Stepping Out Of The Box

The hard slog up the trail to Jasper Lake.

When individuals face adverse conditions together, they come together as a group no matter how different their backgrounds are. The conditions could be as dangerous as surviving a plane crash, or as recreational as climbing a mountain together.

This bonding experience is something I relish every time I go on a hike with The Happy Hikers Club. I joined the group more than two years ago so that I could get in some mountain time, which was too hard to do with my boys. Terry and I would try to take them on a hike or picnic in the mountains, and the complaining and whining throughout the experience didn't make it worthwhile.

The group sounded like what I wanted. It goes on moderate, 4-mile to 10-mile hikes outside of Denver. It meets every weekend, making it easy to fit one into my schedule. I hesitated a little about joining because I felt awkward about going on hikes with total strangers. But my need for "me" time overrode that issue. I didn't care if I didn't talk to anyone the whole time. Just being out the "mommy" role was all that mattered.

My hikes with the group follow a similar pattern. When I arrive at the Park-N-Ride lot, I'm usually the odd man out. I'm the only person in their 30's--everyone else is in their late 40's or older. While some have grown children, others have never been married. Their careers, along with pursuing their personal interests, are of upmost importance to them. I, on the other hand, have given up my career to be a SAHM, and am not sure how or when I'll get back into the career mode. The only thing I have in common with these people is a love of nature and hiking.

One of the gorgeous views on the trail to Jasper Lake.

Turns out that love is enough to make me feel at home in the club. As we push ourselves to complete the hike, we forget our differences and focus on how our legs ache after a certain uphill stretch of trail. We pause to take in a breathtaking view or marvel at the delicacy of the wildflowers we see along the way.

By the time we return to our cars and head home, a feeling of accomplishment effuses throughout the group, creating a bond that probably wouldn't have been made in another context.

I saw my first moose last weekend!

After the hikes, the group likes to keep that good vibe going with food and drinks at a nearby restaurant, but I pass. By that time, I miss Terry, Ethan and James, and want to eat dinner with them. I start to forget about the people I've met on the hike. As much as I like some of them, our lives are so different that it would be difficult to build a relationship outside of the club.

Now I'm glad my sons could care less about the mountains because it forced me to join The Happy Hikers Club. I've met people I really admire through joining the club, whom I wouldn't have met in my daily life. Even though the bond we form through hiking is frail, it's meaningful.

Blog Bling

Six months ago, I had never heard of blogs. No, I don't live under a rock. I just never had the time to explore the Internet beyond shopping and answering emails.

Then I became part my mom's group board, along with Eat, Play, Love. I listened to her talk about blogging and became intrigued. I checked out her blog and really liked it. I got the blogging itch.

Next thing I knew, I set up an account with Blogger and The Clothesline (formerly known as Sippy Cup Adventures) was born. Creating my blog has definitely been a learning experience, so much so that I often would chide myself about wasting time on this silly blog when I should be doing laundry, the dishes, etc.

But I put a lot of effort into this blog because it isn't silly to me at all. It's been such a creative outlet, giving me a reason to write again. Plus, along the way, I've met such wonderful bloggers who make me laugh and cry, and give me great feedback to my rants and raves. When I worked as an editor at trade magazines, I never had such instantaneous, meaniful feedback.

Now my efforts have been acknowledged by this blogging award by Eat, Play, Love, and it feels damn good. I'd like to share the love with Welcome To The Circus. Not only is she fun to read, she's a great person to know.

Let's hear it for blogging!

A Camping We Will Go

Our first family

camping trip was at the same

time dull and worthwhile.

Last weekend we dragged our nature-indifferent boys on their first camping trip to Chatfield Reservoir. Going camping there was basically like camping in the suburbs. It really is suited more for RV's than tents. Each site has full electrical hookup plus water. It wasn't exactly the full nature experience I would have preferred, but I figured we should introduce wilderness to our sons slowly. Going one night without a TV and sleeping in a tent would expose them to enough nature without putting them in shock.

In order to determine whether we'd go camping again, I have come up with a list of pros and cons of the experience.

Pro: Having running water at our site, plus a toilet and sink within easy walking distance.

Con: Paying $37/per night for this convienence.

Pro: Having a picnic lunch in the shade of the site's sole pine tree.

Con: Baking in the 95 degree heat. What grass that was left on our site was painful to walk on.

Pro: Going to the reservoir's beach to swim. I loved watching Ethan run so fast through the shallow water that he looked like he was hydroplaning. James had a marvelous time scooping up sand into little hills.

Con: Trying not to step on the numerous piles of goose poop all over the beach. I almost fainted when James came close to scooping a pile up with his shovel.

Pro: Eating a smore for the first time in God knows how long.

Con: Dealing with Ethan's impatience at how long it takes to cook dinner over a fire.

Pro: Having nothing better to do but sip a beer and watch the sun set.

The pro's edged out the con's by one. It's safe to say we'll give camping a shot again ... next summer.

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Making Your Way

I couldn't make it to the library to pick out a book for my moms' group book club, so my husband picked Nineteen Minutes by Jodi Picoult, for me. The book is about a 17-year-old boy named Peter who performed a Columbine-like massacre at his high school in the small town of Sterling, N.H., killing 10 people.

The book sounded like a downer, not really what I wanted to read during my precious few free hours in the evening. Every time I'd hear about a school shooting, I'd try to put it out of my mind as soon as possible, because inevitably I would picture my kids going through one. But my duties as hostess for this month's book club meeting forced me to pick up the book last weekend. I'm glad I did--it's one of the best books I've read in a long time. It managed to be wildly entertaining and at the same time get me thinking about some serious issues, like the affects on bullying on children.

While reading the book, I cried at times because I was so moved by what the characters were experiencing. The bullying Peter goes through in his school years really hit home with me because I worry so much about Ethan being bullied. His autism makes it especially difficult for him to read social cues and fit in with his peers. In other words, he's an easy target.

But time marches on, and Ethan starts first grade in four weeks. Soon he'll be at school more than he is at home, so I can't keep him with me all the time to prevent others from hurting him. I have to come up with a new parenting strategy to keep him from feeling completely alienated from potential bullying.

This book make me rack my brain for ideas to help ease the pain of being bullied. The one fault I I had with the parents of bullied characters in the story were that they were too passive with their kids, which is something I'm guilty of, too.

I stay at home with my boys because I want to be there for them and not have the stress of a job pulling me in different directions. But even without a job to juggle, I have a difficult time staying in the moment with my kids. I get so tired of my world revolving around their issues and problems. They'll be talking to me about something important to them, like dinosaurs, and I'll be half listening. And when their constant fighting drives me to the point of get-me-outta-here exasperation, I half-heartedly try to help them work through their problems while I count the seconds until they go to bed.

Nineteen Minutes made me realize all these mundane-to-me scenarios with my kids are extremely important to their well being. Once they become adolescents and start testing their wings, what you say to them becomes irrelevant unless they respect you. And the fact is, even though teenagers can seem like mini-adults who don't need supervision, they really don't know what the hell they're doing and crave guidance. The time you spend with your kids, letting them know you care about them no matter what happens to them when they become part of the big, wide world, will buffer all the hurt they will inevitably feel as they make their way.

Flaky Inspiration

There's only one reality TV show I watch religiously: Project Runway on Bravo TV. I excitedly told my husband that Season Five started last night, and he rolled his eyes and told me he's going to play on our new computer. That's fine, I'd rather watch the show by myself than hear him comment about how unbelievably flaky these people are.
He's right--these people are huge, pretentious flakes. One of the judges, ELLE editor Nina Garcia, is so stuffy. Nina recently wrote a book The Little Black Book of Style, which regurgitates basic fashion do's and don'ts, like "own a trench coat," and "you can't go wrong with a little black dress." Well, Duh. You'd think one of the editors of ELLE, who is exposed to all the latest designs, could come up with something better than that.
Designer Michael Kors isn't much better, either. His tailored, neutral clothes, which start at $500, are snapped up by the so-called "Palm Springs Bitches," his loyal clientele. I guess this makes him fashion royalty, since he loves to act like a king on the show and make the contestants wince from his scathing comments.
It doesn't make sense to watch a show in which you can't stand the protagonists. But my deepest sense of shame from being a loyal viewer comes from the models. By watching these tall, thin women parade around, I'm passively conceding that this is the ideal body type. I'd have to develop an eating disorder to get that thin.
Now that I have completely dissed the show, you may be wondering why I watch it. One reason--the clothes. I don't care who wins the $100,000, I just like watching the process these folks go through to make clothes. I think it's amazing these people can take a bolt of cloth and turn it into a beautiful dress, jacket or shirt, etc. As a DIYer, I've tried sewing my own clothes, and I have to tell you--IT'S HARD. I made a pj set one time with a pattern, and it looks like I made it. I wouldn't have a clue how to make an outfit from a sketch, and custom fit it on a model in less than a day.
I really admire the combination of skill and creativity it takes to be fashion designer. Maybe someday, instead of sitting on my duff and watching these flakes make clothes, I'll dig out my sewing machine from under the bins of yarn and try once again to make my own.

One Foot On The Banana Peel

Am I crazy because I talk to my cat, Molly? Based on the stereotype of old ladies living with cats, I am. But I rebuke that stereotype because I'm turning 37 in five days, and that's not old, dammit.

So why do I talk to my cat? Because it's the most refreshing conversations I have most days.

Every morning my boys wake me up, and I hear Molly yowling in the basement--Let Me Out!!! We keep her in the basement so she doesn't wake us up in the middle of the night with her caterwauling. She sleeps a lot during the day, so it only normal to be wide awake in the middle of the night and let everyone know it. I let her out of the basement, and she races indignantly up the stairs.

"How dare you trap me?" she yowls.

I yowl back at her: "Meow! Give me a break, we're sleeping."

She meows back, "I'm too good to sleep in a basement!"

I meow back, "Yeah, right! You're lucky you're not on the street!"

This conversation could go on and on, but usually one of my boys interrupt me. "Mommy," says Ethan. "Is a monster going to destroy New York City?"

"No," I say. "That's just make believe," I say.

"But how do you KNOW?" says Ethan.

"I don't KNOW for sure, but it safe to say that a monster wouldn't destroy New York City," I say.

"But you don't know FOR SURE," says Ethan.

He's right, I don't know FOR SURE. By this time, I try to redirect Ethan and James to eating breakfast and forgetting all that monster nonsense. The nice thing about talking to Molly is, I don't have to redirect her, I just quit meowing at her and she GETS THE HINT.

When Molly doesn't get the hint, and keeps yowling at me, I start talking to her in English. "Stop your yowling!" I cry. "Food is on it's way."

"MEOWWWW," she rebuts. Like, "Don't even think I trust you."

So direct, so refreshing.

Summer Fun

Do you have a place you take your kids to every summer? A place that gives you that good ol' summertime feeling? For me, it's Roosevelt Activity Pool in Longmont. After searching long and wide for a pool I can take take my toddlers to by myself, with very little worries of one of them drowning while I'm caring to the other, I came across this pool through a mom's group I belonged to.
Even though it is a 30-minute drive from my house, it makes total sense to go there. Why?

1. It's cheap. It only costs $8 for all three of us to swim for the day.

2. It's small and enclosed. The pool only goes to a depth of 2 ft. 8 in., so no worries of my older son wandering off and drowning while I attend to the other one. Plus it's fenced in, with only one opening to the parking lot, so I can sit in the shade and keep an eye on both my boys while they explore the place.

3. It's got some great water features, like some fountains to run through and a pole with buckets attached that randomly dump water on unsuspecting victims--kids love that!

James enjoys a snack at the pool.

With temperatures reaching the mid-90's throughout the summer in Colorado, parks are useless. What's the point of going to a place where your child will burn themselves going down the slide? This pool gives my boys the chance to get their energy out without hurting themselves, which makes summer fun for all of us.

Assuaging Mommy Guilt

The Mama Bird Diaries mentioned in her last post that the actress Kyra Sedgwick feels mommy guilt, mostly from leaving her kids to work. Well, I was hemorrhaging mommy guilt this past week for a different reason. I don't work, so my guilt stems from being around my kids too much and losing my mind because of it. I know that sounds awful--hence, my guilt.
Usually I can keep on, keeping on, and the guilt at stays in check. But this week was particularly bad, for a variety of reasons. I was running on fumes. Part of the problem was that my husband Terry was slammed at work and coming home late every night. By Friday evening, Terry told me I looked like a wreck and should Saturday off--he'll take care of the boys for the day. I felt like I was sprung from jail. You mean, I can do anything I want, and not hear anyone object? I immediately took him up on his offer and planned to go hiking at Chatauqua in Boulder.
Of course, the next morning, the guilt set in. While I was getting ready for my hike, Terry lovingly made French toast for the boys, and they happily ate it. Yesterday, I could barely get them to eat the omelets I made them. How dare Terry show me up in the mommy department? Maybe he should just take over the whole show--work 65 hours a week, come home and take care of two rambunctious boys. I'll just get out of everyone's way and check into the local asylum.
I could see my thought process was turning me from mommy into Mommy Dearest, so I finished getting my back pack together and hurried over to Chatauqua. Even though I'm a Colorado native, I've never done any hikes there. I ended up getting on the trail for the Rainbow Arch. It's only 1.5 miles, so I figured that it shouldn't be too intense. Little did I know it was 1.5 miles uphill. The trail was more suited for a mountain goat than an out-of-shape SAHM. But like the little engine that could, I huffed and puffed and made it to the top. I collapsed on a rock and took in the incredible view. I was a red, sweaty, shaky mess, but somewhere along the trail my guilt turned into gratitude.

Climate Change Challenge

Three-hundred-fifty
keeps our planet beautiful
for all the children.

Get the badge and spread
the word that global warming
is not make believe.

According to environmental activist Bill McKibben, we must keep the amount of CO2 in the atomosphere to 350 parts per million in order to prevent drastic climate change. The Vermont-based startup Brighter Planet created the 350 blogger challenge to create more awareness about global warming. When you display the badge on your blog, Brighter Planet will offset 350 pounds of carbon in your name, which is the equivalent of not driving your car for two weeks. Click on the badge and learn more.

And if you want to learn more about Haiku Friday, click here.

What Brown Does For Me

Have you ever done something you'd never dreamed you would do? I was thinking that the other day while I was stalking the UPS guy.
What am I doing? Maybe I need a "real" job because when I was couped up in an office five days a week, I sure as hell didn't have the time to drive around my neighborhood looking for a big brown truck.
But, when I was in a real job, I'd order things off the Internet (on my lunch break, I swear) and the packages would arrive at my desk. And that's the crux of the situation. I still live for Internet shopping (see No Bargain Basement), and breathlessly wait for my packages to arrive. But, as social coordinator for my two boys, I'm in and out of the house all day. I wish the UPS guy would understand that, and just leave the package behind my milk box. But no, he INSISTS that I sign for them. I'm SOL if I'm not at my house, and the dreaded notice sticker gets stuck on my door. The sticker says you've got one more day to get the package delivered. If you strike out twice, it's Commerce City, baby. That's where the suckers who've missed the UPS guy two days in a row get their packages. I've had to go there a couple times, and feel like I have a big "L" on my forehead as I drive 30 minutes to this vast UPS warehouse and approach the counter with my sticker. The person scans the sticker, pages someone in the another warehouse where my package sits, and tells me to "Take a seat--it should be 20 minutes or so before he brings the package." I swear to myself that Internet shopping isn't worth this inconvenience, and I'll never do it again.
Yeah, right. Which brings me to the other day. I happened to see the UPS truck drive by as I turned on my street. I pull into my driveway and see the brown and yellow sticker on my door. NOOOO! I rip the sticker off the door, hop back in the car and try to remember which street I saw the truck turn on. "What are we doing mommy?" asks Ethan. "We just need to find the UPS guy," I tell him. I know this explanation doesn't make sense, but thank goodness he accepts it. I drive up and down a few streets, and don't see the truck. I'm about to give up when the truck's tail lights flash by. I try not to gun the engine as I hurry behind it. I pull up behind the truck and nonchalantly walk up to the guy with my sticker.
The UPS guy didn't bat an eye. "Oh, must have missed you," he says. I guess I'm not the first delusional SAHM with an uncontrollable online shopping habit whose chased after him.
He jumps up into the truck and pulls out my package. I don't know what to say, and stare at his socks, which have UPS embroidered into them. Nice job perk, I think.
He hands me the package and I grip it firmly as I walk back to the car. I have a slight head rush from the thrill of this victory.
I always thought I would keep working full time after I had kids. If I stayed behind a desk 50 hours a week, I would have kept getting packages safely delivered to my desk. But that's about all I would have time to do. As frustrating as staying home with my boys can be at times--the whining, the fighting--it opens me up to all kinds of experiences, like my first car chase.

Floral Water

Here is a biodegradable beauty product recipe from Greta Breedlove, author of The Herbal Home Spa, that I really like. It's floral water, which is made from water and a variety of fresh flowers and herbs, such as rose petals, lavendar, sage or mint. I tried making mine with rose petals, lavendar and mint from my garden. I put a brick in the bottom of a 16-quart cooker and surrounded it with the flowers and herbs.


Then I filled the pot with water to the top of the brick to cover the herbs and then put a glass bowl on top of the brick. Next, I covered the pot with a stainless-steel bowl and put a chunk of ice in the bowl. I turned the burner on the lowest setting to simmer the herbs. Slowly, the ice melts, and condensation inside the pot falls into the glass bowl. The process takes two to three hours and yields about 2 ounces to 5 ounces of distilled floral water.
One of the chief benefits of making floral water is the incredible smell of the cooked flowers and herbs that perfumes your home. It also works well as a facial toner. After applying it to my face, my skin felt refreshed. My fine lines are still there, but my face felt refreshed nonetheless. If I keep the floral water in my refrigerator, it will last two weeks.
So with your garden in full swing, try using up some your rose petals and herbs by making some homemade floral water this summer.

Love Them And Leave Them

My post-partum sister managed to make it to my house this past weekend for a family gathering. I couldn't wait to see her, and more importantly, Josie. When my sister sat Josie, which was sleeping in her car seat, on the living room floor, I stared at her in awe. Look at this picture of her, all snuggled up on my sister's shoulder like a lump of love. Babies are so soft and cuddly and innocent. When I hold one, I forget my problems and just be.
Josie was an angel at dinner and slept. Every once in a while, she'd softly squeak, something I forgot newborns did. Those sounds ratcheted up the maternal yearnings a little, but then reality set in. Josie's sleeping now, letting my sister and brother-in-law socialize, but in a couple of hours she'll be wide awake and demanding something--food, a diaper change--just when they will want to unwind and hit the hay. I never did well with the 24/7 newborn duty. I craved sleep when my two sons were newborns. I used to fantasize about staying in a hotel by myself with the curtains pulled and sleeping two days straight.
I must be still recovering from my newborn days, because as much as I love being around a baby, I don't want another of my own. Holding one and handing him or her back to the mother is more my speed.

A Potty Party

On July 4, our family celebrated its own personal liberation from buying diapers. After one nail-biting week, James is (knock on wood) potty trained! We threw a little party for James to show our deepest gratitude. He asked for a pirate cake, which we couldn't find. So my resourceful husband bought a Boston cream cake and stuck to pirate action figures in the frosting. No complaints all around.

Love At First Sight

I try not to crush
this whisper-weight cocoon in
my clumsy brown arms.

Her tiny limbs flutter
against me as her face beams
pure serenity.

Meet Josephine, or Josie, my new, wonderful 8-pound niece. Do you haiku? Click here to learn more.

So That's What The Chemicals Are For

In my quest to switch over to biodegradable beauty products, I bought The Herbal Home Spa by Greta Breedlove. It is chocked full of recipes for homemade hair and skin care products--perfect for a DIYer like me.
One of the first recipes I decided to try was homemade shampoo, basically because it is easy to make. You steep some fresh herbs in a cup of boiling water; add 2 tablespoons of liquid Castille soap and a teaspoon of almond oil to it; mix and use. I used lavender for my first batch of shampoo because, according to Greta, it is a good herb for brunettes. I've also got a giant bush of it in my front yard.
Unlike the organic shampoos in Whole Foods, this stuff is cheap. My 32 oz bottle of Dr. Bronner's Castile soap was $12, and my 8 oz bottle of almond oil was about the same price. So $25 keeps me supplied with biodegradable shampoo for at least a year.
I felt a prick of apprehension, however, when I made my first batch of lavender shampoo. As you can see in the picture, it looks more like dirty dish water than shampoo. But Greta's words echoed through my head: "Achieving great looking hair is not difficult, nor does it need to be expensive. With a few common kitchen ingredients and some specialty herbs, oils, and flowers, you can create a variety of treatments that your hair will respond to quickly."
Time to put those words to the test. I get in the shower and pour some shampoo in my hand. It's so watery it just runs down my arm. I bend over and squirt the shampoo all over my head. I manage get a little lather going, not as much as I'm used to, but enough to feel like some cleaning is happening. Maybe it's the nasty, endocrine-disrupting parabens in typical shampoos that create the mounds of creamy lather. Who needs those?
Then I try to rinse the stuff out. Instead of that squeaky clean feeling you get after you shampoo, I felt like I had gunk in my hair. I rinsed and rinsed, but my hair felt coated in oil--almond oil, to be exact. I gave up and got out of the shower. Oh well, at least I didn't rinse any unpronounceable, harmful chemicals like Steareth-4 or Tetrasodium EDTA down the drain.
The next day, I felt like I had gone on a 3-day camping trip without a shower. My scalp itched and my hair was a greasy mess that I kept pulled off my face with several barrettes. By the afternoon, I was fearful that my hair actually smelled bad, and was afraid to go out in public. I hopped in the shower. I tried to psych myself up use my homemade shampoo, but couldn't stand the thought of adding more oil to my greasy hair. I guiltily, gratefully slathered Kirkland Signature Hydrating Shampoo all over my head, rinsed, and the gunk was gone.
I feel a little let down by Greta. How does greasy gunk equate to "great looking hair?" She has to be smoking some herbs to use that shampoo on a daily basis. This experiment made me realize that as much as I want to rid myself of products full of harmful toxins, they are put in there for a reason. I'm too used to certain standards of cleanliness to go back to the way women in the 1800's must of felt like after they washed their hair.
But there must be a happy medium. I just ordered all-natural Golden Wheat Shampoo from Mountain Rose Herbs and am going to give that a try. Lesson learned--making shampoo is best left to professionals.

Surf's Up In Colorado

We spent last Sunday morning at Boulder Reservoir, which has a large sandy swim beach. Reservoirs like these are the closest thing we Coloradans can get to a day at the beach. Water, sun and sand make it almost like the real thing. Except, if you look closely at the beach, you see there's only a veneer of sand over top of mud.

Not that our boys minded--the mud was the best part. Making mud pies and squishing their toes in the ooze kept them busy for a full hour.

They also loved splashing in the dank-smelling, alge-filled pools along the shore. At least while they were having all that dirty fun, I got to lay back on my towel, feel the sun on my face, and dream about a real beach vacation--Thailand, perhaps?