WHITE OARS!!

Dear Laney,

Yes, I'm still getting material for this blog from stuff we did last weekend. I know! I can't believe it, either. Your mother is exceptionally good at toeing the line between genius and all-out laziness, with only the pinkie toe in "genius" and the rest of my size nines completely in "lazy."

Last Sunday, we drove into Missoula, where we met up with Cedar and her family at the carousel. First, you and your dad rode a horse together, then I went around with you a second time and let you sit on your own horse. While on the outside, I was trying to foster your independence, on the inside I was complete mess with a shrieking voice inside my head that kept repeating - SHE MIGHT FALL! SHE MIGHT FALL! SHE'S GOING TO HIT THE GROUND AND THE CENTRIFUGAL FORCE IS GOING TO ROCKET HER INTO THE RIVER, AND EVERYONE'S GOING TO READ ABOUT WHAT A BAD MOM YOU ARE ON THE FRONT PAGE OF TOMORROW'S MISSOULIAN. (The shrieking in my head had to be pretty loud to be heard over the organ version of "Pop Goes The Weasel").

Through the whole ride, you mostly looked perplexed...you would giggle, then turn anxious, then you would go into silent concentration mode. To the outside eye, it looked like you might not be having a good time. But when the ride ended, you started insisting MORE MORE! What an enigma you are.

After the carousel, we played at the park for a while, then we all went out for pizza.

...and then the saleslady said she didn't have it in my size,

and I was like, "Girl, please, you know you have another

one in the back."

The day after our carousel outing, you started walking up to your dad and me insisting, "White oars." We guessed and guessed and guessed, but never could figure out what the heck you wanted. Over the course of five days, you were becoming increasingly frustrated. Last night, you balled up your fists and screamed "WHITE OARS!!" and I hollered back, "WHAT IS IT?? DO YOU WANT TO RIDE A HORSE?!?" And the clouds parted, and there was harp music, and the angels began to sing, because after 308 tries, your parents finally figured out what you were saying.

Just to be sure, I brought you downstairs and showed you this little clip of the carousel, with you and Dad in slow-mo. On your face was this amazing mix of joy and relief at finally being understood. Like you'd been held in a Tijuana prison and were finally able to communicate to your Mexican captors that those pills in your suitcase really are just blood pressure medicine.

So, as a consolation prize for having parents who are so obtuse, we're planning on taking you into town tonight to WHITE OARS!

Thank you for your patience.

Love,

Mom