Tag: summer

Day Three: A Photo that Makes You Happy

Longpoint Beach
Martha’s Vineyard
June 2010

The weather has been down right bi-polar lately.  67 degrees yesterday. 37 degrees today.  I don’t know when to bundle up and when to strip down. Most days I look like a homeless person, just wearing all my layers in case of a shift in the weather.  Indoors or outdoors, my hands are constantly cold. The upside to that, though,  is the girls have finally started dressing themselves to avoid my frozen fingers.  
I was born in Massachusetts where white Christmases are often preceded by white Halloweens.  I spent my formative years in New Jersey, which has seen it’s fair share of cold weather as of late.  Having lived in Virginia for the other half of my life, I’ve totally lost that Yankee edge.  Anything below 65 degrees?  Um, where’s my jacket?  And could you pass me my scarf? 
It’s no surprise that when the weather channel calls for low temps, I turn up thermostat. I’m starting to think it’s an exercise in futility because the house never feels like it’s warming up.  It’s that thing — psychosomatic — I turn up the thermostat and trick myself into believing I’m getting warmer.    As a result,  I forget to turn it down by the time I go to bed. We’ve got radiator heat, which is hot like the 7th circle of Hades once it gets cooking.  My side of the bed is on the radiator side and along about 2 in the morning, I am sweating like a hooker in church! God forbid we open a window; that’s the express lane to sore throats, stuffed noses and all matter of hacking coughs.  
The next day, it’s a balmy 60 plus degrees.  The neighbors and kids are out in flip-flops and tank tops.  Even nature is fooled into thinking warmth is abundant and long lasting.  Daffodils and crocuses start to sprout, the grass greens up and then the sun goes down, taking heat with it. 
I am so ready for a steady bout of spring like weather.  Even if it’s overcast, even if it’s drizzling a bit, I’ll take it.  Until then, I’ll stick my hands in my armpits for warmth, re-wrap my scarf around my neck and wish myself back to the hot, hot sand on Longpoint Beach.

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IN: ON: March 3, 2011 TAGS: , , BY: Hilary
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What Day Is It?

Upon waking up Saturday mornings, DH likes to announce that the week-end, “is over”.  I used to think that this was a silly thing to say.  It’s Saturday morning! The sun is out! The birds and singing and we have the whole day in front of us.

Then we had children.

Saturday and Sunday became bookends between which we crammed birthday parties, trips to the zoo/museum/the grocery store, family time, various sporting lessons, and household clean-up. By the time we actually heard the birds singing, it was because it was Monday morning.

As an married adult with children, I see that an entire summer is whipping by at a break-neck pace.  Just like how Christmas decorations start rolling out around Columbus Day (second Monday in October, people), the back-to-school paraphernalia appears sooner and sooner.  It’s the end of July, but I’m pretty certain that July 5th saw the red,white and blue replaced with school bus yellow and composition notebook black and white.

I walked into my neighbor-hood Target and was assaulted by the Back-to-School savings I could take advantage of.  The savings were so great, the deals so plentiful, that I actually forgot what I had gone in there for in the first place.  Suffice it to say, the only thing that got saved was the economy due to the generous boost from the Dixon family.

Growing up, I looked forward to back-to-school shopping like it was an early Christmas.  I roamed the aisles of Drug Fair (what you non-Jersey natives would call CVS) and loaded up.  New Trapper Keeper! Lisa Frank notebooks!  Pencils! Sailor Moon pencil case with the hidden compartment for me play with instead of paying attention in math class!  My mom would take me to the Bridgewater Mall (sweet!) for new back-school-clothes. . .well, sort of.  We had uniforms in high school, so new clothes meant choosing between new navy tights or new navy knee socks.  Decisions, decisions.

After bowing out of school last October, I thought the giddiness of back-to-school preparation was behind me.  Then I realized, Morgan is on the cusp of her entrance into the official school system:  KINDERGARTEN.

Wow. 

How did we get here?

And kindergarten now, is way different from when I was in kindergarten.

Can you find me? It’s like “Where’s Waldo”, isn’t it?

First of all, there’s a school supply list.  There’s stuff, beyond a pack of pencils and a bookbag, that we have to get for the classroom.  Like baby-wipes and band-aids.  Like multiple packets of crayons and markers.  I had heard the school budgets had been cut, but wow. 

How about this? Gone are the days of AM and PM classes.  Kindergarten is all day — 9 to 3! Those are banker’s hours!  What am I going to do with myself while Morgan tells all of our family business to her teachers and peers (you know she will; volunteering our personal information is her #1 hobby)? 

And homework!  I hear there’s homework in kindergarten.  Who knows what kind of dittos (do they still even have those?) and worksheets she’ll be bringing home.  I’m about to order up some “Math Made EZ 4 U” off of Amazon because I am russssss-teeee. 

My parents had given me this book when I started school called “School Days.” It’s a little scrapbook that you fill out at the beginning and end of every school year with stuff like the name of  your school, your photo, names of your teachers and friends, what you want to be when you grow up, and so forth.  Mine is busting apart at the seams.  There are little pockets to stick in momentos for each grade and I’ve got Valentines, notes I passed, report cards, all of that junk.  I found the 2010 version for Morgan and I wonder how hers will compare to my own over the years.  

It’s weird, turning the corner from your childhood/ adolescent self and walking down that adult/parent road.  I can already see the first day of school coming: Morgan will slip into the clothes she’s picked out the night before.  She’ll slide into her slightly too-big-backpack.  We’ll take her picture on the front steps, maybe she’ll even let Coever stand next to her for a frame or two.  We’ll walk down to the school and guess what adventures lay ahead. I’ll take her hand from mine to put it into the hand of her teacher, a woman I will eyeball until she understands that I am entrusting her with one of my two greatest treasures.  She should conduct herself accordingly.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.  It’s the last week of July; there’s plenty of summer left!  There are still trips to the beach, to Busch Gardens, to visit the grands.  We’ve got playdates to fill up our mornings, arts & craps ::shudder:: to fill up the afternoons, and trips to the ice cream parlor for our evenings.

Back-to-school can wait.  The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and we are just getting started.

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IN: ON: July 26, 2010 TAGS: , , BY: Hilary
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photography projects & DIY

(No) More Mermaids!

So, last June,  I first introduced you all to my novel activity for the summer:  Finding as many Norfolk Mermaids as we can and snapping some photos of the girls with the mermaids.  Never would I have imagined that a year later, we’d still be coming across these statues.  We’ve been armed with our copy of “There Goes a Mermaid” and I’ve consulted my Norfolk Mermaid Poster, but the recent ones we’ve found aren’t even mentioned in those two sources.  I have no clue as to how many mermaids there are, if we’re even close to having found them all or what.   Suffice it to say, I’m over the whole thing.  I did what I set out to do — *koff*koff*Kill daylight ’til bedtime*koff*koff* — and the girls have a nice book of memories as a result.  And yet, here we are, July of 2010. 
 We are still finding mermaids. 

There wasn’t any accompanying plaque or tablet identifying this one, so let’s just call her Stars and Stripes.

I have no idea what to call this one.  I want to say $5 Hoa-ah, since she’s parked out in front of an EconoLodge and a Motel 6 on Military Highway looking like a. . .well. . you know.

It was a situation where, by the time I realized that even though it was one in the afternoon, the locale was still pretty sketch-tastic. The girls had already seen the mermaid and were bugging out in the backseat.  True, I’m a grown-up.  In fact, I’m THE grown-up in the this situation and as such, could have made the executive decision to abort.  But I didn’t.   I will say that the girls could have been doing headstands and picking their noses when I took this picture, for all I cared.  I’m pretty sure the surrounding establishments rent by the hour.  I hustled them to the mermaid, took the snap, hustled them back to the car, locked the door, and laid waste to the parking lot as we high-tailed it back to our neighborhood.    

 As much as I want to talk tough and say that I’m done with this project, I know if I hear of another mermaid, we’ll be there, camera in tow.

And if it’s in a real sketchy area, we may just snap the mermaid from the car and PhotoShop the girls in later.

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IN: photography projects & DIY ON: July 19, 2010 TAGS: , , , , , , BY: Hilary
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My Cup Runneth Over

On Wednesday it was hot.  Like the pit of Hades hot, frying eggs on the sidewalk, don’t even look at me because it just makes me sweat kind of hot.    So hot that I considered going sans bra for a bit.  That didn’t come to pass — we are involved in a number of family activities, after all — but you can bet your over-the-shoulder-boulder-holders that I whipped that joker off as soon as we got home.

After another day of running here, there, and everywhere, when we got in the door, I just dropped our stuff, sat down, unsnapped, and let the girls breathe.  I left the bra sitting on the table while I sorted through the mail and the other detritus that had accumulated over the past few days.

Morgan, in one of her many laps around the house, rolled on through the room, stopping short when she saw my bra keeping me company.

“Whoa!” she said, eyeing the upright cups.  “Is that your bra? That’s really big. I mean those things right there.  Those round parts. They’re really big.  Kind of like two hats attached together, kind of like a visor.  Or like a really big hat.  Yeah, like a really big hat.  Can I watch a show?”

I’m sporting a pretty average size Wacoal bra, but to her 4 year old eyes, must have looked like this:

I need to count my blessings that she just caught sight of my bra and not my underwear. 

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IN: ON: July 9, 2010 TAGS: , , BY: Hilary
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And then. . .and then. . .and then. . .

When people ask me what I do, I prefer to say that I work at home with my kids.  I’m not ashamed to be at home; in fact, I’m beyond lucky to be able to do so.  The thing is, I try not to say that I’m a “stay-at-home-mom” because, I’m really rarely at home. 

I’m up well before the kids, having tackled a multitude of tasks that keep this well-oiled household performing at peak condition.  By the time the girls have gotten up, I’ve ticked off several things on my to-do list, given my day planner a thorough once over, mapped out the best routes from A to Z and points in between, and have packed at least two bags with snacks, changes of clothes, and assorted books and toys to keep everyone sane and entertained.

On any given day, we’ve got something to do, somewhere to be and usually someone to share that fun with us.  Maybe it’s swimming lessons, maybe it’s the zoo, maybe it’s Paint Your Own Pottery *shudder* or some other arts & craps.  I’ve got us so scheduled and committed to playdates that Morgan not only asks, “What are we doing today?”, but “Who’s going to be there?” Heaven forbid I tell her that it’s just going to be us three. I don’t think my ego can take the look of disappointment mixed with resignation on her face.

But now, Morgan added yet another question into the mix.  Her new follow-up is, “And then what are we going to do?” 

As if breakfast, dentist appointment, soccer camp, lunch with a friend, swimming lessons, a trip to Target, a trip to Trader Joe’s, a trip to the Dollar Tree, home, shower, hair do’s, playtime outside with the neighbors, playtime inside, a quick episode of Charlie and Lola, dinner, time with Daddy, and getting ready for bed isn’t enough. 

I’m worn out just looking at that list.

There are times when I want to just turn around (because I’m inevitably driving down the road) and say, “Really? Aren’t you tired?”  Sometimes, even when I know exactly what the next two or three activities are, I beg off and say, “Let’s just play it by ear.”  If I provided her with an itemized, color coded, cross-reference comprehensive itinerary,  I still think she’d be asking me what’s next on the agenda. Other times, I honestly don’t know what’s next.  I know what I’d like to do (hello, nap like Rip Van Winkle), but it’s doubtful that what I’d like is going to win out.  I’m working towards win-win situations.  I’ll keep you posted on how that is working out.

The other day, the girls had summer camp in the morning, lunch with a friend, a long trip to Busch Gardens, then an extended playdate that lasted well into the evening.  By the time we picked the girls up at 11pm, I figured they’d be down for the count.  Both of them were still going full tilt, without having had the benefit of naps.  Outside in their pajamas, they were ricocheting off of eachother and their best buddy as we wrangled their carseats into the car.  No sooner was everyone buckled in and the key in the ignition, did Morgan ask, “Now what are we going to do?”

Hello! It’s 11 o’clock at night. I am so tired I could carry home groceries in the bags under my eyes.  So here’s what we’re going to do.  We’re going home to board the SleepyTime Express and I’m going to put pedal to the metal because that’s one train you little heffs need to be on.

I didn’t say that, not out loud anyway.  I was too tired to deal with the Pavlovian-esque response that comes with mentioning the words sleep and/or bed (i.e. tears). I just said, “Let’s just play it by ear,” and drove off into the night.

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IN: ON: July 7, 2010 TAGS: , , BY: Hilary
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And here we go. . .

The last few days have been spent wrapping up all of the loose ends that come with the end of school.  Never since my own grade school years have I experienced such a fervor that comes with the warmer weather, the constant inflow of artwork, school papers, and the need for snacks and gifts for class parties.  While both pairs of teachers the girls have had this year have done a yeoman’s (look it up) job of continuing to turn them into shining stars, the gift cards and potted plants we bestowed on them hardly seem like a fair trade.

Seriously, say what you will about public or private school.  It all comes down to the teacher. Exhibit A: Morgan can read, and I’m not just talking Dr. Seuss.  She’s reading all manner of street signs, tee-shirt logos, and I saw her thumbing through my Glamour magazine asking me what exactly are the 100 wildest Dos and Don’ts of Summer. As for Coever, this little biscuit knows the days of the week (as sung to the tune of the Addams Family, (which is HEE-larious) and she knows her planets, in order.  How old was I when I learned the planets in order? Hmmm, what’s today’s date? 
Anyway, school days are behind us and we have jumped into summer fun with both feet.  There is a bit of housekeeping that I have to address, however.  My blog entries have been coming in fits and starts lately.  We’re just busy, but that’s no excuse not to report on a major change in the Dixon household. 
Coever got a big-girl bed. . .
with Hello Kitty Sheets!
And she is BEYOND excited about it.  She finds a way to work it into daily conversation with just about everyone she sees.  Earlier this week, I took the girls out to find two other mermaids that have moved into the Downtown area.  As we made our way back to the car, we stopped at a crosswalk just outside our neighborhood FarmFresh Market.  Several people were waiting for the light to change, and one older gentleman was sitting on the lip of the post that has the crosswalk button on it.  Morgan asked me if she could push the button and I told her she needed to say “Excuse me” to the man so that she could reach it.  The man was very courteous, stepping aside to let her push the button and even complimented her on what a pretty girl she was.  He then turned to Coever and said, “And look at you!”, to which she replied, hands in the air like an old Jewish mother, “I have a big girl bed! With Hello Kitty Sheets!”But it came out more like, “Ihaveabiggirlbedwithhellokittysheets!”
The man just blinked at her a few times and said, “Okayyyyyyy”, picked up his groceries and crossed the street. 
Coever is completely crossing the threshold from toddlerhood into little person-dom.  She is constantly talking with her hands, insists on dressing herself (even if her shoes are on the wrong feet, her underwear is on backwards and she’s got both legs in one opening of her shorts), and prefacing just about every statement with “Actually,”.  She even got a haircut. 
Somehow, she got a stylist who had never “styled” (only cut) little girls hair, so the “after” photo. . . 
well, let’s just say, I hooked her up when we got home. 


Anyway, we have found three more mermaids in our continuing Norfolk Mermaid adventure.  We have a book called, “There Goes a Mermaid” and the girls are determined to find each and every one in the book.  They’ve enjoyed spotting the mermaids and comparing the photos I take to the photos in the story.

 

From top to bottom, they are the Tiger Mermaid at the zoo, the Literacy mermaid at the Virginian Pilot, the mermaid at the Botanical Garden.  I don’t know the name of the fourth one, but she’s got a lot of crystals on her torso and clamshell bra, so Morgan dubbed her, “Crystal”. 
 I can’t put a name to this one either, but I will say that this is one and Crystal two of the more elusive mermaids.  Sometimes they’re there, sometimes they’re not.  It’s ridiculous because these mermaids aren’t small and they definitely aren’t light.  They’re being moved, but by whom, how, and why remains a mystery.  I was really nervous when I took the girls — on foot, no less –  to check out the last two.  I had seen them the day before as I was running errands around town, but just knew in my gut that now that I was prepared with kids and camera in tow, they’d be gone.  
There are a few mermaids that we’ve found that aren’t in the book or that are in the book but are now MIA.  And then there are some that are affixed to the roofs of buildings or high up on the side of a buildings.  I’ve tried to convince the girls that getting a picture of them underneath the mermaid or even just finding the mermaid is a victory, but they want to invest in some grappling hooks, carabiners, and harnesses.  I suppose I should be grateful they’re really into this.  We’ve got quite a collection of photos and if we can all agree on a stopping point — these mermaids are like weeds, I tell ya! You think you’ve got ’em all and a new one pops up! — I’ve got a great idea for photo book and hanging collage.  
So, the summer finds us scheduled and more scheduled.  The girls are registered for all manner of camps and sports activities.  We’ve got church camp, VBS, gymnastics, and soccer. We’re gearing up for our first family vacation in a few weeks and we’ll have the kiddie pool and sprinklers going in the between times. Busch Gardens is on the books and I’ve poured through Tidewater Parent, ripping out ads for the numerous festivals in and around our area. I even got some arts and crafts projects to keep us busy.  Yes, I’m breaking out the arts and crafts (I’m also going to make a reservation for a rubber room, just in case). 
The girls are at an age where things like diapers and naps can’t slow us down, so I plan to make the most of this summer. And first up on our extensive Summer o’ Fun 2010 checklist? 
Sleeping in. . .

  

  
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IN: ON: June 12, 2010 TAGS: , , BY: Hilary
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Just Scraping By

So, I’ve been kicking sending the girls outside every afternoon ever since the weather got nice again.  They are starting to enjoy the great outdoors and blessedly, we live on a street with lots of kids their age, so there is always someone outside for them to hang with.

Today, the girls and another little boy were outside playing “King and Queen and Princess and Prince and Witch” (whatever that is) between our house and the little boys’ house about 4 houses down.  I know we don’t live on Sesame Street or in Mr. Rogers Neighborhood, but I feel pretty comfortable having them outside while I’m inside.  I’m definitely within screaming distance.  Plus, more often than not, I end up on the porch swing with my Coke Zero and my laptop so I can keep an eye on things.

Anyway, this afternoon, the girls were in and out and in and out and in and out of the house.  First it was “I’m hot”, then “I’m thirsty”, then “I gotta pee”, then “I’m going to be in the backyard” and so forth.  I told myself, the next time they came in, I was just going to call it a day and shut the door behind them.  And yet, they didn’t cross in front of the house for a while.  For about 15 minutes, I didn’t hear anything, which, when you have a 4 and 2 year old is never good.  Just as I get up to go see, I hear Morgan screaming for all her lungs are worth.  She is sweating, flushed in the face, and holding her right hand in her left hand as though was broken.

Somehow between the tears and the flying snot and Coever’s reassuring pats to Morgan’s knee and foot (??), Morgan explains that she was running and that she fell down.  First of all, ol’ girl is in flip flops and cardinal rule of the flip-flop is that you don’t run in them unless you just are dying to make out with the pavement.  Second of all, if she was skidding on pavement, I’m thinking her knees are going to look like she went over them with a cheese grater. And yet, everything looks like it did when she left.  So what’s the problem?

“My haaaaaaaaand,” she wails, offering up her dirty palm where there is the tiniest road rash and dangling flap of skin.  I’m talking dime sized scrape here.  She’s acting like she’s got a rib poking out of her side.

So we march upstairs to the bathroom where I proceed to run her hands under the faucet.  Cold water + small wound = more screaming.  Despite my calm and my maternal doting, she wasn’t having it.  When I pulled out the witch hazel and a cotton ball, she hollered like I was coming after her with a meat cleaver.  The little skin flap that was covering the wound had dirt and grit in it; it had come come off.  I reached for the tweezers and Morgan yells — “NO!! NO!! Not the tongs!!!”

Oh, my poor, sweet girl.  I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Tongs? I guess from her perspective, that’s what they must look like.  Still, I’m trying to be Florence Nightengale and she’s looking at me like I’m Mola Ram.  Seriously, Morgan opened her mouth and gave a big “Waaaaahhhhhhh”.

Suffice it to say, we got the boo-boo all cleaned up, put on the Neosporin, and topped it off with a Princess Tiana band-aid (of course).  And she carried on throughout, but as soon as that band-aid was in place, Morgan clapped her hands together gleefully, turned to Coever and said, “Let’s go back outside!”

So they went.

And I shut the door behind them.

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IN: ON: June 4, 2010 TAGS: , BY: Hilary
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