Lights and Rain

There is at least one or two times a day when something pops into my mind or happens and I think, "I must remember to blournal that."  Yet, in the last month my mental blournal list has sat stagnant, mostly unwritten or half written, some written and deleted, and some forgotten.  And the reason isn't because I don't have time to blog or even motivation.  I'm just simply interested in doing other things during nap time or bedtime lately.

Because life is quite lovely right now.  My family is happy, my sons are both going through some wonderful maturing phases, my husband has had a couple excuses to come home earlier in the week, my home is more consistently in order, and my world just feels very comfortable.

Of course, not every moment of every day has been rainbows, unicorns, and kittens, but it's been good enough that even the bad things like illness and crummy weather don't seem so defeating.

So instead of rehash all the lovely little moments I've missed blournaling, I'll just mention two things about today.

The rain and the lights.

It was raining all day today.  Not the violent storms we experienced this summer that have left me a teeny bit traumatized, but the constant steady rain that sounds like a soothing CD and reminds me of my family cabin near Yellowstone National Park (my mental "happy place").  I opened the windows and Little Bro and I went peacefully about our day caring for our home, giggling and cuddling with each other, learning our letters, not pushing each others buttons, and listening to the rain.

It was just the sort of day that made me stop and think "I don't want to be anywhere in the world more than I want to be right here, right now."

And the lights.  This morning, in a spur-of-the-moment attempt to avoid loading the dishwasher after breakfast, I finally took control of an area of my house that I have aesthetically hated for a long time.  We needed some more light in our dark and deary front room, but the outlets and layout didn't lend itself to anything.  On a whim, I dug out some old lamps of ours and moved some stereo equipment my husband had just piled practically near our TV.  It was free, took about ten minutes, and had made all the difference to me. The soft yellow glow of the lamps and the cleaner look of the area in general has left me feeling all warm and cozy inside all day long.

And that is where my head and heart are at right now.  Warm and calm and soothed and refreshed.  And when seasons like that come into your life, I think it's worth remembering.

The Name's Mama, Their Mama

My hair is a mess, strands of my ponytail out and frizzy.  I'm so terribly tired, physically a bit sick, and sore.  My feet and fingernails are dirty, and I am pretty sure I smell.

Yet, I can sit here in this stolen moment (and it truly is practically just a moment) and know without a shadow of a doubt that I was one bad a$$ mother today.  I rocked it hard from my rare 4:45 am wake-up call to the skipped nap to bedtime.

My kids got to see trains, jump in puddles, help bake super healthy veggie muffins, have a very long and physical music parade, read books, sing songs, help me tidy up our house, learn numbers, look at birds, play in a public fountain, get new Cars shoes that light up, and eat a decent meal outside.  It was just a charmed day, despite the fatigue, constant rain, and slightly messy house.  And I made it happen for them.

And everyday...heck, most days, won't be like this.  But today, I declare that I was a really great mama, and that is a nice ego boost.

Brook the Bird

Today I took Little Bro to the fancy zoo for his first play date with kids other than his brother (who was in school and missed the fun). It was a nice time for him and a delight for me to chat with friends.

But too soon for me, Little Bro started nodding off in his friend's wagon, and I knew it was time to go. Of course, as soon as we were on the course for the car he woke up and was absolutely fascinated by all the exotic seagulls flying around. Despite the looming threat of a seagull shower, the moment was one I relished. As the oldest, I have no frame of reference for the plight of a second child, but the reality is that now whenever #2 gets something, #1 does, too. In the interest of fairness, there isn't a lot of time or opportunity or reason to spoil just the second child.

But as MY second child sleepily delighted in watching the birds with me, I knew I was going to seize the moment and spoil him and him alone.

I took him to one of the zoo gift shops and let him pick out a stuffed animal. I steered him toward the birds, since that nice memory was fresh in my mind. He doesn't seem like a stuffed-animal-loving kid, but he did take immediately to a weird looking stuffed penguin (a bird we did not see at the zoo) with over sized, weird cracked out TROLL eyes.

Whatever. My baby was getting this weird doll.

And to my satisfaction, he held it the whole way to the car, playing with the wings and laughing at it. He clutched it during nap and while watching SuperWhy. I started to think that maybe this special treat was going to be something that would mean something to both of us.

Of course tonight he took one look at it, realized it had creepy Chucky eyes, and promptly freaked out until I hid it from him.

Oh well, it's the thought and memory that counts....and I have a feeling Brook the Big-Eyed Birdie is going to be popping up again and again as I try to force my darling second son to love this silly little doll.

My Favorite Scene

There is a scene in the movie "Love Actually" where a young boy, triumphant from fulfilling a deep wish, runs with wild, physical abandon, joy radiating from his face.

Tonight, although not exactly the same style, my little bug had a moment of triumph.

After a day of cousins and carousel and grandmas and french fries, Appa and I decided to toss this whole packing and preparing business out the window and take our son to the park to round out a pretty delightful day.  Little Bug ran and jumped (an emerging skill we find adorable) and screamed with delight.

Then Hannah came along.

Miss Hannah seemed interested in Little Bug right away, and he took to her, too.  The two of them followed each other around, taking turns mimicking the other.  Even though the clock ticked shockingly close to bedtime, Appa and I just stood on the playground with stupid grins on our faces.....because Little Bug has never engaged a child like this on a playground before, even one he knew.  He is still trying to find his confidence and place in the social world of toddlers, and tonight was his coming out party.  He worked that playground like a pro, and Hannah responded with friendly companionship.

Little Bug was so incandescently happy, but we finally had to drag him away.  I was sure he would throw a fit or cry and pout.

But instead he yelled what sounded like victory whoops and he walked proudly ahead of Appa and I, swinging his arms out in a huge motion pretty unusual for him.  He was on top of the world in that moment, and I know it was the high of Hannah's engagement.

If only life had a soundtrack, I think that moment would have warranted a crescendo.

The Darkness Excuse No Longer Works

Here is what the people who went past our house last night saw:

A mother, her dress clothes covered by her long dress coat and heels grating against the pavement, talking on the phone while pulling a 3-year-old little boy, also bundled up in winter gear to protect against the cold 30 degree temps, who was happily munching on french fries while taking the world in as his mother pulled his little red wagon up and down their driveway.

Up and down.  Up and down.  Up and down. Up and down.  Up and down.  Up and down.  Up and down. Up and down. Up and down.  Up and down. Up and down. Up and down.  Up and down. Up and down.

If a 3 year old wants an evening picnic and a wagon ride, there is little in the world that is going to stop him from getting just that. Especially when Daylight Savings Time has robbed his mother of her one sure argument against them.

Get the Hell Outta There

When I got married, and then again when I had a child, one of the best pieces of advice I received was to get away from your family occasionally. I know this might not be good for some people, but it's been wonderful for me.

I take small weekend trips without Appa. I have awesome girls' weekends with my best friend (or sisters) where we gorge ourselves on book chatting and licorice. I come home with a stronger relationships and an absence-makes-the-heart-grow-fonder appreciation for my favorite man.

And now that I am a mom, I still take time away from that life to refocus on me for a bit. Usually this comes in the form of a hotel stay 20 minutes away with other mamas. We stay up late giggling and crying about life. We support each other. We revel in the break from diapers and potties and sippy cups....even if our conversations are dominated by them.

And when I come home, it's not with a pang of regret that I'm going back to responsibility; it's with a joyful heart that I am SO lucky to have my family AND my friends. I love on my baby like I haven't seen him for a month.

These mini me-breaks allow me to focus. I'm at my best as a wife and mother when I am balanced. Balance, for me, sometimes comes with a reset button that only "me time" can provide.

So when people ask me for advice on motherhood or marriage, my go-to advice is simply this: "Get the hell outta there sometimes." It makes all the time you are there so much better!

And, for the record, I firmly believe my son might have grown in the 18 hours I was away from him this weekend.

Unplugged

A major source of contention in my marriage is my "pluggedness." I use the internet to keep me company when my husband travels, connect and nourish friendships with people, write, and research things that are important to me.

Appa would prefer I did less of all that during our limited time together. Usually he has a point, and although he might not think so, I have been trying to be less plugged in when he is home.

This vacation I decided to try to unplug. Besides the occasional e-mail checking (I'm actually still waiting for an formal update on Little Bro--how greedy am I?), and one blog post that I had to get off my chest, I've been almost completely unplugged for 5 days.

And it was great....magical, even.

Appa and I fell asleep when our son did most nights. We watched fireworks from our hotel room and sports news. We chatted. We didn't read or get on the computer or do anything other than just stare at each other and laugh at our crazy child.

It was easy to get caught up in the family moments. Work and Facebook and blogs and e-mail (I had exactly 200 this morning when I checked) just didn't seem to hold a candle to spending time with my boys.

As happy as I am to be connected again, there is a part of me that wishes I could stay back behind those colorful gates that seem to keep the "real world" at bay while simultaneously reminding you what is truly, truly real in your life.

Dreams Come True

Tomorrow my little family is heading to the happiest place on earth. I'm ridiculously excited, not only because it's the type of place you are supposed to be excited about, but because this is the first time we are taking a trip just for us. No agenda, no people to visit, no event to attend.

Just sun and family and food and a bunch of strangers dressed as cartoons. Awesome.

Our life is pretty amazing, and I know that, but a slightly-less-than-perfect part of our life is the time we have to spent apart. To just be Appa, Mama, and Little Bug without phones or e-mail or therapists for almost a week makes me giddy.

Like, I might actually cry when we walk through the gates to that magical kingdom and I get to watch my husband and son experience it for the first time.

We have billed this trip as a gift to Little Bug, a congrats for all his hard work over the past 2 years in therapy, an early happy birthday, and a sorry we are getting you a baby brother trip. Every decision we have made has been with him as the main factor.

But as parents, I've found the best gifts you can give to yourself is watching a child delight in a gift.

The Unintended Road (a little father along)

A brief break from Adoptivus memories because there is another memory I wanted to write about...this one just 1 year old.

One year ago I wrote a post on this blournal that has always stuck with me. As we celebrated our first Family Day, I was privately coming to terms with the reality that Little Bug's special needs were not going to be a quick fix like I had hoped. I was in a bad place, although I think I handled it pretty well outwardly. It was hard for me to come to accept the reality of Little Bug's limitations and my challenges because of them. I was worried about the future. I was tired. I was scared. I was a little mad.

Now, being in some part of that future, I reflect back on the mother who wrote that post and how things have changed.

Obviously Little Bug has made some huge strides in the last year. The physical challenges that exhausted me then are mainly a thing of the past. He's communicating more and more. He's happy and healthy. Those pesky braces are gone. He's a joy to be around. I'm ridiculously proud of him.

Yet, just two days ago, during a particularly sour afternoon that started with me having to take off work to clean my house for a therapy meeting, his PT officially assessed his gross motor at 15-18 months....Little Bug is 34 months old.

A year ago that would have ruined my week. Instead, I held back the tears and rallied. I thought about all the progress he has made and reminded myself that he would continue to make more. Within a few hours, I wasn't even thinking about it anymore.

That's what the future that I couldn't see a year ago is. It's not about a "cure" or "catching up." It's about being at peace with wherever he is...wherever we are.

It's about walking the road with the conviction that we can, not just the conviction that we must.

The unintended road. The road I never would have chosen for myself. The road that is leading me to discover an ability to find beauty in the smallest details, like a smile, a muscle compression, a step, a gentle touch. The road that is leading me to discover patience and the ability the grieve without bitterness. The road that is leading me to discover acceptance.

The road that led us to discover a bravery that led us to our big star and another unintended road that I cannot wait to travel.

Just like a year ago, I reflect on my time as Little Bug's mother, and I know I would not change it for the world. Every scoot, every crawl, every step, every trot, every 2-word combination. Last year the bad days (emotionally) often outweighed the good days, but now, a bit further along the road, the good days FAR outweigh the bad. Some days I am still scared or sad, but the truth is I'm really happy.

I'm thankful this is the road that was chosen for me when I didn't know any better. I see the road stretch out for years ahead of us and know for our family, there will be more "unintended roads" to come....intentionally.

I can't wait.

Little Victories

One of the special things about parenting a child with special needs (and no, I am not sure why it's on my mind so much lately) is the opportunity to learn to celebrate the little victories. It becomes a part of your daily life.

And it makes the whole day a little more beautiful and a little harder to take for granted.

Tonight Little Bug got a huge popsicle all to himself. We handed it to him, strapped him into his wagon, and left him to his own devices as we took an evening stroll. This has never, ever been a reality for us before.

He ate the whole thing by himself without dropping it or setting it down once. Every last drop (that didn't end up dripping onto his pants, that is). Messy, I can handle. Independence, I adore.

And I'll be awful sometimes
Weakened to my knees
I'll learn to get by
On the little victories
- Little Victories by Matt Nathanson (the soundtrack of my life)

I Wanted to Write About....

The great thing about this blournal is that I allow myself complete control (or lack of) when it comes to consistency. If I make multiple entries a day, that's okay with me. If I don't have anything to say for a week, that is okay, too.

The last few days have been awesome, but as I sat down to write about them, the words were stilted. Too much and too little, all at once.

I wanted to write about how hard and lonely and just off it felt to have Appa away for 2 long weeks and how proud I was of myself for not only surviving, but actually creating a great few weeks for both myself and my boy. I actually enjoyed myself.

I wanted to write about wine and girlfriends and how thankful I am for both.

I wanted to write about leaving my boys at 4 am, just hours after Appa got home. The conflicting emotions that ran through my heart as Little Bug woke up and wailed for me, rejecting his beloved Appa over and over. That's never happened before, and I'd be lying if said I didn't replay the scene over and over again with some measure of joy that my role as mama was finally meaning something special and exclusive to Little Bug.

I wanted to write about how special it is to have a best friend like Ali(ce). Spending time with her is like stepping back into my past, only as my present self. It is comfortable and fun and leaves me happy. Just really, truly happy. Even just a few hours. And how she bought Little Bro a crinkle lion lovie to send in a care package, only to exchange it for something else when she saw my latest care package post with the same crinkle lion already included that I had purchased without knowing she had bought him one. Ha.

I wanted to write about holding my infant nephew in my arms and being absolutely terrified. I'm the oldest of five and have held more than my fair share of babies, but now that I am a mother, the fragile nature of an infant terrified me.

I wanted to write about how kissing his head felt like warm peaches.

I wanted to write about laying on the couch for hours while Itty Bitty slept on my chest. How is felt so wonderful, and yet, it didn't make me wish for that moment with my own babies. In fact, the limiting nature of providing for an infant actually made me secretly glad that I didn't have to go through that…although it made me feel about a million times more grateful when I thought about my sons' foster mothers putting in all the time and effort and sacrifice for children they knew they might never see grow up. That makes me so sad and so grateful.

I lied. There was a part of me that wanted to know if kissing Little Bug and Little Bro's heads felt like warm peaches. I hope their birth mothers were able to have that experience for themselves.

I wanted to write about my long, honest, candid talks with my sister….the one who was never supposed to be my confidant. The relief that comes with knowing one other person in the world who is dealing with many of the exact same issues as you are…What a wonderful life surprise.

I wanted to write about getting my nephew addicted to Pororo and my little sister addicted to Kdramas. I'm not sure why that brings me such amusement.

I wanted to write about family and love and friendship and life, but I just don't have the words.

Perhaps my kid needs to puke again to break this writer's block.

My Grin

Even close to 2 years into this motherhood gig, I still have moments of ebbs and flows. Honestly, I have a lot of moments where I don't 100% love being a mom. For whatever reasons it might be at the time, sometimes it's hard for me to enjoy everything about the precious time I have with my son.

For a variety of reasons, I've been thinking a lot about my post adoption depression lately and the impact it had on my attachment to Little Bug and his attachment to me. Over the past month or so, I've challenged myself to be less complacent with the relationship my son and I have, because when it comes right down to it, I wasn't 100% happy with where it was. I've been actively working on attachment games and activities. Even though we're well enough attached to each other already, I realized there is always room for improvement. Over the last 2 weeks, I have noticed a marked increase in the ease and physicality of our relationship.

And today it manifested in spades. Little Bug and I had a wonderful day filled with choo choos, animals, and more choo choos. All throughout the day we would turn to me and flash this radiant smile...not directed at whatever we were doing or seeing, but a smile clearly just for me. He would crawl on me and hug me for no reason. He spent nearly an hour dragging me from toy to toy, wanting only to play with me.

And better yet, I loved every second of it. It was hot, crowded, tiring, and done all without Appa, and I didn't look at the clock once. I enjoyed every moment of my role as mother today. That's been happening a lot lately, too.

Tomorrow might suck and I might want to tell my kid to "shut up" again, but those days will happen no matter what. I just don't want to forget today...ever.

Late for Work, Again

I was 5 minutes late for work today....again. More often than not, I'm a little late for work, although because I get in before most people and can stay late to make up the time, it's not a huge deal.

The reason I am usually late, however, IS a big deal.

I watch my kid while he sleeps.

After I get up and get about half way through my morning routine (and this is on a good day when my routine is working), I end up gravitating back toward my bed and to the warm little baby cuddled in the middle (yes, we are still closet co-sleepers). I lay down on the very edge of the bed and put my face right next to his. I stroke his hair or his pudgy cheek or the little sliver of belly protruding from his jammies. I don't think of much during those 5-10 minutes I am "wasting"...

...other than that spending time staring at the most amazing miracle in my life for 10 minutes I should be using to get ready for work is absolutely not a waste of my time.

From the Desk of Your Bug-Bitten Mama

Dear Little Bug,

As you slumbered in your car seat while we drove home from a natural element-taxing weekend of camping, your daddy and I were nearly speechless with pride.

You've come so far.

This weekend you held yourself together through grueling heat and a nighttime storm that even had your parents on edge. You wore sandals instead of leg braces all weekend long and held your own. You busted out numerous new words. You ate at an adult-sized picnic table. You skipped your nap and were completely off schedule, and you handled it with 2-year-old grace. That is enough to get a gold star from your adoring parents.

Even more, you proved how much you have matured emotionally and developmentally. You played close with other little boys without hitting them in the face (although we did have some time outs, but those were for pretty normal 2-year-old behavior sort of things, so you get a "time served" in my mind). You played with your friends, not adjacent to them. You clearly enjoyed the interaction. You practiced sharing. You even held hands and tried to run with them.

It's always been a secret fear of mine that your social skills would be something you would struggle with for a long time. My heart would break at the thought of your bright spirit not having friends to share it with. You still have work to do, but all 2 year olds do.....you're in good company, my sweet boy.

To see your hard work pay off with the chance to play with little friends and enjoy their company was the VERY best part of a fun camping weekend for your parents. As your Appa said tonight,

"I love being his dad."

That's ditto for me.

Motherhood is an Art

I rarely feel like I have a very good handle on the creative side of motherhood. I stress over the fact that my kid isn't being creatively stimulated enough at home. I have a feeling most mothers do. For me, I at least know that he is doing clever projects at school each day. It's almost like I get a free pass in the evenings to be the lame part of his day.

Where is the fun in that?

It took me a long time, but I am finally realizing that kids need to get messy sometimes in order to explore their creative side. I can either let him color with markers and learn how to color on the paper at age 2.5, or I can withhold markers until he is 16 and I can take away his driving privileges for coloring on his shirt or trying to eat the marker.

So, I have been trying really hard to add some mess into our lives lately.

Last night was...ominous music...paint.

My planning ahead consisted of buying nontoxic and washable paint and some canvas when it was on sale and saving it for a nonrainy day when I was feeling brave. That was the extent of the planning.

When I resolved to take a stab at the painting last night, I just stripped my kid down to his diaper; took him outside; gave him a paintbrush, canvas, and bucket of paints; and let him pick a color out (one by one to preserve some semblance of color) and have at it.

An hour later we had two very fun painted canvases, and Little Bug was covered head to toe in paint he had lovingly applied to his body with his brush. I busted out the hose and washed my kid and his slide (which was also painted) down...the best way to end a very fun and muggy tonight.

It wasn't until much later that I noticed my face was streaked with teal blue from the huge, unprompted kiss Little Bug gave me in the midst of his work.

Motherhood is an art. A messy, colorful, sticky, beautiful art.

A Backhanded Love Letter

Tonight Little Bug and I were sitting outside watching (or rather, feeling) the Midwest summer storm roll in. Little Bug has had a rough day (mainly because we were bad parents and kept him up way too late last night), and I was momentarily jealous of Appa's night of room service and hotel premium channels. My husband works long hours. LONG days. Usually far away. I'd be lying if I said this didn't cause me serious annoyance, frustration, sadness, etc. Most of the time I forget that when he is not here with his family, he isn't off doing something fun.

It hit me tonight that when he is away from us, he would probably cut off his left arm to spend the evening eating leftovers (actually, in the interest of truthiness, Little Bug and I had Arby's tonight) and sitting outside watching our child slowly melt down. He's working his butt off 90+ hours a week to provide a nice home for our family and let us live comfortably while creating a fufilling career.

So to the real place my head went tonight. I admire the hell out of my husband. He had the most impeccable work ethic in undergrad, always with his eye on the prize of a good grad school. He was devoted to his research in grad school, breaking ground in the field of stem-cell research. Although he could have gotten his PhD with just a publication or two and going through the motions for 5 years, he published at least five papers, filed three patents, and created a project that was robust enough to be passed along to another student. Beside work ethic, he just blew me away with how intelligent he truly was. I tease, but I found his lab rat persona pretty sexy.

So I was rocked to my core when he told me out of the blue that he was terribly unhappy with the lab life and wanted to pursue a career in business. This is a man who has spent 19 years in science-focused classes. But, when it was clear that he was serious, I watched him start auditing business classes and helped him go through case studies for interviews. Secretly, I couldn't imagine how all this could lead anywhere.

Wouldn't you know, he got the job. The job that he had absolutely no qualifications for other than just simply being his intelligent and articulate self. I still am surprised in some ways. I'm even more surprised that we agreed (and still do) that it was the right fit for our family. What I am not surprised about is how hard he has worked in the last few years to prove himself, gather necessary knowledge and experience, and just generally excel at an incredibly hard challenge that he had no business excelling at.

All this was swirling in my head while the clouds were stirring above me and my little boy tonight. Suddenly, instead of being annoyed that my husband is often absent and always having fabulous dinners and staying in swanky hotels, I had this fervent hope that somehow he will be able to teach our sons to live as fearlessly and completely as he subtly has. I'm Mrs. Status Quo, but Appa puts 110% into whatever he is doing and isn't afraid to make a change (sometimes HUGE changes) in order to seek happiness and something better for himself and the ones he loves (namely, me and our babies). It's grueling, but it seems to be worth it for him, which makes it worth it for me.

My mama's wish of the day: for my sons to be even half the fearless but realistic dreamer their Appa is.

Planting a Memory

Sometimes I just have days I want to preserve in my memory. Days that maybe are not super special, but just feel lovely and worth remembering.

Like last night, when I strapped my 2.5 year old (who is the size of a small kindergartner) onto my back with the Erg* and inadvertently stumbled into a concert at the botanical gardens. I don't want to forget the way he rested his head contently on my back as we waited in line for our food, or the way he ate his whole cup of applesauce with a spoon, or how he clapped during each pause in the music.

I don't want to forget how we made our first trip into the "train garden." How he spent nearly an hour chasing trains in every direction, nearly gobsmacked at the fantasy land we had entered. How he almost lost his voice from lovingly cooing "choo choo" repeatedly for an hour....barely taking a breath. How he proclaimed "bye, choo choo" and blew a kiss to each train we walked by on our way out.

I don't want to forget the way it felt to hike back to our car, the weather absolute perfection, and the way his soft little hands felt lovingly holding my arms as handles while he rode on my back.

I don't want to forget that just a few hours earlier, I was in a heavy gray dress and heels, preparing for an uneventful and boring night at home. How one little spur of the moment decision and a pair of shorts could change the direction of our evening so entirely and give me the gift of a wonderful night with my favorite boy.

I Don't Know What the Crap I am Doing

Tonight I momentarily wowed some friends with my attempts to potty train Little Bug (and by attempt, I mean sit his freshly scrubbed, post-diaper change butt on his kiddy potty in exchange for three small discs of chocolate and a ton of fake clapping). When they asked me how it was going, I gave them the truth.

I don't know what the crap I am doing.

Seriously, beyond potty training, which I have absolutely no clue about other than the desired end result, that could be my mantra for motherhood. I don't know what the crap I am doing; I'm reading books and getting advice, but totally winging it. I haven't found the How to Raise Little Bug book yet...probably because I am writing it.

There is an incredible blog that I read, Uncharted Parent, and the author's tag line is "Because every parent goes where no parent has gone before." It's literally one of the most practical, logical, and beautiful ways of putting parenthood that I have ever encountered. (You have no idea how much I wish that phrase had come out of my head. I covet.)

I can't know what I am doing raising Little Bug because no one in the world has ever raised this child at this age. All I can do is my very best, learn from my mistakes, and focus on this child at this time. It doesn't matter what anyone else is doing because they have not already walked in these footsteps.

That takes a whole lot of pressure off us mamas, no?

Peri

Back when I thought I was going to "poof" and get pregnant (of course with a girl), I decided that her middle name would be "Peri," because in Greek it means "mountain dweller."

Although I am no longer stock piling little girl names and my kids already come with what will be the middle names, the name "Peri" had always stuck with me. I love the idea of my children being "mountain dwellers," not just nature lovers or weekend warriors.

I want my children to be comfortable putting a 50 lb pack on and hiking for days in the wilderness. I want them to experience packing a car filled with essentials spur of the moment and driving up into the mountains to find a random spot flat enough to pitch a little tent. I want them to know how to start a fire without a match (but be smart enough to always carry waterproof matches). I want them to know the best way to keep your clothes warm is to put them at the bottom of your mummy bag. I want them to brush their teeth with their fingers (with or without water) and know how to purify water. I want them to roast food on a stick they picked up off the ground and be grateful they have a roll of toilet paper and not just leaves to do their business out in the woods.

I want them to feel the cold morning dew on their fingertips from the inside of the tent. I want them to breath in the crisp, clean air that comes in the early morning hours of the mountains. I want them to taste the smokiness of a campfire dinner and sigh at the warmth of hot chocolate in the morning. I want them to start a marshmallow on fire and watch it burn...and I want them to know those are the gooey, best kind. I want them to hear the world at night and see the stars shining brightly.

I want them to want to get dirty. I want them to love to get dirty. I want them to know how to simultaneously enjoy and preserve nature. I want them to love nature for what it is....nature.

Appa and I were so lucky to be raised in families and an area of the country (beautiful Idaho) that afforded us the chance to enjoy nature early and often. My mama packed each of her five babies into camp sites. At age 13, I trained for months to carry a pack on my back for multiple days as I hiked (not scaled, mind you) one of the many mountains I've had the honor of standing on the top of. I've had the pleasure of sitting in a mountain valley filled with flowers that only a couple people would ever see before they died and taking a shower in a tiny stream waterfall. Appa's family took week long hikes to fish remote lakes, bear spray close at hand and banking on catching their food. Together we've gotten in our car and driven up into the mountains with our tent, some blankets, and a bottle of wine. We've even attend a wedding where the accommodations were tents after a meadow reception. It's normal to us.

My kids? My kids live in a huge metropolitan area. Camping is something you have to schedule...to book an actual camp site. Camp grounds have showers and game rooms and play grounds. The RVs that surround you blare the sounds of the video gaming system the kids would rather play. Appa and I can't always take our kids back West and give them the same exposure we had, and for that, I am very sad. But we are going to try with what we have here, and I am really excited about that.

A tent, a roll of toilet paper, matches, and some food. Hopefully by the time our boys are old to do some more rugged hiking and camping, we will have instilled in them enough of a love for nature that they will enjoy it as much as we will.

Maybe someday if they are blessed with a daughter, they might name her "Peri."

The Sideways

Last night, after a really weird afternoon that culminated in a 2-hour high fever, Little Bug went down without a fight and Appa and I settled in to watch a ridiculously long series finale and get some freaking questions answered.

2 hours went by....still waiting for answers. 2 hours 10 minutes went by....just . starting . to . get . . to . the . point...

Pitter patter, pitter patter.
Door open.
"What's up, Mama and Dada?"

Oh, HELL no.

Appa paused the show, and I corralled Little Bug back into his room, letting him know that it was, for sure, not play time. Or, at least, I thought I made myself clear, but apparently not.

What happened from that point on is a case of a parenting alternate "sideways reality." The textbook situation that somehow spirals out of control, with your normal routine slipping away from you and replaced with a world where 2 year olds are wide awake and ready to be loving life at Midnight.

So, Appa finally knocked on the door and uttered the most ridiculous proposal...one that made total sense in this sideways reality. Let's bring our kid down to join the fun, finish the last 20 minutes of our show, and then end this party with a family cosleep.

Maybe we could even fly a crashed plane off a beach....you know, just for kicks.

So, as I watched the final seconds of my questions not being answered (but still satisfied anyway), I looked over and watched my son laughing his head off as he sat between Appa and I, bright-eyed and pleased as can be to be hanging with us at 1 am. I wasn't exactly sure how we got to this point and were okay with it, and I half expected a smoke monster to come slithering by, but I got this sense that this sideway reality wasn't so bad. It's nice to enjoy special, out of the ordinary moments with those you love. Especially those moments that are born from breaking sacred parenting rules simply for the sake of enjoying the smiles of your family.

But tonight, it's back to the island of normal bedtimes and boundaries.