Moonfly Kids

I’ve been looking for a preamble to this blog entry for several years… Saved by the Interwebzzzz…this article in the January issue of Climbing did it for me. http://www.climbing.com/exclusive/features/climbingmom/index.html

Susan EB Schwartz brings up very valid and controversial points about climbing & motherhood, two all encompassing, complex topics that could never be fully explored in one short post. Climbing is a lifestyle, as is motherhood. What happens when the two collide? Well, that’s what puzzles me everyday.

As a childless climber, I felt smug about my training, my climbing accomplishments and my free spirited life style. Nothing could be better than this, I thought, I do what I want, when I want. I see places precious few souls have seen (or even heard of). I have superior health and a body of steel.  A “Climber” was who I was, with every ounce of my being, and I could never imagine myself living any other way. It completely defined me.

My few friends with kids would just shake their heads: you’ll understand someday, when you have kids, they would say, as they turned down yet another invitation to come climb/camp/hike with me. Surely they were being held back against their will, strapped down, bearing all that baggage. They have NO idea what they are missing, I thought.

Fast forward to October 2005, when I found myself unexpectedly expecting. I was elated. I admired my changing body and marveled at it’s ability to create life without any training or guidance from me. My husband and I talked excitedly about all the camping trips we could take as a family. I stopped climbing during my first trimester, mostly because I was always so exhausted. The rest was welcome after years of training.

On May 9, 2006, my little Utopia disappeared. Forever. Good-bye bohemian climber-girl, hello motherhood! The day my son came screaming into the world was the most important and memorable day of my life, bar none. I didn’t yet miss my old life, because I didn’t realize it was gone. This realization has been a confusing, sometimes depressing, journey that is still unraveling.

My life became whirlwind of activity and anxiety. Nothing, I repeat, nothing, prepares you for bringing home a baby! My son was a tiny preemie, we had to feed him every 3 hours around the clock. He woke up often at night, a habit he didn’t break until he was 2 years old. We never slept. Ever.

No matter, we would say, we’ll just keep our chins up, we’re tough, we can endure. We took the little guy hiking the very first day he came home from the hospital. What a sorry sight! Two sleep-deprived zombies wandering up the side of a hill, fighting over who gets to hold the baby, is he too hot, too cold, hungry, wet?  I lasted about 30 minutes, tops. My body declared mutiny and just quit working altogether.

This mutiny was sustained and stubborn. Trying to train after baby? What a joke.  My barely B-cup chest had suddenly swelled to something unrecognizable, and, frankly, unwelcome.  The first easy run I tried after baby had me clutching my milk-filled melons, crying ow, ow, ow with every step. I lasted about a ¼ mile. Running was out until the nursing was over. I stuck, half heartedly, with weight training, consoling myself with the fact that I could still do a couple sets of pull-ups. I was proud of that too, because I weighed 20 pounds more than I did before baby. Hey, I needed to find some sense of accomplishment somewhere!

Perfect Chaos is how I would describe my life as a new mother. The training I smashed into my day was a meek attempt to add some structure to my life. I used to find solace in discipline: training schedules, drills, sprints, weights, tapers, rest and recovery.  But the training was destined to fail, mainly due to the sleep-deprived stupor I was in constantly. That, plus the hormone-induced mood swings that had me feeling like a superstar one day then feeling like a barnacle the next.  The demands on my body were too much, and my body revolted.

As for climbing? Well, it was the first thing on my mind, but the last thing I could force my beleaguered body and mind to do. Would you want to lead a climb while disoriented and groggy? Knowing your body may crap out just as you reach to clip that bolt?  With a wandering mind rehashing the instructions left with the sitter? Even if I selected climbs well below my level, I couldn’t confidently lead them.  My husband, and climbing partner, couldn’t either.

My climbing and fitness fell by the wayside; so did my confidence and my identity- shredded and discarded, like a worn out pair of Mythos.  And my friends. Yes, my climbing friends were supportive and kind, but suddenly, we really didn’t have much in common. Without climbing adventures to bond over, my friends drifted away, off chasing their own tick list, and I felt more isolated than ever. My new mommy friends weren’t climbers, and thought my obsessions about climbing were odd and eccentric at best, irresponsible and self indulgent, at worst.

I felt like a Rorschach test: you look at it one way and you see a climber, you look at it another way and you see a mother. If you stare at it too long, it just looks like a confusing blob. Somehow, someway, I will make the two elements peacefully co-exist together.

In the end, motherhood is so much bigger than the self, it pulls me entirely OUTSIDE of myself and into another realm. Climbing turns me inward, focuses my energy on something more immediate, methodical, more tangible. Rock, gear, rope, summit. While climbing has its own paradigm of mental and physical gymnastics; stretching, bending and strengthening my body and my willpower; it forces me to focus so intently on my INNER self that I have chosen to leave it behind for the moment, because, really, it leaves no room for anything else in my brain. I cannot yet reconcile the INNER with the OUTER.

The decision to give up climbing (for now) was not easy, was not clear cut. It was like taking the biggest whipper of my life, feeling my stomach jump into my mouth, hoping my gear would hold, grasping at air, dangling, then realizing that nothing, not swinging or aiding up the line would get me back onto the rock. Only now, almost three years after my entry into mommyhood, can I begin to bring it into perspective.  When the time is right, I will lower back down to the deck and begin again, from the ground up. The mountains still beckon, but this is where I am now, and I am content.

The author, right, with Merri on Refried Brains, Red Rock, NV

Today is one of those days that reminds me why I choose to live in the desert. And why I choose to endure triple digit temps in the summer. To give you a sense of what I mean by “triple digit”, I mean when you stick your head out the door to call the dogs back inside, your eyebrows go missing. Seared clean off by the heat.

When everyone’s eyebrows grow back, say, by December, that’s when we know it’s safe to go outside again. I am always in awe of the gorgeous winter days we have here in Vegas, and today did not disappoint. 

I felt it was my obligation to pay homage to the Goddess of Sunshine and Fair Weather today since she can be a real fickle bitch.  Know the penalty if you don’t pay homage?  The Goddess of Sunshine and Fair Weather will run away to somewhere she likes to frequent, like Hawaii, and leave behind her evil stepbrother, The God of the Freezing Whipping Wind, who likes to flatten expensive landscaping the way my toddler likes to step on bugs. Before she leaves, and she tends to leave rather suddenly, she’ll board up all your windows and doors so that next time she comes to town, you can’t pay homage even if you want to. Yes, she is vindictive, and has a sick, sick mind.

I packed up the toddler and headed out to Calico Basin, a nice little spot just outside Red Rock Canyon. If you have never been to RR, I encourage you to put it on your list of Places To Visit Before You Die. It’s that spectacular.

Today, the massive expanse of blue sky made the orange and red sandstone look brilliant, it was glowing, I tell you. From freaking within. The Goddess was NOT messing around.

Red Spring is ideal for today’s outing because it offers quick access-you don’t have to drive on the 13-mile, one way loop as in Red Rock proper- and it has plenty of picnic tables and easy trails for unreliable, pint sized hiking partners.

It also has a cool boardwalk that is really fun to run up and down at breakneck speed. I mean, um, if you’re a kid. Ahem. Two minutes after we got on the boardwalk, my son found the highest point and dropped his Matchbox truck down into the grass below. Then proceeded to have an epic tantrum until I retrieved it. Sigh. Check out his sneaky technique.

Here he imitates his momma’s technique of treading on our precious desert vegetation.

Back down to the picnic tables for some lunch.

The kid will climb on ANYTHING!

Up the trail to the slabby rocks…He kept yelling “climb this mountain mommy!” as he charged up every vertical object. He’s a freaking natural. I had to hold him back, for fear he would fly into orbit.

My favorite part was here, at this crag. After he carefully studied this hangdoggin’  climber for a few minutes, he started yelling every time the guy moved. Heh. FYI, that’s really bad etiquette, like sneezing in someone’s backswing, but hey, he’s two, and his timing was impeccable.

Ahh, the ultimate goal of every outing in a mother’s life…a napping baby.

Amen, and thank you for keeping us in your good graces, Goddess of Sunshine and Fair Weather.

My annual pilgrimage to Atlanta is something I always look forward to, every year, without fail. For one-or sometimes two-weeks during the Thanksgiving holiday, I pack up everything and head to Georgia to visit my sister and her brood. We have been doing this for many years, and with each passing year, with the addition of each new baby, it gets more and more chaotic. But still, we persevere. 

On days like today, when it’s cold and rainy, and we’re surrounded by restless little people, I crave a dose of perpetual sunshine from the desert.  I start thinking about my backyard, a little oasis where I can escape when things get hectic.

My yard wasn’t always an oasis, in fact, when we bought our place, it was just a fenced area covered in rocks.  And, yes, in the desert, rocks totally count as landscaping. But it needed some personality, so I designed a cool space where the dogs could run wild, my son could play, my husband could whip up some mean BBQ, and we could entertain family and friends.

I get a real kick out of the before and after photos, I hope you do too!

Since I took these photos, the plantings have matured and offer more shade and colorful blooms. There are even more toys scattered around, and a sandbox for Nick in the back-a gift from Granny and Grandpa. By far, the backyard is the most popular area of our house.

One of the questions I get most often is about the turf. Let me tell you this, my prerequisites for the yard were that it had to be low maintenance, and it had to have native desert plantings. Since grass is neither one of those, I opted for a high quality turf. I had my doubts, but I decided to try it out. And, the verdict? I love it. It’s preternatural greeness is a little disturbing at times, but over all, it was a great choice for us. It gives Nick a place to play barefoot. The dogs treat it like carpet, so they wouldn’t dare pee on it. There’s really no maintenance, you just rake it or hose it down. It also serves as a thermometer, if the turf is too hot to stand on, it’s probably too hot to be outside anyway!

For my birthday a few weeks ago, I got a few excellent presents. My hubby got me this awesome watch from Sundance. Please note-I don’t wear a watch. I like time to mold itself around me, not the other way around. But my gift is lovely.

Then, my inlaws presented me with this huge box, cleverly covered with pages from Vogue magazine and the most recent Nordstrom catalog. I really just enjoyed looking at it. Bet it was fun to wrap, too.

The fashion-billboard-box contained 1 zero gravity lounger.  For those of you not familiar with this Cadillac of lounging equipment, I urge you to try one on, like right now.  You will never get up again.

My husband, who is a professional lounger-and that is another post altogether-he already has one of these slices of heaven.  And, the sweet, caring husband that he is, he wanted me to have one too.  I’m pretty sure I’m going to combine the two gifts, so, as I am lounging away my Saturday afternoon, I can glance at my watch and say, “Honey, it’s time for another gin & tonic.”  And, like that! a fresh cocktail will appear.

The only flaw to this plan is the wooden whistle my son is holding in this picture.  It’s one of those whistles that makes the sound of a train when you blow in it. While I’m lounging, I’m pretty sure my son will be galloping around me, whistling and shouting “All aboard!” I’ll have to be careful he doesn’t bump into my drink.

The peanut butter obsession has passed, for now…and this week it has been replaced by GLOW STICKS. I’m pretty sure the new obsession was fueled by several after-dark Halloween excursions and supplemented by my mother’s mail-in contributions. Every Halloween (shit, every freakin’ holiday!) my mom sends a care pack of assorted propaganda, including decorations-because she knows I would never be caught dead purchasing a tacky, plastic glow-in-the dark skeleton for myself-themed T-shirts(also would never purchase myself), candy, and GLOW STICKS. Once my DH showed the boy how to unlock the secrets of the GLOW STICK it was all over. My husband has been forced (in order to preserve his sanity) to master the tricks of glow stick use, like cracking them just so, waving them like a light saber, and keeping them in the freezer to extend the glow-life. Every night, Nicholas goes to sleep clutching this fiber optic glow-y thing-y (what in the hell is this thing, anyway?) that was sent to him by, you guessed it, my mom. 

The upside to the glow sticks is that I can now locate my fast-moving toddler in the darkness, especially helpful at the campground after hours.

But now that I think of it…Nick does have some more history with glow sticks.  At his friend Kenny’s first birthday party last May, he was playing with a glowing green bracelet. He managed to bite into it hard enough to break the plastic and get it all over his tongue. When he ran up to me, grunting and holding his mouth open wide, (to better show off the runny glow-goop seeping onto his tiny tongue) it was clear that he was both alarmed and extremely pleased with himself. The fact that I shrieked and ran him over to the sink to immediately start flushing him with water made him so happy I could almost feel his little heart burst with joy. Why does he love toeing the line between safety and danger? Why does he relish his mother going into hysterics over his antics? Where does he get his SICK SENSE OF HUMOR?  Where, where where??? I can only imagine what would have happened the next day if he had pooped glowing-green…the kid would have been over the moon.

At the end of the summer, the vines in my backyard throw down their orange blooms and sprout these strange pods.

My son is endlessly fascinated with them.

My little MacGyver held one to his ear today and proceeded to have an entire conversation with his granny.

I wouldn’t be at all surprised if my mother in law were to tell me about their conversation later, in detail.  That’s the kind of connection they have.

“Nicholas, can I ask you a question?”

“Ya, mama.”

“Why aren’t your animals playing in the tub with you?”

“Time out, mama, time oooout.”

“What did they do?”

“They ate all the soap.”

Last weekend I packed up the family and headed to Zion National Park, about 3 hours from Vegas. My DH and I don’t get to enjoy many of the climbing trips and campfire shenanigans we used to indulge in before Nick came along, so we take what we can get. The weather was gorgeous, high 80’s during the day and maybe about 50 at night.  Good, snuggly, tent weather, not too cold, not too hot.

Nick is always up at the crack of dawn, ready to explore.

We had a great little hike along the Virgin River just as the sun was coming up.

Then Nick proceeded to make mama some coffee. He’s a good boy!

Off to the Zion Visitor Center to catch a shuttle into the park.

Nick loves riding the shuttle, he gets to sit in his own seat like a big boy. I can’t tell you how psyched he gets about it!

We start up the Emerald Pools trail, a really short, pretty hike.  We make it about 1/4 mile.  That’s pretty damn good for us!  Nick is at that age where he won’t ride in the kid carrier, but he can’t really hike any distance.

We end up with the “Campground Curse”-no naptime due to over-excitement. So we just make the best of it and let him run around with the other campground urchins. He’ll collapse in the tent later.

My boy is lovin’ life!

and a lot of eyeliner, and he’ll give Robert Smith a run for his money.

Another PACKAGE! arrived today, and this one contained a little surprise for my little man. Even though my little man has been sleeping in a toddler bed for the past several months, he still did not have a pillow.  In my typical OCD-fashion-perfection-mode, I simply had not found him a pillow that was cool enough to touch those angelic golden-red curls. The search is over, thanks to a visit to Dillyhearts late one night.

Tiny Man digs this pillow because it has cars and trains and bygod-CHOO CHOOS-all over it.  I dig it because it is 100% cotton and the perfect pint size. I also enjoyed the 10% off coupon I got from Dillyhearts to use on my next purchase.  And the little handwritten thank-you from Vickie is a great personal touch. Thanks Dillyhearts!

See, it has a CHOO-CHOO!