Are we there yet?

Ahh, road trips.  I’ve always been a big fan.  When I was little they involved periodic stops at rest areas for salted boiled eggs and orange juice (ick!), listening to the adults yap on and on about the good old days, and enjoying lots of Colombian folk music in the background.

Nowadays, it being just the girls and me, the rest area breaks have been replaced with gas station breaks, the boiled eggs and orange juice with chips and soft drinks (don’t judge–we do pack fruit and water but oh, that gas station junk food is just so tempting!), adult conversations with girly giggles, and as for the music–well, it varies.  I still like to listen to Colombian stuff, but I’ll throw in some pop, some oldies, a bit of country here and there, and even my own workout playlist, which contains quite a bit of spicy language.  Thank goodness for satellite radio and auxiliary jacks.

Most of our road trips are local–a few hours up or down I-35 because that’s about as far as I’m comfortable venturing on my own–but we have gone as far as California a couple of times and to our favorite place in the world, the Taos ski valley in New Mexico, on several occasions (although never with the intention of skiing).  As for lodging, that varies depending on our budget, but most of the time we’ll either camp out at some state park, stay with relatives, or get a cheap hotel room.  In Taos, there’s the Sipapu Ski Resort, with bunk rooms complete with a microwave, fridge, private bathroom, and access to TONS of excellent mountain hiking for $40 a night.

I gotta say, though.  The very best part of any road trip is the journey itself and the people you share it with, and I am very fortunate to have given birth to two of the best travel companions ever.  Most of the time while we’re actually on the road they’re in their own little world and I’m in mine, but even in the middle of that dreamy trance I get into while the road stretches out endlessly before me, I’m always aware of their presence in the back seat:  together they alternately chit-chat, laugh, snack, play, zone out, sleep… and very occasionally argue.   Every so often our worlds merge and we play road-trip games, sing along to the radio, and have deep, meaningful conversations.  Twice we’ve even listened to a book-on-tape along the way.  (Not a bad experience, but it does require concentration, which in my opinion takes away from the enjoyment of the trip itself.)

Some of our favorite road-trip destinations so far:

• Phoenix, Arizona
• Los Angeles, California
• Austin, Texas
• San Antonio, Texas
• Turner Falls, Oklahoma
• Beaver’s Bend, Oklahoma
• The Grand Canyon!
• Las Vegas, Nevada
• South Padre Island, Texas
• Flagstaff, Arizona
• Taos, New Mexico
• Santa Fe, New Mexico
• El Paso, Texas
• Port Aransas, Texas

Road trips we wanna take someday:

• Yellowstone National Park
• some beautiful rolling hills in Arkansas, preferably in the fall
• Mount Rushmore
• something green and lush on the east coast–the Virginias or Carolinas
• beaches in Florida
• mountains in Colorado
• rock formations and ancient ruins in Utah
• anyplace in California other than LA
• rainy Oregon

Someday, yeah.  Maybe in a few years when the girls are old enough to help me drive along the way.  Yikes!

“What time is it?”

My daughters asked me that the other day, wanting adamantly to know the precise time so they could set their new watches.  They had been looking at the microwave and stove for the answer and then, frustrated that the two didn’t match, turned to me.  Being ever the logical part-time philosopher, I went into a discourse about how there is no specific, absolute time because time itself is only a concept devised by Man in an attempt to measure the rate at which things exist.  The two little blank faces staring back at me were clearly not satisfied with that answer, so I mentioned something about the Prime Meridian, which also went over their heads, and finally told them to just go ahead and set their watches by mine.

Because I’m god, right?  So to speak.  At least in this household.

Now, don’t get all huffy on me.  I’m just saying that Man’s attempt to measure with extreme precision a concept that is so utterly abstract and immeasurable is pretty silly, don’t you think?  You can’t measure time.  The official Greenwich Mean Time is no more and no less correct than the time on my own wristwatch.  Or at least it was on the day when this conversation with my daughters took place.  Since then, the battery on said wristwatch has expired so I’ve been going bare-wristed.  But still, the point stands.

Time.  Everybody has the same amount of it on any given day, but the passing of it feels so very different from one person to the next.  From one day to the next.  From one experience to another.  We each have a specific amount of time allotted to us during our lifetime, and regardless of our circumstances it’s up to us how we spend it.

The idea for this blog came about because of a message I received from one of my old high school friends a few weeks ago commenting on how active my life seems based on my Facebook updates and posts.  “How do you find time to play soccer, run 5Ks, raise a family, work full time, etc.?”  My response: It’s because I don’t have a man.

Funny, right?  But is it, really?  That can’t be true, I hope it isn’t.  The truth is, I have learned that it actually takes a pretty good amount of effort to actually enjoy life rather than just live it, and I try my best to enjoy my life on a daily basis.  I’m a divorced mom of two girls, I work full time (but as a teacher, so the hours are wonderful!), and I like to be happy.  This blog is my attempt at documenting the ways in which I choose to spend the time that has been allotted to me.

Welcome to my world.