Popper is Funny too!

     Before my daughter could speak, she would strum an air guitar when addressing my dad. This gesture was appropriate because of his position as the lead guitarist of his band. Once she could speak, my dad would strum, point at himself and say grand-pa-pa. Nola did her best to imitate him which is where the term Popper was born. My son has carried on the tradition of the name and I expect that my sisters' future children will do the same.

     Adding to that, my kids adore Popper. He is a great grandfather to them and is greeted by screams of joy and hugs when my kids are near him. And his laid back attitude and positive outlook on life are contagious. For these reasons, if my dad ever seems stressed at any level, it is noteworthy, which is why this next story has to be told.

     This past weekend my kids were the flower girl and ring bearer in my cousin's wedding. And as any mother's luck would have it, Miles started to fall apart a few hours before the rehearsal and groom's dinner. I had to act quickly and by doing so, I decided that my only option was to nap him and be late. A late ring bearer had to be better than a crabby one. To save a little face, my parents decided to bring Nola along with them, at least one of my kids would be early.

     My parents actually left two hours early because the had to pick up my dad's tuxedo across town, in traffic and through Minnesota road construction. They needed extra time. Of course, we all found it extremely ironic that Miles and I arrived earlier than everyone.

     Apparently, the traffic and construction was far worse than my parents anticipated leaving them on countless back roads and detours that caused major frustration. Nola approached me at the church and said, "Popper was pretty mad in the car. He hit the steering wheel with his hand and said something like shhh..., I don't know actually, it was something with a shhh..."

     I tried not to laugh for many reasons. I was happy that the shhh... word was not part of her vocabulary, I knew that my dad must have been really lost to hit the steering wheel and Nola knew that if Popper was mad, something must be wrong.

     My dad's face turned a bright shade of red when I brought up the conversation. He backpedaled a bit and tried to explain the frustration he felt being lost and then eventually late. I truly did not blame my dad for his accidental outburst, I've known him my whole life and he is usually very even tempered. This was why I had to tell my mom, sisters and brother-in-law about the incident. When a laid back guy like my dad loses control, the humor of the situation must be embraced.

Rules

     What do you think when you hear the word rules? Do you get a warm, fuzzy feeling? Probably not. But rules aren't all bad, are they? For instance, traffic laws are necessary or your favorite sport or game couldn't be played without them, or how about rules to physics or mathematics, those have come in handy. I'm building up a case to defend myself can you tell?
     As a parent, I have created many rules for my children to follow. Have I done this as a strict dictator on a power trip? Not at all, they are put in place to keep the peace, to have organization and for safety's sake. Which brings me to the topic of the day: Bike safety and general road safety.
     Bike safety is important and I'm not just talking about helmets. An awareness of one's surroundings is vital when taking to the streets or in my kids sake, going on a bike ride...with their mom. I actually could not wait for my kids to be old enough to ride a bike further than the driveway. And as luck would have it, last year was our inaugural ride.
     I souped up my kids bikes, put on their helmets and started down the driveway. "Stop at the bottom of the driveway and look for cars," I said as if casually reminding them of something they already knew.
     "Okay, Mom!" they yelled as cute as can be.
     "Wait! Stop! You didn't look!" I hollered.
     My two kids slowly stopped their bikes, in the middle of the road mind you, and shot me looks of confusion. They had no idea how to look for cars and for some reason, I thought that my three and five year old children instinctively possessed a sense of bike riding. Well, I was wrong.
     So, like any good parent, I taught them the rules: stop, look and listen. I also repeated them every time we went biking. And every time I did, my daughter would say, "We know, Mom." In her defense, she did know them but there was a loop hole in her understanding. My daughter believed that she only needed to look the first time she biked from the driveway to the street. I couldn't believe it, after all of my coaching and talk of getting hit by a car and how much that it would hurt to get hit by a car, she didn't know that she had to look every time she entered the street.
     Eventually, we worked out a system where the kids were allowed to enjoy bike adventures as long as they could tolerate mom's rule reminders. Now everyone is happy, more or less.
     I also transferred these rules to the ever popular ball in road dilemma after witnessing my daughter run straight in front of my neighbor's car. Luckily the neighbor was paying attention and she was not hurt but I nearly had a heart attack. I sat both kids down and did my best to explain that they need to think of their safety first and then the ball.
     "You are more important than a ball. You first, then the ball. You," I pointed at them and held up one finger, "ball." I held up two fingers on my other hand.
     Yes, they laughed and thought mom was funny, but a few weeks later, I got word that my little speech had in fact impacted my babies.
     My sister had been playing soccer with them in the front yard of my parent's cabin. Let me set this up for you, my parent's cabin is located in rural, northern Minnesota, once you are about a half of a mile from the cabin you drive on a dirt road which takes you to another dirt road that leads you to the cabin which is a few houses away from a dead end. I think it's fair to say that it's a pretty quiet place.
     Anyway, the kids and their auntie had been playing for ten minutes or so before I decided to join the game. As I walked outside, the first thing I noticed was Miles standing in the middle of the road holding the soccer ball and naturally I panicked.
     "Miles!" I yelled. "You have to look for cars!"
     "I did!" he yelled back as he resumed play.
     My sister approached me with a smile and said, "he did look, you know. He ran right to the edge of the road, stopped, looked left and then right, then walked out to get the ball."
     "Oh, good," I replied feeling relieved.
     "I know that you have to teach the kids rules about safety and all but I have to say, it was pretty funny to see him treat the dirt road as though it were a freeway. I think I saw a tumbleweed roll by as he searched for traffic," said my sister as she elbowed me.

"Mom! Miles...!"

     My daughter should be a cop. She is extremely observant, is serious about separating right from wrong and actually embraces rules. She even keeps me in line when it comes to my poor time management issue. So it should be no surprise that she also keeps a close eye on her brother and has since he was born.

     This Miles' incident took place on a rural Minnesota highway near a stereotypical farm field. There were straight lines of vegetation as far as the eye could see, dusty dirt roads that entertained only the occasional car and farm houses no closer than a mile from one another. This was where the blow out occurred.
     We were only five minutes away from my best friend's home. Five minutes I tell you! When my cop daughter yelled, "Mom! Miles is eating his poop!"
     In all my years of dreaming up the perfect little family with the perfect little kids, one of my children eating their poop never entered my mind. Ever. I looked into the rear view mirror only to see my one year old son with his hand in his mouth and a look of disgust on his face. Well, at least he didn't like it.
     "No, no, no!" I yelled.
     This reaction startled him and he instantly withdrew his hand. It was indeed covered in poo. I turned off the highway onto the first dirt road I could find and flew out my door to rescue my Miles from himself. There he sat in a seat full of waste. There was shit everywhere. I slowly unbuckled him and pulled him from the wreckage. I just held him straight out in front of me and stared. I didn't know where to begin.
     While I pondered my next step, my daughter commentated, "What are we going to do, Mom? Do you have another diaper? Do you have any clean clothes for him? Gross, Miles. Why did he do that?"
     "I don't know, Bug. I just need an minute to think." Actually, I needed a bath tub and a washing machine but we can't have everything can we?
     I decided to open up the back door and look for my diaper bag. This was not an easy task while holding a dirty little man. And luckily, I did have a diaper but I was low on wipes. I truly don't know if anyone could have had the right amount of wipes to clean up this disaster but I was happy to have a few.
     I peeled off the soiled clothes and diaper then started wiping. Miles could walk at this point in his life which made me happy that I didn't have to set him down on the rocky dirt road. I wiped and wiped the child for ten minutes. All the while, my Nola kept asking me if I was done yet.
     "No, Bug, not yet...not now...a few more minutes."
     Once he was decent, I searched for a new outfit. I was prepared with extra clothing but I was not prepared for my son's car seat to be used as a toilet. I was out of wipes and at a loss as I stared at the nasty seat. What to do, what to do? I had to turn to my creative side. Everyone has a set of innate skills and one of mine is problem solving. I love puzzles, sudoku, design, I love creating; so, I had to look at my problem creatively.
     I searched my car and found a few small paper bags. I flattened the bags and covered the seat with them. Then I placed a blanket over the bags and set my freshly wiped son back in the seat. It still smelled like shit, but would work for the five miles we needed to drive.
     When I finished, I turned around and saw the mess of dirty wipes and crap filled clothes I had piled up on the side of the road. I did not have a plan for them. I had already used the paper bags I found in the car and I could not find a single piece of trash to help me contain the litter.
     After much contemplation, I made the rash decision to leave my garbage behind. Yes, I left twenty wipes, a pair of shorts and a child's t-shirt on the side of a country road. It was not an easy choice for me to make, my daughter does not get her rule following characteristic from the wind, but I could not find another option. My creativity was shot.
     As we drove away from the incident, my panicked daughter could not stop talking about Miles' clothes on the side of the road, "how are we going to get them back? What if the cows eat them? Mom, what are we going to do?"
     At that point, I was spent. So I answered her with the last bit of cleverness I could conjure up, "I'll call the farmer later, honey, and he'll mail them to us."
     She looked at me with much sincerity, "yeah, that's a good idea, Mom."