Micah's mom and brother came to visit in February and our plans were to visit Washington D.C. The main reason for going was to go to the satellite campus of the National Air and Space Museum also known as the Udvar-Hazy center about 40 minutes outside of DC in Chantilly, VA. That's where this bad boy is:
More importantly, it houses a Sikorsky UH-34D Seahorse. This is a replica of the helicopter Micah's father used in Vietnam. He was crew chief of the "Yankee Papa 13" during his tour and we went to see what he never could. The last time he came to visit us he was too sick to make the trip up there. He passed in May of 2010. Going there was emotional and very moving. You could almost hear the noise described in the famous Life Magazine article done by photographer Larry Burrows:
I would highly recommend that museum as it is better organized and houses much more amazing exhibits than the Air and Space in DC. Just my opinion though.
So we traveled up on a Friday and came home Saturday night. Amazing how I just summed our weekend up in one sentence. Allow me to elaborate.
First of all, my brother in law, Adrian. He is CUUUN-TREE ya'll. That's not a bad thing. But there are times an interpreter would come in handy as he has his own language. Here he is with my baby girl:
He's a very good little brother. By being good at it, I mean he's a professional pain in the rear end. No one can frustrate Micah faster than his little brother. He's unbelievably proficient at that. Yet it's impossible not to laugh when you're around him, and he always has something to say. Even if that means reading every street sign just so there's no silence in the car. He's also adorable and he knows it. (By adorable I mean like a puppy. I'm his sister, guys, yuck.) And because I have been asked A LOT (Lord sustain me) yes, he is single ladies. Moving on...
The next character in this weekend adventure is my darling mother in law. She is one of the most terrific women I know. She is intelligent, accepting, witty, patient beyond all measure, loving....and deathly afraid of being in the car under specific circumstances:
1. During traffic.
2. While sitting in the back seat.
3. When going more than 1 mile over the speed limit.
4. When Micah drives.
5. If anyone else is on the road.
Problems:
1. Have you ever been to DC? Traffic doesn't begin to explain it.
2. Micah's brother gets extremely car-sick so he got the front seat.
3. To drive at or under the speed limit would make my husband break out in a rash.
4. See number three.
5. My pull as a military wife only gets me a discount at Lowes; not car-less freeways.
So my blessed MIL practiced her Lamaze breathing while covering her eyes and fanning herself. Then we had to leave the driveway.
Here is the kids' official position on the whole trip:
She is happy and excited and he would rather be doing something else.
We arrived in Arlington at our hotel, got our bags together, and began by getting on the metro. You would think that the little automated machines would make your ticket purchasing time easier. Leave it to us to take 10 minutes to buy them. At least the kids stayed busy..
Can I just mention the fact that my son has his MOUTH on the railing? Thank you, Jesus for his immune system...
With tickets in hand we wait for the train. My son couldn't wait to get on it. My daughter, however, was still recovering from a mild panic attack after the long escalator descent to the platform. Add that to our inability to quickly purchase tickets, (we totally looked like tourists) my son trying to contract a foreign disease, and Adrian complaining he needed a cigarette and I was ready to go back to the hotel and raid the mini-bar. Okay, we didn't have one but I would've found something.
The metro ride was interesting. It was also yucky. I kept rebuking hepatitis. The highlight was a lady and her ipod. She was dressed in scrubs that indicated she worked in a pediatricians office and was thoroughly enjoying her music selection that, thankfully, no one else could hear. After listening to her "rap" for 5 minutes, without warning she says very loudly, "I feel like SNOOP Dog in here ya'll!" (Emphasis on "snoop.") I quietly thanked God that my brother in law didn't take that opportunity to begin a sing-off. Could you imagine Snoop vs. Kenny Chesney?
We got off at the Smithsonian stop and began our sight-seeing extravaganza.
The weather was beautiful (note the short sleeves) and it was nice to thaw out after what was quite possibly the world's longest winter.
We walked all along the Mall, saw three Smithsonian museums, the monuments and the Vietnam Wall. It's safe to say that my children were the smartest ones that day...
I kept asking Adrian to carry me and he kept refusing. It is for this reason alone that I doubt his love for me. *Sniff* Though rejected in brotherly love, I was still able to take in the splendor of the afternoon. The honking horns, sirens, random sea gulls, fender-benders, and my son whining incessantly about his feet hurting. (The following week we took him to get new shoes. Turns out he was wearing shoes 2 sizes too small! Please don't report me to Child Services.) Our last stop was Mr. Lincoln. This was the highlight for my daughter because we've been studying him recently.
The clouds came so we decided to grab a cab, go back to the hotel and go for dinner. Right next to the Lincoln memorial are several roads that lead to and from Arlington so finding a cab is an interesting challenge. We're standing in front of the memorial still, and I mention this upcoming obstacle and say to Adrian, "You can whistle really loud, right?" This was a question, not a dare. However, he showed me he could and every old lady for a city block stopped what they were doing to check their pacemakers. I almost peed my pants, the "foreign object" alarm at the White House went off, and my son looked for an aerial attack. My husband asked him how many times he was dropped as a baby.
He did get us a cab though. The cabbie almost caused two major accidents crossing traffic to get to us but we all piled in and made it back to the hotel in record time. (See: Speed limit of 35 actually means 65.) With Adrian in the front seat and three adults and two children in the back, I found the overwhelming need to pray for safety. We got back to the hotel and I realized that not only did my husband tip the driver, but so did I. With my digital camera. Thankfully Adrian had just purchased one, so all of these pictures are his. Gotta give credit where credit is due, folks.
Our next adventure was finding a restaurant. Remember at this point, we'd been up since 7am and on the road since 9 and it's now 7pm. We did some research and found The Cheesecake Factory nearby.
Since I was the only one who'd ever been (I know, it's sacrilege) I was more than insistent that we eat there. "Cheesecake!" says I. So I call and the hostess informs me that the current wait time is 5 minutes. When we arrive 15 minutes later, it's now an hour wait. My sweetheart bought his mother and I some coffee and we circled the seating area like hawks until someone got up. I irritated my sciatica in the hostile takeover of the bench. (Okay, I don't have sciatica, but if I did, I would've irritated it.) After an hour (yes, still waiting) here was my daughter's thoughts on the matter.
This may have scarred her for life.
We get seated and order our food. I get to take three bites. My children need potty breaks, 2 times each, and by the time I get back to the table everyone has already eaten and ordered their desserts. I take a minute to pose with my son who is still awake by sheer will-power,
and then I order my dessert. I understand at this point that everyone is done eating, their plates have been cleared, and they're exhausted. So, I do what every thoughtful, normal, unselfish, cheesecake-loving woman would do. I order mine and eat it slowly. I'm only one woman, people! It is now 10pm and I'm going directly to sleep. After eating cheesecake. I didn't feel guilty. I did however wake up thinking I was in prison and then hit my husband for cheating on me with Reba McIntyre. It must have been the lemon I put in my water with dinner.
Day 2. Everyone had breakfast except for me. Partly because this is when I realized my camera was missing and I spent a half hour panicking, and partly because I woke up looking like I'd lost a civil war with the pillow people. My sweetheart dropped me at the corner bakery and I ran in and got myself a crappy blueberry muffin and a coffee.
Waiting for us outside was a mostly sunny 50 degree day complete with gale-force winds. We stopped at Arlington National Cemetery first.
It is always an emotional reminder of the cost of our freedom. I recommend taking your kids there, and any anti-troops "American" you know.
Next was our drive to the satellite location.
While walking around, we take little breaks so someone can look at a display in detail and read about it. During one of these breaks, my son looks at me with an expression of true pain and says, "Mom, I'm weally bored. Can I just scweam? I weally want to scweam." I inform him he can not because we don't scream in museums unless an unidentified spider comes out from under the space shuttle and bites us. He pouts and tears fill his eyes at my lack of understanding. "BBBuut, I weally, weally want to scweam, Mama." Enter my daughter, in her sing-songy voice, "Mama, I'm really hungry and this is really boooring." And for the fourteenth time that day, a random person walks right into me. I scream. Loud. Okay, no I didn't. But I weally, weally wanted to!
As I mentioned before, our main reason for going there was to see the helicopter that Micah's father used during Vietnam. I watched them each walk up and take in the craft. I could imagine Micah's dad, Gaylon standing there. He was a tall, lanky man who had a kind heart and a boyish grin. He was the type of man who when you looked at him, you could still see the younger man he used to be. He was easy to please and he loved us each unconditionally and very much. He would take up on my behalf like a fighting tiger if he felt I was mistreated; just like he would for one of his boys. And his grand kids could do no wrong. They loved their Poppo and all of his candy-sneaking ways.
I could see him walking up slowly, hands in his pockets, just taking it in. I imagine I would see on his face his inability to clearly express what was on his mind. He would waver somewhere between reminiscing, and wishing he could remove the images in his head. He rarely talked of what he saw when he was there. It is that quiet confidence and memory of the terrors they saw as such young men that makes Vietnam veterans some of the most patriotic people I know.
How I hope we never forget.
I must mention that I am afraid of open-heights when my children are involved. Heights don't normally bother me, but when I'm somewhere high with my kiddos, and they aren't properly strapped into their parachutes, I'm a bit tense. This is when a southern gentlemen comes in handy. I started getting dizzy and sweaty and having visions of my son jumping over the railing on top of planes three stories below and Adrian noticed the lack of color in my face. He very sweetly said, "Well, you gonna go downstairs or are you gonna pass out?" I went, along with my precious cargo and spent the entire trip down the winding ramp talking about the dangers of gravity. (And I didn't even touch on what gravity does to your body after you have kids!) They don't realize how lucky they are to have me as a Mama.
Next, Micah and I took the kids to show them how to properly waste money. In this case it was by purchasing tickets to the "3D" ride to the moon simulator. I had to have my son on my lap because he couldn't see the screen, had my ankle turned sideways to steady us on the bench, and one eye closed because with both eyes open it was nauseating, not 3D. 3 minutes later Micah says, "Well that just sucked!" Couldn't have said it better myself.
We went to the gift shop and tortured my son by allowing him to look at every "Made In China" American space shuttle toy for $7000.00 each and then didn't buy him one. Then there was a McDonald's there and we didn't feed him. Don't be like me. Feed your children, buy them useless toys, and don't forget their parachutes if you take them to a three-story museum.
Here was my favorite souvenir DI-rectly from the museum parking lot!
To the person who assaulted my van and didn't leave a note, thank you. May birds continually change their migratory patterns when you've just washed yours. Amen.
We loaded back up in the car and began our (important point!)
2.5 hour drive home. Then, just outside of Richmond, the interstate is shut down. I don't mean it's closed for a couple of exits, I mean it's completely shut down. All traffic is diverted to Rt. 60, a four-lane median-separated highway dotted with barbecue restaurants, nail salons, tractor stores, and service stations. And random areas of swamp. We putzed along doing 3 miles per hour. Here is where it gets fun. Adrian mentions, about 20 times, that he's in need of his nicotine. Micah tells him to shut up. Mom wonders aloud for the 70th time why the interstate is closed. I scream at the GPS for not showing me a different route to take, and the kids start hitting each other. I turn to look at the kids and my daughter is picking the rhinestones off the $10 tutu she just HAD to have and putting them in the cup holder. My son wants out of his chair, and Adrian says he needs a cigarette. Micah tells him to shut up. He bails and walks next to the car to get his fix while Mom yells at him to not get killed. She doesn't mean by the cars, they aren't going fast enough. I think she means by the swamp people. I'm not sure. His return to the car and comments about a neighboring vehicle start he and my husband off on one of their witty banters and within minutes I'm laughing so hard I can't breathe. The traffic picks up, and a lady gives Micah the bird for making her move. My brother in law takes a picture of her. That'll teach her. Four hours later, we make it home and I pee like an escapee from the bladder torture prison.
It was one of the best trips we've ever had.
