We All Become Our Mothers

Field Of Dreams

Hey y'all - 

Your montessori school has an adult (co-ed, novice) softball team, and I signed your dad up to play. He was a good sport about it; after all, a big part of why we wanted to move into Missoula was so we could participate in more activities. 

Before the big game, Laney wrote his name on his ball, so he'd always know which one was his:

We thought for sure it was going to be a rain out, but the umpires decided that the team could play in a drizzle. The team captain asked me if I was there to play. Heck, no. I used to joke, "I only run if someone's chasing me," but now that I'm closer to 40 than 30, I've upgraded it to, "I only run if someone's chasing me with a weapon."

It turns out your dad is a pretty competent softball player. Color me surprised. I first started dating your dad 'cause I thought he was cute, so every discovery since then has been a pleasant surprise. He can wire a lamp? Bonus! He can build a house? Awesome! He's a great dad? Jackpot!

Laney was happy to run around in the grass, and Hagen was delighted to sit in a stroller with a bag of Cheese Nips. 

Laney's in multiple outfits in the photos below, because as it kept getting later and colder, we kept layering on jackets we found in the backseat of the car. 

I told Laney we should make up some cheers we could do during the game. So Laney decided to stand in the dugout, clutch the fence and scream stuff like, "HEY DAD, I WANT YOU TO WIN THIS! GO DAD! I THINK YOU CAN DO THIS THING!"

This made it hard for him to play first base without laughing.

The team won their first game, or as I like to say, "We're undefeated."

Love,
Mom

It Takes All Kinds

Hey y'all -

I have a boss who's been through dozens of assistants in the time I've known him, because there's always some little quirk about them that gets on his nerves - one smacked her lips funny when she answered the phone, one sighed too much, one wore clompy shoes too many times on our hardwood floor. I used to think he was crazy, but then I saw the cabinets in our new house, and I almost broke out in a rash of irritation. If they were an intern, I would tell them to collect their belongings and be out of the office by lunch.

They don't go to the ceiling, but they're not far enough from the ceiling for me to store anything above them. They're not centered on the wall. They're all different heights. They're blah. Blah blah blah.

So I got your dad and Tex busy on making cabinets while the family was visiting.

Hagen enjoyed being a hands-on helper, standing in the middle of every step of the project, wielding a hammer, just in case somebody needed it.

Laney took more of a USO approach to helping, entertaining the troops during all phases of construction, usually with songs about the planets:

I had forgotten that Pluto had been demoted. 

The new cabinets are still a work in progress, but stay tuned for an "After" picture, coming shortly. 

Love,

Mom

Family Portrait

We had planned for Brooke to take a family portrait of the four generations when they were over for dinner last weekend, but we got rained out. So she came back on Monday and took these pics of us, which I think turned out great. 

_____________

I've been asking Laney since we moved in if she likes this house or the old house better. She seems torn: the old house had swings, but this house has a hot tub. When Cedar was over, Laney asked, "Can I just show Cedar the swimming pool?" I knew when I opened the cover on the thing that it would be a matter of seconds before those young'uns were naked and swimming, and I was right:

Needless to say, there are also plans to hang a swing in the tree.

-Brooke

The Benadryl Bunch

Hey y'all - 

The day after I got back from my week-long trip to Vermont, Peg Peg, Tex and Granny Jack arrived for a ten-day visit to help us unpack and get the house together.

We love the new house, don't get me wrong, but it has far less storage space than the old one. Apparently, in 1941 when this house was built, people didn't have stuff. And if you don't have stuff, then you don't need closets. The end. If only those selfish people who built this house had thought to themselves, "Seventy two years from now, Brooke is going to move into this house with a crapload of Tupperware and stand mixer attachments and bed sheets for every season." We're slowly but surely figuring it out, but those first few days that my relations were here were tough:

"Brooke, where do these glasses go?"

"I don't know."

"Where do these books go?"

"I don't know."

"Where should we put these toys?"

"I don't know."

"Where should I - "

"In the trash."

Like all Southerners, my family seems allergic to clean mountain air, so everyone got sick with some kind of allergy thing the same day they rolled into town. Granny Jack was hit hardest, but soon everyone was looking at their watches to see when they could take their next dose of Benadryl. My secret theory is that Granny Jack is allergic to disorganization and mayhem, and it manifested itself as a bad chest cold.

On Day 2, I decided my REAL problem was that the kitchen cabinets are too small, so they'd need to go. Thor and Tex got to work building me some new ones, and we took the old ones down. Now all my kitchen stuff was perched on the dining room table awaiting a home while serious construction started in the backyard.

And since that wasn't enough chaos, I said, "Let's invite Brooke and Todd and Cedar and Fisher over for dinner!"

And that's when The Other Brooke took all of these pictures:

One day, it'll all come together. It has to.

Love,
Mom

Like An Advent Calendar For Maternal Guilt

Hey y'all -

Holy guacamole. I can't believe I haven't updated this blog since May 8th.

Here's what happened: I got a last-minute call from my boss, asking me to jump on a plane to rural Vermont (vs. super-metropolitan, gritty, urban Vermont) to help cast the series we're working on for Nat Geo. I agreed to fly out at the end of the week, and spend eight days driving around the backwoods of Vermont in a rented minivan, looking for guys who dream of having a remote cabin and then convincing them that they wanted to take time off from their dairy farms or logging businesses to appear on reality television. This is not at all the strangest thing I've ever done in the name of work.

My first impulse was to say no. Eight days is forever when it comes to being separated from your children. But the more I thought about it, the more the idea started to appeal to me.  With everything that had been going on in our lives (selling a house, buying a house, moving twice), I was running on empty and running short on patience. I've never spanked either one of you, but in the days leading up to my trip, it had started to seem more and more tempting. When you decide to become a mother, you inevitably have to give up (to some degree) the life you had before. I found myself missing my old, all-consuming job; it's weird, but I'm good at it.

So I told my boss to book the flight.

I figured Hagen would be fine hanging out with Dad for a week; he's pretty easygoing and as long as he's being held, he doesn't often care who's doing the holding. I thought Laney would be a different story. She speaks girl and Dad speaks boy, and sometimes watching them try to communicate is like watching a train wreck in slow motion. The morning of my flight, I put this together:

It was a collection of bubbles and kazoos and M&Ms, and it worked like a charm according to Thor, until Day 2, when she figured out she just had to be good until she got the present.

Vermont was beautiful, by the way. I met a lot of cows and learned far more than I ever wanted to know about the dairy business. The trees were blooming and the cows were all calving.

I met a lot of interesting, fun people, and learned I could get on the good side of even the most curmudgeonly old coot by starting a sentence with, "The government, man, I tell you..." I met a man named Peezer who let me pet his stuffed muskrat. I was followed through a field by a day-old calf. I was driven up the side of a slick mountain in an ATV by a "woo-hoo"ing former race car driver as I clutched the handlebar and thought about all those times I should have called my mama. I drank a beer with the Elks club. I met a guy who keeps 50 million bees.

Life is good out there.

Love,
Mom

Of Queens And Volcanos and Unicorns

This is Laney, in her PJs in the hour before bed, planning to save an imaginary queen from a hypothetical eruption of molten lava. Or something.

My favorite part is how she makes dramatic announcements in a stage whisper with a hand flourish. I suspect she's been watching David Copperfield magic specials on Netflix.

And this is her self-composed victory song about how brave we were to save said queen:

Walking around the yard while singing has become Laney's favorite pastime at the new house. We've had to have a few talks about the differences between how we used to live - in the boonies - and how we live now - in town. For one, we now have neighbors who might not appreciate a 6am serenade on the weekend to Laney's original composition, IT'S A SUNNY DAY-YAY!

Also, no more peeing in the yard.

Love,
Mom

Reasons My Daughter Is Crying

Hey y'all -

A few days ago, I discovered a web site called "Reasons My Son Is Crying." Every day, the dad who writes it posts a photo of his son crying and lists the reason why. I have never laughed so hard.

Reasons his two year-old is crying include:

- This juice is not milk.
- He asked me to zip his coat, and I did.
- Buzz Lightyear's head won't come off.

In the photo above, Laney is crying because Ella licked her arm, in the exact same way the dog has done on each of the previous 1,277 days.

Other reasons Laney has made this face and wailed include:

- Because Hagen was thinking about pulling her hair.
- Because the yellow cheese isn't as good as the orange cheese.
- Because Cedar wants to play with her stuff.
- Because Cedar doesn't want to play with her stuff.
- Because she didn't want THAT pink crayon, she wanted THAT PINK CRAYON!!!
- Because Mom won a game of Candyland.
- The sandwich was cut into rectangles, not triangles.
- Hagen got buckled into his car seat first.
- The bubblegum-flavored Spongebob toothpaste is too spicy. 

...and those last three all happened this morning between 7a-9a.

Around 8a this morning, Laney was screaming about not wanting her hair brushed, Hagen was screaming because I couldn't hold him and do Laney's hair at the same time, and then all hell broke loose when I turned off cartoons 'til everyone could behave. I finally had to give up and laugh, and thought, "I should film thirty seconds of this and sell it to Madison Avenue as an ad campaign for prophylactics."

Love,
Mom

Where The Wild Things Were

Hey y'all - 

As a result of our move to town, we get to participate in all kind of Missoula-based foolishness. Last Sunday was the Wild Walk; every year, Missoula hosts the Wildlife Film Festival and kicks it off with a parade through downtown of children dressed as their favorite animal. Some of the kids from your school were planning on parading together, so even though we're not remotely unpacked and I couldn't find a spatula or a pair of nail clippers to save my life, we decided to go. 

Hagen was a monkey, because I had the costume left over from two Halloweens ago. When asked what her favorite animal is, Laney said "a Zebra." "What? You've never mentioned zebras in your life." But a zebra she was determined to be. 

So I got out a white t-shirt and a pair of tights and a permanent marker and did the best I could to make her a zebra. I used strips of felt from last year's pirate party vests to tie in her hair and make a zebra mane. 

...and then we tossed you guys into a wagon and pulled you downtown to the festivities:

 The parade ended at the park, where a group of African drummers put on a show for the kids, and sucker grandparents everywhere were lured to the ice cream truck.

Hagen even got his own scoop of strawberry for being such a good little monkey. 

Love,

Mom