Thursday, June 30, 2011

this is the boy

 

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This is the boy who has no patience with me but can watch his bobber bob for an hour without reeling it in…

This is the boy who keeps my debate skills very very sharp with daily practice…

 

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This is the boy who asked me on a date to the hardware store last weekend at the cottage on the island…

This is the boy whose face lit up when he saw this net hanging on the shelf…

 

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This is the boy who used his net to capture some free bait at a newly discovered secret beach on the island…

This is the boy who held his dead fish in the car all the way to the cottage where he did indeed use them as bait and caught a fish…

 

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This is the boy who continues to test my patience daily multiple times per day…

This is the boy who is insisting I stop blogging and start researching remote control boats at this very minute…

 

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This is the boy who is so clever and so sweet it almost makes up for some of his qualities that test my sanity…

This is the boy who is so content this summer that he hopes school never starts again…

Wednesday, June 29, 2011

green hat

 

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I have a green hat that I found at a thrift shop.  It lives at the cottage…

 

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I have a green hat that is lovely to wear at the beach.  It keeps the sun out of my eyes…

 

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I have a green hat that is very popular with one little boy in particular.  Once he takes it I must fight for a turn…

 

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I have a green hat that makes for really clever photo shoots.  I also have a really clever model…

 

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I have a green hat that I would really like to wear one day.

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

because cock fighting is illegal

Unbeknownst to us, we had ring side seats tonight for one of the biggest matchups of the season in the UHFC, that’s the Ultimate Heron Fight Club for those of you less familiar.  We were spending a quiet evening on the seawall.  Some of us were fighting over the last two functioning fishing poles, some of us were watching and waiting for the sunset and some of us were laying in the brand new used hammock.  It was quiet and relaxing until we heard two loud thuds.

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Our roof became the runway for two rather clumsy airplanes minus the landing gear.  One after another two enormous blue herons landed.  Theses guys were about four feet tall and their egos must have been over six.  They strutted past each other with their beaks pointed up into the sky.

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We watched as the circled closer and closer to each other seeing who could make the other flinch, I was doing a lot of flinching. 

 

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Much of the fighting they did was in mid air.

 

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This one makes my knee cap hurt.  Ouchy…

 

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When I tell you we were close, too close for comfort, I mean, really close.

 

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Finn taunted them as they taunted each other.  They were taller than Finn, but he would have held his own if I had boosted him up there the join in.  Despite FInn’s squeals, they never lost sight of each other.  In fact, they didn’t seem to notice us at all.   

 

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I imagine they are fighting over this new territory and new family that probably appears as though they leave a lot of food scraps around.  But I’m just not sure I want to be a belong to a heron and an aggressive one at that.  They are beautiful from a distance, but standing five feet over your head is another matter all together.  I’m not sure who won in the end, we eventually went back to our fishing and lazing and gazing and let the rooftop squabble continue.  The loser eventually flew off to a neighbor’s rooftop and the winner stood guard over his newly won territory family.  It certainly made for some interesting evening entertainment. 

Thursday, June 23, 2011

swim

woke up this morning and packed for the swim meet
carb loaded the boys with Velveeta Shells
carb loaded myself with Velveeta Shells
encouraged boys to watch inspirational You Tube swimming montages
confiscated computer when said montages were full of swear words
arrived at swim meet an hour early to organize and warm up

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watched boys warm up
watched the pool moms watch my boys warm up


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took snap shots of Gavin with his beloved new biceps
laughed under my breath at Gavin’s beloved new tiny swim suit

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took more snaps of Gavin for his fan page
explained to Gavin that one must have a fan club in order to have a fan page
came to a compromise and will be allowing Gavin to use this site as a temporary fan page until numbers are up


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felt relieved when Finn’s best friend arrived to spectate
laughed as Grandma junior flipped through his newspaper
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gave Gavin $5.00 for a new swim cap
reminded myself that I wasted $20.00 on the last swim cap that he refused to wear

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agreed that he looked like Michael Phelps when he scowled
thought to myself that the only similarity between Gavin and Michael is that both of their mothers put them in swim to wear them out
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tried a few more poses for the fan club gallery
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reminded Gavin that if he warms up for an hour he will have no energy for the meet
forced Gavin to get out of the pool so that he could have energy left for the meet
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shook my head as he jumped back in for one more lap
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fed the Littles Lunchables to keep them occupied
peeled someone’s cheese off the bottom of my sandal
vowed to never buy Lunchables again no matter how cheap they were and no matter what coupons I found


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watched Gavin swim one heat
watched a storm roll in
watched the coach kick all the swimmers out of the pool
watched my boys march to the van very very disappointed that they were unable to swim in the meet
marched myself to the van very very disappointed that we planned for the swim meet all day and were unable to swim

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

father’s day

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Happy father’s day.  I hope you enjoy the grill that you had to buy yourself and you had to put together and you had to cook with.  I know I enjoyed the steak you made the other night.  Here’s your Father’s day blog a few days late.  I know you checked out my blog on father’s day and I know you were disappointed when you found nothing.  Is it really such a surprise?  I didn’t blog about you on Father’s day and the closest thing you got to a gift was me giving you my blessing to buy the grill.  Maybe this year you can find a day to celebrate Bad Wive’s day.  In the event that you do decide to celebrate it and want to buy me a gift, I have really been eying up that black rocking chair for the front porch or a big hammock.  Also, dinner would be nice. 

The first time I saw you I was 15 and you walked into Mr. Farrell’s typing class. 
I knew I would date you even though you didn’t even know my name. 
I knew you would marry me even though my best friend had a crush on you.
I knew you would be the father to my children even though you thought we were just dating.
I knew you would soon be the father of a second child even though we were only walking down the isle.
I knew you would be the father of a third child while you were just holding your first son for the very first time.
I knew you would be the father of a fourth child… well no actually that one was a total surprise.

What I never knew was how great of a father you would ever turn out to be. 

You are strong enough to throw the boys far up into the air and catch them, but sensitive enough to help Petey feed his baby doll…
You are serious enough to talk about sex with the older boys, but comical enough to scheme with the boys and play practical jokes on me (I’m still mad about the capsizing canoe trick and I will get you back)…
You are big enough to have room on your lap for all of them, but small enough to climb up into the tree house to stain it each year…
You are easy going enough to allow the boys to eat Cheetos in our bed, but hard enough to put a boy in time out when he talks back…
You are disciplined enough to drag four boys to church each and every Sunday, but impulsive enough to let them… well maybe not impulsive, I can’t actually think of anything to fit here.

You balance me out so nicely.  We are such a good mommy/daddy team.

I am impulsive… you are structured…
I am strict… you are…ummmmm… less strict…
I am crabby sometimes… you are mostly always upbeat…
I am lazy… you are energetic…
I am a cooker… you are a cleaner…
I am the cuddler… you are the wrestler…
I am the sleep police… you are the rule bender…
I am the Mommy and you are the Daddy

When I first met you I never considered what kind of a father you’d turn out to be.  Frankly, I was more concerned with convincing my best friend to fall out of love with you so I could fall in love with you and also how to do all of this and still pass the stupid typing class.  I guess it turns out I was successful, with the love thing, not so much the typing.  But look at what a good typist I am today.  Who knew?  But more importantly, look at what a great father you’ve become.  We’ve learned a lot, but the fourth time around I think you’ve got it figured out.  I wouldn’t want to be on this parenting journey with anyone else.  You are a fabulous father and fairly decent husband.  If we were taking votes for the best father in the world, I know that you could count on me for a vote and I’m pretty sure I know four little boys whom I could persuade to choose you. 

Happy belated Father’s Day.

big curvy sticks


Some people pick up big curvy sticks covered in barnacles with their bare hands

Then there are those people would look at those big curvy sticks covered in barnacles and think, that’s disgusting.

I’m probably closer to the disgusting side of the spectrum but am working on taking fish off lines and touching bait shrimp and other necessary gross tasks and maybe one day will want to pick up big curvy sticks covered in barnacles with my bare hands, but not today.



Some people shop at thrift shops with delight buying clothes and house wares without a second thought.

Then there are those people who would gag at the thought of wearing a pair of strappy sandals once owned by another person.

I am definitely the captain of the group of people on the savvy thrift shop shoppers side of the spectrum.



Some people take pride in raising their own chickens for meat and eggs.

Then there are those people who can’t even eat a fried egg if they had to cook it themselves.

I’m somewhere in the middle. I love eggs and chicken and can cook them and eat them with no problem. I love the thought of raising my own, it’s just the logistics of it that get me. Who actually has to kill the chickens and how does one remember to collect those eggs everyday? So I sit in the middle of this spectrum admiring those who do it and shaking my head at those gaggers.



It’s interesting to watch my boys pick up on my location on the spectrum when we approach unknown territory or new situations. “Mom, would you eat that piece of cheese if it fell on the floor?” They’re testing me to see where I am on the spectrum. Where I am influences where they will land. Some of my boys will follow in my footsteps and stand in my footprints on the exact same spot on every spectrum. Some of my boys (the big curvy stick boy in particular) will take the opposite stand no matter what the situation. “Oh, you think that stick looks disgusting, then I’ll pick it up. Oh, you think bacon cheese is gross? I’ll take a second slice. You wouldn’t ever get a tattoo? I’m getting two.” I try to be thoughtful when giving my opinion on certain situations knowing this. I try not to let them know I’m afraid of spiders and I hope to avoid passing on my infatuation with chocolate. I grew up never knowing how terrified my mom is of chipmunks and bats. i was also never aware of how many foods she hated. My mom was very aware of her influence on us.


Know where you are on the spectrum and be aware of who you influence and consider stepping out of your comfort zone today and walking over to the other side of that spectrum there might just be a big curvy barnacle covered stick waiting for you.

Monday, June 20, 2011

cumin at the cottage

IMG_2263This past weekend we started a new chapter of our lives.  For the last two years, chaos has reigned in our house. Between nursing school and Scott’s long work hours and me taking on a job that was a far greater commitment than I ever expected, we had little time for each other.  But this last weekend we implemented one of the final interventions to help us reach our goal of family togetherness.  Nursing school has been over for awhile, Scott has made some much needed adjustments at work that have allowed him more family time and I have finally adjusted to my new job.  This summer my goal is simple, relax, breath and rekindle our family bonds.  We will be strengthened in our marriage, bonded with our boys and re prioritized. 

Scott’s mom and dad closed on the cottage this week.  I lost sleep making mental lists of everything I needed to pack for our first weekend.  Sometime midweek I lost sight of my dining room table as it became the packing zone.  Every time I walked by the table I remembered something else.  The first aid kit, the Windex, the light bulbs, the Legos.  Saturday was our first day.  I was supposed to have our house in perfect shape prior to taking off.  It was so hard to do laundry while daydreaming of reeling in snappers and difficult to load the dishwasher while imagining long walks to the beach.  All morning I calmly organized and packed but as soon as the boys woke up the energy level changed.  They dressed and packed, what they thought, was appropriate for the weekend.  Then at about 8:30, I found them all sitting in the van with their seat belts on.  We had about three more hours of housework prior to our scheduled departure.  I was probably more excited than all of them put together so we ended up leaving a bit earlier than expected with a few less tasks checked off my to do list. 
It should have taken us about 40 minutes to get to the island, but between grocery shopping, stopping to buy some used lawn furniture, trying to fit my $5.00 chairs into an already jam packed van, and getting gas, it ended up taking about an hour and a half.  We listened to wholesome county music on the way to the cottage, we listened loud with the windows down, partially because my air is broke in the van and partially because we were headed to the cottage and it wouldn’t be right to drive down Stringfellow road with the windows up.

I was a bit apprehensive about being at the cottage without Scott for our first time.  There were new life jacket rules to reinforce, neighbors to make good first impressions with, lots of potential dangers, like a fuse box missing a cover and some loaded mouse traps and some strange items that the previous owners had left behind. 

“No, don’t eat those pickles, those aren’t ours!”
“Don’t touch those, they all have hooks…”
“Don’t pee in there yet, I don’t know if the water is turned on…”
“You introduced yourself to who?” 
“Where did you get those toothbrushes, throw them out, gross.,,”
“Because, the little boys will die if you let them out by the sea wall with out me…”

I had bags and boxes to unpack and a fridge and entire kitchen to clean and disinfect before Scott and his parents arrived.  I wanted things to be perfect when they walked through the doors for the first time.  Let me just say, my expectations were far to high.  The previous owners left some really strange stuff, like a fridge full of ethnic food and some lottery tickets and stuffed animals and birthday cards and broken furniture.  I did what I could while keeping an eye on all the boys.  I unpacked the essentials and threw out about five bags of garbage. 

I pulled all the bedding off of our bed and walked outside to do some laundry.  Laundry at the cottage is so satisfying and simple.  There is no washer in the house.  It’s located in a shed attached to the cottage.  I smiled as I hung laundry out in the ocean breeze to dry.  What is such a task on the mainland is suddenly bringing me great joy.  This could be due to the fact that I live in the only city in the United States that has decided to ban clotheslines, really.  I sat near the water as I folded slightly stiff sun dried towels.  No ocean breeze scented Bounce for me.  By the time I finished hanging the last of the pillowcases, the sheets were already dry.  In the Gulf breeze and the beachy sunshine laundry dries in about 26 seconds. 
Soon Scott arrived followed by his mom and dad.  I was excited to be surrounded by a few more adults.  This free’d me up to work with the boys a little. 

“This is the life jacket hook…”
“It’s called a canoe…  Not a kayak, a canoe…”
“This door needs to stay shut…”
“You need to jiggle the handle after you flush or it will run.  Like this…”
“That’s because this is high tide.  I’m not sure, we’ll have to study some tide tables…”
“I don’t think electric eels live in the canal…”
“No, you can’t swim here… Because, I’m too nervous…”
“Because, Pine Island statute B456.7 states that you can’t make S’mores till after 7 PM…”
“SHUT THE DOOR…”
“If you are going to scooter on the seawall you must wear a life jacket…”
“It’s not a kayak, it’s a canoe…”
“If you cast into the neighbor’s boat one more time I will have to take your pole away…” 
“You’re right, Mommy shouldn’t cast into their boat either…  Because mommy is not an experienced fisherwoman yet…  I know, I’ll go put myself in time out…”
“You need to take turns standing over the AC vent… Then go in another room and find your own…”
“Who forgot to shut the door?”
“IT’S CALLED A CANOE!!!”

Scott’s mom arrived and blew through the kitchen with far more attention to detail.  Cupboard by cupboard she sorted and washed and disinfected and laid cupboard liner.  We made team decisions regarding the future plans for the rice cooker, crock pot, seven extra frying pans, twenty seven reusable plastic containers and three electric skillets.  Seriously, was this someone’s cottage or catering business?  Tommy was in charge of the spice cabinet.  Instead of tossing everything as I requested, he carefully unscrewed each and every top and dumped the contents into his spice bowl before throwing them into the garbage.  I walked through a cloud of cumin on more than one occasion.  Who keeps Cumin at their cottage?  Really?
Scott’s mom and I schemed about meal plans and new cottage rules.  Several times this weekend I paused to count my blessings.  We are so lucky to have Scott’s mom and dad who buy a weekend retreat and then graciously allow us to come and crash each every relaxing weekend.  Not just allow us to crash it, insist that we treat as our own.  Of all my friends in my social circle I am the only one that is best friends with my in laws.  We are so blessed. 

Scott’s dad spent time babysitting the boys near the water, experimenting with the boat lift (this involved teaching Tommy how to operate the davits so he could see if it was strong enough to lift him off the ground) he also watched hours of painful card tricks performed by the non so amazing Gavin.  Scott's mom cooked and cleaned and cuddled boys and pushed the stroller on several long walks. 

We have a list a mile long of things we need at the cottage.  But we are all in agreement that less is more at the cottage.  We are on island time and need minimal essentials.  No rice cooker or carpet cleaners or gas grills for us. 

Scott and I visited the town center.  We are now weekend residents of the southern most city of the island.  I  say city with a little smile because St James City is as far from a city as you can get.  A handful of waterside taverns, a couple marinas, a hardware store, a Baptist church and a general store make up most of the businesses in St James City.  The general store was exactly what one would expect.  I walked in wearing a swimsuit.  Prior to entering I scanned the door for the no shirt no shoes sign.  Refreshingly, there were no signs of this nature.  Just a sign mentioning that you are more than welcome to come in barefoot if you assume your own liability for any injuries you may sustain while shopping.  Fair enough.  At the general store you can: buy bait, purchase beverages of all kinds (more beverages that food), rent a video (note I did not say DVD, they’re VHS tapes), swap, purchase or rent a paperback book, post a sign for a free couch or a missing daschhound the community bulletin board, purchase a stamp or a few possibly staples.  My plan is to grocery shop on the mainland prior to the weekend but I think I may find myself looking for excuses to take a trip into the city to the quaint little general store. 

We spent a morning driving down some of the narrow little island roads.  Driving past any of the St James City residences you can tell they are a little more relaxed, a little older, a little more carefree and a little more creative than their neighboring mainlanders.  The mailboxes were my favorite.  Did you know you can make a mailbox out of an outboard motor?  Lawn decor was mostly nautical in theme.  It was difficult to determine if crab traps stacked near the driveway were just a common landscaping trend or if their owner was  a weathered old crab fisherman or if he was just a transplanted retired prosthetic limb salesman from Ohio just trying to fit in with the locals.  Regardless, it worked.  In fact, I’m already scheming to find out how I can get my hands on a few free crab traps.  Aggressive home maintenance went out of style some time ago.  A little peeling paint and a lawn long inhabited by the native island grasses instead of short green grass is all the rage this season.

Scott’s mom and I re purposed some kitchen chairs being discarded by a local.  After disinfecting and Pledging them we tossed out our dilapidated sun room chairs and replaced them with our new find.  We were quite pleased with our new chairs and our no cost upgrade.  The beauty of having a cottage is that functionality is the only requirement for household .  In fact new household items wouldn’t actually blend in at all.  I’m anxious to start making over our bedroom with everything I’ve collected for free or next to nothing. 

Scott went on many canoe adventures this weekends.  I was the captain for a few shorter trips.  I can handle being the captain, sitting in the back keeping all of the crew sitting in low positions, not rocking the boat and certainly not leaning over the edge.  Scott convinced me to accompany him and the older boys on a morning paddle.  I was supposed to sit in front and was more than a was a Nervous Nellie.  I couldn't see what the other boat occupants were doing and was afraid of rolling the canoe if I turned around to see.  They rocked and moved and splashed and threatened to capsize our canoe on more than one occasion. 

“Who’s moving back there/”
“Why am I getting wet?”
“Because, if I’m paddling I can’t hang on”
“Quit moving!”
“We need to turn around”
“The next person who moves is going to have extra jobs when we get back to the cottage”
“I can too swim, I just don’t want to right now”
“I hate canoeing”
“It’s a canoe, not a kayak”
“I am never coming with you guys again”
“QUIT MOVING”
“Take me home”

I guess this must say something about my control issues.  Maybe canoeing in a tippy canoe with a very casual overly relaxed captain will be therapeutic.  I was taking laundry down and folding it near the water when I saw Scott and the boys paddling down the canal returning home from a two hour adventure.  I was relieved to see that they hadn’t been capsized or lost at sea when suddenly the boat started to rock.  They appeared to lose their balance and Gavin flopped over the side into the canal.  I dropped my basket and screamed at Scott before I realized they were only joking and had probably rehearsed this skit several times prior to playing this evil little trick on me.  They all got a good laugh and I anxiously awaited their return to the seawall so I could swat their butts for tricking me. 

Our first cottage weekend was one I will remember but relive each and every weekend we can possibly get away.  I hoped to get more photos, but with so much to unpack and clean and so many unruly little boys to watch, I had little time for photo shoots.  We had more laughs this weekend than I have had in the last month.  Several pieces of furniture collapsing and some of the items Annette would pull out of the kitchen drawers while cleaning made my sides ache and tears well up as I giggled uncontrollably.  The boys are in love and can’t wait for Friday.

 How many more days till the weekend?  

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Friday, June 17, 2011

postal

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On a road trip the other day we drove by, and then U turned.  A tiny little post office.  Cute and creepy and far too unique to go undocumented.   

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There was actually a holding area outside the back of the shed.  The office was so small that the post master would put the letters in the outgoing mail slot from inside of the post office and they would drop to the holding area out back.  Funny.  I guess there wasn’t even room for the envelopes to sit inside. 
Each year I wait in line for 20 minutes to mail out my Christmas cards.  Maybe I should come here next year.  Probably no line and even if there was, I could probably cut because the post master is probably not going to put up the people organizer ropes in the parking lot to keep the lines tidy.  Hmmmm… it’s a thought.  He also probably wouldn’t discriminate against tiny envelopes like the post master did the other day to me.  I was mailing a mail in rebate on some band aids and had grabbed a random envelope out of my drawer.  Once I filled out the envelope I realized I was out of stamps so I drove to the big post office and waited in line 10 minutes.  When it was my turn I handed over my small green envelope.  I was surprised when she weighed and weighed it again then went in the back to retrieve a special little measuring device.  From there, our conversation went something like this:

I’m gonna charge you extra on this one. 
What? 
Yeah, it’s too small. 
Too small for what? 
Too small to take a chance with.  I’ll have to charge you an extra handling fee. 
Are you kidding me?  Just put it in a larger envelope. 
I’ll have to charge you for that. 
Are you kidding me? 
I’m also going to charge you for it being extra heavy. 
It doesn’t appear to be over weight, are you sure? 
Well, it’s right at the cutoff.  Other people’s scales may read heavier, so I’m not going to take a chance.  That will be $2.19. 
$2.19 for this tiny little envelope?  Are you kidding me?  A tiny little slightly heavy envelope? 

I believe the band aids cost me $2.69.  I shook my head, paid the over zealous post office worker and walked out thinking how I could possibly avoid all post offices the rest of my life.  On the way out, I took an envelope that was on a display, the display that contains all the flat rate boxes and envelopes.  Not because I was interested in sending a flat rate envelope, but just to punish the stupid post office for discriminating against my tiny envelope.

Bet they don’t discriminate against tiny envelopes at the tiny post office.  Arrrrrrrrrggg...  That fire me up just replaying that interaction in my head.  I still haven't received my rebate either. 

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I had to laugh at this sign though.  They seem to have rather relaxed hours at the tiny post office. 
Interesting that the office closes for lunch.  Where would the post master be going to eat his lunch, the cafeteria, the break room, the lounge? 

Peculiar, tiny and peculiar.

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

pine island here we come

I’ve fitted all the boys with their new life jackets and strung fishing poles.  I’ve untangled lines and replaced bobbers more times than I care to remember.  I practiced taking fish off hooks for the first time in my life and experimented with different baits, hotdog bits and Velveeta cheese.  I’ve purchased oops paint (at rock bottom prices) and dreamt off how we’ll decorate our room in Scott’s mom and dad’s new cottage.  We are counting the days and dreaming away the nights until we are able to step foot, legally anyway, into the new cottage. 

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Our island is guarded by a tiny little drawbridge with a tiny little guard gate.  Although, much to the amazement or four little boys, our tiny little bridge is under some major construction and will probably be getting a little larger. 

Today, we toured the island to get a feel for the place and familiarized ourselves with the areas we will soon be frequenting. 

On Pine Island…

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you can repurpose… anything.  Why get rid of old dolls and purple rocking chairs when you could adorn your front porch with them.

On Pine Island…

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you can start collecting anything… no matter how creepy.  Just blame it on the island spirit that moves you in creative directions.

On Pine Island…

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there is no need for sidewalks when you have piers or boardwalks or what ever the local waterside walkway terminology is…

On Pine Island…

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you can wear anything, even if you own a ridiculous pair of shoes you claimed at a thrift shop the other day and every time you put them on your husband shakes his head. 

On Pine Island…

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they believe in small government.  Clearly the island people have things figured out on their own.  I’m wondering where the sign up sheet is so I can make sure we take our shift. 

On Pine Island…

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they seem to have priorities…  Maybe not those priorities of the mainland, but priorities none the less.

On Pine Island…

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there is a really fine, really blurry line scratched in the sand between work and play.  Island careers and island hobbies may actually be one in the same.

On Pine Island…

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you can decorate your mailbox with equipment from your job.  I’m still deciding if we should decorate our mailbox with Fed Ex dollies or bed side commodes and walkers from the hospital.

On Pine Island…

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you can launch your kayak from any dead end.  That is if you are lucky enough to have a husband that hasn’t recently banned you from Craigslist and have access to all those used kayaks from slightly odd people.

On Pine Island...

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you can attend a semester or two at the American Bible College and maybe even get a degree.  I wonder if the take the Pell grant.

On Pine Island…

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you can take a walk on the creepy side and visit the Randell Research Center.  It will not disappoint I assure you.  I’ve been there three times and each time was creepier than the last.  I was always the only visitor and it was quite mysterious what exactly they were researching, possibly the psychological responses of skeptical female tourists.  It has a hatchy feel to it, like on Lost.  Even today, there were some scientists or archeologists or really good actors sifting through evidence in a stream with some scientific gadget.  I gave them the “I’m totally on to you and know exactly what you’re doing” look.  They didn’t seem to get it.

On Pine Island…

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you can but one, or eight billion, palm trees.  All varieties and all species available.  Pine island is known for it’s plantations.

On Pine Island…

 

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you can attend the Holy Mother of the Miraculous Medal Catholic Church conveniently located on Holy Mackerel Street.  I wish they would change the name to Miraculous Story of the Holy Mackerel, but I think I’ll wait until after we become members or at least until I have my Bachelors from the American Bible College, that should give me a little more credibility.

On Pine Island…

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you can unwind from a long hot week on the mainland.  Although this one really speaks for itself.

On Pine Island…

 

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you can photograph even the scrubbiest tree and it magically transforms into a photo of paradise.

On Pine Island…

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even the dumpsters seem a bit more relaxed and a little less uptight.

On Pine Island…

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the sirens call you to partake in the lifestyle and drink the Kool Aid.  If you put your ear up to the screen and really listen you can even hear them calling you.

On Pine Island…

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the population counter lady better watch her numbers because I can’t guarantee that I will be able to part with this island and this lifestyle and these people every Sunday night just to head back for a mundane mainland Monday. 

Pine Island here we come.