Clean Fish Dishes at Campsite

(Poll for this post has been removed)

My original title for this post was going to be "New and News." So before I explain the current title, here's what's new with us.

Amelia's "brain on toddlerhood" episode passed, leaving us with a sunnier, less tantrum-y almost-2-year-old, albeit one that talks ALL THE TIME. It's a pretty regular occasion for her to surprise someone with her long sentences. She is also apparently practicing for Jeopardy and has taken to stating her answers in the form a question. "Does Amia want a cookie?" "Does that girl want to share her toys with Amia?" Then, when you answer her ("Do you want a cookie?") she will agree, amicably and mildly, as though it was your idea ("Okay"). Not to say that she still doesn't have the occasional tantrum, but the period where I felt like I was walking on toddler-transition eggshells, thankfully, has passed. One thing that seemed to help was for me to talk a lot about how Amelia was saying things, telling her to use her "big girl voice" and not a yelling or a whiny voice. This must have gotten through because the other day I overheard her telling one of her animals "Momma doesn't like that whiny voice." Hmm.

Amelia is also asking us real questions. For example, when we are eating, she will say, "Is it good, Daddy?" "Is it good, Momma?" It is funny and cute. Overall, I like her age and hanging out with her at this age more and more every day. We have a lot of fun.

In other news, Amelia has a babysitter, a very sweet college student who has been sitting a few hours a week. I had thought about enrolling Amelia in a Parents' Day Out program, but I felt like neither of us was really ready for that. I decided to find a babysitter who could come fairly regularly, both so I could have a little time to write and so Amelia could get used to the idea of being away from me every now and then. After I interviewed sitters and hired one, she came over almost every other day for 3 weeks or so just to spend time with me and Amelia together, so that we could both get to know her. Gradually I spent less time actually in the same room with them, cleaning or writing nearby so I could still hear what was going on. I liked the babysitter, who I will call M in case she doesn't care to have her actual name on the Internet, a lot at first, and I like her more and more as time goes on. She is patient, funny, and loving, and she seems to like Amelia a lot (but who wouldn't?). For the last several visits, she has taken Amelia to the park for awhile while I write. The first time, it was hard, both for Amelia, who cried for the first 5 minutes she left me, and for me, who knows for a fact it was 5 minutes because I followed M and Amelia to the park after they left and watched them from behind a tree until Amelia stopped crying. (It's really nice to live so close to a park, for a lot of reasons). But now Amelia is actually excited when M comes, and I am enjoying having a bit more time to write, and am even spending most of that time writing, instead of spying.

Speaking of writing, a poem of mine got accepted by the online journal storySouth. I was going to say that it is not up yet, but it actually is! So you can go read it.

Finally, as you may have inferred from the post title and poll, we recently went camping. We went with Jim and Luli and Jes, Kim and Micah, and we all had a great time. Pictures:







However, a certain incident during the trip had me questioning my entire poetry-writing career.

I should say first that, since Amelia was born (and maybe before), Dean has joked about me not reading things carefully, mostly at the grocery store. I might, for example, come home with a can of black soybeans instead of black beans--the cans look remarkably similar, especially if you don't actually read the labels. I think these mistakes have to do with the feeling of always being behind on things, and so always being in a rush to get things done. To combat this feeling of being rushed, I have been repeating a little mantra to myself lately, "Do what you're doing." It helps me actually enjoy what I am doing instead of thinking about what else needs to get done. Also, I think it makes me a little more careful and mindful. Usually. But the day before the camping trip, two things happened.

The first was while I was driving. I was on a one way street, making a left turn. The two far left lanes were allowed to make the turn, and I was in the lane more toward the middle. As I began to turn, I saw someone crossing the street, so I stopped. Then, a car to my left, in the far left lane, sped past me going straight. As I drew in a breath to call them a crazy driver, I realized I was about to turn the wrong way onto another one way street. I had not yet reached the intersection where I needed to turn--it was just ahead of me--and I had almost turned left into the oncoming traffic to my left. I was reading the turning lanes signs for the next intersection, not the one I was at. If it hadn't been for the pedistrian, I probably would have caused a pretty bad crash, and likely been hurt.

I was pretty shaky about it, mad at myself for being so spacey. It was scary. Then, I sent an email with a pretty dumb and very obvious typo. It was kind of an important email--and the person I sent it pointed the mistake out to me when they wrote back. Again, I was upset at myself. Not very mindful. So--keep all this in the back of your head.

Back to camping. On our recent trip, we stayed at the same campsite Dean, Amelia and I stayed at earlier in the summer. During that trip, I noticed a sign at one of the water faucets, which is basically a pipe with a handle sticking out of the ground. "Wash Fish Dishes at Campsite," the sign advised. Back at our campsite, I asked Dean the same question the poll asks (vote now, if you haven't already!).

"Does it mean you are supposed to wash your the dishes you use to eat fish at your campsite, but other dishes are okay?" I asked.

Dean shrugged.

This was the 4th of July weekend, and there were a lot of people at the campground. Most of them seemed to be washing their dishes at the water faucets, so I did too. It seemed to make sense. Fish dishes would be especially yucky and stinky, right?

So the Saturday morning of out trip, I was hanging out with Amelia alone for awhile. She wanted to go for a ride in Micah's stroller, so I decided to take the few dishes from breakfast down to the faucets to wash them, mostly just to have somewhere to stroll. As I knelt down to fill the first cup with water, I heard someone running toward me. I looked up, and the campground manager yelled, "You can't wash dishes here!"

I got up and apologized. I said, "I saw the sign about the fish, but it seemed like everyone else was washing dishes here." He said again, still running, "You can't wash dishes here!" And ran right past me.

It turns out he was running toward someone using a chainsaw (which is something else you can't do at a campground). I was a little frazzled, but I just took the dishes back up to our campsite, thinking I would see him later and explain how I had read the sign. And perhaps point out that they should consider getting a clearer sign, maybe adding, oh, a comma or a conjunction.

So we washed our dishes at the campsite and played some more. Amelia wanted to go on another stroller ride, so we went down a different path. As we walked, we passed another water faucet, this one with a sign that read "Clean Fish and Dishes at Campsite."

My heart sunk. Remembering my recent lapses in careful reading, I realized I had been misreading the signs, overlooking the "and." Amelia and I strolled back to the campsite, where she happily collected rocks and I spent half an hour questioning my entire career as a poet. I don't read traffic signs carefully, I send emails with typos, and I can't even pay carefully attention to a sign about washing fish and dishes. I shouldn't be writing poems.

Finally, I heard the campground manager at the campsite down the hill from us. I decided to at least go explain my mistake. I did, and he was very kind. "We should make bigger signs," he said. I felt better. Amelia and I said good-bye, and walked back to our campsite. Past the faucet I had been at when the campground manager scolded me. And past its sign, which I read carefully:

"Clean Fish Dishes At Campsite."

I can still write poems. Whew.