guess and tell

susanna's day for "guess and tell" is wednesday.  she has to bring in an object from home and write three clues about the object and read them aloud to her first grade class, and then let her classmates guess what the object might be.  designed to be a writing activity, there are certain requirements of these sentences, which include correct punctuation and grammar and a minimum of seven words per sentence.  (susanna has found the word "very" to be, um, very helpful in this regard.  for instance, "it is comfortable to wear" does not meet the requirement.  but "it is very, very comfortable to wear" does.)

she really labored over her clues this week in particular, going above and beyond the minimum three sentences.  (of course, there are a few "very"s thrown in there.)  i recorded her reading these for her aunt leslie in california.

and witty as she always is, this was my sister's response:

"it is like a colorful winged butterfly."  I am glad she did not add: "it is like something a transvestite might wear in a parade."

:)

Love it!!

heartwarming ... or maybe not

if you've ever been involved in an icebreaker activity, you might have been asked at some point about the object that you'd make sure you grabbed on your way out of your burning house.  you know, as soon as you have made sure every person is out safely -- what physical thing would you want to save?  i've been a part of such discussions a few times in my life and have typically heard answers like jewelry, or photo albums, or family heirlooms of some sort.  for me, after some consideration, i've decided that it would be the oil paintings of the children.  granted, these aren't the smartest things to want to save, as they're fairly large and heavy and nailed into the wall.  (but now i'm getting way into specifics when the whole point of the exercise is to reveal something about yourself to a group of strangers.)

anyway, if you were to pose this same question to liam, i can tell you without a shadow of a doubt what his response would be.  he wouldn't bat an eyelash before coming up with his answer.  what would he save?

the wii.

years ago, we dragged our feet for months before relenting and giving chris's parents the green light to give him a wii for his sixth birthday.  looking back, i don't know why we waited so long.  i guess we were worried that he'd become obsessed with the thing ... which, of course, he has.  but what we hadn't considered was all the GOOD things that can come out of having something so dear to a child's heart.

we have learned that giving or taking away wii privileges is the single best consequence/motivator/discipline tool/threat/reward that we could ever dream of.  you want liam to stop doing something?  discuss the possibility of removal of wii time.  want to reward him out of the blue for something?  give him ten minutes -- unsolicited -- with the wii.  the child only gets about twenty minutes of wii time a day, so giving him extra time is life-changing.  taking it away from him is crushing  -- and he makes sure you know it.  (and yes, i'm fully aware that this Nintendo plan would never be endorsed by any parenting expert.  and yet, i'm not afraid to admit it.  it works for us.)

last week, his behavior was such that i had to take away his wii time for saturday.  i honestly don't even remember what he did, but i remember the day because of what happened saturday afternoon.  the four of us were on a hike (well, we called it a hike to make it sound exciting -- it was really a walk) on the greenway trails near the art museum.  liam and susanna ran ahead and looped back around, meeting up with chris, while i lingered around the corner looking at a sculpture.  i was out of sight, but not out of earshot, so i could truly enjoy this gem of a conversation.

one of the many pieces of art along our hike.  there's probably some beautiful name for this thing, but the kids just called it "corn on the cob"

liam:  "where's mommy?"

chris:  "oh no!  we've lost her!"

liam (skeptical):  "really?"

chris:  "no, silly.  she's right around the corner.  besides, what would we ever do without mommy?"

liam (without missing a beat): "play more wii."

wow.  nice to be missed.

so let me revisit this burning house scenario.  i guess that it's quite possible that i might only have time to grab one oil painting ... would anyone blame me if i just so happened to save susanna's?

"Look who's coming up!"*

note:  the weekend of liam's 8th birthday, chris, chris's dad, and liam drove down to atlanta to watch their beloved los angeles dodgers play the braves.  i asked chris if he could recap the adventure.

In my peripheral vision, I saw what looked like a ball rolling along the concourse, where my dad, Liam, and I were walking as we avoided the rain that was falling on the field before the game.  Before I knew it, a man and his teenage son were asking if we had lost a ball.  These people were wearing enemy uniforms, so I hastily said, "No ... but thanks," and kept on walking.  Five minutes later, they were back again.  This time, I looked more closely.  Considering the fact that they were Braves fans looking at a family wearing Dodger blue, there was a certain kindness.

"Are you sure you don't want this?" they asked.  "Somebody must have dropped it and didn't even realize it."

"Um, sure.  Thanks," I replied, thinking it'd be a nice, if somewhat generic, souvenir for Liam. I took the ball and glanced at it through the clear plastic packaging.  It was only then that I realized what I had been given: a Rawlings Official Game Ball. Someone must have purchased it, thinking they'd get an autograph. I turned it over and my eyes grew wide. The familiar Dodgers logo stared me in the face.  Even though the rain continued to fall, I knew things were looking up.

I'm asked all the time how I became a Dodgers fan, and, as Liam is following in my footsteps, I imagine he'll be answering the same question.  So it's a story I want him to know.  My dad grew up in Jonesboro, North Carolina, which doesn't really even exist anymore.  My dad was a huge baseball fan, but all of his peers rooted for the perennial champion Yankees.  What fun was that, cheering for the same victors that everyone else did?  In those days, a boy could pick up Red Barber radio broadcasts of the Brooklyn Dodgers -- and a lifelong fan was born, following the exploits of Pee Wee Reese, Gil Hodges, Duke Snider, and of course, Jackie Robinson with an almost-religious fervor.

Almost two decades of Dodgers devotion went by before my dad found himself in New Haven, Connecticut, doing family therapy work as part of his graduate program at Yale.  The leader of the group was a beautiful, humble, professional woman named Rachel. Perhaps a year into working with this remarkable woman, some mention was made of Rachel’s husband Jackie.  My father, dumbfounded, turned to a colleague and asked, "You mean that Rachel is married to Jackie Robinson?”

In 1972, after Jackie had passed away, my parents were invited to a party of sorts at the Robinson home, as Rachel needed to hand over some of the philanthropic work Jackie had been doing. My parents, as usual, were the first to arrive. Rachel greeted them and said, "Joe, you might like to see Jackie's game room."  She led my dad downstairs to a room full of bats and balls and gloves.  Hundreds of photographs adorned the walls of Jackie and every world leader you can imagine. My dad just shook his head in awe.  Somehow, a backwoods Dodgers fan who grew up listening to games on the radio down in Jonesboro, North Carolina had found himself in the eighth wonder of the world: Jackie Robinson’s game room.

After an experience like that, is it any wonder that he passed down his love for the Dodgers to his only child?  The Dodgers were one of the things that most connected my dad and me.  I still remember him letting me stay up to watch game 1 of the 1988 World Series, where my beloved Dodgers were David to the Goliath Oakland Athletics.  When Kirk Gibson belted the greatest walk-off homerun ever, I saw it all on the black and white tv in my bedroom, leaping up and down on my bed and screaming with joy.  Many years later, I gave a speech in an adult public speaking class on the moments that led up to that fateful home run.  My genius plan was to create a dramatic build-up with my speech, and then hit play on the video recording of the home run to get a sure-fire A+.   What I didn't anticipate was choking up just trying to tell the story. I got my A+ all right, but more for the “real emotion” I conveyed in my speech (my professor's words) than the content.

The Dodger blood runs true blue in the Mann family.  So, when Liam was born, there really wasn't any question.  He had to be a Dodger fan.  His room and closet are full of Dodgers-related goodies, many of which are sent to me by one of my high school friends, who now covers sports for the LA Times.  (As a die-hard Braves fan, he has no use for all the Dodgers swag that comes his way. But he knows just who does.)

"The Dodgers…trying to catch lightning now"*

Back at the game, the rain subsided, and we headed to our section.  Dad, recently retired, had sprung for the best seats I have ever had at an MLB game, right along the first base side.  So far, Liam's birthday weekend in the ATL was going fantastically well, but what if the rain came back?  What if the Dodgers lost? This summer Liam and I attended four minor league games and one Yankees/Braves game ... none of which were won by the team he was rooting for.  One only needs to read the post about his meltdown at losing at Monopoly to understand that Liam is the poster child for the "agony of defeat."

Although the seats were still damp, some of the pre-game festivities were getting going following batting practice.  We hadn't realized it beforehand, but it was the annual MLB Civil Rights game, where certain civil rights heroes are honored.  We watched as legendary Dodgers pitcher and key to their 1955 World Series title, Don "Newk" Newcombe, waved from a convertible circling the field.  [Note: until Justin Verlander did it in 2011, Newcombe was the only baseball player to have won the Rookie of the Year, Most Valuable Player and Cy Young awards in his career.]  And who was that, taking in the festivities alongside MLB commissioner Bud Selig?  Rachel Robinson, of course.

"High fly ball into right field, she i-i-i-is... gone!!!"*

Then, the game started.  Uh-oh.  Aaron Harang, he of mediocre stuff, was on the mound for the Bums and walked Michael Bourne.  (Even at the ripe age of eight, Liam understands the dangers of walking the leadoff man, particularly when he's a speedster like Bourne.)  Martin Prado then blasted an RBI double.  And just like that, the Braves were leading 1-0.  Liam was starting to fidget with anxiety of the "oh no, not again" variety. To the top of the 2nd inning we went ... and then came HanRam. (He had only been with the Dodgers for a matter of weeks, but we call him HanRam like he's family.)  Hanley clobbered a 418 foot shot, dead center. And the Mann clan came alive.  We didn't have to wait long for more fireworks, as Ramirez, James Loney, and Luis Cruz hit consecutive homers in a span of four pitches.

Back-to-back-to-back.  Even if the Dodgers wound up blowing this game, we had seen a rare feat, and all was right in the world.

"In a year that has been so improbable... the impossible has happened!"*

The 3-1 lead held into the top of the 6th, and HanRam approached the plate once more.  I glanced at Liam, who sat on the edge of his seat, his eyes glued to his new hero.  The bat hit the ball -- and as soon as I heard it, I knew.  I shot up as I watched him circle the bases, my arms raised high, just as exhilarated as the kid who jumped on his bed watching the '88 world series.

The Dodgers had four hits the entire game -- and they were all homeruns.  My voice grew hoarse as I cheered, flanked on one side by my father, and on the other by my son.  Three generations of Manns in our Dodgers blue. 

What a way to spend an eighth birthday.

*Quotes above are from Vin Scully's famous call of Kirk Gibson's walk-off homerun to win game 1 of the 1988 World Series.  Watch the entire bottom of the 9th here: http://www.dailymotion.com/video/xd2fhk_1988-world-series-game-1-bottom-of_sport

(or, for the quick version, click here.)

william joseph mann II and the original william joseph mann

peaks and valleys

years ago, we started the tradition of "peaks and valleys" at dinner each night.  we go around in a circle, and when it's our turn, we share our day's "peak" (our highlight, our favorite part, our happiest moment) and our "valley" (the exact opposite.)  we usually get off on tangents based on what we all share, and one of the kids has to reign us back in.

i always learn a lot about the three people closest to me in my life, just from what they divulge as their peak and valley that day.  and as our schedules get more packed than ever with sports and dance and church activities and work meetings, it's our peak-and-valley moments that make me more determined than ever to continue our family dinners at least five nights a week.  they keep us connected.  which is really one of the most important things a family can be: connected. 

we've dived into the 2012-2013 school year, and the water's feeling mighty fine.  and how do i know this?  from the smiles on their faces, and their stories they regale us with, and the laughter that precedes them as they disembark from the bus every afternoon, of course.  but nothing is as perfect a summary of how they're feeling as their peaks and valleys from the first day of school.  over a meal of spinach burgers (liam's favorite) and sweet potato fries, they both shared the exact same peak and valley.

their peak?  going to school.

and their valley?  having to leave.

i'm immensely thankful that our children love it so.  i know that many kids don't.  and i know that it could change, and probably will, right about the time they hit middle school.  but for now, i know that we are blessed.  we are blessed that they are in an excellent school with teachers who motivate and inspire and challenge them, and surrounded by classmates who learn cooperatively with them.  we are blessed that they are in a beautiful, safe school building with resources and technology that enhances instruction and hundreds of thousands of dollars donated each year by supportive families.  we are blessed to have children who don't struggle academically and who make friends easily and who get up each morning eager to return.

we are blessed.  i know this.  we are blessed.

new backpacks, new shoes, and we were ready to go 15 minutes early ... how nice would it be if this lasted

2nd grader liam with his teacher, ms. hester

first grader susanna with her teacher, mrs. stelpflug (i'm fairly certain i'm spelling that wrong and still have no idea how to pronounce it.  i'm also fairly certain susanna's in the same boat)

all smiles!

switcheroo

i've recently had to put a security lock on my ipad.  our two children are obsessed with it, and after finding them hunched over the thing in darkened corners of random rooms of our house like drug addicts trying to get their fix, i figured the easiest thing to do would be to require a passcode before using it.  problem solved, right?

not so fast.  because for some reason, even without knowing the passcode, there's one feature that they can still access: the pictures.  (i'm sure that this feature can also be disabled; i just haven't gotten around to figuring out how.)  so i will still find my two small people hunched over the thing in darkened corners of random rooms of our house like drug addicts trying to get their fix, but at least now all they can do is peruse the photo gallery.

you'd think this wouldn't be all that enthralling.  you would be wrong.

and i have to say -- i actually don't mind.   it's a fun way to take a trip down memory lane, even if the memories aren't all that old.  this evening found them on the couch in the family room while a thunderstorm raged outside, howling with belly laughs.  "mommy!"  they shrieked.  "remember when we did this?"

and i did.  it was a random afternoon in the early summer and i had lost track of them for an hour or so.  suddenly liam's bedroom door burst open and they called me upstairs, and this is what greeted me:

seems they had switched outfits (and poses) ...

... all the way down to the underwear

it's weird.  summer is rapidly drawing to a close, as school starts monday.  we've met our teachers and bought our supplies and we're all ready to get back into a routine of some sort.  BUT.  it's things like this that i will miss.  the relaxing part of summer.  the laidback days with no big requirements, no rigid appointments.

the carefree afternoons where my children could conspire with their best friend sibling, and dissolve in fits of laughter as they swap clothes and deem it the funniest thing they have ever done.

lesson learned

"how can i earn extra money?"  liam asked me a few weeks ago.  he's under some sort of delusion that if he accumulates enough cash, he can purchase an ipod touch, which can go for well over $100 even used.  i've tried to explain to him that chris and i are not interested in him owning an ipod touch but it seems to be falling on deaf ears.  and really, who am i to squash his entrepreneurial spirit?

he brainstormed ideas: mowing grass, walking dogs, babysitting.  but he's just not quite old enough for any of them, at least by himself.  and then it hit me -- he could help out with yardwork.  we had returned from the beach to find our lawn strewn with branches and limbs and pinecones galore, courtesy of some fairly major storms that had blown through while we were away.

"i will pay you to pick up pinecones," i told him.

he perked up.  "how much?"

i debated whether i should compensate him with an hourly rate, but knowing how he can get distracted and drop whatever he's doing for something more enticing, i decided that it made more sense to pay him for the finished product.  "tell you what.  i'll give you three cents per pinecone."

he mulled it over.  "deal," he finally said, and we shook on it.

he ventured out to the backyard with chris's enormous workgloves on his small hands, since those pinecones can be prickly.  and to be honest, i kind of forgot about him.  i was still busy unpacking and figured that he had likely dropped the gloves and climbed into the hammock or started kicking his soccer ball or practicing his golf swing.

but about an hour later, he burst into the house, a triumphant look on his face.  "mommy!" he yelled.  "i'm finished!  and you owe me $19.50!"

i looked at him.  "honey, there's no way i owe you $19.50.  surely you've done your math incorrectly."

"oh yes you do!  i multiplied 3 cents by 600 and got $18.00, and then multiplied 3 cents by 50, which is $1.50.  and $18.00 plus $1.50 makes $19.50."

for a moment i paused to appreciate the distributive property at work -- as only a geeky math teacher would -- but then i regained my senses.  "you're telling me that you collected six hundred and fifty pinecones?" i asked incredulously.

"yep," he replied.  "come see!"

and sure enough, he had filled three huge bins and most of a wheelbarrow.  i didn't bother to count, but looking at his earnest face, i trusted the total.  but 650?  how was that possible?  it was then i realized that he had expanded his work area to include the woods that surround our backyard -- not exactly what i had in mind, but unfortunately, i had set no boundaries.

i had no choice to pay up.  we had shaken on the deal, which of course is a binding contract with a seven-year old.  i reluctantly retrieved my wallet.

"but just so you know," i said, as i handed him a twenty and told him to keep the change, "i'm adjusting this rate in the future.  you're going to run me out of house and home."

(and yard, come to think of it.)

a mere portion of his haul

eight is great

tomorrow, my sweet liam, you turn EIGHT.  how is it that you keep getting older, while i stay the same age?  :)  in honor of your big day, i wanted to try to encapsulate you in four simple words.  obviously i can't even come close, but i hope that this scratches the surface of the amazing person that you are.

L . I . A . M . 

L is for loving.  you are a huge, warm, cuddly, sweet ball of LOVE.  while some of your friends have already started to shy away from signs of affection with their family in public, you still welcome hugs and kisses from me and your daddy and sister -- no matter who's watching.  when i walk into your classroom to volunteer with centers, you light up and rush over to plant a big wet one on my cheek.  you love to snuggle in bed with all of us, either on a lazy saturday morning or at night after we read harry potter.  and when i found out you still walked susanna down the kindergarten hallway to her classroom every morning, months into the school year?  what bigger sign of love could there be?

I is for inquisitive.  your thirst for knowledge is like nothing i've ever seen before (which is saying a lot, since by now in my career i've taught thousands of students.)  you wonder, wonder, wonder all the time.  some of your questions i can actually answer, like your question from the other day of "what happens when an exponent is negative?"  nothing made me happier than to sit down at the kitchen table with a pad of paper and lead you to discover how negative exponents work -- and then marvel at how you surmised on your own what an exponent of zero actually means.  of course, i have to admit that a few many of your questions i really don't have a clue as to how to answer.  you seem to accept my lack of knowledge in certain areas, and that's when you reach for the ipad to look it up.  you always yearn to learn -- about math, about history, about music, about geography, about sports.  oh, the sports.  which brings us to ... 

A is for athletic.  Lord have mercy, son, is there any ball that you cannot catch/smack/cream/dunk/kick/spin/tackle?  (and forgive me because i'm sure some of those verbs do not really apply, but as your very unathletic mother, i really don't have a clue.  but i'm learning.)  no matter what sport you might be playing, you approach it with an unbelievable amount of focus and intensity and passion.  sometimes it's a bit too much passion -- you put a ridiculous amount of pressure on yourself to win, and have a hard time forgiving yourself for mistakes -- but you care.  you strive to better yourself and will practice for hours in the backyard or on the field or on the court.  trying out and earning a spot on your elite soccer team has really opened your eyes to what is possible when you're surrounded by like-minded peers who all share your same love of the game.  the mom of one of your teammates turned to me the other day and shared with me something i've heard throughout your years of being involved in team sports.  "i just love watching your son!" she said.  "he's so mild-mannered and polite off the field, but then he gets out there and is just tenacious.  it doesn't matter if he's facing a kid who's two feet taller and a few years older -- he will battle them without fear for that ball.  and he usually wins that battle." 

and M is for mine.  okay, full disclosure: i didn't have a perfect "m" word.  i even pulled up a list of adjectives that start with "m" for inspiration, and there were quite a few that applied to you in one way or the another ... like maddening (when you obsess over that dadgum wii), masculine (you are 100% boy to the core!), mannerly, memorable, merciful, merry, mesmerizing, mild, mindful, mindless, modest, moody, motivated, moving, multi-talented, and even malodorous (after sweating it out in a game -- who knew you'd be so stinky at age seven?!).  but none of them seemed perfect.  and then, as i said prayers with you tonight and kissed your sweet soft cheek, it came to me.  i was instantly brought back to the night in the hospital eight years ago.  i remember it like it was just yesterday -- lying in that bed, your daddy by my side, as our doctor placed your small body into my arms.  i stared at your sweet face, i touched your tiny fingers, i felt your heart beat.  and i thought, "this little boy is mine."  and you still are.  you belong to others, surely -- you are God's child, first and foremost -- but please, never ever forget, that you will always be mine.

happy eighth birthday, my loving, inquisitive, athletic little big boy. 

love,
mommy

hair unapparent

in the midst of all my packing for our week-long annual family reunion, it hit me: the last time we had a nice photo taken of the four of us at the beach was when the kids were both small enough to pick up and hold.  so as i stuffed our suitcases to the gills, i made sure to include four outfits that coordinated and, in a moment of divine inspiration, actually ironed them.  (true story: susanna once picked up a play iron in the pretend center at preschool and asked her teacher what it was.)

so one day mid-week while we were there, i forced my loving husband to shave, attempted to tame liam's errant cowlick, forced a hairbow onto susanna, and cajoled my brother to take a few pictures with his fancy camera.  the lighting was good -- sunny, but not too bright -- and it wasn't beastly hot.  the one thing i didn't take into account? the breeze.

we actually got several that are christmas card-worthy and one that i might even consider framing.  but the vast majority all had one problem in common: that aforementioned breeze.  seems that it just took chris's mane and sent it flying.  below is one of those pictures that ben uploaded to facebook, along with chris's self-deprecating comment below.

and then, a few minutes after this exchange, we see this pop up on our screens:

you gotta love digital photography.  and photoshop.  and a brother who's clever enough to create such an image.

but mostly, you gotta love a man who's comfortable enough to embrace the humor of growing old.  which makes him even more attractive than ever ... hair or no hair a little bit less.

wordless wednesday

we've just returned from eight glorious days at three different beaches (and return on saturday for another week.)  i know how lucky we are ... i've been trying to explain to the kids that not everyone gets to spend the majority of their summer hanging out at the coast, but i don't think they quite get it.  but as long as they love it so, and look forward to our next visit by counting down the days, and thank God during our bedtime prayers for the ocean and the sand and all He created, well, i guess that's all i can ask.

all aboard the ferry to bald head island for our annual trip with chris's parents

getting around on golf carts is always one of the highlights

"i think bocce should be in the olympics," says our equal-opportunity sports enthusiast

as we do every year, we wound up running into friends from home unexpectedly.  this time, it was two of susanna's best friends, anna and marion

at topsail, we attended the NC aquarium's weekly program and met some super fun wetlands creatures up close and personal.  (the highlight of this event? the turtle peeing all over the floor as the handler walked around with him)

just when you think you can't get any more relaxed ...

... you realize that your slavedriver mother is a teacher and brings your summer workbooks for you to do even on vacation

a few weeks ago, susanna had marshall toting her around, and now she's got her brother doing the same thing -- she's got these boys wrapped around her little finger

olympic memories, revisited

it's crazy to realize that we have had this blog for so long that i remember writing a post about the  summer olympics the last time they hit the scene four years ago.  seeing as how much olympic fever is coursing through the veins of our children these days, i felt compelled to find my entry from 2008 and read it to them as we took a trip down memory lane.

the crazy thing?  a few hours prior to finding the post, i had our ipad in my lap, with liam and susanna on either side of me, crouched over the screen as we watched players from some of the most obscure countries on the planet battle it out in table tennis.  in case you didn't know, liam tends to become obsessed with things, and devotes probably 90% of his waking hours to thinking and dreaming and discussing ad nauseum whatever his current obsession may be.  this summer's obsession?  ping-pong.  way back in june -- eight long weeks ago -- he played it with his cousin down in atlanta, and has talked non-stop ever since about getting his own set for his birthday.  after i explained to him that we have nowhere to put a ping-pong table, he looked up the measurements in one of his sports encyclopedias, canvassed the house with a measuring tape, and declared the kitchen to be the perfect spot for this new addition.  which, let's face it, is exactly what i had in mind when we renovated.  ("just make sure," i told the architect, "that you leave enough floor space between the island and the pantry so we can put up a ping-pong table.  i think our green walls will coordinate nicely.")

i guess what they say is true -- the more things change, the more things stay the same.

olympic memories 

posted tuesday, august 5, 2008

as all the hype of 8/8/08 approaches (if you've been living under a rock, that's the day the summer olympics begin), chris and i are reminded of the special connection we have with this four-year event. last time around, we were sitting in our family room in asheville enjoying the festivities of the opening ceremonies (or, rather, chris was sitting, while i was kind of sprawled out all over the floor, as i was nine months pregnant.) right around the time zimbabwe took center stage, i turned to chris and told him that i really wasn't feeling great, and left to go take a warm bath.

four hours later, liam was born.

so many of our first memories of liam are actually tied to the olympics, since it was the only thing of any interest on television for the first two weeks of his life. i remember nursing him at 2 a.m. shortly after arriving home, wide awake since i had no idea what i was doing, while listening to table tennis in the background. (that was back in the day when i was sure the glare from the tube would fry his brain, so i actually had it on with the doors of the entertainment center closed.) note: it's unbelievable how serious some people can get about ping-pong. also note: it's rather boring if you can't see it.

assuming we can figure out how to hook up our television in our new family room and that we can locate the necessary remote (two rather big assumptions, given the state of chaos our house will be in due to the move), we're hoping that we can sit down with the kids and catch some of this year's opening ceremonies. i really do love how the world comes together and celebrates the incredible achievements of such amazing individuals.

in case you're interested, table tennis competition begins at 10 p.m. on august 12. and this time, we'll be watching.

doggone it

for two straight years our pediatrician has declared liam to be the worst case of seasonal allergies that has darkened her doorway.  hacking cough, runny nose, watery eyes ... come early spring, he is miserable. 

so i finally took him to an allergist, who conducted a series of tests on his sweet little back.

we figured he had to share chris's allergy of cats, but other than that, we didn't know what to expect.  now we wonder no more.  in no particular order, poor liam is allergic to the following: white birch, red cedar, hickory, white oak, bahia, bermuda, fescue, kentucky blue, cocklebur, english plantain, lambs quarters, ragweed mix, rough pigweed, alternaria, stemphlyium, tree mix, grass mix, and weed mix.  (cat, ironically, was one of the few that did not make the list.)  whew.  good thing we don't have any of those around us.  oh!  and i neglected to mention one last one.  dog.

ever the skeptic, i tried to shrug off the dog thing.  "we've had a dog ever since we brought liam home from the hospital," i told the doctor.  "surely if he really had a problem, we'd be seeing signs."

"oh, there are definite signs," the doctor replied.  "i knew just by looking at him that there was a non-seasonal issue going on."  he pointed out the area under liam's eyes and proceeded to explain what dennie-morgan folds are.  (interested?  click here.) 

"well, i don't think we're quite ready to get rid of the pooch," i said.  "so what do we need to do?"

"the good news is, liam's dog allergy isn't nearly as severe as the others.  so i would just maybe ramp up the number of baths you give your dog. that will go a long way."

please, i thought, trying to telepathically instill silence into my children.  please don't admit to this medical professional that you have never seen us give super a bath.

liam was apparently not tuned into my same telepathic channel.  "mommy, i don't think we've ever --"

i interrupted him and turned back to the doctor.  "well, you see, we have a boxer.  she's short-haired and i've read that they have sensitive skin ..." i trailed off.

"i'm sure you can find some mild shampoo," he replied.  "or, really, just water is fine, if you don't mind smelling a wet dog."

this made me feel better -- no soap was necessary.  "you know, boxers are funny.  they're like cats; they really lick themselves clean.  so i honestly think we're okay."

"actually," said mr. smarty-pants-doctor-who-had-a-response-for-everything, "saliva is where most of the allergens are located.  so that's probably making it worse."

oh.  crud.

we walked out of the office a few minutes later, armed with a boatload of information and a plan.  liam will begin allergy shots that will continue for the next five years, weekly for the first year and tapering off slowly after that.  we will also track down some special, very likely expensive, dog shampoo (since, call me crazy, i do mind smelling a wet dog) and introduce super to the wonderful concept of baths.

and somehow, we will teach our senior citizen canine, who has never even mastered how to freakin' sit, to buck her genetic tendency to self-clean. 

you want me to do what?

what's that phrase about teaching an old dog new tricks?

wordless wednesday: beach style

yippee!  we're back at the beach!

not since we moved back to raleigh (where we're a mere two hours away) have we ever gone until july before getting down to topsail.  but weddings and babies this year have prevented us from driving down any sooner, unfortunately.  we finally made it for the week of the fourth of july with our frequent traveling companions: my best friend lainey, her husband bill, and sons web and marshall.  (in fact, we spent last year's fourth of july with them in the mountains.)

i have to admit that during my first venture across that humming bridge to the island each summer, i feel like i'm whole again.  there's just something about the beach that seems like it's a part of my soul or something.  cheesy, i know.  but with a week like we had, creating amazing memories with family and good friends, it's no wonder why i feel this way.

topsail does its fireworks show on the third of july in an effort to save money, so the kids and i watched them over the sound while waiting for everyone else to arrive

extreme boogie boarding

all that boogie boarding wore out some people

checking out the pier after a hot day on the putt putt course

shell dentures: bill's brilliant idea

for hours each day, susanna and marshall canvassed the wooded lot next door as they created a membership-only club.  you're looking at the president and vice-president, natch

i'm honored to have been given my very own membership card!  (although i suppose i shouldn't be publicizing my secret password on the internet)

skimboarding was a debacle, but paddleboarding and kayaking i could handle

liam figured out how to hold his paddle eventually

a rousing game of badminton with our new net

thankful yet again for huge noggins ... liam's wearing a hat of my dad's since it was the only one we had with a strap

my beach glass collection finally has a home in my kitchen -- on the island, of course

what a difference a vowel makes

at 8:55 a.m. on a monday morning way back in march, i logged onto my computer and readied myself for battle.  online registration for the highly popular local program called "science in the summer" began at 9:00, and i'd been warned that by 9:02, all the slots were usually full.  it sounded like something totally up liam's alley -- and did i mention it's totally free, as it's sponsored by glaxo? -- so i was going to do whatever i could to get him in.  thankfully, he made it.

the theme for this year's program is "simple machines", and when i picked him up today, he handed me a notecard on which he'd written a short synopsis of his morning:

"Dear Mommy and Daddy," i read. "We learned about lovers."

then i turned over the card and, at first glance, was surprised to find the following:

now, i try not to have my mind in the gutter, but am i the only one seeing what i'm seeing?   it seemed that we were getting a lot more than we bargained for with this free week-long camp.  

i just had to giggle.  upon further scrutiny, obviously i realized that there was an "e" and not an "o" ... meaning, that the campers had not learned about lovers, but about LEVERS.  and when i took a moment to really look at his picture, this is the drawing in its entirety:

aah, yes.  there's a fulcrum in that drawing.  and even the word "effort".  if only i'd exerted more of that when looking at the thing in the first place.

teddy

i've always wanted to be an aunt.  even more importantly, i've always wanted my kids to have cousins.  for years i've watched liam and susanna forge amazing relationships with their second-cousins (my cousin's two children) at the beach at our annual family reunion, and have waited patiently for the day to arrive when one of my siblings had a baby of their own.

anyone who knows me knows that patience is not one of my virtues.  so, thankfully on may 25, my dream came true.  theodore grant atkins joined our family, and i can now finally embrace the title of Aunt Sara.

he might be the spitting image of my sister-in-law, but at least the onesie is all me

our aforementioned family reunion is taking place in early august this year, but i just couldn't fathom waiting until then to meet my little nephew, who lives about seven hours away.  and besides, aren't older sisters who've been around the parenting block supposed to pitch in and help in the early weeks?  isn't that part of the job description, as penance of sorts for bossing around and mothering younger siblings throughout their childhood?  if that's indeed the case, i owed my brother big time.

so i drove up to maryland a few weeks ago to love on little teddy.  and i tell you what, i'm grateful that he didn't enter the world before my two, because i learned just how good a baby can be.  i had flashbacks to my colic-ridden daughter who pretty much screamed non-stop for the first twelve weeks of her life, and marveled at how quiet and agreeable and chill my nephew was.  (perhaps if susanna had had some of these traits, we might have had a third.)

newborns sleep.  a lot.  but i still had lots of opportunities to hold him and rock him and feed him and burp him and comfort him and yes, even change a few diapers.  i was honored to be his first-ever babysitter, while my brother and sister-in-law enjoyed a much-deserved night out.  (incidentally, the little booger chose the majority of those five hours as his longest stretch of being awake all week.  i think he just wanted to bond with me.)   i sang him susanna's lullaby, swapping out her name for his; but since i have a history of writing my own lyrics, i figure i should get cracking on writing one for teddy.  it's just what a good aunt does.

i miss him terribly already ... that sweet baby smell and that soft smooth skin and those fluttering eyelids while he sleeps.  i cannot wait for liam and susanna to meet him; i'm sure we'll take pictures of them carefully holding him in their laps on the couch, much like pictures i have of me holding my younger cousins decades ago.  and i'm especially hopeful that by august, he just might give me a knowing smile.  for we've got a special connection.  a nephew-aunt connection.

Aunt Sara.  oh my, do i like the sound of that.

in the interest of full disclosure, my lips are closed to hide my purple-stained teeth.  but i asked teddy if he minded if his babysitter drank a lot little red wine, and he said it wasn't a problem

how i'm just like usain bolt

i was feeling quite adventurous yesterday at the beach.  already i had paddleboarded for the first time, kayaked, and braved a very rough surf with liam and a boogie board.  so as i sat and watched my best friend lainey try to master the art of skimboarding, i thought to myself, why not?  when jumping on a slick board in just a few inches of water, i figured that the worst that could happen was that i might trip or stumble off the edge.  i would be mere centimeters from land.  really, what could possibly go wrong?

oh my.

i neglected to consider a few key points.  for one, i'm not in the least bit athletic; anything that requires gross motor skills has never come easily to me.   for another, i'm not exactly a spring chicken.  i'm slowly approaching forty and i'm already at the point that as soon as i wake up each morning, i stretch in bed to see if any ailments have reared their ugly head overnight.   and for a third, my body does not react well to mishaps.  i was already sporting a rather nasty bruise on my left thigh and had no idea how i acquired it.  it obviously wasn't anything memorable and yet, there i was, trying to position myself in photos so that i didn't look like a battered housewife.

but Lord have mercy, that bruise pales in comparison to what's going on with my right hip now.  or, should i say, the entire right side of my lower body, stretching from my waist to the back of my knee. 

but i digress.  so yes, i tried skimboarding.  i listened to the advice lainey had culled from a friendly beach neighbor who was looking all sorts of professional on her skimboard after apparently only one day of using it.  "just throw it out a few feet ahead of you and then jump on," lainey relayed to me.  "use your back foot to stabilize yourself and just ride it as long as you can."

so i did it.  and it went sort of well.  i probably skimmed a few feet before awkwardly disembarking and retrieving the board for another go at it.  my confidence was up; it was actually fun.  so i geared up for my second run, chucking the board into the shallow surf.  i ran, jumped, and made brief contact with the board.  enough contact, at least, so that i was leaning back on my right foot just like i was supposed to be.  but then, somehow, the board kept going ... and my feet did not.  almost in slow motion, i wound up in mid-air, and then crashed onto my right hip.  hard. the shock of the impact sent my sunglasses flying a few feet in one direction and my visor, which had been fairly tightly affixed to my head, a few feet in another.  lainey scrambled for both as i sat, stunned, in the wet sand.

i may be one of the most emotionally sensitive people i know -- but one thing i pride myself on is my crazily high threshold for physical pain.  i just don't hurt easily, and i hardly ever take any kind of pain medication.  i got through two natural childbirths without so much as an advil and never even once considered an epidural.

but.

this pain was like nothing i've ever experienced.  and as i sat in the surf, actually laughing (mostly from embarrassment),  i also cried a few tears from the pain.  i began to bleed a little -- i think from slamming into some rough sand -- but i knew the real bleeding was taking place below the surface, as i began to swell.

and now, a day later, it is so bad that i literally cannot walk.  i can't really even sit.  as i type this post, i am leaning on my left hipbone, not only to avoid putting pressure on my right side, but also because i am literally protruding about three inches and i'm severely off balance. lainey, bill, and chris, in between rounds of handing me ice packs, have begun to joke that i seem to have a third cheek (and i don't mean of the facial variety.)

it should  make perfect sense that at some point during my first few stages of pain, i likened myself to usain bolt. on our two-hour drive down to the beach earlier this week, liam entertained me by reading out snippets from the olympics cover story of his latest issue of sports illustrated for kids.  one interesting fact was that while most runners hit the track with two times their body weight, usain hits at a force of five times his body weight.  they've somehow analyzed his running, and determined that with each stride, his foot hits the ground with an impact of about a thousand pounds.

with my unfortunate experience today, i am certain that i am just like usain bolt.  i have no doubt that i slammed down onto that sand with about six hundred pounds of force, all concentrated in a small area on my right hip.  i shudder to think about how long it will take my body to completely heal.  i anticipate having to relive this event many times over the course of the next few weeks as i venture to the pool and then back to the beach, because there is no way anyone will take one look at me in a swimsuit without seeing this new part of my body that really should have its own zipcode and wanting to know how it came to be.

so there you have it.  my long and dramatic (but quite accurate) account of how i'm just like usain bolt.  let's just hope he fares a bit better in london than i did in the shallow waters of topsail island.