Happy (birthday)

Marking another trip around the sun:

looking back on the lessons learned,

looking forward to new dreams, experiences.

Wondering what the next trip around

will bring as I mark my

thirty ninth year on this Earth.

Grow...

June 2009: Daddy and the boys in Naples, Florida

Almost twelve years (yikes!) into motherhood,

I am growing in this role.

I no longer quiver when faced

with a bleeding (or vomiting) child.

I no longer tremble when challenged

by hungry, filthy, bored , warring boys

that seem to gain monstrous strength

with each and every passing  second.

No.  I have grown in mothering

just as my boys flourish with

each passing milestone,  every grown inch,

each hard won, exhausting, monumental,  accomplishment.

I stand in wide mouthed awe,

amazed that, in spite of myself,

their growth leaves me behind, small;

but oh, so very much beloved!

And someday, rather soon, I suppose,

they will tower over me: souvenir

of time's passage; my own growth.

Growing into this?  Check out Melissa and Six Word Fridays!

Bring...

Sunscreen, towels, chairs and gossip rags.

Toys, food, drinks, umbrella and kids.

Sunny days, rainy afternoons, hazy laziness.

Hoping the calendar brings summer soon...

Spring...

Break. Alone. Away.

Food. Wine. Snow.

Got a spring in your step?  Visit Melissa and find out more about Six Word Fridays!

Looking forward...

Dark days are finally behind us.

And I am looking forward to:

holding your hand through this life,

sharing quiet moments alone, however scarce,

watching sunrises, sunsets, counting shooting stars,

knowing that you love me still.

Learn more about Six Word Fridays by visiting Melissa's blog!

Easy?

An eight mile run, with humidity.

Three big boys, all potty trained.

Being married to my best friend.

Caring for my uncle, after Mom.

Getting on an airplane, despite fear.

Strapping in for this rollercoaster: Life,

Holding on, letting go, screaming along,

Eyes wide open, hands in air.

Sometimes, the things stamped DIFFICULT,

are the ones that are EASY.

Are you cruising down Easy Street?  Easier said than done?  Share!  Visit Melissa and find out about Six Word Fridays...

Sweetness

Skinny, braided pigtails, adorned with ribbons.

Golden curly halo, crowning mischievous eyes.

Resounding choruses of pealing laughter, echoing.

Life gave me three lively boys.

My sister gave me two nieces.

Two beloved little cherubs to adore,

Two precious examples of girly sweetness.

Two girls, three boys, five cousins.

How could life be any sweeter?

What sweetens your days?  Tell us about it!  Visit Melissa at Making Things Up and learn more about Six Word Fridays!

Crossing the finish line

It all started with a dare.

Endless training: early mornings, late nights.

Calloused feet, sore legs, rickety knees.

Questions, answers, gear, fuel, hot showers.

One cold January morning, I waited.

Nervous, anxious to start, heart pumping.

The gun, the rush, the race.

My face greeted by cold air,

my feet effortlessly doing what I

could never do as a child.

My boys waiting at Mile Ten,

cameras in hand, tears flooding me,

the end so very near now.

As the sound of pounding drums

greeted my last turn, I rejoiced.

I caught my breathe, geared up

and made my legs go faster.

Thirty-seven years. Six months. Three hours.

The sight of that finish line

is something I will never forget.

I will never underestimate myself again.

Ever crossed the line?  Tell us about it!  Visit Melissa at Making Things Up to find out more about Six Word Fridays!

I Triple Dog Dare you

Dare to dream of a life

that leaves you inspired, loved, fulfilled.

Dare to live your one life

so others are inspired, loved, fulfilled.

Everyone knows that Triple Dog Dares

may leave you flustered, frozen, stuck.

But the tradeoffs? Stories, laughs, bragging-rights!

What a daring way to live!

In a daring mood?  Triple Dog Dare you to check out Melissa at Making Things Up and learn more about Six Word Fridays!

Near-sighted

I am one in a family.

A family of severely myopic people.

The glasses sit upon my nose;

they've been there over thirty years.

They make the blobs of faraway

become beloved people, places I recognize.

The pair of glasses I most covet

are the ones that would focus

the unrecognizable, unknown days of tomorrow.

I wonder when those mysterious images

will become clear in my own heart.

I wonder how I will move

past the yesterday, through the today,

into that still fuzzy, undefined tomorrow.

Will the family curse of nearsightedness

keep me from looking ahead, anticipating;

from looking back, treasuring while reminiscing?

And will I need my glasses

to see what my heart sees

so clearly today? I hope not.

Near or far?  What makes you squint?  Visit Making Things Up to learn more about Six Word Fridays...

Migraines, caterers, deadlines = SUCKAGE

It has been chaotic in these parts for the past couple of weeks. My blog has been left to fend for itself, and all I have been able to manage has been stringing a few lines of six words to pretend that I am actually writing. But we all know the truth.

Last March, in the spirit of doing things on a whim (as much as any mother of three who works full time could do) I booked our family for a Disney Cruise. Although a bit apprehensive, my (very wise) husband figured it was easier to go with it than to fight me on it. The two younger boys birthdays would be celebrated with the world's most famous mouse, and this family of five would take their very first voyage on the sea (for three nights, anyways).

When I made these plans, I assumed several things. First, and foremost, I believed that our State Mandated test from hell would have been administered in March, as it has been since its inception.

I assumed that Andrew's First Holy Communion would be in late May, as his older brother's was two year's prior.

I believed I had another year before I would have to begin the renewal process for National Board Certification.

I also believed that it would be a relaxing trip.

Fast forward to the beginning of the year and the release of the State's testing schedule. Yeah, you guessed it. The test was scheduled for the Monday after we docked. As a bonus, we also had a short week the week we left, thereby cutting my instructional time as I crammed as much review as I could for my poor students.

When I received the schedules from the Church for the Communions this year, I was SHOCKED that Andrew's would be scheduled for the Saturday of the week that we returned. A mere 6 DAYS after we returned. During a testing week. In which two thirds of my offspring would be required to partake of.

But better yet, the first year I was eligible to renew was this year. And the box is due to San Antonio in a mere 10 days.

A sign of the Apocalypse. And very poor planning.

Maybe I am not cut out to be spontaneous.

But I digress.

The week leading up to the trip was hectic, at the very least. There were orthodontist appointments, birthdays, packing, reviewing, writing and MAJOR picking up and preparing for the party after the Communion, 'cause really, who goes on a trip the week before a major religious sacrament.

After marathon packing into the wee hours of the morning, we departed. The weather was perfect. The food was delectable. And for the three nights I was on that ship, I didn't think about all that I had left behind.

I was reminded as soon as we arrived and got to our car, only to discover that the battery was dead. Some nincompoop (me) left an interior light on the whole time we were gone. Or rather, until the car's battery went dead. After a good 45 minutes and endless attempts of getting jumper cables that were functional, we were on our way home. Clearly, God had other plans than for me to spend Monday morning explaining to my principal why I was still 2 hours north of my school.

The week of testing was endless and harrowing. The children managed not to throw up or have nervous breakdowns in school. There were endless appointments that some nincompoop (me) had scheduled for dentists and such. Oh, yeah, I forgot. The Communion was supposed to be in MAY!!

Our Church decided that the children who were to receive the Sacrament on Saturday needed a lengthy (as in almost 3 hours) rehearsal after religious class, on the night before even MORE testing. Andrew and I had dinner at 8:30 p.m., after they locked the gates to where our car was parked.

Finally, testing finished. The week finished and it was the night before. My late period decided to make an appearance the night before the Communion. John and I shoved stuff in boxes to store in the garage, went out for a last round of stuff we needed for the party, set up tables, chairs and floral arrangements. I prepared platters of food and left them in my neighbor's refrigerator. I ironed (as I muttered silently to myself) the after the ceremony clothes, showered, shaved and blow-dried my hair. I went to bed at 1:30 a.m.

I rose at 6 a.m., fixed the salad, put on my dress (it fit!) and headed to weigh in for Weight Watchers. I did a little gig as there was no change in weight (yippee!!) and headed to the local grocery store to pick up the cake and the mother lode of food for the party.

Here is where we ran into a problem.

The deli department had NO RECORD OF MY ORDER! I had to be at church with dressed children and looking like a person by 9 a.m. At 7:15 a.m., I wanted to cry. And swear. And curse. Except I had gone to confession the night before. I didn't want to blacken my soul before at least 12 hours had passed, you know?

I handled myself with as much grace as I could muster. The deli manager promised to have my platters ready within an hour. I had her draw up a much reduced bill for my inconvenience, paid said bill, and left to put my face on and dress some boys.

John went to pick up the food when they called. I hurried to dress children and make sure lipstick was somewhere in the near vicinity of my lips. As I was heading out the door to get to the church on time, John came back, one platter short.

It was hard, folks. Keeping it together. Not letting my raging hormones just take control and let myself become a sobbing, wet, hot mess. I drove to Church. I left Andrew with his group. I got a knot in my throat seeing my little boy looking so big.

And then, I remembered I hadn't had breakfast. And my migraine began.

I survived the ceremony, in spite of Joshua acting like he was crazy. The food crisis was averted and we got our money back for our trouble. Everyone had a great time. Andrew had a glorious day. It was worth all the craziness to see him smile as he came into the Church, gleaming in his white hand-me-down suit.

But my migraine was bad. I fell at home. With a house full of guests.

I couldn't eat later that night because I hadn't taken my prescription before the migraine got out of control.

I went to bed with bruised knees and a nagging question of where it all went wrong.

But next time, you'd better believe that I won't be so quick to fly by the seat of my pants. Calendars will be consulted. Arrangements will be made. Care will be taken.

I mean, it's simple math. Migraines+deadlines= MAJOR SUCKAGE.

April 30 and a FedEx confirmation cannot come soon enough!

Crossing the finish line...

My first half marathon medal!  I DID IT!

Six months of training. Six months of fundraising. Six months of pushing myself in ways I never dreamed possible.

Countless good wishes, cards and a music mix for good measure, to encourage me, to propel me to cross that line.

Sunday was race day. The ninth annual ING Miami Marathon.

I was nervous. I was excited. I was missing some pretty important people.

My mother in law was scheduled for her second to last chemotherapy Monday morning. My father in law was trying to figure out a way to get down the hours it would take to see me cross the finish line. I put my foot down.

My sister was going to bring my nieces at the crack of dawn, in that multitude of people, to see me cross the finish line. I put my foot down.

My brother and sister in law, so far away in distance, so close in my heart. Their card a few days before moved me to tears. Such powerful words written on such an innocent looking card.

I carried them all in my heart instead.

The night before, as my family and I sat amid over 200 other Team In Training runners, I looked over to my husband. The face that has mirrored my own happiness and sorrow for the last twenty years had eyes filled with tears, bottom lip trembling. When I whispered to him, asking him if he was okay, he held me close. His voice breaking with emotion, he said, "I am so proud of you."

I looked over to my sons as they sat with us. The faces reflected back my own excitement. Their smiles, lighting my way.

It was a restless night. Motherhood does not take a day off just because of a 13.1 mile race. I tossed and turned, worrying I would oversleep and miss the gun. But I would only oversleep if ever got to sleep, though.

In the still darkness of Sunday morning, my alarm went off. I rose, weary. I glanced at the sleeping men in my life, and knew that I could do it.

As I got ready at 4:00 am, I wrote my family an email. In part, it read:

Standing front of the mirror this morning, I do not recognize the woman staring back at me. She is dressed like an athlete. She is ready to undertake the most physically challenging event she could dream of. Yet there she is, and looking back at the last 6 months or so, I know that I could not have done this without any of you.

I did not recognize the face I saw. The face was confident, strong, athletically determined. The face showed none of the fear I felt within my own heart. The face showed preparation, an air of calm, and anticipation that I dared not feel.

Yet, it was my own face. My own eyes that would see the glorious sun come up on the MacArthur Causeway at 7:00 am. It was my face glistening in the heat of this beautiful morning, as my legs carried me, fueled by months of training, adrenaline, joy.

It was me.

During the race, my neighbor and I ran side by side. Much like the past six months, we were able to motivate and carry each other for 13.1 miles.

Throughout the race, there were hundreds of spectators, armed with beach chairs and homemade signs, cheering the brave souls that ran, walked, or hobbled by them. Countless, smiling faces, urging you to go, to run, to do better.

Seeing the kids at mile 11...

At mile 11, I saw my boys. John had gotten on the People Mover, and decided that he would be able to meet there and still have enough time to make it back to the finish line. How to describe the feeling when I saw my boys? When I saw my greatest cheerleader? I was afraid the emotions of the day would bubble to the surface, bringing me to my knees with over two miles to go...

The end came slowly. It seemed that every turn would bring the finish line. The split where the full marathoners came. For an instant, I thought of what that would be like. To complete 26.2 miles. I stayed on my own half marathon track.  I am not ready.  YET.

Racing towards the end...

The drum lines kept urging me on, with each beat pushing me a step or two closer to the finish.

I felt strong. I felt invincible.

And then, the cloud of orange and blue balloons, intertwined to create the arch I would run under. With a sudden rush, I felt myself run faster, harder, than I ever had in my life. I was there. I CROSSED THAT finish line RUNNING!


View of the finish line from our hotel room...

All the emotions I thought I was going  to feel never materialized. Instead, I felt like vomiting. I don't know if it was the strenuous exercise that I had just put my body through, the surprising heat that made its appearance halfway through the run or the fact that I REALLY needed fluids, but the tears I was sure I would have weren't there.

I received my medal. As I gazed at it, I thought of the past six months. I thought of the past 37 years. Of keeping myself within these self imposed boundaries. Of wanting more, of being afraid of trying things that scared me. And I thought to myself, from now on, that finish line means the beginning of being a tad bit fearless.

I called John to let him know I had finished. He told me the boys had seen my whiz by at the end.  We made plans to meet up. I called my neighbor, Sande who was just behind me, waited for her. We hugged each other, knowing we had done it together.

I searched for my family. When I finally found myself in my husband's arms, I felt the tears come. Tears of joy, of relief, of disbelief. Had I really done this? Was I really standing here, among all these people, celebrating this accomplishment?

Yes, I was.

And they were here with me, sharing every incredible second.

Even the ones I carried within my heart to cross the finish line...

There is no turning back.  I am changed in ways that I cannot put into words.  I am grateful to have been able to something for others, that helped me do something for myself.

Anticipation

Crossing the finish line...
Turkey Trot, Thanksgiving Day 2010

About six months ago, with a mere suggestion and an urge to do something different, I decided to start training for a half marathon. I have never been athletic in my entire life. I thought I could help out a worthy cause and challenge myself out of the tightly drawn box I had created around myself.

Little did I know what these six months would bring.

And how that decision would truly challenge me in ways yet unknown.

I did not know the strength I held within myself. I did not know that I could train my body to raise at un-Godly hours, in equally un-Godly temperatures (no eye-rolling Mid-Westerners and North Easterners. 40 degrees is COLD in Florida!)

But now, the half marathon is a mere six days away. I am nervous. I am excited.

I am changed.

I set out to do something I thought was impossible six months ago. The thought of raising over $1700 was terrifying. The notion that I could make my legs run for 13.1 miles was inconceivable.

Yet, here we are. Nearing the end of one goal, embarking on the start of other ones.

One half marathon in six days. A 5k in two weeks. Another half marathon four weeks from now. And plans for yet another half marathon before the end of the year.

Yet another piece falls in place in this puzzle that is my life.

Had I not had this all encompassing task, I surely would have handled my dear mother in law's cancer with a bit less humor and a whole lot of anxiety. At least for me, nothing makes me feel better and change my perspective than keeping busy, preferably with something such as this, that makes me oh-so uncomfortable, AND helps others.

So dear readers, I am in the final countdown. I am mentally preparing packing lists, have decorated my team shirt and am constantly encouraged by three little guys who totally rock my world. Those three little guys who make me want to work harder at being the person they think I am.

Slowly but surely, I am getting there.

Hopefully, I will cross that finish line Sunday morning without dissolving into tears, with a time that I can be proud of. And then, I can take the next step, into the next chapter, knowing that I can do just about anything.

And they lived happily ever after...

Fifteen years ago tonight, two kids got married. They were twenty two years old, in love, newly degreed, new homeowners and basically broke. They took the biggest leap of faith ever. Amid a meringue like wedding dress and even pouf-ier veil, with no safety net and no clue of what they were getting into, they said "I do" in front of a small gathering of family and friends, celebrated at a small reception and headed off into the sunset.

Fifteen years later, there are three extra bodies in the household. The new house became the old house. The Bachelor's degrees gave way to a Master's degree and a varied assortment of certifications and accolades. Carefree became responsible. And those two young kids are now thirty-something parents of three boys.

Fifteen years has seen a lot of changes. Jobs, cars, hairstyles, eating habits, spending budgets, saving budgets, vacation plans, travel modes, television programming and communication methods. We have lost so many loved ones, welcomed so many people into our family and hearts.

Here's to the next fifteen, love. In spite of the odds, in spite of our infinite differences, we recognized each other and have held on like hell. For the most part, it has been the most wonderful thing we have ever challenged ourselves to commit to, besides parenthood. At times, the ride has bumpy, arduous and challenging. But there is no one else on Earth I would rather go on this rollercoaster with.

Thanks for asking. Thanks for showing up. Thanks for being my biggest supporter. Thanks for still making my heart flutter when I hear your voice, when I see you walk in the door.

Thank you for entrusting your heart to me all those years ago.

In spite of the thick eyebrows and wild hair.

Home is where my hearts are...

Home is wherever you are, love. 

Deep within, where your heart lies.

Where your smile greets me warmly,

Where your voice rumbles, quietly; lovingly,

As you hold me close, dear.

Home is loud, scattered, messy, full.

Full of boys, love and warmth.

Home chronicles where we have been.

Home holds everything dear to us.
Home is where we belong, together.

Always, forever. You. Me. Us. We.

Where is home?  What makes you feel at home?

Join Six Word Fridays! Find out more at Making Things Up.

Back in the saddle again...

Unfortunately, the new school year is right around the corner. I hate to sound like a sourpuss, but, I am hesitant to be excited this year. I know once I get a whiff of brand new crayons and freshly sharpened pencils, AKA teacher crack, I will more joyful at the expectation of 38 new, eager little minds and personalities to match.

But I have been to work for two days already. Packing. Moving. Doing heavy lifting. Leaving my classroom and moving to a new one. One with little to no storage. One with a joke of a dry erase boards. One with tables so huge and heavy, it took four adult women to move.

I am grateful to God in heaven that I have been physically active this summer. Because if I hadn't, I would be in some SERIOUS pain. More than I am right now, as I clutch the aspirin bottle for dear life.

My co teacher is extending her maternity leave until November. A move I applaud loudly and joyfully. You only have your first baby once. Once the second comes along, you can't physically do all the things you did with baby two as you did with baby one. God bless her, she came in to help with the move. She has packed, shuttled, and escaped many a roach in the last couple of days.

My new co teacher is pretty awesome as well. She is a parent of a former student and was a full time teacher in a life before her three children. She is easing back into the maelstrom of education and I am thrilled that she was assigned to me. She and her kids, along with my two older boys and I, have spent the better part of two days hauling stuff into the universe's joke of a classroom.

Normally, I wouldn't care. But I am having serious issues. Placement of items, where to store books, if we will ever get to open the locked storage room that torments and jeers at us as we perspire and ache as we prepare.

It is funny. When school begins this year, I will have opened SIXTEEN school years. Every year, I feel the anxiety of the deadline of the first day of school as it looms. The unpacking, the sorting, the counting, the endless meetings and trainings, the relearning of colleagues names as we set sail into another year of adventure.

Regardless of how much time passes, the thrill never escapes me. It's as though all the bitching about the moving and changes is cathartic in a way that promises the gleam of my new crop of brains. Brains that I will mold and train, question and challenge, inspire and educate. That thrill of the first day, the eager but nervous smiles, the questioning looks to each other, combined with the heavenly smell of brand new everything is intoxicating.

And it will get me through the crap I will go through with my trusty entourage, the classroom fairies, if you will, to get everything just so for my new kids.

Another batch, another year, same saddle.

And although my legs, arms and back ache like hell, there is no place I would rather be.

Except, maybe, for my old classroom.

Pre-adolescent boys in (D.C.) heat...

When you are just a couple, a road trip is fun. You map out different places to hit before you arrive to your final destination. Your biggest decision is what you will be dining on, without having to consider what other people's palates. You can change your mind on a whim, stay up late, wake up late, skip meals if you want to.

But when you travel with children, even your mode of transportation and how you choose to make your way changes dramatically.

After dropping $350 before we even walked out (and were able to lock) the door, we were desperate to leave reality behind. After a quick pick up of the item we were to deliver to my brother in law, from my in laws, we were off. At dinner, John and I quickly decided that a night of driving was better than stopping part ways, unload the luggage and children, only to awaken at the crack of dawn to not lose a day of fun, vacation sightseeing. When we told the kids, they were thrilled. They know the drill all too well. We stop once before "bed" time to use the potty, and when they awaken, we are that much closer to our destination, not having had to listen to all kinds of ungodly whining, complaining and requests ranging from movie selection to bathroom stops. It works for us.

However, my husband is all too familiar with my typical "let's drive all night" routine. I will usually drive the first shift, eat dinner, continue driving until I get sleepy, usually within the hour of eating. As you can see, this is not the ideal.

This time, though, I was committed to staying up. After the boys had settled in for the night, John and I switched around 10:30 p.m. I was good to go. I had my iPhone loaded with upbeat, loud music and I was determined to be as caffeinated as legally possible. Around midnight or so, we stopped by a McDonalds and I ordered a Mocha Frappe. For some reason, I was mighty hot, even with the AC blowing, and the thought of having hot coffee was as inviting as going as the main meal in a cannibal convention. I had never had one, but, boy, was I hooked!

The hours and miles seemed to melt away. When John roused from his slumber around 3 am, the music was blaring and I was flying high on caffeine, sugar, and pure adrenaline. He could barely recognize the woman sitting next to him. We switched off around 4:30 am, and I tried to sleep a little before the boys arose. We stopped for breakfast in North Carolina and were off.

We rolled into D.C. around 11:30 am. Traffic was hellacious and we soon discovered why as we tried to find our hotel. We noticed that the local park was set up with seemly dozens of tents and signs welcoming the Boy Scouts of America. Yes, folks. Along with the 102 degree heat, it seems that we were going to be sharing the weekend with the Boy Scouts, as they celebrated their 75th Annual National Camporee. Jealous yet?

Of course, our car's AC seemed to be doing a fine job, although I was starting to wonder if the heat outside was too much for it. I did not give it another thought, as we pulled into the hotel's car port while John checked in, only to be blocked in by a taxi driver. I cannot tell you how many profanities came out of my mouth as I tried to get out of there without leaving the driver's side of the car on the car port's columns.

Regardless, we unloaded the children and all the luggage from the van, hauled it upstairs to the room and set out for the Mall. We had friends that were also in town but would be leaving back to Florida in the morning, so we met up with them and saw the National Aquarium and the National Archives, where my boys saw the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution.

As the day wore on, between the heat and the exhaustion of 24+ hours awake, John and I were closely resembling zombies. All I longed for was a hot shower, and a bed; food was optional. We parted ways with our friends, headed over to Chinatown, got some burgers (oh, the irony!)and went back to the hotel for the evening...I have never gotten three children and myself bathed and in bed sooner.

The following day brought lunch with a high school friend who we have not seen in fifteen years. She was our class valedictorian, went to Georgetown and is working for the State Department. Amber has loved in Gabon, Afghanistan, and Peru, among other places. Never married and without children, she can (I imagine) indulge in every whim, get up and go at a moment's notice. I was surprised that she responded to an email and called with directions to a nearby restaurant to meet for lunch. My friend has not changed too much in fifteen years. It was as though we hit a pause button on our last visit and resumed the conversation at hand, except that there were now three small kids in tow.

Lunch was wonderful, if you can call it lunch. I spent the majority of the time we were at the restaurant hauling Joshua to the bathroom every time he said he needed to go potty. Which was a lot. Like every 30 minutes or so, or when the conversation was getting interesting. Downstairs to the bathroom with my three year old in my arms, upstairs back to the restaurant with my three year old in my arms...the joys of motherhood will bring me fabulous legs, dammit. And a degree in hostile negotiations.

The next challenge came in trying to get him to pick something on the menu. It seemed he wanted his go to staple, macaroni and cheese. When it arrived, (after everyone else's lunch, since he could not be bothered with making up his mind) he was not at all impressed with the $7 kid's entree set before him. He wanted Matthew's chicken strips. So he got Matt's leftovers and I tried to pretend I was cool with the whole parenting thing.

Looking at Amber and hearing her stories of life overseas, I wondered where I went wrong. I wanted to pinpoint where I had lost my way from living the cosmopolitan life that we mothers invariably dream we could have had...when pigs fly.

We said our goodbyes in front of the White House, promised to keep in touch. If I didn't know any better, I would say she was hightailing it a little to get away from us...in spite of the unbearable, flesh melting heat that I have ever encountered...reaffirming to herself that serving her country is still way better than raising children...

We had seen the Museum of Natural History in the morning, so we decided to visit the Lincoln Memorial and the World War II Memorial. The beauty of the Reflecting Pool and seeing Matt and Andrew looking out at the breathtaking view from the Lincoln Memorial is something that I will remember always. What simplicity. What grandeur. What heat!

In the midst of all that, thousands upon thousands of Boy Scouts. Around 80,000, but who's counting? They were everywhere. In our hotel, in the Metro, in the Mall, in the museums...everywhere you turned, there were Boy Scouts; often being silly, taking pictures, being loud, being boys.

Now, my husband was an Eagle Scout, many moons ago. I endured many an Eagle Court of Honor in my day. And as much as I would love for my boys to experience the scouting phenomenon, I simply cannot take it on. Scouting should be something they share with their dad. Poor John's work schedule is as unpredictable as Joshua's mood swings, so we have yet to make that commitment.

There was something kind of hysterical about being in that kind of infernal heat, surrounding by that many pre-adolescent boys in uniform. I think I could feel my ovaries shrink, and I can't ascertain if it was from the heat or from the amount of testosterone flooding D.C....

So I did what any other self respecting female would do...I went to hide out in the Art Museum that had a Degas exhibition...and that did not bode well with my all male entourage...

To be continued...

Unplugged

So much to do, so little time to do it!

Washing, folding, packing, repacking, piling stuff in the car.

National Lampoon's got nothing on us.

The guys and I will be on the road for a much need vacation this week. We are visiting the nation's capital, the national museums and then heading for the mountains for a few days to reconnect with our beloved Aunt Susan and Uncle Billy.

So, I will be unplugged: taking in the marvel of Washington, D.C. and the majesty of the mountains of North Carolina.

I promise to post pictures and commentary about our adventures on the road!

See you all in August!