Train Train Train

We went to the fair today. We took the train, which of course became the best part of going to the fair. I don't know what I was thinking, I got up at the ungodly late it-must-be-summer hour of 8:45 and had only made it inches out of bed before the kids were pounding me with canwego canwego canwego - I gave the baby some cereal and thought wow, canwego? The train leaves in 45 minutes, and we have to get to the train station.

The kids fed the chickens, fed the bunnies, I fed the dogs, got the baby a new diaper, oh yeah and I should put some clothes on (always the last thing), picked a flowery 70's number that I could nurse the baby in and not feel too fat, packed some leftover food from the beach the other day, no time for sandwich making (I will be sorry later), we rush out and oh shit it's 9:17. Train leaves at 9:30. Barry looks at me like he wants to kill me. We'll make it, I say. I hope. We tear over there, train hasn't gotten there somehow, we unload stroller, kids, bags, race up the platform. Kids are jumping up and down, I yell down to Barry You're my hero.

The train is beautiful, perfect, quiet. Everyone looks like professional train people, the ticket guys have hole punchers, books of tickets, little hats. The kids are different now - they're older, and Nathan is frankly mature. He helps me with the stroller because he decides he needs to. Without me asking. They walk the length of the cars. They agonize over what treat to buy in the overpriced cafe. Lilly puts the pillow protector sheet on her head and says Yook. Paypa towel. Hat.

We get out in Ventura and it's freezing. Nathan has forgotten his sweatshirt. I was going to pack one for him and he said, wait, I'll get my favorite one, and then he didn't get it. When I say "you forgot your sweatshirt!" exasperated, he doesn't cry. He actually doesn't get upset at all. Mature. I instantly miss his babyness.

The million fair goers and we go into the crowded fair gates. In five minutes we've eaten over-priced popcorn and a caramel apple. I could own a grove of caramel apples for what I pay. We see cows, horses, pigs, sheep. The family we meet there follows us, and the kid veers between angry to sullen. I think it is his version of joy. My kids are innocent, and hungry.

We only stay three hours. I manage to spend 7 thousand dollars, mostly on one burrito. An Asian family shares their table with us, and I decide I like Asian people.

We dash back to the train. We're right at the beach and we chose to be inland, on a parking lot, with loud music and people with tattoos. We decide next time we're going to the beach. Even though we were just there Monday.

On Monday we were out by the waves, and we could see the ferris wheel in the distance. Even then, I knew the waves, the sound of the ocean, the sand-covered kids, the sweet, frolicking baby, the free beach were so much better than the ferris wheel in the distance.

In a blink the train ride again - going South. My kids seemed older than me, except they have the jagged teeth of youth. They're so good, they don't give me anything to do but appreciate them.

Our train ride is smooth, foreign, fun because we never ride trains. Everything looks new when you're not in charge of it, when you're just the passenger. Look how life speeds by, and here are these beautiful faces, all three, just sitting with me. I made three people.

We get off the train and Barry again piles us in the car. We are a full family, we are packing in our summer, we won't give up our summer until we suck out the last drop. I am already feeling I've lost Nathan, he's almost nine, he's so tall and what if he turns sullen and angry? What if another day goes by that I don't grab him close, tickle him, love him, find my way back to him? All these babies have gotten in the way, and maybe he's forgotten me.

Then in bed, I put his eardrops in, and he lets me. I scratch his back, and tell them how proud I am of them. I am just the mom, I see. I am not growing parallel to this mom life, I am intertwined, the stalk moves through me.

Moving through life, on and off trains, lugging, fetching, feeding. I am here, Nathan. I care. I wish I could keep you at every age, right here. Loving you and your sisters, and your brother - I am so lucky.

So the fair was kind of loud. We had that silence of the train, with the fish we won in little plastic tanks on the table, Lilly with no nap, and the blueberry muffin from the cafe. Emma resting on my lap. Nathan seeing the curving front of the train out the window. All these signs of messy, outward, jumbled life, and then there's the thing that keeps me going that you can't see at all. The joy that's all around these three sprites. A place for me to belong. Solidly, meaningfully, happily.