Eddie & Laney

Dear Laney,

I moved to Los Angeles in 1998, and got my first "industry" job working as a page on the Paramount lot. On bad days, I gave tours of the studio. Weirdly, most of the tour groups were German and spoke little English and had seen almost no American television. "And here's where the Fonz rode his motorcycle in the opening credits of Happy Days!" I'd announce to blank German stares. Turns out, they were all there because Star Trek filmed on the lot, so I spent most of that summer marching around in starched khakkis, helping Hans and Fritz spot the Klingons.

On good days, I helped seat the audience for the sitcoms that filmed there, including Frasier. Between takes, the audience got to ask questions, and people always wanted to know about Eddie the Dog.

Eddie was played by a dog named Moose, and was trained by a sweet, tiny little French lady. When someone in the audience would ask her how she got Moose to do those complicated tricks, she would always explain that she'd teach him one small step at a time, and then slowly add new pieces to the trick. Go to the door. Go to the door and bark. Go to the door and bark and pretend to tinkle.

____________________

You like to get up every morning at 5:14am. And when you wake up, you immediately want hot chocolate and cartoons and maybe a snack and you aren't shy about waking up everyone else in the house to let us know. I tried to tell you that it isn't nice to wake other people up. I tried to explain the word "selfish" to a 3 year-old. All I wanted in the world was to sleep 'til 7. So I thought for a long time about how to solve this problem. And then I remembered that French lady and Eddie/Moose and started working on it in steps...

The hardest part was waiting on you to develop the upper body strength to open the refrigerator on your own. After that, it came pretty easy: Open the fridge. Take the mug of chocolate milk. Climb the stool. Open the microwave. Press the snowman sticker covering the "30 SEC" button 3 times. Swirl the milk when it comes out so there are no hot spots. Find the iPod with cartoons on the couch. Settle in and hush. One month later, we've advanced to this:

Chocolate milk ready to go and make-your-own-cereal with a mini milk pitcher.

Yesterday, it all came together and you did it all by yourself and when I came down the stairs at 6:45am, you were in the best mood and SO proud of yourself.

MOM, WAS I SO, SO QUIET??

Yes.

Good Laney.

Love,
Mom

Erica Kane

Dear Laney,

When I was little, one of Peg Peg's pet names for me was "Erica Kane." Erica was a character on the soap opera All My Children who was prone to frequent crying jags, energetic tantrums, and screaming matches. Wherever she went, vases shattered against the wall. Her life was a whirlwind of drama, not least because she couldn't seem to make a run to the grocery store without picking up a new husband. By the time the show was cancelled, her full married name was Erica Kane Martin Brent Cudahay Chandler Montgomery Montgomery Chandler Marick Marick Montgomery (but only because the two marriages to Mike Roy were illegal). Anyway, it seemed that by the age of 3, I had developed a flair for the histrionic that rivaled Ms. Kane's, only all I ever got to show for it was a "time out," vs. 14 consecutive nominations for a Daytime Emmy.

Like blue eyes and short legs, it seems I have passed this surplus of drama on to you.

Yesterday, you were a pill. You were wailing and flopping around on the couch like a hooked trout because you wanted to make cookies and I told you you'd have to wait 'til later. The screaming and gnashing of teeth got so bad that I told you to go to your room, and as I closed the door, I said, "You can come out when you remember how to be nice."

This was followed by some random screaming, then some toys being hurled around the room, then things went quiet just long enough for you to take a deep breath and proclaim: I DON'T HAVE A FRIEND IN THE WORLD!

Hand to God, that's what you yelled. I can't even imagine where you would have heard that, Ms. Kane.

This morning, you woke me up at 5:04a.m. to tell me you wanted hot chocolate. "Laney," I explained, "It isn't time to get up yet, and Mom really needs to sleep. Go back downstairs and I'll make you something to drink in a few hours." "Fine," you retorted, as your eyes narrowed to slits, "I'll just go play with Hagen," in the tone of voice Erica Kane would have used when vowing to steal all the husbands in Pine Valley. So of course your dad and I both jumped up because the LAST thing we wanted was for you to go wake up your brother.

That's it - I'm getting you a sparkly turban and caftan so the next time you channel your inner unhinged diva, at least you'll look the part.

Love,
Mom

Barnstormers

Hey y'all -

I've done some crazy, low-down, ill-advised things in my time, but deciding to go to Walmart on Thanksgiving night for their doorbusters might take the cake. Y'all, it was unlike anything I have ever seen. It was a seething mob of humanity grabbing at $1.47 bath towels. It was exhilarating, like an entertainment the ancient Romans would have cooked up if they'd they'd run out of lions.

Sue and Ron stayed home with you guys and your dad and Nate and I went into town, lured by bargain-basement prices on iPads and children's toys. I figured there wouldn't be many people there - I assumed most Missoulians would be tucked away in their houses, making homemade granola. But NO! The store was packed with people in a retail frenzy.

For those who've never done it, here's how it works: they schedule items to go on sale at specific times. There are 8pm doorbusters, 10pm doorbusters, etc. They put the items in big shrink-wrapped piles around the store, so you have to stake out your desired item, then join the throng surrounding it, and wait for the Walmart employee to remove the plastic. That's when you pounce. Your dad at one point yelled, "It's like hungry lionesses at the watering hole!" Your dad also kept forgetting the word "Doorbuster," and insisted on calling them, "Barnstormers."

Nate was instrumental in my success. He walked ahead of my cart, elbows up, making a hole for me to pass through. I picked up speed going down a particular aisle, and I heard a voice behind me yelling, "I don't know who you are, but KEEP GOING - YOU'RE DOING GREAT!"

We finally figured out that there were huge mylar balloons placed randomly around the store advertising one of the big ticket items, and that's where the line started for - say - the iPad or the Wii. We got in line over in the condiment section at 8:30p for the iPads that they wouldn't start giving away until 10pm. We spent an hour and a half parked by the ketchup and mustard, making friends with the people in line around us. And seriously, it was fun.

As the line finally started moving, we snaked by the coffee and tea section, and your dad reached out and grabbed a box of Sleepytime Tea. The guy behind us in line said, "Son, you know this wasn't the line for tea, right?

I don't know that I would attempt this in any other town - even in a frenzy, the people of Missoula are a well-behaved mass of humanity. We ran into the woman who runs our food co-op, and she said that she was out with a group of five girlfriends, and they had an all-night plan: Walmart, then Target opens at 9, then Old Navy opens at midnight, then Sears is open all night and serving breakfast...  I think all the blood drained from your dad's face when I told him that. But if you think I'm not going to become friends with that woman just to join her shopping coven, you are wrong. 

In the end, we saved $100 on our iPad and bought all of Laney's presents for 60% off retail. I can't wait to do it again next year.

Love,

Mom

Mighty Tree Hunters

Hey y'all -

It's no secret that we don't have the best luck when it comes to Christmas trees. We search and search for one, then your dad cuts it down, then the dog pees on it, then we put it up and decorate it, then it falls over and we sweep up the ornaments and start all over. But that doesn't mean we're going to give up! ...at least that's what I yelled at your dad as he moped off to find his hatchet.

The morning after Thanksgiving, we all headed out to cut down this year's tree.

The girls had all gone out on a scouting trip the day before, thinking it would speed the process up a little:

...but apparently, your dad is tired of all this Christmas tree nonsense, and when we'd gotten about 20 yards down the road, he gestured with his hatchet and demanded, "OK, do you want THIS tree, or THAT tree?" Sue and I looked at him like, "How about neither?" Nate looked at him like, "Good luck with that, brother." I mean, we own 20+ acres of pine trees and if you think I'm going to point at something random from the driveway, you've got another thing coming, Scrooge Burbach.

We picked a third option for our family tree, and then Laney told him that she'd picked a tree for her room, too. Dad swung his hatchet once, and the tree fell - before I'd even had a chance to pick up my camera and document the moment. So I made him do it over:

...and Uncle Nate helped Laney carry it home.

We got the tree up in Laney's room, and it's been upright for 48 hours, which is a new family record. Stay tuned to Treewatch 2012 for updates.

Love,
Mom

Thanksgiving

Waking up to watch the falling snow. 

Princess dress on? Check. Now, to make a crown for Uncle Nate, who will be here any minute.

Nate puts the crown on, like a good sport.

Grandma Sue gave Laney a big box of dress-up clothes and accessories for Christmas last year, so when she was drafted into a Princess Dance Party, she had no one to blame but herself.

The benefits of a 34-degree mud room.

If this isn't my favorite photo of all time, I don't know what is. 

Nate, supervising the grilling of the turkey.

Guinness. For Thanksgiving strength.

The table.

Place cards by Laney 

Sharing cranberry sauce with Uncle Nate, and/or stabbing him in the tonsils.

Discovering apple pie.

Spoon drumming with Great-grandpa Ron.

Hagen and his great-grandfather.

We played a game of "Cranium," which was great fun. Your dad drew a card that told him to act out "Magnetism," so he threw himself at our refrigerator. Nate guessed it correctly in two seconds.  

Second To None

Dear Hagen,

There's definitely a downside to being the second child. When Laney was your age, I had the time to write an eight-paragraph blog post describing how she picked up a fork. Now, I have two children and a full-time job and a tendency to over-commit myself to crazy volunteer projects, and sometimes I let things slide when it comes to this blog in general, and about your development specifically. A few weeks ago, I said to your dad, "I should probably mention on the blog that Hagen can stand up all by himself and bounce to the music while eating crackers," but I kept forgetting.

But before I let this moment get away from me, allow me to share the greatest development of our Thanksgiving holiday:

So proud of you.


Laney took her first steps toward Uncle Nate, too. I don't know if it's his motivational speeches, his intense training regimen, or the way he claps and yells HUSTLE! HUSTLE!*, but something he's doing just plain works.

With love and thanks to Uncle Nate,
Mom

* He doesn't actually do this.

Bad Example

Dear Hagen -

Your relationship with our dog Ella is like a classic high school relationship: all-consuming for the people in it, exhausting to watch for the people who aren't.

She wants you around 'cause you're worth licking. Then, you want to climb her, which she hates. So, she uses her nose to scoot you away, and because we have laminated flooring and you wear diapers, she can propel you about 3 feet in any direction. Then you turn around with glee and climb her again. And she grumbles. And she gets in trouble for grumbling. And you get in trouble for climbing. And then your dad steps in and has a stern talk with you both about how we'd all be much happier if y'all would stay the hell away from each other.

Stay away from her son, she's trouble. 

Ella gets what he's saying, but it's just so much blah blah blah to you, so two seconds later, you're at it again.

I took all of these photos in the same 60 second interval -

I mean, I know you don't know how to behave, but I expect better from Ella.

Love,
Mom

Newsmakers

Hey y'all -

A few (actual) news items this week:

1) Your dad has become the Squadron Commander of the local Civil Air Patrol. Let's say you're a rock star flying to your next awesome gig and your Cessna happens to go down in the Bitterroot Mountains outside Missoula. As you look through the smoke and fire of the crash site, you can expect to see the smiling face of Thor Burbach coming to rescue you. Or the smiling face of Jesus if Thor doesn't make it in time. Either way, Missoula's now an excellent place to go down in flames.

One of his first missions is to head up the local Wreaths Across America program, which places an evergreen wreath on the grave of every veteran buried at veteran's cemeteries across America - including Arlington. To help him get the word out, I typed up a press release and sent it out to all the Western Montana media outlets, and a reporter actually called him to do a story. That's how your dad ended up being interviewed on the news:

Ten days of miserable illness and continued sleeplessness is not the best preparation for going on television. You dad and I agreed that while his cause is noble, he mostly looked like the tired old guy working at the Dairy Queen.

2) Peg Peg was honored as the holder of Billingsley Endowed Chair in Nursing at the University of Arkansas. Though she's attempted to explain it to me on numerous occasions, I have no idea what this means, other than it's a big deal and a great honor and we should all be very proud of her. As we are.

There was a big ceremony this week:

I understand that this recognizes her as a superior faculty member and brings additional funds to the university for important research or service activities. But every time she mentions the "Billingsley Chair," I hear the smart-ass voice of my friend Gordon in my head, who asked, "What does she have to do to get the entire Billingsley Dinette Set?"

Applause to Dad and Peg Peg for taking the time to make the world a better place.

It offsets the time I spend making reality television.

Love,
Mom

Chocolate-Covered Update

Hey y'all-

Hagen's the same, I'm a little better now that I've got antibiotic goo for my eye, and your dad is worse. He called in sick to work today, but then we got a call that a realtor wanted to show the house, so I made him get up from his deathbed to help me clean. I don't know if it's because we're the ones responsible for childbirth, but I've noticed that women in general and southern women in particular have almost zero tolerance for men moping around complaining about their illnesses. I once saw my mother hurl a bottle of Tylenol in Tex's direction as he moaned about being on the verge of death; that wallpaper wasn't going to hang itself.

You dad picked me up some cough syrup in town yesterday, but he got the mildest, non-drowsy form of Robitussin there is. What's the point of that? I want to take two swigs of something that knocks my butt out for 24 hours, and if I wake up tomorrow and Ella has decided to raise Hagen as her own, well, that's a price I'm willing to pay for a good night's sleep.

You know who remains in excellent spirits, without a care or cough in the world? This joker:

"Mommy, can we make a chocolate cake with sprinkles on it and I can stir the ingredients?" 

I was going to say no, but you had me at "ingredients."

We made a chocolate cake, but only because I wasn't smart enough at the time to google, "Homemade Ny-Quil."

Love,

Mom

A Mexican Restaurant In Hell

Dear Readers:

I love Mexican food. Love it. But when you go to a Mexican restaurant, you have to admit that the combination plates are all variations on the same dinner - a little more rice, a little less beans, a different kind of tortilla.

Our family is suffering from a menu's worth of maladies right now, all in different combinations, but all equally miserable. Our group medical condition is - at present - like the combination platters at a Mexican restaurant in hell.

THE DAD
Congestion, Persistent Deep Cough, General Achy-ness, Bad Disposition....$6.50

THE MOM
Persistent Cough, Sore Throat, Congestion, Pinkeye....$7.25

THE HAGEN
Runny Nose, Pinkeye....$2.00

THE LANEY
High Maintenance-itis...$2.50

No substitutions

You read that right: Laney, who we are certain brought all of this pain and suffering home with her from preschool, is suffering from nothing. We love her, but she's not very popular in the house right now, and we have taken to referring to her as "The Carrier."

I am off to Target to pick up my pinkeye prescription. 

Pass the salsa.

-Brooke

Snow Angel

Retrospective

Breaking News

All photos in this post courtesy of Barnibbe Photography

Hey y'all - 

When I was little and would go to visit my grandparents in Georgia, my arrival would normally be mentioned in the social column of The Vienna News-Observer. As in: 

Brooke Lee, of Virginia, will be visiting her grandparents Mary and Woodrow Lee of Vienna.

The News-Observer no longer exists, having been absorbed by the larger - and more metropolitan - Cordele Dispatch, which advertises itself as "The Legal Organ Of Dooly County," a.k.a the most accidentally profane slogan I've ever read.

When my grandmother would mention that my visit had made the paper, I would inwardly roll my eyes and swear up and down that I would never ever live in a town where something so trifling would qualify as "news."

Alberton got a new see-saw! Alberton got a new see-saw!

We met Cedar and her family at the playground to try out the new see-saw (or, "see-saucer," as Laney insists it's called). Laney and Cedar didn't want to ride on the same one so much as they wanted to ride on the same end, so The Other Brooke and I took turns pushing them up and down. And up and down. And up and down. Just bench pressing the young'uns over and over. 

I woke up the next morning, whining, "Thor...my armpits hurrrrt..."

Brooke Burbach, of Alberton, Montana, accidentally exercised her pectoral muscles yesterday on the school playground, and is asking for prayers of support during this time of healing and recovery. 

Love,

Mom

Cheater, Cheater, System Beater

Dear Laney,

You come from a long line of competitive people, so I can't fault you for thinking you should win everything. But when you lose a footrace to Dad in the driveway, and then throw yourself down in the dirt wailing, "BUT I SHOULD HAVE WIN IT!," it's not pretty. Based on the simplest laws of physics, your 14-inch legs aren't built for speed. We see you as a short, blonde three year-old, but you apparently see yourself as a 20 year-old Kenyan.

Sometimes you yell "GO," and take off running, and when we start to catch up to you, you pick the nearest point as the finish line and declare, "I win!" By declaring the starting line, the duration, and the finish line for all your races, you have a pretty good win/loss ratio. Also, through trial and error, we've discovered that letting you win 60% of our races is the right mix of confidence- and character-building.

For Christmas last year, my friend Karen got you the game Jenga. In Jenga, you stack a tall tower of wooden blocks and remove them one at a time from the middle, until someone topples the tower on his/her turn, and that person loses, or in the parlance of our house, "doesn't win as much."

For a small person, you are incredibly good at this game. You've figured out some tricks and you can actually hold your own when you play with Dad and me. But boy oh boy is it ugly when the blocks fall down on your turn.

Yesterday, you asked me if I wanted to play Jenga, so I hauled the game out and started setting it up. The phone rang, and I went in the other room for a few minutes. When I got back, I discovered this:

You had GLUED the Jenga blocks together. Despicable. Brilliant. Diabolical. Genius.

You probably would have gotten away with it for at least a little while, had you not chosen purple glue with glitter in it.

Love,
Mom