We’re back in the U.S. after three weeks in Tobago, our first trip there since covid.
It was tough going to the same places over four years later, and seeing how big the kids had gotten. They were no longer aging an hour or a day at a time, but four years all at once. Our oldest wasn’t able to join us for the first time. Our youngest doesn’t remember our other trips. Two kids are now young adults. Two more are about to be. More than that, *I* felt older.
We’d completed a colossal temporal leap forward in between this trip and our last, and all the things that had happened in between were on my mind, which meant I cried kind of a lot.
I posted a pretty emotional piece about my feelings around eliminating my comfort foods due to food sensitivities diagnosed by a blood spot test through my naturopathic doctor.
Now that I’ve been home from our trip at the beginning of the month, I wanted to come in with a little update in this evolving situation.
I spent my childhood going on camping trips. In my memory, we went several times every summer. The cool nights, the many rainy afternoons spent in our tents reading books or playing cards, and peering out the window of the camper to see a skunk making its way across the campsite loom large in recollection.
As an adult, every camping trip I’ve taken until now has been with my parents. They’ve provided an extra tent for our growing family, blankets when someone forgot a sleeping bag, and logistical support with meals. I’ve never had to fully plan and execute a trip by myself.
Then, friends of our invited us to go camping with them this summer. We’re now quickly approaching the weekend in question, and at 40, I’m making my first solo camping trip with my family, but without my parents.
So, remember when I expressed fear that my recent visits to the naturopath would result in me having to give up every food I love?
The Chaplain is working more. I am walking, sewing, and reading less and parenting more. Quiet time has become an elusive ghost of a former life when I got to be alone for a period of time each day.
It feels like we are all in a constant negotiation for what we need, the kids and The Chaplain and I, and none of us are quite getting what we’re looking for.
So it was as we rearranged our dining room around a new piece of furniture, and my grandmother’s teacups came to the kids’ attention. They asked if we could have a tea party.
