Kidical Mass Rockville Hits the Road

June 21, 2014 / Shannon Brescher Shea / 3 Comments

Since I got pregnant, I’ve been thinking about how I would carry my baby on my bike. Biking is such a big part of my life that I couldn’t imagine giving it up or not including my kid in it. My research on family biking led me to Kidical Mass, a nationwide movement to encourage families to bike together, especially for transportation. While all of my bike volunteer group’s rides welcome younger cyclists, the idea of a ride for little ones where we wouldn’t have to worry about slowing everyone else down was appealing. Plus, I wanted to push back against the idea that new parents need to get a minivan and be even more auto-dependent than ever. As I was extremely pregnant when I first found out about Kidical Mass, there was no way I could organize it that season. (The thought of a bicycle seat immediately postpartum is pretty horrifying.) But I committed to organize Rockville’s first series of Kidical Mass rides this summer. This past weekend, I finally made good on my promise and found out if Rockville is ready for family biking or not!

As the spring season approached, I got serious about planning the rides: picking dates, putting it in our town’s recreation guide, writing press releases, pitching blog posts, and posting it to as many social media outlets as possible. For our first ride, I decided to start at one of our community centers and ride to a local ice cream parlor and back. At only 1.5 miles each way using multi-use paths, residential streets and a short hop on a bike lane, I figured the route was low-key enough for even fairly small munchkins to participate.

Unfortunately, I was terrified that my suburb – which most people in the area know for a huge multi-lane state highway – just wasn’t going to have the interest. While we’re actually pretty bike-friendly (Bronze level), but most people don’t realize that. Plus, suburban parents have a stereotype of being tied to their cars and overprotective of their children. Lastly, I have a history of events with mixed results. Often the ones I work the hardest on organizing have the worst turnout, so I was nervous I was going to create all of this hype for nothing.

Then the Kidical Mass DC organizer pitched our story to a reporter at WTOP, the D.C. area’s major news radio station. After quite a bit of phone tag, we finally had our phone interview. While I tried to stay on my talking points as much as possible, good little communications person that I am, I think I still rambled a little. Catching the interview on Friday morning, I actually punched the air, even though she did chose one of my more inane and vaguely defensive quotes. (In response to a question about safety: “I bike more cautiously with my baby in a trailer and I’m a pretty cautious bicyclist anyway.” So much for good sound bites.)

After the reporter told me that the interview was going to air during the next morning’s drive time, the opposite fear struck me – what if we had too many people? What if I had a bunch of little kids on bikes whom I couldn’t keep together and safe? The response to my panicked email to my volunteer group didn’t allay my fears, as everyone was either traveling or leading other bikey activities. Chris said he could sweep (stay in the back of the group and keep everyone together), but with his relative lack of biking experience, I hated putting him in that position.

When I woke up the day of the ride, I thought, “Thank God the weather is cooperating.” The sky was blue, and the temperature was blessedly low for DC in June. The wind was a bit strong, but it provided some nice cooling power. We hustled to get Sprout, the snacks and our baby gear in the trailer so we would have plenty of time to pedal over to the community center. The fact that we had to skip Sprout’s morning nap provided me with one more reason to worry, as I didn’t want him crying while I was leading the ride! Despite the breeze, incredible weight of the trailer, a broken traffic light, and me jumping a gear, we managed to get there a few minutes early. I breathed a sigh of relief at that at small mercy.

My nerves began to calm as people showed up toting small children in trailers and on their own bikes. Overall, six families with 17 people in total showed up! While most of the kids were in trailers, there were 3 little ones on their own bikes, along with two older kids. Much to my relief, the leader of our sister ride Kidical Mass Gaithersburg showed up and was willing to sweep. I gave a brief safety talk, we took a group photo and then we were off!

Or least off the curb. I cycled into the community center’s parking lot, only to find out there was no curb cut back to the trail. With some effort, I hauled my bike and the trailer up to the trail while everyone waited for me. Not an auspicious start.

Then, we had a few abrupt drop-outs. Waiting for everyone to cross the road less than a quarter-mile into the ride, I noticed our sweep had arrived but our group was noticeably smaller. We actually lost two families! In one of the families, the dad was on a bikeshare bike and the two girls were older, so they may have decided the ride was too slow and going to take too long for their taste. The little girl with the other family kept saying before the ride that she was going to ride on the sidewalk, so the large road crossing may have scared her. The Gaithersburg Kidical Mass guy said that dropouts occasionally happen to them as well – people’s expectations don’t always match the ride, even when you describe it well.

Thankfully, the rest of the ride went much more smoothly. The two kids on their own bikes were a hoot. They were up front with me for much of the ride and pumped up the rather substantial hill. The little girl kept yelling, “These hills are going to make our legs soooo strong! Strong legs!” Indeed. The little boy was equally as enthusiastic, although a bit of a danger to himself. I had to remind him multiple times to stay behind me. He took that direction as literally as possible, riding so close that he almost ran into the back of the trailer a couple times. While it was frustrating, these rides are designed to teach kids how to ride safely on the road, so teaching him proper etiquette was important.

My favorite part of the ride was hearing both of the kids say, “This was awesome!” While they liked the ice cream, they actually seemed to enjoy the ride itself the most. Cultivating a love of bicycling is so rewarding; I was glad to be part of that joy.

Sprout did pretty well this time around too. He didn’t fuss in the trailer and enjoyed hanging out at the ice cream place’s patio. He actually fell asleep on the way home, his head tilted to the side, weighed down by the helmet. A bit uncomfortable most likely, but otherwise a good reward for a job well-done.

A Year of Love

June 17, 2014 / Shannon Brescher Shea / 4 Comments

One year and one day ago, our son came into our lives after 40 weeks and 5 days of pregnancy and 10 hours of labor. We welcomed him on Father’s Day, making space in our lives for this new little person. Yesterday, we celebrated his first birthday, looking back on a year of challenges, sleep lacking nights, learning and a lot of joy.

At his six month birthday, I said that babies distort time itself. While the changes over the first six months astonished me, the changes in the last six have been even more radical. Last weekend, our friends brought over their four-month-old. She was adorable and smiling, but so different from Sprout. In fact, he seemed to have more in common with our other friend’s two-and-half year old than her, even though they’re closer in age.

In the last six months, Sprout learned to scoot, then crawl, “cruise” with the help of furniture, walk with a helping hand, and as of yesterday, stand independently for short period of time. He was just barely starting solids then; now, he’s had nearly 50 different foods. Now, he eats well with his hands (unless he drops food on purpose) and has some skill with a fork. His spatial and social skills have evolved with his physical ones. He now hides behind me, shuffling back and forth from my left to my right shoulder, and giggling when I pretend I can’t find him.

We’ve certainly had our share of challenges over the past year. In the past week alone, I’ve been absolutely baffled at how to handle getting him to sleep (yes, again!), what to do when we have to skip naps, what to do when he spits out his food, how to put his bike helmet on without a meltdown, how to get his pajamas or diaper on without a wrestling match, and why he’s being mood swingy at any particular point in the day. I frequently think – or just say to him – “I don’t know what you want!” He insists on being the center of attention when I’m getting ready for work, which is alternatively annoying and endearing. His adventurous attitude is wonderful, except when he pulls tissues out of the garbage or literally eats dirt. He regularly amazes and confounds me.

But that’s the beauty of parenthood – it’s always full of change and opportunity. Even if one day has gone badly, there’s always another. While he’s learned so much the first year, so have I! As Sprout has developed his own personality, I’ve tried to teach myself as best how to relate to this little person with a radically different perspective in the world. As he’s developed needs beyond the basics, I’ve learned how to listen to someone who doesn’t have any language skills. (As I’m not a great listener to begin with, this has been particularly hard for me.) I’ve learned to play without expectations about what that may mean, just following his lead. Chris and I have both learned to discuss, compromise and teach each other more than ever, reaffirming our shared values.

Even though only a year has passed, it’s hard to process the memories of life before Sprout. I’ll remember doing things, wonder where he was, and then recall that it happened before he was born. He’s so woven into our lives that while some people see children as restricting them, he’s made our tapestry even bigger and more colorful. True, there are certain things I can’t participate in, like office happy hours or bar skeeball leagues and I do miss them. But there’s so much I get to experience with him.

While I was terrified before he was born – even though we planned everything – I realize now that we were as ready for him as we ever could ever be. That was the perfect moment for him to enter our lives and become part of our family. And I’m so glad he did.

Eight Years of Marital Awesome

June 13, 2014 / Shannon Brescher Shea / 2 Comments

I forgot my eighth wedding anniversary. It was on Tuesday and I had no clue until my aunt texted me congratulations. Honestly, even if I had noticed the date, I’m not positive that I would have recognized its significance.

I’d blame it on sleep deprivation brought on by someone’s teethy sleeplessness, but I know that’s not the only reason. Instead, I know two other holidays eclipsed it in my mind: Father’s Day and Sprout’s first birthday. Sprout’s due date was the day after our anniversary. Instead, he arrived five days later, at 3 pm on Father’s Day. Preparing for these holidays, I bought Chris a Father’s Day gift, decided where we were going to eat brunch, ordered Sprout’s birthday gift and planned his birthday party. My mind was so occupied with making these new holidays special that our anniversary didn’t cross it at all.

Thankfully, Chris made up for my deficiency and wasn’t disappointed at my incompetence. I suspect he was a little thrilled that he was more on top of something than I was. While we usually go to a really fancy restaurant, neither of us made reservations and we still haven’t found a trusted babysitter anyway. Instead, we found a little Latin American place in an industrial looking part of town with amazing authentic food. I had the best chimichanga I’ve ever had and Chris had steak with tomatoes and onions. While we brought Sprout’s dinner, he also enjoyed beans and rice off of my plate, as well as a tortilla chip, even though he tried to eat it sideways. Rather than a place where people would look askance at bringing a baby, our waitress and fellow patrons were totally charmed by Sprout and his big blue eyes. It was a wonderful family dinner.

When we got home, I put Sprout to bed then and read the Interwebs for a while, like any other night. Chris kept asking when I’d be done, but I thought he just wanted me to watch Wil Wheaton’s new show with him (yes, we are uber-nerds). Instead, his supposed act of “putting the kettle on for tea” was a feint. He was actually pulling an adorable tiny ice cream cake out of the freezer! Who knew Ben & Jerry’s made 2-person cakes? He remembered me talking about wanting ice cream for the last week (damn you Ben & Jerry’s ads on the Metro) and ordered the cake the day before. Because it was too little to write “Anniversary,” it said, “Happy 8th” with a heart. He even bought me a card, something he hasn’t done in ages. I was terribly impressed with his thoughtfulness.

Overall, it was a really good day to celebrate a really good year together. Some moms say they resent their spouse after giving birth, but I (almost) never did. Chris has offered everything he has in the last year, always being there when I needed him, even when it involved puking, sleeplessness, or hospitals. He held my hand through all of labor and metaphorically hasn’t let go. We’ve supported each other, offering encouraging words when the other person has the “I suck” monster running loose in their head. We see each other more than we have in years and work to both carve out time to be with each other and be alone. He’s even gone on multiple bicycle rides with me, which is a major sacrifice for him. And we’ve both learned to trust ourselves and each other more than ever before, even when the situation seems helpless. I haven’t actually read his book (yet), but this quote from Jason Good is totally true: “When your co-parent says, ‘Come help me,’ what she or he really means is, ‘Please join me in suffering through this situation neither of us can control.'” As frustrating as the situation can be, for me, the key there is “together.” Because I can’t imagine doing this – the good and the bad – without my husband and would never, ever want to. I married Chris in part because I knew I wanted to experience all sorts of adventures with him and this is the ultimate one.

Join Me for the Launch of Kidical Mass Rockville!

June 9, 2014 / Shannon Brescher Shea / Leave a comment

Are you a Metro DC local? Do you like biking? Do you have or know kids who like riding their own bikes or mooching effort off of adults on bikes? If so, I invite you to participate in the very first Rockville Kidical Mass ride this Saturday at 10 am at Thomas Farm Community Center in Rockville. I will be the Pied Piper leading kiddos and their families not to doom, but rather to the much more pleasant prospect of ice cream.

Unlike the community rides I’ve lead in the past, this one is designed very specifically to target families with little kids. The route is only 3 miles long with a stop in the middle. Kids of all ages and abilities are invited to participate and we will ride at the pace of the slowest rider. (Even if that’s very, very slow.)

Kidical Mass – yes, bike geeks, it’s a play off of the Critical Mass rides – is a nationwide movement to get families on bicycles for transportation and recreation. While most Kidical Mass rides are in cities, there’s an increasing number in suburban areas, including the D.C. Metro area. With D.C., Arlington, Alexandria, Falls Church, and Gaithersburg all hosting ones already, Rockville will bring the local total to six different regular rides.

I’ll be leading Kidical Mass rides in Rockville every second Saturday at 10 AM. To get more details on the other Rockville Kidical Mass rides throughout the summer, check out our blog. To find out about all of the other great community rides the Rockville Bicycle Advisory Committee is leading, check out our website, Facebook page, or Meetup Group.

Help make biking in Rockville cuter – join the Kidical Mass movement!

The Play’s the Thing

June 6, 2014 / Shannon Brescher Shea / 2 Comments

Play is a curious thing. Before I was a parent, I would have never thought someone waving his arms randomly or shaking an object would be considered play. But after almost a year of playing with my baby, I have a much broader definition these days.

Playing “with” newborns is a bit of a stretch. Most of our non-feeding or sleeping activities with Sprout were limited to shaking things at him while he laid on his back. When you don’t have the motor control to reach for an object, the options are limited. Despite that, we tried to be creative. Even though we knew he couldn’t understand us, we made up songs and stories. We’d imagine personalities for his stuffed animals and have them talk to him. We’d read him books, even when it was obvious he wasn’t paying attention. I’d dance with him, cradling him in my arms and swaying to our collection of children’s music. In those early days, finding different activities entertained me and kept me sane, helping me feel like more than just a source of food.

With Sprout developing more strength, especially in his neck and back, we were able to play in a much more physical manner. We love playing “flying baby,” whether under our arms or above our heads. When I’m lying on the ground, he lies on my stomach, our faces nearly touching as we roll from side to side. My dancing has become much more varied, carrying him on my hip, waltzing or shimmying across the room with an occassional dip thrown in. We get the best laughs out of these activities, a high-pitched giggle that sounds a little like a cartoon character.

As Sprout’s mental capacity has developed so has his sense of humor, as rudimentary as it is. He no longer laughs just because we’re laughing; we have to work for our audience! Peek a boo became much more fun once he gained object permanence. Finger games like I Am Thumbkin started to make a lot more sense once he understood the idea of conversations. Recognizing when something differed from normal opened up a whole range of possibilities. I’ve greatly expanded my silly expressions and frequently resort to putting ridiculous things on my head. I especially like putting his monster or shark hooded towel on my head and making chomping noises right before I take him out of the tub.

Along with his physical and mental capacities, his ability to be engaged and proactive in playing grew. His first mode of play – and still a favorite one – was shaking things. If he could pick it up, it was bound to go in his mouth or the air. He also considers banging things totally awesome, as is knocking down or taking apart things, like my block towers. Once he got used to crawling forward, he started chasing objects. Now, his favorite toys are anything that he can scurry after, from a pullback train to four different large balls (squishy with tags, hollow with a rattle ball, mini beach ball and a bouncy ball).

Lately, the biggest leap has been Sprout’s ability to understand the idea of playing with other people. The first time it started to sink in was when he was just on the edge on crawling. One day, I got down on my stomach and mimicked his motions. When he hit the floor, I hit the floor; when he babbled, I babbled. After a while, he realized that what he was doing and what I was doing were related. He looked very intently at me, and then smiled. As we went on, he laughed and then inexplicably became upset. Obviously, I stopped, but do wonder what was so upsetting. More recently, he’s decided to play the classic toddler game of Dropping Things on the Floor For Mommy and Daddy to Pick Up. What’s particularly funny is that he doesn’t even look at what he’s dropping, as if we won’t see him drop it if he doesn’t see him dropping it. But Chris and I aren’t willing participants, so that game has a pretty short lifespan.

But the advance that really excited me was when Sprout really followed “rules” of a game for the first time a few weeks ago. All three of us were sitting on our living room floor and Sprout was playing with his new mini beach ball. He handed the ball to me, which is rare in and of itself. He thinks feeding us is hilarious, but doesn’t usually share his toys. Seeing an opportunity, I handed the ball to Chris, who then handed it back to Sprout. Who, much to my surprise, handed it back to me! We went around in a circle for about 15 to 20 rounds. Finally, Sprout either got bored or distracted and bounced the ball somewhere else. But I never knew I could be so impressed by such a simple game.

While all of this is fun, I can’t wait until Sprout starts playing imaginatively. I want to hear his stories and songs and puppet shows and everything inside that marvelous little head of his.

Book Club: Ten Nine Eight and Diversity

June 2, 2014 / Shannon Brescher Shea / 7 Comments

Children’s literature is often not meant to represent reality – I love fantastical, imaginative works. But one place it really falls down is its failure to represent the vast diversity of children, in both the world and America. Considering half the population is female and there were more non-white babies born in the U.S. in 2011 than white babies, children’s literature (especially classic books like Dr. Seuss) is awfully male and white. Unfortunately, this lack of representation means that when female or minority kids read, they don’t see anyone like them. Similarly, when white, male kids read, they only see people like them as protagonists. Then, when books do have diverse characters, they often make a big deal about it, focusing on the ethnicity of the characters rather than allowing them to be characters in their own right. All of which is to say that Ten Nine Eight is refreshing to read.

Ten Nine Eight is a bedtime book, a simple genre that basically follows a character going to bed, who is meant to be a stand-in for the child being read to. The quintessential bedtime book is Goodnight Moon, but there’s also Night Night Little Pookie, Bedtime for Chickies, and the geographically based series Count to Sleep [City Name]. Ten Nine Eight follows a dad putting his little girl to bed. It counts the different things in her room, ranging from her “10 washed and warm little toes” to her fuzzy stuffed animals. The illustrations have just the right combination of realism and nostalgic childhood softness. The counting down is a gentle, quiet game perfect for helping little ones fall asleep. The little girl’s room is full of telling, relatable details, from the “7 shoes in a row” (the cat has the missing one) to the seashells making up a homemade mobile. The book earned a Caldecott Honor award, which it totally earned for its simple artistry.

What’s particularly unique is that story is not only about a dad with his daughter (who are usually absent, mean or at best incompetent in children’s entertainment) and they are both black. The story doesn’t mention either of these facts; they’re just presented as a part of everyday life, which they are for millions of families. But when a big deal is still made about a photo of a black dad braiding one daughter’s hair while holding another in a baby carrier in 2014, this book must have been radical in 1983.

So if you want a lovely bedtime story with some unassuming, welcome diversity, Ten Nine Eight is for you.

Out-Growing Mommy’s Favorite Things

May 30, 2014 / Shannon Brescher Shea / 6 Comments

We all hold certain childhood objects fondly in our memories, even if we no longer have them. But until I became a mommy, I didn’t understand the relationship between the parent and the child’s possessions. Lately, Sprout has grown out of a number of things that are my favorites. Even if we have another child who uses them, knowing that he will never use them again makes me a little sad.

Most recently, Sprout got too big for his whale baby bathtub. I had needed to switch him into the real bathtub for weeks. By the last bath, his legs were squashed to the point where he had no choice but to bend his knees. Depending on his position, either his legs or butt were on the slanted section, throwing him off balance. While I kept saying that he couldn’t switch because the bathtub desperately needed to be cleaned (which it did), at least part of it was that I was sad to move him out of the little tub. I remembered picking it out for our registry while pregnant, charmed by the marine mammal theme. (We also got the whale faucet cover.) I remembered his first bath, when I gingerly laid him on the padded section, worried he would slip and drown. He spent the whole time frowning, punctuated with occasional crying. I remember him learning to sit up in it and discovering the joy of splashing. And by the end, I remembered him nearly crawling out of it, pulling up to his knees. So now it’s at least temporarily retired, well-loved, with its padding pulled off and its sides scratched.

Sprout has also grown out of a huge amount of clothing, much of which I was fond of. The first one that I really missed was a onsie my sister-in-law gave us a few days before he was born. It has a picture of the earth and says, “Hi. I’m new here.” The thought of that phrase in my tiny baby’s imaginary voice was so sweet and hilarious. We planned to bring him home from the hospital in it, but it was way too big. Once it fit, I dressed him in it in often because it brought some light to those difficult early days. Although he swam in it at first, he grew into it quickly and then out of it just as fast. He was no longer all that “new here” anymore. It was probably the first thing I was sad to put in storage.

More recently, we had to retire the most awesome pajamas ever. Over the winter, he regularly wore fleece footie pajamas with rocket ships. They were the epitome of everything kids’ pajamas should be – warm, fuzzy, comfortable, a little retro, and fantastical. I actually Googled “women’s fleece rocket ship pajamas” to see if I could find similar, non-footie ones for myself. Unfortunately, they do not design the same pajamas for grown women as they do baby boys.

Packing up these items did help me better understand a conversation I had with my mom a few years ago. I was sorting through a number of things in my old bedroom at my parents’ house, deciding what I wanted to keep and what to get rid of. Having decided not to keep a set of ceramic bear figurines, I told my mom she could give them away. Much to my surprise, my mom got rather upset. To me, they were just some cutesy knick-knacks that had always been on a bookshelf and didn’t reflect my personality. But she struggled with the fact that they didn’t hold any nostalgic value for me because they had so much for her. She bought me one each year for my birthday, so they symbolized all those passing years watching me grow up. For her, they evoked the memories of all of those birthdays that for me as an adult, were hazy at best. The bears had much more tangible echoes of the past for her.

It’s funny how even the simplest things – a bathtub, a pair of pajamas, a ceramic bear – can have such meaning imbued in it when it’s your child’s. I know we have so far to go, with so many clothes and toys yet to be bought, used, and retired. But those earliest things of Sprout’s will always hold a special place in my heart.

All the world is made of faith, and trust, and pixie dust. – Peter Pan

May 28, 2014 / Shannon Brescher Shea / 4 Comments

I’ve been working to win back Sprout’s trust since I returned from my work trip two weeks ago. Since then, he’s been somewhat skeptical that I wouldn’t leave him again. While Chris and I connected on FaceTime every night, seeing Mommy “in the box” just wasn’t the same as being in my arms.

When I first arrived home, Sprout’s reaction was subdued. It was close to his bedtime and Chris hadn’t been able to play with him much because he was sick, so Sprout was already in a bit of a mood. When I lifted him out of his car seat, he hardly cracked a smile. Certainly not the enthusiastic welcome I’d hoped for.

The next morning, once he realized I was back for good, his whole attitude changed. Then it became All Mommy, All the Time. When Chris was holding him, he’d reach his arms out to me. If I was present, I’d be the only one who could comfort him. If I was in the same room and not paying direct attention to him, he’d soon make sure I was. While I dislike Family Guy, I started to realize how true the bit where Stewie just says “Mommm, Mommmmmy” over and over again is. In general, his clingyness was getting really annoying. But because I appreciated Sprout’s need to feel attached to me and be reassured, I tried to be there mentally and physically for him as much as possible.

Of course, the worst was at night. At first, I tried to pick up where I left off on our sleep routine. When I left, he was able to fall asleep completely by himself with a little bit of babble-whining. After needing to go in and reassure him several times the first night, I realized I needed to back up a few steps on the sleep training. I think he associated me leaving him alone in his room with me Leaving Him. So I went back to sitting next to his crib with my eyes closed, present but not engaged. While we played the up-down game more than I would have liked (Sprout stands up, Mommy puts him down, Sprout stands up again, repeat up to 30 times), he eventually got used to the idea that I’d still be there when he went to sleep.

While we gradually worked our way back to a level of independence at bedtime, his reactions in the middle of the night have been far more unpredictable. While I was gone, he actually slept through the night a couple nights, much to Chris’s relief. The first few days after I returned, he either slept through the night or only woke once and went back to sleep after a reassuring hug. This calm lulled us into a sense of security and then his sleep schedule totally fell apart. He would fall asleep at bedtime, but then wake up in the middle of the night and not go back to sleep for hours at a time, no matter what we did. If I was holding him, he wouldn’t cry, just look at me with his big blue eyes. Nursing, rocking, holding – none of it worked. By training him not to rely on any of these methods, we seemed to immunize him against them being effective. And if we put him in his crib by himself – especially if I put him in his crib – he would start hard crying. As I really don’t believe in cry-it-out, it was horrifying. I either had to listen to my baby scream or not go back to bed – either way, I wasn’t getting back to sleep. I chose not to go back to bed, dragging Chris in for reinforcement. Because he takes much longer to fall back asleep than I do, I hate having to wake him in the middle of the night, but I didn’t have a choice.

We thought we had moved beyond this last week, but then Sprout got a cold and it reared its ugly head again. A few nights ago, I was so desperate that I tried to bring him into bed with us, but he was even less interested in sleeping there than he was in my arms. Instead, he thought it was playtime and promptly pulled Chris’s hair. I ended up sleeping on the couch for three hours with him in my arms.

As I respond to him during the day and night, Sprout’s feeling of security in my presence should continue to increase. In the meantime, I hope that we’re past most of the growing pains.

The Family that Hikes Together, Stays Together: Rock Creek Regional Park

May 23, 2014 / Shannon Brescher Shea / 3 Comments

I love hiking. I love hiking the way I love writing – as a deep need that I don’t always enjoy while in the middle of it, but I’m almost always glad I did afterwards. Unfortunately, Chris’s weekend schedule when he was working as a cook meant we could only go very rarely. So when Chris quit to stay home with Sprout, I looked forward to many Saturdays out on the trails.

My dreams were helped along by a very generous gift by our neighbors – a nearly new Kelty baby backpack that their kids were now too big for. The backpack was probably a few hundred dollars when new, so it was great to have one less piece of baby gear to worry about.

Before we set off on any grand expeditions, I wanted to try a couple of easy trips. I penciled in last Saturday on the calendar and planned to walk a few flat miles on the C&O Canal towpath. Unfortunately, we had torrential rain last week that flooded a lot of trails. When I checked the National Parks Service’s website, it said that parts of the towpath were closed.

We were not deterred. Instead, we decided to visit Great Falls, C&O’s sister park across the Potomac River. We packed the backpack, sandwiches, water, baby food, and of course, Sprout himself in the car and headed out. As we drove along the winding road to the park, I appreciated how green everything was after the spring rains. Even Sprout, who doesn’t like being in the car, was in a good mood.

Then everything came to a screeching halt. Or more accurately, a slow halt. As we entered the park’s entrance road, we saw an electronic sign warning us: “Delays – 1 hour.” We laughed, saying, “There’s no way it could possibly be an hour’s wait to get into the park!” Twenty minutes later, as we were less than halfway to the end of the service road, we were no longer laughing. With the accuracy of the sign sinking in, we turned around and abandoned our plan again.

We arrived home having spent over an hour and a half in the car with nothing to show for it except a somewhat disgruntled baby. We put him down for his nap, discouraged but not yet beaten.

When we woke up, we made one more last ditch effort. We headed to the closest entrance to Rock Creek Park, only a few miles away. We knew that the trails were too wet to use further up the creek, as I had called a nearby nature center on the way home from Great Falls. But we hoped that perhaps the creek bed in our section was high enough to minimize the flooding.

Our persistence paid off, with the only sign of the previous rains along the paved trail being spots of dried mud. We walked for about 45 minutes, switching off backpack duty half-way through so we could both get experience with it. By that point, the weather was beautiful, with the sun filtering through the trees’ glistening green leaves.

Despite the previous mishaps, the mini-hike actually boded well for future expeditions. We had a lovely conversation as we walked along the trail, which was hilariously empty compared to the mob in Virginia. Sprout seemed to like the backpack much more than the soft carrier, which he’s always tolerated at best. He loves watching what’s going on, so the high-up viewpoint of the backpack seemed to suit him better than the limited view of the carrier. Both of us found the backpack somewhat heavy, but manageable. It weighed a little less than a backpacking pack, so it was a weight both of us had handled before. Sprout was more wiggly than pans, a tent or food would be, but the pack compensated fairly well. The only concern was being really careful around low-hanging branches since his head was a couple inches high than ours. We wouldn’t take on any long or strenuous hikes with it, but there are enough 3 to 4 mile hikes around us that there’s plenty to keep us busy.

While I look forward to using the backpack on future excursions, our last few family field trips have taught us the importance of flexibility, if nothing else.

We'll Eat You Up – We Love You So

The Adventures of a Mom Just Trying to Make a Difference