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.