day four

After another 17-hour drive, we returned home at 1:00 AM this morning from our Florida vacation. However, the fact that we are once again in Virginia, will not preclude me from continuing to post pictures of our epic trip. As the temperature here fluctuates between the 30's and the 50's and we are drenched in Spring showers, I'm really going to enjoy reflecting on our seven-day break to a semi-tropical climate.



Newsflash: I had absolutely no idea how much I missed warmth until this past week. Coating the children in sunscreen every day was a divine luxury.

Last Wednesday, day four of our vacation, was spent at The Children's Museum of the Treasure Coast. If you live in Florida, or are visiting the area around Hutchinson Island, I would highly recommend a visit to this museum ... especially if you have young children. This museum might not be an ideal destination if say, you're a 20-year old on Spring Break.

We adore children's museums and would frequent the one in San Diego at least once a month. Even though we don't live in South Carolina, we currently belong to the phenomenal Children's Museum in Greenville because the purchase of a family membership generally pays for itself, if we visit more than once. For instance, during our "transition" this past summer, we visited no less than five times. In a row. And we fully expect that we'll be returning when we visit my mother and Jim, this coming summer. (Mom and Jim, head's up! How's your schedule in July?)

(Edited to add: If you're a children's museum aficionado, make sure to check out the "Reciprocal Program." It certainly helps the wallet when the children's museum to which you belong participates in this program. As it turns out, The Children's Museum of the Treasure Coast does.) Although not all of the exhibits were complete, what exhibits they do have are perfect for little ones. There's an auto center.



And a vet center.



And there's a pirate ship with a cannon.



Balls are shot over the side of the boat ...



And then retrieved and hoisted back up in a bucket by whomever is on the ground.



There's the galley ...



Where kids can practice their cooking skills.



(I love the little tongue sticking out of the mouth ... a sure sign of concentration.)



Or maybe he's just thinking how tasty his carrot stew will be - for people other than himself - because he wouldn't ever actually eat a carrot.



But apparently they were a necessity for his recipe because once he ran out, he dashed off to the store to pick up some more.



Speaking of the store... the kids took turns working different jobs. Except re-stocking the shelves. It seems that responsibility kept falling to me. Repeatedly. Here's a little boy in the bakery that looks like he's about to fall asleep on his feet.



Vacations can really take it out of you.



Directly outside of the museum is a small water park and since the temperatures were in the low 80's and the children didn't get out of their bathing suits once during any of the daylight hours we were in Florida, there was no question what was next on their agenda.









On the 10-minute drive back to our vacation headquarters, all four of the children dozed off in the car. But once we pulled in to the parking lot, they hopped out and jumped directly in to the hot tub. Here they are strategizing ....



"Whaddya think we should we do, tomorrow?"

our birthday greeting

Today, we're thinking of Papa Alex and wishing him a very Happy Birthday...



Papa Alex, just so you know how addicted to chocolate highly we think of you, we bought a cake in honor of your birthday. If you were here with us, as opposed to 2,500 miles away, we most definitely would have shared a piece with you.



We're sending our best wishes to you for a wonderful birthday and a year full of good health, peace and happiness!

day three

Beach.



Beach.



And more beach.



Also, Djubi on the beach. My how we absolutely love that game.



William graciously offered up his long-sleeved rash guard shirt to his sister who had a slight sunburn on her forearms from earlier in the day. He is such an unbelievably awesome little kid.



We told him that only a man very confident with his masculinity could wear pink.



(Eighty-seven year old Jim agreed, as he donned a pink pastel hat.)

What we've discovered on this trip is that our three-year-old son, Henry, has absolutely no fear of the ocean (or anything for that matter). One minute he'd be methodically destroying the sandcastles that we had just built and the next minute, he'd be running headfirst in to the strong waves that would flip him over and pummel his small body in the surf. All the while, he'd be laughing hysterically. Because didn't you know? Getting beaten up by one of the greatest forces of nature is the funniest thing ... EVER?!?!

Even though we stood hovering over him, we constantly had to snatch him up before he was dragged out to sea. The fact that our young son has absolutely no fear, fills us with great fear. But isn't that the mission of a healthy three-year-old boy?

To shave years off their parent's lives and drive them to the brink of exhaustion?



If so, Henry should be happy to know our hair has turned almost completely white in the past four days and we count the minutes until his bedtime almost from the moment he wakes up. And not because we don't enjoy seeing his incredibly adorable little face ... but because when he's in bed sleeping, we at least know that he's safe.

day two

Yesterday was day two of our vacation and these pictures show the number one reason we are here...

We started the day watching my mother and her team win the community Bocci tournament.







Then Henry crashed the ladies water aerobics class. He had "cannonball" written all over his face as he ran up and jumped in the pool with them while yelling out, "FOLLOW ME, LADIES!"



(Which sounded more like, "FOWWOW ME WADIES!" Thankfully, they were all grandmothers who thought he was adorable. But I still jumped in the pool to grab him a millisecond after I snapped this picture.)



While the weather here is beautiful and the beach is fantastic, the number one reason we made this trip was to visit with Noni and Jimbo. It's true that Grandparents are wonderful creations.



Not only because they stop everything they are doing to sit with you and read the most fascinating stories about hurricanes ...



But because they let you test their blood sugar every morning...



They roll your hair up in curlers...



And they serve you milk in their finest crystal.



Rudolph Giuliani said, "What children need most in life are the essentials that grandparents provide in abundance. They give unconditional love, kindness, patience, humor, comfort, lessons in life. And, most importantly, cookies."



Or in our case ... brownies on the beach.

day one

After a 17-hour drive, we arrived at our destination at 12:45 AM, yesterday morning. We had considered stopping and staying at a hotel 3/4 of the way down, but the thought of unpacking, repacking, and reloading the kids in the car for another day of driving was FAR less palatable than just pushing through. While I drove the final stretch, Charlie was our music man, making sure that we had good tunage playing at all times. Both of us agree that without ELO, we never would have made it past Daytona Beach.



But we passed Daytona Beach and drove three more hours, to a place that we believe is smack dab in the middle of Paradise.









Although, according to some, if this place was really Paradise, there would be more than one pair of binoculars to watch dolphins jumping in the turquoise waves.

road trip

Our family left early this morning for a much-needed vacation. We told the children last night that it was our hope we'd be on the road before sunrise. They were giddy with excitement. But little did they know, our hope never matches our reality when it comes to leaving on time for a road trip.

Largely because by the time Charlie and I finally finish cleaning, packing and loading the car, it's past midnight. Last night we turned in at 1 AM.

This morning, dawn had not yet broken when I heard the pitter patter of little feet come in to our room. It was William.

"Mom! Dad! Wake up! It's time to get dressed and hit the road!" he exclaimed.

We were both feeling so exhausted we just wanted five or better yet, fifty minutes more of shut eye. So, I pulled William in to bed with us and gently rubbing his back negotiated, "Let's just sleep for five more minutes, OK?"

He sighed and said, "OK. I'll just pretend I'm a snooze button."

Charlie and I had just started to doze off again when William called out, "BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! Time to GO! Get up sleepy heads!"

Since neither Charlie nor I could remember whose brilliant idea it was to buy our young son an alarm clock and teach him how to tell time, we both felt obligated to get up, get dressed and hit the road.

We're currently making very good progress as we drive south through North Carolina to a destination where the sun shines brightly and the beaches are warm.

And while we weren't very appreciative at 5 AM for his persistence, now that we're almost halfway there, we're very thankful for our little alarm clock. If not for him, we'd probably still be sleeping.

just when I convince myself that they aren't listening

A few weeks ago, I was volunteering at a program in our children's school. The object of the program is to bring in all the different classes, from first grade through fifth grade, to make sandwiches for one of the local food banks. While our children aren't yet old enough to participate, I'm looking forward to next year when they get to experience this important community service program first hand.

The PTA will supply the bread, mustard and mayonnaise condiment packages, ziploc bags and disposable gloves that the kids need to wear during sandwich prep. The students provide the meat and cheese. Because there seems to be an unlimited supply of bread, how many sandwiches we make are a function of the meat and cheese supply.

So I'm in the cafeteria, helping the fifth grade class make sandwiches and one of the students in an effort to undoubtedly gain a positive reaction from his peers, was rudely slapping sandwiches together haphazardly. I was making my way over to talk with him, but before I even had an opportunity to say a word, one of his classmates spoke up. "Hey Ben," he said. "Why don't you put a little bit more care in to that sandwich? Someone's going to eat it, you know."

Ben laughed at him as he looked around at his friends and replied, "What does it matter? It's not like I'm making a sandwich for the PRESIDENT." The kid who had spoken shrugged his shoulders and put his head down as all the kids standing within close proximity scoffed in agreement with Ben. So me, unable to hold my tongue, chimed in.

"Ben. How do you know you're not making a sandwich for the President?" I asked. "For all you know, one of these sandwiches is going to be consumed by a person who very well one day might be a leader of the free world. Or maybe the person that eats that sandwich will one day discover the cure to cancer - or world hunger - or formulate a plan for peace on earth."

Ten sets of eyes were on me as I concluded, "Ben, it's important that you remember this: Everyone that is born has a purpose. Greatness can come from anywhere. And if you are unable to make these sandwiches with respect for the people that will be eating them," I gestured to the chairs lining the walls of the cafeteria, "then it's perfectly fine with me if you go sit over there."

Ten sets of fifth grade eye brows were raised high as they dutifully returned to the task at hand.

Yeah. Yeah. I'm such a windbag. I know it.

My own children have long been at a point where I will talk to them about certain "global" issues and they just gaze off in to space, or blatantly walk away mid discussion. While I really strive to engage them in topics that are interesting and put them in to a context that they can understand, more often than not, I find myself talking to air.

But I'm not dissuaded.

One day last week, there was a picture on the front page of the Washington Post of a Bangladeshi man who was bathing himself in a Libyan river. He was pouring a bucket of filthy water over his head, as he soaked in stagnant water littered with trash. I showed the picture to my children and pointed out that we are so incredibly fortunate to have clean water and a safe place to live. Sure enough, the children were extremely interested in the picture. But, as it turns out, only because they wanted to go down to our creek and recreate the scene.

"Can we take baths like that, too?" they all asked.

Wha...?

WHAT?

NO. THAT'S NOT THE POINT.

"The point is ... children? Wait! Come back here......"

This past weekend, I took the children in to have their hair cut. While I won't say that I have officially retired my scissors, it was certainly time that they had their hair "corrected", since it's been at least nine months since their locks have been trimmed by a licensed professional.

(It's not that I'm BAD.)

(I'm just not very good at keeping even lines.)

Elizabeth was perched on a foam wedge to boost her up on the chair. As my little one sat there, with the big black salon cape draped across her small frame, she was chatting it up with the stylist. I wasn't fully aware of what they were talking about since I was distracted by watching two other children who were equally perched on foam wedges, but at one point, the stylist pointed to Elizabeth and said, "This one is going to be a lawyer when she grows up."

My daughter spun around and asked, "What's that?" After the stylist tried to explain what a lawyer is, Elizabeth shook her head and said, "No. When I grow up, I'm going to take care of the little children in the world who don't have anyone to love them."



My heart soared as the stylist clutched her hands to her chest and said, "Oh my goodness. That is the sweetest thing I've ever heard!" But my Elizabeth made it that much sweeter when she definitively added with a smile, "Everyone that is born has a porpoise, you know."

what's in you wednesday

Last Tuesday was our first day of P90X.

We completed the second day on Wednesday.

And the third day on Thursday.

By Friday, I was so sore I could hardly move, but we completed our fourth day, a 90-minute yoga session, on Friday night. It wasn't until Saturday, when I woke up and remembered my husband complaining about chest pains on Friday afternoon, that I felt like an idiot for suggesting that he do any additional exercise until he was checked out by a doctor.

Due to the aforementioned health scare, Saturday and Sunday we didn't complete any workouts, unless you count the hours I spent taking online training courses, pouring over the Girl Scout leadership handbook, organizing the troop, setting up a Yahoo Group and sorting through various e-mails about dances and cookie sales and encampment opportunities.

Ah yes, now I better understand why they gave me a standing ovation when I signed on to be the troop leader, three weeks ago...

Charlie had his doctor appointment on Monday. He made that appointment, as we were driving to our new pediatric dentist's office and I asked for the umpteenth time if he'd please just hurry up and call and make an appointment to have his "heart flutters" checked out as soon as possible.

Because Charlie hasn't chosen a doctor since we've moved to Virginia, one was randomly assigned to him from within our health care service plan. When he called the doctor whose name was on his insurance card Monday, he was surprised that it was a Vietnamese practice and English was a very distant second (perhaps even third), language.

Unfortunately, Charlie doesn't speak Vietnamese.

So he called my doctor's office. And when he told them that he had been having heart flutters and some chest pains, they wanted to see him immediately. Not later that week as he had suggested ... but right then.

He was hooked up for an EKG and diagnosed with an abnormal heartbeat and something called a Right Bundle Branch Blockage (RBBB). While BBB's are quite common, the fact that he has this, in conjunction with what we believe may have been atrial fibrillations, has elevated the concern level. So, he has been referred to a cardiologist.

Monday we didn't do any exercise. Last night, he convinced me that he was FINE and we completed day five. But I must admit, I'm not sure if I was so tired from the actual workout, or from looking over at him and worrying that at any moment he would keel over. It was impossible for me to focus on my repetition count, when the only numbers that were dancing through my head were 30 compressions, 2 breaths.

30 compressions, 2 breaths.

30 compressions, 2 breaths.

His appointment with the cardiologist isn't for two weeks and the fact that he wasn't referred immediately, and his doctor has endorsed us taking a vacation next week, gives me hope that this isn't as dire of a situation as my mind is trying to lead me to believe. Regardless, we'll probably be taking it easy for a little while until we can get a clear diagnosis on his condition and ensure that he's safe to BRING IT for the next three months.



At the moment, just hearing the words, "abnormal, blockage and heart" in the same sentence as my husband, love of my life, father of my children, better half - is raising my own heart rate more than any workout I've done in the past week.

six year old production

Every night, there is a show at our house.



Sometimes, it's the kids standing on their step stools in the living room, singing in to hairbrushes. Sometimes, it's everyone in the family busting out some crazy dance moves to ABBA. This is particularly fun since we haven't had any curtains up on our bay window so the living room is much like a fishbowl at night. We've witnessed cars visibly slowing down to watch the dancing scene.



(Notice, the new plantation shutters that we had installed last week. I hope the neighbors don't terribly miss the free nightly entertainment.)

Every so often, Charlie and I will be treated to a play. In this context, the word "treated" means, we are repeatedly asked (50 times or more), "MOM! DAD! MOM! DAD! MOMDADMOMDAD! come watch us! COME WATCH US! We're putting on a play!!"

Tonight's production was called, "Pirate, Chicken, Queen, Super Hero."

The plot had something to do with a pirate that caught a chicken and put the chicken in a cage and the queen liked to sleep a lot. The super hero ran around the room, with one arm outstretched, ramming in to everything while yelling, SUPAH HEYWHOA!

Then, suddenly and without warning, the pirate turned in to a baby chicken?



I'm not sure exactly how this happened, but one minute the pirate hat was gone and in it's place was a tuft of soft down.



Apparently, the baby chicken hatched from an egg that was ALMOST eaten by the pirate and that prompted the queen to start singing, "The Sun Will Come Out, Tomorrow."



What I assume was the mother chicken, who laid the egg, was very happy to see that she now had a baby. Her rejoicing was truncated when the super hero head butted her and she fell on top of the baby chicken, taking out the queen on the way down. Everyone cried. However. The entire cast got back up on their feet, took a bow, and soaked in the standing ovation that their father and I gave to them.



We were clapping madly not just because we were so impressed to see our children's imaginations at work ... but because half the cast squeezed in to costumes that we bought for them four years ago.



And it's certainly not EVERY DAY you see a six year old wearing a baby chicken costume designed for a 12-month-old.



Then again, around here, it's not that unusual.