Thoughts on a School Shooting

Luck. What else can you call it? What else could it be but luck that day that I survived the LCO school shooting yet twenty children did not survive the Sandy Hook shooting? I, who have lived years beyond their own young lives. Lives that are now shortened with futures unfulfilled. It must be luck.

It’s what I think now as I get messages from people telling me that they are thinking about me. It’s difficult not to imagine how things could have turned out so very differently three and half years ago when you see the worse case scenario splashed across every news station. I can’t help but think that I survived for some reason. A reason that I may run out of time to fulfill. As if it will be taken away if I don’t use it the right way. Survivor’s guilt, I suppose. But how else do you explain the lives of twenty beautiful, innocent children being taken, but not my own.

Ashamed. As I watched my social media feed fill up Friday with debates on everything from gun control to God in our schools, this is what I felt as the shooting played out on television. On the very same day of a terrible tragedy, political rants began. A day when the only thought that should have occurred was mourning for the loss of the innocent lives to the evilness that lived in the heart of one individual. Instead of an outpouring of support for the victims, my social media “friends” argued over whether or not if teachers were armed, would the deaths have been prevented.

No one backing down from his or her point of view, of course. No listening to each other. Just the refusal to give up or give in.

Truth. When bad things happen, we search for reasons why. Our hearts and minds need a reason as comfort. Each person finds their reason based on what they perceive to be wrong in the world. I tell myself that everything happens for a reason, but even I have difficulty finding reason in the death of all those innocent children.

When tragedies such as this occur, we look to blame someone or something. But the issues around incidents like this are polarizing. Everyone refusing to budge. Gun activists cite the second amendment and those for gun control cite incidents like these to support stricter control. Both having valid arguments, but arguments that are also flawed. The constitution hasn’t always been right. If it was, only white men would still be able to vote. The writers of our constitution could not fathom guns being used to commit mass murder of innocent children. But then again, if gun laws are stricter does that mean they aren’t available? Of course not. Drugs are illegal, but people still use them. Making something illegal doesn’t make it go away. It makes it more valuable.

And then there is the God argument. The argument being that God is not in our public schools. But isn’t He? My students say the pledge each morning: “One nation under God.” They have the opportunity to pray at weekly BASIC meetings. They carry their faith with them wherever they go in our school. It doesn’t leave them as they enter our halls to be picked up when they exit the building. It is part of who they are. Do we teach religion? No. But isn’t it also our constitutional right to have freedom of religion? The freedom to practice whatever religion we please and not be forced to learn about whatever the dominant religion is? It doesn’t mean that the students’ beliefs aren’t acknowledged or present when they are in the halls and classrooms of our school.

I’ve seen many of my social media “friends” contradict themselves by claiming it’s their constitutional right to have firearms, and then claim that what we need in schools is God. These are both constitutional rights. Who gets to decide which one of our constitutional rights is more important?

Guilt. This is what we should feel. Because of our polarity, our unwilling to cross the divide of our own opinions, nothing changes and more incidents continue to happen.

What changed after the LCO school shooting? Only the locks of all our classroom doors. They automatically lock now. But teachers and students become frustrated waiting for them to be opened, so they leave cracks in them. Cracks where bad things can get in.

Because time passes and people forget why that little detail of an open door matters.

It’s easy for some, I imagine. For our mental health, we wrap ourselves in a bubble and convince ourselves that tragedy only occurs elsewhere. Until incidents like Sandy Hook happen and we are confronted by the reality that violence can happen to anyone. But then the same media we blame for publicizing it stops covering the tragedy, and we let it go. It becomes a reference and a statistic. Something too difficult to believe possible again.

Hope. Personally, I don’t blame the gun that fired at me or a school that doesn’t teach religion or the fact that my door didn’t lock. I don’t blame the media or video games or bullying.

It comes down to a person who made a choice. In each of us there is good and evil. We are all capable of so much more than we believe possible, in good ways and in ways that are terrible.

There is wrong in the world and none of the blame we throw around faces the fact that the terribleness does exist inside of people. And the solution to that does not fall under our constitution or in our social media debates or any of the other places that we seek to blame and divide ourselves. It falls under our ability to love and reach out to one another. Hostility and hate and denial will not deliver the changes our schools or even the world need.

But I hope that what is clear to us is that the tragedies will not go away unless we do things differently. There is a of favorite quote of mine that says that if you always do what you’ve always done, than you will always get what you have always gotten.

We can’t afford to keep doing the same things. What’s at stake, the lives of our children, is too high.

Write What You Know

Write what you know. A piece of advice many writers have heard at one time or another. Interestingly enough, it is this piece of advice that got me into trouble during my early writing experiences.

My first stories involved white pieces of paper that I folded in half, used a ruler to draw lines, and then hand wrote stories that I numbered and labeled Forever Friends. I was nine years old, and I wrote myself as the main character that solved whatever childish mystery my nine-year-old imagination could dream up. But by ten, I wanted to accomplish something more than a short story. So I set out to write my first book. What does a ten-year-old write about though? What they know, of course, mixed in with as much creativity one can muster in terms of a mystery. (Obviously, I’ve been stuck on the genre for awhile.)

The street I lived down became the setting of this book, and then I peppered it with characters based on the people I knew. Of course, I took creative leeway with these characters. The neighbor who I didn’t like became the bad guy. The one that I did like became the good guy. I exaggerated the characteristics that annoyed me. It was the early lessons of developing characterization for future stories.

I was extremely proud of all 128 pages (though now I would never let it outside of that container it is packed away in). In my sense of accomplishment, I allowed everyone to read it. Everyone I knew that is, which equaled my neighbors.

Hence, the tiny bit of trouble that ensued after the story’s unveiling. Apparently, many of my “characters” didn’t like how they were portrayed. My father asked me if I thought he was as mean as the father character in the book. Several childhood friends were angry, and we stopped speaking for awhile as girls of that age are bound to do in all the dramatics of that age.

Needless to say, when I wrote my next book at fourteen, I’d learned how to cleverly disguise the people who inspired my characters by mixing traits of different people into one character.

In a way, I still write about what I know. But it’s more about what I intentionally know. I seek out interesting places and experiences so that I can write about the life of South Louisiana authentically instead of play into the stereotypes. The fictional town of Barbeaux Bayou is a conglomeration of the places of the bayou where I’ve lived. As well as a cast of characters that are based on the people I’ve met throughout my years here. No one character is a real person. Thankfully, the people in my life have come to understand that. Otherwise, they might get offended when they get killed off as part of the impending mystery.

I will confess that the character that comes closest in real life to a true person would be Paw. But even then, I took the best parts of my papa and gave him a strong male presence in the story. If my Paw were still alive, I’d probably still trail behind him in the garden, but I don’t think he’d mind his appearance in the book. He’d probably laugh and ask me to pop him some popcorn, so he could sit and listen to me tell him about it.

What does Funny mean?

Laughter is said to be good medicine. It releases endorphins in the brain and leaves behind warm feelings of happiness and a general feel good attitude about life. Our general need to be happy is why comedy is so popular. We all want to be happy, right?

Of course we do, but what we find funny varies. I’m well aware of my sense of humor teaching teenagers (or some would say lack of sense of humor). I do not find certain kinds of humor amusing. Among the many things so not funny, would be whatever word that I happen to say that reminds students of something sexual. Or even less funny would be whatever clever comeback they have managed on the spot that is really only hilarious to a group of teenagers. My lack of finding things funny means that when I was invited to an amateur comedy night recently, I was leery. Raunchy humor doesn’t appeal… typically.

I can’t say all the time. One of the few comedies I like is “2 Broke Girls.” I must admit the humor is quite raunchy, though incredibly funny. With lines like, “We were upstairs playing hide the penis,” the show isn’t attempting to appeal to a high-class brand of viewers.

But it is good for a few thoughtless laughs. The only other comedy that appeals to me enough to tune into regularly is “The Big Bang Theory.” Obviously, a different kind of humor than the raunchiness of “2 Broke Girls.” It’s my go to comedy though when I need to lighten the mood. It’s worth a few laughs while still appealing to my appreciation of intelligence and wittiness.

So when I found myself listening to amateur comedians on a college campus, needless to say this did not appeal to my sense of humor. More than that, I cringed at the jokes about sex and drugs. Failed attempts at comedy are painful for me because my sympathy kicks in for the person attempting to be funny. Instead of laughing, I think, “Poor thing. You are failing miserably, and if your jokes are to be believed, it’s not just comedy, but life.” Probably not the reaction that they are looking for.

I also don’t do self-deprecation well. I know some people go in for that brand of humor, but I find it annoying because I spend all day preaching to teenagers and my own children to not insult themselves. I mean I want them to have confidence in themselves and be more positive. So listening to someone on stage isn’t a big hit when I can’t retaliate with a pep talk as to how they are better than that. And even more so if the comedian goes through the audience and insults the audience as per what happened at the amateur comedy hour.

The humor I do understand however is sarcasm. It is witty and quick thinking, and of course, it is also said to denote a lack of self-confidence. So why is comedy so popular then? If all of it denotes problems with self-esteem, self-confidence, and a general sense of well-being? Perhaps, we are all lacking one of those. Who knows? But “The Big Bang Theory” is on, so I’ll go enjoy my lack of intelligence being pointed out to me.

So what type of humor appeals to you?

Magical Performances

There’s something breathtaking about seeing art performed live. Maybe it’s the knowledge that the performers have one shot to get it right, and there’s no room for errors that will spoil the illusion for the audience. Or maybe it’s knowing that if you look away, you will miss something, and there’s no play back or rewind or pause.

I’m not selective of the medium either. I enjoy live music, live theatre, and even oral storytellers. Good performances are mesmerizing and leave behind a deep satisfaction of a job well done.

While in New York City in 2010, I watched Wicked at the Gershwin theatre and fell in love with musicals. The talent, the scenes, and the storyline had all been magical and breathtaking. I was hooked.

So this year I’m the proud owner of season tickets to the traveling Broadway shows that visit New Orleans.

Recently, the first of many shows found me in attendance. Les Miserables is a musical based on Victor Hugo’s novel that follows Jean Valjean’s journey to redemption. It contains themes of love and death and war and sacrifice. All the makings of a dramatic story. I can’t say that I’ve watched the novel that the musical is based on. It is the longest novel ever written, and I’ve never attempted the read, but I can say that the musical makes a wonderful story.

I’d watched the video of a recorded stage performance before watching the live performance, but it doesn’t compare to being in the theater, waiting for it to unfold before you. The singers can’t blow you away with their voices on a video as they can on stage.

I know many don’t believe live theater or anything live really can compare to the technology at the fingertips of moviemakers or even video game creators. And though I love a good action movie with special effects, there is still something special about going to a theater for a performance. No one gets dressed up to go to the movies anymore, and at Saturday night’s performance there were ties, dresses, heels, and suits. All adding to the magical quality of the experience.

And even though Les Miserables the movie will probably find me in attendance Christmas Day when it debuts, there’s something about knowing that the singing is all natural instead of technology enhanced that makes the experience magical.

It truly was a great performance that served to get me excited about all the shows to come. I’m ready for the next one and can’t wait to see my daughter’s face as she watches Mary Poppins on stage.

Cajun Roller Derby

Roller skates and roughness are all I knew about roller derby. It’s not one of the sports that people discuss endlessly. Sports don’t normally catch my attention anyway. (Sorry sports fans, but my children knew how to spell the names of stores at two, not how to keep score in sports.)

Our local roller derby team is called the Cajun Roller girls, and Saturday night they hosted a home match at the Civic center, so I decided to see exactly how much roughness can one manage while on wheels.

Thankfully, the match begins with an explanation/demonstration of the rules because otherwise I would have spent most of the two hours trying to figure out what I was watching. In a cute effort to help the attendees understand the numerous rules, the roller derby girls come out and demonstrate as the announcer goes over each of them. I found the demonstration of what not to do in terms of unnecessary roughness very entertaining.

Basically, a roller derby match has two thirty minute periods, with a half time show featuring live musical entertainment. Each period consists of many two minutes jams. Five skaters for each team are on the course for each jam, four are blockers and one is the jammer. The jammer earns points for the team by lapping the blockers, and the blockers try to prevent the other team’s jammer form earning points. Sound simple right?

Just like in any other sport, there are penalties and time outs and plenty other things I’m sure my un-sports minded self did not understand. To give myself some credit though, the more I sat and watched, the more I understood what was going on. I even caught myself explaining things to the person next to me.

I could see myself participating… if I didn’t have to worry about falling on my butt; I mean, the ground is far from my height. And though the rules forbid elbows and outright violence, those shoves look pretty hard. Not to mention the falls when they are pushed straight out of the course. Who am I kidding? I may have tried this when I was a teenager, but I’m content to watch from stadium seating at this point in my life.

I did enjoy watching it though, and I was only sad that not many people were in the audience. It could use more support from the community, so I’d definitely recommend checking it out. The local team is good, ranked eleventh right now. They dominated the match that ended with a final score of 192 to 63. I’ll definitely put this on my list of experiences to do again.

My Obsession

I have an obsession. Not the kind that leaves too many shoes in the closet or even of the obsessive restraining order variety kind.

I have an obsession with knowing the future. Those who know me well would say it’s because I don’t like not knowing things, not being able to control the outcome.

My obsession led Mindy and I to have a very interesting girl’s night recently. Sitting around my dining room table, we began the night with me reading her tarot cards. I’m not an expert by any means. I collect tarot card decks because I like the pictures on them, but I only read from the one deck and it’s the one I’ve had since high school. Whether any of her reading comes true, remains to be seen. Since I’m not psychic, I don’t think she should bet on it.

We then moved on to playing a Chinese fortune telling game. We each did the card reading. The part that caused excessive laughing was when my cards told me that my happiness would come from shopping, and that I’d marry a wealthy person who’d want to buy me jewelry. Wonderful. And where would he be right now? I’m waiting.

All of this was great fun, but the culminating event was a few rounds with the Ouiji board. I hadn’t played with a Ouiji board since I was a teenager, but it had belonged to a friend so I wouldn’t give it much thought when we were done.

I’d ordered a beautiful Ouiji board with intricate carvings, and Mindy was the only brave soul who’d jumped at the chance to participate. I decided we had to do it right, so I lit candles and set them all around the board before turning out the lights.

At first, I was a little nervous. I asked if anyone was there and it answered yes. I asked if we knew who it was and it answered yes again. At that point, chills ran through me and I didn’t want to ask who it was because I didn’t want to know—yet.

At first, we were stuck. We hadn’t thought about what we’d ask beforehand. So the first round was a warm-up. It answered a few of our hastily thought of questions before telling us “Bye.”

We put some thought into what we should have asked and then tried again. The next time, it only knew Mindy and answered her questions. We are still puzzling and guessing over some of the cryptic messages we received. I don’t remember the ouiji board of my youth speaking in code.

The third time it didn’t want to answer any questions, but the fourth time, it only knew me. By this time, we’d built up courage to ask who it was. As it spelled out initials though, chills went through me and had every hair on end. I haven’t figured out whose initials it gave me, though it also said it was a girl and a relative. It then went on to give information about what I can expect in my future.
And of course my first thought was I’d like to check it out with the psychic.

The definition of obsession. Yes, hello, my name is Jessica Tastet and I’m obsessed with knowing the future.

We blew out the candles after that and called it a night. But, well the ouiji board stayed at my house. And I was home alone. And we’d called a spirit. And what was that creak exactly? Was that a noise I heard?

So I thought I’d listen to music until I fell asleep to help. I put eight songs to play, but my IPOD decided that when it got to the end it would go back to the beginning of another playlist. I don’t know why because it had never done that before.

Do you see where this is going?

Still weighing my obsession with the drawbacks of not being able to sleep.

But if it all checks out with the psychic, my future is looking up.

Stories from Spain: Up in the Air

Even with all the great sites and activities that Barcelona offers, the one experience I wanted to have while I was there was a ride in a hot air balloon. I’d checked out all the online sites before my trip, but I’d figured it would be easy to book the balloon experience when we were actually in the city.

I was wrong. First of all, it’s not called hot air ballooning in Spain. After three different travel agents puzzled over my request, the last which had me write it down for translation, I was finally told that I was asking for the wrong thing around town. And after all that trapezing around Barcelona looking for a travel agent to help me, I ended up having to book it online anyway.

Using fans to inflate the balloon on the ground.

After an hour drive out of Barcelona on the last day of our Spanish trip, the hot air balloon wish was going to happen. I watched as the two balloons were slowly inflated using fans. I have to admit that nerves had fully taken over by this point, and I was second guessing my choice of dream activities. I was afraid of heights. I was terrified of falling from great heights. Why had I thought this was a good idea?

Then it was time to get into the basket. I had definetly not thought it out because I'd worn a dress. At this point in our trip, I had exactly two outfits cleaned, and neither of them would have allowed a graceful entrance into the basket which for some reason I had in my head would have a door. I did manage to climb gracefully into the basket though and hop right in, though the whole time I kept hoping that no one would see me fall over into it, in a very unladylike manner. It was during our drill on what to do if we have a rough landing that did it though. Had I lost my mind thinking I was going to go up in a hot air balloon?

Once in the air though, I did relax some. I can’t say that the nervous feeling went away, but it did lessen. There is something about being in the air with no control over when you come down as well as the uneasy feeling that you will tip over the side of the basket that doesn’t make relaxation possible.

Landing wasn’t easy either. Once in the air, the wind determines your destination. It took over twenty minutes just for the wind to steer us to an area we could safely land. It actually took less time to deflate the balloon and pack it all in than it did to land.


Once back at the launch site, our guides poured champagne and toasted sandwiches on the hot air balloon’s burners. It tasted almost as good as my appreciation for being back on the ground.
Wonderful experience… but one I don’t feel the need to repeat. Although my fear of heights feels nearly gone. The fear of falling on the other hand could use some help.

The balloon being folded back up after our flight.

The view of the other balloon from the air. The views were amazing.

Our balloon operator toasting our sandwiches.

Stories from Spain: Bullfighting and Madrid

The Royal Palace

Spain is an old country. Everywhere one looks history stares back at you. Its buildings are ornate and old—and always beautiful.  Just in Madrid one can visit the Royal Palace built after a fire for the second time in the 1700s, or even an Egyptian temple dating from 200 A.D. Businesses still close every day for Siesta and the Spanish tradition of the bull fight is still performed nightly—in most places that haven’t turned their bull arenas into shopping malls.




In Madrid, we stayed at Hotel Opera which was across the street from the Opera house. When asking for directions to the hotel, we learned quickly that it is pronounced like Oprah, and not the way we normally pronounce it in America. We were able to walk everywhere. The palace was only a block away as well as all the sights we journeyed to during our four days there.




The Bull areana

And there were many sights. From parks to shops to museums, we attempted to take it all in. Of course, bullfighting is one of the main attractions in Madrid, as well as other places in Spain.
I will confess to having read nothing on an actual bullfight before I attended a fight at The Plaza de Toros de Las Ventas. I figured I’d learn everything I needed to know during the actual fight. In fact, I believed I was attending one bullfight until I was informed differently right before the fight began.

The matadors sent in early in the fight had pink/yellow capes.

The opening ceremony is a majestic and formal beginning to the elaborate farce – show-- that follows. I found the whole fight to be completely unfair, and I felt sorry for the bull the entire time. I never considered myself to be an animal rights activist, but during the show I could see why there had been a few protestors outside protesting the show, as well as why Barcelona had did away with their arena and turned it into a shopping mall.


The main Matador held the red cape.

I’d always assumed that a bullfight was one man against a bull. It turns out that many matadors exhaust and injure the bull before the main matador faces the bull. And then I had to watch this multiple times. We managed to last through four of them before we had to excuse ourselves from the remaining two. We did watch one matador get injured though and carried out of the arena by the others. Until this, I was cheering for the bulls, but after this, I was conflicted. I don’t like seeing people or animals injured. So I consider this an experience that I don’t need to repeat.


How every bull fight ends-- the bull is dragged out of the areana

While in Madrid, we also went to the bull bar. This bar has its walls covered in bullfight pictures as well as the heads of bulls. It was a wonderful place to take in the history of bullfighting with very nice bartenders as well. This experience, though some of the pictures were distressing to look at, was not a terrible experience and one I’d recommend checking out. In particular there is one gruesome picture involving a horn going straight through the jaw of a matador. It’s one of those things that you don’t want to look at, but you can’t seem to look away.

We also visited the oldest restaurant in the world in Madrid—Botin. This restaurant is known for its roast suckling pig which comes to you with its little face still attached. I refused to look at this while we ate so no one ordered it, but the food was great nonetheless.

I don’t know if it’s because it is the first place we arrived or it is the coziness of the city, but I have a particular fondness for Madrid. Beyond the bullfighting, it was a beautiful experience.



The Bull Bar

Stories from Spain: Airline Mishaps

Traveling anywhere far requires airline travel, especially if one is going to Europe and doesn’t own some private yacht that can get you there. So of course, the airport is where my recent journey to Spain began. If my airline travel would have been uneventful, I would have far less stories to tell, and what would be the fun in that? At least that’s what I tell myself now, but at the time I longed for a few less stories.

The journey to Madrid began in New Orleans. The woman who checked our baggage in kept mumbling about our luggage being five minutes late. She eventually called a supervisor over who approved it going through. This would come back on us when later reached Madrid and our luggage did not. More on that later though.

In Miami, we had a connecting flight to Madrid. When we boarded the plane, someone was sitting in our seat. It turned out the airline had given us both the same seat, and they had made it to the seat first. After standing in the aisle a long time waiting for the attendants to fix the problem, and having all the other passengers sitting in seats that only they were assigned to staring at us, we were assigned new seats in what luckily for us were two of the few empty seats in the back.

It wasn’t until we reached Spain that we realized that our luggage would not be joining us just yet. Discovering this in Spain presented a communication barrier being they spoke Spanish and we did not. At one point, the lady at the desk was trying to dismiss us in what I recognized as the tone you use with someone you think is being utterly stupid, but I had managed to stick my finger in my eye and was crying. Not intentionally, of course. But I did notice her tone changed when she thought I was crying. Not that it got us any answers or any more help in locating our luggage which didn’t arrive until the end of the second night.

Our airline stories did not end there though because, of course, we did have to trek back home eventually.

Nearly three weeks after arriving, our flight home from Barcelona was delayed six hours. First, the attendants came on and said thirty minutes, then it was two and half hours, then three and half hours. All to fix a mechanical malfunction. After four hours, we had finally boarded the plane and were idling and waiting for take-off only for the captain to come on and tell us they had fixed the wrong part and would be fixing the part while we waited on the plane.
Finally, six hours after we were supposed to leave, the captain came on in a tone of voice usually reserved for bad news (Seriously, he should work on that.) to announce we’d be leaving.

We were told we had to fly to New York for a fuel refill and crew change, but we would only remain for thirty minutes and then leave for our connector flights in Miami. Only when we reached New York, we were told we must exit the plane and go through customs. American Airlines did have everything ready for us waiting as we exited the plane though. Some passengers were able to get immediate connecting flights, but we had to stay in New York overnight and return to the airport early the next morning to fly directly into New Orleans.

Thankfully, that last part was uneventful and our luggage managed to arrive with us. I wouldn’t say airplane travel is my favorite mode of transportation, but it certainly offers experiences unlike any other. It after all, brought me to wonderful experiences in Spain, and many more stories that I will share over the next few weeks.

Summer Vacations

Summer vacations are a staple in my family. Since my children have been old enough to walk, we have packed them and what seemed like everything they owned into the car and driven to some theme park. When a family is broken though, family traditions tend to get broken too.

So this summer I decided to reinstitute the tradition of spending our vacation waiting in line in the heat. Of course, this also meant tackling another milestone, and taking my first solo parent vacation.
We headed out to Florida with a well-planned vacation to accomplish. I had booked hotels and bought tickets online all in an effort to relieve the anxiety of doing it on my own. I did not map out my trip though because I had my trusty GPS.

I placed too much trust in that GPS, though. To give it credit, we always managed to end up where we were going. We also did plenty of sight-seeing of the area on the way, and not intentionally. There was an incident where it told us to go right, showed me to go left, and in choosing between the two, I chose the wrong way. Just another sight-seeing adventure.

Disney and Universal were fantastic though. We have visited both of these before, so instead of trying to see or ride everything the parks offer, the kids chose what they wanted to do, and we only did those things. They found their favorite rides and rode them again and again. It was our first stress-free theme park trip.

We spent most of one day in Harry Potter World. We wandered up and down the street, exploring the different stores, even eating at The Three Broomsticks. Last time we’d gone two years ago, Cara hadn’t been tall enough to ride on the Forbidden Journey ride inside the castle. She was excited to get to do it this time. Waiting in line, she began to get nervous and asked a million questions about what the ride would be like. The ride ended up being a bit much for her to handle. She couldn’t walk straight after getting off of it and ended up falling on the stairs you had to climb down to get off of it. They both returned to ride it again in the afternoon. What can I say? I’ve converted both my children into Harry Potter fans. They each came home with another wizard wand from Olivander’s wand shop and memories from the park.

I also did something I’ve never done before. I lost our park tickets… the first day. Those tickets I’d carefully had Fed Ex deliver to me fell out of my purse at some point during the day. No matter how frantically I searched the next morning, the tickets could not be found. Not to worry though. I kicked into problem solving mode and took care of it.

So first vacation as a single parent equals success. I even convinced Andrew to get on an airplane for a future trip. That people is a life-changing event since the boy never changes his mind. I better book the flight before he changes back.