Not only did my ole South Cackalacky buddy bring great cheer and a funny three year old for Heath to play with this past Sunday, she also brought Stella a heapin' bag o' clothes to wear. We've had a great time putting her in some very adorable digs each day. And today was no different.
The morning plan was to wake, eat breakfast, and head out for a morning of Trader Joe's and Target errand running. The kiddies did me a glorious favor by sleeping until 8:05am, so after coffee and cereal, I managed to get everyone dressed without much fuss. I got Heath taken care of first, then set him free to play race cars around the kitchen table, while I slipped a very sweet green and lavender flowered, easy cotton dress over Stella's head. As soon as she was finished, I set off to take care of myself. Apparently Stella joined Heath for some racin', but before they began, I heard him gush, It's beautiful, Gigs. What a beautiful dress, you look beautiful!
Oh, Trader Joe's how do I love thee, let me count the ways. Well, I've got ice cream and a movie to watch (Brothers), so I won't count all the ways, but I have to say, hearing not one, not two, but three songs by The Animals while we did our grocery shopping at TJ's this morning sealed the who's better (HT/TJ) deal for me.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Thursday, April 29, 2010
How Soon Is Now?
But Don't Forget the Songs that Made You Cry/And the Songs that Saved Your Life.
--The Smiths
After an excellent playtime at the park this morning, the kiddies settled in for some napping. I wasn't so interested in sleeping today, so I decided to use my recharge time to tackle some bedside table reading before I took a few minutes to shut my eyes for some much-needed meditation.
The first book I cracked open was The Out-of-Sync Child. After a couple of dizzying chapters I shut it and opened the next piece of literature in the stack, Meetings with Morrissey. Certainly a lighter read than the previous selection, but actually the one that provided more interesting thoughts to float through my head when I finally closed my eyes and attempted to slow down the speeding bullets of worry and fret that have been dragging me down as of late.
I keep thinking about what my job is as a parent. Where my responsibilty begins and ends. I had a recent conversation with someone and we decided that I mainly want to keep Heath out of juvie and Stella off the pole. It was, of course, a laughable moment, and all centered around an attempt to help me gain a little perspective, as I have found myself getting incredibly wound tight about their existence (again). I want them to be successful, but what does that mean? A healthy self-esteem. A passion for what they do with their life. A core group of family and friends that they can trust. Today while I was out running with the kids, we passed the fire station, the same fire station we've passed who knows how many times, the same hook-and-ladder, the same pumper, and with the same excitement, Heath pointed and said (for the millionth time), I want to drive that pumper truck when I get older.
If he still wants to do that when he is older, because he still has that kind of pure passion for it, I hope I get to see it. And the passion he has for fire trucks, I know it's most little boys' craving, but nevertheless, it's sweet and inspiring, because it is so completely unfettered. He really wants to drive the truck. He really wants to sleep and eat in the fire station. He really wants to hang out with other fire fighters. He really wants to save the day. Because he's that kind of boy.
And I thought about The Smiths and the first time I heard them. I was visiting my brother, who was a freshman in college in Durham. He and his roommate were listening to The Queen is Dead, Bigmouth Strikes Again to be exact, and it was one of those moments. One of those, you'll never forget this moment, kind of moments. I knew I was listening to something good, something different. And my entire world changed. They taught me how to constructively despair. Just like REM taught me how to pine. Jane's Addiction taught me how to indulge. The Beastie Boys (and Dr. Seuss) taught me how to rhyme. Steely Dan and The Roots (and Judy Blume) taught me how to write. And Radiohead taught me that life goes on after The Smiths.
And the last couple of days have been better, as it seems I am emerging (again) from having slid down the bad mommy luge (again) and have climbed out of the valley (again). And it's not because my children are acting any different. In between moments of calm and relative ease, Heath worked very hard on antagonizing Stella. Stella worked very hard on pulling as much hair on other children's heads as she possibly could. And no one wanted to come inside and take a bath tonight, and in protest, felt it necessary to fall down on the ground and scream a good blood-curdling scream.
Because that's what they do. Works in progress. Aren't we all.
--The Smiths
After an excellent playtime at the park this morning, the kiddies settled in for some napping. I wasn't so interested in sleeping today, so I decided to use my recharge time to tackle some bedside table reading before I took a few minutes to shut my eyes for some much-needed meditation.
The first book I cracked open was The Out-of-Sync Child. After a couple of dizzying chapters I shut it and opened the next piece of literature in the stack, Meetings with Morrissey. Certainly a lighter read than the previous selection, but actually the one that provided more interesting thoughts to float through my head when I finally closed my eyes and attempted to slow down the speeding bullets of worry and fret that have been dragging me down as of late.
I keep thinking about what my job is as a parent. Where my responsibilty begins and ends. I had a recent conversation with someone and we decided that I mainly want to keep Heath out of juvie and Stella off the pole. It was, of course, a laughable moment, and all centered around an attempt to help me gain a little perspective, as I have found myself getting incredibly wound tight about their existence (again). I want them to be successful, but what does that mean? A healthy self-esteem. A passion for what they do with their life. A core group of family and friends that they can trust. Today while I was out running with the kids, we passed the fire station, the same fire station we've passed who knows how many times, the same hook-and-ladder, the same pumper, and with the same excitement, Heath pointed and said (for the millionth time), I want to drive that pumper truck when I get older.
If he still wants to do that when he is older, because he still has that kind of pure passion for it, I hope I get to see it. And the passion he has for fire trucks, I know it's most little boys' craving, but nevertheless, it's sweet and inspiring, because it is so completely unfettered. He really wants to drive the truck. He really wants to sleep and eat in the fire station. He really wants to hang out with other fire fighters. He really wants to save the day. Because he's that kind of boy.
And I thought about The Smiths and the first time I heard them. I was visiting my brother, who was a freshman in college in Durham. He and his roommate were listening to The Queen is Dead, Bigmouth Strikes Again to be exact, and it was one of those moments. One of those, you'll never forget this moment, kind of moments. I knew I was listening to something good, something different. And my entire world changed. They taught me how to constructively despair. Just like REM taught me how to pine. Jane's Addiction taught me how to indulge. The Beastie Boys (and Dr. Seuss) taught me how to rhyme. Steely Dan and The Roots (and Judy Blume) taught me how to write. And Radiohead taught me that life goes on after The Smiths.
And the last couple of days have been better, as it seems I am emerging (again) from having slid down the bad mommy luge (again) and have climbed out of the valley (again). And it's not because my children are acting any different. In between moments of calm and relative ease, Heath worked very hard on antagonizing Stella. Stella worked very hard on pulling as much hair on other children's heads as she possibly could. And no one wanted to come inside and take a bath tonight, and in protest, felt it necessary to fall down on the ground and scream a good blood-curdling scream.
Because that's what they do. Works in progress. Aren't we all.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Frost Tonight? Frost...Tonight...? My Poor 'mater Plants
Finally, another well-oiled machine kind of day. It's been a while, and I'm trying to just appreciate it, instead of getting all jaw-clenchy with worry about what kind of fresh craziness is around the corner.
We got an incredible treat this morning when a giant Enterprise truck pulled up in front of our house. I had no idea what its plan was or who it belonged to. For five minutes Heath and Stella stood at the front window, pointing and shouting, What's that truck doing? and Wa' dat? Then one more giant truck pulled up two houses down. Watching from inside became insufficient, so we moved our gawking selves to the front porch, pajamas and all, waiting to discover what all the truck-fuss was about.
The fuss was about the long-awaited arrival of the big green recycling roll-out bins. Heath and Stella jumped up and down, clapped their hands, and screamed, Hooray!, while the three of us rolled the bin down the driveway. I explained to the kiddies that we would not be using the big bin until July, but we could keep using the little red bins until that point. Heath was a little disappointed about the wait, but the Enterprise truck started to back up, Beep! Beep! Beep!, and he forgot all about the long July wait.
And two additional treats occured: Mark was home at 4:30, so we got to go out for a little run together, and Six Feet Under Season 5: Disc One arrived.
We got an incredible treat this morning when a giant Enterprise truck pulled up in front of our house. I had no idea what its plan was or who it belonged to. For five minutes Heath and Stella stood at the front window, pointing and shouting, What's that truck doing? and Wa' dat? Then one more giant truck pulled up two houses down. Watching from inside became insufficient, so we moved our gawking selves to the front porch, pajamas and all, waiting to discover what all the truck-fuss was about.
The fuss was about the long-awaited arrival of the big green recycling roll-out bins. Heath and Stella jumped up and down, clapped their hands, and screamed, Hooray!, while the three of us rolled the bin down the driveway. I explained to the kiddies that we would not be using the big bin until July, but we could keep using the little red bins until that point. Heath was a little disappointed about the wait, but the Enterprise truck started to back up, Beep! Beep! Beep!, and he forgot all about the long July wait.
And two additional treats occured: Mark was home at 4:30, so we got to go out for a little run together, and Six Feet Under Season 5: Disc One arrived.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
April Showers...
Not only do they bring May flowers, they also bring loud, cracking thunderstorms that wake slumbering children from what I considered a delightfully cozy, delicious nap. After spending the morning at school with Heath, I was really looking forward to one, too.
Oh well. At least we had an interesting activity planned for the drizzly afternoon.
While I was at school with Heath, my mom had a morning with Stella. Just the girls. HeHe looks very forward to these rare one-on-one times with either child. Before they met us back at our house, the two gals stopped by the Morrocroft library. (Still open for business. Phew.) They raided the 25 cents book area and purchased quite a few children's book. We read most of them just before our naps (yes, the nap that was short-lived. I'm still bitter.), including Shaggy's Halloween. I actually don't think that is the right title. It had a dog in it, and I think I am remembering this dog's name correctly, but it could be something else, something similar to Shaggy. It was about Halloween. (The book is downstairs and I don't feel like confirming the title right now.)
Anyhoo, the book concluded with instructions for making your own Halloween masks using paper grocery bags, glue, crayons, and scissors. Heath fell asleep and woke up from his nap with mask-making enthusiasm.
Not only did he make a robot mask, and robot body, he also made one for puppy. Puppy's even had a hole for his tale. It was great fun for Heath. Unfortunately, Stella was feeling less than excited about mask-making. As a matter of fact, she has felt less than excited about most things today, so craft-time was no exception. The only thing that seemed to please her was being able to hold and gnaw on the scissors, and well, that just screamed ER visit.
Just as mask-making was turning south, the weather read my mind, and the sun appeared, the drizzle stopped, and I popped some shoes on everyone and headed outside. Stella wanted to 'wing, and finally got a smile on her face for the first time today.
Good thing, too, because an hour and a half later, Heath accidentally closed the bathroom door on her fingers. While she was giving a good, full-body, mouth open holler, I spotted what looked like two giant dragon teeth emerging in the back of her head. Yikes.
Oh well. At least we had an interesting activity planned for the drizzly afternoon.
While I was at school with Heath, my mom had a morning with Stella. Just the girls. HeHe looks very forward to these rare one-on-one times with either child. Before they met us back at our house, the two gals stopped by the Morrocroft library. (Still open for business. Phew.) They raided the 25 cents book area and purchased quite a few children's book. We read most of them just before our naps (yes, the nap that was short-lived. I'm still bitter.), including Shaggy's Halloween. I actually don't think that is the right title. It had a dog in it, and I think I am remembering this dog's name correctly, but it could be something else, something similar to Shaggy. It was about Halloween. (The book is downstairs and I don't feel like confirming the title right now.)
Anyhoo, the book concluded with instructions for making your own Halloween masks using paper grocery bags, glue, crayons, and scissors. Heath fell asleep and woke up from his nap with mask-making enthusiasm.
Not only did he make a robot mask, and robot body, he also made one for puppy. Puppy's even had a hole for his tale. It was great fun for Heath. Unfortunately, Stella was feeling less than excited about mask-making. As a matter of fact, she has felt less than excited about most things today, so craft-time was no exception. The only thing that seemed to please her was being able to hold and gnaw on the scissors, and well, that just screamed ER visit.
Just as mask-making was turning south, the weather read my mind, and the sun appeared, the drizzle stopped, and I popped some shoes on everyone and headed outside. Stella wanted to 'wing, and finally got a smile on her face for the first time today.
Good thing, too, because an hour and a half later, Heath accidentally closed the bathroom door on her fingers. While she was giving a good, full-body, mouth open holler, I spotted what looked like two giant dragon teeth emerging in the back of her head. Yikes.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Who Needs Principles When You've Got Yummy Ice Cream?
It's been ten weeks since I stepped foot into a Harris-Teeter. The boycott has been quite intentional, and the decision to sever my ties with the HT was one that I debated and considered and contemplated for nearly a year. But they're everywhere, so convenience kept trumping some moral and ethical principles that HT seemed to be fooling with.
My major trouble with the Teeter has to do with the fact that everytime I get hooked on a food item, the price continues to be jacked up and up and up. The black beans went up 20 cents. The ice cream an entire dollar. The organic milk is the most expensive in town. But the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back finally came when Heath's favorite (and admittedly non-nutritious, but that can be another blog's subject) Spider-Man macaroni and cheese went from 87 cents to $1.37 in less than 4 months. So ten weeks ago, I said, Nope, I'm not your sucker anymore, Teeter.
And then tonight at 7pm we were out of milk. And I had somewhere to be by 7:30. And HT is right around the corner. (Actually, three different HTs are right around the corner.) I caved. Totally and completely caved under the pressure of time and milk-lovin' babies.
I felt guilty walking through the store, like I was cheating on Trader Joe's, my new and better boyfriend. The lights seemed brighter. The rows upon rows of stacked items seemed taller, overwhelming. And the dairy section seemed frigidly cold.
As I wandered to the milk section, not making eye contact with anyone, I thought, You're here for milk, that's it. Get in. Get out. When I opened the refrigerator door, there below the milk was the old familiar red VIC card sale sign. HT organic milk was actually on sale. I felt a little starry-eyed for a moment, then I remembered sweet Joe and his milk, always cheaper than this "sale" price. I got a grip (and the milk) and moved on.
Then a little voice inside my head (sounding an awful lot like Heath, whose last request as I headed out the door was, Get some ice cream, Mama. I'm out of Mint Chocolate Mint.) said, You're already here. Might as well check the ice cream.
I did a quick scan. Ben and Jerry's was on sale, but at nearly 5.00 for a pint, I was not going to be lured in. Edy's was still lingering in its bogus state of discount. $4.99. The horror. Just as I was ready to smugly make my getaway with my emergency gallon of milk, I saw something below the Breyers. Tee tiny print, barely legible, but I am very familiar with the story it was telling.
Buy Two, Get Three Free.
The angels sang. The clouds parted. The doves flew. The bugels trumpeted.
Like a Charlottean hunkering down for a snow storm, I grabbed the chilly containers with a thief's fury. The hand basket was so heavy, I could barely carry it over to the self-check-out. But don't worry, I made it, tripping over myself only a few times. Now here's where you might say, if you were only buying milk, why did you have a basket? I don't have a good answer. I like to think it was divine intervention. Buy Two, Get Three Free does not come along very often. I can tell you my new boyfriend, Mr. Joe, he's great and all, but his ice cream section is dismal.
Have I kissed and made up with Harris-Teeter? Hardly. I'll be back with Trader Joe by the end of the week. Will I get Mark to stop by HT and load up with five more Breyers before they change the sales on Wednesday? Oh, yes.
My major trouble with the Teeter has to do with the fact that everytime I get hooked on a food item, the price continues to be jacked up and up and up. The black beans went up 20 cents. The ice cream an entire dollar. The organic milk is the most expensive in town. But the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back finally came when Heath's favorite (and admittedly non-nutritious, but that can be another blog's subject) Spider-Man macaroni and cheese went from 87 cents to $1.37 in less than 4 months. So ten weeks ago, I said, Nope, I'm not your sucker anymore, Teeter.
And then tonight at 7pm we were out of milk. And I had somewhere to be by 7:30. And HT is right around the corner. (Actually, three different HTs are right around the corner.) I caved. Totally and completely caved under the pressure of time and milk-lovin' babies.
I felt guilty walking through the store, like I was cheating on Trader Joe's, my new and better boyfriend. The lights seemed brighter. The rows upon rows of stacked items seemed taller, overwhelming. And the dairy section seemed frigidly cold.
As I wandered to the milk section, not making eye contact with anyone, I thought, You're here for milk, that's it. Get in. Get out. When I opened the refrigerator door, there below the milk was the old familiar red VIC card sale sign. HT organic milk was actually on sale. I felt a little starry-eyed for a moment, then I remembered sweet Joe and his milk, always cheaper than this "sale" price. I got a grip (and the milk) and moved on.
Then a little voice inside my head (sounding an awful lot like Heath, whose last request as I headed out the door was, Get some ice cream, Mama. I'm out of Mint Chocolate Mint.) said, You're already here. Might as well check the ice cream.
I did a quick scan. Ben and Jerry's was on sale, but at nearly 5.00 for a pint, I was not going to be lured in. Edy's was still lingering in its bogus state of discount. $4.99. The horror. Just as I was ready to smugly make my getaway with my emergency gallon of milk, I saw something below the Breyers. Tee tiny print, barely legible, but I am very familiar with the story it was telling.
Buy Two, Get Three Free.
The angels sang. The clouds parted. The doves flew. The bugels trumpeted.
Like a Charlottean hunkering down for a snow storm, I grabbed the chilly containers with a thief's fury. The hand basket was so heavy, I could barely carry it over to the self-check-out. But don't worry, I made it, tripping over myself only a few times. Now here's where you might say, if you were only buying milk, why did you have a basket? I don't have a good answer. I like to think it was divine intervention. Buy Two, Get Three Free does not come along very often. I can tell you my new boyfriend, Mr. Joe, he's great and all, but his ice cream section is dismal.
Have I kissed and made up with Harris-Teeter? Hardly. I'll be back with Trader Joe by the end of the week. Will I get Mark to stop by HT and load up with five more Breyers before they change the sales on Wednesday? Oh, yes.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Heath In Training
The weekend went by entirely too fast. Fortunately, the rainy weather we woke up to moved on and we were able to get out for an excellent run. Yes. I did get to wear my lovely skirt, and yes, I do believe it made me just a bit faster.
Our new running routine includes letting Heath out of the baby jogger so he can run the last leg of our loop, which amounts to roughly 3/10 of a mile. We say Ready, Set, Go! and he's off like a shot. Mark yells, Go! Go! Go! Stella yells, Go! Go! Go! (or at least something that sounds an awful lot like go, go, go!). And that's exactly what he does, while we trot behind him.
His pace is steady. It's speedy. And it includes only three stops. Two stops are corners of the barely trafficked cul-de-sacked streets we cross over. He stops. He looks both ways. Shouts, No cars! Then digs in his feet, lifts up his knees, Zoom! He is off again. And his last stop is at a neighbor's tree across from our house. This is where he stops to relieve himself.
Usually we give him enough space to feel as though he is free as a bird, but we are actually close enough to prevent any sudden departure from safety, or a possible loss of sanity that may lead to Heath becoming a full-on flight-risk.
Today, he seemed particularly excited to be set free, so I felt it was only wise to stay close on his heels. Apparently, I was a little too close. Not long into his jaunt, he turned on his heels, held out his hands, and said, Mama, please. You need to get off my edge.
I slowed down, gave him some space, and cheered him on. All the way to the pee-tree.
Our new running routine includes letting Heath out of the baby jogger so he can run the last leg of our loop, which amounts to roughly 3/10 of a mile. We say Ready, Set, Go! and he's off like a shot. Mark yells, Go! Go! Go! Stella yells, Go! Go! Go! (or at least something that sounds an awful lot like go, go, go!). And that's exactly what he does, while we trot behind him.
His pace is steady. It's speedy. And it includes only three stops. Two stops are corners of the barely trafficked cul-de-sacked streets we cross over. He stops. He looks both ways. Shouts, No cars! Then digs in his feet, lifts up his knees, Zoom! He is off again. And his last stop is at a neighbor's tree across from our house. This is where he stops to relieve himself.
Usually we give him enough space to feel as though he is free as a bird, but we are actually close enough to prevent any sudden departure from safety, or a possible loss of sanity that may lead to Heath becoming a full-on flight-risk.
Today, he seemed particularly excited to be set free, so I felt it was only wise to stay close on his heels. Apparently, I was a little too close. Not long into his jaunt, he turned on his heels, held out his hands, and said, Mama, please. You need to get off my edge.
I slowed down, gave him some space, and cheered him on. All the way to the pee-tree.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Festing for Spring
I did not get to take the running skirt out for a spin today. Sleeping later and taking an afternoon nap won. But I will say, for a Saturday without a run, it was still pretty darn good.
Heath's preschool Spring Festival was a great success. When we got up this morning, the sky was looking like it was not going to cooperate, and we were going to be in for a wet fest. So we packed up the rain jackets and headed out. Never even had to put them on. And the sun peaked out quite a few times.
The activities were aplenty. Dale the Bubble Guy was on hand. An obstacle course was assembled on one of the playgrounds. A music station was set-up with one woman playing the cello, and another lady leading the children in singing various childhood favorites. The banging wall drew quite crowd. (This consisted of various-sized pots hanging from a wire, waiting to be banged upon with ladles and wooden spoons and tin cups.) A woodworking area, sock-toss game, sidewalk chalk drawing, sock puppet and mask-making, and of course, the mural painting.
The mural painting area was just as fun, creative, engaging, and messy as I figured it would be. Two large canvasses were set up, ready for the children to have at it. Red, green, blue, yellow, and black paints were available. They had sponges, rollers, and traditional paint brushes. Many children chose to use their bare hands.
Heath overcame his initial grumpiness for mural painting and wholeheartedly dug into the black paint with a smooth roller. The repetitive motion was truly meditative for him. Every now and then he would say, Mama, I'm painting. (Even after a bath, he still has some black paint on his person.)
Stella visited the mural painting a few times. She, too, came away with loads of black paint on her face, and red paint on her legs and shoes. Mostly from eating it. Same thing with the sidewalk chalk. And the bubbles. Her preference was simply wandering the festival area, checking everyone and everything out.
Next thing I knew, it was 1:30 and time to go home for some naps. Everyone slept until 4:30. Lovely.
Rather than grace Eddie's with our loud presence, we decided to get it to-go and take it to Goma's house. The kiddies got to see their cousins and I finally got a glimpse of Yo Gabba Gabba. All I have to say about that is, what the what?!
Ice cream. Six Feet Under (I swear we're going to finish with that series). Run tomorrow, and a visit from my BFF (hopefully bringing us lots of girls school reunion tales!).
Heath's preschool Spring Festival was a great success. When we got up this morning, the sky was looking like it was not going to cooperate, and we were going to be in for a wet fest. So we packed up the rain jackets and headed out. Never even had to put them on. And the sun peaked out quite a few times.
The activities were aplenty. Dale the Bubble Guy was on hand. An obstacle course was assembled on one of the playgrounds. A music station was set-up with one woman playing the cello, and another lady leading the children in singing various childhood favorites. The banging wall drew quite crowd. (This consisted of various-sized pots hanging from a wire, waiting to be banged upon with ladles and wooden spoons and tin cups.) A woodworking area, sock-toss game, sidewalk chalk drawing, sock puppet and mask-making, and of course, the mural painting.
The mural painting area was just as fun, creative, engaging, and messy as I figured it would be. Two large canvasses were set up, ready for the children to have at it. Red, green, blue, yellow, and black paints were available. They had sponges, rollers, and traditional paint brushes. Many children chose to use their bare hands.
Heath overcame his initial grumpiness for mural painting and wholeheartedly dug into the black paint with a smooth roller. The repetitive motion was truly meditative for him. Every now and then he would say, Mama, I'm painting. (Even after a bath, he still has some black paint on his person.)
Stella visited the mural painting a few times. She, too, came away with loads of black paint on her face, and red paint on her legs and shoes. Mostly from eating it. Same thing with the sidewalk chalk. And the bubbles. Her preference was simply wandering the festival area, checking everyone and everything out.
Next thing I knew, it was 1:30 and time to go home for some naps. Everyone slept until 4:30. Lovely.
Rather than grace Eddie's with our loud presence, we decided to get it to-go and take it to Goma's house. The kiddies got to see their cousins and I finally got a glimpse of Yo Gabba Gabba. All I have to say about that is, what the what?!
Ice cream. Six Feet Under (I swear we're going to finish with that series). Run tomorrow, and a visit from my BFF (hopefully bringing us lots of girls school reunion tales!).
Friday, April 23, 2010
Need a Good Tree Tramper
Deep sigh of relief. The running skirt arrived and it is even lovelier than I imagined. I just hope I get to take it for a spin or two this weekend.
The calendar for the end of April and most of May has filled up quickly. First item on the agenda tomorrow morning: Heath's preschool Spring Festival. My edamame salad potluck contribution has been prepared and I am ready to man the mural painting booth. Have no idea what this entails, but I am sure it will provide lots of noteworthy moments. Heath has already deemed himself too grumpy to participate in the mural painting. He said he is not, however, too grumpy for tree tramping.
Tree tramping, according to Heath, is the act of taking a tree apart. You need safety glasses (or swim goggles, whichever is easiest to find). You need a shovel. And you definitely need a truck. He does not plant trees, he only deals in destruction, he clarified.
I assume the tree tramping interest was spurred by our previous Sunday activity of front yard bush trimming. We look very forward to Heath's teenaged entrepreneurial pursuit of landscaping. In his Jeep Cherokee office/home.
The calendar for the end of April and most of May has filled up quickly. First item on the agenda tomorrow morning: Heath's preschool Spring Festival. My edamame salad potluck contribution has been prepared and I am ready to man the mural painting booth. Have no idea what this entails, but I am sure it will provide lots of noteworthy moments. Heath has already deemed himself too grumpy to participate in the mural painting. He said he is not, however, too grumpy for tree tramping.
Tree tramping, according to Heath, is the act of taking a tree apart. You need safety glasses (or swim goggles, whichever is easiest to find). You need a shovel. And you definitely need a truck. He does not plant trees, he only deals in destruction, he clarified.
I assume the tree tramping interest was spurred by our previous Sunday activity of front yard bush trimming. We look very forward to Heath's teenaged entrepreneurial pursuit of landscaping. In his Jeep Cherokee office/home.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Trash Day
Heath and Stella were awakened by the trash and recycling trucks rolling through around 8am this morning. They immediately had to look out the front window to see the action. They were also all abuzz about our running/playdate date this morning. The run was perfectly timed. Not too hot. Not too chilly. And I had not been out since Monday, so I was looking very forward to the getting out there.
And it was great to have the company today. Lately I've had this gnawing feeling of loneliness in my motherhood. Loneliness in my specific experiences, as of late, anyway. The weight of the responsibility. The worries. The questions. The doubts.
A few years before I had children, I was sitting in the dentist's office, waiting for my appointment. I always use that time to catch up on the news. Us Magazine and People are favorites, so I know this quote I thought of recently came from one of those periodicals. Why I remember this particular quote, by this particular person, I have no idea. But it read: If you never want to be lonely again, have children. This philosophical bit of eloquence came out of none other than a Ms. (Mrs.? Miss?) Pamela Anderson (Lee?).
At the time, it seemed like a lovely notion. And then I had children. I have since wondered about her seemingly sweet statement of truth.
Perhaps what she was trying to say was that you will never be alone again. I can attest that having children does leave little time to your own person. No activity is off-limits for an audience. Showers. Potty. Getting dressed. And many days leave me completely and utterly talked and touched-out.
Or perhaps she meant what she said. Never lonely again. Must've been the nannies.
And it was great to have the company today. Lately I've had this gnawing feeling of loneliness in my motherhood. Loneliness in my specific experiences, as of late, anyway. The weight of the responsibility. The worries. The questions. The doubts.
A few years before I had children, I was sitting in the dentist's office, waiting for my appointment. I always use that time to catch up on the news. Us Magazine and People are favorites, so I know this quote I thought of recently came from one of those periodicals. Why I remember this particular quote, by this particular person, I have no idea. But it read: If you never want to be lonely again, have children. This philosophical bit of eloquence came out of none other than a Ms. (Mrs.? Miss?) Pamela Anderson (Lee?).
At the time, it seemed like a lovely notion. And then I had children. I have since wondered about her seemingly sweet statement of truth.
Perhaps what she was trying to say was that you will never be alone again. I can attest that having children does leave little time to your own person. No activity is off-limits for an audience. Showers. Potty. Getting dressed. And many days leave me completely and utterly talked and touched-out.
Or perhaps she meant what she said. Never lonely again. Must've been the nannies.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Let Your Freak Flag Fly
Heath's first morning inquiry was, Where is your running skirt?
I told him that was a good question. His peaked interest in the Run Love Fleur skirt whereabouts even allowed me a quick, morning email check to see if there was any information. There was. It's MIA. Scanned at the USPS, then *poof!*, vanished into thin air.
This isn't the first time I've dealt with undelivered packages to Whistlestop. A month before Stella was born my ole BFF sent a Baby Bjorn. This time it was scanned out of a South Carolina 'boro, and scanned Delivered in Charlotte. Nope. It never made it.
I am convinced I am going to see someone (possibly one of my more obscure neighbors) wandering the 'hood, wearing both a Baby Bjorn (in my mind it's a guy. And the baby carrier is empty. Or holding a dog, possibly a Pug) and my Run Love Fleur running skirt. Freak.
The good news is customer service at this company is most excellent, so they sent out a new skirt this morning. Crisis averted. Phew. Now I can move on to a new obsession.
Like, why is the pirate house flag we got at the beach so unbelievably large and I can't seem to figure out how to fold it in such a way that makes it work? If I were savvy or crafty or not lazy, I might be able to completely cut and stitch and sew the blasted thing so that it fits. I've considered cutting and ripping it to create a jagged, sea-storm-beaten look.
But when Heath told me this afternoon that he plans to work, and sleep, in my old Jeep Cherokee when he is a teenager, I figured I would just set the flag aside and save it for a house warming present. After all, he will need some art. In his house/office Jeep.
I told him that was a good question. His peaked interest in the Run Love Fleur skirt whereabouts even allowed me a quick, morning email check to see if there was any information. There was. It's MIA. Scanned at the USPS, then *poof!*, vanished into thin air.
This isn't the first time I've dealt with undelivered packages to Whistlestop. A month before Stella was born my ole BFF sent a Baby Bjorn. This time it was scanned out of a South Carolina 'boro, and scanned Delivered in Charlotte. Nope. It never made it.
I am convinced I am going to see someone (possibly one of my more obscure neighbors) wandering the 'hood, wearing both a Baby Bjorn (in my mind it's a guy. And the baby carrier is empty. Or holding a dog, possibly a Pug) and my Run Love Fleur running skirt. Freak.
The good news is customer service at this company is most excellent, so they sent out a new skirt this morning. Crisis averted. Phew. Now I can move on to a new obsession.
Like, why is the pirate house flag we got at the beach so unbelievably large and I can't seem to figure out how to fold it in such a way that makes it work? If I were savvy or crafty or not lazy, I might be able to completely cut and stitch and sew the blasted thing so that it fits. I've considered cutting and ripping it to create a jagged, sea-storm-beaten look.
But when Heath told me this afternoon that he plans to work, and sleep, in my old Jeep Cherokee when he is a teenager, I figured I would just set the flag aside and save it for a house warming present. After all, he will need some art. In his house/office Jeep.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Sounds Like Someone has a Case of the Tuesdays
I was actually just thinking it was Monday, while I was (finally) in the shower. It's been that kind of draining, concrete-thought sucking day.
Stella has a rug burn contusion on her forehead with Heath's name written all over it. The late-afternoon and early evening was full of hysterics-worthy moments for both kiddies. My running skirt still didn't arrive. And too many things going on to run today.
Blah.
Deep breath.
I'm done.
Stella has a rug burn contusion on her forehead with Heath's name written all over it. The late-afternoon and early evening was full of hysterics-worthy moments for both kiddies. My running skirt still didn't arrive. And too many things going on to run today.
Blah.
Deep breath.
I'm done.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Give a Dog a Bone
Not too shabby considering both children decided to take a break from naps today. And what a surprise that was considering the morning we experienced. Heath's class met at Reedy Creek Park and we played and hiked and lunched and played some more until 12:30. Stella was actually knocked out in her car seat before we exited the park and slept the whole way home.
I guess that was enough for her.
Around 2 o'clock I thought I would try to get them to take a little rest, mainly for Heath's sake (and, well, mine). Stella, of course, spent the first half hour throwing everything out of her crib. Heath spent the first half hour bringing up various subjects to "chat" about. Caterpillars. Tadpoles. Tow trucks. Wearing someone else's underpants (a bit of an accident occured at the park and I failed to pack an extra pair of pants. So OF COURSE I would need them.)
Then the pair spent the second half hour singing This Old Man back and forth to each other between the walls. Stella doesn't actually sing. She just duh-duh-duh's to the tune of This Old Man.
Heath's old man does a lot of things with his knick-knack paddy whack. He plays poo on a shoe. He plays pee on a tree. He plays ottom on his bottom. At least he rhymes. And he always comes rolling home.
At three I decided "rest time" was for the birds, so I loaded the kiddies up and took them for a run to the park. I expected the two to nod off in the stroller. Nope. Not today.
They were definitely ready for bed, though.
And all I want to know is where the heck is my new running skirt?!
I guess that was enough for her.
Around 2 o'clock I thought I would try to get them to take a little rest, mainly for Heath's sake (and, well, mine). Stella, of course, spent the first half hour throwing everything out of her crib. Heath spent the first half hour bringing up various subjects to "chat" about. Caterpillars. Tadpoles. Tow trucks. Wearing someone else's underpants (a bit of an accident occured at the park and I failed to pack an extra pair of pants. So OF COURSE I would need them.)
Then the pair spent the second half hour singing This Old Man back and forth to each other between the walls. Stella doesn't actually sing. She just duh-duh-duh's to the tune of This Old Man.
Heath's old man does a lot of things with his knick-knack paddy whack. He plays poo on a shoe. He plays pee on a tree. He plays ottom on his bottom. At least he rhymes. And he always comes rolling home.
At three I decided "rest time" was for the birds, so I loaded the kiddies up and took them for a run to the park. I expected the two to nod off in the stroller. Nope. Not today.
They were definitely ready for bed, though.
And all I want to know is where the heck is my new running skirt?!
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Power Nap
Early into nap time I heard a very loud and unusual clunk come from Stella's room. My first thought was, She's finally escaped. But the noise wasn't followed by pitter-patter sounds of tiny feet. Tossing all of her toys out of her crib, then collapsing in an exhausted heap in the center of her mattress, is a favorite nap time activity. But this didn't come to mind. And if I'd really been using my noodle, I would've gone through the list of Stella's ever-growing bed entourage and remembered the baby doll with the unusually large (and plastic) head.
But my noodle is tapped of all sound and reasonable ideas. Instead, I crept to her door and cracked it open just enough to see that no one had fallen. No one had broken into her room and stolen her. And no furniture had collapsed on top of her, leaving her to be smothered. It was, in fact, the baby doll big head on the floor.
The door was barely open, so she couldn't see me, but I was finally able to witness first-hand the daily Grab and Toss project. And indeed, it is a project. One animal or doll at a time is carefully selected, examined, then heaved overboard with a mighty and precise toss. She doesn't work her way from one end of the bed to the other. She alternates ends. Picks up Elmo. Rubs his googly eyes. Talks to him a bit, lulling him into a false sense of security, then Wham! Over the rails. Then she toddles her way down to the opposite end of the bed. Picks up Miss Bun-Bun. Flicks at her whiskers, whispering sweet nothings, then Kaboom! Down on the ground. Back and forth she goes, until nothing is left.
Well, not nothing.
The one thing that does not, under any circumstances, get tossed is her sweet, sweet blanket. Instead of sending that into the pile, she wraps it around head, nearly-turban-style, then lies down on her belly, behind high in the air, then off to sleep.
When she finished her little ritual, I quietly closed the door, silently wishing her sweet nap dreams as I tip-toed away. Then I heard, Bye, mama.
But my noodle is tapped of all sound and reasonable ideas. Instead, I crept to her door and cracked it open just enough to see that no one had fallen. No one had broken into her room and stolen her. And no furniture had collapsed on top of her, leaving her to be smothered. It was, in fact, the baby doll big head on the floor.
The door was barely open, so she couldn't see me, but I was finally able to witness first-hand the daily Grab and Toss project. And indeed, it is a project. One animal or doll at a time is carefully selected, examined, then heaved overboard with a mighty and precise toss. She doesn't work her way from one end of the bed to the other. She alternates ends. Picks up Elmo. Rubs his googly eyes. Talks to him a bit, lulling him into a false sense of security, then Wham! Over the rails. Then she toddles her way down to the opposite end of the bed. Picks up Miss Bun-Bun. Flicks at her whiskers, whispering sweet nothings, then Kaboom! Down on the ground. Back and forth she goes, until nothing is left.
Well, not nothing.
The one thing that does not, under any circumstances, get tossed is her sweet, sweet blanket. Instead of sending that into the pile, she wraps it around head, nearly-turban-style, then lies down on her belly, behind high in the air, then off to sleep.
When she finished her little ritual, I quietly closed the door, silently wishing her sweet nap dreams as I tip-toed away. Then I heard, Bye, mama.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Super Saturday
Just when I was going to be cranky that Mark had to work this morning, it turned out to be a non-issue. I still made it to my 10am haircut. Made it through the Trader Joe's without having anyone beg for things we didn't need, cry because they don't want to be in the cart, or poke fingers into bread/meat/toilet paper packages. (Oh no, they weren't well-behaved. They weren't with me.)
And if that's not enough to recharge a mama, very much in need of recharging, Papa and HeHe came over to play with Heath and Stella while Mark and I had a date night. Guess what we saw? Date Night. Guess where we ate? Dean and Deluca. Delicious egg salad sandwich.
Kiddies asleep. Ready to get reacquainted with the Fishers. (We haven't watched SFU since we've been back from the beach.) I'd say it's high time we wrap up the series and move on to something else.
And if that's not enough to recharge a mama, very much in need of recharging, Papa and HeHe came over to play with Heath and Stella while Mark and I had a date night. Guess what we saw? Date Night. Guess where we ate? Dean and Deluca. Delicious egg salad sandwich.
Kiddies asleep. Ready to get reacquainted with the Fishers. (We haven't watched SFU since we've been back from the beach.) I'd say it's high time we wrap up the series and move on to something else.
Friday, April 16, 2010
No...(sniff, sniff)...I am NOT Friends With Neil Young
Our Friday morning had a lovely, smooth beginning. (Post-lunch til bed was mildly shaky, but everyone is sacked-out now so, Phew.) Heath played "boats" in the tub. We went for a warm run. Drew with sidewalk chalk on the driveway. And played "treehouse" in the back yard until lunchtime.
While Heath and Stella were enjoying their lunch of fish sticks and applesauce, I thought I would do some musing outloud with them about summer plans. It is quickly approaching. With just about five weeks left of preschool we will soon embark on the journey, Heath and Stella: Summer Breakin' 2: Electric Bugaloo. And if I've learned anything in the last year, I've learned I better have a plan. And it better be good.
Our neighborhood pool is a definite must-do. Last summer it provided loads of fun in the sun time. Splashing in the baby pool definitely kept Heath a happy camper. And Stella did some serious changing during that time. At the beginning of the summer, she would mellowly kick back in her stroller, content to watch the goings-on. Then she progressed to just sitting on towel, poolside, gnawing on boats and ring-tosses and plastic fins. By August, she was wading in her own floating device, circling round and round the babypool, feeling very much like she was a full participant, and very much like a big girl. And they would both take unbelievably long, recharging naps in the afternoon. It was beautiful. We are very much on again for much pool time this summer.
I've been considering a possible camp at Heath's school, but that is only one week out of the summer, and just for Heath. As an infant and through toddlerhood, Heath and I did quite a few music classes. And last year, I did one with Stella while Heath was at preschool. But I've been kicking around the idea of signing up for a class for the three of us to do together.
So I mentioned these ideas outloud today, while we ate. Heath eagerly agreed with the pool. And with camp. He even tossed out the idea that we continue to make it to the park, and we have to go back to the beach. I told him those were both doable. Then I mentioned the music class. I told him we would sing and dance and play instruments.
He thought a minute, then said, No, I'm just a big boy.
You are a big boy, but big boys can sing, too.
No, just girls and ladies can be singers.
I wondered where he got this idea, then decided I should just give him an example of a male singer. Every morning on the way to go school, Heath makes the request, Play Look at My Life. He's referring to Neil Young's Old Man.
So I said, The song you like, Look at My Life, that's a man singing. Neil Young, he's a big boy and he sings.
He stirred his applesauce around, contemplating. Are you friends with Neil Young?
No, we're not friends. I felt a little sad reporting this, and curious as to where this was going, hoping it would end with some music class enthusiasm.
But the conversation was abruptly ended. Stella was busy shoving applesauce in two new locations. Her belly button and her ears.
While Heath and Stella were enjoying their lunch of fish sticks and applesauce, I thought I would do some musing outloud with them about summer plans. It is quickly approaching. With just about five weeks left of preschool we will soon embark on the journey, Heath and Stella: Summer Breakin' 2: Electric Bugaloo. And if I've learned anything in the last year, I've learned I better have a plan. And it better be good.
Our neighborhood pool is a definite must-do. Last summer it provided loads of fun in the sun time. Splashing in the baby pool definitely kept Heath a happy camper. And Stella did some serious changing during that time. At the beginning of the summer, she would mellowly kick back in her stroller, content to watch the goings-on. Then she progressed to just sitting on towel, poolside, gnawing on boats and ring-tosses and plastic fins. By August, she was wading in her own floating device, circling round and round the babypool, feeling very much like she was a full participant, and very much like a big girl. And they would both take unbelievably long, recharging naps in the afternoon. It was beautiful. We are very much on again for much pool time this summer.
I've been considering a possible camp at Heath's school, but that is only one week out of the summer, and just for Heath. As an infant and through toddlerhood, Heath and I did quite a few music classes. And last year, I did one with Stella while Heath was at preschool. But I've been kicking around the idea of signing up for a class for the three of us to do together.
So I mentioned these ideas outloud today, while we ate. Heath eagerly agreed with the pool. And with camp. He even tossed out the idea that we continue to make it to the park, and we have to go back to the beach. I told him those were both doable. Then I mentioned the music class. I told him we would sing and dance and play instruments.
He thought a minute, then said, No, I'm just a big boy.
You are a big boy, but big boys can sing, too.
No, just girls and ladies can be singers.
I wondered where he got this idea, then decided I should just give him an example of a male singer. Every morning on the way to go school, Heath makes the request, Play Look at My Life. He's referring to Neil Young's Old Man.
So I said, The song you like, Look at My Life, that's a man singing. Neil Young, he's a big boy and he sings.
He stirred his applesauce around, contemplating. Are you friends with Neil Young?
No, we're not friends. I felt a little sad reporting this, and curious as to where this was going, hoping it would end with some music class enthusiasm.
But the conversation was abruptly ended. Stella was busy shoving applesauce in two new locations. Her belly button and her ears.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Sweet, Sweet Blanket
After a warm and sunny afternoon at the park, I headed home with two happy and hungry kiddies, when suddenly I had a thought. I left Stella's blanket at the park. More than halfway home on the incredibly traffic-jammed Park Road, I made the less than easy maneuver to turn around and head back to get her beloved lovey.
There was no way I could hope for the best and just go back to the park tomorrow and find the blanket still there. Earlier in the day, after going to great lengths for Project Wash Stella's Blanket, it was clean with just twenty minutes left in the dryer. Then Stella, ready for a nap, tripped over a fire truck and was unable to shake her surprise off without the help of her blanket. After ten minutes of crying, I took the slightly damp blanket out of the dryer. Instant relief.
I knew it was a risky move when I let her take the blanket out of the car and into the park. Rarely does she even want to, but after her earlier MIA blanket episode, she wasn't letting it go without a fight. So, she took it in. Dragged it through the sand pit. Pulled it across the dirty sidewalks. Hung it around her neck and climbed UP the slide. Apparently, when no one was paying attention, she put it down on a picnic bench, and moved on to play solo.
Traffic going toward the park was next to nothing, so we quickly made it back. As we turned into the parking lot, I spotted the blanket, looking very lonely, on the bench. Covered in fresh dirt, Stella was thrilled to have it back in her possession. And even more thrilled to go night-night with it.
SNL in the 2000s is on...
There was no way I could hope for the best and just go back to the park tomorrow and find the blanket still there. Earlier in the day, after going to great lengths for Project Wash Stella's Blanket, it was clean with just twenty minutes left in the dryer. Then Stella, ready for a nap, tripped over a fire truck and was unable to shake her surprise off without the help of her blanket. After ten minutes of crying, I took the slightly damp blanket out of the dryer. Instant relief.
I knew it was a risky move when I let her take the blanket out of the car and into the park. Rarely does she even want to, but after her earlier MIA blanket episode, she wasn't letting it go without a fight. So, she took it in. Dragged it through the sand pit. Pulled it across the dirty sidewalks. Hung it around her neck and climbed UP the slide. Apparently, when no one was paying attention, she put it down on a picnic bench, and moved on to play solo.
Traffic going toward the park was next to nothing, so we quickly made it back. As we turned into the parking lot, I spotted the blanket, looking very lonely, on the bench. Covered in fresh dirt, Stella was thrilled to have it back in her possession. And even more thrilled to go night-night with it.
SNL in the 2000s is on...
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Tax Day. Free Starbucks. Take Own Travel Mug.
In an effort to stimulate the economy, I have made a couple of retail purchases online this week. Now Heath has a partner in his excitement when the FedEx truck rolls down our street. We had a false alarm today when one slowed down in front of our house.
"It's here!" I screamed, and all three of us went running for the front door. Heath and Stella had no idea what they were excited about, but they are willing participants when it comes to getting amped about something, anything.
It wasn't here. The truck was just slowing for a speed bump.
Of course I am tracking the two items (one via FedEx, the other through the good ole USPS) online with what I would consider only mild obsession. They are both scheduled to arrive on the 19th. But I see nothing wrong with expecting a little miracle from time to time.
The first item I am drooling over is my new Run Love Fleur running skirt. It is so pretty. So flowery. So, so luverly. I am almost positive this is the item I have needed to break my 10-minute mile wall.
After my nearly three week long HIGHLY obsessive cognitive process of choosing some Spring/Summer footwear for the kiddies, and picking the Keens, then being told by multiple folk that we would NEVER go back, I am thrilled to say that they were so, so right. The Keens rock. No one complains. No one falls down and hurts themselves in awkward shoes. (Well, people fall. People hurt themselves. But it's not the shoes.) And they were perfect at the beach. Easy on, easy off. Totally washable. (I will say that I had a friend forewarn me about possible stinky feet. We are experiencing this side effect, but it is so minor, I can completely overlook it. I am also willing to concede that my children could very well just have sweaty, smelly tootsies, and the Keens are not to blame).
But my complete satisfaction, coupled with my need for some new sandals myself, I took the Keen plunge. My FedEx package containing my Whisper, Brindle/Regal Orchid shoes are on their way. So light. So chocolaty. So, so purpley.
On a different note, Heath got his haircut today. He looks very cute. Very much like a little BOY. (But he's still pretty darn lovely...)
"It's here!" I screamed, and all three of us went running for the front door. Heath and Stella had no idea what they were excited about, but they are willing participants when it comes to getting amped about something, anything.
It wasn't here. The truck was just slowing for a speed bump.
Of course I am tracking the two items (one via FedEx, the other through the good ole USPS) online with what I would consider only mild obsession. They are both scheduled to arrive on the 19th. But I see nothing wrong with expecting a little miracle from time to time.
The first item I am drooling over is my new Run Love Fleur running skirt. It is so pretty. So flowery. So, so luverly. I am almost positive this is the item I have needed to break my 10-minute mile wall.
After my nearly three week long HIGHLY obsessive cognitive process of choosing some Spring/Summer footwear for the kiddies, and picking the Keens, then being told by multiple folk that we would NEVER go back, I am thrilled to say that they were so, so right. The Keens rock. No one complains. No one falls down and hurts themselves in awkward shoes. (Well, people fall. People hurt themselves. But it's not the shoes.) And they were perfect at the beach. Easy on, easy off. Totally washable. (I will say that I had a friend forewarn me about possible stinky feet. We are experiencing this side effect, but it is so minor, I can completely overlook it. I am also willing to concede that my children could very well just have sweaty, smelly tootsies, and the Keens are not to blame).
But my complete satisfaction, coupled with my need for some new sandals myself, I took the Keen plunge. My FedEx package containing my Whisper, Brindle/Regal Orchid shoes are on their way. So light. So chocolaty. So, so purpley.
On a different note, Heath got his haircut today. He looks very cute. Very much like a little BOY. (But he's still pretty darn lovely...)
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Stella-ese
Ga-coo. I think that's how you would spell it. Maybe Gaku. Ghaku? I don't know. This is the first time I've actually tried to phonetically transcribe the word. And Heath didn't nap today, so I am running a bit on empty.
Ga-coo. I've been thinking about this word a lot lately as Stella continues to branch out in her verbal endeavor. When Heath was learning to talk, he found it was easiest to just cut to the chase and immediately say the word. Ball meant ball. Bee-nana meant banana. Mulk meant milk. Choo-choo meant train. Bus meant bus. There was very little effort on our part needed when it came to figuring out what he was trying to say. Except one word. Ga-coo. Actually, I think it might be Ghaku.
He said it most frequently in the car, and often in the baby jogger. At this point I was growing larger by the day with Miss Stella, but still waddling/jogging around town . We still lived in Oakhurst, so our running route was different, but chock full of Heath-related points of interest. We crossed the train tracks on Richland. He would point, and use baby sign language for more, and say, Choo-choo, choo-choo. If we timed it just right, we would have to stop and watch the railroad crossing signal blink and ding and drop down before us.
I would then baby-belly woggle on down past the CMS bus maintenance facility. Row upon row of yellow school buses came and went to collect children, drop them off at school, then came back to rest until early afternoon, when the process would start all over again. Heath would excitedly point, "ask" for more, and squeal, Bus!
And then we would turn left on Craig Avenue, make a pregnant-bladder pit stop in some bushes, then head down to the retirement home. Shortly after that point we would head back, but just before we turned around, Heath would point and say, Ghaku!
For a while we just thought it was a cute baby babbling word, but it became clear that it meant something to him, and he needed it to mean something to us. Eventually we did learn that Ghaku meant motorcycle. And there was a man who lived somewhere close to Craig Avenue who frequently passed us on his ghaku. And when I thought about it, it made a lot of sense. Well, the ku part of it anyway. It seemed he was mimicking the -ycle part of the word. Before I could figure out the Gha- portion, he changed it to mo-cy-coo.
We are definitely having more Ghaku moments with Stella. She just recently started saying Heath. Of course, I didn't know for three days that when she is shrieking Eee, Eee, Eee, she is actually saying, Heath. What do you think she means when she says Apfee? If you guessed Apple Juice, you would be right and would've saved me from having a very tearful, frustrated little girl on my hands when I couldn't figure out what she wanted one day on the beach last week.
Our most recent decoding challenge came on Sunday when we were heading out for our morning baby jog. Everybody was all snuggled in with their Puppy and blanket and milk, when suddenly, Fa-Fa!
What's she saying? Mark and I asked each other. We even deferred to Heath, who frequently knows exactly what she is talking about. We were all stumped. So we went through a list of possible items.
Snack? Response: tearful no.
Piggy? Response: more of the above.
Falafel? Well, now we're just being silly, and she is in no mood for silliness.
Mark had a eureka! moment and asked, You want your monkey? He was referring to her new hot pink monkey wearing an equally hot pink, blue, green, yellow, and purple tie-dyed t-shirt with a peace sign she picked out at the Holden Beach Wings.
Her tears immediately turned to glee and she said, Yeah, yeah! Sweet relief. For everyone.
Mark quickly ran in to get the monkey for Stella. When he handed it to her in the stroller, she reached out and with much love, said, Fa-Fa...and gave him (or her...not really sure what Fa-Fa's gender is) the biggest smooch, right on the monkey mouth.
And it seems she is starting to string some words together to create full sentences, and often, long-winded paragraphs. At least we will be clear on what she means when she says, No Fa-Fa Eeee, Eeee apfee ghaku. (Translation: No, Pink monkey and Heath can't drink apple juice while riding a motorcycle.)
Ga-coo. I've been thinking about this word a lot lately as Stella continues to branch out in her verbal endeavor. When Heath was learning to talk, he found it was easiest to just cut to the chase and immediately say the word. Ball meant ball. Bee-nana meant banana. Mulk meant milk. Choo-choo meant train. Bus meant bus. There was very little effort on our part needed when it came to figuring out what he was trying to say. Except one word. Ga-coo. Actually, I think it might be Ghaku.
He said it most frequently in the car, and often in the baby jogger. At this point I was growing larger by the day with Miss Stella, but still waddling/jogging around town . We still lived in Oakhurst, so our running route was different, but chock full of Heath-related points of interest. We crossed the train tracks on Richland. He would point, and use baby sign language for more, and say, Choo-choo, choo-choo. If we timed it just right, we would have to stop and watch the railroad crossing signal blink and ding and drop down before us.
I would then baby-belly woggle on down past the CMS bus maintenance facility. Row upon row of yellow school buses came and went to collect children, drop them off at school, then came back to rest until early afternoon, when the process would start all over again. Heath would excitedly point, "ask" for more, and squeal, Bus!
And then we would turn left on Craig Avenue, make a pregnant-bladder pit stop in some bushes, then head down to the retirement home. Shortly after that point we would head back, but just before we turned around, Heath would point and say, Ghaku!
For a while we just thought it was a cute baby babbling word, but it became clear that it meant something to him, and he needed it to mean something to us. Eventually we did learn that Ghaku meant motorcycle. And there was a man who lived somewhere close to Craig Avenue who frequently passed us on his ghaku. And when I thought about it, it made a lot of sense. Well, the ku part of it anyway. It seemed he was mimicking the -ycle part of the word. Before I could figure out the Gha- portion, he changed it to mo-cy-coo.
We are definitely having more Ghaku moments with Stella. She just recently started saying Heath. Of course, I didn't know for three days that when she is shrieking Eee, Eee, Eee, she is actually saying, Heath. What do you think she means when she says Apfee? If you guessed Apple Juice, you would be right and would've saved me from having a very tearful, frustrated little girl on my hands when I couldn't figure out what she wanted one day on the beach last week.
Our most recent decoding challenge came on Sunday when we were heading out for our morning baby jog. Everybody was all snuggled in with their Puppy and blanket and milk, when suddenly, Fa-Fa!
What's she saying? Mark and I asked each other. We even deferred to Heath, who frequently knows exactly what she is talking about. We were all stumped. So we went through a list of possible items.
Snack? Response: tearful no.
Piggy? Response: more of the above.
Falafel? Well, now we're just being silly, and she is in no mood for silliness.
Mark had a eureka! moment and asked, You want your monkey? He was referring to her new hot pink monkey wearing an equally hot pink, blue, green, yellow, and purple tie-dyed t-shirt with a peace sign she picked out at the Holden Beach Wings.
Her tears immediately turned to glee and she said, Yeah, yeah! Sweet relief. For everyone.
Mark quickly ran in to get the monkey for Stella. When he handed it to her in the stroller, she reached out and with much love, said, Fa-Fa...and gave him (or her...not really sure what Fa-Fa's gender is) the biggest smooch, right on the monkey mouth.
And it seems she is starting to string some words together to create full sentences, and often, long-winded paragraphs. At least we will be clear on what she means when she says, No Fa-Fa Eeee, Eeee apfee ghaku. (Translation: No, Pink monkey and Heath can't drink apple juice while riding a motorcycle.)
Monday, April 12, 2010
Pushee, Raleigh, and Never Named
Our post-nap afternoon was spent on our warm deck, playing with an endless row of Matchbox cars. The blue recycling truck repeatedly got his front wheel stuck in a hole, and Heath repeatedly used his hand cell phone to call a tow truck.
Yeah, Mr. Tow Truck, uh, my wheel is stuck. Gotta come help me.
Okay, the yellow tow truck responded, then quickly shot out of the "parking lot" to come to the waste services truck's rescue.
Stella alternated between rolling her blue and white cement mixer, and gnawing on a 1974 Dodge Monaco police car. Every time I would say, Not in your mouth, Stella, she would take the Dodge out of her mouth, laugh, then shove the cement mixer in. Not in your mouth, Stella. Cement mixer out. Laugh. Dodge back in. And on it went.
Until something caught her eye. She pointed her little index finger at the top of the white City Fire Department hook-and-ladder and squealed with delight. It was a caterpillar, wriggling its way across the rescue vehicle.
Both Heath and Stella leaned in to watch (and poke) the little creature. Heath liked its fuzz and was particularly happy about seeing the caterpillar as Eric Carle's The Very Hungry Caterpillar has made its way back into reading rotation at the Ropko house.
Gentle hands, don't touch the caterpillar, I repeated, and repeated, and repeated.
Suddenly, another caterpillar appeared. Then another.
Heath named one Pushee, because He pushes the nails up, he explained, pointing to a wayward nailhead on the deck that Pushee was making its way around.
He named another one Raleigh. He's my friend, Heath said, as Raleigh travelled up and down Heath's arms, across his chest, and over to his back. He can come in and eat dinner with me. He needs ice cream with a cone.
I convinced him that Raleigh and Pushee needed to stay outside to ready themselves for their amazing butterfly metamorphosis. Perhaps we could set them free in the grass in our backyard. Heath agreed and put them each out to pasture.
There was a slight moment of chaos, and well, the third, yet-to-be-named caterpillar met his untimely demise beneath a pink Keen.
When Heath caught sight of the poor John (or Jane) Doe, clearly having seen better days, he said, Oh no, Gigs! He clucked his tongue, shook his head, and pronounced, He's nice and dead.
Stella crouched down by the insect formerly known as Caterpillar and gave it one last gentle poke. Then she stood up, waved, and said, Bye-bye.
Yeah, Mr. Tow Truck, uh, my wheel is stuck. Gotta come help me.
Okay, the yellow tow truck responded, then quickly shot out of the "parking lot" to come to the waste services truck's rescue.
Stella alternated between rolling her blue and white cement mixer, and gnawing on a 1974 Dodge Monaco police car. Every time I would say, Not in your mouth, Stella, she would take the Dodge out of her mouth, laugh, then shove the cement mixer in. Not in your mouth, Stella. Cement mixer out. Laugh. Dodge back in. And on it went.
Until something caught her eye. She pointed her little index finger at the top of the white City Fire Department hook-and-ladder and squealed with delight. It was a caterpillar, wriggling its way across the rescue vehicle.
Both Heath and Stella leaned in to watch (and poke) the little creature. Heath liked its fuzz and was particularly happy about seeing the caterpillar as Eric Carle's The Very Hungry Caterpillar has made its way back into reading rotation at the Ropko house.
Gentle hands, don't touch the caterpillar, I repeated, and repeated, and repeated.
Suddenly, another caterpillar appeared. Then another.
Heath named one Pushee, because He pushes the nails up, he explained, pointing to a wayward nailhead on the deck that Pushee was making its way around.
He named another one Raleigh. He's my friend, Heath said, as Raleigh travelled up and down Heath's arms, across his chest, and over to his back. He can come in and eat dinner with me. He needs ice cream with a cone.
I convinced him that Raleigh and Pushee needed to stay outside to ready themselves for their amazing butterfly metamorphosis. Perhaps we could set them free in the grass in our backyard. Heath agreed and put them each out to pasture.
There was a slight moment of chaos, and well, the third, yet-to-be-named caterpillar met his untimely demise beneath a pink Keen.
When Heath caught sight of the poor John (or Jane) Doe, clearly having seen better days, he said, Oh no, Gigs! He clucked his tongue, shook his head, and pronounced, He's nice and dead.
Stella crouched down by the insect formerly known as Caterpillar and gave it one last gentle poke. Then she stood up, waved, and said, Bye-bye.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
First President of the United States of America: Papa
Heath and Stella sharing a room at the beach was fun for them. It was sweet to hear them giggle and chat with each other every night. And every morning, before 7am, they would do some more giggling and chatting. Before 7am. Not as sweet.
So after an exhausting trip home, and tucked into bed in their own sleeping quarters, they managed to sleep until 8am this morning. Coffee even tastes better at 8am.
Our morning run around the ole 3.6 seemed brighter than before our time away, too. The grass is greener. The sun seems shinier. And the flowers couldn't be more spectacular. The neighborhood smells like a giant honeysuckle.
Of course, the cupboards were bare, so we spent some of our day at the Trader Joe's and Target, stocking up for life in Charlotte this week. Heath said he needed a red tow truck from Target. His 97 cent Matchbox/Hot Wheels addiction has me only slightly worried, so sometimes I say, no. Sometimes I say, yes. Today was a yes. So I gave him a dollar and said he could get a tow truck, but it couldn't cost more than one dollar.
He was thrilled to have his own money and examined it immediately. He took a good look at George Washington and squealed, That's my Papa!
He settled for a Hot Wheels gas tanker, handed the cashier his dollar, and said no, thank you, to a bag.
With tax it was $1.05. I spotted him the nickel.
So after an exhausting trip home, and tucked into bed in their own sleeping quarters, they managed to sleep until 8am this morning. Coffee even tastes better at 8am.
Our morning run around the ole 3.6 seemed brighter than before our time away, too. The grass is greener. The sun seems shinier. And the flowers couldn't be more spectacular. The neighborhood smells like a giant honeysuckle.
Of course, the cupboards were bare, so we spent some of our day at the Trader Joe's and Target, stocking up for life in Charlotte this week. Heath said he needed a red tow truck from Target. His 97 cent Matchbox/Hot Wheels addiction has me only slightly worried, so sometimes I say, no. Sometimes I say, yes. Today was a yes. So I gave him a dollar and said he could get a tow truck, but it couldn't cost more than one dollar.
He was thrilled to have his own money and examined it immediately. He took a good look at George Washington and squealed, That's my Papa!
He settled for a Hot Wheels gas tanker, handed the cashier his dollar, and said no, thank you, to a bag.
With tax it was $1.05. I spotted him the nickel.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Jogging...with a soft J...
I have to say, as much as I didn't want to leave the beach, it feels mighty nice to be snuggled up in my own bed. The kiddies seemed pretty happy to get back home to their own space, too. They immediately dug into their toys like they were new again.
But good grief, the drive home. It was not full of excitement and anticipation, like the trip to the beach. It was next door to dreadful. Stella napped a little. Heath took a short snooze in between multiple meltdowns. And when they're submerged in I don't want to get on the highway histrionics, miles and miles away from home, in their car seat, it can be a very helpless feeling. We could not get home fast enough.
We are unpacked, settled in, and ready for a vacation without children. I don't see that coming anytime soon, so I'll take an evening of Anchorman and ice cream.
Friday, April 9, 2010
No, I Refuse to Leave...
All week long the ominous forecast for today was 65 and rainy, varying a degree or two in either direction. I figured having as many gorgeous sunny days as we were given, one rainy day was an easy trade-off.
Turns out, they were wrong. The rain and thunder and lightening rolled in some time last night (it woke me up, but I have no idea what time that was. Clocks don't exist in The Sandbox, an unexpected bonus in my opinion.), and rolled out before the giggling kiddies woke us up around 7ish am. Instead of 65 and rainy, we got 75 and sunny.
Instead of rainy day venues, we got our morning run in and wound up back on the beach for more play time. After lunch and naps, we made our way over to Oak Island for some playground action at Middleton Park. Heath made a fellow fire truck-loving friend, who was incidentally born the day before Heath, and the two played Responding to an Emergency on top of the play structure. They even got an incredible treat of seeing the OI hook-and-ladder pull up beside the park to gas up their vehicle at the Town Hall gas station.
No one could stomach the idea of any more seafood, and our trip to the OI park was longer than we originally anticipated, so we settled for some Chinese from the local HB Great Wall. Great Wall is tucked into the corner of the lone shopping center, between the Food Lion and the going out of business Movie Gallery. Considering we were starving and grateful for something that wasn't shrimp, it was good. But, it was also exactly what one might expect from a Chinese take-out spot between the Food Lion and the going out of business Movie Gallery.
Top Ten Reasons I Refuse to Leave The Sandbox Tomorrow
1) Not one, but two, outside showers.
2) They are right. It really is a Jogger's Paradise.
3) The screened front porch. Perfect for playing, drinking coffee, eating pancakes, and listening to the sound of the ocean all day long.
4) Awesome salty-air smell.
5) The sun makes for some excellent napping and easy-to-bed time.
6) Mother Nature's biggest sandbox makes for a very happy and engaged Heath.
7) Lovely Southport right around the corner.
8) Most delicious Pad Kee Mao right around the corner.
9) I love hearing Stella point at boats and say, Wow! Bo-bos!
10) I saw a sign for surf lessons this summer.
Oh well. Life in Charlotte is calling...but we don't have to leave until 11am. We still have 13 hours of vacation left.
Turns out, they were wrong. The rain and thunder and lightening rolled in some time last night (it woke me up, but I have no idea what time that was. Clocks don't exist in The Sandbox, an unexpected bonus in my opinion.), and rolled out before the giggling kiddies woke us up around 7ish am. Instead of 65 and rainy, we got 75 and sunny.
Instead of rainy day venues, we got our morning run in and wound up back on the beach for more play time. After lunch and naps, we made our way over to Oak Island for some playground action at Middleton Park. Heath made a fellow fire truck-loving friend, who was incidentally born the day before Heath, and the two played Responding to an Emergency on top of the play structure. They even got an incredible treat of seeing the OI hook-and-ladder pull up beside the park to gas up their vehicle at the Town Hall gas station.
No one could stomach the idea of any more seafood, and our trip to the OI park was longer than we originally anticipated, so we settled for some Chinese from the local HB Great Wall. Great Wall is tucked into the corner of the lone shopping center, between the Food Lion and the going out of business Movie Gallery. Considering we were starving and grateful for something that wasn't shrimp, it was good. But, it was also exactly what one might expect from a Chinese take-out spot between the Food Lion and the going out of business Movie Gallery.
Top Ten Reasons I Refuse to Leave The Sandbox Tomorrow
1) Not one, but two, outside showers.
2) They are right. It really is a Jogger's Paradise.
3) The screened front porch. Perfect for playing, drinking coffee, eating pancakes, and listening to the sound of the ocean all day long.
4) Awesome salty-air smell.
5) The sun makes for some excellent napping and easy-to-bed time.
6) Mother Nature's biggest sandbox makes for a very happy and engaged Heath.
7) Lovely Southport right around the corner.
8) Most delicious Pad Kee Mao right around the corner.
9) I love hearing Stella point at boats and say, Wow! Bo-bos!
10) I saw a sign for surf lessons this summer.
Oh well. Life in Charlotte is calling...but we don't have to leave until 11am. We still have 13 hours of vacation left.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Thursday...No, no, no, no, no!
The kiddies are sharing a room while we're at The Sandbox this week (we have a completely unoccupied room for the next day and a half, if anyone is interested!). I heard lots of giggling coming from their room, and suddenly there is an eerie silence. My only hope is that they are so completely passed out from our big day, and everyone is alive.
This is the first night they've been in bed before 9:30 since we've been here. Phew.
(The eternal worrying freak, I just went in their room and did a death-check. Everyone is in their separate sleeping areas. No one is dead.)
And it WAS a big day. After an early morning run, where we encountered the largest, most alive snake I've ever seen, sunning itself in the middle of the road, we hung out under the carport and did some swinging while Heath and Stella ran trucks up and down the drive. The wind came a-blowin', and some clouds rolled in, so we decided to make a day trip in to Wilmington to check out the NC Azalea festival.
We wandered around the river front and had some lunch outside. More insanely hungry seagulls hovered above us, waiting to hit the jack-pot that lay beneath Stella's high chair. She was mostly interested in taking one bite from a french fry, then dropping it on the ground. My salad had a hard-boiled egg that I split between Heath and Stella. One bite. Drop. While I was busy reprimanding Stella for her food-toss game, Heath was busy shoving the mushy, yellow yolk between the wooden planks. I want to see it drop into the water, he explained. Oh, well, you want to see it drop into the water. I pointed out the Please Don't Feed the Seagulls sign. He closed his eyes and said, I don't see it.
More post-lunch meandering on the cobblestone streets. I saw a few azalea bushes. We saw our friend, Michael, who does the horse-drawn carriage rides. (Heath became his buddy last summer when we were visiting.) And Stella made her acquaintance with a fellow sitting on a bench busily making sweet grass baskets. He made her a lovely flower. She tried to swipe his knife.
"The Peacemaker" pirate ship was the big attraction of the day. It's really not a pirate ship, but don't tell Heath. Apparently it's owned by the Twelve Tribes: The Commonwealth of Israel. Heath and Mark managed to get a pretty decent tour, but Stella was in no mood. I got her on the ship, but our stay was brief. She didn't want to walk. She didn't want to be carried. She wanted to climb steps to the top level, but didn't want to budge past the second step. The line backed up and I told her she couldn't just hang out on the steps. She kicked her shoes off. Some man stepped on her hand, and she of course went crazy, pinching at his bare legs. He looks at me like I had some rabid-mad-dog baby with me. I finally dragged her off the boat to wait for Heath and Mark to finish. I, then, proceeded to ruin her next good time of trying to climb under some staging area that I later found out was set up for the Goo-Goo Dolls concert. (They're still a band?)
Port City Java was an excellent place to take a load off and have some Mango and Strawberry smoothies. They have a little reading library set up, and Heath was able to sit back and catch up on a Richard Scarry book he's never read before. I want to take this home, he said, after reading it two times. He was a good sport about that not being an option. Unfortunately, I can't remember the title. It had something to do with Mr. Frumble's pickle car crashing. Stella befriended a woman sitting on the couch beside us, trying to do some work on her computer. Apparently she has a nineteen month old boy. She seemed slightly interested in an arranged marriage, showing us multiple pictures of Aiden, telling Stella how much she and Aiden have in common: running with sticks, food, being busy and screechy.
I don't want to leave on Saturday, and I really don't want to get sad about leaving on Saturday when it's only Thursday. Guess I'll watch The Office, eat ice cream, and figure out a way to move to Wilmington or Southport.
This is the first night they've been in bed before 9:30 since we've been here. Phew.
(The eternal worrying freak, I just went in their room and did a death-check. Everyone is in their separate sleeping areas. No one is dead.)
And it WAS a big day. After an early morning run, where we encountered the largest, most alive snake I've ever seen, sunning itself in the middle of the road, we hung out under the carport and did some swinging while Heath and Stella ran trucks up and down the drive. The wind came a-blowin', and some clouds rolled in, so we decided to make a day trip in to Wilmington to check out the NC Azalea festival.
We wandered around the river front and had some lunch outside. More insanely hungry seagulls hovered above us, waiting to hit the jack-pot that lay beneath Stella's high chair. She was mostly interested in taking one bite from a french fry, then dropping it on the ground. My salad had a hard-boiled egg that I split between Heath and Stella. One bite. Drop. While I was busy reprimanding Stella for her food-toss game, Heath was busy shoving the mushy, yellow yolk between the wooden planks. I want to see it drop into the water, he explained. Oh, well, you want to see it drop into the water. I pointed out the Please Don't Feed the Seagulls sign. He closed his eyes and said, I don't see it.
More post-lunch meandering on the cobblestone streets. I saw a few azalea bushes. We saw our friend, Michael, who does the horse-drawn carriage rides. (Heath became his buddy last summer when we were visiting.) And Stella made her acquaintance with a fellow sitting on a bench busily making sweet grass baskets. He made her a lovely flower. She tried to swipe his knife.
"The Peacemaker" pirate ship was the big attraction of the day. It's really not a pirate ship, but don't tell Heath. Apparently it's owned by the Twelve Tribes: The Commonwealth of Israel. Heath and Mark managed to get a pretty decent tour, but Stella was in no mood. I got her on the ship, but our stay was brief. She didn't want to walk. She didn't want to be carried. She wanted to climb steps to the top level, but didn't want to budge past the second step. The line backed up and I told her she couldn't just hang out on the steps. She kicked her shoes off. Some man stepped on her hand, and she of course went crazy, pinching at his bare legs. He looks at me like I had some rabid-mad-dog baby with me. I finally dragged her off the boat to wait for Heath and Mark to finish. I, then, proceeded to ruin her next good time of trying to climb under some staging area that I later found out was set up for the Goo-Goo Dolls concert. (They're still a band?)
Port City Java was an excellent place to take a load off and have some Mango and Strawberry smoothies. They have a little reading library set up, and Heath was able to sit back and catch up on a Richard Scarry book he's never read before. I want to take this home, he said, after reading it two times. He was a good sport about that not being an option. Unfortunately, I can't remember the title. It had something to do with Mr. Frumble's pickle car crashing. Stella befriended a woman sitting on the couch beside us, trying to do some work on her computer. Apparently she has a nineteen month old boy. She seemed slightly interested in an arranged marriage, showing us multiple pictures of Aiden, telling Stella how much she and Aiden have in common: running with sticks, food, being busy and screechy.
I don't want to leave on Saturday, and I really don't want to get sad about leaving on Saturday when it's only Thursday. Guess I'll watch The Office, eat ice cream, and figure out a way to move to Wilmington or Southport.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Only Wednesday...Phew...
For the first time in over three years I feel like we are actually on vacation. Traveling with little ones can feel like more work than at home, but this time has felt, dare I say, relaxing. Of course, we have had some excellent extra hands on staff for the first part of the week.
The extra hands departed this morning. We were sad to see them go. Back to playing one-on-one, it seems our vigilant diversion tactics and redirection are less meaningful, and a bit more exhausting. But Papa and HeHe and Granny had to head back to Charlotte. We miss you already.
More work, but no less fun. Another gorgeous morning run and fun on the beach. And a late afternoon and evening in Southport. We ate seafood at Cape Fear Restaurant that boasts a lovely view of the water and OI lighthouse. Our view was slightly obstructed by a truck unloading someone's wedding tent and chairs. We could still see the lighthouse and many rabid seagulls hovering the restaurant, hoping to catch some stray hushpuppies. My blackened tuna was delicious. But I hit the wall. I do not want anymore seafood for a while.
Then we wandered our way over to Spike's Dairy Bar, home of the hormone-free soft serve. Our second trip of the week. The walk was leisurely for sure. Stella refuses to be strolled or carried, and is tempted off course by most anything--pots of lovely potted pansies (only a few survived her viper-like snatching), stray alley cats (Meow, meow, she called, while chasing it behind the local bank), and every person who walks by (Hi, Bye, Shoes, Bo-boats, quack-quack, she quickly tells them nearly every word she knows).
We all had cones and we all made a sticky mess of ourselves. Multiple people commented on our lovely girls. (Okay, okay, I get it. Heath will get his hair cut when we get home.) My cotton candy soft serve was delicious. But I hit the wall. I do not want anymore ice cream for a while. Just kidding.
A copy of The Insider's Guide to the Coast of North Carolina is here at The Sandbox, so I've been perusing it throughout the week, gathering bits and pieces of uselessly interesting information. Bald Head Island was a favorite hiding spot for Blackbeard. OI lighthouse is the last manually-operated lighthouse in the world. And Holden Beach is also known as Jogger's Paradise. While we were out running this morning we decided that we would, one day, far, far away in the future, name our vacation home in HB: Jogger's Paradise.
Glad we got that settled.
The extra hands departed this morning. We were sad to see them go. Back to playing one-on-one, it seems our vigilant diversion tactics and redirection are less meaningful, and a bit more exhausting. But Papa and HeHe and Granny had to head back to Charlotte. We miss you already.
More work, but no less fun. Another gorgeous morning run and fun on the beach. And a late afternoon and evening in Southport. We ate seafood at Cape Fear Restaurant that boasts a lovely view of the water and OI lighthouse. Our view was slightly obstructed by a truck unloading someone's wedding tent and chairs. We could still see the lighthouse and many rabid seagulls hovering the restaurant, hoping to catch some stray hushpuppies. My blackened tuna was delicious. But I hit the wall. I do not want anymore seafood for a while.
Then we wandered our way over to Spike's Dairy Bar, home of the hormone-free soft serve. Our second trip of the week. The walk was leisurely for sure. Stella refuses to be strolled or carried, and is tempted off course by most anything--pots of lovely potted pansies (only a few survived her viper-like snatching), stray alley cats (Meow, meow, she called, while chasing it behind the local bank), and every person who walks by (Hi, Bye, Shoes, Bo-boats, quack-quack, she quickly tells them nearly every word she knows).
We all had cones and we all made a sticky mess of ourselves. Multiple people commented on our lovely girls. (Okay, okay, I get it. Heath will get his hair cut when we get home.) My cotton candy soft serve was delicious. But I hit the wall. I do not want anymore ice cream for a while. Just kidding.
A copy of The Insider's Guide to the Coast of North Carolina is here at The Sandbox, so I've been perusing it throughout the week, gathering bits and pieces of uselessly interesting information. Bald Head Island was a favorite hiding spot for Blackbeard. OI lighthouse is the last manually-operated lighthouse in the world. And Holden Beach is also known as Jogger's Paradise. While we were out running this morning we decided that we would, one day, far, far away in the future, name our vacation home in HB: Jogger's Paradise.
Glad we got that settled.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
First Entry of Year 37
And so far, I have to say being old feels surprisingly good. But everything feels good when you're at the beach and you just read many, many sweet Happy Birthday messages on the ole FB.
Another unbelievably sunny day at HB. Five-miler today. We were inspired to run the entire 11 miles of the island, but didn't know the island was 11 miles long during the moment of inspiration, and Heath wasn't too thrilled to be stuck in the jogger for too terribly long, so there was a lot of grabbing of Stella belongings and pinchings of Stella body parts. Five was plenty, though.
We headed back out to the ocean for some more sand digging. Heath created an entire "job site" and "landfill" and "poophole" extravaganza. He didn't actually do anything with the poophole. Just dug it out in case his co-workers needed it. Heath did, however, see fit to take care of his pee-pee business on the dunes until I pointed out the $500 fine sign.
Stella has completely made her peace with the ocean and the sand. It's taken some time to get used to, but once she realized it was something she could grab and throw onto feet, she has decided it is squeal-with-delight worthy. She has also added a few new words to her ever-growing vocab. Ocean, water, and boat. For now, the seagulls are affectionately known as quack-quack. As a matter of fact, any bird-like animal is a quack-quack.
After a delightful two hour nap, we headed out to the local Wings to do some birthday/souvenir shopping. I came away with a tangerine HB hoodie. Stella latched onto a tie-dyed monkey and dolphin purse. And Heath finally got his wish for a Jolly Roger house flag. We will become the official pirates of Whistlestop Road.
Heath helped me blow out my #37 birthday candles on some yummy carrot cake after a delicious steak dinner. Hmmm...do you get to have two pieces of birthday cake AND some ice cream on your 37th birthday? I'm pretty sure you do.
Another unbelievably sunny day at HB. Five-miler today. We were inspired to run the entire 11 miles of the island, but didn't know the island was 11 miles long during the moment of inspiration, and Heath wasn't too thrilled to be stuck in the jogger for too terribly long, so there was a lot of grabbing of Stella belongings and pinchings of Stella body parts. Five was plenty, though.
We headed back out to the ocean for some more sand digging. Heath created an entire "job site" and "landfill" and "poophole" extravaganza. He didn't actually do anything with the poophole. Just dug it out in case his co-workers needed it. Heath did, however, see fit to take care of his pee-pee business on the dunes until I pointed out the $500 fine sign.
Stella has completely made her peace with the ocean and the sand. It's taken some time to get used to, but once she realized it was something she could grab and throw onto feet, she has decided it is squeal-with-delight worthy. She has also added a few new words to her ever-growing vocab. Ocean, water, and boat. For now, the seagulls are affectionately known as quack-quack. As a matter of fact, any bird-like animal is a quack-quack.
After a delightful two hour nap, we headed out to the local Wings to do some birthday/souvenir shopping. I came away with a tangerine HB hoodie. Stella latched onto a tie-dyed monkey and dolphin purse. And Heath finally got his wish for a Jolly Roger house flag. We will become the official pirates of Whistlestop Road.
Heath helped me blow out my #37 birthday candles on some yummy carrot cake after a delicious steak dinner. Hmmm...do you get to have two pieces of birthday cake AND some ice cream on your 37th birthday? I'm pretty sure you do.
Monday, April 5, 2010
My Last Entry of Year 36...
Our morning began with another 4-miler toward the opposite end of the beach. We encountered the TriBeach Fire Department, fellow joggers, Haley's Ice Cream parlour, and the Holden Beach pier, where a sweet lady working behind the cafe counter commented on how pretty our little girls are. I can see how she might make such a mistake with Heath decked out in Spider-Man swim trucks and blue. Reckon it will be time for a trim when we're back in Charlotte.
But that isn't for days and days and days. The rest of our Monday was spent on the beach, napping, visiting the Oak Island lighthouse, and eating Thai food in Southport. Who would've thunk that some of the best Pad Kee Mao would be found in the Thai Peppers of Southport, NC. Although the food was incredibly good, it took forever to come out--guess that's why it was so tasty--so Stella had ample opportunity to practice being incredibly loud, sassy, and messy. Bits of vegetable rolls went flying about the table, water was spilled, a straw battle took place between the two kiddies ('til the crying commenced. Laughing leads to cryin'. So true.), and when I let her play with a Matchbox trash truck, gentle rolling was not an option. She had to pound it on the table and belt out the screechiest back-up beep-beep-beep I've ever heard. It's not like the place was crowded, but the few folks that were in there seemed to have a look on their face that facetiously said, Good thing we came to Thai Peppers for a quiet dinner.
We wandered around Southport and found Spike's Dairy Bar where we all had soft serve cones. I got Cotton Candy, thinking I would share it with Stella. There wasn't much "sharing" going on (and no, I wasn't the greedy one). Heath was excited to have a cherry cone and watch the Brunswick County EMT staff eat hot dogs and cones.
Two very sleepy babies, two grandparents, and a great-grandma are now passed out in their beds for the night. (From the sound of things beside me, a tuckered out Daddy is already a goner, too.)
And I am thinking I didn't get my fair share of ice cream, so I will get some more. Vacations are the best.
(Go Duke.)
But that isn't for days and days and days. The rest of our Monday was spent on the beach, napping, visiting the Oak Island lighthouse, and eating Thai food in Southport. Who would've thunk that some of the best Pad Kee Mao would be found in the Thai Peppers of Southport, NC. Although the food was incredibly good, it took forever to come out--guess that's why it was so tasty--so Stella had ample opportunity to practice being incredibly loud, sassy, and messy. Bits of vegetable rolls went flying about the table, water was spilled, a straw battle took place between the two kiddies ('til the crying commenced. Laughing leads to cryin'. So true.), and when I let her play with a Matchbox trash truck, gentle rolling was not an option. She had to pound it on the table and belt out the screechiest back-up beep-beep-beep I've ever heard. It's not like the place was crowded, but the few folks that were in there seemed to have a look on their face that facetiously said, Good thing we came to Thai Peppers for a quiet dinner.
We wandered around Southport and found Spike's Dairy Bar where we all had soft serve cones. I got Cotton Candy, thinking I would share it with Stella. There wasn't much "sharing" going on (and no, I wasn't the greedy one). Heath was excited to have a cherry cone and watch the Brunswick County EMT staff eat hot dogs and cones.
Two very sleepy babies, two grandparents, and a great-grandma are now passed out in their beds for the night. (From the sound of things beside me, a tuckered out Daddy is already a goner, too.)
And I am thinking I didn't get my fair share of ice cream, so I will get some more. Vacations are the best.
(Go Duke.)
Sunday, April 4, 2010
I Think I'm Going to Move Here
Papa...Papa...here's the problem. The sun is up and my eyes are open.
A very happy Heath awakened my dad with this on our first full day here at HB, and it was non-stop from that moment on.
After a toasty 4 mile run on the beach with the baby jogger, we headed out to the ocean for some serious sandcastle-building, chilly water-splashing, and sand truck-running. And after a sun-zapped nap, we headed back out to the beach for some Curious George kite flying.
Mark and I actually missed the naps. Instead, we had a cozy afternoon date at the Brunswick County Hospital. (The Shallotte Urgent Care was closed for Easter.) Apparently, at the ripe-old age of almost 37, my body has decided it would be fun to be plagued with ear infections. Great. We got an extra bonus of fun when we discovered most of the local Pharmacies were also closed for Easter. Our date concluded in the parking lot of the CVS, waiting for the prescriptions to be filled, while Mark chowed down on a bag of Peppered Beef Jerky.
Both kiddies were so tuckered out, they practically put themselves to bed. And it's only Sunday night. Woo! Hoo!
A very happy Heath awakened my dad with this on our first full day here at HB, and it was non-stop from that moment on.
After a toasty 4 mile run on the beach with the baby jogger, we headed out to the ocean for some serious sandcastle-building, chilly water-splashing, and sand truck-running. And after a sun-zapped nap, we headed back out to the beach for some Curious George kite flying.
Mark and I actually missed the naps. Instead, we had a cozy afternoon date at the Brunswick County Hospital. (The Shallotte Urgent Care was closed for Easter.) Apparently, at the ripe-old age of almost 37, my body has decided it would be fun to be plagued with ear infections. Great. We got an extra bonus of fun when we discovered most of the local Pharmacies were also closed for Easter. Our date concluded in the parking lot of the CVS, waiting for the prescriptions to be filled, while Mark chowed down on a bag of Peppered Beef Jerky.
Both kiddies were so tuckered out, they practically put themselves to bed. And it's only Sunday night. Woo! Hoo!
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Are We There Yet?
My early morning was spent trying to keep two children from jumping into a mud puddle or falling down steps or generally doing something that would injure themselves before we got out of town, while I simultaneously packed up the wagon with bags of groceries, Pack N Plays, beach wagons and toys, suitcases, baby jogger, a booster seat, can't live without lovies, and a bag of Matchbox cars that needed to go to the beach. Mark had some early morning work to do (a small price to pay in order to be with us the entire week), so I was on my own. I was down to the last item or two when Mark came home and repacked the car. I saved my breath and was grateful to get everything in and on the road.
The trip was faster than I expected. One food stop at a Jersey Mike's in Laurinburg. One side-of-the-road-pee-pee-stop for Heath. And we were to "The Sandbox" by 4:30. On the beach by 5. (Stella was in awe of the ocean. When she saw it she took a deep breath and said, Wow...wow! Wow! The last time we were at the beach was in October. Totally different Stella on that trip.) Eating seafood at The Seafood Barn by 6:30. (Heath was bummed when he realized that the Seafood Barn didn't have any animals, other than the ones to be eaten, of course.)
Can't wait to get the lay of the land tomorrow. Love the house. Love being here with my family.
The trip was faster than I expected. One food stop at a Jersey Mike's in Laurinburg. One side-of-the-road-pee-pee-stop for Heath. And we were to "The Sandbox" by 4:30. On the beach by 5. (Stella was in awe of the ocean. When she saw it she took a deep breath and said, Wow...wow! Wow! The last time we were at the beach was in October. Totally different Stella on that trip.) Eating seafood at The Seafood Barn by 6:30. (Heath was bummed when he realized that the Seafood Barn didn't have any animals, other than the ones to be eaten, of course.)
Can't wait to get the lay of the land tomorrow. Love the house. Love being here with my family.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Tomorrow...
All those days and weeks of sending my 80 and sunny thoughts out into the universe finally paid off. The weather forecast for our entire week at Holden Beach is 80 and sunny.
Kiddies plum tuckered out by a busy (and hot) afternoon at Princeton Park are now tucked cozily into bed, and are very, very excited about our trip. All day long Heath has said, Which way to 485? We gotta get on the highway and get to the beach.
Apparently there is an ice cream shop within walking distance from the house. Someone should probably call and let them know we're coming. They may need to stock up.
Now to get all our gear packed in the car and still have room for the bodies...
Kiddies plum tuckered out by a busy (and hot) afternoon at Princeton Park are now tucked cozily into bed, and are very, very excited about our trip. All day long Heath has said, Which way to 485? We gotta get on the highway and get to the beach.
Apparently there is an ice cream shop within walking distance from the house. Someone should probably call and let them know we're coming. They may need to stock up.
Now to get all our gear packed in the car and still have room for the bodies...
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Two Days...
80s and sunny. Glorious morning run with the kiddies. Excellent playdate and lunch outside with neighbors. Restful (and lengthy) naptime. Dinner out with the family. Two out of four from the Ropko clan are packed for the beach. And 30 Rock is on tonight.
I read a blip from a Tina Fey interview in Oprah's magazine, O. She was talking about how her daughter, who is now 4 years old, has become cute and sweet again, now that she has moved past age 3, when they are all (and I quote) "little jerks." I found it oddly comforting.
I read a blip from a Tina Fey interview in Oprah's magazine, O. She was talking about how her daughter, who is now 4 years old, has become cute and sweet again, now that she has moved past age 3, when they are all (and I quote) "little jerks." I found it oddly comforting.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)