So, the trip
The trip was all kinds of sad, and all kinds of wonderful. It was so mixed up I think my head is still spinning.
So, the sad: going to the cemetary with Noah was hard. He was asking the really tough questions of how this place, the gravesite, relates at all to Emily. Where is she? Why is this her place? Why is she not at our house? Neither Carl nor I really wanted to take that one but I think I muttered something about when you die you leave your body behind. It was entirely predictable, since I haven’t taken Noah there over the winter; when we were going more often I think it didn’t raise as many flags.
Anyways, that set off the usual nightmares: left the baby behind, etc. It’s small wonder I have no tolerance for horror movies any more - and I mean none. Sweeney Todd doesn’t count.
The inn itself was as usual lovely: we were in a different wing and room which at first disturbed the system, because there is nothing that we like more than little traditions. But the new room had an even better view of the grounds and lake, and a king sized bed which, if one co-sleeps as we did, is - amaaaaaazing.
I didn’t swim because, of course, I was sick. But Carl and Noah did, and Noah and I settled for rambling about the grounds. One day we all went over to the lake and found a little creek and Noah threw rocks and poked with a stick for like, an hour. We played ball hockey (they had a defunct tennis court set up for it) and jumped in puddles. We played knights with sticks. We explored all the statuary. We climbed the hill. It was incredibly right, those things.
Noah shocked Carl and I with his grown up ness. He made some friends, esp. a little boy named P. He made friends by taking a toy and walking over and saying, “Hello, my name is Noah. Would you like to play with me?” (I credit Montessori; this is a skill I still find difficult at times.) He was generally speaking polite and helpful and well-mannered, except after about the 45-min mark of any meal. All breakfasts and half the lunches were buffets, so that helped.
On the wagon ride he insisted on sitting with P., who was 6. The two of them discussed various characters and merchandise from the movie Cars, horse farts, horse poo, and horse hair. They also commented on the cars that went by (some of it was along a road) and Noah informed P. when one was a convertible, and that convertibles don’t have tops.
P. came with some older siblings, and one night as Carl and I were still eating dinner (three course meals are still a bit of a struggle), those boys crossed from the dining room to the ballroom where they had set up a ping-pong table and some round tables with games. Noah asked if he could go and since we could see him, we said sure. He never looked back. By the time we were finished, he’d learned to serve, and he valiantly attempted several games of ping-pong with us. He serves better than I do. Which is more a statement about me, but still.
He did one of the kids’ meals (they run a March Break kids programme) and seemed to do fine; ate and did crafts, but the next day he said he’d been lonely so he ate with us that night. Still, we got one lengthy gourmet meal with free babysitting… not bad. Also the hostess gave us the little glassed-in room of our own, so he could play on the floor when it got to be too much. 1.5-2 hrs is just too much, even with table games and pens and so on. It was fine.
Carl and I did our things: I read a fair amount, and watched HGTV; Noah watched some Treehouse; we rambled about by various fires in various rooms, and ate too much.
It occured to me, again, that somehow we’ve managed to replicate all the good things about my grandfather’s house & property, which was 17 acres of woodland with a creek, pond, and waterfall, and a larger home with lots of nooks and crannies and yes, a fireplace and a woodstove (separate rooms) by which we used to read. There too meals were very regular. And time poking about with sticks was de rigeur.
For all the bad things my grandfather did, those other parts were still very calm and good and the nature parts often healing, which is what I kind of get up at the inn. But also, I think the Lynns find the whole place familiar enough — right down to the vintage of the furniture in specific rooms - and so it is somewhere they can actually be, too.
And watching Noah in that creek - brought up some bad stuff, brought up a lot of regret that Emily never got that, but also felt very right.
So all in all it was a very good trip for what it was. As usual, I cried. As usual, I felt blinding rage. And as usual, here we are on the other side and it is okay.
I also still am not quite over how grownup Noah can be.
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