Bear Proof Vehicle

Mr. Rosen and I have found ourselves in some hairy situations over the years in our various adventures. While camping in Spain we woke up surrounded by giant cows who tried to steal our breakfast. We once took a ride from a trucker in Turkey who wouldn't let us out where we wanted and started driving east to the Syrian border. In India Mr. Rosen almost got in a fist fight with a bus driver who claimed we didn't have valid bus tickets and threatened to kick us off. Good times. But our near encounter with a family of bears on Thursday night trumps all.

I was in the tent trying to nurse the baby to sleep and our daughter was already out. Mr. Rosen was in the van singing good-night songs to our son who was sleeping in the pop up roof. I'm half listening to him sing and half dozing off myself when I hear some moaning off in the distance. In fact it's the same moaning I'd heard the night before but this time I am hearing it at pretty regular intervals and I'm hearing it in a lot of different directions. I know instinctively that it's a bear. Probably a whole family of bears. It's a friggin bear country jamboree by the sounds coming out of the forest. Mr. Rosen continues to sing and I'm strategizing about how to haul ass out of this tent with my infant and sleeping four-year-old in the event of a bear attack. Plus I can never remember if it's with bears that you're supposed to make a lot of noise and look big or if that's with lions and with bears you're supposed to play dead. I'm also thinking that this chubby baby would seem like a nice scooby snack to a black bear. I'm thinking a lot things. Like maybe we shouldn't have camped so close to that wild strawberry patch. Like why the hell I am in the tent and Mr. Rosen is in the bear proof vehicle.

Finally Mr. Rosen emerges from the van and I call him over.

Me: Can you hear that noise?
Him: It's probably a coyote. don't worry about it.
Me. No. Stop and listen for a second.
Pause
Him: Huh. I think that's a bear.
Me: No shit it's a fucking bear.
Pause
Him: Maybe more than one bear.
Me: Like Yogi and Boo Boo?
Him: Plus the Berenstein Bears.
Me: What should we do?
Him: I'll start by putting our food away.
Me: Good plan.

So for the next ten minutes I watch from the tent as Mr. Rosen runs back and forth to the van about thirty times putting away all of our food and garbage. Then he comes back to the tent and says he thinks we should all sleep in the van. The big kids will be in the back (the back seats fold down to a full bed), me and the baby in the pop-up and he'll find a spot in the hull somewhere. He then moves our sleeping son in his sleeping bag to the back of the van. Then my daughter from the tent to the van. Then he takes mine and the baby's sleeping bags and positions them in the pop-up. Next he places the baby up there and I climb in along side him. Finally he sets up his own little space and we all huddle together in our armored fortress.

The next morning, our ninth wedding anniversary, there are no signs of a bear visitation but a guy from the forest service confirms that the place is teeming with black bears. So we packed up and moved on to Bend, a beautiful city further south with no bears but teeming with exercise fanatics, which makes me and my postpartum body wish we were still in bear country.

Bad Dreams

This is my psyche self-portrait. Because based on the dreams I've been having lately, I am loony tunes. On the outside I am trying to hold together a crazy amount of stress and chaos, despite my Martha Stewart home interior. This past weekend was our first open house and while we had plenty of traffic and a few folks who showed up multiple times, we don't have any offers yet. Mind you, we've been on the market for four days so my discouragement is very premature. And our awesome super agent is not concerned at all. Nonetheless my anxiety about the sale of our house and my ability to keep it immaculate and show it with an hour's notice, is clearly starting to have an effect on the ole subconscious.

Two nights ago I dreamed that someone broke into our house. A large man with unusually short arms. More like flippers actually. Mr. Rosen beat the crap out of him with a filled water bottle. But we were still devastated by the damage this might cause to our property value.

And last night, I was meant to perform in front of a giant audience. Sing, to be precise. Something I have actually done before, though not for quite a while. There was a particular theme to the performance which I can't recall right now but I wasn't to go on until maybe fourth or fifth and everyone before me was Broadway quality theatricality with costumes, make-up and a chorus of back-up talent. It was so obvious I was the impostor. And I hadn't even decided on the song, though I was pretty sure it would be the Bonnie Raitt song I Can't Make You Love Me, except I couldn't remember the second half of the chorus.

Turn down the lights.
Turn down the bed.
Turn down these voices,
Inside my head. 

That's about right. 
I need a drink, and the pregnancy tea is not doing it for me.

Scared sleepless

Last night I went to sleep right after I put the kids to bed which was around 9:30. I've been staying up late the last few days watching episodes of Arrested Development to fill the void caused when Lost went on hiatus in May. Aside from being incredibly funny and situated right near where I grew up in southern California, it is especially satisfying for those of us who always loved the Jason Bateman character on Silver Spoons. Way more than the Ricky Schroeder character. Finally, a little love for the wise ass best friend.

So of course I woke up at 2:00 am because what on earth would I possibly do with eight, dare I suggest nine, consecutive hours of sleep. That would be so indulgent. I was warm so I opened the window. And then, as though along with the night breeze, my head started to fill with all kinds of horrible thoughts namely about some awful monster breaking into our home (through the open windows) and doing terrible things to my kids. I won't freak you out with the details but let's just say I might have a future writing horror movies. My friend Ali says it's from watching too much crime television and she might be right. Although who needs crime TV when you can just watch the news.

But back to my insomnia. So I literally was lying there imagining all of the horrible scenarios and finally I got up and locked all the windows in our house. That helped a little. Then I started singing show tunes - always mood lifting. Unless you sing Les Miserables. Which I did not. And then my daughter arrived at around 3:30. I hadn't set out any bedside blankets for her because she had sort of given up the habit of nightly visitations, but there she was. So I told her to come on up and we spooned ourselves back to sleep.

Tonight we sleep with the windows locked.

Hydrophilia

I finally got my daughter to take a bath without sobbing. This had been going on for months making bath time, which as it is we only do every other day - sometimes every third, my least favorite part of the day, right next to mornings, drop-off, meals, being at the park and going to sleep. Just kidding. Sort of. This past Saturday we realized we had not given the kids a bath since Monday and that's gross even for us. And it's because no one wants to do it, the least of all, me.

That's because recently the only way my daughter would even get in the tub is if one of us took a bath with her and she sat on our lap. So imagine two kids and an adult in the tub. Not a lot of space to clean in the nooks and crannies.

And today was no different until I had a stroke of unparalleled genius. She started to whimper and point to my shirt and lap as if to say, I'll take off mine if you take off yours. My son was already halfway in the tub and I said, Sweetie, do you want to sit on your brother's lap? I asked my son and he liked the idea of being my helper and she agreed so I thought let's do it.

And it WORKED. She sat on his lap for about thirty seconds and giggled until he said she was too heavy and asked her to sit next to him, which she did. Next thing I know both of them are lying down in the tub with only their eyes and noses sticking out of the water.

And just as mysteriusly as she became hydrophobic, she was cured.

Pissy

I thought it would last a day or two. I was wrong. Several weeks ago (months? I've lost count.) my daughter was suddenly terrified of taking a bath. This is a girl who used to lie down in the tub so that only the tip of her face - like her nose, eyes and pursed lips - was sticking out of the water and bubbles. While my son was whining about getting his head wet she was snorkeling for tub toys. We called her the baby beluga. Then one day, seemingly out of nowhere, she freaked out about going in the bathtub. I put her in and she was literally shrieking to get out. My son was already in so I knew it wasn't too hot. It was the same as any bath day. Same amount of water. Same gnarly bath toys. But she was having none of it and made that clear with blood curdling screams. Step aside Ronald Regan, this girl is the Great Communicator.  All the while she was also ranting about poo poo. So I figured she had to go. I put a diaper on her but she didn't go. And then it occurred to me that maybe she was worried she would have to go. Two days before she had pooped in the tub which really upset her (though you'd think my son would be the one with the hang-up now. Yes doctor, I have a latent fear of floaties). 

Anyway this has been going on for a while and the only way I can get her in the tub is if I go in first which as you can imagine after a day of work and scrambling for dinner and an hour at the park, the last thing I want to do at 7:30 at night is get in a luke warm bath. A spa, sure. A sauna, no problem. As long as I'm alone. In Baden Baden. But the luke warm piss tub is not a fave. Although now she even gets nervous with me in the tub and I see her kind of holding her crotch which says to me that the feel of the water is making her want to pee but she's not comfortable peeing in the tub (she used to just pee right on her brother without a care in the world. Again, we wonder why he's not the one troubled by the bathtub). So here I am telling her, sweetie, it's okay. You can pee in the tub. I've lost my mind.

So how is this going to end? I don't want to force her but she stinks. My son went through a brief bathtub boycott when he was about her age. Younger actually. We came to understand, at least we think, that he was afraid he would go down the drain. So I sat his butt on the drain and he felt a little tickle of suction which made him laugh and maybe he realized that in fact neither his giant tushy nor the rest of him would ever fit down this drain. But his anxiety only lasted a week. This is going on months. I even put her in a  swim diaper (I mean I am pulling out all the stops here). That worked for a few minutes until she likely peed in the diaper. She's going to end up being the stinky kid at school that no one wants to be near. Just pee in the goddamn tub. We all do it. It's your one opportunity to pee standing up. You'll love it. It's liberating. 

No can do.