King (and Queen) Of The Road

Hey y'all - 

We can pack in a lot of activity between dinner and bedtime. 

Dad does the hard work

"I want to go really far."

Smooshieface

First time in the car.

Keeping the hands at ten and two.

"And I'm freee... free fallin'..."

The carpool

Fred and Barney

Love,

Mom

Tiny Tim

Readers:

If you have a child who can climb up on a barstool and turn on a webcam, you're just asking for a hard drive full of this stuff.

Now sit back, relax, and enjoy the smooth song stylings of Laney B:

If you can get that song out of your head, congratulations. You're mentally stronger than me.

Love,
Brooke

To Do? To Done.

Dear Laney,

On Saturday morning, you put on your gardening hat and picked up your dad's field journal and headed for the potty. When I joined you in the bathroom, I found you sitting down, "writing" your To Do List for the day, which you helpfully translated for me as you went along.  It was a pretty ambitious list. 

But by Sunday afternoon, you had done it all. 

You went to a birthday party at Jojo's house, and played on her new playground. 

You went to Grandma Sue's house, and told me you were "just going to sleep ober." So your dad and I left you and Hagen there, and came home and slept 11 hours in a row. 

We went back to pick you up on Sunday morning, and then went to the farmer's market by the carousel, where you had ice cream.

Minus the skiing, all your dreams came true this weekend. 

Might I borrow that magical field journal?

Love,

Mom

Priceline

Hey y'all -

I've stayed in some lovely hotels in my time.

Once, I drove from Los Angeles to Montgomery, AL over Thanksgiving, and made a reservation for myself - as a big treat - to spend the night at the Ritz Carlton in New Orleans. Located in the middle of the  French Quarter, it was within walking distance of all sorts of decadence. I had the duck at Emeril's. I had my palm read in Jackson Square - I can't remember what the woman said, but I remember thinking it was freaky deaky and eerily accurate. On my way back to the hotel after my evening spent strolling the Quarter, I had a Hurricane from Pat O'Briens. The last thing I remember from that night was dropping my cell phone into the bubbles of my luxurious marble bathtub as I tried to call my friend Karen to say, "This place is INCREDIBLE."

The Christmas of 1998, I attended the holiday party of the talent agency where I was working (L'chaim!) and they had a prize raffle. My roommate (and co-worker) Brian won a trip for two to New York, including first class airfare and a stay at the Four Seasons. He took me with him, and I will be forever grateful. At the time, we were living together in semi-squalor: a subterranean $500/month apartment in Los Angeles with a hallway that had a series of metal fire doors you had to open on the way to our apartment door (you had to really want groceries to haul those things in from the garage). We were the only non-native Russian speakers, and the only people who didn't make cabbage every night. In contrast, the Four Seasons was immaculate and wonderful. Even my mismatched pink luggage rolling through the lobby could not distract from the magnificence of that hotel. It smelled like the Bulgari Green Tea soap that I stole on the trip and still pull out of a bin in my bathroom in Montana to sniff and remember a magical land where your every need is met, and you never ever have to clean up toddler poop.

Why am I telling you this? Because as fabulous as these hotels were, they STILL cost less per night than the vet clinic where we picked up Gus yesterday and were told, "We have no idea what's wrong, but he seems better now. That'll be $900."

I wish that voodoo woman in New Orleans would have warned me.

Love,

Mom

The Patient

Hey y'all -

On Wednesday, Gus had an awful seizure. It happens about once a year, and is a semi-common trait in Huskies, and he normally pops up and acts like nothing's wrong - nothing to see here.

But yesterday, he didn't know who I was or where we were, so I loaded him up in the car and drove him to the Vet Clinic. Lifting an 80-something-pound dog who seemed to have no idea what a Subaru is or why he'd want to get in one was tougher than I thought it would be.

The vet diagnosed him with possible epilepsy and a possible heart condition. Basically, they don't know anything, but are keeping him there for a few days to check it out.

My theory is that Ella finally drove him nuts, and he just needed a break for a few days.

In the Larry McMurtry book Texasville*, banker Lester Marlowe - who loaned out all of his bank's assets right before the Texas oil bust - says, "I'm just looking for a quiet place to have a nervous breakdown."

I think that's Gus.

I also think that when we get the vet bill, I'm going to wish I'd'a just checked him in to the Hilton.

But I'll keep you posted.

Love,
Mom

* I'll confess that I like the sequel Texasville more than The Last Picture Show, in the same way I like Velveeta more than feta. I know it's supposed to be good for me, but I just can't make myself do it.

What We're Capable Of

Hey y'all -

Grandma Sue stayed with us last Saturday night on her way to visit Spokane. Being the generous soul that she is, she suggested that your dad and I go into town for a date night while she watched you guys.

The problem with her suggestion was that your dad and I were just too dang tired. Hagen's going through what we're assuming is a growth spurt and is waking up every hour on the hour to tell us about it. I spend whole work days holding him with my left hand while typing with my right, all trying to disguise the fact that I have a baby from any of my employers who might call.

Stop me if you've heard this one:

A few weeks ago, I had a Skype (web cam) meeting with the heads of the underwear company I work with. When I logged on, the program told me I had an outdated version of the software, and would only be able to use audio, but not video. Fine - they can't see me. Even better. So as I pitched my ideas for the upcoming campaign, I stood in front of my laptop, jiggling Hagen and silently willing him to keep quiet. As he started to fuss, I considered my options, until I heard, "You're not going to nurse that kid, are you?"

Well, not now. Not now that I know you can see me.

So like I was saying, your dad and I are tired all the time. If asked what would be more difficult: Getting dressed, brushing my hair, hunting up some lipstick, driving to town, engaging in sparkling conversation, and driving back home OR climbing Mt. Everest, I would have answered, "Eh, about the same."

In the end, we put a pint of ice cream, a box of wine and a blanket in a shopping bag and walked 50 feet to the creek, where we had dessert, pretended to be free of the responsibility of parenting, but mostly tried not to fall asleep sitting up.

Because that's what we're capable of (if only barely).

Love,
Mom

Six Pics Of Summer

Here are six pictures I've taken in the past two days that I'm particularly fond of -

(or, "of which I'm particularly fond," if you're a stickler about prepositions).

1. THE LAUGH - Laney starts singing a song that goes, "Clean up! Clean up! Everybody clean up!" and Hagen begins laughing so hard his tummy probably hurts. We all agree that the concept of Laney cleaning anything is a real knee-slapper. 

2. CONCERNED BROTHER - Hagen watches Laney launch herself down the slide backwards, and considers lowering the deductible on our family insurance policy. 

3. CRUISIN' ON A MONDAY AFTERNOON - I can only watch Laney swing back and forth so many times before I have to find new ways to entertain myself in the yard. Yesterday, I popped Hagen on Laney's old toy, and he loved it. The problem: He can only launch himself backward, so it's all great fun until he realizes he's 25 feet away from me in the middle of the driveway. Then, I have to pick him up, bring him back, and let him do it all over again. I have created more work for myself.

4. HEY, HOLLYWOOD - This is the fight we're having right now: Laney watched an episode of Little Bill in which Bill learned to tie his shoes. Because she watched that episode, she now thinks she can tie her shoes, too. I've watched every season of Project Runway, but I don't think I can whip up a ball gown, ifyaknowwhatimean.

She can't get her shoes tied, but she has great fun sitting down and narrating the shoe-tying process, "You make a hoopsie..." etc etc. To listen to her, you'd think she had it down. Then you look, and see that all she's done is twist the two laces together. So you say, "Laney, can I help you finish that up? Or show you another way?" And she says - as if you're the one with the problem - "No! They're already tied!" You cannot convince her she's mistaken.

She's hard-headed, she's delusional, she's awesome.

5. MY FAVORITE - EVER.

Making A Splash

Railroad Days

Hey y'all,

Yesterday was Alberton's annual Railroad Days Festival. We got there in time to see the big parade. There was a woman driving a cart pulled by miniature donkeys, a flatbed filled with women dressed as saloon floozies, assorted grandpas driving their tractors down the middle of the road, and some poor soul dressed as Smokey The Bear likely sweating his butt off on a tailgate. 

I've never been trapped inside a country music video, but I have a pretty good idea what it would feel like.

We ran into Fisher and Cedar and their parents - I mean, what are the odds that - in a town of 400 people - we'd see someone we know?!?

I walked behind Laney and Cedar, who were holding hands, and listened in as Laney conducted what must have been the least informative walking tour in the history of Alberton:

Look, Cedar, there's THAT thing! (pointing to porch railing)

Cedar! Look! There's THIS thing! (pointing to front steps of bar)

Cedar, God bless her, nodded along in agreement: Why, yes! There IS that thing!

There was a small petting zoo set up in the parking lot of the feed store. Whenever I see a petting zoo, I always want to throw open the gate and scream at the animals, "RUN! SAVE YOURSELVES!"

Having a garden this year, your dad and I have spent a lot of time talking about various vegetables and fruits. There are some things he's growing that I've classified as "crazy yankee food," and have no intention of eating. Rhubarb is one of those things. So imagine my dismay when Hagen and I waited patiently in the grass for Dad and Laney to come back with a piece of pie from the Catholic Ladies of Alberton booth, only to discover that they were selling Peach/Rhubarb pie.  I clutched my pearls and told him to take it back and tell them that his southern wife called it an adulteration of everything good and sacred in the world.  Instead, like a reasonable human being, he kept his mouth shut and ate the pie.

A few hours into the festivities, Hagen was tuckered out, so we did some shopping at the Feed Store (spoiler alert: everyone's getting a bale of hay for Christmas!) while Dad and Laney went for a ride in the horse-drawn cart.

On our way back to the car for the ride home, a woman with big bangs passed me as I was holding Hagen. She pointed to him and declared, "That is one cute sack o' taters!!" 

You know what this means? The funniest and most hillbilly thing I have heard all year was said to me not in Georgia, but in Montana. 

Must be the rhubarb.

Love,
Mom

Punchy

Seriously.

I walked out of the house this morning, and a something buzzed my head. It was so big, I thought it was the bat coming back for revenge.

Accordingly, I shrieked and flailed my arms above my head, while jogging in place.

As one does when death-by-wildlife-attack is imminent.

Turns out it was this:

I'm a woman on the verge, y'all.

-Brooke

P.S. If you're a lepidopterologist reading this, and you recognize this as some kind of venom-spitting winged insect that can paralyze human prey, just don't tell me. I'm already in a constant state of the vapors.

Yogurt? Yes, Please

It's Raining Young'uns In One Million Years B.C

Hey y'all -

We had a perfect evening at the river with our friends The Other Brooke and Cedar.  The beach was hopping at 7pm... It's light out here until after 10pm - one of the benefits of living just north of the Arctic Circle.

We saw a snake; apparently, the Lord thought the post I wrote yesterday complaining about all the nature in my life was missing a reptile.

Hiking down to the beach, holding hands.

Laney and Cedar each got hefted up into the air about 173 times. Grab a bushel, Mildred, it's rainin' young'uns:

The longer we stayed, the more I thought Cedar started to resemble Raquel Welch in the old B Movie One Million Years, B.C.

You battle those brontosauri, sister, and if a man from the Rock tribe asks to share your tent, you tell him no. The future of the Shell tribe depends on it. 

Love,

Mom