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Today I experienced the third worst airplane trip I have ever been through.

• *Disclaimer: If you have fears of flying, please skip this post**

The WORST airplane trip I ever had was on my honeymoon five years ago. My husband and I were flying from the main island of Nadi, Fiji to the smaller dot of an island where our prepaid resort was located. I say prepaid, because there was absolutely no chance, if it was not prepaid, that we would have made it to that resort. We duck our heads, and climb into the small prop plane that is to carry us, the pilot, copilot and 8 passengers, to the neighboring islands. There is no cockpit. No door separating passenger from pilot. No overhead bins, no jetway. We begin our trip under sunny skies, but the sky soon turns stormy and grey. It is supposed to be a quick 45 minutes trip to our island. My husband is already not the most comfortable flier. He has heart valve problems, so he gets palpitations at altitude that cause him to be uneasy on flights. He tends to prefer those large planes where you forget you are actually up several thousand feet in the air. This small plane did not allow you to forget exactly where within the clouds you were. The plane is buzzing loudly as we cut though the clouds, and then we start to be tossed around by the wind as the plane drops, rolls to the side, dips, and wobbles from side to side. I am reminded of a leaf in Autumn, being tossed about as currents of wind send it up and down at whim. Our plane is about that same magnitude of power and strength in comparison to the natural world's force around us.

The pilot of this small cessna is probably 22 years old. I can see him sweating. I hear the co-pilot on his radio, talking frantically, but I can't make out what he is saying due to the plane noise. I am trying to focus on something other than the plane but it is impossible. After over an hour, we finally land in a small runway, and white-knuckled, my husband and I prepare to get off. Thank God, we're here. "I'm sorry" the pilot informs us, but this is not your stop. We had to fly to another island first, because we couldn't land there, so now we need to double back to get you to your stop. I tell him, "that's ok, I don't care where we are, we'll get off here." But he doesn't hear me. I ask my husband, "can't we just get off here? Maybe we can catch a boat from here to our island? Find a new place to stay here?" The prepayment causes us to grit it out, but I suspect a few of the others who got off the plane weren't intending to land here. 5 of the 8 passengers on with us get off, two new people get on. The rain is so thick it is difficult to see the ground. All I see is thick grey and pounding rain. We have to switch our seats to rebalance the weight on the plane, so my husband and I are no longer sitting together. It is so terrifying, it is almost funny. Up we go again. The sky is nearly black with clouds. I see lightning strikes to both sides of our little plane. I am praying continuously, as a way to keep my calm. I take a valium. We are being thrown around like a paper airplane. I see the pilot trying to hold onto the controls with both hands, like a child playing a game with a joystick, and I feel nauseous. The pilot and co-pilot are talking in hushed tones as the co-pilot flips through a book with instructions that appears to be some type of manual. I am seriously wondering if we will make it to this next island. Another hour longer than expected, and we land safely on an even tinier runway. It is so dark outside, it is night in the middle of the afternoon. I step out, and a man is holding an umbrella flush with the plane, but in the inch of space between the plane and the stairs, I get completely drenched. The rain is coming down in sheets. I have never experienced a monsoon, and never want to again. The rain is thick, the earth has pools of flooded water, the air is dense. We are soaked to the bone, clothes sticking to us, and winds are 50 miles an hour. Palm branches are crashing down, branches and tree limbs and debris is scattered all over the resort property. Deep brown rain puddles are everywhere. Our beautiful authentic wooden palm thatched house is hard to appreciate the first night, because it seems as if the big bad wolf is huffing and puffing to blow the whole thing down. Coconuts come smashing down, and it is not safe to be outside in case one lands on your head, so we dry up, curl up, and listen to the fury of nature.

The next morning, it looks like a tornado hit. Debris is everywhere, mud and deep potholes scatter the paths and roads, and everything has been shaken to its core. We had a fitful night listening to the howling wind race through the house, and strong rains pounding against the ceiling sounded like rain on a tin metal roof.

This brings me to our last flight today, #3 worst. Another cessna. Flashbacks. We were flying inter island from Maui back to Kona. We just got off our flight from Sacramento on the mainland. We didn't realize we had to leave the airport and go to another terminal for our flight. I ask my husband, does it say anywhere on our itinerary that this is not a real airplane? Not a real flight? Any suggestion it is actually a cessna? Could this have been avoided? Nope, just sprung on us like a bad surprise party. No security. No co-pilot, no cockpit. Utoh. This time, I have a toddler. We are weighed and told where to sit. The flight is uneventful in comparison, except that I have a squirming 25 pound child in my arms who doesn't understand that my death grip means he cannot get up. He can't touch anything. We are next to the door, and I am petrified that he will reach for the lever, or touch some knobs. I succeed in reading him the same two books over and over to keep him on my lap for a full 40 minute flight that feels like twice as long as that. The baby is screaming when he looks out the window and sees us climbing from earth. He cries from the noise and the air pressure, and the scary dips the plane makes as it drifts up and up over the mountains of Haleakala. Children screaming and sweaty mothers brings me to terrible flight #2.

1. 2 worst is not equal in magnitude to the terror of our first worst flight, but it was equally painfully long. There were 26 children in our immediate five rows. We have one child, but he is an easy flyer. It is a Southwest flight, with free seating, and there is not a free seat in the house. We are packed to the hilt. We sit next to an older lady, who is one of the last on the plane. She seems perfectly nice, until she begins ordering two, then three straight scotch. She tells us she is claustrophobic and would we mind changing seats so she can have the aisle? I am usually unusually nice, to a fault. But I do not know what to say to this request, so I hedge. She presses and asks again. At first, I say, I'm sorry but we just can't. We were here first, we specifically chose the aisle, which we need because we have a baby on our laps who needs to be up every fifteen minutes to change, and who we need to stand to rock to sleep. So no, we really cannot change seats with you. 'That's fine', she says, 'I will let you out'. I ignore her. Five minutes later, she asks again. So I say, well, this is really inconvenient for us with the baby. She seems unconcerned. I am ready to bend to the pressure and be inconvenienced when my husband suggests that she find someone else willing to switch seats with her. We find a lady nearby willing to take her window seat, much to all of our relief, and we get reorganized. Then she forgets all of her things under the seat and we have to pass it up several aisles. We get our son to sleep and just as he finally nods off, this little girl in front of us, who is traveling with her mom and two siblings and has been whining all flight, begins to scream at the top of her lungs. Great. Up after ten minutes of a nap. This is going to be a long five hour flight. The mother of this three year old is screaming back at her: Cory, sit down! Shut up! She is nearly hysterical herself. She is sitting in another row, by herself, and all three kids are in the row next to us. She is yelling back to them. The mother comes back and is trying to get the child to calm down, but she is grabbing her arm violently, then holding her down. The girl is screaming louder, you're hurting me! stop! And the mother is again yelling back. Girl, wailing. Everyone within earshot of this interaction is getting noticeably uncomfortable. Several consider intervening. Finally a man nearby tells the mom to take a break, and starts talking to her and calming her down. It is ugly. I hate passing judgments on parents, because I know how hard it can be, and we all have our moments where we lose it, we aren't proud, we are imperfect. But this was Nanny 911 material. Horrendous. And we were all an unwillingly captive audience. I felt like I was on a Jerry Springer set. On that 5 hour flight from Boston to Phoenix, at least every one of those 26 children was crying, often several at once in symphony. No one could sleep, no one could think. I was focused on trying my hardest to keep my son (and myself!) calm and entertained, despite the chaos around us. I look up and see the same mother with her noise-cancelling headphones on watching a movie, while two of her children climb over armrests to the seats in front of them. I wonder why someone has children if they are unwilling to put in the time and energy to entertain and be with them. She occasionally glared back and yelled at them, but never once brought a child to her seat, came back and read to them, gave affection or attention...it was infuriating. I have empathy for other parents when their child is crying and they are trying to console them, get them to sleep, rock them, appease them. My baby cries too, I have been there. But when a child is crying and the parent does nothing, that is what makes a bad rap for all of us. Show up and do the work.

We are lucky in Kona to have amazing community parks and a large community center pool, complete with a baby pool, fountain, and an area for swimming laps. We go there once a week at least, so my husband can swim his laps, and Bodhi & I can play in the pool while I attempt to teach him how to swim.

I am, however, most likely never going to set foot at the community pool again.

Today on our trip, we splashed in the baby pool as usual. Then I took my son into the big pool for swimming and to practice kicking in the deeper water. All of the sudden, I saw sediment in the water and freaked out a little. Oh no. I immediately got us both out of the pool and rushed into the women's changing room with only a towel and his diaper. Sure enough, he had pooped in the pool. And somehow it had managed to escape and leak out through both the swim diaper (what are the use of those things anyway!?!) and the swimsuit I had OVER the diaper. And it had gotten into the pool. Well, at this point, I knew what the cause of the sediment was, and who was to blame. And at that moment, I was trying to figure out exactly how to leave the pool without being seen. Only, my stuff and my husband were still AT the pool, and I was hovering inside the women's bathroom.

I was imagining the lifeguard blowing his whistle and getting out his megaphone, announcing that there needed to be an expedient evacuation of the pool due to contamination. Then I was imagining all of the irritated and disgusted faces that would be glaring at us as me and my son (the only baby there today, as luck would have it) made our way back across the pool to the parking lot. Luckily, I saw my husband wander over to our towels, and quickly ran out of the locker room. "Quick", I shouted, "Let's go, now!" I had on only my bathing suit and Bodhi only a new diaper, and I was speedwalking across the cement toward the parking lot. My oblivious husband came jogging after us, saying, 'what's going on?' I explained what had happened, and why I needed to keep moving with my head down before I was noticed.

He told me to act nonchalantly, but I was so mortified I couldn't slow down. "Boy, I really liked that place", I said, "Too bad I can't go there again". Turns out, there was no megaphone and no fingers pointing in my direction, but I wasn't going to take any chances. I don't want to be THAT person, who gets banned from using the pool. And the excuse: "I DID use a swim diaper, I promise!" wasn't going to work, so I figured better to play it safe and deny everything.

Some days, I get a real reminder how lucky we are to be living here in Hawai'i. This doesn't erase the fact that each day I wake up, look outside, and see sunshine. Throw on flip-flops (or slippahs, as they call them here) and take a stroll to the beach or the pool or the shops in Kailua-Kona, and every day is a day to go outside. I do not take that for granted, but sometimes you get a big slapping reminder too. Last night, there was a swell, and we could hear the surf pounding the shore from our little lanai. It was still exciting to be able to hear the waves, still brought a sense of wonder and enjoyment to be living that close to the ocean.

Yesterday, as I mentioned, the surf swell had arrived in Kahalu'u beach, our local beginner surfing spot. We have been wanting to take another surf lesson for the past 2 weeks, while our families were in town and we had some time for a surf date. But the waves didn't cooperate and despite several attempts to go out, we never got our lesson. Of courrse, the day after everyone left, the waves came back to town. So we decided to go out and tag team surf. I would stay in the beach with Bodhi and Chris would go out, then we would switch. We learned this from some friends in Oahu who were actively surfing while she was pregnant, and back out again when their little guy was just several weeks old.

Being out on the water, floating and riding, is really a feeling that is difficult to describe. It is freedom and meditation and a rush of adenaline all at once. It reminds me of a cup of tea... It can be anything you want it to be. A little comfort, a shot of energy, a warming feeling, an old friend. Surfing is this way too, because there is no pressure to perform. I was hesitant to go out because the waves were larger, and I have not been out on our new board at all. Then, I decided in the end to just go through the exercise and see what arose. Surfing is my new kind of yoga.

When I came back to the beach, surfboard in hand, threw it on top of our little Cooper, and began running around with my little guy - I ran into some tourists. They were here from Switzerland, here for a week, standing on the same beach where we can come everyday. It filled me with a gratitude for being here. Possibly the nicest thing for me about living in Hawai'i is the natural gratitude that is in my morning every day just by virtue of waking in a place that I love.

My husband and I have both been strong believers that WHERE you are is important to your psyche, your attitude, your life. Sometimes a certain place will speak to you and some times a certain place will be all wrong. We have noticed, being avid travelers, that the experience of a place can drastically affect your emotions, your outlook, your motivations. When in the right place, you can feel more creative, spontaneously happy, more alive. Places that don't fit who you are can cause tension, conflict, unhappiness. As a couple or a family, this can be interesting, because diifferent places can fit one person more than another. But if you are sensitive to the effects of the land on your spirit, you will notice that certain places will call to you, make you feel more at ease, more connected, more at home. Others are just a no. Just like people. Ever notice how you can meet someone and right away know you can be good friends?

This is how I feel on the island of Hawai'i. Like I have met a good friend.

A cold has somehow found our family in warm Hawaii. Even though it is not winter weather, I guess we still get winter colds. First, my father in law started coughing. Then I started with a sore throat. I knew it was only a matter of time. No matter how much I disinfected the doorknobs and toys, Bodhi caught it too. Yesterday I pulled him out of his carseat to meet my in-laws for lunch, and got a little panicky. He was burning up. I was having some flashbacks to his febrile seizure 6 months ago. I was ready to get back in the car and drive straight to the pharmacy. Then logic reined in my mind and we went in for some lunch first. After lunch I bought him all the natural remedies I know, dosed him with homeopathy, bought some Tylenol just in case, and took him home for a nap. Like a champ, he was snoring in minutes and slept well. This morrning, I still feel like garbage, but he seems chipper. His fever has come down, and he is smiley and active. My husband started coughing at dawn. Ut oh, it is making the rounds. The traveling cold has one more target, so we will all try to keep him away from my mother-in-law before she too gets the bug. I guess sleep deprivation and close quarters make a perfect combination for traveling colds.

I am fighting back with my arsenal of the following:
Hepar sulph homeopathic (good foo thick phlegm and splinter-like throat pains, coughs that hurt the chest)
Umcka cold care (Better than Emergenc for cutting cold duration and tasty in warm water, good for breaking fevers too)
osha lomatium throat spray (awesome, disgusting-tasting antimicrobial)
good old-fashioned steam baths and fluids

I know rest is the best policy, but...ummm, next time.

Today I slept until nearly ten AM.  It is a cathartic and totally disorienting experience for me now to sleep in so late.  I go downstairs and realize half of the day is missing. Where is everybody? What has been happening? I need to be filled in. 

My parents are here in Hawaii for the Thanksgiving holiday, and when here, they almost always take Bodhi in the morning so my husband and I can refuel.  It is just about the nicest gift you can ever give the parent of a young child, to let them sleep in.  

In fact, when being asked about Christmas gifts, all I can think about is more sleep, and pampering.  Like the song about the front teeth, 'all I want for Christmas is a little more sleep'.  

If you are anything like me, this funk comes in fits and waves, like a malarian fever. One day you feel great, accomplished, energetic. The next you feel like something the cat dragged in...tired, groggy, heavy, dark. I blame it on our society - the need to do, strive and achieve, doesn't exactly lend itself to a full-time mothering position, where the epitome of your days occasionally lies in getting both baby sheets washed and dried by bedtime.

This week has been one of those moments for me, where the naps just don't seem to click, the days flow together, and the dark purple hue of my eyes reminds me how sleep-deprived I feel. This morning I was wishing I could just stare out the window and drink my cup of coffee in pure meditative silence. Do nothing. Until properly caffeinated. Now it is nearly noon, and I still do not feel awake, but at least during a nap, I have a moment to reflect and brew a cup of tea. This sleep deprivation explains my event obsession with caffeine: from Italian macchiatos to fresh tea leaves to Kona coffee pressed, I have discovered a new fascination with caffeinated beverages. We have been pouring over research for weeks on which espesso machine to purchase, before deciding on a DeLonghi we found on a discount site. Cannot wait until that package arrives and we begin experimenting with morning cappuccinos. When I open my sleepy eyes at sunrise, my first thought is to my toddler standing at the foot of the bed exclaiming, "Momma! Uppa!" (i.e. get up momma! or 'I am waking you up, Momma!'). My second thought is to how quickly I can make coffee or tea and then how fast I can drink it. I think this is the definition of sleep-deprivation that comes with the first few years of motherhood. Even though most nights he is sleeping through the night, the mornings still come surprisingly early.

The funk works as a strong antagonist to getting any work done, or even pursuing interests. Do I feel like surfing today? ugh, too tired. Running? Forget it. Art? Maybe just an iced tea, and reading a magazine on the couch. Soon the productiveness and the desire to be active will return, but for now, I will nap.

"Of course I want to save the world, she said, but I was hoping to do it from the comfort of my regular life." - Brian Andreas

It is a lot harder to put our actions where our mouths (or our minds) are. This is the truest test: Can you walk the path that you talk about, that you say is the one that you want. Do you have the courage and the determination to make that life happen for yourself?

It is certainly easier to have the comfort of a regular life. There are a lot less uncertainties, a lot less risks.

I am facing this dilemma as I decide whether to continue my current career or to move into writing full-time. More on this later, the baby is awake!

I drift back and forth now between trying to be practical and trying to be free. How come it always seems that the way that brings happiness tends to be seen as reckless or imprudent, while the ways of practicality and logic stifle and disorient? And why is it so hard in this world to be unique and create your own way when everyone wants so badly to be who they were born to be?

Today, we got up early, and took off for the garage sale caravan. In Kona, it is almost like a religious event the way people congregate and gather at yard sales. A weekend ritual of driving around early, getting bargains, moving on to the next place like a literal treasure hunt around the backroads of Hawaii. At first, when I heard about the garage sale exodus, the thought appealed to me as a way to gather gently used items, get to know the area better (by drivng around aimlessly following painted signs!!), and to be a part of this truly interesting cultural experience. The first week I was blown away. "Chris, there is a LINE", I said to him, as we drove up to the first house on our list. There were cars parked along both side of the block and groups of people flocking in. I felt like I needed to run to get in line, or worse, take a number. But the second week, I got the hang of it, and we began arriving early to those sales with the most potential, and hurrying in and out. Oh, and if I find something I might want, hold on tight because someone behind you might pick it up. I found this out early when I was trying to bargain for some bowls, but another woman came up behind me and said, "If she doesn't take them, I will". Well, needless to say, I ended up paying the full marked price, $5 for 3 bowls.

Anyway, here we are on our third Saturday of garage-sale-ing in Hawaii. And I have the first spot picked out. Because of the items described on Craigslist, I could tell it would be a larger sale, and so we drive up 'mauka', or up the mountain to get to the first stop. We have a whole list of 'needed items', but I want to see the one thing that caught my eye from the list. A left-handed koa guitar. I ask the man who seems to be in charge. He hesitates, then says, oh, yeah, the guitar, I forgot it upstairs. shew, still there. He brings it down and puts it in my hands. I don't know how to describe it but it was already humming. He tells me to play it, but I don't know how to play. I strum the chords a few times, running my fingers over the strings. I feel the resonance reverberating into my chest and I know this thing is talking to me. I carry it around for a while. It is much more than I was thinking I would even consider spending on a beginner guitar. It is also much more than I can imagine and I am inspired as a dream of sitting on the beach in the afternoon and playing some notes. Of teaching my son to play guitar and to love music. Of finally wanting to pick up an instrument and play again. So I continue to carry around this koa guitar, wishing I could hear someone else play it so I would know. Wishing I knew anything practical or intelligent about buying a guitar. What the prices should be, what the quality is, what you should look for, what you should ask. All I know are my senses. What I can see with my eyes, feel with my hands, sense with my core. I know I want it but I have no idea what it is worth. I know it is the magical koa wood, the music I saw in my pregnancy, the beautiful vibration of sound and melody and sweetness that it plays. But I don't know if it is smart, I only know it is what my heart is telling me. Now this is a difficult dilemma for a smart girl. Usually you love it when your heart and your head are in a sort of symphony on a subject. Sometimes, however, you can only hear one. Usually, it is easier to hear your head, because there is so much chatter, and so much information to distribute. But the heart does not have so much input sometimes, until it does. And then, I have been taught to know how to listen. And so today, I did. I walked away from that sale beaming from ear to ear carrying my treasure - a gorgeous golden brown koa guitar that I almost couldn't bear to put in the backseat until we got home. I couldn't leave it behind. So, that is how you know. And luckily, I followed that knowing and hopefully if I find out later that the price I paid was not a bargain, hopefully I still will not be discouraged. Because that is not what it is all about. It is about what the heart wants from time to time. And with the heart, there is no doubt. Which brings me back to my initial thought. The logic or the dream. The logic was to save the money for the items on the list. To come back home with hands full of essential items, none of which holds any particular appeal, but all of which would be nice to have. Hangers, for instance, and a second pan, and a mattress and extra pillows. But the guitar won the day.

My husband and I are currently working on a book plan called the Hawaii Diet. The research subjects are ourselves. We are currently eating a diet that seems to fit Hawaiian lifestyle; consisting of fruit smoothies and kona coffee in the morning, fruit, vegetables, fish and brown rice throughout the day. It is a fairly simple cleansing protocol focusing on the local produce and milieu, that we are following until the holidays.

It fits the simple days here, nothing too fancy or complicated is needed or even preferred. You have everything that you need all around you. The food is sustenance: healthy, delicious, cool, fresh, savory, easy. No dairy, no gluten, bread or pasta or flour. No dairy, no eggs, no meat. A small amount of whole grains in quinoa and rice salads, and a mixture of raw and cooked items throughout the day. Mostly vegetables and items high in nutrients. It is a diet that should be closer to our norm, so we are trying to look at it as a new normal, rather than a detox. That we can have days or weeks or "not-healthy" eating, but then we will come back to the Hawaii Diet, which is our daily eating habit. Rather than the other way around, where you go on a detox, can't wait to get off of it, cheat while on it, then binge on junk when you get done. We have done that too many times. Oh, quick, we start our detox next week, let's have nachos today!

Daily exercise is also remarkably easy in a climate like this, where every morning you wake up to sun...so we need to take full advantage. My husband Chris has started his own blog about his efforts of training for an Olympic triathlon. I will post the link on this site. I am also getting back into walking with Bodhi and now that we have procured a jogging stroller, I will be getting into running as well. We are both trying to surf as a new sport as well, and believe me when I tell you it is the best workout (including Bikram yoga!) that I have ever had. All the paddling is wonderful for building shoulder and back strength. I love how I feel physically and emotionally rejuvenated and strengthened after a day surfing waves. I will write more detail about our diet plan in another blog post, but for now, we are motivated to get back into shape Hawaii style!

Sometimes, in a completely normal moment, my son will get the giggles. All at once, he will bust out into the sweetest laugh, and it will accelerate into full-blown hysterics. At first, I look at him with total bewilderment, not having any idea what is so funny. Then I cannot help but join in to laughing with him, because his laugh is completely contagious, and the innocence of his laugh is magical. It happened today as I was holding him for his nap...his eyes are closing, everything is quiet, only the calming ocean sounds of our ipod and the whirr of the fan, and then his eyes pop open and he giggles wildly. Head tilted back, mouth open: A big belly laugh. Then just as quickly as it began it lulls, and we are again settling into our sleep routine. But I am left with a poignant truth to ponder: he is his own being.

This is of course obvious to everyone but me, who still sometimes thinks (and perhaps secretly hopes) that we are still attached in some way. But he is himself. And in these days when his personality is blossoming second by second, it is getting more and more clear that he is becoming a unique being: with likes and dislikes, attitudes, emotions, ideas, and expressions. As we move on from the baby months, he no longer laughs just because I am laughing, or smiles because I like something. He laughs when he wants to laugh. Finds things funny that I have no idea about, decides he wants to do one activity over another. I still expect him to do things that I want, to go to the pool when I want to go, and am surprised when we get there, and he is walking back to the house instead, shaking his little head, no, no.

The other day Bodhi & I were walking down the path from our home to the car. I usually take his hand, so that he can run fast and not fall. But this time, he pushed my hand away. He wanted to do it himself. I found myself both proud and sad as i watched him run down the slope of the pathway himself. I am willing him not to fall, walking quickly so he doesn't get too far ahead, and I can get there to stop him before he runs into the street. But then he stopped at the bottom of the path, turned around and called, "Momma, Momma!" as if to say, 'look what I did!'

I find myself increasingly emotional when I think about or see images of children growing up. The other day, we were watching the TV show Modern Family (Excellent, by the way), when the father Phil brings his teenage daughter to look at prospective colleges. He allows her to go off with some other students to a party on campus, acting very cool and relaxed, and later admits he was tracking her cell phone gps, and shows up at the party to make sure she is OK. She says to him: "How are you going to handle me going off to college next year if you can't even trust me enough to let me go to this party alone?" I recognize the truth, the fear, and the total lack of control that one has as their children grow up and I started to cry. "That will be Bodhi someday!", I tell my husband who is visibly rolling his eyes. "You have 16 years". But still, I can see it coming down the road, my need to let him go, and every step we take brings us closer to his full independence.