Chasing Horses

About 38 days ago my daughter decided that horses were the end all be all of human existence.
(39 days ago she was all about dogs)
And that if she didn't see one in real life she would lay down on the floor and just die.

Being her mother I felt a certain amount of responsibility to ensure that didn't happen
(plus, the drama was giving me a headache)
so, we drove her down the beach to where the horses are available for hour-long riding rentals.

We found them walking up the beach.  We stopped, got out of the truck and stood on the sand to watch them walk by while she jumped up and down, squealing that her dream was finally coming true.

Then we got back in the truck, drove farther up the beach, stopped, got out, and watched them again.

(For the record, I don't know any of these people.)

(I know her, though.)
(Redheads Rule)

The mistake we made, of course, was not prepping her ahead of time for the fact that we were not planning to actually ride the horses.
(because window shopping is just as fun)
(yes it is)
(except the opposite)

And although she didn't actually die, she did cry,
and pout,
and sulk,
and do the Charlie Brown walk back to the truck.

Like any good mother, I tried to console her by showing her all the pictures I'd taken.

"Great."

I'm not sure she mean that, though, because as she got back into the truck I heard her scoff that we only cared about ourselves, and never wanted her to have any fun.

We'll be expecting the therapy bill in about 27 years.

The Princess Tea Party

 
Three little girls 

Were invited for tea.

Their fairy grandmother 

Had planned it with glee.

  She made them all wait,

And close their eyes.

They came in holding hands,

And found such a surprise.

Crowns and glass slippers,

Wands and three dresses.

They spent the afternoon

Becoming princesses.

The make-up was out,

The curling irons hot,

The girls squealed with excitement

As they all found their spot.

 The girls helped themselves,

As their mothers stood by,

And only once,

Got glitter in their eye.

When the princesses were ready

They sat down to try

The tea Grandma made

With their pinkies held high.

They posed for some pictures

And tried on some shades

 

Cinderella and Merida,

And a red-head mermaid.

The 5th Annual Island Day Extravaganza

I've spent the past 34 hours recuperating from our 5th annual family visit to my parents' friends' house.
Or as we call it "The Island".

When we first started going there, my daughter was 3 years old and I had to follow her around the forest trails to make sure she didn't step on a rock or fall into the pond or climb something nature only intended for monkeys and tree frogs and stuff.

I've matured a lot in the last 5 years and I felt much more at liberty on this go around to simply park the car, unlock the doors and say
"Go.  Come back when you're hungry,"
as they flounced off into the forest.

After a while we headed down to the dock for a boat ride.  I had decided not to partake.
(once your watch your lens plummet like a rock into the deep, dark fathoms of a lake from whence it will never be recovered, boats lose all appeal)
(don't ask me how I know that)
And while my maturity level is certainly higher than it was five years ago, it's not so high that I didn't have to remind my son 143 times to buckle his life vest and stay seated and quiet while the boat was moving.

"Mom, I know.  Okay?  Just stop worrying."

"No, but, you're the oldest so you need to set a good example.  Sit down...and hang on to your sister, and stay quiet so Frank can concentrate on driving."

"O-kay."
(and then he glanced around extremely conspicuously to see if anyone was watching)
(or could hear us)
(evidently, it's embarrassing when your mother loves you so much that she doesn't want you to fall off a motor boat and die)

As they pulled away from the dock and let the motor rip, my son threw his hands up over his head and yelled something that sounded like,
"YYYYEEEEAAAAHHHOOOOOO.  I'M FREE!!!!!"
I may have misheard that, though.  I'm sure I did.
The motor was very loud.
 

Turns out, they weren't just tooling around the water.  They were actually going over to another smaller island to romp around on the sand cliffs for a while.  And while I secretly wanted to flop down on the dock and soak up the sun in silence, I kind of felt guilty that my brother was the only other adult over on Sand Cliff Island with all of the kids.
But, then I remembered that he's a middle school PE teacher and he could totally handle it.
Plus, he used to scream and yell and mess up tons of crap when he was little and it was totally annoying and payback's a bitch.

As I was searching around for a towel to ball up under my head as a pillow, the boat came back.
The presence of the other adults was being requested.
So, I zip-tied my camera around my neck and headed out for the Island of Caterwauling Children.

They were floating in the water

and running on the rocks and climbing up a really steep hill to fight over who got the next turn on the rope swing.  My brother dared me to try to climb up the hill.
I pointed out to him that I am 42 and 3/4 years old and I don't have to do dares anymore.
And I was wearing my new sparkle flip-flops with absolutely no traction whatsoever.

"Yeah, like that would help."
 (Punk)

But, I decided not to care and instead focused on the fact that my children were trying to run and jump into a sitting position on a stick that was tied to a rope that had been hanging there at least 67 years, which then swung them out 30 feet in the air over Sharp Shards Of Shell Beach.

I gently reminded my son about taking turns and not letting go of the rope and killing himself.
He glared at me and made a slashing motion across his throat while he mouthed the word Stop through clenched teeth.
He followed with a few other slicing hand movements across his body that I think meant
Just calm the hell down!

So, I released and gave up, which actually made for a very relaxing rest of the visit.
While they jumped around the cliffs, I sat on a log sipping Diet Coke.
When they hung their hands out of the boat, dragging them through the waves on the way back to the dock, I played Which One Of These Island Mansions Would I Want? in my head.
When they were splashing and screaming in the scummy pond water, I told them to pipe down because the adults were sitting right across from each other and were having to yell to hear over all of their racket.

Not long after, my son came walking down the gravel path with blood gushing from his nose.  I stopped in mid-S'more bite and casually asked if he was alright.  I mean, I didn't want to be overbearing or anything, lest I be subjected to more hand slashing and teeth clenching.

"My nose is bleeding!"

I kind of shrugged my shoulders and said, "Oh.  Do you maybe need help?"

"MOM!"

Proving my theory that they always come back in the end. 
Especially when they get bashed in the nose playing football with their cousin.
(I'm just saying.)

After 10 hours of fun and sand and dirt and salt water and pond slime and cake and dip
(cream cheese, cooked bacon pieces, and chopped green onions)
(try it)
(and don't say I never did anything for ya')
and soda and more cake and more dip and S'mores and rope swings and dip for the road,
we piled into our cars and left our gracious hosts waving wearily from the driveway.

Prince Charming was waiting with open arms when we got home.  He didn't get to go this year.  A little something called Running A Company kept him away.

He listened to us all twitter on about the fun we'd had and tucked us in after we collapsed in bed.
We slept for about 12 hours, then got up, stayed in our pajamas until noon, watched TV all day and wished next summer would hurry up and get here already
so we can go back to the island again.

Project 52 ~ Wk. 28 {With More Time}

 Time.

 

Time is a funny thing.
Especially when it walks into a glass door and falls down.
Although, I may be thinking of last week's theme.

What I mean to say is that time is one of those things I always think I have enough of, but just when I feel like I could really use more, I'm out.
Like toilet paper.
On the other hand, that might really take this conversation in a direction that none of us is prepared to go.

How about this-

Time is like wine.
You can savor it slowly and enjoy the experience that it's bringing.
You can rush through it, not paying much attention because all you're really after is more of it.
(I mean, come on.  Who are we kidding?)
You can just keep pouring glass after glass after glass until the entire bottle is gone and you find yourself doing a Woo-Hoo cheer for the Class of 2014 and calling everyone Babylove.
Or as I like to call it, the 4th of July.
(wait.  what?)
(never mind)

My point is that I don't need more time.
I have plenty of time.  Pah-lenty.
I have a whole 24 hours every single day to accomplish everything that I need.
I read once that you should never complain about not having enough time because we have the same number of hours in the day that were given to Helen Keller, Louie Pasteur, Michelangelo, Mother Teresa, Leonardo da Vinci, Thomas Jefferson, and Albert Einstein.

But what did they all have that I don't?
(besides scientific genius and artistic vision)
(thanks for that, though)
(nice)

They had a desk without a computer.
They had a kitchen without a computer.
They had a phone without a computer.
(if we're being honest, though, I have a flip-phone with no internet service, so that may not really count)
(2003 rules!)

See, I don't need more time.  What I need are fewer distractions.
Fewer dings.
Fewer 'like's.
Fewer clicks and virtual connections.
I don't need to be constantly checking in to see who commented,
or replied,
or sent something,
or posted something,
or thought something,
or broke something,
or checked in,
or checked out,
or had a Diet Coke,
or saw a movie,
or partied,
or slept,
or rode a motorcycle,
or blew a bubble,
or went rollerblading
in a place I've never been to,
with people I don't know.
And I don't need to stop what I'm doing every 15 minutes so I can use the bathroom.
(16 oz. of water before everything you eat about kills me)
(curse that Bob Harper and his skinny rules)

I don't need more time.
I need to stop wasting so much of it.
And maybe a nice bottle of wine.  That never hurts.
(*hiccup*)

As always, I'm lovin' you.

Project 52 2K13 ~ Wk. 27 {Comedy}

Comedy is fun. And funny. It can be something you totally saw coming, or it can be something completely unexpected.

The great thing about comedy is that it can mean so many different things to different people.

For example, my son thinks all great comedy begins with the word naked. And underwear. And wee-wee. All of the bathroom words, really. In fact, if you want to make him laugh, ask him to say naked underwear wee-wee fanny without laughing.

He can't do it.

For my beloved, it's all about a pie in the face or a guy getting hit in the crotch. Although, I don't understand why a man would think that another man getting cracked in the junk is funny. I certainly would never think that a woman getting her boobs smashed in was hilarious. We just call that a mammogram.
(and there's nothing funny about it)
(and there's nothing sexy about the gynecologist either)
(that doesn't have anything to do with comedy, I just want to make that clear, because It always seems to come up)
("The stirrups. Yeeeahh, baby."......No.)

I'm getting away from my point. My point is that comedy is funny.

Here are a few things that I think are funny:

1. People falling down.

2. People walking into glass doors.

3. People falling down after walking into a glass door.

4. Anything on America's Funniest Home Videos that's not about dogs or guys getting kicked in the crotch.

5. The audio book of Ellen Degeneres' Seriously...I'm Kidding.
(I laughed so hard the other day on the way to the grocery store I almost drove off the road)

6. Vince Vaughn.

7. Nora Ephron.

8. Jenna McCarthy.
(Not Jenny. Jenna. Jenna makes me belly-laugh so hard it actually tones my stomach muscles in a way that never doing sit-ups has not. Jenny makes me point and laugh in a mocking, horrified way.)

9. My son asking to be home schooled so he doesn't have to get his 6th grade booster shot.

10. Every line in Annie Hall,
Bull Durham, and
When Harry Met Sally (see #7)

I hope you find something to laugh at today. I hope you laugh so hard you cry, and your sides hurt and you get a headache. But in a good way.

I hope you know how much I love ya'.

Seriously.