Category Archives: musing

August 18, 2014 · 12:27 pm

No really, I got this.

It’s no secret that Keri’s first choice for relaxing isn’t mountain recreation.

I confess that when it comes to the purple mountains magisty that is The Rocky Mountains, I tend to take an “over it” attitude. It’s a sin and a shame, but growing up here makes it easy to take for granted.

That being said, I want my kid to have the same experiences that I did when I was growing up – all of the hiking and frolicking and camping (ok, maybe we can skip camping… cabins are nice… walls are good,) and even skiing (NOT with me – HELL NO,) that growing up in Colorado should include.

Then later in life he can go ahead and roll his eyes at the idea of it all too, if he decides to.

That was the agreement – the point of moving way out here away from the city, right? Get Keri out of her comfort zone, get Jr into the crossroads of all the different parts of Colorado, get The Mr (bless his Texas transplant little heart,) closer to the mountains so he could be all, um, mountainy again (gigglesnort.) Check check and check.

Except it has come to my attention that people assume that I am bad at the whole “mountain fun time recreation” thing. Like my distain = my inability.

Um, no.

Keri can hike. Keri can drive the passes. Keri can get on a damn gondola. Keri can drink you under the table at 9000 feet and get up the next day and chase a toddler through tourist crowds.

If you’d like, I can also build you a fire, toast the perfect marshmallow, sing camp songs until hell and gone and splint your hiking injury with my trusty bandana and a stick (ok, I don’t know if I could still do that – but somewhere in my youth I could. Once a Girl Scout, always a Girl Scout.)

The level of surprise from family and friends at the idea that Keri is comfortable in the mountains took me WAY by surprise.

I admit, I have no love for being a passenger in a car driving through the mountains – control freak Keri likes to be the pilot (are there seriously people who don’t though? I can’t imagine!) Andplusalso, in true native style, I am ALL about our state’s booming tourism industry. It is beyond important to our economy. It does NOT make I-70 a place where I want to be driving on a Sunday afternoon. Traffic jams suck. Traffic jams on 6% -9% grades with semi-trucks? There needs to be a new word for that level of suck.

But kind of crummy travel issues aside, what’s not to enjoy? It is pretty and peaceful and things slow down a bit up there.

Last week I marveled at Jr’s 3 year old bravery as he cautiously did his first ropes course in Vail. I watched him squeal with glee on the gondolas, and observe flowers and bugs and rocks and rivers with wide, curious eyes. This momma can’t deny it – the Rockies match her son’s adventurous, open spirit perfectly.

So hide your shock, friends – Keri is dusting off her hiking boots and heading for the hills.

Relax. I know what I am doing.

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July 15, 2014 · 8:08 pm

Bedtime

Bedtime is getting hairy at our house.

Well, that is not completely accurate.  What I should say is, every night, as I run Jr’s bath, there are two very different scenarios that are equally likely to go down.
When I whirl my hand to blend his bathwater , I might as well be spinning a roulette wheel….
Where the toddler mood stops, nobody knows.

In the past months I have developed a checklist of precautionary measures that render me utterly ridiculous looking slightly less sexy than my usual smokin’ hawt look.

1. My hair gets twisted and wound tightly up on top of my head so no little  hands fighting to NOT be fished out of the tub can latch on to a handful of loose hair. (Which may have resulted in something that looked like The Mr trying to pry a howler monkey off my head on at least one occasion.)

2. My maxi skirt (summer uniform of choice, ) gets hitched up under my shirt, over my boobs, so I don’t trip as I chase a naked streak of toddler down the hall waving a pair of dinosaur jammies frantically.

3. A nighttime diaper is tucked in the hitched up waist of that skirt for a “quick draw” when I finally manage to pin that calf down.

4. Big, old glasses are a must, protects from flying bath toys, water, flailing limbs, etc, without sacrificing current pair.

5.  If it feels like it might be a marathon of toddler emotion after story time ends, there may occasionally be a travel mug containing a beverage derived from the grape. (Any port in the storm, people. )

6. Of course, all of this is most likely drenched by the time Jr has been extracted from the tub and secured in his puppy towel.

Last night bedtime was a 3 hour sob-fest filled with toddler bargaining attempts, whipping of nighttime buddies, clothing removal, and blood – curdling screams. (And that was just from me. Just kidding. Kinda.)
I came out of Jr’s room looking like I just did a triathlon, and fell instantly asleep in exhaustion and self-defense in case he woke up for more of the cray.

Tonight?  Obeyed every request, sweetly particpated in stories, cuddled for songs, and drifted immediately off to dreamland cuddling Beans The Bear.  So cute I swear he had a heavenly glow around his adorable little head.

:::hitching skirt back down and pulling off giant glasses ::::

Do you think they swap “guess what hoops I get MINE to jump through” stories over finger-paints at pre-school?

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June 23, 2014 · 12:56 pm

Oh, Three.

So Jr. has been 3 for a few months now, and I continue to look back on what people refer to as “the terrible twos” with misty-eyed fondness. Oh how I loved me some two. There was nothing terrible about two. Two meant nap times, and cuddles, and eating anything set in front of him, and running toward Mommy. Two was super cute.

Three? Three is a tornado. Parenting a three year old could be an ACTUAL boot-camp style fitness class, but people would drop out from exhaustion.   Three, so far, has been kind of surreal.

Reasons I buy wine by the case Fun facts about 3 year olds:

-3 year olds don’t care what you say. A three year old will sprint from you while you say stop over and over. A three year old will climb the drapes like a cat right after a conversation about why it is a terrible idea. I am fairly certain that when I move my mouth, my 3 year old hears the same “Wah Wah Wah Wah Wah” noises that all adults seem to make in Charlie Brown land, and not actual words.

-You don’t need a bull horn if you have a 3 year old. A three year old is the loudest thing on the planet. So just get the 3 year old to convey what you need to say to any crowd you are leading – except see the first item on this list. Not so much with the caring what you ask. So mostly 3 year olds just yell NO or make animal–like noises you can’t explain.

-The more tired the 3 year old, the harder it is to get said 3 year old to stop moving – a line gets crossed, and after that point you pretty much have to wait until the kid drops mid-run. (this does happen.)

-The only acceptable thing to do with something a 3 year old no longer wants, is to fling/whip/throw it away as hard as the 3 year old can. Don’t want those peas? Leaving them on the plate or pushing them aside won’t do. Must. Fling. Peas. All done with that watering can, Jr? Oh you can’t just set it down, you have to whip it across the yard – probably in the direction of the dog? Silly me. (We are working on it – but I admit, if I see his arm move at this point, I duck/block my face without even thinking.)

-Speaking of food –3 year olds are fickle eaters. Mac and cheese can be the best substance on the planet one day, and the next it seems it must be like swallowing razor blades – based solely on the reaction of the 3 year old.

-Actually 3 year olds are fickle with the everything. The Room on the Broom ap that said 3 year old adored on the tablet during brunch last week? Whipping it out at dinner this week will get you an eyeroll and a shouted NO!     Nothing is “for sure.”

-Messy and possibly slightly dangerous? That is the activity a 3 year old HAS TO do.

-Recurrences of separation anxiety are real, yo. And 35 lbs of kid velcroed to your leg is tougher to haul around and IMPOSSIBLE to pry off. (Ok, I confess, I am soaking that up mostly – because being the center of his world feels pretty spectacular… but it makes preschool drop off kind of tricky/heartbreaking.)

 

Suddenly I understand the mom I once saw full on tackle a toddler in a parking lot. I totally get the backpack leashes I have seen on some kiddos around this age. Even that look in a fellow mom’s eye that says “as soon as I know your safe, I am going to wring your neck!” Safety can quickly become a guerilla-style situation in the ever-changing world of parenting a 3 year old.

It is tough not to get extra helicopter-y as he starts to enlarge his personality and test the boundaries of his growing world. Extra prayer and adult beverages are often called for. (I reserve the right to be protective – I’ve got 3+ years of work into this model – and even in his current state, I know how far we have come…   I am protecting my investment when I insist he refrain from diving off the top of the play set head first.)

Ok ok ok – none of this is ALL the time. It is accompanied by a large amount of cuteness, and charisma, and a wonder of the world that is amazing to watch each day.

You know – the kind of wonder that has a volume of +1000, and is streaking away from me at a flat sprint while giggling and dumping some sort of messy substance along behind.

Oh, Three.

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June 12, 2014 · 11:18 pm

Lucky one.

Dear about-to-turn-28-years-old-Keri,

Hey, it’s you, from 10 years in the future!! Don’t believe me? Let’s talk about that stash of  Taco Bell bean burritos and the pack of ancient Camel Lights you keep in the icy recesses of your freezer in case of civic or natural disaster. No one knows (knew) about that, eh?
See, told you it was me.. er, you.

(By the way, you never use any of that stuff. No zombie apocalypse yet.)

I am writing this on the eve of my/ our 38th birthday.
The wedding you are furiously planning for September? It was beautiful, and stressful, and it took forever to get here, and was over in 2.2 seconds.
Just like the last 10 years.
That English degree you are getting that everyone assumes is just the next notch in your wandering-academic-eye belt? Guess what – it’s the keeper.
And you get a job. And another job. And another.
And you never stop starting sentences with “and,” or writing like you talk. (Sorry, Mrs. Babb. )

In December you’ll turn a corner at the animal shelter and find out the shape of your heart is 32 pounds of fluffy, doggie perfection, and you will think you can’t possibly get any luckier.
Then in a year or so, you’ll find the perfect open, airy, amazing 6th floor condo, with a patio to die for in the best location, and you’ll think you can’t possibly get any luckier.
You’ll grow into a group of friends you haven’t even met yet, and you will just KNOW you can’t get any luckier.

Then you will have your son – YEP – the M.S. is totally controlled, and the docs all green light you, and it goes perfectly and HE IS perfection, and I swear you will think your heart will explode from being the luckiest of the lucky.

To top it all off, you will move with your hubba husband, freaking adorable dog, and beyond awesome son, to a perfectly sized house right in the thick of YOUR HOME TOWN!!

28 year old Keri, WAIT!!
Stop running and screaming! Listen to your older and wiser self.

You will move back. It will be your choice.
You will live a mile from your parents.
Just up the road from the friend you’ve known longer than any other.
You’ll have more waves of deja vu and flashbacks and ‘WTF am I doing here’ moments than even your/our ridiculously overactive imagination can concoct.
You’ll get ANOTHER job.
You’ll undertake 2 years of remodling projects (dear God I hope we are done now.)

And 10 years from where you are, you will sit out on the patio in the same quiet you knew as a child, sipping a dirty martini, writing a letter to yourself by the light of your son’s room monitor, and you will know.

You will know, at the very center of the core of your being, that you couldn’t possibly be any luckier than you are to be right where you are in your life right then.

Happy birthday, 28 year old Keri.
The life you are on the brink of launching into is nothing like you planned, and every single thing you ever dared to dream.

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May 27, 2014 · 2:21 pm

My least favorite question EVER.

What question does Keri loathe above all others?

“When are you going to have another one?”

Holy crap, do people LOVE to ask that to parents of single kiddos.

This past weekend, it was asked at the grocery store, by the friendly checker Jr was giggling with as she scanned our Memorial Day picnic supplies.

Never mind that I could have a football team worth of kiddos back at home, or even trolling the isles on their own, as it seems that it completely acceptable in the “burbs.

Why… OH why, are you asking me that?

Why isn’t one enough?

In my heart, one has always been enough – one was THE one. One was the last piece of my whole wide wonderful world. I knew it as soon as I was pregnant with him – this was the member of our family we were waiting for.

Since joking is what Keri does, I have a tendency to go the tee-hee route in an attempt to derail the conversation : “Oh he’s the little emperor, all our eggs are in that basket,” or “Oh goodness, I am lucky if we all have on matching shoes when we leave the house each morning – we are busy enough with one!”   (I didn’t say good jokes – but among the MANY feelings that make me go straight for attempts at humor, feeling backed into a corner or defensive is right at the top.) Sometimes it is too irritating to even try to be polite (which clearly the person is NOT concerned with,) and I just snap “maybe you should have another baby then!”

Beyond just the question, be it from a well-meaning friend or family member or (way more often than I could imagine,) a random stranger we come in contact with at some point during the day, what blows me away is the list of reasons why my answer is unacceptable that always follows my response.

I have been repeatedly informed of exactly how awful, and selfish, and clueless I am in my decision to have a single child. I am frequently “reminded” that when I realize how very wrong I am it will be too late (because I am not just selfish and clueless, I am old as well, TYVM,) and I will be filled with regret.

Poor Jr will be equal parts entitled, and self-centered, and lonely, and resentful of us all the days of his life; right up to the day he has to deal with the logistics of our coming illnesses and death all by himself – because no siblings were provided to be an assured support system.

It’s always special when a trip for some bananas and milk ends with a lecture about your eventual death from your favorite a checker at the local Piggly Wiggly. (Ok, we don’t have Piggly Wigglys here. But still, come on, Eileen! None-ya!)

By the way – it works, kind of. Not because of whatever the inquisitor-of-the-hour has to say, so much, but because I have considered all of these things too. (Not REALLY so dense, I promise, people.)

ANDPLUSALSO – I know that I feel our family is complete. I know that The Mr. says he agrees. Judging by Binky-the-wonder-dog’s jealous reluctance to completely accept Jr, I assume that he is in the “no room at the inn” camp of thinking.   I also know that this decision is, in reality, predominately on me to make.  My guess is that if I got all “Ok, time for another one,” about things that The Mr would probably be good to go with that plan too.   I imagine that Jr will go through a period of questioning why he is a single child as well.

Any conversations that take place around the feelings of my family are obviously very worthwhile. WITHIN OUR FAMILY.

I don’t want to share the awkward silence while swinging Jr next to another kiddo at the park because I refuse to justify our family planning decisions to never-even-met-you-before neighbor mom.

Maybe it is just a perception thing, but I do feel like the pressure to fill a mini-van to Von Trapp family proportions is much more intense in the suburbs than in the city.   Not once have I been at a gathering of families in the city (let alone a dang grocery store,) and been asked about when my husband and I were going to start getting busy (literally and figuratively – I mean think about what you are REALLY asking me,) on another baby.

I know the houses are bigger – but that doesn’t mean we need to stick a kid in every room just because it exists! (BTW, we drove Awesome Alyssa the Realtor CRAZEH trying to find a house small enough that still met our needs, because we knew the size of our family.)

SIMMER DOWN, SUBURBS!!   I think my kid, and my whole family, will be ok just as we are.   I see no reason why Jr won’t continue to grow as the generous, sweet-natured, loving kiddo he has shown himself to be. Additionally, I see no reason why I will wake up one morning and think that everything he is to us is somehow less than enough.

I am a “never say never” kind of gal – it is true.

But I damn sure know that any updates to family planning decisions that get made aren’t going to be made as I am waiting for my debit card to go through because a smiling granny tells me “my grandson is SO happy to have his little sister, you’ve just GOT to give him another one to play with!”

What am I going to do? Scream “OH MY GOD – I’VE BEEN A FOOL! GOTTA GO FIND MY HUSBAND AND START BABY MAKING – NOW!” before abandoning my purchases, chucking Jr in the cart and bypassing the penny horse ride thanking her for fixing my life as I go?

Yeah, No.

So how about we just stick with “sure is hot outside, isn’t it?” or “is that the new Bluebell flavor”? and leave the possible future residents of my uterus out of it, m’kay?

(Also, SERIOUSLY – I really am lucky if we all have on matching shoes… hell I feel proud some days that I remember to put on shoes at all. And pants. Really.)

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