it's my birthday

It was about 9:30 this morning when I realized it was my birthday.  It may have gone unnoticed altogether if not for the text from my husband.  "Happy Birthday Princess."  The Princess part is a bit of a running joke these days as I am anything but a princess.  I've never been called Princess or Baby in my fabulous 11 years with him or so I complained the other day.  Now I get it, dripping with sarcasm, every day. 

So it's my birthday.  I did the math twice just to be sure, but I am fairly confident that I am 31 today. 

31....
Hmmm....

As a child and teenager, I always imagined myself at different ages and while I never actually wrote it down, I still have a pretty vivid memory of where I was supposed to be.  It went something like this.

In my thirties I would be:

Settling back into the country after a decade abroad most likely studying Gorillas. 

I would be starting my thesis or some grand scientific journal recording my great works.

I would be raising all 11 of my little girls that I had rescued from an orphanage in Haiti (not sure where they were during the decade of living in the jungle though)

I would be thin (that's a given)

I would start looking for a suitable husband, if one could even be found (think incredibly high feminist standards) 


Instead...

This morning I woke up to a husband and four boys (technically five including baby in my belly) all in one queen size bed.  Claustrophobic anyone?

I have yet to start the Gorilla work (although raising boys is similar)

I have opted out of the 11 Haitian girls... obviously, although I do like the thought of adoption

I am not in some high level degree program nor have any of my works been recognized by any journals of any sorts.

Finally, I am not thin. 

All this being said though, I am really happy where I landed.  This may not be what I had planned, but clearly GOD had something else in mind. 

"Go ahead and dream big Erin, but I assure you, what I have in mind for you is far greater and far crazier that any adventure you could have planned for yourself."  Your Friend, GOD

I still find myself making all of these firm declarations for my life and expecting the pieces to fall right into my plans.  Even a few years ago I proclaimed that I would be done having children at thirty.  Oooops. 

I'm thinking it might be reasonable to know what we are going to have for dinner about a week in advance and scheduling some summer activities for the boys.  But concrete plans for the future?  Nope, I'm not going to do that anymore.  Here's to making no formal plans or expectations.  I will keep an open mind and an open calendar and take what GOD gives me and roll with it.  Who knows, if one day 11 orphans fall on my doorstep, I'll probably let them in, feed them something and start researching Pinterest to find a clever bunk bed plan that sleeps a few more. 

manatees

This last year has been the first year that we've actually spent a considerable amount of time up close and personal with Florida wildlife.  Prior to the cottage my wildlife encounters had been limited to the lizards that run into the house every time I open the door and whatever small creatures Elliott (the big orange boy cat) brings in.  The cottage has been out passport to the world of mangroves, estuaries, and new sea life. 

We've become dolphin tour guides.  All summer, fall and winter we have followed the dolphins around Pine Island Sound learning their daily patterns and hunting (fishing?) grounds.  I've counted the times that I have been out and near the Dolphin cruise boats that charge $30 per person.  I've saved thousands!  This helps me justify why we own a boat.

The boys are so accustomed to seeing dolphins that they don't even always look when I point out the dolphins anymore.  I joke that it would take flying unicorns at this time to grab their attention. 

We have had fewer run ins with manatees and so these are a bit more intriguing.  I've come to understand that when it is warm out they hang in the gulf but as the temps cool down they come in and spend some time lounging in the canals.  This can make canal navigation a bit difficult some days.  I sit in the front and keep an eye out. Manatees and boats have a long sad history. 

A while back, on a particularly cool weekend, Scott was scrubbing the boat after a long morning of exploring.  We picked out a boat with no carpeting for a reason.  Potato chip crumbs, peanut butter smears, sunscreen, and spilled drinks usually cover the  hard plastic floor.  Scott's tradition, after we take the last boat ride of the weekend, is to spend an hour with a cold beer, his hose and all his boat detailing supplies.  On this particular day, he was about half way though when his mom came into the house and called me outside to see a manatee.  I have several hundred pictures of manatee snouts from 25 feet away and really wasn't super excited about snapping anymore.  Manatees had previously been a bit of a photo op disappointment.  When you imagine seeing a manatee in the wild you envision seeing their entire body, not just a snout of a bit of their backs. 

So out I came and much to my surprise the manatee was lingering awfully close to the boat, obviously interested in the fresh hose water that was dripping off the boat.  I turned on the hose and held it near the surface of the water.  He lumbered over and immediately rolled belly up to get a drink.  WHAT???  I was amazed, he was so close I could hear him breath and could smell his not so fresh breath.  The boys were summoned to witness this amazing site.  He drank and drank and drank and only left when I decided to scrub the algae from his belly with the boat brush.  He needed it, but apparently wasn't big on personal hygiene.  Unprepared, I had Scott snap a picture with his cell phone.



As usual, after a new wildlife sighting, I started a full blown research project.  I love to gather as much information as possible and bring that back to the boys, the family and anyone else who will listen to me.  This often wins me the tour guide title when we have out of town visitors.  Sadly, I learned after this weekend that feeding manatees fresh water is actually a bad thing if not illegal.  Encouraging wild animals to depend on humans for anything is always frowned upon.  This is not specific to manatees, why haven't I learned this yet?

five

 

Once an insignificant number I never really considered now finds its way into my thoughts every few minutes it seems.

 

Five.

Five?

Five

Wow, Five

 

If your talking age, you’re young.  If your talking pounds, it’s a relatively small amount.  If your talking about cats, that would probably be considered excessive.  If your talking dollars in your checking account, you’re in trouble. 

But were not talking age or pounds or even cats.

I’m talking about children.  If you know me personally or have studied the sidebar and done the math, you know we have four.  Four is was a nice number.  However, we are now embracing the idea of five.  Not only are we considering it, we’re well on our way.

Through an interesting series of events, roadblocks and head shaking coincidences, I find myself 20 weeks pregnant today. 

Last Monday we all huddled in the tiny ultrasound room at the hospital giddy and anxious for answers.  The goop was applied, the ultra sound was pressed up to my belly and in about 1.2 milliseconds the technician gasped.  Not the sound you want to hear during a procedure like this (or any procedure for that matter).  It was followed up with, a sigh, and then, “It’s another boy.”

I envisioned the boys a bit more involved than they were.  Gavin was mid process of purchasing a new app for my I-phone and didn’t bat an eye.  Tommy was somewhere out of my view.  Petey had wandered into the changing area oblivious to the notion that his position as the baby of the family was in serious jeopardy.  Finn was the only one engaged and eager for the news.  The very patient technician asked Finn what he was going to name his new baby brother.  Finn promptly supplied his answer, “Princess.”

Five children

Not just five children…

Five boys!

What on earth am I going to do with five little boys who soon won’t even be little and will eat me out of house and home and stink up their bedrooms and wear holes in their jeans.  I suppose I am going to continue doing what I already do now, loving them and laughing and enjoying this wild ride. 

Five.

Five?  Seriously?

Five.

fish

Pine Island Sound will never be the same.  

When we started coming to the cottage nine months ago our fishing equipment was limited, our knowledge of fishing was limited and consequently, our success was even more limited.  Fishing in saltwater is a far cry from the cool Northern lake fishing we were accustomed to.  

While we were certainly not expert fishermen up north, we could not have even been classified as beginners down here.  I have killed more live shrimp than the Gulf oil spill and have snagged too many lures and bobbers to count in the mangroves and even lost more than one fishing pole to the bottom of the sea.  All the while I was gathering fish recipes for the dozens of fish we intended to catch each weekend.  For many months we fed the fish or continued to catch the same 10 inedible fish over and over again, some of them even missing their lips now.  I only wish I were joking, it’s sad really. 

We certainly don’t have the proper collection of equipment yet and continue to have a severe knowledge deficit but are moving in the right direction.  Months of fishing information gleaned from the internet proved to be useful for other novices as evidenced by their comments of praise but never actually worked for me.  Maybe too advanced for someone of my caliber.  I’m not sure, but it never produced the promised results.  

A cube neighbor of mine stopped in recently to check in on our fishing escapades.  A few moments after our conversation Rachel returned to my cube with a list of instructions titled How to Catch Spotted Sea Trout or something of the like.  In true trainer fashion (we are both EPIC trainers) she had created a step by step tutorial on how to catch sea trout.  Rachel handed it to me and then proceeded to explain, in great detail what to buy, how to set up the pole, when to go out (this involved her I-phone tide app), where to go, how to get there (this took some convincing and a few Google maps), what type of bait to buy, how to keep the bait alive (we struggle with this), what to do when we arrive, how to bait the hook, how to set (or not set) the hook, how to take the fish off, what to do if we catch something scary (think shark or stingray), what to do with the fish we want to eat, how to clean the fish, and several options on cooking the fish.  Men don’t give fishing advice like this and certainly not on the internet.  Every term was explained and it was assumed that I knew nothing.  This is where all other advice had gone wrong, they assumed I had some basic fishing knowledge… WRONG!!!  I carefully saved my little piece of paper with more confidence and clarity than I had ever had regarding salt water fishing.  It was foolproof.  With these secrets it would be statistically impossible not to catch the elusive (maybe not for some, but elusive to us) spotted sea trout.

As we headed out for our first complete (all of us in the boat) family trip last weekend, I clung to the crumpled piece of memo paper that included all of the precious directions. 

Meandering through the mangroves in itself is daunting, but avoiding the oyster beds (something we have failed to do in the past) was the real accomplishment.  We carefully followed Rachel’s map and I felt a sense of relief anytime we passed a land mark she had made mention of. 

The boys demolished the picnic lunch I had prepared about 7 minutes into the boat ride.  I had envisioned fishing for a bit and then breaking to have a bite a bit later in our adventure.  I was not surprised or disappointed though as they tore through 8 PBJ sandwiches.  Rachel made no mention of how many PBJ’s to pack.  A slight failure on her part, although in her defense she does not have any children.  Nonetheless, this will need to go on her record as an oversight.  She has very few so I keep careful track.

It’s always helpful to have someone to hang on to you when the boat is moving quickly.  Petey is pretty used to his handler by now and usually lets this sort of thing go on without a fight.

For the record, Rachel should be a fishing guide if things don’t work out with IT.  Her advice was spot on.  We not only caught a spotted trout, we caught so many I lost track.

Gavin and Tommy are a bit more timid around flopping fish, but the little boys have no fear.  They insist on touching each and every one that we hauled up.  During my Monday morning post weekend fishing debriefing with Rachel, she explained that this is why several of the fish we threw back didn’t survive.  They need the water, she explained.  Oh… noted. 

We didn’t fish for an incredibly long period of time but in the couple hours we were out, we managed to have quite a bit of action.  I was in charge of tying the bait bucket to the side of the boat.  My expert knot skills failed relitively early on which resulted in having to chase it down a drifting bait bucket and re-tether it.  Other notable events included Gavin snagging his line in the mangroves which involved me tangling with the mangroves, one little boy almost falling overboard while riding the side of the boat as though it were a horse, one fish falling between the seat cushion in a slimy chase, the entire boat being labeled with Christmas gift tags (you know the to and from ones) and we running into 2 different people we knew.  It’s a gigantic ocean, who sees people they know???

I was the self proclaimed fishing champion although this was confirmed by a boatful of little boys that were so impressed with my expert skills.  It may have something to do with the odds being stacked.  You see, since I have taught the boys how to bait my hook and have Scott to remove every fish I snag, I have a baited line in the water far more than anyone else on the boat.  I even offer to hold Scott’s baited pole in the water for him while he removes and re-baits mine.   Scott announced early on the trip that the first to catch of the day earns $2 and the largest fish of the day earns $1.  This produced instant tears and attitude as I reeled in the first fish.  The boys are incredibly competitive and offering a bounty was really not necessary I reminded Scott on the way in.  He explained it was tradition growing up with his uncles fishing the lakes up North.  I reminded him that these very same uncles also made him eat a worm and made him swim in on more than one occasion when he tired of fishing. 

Petey was impressed or disgusted by the rather ugly front teeth on the sea trout and the fish seemed to reflect the same thought.

Although not a trout, this guy was an instant favorite, because he matched the boat of course.

This was my pride and joy.  He was 18 inches long although I swear if I had someone older than 7 holding the tape measure (yes, the actual tape measure from the garage) I could have stretched him out to 20.  I’m trying to be conservative to make up for the rest of the boat and their fish stories.  They went out earlier in the week without me and stories of several hits from a shark and Scott catching a tarpon were exchanged and exaggerated as the week went on. 

The fact that we actually caught them was probably more of a testament to Rachel’s expert teaching ability than to our actual fishing skills.  Pine island Sound was once a serene, well stocked fish refuge…

That is, until that day that Rachel stepped into my cube with the instructions on how to become hooked on an incredible hobby that will no doubt change our weekends forever.

    

haircuts

Because all Fed Ex men moonlight as barbers…

Because there is no haircut category on our monthly budget…

Because getting hair in your nose tickles…

Because all your brothers are watching and laughing too…

Because the oldest goes first…

Because it’s time for a haircut when you’ve had a bad hair week, as opposed to a bad hair day…

 

Because all Fed Ex men wear their wives blue cat pajamas…

Because sometimes the razor makes a loud scary buzzing noise…

Because all Fed Ex men moonlight as barbers.

Christmas photos and other things that sound like good ideas

There are two versions of every situation I get our family into.  There’s the Norman Rockwell version I drum up in my head and then there’s the raw real and far less appealing version that plays out in real life.  There’s a reason there isn’t an artist following my family around to paint these scenes.   

 

The one time each year where I insist on capturing a shot of all four boys together is at Christmas.  Actually, it’s mid November in an effort to send out early Christmas cards.  Despite taking photos early, I’ve yet to actually get them sent out early, ever.  Every time I add one more boy to the shot, it gets harder and harder to ensure that they are all acting in an acceptable fashion at the time I click the camera. 

I had a vision the other day of a serene photo shoot in the sprawling Banyan trees at the Edison house.  I’d probably take about 15 shots and have about 10 great ones to choose from later.  People would walk by and marvel at my photography skills and the sheer cleverness of my boys and I.  A modeling agent may even stroll up and drop off a business card or two.  We’d be out of there in less than 10 minutes, all holding hands and laughing on our way back to the truck.  Ummmmmmm…..WRONG

 

 

Other scenarios that have played out so well in my head but not so well in real life are as follows:

Puppies….. twice

I failed to imagine the poop, the pee, the trips to the vet, teething and the endless responsibility.

The Picadilly circus…

I failed to read the fine print that admitted to uncomfortable, unsafe seating, possible carbon monoxide poisoning, 120 degree tent and actual circus staff of only 5.

 

 

 

Navigating the boat by moonlight after watching midnight fireworks on New Year’s…

I forgot to include the fog, the cold, the disappearing moon, the ghost ship that almost killed us and the feeling of sailing through the Bermuda triangle.

Scheduling all four boys physicals for the same day…

I forgot to include 4 co pays, 4 very short attention spans, long wait times and the miniscule size of the treatment rooms.

 

 

 

Road trips to Wisconsin (28 hours each way)

Funny I didn’t daydream about the gas bill, accidently drinking urine from the makeshift Gatorade urinal, and the belly ache you get from staying up all night drinking caffeine

Bringing any one of mine with me to work

Funny I didn’t daydream about them playing loud video games on my cubicle computer, using the bathroom and not flushing or washing their hands only to have a coworker go in after them, them stapling their finger.

 

 

 

Black Friday shopping with the boys…

I do love a challenge but didn’t picture finding our items in 60 seconds only to wait in line for 60 minutes and then waiting another 60 minutes just to get out of the parking lot.

Purchasing a new washing machine after ours broke and telling the clerk it was ok that it was backordered.  We can survive for 26 days without a washer…

I do love a challenge, but didn’t picture hauling loads of dirty laundry with me wherever I go begging to use people’s washers and then hauling 6 laundry baskets of wet clothes home so that my dryer could run 16 hours straight.  I didn’t picture that any of our boys actually had poop accidents anymore and I didn’t picture throwing these clothes out because it’s bad enough to ask to borrow your washer, but to have to ask to borrow your washer to wash my poop pants is another story all together. 

 

 

 

I’m not sure why I am such an optimist yet.  I keep dreaming up ideas in my little peanut brain and imagining this perfect family that I have and all of the perfect things will do.  As usual, things have a way of going awry.  In these situations, I try to find the silver lining and salvage whatever leftovers have any value many times losing some dignity, modesty, money and sometimes a boy child or two in the process.

 

After editing and re editing, this was the only keeper and it doesn’t even include Petey.  Pretty typical these days.  Most of you didn’t actually ever receive one of these this year.  I may consider posting an online Christmas letter in the near future but the paper version just never made it to print this Christmas.  Once again, not quite how I imagined it would work out but how I should have expected it to.

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.