Are we there Yet?

My Redneck husband loves his house. He built his house. He does not like to leave his house. According to him, if he needed something at his house, he would have built it by now.
Okay, Thoreau, when you get back from the pond just let me know. This ingenious literary pun was lost on my husband. Shocker.
It's this reasoning that has left the two of us without a real vacation since our honeymoon 7 years ago. Which, for the most part, has been fine with me. But everyone needs a vacation. I figure we deserve a few days of rest and relaxation. We work hard, we pay our bills, and we need to get away.
So I brought up the idea of renting a house in the Outer Banks a few weeks ago. I realize it was last-minute, but I also realize that's the only way things work with Jasen's work. Work when you've got it. That's how we live.
So of course he blew me off, and said "we'll see." And then I blinked, and it was the Friday before our anniversary. I looked up the house, SunFun, that I'd had my eye on. And it was still available. A sign, I decided.
I ran downstairs, put on my most puppy-like face, popped the question and batted my eyes. And got shot down. The crew wanted the weekend off to go surfing, he had a job to finish, blah-blah-blah.
But I was undeterred. I wanted this as my anniversary gift, and decided to play dirty. I cried. I know, it's wrong. And it's not the way to get what you want. But desperate times call for desperate measures. And I was desperate. And it worked.
And hour later and we had booked our cute little house on the beach, SunFun. We were leaving the next day.

I am a terrible packer. I make list upon list of what I need, but I inevitably always underestimate how many pairs of underwear Juni will need or how many shirts I'll wear. Jasen, on the other hand, always comes back with three pairs of unworn jeans, two shirts still on hangers and six pairs of clean underwear. The man packs like he's going on walk-a-bout.
So for me to pack clothes for Juni and I and food for the three of us for five days and four nights was, to put it lightly, a challenge. But I did it. I had everything in bags, ready to be loaded into the 4-Runner.
And then Jasen comes home that Friday night. Apparently, he'd decided to pack as well. Enough meat for a bomb shelter (Seriously. We're taking an entire roasting chicken, pork ribs, steaks, the list goes on). A rack for the back of the car. A tent for the beach. Fishing polls. Grills. Two 20-pound bags of charcoal. A case of beer. It was insane. I mean, seriously. But whatever. We were going, and I wasn't arguing.
So we stuff poor Juni into his car seat, surrounded by our supplies, dropped Sadie the puppy off at CeCe's house, and hit the road.
I figured Juni would watch his DVD player until Nags head, we'd have lunch, and check in. I figure wrong.
Jasen wanted to "beat the traffic." We left at 8 a.m. Check-in was mid-afternoon. It's a 2.5 hour drive. And we say exactly 12 other cars on the road heading our direction.
Juni made it to Nags Head. We were headed to Rodanthe; another 45 minutes. It started with the boogie boards. I'd promised him I'd teach him to boogie board. He insisted he was ready to surf, but I told him he needed to boogie first. I didn't have the heart to tell him that at 4-years-old he's most likely knock himself unconscious if he tried to surf.
So for 35 minutes at the bagel shop it was "mommy...we gonna get my boogie board now?" And then for 10 minutes trying to find a place with boogie boards it was "mommy...why I not see any boogie boards?"
We found the coveted boogie board, and it was off to the beach. At this point I wish I'd had a dart with tranquilizer. To say the child asked "are we there yet" every 3 minutes would be a gross understatement. It was more like every breath.
And the whole time I'm reminding both him and Jasen that we'll be lucky if we can check into the house within the next 3 hours. But really it was fun. It was fun to see Juni's excitement about his first vacation. It was fun to see time through a child's eyes. A minutes is an hour. An hour is a lifetime. And anticipation kills.

I decided to try my luck and ask if the house was ready. SunFun was ready for the Norge's. We were there. We were headed to our sweet canary yellow beach house. The description on the Internet described SunFun as one of the best values in the OBX, which served me well, since Jasen decided paying less was always more.

Yeah. Let's just say SunFun was not so much fun...

Detour

Today was a was a stressful day. Unpacking. Getting back into a routine. Paying bills. Making calls.
I met some of my family for lunch, and got caught up on what happened with the Thrashers while I was gone.
And that's when I realized that no matter how hell-bent I am on appreciating life and living for the moment, that the universe can just kick anyone square in the ass.
My step-brother, Van, could have been killed the other day. He's in the beginning of a 12-month Afghanistan deployment with the Army. And early this week, his boss and roommate were blown up two trucks behind his. Five people total died.
I found myself sitting in a Mexican restaurant, completely shocked at how this news seemed like it was just part of his job. Like getting blown up is part of the deal. In my head I realize that, yes, as a soldier he is absolutely putting his life on the line. But I didn't think anything would seriously happen.
And then I wondered...what would happen if it was Van in that truck. I wondered what his wife Tara would tell their 13-month-old daughter Ryleigh about her daddy. Or if my step-mom Kim would ever laugh as loud or smile as wide. Or if his sister Karen would feel like a part of her was gone, too.
The course of their lives, and those they influence, would change forever. Ryleigh would not grow up complete. Tara wouldn't know what to say. Kim would never smile or laugh the same. And Karen would feel like part of her died.
Their nature, their very being, would change. And that would in turn change everyone they would come in contact with for the rest of their lives.
I began going down the list, thinking of everyone who's life would change from one life lost. Everyone. One life lost changes everyone. It changes the course of lives, dreams and futures. The smallest change in each of those people changes their path, and the path of those they meet.
I'm packing a care package for Van this week. I love Van, and want him to know I'm thinking of him. He's a huge Hokie fan, and that's how we bond.
But I just can't think of anything else to put in the box. I just can't think of what you can send someone that came so close to the end. I feel like adding a note to the box of gum, game and deodorant that says something like "Van. Please don't die. Don't change the course of our lives. It's going to good with you in it. And we need you in it."
And so I'm going to bed, sad that five people died. Five people will not leave the complete mark they were left to make. And countless others are changed forever. I'm counting the days until Van is home safe. And I'm counting our blessings that he's safe. at least for one more night.

OBX Bound

I returned home from my vacation in the Outer Bands six hours ago. Already I've picked up the dog, mowed he lawn, returned business calls, begun the laundry, cleaned the house and started dinner. But tonight, I'm going to begin blogging each day of my vacation, because it was just that good.
Think Griswold at the beach. With a 4-year-old...