Category: Travel

Mexico City + Tulum 2021

by Ashley filed under Travel

7/24/21

Yesterday was our first time on a plane since losing my dad. That may see like an insignificant milestone to those who haven’t experienced the loss of a loved one but suddenly it all feels significant. So many firsts, big and small. Since my boys were little, we’d do this special handshake just as the roar of the plane’s engine ignited prior to take off. It’s a handshake I learned from my dad and we’d do it in the same superstitious way — only when the engine kicks into high gear. It didn’t come from a place of anxiety, it came from his childlike silliness, a celebration of dumb luck. It’d make him so happy. He was always so easy to please.

Yesterday we got to do that silly handshake again, just like we always do, but with newfound meaning and a growing longing that was quenched, even if for just a minute.

Writing about him makes me cry,. It’s a needed cry, an outlet. My sniffles have become a battle cry Sonny has tuned into. I cannot get by with sniffing, for any reason, without Sonny questioning if I’m crying. I see the distress on his face; the uncertainty of not knowing if he can be okay if his mom’s not okay. I tell him it’s okay not to be okay. And that he can be okay even if I’m not. I see him learning empathy right before my eyes. I remind him that it’s okay to be sad and that tears are good. I tell him that letting the pain run its course is how we move forward.

He’ll know it because he’ll have witnessed it. That alone pushes me onward.

 

7/31/21

It’s been radio silence over here because the first few days of our trip were gnarly and I’m still fighting that unsettled feeling. We were robbed and aside from losing all the cash I had brought and saved for the trip, our passports were stolen too. The latter resulting in a wild goose chase of collecting documents, filling out applications, getting new photos on a Sunday when just about everywhere appeared closed, printing said documents and applications, waiting and worrying over the weekend to get to the embassy on Monday, first thing in the morning, with three kids in tow during a pandemic, to wait and jump through more hoops all while having to juggle checkout and luggage and an embassy that doesn’t allow for luggage and those three kiddos looking to me to handle it all. Like I do. And like I did. But man, that was fucking gnarly. And that’s not even the whole story.

Shoutout to my boys for being absolute troopers and cheerleaders and to those who took my calls and my texts and helped me work through the tears and terror.

 

8/2/21

Thank you for all the love and support on my last post. Definitely an unsettling experience that has followed me (us) for days, with more nuance than I’m sharing here. A few added notes I think are important to make:

-Victims of crimes are not victims because of anything they did wrong. A friend shared this with me and it was just what I needed to hear: We always turn on ourselves when we are victims of a crime — be angry at the criminals, not yourself. Sharing that tidbit for anyone else who may need it.

-There’s so much to be said for the goodness of others. The first Airbnb we rented accommodated us by putting us in another rental so we had a place to leave our luggage while we spent hours at the embassy. Without knowing how long the fiasco would take, he even offered us 3 free nights if we needed them. One of the policemen that helped us after the robbery drove us personally to the embassy, hugged me, and gave me his personal number to use should I need anything. Of course I was skeptical of which side of the fence he lives on, but it’s a gesture worth noting. And the hug was needed. The host of our second airbnb was seriously an angel sent from above and she did an hour session of transformational breathing that I can wholeheartedly say turned things around for me. What’s more is that she connected with me and therefore knew I needed it. To be able to read the needs of others and meet them is such a gift and I’m so grateful for her. Yesterday, our cab driver knew we were trying to find peanut butter and jelly (tales of a traveling mom) and came back an hour after dropping us off with peanut butter and jelly. And for the few who slid into my DMs on IG, you know who you are, thank you.

It’s easy to get caught up and feel like the world is swallowing you whole until you zoom out and acknowledge all the people throwing you a lifeline. So grateful for my people, my village, and all who root me / us on from afar. What was feeling like the last mile of a marathon is now feeling like a victory lap. It’s amazing what we can do for one another when we’re able to give, receive, and welcome an alternative perspective.

More on this magnificent place we stayed to come…

 

8/3/21

When we were waiting – for hours – at the embassy, we were in a small room of approximately 20 other people. A man at the counter next to us was a Mexican American there to apply for citizenship for a baby he had with his Mexican girlfriend so they were interviewing him to test the legitimacy of his story; where he was born, where he’s lived, how he met his girlfriend. I overheard him say he was from Los Angeles and then they asked him where he went to high school and for whatever reason he suddenly had my full attention; would I know the school? He replied with, “Granada Hills High School”. The same high school my dad went to. Of all the states, of all the cities, of all the schools… I was so stressed and so overwhelmed and it stopped me in my tracks. I found my dad, right there, in the middle of Mexico City full of fear and uncertainty. He was there, right when I needed him. Like he’s always been.

The monarchs are migrating and when my dad was dying there were several butterflies lingering in the tree outside of his room. When we see a butterfly, the boys and I say he is here with us. The butterflies are everywhere here. A reminder that it’s not that it’s not that those of us who have lost a loved one see their loved one in everything, it’s that they can find their loved one in anything.

 

8/4/21

Traveling solo with kids is gnarly. It’s my hope that they remember me joining in on the fun with them, playing with them, adventuring with them. Because the good lord knows 95% of it is cooking for them, cleaning up after them, carrying shit for them, and trying to keep my own head above water through it all. When the dust settles, I hope memories of be being with (not doing for) them are the ones that rise.

 

8/5/21

I don’t make a lot of plans when we travel because I honestly don’t usually have the time and so I rely on the notion that not having a plan can be a plan, too. That said, one thing we did get tickets for ahead of time was the Frida Kahlo museum. We had read a book about Frida a few months back so the boys had some context and, muich to my surprise, they were excited to see the infamous blue house, the mirror above her bed that she used to paint herself, as well as some of her paintings. Sonny wasn’t into it at all but fortunately it didn’t take long to walk through the home and make it to the courtyard where he could roam freely.

The photographs were my favorite (I’m biased); she has such a presence about her that transcends time and holds strong to this day. I think all of us photographers would love to get someone with her spirit in front of our lens.

 

8/6/21

Definitely a highlight of our trip was staying at Quetzalcoatl’s Nest. It was the perfect reprieve from the city, which following the robbery was needed in a way I can only fully grasp looking back from hindsight. It was an invitation to unwind that I desperately needed; a deep exhale, a regrouping, a slowing down, a place to get back to my center and focus on my breath. Our host was an added bonus; She embodied the spirit of the structure and filled our time there with love and compassion. I have so much gratitude for her. Traveling, for me, is always about connecting to new places, new people, and using those experiences to shape my understanding and compassion for the world around me. It’s the epitome of giving and receiving. By taking from my experiences, I’m able to give more to those around me.

 

8/7/21

When I was the same age as the older boys I remember traveling to Texas with my dad with his 40 year old and over softball team. I was heavily into gymnastics at the time, training 5 days a week / 4 hours a day. He took me to a gym in the area so I could train with their team while we were there and I remember thinking that was the coolest thing in the world; to be able to travel and still do what I loved.

And now, as a parent myself, I love doing the same for my boys. I love their love of skateboarding and I think it’s so rad that we can build it into so many of our trips. These kids have skated in a handful of different states, several cities, and now an entirely different country. Visiting Woodward in the Maya Riviera was the second thing we built into this trip (the first being the trip to the Frida Kahlo museum). And the boys loved it. Van said it was the best day of his life. The next morning he woke up barfing. At the time it felt like loom and doom — as if the robbery wasn’t enough, now I was envisioning each kid getting sick — one right after the other. Or worse yet, it being Covid. Fortunately he got whatever was in his system out and was back to full throttle by the end of the day. And we all tested negative for Covid.

 

8/8/21

My main drive in traveling anywhere with my boys is to show them that there’s so many ways to live life. Intertwined with that, I suppose, is staying at off-beat places like earthships, communities like Arcosanti, or even that crazy serpent snake in Mexico City. These places capture the same spirit, drive home the same point I’m trying to make — that life doesn’t have to be a box. These places are chosen with intention to really bring to life all the possibilities and to celebrate and embrace all the twists and turns life invariably takes. The place I posted yesterday, for example, was built into nature; meaning no land was leveled, no trees were removed. It’s why it took the form of a snake — to weave into its own natural environment while paying tribute to the peaks and valleys that were already there. And isn’t that just how life should be? Not us coming in and feeling entitled to creating our own path but traveling the path given to us with gratitude. Learning to shift, shape, and mold into — not plow through. I know these concepts are too big for them to fully understand but my purpose in parenting is to always be planting seeds. So when things don’t go their way, when forcing their own will doesn’t pan out, I can point to that one time we stayed in the belly of a snake and remind them that the path isn’t ours to create, we must bend and fold, rise and fall with the tides of life.

I look at Tulum architecture and I’m astounded by all the materials used and how they work together; the sticks lining up to create rows and patterns that feed into the concrete. A chair with no straight lines. So much built by hand, with patience and intention.

Life doesn’t have to be any one way. The answers are always in creative thinking. We’re all working around obstacles. Though maybe they’re not obstacles at all, maybe their gifts in disguise.

 

8/15/21

I’ve mentioned before that I don’t always plan or read up as much as some when traveling to the places we do. Because of this I had a lot of misconceptions about Tulum. I had wrongfully assumed it to be a beach town. And I guess some would consider it a beach town. But the reality is that the town of Tulum is about a 20 minute drive from the beach that’s associated with Tulum. Unbeknownst to me, this time of year is known for the influx of seaweed that renders the beaches more or less useless (unless you love the smell and can stomp your way through to the water, which is more infested with seaweed than the shore). The solution, and it’s not too shabby of a solution, are the cenotes (or sinkholes) which are sprinkled in and around Tulum. Some require more of a trek or better swimming capabilities and so not all are 5-year-old friendly but we found one that suited us perfectly and it was here that we spent time looking at the roots of trees underwater and escaping the heat and humidity. The older boys discovered a baby crocodile that made this cenote his / her home. They also enjoyed looking at the fish which were either too lazy to swim out of your way or just completely fearless because they didn’t swim away from us, ever. Definitely a highlight of our time in Tulum and a reminder that when you hit a wall, or find yourself stuck in a bunch of seaweed, just keep moving.

A Road Trip, 2020

by Ashley filed under Travel

It’s funny looking back on this season of life and motherhood; in the throws of Covid, one year post divorce, one year before losing my dad.

Sometimes motherhood can feel so permanent, like the phase you’re in is never going to end. Some phases are rough and you’re practically willing them along and others are sweet and you long for them to linger longer than they do.

I could never have seen Covid as the blessing then that I know it to be now. Not, of course, on a global scale, but instead in terms of the forced closeness — navigating school from the dining room table, then school on the road, and – mostly – learning what to do with a whole lot of nothing to do.

We had hit the road just weeks prior to this and visited Arizona, New Mexico, and Utah. We came home only to escape again, this time visiting Northern California, Idaho, Montana, Wyoming, and Utah.

The seasons are changing and I feel the sand sliding through my fingers. I welcome it in a sense — getting to watch them grow and become more independent is a true honor. Looking back on these memories, before their wings seemed so vast, carries a new appreciation. A greater value. Doing this all on my own is the hardest and the most fulfilling; a true testament to how so many things in life coexist. An integration of opposites, not a separation of parts.

Cities visited: Lake Tahoe, Briggs, Yellowstone, Livingston, The Grand Tetons, and Salt Lake City.

San Francisco 2021

by Ashley filed under Alanon, Dad, Healing, Travel

I’m 41 years old today. I feel indifferent, which is how I feel most every year on my birthday. This year, I’m excusing that feeling knowing that this time, last year, I was racing home in hopes of getting to say goodbye to my dad for the last time.

In recovery we learn about God’s will versus our will. Because we get to choose a God of our understanding, I refer to mine as the Universe. This trip was a lesson in me pushing my will and the Universe reminding me I’m not in charge.

The night before, on the 4th of July, we were in San Francisco, on a boat, watching fireworks. I had splurged and spent more money than usual under the pretense that it was my 40th birthday and watching fireworks from a boat in the Bay of my favorite city with my three favorite people seemed like the best gift I could give myself. I knew my dad wasn’t doing well and up until that point I didn’t know if I wanted to be there for his passing. Watching his decline was hard enough and the speed of which it was all happening didn’t even leave space for the denial that (arguably) got me through other hard times of my life, like my marriage.

By the time the fireworks started, Sonny and Van were already fast asleep. Wanting to get what I paid for, I tried to wake them up a few times and hoped the few explosions they might have seen would be downloaded into their memory banks. When the show was over, we found ourselves stranded at the tip of a city that had only one way in and one way out and we became small fish in a big sea of people all waiting for the same thing: uber. I carried Sonny as we walked blocks, moving faster than the gridlock traffic, in a frenzy to get to a location where an uber could pick us up. We waited over an hour; it was nearly midnight before we got a ride. We made the short drive, which resulted in a huge bill, and I scooped Sonny’s limp body up as we left, recognizing the puddle of urine he left behind. Walking up the steps to our rental with a sleeping, urine-soaked child over my shoulder, I started to wonder what it was I was doing and why. Why did I do this to myself? I was in constant contact with my mom and sister, getting updates on my dad. Even while watching the fireworks blast off into the air, I wondered if he was still alive.

I wondered why we were in San Francisco at all. I still can’t answer that question. I don’t know if it was denial that my dad was dying, or me pushing my own will by forcing my life to continue as it was, or a mix of both. All I knew at that time was that it didn’t make logical sense to get on the road to see my dad before the fireworks because the 7-hour drive ahead of us we would get us there after dark, the kids would need to be put to bed, and we’d likely be sharing the road with people who had been drinking. I made the decision to cut our trip early and leave the following morning, on my 40th birthday.

I set my alarm for a few hours past our usual 4am departure time when we’re on the road and decided that the extra sleep was needed. I asked my sister and mom to not include me in the play-by-play texts, recognizing that there was nothing I could do.

I loaded up the truck in the morning all the while wondering if my dad was still alive, or not. For the entire 7-hour drive home, I wondered that. I just wanted to get there. Tears rolled down my cheeks, a mixture of no longer being able to deny what was happening mixed with that harsh inner critic that was telling me I’m a piece of shit for not even knowing if I wanted to be there for his passing. In those 7 hours, I was solid in my inner knowing: I wanted to be there. I hated myself for not being there. The thought of not being there was torturing me. My inner critic was handed an infinite amount of free passes to destroy myself with and I beat myself up that entire drive home.

We drove directly to my parents’ house and I rushed up the steps, flung open the front door, asked my sister if he was still there and I broke down in her arms when she told me he was. I kept saying “I hate that I didn’t know how bad I wanted to be here” and she just held me. My mom came up behind my sister and suggested that the kids not go in the room; my dad had changed a lot over the course of the preceding months and the boys were witness to it all. But in this last phase the change was so drastic and my mom wanted to protect the boys. I felt it was important for the boys to make the decision for themselves so I pulled them aside and explained that this would be a final goodbye and that he was going to look different than he had before. They all chose to say goodbye, in person, facing a reality I had been desperate to avoid. Kids are magical like that… they haven’t found all the rocks to hide under yet. The only way they know is through.

My sister and I sat in the bed with my dad. She told me that she’d told him I was coming. She told me she thought he was waiting for me and on a visceral level, I knew that to be true. His eyes were closed, his mouth was open, and his chest looked like it strained to make each breath. At one point a roadrunner appeared outside the window. My sister and I googled what roadrunners symbolize:

“The spiritual meaning of roadrunners is magic and good luck while also symbolizing transitions. Whether it’s a life change, epiphany or physical transformation, the spiritual meaning of a roadrunner is about moving forward and embracing the coming changes that your life will inevitably face.”

We went to bed that night wondering what it was he was holding onto or holding on for. My sister laughed and said, “he wouldn’t leave on your birthday, he’d want you to have that day.”

It’s true, that’s precisely who my dad was; never one to overshadow and always one to shine the light on someone else. And so it made sense when my birthday came and went and we were awoken that night by the hospice nurse and told it was time.

A gift from the Universe to have been there for him. Especially because I pushed my own will so hard. There’s so many lessons embedded in pain, I think that’s why I’ve learned to turn into it instead of away from it. A lesson in the Universe being the only one in control, in transformations, and in impermanence.

My birthday will always be a time for me to reflect on that one time I rushed home to be where I should have been but didn’t know I wanted to be and allowed space for the not knowing. A time when I heard my inner critic put me down and chose grace instead. A time to reflect on my coming into this world and my dad leaving this world and a time to be grateful for all that happened in between the two to bring me to where I am today, on my birthday, surrendering to it all.

 

 

Southwestern Road Trip, 2020

by Ashley filed under Alanon, Divorce, Family, Travel

 

It’s hard for me to keep up with this space even though my heart lives and beats in these posts. I can scroll back and see my story unfolding, my evolution and it keeps me going. I often find myself reflecting back as finding the time to write in the moment is a luxury (and burden) I’ve had to learn to let go of. I’ve found it can be just one more way for me to beat myself up — for not making the time and letting all those epiphanies that spark like firecrackers fizzle out before they meet the ground the same way my thought is lost by the time I find the time to turn it into words.

But there’s a blessing in looking back, too, and the more I find myself embracing that, the more I feel pulled back to this space. Looking back makes more room for the clarity that comes with hindsight; the clouds parting ways, the path clear, so I can see what was right in front of me the whole time. We all strive to live in the moment but sometimes the moments are loud and messy and chaotic. There’s a serenity that comes from looking back in the absence of the chatter and the thoughts that rattle in my brain.

Last year was a rollercoaster of a year for many of us and at the time so much of it felt all-consuming, never-ending, and dizzying. I opted for the online school option which added so much to my plate and so much noise to the house but as time has passed and I can reflect with the peace in knowing that chapter is over (I hope), I see it all in a different light. I see it all through the lens of gratitude. It was hard, but we did it. In all the change and surrender, we found new ways to carry on being. And, we were together. Always.

There’s so many things about single motherhood that no one tells you about. Going through these photos brought a release of tears. Not because of the fleetingness to motherhood but because of the fleetingness to single motherhood. I didn’t know at the time what a blessing this time with my kids was; how these moments solo with them would string together to build such a beautiful, connected, relationship. A relationship that I really wouldn’t have had with them if not for divorce. There’s something so freeing about mothering them on my own; it’s a true ownership of the role, a forced self-reliance. I was grieving a loss that I still grieve to this day but looking back now, from hindsight, I was also celebrating a freedom I didn’t really know I had. A freedom to rely solely on myself, to make game time decisions, disciplining decisions, a freedom to surrender when I needed with no need to explain or argue, justify or defend. A self-reliance I didn’t know I was lacking before. And a connection, born out of all these memories, with the most special little people; the kind of connections born out of 10 consecutive hours in the car together, crossing state lines together, searching for WiFi together, visiting places we’ve been in the past as a family of 5 and making new memories as a family of 4 in those old familiar places. I’m so grateful for all of it. I always thought of single motherhood as some decrepit thing no one wanted… I see now that it’s been one of my biggest blessings. I get to love these boys and experience these boys with no distractions, relying only on my self. Before I looked at it as something I had to do. Now I look at it as something I get to do. I have gratitude to thank for that. And recovery to thank for that gratitude.

 

There were so many memories made, here’s a few:

-Sonny had a cold and we were in the sleepy ghost town of Jerome with no convenient store. We spent longer than we wanted trying to find some elusive cold medicine (mostly so he could sleep… but also mostly so I could, in turn, sleep too). We had no luck but when we returned to our rental we found a small brown paper bag on our steps and inside of it was some cold medicine. Someone we talked to in the neighborhood earlier that day dropped it off for us. A small moment of connection, a gift from a stranger. A needed reminder that we not only need each other but but that we have each other too.

-After driving for hours we arrived to the earthship community in Taos just as rain started to fall. The winds swept in as we (I) unloaded the truck. The clouds looked like they were fighting one another; a beautiful battle of opposites with the light trying to find its way through. And then the most beautiful rainbow. A full rainbow, end to end. And then a double rainbow. Surely I know it’s not all about us but in that moment, it felt like a blessing from the universe just for us. A way of saying “you’re here, you made it, and you’re doing it”. Fuel for the soul.

-We stayed in an octagon on an Indian Reservation where we made friends with dogs that stole our socks. Those same dogs would follow us each night as we hiked up behind our octagon to catch the sun setting behind Monument Valley. Two nights in a row we were approached by a fox; the most beautiful and majestic creature that stopped us all in our tracks and for a brief moment – before getting the hell outta dodge – we stood in one another’s presence, in what-felt-like honor of one another.

-At a skatepark in Page I helped Sonny skateboard and I recall this being the point where he really got it and – from that point forward – didn’t need me quite so much anymore. It was also there I read the news of RBG’s passing and the boys and I shared tears over the tragic loss and the significance of what her loss meant to the future.

-We found ourselves surrounded by Trump flags while livin’ the lake life at Lake Powell. I went into the truck to get a few things and came out to discover that Hooper had taken the clipboard he was using for school-on-the-road and made his own Black Lives Matter sign that he proudly displayed in front of his chair. Later, the universe intervened and we got stuck in the sand and it was one of those Trump supporters (complete with cowboy boots and a sticker that said “I’m that conservative your parents warned you about”) who happily towed us out. We had many moments like this; where the school agenda for the day consisted of things like multiplication and division but what we ended up learning was life lessons about how we’re all an integration of opposites and not a separation of parts.

 

States visited: Arizona, New Mexico, Utah

Cities visited: Jerome, Arcosanti, Sedona, Albuquerque, Taos, Monument Valley, St. George, Lake Powell, Page

 

We enjoyed this trip so much that a few weeks after coming home we hit the road again. I’ll dig deep to try to find the time to share that trip, too.

 

Sayulita, 2019

by Ashley filed under Travel

July 2019 | The trip that was never supposed to be. Well, that’s not entirely true. It was supposed to be, just not supposed to be Sayulita. It actually started with tickets to Peru and plans to visit the factory we are not manufacturing with (for The Bee & The Fox). Not to mention Machu Picchu, because how could we not? And all sorts of other dreams and wishes and cute airbnb’s and even dinner plans with some of our manufacturing team on our first night in Lima. Those plans were quickly put to rest when we showed up at LAX – Janet and Carla having already flown down from Seattle – and got turned away at the ticket counter because my passport expires in January of 2020 (apparently Peru has a stipulation that your passport cannot expire within 6 months and I was 4 days – yes, four days – too late). So there we were, Hooper, Van, and Carla backpacks ready and filled with all sorts of warm weather clothes in anticipation of Cuzco’s 30 degree weather. I took one look at J and watched as the look of disbelief was damn near instantly replaced with an excitement. With wild eyes she looked at me and said, “Where to now?”. And just like that we broke into groups. The kids in one huddle throwing out there own ideas of what we could do with the next 10 days. And J and I trying to figure out how to get my dad – who had dropped us off – to come back and swoop us back up. We pondered road trips… countries we haven’t been to in Central America… we looked up costs and flights and soon nailed down our wishlist that consisted of: somewhere warm (because we were both dreading winter in Peru), somewhere affordable, somewhere somewhat close since we had now lost a day (we were boarding the red eye to Peru).

Isn’t there a saying that when no one else wants you, that Mexico will take you? There should be. And so, to Sayulita we went. Last minute trip to Target for J, since she didn’t come swimsuit ready. And we were off.

Or were we? It’s all a blur at this point but all I know is that we were delayed for what felt like ever and if having these huge change of plans wasn’t already mind-numbing enough, this felt like it was going to kill us. That said, there’s something about surviving hardships with your best friend by your side and we were somehow able to laugh as our flight continued to be pushed back due to weather. Being able to go sit down at a restuarant and to come back to find a plane still not boarding felt like a victory. You know, because waiting for a flight with a full belly is greater than waiting for a plane hungry. Silver linings… they’re absolutely everywhere these days and you better believe I’ve got my eyes peeled.

We made it there just after midnight and enjoyed slow mornings and beach filled afternoons and riding around town in our rented golf cart and evening adventures on hidden beaches. It was perfect. Hot and sweaty and bug bitten with grande margaritas most afternoons and too much ice cream and stray dogs we wanted to call our own. A town where the sea stole my sandal in one monstrous wave and my sunglasses broke on day 2. A town painted with color and eager to welcome you, with iguanas in the trees and a calm, steady, rhythm beating in its soul.

Life, they say, can’t always be planned. So you go with it and find that sometimes life has better ideas.

Ain’t that the truth?

Want to hear about how we almost weren’t able to make it to the airport for our flight back because Van was barfing for the second time and couldn’t get out of bed but had a last minute surge of energy but then our flight was canceled anyway – after hours of waiting – and we had to spend another night in Puerto Vallerta and how J had to then change her flight back to Seattle and how that sent a plane full of restless travelers to the same taxi line and then the same hotel where we once again had to wait in line with everyone from our plane and where everything was “all inclusive” except wifi but not excluding the smell in the elevator?

I’ll spare you and end it again with: Life, they say, can’t always be planned. So you go with it and find that sometimes life has better ideas. And the kids… they’re watching us — we can lead with fear, we can lead with anxiety, or we can lead with openness and flexibility.

Our First Camping Trip

by Ashley filed under Travel

This time, last year. August, to be exact. When I thought the story would be about tackling our first ever camping trip as a family of four. A trip where after one night with Sonny scared of the dark and screaming I thought I might die. Only two things saved me: a nap in the hammock with Sonny cradled in my arms and my parents showing up and taking Sonny home with them so the older boys and I (and the rest of the campground) could have a restful nights sleep.

One year later, I’ve forgotten the hardships — the fact that we almost didn’t even get the camping spot we reserved months ahead of time due to faulty bookkeeping on the campgrounds part, or the schlepping of all the stuff that camping entails — the pre-made meals, the lanterns, the activity books, the headlamps… practicing setting up a tent that still had the price tag on it from years ago — the daytime downpour that resulted in a bunch of naked boys running amuck in a tent I tried my best to keep clean. Stuff that seemed so significant at the time.

And now, one year later, all I see is that my dad was there. I wonder if his body knew things we did not. I look at that picture of him and am heartbroken that photos are the only way I can see him now. I weave between gratitude for what was and brokenheartedness for what is.

I didn’t come here today to reminisce on my dad. I have so many intentions to spend more time here writing, sharing, remembering, sorting, purging — but the motivation to share here never seems to quite match up with the time I have to actually be here. Even as I write this Sonny is by my side shooting a nerf gun with no bullets and each time he prepares to pull the trigger I envision my thought being launched out of the gun, dissipating into thin air. Life as a single mom is like that; constantly trying to grab hold onto nothing, forever reminded that I’m footloose, and ping ponging between the futile attempts to find grounding and the complete surrender in knowing we live in a groundless world.

It feels all over the place — my thoughts, my writing — and yet it’s all connected and all I have.

Springville

by Ashley filed under Travel

May 2020 | A place we keep returning to. A place that feels like our own. A place that we’ve left two times in a row with a new kitty in tow; a stray that’s found us, and we let in. Last time it was Lola, this time, Sol. Memories withstanding the heat and the mud, forever calling us back. And us, forever answering that call. A reminder that even muddy waters can be cleansing.

Don’t mind me while I catch up here on years of life…

Vietnam

by Ashley filed under Travel

Los Angeles to Ho Chi Minh / Saigon (22 hours), Saigon to Hanoi (2 hour flight), Hanoi to Cat Ba, Cat Ba to Ninh Binh to Tom Coc (taxi to speedboat to taxi to bus to speedboat to bus to taxi), Tom Coc to Hoi An (16 hour sleeper bus), Da Nang to Can Tho (1.5 hour flight), Can Tho to Ho Chi Minh / Saigon, Ho Chi Minh back to Los Angeles.

 

Two years late. Because that’s my life these days. But loving this look back to the what feels like a lifetime ago; just my older boys and Janet, with Carla. Adventuring through busy streets, eating frogs, raising our glasses, driving through back roads on mopeds, learning about the Vietnam war, and studying a culture different than our own. When I think about how I want to raise my boys, this is it. This world is such a gift and there’s so much to discover. I find it both my duty and my privilege to show them at least some of the corners.

Longing for Covid to be over. Wear your masks 🙂

Slab City USA

by Ashley filed under Travel

February 2020 | Slab City. Where the outhouses stink but the stars shine. A trip that drove home the following point: There’s lots of ways to live your life.

We stayed in Ponderosa, which is a neighborhood – if you will – within the Slabs. Ponderosa is led by a tall, slender, wispy white beard man nicknamed Spyder and is made up of a makeshift kitchen / bar / outdoor living room, all made out of plywood, sheet metal, wooden pallets, tarps, and other found materials.

On Slab City:

Dubbed the last free place on earth, is home to a community of outcasts, squatters, artists, and desert dwellers. The isolated desert community was created by transient, freedom-seeking people like these, all living off the grid in trailers, tents, lean-tos, and broken-down school buses in a remote patch of the Sonoran Desert, on the eastern shore of the Salton Sea.

Here, the word “city” is a bit of a misnomer. The Slabs, as the community is known, has no connection to the main power grid, no trash or water services, and a general lack of basic amenities. The encampment is as bare bones as it gets. Streets are made of hardened dirt, most structures are built from salvaged materials, and packs of dogs roam the area.

Slab City boasts its own skatepark, bar, library, and so on.

Adjacent to the Slabs, but it’s own entity in it’s own right is the East Jesus community of artists.

On East Jesus:

The camp may look fairly similar to other parts of the Slabs, with eccentric art installations made of repurposed garbage and provisional trailer accommodations for a small group of residents, but the area is private property. Local non-profit the Chasterus Foundation bought the 30-acre plot in 2016.

East Jesus’ main attraction is an elaborate outdoor “art museum” that’s open to the public year-round, featuring a wall of broken TVs covered with pithy messages, a car adorned with baby doll heads, and other oddities. Behind the museum is where East Jesus residents actually live, in an intricate maze of trailers surrounding a communal living area.

You can read more by clicking here.

San Francisco

by Ashley filed under Travel

December 2020 – January 2021 | My blog has become an area of paralysis in my life because I just don’t have the time and energy to breath life into it. I have hundreds of pictures of moments that have since past with no words to infuse the story. And I’m surrendering in hopes that the images themselves can do that for me. Accepting that I’ll never have the time and energy to give all I know it deserves but that perfection cannot be my goal. That it’s the perfection that’s paralyzing, not this space.
 
And so, this is how we rung in the new year. A year that, on the heels of my divorce, I had been waiting for; the year that was supposed to laugh in the face of all the hardships from the year that preceded it. And yet, it’s been anything but for so many of us. 
 
We hit up every skate park we could find, crossing the bridge over to Berkley and Oakland, as well as to Marin. We frequented Ocean Beach, skated down Mission Street, caught sunset at Twin Peaks, visited the painted ladies, took a boat over to Alcatraz, explored the Surto Baths, took the BART into downtown… all the things I can remember loving about living there with some tailored-to-them tourist excursions for good measure.
 
Knowing that we came here when Hooper and Van were little (it was actually our first road trip with them!), I got sucked into the vortex of watching this old video and scrolling through these old pictures. These memories don’t make me sad, I’m trying to tap into why; thinking it’s because I question if any of it was ever authentic to begin with. In any event, I can see the hump in my back, which tells me it was prior to having 2 rods and 27 screws hammered into my spine to fuse 13 levels (due to scoliosis). It’s also nice to see how far I’ve come with photography. And cool to see that I’ve been writing here for over 7 years now… 
 
We had other plans for the summer, as I’m sure several have, but in lieu of the pandemic and in keeping with what we can do while social distancing and avoiding airplanes, we’re headed back to Bay. To make more memories. And visit more skateparks. 

 

Big Bear

by Ashley filed under Travel

February 2020 | The other day, in a rundown moment of tears, my mom suggested that I should slow things down a bit. She was referring to what one may perceive as an exhausting effort to keep these boys entertained. Only it’s so much more than that. I have no interest in telling my boys much of anything, I want to show them. And I want to show them everything. These trips, especially the ones where we get to cross off a first (ie, their first time in the snow) are my exhale. Which seems like an oxymoron because no doubt they are filled with moments I can’t seem to catch my breath. I think of it like flexing a muscle and remind myself that the tough parts are what gives it all meaning. Nothing that’s easy is lasting. Let these be the times we all go to our graves with. The memories that mold them.

That said, I’ll never go to Big Bear on a holiday weekend again. And the amount of stuff needed for the snow is just not my jam. Checked it off, moving on. And grateful for my friend Cindy who came up just for the day and didn’t complain about no parking anywhere, the long wait to sit down for lunch, or the lack of snow on the ground. That’s true friendship; a reminder that it’s the people in my life that make it rich.

The yin and yang, the crowds and the sunsets. Always something to complain about, always something to be grateful for. What you water will grow.

Springville

by Ashley filed under Motherhood, Travel

I have this vision in my head that I replay often, especially on the hard days, where my boys – now grown men – are sitting around the dining room table reminiscing on that time mom did what she thought was best, owned her boundaries, and still provided, showed up, explored, and put in the time, effort, and work. Maybe that’s my own ego talking; I’ve been exploring the ego more and more these days. My google searches becoming less and less about others and more and more about myself.

The memory can feel so different than the moment. Isn’t that a weird concept? How we can feel so defeated, so tired, so dirty, so uncomfortable, so overwhelmed in the moment and yet forget all of those things and look back on the accomplishment, the effort, the reward. Perhaps it’s a reminder that you get out what you put in. In any event, writing in the moment has its challenges these days and as I reflect on this trip  quite a few months after-the-fact, I’ve forgotten all about a phone call to my mom that I know I made where I told her that I didn’t think I could do it. I remember being at a restaurant and just feeling spent. No more patience, no energy left for reprimanding. And yet looking back on these images, I only see the triumph in having done it. In having gone.

And that sweet gift of Lola – who the boys were originally calling “Michael” before I notified them that she was girl. The stray cat who wouldn’t leave our side. The stray cat who now makes me question all the mean things I’ve ever said about cats and has me wondering if I may just end up that divorced mom of three grown men who now lives solo with a houseful of stray cats she’s saved. Or maybe they saved her. Plot twist. In any event, we speak of Lola as the cat that chose us; the cat who showed up and wouldn’t leave. The cat who spent the entire 5 hour drive home curled up on one of our laps. And the cat who, once home, worked her way into even Jimmie’s heart. A best friend to us all but especially to Sonny, who now completely dismisses (read: downright abuses Jimmie) in the name of only loving Lola.

At the end of the day, all the mud washed off. I mean that both literally and figuratively and I’m gonna write that on a post it and put it on my wall for a daily reminder. Right next to the taped up piece of paper that reads: Sunshine is the best disinfectant; the only way to cure the darkest parts of yourself is to shine light on them.

Previous trips to Springville: here and here.

Maui

by Ashley filed under Divorce, Travel

More than ever before, I’m called to write. It’s clearly my way of releasing, of sorting. Sometimes life sucks you in like a vacuum and you find yourself circulating and spinning in a bowl full of dust and debris only to be emptied out into a trashcan and left to clean yourself off and find your way out. I suppose writing is the dusting off and the actual work – the therapy, the attention to self, the reclaimed awareness, and all the work that goes with stepping through the stages of grief are the climb out.

I remember when Hooper was a baby, a mere 4 months old, and we decided to take him to Maui. And it remember it being somewhat miserable. A different set of four walls. All these years later and no set of rose colored classes can alter my memory of it. Our first born, our world rocked, and with it an unforgiving state of adjusting. And re-adjusting. Because man, don’t the struggles seem to change as soon as you get the hang of it? It’s like ordinary life but in a fast forwarded version.

I digress.

I grew up going to Maui. There was the year my parents took us on a joint trip with my aunt and uncle; pictures of all 4 cousins in our Hawaiian dresses, strings of shell necklaces that hung below our belly buttons and already wilting flowers behind our ears. There was the year we went with both grandmas and I can remember one wearing a shiny silver sun visor and the other, an obnoxious gold. Paired with glasses you thought only came with cataract surgery and I can remember my super-self-conscious high-school-aged self wanting to walk 10 steps ahead. There was the summer, in our early 20s, just my sister and I went. We got a taste for the nightlife and I wore lipstick and we took pictures of ourselves dressed up.

When Willy and I started a family, it became an annual thing. We’d join my parents and we had our routine of beach in the morning, naps in the afternoon followed by pool time and a glass of wine right as the local AA group formed a circle on the grass just in front of our condo. Sometimes the irony makes me giggle. Sometimes it makes me cry.

Willy had moved out just days before we left, after much coaxing; a torturous few months of emotional turmoil that I presently label the hardest days of my life. Oh what a whirlwind the previous few months had been. Or maybe it was years.

And so this year we were one member unexpectedly short. The empty seat on the plane, tangible evidence. A routine broken by two less hands hands; one less body and a sudden inability to be in two places at once. The older boys whining about having to stay in while Sonny napped. I tried setting my lawn chair halfway between the pool and the condo; true symbolism of a mom turned stretch Armstrong… which is quite literally no-mans-land because I was unable to save a drowning kid and unable to hear a crying toddler. But there I sat, for a false sense of security and an offering of the false message that I and I alone could do it all. An attempt at shielding them from the inconvenience divorce has brought to their life. I would have been better off with a whistle and a monitor and perhaps two of those long darth vader swords like they use at the airport to direct traffic.

Stretch Armstrong, an analogy of my life these days.

This trip was filled with so much hurt and pain and release and hope and countless brain cells hard at work trying to sort it all out. A collection of pieces I didn’t know how to fit together. A puzzle I’m sure I’ll always struggle to finish. Van started sucking his thumb again, something he hadn’t done since his infamous days of “handhat” when he was a toddler. But there were also nights spent in the water as the sun went down, memories of turtles swimming up next to us. Popsicles most nights and POG juice with dinner. Sand in our beds and sun-kissed shoulders. One on one dates with mom and communal dinners. Crabs that were caught and pain – even just small amounts – that were let go.

The needed space, the needed warmth, the needed nostalgia. Time needed with my parents, my boys; my immediate village. None of it took the pain away and I took NyQuil most nights to sleep but there is something to be said to grieve in paradise, surrounded and held up by the people who brought you into this life and the little people you live for.

Cambria

by Ashley filed under Divorce, Life, Travel

I set up my new username on what used to be our shared online mortgage account, YouGotThis, before hitting the road mid-afternoon on a Friday. The last Friday in May. My ex-mother-in-law’s birthday. Do in-laws become ex’s too? I’m not sure. I find myself questioning a lot these days. As we finally make it up to LA, sitting in stalled traffic as we pass a broken down bus one car at a time, I’m questioning the decision to hit the road, too.

Van thanks me for taking them; says he’s having the best time. I’m feeling victorious and we haven’t even made it out of LA yet. Sonny requests for his window to be rolled down, the soon-to-be-summer air fills the car and the LA skyline stretches the length of the horizon. We pass the Hollywood Bowl and Hooper recalls when we went to see Paul Simon. I’m glad it wasn’t a waste, that he remembers.

I think about my time with them. My role with them. And how grateful I am. How it’s a privilege to guide them and raise them and show them and, well, be with them.

Sonny throws his toy car for the umpteenth time leaving Hooper, sandwiched between his brothers, left to fish it out under now-hardened fast food, sandy blankets, and the boneyard of discarded shoes. I can tell he’s getting frustrated; having to help out more than usual. Sonny, as relentless as ever. Somehow it morphs into Van thinking everyone hates him and he’s screaming and I’m so lost in my own thoughts and frustrations I don’t really even know why. Sonny demands that I turn the music up; he listens to “Sail” on repeat. A song I never really cared for ever but now can say I truly despise. Van’s asking a question I can’t hear and I have to turn down the music I was just demanded to turn up to play a torturously ambiguous game of “guess what I’m thinking?”.

A wave of resentment comes over me. I should have help. I shouldn’t have to do this alone.

I remind myself that I chose it to be this way. But then I question if it’s truly a choice when the alternative is as futile as banging your head against a wall in an effort to relieve a headache.

We pull off the freeway in the Valley to eat and stretch and hit the old proverbial “reset” button. I find comfort in showing the boys parts of the valley; I point to the exit that we used to live off of. Our first home; the home both Hooper and Van were brought home to for the first time. Where we lived next door to a cracked out woman who incessantly swept the leafs out of the street. She had biceps that would make you believe she spent her days lifting weights but all I ever saw her do was sweep. I recall the time her husband, who was equally unique, helped me following back surgery when I was home alone, unable to lift a gallon of milk, and had to clean up after Van who had pooped following his nap and had taken his diaper off, effectively spreading poop all over his crib and himself. He got the bath started and lifted my poop-filled kid into it.

By the time we get back on the road, traffic has totally cleared and we’re smooth sailing. Hours to go, but still, smooth sailing. We all have our moments of highs and lows and tears and screams. I start to think that I’m not really any different than them right now; my own emotions keeping the pace with their swings. It’s the same as it is everyday but it’s met with a new awareness, a new relatability. It’s not until the sun begins to set that we all seem to settle into the same rhythm. We stop to stretch on the side of the road, nothing but road stretching before us, fields on both sides, the setting sun glistening in the distance. I know we only have a little over an hour to go but the break feels so needed. I have one of those moments that make all the dreaded moments before it worth it. I text my mom, “no regrets”. Sonny chases Van with a piece of a busted tire and they laugh. They’re happy and so am I.

It’s after dark by the time we roll into a small motel just north of Cambria. The towel rack breaks immediately, the water comes out in spurts, and everyone is beyond tired but we settle in. I start to fall asleep with Sonny curled into my side and notice that Hooper and Van, in bed together, are both fast asleep before I even have the lights out.

We’ll be okay, I think. I’ll be okay.

You got this, I remind myself.

Montana | A Day Late, A Dollar Short

by Ashley filed under Travel

It’s taken me nearly a year to post these images; I suppose for more than one reason. For starters, I have this weird blockage against posting anything that I fear being buried. I love these images, these memories, so much that the thought of them being buried by subsequent posts hurts. Some memories you want to live on forever. And secondly, there’s that little issue of time. It’s more precious than ever; running a small business gets the better of me most days and it feels like everything else falls to the wayside. I’m working on it.

That all said, on the flip side, it’s nice to look back on these images from last summer; when Sonny was so much smaller, when Van was attached to that little red cowboy hat we picked up in Wyoming, and when Hooper had more teeth. A trip shared with both family and friends, homemade communal meals, fierce political debates, and evenings on the porch swatting off mosquitos while listening to Kate and Ellen sing.

The majestic land of Montana; where the clouds hang just a little fuller, the moon shines just a little brighter, and the roads go on forever. We hope to return this summer as well.

Arizona

by Ashley filed under Travel

This space feels all but forgotten but it’s not for lack of photos or stuff to share; rather, the lack of desire. I’m too much in the thick of it to get to the root of that feeling and I don’t really care to figure it out. Plain and simply not motivated to share. But, I do want to keep this space going for my boys. Have had thoughts of making it private but I don’t really care who reads or sees any of this so I’m not sure where that urge stems from. In any event, I’m hoping to play catch up here in the next week or so. I still have images from Montana that I truthfully think I’ve put off sharing for fear of burying them; they’re some of my favorites and I hate posting on top of favorites.

In any event, these images are from our time spent up in the mountains of Arizona, in a small, sleepy ghost town. A trip that was initially planned for the Christmas holiday but rescheduled due to puking. It’s been a long winter of illness… we’re all ready to welcome spring.

Childhood Unplugged

by Ashley filed under Childhood Unplugged, Travel

san clemente family photographer _ ashley jennett-1452 san clemente family photographer _ ashley jennett-1468 san clemente family photographer _ ashley jennett-1487 san clemente family photographer _ ashley jennett-1505 san clemente family photographer _ ashley jennett-1519 san clemente family photographer _ ashley jennett-1536 san clemente family photographer _ ashley jennett-1628 san clemente family photographer _ ashley jennett-1560 san clemente family photographer _ ashley jennett-1644 san clemente family photographer _ ashley jennett-1655 san clemente family photographer _ ashley jennett-1660 san clemente family photographer _ ashley jennett-1665 san clemente family photographer _ ashley jennett-1666 san clemente family photographer _ ashley jennett-1671 san clemente family photographer _ ashley jennett-1681 san clemente family photographer _ ashley jennett-1699 san clemente family photographer _ ashley jennett-1701 san clemente family photographer _ ashley jennett-1707 Playing catchup on here, more-so now than ever. Images from one of our recent trips out to Arizona. The boys, growing to fast. The sun, orange as ever.

Please join me in supporting the other photographers participating in the Childhood Unplugged movement by clicking here to see all our submissions. You can also follow us on instagram (@childhoodunplugged) and be sure to use #childhoodunplugged for a chance to be featured on our Instagram feed.

Seattle & Alaska

by Ashley filed under Travel

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I can’t remember exactly how old I was the first and only other time that I went on a cruise. All I recall is that I won a quick $100 bucks, not sure it was legal for me to be playing or if my dad let me pull the handle when no one was looking. I was into boys. In fact, I remember having to pay my parents $100 for a 10 minute phone call I ‘secretly’ made to a boy back home. A boy that later stalked me, but that’s a separate story. In any event, it was to the Caribbean and the perks of the cruise excited me; all you could eat junk, a nightclub with fancy lights, multiple pools. All the consumerism USA that, like candy cigarettes, try to suck you in at a young age and get you hooked. As I write this, I wonder what my parents really thought of it; when I think of my parents and traveling the first image that comes to mind is my my dad naked on a rock in Yosemite. But I’m sure, like most who seem to walk the line, they figured it’d afford a little something for everyone; for my sister and I, a bit of freedom that teenagers only dream of. And for them, less whiny teenagers as a result of said freedom.

Fast forward to my early twenties when I traveled a lot; planes, trains, automobiles, mopeds… everything short of a cruise, cuz, well with my twenties came two diplomas and no career. Not that it mattered anyway, to this day my chosen mode of travel is on a budget to countries that the only thing you need to save for is airfare. Janet and I spent two weeks in India, for example, and spent a total of $500. Five. Hundred. Dollars. And much of that was spent on bus fares because I distinctly remember paying $2 / night at some places.

In any event, in celebration of forty years of marriage, Willy’s parents kindly offered to take us (and Willy’s brother’s family) on an Alaskan cruise. Let’s pause the cruise talk for a moment because 40 years of marriage really deserves a moment of silence. I’ve always felt so fortunate to have such strong examples of marriage in both my own parents and in Willy’s. His parents are two of the most kind and giving and humble and -since I’m being honest – raunchy people around (gotta love straight shooters. Well, at least I do). They still hold hands and kiss goodbye.

Nothing devalues quality time with family and this particular trip wasn’t about the cruise experience so much as it was about spending time with grandparents, cousins, aunts, uncles, and each other. And for that and that alone I will walk off the ship with fond memories.

That said, if you subtract family and celebration from the equation, the cruise life is not for me. I found it hard to get past the forced fun and the amusement park-esqueness of it all. Getting off the ship, or trying to anyway, amongst lines of people and staff scanning badges only to be force-rushed into a picture with a man in an eagle costume gave me anxiety. The kids drew a lot of stink eyes early on from fellow cruisers that presumably sensed the threat to their peaceful retreat; one women remarked from a balcony below below how loud the kids were being and that was before the ship even started moving.

Leading up to the cruise I heard myself testifying to not being the ‘cruise type’, clinging to the hope that the Alaskan cruise is different than the rest, ‘no better way to see the glaciers’ being my cling-to-hope catch phrase. And then I boarded the ship and came upon staff dressed as lumberjacks enthusiastically dancing as if they were at a pride parade. I love a good pride parade, don’t get me wrong. In fact, we missed the one in Seattle by a day which bums me out. It all just feels like a weird pairing; chefs on floor 5 carving watermelons and pineapples into the shapes of owls and fish and birds, group jazzer size on floor 3, and glaciers and bear spotting out the right-side of ship.

I can recall visiting many of cities that would change from quiet, serene towns into an implosion of tourists as soon as the ships dock. And it always ruined it for me. I mean while the town was taken over, anyway. I felt bad being the intruder.

Toward the end, I think we all accepted it for what it was and relaxed to take in the real purpose — a celebration of love and togetherness. A tribute to the simple truth that any experience in life is made meaningful by those you spend building the memories with.

And the glaciers. I mean, they sure were incredible.