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........