peskypippi.comBecause I have a lot to say…

Once upon a time, there was a young girl who wore pigtails and overalls. She was a nature lover, this girl, who loved climbing trees, blowing dandelions, observing worms, and oohing over butterflies. One day, she discovered a lizard and picked it up. She examined its scaly, grey back, little beady eyes, and long tail.

When it was time to go home and leave the lizard where she found it, she actually didn’t.

She snuck that lizard into her overalls pocket, making sure that lizard was safe and warm and protected.

She proceeded to cuddle that lizard and build it a little home. In a shoebox, with grass, plenty of love, and ta washcloth to keep it warm. What else could a little lizard need?

With the over abundance of love and nurturing, the lizard’s tail broke off. The young girl quickly taped it back on.

The lizard soon perished. The young girl had smothered her lizard pet, with her over nurturing, and was in tears.

She learned a few life lessons on that hot Summer day. Not only did she learn that many species of lizards release their tail when they want to escape from a predator, but:

• How to care for a creature, but also to give it space.
• How to love a creature, but not over smother it.
• How you can’t fix a problem with a simple patch.
• And how, at some point, you need to set the creature free.

As I recount my daughter’s story from several years ago, I now see that her lessons learned are also parenting lessons that I am learning.

Some people take a walk in nature to find peace, quiet, and serenity

Some people. But not me.

When I bring my kids on a hike, it’s more like:

• Can acid blow up snow?
• What if I attached a rocket pack to a port-a-potty?
• Are there piranhas in the lake?
• Where do they mine emeralds?
• Who would win, a python or a bear?

And then:

“Can we stop and get Dairy Queen on our way home?”

But I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Sometimes as a parent, you need to truly parent. And use your best judgement and foresight.

Even if it means that you will piss off your daughter.

One day, on a family hike in a scenic area near Mount St. Helen’s my nine-year-old daughter wanted to lead the way down the dangerous trail, as my family proceeded in single file.

The “danger” signs did not lie.

In fact, they made me second-guess myself. Was this hike indeed a good choice? Or would we have been better off taking pictures of wildflowers in the open field? Where it was flat and safe.

We proceeded. As a family unit.

We carefully stepped and navigated, while I barked out orders like I had Tourette’s syndrome: “Step carefully!” “Hold my hand!” “Slow down!” “Stay BEHIND me!”

My daughter started off the hike in a foul mood, because she didn’t get her way.

The rapids were below us. Way below. Crashing against volcanic rock. The path was skinny, with gravel causing your foot to slip. The path made sharp descents, forcing us to side step and grip onto the person’s hand behind you.

At the halfway mark, we paused and took in the views. My daughter was grinning. Happy again. We all were. The views were amazing. We were a unit, embarking on this adventure together.  The experience was full of lessons. Seven, in fact:

1. Parents know things.
2. Kids don’t always know everything, even if they think they do.
3. Nature is beautiful.
4. Families work best when they work as a team.
5. Parents need to parent.
6. Parents make mistakes.
7. Hard things are worth doing.

Enjoy the pictures in the safety of your own chair! And while you’re at it, check out other cool bloggers at YeahWrite!

Ever stop to look at the sky? And see how amazing it is? Vast. Different colors. Always changing. And realize how small you are in comparison?

When I am complaining or worried or sad or stressed, I look at the sky. Because it reassures me about the bigger picture.

I took these shots on an evening right before a thunderstorm. Over the course of 45 minutes. See how quickly it changed? And let me tell you, seeing that sky sure changed my mood.

I have high expectations. And I am a planner. These two traits sometimes get in the way of being mellow and living in the moment.

The other day was a go-with-the-flow day. I took two of my children to spend a day in the country. No plans. Just: let’s see what we will see and stop where and when we want.

Guess what?

It was awesome!

We visited a lavender field, bought fresh-off-the-tree peaches, met a fine horse, and encountered peaceful butterflies.

It was a fun-filled day–not forced or planned. And it exceeded my expectations. In fact, I’m thinking about planning another outing soon

You know those fancy wicker picnic baskets? The kind that are lined with red-and-white checkerboard fabric? The basket with the miniature plates and cups and silverware snuggled inside?

Yeah. I don’t have one of those.

Every time I see one at the store, I think I want one. Ah, the picnic. Perfected.

Well, let me tell you, the perfect wicker picnic basket is not needed for a perfect picnic. Neither are the perfect “picnic fixings.” In fact, I used to spend a lot of time making the sandwiches, chopping up a fruit salad, packing homemade cookies, adding carrots and dip and extra snacks. Then we would arrive at our destination with a frazzled (slightly resentful) mother; smashed, soggy sandwiches; limp carrots; and–oops–watermelon juice oozing all over our Igloo cooler.

Our new-and-improved family picnics are more like this.

1. Stop by Subway.
2. Pick up sandwiches, chips, drinks.
3. Simple. Done.

Our family picnics are not drawn-out, check-off-your-grocery-list-kind of picnics. They are pick-up picnics. As in let’s-go-on-a-hike-around-the-lake-and-grab-some-food-while-we’re-out kind of picnics.

What’s important is who you’re with. Not what you’re eating. And it’s not about the “perfect presentation.”

My buddy @NoRegretsParent reinforces this nicely: “It’s not where you go but who you’re with and what you do there.”

With Subway sandwiches in-hand, we sit on the grass. Or the boulders. Or a park bench. We talk. Chomp chomp. We drink. Gulp gulp. We laugh. Chomp chomp. We slurp. We throw away. And head on our hike.

And you know what? No heavy-ass wicker contraption to lug around.

That’s not something you hear every day. Yet, I’ve heard it twice.

Kill two birds with one Mom.

The second story goes like this. It was a sunny day, the kind of day where you hear the birds sing. A handsome Robin flew into our garage and perched on the rafters. We noticed him when my son and I unloading groceries from Costco.

I opened up the garage so it would fly out.

My bad.

Instead of flying out to freedom, the bird got caught between the garage door and the ceiling. He was crushed. And fell to the ground. Dead. Legs-in-the-air dead.

My son’s mouth dropped open. He was pissed. “MOM! YOU’RE AN ANIMAL MURDERER!” he yelled. I felt like crap.

See, I’m the type of person who couldn’t slaughter my own meat if I were a pioneer woman. So killing a bird with my two hands (and a garage door opener) made me guilt-ridden.

But oh, there’s a first story.

A perfectly white homing pigeon visited. It bobbed around our driveway and would perch on the fence. We fed it bird seed. He was gentle and nearly ate out of our hands.

Every morning, we’d scamper outside to see if our pigeon was still there. He was! He liked us. He was our newest pet.

Then one day, the kids were piled in the backseat, I backed up the car, I killed that pigeon. I stopped when I heard the “thunk.” And I knew. My heart sank.

We all clamored out. Red oozed onto white.

The chorus yelled, “”MOM! YOU’RE AN ANIMAL MURDERER!”

Another bird, another burial, another guilty Mom, another life lesson.

I love kids and their gazillion questions.

My son asks while running down a hill, “Is a horse faster than a car?”

“Uh yeah, horses are fast,” I blurted out. Magic answer. Quick answer. That’s all he wanted to hear. Hell if I know.

Then I went home and looked it up. Dang, I was wrong. According to Wikipedia:

Any car in good working order is faster than a horse on a good road. The top speed of a race horse is around 40 mph and that is only for a few miles. Horses can go where cars can not and so would be faster if crossing streams and jumping gullies and hedges is needed.

But sometimes kids need magical answers. My child was running like a horse. In that moment in time, he was a horse.

Wikipedia and your boring facts: you can suck it.

My nine-year-old daughter dons chipped turquoise nail polish and an eager attitude. She always has a beaming smile for me and her sense of wonderment leads her galloping like a horse in search of fairies under mossy rocks. In preparation for our hike the other day, her backpack is filled with the essentials:

• rubber vampire bat
• Dragonology book
• dominoes (in case we want to play on our hike)
• markers (always)
• roller skates

You silly, lovely, beautiful, fun, funny, creative, clever daughter of mine!

Say what you want about gender differences and gender behavior.

In addition to observing the changing leaves and the migrating birds, I also observed some differences between a girl and a boy on a recent hike:

We see a duck.

• Girl: Looks for food to feed it.
• Boy: Looks for a rock to throw at it.

We see a giant toadstool.

• Girl: Thinks a fairy lives under it.
• Boy: Wants to kick it.

They pick up sticks.

• Girl: Hers is a magician’s wand.
• Boy: His is a dagger.

But I appreciate and embrace their differences. After all, these two little birdies will grow and migrate some day and I want to give them proper wings.