Another edition of On the Road with the Redheads
Fear. It’s something I did not experience when traveling before kids. It’s something that I’ve experienced in a new way now that I am a single parent with a coparent.
This may be different for single parents who do not have a coparent, but for me it goes something like this:
Anatomy of an “Oh Shit” moment:
- I have made a decision that has taken my children out of their normal routine and/or environment.
- That decision has placed them at more perceived risk than they would be under in our normal environment.
- “Oh Shit.” Mom guilt hits hard. What if something happens to them? To us?
- Added layer of guilt: this is so unfair to my coparent. I am the one who instigated the event that led to the risk. I am at fault for whatever injury should occur. If anything bad happens to us, it’s awful for us, and worse for the coparent, who had no control.
And of course, this works in reverse when I am not the coparent instigating the risk.
So, is the risk work the reward? Our entire weeklong trip to the Big 5 Utah National Parks plus the Grand Canyon, I felt a low-level anxiety for the safety of the girls. Every single day there was an “Oh Shit” moment that nearly sent me reeling. Here are some examples:
“Oh Shit” Moment #1
We are hiking in Zion National Park on the Emerald Pools trail. It is beyond gorgeous. We walk beneath waterfalls on the Lower Emerald Pools trail and then ascend to the Middle Pool. The trail is mostly boulders and footing is dealer’s choice. The girls are slightly better at finding their footing than me, even though I have better shoes. We’re a mile and a half into the trail, and it’s all uphill. We still have to come down.
Oh Shit. What if someone turns an ankle up here? Slips and slices themselves on a boulder? How would I get them down?
We’re relatively isolated for the trails at Zion – most people stop after the Lower Pool.
And then, it happens. That terrible Emergency Alert siren goes off on Belle’s cell phone. At home I’m used to it meaning a missing child – terrible, but not an immediate danger for us. Here, it means a wildfire is nearby.
Being completely unaccustomed to the presence of wildfires in our midst, we all proceed to freak out. I scan the horizon, looking for smoke. I wonder if the park will close. I imagine getting back to our car and having to race away from the area as fast as possible. I wonder if I can still cancel hotel rooms and get my money back.
And yet, no one around us appears concerned. I don’t see or smell smoke, so we keep climbing to the Upper Pool.
It’s totally worth it. And when we make it back down to the bottom of the trail, ankles intact and not a scrape on us, the park is full and active and running like normal. It’s true there is a major wildfire nearby, but it does not threaten to come anywhere near the park.
“Oh Shit” Moment #2
After a stopover in Bryce Canyon National Park for a few hours of hiking among the hoodoos, we are driving to Capitol Reef National Park. There are two possible routes, and at the last minute I opt for Scenic Byway 12, mostly because it’s a straight shot between the parks. There’s very little chance of getting lost. Both routes have “limited services,” and I don’t have cell service for most (if not all) of the drive.
We’re driving around the outer walls of Bryce Canyon. The sky stretches for miles, which means I have a great view of the thunderclouds that have been building all day in the distance. I’m driving between red rock cliffs covered with boulders. Every ten miles there’s a sign for “Wildlife Crossing” or “Watch for Falling Rock.” Some of the cliff edges have guardrails. Others don’t.
I imagine us going off the road. I envision a boulder crushing our rental car. I’m sure there will be a deer headed straight for the windshield.
And then it happens again: that terrible Emergency Alert siren. I’m on the top of a ridge, deathly drop-offs on either side, thunderclouds overhead. “Flash Flood Warning.” Belle reads. “This is an Emergency Situation. Do not leave the house.”
Oh Shit. I am the dumbest person in the world to have my kids out here in the middle of the wilderness driving on the edge of cliffs during a Flash Flood Warning. I imagine a torrential downpour of water coming down the side of the cliff and pushing us off. It feels inevitable. I’m shaking as I press on the gas and then the brake alternately as we go up and down the two-lane road. I feel trapped. I’m as scared as I’ve ever been.
Finally we reach an area that’s more populated: there’s no gas station, but there are a few farms and a restaurant. I pull over and check for flash flooding on my phone. I learn that actually there’s little risk on the rest of our drive, and the storms have moved out of the area. It seems like if I don’t drive into any flooded rivers or washes we’ll be fine. I still hold my breath for the next hour as we have to come to a stop over and over for the cattle on the road. But after that we arrive safely at our very remote motel, in time for dinner and s’mores by the campfire.
Fear and Parenting
I’m not a great parent when I’m scared. I shut down and “do” rather than responding to my kids and their fears. I forget all the great stuff I’ve read and heard about acknowledging their fears. I give orders and minimize the fact that they’re scared. When I do this, I deny their reality. I could feel our connection grow cold in these moments. We all started handling our fear in different ways: I went quiet. Belle started telling me or her sister what to do. Bugg asked a lot of questions or just kept talking.
I’m not sure what to say about these moments, other than if you’re a single parent who has gone out of your way to travel with your kids, you’ve probably had them too. I’m not sure if this low-level anxiety and self-blame ever goes away (if you’re a mom anyway). I know that it’s something that I’ve gotten under better control as the kids grow older. And I fear that this fear will always be with me.