My wife and I recently went on a six-day trip to California wine country.
Notice I said my wife and I. No Sydney.
Six days with no Sydney!!!You would think that would elicit excitement. Instead, I was full of dread.
Leaving your child with someone else for an extended period of time is a scary experience. Even if that someone is your mom.
There isn’t anyone in my life I trust more than my mom. But we are talking about the most precious thing in the world to me. Leaving Sydney with my mom is like jumping out of a plane with Chuck Norris. It isn’t something I really want to do, but if I have to, I want Chuck Norris beside me. Chuck Norris is indestructible.
My mom could be in the Mom Hall of Fame. This is a woman who almost single-handedly raised three children. I was born when she was 17, my brother came along three years later and my sister three years after that. At 23, she had three children and, soon thereafter, a broken marriage. Those are nearly insurmountable odds. I would certainly crack under them.
But my mom is Super Woman. She worked, first as a waitress and then taking care of mentally ill people, and she sacrificed. She tried to do everything she could for her kids. You don’t realize it when you are young and asking for a toy or money to get something to eat, but those dollars were very scarce in our family. Mom would do without so we could do with.
It wasn’t easy. I remember eating huge pots of ham and bean soup or potato soup for a couple weeks at a time because that was all we could afford. We would move from apartment to apartment because the rent would go up or we couldn’t pay the rent or some other landlord-related reason. For much of my childhood, we didn’t have a phone in the house. I’d use the corner pay phone to chat up my high school girlfriend, sometimes standing in the cold and snow for hours trying to get my love on. You know how teenagers are on the phone.
“I don’t have a quarter. You make sure you call me tomorrow at 5:30 on the dot, that is when I will be standing by the phone.” Could I be any less cool?
“I don’t have a quarter. You make sure you call me tomorrow at 5:30 on the dot, that is when I will be standing by the phone.” Could I be any less cool?
Now, that I have a kid, I know how much you want to give them everything you can in life to make sure they are successful. I imagine there were many nights my mom cried herself to sleep because there were things she couldn’t give us.
But she gave us the important things. The things that really matter and the things that make a person successful in life. We all turned out to be quality people. No wife beaters or child abusers. No thieves or robbers. No drug addicts. None of us have spent time in a jail or committed any crime worthy of mention in any newspaper. All three are contributing members of society who work hard to take care of their children and teach them the very same values mom taught us.
My mom shouldn’t just be in the Mom Hall of Fame, she should be the first bust you see when you walk in the door.
So, if I have to leave my baby with someone, it is going to be my mom. She is the Chuck Norris of moms.
But it wasn’t easy.
My wife and I were kind of basket cases about leaving Sydney. My wife wrote a detailed schedule of Sydney’s daily routine, down to the minute. She stocked up on Sydney’s food and diapers and baby wipes so my mom would have no need while we were gone. She walked my mom through the whole house, explaining how Sydney used this toy or what she did with that gadget.
I’m pretty damn sure my mom was thinking, “I have done this three times, you know. Started when I was 17, long before you came into this world. You see that slug over there who you are married to? He is only still walking this earth because of my skills as a parent.”
I decided my role would be to talk to my 14-year-old nephew – who was along to help grandma – and explain that if he shook or dropped my baby while I was gone he would have a hard time getting out of the cement shoes I was going to make for him just before I dropped him into the Ohio River.
He got the picture, believe me.
He got the picture, believe me.
Leaving was emotional. Brooke cried. I might have had some mistiness in my eyes. My friends have been going through this for years. I used to think my buddies would be happy to get away from the kids and party it up for awhile on our out-of-town trips. Now I know leaving your kid is difficult.
But lord, Brooke was 100 times worse than me. We were in San Francisco for a couple of days and then wine country for a few and all she ever talked about was Sydney.
“Hey, honey,” I said, as our boat approached Alcatraz Island, one of the most notorious prisons in our nation’s history. “I see why they call this place The Rock. It looks like it was built on a pile of rocks dumped in the bay.”
“I hope your mom remembers to rock Sydney if she gets cranky,” she responded.
Or, when we traveled over the Golden Gate Bridge and I remarked about its rusty-orange color and she replied, “Aww, it is the same color as the carrots I feed Sydney.”
In Chinatown? “I wonder if Sydney will like Chinese food when she gets older? We are going to make sure she tries lots of different food so she experiences everything.”
It was a little different in wine country. There, the Sydney discussions took place over wine tastings which often brought out the tears. And maybe some hiccups.
“I miss our little girl,” she sobbed. “You don’t care about her and you don’t care about me. I can’t believe you would, hiccup, separate us for this long. You are the worst husband in the world. Now pass me, hiccup, another bottle of wine, honey.”
These discussions were often followed by questions of “Are you sure you are ok to drive home?” and, a little later, declarations of “Take me you big stud!”
But I digress.
Thank god for Facetime. Do you remember when we were kids and the Jetsons could see the people they were talking to on the phone? Who would have ever thought that would happen?
Every day, my wife would Facetime my mom so she could see Sydney. Each time, I would pray Sydney didn’t have any bruises from falling or she didn’t immediately cry at the sight of her mother. If either one of those things occurred, Brooke would have had me ponying up $200 to change our tickets and fly back early.
She was always good. And it was clear we thought about her far more than she thought about us. She seemed to be having fun, bouncing in her Jumperoo or rolling around on the floor or going to the park or visiting a restaurant with grandma.
In fact, she pretty much ignored our Facetiming efforts. Occasionally, she would look our way and smile or laugh. But most of the time, her attention was on her rusty-orange carrots or Sprout TV or even my 14-year-old nephew who was busy consuming enough candy, soda and pizza at my expense that I could have paid for a third flight to California.
(On the subject of said slacker nephew: I’m surprised she even knew he was there. We spent 144 hours away and he spent 100 of those hours Facetiming with his girlfriend, my mom said. They would fall asleep at night together, while Facetiming. Good lord. You know how teenagers are on the phone.)
But at least the Facetime gave Brooke peace of mind. I was concerned she wasn’t having a good time because she was so preoccupied with Sydney. But she did manage to enjoy herself.
When it was time to head home, however, she made sure I drove 100 mph to the airport and she threatened a hijacking should there be any delays with our flight home.
When we finally got back, Sydney was safe and sound. She actually looked like she had some fun and bonded with grandma. She sure didn’t look like she missed us.
So, one trip down and dozens more to go over the next 18 years. But it was tough. I almost look forward to the teenage years when she hates me and skipping town will be a relief for both of us. But that will bring a whole new set of worries, such as locking the liquor cabinet and hiring Chuck Norris to guard the house from boys.
