Motherhood: Four wheeler love

The four-wheeler is like a fifth member of the family around here. We ride it almost every day, the earth holding us up lap after lap as we wear trails in the field and through the trees.


Riding the four-wheeler is one of the few things the boys and I can agree upon. They seem to have outgrown the trains, the Legos they would rather build by themselves, and the soccer games have started to involve a lot of me getting hit in the face with a ball going the speed of light.

But the four-wheeler remains timeless. We've ridden it all winter long, taking turns getting it stuck in the snow, and, now that spring is here, I can't wait to ride it without looking like a very large woman (under layer upon layer of clothing) with a very small head.

These are the things they (we) love about it:

The jumps, of course. Wait, don't worry. The jumps are kid-sized. Mostly.

Working Moms

What’s not to love about working and being a mom? There are lots of perks like overgrown shapeless hair from non-appointments at the salon, kitchen floors that look fine until you cross them barefoot at 2 a.m. to visit a wailing child and return to your bed with enough crumbs on your feet to build a piece of toast, and footstools that are covered in such intricate Lego formations that no one is welcome to relax in your house again.

If your home doesn’t look like this and you work and have children and aren’t lying, we hate you. You are not real, you came with batteries, the rest of us came with short tempers.

So here are things we’d like to say are PERFECTLY OK for mothers everywhere:

Saturday morning

It’s Saturday morning and they have nowhere to be. Lainey turns to her husband and curls around his broad, warm back. He will sleep through it. She rests her cheek on his back until it starts to sweat. She rolls away then, wishing he’d wake up but not wanting to be the reason. She looks out the window, hoping the sunshine of spring will be there. Today it is not, rain is dripping off the eaves again.

She lies in the bed and tries to fall asleep but it won’t happen. She is already listening for her sons to cross the kitchen floor on their tiny feet. Nick rolls onto his back. She slips into his crook and with his eyes still shut, he squeezes her to show he feels her there. Then his crook grows hot and she rolls away from him, knowing he hates to be too warm.

She returns to her side of the bed and waits. The boys will wake soon. It is 6:30 a.m. Like clockwork, she hears Warren creak open the bedroom door of the blue bedroom. He will sometimes walk so quietly that he arrives beside the bed and startles her awake. Today she is one step ahead of him, which won’t last long.

He is sleepy and warm and wearing boxers half the size of his father’s. He is 8. Soon he won’t seek her out in the morning. Already, she can feel the cuddles growing shorter, his legs longer, his elbows bonier, pushing her away, not wanting to snuggle her as much nor as long.

This morning she pulls back the blankets and he slides in. She feels relief that today isn’t the day he is done with it. She kisses him on the cheek, the pillow creases there on his face. His chest is smooth, although he’s already checking for hair on it. She pulls him to her in a hug and he hugs back. Nick sleeps.

“How much longer till we can get up?” Warren asks.
“No Wii,” Lainey answers.