the morel of the story

For father's day this year we went on a family treasure hunt. Daddy, the girls, Bubba -the dog, and I, packed up the Subaru and drove into the mountains. Our destination - wilderness scorched from last year's severe fire season. Here, amongst the blackened ashes, charcoal stumps, and marshy ground lies our quest. The delectable morel mushroom. Why we have not gone on this hunt long before heaven only knows. Anyone who is everyone, in our neck of the woods, sets out each spring on the great morel crusade. Never speaking of their ' secret spot' except to gloat, "I have a secret spot". Our morel mad friends note, " they sell for $100. 00 a pound"! I think we thought it was the 'trendy' thing to do. My husband scorns all things trendy. I; however, don't. Morels are not easy to spot. They hide themselves amongst burned logs, debris, and water seeps, but' once you spot your first one you are hooked. It reminds me very much of fly fishing. Searching for spots that look 'fishy', or in this case, 'mushy'. Perhaps the greatest part of all is my 2-year old daughter's sheer delight in the whole mucky adventure. Armed with her orange mushroom pail, mushroom hunter knife sheath, and plastic play knife, she would stomp, tromp, and bushwhack her way to the golden spots. I am not sure if is her height, her ability to stop and see everything, or just pure luck, but she was able to find more treasure than the grown -ups around her. As for daddy, I haven 't seen him run, smile , and bushwhack with youthful abandon since before our infant daughter was born. Trendy, or not, the great morel hunt will become a family tradition. Our secret spot is..........ah, maybe I will tell you next year

~mom's the word

Tu-Tu Cute!

Lily had her first dance recital last night. In front of 150 adoring art-goers, Lily and her fellow tu-tu clad 3 year olds, pranced, grinned, waved and pointed their little pre-schooler toes. She loved every minute of it. It was truly the sweetest moment.

Merry Pouting Christmas Mommy

Every year there comes this day,

when Mommy acts in a peculiar way.

Primping our hair, pressing our skirts

sewing on buttons on holiday shirts.

Wiping the yucky away from our noses,

stuffing us into tight panty-hoses.

Sticking us on a scary mans lap,

as really bright light go snap, snap, snap.

For all your hard work Mommy, we won't let you down,

here is our best holiday frown.

Here is a hint Mama, this too shall pass,

but pictures with Santa are a pain in the #$*!

Authors note: Every year I vow to skip the dreaded picture, but every year I head back to the dreary mall, the sweaty santa, and the $20.00 snapshot. I guess I am a believer in the Christmas miracle.

GIRLY-GIRL

Yikes...Oh No....Trouble....

My 3 year old daughter is a girly-girl, and for a hockey playing, sport loving, outdoor living, jeans and a T Mama, it is freaking me out! I am not talking about the odd princess dress and dolly-tea party. I am talking about, barbie houses, socks must match shirt, and won't get a hair-cut because she wants to be Rapunzel girly-girl. The other day we were in the hockey store looking for a new hockey stick for Dada. Daddy pointed out the cutest little hockey jersey, but was Lily impressed? No way, little girly-girl bee-lined right to the figure skating dresses and proudly declared to the lime green, sequined, bedazzled spandex dress,

" You are bootiful, I want to skate with you".

How could she do this to me? Barbie, the most horrible, miss-proportioned, high-heeled shoe wearing role model, and this is all she wants from Santa this year. What have I done? Where have I gone wrong? The other night while tucking her in she whispered to me,

"Mommy, you can be a princess too, you just have to let your hair grow longer".

I replied, " Princesses have short hair too Lily".

She replied, " Actually Mama....they 'don't".

It seems I have not read the 'How to be a Princess Rule Book' lately but she has it memorized. I guess raising a girly-girl is not that bad. She rips on the ski slopes, dives in head- first at swim lessons, and belts it out like Joni Mitchell when no one is watching. She is one independent, determined little person. In fact, this little girly-girl has the determination of the the toughest of dudes... 'Conan the Barbarian,...just in pigtails, bubble skirts, and matching ribbons.

'How to be a Princess Rulebook' by Lily Miller

1. Must have long hair ( messy and tangled is allowed);

2. Must have 1/2 dozen dresses of tu-tu, tulle, and sparkly variety (curtains work);

3. Princesses do not eat peanut butter;

4. Princesses cuddle at any opportunity;

5. Must have pony (plastic, stuffed, or family Labrador retriever may substitute for real thing);

6. Must spend portion of day trying to convert baby sister into 'princess in training program', and if that does not work...lock her in bathroom with lights off;

7. Mermaids are princesses of the sea and are tolerated.

Going Home

I miss the ocean.

I bring my young daughters to my island home.

Whales guide our ferry to the bay.

The iron steps of the lighthouse we climb,

and climb and climb.

The cool salty air greats us each morning, and puts us to sleep each night.

Bull kelp makes us giggle, and squirm, and giggle.

The island casts a spell on us.

I am home...I am happy...I am home.

Prudy Mamma

When did I become such a prude? Lily, my two-year-old, lives to pee outside. She is like a Chihuahua, she will pee anywhere. Gopher holes, parking lot green spaces, outdoor music festivals, dried river beds, neighbor's flower gardens. At a recent birthday party she went right in the middle of a hula-hoop! A bright purple hula-hoop is a perfect pee target for a 2-year-old with a fetish for public urination. My husband is very proud of his little pee'er. Upon returning from his Daddy-daughter hikes he proudly states, " Lily just pee'ed in the back of the toy dump-truck, what an aim!" It is times like these where I quietly think to myself, "this is a dad of two little girls looking for testosterone anywhere he can find it". Not only is dad o.k. with our little public pee'er, he is as proud of her as can be. I however, am not. When did I become such a prude? As an outdoor educati0n instructor for over 15 years, I have pee'ed in the most majestic of places. From the sand dunes of Mexico, to the Canyons of Utah, and the Glacier's of Alaska...I have marked them all. Grand Canyon, Rocky Mountains, Sea of Cortez, Magdalena Bay, Prince William Sound, Chugach Mountains,...the list goes on. I lived to pee outside. As my genetic offspring, so should she. However, somewhere in the back of my brain is my china collecting, tea-tottering, Dublin raised, mother giving me the holy ' I raised you to be a lady' stink-eye. It seems the 'stink-eye' is a genetic trait too. It manifests itself when my Lily starts taking aim over the dog-food bowl. For now I am letting go of my prudy public pee-ing attitude, and letting her relieve herself wherever she is so inspired. However, tomorrow we are going camping. I draw the line at campfires...sorry Ken, that is one tradition you will have to continue with your nephews.

~moms the word

pLAy

Let's stop for a moment.

Stop from the busy-ness of our do-do-do lives.

And put on a

hair ribbon,

bright blue shorts,

puddle-boots,

with no socks,

And venture to the land of buzzing bumble bees, dandy-lion bouquets, and fairy dances,

And play.

~moms the word

Ain't your mama's, mommy group

You know you are in Montana when a 'mommy and me' stroll includes; sunscreen, diapers, teether toys, sippy-cup, bear mace and a loaded 22. Now that is what I am talking about ladies. Just knowing that between the organic beet puree, and the natural cloth diapers lies forged steel weaponry adds a hint of adventure to a leisurely jaunt through the wood with the babes. Follow the river 1 hour south and you will come to a beautiful creek hike. The path is well used, and comes with requisite pines, birds, old homestead fences and annoying volunteer park host. This season the psydo-ranger is more annoying than usual. He borders on creepy-guy. He notes that the path ahead comes with hidden dangers for us dainty ladies with children. Cougars, bears, wild dogs, (creepy host) ect. ect. What he does not know is that perhaps one of these mommies is packing heat. As we stroll through the trees, crossing small creeks, and ducking under old fences, we talk, and talk, and talk. About everything. Talk, talk, talk. Let the cougars stalk, the bears charge, the dogs growl, and the creeps leer. We are fearless. For between the homemade butty wipes, and the bottles of breast milk is our stick of courage. 'From our cold dead hands', I ponder as we pack up the cars to leave. Perhaps Heston and I have more in common than I ever dreamed of.

~Moms the Word

Happy Birthday Buffalo

Today is my birthday. My husband forgot my birthday. Today is my birthday, my husband forgot my birthday, and I am bumming big time. He didn't really forget my birthday, he just forgot to mention it. Birthday's are a big deal to me. In fact, I start the count down at the beginning of the month. My husband teases me and calls it my birth-month, and he is right on by that. As a mom of two little girls I plan so many birthdays, Valentine's days, Earth days, Easter hunt days, Boxing days and all I am asking for is a little loving back! I just hosted a 'Going to Namibia' day party for a writer friend of mine who was heading down their for a trek/article vacay. You name the day...I can throw a bash for it, and believe me I am good. My husband wanted a Dodge-ball party for his 40th, and a dodge-ball party he got (see above pic). We had uniforms, wristbands, headbands, anthems, rules, trophies, fight songs, refreshing flasks of bourbon for half time. I even ref'ed ( 8.5 months pregnant!). I think that my husband feels a lot of pressure to live up to the birthday bar I have set. However, I also think he is just lazy. My birthday does not motivate him to act like good kayak day on the river day does. So here I sit on my birthday night steaming mad...and sad...and a little bit tipsy. I am nursing 1/2 a bottle of wine. Hey, it's my birthday and I am allowed to go a little crazy. Today is my birthday. My 2-year old toddler drew me a picture of a happy birthday buffalo. He looked happy with his big head, and blue polka-dot body. It made me happy. Today is my birthday, I have a birthday buffalo on my fridge, and I am not so sad anymore.

~Moms the Word

Happy Mother's Day Sherry

happy mum's day! i hope to be as great a mum as you!

~Mom's the Word

Robin at My Window

Thud....thud...thud. Every 2 minutes....thud at our kitchen window. It seems that a large robin has lost its bearing, and for the last 48hours has been trying to break down our glass. It is sadly disturbing. My little girls are eating breakfast and....thud....thud... "Why is the wobin flying into our window ?", asks Lily, my independent, cute as a button 2-year old. "Because we are having so much fun he wants to play with us", I quickly grasp at a response. She gives me a look that says she is not convinced with my answer. Our toys aren't that great she implies with an upraised eyebrow. Wet streaks mark the area of impact. My husband says it is bird brain juice. I am not sure what it is, but it decorates our window like beveled glass. I have tried everything I can think of to help the robin see that this is a fruitless task. Decals on the window, closed the shade. I even drew a picture of a cat and taped it to the impact area. My husband says he thought the cat looked like an owl and asked me if our 2-year old drew it. Night brings relief. The robin is either asleep, or unconscious. I feel great empathy for the robin. I too metaphorically bang my head on a window, then get back up and fly into it again. Like a heartbeat, the thuds comfort me. Thud...thud...thud....thud...thud.

~Moms the Word

Mystery kiss

Maizy on cover of local paper! All right, all right, she is not the child swept up in Bill's arms,but her big brown eyes haunt the picture (that is her in the lower corner), and if you ask me, she is what makes the picture perfect. I have purchased a dozen papers...(OCD mom on the loose). People ask me, " Who is the lady giving her a kiss?"...no idea. Yet, as I look closer at the picture I see genuine affection for Maizy from the mystery lady...Maziy has a way of doing that...making you fall in love with her at first glance...it's the eyes.

~ Moms the word

Maizy and Bill - A kiss from a President

May 14th, 2008

Today Maizy and Bill met for the first time. Old Bill gave her a twinkle of his eye, and Maizy, like most women in the presence of such scallywag charm, fell for it hook, line, and sinker. What is it with politicians, and chubby babies? What is it with mom's wanting pics of politicians and chubby babies? After I handed my infant into the beckoning throngs chanting, "Bill hold the baby", another mother passed me her little fella waiting his turn for a presidential kiss. As Bill was canoodling with my Maizy, the little fella I was holding gave me a look of pure bewilderment. I whispered, " hang on little guy, the mommies are going a little crazy right now, but all will be back to normal soon", and with that I sent him forward to the king of all baby kissers, where the little guy promptly stuck his finger in the President's nose. Now that was funny! I am secretly envious that I don't have a picture of Maizy picking the President's nose. Upon receiving her son, (post nose pick), the excited mommy had to set her son down as her hands were shaking and it looked like a rally-swoon was on the horizon. I had heard that people were fainting en mass at Obama and Bill rallies, but now I was witnessing one first hand... Now that I am home, having forwarded politician/baby kissing pic to countless friends and family, I keep thinking in the back of my mommy brain..."Now when Maizy runs for president in 50 years she will have this picture to look back on." In all actuality, I am not sure I would want my girls to run for president, but it is nice to have the picture tucked away just in case they do. However, I still wish Maizy, all caught up in the heat of the moment, took her chubby, white baby finger and picked the President's nose...now that is a picture.

~Moms The Word