Karma is stalking me in the form of a purple dress that my daughter wears most days of her life. I believe this is because, as a child, allegedly, I was quite particular about the clothes I would wear. This once prompted my sweet grandmother to declare to my mother, “I would never let a two-year-old tell me what she was and was not going to wear.”
I felt this same way until presented with the seriously strong opinions of my own little girl who will perseverate ALL DAY LONG if she is made to wear something that she doesn’t agree with. She once held a cardigan shut with her hands (for hours!) to cover up an adorable white shirt that she said was “too straight.”
Here are just some of the other reasons why my three-year-old is changing her clothes:
1. There’s a bone on it. (a bow)
2. Her friend borrowed this sweatshirt once and now it’s too hot.
3. These pants aren’t jumping high enough.
4. When she swallows, this coat tickles her neck.
5. She forgot that she can’t do jeans on her legs.
Before becoming a mom, I had never asked the question, “Is it okay for this child to use my sock as toilet paper?” Or, after my two-year-old sprinkled her great grandparents ashes in her hair, I asked, “How much soap does it take to get human remains out of someone’s hair?” The answer: A lot. But I have asked these questions, now, and I can never go back.
Here are 25 other questions that I never knew I would be asking once I became a mother:
1. Is that chocolate… or poop?
2. Oh crap, will anyone notice that I’m wearing two different shoes?
3. Can a baby actually suck your life force out through your boobs?
4. Ketchup totally counts as a vegetable, right?
5. How is it that I have a college education and I can not solve this second grade math problem?
6. Wrestling this person into her clothes counts as cardio, right?
I love my husband. I do. He is a wonderful person and a great dad and a dashing dresser.
But the man really loves to run up hills. And occasionally, I get thrown into these running-up-hills situations and I complain a lot. My love of complaining about running up hills does not mix well with his love of running up hills.
A couple of weeks ago, we had the chance to go to Burlington, Vermont together. Without our children. As overjoyed as I was with the prospect of spending 5 days sleeping in and doing whatever the hell we wanted all-day every-day, I also suspected that there might be some hill-running in my future. I prepared for this by trying not to think about it and hoping for a miracle.
Our first run on the first morning was a disaster. A freaking disaster. If you ever go to Burlington, Vermont and someone tells you that a great trail run is running up to the top of Camel’s Hump, they are a liar and they don’t want to be your friend.
It is a beautiful…hike.
Here are a couple of pictures:
Him running up a hill…tra la la.
Me saying, “Ha ha I’m having so much fun. Someone help me…please. Please?”
After a couple of miles running straight up the slippery, rocky, stupid mountain, we bailed. It might have been the daggers I was imagining throwing into his back, but I don’t think Robb was having a good time, either. We then found a nice cross-country skiing trail and sorta salvaged the day even though the air was still thick with our mutual annoyance.
My favorite part of the cross-country trail was when a butterfly followed me for about a mile, trying to land on my shirt.
When I told Robb about the butterfly he said, “You mean it was a leaf?” I still don’t think he believes me.
This takes us to Saturday. We did extensive research on our next run. And by extensive, I mean we googled “trail runs in Burlington.” We came to an article in Runner’s World calling one particular trail, “The Trail of The Month.” Great! We would like to do The Trail of The Month in Burlington, VT and have fun together as a couple on our wonderful retreat without kids. Yes. That is what we would like to do.
When we saw the elevation gain and the words “fairly arduous”, it seemed a little daunting, but, this was The Trail of the Month from the very reliable Runner’s World.
As we drove toward Mount Mansfield, I started to get a little nervous. It looked…big. We parked and paid and talked to the Park Ranger and when she told us that The Chin is the highest point in Vermont I became a little more nervous.
I was kinda trying to keep it together, though, because I really didn’t want to have a repeat of the day before.
Robb really wanted to do the 9 mile Trail of the Month that Runner’s World wrote about. I was more into doing the 7 mile trail that the Park Ranger recommended. So, we looked at the map and argued discussed and decided that we were up for being tortured having an adventure.
There were 3 good things about The Trail of the Month in Burlington, VT as called by Runner’s World:
1. The first mile was nice.
2. Beautiful views.
3. We completely bonded over our shared misery.
You see, this was not a running trail. Not by any stretch of the imagination has any human ever run this trail. And if they have, I would like to meet them and just stand in their miraculous presence. This was 9 miles and 3 hours of class 2 scrambling and some occasional jumping over large crevasses.
Robb pretending that he is running
And some more, larger rocks.
At the top, there were about 200 people (including an older woman in freaking orthopedic shoes and a skirt) and I was like, what the what?
Well, that was when we saw the Gondola.
Don’t I look super-duper happy:
The views were, indeed, spectacular:
Look. I can’t feel my legs.
Nice. Now get me the eff off this mountain.
But please don’t go to Mount Mansfield and expect to run to the top of Vermont.
The happy ending is that we then stuffed our faces and it was good. If you are ever in Burlington, go to The Farmhouse Tap and Grill. Food so good that I forgot, for a moment, the three hours of pretending that I was an incompetent mountain goat. They did not pay me to say this.
My husband and I went on a vacation. Together. Without kids. I know. Crazy with a side of sleeping-in till noon. It was lovely, we drank beer, we ate the best burgers in Vermont and we had a full-fledged adventure (which deserves its own post once I recover).
Here is a sneak-peak of “The Run From Hell.” Notice in the first picture that I am very far behind him. And in the second picture I am climbing a rock. Not, in fact, running.
And some more, larger rocks.
(A big huge thank you to Robb’s parents who held down our home-front with ease, despite the week we were gone being Grayson’s Special Person of the Week at school (meaning show-and-tell EVERY SINGLE DAY) and also him having a field trip and Nora displaying a recent book-de-shelving psychosis.)
See exhibit A:
And yes, she still has the side of her bed up. She likes it. But DO NOT make the mistake of calling it a crib. You will regret it.
I haven’t traveled on an airplane without being responsible for a child in quite a few years which is maybe saying something about how fun it is to be with your husband in the first few years of him starting his own business.
Read; Not fun.
I flew out to meet Robb in Burlington as he was wrapping up some work stuff and during the trip out, I found out that I actually love traveling.
I am a very fun person to travel with. I don’t whine at all or lick seat belts or stare unabashedly at the other passengers on the airplane. I just sit there and read a book and drink some wine and mind my own business. Well, at least I try. I did get sucked into admiring pictures of my neighbor’s friend’s cousin’s dog on her phone for about 30 minutes. To be fair, it was a cute dog. Sometimes I’m a little too friendly and people think I care way more than I actually do.
And because I am fond of making lists out of all the things in my life (all sorts of lists that would boggle your mind)…here is my list of things that are awesome about traveling without children.
1. Going to the bathroom. I almost feel like I don’t need to say anything more about this but I’m going to anyway. I realized that, while traveling by myself, that I am a normal human-sized ambulatory person who can fit nicely in a regular stall. This is because I’m not hauling 12 bags balanced on a stroller or trying to convince a blue-eyed version of myself that peeing really is something that humans have to do once in a while.
2. And…the automatic flusher in the toilet did not scare me or anyone else that was in the bathroom stall with me, making it a much more relaxing experience.
3. The stuff I did not have to bring on the airplane with me, i.e. extra underpants, pack n’ play, carseats, games, DVD player, movies, this week’s special blankets and stuffed animals, and an entire carry-on filled just with patience.
4. The people I sat next to on the plane did not make the sign of the cross when they saw me coming.
5. The magazines. The wine. And the napping. My own napping. Not the napping that I desperately work my entire day trying to achieve in some other person.
6. The people-watching. There is a whole lot of fascinating humans to observe when you aren’t concerned about keeping someone else alive while exiting the moving sidewalk.
7. Bodily functions. Again. Surprisingly easy to keep track of when they are just your own. And I did not have to say the word “potty” even once.
8. The startling amount of selfish glee I got from watching other parents while they struggled to get their young children to act normal. While watching some new parents attempt to convince their oddly strong toddler to not kick the seat in front of him, all I could think was, “Good luck, Suckers!”
9. I never once had to apologize for my lack of social skills. “Like, sorry. I guess I’m just feeling shy today. That’s why I am staring at you with a blank look on my face while you ask me my name.”
10. And finally, without my cute sidekicks, I was basically invisible. I am a bit of an introvert, so this was awesome. Nobody asked me what grade I was going to be in or if I liked my teacher. Nobody asked me if this was my first plane ride or if I felt like a big girl for having my own seat. And, best of all, not one person tried to play peek-a-boo with me between the spaces of the seats.
And…I’m pretty sure the kids didn’t miss us.
Grammy and Nora
Dear Diary…my grandparents are so much more fun than my parents
Fall around here brings birthdays and soccer and running and enchanted creatures in the forest.
Nora turned 3.
And monsters have become the thing that gets her out of her bed and into mine WAY too much. But thanks to all of the kind advice from a little Facebook crowdsourcing, here she is with her new Monster Catcher. It seems to working so far.
Now if only it would catch her before she pours entire bottles of fingernail polish into the sink. Or tries to wash her brother’s mirror with lotion. Or empties her entire book shelf to find the book she calls Loudly Loudly. This book (actually called Holler Loudly) is threatening to take me to a dark place. I have been forced to read it at least three times a day for the past two weeks and when I first started to read it, in my innocence, I read it with a really terrible southern accent and now I am also forced to continue to do this. And so, I may have hidden it. But then that backfired with the unloading of the bookshelf.
Grayson is in soccer. The first few games usually start off super slow. But usually by the end of the season the whole team is finally figuring out how to play together and I will admit I get embarrassingly excited whenever anyone gets even close to the goal. There is just something weirdly satisfying about watching your kid kick a ball. This might be the only life situation where we encourage him to be aggressive, which isn’t exactly his go-to demeanor. I mean, he gave his little sister the middle name “Rainbow” right? And he gets a little teary sometimes when Nora hugs him out of the blue. He has to work a little at aggression.
The kid gets pretty tired out from all the trying and the running and the latent competitiveness that I just know is running through his veins.
Notice the money he has clutched in his hand and the new bling. There is a great little shop in Idaho Springs (right across from the brewery) and Gray saved his money so he could buy some prayer beads there. I know. He might just be the first Buddhist in our family.
The nice shop owner noticed that Nora was admiring the hat in the pictures below (probably because she was screaming “I really want dis hat!” very very loudly at one point) and as we walked out the door, he just handed it to her. So yeah, customers for life.
And Nora learned a valuable life lesson that if she makes a big enough fuss about something, some stranger will give her stuff for free. Just getting her prepared to live here in ‘Merica.
She’s been wearing the hat ever since. Even when it was 80 degrees out.
Robb hula-hooping and Grayson trying to sneak by him looking like he is pretending not to know him:
Who IS that guy?
The Moose and our tour guide Fairy:
And I have been neglecting my blog in favor of training for a Half Marathon that was sadly cancelled at the last minute, writing on my book (!), and well, monster-wrangling. I hope you are all having a wonderful Fall!
I was never in dance growing up. Not that I wouldn’t have been, it’s just that I grew up in a small town in South Dakota and I don’t think that dance classes were a super high priority. I’m pretty sure I could have found a class in my town on learning how to drive a tractor, how to properly wrestle a calf, or maybe even How To Apply Crisco While Tanning on Barn Roofs. But dance, not so much.
Now, however, we have found ourselves the parents of a little girl who is creating a tutu situation around here that is a little ridiculous. We recently decided that maybe we needed a place to channel some of her frilly, twirly energy before our house explodes into a cloud of tulle and ribbons and fancy shoes and they never find our bodies.
Here are some things I didn’t realize before signing my three-year-old daughter up for her first dance class:
1. That I would need to take out a second mortgage or sell a kidney in order to buy, not only ballet AND tap shoes, but also the hot pink leotard tutu concoction that became lodged in my daughter’s vise-like grip at the local dance store. Note to any other mothers out there thinking of taking their child into a store specifically made for dance; Don’t.
2. That I would underestimate my daughter’s attachment to her new dance things. After putting on the entire ensemble once we got home, including tap shoes, she began to fall, repeatedly, on our wood floor because of the slippery shoe bottoms. Eventually I said, “Maybe you should take your tap shoes off so you don’t break you bottom today.” But, in her desperation to continue to wear the super fancy, future-head-injury-disguised-as-a-pair-of-shoes she said, “I’ll just crawl mom. See! I like crawling!”
3. That I would soon realize why the dance instructor briefly allowed the parents in the dance room to help don our children’s tap shoes and take a couple of pictures and then politely told us to get the heck out. The kids would have never been able to hear the Frozen sound track over the audible swooning and the, Oh My Gawds!!! and, They Are So Cutes!!! and the, Look at them tap their darling little tap shoes’!!!”
4. That the first dance class might turn the mother’s into women that they didn’t quite recognize. There was only one tiny side window in which we could all see about half the class at any one time. There may have some polite shoving involved. I don’t really remember. We were all very excited.
5. I didn’t understand what an amazing bargaining tool that the hot pink tutu concoction would be. Getting a three-year-old to listen to all of the words that are coming out of your mouth is challenging. Unless…you have leverage. That dance dress has become the ultimate leverage. “If you throw your brother’s art project all over the room because you are angry at him, you are choosing to lose your dance dress.” or, “If you continue to make going to bed into an MMA Fighting Championship, you are choosing to lose your dance dress.” or even, “If you continue to talk to me in a voice that only dogs can hear, you are choosing to lose your freaking dance dress!”
6. How she would tell everyone, including every checkout person we see, our garbage lady, or anyone accidentally making eye contact with her, about her “Dance Party” and her “New dwess! That twirls and sparkles!” And is, of course, hand-wash only.
7. That I would need to make a deep investment into Woolite because I am going to be hand-washing that thing every day of my life.
8. That my daughter would start to creep me out a little standing there in The Dress, hip jutted out, head at a weird angle, and talking in an even higher falsetto than her normal voice saying, “I am a pweeetty pwincess! Aren’t I mommy? Say it! Say I’m pwetty pwincess!”
I’m over at Scary Mommy today with this post talking about this girl.
Toddlers are kind of like escaped insane asylum patients who you are forced to feed a strict diet of noodles and applesauce and then they are allowed to touch your eyeballs while you are sleeping.
But, they are also like the naked truth of humanity walking around doing everything that we secretly WANT to do but have learned through societal norms that we must NOT do. Yes, there are many reasons why I love toddlers. (Well, at least mine. Yours is kind of annoying.)
1. They are adorable enough during even the worst temper tantrum that you never actually toss them from a high place. How is it possible that I can find the enraged, snot-streaked face hollering at me still one of the cutest things ever? Must be a survival of the species thing.
2. They feel ALL the feelings. This can definitely work against you if they happen to miss seeing the random cow you pointed out during a car ride. But they also have so much love to give! Like a short, creepy stalker kind of love, but still.
3.They help you gain upper body strength with all the shoe-wrestling and clothes-putting-on and tooth-brushing. I will sometimes pick my toddler up in the middle of a tantrum and she is kicking so hard in my general direction that I have to hold her at arm’s length to get her to time-out without me receiving bodily injury. But my Deltoids are amazing!
4.They live in the moment. You, as their parent, can learn to appreciate the pretty flowers on the side of the road while you are on your hands and knees with a box of wipes and a soaked and unwilling version of yourself. And don’t forget about appreciating the “I love you Mommy song” in the gas station rest room that might go on for a good long time while you try to get them to concentrate on what they are doing. So sweet.
5. They try SO hard. The determination! The commitment! I wish I could sell the single-minded focus my child gives to convincing me she needs to wear her tutu with everything.
6. Their wants are still so simple. Rocks. Water. Tupperware. Day made.
7.You are pretty much a superhero. You probably won’t ever feel as loved as you do when the preschool teacher is physically wrenching your small toddler away from you at drop off.
8. You can still fool them a little. They actually believe you when you say that eating their vegetables will make them grow big. They don’t always care, but they believe you.
9. They get excited about…freaking everything. I wish I could muster the same amount of excitement for my life as my toddler does about simply going through a car wash.
10. They still want to cuddle and they still might call cantaloupe, “camel milk.” Their babyhood is leaving and you will have to tell them the proper way to say stuff eventually, but not today. And if they go to Kindergarten still calling a dump truck a dumb f*ck, well, they should have thought of that before they Sharpied the window sills.
This is usually when a friend from out-of-town with children is coming to Denver and it has been a year since I have been to the zoo so I have forgotten what the zoo is actually like.
Here are some reasons why the zoo sucks:
1. Sunscreen Mosh Pit Hell. This is the place where Moms are punished for not putting sunscreen on their children before walking out of the house. The Moms then have to pay for this sin by being forced to lotion the bodies of drunken Orangutans, otherwise knows as their very excited children.
2. It’s hot. I usually only go to the zoo when it’s 1000 degrees out. I’m sure there’s a psychological reason behind this.
3. At least one person is going to give your frantically excited kid the stink-eye for going against traffic in the doorway, nudging their kid out of the way to see the humping bears, or generally being a menace to the zoo-going society. It’s okay, you will return the favor.
4. The stroller situation. I am in stroller purgatory right now. My littlest is still too little to not bring one for all of the crap and snacks and water, but she is too big to actually use the stroller for anything other than a jungle gym.
5. Most of the pictures look like this:
6. Or after 15 minutes of bribing them with ice cream, a future trip to the gift shop, and a college education, I can get them to smile about this big:
7. I am with my friend who I haven’t seen forever, but I don’t ever actually get to talk to her because toddlers are crazy, and the big kids want cotton candy and a carousel ride and to see whatever is around the next corner because this animal isn’t doing ANYTHING.
8. And that’s because most of the animals are nocturnal (and hot!) so they all look about like this:
9. The gift shop that you bribed them with is its own version of hell, especially after a full day of crazy.
10. Your kids are so exhausted that they have to sit in time-out 4 times at dinner.
And here are some reasons why it can be sorta fun:
1. Humping bears. This happened last year and it was actually pretty entertaining.
Kids: Look Mommy, that big bear is hugging that littler one from behind!
Moms: Cough. Snort. Giggle.
Kids: What are they doing?
Kids: I think that little one is mad at the big one! Look how she is biting at him!
Moms: Yep. I see that. Okay! Lets go see the lemurs!
2.The Flamingos, despite being smelly. One particular Flamingo stepped it up this year by having a baby and getting super bent out of shape whenever any other flamingo even looked in the general direction of her baby.
3.The actual Orangutans, not the drunken ones I am chasing around. The Denver Zoo has a small family of Orangutans and they often remind me of my own family. Last year we watched as the baby Orangutan kept bothering his Dad who finally ran away and hid under a blanket. So then the baby wandered over and started jumping on his Mom andshe finally got so annoyed that she climbed to the top of tree where the baby couldn’t reach her. I felt then that we were kindred spirits.
4. We all actually have a pretty good time.
5.And…my kids are so exhausted that they fall asleep before we leave the parking lot.
Like the kind of town where you ride on a flatbed trailer in a parade and squirt people with squirt guns and throw candy to the kids when it’s your 20th High School reunion.
The kind of small town where, at one time or another, I have done all of these things in this same parade; ridden a horse, been in a fancy dress in a convertible, played in a marching band, and wore a cheerleading outfit doing something like this (I know):
The kind of small town where most of your graduating class started the first day of kindergarten together.
The kind of small town where you and your girlfriends all dated the exact same guys at one time or another and this was normal.
The kind of small town where jumpy castles and bed races and a fireman’s ball are Where It’s At during the reunion weekend.
Custer is in the heart of the Black Hills and 20 minutes from Mount Rushmore which means when you grow up there, everyone starts working when they are 14 because there are 9 million jobs available in town over the summer. My first job was being a dishwasher and a bus person and if that doesn’t make you want to go to college, I don’t know what will. This year was my 20th High School reunion which is completely crazy because I think I might still be only 19. I mean, I still feel nervous sometimes when I buy wine in a liquor store.
This is the way you have an amazing time at your 20th High School reunion when you are from a small town:
1. Make sure you bring your people with you.
Not pictured is my very patient husband who is sitting somewhere observing his crazy wife having a great time with all the other very patient husbands.
2. Begin the weekend by drinking whatever it is you (as the mature grown-up type person that you are now) drink and then by midnight the last night make sure you have devolved (evolved?) into only drinking Bud Light and eating moonshine-soaked strawberries.
3. Reconnect with old friends but also talk to people who you never really got to know in high school.
4. And even meet some of them for the first time! (Ha ha you know who you are)
5. Don’t try to play basketball and relive your glory days (sorry Jen-thanks for representing) because running in a straight line is about all anyone can ask of you these days.
6. Hug everyone that you see, especially if they are wearing a cowboy hat.
7. Take a class picture with the purple dinosaur.
Poor Dino has been violated by most of Custer’s graduating classes. Note the bare spot where a certain body part suddenly appears every Spring.
8.Take several pictures where you look like this:
10. And this.
I can’t keep my eyes open to save my life!
11. Laughingly tell the wife of the very first boy you kissed (in 6th grade) that you hope he has learned something since then. I seriously said this. I blame the Bud Light.
12. Ride on a flatbed trailer in a parade armed only with squirt guns and candy and a false sense of security.
13. Not realize that you will soon be considered “The Entertainment”
13. Get bombarded during a very deliberate and stealthy water balloon attack by one of your class members family..survive smugly with only part of you getting soaked.
12. And then finally….at the very end of the parade, get hosed down by the fire department while you run shrieking down the street with no shoes. Cause that’s what they do in a small town. The firemen hose you down. With a fire hose. For fun.
Robb’s grandparents had died earlier this year so we had joined some of their ashes to spread around the outside of the home that they had shared for their entire marriage. Great Grandpa John had even been born in this house.
As we walked over to the 100-year-old farm-house, Nora tripped and fell and began the process of trying to decide if she was hurt or not. Robb and I (trained in the art of minimizing hollering) probably said something like, “Nice crash!”
I’m here too!
Nora decided that she might actually have an injury so she began to whimper a little. Grayson quickly turned around and helped her up and brushed her off and even admired her new scratch and I was reminded again about how he is sometimes a much better parent than me. Or he is just a huge sucker.
We made it over to the house and everyone in the family began to take a handful of ashes to scatter around the yard.
Grayson may have been a bit nervous about the whole thing. Because he kinda knew what was going on.
Nora wasn’t nervous. Because she obviously didn’t know what the heck was going on. But we thought it would be good for her to participate in this family celebration of life.
Which may have been a mistake.
She grabbed a great big handful of ashes.
Here I am documenting this beautiful symbol of family. Of love. Of the passage of time. Of multiple generations of family.
And then Nora…
put the ashes in her hair.
And she even rubbed it around a little.
I’m not really sure what she thought it was but doesn’t she look absolutely gleeful?
There might have been some shrieking then. By me. By the bigger kids. I’m not really sure. But I think she kinda figured out that something was up when everyone simultaneously began to shout at her that she needed to get into the bathtub Right Away.
Here is her screaming, “I need a bath!”
It takes an incredible amount of soap to get human ash out of hair. Another fact that I never in a million years thought I would know.
I know that Robb’s grandparents were cracking up though, so I guess that’s all that matters.