?" I didn't want to go home. I wanted to keep enjoying our time away together, to go on to more stores and shows and things we never got to do on a normal day. But I was struggling just to sit upright. "I don't know. I'm so exhausted, but I don't want it to be over. I don't want our getaway to be over yet." We talked about a few places we could visit, but the thought of walking more made me want to cry. I couldn't. I just couldn't. Finally I sighed, "Let's just head home. I'll try to rest on the way, and maybe we can stop partway home. I can't do any more today." He nodded silently and pulled out.
We got on the road and I watched the landscape slip past. My eyes blurred, and tears spilled down my cheeks. I couldn't help it. Micah watched me quietly out of the corner of his eye and reached over and squeezed my hand. I cried for several miles. Finally I took a deep breath. "I really wanted this getaway to be special, you know? For you especially. I wanted you to be able to forget, for one day, that anything was different. I just wanted it to be like normal for a little while."
"April, this is normal. It's not our old normal, but this is our normal now. And it's OK. We'll find ways to adjust. Maybe we need to take two nights away so you can go back to a hotel room and rest. Maybe we need to do less walking. But this was a normal getaway--it's our normal."
He was right. There aren't vacations, escapes, from normal life. This is our normal life. It felt a little like grief, like letting go of our old life. Our old active life. But he was right. And we were together in this. I'd spent so much time trying to keep him from feeling like anything had changed, trying to tough my way through it and not let him see that anything was different. But it was. And it was different for both of us. It wasn't fair to keep him from experiencing it all when I was feeling it every moment of every day. This was our new normal. Our normal.
I fell asleep for a little while slumped against the door of the car. About an hour later, Micah gently tapped my arm. "We're about halfway home and there are some restaurants here. If you're up to it, we could stop for coffee and pie? Or lunch?"
"Yes! Please, let's stop!"
We got out of the car and went into Cracker Barrel. Maybe not the most exciting place for a date, but it was perfect that day. We sat and ate dessert for lunch and sipped decaf coffee and talked about what normal was now. No one else in that restaurant probably knew that the cane was new, that we're still coming to grips with our life. But it felt just a little different to us, like we were in this together. It may have been one of my favorite moments of the whole time away. This thing is hard--very hard. But my mom was right: it has the potential to take the two of us much deeper than we've ever been before, to test and then cement our relationship, to give us our own context and experiences and language that no one else shares. Sometimes the hardest things are the most beautiful--and it's true of getaways and marriages as much as it is of anything else.
We left straight from school and hit two traffic jams on our way down, so by the time we got to our hotel, dropped off our things, and got to the venue, there was no time for supper. It didn't matter. We were looking forward to the chance to sit over drinks and food after the concert and talk for as long as we wanted. The venue was beautiful. We sat and took it all in, talking and joking, and watching the people around us. It was wonderful. The show itself was a lot of fun, as much as I groaned and rolled my eyes. I can't deny Weird Al is a brilliant song writer and performer, and the look on Micah's face through the concert made it very much worthwhile. He had a blast. Micah told the kids later, "It was a good concert. I enjoyed it, and Mommy almost enjoyed it." It was a fun evening. We left our seats after the show and walked--and walked, and walked--back to our car. It was cold and rainy, and we were frozen by the time we got back, but laughing and enjoying ourselves.
We got back to the hotel to hop on wi fi and look up nearby restaurants. It was almost ten o'clock, but it looked like a few places were still open for a couple of hours. We headed back to the car and drove the short distance to the nearest restaurant. The area we were in was almost completely made up of traffic circles--I joked that that whole region must look like polka dots from the sky--so by the time we'd made our way around about fifteen different circles, figured out where to park, and wandered into the restaurant, it was after ten o'clock. We were tired and hungry, but ready for a fun meal. We walked into the restaurant and the waitress said, "Before I seat you--are you hoping to order food? Our kitchen just closed." We were frustrated, but we thanked her and trudged back to the car. On to the next place. Kitchen closed. Another restaurant was open until 3 am and advertised late night food, so we headed that way. We parked, walked in, and were met at the door by another waitress. "I'm really sorry, but our kitchen just closed--are you here for drinks or food?" At this point, I should probably say that some days are harder to swallow than others (I mean, literally swallow). That day I had opted to skip lunch and have a shake instead, since it was easier to drink. So by almost 11 o'clock, I was ravenous! Frustrated we slumped back to the car. "Now what?" We hadn't packed any snacks this time, and it didn't look like we were going to find an open restaurant. We drove around for a little bit, driving by some of the local places and hoping to catch a lit "Open" sign by a door. Finally we passed a gas station. "Might be our best bet," Micah sighed. We parked and went in. We were hungry enough to eat just about anything, but flaming hot Cheetos didn't seem quite like supper. We spotted some protein bars and cashews, and decided to call them good enough. We paid and headed back to the hotel, now nearly midnight. We sat on the edge of the bed in the hotel room, crunching protein bars, and joking that it wasn't quite the romantic dinner we'd anticipated. But this is the stuff memories are made of.
Since I'd been so long suffering and all that in going to the Weird Al concert, Micah had agreed to a trip to Ikea the next day. I was so excited! We slept in, got ready, and went out for a nice breakfast (to "make up" for our supper the night before). We went to a new place, and it was wonderful! I had crab cake eggs benedict, and it was as wonderful as it sounds. We sat for as long as we wanted and talked over coffee. It had been cold and rainy the night before, but the morning was bright and sunny, even if it was cold. This is what getaways are meant to be. We finished our breakfast, and headed out to the store. Parking was, as usual, as crazy as a theme park. So Micah dropped me off at the door and parked the car. As much as I love the store, I know how much walking is involved. Pride aside, I was willing to use a wheelchair if they had one. We looked around at the entrance, but didn't see any sign of them. So we squared our shoulders and set out with the cane, planning to stop as often as we needed to "test out" the furniture on display and rest for a while. We had a great time exploring the different displays, talking about ideas for our house (OK, that was probably more fun for me than for him, but I had some credit in the relationship bank after the concert...), daydreaming about kitchen islands. Every few displays, I would sit and rest for a while. I could tell I was paying for all the walking the night before, because only a short distance into the store, I was already struggling. We came to a little living area. "I need to really sit for a while. I'm sorry." We sat down in the quiet corner. I was exhausted. Every inch of my body felt tired. What am I doing? This was a mistake! I knew I couldn't do this store. What was I thinking? We sat for a long time, talking and watching people as they passed us. Finally we decided to move on. I walked slowly, but now I was scouting seats. I passed a few people in wheelchairs and looked for some kind of marking to indicate they were store chairs. Nothing. We walked on. We were about halfway through the store, so it would be as easy to finish as it would be to turn around and leave. We picked out a few kitchen things and I smiled as Micah found some things that weren't even on our list. But in the back of my mind, I was beginning to panic. What if I can't finish this store? What if I fall? We walked on and eventually made our way to the check out. We paid for our things and Micah offered to pull the car around. I told him I probably needed to just keep moving, since there wasn't a place to sit while I waited and standing would be worse than walking. He offered his arm and we walked to the car.
I flopped onto the car seat and closed my eyes. My legs were shaking. I was so tired, my eyes were having trouble focusing. And I was so frustrated. We sat quietly for a long while. Finally, Micah said quietly, "What do you want to do? Should we head home?" I didn't want to go home. I wanted to keep enjoying our time away together, to go on to more stores and shows and things we never got to do on a normal day. But I was struggling just to sit upright. "I don't know. I'm so exhausted, but I don't want it to be over. I don't want our getaway to be over yet." We talked about a few places we could visit, but the thought of walking more made me want to cry. I couldn't. I just couldn't. Finally I sighed, "Let's just head home. I'll try to rest on the way, and maybe we can stop partway home. I can't do any more today." He nodded silently and pulled out.
We got on the road and I watched the landscape slip past. My eyes blurred, and tears spilled down my cheeks. I couldn't help it. Micah watched me quietly out of the corner of his eye and reached over and squeezed my hand. I cried for several miles. Finally I took a deep breath. "I really wanted this getaway to be special, you know? For you especially. I wanted you to be able to forget, for one day, that anything was different. I just wanted it to be like normal for a little while."
"April, this is normal. It's not our old normal, but this is our normal now. And it's OK. We'll find ways to adjust. Maybe we need to take two nights away so you can go back to a hotel room and rest. Maybe we need to do less walking. But this was a normal getaway--it's our normal."
He was right. There aren't vacations, escapes, from normal life. This is our normal life. It felt a little like grief, like letting go of our old life. Our old active life. But he was right. And we were together in this. I'd spent so much time trying to keep him from feeling like anything had changed, trying to tough my way through it and not let him see that anything was different. But it was. And it was different for both of us. It wasn't fair to keep him from experiencing it all when I was feeling it every moment of every day. This was our new normal. Our normal.
I fell asleep for a little while slumped against the door of the car. About an hour later, Micah gently tapped my arm. "We're about halfway home and there are some restaurants here. If you're up to it, we could stop for coffee and pie? Or lunch?"
"Yes! Please, let's stop!"
We got out of the car and went into Cracker Barrel. Maybe not the most exciting place for a date, but it was perfect that day. We sat and ate dessert for lunch and sipped decaf coffee and talked about what normal was now. No one else in that restaurant probably knew that the cane was new, that we're still coming to grips with our life. But it felt just a little different to us, like we were in this together. It may have been one of my favorite moments of the whole time away. This thing is hard--very hard. But my mom was right: it has the potential to take the two of us much deeper than we've ever been before, to test and then cement our relationship, to give us our own context and experiences and language that no one else shares. Sometimes the hardest things are the most beautiful--and it's true of getaways and marriages as much as it is of anything else.
