By: Jamie Thompson
Updated: May 13, 2020
Originally Published: November 3, 2014
Last night, I ended up sleeping in my bra again, a not-so-uncommon occurrence. Around two in the morning, my little one, Zoe, decided to join me in bed. Fast forward to six o’clock, and she had an unfortunate accident, soaking the sheets and, unfortunately, my last clean bra. By “clean,” I mean it was the least dirty option available. Now it smells distinctly of urine, leaving no doubt about my attire for the day.
“Sorry, Mama,” Zoe mumbles sleepily while rubbing her eyes. At five years old, she’s well past the diaper stage, so it’s hard to stay upset at her, especially with her rosy cheeks and tousled hair. Plus, it’s Sunday, and I only need to prepare for a birthday party at 3:30—plenty of time for laundry.
“It’s alright, sweetheart,” I reply. “Let’s head downstairs to your bed.”
We both change out of our damp pajamas. Still groggy, I grab some clothes from next to the hamper—yesterday’s jeans and a sweater from the day before, adorned with some Go-Gurt stains. By the time we reach the bottom of the stairs, Zoe is wide awake.
“I want to watch something!” she declares. Zoe loves her Netflix shows, and while she might not know the phrase “binge-watching,” she embodies it. After a futile attempt to engage her in something interactive, I give in and turn on the TV.
“I can get things done this way,” I tell myself, and I do. Pancakes are made, sheets are washed and dried, Facebook is checked, the comforter is laundered, dishes are done, and the floor is swept. The creeping concern about screen time and its effects on her development occasionally interrupts my productivity. I liken my parenting style to a mix of Uncle Buck and a dash of Martha Stewart—mostly well-meaning but often hapless and unprepared. Though at times, the perfectionist in me emerges, leading to bouts of overachieving.
I glance down at Zoe, who is mesmerized by the colorful images on the screen.
“Hey!” I shout to get her attention. She’s watching PBS’s Wild Kratts, which, to be fair, is an excellent show about two real-life naturalist brothers that educates children about wildlife and their habitats. The show begins with real footage before transitioning into animation, where the brothers embark on “creature adventures,” posing the question “what if?” at the start of each episode.
“Zoe!” I wave my hand in front of her face. “What if we go creature adventuring in REAL LIFE!?” This is genius, I think. Let’s go outside! Why didn’t I think of this sooner?
She looks at me, puzzled.
“Do you know what hiking is?” I ask, and she nods.
“It’s when you go outside and walk around in a circle. In the woods! Doesn’t that sound awesome?” I gesture animatedly, raising my voice to add excitement (though I’m discovering this method doesn’t work on many things).
“Yeah!” she screams.
We could have explored our own backyard or taken a stroll around the block, but my Martha Stewart side kicks in, rejecting the mundane. If Martha had a school project, she would’ve created a masterpiece—surely, we wouldn’t settle for a simple paved path today. I dismiss a tiny voice reminding me about the birthday party and decide on the 3.2-mile White Bison Trail at Lone Elk State Park, only half an hour away. According to the internet, it’s a one-hour hike—easy peasy. If I survived Disney World during the Frozen craze, I could conquer anything.
However, getting ready is another adventure altogether. Even when I convince Zoe that she wants to go hiking, getting her dressed is a challenge. She often ends up in her clothes backwards or inside out. Today, though, I decide to help her get dressed.
“I’m too cold,” she whines.
“What do you mean? Clothes will keep you warm!” I pull a shirt over her head.
“I’m too tired.”
“I’m doing all the work!” I snap on her pants.
“But my butt itches!”
“Good grief, Zoe, multitask! Scratch it and give me your foot!” I grab her foot, wrestle on a shoe, and head to the kitchen to pack a bag with essentials—like toilet paper and Go-Gurt.
When I return, she’s taken off the warm socks and sturdy shoes I’d just put on her, insisting on wearing her white dress sandals instead.
“Sweetheart, it’s chilly outside,” I say.
Silence.
“Those won’t protect your feet.” Blank stare.
“Well, I guess someone doesn’t want to go on a creature adventure,” I say, adopting my best Eeyore voice.
Zoe occasionally transforms into one of the kids from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, and today is no exception. She insists, “Want…want. WANT, WANT, WANT!” as tears well in her eyes.
I wonder if this behavior is a reflection of my parenting. Perhaps the laid-back Uncle Buck side is too lenient? But then again, Martha’s overbearing tendencies might be causing some rebellion. I reassure myself that all kids act this way, but doubt lingers.
After an hour of negotiation, I finally have her dressed and a bag ready. We hit the road by noon—three and a half hours to the party, more than enough time for our adventure! As I get into the car, I realize I’m still braless and in my dirty clothes. Normally, this is fine for an Uncle Buck type of day, but I can’t help but wonder if it’s appropriate.
Thirty minutes and one detour later, we arrive—thankfully, as I could not handle one more rendition of “Old McDonald.” After exhausting the farm animals, we moved on to African and extinct creatures, all while Zoe sang “with a roar roar here and a roar roar there.” Thirty minutes of this is what it takes to keep her entertained in the car, as I rely heavily on my phone for navigation—no longer able to recall directions or even my own birthday without it.
The sign at the visitor center reads, “White Bison Trail—3.2 Mile Loop…Difficult…Hiking Only.” I gulp. “Difficult” wasn’t mentioned online.
“Are we gonna see buffalos, Mama!?” Zoe squeals, spotting a picture of one on the sign.
“Um, I’m not sure, sweetie. Maybe?” I reply, unsure how to manage her expectations.
“Yay, buffalos!!” she exclaims. Fantastic—anything less will be a letdown.
A warning sign nearby states, “Elk Mating Season—Use Extreme Caution—Do Not Approach the Animals.” My panic level rises. I try to remember the last time I felt calm—definitely before becoming responsible for this spirited little one.
“What does that sign say?” Zoe asks, curious about our surroundings. I explain.
“What is mating?” she inquires.
“Uhhh, it’s when the daddy elk make babies with the mommy elk.”
“Oh, then it’s okay. Let’s go,” she says, grabbing my hand.
“Why is that?” I ask.
“Because I don’t look like a mommy elk.” Fair point.
We walk from the parking lot toward a trail marker at the foot of a hill where I saw another family head into the woods. A small lake to our right serves as a backdrop for our hike, the trail shaped like a cypress tree’s perimeter—winding and full of ups and downs. The trees tower above us, allowing sunlight to peek through in places, and a gentle breeze rustles the leaves. It’s a perfect fall day.
In the spirit of adventure, I can’t help but feel like J.R.R. Tolkien is narrating our quest: “The two eager travelers set forth into the wilderness, ready to embrace whatever challenges lay ahead.”
Conclusion
In summary, navigating parenting, especially during adventures, is an unpredictable journey filled with challenges and rewards. From dealing with morning mishaps to embracing the great outdoors, each moment is an opportunity for growth and learning—for both parent and child. If you’re looking for additional resources on home insemination, this article provides invaluable information, while this guide offers practical tips. For those interested in more advanced options, check out this authority on the subject.
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