On the Train to Boston

Wednesday morning found us hugging Cam tightly while I lugged our suitcases aboard the train that would take us into Boston. In my hand, I clutched detail instructions to prevent this country mouse from getting lost during the transfer from the train to the Silver Line bus which would deposit us at the airport from which we could walk to our hotel.

We got on the train and found our seats on the top deck. The kids were excited for this unexpected portion of our adventure.

Our original plans had included Cam taking a few days off work to squire us around Boston, but she was unexpectedly unable to do so. A bit of scrambling later and Steve had booked the kids and I a room at the Hilton in Boston.

I wasn't going to argue.

I was, however, a little nervous. To this point, I'd been in comfortable territory. LAX, the airplane, and Logan were familiar. From the airport on, Cam had taken care of us, driving us to Newport, taking me to the store, and loaning us her car with a highlighted map for our solo day. From the moment she put us on the train, the kids and I were on our own.

Sometimes, quite often actually, I don't feel like a grown up. Odd considering I'm nearly 38, have two children, a job, an ex husband, a retirement plan, and two decades of living on my own under my belt. Still, when we got on the train and it pulled away from Cam, I had the sudden, panicky thought, "Carp! We don't have an adult with us!"

The train ride was smoother and easier than I'd expected. The kids entertained themselves staring at the window and watching the people getting on and off. We made up stories about the teenage girls obviously heading for a day in the City. We imagined how cool it must be to be the little kids getting on with their mommies and heading into Boston for the day. We live so far from a true City that there's no way we could hop a train for $9 and visit.

We got off at South Station, the building busy and filled with people rushing about. I kept the kids in my line of sight while wishing we'd through to bring a leash to link us all together. There's something unnerving about not being able to hold hands while weaving our way through a crowd.

We found our bus without much fuss thanks to the maps. The kids asked for a drink, for donuts, for a taste of the delicious smells wafting through the station. Afraid we'd miss our bus and worried I wouldn't be able to juggle drinks, snacks, two suitcases, two kids, a large tote bag, and our tickets, I put the kibosh on their hunger pangs, reminding them they'd had breakfast less than two hours earlier and had eaten a snack on the train.

We hopped on the Silver Line, a bus with a divide in the middle to allow it to take the twists and turns of the route. My gingers jumped onto their seats on that divide while I piled our suitcases next to them and took the seat catty corner. I eyed the young couple seated across from them, bodies covered in tattoos and torn denim, and tried to relay via ESP that they should switch spots with me. Their eyes and hands never left each other. Their universe consisted of only the two of them.

I watched the kids with hawk eyes, worried about my daughter riding in a motorized vehicle without a carseat and concerned the bumps in the road would jettison them off their seats. The twists of the bus delighted them. The bumps made them giggle. They were, in a word, having a fabulous time.

We exited at Logan and walked to the information desk to find out how we'd be able to get to the hotel. A ten minute walk which included escalators - oh the escalators! - and elevators dumped us into the hotel lobby, a little disoriented and a lot excited. We were interlopers in the hushed and plush lobby of the Hilton. Business women clicked by in heels while men in suits held quiet conversations on cell phones. An elderly couple sat in a pair of high-backed winged chairs sipping coffee and reading a paper.

All while Elizabeth loudly proclaimed she needed to go potty. Right now. And no. She couldn't wait until we'd checked in because she might pee her pants. This announcement was accompanied by the potty dance. We lugged all of our baggage into the bathroom where she took care of business.

We walked out and met the Bell Captain. A cheery older gentleman, he instantly took control of our baggage, gave us a map of downtown Boston, the subway lines, and wrote the phone number to his desk in the margins. "If you get lost, call that number," he said with a wink. "We'll find you."

There was no line at the front desk, so we walked up to see if we could check in early or, at least, let them know we were there. As luck would have it, there was a room available for us immediately. They brought our luggage up to the seventh floor where we opened the door to this view.

The beds were piled with soft pillows and crisp duvets over down comforters. In front of the window a chaise with a tray waited for me to open a bottle of wine and snug in with a book.

"Is this our house? Can we live here forever?" Joseph's voice reflected my own urge to make this place home.

"For a couple days it'll be ours," I told them. We ate a snack and then, with shoes and hats on, went back down the elevator and crossed the elevator.

"Do you need waters?" the woman at the front desk asked, passing cold bottles over the wooden expanse. We thanked her, added the bottles to our bag, and walked into a sunny day, onto a shuttle, and then into the subway station.

Our first day in Boston was about to begin and we couldn't be more excited.