Espen Camino- Dragon Slayer

I've always had a pretty good imagination.

As a child, I used to imagine I had a portal to Neverland hidden in a glittery rainbow mobile that hung above my mirror. All I had to do was whisper, "I'm Peter Pan in Neverland." over and over until Tinkerbell arrived.

So, you can bet that Espen has already been exposed to a pantheon of unicorns, fairies and...dragon pills.

The thing is, these pills are legitimately called "Dragon Pills", which made them even more appealing in my eyes, and apparently, his too.

For the last year, I've been working with a Tibetan doctor to boost my immune system through an ongoing series of tiny little black pills that contain a variety of magical herbs that have been collected by monks and prayed over by nuns high in the Himalaya before being shipped to my door.

Being a responsible, though whimsical parent, I  have been clear with Espen that these little beauties are medicine and for mom only unless he is sick and mom gives him one.

And in my folly, yet again, I assumed that the heretofore uncrossed frontier of self-administering Dragon Pills would remain untested when I stepped into my morning shower.

For the last three months, we have had a routine. We wake up in the morning, we make breakfast, we eat, Tobias leaves for work, I clean up, I shower, Espen plays while I shower, life is beautifully rhythmic.

On this particular Friday, I had been in the shower for all of five minutes, when Espen came cackling into the bathroom.

This is fairly typical.

What was not, was the midnight colored drool ribbon-ing down the corner of his mouth and off his jaw.

He smiled at me, his mouth a black hole that looked like it had recently licked a cinder bucket.

I tried to stay calm. My voice may have lowered several octaves and become unnaturally slow.

"Espen, What. Is. In. Your. Mouth."

He laughed at me, gleefully raising his hands. "Dragon Pills, Mama!"


Some people leap into a flurry of activity when the world begins to crumble around them. Me? I just stood there in the warm shower, thinking for a split second that I could freeze time, just like I did in childhood.

Then Espen spoke. "Mama! Me get more!"

There is little magic on earth more potent than a toddler's declaration of intent.

I flew out of the shower as Espen careened from the bathroom and back towards the kitchen.
Somewhere in the midst of this, I managed to grab a small towel.

Hot on his heels, I charged into the hall and beheld the full extent of his intrepid foraging.

Speech rarely fails me, but on this occasion, I was utterly gobsmacked.

And completely nude.

Stretching from one end of the house to the other, a sea of tiny black spheres sat placidly on the surface of the floor.

As though carefully placed by an individual mastermind...or violently cast from the top of the previously inaccessible kitchen counter.

The only clue to the crime was a step ladder in front of the counter that had been mere decoration until this day.

It gleamed quietly, decoration, no longer--now elevated to the dubious heights of Accessory to Disorder.

What does one do in these moments?

My best guess was to immobilize the child.

Espen tried to skate on top of the Dragon Pills.
I began silently repeating my commitment to non-violent parenting.

Into the car seat went Espen Camino with a bevy of books and toys.
Back into the shower went I.

One has to collect one's thoughts before venturing into Utter Carnage, lest one be overwhelmed by the sheer destruction.

Once clean, I dressed myself with the resignation of a suicide bomber and headed back into the kitchen.

For the next hour I crawled about on hands and knees plucking each Dragon Pill off the ground.

Now, I knew from previous experience, that Tibetan herbs are not going to re-tool one's gut flora if ingested without authorization. I was also hoping Espen might puke just A LITTLE, if only to emphasize the importance of ONLY EATING PILLS ADMINISTERED BY A PARENT...but no such luck.

He babbled and chatted away in the car seat without any signals of impending physical distress. I repeatedly impressed upon him how utterly NO NO it was to eat pills. He demanded his release.

I, on the other hand, was experiencing significant levels of distress.

Everyone with any imagination knows that if toddlers were the physical size of adults, the world would be doomed. With little to no impulse control and the flexibility of a rubber band, there is nothing they could not or would not attempt. Respect and healthy fear would never enter the choice making equation.

Just so, I wondered, laboring over the hundreds of anonymous Dragon Pills,

How do you make the point that taking pills is a bad idea until you are at LEAST old enough to read directions?

Finally, the floor clean, I emancipated Espen from his car seat and took a moment to breathe. Two seconds later, he was on his scooter barreling down the hallway.

"Mama! My find Dragon Pill!"

"Bring it to me."

Silence.

I raced around the corner to behold my offspring drooling the black drool and smiling.

In my attempt to get his attention AND scoop the pill from his mouth, Espen began to laugh. And in this moment, realizing there was no way in hell he was going to pay attention to words, I clapped my hand solidly onto his behind. Just once. Just firmly enough to get his attention. And I said with my very firmest mom voice:

"Espen, you must NEVER EVER eat pills without mom giving them to you. Do you understand?"



He laughed again.

And I thought, "Have mercy."

Childproof Door Locks Are The New Atlantis

Many people think that a simple solution to your toddler escaping first bed, then room, is to purchase childproof door locks. They sound so fool proof on Amazon.com.

They look even more effective due to their draconian, confusing curlicues and deceptively blase' design. They even leave a large gap in the door so you and your kid can stare each other down.

And for the first application, they may be visually arresting to the point of immobilizing your wanderlusty 2 year old. 

But the luster of newness fades quickly. Soon they get down to the business of solving this new barrier to their freedom.

If Espen were to be cast as a dinosaur, he would be Velociraptor. You can actually see his brain figuring out how to bring down authority, door locks, and anything else standing between him and his objective. 

Case in point, last week I was home alone with the little raptor. It was Naptime and the child was not interested. His plans involved more bagels, more sand, more  freedom. Certainly not sleeping. 

Mom: Come on, Wesp. It's time for naps.

Espen: Why.

Mom: Because rest helps you get bigger and stronger.

Espen: My babe-o! (which means, "I'm Babe-o. Which means he's about to flip into his interpretation of what babies are like. Usually this involves a high pitched sustained sound like a siren.)

Mom: Ok. Babe-oes need rest even more than big boys because they are so small and growing.

Espen: Mama, go away.

Mom: Alright, but you need to stay in your bed and sleep.

Espen: Mama, go away. No put lock on door.

Mom: I won't as long as you stay in bed.

Espen: Ok. Mama go away.

So I leave, only to have him bound out of his room two minutes later.

Espen: Helloooooo mama!

Mom: Ok, now we are going back to your room and mom is putting the lock on.

Espen: (Wails) Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?!?!?!?!?!

Mom: Because that was the deal. You knew this.

Espen: NO PUT LOCK ON DOOR!!!

Mom: Next time you can chose to stay in your bedroom and we won't put the lock on.

Deposited in his room, with the lock on, the door has about 2 inch gap between the door and the door jamb. It's a big crack.

Up to this point in time, Espen has responded to the door lock by throwing himself on his bed and ragefully crying until he burns up the excess energy and falls peacefully to sleep.

Today, there was only silence. And the occasional sound of something scraping along the floor. I chose to ignore it as the only thing movable in his room is the large reading chair. 

You would think I'd have learned by now that ignoring strange noises leads to nothing productive.

Mais, non.

Ten minutes pass. Espen giggles. Makes jiggling sounds. Then silence. 

I tiptoe to his room. The door is closed with a tiny crack, just the way he likes it. The childproof door lock is lying quietly on his wooden horsie that I have removed to enhance boredom leading to sleep.

I crack the door. The chair is pushed up against it. Espen is sound asleep.

Not a word, not a "HA HA! MOMMA!" 

Just silent proof that you can't tame a wild animal.

Kitty Litter Sounds Like Cat Food When You Throw It

Well, we bought a house.

That's a whole story, but not for this day.

Today, I invite you to explore the many mysteries of kitty litter with me.

The connection between the two may seem improbable, but please, suspend your disbelief until I reveal the critical bridge.



REVELATION COMMENCING

Espen Camino Eld-Mathis.

Imagine with me if you will, a genteel estate on the edges of Portland. Its grounds are lush, its landscaping approaching wildness. In short, a perfect setting for a lad from the country being introduced to city life.

I, as mother and adult, assumed that Espen would rather play outdoors with me and pruning shears than in the dubiously organized maze we call the 'garage'.

And I was correct, until I spent two minutes vigorously ripping out some feral bush that had taken over the upper third of our front yard.

When I looked up, Espen was no where to be seen, but ominous sounds were coming from the garage. Think, rain stick fighting a corrugated metal roof.

I raced to the garage and beheld the unimaginable.

Espen stood proudly beside Mimi's food dish, which is conveniently located near her litter box.
Both were filled to overflowing with multi-colored cat food.
He was grinning.
"ME FUNNY, MAMA!" he shrieked with delight.
Mimi was busy gorging herself between the massifs of food.

I could not speak so I simply handed him his pruning shears and led him back outside.

We pruned silently for many minutes, my brain attempting to craft a deft parenting lesson out of the 14 pounds of cat food littering the floor like a meaty deluge.

Espen slowly sidled away from me until I barely noticed him creeping towards the garage.

When I heard Rainstick vs Rooftops from the Slums II, I wearily thought, "Oh what difference does it make? There's no clean food left anyway."

My first mistake was assuming Espen would settle for a repeat performance of ME FUNNY, MA.

My second was not returning to the scene of the crime immediately.

I waited an extra minute to breathe myself into zen like calm.

And then I saw it.

Espen stood in the same spot I had discovered him before with a few key differences.

1. His shoes were off.
2. His hands were clutching lumps of sand.
3. The cat food on the floor had been covered with a greenish substance looking vaguely like fertilizer.

Or.
Oh.
GOD.
NOOO.

Kitty litter.

"ME FUNNY, A LOT!!!" he yelled, hurling the clumps of cat pee at me.

My brain vomited denial over my eyes to protect them. I have no idea what I actually did at that point.

What I remember next is holding Espen under the shower head as I simultaneously filled his mouth with toothpaste and scrubbed his body with hand sanitizer. And soap.

Repeatedly.

I probably did a fair amount of shrieking too.

I had no idea this level of gross was even possible.

He later told me, "Mama, me no eat kitty poop."
At least there's that.

Espen and the Great Fuckoff

Tobias, Espen and I were riding home one day, enjoying a peaceful silence, when Espen suddenly shrieked, "Fuckoff!!"

I looked at Tobias with accusation in my eyes.
He was already looking at me me with the same assumption.

"What have you been SAYING AROUND THE CHILD?!"

We sat in silence, trying not to move quickly and reveal that our brains had been pickled by an angelic looking 2 year old's potty mouth.

Espen grew more animated.

"Fuckoff! FUCKOFF!!!!" he insisted, rocking around in his car seat.

Silence continued as Tobias and I continued judging the hell out of each other's negligent parenting.

Then we noticed Espen pointing out the window.

"Fuckoff!!! Beep! Beep!!!!"

We were passing Home Depot.

And that's when I remembered that his Grandfather was inclined to take Espen to Home Depot to chase the forklifts and watch them take things up and down off shelves.

"Espen," I asked, slightly trembling, "Are you talking about forklifts?"

"Fuckoffs!!!! BEEP!!! BEEP!!!" Espen nodded enthusiastically, grinning and pointing towards the Depot.

Forklifts, indeed.

The Bib Monster

As a wee chap, getting Espen into a bib was like trying to slow dance with a hungry coyote. Great care was required, to say nothing of focused intention. I figured we'd just circle each other warily until he grew out of toddler eating messes, but recently, something miraculous has happened.

Espen was also a passionately independent little fellow, often rocketing into stranger's arms instead of hanging with mom. And then one day, the sky fell.

Suddenly, I find myself with a little boy who demands both his mother and his bibs at the drop of a hat. Whereas, not two weeks ago, going bibless was like handing him a candy bar, now he looks at me with disbelief and shock when I show up with food sans bib. He jabs at his chest, furiously motioning to his tummy and trousers and insists on, "Bee! Bee!" And silly me, I spend about 5 minutes trying to figure out what he wants so desperately. 

Instead of being that kid in a cafe that runs laughing from their mother, he has become my tiny cling-on, hysterically wailing, "Mom-eeeee! Mom-eeee!" when he gets out of sight. That is strangely heart warming and breaking as I had nearly reconciled myself to being content with the occasional "More berries Mom!" for our emotional contact. 

All this to say, while this might be a phase, it has taught me that what goes around comes around in ways I might never dream possible. At this rate, he'll be playing the piano, dancing and enjoying textile field trips by the time he is 9. I'll keep you posted.

Espen Vs. OMSI

Espen loves the Oregon Museum of Science and Industry. It's a Portland icon for children of all ages, and thanks to my bestie Lynsey, we discovered early on that there's a kids room chalk full of amazing kid activities. Giant sandpit with the softest, whitest sand you've ever seen. Waterville where you can splash and play in the safety of an OMSI provided smock. Faux grocery store where you can weigh your fake veggies and meats and set them up in attractive displays.

We got a membership soon thereafter and Espen now squeals "OM-EE!!! Om-EE!" and holds out his hand for a "Samp" (stamp) whenever we get close to it.

Most of the time we go directly to the kid rumpus room, but on this particular day, Espen wanted only to ride the escalator UP and the glass elevator DOWN. (And then up again, thank you very much.) I figured it wouldn't be the first time he'd be fascinated with moving staircases and flying glass boxes, so off we went. A test of my fortitude, you see.

For the next 45 minutes we made a giant circle between two floors in every conceivable combination of ascents and descents. Up the escalator, down the stairs. Up the elevator, down the stairs. Up the stairs, down the elevator. No down the one-way escalator (yet).

Provocatively, I was finding myself being lulled into a gentle, meditative state. OMSI is situated at a particularly picturesque spot on the Willamette River. Espen was a captive audience, so I could mostly stare at the water and enjoy the view.

That is, until the 17th ascent via escalator.
We had made a plan at the bottom.

Me: Ok, Espen, do you want to ride the elevator up AND down this time?"
Espen: Yeah!
Me: Alright, so when we get to the top and the doors open, we just stay there, OK?
Espen: Yeah! UP!

The ride up went smoothly. The waiting was fine. The doors started closing.

Espen looked at me, cackled, and dashed out.

The doors continued to close.

I jammed the "door open" button. (or was it the "door close"?)
Furiously.

Nothing. Except a last look at Espen's face as he realized I was not behind him. I was, in fact, hurtling downwards, away from him.

The wailing began. It was a high whine for the first five feet the elevator dropped and quickly built to a full fledged howl.

My mind raced. Would it be quicker to exit the elevator and run up the stairs or ride the elevator back up as soon as it touched down?

Espen continued to shriek, his vocal projection abilities shattering the impressive din that only hundreds of kids can generate.

Somewhere in the midst of his yowls of Infinite Sadness, I realized the fastest way back to him was staying on the elevator and doing nothing but pressing "2".

While I also realized that the elevator travels no more than 14 feet max, it was like waiting to see if you got a high enough D to graduate high school. You may graduate but you're not getting any medals.

The door slid open and I looked down. Espen was no where to be seen. Slight panic slid around my throat until I heard, "MA-ma!!!" and looked into the eyes of a stranger mom who was holding my kid.

"It's ok," she cooed. "See, your mommy came back."

Le sigh.

I thought about explaining the story but instead took Espen back and said thank you. It'd just sound like an excuse for running to get a latte' and blaming the kid.

Espen waved to the lady, clutching all the while at my neck. Then he looked at me and smiled.

"Poo."

Sure enough, aromas like last night's dinner were wafting out of his britches.

We walked to the car, Espen stretching out his arms, pleading, "OM-EE!! OM-EEEEE!!!!" to everyone we passed along the way.

Good practice for a lifetime of awkward parenting moments.