Water Nymphs at Conundrum Hot Springs

8.5 miles and six hours later, after hiking through spectacular meadows of wildflowers with forty pound backpacks on our backs, we could not wait to plunge into the natural Conundrum hot springs pool and soothe our aching joints, but upon arrival our excitement waned as we came upon what seemed like happy hour had made it to the hot springs. The pool was overflowing with happy, naked, nature-loving people.

Baddy was ready to strip down and cannonball it into the center and be the life of the party, when I muttered under my breath that I wasn’t into public displays of nakedness due to my large melon breasts, and was too embarrassed to be the only one NOT naked.

Being the happy go lucky guy that he is he found a smaller pool down below and we slid into the hot water, our bodies quickly melting into the soothing natural spa.

I was elated to have the pool to ourselves, until two forest nymphs appeared out of nowhere and undressed directly in front of Baddy.

I didn’t need my glasses to know that the one who was moaning while parading around the pool with her breasts pertly protruding above the water, had an amazing figure.

Baddy was too afraid to look at her lest his jealous girlfriend react vehemently. When he? mentioned to me that he had left his camera by his backpack the forest nymph volunteered to get out of the water like Bo Derek in the movie Ten and fetch it for him. Wait a minute, Baddy never used his camera! I was out of there. Forcing back his innate instincts to jump all over this magical opportunity and leave me to my woes, he reluctantly followed me out of the pool.

As I stormed away I overheard the nymphs exclaim, “How cute was that guy?”

Baddy kept silent as I fed his deepest fantasies, creating a scenario of what would have happened had I not been on this camping trip with him.

Later when I had cooled down he joked that his muscles needed another good soak and not to wait up.

Getting Children Up in the Mornings

[su_heading size=”18″]Getting Children Up in the Mornings[/su_heading]

In order to start the day without chaos, I wake up early enough to get the children’s breakfast and lunch made.

It is so quiet. So unbelievably quiet. I’ll just fit in a few minutes of time to myself, before making the meals. Next thing I know it is 7:00am and the tornado is about to hit.

QUICK…wake up the kids, get them dressed, find the socks, get them fed. Why did I stubbornly use that time for myself? Tomorrow I will wake up at 5:00am, an hour earlier. Baddy sleepily arises absorbed in his own quiet fog. I am very aware that although his body is moving he is not necessarily awake yet. I very patiently wait for him to drink his pot of coffee before I begin a conversation. I must be gentle and quiet so as not to disturb my sleepy morning bear of a man. “So I’ve been thinking…, ” I begin when I think he is ready for me, and immediately get accused of being to “on” in the mornings.

I leave him to visit each room to wake up the boys, singing, “Wake up, wake up, everybody wake up,” or “Morning has Broken”, bursting into Brevitt’s room to open the shade and let the sun shine in. Sometimes I do little skits with their Ugly Dolls, rapping Brevitt to awaken, “yo, yo you lazy head, it’s time to get out of your way to comfortable bed,” and then I’d get the gift I was waiting for, Brev’s beautiful smile, his hair sticking out in every which way.

Axel is handled much more delicately. If I don’t wake him slowly with lots of kisses and low light, than he starts lashing out with his Scorpion tail demanding me out of his room. That tail is something I try to stay clear of at all costs.

Sometimes I have my assistants. Whomever wakes up first has the assignment of gently waking the other sleepers. When Tucker crawls into Brevitt’s bed and sings the wake up song to him Brev opens his eyes and tackles him for a good hour.

This is what having children is all about. The interaction and love that occurs between them is so very precious. I nurture that love with all my might and try to teach them how to respect and admire each other and not be jealous.

I am always in awe of how boys wake up with abounding energy and carry it with them until the moment sleep descends upon them. Even in his sleep, Brevitt continues the fidgeting, kicking and sleeping horizontally across the bed, which prohibits us from wanting him in our bed anymore, but we can’t help but love to feel his warm nine year old body snuggling up to us when he does still into our bed. If we fall asleep like that I inevitably am abruptly awoken either by his foot smooshed against my face or by his calling out sports plays in his dreams.

The boys love it when Dad doesn’t get up on school mornings. They see it as payback time for all the morning that he has insensitively yanked the blankets off of them and honked the bike horn in their ears to get them out of bed. I hand them the bike horn and in they march to noisily wake him up. What could be better than receiving the green light to make noise first thing in the morning?

 

Recovering From Flying With Children

tucker pict0252[su_heading size=”18″]Recovering From Flying With Children[/su_heading]

I wouldn’t say that we made it home from visiting Grandma in Florida without incident. The fact that we made it home at all is very significant. The turbulence was brutal and I was reduced to an absolute useless mess while my boys searched for land through the airplane windows. I saw the sun again and realized that we had gained altitude. What the???? The pilot announced that it was too windy to land anywhere, not Vail, not Denver, not Steamboat so we were just going to hover at 40,000′ up in limbo. Greaaaattt. I had been through this before, nothing worse than hovering when three boys have to pee and the seatbelt sign is on.

Walking back to our seats I looked at all the innocent and beautiful children and parents on the flight and felt miserable for the people who had died in airplane crashes. I hate flying! We tried to land again and plunged down into the black storm clouds. I thought about Baddy and tried to force out the image of his hearing the news that his entire family was gone. I thought about my mother and how much I loved her and needed to express that to her. I thought about my boys and how I needed to watch them grow up.

We drove home at 5-25 mph for another 2 1/2 hours on treacherous roads with no visibility. Once again I thought about how I could so easily mess things up. I finally came home to my Baddy who took the sleeping boys into their beds and came to his completely traumatized and nauseous wife. My Baddy. I had gotten us home safely.
I awoke to a man beside me and had no idea who he was or where I was. When I figured it out I smiled and fell back asleep to awaken later to freezing temperatures and Hootie-Hoo calling out “I’m Done”. Reality set in quite quickly as I stumbled out of bed to wipe my little boy’s bottom. Then the fighting began and so did the demands from Hootie-Hoo for me to spank Thumper on his bottom. It all ended with Axel in a sobbing heap on my lap. How can I protect them all from destroying each other?
We went over to Michele’s house and I sat there in a total depression as I watched her scurry about the house talking on the phone, solving the worlds problems, making smoothies and telling me about her business ventures. She did not appear to notice that I was in a huge slump. I felt lazy and obtrusive. The boys were so happy to be with their cousins but Hootie-Hoo and I were miserable when we attempted to go on a hike with them. I took the initiative and removed ourselves from the situation. Michele saved me by keeping the boys with her along with the other mass of kids she was watching over.
Tonight I forced myself to go with Cathy for our well needed Monday night hike.  We followed the hike with dinner and a few glasses of wine which was good for my soul and had a long discussion with our good friend Wolfie. He is the one who I should be writing about not me. His life is all about photography, sex, breasts and women. We decided that we would meet on his porch next week and start his story.

Watching Children Grow Into Daredevils

[su_heading size=”18″]Watching Children Grow Into Daredevils[/su_heading]

Wednesday’s are Baddy’s evening to be full on testosterone with his friends. In the wintertime they race up mountains on skins as the sky shows off it’s magnificent sunset, skiing down with headlamps on. In the summer they mountain bike through ridiculously difficult mountain terrain, usually clocking something outrageous like 40 miles and 4K vert. It is amazing that they don’t get more hurt as they compete with one another in their speed both uphill and down, and show off their technical abilities. It is a spectacular site to watch the eighteen or so men ride in on their bikes at night with a blanket of black enveloping them. Baddy lives for these evenings that end with a meal, beer and lots of comradery. I sometimes wish that I could be a fly on the wall to watch the difference in Baddy’s character when he is with his friends, but than I think about it and realize that it’s probably best to let my ignorance stay blissful.

I too love these nights where I am alone with the boys and I don’t have to be in the kitchen cooking a large meal. Wednesdays are half day for them and we go skiing in the afternoons. I am very fortunate to have close friends whose boys are best friends with my boys. Mothers who are far better suited for boys than I am, teaching me how to efficiently train the children on the importance of staying safe and in control.
I was happy that this time there were no tears due to missing gear and commended the boys for packing their own gear into the car. They have learned not to rely upon muddled mommy. Usually I leave Tucker in school so that I can ski with the older boys without a little tank to adhere to, but yesterday I had to take him with us. He was tired and ready for a nap, not a good precursor to skiing, getting mad at me for no clear reason and telling me that “he feeled like throwing a pie at me”. I skied behind him protecting him from the big kids who were recklessly skiing amongst us. Luckily the other moms were there to once again bail me out and take care of Axel and Brev as I skied with Tucker. It’s a tall order to watch somebody else’s boy in the terrain park with jumps and ramps left over from the X-Games. The boys are getting higher and higher on the jumps and it’s difficult to watch without being terrified. We all have a silent agreement that we are entrusting our boys into each other’s care and that we need to be on it when skiing with them. I definitely need to update my first-aid instruction.
When I picked up the boys from school a smiling Brevitt came up to me informing me that he had gambled his shoelaces and green hat away. Not wanting to be an alarmist I put my arm around his shoulder and told him that he actually gambled my money away and that he would have to make it up to me … and not through gambling more.
There is such a fine line between teaching the children right and wrong and reprimanding them to the extent that they don’t want to share anything with me anymore. What am I going to do with my nine year old who already behaves like a teenager? I have numerous talks with him about how he should not be finishing all of the sodas that are left on the counter at dinner parties. He tells me that he is obsessed with his soda and has no control. He is a fraternity boy in the making.
I try to focus on the present and not dread the future of a beer drinking boy who is happiest when he is catching huge air. For now, I desperately hold on to the moments when he still cuddles with me in bed and sits in my lap at dinner parties.

Fighting Depression as a Mother

[su_heading size=”18″]Fighting Depression as a Mother[/su_heading]

When life gets you down from environmental stresses, it’s not always easy as a mother to fight off depression and be there for our children.

Yesterday, in my miserable sorry assed state, I reflected upon how I had been running my life lately.

My biggest struggle in all of our financial adjustments has been cutting out extra-curricular activities for the boys. What I realized is that I have to develop my new role as mom/camp counselor or it is going to be a very long summer.

Get Outside

After picking up the boys from school I screeched to a halt below their school road, parked vini-man and took the boys on a hike. Having been met by such resistance to anything lately, I was surprised that they were actually excited to go exploring with me.  They have not been enthusiastic about doing anything unless they have their friends with them.

We hiked up to a scree field and they had a blast climbing all over the rocks, getting filthy. They engaged in the activity of splitting rocks to see if they could find any jewels inside. Axel has always had the keen ability to find very cool treasures in the wilderness like the time he pulled out of a Snowmass creek a brown polished stone that we recognized as being a gizzard stone from a vegetarian dinosaur. How cool is it that dinosaurs treaded right where we were standing millions of years ago?  What’s even cooler is that we now have the Snowmass Mammoth Discovery Center to interpret what we find.

When they asked me why there was volcanic rock everywhere in the scree field I took an educated guess and talked about how the volcanic rock from deep in the earth had been disturbed by the slide, ending by telling them what I always tell them, “Let’s look it up online when we get home”. If only I had an Iphone to give them accurate answers to all of their questions. Than again, I prefer to be disconnected from the electronic world when I am with my children.

When Thumper scared himself by thinking he found a hibernating bear in a little cave, he came running toward me, fear on his face, tripping over his wet, untied, high top sneakers. He was certain that he saw something breathing and wanted to leave before we got attacked. Axel, not so easily convinced, crept up and looked in. “It’s just a rock,” he stated reassuringly.

After our hike we went to the market. Last time we were in the market Thumper had a really hard time. The first thing he managed to do was to accidentally fall against a pyramid display and end up with a heap of cans in his lap. Next he picked up a six pack of glass Orangina sodas and the cardboard broke. As the bottles went crashing to the floor we heard over the loud speaker, “Clean up in aisle 13”. At that point he looked at me and started to cry. He was so frustrated that he was doing everything wrong and told me that he needed to get out of there. I couldn’t really blame him. I looked up and saw a friend of mine in a fit of giggles, she had witnessed everything and was getting a real kick out of spying on me and my boys. I was glad that we had been such a source of amusement for her in such a mundane place.

This time at the market things went a lot smoother, apart from when they lost all of my quarters in a candy vending machine. It is so annoying that markets strategically place vending machines in the front of their facilities to tempt our children. I looked at my three dirty, shaggy boys in their tattered clothes and unkempt hair and demanded that they get their money back. I refuse to do their dirty work for them anymore. The sooner they learn how to function on their own in the real world the better. They shyly approached the customer desk and asked for their money back. The woman was horrible to them but gave them what they asked for. Another lesson learned on how not to waste money.

In the market I had a real awakening. My children were growing up and I was no longer enduring frustration and anxiety when entering a large public place. No more lost children, tantrums or bathroom visits. They took care of themselves and each other now. When I forgot my environmental bags they ran to the car to get them for me conscientiously avoiding cars. I recognized that my hard earned efforts were coming to fruition as I observed my big, responsible, charming, albeit shaggy, boys help me out in the market, without being asked.

At the end of the day I happily collapsed into sleep at a reasonable hour. This morning I pounced out of bed like Catwoman. Sometimes a melancholy day can truly work wonders on your constitution.

Boys Need to Be Trained By Their Mothers

 

[su_heading size=”18″]Boys Need to Be Trained By Their Mothers[/su_heading]

Convinced that children are directly related to the swine family. All my life I knew I wanted to have kids but was so unaware that what that really meant was that I would turn into the modern, female version of, Sisyphus. My huge boulder is the endless loads of laundry and the hill I must climb is the pigsty I am always cleaning. Parenting classes have helped me to understand that I am doing my children a disservice by cleaning up their mess for them. I will let them decide who will be their maker. Boot camp drill Sergeant, Jillian with whistle and clipboard in hand or toy gun slinging cowgirl, Jillian with chaps and a lassoing rope?

January 1st I decided to stop doing everything for the boys and teach them how to clean up after themselves. I am doing their future wives a favor. Once again, I sit the children down and discuss the new rules of “Team Livingston”. I dig deep to be effective and tell them that if they want a dog they must show me that they are responsible enough to handle one.

The chore chart resurfaces. It comes and goes depending on my motivation to actually follow-through on it. Parenting classes have taught me to be fun and make a game out of everything. What they don’t factor in is mommy’s cycles. Day 8 I am the most fun and funniest mommy on the planet. The kids remember why they adore me. Each day brings less patience and less games. About day 15 I am losing my ability to sing, “clean up, clean up, everybody clean up”. Day 25 the kids learn to stay out of my way. They see that my fangs are out and I am frothing at the mouth. If it is a full moon they might even see me crouched down on all fours ready to leap.

Why is it that boys are such natural slobs?  It is so easy for them to pee and yet they somehow get urine everywhere. I see their good aim as they write their names in the snow, a habit formed by Baddy who loves to pee off of the deck. Why can’t they aim like that into the toilet? While cleaning the toilets I hesitantly look up and there it is..the yellow spot on the ceiling!Boys Need to Be Trained By Their Mothers pict0169

Axel is comically the absent professor. Absorbed in all of his projects he leaves a trail of messy trash wherever he goes. Shavings from wood and crayons are found directly adjacent to the splat mat, glue guns are left on and in threatening positions, potions are found in the freezer, rocks are everywhere. When I see Axel eating with his cousins at the table without a place mat I say, “Axel, know thyself! He gives me that sweet, knowing smile and I return it. We are working on communicating and listening better to one another. Every day I tell myself not to yell at Axel. How could I yell at that sweet, wise old soul? EASILY! “AXXXEEELLLL, why are you putting your shoes on with only one sock on? Why is there a mound of sugar next to the sugar bowl? Why are your clothes all over the floor? Snap out of your dream world and get ready for school!”.

Being in tune with my frustrations, Thumper has started to help me out a lot more. He has taken over Baddy’s role in the house when he is gone and as great as it is I have to constantly remind him that I am the only one who needs to yell at his brothers. If it is day 8, I get the giggles and tell him to stop standing by my side repeating my orders. Day 25 I tell him that I am about to strangle my parrot standing next to me.

The dog ploy is working and I am in total denial that this means we are getting a dog. Whenever the dog is mentioned Baddy’s eyes glaze over. He was never enthusiastic about having three kids and now I am throwing a dog into the equation? He truly thinks that I am slowly dripping over to the other not so quite right side. Hopefully he will still love all of us once Muki enters the scene and destroys his labor of love. Urine on the ceiling will not be our only challenge.

 

 

Teaching Your Children Table Manners

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[su_heading size=”18″]Teaching Your Children Table Manners[/su_heading]

I stopped taking my kids to restaurants for a while after our traumatic experience when fine dining in Florida. My mother and I took the boys out to a little French restaurant at six pm. After a day of organizing beach activities we were ready to treat ourselves to a nice meal and be waited upon by a well trained staff. We justified our decadence by incorporating a lesson on table manners while we were eating.

Florida is an anomaly. Unless one can endure the typical “family restaurant” it is best to forgo the desired pampering and stay at home. The restaurant was filled with ancient couples who had smartened up and stopped visiting their grandchildren long ago. I am certain that when the grandchildren came to visit them they were told to stay at the hotel across the causeway.

As soon as we walked in to the restaurant I scanned the ornery crowd and knew we were doomed. There was not one taker who would be charmed by my adorable brood. No smiles, no cooing, not even at sweet big, blue eyed, two year old Tucker. Than things went South. The boys got restless and I had forgotten to bring my tool belt of games to play with while waiting to be served. Grandma Nicky and I sent the kids outside and told them to go play in the parking lot before a possie started.

When the boys proceeded to smash their faces into the restaurant windows, two biddies who were giving us the evil eye from the start, approached our table. They launched into a tyrant of accusations which they concluded by admonishing us for taking our children out to dinner without proper training. Grandma Nicky, who was the antithesis of these old bats, was ready for battle. “Trained at what?”, she pompously inquired in her stately British accent.

After the women left, the wait staff came over to our table and asked us if everything was alright. We apologized for the behavior of our offspring. They soothed us by informing us that those woman were regulars who complained about everything from the temperature in the air to the size of their lettuce leaves. My mother gave me license to do her in if she ever became old and crotchety like that. It is more likely that I will get there before she ever does.

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