The Kind of Men Who Hit on Me Now

On the last day of summer vacation I loaded up 3 kids and 2 bulging beach bags and headed to the pool. We didn't get very many pool days this summer thanks to the Broken Leg Crisis of 2015, so when I asked the kids how they wanted to spend this last hoorah, the pool was definitely their number one choice (right after I said no to Target).

Besides, the pool would be a welcome distraction from the mixed emotions about starting Kindergarten the next day. Not a distraction for Jack of course, he was fine, but to keep me from trying to pull him in my lap and smell his hair and force him to look at his baby book for the 18th time.

It was a beautiful eighty degree day and the pool was relatively empty save for a handful of sunbathers and a few families with small children. 

I sat on the stairs in the shallow end, the water rhythmically slapping my knees and the sun warming my shoulders as I watched my kids bob up and down, playing a pool game of their own invention. The last day of summer vacation was shaping up to be a fantastic day, until the lifeguard blew his whistle to signal adult swim, and it all went downhill from there. 

I held Elise's hand as we all trudged out of the water toward our chairs. As I handed out towels and snacks, I noticed a man standing about two feet away from us, staring in our general direction. He was tall, broad-shouldered and muscular, probably in his late 20's. I suspected he was also quite attractive, but it was hard to tell since he was wearing giant reflective sunglasses that seemed to cover half his face.

He stood there, rooted to one spot, with an unwavering gaze that caught me off guard.

My first thought was to immediately scan our surroundings for the thing which had so completely captured his attention. Was there a swarm of bees behind us? Were they giving out free ice pops at the snack bar? Were those brazen Europeans trying to sunbathe topless again??

When I could spot nothing that seemed out of the ordinary, another thought dawned on me. Holy moly, he is staring at me!! I became flustered and immediately aware that bending over to retrieve dropped goldfish dramatically increased the rolls in my stomach.  I instantly stood up and tried to position myself in a casual, yet very skinny pose.

Most of my days are spent with little children who are unconcerned with how I look and who are actually rather fond of squishing their tiny faces into my cushy stomach. Most adult interaction is with other moms or with Mike, the very nice man who fulfills my home shop order at the grocery store so I don't have to go into the actual grocery store and push my kids around in the giant two-seater racecar cart which has the propensity to knock over the very large display of loose nuts which can be heard bouncing and rolling all over the store as they cascade to the ground and then Mike has to sweep them up as I back away apologizing profusely.

Anyway, the point is that I no longer have any idea how to behave in a situation where a young, shirtless man is about to ask for my number or tell me I'm beautiful or offer to buy me an ice pop. I just tried to stand there in my skinniest, casual-est pose, entirely ignoring my children's screams of He took my granola bar! or When is break time over?! or Elise just peed on the ground!

I was completely preoccupied with composing a response to whatever pick-up line he decided to use. I would let him down gently of course. That's so funny you thought I was the babysitter! I had no idea that tummy-slimming one pieces were what all the young girls are wearing these days! Actually, I know it's hard to believe, but these are all my kids! I'm married to a wonderful man, who is also tall and muscular and looks great without his shirt on. Thank you so much for offering, but you see why I cannot accept an ice pop from you.

Yes, that is what I would say. So I stood there, sucking it in, and he stared. And I stood, and he stared. I'm not sure at what point staring goes from flattering to creepy, but it probably happens a whole lot quicker with a 33-year-old mother whose 3 children have emptied the entire contents of her pool bag all over the wet cement, than it does with a 21-year-old at a bar.

I had had enough. This was ridiculous. I was SO DONE with this charade. I marched right up to Shirtless Joe, close enough that I could see myself in his stupid, shiny glasses. I gave him my harshest glare (which is about as threatening as a scolding from Mary Poppins) and tried to summon the courage to say something really snarky and clever like Can I HELP you? or the classic Take a picture, it'll last longer!!

Then his friend walked up.

Shirtless Joe took off his glasses and placed them on his chair. His friend then took him by the elbow, led him across the pavement, and guided him into the water...because Shirtless Joe was blind.

SHIRTLESS JOE IS BLIND.


I know there is a lesson in this story somewhere, like don't judge a book by it's shiny, shirtless cover or pride goeth before a super embarrassing fall, but I am not Aesop.

Instead, I will take this opportunity to say THANK YOU to my husband for loving me and my squishy tummy and please don't ever leave me because the only men who stare at me these days are BLIND.

The Beach with Kids: Just Like the Brochure

Before we had kids a vacation meant going somewhere fun and doing whatever we wanted. 

Should we spend hours strolling along the cobblestone streets of Rome? Why not! Should we spend the day napping on a sun-kissed seashore in St. Lucia? No one's stopping us! How about an exhilarating trek along the Great Wall of China? Yes, yes, yes!! 

Of course, we never actually did any of those things before we had kids. I spent some time wondering why we didn't go on more vacations before we had kids and then I realized we probably didn't need more vacations before we had kids. 

I think Alanis Morisette would call that ironic.

Now we go on vacation with our kids. A vacation with kids essentially means parenting in a different location. 

Should we bring along enough snacks to feed a small army? We'd better! Should we do four loads of laundry in four days? Unless we want our luggage to smell like urine! How about going to a nice restaurant? Yes, Chick-fil-a is very nice! 

This month our family took a trip to the beach. Here we are ready to "relax" on our "vacation":

The kids carried their shovels.

We packed so much gear that the minivan barely made it up the slight incline of our driveway. The children peeked out of their car seats from behind walls of collapsible beach chairs, duffel bags and sand toys, and every time we turned a corner in our over-stuffed vehicle, Jack was buried by an avalanche of beach towels. Henry thought we were actually moving to the beach.

We rented a beach house with 13 other extended family members and when we arrived we discovered that our bedroom was so small we literally had to move the furniture into the living room and store our luggage in the car in order to have enough sleeping space for everyone. And one child still had to sleep in the bed with us every night. Of course, by "sleep" I mean unconsciously flail around. 

Here is a photo of how John and I blissfully awoke each morning:

Everyone was usually ready to hit the beach by 11am which, taking into account that the kids woke up at 7, means that it only took 4 hours to eat breakfast, not shower and put on swimsuits. It took me less time to get ready for my wedding.

Here is what a typical day at the beach looked like for us: 

I told you I was obsessed.

At least we were finally able to lay back and relax after setting up camp on the shore. KIDDING.

On our first full day of vacation, loaded down with enough equipment to be mistaken for pack mules, John and I hiked the seemingly mile-long trek to the beach and exchanged glances which asked what vacationing parents have wondered for years, Is all this even worth it??

"Just like the brochure!" John suddenly exclaimed and I dropped my end of the beach tent for giggling so hard. It was all we could do to stumble down the rest of the sandy path, pausing between fits of laughter. The children raced ahead, approaching the blue-green water with giddy anticipation.

As soon as our feet hit the shore, the kids took off towards the foamy surf and luckily, thankfully, it only took a moment to remind us why we came in the first place.

If all the lugging and sweating and slathering was the price for sweet little sandy toes and salty kisses, we were happy to pay. The craziness of life can't always be escaped on vacation, but there is something about the sea that allows you to embrace it, even enjoy it. Our kids may be the reason we need vacations, but vacations wouldn't be the same without them.

The ocean reminded us of something we've always known: the best memories are made in bare feet, on a summer seashore. So we swam in the surf and played in the sand. We built castles and attempted to tunnel to China. We took walks at dusk and gathered nautical treasures. We stayed up too late and ate way too much ice cream.
.

Also, we are so fun we plan theme nights. (This is baseball night.)

We were cramped, sandy and tired...and so happy to be a part of the best kind of memory making.

We decided it was all worth it. The beach is always worth it.


Well, maybe:

I am still finding sand in my toddler's ear.

Embrace life's little messes by following along on my new Facebook page :)

The Summer of One Million Couch Forts

It's almost funny to me. One day I will laugh about it, but right now I'm just shaking my head at the irony.

You see, last summer my nearly-18-month-old refused to take a step, so I have been telling everyone for months that I was SO EXCITED for this summer because ALL MY CHILDREN ARE FINALLY WALKING.

I spoke too soon.

We had one glorious week of exploring parks, catching fireflies and walks at dusk when it all came to a screeching halt - a screeching halt while we were out of town visiting grandparents for that matter.

It was day 2 of our visit and my mom and I packed up the kids and headed to a super hip downtown trampoline park first thing in the morning for "preschool bounce." Preschool Bounce is a euphemism for letting small children, who have minimal control over their bodies as it is, run wild in a giant room made of trampolines, which is only slightly safer than turning them loose in a knife factory. 

I remember one time in elementary school the teacher gave us a writing prompt that asked us to design our dream house. Pretty much every kid in the class came up with a version of a home with trampoline floors, slides instead of stairs and ways of trapezing yourself from one room to the next. Oh my, what imaginations! I'm sure our teacher thought, Like anyone in their right mind would design and build a giant death trap like this!

Apparently, as long as you slap a waiver of liability on any who dare to enter, you can build whatever sort of death trap your heart so desires.

Basically, I'm pretty sure that trampoline parks were invented in the mind of a 5th grader in the early nineties. In fact, as I glanced over the wide expanse of springy floors, rope swings and foam pits, I couldn't help but feel like an 11-year-old again, giddy with excitement. However, I was very quickly reminded that I am actually a 33-year-old woman who has birthed 3 children because even after completely emptying my bladder, it became clear that I will never again be able to bounce with the free abandon I possessed in my youth. Sad face.

The kids, on the other hand, were in absolute heaven. I wish I had taken some pictures, but my phone memory was completely full (Just give me the cheapest phone! I said. What do I need extra memory for? I said). I was especially kicking myself for not having video capabilities when Jack discovered the slide. This particular slide was actually a giant corrugated black tube that jutted out over a tall platform. The kids slide down the tube and drop about 10 feet into a pit of foam cubes. Totally safe, right? Anyway, Jack was having the time of his life doing belly flops and cannonballs and flips out of the tube. And it would be a really cool story to say that he broke his leg doing a double backflip out of a colossal drainage pipe, but that's not how it happened at all.

The story of how he broke his leg, how all our summer plans got flipped around, is the most unexciting, regular story there is to tell.

He was just jumping, just bouncing in a square when another girl decided to bounce in his square. She must have messed up the rhythm of his bounce and when he came down, his leg buckled just so, and his screams immediately reverberated through the room.

Jack is my oldest and my child that is the most dramatic about his injuries, whether that is because he was more coddled as a toddler when he got a boo boo (since there were no other little ones around demanding attention) or because he is a carbon copy of my husband who is also fairly dramatic when he is not feeling his best (he once told me "I know I caught this cold from you, but it must have mutated because my cold is MUCH WORSE.") we may never know, but there was something much more panicked about his screams that day.

I was across the park when it happened, so I bounced over to him as quickly as bouncing allows, much like that dream where you try to run away from your ex-boss the restaurant manager who, unsurprisingly, also happens to be a psychotic serial killer, as fast as you can, but you can only move in slow motion.

When I finally reached him, the first words out of his mouth were, "I BROKE MY LEG! I BROKE MY LEG! PRAY TO GOD, MOMMY, I BROKE MY LEG!!"

Being the compassionate mother that I am, my first words were, "No, no, Sweetie, you're fine!!! You're ok! Come on, let's get a Slushie!!"

In my defense though, there were no protruding bones, no blood and not even any swelling at first. However, after 3 hours of hysterical screaming I decided that perhaps I should take him to the ER to get things checked out. Sure enough, the diagnosis was a fractured tibia.

Glassy-eyed and no longer screaming after the nurses gave him some "special medicine."
If you look very closely you will see that his left knee area is slightly swollen.

We had big plans for this summer. The kids and I even made a summer bucket list that included everything from blueberry picking (Jack's suggestion) to a day at the zoo (Henry's request) and swimming lessons (they'll be SO much fun! I insisted a little too enthusiastically). Mostly, I just wanted to spend long, lazy days enjoying my kids, who are all finally old enough to go down the slide without my help, before the craziness of school starts in the fall. 

Instead, Jack was in a temporary (soft) cast for nearly 2 weeks, so he had to be carried everywhere and was completely dependent on his parents, much like an infant - a 4 foot, 50 pound infant who constantly demands popsicles and ice cream "to make his leg feel better."

We were stuck inside most of the time which meant the kids played every board game in our collection, watched every super hero show available on Netflix, built an obscene number of couch forts and constantly FOUGHT AT EAR-PIERCING DECIBELS. One day I had a mini-breakdown after rebuilding couch fort #87 for the sixth time. They paused their bickering to ask "What's wrong, Mommy?"

"It's like February all over again!!" I howled.

"But Mooooommeeeee, there are not supposed to be any holes in the roof!"
"IT'S CALLED A SKYLIGHT!"

I was feeling very sorry for Jack, but mostly very sorry for myself that my summer of poolside relaxation had turned into the summer of one million couch forts. But it turns out that pity parties are only helpful if wine is involved and since that could only happen after the kids went to bed, something had to change.

This past year the women's ministry at our church has made a theme out of the verse in Thessalonians that says "rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances." I declared it to be my own personal mantra this year as well, which has turned out to be quite encouraging and helpful when I actually stop whining about stuff and remember that I have a mantra.

One day they made a fort for me. It was...cozy.

One day, with my mantra in mind, I made a big show of ripping our neglected bucket list off the fridge and throwing it the trash, which was really not as dramatic as it sounds since it was just written on a post-it note that Elise scribbled over about 5 times.

"Jack, we are making a new list!" I declared. "Because even when a bad thing happens, God can use it for good! Let's make a list of all the good things that have happened because you broke your leg."

He blinked at me. "Mommy, this is the WORST thing that has ever happened in my LIFE."

"Well, that's probably true, but what about all the good things that have happened? The kind things that people have done to show they care about you? Your friends have come over to bring you goodies and play with you. People have called and sent cards and text messages and even packages! How does that make you feel?"

He smiled. "Really good."

"Yeah, it made me feel really good too. Sometimes when we're sad and hurting, God shows his love for us through other people. We just have to look for the good things and have a thankful heart."

His eyes lit up, "Hey, I know something good that happened!"

"What?"

"I didn't have to take swimming lessons!"

His friend Katherine came over and coaxed him outside for the first time after his injury.
She also taught him how to make an "art show." He had so much fun he almost forgot his leg was broken

Making superhero chalk people with Jackson.

To make an even longer story as short as possible, we finally got in to see a specialist who put Jack in a hard cast that he was able to walk in a little, which made life exponentially easier for all of us. And we kept looking for good things to rejoice in and be thankful for while he was in his cast.

It turns out the very best thing about having a cast is that people can sign it, and Jack got some pretty amazing signatures which he showed to everyone all month long.

Spiderman signed his cast during Superhero Day at the library.

Darth Vader and a stormtrooper signed his cast at Star Wars Day at the library.
Yes, we have an amazing library.

Even the Chick-fil-a Cow made his mark.

After a month of couch forts, I mean recovery, Jack got his cast off this week. I was kind of expecting him to come skipping out of the hospital, but that was not the case. The doctor told him his leg might be a little stiff and sore for a while, which I think Jack heard as "if you walk on it, your leg will fall off."

Three days after the cast came off he finally built up the courage to take a step. He has not yet bent his knee and is currently hobbling around very slowly, kind of like a peg-legged pirate.

It may be a while longer before he is running around like normal, but we have a lot to rejoice about in the meantime. He is healthy and his break healed quickly. We are surrounded by friends and family who love us and reach out to help in situations big and small. Also, how lucky are we that the doctor let Jack take home his cast to keep as a souvenir of his injury forever and ever??

"It smells in here."

The cast has become the most coveted prop when playing "Hospital"

And, until he can run free, there are always COUCH FORTS.

Scenes From Chicago

Last spring my husband came to me with an idea. "Hey, what do you think about taking a trip to Chicago in August?"

"You mean for our anniversary?!? Honey, that is SO sweet!" He never plans ahead, so I was gleefully shocked to think he was imagining a romantic getaway for us months in the future.

"Oh, err, um, yeah. For our anniversary. And also, the Orioles will be in town."

So last week we jetted out to Chicago to see John's favorite baseball team, the Baltimore Orioles, play the Cubs...I mean, for a romantic anniversary weekend.

Either way, I was excited because it was our first big trip together in 7 years and our first time away from all three kids EVER. At this point I would be happy to go on a date to our local Chili's if it meant I could remain seated for the entire meal and not listen to a squeaky voice yell "BITE! BITE! BITE!" every time I lift my fork to my mouth (even though she has the exact same thing cut up in tiny pieces in front of her), so I was ecstatic to be able to eat meals and sleep in a bed in an ENTIRELY DIFFERENT STATE.

As I mentioned, John is not much of a planner, but lucky for him, I AM. I researched, asked friends, read blogs, made reservations and bought tickets. I typed up a color-coded itinerary for us. And printed out copies. On second thought, it's amazing he agreed to travel with me at all.

I planned your typical Chicago-tourist type things like a show at Second City and an evening at the 95th floor of the John Hancock building to take in the spectacular city view.

At the Signature Room: the dining experience was ok, the views were unparalleled. 

I planned some not-so-typical things like a restaurant where we ate dinner from a nest...

"Um, what do you mean my dinner is 'in here somewhere'?

...and a charred stump.

I believe this experience merits it's own blog post. (see here)

Some of my plans did not pan out so well, which can often be the case when you're somewhere new and unfamiliar. However, my husband (the man who never plans ahead and is never on time) is blessed with what seems to be this innate streak of good luck that causes things to naturally work out for him even better than if he followed a color-coded itinerary.

We had tickets for a riverboat architecture tour, which was cancelled. A heavy rainstorm the night before had caused the water levels to rise, making it impossible for the boat to pass under some of the bridges. Who knew?

Instead, John suggested we make our way down to Navy Pier.

Navy Pier is Chicago's number one tourist attraction and I had read reports that it can be an overly-crowded, overly-commercialized tourist trap. But, for whatever reason, on our visit that morning there were no lines, no crowds, and a delightful breeze blowing in from the harbor to cool down the August heat. Maybe the rainy forecast had discouraged other travelers from exploring the pier that morning. Or maybe it was just my husband's dang lucky streak that made it all fall into place.

Ferris wheel selfie!

I was also DETERMINED to try a Chicago-style hot dog while we were in town. I'm convinced that really good hot dogs are one of life's greatest pleasures, ranking right up there with fresh pasta and nachos. If I were on a deserted island and could only eat one food for the rest of my life, I would readily choose bun-sized, all-beef hot dogs as long as I had a grill and a variety of fresh toppings.

In Chicago, they serve their hot dogs on a poppyseed bun with mustard, onions, relish, sliced tomatoes, a pickle spear and spicy sport peppers.

Naturally, a Chicago dog is a MUST while in Chicago, and I decided that if I was going to eat a Chicago dog, it might as well be the BEST hot dog in Chicago.  All my research pointed me to a little place in the north side of Chicago called Hot Doug's. Reviewers raved about the "foie gras dog" and the "duck fat fries." "Without exaggeration, the best hot dog restaurant in the world!" one exclaimed. Hot Doug's even has a quote emblazoned on a large, hot dog-shaped sign that reads, "There are no two finer words in the English language than 'encased meats,' my friend." I would have to agree.

The reviewers mentioned there would be a line. Unfortunately, they neglected to mention exactly how long that line would be.

I had to swipe this photo off Instagram since I was too distraught at the time to document my disappointment.

By the time we arrived at 11:30am, the line was already 3 hours long. See the itsy-bitsy red awning in the photo above? That's Hot Doug's. From where we were in line, you could not even see the awning. People brought LAWN CHAIRS and COOLERS with them to wait in line. An ice cream truck circled by to sell frozen treats to sweaty customers as they waited. I'm surprised no one whipped out a grill to tailgate before the main event. I don't know what makes people willing to spend half a day waiting for a hot dog, but Doug must have hired the Angels themselves to grind the meat and add spices from Heaven.

Sadly, I don't know what the word's best hot dog tastes like, because we couldn't wait for 3 hours. We had a baseball game to get to.

And the best part of the game for me? My husband bought me a big ol' Chicago-style hot dog.

Verdict: fresh, spicy, sweet. It's no Carolina dog, but I'd eat another. Especially if it happened to be made by meat-grinding angels.

For some reason, John was quite frustrated I kept calling this place "Wrigley's Stadium," so I must inform you that it is actually named WRIGLEY FIELD and it is a national historic treasure or something like that.
They had some cute t-shirts for sale with little bears on them, but John wouldn't let me buy one.

Other highlights included fresh pasta from Eataly; part restaurant, part gourmet grocery, part bookstore, part kitchen store. It reminded me of the marketplaces in Florence, only a LOT cleaner and without exclamations of Ciao, Bella! every 10 steps. Eataly: cheesy name, amazing place. Check it out.

We also had dinner with my sister, Katie, (a Chicago resident) at award-winning restaurant and dessertery Mindy's Hot Chocolate. The food was so good we forgot to take pictures.

But we did manage one fuzzy snapshot for our mom. You're welcome, Mom!

Finally, we did managed to snag a ride on a riverboat architecture cruise right before leaving for the airport. If you do one thing while in Chicago, this is it.

We had a wonderful time. It wasn't all romance and rose petals, we went to 2 baseball games, after all. There was even the occasional argument, like when we almost missed our departing flight. Twice. (It was John's fault.) But I attribute the success of our trip to 5 things:

1. My excellent planning
2. John's knack for winging it when my plans go awry
3. Yummy food
4. Occasionally making out
5. Appreciating the moments together, particularly those spontaneous and unplanned

Come to think of it, those are the things that make our marriage work too.

And a big, giant THANK YOU to all the grandparents who made this trip possible! Although we are currently in the throws of some serious DETOX, it was well worth it. ;)

Note: Because some have asked, all photos were taken with my iPhone and most were edited with the apps Snapseed or VSCO Cam.