Male Bonding

Dear Hagen,

You and your dad went for a long hike this weekend, and I took these pictures as you were getting ready to head out:

I have no idea what the two of you discussed while on this outing. My guess? Nothing.

Experts on child behavior say that toddlers engage in what's called "parallel play," meaning they play next to each other more than they play with each other. Peg Peg says that the theory of parallel play applies to men of all ages; they can silently drink a beer in the same room with another dude and call it a bonding experience. I once did an experiment on a road trip to see how long your dad would go without talking, and without noticing that his passenger was silent. I think had I not finally gone crazy around Bozeman, the man would have made it well into Utah, and only then would he have spoken long enough to tell the Wendy's drive-thru lady that he wanted a junior bacon cheeseburger.

But whatever he's doing, he must be doing it right to have you look at him the way you do. So, keep on silently keepin' on, Dad.

Love,

Mom

Roly Polies

Dear Laney,

When I was not much older than you are now, I got in trouble for doing nobody-remembers-what, and my mother sent me to my room after yelling, "YOU GO TO YOUR ROOM AND THINK ABOUT WHAT YOU'VE DONE!!!"

Legend has it that an hour or so later, Granny Jack came in to check on me, and found me lying in bed, lost in thought. She asked, "What are you doing, Brooke?" and I confided, "Well, I'm supposed to be thinking about what I did, but really, I'm thinking about roly polies."

Last night, you took off your muddy boots and left them in the middle of the living room. I told you to pick them up and put them by the door with the other shoes. You stood over the shoes, not moving. "I'm going to test this out," you seemed to be thinking, "and see what happens if I don't move my shoes." After asking you a few more times in increasingly louder tones, I put you on the stairs and told you to go up to your room, and only come out when you were ready to pick up your shoes.

Dinner came and went, and we didn't hear from you. I decided to creep up the stairs and see what you were up to. In my fantasy, you were laid across your bed, wracked with remorse. You'd have your arm draped across your eyes, taking deep sighs and pondering how you'd disappointed me.

Yeah, right.

Instead, you had pilfered the dress-up box and were, according to you, "a very bootiful princess going to Grandma's house on dis moose."

Dad yelled up the stairs, "Laney, if you pick up these shoes, you can have cheese toast."

"Oh, right!"

You had completely forgotten that you were supposed to be stewing in regret. And I had to ask myself that same question mothers have been asking themselves since time immemorial:

How can I make this young'un feel guilty if she won't participate?

Love,

Mom

P.S. I think roly-polies are a nation-wide phenomenon, but in case, like butter-flavored Crisco, they're a southern thing, I'll explain:

Roly polies are small, grey insects that look like micro armadillos. When scared, they roll up into little balls. Like most kids, I was fascinated with them and could play with them all day long. I mentioned this story to your dad, and I googled a picture of them to be sure we were talking about the same bug:

And then I yelled, "GROSS! I CAN'T BELIEVE I EVER TOUCHED ONE OF THOSE THINGS!!!" Ugh. I guess I'll just have to file the roly poly under, "Things That Lose Their Appeal When You Grow Up," right between Chef Boyardee Ravioli and the movie "Rhinestone."

Girl Talk

Dear Laney,

After taking my photography class, I decided I wanted to buy the Photoshop software that would let me tinker with my photos even more. At the time, I didn't have the money to spend on the program, but since I really wanted it, I became a little devious. I called Peg Peg and casually mentioned that when used correctly, Photoshop can remove wrinkles, erase crow's feet and take years off your face. AND, it's what the magazines use to make models look even skinnier. The scratching sound I could hear in the background was Peg Peg writing a check, stat.

But the mail from Florida to Montana can sometimes take forever, so I worked the makeover miracle of Photoshop into my next conversation with Grandma Sue. She actually busted out some cash and drove me to Costco.

I've managed to install it, but still have no sense of what I'm doing. When you see pics on this blog of Peg Peg and Grandma Sue as bikini models, you'll know I've got it figured out. In the meantime, it's fun to play with.

...Just not as much fun to play with as Cedar is.

Love,

Mom

Party At My Crib

We Are Not Those People

Hey y'all,

There are several rules to being a Southern Methodist. You have to fry a decent chicken. You have to advertise every activity as involving "Food, Fun and Fellowship!" You have to complain at great length about how sore you are on Sunday morning after working in your yard on Saturday. And once a year, you have to dress your children up in fancy outfits and hair bows the size of Texas and take their Easter picture.

To pull off that kind of Easter picture requires people with the gift of forethought, who own those kind of hair bows, are on top of their laundry situation, and can be patient while posing small children.

We are not those people.

I love, respect and admire those people, but we are not those people. I don't think I should be expected to dress you up in cute summery clothes when there's still a few feet of snow on the ground. Instead, I decided to let you pick your own outfits.

Hagen seems happiest when he's nekkid, so I tried to take pictures of him in the warm living room, but it's so dark in here that I couldn't get the light right. The brightest thing we have is a 60W bulb, so I might as well have been trying to light a romantic dinner at Red Lobster.

Laney chose a patterned sweater, a polar beat hat, a tutu from the dress-up box, and snow boots. She started out with some camouflage flats, but even she agreed they weren't snow-worthy.

You know who was the best-behaved photo subject? Ella.

Did I have a pocket full of gouda? Yes.

Maybe when it gets sunny outside, and my yard has more grass than snow, I will attempt this Easter photo shoot again. Expect another round of photos mid-July.

Love,

Mom

The Chart

Dear Laney,

If I had to choose the greatest parenting idea I've had since giving birth to you, I would not hesitate to name The Chart.

While it's possible to get you to do most of the things we need you to do, there were three activities that you always met with great resistance: Brushing your teeth, remembering to take off your pants to use the bathroom, and shampooing your hair.

Brushing your teeth was the worst. We'd walk you into the bathroom, where you'd clamp your hands over your mouth and start crying real tears. If we got the Dora toothpaste into your mouth, you'd shout IS TOO SPICY!! and throw yourself on the ground. Finally, I posted on my facebook page that I was looking for advice on how to get a toddler to brush her teeth. I was amazed at the number of responses (30+) I got from old high school and college friends who now have small children. To quote Hank Williams, Jr., "All my rowdy friends have settled down."

I got ideas from my one friend with disposable income:

From my friend who obviously has no children of her own:

And my cousin, who obviously does have children, and also believes in tough love:

(on this one, I couldn't tell if her girls grew to like brushing their teeth, or being straddled by their mama on the bathroom floor).

In the end, I decided to appeal to your competitive instinct, and I created this chart, with photos on the left of the things I'd like to you to do, and photos on the right of the things you'll earn if you do them. For each time you did the activity pictured on the left, you'd earn a sticker that got you closer to the prize on the right.

7 tooth brushings gets you a ride on the carousel. 7 "number twos" in the potty gets you a trip to the playground. 7 shampoos, and you get to go swimming.

Maybe it'll be clearer for our readers if YOU explain it:

You end this demonstration by saying, "Now we can have snacks! Everybody wants snacks!" Yes, but probably not in the bathroom.

The chart has been a runaway success, and you've been asking - no, begging - me to brush your teeth. You tried to shampoo your own hair! And when you run out of the bathroom with your pants around your ankles, screaming, "I NEED A STICKER!!!" we know the score.

I have yet to win the war, but this week, I won the battle.

Love,

Mom

Spitting You Out

Dear Laney,

In Greek mythology, it's said that the goddess Athena sprang from her father Zeus's head, fully formed. In the South, we say, "Woooweee, her mama spat her out." In both cases, the point is that the offspring is more than a little like her parent.

When you were a baby, I thought you were just like your dad, but good golly, Miss Molly: I was wrong. The older you get, the more I realize how much we have in common. Last night, you hopped up from the dinner table and started a monologue about God knows what - probably pirates - but you were talking so fast, we could only understand about 40% of what you were saying. You dad said, "You can say she's like me all you want, but not once in my life have I ever started talking just because I like the sound of my own voice. Never."

And then sometimes, I go through pictures of you, and a certain one hits me, and I find myself saying "Holy guacamole."

Because y'all, that's me in that polar bear hat.

Your poor dad.

Love,

Mom

P.S. I know what you're all thinking, and you're right: Both photography and carpeting have made great strides since the late 70s.

Loud And Clear

Hey y'all,

There has been a lot of whining and general grumpiness in our house lately, and it's been coming from the adults. At the risk of airing our business in public, this has been a very difficult few months for us financially. The show I was working on got cancelled, and Hagen's hospital bills, our car registration, our income tax and Laney's school enrollment fee were all due in the same few weeks. Your dad and I weren't adjusting well to being poor, and it made us short-tempered and irritable.

On Monday afternoon, I picked Laney up from school and took her to ride on the carousel. As we were about to climb on a horse for the third time, a local after-school program for special needs kids and their parents showed up. There was a girl who looked to be about ten years old who got on the horse behind us, and was so happy to be there that she could only vent her excitement by wildly waving her arms in the air and screaming. And the whole time, this little girl's mother stood next to her, smiling and helping her daughter get her safety belt on. As Laney stared at the girl making the noise, I looked at her mother and wondered how she does it - day in , day out - and still manages to stand on that carousel and smile. And I immediately felt so petty for every time I'd been so exasperated in the past few weeks that I've hollered at Laney for not brushing her teeth or not giving up her pacifier or not staying in her bed.

As if God was concerned that I hadn't quite gotten the message, I got a second reminder at the library, where we stopped after the carousel. Walking past the computer lab, we passed a young man in his 20s who appeared homeless. His clothes were dirty, and he had a huge pack on his back with a bedroll. He was waiting for someone to come out of the computer lab... and that man was pushing a stroller, holding a baby no bigger than Hagen.

I get it.

We have friends and family who support us, we have a roof over our head, and our children are absolutely healthy. Everything else is inconsequential, and if I'm actually complaining about what we have, I must be out of my mind.

I hear you, Universe...

Loud and clear.

Love,

Mom

Bouncin'

Mom Gets A Hobby

Dear Hagen,

This past weekend, I went to a photography workshop. Mostly, I went because my friend Meghan was teaching it, but also because I figured that it would be a great way to meet a handful of other young moms. If you live in the boonies and you work from home, your social opportunities are a tad limited. My third-highest priority was learning something about the Nikon DSLR camera your dad bought while stationed in Japan, and refers to as his "spoils of war."

I am notoriously lazy when it comes to learning new things. I completely admire how your dad will pick up a new hobby and fiddle and fret over it until it's mastered. I am the opposite. Today, I opened an instruction booklet in front of Laney, and as I started looking at the step-by-step guide to assembling a Tinkerbell kite, she yelled, "THIS MAKES NO SENSE!!!" This tells me that I've yelled that phrase so many times that she's memorized it, the same way she's memorized, "This program has been brought to you by the Corporation For Public Broadcasting and viewers like you!!" at the end of Sesame Street.

Imagine my surprise that I actually paid attention to the lesson and didn't stop tinkering with the camera until I had figured out what all the little doohickeys and whozeewhatsits are for. I came home and immediately starting shooting a ton of practice photos.

Since you're the least mobile AND most cooperative member of our family, I spent a lot of time taking your picture yesterday.

When I was pregnant with you, everyone went out of their way to tell me, "Sure, you've taken a zillion pictures of Laney, and kept up with a blog, but when you have this second one, you'll quit taking so many pictures, and the blog will probably go away entirely." As it turns out, those people - and they know who they are - were wrong, my little friend.

I have not yet begun to fight.

Love,

Mom

Stowaway

Hey y'all -

Yesterday, I had a day all to myself to do Mom things. At the end of my errands in town, I stopped by the craft store. Laney's been asked to be the flower girl in a wedding next month, and Tracy told me the craft store might have something cute she could wear in her hair. I considered this particular white feather doohickey, then decided against it.

As I was driving home and merging onto the interstate, I noticed something white and feathery hanging down in front of the speedometer. "Huh," I thought, "I guess one of those feathers at the craft store got caught on my clothes." As I leaned forward to flick it away, I considered, "That doesn't really look like a feather. It looks more like...

AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

Yep, right before I touched it, I figured out that it was A MOUSE'S TAIL, and the mouse was living inside my dashboard, inches from my hands, and his tail had fallen free, and was dangling from the seam in the plastic above my gauges.

For purposes of dramatic re-enactment, it looked something like this:

And then it started flicking around. I'm not proud of this, but I screamed. I would say I hyperventilated, except that I was able to call your dad and have this conversation, which I am also not proud of:

Mom: THERE IS A &$%@& MOUSE IN MY DASH.

Dad: How do you know?

Mom: BECAUSE I CAN SEE HIS &$%@& TAIL!!!

Dad: laughs

Mom: THIS IS NOT &$%@& FUNNY!

Dad: laughs

Mom: I'm driving 70 miles an hour on cuise control with my feet up in the seat in case he comes out onto the floorboard. If he pokes his head out and I see it, this might be the last conversation you have with me, because you'll find this car upside down in a &$%@& RAVINE ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD.

Dad: laughs

Mom: We'll see how funny you think it is when you have to come get me in Frenchtown, because no way in hell am I driving this car all the way home.

So I drove to your old day care, where Miss Tracy found me in her driveway, with the hood to my car up, the driver's side door open, banging on the dash with a hairbrush.

Dad loaded you guys up and drove to Frenchtown where we exchanged cars, so I could drive the non-rodent-infested vehicle home.

Maybe this country mouse wanted to be a city mouse. Now he knows he can hitch a ride with Dad next time.

Ugh.

Love,

Mom

Tire-d

Dear Laney,

I'm so sick of having a yard full of snow and slush, I can't even tell you. I long for the day when I can open the front yard and tell you to go play outside without worrying that you're going to skate around the driveway like Peggy Fleming on a bender.

For a change of scenery, I loaded you and your brother into the car this afternoon and took you to play in the field behind the Alberton Community Center / Senior Center / Town Hall / Library / Fried Chicken / Live Bait:

On our way, we ran into some neighbors who were also in the mood to play outside, specifically, on the road*:

Can't wait for the thaw.

Love,

Mom

*Actual conversation I once had:

Brooke's Boss: Why were you late dialing in to the conference call?

Brooke: Sheep.

Brooke's Boss: Moving on...