day 41: I drove 9 hours for this

There were so many times on Monday that I silently asked myself, "Did I really drive 9 hours for this?"

Oh, my goodness.

The Federal Triangle metro stop was the closest one to get to The White House, just a quick four-block walk away. The girls were excited, so each step passed quickly and without complaint. Then a conversation with a police officer and a phone call to a Marine Corps Captain led me to the right spot of the ellipse to pick up our tix.

An hour to kill before our entrance time let us grab a quick lunch from a street vendor (nothing like stale yet warm pretzels and popsicles to satisfy a kid's stomach) and then trek to the opposite side of the ellipse to use the port-a-potties and get in line. by that time, we were a tad bit frazzled. I hadn't planned on the 85 degree heat with not a cloud in the sky, nor the blisters slowly forming on my children's feet, nor the other fiasco that was headed my way.

We stood in line for about an hour, sun beating down, sunscreen no longer doing its job, no place for my kids to take a load off their weary feet thanks to the muddy ground from the storms the night before.

WH security confiscated my anti-bacterial hand cleaner and my sunscreen, while not even bothering to check my ID. I suppose they didn't care who I was as long as they were sure that I wasn't wielding a bomb in my purse. The next checkpoint required strapping the expected yellow wristband around each of our wrists....which R was NOT loving. Hence began her fit. A fit of Reagan proportions.

It included and was not limited to: standing still and refusing to move forward in line, screaming at the top of her lungs such phrases as, "I hate it here!" and "I want to go home!" and "Mommy, I don't like you!", and crying loudly for all to hear. Even the security guards who told her that crying wasn't allowed at TWH had no affect on her. Even my eventual tears a half hour later had no affect on her. This was the whole reason for my trip. My once in a lifetime adventure for my kids. For my kids whose dad was fighting in a war. And I drove 9 hours for this?

It wasn't much later that Kennedy noticed something out of place. "Mom, I didn't know that ninjas lived on the top of the White House." Ninjas? How does she know what ninjas are? Then ensued a discussion about snipers and guns. Two of the three understood. The third (McK0 thought they were bad guys, and she tried to hide behind me so that she wouldn't get shot. Apparently I didn't explain well enough.

After two complete hours in the sun and in a line, we broached the entrance to the official WH lawn, a banner draping over us that read, "Welcome to the Easter Egg Roll". Our own personal Mecca. We had arrived. The tears and screaming and crying had stopped.

Even though I tried to not form any expectations going into it, it wasn't like I had expected. I had hoped our military crowd would be the only ones there. Nope. I had pictured one gigantic line of kids lined up to do the Easter Egg Roll. Nope. I had pictured meeting the President and the First Lady, making small talk, snapping a picture. Nope. Instead, there were hundreds if not thousands of people joining in the festivities, yet another line to wait in for a few kids at a time to roll an egg, and just a quick glimpse of the First Dog.

For the girls, though, they were satisfied.

I tried to be. They had their pictures taken with only a few of the cartoon characters that were available. They did the famous Easter Egg Roll. They had their faces painted. They did a few crafts.

And all the above mentioned took just about 2 hours to accomplish before we found each activity closing, for it was time to wait in line (again?), but this time, to leave. We were handed a complimentary package of sugary Peeps, a commemorative wooden WH Easter egg, and yelled at to exit on Constitution Ave.

Blisters on the feet were worse (the girls had used up the entire band-aid supply in my purse), sunburn was brutal (I felt like the world's best mom), and the four blocks to the Farragut West metro were trying. Finally on the metro, it lulled McK to sleep.

Which was fine, except that meant that in addition to carrying my heavy purse and three sacks of goodies from TWH and leading two children off the metro in a few seconds flat, I also had to balance a tall and lanky almost-five-year old on my hip. Our car parked a block away was a welcome sight.

Yes, I drove 9 hours for that.

Even though the circumstances surrounding the big event on Monday weren't the most favorable and although I was pushed way beyond my normal daily routine, my girls look back on this weekend with high regard. So, too, will I.