Hot Mess

Years ago, I worked at a lovely, rustic wedding venue out in the country. The chefs and owners, Jane and John, had five wonderful children that worked alongside them. While John was a bit surly, Jane was just adorable. She was petite with messy cropped blond hair and an enormous smile. And she was constantly baking. While folding napkins, I would watch her out of the corner of my eye as she simultaneously pulled a rack of hot scones out of the oven with one bare hand and swatted John on the behind with the other. She was so much fun and always had a good joke or a piece of wisdom on the tip of her tongue.

Some of the other girls and I were in the kitchen one afternoon when she offered us some advice. "When it comes to children, just remember this one rule," she admonished. "Make them adaptable. We took our kids everywhere, and they learned to be happy and entertained wherever they were."

Nine years later, I still think of Jane, her five children, and her advice. I remembered it when I was pregnant with Tate and trying to get my head around the idea of becoming a mother, I remembered it when Tate was two weeks old and I took him to baby yoga (!?) and I remembered it when he was 2 months old and colicky and I took him to Jazzfest(!!!???) We all try so hard to be the good mom, the cool mom, the "right mom", the best mom. And we grasp at all the little hints of wisdom that women we respect say under their breath, hoping that they will guide us in the right direction.

But today I can say that much more than I have made Tate adaptable, he has made us adaptable. Really, there is no other option. To make a child do what you want without considering their readiness is not only unkind, it is not smart. They cannot be coerced into being less tired or in a different stage of development. When they're done, they're done, and you just have to respect that and hang up your own plans for awhile. I have found that when I let Tate lead the way and I surrender my own agenda, I become someone new - someone that I wasn't planning on becoming, but someone that is genuinely in tune with my son's happiness, state of mind, and development. And we have a great time together.

Until today.

Today I really, really wanted Tate to be on my agenda - not only because it would be fun for me, but because in my mind, it would be fun for him. The plan was to leave Mandeville at 2pm, drive an hour to New Orleans, go to a birthday party from 3 until 5, meet up with Bekah at 5 in the park, and then with Sara and Kate in mid-city. Oh, and stop at Whole Foods to get some vitamins. And then make the hour drive back. A little ambitious? Eh, YEAH. Like baby-yoga-at-2-weeks-ambitious.

So at 2pm on the dot, we hit the road. He had on his new threads and I was freshly scrubbed and ironed. The gas tank was full, the presents were wrapped, the cell phone was charged. At 2:56, we descended on New Orleans -- early! Perfect! Always trying to squeeze the most out of the minute, I decided to hit up Whole Foods now to get the vitamins and snacks. After we quickly cruised the aisles and played "no thank you, we don't touch that" in the bathroom, we were ready to check out. I opened my purse and peered inside. I do not exaggerate when I say that what I saw inside my leather purse resembled a cesspool. What appeared to be a quart of water pooled in the bottom of my purse and coupons, receipts, lipstick, almonds (??), my wallet, and cell phone bobbed up and down in it. The culprit? Sippy cup: overturned.

With dripping purse, broken electronics and baby in tow, I headed back to the car. It was HOT and Tate was already getting antsy. We would be at the park within minutes. Our goal was to make it to shelter #12, at the corner of St. Charles and Walnut. No problem. I have lived in New Orleans for years and don't need to ask or look at a map or even look at a street sign...please, I'm practically a local. We found a perfect parking spot and I put Tate on one hip, my diaper bag on my shoulder, the present wedged between my armpit and waist, and off we went into the 90 degree heat. It should only be yards now....Oh blessed be, we were on the WRONG SIDE of this enormous park. Tate was nearly doing a backbend out of my arms and sweat was running in rivers down my back. But we were already parked and committed. Must...keep...going...

When we finally arrived, I just wanted someone to hit me over the head. We were exuding a micro-climate around us that must have been 10 degrees hotter than the rest of the city. But we got there in one piece. Tate found another one year old named Tate, and the two of them played in a baby pool full of balls under the branches of the Live Oaks with cupcakes smeared across their faces and thought that they had indeed found heaven. But my Tate was getting redder and hotter with each passing minute, and we still had a one mile trek back to the car and an hour long drive ahead of us. SHOOT. I really wanted to meet up with Bekah, but alas, my phone was now drying in the sun on the dashboard of my father's car and I couldn't tell her I was here. I would wait for her near the swings.

We said our goodbyes to the birthday girl and began our pilgrimage back, hoping to spot her. With the acuity of a bald eagle, Tate saw the swings from the opposite side of the park and began grunting and wriggling out of my arms. I held on tighter and began singing. No, he wanted DOWN, NOW. OK, let's walk for awhile. Oh life is so exciting for a new toddler. He wanted to chase the dog, the squirrel, the cup blowing down the sidewalk, the old man, the shoelace, the dried crackly leaf, all at the same time. On a normal day, I would just go with it and let him explore. But he was obviously getting overheated and exhausted and this could go on indefinitely. I grabbed my water bottle and began dousing him with it. Oh boy, now THIS was fun. He screeched in hysterical laughter and began toddling away, soaking wet, towards the swings.

When we finally got there, I saw approximately 95% of New Orleans, but no Bekah. I knew she was there, hidden in the crowd, but we were simultaneously cell-phone-less, on a sugar high, soaking wet, chasing dogs, laughing, crying, burning hot, and needing a nap. So, after a few minutes, we left. No Bekah, no Kate, no Sarah. Just me and Tate, trucking back home on the Causeway, singing "She'll Be Coming Around the Mountain When She Comes" and pointing at birds all the way home.

I just talked to Bekah and she too had an overheated daughter and they couldn't wait around for us very long anyhow. We have been trying to get together now since I have been in Louisiana, but when you have two mamas that both want to adapt to what their babies want, well -- it's hard. It's not about what we want - it's about what they want. Which slowly and strangely, becomes what you want too.