All Aboard

My daughters are enamored with trains.  They don’t like dolls or stuffed animals or pretty dresses, but they love trains.  Last Christmas we decided to take them on a train to the North Pole (otherwise known as Banks, Idaho).  It was an hour drive to the train station where we boarded a passenger car, cramming into tiny tables of chipped linoleum and stains from the seventies.  It was freezing and cramped and Ivy screamed every time she caught a glimpse of one of the elves.  But let’s be honest, elves are creepy. 

“I don’t mean to be the pessimist,” I said to Mike, “but how the hell are we going to survive a three hour ride on this thing?”

“I’m going on a recon mission,” Mike said. 

Mike always thinks that he can find a better spot.  I never believe him, and he is always right.  He abandoned me with our squirming offspring, and I was dismayed to realize that I’d gone through all of our emergency treats, and the train was not yet moving. 

Ivy kept dropping her pacifier and then demanding its return with her trademark fury.  I’d been a mom long enough to have given up on trying to cleanse it.

Mike returned to the train car, my knight in shining fleece, and gave me the look that said, “Follow me and look natural.”  We herded our way through the throngs and through three other train cars before entering the second to last one.  Not only was it warmer, but also less crowded.  My heart skipped a beat as I looked to the end of the train car where a woman staffed a bar, making alcoholic coffee drinks.  I gazed at Mike and whispered, “My hero.”

Once the train was moving, the kids were happy.  Once we had our drinks, we were happy.  Mr. and Mrs. Claus came through, as did carolers.  We reached the North Pole where we disembarked and were first in line for Santa.  Emilia sat on his lap and told him that she wanted a big red flashlight.  Ivy sat on his lap and tried to rip his face off.