Shark Camp

I'm a veritable machine of efficiency this afternoon as I enjoy the first quiet moments in my house in over two weeks. Sam took a nap (bless you, dear boy) and Max got packed off to "Shark Camp" at the local zoo for the afternoon. Two hours of Nirvana and accomplishment for me.

The quiet stillness coupled with the ability to complete a phone call or task (of which there are many) without someone crying, bleeding, sneezing or fighting is positively motivating. Which is why I'm logged onto this here Internets.

Alright already, Laundry. I hear you whimpering down there.

Photos taken at the Maritime Festival earlier this month.
Video of trout gut removal to follow at a later date.

Harvest

Yesterday we harvested garlic and got our garden ready for planting pumpkins. There was much digging, smelling and cheering for the odorous bulbs, as well as discussion of future jack-o-lanterns.

I love how the garden writes chapters in our lives complete with foreshadowing, plot development and the occasional conflict (with pests, weather and sharing of the water hose). Mostly, however, I love the character development of plants and humans as we get to know each other just a little bit better while crouching on the edge of a garden bed.

No One Wants To Be Defeated

While there is no illuminated staircase and I doubt that Max could defeat an entire street gang in this particular get-up, I hope you still enjoy this little video. It's dedicated with great admiration for the King of Pop and all that his music meant to me in 1983 when I wore out my "Thriller" tape on my Sony Walkman. Sigh.

The 3 minutes of blank screen at the end are due either to (a) my ineptitude at movie editing or (b) a moment of silence as we remember the musical genius that was Michael Jackson. Feel free to acknowledge and move on. Maybe do a little moon walk while you're at it.

Mom - if you have trouble playing the video, try quitting your web browser and then re-opening it and returning to the website. Love you!

Finally

Really? Has it been THAT long? I guess it has been a while since I've updated on the getsitement around here. Forgive me, peeps.

Summer is in full swing, the sprinkler giggles with nearly naked tots, and I am soaking up sun, dirt, and fresh summer fruit like it might go out of season. The garden beckons at all hours and I find myself resenting the staccato of constant interruption that is the soundtrack of life with two small boys.

We wound up the school year two weeks ago with a mad bonanza of sewing projects, good-bye events, thank you gifts, play dates, and then...Wham-Bam! Right into some out-of-state air travel -- standby style.

We actually did relax a bit while visiting my folks and the rest of my family on a slow, unexpected and relaxed pace. In addition to all of our relaxing, we also managed to squeeze in some swimming with the cousins, a Solstice Water Soaker Fest, Father's Day, multiple Farmer's Markets, a round of antibiotics (Sam), a triathalon (Mr. Wonderful) and a raging bout of GI distress (party of four).

Sure feels good to be back home again...

Atta Boy

Milestones, Progression and Sunshine have been the themes of our week.

On Wednesday, Max and I went to Kindergarten Orientation to meet his upcoming teachers and schoolmates. The highlight, of course, was that Max rode a school bus for the first time. A big, yellow, "real" school bus from which he might see deer sometime and on which he has to sit on his bottom the WHOLE time.

Clearly, the perspective of viewing the world from the inside of a yellow bus has changed things for Max in ways that I can't really comprehend. I have bittersweet feelings about seeing his little head bopping up the aisle and grabbing a seat, pulling his backpack off and inspecting his lunch before the bus even eases back into motion, driving him down the road and into a world that is his own. I lose my breath for a minute trying to imagine how this can be happening when I remember the tender days in which he'd gleefully scream "SCHOOBUS!" "GAR-BAAAAGE TRUCK!" BACKHOE LOADER!" from his tiny car seat. It never, ever occurred to me that on those buses were someone else's babies who'd been unable to say "Firetruck" without making it sound obscene. Now, it will be our little one taking this new journey.

Max also started swimming lessons this week from the Jedi Swim-Whisperer Magic Swim Coach who has molded the spastic and distracted Max into a focused and hard-working "Super Scooper" in just four short hours. Although we've tried lessons in the past and he has loved them, he never really got the hang of swimming on his own and was terrified to jump into a pool.

This swimming gig has boosted his confidence exponentially and we're delighting in seeing its manifestations throughout the day. He's cooperative, eager and secure; and that makes for a kid whose ready to dive into anything.

Including Kindergarten. Even if he needs a friendly push now and then. Watch how he keeps plugging on...I think he'll make it just fine wherever he needs to go.

Greased Lightning

The irony of attending a muscle car show the day before GM fell into bankruptcy was not lost on many of the adults waxing nostalgic over the Pontiac GTOs and bitchin' Camaros this weekend. However, all symbolism and nostalgia was absent for my boys, who were much more interested in sticking their tongues out to see their reflection in the shiny and twinkling paint jobs and seeing who could closest to a car WITHOUT touching it.

Sam was also very insistent that he be photographed with all the RED cars and wanting to know when we would go inside and watch the "Cars" show. There are only so many times you can tell a person "This IS the car show...DON'T TOUCH!" before realizing that a Subway sandwich might be much more up his alley.



We met a very nice man who offered to let the boys and one of their buddies climb on into his antique 1923 truck. Which they "shifted", pressed pedals, and turned knobs. The guy laughed as I continued asking "Are you sure this ok?" He seemed delighted that the old girl was still getting giggles from the kids and was very relaxed. Then he told us that his car was one of FIVE still in existence.

I'm pretty sure he was looking for an insurance payout.

And, then...there was a race car that was very kid friendly and clearly the hit of the day.

Oh. Yeah.

Ka-Chow!

Doesn't Miss A Thing

Preparing for departure to his T-Ball game this weekend, Max looked out the window and calmy stated, "I think we're taking the truck today."

"Oh", I replied "Is Daddy taking the truck?" while quickly running a car seat location /calculation formula in my head.

"No, he didn't say that. But when Daddy wears his brown pants with the paint dots on them and his gray shirt, that usually means we'll be driving in the truck."

It's good to be predictable.

For the record, Mr. Wonderful changed his clothes and they drove in the car. He's crazy like that.

Happy Birthday, Jellie Bean

Don't look now, but I think someone's got his eye on you :-)

Putting the PTSD in Puget Sound

I took the boys to the beach one day this week and an array of events occurred which led to much crying, howling, wailing and shivering.

The boys had a bad day, too.

I think we all have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and I'll slowly be working on some beach therapy to get us recovered and geared up for the glorious salvation of Summer.

I'll be introducing sand into the bathtub and adding salt to the sippy cups, hoping to get us all comfortable and ready for more beach play. Or, maybe, we'll just go to the beach and sit on a towel and play quietly as we build sand castles.

Naaah. Not likely.

The boys walked out to this island not normally accessible (nor visible) except during low tide. Note the boots being used as a creative focal point for my picture, not as footwear. Consider this foreshadowing.

The boys had a wonderful time running back and forth to "Candy Island", scooping up kelp and sand dollars and pointing out crabs and jellyfish in the water.

Our friends joined us shortly afterward and I got distracted and the next thing you knew the tide starting rolling in fast. Sammy was up to his neck in COLD tidal water and not happy. I waded out to get him, shuffled the kids back to shore, and resumed crab hunting.

The kids found a lagoon to play in filled with murky black mud that smelled like that doggy bag of garlic clams that you forgot about and left in your car overnight and didn't discover until after it had baked in the hot sun all day. Or the entire month of August.

Sam got stuck in the mud and began crying slash wailing slash shrieking, especially when Max and his friends weren't able to lead him/pull him back to shore. So I went in again. Fully clothed.

I picked Sam up and had to forcefully heave him out of the muck while a ginormous Hoover of mud sucked his crocs down into Middle Earth.

Yes, sigh, The Lightening McQueen Crocs that Sam received for his birthday and that HE LOVES! And that I have yet to even acknowledge with a proper thank-you note to his ever-so-thoughtful Auntie and Uncle and cousins (hi guys! private gratitude to follow, I promise!) Oh, God. I suck.

There was crying and wailing and enough tears to fill that salty lagoon back up to high tide. I offered up an ice cream cone to any kid who could find a shoe.


And then we started salvaging items from the deep that had been buried since 1978 and I began to fear that someone was going to pull up Jimmy Hoffa or a jellyfish.

Did I mention that it smelled bad?

We pulled up something vaguely resembling a human limb and my peeps abandoned me.

Except for Sam, who was Never Ever Not Ever Never going to leave until he had two red plastic "Ka-Chow!" crocs back in his ever-loving Queen Car hands.

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There comes that point in parenthood (ok, life) when you just have to step back and look at yourself. Look at yourself in all your ridiculousness trying to make it all better for your kid and at the same time sinking further and further into the detritus of Jimmy Hoffa and jellyfish and ooze. And you shake yourself sober and make the rational decision to release the Queen and offer up a single red croc as a gift to the Sea.

Yeah. You can imagine how well THAT went over.

Just as I was hauling the shivering, salty mess of sorrowful Sam from the burial at sea of his beloved Queen, Max decided to show me the bottom of his foot.

Which I will spare you, and will now attempt to fill my mind with pictures of newborn puppies and alpine wildflowers and a rhapsody of harp music. "Lalalalaalala can't think about the foot" Gag.

Let's just say that there was much gash and ouch and salt and, well, discomfort. And a two lane road to cross at "rush hour" on the island.

Like the limping little sobbing Froggers that we are, we made it across the road and cleaned ourselves off as best we could with 14 wet wipes and a couple of beach towels.

"Hey guys..." I asked when we were back in the car..."Was this fun or WHAT?"

You be the judge.

"Fun" Run

The boys and I "ran" in a local 3K tonight. Max was off like a rocket at the start and Sam burned all his fuel in the first 100 yards trying to keep up with him. But he made a strong finish to the cheers of admiring fans and the motivational coaching that I gave him "to finish fast like Lightening McQueen!" It was all grins and bouncing curls from Sam until Max yelled out from the crowd at the finish line, "MOM! They're out of Otter Pops AND Popsicles!"

It sounded like reverb to me. Echoing over the cheers - in Chariots of Fire style slow motion - I watched the descent into total meltdown as Sam realized he would be denied. Surrounded by over 300 children slurping down frozen corn syrupy goodness; their elbows sticky with orange happiness and Fudgsicle wonder. Right in front of him. And. there. was. none. for. him. My ears will forever echo with the wails.

Fortunately, a quick stop at the mini mart saved the day. And a phone call to Daddy to tell him what great little racers he's got:

"My won the race, Daddy!"

"I picked it up right at the 2K mark like we talked about and still had a kick at the finish, Daddy. I think the key was running through 4 lawn sprinklers to stay hydrated"

Excellent post-race recovery, Sam.

A Perfect Start

I was aiming for a morning with no whining and lots of smiles.

Whole wheat and chocolate Dutch Baby with a hot cup of coffee.

Whole Wheat (and other additives) American Preschoolers.

Things worked out just as I'd hoped.

TGIF!

Summer of Love

My Free!

Ask Sam how old he is, and he'll happily reply, "MY FREE!" and hold up the appropriate number of fingers. Or not.

Today was his birthday, and well, it kind of got consumed with other events. As per usual with Sam, he just rolled with it and was happy to have a "hot dog day" in which his mother offered him nitrates at every meal and shouted out "Freebird" like the true Lynyrd Skynyrd fan that I'm not. I guess I should probably put that lighter away, too.

I love you, little Sammy bird. Hot dogs and 'queen cars the whole year through for you, my darling boy.

Wisdom Beyond Years

"I already know what a funeral is.." Max softly told me this morning when I shared sad news with him.

"..it's where you look at someone's picture and you know that they'll always be with you."

Grandma LaVonne
December 16, 1916 - May 6, 2009

Smoovie Night

The hour(s) between dinner and bedtime can get pretty silly and whiny and destructive with two tired little monkey boys and a worn-out Mama.

Last night we made strawberry yogurt "smoovies" and headed for a relaxing bubble bath. The perfect way to end a long and busy day.

Out On A Limb

I predict that Max (and eventually, Sam) will go lots of fun places in this tree. On any given day, it's either a horse, or an airplane or rocket. I stay pretty close to him while he's on these journeys; weeding the endless abundance that is sprouting around our yard. I just love to hear where he's going and how fond he is of this special, quiet space.

Happy Earth Day

Painting by Max, age 5

Adopt the pace of nature: her secret is patience.
~Ralph Waldo Emerson

Chunky Cheese

I took the boys to a birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese this weekend.

The End.

PS: We survived. Barely.

PPS: This is what happens to your brain if you go to a Chunky Cheese. You are never able to form an original thought again. This is a result of the creepy mouse and all his carni kicks who suck the thinking parts of your brain out and replace it with the part that enables you to scan two small children in a moving, whining and germ-laden crowd.

Leather Racetracks

I knew I was doomed.

There's nothing quite like a dinner party audience peering from the window of a delicate sans children home in a torrential rainstorm to make the unloading of a minivan with two small boys look like "Hi, we're your hillbilly cuzins from the south comin' to move in fer a spell, don't mind if we chain our dog to yer fence, do ya?" We were an assembly of raincoats, backpacks, books, Legos and matchbox cars; the Easter Lily in floral wrap that had crashed madly on I-5 and dumped soil on my seat yet narrowly missed the freshly baked hot-cross buns; the stomping in puddles and inspecting of worms on the walkway into the house.

We can hardly spell subtle, let alone demonstrate it.

Our gracious hosts were lovely, inviting and warm. As coats were hung and a tour given, I noted that there was crystal on the table. And china. And chocolate Easter bunnies in pretty gold ribbon so confidently placed in the white cloth seats where the children would sit.

I was doomed.

This lovely Easter dinner was at the home of friends who are newly married and in that blissful cocoon of "kids are something cute and sweet to LOOK FORWARD TO" portion of their lives. Max hadn't even taken his shoes off before asking where the toys were, and I ssshhhhd him immediately with THE EVIL EYE as our happy hostess escorted him to a coffee table with ink pens and construction paper. And olives. With pits. Which he ate and then nearly choked on and spit/dribbled over the other guests.

"At least he likes vegetables" they offered weakly.

I was doomed.

There was a lovely little girl there, close to the same age as Max, who quietly put on headphones and plugged in her personal "My Little Pony" DVD and was never heard from again. Until she blasted the boys on Wii bowling and the entire dinner party apologized without sincerity or irony that she was a "wringer".

I was doomed.

There were salad plates each adorned with a chocolate brown, jewel-sized box of truffles decorated jauntily with yellow marshmellow Peeps placed on top. Which my boys demolished before ever a green leaf could come between their lips OR the Easter blessing could be given by our generous host.

In that quiet moment of grace, when not even a single serving of tossed greens had been tasted by any dinner guest, Sam was screaming "MEAT!!!" at the succulent Easter ham sliced at the center of the table.

I was doomed.

I begged forgiveness and quickly added some ham to my salad so that I could slice it for the meat-eater on my left. At which point the meat-eater on my right whined about wanting his "BIG" and *not* cut into non-chokeable portions. I sliced, I diced, and wait - there was more - passed the green baby peas and asparagus with sliced radish, yes I know you don't want yours cut but you'll choke on this grizzle, hold on, I'm cutting it as fast as I can, no you may not eat that Peep, no you may not leave the table, use your manners, please, try some of these potatoes, they have cheese - your favorite!, no more bread until you finish what's on your plate, yes, I see that you have a knife, please don't put it in your mouth, NO MORE PEEPS!, say "no thank you", yes, I'm getting you some more meat.

I was doomed.

Our host madly searched the inventory of Nickelodeon, Sprout, Disney, etc. to provide the necessary kid crack for us to finish our delightful meal. I suggested we consult our savior, Roary The Racing Car. "But, it's only 11 minutes", he replied with regret and apology.

Dude. That's MY 11 minutes of peace and quiet for the day and it's 11 minutes more than we're getting right now. I say it's worth it, don't you? He smiled in silent agreement.

I was doomed.

We wrapped up a lovely meal, delightful conversation, and the kids were quiet for 11 minutes. A wineglass was broken AND IT DIDN'T INVOLVE ONE OF MY CHILDREN! I started to not feel so doomed.

I excused myself from the clean-up because the last thing an embarrassed guest needs is an audience (spoken from the voice of experience). I casually walked into the t.v. room to see what was going on with the Sproutlets, only to discover to my horror that the nubby soft leather sofa had a distinctive "Sammy Swirl" etched into it. In BALLPOINT PEN.

Choking back tears and rage, I sputtered out the "WHO DID THIS", only to get the cheerful reply of my primary suspect, Sam "My did it. My made a racetrack!" So proud.

So doomed.

Holy &*\ *($% @&)*@. Seriously. Could this get any more painful? I guess it just did.


With a perky criminal on my hip, I went back into the dining room to face the music.

"I'll see your broken crystal and slightly torn tablecloth and raise you a ruined Corinthian leather sofa."

Our host scoffed graciously, waving his hand as in "no big deal". Then he grabbed the sofa seat and a leather-cleaner-kit still in its box, scurried off to the kitchen and went to town. Serious work and life-saving attempts were made on the sofa.

I was doomed.

And then there was dessert. And an Easter Egg hunt.

I offered up Mr. Wonderful's mad skills at tanning animal hide and suggested a particular cow at the family farm that I had in mind, but people thought I was joking.

I was doomed.

Doomed and blessed. Blessed with a minivan of monkeyboys who are nothing less than exuberant, eager, and excited. Easter and otherwise.

Upon returning home and after getting the boys to bed, I called my friend and apologized profusely. She laughed it off in that way that proved that she has perspective and elegance and a keen sense of humor.

I told her that when she has kids, they'll be welcome to come to my house and write on my sofa, key my car and vomit profusely on my carpet.

I'm doomed.

I hope she takes me up on it.

Muddy Morning Easter

What's a Mama to do on a muddy, rainy Easter morning with two candy-infused bunnies who woke before dawn and are bouncing off the walls (and each other)?

The same thing I always do when Mr. Wonderful's out of town and I'm a loss for activity and at the end of my rope....

Find a tractor.




Easter Eggs hide very nicely on a road grader tire.


I was particularly proud of this one.



My bunny loves a big tread.


Who needs bow ties and white shoes when you live on a dirt road?


Eggs also hide very nicely on a roller, too. I think Max just found a green egg!

Hoppin' Down the Bunny Trail

Spring Break

Last week's vacation brought us closer to bright sunshine, warm hearts and unrestrained Joy. A winning combination.


"It's like a hot tub full of SAND!" - Max

Carry That Weight

My grandmother, age 93, is resting comfortably today after undergoing surgery yesterday to remove a cancerous tumor. The burden on my father to coordinate her care and fill the void of last year's enormous loss of Grandpa has been great. Dad has rallied, organized and supported a team of cousins, friends, nurses and doctors to help manage his mother's care; all from nearly 2,000 miles away. He does so with humor, friendship, love and a remarkable capacity to curb his frustration as he deals with the bureaucracies and complexities of caring for a loved one from far away.

The love that my father has for his mother -- and her for him -- is a beautiful example of our capacity as humans to experience devotion and respect and appreciation throughout a lifetime. Just five minutes with them offers a glimpse of tenderness, concern, love and usually, a hearty laugh. She gave him the gift of total, unconditional love as she raised him and now he offers it back to her in spades.

The decision to operate on my 93-year old grandmother has weighed heavily on Dad, and it was hard for him to consider putting her very fragile body under the stress of surgery and recovery. I know he questioned it and worried over it, but apparently, it was the right decision to make. The relief for my father, and those who care about him and Grandma, is enormous.

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Some might consider my father's interest in YouTube videos to be yet another addition to the eccentricity column for my old man. On a semi-regular basis, Dad finds videos that he considers might be of interest to our boys and e-mails them to me. Over the past year, I've probably lost nearly a day of my life watching home-made videos that he's forwarded of animals at "watering holes"; tractors plowing wheat fields at record-breaking speed while backtracked to an Aerosmith song; and ancient folk singers scratching out decades-old recordings on tinny black and white film. Many of them I've viewed while shaking my head at my old man; many others have remained neglected in my in-box.

Today he sent us this little diddy from his i-phone, "Ikey", with the note that I may or may not want to share it with my boys. This generally means that they would probably get immense pleasure and delight from it, but that I might not want the behavior replicated in my living room.

He's thoughtful like that.

In fact, my father is one of the most thoughtful people I've ever known. Quirky, for sure, and absent-minded on occasion, but truly at the top of the list of thoughtful and caring human beings to ever walk this great, green earth.

And so today, while I watched this video, I thought of my Dad. Not just because he sent it, and not even because the Beatles will always remind me of my childhood lived to the soundtrack of Abbey Road. I was reminded of he Christmas when our family received a book on juggling and Dad learned a few tricks. Wham-bam, next thing you knew, the guy was constantly in motion. Oranges, apples, softballs, and small animals were tossed in the air -- much to the delight, laughter and cheers of us small kids.

I also thought of my dad as the man he is today: Juggling his mom, career, marriage, fatherhood, grandfatherhood, and the enormous heart of his that feels so much joy and pain. Carrying that weight a long time.

But, no matter how many balls in the air, TJ still makes me laugh and cheer for him.

This morning, Dad is sitting in a hospital watching over Grandma's golden slumbers, hoping to make it back home soon, and searching Ikey for some distraction. And I am still laughing and cheering for him.

Thank you, Dad. Thank you for showing me that the love you take is equal to the love you make.

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In honor of my Dad and his 65th birthday that I did not acknowledge on the internet last week, I offer you this four minutes of spectacularness: