Life Lessons

Hello, old friends, it's me again. Tinkering. I know I said blogging was over for me, and I think that yes, two little ladybugs doesn't exist in the same way it did before. But there are still nuggets to share, like this one from Grace.

Workbook question: What is one of the nicest things you could say about yourself?
I love myself and I am a healthy, lucky, good, and mistakable person.

 Me: "Um, sweetie, don't you mean unmistakeable? You know everyone remembers you." 

Grace: "Mmm, no, Mom, I mean I make a lot of mistakes."

 Me: "Oh, I think you mean flawed."

Grace: "Yeah, flawed, that's what I mean. I love myself for being flawed."

 Me: "Well, honey, the world would be a better place if we could all love our flaws."

 +++++

 At age seven, my daughter understands a lesson I've been wrestling with all my life.  I hope she holds onto loving her flaws.

Fort Mountain

Hmmm. I said I had a few more posts, and I thought about writing them. Truly. I did. I do have a few more pictures. We went to Fort Mountain State Park over the weekend--a birthday camping trip for Craig. The excursion was bookended by illness (ear infection for Grace and cough with fever for Julia); in between we had a fabulous time. There was a little rain, but when the sun came through the clouds it was perfect. Here's the evidence:

Belated

First, a belated Happy Valentine's Day to you. A few years ago I would have written in detail about our Valentine's day events, how the girls insisted on making their own (which were totally adorable, but extremely labor intensive and expensive) and how I'm still cleaning glitter hearts from the floor. Now (years past my blogging prime) you get one image.



She's pretty darn cute though.

I've thought a lot about why I don't blog regularly anymore, and when I do write it's always to post something about how I can't write or won't write. What a downer. Truth is that our life isn't down, but it is busy. The other truth is that I've chosen not to blog too many details about my girls. For the last couple of years I've had this nagging whisper in my ear: don't post that picture, don't tell that story. Why? It's not that I have creepy followers (though visitors from Russia and China do make me wonder, "how the heck did you stumble on this particular blog?"). No, it's that I worry about the consequences of having one's life documented in very fine detail for all to see. Grace and Julia haven't had much choice in what I've said or not said about them on the internet. And I wonder how I might be different if every moment, every mistake were available for a wider audience to dissect. I feel bound (and sometimes tied) by my own past, a past that thankfully lives only in my memory, and not online. What if that past were out there in digital relief? Would I be able to leave it where it belongs? Or would I be overly burdened by the expectations painted in ever thickening layers by my internet past?

The answer, of course, is that I don't want that burden for my girls (and I understand that I'm projecting my own fears here). They're being raised in an altered reality, one that I don't recognize from my childhood. There's a strong chance they wouldn't feel the same burden that I fear, but I'm not willing to roll those dice. In the coming months I will dismantle this blog (after I get a hard and digital copy, of course). I will continue to upload pictures to my flickr account (cause I can't walk away from the 4000 I've already uploaded), but I will make that site private. If you're interested in seeing pictures in the future, just give me a shout by email, and I will give you access.

This is not my last post. I do have a few more to go, but I also want to have an eye on the future, which means the end of Two Little Ladybugs. It's been a good run; this blog has been a companion of sorts, especially in the early days of motherhood, and for that I'm deeply thankful.

First, imagine this is Friday

Because I meant to post on Friday, but instead I sat back and watched my husband and kids. Friday night is still pizza night around here, and like all rituals it's become a calm, soothing blanket to any stress from the week. Pizza night makes us happy.



Watching dad is pure entertainment.



And since it's February, we shape our pizza into a heart.




With fresh kale from the garden and good mozzarella, Dr. Byron makes a wicked good pie.



And that my friends makes for a very happy wife.

Punxsutawny Phil was punk'd

It's in the mid 70's here. Phil says six more weeks of winter. What winter? We haven't had one yet, and the forecast doesn't call for one soon. Case in point, Julia and her bud Sofia just served me dandelion pie with mulch topping (I hope they'll provide a beverage to wash this delicacy down). The sun is shining brightly, and I have to say it feels a lot like spring.

I also have to say that I don't mind 70s in February. Sunshine is the major benefit to living here (though I will complain loudly about the sun come summer). When we were back in the midwest last November we had a couple of gray days, and I quickly remembered how much that kind of weather stinks. Before you midwesterners start to moan, remember that the mercury regularly creeps above 100 in July and August. The perfect solution would be to winter in the south, and summer in the midwest. Oh yeah, that's called being a snowbird and requires retirement.

I may be surprised; there's always the possibility of snow in February and March (it's happened before). Hopefully we'll get just enough to build a snowman and then go back to spring as planned.

Milk of Magnesia

I'm absolutely constipated when it comes to blogging. I can't get a post written. Truly I'm constipated about all forms of communication these days. My email skills are rusty. I haven't skyped in months. I don't even like the telephone much. Blogging is probably the worst though. So much has happened, and I neither have the energy nor the inclination to write posts about the last couple of months. There was Christmas. There was Disney. There was my mom in ICU. There was/is Grace's GI problems. There have been a lot of silent worries and many happy moments too.

Last night I promised myself I would post something--get the wheels turning again--because I'm a happier person when I write (or call, email and skype). I don't even take pictures anymore (another habit to re-establish), though if you check the sidebar you'll see I have uploaded a few more pictures from December. Baby steps, people, I'm trying to get back on the trolley.

A picture of a picture

Now this is what a Santa picture is supposed to look like.

Weekend in the city

Craig and I flew up to DC a couple of weekends ago to enjoy some adult time, plus visit with my fabulous cousin, MIndy and her husband, Ryan at their home in Baltimore. We had a really wonderful time. We ate good food, walked a lot, talked a lot, and let go of some of the stress we've been toting around all semester (incidentally this is part of our plan to buy a little happiness--we're disproving the myth that money can't buy such things).

Anyway, we took all the obligatory shots--Craig at the Lincoln Memorial, Ellen at the White House, Craig at the Capitol, Ellen at the Occupy Washington Encampment--but there's really only one that I want to share:



The squirrels in DC live like fat cats. I swear, this is the chubbiest squirrel I have ever seen. In contrast, the squirrels in Macon look underfed with wispy hair and limp tails. On second thought, maybe those are rats.

For the record, kids, that guy is not Santa

The other night we attended the Christmas Tree lighting in Mercer Village, complete with a professional singer who filled the air with beautiful carols, professional artists selling their wares, and Santa. Now I've seen a few Santas in my day, and let me tell you, this guy takes the cake as possibly the least inspired Santa ever. I have to wonder if the guy was roped into this by his friends, "Come on down, we'll pay you 20 bucks if you dress up as Santa." In the photo with him and Grace, they look equally uncomfortable. Her eyes read, "Do I really have to sit on this guy's lap?"

Nevertheless, we will be purchasing the picture below (and yes, this is a screen shot, naughty me, there will be coal in my stocking for sure).

An education

I don't know if this is true of all kids or just my kids, but to Grace and Julia, their dad is the playful parent. Craig will lay on the floor and act out scenes, including sound effects, with animal figurines or army guys--an activity that would last only five minutes with me. He doesn't mind being used as a jungle gym, and he can provide horseback rides upon request. I'm not a total slouch in this area, but play with me tends to be more crafty and doesn't require a falsetto voice.

I think Craig takes the girl's education on all things play very seriously or maybe it's just that he's still a kid at heart. Over the last several years he has tried to cultivate in them an appreciation of toys from his past (which is partly why I think his efforts aren't really about Grace and Julia, but about playtime for him), so it should be no surprise that Star Wars is very, very important in our lives. Now the girls haven't actually seen much of the movies--their education centers primarily on play with figurines and storytelling. By the time they do see the movies, I imagine each of them will be able anticipate the plot-line and cite arcane details.

Why am I telling you this? Well this whole post is geared to show you some of Craig's night-time ritual with the girls. I can't remember when this started, but for some time he has been reading old Star Wars comics as bedtime stories. I wish you could actually be in the room to watch Grace and Julia pepper him with questions or hear his impersonation of C3PO. Life is made of moments, right? And I love these moments.

Mary's in the house

At this rate, I may manage one post per month. Stifled. That's all I can say.

Moving on. Julia was chosen to play Mary for her school Christmas pageant, and let's just say she relished her part. Her bunny was continually swaddled, and she roped a stuffed duck into playing Joseph. She practiced her part all the time. I can't say that her behavior was very Mary like; in fact, she was pretty much a diva by the time the performance came. Well, I should clarify that she was a diva with Craig and me, but a perfect ANGEL to her teachers. You cannot imagine how many times I was told what a perfect Mary she was and how much she deserved to play the part. Sigh. I only wish her teachers didn't give that praise within her earshot. Next she'll be asking us to move to LA to jump-start her acting career.

Still, Craig and I hurried to the church to get good seats for her performance, and it was absolutely priceless. To see her swaddle the baby doll, oh, it was too much. Afterwards she heard from at least ten other people about her perfect portrayal of Mary. She'll be playing that part for a at least another couple of months. Below are pictures I took (Craig also shot video so the grandparents can get the full experience later).

One moment in a million that I don't want to forget

For several days Grace has followed her father around with questions about Santa Claus (several months ago she asked similar questions about the tooth fairy after reading a book in the school library). He pushed the questions off, worrying that I would be hurt if not included in the discussion. Finally this morning she wrapped her arms around my waist and said, "Mom, I keep asking Dad about Santa, can you talk to me about it now?" She asked me this 15 minutes before school started, so I put her off one last time, "We'll talk about it tonight, okay, before you go to bed."

She had come to her own conclusion, of course, and hoped against hope that somehow her Dad and I might be able to extend the illusion a little bit longer. Oh, how I wanted to extend the illusion. Nearly every day I almost gasp at the passage of time. Where is my wee toddler, the imp, the squirrelly little Grace who made me want to scream in exasperation and kiss her all over at exactly the same time? Now she's seven year old Grace--smart, inquisitive, thoughtful--when she tilts her head in thought, concentrating on her homework, I catch a glimpse of the Grace she will be years from now. Talk about heartache.

So tonight, as her sister slurped on a popsicle in the kitchen, the three of us cuddled on the sofa. Craig opened the conversation, "So you wanted to ask us about Santa?" Her eyes said everything, and Craig and I started to squint our own eyes to keep the tears from falling.

"I think Santa maybe isn't real."

"Have kids been talking about this at school?"

"No, no they haven't."

"So what made you wonder?"

"Well, the tooth fairy made me wonder since I know about that."

Her voice was starting to quiver at this point, and I asked her "how does that make you feel?"

Tears trickled down her cheek, "Well, it breaks my heart because I can feel the imagination going away, because Santa is part of my imagination."

In tearful chorus, Craig and I answered, "yes, yes, we know, we know." And then we went on to confirm her suspicions and to talk about the spirit of Santa Claus and how this knowledge won't change the contents of her stocking. But I don't think she was too worried about her stocking. I remember all too vividly that feeling--that the ability to lose myself in an imaginary world was slipping away. I didn't want that to happen, and neither does my girl.

She will take this confirmation in stride, as most kids do. At fifteen, I still remember running down the stairs to check my stocking, wondering aloud at what Santa had brought. He never really went away completely, and I hope he'll stay for her too.

Our bunny

Just days before Halloween Julia's school celebrated a Noah's Ark Fall Festival where children were instructed to dress as animals. Last year, the first year for the festival, we dodged the event. I was knee deep in costumes, and the idea that I would have to come up with another one was not palatable. In my mind, this time of the year is for Halloween, but I live in a place where Halloween makes some people squeamish (neither Grace nor Julia's school celebrates the holiday). Then again, I'm clearly a square peg in Macon's round hole, so no surprises that a Noah's Ark festival in place of Halloween makes me feel a bit squeamish.

Given that Julia is four (and far more tuned in) there was no way we could skip another year, and really, I didn't want her to miss out on the fun (even if I was grouchy about the idea of a second costume). I also didn't want her to miss out on being Princess Leia though, so we would have to get another costume. Thankfully, two things happened: 1) Julia wanted to be a bunny and 2) Craig offered to go out and buy the costume (bunny ears and a tail).

I have to admit she made an adorable bunny. And she had a really great time (even better for me, her dad accompanied her).

The Day After

Trick or Treat! Halloween was a great success. Rather than brave the crowds in Macon's premier trick or treat neighborhood, we walked the Intown Macon route. This meant a lot of walking and not quite as much candy, but really, how much candy does one need! We still came home with two full baskets.

So, costumes. You had already previewed little Laura Ingalls. I had a few more modifications (buttons and elastic) before she was ready to go. Then it was all about Princess Leia. Craig made the ceremony belt (which, with the hair, really makes the costume), and I finished the hem on the gown. We dressed the girls, and I did their hair. I tell you, a four dollar beard from Party City totally rocked Leia's hair! We met up with Grace's buddy, Noah, and stormed the neighborhood.

I love Halloween. I wish I lived in a neighborhood with trick-or-treating (we had zero last night), but you can't have everything. I hope you all had a awesome night. I'm already looking forward to Halloween 2012!

Pictures from last night:



A little more prairie girl:

A blog lost

Where the heck have I been?

Sitting at my desk, butt glued to the chair, analyzing a 35 by 45 matrix of answers (about a topic I can't discuss). I have worked my arse off the last two weeks. There were low points--competency low points--when I felt, can I really do this? But today, after countless emails, more phone calls with my boss, tweaking and parsing, I received this email:

"Huge thanks for a very hard job well done."

A literal weight has been lifted from my shoulders. Days ago I told Craig, "This job makes me act like the mother of a newborn. I don't shower until the afternoon. I'm irritable and anxious, and I'm not sleeping at night."

And I'm probably going to do it all over again. Perhaps I'm crazy, or more likely I'm actually happy to have a job where my skills are appreciated. A huge thanks is due to my mother-in-law who landed me the job. Who would have thought? She did, and I'm deeply grateful for her confidence.

Alright, so where does this leave poor old Two Little Ladybugs? Well, Halloween is tomorrow, and I could care less that I live in a place where Halloween gives people the willies (being Satan's holiday and all). We will be celebrating. I will dust off my camera (I've missed you camera. I'm sorry you've been abandoned) and take pictures of Laura Ingalls and Princess Leia. I will gorge on all the halloween candy my kids don't like (and some that they do--snickers are mine). But mostly I will breathe deeply, relax, and feel thankful for my family.

Happy Halloween, ya'll. I hope you have been well.

We live in the corridor

Below is the latest marketing piece by the College Hill Alliance (one of the partners revitalizing our neighborhood). Our house (the one with the bike parked on the porch) is shown twice.

It's a long video, but worth it if you want to see a stylized view of the place we call home.

On the prairie

October is going to be an insane month for us. We are both traveling this week, and then once we return, Craig departs for Paris. The day after he leaves I start a three week long contract, which my boss tells me will be much more challenging than the previous job. So, knowing that the month will be busy and that I'll be alone for a spell, I decided to do Halloween costumes a month in advance. I sewed all weekend long, and today, finally, one is done.



Inspired by a trip to Conner Prairie (where we purchased the bonnet) and the Little House books, Grace asked to be a prairie girl. Turquoise isn't really a prairie dress color, but she loves it (and isn't that the most important thing anyway).



There are buttons to be added, but Grace couldn't wait to get it on. As I write this, she's gathering pecans from the yard. True Prairie Girl! Up next are the finishing touches on Princess Leia for my darling, Julia. Given that Julia's hair is only three inches long, it's going to be a challenge to fashion Leia's hair.

It's been a long time

And I almost thought I was done. Who knows, maybe I am. Still, a friend who works with chimps sent me a link to this video and I had to share.

A deer in the woods.

I've meant to detail our trip north this summer, and I'm obviously failing on that count. I don't think I've sorted out the trip in my mind yet. It was good, parts were difficult, a lot like life only we were on vacation (and one sometimes expects vacation to be less like life). So, while I let the trip rattle around my cranium, I will work to upload the remaining pictures (you've seen some of South Carolina in the sidebar, which truly lived up to the term vacation, so much so that Julia tells us regularly that she would like to live in South Carolina, in cabin 5 specifically).

Here is one image near and dear to me: the girls and me in the woods behind the house where I was raised.



We're standing on the remnants of the trail I took every morning, just in time, to catch the school bus. At this particular spot I once startled a young female deer. I was late, running full speed with my head down. I raised my eyes and saw her. I skittered to a stop only steps from where she stood, our eyes met, and we each ran screaming in the opposite direction. I don't recall whether I made the bus that morning. I do recall panting as I hit the door to the house and yelling at my mother, "I almost ran into a deer on the trail." My children are more likely to run into feral cats than deer here in Macon.

There are many more pictures (and stories) to share. I will get to them soon.

PS. For all of you worried by my last post, we're okay. I don't want to write much more because I need to have boundaries about what I share about my kids.

Lemonade

When life hands me lemons, I don't make lemonade. I cry. And then when I've cried myself out, I look for some sun, some happiness. We've had a lot of lemons around here lately, and today after crying off and on for a week, I'm making my lemonade, finding my sunshine.

I put on an apron my grandmother made and wore. I love that I have her with me (even though I miss her so much at times that I feel her loss like a weight). The girls and I made muffins.



Then I turned on some music, stuff that my kids love, and we danced around the kitchen.

I remember that I have her:


And her:


And I have a partner in all this. He's working overtime to make sure we're all okay, and we will be, no matter what happens.

Pain in the neck.

Lit-er-ally. The last ten days have been about pain, more pain, and even more pain in my neck. How it started is still unclear. Was it craning my neck to talk to a friend at a restaurant? Was the workout I did the night before too strenuous? It doesn't matter. What I know is that a week from last Thursday, I felt a searing pain light a fire from my neck into the base of my skull. A thinking person, a practical person would have slowed down, taken a break, but not me. I had school shopping to do, and a birthday party to plan. I wouldn't take a break, so my neck gave me the finger and made me slow down. It enlisted my shoulder and upper arm to go on strike. I couldn't move easily or well. I spent a lot of time lying on the floor until Craig said, "you really have to go to the doctor."

Which brings us to today, a full three days after I crawled in to see a doctor, and the drugs she prescribed have finally brought me some relief. I don't have to lie down every ten minutes, hooray! Cervical sprain is the term the doctor used, though I could have cared less. I cared about the words "muscle relaxant" and "pain killer."

But enough about me. There were other important things going on in our lives, like...



the first day of school.

Both girls are doing well. Grace likes her teacher and her teacher likes her. WIN. On Julia's second day, she brought home this gem, "You get what you get, and you don't pitch a fit", which really only works if you say "get" like "git." That's my Georgia peach.

All in all, life is okay. My neck will be alright. My freelance job will get done (damn you neck). And we'll prepare ourselves for the next unexpected twist (I put my money on a kid getting sick).

7 on 7

Happy 7th birthday, darling girl, on this 7th day of August, 2011. For fun, let's review:


Here you are the day after your birth. However did the nurse tie that bow in your hair? To this day I swear it was superglued.



Here you are at the house on Lake Michigan, the morning after your first birthday party. We spent the day before on the beach watching you crawl after seagulls.



What a serious face on the day you turned two. We had just moved to Macon the month before and both sets of Grandparents traveled to see you for your birthday. You had also just received your first ever haircut.



You turned three when we were visiting Maine. You had been a big sister for a little over two months. At age three you were a ham.



You turned four when we were in Michigan. We had a party with Grandma, Grandpa and GG. Then you went to spend a week by yourself with Grammy and Poppy.



You started kindergarten and Grammy came to visit right when you turned five. You requested a cake with mice on it.



You were missing a few teeth by the time birthday number 6 came around. We went bowling and to a waterpark to celebrate your special day.



Now you're seven, and I can't believe it. I would tell you to stop growing, but it's so much fun to see the world through your eyes as you mature. You're about to start second grade (which I really can't believe). You're kind, loving, and considerate. You're smart as a whip, and I'm so proud to be your mom. I couldn't love you more--it's just not possible.

Georgia on my mind

We're home, welcomed yesterday as we passed the state line with "We're glad Georgia's on your mind." Yes, it has been. It feels like ages since we've been home (if ages equals five weeks, that is). There is still a wee bit more unpacking to do and then we turn our attention to school (which starts next Tuesday, yikes). I have much to share (PICTURES!) and stories to relate, but this will have to wait because 1) did you hear me? SCHOOL IS STARTING; 2) I have a new freelance job and it starts on TUESDAY; and 3) It's been FIVE WEEKS and I have to reacquaint myself with my house (still love my house, not loving the yard--it looks homeless).

I'll be back soon, promise.


PS. We had a wonderful time--who doesn't love the upper midwest in summer?

Check. Check. Check. Check.

House clean. Check.
Newspaper stopped. Check.
Lawn mowed. Check.
Suitcases packed. Check.
Outdoor gear packed. Check.
House sitter. Check.
Coolers packed. Almost Check.

We are nearly out of here, headed north for cooler temperatures and family adventures. We'll see you in the Midwest!

ol' girl

When I adopted Zuzu, back in '98, I couldn't bring her home with me from Florida because she was too sick to travel by plane. My parents still had Sam and Miss, aged felines themselves already, so I asked my grandparents if they would keep Zuzu until I returned a few months later. With a twinkle in his eye, my grandpa said "well, she's the ugliest looking mongrel I've ever seen, but I guess we can keep her." My grandparents got a big kick out of Zuzu, in all her kitten ways, skittering around the house at Lake Jem. Part of her daily routine included jumping onto the kitchen table and knocking their pills to the floor. No matter, she was still treated to a small bowl of yogurt courtesy of my grandma.

A couple of years later, when Craig came into my life, I warned him: "If Zuzu doesn't like you, you're out. She's a very good judge of character." He passed her test and went on to be her true favorite. He has a way with animals. I wish I could say that for the next two humans to arrive on the scene, but my babies don't have the softest touch, and Zuzu spent a large amount of her time hiding out, waiting for the girls to go to bed, so she could join Craig and me on the couch.

In the last year we've made frequent trips to the vet for my ol' girl. Renal Failure. We did what we could, prescription food, vitamin injections, IV hydration, but I knew we were marking time. In the last several weeks I found myself waking at night, thoughts of Zuzu foremost in my mind. I knew a decision needed to be made. I knew I had to make it. Late Sunday night, I called Craig at work, and I told him what I thought needed to be done. I told him I couldn't be the one to do it, so he did what partners do, he took up my slack. He called the vet on Monday morning and made an appointment. I spent Monday afternoon with Zuzu cuddled alongside my lap, and when the time came, Craig gently took her from me.

We buried her in the back yard, tears streaming down our faces. The girls had drawn pictures, and we'd each written a few words to be buried alongside our girl. Grace hiccuped with tears, and Julia, like many little ones who want to emote like those around them, squinted her eyes, willing tears to come. It took a long time before our faces were dry. I think both Grace and I shed a few more tears before bedtime.

Oh, Zuzu, we miss you. We're still crying for you, but we're also relieved that you're no longer in pain. We buried you close to the birdbath. I think back to all the times you stalked birds through our windows in Augusta and Ravenna. I can still hear you chattering, with a bird in your sight.

Dad's day

We're home, finally, after a day spent out with our favorite guy, the man we Byron girls love most.



Happy Father's Day, Craig, and happy day to the other two dads in our lives, Marv and Dan.

Summer Reading is serious business

IMG_4883, originally uploaded by phocina.

We picked up our summer reading logs from the library a couple of days ago, and Grace has almost completed hers. She told me last night that her goal was to read ten chapter books in one day (her max has been four so far).

I know I'm just at the tip of experience when it comes to parenting, but this seems pretty dang great.

When it's 104 outside

You do not take your children to a water park (even though you promised this for one child's birthday). Instead you head to an aquarium (which is insanely cold). This makes the child a little bit happy, but not really. She would much rather you roast her on a spit over the wave pool.

mix tape

In lieu of photos, which are trapped in my camera, let me share some highlights.

Number 1. The birthday.
Imagine you're at a sporting event, the crowd is eager to see the champion crowned. The PA crackles, "Announcing, our phenomenal four year old, Julia Byron." The crowd cheers.

Reporters surround the champ, "Julia, do you feel like you're four?"

With a slightly stunned expression on her face, she replies. "Um, no, I don't feel like I'm four."

And there you have it, Julia's fourth birthday. I'm happy to report that the following day she started to feel "a little bit four" and the day after that pronounced that, indeed, she feels Four Years Old!

She (and Grace) were extremely surprised when my parents arrived on her big day. They had guessed nearly every other relative (Uncle Paul, Aunt Wendy, Cousins Anne and Whitney, Quentin and David), and they were ecstatic that Grandma and Grandpa drove for three whole days to get here. We had a wonderful time, but like most events where I am intimately involved in the preparations, there are very few photos. Typical.

Number 2. A word for summer.
Last year, the word was "travel" or maybe "camping" and this year it will be "sorbet" (and later "Yooper"). If you haven't noticed the weather channel, then perhaps you don't know that it's REALLY EFFING HOT down here. 100 yesterday. 101 today. I'm not happy. Yes, we're going to the pool almost every day, but the pool is starting to feel like warm backwash. For sanity and happiness, I'm combatting this heat wave with homemade sorbet: watermelon, cherry, strawberry, YUM. At some point my love affair with sorbet will end and then I will cling to my next summer word, Yooper. We'll be headed north to the itty-bitty town of my childhood next month. One week with family where we'll celebrate (early) my parents 50th wedding anniversary.

Number 3. Speaking of anniversaries.
It's number ten for us on June 30th. Months ago, as I contemplated No. 10, thoughts of a romantic weekend away flitted across my mind. Then reality set in, so we adjusted expectations and plans. The Byrons of Georgia will spend a week together in the mountains of South Carolina (with a cabin on a lake). My sister, who hasn't yet experienced the joys of coordinating romance when you have children, was slightly horrified that we are taking Grace and Julia along. As I described Betsy's response to Craig one evening, Grace interrupted "But Mom, Grandma and Grandpa are taking their kids with them on their anniversary."

Right you are, Grace. We're going to have a blast.

So that's us. It's hot. I'm cranky, but we have sorbet and plans for lots of fun. I hope everyone is enjoying their summer.

swimsuit season

One would think that a post like my last one might open the flood gates. Nahh. Okay, so I've wanted to post, really, truly. I've just been busy (and by busy I mean going to the beach, attending end of the school year festivities, and playing at the pool--you can say it, I suck). Anyhoo. Here's life in some pictures (with more to upload after I go through all 394 of them, yeesh).

Let's start with Folly.


The water was rough, but that didn't stop these three.

We traveled to South Carolina to attend the wedding of a dear friend (from Michigan whom we met in Augusta). He and his bride decided to tie the knot on Folly Beach.


Bryan works the shalwar kameez.

What a great excuse for a beach weekend (with the added benefit of renting a condo with my best friend and her best baby).


With my best babies, all dressed up.

I don't think I can ever get enough of this baby.



And neither can Julia (or Grace for that matter).

Then it was back home for the end of the school year. Our 1st grade girl came through with FLYING (best reader in class) colors.


With best teacher (trademarked) ever.

And our other girl rocked the 3K stage.


Singin' about Jesus. Apologies for the low quality picture.

What's an end of the year without dinner out at their favorite restaurant (parasols optional).




And, drumroll please, sleeping on the Star Wars sheets from their daddy's youth (thanks, Grammy, for making the night special).




Now we're in summer break mode, which means swimming lessons in the morning and the Mercer Pool in the afternoon. My house isn't clean, my hair feels like a bristle brush, and I don't care. Julia's 4th birthday is this Friday. Give me a moment while I suppress a sob. My parents are due to arrive on her big day (SURPRISE, SURPRISE), and you are guaranteed more pictures to come.

Cat wearing glasses.

This kind of stuff makes me happy.

Belated

I think about blogging every other day or so. I just can't come up with much to say. April has been a particularly unfriendly month to us, and we've retreated to lick our wounds, both figurative and, in Julia's case, literal (she's added a scar to her chin, knee and foot--her new name is Craig Jr.).

The low points include spring break, which came carrying a suitcase full of viral and bacterial illness. Ever heard of rotavirus? The girls got it, and everyone, including Grammy who so kindly agreed to watch the girls while Craig and I were in Maine, suffered. Oh yeah, we went to Maine for very quick trip (48 hours). The visit wasn't a low point necessarily, but it also wasn't the high point we anticipated. Then Easter came and we felt exhausted (and still sick), and it was hard to be enthused about anything. I did take a few pictures of the girls, but after reviewing them, I realized that Grace is a sickly shade a green in all the photos (I won't be sharing). Finally on Wednesday the girls returned to school, in time for Julia to attend her field trip, and I am hopeful (please, Please, PLEASE) that we are truly on the mend.

I'm wallowing. I know it. Sick kids do this to me. In a little over two weeks, we will be sitting at the beach with our best friends, and my attitude will be forced to adjust. Folly here we come.

Army men

Discovered in Dad's closet. Battle ready in the living room.





Last two photos by Grace.

Dad and daughter

Jump Rope for Heart

A little over a month ago Grace participated in the American Heart Association's Jump Rope for Heart. She raised over $50 and jumped in honor of her cousin, Whitney, whom underwent open heart surgery when she was a teeny-tiny baby.

Naturally, we were proud of our girl. We didn't know then that she would top off the experience by showing even more selflessness. Yesterday during the AHA recognition ceremony, a classmate had his prize broken by another student. The boy was understandably upset, and Grace stepped in, giving him the speed jump rope she received in appreciation for her fundraising. She didn't think twice. She saw someone hurting and knew she could ease his pain.