My children refer to our various and sundry “big trips” as though they are reaccuring national holidays. Two years ago, after a trip to Hawaii, we were sitting around having after school snack when Cate asked: “Momma, when’s Hawaii?” Slightly perplexed I replied, “What do you mean ‘when’s Hawaii?’” “You know,” Cate said, through a mouthful of chewed goldfish crakers, “When’s Hawaii? First comes Christmas….then Valentines…then New Year’s….When comes Hawaii? Is it before our birthdays?”

As it was raining, cold, and already dark at 3pm, it seemed especially cruel and unusual to explain to a four-year-old that Hawaii is not, in fact, a reaccuring event. Rather, given the economic reality of the Mee-Chapman household it is most likely a one-time-only event. (Don’t even make me go into what happened when she put two and two together and figured out that this reality might also apply to Disneyland.)

In spite of this earth shattering revelation, my children still seem to view each trip as some sort of newly christened holy day. We’ve been talking about our big trip back east for a few months now, and a week ago Eden started asking, “Mommy, is today New York?” I explained to her that we aren’t actually waking up one morning to instantly find ourselves in the Big Apple. First there would be a 4am wake up call, followed by a six hour airport-flight-rental-car extravaganza, followed by a stop to see relatives in two different states before finally disembarking in the big, beautifully headiness that is Grand Central Station. This litany of Code Orange travel warnings only made the whole thing that much more appealing. “You mean, we get to sleep in our sweats, wake up when it’s dark and take a taxi!” Eden screached, clapping. What, oh what, could be better?!

So Sunday morning – and I do mean morning in the pre-dawn sense of the word – Eden and Cate both tumbled out of bed, brushed their teeth, popped their toothbrushes into their kits and deleriously skittered down the stairs into the open arms of our awaiting towncar. Eden was a now stop barrage of A.M. commentary, “Look Momma! The moon looks like a Peter Pan moon! It’s a thin little cresent with soft grey glows all around it…and remember when we saw the upside down cresent moon at the volacano in Hawaii?…and can we see the moon in NewYorkCity or will the lights be too bright–you know, like in the song ’they say the city lights are bright on broadway’?” This steady stream of chatter went on all the way to the airport, with me wedged in the back between the two car seats, squeezing out a chain of responses as my head bobbing back and forth like an onlooker at wimbeldon. The towncar driver chuckled away, offering advice at various points, including a tip that a glass of water next to Cate’s bed will keep her from talking in her sleep at night. (So helpful, these towncar drivers.)

Since then we’ve been logging ‘cousin time’ with Paul’s family in Chicago. Eden spent the first 12 hours vomitting and calling out “Doctor! I want a doctor! Oooohhhh….I’d rather just die.” (There’s defintely drama club in our future.) Meanwhile, Cate was immediately in seventh heaven. You see, with Eden out of the picture she was finally the alpha female and took quickly to holdingcourt over “the littles” – Hannah (age 3) and LisaBeth(age 2). Since then my two girls and the five cousins have done nothing but non-stop make believe; logged long hours with the vintage fisher price school house/airport/farm, comitted outrageously high feats of daring on the tree-swing; and taken numerous rides on the razor scooter which Calvin (13yrs) has managed to outfit with a 40mph motor. Paul’s sister Beth has three teen-or-preteen boys that preceeded the littles, and her world is filled with daredevilery beyond by mother-of-girls feminine scope. The last time I was here she gave me a fantastic parenting tip. I was watching the kids swing 40 feet into the air on their homemade tree swing (a disk large enough for two tykes, affixed to a complicated rope pulley system) and I commented on how scary it was to watch them go flying into the outer atmosphere like that. Beth, who at the time was nursing one of the littles with her back to the window replied nonchalantly, “Oh, well you can’t watch.” Needless to say, as the children are now playing usupervised on the second level of a two story treehouse, which apparently has a step made out of a rustly nail that sticks out of the substructure, I’m applying her advice quite liberally.

Yesterday we went to the Museum of Science and Industry. Eden, our modern day Madame Cure was in love. The highlight of the trip was a two story minature fairy castle with furniture fashioned out of realy diamond and emerald jewlery. (What that had to do with either science or industry I don’t really know.) We also got to climb into a truly giagantic John Deer combine, descend into a coal mine with real working equpiment, and stand inside a 30foot replica of the human heart. After walking through and actually German U boat and using the dive simulator, we braved Chicago area rush hour traffic for home. Two hours later and after playing every car game known to man, we made it home just in time to save Cate’s gift shop stuffed animal – a darling chick that chirpped authentically when squeeze, bumped, or even looked at funny — from being decapitated by every adult in the minivan.

Today we’ve had an extravagant tea party with Grammy, the Aunties and all the girlies complete with real china and at least a dozen kind of homemade cookies. During the tea Catie looked at me with a chocolate wafer half way to her mouth and promised, “Even though I’m eating all this sugar, I promise not to be out of control Mommmy.”

Tommorow it’s a 6am wake-up call and another airport-flight-rental car adventure as we move to Philedelphia to see Amish country with some more of the Chapman cousin clan. One of these days, will actually make it to New York….