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Real Life Adventuring
Last night, I ended up sleeping in my bra again. It’s a common occurrence, but it took an unexpected turn when my daughter, Lily, crawled into bed with me around 2 a.m. and managed to soak the sheets by 6 a.m. Not just the sheets, either—my last clean bra became part of the mess. By “clean,” I mean it was the least dirty option available, but now it has a distinct urine scent. I definitely won’t be wearing this today.
“Sorry, Mama,” Lily mumbles, her eyes still half-closed as she rubs them. At five years old, she’s well past the diaper phase, but it’s hard to stay upset with her in the morning. With her rosy cheeks and tousled blonde hair, she’s just too adorable. Plus, it’s Sunday, which means I have a kid’s birthday party to attend at 3:30 p.m., leaving me plenty of time to do laundry.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” I reply. “Let’s get you into your bed.”
We both change out of our wet pajamas. Still half-asleep, I grab some clothes from next to my hamper—yesterday’s jeans and a sweater that still has some yogurt on it. By the time we reach the bottom of the stairs, Lily’s wide awake.
“I wanna watch something!” she exclaims. Lily has an obsession with certain Netflix shows, and while she may not know the term “binge-watching,” she embodies it. After a feeble attempt to engage her with something interactive, I give in and turn on the television.
“I can get things done this way,” I reassure myself. And I do. Pancakes are made, sheets are washed and dried, Facebook is checked repeatedly, the comforter is cleaned, dishes are done, and the floor is swept. Occasionally, a nagging worry about the impact of screen time on her development creeps in, but I brush it off. I often describe my parenting style as a mix of Uncle Buck and a hint of Martha Stewart—well-meaning but often hapless, slightly disorganized, and perpetually late. But sometimes, I channel my inner Martha—a relentless, crafty perfectionist.
Looking at Lily, lost in a trance while watching “Wild Kratts,” I have an idea. “Hey!” I shout. “What if we go on a real-life creature adventure?” I’m convinced this is a fantastic idea. Fresh air and exploration!
“Do you know what hiking is?” I ask her. She nods. “It’s when you go outside and walk around in a circle—in the woods! Doesn’t that sound awesome?” My enthusiasm seems to spark interest.
“Yeah!” she shouts, bouncing with excitement.
Instead of wandering around our backyard or taking a simple walk, my adventurous spirit kicks in. I decide we won’t settle for anything mundane. This is where my Martha Stewart side takes over. I picture a grand adventure, one worthy of a Tolkien narrative, filled with challenges and wisdom to be gained.
I glance at the clock and remind myself about that birthday party at 3:30. “Maybe don’t go too crazy,” a voice in my head warns, but I ignore it and choose the 3.2-mile White Bison Trail at Lone Elk State Park, just half an hour away. The internet claims it’s an hour hike, which I figure is manageable given my past experiences.
Getting ready proves to be a different challenge. Lily, despite her initial enthusiasm, doesn’t want to prepare. I try to encourage her to dress herself, but she only manages to get tangled up in her clothes. To save time, I end up dressing her myself.
“I’m too cold,” she whines.
“Putting on clothes will make you warmer!” I insist, pulling a shirt over her head.
“I’m too tired.”
“What are you talking about? I’m doing all the work!” I respond, snapping her pants on.
Eventually, I finish getting her ready and pack a bag with necessities—like toilet paper and yogurt. However, when I return, I find her in her white sandals, insisting they are suitable for our hike.
“Honey, it’s chilly outside,” I say.
“Want… want, WANT!” she insists, tearing up.
I wonder if my parenting style contributes to her stubbornness. Perhaps my Uncle Buck side is too lenient, or maybe my Martha side is too demanding. But I remind myself that all kids go through this phase, right?
After about an hour, I finally have her dressed and our bag packed. We’re on the road by noon, giving us three and a half hours before the party. I realize, much to my dismay, that I’m still braless in my dirty clothes. But Uncle Buck says that’s normal for hiking, so I push the thought aside.
After a half-hour drive, we arrive at the park. Thank goodness, because I couldn’t have sung “Old McDonald” one more time.
As we enter, a sign reads, “White Bison Trail: 3.2 Mile Loop… Difficult… Hiking Only.” My heart sinks at the word “difficult.”
“Are we gonna see buffalos, Mama?” Lily squeals at the sight of a buffalo picture on the sign.
“Um, maybe, but I think it’s just the name,” I answer, hoping to manage her expectations.
“Yay, buffalos!!” she exclaims. Now I have to deliver.
As we walk, another sign warns of elk mating season, increasing my anxiety. “What does that sign say?” she asks innocently.
I explain, and she responds, “Oh, then it’s okay. Let’s go,” pulling my hand.
We make our way to the trailhead, with a small lake on one side, surrounded by beautiful trees with sunlight streaming through. The air is crisp, and it’s a perfect fall day. I can almost hear the voice of Tolkien narrating our adventure as we begin our hike, ready to explore the great outdoors together.
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Summary:
In this lighthearted tale, Clara navigates the ups and downs of parenting her adventurous daughter, Lily. A simple morning mishap leads to an impromptu outdoor adventure, showcasing the humorous challenges and joys of parenthood. With a mix of charm and chaos, the story highlights the importance of embracing spontaneity while managing the everyday struggles of raising a spirited child.