A Real Conversation

Finding the Way Home

It was with mixed feelings that I recently attended an acquaintance’s book launch. It should come as no surprise, that my pride and excitement for my friend was mixed with both jealousy and fear (neither of which look very good on me, by the way). Jealousy, because let’s face it, not only did she accomplish her lifelong dream of having her very own ISBN number, but Sarah accomplished my dream as well. A part of me is inspired and encouraged by this, another part is condemned. I also felt fear because I have NO game face. None. Just ask Sloan about my reaction to some of his gifts for me. I am incapable of feigning pretty much any emotion, but especially incapable of pretending to like something when I do not. So what if I read my friend’s book and did not like it? What if I couldn’t perfect the casual smile, nod, and simple “Congrats!” that would be required to see her every Sunday at church?


Well, folks, this self-proclaimed literary snob’s fears were unfounded. Finding the Way Home, by Sarah Byrd is not only a good book, but the kind of book you have to shift your plans for just so you can sneak in a few extra minutes hours of reading. I was warned it was a dangerous book to read before bedtime as it was hard to put down, so I set a 2 chapter maximum for me to read each night—choosing to savor it like one might slowly eat a slice of cheesecake. Well, I grew up watching the Golden Girls and can totally eat a whole cheesecake in one sitting. I worked around my “2 chapters before bedtime” rule by waking up at 5 am. It cannot be stressed enough that I am NOT a morning person. I let Henry watch a few extra Dora and Thomas episodes until I finished the book. Few books have had this effect on me. OK, well, the entire Twilight series did this to me, but this is a book you don’t have to be embarrassed about enjoying. You can even share it with your Mother-in-law (which I did).

Set in the English countryside, the story centers around recently widowed American Suzanne Morgan and a British schoolmaster, Peter Stewart. It is a story about running from one’s past and learning how to be loved. We forget being loved well requires us to teeter, sometimes painfully, between self-confidence and self-abandon. This book takes us along that precarious ledge, and there’s not a more beautifully appropriate setting for that than the cliffed-shores of Britain.

Byrd’s character development is strong. I found myself shaking my book as I read because I could not shake Suzanne. It is a bit embarrassing to confess that I found myself actually praying for her. That’s right, people, I prayed for a fictional character. I’m choosing to see this as a sign of Byrd’s brilliant writing rather than my own lunacy. I wanted Suzanne to be stronger, to speak up, to know she was worth loving, which I’m pretty sure was Byrd’s entire point. I also wanted to slap the Vicar in the face, which I also believe to be a sign of a good book.

The author characterized her book as gentle fiction. I tend to agree. I imagine if Rosamund Pilcher and Jan Karon had a love child, Sarah Byrd’s Finding the Way Home would be it. Here’s hoping for a large family…




Finding the Way Home can be found in print on Amazon.com and Barnes and Noble.com, and can also be downloaded for either your Nook or Kindle. You should go  to one of those places now and buy a copy for yourself and for your mother-in-law. All the cool kids (read: me) are doing it.

Isn't She Lovely?

Pretty sure she is the most beautiful girl who ever lived. 

Sorry for those of you with daughters; they're probably pretty cute too. 

But seriously, her hair is to die for.  People pay big bucks for those soft curls.

Here she is speaking her native language:  the raspberry.  We have entire conversations blowing raspberries at one another.  She also likes to play slaps.  As in, I slap her high chair three times.  She slaps it three times.  I slap, she slaps, etc.  Imagine the fun when Henry and her speak raspberry for three hours in the car.  Imagine...

She likes to cruise around furniture.  She pushes the walker around the driveway.  She will toddle around the kitchen, one hand on the dishwasher then lean a little to the left to lean on the island, cruise around the island then launch herself at the baby gate leading into the family room.  She likes to shake the bars of the gate.  Am considering getting her a tiny aluminum cup she can bang on the bars. 

She can stand on her own in the middle of the room  push herself up and a standing position without pulling up on anything.  Here she is at the playground at Henry's school.

Pretty sure she'll be walking by her first birthday. 

She continues to be an expert sleeper.  As well as an expert eater with her six teeth.  (She soooo didn't mind the extra protein she got from the beetle larvae I was unknowingly feeding her in her formula.  Thank you, Similac.  We're now all premade all the time.  Which is kind of nice too.)  Her favorite foods are Mum Mums, Honey Nut Cheerios, Sweet Potatoes, Lasagna, French fries and Goldfish.  Oddly enough, she wasn't a big fan of the chocolate milkshake I offered her tonight.  It's funny how I took pride in the fact that Henry didn't have a Happy Meal until he was 14 months and Gracie gets tossed french fries while we drive down the road.  And Henry didn't have cheerios or goldfish until after a year as well.  I was certain that he'd choke.  Considering that Henry feeds Gracie off his own plate, I just try to see that she doesn't get bits of flank steak or an entire Popsicle up her nose. 

Can't believe she is eleven months old.  The invites for her birthday party went out last week.

When we play in the yard and hear the high school marching band practicing, I can't help but remember how last year at this time I didn't even know she was mine.  But she was.  And for that, I must thank God for his grace and mine.

He's the Cheeky One

Upon meeting new people, the first thing Henry says is not "My name is Henry", nor is it "Nice to meet you".  Rather he says "I have Thomas."  Most people respond, "Oh, is your name Thomas?"  A reasonable question.  I have to explain that he simply wants all he meets to know that he has Thomas the Tank Engine. It is the thing that best describes him, and in some sad way, his love for Thomas is what defines him.  We can be at the playground and he will suddenly declare, "I need to go home and play with Thomas."  He'll turn down chocolate milk to build with Thomas Legos.  We have Thomas crayons, stickers, coloring books, Pez dispensers, paint by number books, pillow cases, blankets, vidoes, books, bath toys, in addition to mile upon mile of wooden track, train stations, and Thomas and Friends trains.  We sing the Thomas theme song while he washes his hands and brushes his teeth.  When Henry is angry he exclaims "Cinders and Ashes!"  And to really motivate him, I simply say to him, "I need you to be a really useful engine."  He has even asked if Jesus knows Thomas.  Perhaps the better question would be does Thomas know Jesus, but it was sweet none the less. 

So it cannot be stated enough that this past Saturday Henry has his "Vote for Pedro" moment where all his dreams came true.  We headed up to Strasburg Railroad in Lancaster County, PA for the occasion with our buddy Deb and her son Jack.  (Whom Henry loves almost as much as he loves Thomas.) 

We're ready to go meet Thomas!

He had been asking if it was Saturday for two weeks.  Thank you Sloan for telling him too far in advance.

Running to meet everyone's favorite blue engine...

Seriously.  How cute are my kids? 

Riding the Cranky Cars.  Peep!  Peep!

Riding Thomas. 

The conductor came by and took tickets and placed his cap on the kids heads.  So someone could then take your picture and you could buy it.  We're cheap.  We snapped pics ourselves.  And Henry loved his special Thomas engineer cap too much to wear the Conductor hat.

 In the middle of what was supposed to be her afternoon nap, this is the face of a girl who hadn't napped all day.  She also woke up with two more teeth the next day.  I think adopting has brought into our family someone who is easy going and doesn't complain.  So we've helped our grandchildren out in a big way...

By the end of the day, Henry's nose had snotted all over his face, his lips were chapped, and he was talking like Kathleen Turner.  But this didn't stop him from telling me, "Mommy, this is my favorite day.  Thank you, thank you.  You are wonderful for bringing me to Thomas."

4 years ago today...

I met Henry for the first time.  He looked like this...

 

I adored him.  But it was just an inkling of how much I love him now.  He is kind, funny, and incredibly loving.  He tells me I'm wonderful at least twice a day.  I try to tell him he is wonderful too and he responds, "No, Mommy, I'm awesome."  He loves to play by himself and I'm quite certain that were I to keep him in Capri Suns and cheese sticks, he'd go days without ever needing any other human contact.  He constantly tries to figure out how things work and how he can build something bigger or better, be it a bridge, a train track, or a tower of pillows.  His love for Gracie is magical.  He told her this morning that she was a pretty flower and that he loved her so much he was exploding.  Kind of like I expect his head to explode on Saturday when he gets to meet Thomas the Tank Engine in person. 

He loves to listen to music while he plays.  He can correctly identify the following artists:  The Rolling Stones, Stevie Wonder (though he calls him Stevie Thunder), The Black Eyed Peas (though he calls it The Gforce Music), Jack Johnson, Ray Charles, the Beach Boys, and Marvin Gaye.  Yesterday he mistook Thelonius Monk's "Ruby My Dear" for Charlie Brown Christmas music, but still, I think his musical knowledge is pretty impressive.  He knows all the words to the following songs: Amazing Grace, Jesus Loves Me, He's Got the Whole World in His hands, Beautiful Boy, Puff the Magic Dragon, My Favorite Things, Isn't She Lovely, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, I Have You Two (from Chitty), the Thomas and Friends theme song, Little Red Caboose, Big Rock Candy Mountain (the Lisa Loeb version), Twinkle Twinkle, ABC, How Great Thou Art, and You are My Sunshine. 

He is Presbyterian, that is to say he likes to do things decently and in order.  He is not a super huge fan of change and so needs to be warned ahead of time to ease transitions.  He excels when boundaries are clearly laid out and routines are followed.  Unfortunately for him, he has a Mom who gets itchy around boundaries and routines, but I'm working on it.  I'm slowly learning to let him set his own routines when possible and am thankful that his current morning routine includes playing alone in his room  until around 8:30 and having a bowl of cheerios and a banana every morning for breakfast.  He gets bent out of shape if he doesn't pray before a meal and if he can't reach Gracie to hold her hand.  He also always remembers to place his dishes in the sink post meal and to put his dirty clothes in the hamper, all without having to be asked. 

And yes, I know this is mainly a picture of Gracie pushing around her walker, but I find the fact that you can tell that Henry is cleaning the table up after himself pretty typical.

My daughter-in-law has got it made.

But for now, my darling, beautiful, super-awesome, wonderful, incredibly intelligent boy, you are all mine. 

First Day of School

Don't let the picture fool you.  He was very excited about going to school.  Even excited about wearing his school shoes.  He just doesn't like to have his picture taken.

He's a green frog this year.

He was a little sad this his BFF Aimee wasn't in his class, but he "found her in da sandbox." 

Apparently, he also "dwank womenade, ate pwetzels and goldfish, peed in da wittle potty, and cooked a meal in his kitchen."

When I asked him if he had fun, he replied, "Yes, I had fun.  I go home and pway twains and den you take me back."  I promised to take him back tomorrow.  And then every Monday, Wednesday, Friday for the rest of the year...

My Mother Might Disagree

But I was NOT this cute 31 years ago when I wore this dress.

And she's even wearing her big brother's shoes.  It's hand me down Saturday.

Showing the love...

Often times I regale you with stories of pants peed in and meltdowns.  Well, today I would like to tell you about the sweetest, most well-behaved little boy on the planet.

The morning started off with me heading to a preview consignment sale.  And I raked in the good deals while Sloan lovingly watched the kiddos as he worked from home.  During lunch, I showed Sloan all the finds.  This began with me first saying, "I really want you to be excited about used children's clothing and toys.  So when I show you something awesome, I need you to react accordingly."  (I've learned that unless I preface clothing purchases with this disclaimer, I do not get my desired reactions.  He is, in fact, male and so uninclined to whoop and hollar at a Tea Collection dress new with tags for $3.)  After swooning over the items, he noticed that I purchased far more items for Gracie than Henry.  (Because he can still wear most of his clothes from last winter.)  So my dear husband sent me back to the sale while Gracie napped with Henry in tow.

Let me first explain the environment of a Consignment sale preview.  It's a bit crowded, in a local community center, and not terribly kid friendly.  Although we were going for things for Henry, I was expecting it to be a little slice of hell.

I was mistaken.  Before we headed into the sale, I bent down to look Henry in the eyes to remind him of the rules.  "1.  You must be able to see me.  If you can't see me, I can't see you.  2.  Use your inside voice.  3.  When it is time to go, you are not to grumble, whine, or complain. Do you understand?" 

In the sweetest little voice, he replied, "Yes m'am.  I understand." 

And so we shopped.  Despite the fact that we were wading in toys, he asked permission to touch the toys he wanted to play with.  When we passed boxes of trains and I told him we weren't getting any trains, he understood.  We bought books and some trucks and cars.  But mostly books.  He picked out a train book and carried it around with him, occasionally sitting on the floor to look at it.  And then we went upstairs for the part I dreaded...to wait in line.  And let me be clear--the line was long.  As in we waited in line for about an hour.  An hour, people.  And not once did my boy complain.  Nor run outside. 

And it was even more difficult for him because we were waiting in line behind a women and her two children--another 3 yr old boy (who did run off frequently) and a 7 month old girl in her bucket car seat.  I say this only because even I find it more difficult to do the right thing when your friends are doing the wrong thing. 

Occasionally Henry would hide in the clothing racks and I would say, "Henry?  Where are you?"  and he would giggle and pop out, saying, "I here, Mommy."  A few times he would run up and down the aisles, but usually for about 5 seconds before he would return.  Once I think he thought he was lost, but luckily his Tia Shannon saw him and pointed to where I was and told him to mind all the other people.  She said he walked down the aisle saying, "Excuse me. Mommy?  Excuse me. Mommy?" 

I have never been so proud of him.  I feel a little bad that I was so surprised by his behavior.  I must say that he behaved far better than what I considered to be well behaved for a three year old boy.  At a toy and clothing sale. 

At one point, he was gently rocking the baby girl in front of us in her car seat.  I told him I was proud of him for being so gentle with the baby.  His response?  "I showing her da love of Jesus, Mommy."

How loudly you showed His love today, my boy.  And all while using your inside voice.

Life's a Beach (Part I)

I took over 200 pictures last week at the beach.  Not including the ones I took on my phone or the various videos of Gracie and Isabel breaking it down to Stevie Wonder.  (Sidebar:  Henry has recently fallen in love with "Stevie Thunder".  "Superstition" is HIS song and "Isn't She Lovely" is Gracie's song.) 

One of my favorite photos: the boys looking up at their kites.

Jonathan and Isabel enjoy the horseshoe crabs at the Aquarium.

DUUUUDE, the Jellies.

Riding the caterpillar.  One part scared to death, two parts exhilaration for the three year olds in with Sloan.

Riding the carousel with Henry and Isabel.

More to come...

Real Conversations (perhaps TMI)

Henry:  Hey, Mommy!  I found a rocket.  Wook! In his hand he is holding an empty tampon applicator*.

Me:  Ummmm, Henry.  That is not a rocket.  That is trash.  Please throw it away.  He obediently threw it away. 

So I continued to wash dishes.

Henry:  Wook, Mommy!  He returns to the kitchen twirling something above his head.  He is very proud of himself.  I made the trash wocket shoot this out.  It's a ghost on a string! 

I couldn't help myself, I burst out laughing. 

Me:  Nope, Henry.  That's trash too.  Please throw it away.

Henry:  (very sad) So it's not a ghost on a string?

Me:  Nope.  Trash.

*Yes.  It was a clean one.

It should also be noted that this afternoon he connected two towers he built with legos with a sanitary napkin. 

Henry: Look, Mommy!  Thomas is going over the bwidge I built with the sticky sticker!
Me: (once again revelling in my stellar parenting) Where did you get that sticky sticker, Henry? 
Henry:  The diaper bag?
Me:  Henry, put the sticky sticker in the trash.  And the diaper bag is also Mommy's purse, so please don't go in there without permission. 
Henry:  Oh-kay.  And then he put the sticky sticker in the trash.  But not before affixing it to his shirt.

I'm not dead (or Gilligan's Island Three hour tour Road trip)...

I've just been on vacation.  And reprioritizing my time (as in enjoying my last weeks of playtime with Henry before school starts). 

But the following will begin my recap of my most recent vacation...I wrote it en route to the beach. 
************************************************************************************

Still full from the previous night’s 6th Anniversary dinner extraordinaire—Fried Green Tomato Beignets, Filet Mignon wrapped in Applewood smoked bacon, Grilled asparagus, and Bananas Foster, and oh, yeah, a bottle of Veauve Cliquot—this morning began wonderfully. I awoke super excited about the summer’s last hurrah—our family vacation to Litchfield. Weren’t we just at the beach, you ask? Yes. But it was a last minute vacay planned with the in-laws and so Sloan had to work the week and was gone on business for three days of it. And let’s just say it’s not really a vacation if you can’t burp in front of your fellow vacationers. (I did not blog about that trip in order to protect the guilty, err, me.) And to add to the excitement (or insanity, depending upon how you look at it), we invited 2 of my sister’s kids to join in on the fun. That’s right, we intentionally added a seven year old and another 3 year to the mix. It is either pure genius or pure lunacy…I’ll let you know in a week.


I’ve spent the last week rewashing all our bathing suits and beach towels, packing snacks, making lists and checking them twice. Seriously. Lots of lists. On post-it notes. Typed and printed. On the backs of napkins and receipts as I thought of things. We’ve got snacks, games, sticker books, toys, stuffed animals, loveys, blankets, a mattress (for the pack and play), bottles, candy, formula, baby food, pull-ups, diapers, no less than 15 trains, sand toys, pillows, and sunscreen. I even packed it neatly so that it all fit into our car with the third row in without interfering with looking out the back window.

My sister arrived with Jonathan and Isabel around 8:45. Our goal was to leave around 9 so that we’d arrive at the beach around 3. Plenty of time to hit the grocery store, unpack, and still get to the pool and lazy river. As we were putting in the kids booster seats, we learned that 2 full back boosters and one backless booster seat do not fit into the third row of a Suburban. We needed to have all three of the big kids in the back row so that we could fold down one of the captain’s chairs for stuff. And for optimal movie viewing. So Sonya and I dashed off to the Target around the corner to get Isabel a backless booster, seeing as she’ll be 4 years old in two weeks anyhow. That’s cool, officer, right? But even with the backless booster, it still takes an act of God and Congress to get all three seats in and buckled. Which makes potty stops a bear. It literally takes fifteen minutes just to wedge the three kids in the back. We will be doing some rearranging once we get to beach. Anywho….

We were finally wheels up around 9:45. No biggie, still time to have a poolside picnic dinner. We decided we’d have lunch in Rocky Mount, NC around 11:45 or so.

Well, you know what they say, right…The best laid plans of mice and men and all that jazz…

We’re barreling down I-95, making pretty good time, the kids are watching Mary Poppins (which my niece Isabel knows all the words to every song, or at least the phonetic corresponding sounds to all the songs…BONUS). Sloan and I are talking about how wonderful the past 6 years have been (because it IS our anniversary), what we want to get at the grocery store, when Sloan suddenly asks, “Hey, did you get the keys?”

“What keys?” I ask.

“The keys to the beach house.”

Oh. My. Gosh.

“Mother Effer!!!!! Are you kidding me? I remembered to pack seven different types of chips and I didn’t pack the damn keys?”

“You really didn’t grab them?”

“No. I really didn’t grab them. Did you?”

“No. I thought about asking about them this morning but got sidetracked by a poopy diaper.”

I am pretty sure by this time my blood pressure was lethal. And the worst of it was that I had no one to blame but myself. And by this time, we’d just crossed into North Carolina. “We’ve got to go back. We’ll need the keys to the owner’s closets and the golf cart.”

We pulled into the nearest rest stop, took the kids in to go to the bathroom, and then struggled to get them strapped back in (a stop that took no less than an additional twenty minutes). I may or may not have told my child to stop whining about having to hold my hand as we crossed the street or I was really going to give him something to whine about. I may or may not have told my son that I just didn’t have the patience to deal with him wanting a juice box because I was the stupidest flipping person on the planet and causing us to have to drive three (really four) hours out of our way. I may or may not have told all three of the children that the week was probably going to be horrible as I had planned it and I am an idiot.

Sloan told me to go sit down as the giant cross on my back was making it difficult to strap the kids in.

So we turned around and headed back home. As we’re driving back to Richmond, the kids start with the how long is it going to be until we get there junk. And at this point, we literally aren’t even going in the direction of the beach. I thought I was going to lose it. Sloan claims that by this point I’d already lost it. Fortunately, Jonathan had an answer to this—“Isabel, don’t ask that. When you start seeing palm trees, then you’ll know we’re near the beach.” Sweet Jon-o-fun.

As we drove home, I stewed in my self-disappointment. Sloan seemed unphased, which honestly, pissed me off. I told him, “I don’t want you to be compassionate. I screwed up. Big time. I want you to be mad at me. I remembered to pack four books for myself, but couldn’t remember to grab the daggone keys.”

“For one, we both forgot the keys. Two, would my being mad at you help? I think you’re mad enough for the both of us. And I don’t think taking it out on the kids is helping the situation, either.”

“Don’t start on me for taking it out on the kids. Does it help you to take it out on us when you have a bad day at work?” I snapped back. Because it is much easier to point out someone else’s flaws instead of dealing with my own.

“Honey, it’s fine. We’re in no rush. We’ll get the keys. We’ll go through some drive thrus. It’ll all get done. Besides, didn’t you say that we forgot to grab Henry’s night-light?”

“Screw the night lights. I made all those dang lists and not once did I write down “Pack keys.” Packing the keys didn’t cross my mind once. What the heck is my problem? I’ve single handedly ruined the first day of our vacation. AND I’m going to have to go the grocery store by myself tonight once the kids are in bed.”

“Well,” Sloan said, “it is going to be difficult to push the cart while simultaneously flogging you. But that seems to be an adequate punishment.”

And this, my friends, is why I married him six years ago. He was able to a) point out my sin in a way that didn’t crush me, and b) make me laugh. Not many people can do this. Sure. I made a mistake. Because I am human. But what really was chapping my hide was the fact that God was serving me a heaping piece of humble pie. But having Sloan for a husband at least made the humble pie a la mode.

It was one o’clock when we pulled back into our driveway. We hit the McDonald’s drive thru on the way back and I climbed back in the back to give Gracie some food and a bottle. The children had already watched the entire movie Mary Poppins before we even left Richmond the second time. We made the kids stay in the car as we did the mad dash for the keys and night-lights.

The entire trip back, I said things like “oh look, there’s the rest stop we peed at when we’d first noticed I’m incompetent,” or “Hmmm, it is the second time today we’ve crossed into North Carolina at precisely the time the Magellan said we’d be getting to the beach the first time around,” or, when passing South of the Border, “Pedro sez who leaves for vacation and forgets the keys.”

The good news of the situation is that McDonald’s has pretty good happy meal toys—Marvel comic figurines for boys and Madame Alexander dolls for girls. And did you know you can buy extra toys for a dollar so your 3 year old girl doesn’t have to share her Dolly with your 10 month old who really only wants to gnaw on it?

So a 6 hour car trip with four kids turned into a ten hour car trip with five kids (I’m including myself in this count). Sloan would probably say that having him be the responsible adult in any situation is problematic, but this time it worked. In total, the kids watched Mary Poppins, Space Chimps, The Princess and the Frog, and G-Force. I rode shotgun in a pool of self-loathing pity typing furiously on my laptop.

It took all of Sunday for me to relax about what a boob I was for forgetting the keys. I probably won’t ever forget them again.

Next time, I’ll probably forget to pack my underwear.