Logan's Trip

"Hi Mom.  I have some news.  I am leaving..."  Logan stares up at me dressed in his red reindeer footy pamajas.

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, I am taking a trip.  I am going to Tommy's for two days.  We will be going to the Disneyland Castle and his grandma is going to take care of us.  Would you prefer I leave tonight or tomorrow?"

"Well, tomorrow seems to make more sense, don't you think?  It's dark now."

"Well, I think I will leave tonight.  Peace Out"  He flashes me a cute peace sign and a huge smile.

I keep folding laundry as Logan opens the door to the garage and puts on his bike helmet. 

"I have to get some boxes to pack my things.  I have my helmet on because I'm going to ride my bike to Tommy's."

I continue to play along.  "Sweetie?  You don't know where Tommy lives.  And he is probably sleeping."

"I have a small map," he says and indicates a small piece of something with his hand.  "Tommy and I made this plan today.  It's all set."

This is really getting funny...I figure I will finish my laundry, take a break to post Logan's latest antics on Facebook and then I will get him in bed.  I turn around and he is standing in front of me, bike helmet on his head, full backpack on his back.  He lets me take his picture.

Just when I'm thinking this scene couldn't get any better, I hear my garage door open and realize that Logan is no longer standing in my kitchen! He has left the door from the house ajar, so I hide behind it to peek at his next steps.  I see him in the driveway, backpack on his back, helmet in place.  He is straddling his bicycle and trying to figure out how to start his journey.  (Logan is a newly trained bike rider and his bike is a smidge too big - he can't start himself off yet.)  I watch.  Trying so hard not to laugh out loud and give away my hiding place.

After a few failed attempts, Logan finally falls to the side and walks back to the house, head handing low.  He sees me inside and says "Can you help me start my bike ride?"

When I say no he decides to take off on foot....seriously.  It is now 10:30 at night and I notice my neighbors pull into their driveway, probably wondering what on earth we are doing out at this hour.

Logan has not lost his determination nor his smile.  "Bye, Mom!  I'll see you on Monday!"  Off he goes.

I watch as my footy-pajama-wearing five year old walks down the driveway and down the sidewalk to the left of my house.  He pauses in front of my neighbors house, turns, smiles and wave again back at me.  I'm beginning to wonder how far he is going to take this...it is dark out.  He crosses the street, walking in the shallow gutter than runs across the entrance to our cul-de-sac and hops over a small stream of water at the other side..."LOGAN!"

He runs back to me "What?"

I plead my case - it's time to come inside, but he has an answer for every concern.
"But mommy, the strangers are sleeping." 
"I have three pairs of shoes in my backpack:  my soccer shoes, my basketball shoes, my new crocs."

After a serious debate about his journey, I win him over.

"Okay, but I'm going to Tommy's tomorrow!" 

Mix By Hand

I enjoy baking.  I always have.  I'm not necessarily good at it, but I enjoy baking simple things like banana bread muffins, brownies, cookies, cake.  I remember baking with my grandmother.  She taught me how to make zucchini bread and lemon meringue pie.  I have her old, faded recipe book - it is a treasure.

My mom did not teach me how to bake - she was not that kind of mom.  But I have one very clear memory of baking that I have always associated with my mom and it came to mind today.

My mom and step-dad, Lee, loved to play the game of Risk.  I have memories of living in our townhouse on the Eagle Vail golf course - my mom's friends would come over on the weekends and they would play that board game for hours.  I was nine or ten, my brother must have been five or six.  The adults would gather in the dining room and play and talk. 

I recall one specific evening in which I asked if I could make a pan of brownies - "I can do it myself," I proudly exclaimed, "The directions are right here on the box."  I got straight to work. 

Step 1:  Heat the oven to 350 degrees...wait...do I use the high altitude directions?  We are definitely over 6000 feet.
Step 2:  Grease the pan.  I dipped a paper towel in the margarine tub and rubbed it into the rectangle pan.
Step 3:  Add the ingredients.  Eggs, Oil, water.  I very carefully measured the liquid ingredients and extra carefully cracked the eggs.
Step 4:  Mix by hand for 2 minutes.  By hand?  Really?  That seems odd, but okay - here goes.  I dipped both hands into the mixture and used my hands to combine the wet, slimy ingredients.  I watched the clock and timed myself for exactly 2 minutes. 

Now what?  I'm messy and have no idea how to get the mixture into the pan with my hands all slimy.  I called to my mom - she was sitting around the corner, only 3 feet away.

My mom tells this story often because it is one of her favorites.  A moment in time when her struggling-to-be-independent child took directions a little too literally.  It is amusing to her and she laughs and laughs.

Now that I am older, I can definitely see the humor in this moment.  As a pre-teen little girl, I was embarrassed and humiliated by my error - especially in front of adult guests in the house whom all enjoyed my little mistake. 

Moments like this are amusing.  I recall a similar situation where my young roommate poured Downy liquid into our new Downy Ball and put it in the dryer.  She couldn't understand why her clothes had Downy stains all over them.  I laughed.  When we reunite, we tell this story.

Tonight I made brownies and paid particular attention to the directions.  Step 4 said,  "Mix, stir by hand until well blended - about 50 strokes."  My mind wandered back to that moment in my mom's kitchen some 30 years ago and I smiled as I thought about the stories from our lives, the stories we tell, the stories that make us who we are.