The Gift that Keeps on Giving (Me a Headache)

There is always that one toy.

The toy that I should have bought 3 of or none of because all the children want to play with that one toy.

Right now, that one toy is a pink polka dot stroller.

Adorable softie doll custom-made by Dunlap Love!!

Yes, my 2 boys and little girl are all fighting over the dainty doll stroller.

I didn't see this coming.

Elise is shocked at this raucous behavior.

I grew up with all sisters, so boys are still somewhat of a mystery to me (must they wrestle ALL DAY LONG??) My husband only had a brother, which is probably why he is still can't wrap his brain around the difference between a curling iron and a flat iron, no matter how many times I try to explain it. (Yes, I need them both and no, they are not the same.)

All that to say, ever since we found out we were having a girl, we've wondered how our family dynamic might look different from how we each grew up.

Will our daughter be more rough and tumble from having brothers? Will the boys grow up with a better understanding of girls from having a sister? Will she like trains? Will he play with her dolls? Will they even have any interest in each other's toys?

Up until this Christmas our house has been mostly devoid of girly toys, mainly because after the first baby the house is so full of toys that there is no need to run out and buy new things for the next baby. Also, babies, no matter the gender, are equally excited over a car or doll or paper bag. Actually, they are probably most excited over the paper bag. So, Elise has spent most of her life contentedly playing with action figures and ninja swords and paper bags...until this Christmas.

After living in a house filled with boy toys for the past 21 months, Elise was thrilled to finally get some girly stuff of her own for Christmas. Actually, thrilled is probably an understatement. Her euphoria could be compared to someone who has found an oasis after wandering the desert for nearly 2 years...a pink oasis filled with Disney princesses, that is.

She spent Christmas morning joyfully taking every toy she owns on a walk around the house in her brand new pink polka dot stroller, her new purse hanging from one of the handles, fully stocked with baby bottles and play makeup.

After she ran out of toys she raided the pantry and took the goldfish crackers for a stroll.

It wasn't long before the boys took notice of these new pink playthings and decided to test them out for themselves.

Henry spent time wheeling his new dinosaurs around the house.

Jack decided to "be the Daddy" and helped Elise take her babies for a walk. At one point he answered her new Minnie Mouse cell phone like this: "What is it, Boss? I'm with my wife right now! We're busy with the kids! I'll come in to work this afternoon."

Maybe I should have bought the boys their own strollers a long time ago. Who knew a simple baby carriage would prompt them to be so nurturing? Maybe having a sister will inspire them to be more in touch with their feminine side! Maybe my son won't grow up and make the mistake of telling his wife to "take off her sensitivity jacket." A-HEM.

And then the game "Motorcycle Smash" was invented. Motorcycle Smash involves no actual motorcycles, but boy is there a lot of smashing. In the game of Motorcycle Smash, one brother furiously pushes the stroller while the other brother runs for his life, the object of the game being for the pusher to catch the runner and trample over him with the stroller/motorcycle until there is much weeping and gnashing of teeth. And then they switch.

I decided that one stroller will suffice for this family.

Now we are practicing patience as each child waits for his or her turn to take a baby for a walk or play a riveting game of Motorcycle Smash or participate in the newest game, "Stroller Stair Punch."

At first I thought Elise would be upset to see her precious stroller punched down the stairs.

She was not.

Families that are raising all boys or all girls certainly have their own distinctive dynamic. Growing up, my sisters and I were profoundly feminine. Our house was like a mecca for Cabbage Patch Kids, Popples and My Little Ponies. We choreographed multiple dance routines to the vocal stylings of Mariah Carey or Amy Grant and all of our Barbies were involved in a continuous soap opera that lasted for years. Our favorite color was glitter. I have never ever seen an episode of He-Man or Thundercats and I don't remember ever owning any sporting equipment besides rollerblades. Our home was a pink paradise. (Needless to say, 6 years ago my dad was ecstatic to find out he was getting a grandson.)

Still, even though I doubt I will ever watch my kids perform a glorious reenactment of The Little Mermaid at the pool, I am looking forward to the best of both worlds.

I am excited to see how the sugar and spice mixes with the snakes and snails to create our own unique family recipe. I'm not only talking about embracing the differences in boys and girls; boys and girls are different, but each child has his or her own individual personality too.

What I'm saying is they all want to play with the stroller for different reasons. Personally, I hope that they can learn from each other's games and be inspired by each other's ideas and use the stroller in ways they would have never thought of on their own.

Metaphorically speaking, of course. Cause right now they are mostly just fighting and arguing and yelling about the actual stroller. In fact, I had to put the stroller away for while for safety reasons, because if I had to endure one more game of Motorcycle Smash, I was going to be the one doing the smashing.

But don't worry, I'm sure they'll find something new to fight over in no time.

En garde!

Kindergarten is Kicking my Butt

Jack started kindergarten this year. He has a summer birthday, so instead of sending him to full-day kindergarten at an elementary school, we decided to send him to a half-day kindergarten at a preschool. We are treating it more as a Pre-K and planning on sending him to full-day kindergarten next year.

We're considering this "Kindergarten: Round 1" and I'm so glad because kindergarten is kicking my butt.

Don't misunderstand me, Jack is doing great! He loves school. He can't always tell me what he is learning, but he never forgets what he ate for snack or which friend played what Power Ranger at recess. Thank goodness for newsletters from the teacher.

I, on the other hand, have been somewhat blindsided by this rapid change of pace that comes with having a school-aged child. If I've seemed a little scarce lately it is because all of my mental energies are being harnessed by this thing called kindergarten.

Just getting out the door in the morning is like my own personal Mommy Hunger Games, except that in The Hunger Games Katniss battles vicious monsters and opponents in order to stay alive and I am trying to get 3 small children dressed, fed and in the car in order to get to school on time SO IT'S BASICALLY THE SAME THING.

No matter how early we get up, no matter how much preparation is put in the night before, countless OBSTACLES arise to keep me from my goal as the precious minutes tick away. You wanna know the worst part? I think my kids are in on it! It's like they're in cahoots with some crazed gamesmaker who is directing them from behind the scenes as he plots ways to make me lose my mind. Quick! Topple an entire box of Cheerios on the floor! Hide the shoes! And as soon as she's walking out the door, SOMEBODY POOP!! MWA-HA-HA-HA-HA!

Curse you, Seneca Crane!!

Sometimes I glance towards the sky to see if someone has sent me a tiny parachute package of Xanax, but apparently my district has forsaken me.

"Those are not the clothes I put you in!!"

Most days I call it a success if Jack makes it to school wearing actual clothes instead of a costume. I give myself bonus points if his hair is free of food debris.

There has been one day since school started when I woke up extra early, fixed his hair and pleaded with him to wear a collared shirt and stain-free pants. That day was picture day. Except, when I picked him up from school his sweet teacher said, "Jack looked so handsome today, but picture day is actually next week!" Unfortunately, since I had already spent all my effort on fake picture day, by the time real picture day rolled around I was like just wear whatever! I have 8,000 pictures of you on my phone anyway!

And if getting to school is a scene from The Hunger Games than coming home from school is exactly like The Shawshank Redemption. Or The Green Mile. Or any movie that involves prison where the inmates are making trouble and trying to escape and the warden is all DO YOUR HOMEWORK OR ELSE NO DINNER!!

But seriously, homework? I don't remember agreeing to homework when I brought my cuddly little eight pounder home from the hospital.

 On the first day of school Jack brought home a worksheet for homework and I realized that we did not have one pencil in the entire house. Sure, we bought all the supplies on the list for school, but it did not even occur to me to buy some supplies for home. And I am a former elementary school teacher. THE SHAME. That first day Jack completed his homework in purple crayon. OH THE SHAME!

One day last week he came home with this:

I don't know if I was more panicked over the words "Family Project" or "cut and glue."

Turns out it was "cut and glue" because when I went out and bought pencils for the house I totally forgot about kid scissors or glue sticks, but giant shears and rubber cement work just as well, right?

"Just don't inhale, Honey!"

Of course, then Henry decided he needed to use the "special glue" on his own "homework," and that is how we ended up trapped in the kitchen for an excruciating amount of time. Just like prison.

Thank goodness I get a re-do at kindergarten next year. Hopefully by next year we will be fully stocked on school supplies and I will have figured out how to get the kids out of the house without tears or bloodshed.

Otherwise, I will just have to play dumb and NEVER EVER admit to the teachers that I used to be one of them. What? It's not ok to complete homework in crayon? Well, it's not like I have a college degree in this or anything! OH THE SHAME.

The Milestone You Hope For, But Don't Admit

'Flower', 'hotdog' and 'swing' are a few of the most recent words Elise has added to her rapidly expanding vocabulary. At 15 months old she can say well over 50 words which is far more than her brothers were speaking at this age. Henry, in particular, had about 5 words by 15 months and some of those were made up. At 2 and a half he is now speaking perfectly fine, which just goes to show that they all catch up eventually.

One milestone Elise has not yet mastered is WALKING. She was slow to crawl, so I'm not at all surprised that she is not toddling around the house yet. It's just that my arms are getting really tired. Also, it's summer now and the cement is hot and the playground is mulchy, so whenever we go outside she is not inclined to crawl around on surfaces that cause discomfort to her knees. Instead, she prefers for me to indulge her every whim and cart her around like her personal walking chauffeur.

Elise not walking outside.

Elise not walking at the park.

"Fow-a!" she yells, and I haul her over to smell the flowers. 

"Swing!" she demands, and we trot over to the playset.

"Ball!" she points across the yard and I say, "Let's just stay here and swing for a little bit."

"No! Nnnoooooo! Ball! BALL! BAAAAAALLLL!!!"

I am ready for her to walk.

Occasionally I try standing her up, stepping back and reaching out my arms. "Come on, Elise! Can you walk to Mama?"

"No." she states matter of factly. 

Sometimes I show her videos of her peers walking. My friend's 10-month-old recently took off and is practically jogging around his house.

"Look at this baby walking, Elise!"

"Walk-y, walk-y, walk-y" she chants in a sing-song voice. 

"Yes, he is only 10 MONTHS OLD! You've got 5 months on him! It's kind of embarrassing, really. Don't you want to walk like the baby?"

"No."

Elise at the strawberry farm.
Not walking.

Instead, she made Grammie cart her around.
"Now take me to that strawberry."

"And feed it to me."

At least her refusal to walk has benefited her communication skills.

Another word she has recently mastered is 'Elmo,' or as she calls him, 'Melmo'. In fact, this post is about how Elmo himself helped my baby achieve her latest milestone.

The funny thing is, she has never actually seen an episode of "Sesame Street," because I am vehemently opposed to toddlers watching television.

JUST KIDDING. No, it's because her brothers hog the TV and she has never expressed interest in watching cartoons about mutated turtles.

Her only Elmo exposure has come from books and hand-me-down toys and still, SHE LOVES MELMO.

I'm not sure what kind of muppet voodoo Jim Henson did to create the ultimate toddler celebrity, but they are all crazy about that little monster. I can only assume that Elmo is the toddler equivalent of Will Ferrell. Think about it: everybody loves Will Ferrell for reasons that can't be explained, he is rather furry too and the more you watch his movies, the funnier they get. I think toy manufacturers need to create an Elmo doll that says all Will Ferrell's catchphrases like Elmo needs more cowbell! and You're Elmo's boy, Blue! I would totally buy it. Yeah, you would too. See what I mean?

Anyway, Elise's favorite Elmo toy is a moving, talking doll passed down from cousins to my oldest when he was little. Basically, it's been through 4 children before her. It used to dance and stand on one foot and tell all sorts little stories and jokes. Unfortunately, one day my 2-year-old decided to use Elmo as a weapon and hurl him down the stairs at the 4-year-old. Jack ducked out of the way just in time, but poor Elmo smashed on the hardwood floor and broke his leg. Now, when his switch is flipped on, he immediately collapses to the floor and exclaims Uh oh, Elmo fell down! Can you help Elmo up, please? And since he will never be able to stand again, that is the only phrase he says.

Uh oh, Elmo fell down! Can you help Elmo up, please? Uh oh, Elmo fell down! Can you help Elmo up, please?

And STILL Elise loves Melmo.

She crawls around the house, dragging him behind her. Uh oh, Elmo fell down! Can you help Elmo up, please?

"Uh oh," she repeats.

So today I had a brilliant idea. I used Elmo to help my daughter achieve a major milestone. No, it was not walking. It is the one milestone that mothers secretly hope for but never admit.

Today, while Elise was busy not walking, I dug out an old Elmo DVD and popped it in.

She paused. She looked at the screen. She pointed. "Melmo. Melmo. Melmo! MELMO! MEEEELMO!"

And there she sat for the next 20 minutes thoroughly engrossed Elmo's World.

And I cleaned the kitchen without anyone trying to "help" me unload the dishwasher.

Elise may not be walking yet, but PRAISE THE LORD she is watching TV!

So if you'll excuse me, Elmo is doing a riveting impression of a horse right now, which means I have 20 minutes to go SHOWER IN PEACE for the first time in 15 months!

I'll take it.

Lake Winnepesaukah

If your travels ever happen to take you down I-75, somewhere along the Tennessee/Georgia line, there is a tiny American gem hidden right off of exit 1. It is an amusement park, Lake Winnepesaukah, surrounding a small lake and nestled among the trees.

It is big enough to entertain all ages, but small enough that you could hit all the attractions in one day if you so desired.

My favorite feature of Lake Winnie, as the locals call it, is it's adorably vintage feel, as it was built in 1925 by a couple whose granddaughter still runs the park today. Lake Winnie is complete with a majestic carousel built in 1916, lots of vintage kiddie rides, antique band organs serenading the park and an old wooden roller coaster. Of course, you could not pay me money to ride a rickety old roller coaster, but I do enjoy staring nostalgically at them.

There is also a small building at the end of the boardwalk that houses old photos and memorabilia from Lake Winnie's past. When I saw this picture from 1939, my love for Lake Winnie was cemented for all eternity.

"To Paul Jones - a swell fellow in a swell Park. Lake Winnepesaukah. 1939. Doc & Sonora Carver."

HOLY COW. YOU GUYS. THE REAL LIFE SONORA WEBSTER DID HER HORSE DIVING IN THIS VERY PARK. And, of course, the crowd never knew she was blind. Please tell me someone else out there spent 8,000 hours of their childhood watching Wild Hearts Can't Be Broken over and over again??

Of course, now I'm afraid I have built up your expectations too much and you will be disappointed unless you happen to also love charmingly-vintage amusement parks. Or you're an early 90s Disney movie buff (for my next post, I will be traveling to NYC and discussing Newsies.)

My sister, however, claims that Lake Winnie is smelly and creepy, and I will admit that the only thing I did not find charmingly vintage about Lake Winnie was the general public. I saw one lady wearing an actual bra and actual underwear in the waterpark. And that was one of the classier outfits.

Seriously, why can't people still dress like this at amusement parks??

Charmingly vintage or totally creepy?
You decide.

My four-year-old absolutely loved every minute, especially the waterpark. At 42 inches, he was just tall enough to do some of the "big rides" as well, including the "Oh-Zone!" - one of those rides that hoists you up 14 stories just to drop you straight down. I had a mini-heart attack at the top. Jack hopped off and said, "Wow, that made my bottom come right off the seat!"

The view from the top of the Oh-Zone AKA the place I almost died.

My two youngest were not quite as impressed with Lake Winnie. Elise went with the flow, as usual, but Henry only tolerated a few rides before announcing multiple times, "I WANT GO HOME!" Finally, we found something which completely thrilled them both....

the rental stroller.

Also good for naps.

My mom threw a towel over the top of the stroller and Henry and Elise were happy to play in their "tent" for the rest of the day.

Which left Jack and me free to ride to our hearts' content.

And we did. (Even though I failed to get photographic evidence.)

"Hey, Mom, can you take a picture of us in front of the lazy river?"

"Hey, Mom, can you get a picture of me with Jack on the parachutes?"

"Never mind, Mom, I'm going with a selfie!"

So if you're ever in the area, take a day trip to Lake Winnepesaukah.

And decide for yourself.

(Just know that the diving horses no longer perform. Sadly.)

Scenes from St. Augustine

Last month I packed up the kids, fled the depressing winter weather, and flew down to sunny St. Augustine, Florida to spend the week with family.

St. Augustine proudly claims the title of the "Nation's Oldest City." Founded in 1565, the seaside town boasts a rich history encompassing everything from pirate attacks during the Spanish conquest to Ponce de Leon's fabled "Fountain of Youth" to a stint as a posh winter resort for the rich and famous during the late 1800's. The art and architecture of the city span four centuries and perfectly blend to create an atmosphere unique to St. Augustine.

If Spanish conquistadors and Gilded Age architecture just aren't your thing, don't worry, there are also miles and miles of pristine beaches. And a charming lighthouse. And an alligator farm. And a dolphin marina. Basically, there really is something for everyone.

I'd love to write about each one of our Floridian adventures. I could write about exploring a perfect replica of a Spanish Galleon or how the boys and I made it through the entire Pirate Museum in a record breaking 2.34 minutes.

I could write about strolling downtown and how my grandpa decided his new retirement plan was to make like The Hyppo and set up a popsicle stand on St. George Street to sell frozen juice for $4 a pop, because apparently people will buy anything as long as it has the word "gourmet" in front of it. (Seriously though, who wouldn't be obsessed with gourmet popsicles with flavors like Strawberry Basil and Champagne Mango?)

Henry chose Pineapple Ginger, which we decided was the winner. 

I'd love to write about all the things, but frankly, I just don't have the time. So I will write about the one thing instead. Here is the one thing I took away from this trip more than anything else:

Traveling with small children isn't exactly a vacation, unless your definition of "vacation" is doing laundry, dishes and bedtime in a new location.

But sometimes, a new location is all you need.

Traveling is learning. And as you learn about the world, you realize that the world is actually teaching you about yourself.

As I watched my children explore St. Augustine, I saw their distinct personalities emerging as they interacted with the world around them.

And I learned that I have an Adventurer.

My Adventurer raced at top speed, without hesitation, into frigid salty waters. He wore a sweatshirt under his swimshirt with a big, silly grin. He has no fear of strangers and struck up conversations with anyone who peaked his curiosity. He ordered pirates to lend him their gear so he could look the part while steering the ship.

I have a Thinker.

My Thinker poked his head into every nook, cranny and giant cannon. He studied shell after shell in the coquina streets and always lingered behind because he had just discovered some new fascinating treasure. He's never met an animal he didn't love...even a dead jellyfish.

I have a Daughter.

My Daughter has only just turned one and it's still a bit early to pinpoint personality. (Secretly, I'm kind of hoping for "the Shopper", because the boys just do not understand the gloriousness that is a shoe sale.) Still, wherever we went and whatever we did, she was content, as long as she could be part of the fun too. She insisted on investigating the sand and scenery for herself and if the boys got a gourmet popsicle, you had better hand her a Cucumber Lemon Mint too.

"I want that! No, I don't. Yes, I do!"

So thanks, St. Augustine. Thanks for the history lessons and the pirate adventures and the beachy strolls.

Thanks for the reminder that my children are their own little people, growing up before my eyes and teaching me about the world from their unique perspectives.

And I'd pay $4 for one of your popsicles any day.

Just me and the kids...and a photobombing pelican.