Nature, Finally

Well, wasn't that poll fun? Thanks to all of you for participating. I am somewhat surprised by the breakaway success of the "coverage of weird events" category. I never knew that's what turned you on. Get ready for an upcoming entry about our city's basset hound festival, in which more than 300 costumed bassets march down a parade route. You asked for it!

I am also somewhat surprised by your lack of interest in underpants. This must mean that there aren't many six year old boys among my readers. Or maybe you guys are just embarrassed to admit how much you liked last month's story about the thong injury.

Since we've been talking about anniversaries, I have to mention that a whole year has gone by since I first posted about how much we want our kids to love the great outdoors. I was on a kick last summer, reading about the importance of connecting children with nature, blah, blah, blah. We had this big ambition to get the boys hiking, so I set about finding kid-friendly hikes that were close to home and had big payoffs. But there was always some big obstacle -- Green's tantrums, rain, the problem of where to get and how to get a trail parking pass, the issue of timing the hike correctly so that the kids wouldn't fall asleep in the car on the way home (5 minute nap at 3 p.m. equaled no bedtime until 11 p.m.).

12 full months later, we got ourselves a parking pass. We landed ourselves some sunshine. Green woke up on the right side of the bed. Everyone was well-rested. And we went to the mountains. Oh yes we did.

This is not to say that getting there was easy. The boys insisted on controlling the music, which meant a solid hour of the song "My Toothbrush Marches Up and Down" (to the tune of "The Ants Go Marching One By One") on continuous repeat. But we made it to the trailhead, found a parking place, examined the outhouse in great detail, and set out for our 1 mile hike up to the "natural water slide." And while there was a fair amount of "are we there yet?" moaning, the kids actually handled the ascent pretty well. The payoff was indeed delightful, especially if you enjoy swimming in glacial runoff (uh, Sparky, this water is COLD).

To Michael, a lifelong hiker, no journey is complete without a trip to Dairy Queen at the end. I suggested that eating a 1400 calorie sundae after the hike might negate the exercise component of the experience. He outlined several reasons why eating ice cream after a hike actually improves children's love of the environment and makes them want to hike more, which in turn keeps them active. It didn't make any sense, but I agreed that we could stop at a DQ if we came upon one.

But we didn't find one. We passed sign after sign advertising various trashy fast food places, but there was no Dairy Queen anywhere. And then something unusual happened: Michael started to whine. It's as if his inner first grader emerged and couldn't handle a ride home without the obligatory Peanutbuster Parfait.

"Oh, come on," I said. "Let's just stop somewhere else and get a regular ice cream cone." "It's not the same," Michael pouted. Finally, we pulled into the driveway of a diner, one whose sign proclaimed, "Nothing in this establishment is good for you." That seemed a promising enough advertisement to me.

Right away, I noticed that we were not the only ones in search of a frozen delicacy that day. In the parking lot, alongside our dusty Subaru, loitered a sizable posse of Bikers for Christ (Their leather jackets read, "We Ride the Lord"). Apparently they couldn't find a Dairy Queen, either. I watched a big smile emerge on Blue's face. He exclaimed, "I want one of those!" I was worried that he meant one of numerous colorful Jesus tattoos that decorated the members' entire bodies, but he was clearly admiring the the long line of giant motorcycles. "Blue," I said, "you can get yourself a motorcycle when you are 18, but I will never allow you to wear a t-shirt that says, "Hey beautiful, show me your tats!"

The boys ordered some sort of marshmallow milkshake and Michael had a caramel one. Those choices seemed a little yuppie to me, given our company. But we polished them off and returned to the city drenched with nature, sugar, and good vibes.

And it's all about good vibes, isn't it? I think the drawback of the Get Your Kids Into Nature literature is that it turns something that is fun into a grim responsibility. Because, really, what's better than a day of swimming followed by a picnic with 200 reformed thugs?

(Michael inserts that it would have been better if the thuggy picnic was at a Dairy Queen. Crybaby.)

Anniversary

Well, bloggers, we did it. We've been together for a whole year. On this very date in 2007, I was patting myself on the back for figuring out how to get this thing up and running without having to access my computer support team. Today, I am still patting myself on the back. Way to go, me!

Along the way, I have learned quite a bit about you guys. You're pretty feisty about politics, and you became REALLY alarmed when I wrote about my political indecision. You have enjoyed my adventures as a kindergarten volunteer, and you dig the occasional story about lecherous penguins. You have strong feelings about high school reunions, and you like chain letters and spaghetti. You really like food on a stick and have some misgivings about letting small children ride pissed-off sheep. You have also reacted well to any story involving underpants. On the other hand, you could care less about my literary interests or how much I drink on my birthday.

I say all this to let you know that you matter. I pay attention to your comments and your emails (i.e. I spend a lot of time checking for your comments and emails). You may have noticed that it has become easier to leave a comment (see sidebar for instructions), but if the system still makes you nervous, just send me a regular email sometime. I'd love to hear from you.

With the goal of being more responsive to you, I have set up a poll to the right of this entry. Please let me know what you'd like to read about. Be sure to vote! You can pretend like it's American Idol.

Art

The lazy days of summer are definitely here. I'm certainly feeling lazy, especially about blogging. Sorry about the lapse. And thanks to all of you who emailed to complain --- it's always heartening to know that people are still paying attention.

Blue and Green are busy at day camp this summer. The camp is located on "daddy's campus," and they attend assorted "classes" in university buildings. Their group of smelly six-year-olds makes stuffed space aliens in a room right next door to a calculus class. The exciting news this week was that one camper threw up right outside the door of a class that was taking a midterm. The kids apparently shrieked, "PUKE!" at the top of their lungs until the real professor of the real college students came out and yelled at them.

Much of what they do each day involves complicated projects that require "recyclables." They have made a "space machine." They have made star scopes. They have made pillows and booklets and tambourines. All of these things have been carefully constructed out of garbage. In fact, one afternoon the boys came running out of their last class with their backpacks bulging. Inside were cereal boxes and butter tubs and empty yogurt containers. "Ummm, boys?" I said. "Why do you have a bunch of trash in your backpacks?" Green said, "No, mama, that's not trash. That's ART." "But Green," I responded, "You haven't done anything to this to make it art." He rolled his eyes. "Mama, it's art in my imagination."

The upshot is that I have a whole bunch of someone else's breakfast containers in my house. Maybe this is the future of recycling. Instead of placing your crap in the recycling bin, you just find a small child and fill his backpack with it. Then he takes the stuff home to his mother, who sighs deeply and redirects it to her child's school for their art supply closet. The garbage will soon go home with a different child, in the form of a different project. Thus, the trash goes from family to family to family without generating any waste or pollution.

I'm not sure what came over me the other day. I was noting how excited the boys have been about their various pieces of trash artworks, so I put us all in the car and drove us 30 minutes away to a "salvage studio." At this place, you pay $6.75 per child to make "art" with the store's vast collection of trash materials. I don't know what I was thinking --- maybe that the kids would make a small keepsake of some kind? Instead, they each made a factory. A FACTORY. These pieces of trash sculptures are enormous. And it occurred to me, I just PAID MONEY to bring home someone else's refuse. That cash could have bought us a bag of organic cherries or an itty bitty amount of gas! Instead, there is a huge pile of debris fine art in my living room, and I am under strict orders not to move, jostle, disconnect, or do away with it.

Next year, Blue and Green will be going to an art-free camp. No more creativity for those two.

Mommies On The Loose

Last weekend, my friend E and I jumped on a train and headed out of town, leaving our families and motherly duties behind us. It was just the two of us --- no schedules to follow, no penguins to manage, no tick-tock-tick-tock of the machinery of everyday living. We wanted to prove that we are women who are still fabulous, still young, still full of spontaneity and fun.

(Getting on train)

Jennifer: Yay! We’re free! No obligations! No kids!

E: Just two wild and crazy ladies with time to kill and money to spend.

Jennifer: And crafting to do. Don’t forget about our bag of craft supplies.

E: I think I forgot my glue stick.

Jennifer: Michael made fun of me for bringing my craft stuff on our trip. Can’t we go to bars AND make collages? Why are the two mutually exclusive?

(Train employee in uniform walks by)

Jennifer: Oooh! Look! A train guy! My boys need a picture of that.

E: You’re not supposed to be thinking about the kids.

Jennifer: I need a picture of the dining car, too. Let’s go find it!

E: Wait. Look what’s getting on the train.

Jennifer: Oh no. It seems like we’ve been seated with a tenth grade girls’ volleyball team.

E: They look like strippers. What were their mothers thinking, letting them go out in public like that?

Jennifer: We’re old enough to be their mothers, you know.

E: Not this weekend. This weekend we’re young, hip, and carefree!

Jennifer: I do have to remember to find a toy store while we’re there. I need to bring back souvenirs.

E: You’re not supposed to be thinking about the kids.

(That night, at dinner)

Jennifer: Woo! This restaurant is swanky!

E: I think you’re supposed to be cool if you come here. Can you fake it for a few minutes?

Jennifer: Look at the yummy list of cocktails! Can you make sure I get back to the hotel safely?

E: How much to you plan to drink?!?

Jennifer: Uh, one or two?

E: You are so NOT cool.

Jennifer: Let’s get that waitress to take our picture!

E: This is so embarrassing.

Jennifer: Uh, Courtney? Could you take our picture? We’re two mommies on a getaway vacation! It’s just us! No children!

E: Stop it. Drink your cocktail.

Jennifer: They call this the “Vampire.” I think it has Squirt in it! Delicious!

E: Don’t drink that too fast! My wine isn’t even here yet.

Jennifer: I shink I mi be gittin loooooopy.

E: I think we need to order you some food.

Jennifer: I mish my kiiiiids. Aren’t my kiiiiiids cuuuttteee?

E: You’re not supposed to be thinking about your kids.

(Next day. Shopping).

Jennifer: I need to get something for Michael.

E: Like what?

Jennifer: I don’t have any ideas. If I don’t find something soon, I’ll have to get him an Amtrak key chain at the train station.

E: Look! There’s a men’s boutique across the street!

Jennifer: A men’s boutique?

E: Yes! Maybe you can get him a really nice shirt. Let’s go!

(The women enter the store. It is dimly lit, with a sign that says “You must be 18 to enter.” Obscene clothing and paraphernalia line the shelves.)

Jennifer: Uh, E, I think this may be a different kind of shop.

E (picking up what appears to be a whip): Oh. My. God.

(They read a sign that says: "Please Refrain From Hitting Customers While Shopping”)

Jennifer: Hee Hee.

E: Hee Hee.

Together: Hee Hee Hee.

Jennifer: Look, E, I can get some underwear with penguins on them here! I’m totally buying these.

E: You are NOT supposed to be thinking about your kids.

(That night, in the hotel room. Crafting)

E: Aren’t you going to finish your collage?

Jennifer: I’m getting kind of sleepy. It’s after my bedtime.

E: It’s only 9:30.

Jennifer: Exactly.

E: We came all this way. You can’t go to sleep at 9:30.

Jennifer: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

E: Do you think we should put on some nice clothes and do something wild and crazy? We could crash that wedding reception downstairs…

Jennifer: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

E: We could talk. Not about kids, but about other stuff. We could discuss the meaning of life!

Jennifer: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

E: You’re no fun. You’re acting like such a GROWNUP.

Jennifer: Fine. Let’s open the minibar. Tell me the meaning of life.

E: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Jennifer: Exactly.