Sirens

To say my kids are sheltered is an understatement.

The town we are from is as Norman Rockwell as it can get. Not just in its picturesque setting, but the whole attitude and lifestyle. There is almost no crime, and on the rare occasion that you have to call the police, they are there in 20 seconds, because, heck, they have nothing better to do. Every now and then, they exercise the sirens on their police cars by leading a parade, and the town gathers at the Main Street upon hearing them.

The big city scares my children. Literally. They are on edge when we venture into heavy traffic. Going to the movie the other night, and taking Quinn to the pediatrician had us in ‘the Big City” and they were very happy to come home to the tranquility of the trailer.

This morning, as I sat outside drinking my morning java, and catching up on my e-mails, we heard some sirens in the distance, heading toward some unknown emergency. As they got closer, and louder, my daughter turned to me and said “Hey! It’s a parade!”

After all, where we are from, a police siren signals the start of a parade.

How do I validate moving my children from this serenity. How do I take them from Mayberry, and place them into a world full of drugs, gangs, hate and violence.

I know that it is real life. I know that the real world is not a constant parade down Main Street. I know that one day they will be thrust upon it and will have to make their own choices and overcome their fears of the outside world.

This is weighing heavily on us in our decision about moving, and that is why I have left you all hanging, awaiting our decision. The fact is, we have not made a decision yet. We are really taking things slow, living here and getting a feel for the area. There will be no rush, and it may not be until August before we decide. We are talking to our friends, our families, and are allowing for input from others, but ultimately we will have to do what is best for our family as a whole. Not just what is best for the kids, but what is best for Bill and I as well……which might rub some the wrong way.

While talking with Bill this morning, I said something that surprised even me. I told him that the thought of going home, and going through day after day of having nothing to do, no ocean in sight……just the image of that Groundhog day feeling……has me wanting to walk up to a wall and bang my head repeatedly against it. That has to be important, right?

So, we sit. And we toss things back and forth like we are in some perpetuall tennis match.

And my daughter rides her tricycle around the campsite, with the bay as her backdrop.

And my boys play together like the best of friends.

And Cory quit chewing on his cuticles…….for years they have always look raw and frayed, but yesterday Bill said “Look….he stopped” and I saw that the nervous habit was gone, and the fingers I remember him having as a baby were back. Hoisting sails, scrubbing hulls, fishing, and riding his bike in a Flipperesque setting leave little time for cuticle picking.

And we are together and happy.

And in the end, that is really all that matters.