Natural History

I loved growing up close to my cousins. They were some of my best friends, and still are! We played together often and knew each other well. During the summer, my cousin Brooke and I would take the number 40 bus to and from each other's houses. (Can you even imagine sticking your child on a bus by herself these days?) Every time our families got together, we would play Barbies for hours, and then, when it was time to go home, we would beg our moms to have a sleepover.

My boys have exactly one cousin. And he lives 5 hours away in Boise, ID. So when James came to spend a week with Grandma and Papa, we squeezed in as much cousin time as we could. We spent two afternoons at the pool, and one morning at the new Natural History Museum.

As an only child, he's not used to having to accommodate weird little kids, but he is a sweetie, and he let the punk talk his ear off and poke him with puppets in the car.

Bell boys

I love the architecture of this building.

Run, Grandma! He's getting away!

You look surprised to see me.

Staring contest

Having Fun Is Hard Work

The slogan of this year's Utah Arts Festival is "Look Dirty. Have Long Man-Hair." I didn't see this slogan in print, but I did see lots of festivalers who took it to heart. 

We took the boys to the Arts Festival in the hope that with exposure to art, music, and diverse crowds (scruffy dudes included), they will develop an appreciation for our lovely city and the people in it. It is my hope that my man and I will always be able to provide a level of exposure to the arts, sports, social groups, and nature that will enhance our boys' lives and help them to grow up to be self-aware, compassionate, and educated. All these hopes and expectations, however, must be tempered during a family outing with two little guys. The lofty goal of cultural enlightenment takes a back seat to the immediate realities of heat (100 degrees), hunger, fatigue, and little-boyness.

We spent 90% of our time in the Art Yard where the boys visited the musical instrument petting zoo, listened to an animated storyteller, enjoyed sandwiches and chocolate milk, and made their own works of art. Maybe someday, we'll be able to visit the grown-up section of the festival. Until then, we will do our best to balance education with enjoyment.

Me: "You look confused."
Tim: "That's just my face."

Play Me, I'm Yours

Ten painted pianos have been installed on the streets of Downtown Salt Lake City for our enjoyment. This project called Play Me, I'm Yours by British artist Luke Jerram is presented by the Utah Museum of Contemporary Art, and is on display through the end of June. The public is invited to sit down and play Mary Had A Little Lamb (the punk's current masterpiece), Solfeggettio by Bach (a piece I learned in junior high, and the only one I have memorized), Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater (a black-keys-only number, which Grandma Caryn taught the punk today), or a personal composition (which the basher shared with his grand audience of bicyclists and passersby).

Go! Play! Enjoy!

(Here's the website, with a map of the piano locations.)

2nd Time's The Charm

During last year's Ragnar Relay, I ran 5.5 miles around Rockport Reservoir minutes after puking my guts out. (See my blog post here.) Today, I had a much more enjoyable time at the reservoir. We joined my man's parents, brother, and his girlfriend for an end of summer water party. We packed yummy sandwiches, fresh fruit and veggies, and brownies. The basher wanted some of that action, but was not allowed to indulge in the chocolaty goodness because, as the punk says, "He doesn't have any teef!"

There are very few times in my life these days that I don't acutely feel the weight of motherhood pressing down on me (literally and figuratively. The boys are getting heavy). Even when we are having fun as a family, my primary role is to bring all the right things, make sure the little ones eat and wear sunscreen, and manage their safety and enjoyment. So when my man and I left the boys on the beach with their grandparents and took the Jet Skis out on the lake, I was surprised at the euphoria I felt when I squeezed that throttle. Pure bliss! Wind in my braids, sun on my face, cool water spraying my legs, and two free hands to steer the Jet Ski? Ahhhhh...

Stabby Park

"Stabby Park." That is what my friend calls Pioneer Park downtown. As many of its usual visitors hail from rough circumstances, I'm sure on most days she's not far off, but on Saturday mornings, the place is transformed into a lively farmer's market. My three boys and I met our girlfriends for an afternoon of sensory pleasures. The people watching (there is a highly concentrated number of crazies), the fresh produce, the handmade goods, the music, the tasty food... Summertime bliss.

Another Tuesday

"Is it worth it?"

This is the thought that repeatedly came to mind as I was preparing to get the two boys and me out of the house this morning. Yes, our outing to Barnes & Noble was going to be worth it. It would distract all of us for at least an hour and give us something to look at besides each others' faces.

We parked in front of the store and I made the necessary preparations:

• I took my wallet, phone, and keys out of the diaper bag,
• hid the bag under a blanket on the floor of the back seat (because I didn't want to lug that thing around with me; it's like having to keep track of a third child),
• unbuckled a sleeping basher, stuffed him into the Snugli, and strapped him onto my front like a marsupial, and
• went around to the other door to unbuckle the punk.

This is when he decided to tell me that he "has a poop." So I:

• uncovered the diaper bag,
• retrieved a diaper and the wipes,
• laid a crying baby on the floor of the front seat in his Snugli,
• reclined said front seat, and
• changed the punk's diaper right there in the parking lot.
• Then I sanitized my hands and the punk's (at his request),
• strapped the baby to my person,
• grabbed my wallet, phone and keys,
• locked the car,
• threw away the messy diaper, and
• went into the book store.

I read a couple books to the punk and otherwise let him wander in the children's section. The basher made it known that he did not appreciate when I stopped moving, so I told my tired body to keep walking even though all I wanted to do was lie down on the floor and take a nap. A very long nap. A "wake me up in a few months" kind of nap. But since that wasn't an option today, I just walked.

The basher did fall asleep for a few minutes, so I sat on a bench while the punk made a mess (which we cleaned up before we left - my mild sleep deprivation hasn't left me completely devoid of manners). After a very short rest, I stood up to get the punk started on the tidying process, and a fellow parent noticed the bundle on my chest. "Wow, a brand new one!"

"Yes," I said as I started heading toward the punk.

"Don't forget your wallet," he said. So I turned around to see my zebra wallet sitting on the bench, waiting to be abandoned.

"Oh, thanks," I sighed.

"Don't worry," he smiled. "You'll sleep in about 9 months."

"Ha! Yes, I'm looking forward to it!"

Worms

The punk and I took a misguided trip to the park this morning on the way home from the doctor's office. Granted, it isn't shiny and warm, but I figured if we came prepared with jackets (and pretzels), we would be able to kill an hour. As soon as we arrived on the playground, I discovered that the slides ended in pools of ice water. I guess 38 degrees isn't going to cut it. So we meandered back to the car with the promise of being able to play in the backyard.

On the way to the parking lot, the punk made a fascinating discovery: "Oooooooooh! Wooooooorrrrrms!" There were millions of them and he anxiously examined each one, being careful not to step on any of them. (I didn't bother to tell him they were already dead.)

Snow Boots and Slippery Slides

Monday's luscious rainstorm soon turned into a major winter storm that dumped 16 inches of snow at our house. The sun has since been trying to melt the frozen stuff away, but it's not working fast enough for the punk and me. We decided to arm ourselves with coats, snow pants, hats, gloves, boots, and a towel to dry the slides, and visit the park despite the wet, white wonderland.

The sky was just as fluffy and white as the ground.

I don't think the punk minded one bit. In fact, there were two other two year-olds with their moms on the same playground. It seems everyone is itching to be outside.