A Journey of 6,764 miles still begins with…

the insane rush to get to the front steps.

I slept for a total of two hours the night before our trip to Japan.

My alarm clock buzzed loudly at five, and the adrenaline rush immediately kicked in. I didn’t even need to smell coffee to put my feet on the floor.

At some ungodly hour in the night, I had set all of the children’s outfits “down to the shoes” on each of their respective dresser tops. I had selected their most cozy sweatpants and made sure to include Pull-Ups in the stack. My thought was that it was better to pack an extra Pull-up in my carry-on than a backup outfit for each child. None of them consistently stay dry through the night yet, and I didn’t want to take such a risk.

After quickly getting ready myself, I woke up each child individually, grabbed their clothing pile, and helped them to get dressed in the bathroom. (This method ensured there was no fighting over the toilet and that the still-sleeping children, or their father, for that matter, weren’t roused before I was ready for them.)

As I went down the line, I handed each child a granola bar and a sippy cup and told them to go to the “Ready Zone” – the very worn blue oriental rug that serves as our play area in the living room. Yes, I called it the Ready Zone. Yes, I’m a freak when I’m pressed for time – but it works.

“You’re making me wear Pull-ups during the day?” complained Thomas, most annoyed. “And now you’re giving me a sippy cup?”

“I don’t care if you’re six years old,” I shot back. “We don’t have time for spills, and all your other clothes are packed – besides, even if you’re good at drinking, the little guys could knock over your cup or theirs!” I felt like I was making a case for seatbelt wearing based on the other drivers on the road. He bought it. The thought of someone spilling apple juice on his lap was enough to scare him into compliance.

Our driver arrived promptly in the early-morning darkness. The air was humid and cool. I was thankful that the winter storms had hit and melted the week before and that we didn’t have to travel through snow and ice. We chartered a shuttle bus to the airport – more economical than long term parking, not to mention much easier. For a few days, Tom and I had tried to wrap our brains about how to get from long term parking to the departure gate, pushing a stroller and carrying luggage and carry-on bags. It hurt to think about it, really. On a whim, Tom called the taxi company he always uses. Not only would we have door-to-door transportation, they would even keep the children’s carseats and then have them ready when they picked us up on the way home. Can’t get any better than that.

“I’m Tabitha. I’m four,” Tab informed the driver. “And this is Thomas – he’s six. Aiden is three, Micah is two, and Leah is Zero.” It’s The Spiel she gives everyone. It’s her way of not only introducing herself, but her place in life.

Once, about a year and a half ago, Tab gave The Spiel to a Bath and Body Works employee who smiled at her while Tab and I were shopping a sale – only she told the lady that I was 25 and her dad was 82. The saleswoman choked out “Wow – that’s nice” while she grabbed the display table for support. I smiled. “Tabitha, dear, I believe you transposed the numbers – your father is 28.” I was most relieved to see the color going back into the woman’s face.

While Tom stacked our belongings in the back of the short, maroon bus, I took out the last bits of trash to the back curb, soaked the houseplants with water (while praying the mice and spiders wouldn’t have a breeding heyday while we were away), and set the house alarm.

From waking the kids to leaving, we made it out of the house in a half hour. I believe that relay set a new record, even compared to how long it normally takes to get ready to go get milk, eggs and diapers at the grocery store.