Waxing Sentimental

A couple of weeks ago we said goodbye to a dear friend (and her fantastic husband and baby Hoover too of course). This is one of the most amazing women I’ve ever met. She knows how to make just about anything, and will learn anything you throw at her. Before she left, she gave me a few of her first (beautiful) pottery attempts. She taught me how to make cheese (really—fresh mozzarella and ricotta!). She walked with me in the early morning when she was 8 months pregnant, and I could barely keep up. She was there when I saw my first bear. She’s hiked the AT and most of the Carolinas now. Oh, and since she had baby Hoover, she’s hiked it all again with a baby on her back. She lives without many modern “conveniences” and does not find it inconvenient in the least. She always smiles in a way that is overwhelmingly contagious. And she plays silly games and giggles with my boys.

I was sad to learn she was leaving, but happy to know of the great opportunity and adventure she was embarking upon. Ethan expressed it well when he said “I’m sad because I am going to miss her.” Me too.

Sometimes in this life, we cross paths with people that touch our lives and hearts for good and leave us just a little better than we were before we knew them. These are people I admire, and these are the times I cherish. I feel that wherever I’ve been in life and wherever I will go, there are a handful of people here and there that will always carry a piece of my heart . . . y’all know who you are.

Southern Living

We've been here a good 18 months now. I still have not quite adjusted to many of the peculiarities of the South. I cannot yet bring myself to greet a friend with a big droopy "Hey!" (or should I say "Ha-ee"--it really has two syllables around here). I'd just feel like I were trying to flag them down in slow motion or something, not say hello.

I'm a little concerned that Ethan may pick up on the dialect in school next year, though right now I still frequently have to translate for him--he gets that blank stare on his face when spoken to in a thick drawl.

I don't think I'll ever quite adjust to the heat and humidity. A dear friend once described humidity as a warm all-over hug . . . yeah, if I'm being hugged by a creepy old man with a penchant for inappropriately long embraces that rub you in all the wrong places.

Yesterday, just after I noticed the outside temp gauge on my car read 87 degrees, we passed a gentleman out jogging along the narrow, winding mountain road in jeans, a long-sleeved button down shirt and NO SHOES! At first I wondered if he was running away from a crime scene. I looked closer, expecting to see blood down the front of his buttons and a knife in his hand. I was sorely disappointed to see it was just his ipod. Odd.

Bilingual

I’ve been learning another language. I call it “Twoos”. Here are some translations:

“Eyot do it!”

Translation:

“Elliot would really like to do this himself thanks.”

“Ayper ON!!”

Translation:

“No thank you Mom, I’m really not prepared to have my diaper changed right now.”

“EEET! INNER! AYNEEN ALL!”

Translation:

"I'm terribly hungry. Could we please head to the dining hall for dinner?"

“Ass Opper!”

Translation:

"Grasshopper!"

My personal favorite—this must be said very quickly and with great earnestness in order to have the proper effect:

“Eyot ihm oot on OOO!”

Translation:

“Could you please help me put my swim suit on mom? I’d like to go to the lake too.”

Ghosts

There are days that I have my doubts as to my qualifications as a parent. There are days when I wonder how I got here and who decided I was fit to make important decisions. Today is not one of those days. Tomorrow I may regret letting the boys stay up late, but right now, I’m not regretting our move to Fairyland. It was this time last year in fact, that I dubbed the place Fairyland.

There is apparently a two-week window in late May, early June wherein the Phausis reticulata or Blue Ghost fireflies appear. Just as the weather starts to get a bit overly warm and muggy and the frequent afternoon rains begin, these little blue-lighted wonders come out to play.

The summer staff has arrived. We joined them for a campfire this evening—pushing the stroller over the rocky terrain to the wooded amphitheater on the edge of the lake. We stopped and listened to the gurgling stream, the peeping frogs in the marshes. We watched the bats dart and swoop overhead. I felt compelled to reiterate to Ethan what a lucky child he is. I think he gets that he’s lucky, but I don’t think he’ll fully appreciate just how lucky until quite some time into the future.

We sat watching the blazing fire, singing silly songs and important songs and eating s’mores. The boys wore their pajamas and Elliot wore a shiny carnival mask from the dress-up basket and his favorite blanked draped over his shoulders. Ethan carried a large flashlight for security and snuggled up to one of the college girls who just can’t get enough of the boys. Elliot showed off his roaring tiger flashlight to everybody. I hope to burn these images permanently into my memory.

We live in a world full of gadgets, gizmos, constant noise and constant rush to amass material wealth, a world where we’ve forgotten about the things that really matter and where there is never enough of the things we don’t need. At times like these quiet moments this evening, I remember why we chose to forgo so much of all that. As I stood in the pitch dark of a trail through the rhododendron spiked forest, watching the little blue lights swarm around the stroller, I listened to Ethan’s amazement and Elliot’s tired giggle. We are blessed with very little in the way of material wealth, yet somehow tonight, I feel richer than all the kings of the world.

Old

The other day, in discussing growing up, Ethan pointed out that

“Mom, you must be old.”

“Why yes I am, how can you tell?”

“Well, you’re bottom is really big, so that means you’re old.”

Really?

Excuse Me, But Your Disbelief Is Not Properly Suspended

The other evening, my husband and I sat down to watch a really stupid movie. I generally try to avoid such dumb movies, but hey, it showed up in the mail and I was exhausted. I’m sure many of you have seen it, it’s titled “Blades of Glory” and the storyline is that of two idiotic men’s figure skaters, banned from competition for fighting who join up together to skate pairs. The movie is intentionally stupid and, as expected (by most viewers) is literally drowning in improbable scenarios. Let’s just say, the filmmakers did not strive for any kind of accuracy. In fact, I dare say that the inaccuracies intentionally heighten the humor.

We neared the climax of the ridiculous kidnap and chase sequence. As the characters chase each other through the Olympic ice-skating venue, plowing through the souvenir vendors, the chaser appropriates a crossbow from one of the vendors.

At this point, my husband, a stickler for safety, bless his heart, says adamantly:

“They wouldn't be selling a crossbow at a booth in an Olympic venue!”

No Dear, they certainly wouldn't.

Some Pig

My two-year-old likes to watch the "Daddy Movie" (or "Daddy Moomie" to be precise). The Daddy Movie is a Fairyland Promotional wherein Dad is interviewed. Yesterday he requested we watch the "Mommy Moomie".

"I'm afraid we don't have a mommy movie."

The five-year-old chimes in:

"What about the shows you said you used to be in?"

"Well, I worked backstage."

"Don't you have any movies where you can see you wearing black pushing things on the stage?"

"I don't think so . . . why don't I see if I can find the super-artsy puppet show fairy tale I directed . . ." That oughta go over well.

Then I saw it. My claim to fame. The biggest acting role I've ever had, and I did happen to have it on tape: Charlotte's Web.

Yes, when I was in college, I auditioned for a Children's Theatre touring production of Charlotte's Web, and, by happenstance, or the fact that not that many people auditioned, or perhaps because I was overweight, I was given the part of Wilbur.

It was one role I felt I did rather well (there's a reason I direct and stage manage). It was a fun semester with a great group of girls, wherein I was sainted by the sole Catholic at BYU, but I didn't realize it would come back to haunt me 15 years later.

So, for the last couple of days we've been watching a lot of the "mommy moomie". Ethan's a bit bored, yet intrigued by it.

"Mom, when is it going to get interesting?"

I don't think he quite believes it's me in the pink sweats behind the foam pig mask.

"Mom, how come your tummy isn't big?"

Because I put on 30 pounds since college dear.

At least Elliot appreciates it.

"Where's Mommy?"

"MOMMY! RIGHT THERE! PIG!"