Lost in suburbia

It was a long and tiring trip and we'd finally made it to our destination, well sort of at least. You see in that frenzy of post travel-itus where you can finally unstrap your travel boots we arrived at Columbus International Airport. We were expecting to be greeted by my brother and sister-in-law and the adorable little nephew I'd not yet met, little Jo (can you believe he's five and I've never met him, sniffle). But, anyway upon exiting the arrivals terminal there was nothing but an eery, empty airport looking as if it were about to close down for the night. I had to stop and ask myself, "do airports actually close?" The employees were all yawning and this one looked like it kept specific hours. I felt like some kind of intruder stepping into someone's home.



It couldn't be helped. We were naturally late in arriving and I just knew when I booked my JFK connection that we'd get hung up on some tarmac or cramped up in some lounge reading CNN headlines. Both things ended up happening and we were about two hours late with no way to call anyone. My brother and his wife had waited patiently before finally leaving the airport in an anticlimax. They drove back home to put my five year old nephew in bed before he exploded with anticipation or melted into a puddle of boredom. Apparently he was fluctuating between the two at an alarming rate and they were getting worried. There was a gummy bear overdose involved somehow and they couldn't possibly stay another minute without losing sanity. Unfortunately I arrived ten minutes after they left. Yep, ten minutes. After a brief and slightly panicky telephone call from me, my brother rearrived curbside to collect us: a bleary eyed sister, a whiny Baby S and our two comically oversized but virtually empty suitcases, my usual plan being to fill them to the brim with books and clothes.



The aroma of nostalgia gripped me the moment I got into my brother's car and we exited towards the freeway. Ohio is the place of my childhood and it somehow stands strangely frozen into a very shy, lip biting, nine year old's perspective. It's the part of the world where I spent the first several years of my young life, managing to learn to ride a skateboard, visiting my mom's local beauty shop after school, getting Pipi Longstocking books from the library, staying overnight in the treehouse of my best friend, the pastor's youngest daughter and crying over the teenage punks who stole my Big Wheel. My brother still lives in the exact same neighborhood where we grew up and has made it possible to recreate this entire chapter of our childhood on a daily basis with his own son Joe.

I guess I had forgotten, or else maybe just never realized how utterly suburban this small corner of the world was and still is. I often fail to remember in my travels and adventures across the world that such places really do exist. And so our visit to Ohio while strange and crazy, was somehow downright enjoyable and baby S and I basked in it all. The glory of friendly, solicitous neighbors in two story houses who hollered "hey" each time we'd pass, an assembly line of backyard cookouts, wall to wall carpeting and multiple bathrooms, and the startling realization that nearly every neighbor as far as the eye could see had a wooden swingset with an attached sliding board and a blow up baby pool. It was all very surreal to an expat mom and baby used to life in a conservative little French village which simply exists on it's reputation for very good mineral water and an abundance of boulangeries and flower shops.

We adapted rapidly to our newfound lifestyle. Baby S turned immediately into the perfect little suburban baby, sleeping right through the night in his little borrowed Graco Pack and Play crib at the first available opportunity as if this was something he'd always done. I shopped at Walmart buying him baseball themed t-shirts at the unheard of price of 3.99 and cute, little sippy cups that worked so charmingly that he actually figured out how to use them after only one day. Life became dreamy and easy. We settled together into this cozy sort of relationship where I could pretend I was this hip, know-it-all, American mom and he was the baby who did it all on cue...eat, sleep, play...eat, sleep, play...ad nauseum. If it didn't work we'd just fix it, or buy it or better yet find it in a garage sale for three dollars and bargain it down to two dollars. I was in the Magic Kingdom of babydom.



I must admit that we are getting far too used to this way of life. Cheap, convenient and easy is something we 'French' moms know nothing about. Suburbia really doesn't exist in my little part of the world. Children's clothes and toys and gadgets seem to cost a fortune. Many of the latest conveniences like a Fisher Price Ocean Wonders this or that are specific only to Americana. Sometimes imported, items are often inflated to several times the price. As a result we live simply with the minimum baby paraphernalia and fewer toys.

At the end of the week we said our Ohio goodbyes and made our way down to Florida to move in with my parents for the next few months. I am starting to think that our empty suitcases may be bulging at the seams by the time we leave for France. A mom gets used to cheap, easy and convenient, especially when it means her little wide eyed baby is actually entertained throughout the daytime hours and sleeping through the night.