Tag Archives: family

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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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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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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Maude.

This is my mom.
image

Actually, growing up I called her “Maude.” Now I call her “Mommy” a lot too.

I am ridiculously lucky to have her in my life, and around the corner, and so much a part of my day-to-day life.

But really, everyone in her life is lucky to have her. She is THE person you want on your team, in your corner, on your side.

She is a cheerleader, a confidante, an advisor, a shoulder, an advocate, and a fierce warrior for those she loves – in ways and at levels that I pray I will someday come anywhere near to achieving.

Teenage Keri was borderline awful to her – I reveled in finding ways to piss her off and defy her at times in my younger years. To this day (many MANY moons beyond being “teenage Keri,”) I will wake up out of a dead sleep remembering something crappy I did and fight the urge to call her and apologize for the jerk that girl was. (Sorry Mommy, seriously.) Time and time again she chose to see the best in me even when I was showing her only my worst. She chose to lift me up and support and empower me. (I might have chosen to lock me in my room if I was her.)

As her life-long best friend, Karen slowly lost her painful battle with cancer, my mom helped her family coordinate care. She spent days with Karen, helping her and listening to her and being next to her. I know it made her sad. I know it broke her heart.   Standing with someone in the final moments of a life, is impossibly difficult. I believe it is also an honor and a God given opportunity to call upon the strength of your humanity to be a gift for someone you love as their life comes to a close. I know that belief comes solely from my observations of my Mom as she cared for Karen; and for my Grandpa, her “Daddy,” as he slipped away as well. So much of how I view life, and my role in the world, has been shaped by the way I view her in it.

There have been times of profound loss and trial in her life, some at ages younger than I can comprehend experiencing such difficulty. I know they have shaped her, creating in her heart a combination of deep, genuine empathy, and a passion to fight for those she cares for with all she can give.

It leaves me in awe.

She is warm and welcoming, funny, smart, reasonable, supportive, fiery, compassionate, no-nonsense, generous, strong, beautiful, selfless, and so loving.

And so loved.

She is the mom I pray I can be to Jr. She is the person I pray I can become.

Happy Mother’s Day, Maude. Words don’t exist for how blessed I know we are to have you.

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Monday morning drop off.

This morning was the first time I actually dropped Jr off in the pre-school class room instead of his “twos” room. He is not two.  He is three.  Also he has been slowly spending more and more time in pre-school, and last week was there all day except for the very beginning and end of each day.  He was a bit trepidatious,  but saw a teacher he likes playing with blocks that he loves, and after one extra hug, off he went to join in the fun.

He was ready.

As it turns out, I was not.

I walked out to put his lunch in the fridge and ducked into the dark, quiet gym to try to get the tears out of my eyes (believe me, they know that Keri is a crier at his school, but I was surprised that it hit me like that, and wanted to pull it together. )

I could hear him giggle and start to tell his friends about his birthday party over the weekend “I got a fire truck and a bike and CUPCAKES….”    I gave up trying to stop the waterworks and decided to make a run for it and just get to the parking lot and let go.

Back in the Keri Mobile, I was winding up to do just that, when another mom came out and climbed in the minivan next to me.  Then she suddenly jumped out, shut the door and ran to the sidewalk where she stood clutching her chest and staring at the van.  I looked up at her in a teary haze.

“That’s not my car!” she exclaimed.

She got in someone else’s minivan.  In a parking lot in the burbs.  Because there are so damn many out here.  This struck me as VERY funny, in my over emotional, crazy mom state.  I laughed so hard, it probably looked like I was being tickled by the invisible man or something.

She giggled and turned red, then walked to the next (fairly well identical) van, got in, and drove away.

I half expected the owner of the van to climb in and pause, sensing a disturbance in her swagger wagon force, but she just drove away, sitting where a stranger’s buns had been only a few minutes before.

It was a roller coaster of emotion to deal with before 8 a.m. on a Monday morning.

Keri had to stop for a coffee.

 

 

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