Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Summertime Means Vacation





































































We got home around 11PM on Sunday night, Father's Day.

It was admittedly an interesting way to spend a Father's Day,
altogether in the minivan for 11 hours
but it was a small price to pay for maybe the

Best.

Week.

Ever.

Saying I am homesick now for Florida even with its' ridunkulous, uncalled-for heat is a monumentally silly understatement.
What I feel now is more akin to desperate, rose-colored-glasses-wearing longing.
It was a beachy week, with enough swimming to make even my husband officially state that he was tired of swimming.
And that's saying something.
It was a week of sand and sweets and sleeping in.


It was a week of emotional events and loving embraces and sensational sunsets.


It was a week of some of the best photos my boys have ever taken.
Most were unintentional candids, obviously.



It was a week of celebrated days off, snuggling little boys, clear blue water, exotically rented housewares, mileage on our aging van, seashell souveniers, palm trees zooming by the car windows, blazing heat, splashes we didn't mind, giggling children who slept deeply after a dreamy day filled with every childhood pleasure
and heartfelt promises to return.


We both strive to create an idyllic space for our boys.
We both desire to fill their memories of childhood with...
~snow, sparkling trees, giving hearts and the Miraculous Birth at Christmas~

~stuffed turkeys, family time and pumpkin pie at Thanksgiving~

~special days of being King of the House on their birthdays~
~weekends of sports, visits with friends and Sunday naps~

...and neon summers of beach family vacation, day camp, ice cream, laughter and heat.



For our family and especially for this Writer who spent many summers on the same
coastal Florida sand it was heaven.

Or at least the closest I can imagine.

This Writer stood in the surf, past knee-deep in the morning water
and watched only 3 boats way Out There.

One was too far away to identify.


One was a rushing speed boat.


One was a placid sailboat.




On vacation, I am the sailboat.






Wednesday, June 10, 2009

Baseball Season and the Mini-Him
























Baseball season #1, most likely the first of many ended last week here for us on the Mountain. Doodle Bug showed such vast improvement that I believe he may have just "found" his sport of choice.
His picture is the one on the bottom.
Can you take a guess as to who is above?
Yes~ that would be the Daddy.
Spooky.
Doodle was hitting off the pitch (NOT the "T", mind you)
fielding balls,
tagging out runners,
perfecting his form,
and loving everything about baseball.
Except the scratchy white pants.
He wasn't wild about sliding onto a base but he sure knew how to converse with runners on his base like he was Barbara Walters interviewing them on world peace.
He reports that shortstop is his favorite position.
I predict MLB drafts in his future.
Before the Presidency but after med school.
He would add Langley.
He wants to be the First Ever U.S. President with a baseball /espionage background.
School also ended a couple weeks ago.
Doodle's report card?
Perfection.
He had the two sweetest teachers in Earth so this Writer is slightly trepidatious about 1st Grade.
We had it so good.
School is sorely missed around here for Doodle Bug, Honey Monkey and this Writer.
Lots of playdates, some time in the street with neighbors, VBS and vacation next week to look forward to are keeping us busy enough most days though.
By next summer Honey Monkey will join the soccer and baseball and basketball
playing and the next year Little Bunny will join the ranks and then it's all over.
I will be one of those complete stereotypes.
Love it.
You ain't LIVED till your kid has scored a run, man.
As Doodle Bug would say: "Sweet-o."

Monday, June 8, 2009

This is mostly for the grandparents' benefit.

Welcome, Self - to the 21st century.

You should know that this blog will be mostly devoted to cutesy stories about my boys: Doodle Bug, Honey Monkey and Little Bunny.
There will most likely not be any philosophizing, reccommendations or commentary of any nature other than parenting.
Undoubtedbly most of the anecdotes will sound vaguely familiar as if you saw them on an episode of "Leave it to Beaver" or in a cartoon once.
I don't pretend we are a prefectly original family - however, I do tend to think my children are all stand-up comedy-circuit-ready and thrilling geniuses.
If you had us over, you'd think it was feeding time at the zoo~when you have three boys and are gloriously as outnubered as I am, I welcome your observations and suggestions.
We both want our boys to be
strong...
full of discernment...
aware of convictions...
but sensitive to teaching...
kind...
faithful...
pure...
loving...
brilliant...
courageous...
&
we want them to come find us still on this Mountain in 35 years.
Still happy, still in love, still probrably in this house because it is full of quirks that only we love and we would never be able to sell it I'm fully convinced, and still growing ourselves.
Forgive this blog and this Writer if I am terribly self-indulgant at times.
Forgive rambling, improper use of punctuation, misspellings, occasional rants, run-on sentances, comma misusage, lengthy absences and ridiculous exaggeration.
And know this: I am here to relay what life in a house full of tiny men, their learning mother and their devoted dad looks like.
Everything I am, Everything I have, Everything I know, Everything I love: it's Him; it's Jesus.