Poppa and Mrs. Poppa

In the 60s, my grandpa and his brother Fred (and my Dad and his brothers and probably other people) built a cabin on a small man-made pond in one of our pastures. Actually, they didn't build it, exactly. They moved a small "oil house" from one of the nearby "oil towns" (Skellyville, if I'm not mistaken, which actually still shows up on some maps near Cunningham even though it hasn't existed for decades). Over the years, all of our family has used the cabin, but I am pretty sure that none of the grandkids have latched onto it in adulthood like I have. I try to get out there once a month, if possible, to try and get some writing done (because I only have an hour or two a day, usually, here at home whenever Gabe takes a nap, which really isn't enough time to get anything done beyond the occasional post on here). But I also like getting out there just to enjoy some peace and quiet and to see all the stars for a change in the night sky.

This last weekend, I went out to the cabin. Because Libby had river cleanup in preparation of the Riverfest on Saturday, my folks agreed to watch Gabe Friday night.

I don't think I've discussed it much here in the past, but Gabe has a possibly unhealthy obsession with my Dad. His name, Poppa, is one of those words that we have to spell out (along with "bath" and "chocolate" and a few others) or else Gabe will become completely preoccupied with the concept of Poppa for about five minutes and then get quite angry when Poppa hasn't been presented to him for his enjoyment.

He has not, however, developed the same kind of obsession with my Mom. For the past few months, Mom took to calling herself "Pondscum" because every time they were around Gabe, he was solely focused on Poppa, almost completely ignoring Nana.

But we didn't think that name was very nice. So, about two weeks ago, we saw a commercial for Cunningham on the CBS Sunday Morning program (yes, Cunningham is advertising now to try and get people to move out there from Wichita and, yes, we--especially Libby--watch Sunday Morning, even though it is obviously an old person show), and my Mom was in it, eating in the local cafe. Gabe saw her and recognized her. He pointed at the TV and said, "Poppa! Poppa!" Not because he thought she was Poppa, but because he assumed that if Nana was there, Poppa must be close. So, taking the opportunity to teach a valuable lesson, I was quick to point out that "That isn't Poppa, Gabe. Poppa isn't there. That's MRS. Poppa." So, that's her unofficial name until Gabe gets old enough to realize differently. I think it's slightly more flattering than Pondscum while still managing to be mildly insulting, which is perfect, I think.

One other note of importance. Gabe also hates car rides. Only in the last month have we gotten to a point where he can make it into Wichita without completely losing his mind (and even then it's mostly only when someone else is in the car who can cater to his every whim--when it's just one of us in the driver's seat, where we really can't pay close attention to him, he still gets pretty cranky). So, since my folks live about an hour and a half away, getting there is often not the best of times. Traditionally, I've had to adopt the periodic-stops-every-twenty-minutes-or-so method of driving to check on him and resupply him with toys and distractions, which never helped for more than five minutes. Then, for fifteen minutes or so, I would have to try and ignore his screaming and crying in the back. Or, if there was a good CD in, I could try and sing loud enough that I couldn't really hear him.

Last Friday, in preparation of the road trip, and because Gabe is starting to get old enough to SORT OF understand the concept of driving in the car to get to a desirable destination, I began to explain to him that we were getting ready to take a trip out to see Poppa and Mrs. Poppa, and that it would take us a good car ride to get there.

Then, when we loaded up, I found a wallet sized school picture of Dad from his first year of teaching that we had posted on the fridge. After I loaded Gabe into his seat, I handed him the picture in the hopes that it would distract him for awhile.

And it did! I made it almost to Hutchinson before he dropped the picture and started to get cranky (which is about the halfway point out the Cunningham). It was pretty hilarious, actually. He just sat in his chair, staring at the picture and repeating "Poppa, Poppa, Poppa" over and over again.

I told Mom and Dad and Libby about it that night and they all thought it was pretty funny. But, when Libby came out to get him on Saturday, she couldn't find the little wallet picture we'd used the day before, so Mom gave her a 5x7 picture of Dad from this year to use on the trip home.

Gabe had to take a nap with the picture of Poppa on Sunday, he's so attached to the picture. It's pretty adorable. The video I've included was of Gabe holding Poppa's picture on the couch last night while Libby read him a book. Before I started filming, Gabe kept turning the picture so Poppa could see the pictures in the book, after I started filming, he, of course, mostly stopped, though I think he still did it once or twice. He was also pretend feeding Poppa's picture some of his fruit loops this morning, which was also pretty funny.

So that's what's on the video.

On another note, while I was out there this weekend, I remembered why I moved off the farm. Dad asked me to help him move some feed bunks for a friend of theirs whose husband just died the week before last. Being the big-hearted fellow I am, I agreed to help. But, thanks to all the rain we've been getting, the corrals where the feed bunks were were a swampy, shitty mess. I had big rubber boots on, but the slimy sess still sloshed up to my calves and, by the time we got finished, I had slopped and splashed horse shit and horse shit water all over every piece of clothing I was wearing. And, since I hadn't packed like I was going to be covered in crap, I didn't really have any extra clothes out at the cabin with me. So, I pretty much had to smell poop for the remainder of my weekend. It was a grand reminder of why I left.

Anyway, here's the video.