June 14, 2012

Super Nature Girl

This is how (awkwardly) connected to nature I am.
In theory I sound like a Super Nature Girl.
I have a botanist dad. I take my kids camping and make one sleep in the laundry basket we packed our food in. I knew all the nature trails in Madison, WI, growing up. My kids play in the dirt outside in their underwear. I drag my kids on "nature walks" where we throw bits of leaf, dried worm crisps, and dead lady bugs into a paper bag for fun.

But I throw that paper bag immediately into the recycling bin.

And my kids are in their underwear out of pure laziness on my part.

And for all the hiking I've done with my dad, I can only name about five plants. FIVE. Dandelion being one of them.

But sometimes I, myself, get lulled into believing I'm Super Nature Girl. I love hiking - I sure hope Rob knows how lucky he is. Not many wives are down with rustic camping. And look at my kids carrying around ladybugs and roly polies and not flinching. I mean, really. I AM Super Nature Girl. I'm so awesome I'd marry myself.

And then, sometimes, I'm brought back to reality. And my nature ego shrinks back down to a manageable size.

Like when we were up in Michigan last week, poking around a pond with my kids, my sisters, and my mom. As Super Nature Girl, I was having the kids check out the lily pads. (Another one of my five known plants.) I was trying to catch a frog. I was pointing out the tadpoles near the edge of the pond.

And then Silas' foot slipped into the water.

And there are several awkward things I have to explain here. The first being that the kid was wearing socks with Crocs.

I know. But we were in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of biology students and professors. Socks with Crocs were at the weak end of the list of fashion faux pas that I'm sure occur on a daily basis up there.

The second is that, being the fake Super Nature Girl that I am, I was blissfully unaware of the nature of frog eggs until that point in time. Two minutes before this incident, I would have guessed they were lonesome little things just floating around the water by themselves.

They are not.

Here, I Googled it for you: "Frog Eggs" <-- click here.

The third awkward thing is that while grabbing sloppy handfuls of this snot-egg-mucus stuff of Silas' socked foot and bare leg, I started getting really thick-throated.

And then I gagged.

And then I started doing that repeated dry heaving where you manage to keep your stomach where it is, but you still make the throw up face with the retch that opens your mouth and kinks your neck all weird and if you saw yourself in the mirror you'd probably punch yourself in the face because it's so ugly.

Then I put Silas' gooey sock in my pocket, tucked my tail between my legs, and retreated quickly down the path bringing me back to civilization. Where I actually belonged.

For shame. Retching over frog eggs.

I have been humbled once again by God's creation.


Anne Ooms said...

Thanks for the link to "frog eggs." So many pictures of people holding them! I think I'd just like to look at them from afar. I thought I was really outdoorsy until we moved up here. Seeing as how we don't climb mountains, traverse glaciers, and get dropped off by an airplane to go backpacking, we're far more suburban than I ever planned to be. So sad.

cobandrob said...

You're welcome. You and Andrew are residing among the *true* outdoorsy minority up there though. I saw your skiing video - you are still hardcore. :) When I bike to garage sales down here, people shake their head in wonder.

Look at me classifying road biking to garage sales with being outdoorsy. I need to go hold some frog eggs.