Moving On- Finale.

We were feeling very content after all the Kumbaya.  We'd had a long, long day, and the night was so calm and cozy that we all fell into a deep, complacent sleep out there by our serene little lake.  Aaaahhhh.
Have you ever been jolted out of a deep sleep?  It's very disconcerting.  Your brain can't quite put together what is going on- are you dreaming? Are you waking? Can you move yet?
And it was this kind of disorientation that accompanied the gut reaction of complete alarm when we were ripped from unconsciousness by a blindingly bright light and an extremely loud roaring, crunching noise coming right at us- and fast.
J and I went bolt upright, fumbling with the covers, as our little green tent was flooded with light and sound.  Instinctively my arms went out over my sleeping babies like a mother hen; as if they could protect them from the force of a large SUV flooring it down a steep gravel hill.
Because that's what it was.
The music was blaring, the tires were spinning.  It skidded down by the dock and doors slammed.
J and I, still reeling from the surprise, peered out of our little mesh window.  The lights were on inside, and all we could see was thick smoke.  The air pulsed with base; someone was wondering around the dock. We could make out voices but not words.
It was a Friday night.  Probably, a bunch of teenagers had come out here to hang out and drink from whatever was clinking and were nearly as surprised to see us as we were to see them.
Later J would gently joke, "how many poor old people do you think you scared like that, C?" And I would groan, "Oooh, Karma! It was you!"
But just then it wasn't funny.
We whispered in the tent as we patted the babies back to sleep that probably that's all it was.  Probably they were just minding their own business and would pay us no mind, probably they would leave soon, probably there was nothing to worry about.
Probably, all that was true.
But can I tell you something, about having little children?
Who depend on you, who are helpless but for you?
Probably doesn't cut it, folks.  Probably means nothing.
I was shaking. My heart was in my throat, I kept shielding my babies even as the car was parked yards away.  What if they decided to bother us because they were drunk and just fooling around? What if they were not harmless? What if they had hit us coming over that hill; what if someone else came along and did? What if 50,000 things which would probably never happen- but might. 
We debated in whispers; should we pack up and leave? No that's crazy. Should we just stay? But what if...?
Before too long the dark figures piled back into the car and roared away.  We went back to bed.  My heart had just stopped racing, I was just drifting back to sleep. Then another car came swerving and rumbling down that hill.  We shot back up, the adrenaline came surging back.  This car was certainly not expecting us; they held our little tent in their headlights a few moments, then swung around and raced away. 
Looks like our serene spot by day was a party spot by night.  And probably it was all harmless teens just hanging out.  But maybe not.  And even if it was, who can stand to go through that kind of wake-up call all night? And what kind of idiots let their babies sleep at the bottom of a blind hill that people are zooming over in the darkness? 
Call me crazy. Call me over-reactive, call me over-protective, go ahead- call me a mom.   I don't care. 
We packed up that camp so fast we should get some kind of boy-scout badge.  We tenderly lifted our sleepy angels into their car seats, and we set off on Huckleberry's trail in reverse, navigating by moonlight. 
At about 2am, we came into Birminhgam.  We were kumbaya-ed OUT.  We rolled down our windows in a vacant lot and J said, "what do you want to do?"  I told him I was too tired to think. You decide, I said. 
So I will tell you what he did. 
He took his girls to a suite at one of the nicest hotels in town, and put those poor sleepy angels to bed in soft cushy beds with big fluffy pillows and clean sheets.  We all slept in. We took hot baths in a clean tub, ate a big, hot breakfast.  And splashed the morning away at the pool.  

 

We washed all our clothes (which turned out to be a very, very good thing later) and all our dishes. And finally, when we felt like it, got back on the road- the biggest, fastest, most direct one- and got to our new home as fast as we could. 

Did we sell out at the end? Completely? I suppose so.  Or maybe we could just call it a grand finale to a very long, winding, sometimes rough but mostly fun adventure.  After all. Kumbaya can be found anywhere.  Maryland beaches, Kitty Hawk monuments, Smokey mountain ranges.  Long, scenic roads and small country rest stops. It can be found in a ditch, around a campfire, in a beautiful hidden lake.  It can be found in the middle of nowhere.  It can also be found, believe you me, at the Hilton.

There's something you realize I think, when you travel like this with your family. 
Between homes and in close quarters, making your way on the fly and seeing where circumstance and the addled GPS lead you.  Kumbaya is just like Home. 
It's wherever we're together. 
And so, after a week of Moving On, we stopped and planted it, for a while, in Florida. 
When we got to the house it was hot and dirty. For a few days there was no AC, no washer/dryer. no refrigerator, no hot water.  No furniture or clothes or Stuff of any kind.  There were gulf zombies and we were all still sleeping on the floor.  It was perfect! We were all there together. 
So it was home. 
 
Kumbaya.