words

 

 

It’s been awhile and so I think a bit of catching up may be in order.  I may not have been blogging but I sure have been busy with… well… life.  

 

Annoyed.  I have a lack of internet service at home right now.  In need of a new part or possibly a new internet provider.  I’m holding my ground and they’re holding theirs.  Blogging is difficult when you can only do it at work (frowned upon) or in an area with free wifi accompanied by four not so patient little boys.  Hence the scarcity of the posts recently.

Satisfied.  I won a bit of a battle with Best Buy a few weeks back which involved them replacing (and upgrading) my camera after the auto focus decided to retire a bit early.

Cold.  In a backyard baseball game gone awry, a window was broken out of my van.  It rained sideways on the way to work tonight.  It’s one thing to have rain on your windshield, but quite another to have rain hitting the side of your face while you are attempting to drive.  Tonight I will be sporting bad hair and a wet T-shirt.  Wet T-shirts are a good look for some… me, not so much.

Adjusting.  In the line of work I am in now we are always cycling.  We prepare, train, go live and support over and over again.  We just hit another Go Live which involves me working at the hospital 12 hour night shifts for the month of December.  I don’t mind working nights assuming I actually get to sleep during the day.  This is a rarity.  I am adjusting to getting 4-5 hours of sleep every 24 hours and impress myself with my energy level most days.

Disappointed.  I have to deal with a litter box again.  Elliott became proficient at digging and burying outside over the last few years and therefore I was able to forego the littler box.  Recently, I wandered out into the living room in the  middle of the night only to watch a raccoon come in through the cat door.  Unfortunately, he was not scared of me and was really quite comfortable hanging out in the same room as me.  If I would have sat down on the sofa he probably would have climbed up on my lap and curled up or ripped my face off with his creepy little hands.  The cat door is now closed for business and the little box is open. 

Counting.  I am counting my blessings this Christmas season that I have a husband and a father.  We recently lost a close family member unexpectedly.  My heart goes out to his wife.  I try to imagine functioning without my own husband.  I also think of his three daughters and wonder what life would be like without the father that I take for granted.  Rest in peace uncle Mickey. 

Excited.  We are having Christmas company this year.  My mom and sister will be coming to visit.  It will be our first overnight guests at the cottage.  We will be celebrating our first Christmas at the cottage.  I am so excited to take these northerners out on the boat and show them all the things they are missing out on.  I’m excited to see what they think of the boys.  I talk to my mom every day, but I think sometimes it’s hard to imagine how much the boys have grown and matured. 

Crafty.  I’ve been wrapping presents by the glow of the Christmas tree each night that I’m not working.  We play Christmas music while I cut apart brown paper bags to make wrapping paper.  I am using up the very last bits of wrapping paper that I own and using lots of homemade paper I’ve collected or repurposed.  I love brown paper packages tied up with strings.  So much so that last night Scott and I sat at the table in silence sewing the seams of paper together with fuzzy yarn.  The packages looked so festive and inviting.  In all reality, the sewing was necessary because while I do often acquire new tape, it gets used very quickly in our house.  I believe the last roll was used to attach the vacuum extension tube to the top of a Nerf gun for a makeshift site.

Creative.  I’ve gotten really good at coming up with one pot meals.  You know the ones that are cooked all in one pot?  Not because I like that kind of recipe or because I only have one pot, but because I only have one burner.  Something dropped on our ecook top the other day and shattered it.  I am left with one usable burner.  I think logical people would go out and buy a new stove, but us… nope.  It keeps things interesting.  I’ve priced the cook top and it’s not pretty.  I’ve priced new stoves and don’t really feel like allocating the time and money right now, so one pot meals it is.  Last night was Mahi Mahi over couscous with pineapple and red peppers.  It was awesome.

Balanced.  I love not being in school.  My family is the closest it’s ever been.  I have a great work/family balance these days.  I work a bit during the week and then it’s off to the cottage on the weekends.  Scott is getting busier with the heavy Christmas shipping season, but his hours are still much better than last year.  I have a real handle on the kids and homework and violin and swim.  I feel in control and not spread to thin.  It’s a refreshing change from the last year.

Nesty.  I am revisiting plans to create the perfect family closet.  This is the idea that all of the clothes in the house live in one place.  They’re either on someone, in the washer or in the closet.  Clothes come out of the dryer and have only one place to go.  The family closet is full of Christmas presents at the moment so these plans must wait for after the holidays, but that doesn’t stop me from scouring Pinterest for inspiration.

Smug.  I’ve found a new source of information and inspiration.  Podcasts.  I love that I can access millions of them via my cell phone.  It is not uncommon to see me walking around the house cleaning or doing paper work with my cell phone in my bra broadcasting a podcast on raising large families or backyard chickens or urban homesteading or organization.  Scott walked in the other day on a podcast regarding how to choose a sister wife.  Oops, that probably looked a bit odd.  I’m not actually considering it but find different family structures fascinating. 

Anxious.  We are in the process of attempting to move.  I do not deal well with moving.  We aren’t planning another cross country move, but a move to a city that is a bit closer to everything in our daily circle.  We are burning lots of fuel and time these days commuting.  No one likes being in the van (maybe because it lacks air, power locks, interior lights, and most recently a window) for extended periods of time including me.  We have outgrown our house and our neighborhood.  Look out, we could be moving near you!

Extreme.  We recently seriously downgraded our satellite TV.  Were down to the local channels, the religious ones  and the home shopping channels.  I miss my garbage shows so much, but don’t miss the time that was required to keep up with all of them.  We have had more family time than ever, some nights not even turning the TV on.  This has lead to some discussion of having no TV in our next house.  We will also be making our own cheese, raising tea cup pot bellied pigs and focusing on self sustainability.  Just kidding… or maybe not. 

Paged.  I am feeling paged, because, well, I am getting paged to the ER to help them with their new computer system.  Probably the reason I should not blog at work.  

Erin Out!

 

America

I wake up each morning and take a breath of FREEDOM.

I live in America. 

 

In America,

I can

have as many children as I desire.

 

 

 

 

In America,

I can

express my thoughts and views without fear of punishment through a blog or some sky art if I so desired.

 

 

 

In America,

I can military recruiters can

jump out of airplanes waving giant American flags behind them as they float to the ground in front of a high school audience full of boys waiting to be inspired.  Actually inspiring everyone. 

 

In America,

I can

support what I believe in.  We gather, and cheer and love the country we live in.

 

In America,

I can

do whatever the men are doing.  Women are not held back.

 

I feel blessed to wake up each morning in a country where I am free and encouraged to become whatever I desire.  Although, I am also graced with just a wee bit of common sense.  Enough to know that scaling a chain link fence and running across the football field to the sign up booth is probably not for me and the military, well, I’d probably be denied for a multitude of good reasons.  But I am inspired by those who did go marching over to the booth and sign up with the waiting recruiters and all those who have done so in the past that lay there lives down on the line everyday out there just to protect all those qualities that make America America.

words

 

 

worried…  Finn’s new speech therapy teacher tells me she is concerned with his inability to follow direction sometimes.  He passes my evaluation at home with flying colors but must be doing something peculiar at school.  Is he just timid or new to the routine or developmentally delayed or having some kind of absence seizures or feeling so special he doesn’t feel the need to follow the directions for the regular kids or afraid of getting yelled at or deaf or daydreaming or synaptically impaired or fill in the blank?  My mind runs with ideas and when I come up with a new diagnosis. I try to recall every tiny situation he’s had since he’s come in to this world to either prove or disprove my theory.  This is what mothers do I suppose.  Worry till they have ulcers and wait for the real answer to be revealed.  I can’t wait to discuss it further because each day it gnaws at me a little.  I’m not a fan of those lack of control situations. 

 

healed…  Eye doctor appointments this past week revealed that Gavin no longer needs glasses.  Good because he lost them.  But disappointing for Gavin because he had some trendy new frames picked out.

 

excited…  Each day I see more evidence supporting the notion that Petey might soon be potty trained and I can find a new use for the diaper budget (maybe Carbonite).  I think I still have many years of wipes, but the diapers may soon be history.

 

smarter…  I may have figured out another piece of his personality puzzle.  Tommy seems to be an angel when he’s rested (only child in our house with an actual bed time), fed and physically exhausted (this means swim 4-5 nights per week).  Now it’s just keeping each of these “banks” topped off that is tricky. 

 

connected… Gavin goes through phases like I go through cheese and eggs.  This year alone it’s been Harry Potter, Nascar, cactuses, skateboarding, scootering, magic and Nerf guns.  I have never been able to relate however, this past month his phase of choice has been pets.  Pets were a childhood passion of mine sometimes having up to 20 at a time (depending on what happened to be multiplying at any given moment).  As an adult, pets equal responsibility and money but as a child it was pure pleasure.  Gavin won’t be owning any more pets anytime soon, but I can appreciate all of the research he’s been doing and can tell him stories about my pets.  We’ve also been visiting local pet shops and holding the animals and discussing them.  I hope this one lasts longer than the weightlifting phase, I like this one.

 

tired…  Sometimes I can run on little or no sleep and then there are times when I start to feel like I’m in love with my husband mattress.  Last week I showed up early at the bus stop twice just so I could sneak a little cat nap.  

 

pressured… We have appointments almost every week until the end of the year to use up my flexible spending medical account at work.  Dentist, eye doctor, lab, and doctor X6 appointments each.  Not fun, but satisfying I suppose.

 

uncertain…  It sounds like we will be moving in the near future.  When?  It’s up in the air.  Where?  It’s up in the air.  Family, rest assured it won’t be far, just closer to the things we need to be closer to, work, schools and pools.  I am packing things away that we won’t need during the next six months.  I feel a bit like a mother hen not sure where to build her nest, but am resting assured that we have many good options and a home has to do more with the people living there than the actual shingles and bricks. 

 

content…  We seem to be in our school year groove and are falling into a consistent routine.  I count my blessings each day that I am not a single parent because I just don’t understand how they do it.  This household requires a minimum of two parents playing the part of chauffeurs, chefs, maids, nannies, and life coaches.  Most days, I’m certain we could even use a few more moms around here.  I like where were at now.  It’s a happy, chaotic and exhausting, but a happy labor of love type place.

what the flip?

We watch from a distance as a crazy little helicopter hovers over nearby boats chasing them across the waves.  Circling and closing in.  Coast Guard?  Police?  Black Ops?  It’s a bit concerning watching him pick his next victim and then swooping in for a closer look.  I remain uneasy as he spots us.  We’re next, I think to myself grabbing my camera to document the evidence incase anything shady goes down. The boys don’t pick up on my suspicious vibe yet and are still enjoying the captivating show.

 

 

I was preparing for the worst.  Machine guns, tear gas bombs, pirates jumping aboard our vessel etc… I continued to snap the camera to function like the black box that they find after airplane crashes that explains the mystery.  These photographic clues will be all that will remain after this certain disaster.  He closed in on a boat behind us and then I braced myself as the driver made eye contact with me.  We were next.  He obviously hadn’t found what he was looking for on the other boats.  Was it small children to be sold into slavery or was it amateur photo equipment or a cooler full of beer he was after?  We had them all.  My stomach turned as the chopper floated past me like a hummingbird.

 

Oh, joy a helicopter crash and I have front row seats was my first impression.  Finn was actually amused at the thought of the bird plunging into the water.  The pilot maneuvered even closer to the waves and then spun around to hover and chase us.

 

 

On his second circle the pilot came in close enough to wave to me.  As he turned his copilot snapped photos of me snapping photos of them.  It was only then that I took notice of the writing on the pontoon.  BOATPIX.COM  I breathed a sigh of relief.  We might actually get out of this situation alive.  I stood their thinking about the concept for a minute. 

Oh, I get it, they take pictures of you enjoying your boat with your family and then you go on their website and buy picture of you enjoying your boat with your family. 

 

 

So maybe not cops or military or high seas pirates, but after looking at the website and the prices I feel like it may actually involve a little high seas robbery.  I could make two months worth of boat payments for the cost of one photo. 

I for one am not interested in a high priced photo of myself in a swimsuit on my boat jumping to conclusions while attempting to protect my family with my only weapon, my Canon Rebel.  No thanks, not today but thanks for scaring me half to death and amusing my family and for sparing my life and giving me something to blog about. 

Thanks BOATPIX and good luck with this business venture.  It’s an interesting concept. 

some of us

some of us are 30 years old and have still never visited Sea World…

 

 

 

and some of us don’t need to go.

danger

We left the cottage early today as the father of my children was in a rather sour mood. 

He sits here next to me watching a horror flick while I carefully keep my eyes on my computer screen editing photos.  I am far too nervous to peek at the TV as I can see in my peripheral vision a scene involving a cat and a hammer and a cardboard box.  No thanks.  I continue editing and recalling the days events as I go.  

As I gather a group of photos for my post, one theme seems to rise to the surface rather quickly.  It may be the creepy sound effects or the bloody screams coming out of the surround sound but the photos themselves seem to be taking on a predictable theme of their own. DANGER DANGER DANGER!!! 

I should have known prior to leaving the dock today…

 

 

that most boating folk research maps prior to taking day trips in unfamiliar areas.  Loading up a boatful of little boys and a bag of Doritos and some sunscreen does not qualify for being well prepared. 

 

 

 

Most folk would also fill up gas at their familiar station rather than hitting the high seas with a half tank assuming that you’ll find gas before you hit E.  We were fortunate enough to find that gas…

 

 

 

but not fortunate enough to avoid parking on the sand bar that guarded the gas station canal.  Possibly a warning should be posted.  “Please enjoy the small brightly colored buildings, but do not be so distracted that you do not read the, SANDBAR AHEAD” sign".”  Is that too much to ask for?  Really?

 

 

A little PSA while were on topic of dangers.  Collection can get out of control quickly if not reined in.  I recall a collection of guinea pigs that multiplied in this fashion.  One is pretty, two are nice, but fifteen might qualify you as a hoarder.

   

The signs were everywhere.  But did we allow that to hamper our high spirits?  I think not. 

 

 

This old dock may scream sliver to some, but not those of us who live on the edge.  Not those of us who still have a sliver in their right foot because they are not smart enough to wear shoes, and not flexible enough to do sit in the required contorsion to dig it out and not trusting enough to let their husbands perform surgery for removal.

 

 

I realized this was dangerous the minute I sat down on the toilet and Finn appeared from the makeshift shower holding the dripping community washcloth.  “Put that down, no hang that up, no wash your hands, no don’t wash your hands, just go outside.”  Go outside he did, exposing by butt to anyone who happened to be driving by.  Predictable?  No. But typical? Yeah, sounds about right.

 

 

Asking the dock master extensive questions about how many people actually put money in the box and then photographing the box extensively now seems like a poor idea.  If perhaps several months someone breaks into the Old Boathouse lock box, I will most likely be the number one suspect. 

 

 

Photographing one child (which was cut off when I realized it was a better photo of the crates than him) while turning my back on another turned out to be not such a hot idea.  I turned around to find one child on fish scale and another sitting atop the fork lift.  Oops. 

Should you enter an establishment that serves a “mullet dog”  you ask.  I live on the wild side I tell you. 

 

Clothes baskets as lighting fixtures is dangerous.  This I know.  That’s obvious.  But I was actually considering having lunch here.  I would have, except that when I walked into the restaurant I was only wearing a swimsuit.  Its a nice on with the courtesy skirt however, it’s a bit short and according to half of my family that was still on the boat I entered walking past a table with on cheek fully exposed.  Hmmmm… This place looked casual enough but maybe not quite that loose.  What’  Vinyl seats are really sticky, not my fault. 

 

The pinnacle event will remain photographed.  To paint a picture it went something like this. 

Lovely family with four rambunctious boys is cruising along enjoying the ocean breeze scanning the water for fins hoping to glimpse a dolphin or two.  Confident in there journey home as they were following the very same path that the GPS confirms they were on hours ago.  Not taking into account that they are a hundred pounds heavier after filling the gas tank to the brim and also not accounting for something called low tide and something even more dangerous called oyster beds…

Yep, cruising along one minute, abrupt stop the next.  Not only stopped, but stopped with an audience of oh so experienced fishermen.  Tense to say the least.  The children, jolted but unscathed, continued to beg the mom to allow them to go tubing or jump off or put out their baited lines.  The mom makes an attempt at to explain the need for silence in emergency situations while simultaneously brainstorming how to launch oneself back into the water.

A bit of shouting is followed by the wife instructing the husband to jump over board and push the boat off the oyster island back into the water which is followed by more shouting including a few profanities (for effect only) as the husband lands on said oysters.  Quickly retreating to the boat the wife produces a pair of fashionable water shoes for him.  Water shoes are donned in record time, as the audience pretends to have found a hot fishing hole not fifty feet beyond the funniest site pine island fishermen have seen in awhile. 

These fishermen probably head out around low tide everyday to people watch much the way I do whenever I am driving through out local Walmart parking lot.  I love to sit right on the border between Walmart and the Dollar Tree because our Walmart carts have locks on the tire.  The minute you get out of the acceptable perimeter, the wheel locks up.  I love to watch the shocked patrons kick and drag their carts much the way the fishermen probably watch unsuspecting boaters push and pull their boats.  But, I digress…

The wife is instructed to run to the front, no the back, no the side of the boat to offset the weight the load.  Slightly upset that here sheer size can actually tip a very heavy boat one way or another, she makes a mental note to not eat anymore of the Doritos this afternoon.  The motor is trimmed up and the husband pushes with super human strength fueled my adrenaline and sheer humiliation. 

And they’re off.  Back in the safety of the 3 foot canal.  Not deep enough to feel safe but far better than the 0.9 foot reading taken atop the oyster pile.

I would have loved a photo, but as you can imagine,   requesting my husband calm down and carefully wade out near the fishermen to snap a quick photo of out latest precarious situation would have been a bit inappropriate.  “Make sure you get my good side.  Say cheese boys.  Wave at Daddy!”

Hence the sulking this evening by one humbled husband.  I’ll be lucky if this makes it past his veto power as he offers his editing suggestions tonight, but an experience such as this may as well serve as a warning for other novice ocean boaters. 

  

Opportunities for adventure are abundant.  Occasionally though one must overlook a warning or two in order to take advantage of these opportunities.  I am amazed sometimes when recalling events, often in the form of editing photos, that all the warnings were there, my vision was just a little off.  What’s that they say about hindsight?

if i were a writer

Every weekend, it’s more of the same.  Every weekend, we anticipate and plan and pack and climb aboard. 

Every weekend, it’s unique.  Every weekend, we sail off into a different direction towards an uncharted destination.

 

 

Writers of books and writers of songs and writers of plays have sailed these waters and walked these steps and bellied up to the bar and spent weeks on these magical grounds.  Cabbage Key attracts a certain type of folk I suppose and it’s no coincidence that these folk are all writers of some sort.

Once I stepped off the boat and onto the island, I got it.  I could feel it in my head, the damn was lifted and the water flowed freely.

Isolated…  Quiet…  Simple…  Understated…

I would be able to clean out my head and organize my thoughts and do great things…

if I were a writer…

 

It would be nearly impossible to not be inspired by the sheer lack of all that’s distracting and the abundance of all that’s essential.

if i were a writer…

 

 

If I were a guest using the guest laundry, I would probably write poetry in my head while I folded grand, thick, soft, ridiculously large snow white towels. 

if i were a writer…

 

 

Simple and crisp and white and classic on the inside and green and plush and wet on the outside.  I would set up a little desk right here, facing the window (adjacent to the washer, but inspiring none the less).

if i were a writer… 

 

The timely afternoon showers would bring a different mood.  I would put away my sunny writing and slip into my more serious dark pieces and pour out my soul for all to read.  I would scribble it out as quickly as it came to me, never hesitating or second guessing.  I would write till the pounding turned to a pitter patter and then when the steam would lift, I would close my book and send it out to the masses (because there would be masses waiting) without editing or spell checking anything, just raw, untouched, direct quotes from my soul…

if i were a writer…

 

 

The morning sunrise would no doubt find me at my table with a boiled egg in that pretty boiled egg holder table decoration drinking my black coffee (because I would drink coffee if I was a writer) scribbling as fast as I could because the ideas that would have flowed into my brain overnight would already be flowing out of my pencil onto my napkin or the placemat or the palm of my hand or whatever canvas I could get my hands on first. 

if I were a writer…

Afternoons would be tea in the greenhouse.  Potting soil and dainty potting gloves and an apron (and a size four waist that would look classic in said apron).  I would get my hands dirty to clean my soul.  Ideas would drift in between my thoughts of peonies and hydrangeas.  If the notion hit, I would throw down my gloves, grab my pencil and curl up on the wicker sofa to capture my thoughts.  I would spin a beautiful masterpiece in the warm sunlit sanctuary that would be my greenhouse. 

if i were a writer…

I am so certain that inspiration  is actually what the core of this island is made up of, not some shell mound left by the early natives like historians claim.  Just pure inspiration waiting to find a willing host.  I know I felt it coming up through my feet as I walked the grounds.  My fingers flew over my camera and ideas danced through my head and the creativity begged to find a little hole to seep out of.

Cabbage Key gets mixed reviews, you either get it or you don’t. 

It attracts a certain kind of folk i suppose, a type of folk that have enough distractions going on in their own heads, that they don’t need external distractions like traffic or real jobs or bills or the IRS.  Once the external distractions are removed, they can hone in on those internal ones and hunt them down and round them up and carry them off to be processed.  The words are there, this place just lends itself to opening up and letting those ideas transform into words which transform into sentences which transform into pre-bestseller manuscripts which transform into years of success and happiness. 

Here on the island the writer once again becomes free as he purges his head of his crazy bits of creativity and then sends them off to his publisher who binds them up in a pretty little thing so he has a carrier of a  little piece of himself to give to the world.

if I were a writer I would come here.

If I were a writer.

and so I'm a nurse

I woke up this morning a nurse. 

"What an accomplishment," so many have said to me in reference to passing my boards.  I feel a little funny about that.  Deciding to go to nursing school was probably the most selfish decision I've ever made.  My family suffered, my marriage was stressed, my children were probably borderline neglected, my Miss Tammie (daycare) was used and abused.  I was a less productive employee, a short tempered mom and a self centered wife while in the program.  So, thanks for the compliment, but in true Grammy style, this compliment really goes out to those poor unfortunate souls who had to endure my wrath while I trudged through the nursing program.

Thank You Scott for allowing me to pursue something that took up so much of my time and our money and required you to own the laundry and dishes and the mop.  You have been an incredible driving force.  Even when it would have been easier and better for all of us, you never let me quit.  You ignored the mess in my van that comes with living life between the classroom and clinicals and the hospital seven days a week.  I would have never made it through this without you.  Thank you.

Thank You Miss Tammie for opening your front door at 4:45 am and inviting us in and helping me build nests for the boys on your sofa.  You were my saving grace last semester when I was pulled into the office and warned that if I missed more than 6 minutes of class I would be dismissed form the program.  You took my boys through step throat, twice and once with pink eye.  I also recall dropping off Tommy one day with a gaping wound on his forehead.  "Call me if you can't get the bleeding to stop."  We would have been kicked out of a traditional daycare long ago.  The entire time you were going through a complicated pregnancy yourself and dealing with far more drama than you ever deserve.  Who was that woman that dropped off her kids just so she could go to some stupid class everyday?  Yeah sorry, that was me.

Employer who will remain nameless.  Thank you for looking the other way when I had my text books out studying the stupid endocrine system.  Thank you for allowing me to study while on the clock every day.  I even recall a certain charge nurse who shut down an ICU room for the day in order to allow me to glitter and glue my ADHD project.  I owe you printer toner and paper and probably a glue stick or two.  There were many days when my dinner was a left over patient tray because I was far to busy to cook.  I would have never passed a test if I didn't have real patients to play with or real nurses brains to pick or real doctors willing to let me assist them a the bedside.  In spite of my lack of productiveness some days you hung on to me and looked the other way all in hopes of me finally graduating and coming full circle to become a nurse. 

Thank you Father Mac for excusing me from mass each Sunday.  I was racked with guilt until one day you saw me in the ICU and said to me, "Don't feel guilty for a minute about not being at church on Sundays.  While we are there at mass talking about GOD's work, you are here doing GOD's work."  You're excused.  Thank you.  Also thank you little communion ladies who came to the ICU every Sunday to bring communion to the patients.  You would seek me out and administer my weekly dose of communion and insist that I pray with you (in the hallway, or patient room or nurse's lounge).  I have no doubt that you played a part in my surviving the program.  GOD probably listens to the prayers of little ladies like you.  Thank you for including me in some of them.

Thank you Mom for picking up your phone sometimes three times a day to allow me to vent, being my ethical sounding board, patting my back and laughing at my latest class pranks.  Even from 1,200 hundred miles away, I still wanted nothing more than to get off the school bus and pull a report card full of A's out of my backpack.  Thank you for holding me accountable.  Without your perseverance, the boys would still be behind on their immunizations and Finn wouldn't have been screened and signed up for speech therapy yet.  For the record, Miss Hewitt did not call today with his busing schedule, I will follow up with her this afternoon, because I know you're gonna ask me.  Even though you may not understand the Kreb's cycle or the care about metabolic acidosis, you were sympathetic when I complained about having to learn them them.  I love knowing that I can call you and tell you it was a bad day.  No details required, I only had to talk about it if I want to.  Scott wants details and plans and resolutions and analysis and sometimes I don't have the energy to rehash it or any desire to.  You take what I give and don't demand answers.  Many of our conversations involved me talking BLAH BLAH BLAH and you just listening.  I think I would have stabbed my eye out with my tuberculin syringe if I didn't know that no matter how awful this clinical day was, at the end I could walk out to my van and dial you up and dump it on you.  If you ever need to vent, call me, I think I owe you a few hundred hours.

Thank you co-students for putting up with my endless sense of humor.  Laughter is one of my favorite coping mechanisms.  For those of you who may have found yourself urinating in the men's bathroom when suddenly all lights were shut off,  I apologize.   The thought of you in there alongside a perfect stranger with you pants undone groping around to find your way out...  The giggles I got from that were therapeutic.  If you ever arrived home and opened your backpack only to find the classroom clock or part of the colon mannequin, again, sorry. 
You were all so encouraging when I hit the wall, we all took our turns.  Most of you were accepting when I laid down the disclaimer that I was a terrible friend too.  I'm not a reliable texter of facebooker, I will only show up to roughly one out of every ten invites and I lose touch really quickly.  But you all put up with me despite my numerous faults including allowing me to compete with you even though you didn't really want to compete with me.  I am a better nurse because of all you. 

To my nursing instructors:  I would like to thank you, but I'm not really ready for that.  I'm still suffering from a little post traumatic stress disorder.  I'm a nurse now and for that I'm thankful, but quite frankly, you were less than understanding and more than a little frustrating. 
My boys, my dear sweet boys.  Thank you for.....  Hmmmmm.... I can't thank you for allowing me to become a nurse, because you would have stopped me if you could have.  I guess I really want to say sorry.  You all suffered to a certain extent and I'm sorry mommy didn't decide to be a traditional college student and graduate before I got married and brought all of you into this world.  But that would have required planning and if I was a real planner, you probably wouldn't even exist.  So I'm just sorry.  You all seem to have made it through OK even though there were some close calls. 

A short list of items that I had to Forgo during the nursing program include but are not limited to the following:  Immunizations, PTA meetings, 1 parent teacher conference, the Seder dinner at church (count your blessings, parsley does not taste good), the occasional signing of the student planner, countless birthday party invites, career day, the Turkey Trot, yearly physicals, one dental cleaning. 

I didn't always chose to skip those things, but was required by a program that I did chose to enter.  It's your time now.  Mommy is not going to go to school for ANYTHING in the near future.  It's your turn now to be my priority again and believe me I'm paying for it.  Swim practice five nights a week, meets on the weekends, a birthday party for a friend this weekend and lots of quality time at the cottage. 

Elliott my dear old orange cat.  On several occasions you got a bit hungry and went for some periods with no water.  But do understand that is is difficult to water you often when you will only drink running water.  Also in my defense, the toilet is always open and I know I've seen you drink from it so don't pretend that you were ever actually that dehydrated.  I also let your shots slip by and for that I apologize.  I will try to fit you in here one of these days.  Thank you for being my late night study buddy and for keeping my lap warm everytime I sat down to study.  We spend many dark nights at the kitchen table making drug cards.  Thanks.

To all those innocent bystanders who endured my short temper and lack of patience.  This will include but again not be limited to:

Chatty bus stop girl
Chatty bus stop girl's mother
The school choice office
The IRS
The local Sheriffs department
Over zealous seven eleven employee
School bookkeeper Miss Bell (although you know you weren't actually innocent either)
Crabby little aggressive woman in Target who snapped at my boys


And anyone else that I may have lost my temper with or failed to give the utmost respect to:
I apologize.

You have all suffered over the last year, and so this morning I wake up as a nurse.

blessed

 

I could have wound up with a man that smothered me with his blanket of jealously…

Instead, I wound up with a man that trusts me completely and is even able to laugh and shake his head at the incredibly inappropriate text conversations that go one between myself and some of my male co workers with similar senses of humor. 

Complete trust and confidence in his position as my husband

 

I could be on this parenting journey with a man that is distanced around my children…

Instead, I am on this journey with a man that will willingly dive into any poopy situation and isn’t too busy to lay on his belly and play Matchbox cars.

Involved and interested in our little creations

 

I could easily find myself shacked up with a business partner sort of relationship resulting from the strains of parenting and working and living life…

Instead, I find myself in the arms of a man who is more in love with me than that October day I met him at the alter.

His love grows more and more each day, instead of a fading spark it’s a regular bon fire these days

 

I could be paired up with a dream crusher…

Instead, GOD has placed me with a complimenting partner that will quietly rein me back down to earth when the dreams get a little to far fetched.

Common sense and a gentle persuasiveness

 

I imagined I would be the wife to a man’s man, the kind that only mows the lawn and pounds nails and watches football and drinks beer.

Instead, I am the wife of a man who is owns an edger and a tractor and a blower but is well versed in the proper use of the lingerie bag that must be used when he washes my over priced Victoria Secret bras and is able to bath four boys with efficiency and who makes a bed far better than I could ever dream of.  He is willing to tear up during a country song that touches him.

A scratchy five o’clock shadow but soft enough to rock an exhausted toddler to sleep

 

How did I make such an incredible choice at 19 years old?

Why did GOD feel it appropriate to put a man of this caliber in my life when I could have married a multitude of disappointments around me?

How did my boys get so lucky to have a father that would do anything for them, even in the middle of the night or on a Thursday night after an exhausting day of delivering packages in a Fed Ex truck with no air conditioning on a sweltering summer day?

 

 

Blessed.

napping

Every time we idle of our channel in the boat on another excursion we find something different or something new.  Somethings however remain consistent.  Like the fact that every time we head out the little boys pass out.  

Maybe it’s the squinting in the sun or the constant droning hum of the motor.

 

They get snuggly and in no time are drooling and dreaming.

 

It’s not uncommon for them to fall asleep before we even reach the end of our canal, sleep the entire excursion away and then wake up just in time to watch Daddy park the boat back on the lift.  I can’t even recall the last nap they took inside the cottage in their little makeshift cottage beds.  Fresh air and sunshine does this to little boys and I love it.  

arrival

 

 

 

When we finally spent our first weekend at the cottage I realized, we have finally arrived.  This is why families have cottages.  I get it.  Soon after I lazed in my repurposed Craigslist hammock and I thought, “Wow, I’ve really arrived now!  Why have I never owned a hammock before?”  These last two weeks as we sped through the inter coastal waterways with my floppy green hat and my super tan legs I realized we have definitely arrived.  Arrived in the way a motorcycle enthusiast must feel as he cruises down the back country roads on his new Harley for the first time.  This is the lifestyle I’ve always watched from a distance and now am a part of and it’s incredible.

It’s really deeper than that though.  All the material things that have some how worked out and come our way over the last few months are really just a set of tools being used to bring us together.  Not that a boat or hammock alone will change one’s life, but the opportunity to spend time at the cottage every weekend or spend lazy Sundays in the two person hammock buried underneath four little men or trapped in a boat for six hours sitting in close proximity to each other.  Miles from wi fi access and cell service.  Just our family and the ocean breeze and the islands and the mangroves. 

Our family is tighter and tighter after each weekend we get away.  The boys are eating up the wholesome country lifestyle that we slip into every Saturday.  I now have a habit of leaving my cell phone in the drink holder in the van.  It’s useless to me on the island and not because the cell service on the island is less than desirable, but because I am already with my family.  I’m surrounded by all those who matter to me.  Except for my mom up north whom receives an ongoing and off going island phone call updating her on the sunburns and dolphins and quirky cottage issues. 

I woke up last Sunday morning and started mentally preparing excuses for missing church.  Sunday church would better fit in my schedule Monday through Friday when I have my date book out and am actually setting the alarm clock.  Weekends at the cottage are designed to be relaxing with no commitments.  Church however was designed for Sunday and GOD doesn’t live on island time like I do.  It’s never a question for Scott.  He wakes and rounds up boys and searches the cottage dresser for appropriate church clothes.  We have two drawers in the dresser.  The top drawer contains clothes for Scott and I.  This is where I retire my holey (not church holy, actually full of holes) before they meet their maker in the trash can.  The bottom drawer contains clothes for the boys.  Yes, they all share one drawer. 

I rolled over and looked at Scott, no excuse ready.  “We are all going to church,” he announced in his voice of reason.  I sighed but didn’t argue.  I knew he was right.  Since our weekends are just wholesome family time now, church is even more important and needs to play a priority.  Our children are watching and I want them to know how important church is for our family.  Scott’s mom and dad brought him to church every Sunday and since I was about 19, Scott has insisted that we go every week.  I want my boys to grow up knowing that this is a priority and feel confident in requiring that their own families attend as well.  I recall on vacation in Mexico finding a church and sitting through a mass.  Even though they didn’t speak English, they spoke Catholic.  It was comforting to see how a religion can span the country and how much I actually understood through the music and the tradition that originally seemed so intimidating as a non-Catholic. 

As I was shooing the boys toward the van we heard some splashing down by the dock.  We raced down to find a dolphin fishing in our canal.  We stood in silence watching his powerful body create a wake as he surfaced and dove below chasing schools of fish past our dock.  Incredible. I feel a bit like the girls in seventh grade with their colorful Lisa Frank dolphin notebooks.  Imagine a bunch of middle school girls in Northern Wisconsin obsessed with dolphins and unicorns and Persian cats.  I was too poor to own Lisa Frank notebooks and therefore declared that they were ridiculous.  But, maybe they were actually on to something with the dolphins.  They are stunning.  Majestic and powerful and captivating.  We were graced by this dolphin’s presence Sunday morning.   A little reward for doing the right thing and going to church.  Thank you. 

The minute I sat down in the pew and knelt to say my prayers I was reminded that this is just where I need to be.  Each time I hesitate to go to church and then end up going the message seems even more personal than usual.  I swear sometimes GOD plants a message in the priest's mouth that is to be delivered to me and me alone.  Several points that have been weighing heavily on my mind were addressed.  It clarified some things that Scott and I really needed to hear right now, however, Scott was conveniently in the bathroom with a little boy during said message.  I’m not sure he actually believed me when I reiterated the point.  Figures!

As we drove back to the cottage I issued the citations.  “Gavin, you lose 7 minutes of fishing for sitting your butt on the pew while kneeling, twice, and also for poking Finn and making him squeal during communion.  Tommy, you lose 15 minutes of fishing for leaving the pew to get a drink, twice, and for sitting while we stood during the Lord’s prayer and for offering to bring Finn back by Dad and then never returning.”  Punishments were served and the tide came in sun was received and bikes were ridden and mosquitoes were swatted and PBJ sandwiches were wolfed down at an alarming rate and then the tide went out and then the sun started to fall.

An evening dolphin/sunset cruise is quickly becoming one of my favorite times to be out on the boat.  The boys have full bellies and are exhausted from hours of playing in the sun and the surf and we take a mellow cruise while slowly chasing the sunset.  We are joined on all sides of the boat sometimes by the playful dolphins and I am reminded that all the technology in the world can’t match the great vastness of the ocean and the wonder of all creatures and the closeness it can bring a family immersing themselves in it each weekend. 

 

We’ve arrived.  How do I make sure we stay?

 

 

hand in hand

We spent last Sunday on the new boat that goes hand in hand with the new cottage…

 

We hit the water early and headed out for Picnic island which goes hand in hand with picnics of course…

 

 

We meandered through the mangroves which go hand in hand with any waterfront FL land…

 

We used the primitive island bathroom which go hand in hand with most uninhabited islands…

 

Not surprisingly, I took lots of photos which go hand in hand with all island adventures…

 

We posed for photos in our new required attire which goes hand in hand with our new boating lifestyle…

 

We enjoyed the sea gulls land that go hand in hand with any beach…

 

We enjoyed the private bay that went hand in hand with the private island…

 

Then we finally climbed aboard our boat and headed home to find the aloe that goes hand in hand with the sunburn.

when life gives you lemons

Technorati Tags: lemons,life,lemonade

 

When life gives you lemons you…

Should be excited that you will soon be the envied green thumb of the neighborhood.

 

When life gives you lemons you…

Should be thankful that they require no real care and water and pruning.  Count your blessings that they just do their own thing.

 

When life gives you lemons you…

Should photograph them often.

 

When life gives you lemons you…

Should trick your boys into standing under the tree after a rain and then shake the branches to get them wet.

 

When life gives you lemons you…

Should have the “lemons aren’t baseballs waiting to be picked” speech with your boys.

 

When life gives you lemons you…

Should have the “lemons aren’t to be used as ammo” speech with your boys.

 

When life gives you lemons you…

Should enjoy the fragrant lemon blossoms each morning.

 

When life gives you lemons you…

Should share with your friends.

 

When life gives you lemons you…

Should cook lots of seafood.

 

When life gives you lemons you…

Should clean all of your copper bottomed pots.

 

When life gives you lemons you…

Should plant a lime tree.

 

When life gives you lemons you…

Should buy  a juicer at the thrift shop.

 

And I suppose when life gives you lemons you…

Could make some lemonade.

after the rain

During the rainy season the luminous clouds roll in like clockwork.  We work outside in the morning when it’s cool and play in the backyard in the late morning after breakfast.  Then it’s lunch and naps.  By the time we wake up in the afternoon it’s far too muggy to venture out.  So we wait.  We wait for the sun to hide and the clouds to saunter in.  The grass gets greener and the sky turns eerie and the pre rain smell wafts on the sticky breeze and the air gets heavy.  Sounds are intensified and the thunder rumbles quiet and dull and low.  The sky opens up and the sweet cleansing rain starts to wash away our sidewalk chalk and our skid marks.  Like drops of water on the hot pancake skillet, the raindrops eventually overwhelm the baking pavement and cool it  to something a little less than scalding.
We wake up from our napping pile calmly one at a time smiling in silence at each other.  We untangle and lay in bed while we listen to the fat raindrops pelting the window.  After ample stretching and cuddling we emerge from our nest like a bear family waking from hibernation.  We take our places at the dining room table.  I open the blinds so we can watch the storm while and eat cucumbers and drink icy root beer.  We sit in the dark munching and dipping our hands into the cool saltwater retrieving cucumber slices.  We search for the skinny ones with the highest salt to cuke ratio.  Just when we think it cannot possibly rain any harder it does, and it comes down in sheets overwhelming the eaves troughs.  My mind drifts to the backyard gardens.  The tomato under the drain spout has fought a valiant battle this rainy season, but today’s storm wills surely do him in.  I should have a garden full of little seedlings taking advantage of this soaking rain.  Instead, I have an empty garden save one aggressive rosemary plant.  My mind comes back to the table full of silent boys still puffy with sleep and then without notice the screaming rain turns to speaking rain and then whispering rain and then nothing but the occasional pitter patter.  The sun cautiously makes a reappearance ready to start undoing what the rain has created.  He works to dry up the ditches, heat up the pavement and scorch any new seedlings considering growth. 
We fly up from the table sloshing cucumber water and make our move.



I grab my camera and two shoes.  My lens immediately fogs over.  I wipe with my shirt again and again until my lens acclimates to match the steamy temperature outside.  I snap some test shots of my feet knowing I’ll scrap them later.  I don’t.  A sparkly heel and a men's size 13 flip flop.  This is honest and us, so it will survive editing. 


Those of us who had chosen to nap in the nude throw on whatever we can find, even if it means a pair of backward jeans. 



We don’t even take time to go potty.  It’s time to play.  So we climb to the top of the quarter pipe and slide down.  It’s rather slick when wet and makes for a speedy slide.  Hitting the pavement at the bottom is a bit abrupt but worth it. 


We waste no time tromping into the ditches.  Each one claims their territory. 


The goal being to get as wet as possible, create as much laundry as possible and have the most fun.

 
Bikes turn into make believe wave runners.  Splashing and spraying all spectators including ones with rather expensive cameras.  We do not discriminate.

 
Those of us who put clothes on get photo attention.  Those splashing naked in the driveway with their sippy cups are not afforded the same opportunity.  

   
There is no such thing as a no wake zone.  We race and ride and splash and soak until we’re out of breath and out of memory card space.



Slowly but surely the earth reclaims her water and our ditch way canals dissipate.  We stomp and splash till the water recedes and Daddy comes up the road in his truck. 
We all head inside for a special treat.  Fried chicken and mashed potatoes and movie night.  We cuddle and eat and watch a family movie.  A few nod off as Scott and I cuddle and watch a less appropriate movie while I hold a bag of frozen hushpuppies on a boy with a seriously bruised coccyx,(the result of a scooter/wood floor/mashed potatoes accident).  Carrying each slumbering boy off into another direction, Scott finally gives in to his heavy eyelids and retires.  I remain sitting in my chair computer in hand editing afternoon puddle photos.  I love editing photos by myself in the dark. 
Tomorrow will be more of the same.  Sun and cooking and playing and eating and cleaning and napping and rain and more sun and more eating and more playing and more eating and sleeping and cleaning and editing photos in the dark by myself with some mashed potatoes on the floor.   I can hardly wait.