More stuff.

I am not about to tell you that I'm nailing it at parenting because that'd just be a bold faced lie.

I swear far too often, my patience is sometimes as thin as silk, and pretty much every day, I forget Lakeland is only 5 years old. Which means I act like a real dick when she spills at the table, I interrupt her before allowing her the time she needs to finish her sentences, and sometimes, I eat her candy without asking.

But one parenting area where I thought I was at least up to par, was teaching Lakeland the importance of family and friends, that being kind and thoughtful is valuable, and that material possessions are less important than human connections.  She seemed to really glom on to these concepts in her own little ways, and has on numerous occasions, embarrassingly, brought me to tears with her generosity and gentle spirit toward others.

Until she didn't.

What else could she possibly need? Cape, hat,
bunny, broom, boots (from her friend!), petticoat.

Here's what happened:

We were walking home from school, hand in hand, shooting the breeze. I was all "How was your day? (good), Did you eat the veggies in your lunch box? (no), Did you learn anything? (not sure)" ...and then she said, "My friend had another new dress on today."

"How nice!" I prattled, not quite recognizing her tone of voice.

(I'd like to just pause quickly to tell you guys that this friend that Lakeland is talking about is freaking AWESOME, and she does have a lot of stuff, but she totally shares with Lakeland, and lots of times, just gives away her toys and dresses and shoes. She's a great kid with amazing parents.)

"But mommy, she always has new dresses. All of my friends have a lot of shoes and dresses and toys and books. And they get to play with cell phones and ipads. And they even have Barbies."

"Well...?" was my completely unreassuring and teetering response, but I didn't blurt out "Fuck Barbies" like I wanted, so...see? Nailing it!

"But why don't I have a lot of new toys and dresses? And SHOES! WHAT ABOUT SHOES!? Everyone has more stuff than me," she whined.

And there it was. My teachings over the last 5 years flung right out the window.

As usual, these more grown-up conversations pop up sooner in life than I expect them to, but at least I'd anticipated this one.  So Lakeland and I had a heart-to-heart. I told her that daddy and I decided that mommy mostly wouldn't work so that I could take care of her and her brother. And that daddy works really hard so that she can be home with me. "We're called a 'one income family' buddy, and that just means less money for stuff." I soothed.

Lakeland, unmoved, simply raised her eyebrows. I bit my tongue, as I so often do, and instead of blasting her with lists of all the things she should be grateful for, forged ahead with an alternate explanation.

"So there's this saying in the world and it goes 'The Grass is Always Greener on the Other Side'".

At this, Lakeland showed a slight, though wary, interest.

I persevered. I drew her a picture of two hills and two little girls, and explained that when each girl looks down at her own little patch of grass on her hill, it kind of looks dingy and brown, but when she looks across the way at the other little girl's hill, it looks really bright and green.

I told her that it was totally normal for her to feel like she wanted all the same stuff other kids have, and that sometimes, her friends might wish for what she has, like walking to and from school with mom and dad, or baking cupcakes in the afternoons. Or lazy visits to the library, or playing ball outside together, or going to the playground, and all the other fun shit we get to do together after school.

Then she reminded me that I owed the swear jar some serious coinage.

I carried on. "So you see honey, every family makes choices that work for them, and this is what works for us."

And she said:

"Yeah. Mommy? Can you just go to work? I'd rather have the stuff."

He Changes 1 out of 100 Diapers

Here are some of the dumb things my husband says about diaper duty:

I couldn't find the diapers. 

~ The location of the stored diapers has not changed since the birth of the baby six months ago.

I thought you already changed him.

~ I did. 5 hours ago. 

I saved his diaper for you, so you could see it.

~ Yeah, like this one particular diaper is a real game changer.

I change at least one out of every ten diapers.

~ Just a ludicrous suggestion...

I wasn't sure what to do with his diaper, so I just left it on the stairs.

~ I just...no. Not acceptable.

I had to use a disposable because I didn't know stuff about the other kind.

~ You didn't know "stuff". Like, all of a sudden, cloth diapering is outside of your realm.

I didn't use the butt stick.

~ No shit. (Poor rashy baby.)

I forgot the cream.

~ No shit. (Poor rashy baby.)

I didn't need wipes. He only peed.

~ That's not a thing. You gotta wipe his butt, dude.

I did my best.

~ Oh my GOD. WHAT DID YOU DO?!?

A Moose Among the Gazelles

I was up and running on the trail early today, which meant I was sharing the footpath along a rocky creek with real runners who actually enjoy lacing up on Sunday mornings.

Having 8 miles to complete at my slothy pace gave me plenty of time to observe the people around me. Plus, focusing on others drew my attention away from the fact that my feet felt as if attached to blocks of concrete disguised as shoes.

Here are my observations from this morning:

While others were smiling at the robins and the playful chipmunks darting across the trail, I'd be grimacing and dodging the little assholes. 

Even though it was a chilly 37 degrees, I was pouring sweat and beet red in the face. By contrast, the other runners I saw were dry skinned with just a gentle splash of pink across their cheekbones. How everyone else was just barely flushed at double my pace, I'm not sure. But it could be because...

The foot strikes of my fellow trail blazers were feathery; they made not a sound. My footfalls on the pavement basically shook the very foundation of the earth. The others glided past and opposite me, their feet landing and then lifting their lithe bodies up and propelling them forward, as if they were running on the surface of a trampoline. My stride being far more more ploddish, seemed to sink into the pavement. I had to yank each foot forward as if there were gum wads attached to my soles. It's possible that...

These trail beauties all weigh in at 120-some pounds and so their gazelle-like legs can easily handle the slightness of their upper bodies. I've thrown 50 extra pounds into the mix, so my poor hooves and joints have more to handle. I am a moose. This was particularly noticeable when...

I paused when needed (mostly the tops of hills), and gulped down water while hunched over, hands on my knees. My counterparts would take a quick swig from their Camelbacks while running in place and checking their various fitness devices for split times. I felt fairly accomplished not because I was setting any records, but because I'd actually completed some serious mileage without shitting myself.

It's the little things.