The First Time The Boy's Head Flew Off

Okay, so the head flying off thing.

It happened when we got home from two weeks in Montana.

Background: The Toddler Teacher we take classes from talks about how kids who are The Boy's age will often save up their anxieties until it is "safe" to express them. Meaning something could scare or make The Boy apprehensive but he wouldn't react to it until he was in a "safe" state — physically or emotionally.

Hmm ... I thought when I heard this. That sounds like it could be true. It will be interesting to see if it's so.

Oh, let me tell you. It's so.

We got home after a decent flight and a looooong drive home. (Friday I5 traffic.) To get settled we went out back with the toy lawnmower for leg-stretching and juice.

The lawn was looking ragged after two week's neglect. The Boy was trying to mow it with his toy mower and wasn't getting anywhere. After five minutes he completely lost it. Just lost it.

For 22 minutes. I timed it.

At one point he was trying to tip over the couch. My gentle, sweet boy. Yeah.

I offered him the footstool but he declined.

I know every kid is different about how he wants to be treated when his head has come loose. Some want to be alone in the room. Some want to be held. Some want an audience.

I have no idea what The Boy wants. Yet. I'm sure we'll get more chances.

No. Not my sweet, gentle boy.

Look, guys; just let me have my dreams for now.

Montana Recall: Home but still washing off the dust

Well, we've been home a couple days. There were big aspirations for weekend chores but really we — okay, I — just lazed about. I lost all my gumption the minute we walked in the door and The Boy's head flew off.

I'll get to that later.

I want to dwell on the good stuff first.

So. Happy, or at least Cute, Montana Vignettes:

The Boy has reached the "neeeeeed" stage. As in, "Neeeeeed [whatever I have in my hand: bottle/pruners/cd]!" Nonnie has dozens and dozens of tractor toys at her house. When there were tears it was, "Neeeed John Deer! Neeeeeeeeed John Deer!" Popped a green tractor in his hand and the tears dried up. Exxxcccellent.

Nonnie brought new blister packs of little tractors and trucks (like we didn't have enough already) for the three grandsons to keep them live-withable while we ate our Lindy's steak. One toy was a forklift. Crown Prince Liam bagged it quickly. After examining it for a while, turning it this way and that, he translated literally and started eating his dinner with the forklift. Good boy, Liam.

The Carousel for Missoula was a little daunting. The band organ is pretty loud and it is billed as the fastest carousel in the USA. Against slight protest, Daddy swooped him up and around they went. The Boy looked like a melt down was imminent for the first few passes but he was definitely grooving on it by the end. When we were far enough away, The Boy's comment was, "I cried a little but it was funny." Yes, Sweetie, it was.







Matt took The Boy for a ride on Unclejerryinmontana's ATV. They went so slowly that I could have caught up with them at a jog. (Not that I jog. I do joggle.) By the time they came back down the road, The Boy had Daddy in a death grip but his face was lit up and he was chanting, "Go faster! Go faster!" Matt was muttering something about not taking driving directions from a two-year-old.







There is a pretty good playhouse at Nonnie's. He spent a lot of time with a frying pan and a "spatchu-BIya" (spatula) working at the stove. I confess it warmed the cockles of my heart to see The Boy playing at the stove "making eggs" and "coffee." I know he's a boy and I know he's currently dedicated to motorized things. But I am pleased (okay, and a little relived) that he imitates me in some things. (The toy in the picture is a coffee pot, by the way.)

Garage sales are the community event on Seeley Lake weekends. Nonnie picks up a lot of good stuff. What caught The Boy's attention was sitting in the living room: a life-sized mallard carved by a Seeley old timer. The boy fed it grass and took it to the other side of the room to visit the metal loon cut out. But mostly he rode it. At one point he insisted it needed a saddle. He went so far as to get a washcloth but the cloth kept sliding off the duck's back. Guess we have a new cliche.

The Boy's imagination actively blossomed during these two weeks. I know he's been dreaming and such, but this was the first time we could track his fantasies. I am really loving this. He's telling us about petting a buffalo and how Daddy rode it (I think that notion came from a dream). He played with carved ducks and declared the ducks were going to find water or grass or to ride the tractors. He had little stories about the horses and dogs. It was truly sweet.

I love listening to his voice. Matt claims he has a German accent. And, yeah, he kinda does. "Put zat ofver vere."

Swan Valley O-mok-see: Small Town Snapshot Sunday

A note: These photos are old and not that great, but they are a part of my family's history and I am proud of them ... especially Loretta.

My dear mother-in-law, Loretta, turned 70 this last month. She grew up in Swan Valley, Montana. Most people just call it The Swan. It's bordered by the Swan Mountains (Bob Marshall Wilderness) on the east and the Mission Mountains on the west.

Currently the nearest stop light is 70 miles away. The nearest gallon of milk is 25 miles away via winding roads and a seasonal choice of tourists or ice.

In the early 1950's folks in The Swan made up an arena near Liquid Louie's Liquor Lounge for rodeos and O-mok-see's.

O-mok-see's are basically horse games. Barrel racing, pole bending, something involving a watermelon and whatever was dreamed up in Liquid Louie's the night before.

Loretta's horse was Gibby. He was A Good One.

Loretta got the signal honor of riding out with the flag for The Swan's first O-mok-see.

Barrel racing. Note all the horses tied up to the right. O-mok-see's weren't and aren't just for girls. They do divide up into age groups, but on a horse, everyone has an equal shot at the prize.

And here is Loretta's granddaughter, Mariah, competing in this year's O-mok-see. She's followed Loretta in her love of working with horses and is something to see. This year she won a trophy (gold and sparkley) for the highest over-all points.


There's not a lot of "planning" that goes on in The Swan. If you're looking for something like signs to tell you that the school is ahead on the right or that this is the last gas station until Big Fork, you'll be disappointed. Usually someone has to actually die before warnings are posted. And even then ...

My point is that with all the live-and-let-live-or-die-or-whatever attitude, the O-mok-see is still a big part of the year. The people of The Swan get it together and rake the arena and water it down.

After the sister of the guy who is home from Iraq sings the Star Spangled Banner (quite well, I might add), you lean on the rails, watching the riders and eating dust. The folks next to you sitting on their coolers are critiquing the riders:
"Is that Debbie's youngest?"
"Yeah. Cindy. Looks like her mom, doesn't she."
"Yep; sawing away at her horse's mouth. Where does she get that from? Her dad doesn't do that."
"Well, her grandad did."

I love that.

Montana Tractors

The Boy loves tractors. Really, really loves them.

He's working on 22 months and can identify tractors by make. It's arresting and a little creepy to hear a sweet, lispy voice chanting "Case 560! Case 560!" as we cruise down the back roads.

When there is Sadness, The Boy doesn't often call for Mama. It's "Need John Deer!" Sometimes this hurts my heart, but mostly I'm pleased I can hand him a toy tractor and the tears evaporate.

In anticipation of our Montana trip, we've been talking up a visit to Unclejerryinmontana (all one word). Uncle Jerry has tractors. Several. Mostly John Deers. We thought it would be a veritable Boy nirvana.

On the appointed day, we hauled a couple girls, their horses and The Boy out to Unclejerryinmontana's place. All the way out to Jerry's was a sweet-voiced song from the back seat, "Unclejerryinmontana have John Deer tractors? Ride it? Unclejerryinmontana ride John Deer tractors?"

Yes, Uncle Jerry has John Deer tractors. Yes, you can ride them.

We got to Jerry's place and: Oh, look! There is a John Deer tractor! Can you see it? There it is! Come on, let's get out and ride them.

The ecstatically kicking Boy was hauled out and set on the ground. He had a clear path to the best of the John Deers.

And ...

He sat right down in the dust, picked up a rock and a stick and that was it.

Daddy coaxed him over to the shop, but I think the realities of tractor were too much. They're awfully big and smell funny. The chug chug chug sound we make when reading tractor books aren't nearly the same as the 1960's diesel rumble Uncle Jerry's tractor makes.

Finally Matt climbed up in the seat and hauled The Boy after him. Before there was time to complain, they were chugging (but not "chug chug chug-ing") down the road.

The Boy was grinning broadly. And holding as still as he could. Perhaps he didn't want the tractor to take too much notice of him ... ? You never know when they're going to turn on you.

4th of JOO-ly in Swan Valley Montana: Small Town Snapshot Sunday

As we have every Fourth since Matt and I met, we trooped out to the Swan Valley parade.

It's a fairly loose organization. I'm never really sure who's in charge. Usually when you ask, someone says, "Go ask for Ed/Bob/Val."

Ed/Bob/Val is a harried looking guy who, in his heart but not in actuality, is carrying a clipboard and a bullhorn.

But, really, come on, the ones who are actually organizing are the Ladies. They've done this for 60+ years. They were in this parade. They shoveled their kids through it. They coaxed their grand kids. It's simple. It's not to be messed with. Get in line. Parade.

Everyone with a vested interest in the parade gathers in front of Liquid Louie's Liquor Lounge. (A watering hole my normally passive husband refuses to let me set foot in. I figure there's an incriminating picture of him posted behind the bar. Or maybe something indelibly etched in the Ladies ... ? Some days I feel like Bluebeard's wife.)

There is supposed to be a safety briefing, though I've never heard it. This year I asked around and the best anyone can figure out is that the briefing should cover what paraders are supposed to do if there is an emergency call immediately before, during or immediately after the parade. Since Hwy 83 is the only road through the Swan Valley, that's where the parade parades. All the emergency vehicles are in the parade. So, in case of an emergency, we all need to get off the highway so the emergency vehicles can go. Check.

By 11 a.m. we are assembled in front of Liquid Louie's waiting to go. I've never actually heard anyone actually say, "Okay, start." Someone does, I'm sure.

Marching at the head of the parade are currently serving and retired vets in uniform. They just kind of seem to go. Everyone falls in behind.

The most junior ranking person sets the pace by custom. No small feat when the other regular marchers are a Navy captain, a Marine colonel cum county sheriff, an Army major and a really senior Army NCO (he's the one out of step). But it's been a while since these officers have paraded (especially the Navy boys), so the junior guy is in charge.

Color guard riders with the US and Montana flags follow. It used to be better-behaved boys from a reform/boot camp down the way. But now it's usually the guys that have "worked on the parade." I'm not sure what the work has been (see: "Get in line. Parade."), but I don't doubt they did it. And they look good on a horse.

Then the kids follow on their horses. There is no little competition in decorating these horses. Every year, one of them gets first place for their efforts. We none of us are sure why the kid who is awarded first gets the blue ribbon. As my niece says, "All the horses look like the Fourth threw up on them." She's won first for several years and she doesn't know why. She figures it has something to do with the number of glitter spray cans she goes through.

The rest of the parade steps out in an ad hoc fashion. There are donkey carts, mule carts and trucks pulling flatbed "floats" with Sunday school kids clinging to it. The Shriners show up in their clown cars. The Corvette club makes a showing. There are flatbed trailers "floats" for the historical societies and the conservation district. The freshly polished ambulance followed by the fire truck coast down the road, half hoping for an emergency and half not.

One year some bar had a float featuring an old tin bath with a shirtless, grubby looking fellow in it. A miner? A ranch hand? Straddling him was a negligee'd lady "bathing" him.

Um. Yes.

A pocket of silence followed that one down the parade route.

Have I mentioned the candy? There's a lot of it. People (okay — kids) in the vehicles pelt bystanders with candy from Costco sized bags. If you aren't beaned by a jolly rancher or a tootsie roll on the Fourth in Swan Valley you weren't really participating. The Killjoy in me wants to make a new rule for next year: you have to apply to throw candy from your "float." Only six permits will be given.

Fun-stifling, I know, but I'm concerned. I have visions of deer and other varmints coming out after dark and scraping up the trod-on, rolled-over peppermints and saltwater taffys from the road. These sugar-starved critters have the potential to either make some one's obituary a real laugh riot ("Ed was impaled by his loosely installed gunrack after leaving Liquid Louie's parking lot in his 98' Ford 4x4. Reaching an estimated speed of 85 mph, Ed hit a two point buck which failed to yield the right of way. The buck, who also died in the crash, was later found to have his front teeth glued to the asphalt by green apple Laffy Taffy.") or they will go on a 10 mile wide, sugar-fueled rampage resulting in ripped out window screens, savaged planter boxes and flat tires with double tooth marks.

(Now there's a sentence to be proud of.)

As the procession ends, the highway is again open to through-traffic.

This is my favorite part.

There's usually less than a mile back up. Most locals know the parade is blocking the highway. Most locals are involved in the parade, I guess. Anyway, some folks in the back up are angry. Some are impatient. Some are from out of country and have no idea what we are doing and why. But the best, and most common, are the people who act like they are the final feature of the parade. They wave and smile and wish us a Happy Fourth. What great attitudes.

I throw candy at them.

Montana Grumps. Yargh.

Okay, I'm griping. I've fought it for days.

We've been here in Montana 10 days now and, excepting the second night, The Boy has managed to avoid sleeping until 11, 11:30. I no likin' this.

Between his whimsical sleeping hours and the neighbors' dogs sleep has been elusive for Crabby Moms Like Me.

Yargh.

Today at naptime, after slamming his head into my braces One More Time, I opened the door and handed The Boy to Daddy.

There was no napping this afternoon. But Daddy was dealing with it and I stayed downstairs. Fighting guilt.

This evening, back to Daddy. The Boy and I are sick of each other and that's okay.

I don't think Matt was up there 15 minutes when he smuggly tip-toed out of the room and gently shut the door.

Yargh.

On the other hand, it's just after 8 p.m. and this is the first chance Matt and I have been able to to have an adult conversation in three days. So fine. Be smug.

But not too smug.

Montana Therapy

Okay, so it's been a whole month.

The best way I can sum up is to say that The Boy is flexing his Opinion Muscles. This seems to affect everything from naps to eating to going down for the night. Since everything that happens between eating and sleeping is really a placeholder, you can imagine that it's been a bit ... unpredictable ... around Ye Olde Homestead.

The best solution is to pack up and hie out for Nonnie's place in Montana.

Because I value my husband's and The Boy's life, The Boy and I flew. The Husband drove I-90 with the two dogs and all the stuff. Packing for one, single kid requires twice the car space that travel did previously. We bought a Thule thingie.

(In case you care, the Thule can carry the stroller, packback, The Boy's clothes, some of our clothes and the dogs' stuff, too. This left room in the car for the dogs, two coolers, my clothes [medium bag]. Matt's clothes [gargatuan bag plus two smaller bags], The Boy's food [allergic to everything fun] and all of Matt's accessories [iTouch, gps thingie, road food, cell phone, Blackberry and don't know what all, plus the chargers and other accoutrements].)

The flight from Seatac to Missoula is on an airplane. Not a jet. You have to walk out on to the tarmac and then up some stars onto the plane. This was a real hit as we could touch the wings and the propellers and all.

Once on the plane it was not good. But just for a bit. I don't know if it was the abrupt transition from Out to In or the change in accoustics or if it was the collective displeasure of 50 people seeing a not-two-year-old getting on the plane.

All was well when we brought out the Stihl catalog. Everything is always better when you can loose yourself in selections of chainsaws and leafblowers. Try it sometime. You'll see.

Because Nonnie's house was full (the Gareth family beat us to the good bedroom) we stayed out at the Rich Ranch. The Boy could be a free-range kid and look at the farm equipment — sorry, ranch equipment — and visit the mules and find all the sticks and rocks any boy could want.

We've been busy and it's been hot. I'll fill in the details next entry. Catch-up entries are always dull. I'm done with this one.