We couldn't get back to IL for Christmas this year, so we decided to go in January. We booked Amtrak for the first time, because I didn't want to drive 8 hours in the snow. As I clicked the "purchase" button I wondered if this was a good idea, but I went ahead anyway, risk-taker that I am.
The station we were going to in IL, wasn't equipped to accept checked bags, so we had to do all carry ons. Me, Joe, 5 kids, 3 duffels, 1 pullman, 3 backpacks and 1 suitcase arrived at Union Station, at 7 a.m., in anticipation of the 7:45 train to IL. Joe was going to stay just long enough to get us onto the train, because he had a flight to California a bit later in the day. The best laid plans...
We get to Union Station and drag our bags to the waiting room, then I go to the ticket counter to get my tickets. When you make reservations on Amtrak, all you get is a bar code to print out, then you have to get the tickets the day of your trip. When I get up there, the ticket guy tells me the train isn't scheduled to depart until 9:30 a.m. ARRGGHH!
I go into the waiting room and break the news. We decide to take the kids out for breakfast and then come back. "Be back here at 8:45 or you'll miss the train," the ticket guy tells me. We have an hour and a half at this point. So we rush out to Cascone's and order breakfast. Now, when we are at home, and whether the kids eat cereal for breakfast or bacon and eggs, it always takes, like, 2 hours. I am constantly yelling at them to hurry it up. We get into Cascone's, order, and the kids are completely done by 8:00. What the??? So we stretch the time out by making them drink every last drop of the huge mugs of cocoa we ordered and then taking them all to the restroom, one by one.
We get back to Union Station by 8:45. The ticket guy says, "10:15." Ten fifteen!!!! I have an hour and a half with five very tired kids in a now, very crowded waiting room (note to self: if the train is late don't go out to breakfast or you will not get seats in the waiting room) with all that luggage. Lord, help me! Joe had to leave or he was going to miss his flight. I found a couple of seats next to each other (OK, what really happened was I made the kids squeeze in until the woman, who had PLENTY OF ROOM to do so, moved down a bit). Then I got a chair that was hiding in a corner and brought it over and sat in it. Bella made a bed out of the duffels, covered herself with jackets and took a nap. The girls took out their drawing supplies and got to work. Noah read and Charlie busied himself by studying all the other people waiting right along with us. They were SO GOOD! I was even able to play my new, hand-held Yahtzee game that I got for Christmas and thought I would never use. It was pleasant and the time went rather quickly. At 9:55, a voice came on the PA. All it said was, "10:55." I get up to see what's going on, but the grate to the ticket window is closed and the ticket guys have magically vanished into thin air.
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! Lord! I am with 5 children! They are tired! I cannot believe that they are not cranky! But I KNOW it's coming! Make the train come now! Pick it up and bring it here! Please!!!!!"
It is good that most people cannot see what you are thinking. So, while the above outburst is happening, privately, in my brain, I hand out bagels. Again, the children are well behaved. They sit. They eat. They throw their garbage in the can without having to be reminded.
At 10:55, and unusual thing happened. As if on cue, everyone in the waiting room got up, picked up their stuff, and formed a line that began at the door to the tracks. The kids and I dragged all our stuff and stood on line, too. Charlie started to get antsy. Poor guy. I couldn't blame him. But I was armed with lots of chewing gum and I wasn't afraid to use it. The gum calmed him down. Noah and Genevieve begin to bicker. The usual "he/she's touching me" stuff. Honestly, I can't blame them...they have been awake for over 5 hours at this point and they are tired. We stand there..and stand there. I look at my phone. 11:30. "If I drove," I think, "I would have been close to the Mississippi by now."
We wait some more. I find myself sighing a lot. Finally we see someone come into the door from the track. More people follow. There is no announcement, but all of a sudden a guy in a blue hat appears and starts taking tickets. Wahoo! We shuffle up to the door with our bags and onto the icy walk that is very long and will take you to either a very slick stairway down to the platform or an elevator. I opt for the elevator. We wait for the elevator. The elevator doesn't come. We wait some more. I panic. What if we miss the train because we are waiting for the elevator? Finally, it shows up and we get down to the platform. There is a conductor right there. We drag our bags over to him and I ask him where we need to be if we want to go to Chicago. He points toward the end of the train. "See that vary last car? That's where you want to be." Of course...of course it is. So we haul butt down there and the conductor relieves us of the heavier bags and we go up top to find a seat. Finally, at 12:10 p.m., the train departs.
The ride was really pleasant. The train wasn't crowded, so we had double seats all to ourselves. I played Yahtzee all the way through Iowa and got a high score of 416..all right! The kids drew, read and snacked. Angelina made a bed out of a sweatshirt and a jacket and napped most of the way.
When we got to the station, the door was frozen shut and the conductor had to kick it in, but other than that the landing was fine. I call my Dad and let him know we are there. He tells me he will be there in 5 minutes. It was a cold 5 minutes. He calls me again. "I can see you...can you see me?" I look all around. Can't see anyone. The place looks deserted. "Look over here!" he yells. WHERE? We keep walking and dragging the bags until I hear someone yelling. I hang up the phone and look up. He is standing right there. Whew!
Our visit was good. Didn't get to see everyone we wanted to, but the kids saw their cousins and friends and had lots of fun.
The train home was scheduled for 3:50 p.m. We picked up some fast food to bring for dinner and the train actually arrived on time... a good sign! We get on the train and the conductor tells me to get seats downstairs because the majority of the ones upstairs are full. I look around. There are 12 seats total. Six have no one in them, but one of those has a briefcase in it, like someone left it there to save their seat. "Sir," I say to the conductor, "It looks like there are not enough seats." He ROLLS HIS EYES at me. I try to be polite. "Um, I am traveling with 4 minors and an adult with autism and we really need to be together." He presses his lips together and then emits an exasperated sigh. "Those are the seats I have," he says firmly. "OK, I tell you what," I say, sweetly, "I will go find an empty seat upstairs and let the kids stay down here, but understand that there will be 4 minors and an adult with autism unsupervised for 7 hours to Kansas City." A man appears behind him and says, nervously, "You want me to start shuffling people around up there?" At this point I think the conductor is going to blow. Then Bella comes to the rescue. She asked around and the briefcase doesn't seem to belong to anyone in the car. So I give the briefcase to the exasperated conductor and we take the seats. He puts the briefcase in with the other bags and leaves. "Great," I think, "It's probably a bomb and it is about 3 feet from me and my kids...what a way to go." Then I say my usual prayers of protection for the kids, but with a bit more fervor this time.
The ride home was not as blissful as the ride there. The car was hot and the kids made about 2,487 trips to the bathroom, which was, conveniently, just outside the door. At least one of the kids wanted to get up every 26.4 seconds and I couldn't get through one Yahtzee game without being interrupted by a child doing the pee pee dance. But we survived. The train was only 9 minutes late into Union Station. By the time we pulled into the garage, it was close to midnight and everyone was so very happy to be home and sleeping in their own beds. I am sure the conductor was happy we were home, too.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Friday, October 9, 2009
You Must Become Like a Child
I went to NY for a week in August, to see my grandmother, who is 87. She had a lung removed about 9 years ago and we had just found out that the remaining lung has a malignancy. I hadn't seen her in 3 years, so I wanted to go, and I brought 2 of my kids.
I had planned on making a vacation of it, and seeing everyone I ever knew since birth, but when I saw Grandma all of that went out the window, and I just spent the time with her, mostly.
She is not getting a lot of oxygen, due to the lack of a lung, so she has developed some dementia. Thankfully, she remembers people, but she forgets events. She still lives alone, due to the fact that all her children live very far away and she refuses to budge. She does have Mary, a wonderful woman who comes every day for a couple hours to bathe her and do some housekeeping, as well as keep her company.
We went over there every day for hours and just sat with her. When we would arrive, the door would be wide open.
"Grandma," I would say, "You have to keep the door locked."
"But I like it open."
"What would you do if a thief came in the door?" I ask.
She looks up, waves her hand in the air, smiles and says, "Hi!"
"Not the proper response," I sigh.
"Well," she says, "I don't have anything worth taking!"
"OK, let's try another approach. What if a murderer came in the door, then what would you do?"
She thinks for a moment, cocks her head to the side and says, reluctantly, "I guess I should keep the door locked."
Over the week I worked with her on that, asking all the time if the door was locked, why did it need to be locked, etc. She did pretty well by the end of the week. I don't know if she is still doing it, though.
She used to be pretty high strung, before the dementia. Now she is as happy as a clam and nothing phases her. She is like a baby, in that way. Once, we came over in the evening and she was sitting in her usual place; the comfortable chair in the corner, by the TV, with the cat at her feet. She was watching an infomercial about room heaters.
"Grandma?" What are you watching?"
"What am I watching?" she asks, incredulously.
"It is an infomercial. Do you know what that is?"
"Infomercial? No."
"It is big long commercial."
"A commercial!" she laughs and slaps her knee.
"Do you want to buy that thing?" I chuckle.
"Me? Nooooo," she says.
"Then why are you watching it?" I ask.
She shakes her head and gives a toothless grin. "Why am I watching it?"
She enjoys eating. Her favorite is Entenmann's crumb cake. We replenish her stash and the kids get hooked on it. We decide to eat our way through NY, because the kids have never had authentic NY food. We get take out from my favorite childhood burger joint. We get pizza. We go out for Chinese food.
"I can't eat much," she says as we settle in at the table in the Chinese buffet.
She gets a small plate of food and polishes it off immediately.
"Let me get you some more," I offer.
"OK," she says, "Some more chicken...and some egg foo young."
"I'll be right back," I say. Then she calls over her shoulder, "Fried rice!"
One night we had coffee and I put some French vanilla creamer in it for her. My Uncle Tom is a top-notch baker and he had left a chocolate mousse cake, so I cut her a piece. "Uhmmmmm...I love this cake...this is SO delicious. What did you put in the coffee?" She smacks her lips. "Mmmmmm." We should all enjoy our food as much as Grandma does.
The night before we had to leave I have a conversation with Grandma.
"You know we've been here for a whole week, Grandma."
"A whole week," she answers, nodding.
"I am so glad we came, but we have to go home tomorrow."
"Home? But I am so used to you being here now... Stay!" she says, slapping her leg.
I can feel my throat closing as I whisper, "I wish I could, Grandma, but you know I have to get back home so Joe can work and I can take care of the kids."
I go into her kitchen and cry. I wish I could take her home with me and take care of her, but that is an impossibility.
The next day I wake up early, with Grandma on my mind. We were going to breakfast with my childhood friend, Denise, and her family, who patiently put us up in their house for a whole week. I decide to make a quick stop at Grandma's before breakfast and then spend the rest of the time there between breakfast and our departure for the airport. We pull up in front of the house and immediately I sense something amiss. It looks empty and Mary should be there at this time, but there is no car in the driveway. I go up the stairway and knock. While I am waiting I notice a neighbor walking over.
"They took her away in an ambulance just a little while ago."
"But...but she was fine when I left her last night," I stammer.
"Well, I don't think it was very serious, because they didn't have the siren on, but I thought I should come out and tell you." I thank her and then call my Aunt Andrea, who lives in New Jersey and is Grandma's primary care giver. She tells me she is on the way to NY and which hospital Grandma will be in. I find out later my grandmother has been diagnosed with pneumonia. I don't know how she can possibly survive that with one lung.
When we get to the hospital, Aunt Andrea is asking Grandma about the Do Not Resuscitate order. "I know you have one at home, but do you want one for this hospital stay?" Grandma cocks her head to the side and ponders. "Mom, do you understand? Do you want them to revive you if your heart stops?" she asks, with tears in her eyes. "Natural," Grandma answers. "I am ready to meet Jesus."
My Aunt and I both burst into tears. "Why are you crying?" she scolds, "I am ready." She grins, "Hey, what do you expect? I'm 87 years old...I'm pushing 90 here!"
And then it hits me. Scripture says you must become like a child to enter the kingdom of heaven. This is what God has done for my grandmother. What a gift. She is exactly like a child. And she is there with arms wide open, embracing both life and death.
Miraculously, she made it out of the hospital. One day I call her to chat.
"When are you going to come to see me? You live so far away. When do I get to see your kids?" she asks.
"Grandma, I was just there for a week, with Noah and Bella, remember?"
"A week?"
"Yes, remember we had Chinese food and burgers from the Good Steer? You loved the cole slaw. I got you extra cole slaw," I reply, wistfully.
"Burgers? We did?"
"Yes, Grandma; we did. And we had fun." I remind her.
"We had fun," she says decidedly.
"I tell you the truth, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it." Luke 18:17
I had planned on making a vacation of it, and seeing everyone I ever knew since birth, but when I saw Grandma all of that went out the window, and I just spent the time with her, mostly.
She is not getting a lot of oxygen, due to the lack of a lung, so she has developed some dementia. Thankfully, she remembers people, but she forgets events. She still lives alone, due to the fact that all her children live very far away and she refuses to budge. She does have Mary, a wonderful woman who comes every day for a couple hours to bathe her and do some housekeeping, as well as keep her company.
We went over there every day for hours and just sat with her. When we would arrive, the door would be wide open.
"Grandma," I would say, "You have to keep the door locked."
"But I like it open."
"What would you do if a thief came in the door?" I ask.
She looks up, waves her hand in the air, smiles and says, "Hi!"
"Not the proper response," I sigh.
"Well," she says, "I don't have anything worth taking!"
"OK, let's try another approach. What if a murderer came in the door, then what would you do?"
She thinks for a moment, cocks her head to the side and says, reluctantly, "I guess I should keep the door locked."
Over the week I worked with her on that, asking all the time if the door was locked, why did it need to be locked, etc. She did pretty well by the end of the week. I don't know if she is still doing it, though.
She used to be pretty high strung, before the dementia. Now she is as happy as a clam and nothing phases her. She is like a baby, in that way. Once, we came over in the evening and she was sitting in her usual place; the comfortable chair in the corner, by the TV, with the cat at her feet. She was watching an infomercial about room heaters.
"Grandma?" What are you watching?"
"What am I watching?" she asks, incredulously.
"It is an infomercial. Do you know what that is?"
"Infomercial? No."
"It is big long commercial."
"A commercial!" she laughs and slaps her knee.
"Do you want to buy that thing?" I chuckle.
"Me? Nooooo," she says.
"Then why are you watching it?" I ask.
She shakes her head and gives a toothless grin. "Why am I watching it?"
She enjoys eating. Her favorite is Entenmann's crumb cake. We replenish her stash and the kids get hooked on it. We decide to eat our way through NY, because the kids have never had authentic NY food. We get take out from my favorite childhood burger joint. We get pizza. We go out for Chinese food.
"I can't eat much," she says as we settle in at the table in the Chinese buffet.
She gets a small plate of food and polishes it off immediately.
"Let me get you some more," I offer.
"OK," she says, "Some more chicken...and some egg foo young."
"I'll be right back," I say. Then she calls over her shoulder, "Fried rice!"
One night we had coffee and I put some French vanilla creamer in it for her. My Uncle Tom is a top-notch baker and he had left a chocolate mousse cake, so I cut her a piece. "Uhmmmmm...I love this cake...this is SO delicious. What did you put in the coffee?" She smacks her lips. "Mmmmmm." We should all enjoy our food as much as Grandma does.
The night before we had to leave I have a conversation with Grandma.
"You know we've been here for a whole week, Grandma."
"A whole week," she answers, nodding.
"I am so glad we came, but we have to go home tomorrow."
"Home? But I am so used to you being here now... Stay!" she says, slapping her leg.
I can feel my throat closing as I whisper, "I wish I could, Grandma, but you know I have to get back home so Joe can work and I can take care of the kids."
I go into her kitchen and cry. I wish I could take her home with me and take care of her, but that is an impossibility.
The next day I wake up early, with Grandma on my mind. We were going to breakfast with my childhood friend, Denise, and her family, who patiently put us up in their house for a whole week. I decide to make a quick stop at Grandma's before breakfast and then spend the rest of the time there between breakfast and our departure for the airport. We pull up in front of the house and immediately I sense something amiss. It looks empty and Mary should be there at this time, but there is no car in the driveway. I go up the stairway and knock. While I am waiting I notice a neighbor walking over.
"They took her away in an ambulance just a little while ago."
"But...but she was fine when I left her last night," I stammer.
"Well, I don't think it was very serious, because they didn't have the siren on, but I thought I should come out and tell you." I thank her and then call my Aunt Andrea, who lives in New Jersey and is Grandma's primary care giver. She tells me she is on the way to NY and which hospital Grandma will be in. I find out later my grandmother has been diagnosed with pneumonia. I don't know how she can possibly survive that with one lung.
When we get to the hospital, Aunt Andrea is asking Grandma about the Do Not Resuscitate order. "I know you have one at home, but do you want one for this hospital stay?" Grandma cocks her head to the side and ponders. "Mom, do you understand? Do you want them to revive you if your heart stops?" she asks, with tears in her eyes. "Natural," Grandma answers. "I am ready to meet Jesus."
My Aunt and I both burst into tears. "Why are you crying?" she scolds, "I am ready." She grins, "Hey, what do you expect? I'm 87 years old...I'm pushing 90 here!"
And then it hits me. Scripture says you must become like a child to enter the kingdom of heaven. This is what God has done for my grandmother. What a gift. She is exactly like a child. And she is there with arms wide open, embracing both life and death.
Miraculously, she made it out of the hospital. One day I call her to chat.
"When are you going to come to see me? You live so far away. When do I get to see your kids?" she asks.
"Grandma, I was just there for a week, with Noah and Bella, remember?"
"A week?"
"Yes, remember we had Chinese food and burgers from the Good Steer? You loved the cole slaw. I got you extra cole slaw," I reply, wistfully.
"Burgers? We did?"
"Yes, Grandma; we did. And we had fun." I remind her.
"We had fun," she says decidedly.
"I tell you the truth, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it." Luke 18:17
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Gimme a Hand
We were eating dinner tonight and all of a sudden I see a black, shiny hand on the table. I look around and everyone's hands seem to be accounted for. "Who's the gorilla?" I ask. Everyone looks at the hand, which begins to tap Noah on the shoulder. Genevieve starts to grin. It is her FOOT, with a black leather glove on it.
Deep in the recesses of my mind, I have a fleeting thought. Something about table manners. But it goes away when I burst out laughing. Everyone joins in. Noah is laughing the hardest, because she is right next to him. "Hey, Genevieve," he giggles, "Snap your fingers!" Then Joe caves and puts a fork in the "hand." She is wiggling it all around. Needless to say, the rest of dinner was far from calm.
But we had fun.
Deep in the recesses of my mind, I have a fleeting thought. Something about table manners. But it goes away when I burst out laughing. Everyone joins in. Noah is laughing the hardest, because she is right next to him. "Hey, Genevieve," he giggles, "Snap your fingers!" Then Joe caves and puts a fork in the "hand." She is wiggling it all around. Needless to say, the rest of dinner was far from calm.
But we had fun.
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