Trampoline

Hey y'all -

I need to get all of my photos and thoughts together so I can do a little recap of our summer, but frankly I'm overwhelmed by the thought of it. I got an e-mail from devoted reader Clay Mercer who suggested that the blog went dormant in the summer because I was busy trying to fit in all the activity I possibly could "during the three months you can go outside without having to leave the state." That's exactly right. Plus houseguests.

So allow me to stall another day. In the meantime, here are some cute pictures of y'all on the trampoline to distract your grandparents and make me seem less lazy:

Love,

Mom

I DO NOT NEED TO GO POTTY

Dear Hagen,

Sure you don't, buddy.

Love,
Mom

The Moon And Star

Hey y'all, 

We had a whirlwind of activity last week. I went to Vegas for a few days for a work thing...

...and I flew back to Missoula just in time to change clothes, meet up with your dad, and head out to see Miranda Lambert in concert.

Always nice to see (and hear) her; always shocking to see myself photographed next to someone who's professionally attractive. 

The next night was the Supermoon eclipse. Because your dad is one enthusiastic scientist, he suggested we all go up on our roof to get a good view of the blood moon. You guys climbed up the ladder with enough bedding to fill a housewares department. 

I brought along my camera and tripod and longest lens, because I wanted to see if - for fun - I could get a clear shot of the thing. Unfortunately, I left my camera remote down in the living room and had to try to figure out my camera's timer in the dark and then hold very, very still (if you press the shutter directly, it jiggles the camera just enough that your picture will be out of focus, since you have to have such a slow shutter speed to shoot a subject so far away in the dark). Much of our time on the roof was spent with your dad saying things like, "A lunar eclipse is what happens when the Earth falls directly betw- STOP TOUCHING YOUR MOTHER!!!"

Up on the roof, we talked about how the Supermoon won't be back for another 18 years...when Laney is 24. We talked about how the next time that astronomical event occurs, she'll be grown up and living in her own house. She thought that was totally cool. I tried not to cry thinking about it. 

We also talked about how your dad and I hope that when you look back on your childhoods, you'll remember these little mini-adventures we had as a family, and remember us as encouraging and fun. And if any of your grown-up friends someday ask you about your family, you'll say, "We did cool stuff together."

Laney, I look forward to watching the next Supermoon together from the roof of YOUR house in 2033. 

Love,

Mom

Celebrity First Grader

Dear Laney,

About six weeks ago, you started first grade, and you've been rocking it ever since. 

As I like to do (because your answers are usually hilarious) I took a picture of you on the first day with your response to what you want to be when you grown up:

My friend Jessica saw this picture and suggested that "Artist Vet" might be code for 'Taxidermist," but I'm not buying it. On Facebook, I posted this picture and suggested that your business might one day offer a deal where you neuter Fluffy and then paint his picture for an extra $50. 

You skipped away to your first day of school without a moment's hesitation:

You love your new teacher. You like that you're sitting at your own big-kid desk, instead of a shared table. The biggest change from last year is that you now have homework; every night, you have to do a math worksheet and read us a story and complete a spelling activity. The instructions on your homework folder read: "Homework should take 15-20 minutes a night." Whoever wrote that seems to have the same grasp of time as your dad, who will call me from three counties over and tell me he'll be home in ten minutes.

Your teacher uses an app called "Class Dojo" that all of the parents can put on their phones. Throughout the day, she gives individual kids points for great behavior or "bummers" for not-so-great behavior. It looks like this:

It's invasive and Big Brother-y and I love it a little too much. 

You and I have made a deal that every Friday afternoon, if you've gotten no "bummers" for the week, you get to pick a prize, like going to the climbing gym with your dad or getting dinner from a drive-thru. This seems to be working great, because there's very little you won't do for a trip to Taco Bell. 

The Class Dojo also has a messaging feature for parents to communicate directly with the teacher. That's how this exchange happened:

It's true you're a rock-star kiddo, but it may also be true that your kindergarten teacher warned her I'm cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs and she'd better go ahead and give you a certificate. 

You know how fashion magazines are always featuring articles about the impossible quest to find an outfit that transitions from the office to a night on the town? That's not half as hard as finding an outfit that will satisfy the demands of Pajama Day turns P.E. Day becomes Bobcat Assembly. I mean, what's a girl to wear to THAT combination of events?!?

I guess this:

It was only Pajama day for YOUR class, so you look especially nutty-but-cute.

Your teacher gave a speech about how you're a kind friend and a hard worker and a joy to have in the class, and then you got to help lead the Bobcat cheer about being "Safe! Respectful! Responsible and Kind!"

We could not be more proud of our first grader.

Love,

Mom

Sibling School. Enroll Today!

Yes, I'm Serious, And Don't Call Me "Shirley."

Hey y'all, 

So...I never really know what to say when people ask your dad and me what we do for a living. "We do a bunch of stuff," I start with, but if I don't expand on it, I assume people hear, "We do a bunch of stuff...that the cops don't know about."  I work on TV shows and I film some stuff for a PR company and I write some stuff for a fitness company and I do some website design stuff and I take pictures for fun and in my spare time, I'm learning Common Core math because that mess is crazy. Same with your dad: "Well," I say, "He's a Hydrologist with the Forest Service and he's in the Navy and he flies some stuff and he works with the Civil Air Patrol which has something to do with saving people with the use of planes, and in his spare time, he's learning Common Core math."

But if you were to ask you dad what he loves to do most, he'd no doubt say "anything that involves flying."

He's trying to pass that love of aviation on to you guys, so whenever he can, he takes Laney with him. Now that Hagen's getting bigger, I assume he'll be roped into the wild blue yonder more often, too. I've been the holdout. "But Thor!" I always say, "There's a reason the President and Vice President never fly on the same plane." And your dad rolls his eyes while I started humming Don McLean's American Pie about the day the music died. 

Last weekend, I finally agreed to go along for a pre-sunset flight. 

When we got to the plane, I was surprised at how small the thing was, and how everything inside was covered in red naugahyde. It looked like we were about to take flight in an old Camaro. "What the heck kind of plane is this?!?" I demanded. "A 1979 Cessna blah blah blah blah..." said your dad. I didn't really hear anything after "1979." "Is that old?" Laney asked. "Well," I explained, "When this plane was built, I was Hagen's age." Her mouth dropped open, because if there's one thing Laney knows, it's that her mom is OLD. 

Still, I got in the plane. I figured your dad is the most competent, capable dude I know and if he's okay with putting his family in this plane, then it's okay by me, too. 

I'm sure pilots are supposed to - or even HAVE to - consult their flight checklist, but still: It made me nervous that your dad kept consulting a cheat sheet. 

The plane came with three headsets, so Laney took the third one and was the communications officer for the backseat. 

The scenery was fabulous. 

Sun peeking under the wing

Car on a dirt road

Hidden lake and waterfall

Ch-paa-qn Peak

Flathead Lake

River at Sunset

Your dad took along his iPad, because it has his ForeFlight navigation program on it. Halfway through the flight, Laney's voice came through our headsets: "I think Hagen has something to say!" She took off her microphone so she could hold it up to Hagen's mouth. That's when we heard his tiny-but-irritated voice coming through:

"I...WANT...TO...KNOW...WHY...I...CAN'T...WATCH..."DIEGO"...ON...THIS...COMPUTER."

I looked at your dad and said, "I'll be damned if I'm going to explain to these children why they can't get Wifi and watch Netflix ON THEIR PRIVATE PLANE"

And then we landed. I think it's safe to say you guys aren't totally swept away with the magic of flight, but I hope - like me - you're totally impressed by your dad's ability to "do all kinds of stuff."

Love,

Mom

Transformers: More Than Meets The Eye

Dear Hagen,

You like to pick an obsession and stick with it...for about six weeks. The first half of this summer, it was being a fireman. My friend Amy bought you a fire safety suit and you wore it every day for 29 days. You would walk up to strangers in the park and demand, "WHAT'S YOUR 'MERGENCY?!?" and then consult the firefighting checklist that came in the pocket of your outfit. You asked me to name my 'mergency dozens of times a day, and I got pretty good at it:

"I was driving a school bus and it went over a bridge and now there are school children in the river! Help us, Fireman Hagen!!!" 

"I was blowing out the candles on my birthday cake and I accidentally caught my curtains on fire and the whole house is going to burn if you don't hurry!!!"

"There's a whole family of cats stuck in the tree outside and I don't know what I'm going to do if we can't save those kittens!!!"

Usually, I would gasp and cover my eyes with my forearm like a silent movie actress to really convey my stress. This is what you get for having a drama major as a mother. No matter what ridiculous scenario I came up with, you'd always grab your emergency instruction card and yell: "I'M ON IT!"

(Then you'd mostly run in circles in the living room, making miscellaneous "Pssh pssshh" sounds and waving your arm around with its imaginary hose.)

Every night, you would give me your fireman coat to wash, so it would be ready "for any 'mergencies in the morning." Then one day, you lost interest in the coat and didn't put it on any more. On the one hand, I was sad that I wouldn't see the daily heroics of Fireman Hagen, but on the other hand, I was tired of washing a load of delicates every night. 

Then, one day last month, came the Transformers.

I think you discovered the Transformers courtesy of the "Rescue Bots" cartoon on Netflix. Then Grandma Sue bought you an actual Transformer, which your dad actually let you have a turn to play with when he was done. 

Soon, everything was about the Transformers and transforming. I had to tell your teacher, "Look, it's possible that throughout the day, Hagen is going to make a BEEP BOP BOOP sound and crumple to the floor in the fetal position. Don't be alarmed; he's just 'transforming' into a vehicle of some sort and he'll be back with you momentarily."

This summer, when Peg Peg and Tex were visiting, you made Peg Peg read you an entire library of Rescue Bot books. One evening I was cooking in the kitchen and I heard you sigh on the couch, exasperated: "Is not the 'Autobahn,' Peg Peg. Is the AutoBOTS." "Well, how am I supposed to know that?" she demanded.  

Your sister Laney got some money for her birthday, and decided to spend some of it, instead of hoarding it like she usually does. She bought herself a set of Elsa and Anna dolls on Amazon, then we noticed that there was an Optimus Prime jacket on sale for just $12, so she used some of her birthday money to buy something for you:

You were over the moon. 

The first thing you wanted to do was make a movie to show Uncle Nate. So we did that. And then you said, "Now I want to make a movie to show Peg Peg" - 

Can't wait to see what new obsession next month brings. 

Love,

Mom