Things I hate:
Spiders
Spiders in my house
Spiders in my house that bite my little kiddo multiple times under the cover of darkness in his Thomas the Tank Engine sheets as he sleeps innocently.
Hell-spawn evil, I hope you are very very dead in an uncomfortable corner of my house somewhere.
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
The Wild West
Greetings. Long time no see. Almost two years, in fact! I have been meaning to jump back on the blogger wagon for a few months, as Buckaroo and I have quite a nice little routine and I find myself with (gasp) a few minutes here and there where I'm not desperately trying to catch up on sleep. In fact, these days I actually feel pretty well rested. There was a long stretch there where I didn't believe it possible, and I didn't understand how other humans have the wherewithall to have more than one baby. But I'm now starting to understand. Not enough to have another baby, mind you. I feel a bit too old for that (which is my experience and perhaps not everyone's). Nevertheless, yay sleep!!!
Speaking of Buckaroo, I learned something fabulous recently. See, back in January, we took a trip to Redmond, Oregon, to spend a week with one half of the Woodworker's family. It was a busy, hilarious, love-filled convention of various families shacked up at Grandma and Grandpa's. Central Oregon has enough of a different climate and landscape to make us feel like we were truly far from home, which I find essential to a good vacation. The air there is crisp, cold, clear, and the vistas more broad and western-like than here in the verdant Puget Sound region.
So! One thing we did, just the three of us, was venture to an amazing place called The High Desert Museum, just south of Bend. Equal parts indoor and outdoor exhibits, it was fascinating for all of us. Indeed, there was a section of one exhibit about cowboys which absolutely thrilled me: I learned that the word "Buckaroo" is a derivation of the Spanish word "vaquero", which basically translates as "cowboy" or "horse-mounted live-stock herder." (wiki yada yada here.) I always kinda knew that the word buckaroo had to do with being a cowboy and old-timey wild west stuff, and I've known forever what vaquero means, but I'd never made the connection. Isn't that cool?!?! And aren't I annoyed that I didn't know that before?! So far Buck has not so much as sat on a horse, although I do have a old picture of him touching one! See:
It was beyond delightful to spend the day on the slopes with my husband. Recreating is fun! I'd never actually seen him snowboard before. I knew he was awesome and stuff, but I'd never seen it. I was so impressed, it made me have a big crush on him all over again. And riding the lift with him, I felt like I was satisfying school girl fantasies, like I was hanging out with the cool guy or something. I, however, learned Right Away that he was not allowed to coach me, and that if he wanted to be on the slopes with me, he'd have to put up with the AARP slopes. Otherwise, I felt all intimidated and weepy and cross with him. There is some right hilarious footage of all this, but you don't get to see it.
The next day I was an unholy mess, and could barely move. (some of which might have been attributable to the fact that my sisters-in-law forced me to hang out with them. And some wine.) But I got a fabulous massage and took a bunch of arnica and ibuprofen and complained a good deal and eventually felt better.
Speaking of Buckaroo, I learned something fabulous recently. See, back in January, we took a trip to Redmond, Oregon, to spend a week with one half of the Woodworker's family. It was a busy, hilarious, love-filled convention of various families shacked up at Grandma and Grandpa's. Central Oregon has enough of a different climate and landscape to make us feel like we were truly far from home, which I find essential to a good vacation. The air there is crisp, cold, clear, and the vistas more broad and western-like than here in the verdant Puget Sound region.
So! One thing we did, just the three of us, was venture to an amazing place called The High Desert Museum, just south of Bend. Equal parts indoor and outdoor exhibits, it was fascinating for all of us. Indeed, there was a section of one exhibit about cowboys which absolutely thrilled me: I learned that the word "Buckaroo" is a derivation of the Spanish word "vaquero", which basically translates as "cowboy" or "horse-mounted live-stock herder." (wiki yada yada here.) I always kinda knew that the word buckaroo had to do with being a cowboy and old-timey wild west stuff, and I've known forever what vaquero means, but I'd never made the connection. Isn't that cool?!?! And aren't I annoyed that I didn't know that before?! So far Buck has not so much as sat on a horse, although I do have a old picture of him touching one! See:
[Winthrop, 2010]
But I think he was more interested in licking the Bjorn. Wow, he looks little there.
And then, of course, here he is as Sheriff, and he is, in fact, seated on a saddle, so maybe that counts for something:
[same trip to Winthrop, 2010]
And here is a pic of Buck at the sled park near Bend [2013], thought he looks more like a jedi than a cowboy, I'd say.
I dunno. Maybe we should get him a lasso.
At any rate, it was a splendid time in Redmond. I had way too much fun with my sisters-in-law. We took our job of wine criticism very seriously that week. No pictures of any of that. And, oh!, how could I forget? I skiied for the very first time. Well, actually for the very second time. There was that one day at Vail when I was a freshman in college, but that is another story for another day, and one I'm still healing from, so forget it.
I took a beginner's class with my nieces and I stuck to the bunny slopes, mostly. Here I am celebrating the fact that I came off the lift without falling:
It was beyond delightful to spend the day on the slopes with my husband. Recreating is fun! I'd never actually seen him snowboard before. I knew he was awesome and stuff, but I'd never seen it. I was so impressed, it made me have a big crush on him all over again. And riding the lift with him, I felt like I was satisfying school girl fantasies, like I was hanging out with the cool guy or something. I, however, learned Right Away that he was not allowed to coach me, and that if he wanted to be on the slopes with me, he'd have to put up with the AARP slopes. Otherwise, I felt all intimidated and weepy and cross with him. There is some right hilarious footage of all this, but you don't get to see it.
The next day I was an unholy mess, and could barely move. (some of which might have been attributable to the fact that my sisters-in-law forced me to hang out with them. And some wine.) But I got a fabulous massage and took a bunch of arnica and ibuprofen and complained a good deal and eventually felt better.
Not to be excluded from these anecdotes is one that we reveled in: we drove all the way down there. Buck was a very decent human about the whole thing. (And thank merciful heavens for portable dvd players. I once sheepishly opined to my mom that perhaps we as parents are taking the lazy route by using the portable dvd players during travel, and that we all managed to get by with only our wits and whatever back in the day, etc. But then my mom said: "Are you kidding me? I would have killed for one of those when you kids were little.") Woodworker and I talked a lot about the success of the roadtrip, particularly in comparison to the first year of Buck's life when he screamed his head off without ceasing the entire time he was ever in his carseat. We (really, meaning I) never went anywhere, and it was generally awful when we did. Just had to state that, for the record.
In closing, thank you Grandma and Grandpa for welcoming all of us and fostering all that merriment and letting us generally deplete your resources. What a blessing.
Onward!
-nellie
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