Last night, I fell asleep in my bra, a frequent occurrence in my life. Around two in the morning, my daughter Emma climbed into bed with me, and by six, she had thoroughly soaked the sheets. I mean, she really went for it, and my last somewhat clean bra was also a casualty. Now, it smells like a bathroom disaster. There’s no way I’m putting that on today.
“Sorry, Mama,” Emma says sleepily, rubbing her eyes. At five years old, she’s well past diapers, but it’s hard to stay mad at her in the morning, especially with her rosy cheeks and wild blonde curls. Plus, it’s Sunday—no big deal! I only need to prepare for a birthday party at 3:30, which gives me plenty of time to tackle some laundry.
“It’s all right, sweetheart,” I reassure her. “Let’s head downstairs to your bed.”
We both strip out of our wet pajamas. Still groggy, I pull on yesterday’s jeans (which have already been worn twice) and a sweater that has remnants of gogurt on it. By the time we reach the bottom of the stairs, Emma is wide awake.
“I wanna watch something!” she announces. Emma is hooked on certain Netflix shows, and while she’s never heard the term binge-watching, she might as well have coined it. After trying unsuccessfully to engage her in something interactive, I give in and turn on the TV.
“I can get things done while she’s occupied,” I tell myself. And I do! Pancakes are made, sheets are washed and dried, Facebook is checked, comforters are laundered, dishes are done, and the floor is swept. Every now and then, a nagging concern creeps in about Emma’s screen time and its effects on her development, which puts a damper on my parenting style. I’d describe my style as a mix of Uncle Buck and a dash of Martha Stewart—well-meaning but somewhat hapless, unprepared, and always running late, with occasional embarrassing moments. But sometimes, when the mood strikes, the Martha side of me emerges, and I become obsessively organized and crafty.
I glance down at Emma, who is mesmerized by the vibrant colors flashing on the screen. “Hey!” I shout playfully. She’s watching a PBS show called Wild Adventures, which is actually quite educational. It features two real-life brothers who teach kids about wild animals and their habitats. The show starts with the brothers in real life before they morph into animated characters for the rest of the episode, embarking on “creature adventures” that pose the question, “What if?”
“Emma!” I wave my hand in front of her face. “What if we go on a creature adventure in REAL LIFE!?” This idea strikes me as brilliant. We should go outside! Why hadn’t I thought of this sooner?
She looks at me, puzzled. “Do you know what hiking is?” I ask. She nods.
“It’s when you go outside and walk in the woods! Doesn’t that sound amazing?” I gesture enthusiastically, increasing my pitch and sprinkling in the word “awesome.” It seems to work.
“Yeah!” she cheers.
Instead of our backyard or a stroll around the block, my Martha Stewart side takes charge. I could settle for a paved trail nearby, but no, we’ll take on the 3.2-mile White Bison trail at Lone Elk State Park just half an hour away. The internet says it’s a one-hour hike, and I trust the internet—after all, it told me Tom Cruise is a gay alien, which explains so much. One hour? That’s nothing! If I survived Disney World during the Frozen craze with Emma, I can handle this.
Getting ready turns out to be another challenge. Even if I convince Emma she wants to do something, she never wants to get ready for it. Recently, I’ve been trying to encourage her to dress herself, but she usually ends up tangled in her clothes. Today, however, I decide to dress her myself.
“I’m too cold,” she complains.
“What are you talking about? Putting on clothes will make you warmer!” I pull a shirt over her head.
“I’m too tired.”
“I’m doing all the work!” I snap on her pants.
“But my butt itches!”
“Oh for goodness’ sake, Emma, learn to multitask. Scratch it and give me your foot!” I grab her foot, put on a shoe, and head to the kitchen to pack our essentials, like toilet paper and gogurt.
When I return, Emma has discarded the warm socks and sturdy shoes I outfitted her with, insisting she’ll hike in her white sandals.
“Sweetheart, it’s chilly outside,” I try to reason.
Nothing.
“Those won’t protect your feet.” I receive a blank stare.
“Guess someone doesn’t want to go on a creature adventure,” I say, adopting my best Eeyore voice.
Sometimes, Emma channels characters from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, and today is no different. Her response to my pleas is predictable.
“Want… want. WANT, WANT, WANT!” she insists, tears beginning to flow.
I ponder whether this behavior signifies some flaw in my parenting. Is my Uncle Buck side too lenient? But then I remember, Martha can be overbearing as well. Ultimately, I tell myself that all kids behave like this, but I can’t shake the feeling of doubt. Perhaps I can consult the internet later.
About an hour after our grand idea, I finally have her dressed and our pack ready. We hit the road by noon, with three and a half hours before the party. Plenty of time for our epic adventure! Climbing into the car, I realize I’m still braless in dirty clothes. But hey, dirty clothes are part of my Uncle Buck lifestyle, and we’re just going hiking.
After a half-hour drive, we finally arrive at the park, and thank goodness—I couldn’t sing another verse of “Old McDonald.” We had turned it into a lengthy safari, covering farm animals, African wildlife, and extinct creatures. Thirty solid minutes of repeating the same verse is necessary to keep her entertained on the road, and I rely on my phone for directions, having forgotten how to navigate without it.
Upon arrival, the sign reads, “White Bison Trail: 3.2 Mile Loop… Difficult… Hiking Only.” My heart sinks at the word “difficult.” The internet didn’t mention that. I gulp audibly.
“Are we gonna see buffalo, Mama?” Emma squeals at the sight of a buffalo image on the sign.
“Um, I’m not sure, sweetie. I think it’s just the trail name,” I reply. There are indeed buffalo somewhere in the park, but I can hardly imagine us wandering near them.
“Yay, buffalo!!” she cheers. Now, anything short of buffalo will be a letdown.
Another sign warns, “Elk Mating Season – Use Extreme Caution – Do Not Approach.” Oh great. I escalate my internal panic level.
“What does that sign say?” Emma asks, curious.
I explain it to her. “What is mating?” she inquires.
“Uh, it’s when daddy elks try to make babies with mommy elks.”
“Oh, then we’re good. Let’s go!” she insists, grabbing my hand.
“Why is that?” I ask.
“Because I don’t look like a mommy elk.”
She has a valid point. Plus, I’d seen a couple with a child younger than Emma a few moments ago, so I figure we’re in the clear.
We stroll from the visitor center parking lot towards the trailhead, accompanied by a small lake that serves as a scenic backdrop for our hike. The trail winds around the lake, shaped like the outline of a cypress tree, and the land rises around the water like the folds of a blanket. Tall oaks, hickories, and birches adorn the landscape, allowing sunlight to filter through in patches. A cool breeze rustles the russet leaves overhead. It’s a perfect fall day.
As we begin our adventure, I can almost hear Tolkien narrating: “The two eager travelers, full of enthusiasm, set forth on their journey, ready to embrace the wonders that nature had to offer.”
In summary, this Sunday morning turned into an unexpected adventure as I navigated the challenges of parenting while seeking to instill a love of nature in my daughter. Despite a few hiccups along the way, the journey became a blend of chaos and joy, reminding me that the best memories often come from the most unpredictable moments.
Keyphrase: Real Life Adventuring
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