How King Neptune Kicked my Arse

Yesterday was one of those days that in retrospect was splendid and torture at the same time. I took Juni to the Neptune Festival - a 45 minute drive down to the Virginia Beach boardwalk. It took 45 minutes to get there, and another 45 minutes to find a parking spot. We ended at 33rd street, where the festival ended.
We watched the parade, played in the sand and surf, ate hot dogs and kettle corn. He ran around and squealed at dogs, and around 20th street we bought a John Deere chair he's had his eye on for some time.
We both planned to see the sand sculptures. These people are not playing around with this sand. They use (literally) tons of sand and creative supplies. It's amazing.
It also began at 12th street. We walked the boardwalk until we hit the sand sculpture. The hike took about 2 hours, but we were lallygagging half the way. He saw a few castles, and then decided to hit the park on the beach. I knew we were flirting with danger ... by this time it was nearly 2 p.m. Time for toddler tantrums and over tiredness. Of course younger child ripped out a huge handful of Juni's hair, and he cried for 30 minutes both from the pain and embarrassment. I don't know where this kid's parents were, but if I ever find them they should run. Fast.
That was the end of the fun. We came off the boardwalk and onto the street at 8th street. Our car was on 33rd street. You do the math. That's a long way, especially after walking from 8th to 33rd (13 blocks with a wooden JD chair in tow).
It's offseason at the beach now. This means no taxis. No trolley. And apparently, none of those guys with bikes that tow you around. So we began to walk.
We made it to 12th street before we suffered our first tantrum. I had one arm to hoist him onto my hip. We'd also acquired a kite, reel and half-full bag of kettle corn to tote around.
The second tantrum began at 13th street and pretty much ended at the car. It sucked. I made the executive decision to make the hike one street off of the main drag so his tantrums wouldn't be quite to horrible without toy stores in sight.
My only option was the scoop and run. I carried this kid from 13st street to 33rd street. Let's do the math again. That a really friggin long way with a chair, kite, reel of string, kettle corn, purse and 38 lb dead-weight toddler. I switched arms as much as possible, and we took breaks.
Desperation began to take over. We were tired. Sweaty. And the Tech game started in 30 minutes. Each block seemed like a mile. I began to fantasize about hitching a ride with a nice, non-homicidal-looking elderly couple, or bribing some kids to carry him part of the way, or hitching a ride in someone else's stroller.
A marine, his wife and daughter were in the same situation. The man had a hurt foot, and hobbled behind his wife who toted their daughter. We'd pass them, they'd pass us, we'd pass them. And we were all three bitching the whole way.
When I saw our car it was like a mirage. That pool of water in the desert. My patience was shot. So were my arms, knees, neck and back. I drove home, listening to Tech whip Miami while Juni napped in the back.
The last time my body felt this sore was when Jasen and I rafted down the upper Gauley river in W. Va. I pretty much feel like I've ran a marathon.
But I'm glad I did it. Juni and I are a team. We have our great kettle corn moments, and then our disastrous tantrums on the corner of Atlantic and 17th. But it's worth it. Life is good.

Who Stole the F'in Cookies?...

Jasen and Juni did the grocery shopping this week. I was just too much of a wreck after loosing Shelby. They came back with three things: a 3 lb bag of shredded mozzarella cheese, chocolate oatmeal cookie dough, and that frozen cookie dough that is already in the shape of cookies, so you can bake one or 12.

I love cookie dough. Especially sugar cookie dough. I could eat it at least 3 times a day. My husband knows this, and therefore never keeps it in the house. He knows I'd eat it and then blame him for bringing the evil substance into my home.
Jasen and Juni had cookies that night, and I will admit I had two. I also fully admit I ate a raw one just before bed. It was probably midnight or so. The next night, Juni asked for the sugar cookies, and Jasen couldn't find them. He asked me, I said I'd eaten one the night before, and that I'd also returned them to the freezer.
My redneck husband proceeded to tell me that cookies don't just walk away. Someone took them. And that someone was me. He actually accused me not only of eating 12 raw cookies, but then hiding the empty wrapper in the trash, and then lying about it. Are you kidding me? I pretty much shut down at that point. I could care less where the cookies were, and figured Juni had put them someone in a pretend kitchen. I was sure we'd find them by following either the smell or ants in a few weeks.
But my husband, at 8 p.m., actually went outside to the big trash can, and dug through it. Because he thought his wife would actually eat that much and hide the evidence. My feelings were definitely crushed, but beyond that I was just plain pissed. Thirty minutes and 55 arguments later Jasen found said cookie dough in the freezer; it had just fallen under the drawer.
I asked for an apology, and he refused. Said he still thinks it's something I would do. I still don't think he realizes why I've been pretty much silent to him for the past three days. He goes through these phases where he'll just completely become agitated at me for no reason, and then ride my butt like ... well I don't even know what. He's in one of those phases where I'm supposed to cook dinner, cut the grass, do the paperwork for the business, run all the errands, clean the house, be where and do what he needs at a moments notice and ... oh yeah ... raise a human being to be a positive addition to the human race. No biggie...I may not speak to him for another 6 days, but I've totally got this under control...

What's wrong with your eyes?

My baby Shelby Sue (my Sheltie I'd had since college) passed away last week. It was horribly traumatic, and I'm heartbroken. I'm definitely not ready to blog about that day yet, but when I am, I definitely believe it will help me heal. In the meantime, I'll post some more uplifting stories. Here's one from the day after Shelby died. I'd cried for the entire night, and much of the morning before dropping my son off at preschool and going to my pottery class. I knew I needed to be around people who loved their dogs as much as I do...

The last day of each session we have a potluck for lunch in class. This week, I wanted to bake a cake and decorate it for our instructor's birthday. Ron, a retired fireman (about 60 or so) usually makes a chocolate cake, but I really wanted to try my hand at baking this new recipe. So he let me take the task.
I walked into pottery, and he immediately asked, when I plopped down a Farm Fresh cake on the table "Where's this great cake you promised? I thought you were going to bake and decorate all morning for us?"
Let me make it perfectly clear that Ron is one of the kindest, sweetest men. He's in a class with 10 women ranging in age from 31 to 89, so he's heard it all and laughs every bit of it off. All I could squeak out was "I had a bad day."
I had my back turned to him, so he continued to make fun of me. Until I turned around, tears streaming down my face. He felt so bad that he grinded down all of my sharp edges of my pottery.
My instructor told me the story of when she smothered her favorite bird in a pullout couch, and she cried.

But here's the absolute best story. Definitely the best. Peggy is pushing 80, and the first time I met her, she asked me "so what's the deal with crystal meth?" Like I would know. Then she proceeded to describe the nude cruise she and her husband had just taken. Told me she was tired of private parts right next to the buffet line.
Anyway, Peggy told me the story of her friend, who's husband had passed away. She'd invited a man to live with her, and he was also 80. She was slowly backing out of her garage, when she hit something. Hard. And something big. It was her boyfriend. This woman ran OVER her 80-year-old boyfriend, who had collapsed and passed out from a heart attack.
I asked Peggy if he'd died, and she said "yes. I'm sure it was a combination of both a heart attack and being run over by a car. Either way, it's pretty damn funny when you think about it."

That was the first and only time I smiled that day.

Juni the Toddler goes to School

Last night I tucked Juni into bed and he fell immediately asleep. I, on the other hand, didn't turn off the light until after 1 a.m. He wasn't nervous about meeting new kids, listening to new rules from new teachers,  a new classroom with new expectations, or having his bus moved from the green light on the blackboard to the yellow or (gasp) the red.
Juni didn't have those wasps in his tummy or racing thoughts in his mind. He felt sad that his best friend wouldn't be in his class, but the thought of legos in the classroom hushed that hesitation.
Juni felt no anxiety over beginning preschool. It was me.
I don't think I went to preschool. If I did, I don't remember. I do, however, remember my first day of kindergarten. The Sesame Street toy. Nap time. Play time. Letter time. I remember hiding on the school bus, because I didn't want to go home. I wanted to go back to school. I remember my mom's face after she'd chased the bus back to the school, sick and frazzled with worry about her missing daughter, who was comfortably wedged beneath the seat along with old gummy bears and snack packs.
I loved school. Hopefully, my son will take after me and love school too. Today he would act excited one moment and nervous the next. I was the last mommy to leave the room, but he didn't cry. Hopefully, as I type, Juni is sitting next to his new best friend. Hopefully, Juni is learning that he likes school. Hopefully, Juni is learning that Mommy's anxiety about change doesn't have to transfer to him.
Here's the poem his teacher handed me as I rushed out the door, both happy and sad.

The First Day
I gave you a little wink and smile as you entered my room today. For I know how hard it is to leave, and know your child must stay.
You've been with him for three years now and have been a loving guide, but now, alas, the time has come to leave him at my side.
Just know that as you drive away, and tears down your cheeks may flow; I'll love him as I would my own, and help him learn and grown. For as a parent, I too know, how quickly the years do pass; and that one day soon it will be my turn to take my child to class.
So please put your mind at east and cry those tears no more. For I will love him and take him in when you leave him at my door.