It may be the elementary teacher in me. It might be the remnants of being a mom to two young daughters. It might be the anxiety-induced OCD that drives me to hyper-plan, to the minute, events~even for a whirlwind family trip to Kansas City where the bulk of our intended time would be spent watching the Royals play.
In the classroom, my lesson plans are divided into twenty minutes of instruction and activities to accommodate the fleeting attention spans of nine-year-old 4th graders (and their 54-year-old teacher). For my family, I spaced our events according to meals and in-between-snack entertainment.
"Consider it a living document," I encouraged everyone as we met during our initial orientation meeting, ignoring the sighs and eye-rolls as they perused my multi-page itinerary. "Like the Constitution, we can easily make amendments or changes." I heard someone snort "easy." We moved onto the question and answer portion of my presentation. "What is this about a Civil-War-era pickle?" my passionate-about-pickles daughter-in-law asked as everyone glared at her. Apparently, my family had held a secret pre-meeting meeting and had agreed not to indulge me by asking questions. Lisa had gone off script...such was the compelling power of my itinerary.
In addition to a really old pickle, we were also on the look-out for a giant shuttlecock the size of a mini-van, the baseball card collection of Geddy Lee (I had some Rush fans in the group), restaurants featured on television shows, locations used in movie scenes, and bullet holes from a train station ambush. I sprinkled in art, history, sports, music, ice cream, crepes, and tons of barbeque. I researched free parking, anticipated line lengths, and recommended entrees.
Time and time again, I was thwarted. Holes were routinely punched in my flawless itinerary. East Coast snobbery turned up their noses at the famed KC lobster bisque (with 40 top secret ingredients!). "What are you doing?" Savannah asked, spying the bag of forks and spoons that I'd brought from home. "I read that the only problem with the lobster bisque was that the restaurant used plastic cutlery," I told her. Happily, the place must have read the same article so, to Savannah's relief, I didn't have to wield my silverware. I completely short-changed the shopping section of my itinerary. The siren call of Costco temporarily depleted our numbers. Caitlin Clark had several members of our party glued to the TV while the rest of us happily gave the Ferris Wheel a whirl.
I made notes so that I could adjust my next itinerary. Sydney daringly performed a cartwheel in front of the shuttlecock sculpture. I realized that I would have to better research the rules and regulations portion of my document after Douglas was soundly scolded for perching on the wall at the World War I museum. "You'd think they'd put up a sign," he muttered while Sydney and I debated pointing out the large-font warnings posted at twenty foot intervals all along the wall. My annual argument with my brother-in-law resulted, as usual, with an abundance of food at our Airbnb. "I already got a case of water," I told him, attempting to intercept his addition of another case. "We need to hydrate," he insisted, tossing it on the cart like the rack of ribs on the Flintstone car. But I had a math teacher in the family now. "Douglas," I said, as he attempted to blend in with a beverage display, "We have nine people and two cases of water each containing forty bottles. How many bottles of water will EACH of us have to consume in under three days?" "Approximately eight," he answered quickly before disappearing in search of a box of dino-nuggies. Yaba-daba, thanks a lot, Doug.
Still. When all was said and done, I'd call it a pretty successful trip. Nine people arrived safely to Kansas City from Alaska, New York, Texas, Iowa, and California. And nine people left, more or less, emotionally unscathed. As far as I know, we're all still pretty much talking to one another. "You have to be realistic," my husband said, "you can't please everyone. Nine people coming together in the space of three days? There are always going to be moments." I nodded, knowing he was right...but still wanting to go back in time to buy Sydney that $300 souvenir pen with a floating speck of stick in it from the Civil-war era paddle-boat pickle wreck. Brad poked me. "You know what they call a traveler who never loses their temper, don't ya?" I frowned at him. "A nomad!"
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