May
18
When I finally arrived home from DC on Friday night after two delayed flights and a near-poisonous amount of airport food, I staggered in the door around 1 AM prepared to collapse in the comfort of my own bed but lo! What is that melodious sound I hear? Why, it’s the baby, awake and blatting angrily from his crib, almost as though he sensed my arrival and had strategized the most restful, soothing method with which to greet me!
Pro Tip! Never show weakness in front of children, because that is the exact moment they will punch you right in the nads.
It would have been a great weekend for some mellow family downtime, but JB had to run off in order to try and kill himself on the slopes of Mt. Hood. He was even kind enough to live-tweet the details of his ascent, made harrowing by the unusually warm weather and subsequent deadly ice melt. (“Hundred mile per hour television-sized ice falling now”, he wrote, before lapsing into total radio silence for a couple hours and leaving me to envision him flattened somewhere on the side of the mountain, finger still hovering over the iPhone keypad.)
Should not be allowed to Tweet and climb.
Also? This photo is why I will never summit a mountain EVER. It’s not the physical exertion, or the insane amounts of gear, or even the surely-unpleasant business of starting a climb at 3 AM, it’s the fact that the shit is so STEEP. Like, take one wrong step and you’re FUCKED levels of steep. No thank you, not even with training wheels and my own personal Sherpa.
The kids and I had a pretty decent weekend on our own, even though Dylan is firmly mired in a stage I like to call “Exhausting, But Rewarding. Wait, Mostly Just Exhausting, Actually”. The weather was beautiful and I would share the lovely photos I took of my kids frolicking in the backyard but I was too busy prying fistfuls of dirt out of Dylan’s mouth while Riley stood nearby and whined about how he wanted to go back insiiiiiiide to get the camera. Oh, and I had planned to share a picture or two of Riley joyously playing with the inflatable rocket I brought home from the Smithsonian store but he was greatly disappointed in this thoughtful gift and informed me it wasn’t the right KIND of rocket, and that he’d like a little pink one instead.
So let’s recap: Daddy’s gone for the weekend, I’m on my own with the children, my older child is ungrateful, my younger one is howling because I won’t let him eat fertilizer, and I’m supposed to hand over a pink battery-powered rocket? I don’t think so, kid, any object that meets that particular description is staying right in my bedside drawer where it belongs because FRANKIE SAYS RELAX.
Comments
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I’m glad you joked at the end about the pink battery-powered rocket – that saves me the trouble of deciding if I should comment about that exact bedside-table thought or if that would be too odd. Now I can just comment on your comment…which is…less odd? Or something.
Ha….
I was thinking of you last night because I started 30-day shred. Holy….. did you ever just stand there and stare at Jillian? In a “you have got to be shitting me” way? I mean, aside from squeezing the children out, those were the longest 20 minutes of my life. And, oh, fun-fun: I get to do it again tonight! And the next night! For the next 29 days or nights!!!
But thanks for the inspiration. I think.
Mountain climbing is one thing I would never ever want to do. Glad JB made it out ok.
heehee. you just made me giggle. mid-bite of rice. dang it. lost some rice but so worth it as this was hilarious.
We’ve all been there…watching the ideal perfect weekend with the kids quickly dissolve into nothing more than connect-the-dots chaos style.
And my littlest is also in the “Mostly Just Exhausting” phase. I recently discovered that she will play a full 15 minutes with a giant bowl of water and a ladel. Not very long but definitely long enough to catch up on celebrity gossip. For me it’s the closest thing to heaven during daylight hours.
you had me at little pink rocket…
I almost threw a television set down the basement stairs the morning after my husband came home from a “Long Ski Weekend” (6 days) and then promptly went to work the next morning. I’m still a little bitter.
And again, I must ask, did my name get peed in the snow again? Because a picture collage of that would be too cool for words.
And I totally was thinking an innertube would be cool in the one picture. Until you die from the bounce.
Pink rocket, heh heh.
Heh. Pink rocket. Heh.
Also, I love backpacking and climbing and all, but that thing he’s doing? With that white stuff? That’s craziness.
Am I the only one that is thinking a sled would be an awesome way to get down that slope?
gah ….jb’s climb was beyond scary…..did you punch him in the nads when he returned safely home
Dr. AA saves my day on a regular basis.
Sorry to repeat but I’m fixating on the pink rocket. *giggle*
And I get bent when my husband golfs, sheesh. I guess I might have to count my blessings on that one. (Although, some of his golfing buddies have swings that might just make it as dangerous as Mt. Hood. Just warmer. And flatter, one hopes.)
You have always written that sometimes going away is nice for the coming home. Realizing how great home can be. Is it the same in the converse? Having JB gone…does it make his eventual presence that much sweeter? Or do you just shove one of the myriad poop diapers you’ve changed under his pillow and call it a weekend?
just wanted to let you know that not only did you make me laugh on this bad day of mine, you even made me applaud. I actually applauded the pink rocket in the drawer.
You had me at blatting baby. Lol, pink rocket… definitely like it better waiting in a drawer than as a child’s toy. Although I can totally see my three-year-old complaining about the same thing. Only I think he would complain because it wasn’t purple…
I can’t believe JB was tweeting while climbing a mountain. I’d totally be lucky to climb the mountain without falling on my ass, let alone tweet about it. Heck I’d be lucky to walk into REI without falling on my ass.
Delurking to say: that post was all kinds of awesome! Please tell me you have seen the IKEA vibrator commercial.
I’m so glad JB came down safe! It sounds like (from the news and this post) a scary day for some climbers yesterday!
The pink rocket is a riot. Also, I never thought about it before, but blatting is an excellent word for the sounds those babies make at night.
“Fistfuls of fertilizer” could be a Dr. Seuss book.
I totally didn’t get the pink battery powered rocket until I read the comments. Guess with the baby, I’ve been out of the game too long! ;)
Friends don’t let friends tweet & climb.
Damn kids, always wanting more!! :)
Thanks for the laughs, always great way to start my day.
Re: piffle about bear: Dude, you live in Mayberry! Those people worrying about saying “holy heck” – HA!
Laughing my ass off at the pink rocket comments. Beautiful pics from JB’s trip! I wouldn’t climb it either. Getting dizzy just looking at the pic.
You’d think they would be happy and well behaved from missing you so much, but sadly kids don’t play by our rules do they? Sometimes kids can #suckit.
Love the pink rocket story. I needed a laugh today, and this post hit the spot.
ha…pink rocket! I thought of the IKEA commercial, too. And, have you ever had JB’s brain checked??? Damn…I got woozy just looking at the picture!
Only crazies climb Mt Hood – or any other snow/ice covered steep-ass mountain.
I’ve recently started reading your old posts – I’m halfway through 2003 now and am really enjoying them. It’s like a book and I eagerly want to know what happens to the character. You are utterly charming. Of course I know you have two small boys, but it seems like there is still the suspense, because you weren’t ready for children yet in 2003. I wish I had started reading you ages ago, rather than just in the last year. Your blog is one of my absolute favorites.
Right where little pink rockets should be…
Heh. “fistfuls of fertilizer”? I have it on good authority that I once got away from my parents and ate several handfuls of Weed ‘N Feed before they found me. Cue giant bottle of Ipecac and my father spinning me around in the backyard till *he* puked. (this was what the poison control hotline recommended. Awesome.)
This may explain the fact that when my husband and I moved, my little pink rocket gotten hidden in a inconspicuous bag with other accouterments — which got forgotten till found and unpacked by my mother-in-law.
My husband’s Mt. Hood is a motorcycle, which I will not permit until the kids have graduated from college. I will not have him killing himself when there’s a mortgage and college expenses, thank you very much. He’ll be over 70 when that happens.