Last night, I found myself sleeping in my bra again. It’s a common occurrence for me. Around two in the morning, my daughter, Lily, crept into my bed, and by six, she had soaked the sheets—my last clean bra included. I mean, it was really soaked. Now, there’s no way I’m wearing that bra today.
“Sorry, Mama,” Lily mumbles, rubbing her sleepy eyes. At five years old, she has long outgrown diapers, but it’s difficult to be irritated with her in the morning—especially with those rosy cheeks and wild curls. Plus, it’s Sunday, so no big deal. I have a birthday party to attend at 3:30, which gives me enough time for laundry.
“It’s alright, sweetheart,” I say. “Let’s head to your bed.”
We both change out of our soaked pajamas. While still half-asleep, I grab some clothes from the hamper—yesterday’s jeans and a sweater with a bit of yogurt on it. By the time we reach the bottom of the stairs, Lily is wide awake.
“I wanna watch something!” she declares. Lily has a Netflix obsession that could rival any binge-watcher. After a feeble attempt to coax her into playing something engaging, I relent and turn on the TV.
“I can get things done this way,” I reassure myself. And I do manage to get quite a bit accomplished—pancakes cooked, sheets washed, comforter dried, dishes done, and the floor swept. Every now and then, guilt creeps in about screen time and its effects on her development, but I brush it aside. I like to think of my parenting style as a blend of Uncle Buck’s laid-back approach with a sprinkle of Martha Stewart’s perfectionism. Most days, I’m a well-meaning mess, but every so often, I summon my inner Martha and go all out.
I glance down at Lily, entranced by the flashing colors on the screen.
“Hey!” I shout. She’s fixated on a PBS show called Wild Creatures, which is surprisingly educational, featuring two real-life brother naturalists who teach kids about various animals and their habitats.
“Lily! What if we go creature adventuring in REAL LIFE!?” I exclaim, suddenly inspired. We’ll go outside! Why didn’t I think of this sooner?
She looks at me, bewildered.
“Do you know what hiking is?” I ask, and she nods. “It’s when you go outside and walk in the woods! Doesn’t that sound amazing?” I raise my voice and gesture enthusiastically, hoping to ignite her excitement.
“Yeah!” she screams.
We could just stroll around the backyard or take a short walk, but my ambitious Martha side kicks in. I shudder at the thought of settling for a mundane trail (fancy that!). So, I decide we’ll tackle the 3.2-mile White Bison Trail at Lone Elk State Park, only half an hour away. The internet claims it’s a one-hour hike, and if I survived Disney World during the Frozen craze, I can handle anything!
Preparing to leave is another story. Convincing Lily to get ready is always a challenge. I’ve been trying to encourage her to dress herself, but she often ends up wearing clothes inside out or backwards. Today, I take charge.
“I’m too cold,” she whines.
“How can you be cold? We’re getting you dressed!” I pull a shirt over her head.
“I’m too tired.”
“I’m doing all the work!” I snap her pants on.
“But my butt itches!”
“Good grief, Lily! Learn to multitask. Scratch it and give me your foot!” I manage to get her dressed, but when I return from packing a bag of essentials, I find her in white sandals, insisting she’ll hike in them.
“Sweetie, it’s chilly outside,” I say.
“Want… want. WANT, WANT, WANT!” she insists, bursting into tears.
I sometimes wonder if her behavior is a reflection of my parenting style. Maybe I’m too lenient, or perhaps my perfectionist side is creating a rebellious streak.
Finally, after an hour of negotiation, we’re dressed and loaded into the car. We hit the road by noon, and I realize I’m still braless in my unwashed clothes. Normally, that wouldn’t bother me, but I do wonder about the lack of support.
After a half-hour drive and a slight detour, we arrive at the park. Thank goodness, because I couldn’t have sung another verse of “Old McDonald.” For thirty minutes, we belted out animal sounds to keep Lily entertained.
“White Bison Trail,” reads the sign at the visitor center. “3.2 Mile Loop… Difficult.” The internet didn’t mention anything about “difficult.” My stomach drops.
“Are we gonna see buffalos, Mama?” Lily asks, her eyes wide with excitement.
“Umm, I don’t know, sweetheart. I think it’s just a name,” I say.
“Yay, buffalos!!” she squeals. Great. Now, anything less than buffalos will be a disappointment.
Another sign warns about elk mating season. My panic level rises.
“What does that sign say?” Lily asks.
I explain, and she responds, “Oh, then it’s okay. Let’s go!”
We walk toward the trailhead, a small lake beside us creating a picturesque backdrop. The trees are tall and the sunlight filters through the leaves, making for a perfect fall day. As we climb the slope, I feel like a character in a Tolkien tale: “The two eager travelers, full of adventure, set forth on their quest.”
Summary
In this humorous and relatable essay, a mother navigates the ups and downs of parenting while trying to turn a simple Sunday into an adventurous hiking experience with her daughter. From dealing with morning mishaps like wet sheets to overcoming the challenges of getting ready, the narrative captures the chaotic yet joyful essence of motherhood. The adventure leads them to the White Bison Trail, where expectations and reality collide in a delightful exploration of the great outdoors.