Our Town

Today, and always, I am thankful for the beautiful place where we live. I love its wild animals and wild places.

In what is becoming a Thursday morning ritual, John and I hiked a mountain trail...

...then biked along the river...

...then picked up June and biked home.

Spoons

I think it's appropriate to follow-up my epic hike entry with a gritty tale. As all parents know, it's not all magical forests. Sometimes you fall into thickets, or storm clouds pour rain. Sometimes you get lost.

The morning after our trip down the mountain, I was feeling out of sorts. I'd packed, unpacked, and repacked a few too many times. June began screaming and just wouldn't stop. She must have been feeling out of sorts, too. But her irrational, endless way of expressing it became too much for me. So I threw spoons. Dramatically. Across the room.

It was not a proud moment. Thankfully, June was my only witness. I immediately apologized, and she stopped her initial scream, but then quickly started another one. Her first cry was over imperfect clothes or an inadequate breakfast. I don't really remember. The second cry was for having a Mom who threw spoons.

The day went on. I found order, in my house and in my head. We strolled around a lot, which always helps. But, it was humbling. After a day with such great highs (see previous blog entry), to fall immediately to the lows.

I don't choose to dwell on these moments really, though I might have in the past. Despite the lost credibility, my lost confidence, and the lovely example I set, here is my silver lining: It reminds me how hard it is to act and react in all the ideal ways, all the time. And if this is true for adults, it is especially true for kids, with their jumble of new emotions and their brief experience in the world. So ultimately, my emotional outburst circles back and gives me more patience for theirs.

A Hike

This past weekend, I went on a hike with my kids on Vail Mountain. I don't think I'll ever forget it. It was a first with all four, as I mentioned in my previous post. And it was magically beautiful.

It began with a gondola ride up the mountain...

...and then a turn onto the Berry-Picker Trail.

Then for three timeless hours, we descended the through aspen forests, evergreens and meadows that will soon transform to ski paths. John stayed awake the whole time on my back. The older kids wore extra layers around their waist, but there arms swung empty-handed. June held my hand most of the way and confessed that she felt a little scared. She's always thinking about bears. But Clara and Will ran fast and fearlessly ahead. We'd find them hiding behind trees, around rocks, lying on the path.

Jeff walked up to meet us for the final stretch. I think he was concerned we might be hiking in the dark. But the timing was ideal. The sun was low and the shadows long. To me, the hike was epic. To the kids, who knows. Maybe an extention of their already magical imaginations. Then we came home the next day, and I threw spoons. But that's another story...

Cowboy

Our family now has a cowboy in our midst. John is walking. Like a cowboy. He swaggers, turning one entire side of his body and then the other. Plus, he's always in jeans due to his scoot (all our babies scoot, rather than crawl), so he looks even more the part.

He decided to do it just yesterday. Some of our kids have been the "one step at a time" type, while others are more inclined to "just do it." John is the latter, as was Clara. So once he decided to walk, he didn't just take one step. He kept going. But he definitely does it only when he wants to, as opposed to when his siblings want him to.

I confess that I felt a tinge of sadness when it happened. To me, this marks a whole new time. And it means that our last baby is moving forward. He's got plans. But, it's all good. The sad instinct quickly (and with a little effort) gets swept up with happiness. He's so giddy and curious and ready for what's next. It's want you want for your kids. Really.

In fact, it's inspiring. Why not celebrate firsts our adult lives? I really don't want the cheering crowd, but I do like the spirit of internally celebrating firsts, our whole short lives long. So, here are my own quiet celebrations as of late:

• Completing a 3 hour hike with 4 kids.
• Harvesting a record number of tomatoes.
• Eating fresh figs.
• Buying shoes for John.

Um, I'm having a hard time coming up with firsts.... And this list seems pitiful, certainly when compared to walking for the first time. Honestly, most of the firsts that I'd like to celebrate are on my to-do/wish list. Come to think of it, with John walking now, I'm probably a little closer to doing, and then celebrating, my own firsts. OK - so no more sadness. I've come full circle.

Almost.

Prairie Days

I have to credit my sister Sally with this association, but John is officially in the "Little House on the Prairie" stage. (Sally's daughter Celia recently went through the same thing.)

John screams "Maaaaaaa!" with such depth and soul and frequency, he could easily be a lost son of the Wilders. As we shopped today in Costco, he amused his burly self by filling every inch of space up to the ceiling with his "Maaaaaa!" even though I was right there, obediently pushing him in the cart, of course!

But, I did feel like a celebrity. Like I really was Ma Wilder. Just as I do every day. He heralds my coming, to all those celebrity-ish places I visit: the grocery store, his siblings' schools, the rec. center, our sidewalk...

If we lived on the Prairie, we'd probably call John "Son," with a drawn-out kind of accent. But in truth, he's a mama's boy, sleeping right beside me on the couch as I type. And karma works itself out. To his attentive siblings, he's fondly known as "Little Johnny John."

Gore

When driving into the mountains, going camping, or just walking up the street, many of our family discussions are quite gory. We really don't watch much TV, so it's not that kind of violence. It's more a variety of gore connected to animals and where we live. So, walking around on a beautiful late summer evening, here is a sampling of what we talk about, some with almost rabid interest:

What would a mama deer do if you got too close to it?

What would happen if you got too close to a mountain lion?

What if a mountain lion got in your tent? Or a mama moose? Or a tiger?

What would a tiger do to you if it were mad?

What's worse? Being attacked by a mama moose or a mountain lion?

What's worse? Being attacked by a mama mountain lion or a tiger?

Which would hurt worse? Mountain lion claws or tiger claws?

Which one would win, a mama moose or a mountain lion?

Which one would win, a mountain lion or a tiger?

Which one would win, a tiger or a mama lion?

Which would you prefer: To die in a fire or falling down a mountain?

Which would you prefer: To die in a fire or freeze to death?

Which would you prefer: A sword cutting your brain or your heart?

Which would you prefer: Getting stabbed or having your brain smashed?

How 'bout our parents died in a car crash...

How 'bout your can't walk because your legs got cut off...

How 'bout your arms got cut off, too...

I am sure all these gory thoughts are perfectly natural. (Right???) But, there's no escaping. Just tonight, someone spilled something in the kitchen and I carelessly said, "Oh, it's not the end of the world." June then quickly replied, "What IS the end of the world?"

A moose we saw last weekend

A baby deer across the street today

Big Wildfire, Little Things Part III - Will

In the wake of Boulder's Four Mile Canyon Wildfire, Will's conduit to understand loss come in the form of things that seems replaceable, but are oh so not:

Will found a magic wand in the woods that has since been lost, then found, then broken, then glued back together to perfection. It holds lots of mystery and power. In addition, a particular key (found in our pile of lost keys to who knows what) is quite special to him right now. He and a friend scout out every lock at school to see if it will fit.

So these two items are currently most precious to Will. Something to keep in mind on future holidays and birthdays.

Big Wildfire, Little Things Part II - Clara

The wind last night didn't carry the fire as far as some feared. The smell of smoke is more faint today, and the threat of evacuation for many has passed. Meanwhile, Clara's avenue to empathy is... Horsie.

Horsie has been with us ever since Clara left "Bunny" in the mountains last year. Horsie now sleeps with Clara, rides to school in Clara's backpack, and always comes along on weekend outings. In fact, last weekend, Horsie enjoyed prime placement stuck on a post when Clara was out log-crossing a river. She was tied to Clara's wrist while biking. And she rode on Clara's shoulders to see the view.

So to relate to kids who have lost much during the fire, Clara says she will just think of Horsie.

Big Wildfire, Little Things Part I - June

A fire is burning in the mountains around Boulder. As I type, I smell the smoke and hear a very strong wind. I understand that no people have been physically hurt, but many people have lost their homes.

In the past few days, we've been making cookies for firefighters, writing them notes, gathering up stuff to give away, and learning about empathy. How would it feel to lose all your stuff, including the place where you live? To lose irreplaceable things?

Although it is clearly not just about little things, it does make me reflect on the little things that are currently in vogue at our household. What do the kids covet most, in this moment in time, that they would be saddest to lose?

I'll start with June. At this present moment, she covets a 1/4-inch rubber baby.

I bought it for her for 15 cents to appease her great sadness over my bringing her to her 9 AM gymnastics class at 10. She loves it. Sleeps with it. And miraculously, for two days and nights, has not lost it.

So, this little baby is June's window to understand the fire, and how other children may feel to lose what's most special to them.

Where's John?

John is always very near. If not on the hip, he's usually within a 3-foot radius. But as is often the case with humor, Jeff and I find great entertainment when we pretend that our current reality is the opposite of our reality. In other words, when we pretend (all within the bounds of safety, of course) that our kids are part of a crowd, rather than the little beings that we constantly see, hear, feel, see and even smell.

With this in mind, we play a game much like "Where's Waldo?" Below are a few pictures where John blends into a crowd. (Usually, he's in some altered state, like sleep or desperation.) See if you can find him, or in the last one, Will and Clara. The answers are at the bottom of the page.

Where's John?

Where's John?

Where's John?

Where's John?

And for a slight twist, where are Clara and Will?

ANSWERS:

1. In the stroller, asleep, behind the crowd at the back of the pool.

2. Asleep in the burley while the rest of us enjoy breakfast on the patio.

3. That's him climbing up the yellow slide.

4. That's John following his muse across a field of grass.

5. Will and Clara are dangling their feet off the bottom right balcony, watching bikers attempt to cross a pond. (See bonus photo below.)