There are a few choice phrases I use often when parenting my three very different kids:
1) Make good choices.
2) If it's important you'll find a way - if it's not, you'll find an excuse.
3) No matter where you go or who you're with, I always love you.
4) You were made to do hard things.
Number four is something I say often to a Tiny. She seems to need to need to hear it more than the others. I tell her how her great granddad stormed the beaches at Normandy, and show her the picture of the fallen 9000 etched in sand.
I tell her how her grandma and dad fought cancer, how her grandpa was shot in Vietnam, and her Great Grandma June fought of armed robbers at her jewelry store. We talk about her other great grandma sailing around the world and her great-great grandma driving across the country when cars were barely invented. It's in her DNA, she was made to do hard things. We all were, but sometimes hard things are, well . . . hard.
If I had this trip to do over, I'm not sure how it would go.
Ten days of intensive therapy, followed by another 12 on the road is draining. We are all more tired than usual, all wishing for a few days to just "be". At the same time, keeping up momentum on the therapy is crucial to her success in tackling SM, so we keep finding ways to grow.
But growing up is hard. Especially for me.
This is the first year we've traveled with three adults - one of them barely - but still. I'm wondering when it will feel ok to let him go to the pool alone and not worry about when he's coming back.
Kooka was barely 13 on our last road trip. Now she's almost old enough to drive, and certainly old enough to navigate the single riders line at Universal alone - or with her adult brother.
Even a Tiny is growing up these past few weeks. In addition to her new swimming skills and assertiveness training, she's got her first wiggly tooth, which means these are our last pictures with baby teeth.
We're on to Savannah next. Wish us luck. We may need it.