Driving in Washington, D.C. and More Mommy Time by Savvy Mom Ruth Paget

Driving in Washington, D.C. and more Mommy Time by Savvy Mom Ruth Paget 

My lazy days of summer reading by myself in the air-conditioned apartment were coming to an end.  Florence was coming back from her summer vacation in France.

She stayed with her grandparents in the Nantes area at the mouth of the Loire River that opens out into the Atlantic Ocean.  Naoned is the Breton name for Nantes.  Nantes is the ancient capital of Brittany, Celtic France. 

Chrétien de Troyes wrote the first version of the King Arthur and Knights of the Round Table story here.  I told Florence she might see Sir Lancelot, King Arthur, and Queen Guenivere walking around and to be on the lookout for them when she visited her grandparents.

This region is still considered by many to be allied with the Celtic British Isles with Celts in Cornwall, Wales, parts of Scotland (the Picts), and Ireland.  Galicia in Spain is also Celtic.

The Celts all play bagpipes, write poetry, sing, dance, and eat haggis and other offal type foods to save money.  They tend to drink bad wine like vinho verde (northern Portugal is considered to be Celtic as well.) 

One of the great modern musicians from Brittany is Alain Stivell.  He is a Pied Piper when he plays a harp. 

One of my great life experiences was driving around Brittany with Laurent after we visited Carnac with Stivell’s music playing and a CD by the French navy band just being awestruck tourists. 

Florence was now coming home from her vacation in King Arthur Land and Laurent was out on a cruise, which meant I would have to pick her at Dulles National Airport in Wasington, D.C. all by myself in the blue Nova.

I have driven in Chicago from Madison (Wisconsin) after ice storms and could do it, so I knew I just had to pay attention to exits.  This was harder said than done in pre-Internet days. 

Not everyone had websites, but our ship ombudsman obtained the exit I needed to take on the Beltline around DC and the three exits in front of it.  

I needed to know the three exits, so I could move into position to take the Dulles exit and not have to go around DC to get back to the exit again, if I missed it.

When Florence was due home, I made it to the airport with lots of time to spare.  I parked in the expensive parking lot, so I would not have too far to walk with a purse, child, and suitcase.  This parking lot is well lit, had video surveillance, and human attendants at the pay station.  (Safety first with children is my motto.)

I finished reading The Art and Architecture of Japan by Robert Treat and Alexander Soper while waiting.  (The Japanese have messes, too, but put them all behind sliding doors until they can organize things.  Everything looks neat and orderly on the outside.)

Florence ran out to see me from her Air France flight when she got off the plane.  I picked up her bag, carried it to the parking lot, put it in the trunk, and played Speed Racer a bit to deal with Beltline until I could get on the slower highway down to Hampton Roads.

It started to pour rain.  I had blankets and snacks for Florence to eat.  She fell asleep, so I could fret about buying new windshield wipers all the way home in the rain.  We did make it home and tree branches were everywhere from the wind.

Florence tumbled into her bed and slept until the next day.  I checked for nor’easter warnings – fall or winter hurricanes. 

If one were coming, we were going through the Great Dismal Swamp to Georgia to my sister’s or Up North from there to Wisconsin and grandma.  I think my family had property where Hurricane Hazel hit and learned as a small child to just leave and not look back when hurricanes rolled in.

When we woke up the next day, I made croissants (Pillsbury Dough Boys after the drive to DC) for breakfast and hot chocolate.

Florence did theatre skits for me about things she did in France for summer vacation.  We played theatre for an hour until the swimming pool opened.

Florence ran to the pool in the 90 degree heat at 9 am in the morning.  She dove right in and stayed in for 2 hours. 

When the lifeguards announce, “Adult Swim,” the kids scowl and say they don’t want necking in the pool to give them cooties.

I was hungry and did not want to stay at the pool for 6 hours after a DC drive.  We went to Pizza Hut where I ordered my usual order: a medium meat pizza, a medium vegetarian pizza, the salad bar (it was unlimited, but I usually only went twice for coleslaw and potato or macaroni salad), and diet soda.  We took home leftovers for dinner.

After our pizza outing, we went home, so I could unpack Florence’s suitcase and wash and dry her clothes.

While the clothes were washing, we went to the library and took out books about gardens.  Her grandparents had vegetable, fruit, and herb gardens as well as topiary bushes and “the lawn” for croquet and badminton games.  We hid Florence’s Easter eggs in the bushes around the lawn and gave her basket to go looking for them.

We stayed home during the next few rainy days.  We went and got daddy and went to Applebee’s for steak and shrimp for completing a mission.  I told Florence that steak and shrimp is called “surf and turf” in English or “mar et montaña” in Spanish.  (Many Mexican restaurants also serve this dish when you do not have a chain around.)

Laurent and Florence watched Mission Impossible and James Bond, so Florence would know what dad was up to at work. 

I preferred Stephen Segall for his East Asian philosophical pronouncements in corrupt police situations, Jackie Chan for humor, Jean-Claude Van Damme for his lithe moves despite girth, and Miami Vice for the music, pastel-colored clothes, and sunglasses.

If I needed pop culture explications of these pop culture shows, I would go to the Boathouse and eat crab legs and dunk hushpuppies in melted butter.  I was starting to realize that you can make a lot of money in pop culture.

By Ruth Pennington Paget, author of Eating Soup with Chopsticks and Marrying France

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