Mission to the Moon: The U.S.S. Lovely - New Project

“Okay, team,” Bitty — Brandy, 6, dark brown ponytail, fair skin, and Freckles the stuffed dog in her backpack — announced. “This is the U.S.S. Lovely. Destination: the moon. Because Mom said we need to shoot for the stars.”

Mom — Brandy, too, but the big Brandy — wiped her hands on a dish towel and leaned against the garage door. “I did say that. But I also said no launching before lunch.”

Dassah, 4, dark brown curls and a helmet made from a colander, saluted. “We eat fast, Mama! We astronauts!”

The brothers were already on it. Since they’re homeschooled, Tuesday was “Rocket Science Day.”

Nation, 15, was welding a “control panel” from an old cookie sheet. “Fuel tanks check,” he said, tapping two orange juice jugs.

Ocean, 12, was wrapping the cardboard-tube “boosters” in duct tape. “For aerodynamics. And because duct tape fixes space.”

Harbor, 10, was painting U.S.S. LOVELY on the side of Dad’s old wheelbarrow. “Needs more glitter. Moon landings are sparkly.”

Dad stuck his head in. “My little lovely ladies building a moon rocket? Sounds about right.” He looked at Mom. “You supervising this?”

Mom smiled. “I’m Mission Control. And Snack Commander. Someone has to keep the astronauts from eating all the Tang.”

Everyone turned. Grandpa Malcuit’s motorhome was parked at the back of the property, right past the fence. He’d been living there since fall — “Just for the winter,” he said, but nobody wanted him to leave. Now he was backing it up, slow and steady, until it was right alongside the garage.

He leaned out the window, white beard and all. “Heard you kids were going to space. Figured you might need a launch pad. And a co-pilot.”

Bitty’s eyes went wide. “Grandpa! Can motorhomes fly?”

Grandpa winked. “This one can pretend real good. In my day, we went to the moon with tinfoil and a dream. Get in. I’ll run the thrusters.”

So the U.S.S. Lovely launched from the motorhome.

Countdown in the Backyard

The “cockpit” was the motorhome’s cab. Grandpa in the driver’s seat, Bitty and Freckles co-pilot, Dassah on Mom’s lap as Chief of Buttons. Nation, Ocean, and Harbor crammed into the dinette as Engineering. Rowdy was strapped in with a seatbelt Dad rigged. He did not look impressed.

Dad stood outside in the snow, radio in hand — a real walkie-talkie from his hunting gear. “U.S.S. Lovely, this is Ground Control. You are clear for takeoff. My little lovelies, you be safe up there.”

Mom kissed Dassah’s curls. “Ready, my lovely ladies?”

“Ready!” Bitty and Dassah shouted.

Grandpa turned the key. The engine rumbled. He hit the windshield wipers. “Thrusters… engaged. T-minus three… two… one…”

Everyone shouted: “BLAST OFF!”

Grandpa made rocket noises with his mouth. Ocean shook a can of pennies for “space turbulence.” Nation tipped the motorhome light with his foot so it flickered. Harbor threw glitter out the window.

The U.S.S. Lovely was officially in “space.”

Drifting Through Space

For an hour, they “orbited.” They ate freeze-dried ice cream Mom packed. They looked “out the window” — Grandpa’s TV playing a DVD of Earth from space. They did “moonwalks” down the motorhome hallway, which was very bouncy.

Dassah fell asleep on Mom’s shoulder, still clutching her colander. Nation and Harbor started a card game. Ocean took notes for “science.”

Bitty sat up front with Grandpa, Freckles in her lap. She was quiet, which was rare. She stared out at the “stars” — Christmas lights Grandpa had strung up outside the window.

Grandpa glanced over. “You okay, Captain Bitty?”

Bitty hugged Freckles tight. “Grandpa… do you think things get lost in space forever?”

Grandpa didn’t answer right away. He turned the engine off so it was quiet. “Some things do, sweetheart. Some things we can’t hold onto, no matter how tight we try.”

Bitty’s voice got small. “Like baby Judah.”

Baby Judah was her doll from when she was little. Blonde hair, blue eyes, smelled like baby powder. Bitty took her everywhere. Then one day, after a trip to Anchorage, she was just… gone. They’d looked. Dad called the store. Mom posted online. Nothing. Bitty hadn’t talked about her for over a year.

Mom came up front and put her hand on Bitty’s back. She didn’t say anything. Just there.

Bitty closed her eyes. And dreamed.

The Moon Dream

In the dream, the U.S.S. Lovely landed. The moon was white and soft, like the backyard after fresh snow. Bitty stepped out alone, Freckles in her arms.

And there, sitting on a moon rock, was baby Judah. Not dirty. Not broken. Just waiting, like she knew Bitty would come for her.

Bitty ran to her. She picked her up. Juday still smelled like baby powder. Bitty hugged her so hard.

But when she tried to carry her back to the ship, she got heavier. And heavier. Until she couldn’t lift baby Juday at all.

She sat down on the moon and cried. Not the mad cry. The sad, tired cry.

A voice said, “It’s okay, my little lovely.”

She looked up. It wasn’t Mom. It wasn’t Dad. It was just… a warm feeling... Like maybe Jesus was talking to her... Like sunshine through a window.

“You loved her good,” the voice said. “That doesn’t stop just because you can’t hold her.”

Bitty nodded. She kissed baby Judah’s forehead. “I hope someone else is hugging you. Like I did.”

Bitty set her down gentle on the moon rock. She didn’t disappear. She just smiled. And the moon felt less empty.

Bitty woke up.

Re-Entry

She was in Grandpa’s motorhome, head on Mom’s lap. Mom was stroking her dark brown hair. Grandpa was humming. Dassah was awake now, “flying” Freckles around.

Bitty sat up. Her fair cheeks were wet, but she was smiling.

“Mom?” she whispered. “I think baby Judah is on the moon. And I think she’s okay.”

Mom — the other Brandy — pulled her close. Her eyes were shiny. “I think so too, baby. I think so too.”

Grandpa cleared his throat. “You know, Bitty, I lost a pocket knife when I was your age. My dad’s. I tore up the whole county looking. Never found it.” He tapped his chest. “But I still remember how it felt in my hand. Some things we carry different.”

Nation reached over and squeezed Bitty’s shoulder. Ocean handed her a napkin for her nose. Harbor gave her the glittery “moon rock” he’d painted.

Dassah climbed into Bitty’s lap and hugged her, hard. “I keep you warm, Bitty. Lovey Law #1.”

Bitty laughed, wet and real. “You sure do, Royal Dassah.”

Dad’s voice came over the walkie-talkie. “U.S.S. Lovely, Ground Control here. How’s my crew?”

Bitty took the radio. “Ground Control, this is Captain Bitty. Mission accomplished. All my little lovelies are safe. And… and I’m okay.”

“Good,” Dad’s voice said, thick. “Real good. Bring my lovely ladies home.”

Grandpa “landed” the motorhome by turning the key again. The whole crew piled out into the Wasilla snow, into Dad’s arms.

That night, Bitty put Freckles on her pillow. She didn’t ask Mom to check under the bed for baby Judah. She just whispered, “Goodnight, moon. Goodnight, Judah.” and went to sleep.

And in the backyard, Grandpa’s motorhome glowed soft, like a star that decided to stay.