We're on vacation at the beach (because we don't go there enough, we now have to devote an entire week to beachin' it!). The weather is perfect. Our condo is AWESOME! We're right next door to the in-laws and steps from the beach and pool. Though the one downer is that Little Man is sick as a dog - his timing is WAY off. He apparently didn't get the memo that there's no sickness allowed on vacation. So Carter and I are switching off taking Sister all the places she needs to explore (and there are many!). I'm hoping Little Man's is a quick virus that will shoo out any minute, but for now, it's condo-bound time for him (and us).
I'll post pics as soon as I get a tan (can't do any of those first few days of vacation pics with the ghastly whiteness!).
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
The Pedi
I OBVIOUSLY have a different form of relaxation and pampering than, oh say, 98% of the female population because I have now learned that pedicures ARE NOT MY THING. Yowsers. Prior to today I have had 1. It was either before my senior prom or before my wedding. I can't remember much (that's how momentous it was) but I do vaguely remember sitting in the chair while someone whiddled away at my feet and thinking I would never do it again. Then I saw one of those expose Datelines or 48 Hours shows that showed all the undercover nastiness in those foot spa pool things that you're required to soak in. According to that show they clean them about every never and then you get gangrene and die a slow painful death. Again I vowed not to ever get one. Until today...
In thinking of my next 2 weeks on vacation I thought it would be nice to not have to worry about the state of my toes (though I typically don't worry too much about them anyway) so I'd get them professionally done.
Should have taken that thought captive. Dang it.
I took the Girl with me for moral support and made her walk in ahead of me in case they pounced (that's the kind of selfless Mom I am). They asked how they could help (or at least that's what I assumed they said through THICK accents) and I said, "Well, here's the thing, I've not done this in a really long time, and I'm not sure how........." Seeing no signs of understanding in the eyes looking at me (and there were MANY), I quickly surmised I must speak in one word sentences.
"Pedicure."
Ahhhhhh. Sweet understanding. He told me to pick a color and I just stood there. Do I just say "Pink" and assume he knows what shade I mean? He asks me again and I just nod and say profoundly: "Pink."
Laughter.
Though I'm 31, I still can't handle being laughed at. Then he points to a wall and says for the 3rd time, "Pick color." Ahhh. Come Little One, let us embark on our color picking journey. Then he points to a chair. Do I stand next to it? Do I hop aboard? TELL ME PEOPLE... I NEED DIRECTION HERE. I get in, after his prompting, and he fires up the massage chair. After about 2 minutes of working on my feet, he rolls backward on his stool and says "I no work until you relax." Was it that obvious I was dying a slow internal anxiety-filled death in that chair? Must have been.
I survived the war he engaged upon my feet and after sitting them under a dryer, I go to pay. Here's the kicker, folks. PEDICURES COST MONEY! Now I knew it would cost something, but I sure as heck never saw "$25 dollar please" coming! I panicked, thought quickly about grabbing a bottle of polish remover and saying "Just kidding, didn't want one" while running out the door. Thankfully, I didn't. I pulled out the money ever so slowly and thought about the MANY MANY MANY important items I could have purchased for $25: diapers, food, 1/2 tank of gas, 1 ticket plus lunch at Summer Waves, etc etc etc. But no friends. That darn $25 went to pay for toe-flippin-polish.
It better last until Christmas.
In thinking of my next 2 weeks on vacation I thought it would be nice to not have to worry about the state of my toes (though I typically don't worry too much about them anyway) so I'd get them professionally done.
Should have taken that thought captive. Dang it.
I took the Girl with me for moral support and made her walk in ahead of me in case they pounced (that's the kind of selfless Mom I am). They asked how they could help (or at least that's what I assumed they said through THICK accents) and I said, "Well, here's the thing, I've not done this in a really long time, and I'm not sure how........." Seeing no signs of understanding in the eyes looking at me (and there were MANY), I quickly surmised I must speak in one word sentences.
"Pedicure."
Ahhhhhh. Sweet understanding. He told me to pick a color and I just stood there. Do I just say "Pink" and assume he knows what shade I mean? He asks me again and I just nod and say profoundly: "Pink."
Laughter.
Though I'm 31, I still can't handle being laughed at. Then he points to a wall and says for the 3rd time, "Pick color." Ahhh. Come Little One, let us embark on our color picking journey. Then he points to a chair. Do I stand next to it? Do I hop aboard? TELL ME PEOPLE... I NEED DIRECTION HERE. I get in, after his prompting, and he fires up the massage chair. After about 2 minutes of working on my feet, he rolls backward on his stool and says "I no work until you relax." Was it that obvious I was dying a slow internal anxiety-filled death in that chair? Must have been.
I survived the war he engaged upon my feet and after sitting them under a dryer, I go to pay. Here's the kicker, folks. PEDICURES COST MONEY! Now I knew it would cost something, but I sure as heck never saw "$25 dollar please" coming! I panicked, thought quickly about grabbing a bottle of polish remover and saying "Just kidding, didn't want one" while running out the door. Thankfully, I didn't. I pulled out the money ever so slowly and thought about the MANY MANY MANY important items I could have purchased for $25: diapers, food, 1/2 tank of gas, 1 ticket plus lunch at Summer Waves, etc etc etc. But no friends. That darn $25 went to pay for toe-flippin-polish.
It better last until Christmas.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Summer Nights
Warm weather + Popsicles = Happy babies
Proper popsicle eating is serious business in our neck of the woods.
Our nightly tradition leaves its mark.
Proper popsicle eating is serious business in our neck of the woods.
Our nightly tradition leaves its mark.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Whoops!
I often hear or read of people who have "Aha!" moments. Those moments of realization where everything becomes right with the world. I, on the other hand, tend to have more of the "Whoops!" moments than the "Aha!" moments. The whoops moments do tend to stay ingrained in your brain as well, so that when another whoops moment occurs, you're quickly reminded that you've done these types of things before and you obviously didn't learn from them. I've had MANY but there are 2 that have stayed with me for a LONG time...just to keep me humble I guess.
The first was in 6th grade. It was P.E. class and there was a boy who was the object of my affection (and had been since kindergarten) sitting close by. He was obviously not giving me enough attention, so in order to increase his awareness of me I thought I would be my typical funny self and win some points. My best friend at the time was on floor level (we were in the bleachers) talking with our coach. I ran down the steps and shanked her like there's no tomorrow. (For those not familiar with "shanking", just know she was left in her skivvy drawers since I'd pulled down her shorts...in front of the ENTIRE 6th grade). Immediately, I was overcome with a "Whoops!" moment realization. I don't know if it was the sprints from the other 3 coaches coming toward me, the scream and utter disbelief from my (former) best friend, or the look of "That was so uncool" by the boy of my affection. Or maybe all 3 put together. Either way, a definite whoops.
Fast forward to high school (of which there were COUNTLESS whoops's with this next individual). Again, having to do with the boy of my affection - this time a different one, and this time more of an adult...ok, a teacher at my school. But not my teacher, so that makes it ok. Right. I had arrived to school early and was in the cafeteria where we had to stay before the bell rings. I was sitting with my friends when my inner radar went off and I saw the Coach walking through the cafeteria. Thinking I would be funny (I need to stop with the humor - it obviously gets me in trouble), I jumped up and raced over to him and was going to act like I was scaring him by jumping out. Not so much. I did jump out. I did attempt to scare him. In the process, I smacked his coffee out of his hands and all over his clothes, thus adding some burn to his already fired-up self. Whoops.
Today I had another one. You would think I grew out of these, but not so much. The kiddos and I were outside in the 412 degree heat when I thought it would be a good idea to fill up their stand-up water box (a sand box I choose not to put sand in). I grabbed the hose from the front of the house and screwed it in to the backyard nozzle. It still had a sprinkler attached to it so I sneakily placed the sprinkler right next to the kids so they would get sprayed when I turned the water on (funny I thought...there I go trying to throw humor to a future whoops situation). I sneak back, turn the water on full blast therefore drinching the kids. I hear screams like I've never heard and I start laughing. Then it looks like they're screaming in pain and they start running around the back yard (out of the sprinkler) still screaming (and now in tears). What in the world? I go to feel the water thinking it must be made of nails and HOLY COW the water was about 412 degrees itself. The hose had been sitting in the sun for a good week, baking the idle water inside, and that's the water I chose to drench the kids with. Ummmm, yes. Quite the whoops situation. Thankfully, all recovered after a good dousing of cold water. So don't turn me in.
The first was in 6th grade. It was P.E. class and there was a boy who was the object of my affection (and had been since kindergarten) sitting close by. He was obviously not giving me enough attention, so in order to increase his awareness of me I thought I would be my typical funny self and win some points. My best friend at the time was on floor level (we were in the bleachers) talking with our coach. I ran down the steps and shanked her like there's no tomorrow. (For those not familiar with "shanking", just know she was left in her skivvy drawers since I'd pulled down her shorts...in front of the ENTIRE 6th grade). Immediately, I was overcome with a "Whoops!" moment realization. I don't know if it was the sprints from the other 3 coaches coming toward me, the scream and utter disbelief from my (former) best friend, or the look of "That was so uncool" by the boy of my affection. Or maybe all 3 put together. Either way, a definite whoops.
Fast forward to high school (of which there were COUNTLESS whoops's with this next individual). Again, having to do with the boy of my affection - this time a different one, and this time more of an adult...ok, a teacher at my school. But not my teacher, so that makes it ok. Right. I had arrived to school early and was in the cafeteria where we had to stay before the bell rings. I was sitting with my friends when my inner radar went off and I saw the Coach walking through the cafeteria. Thinking I would be funny (I need to stop with the humor - it obviously gets me in trouble), I jumped up and raced over to him and was going to act like I was scaring him by jumping out. Not so much. I did jump out. I did attempt to scare him. In the process, I smacked his coffee out of his hands and all over his clothes, thus adding some burn to his already fired-up self. Whoops.
Today I had another one. You would think I grew out of these, but not so much. The kiddos and I were outside in the 412 degree heat when I thought it would be a good idea to fill up their stand-up water box (a sand box I choose not to put sand in). I grabbed the hose from the front of the house and screwed it in to the backyard nozzle. It still had a sprinkler attached to it so I sneakily placed the sprinkler right next to the kids so they would get sprayed when I turned the water on (funny I thought...there I go trying to throw humor to a future whoops situation). I sneak back, turn the water on full blast therefore drinching the kids. I hear screams like I've never heard and I start laughing. Then it looks like they're screaming in pain and they start running around the back yard (out of the sprinkler) still screaming (and now in tears). What in the world? I go to feel the water thinking it must be made of nails and HOLY COW the water was about 412 degrees itself. The hose had been sitting in the sun for a good week, baking the idle water inside, and that's the water I chose to drench the kids with. Ummmm, yes. Quite the whoops situation. Thankfully, all recovered after a good dousing of cold water. So don't turn me in.
Friday, June 13, 2008
The Big Debut
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Sandy Days
My entire house is filled with sand. My car is filled with sand. My garage is filled with sand. I'm surprised there's any sand left on the beaches of coastal Georgia. Summertime is official.
I'm leading the Bible stories in VBS this week for preschoolers (shoot me now!) and one of the daily lessons is about being thankful. As I was writing out the lesson at home and asking the usual "What are you thankful for" questions for the 3 year olds, I was answering the questions in my head and realized how thankful I am to live where I live. I have a standing date at the beach every Friday with my kiddos. Then of course we have to add in a day (or two) on the weekends so Daddy can come along. And toward the first of the week I get a jonesin in my bones to smell the salty air and we make our way back. The beach bag NEVER gets cleaned out because I just add to it every few days, occasionally switching out beach towels if they start smelling rank. The most used wardrobe items around here are bathing suits and each of the kids has at least 5 - just in case the washing machine (and all sinks) explode and we need to beach it for a week straight. Always prepared...just like boy scouts.
And when we vacation, where do we go? Further south. To other beaches.
I hate that I have to jealousize all my peeps who live away from the coast, but just know, dear peeps, that not a day goes by that I take my beach-livin' opportunity for granted. I hereby state that I will do my best to serve my fellow coastals in attending beach days at consistent available weather-permitting times. Ne'er will I take that for granted (except during a hurricane when I may be calling for a place to stay). This is my solemn vow. I'm a former Brownie so it counts.
I'm leading the Bible stories in VBS this week for preschoolers (shoot me now!) and one of the daily lessons is about being thankful. As I was writing out the lesson at home and asking the usual "What are you thankful for" questions for the 3 year olds, I was answering the questions in my head and realized how thankful I am to live where I live. I have a standing date at the beach every Friday with my kiddos. Then of course we have to add in a day (or two) on the weekends so Daddy can come along. And toward the first of the week I get a jonesin in my bones to smell the salty air and we make our way back. The beach bag NEVER gets cleaned out because I just add to it every few days, occasionally switching out beach towels if they start smelling rank. The most used wardrobe items around here are bathing suits and each of the kids has at least 5 - just in case the washing machine (and all sinks) explode and we need to beach it for a week straight. Always prepared...just like boy scouts.
And when we vacation, where do we go? Further south. To other beaches.
I hate that I have to jealousize all my peeps who live away from the coast, but just know, dear peeps, that not a day goes by that I take my beach-livin' opportunity for granted. I hereby state that I will do my best to serve my fellow coastals in attending beach days at consistent available weather-permitting times. Ne'er will I take that for granted (except during a hurricane when I may be calling for a place to stay). This is my solemn vow. I'm a former Brownie so it counts.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Weekly Hilarities
And, yes, I made that word up in the title.
Every day, every week there is something hilarious that comes out of my 3 year old's mouth. I would have to start taking a notebook with me everywhere to catch them all (which I may start doing), but there's a few that take the cake and keep me laughing well after the fact.
Convo #1
When Daddy first sees his little girl in a flower girl dress with hair dolled up and cuteness everywhere, misty eyed:
"Daddy, you always cry cuz I'm so pretty don't you?"
Busted.
Convo #2
Little Man has been having some aggression "issues" towards his big sis. After a small incident where he caused great pain and many tears, I placed him in his crib to "decompress" for a moment (or maybe that was me?) before I addressed the issue. Before going back in his room, Sister said "Mommy I'll have the talk with him" (as she knows "the talk" quite well). "No, no" I say, "Mommy needs to talk to him. You stay out." I go into his room, close the door, remove him from his crib and sit down in the rocking chair to have "the talk". He looks at me intently and I give him the no-nonsense "Mister, you CANNOT hit your sister anymore." From under the door I hear, "AND LOVE TAPS ARE NOT OK EITHER, MISTER!" as she sprays her fingers under the door for added effect.
Convo #3
On a walk, both kids in the double jogging stroller doing quite well until Little Man, of course, does what he can to annoy his sister. She panics and I give her the "Chill, Sister, he's just playing." "But Mommy," she declares, "I AM NOT A TOY!" Well said smart one. Well said.
Every day, every week there is something hilarious that comes out of my 3 year old's mouth. I would have to start taking a notebook with me everywhere to catch them all (which I may start doing), but there's a few that take the cake and keep me laughing well after the fact.
Convo #1
When Daddy first sees his little girl in a flower girl dress with hair dolled up and cuteness everywhere, misty eyed:
"Daddy, you always cry cuz I'm so pretty don't you?"
Busted.
Convo #2
Little Man has been having some aggression "issues" towards his big sis. After a small incident where he caused great pain and many tears, I placed him in his crib to "decompress" for a moment (or maybe that was me?) before I addressed the issue. Before going back in his room, Sister said "Mommy I'll have the talk with him" (as she knows "the talk" quite well). "No, no" I say, "Mommy needs to talk to him. You stay out." I go into his room, close the door, remove him from his crib and sit down in the rocking chair to have "the talk". He looks at me intently and I give him the no-nonsense "Mister, you CANNOT hit your sister anymore." From under the door I hear, "AND LOVE TAPS ARE NOT OK EITHER, MISTER!" as she sprays her fingers under the door for added effect.
Convo #3
On a walk, both kids in the double jogging stroller doing quite well until Little Man, of course, does what he can to annoy his sister. She panics and I give her the "Chill, Sister, he's just playing." "But Mommy," she declares, "I AM NOT A TOY!" Well said smart one. Well said.
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