How One Week Turns into Three

We found our way to my sister’s home in Roseville, California on Thursday. It was late, we were tired and it felt good to be in a home, and out of the one room, bleachy hotels. The cousins ran out to meet us. I knew the kids were going to have fun while we were there, they always did. My sister and I were pregnant twice together. We both have a 5 and 8 year old, though mine are boys and hers are girls. She also has an older son, who is 12. The best part is that all of the kids, including the older boy, play so well together, you would think that they were best friends, instead of family that only sees each other once or twice a year. We all agree, it’s magic.

When they asked how long we would be visiting, we said about a week. That was our plan anyway. While we were there, we thought the kids would enjoy learning a bit about the Gold Rush of 1848, and use the fact that we were in a shopping Mecca, to buy a few missing items, like sleeping bags, a tent, and salt and pepper shakers. Learning about how to use our camper van was another goal. We had never taken the bed down in the van, and our fears of being comfortable sleeping in it had grown. We decided we would also learn to turn on the heater, use the sink, clean out the water tank, fill up the propane tank, get the fridge going, and fire up the stove before we left. Just a short list should we need to fix anything before we begin camping in the van... should that ever actually happen.

I have to say the idea of living in the Eurovan at that point was pretty abstract. I mean we had been talking about it for so long. Planning and scheming for so long, and then finding that we were into February and we still hadn’t camped once. Not even as a trial run. I was beginning to wonder if going to Spain was the better idea. Especially after mid-week, the check engine light came on. We had just had that fixed 3 weeks ago before we left Washington. Even though we were frustrated, we decided to take it in, just in case. The mechanic said he couldn’t get us in until Friday. Fine we thought. The kids were having a blast and I still hadn’t spent much time with my family, so we would extend our trip until the following Monday.

It is always so weird living with someone else. Your own family routines stop, and you begin living life as they do. The kids were getting up at 5:30 and 6 everyday with the cousins to hang out with them before they went off to school. Then my husband or I was up early to cook breakfast for them, because unlike my sister’s children, my children didn’t take the initiative to make their own breakfast. Then the television was re-introduced into our lives, and we learned about every show on the Disney Channel. Their 5 year old was in Preschool and was home in a couple of hours, so we would have the kids busy on their workbooks, so they would be done before anyone was home from school. It was then that the issue of how we would homeschool finally came up.

If you are thinking about homeschooling, one important step is talking to your spouse about how you are going to approach it. Strangely, since my husband worked so many hours in our previous life, he just said he trusted me and aside from a few concerns, it was never really a problem. Now that he had been home since January, turmoil had been brewing. I had read around 12 books on different ways to homeschool before I started, and decided that unschooling with a splash of Montessori style curriculum was how we would be most successful. My husband, who was very unsure of unschooling, and hadn’t had the time to read any books on the subject, decided that the kids needed to be working 2-3 hours per day, minimum working on workbooks. Our fights began early, and since our children’s education has always been a sensitive spot for him (always wishing he had done more, himself) it wasn’t easy for us to have a relaxed conversation about the different approaches to homeschooling. So everyday, we set up the kids up to work, and after a few pages in one subject, I was happy with their work, and sent them off to explore and play. My husband was not, and the argument would begin.

I guess it is not just homeschooling really, but taking an adventure like this is really a sample of retirement life. It is not easy to bring together a married couple who have not been living the same life. They have had the same goals, yes, but the same life, no. One had to stay at home to raise the children, pay the bills, take care of the home, make the family social calendar, therapist and cheerleader to everyone in the family, and basically in charge of life at home, for the whole family- the governor of many. The other works hard in the business world, taking on corporate games, pushing for promotions, and fighting for more money while constantly proving how wonderful he is to everyone around him, basically in charge of his own personal life, so he can support the family- the big man on campus, or as we say, BMOC. No wonder so many older couples have such a huge transition into retirement. We had only been living this lifestyle for 8 years and we were struggling. All of a sudden, the BMOC is home everyday and looking to improve or promote his way of life and all of those around him. His style is abrupt, it seems to the governor, and by the way, who is he to question the organization style at home that the governor has so carefully and thoughtfully put together over time? BMOC, meanwhile is ready to take on this new company and bring it to the next level of efficiency, as he announces with a smile of determination, “Things are going to change around here!” Of course, the governor, thinks things are just fine, at least they were before he was here. BMOC continues to fight for his leadership and show how wonderful he is and wonders why he is not seen as a genius with his new ideas, and feels he is due for a promotion anyday, and that maybe the governor doesn’t truly realize how great his work and ideas are. He wonders why she just doesn’t get it.

All I can say is it takes a lot of conversations. Once a cheerleader and therapist, now I am having to stand on my own feet and try out BMOC confidence and leadership strategies about things that I feel strongly about. And BMOC has had to stop fighting and try to listen more like a therapist, and be supportive and cheerlead our efforts. So we talked and talked and talked together about our ideas and fears and found a middle ground. Two subjects most days for the boys and a bit more time spent, but joy in unschooling the rest of the day in peace. For now, there is harmony on the homeschool front.

Someone had asked me about how the kids are doing and at this point, aside from missing their friends back home, they are thrilled to be here. So far the whole trip has been candy coated in the idea that we were on our way to see family. In fact, the kids were so happy that my oldest had started planning our move to Roseville. It doesn’t rain much in the Sacramento area and riding bikes is almost an everyday activity and our cousins and grandparents are here, so we need to move to Roseville, right? “No,” I tell them. “Sadly, I do not want to live in the hot weather, and the beautiful days you are enjoying are those of February.” I said, “Soon, around May, it will begin to fire up to 85 and up and a month or more of the summer is playing around the 100 degree mark with a week or more over a blistering 110. I just need to live where it is cooler,” I tell them. “But we like the heat,” they try to tell me. “No you don’t,” I remind my Washingtonian children. “When it gets above 85, you both complain about the heat, and,” I tell my younger one, “you are always complaining about the sun in your eyes. You like the cold and wish for snow days which doesn’t happen around here.” “Yes, but we could get used to it,” they tell me. “Yes, you could,” I tell them, “but I do not want to live around here anymore, I did for 18 years and that was enough for me, for now. However, we may live somewhere closer to the area so that we can visit more, somewhere cooler, with more trees.” I look at their faces and it seems their ideas are crushed and I feel their frustration. It doesn’t seem to make sense to them. They want a home in a fun place and they want to move somewhere where people already love them, and a little more sun couldn’t hurt anyone.

Though a previous ban on real estate conversations had been in place, Husband and I began the discussions about where we could possibly find a home closer to this area. We spotted amazing land and homes all around Gold Country, but kept telling ourselves that it is only February and we are not getting a realistic temperature picture of this area. Next stop is the coast, and we will look around there as well.

Since the Eurovan repair place is about a 40 minute drive from my sisters, we were unable to take it in on Friday as planned, and we pushed it into Monday. Monday came and went, and you guessed it, parts needed to be ordered. “They will be here on Wednesday and the car will be fixed the same day,” they said. “Go ahead,” we told them. Wednesday came and the parts came, but they were not the right parts. “Friday,” they said extremely apologetically, “the parts will be right, and you will be on your way.” With a strange sinking feeling, we said, “Okay.” Of course on Friday, we were told how unbelievably sorry they are that again the parts are not the right parts, and he promises he will personally go out to find the right parts and Saturday the van would be ready, for sure.

On the family front, my dad’s birthday was upon us, and my brother-in-law had decided to surprise my sister with a weekend away, and we assured we could watch the kids, and of course, my sister had the next week off, and we should stay to hang out, right? So we stayed, even though the car was fixed Saturday as planned. We stayed, had fun and celebrated, but during it all, something unbelievably unbelievable happened. The check engine light came on again! Can you hear me just freaking out?

This time we were done. We decided forget it! We are not going to take it in again to the We-don’t-know-our-parts Mechanics. On the other hand, when we called, they graciously said they would check it out for free and we realized we would be foolish to not let them take another look. And when they did, yes! Yes! Yes! We needed to order new parts, which would just be a couple of days. I began to sing the song, “We are never leaving, weeeee are never leeeeaving!” Monday we packed up, left my sister’s house and went to stay with my parents. Tuesday we all went to Auburn and Coloma to follow the Gold Rush Trail. The kids had fun panning for gold, walking through a mine, seeing the artifacts of the Native Americans called the Culumas and the miners who came to the area, a real blacksmith and Sutter’s Mill on the beautiful American River. We read sign after sign on how James Marshall, who was contracted by John Sutter to build his mill, discovered the gold in the river bed and had it shouted around the world. It was strange how he died very poor as a fruit farmer, or was it? My younger son, who was the most excited about the Gold Trail, was extremely disappointed about not finding any gold for himself. We explained that he was not unlike a lot of the miners who came out here 150 years ago. Most were disappointed and left broke. This seemed to calm him. After a nice long day out in the Gold Country with the Grandparents, we turned to the children and asked who first discovered gold on the American River? I don’t know, they told us. Well, at least they improved their skills at skipping stones.

Ah, Thursday Morning, the parts were due in, the right parts, they told us. We said our goodbyes to all and since my brother lived near the mechanic, we stayed with him during the wait for the parts to arrive. Finally at 1, we were told the parts were in, and it should only take an hour. We decided to wait at the mechanics, and leave from there. At 3, we were ready to roll. We couldn’t believe it! We drove off, with our Willie Nelson CD blasting the faithful, “On the Road Again,” (which we had begin playing everytime we left a town and the kids loved it) honking our horn as we left, of course the mechanic had told us of a used bike store a few blocks away, and since my husband still had no bike yet, we decided to look. True to the irony of life, he found one, which needed a tune up, and they only took cash. We actually had to drive back past the mechanic to go back to our bank and then wait for the bike to be tuned. We quickly decided the song would only be played once we actually were on the freeway leaving town for a better effect. At close to 5, that is what we did. We were finally leaving town, ready to begin our adventure south, living in the van, and blasting Willie.

“Like a band of gypsies, we go down the highway.”