60 Epic Hours, Part I

Hey, y'all -

Lordy, Lordy, look who's 40: my dearest/oldest/bestest friend, Karen. Karen lives in Los Angeles, so as a fun birthday surprise, I bought her a ticket to Missoula. She got in the Thursday night of St. Patrick's Day and left at 4am the following Sunday morning. We packed an INSANE amount of activity into just 60 hours. The itinerary is even more ludicrous if you stop to think that we're both middle-aged moms who like to go to bed at 8:30pm.

Cleaning out my desk a few weeks ago, I found this picture of Karen:

As I recall, we were in our mid-20s in Key West. Danger, danger. I like to joke that if she dies before me, I will have "What Time, And Who's Driving?" engraved on her tombstone, because I feel like I spent most of my 20s and early 30s pitching her ill-conceived getaways, and she never once said, "Why, no! What a terrible idea!" Instead: "Hey, Karen - want to go to Laughlin, Nevada? It's like Vegas's ugly little brother, but the Ramada has a mini train you can ride!" Or: "Wanna go to Bakersfield and see Buck Owens at the Crystal Palace?" Or "Ever heard of the Zucchini Festival in Hayward? There's a bull we can ride at the local honky tonk after!" Her response? Always: "What time, and who's driving?" Once, we didn't even make it to our destination because we drove past a county fair and thought it would be more fun to have some beers and ride the Zipper.

As a callback to our well-spent youth, I thought we simply MUST go out on the town for St. Patrick's Day. But because we're moms, we MUST do it at 4:30pm.

Yes, my head is perfectly round. You'd need a compass to draw that sucker. I blame my father. 

Karen and I went out on the town (in the snow) and had a great time. At our first stop, we spotted this guy with the beer can helmet across the bar and instinctively knew we'd like that guy, in the same way we appreciate anyone who's in full-tilt party mode while the bank is still open. 

We saw an Irish band called Malarkey. We watched Irish dancers perform crazy jumps. We passed a parade of bagpipe players, and when Karen tried to covertly take their picture, one of them yelled "Go ahead! We don't get this dressed up for nothin'!"

We ate a ridiculous collection of fried things and danced in the street until your dad came to get us (note that it is still daylight out because we are MOMS GONE WILD...at 6pm. 

Your dad joined us for one last party stop, which is when we got the crazy idea that we should all go downhill skiing the next day. "We can get there and back before the kids get out of school!" I said. "This is a perfect plan." True to form, Karen did not point out that she'd never been skiing or that getting to the Idaho border and back by 3pm was a harebrained idea. Instead, she was up for the adventure. What time? 8:00am tomorrow! Who's driving? Thor!

On our way out the door, we spotted the guy from our first establishment and insisted on a group photo. By then, it seemed like we'd been everywhere in Missoula. My fitbit said I'd walked 15,000 steps at that point, and it was fun to bring the night full-circle. We went everywhere! We did everything! We were home by 9pm!

What I REALLY wish I had a picture of is the look on Karen's face the following morning at 8:00am when I gently woke her up and whispered, "Hey Karen...you ready to go to Idaho and do some skiin'?"

Spoiler alert: We went skiing. Tune in tomorrow to see how that went!

-Brooke

Guppies...And Guppies

Dear Laney,

GUPPIES, PART I:

This past winter, you and your friend Amya entered the "Guppies" swimming class at the local YMCA. You performed whatever skills were necessary to graduate (front stroke, back float, hang on the wall and gossip) and now you're ready to join the next class level. Which reminds me: I need to call the Y. Or hire an intern with really low expectations who will handle this kind of scheduling task. 

You guys were fearless and fun and I loved watching you every week. Can't wait for you to become an Eel or a Stingray or an Orca or whatever. 

GUPPIES, PART II

You wanted a horse for Christmas. Our family friend Clay Mercer owns Tucker the horse and even though you haven't seen Tucker for a few years, he still made a surprise appearance on this "List of Things I Love" that you wrote in early December: 

NO idea how Ella got top billing.

"Let's start with a goldfish," I said. "And we'll see how that goes, and then we can maybe start working our way up."

Grandpops bought you a small fish tank for Christmas, and in early January I took you to (God help me) Walmart,  where you picked out three 27-cent fish. I don't even think they're officially goldfish; I think they're meant to be feeder fish that you'd feed to other, bigger, prettier fish. I suggested we buy three because I figured one or two would die immediately. The lifespan of a 27-cent Walmart fish could probably be measured in hours, I figured. 

Nope. 

Like everything else in our house, the fish put on weight immediately and are almost annoyingly healthy. You named them Silvers and Goldie and Poppy, and they are filthy little poop machines. The small, reasonably-sized tank that Grandpops gave you needed to be cleaned every week, which became my job. I don't know if we have discussed this before, but I have a fairly advanced fear of fish. I do not like to swim in water with fish in it. Sometimes your dad has to tell me "There are no fish in this section of the river," which is a ridiculous lie that makes absolutely no sense, but because he's a by-God Hydrologist (and gifted enabler), I choose to believe him. When I was your age, we'd go to the beach for vacations and the little ocean minnows would swim up to my feet and I'd scream and run in place and Granny Jack would say, "It's okay. They just want to nibble on your toes." Why she thought this would help, I DO NOT KNOW. 

I do not like dealing with these fish. More often than not, this is how that tank cleaning went: I'd somehow get the fish into a separate holding container...Mason jar, etc...and then clean out the gravel and rinse off the plastic plants and neon cave and refill the tank with clean water. Then, in the process of transferring the fish back into the newly-clean tank, one of them would go flopping out into the kitchen sink into a dirty frying pan. You would scream your head off and start crying because your precious fish who had triumphed over adversity by making it out of Walmart was now convulsing on top of some hash browns. I'd confront my fish fears, grab a serving spoon or spatula, scoop it up, and drop it into the tank in the nick of time...along with about two tablespoons of leftover hash browns. 

Goldfish eat hashbrowns, turns out.  

Silvers, grumpy as hell after the Hash Brown Incident.

Poppy (top) and Goldie (below)

I decided I couldn't take the weekly near-death experiences, so I went back to the store and bought a bigger tank for our fat fish, one that comes with a filter so I won't have to do so much fish-transferring. You insisted on the Spongebob Squarepants pineapple house, and have created a replica of Spongebob's neighborhood in the tank:

I am now $40 in to three 27-cent goldfish. There is a metaphor for parenthood in here somewhere.

And when those dumb little fish finally do go to the Great Pineapple In The Sky, I'm going to be totally bummed out. 

Love,

Mom

Hot Springs

Hey, y'all -

It's Spring Break this week. We decided not to go on an official vacation because it seems like we just got back from Disney World, and your dad has to work, and we have a LOT of adventures in the pipeline between now and the end of summer. Instead, I've been staying home with you and trying to come up with small daily adventures that will keep you entertained. I'm also a little paranoid that your teacher is going to ask you on Monday, "What did you do on your Spring Break?" and you're going to say, "I watched 63 episodes of 'Sherman and Peabody.'"

Yesterday, we went to Quinn's Hot Springs. It was lovely.

We went to the restaurant first, where Hagen ordered a cinnamon roll. I figured it would be the smallest thing on the menu. WRONG. It came out on a platter and was approximately the size of a loaf of bread.

You dad couldn't go with us because he had to work, but we kept him in the loop re: the big accomplishments of the day:

Yeah, Hagen, you ate a roll bigger than your head.

Laney, you and your friend Jude had a great time swimming and the two of you shot a little movie mostly by yourselves, featuring all your best tricks. Just watching it makes me smile. You're becoming an awesome little swimmer (an an even better friend). So proud of you. 

Love,

Mom

Quirks

(30 minutes pass)

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GoPro, Down Low

Dear Hagen,

A few weeks ago, we were invited to your friend Calia's 5th birthday party. Her mom, Ms. Julie, is one of your teachers and we love her. For the occasion, she had a bounce house in her yard and we all enjoyed a fun bonfire and cupcakes.

As you might remember, your dad gave me a GoPro camera for MY birthday this year, and I've had fun shooting little clips of you guys sledding and skiing. Little Calia likes seeing herself in videos so much that she had her mom call and ask me to PLEASE bring my camera to her party and "make a movie of it." Side note: One of my favorite things to yell when I'm frustrated on the set of a TV show is "YOU'RE RUINING MY MOVIE!" It's just great fun to pretend you're Orson Wells when you're really making basic cable.

Anyhoo, a few days before the party, I ordered this ridiculous box of GoPro accessories from Amazon for $30, because it included everything from a scuba mount to a helmet doohickey to a mini tripod...and it also included a chest harness, known as a "chesty." After a few beers at Calia's party, I thought it would be hilarious to rig you up in the chesty and set you loose. You took it VERY seriously and told everyone around that you were making a movie (which means you are already halfway to being a self-important reality television producer - congrats!).

An hour and a half later, I realized you were still recording. When I got home, I found myself facing 14 GB of footage, enough to crash my computer.

And let me just say...it was some eye-opening footage, and every parent ought to try something like this at least once. First of all, it's incredible to be reminded what the world looks like from 30-something inches off the ground. It's just a sea of grown-up knees. Often, you'd have to do a little front stroke swimming motion to carve yourself a path between grown-ups. There were times at the party when you'd check in with me to ask what you should shoot next, and I'd say "How about the bounce house?" I now have about 18 minutes of raw footage of the air compressor that fills the bounce house. I'd forgotten about your dedication to investigating how things work.

In the year 2000, a music group called the Baha Men first recorded the now-classic "Who Let The Dogs Out?" I wish I could go back in time and tell them the answer is: Hagen Burbach, at Calia's party. You also caught on camera a grown-up smoking a secret cigarette on the side of the house, but for $20 I have agreed not to make her identity known.

So from 90+ minutes of footage, I've picked more or less at random these 3 minutes to give you a taste of a 4 year old on the loose at a backyard birthday.

Enjoy.

I know I did.

Love,
Mom

P.S. I didn't outsource EVERYTHING to you; I took some pictures at the party, too:

The Burger Project

Hey y'all - 

A few weeks ago, I got to go to LA to film a new promo reel starring a big-time food celebrity as he introduced his contribution to a trendy restaurant chain's "Artist Series" of hamburgers.  (I'm mentioning neither by name here, only because I'd prefer my little mom blog here not to show up in google searches for either.)

As always, one of the best things about the trip to LA was getting to see Brian and Tyler. We even had time before the shoot to go hike Runyon Canyon and take in some expansive views of the Hollywood sign and downtown Los Angeles.

Anyone who thinks producing is glamorous is wrong. This is me, an hour before the shoot, on the ground of the restaurant, struggling to put together the key blackboard that would be the backdrop of our shoot, using only a crappy screwdriver and a pair of pliers.

...But it all came together in time and the shoot was lovely and the client was lovely and the star was a consummate professional and nailed the whole thing in two takes.

And this is how it turned out:

The coolest thing was the day it launched, it was the #7 trending story on all of Facebook...more interesting to the social media audience than a guy at the Kellogg's factory urinating on the Corn Flakes, but less interesting than Floyd Mayweather's underage girlfriend. America, y'all.

Love,

Mom

Talk A Little, Scoot A Little

Dear Hagen,

I don't think it would be possible to overstate how many words you use on a given day; talking is your favorite hobby. I remember when you were born, Laney was a chatty two-year-old and your dad held you in his arms, looked at your beautiful newborn face and whispered, "Buddy, if you never talk, it's okay. We've already met our quota."

But nope! Chatting is your THING. 

One afternoon last week, Laney and your dad headed off to the local park just three blocks away so Laney could ride her bike. You and I decided we would follow behind with the scooter. You talked the whole way, stopping when you couldn't multi-task storytelling and scooting. 

Hagen: Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom! MOM! MOM! MOMOMOMOM!
Me: I'M LISTENING AND STARING AT YOU. YOU HAVE MY ATTENTION.
Hagen: Here's the thing about baby raccoons....

Hagen: If I want my scooter to get over this bump, I'm going to have to press a power button. Okay...got it! Now I'm on Level 2...

I am not making this up: By the time we made it the THREE BLOCKS to the park, your dad and sister were already DONE with their bike-riding adventure and were heading home. Your dad convinced you to ride on the scooter and let him pull you so we could make it back around the corner before sundown. 

Hagen: I am opening my mouth like this because I am a baby pelican and this is how pelicans catch fish. Did you know that, Mom? MOM! I AM A PELICAN! MOM! MOMOMOMOM!!

Love,

Momomomomomomom...

P.S. And here's your sister on her bike: