Tobias ran the Shamrock Run last Saturday, Espen and I hovering at the finish line at 8AM in solidarity. Our family unity was undeniable. After a mad dash to the trees for an emergency pee that COULD NOT WAIT, Espen decided that he was as "fast as Dada" and proclaimed it loudly to amused bystanders in running tights. Then, he announced that I should carry him as he was tired after watching Tobias cross the finish line.I should have taken this as a sign for the day's impending festivities.
After heading home and changing into more sedate clothing, Tobi, Espen and I headed down to Milwaukie on our bikes for some fresh air and fun. We dropped Tobi at the Warrior Room where his fellow kettle bell rats and Shamrock runners were assembling to celebrate their ferocity.
Espen and I headed over to the Portland Waldorf School to romp around their grounds and get up to shenanigans.
It was a lovely day, the sun was out and blue sky punctuated our unusually rainy winter.We frisked about in the sand pit for quite some time, digging for treasure and making bmx tracks to leap around-more Espen leaping than me. I was like the nanny car making sure he didn't impale himself on his digging stick.
I'll admit, I started looking for a new environment after about an hour of wild sand play so we headed over to the playground. But that is right next to the most enticing structure on the property. Again, I should have been a bit more aware. But no.
Imagine the Eiffel Tower if you will. Its stable base tapers into a needle like tower that rises skyward. So elegant. So timeless.
Now imagine that same Eiffel Tower, but this time, made out of ropes connected in geometric configurations that allow the silhouette of the Eiffel Tower to emerge while simultaneously providing the opportunity to scale it from bottom to top. Now shrink it from a couple hundred feet to about twenty and you'll have a working concept of this playground witchery.
Espen has seen this structure before and has had the sign read to him that says something like, "For children age 10 and up"
But Espen Camino cares not for numbers and ages. He cares about climbing into the rarefied air of rope towers.
He dashed towards the tower, hollering behind him as he went. "Momma! I'm going to climb ALL THE WAY TO THE TOP!"
Tobias recently had to scale said structure to get him down so I wasn't worried about him being incapable...it was more of a test to see if he'd listen. I've been conducting trials over the last few months to see if there is any noticeable movement towards acknowledging my voice as other than background noise-so far, nothing indicates this is the case.Just so, when I asked him to return to the playground he kept hauling ass to the Eiffel Tower at top speed and hit the first level of ropes laughing.
Up he went with admirable speed and confidence.
"Come up and get me, mama!" he teased.
"I will not. You come down." I countered.
"Ha ha, mama! I'm going to the top!"
And so I waited at the bottom, ready to try and catch him if he fell.
Which would have been sad, but just the TINIEST bit satisfying to say "I told you so".
But he did not fall. He just climbed right up to the top like a spider monkey. And then proceeded to cackle with delight at his accomplishment.
"Ok, Boo. You can come down now." I acknowledged.
"Nope! I LIKE it up here, mama!" he hooted.
And then two blonde wonders ran up and launched themselves at the tower. They were probably 6 or 7 and man were they fast.
They shimmied up that rope geometry faster than I could shout cosign. Espen was ecstatic.
"HI FRIENDS! COME ON UP!" he encouraged, waving his hand happily.
Come up they did. And then proceeded to leap onto the center pole that is 20 feet tall if it's 2, and slide to the bottom, hugging it like a plump grandma all the way down.
I could see the amazement in Espen's eyes as well as a healthy dose of awe. He was not ready to attempt such a feat, but he would sure cheer them on.
"Come on guys! Let's race!" he shouted. And the boys were happy to oblige.
My eyes were racing back and forth like it was a top level Tetris game. No way could I keep up with all that movement. The boys' adult didn't seem particularly concerned as he checked his phone and ate the kids' sandwiches so I focused on Espen.The boys soon tired of winning every round and raced off to new distractions. Espen however, moved into a blissed out contemplation high atop the tower. He hung his legs over one of the ropes and leaned forward to rest on another. Looked out over the playing field.
"Momma, it's real pretty up here." he smiled.
"I'm sure it is, love. Why don't you come on down and we can go ride our bikes a little more?"
He gazed across the field again and then looked down at me benignly.
"I'm peeing, momma."
"What? Boo. No. Just come on down and pee here."
He smiled and stayed put.
"It's ok, Momma. You can just change me in the car."
"No, honey. I can't. We rode our bikes here. Come on down and pee."
He shook his head slowly.
"I already peed, momma."
I considered my options and realized we would be riding 2 miles back home in pee-pants. There were no clothing stores. No way I was putting him on public transportation. And now he was putting his hand down his pants...and then rubbing his eyes....his...nose...oh, god...nooo...his mouth.
"Espen! Get your hands off your face! That's really germy! Now come down here! Mommy is leaving."
I turned to walk away, because really, that's the ONLY thing that seems to shake me out of "background noise" role.
He scooted down the tower, but as soon as he hit the ground, he began to waddle.
He put his hand down the back of his pants before I could open my mouth. But he opened his and inserted his hand.
"I pooped, momma."
Espen had some great poop stories as a baby. They were messy, inconvenient and public, yet I was fine. He was a baby. Poop is a given.
But this was something else entirely. This was, "I'm having too much fun to pay attention to my body so I think I'll just poop my pants rather than inconvenience my play/contemplation/activity."
On the one hand, I get that. Bodily functions are pretty inconvenient as a general rule. But use a damn toilet or tree if you have the wherewithal to do so. Just please. But no.
"Espen, get your HAND out of your MOUTH. It's germy. It's gross. You could make yourself sick."
He rubbed his nose.
"AAAAA! STOP!!! WITH!! THE!!!! FACE!!!"
He smiled at me.
I check his pants, planning on just throwing the undies into the trash can and getting home as quick as possible.
But no again.
No usual well formed poop greeted my eyes.
Only slurry. And corn. I think.
Every. Where.
Yay for parenthood.
But not yay for me. Boo. BOO for me.
I realized I couldn't take off his undies because he'd soaked through not only undies but also shorts and was moving on to his sweat pants. Poop soup. Gah.
"Welp. You're going to have to ride home in your poop pants Espen. I haven't anything to put you in."
He looked at me in disbelief.
"JUST CHANGE ME IN THE CAR!!"
"We rode our bikes."
We stared at each other silently for a moment, gauging sincerity.
I moved towards the bikes.
"Let's go."
He tried to follow but well, his heart just wasn't in it. Imagine.
I shot off a quick text to Tobi.
"Your son just shat himself."
Then I looked at the clock and saw we had about 4 hours of daylight left to go 2 miles. And suddenly I was back in the land of story problems.
If Espen moves at .2 miles per day, how many hours will it take him to cover 2 miles? Please show your work.
Cue theme music from the movie, Alive.
It's go time, Mama. What are you gonna do? What are you gonna DO?
So I grabbed Espen, ran back to the garbage can, popped off his shoes, his socks and his sweats and threw them to one side. Then. I peeeeellled off his shorts and undies. He was yellow. And chunky. And smiling with glee.
"Good, momma! Let's go!"
I swabbed him once. Twice. And that was all the clean fabric to be had on his shorts.
Into the trash can they went.
Towards his bottom flew his hand.
But mine was faster.
I tried not to think of all the things his hand had touched.
Put his slightly pee/poop damp sweats back on. Socks. Shoes.
And he was off at a run towards his bike. Free at last. Or freer anyway.
Tobias showed up at that moment with the promise of wipes at his kettlebell studio but I was done. The germs had been spread, the ecoli likely burrowing down and getting acquainted with my son's immune system.
"We're going home. You go back to your party."
To his credit, Tobias walked us as far as the river, pulling Espen back from riding into traffic at every intersection. Yes, Espen knows better. But clearly this was Freedom to Give A Shit Saturday, so what the hell.
For the next two miles Espen alternated between licking his hands and dragging his feet until we were home. Somewhere around the half mile mark, I stopped caring if his feet were tired.We rolled into home and he bolted for the door. I caught him mid-stride.
"Strip."
"I want to get in the hot tub, momma!"
"Not until you're sanitized. Now strip."
I probably should have burned all our clothes, but I had Lysol handy and I was tired.
No, I did not Lysol my child. But maybe I should have.
He has never been so thoroughly cleaned in his life.
And for that matter, neither have I.
