Bon Voyage, Chicken

Well, there were many happy adventures in San Francisco, but the result was the same.

Mama’s little Chicken is off and flying–as of last text message she was in L.A., and tomorrow (or Friday the 11th because of the whole dateline thing…) she’ll be in Australia.

I’m actually pretty sanguine about it–but I did tear up a little at the airport. Just a little–we were wrangling short people, and I was pointedly reminded that she’s not one of them anymore. She had her shirt and her slacks and her luggage–she looked very very competent and ready to go do this.

I’ll probably have some sort of retro-freak-out around Sunday, when it dawns on me she isn’t here–stay tuned for some intense hilarity!

The trip itself was sort of fun. We spent WAAAYYYYY toooo long at the airport–got there pretty early, puttered around trying to find some place you could watch the airplanes take off. No luck, on that one–but we kept the Cave Troll grounded with a promise to go see the ocean afterwards.

The Cave Troll LUUUUUURRRRRRVVVZZZZZZ the ocean–I think it’s because his heart is the same. He’s always contending with himself to see who will win, and the awesome destructive power of all that chaotic brine…well, it calls to him, that’s all I can tell you.

Ladybug abhors the ocean. She screamed and wept and wailed. Her feet wouldn’t touch the sand, they wouldn’t touch the surf, and for some reason, she blamed her father for being there–I think it was because he was driving. The closest thing I’ve ever seen to a child levitating was when he tried to put her on the ground to run to me–it was truly incredible. She didn’t want to touch the ground and she didn’t want him… wow. What a dilemma. Anyway, the only peace I got in an hour and a half at the beach was to sit on the kids’ backpack with her on my lap. (Feet. Killing. Me.) As I sat, she started to dabble her toes in the sand. And then she started to dig her feet in. And then she started to throw it around. And then by the time we left, she was sorry to see it go. Kids. As Tinkingbells said, can’t live with ’em, can’t take ’em back.

The beach was actually encouraging–the last time we’d been to the beach at San Francisco it was black, slimy, and sadly birdless. With the exception of all the dead jellyfish (? No. I don’t know either.) there was a lot more life there–and a lot less black and slimy. But there was an oil tanker, many miles off shore, and it was sort of a grim reminder that yes, we can still fuck up the environment pretty much unimpeded.

Speaking of, our air quality is still apocalyptic with a chance or orange. Seriously–when you look at the air quality index, and it tells you that breathing puts your life in jeopardy? Time to hid under an air-filter and spend your days watching reruns of Without a Trace.

Or take your daughter to the airport, and start her path to making the world a better place.

Of course, that last one does make you a little more optimistic if it helps to get you the fuck out of dodge, doesn’t it? Oh yes, it does!