For a few seconds

"Beatrice, get on the escalator with me!"

Bea froze. The stroller and my bag clicked atop the downward moving metal steps.

"Bea, come with Daddy!"

"No, Daddy!"

Bea backed up one step. The Mama and Bryce were already at the bottom. The stroller and my bag pulled me onward onto the steps.

"Beatrice, come on!"

She didn't move. The distance between us grew and Bea's distressed face crushed my heart.

"Daddy!"

"Mama, she didn't come with me!" I called down. But the Mama didn't hear me, to focused on chasing Bryce.

For a few seconds I froze, watching Bea pull away from me atop the escalator. For a few seconds I just didn't know what to do, even with the nagging feeling in the base of my brain telling me to leave the stuff and scramble up the stairs for her. For a few seconds I felt helpless, a rookie father leaving his daughter behind, unable to move.

A few seconds can feel like forever when you're frozen to moving stairs, but then an older man took Bea's hand and guided her down the escalator.

"Thank you, sir!"

Now, I know what you're thinking -- you're thinking that if we were in a much larger airport someone could've easily swept her away. Even the Mama told me I should've just dumped the stuff and ran up.

Which was where I would've gotten to in two seconds more...but still. Sadly I'm slow that way sometimes.

The sick feeling dug a huge cold and vile pit in my belly when we were all sitting down at the gate waiting to board the plane. What was I thinking? And was I thinking? Why didn't I bolt immediately up to save her?

"God, I feel horrible."

"Honey, she's fine," the Mama said. "Next time just run up and get her."

The pit grew colder and more vile and then it was time to board the plane. At the same time another Pacific storm pounded the area with rain and hail. We went down another escalator -- without incident this time -- and proceeded to the tarmac. I threw the stroller on the checked bag cart.

"Beatrice, let's get on the plane," I said.

But again, she didn't want to go. The Mama had Bryce in her arms.

"Can you carry her?" The Mama asked.

"Damn right I can. C'mon, Sweetie."

I picked her up in one arm and my bag with the other hand and we ran through the rain, up the stairs and onto the plane. Bea held on tight, her head buried in my neck.

"I love you, Bea," I said, kissing her head. We sat in the plane and I seat-belted Bea in. Bryce squealed unhappily and squirmed on the Mama's lap.

And then I smiled, because for a few seconds I had dropped my bags and bounded up the escalator to grab my daughter. For a few seconds I hadn't froze to watch her drift slowly away from me. For a few seconds the sick feeling fell away, the pit filled in, and I found a little redemption.
For a few seconds I thought, That'll never happen again.

Space travel, matching babies and warm fuzzies

Family space travel can be grueling. We were in orbit twice as long as we were scheduled to be; the B-hive melted down and the Mama and me hallucinated, our bodies slick with dirty sweat.

No, space travel is sometimes not glamorous. At all. Especially when you have to deal with poor customer service. You can read about it here and here if you're interested.

Mercy, there is no better place to hold on to the why of wonder and laughter.

We did eventually reenter the earth's atmosphere and landed on the banks of Mississippi, in America's Heartland.

Unlike our family vacation with my folks in Oregon, this one in Illinois/Iowa was filled with lots of extended family -- Mama's mom and grandma, aunts and uncles, cousins and baby second cousins.

As I've written before, some of my fondest family memories are those when our entire extended family on my mom's side would gather for Easter, the 4th of July, Thanksgiving and Christmas. Second only to the holidays themselves, being a little kid snuggled safely in the family bosom was the only place I wanted to be. That didn't mean there wasn't family friction and other varying forms of family dysfunction, but the family bosom was still safe and warm.

My family is splintered everywhere now, the greatest concentrations being in the California Central Valley and Southwest Missouri. And although we've talked of getting together more over the years, to revisit the days of old, it just hasn't transpired.

But with the Mama's family, both in Illinois/Iowa and Nevada, it has, partly because there's been a greater connection between her and her family and the effort more effortless -- bidirectionally -- the bosom still safe and warm. There's a reality that the maternal bonds are stronger than paternal in extended families, at least in my experience. It doesn't mean I don't care about my family any less, it's just the reality we live.

This latest family vacation was still hard with two little girls in tow, because according to the baby regression table, after 7 days away from home, Bryce was back to waking what seemed to be every minute.

However, that didn't take away from the every minute of family joy, particularly when all the cousins' babies played together in matching outfits (made my none other Auntie Jill, Mama's sister). C'mon, you know you can't get enough of matching babies. They line the family bosom with warm fuzzies and protect us during space travel.

Sadly we haven't had many warm fuzzies near us since we've birthed the B-hive, with the exception of short stints from Mama's mom and niece. Maybe it's time to change that.

Maybe...

Back to family space boot camp we go. Because space travel can be fun, too.

Gotta get out and go, go, go through sun, rain, sleet or snow

The B-hive are Toy Story junkies. All of us. One and all.

(And I write that with nothing but fatherly love and admiration -- Bea is team Woody, by the way).

Although they’re still way too young to get all the adult subtleties, the Mama and me know how sweet and brilliantly written the stories are and how the themes of teamwork and support as well as second, even third chances in life are important and empowering for us all.

And in another medium--the alien technology known as the iPad--there's an amazing interactive storybook we’ve been watching with the elder B, Bea. It’s called The Fantastic Flying Books of Mr. Morris Lessmore and it’s all about the importance and power of reading books and stories.

There's also the current favorites of Yo Gabba Gabba for Bea and Baby Einstein for Bryce.

TV, DVR, movies, shows, on-demand cable, DVD's, video, computers and laptops, downloadable content for the iPad and iPod, the internet itself...

Hey, Nielsen says more Americans are watching TV than ever before--up 1.2 percent in the last quarter--and they’re spending more time watching TV, too--that’s up 1.9 percent, to a staggering 153-plus hours per month.

And that's just TV.

We do wonder if we're allowing too much of all of the above. Childhood obesity and general lethargy are chronic problems in the US for sure. But the Mama and I grew up with TV--way too much TV and we had only a fraction of the choices the B-hive has today--and yet we were still extemely active.

Because we actually went outside. And did stuff. Active stuff. Like we do now. Brain melting schmelting, too; we've avid readers as well.

Gotta get out and go, go, go! The Mama is amazing at keeping the kids and me active every single day. Just yesterday we walked to one of the girls favorite parks about a mile away and played, played, played!

Yep, gotta get out and go, go, go through sun, rain, sleet or snow. (Okay, no snow here, but you get my point.)

Go, go, go!

But I'll tell you, from a couple who were never going to have kids, having the iPod and iPad on an airplane is a-ma-zing. Don't ask us to go without on family vacation. Ever.

Then there's this. We said this would never happen either. No judging, please. We're ashamed enough as it is, but I forgot how friggin' good a Big Mac, fries and a coke tastes.

Then get out and go, go, go!

 

Ah, more dumbstick and the sacrificial soles

The irony wasn't lost on me. The fact that the only exercise we're getting on our family vacation is keeping time the B-hive and sleep deprivation.

And then I lost my running shoes. Gone. Vanished. Somewhere between playing in the fountains at Jamison Square in Portland with a good friend and his family, our motel and the Oregon Zoo, I lost them.

How? Who the heck knows. The point is they're gone. Vanished. Never to be run or walked in again. I brought them as walking shoes in case I got a chance to run, which I didn't, as mentioned above.

The fairy godmother dumbstick strikes again.

It was worth the sacrificial soles, though. I think. Running and working out just wasn't in the family vacation plan anyway. My God, just keeping up with and managing the B-hive temperament was stressful and strenuous enough.

When we first got to Jamison Square, I rolled over dog poop with the stroller and then stepped in it, right as Mama was saying, "Watch out for the dog poop!" Great. Then I chased Bea around the park fountain and I couldn't get her out. But once she got surprise splashed by a little boy, I couldn't get her back in. After lunch with our friends, it was time for the B-hive to nap and so we went to our motel, getting lost along the way (why are the Northwest roads and byways like the confusing Northeast?). However, once there, naps were out of the question, so we packed the girls back up and took them to the zoo. Bea loves animals and Bryce is starting to as well, but the Portland summer heat wilted us all after an hour or so, and then back to the car we went.

That's when the real unhappy shrieks began.

We were driving to our same friend's house for dinner and highway construction slowed us to a crawl.

And that's when the unhappy shrieks escalated.

Five minutes with a crying baby is a long, long time. Like 4-6 weeks in parent time. Really, you know what I mean if you have kids.

So 20 minutes of crying on a crowded highway is excruciating for all parties including the toddler sister. Enough to make you want to head to the airport and go home, which of course would've been even more insane.

This is why we always try to align the car travel time with baby naps and the toddler afternoon nap. Sometimes we get it right, but otherwise I'm better off making string theory a reality.

We survived though and had a great pizza party with our friends while the girls played with their children. Bubbles were being blown everywhere, from a Buzz Lightyear bubble blower to manual ones, the kids were digging it. And so were we!

All I had to wear most of the day were flip flops and dress shoes, and of course the flip flops won out, although I really could've used my sacrificial running shoes. My cheap sunglasses and my decent everyday watch became part of the sacrifices for the day as well because both broke that same day.

That night in the hotel was a little sketchy -- sharing with two little ones isn't the travel glamour of our past lore. We did manage to get some sleep and then we were off to see Nana and Papa down the Oregon coast.

And that was only the first 24 hours. Good times. Really. Next up -- Nana and Papa time.

Family Vacations and the Fairy Godmother Dumbstick

When I was a teenager, my dad used to tell me, "You'd lose your head if it wasn't attached to your body."

He was a detective. Really. He knew these things. But he forgot to tell me about the "having kids" part, becoming a father and the fact that my fairy godmother would someday hit me other the head with her step-sister dumbstick.

It's big and ugly, but feels like a feather pillow. Her dumbstick, not her step-sister.

Ah, we traveled the world before kids. The sights, the sounds, the glamour, the intrigue, the sex. Since, we've traveled a little with Beatrice, and that's been manageable, brain power and focal strength mostly remaining intact.

Traveling with two uniquely distinct tiny child humanoids? Whack! (Whoa, your step-sister is really cute, you know?)

It all starts with a series of simple missteps.

First, we overpacked for our family trip to see my parents in Oregon (or, maybe we still underpacked). Meaning that at five in the morning, 30 minutes before we have to leave for the airport, both suitcases are pushing 50+ pounds and so we had to offload into a third. Mama rocks at the packing, though; she taught me how to do it with laser precision. But when you're packing for two rug rats, all bets are off. It's like you have to pick up the kids' rooms and shake them into a "Honey, I shrunk the kids' stuff" machine thingie and pack them nicely into their respective two suitcases.

I mean, three suitcases. Not including the stroller, carry-on bags of food, toys, video-stuffed iPods and iPads, diapers and other assorted baby/toddler things. Oh, and the adult stuff we absolutely have to carry, like money and IDs and mood lifters.

Although traveling as adults for business and pleasure can be tedious, you get the process down and whip through the security line and head to your gate unscathed. Most of the time. This time at the airport with both girls (being very good by the way) the security line looked menacing at first, until another traveler told us to get into this other line for kids. You know, the first class, premium business class traveler line.

So we did, with three other families. Then, one of overworked and unhappy TSA employees started barking, "This line is for first class, premium business class travelers only. Please move to the other line if you're not traveling first class or premium business class."

"But we were told to get into this line with small children?" Mama cried out.

"This line is for first class, premium business class travelers only. Please move to the other line if you're not traveling first class or premium business class."

"Screw you, Jack. We ain't moving," I whispered to Mama. None of us moved. And we whipped through security and headed to our gate unscathed.

The flight to Portland was a blast for both girls, but especially Bea. She watched the planes take off from San Jose, then reveled in our plane taking off, watching the world fly by and sink away from the window and snap back again at landing. We did have the decompressing ears to deal with, but the girls survived.

But here's where the dumbstick double struck me us. We got off the plane, cruised to baggage claim, both girls calm and post-flight sedated (from the early morning flight, not meds), loaded up the $4 handy airport cart (wasn't it only a dollar last year?) and made our way to the rental car zone.

We then loaded our rental SUV, after I sweated it up installing the car seats, and I realized something was wrong. Something was missing. No, not one of the girls, or Mama, thankfully, but one of our suitcases. The third one we loaded that same morning. We had left the third bag in baggage claim.

Crap.

So we had to load everybody up in the stroller -- because keeping the B-hive buzzing helps to keep them calm, if you know what I mean -- and headed back to pick up our third bag full of baby/toddler joy.

More family travel fun soon, as well as more dumbstick strikes.

Right on. This is mint. Every single minute of it.