Whitefish Lake - Memorial Day Camping Trip

Hey y'all - 

I waited so long to make Memorial Day plans that by the time I got my act together and decided that we should put together a camping trip with our friends, the only campground in all of Montana that still had three spots available was almost three hours north on the outskirts of Glacier National Park. At the time I booked the campsites, the Weather Channel (or "That Evil Cabal Of Misinformation," as I now refer to them) was predicting clear skies, highs around 77 with overnight lows in the 40s. They were zero for three, because it rained every day and was crazy cold and we basically spent a long weekend in a mud pit. But boy was it fun!

Here are the pictures I put on Instagram from the weekend, which give a pretty good glimpse of the fun had by all:

Bigfork, MT

Awesome girl. having an awesome time.

"OK, you can hug me. But I do NOT want any kisses."

Rained all night. They didn't notice. 

A Hebrew National religious experience. 

Camping is so much fun, it can blow a 6 yr old's MIND. 

"Well, *I* think we should go get ice cream. What do YOU think?"

This one I captioned: "Note to self: If you don't want to wake up in a muddy, 30-degree tent in the middle of the woods, maybe don't marry a furry mountain dude named Thor." That one got a "like" from the Montana Parks Service, so I suspect someone there has also been in this situation. 

Soooo much mud. 

Canadian Geese

"MOM! We need to go cheetah speed!" I am too old for cheetah speed.

When you travel with preschool teachers (or gorillas) everyone gets checked for ticks and lice.

This one maybe had the most fun of all. 

Miss Katie is practicing the fine art of piddleboarding (not a typo)

This one I captioned, "Y'all, I can't imagine packing all this crap up tomorrow. I think we live here now. Y'all come visit."

On day 3, I was so tired of having wet feet that I asked your dad to drive me to the dollar store in a nearby town so I could by the only shoes and socks they had in stock. 

Correy, taking in the lake. 

I asked your dad to see if he could dry my shoes off by the fire. He accidentally toasted them. We didn't notice 'til we saw they were smoking. 

We went for a great hike on the Whitefish Trail:

There was a fun Kids vs. Grown-Ups baseball game. The kids named their team the Saber Tooth Rattlers...or maybe it was the Titanoboas...something scary like that. Basically, the kids are better at marketing.

We set up a hammock at our campsite, which was a big hit. Let's face it: we brought one of everything. You dad said when we pulled out of our driveway that we looked like we were on our way to invade Canada. 

The biggest hoot was when I pulled out a bag from the dollar store and revealed that I'd bought glow-in-the-dark ears for each kid. I told y'all they were cheetah ears, and you could all become a roving pack of cheetahs. Hagen's big on cheetahs lately, and Finley's brain is packed with cheetah facts.  

We lost Hagen for a second, but quickly found him chatting up some teenage girls.

This is maybe my favorite photo from the trip:

...because it sums up exactly how I felt most of the trip. But I'm so glad we pushed through, and held on in the rain and the cold. Because we drove away with nothing but great, muddy memories. 

Right, Ella?

Love,

Mom

Anything You Can Do, I Can Do Better

Hey y'all -

Your dad and I are competitive with each other, but only in the dumbest of ways.

We never try to one-up each other when it comes to career or money or even who's smarter because 1) That'd be toxic for any marriage and 2) We're so completely different there'd be no point. We're each brilliant in our own equal and opposite ways, although I can't balance a checkbook and he doesn't understand subject/verb agreement.

Instead, we reserve our competitive impulses for ridiculous tests of physical endurance or plainly stupid feats of strength.  We once tried to make paddleboard jousting a thing (only one of us was smart enough to wear a life jacket). Walking home from date night, we'll be two blocks from home when your dad will suddenly say, "Race ya!" We've done spouse vs spouse paddleboard relays. At a party last week, your dad did a pull-up on the tree house, so I had to do a flip on Laney's rings. (Sprained my toe. Still worth it.)

At the lake a few weekends ago, the water was freezing cold, but your dad jumped in, so I had to dive in behind him.

I came home from "Buzzed Yoga" at the brewery - this is Missoula, so you know I'm not making that up...yoga class and a pint for $10! - bragging about how I had done a handstand on a hill. 

...so the following weekend, your dad did one on the paddleboard.

We are short, wide, middle-aged people who have no business acting like this, but boy is being married to your dad a ton of fun. 

I know - we're ridiculous. We're embarrassing. 

We're your parents. 

You're welcome. 

Love,

Mom

Everybody Was Kung Fu Drifting

Dear Hagen,

A month or so ago, I attended your parent/teacher conference at preschool. Your teacher expressed some concern that you never (ever, ever) seem to want to do what the rest of the class is doing. You have no interest in sitting in a circle with 30 other kids. You don't want to chase a ball with a shrieking group of students outside. You mostly want to be left alone to do your own thing. It seems that while everyone else is playing a big, group game, you'd much prefer to be by yourself in the corner, pretending to be a pterodactyl.*

I suggested that the teachers shouldn't let you get away with so much - you pull that "I just want to snuggle" routine on these women, and they eat it up. She explained that it wasn't so much "letting him get away with it," because you're never "naughty," you're just not participating. And in the meantime, there's always some other kid biting somebody or peeing in the potted plant, and that tends to take priority. I imagine teaching preschool is one long triage situation. 

I assured your teacher that I didn't have any concerns about your overall development, and was reasonably confident that you are just the product of your two parents: the drama major who likes to put on a show, and the semi-reclusive scientist who doesn't like to play with others. Hence: Pterodactyl In A Corner, The One Man Show. 

That conversation was rattling around in my head when I read the announcement that Missoula was once again having Unplug and Play Week. This is an annual week-long event when businesses all over town host free activities for kids to get them up and moving. We did the scavenger hunt at Fort Missoula, taste-tested vegetable dishes at a local restaurant, and on a whim, decided to do the drop-in class at the Taekwondo studio. 

The teacher was GREAT. He was stern but compassionate. When you wandered off your spot, he made you come back and start over. When you flopped down on the ground instead of following instructions, he gave you a time out, but explained why (It's not safe to be on the ground when everyone else is running around; you're a tripping hazard.) I knew this was a man who wouldn't fall for the old "Snuggle me" routine. YES!

I decided to take you back the next week. I called your dad and suggested he leave work early and come watch your class, just to confirm it was as good for you as I was feeling it was. Your dad came and watched with a great goofy grin on his face, and when class was over, he scooped you up in a hug and said, "FINALLY! Somebody doesn't think you're CUTE!"

So we signed you up, wrote a check, got you the outfit (the dobok) and now you're officially a student of taekwondo...by far the smallest student, but still. 

If there is anything cuter than a 4 yr old martial artist, I swear I don't know what it is. 

In your last class, your teacher suited you up in pads for some kicking, and you told him, "Well, this is just way too big for me." "Maybe," your teacher said, "but it's the smallest one we've got so you're just going to have to deal." I shot a minute of footage with my phone before I had to give up and start laughing. But here's how it looks when preschoolers spar:

You have ninja mission drift.

You forget what or who you're supposed to be kicking. You catch sight of yourself in the wall mirror and get lost in your own reflection. But for the most part, you are following directions, participating, and having a good time doing it. We're calling this a big win. 

Love,

Mom

* She actually suggested that your behavior might be the result of an undiagnosed Autism Spectrum Disorder, and urged me to have you tested. I was shocked, but I did it. The psychologist determined you were "Quirky, but also average or above average in all areas of development." You don't go to school there anymore. 

Then and Now

Six years ago today:

And last night:

Field Trippin'

Dear Laney,

You're currently at an age when you're TOTALLY STOKED if I go with your class on a field trip. So I like to go on as many of them as possible, because I know it's only a matter of time 'til you act like you've never seen me before in your life and you spend sleepovers talking about how LAME I am. 

Today, I went with your class on a field trip to the Agricultural Center. I even rode the bus. 

(Ms. Lynn, wishing we would behave, probably)

The Ag School is owned by the school district and high school students work there, raising crops, pigs, sheep, goats and chickens for sale. At the start of the visit, the lead faculty member gave us a little presentation about the working farm and the animals who live there, and I swear to all that's holy I thought I had accidentally taken a bus ride to a Coen Brothers movie.

(In the movie, he would be played by Steve Buscemi).

Instructor: ...And sometimes, an animal has to be euthanized. Does anyone know what "euthanized" means? 

Chorus of Montana children: It means you have to put them down!

WHAT?!?

I learned that Jewel the sow had to be put down because she broke her leg and refused to eat any more. I learned that Mr. Slippers the boar had to be put down because he attacked a boy on a field trip and "ate the shirt clean off him." The old mare (whose name I can't remember - R.I.P.) had been put down because of broken ribs and arthritis, but they decided to CUT HER OPEN to study her out front in the parking lot, and it made a pool of blood "the size of this classroom."

The children were absolutely unfazed, but I was traumatized. 

Then he asked if there were any questions. "Dear God, NO!" I may have said aloud. But a little 6 yr old up front raised his hand and wanted to know HOW they sent these animals back to their maker. Answer: bolt gun. "And it turns their brains off right away, so they don't feel any pain."

We could have just stayed at school and watched No Country For Old Men. 

But we did get to pet some stuff, so there's that:

Farmers are special people. Thank God for them, because the Venn diagram of Drama Majors and People Who Can Put Stuff Down With A Bolt Gun would look like two completely separate circles on either side of a bloody parking lot. 

Love,

Mom