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.

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?

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.

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 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:

Thank you for playing

This entire video is worth it for the last line.



Did you note that Arden is sporting a softer, more feminine version of the Mohawk? It's so fuzzy that people just want to touch it when they walk by. I was looking back to photos and videos from last winter and I can't believe how much Sawyer's hair has grown in recently.