Juni is not a movie-going sort of kid. He's a play in the mud, work in the garden, rearrange the flower bed sort of kid. But we were heading into week two of a ridiculous heat wave, and I decided it was time to try the movie theater again.
Last fall he made it 40 minutes into the Chipmunk's Squeakuel. I can't say I wasn't relieved. That was just a headache waiting to happen.
This time I brought backup - Juni's best friend and his mom. We met at the theater early to make sure we beat the daycare buses to the free movie. It was 85 degrees and 9:15 am.
It's important to note at this time that i do not wear shorts unless it's more than 100 degrees outside and I'm fairly positive I will not see another human being that day. I hate my legs. With a passion. And so on this given day, I chose to wear jeans. Mistake No. 1.
I'm not sure why the heat bothered me so much. Maybe it was the 314 kids whining and squirming and fussing with each other. Maybe I didn't drink enough water that morning. Maybe it was too much makeup. I don't know. The point is, I began to sweat. A lot.
You may think I'm exaggerating here. Believe me, I am not. People were staring. My friend offered to stand in line while I sat in my car. My eyes were burning from the salt in my sweat pouring into my eyes. My chest was absolutely drenched. My entire shirt was soaked, as were my pants.
I have never seen another human being spew sweat from their glands as much as I did that morning. Juni kept trying to hang on me, and I was so irritated I reverted to what I told Jasen while I was in labor "I love you. But please. Stop touching me!"
By the time we made it into the theater I honestly didn't care what people were thinking. I went directly to the napkins at the concessions and started mopping up what I could. Insane.
So I was uncomfortable going into the movie, Hotel for Dogs.
I was surprised when Juni made it through the entire movie. This is not to say he didn't fidget, or squirm, or say he was ready to go home every 23 minutes.
What did surprise me is that watching a movie with Juni is worse than watching a movie with my redneck husband. Jasen is a mindless movie watcher. If the plot is he least bit intricate he's lost. If there's a flashback, he's out.
It drives me insane. He asks me questions I can't possibly answer. I'm constantly telling him "dude. I've been watching this movie as long as you have. I don't have any more information than you do. Now shut the hell up and watch the friggin movie."
As tedious as watching a move with Jasen is, with Juni it's worse. My child asked me questions the entire movie. He never stopped talking. And it's not like Hotel for Dogs is all that hard to follow. He wanted to know where people were going, what they were doing, what was going to happen, why that was going to happen, why, why, WHY?
Forty-five minutes into the movie I turned to my friend and just started to laugh. I didn't know what else to do. No way in hell could I answer one more question. I needed a serious dose of Tylenol.
Juni reminded me of my little cousin that day. Always asking why. But my friend gave me some insight that her younger brother told her the other day. Her younger brother always asked why, and it drive his parents and sibling crazy. But t also hurt his feelings. Apparently, he really did want to know why.
Kids are curious. And intelligent people naturally want to know why. And so I decided after the movie that I'm blessed to have healthy, smart, curious child that can ask why. And while I may sneak in a giggle or roll my eyes occasionally, I'm going to do my best to answer his why.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Friday, June 25, 2010
A Conscious Decision
Today I made a conscious decision I've put off for four years. Someone wrote this to me in relation to career vs. parenthood:
"I realized that right now, right NOW, i have a gift. These guys are growing up so fast. They're like these brilliant little flowers. And what I can give them right now will be something they have for the rest of their lives. And hopefully, hopefully, what I give them now will be good stuff."
People have told me for four years to stop obsessing about my lack of career. About feeling like I'm wasting my degrees. But something about the way this was put, and the fact that he is in the exact same position as me, made me realize that childhood is but a blip on the radar.
He made me realize that that self-worth is self-defined. And he sent me a link to this poem:
Always in my heart ...
My dishes went unwashed today,
I didn't make the bed,
I took his hand and followed
Where his eager footsteps led.
Oh yes, we went adventuring,
My little son and I...
Exploring all the great outdoors
Beneath the summer sky
We waded in a crystal stream,
We wandered through a wood...
My kitchen wasn't swept today
But life was gay and good.
We found a cool, sun-dappled glade
And now my small son knows
How Mother Bunny hides her nest,
Where jack-in-the-pulpit grows.
We watched a robin feed her young,
We climbed a sunlit hill...
Saw cloud-sheep scamper through the sky,
We plucked a daffodil.
That my house was neglected,
That I didn't brush the stairs,
In twenty years, no one on earth
Will know, or even care.
But that I've helped my little boy
To noble manhood grow,
In twenty years, the whole wide world
May look and see and know.
Author: Unknown
I realize that explaining to Jasen why the house is a complete mess is something I'll never completely master. He personally doesn't get it. But that's okay. I may not have my name in print everyday, but, really, does that matter?
My son didn't have to puke with a stranger. I got to hold him, and stroke is clammy little head when he cried for me. I got to tell him that everything was all right, and that "Mommy's right here." I got to tell and show my son just how much I love him. It may sound completely ridiculous and disgusting, but the fact that I was there to clean up my son's puke was the greatest gift.
When all was said and done, my son knew I was there for him. That I'll always be here for him. And then we got to play in the pool, string shells we collected on fishing line, and watch Tom and Jerry together. When he's 30 I'm sure he won't remember today. But I will.
I'll remember every day since his birth. I'll remember the sleepless nights. I'll remember the diapers, the spit up, the puke and the boo-boos. I'll remember the kisses that make it all better, the snuggles, the zurberts and the laughs. I'll remember how my heart burns to think of him growing even one day older. And the pride I feel as that one day older passes and I see the person he is becoming.
I've been with my son every day since he was born. And that's something that has changed my life, my being, my soul, forever. That's something that when I'm 90 I will remember and cherish.
Today I made the conscious decision to not waste one more second worrying about working. I have my Redneck Husband to do that for me.
Every day since Juni's birth I've thanked God for him, and for the gift of raising him every moment of every day. Today, I made the conscious decision to let go of the remnants of guilt for not working. Because when it comes right down to it, work can kiss the fattest part of my behind. Raising Juni is the best kind of "work" imaginable. And I deserve every minute of it.
"I realized that right now, right NOW, i have a gift. These guys are growing up so fast. They're like these brilliant little flowers. And what I can give them right now will be something they have for the rest of their lives. And hopefully, hopefully, what I give them now will be good stuff."
People have told me for four years to stop obsessing about my lack of career. About feeling like I'm wasting my degrees. But something about the way this was put, and the fact that he is in the exact same position as me, made me realize that childhood is but a blip on the radar.
He made me realize that that self-worth is self-defined. And he sent me a link to this poem:
Always in my heart ...
My dishes went unwashed today,
I didn't make the bed,
I took his hand and followed
Where his eager footsteps led.
Oh yes, we went adventuring,
My little son and I...
Exploring all the great outdoors
Beneath the summer sky
We waded in a crystal stream,
We wandered through a wood...
My kitchen wasn't swept today
But life was gay and good.
We found a cool, sun-dappled glade
And now my small son knows
How Mother Bunny hides her nest,
Where jack-in-the-pulpit grows.
We watched a robin feed her young,
We climbed a sunlit hill...
Saw cloud-sheep scamper through the sky,
We plucked a daffodil.
That my house was neglected,
That I didn't brush the stairs,
In twenty years, no one on earth
Will know, or even care.
But that I've helped my little boy
To noble manhood grow,
In twenty years, the whole wide world
May look and see and know.
Author: Unknown
I realize that explaining to Jasen why the house is a complete mess is something I'll never completely master. He personally doesn't get it. But that's okay. I may not have my name in print everyday, but, really, does that matter?
My son didn't have to puke with a stranger. I got to hold him, and stroke is clammy little head when he cried for me. I got to tell him that everything was all right, and that "Mommy's right here." I got to tell and show my son just how much I love him. It may sound completely ridiculous and disgusting, but the fact that I was there to clean up my son's puke was the greatest gift.
When all was said and done, my son knew I was there for him. That I'll always be here for him. And then we got to play in the pool, string shells we collected on fishing line, and watch Tom and Jerry together. When he's 30 I'm sure he won't remember today. But I will.
I'll remember every day since his birth. I'll remember the sleepless nights. I'll remember the diapers, the spit up, the puke and the boo-boos. I'll remember the kisses that make it all better, the snuggles, the zurberts and the laughs. I'll remember how my heart burns to think of him growing even one day older. And the pride I feel as that one day older passes and I see the person he is becoming.
I've been with my son every day since he was born. And that's something that has changed my life, my being, my soul, forever. That's something that when I'm 90 I will remember and cherish.
Today I made the conscious decision to not waste one more second worrying about working. I have my Redneck Husband to do that for me.
Every day since Juni's birth I've thanked God for him, and for the gift of raising him every moment of every day. Today, I made the conscious decision to let go of the remnants of guilt for not working. Because when it comes right down to it, work can kiss the fattest part of my behind. Raising Juni is the best kind of "work" imaginable. And I deserve every minute of it.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
PukeFest 2010
Mothers always tell me that their own kid's bodily yuckiness doesn't make them gag. I, personally, find that what comes out of my child's body can be so vile it makes me dry heave.
Last night was no exception. Juni came home from VBS at 9:30 p.m., totally worked up and singing something about God being his hero. Completely adorable. He fell asleep in my bed, and slept in his until midnight. And that's when the fun began.
He woke up, screaming "Mommy!" Let me explain something - my child wakes up screaming my name several times a week. It's insane. And annoying. But every time, I dash into his room, trying to get there before Jasen wakes up. I call him a sleeping bear at night. "Don't wake the Daddy Bear, Juni! He bites!"
I get into Juni's room in time for him to tell me that his tummy hurts. Uh-Oh. Before I can find the puke bucket, he's spewing half-digested mystery food two feet in front of his body. On the bed. On the pillows. On his pants. In his hair. The smell overtakes he room, and me.
It's at this point that I realize I definitely need backup. I wake the sleeping bear for puke patrol. I'm opening windows, tuning on fans, gagging and dry-heaving. Juni is busy sloshing around his bed in his own vomit.
Once he takes a break, Jasen holds him up by his armpits, and I strip him of his sodden clothes. Bits of goo and mush scatter across his carpet. His white, Berber carpet. Ugh.
Jasen takes care of the bath, and I strip his bed and stuff everything into the wash. I'm giving my lungs a workout, holding my breath as long as I can before dashing into the hallway for fresh air. It's 95 degrees outside, the air is pumping full time, and I don't care. I'm basically just trying to preserve my dinner, which was wonderful going down, but would be completely miserable coming back up.
I actually had to vacuum up bits of barf off of his floor. I thought using carpet cleaner and 7th Generation on the bed frame would help mask the smell. Not so much. It smelled like an elementary hallway when a kid looses their lunch and the janitor covers it in that pink saw dusty stuff. (Umm...yeah...I literally just got the nausea lump in my throat).
To sum up a long night, I'd sleep for an hour, Juni would puke. I'd sleep for another hour, Juni would puke. He's such a good kid...much better than me when I'm sick. He'd use his little bucket (the pink rectangular one you get at the hospital when you deliver), take a sip of water, and go right back to bed.
This morning he puked again, but everything after the initial PukeFest 2010 has been nothing but clear fluid. I have no idea what the kid ate that's made his stomach so pissed off, but at this point he hasn't eaten in more than 12 hours. And of course I'm terrified to feed him. And he's feeling fine. He'll hand me the pink puke pail and immediately ask "Mommy, where we going today?"
Oy...
Last night was no exception. Juni came home from VBS at 9:30 p.m., totally worked up and singing something about God being his hero. Completely adorable. He fell asleep in my bed, and slept in his until midnight. And that's when the fun began.
He woke up, screaming "Mommy!" Let me explain something - my child wakes up screaming my name several times a week. It's insane. And annoying. But every time, I dash into his room, trying to get there before Jasen wakes up. I call him a sleeping bear at night. "Don't wake the Daddy Bear, Juni! He bites!"
I get into Juni's room in time for him to tell me that his tummy hurts. Uh-Oh. Before I can find the puke bucket, he's spewing half-digested mystery food two feet in front of his body. On the bed. On the pillows. On his pants. In his hair. The smell overtakes he room, and me.
It's at this point that I realize I definitely need backup. I wake the sleeping bear for puke patrol. I'm opening windows, tuning on fans, gagging and dry-heaving. Juni is busy sloshing around his bed in his own vomit.
Once he takes a break, Jasen holds him up by his armpits, and I strip him of his sodden clothes. Bits of goo and mush scatter across his carpet. His white, Berber carpet. Ugh.
Jasen takes care of the bath, and I strip his bed and stuff everything into the wash. I'm giving my lungs a workout, holding my breath as long as I can before dashing into the hallway for fresh air. It's 95 degrees outside, the air is pumping full time, and I don't care. I'm basically just trying to preserve my dinner, which was wonderful going down, but would be completely miserable coming back up.
I actually had to vacuum up bits of barf off of his floor. I thought using carpet cleaner and 7th Generation on the bed frame would help mask the smell. Not so much. It smelled like an elementary hallway when a kid looses their lunch and the janitor covers it in that pink saw dusty stuff. (Umm...yeah...I literally just got the nausea lump in my throat).
To sum up a long night, I'd sleep for an hour, Juni would puke. I'd sleep for another hour, Juni would puke. He's such a good kid...much better than me when I'm sick. He'd use his little bucket (the pink rectangular one you get at the hospital when you deliver), take a sip of water, and go right back to bed.
This morning he puked again, but everything after the initial PukeFest 2010 has been nothing but clear fluid. I have no idea what the kid ate that's made his stomach so pissed off, but at this point he hasn't eaten in more than 12 hours. And of course I'm terrified to feed him. And he's feeling fine. He'll hand me the pink puke pail and immediately ask "Mommy, where we going today?"
Oy...
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Is it a Bad thing to want to Shove that {wooden!} gun down my son's throat?
No trip to the OBX is complete without a trip to a Wings. If you're unfamiliar with Wings, let me enlighten you.
It's filled to the brim with cheap crap. Sand toys, floats, bathing suits, ridiculous t-shirts, coffee mugs with boobies on them, magnets. It's insanity, really. But Jasen wanted to get me another dress, and he wanted a sign for the pool house.
Of course Juni was told he could get a souvenir. And of course, true to my buzzard luck, he picked this wooded gun that shoots out a wine bottle cork, makes a loud popping noise, and then sucks he cork back into the barrel with a shoe string.
It is quite possibly the most obnoxious toy next to the whistle. If I ever find the person who created this toy (along with the inventor of panty hose, waxing, and heels) I will take that gun and beat him to death with it.
The reason I feel so strongly about said gun is this...Juni popped that damned gun in the car so many times that I at one point seriously considered the thought that I may have suffered permanent hearing loss.
The ride home was insane. Juni asked ever 34 seconds if we were at CeCe's house to pick up Sadie yet. Jasen had to stop along the way to put more ice on the 13 pounds of meat he could never eat on the vacation, and he had to buy a very cool hammock swing.
And of course there was the gun. And cop.
That's right, a cop. I got pulled. I'm laughing at Juni while he's shooting Jasen in the back of the head with the gun, thinking what a wonderful week we've had, when I see those blue lights and ... damn it ... I'm going 12 miles over.
Immediately Jasen is cussing. And Juni is asking if I'm going to jail. And I'm explaining to Jasen where the registration is, and to Juni that no, I am not going to jail, while the cop is peering into the passenger window.
He turns around and spends a few minutes in his car. It's at this point that Jasen gets pissed. And I'm feeling like a jackass who just made a few-hundred dollar mistake, and Juni has begun to again shoot his gun.
The cop comes back with a written warning. It was an awesome end to an awesome vacation. I got to tell Jasen he got all worked up for nothing, and I didn't have to deal with a ticket. Total and complete awesomeness.
This vacation was a complete success. Coming home and getting back into our routine wasn't the easiest thing in the world, but it was so worth it. We're refreshed, we're tan, and we're ready to begin our action-packed summer.
It's filled to the brim with cheap crap. Sand toys, floats, bathing suits, ridiculous t-shirts, coffee mugs with boobies on them, magnets. It's insanity, really. But Jasen wanted to get me another dress, and he wanted a sign for the pool house.
Of course Juni was told he could get a souvenir. And of course, true to my buzzard luck, he picked this wooded gun that shoots out a wine bottle cork, makes a loud popping noise, and then sucks he cork back into the barrel with a shoe string.
It is quite possibly the most obnoxious toy next to the whistle. If I ever find the person who created this toy (along with the inventor of panty hose, waxing, and heels) I will take that gun and beat him to death with it.
The reason I feel so strongly about said gun is this...Juni popped that damned gun in the car so many times that I at one point seriously considered the thought that I may have suffered permanent hearing loss.
The ride home was insane. Juni asked ever 34 seconds if we were at CeCe's house to pick up Sadie yet. Jasen had to stop along the way to put more ice on the 13 pounds of meat he could never eat on the vacation, and he had to buy a very cool hammock swing.
And of course there was the gun. And cop.
That's right, a cop. I got pulled. I'm laughing at Juni while he's shooting Jasen in the back of the head with the gun, thinking what a wonderful week we've had, when I see those blue lights and ... damn it ... I'm going 12 miles over.
Immediately Jasen is cussing. And Juni is asking if I'm going to jail. And I'm explaining to Jasen where the registration is, and to Juni that no, I am not going to jail, while the cop is peering into the passenger window.
He turns around and spends a few minutes in his car. It's at this point that Jasen gets pissed. And I'm feeling like a jackass who just made a few-hundred dollar mistake, and Juni has begun to again shoot his gun.
The cop comes back with a written warning. It was an awesome end to an awesome vacation. I got to tell Jasen he got all worked up for nothing, and I didn't have to deal with a ticket. Total and complete awesomeness.
This vacation was a complete success. Coming home and getting back into our routine wasn't the easiest thing in the world, but it was so worth it. We're refreshed, we're tan, and we're ready to begin our action-packed summer.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Damn you, you Sneaky Little Shark
The three of us spent the rest of the vacation on the beach. We decided to drive onto the beach at one point. It rocked. I will never again pay that ridiculous premium price for oceanfront. Our next house will be sound front, all the way.
We fished, we boogie-boarded, we ran from jellyfish, I searched for a shark's tooth to no avail. At one point, Jasen looks at me and says "Seriously, babe, what would you be doing all day if you didn't have shark's teeth to look for?"
I've searched for 32 years for a shark's tooth, and have never found a single one. It's turning into an obsession, really. At this point, the odds of me coming across a shark's tooth are slim to none. And yet I will still gleefully spend hours with my butt in the hair, all the blood rushing to my head, and my eyes going fuzzy staring at millions of rocks and shell pieces.
I ran up and down the beach pulling Juni on his boogie board until he caught a wave. Jasen caught no fish, of course, and drank a few beers. It was a wonderful day. Both of us, I think, realized the benefit in the European vacation mindset. We need to decompress and relax at some point. If we keep going like a machine, that machine will inevitably break.
But after five days I missed Sadie, my bed, and my house. We packed up our bags, the 12 bags of groceries I knew we'd never eat, and headed home. The vacation was wonderful. It was the first time the three of us got away from the stress. It was the first time we got away from a routine. And it was the first time we didn't try to kill each other for 5 whole days. Until the ride home...
We fished, we boogie-boarded, we ran from jellyfish, I searched for a shark's tooth to no avail. At one point, Jasen looks at me and says "Seriously, babe, what would you be doing all day if you didn't have shark's teeth to look for?"
I've searched for 32 years for a shark's tooth, and have never found a single one. It's turning into an obsession, really. At this point, the odds of me coming across a shark's tooth are slim to none. And yet I will still gleefully spend hours with my butt in the hair, all the blood rushing to my head, and my eyes going fuzzy staring at millions of rocks and shell pieces.
I ran up and down the beach pulling Juni on his boogie board until he caught a wave. Jasen caught no fish, of course, and drank a few beers. It was a wonderful day. Both of us, I think, realized the benefit in the European vacation mindset. We need to decompress and relax at some point. If we keep going like a machine, that machine will inevitably break.
But after five days I missed Sadie, my bed, and my house. We packed up our bags, the 12 bags of groceries I knew we'd never eat, and headed home. The vacation was wonderful. It was the first time the three of us got away from the stress. It was the first time we got away from a routine. And it was the first time we didn't try to kill each other for 5 whole days. Until the ride home...
Monday, June 14, 2010
To the Beach to the Beach to the Beach Beach Beach
Juni and I sing all day. We sing about going to the beach, hence the title.
After practicing gluttony during breakfast we worked on laziness for a few hours, watching Juni and Evie play in the living room. The two of them are hilarious. Juni tries to tell her not to do, Evie responds by shouting "No!"
Juni takes a toy, Evie pinches his skin and shouts "No!"
Then Juni takes all of the pillows off of the couch, CeCe makes a tent and Evie shrieks in giggles, flaps her arms like a bird and spins in circles.
I packed up 52 pounds of crap to lug over the ginormous dune in the back yard and rounded up the troops for the beach.
We suffocated ourselves in spray sunscreen. Jasen learned that yes, he should spray his chest because yes, sun rays do burn through hair, and we played with the kids all day. Jamie really took the brunt of the beach duty, digging holes for Juni on command and toting Evie between our spot and the shore.
Jasen tent idea was good in theory, a disaster in reality. The wind ripped through it like God only knows what and sent the fabric and poles inverted and threatening to tumble down the beach taking out clueless sunfried bodies.
So we trashed the tent and baked. After a few hours of digging and running and splashing we headed back to the house for a swim in the pool and hot dogs on the grill.
You'd think we would have passed out on the couches, but decided to suck it up and drive to Ocracoke, which includes a ferry trip.
It probably would have been a good idea to tell Jasen about my irrational fear of ferry boats before our car was packed like a sardine, but I, true to form of having the worst timing in the world, waited until we were indeed packed like sardines to explain why I was planning my escape and rescue of Juni and Evie.
In my mind a ferry boat is a death trap. I picture the boat going down and the cars becoming pinballs. People that don't get crushed by a stray car get yanked down with the wreckage. Game over. End of story. So my plan was to say close to the kids in case of disaster. When the captain came on the loudspeaker and explained we were all destined to rot at the bottom of the sound, I would insist we all jumped ship before getting hit or pulled under. So as I was standing on the ferry, admiring the view, I had to remind myself not to jump.
I know. Irrational.
Of course we didn't sink, nor did I jump. But I did get sea sick. Fun times until the boat rocked the wrong way and my hot dog threatened to come back for an encore.
We spent the rest of the afternoon with Jasen and Jamie getting us lost on the island while driving a golf cart. Juni sat in the middle and navigated, and Evie split her time between perching on Jamie's lap and trying to throw herself off of the back of the golf cart, and playing peek-a-boo with bike riders. Classic Norge/Jarvis fun.
We phoned a friend to find the best places to eat on the way home. As luck would have it, the kids were still awake when we reached destination No. 1, which was closed.
The Mad Crabber was 30 minutes further. We woke the kids up and had dinner. Juni also had his first liquor drink. I'm talking and laughing with the adults when I hear a straw slurp. Before Juni got his drink.
""Um...Juni? Did you just drink mommy's drink?" "Um...yeah. I sorry, Mommy. I just wanted a taste it." "It's okay, honey. We're on vacation. But how you feelin, alky?" "Good. Mommy. you wanna play pool?"
Excellent. My son has learned the proper bar etiquette of drinks and pool.
Juni fell asleep on the way to the house. Evie screamed at CeCe for 10 minutes before pooping out. Day 2 goes down as a success. The only thing missing was, big surprise, a bath for Juni. The vacation smell was beginning to remind me of Sunsucks at this point, but whatever.
After practicing gluttony during breakfast we worked on laziness for a few hours, watching Juni and Evie play in the living room. The two of them are hilarious. Juni tries to tell her not to do, Evie responds by shouting "No!"
Juni takes a toy, Evie pinches his skin and shouts "No!"
Then Juni takes all of the pillows off of the couch, CeCe makes a tent and Evie shrieks in giggles, flaps her arms like a bird and spins in circles.
I packed up 52 pounds of crap to lug over the ginormous dune in the back yard and rounded up the troops for the beach.
We suffocated ourselves in spray sunscreen. Jasen learned that yes, he should spray his chest because yes, sun rays do burn through hair, and we played with the kids all day. Jamie really took the brunt of the beach duty, digging holes for Juni on command and toting Evie between our spot and the shore.
Jasen tent idea was good in theory, a disaster in reality. The wind ripped through it like God only knows what and sent the fabric and poles inverted and threatening to tumble down the beach taking out clueless sunfried bodies.
So we trashed the tent and baked. After a few hours of digging and running and splashing we headed back to the house for a swim in the pool and hot dogs on the grill.
You'd think we would have passed out on the couches, but decided to suck it up and drive to Ocracoke, which includes a ferry trip.
It probably would have been a good idea to tell Jasen about my irrational fear of ferry boats before our car was packed like a sardine, but I, true to form of having the worst timing in the world, waited until we were indeed packed like sardines to explain why I was planning my escape and rescue of Juni and Evie.
In my mind a ferry boat is a death trap. I picture the boat going down and the cars becoming pinballs. People that don't get crushed by a stray car get yanked down with the wreckage. Game over. End of story. So my plan was to say close to the kids in case of disaster. When the captain came on the loudspeaker and explained we were all destined to rot at the bottom of the sound, I would insist we all jumped ship before getting hit or pulled under. So as I was standing on the ferry, admiring the view, I had to remind myself not to jump.
I know. Irrational.
Of course we didn't sink, nor did I jump. But I did get sea sick. Fun times until the boat rocked the wrong way and my hot dog threatened to come back for an encore.
We spent the rest of the afternoon with Jasen and Jamie getting us lost on the island while driving a golf cart. Juni sat in the middle and navigated, and Evie split her time between perching on Jamie's lap and trying to throw herself off of the back of the golf cart, and playing peek-a-boo with bike riders. Classic Norge/Jarvis fun.
We phoned a friend to find the best places to eat on the way home. As luck would have it, the kids were still awake when we reached destination No. 1, which was closed.
The Mad Crabber was 30 minutes further. We woke the kids up and had dinner. Juni also had his first liquor drink. I'm talking and laughing with the adults when I hear a straw slurp. Before Juni got his drink.
""Um...Juni? Did you just drink mommy's drink?" "Um...yeah. I sorry, Mommy. I just wanted a taste it." "It's okay, honey. We're on vacation. But how you feelin, alky?" "Good. Mommy. you wanna play pool?"
Excellent. My son has learned the proper bar etiquette of drinks and pool.
Juni fell asleep on the way to the house. Evie screamed at CeCe for 10 minutes before pooping out. Day 2 goes down as a success. The only thing missing was, big surprise, a bath for Juni. The vacation smell was beginning to remind me of Sunsucks at this point, but whatever.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Oh, Breakwater, How I Love Thee
Let me just say our new digs were s.w.e.e.t. Seriously. Five bedrooms, all with multiple pillows and extra blankets. Big, plush couches that I could lounge on. Real glasses and plates. A television that was bigger than Juni's portable DVD player. A private pool. A hot tub. A double jacuzzi tub.
The thermostat read 86 degrees inside the house, but it didn't smell like dead rodent. It smelled like the beach.
I called CeCe. This place rocked. And it had extra bedrooms. Time to get the Jarvis family to take a road trip to Rodanthe!
The only problem with having CeCe, Jamie and Evie coming to the house was that I told Juni too early. Three hours too early. Think of the bit about "are we there yet" and insert "are they here yet? When they gonna be here, mommy? Evie here yet?"
It was awesome. Jasen drank too much jungle juice and tipped over the La-Z-Boy. Juni and I laughed and took pictures.
Juni dumped out his self-packed suitcase of toys and built a train track. I didn't have to spend my time searching for ways to cover couches with blankets and mask hideous smells. It was lovely.
CeCe, Jamie and Evie arrived about 8:30 p.m. Right about The kids' bedtimes. But Juni had other plans. I'd mentioned something about fishing earlier, and that's what stuck in his head. And I figured we were on vacation, so no worries.
We made it to the Rodanthe Pier at 9:30 p.m. Thirty dollars and one hour later and Juni was asleep on Jasen's lap as he fished off of a wooden bench. No one caught any fish but it was wonderful.
The wind in m face, the smell of the ocean, the lights of the other houses on shore. It was magical. I toted Juni back to the 4Runner and headed to the house for a bath in my tub for ten. The only thing missing from this day was a bath for Juni. But I chalked that up to vacation smell, tucked him into his bottom bunk, and passed out beside Jasen.
We all slept like rocks and woke up to the smell of Jasen and Jamie cooking bacon, eggs and serving fresh coffee, orange juice and donuts. Yep. Breakwater rocks my world. Day One goes down as a success.
The thermostat read 86 degrees inside the house, but it didn't smell like dead rodent. It smelled like the beach.
I called CeCe. This place rocked. And it had extra bedrooms. Time to get the Jarvis family to take a road trip to Rodanthe!
The only problem with having CeCe, Jamie and Evie coming to the house was that I told Juni too early. Three hours too early. Think of the bit about "are we there yet" and insert "are they here yet? When they gonna be here, mommy? Evie here yet?"
It was awesome. Jasen drank too much jungle juice and tipped over the La-Z-Boy. Juni and I laughed and took pictures.
Juni dumped out his self-packed suitcase of toys and built a train track. I didn't have to spend my time searching for ways to cover couches with blankets and mask hideous smells. It was lovely.
CeCe, Jamie and Evie arrived about 8:30 p.m. Right about The kids' bedtimes. But Juni had other plans. I'd mentioned something about fishing earlier, and that's what stuck in his head. And I figured we were on vacation, so no worries.
We made it to the Rodanthe Pier at 9:30 p.m. Thirty dollars and one hour later and Juni was asleep on Jasen's lap as he fished off of a wooden bench. No one caught any fish but it was wonderful.
The wind in m face, the smell of the ocean, the lights of the other houses on shore. It was magical. I toted Juni back to the 4Runner and headed to the house for a bath in my tub for ten. The only thing missing from this day was a bath for Juni. But I chalked that up to vacation smell, tucked him into his bottom bunk, and passed out beside Jasen.
We all slept like rocks and woke up to the smell of Jasen and Jamie cooking bacon, eggs and serving fresh coffee, orange juice and donuts. Yep. Breakwater rocks my world. Day One goes down as a success.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
SunFun Sucks
Okay. I learned a lesson on this vacation. Don't go for the value. Go for the luxury. I also learned that signs go both ways. It was a sign that the house was available. It was also a sign that the key didn't work. And Juni had to poop. Both signs read "do not enter. there's poop inside."
SunFun seemed great on paper: Two queen beds, one bunk, bedding included; Two full baths, one with a jacuzzi tub, towels included; A short path walk to the beach, A wrap-around deck on the roof with a hammock and picnic table, Bikes. Grills. Games.
What more could we ask for? Well, for starters, how about a house that DOESN'T smell like a dead rat? That's right. You read it. the whole house smelled like a dead rat. Or, as the maintenance guy put it, mold resulting from a leak in the dishwasher that the owner fixed with duct tape.
And it gets better. Apparently we were the only chumps they could find to rent SunFun for quite a while. The house needed some serious help. On top of the dead rat smell it was musty. Stale. Damp. The walls were dirty and in need of a paint job 4 years ago. The couches were wooden and from 1975. Uncomfortable. The bedding consisted of sheets washed 3,000 times and one flat pillow. Juni's bunk beds were meant for miniatures. The rooms were so small I had to crawl over the bed to get to the dresser. The bathtub had peeling stickers in the bottom. The glasses were plastic. The bikes were rust buckets.
And did I mention that in Jasen's rush to pack our entire house that he threw in a rotten onion which exploded, dumped the bag of sugar on the bread, and that the milk leaked everywhere? Yeah. That happened, too. But I digress.
I picked up the phone to call the rental agency, and surprise surprise. The phones don't work. Oh...and one more thing...the path to the beach hadn't been used in about a decade - it was overgrown with prickly cactusy plants that bit juni and stuck inside his comfy pants.
So I call from my cell and head outside for some fresh 90-degree air. I found the shed, and found the grill. Which was pretty much a rust bucket. The grate was rusted and useless. Awesome. I'd vetoed Jasen's plea to bring his Smokey Joe in lieu of my super-cool beach chair that's also a backpack.
So I popped a Xanax to stop the panic rising in my throat from the thought of spending 5 days and 4 nights in this dump, and head to the nearest grocery store for anything to make this house livable. My thought was to buy so many candles that they overpowered the carnage smell. I was going to need a lot of friggin candles.
I called CeCe. I needed to vent. And tell her I may very well be found the next morning suffocated from the smell.
I bought 5 candles, bread, pub mix and a grill grate. Oh...and a light-up plastic beer mug. I needed some sort of parting gift to say "I'm so sorry, honey, for spending our hard-earned money on this place" and the mug was the best I could do in the middle of BFE.
I'm driving back to SunSucks when Jasen calls. The agency had a cancellation, and we're getting bumped up. Really up. For the same price. Jackpot!
SunFun seemed great on paper: Two queen beds, one bunk, bedding included; Two full baths, one with a jacuzzi tub, towels included; A short path walk to the beach, A wrap-around deck on the roof with a hammock and picnic table, Bikes. Grills. Games.
What more could we ask for? Well, for starters, how about a house that DOESN'T smell like a dead rat? That's right. You read it. the whole house smelled like a dead rat. Or, as the maintenance guy put it, mold resulting from a leak in the dishwasher that the owner fixed with duct tape.
And it gets better. Apparently we were the only chumps they could find to rent SunFun for quite a while. The house needed some serious help. On top of the dead rat smell it was musty. Stale. Damp. The walls were dirty and in need of a paint job 4 years ago. The couches were wooden and from 1975. Uncomfortable. The bedding consisted of sheets washed 3,000 times and one flat pillow. Juni's bunk beds were meant for miniatures. The rooms were so small I had to crawl over the bed to get to the dresser. The bathtub had peeling stickers in the bottom. The glasses were plastic. The bikes were rust buckets.
And did I mention that in Jasen's rush to pack our entire house that he threw in a rotten onion which exploded, dumped the bag of sugar on the bread, and that the milk leaked everywhere? Yeah. That happened, too. But I digress.
I picked up the phone to call the rental agency, and surprise surprise. The phones don't work. Oh...and one more thing...the path to the beach hadn't been used in about a decade - it was overgrown with prickly cactusy plants that bit juni and stuck inside his comfy pants.
So I call from my cell and head outside for some fresh 90-degree air. I found the shed, and found the grill. Which was pretty much a rust bucket. The grate was rusted and useless. Awesome. I'd vetoed Jasen's plea to bring his Smokey Joe in lieu of my super-cool beach chair that's also a backpack.
So I popped a Xanax to stop the panic rising in my throat from the thought of spending 5 days and 4 nights in this dump, and head to the nearest grocery store for anything to make this house livable. My thought was to buy so many candles that they overpowered the carnage smell. I was going to need a lot of friggin candles.
I called CeCe. I needed to vent. And tell her I may very well be found the next morning suffocated from the smell.
I bought 5 candles, bread, pub mix and a grill grate. Oh...and a light-up plastic beer mug. I needed some sort of parting gift to say "I'm so sorry, honey, for spending our hard-earned money on this place" and the mug was the best I could do in the middle of BFE.
I'm driving back to SunSucks when Jasen calls. The agency had a cancellation, and we're getting bumped up. Really up. For the same price. Jackpot!
Friday, June 11, 2010
Are we there Yet?
My Redneck husband loves his house. He built his house. He does not like to leave his house. According to him, if he needed something at his house, he would have built it by now.
Okay, Thoreau, when you get back from the pond just let me know. This ingenious literary pun was lost on my husband. Shocker.
It's this reasoning that has left the two of us without a real vacation since our honeymoon 7 years ago. Which, for the most part, has been fine with me. But everyone needs a vacation. I figure we deserve a few days of rest and relaxation. We work hard, we pay our bills, and we need to get away.
So I brought up the idea of renting a house in the Outer Banks a few weeks ago. I realize it was last-minute, but I also realize that's the only way things work with Jasen's work. Work when you've got it. That's how we live.
So of course he blew me off, and said "we'll see." And then I blinked, and it was the Friday before our anniversary. I looked up the house, SunFun, that I'd had my eye on. And it was still available. A sign, I decided.
I ran downstairs, put on my most puppy-like face, popped the question and batted my eyes. And got shot down. The crew wanted the weekend off to go surfing, he had a job to finish, blah-blah-blah.
But I was undeterred. I wanted this as my anniversary gift, and decided to play dirty. I cried. I know, it's wrong. And it's not the way to get what you want. But desperate times call for desperate measures. And I was desperate. And it worked.
And hour later and we had booked our cute little house on the beach, SunFun. We were leaving the next day.
I am a terrible packer. I make list upon list of what I need, but I inevitably always underestimate how many pairs of underwear Juni will need or how many shirts I'll wear. Jasen, on the other hand, always comes back with three pairs of unworn jeans, two shirts still on hangers and six pairs of clean underwear. The man packs like he's going on walk-a-bout.
So for me to pack clothes for Juni and I and food for the three of us for five days and four nights was, to put it lightly, a challenge. But I did it. I had everything in bags, ready to be loaded into the 4-Runner.
And then Jasen comes home that Friday night. Apparently, he'd decided to pack as well. Enough meat for a bomb shelter (Seriously. We're taking an entire roasting chicken, pork ribs, steaks, the list goes on). A rack for the back of the car. A tent for the beach. Fishing polls. Grills. Two 20-pound bags of charcoal. A case of beer. It was insane. I mean, seriously. But whatever. We were going, and I wasn't arguing.
So we stuff poor Juni into his car seat, surrounded by our supplies, dropped Sadie the puppy off at CeCe's house, and hit the road.
I figured Juni would watch his DVD player until Nags head, we'd have lunch, and check in. I figure wrong.
Jasen wanted to "beat the traffic." We left at 8 a.m. Check-in was mid-afternoon. It's a 2.5 hour drive. And we say exactly 12 other cars on the road heading our direction.
Juni made it to Nags Head. We were headed to Rodanthe; another 45 minutes. It started with the boogie boards. I'd promised him I'd teach him to boogie board. He insisted he was ready to surf, but I told him he needed to boogie first. I didn't have the heart to tell him that at 4-years-old he's most likely knock himself unconscious if he tried to surf.
So for 35 minutes at the bagel shop it was "mommy...we gonna get my boogie board now?" And then for 10 minutes trying to find a place with boogie boards it was "mommy...why I not see any boogie boards?"
We found the coveted boogie board, and it was off to the beach. At this point I wish I'd had a dart with tranquilizer. To say the child asked "are we there yet" every 3 minutes would be a gross understatement. It was more like every breath.
And the whole time I'm reminding both him and Jasen that we'll be lucky if we can check into the house within the next 3 hours. But really it was fun. It was fun to see Juni's excitement about his first vacation. It was fun to see time through a child's eyes. A minutes is an hour. An hour is a lifetime. And anticipation kills.
I decided to try my luck and ask if the house was ready. SunFun was ready for the Norge's. We were there. We were headed to our sweet canary yellow beach house. The description on the Internet described SunFun as one of the best values in the OBX, which served me well, since Jasen decided paying less was always more.
Yeah. Let's just say SunFun was not so much fun...
Okay, Thoreau, when you get back from the pond just let me know. This ingenious literary pun was lost on my husband. Shocker.
It's this reasoning that has left the two of us without a real vacation since our honeymoon 7 years ago. Which, for the most part, has been fine with me. But everyone needs a vacation. I figure we deserve a few days of rest and relaxation. We work hard, we pay our bills, and we need to get away.
So I brought up the idea of renting a house in the Outer Banks a few weeks ago. I realize it was last-minute, but I also realize that's the only way things work with Jasen's work. Work when you've got it. That's how we live.
So of course he blew me off, and said "we'll see." And then I blinked, and it was the Friday before our anniversary. I looked up the house, SunFun, that I'd had my eye on. And it was still available. A sign, I decided.
I ran downstairs, put on my most puppy-like face, popped the question and batted my eyes. And got shot down. The crew wanted the weekend off to go surfing, he had a job to finish, blah-blah-blah.
But I was undeterred. I wanted this as my anniversary gift, and decided to play dirty. I cried. I know, it's wrong. And it's not the way to get what you want. But desperate times call for desperate measures. And I was desperate. And it worked.
And hour later and we had booked our cute little house on the beach, SunFun. We were leaving the next day.
I am a terrible packer. I make list upon list of what I need, but I inevitably always underestimate how many pairs of underwear Juni will need or how many shirts I'll wear. Jasen, on the other hand, always comes back with three pairs of unworn jeans, two shirts still on hangers and six pairs of clean underwear. The man packs like he's going on walk-a-bout.
So for me to pack clothes for Juni and I and food for the three of us for five days and four nights was, to put it lightly, a challenge. But I did it. I had everything in bags, ready to be loaded into the 4-Runner.
And then Jasen comes home that Friday night. Apparently, he'd decided to pack as well. Enough meat for a bomb shelter (Seriously. We're taking an entire roasting chicken, pork ribs, steaks, the list goes on). A rack for the back of the car. A tent for the beach. Fishing polls. Grills. Two 20-pound bags of charcoal. A case of beer. It was insane. I mean, seriously. But whatever. We were going, and I wasn't arguing.
So we stuff poor Juni into his car seat, surrounded by our supplies, dropped Sadie the puppy off at CeCe's house, and hit the road.
I figured Juni would watch his DVD player until Nags head, we'd have lunch, and check in. I figure wrong.
Jasen wanted to "beat the traffic." We left at 8 a.m. Check-in was mid-afternoon. It's a 2.5 hour drive. And we say exactly 12 other cars on the road heading our direction.
Juni made it to Nags Head. We were headed to Rodanthe; another 45 minutes. It started with the boogie boards. I'd promised him I'd teach him to boogie board. He insisted he was ready to surf, but I told him he needed to boogie first. I didn't have the heart to tell him that at 4-years-old he's most likely knock himself unconscious if he tried to surf.
So for 35 minutes at the bagel shop it was "mommy...we gonna get my boogie board now?" And then for 10 minutes trying to find a place with boogie boards it was "mommy...why I not see any boogie boards?"
We found the coveted boogie board, and it was off to the beach. At this point I wish I'd had a dart with tranquilizer. To say the child asked "are we there yet" every 3 minutes would be a gross understatement. It was more like every breath.
And the whole time I'm reminding both him and Jasen that we'll be lucky if we can check into the house within the next 3 hours. But really it was fun. It was fun to see Juni's excitement about his first vacation. It was fun to see time through a child's eyes. A minutes is an hour. An hour is a lifetime. And anticipation kills.
I decided to try my luck and ask if the house was ready. SunFun was ready for the Norge's. We were there. We were headed to our sweet canary yellow beach house. The description on the Internet described SunFun as one of the best values in the OBX, which served me well, since Jasen decided paying less was always more.
Yeah. Let's just say SunFun was not so much fun...
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Detour
Today was a was a stressful day. Unpacking. Getting back into a routine. Paying bills. Making calls.
I met some of my family for lunch, and got caught up on what happened with the Thrashers while I was gone.
And that's when I realized that no matter how hell-bent I am on appreciating life and living for the moment, that the universe can just kick anyone square in the ass.
My step-brother, Van, could have been killed the other day. He's in the beginning of a 12-month Afghanistan deployment with the Army. And early this week, his boss and roommate were blown up two trucks behind his. Five people total died.
I found myself sitting in a Mexican restaurant, completely shocked at how this news seemed like it was just part of his job. Like getting blown up is part of the deal. In my head I realize that, yes, as a soldier he is absolutely putting his life on the line. But I didn't think anything would seriously happen.
And then I wondered...what would happen if it was Van in that truck. I wondered what his wife Tara would tell their 13-month-old daughter Ryleigh about her daddy. Or if my step-mom Kim would ever laugh as loud or smile as wide. Or if his sister Karen would feel like a part of her was gone, too.
The course of their lives, and those they influence, would change forever. Ryleigh would not grow up complete. Tara wouldn't know what to say. Kim would never smile or laugh the same. And Karen would feel like part of her died.
Their nature, their very being, would change. And that would in turn change everyone they would come in contact with for the rest of their lives.
I began going down the list, thinking of everyone who's life would change from one life lost. Everyone. One life lost changes everyone. It changes the course of lives, dreams and futures. The smallest change in each of those people changes their path, and the path of those they meet.
I'm packing a care package for Van this week. I love Van, and want him to know I'm thinking of him. He's a huge Hokie fan, and that's how we bond.
But I just can't think of anything else to put in the box. I just can't think of what you can send someone that came so close to the end. I feel like adding a note to the box of gum, game and deodorant that says something like "Van. Please don't die. Don't change the course of our lives. It's going to good with you in it. And we need you in it."
And so I'm going to bed, sad that five people died. Five people will not leave the complete mark they were left to make. And countless others are changed forever. I'm counting the days until Van is home safe. And I'm counting our blessings that he's safe. at least for one more night.
I met some of my family for lunch, and got caught up on what happened with the Thrashers while I was gone.
And that's when I realized that no matter how hell-bent I am on appreciating life and living for the moment, that the universe can just kick anyone square in the ass.
My step-brother, Van, could have been killed the other day. He's in the beginning of a 12-month Afghanistan deployment with the Army. And early this week, his boss and roommate were blown up two trucks behind his. Five people total died.
I found myself sitting in a Mexican restaurant, completely shocked at how this news seemed like it was just part of his job. Like getting blown up is part of the deal. In my head I realize that, yes, as a soldier he is absolutely putting his life on the line. But I didn't think anything would seriously happen.
And then I wondered...what would happen if it was Van in that truck. I wondered what his wife Tara would tell their 13-month-old daughter Ryleigh about her daddy. Or if my step-mom Kim would ever laugh as loud or smile as wide. Or if his sister Karen would feel like a part of her was gone, too.
The course of their lives, and those they influence, would change forever. Ryleigh would not grow up complete. Tara wouldn't know what to say. Kim would never smile or laugh the same. And Karen would feel like part of her died.
Their nature, their very being, would change. And that would in turn change everyone they would come in contact with for the rest of their lives.
I began going down the list, thinking of everyone who's life would change from one life lost. Everyone. One life lost changes everyone. It changes the course of lives, dreams and futures. The smallest change in each of those people changes their path, and the path of those they meet.
I'm packing a care package for Van this week. I love Van, and want him to know I'm thinking of him. He's a huge Hokie fan, and that's how we bond.
But I just can't think of anything else to put in the box. I just can't think of what you can send someone that came so close to the end. I feel like adding a note to the box of gum, game and deodorant that says something like "Van. Please don't die. Don't change the course of our lives. It's going to good with you in it. And we need you in it."
And so I'm going to bed, sad that five people died. Five people will not leave the complete mark they were left to make. And countless others are changed forever. I'm counting the days until Van is home safe. And I'm counting our blessings that he's safe. at least for one more night.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
OBX Bound
I returned home from my vacation in the Outer Bands six hours ago. Already I've picked up the dog, mowed he lawn, returned business calls, begun the laundry, cleaned the house and started dinner. But tonight, I'm going to begin blogging each day of my vacation, because it was just that good.
Think Griswold at the beach. With a 4-year-old...
Think Griswold at the beach. With a 4-year-old...
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