It's official. I've crossed the first item off my Life List. And hoo-boy was it a good one. I've done a full trip report on a separate page - as a favor to those of you who have trouble loading photos. There are lots of photos... But go! Read! Enjoy! We had a blast at Mt. Whitney and our muscles are still recovering, but the pictures make me smile every time. FULL TRIP REPORT IS HERE.
Lesson #1: Word association.
Since Colt has been talking a bit more, he has erupted with jabber about things in our daily routine. "Door-door" has come to mean not only the actual door, but it also stands in for words like "open" and "close". Anything with a lid or a door or a cap, I get asked to "door-door" it. Bottle of water? "Mama, door-door?" Jar of peanut butter? "Door-door?" Seems reasonable, right? His Lego set has some little people in it. And apparently they look like their heads should come off. At least once every time we play Legos, he gets my attention and holds up the poor little Lego sailor man, trying to unscrew his head like a bottle cap. Door-door? I politely explain that his head doesn't come off. He always looks so disappointed.
Lesson #2: Things are not always as they seem.
We've been jogging and climbing stairs at the parking deck and Colt's favorite part of Whitney training has been the elevator. Smart kid. He can juuuuuust reach the button and he pokes it until the light comes on. Then we try to guess which elevator will get there first. He jumps on and bangs around in the empty elevator as the doors close. When the doors open on the next floor he runs out and surveys the place. By the way, every level in the deck looks EXACTLY the same. Well, to a 2 year old. He always notices that the car isn't there, then turns to look at me all confused as if I've done something with it. Then he runs back over and punches the button to get back into the magic box so the car will come back. He always looks relieved when we arrive back on the first level and the car has returned. Whew.
Lesson #3: The power of suggestion.
Some of the first things he ever said were "oh no!" and "uh oh". And they continue to be favorites. And actually, "Uh oh" has taken on a life of its own here lately. It has come to mean "Something bad just happened, and I may or may not have directly, purposely caused it." I feel like explaining to him that saying "uh oh" does not make what just happened an accident. If you throw your milk cup on the floor from your chair during supper, and follow it with a not-so-heartfelt "uh oh", I can't help you. Not an accident. This also goes for ripping pages from magazines and sticking toys in the little crack between the refrigerator and the counter.
Lesson #4: Laughter is the best medicine.
Class dismissed.
Colt's birthday fell on Father's Day weekend again this year - as I suspect it will most years. Which is FINE with me. It makes for a fun weekend filled with my favorite boys.
On a whim, I sent a camera to school with Colt on Friday in case they did any fun birthday stuff. I honestly thought his teachers might humor me and take a picture or two and that'd be it. Wrong! They took several photos and even a short video! - and they are priceless. While they don't really do birthday parties for the kids in his class, they sure do have fun -- I got pictures of snack time and art time and inside and outside and just chilling with his friends. I should send the camera with him more often!
We are so lucky to have found a school he really loves and that we know takes such good care of him during the day. I loved this little glimpse into his school day. (And - though I didn't post them - there were many, MANY "outtakes" on the camera when I got it back. And as I looked through them I was comforted by the fact that I'm not the only one who has trouble chasing this kid for a smile at the camera!)
Friday night, we ran a few errands and stopped for birthday supper.
And we took our traditional birthday family photo in the backyard.
And played and played till bedtime.
Happy, happy birthday to our munchkin.
Saturday, we had big plans that required me to spend most of last week searching all over creation for a pint-sized life jacket, but Little Guy woke up feeling crummy and Jeff wasn't feeling well either - so we decided to save our intended birthday/Father's Day outing for another weekend. And we spent Saturday in the house. Colt ran a bit of a fever most of the day and wanted nothing more than to feel sorry for himself while sitting in my lap. Who am I to argue with that? Looking back, Saturday was much needed down time for all of us. It was a nice, quiet day.
Sunday was Father's Day! And (after the boys watched the slow, painful death of the US Open) it was time for Colt to help Paw break out the new mower.
You could say it was a hit.
And then it was time to make Father's Day phone calls before bedtime. Here are the boys wishing Pop a Happy (Grand)Father's Day.
What a weekend! I love that Spring is "family" season at our house - Mother's Day, Father's Day, and Colt's birthday are all right here together. I more or less consider them all the same holiday and it means a lot to me that we spend them together as a family. I know that Colt doesn't really KNOW that it was his birthday this weekend, but I hope he knows that he's loved.
18 June 2010
Buddy,
Here we are again. June 18th. I think this one came faster than last year. But, if it’s possible, I think we packed even more fun into the second twelve months than we did the first twelve months.
Two years. Golly.
It's hard to put into words how much you mean to this family. Your smile and your hugs and your stubborn little self - it's perfect. The three of us just fit together. We had no idea what we were missing before you arrived on the scene. No idea.
Turns out, we should have listened to all the people reassuring us that you would talk when you were good and ready. You have recently started chatting up a storm, and like a good little toddler, your favorite word is the big NO. But most things you say to me are accompanied by raised eyebrows and an expectant look as if you're thinking, "are you getting all this, lady?"
You conduct an ongoing roll call of all the shoes in the house. “Mama shoes. Dada shoes. Mama shoes. Dada shoes.” You try to insist that everyone wear shoes at all times – because you know that shoes mean OUTSIDE. And outside means CARS. And DOGGIES. And DIRT! And walking down the sidewalk (and sometimes right down the smack dab middle of the street) toward the corner, stopping to thoroughly inspect each stray stick and pebble along the way. You will usually hold my hand most of the way down the street, but never on the way back. It's as if you've hit your quota of Mama-mushiness, and have to pass on the hand-holding until another time.
You could stay out there all day. You don't care if it's 90 degrees and you don't care if it's raining. You are an outside kid. And I don't mind at all that I am persistently after you to drink water and constantly cleaning dirt from under your little fingernails. Go for it, Buddy. But save some dirt for the next guy.
My favorite moment of the day is either leaving for school in the mornings, when you tear through the house to find me and give me a bye-bye kiss before you climb in the car with your Paw -- or our night-night routine, teeth brushed, jammies on, chatting and rocking till it's time for bed. It's a toss-up.
I used to wonder what it would be like when you were old enough to reach up and hold my hand, or give me a kiss goodbye. But I never could have imagined this feeling. In my most vivid daydreams, I couldn't know what it would feel like to round the hallway of your school, peek through the doorway and find you playing with your friends - only to spot me and break into the biggest, most genuine grin and barrel toward the door to get a Mama hug. Ugh. You little guys. You're heartbreakers, for sure.
Of course, I've heard the stories about two year olds. Yep. And in the past few months I've seen more than a few glimpses of what Ms. Barbara used to call a "demonstrative" little thing. But I say, bring it all. Because I know there are hugs in the end.
There's just so much YOU. You're loving and brave and inquisitive. There's no slide too tall and no stick too dirty.
Happy, happy birthday, Buddy. We love you more than words.
Love Mama
Happy 2nd Birthday - Colt from Sarah Hood on Vimeo.
Among my group of girlfriends at work, I’ve always secretly considered myself The Normal Friend. I didn’t really spend time dwelling on it, and I honestly never put it into words before now, but I always just assumed they all thought of me that way. We eat lunch together at least once a week, and after a few years of soaking up the lovable idiosyncrasies and quirks of these girls, I guess I built a false little sense of security that I was the normal one.
And last week, it all came crashing down.
Four of us were at one of our favorite local Mexican restaurants, sharing some queso and complaining about work. We all pretended to look at the menu even though we're all predictable enough we could order for each other. Our food came quickly, like always, and we settled into our normal lunchtime dance of talking about our kids, our bosses, and any new gossip.
"Could you please explain to me your method of eating a quesadilla?" Suddenly interrupted our exchange of nonsense.
I half-thought she must be talking to someone else at the table. But after a quick glance around the table to confirm that I was, indeed, the only one with a quesadilla, and a raise of the eyebrows as if to say, "who? me?" I realized I was suddenly the center of attention.
"I'm fascinated."
At this point, my friend Amanda put down her fork to better focus on my reaction to her pointed question. And the entire table had stopped to watch the scene unfold.
"It's like your skinnin' it."
I just sat there. Speechless. Didn't she know that I'm The Normal Friend? I don't get asked these questions. We HAVE that friend. The member of the group who consistently eats strange things by strange methods, and has no reservations about it. I am not that friend. So I just sat there, kinda stammering around. I think I was hoping she would smile, admit to joking, and we would move on with lunch.
But she just stared at me. Waiting for my answer.
"Please. Tell me. What's your plan, here?" Motioning to my plate.
I found voice enough to start defending myself. The words just kinda fell out of my mouth in a stream of barely coherent gibberish. I quickly explained how I didn't want to eat all the bread-not-covered-in-cheese, so I peeled the quesadilla apart and picked the insides out with a fork. The part of this process causing the commotion, I suppose, was that I systematically peeled each crescent of quesadilla apart, ate the insides and any necessary tortilla (so as not to waste any heavenly cheese), and then discarded the unwanted tortilla into a little pile of scraps on my plate.
This is the way I've eaten quesadillas since the beginning of time. And I'm sitting here - even now - wondering what in the world is the problem. I'm not a picky eater, and I don't have weird food aversions. And I don't insist on THIS restaurant or refuse to eat THERE. When it comes to food, I thought I had all the kinks worked out.
While I defended myself with an unrehearsed, poorly considered monologue, my friends all stared at me. And snickered. They knew they had me. And they went for the kill. I could barely eat the rest of my lovely quesadilla, knowing I would be studied and scrutinized until the check arrived. I stared confused at my plate, replaying the many, many lunches I have shared with these girls. Had they been watching me and wondering this whole time? I asked them - "how long has this been an issue?" They laughed. I tried to give them my "I'm The Normal Friend" theory. They laughed harder.
Is it possible I'm not as normal as I think I am?
Several people have asked so I thought I'd just give you the skinny.
You may have noticed there are a few new features on the blog these days. I've decided to cooperate as part of the Beta Team for TypePad, which means I get to try new stuff before it's widely available. Sometimes it's stuff I can use, sometimes not. But the most recent new stuff is Facebook-related -- and who can't use THAT?
So you'll notice two new buttons. One is in the upper right corner of this page, under the heading "become a fan". Fairly self-explanatory... but if you push the "like" button, it will turn blue and you will be a "fan" of musings of Mother Hood (AND my new best friend!). You only need to click it once -- or it will "unlike" and turn white. What this means to you: musings of Mother Hood will show up on your Facebook wall like so:
And you can share with all your FB friends how much you loooooooooove musings of Mother Hood. I know, right. You do not have to be "friends" with me to do this. It links directly back to this site - not a Facebook fan page. You only have to do this once, and you'll get my blog updates in your facebook window as well - in the form of a link.
Next!
At the end of each post, you'll notice a new button next to the "Tweet this!" button. Eerily similar to the button in the upper right corner, right?? Yes! But it's tied to that specific post. SO. If you click this button (same drill - white to blue), a link to that specific post will show up on your Facebook wall like so:
It's essentially sharing the link with all your FB buddies, and you can click it on any post you choose. No fine print. No strings attached. It's actually a nice, not-obnoxious little line of text, huh? No crazy graphics. No ridiculousness. And, again, we don't have to be Facebook friends for you to take advantage of it and share fun stuff.
And that's what THAT'S all about. Have a great week!
Some of you may think I've forgotten all about it, but I'm planning to finally cross the first item off my Life List in a few short weeks. And it's a doozy.
In less than a month, Jeff and I will take on Mt. Whitney. Which happens to be the tallest peak in the lower 48 states. Which once sounded like a grand, poetic way to kick off my Life List. And I suppose it still is, right? I mean, it will easily be the most strenuous and physically demanding thing I've ever done - and I have a 2 year old! It will not be easy, but I am determined that it will be fun.
So today.
Jeff and I received an email from SMI (Sierra Mountaineering International - the company we're climbing with in July) notifying us that Whitney still has "Spring conditions". "Spring" means snow and ice and additional equipment we were counting on not needing.
Wait!
I've read the blogs! I've seen the pictures! People climb Whitney in July, in SHORTS! What is this talk of SNOW?? So, expect the unexpected, I suppose. Now we have to recalibrate our expectations for the possibility of snow and ice and high river crossings. But such is the nature of the beast.
So. We thought it would be a good day to go climb stairs. Ugh.
Let me take this opportunity to fill you in on a little something. I'm not really an exerciser. I've never played sports and I don't particularly enjoy working out. Honestly, I've been kinda surprised at my motivation to train for Whitney. Since April or so, I've been going to the gym nearly every night after Colt goes to bed, and doing at least an hour of cardio. I've exercised more in the last few months than I think I have - collectively - in my lifetime. And I was pretty proud of myself.
Until tonight.
Jeff took Colt and me to the parking garage on campus. And proceeded to torture me. We ran up and down the stairwell until I thought I might be sick. Nine flights, people. Up to 3. Back down. Up to 4. Back down. Up to 5 back down. Do it again. Up to 9. Do it again. My legs were jelly. It was as if all the nights in the gym were a drop in the bucket and after an hour of sweating and grunting in that stale, musty stairwell I started to worry that I'm not going to make it. What if I've signed on for more than I can handle?
But I made it through today. We climbed every last step we set out to climb. The parking deck was nearly empty so we ran up and down the ramps while Colt chased after us - loving every second, and probably wondering what in the world was wrong with us.
But I did it. For now. I realize it will only get harder. And that soon I'll have to run those stairs while wearing a 30 pound backpack. And that none of it will be as hard as the actual climb. But I'm taking it one step at a time. And I'm more convinced than ever that this is the perfect way to start tackling my Life List. Bring it on.
The longest journey begins with a single step.
Don't let this face fool you.
He's trouble.
Capital T.
And he's almost two. Hear that? ALMOST two. As in, not two yet.
Oh boy.
Not that he knows. Or cares. If it were up to him, he would skip all this toddler junk and move right on to Big Boy status. He's a 12 year old stuck in a 2 year old body.
Exhibit A. We went to the Springdale Aquatic Center this weekend. And let's just say his complete lack of fear - terrifies his Mama. Last year, he was perfectly content to hold our hands and wade around in the 6 inch deep water of the baby splash pool. We convinced him to go down the slide a few times and we carried him out to the deep water for a minute or two - just for a thrill.
Yeah. THIS year? He's having none of it. No hand-holding, no sticking close to Mama and Paw, and not a SCRAP of caution. I'm not asking for fear. I don't want him to be afraid of water. I'm just asking for some good old fashioned caution. Uh uh.
We did the slide.
Many times. These pictures were taken during one of the few trips down the slide that weren't made while dodging six or seven other kids. He held his own.
The attention span eventually took over and he wandered off toward the fountain area. So attached to us he is...
And then it was down to business. The big pool.
We thought we'd mix it up a little by tossing him around in the big pool for a bit. And the fearlessness continued. He was anything but content to be held. He wanted DOWN. No need to mention that he can't swim. Nor did getting dunked a few times dampen his spirits. He squirmed and kicked and wanted to be in the water with the big kids. And he was downright furious that we wouldn't let him go down the monstrous water slides nearby. (In his defense, the big kid water slides at the pool look A LOT like the big kid slides at the playground. I see the frustration.)
Two? Yeah. Right.
My sister is coming home. And I'm so, so proud of her that I want to brag about her all over the internet. Laura is finishing up her last few days as a Peace Corps Health Volunteer in Botswana, Africa and will be home in a few short weeks.
Her commitment to the Peace Corps was two years, and I am so relieved she is one of the volunteers that has truly had a positive experience. Not everyone gets what they were expecting when they join the Peace Corps, and - let's be honest - it's hard to know WHAT to expect with something like that. But she has really, truly loved it.
Laura has such a servant heart and an adventurous spirit - and it's been so cool to see her thrive on this latest leg of her journey. I can hardly wait to see what she has planned for her NEXT adventure.
Here are a few pics from her time in Botswana and her travels through Africa, and please stop by and visit her blog to leave an encouraging word or two.
Laura tells the stories behind these photographs better than I ever could. She'll probably be telling those stories over and over for years to come. Love you, Sister! Can't wait to welcome you home.
