What did you do yesterday? - #166

Big day out.

Credit to

Aisling Marron

for this idea, that she got from the podcast What Did You Do Yesterday?, executed so well here. Technically this is Friday, and not Saturday, because I had to do the actual writing of this on Saturday and the actual child rearing of this on Friday.

Also, if you do nothing else, please scroll the video of W3 laughing hysterically.

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6:14am: I stir, stretching my legs right into the dog’s mouth. He’s buried under the covers and immediately takes this stretch as an invitation to lick my feet. I let him. Everyone is asleep and soon I will be too.

7:05am: W3 wakes up. He often has gas when he wakes up, so his sleepy smile quickly turns to discomfort. I wait to do something about it until he’s pretty serious because Banzet and Finn are both asleep between my legs.

A few years ago, my friend Kelly Krause shared a few Instagram stories about a habit she disliked and had made efforts to change: saying “you” when telling a story that’s not about the “you” in front of you. To give an example, imagine this monologue:

I was at the grocery store and this woman was standing in front of the beans and wasn’t moving. I said excuse me, because I wanted to just grab a can of black beans, and she just ignored me. You can’t just stand there. You have to have awareness of your surroundings and be responsive to them. You think you just own the store?

Somehow, while listening to this person tell this story, you have become the person being yelled at. But in this example, it’s just a language problem. Not actually accusatory. The speaker is acting. When I was pregnant, and several people said, “you won’t give two shits about your pets once you’re pregnant,” they were not acting.

They were telling. Proclaiming. Guaranteeing. Or, if you’d ask me in the car after they said it, being assholes.

There is an enormous difference between saying, “you will miss these days,” and “I miss those days.” One is the truth and the other is a person being fucking weird in a grocery store.

So I think, if those people had a firmer grasp on both language and reality, they would have said, “I didn’t care about my pets at all after I had a baby.” And I would say I wait until my child is absolutely fuming to get out of bed because I want to savor the moments when I can be still with my dog and my cats because I love them more than ever.

7:11am: I take the baby to make coffee. He’s in a participatory stage, so he’s very involved in coffee making. He is responsible for:

1. Holding the lid of the kettle while I fill it.

2. Putting the kettle lid back on.

3. It’s an electric kettle, so he also gets to press the button to turn it on. He loves the button.

4. He also holds the lid to both bean canisters (decaf and regular)

5. And then, once the drip coffee has dripped, he holds the lid to the half n’ half (mine) and then the lid to the heavy cream (Ben’s)

He’s an exceptional lid holder, and lucky for him, this process requires many of them.

While we’re making coffee, we listen to Holly on Chrissy Teigen’s podcast, Self Conscious. I don’t follow Chrissy Teigen, but I do follow Holly. I love anyone who can inspect their life and their self with abandon, and she does it exceptionally well. She has a book out on Audible, 30 Days to a New Relationship with Alcohol. I look at the re-corked bottle of wine on top of the fridge and wonder for a moment if I am sober curious.

I’m not. That wine was so good. I look at my decaf coffee, nearly the color of sand there's so much cream. It’s been 15 years since I regularly had caffeine. I’ve never felt more sure it’ll be 15 more. My heart beats steadily, comfortably, unthreatened.

7:35am: It’s only after W3 crawls over it that I realize there’s a dead mouse on the floor. I grab a paper towel, pick it up by the tail, and tell the child to not get into any trouble. I need to handle this.

I take the mouse out front to our young poplar tree. There’s a platform built into it that precedes us, about chin height for me, and I put the mouse’s body on it for the magpies and ravens. One of them will get it. We used to just toss the mouse bodies into the bushes, but now we have several dogs (including our own) who are into that sort of thing.

7:40am: W3 is whacking a paper bag with his new windmill toy, and I see just under the bag, another dead mouse. Jesus Christ. Fine, we’ll use this as a learning opportunity. I point at the mouse and say, “blegh, blegh,” sticking my tongue out, looking disgusted. This is what we do for the toilet seat, the trash, ash in the fireplace, anything gross he’s thinking about licking. I grab the baby in one hand, and a paper towel in the other, then the mouse by the tail with the paper towel. It’s unclear how I got the door open, but I did. We put the mouse back on the platform and then I explain that it’s food for the magpies.

I make a magpie call, W3 growls, and a magpie calls back.

This is how our Fridays go.

8:11am: Ben is up. He had the baby yesterday, and today is my day. It’s one toasted bagel and a shower before he’s out the door. While Ben would normally be in the woodshop downstairs, today he’s in town on a job doing cabinetry.

With the only other adult gone, I look around at W3 and the animals, debating how to spend our time.

There is something luxurious about this kind of morning, when I don’t have client work and I can’t focus on the newsletter or the novel. All there is to do is hang out with my spawn and my creatures and my plants. By the end of the day, I’ll laugh at the idea of luxury, desperate for even four minutes to myself, but for now, the world feels full of options.

I decide we’ll have a town day. We’ll go out to lunch and to the library and we’ll see if we can find some balloons. I look at the dog. We can’t do that. I can’t leave Jibs home alone that long. OK, maybe we go to town but just do a hike. No, that’s not long enough because if we’re going to town then I need to be in town for at least 3.5 hours to ensure W3 can nap on both the car ride there and the car ride back. Well I could just hike for all 3.5 hours? No, because if W3 is in the carrier that long, he’ll definitely fall asleep and then he’ll be furious in the car seat. We could go to the library? No, the dog can’t go to the library. But it’s only 40 degrees. He can wait in the car. Wait, if it’s 40 degrees here now, then it will be 60 degrees there later, and in this high elevation, that’s basically 80 degrees so no we can’t do that.

9:05am: I spend 40 minutes doing this. I am exceptional at doing this kind of thinking when it comes to my job, but when it comes to my own happiness? Impossible. Futile. But still, we get there, and I decide to pack the car for every possible version of my day there is. It looks like this:

9:49am: I have eaten breakfast twice, the baby has eaten, the dog has eaten, the cats have not eaten because they only get fed at night now to fuel their mousing escapades in the shop which we’re only leaving open because everywhere else in the house is mouse free and Link needs to get enough exercise to lose the weight he gained from going on steroids to shrink the mass that became his butt after it leaked cystic fluid all over the house and now the shop is the only place with enough mice to get Link to run.

And of course they don’t eat the mice.

10:01am: We’re on the road, the baby is asleep, and I am in heaven.

I love driving naps. I love them. And I know it’s a waste of gas, and I know it’s miles on the car, but it’s beautiful and I can listen to an entire podcast in one go, and I am simply at my leisure.

To really amplify this utter peace and happiness, I listen to couples argue about their finances on the podcast Money for Couples.

I cover ground, occasionally pausing the podcast to answer questions like I’m the one being interviewed. Sometimes I pretend it’s me in the present, other times I pretend it’s a me of the future. By now Jibs is asleep in the backseat with the baby and I am a rapt audience of one.

It is spectacular to live here. Even in this, what I find to be one of the uglier seasons before the buds and blooms, it is breathtaking. We have several different ways we’ll take, but today’s is short and sweet. I’m only looking for about an hour, so it’s up to the closer mesa past the old sheep farmers’. I make sure to never kick up dust.

11:15am: We park at the very end of town, and W3 stirs awake.

I grab the diaper bag, W3, and Jibs, and we head to lunch. I tie Jibs up outside to a table, staking a claim, and head inside to order a breakfast sandwich, a side of berries, and a chai. This is, in theory, relaxing. But it’s a baby and a puppy and a concrete table and a bowl of fruit and a plate and an open cup of hot liquid and a sun hat and a leash and a lot of people reacting to all of it. So in order for it to be relaxing, you have to cast a spell while doing it, chanting, “this is nice, this is so lovely, I’m so glad we’re doing this,” over and over until you believe it.

11:43am: Thank god that’s over. We go back to the car. I have a return package I need to take to the post office, and today is the last day to do it. Also, I did a giveaway of How to Winter like a month ago, and I still haven’t send Allison her book.

I leave the diaper bag and grab my other bag which has the package and the book in it, with Allison’s address tucked inside. I also grab a paper bag from the back of the car full of donations. The free bin is on the way to the post, so we’ll do that, too.

So it’s one bag slung across my chest, one baby in my arms, one leashed dog in my hand, and one bag of donations tucked in my elbow. At the free bin, with the leash up to my elbow and the baby clinging to my shoulder and my own bag dangling beneath me, I flop out the donations in the “baby” bin with nary an ounce of grace, making noises W3 will be sure to imitate in less than six months. I am not old, I am not out of shape, I am just vocal.

We go to the post office. I tie Jibs up outside, I drop the pre-addressed return, and I take out the book.

Allison lives in Canada? Ah fuck me. So I pay $26 to send someone a book I got for free. I could’ve just bought her the book. That is 5 subscribers paying for one month, my brain says, the unhelpful little shit.

We go back to the car.

12:01pm: I drop off my own bag and get the diaper bag again. We need to change the boy. So I tie Jibs up to the back of the car because if you put him in the car while changing the baby, he just kind of… tries to change the baby with you. We get W3 into a new diaper, back into his outfit, and then into an additional layer for the hike.

I leave Woods laying on the back seat, then go to yet another bag from the back of the car, this time a backpack. I take off my top layer, throw on a hat, stuff W3 into the backpack, wipe his face with sunscreen, grab the treats for the dog, get my water bottle, and off we go. Fucking A.

12:15pm: We are on the trail, and Jibs is unleashed. I have never stomped a trail faster in my life, so happy to finally be carrying the baby on my back instead of in my arms. With him strapped into his (and my) happy place and the dog finally allowed to do what he wants, I am once again at ease in my mind, with another luxurious hour and a half ahead of me where I can just think thoughts and talk to myself.

We see a few people at the beginning of the trail, but as it narrows and climbs, we find ourselves mostly alone. W3 and I yammer to ourselves endlessly, Jibs never leaving our sight.

1:37pm: I really want to keep going, but there’s a strong wind suggesting weather moving in, and if we don’t turn around now, W3 might fall asleep in the backpack instead of in the car. I stop, unload the child, and breastfeed him on the side of the trail.

Two women older than me approach, coming downhill.

“You go, mama! Good for you!” Normally I hate this kind of encouragement, but it’s so effusive and genuine that I am sincerely heartened by it. A bit later, we pack up, heading down the trail as W3 yaps about the trees, the birds, the general state of affairs.

1:45pm: I catch up to the women.

“Wow! You’re really moving! Do you do this hike often?”
“Oh, no, just came into town today to give the boy a little people exposure.”
“Oh, where do you live?”

In general, I try to always approach conversations in town with friendly folk as if the people I’m talking to are locals. One, because if they are locals, I always want to make friends, and two, because it makes tourists feel good. We talk about my town, what it’s like, etc., and then they ask me what I do.

“I’m a writer.”
“Oooh! Are you famous?”

Again, the sincerity! The joy in her face! I just laughed.

“No, just middling. Enough to pay the balls, but not enough to not have bills.”
“Well you’re so charming, you’ll make it!”

Someone bottle these women up and sell them.

2:10pm: We make it to the bottom of the trail, back into town, and I look over my shoulder to ask W3 if he’d like a toy. He’s asleep.

Whatever, I want to get balloons. We go to the toy shop.

2:15pm: They don’t have balloons you can blow up yourself, but I could order a custom display of balloons if I’d like. I would not like. So I buy W3 a handheld windmill and myself a funny construction set. The cost is $60.87 and it’s now I’m realizing the spinning windmills of my childhood are not 50 cents anymore, and that I’ve also spent some $50 on a toy for myself. Great.

I run the back of the carrier into the door upon exit and W3 wakes up.

2:22pm: I text Ben. “You want a croissant?” I head back into our lunch spot and grab him a chocolate croissant and myself a cinnamon roll. I need something to eat for the second nap drive of the day. We head to the car for the third time, and the woman working in the office window across from the car gives me the smile only other parents can give you when you have a small child. It is equal parts camaraderie, pity, jealousy, and respect. I nod.

I strap in the child, load up the bag and the dog, and head to the job site for croissant delivery.

2:42pm: The child is not asleep. Instead, he is mad about being in a car seat. So I drive home… expediently.

3:05pm: Despite his best efforts to stay awake, the child has fallen asleep in his front carrier, face smashed into my decolletage. I make another decaf coffee because that’s nothing matters when you drink decaf.

I turn on the TV and open the Discovery+ app. I want to watch “houses” as we call it. Joanna Gaines appears with a new show called Mini Reni. It makes me think of how mad Ben gets when people say “inspo.” That was my design inspo. That’s some serious life inspo. There’s not a single “O” in inspiration! Why would it be inspo!! Why call it “reni” when everyone calls them “renos”? And obviously it’s because Magnolia and Gaineses’ empire likes the rhyme and coining a new word.

I don’t love Joanna Gaines, and I could blame her early use of too many word signs in kitchens like “FAMILY” and “LOVE LIVES HERE” but I do wonder if I dislike her the way people disliked Anne Hathaway 10 years ago or Taylor Swift now, simply because her omnipresence and wealth started to grate at me.

Either way, I watch the show.

4:31pm: I try to gently rouse W3, but he’s zonked. Since he’s been sick this week, I allow it. Nap schedules be damned. I send a few emails trying to track down sources for a story I’m working on. I get several automated emails back saying those people don’t work here anymore.

I grab a chocolate bar from the pantry and look outside to the poplar. The mice are gone.

5:03pm: W3 wakes up, finally. I immediately direct his attention to his new toy, and he loves it, despite his unconventional use.

5:32pm: Ben gets home, showers, and makes us burritos. W3 goes around whapping things with his new windmill, and we offer him various bits of food as he cruises by while we watch Top Chef, exhausted, depleted, silently wondering when W3 will start walking so he can get on yet another waitlist for yet another daycare.

7:05pm: We head out for the beaver walk. As many evenings as we can right now, we are walking to the beaver ponds down the road from us. So far, we have not seen any beavers, but there’s evidence they’ve been out. Fresh chews, fresh drags. We’ve seen ducks and geese and muskrats, but the beavers evade us. Now, 7pm is a little early for the beavers, but it’s not unheard of. So we keep trying. No luck this time, but we do run into some neighbors and have a nice chat about all our pets. I love this place.

8:04pm: since W3 didn’t wake up until 5pm, I’m not interested in even trying to get him to sleep until 8:30, so I go in the hot tub. I want to think about the future of my career and my life and who I could be, but I’m tired, and I look at my phone. I see a nice video of a bear going down a slide.

8:32pm: I get in bed with W3 to rock him in my lap and feed him. Jibs climbs in and gets under the covers. Finn at some point settles by my feet. The light dims, and eventually, so do I.