Last in the Rat Race

She was trying so hard to be a shit, but just couldn’t quite pull it off… This time.

A long day at work led to a tired, quiet evening at home. MRA was golfing, so Kate and I went through the evening’s routine: dinner, pick up, bath, book. Minor detours: touch-up to our new garage door by Steve and random calls from the parental units as they argued over nothing. (seriously, nothing. GET A HOBBY!)

Putting Kate to bed – at our agreed-upon earlier time – I rubbed her back as she drifted off to sleep. Rubbed and rubbed.. the motion and dark room making me tired, too. Finally, certain that she was out, I got up, motioned to the dog and turned to leave her room. Success at 8:30 pm. Success and an early bedtime for me.

Glorious…

I hadn’t even reached the door.

“BUTTERFLIES! There are BUTTERFLIES on my head!” she screamed as she jumped up and off her bed, scrambling to get away. Scrambling like the devil was on her heels. “There are butterflies down there – BEHIND my BED!”

(Alecia – are you reading this? If anyone could relate, it’s YOU!)

Tipping between trying not to laugh at the absurdity and trying not to cry as bedtime was NOT YET OVER, I assured her there were no butterflies in, on or around her bed.

She was CERTAIN they were there. Dead serious.

We grabbed the MagLite (never know when you might need to beat a mystical butterfly into submission) and inspected the dark crevice behind her bed.

Nothing.

“It was a dream, Kate. Sometimes we dream crazy, crazy things.” This from QUEEN CRAZY in that department. Seriously, I dream some crazy, crazy stuff. Giant worms in my composter just the night before. (see what I mean?)

Back to bed. Back to rubbing. I finally gave up, stretched out beside her and sacked out for a bit before crawling back to my own bed.

Tired.

So tired…

Think anyone would notice if I napped under my desk?

Enough to share a Frisbee?

I don’t know about you, but I’ve seen where my dog sticks her chops. My guess is that this little athlete has the same abilities (and proclivities). Were I this dude’s wife, girlfriend, or S.O. I wouldn’t be too keen on the trick. As his dentist, though… hm, go for it.

The above photo was from the regular dog show at Purina Farms – just a short trip outside St. Louis. The “Farm” features a barn with chickens, bunnies, cows, horses, geese and of course, the requisite baby pigs.

For anyone with a bent toward marketing, you can appreciate the pure genius of the place. There is such value in creating lasting brands, a ‘product’ people like, and inspiring loyalty in your returning customers or clients. Purina Farms is a testament to those principals. After spending the morning there, I caught myself looking for the donation box. More than once. I then had to smack myself upside the head and remember we were in an advertisement. That is, the whole place is exists to promote the brand and to create a warm-fuzzy relationship with the public.

Job well done.
(Kate now recognizes the logo and, guaranteed, gets warm-fuzzies at the sight.)

After nearly two weeks of summer camp, most of which involves a swimming pool, Kate still isn’t too big a fan of putting her face in the water. She’ll do it though. On her terms.

In the meantime, however, she’s realized that she can lay on her back and put her head in the water. Big step for her. Two weeks of camp taught her what I haven’t been able to in two years. (disclaimer, this IS the bathtub, not a creepy foaming swimming pool)

Wrapping up her bath, and ‘cleaning up’ her toys, I caught her in midst of playing ‘T.Rex.’ These poor little beasties were her ‘prize’ for being a ranting lunatic at the dentist this morning. After cleaning her top teeth the clueless hygienist actually pulled the tools out of Kate’s mouth to reload. It was all the kid needed to whip out her ‘I don’t LIKE it!’ act complete with tears. 10 minutes, and two hefty threats later (’they won’t let us leave until you let them finish’ and the Pièce de résistance, ‘if you don’t let them finish, your teeth will fall out and you know what that means? NO MORE CHICKEN FINGERS!’), she let them finish. Anyway, back to her ‘prize’…

She makes a pretty good dinosaur, wouldn’t you say?

En route to a bridal (cheers for April!) shower Saturday, we passed a small park not far from our house. I think UCity has some public art project going on and the blue cones we saw dribbling down the hill were an installation.

“Did you see that?” she asks.

“I did. Pretty cool, eh? I think it’s art.”

“I think it’s art, too.”

“I think it is,” I agree, pondering further.

“Mom, you don’t know everything.” (yes, it was a statement, not a question)

WTF?!? Of course I do! You’re only 4! In your view, the sun rises and sets at my command. I rule the world.

I’m invincible.

I’m brilliant!

I’m supposed to be anyway…

This conversation isn’t supposed to take place for another TEN YEARS. (therapy, anyone?)

… horses

Why did it feel SO WRONG to take my kid to the track?

Hm… the betting? the beer? the scores of unemployed looking to ‘hit it big’ on #7?

For anyone who loves to see these animals in motion, though, it’s just beautiful. She loved it.

(still trying to explain how you can ‘win’ even if your horse comes in 2nd…)

MRA skipped out of work yesterday afternoon to play golf with a good friend who is a member at St. Louis Country Club. I didn’t think twice about it until he called while I was en route to pick up Kate from camp.

“They’re playing polo this afternoon, if you and Kate want to come by and watch,” he whispers. (cell phones – big no no at The Club.)

I had forgotten that little gem. The most exclusive country club in STL has a polo field. And it’s just down the street from Kate’s camp. Polo. Horses. Heaven.

Our friend’s wife called and said that she and her son were going to meet us there and wait with us for the guys to finish golfing. Perfect.

We meet up and grab a seat in the Adirondack chairs lining the hill over looking the field. Behind us is the clubhouse. In front, the polo field. Along comes a woman – a member and friend of our friend. We gals settle in, enjoy the cocktails the wait staff bring and soak it up. The kids are running around within view and out of range of the polo balls. We talk about school, baby sitters, life and the challenge the other woman faces by her kids not being able to cut through a yard to get to the clubhouse. The live on the grounds. Of The Country Club. The one you can’t even BUY your way into. (You get the picture.)

More cocktails, the evening lengthens, and a husband shows up. Both of ours are still golfing. Polo is wrapping up and more kids have joined in the fun down by the water stand next to the field.

In the middle of one of my (surely inane) stories, I spy the kids. (Just checking to make sure I haven’t lost my offspring in this orgy of wealth and privilege.)

Oh.
My.
Nooo.

Without thinking, I wonder out loud, “Why does Kate HAVE HER PANTIES DOWN?”

Everyone turns to look as she’s yanking them back up. Granted the kids are down a little hill and about 100 yards away – really – so I can’t really be sure what just happened. But, I have a sinking suspicion… They carry on with whatever game they had made up and wander back up the hill.

“Kate, come here.”

Dutifully (for once) she comes over.

“WHY did you have your PANTIES DOWN?”

“I, well, I had to go (pee) and couldn’t make it.” The look of innocence is at once laughable and endearing.

I hold her arms and stare her down, “We don’t ever. Ever. EVER. EEVVVEEERR do that.” (But we do… At the park by the beach when the porta potties are way past gross. And at the river when it’s too far to trek back to our cabin. And on hikes when we’re deep in the woods.)

Nature called and she clearly didn’t see the difference.

My guess is that those in the dining overlooking the polo field COULD see the difference. And, in fact, saw much more.

Saturday was one of those Chock Full ‘o Fun days.

* A friend was bringing his 4 year old son, Phoenix, by to spend the better part of the day with us while he (friend) attended a conference in town.

* At 10 am, Kate had her first ballet class.

* At noon, we were off to a birthday party for one of Kate’s friends at school.

* At 6, April (sitter extraordinaire) was arriving to hang with Kate while MRA and I went to a post-golf tourney dinner party.

Phoenix couldn’t have been easier to accommodate. Sweet kid and no trouble. Kate, on the other hand…

Ballet class was a disaster. I made the mistake of hanging out in the room. I know… I know… Mistake. Then she didn’t want to participate, so I joined in with her. (likely mistake #2) Then she opted out again, but I stuck with it – damnit, I was going to show her what a fun time we were all having. She wanted to sit with Phoenix while he played on my iPhone (mistake #3 for me to hand it to him in full view). Made her sit apart. Protest. A “talk” in the hallway. Tears in the room. Enough! We left with 10 minutes left in the class and steam shooting out of my ears.

What do you do? I was disappointed with my normally game-for-anything kid who WANTED to take ballet lessons. I was angry with myself for not being able to right the situation. And, I was stumped. Why didn’t I know what to do? Should I have pushed her harder and MAKE her participate or pull her earlier before we upset the class too much?

BLAGH!

I fumed for another 30 minutes until it was time to leave for the party. Now here is where I fell in love with the kid all over again. I mentioned to her that Phoenix won’t know anyone, so it will be up to her to introduce him to her friends.

By god, she did.

She went up to each of her friends at the party and said, “Grant, this is my special guest, Phoenix.” To others, “Ava, have you met my special guest, Phoenix?”

I shit you not, she drug him around and made sure everyone met her Special Guest.

Screw ballet. I couldn’t have been more proud of her.

We tripped out to the booming metropolis of Smithton over the weekend with a three-fold agenda:
* Visit my good friend Cheryl
* Play date for Kate and Cheryl’s kids
* Play date for Paddi and Cheryl’s dogs

Ever the good hostess, Cheryl had the yard set up with a pool for the kids, a pool for the dogs and chairs in the shade for us. The only thing missing? Cold beer. But I guess it was 10 am… (when did we get to be such fuddies?)

They played hard and a good time was had by all.

The drive home:

(how can kids sleep like that?)

Summer in STL is hot. Oppressive even. Cure? Hang at a pool until they kick you out.

Kate and I spent a good 3+ hours at the pool yesterday and it was clear by the time we packed up that she’d be napping nicely within the hour. MRA, just having wrapped up a golf tourney, was in the same state: hot, tired, and looking forward to quality nap time. Me? I saw this as the perfect opportunity to leave them to their nap and cruise through an art fair nearby, quickly, sans kid or husband. Perfect.

An hour later, I returned home to find everything dark and quiet downstairs and the door to the bedroom upstairs still shut. Perfect.

I tiptoed into our room and found MRA asleep on the bed. Alone.

Where’s Kate? Where’s Paddi? Clearly someone snuck her way out of the group nap I had planned.

Seeing the door to the master bath/closet shut, it became clear. (Kate’s a big fan of shutting the dog in there with her – thereby achieving the dog’s relatively undivided attention.) I went to open the door and then realized it needed a shove. Something was blocking the way. Shoving further I found:

* a towel on the floor behind the door;

* 9+ other towels scattered about (you know how you have the towels that you use and the towels you keep folded nicely for show? Hm… couldn’t tell which was which as ALL were now strewn about the room);

* Kate naked in the bathtub;

* Paddi scrambling out of the tub with a clear look of desperation;

* the noxious odor of spray-on sunscreen used in a confined space; and

* bath toys and about a pint of water in the tub.

WTF?!?

“Kate, what in the WORLD are you doing?”

“I’m giving Paddi a bath.”

“Why are you giving Paddi a bath?”

“Because I needed to wash the sunscreen off of her.”

“Why does Paddi have sunscreen on her?”

“Because I sprayed it on her. A lot. I used a lot of sunscreen on her.”

The group nap devolved into a group shower in the other bathroom. In the midst of that barrel of fun (’cause let me tell you, nothing beats two people and a squirmy 90 lb Lab in a space the size of a phone booth), MRA poked his head in the door and asked what was going on.

“What’s going on?” I replied. “You’re fired.”