Ho Ho Home

I've never seen such dark circles under Sawyer's eyes until tonight. Both kids need about two days of really good sleep to recover.

The lack of sleep is a sure sign we were having good fun. Our gift this Christmas was a visit to DC. We got to spend nearly a week with my parents and my Aunt Bobby. The kids settled right in to their old routines. Sawyer watched Polar Express on the tv in "his room" about 14 times. I'm pretty sure that was the highlight of the entire vacation. Arden ate her way through the house. We played T-ball on the tennis courts across the street from the house. We shoveled two feet of snow out of the street, no wait, THE STREET! I never realized that the state doesn't plow my parents' street and we had to make room for cars to park for the 35th annual Armstrong Christmas Eve.

We seemed to spend a lot of time fighting traffic and going to the mall. Don't laugh, but IT WAS COLD! I took the kids sledding once across the street but we never made it to see friends or sightsee. Scott and I went to see a movie together, (2012. Avatar was sold out). But for the most part we just hunkered down and enjoyed some quiet time together with family. My mother spent the entire week doing dishes. Next year, I'm proposing she take a break and that they come visit us for a change.

The thing about traveling—it's hard to stop the fun for nap time. Trying to cram as much time in as possible, the kids stay up way past their bedtimes and sleep at odd hours during the day. One thing I discovered about myself after becoming a mother is that I believe in rigid sleep schedules. I've read only three parenting books: Healthiest Baby on the Block for dealing with newborns, 123 Magic for discipline and Heathy Sleep Habit Happy Child, which is basically my Bible for all things sleep. I'm pretty lax when it comes to everything else — food in the hair, kids balancing on tall objects, toys everywhere — but I'm a stickler about sleep. Theirs, not mine. I stay up WAY past my bedtime every night.

Traveling for Christmas when you have kids is hard in other ways too. Santa this year had to be very conservative in what he gave because it all had to be shipped twice. I look at pictures of other families with kids who have presents up to their ears, and I feel like we shorted our kids of the wide eyed thrill of abundance this year. But, fortunately they are young and the bar is low. There are many Christmases to come. I'm looking forward to spending next Christmas here with family from both coasts.

Looking forward to New Years with Sarah and Dara.

missing family

Xmas gifts

Okay, now, everybody look at mommy!

Everybody look at the horse like its trying to tell you something.













For this next picture, look like you are just pondering life . . .











Now just look at mommy, normally . . .

Devil's Thumb

We took the kids to Tommelfest at Devil's Thumb Ranch this weekend, an odd celebration of Nordic culture centered largely around eating meat, skiing and throwing heavy objects. We looked a little goofy out there in our heavy telemark gear and baggy clothes while everyone else flittered around on a new generation of skinny skis wearing bulletproof spandex. Sawyer didn't want to get on his skis. He was way too excited about the "car" we rented, which he kept asking to "go faster." Finally, running into a girlfriend from school (she's 5), he decided to strut his stuff, little Napoleon that he his. (That video is on Facebook). The wind in this video, as always, sounds worse than it really was. But, don't get me wrong. I wasn't stripping down to a bikini either. I figure the combined weight of the kids s about 60 pounds. We each took turns, pulling the kids about 3 km each. Today my whole body feels like Gumby.

All in all, it was the first weekend here that I really started to feel like more than just a visitor. I ran into several different people I know at Tommelfest. It's strange, when you are used to small towns, to go somewhere and not know anybody.

Saturday night we had our office party, potluck style, at the circulation coordinator/delivery driver's house. He had set up 3,000 lights up outside his house. The directions we got were: "turn left and look for the glow on the horizon." The publisher made lasagna and brought a cooler full of alcohol. We all brought the side dishes, appetizers and dessert. We did a white elephant gift exchange (I walked home with the best gift). Steve had a bonefide Man Cave in his basement with working 8-tracks, poker and Foosball, all of which were put to good use. With only eight full-time employees plus spouses (no kids), it was a small crowd and we had a blast. All due respect to my former colleagues, this was the best office Christmas party I've ever attended.

First Lesson

Somewhere, in some photo album back in Virginia, my mother has a picture of either my brother or me on these very same cross-country skis . Family legends were born out of our annual trips to New Germany State Park in Maryland. At some point over the years, we took most of our family's best friends along. The Vaughters. The Knights. The Grosses. Sarah Quainton. We always stayed at the Casselman Inn and — ooohmyGawd — the bread. The bread! I can still recall its sweet yeasty goodness. I also remember the time Joshua Gross ordered cow brains off the menu. Sweetbreads. Who wouldn't want that. Bletch. There was the time my brother got lost in a snow drift after rolling off a sled (remember when it used to snow back east?) Then there was the time he split his head open on a door jam and gushed blood all over everybody for about an entire day. And, there was me and Molly Knight bombing or way down 'Devil's Run.' This narrow, winding, forested trail plummeted down a mountainside, dropping at its terminus into a highway of skier traffic, requiring an airborne, 90-degree left turn at the finish and careful avoidance of beginner skiers. All this occurred on skis two times longer than our bodies. Those trips were all about hot chocolate and trail mix and cold fingers, and despite my parents' grumblings over our move to the mountains, they can lay full claim to instilling in me a love of the Great Outdoors. Between those annual cross-country ski trips, our white water canoe and rafting trips and weekend hiking and camping adventures, I was hooked. Maybe we only did those trips because my family was on a budget and we couldn't afford the annual Vail ski vacation, but I don't regret it, not now. Back then, sure, I was looking for every thrill possible, and cross-country skis seemed kinds geeky. It was the 80s. I wanted nothing more than to be a ski bunny in neon, with a headband holding up my big bangs. Problem was, I didn't know how cool I was. Now I'm a Free-Heeler, which is cooler than skiing and snowboarding combined. Ask anybody. Tomorrow, Sawyer goes out for his first ski, and he's going to be initiated the same way I was: Heels free. Poles tall. And, skis far too long for his body.

(If you want to see the video of Sawyer trying out his skis at home for the first time, you have to go to Facebook. Couldn't get it to load here for some reason.)

Breathless Blurt.

"I'm a good man and I don't hit people and when I get really really really tall I'm gong to drive daddy's truck." - Sawyer

Mirage?

Charlie Brown Christmas Tree *on steriods

It was a typical holiday debacle in Pierceville. We bought the $10 tag to go cut our own tree in the Sulphur Ranger District. Of course, the doors to the Arctic opened wide the other day and temperatures have been peaking in the single digits with a little negative sign in front of them whenever you calculate in the windchill factor (which as a kid I thought was the windshield factor). We bundled everyone up, and I was assured by our friendly rangers that we'd be able to jump out of the car and find a tree RIGHT THERE. We drove to the end of the maintained Forest Service road headed and down a snowy trail pulling the kids behind us in the plastic toboggan sled. Seven paces into the forest, I spotted a PERFECT tree far off to our right. But the man of the house said: Let's keep walking and see what else we can find. Another 5 minutes down the road I spotted several more, chest-high contenders. The man of the house said: This is supposed to be an adventure, let's keep going. An hour down the trail and twelve of my suggestions rejected, I realized that the tree selection was not mine to make. My back was breaking, the kids were crying that they are hungry and cold, and Scott had been out of sight for a good 20 minutes, frustrated with us all. Meanwhile, we kept passing families with their Chariots and tarps and gear sleds pulling out these beautiful, perfect trees with smiles on their faces. One family was on skis and the little girl is all: 'That was so awesome,' as they zoomed by with their fluffy little tree on a sled. Meanwhile my kids are rolling out of the toboggan into the snow, screaming for snacks that I don't have and freezing — and WE ARE TRUDGING DEEPER INTO THE WOODS. Here's the thing: In the forest, the perfect cone shaped, bushy tree simply doesn't exist. I was beginning to worry because, whatever we found, Scott was going to have to haul it out by manpower alone. We didn't have a rope, a gear sled or a tarp. Alas, I heard the call from through the woods. He had found two trees that met "The Criteria." Despite their daunting size — both were more than 16 feet tall — they qualified as perfect Charlie Brown Christmas trees. Unwilling to make a single negative comment about the height of the trees, I pointed at the bushier one and down it came. Scott heaved the base of the tree onto his shoulder and dragged it two miles back to the car without a single complaint while the kids screamed that their hands had frozen. Well, actually only Sawyer was screaming about his hands. Arden was complaining about her leg. After we got home I realized she had dropped a matchbox car down her snow bibs that had lodged itself near the top of her boot. We found the decorations AND the tree stand (which we spent 15 panicked minutes looking for wondering if it had gone in the yard sale). Sure, the thing has a few gaping holes and we had to lob it off at the top to make it fit in the house, but it's a Christmas Tree! And, like any Christmas tree, it brings light, joy, memories and magic into our house.

Alone, not lonely

We spent Thanksgiving dinner with some family friends that lived with us on the Navy base in Guam when I was Arden's age. They later lived in Virginia, and oddly enough they now live in Granby. Given that they are our only social friends in town at this point, we were incredibly grateful to be invited to spend the holiday with them. Scott and Justin took the medallions from work and spent the day skiing, which left the cooking to me . . . gasp! I made a green bean casserole straight off the box of french fried onions that won me many praises, I'm proud to report.


One of our Thanksgiving dinner companions was in a fairly advanced stage of Parkinson's disease. Three-year-olds tend to be pretty blunt about anything they perceive as unusual behavior. Earlier that day in the grocery store, I ignored Sawyer when he asked loudly about the man next to us in a wheelchair: "What is that man doing, Mommy?" But, there was no getting around it when he turned to his convulsing dinner companion in the middle of the meal and asked frankly: "Why are you doing that?" Preferring to avoid the painful awkwardness altogether, I was preparing to divert the conversation, but I think the man's wife appreciated Sawyer's directness and she offered her best preschool explanation. After learning that his new friend's uncontrolled movement was caused by medicine, Sawyer attempted to mimic it repeatedly for the rest of the meal, much to our dismay.


I have a theory that it takes three years to really find good friends in any new place. I'd love to fast track that this time around, but it's hard to meet people socially when I'm working full time and have kids at home. I'm excited to get out with the family on weekends for hikes and skis, but I have little energy right now for book groups, supper clubs or church. I'm pretty self-absorbed, enjoying my little family, our house and exploring the area right now.

That's not to say that we've been total loners. We have some dear friends living elsewhere in the state and we have spent several weekends out of town. Two weekends ago we visited my old Leadville roomie who now lives on a farm in Grand Junction. Arden and Sawyer had a blast checking out their cow and chickens and llama, and playing with her two kids who are 2 and 4.




The day after Thanksgiving my dear friend Dara and her entire family came to visit for a few days. We celebrated our 6th anniversary in style with her parents Saturday night while the kids stayed home with a sitter. They brought the kids a sled, which we made good use of on snowy road in Rocky Mountain National Park. Dara and Mike hauled my kids up and down the entire way.


The next day Scott had a better idea:

Just because

The trouble with group photos

Attempt 2 fails to yield framable photo. The entire sequence is equally priceless.

Debacle

The Christmas card is gonna look pretty funny if I can't get Sawyer to be a little more of a ham. All the work to get everyone dressed up and the photo shoot was a bust. Sawyer screamed like I was twisting a knife in his gut every time I tried to take a picture, and Arden writhed when Justin tried to pose with her. Still - a couple half decent solo shots of Arden and Justin.

Light up the world

Today we had our very first parent-teacher conference for Sawyer. His teachers have identified him as a "feisty" child who is passionate about everything he does. There are three kinds of temperaments born into this world, we learned: flexible, fearful and feisty. Only about 10 percent of children are considered "feisty." According to the definition they: "Tend to live with zest and let everyone know when they are pleased or displeased." They can have long, intense attention spans and need lots of warnings when the activity is about to change. Sawyer is also sometimes fearful, especially in new situations (we knew that). He has very strong verbal skills (thanks to all the reading we do with him), and they are teaching him how to better express his feelings. We also learned that his favorite color is brown. Sawyer is very mature in many ways, his teacher said. Almost like a little adult. And, sometimes, it's easy to forget that he's one of the youngest kids in the class. He loves to be in charge. When the class acted out the "Monkeys Jumping on the Bed" song, lots of kids wanted to be monkeys, lots of kids just wanted to watch. Sawyer immediately volunteered to be the "Momma." Whenever a monkey fell off that bed, Our Sawyer got on that phone, dramatically, called that doctor and — stealing the doctor's line — said: "No more monkeys jumping on the bed." Good thing the doctor was a "flexible" child. So the long and short of it is that Sawyer's kind of high maintenance. As a mom, that's not easy to hear. I had a really hard time with the Baptists on that topic. They just called him stubborn and he spent a lot of time warming the chair in the corner. What I'm pleased to hear is that these teachers are working with him and seem to know the right techniques to help him be successful.

The reward, they say, is that Sawyer lights up the room whenever he walks in and he has made the whole school a livelier place. Now, that's the Sawyer I know and love.

The revolution of snow

Today we woke up to a revolution of snow,

its white flag waving over everything,

the landscape vanished,

not a single mouse to punctuate the blankness,

and beyond these windows

the government buildings smothered,

schools and libraries buried, the post office lost

under the noiseless drift,

the paths of trains softly blocked,

the world fallen under this falling.

In a while, I will put on some boots

and step out like someone walking in water,

and the dog will porpoise through the drifts,

and I will shake a laden branch

sending a cold shower down on us both.

But for now I am a willing prisoner in this house,

a sympathizer with the anarchic cause of snow.

- from "Snow Day" by Billy Collins

SAHD — Week 3.

Scott had some concerns about me posting this video. I think his exact words were: "Don't you dare put that on your blog." But, I couldn't help it. I had to show how well he's fallen into the SAHD (Stay At Home Dad) role these last few weeks. (Did I mention that we pulled Arden out of daycare temporarily?) He's taken Arden to storytime at the library every week and is keeping track of which books he borrows. Last week, he even checked books out in a theme . . . books about snow. I can see his enjoyment of reading with the children growing. He cooks dinner every night – and not just mac-n-cheese and chicken fingers. He cooks pot roasts and soup and pork chops, and I am finally packing on some much needed winter pounds. He knows the location of all the playgrounds in the valley. He's potty training Arden and already has her in underwear. He's even figured out the benefit of "The Schedule" and has got it down to a science. I think the nice part of being the working mom is coming home and KNOWING that the other parent, the one who stayed at home, had a full and totally exhausting day. Sometimes, when I see how much work it is for the two of us to get everyone to bed and dishes cleared and the house straightened, I wonder how I did it by myself for so long. I don't underestimate for one second how much work it is to stay at home alone with the kids all day. And, that said, after two weeks Scott said he doesn't really know how much more of this he has in him. He sent off about 15 resumes and began the search for work in earnest. But, I think he's over the hump, now. It does get easier after that whole routine thing kicks in and everyone gets used to the new m.o. I think he's better at this than he realizes. Today, after I cut him loose for some personal time, I heard him upstairs whistling in the shower. The tune that drifted down the stairs was quite distinct: The isty-bitsy spider went up the water spout . . .

Butter me up

My mom is very proud of the way she got us kids to eat vegetables as children. She would melt a ramekin of butter and we'd go fishing. This worked for asparagus, broccoli, green beans and artichokes. We ate other vegetables too – like cooked carrots and corn – only because they were slathered in a thick layer of buttery, salty goodness. Sawyer discovered his love of melted butter eating crabs. But it wasn't until we read THIS BOOK that he took the first interest in a green vegetable.

We did all the right things when he was a baby, introducing the vegetables first and offering him all sorts of variety. He ate the heck out of strained peas and pureed green beans and even mowed down on some bok choy here and there. I was so proud of my mothering skills, I couldn't help but reach around and pat my own back . . . until he turned about 18 months and began snubbing his nose at any food that wasn't white. Sawyer's entire diet fell to starch, dairy and the occasional banana. I was thrilled when he decided he liked apples. For more than a year I was limited to three dinners (you know the ones) and spent several meals banging my head on the chopping block wondering how I'd created this narrow-palleted monster. I'd watch my friends' kids eat avocado and onion and green peppers with no problem, and I felt like a total failure. I never wanted to be a chicken-finger mom.

This summer I started to notice some subtle changes, starting with the crab. He began tasting new things! He didn't like them all, but he started becoming more adventuresome. He ate corn on the cob, and loved it. And watermellon. What kid doesn't like watermellon, right? And tomato soup, Even chicken soup won a "mmmmmmm!" The other day in the store, after reading the book, he insisted I buy broccoli, which he dipped in a ramekin of butter. While I would have bet 10 bucks he wouldn't eat it, darned if he AND Arden didn't down the whole bunch, pretending they were monsters eating trees. Tonight I even got him to eat spinach pasta (dinosaurs eating grass) and I am so excited I can't even decide how to further expand his repertoire next.

I need to remember that Scott was in his late 30s before he decided he liked oysters, olives and tomatoes and about a dozen other things he refused to eat before he met my family. I even learned that I enjoy a little bit of mayonnaise on my tomato sandwich just this year. It only goes to show, there's always time for an old dog to eat.

Gore Canyon

I lived in Colorado for a decade before accidentally moving to Virgina for 7 years. But, somehow, I never spent much time in this part of the state – that is, anywhere north of I-70 and west of the Great Divide. I realized the other day that while you had to cross the divide TWICE to get to Leadville, this is actually the first time I've put down stakes west of the Big Ridge. I've been getting out on hikes with the kids every weekend since we moved, trying to explore as much as possible before the snow starts sticking and we switch to skis. Scott, for his part, also got the kids out (see photo below) on Friday as part of his daily SAHD adventure. Today temperatures were in the 60s and we headed west, past Kremmling, to a spot we had picked out of a guidebook. As we made our final approach on a typical western dirt road, we rounded a bend and both gasped out loud. The tires screeched as Scott swerved into the closest scenic overlook. I've never seen such a stunning view. At least not in a long while. Gore Canyon took our breath away. It's one of those sights that a photo could never capture — the green Colorado River winding through a steep valley below. The sharp snowy peaks of the Gore Range on the horizon, and beautiful arid steps populated with juniper and sage stretching as far as the eye could see. We hiked three miles along the river's edge, and Sawyer made the whole hike himself, including some pretty treacherous spots on the trails that were washed-out and rocky. The pinnacle of the whole hike was seeing the train that passes through Granby wind its way around a steep cliff above the river. Sawyer stood transfixed for a good 20 minutes and refused to leave until the last train car was out of sight. I also liked the part when Sawyer asked me if there are alligators in the Colorado River.

Postscript: I sincerely apologize for the cheesy music in the video. There was a lot of wind on the video soundtrack, and so I thought I'd drown it out with a Flip Video selection called "Happy Saturday." I had no way of listening to it first, so it was a little bit of a crap shoot, one that – typically – I lost.

A helping hand

Meet our new neighbor

Scott caught this little guy on film while he was out scrounging for food in our backyard Friday. He was young, alone and harmless, but after posting a similar photo on Facebook, my mother couldn't resist sending me THIS.

Happy Halloween

We went trick-or-treating on F Street in Salida, the supposed "Banana Belt" of Colorado, where there was 2 feet of snow as opposed to our 3 inches up north in Middle Park. We had a wonderful time with our friends (the same one who witnessed Puke-o-rama 2009), and I am happy to report that the kids were mostly charming, wonderful and completing buzzing on sugar for the entire weekend. But, because somebody had to puke, their dog barfed up a bunch of candy after we left that my kids may or may not have fed him. Our friends got more into the Halloween spirit than we did, dressing up as Betty Rubble and German-Rumplestiltskin-dude. Sawyer will forever refer to my friend Dara as "that mommy with the bones on her belt," (all adult females are currently called mommies, regardless of whether they actually have offspring). F Street was a zoo. I've seriously never seen so many people trick-or-treating in one place in my entire life. We lasted about an hour, three blocks down and three blocks up, and were completely exhausted by the time we made it home. I don't have a clue what we're going to do with all this candy now. There is no way I'm letting the kids consume it all. Other fun weekend activities included hiking up "S" mountain, through the snow, halfway through which Sawyer turned around and declared, "I LOVE SNOW;" building a snowman and a giant snow slide; walking down an old train track in Leadville, collecting spikes to make a new coat rack; and visiting Jim, aka Milt, one of Scott's groomsmen who left a lasting impression on everyone present at the wedding. On the less productive side, us adults made our way through four bottles of wine Friday night (uh, that's a bottle EACH). Made for a pretty sober Halloween.

Here's a video from Sawyer's arrival at school in costume Thursday.



Have I mention how much I love Sawyer's school?

Ham

Sawyer has always been the hide-behind-my-leg kinda kid when we walk into a room. You'll also remember that he was the angel that cried at last year's Christmas Pageant. When we walked into his preschool today, I noticed that they had built a small stage and apparently had been playing "actor" all week. The teachers read aloud books and the children act out the parts and even say some lines. So, guess who their number one actor is? Really. Can you guess? I was FLOORED when Miss Molly told me that OUR Sawyer is the first one with his hand up desperately waving in the air "ooooh-oooooh-oooooh pick me pick me" and that he not only says a few words like the other kids do he recites entire lines, sonnets even. Then, again, I look at his genes (you know who you are people) and I wonder why this should surprise me. I guess I wouldn't be shocked if this kind of behavior was occurring within the confines of our home. But, this is public, people. PUBLIC.

Boo!

Months ago, the One Step Ahead catalog — Halloween Edition — showed up in our mailbox. Sawyer flipped through the first few pages, pointed to a costume. And said: "I want to be [THAT]!"

Months went by. We moved. Halloween was pretty much at the bottom of my list. Until last week when I realized that if I didn't get a move on, Sawyer would not only NOT be THAT for Halloween, he would just be plain Sawyer, dressed as himself.

I started frantically looking around and discovered that THAT must be the single most popular Halloween costume for boys ages 3-5. There were none to be found online, anywhere. I tried to talk him into something else. A backup plan perhaps. He would have none of it. He looked at the picture online again and said he wanted to be THAT and only THAT.

So on his way across Kansas, Scott took the time to call all the Target stores on I-70 between the Colorado State Line and Empire. And, wouldn't you know it, he found THAT in Sawyer's size somewhere outside Denver and had the salesclerk set it aside for him.

Meanwhile, Arden could really care less what she is for Halloween, and so I instructed Scott to find something that was neither fairylike nor princess-ish, since i figure we'll get plenty of THAT in the years to come. I also ruled out ducks, pumpkins and bumblebees anything too mainstream babyish — which effectively limited him to one costume in the whole store.

When Scott arrived home with the costumes, the kids did not react quite the way he had hoped. Well, Arden could really have cared less. And, Sawyer . . . do you see where this is going . . . Sawyer leaned over to me and said, "Mommy, I don't want to wear THAT."

Typically, he was scared of his own costume.

Scott promised that he'd have Sawyer wearing THAT around the next day and, low and behold, I haven't been able to peel the costume off him since.

If you are wondering, yet, what THAT is, I guess you'll just have to wait to be surprised.

Happy Halloween . . . almost.

Wooo Woooo!

I've lived in a military town, a government town, a college town, a mining town, a fishing town and, now, a railroad town. I love how the train clocks my day from a distance as it heads into the mountains or the canyons. I love that there is a passenger train twice a day. I love the anticipation in any drive, wondering: Will we see a train? Will it be a working train? A people train? I love that for all the times I've called him an engineer, Sawyer wants to literally be an engineer when he grows up.

In Like a Lion

This video is messed up. Will repair and repost.

If there haven't been enough obstacles to Scott's westward move to date, a huge winter storm — with lightening — swept through the area at the precise moment he was crossing the 11.315 foot Berthoud Pass with a fully loaded truck and trailer. It had yet to snow in Granby proper, but today we had sun, rain, sleet, snow, pea-sized hail, wind, lightening and thunder in the course of an hour. And on Thursday the Middle Park Times predicted: "mostly sunny, warmer with highs in the 50s." It was a weather anomaly for the record books. What a way to arrive!

Things I left behind

In the insanity that occurred the day we loaded up the U-haul and Scott pulled out of the driveway, I forgot to pack a few things that would have been handy to have on this side of the Great Divide during the past four weeks. To name a few:

• Kitchen knives. (I've been using a 1-inch pocket knife blade to cut everything.)
• Shoes. (I have two pairs: Crocs and cowboy boots.)
• Jackets. (I didn't bring a single jacket, which makes life interesting when it's 34 degrees outside. I've been getting creative with a fleece Melanzana vest over blazers and the really awesome scarf my mother-in-law knitted me.)

On the other hand, I've been surviving just fine without a lot of the stuff that's not here and I'm wondering why I couldn't part with so many of those boxes.

Adams Falls

The Adventure:


The Reward:

Long time gone

Apparently I've used that post title before. The cliches just pour out of me, I can't help it. To update you, after Scott finished scraping the scum off the refrigerator shelves, hauling (most) of the trash to the dump and touching up paint, his truck decided to crap out. To quote Sawyer: "AGAIN!" About every six months or so we have to throw some major cash into the Beast, a big black 1999 Ford F250 with 180,000 miles that's jacked up high enough for Shaquille O'Neil. But, it's paid off and, since Scott's still unemployed, we don't really have another option. This time it was the mainframe computer. Go figure that a computer can leave a truck dead on the side of the road. A week and a half later, plus some major oral surgery to remove an infected wisdom tooth, Scott is sitting at my parent's cottage in the Northern Neck twiddling his thumbs with no way even to get to the grocery store. He's waiting for . . . well . . . waiting for the Northern Neck, if you know what I mean. Things get done when they get done and impatience just isn't tolerated. No t.v. No Internet. Just the dog for company.

Meanwhile, I've gone Martha in my single momhood. Really. I don't know what's come over me. Tomorrow I'm planning to take the kids on a hike in the morning. And then I'm cooking a baked chicken and sweet potato dinner (I'm thinking about putting marshmallows on top to make the kids eat them) and I'm baking . . . no, wait . . . BAKING! pumpkin bread for dessert. I do laundry every night and get on my hands and knees after dinner to wash the kitchen floor. I do think the altitude has caused me to go mad. Also, just to top it off, I love my new job. Not only do I get to edit stories and layout pages up against deadline — love the faster pace — I'm also cranking out two or three stories for every paper (three times a week). I'm in overdrive. Other than a few low moments with the kids, like the pukorama weekend or the 5 am screaming Arden wake-up calls or Sawyer's nuclear meltdown in the grocery store parking lot that sent several women running to help me because apparently I looked like I was in over my head, I'm really happy.

Scott hasn't really been a part of our day-to-day lives in the past year, so it doesn't seem that different having him gone. Over the past year, and especially the last month, I've learned that I can do this alone, something I wasn't so sure of before. I can do it alone, and everyone is surviving just fine. But, now, I'm looking forward to finding out what it's like NOT having to do it alone. To have a companion in the craziness, good and bad. To bring back the male dimension, the Yang. It isn't going to be easy. A year feels like a lifetime, especially to the kids. There's going to be a major adjustment when Dad arrives. It's going to be a challenge, but I'm hoping that we'll all be better for it in the long run, and that ultimately we'll be a stronger family.

What happens when it's too quiet

Lately my kids have found a knack for getting "into stuff" so quickly and so completely that it makes my head spin. A lot of it has to do with the move. When I was packing up the old house, Sawyer got into a stack of board games in Justin's room that hadn't quite found their way into a box yet. In a matter of minutes he had Justin's entire floor carpeted with a mismatch of Trivial Pursuit, Taboo and Pictionary game cards. It took three adults an hour to sort the mess back into proper piles. On this end of the move, in the time it took me to go upstairs to grab my hat and scarf, the kids tore apart an old 3-inch floppy disk they found in an open box and Sawyer came screaming and crying to me with a small metal spring from the disk somehow punctured into his finger. I didn't even know those things had springs. The other day, as I was coming down with the stomach bug and everyone else was recovering, I needed like five minutes of alone time. While the kids were engrossed in a movie, I crept upstairs to my room to lie down on the bed, and things were actually quiet downstairs for about three minutes. All the sudden, Arden, who I had overheard saying something about needing milk, appeared next to me with an entire 3/4-full gallon jug in her hands that she had somehow heaved up a flight of 15 stairs. I got up and headed downstairs to find her a cup and discovered this in the kitchen:



It makes me laugh how people baby-proof for 3-month-olds. It should be called kid-proofing. The apple was in the fridge in the vegetable drawer and the straws were up on the counter (not near the edge mind you), It was the first thing the kid had eaten in two days, so I had to cut him a break. Besides, his preschool teachers would be very proud. This puts potato clocks to shame.

Swindled

We all bounced back quickly from the weekend's stomach bug, but now I'm in a total tizzy over the Swine Flu situation. I've NEVER bought into hype, but after covering this story, I'm pretty freaked. Maybe not so much that my kids are going to die, which — let's face it — they could, but that if somebody caught it tomorrow I could be home with sick kids and my sick self and still paying for daycare for THREE weeks! I mean, let's get practical people. I can't afford Swine Flu. So, I'm seriously considering getting the shots when they are "released" next week. They are being carefully "released" by the state government, which makes me highly suspect . . . again, I'm not a big conspiracy theorist, but why dole the stuff out like trick-or-treat candy when 60 kids in a 200 kid school are out with the flu this week alone? By the time they finish distributing the stuff mid-January, most of us will either have already survived it or died of it.

Typical

There are no photos to describe what the past 24 hours have been like for me. So you will just have to use your imagination. The photo here is from a hike two weeks ago with our friend Mary, who visited from the Northern Neck the weekend we arrived.

A very old and dear friend from Salida came to visit me in Granby Friday night. I have seen her only a handful of times since moving away from Colorado and this was to be the first time she would meet my children. Since she doesn't have children of her own and isn't the world's biggest fan of little kids, I was hoping my children would win her over with their charm, wit and utter cuteness. Or at least not be brats.

Five minutes before she arrived, Sawyer said he wasn't hungry, his tummy hurt and he couldn't wait for my friend anymore, it was time to go to bed. (It was almost 6 p.m). I should have seen the warning signs. I should have bolted the door. I should have known.

My friend walked through the door, said hello and set her bags down, and Sawyer promptly welcomed her by exploding from both ends all over the upstairs bathroom. Arden, terrified that I was leaving her with yet another stranger, clung to me screaming while I tried to keep her a safe distance from the contamination. My poor friend sat downstairs, made us some dinner and probably texted her husband several times requesting a rescue mission.

Sawyer was up about every hour for the rest of the night, alternating between vomiting and crying for water, which kept both me and Arden awake. Arden, who was bunking with me due to the puke-o-rama next door, ran around the bedroom munching on Ritz Crackers and drinking milk at 2 a.m. while I desperately tried to sleep a for even two minutes. Meanwhile, something I had eaten was churning in my stomach, and I was trying to imagine how I was going to do this sick and alone.

Eight loads of laundry later, sometime around 4:30 am, I still hadn't slept. Sawyer was finally holding down water but Arden was now too punchy to sleep. She was wailing at the top of her lungs — absolutely and uncontrollably hysterical in a way I have NEVER seen her — and I was facing one of those deep abysses of parenthood. Nothing I did helped. I was completely exhausted and concerned about my poor friend who had sequestered herself in my room, not to mention the neighbors who could probably hear the racket through the walls.

I carried Arden downstairs, bundled her up and did something I've never done in 3 years of parenting. I put her in the car and drove around the neighborhood. Twice. I just crossed my fingers that Sawyer wouldn't wake up. It worked like magic and I got her back to my room. Put her down in my bed and then crashed on her crib mattress in Sawyer's room. An hour-and-a-half later, everybody was up again and for good.

Sawyer seemed to have made a big recovery and was chatting with my friend downstairs, but Arden was still miserable, crying and clingy. I got the kids to sit down on the couch and watch a movie long enough to allow me a shower. That wonderful, refreshing shower lasted for about five minutes before Arden puked all over me and the bathroom.

My brave friend stuck it out, despite my suggestion that she should feel free to leave us with our own misery. She went for a run and, when the kids seemed somewhat stable, I decided we needed a long drive to conquer this day. We headed to Rocky Mountain National Park. Both kids cried and fussed through the whole thing, but we did manage a short walk. Everyone cat napped on and off in the car, and by the time we got home I was exhausted. The three of us passed out together on the couch while my friend was in the shower.

I woke up several hours later, somewhat refreshed, drank coffee, put my on game face. Only then did I realize that my friend had left . . . hightailed it back to saner places. The kids, of course, were now perky and jovial and playing nicely. They took a mellow bath and went to sleep promptly at 7 pm without the slightest sound. Of course, my friend will never believe me.

All I can do is laugh. No wonder there are about a million sayings for it. Murphy's Law. Par for the course. Typical. Really, I should have known that I was setting myself up. Of course I would have the worst night in three years of parenting on the same night it mattered to me the most that my kids were good and wonderful. What's that saying: If you want to hear God laugh, announce your plans.

I talked to the friend later on the phone and she swears she's coming back soon. We'll see about that, but I'm sure I pretty much drove that last nail in the coffin for her as far as having kids is concerned. Honestly, at this point, I'm kinda wondering about it myself.

UPDATE: Sunday night. The universe is laughing at me. I thought I was going to escape this one. Ha. That wouldn't be enough of a challenge. Moving across the country with the kids alone, starting a new job and new schools and then dealing with sickness all weekend, no sleep. Cakewalk. Let's see how I handle it all when I'm puking too. Tried to get the kids to bed before it started. They, of course, would have nothing to do with it. Wish me luck. It's gonna be another long night.

Simply for the expression

Uncle Ross once told me that he didn't smile for 23 years because when he was 3-years-old, I told him he had a funny smile in pictures. I can't even get Sawyer to smile for the camera most days, so after I took this shot, I told him he had a funny smile. It was a joke, of course, but my brother turned dead serious and said: Don't ever tell him that again. Sawyer, on the other hand, thought it was pretty funny and couldn't help but crack a smile. We hope to see a lot more of Uncle Ross who finds himself in Denver for work on a regular basis. Sawyer thought his uncle was oh-so-fun and cried three minutes after we parted ways: I miss Uncle Ross!

The other half

While we are having these GRAND COUNTY adventures, Scott is still in Pierce-ville dealing with cleaning the house, packing up the last of the stuff and taking care of a rather long 'honey-do' list on the house before the renters move in Oct. 10. He's feeling left behind (stranded in Pierce-ville as he writes) and is bummed to be missing all the firsts - first hike, first snow, first sight of Colorado peaks. But, he shouldn't be too bummed to be missing first night of High Altitude Insomnia or the second night, or the third. Nor should he feel too bummed to be missing out on Arden's first week sleeping on a mattress on the floor (a.k.a. trampoline). Or Sawyer's long stream (excuse the pun) of potty accidents this week. I'm sure it's not fun place to be, left behind to scrape the sticky stuff off the refrigerator shelves. There's no glory in hauling trash and bagging up empty hangers off the closet rods. I have to give him props too, because he's already made one haul across country to rent the house and move all our stuff in so that when we arrived last Saturday we could pretty much just lay down our heads. (And his reward for getting all that crap done will be the opportunity to make a second haul across country with a truck that has 180,000 miles pulling a trailer!) We are routing for him to get it all done this week and to sell those last few anchors weighing him down in order to get on the road! He has mountains to conquer in the process, both literal and metaphorical, but it will be well worth it in the end. Here's a little cheer from the stands. Go Daddy Go!



ps - Mimi's birthday is in January and Pop Pop's is in August. So go figure.

SAHM - day three of four

I'm getting a taste of this SAHM thing, and I need some Scope. I signed Sawyer up for the "Little Red School" Monday and, lucky me, the following night was parent's night. I had to make a ceramic mug for Sawyer to use on special occasions. It'll be a miracle if the thing holds water. Everyone else had goblets with dinosaur designs and I basically made him a test tube with his name scratched into it, only the rim wasn't straight so it'll be a challenge not to pour water all over himself. One woman I met invited me to join a mom's group, which meets within sight of my house.

The kids and I headed over this morning and we met a whole bunch of young-ins Sawyer's and Arden's ages. But it was basically a business meeting. They were filling their calendar for the month of October and it was like: Monday we'll go on a hike and Tuesday we'll make Indian headbands and Wednesday - should we go to the pool or the park? hmmmm . . . and who's interested in making soup together next Friday? I was all: Sign me up for wine night! But, I'll probably never be able to do any of the other stuff. This whole Stay At Home Mom thing is a bizarre deal if you ask me . . . no offense to all you all out there who choose to do it and do it well. I just feel like the chick in a business suit at a Dead Show sitting around these intense parents with their crafts boxes and binders full of . . . WHAT? exactly.

Now, the mom I want to meet is the one that asked to bring a 13-year-old blind wolf in to school for her kid's show-and-tell. I'd could have a glass of wine with her!

Along with my not-so-great parenting shtick, Arden rolled off the back of the couch this afternoon and landed on a wood box. No, I did not have my eyes glued like a hawk on the kids, who were supposed to be watching a movie while I put some boxes in the basement. And, no, I did not have a ready supply of frozen peas in the freezer or ibuprofen in the medicine cabinet. So, after a quick head to toe assessment, and determining that her lip, once again, was the mass casualty of the day, we raced to the store, where I discovered that there was a widespread power outage (that would explain the dark freezer at my house). We bought Popsicles and Advil and raced back home. Arden had three pops, which I hope will deplete the swelling. But, once again, my girl looks like the Million Dollar Baby:



ps - that little 'emergency' officially broke my no driving to the store streak.

SAHM - day one of four.

One of the little perks of this move is that I get to be a SAHM for one week. Actually, four days, if you don't count Sunday. It's Monday, and this SAHM thing has already kicked my ass. I am wholly exhausted and it's not even 9 p.m. We visited three schools today (one twice), and Sawyer walked away from one stating: That's my school. (I agreed but, sadly Arden can't go there for another year.) It was, of course, the most expensive school and it follows the regular school year calendar (i.e. inconvienant). But, it's in a little red schoolhouse for Heaven's sake. After the school tours, we went to look for horses because Sawyer decided when he woke up this morning that his mission was to talk to a horse. We didn't see any close up but I did find him some in a field, which he yelled at. We explored YET ANOTHER awesome playground, ate lunch at Dairy King (which kicks Dairy Queens ass by the way) and then played in the driveway for the remainder of the day. And, I still managed to get a P.O. Box, which was my number one mission. I had to drag the kids inside (one kicking and screaming) and into the bath, and I haven't looked but I'm sure there's a filthy ring around the tub dirty as they were. I spent almost an hour on the phone talking to red schoolhouse teacher tonight, and now I'm going to collapse. But before I do, here's a photo I took from the driveway:

First Day

After a less than perfect night of sleep (compliments of Arden) the kids and I stretched our cold Colorado bones slowly this morning, taking in the better part of a Disney movie nestled under blankets on the couch before walking back to the store for coffee and a few more essentials. Now that I live within walking distance of City Market, I'm going to see how long I can go without actually driving to the grocery store. Then the kids and I headed to town (a whopping five minute drive) and started the day's adventures with a stop at the Granby Train Depot. It's just a little platform, but it was bustling this morning. An Amish? family was getting off the train, making me feel like I'd stepped back in time. The conductor was pulling suitcases out of the luggage car, and the kids and I sat, watched and waved to the engineer, who honked his horn, rang his bell, and flashed his lights at us, pretty much making Sawyer's life complete. Then we went to explore the playground and discovered three within walking distance. We tested out at each one before I managed to trick the kids into loading back up in the car to go see Mary - Arden's teacher and my friend from Kilmarnock - who happened to be in Denver this weekend visiting friends. Everybody happily took a short nap in the car before Mary arrived. We headed to Fraser for a hike in the Experimental Forest. Sawyer was an amazing hiker. Not one complaint. Went the whole way talking and singing to himself. Arden walked some, but melted down at the end when she took a digger in the dirt. We ended the day with Mexican food. Seriously. The only way that day would have been better is if I'd had a margarita with dinner. Everybody else took lots of photos on the hike, so I guess I'll have to wait to post them. Baths and bed by 6:45. I put the kids down in the same bedroom again on two crib mattresses side by side on the floor, but was having a difficult time getting Arden to stay put without a crib. After 30 minutes of Arden wailing and me struggling to get her to lie down, Sawyer said: "I don't want to live here anymore." I was heartbroken until the next moment when he said: "I want a different bed." I honestly couldn't blame him. I moved him into the queen bed I was saving for Justin and guests, at least temporarily. Everybody calmed down and went to sleep. Ahhh. . . . Now – Boxes.

Home.

The kids were troopers all day, especially Sawyer who wheeled his own luggage through three airports without complaint and not only braved the airplane without a tear, but a train, elevator (had to drag him) and parking shuttle bus (kicking and screaming). Sawyer took the whole thing like a little man and chatted up the lady next to him on the bus about how we were going to our new house and the bus was taking us to mommy's car. I was really impressed with his grasp of the situation. The kids and I had just enough time to walk over to City Market, appreciate the selection, come home and hit the hay. I convinced Sawyer to sleep in Arden's room at least temporarily. We'll see whether it works long term. As I was trying to get everyone to quiet down Sawyer said: Excuse me, Mommy. Can you do me a favor? Can you tell me . . . um . . . What are we doing here?

Here is a totally unedited 4-minute video of us arriving at our new house today. There's something I have to explain before you watch it. Sawyer is terrified of vacuums. Climb up on the couch and scream terrified. My Kirby 2000, which I bought for more than I will ever admit from a couple of door-to-door salesmen when I was single and living in Leadville, is guaranteed to be with us for the next 50 years, longer than I'll have the wherewithal to lift it. I considered getting rid of it before the move but decided it held too much sentimental value (not to mention that I may still be paying it off on my credit card). Anyway, Sawyer apparently shared that sentimental feeling about the old Kirbster as you are about to see.

Goodbye Pierceville!

Saying goodbye to the house today was more gut-wrenching than I ever imagined. Memories of driving the dump truck to Ikea with Sawyer in a infant carseat to buy kitchen cabinets, finishing the nursery first then building the house around him, finding out I was pregnant again, racing cars up and down the halls, wonderful dinners, nights on the deck . . . I lay in bed last night with tears streaming into my hair and onto the pillow thinking about this being the last night I would spend in the house we built, board by board, together. It isn't easy to walk away from. But the memories belong to us, not the house. And there are new memories to be created, elsewhere.

Goodbye Baptists!

Sawyer said goodbye to his friends at the Baptist preschool today. Tomorrow, Colorado!



Addendum: When we left my parents for the airport this morning Sawyer said: No more hugs. I don't have time. I have to go to Colorado. Wonder where he got the idea that hugs take a long time ;)

Rocky Mountain Hi

This is one of those 'Where do I even begin?' posts. I've sat down multiple times to write it, as evidenced by the three drafts in my folder. It's just too much to digest and regurgitate in one quippy little blog entry. This topic demands the time and attention span of a really juicy Vanity Fair article. Since I've been pondering how to write this post, people have gotten pregnant AND had their babies, so I need to just get on with it. This is the Reader's Digest version, and it's still long. So get yourself a glass of wine and your reading spectacles.

I've basically had a one-third-life crisis, as opposed to a mid-life crisis, which I'm postponing until 50. I woke up one day a few months ago (coincidentally not long after Scott lost his job) and said: I don't want to do this anymore. 'This' being living in a place that doesn't feel like home. 'This' being my marriage, in its current state. 'This' being the person I've become, who I don't even recognize when I look in the mirror.

Seven years ago, we came here from Colorado for a four-month vacation. We stayed because of a golden shimmer on the horizon, the promise of easy money thanks to a booming real estate market (insert sarcastic laugh here). We always planned on going back. The four-month plan turned into a one year plan which turned into the three year plan and that became the five year plan. I'm here to tell you that, seven years later, I've seen a lot of rainbows, but never have we found that pot of gold. Truth be told, I don't really give a damn about the gold. Certainly not at the expense of my family.

Having Scott living two hours north of here, seeing him for 24 hours on the weekend was not what I signed up for. I never planned to move back to Northern Virginia. I grew up there and left, decidedly, when I graduated high school. After he lost his job, Scott wasn't even looking for work in the Northern Neck. So, what was I doing here? As Scott continued chasing job opportunities in Northern Virginia, two hours away from home, I started sending my resume to every job opening west of the Great Plains. I got a hit in Granby, Colorado, scraped together the world's most meager travel budget, visited, and landed the job on the spot. I had four weeks to move.

I can't tell you how much my stomach churned after I walked out of that newspaper office. What do they say about being careful what you wish for? The reality of the situation set in. I worried about uprooting the kids and taking them out of good schools and away from friends for the unknown. I realized how much I love this house. I have a stable job. I have AMAZING friends here who I, maybe, underestimated at times. And, most importantly, I have Mimi and Pop Pop. How could I take the kids away from them?

Joining the Granby paper wasn't going to be a major career move in the up-the-ladder sense or the making-more-money sense either. Even they acknowledged that. It would be different, though, in a lot of good ways. It's a three-times-per-week community newspaper that is gearing up to be five-times and there is quite a bit of growth potential for me within the company. Really, it was about shaking life up and trying something new.

I realized that for these past seven years, I've just been along for the ride. I had to do this. For me. The kids are resilient. Mimi and Pop Pop travel. It's time for a new career challenge. The house had always been an investment, not a dream. The kids are young enough that this move won't permanently scar them. It was time to grip the wheel.

One foot in front of the other, I began by walking into my boss's office and resigning. That lifted an amazing weight off me. Now, there was no turning back. I took out ads to sell all the extra gear and stuff we had accumulated over the years. Three boats, two trailers, a step van, four computers, two crossbows, about two dozen fishing rods (never caught a fish), a partly built wooden kayak kit, clothes, outgrown baby gear . . . oh wait a minute - THERE"S THE POT OF GOLD!!!!!

We sold all that stuff for a song. Scott - to his credit - bargained his little heart out and then cried about it later. We made enough money to make the move. I started packing up the house. Meanwhile, Scott was STILL applying for jobs in Northern Virginia, because he hadn't really gotten IT yet. He was totally focused on getting back what he'd lost. The job. The stature. The money. Without seeing what he was losing.

Sometimes us women folk have to slap our men across the face and say: This train is leaving, Buddy. Get on board, now or never. We have to do that prepared for the possibility that in the next moment we'll be hanging out the window waving our handkerchief at the man we loved, standing on the platform as the train pulls away. I really had no idea which way it was gonna go for me. I'm still not completely certain.

But, by way of an answer, Scott announced Monday that he was going pack everything up and drive it out to Granby this week. He'd rent a house and settle things in. He'd drop the car off at the airport long term parking on Tuesday. Return here for a few weeks to get the house ready for renters (Fate kicked in and we found wonderful people to live here), finish a few quick projects and drive the last of the stuff across the country in his truck and trailer. Meanwhile, the kids and I would fly Saturday the 26th, pick up the car, move in and have a week to settle before I start my new job on Friday, Oct 2. We finally had a plan.

Two days later, Scott pulled out of our driveway. 36 hours after that he arrived, sleepless, in Colorado. He is there now, soaking it in and loving it, reconnecting with old friends and, hopefully, doing some soul searching. He has rented a place, a townhouse on a golf course. Apparently, I can walk to the grocery store AND Starbucks from the house (oh dear God help me), and I'll only be about five minutes from work.

I'm not kidding myself, the coming months are going to be hard. I'm gonna be poor. I'll still be coupon mom. The kids will probably be all freaked out. I'll have a new schedule and job to learn. They'll have a new school or daycare. And, at least for a little while, we'll be doing it all alone. But, I'm holding out hope for my little family. That we can pull it together and find happiness again in the place where we once had so much of it. Keep us in your thoughts (and prayers if you have 'em) as we depart on this grandest of life adventures. If nothing else, it's sure to make for some interesting blogs!

The new me

So last week I get a call from a producer at the Bonnie Hunt show . . . .

Oh, wait a minute. I'm not DOOCE. I don't make six figures off my blog and tour the celebrity docket and change diapers on live t.v. I'm COUPON MOM now. I seriously get a high from saving money at the grocery store. Like last week. I saved $50 using coupons and MVP savings. Just about danced my way out the door. I print my own coupons off the internet, and I even have friends leave me coupons on my desk and save me coupons they find. When the money is flowing, it's so easy to forget about coupons, to not bother. But when times are tight, I carry around an overstuffed envelope full of coupons. I become that person at the grocery store who you don't want to get behind. Particularly because sometimes I haven't actually taken the time to organize or even clip the coupons and I'm standing there in front of a line of people trying to find and neatly tear out the coupons I need. I'm YARD SALE MOM too, now. That book, yep, $2. That bag of non-washable Crayola crayons, $1. Yes, that is my infant son's mug in that picture frame. That will be $3. Poor Sawyer was clinging to his Ambulance with squinted eyes daring anybody to touch it. If only I lived in a state where they pay cash for bottles I might be digging through recycle bins too.

A.W.O.L.

Months ago, I scheduled a week's vacation at the end of August to go on a family vacation to the Outer Banks with some friends. When Scott lost his job, we had to bail out on the trip. But, I never canceled my week off. I was considering the possibility of a staycation until last Friday when I got a call that prompted me to purchase a last minute ticket to Colorado. (Air Tran only $69 bucks each way 48 hrs in advance). I decided that I was taking off for six days and promptly left Scott in charge of kids, house, dog, grocery shopping and laundry. See ya! It was the most liberating thing I've ever done. I never looked back. It was kinda unnerving, actually, to realize how easy it is to forget you even have kids. Since I was on the world's smallest travel budget, I got creative. I caught a ride from the airport with a friend's husband, borrowed a car or an old bike to get around, used public transportation whenever possible and never turned down a meal that was offered to me. And I made a $5 bag of oriental snack mix from the airport newsstand last the whole six days. I felt like I was in college. I even went to a keg party! I met up with two friends from high school, one of whom decided, on a whim, to relive 1994 and get a keg. It was the funniest thing. We barely made a dent in it, what with the adults being outnumbered 2-to-1 by kids, but my peeps and I parked ourselves in a corner and did our part. We staked out an Adirondack double chair, sat down at 5 p.m. and didn't give it up for the rest of the night. It became a challenge to see how long we could keep the chair. We would only get up one-at-a-time to get food or refill beverages or add layers of clothing. And when a campfire was lit later in the night to cook s'mores, we moved the entire 80 pound chair across the yard. I will say that Air Tran should be called Air Scam. We practically crash landed on the way in. And on the way out we had not one but TWO planes declared mechanically unfit for flight. The second time it was a problem with the battery and as we were sitting at the gate Scott asked me what they were going to do to fix it and I said: It's a battery. They're going to jiggle some cables and pour some Coke on the connections. A little while later, it turned out to be a circuit breaker accidentally flipped off. Doesn't it make you feel better about flying to know that there's a circuit box onboard, just like in your basement, that occasionally goes screwy. I'm not one of these moms who pines after the kids the whole time I'm gone. In fact, I didn't miss them until I was headed home and thinking about getting a big hug. When I pulled in the driveway, it was the oddest sensation to have my kids look at me like a total stranger. I hugged and kissed and cuddled them and relished their peanutbuttery smell. And I was ready for another three years of Motherhood. Next time I go AWOL, I expect it will be really big (maybe Mexico), and I plan to have more money. Perhaps I'll even get a massage!

Happiness

What's on your part?

I started this little tradition some months ago where every night at the dinner table I ask Sawyer what was the best part of his day. I think it helps bring shape to his young life, to review the events in a 12 hour period and consider what was fun and what wasn't. Most of the time it's hard for him to think of something he did at the beginning of the day, although occasionally something will have been so exciting that it will supersede all other events for days - like the time he stuck his nose underwater. Some days that's still his best part. And it was two weeks ago. He latched onto the exercise immediately. Whenever we sit down, he asks everyone at the table: What's on your part? Which, of course, leaves guests and relatives looking perplexed, quickly checking their noses and flies. Now he's got it down to a science. What was your best part Sawyer? Riding in Daddy's truck. Walking with Mimi. Jumping in the Jumper Thing. Everyone at the table must answer the question. Arden is included, of course, though usually she just smiles and giggles when it's her turn. Some days, when it's my turn, I have a hard time thinking of a best part. I'll flip back through the meetings, stories and drama from work, and the stress of getting everyone out the door in the morning and then back in the door at night. I'll feel exhaustion burning my eyelids and work hard to come up with a suitable answer. Then Sawyer will say something like: My best part is sitting here eating chicken with you. And I am reminded that my best part, everyday, is my children. Even when it's not.

Evening conversation

When I got home from work tonight, both kids were still awake in bed. Arden was standing in her crib, flicking her light switch on and off, on and off. (Note to self, move the crib.) After I relieved the sitter and got Arden down, I Sawyer heard calling me in a tiny voice: Mommy. Mommy. He was wide awake and ready to talk. Some of our most fascinating conversations happen just before bed. He asked me if daddy was home. I tried, to the best of my ability, to explain that Daddy was on his way home when he got a call from a potential employer for an interview tomorrow and had to turn around. It was very difficult to explain, considering that I'm not even sure Sawyer understands the concept of a job or work. After a lot of WHY's and blank stares, Sawyer asked me why daddy jumped off the roof. Uh. Right. He's talking a lot lately about the roof. Apparently Duncan jumped over it. He keeps telling that story over and over to everyone who will listen. Maybe it was a dream he had. Maybe it's just a tall tale. I don't know. I turned the focus to the Cabbage Patch Doll he was playing with, which was mine when I was young. And we talked about growing up and getting bigger. He got upset when I told him the doll used to be mine. He kept trying to give it back to me, and I had to explain that I don't need the doll any more because I have real babies. I asked him if he wanted to be a daddy someday. He said yes, then thought about it for a minute, and said: "I don't want to be Daddy, because that's really BIG and it would HURT."

Unedited

We've had the rare opportunity to hang out with t2 three times in the past month and this is the first time I've managed to capture any footage, and it was in the final moments before departure.



See the BFF entry below. I've added a snapshot out of this footage that I love cause of the total back slap move that Sawyer is doing, like all guys when a hug seems to, well, girly.

Pool day

I have no idea how to teach somebody to swim. Considering we live on the water and my parents have a pool, we haven't spent much time really swimming this summer. The cooler temperatures have prevented the pool from warming up, and it's just not a pleasant experience most days. But, two of Sawyer's friends already swim like fish, and I feel like it's time to get crackalackin' on the freestyle front. Turns out, I'm a throw 'em in and either they'll sink or swim kind of mom. I tried to let Sawyer do it on his own free will a couple times but eventually just pushed him off toward the stairs and let him fend for himself. He made it. Swallowed a little water and clawed his way up the stairs - blinded by chlorine and gasping for air. I thought he was going to fall right over on the grass. Typical Sawyer – he is terrified of new experiences but, afterward, is happy he did it. This is something I will need to keep reminding myself for his whole life. He's a kid that, from time to time, needs a push.

BFF

One night when I was reading books with Sawyer, he turned around and gave me a huge hug, looked me in the eye, and said: "You are my best friend, Mommy." I was feeling like the world's best mother until the next day when the teacher's aide in his classroom came up to me, absolutely smitten, and reported that Sawyer had declared her his best friend. Several days later he signed my babysitter Katie onto a lifetime contract with those same five words. Last weekend at the dinner table he brought my mother into the club. Sitting at the other end of the table, my slightly miffed father announced that Sawyer was out of the will. Today, it was little Tayloe Emery – a more age-appropriate best friend. Tayloe, however, was immune to Sawyer's proclamation. He just looked at him, shrugged and went on playing with his car. His mother, who heard Sawyer say this to her son several times, got all teary-eyed until I let the cat out of the bag: Sawyer's a BFF whore. At least he's not saying it to chicks at the checkout counter. He really does save it for people that he loves, and I think it's his way of telling people how important they are to him. So he hasn't quite figured out that the word "best" is singular, but I'm glad to see he's creating his own village of people that he loves and trusts. I personally think it's important to have multiple best friends. Each has their own specialties and contributions. Some are ballasts in the wind while others are the current that carries us forward. No, Sawyer, you can never have too many best friends. And, at the end of the day, it's always a good idea to have a backup plan.