Give me the howling cats, mommy!

Espen knew Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah before I told him said composer was gone.

We were riding home after his play group one day, just after Mr. Cohen's passing, when Espen began to hold forth.

"Hallelujahhhhhhhhh, Halleluuuuuuuujaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh, Halleluuuuujah, Halleluuuuuuuuuuujah!"

I was feeling the loss of the great songster pretty keenly and promptly cued up several renditions so Espen could get a full appreciation for how gorgeous the song really is.

The first three covers were soulful, Jeff Buckley-esque variations, which Espen crooned along to, demanding more at the end of each version.

And then.

5 young ladies sat in a simple room with a guitar and some folding chairs. They were. Divas. Baby ones, just itching to let their star shine.

The song started without incident. Just a lovely solo, albeit with a few gratuitous trills and runs. Then came the chorus. It was like listening to an aural rendition of 5 Madonnas in Vogue. Espen and I were completely silent, trying to parse all the audio action coming at us like an atomic song.

Then back to a single voice making a play on Whitney Houston's virtuosity.

I looked back at Espen. He had a confused look on his face.

And then the chorus started again, but this time, the sequel was better than the original. In that the voices were even more decorative and thrilling.

But me, I'm a creature of habit when it comes to my Leonard Cohen and I favor the rawness over the roller coaster vocals. To me, I felt like I was listening to a concert of howling cats.

I pressed stop. Espen questioned me.

"Mama, why did you stop the Hallelujahs?"

"Because they sounded like howling cats."

"Oh."

For whatever reason, he didn't press the issue further, which I took as tacit agreement.

Several days later, we are loaded in the car and ready to launch when Espen has a request.

"Give me the cats, mommy."

"Um. What cats, honey? Mimi?"

"No, mommy! The CATS!!!"

He's saying it like I should be WELL aware of what he is driving at, but for the life of me I'm drawing a blank. Did I promise him a bunch of kittens in a moment of exhaustion? Is there a herd of cats somewhere in our house that I should know about? Nothing.

And then he starts ooohhhhing and ahhhhing and luuuuuuuuuuuuyaaaaaaaaaing...and it dawns.

"Do you want the girls singing Hallelujah?"

"YES! Give me the howling cats, mommy! I want to hear them!"

So this one's for you, howling cats. You're famous to Espen Camino. Long may you wail.

The Day I Almost Broke My Kid

It was 3:45 on a Wednesday. Espen and I had spent a lovely, connected day going to music class, having lunch at a cafe and then heading to the Westmoreland Nature Park. We'd been up early due to night potty training and the seemingly endless cycle of half-colds that Fall brings, but we were coping as gracefully as possible.

On the way back, I was overcome by a wave of exhaustion that made Snow White look positively hyper post apple. I could barely keep my eyes open as I staggered into the house and collapsed onto the couch.

Espen bounded over, book in hand.

"Read to me, mommy!" he squealed.

"Espen, mommy is so...tired...I need to close my eyes for 10 minutes and then I'll read to you."

Espen was unimpressed.

"Read to me NOW, mommy!" he demanded, bouncing near my head provocatively.

I have been around this block long enough to know that if I want a moment's peace, I better dig deep and find at least one story in me. So I struggled to sit up and kind of half slurred, half whispered the book to him.

"Go get some crackers and fruit leather and you can have a snack on your little table." I offered.

Usually this is like winning the lottery for Espen, but now that I was offering it, the golden ticket seemed suddenly suspect.

He got his snacks and ate exactly one bite before racing back to the couch and bouncing near my head again.

"Mommy, get up and play with me!!"

And oh, how I wanted to, but I could move nary a finger in either direction.

"Boo, can you just grab some books and toys and play with them inside, or out, for a couple minutes while mommy rests?"

I could feel myself growing desperate inside. Here I was asking for what I needed badly and knowing with each passing bounce, that I wasn't going to get it.

"NO! MOMMY PLAY WITH ME NOW!"

My voice raised along with the cortisol in my system. It's extremely hard for me to remain calm when someone is yelling at me when I have calmly asked for a very simple thing pertaining to my physical reality. And here was my sweet son, inches from my face, screaming that there was no way in hell he was going to give me a moment's rest.

That's when Crazy Kali Mommy took over. I leapt up from the couch stormed towards the spare room.

"Listen, Espen. I NEED to rest my body or I won't be able to be a good mommy for you so I'm going to give myself a time out to try and calm down because I am VERY UPSET RIGHT NOW."

I shut the door. Locked it. Lay down on the bed and pulled the duvet over my head. Yes, I'm 37.
Espen, also acting like a 3 year old, albeit a less verbose one, grabbed a toy and started hammering on the door.

I became unhinged. My brain was screaming, "WHAT THE FUCKING HELL DO I HAVE TO DO TO GET MY NEEDS MET HERE!???!!?!? I AM GOING TO DESTROYYYYYYYYYY SOMETHING."

I flew to the door, unlocked it and grabbed Espen's wrist and marched him outside. He began to holler.

"I DON'T WANT TO GO OUTSIDE!"

"I DON'T CARE!" I said coolly, poison dripping from my voice. I set him on the edge of a table and walked inside.

"Mommy! GET ME DOWN!" he roared. I, however, knew he was capable of getting himself down and plus, just felt plain mean. Like, "Oh, you don't like that? Well that's how I feel too, you jerk."
Completely hijacked by the Rage Monster now, as you can see.

He hopped down off the table and grabbed a stick and started beating it against the sliding glass door. Great, now we were both completely insane and I was no where near controlling myself.

So I ran to the glass door and threw it open and grabbed the stick and threw it on the ground. Espen was all smiles.

I was full of "Goddamnits!"

So again, I ran to the front porch and desperately tried to pay attention to the mind numbing effect of Facebook on my phone.

Espen approached, this time, fully nude.

He walked right up to me and laid his penis on my leg.

This was the closest I came to be startled/amused out of my rage. I cracked a smile and Espen grew bold.

"What are you doing, Espen?" I asked, none too excited to hear the answer.

"I'm going to pee on you, mommy."

I pushed him away, the fatigue coming back with a vengeance. Oh how I wanted to be able to take myself out of the situation and get myself calmed down, but there seemed to be no refuge, no help in sight. I surrendered to the absurd pain of the moment.

Just in time to feel my pants grow warm.
I looked down. A dark stain was spreading across my lap.
I looked up. Espen stood in front of me, one hand on his hip, the other holding his penis like a garden hose.

Aimed right at me.

I roared. Ran inside with Espen running after, stripping my pee soaked clothes off and hurling them on the ground.

"WHAT THE HELL, ESPEN. WHY DID YOU PEE ON ME!!!! I AM so ANGRY WITH YOU RIGHT NOW."

Espen laughed.

I have no idea how I made it with he and I to the bathroom in one piece, but I did. I do remember my body trembling with fury. And I do remember him coming into my bathroom and saying something about his bathwater being too cold. And saying, "Fix it yourself. You know how." And more howling. There was a text to Tobias about how he should come home NOW if he wanted to keep his wife and son mentally intact.

And then the endless regret and anger at reality and myself for being unable to get what I needed so I could be who I know I am capable of being....but now you know why I had to apologize to Espen.

A Very German Thanksgiving

The presidential election has had some notable consequences this year. Namely, that we did not attend the traditional family Thanksgiving due to my inability to avoid the subject of politics with my Republican relatives.

Normally, I would be able to rein my political sentiments in, but in light of the fact that I had tried reaching out to said family members the day after the election only to be rebuffed with reasons of ruining their vacations by speaking of it, I felt particularly convicted that a conversation would have to take place on Thanksgiving.

Why? I voted for neither big party candidate, so it wasn't because my girl lost. It was because of all the suffering and fear I was experiencing in the folks around me who had been targeted by Mr. Trump's rhetoric. And I needed to understand what motivated my own flesh and blood to cast their voice in support of such a person.

Was I worked up? You bet. Was I wanting to work towards a resolution? Yep. But it appeared that only half the Trump voters in the family were interested in communicating around it.

So I had to clarify. I sent out a text.

"Just to be clear, I don't think I can show up at Thanksgiving without talking about the election unless I can have a conversation about the election with you all before hand. If that isn't appealing, we are happy to cancel and spend the day with friends."

The non-speaking half of Trump's supporters were happy to have us cancel.

And THAT is how we came to spend Thanksgiving with our European friends. In fact, and perhaps, ironically, I was the only full blood American in the group. Which, seemed to be in keeping with how the history of the real Native Americans and the Europeans unfolded. So that was very thematically accurate of us.

Espen and his friend Stella were in fine form. Stella is 5 and Espen is 3 and a half and Stella can climb anything that doesn't move. By the halfway point  in the festivities, both Espen and Stella came racing into the kitchen nude, grabbed the door frame and scuttled up to the ceiling, screaming like howler monkeys.

Then they dashed back upstairs
to the bathroom where they resumed cackling madly in a bathtub full of toys.

Meanwhile the adult Germans, the Dane and I reveled on.

Surrounded by the flashing bodies of nude kids, turkey, music and delicious wine, we whiled away the hours until we had finished several rounds of dinner, first and second deserts and a couple bottles of red. We all agreed on politics, debated the electoral college briefly and got back to making merry. It was, as they say, a seamless affair.

Especially for Espen and Stella since they were nude most of the day.

And while I was sad that my family would rather be apart than discuss important issues for our country, I was delighted to experience the easy camaraderie between folks that do not share native languages or cultures.

I know there is a lesson in this about expectations of family being higher and the generosity of friends, but

I am truly grateful for the opportunity to have spent the day with an open heart. I hope my family did too. Maybe next year, we'll have it together.

We broke the US, kid

No doubt this last week will go down as one of the most surreal times in recent memory. For the first time in its history, America elected a president who not only ad-libbed his way to the Presidency, but exploited the suffering of millions of Americans to fuel his bid for the White House with unprecedented disregard for basic human decency. And I'm not talking about the Muslims, women, LGTBQ community, disabled, and veterans.

I'm talking about the Trump voters who thought life had gotten so unbearable that they were willing to overlook the complete lack of basic respect for human dignity regardless of race, gender, physicality and religion that epitomized Mr. Trump's campaign. I'm talking about the people who felt like being accused of criminal behavior was far worse than someone who openly mocked people different than him and incited his supporters to violence.

People don't vote for an overgrown toddler with hair trigger impulse control and no filter unless they are in a lot of discomfort.  But elect him they did and with their vote, they pulled the rest of the country along with them into their tailspin of existential anguish.

Now, I was no fan of either Trump or Hillary, so I voted third party (Green) because I live in a solidly blue state and had the luxury of voting my conscience. But had I lived in a swing state, you bet I would have voted for Hilary because she had the ability to maintain composure and decency even in the face of an opponent who was sexist, juvenile and showing up at national debates and campaign rallies woefully unprepared. AND she was convicted of Nothing.

Mr. Trump had a choice to acknowledge people's suffering and elevate their consciousness by offering solutions that respected all Americans. Instead he chose to inflate their fears and provide easily identifiable targets to pin their disappointments and failings to.

I said early in Bernie Sander's rise to popularity, that it would be a tricky situation if he didn't win the Democratic nomination. All that emotion had to go somewhere, but it wouldn't go to Hillary.

So on the one hand, it was inevitable for Trump to win because the DNC refused to acknowledge both the level of suffering and disenfranchisement of a large part of the voting public and how far they were willing to go to alleviate that discomfort.

Even if it meant switching horses in mid-stride to vote for the only Dark Horse left in the race. The only pill that they weren't TOTALLY sure would be the same kind of bitter as Hillary Clinton.

That's a hell of a wager to make, especially if you're a member of one of his scapegoat groups. Like women. Or people of color.

But it was one many of them were willing to make.

Even people I had thought were made of clearer ethics than my own, chose to vote for Trump. Members of my own family decided it was excusable to act without respect and decency, which I am still considering how to respond around.

It is perhaps one of the most disappointing experiences of my life, knowing that good people were willing to overlook such glaring flaws in a potential leader, even if they were manipulated by conservative media, overzealous peers, or naive ignorance. All you had to do was LISTEN to him and ask yourself, "Would I talk like that to my mother? To my good friend? Hell, to a stranger?"

And the answer would have to be that America didn't care about that enough to keep Donald Trump out of the White House.

In fact, only about 58% of eligible voters in the US actually VOTED in the election.

Oh, and Hillary Clinton won the popular vote. Donald Trump won the electoral vote.

And the Senate and House have a Republican majority, which means that unless Donald Trump manages to offend and alienate most of Congress, he'll have the opportunity to make some major changes to American Reality.

The big question is, What will he change?

If his campaign is any indication of his inclinations, the environment, minorities, women and NATO better start shoring up their ramparts.

In the meantime, I'm building relationships with people in my community, especially the ones who were targeted by Trump's vitriolic rhetoric. I'm donating money to organizations who support the environment, minorities, refugees and LGBTQs. I'm actively seeking ways to become involved in local government.

And you know, though I would have preferred a peaceful and compassionate evolution of our society, we got the quick and painful reveal of just how deep our divisions and wounds are in this country. We can't look away and pretend that everything is status quo as usual, even if we voted like we wished it were. Granted, if we are white, upper middle class folks, we won't be in trouble regardless of what Trump decides from taxes to bigotry, but we won't be able to get far before realizing that SOMETHING is different in our world.

For that, I am grateful. For that, I have hope that if we continue to stand for the world we wish to see, where people are treated with respect and value, one day it will come about.

But we must stay awake. We must look at what we take for granted that others cannot. We must ask ourselves how much we are willing to invest in a future that is truly fit for our children. We must consider deeply who we are and what gifts we have to offer to this worthy cause of healing and evolution.

Then we must act. And continue to do it for the rest of our lives until all beings receive the dignity and love they deserve.

Ho'oponopono Espen

Dear Espen,

You may not remember this incident when you are older, but I will because I behaved in ways I hoped I never would.

There are several things I want you to know about me that I have tried to keep out of the picture of your childhood. I did this because I wanted you to have a childhood that was as carefree and blissful as it could possibly be. To me, that meant having two parents that were happily in love, healthy and pursuing their paths to become the best version of themselves.

I want to speak to the healthy part. For most of my 20's and 30's I have experienced a variety of symptoms that have left me feeling physically exhausted. Rather like I'm running on empty with the light flashing for the last 40 miles. Because of this, I have unconsciously kept an energy accounting ledger that had enough in it to keep me more or less financially independent and able to live on my own, but precious little else that wasn't directly related to healing or infusing me with hope...like ecstatic dance, reiki, writing, music....but all of that had to stay small. Just a dance here or there. An impromptu song once in awhile-but nothing sustained, because it took too much out of me. I just didn't recognize how much I counted on being able to carve out space to just lie in bed all day if I miscalculated my available energy.

After I had you I realized just how tenuous my balancing act had been. I could hold down a job to pay rent and food but had nothing left over to invest in relationships or pursuing my real dreams. I could dream and live with my parents forever or survive on my own with little glimpses of what my life could look like if only I had the energy to follow those dreams. But I always had the option to retreat from the outside world and my dreams because no one was depending on me.

Having you was so clearly my destiny that I have always known there was something I needed to do and learn despite my physical exhaustion.

One of those lessons has been that I need to do everything in my power to heal from whatever is causing my body and mind to be so fatigued. And I also need to find a way to accept my reality exactly as it is because you never know if things will shift or stay the same.

But the thing is, I have also discovered what some of my deep patterning is. And let me tell you right now, it's the thing I am most ashamed of. I have spent so much time wishing it were not so, but it just makes it that much more regrettable when it gets the best of me.

I speak of my hair-trigger anger. That thing you saw yesterday when I suddenly went from sleepy to raging in the blink of an eye. Almost like there was an invisible line that had been crossed which transformed me from your loving, calm, patient mom into a frustrated, erratic, frighteningly cold monster.

It feels so terribly uncontrollable when I sense the anger welling inside me. I can see it coming like a tsunami and I can't seem to get out of the way. It picks me up and tumbles me around until I, and anyone in its path, are bruised and scared.

And I tried to explain it to you yesterday, how I saw the path unfolding, but it's alot for a little one to work with and that's why I am writing this now-- so you could read it later with more life under your belt.

The progression looked like this:

I am exceptionally exhausted.
I try to advocate for my need. (a 10 minute nap or some such)
I am unable to get my need met. (you want to have someone play with you, which is totally valid)
I get sad because I think I can't take care of myself and consequently, can't take care of you.
I want to fight for my needs so I can be a good parent.
I get angry that I am failing, that my body is failing, that my reality is not what I want it to be.
I lash out at you or anyone else within reach to try and dull the sadness.
It doesn't work and I start an emotional tailspin.

And that's when I make choices from a place of complete reactivity. It's such an undesirable emotional space to be in. Seeing that I am causing damage and yet feeling helpless to stop it.

All of that to say, it is my responsibility to accept this, to work with this and to make amends for the pain it causes the people I love.

I have explored several ideas for what is at the root of this wild emotionality and physical exhaustion. I have worked with Tibetan physicians and yoga to build up my body, naturopaths and therapists to try and pin down a clinical diagnosis that I can address, acupuncturists, shamans, life coaches and intuitive healers. All of that has allowed me to be a reasonable version of myself since having you...but I want to be better. I want to be fully energized and vital so I can run and play with you like you desire.

I am now about to embark on a path of retraining the brain to function on a more relaxed level. My sense is now, that I have been living with a heightened, long-term stress response for most of my life. Essentially, that my brain perceived a trauma long ago and jumped into high alert and never fully came back to baseline.

Without going into all the science behind what chronic, long-term stress can do, let me just summarize by saying that it produces all the symptoms I currently have because it shuts down all non-essential systems in the body...like higher level cognitive function, digestion, immune response and countless others.

This letter is my attempt at making amends for any pain and stress I have caused you because of the lessons I am still learning. I want you to know how deeply sorry I am for this. I want you to know that I am being proactive about mitigating my imbalances because I value the process of self-development and I believe it is possible to remember the light we have inside us more consistently.

Please forgive me for my shortcomings and the harm I have done you through my lack of self awareness and control.

I love you the best I can every day and I will continue to do so throughout eternity. And I love my own soul too, which is why I can write this without defining myself as my mistakes. Mistakes are opportunities to grow and get up again and I will do so as long as I have breath in this body.

Thank you so much for carrying your light and spirit in the world, Espen. You are the clearest individual I have ever known. I am so grateful for your steadfast sweetness and infinite love.

Always,
Little Mama

No Robot? Let Me Pee on the Floor

Espen and I had a magical time at Ecstatic Dance. Most of the time was spent on a giant pile of pillows with a host of other fairy children, pretending to be trains, boats and anything else that would justify scooting around in a line of pillows while adult children fluttered about them pretending to be sexy unicorns and what not.

We then perambulated to the nearest chai shop and toy store. Namely, Finnigan's. Which is also a magical place filled with wonders beyond any 3 year old's wildest dreams. Espen has some pretty good ones, so when we walked in, he immediately requested either amphibious cars or flying cars. Both, preferably.

The toy guys were suitably stumped, but only for a moment.

"Yeah," said one guy who looked like a young, geeky Hagrid, "We had an amphibious vehicle, but now we only have submarines that run in your bathtub and water helicopters."

Espen looked provoked. Once he saw the water helicopters though, he started getting excited.

"Mama!" he said, grabbing my hand and lunging towards the display, "They have biplanes too! Amphibious ones! I want both of them."

I kindly demurred much to his everlasting dismay. He began to bargain.

"Well, mama, how about I have one now and one at home?" Why indeed.

"Listen, Espen, you can either have one helicopter or the submarine."

"Submarine."

"Ok. Let's pay for it."

All was well until I turned my back to hand over the credit card.

And he saw the robot.

Really, it was more like some possessed remote control car that could had wheels on every imaginable surface so you could flip it over, on its side, make it spin somersaults or pretend it was a merry go round from the simple toggle of a switch.

It's an oddly beautiful and horrifying thing to watch your child realize that there is shit in the world that you have not told him about that is BLOODY AMAZING.

Espen looked at me long and hard. Then he looked at the possessed car thing and squealed.

"Mama! I WANT THAT ROBOT CAR SO BADLY!"

And he meant it too. I could feel it in every fibre of the kid's soul.
And you know, I wanted to give it to him.
But not yet.

I still want him to get lost in a mud puddle instead of an ipad. To be fascinated by a bunch of rocks because he doesn't have anything more flashy to grab his attention. There will be plenty of time for him to marvel at the technology of the 21st century, but for now, I want to keep his immediate possessions firmly rooted in the natural world.

Soapbox aside, I said no. And led him to a different part of the store after he had a turn at the controls.

We stood in the corner by the die cast cars and ambulances, and for a moment, peace reigned.

Until he had to try just one more time.

"Mommy. Can't I PLEASE have that robot?"

"Sorry, Wesp. Not now. When you get older."

He stood there looking at me, silently.

I looked back. And then down at the pool forming at my feet.

And I became a robot.

Pee.
Floor.
Wesp.
People.
Do something.
Pick up child.
Hold child tightly against body to stop pee.
Walk calmly but quickly from store.
Do NOT look back.

And that, folks, is the human stress response in 10 seconds flat.

Espen wanted his submarine.

There was no way in hell I could process that kind of benevolence whilst covered in pee and fleeing the scene of public urination.

"No way are you getting that submarine when you just peed all over the store."

He screamed like I had ripped his liver out and dropped to the pavement, writhing in fury.

So half walking, half dragging my furious pee soaked child towards the car, I tried to get my higher level cognition back online.

"Why did you pee on the floor, Espen? You didn't even give me a chance to find a place for you to potty!"

"I want my submariiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnneeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!"

Sigh.

I understand now, weeks later, that excitement over robots can trump the evacuation impulse in 3 year olds. But then, I didn't. Then I was just a blindsided mom covered in pee trying to regain perspective.

But now, I am happy to report that Espen has a submarine and I have only been peed on twice since then.

To be continued.

Are We Bad People Mommy?

Sometimes I utterly fail as a parent. While that is a highly uncomfortable realization, it's even more devastating when I get brought up short by the tiny human I'm trying to help succeed.

Maybe you've had something you really wanted to be good at, only to discover you've done a complete nose-dive instead of the triple twist you were attempting. 

Just so this morning.

Espen and I are standing in the kitchen after breakfast. He wants to open a banana like a monkey. I've been thinking alot about how to be as kind as possible to the Earth, given its state of disrepair caused by over-consumption and exploitation. So, I'm a little unenthusiastic about opening a banana right on the heels of a big breakfast.

"Are you going to eat the whole thing?"

Espen nods and grabs for the banana.

"I'm asking this because I don't want to waste food. It hurts mother earth when we waste food because it takes a lot of her energy to grow it."

Espen nods again and starts opening the banana.

He holds it in his hand and studies it for a moment before making it dance across the table.

"Ok, Boo. Why don't you eat it and we'll get going."

He turns it into a bridge and looks at me smiling.

"Oh! A bridge." I say. "Now eat it."

He holds it over the ground.

"No. Espen, just put it on the counter if you don't want it."

He turns away from me and dangles it provocatively over the ground.

"Espen. Don't do it. Stop."

I move towards him and just as I reach him, you guessed it, he opens his hand.

Plop. 

The banana lay on the ground in the suspended silence as I felt the anger rising up my body.

"Espen!" I raised my voice and put him on the ground. I took him by the hand and marched him to the back porch. 

"If you can't respect mother earth and your own mother by following directions, you need to play outside for awhile." Not super clear logic, I know.

I shut the door, fuming and walked back to the banana. Washed it. Ate it. Breathed. Went back to the back door where Espen was whacking the glass.

"Buddy, I'm sorry I lost my cool, it's just upsetting when you waste food and don't listen."

Espen danced away.

"We're bad people, mommy?"

My guts froze.

"What did you say, Espen?"

"I'm a bad person, mommy."

There was my sweet little boy, without a malicious bone in his body, saying he was a bad person. That was NOT what I was trying to evoke in my little sermons on taking care of the earth.

I felt like puking.

"Oh, Espen. You are a GOOD person! Sometimes we do things that aren't kind, but that doesn't make us bad."

"What do you do, mommy?" he wanted to know.

I was scrambling from the shame of having anything to do with giving him the impression that he was a bad person.

"Well, sometimes mommy says things that she means to be kind, but then she realizes they hurt someone...like you thinking you were bad because you threw the banana down. I'm really sorry I gave you that idea."

"It's ok, mommy!" he said happily and ran off to play some more.

But I can't stop thinking about it. Not because I want to punish myself and wallow in shame, but more because it was an unintentional result of a style of communication that has been going on long enough to make an impression. And I didn't really even see what kind of seed it was planting.

So now, I'm pondering, how do I change my language and behavior to reflect the good kind of person I want to be? 

It's difficult to accept that I have unconscious programming that carries this kind of message. You are not a good person. I no doubt picked it up from a variety of places growing up, but I'm not interested in investing energy in figuring out WHERE it came from so much as discovering an ALTERNATIVE to it.  

Because if there is one thing I am damn sure of, it's that Espen is a wonderful human being. And despite my failure to embody that belief, I will begin again, with a new intention to uplift, encourage and gently instruct so he can experience what it is to fail within the arms of a loving parent, rather than a condemning one.

Oy Vey.

Oh Mommy Pet My Hoom!

This morning Espen met a beautiful human named Gabriel, who, upon seeing Espen and I, raised his hands in namaste.

"I'm Jaime and this is my son, Espen." I said, holding out my hand. Yes, enchanted. 

He took my hand and immediately bent down to Espen and chanted something under his breath before asking if he could shake Espen's hand as well. 

Espen was suitably overwhelmed and transfixed. 

I recognized the chant.

"Did you just chant Om Mani Padme Hum to Espen?" I asked, secretly hoping.

He smiled and nodded. I did too.

"It's one of my favorite mantras." I confessed. 

"Mine too." He smiled and we parted ways, Espen reluctantly loading into the car. He kept trying to look back at the midnight angel, Gabriel.

"Mama, what did he sing me?" Espen demanded to know.

"It's the mantra I sing to you sometimes, remember this one?" and I sang it to him.

He smiled. "Oh that one!"

Later that afternoon I heard him happily humming around the backyard.

"What are you singing, Boo?" I asked.

He smiled at me and sang louder.

"Oh mommy pet my hoom, oh mommy pet my hoom!"

All hail, Wesp. Keeping even the most ancient of mantras relevant in today's times.

Though I didn't ask him in the moment, I am deeply curious as to what a "hoom" is. Any thoughts, please leave them below. 

Great White Poo

There are moments that occur as a parent which belong in a Hall of Legends of Things You Survived.
Many times, you don't know these experiences will gain legendary status until after you have weathered the storm.

Just so with the Great Norovirus Epidemic of Eld-Mathis.

Our tale begins on a blustery Thursday night, with my arrival home after an exciting gathering that left me too inspired to sleep. "Not a problem" I opined, "I shall catch up somehow in the night."

That night, however, was never to arrive.

At 2AM I heard a sob emerge from Espen's room. Sometimes he has night sobs, which, while heartbreaking, often resolve quickly.

This one, however, built into a cresccendoing, "Mooooooommmmmmyyyyyyyy!!"

I bounced out of bed, still fresh from my illuminating evening and trotted into his room.

Whereupon he said, "My tummy hurts!!!" and then started making strange sounds in his throat.

You can easily see where this might be leading, but I did not have the advantage of the Omniscient Reader. I simply thought, "That's a strange, mid-chest kind of sound. Huh." And began to stroll with him in my arms towards the kitchen to make him tea.

Whereupon, Espen began to vomit. And sob. At the same time.

It cascaded down my neck, rolling gracefully over my chest as I tried to race to the sink.

Tobias slept on, in spite of the violent retching sounds of a kid tossing his dinner out his mouth and freaking out because it feels so disturbing.

I yelled. "Tobias! Get up RIGHT NOW!"

So he staggered out to find a vomit encrusted wife holding a vomit drenched 3 year old standing in a puddle of vomit all over the kitchen floor.

We processed to the shower where Espen and I washed the puke down the drain and Espen got his second wind.

Seemingly no worse for the wear, he bounded out of the shower and threw himself nudie onto our bed, shrieking with glee. Almost as if to say, "We're up for the day now so might as well PARTAY!"

The clock read 3.30AM.

We coaxed Espen into jammies and tried to ply him with treats of plain toast and tea, but he was ready to get cracking.

Until.

"Mommy! My tummy hurts aga....".

And that was the next many hours until daybreak. Back and forth between dry heaves, racing around the house like a maniac between vomiting sessions, and passing out face down on the floor, bum in the air when his body demanded a quick re-set.

I gotta tell you, I was just trying to keep up with him so I could try and force water down him and have a pan and hugs at the ready for the inevitable hurking.

When daylight broke, he raced into the bathroom and started shrieking. "MY BOTTOM HURTS!!!!"

He ripped off his diaper, clambered onto the toilet and had the most spectacular poo-ah-rea ever.

His little face crumpled. "WHY, mommy? Why is this happening to my body!!!!!"

Why indeed. Espen has been a remarkably healthy child and until this fateful day, had never experienced this kind of violence within his body. No puking, no crazy diarrhea, nada. So I could only imagine how baffling and frustrating it must feel to have your body ejecting things from every conceivable orifice without giving you forewarning.

That whole day was spent in a daze on the couch. I'll admit, we watched Youtube liberally and I was damn grateful for the thousands of videos on the International Space Station and amphibious vehicles.

Our story does not end here however. Oh no.

The weekend was just beginning, and Saturday was a day and a night away.

By Friday evening, Espen was starting to eat solid food and show some spirit in a sedentary, couch bound kind of way. By Saturday morning, he was reading to go hunt for spawning salmon in the Columbia River Gorge so we headed off for adventure.

About 3 paces up the trail, his strength and good spirits deserted him and he began demanding to be carried. Tobias and I were glad to oblige for awhile and then decided the salmon could wait for another day. After stopping for lunch and checking out Logtoberfest in Carson, WA, we headed back home for bed.

Espen ran to the toilet again. I waited for the tell-tail wail. Nothing. I looked at him closely. He was crying.

"Oh buddy, what's wrong?" I asked, concerned.

"My bottom."

"Awww, Wesp. Let me see."

He slid off the toilet and I peered in, expecting mayhem.

What I saw blew my mind.

White. Poop.

As in, Albino Shit.

For those of you who are thinking, "Was it pure mucous?! Did you take him to the doctor?!?!" let me just say, No.

It was just white, white poop.

I ran into our bathroom where Tobias was making a poop of his own.

"WESP JUST MADE A WHITE POOP!" I yelled, excited in a way that can only be described as The Most Amazing Thing I've Never Imagined Has Just Happened.

Tobias looked at me meaningfully.

I collected myself enough to stand on the other side of the door and talk rapidly about every aspect of the Snowy Poo.

Tobias emerged and walked to the potty. "He's been eating all white things."

I thought about it for a moment. Bananas. White Bread. Rice. Applesauce. Thank you BRAT diet for this wonderful opportunity to re-define bowel possibilities.

Thinking the day was over, we tucked Espen into bed and shortly after, hit the pillows ourselves.

Only to find myself awakened at 2AM with a strange rumbling in MY tummy.

And oh sweet Jesus, what a rumbling it was.

For the next endless hours of the night, I crawled, staggered and oozed between bathroom, bedroom and the floor.

Somewhere in the midst of this Apocalypse of the Gut, I recalled Espen on his hands and knees, heaving into the bowl. His bottom thrust skyward as his forehead of cheek rested on the cool floor. While this had seemed uncomfortable and tragic at best from my healthy perspective, it now appeared to be excellent advice.

I tried it.

To my everlasting delight, I discovered that it was in fact easier to projectile vomit from a hands and knees position and that when the world began to spin from dehydration, elevating the bum and putting your face on the floor really helps make the world stop rocking. I made a mental note to thank Espen when I could swallow.

Imagine now, if you will, Tobias staggering into my room around 9AM saying, "I don't feel so well."

And now, imagine that there are not one, but TWO adults covering every available surface with their puky-poopy bodies while Espen is feeling perfectly grand.

At one point, I recall being horizontal in bed, listening to the sounds of Tobias sicking it up in the bathroom while Espen said, "Sure, mommy, I can make you toast. You want a Popsicle and some applesauce?" And thinking, "I'm ordering from my 3 year old. He would survive without us! Amazing!"

And boy would he.

When Tobias and I emerged far enough from our stupor to look around we discovered that Espen was capable of opening new yogurt containers, eating close to a dozen Popsicle in a 10 hour period and making lots of toast.

I've never been prouder.

Beware the Mest

Espen has been introduced to the book Are You My Mother? recently and has been forever changed. It is clear that the concept of having a cow or a snort for a mother both fascinates and provokes him.

"Be a kitten!" he will yell and then come hopping over.
"Are you my mother?" he demands, leaping about with anticipation.
And then, I dutifully meow and stare at him since that's all the somewhat creepy kitten does in the book.
"Now be a snort!"
This is my favorite as I feel very pleased with my snorting abilities.
He approaches cautiously.
"You must be my mother!"
I snort and slide towards him.
"You are not my mother!" He shrieks, "You are a snort!"
This is when I either chase or grab him and throw him into a pile of pillows and blankets that he has created as his "mest".

That's right. His mest.

"Put me in my mest!" He yells, howling with glee.

Mests have begun cropping up everywhere. In the bathroom. In my bed. In the pantry. Anywhere a blanket and every pillow in the house can fit is Prime Mest Real Estate.

Every time he invites me to his mest, I giggle. And hope that mests stay around a real long time.

I broke your rock, mommy

Espen has always been strong. Of spirit, of will, of emotion, of limb. He moves through the world with conviction, which is inspiring and sometimes, surprising. 

Last night he was bathing in our large soaking tub, recreating the scene of his recent amphibious vehicle excursion on Lake Union. His little red wooden truck was said floating vehicle and he wanted me to tie a boat on TOP of the truck, which had been relegated to act as "pontoon". He is three mind you.

"Mom! It's a pontoon on my amphibious vehicle! Tie it on!" 

"Ok. Here you go. You have two more minutes before it's time to get out."

"Ok. Now do this thing." He goes through an elaborate sequence of motions and directions that become more garbled the more excited he becomes. I, frankly, am tired and not that up to deciphering the 12 step process he is requiring.

"Espen, you go ahead and do it. You have two minutes."

Espen reaches down and closes the drain, halting the water removal. He smiles with mischief and pride.

"Espen, you need to let the water out. The deal was you could stay until it was all gone, not stop it and play longer."

He stares at me as I move to unplug the drain. I can see the emotion rising in his body like a brewing storm. He looks around for available objects to enact this upon. 

And settles on my piece of amber that is sitting in the water as a special treat to make bath even more magical.

He lunges towards it, grabs it and hurls it with all the passion he holds inside. 

We both watch as it shatters into a hundred tiny pieces. 

Part of me is fascinated, the other part a bit sad as it was a favorite piece. 

Espen freezes. Looks at me, surprised himself perhaps at the results of his anger.

"Espen! Your anger just broke mommy's special rock!" 

Espen jumps quickly out of the tub and comes closer to me.

Internally, I congratulate myself on not yelling, but rather using my voice to portray importance. Way to not loose your shit, mama. You are evolving.

This seems like an ideal time to do a small teaching since I am emotionally triggered but still calm enough to reason. But where to begin? Espen steps in. 

"I'm sorry I broke your special rock, mommy. We can glue it back together." he offers helpfully, trying to make amends.

"Well, Boo. We can't glue it. It's too smashed. It can't be fixed."

He pauses to consider.

"Well mommy, I'm sorry I broke your rock. I will go get you one from my sand pit."

Inside I'm laughing. Keep a straight face.

"That's the right thing to do, to try and fix what you broke, honey, but it's not quite the same. That special rock was one of a kind and it can't be replaced. Mommy is just going to be a little sad for awhile, but thank you for wanting to make it right."

Espen peers deeply into my eyes.

"I'm sorry you're sad, mommy. I'm going to get you that rock."

And runs off nude to his sand pit. He returns with a teeny tiny pebble and places it on my nightstand. Than runs back to me looking pleased.

"There, mommy. I put it on your table thing so you won't be sad anymore."

That kid. Squishy. Love love. 

And that's how it's done, folks. From sad mommy to melty heart in one minuscule rock flat.

The Flinging of the Poop

This is just a short burst of Espenalalia.

After a long and fun day of tooling around Farmers Markets, Ecstatic Dance, and visiting cousins, Espen and I returned home in time to make dinner and head for bed.

In the few moments when I sat on the couch to check my Very Important Text Messages, Espen managed to poop in his little green potty.

He has developed an endearing habit of plopping the removable seat upside down in the toilet and placing it back on the potty base, empty but, well, asmear.

Tonite, he was more dramatic with his ritual.

I lay on the couch, listening for the flushing of the big toilet...but instead heard the patter of little feet.

"Look mommy! I pooped!" He rounded the corner with the green insert in hand. Thumped it on the ground ten feet away from me.

Lord knows I wanted to enjoy 4 minutes of uninterrupted peace before starting dinner...but what can you do when your Sweet Little brings you his Great Achievement?

I got up and trotted to the potty to look in and be amazed.

Nothing was in there except the Remains of Achievement.

And to be honest, I wasn't in the mood to pick it up, which thankfully was prevented by Tobias' Timely Return home.

I forgot all about the Green Glory until after dinner when Espen dropped his plate by it on his way to the sink.

Tobias, however, discovered it for the first time.

"Why...is..there...a poopy POTTY IN HERE...?!"

To his credit, Tobias has a strong tolerance for most bodily secretions, however, he does have his triggers. Toe nails and poopy potties in the dining room are two of them.

Espen looked confused, as if to say, "What, THAT old thing? Oh, it's nothing to get wild about, really."

Tobias was unconvinced. "Espen, take that potty back to the bathroom. Now."

I sought to back him up.

"Wesp, go put your plate in the sink and then take your potty back to the bathroom."

In a gleeful fury, Espen tossed his plate to me and ran to the potty.

I could see the gleam in his eye that boded no good.

"Espen..." was all I could get out before he hurled the Green Unclean against the wall.

He laughed and sped towards the bathroom.
I intercepted him.

"Go get that potty and bring it to the bathroom please."

He glanced at me. I could see the writing on the wall. And yet, like a moth staring at the bug zapper, I stood transfixed. Waiting to see what would happen. As if some other outcome besides more Flying Shit could occur.

Espen walked to the potty, picked it up, looked at me once more, and threw it directly at the piano.

His aim was good.

But so was mine. I swooped up his little hand in mine and marched off to bed.
The sounds of Tobias scrubbing the potty in the bathroom punctuated the beginning of Espen's Reprieve.

Self-Strangulation-The Espen Method

One of our souvenirs from Family Road Trip 2016 was a kite. Espen returned home believing that this kite was born to fly with or without wind (since it was always windy at the beach.)

On any given day when a gentle breeze ruffled the leaves on our backyard shrubberies, Espen was hightailing it towards the garage yelling, "Get the kite! Get the kite!"

This particular day, I agreed not only to fetching and assembling the kite, but also to running around with it in my hands trying to throw it into the air when Espen got far enough away to keep the line taut. Trouble was, every time the kite went down, Espen made a beeline to investigate despite my advice to just "Keep running away from me!"

After several failed launches and quotes from Frog and Toad about "Run down the hill, wave the kite over your head and yell 'Up kite, up!", I was ready for a cup of tea and a little silence.

I went inside.

5 minutes later I hear a blood-curdling shriek rend the air in twain.

It's rare that Espen truly screams, usually he defaults to a bellowing roar or holler, so at the very least, I was curious.

I trotted over to the back door and peered out. He stood by his swing looking towards the house.

I opened the door and asked for an explanation. He did not move.

That's when I knew something was gravely amiss. The only time Espen holds still is when he is sleeping or totally engrossed in a new toy or story.

I walked towards him and began to make out thin depressions in his arm and leg skin. The swing looked slightly constricted around its ropes.

And then I saw his hand and neck.

Grasped tightly in his little paw was the kite spool.
Grasped tighter still was the string around his neck. Several times.
He pulled the spool, trying to free himself and succeeded in pulling the neck cords tighter.

Calm Mom made her appearance with true Clark Kent panache.

"Espen. Hold very still."
"Get it off meeeee!!!"
"I will, just hold still."
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

For several agonizing minutes, I untangled the string from around his neck until at least his airway was unobstructed. Then I began on his arms, legs and the swing, all of which were knotted into a mandala that Shibari artists would weep at.

As I worked, I investigated.

"Espen, why did you do this?"
"The tree man did it."
"What? Who?"
"The tree man had strings that made him go up and down."

And then I remembered several weeks ago when the tree trimmer had come to lop our trees to regulation height for power lines. He had seen Espen staring at him in his crane bucket, 30 feet up in the air. Had yelled, "Hey buddy!" and brought Espen a pine cone he picked from the highest height. Had been wearing a harness. Had completely mesmerized Wesp.

"Were you trying to make a harness like the tree man, Espen?"
"Yes! Make me one now, mama!"
"I have to untie you now so you don't strangle yourself."
"Make me a harness with a sewing machine, mama!"
"We'll see. Hold still."

In more minutes than it took him to ensnare himself, I had freed the child and his kite. The kite was retired until he is 13 or gets a harness.

Apocalypse 2016 aka, Family Road Trip

Nothing says America and Summertime like an Epic Roadtrip. This was our year. Tobias was raring to get out and bring his childhood fantasies to life of cruising the country with a tent and seedy motels galore. I was ready to get inspired by the freedom of the open road. Espen wanted to go camping.

Not one week after Tobias returned from a business trip to Denmark, we packed up Dantes, our trusty Subaru and headed south.

It was a late start, but we didn't care. After a leisurely meal of delicious Thai food, we were on the road, feeling smug about having weathered evening rush hour in style. The freeway was clear and we were giddy about the possibilities or fun and relaxation.

Until we hit our exit. Which just so happened to be gridlocked.

After advancing several cars over 4 light cycles, we began to get a sense of the raw power of situational variables, like traffic accidents...and 3 year old sleep patterns.

Espen passed out promptly at 8.32PM as we cruised towards Lincoln City. A full 1.5 hours after his bedtime, we felt confident that he would make a smooth transition to the tent as we set it up around 9.30.

Which he did, until about midnight thirty. From then until sunrise (read 5AM) he was an unending reprisal of "I want to go hommmmmmeeeee! I have to peeeee! Aaaaaaa!" Poor little dude was totally giddy by the time Tobias packed him off to the lake to try a little fishing.

That whole day we were a collective heap of sleep deprived delight as we swished south, marveling at the beauty of the Oregon Coast and taking extra long breaks to play guitarlele and watch grumpy old men fish off of rocky precipices.

In hindsight, this may or may not have been the reason we ended up at Sandland in Florence, Oregon, signed up for the mythic "sandrail" tour. It was billed as "the fast ride" and since Tobias was in charge of making the entertainment choices at this stop, we opted for "fast and fun" over "slow and sleepy".

When we got to the staging area, I began to get a sense of impending intensity. Espen was given a helmet and goggles, we were snapped into four point harnesses, handed our own goggles and that was it.

If you have ever experienced a completely new physical sensation that equally terrified and delighted you, access said memory now.

Having never ridden on a sandrail, I had no idea what to expect of the physical capabilities of said machine nor the speeds and angles at which it operated.

Imagine a roller coaster trampoline without rails. At 70 miles per hour. Rocketing around with other roller coaster trampolines and no apparent rules of engagement.

We plunged straight down vertical dune faces and were baptized in waves of sand. As a bonus, we received sand facials as well. We careened around dune faces, hugging the contours like bikers in a velodrome. Physics and force were our only hopes for survival.

Both Tobias and I agreed that we would be hard pressed to recall an experience (read 30 minutes) of such terror and thrill. Espen said "I want to go back now" about halfway through, but by the time we returned, he was sobbing.

"I want to go on another sandrail! Nowwwwww!"

That night, Tobias had his dream of a seedy motel stay come true. Right down to the carpeted podium that the mini-fridge sat on and the white rock facade on the building itself.

Espen however, was having way too much fun to sleep and remained unconvinced of bedtime until nearly 10PM. Up again at 5.

We made it to Brookings the next day, having another fantastic waking period of visiting a petting zoo in Bandon, Oregon, stopping at farmers markets and just generally living it up. The energy of a road trip is truly miraculous, making even the most sleep deprived humans feel that much more connected to the magic happening all around. Just don't ask anyone to be particularly patient or clear headed.

That said, we flew kites right up until dark, having learned our lesson the last two days. As it was the 4th of July weekend, camping was unavailable and we were feeling too free spirited to take the few random places we ran across. Surely there would be others. Well, there was a motel. So what. We took it and ran.

By the fourth day, we were pretty much running on pure will, but there is quite a supply of that in the Eld-Mathis clan. Fortunately for us, it got us all the way to the majestic redwoods and the Jedadiah Smith Campground. At 9AM. That's after a full breakfast, beach hike and lazy meander through town. So you just guess what time we woke that morning.

The benefit of getting a campground so early on the 2nd of July is that you are first in line for the free 1 night campsites. And that was good. Until I saw the sign advertising an inquisitive and aggressive bear population.

Instantly I was transported back to childhood and mom advising us to be particularly careful when in the woods whilst menstruating.

I quickly consulted the interwebs for studies supporting or refuting this claim and came up empty handed. In my sleep deprived state, I reached for the only straw I could discern. The female park ranger.

"Listen," I said, leaning across Tobias, "I know this may sound a bit paranoid, but I just started my period and there are bears here...can you just put my mom's advice to rest....?"

She looked at me blankly and then threw back her head and laughed. Outright, loud, laughter.

"Are you serious?" she asked, genuinely relishing what appeared to be a youtube moment.

"I know. But my MOM told me...I just need some help here."

She smiled humoringly.

"They aren't sharks. The want food. Not blood."
"Alright. We'll take the camp site."

We left to explore and kill some time until the campsite freed up at 2pm. Which left many hours. Luckily, we stumbled upon a farmer's market in Crescent City and Espen discovered a school bus boutique that I had failed to take him into.

"MAMA!!!! I WANT TO GO IN THE BUS!!!! TAKE ME NOWWWWWWWWWWW!"

One important lesson I learned is that when EVERYONE is sleep deprived, the normally loud yells of a sleepy kid become even louder. Like fourth dimension loud.

And you better believe that the boundary holding and solid parenting from a place of peace was a bit out of reach. Espen got carried around A LOT more than he normally does these days, but who cared.
We figured he'd either learn to walk himself around at some point in his life or not. Whatever.

Somehow, after the farmer's market, our spirits both overwhelmed by all the people and renewed by the coffee and chai, we set off down a trail into the redwoods called Damnation Creek. Probably should have paid a bit more attention to the name, but damn were the trees big and beautiful.

Espen, to his extreme credit, walked nearly all of the 2.5 miles DOWN to the beach. Tobias carried him nearly all the 2.5 miles UP from the beach. Again, we were certain that Espen would sleep like the proverbial log when we arrived at camp to set up right around bedtime.

We were mistaken once again. This was largely in part to the fact that a full scale family reunion was taking place in the campsites immediately adjacent to us. They were delighted to see each other and very vocal about it. By 8.30, Espen was lying on an angle between our huge blow up mattress and his smaller kid mattress. Cackling. Throwing himself about. I was nearly hysterical with exhaustion and fury.

Somehow, we all ended up in the family car, driving towards some random road supposedly filled with huge redwoods. It was really more of an emotional hostage situation, with me as the captor and Espen and Tobias as the abductees. That may have been the point I uttered the words, "I am done with this trip." Why I didn't stay in the campsite I can only chalk up to clouded logic.

All of this to say, when we returned to our campsite at 10PM, Espen went right to sleep, but the neighbors partied on. I "requested" that Tobias go talk to them, which he gallantly did, allowing us to finally get a few hours of sleep from 11.30 til dawn, when Espen was up and now, clearly operating in an altered state. Gone was our good natured boy who greets us in the morning with smiles and "Get up, mama!"

Armed with tears, shrieks and ultimately a goofy sense of humor that involved saying "Why Helooooo there!" to everyone that came to the water faucet by our campsite, Espen inspired an early departure to the river. After a visit to the Oregon Caves on our rapid return north, we rolled back into Everly the eve of July 4th and collapsed into a stinky heap of grateful travelers.

I've never seen a kid so happy to be back home. He was almost incandescent with gratitude for the familiar.

And though I made a vow I would not go camping for the next 5 years, after three days of sleep, I might reconsider. Such magnificent highs. Such cataclysmic lows...such Life!

Espen for Orlando

Orlando hit me hard. Tobias and I were in Sonoma on a romantic getaway to reconnect when it happened on our last day. I thought about the family members getting texts and calls from their loved ones as they watched their lives getting closer and closer to the end. I felt heartbroken at the helplessness to do anything to stop the killing and angry that there was still no reasonable action being taken by Congress to limit people's abilities to obtain weapons whose only purpose is to kill other people. The frustration at knowing that one crazy person at odds with themselves and their dominant culture could wreak so much havoc on so many people out to enjoy themselves. It was just too much. All the shootings and senseless, preventable violence. And now a particular group of people being targeted for decimation because of being born with a particular orientation.

The LGBTQ community holds some of my dearest friends and family members. People who have inspired me to be better, smarter, more creative and involved. That they should be singled out and killed made me want to do more than howl. It made me want to kick ass and take names. Lovingly, of course.

So when Tobias informed me that there would be a vigil for the Orlando victims, we immediately decided to go and show our support of the LGBTQ community.

As part of our preparations, Tobias worked going to a vigil into Espen's nightly bedtime story. These stories change every night and feature a "little boy" as the protagonist. He gets into many adventures and scrapes and manages to emerge ready for another night of story-telling every time.

On Thursday, Espen woke up and said, "I want to go to the vigil!" Throughout the day, we revisited the theme of attending the vigil and when Tobias arrived at home, Espen was raring to experience this mysterious vigil.

I, however, was bone tired from chasing said toddler around. The words, "If it were any other event besides this, I would stay home and sleep." may have crossed my lips, but I was resolute. We were going, tired or not.

And so the long journey began, during which, I may also have completely lost it with Tobias for failing to properly consider the logistics of getting food, parking and attending the vigil in an organized and timely fashion. With me in my diminished state, I was in no mood to wrangle the fickle opening hours of food carts and on street parking at an event that was supposed to have thousands in attendance.

We arrived, egos bruised, but resolve intact. Espen, in particular, was consistent in his advocacy of vigil attendance. "Vigil first! Then food carts! Vigil FIRST!"

Of course, the vigil started at his bedtime and went two hours past so we held the parental line in the order of progression, but I was still feeling mighty riled.

There is, however, nothing like a massive showing of solidarity and a galvanized community to completely change one's perspective.

The streets were filled with LGBTQ community members and their allies. Everyone seemed sad but also, resolute. Appropriate in their mourning and ready to organize for change.

Espen was transfixed. He kept beaming lighthouse smiles to everyone in the crowd and hugging Tobias and I over and over. Never once did he yell or behave out of turn. He witnessed with full attention.

And as we left, he looked back and said, "Mama, I want to go back to the vigil. I love those people so much."

I just wanted to mush him up and eat him.

"Where did the lost people go, mama?" he wanted to know. "Were they old and worn?"

"No, they weren't old. They passed away and we are all sad about it."

"Who are they, mama? What are their names?"

So I read him the names of all 49 of those beautiful souls that moved beyond the veil. He sat and listened quietly until I finished.

"Oh. Are they with Farmor Mimi?"

"Yes, they are."

"Alright, mama. I love them."

Hope for the future right there.

Ice Cream Sneakery

This is just to say, I set a dangerous precedent on my return from my recent Mother's Day trip to Brooklyn. In my joy at seeing Espen, I may have granted permission for a small cup of ice cream before breakfast.

In all the days following, my first experience of the day has involved Espen angling for a reprise of Breakfast Ice Cream.

Skip to Saturday morning. I hear Espen vaguely rustling around in bed. He does not make a beeline for me, which is the norm in days following a Return of Mom. It's early, so I am grateful for a little more time to be horizontal.

Footsteps pad around in the hall and kitchen. It's quiet enough for me to rest but not so silent I am forced to investigate out of Pure Self Preservation.

I finally get up to visit the loo and ask Tobias what time it is. Espen hears this and comes racing down the hall. I'm back in bed before he reaches the door, but that is no deterrent.

The child approaches my bedside. Gets real cozy and close like.

"Mama. Have some."

A spoon appears near my face.

"What is that, Espy?"

He smiles like a shark.

"Ice cream!"

"What?"

"Have some ice cream, Mama!"

"Oh, boo. Oh."

Because I notice he has a 5 o'clock shadow that is slowly sliding down his face. His arms. His wee little legs.

He raises his other hand. Which is holding a half gallon of chocolate ice cream. Also, his ice cream cup and spoon. There is a pool of ice cream forming around the perimeter of the box, which tells me he has been in his cups for some time.

A sticky little hand extends over the bed, leaving a goopy trail of ice cream splotches that mirror his gooey body.

As I dodge to avoid the cream glue, I recall his predilection for leaving the freezer door open after his raids.

"Did you leave the freezer door open?"

"Yes!"

Sigh. I should be unsuprised by this, but it still stings a little. "Alright."

I'll say this, Espen is very consistent at telling the truth. Even if it involves 60lbs of mostly de-thawed beef.

Nude Swamp Water

In the last week, Espen has become a fully developed nature boy. At the first given opportunity, the clothes come off and the wild rumpus-ing begins. This pleases me immensely.

I had harbored secret worries that he would shun nude toddler-romps altogether and go straight for his driver's license. Thankfully, he has discovered that less clothing equals more fun.

Skip to yesterday. I return from a weekend class on the Yoga Sutras, all full of knowledge and benevolence for the human condition. Tobias and I are peacefully chatting at the window, watching our wonderful child frolic about in unfettered ecstacy.

He is wet. Of course. It's a warm day and there is water about. Oh yes. Being pumped straight from underneath our house. Nevermind why.
Actually, yes, mind why.


Said hose is actually part of a bilge pump that is extracting mysterious water that has been lurking under our house for who knows how long. Exact contents, unknown, but it is rank.



But it's a fantastic hose. Really more like a miniature fireman's hose just begging a three year old champion to wave it about masterfully. Which Espen is very happy to accommodate.

Tobias and I chuckle tolerantly, love in our eyes, insulated from complete responsibility by Farfar's presence in the backyard.

And then we see Espen drop the hose, drop himself to the ground in front of it.  And open his mouth wide.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" Tobias and I both screamed, launching ourselves through the door and onto the deck.

"NO DRINKING THE WATER ESPEN!!!" As though we'd been rehearsing the line for months.

Espen looked up, puzzled. He has been drinking from garden hoses with great success for the last many months. Clearly, his mind registered this rubber beauty as The Hose of all Hoses.

Farfar looked up. "He isn't drinking from the hose." clearly, having seen such things almost happen and then not many times.

And then, "Is he?"

Ahhhhhh........

Big Bottom Momma

Many things change when you become a parent. Perceived sleep needs. What you'll eat off the floor. (It's only been there a couple minutes, what.) Modesty. (Try getting a toddler peeled out of a wet swim diaper and changing out of your swimming suit in a cubicle the size of a matchbox without having your rear end flashing about for the world to see) Personal hygiene. Body shape. Basic definitions of what constitutes a "Clean House."

And perhaps, most importantly, your own sense of self-importance in the overall shaping of the universe.

Which leads us to the end of my shower and the subsequent clothing ritual, which has included Espen in some way since he was born.

Mostly, he chatters about getting down the "Rune blankie" and pushing around tarot cards on the floor while I select my garments du jour.

Not so, this fine morning.

The crowd has grown for this particular dressing. Tobias is lounging around on the bed making casual comments about this and that. Espen is staring at me intently.

Check that, he is staring at PART of me intently. As if drawing conclusions of some kind.

He speaks.

"Momma. You have a BIG bottom!" he cheerfully proclaims.

I mean, ok. Yes. After an entire lifetime of coming to terms with my, shall we call it, voluptuous derriere, I have found some measure of harmony between reality and acceptance. Which was lucky for me because there it was, in all its truthful candor, ushering forth from the mouth of my babe.

So I laughed. Just buck naked, big bottomed laughter. Tobias howled.
But part of me wanted to know. Was it my personal truth or was it a size/ratio thing?

"Espen, what kind of bottom does daddy have?"

Espen wandered over to Tobias.

"Daddy, stand up. Show me your bottom."

Espen whipped off his underwear to display the view he required.

Tobi politely declined due to our imminent departure.

Espen cocked his head, mentally undressing his dad. And spoke again.

"You have a big bottom too, Daddy."

And all I could think was, "Yessssssssssss."

You are not wise

We are driving home from REI after picking up my bicycle. It is rush hour. We have cleverly bypassed much traffic, but alas, not the sun. The sun is beaming down, angled, as if by divine design, directly into our eyes. I take this moment to impart some wisdom to Espen.

"We can just squint our eyes or look in the other direction if we don't want the sun in them."

"Why?" Espen is ever interested in howtos and wherefores.

"It's just something wise people do."

He doesn't miss a beat.

"You are not wise."

Pause.

"Really?" Stall for time. Stall. Stall.

"Yes. Only Poppa is wise."

"Um. Ok. Well, listen to this for a minute." (Listen to what? I have nothing to say, yet the brain wings bravely forward.) Tobias and I share a meaningful glance.

Espen is not finished.

"I don't listen to you. Only Poppa."

Of course I did what any self-preserving parent would. I got Poppa on speaker phone, pronto.

"Hi, Dad."

"Hi, Jaim, What's going on?"

"Espen says you're the only one he will listen to."

-chuckles erupt from the speaker-

"Oh did he?" The glee is unmistakable.

"In fact, he did. Can you please tell him to listen to his parents?"

Meanwhile, in the back, Espen is bouncing in his car seat, chanting, "Hi Poppa, Hi Poppa, HI!"

-more chuckles-

"Will we see you soon, Espen?"

"Dad."

Espen grins and nods wildly.

Cahoots. Pure. Wild. Unstoppable.

And I'm thinking, "God made two of them."

"Alright, Dad. we'll see you."

"Poppa!!!" Espen hollers.

"I love you Espen!" Poppa rejoins.

Espen cackled happily. Fortunately we arrived home shortly thereafter, with one thing clear.

Our child is developing startling powers of declaration.

When Glass Doors Shatter On Your 3 Year Old, Make Lemonade

Denmark. Star Date March, 2016. Mom's log, harried.

Due to a thrilling bout of stomach flu the day we were to fly to Denmark for the Joyous Return, Espen and Tobias were flying solo and I was recovering. Four days later, I joined them, Ready For Fun, and almost, almost better.

The days that followed were a flurry of Friend Reunions, Runs to the Playground and sashaying across Denmark to any number of family functions, meet ups and forays into Scandinavian Easter festivities.

In the midst of the glorious social festivities, we were changing accommodations about as rapidly. Which, when you're a teenager or a couple with no kids, is exciting. Sure it's a bit stressful packing up all your crap every couple of days, but when you're just taking care of you, it's totally doable.

However, with a kid who is getting more sugar than he ever has in his life AND has been getting an average of 5 less hours of sleep every day, it's a recipe for something--and I promise you, it's not chocolate chip cookies.

Travelling has a way of bringing out all your foibles, needs, tendencies and monsters. I've thought about why this is on numerous occasions and the best answer I can come up with is this. When you travel, (as opposed to vacationing), you are bombarded on just about every level with new stimuli. You're hearing new languages, seeing new sights, tasting new foods, getting around via different types of transportation and encountering an entirely new perspective on the world that exists as an unconscious mass cultural agreement that you don't have the blueprint to. All in all, there are very few things you have control over when you travel which is what makes it both exhilarating and energetically demanding.

Over the years, I have realized that for me to travel well, I control what I can and try to stay open to the rest.

So accommodations are generally one thing I like to get figured out in advance if I can, especially when travelling with a kid. Kids, as you may know, thrive on routine and if I can get in a place and use it as a base for as long as possible, it helps establish or reinforce an important sense of stability, making my life and Espen's life a lot easier.

That said, we moved into our last temporary home 5 nights before our trip was over. It was lovely with a few caveats. 1. It was on the top floor of a 5 story building with no elevator. 2. It had windows everywhere and no blinds or curtains. 3. Daylight Savings had just kicked into effect the day before, making it light from about 5.30AM-8.30-9PM.

Guess what Espen uses as his sleep regulator when no artificial means of blocking light are available? Yep.

So, around 8PM our first night, we're just getting into the tub for his first bath in weeks. They don't much care for bathtubs in Daneland, so I was stoked that we had access to a reclining water container.

Its design was efficiently Scandinavian, featuring a 4ft tall swinging glass door that cordoned off a space to use the hand held shower head without drenching the rest of the bathroom.

Espen was also pleased to be splashing around in the water with a few spoons from the kitchen and a funnel or two. That is, until I tried to wash his hair with the hand held shower head.

Wesp has never been a big fan of having his hair washed, or any water being near his head or face, so I was prepared.

"Just come over here behind this glass wall and we'll do it real quick." I encouraged him.

He looked at the movable glass wall and noticed the handle. OOOO.
I could see the Fun Light go on over his head.
He sloshed over to it and took hold.

"OK, Boo." I cautioned "Let's just step behind it, not try to close it too far."

In that moment, it's hard to say exactly what the sequence of events was.

All I know is that the door moved ever so slightly and then completely shattered.

A thousand tiny pieces of glass rained against the tiled wall, bouncing into Espen's back.

Another thousand tiny pieces sprayed over his head, cascading down his body, into the tub, and across the bathroom.

For a moment, we both stood there, frozen, trying to take in what had just happened.

And then, faithful eyes that they are, started to take in information for my rapidly calculating brain.

Water in tub. Tub filled with glass. Pretty aquamarine color from the refracting light off 2,000 pieces of glass. Kid in tub holding handle. Mom, barefoot. Kid. Nude.

WTF.

You know the autopilot parenting response. You just start moving and hope for the best.

What it appears I did next, was to pick up Espen, pick up a towel and move him to the next room. Put the towel down on the floor. Kid on top of the towel. Command kid to "Stay". Stare some more.

Tobias was getting dinner at that time so I started noticing things.
Like blood.

Espen was a mass of tiny lacerations and shards of glass. In his toes, his hair, his arms, back, legs, fingers. You name it, no part of him was untouched.

Luckily, the glass was collision glass and had gone into tiny bits instead of huge jagged chunks so his injuries were minor, but oh so numerous.

As I knelt beside Espen, trying to remove glass and staunch the bleeding, Espen finally begin to cry. Loudly.

And then Tobias came in.

"I need your help right now, not your panic." I said.

Nice and soothing like.

For the next hour we picked glass out of Espen and filled bucket after bucket full of little bits of glass that had occupied every conceivable corner of the bathroom.

Espen kept insisting that we, "Call a doctor! Call the doctor now!" We tried to explain that no doctors were available at 9.30PM unless we went to the Emergency room and they would just do what we were currently doing. Espen seemed unconvinced.

When we finally had every visible shard removed, he seemed content.

Then we ate and went to bed.

Oh, and paid for it. Cause that's what you do when you break stuff in an Air B n B property.

I know.