Camping...? CAMPING?

Things that make me happy: Camping.

My husband is a cool dude. A real man's man. He and I fell in love over camping. Five years ago I allowed him, a virtual stranger, to take me three hours away to explore the woods and all that they contain. We had a real adventure, climbing steep, slippery rocks and ducking behind drippy waterfalls. We fell in love. And we have taken as many opportunities to keep exploring as possible. For holidays I usually buy him camping gear. Anything outdoorsy. He loves to read his man magazines and tell me about the extraordinary adventures other people are having every day. We dream about exploring out West, going to hike Italian mountains, and learning to kayak our way through rivers and oceans.

We first took our daughter camping when she was six months old. It was freezing, and she was a trooper. We couldn't feel our toes, but she was snuggled perfectly between us and slept like, well, a baby. I nursed her to sleep by the fire, tucked her into a blankie nirvana in the tent, spent some great fireside time with my guy, and then we crept in beside our baby and fell asleep. Bliss.

Last summer we were braver. I was eight months pregnant with Ty and we decided to go on a camping trip before the wild days of newborns were upon us again. Marc had dreamed of going to Lake Jocassee since we met, and we were starting to think we would never actually make good of our big adventure. But man did we ever.

[I feel the need to briefly mention something that made me, in fact, very unhappy: We first attempted this trip sans Olivia, thinking "Oh, mama. A grown-up camping trip sound f-u-n." But on the way, after sending her off to Nana's, paying to board our dog, and packing for a camping trip, some schmo stole my purse out of our car at a PEACH STAND. So, feeling pregnant-pissed and a little uneasy that my keys were out there in the abyss, we ditched the trip and went home.]

BUT--- what a cool thing that we did again with our little girl in tow. We had the adventure we were craving. We loaded all of our belongings into a canoe (the most precious being a two-year-old in a teeny two-year-old sized life vest) and made our way across the giant lake with our tent, food, and equipment. The site was up a steep hill on the side of an inlet on an island. Primitive camping at its finest. We roasted hotdogs, made smores, went on adventure walks to explore the shore, rowed around in the canoe in search of waterfalls, swam with O in the incredibly clear and unnervingly NOT disgusting lake water, invented a delightful camp game called "A-hole" (O didn't play), ditched camp food and rowed over to a diner for omelets, and star gazed to our hearts content.

I have to recommend primitive camping on an island to anyone. Old, young. Very pregnant, very not. If there's a will...

"hey lady"

Things that make me happy: beagle puppies, acting like a goober with my husband, my lovely little girl

When we got Henry, our beagle, he was just a tiny pup with ridiculous ears and an adorable chocolate brown face. I don’t remember exactly when my husband and I started to ‘talk’ for him, but probably it was on the car ride home from picking him up.  It would usually go something like, “Hey! Hey, guys! Hey! Guys? Guys? … I love you, guys.” Narrating our dog's thoughts in a dopey voice was just as natural as breathing. And it didn’t stop when our first baby was born.

I remember so little from those groggy first days in the hospital after delivery. But I do remember looking at her scrunchy old man face and analyzing her every tiny noise or facial expression. And then, to the complete amusement of me and my husband, we began narrating her baby thoughts. ...With dumb, high-pitched voices that made her sound like the dorky kid at school. The first time I remember engaging in our weirdness was after I had snuggled and kissed her and she looked back at me with a sort of shocked, slightly scared, but mostly awe-inspired expression. As if to say [here’s where the high-pitched dorky voice starts]: “Hey, lady! Who ARE you?” We cracked ourselves up night after night thinking about her mind trying to process the significance of these huge people she now lived with. We, therefore, became known (to ourselves) as “hey, lady” and “that guy.”

When she actually learned to talk for herself, our weird “Look Who’s Talking” run slowed a bit. Then died. I don’t think we really cared. She was doing plenty of talking for the three of us. And her sense of humor knocked the socks off of any of our material. Her talking started with the beautiful “da.” And so my husband was renamed. It took a few more weeks before I was lucky enough to strut around with my new name: Ama. Ama. I loved that more than Christmas. And it stuck for a while, which was pretty great. Da has morphed as one would suppose, to “Dada” and finally “Daddy.” An appropriate path for his two years of fatherhood. I have had the experience of moving on to “Mama” (really, every bit as great as Ama), and then “Mommy.” Yep. That was nice, the days when my two-year-old daughter still called me Mommy. But about six months ago something terrible happened. Something so dark and despicable. I really… I just don’t even like talking about it. She called me “Mom.” Just “Mom.” Wow. It was like a punch in the gut. I am a mommy. An Ama at my best. But a mom? What the hell?! I’m not in my 30s yet! I don’t have mom hair! I don’t drive a mom car! That was the day I found out my two-year-old is a jerk.

I’m just kidding! She’s wonderful and silly. A bit moody at times, sure. But not a jerk. She’s only two. And I’m only Mom…

wilkomen!

Things that make me happy: Talking to folks about things that make me happy

Welcome, moms, and dads, and nanas, and gampies, and exceptionally smart kids who can read at an early age. And sisters. And bros. And aunties and uncles and second cousins. And neighbors and babysitters. And postmen and racecar drivers. And little old ladies and people who live in European countries. And Middle Eastern countries. Cab drivers. Physicists. Happy people. People who feel bummed or ticked off. Couples and twins and conjoined twins. And anyone else who might want to read my thoughts on being a genuinely and generally HAPPY mommy-wife-teacher-lady. Thanks for visiting!