Devil's Lake State Park

Yesterday we went to Devil's Lake State Park for the first time. It's only about 45 minutes from us, and I can't believe we haven't been before! It was absolutely beautiful ... and a little more perilous than expected.

That green speck you see on the beach is Chris. He made a joke about climbing that hill behind him someday, when the kids are older. There are trails that lead to the top, but it would be crazy to try to do that with a 6- and almost 4-year-old, right?

Here's a closeup of the hill in question.

Um, turns out we're crazy like that. It wasn't the plan. We had a list of trails, and we picked out one that was labeled "easy" and set out in search of that. What we didn't realize is that the "easy" trail is along the top of that hill, and the only way to reach it is to take one of the "difficult, steep, climbing" trails. Seems like we would have changed our plan when we found that out. But at that point, we were already at the base of the hill, and everyone really, really wanted to try to climb it. So up we went!

Oh, first we found this fairly impressive boulder, which had to be climbed. Casey didn't go to the top, explaining to us that he's six now, so he knows what's safe and what's not safe, and that didn't look safe. Darby's not that wise yet, so we let him do it, apparently.

Up we go for real this time! There were rocky steps that zig-zagged back and forth the whole way.

Partway up now. I think Casey's mad we made him stop for a photo.

Still a long way to go. Darby and Casey kept racing ahead, and Chris and I had to hustle to keep up. It was pretty hard work.

  

 

Pretty nice view up here! We're not done yet, though.

I can't tell you how much this sort of thing scared me. I was mostly okay with the heights myself, but I was not as much okay with my boys being that high up ... and that close to the edge.

Darby said at one point, "I'm not scared of anything!" That's what scared me the most!

Thank you, Chris, for holding on to Casey right here. Yikes.

Finally, we reached the Devil's Doorway, which is the rock formation at the top of the trail. Now that I know we all survived, and I can say it was worth it!

All these rocks to climb around in ... really a dream come true for these guys.

And for this guy.

This is Balanced Rock, another one of the rock formations this trail led us past. We missed it on the way up but found it on the way down.

Doesn't he look like he's about ready to slide right off a rocky cliff right now? I'm pretty sure it only looks that way in the photo. At least, I hope so, because otherwise it would seem really irresponsible of me to take this photo.

We made it! I think we'll be going back. There's a trail with "difficult creek crossings" that we didn't get to try yet.

So that's how it works

We've been letting the kids watch Doctor Who lately, and Darby's particularly attached to it. On Sunday I gave Darby a haircut, which led Erika to tell him that we'll have to leave enough time to grow it back out before Halloween so it'll be suitable for his possible Doctor costume.

"I keep putting water on my head to make [the hair] grow," Darby offered.

We're saved! Thanks, Darby

Darby got his hands on the garden hose and decided he wanted to play firefighter. If only the house's windows had been closed.

Casey explains it all

A week ago:

Erika, Casey, and I are sitting in the kitchen where Casey's explaining to us why he's been giving us trouble at bedtime lately. It's apparently because we're putting him to bed at times when he doesn't feel tired.

So why, I ask, do you also keep telling us at the same time that you're too tired to walk up the stairs on your own or to put on your pajamas or to brush your teeth?

Casey clearly realizes he's wandered into a logical trap, but he's not going down without a fight. But he also has no guile. So he tilts his head thoughtfully, screws up his face in concentration, and says, "Well ..."

I wait patiently, because I can already tell that whatever he says next is going on the web site.

Casey resumes a level head angle and begins, slowly and with hand gestures, "Here's the thing ..."

I really wish I knew what he said next, but after the thoughtful pause and the serious tone and the ridiculously precocious intro, I had to spend all my remaining mental energy trying to keep a straight face.

Tonight:

Casey and Darby are playing upstairs, but they're both sounding increasingly upset. Erika intervenes, and I can hear it from downstairs. Casey was playing with something, and Darby knocked it over. Erika calmed everyone down, but then I arrived just in time to see Casey knock it over.

"Casey!" Erika exclaimed. "Why did you do that? Just a minute ago you didn't want Darby knocking it over!"

Casey: "Well, once the frogs teleported ..."

Another occasion in which whatever he said that followed was eclipsed by his intro because Erika and I were incapacitated as soon as we made eye contact.

I mean, what can you say to that? Any explanation that includes teleporting frogs ... all you can do is shrug and let it go, right?

March Madness Part 2

After collecting Casey's NCAA picks, it was Darby's turn.

First I asked if he wanted to pick Wisconsin because we live there, and he thought I was teasing him. "We don't live in Wisconsin!" Uh, yes we do, Darby. "No! We live in Cross Plains!" So I spent a little time this morning teaching him about cities and states. Apparently we tease him too much – he assumes we're kidding about everything. It took a little persistence to convince him we really did live in a place called Wisconsin (Casey backed me up, which helped). But then when I got back on subject and asked whether he liked Wisconsin or Vanderbilt, he said "Cross Plains." At that point I gave up and translated it to Wisconsin.

Then Darby picked Georgetown to go all the way because he heard the word "George," and right now Curious George is the hottest trend in the house. He probably thinks Curious George is on the team. It's not the worst basis for picking an NCAA winner that I've heard of.

March Madness

I sit Casey down:

"OK, Casey, see, there's a big basketball contest that starts today. And Grandma and I run ... well, it's called a basketball pool, and what you do is you pick who you think is going to win in a bunch of basketball games, and whoever guesses right wins. So I'm going to tell you the names of some basketball teams, and you're going to try to guess the winners, OK?"

Casey, who's been staring at me with wide eyes throughout this whole explanation, looks thoughtful for a moment. He also seems hesitant and skeptical.

"Well ... OK ... but I don't think I'm very good at playing basketball in the water. But I'm good at playing basketball on land."

He got more into the spirit of the thing once I explained it wasn't that kind of pool.

Advice

All right, this has nothing to do with the kids for a change, but this has been cracking me up for long enough that I need to write it down.

Over lunch at work one day, with no preamble, a colleague blurts, "Chris, I'm losing my hair, what do I do?"

Why would anyone look at me and think I had an answer to that question?

Also, grass is green

An anguished Casey, immediately following a taste of discipline:

I wish everything would go my way!

No kidding, pal.

Blame

Darby: Daddy, somebody made a mess, and you have to clean it up.
Chris: "Somebody" made a mess?
Darby: Yes.
Chris: Did you make a mess?
Darby: Yes.

A lot to learn

We're driving in the car when Casey heard part of a song lyric on the radio and needed immediate clarification:

Casey: "Dad, what did he say?"
Me: "What did who say?"
Casey: "What number's the loneliest number?"

Oh, Casey. You're so young.

I promised Casey I'd bring home Raisinets. I made sure Darby got a handful, too, presenting him with a pile on the desk he was sitting at.

Darby: You brought me chocolate beans!

Budding vigilantes

Casey: My superhero name is Doctor Pajama!

(Darby quickly dubbed himself "Doctor Clothes," as he hadn't switched to pajamas for the evening yet.)

Growing up

Darby: Daddy, I'm growing!
Chris: Right now?
Darby: Yes!
Chris: Cool!

Come here and get out!

Erika and I are chatting in the kitchen when Darby begins shrieking: "MOMMAY! MOMMAY!" Erika goes downstairs to check it out while I listen in.

Darby: "Leave me alone!"

Erika: "You ... want me to leave you alone?"'

Darby: "Yes, I said leave me alone!"

Erika: "Uh, OK. I'm going to go back upstairs where I won't bother you."

Man, is that kid 3 or what?

Weird things happen when I read to the kids

One of Darby's favorite books is The Spooky Old Tree, the story of the three bears that go in the tree and a bunch of mildly scary stuff happens. When it gets to the part where they have to go over the Great Sleeping Bear, for some reason, I find myself doing a Gregory Peck impression, this really low gravelly voice when I say "Great Sleeping Bear. Do they dare go over Great Sleeping Bear?" It makes it sound more ominous or something. Except, it's not really a Gregory Peck impression at all. It's my impression of Robert Downey Jr. doing an impression of Gregory Peck, which he did some years ago in a silly romantic comedy that I can't remember the name of now. I think Marisa Tomei was in it? Anyway. I'm not sure why this is the way it is. I've seen Gregory Peck himself in several movies. But the voice I'm channeling is Robert Downey Jr.'s. But only when I'm reading The Spooky Old Tree.

Now Darby knows pretty much every word in The Spooky Old Tree and sometimes insists on saying the words himself (it's a pretty short book). When he gets to that page, he does the low gravelly voice like I do it. So ... as I told Chris, that's Darby doing an impression of his mom doing an impression of Robert Downey Jr. doing an impression of Gregory Peck. He thought that was amusing and that I should share it.

Under the weather

Casey couldn't keep anything down yesterday. My job was to bring Gatorade home after work, and even Casey seemed to know it. "Did you bring Gatorade?" were the first words out of his mouth when I arrived. I put some in a cup for him and left him to drink it ("No ice," he says. "It just came home from the store -- without ice, it's going to be warm. Do you want it with ice, or do you want it warm?" "Warm," he answers. That's when I knew he was really sick.).

Then I returned to the kitchen to check in with Erika a bit. We talked a while, and I got myself some dinner, and finally I asked: so, how long does it usually take him to throw it up once you give him something to drink? Not long, Erika said: maybe 5 or 10 minutes. Whoa, I said, I should probably get down there and check on him again.

I find Casey staring listlessly at the TV. It's pretty dark in the room, so I can't see much else.

"Hey, Casey. How are you doing with the Gatorade? Did you throw it up?"

"Yeah."

"Oh. ... In the bowl?"

"No."

Dang it. "OK ... where did you throw up?"

He shrugs and points at his lap. C'mon, man, the bowl is like a foot away.

(He was looking and acting much better this morning.)

At least he's warm

A story Erika told me:

Casey's been responsible for dressing himself for a while now, and we don't have many problems with it. So we've relaxed the degree of monitoring that he used to require. But lately he's been making some strange choices. Not in the fashion sense, but ... well, I don't know how to describe this. For example, Mom will provide a new pair of underwear. Then we find out at bedtime that he never bothered to remove the old pair, just pulled the new ones on over them.

Yesterday he took this to a whole new level. Given clothes to wear for the day, apparently he kept his old underwear and pajamas, put the new underwear on top of the pajamas, and then the clothes on top of that. We've decided to keep a closer eye on him for a little while.

In which Mom's new pants arrive

Erika ordered some jeans online (ordinary denim jeans, that part's important), and one day last week they turned up in the mailbox.

Darby: Mommy, I'm so proud of you! You got new pants!
Mom: You're proud of me? Uh, thank you, Darby.
Darby: They're so furry!
Dad: Darby, are you stoned right now?*

*Note: I only thought, and did not actually speak, that last line out loud.

Erika reminded me of this conversation when I observed that I spend most of my time around here correcting Darby. Erika pointed out that Darby just likes to talk and doesn't much care what he says or what the context is. He just remembers that he's heard this combination of words before, and he's going to speak them now. And I'm excitedly posting that here, because as soon as she said it, I realized: YES. THAT'S IT EXACTLY.

In which Darby discovers trash talk

The boys and I saw the Conners in Rochester last week (more on that later), and let me just say how startling it is to see Paige, who is (1) younger than Darby and (2) a girl, ahead of him in height and weight. And that's despite the fact that, of my two sons, Darby is the one who won't stop eating. Sorry, Darby: your genes have failed you.

But he's not letting it get to him. Darby and Paige got along very well, which was a delight to see.

For example, Darby loves to play catch, so we spent several sessions in the Conners family kitchen bouncing a rubber ball back and forth. Paige wanted to play, too, but she doesn't have as much practice as Darby, so she struggled with the catching part. The ball would squirt away across the room, and the two of them would race to chase it down, but Darby -- well, I'm not kidding, Darby has a LOT of practice at this, so he usually came up with the ball, only to have Paige feeling left out and trying to take it out of his hands. But I didn't even have a chance to work out a balanced system before Darby solved the problem for me. "Here, I'll share," he announced, and handed Paige the ball. Go Darby!

And that became the pattern: I bounce the ball to Darby; Darby catches it and hands it to Paige; Paige throws the heavy, water-filled glitter ball at my head or my groin from 36 inches away; repeat. Excitement for everyone!

We continued in that fashion for quite a while, and I was so proud and relieved to see Darby and Paige cheerfully and spontaneously sharing duties. I had two toddlers and one ball, and we were all getting along and playing nicely. I don't know how else to put it: this moment was magical.

But then I bounced it to Darby, and the ball slipped away, and the two kids dove for it in a mad scrum. Again, Darby got to it first. He rose to his feet with the ball in his grasp.

"I got it!" he cheered.

"Good job!" I exclaimed, because that's what you do.

And Paige loves attention and praise too, I'm sure, because she immediately stood and lifted her empty arms in the air: "I got it!" And she's 2, so she says this with no irony, which is already pretty funny.

And Darby just turned and gave her this shockingly mature affronted look, like he couldn't believe the gall of this girl.

"No, I got it," he corrects her. "You got nothing!"

Cheeseburgers do not hide!

Classic Darby quote to kick off the year:

We're driving to Indiana to visit Erika's family for Christmas in 2010, and I plead exhaustion and make Erika drive. For some reason, she thinks it's a good idea to grab fast food for dinner along the way but keep on driving. I disagreed but failed to put up a fight. So our 4-year-old and 2-year-old had cheeseburgers handed to them, in the car, in the dark, with helpless and vague instructions to "be careful."

Casey did all right, but soon enough I checked on Darby to find his dinner missing. Hmm. He's a good eater, but finishing that fast? I was skeptical.

Dad: Darby, did you finish your cheeseburger?
Darby: No.
Dad: Where's your cheeseburger, Darby?
Darby: It's hiding in my pants!

Ugh. So in the dark, I fish around in his lap until I find his burger, and that's when I discover he's eaten the top half of the bun and left everything else, so that when I find it in the dark, my fingers squelch unpleasantly into the cheese and ketchup and mustard. That's the last time I asked Erika to drive.