Labor Day Weekend Adventures

The epic balloon battle

The parts of Eastern Washington that aren’t still on fire, are filled with smoke, leaving the air quality (according to my mom) “very bad for kids, elderly, and asthmatics like me.” She asked that we change our Labor Day weekend plans to their house to something else, entirely. The conversation went something like this:

“We’d like to pay for a night at the Great Wolf Lodge for all of us.”

“Sounds fun. Crazy, but fun.”

To be fair, it was a little more in-depth, mostly around the discussion that Boof would not feel comfortable with us all sleeping in the same room, but that would work out great because he’d drive the 1.5 hours home to let the dog out, thus eliminating the need to get a dog-sitter for the weekend.

So, four adults and 1 child, set out on the Great Wolf Lodge adventure. And I’m happy we did it, despite the craziness of all the kids running around the lodge on their Shadow Quests and heading to the water park. If you haven’t checked out their whole clever practice, you should. For added packages kids get magic wands and can go on these quests throughout the lodge, unlocking secret things.

The thing Potamus loved the most? The free balloon sword in the lobby on Saturday night. I hate using gendered cliches, but give a boy a balloon sword…wait…give 10 boys balloon swords, and a balloon battle of “hiyas” will ensue. Seriously. We were just sitting there, and like five little boys in footed pajamas approached Potamus to engage in epic battles. It was hilarious. And adorable. And rambunctious. And made me glad I only have 1 kid. I know that’s going to change, but I’m hopeful the age difference will allow me a different sort of crazy than the Irish twins I saw running around.

My adventurous boy loved the water park as much as the balloon battle. Not only did he get adventurous and go down a (smallish) water slide by himself, he was obsessed with the wave pool. Even braving the depths in mama’s arms, to rock in the deep waves. Thankfully I’m 6’1 and could always touch, since it got kinda crazy out there. In grandparent focused moments, Boof and I were able to sneak away to ride the super fast tubular rides. I only managed to get a small concussion falling out of the speed tube slide and cracking my head against the wall, and feeling the shame as I had to slide down unaccompanied by my tube. I’m still nursing a bruise on my noggin, but got back up in the pony saddle the next day as I took my dad on the same ride. He’s a thrill seeker, too.

I couldn’t have asked for a better vacation. Sure it was tiring, but a 1 night stay was the perfect amount of time, and left the rest of the weekend for getting things done around the house. It’s back to work this week. So I’m glad to have had a little mini hurrah before the grind begins again…

The Ugly Christmas Sweater

My parents made a last-minute appearance at our place last weekend. And I didn’t hate it. Who have I become? Seriously, this shit is getting weird. It’s like after the 5 out of 6 weekends of seeing them this summer I developed some sort of weird soft spot for them I should probably go to therapy or something. Because this shit ain’t normal.

What’s worse, is that I called my mom today and asked what they were doing this weekend. Seriously Monk-Monk, get it together, it’s been 4 days since you’ve seen them. I might have had a mason jar full of wine, but had been musing about going to see them long before that. There’s something about Potamus asking for ‘buppa and gammy,’ that warms my heart. There’s also something about the comfortable freak flag ugly christmas sweater that is my own’ family’s dysfunction. It’s warm. It’s known. It’s shiny, with tinsel, and little yarn balls sewn on. And it’s not hidden.

For someone with an almost-arrogant ability to intuit things, I have a real blind spot in areas. There have been several instances over the years where I have felt cosmically duped by people. My ex-boyfriend, who I internally labelled as ‘liberal hippie,’ because he grew up in a geodesic dome and went to an earthy home church, turns out to be a gun-totin’ member of the NRA, who is so far Right he makes Georgie W look liberal. Seriously. Having grown up with a Republican Conservative Christian=business suit wearing dad, I sometimes get duped by people who outwardly appear one thing, but are really something underneath. Like wearing their damn ugly Christmas sweater under a button-up work shirt.

So somehow, after 8 years of being with Boof, I have made the transition to an appreciation of my own family, which wears its Ugly Christmas Sweater on the outside, in a very transparent way. It’s causing me to desire driving 2.5 hours to hickville and see my parents for 1-2 nights this weekend. I surprise myself. I hate the town I went to high school in, but for some reason I have this longing for Potamus to have good memories from there. My parents are neurotic, and I’m going to end up seeing them NEXT weekend again, which makes my whole plan even more borderline insane, but it feels so good I can’t help but pull on that wool sweater and head out of town, sans Boof, for a magical Eastern Washington excursion. Maybe we’ll even see a tractor. And I know my mom will talk in her loud voice, saying “Pawl, Pawl, we need ….” (because that’s how she pronounces my dad’s name. It’s fucking ridiculous. But comfy, like that worn in sweater…

Name calling

waiting up for grammy and grampy

One thing I hate about being a parent, is when I feel more grown up than my own parents. Since Potamus was born I have found myself in many situations where I have had to be assertive, not just for my own sake, but for the well-being of my son. Like last night…Potamus had stayed up to see grammy and grampy come over. We were listening to music on our TV and the Miley Cyrus “Wrecking Ball” song came on. My son was looking at the TV and my dad said “Potamus, isn’t she stupid looking?”

My immediate reaction was to say, “dad, I don’t think we want him exposed to that kind of name-calling.”

Because, by calling Miley Cyrus ‘stupid-looking,’ sets an example for him to look at people and judge based on their appearance. Not to mention, simply saying “stupid looking” doesn’t really get to the heart of what my dad was actually trying to say. Because I know him, I know that he was meaning, ‘hey Potamus, don’t follow her example in dress or dance,” but the bigger social commentary about drugs, fashion, ‘secular music,’ and sexuality is lost on a 22 month old…so it was reduced to a ‘looks stupid’ line. But ‘looks stupid’ is something that Potamus might repeat…and might repeat in daycare or school about someone his own age. He might think that it’s okay to call people stupid or that if he dresses a certain way he will look stupid himself. That’s not okay.

Grandparents setting poor example is hard for me to deal with. I know that this is only the beginning, but it’s frustrating to enjoy my time with them, without having to micromanage their interactions. And I know that my parents were really careful when we were kids, so I’m wondering what on Earth has changed?!

How do you deal with family members saying/doing things around your kids that you don’t approve of?

Fall=Fair Tradition with Bio family!!

**I was going to write a lovely post about how much I freaking love the Fall, and that while I’m somewhat sad that I’m not going to be a stay-at-home mom anymore (okay, who am I kidding, I’m thrilled I get to use my adult brain again), but I read Karen’s post on the subject (see link earlier in post) and resonated so much with it that I thought writing my own would be redundant. So go read her post, imagine it’s me, and then come back and read this post about how Fall brings about a fair tradition! 🙂

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Mama and Potamus

Five years ago I went to the Puyallup Fair for the first time with my biological dad and little sisters. It was a tradition in their family and I was so excited to get to be a part of it. My little sisters were 4 and 9 at the time, and like my bio dad says “she’ll never know a time without you,” as we pulled the littlest in the wagon behind us. It was there, at the Puyallup Fair, that I taught my little sister to tie her shoes. And she fell asleep in the wagon after a long, hard, day of riding rides and seeing animals, and miles of walking. Miles. Seriously. My legs hurt so bad the next morning that I had to crawl to the bathroom.

So, this year, with Potamus approaching 2 and our schedules magically coinciding, we headed on down to the Washington State Fair (previously named the Puyallup Fair, don’t get me started on the politics of this name change. SO ANNOYING!) and Potamus was ushered into the fair family tradition. It’s things like this that make me step back and see how adoption has really colored my life…I am forming family traditions for my son, with a family I didn’t know until I was 25. My heart feels both bursting with love at the traditions and memories to come and sad about the time we missed. And yet, I also temper that with the strange soul knowledge that the time we missed would have been different, possibly harder?, or just different had he been taking me to the fair since I was a child.

Potamus loved it. Rather than bore you with the details, here are a few pictures to highlight the revelry:

petting zoo fun

MOM LOOK AT THAT GOAT!

milk cows

I learned that my bio-grandad, at age 13, drove a team of horses like this to dig the basement of a fish hatchery in Eastern Washington!!!

mama’s little rebel

grandpa telling Potamus about the horses

Grandpa. Grandson. Love.

My son will always know my bio-dad as grandpa. This makes me happy.

What Fall traditions does your family have? Do you enjoy going county or state fairs?

Wearing heels makes for quite a workout on Seattle hills…

Boof’s father retired, which meant we got to go to a swanky shindig in downtown Seattle. His sister got married at the Columbia Tower, and so we had a sort-of-repeat event, with lovely appetizers and wine. The best part, was so many of our friends were invited, so we had plenty of young parents (or young friends) to mingle with! I was feeling particularly good about myself, since I squeezed into a pre-baby dress!

Potamus and grammy…

My parents came over for the weekend, so that they could take Potamus home from the party early, freeing up us young ones to go on our merry way and have some good-old-fashioned fun-times. It was like being in college…except our drinks of choice were fancy wine and beer over Miller lites…

Since I haven’t done a lot of drinking in downtown Seattle, I learned a few lessons about how to navigate…

Hills and heels are HARD on the body. My toes felt like they were going to fall off. But the next day…WOW…that’s when my legs felt like I had done a hard workout. My shins were bruised and on fire, my ankles felt creaky, and my glutes…whoa. Maybe I need to go on the drinking-walking-in-heels-on-hills diet…though the calories from beer will probably add up to more weight than less…

the fellas.

Speaking of heels…boys have no idea what it’s like to walk in them. They picked a bar, originally, like 6 blocks downhill that we stopped in at. The service sucked, despite the swanky reputation, so we skipped out after having a glass of water. We headed on down to Fado, an irish pub, which was MORE walking. Thanks fellas. But, another thing I learned…it is FUN to drink with a former frat boy. Whoo boy, the middle dude is HILARIOUS when lit…we’re gonna have to do a repeat sometime soon, because, for some reason, breastfeeding moms think him shouting TITTIES, is the funniest thing ever. Yes. We are awesome.

my mom friends

Drinking with moms is different than drinking with non-moms. Because we started to get nervous about 9pm. Of course, my kid was the only one still awake (didn’t go to sleep until 11:30pm, after we got home). Our hubby’s were fine to stay out, but we started to get nervous, texting our babysitters, ordering our last round of drinks, planning for our escape…before the rest of the city had begun their pre-funking for a night out. Although, we didn’t go home too soon…we had to get in a round (or two…shh…don’t tell Boof) of irish car bombs. While I had never done them before, I rocked it like a champ. There’s probably video of it somewhere…

was this after we peed in an alley? wha??? thanks post-partum bladder muscles…

Moms can hold their liquor…but not their pee. We risked a fine while going in an alley. And by alley I mean a doorway on the side of the viaduct. Yep. We were banking on our sob story (but officer, our pelvic muscles just don’t work anymore, we pushed kids out of our vaginas!), but the rest of our party could not understand why we didn’t just go back into the bar instead of peeing on the side of its building. Because we’re awesome, that’s why.

Also, Boof tried out SideCar, the alternative to a taxi, since he just wanted to go a few blocks, and taxis around here are ridiculous. He said it was totally worth the few bucks, and that he’d do it again the next time we were downtown. Cool!

all the girls!

We had fun, my legs are sore, and thankfully I know enough in my old age to drink a SHIT TON of water when I get home. So I’m tired, but not hungover, despite my foray into binge-drinking-as-a-mom. It was fun to relax as a group, spend time together laughing, eating good food, making some memories!

Fox News & a Flooded Bathroom

My parents are visiting for a few days so that they can get their taxes done AND see their grandson all in one fell swoop. Additionally, this leaves us able to go out to dinner with Boof’s family, since his sister is in town from Georgia! Hurray! Yay for grandparents!

Except for when it’s not so ‘yay.’ Like, today, when Potamus hadn’t napped all day and I drove him home to get a nap in before we had to go for dinner. I walked into the house and found Fox News blaring on the TV (I swear, it’s all my parents watch, and it makes me insane-asylum-crazy to listen to it 24/7) and the bathroom flooded.

Yes.

My parents had taken a crap in the toilet, knew it flooded, “tried” to plunge it, and then just left. When I called my mom to inquire (after a small internal freakout and half hour spent trying to get Potamus to finally take a goddamn nap) about why there was enough standing water in the bathroom to float a small rubber duck, she replied:

“Oh, it wasn’t like that when we left!”

She was entirely too chipper for my liking. Especially since SURE it wasn’t like that when you left, but with a toilet bowl that’s continually running, the four hours you’ve been gone it went from dripping to a giant-ass puddle on my bathroom floor that I now have to figure out how to clean up with a toilet that is still clogged. It’s like having teenagers living in my house. Irresponsible teenagers even.

Talk about shitty all around!

But I only hit the wall one time with my fist, so I feel like I’m really utilizing those good coping skills. Which means there’s been progress. And I’m contemplating blocking Fox News from even showing up on our channel list so they might have to engage with something other than their normal propaganda. Like maybe I’ll only allow Ellen to be shown, because she makes me happy and irks  my dad with all her fabulous gayness.

 

I hope the rest of the weekend isn’t as crappy. Ha!

 

13 months

As if right on cue, Potamus stood up by himself (no hanging on hand-holds) two days before he turned 13 months. Typical. He then proceeded to walk all the way across the house with assistance! Jiminy Christmas, it’s happening all so quickly!

Sleeping in his Montessori floor-bed is going GREAT, with me spending much less time in there nightly. We’re weaned during the day and then nurse at night a few times. My goal was 12 months, so to make it for 13 feels excellent, and I don’t have any hard and fast plans to night wean anytime soon. Daycare has been amazing for helping Potamus go down for naps, and we’ve been getting a lot more done around the house!

His food pallet is expanding every day, and he is now loving banana “pancakes.” It is seriously the EASIEST recipe ever: 1 mashed banana and 2 eggs whipped into the banana. You cook it on a griddle like pancake! I spread a thin shmear of peanut butter on it, and he loves it…which is so great because he was eating just a ton of crackers and pasta, so to incorporate some more fruit and other proteins is great! Check it out, it tastes yummy!

My parents were visiting this weekend, so we ventured on up to KidsQuest with them and met up with my brother and Miss A! The kiddos seemed to enjoy themselves!

Jealous Mothers

I think we need to invent a specific word to describe the jealousy of mothers. Or maybe more accurately, the jealousy of mothers with grandchildren. Because I am about ready to pop my mom and my mother-in-law in the face if they don’t get their shit figured out. I mean, seriously, their mutual jealousy is driving me batshit crazy.

It started a few weeks ago, when I was explaining to my mom why we were looking at non-home daycares, stating, “Potamus has a grandma, and a mom and dad, to watch him” but before I could even finish the sentence she inserted, “he has another grandma, too.”

face, meet palm.

Seriously? Yes mom, I know he has “two” grandmas (though if we are really being honest, he has FOUR grandmas since I am adopted, but I let that part slide), but if you would have let me finish the sentence it was about primary caregivers. I’m sorry that she made the choice to stay living 25o miles away and my mother-in-law is right down the street, but I can’t do anything about that.

THEN, my second sister-in-law got married and my mom said, ‘I don’t know, is MB (my mother-in-law) stressed, because I tried to say “hi” to her and she didn’t respond, but she gave your dad a hug.”

Seriously.

WTF.

My mother-in-law is the mom of the bride, probably not in the best frame of mind to be chit-chatting and worrying about my mom’s feelings on the matter. But, to try and nip that nonsense in the bud, Boof had a wee chat with his mom about making extra sure that my mom feels included in stuff.

BUT THEN, after the wedding shenanigans were through, MB comes to me and says, “I’m not bothered by it, but your dad says that your mom is going by grammy, so I guess I will go by Grandma Lastname.”
(which is the most martyeriest thing she could say, because she originally told us she HATED that name.)

Seriously. It’s like being in freaking junior high, and I have less patience now for that kind of drama. Who the fuck cares if Potamus calls you BOTH grammy? Why does it matter? Why all the jealousy and insecurity?

AND THEN, in reference to my 30th and Potamus’s 1st birthday party in my hometown, my mom made a snide remark about “I hope it’s okay we just to a family dinner. That’s how we do it,” which was clearly referencing my in-laws (who have more money) who go out to eat a lot. GAH! I’m about to pull my hair out.

On my mom’s end, it seriously feels like she is having those child-feelings that I had because of adoption. It feels like she now understands what it is like to worry that someone (me) is going to leave and not think of her as family anymore. But I don’t know what the deal is with my mother-in-law, but at this rate I am getting VERY annoyed about the prospect of having to deal with it all on Thanksgiving. I want them to just communicate, work it out, and hell, maybe even let Potamus pick his own name for you all. My pick, right now,  is Beavis and Butthead.

He’s a Keeper: An Adoption Trigger

While being adopted is always an integral part of my identity, the older I get and the further I get in my reunion with my biological family, the less often I get triggered by words and phrases that send me into a spiral of emotion. However, this past weekend I have had a few instances where I vacillate between extreme anger and sadness and tend to shut down in conversation.

I was playing with Potamus, who was being quite cute, and my a-dad said, “awe, do you think you’ll keep him?”
Through gritted teeth, and trying to pretend I was distracted by the TV, I simply nodded my head.

And, not picking up on the social cues, he went on to say, “yeah, he’s a keeper, as the proverbial saying goes.”

 

What pisses me off about statements like that is the underlying assumption that a) there are certain babies that aren’t “keepers” and b) that my raising my child is somehow dependent on the actions that said child takes. I held my tongue, because adoption talk with my parents is usually futile, and my dad has been super defensive lately, but I wish to express how disgusting that phrase is, because, how I interpret it is: that I was not a keeper. That somehow, for some reason, I, as a baby, was not cute/smart/funny/cuddly/precocious/etc enough to be “a keeper.” Because, you know, she gave me away. She didn’t keep me.

My adult self knows that that line of thinking is ‘ridiculous,’ but my baby self believes it to be true.

And I am disgusted that anybody would insinuate that Potamus could do anything to make me give him up, away, or not ‘keep him.’ I would rather die than give him away to be raised by strangers. Of course he’s ” a keeper,” because he is my baby, and mamas want to keep their babies.

But then he looks so cute with his adopted grampy, that I can’t stay mad for too long.

 

 

Wedding Festivities

When we weren’t dodging religous or political conversations, this weekend was full of many happy memories as we celebrated Boof’s sister’s marriage. She and her husband met in law school and have been together for over 5 years, so he already felt like a part of the family! They got married in the church she grew up in, and the reception was held at the Columbia Tower! Since the groom was from Georgia, she wanted to give his family and friends an experience of Seattle, complete with views of Mt. Rainier, the sound, AND the city! Nowhere does this better than the Columbia Tower! And my parents had a great time taking care of Potamus! All in all, an exhausting, but great weekend!
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Riding The Ducks (tour of Seattle) pre-wedding festivities:

The grandparents (aka awesome babysitters):

Bridesmaids (and my other sister-in-law)

The happy couple:

A view of the city:

Sleeping Baby:

Late Night Ridiculousness: