Six Degrees of Bagels

Dear Laney,

There's a pop culture party game that's been around for a decade or so called "Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon." As the theory goes, you can link any other actor to Kevin Bacon in six steps or less. For example, if another player calls out, "Bill Cosby," you could say "Bill Cosby was in 'Malcolm X' with Karen Allen who was in 'Animal House' with Kevin Bacon." Bill Cosby to Kevin Bacon in two steps.

You're exceptionally good at the "six degrees" game, only instead of linking back to Kevin Bacon, your trick is to incorporate baked goods into every conversation.

For example, this dialogue actually transpired in our car the other day:

Mom: Laney, did you know my cousin Reed is getting married in April? 

Laney: Speaking of people getting married to each other, you know you and dad got married at the court house? 

Mom: Yeah... 

Laney: Well, the court house is next to the bagel place and I'd really like to eat a bagel.

My cousin Reed to a bagel in two steps. You win.

Love,
Mom

As Printed In The Missoulian Newspaper

Building Wild

Hey y'all -

I'm in Vermont.

The show I worked on for most of last year - "Building Wild" - has been ordered to a second season, so I'm back in Vermont, driving around and looking for great cabin-building projects. The first season premiered last Tuesday, and I happened to be here just in time to go to the premiere party at a local bar. So cool to see this small town watching themselves on television.

You two are back at home with your dad and Grandma Sue. Being apart gets harder and harder, I think - you'd think it'd be the opposite, but I end up missing you more on each trip. Laney seems to understand that I'll be back in a few days. Mostly, she wants to know how many presents she's going to get out of the deal. Finally, I told her she wasn't getting ANY because I would rather us genuinely miss each other.

Mom: ...Besides, Laney, you just had such a big Christmas, I can't think of a single thing you'd want or need.

Laney I can think of one important thing I don't have.

Mom: What is it?

Laney: A trampoline.

Mom: If you think you're getting a trampoline because I'm going out of town for a few days, you're out of your gourd.

So instead, she's spending our time apart learning how to tie a bandanna in her hair so she'll look more like Fraulein Maria in The Sound of Music. 

Hagen, on the other hand, seems mad as hell that I'm gone and isn't speaking to me, which is the worst. I'm assuming he'll forgive me when I step off the plane, but I'm putting a bag of M&Ms in my pocket, just in case.

Love,
Mom

Check-Ups and Check-Ins

Dear Laney,

I forgot to mention this, but last month I had a parent/teacher conference at your school. It lasted about 6 minutes. "Laney's great, she's on top of all her skills, she's a pleasure to be around, keep doing what you're doing, here's some photos I took of her in class, bye." It takes me longer to blow dry my hair than it does to get a download from your teacher. I am not taking this for granted, and I thank you. 

Dear Hagen,

We had your two year well-child check-up last week. You're also cruising along just fine and in fact have vaulted - vaulted, I say! - up from the third percentile in height to the by-God twentieth. "He's on the chart!" your doctor clapped. Hope you enjoy all the new nicknames we're giving you, Stretch.

While we were in the exam room, you opened Dr. Hoover's drawer and found one of those rubber reflex hammers. You took it over to the exam table, declared, "Is boken! Is 'k!* I pix it!," and then beat the tar out of the exam table with your rubber mallet. "Motor and verbal skills, check, check," said Dr. Hoover. You're the image of health and we didn't have to pay for any damages. Wins all around. 

Love,

Mom

* Hagen likes to use this abbreviated form of "ok." For example, when he falls down, he typically pops back up and shouts, "I 'k!" The other thing he yells when he falls is "Oops! Daisy!," but he says it in such a way that he might suspect "Daisy" is a synonym for "S#!t."

Buddies

Winter in Wallace

Hey y'all - 

After a few weeks at home, we were getting a little stir-crazy and wanted to get out of town for a few days. We have some friends who'd recently bought a house in the tiny mining town just down the mountain from the place we like to ski, so that's how we ended up spending last weekend in Wallace, Idaho. Wallace is known for being the setting of the crap-tastic movie Dante's Peak. Dante's Peak is an awful movie that has somehow earned your dad's undying affection (See also: Hidalgo). I guess geologists just get a little more excited about volcano disaster movies than the rest of us. 

Last weekend, however, Wallace was known as the place where we went tobogganing, ate pancakes, went secondhand store shopping, ran crazy in the snow, skated on the sidewalk ice, shared our toys, and generally enjoyed each other's company. 

Jude has been in Laney's class since they both turned 2, and now baby Finley and Hagen are in the same class, and pal around together at school all day. It was a great little group of kiddos who had a super time playing together. 

...until the volcano erupted and covered us all in an apocalyptic rain of ash and smoldering tinder. 

Just kidding! Maybe next time, Thor. 

Of course we had to have a ski day on the way home. Laney is getting better at skiing out in front of Dad on the rope, and is starting to learn how to turn on her own.

Hagen is loving playing in the snow at the bottom of the hill and serving as a general welcoming committee to the skiers.

Thor and Laney on the lift

Love,

Mom

First Night

Hey y'all - 

Every year for New Year's Eve, Missoula puts on a city-wide event called "First Night." If you're over the age of 7, you buy a button for $15 and from noon to midnight on Dec 31st, there are dozens of events you can attend. Even better, if you're under 7, the events are free. You can swim at the water park, ride a pony, go ice skating, meet the Cat in the Hat, see an insect exhibit, do an art project, hear a band or a choir, etc etc ad infinitum til the new year arrives. 

While Hagen took a nap, Laney decided on the pony ride, but "too wobbly" was the verdict on that activity.

Then, she asked, "That was fun, but you know what I'd REALLY like to do?" Note to grandparents and friends: If Laney ever asks you this, know that 100% of the time, the answer is going to be "Eat at a restaurant." She loves sitting at the table and looking at the menu and ordering for herself and acting like a grown-up...and if you can throw quesadillas in that mix, well, it's like the second coming of Christmas. 

Next we went to the insect exhibit at the University, where we looked at the giant cockroaches for about three seconds before deciding we were over insects. 

And finally, the two of us went to a modern dance performance on campus. As the lights were going down in the theatre, we had this conversation:

Laney: Are there going to be monsters?

Mom: No, just dancers.

Laney: Are the dancers going to pretend to be monsters?

Mom: No.

Laney: Are you sure?

Mom: Ssshhh - the show's about to start. Stop worrying about monsters. 

Laney: There had better not be monsters. 

Then I prayed, "Dear Lord, let this not be a dance about monsters." And it wasn't. Worse, it was an interpretive routine about - I am not making this up - how much doing housework stinks. The dancers mimed everything from folding clothes to cleaning out a closet. Three minutes into this, Laney used her outside voice to ask, "WHEN ARE THEY GOING TO START DANCING?"

We left that performance early. 

By then, Hagen was awake from his nap, so the boys joined us at the University where you had a great time running willy nilly on campus. 

Later in the afternoon, Grandma Sue came over to hang out with you guys for a few hours so your dad and I could go on our big New Year's Eve date. I'd like to say we put on our formalwear and sashayed down to the ball where we drank champagne and laughed and danced til the new year arrived...just like The Great Gatsby, but fancier. I CAN'T say that, of course, because we threw on sweatshirts at 5:00pm and went down to the local bar where we had sweet potato tater tots and were done around 6. When your dad and I were first dating in San Diego, we'd typically get back to his house after our dates by 8pm, which is when he'd announce to the rest of the condo complex: "We're done with the night, kids! You can have it!" So it's not like I didn't know I was marrying Mr. Excitement.  

Sometime between drinks #2 and #3, though, I decided it would be super fun to take some sparklers home to Laney and try to take some slow shutter speed pictures.

Of course my friends knew just where to send us, and I got my wish:

Kids were asleep by 8:30p, adults by 10p. Happy New Year, everyone!

Love,
Mom

P.S. We kicked off 2014 by going on a hike the morning of Jan 1, which is a little more our speed.

MORE FRENCH FRIES

Dear Laney,

Sometime last month, your dad decided you were ready for your first winter of downhill skiing. As with most of your dad's projects, this necessitated a trip to REI for some rope and webbing. He disappeared into the garage one Saturday afternoon, and reemerged an hour or so later with a new harness designed to literally guide you on your path to skiing superstardom. For practice, he took you on a few laps around the living room:

The thing is designed to have loops on either side of your waist so your dad can quickly hoist you up on the lift, and additional clips on the back so he can attach a rope when you get a little more advanced.

You were a little trepidatious when we first got to the ski hill, though you certainly looked the part of a semi-pro powder hound.

When you saw the chair lift for the bunny hill, you were suddenly very interested in skiing. I mean, according to you, the thing looked like a ride at Disney, and you couldn't wait to jump on. The problem with the lift is that it drops you at the top of the hill only, and then you must ski down. You were shocked - and more than a little angry - to learn this.

There's a classic method of teaching skiing that involves the terms "Pizza!" and "French fries!" "Pizza" describes what happens when you put the two front tips of your skis together, forming a triangle (or "slice of pizza") that effectively works as a snow plow. If you're committed enough to your "pizza," you could probably plant yourself at the top of the Matterhorn without sliding down. "French fries" is what happens when you make your two skis parallel and point them down the hill - they are side by side, like two french fries. When you want to stop? Pizza. When you want to go? French fries.

Pizza on the left, French fries on the right

After your first run, you decided you only wanted to get down the mountain one way: FAST. When dad would slow down, you'd holler, "No pizza! Just french fries!" You sure were lippy for someone who was doing zero percent of the heavy lifting. Your poor dad skied all day in a constant pizza position to keep your speed under control. I've never seen him so exhausted after a day of skiing, and his butt never got off the bunny hill.

You came home after that trip and thought about it for a few days before deciding that you were the second coming of Picabo Street, and you couldn't wait to go skiing again. It reminded me of those studies that say American students are lagging behind in math and science but are first in confidence. 'Cause honey, there was no crisis of confidence at Lookout Pass on your second day of skiing.

Halfway through day 2, your dad convinced you to ride up the big chair lift with all the grown-ups... all the way to the tippy-top of the mountain. I was on the chair in front of yours, so I could hear you yelling things like, "WE'RE SO FAR UP HERE, I BET WE COULD SEE PEG PEG'S HOUSE!"

Once you guys hopped off the lift at the top, your dad held your hand and explained the trail to you, and told you how you were going to get down, and assured you there was nothing to be scared of. 

Then, he skied all the way down that mountain with your skis in between his. That's how I learned that even with a 42-pound weight between his legs, your dad is still a faster skier than me.

In case anyone wants to see all this in motion, it looks a little something like this:

As always, I am proud of you for trying new things, and in awe of your dad for having unending patience and stamina.

By the way, your brother enjoys trips to the ski hill, too, but he's mostly in it for the hot chocolate and the naps in the corner.

Love,
Mom

P.S. The drive home is awfully pretty, too.