the year in review

my final post of 2008 was a list of the five highs and lows of our year. i considered repeating the idea, until i realized i just lacked material. we didn't move across the state in 2009, we didn't buy or sell a house, the kids didn't change schools, and i didn't potty-train anyone. as far as life-changing events go, i'd say that 2009 was pretty much lacking. (which isn't necessarily a bad thing.) so instead of highs and lows, i thought i'd just briefly hit the major points for each of us. as a challenge to myself, i'm going to try to do so in chronological order.

chris: trained for a half-marathon. ran it in a cold drizzle. marked it off his "bucket list" and says he'll never do another one. went on a guys' trip with fraternity brothers to chattanooga to root on their beloved davidson wildcats to yet another southern conference tournament win. watched davidson lose in the first round. kept plugging away at his job. spent weeks (and a few choice words) screening in our back porch so that it's now our favorite place to be in the warmer months. appointed as chair of the outreach committee at church for the next two years. patiently explained every nuance of football and baseball to an eager son. constructed a firepit in the backyard and has become quite the s'mores expert.

sara: went on a girls' weekend to the beach and missed the kids and hubby a little. advanced to the state tennis championships in pinehurst. lost both matches i played. made fun of all my friends who became obsessed with the twilight series. read the twilight series and became obsessed. had a letter to the editor printed in the paper. celebrated our ten-year anniversary by receiving a beautiful diamond ring, and promptly lost the center stone in the sand at the beach. found it. started my first job in six years, teaching expelled students high school math online each afternoon. danced a jig all the way to the bank each month to deposit my meager paycheck. celebrated the big 35 in grand fashion at red robin with a free birthday burger coupon and was reminded that i now am classified as Advanced Maternal Age.

super: did a whole lot of transporting shoes from closets to random spots all over the house. left out of the family christmas card picture yet again. could win an award for canine flatulence. is loved to pieces anyway.

susanna: continued sobbing hysterically each day during drop-off at 2-year old preschool in the spring (a true momma's girl.) became even more obsessed with disney princesses than i was with twilight. rebuffed my suggestion of taking gymnastics and insisted on beginning ballet. counted down the hours until the next time she could don her pastel pink leotard and tutu. walked into her new 3-year old preschool class in september without a single tear and never looked back. (hallelujah!) mastered naming all 26 letters. began writing her name. is definitely a lefty. attended the local production of cinderella and was honored to have prince charming come down to the audience to try the glass slipper on her foot. requested only one item for christmas -- princess pajamas -- that cost $12.99 at target. gave us hope that her future wedding aspirations might also be of a similar price range.

liam: played his first organized sport (t-ball) and second organized sport (soccer) and third organized sport (basketball). exhibited athletic abilities that thankfully come from chris's side of the gene pool. also exhibited a strong dislike of losing. began reading chapter books. fell one time on a slight hill while riding his bike and refused for months to get back on the dadgum thing. had his picture printed in the paper (at left). can add and subtract double-digit numbers. observed me teaching integers one day and now can add and subtract negatives as well. proved to be a little freakish in the numbers department. lost his first tooth. became even more obsessed with the game of bowling than susanna is with disney princesses. walks around the house all day rolling imaginary bowling balls and yelling, "strike!". upon opening his christmas gift of a nintendo DS, declared that "santa made all my dreams come true!", prompting us to wonder if we should just return the rest of his unopened presents.

i guess in looking back, 2009 was a tad busier than i initially gave it credit for. but most importantly, we continue to have our faith, our health, our happiness, and our love of family and friends. we thank God for our blessings and look forward to what might be in store in 2010. happy new year from all of us!

xoxo ~ chris, sara, liam, susanna, and super

wordless wednesday

a couple of important notes about the following video:

• chris and i both suck at recording video. (just makes you want to watch it, right?)
• our plan was to have chris stationed downstairs to capture the kids' looks of awe as they entered the family room for the first time on christmas morning. instead, liam just stares at the camera and says "cheese" in a bewildered tone, and susanna needs major prompting to approach her new bicycle.
• liam is then more interested in reading the note santa left behind than opening the big present sitting right in front of him with his name on it (his #1 wish: a nintendo DS).
• and, in true sucky-recording-video fashion, the second he discovers what's under all that wrapping paper and exclaims, "SANTA MADE MY DREAMS COME TRUE!", the camera ran out of memory. so listen closely, for you will hear the beginning of that genuine, unsolicited declaration. (we asked him later to re-enact it; it kinda loses its charm the second time around.)
• i'm sorry about the length (~100 seconds.) not only do we suck at recording the video, but we also have no idea how to edit it.
• this is about as opposite as "wordless" as you can get. my apologies, all the way around.

bookin' it

back in the olden days, when i was Mother of One, i scrapbooked. i wasn't ever one of those crazy-into-it types, taking part in weekend scrapping retreats or subscribing to scrapping magazines, but i did buy my occasional issue every now and then for ideas. i had several nifty tools and was known to go a little wild when 12x12 paper or ribbon was on sale. and while my sweet infant napped for three or four hours a day, i would painstakingly create double page spreads of each month (with an additional spread for special holidays) of his first two years of life. i still love to go look back through them -- they are, in their own small way, works of art that fully capture his milestones and escapades, complete with clever plays-on-words, creative embellishments, and pictures and journaling galore. if our house ever catches on fire, they seriously might be the only possessions i'd run back to get.

then Baby Two came along, and it all went downhill from there. there just wasn't time to devote to editing and cropping photos, designing layouts into which i'd affix them with acid-free mounts, printing the journaling (in a sassy font, no doubt) with the perfectly-measured margins on coordinating cardstock, and finding interesting ways to adorn the pages ... all while entertaining a toddler and breastfeeding a newborn. Mommy Guilt set in, as i fell further and further behind. i managed to finish susanna's one year album before her second birthday, but then, right after a spread on our first trip to the zoo, it abruptly stops. from my computer chair i can see a girly pink album sitting on my bookshelf, with dozens of clear page protectors yearning to be filled.

 susanna, admiring her one scrapbook with my mom, june 2007

BUT this is where the wonder of modern technology comes in. thanks to our blog, the kids' stories are still told. the memories are still documented, the pictures still shared. and when i discovered an online service that allows you to turn your blog into a book, i took full advantage of the downloadable program and put hours of effort into making it, in its own small way, a work of art. we now have a hardcover "blogbook" of 2008 sitting on our coffee table, complete with every post and every photo from our blog that year.

i share all this before i launch into my final posts of 2009 to explain that our blog is more than just a way to show to family and friends (and anyone else who stumbles upon it) what our children are up to. when i started, i hardly even knew what a blog was. i fully expected my interest to wane; i had no idea that a year and a half later, i would have amassed close to 200 posts (and, even more amazingly, upwards of 14,000 hits.) it's really become my way of time-capsuling our life. my way of creating something tangible that liam and susanna can pick up years down the road and relive their experiences, smile at their cute kiddie faces (have you ever met anyone who doesn't love seeing themselves at age three and five?), and learn things about us as a family that they might not have otherwise known. i know that much of what i write isn't terribly interesting and is certainly not earth-shattering. but pieced together, the posts do a pretty good job of describing our life as we live it.

even if it, sadly, doesn't have a cute polka dot ribbon tied in a jaunty bow.

wordless wednesday (a day late)

"and there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night." luke 2:8 merry christmas from our shepherd and sheep!

down with some updates

our week in review, facebook-style. (in other words, i have nothing interesting to say, so i thought i'd just pull my status updates i've written over the past seven days, put them in a list, and go wrap some more presents.)

sunday: "ho ho, Mister Toe, hung where you can see ...": christmas lyrics according to a five-year old

tuesday: the song "all i want for christmas is you" came on the radio today. liam's reaction: "this is the silliest song i've ever heard. who wants a person for christmas? i sure hope santa knows to bring me toys instead."

thursday: so this is what it feels like to turn 35: i got beautiful jewelry from my husband and an as-seen-on-tv Snuggie from my parents ... and i'm not sure which one i'm more excited about. when does the AARP card arrive? saturday: my little brother was driving home to raleigh from st. louis and has now been stranded on I-64 in the storm for 24+ hours. no food, 1/4 tank of gas. he's melting snow to have water to drink. say a prayer for him and the thousands of motorists around him. i can't even imagine how the families with babies or the elderly are surviving ...

an update on the updates: after the snow plows cleared enough for ben to get off on the nearest exit, he waited in line for three hours for gas, tried every hotel in the vicinity, and wound up spending the night on the floor of the fitness room in a hampton inn in west virginia. he arrived home, safe and sound, after 48 hours on a trip that normally takes 12. thanks be to God! and on a completely different note, i've discovered i tend to overuse ellipses ...

wordless (truly) wednesday

ROOKies

i came to the startling realization recently that my five-year old now actually knows things that i do not. case in point: chess. i have never in my life learned how to play chess. i know most of the names of the pieces, but have no knowledge of the game past that. i don't know the objective of the game, i don't know the rules, i don't even know how the men move.

but as of last week, liam does. he stood in our playroom one of our seventeen rainy days (oh, it sure felt like seventeen days, after being cooped up with no end in sight) and perused the shelves of games we have stacked in there, and trotted out with chris's old chess set. i explained to him that the best i could do was checkers -- and even that would require a quick review via the internet -- but chris was home by then, thankfully, and sat down with him for the first of what became a series of lessons on the fine art of chess.

i know that chess is arguably the most difficult game ever created, but from all that i can tell as i get dinner ready in the evenings while listening to the two of them play in the next room, liam is starting to actually get the hang of it. i can hear him mulling over his options, and even thinking a step ahead: "if i move the pawn there, then next time i can do this." or, "i want to go here, but then you can move here and that wouldn't be good."

susanna has been a quiet observer through all of this, so it came as no surprise that she wanted to give it a hand herself one morning. she and i sat down with the pieces all in the right spots, and then realized that neither of us had a clue what to do. we stared at the board for a few seconds ... and then hers began jumping over mine. mine asked hers to dance. her king took my queen for a spin around the checkered dance floor, even going so far as to dip her. and after a few more minutes of maneuvers, susanna declared the game to be over. liam walked up at this point, interested in who the winner was. he saw the state of affairs on the board, with each of her pieces paired up with one of mine, and told us that clearly, the game was not finished. "oh yes it is," replied susanna, "because look! can't you see?" she showcased the board much like vanna white would on wheel of fortune. "all the people are now married."

and what's that called again? oh, right. check mate.

wordless wednesday: the gofster chronicles

gofster, as i shared last december, is our Elf on the Shelf. after enjoying the off-season in the north pole for the past eleven months, we returned home from charlotte the day after thanksgiving to find him hanging out on the chandelier in our foyer. he's been keeping a close eye on the happenings in the mann house ever since, reporting back to santa claus each night and popping up in a different spot the next morning. the very first thing the kids do after they wake up is to scour the house for gofster. on tuesday, after an exhaustive search, their discovery was accompanied by peals of glee from their bathroom. there was that mischievous elf, perched on the window next to a note he had left. now we just need to teach him how to flush.

vaccination non-elation

i schlepped my two poor, unsuspecting children to the pediatrician this past week for H1N1 shots. of course, i made no mention of the shots ahead of time, and even when we pulled into the parking lot i tried to pull a fast one. "we've come for our vaccinations!" i exclaimed, hoping that i was conveying a sense of excitement. "what are vaccinations?" they asked, as i knew they would. i pretended not to hear as i ushered them through the doors with the promise of the lollipop of their choosing. which really should have alerted them that something was up, but they were still trying to figure out what a what letter the word vaccination started with. i have a history, myself, with shots. if i weren't so vain, i'd offer photographic evidence of my passport photo, taken when i was 19 and headed to europe to study abroad. i was stupid enough to have my picture taken directly after getting a whole round of necessary vaccinations to be approved for international travel, and after sobbing hysterically for two hours before, during, and after the traumatic event, my tear ducts were on such overdrive that my face swelled up to twice its normal size. to this day, i'm absolutely terrified of needles. pierced ears? methinks not. i endured two natural childbirths just to avoid an epidural. but given the choice between subjecting my children to such pain, or dealing with the possibility of being housebound for a week in the winter with two sick kids, i chose option #1. and it was really quite sad, the way the whole thing went down. the nurse called our names in the waiting room and they both jumped up, eager to see what this vaccination business was all about. it apparently sounded quite interesting. "who wants to go first?" i asked, knowing that just the mere mention of the word "first" sends shivers of excitement up and down their spines. "ME!" cried susanna, as she waved her hand wildly in the air like she was amidst a throng of people instead of in a crowd of two. "no, mommy, ME!" retaliated liam, who even had back-up reasoning: "i'm the oldest! i'm almost 5 1/2! it should be me!" and this is where my post draws to a close. i simply can't relive trying to contain their squirmy bodies on my lap as it began to dawn on them just what this whole vaccination thing meant. i can't bear writing about the looks they gave me as they realized how horribly deceitful their mother, the woman they trust most in this world, had been to them. i can't rehash the guilt i felt that while their sweet chubby thighs were being stabbed, i turned my head, unable to watch, the whole time thinking to myself, i'm so glad it's not me. because yes, i'll admit it: i'm not getting the H1N1 vaccine. i'd rather actually have the flu than see a needle come anywhere near me. but you know what? i have reached the age that i can make that choice for myself, as ill-advised as it may turn out to be. i have earned the right to decide what i need and what i don't. yes, thankfully, at this point in my life ... well, i call the shots.

wordless wednesday

the advent conspiracy folks are back with another timely and relevant message about this season we're in. i love it so. i hope you do too. (and in case you missed their original video from last year, here it is:)

what's in a name?

not only did we return home from our thanksgiving in charlotte with stuffed bellies, but susanna also acquired a new favorite toy: a pink baby doll with a change of clothes, bottle, and hat. the baby has not left her side since thursday, and we've all been subjected to her motherly high-pitched singsong voice as she talks to, and feeds, and soothes her new charge. for the first day or so that the doll was in susanna's arms, she was just known as The Doll. but on friday susanna began referring to her as Baby China. this perplexed us, since she typically calls her toys and imaginary friends and dollhouse figurines by names of people she knows -- classmates, relatives, students in her ballet group, etc. i asked her how she had come up with China. "liam told me that was her name," she responded, as she maneuvered the doll across the floor to her makeshift crib. i pondered that for a moment. he has a huge world map on his wall and is pretty adept at naming the countries and continents, but even keeping that into consideration, it still didn't make sense as to why he'd suggest an asian nation as a moniker for the baby. i told her that that was a very "interesting choice," and planned to leave it at that. "oh, liam showed it to me," she explained, and carried the doll to me. "see? here it is." she turned over the doll and pointed. and sure enough, there, etched into the bottom of her bald plastic head, were the words "©2008 CHINA".

wordless wednesday

from our little pilgrim (and all of his preschool pilgrim friends), we wish you a very happy thanksgiving!

thanks a latte

at one of my most recent 617 trips to target, i received a coupon on my receipt for a "buy one latte, get one free" at the starbucks in the store. now, i'm a coupon queen, spending a half-hour each sunday poring over the circulars, organizing them into my coupon file, and creating menus around them. quite the experienced coupon user, i am. but this one perplexed me a bit. get a free hot coffee? what am i supposed to do with that? chug the first one, and quickly move on to the next before it's too cold? take the second one home and re-heat it for breakfast the next morning? invite a friend to join me in shopping for household cleaners so she can take part in the offer? still, i tucked it into my "restaurants" section of my trusty coupon holder and figured it probably would sit there until it expired. wednesday was a cold, rainy, nasty day. i walked into target, smelled the starbucks brewing, and figured i could drop $4.05 on coffee as a rare treat to myself. there was a young girl ahead of me (amazing how relative age gets as you grow older -- by young, i mean around twenty) and as she approached the counter to place her order, i remembered my coupon. i tapped her on the shoulder and asked her if she by any chance was planning on getting a latte. she said she was. "well, i've got this coupon here, for buy one get one free. i'm going to get one, so if you want, you can have the free one," i told her. i figured she'd smile, thank me, and we'd go our separate ways. but what happened next surprised me. yes, she smiled, and yes, she thanked me. but then she thanked me again. and again. and then her eyes actually began to well up with tears. she touched my hands and whispered, "you have no idea what kind of a day i've had so far." and then, when the cashier handed her that steaming red cup, she looked at me one last time and said, "this is honestly the nicest thing that has happened to me in a long time." it stuck with me the rest of the day. and let's be honest -- this was no sacrifice on my part. i had a free coupon and was going to spend my four bucks anyway. but it reminded me of how much you get back by doing something completely unexpected for someone else ... kind of like that "pay it forward" commercial by an insurance company that airs on television. what had begun for me as a dreary november day when i had trouble getting out of bed had suddenly become a happy one. and all because this stranger next to me in line at target was so grateful. it resonated with me, especially during this week of thanksgiving. i need to be more thankful for the little things. for our neighbors, who picked up the ten huge bags of leaves chris had raked and moved them to the curb just to be nice. for one of my 17-year old pre-algebra students, who was expelled from his base school for gang-related activity, telling me "mrs. mann, that lesson we did today was awesome." for the small acts of kindness performed by my family and friends and acquaintances that make my life a little easier and a little brighter. and for this stranger, so touched just because she walked out of target on a cold and wet morning with a cup of free coffee.

wordless wednesday

liam has struggled somewhat with fine motor skills, to the point that he even saw an occupational therapist for a few months last year to work on things like pencil grips and threading beads. even as recently as this past summer, he wasn't interested in the least in any kind of art activity, and i knew it was because he hated having to hold a crayon or marker for an extended period of time. but something has apparently clicked recently (yet more confirmation that we made the right decision in waiting to start kindergarten) and his current favorite center at preschool is the writing center. he jumped into the car at pick-up yesterday, bursting at the seams to pull his artwork out of his bag to give to me. more than any fancy activity he's done, i'll cherish this one, because he made it with no guidance or suggestions -- he just did it "because i wanted to." (and in case you were wondering, that's the two of us in a rocket ship among three circular clouds.)

sneaky snuggler

the first thing i see every morning these days is susanna, standing at my bedside, flashing me a smile before she climbs into bed with me. and while she's heaving her soft chubby body up to the top of the mattress to curl up beside me, she says, "mommy, will you snuggle with me?" i can't think of a better way to start my day -- cuddling under the comforter as i stroke her hair and we talk about her dreams from the night before, or what she wants to wear to school, or what she requests for breakfast. fortunately for me, she's a gift that keeps on giving, for i hear those same five words repeated multiple times throughout the day. "will you snuggle with me in the family room?" she asks, before we squeeze onto the sofa. "will you snuggle with me on the deck?" before we curl up on one of the cushioned wrought iron chairs. "will you snuggle with me in my car seat?" before we -- well, before i tell her that there are some things that momma just can't do. it really is the sweetest thing. but it wasn't so sweet on friday night at about 3:00 a.m., when i awoke to the patter of her feet and a whimper at our doorway. "i cannot find Baby Bear," she wailed. now, i must admit that the thought of a possible disappearance of Baby Bear did not bother me in the least. it's this ratty teddy bear she got at the state fair a month ago, wearing a pink UNC t-shirt that has already started to pill and eyes that aren't quite level on its face. i shudder to think about where that thing has been and how many random people have held it and how much cigarette smoke it inhaled before my loving husband won it when the "stump the guesser" guy miscalculated his weight by 15 pounds. but i digress. so, i sighed quite loudly just in case chris wasn't aware of the disruption and of my selfless sacrifice, and trudged down the hallway to her room, cursing Baby Bear and its already-coming-apart-at-the-seams self under my breath. and as soon as we got to her bed, there, in the dark, with my eyes still not adjusted, i found the thing lying right next to susanna's dadgum pillow. how had she missed it? i wondered. i tucked her back into bed, secured Baby Bear to her side, and headed to the door. but not before i heard, "hey mommy, while you're here," in her little three-year old voice, "will you snuggle with me?"

wordless wednesday

the highlight of halloween candy is not its yummy goodness, but its ability to transform a treat into a math lesson. liam and susanna already know the drill so well now that i don't even need to ask: one may not consume one's M&Ms until one has separated them by color, declared which is the mode, totaled the contents, and compared one's data to one's sibling's data.

i feel bad for them in a way. they're probably going to grow up to be total math geeks like their mother, but i just can't help myself. and, really, doesn't chocolate taste even better after your brain's done a little work to earn it?

talk about a revolution

"the beatles do NOT have good manners," liam stated from the back seat of the car to chris as he drove the kids home the other night. let me interject something here: it is a small miracle that they were listening to the beatles at all. we have had the same six CDs in our car CD player since last december 26, when i removed the christmas music and replaced it with the same six CDs that had been in my car CD player for most of 2008. care to know what's on our children's playlist? we've got sesame street. veggietales. the wiggles. a vacation bible school soundtrack. a little people compilation. and slot #4 has been permanently out of rotation ever since liam tried to cram in a disc upside down (with peanut butter fingerprints all over it, mind you) back in 2005. thankfully, our sorry musical repertoire was destined to change after we spent a weekend at a friend's house in asheville a few weeks back. saturday morning the kids got to try their hands at the xbox "the beatles: rock band" game, and beatlemania hit the family faster than the H1N1 virus swept through most of our preschool. they laughed at "yellow submarine". they danced to "twist and shout". they quickly mastered the chorus of "ob-la-di, ob-la-da". as soon as we returned home, chris burned a greatest-hits-of-the-beatles-for-the-car CD and we chucked that little people "let's go to the beach" disc out the window. which brings me back to liam. why, chris asked him, do sir paul and his friends come across as impolite? what manners are these four esteemed gentlemen lacking? he replied, "they say 'yeah'. that is very rude!" he then closed his eyes (as, apparently, all good rockers do when belting out their songs) and then sang, "she loves you, YES, YES, YES." chris considered explaining how even the most polite songwriters need to take liberties with their lyrics from time to time. but then he realized that by doing that, he might be undermining 5+ years of manners training. so he smiled, nodded in agreement ... and let it be.

wordless wednesday

we offer you an assortment of pumpkins for your viewing pleasure today! in the foreground are some lovely smaller varieties on display -- although we regret to inform you that their most stunning features (scrawled permanent marker by preschoolers) are rather invisible in the dark. on the left is an homage to our dear son with his missing bottom tooth. and on the right, of course, no halloween would be complete without my infamous math reference that no one ever understands.

sweet talking will get you everywhere

our baseball player and princess-with-a-wand enjoyed every single minute of their halloween. and why wouldn't they? a quick synopsis: a) their costumes were easy and comfortable. b) it was a clear, balmy 80 degrees. c) there was no rush to get home, since we were gaining an hour of sleep that night. and, most importantly, d) they made out like bandits. our far-too-generous neighbors all seemed so happy to hear their doorbells ring -- we're one of only two families with young children on our street -- and they certainly made our stops worthwhile. (truth be told, they were probably more excited to have an opportunity to unload the gobs of candy they'd bought than they were to ooh and aah over the trick-or-treaters on their front step.)

the most memorable stop of the evening occurred on the street behind our house, with an older gentleman who did not at all agree with liam's choice of costume. he opened his door and immediately gave a friendly scowl. "a dodgers player? trying to get my candy?" he harrumphed. "i'm a lifelong yankees fan and i have to say, i'm not crazy about your uniform," he said, before giving liam one nestle crunch.

chris and i exchanged a glance, both curious as to how liam would react. the boy could make friends with a brick wall, so i guess i shouldn't have been surprised at what followed. "oh right, the yankees. from new york! i pull for them sometimes. like, if they play a team from chicago or something -- well, i pull for them then."

and just like that, the man grinned, reached back into his stash, and dropped five more candy bars into liam's bucket.

C ya in Class

liam's preschool class has a "letter of the week" that's divulged, in grand fashion, each monday morning. by friday afternoon they have a huge dry-erase board filled with words that begin with that letter, and most weeks, they've tried many foods along the way as well. (U week required a bit of a stretch. a classmate brought in gummy worms that were Ugly.) liam's favorite aspect of the letter of the week is show-and-tell. he'll clamber into the car on monday and we'll spend the better part of an hour ruminating over options for what he can bring in. (this, also, often requires a stretch. for I week he shared his accordion, because it is an Instrument.) this week is C week. it took us even longer than normal to decide on a show-and-tell item because there are just so many things that start with C. we ruled out a Car -- too boring. Candy, Cookies, and Cupcakes were sure to be overshadowed by the treats that halloween brings. we mulled it over for the afternoon, before i had a brilliant idea. "i know!" i told him, excitedly. "you Can bring in someone from our family for show-and-tell!" he sat back, trying to figure out just who i meant. mommy, daddy, super, grammy, granddad, nana, pops ... they all begin with other letters. his eyes lit up and i thought he'd figured it out, until he said, "susanna!" i looked at him, Confused. "you know, since she's a Cutie," he said. (i Cracked up.) it occurred to him seconds later that his father does indeed have a real name. and, voila! we'd arrived at the perfect show-and-tell solution. Chris will be sitting Criss-Cross-applesauce on the alphabet rug on friday morning, as a living, breathing show-and-tell entry. and, i daresay, it's extra bang for the buck. for he's a Cutie too.

wordless wednesday

liam and susanna accompanied chris to home depot a few weeks back. naturally, they returned with a kids' craft (i swear chris can't go shopping anywhere without buying them something), which required wood glue and a rubber hammer. nothing spells danger like glue and a rubber hammer. good thing those safety goggles fit.

she is legend

i was in the middle of the second set of a doubles match last monday when the manager of the pro shop motioned to me from the fence. "your husband just picked up your daughter from school," he told me. "he emphasized that it was not an emergency, but wanted you to know that he's at home with her now." i was rattled for a bit. i can count on, oh, one finger the number of times i've been called to retrieve one of my children from school in the six total years they've been going. susanna had seemed totally fine that morning, so i had no idea what might be wrong. i drove home following my match and walked into the house, expecting to find her curled into a fetal position in chris's lap. instead, there she was, jumping around in the family room, watching sesame street while chris worked on his laptop. she was singing along to elmo and sipping on ginger ale and having a marvelous time. so, what had happened? she had thrown up. that was the only information he was given, as she was sitting morosely in the director's office at the time and chris was ready to whisk her home. after observing her running around the house with no fever and no other symptoms and wolfing down everything in sight for the rest of the afternoon, i surmised that it must have been the yogurt she ate for breakfast that she had complained had tasted weird. i threw the yogurt out, she returned to school the next day, and it was but a distant memory. until ... i began hearing from classmates. classmates' parents. teachers. the preschool director. this was, by all accounts, no ordinary measly throw-up episode. this was the Vomit Event of the Century. here's how it all went down: she entered chapel with her class (of course! what better place for this to happen than in chapel?) and was seated in the pew among all the three- and four-year olds (of course! it was monday, the only day when all 100+ children are present!) and faculty. and without any warning, she began to empty the contents of her stomach all over herself and the adorable brand-new outfit (of course! first time ever worn!) she was wearing that day. as quick as lightning, ms. kathy high-tailed her outta there and toward the bathroom as fast as her legs could carry her. the only problem was, susanna kept at it, all the way down the hallway, and with such volume that another teacher who was following to help apparently slipped in it on the slick floor, got covered in it, and had to drive home to change clothes. they had to lengthen the chapel service by three extra songs just to give the custodians enough time to clean it all up. friends of mine told me that when they picked up their kids from school hours later, they got the play-by-play delivered with such fascination and awe that it was clear susanna had made far more of an impression than any art project or center activity had that day. yeah, that's my girl. when she does something, she doesn't just do it halfway. she goes all out. (and so does her yogurt.)

wordless wednesday

aaah, the north carolina state fair. i would've loved to just park myself on a bench and people watch all day long ... alas, there were too many rides to ride, too many games to play, and too many cholesterol-laden foods to eat. we all had a blast for our first-ever family fair visit, but i understand why it only occurs once a year. it's going to take us a full 365 days to recover. perhaps by then i will have finally digested those deep-fried oreos that i inhaled, leaving me room for the delicacy featured in the final photo below.

the rides! the kids were fearless on the roller coaster. we all enjoyed the swings, although we were smart to wait until afterwards to eat.

the food! turkey legs, ice cream, corn dogs. vitamins and nutrients are so overrated.

and the perfect combination of sweet & savory ... it's things like this that make me proud to be a southerner.

dancing king

saturday of our mountain weekend getaway involved a quaint town festival, complete with a pet pig named petunia who kind of roamed the premises on her own, a surprisingly elaborate puppet show, and a live bluegrass band. despite the constant drizzle, it was an awesome way to spend an afternoon. our fellow attendees got an extra treat -- perhaps even better than the funnel cakes -- courtesy of liam. the second the band started up, he beelined it to the stage and proceeded to show us moves we had no idea he had (or, for that matter, where they even came from.) the audience, probably averaging an age of 75 and huddled under umbrellas in their canvas travel chairs, watched in amusement as my son boogied in front of them for close to an hour. occasionally, susanna would give her famous twirl in her favorite yellow raincoat, but the main act was all liam. this is one of those videos that i know i will watch in the future, time and time again, to remind me of who liam was at the tender age of five. no self-consciousness. no inhibitions. just a zest for life that he wears on his sleeve. or, should i say, on his dancing shoes.

wordless wednesday

we enjoyed an absolutely spectacular hike along the blue ridge parkway with great friends on sunday. and let me tell you, being in the mountains on a clear, sunny autumn afternoon when the leaf changing is almost at its peak is just about as close to heaven as you can get. (which is high praise, coming from a beach lover who's not terribly fond of hiking to begin with.)

above: susanna and marshall, before they pooped out and rode on their dads' shoulders. below: liam and web led the way, as older brothers are wont to do.

a royal requirement

susanna informed me months ago that she was going to be a princess for halloween, and i immediately had two thoughts on the matter. first, every single little girl who knocked on our door last year arrived as a princess. way to think outside the box, my sweet daughter! but then my second thought hit me. we already have quite a few princess dresses hanging in the closet, so she could be sleeping beauty for her friend's party, belle for her preschool program, cinderella for trick-or-treating, etc. in the end, of course, frugality trumped any desire for originality, and a princess was born. what's funny is that she also decided months ago that there was a non-negotiable part to her ensemble. whenever anyone asks her what she's planning to be, she says, and i quote: "i'm going to be a princess WITH A WAND." (emphasis hers.) i have no idea where she got the idea that a princess wields a wand. i'm pretty sure that wands belonged solely to fairies and magical godmothers ... am i missing something here? if belle had had a wand in her possession, don't you think she would have turned that beast into a better looking guy with less of a hair problem? wouldn't cinderella have used hers to get the heck out of dodge herself? but logic doesn't work with a starry-eyed (and stubborn) three year old. so the costume is taken care of, and now we're on the mad hunt for her accessory. perhaps a more appropriate response when anyone asks what she's going to be for halloween is a fashionista.

wordless wednesday

susanna climbed into the car today from preschool bearing two gifts, one for me and one for chris. in one hand was the dandelion i've come to expect, limp from her warm palm. and in her other hand, clutched tightly for her daddy, was a surprise. she waited until we arrived home to uncurl her fingers and reveal the treasure enclosed. a four-leaf clover, you ask? or a special art project made at school? oh no. nothing but the best for her daddy: a dirty rock.

pick-up pick-me-up

preschool pick-up is one of the highlights of my day. i get in the long line of SUVs and minivans snaking their way through the parking lot at 12:15, enjoying the last few minutes of peace and quiet as i inch forward at a snail's pace. but then ... as soon as i get past the hedge ... i strain my neck to see my children. and there they both are, holding hands with a teacher as they wait for me to pull up and open the door. liam begins to wave, and susanna clutches a wilted dandelion that she picked from the playground grass that she'll soon present to me and ask me to put behind my ear. it never gets old. i would've thought that by now, the novelty of seeing them awaiting me would have worn off; that each afternoon would blend in with the before it into a sort of monotonous routine. but no. i actually still get excited -- the second i lay my eyes on their sweet faces, i can almost feel my heart being filled up with love as if it were a physical substance. like i've been missing an important part of me, and there, a few yards away, is what i need to make me whole again. they pile in, breathlessly talking over each other as they regale me with stories of their three hours at school. "we went to chapel today and we sang 'God is so good' and it was gardner's birthday and then we did centers and i played dress-up with charlie and then we read a story about dogs --" says susanna, and as she takes a breath, liam jumps in, "we listened to a man play a tuba and he's been playing for 30 years and i gave the classroom bunny my apples because i didn't really like the red peel and we played outside and i got across all the monkey bars by myself --" and then susanna takes over, "and we made pancakes and i got to stir it in the bowl and we played vet with our stuffed animals and then we had circle time and i'm sitting on the letter C this week --" and then liam chimes in, "and davis brought in doughnuts for show & tell and my job today was to be the door holder and henry put on a doctor's coat and ms. kathy took our picture and --" and so on. this never-ending monologue (duologue?) lasts the entire drive home. and while i might squeeze in a question or two, for the most part, i just listen. joy, excitement, love ... my children radiate these as they share with me stories of their classmates and teachers and activities. no matter how crummy or stressful my morning might have been, any negativity i'd been feeling vanishes as soon as they climb into the back seat. the joy, the excitement, the love ... feelings that liam and susanna have for school. feelings that i have for my children. and feelings that the three of us share for those ten minutes a day described as preschool pick-up.

wordless wednesday

this past sunday, we joined 15,000 other participants in the american heart association's Heart Walk. (contrary to the rather serious faces in the picture, we did enjoy ourselves.) while susanna relaxed in the stroller, liam walked most of the one-mile route with us in the blazing heat. about three minutes after we started, he paused to take a swig from his water bottle. "jeez," he sighed, "it sure is taking us a long time to find our car."

the blame game

liam's recently adopted the annoying habit of assigning blame to anyone or anything besides himself. during the rare squabbles while playing with susanna, it's always her fault. if he forgot to wash his hands, it's my fault for not reminding him. if he slipped off the tire swing at school with a classmate, it was his friend's fault for not giving him enough room. it extends to inanimate objects too -- did he stumble while walking to the front door? it was the driveway's fault. drop a utensil at dinner? the fork's fault. dribble a glob of colgate on his pajamas? the toothpaste's fault. you get the idea. so yesterday afternoon, i was preparing lunch for him and susanna and a playmate while all three ran around on the back porch. and all of a sudden, i look through the glass door to see my five-year old son standing in the middle of the floor, his legs apart and his shorts still on, peeing. he hasn't had a full-blown incident like that in over two years. yet there he was, giggling while urinating, finding the whole thing comical. when i reprimanded him, he had only one response. quite calmly, he explained, "it was my [insert male body part]'s fault." i know that guys joke that it has a mind of its own, but really, this is too much.

wordless wednesday

susanna, ever the fashionista, loves wet mornings so she can don her flowered raincoat and sassy boots. meanwhile, liam seems quite reflective about all the precipitation ...

sunny days are here again

one of my favorite parts of the newspaper are the letters to the editor. i skip the sports section completely, and give only a passing glance at the obituaries and comics, but i always make sure to turn to the end of section A and spend some time reading those letters. i learn a lot by reading them -- how there are almost always two sides to every story; how an article that i barely skimmed can so personally affect someone else; and how many people really never did master sixth grade grammar. (you can blame my mother for that one.) but as much as i enjoy reading them, i have to admit that i've never expected the letters to the editor to effect real change. it's always been my belief that they're mainly just a convenient way for people to blow off steam -- they want to complain, they want to rant about something that's been done or not been done, and that's their place to do it. even when i wrote the editors regarding my unhappiness with the changes in the weather page, i didn't honestly think anything would come of it. i just wanted my voice (well -- my son's voice) heard. knowing how strapped the paper is financially, i never in a million years thought they would return the weather page to its former glory, with its large maps and columns of data that soak up space that could otherwise be used by paying advertisers. so you could've knocked me over with a feather the morning that i opened the paper to read a letter of apology from the editors to the hundreds of faithful readers who had joined me in complaining about the changes. not only parents, like myself, but also fishermen, statisticians, travelers, hunters, immigrants ... the arguments made were heartfelt, and, more importantly, valid. and for once, the editors read all the letters that flooded their inboxes, realized their error, and righted their wrong. i wish i could expound at this point about how this has been such a valuable lesson to liam: that voicing your opinion does make a difference; that, by sharing your thoughts on a matter with a convincing argument, you can often help others see your point-of-view. but, really, it was over his head. he was just happy to be have things back the way they ought to be, poring over the list of world cities' high temperatures as he ate his breakfast. so the lesson turns out to be one for me. and it's one i now remember each morning as i read the letters to the editor. it's not just that people want to blow off steam; it's often that they are really hoping that they can change things. and no matter what those things might be -- whether it's health care reform, or the size of the weather map -- we are fortunate to live in a country where we can.

wordless wednesday

it takes a village to raise a child. or, it takes four different cars, two packed lunches and a basketball uniform, and three transfer of carseats to get two preschoolers where they need to be while i headed off to a full day of job training. oh, and a schedule to coordinate all the pieces of the puzzle. whew.

nighttime confessions

i have mommy guilt about a few things, so i thought, what better way to get them off my chest than to spell them out on my blog for all the world to see? here are a few ... 1) susanna is finally catching on that i often skip pages when reading super-long books at bedtime. liam's been on to me for years -- can't slip anything past an early reader -- but i'd been successfully turning ten-minute books into five-minute books with susanna for three years now. (those disney princess books, where they tell the ENTIRE plot of the movie in excruciating detail, are painful.) when she catches me, i just pretend like i didn't realize i turned multiple pages at the same time, and then try it again later in the story. 2) sometimes, if one of the kids is calling for us in the middle of the night, i pretend like i haven't woken up so chris has to deal with it. and then i feign ignorance in the morning ... "oh, wow. didn't hear a thing! i don't know how i slept through that." 3) on nights when we're really running late -- like when we've been out at a party with the kids and get home an hour past their bedtime -- we do the quickest run-through of prayers you've ever seen. we still say the Lord's prayer in its entirety, but i've been known to severely cap the God Blesses. as in, "all righty, kids. each of you can God Bless only three people tonight. so choose wisely." i often don't make the list. i wonder why.

wordless wednesday

this is the picture i sent out to family and posted to facebook chronicling the excitement surrounding liam's first lost tooth:

and this is the picture of his initial reaction, five minutes earlier. (apparently he wasn't aware there might be blood involved.)

northern exposure

if i didn't know any better, i'd swear our daughter is being raised in the bronx. or boston. or one of those northern cities with less-than-appealing accents. (my apologies to any yankee readers ... i know that there are many wonderful aspects of living where you do. but your way of talking isn't one of them.) susanna has recently aquired the habit of prefacing most of what she says by the word "hey." and i'm not talking a sweet, drawn out southern hey (pronounced "hayyyyyyeeee") -- i'm talking a short, choppy, masculine-sounding HEY. when added to the fact that she cannot pronounce the "r" sound at all, this is what my three-year old southern belle sounds like on any given day: "HEY. please pass the play-doh. i need some moe-wuh." (translation: i need some more.) or, "HEY. i know i left cindewella in my baby cwib. i'm shoe-wuh." (translation: i'm sure.) or, "HEY. i only have thwee cookies, but i weally want foe-wuh." (translation: i really want four.) and trying to correct her? my strong-willed, headstrong susanna? fuhgeddaboudit.

losing it

"how old do you have to be to lose your teeth?" liam asked me as we snuggled in my bed tuesday morning. i inwardly groaned. EVERYTHING these days is about ages -- not only the easily-answerable ones, like how old do you have to be to drive a car, but the ridiculous ones, like how old do you have to be to hang a picture on the wall. or use a hairdryer. or purchase a dadgum wii. while a few friends' kids have lost their first teeth at age five, i knew that if i responded with that number, a litany of questions would follow because liam IS five. so i naturally told him that most kids are six years old. that seemed to end the conversation.

then, a few hours later, as i was getting ready for my first job interview in seven years (more on that in a future post -- suffice it to say i am re-entering the working world after a half-decade hiatus), i heard liam discussing loose teeth with my father, who had come over to babysit. and a few moments after that, i heard my dad yell upstairs, "i didn't know liam had a loose tooth!"

i froze. maybe it was my dad's voice that did it, but i was instantly transported to my own childhood and the days of loose teeth -- scrutinizing my mouth in the mirror, running my tongue over the rough edges of the tooth in question, prodding it with my finger to feel the gummy hole beneath. i remembered the drama that unfolded around each loose tooth, with my exasperated father finally threatening to grab his pliers to put me out out of my misery. (it never came to that. daddy's more bark than bite, i quickly learned.) as i conjured up these memories, i began to become queasy.

i have always known that i would struggle with the teeth thing when it came time. i'm not sure why; i've been able to deal with other body maladies of my children so far with little trouble. vomit? no problem. poop, rashes, oozing eyes, chunks of ear wax -- none of it bothers me. but one mention of a loose tooth sends me over the edge. however, motherly love trumps queasiness, and, shocked at my dad's announcement, i ran down the stairs to see things for myself.

sure enough, liam opened wide to show me his bottom tooth, rocking in its socket, clearly on its way to falling out. and all of a sudden, i felt nauseous. i made it to the kitchen sink in time to dry heave. twice.

once i re-gained my composure, i began to wonder what had triggered it. i couldn't recall him hitting his mouth, or catching a ball with his chin, or anything else that could explain it. (he just turned five two weeks ago -- it seems awfully early to me.) so i asked him when he first felt it moving around. "it was this morning, when we were snuggling," he replied. "remember? when i rolled over and bonked your knee?" i did remember. that's when the whole initial conversation had begun. it all made sense.

i'll keep you posted on the comings and goings (literally) in the dental world of liam mann -- if i can stomach it. which makes me wonder ... do you think the tooth fairy might be adept with blogging and a digital camera? i'll pay overtime.

wordless wednesday

hi ho, hi ho, it's back to school they go! and while i'm not quite ready for the carefree summer days to end, i AM thankful that yesterday went a whole lot more smoothly than the first day of school last year ...

fantastic five

my dearest liam,

as of august 14th, you're five. FIVE! it seems that a just a second ago, i was clutching your warm, soft body to me in the delivery room, and now, you're running the bases at t-ball games and reading the newspaper. everyone warned me that the years would fly by, but it's not until i allow myself to really think about what a big boy you've become that i realize how true that is. and what an incredible person you're turning out to be! let me see if i can incapsulate you with just a few words ...

you LOVE life. every bit of it! every new place you visit, every new person you meet, every new discovery you make -- you find it all fascinating. what a joy it is to be your parent and see the world fresh through your eyes. you're inquisitive -- you want to know "why?" dozens of times a day. why is canada north of the united states? why does the traffic light turn green when it does? i strive to answer each question as thoroughly and patiently as i can, because i can see in your eyes an insatiable thirst for knowledge and curiosity that i hope never fades. (and when i don't know the answer, i tell you to go ask daddy.)

you're growing up, becoming less of a little boy and more of a big one. the tasks we give you --feeding super, getting the newspaper, putting the mail in the mailbox, setting the table -- you accept with pride. you're pleased with a job well done, and look forward to receiving your daily allowance and counting the nickels as they go into your piggy bank. but you also enjoy putting a portion into your church box, and giving back to God as you place that hard-earned money in the chapel offering plate each sunday.

you're thoughtful and caring and kind. almost to a fault -- you wear your heart on your sleeve, and it can be painful to witness your feelings hurt so easily. you're loving and affectionate, asking us to snuggle with you in the mornings, and often coming up to us with a hug and a kiss for no reason at all. you're funny and witty and have such a great sense of humor. nothing makes me smile wider than hearing that belly laugh of yours ... i doubt there is a happier sound in the universe.

you are an amazing brother. you and susanna will play together for hours on end, creating imaginary places with your toys; somehow your hundreds of matchbox cars and her hundreds of dolls peacefully co-exist in your made-up world. your patience and love for your little sister knows no bounds, which is evident every time you try to teach her a new word, or praise her when she's accomplished something she's never done before. when you were asked recently who your best friend was, you responded "susanna" without hesitation.

above all, you are a child of God. nothing is sweeter to me than hearing you say the Lord's prayer every night, the blessing at the dinner table, and all the random moments throughout the day when you talk about Jesus and God. just today, as we looked at old pictures of the day you were born, susanna wondered where she was at the time. you told her with certainty that she was still in heaven, waiting with the angels before it was her turn to come down to live with us. your daddy and i pray that you will never, ever forget the immense blessings God has bestowed upon you.

and you, my son, are one of the most important blessings of MY life. you made me a mother. and every day, you make my heart grow even more than i thought it could the day before. you recently told me that you love me "infinity to the tenth power." well, i love you even more than that.

you're five. FIVE! happy birthday, my sweet, handsome, smart, loving, wonderful boy.

all my love, mommy

wordless wednesday

witness how liam engages Mr. Cow (at the museum of life and science in durham) in a conversation. i must have the sense of humor of a five year old, because every time i watch this video, i giggle.

wheee ... not so much

the first night of our family beach reunion in july, the four of us squeezed together for prayers on one of the beds in the room the kids were sharing with their second cousin. as we started our list of God Blesses, i was especially interested to see if liam could name all twenty-five people who were at the beach with us, after spending a whole day with them at meals and at play. he closed his eyes, clasped his hands, and began. "God bless the wii. in Jesus' name we pray. amen." yes, that's right. surrounded by two dozen fun people, an ocean, great food, and non-stop activity ... the one and only thing liam deemed worthy of mentioning in his prayers was the gaming system my aunt mary had brought up from atlanta.

it only got worse from there. by tuesday, chris and i had decided to pull the plug (literally) on his playing time. witnessing his attraction to this thing -- he was physically drawn to it like he was in its magnetic field -- actually began to freak us out. although i'm sure these things have benefits (hand-eye coordination and fine motor skills development, perhaps), the battles that would inevitably ensue cemented in my mind the fact that we will never own one. playing one on vacation is one thing. having to enter your child in a twelve step program for video game addicts is quite another thing entirely.

since returning home, things had gotten back to normal. he received a sleeping bag, doctor's kit, and a scooter for his birthday from us and his grandparents, all of which he was quite excited about. no mention whatsoever about wanting a certain $300 nintendo device. but then ...

he came home from a playdate last week, bursting at the seams with excitement. "we played the wii! it's the same one that aunt mary has! i did the bowling game! i got a turkey!" and on and on. when he had finally run out of steam, he pondered for a moment, and then his eyes lit up. "do you think i'll get a wii at my party?"

while i have not formally polled all of his guests ahead of tomorrow's party, i think it's a safe bet to say that none of the seven little boys coming to our pool for pizza and cake are going to be presenting him with a wii. i envisioned him unwrapping the last of his gifts tomorrow, a look of disappointment clouding his expectant face, and i realized i had to prepare him. "liam, you are not getting a wii for your birthday. i doubt you'll even get one for christmas." not wanting to go into the multitude of reasons behind our decision, i chose the one that he couldn't argue with. "they are just so expensive."

he literally stopped in his tracks. it was as if i had just revealed to him a gross misunderstanding, and he had to rectify the problem immediately. i could almost hear him mulling over how to best approach the situation, before ultimately deciding that slow articulation would work best.

"well, you see, mommy, i already know that the wii is expensive." (i guess he's heard that somewhere before.) he then put his hands on my shoulders and looked deep into my eyes. "but that is okay," he explained, "because i like expensive things."

wii have a problem.

wordless wednesday

"i'm done with pictures!" susanna says. three-year olds have the hardest life.

the storm after the calm

we're immensely blessed to have my parents' beach house only a couple of hours away, and we've spent a lot of time here this summer. i hadn't realized how much time until liam took the kitchen calendar off the wall, counted the days that have "BEACH" written on them, and then announced that the grand total is 35. so it turns out that we've been at the beach off and on for a total of five weeks since may, and the kids have really fallen into a sense of it being their second home. they've brought their favorite toys and books, they have their own kitchen drawer containing their cups and plastic plates, and they know that every evening we say our prayers out on the deck as we watch the sun set majestically over the water. it's beautiful and calming and really my most favorite place on earth. but, unfortunately, my thoughts were as far from those as possible on wednesday morning, as i wrangled my two children to the beach by myself. my parents' house is on the sound, which explains the gorgeous views and the sunset show. but while it's serene and soothing and quiet, it does make things a bit difficult when you have young ones. kids, while at the beach, want to do BEACH things. they want to build sand castles and collect shells and ride the waves. and all of these activities require stuff: shovels and buckets and chairs and towels and boogie boards. which isn't a huge deal, until you realize that one of the downsides of being at a house on the sound is that it's always a distance from the beach itself. so, my parents invested in this huge, sturdy, aluminum wagon that has become our lifeline while we're down there. we load it up with the aforementioned supplies (and then some), stuff the kids in it between the chairs and the cooler, and wrap them in towels to hopefully avoid the onslaught of mosquitoes. up until last week, i've always been able to work in tandem with my parents or chris, making the process a tad easier. but last week i flew solo for a few days, leaving me to maneuver the whole conglomeration down the driveway, across the street, and into the dune where we park and disembark. and then up over the crosswalk and down again, where i dropped everything in a huge heap and gave a sigh of relief which lasted for about ten seconds until i was chasing after my children with their life jackets as they got ever closer to the water. none of this is easy. but i don't mean to complain -- we were at the beach, for goodness sakes! i'll gladly endure this five minutes of frustration for a few hours of bliss. on wednesday morning, however, it quickly became apparent that those few hours of bliss i was counting on were not to be. right about the time that i fastened the last life jacket strap and had finally sunk into my chair, i heard rumblings in the distance. the skies, which had been crystal blue when we left the house, had quickly become dark gray. a storm was coming. and let me just tell you something: hell hath no fury like two children yanked from the beach too soon. they sat there, almost defiantly, as i raced to gather up our belongings to head back home. they balked at carrying their rafts and hats while i staggered through the thick sand lugging 100 pounds in my arms. they whined, they complained, and even as we began to be pelted by sheets of rain, they pleaded to stay. so this post is sort of ironic, given my recent entry about us being in a period of ease with the kids. not one moment of the hour that it took me to pack their snacks, get them dressed in their swimsuits, slather them with sunscreen, walk down to the beach, unload our wagon, re-load our wagon, return as drowned rats, shower them, dry them off, and find some clean clothes to throw on them -- not one moment of that hour was easy. maybe i should have titled that previous entry as "the calm before the storm". because Lord knows, the storm hit.

wordless wednesday

the sun was so bright on the beach yesterday that i kind of blindly held the camera in the air to snap a few pictures of susanna feeding the pelicans. it wasn't until i uploaded the photos that i realized what liam was up to . . . who knew we had a sassy middle school girl living among us?

a brief period of time

we've had a slew of friends recently announce they're pregnant, and most with their third. i can hardly wrap my brain around having three children -- and, ironically enough, i am one of three children. when chris and i first started discussing our off-in-the-distant-future family plans more than a decade ago, we both agreed that two was the number for us, probably more based on a law of averages (he's an only child) than for any specific reason. but we've never questioned our choice, which is a good thing since we kind of sealed the deal in that regard a few years ago and there's no going back now. but the topic of conversation came up the other night as i shared the news with him of our latest friends to bite the #3 bullet. "can you imagine having another?" i asked. of course, my female brain was mulling over the logistics: our SUV cannot accommodate three car seats, and after paying it off last year, we have no interest in buying another anytime soon. we'd have to convert the guest room to a nursery, and then i'd have no idea where any visitors would sleep. we can't fit more than four chairs around our kitchen table, and while i suppose we could stick a high chair in the corner for a while, what happens after that? and so on. but chris's male brain had a different perspective. "having a baby would be crazy," he said. "i mean, the kids are now just so easy." my first instinct was to laugh. did you not just witness liam's colossal meltdown when he lost at chutes & ladders? i thought. or susanna spilling her juice all over the newly-mopped floor after we forgot to put the lid on her sippy cup? but once i thought about it, he was right. and the more i thought about it, the more i realized that we're smack in the middle of a fairly easy period of our lives as parents. a period that might not be repeated again until liam and susanna are off to college. we started rattling off the ways that our children are, in fact, relatively easy. they're potty-trained. they sleep through the night. they're past the annoying stage of naps that you have to schedule your life around if you desire any peace, but they're quite amenable to an hour of Quiet Time in their rooms each afternoon so i can get a break. i can still pick out their outfits without any opposition, and then they can dress themselves. they're not growing so rapidly to necessitate a new wardrobe every few months. susanna still loves her sweet hairbows, and is not yet waging battles over the hoochie-mama tank tops or airbrushed hannah montana jackets that i see in every store window at the mall. they play well together, and aren't yet bickering and fighting and pulling each other's hair out. they're old enough to engage in real conversations with us, but young enough to take what we say at face value and not question whether or not we have any idea what we're talking about. the threat of "time out" is still an effective deterrent to most misbehavior that might be coming our way. they're small enough to fit into a grocery cart if i need them to, but can also walk next to me as we pick up a few things at the store. they love to go to preschool in the mornings, but we're not yet dealing with serious academics and homework. they get excited about even the most mundane of activities (let's go get our hair cut! let's go to the ATM!) if i make it sound interesting enough. they're loving, they're affectionate ... and they don't sigh loudly, talk back, or roll their eyes. yes, we both agreed, we're in this funny window of time when we're past the frustrations of toddler-dom, and not yet embroiled in the angst of adolescence. to all of my readers who have recently taken the pregnancy plunge, i promise that i do not write this as a thinly-veiled "are you crazy?" commentary. and i don't even write this as self-affirmation that chris and i have made the right decision. no, this post is purely for my own future reference. for we acknowledge that we are in a temporary state of parental bliss, and that more difficult days are ahead. we're readying ourselves for the inevitable acts of defiance and "i hate you!"s and days when nothing we say or do will be right by our children. so this post is for our future selves. tangible proof that life with our children, for a brief period of time, was relatively simple. it's as simple as that.