wordless wednesday

my hope is to post a picture or video every wednesday that needs little elaboration. to kick off this recurring feature, check out liam, surfing the waves! (all "twenty hundred yards" of them.)

a tale of two vacations

two completely different vacations took place last week on topsail island. in one, twenty-five members of my extended family convened for the annual atkins reunion, ranging in age from still-in-the-belly all the way up to 86. we swam, we rocked in the hammocks, we ate, we built sand castles, we played bocce, we ate, we acted out charades, we went clamming, we ate, we told stories, we boated, we ate ... we had an absolutely fantastic time, as we always do.

in stark contrast to our week of bliss was the vacation of mr. green. mr. green had decided to take a trip up the coast and found topsail island to be just what he was looking for. the scenery was beautiful, but unfortunately, he soon surmised that the inhabitants were quite rude -- if he dared take a walk on the sand, he was met with shrieks and pointing and just impolite behavior. so he chose to spend most of his time in the ocean, floating along over the crests of waves, soaking in the sun, minding his own business. but then he heard sirens, and glancing toward the shore, he was surprised to see crowds gathered, monitoring his every move. he sighed. all he'd wanted was a little peace and quiet; a getaway from the wife who had the tendency to snap at him.

our week ended with hugs and kisses and the countdown (less than 51 weeks!) to the next reunion. mr. green's week ended in the hands of police and firefighters and ultimately in the custody of the north carolina wildlife commission. i'm sure they're still scratching their heads, trying to figure out how in the world an alligator managed to get all the way to topsail. happy trails, mr. green ... or, (and you know i couldn't resist) ... see ya later, alligator.

packing light

we leave tomorrow for our annual family reunion down at topsail island. the twenty-four hours prior to departure is always a whirlwind ... cooking, cleaning, packing for four people and a dog ... i honestly think it would be easier to just hitch our house to the SUV and drag it down I-40. i checked off as many items on my to-do list as possible this morning while the kids were at summer camp, but i barely scratched the surface. (in an attempt at full disclosure, i will admit that my recent purchase of an iphone has delayed me a bit -- not exactly the smartest timing for a procrastinator such as myself.) so this afternoon after we all returned home, i tackled the kids' packing. after i finished with all of liam's necessities, i crossed the hall to susanna's room to take care of hers. i opened her suitcase and was quite surprised to find it already full. she had obviously been hard at work and looked quite pleased with herself, assuring me that she was all done, and needed nothing extra, thank you very much. inside were the following: her cinderella costume (and matching tiara, of course). her baby dolls. her purse. two princess books. and a tube of lipstick that has been missing from my cosmetics drawer for a month.

the Day of Lasts

i'd had it. HAD IT. HAD IT. if i had to hear the words, "i wanna be first!" come out of liam's mouth one more time, i honestly did not know what i was going to do. getting into the car ... going up the stairs ... walking into the grocery ... no matter what, no matter where, no matter when, liam had to be first. it was manageable -- a huge nuisance, but manageable -- until he about knocked me over as i held a carton of eggs in my hand in his quest to reach the front door before i did. i'd HAD IT. necessity is the mother of invention, so that night, i devised a plan. the next morning, after liam ate his breakfast (being the first one down to the kitchen, of course), i informed him that the day was to be a different kind of day. i was calling it, officially, the Day of Lasts. i explained that throughout the day, he was not only not going to be first, but that he would -- dear Lord, help me now -- be last. i explained that he would soon see that being last meant nothing different in the long run. he would still be fed, he would still play, he would still get to where we were going. he would learn that being first is simply not important. i'm pretty sure he didn't hear anything i said after i uttered the word "Lasts", based on the sheer panic that swept over his face. but i kept my eye on the goal. he was going to learn a lesson today -- or i was going to die trying. an hour or so later, we joined friends at the museum of natural sciences. i made sure that susanna's feet hit the ground of the parking lot before liam could even get out of the car. when we approached the museum entrance, he brought up the rear of our group. as we waited for the elevator, he had no choice but to let someone else push the button. surprisingly, it was all going fairly well. we'd had only one minor tantrum, and i started to have a glimmer of hope that something positive might actually come out of this experiment. in my mind, i imagined the end of the day when liam would share with chris the invaluable life lesson he had learned, about how being first in such mundane circumstances truly does not matter. i snapped out of my reverie as i began to catch the tail end of a conversation happening beside me. we were standing outside the museum classroom, waiting for the doors to open for the 11:00 session where the kids could pet some animals. the previous class had run long, and a crowd had gathered outside the door. it wasn't a huge crowd, and it was obvious that there would be plenty of space to sit once we were able to go in. and yet, this is what i heard from two women standing a few feet away from me: mother #1: "you know, we were here first." mother #2: "oh, no, i don't think so. we've been here for quite a while." mother #1: "well, we were here actually at 10:45 and just walked off to the side for a few minutes." mother #2: "i'm sorry, but if you want to be first into the room, you really can't just wander off. you have to stay right here where the line forms." and then i watched these two grown women use their high-end strollers to jostle for position as the doors finally opened. just like that, what little resolve i had left in me vanished. i was hit with the sinking feeling that, as good of intentions i had that day, this might just be a lesson that was over my four-year-old's head. shoot, apparently it was over some forty-year-olds' heads. i'll try again -- someday. in the meantime, at any given moment, you might find me trying to explain to liam why there are cars ahead of us on the highway, or why there are people already at the library when we get there, or why some children were actually born before he was. yes, i pledge to give the Day of Lasts another try at some point. if i last that long.

a grim forecast

the news & observer, raleigh's newspaper, is dealing with the same financial woes that are plaguing the rest of the industry nationwide. they've had to condense certain sections and get rid of others altogether, and i'm sure every change they make is met with dismay from some faction of their readership. but when they cut down their weather page -- liam's beloved weather page, as my faithful readers know -- the disappointment on his face just killed me. i fired off my first-ever letter to the editor about this issue. much to my surprise, it was published! now if they'd only take my words to heart and do something about it ... sunnier days would be ahead.

915

while liam had a playdate after a morning at summer camp yesterday, susanna and i had a Girls Day. we enjoyed several rounds of dora candyland, then an hour or so of maneuvering her princesses around her dollhouse, and then dress-up with her new plastic jewelry set from the dollar store that happens to coordinate quite nicely with her cinderella gown. after our tea party, she climbed up into my lap and looked at me with the most serious expression i think i've ever seen on her little kewpie face. "do you know how much i love you?" she asked, echoing a question i often pose to her and liam. and then, without waiting for my reply, she said, "nine fifteen." i pondered her words as i loaded the dishwasher a few minutes later. 915? what did that mean? the girl can barely count past twenty. why was she quantifying love with a number like 915? and then, it hit me. not only was she echoing the question i ask her and liam several times a day, but also the answer. for while other parents might say, "to the moon and back", or "more than there are stars in the sky", i choose different terms. as a former math teacher and fan of all things numerical, my answer is always the same: "infinity." or, to the ears of my three year old daughter ... 915.

the Kids' Disposal

growing up, my younger sister, brother, and i shared a secret from our parents that we affectionately called the "Kids' Disposal" -- this weird little shelf directly under the top of our kitchen table where the pedestals joined. i don't know who discovered it, but i do remember at a fairly young age putting it to good use at dinnertime with the help of leslie and ben. whenever we were served something that we just could not force down even with a half-glass of milk -- beets, cauliflower, turnips -- we'd rely on a sibling to distract our parents while we sneaked a wadded up napkin full of the undesired food onto this hidden shelf. later that evening (or at least within the following few days, before the vegetables started to stink), we'd surreptitiously transfer the napkin from the Kids' Disposal to the trash, and no one was the wiser. and in the meantime, we had earned our dessert for cleaning our plate. sheer genius! this actually went on until we left for college; in fact, it was only a few years ago that we finally came clean and let mom and dad in on our shenanigans. the other night, chris, liam, susanna, and i were enjoying dinner at the beach with my parents. the kids had helped my dad make homemade peach ice cream earlier that day, and could not wait to dive into a bowl for dessert. we have the same rule with our children -- no dessert unless you've eaten all of your dinner -- and while liam had devoured his food, there were still four chunks of avocado on susanna's plate standing in her way. as we watched her force the first bite down, liam suddenly launched into a very animated recap of our day at the beach. he shared what his favorite part was (boogie boarding), and then, one by one, asked everyone what their favorite part had been. when the conversation was finished, susanna proudly showed us her clean plate. i served up the ice cream to my eager children and sent them out to the deck. a few minutes later, i was back inside clearing the table when i noticed that susanna's plastic cup was surprisingly heavy. and there, at the bottom of her cup covered by her napkin ... were those three chunks of avocado. i'm sure there are many parents who would have marched out to that deck, removed the ice cream bowl from their daughter's hands, and demanded that she eat that avocado. maybe others would have begun to talk about what it means to be dishonest. chris and i are navigating this parenting thing blindly, and we had absolutely no idea what the "correct" response should have been. but glancing through the sliding glass door at our two children, side by side with peach ice cream smeared all over their happy faces, i just had to laugh. i have no proof that they were in cahoots, but knowing them as well as i do, i kind of suspect that they were. and you know what? i love that. there's just something about sibling love and support (and, yes, mischief) that needs to be celebrated. however, i will say that whenever food miraculously disappears in the future, i'll be checking any cups that happen to be nearby. and the next time liam and susanna eat a meal at my parents', my mom and dad might look under their kitchen table -- the same one where my sister, brother, and i sat decades ago -- to see if the Kids' Disposal is still open for business.

bloodsuckers

myth: all bloodsuckers are vile, nasty creatures. fact: there is one exception -- the cast of the vampire saga Twilight. those bloodsuckers were surprisingly entertaining. myth: mosquitoes serve no purpose whatsoever. fact: frogs, bats, and guppies eat mosquitoes. fact: frogs, bats, and guppies could all get along just fine without them, thank you very much. myth: sara mann has an excellent memory, and remembered to warn her husband about the deluge of mosquitoes she encountered last weekend during the short walk from the soundfront house to the beach that were so bad that she and her friends resorted to wearing towels wrapped around their legs and long-sleeved shirts. fact: sara mann has a horrible memory. Super Dad chris, at the beach by himself with the kids while sara played in the state tennis tournament, realized the necessity of insect repellent a bit too late. fact: mosquitoes turned our poor, sweet, soft-skinned children into a july 4th feast. (i counted 62 bites on susanna alone. the picture below doesn't nearly do it justice.)

myth: sara has a witty, interesting way to wrap up this blog post. fact: the only words coming to sara's mind at the moment are about as vile as the mosquitoes themselves. let's just leave it at that.