All those long years ago, the voice that called in the desert, a voice that could have been the voice of a madman, the voice of a miscreant, or no voice at all, turned out instead to be the voice that did, against earthly odds, prepare the way for He who is our redemption.
Happy Easter to all.
Lately, my youngest two children have come together over a shared purpose: keeping their parental units in a state of elevated blood pressure by arguing over all things inconsequential.
Just as I once mentioned how diapers are as malodorous on the island as they are on the mainland, so also island kids can and do argue as well as kids on the other side of the bridge.
Don’t worry; it’s still paradise here. It’s just paradise accompanied by background arguing, whining, the occasional stomping, or even my personal favorite, The-Dramatic-Falling-to-the-Floor-in-Despair move. (For the record, both LCB and I have been known to imitate this move in an attempt to demonstrate how stupid it looks, which has led to things like back pain, torn rotator cuffs, and no decrease in the small people’s use of the aforementioned move.)
Good times.
At any rate, in a moment of distraction last weekend, my youngest two forgot their common goal of late and acquired another one. Deciding the sun was “too hot” that day (yes, yes, I know, and that after the winter we’ve had and all) and ignoring the obvious solution (a.k.a. the ocean), they decided to build a tent to protect them from the sun.
Realizing they had three towels and two chairs to work with, which they quickly determined made for close quarters, they decided to round up a bunch of old, thick pieces of dune grass lying scattered around the beach.
After amassing an impressive stack, they formed an arch with the stalks. This took longer than you might think since they had to dig the stalks deep enough into the sand, and then angle them just so.
When they felt the base of their structure was secure, they placed the towels over the stalks, reorganizing them several times based on wind currents and the varying weight of the towels.
Then, they sat under their makeshift tent for about five minutes and decided they were ready to return home, tired after a hard day of construction.
On the way home, of course, they recalled their shared purpose. Many of you can draw on firsthand experience to imagine how this scene played out.
“Get your stinky big toe off my seat!” cried Baby-girl.
Her brother laughed an ill-boding laugh, and then pointed out, “Technically, it’s not on your seat.”
Overwhelmed by original thought, she countered, “It is, too!”
“Not technically,” was accompanied by more laughter.
And then the howl of, “Mooooooooomm!” drowned out my son’s laughter and erased my last remnant of sanity.
And we all lived the happily ever after that real people sometimes get to live.
The End
It’s that time again, so grab your mug and pull up a chair.
On school lunches:
In case you are wondering, yes, it’s a sandwich. More to the point, it’s my son’s sandwich. Apparently, they look so good when he’s packing them that he now often takes two bites before he puts them in his lunch bag for the next day’s lunch. Thus, he has upped his game from the one bite sandwich days.
My only hope is that when he’s sitting at the cafeteria table, he makes it clear to the students and teachers around him that his mother does not pack his lunch.
Early on in my eldest son’s educational career (preschool, to be exact), I discovered that I abhor packing other people’s lunches even more than I abhor packing my own. I therefore determined that I would kill two birds with one stone by teaching the small people personal responsibility via having them pack their own lunches. Seriously, their primary responsibilities in pre-k were to a.) carry their own bags into school on account of their mom was not also their personal pack mule and b.) pack their own lunches on lunch bunch days.
Over the years, this has compromised the nutritional integrity of many a lunch, even with my inconsistent loving supervision.
But, to quote Lord Farquaad, it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.
Plus, we serve broccoli with dinner almost every night, so I’ve been able to justify this and other questionable nutritional practices.
(This is, in fact, why we serve broccoli with dinner almost every night. Truth in blogging, my friends.)
On hiking:
I took this on a recent hike with Baby-girl and her scouting group. I love the coastal canopy of trees so prevalent here.
This is my gratuitous aviary shot, taken of a bird that looked too sedate to ever exacerbate my fears of its species.
And no coastal hike would be complete without some lovely alligator signage.
On a sea escape:
Some days, I think I could escape from the world on one of these. In fact, you know what I’m in love with right now? Every time the Princess Cruises commercial with the tagline “Come Back New” comes on, I sit in a stupor afterward, imagining what it would be like to “come back new.” Seriously, whatever it is that they do on those ships to make you come back new, I want that.
Princess Cruises, please text me. I’ll blog my little heart out for you if you provide a cruise that will allow me to come back new. I’ll be your poster child blogger, particularly after one of your emotional makeover cruises.
Tangentially, I think Princess’s tagline would also work well for a plastic surgeon. It wouldn’t sell me personally, but it’d appeal to those with a penchant for cosmetic enhancement that involves small weaponry and after-procedure painkillers that make some of us nauseous.
(I really, really hate throwing up.)
(Just saying. ‘Cause we’re having coffee here and all.)
On the embarrassment front:
This happened a few weeks ago, at one of my son’s basketball games. I was sitting at the edge of the court taking pictures when suddenly my lens cap rolled off my lap, onto the floor, and then began rolling across the court (at a decent clip, I might add, for a lens cap).
Y’all, I don’t like to embarrass my peoples (LCB and the small people), much less myself, but there was no way I was going to let a Canon Rebel lens cap get trampled by a pack of fifth graders, even if it meant taking the hit myself instead.
I ran after the lens cap while LCB looked on, choked with laughter. As the stars would have it, the cap managed to just elude my grasp (picture me reaching, reaching, reaching, and just missing every time – yeah, that’s how it went) until I was halfway across the court. Finally, I grabbed it, turned and ran, just missing the hoard of boys barreling down the court.
It was one of my better moments. It was so good, in fact, that at the next game, a young lady sitting next to me, probably college-aged, looked over at me about a minute after I’d arrived and asked, “Are you the lady that had to chase her lens cap down the court during the last game?”
Why, yes. Yes I am that lady.
Subscribe via RSS
<div align="center"><a href="http://www.anislandmom.com" title="An Island Mom" target="_blank"><img src="http://www.anislandmom.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/01/AIM-Small-Beach-Chair1-e1328038016185.jpg" alt="An Island Mom" style="border:none;" /></a></div>
