Mommy’s Morning Musings

As we made our way back to the hotel from the bat flight at Carlsbad Caverns, Earl made a request: “Can we listen to ‘Three-Legged Man’?”

See, driving to Dallas, I introduced my child to Ray Stevens. No, I have no clue what took me so long. Sheesh, I have failed as a parent. What is a childhood without ‘Mississippi Squirrel Revival’?

She seemed ambivalent at the time. Apparently, she wasn’t. Seems she kinda dig it. A part of me wasn’t surprised at all—Ray Stevens’s humor is pretty much in line with Earl’s. On the other hand, I can typically get a pretty quick read on how she feels about things.

Or, I thought I could.

This trip is teaching me so much.

I never knew that my child loves museums as much as she does. In the middle of a long stretch of road the other day, she pronounced that she could go to museums over and over. I see it now; she attempts to drag me in to every one that we pass.

I was tickled to learn that, in this tech-driven age, she’s more comfortable writing her thoughts on paper than on the computer. That one was especially surprising because handwriting has always been a bit of a challenge for her. Maybe she’s like her mother, though. Maybe the rhythm and the forced time to think as you slowly write out the words is a comfort to her, too.

She says she wants to be gently awakened by softly rubbing her head and whispering “Good morning,” but in truth she likes to laugh as soon as she wakes up. That one she’s not ready to outright admit, but trial and error are proving it pretty strongly.

She’s a keen analyzer. We were at the Sixth Floor Museum, exploring the JFK Assassination, when she came up to me and proclaimed she’d figured it out. Oswald had run to another window in the book depository – “This one. Here!” – and fired another shot – “Look at the angle! It’s right!”

Most of all, she’s really battling with finding herself in this world. She’s caught on the idea of being like someone else rather than piecing out what unique things she has to contribute. I suspected as much, but I didn’t realize how deep the struggle went. I suppose a lot is her age, 9 going on 10 going on 37. We’re actively working on this one, though. This is a biggie. It’s the core of this trip.

That struggle in her is helping me with my own demons. In an effort to loosen her up, to make her feel like being herself is allowed, even welcomed, I’m putting myself out there in a way I never have. There’s nothing but honesty in the car. I’m letting her see my delights and my frustrations. I’m dropping my own mask, freeing myself from whatever constraints I’ve spent years constructing.

I’m convinced that wouldn’t have happened at home, where there is always some reason to go back to my comfort zone around every corner. On the road, on this trip, there are no such reasons. The people we see are people we will never see again. I don’t have to perform for them, don’t have to cow-tow to some perceived expectations. If I can just keep it up for the next 30-odd days, I might get comfortable enough in my own skin for it to stick. It might become habit enough, and Earl may see the changes in me enough, that it encourages her to do the same.

In truth, that’s my prayer.

We’re just starting Day 5 and, already, I’m so glad I took the leap, got El Jefe on board, and did this. It hasn’t been nearly as scary as I was afraid it would be.