Margaritaville — The Wee Wanderer

Saturday late afternoon finds me at La Costa Mexican Restaurant in Burien drinking a very large margarita by myself. Why, you ask, am I drinking alone, on Mother’s Day Eve? Travis and Levi are, in fact, on the premises, but it is not yet clear whether Levi is willing to join us at the table, and, as I told the hostess, “I would like a margarita nonetheless.”

The day started innocently enough. Travis left the house after breakfast for a day of mountain biking, and Levi and I spent a leisurely 45 minutes playing in the car. (I drink coffee while Levi pushes buttons. Surprisingly, this is more stimulating than it sounds.) The plan was to do whatever Levi wanted before naptime; afterward, we would do what Mama wanted and go for a hike. Levi wanted to play in the car, to run around the backyard, to walk to the highway overpass and back, the usual. At exactly 11 a.m. we had lunch. At 11:30, it was naptime.

I have complained about naptime in my posts quite a bit in recent weeks, so I will spare you the details. Suffice it to say that I fear Levi will be plagued by an inexplicable sense of dread at 11:30 a.m. every day for the rest of his life. His lunchtime hour may forever be haunted by vague memories of conflict. On this particular Saturday, the naptime “battle” culminated at 1 p.m. with me, defeated as always, packing my day pack as if it were a punching bag, while Levi watched, victorious, from the sidelines.

Commence Plan B. Onward to the trailhead, with the chance that Levi might nap in the car. But as the mile markers slipped by, Levi remained steadfast; by the time we parked at the Twin Falls trailhead, the tension was palpable. The heat – 85 degrees in mid-May – did not help the situation. I had just begun to lecture Levi on the myriad benefits of sleep (not just the physiological benefits for him, but the psychological benefits for his mother) when I heard a familiar voice: “Hey Sarah! Is that you?”

Let me pause here to mention the emotions that a mother feels when she is having a bad day and she runs into someone she knows. Two impulses compete: elation at the potential opportunity to vent vs. the mortification of having been caught in the act of not enjoying her child. These were the emotions I felt when I ran into Jeff, a co-worker, and his two boys.

The day before, Jeff had asked me to recommend a hike that he could do with his kids that weekend. Unbelievably, we ended up hitting the trail at the exact same time. His sons, 7 & 5, were excited: “We’re doing a hike today! There’s a waterfall!” “It starts right there! We’re almost on the trail!” Their enthusiasm, and their adorable hiking hats, were just what I needed to re-examine my situation. Even if we don’t make it past the parking lot, I told myself, at least we made it out of the house. At least we tried. Jeff and his boys headed to the bathrooms, and I told them we’d see them on the trail.

At least we made it out of the house. At least we tried.

We did not, in fact, make it past the parking area. At the very end of the lot, there is a side trail that leads down to the river. Levi spent half an hour playing in the water, and when I suggested that we go for a walk, he threw one of his signature temper tantrums that even Goldfish cannot cure. (It is possible he picked up some new moves watching me pack earlier that day.) When he finally calmed down, he repeatedly demanded, “Car! Car!” So, that was that.

Commence Plan C. Then D. We ended up stomping around a short trail near home; Levi fell into a creek, which may have been the straw that broke his back, and he mercifully fell asleep on the ride back to meet Travis at La Costa Mexican Restaurant, where I sit now, enjoying a margarita by myself while Travis sits with him in the car.

I will later find out that Jeff and his sons made it to the waterfall, taking bets on whether Levi and I were up ahead or behind them. They are already looking forward to going back so they can show their mom the views.

At least we made it out of the house. At least we tried.