In the distance there are the extinct cones of Volcanoes. We've watched the movies in the interpretive center, they could go off again at any time. It's 8:00 AM in South Central Idaho, July 22, 2008. We're outside of Craters of the Moon National Monument, trying to hitch a ride to Arco, and already the day is getting hot. Cars are few and far between, and we must present an odd sight by the side of the road, a motley crew with a heap of camping gear and luggage. Every few minutes a car comes by, some look, others look and look away, trying not to catch our eyes. The girl, 7 years old, is comfortable on a heap of bags, her pink souvenir hat with the Junior Range Badge she got yesterday, playing her Gameboy, the boy, 11, is eager to stick his thumb out at every passing car, I have to screen them, tell him when enough is enough, it's an adventure. But none are stopping. Through the sage brush and across a short stretch of lava there's the tourist information and warden station, we're getting thirsty, but dare not send anyone for a drink, from experience the moment one goes to get a drink someone will stop, someone in a rush, and we're only 20 miles from Arco and we don't want that someone to get impatient and leave us, we must be here, all of us, together, when they stop.
The heat is shimmering on the road.
***
We lean against the packs between cars, it's now 9:00 pm, people are beginning to leave the campsite, the occasional motorhome, more motorcyclists, every 5 minutes, we are just off the shoulder, some pull over just 30 yards away to read the map before they begin the days travels, glancing over at us, I have to reign in the boys' zeal, they won't, they can't pick us up, It would be a 'cool' ride but there's too many of us, we've too much rubbish, just lay back, enjoy the day, we'll get a ride. It's only to Arco, and then we can take a bus.
Discouragement is setting in. The children have not the patience to wait for a ride, the boy is beginning to sense that we may be trapped here, the day is growing hotter and hotter, the cars continue their slow trickle by, one every 5 minutes, it's a lonely road without trees or shade. He asks questions about our "Plan B". The girl wants to take her turn as well, she tries a few times, without success, then sits back down to play her Gameboy.
This was to be the perfect summer vacation. We had left the week before - 5 of us in total, the "blended family"; me with Noah & Eve, my partner N*** and her child, "Moffat". We were to go to Yellowstone, Craters of the Moon, then around and back up slowly through the center of Idaho, camping at the natural hot springs along the way, stopping at all of the sights. . .
The addition of the partner and her child was somewhat last minute - we had discussed it, she had just finished a 5 week road trip across Canada and the US with Moffat, Moffat pulled from school so they could go adventuring together. They had a wonderful time. And back not even a week and we decided they would accompany us. We'll take her car, it's bigger.
"Make sure you have a relaxing time. . ." my father had said, and emphasized it again. I knew what he was talking about.
"We'll be fine." I assured him, by which I meant that nothing was going to bother me. This was to be our big family vacation, covering old trails for the benefit of Moffat and my daughter Eve. Noah, the boy, had done this trip some years before with me, but he could see the sites again, it wouldn't kill him. . .
***
It's relaxing enough beside the road, there's nothing to do but wait, stand and stick your thumb out when you see the cars and trucks rounding the bend, then sprawling back amongst the packs when they have passed. The boy has thought to bring some books along on this trip, the entire collection of Harry Potter, in hardcover edition, he'd read them when he was younger, but he wants to revisit them, digging in his bag he pulls out Volume 5 and begins to read. Eve's busy with her Gameboy, playing Zelda, occasionally asking her brothers advice. It's getting hotter, cars pulling into the visitors center below us, then coming up, slowing down to look at us before turning down the road. It's only 20 miles to Arco.
***
The trip started ominously enough. A midnight departure, we'd be in Yellowstone by noon the next day, my preference to drive all night, let the children sleep, on the highway out of Cochrane we find ourselves behind a truck, slow going at 60 km/hr. . .When it turns off on the trans-Canada I speed up, there is a siren behind me and I pull over to the side of the road, thinking something must be going on up ahead. No, it's me, and another half an hour is lost while the police officer writes a ticket, "there are deer on the road, slow down" he tells me. I wasn't going that fast, but it's a slow night, there are quotas to be met, I take the ticket and cautiously drive off.
We cross the border at Coutts, and by 6:00 AM are lost somewhere north of Yellowstone. Or not lost, as we have a map and know where we are, but it's a new road for me, narrow, windy, plenty of deer in the fields and hills beside the road, driving slowly, 45 in a 70 mph zone, we come round a corner and from the brush leaps Bambi. I hit the brakes, swerve, but in slow motion the small deer somersaults in front of the car then lands broken in a ditch. There was no avoiding it. The children wake, then fall back asleep, the partner has woken and seen what has happened, the car is missing a headlamp now, but it's done, we continue.
When the children wake we tell them what happened. They are quiet, everyone likes deer, no one wanted to hit one. They ask if it was OK and I explain that no, it's dead, no animal is a match for a car, not even a slow moving one, but we had to hit it, it was that or leave the road and the family's safety is more important than a deers. Moffat has more questions. "You hit a deer?". . "yes. It jumped into the road, we couldn't miss it, I swerved and braked, but it wasn't enough.". . ."Was it all right?". . .No, it was killed.. ."
It's morning and time soon for breakfast, coming out of the Lewis & Clarke forest we need gas & food. Not far now, we pull in to get gas, the children to use the washroom. Moffat notices the headlight.
"What happened to the car?"
- "We hit a deer this morning" I tell her.
"Oh my god! Was it all right?"
- "No, it was killed."
"Mom, look at the car! Our baby!"
- "I know, dear, we hit a deer this morning."
"Oh my god! was it all right?"
- "No, it was killed."
"Couldn't you have missed it?"
- "We tried to darling, it just leaped out in front of us. . ."
Moffat is quiet as she thinks of the poor deer, her poor car.
N*** and I are discussing it as we drive towards Yellowstone, not far now, perhaps an hour. "I'll never let you live this down, you know, I hope you don't mind." - Moffat from the back seat - "Live what down?". "The fact that he hit a deer this morning, remember?". . .Moffat is quiet for a moment. . ."Was the deer all right?".
I notice these things, 3 times she's been told, every time the same reaction, replayed. But I say nothing, this is our family vacation, time for us to relax.
***
A van slows down on the highway, filled with people, there's no room for us, but they offer us water - "Where are you going?" - "Arco".
-"We'd take you but we're full - do you want some water?" We're fine, they look with concern to Eve on her Gameboy. . .
-"Are you sure?"
We have our water bottles. They look sad they can't help us and drive slowly off. We're encouraged, it will happen. The day is heating up.
***
There were transitional issues when we began dating. There always are, for both families, the children getting to know another, the "family dates" become important as we realize that we're compatible, now to see if the families are. The children seem to play well together, although Moffat is guarded about going to play with them. She prefers to stay close to her mom, sitting on her lap, petting her hair. She's 7, The boy is 9, the girl is 5. An even split with Moffat in the middle. The boy and girl try to get Moffat in play, but she'd prefer to sit on her Mommy's lap, engaging her in conversation. At my place we have the rare sleepover, she wakes and comes into the kitchen where we are talking, she can't sleep, she's anxious, she's worried, she's sharing a bed with my daughter but she's afraid, she can't say of what. . .Her mom explains to me that she's nervous. This becomes a pattern, with her mother returning her to bed, sometimes she stays, sometimes she gets up and tells her mom that she feels sick and they should go home. Sleepovers at their place are little different, even without the children Moffat calls out from the bed 5, 6 times, interrupting conversations, occasionally eavesdropping and asking us what we are talking about, her mother warns her not to call out again, there's a silence for a few minutes - "Mom, MOM, MOM. . . - I just wanted to say I love you mom. . . "
It's a new pattern, it's the same pattern. And 2 years later we're camping, the three tents in a group together, the children having gone to bed, Moffat calls out from the tent. . ."Mom, what are we doing tomorrow?" . . ."Mom, what did you just say?" . . ."I love you mommy. . ."
Still her Mother warns her to not call out, but each night the same game is replayed. We are at the picnic table, the children do not have to go to sleep, the boy is in his own tent, the 2 girls are sharing, they are watching movies on Moffat's Nintendo DS, a birthday present from her father, "What movie do you want to watch tonight, Eve?". . she has a couple of small discs with cartoons on them, spongebob episodes, 4 in total over 2 discs. . ."Eve, what movie do you want to watch?" - "I like the one with squidworth. . " - "Good. We'll watch that one tomorrow night then, OK?. . tonight I want to watch the other ones"
***
We'd been camping before. Last year, to Nelson, a week, that trip me and my children slept in my tent, Moffat and her mom in another. We had just moved in together a few months before, they got along better, but there were still signs. We never ate as a group, Moffat would take her breakfast and dinner and go to sit on the car, to a playground, or stand and eat a few meters from the table. Each meal all of us together, Moffat absent. Small things. I queried N*** on it, she professed not to have noticed.
We've come to a tacit understanding that we do not discuss each other's children. This after several battles - a especially long one over Moffat's supposed learning disability. Moffat had been failing school, or as close as you can get in grade 2. We went to meet the teachers. N*** is confused, they show her various charts, her place in the classroom, N*** can see nothing wrong, Moffat has scored in the bottom 10th percentile in her class, in almost every subject, N*** wonders if she perhaps has a learning disability. The teachers all fall silent. Present is the school psychologist, her french teacher, her english teacher, her special resources teacher and reading coach. No one says a word. This I find telling, N*** can't put it together.
I explain the scores to her at home, she somehow understood them differently, read them upside down, thought her child was doing well.
Grade 2 is almost over, and she's frantic with what to do. And every day now, calling the school, arranging to meet with psychologists, psychiatrists, wondering out loud if it's the structure of the classes, she can't see anything wrong with Moffat. She sees her family physician, who, without meeting Moffat, prescribes Ritalin. ADD or AdHD is a strong suspect in this. N*** doesn't wish to medicate her child, sees a psychologist. Again, nothing diagnosed, but Ritalin can be prescribed.
I've a slight psychology background, a BA with substantial postgraduate readings, she asks my opinion. I explain that from what I have seen there is no reason to believe it to be a disability, I see no signs of it, but I have never seen Moffat doing homework, either, both Noah and Eve had homework from Kindergarten up, could this be related?
We set an agenda over the Summer to do homework each day with Moffat, a grueling routine, but according to her teachers she's at an early grade 1 level, she's graduated grade 2, it's time now to catch up.
Moffat isn't happy. It's a 3 hour routine of reading, memory exercises, remedial math, the months of the year. The things every child knows, but somehow slipped by. . .and Moffat fights tooth and nail. She would prefer to do this studying with her mom, but if mom isn't available I fill in. She's stubborn, silent, she won't participate, the days pass, some as long as 6 hours. If she did the work assigned it would be all done in half an hour, but she won't play along, she's angry, silent, refusing to answer questions, or replying with "I don't know!".
"Moffat - what's 3 + 4"
Silence.
"Moffat, what's 3 + 4"
More silence.
"We can sit here all day. As long as it takes."
And some days we do.
Days pass and she hears the children outside playing, dying to run out and play with them. . .
She begins to cooperate, slowly at first, then more and more. The lessons grow tougher, she finishes them earlier, outside to play before noon. By September she can remember and repeat back to me a 7 number sequence, forwards and backwards. She can add numbers 1 through 10 without using her fingers. She can read words at a level appropriate to her age. There are no learning disabilities.
In the fall, when she returns to grade 3, her teachers are amazed at the improvement. Her reading, maths, everything, are at an entry level grade 3. She even knows the months of the year.
***
It's 10:00 AM now and the water in our bottles has grown stale and hot. The boy is doubting our ride is coming, longer and longer intervals without cars, sometimes 10, even 15 minutes. A car slows, looks us over, then drives on.
"Damn! Why didn't they pick us up!"
I tell him to calm himself, he wants to make rude gestures at the car, but I warn him of Karma, I explain to him that of all the cars that pass us very few would stop, and with so many of us, so much stuff, many won't be able to give us a ride. . .My supposed indifference calms him.
At 10:15 a truck passes us, slows down, then pulls to the shoulder of the road.
- "Where you guys headin?"
-"Arco"
-"Get in"
He doesn't need to ask twice, we grab our stuff, armloads of it, and run towards the truck.
4 of us in the cab, our gear stuffed securely in a pocket on the back of the truck. He drives this route twice a day, from Twin Falls to somewhere just past Arco. From Twin Falls north it's manure, his boss owns a cattle operation, he takes the manure up to a farm he owns just north of Arco. On the way back he's filled with gravel, fill for an estate he owns by Twin Falls. Makes this run twice a day, it's his job. He's older, craggy featured, strong American accent.
-"If t'was you I'd just left you, but I couldn't drive past the kids. . ."
Noah thanks him, Eve is oblivious. I look pretty rough, have to admit, haven't shaved in a week. And it was a late night last night.
-"Thanks for not passing. I didn't like the idea of walking to Arco . . ."
-"Don't think you woulda made it. The boy probably woulda, you and the girl wouldna. . "
He looks approvingly at Noah. The boy has been battling a bit of a weight problem, too much time on the video games, not enough running around the neighborhood, but he's getting his shape back. Barrel chested, he's going to be a big boy when he sprouts, which will be soon.
Noah hears the flattery, blushes and shrugs. He's sensitive about his weight, the praise is good for him.
He doesn't know about the buses from Arco, but there's gotta be something, he figures.
"But ain't nothin on this road. . ."
We've figured.
He drops us off at some restaurant, "The Atomic Diner", home of the "Atomic Burger", giant pickles painted over its windows with a giant rocking chair in the front, on the road heading east from Arco. Unloading our packs we get a whiff of his load; foul, we thank him and wave good bye.
Now for breakfast.
In the diner the kids have waffles, it's a large room, furnished with kiitch, the classic American diner redone in in bad carnival 80's decor. Airbrushed wood-slices turned into clocks ornament the walls, priced from $60 to $100. . .it's cooler in here, in the shade, outside the sun blazes hotter, burning away ambition, any prospects of shade. . .We ask the waitress about a bus. . .
-"No buses here."
"Where can we catch one then?"
-"I dunno. I'll ask. . . "
When she returns she gives us the news, no bus stations anywhere that anyone here has heard of. Once upon a time, maybe, but not now. Try Twin Falls, or Idaho Falls.
We sit on this news, the cool diner, it's getting on High Noon in the heat of the day, a decision must be made. The kids thank me for breakfast, I notice this, a small thing, they don't have to thank me, I'm their father, it's my job to feed them. We heft our bags and go in front of the restaurant, we'll catch another ride, our luggage is placed in the giant oversize rocker, there's more traffic here, more hope.
I send the children over to look at some park across the street, Arco's claim to fame is that they were the first town powered by Atomic energy, various tests were done here, something that resembles a submarine with information is across the street, we've time, lets not miss this opportunity. . .
An car pulls up, 4 door, sedan, older woman rolls down the window, beams a smile at me:
-"Where you heading?"
I smile back - "Anywhere west. . I'm not alone"
The kids are returning from the park. . .she sees them in her mirror. . .
"Sorry, I haven't got room."
The kids have started running, seeing the car stopped, by the time they get there she's left.
"So - have we got a ride?"
"She didn't have room for us all. She wanted to give us a ride though."
She did have room. Her car was empty. But she was looking for something more than a ride, inwardly laughing, the children sit in the shade of the giant rocker, I watch for cars.
A state trooper pulls up, somebody has mentioned we're here. He talks to me, I explain how we came to be here, without ride, ask about buses, he verifies there are none. While he's checking my passport a car pulls over - young guy, maybe 30, 35, well dressed, car full of dry cleaning and papers. "you need a ride?" - "yeah" - desperate now to go - "there's three of us - sure you can fit us all?" - "I'll clean up the car. ." He pulls into the parking lot of the diner. The trooper has finished with my details, "You got a ride?" -"Yeah, if your done" - "Good luck " - "Thanks". He's glad to be rid of us, single guy, Canadian, 2 young kids hitchiking, that's a problem he doesn't want to deal with. The children pack into the back seats, bags on their laps, myself in the front. And we're off.
***
There were so many clues, issues that persisted, went unaddressed, foreshadowed this, an avalanche of small things. For a year and a half after we began dating I was prohibited from kissing her mother. . .she would physically intervene, climbing onto her mother, putting herself between us, forcing her hands between our lips
-"No kissing the mama. . ."
It's supposed to be comic, funny, but it's not funny, it's annoying, I wait for N*** to address it, but she never does. Finally one day we kiss and she leaps from the table to begin again, I forcefully grab her hand and put her back on the floor - it's hard to tell now who is more upset, Moffat or N***, but she doesn't do it again. She finds instead other ways, on movie nights grabbing an armchair and insisting her mother tuck in beside her, not sitting with the other children on the couch. Some nights this is good, I like to cuddle with my kids as well, but it's every night. There are no exceptions. She marks her territory, when her mother mentions moving Moffat refutes the idea, when she grows up this is going to be HER house, she can't sell it. . .we are all but paying guests. And just before we left, in our room with Eve, her mom packing jewelry, Moffat telling Eve that all her mommies jewelry will be hers when she grows up, I say nothing, but all of mommies jewelry was given to her by me, and Eve doesn't care but I do, her Mother chastises her - "well, we'll see. . .".
***
I've had to educate the children on how to hitchhike. There is an art to gratitude, to accepting hospitality, I trust that they have learned it already, but have reviewed it with the boy to be sure. The girl is as of yet oblivious. Our politics differ from American politics, we do not support Bush, the illegal war in Iraq, Wal-Mart, Globalization, Fundamentalist Christians, and 1000 other things that have become synonymous with Middle America. But these things are not the people of middle America, and we don't discuss them with the locals. Especially not locals kind enough to give us a ride. We are in another country, and we are their guests.
***
The boy is reading his book, the girl on her Gameboy, I'm in the front with "Dan". He's on his way to Yellowstone, he's been 2 months on the road, we talk about the sub prime mortgage scandal. In the distance are the extinct volcano cones that dot the great basin. Outside the heat is staggering, but he's got his air conditioning on high. He'd bought a house 2 years ago in Vegas, spent $270, 000, the house now worth $170, 000, he's got it rented out but is paying the difference, I ask if he's considered bankruptcy. No, he's committed to paying it off. And we talk about politics, the boy from the back leans forward to ask some intelligent questions, then back to his book, he's paying attention, which is good.
Time passes and we reach Lexburg, he's sure we'll be able to get a bus there, 30, 000 people, with a large campus for the Latter Day Saints college. We unload our gear and thank him, he doesn't know where the bus station is, maybe he should take us to Idaho Falls? He feels bad about leaving us but I assure him we'll be fine, he's already done enough.
I get Noah to drop his bags and go check at the service station for the location of the bus terminal.
***
They wanted a dog. We all wanted a dog, but I advised caution, we were a house filled with pets. A hamster (ours, brought from the apartment), a Guinea pig (Moffatts, replacement for a gerbil which was a replacement for a dog), 2 cats, a mouse (ours, brought itself from the apartment. . .).
But they've never had any luck with dogs. They've had several, N*** and her ex, but they always turned vicious, untrainable, shat on the floor, destroyed carpets and furniture, she readily admits she has no idea how to train a dog. Her ex husband has acquired 2 since they separated, he wants to become a breeder. And I wonder, what about raising a child is so much simpler than raising a dog?
Moffat is having troubles in school again. At first there were the phone calls, every lunch hour, Moffat was feeling sick, wanted to come home, and for the first couple of weeks N*** would go and fetch her. But it became too much, Moffat's sickness would vanish within an hour of returning home. Moffat confesses she is being bullied, that's why she doesn't want to go to school. N*** has a list of children that Moffat is not allowed to play with, many of these are the ones in the group that is bullying her. . .funny thing, or 2 funny things, we know that Moffat appears on other peoples lists of children their children aren't allowed to play with. And every weekend Moffat wants to call them.
There are more learning issues, more meetings with the teachers. N*** is frantic, a great start to grade 3 has disappeared entirely by Christmas. Moffat is not paying attention, N*** wants more meetings with psychologists, the circus continues.
In a rare, vulnerable moment she solicits my opinion. I note 2 things, Moffatts' diet is largely self determined, and comprises almost entirely of junk food, cookies and sweets taken from the cupboards before and after school, Moffat isn't a big eater at meal times but at non-standard intervals will help herself to whatever snacks she can find when we're not around. Or where when we are. And the other point I make is that these issues seem to be largely behavioral, that Moffat appears to live entirely in a world without consequence, where she does as she pleases without fear of any repercussions. . . I cite examples, but N*** wants to argue the dietary point, she eats fine, I point out what I have observed, her in the cupboards whenever she's hungry, but passing on dinner, tiny portions of bland food (she refuses any sorts of spice) left half eaten on her plate, she's full, only to have her return to the cupboards to grab a handful of cookies, to the fridge for a large bowl of ice cream. . .
N*** is not happy with my observations, refutes them, but I send her links to studies regarding the effects of diet on behavior and academic performance, she reads them and becomes a convert. Everything in the house will be disposed of, we will all together go on the Feingold additive free & organic diet. . .
***
There is now doubt that many of Moffat's behaviors are reactions to additives and colorings in the food. Following the Christmas break teachers call home to see if she's alright, she has been sitting through classes quiet, possibly paying attention, the return from school is quiet and more subdued. We have special syrups, real Maple syrup at $13.00 a bottle, special pickles at $8.00 a jar, special foods of every description, if Moffat can't have it we mustn't keep it in the house. Of course this is absurd, we all can't afford to eat $8.00 pickles, but if there is no equivalent for Moffat than it mustn't be brought in. My children notice the change in diet, we wouldn't imagine it was possible for the food to become blander, but it has. I adhere to the rules, my own tastes prefer flavor and spice, but we are all in this together. . .
*******
She returns home from school like a herd of elephants. There is the slamming of the door, the pounding of feet on the stairs, the clunk of the backpack, the back door is always open. For a while she plays the game of coming to the front door and ringing the bell madly, waiting for her Mom to answer, the front door is 40 feet from the unlocked back door, ringing, ringing the bell, banging the door and hollering until finally her Mom would get up to let her in. "Why didn't you use the back door?". . .but there's no reply, she merely wanted some variety. She does this for a month until her mother refuses to answer the door anymore.
They are games of control, perpetual and unceasing. They are games that forever test the limits of acceptability. There are the crazy games she plays in the house with her friends, the indoor snowball fights played in the middle of summer with rolls of wet toilet paper. There was the Bikini party held in the bathroom, all her Barbies laid out soaking wet on the floor, shower on full, until she ripped the faucet out of the wall and and came running for assistance. At the grandparents she hops on her 4 year old cousins tricycle and pedals madly around the living room and kitchen, the grandparents following her. ."Oh you little scamp, come here. . .". And there's Billy. . .
Billy is an overinflated water balloon, that Moffat wanted to keep in the house to play with. At first N*** said no, this is crazy, water balloons are to be played with outside, Noah and Eve watch on in amazement, wondering how this will pan out, but Moffat keeps trying. She draws a face on one side of the balloon, and on the other side of it draws a face with eyes closed, she explains to her mom that one side is it awake, the other is it sleeping, she loves it, she's given it a name, she's going to call it "Billy" and she has to keep it indoors or else. . .
And she screws up her face and threatens a tantrum.
Mommy gives in. If it explodes indoors Moffat will have to clean up the mess. Moffats tantrums are something awful to behold. We can both relate to this, she will lock herself in her room, scream out the window for all the neighbors to hear: "I HATE MY MOM! I HATE MY LIFE HERE! I CAN'T WAIT TO LEAVE!", leaving the room to grab the phone and call her father, complaining loudly of injustices so that everyone can hear - "SHE JUST WON'T LET ME. . ."; Slamming doors, Avril Lavigne played on her stereo as loud as she can, her mother shrugging helplessly, "I've done all that I can", ending only when her Mommy goes in to appease her with a bowl of ice cream or the promise of a movie.
My children are staring on, there's some misunderstanding of course, Noah asks for clarification. . ."SO we're allowed to have water balloon fights indoors?", this is too good to be true. I look at him and he understands,
***
Yellowstone. We're driving to see Old Faithful. Moffat leans forward "Mom, guess what - I just made a face at that biker and he . . .". It doesn't end, she has been sitting in the back seat making faces and rude gestures at the passing Bikers. She does the same on the bus to school every day, mouthing off to the teenagers on the back of the bus, then reporting the conversations back to her mom word for word at the end of the day. "And they said. . .and then I said. . ."
***
Mornings are frantic. Every morning the same, the bus stops 30 yards from the house, you can watch for it from the kitchen window, and every morning Moffat seals herself in the bathroom for 1/2 an hour to comb her hair and make herself look pretty. I wonder if this is normal, but I have no points of reference, she's just eight years old. N*** watches from the table, telling her when the bus is coming, the bus is here, the bus has left and stopped now in front of the house, it's a small town, they know where everyone lives. And now Moffat will leave the bathroom, grab her backpack, kiss her mom and run out the front door as if just now realizing she were late. . .
Each morning is the same. N*** states that it drives her crazy, I advise her to allow Moffat to miss the bus, then force her to walk, she will then take an interest in getting herself on the bus without her mom's constant assistance. She agrees, but months go by and Moffat miraculously never misses the bus, despite being in the bathroom preening herself each morning. . .
N*** knows that I am watching her, and finally conspires to have her miss the bus. . .
***
"I think daddy would like a picture of me here, mommy. . .". We're trying to take pictures, in the Indian Caves, spectacular hues of lichen encrusted lava, skylights illuminate boulder strewn passages, my children won't pose for a picture if their lives depend on it. Moffat disappears herself from pictures I am taking, lagging behind, standing behind her Mom, only to suggest to her mother a better photo a moment later, room enough only for her, "look at me mommy, look at me. . ."
Outside the caves we stop to read the interpretive signs, the boy quickly and then moves on, Eve needs my help, N*** and Moffat are behind us, N*** is trying to read the signs to Moffat, she refuses to read them herself, Moffat begins. . ."you know, mommy, when I'm a teenage pop star like Hanna Montana I'm going to sing songs about how much I love you and Daddy. . ." We move out of earshot, the lunar landscape spread out in all directions, Eve, with her bag looking for trash, she wants to complete the Junior Ranger badge. . .stopping they approach. . ."Mommy, when I get my belly-button pierced. . .". I catch Nola's eye, there's the look, I am saying nothing. . .Eve's found a piece of gum, I go to help her pry it off of a rock.
***
Moffat is going through a period of infantilism, each morning going downstairs to watch baby videos of herself, cooing "Aren't I cute? Look at me. . .look at me, Mommy, come here, you have to see this. . ." She speaks in baby talk,. . .
***
They are asleep, another evening by the campfire, we can hear Eve and Moffat. Eve wants to borrow Moffat's Nintendo DS, Moffat: "No, Eve, I don't want the batteries to run out. . . .".
***
Moffat has made a chipmunk nest, furnishing it with acorns and stolen bits of cereal from the table. We've advised all the children of the rules regarding feeding the wildlife, Eve understands, Noah doesn't care, Moffat takes it to be a personal affront, not listening, not understanding, piling up heaps of twigs, pinecones, and hidden nacho chips so that the local campsite chipmunk can find it's dinner. She's morose, sullen, the "no feeding the wildlife" rule has her very upset.
We must have the best campsite in the entire park, a centuries old lodgepole pine twists up above the tents, Moffat has run and climbed it, and despite her mothers persistent admonishments works her way up higher and higher, calling Noah and Eve to join her.
"Oh, I don't know Eve, it's just not for me, but you go ahead and do it. . ." Eve's asking her why she doesn't want her junior ranger badge. . . "I don't want the kids at school to be calling me junior, you know?" Moffat is in the tree, it's her tree, she's claimed it,
Eve returns from the swearing in with her badge pinned proudly to her shirt and joins Moffat in the tree.
In the tree, calling down to the other children
***
- The her every action the constant anguished cry of a child who needs attention, more attention, a world's worth of attention
- In her special "thank you voice"; higher about 3 octaves; only with immense prompting does she begin
- Moffat - Birthday party, reliving baby videos, back talking, bad stories, "when I'm a teenage popstar"
- the baby voice, "mommy"; her special "mommy, can I have. . "; the constant bartering, the commands - "Mommy, you better not. . "
- I hate you, I hate this trip
- Exchange of meaningful glances, I will say nothing. .
- Extended baths with Barbie
- Billy the water balloon, the shower parties, the wet toilet paper indoor snowball fights,
Doctor offers Ritalin, Psychiatrists, Food, "I feel like I'm being squashed this big mommy. . ."
"Don't kiss the mamma. . " for 1 year, guarding, watching movies
Questions addressed to mom re: my belongings; chocolate covered expresso beans, ask me, then her mom
Sex - interruptions "Mom- are you all right" - knocking, trying the door , louder "Mom, you were making noise - MOM!!"
Policy of non-intervention with children,
Meaningful glances, catching her eye. .
Metaphor for volcanoes, extinct and active. . .
The tricycle, whirling pell-mell around around the living room, kitchen,