wordless wednesday

we steered our car in the opposite direction from normal on I-40 this past weekend, and headed west to the mountains.  our good friends lainey and bill and their two sons, web and marshall, invited us to their cabin near blowing rock.  (if you've been a long-time reader, you know that the bass family have starred in many previous posts, like here and here.)

lainey and i have a theory that no matter what, and no matter where, if our families are together in a remote location, there will be rain.  and sure enough, about ten minutes into our adventure to tweetsie railroad on saturday, the rain started falling.  i shocked myself that i actually had enough foresight to have packed raincoats, so the drizzle didn't really bother us.  the temperature did, however.  when we left around 3:00 pm the car thermometer read 63 degrees -- a nice break from 100+ degree heat at home, to be sure, but not exactly a match for our t-shirts and shorts.  we scratched the peach daiquiri plan and headed home to a bottle of chianti instead.

but the second part of our weather-related theory is that our day of rain is always, thankfully, followed by a day of sunshine.  and sunday was gorgeous.  we took a three-hour long hike off of the blue ridge parkway, had a long lunch in boone, and ended our trip by tubing down the river near their house.  (tubing = sitting on your hiney in an inflatable raft as you slowly drift with the current.) 

on a weekend where we rode the ferris wheel, spun in the tilt-a-whirl, and lazily rotated in our rafts in the river, there's no doubt that good friends really do make the world go round.

i think Time Out would be far more effective if we had a jail like this one -- that actually locked 

all that room on the seat, and marshall has to sidle up to susanna? i'm thinking that they might not share a bed next time.

view from the top of the ferris wheel.  notice a tiny chris on the ground below, aiming the video camera up towards us.  chris loves many things.  heights are not a part of that list.

i cannot remember the last time i laughed so hard as when the four of us were on the tilt-a-whirl.  i had tears streaming down my cheeks as the kids were cackling with glee.  and it kept going, and going, and going ... 

three smiling boys, and one grumpy girl, before our hike 

but she perked up quickly

we have a bone to pick with the national park people, who claimed that the trail we took was .8 miles.  either we took the wrong trail, or that decimal was in the wrong place.

this is the strenuous, exhausting sport known as tubing.  actually, it's tubin'.  i guess you get so tired doing it that you don't even have enough energy to say the "g".

we flattered ourselves by saying that this could be a picture of us from college.  obviously we're ignoring the crow's feet.  and the carseats in the background.

dreamland delay

"mommy?" 

i jumped.  i was all alone in the kitchen, cleaning out the refrigerator, while chris was working out at the gym.  the house was silent, and with good reason, since it was 9:45 at night.  the kids had been in bed for almost two hours.  i whirled around to face susanna, expecting to find her sick, or scared, or freaked out by a bad dream.  instead, she stood there, squinting in the bright light, and said, "do you remember that time that we went to the fair and i was in the stroller and had a corn dog?"

i sighed.  i'm realizing more and more every day that my Mini Me and i not only share so many physical characteristics -- thin blond hair, blue eyes, funny chin, height -- but so many personality traits as well.  some i don't mind that she's inheriting.  but one that i'm definitely not excited about passing down is insomnia.

i come by it naturally; my mother has dealt with sleep issues all her life, and i have followed in her footsteps.  there's just something about putting my head on the pillow that gets my brain churning.  it drives chris crazy, for as soon as his head hits the pillow, he's out.  even after eleven years of marriage, i forget about this frustrating endearing quality of his; mere minutes after turning off the lights, i'll ask him whether or not he wants to go down to the beach for labor day or what we should buy liam for a birthday present or if he has any interest in seeing a particular movie, and i'll get a grumbled, half-coherent response along the lines of, "i am in no mood to have a conversation since I AM ASLEEP and would prefer to talk about this tomorrow."  and while he falls back into a deep slumber, i lie there in the dark, my mind mulling over important things and unimportant things as i ever-so-slowly drift off.

but insomnia -- at age four?  could it really be hitting susanna so young?  my heart goes out to her.  i hate the fact that she's been lying in that double bed of hers, surrounded by her umpteen critters, thinking about things apparently as far back as last october, while liam, chris's Mini Me, is snoring peacefully in the next room.  it's unfair to her, and i accept the blame.  i wish there were an answer to this.  at least i have ambien tucked away in the depths of my bathroom cabinet when i need it ... but what do you do for a child?

i'm crossing my fingers that school starting will help.  as fun as this summer has been, we've so hopelessly fallen out of any semblance of a routine that i think we're all craving getting back into one.  the insomnia thing easily becomes a vicious cycle if you let it; since she falls asleep so late, she wakes up late.  and because summer is our lazy time, with not much need to be rushing out the door, it's often after 9:00 in the morning before she climbs out of bed.  but liam heading off to kindergarten next week, requiring us to leave at 8:00 to drive him there, is going to rock. her. world.  so i'm crossing my fingers that her body will make the necessary adjustments, and that an early morning will result in earlier sleep at bedtime.

but for the other nights -- the nights that will inevitably happen, when she does struggle, i'll find the silver lining.  i'll scoop up her warm, chunky body in my arms, carry her back to her room, and curl up beside her in her bed.  and we just might talk about that trip to the fair last fall.  or we might sing our standard lullaby of "oh susanna".  or we might just lie there in the silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts, yet inextricably connected in oh so many ways.

wordless wednesday

we spend gobs of time down at topsail island every summer, but once a year we're also fortunate to tag along with chris's parents on their vacation at bald head island.  it's a completely different feel from every other beach i've visited.  because cars are not permitted, the main forms of transportation on the island are bikes, golf carts, and your own two feet.  that kind of sets the scene for all that you do while you're there -- everything moves at a snail's pace, which is really how every beach vacation should be.  slow, relaxed, easy.  of course, it's always nice to have a little bit of excitement, which this year came in the form of kate gosselin and her eight children (and bodyguards and nannies and camera crews from their reality show.)  i managed to snap a quick shot of the twin girls, which, if you pay very close attention to the pictures below, you might be able to spot. 

our summer is sadly drawing to a close.  liam heads off to kindergarten on september 1 and susanna follows a week later to preschool.  but knowing what absolute beach nuts my children are, i'm hoping we can squeeze in one more long weekend down by the ocean before the hustle and bustle of the school year routine kicks into high gear.  think the gosselins might join us?

hands down, the kids' favorite part of bald head was steering the golf carts.  good thing their feet don't reach the pedals, or i'm afraid we might not have seen them the whole time we were there

liam loves to ride the waves all the way into shore ...

... while susanna loves to lounge on the board, instructing her father how to pull her around the shallow water

my poor child thinks i took this picture because i thought he was so cute with this shirt.  truth be told, i was an undercover paparazzi, aiming my lens instead at who was behind him.  (side note: one of the girls, age 9, whipped out a $100 bill in the gift shop.  clearly i am in the wrong business.)

waiting to board the ferry back to reality

the birthday boy: a bedtime story

susanna and liam, you both love bedtime stories so much that i thought i'd compose one myself, just for you. 

once upon a time in a small village called asheville, a sweet baby prince was born.  let's call him ... let's call him liam.  he was bald headed and blue-eyed and chunky and perfect.  he walked late and talked even later and don't get me started on how long it took to potty-train him ... but he brought a huge smile to the faces of everyone he met.  soon, all of the kingdom was smitten by this prince.

by the time he was five, prince liam had become a truly amazing big boy.  he had a smattering of freckes across his nose and cheeks, those same gorgeous blue eyes, and, according to his hairdresser, evidence that a cow at some point had licked him something good.  (it took his family a while to figure out that what she meant was cowlicks.) 

his chunky body had slimmed down quite a bit because of how constantly active he was -- there was no sport he didn't like, and he was good at them all.  (the one thing he was not good at was losing ... Lord have mercy, his tantrums and fits were legendary ... but that's a story for another day.) 

prince liam's motto was, if you don't like something, then don't do it.  to this end, he became the master of tuning out things he didn't want to hear, like reminders to make his bed or put his dirty clothes in the hamper or stop running around the house like a crazy person.  but, on the other hand, he believed that if you like something, you should LOVE it.  become enraptured by it.  live and breathe it.  and that's just what he did, every day of his young life.  golf, soccer, his encyclopedia, boogie boarding, world geography, addition and subtraction, scrabble, the monkey bars on the playground ... he became passionate about a wide variety of interests, devoting countless hours to these pursuits.

liam was also an older brother, to a fair princess named, oh, let's name her susanna.  he was kind, protective, and loving to her, but most of all, he was her best friend.  her eyes would light up whenever he entered the room, and she felt lost without him near.  they would spend most of their waking hours with each other, coming up with elaborate games, inventive artwork and sculptures, and creative songs and dances.  they would dissolve into fits of laughter, finding things amusing that their parents couldn't figure out.  they had private jokes and whispered secrets and a love all their own.

liam's family adored him so.  but as his sixth birthday approached, he noticed that his mother (we'll call her queen sara), who happened to be the most wise and beautiful and patient and kind and -- what?  get on with it?  oh.  sorry.  i tend to get carried away with queen sara.  anyway, liam found his mother teary one day, so he climbed into her lap and asked her what was wrong.

"i just can't believe you're so old," she told him.  "i remember holding you in that hospital bed for the very first time, staring down at your face and feeling your heart beat through your chest.  and now, you're turning six.  SIX!  you're about to leave me.  you're headed off to kindergarten and will be riding that big yellow school bus home.  i'm going to miss you terribly!"

he patted his mother's knee and smiled.  with wisdom beyond his years, he said, "i'm ready, mommy.  you and daddy have done lots of things with me and i know that i'm going to be okay.  i've spent six years with you at home, but i think it's time that i go to real school and learn some new stuff."  he paused.  "but i wonder if there's anything i still need to learn?"

and his mommy laughed, for prince liam could always make any bad situation better.  and as they celebrated liam's sixth birthday, she and king chris looked at the boy they were raising -- their sweet, sensitive, bright, happy, athletic, fun-loving boy -- and felt, as they always did, immensely blessed.

and they lived happily ever after.

shaken up

after the drawn-out angst of losing his first two teeth a year ago, liam's third to go was surprisingly easy.  it seemed a bit loose on friday -- loose enough that i packed his tooth fairy pillow in the suitcase before heading back down to the beach.  but i didn't think we'd actually need it before returning home on tuesday.  an hour later, it was history.  shows you how much i know.

no lost tooth in the mann family can happen without some sort of story attached.  so let me set the scene, which, looking back on it, was somewhat comical, although at the time it didn't seem so.  we'd just pulled out of the mcdonald's drive-through, all four of us sipping on our own chocolate milkshake, traveling the well-worn path down I-40 to topsail island.  i knew from past experience that we were embarking on a good fifteen straight minutes of silence as the kids focused all their energies on sucking every last drop through those striped yellow and red straws.  chris and i were especially grateful for these these fifteen upcoming minutes, given the fact that we'd just played 547 rounds of "i spy".

and then, far too early, the silence was broken.  liam asked, "mommy, can you fix my tooth?"

i should have paused.  given my history with loose teeth, i should have really considered what i was about to face before turning around.  because really, what good can come out of "mommy, can you fix my tooth?"  what does that mean, anyway?

but i did no such thinking.  instead, i immediately swiveled around, came to face to face with his bloody tooth dangling from his gumline ... and gagged.  i had just enough time to pry the plastic top off my cup before heaving into my milkshake.

i was so bummed.  it was a delicious milkshake.

while i was taking care of my own problems, chris was left to do some serious multi-tasking.  for not only was he driving the car at 75 miles per hour, but he was glancing back at liam to see what he needed, finding a napkin, helping him dab up some of the blood from his mouth, and somehow sliding that errant tooth back into place.  but would you believe that despite all that he had to deal with, he still managed to marvel at how apparently ridiculous my reaction was? "gracious, sara.  get a grip!  it's a tooth, for crying out loud.  this is insane.  you went through natural childbirth -- twice -- and somehow toss your cookies when you see a loose tooth?  what in the world?" etc.  whoever said that men can't do more than one thing at a time has not met my dear husband. 

but even more impressive than chris's multi-tasking was how coolly and calmly liam handled the whole thing.  i guess after going through it twice, he's now a seasoned veteran.  all was quiet again in the back seat for five more minutes, and then he leaned forward in his booster seat, said, "here you go, daddy," and handed him his extracted tooth.  chris took it, thanked him, and put it in his shirt pocket.  and then both of them returned to their milkshakes. 

i, sadly, did not.

out of the question

this is almost verbatim from our ride to ballet class yesterday.  the kids are in the backseat, inches apart.

liam:  susanna?

susanna doesn't answer.

liam: SUSANNA!

susanna doesn't answer.

liam: SSSSUUUUUUUSSSSSAAAAAANNNNNNA!

susanna (turning towards him): i have pretend earphones on and am listening to the music in my head.

i glance in the rearview mirror.  sure enough, there's my daughter, bopping around in her carseat in the silence.  i stifle a giggle.

liam: but i have something to ask you.

susanna: well, i'm busy.

liam:  but it's very important!

seeing no end in sight, i intervene. 

me: susanna, can you just please answer liam's question?  and then you can go back to jamming to your imaginary song.

susanna (sighs): okay, liam.

liam is silent.

me (a tad exasperated): liam, she's listening.  go ahead and ask your question.

liam: i can't remember what it was.

wordless wednesday

the kids and i have been "playing" tennis a lot recently.  come to think of it, maybe the quotation marks need to be around both "playing" AND "tennis".  because really, what i mean to say is that liam and i stand about ten yards apart in our cul-de-sac trying to hit a tennis ball between us more than two consecutive times, while susanna gallavants all over our neighbors' yards acting as ball girl, retrieving liam's mishits.  (the minute she realizes she's just doing what super does -- playing fetch -- i'm afraid the gig will be up.)

they've both been so into it that we decided to take them out to one of the hard courts at our club on sunday afternoon for a half hour or so.  it's in this kind of element that the differences between our two children could not be more pronounced.  liam, our athletic star with an obnoxious competitive streak, was all business: barking out orders to us about where to stand, who needed to serve, and why, somehow, he always earned the point.  but his forehand is effective enough that he and chris had some decent rallies.

meanwhile, susanna, still decked out in her church sundress, hairbow, AND her real pearls, twirled all over the court with her ballet moves.  she attempted once or twice to make contact with the ball, but mostly, she preferred posing with her pink prince racket.

we see families out there all the time, with preteens and teenagers playing against their moms and dads.  and who knows ... we might just be that way in a few years, playing girls vs. boys, or kids vs. parents.  

 

or, maybe not.