Following The Baby Trail To Montana

By Kelley Moen, 7-29-08

Balance.

It’s a noun, a verb and an adjective.  We use it to talk about our time, our meals and our checkbook.  It’s everywhere.  But most recently in our new-baby household, it’s a concept that is completely missing.

I was reminded of this word as we passed through Terrebonne, Oregon, home of the infamous Smith Rock State Park on another family-inspired Montana vacation.  The vertical rocky spires, illustrating centuries’-old wear of water and wind, towered into the early morning blue-chalk horizon.  Balancing in the air.  A climber’s paradise.  Yet any climber attempting to summit these precipices would also need balance- the delicate equilibrium of flexibility, strength, fitness and desire to get to the top.

Raising a child requires similar balance, I thought, as I looked into the rearview mirror and caught a glimpse of my precious sleeping son in his car seat, with the silhouette of Smith Rock’s Monkey Face behind us. 

I drove, chauffeuring my 4-month-old son and my husband, who were sound asleep in the back with their heads lazily leaning toward each other, mouths open in a shared, slumbering slobber.  Balancing our lives, or the lack thereof, has been our biggest feat since Charlie entered our family four months ago.  His arrival, while the most wonderful event I can imagine, brought a new piece to our “puzzle”.  Actually, his arrival shattered the puzzle of marriage we once knew, stirred the pieces around on the floor and changed the shape of most every part of our lives.

Our challenge now: to re-arrange and put together the new family puzzle of this thing we call “Balance”.

The morning of our journey, driving north from Bend, was a fine example of the deconstructed balance in our family.

My husband decided he must pull an all-nighter of work from our home office, and by the time he went to bed, it was time to get up.  Conclusion: I would be the official chauffeur for this 500-mile drive in 100-plus-degree sunshine.

Ok, that’s fine.

However, when I jumped into the front seat, I realized that no one had prepared for this trip. Our little Honda looked like the Klampet family vacation, with shoes stuffed into the door pockets, jackets wadded up and shoved under the seat, hats and fishing waders and fly rods nearly hanging out the windows.  (And later we discovered that my husband forgot to pack a single pair of shorts from his closet-full of fishing clothes).  Preparation? We planned no time for that.

In addition, as we were backing out of the garage, my two guys’ eyelids drooping toward their toes, I noticed a very large extra piece of luggage wedged in between my seat and the diaper bag behind me.  Our computer tower?!? 

My husband had attempted to sneak his work into our family vacation- our first family vacation at that!

No, no, no!  This would not do! The balance of work, play, household chores, exercise, family time, self-time, even vacation time, in addition to the 100 percent, 24/7 needs of our baby, was leaning like the Tower of Pizza, ready for its horizontal grave.

Needless to say, the chauffeur always has the final say.  We left work behind us in the morning dust.

As we continued driving north toward the Columbia, passing the Smith Rocks, Mount Jefferson rose to our left and Mount Adams poked its summit into the chalky morning sky.  We passed old farmhouses, lonely near big cuts of green and gold farmland.  We passed grain silos and yards full of mangled cars, as they’d been parked since 1940 and were waiting for their next hurrah.  We passed a weathered, white-haired farmer driving a Dodge with his buddy, a masked border collie, sitting beside him in the front seat.  Bake Oven Road.  The Central Oregon Livestock Auction.  The 45th parallel and Charlie’s Restaurant and Lounge.

Our Charlie, soundly asleep next to his daddy in the back, enjoyed a long nap the entire morning.  Compared to his sleepless night, this calm drive through eastern Oregon was the balance.  What goes up must come down.  And his driving-induced downtime reminded me that even though I thought I had it all figured out, like the tricks to sleeping nights and making two-minute meals and feeding the baby while washing my face and making a bathroom run while he is strapped to the changing table, there’s always more magic to this balancing act than we imagine.  Sometimes it just happens.

As we neared the plateau above the Columbia River Gorge and descended along the rows and rows of Blue-Sky Energy windmills, the valley deepened a wetter shade of green.  The morning air cooled despite the sun rising overhead, and my guys stirred in the backseat.  A rest area neared, promising the driver a good cup of coffee.

Even though I am not a climber, and I’ll probably never attempt to summit the legendary Monkey Face at Smith Rock, I will likely someday, with a little practice, patience and a few more road trips, put together this so-called “balance” in my little family.