Staycation's All I Ever Wanted

First Born Prince and I are teetering on the edge of what is one of the most tender moments in a child and mother’s relationship.  He is on the brink of becoming a young man and I can barely keep a dry eye or straight face.

We made plans for a few last hurrahs before school starts, and in San Diego with kids that means Lego Land, Sea World and the Zoo.  (I don’t advise the Wild Animal Park in the summer, unless you want the full African desert simulation.)  I’ve been wondering when my oldest son would outgrow these places, or more specifically, outgrow going to them with me.  How many times can you sit with your mom watching Shamu do a flip?  

He was only a little bit surly and rolled his eyes when he thought I wasn't looking.  I can handle most of what he challenges me on in my sleep.  What I wasn’t prepared for was how boyish he was at the end of our Staycation last night.  He asked me to tuck him in.

“The zoo was so fun, Mom.”

“I know.  I’ve never seen the koalas awake before.”

“I liked the lion.  And the jaguar.  And the tiger.”

He always did love the big cats, and used to carry a plastic tiger around with him when he was two-years-old.  After we went over the night zoo highlights, I watched him fall asleep while I looked around his messy room.  Nestled on his nightstand, in a place of prominence and importance (by his charging iPhone) was the little carved wooden tiger he bought on our way out as a souvenir.

Battening Down

I knew it was coming and I have been mentally preparing myself for months now.  There are no storm windows for the type of hurricane I am going through.  Reader, if you think I have it easy and don’t want to read about the perils of navigating life in an affluent beach town, then I will warn you to stop right now and go somewhere else.

The schedules and invitations are rapidly filling my in-box.  I went from casually volunteering at one elementary school and attending some university lectures to feeling like I’m running the state.  It’s unbelievable how much more there is to just do here.  The Professor keeps reminding me to not lose sight of the goals we set and deals we made.  Deals I struck in the middle of the night during a cold Ithaca winter.

I know it can be done, that I can carve out a quiet life for us here in La Jolla.  I see other people who appear to be operating at a sane pace.  How they are immune to the chaos of raising kids and building careers in a city is beyond me.  It is going to take a lot more than just picturing the smiles on my sweet, well-rested boys’ faces.  And it’s going to have to come from somewhere besides the knowing eyes of the Professor.

It looks like I am going to have to say it on my own.   Just purse my lips, press my tongue against the inside of my top front teeth and say it.  “No” and that’s it.  Maybe add on a “Thank you”.  No looking down, mumbling “I’m sorry” or “maybe some other time”… I will look temptation straight in the eye and be brave.

Thinking of time as more valuable than money should help.  I actually took a stab at a time budget, paying myself, husband and children first, then the damn dog, next of kin, and so on.  Nowhere in my sensible plan does it allow for hours of socializing, volunteering, excessive competitive athletics, and extra tutoring on top of the already committed two days of Hebrew school a week to get ready for the Bar Mitzvah I have yet to plan. 

The problem is that everything sounds good and important—etiquette and dance classes for the boys, tennis lessons, weekends away, business dinners, university clubs, writing groups, never mind the regular soul food I need from drinking wine and talking to my girlfriends.

I feel like an old lady with her trusted purse tucked tightly under her arm, bracing herself against whatever or whoever might try to snatch any precious spending capital she has left. 

Leaving...Returning...I'm Here

La Jolla, California

I’ve returned to California and after considering changing the name of the blog, or starting a new one or quitting altogether, I decided that continuing to just roll with it as is will be the best course of action. It’s a practical approach that works in most areas of my life.

As for the title, “Leaving California”, it still makes sense. What this journey is ultimately about is growth and change and the choices and trade-offs we make along the way. The stomach-sickening feeling of saying good-bye to people and places you love when you move on with your life is something we all deal with at one point or another.

Even if we stay with the same people or the same town, the relationships and places change. I cry regularly over how much I miss the sweet-smelling, little sweaty-faced toddlers in my house. I also am pissed off that the children’s book-store, “The White Rabbit”, and independent film theatre in downtown La Jolla gave way to an upscale dog accessory shop “Muttropolis” and a “Massage Envy” spa center.

I left California with two young boys and have returned with two strapping giants, all of us older and changed by our experience. I purposely under-scheduled the boys this summer trying to outsmart myself, thinking I would be so worn out with running them around, playing Camp Mommy, that I wouldn’t notice how much they’ve grown, but I did notice and I am just sick about it. I alternate, like a schizophrenic high on coffee or down on chardonnay, between wishing school would hurry-up and just start already and wishing I could freeze time. Right here. Right now. Me and my pre-pubescent boys, together, forever.

I refuse to wax poetic about how our town has changed. I can just get in line with the rest of the planet, can’t I? Suffice to say “M-TV Real World” has rented a house near-by and now I can’t get a parking space in front of our favorite local Italian place when I crave homemade pasta.