The American Dream

We had an actual vacation planned for spring break. Kind of new for us. Most of our vacation days are used for family events and holidays. It was time. Time to take the kids on a trip. Take a break. As a family. All of us. For eight days. Eight days.

Isn't that the American Dream? Load up the wagon, hit the road, sing songs, play games? There's a whole movie franchise about it and everything. Only I'm more interested in the modern version that includes an airplane, tablets and iPods so no talking is actually required. Because, somehow, my children have opinions. This makes my mother laugh, while confusing to me.

Flew into San Diego on our way to Lego Land for the first leg. Drove to Carlsbad. To a hotel we booked online. A hotel with an unbelievably talented photographer/photoshopper/marketing genius. Genius.

And when we tried to call the front desk to report there was no hot water but couldn't because the phone didn't work, well, we just laughed. Because, vacation.

It was slightly crushing to walk to Lego Land and pass by the 5 star resort the husband had just worked on, the week before, but had no vacancies the week we needed. We looked at it longingly. All fancy. With it's hot water and working telephones.

There were two plusses to the hotel we stayed in. Which, really, is a motel. Possibly owned by the Bates Family. One, it had a pool. Young humans are happy in a pool. Two, it had continental breakfast. This is a great chance to stock up on processed foods to keep you going strong all day long in a theme park surrounded by a lot of other children.

The first morning, as I sat in the 'Lanai Room', I laugh just typing that, watching the other people I realized a couple things. One) I am far too entertained by my own narration of others and two) for every couple of young humans in the place there's at least one adult whose spirit is broken. Broken. Possibly irretrievably.

They sit there at the table holding a cup of crappy coffee, hunched over, like inmates look (on TV of course), eyes darting back and forth, eyeing up the last banana, while their completely wound up children race around the room and/or watch Cartoon Network on one of two really large, really loud wall mounted units.

But this is family vacation, right? This is the American Dream. Work hard, buy a house, take your children on some adventures, hope most of them go to college. Repeat.

So, your spirit dies a bit. You age. From all the noise, noise, noise.

In the end the young people had fun. And, we had fun. We laughed. A lot. We ate ice cream instead of actual meals. We got sun. We did vacation.

We did The American Dream.

Austin City Limits

They say you never forget your first time. The giggles, the pain, the conversation in the alley.

Wait, what?

Back in the fall of 2008 I had a new job, newish baby and a trip. A couple nights away from the baby were welcome - in so many ways.

There was of course the awkward part of taking the breast pump through airport security. Funny thing - they treated it like a bomb in Texas. I was pulled aside while they thoroughly inspected my clearly nefarious bag.

In Portland, "This a pump?"

"Yup."

"Have a safe trip."

But, I digress…

As the plane was descending, we were beginning to plan our evening. Our meetings started the next morning. We hadn't been to Austin before and wanted to check out the sites. Tracey, ever the planner, asked for ideas of something to do.

"I'm thinking tattoo."

"Really? Awesome."

Becca smiled from across the aisle. Keith, also across the aisle, was not amused.

After dropping the bags at the hotel we headed out. Basically wandering aimlessly down 6th street, taking in the bar scene. It was fun. Loud music and cheap drinks. Where every night is apparently 'ladies night'. 

We popped into a couple tattoo places. They were brightly lit and very busy. Seemed sort of like McDonalds. Lots of UT sorority girls getting their letters or butterflies tattooed on their ankles. A few getting 'Hook 'Em Horns' on the insides of their bottom lip. (Yes, apparently that is a thing.) Didn't seem like my kind of place. I didn't want a pick it and stick it tattoo. And, Keith, playing the role of sitcom dad forced to be out with three wound up girls, was trying to, without pushing, get us out of the tattoo establishments.

We moved on. Got a drink, had some dinner, back to the hotel.

The next night we were unsupervised. Cue ominous music.

And, we were on a mission. First stop dinner and drinks. Followed by a couple more drinks and food from a taco truck. (This was also during a horrible Halloween candy binge that miraculously didn't kill us - I'm still sort of shocked by the candy AND the taco truck now that I look back.)

And then we saw a sign:  Sailors Grave Tattoo

There was an arrow pointing down a dark alley. One lightbulb hanging there. Sketchy.

It wasn't at street level. Becca and I made eye contact.

"I'm all for the tattoo, but this place? I'm not sure."

Tracey was looking up, studying the building.

"This place is good."

I'm pretty sure we could have gotten tetanus just standing there, "How can you tell?"

"There are plants. They have plants in the window."

"I can get Hep C tonight and you think we're good on 'plants'?"

"Yes."

And with that, we headed up a narrow staircase.

Ole.

We walked out an hour later. Tattooed! My first tattoo!


I'm a Taurus. Where better to get a bull tattoo than Texas? My Taurus is between my shoulder blades. Less chance for sagging there, I think. That thing needs to look good for another 100 years. At least.

Keith had been texted that night and informed of the situation. Sitcom dad wasn't pleased. We hadn't been left alone that long. I'll never forget the look on his face the next morning. He was sitting there, reading the paper, waiting. Dr. Seaver was displeased.

It was the start of something. I joke that it's something in the ink. Addictive. I don't know. 

I don't have any 'pick 'em and stick 'em' tattoos. 

What I have all have meaning - to me.


There's the Wizard of Oz quote on my rib cage that I got after my dad died. After a particularly fun night out with the same friends, plus Vikki. It was the line I closed with when I spoke at his funeral. "Hearts will never be practical until they can be made unbreakable." This also goes right along with being a Taurus. My heart is covered in wounds that will never heal. I'll just never show it.

The Pisces below the Taurus - Henley and Madison are the same sign. They are everything.

Thank you Tin Man.

The word 'Today' on my upper back as a reminder that this is it. You better live it. Live in the moment. Because no matter what, even if that bull is on my back for another 100 years, it's not long enough.

The subtle white ink on my wrist that says, 'Let it Go'. A reminder for me to stop holding on to everything. All the anger and disappointment - let it go. This was before that bitch Queen Elsa made that phrase every parents worst nightmare.


The anchor on my achilles. Keep me grounded. Above the anchor and wrapped around my ankle an excerpt from the William Ernest Henley poem, Invictus.

I am the master of my fate,

      I am the captain of my soul.

You can't really say it better than that.

This is my life. My body. This is me. And yeah, I get it. They're permanent. I doubt that when I'm old and looking at my tattoos I'll have regrets. Because I'm pretty sure I'll have the awesome memories of getting them.