Tucker’s superstar week

Superstar Week is upon us–for Tucker, that is.  One child a week is the Superstar in Tuck’s class and, in kindergarten, this is one big, huge deal.  We had to make a video for him, and he gets to take his favorite book to share and a favorite song for a snacktime dance party–in addition to other nifty little treats that happen throughout the week for him.

The video was a true labor of love.  While I love to take photos, getting them from the computer onto a dvd in a decent order and with proper music is a multi-day process.  The end result here makes us smile and got Tucker’s stamp of approval, meaning that I amazingly managed to avoid all embarrassing pictures.  Success!  (Now if I could just figure out how to make it larger on the blog…)

Enjoy!

http://vimeo.com/36447603

stuff moms of boys say…

This post was featured today on the blog Mamas Against Drama. I’ve included it again here with photos. Enjoy!

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In case you haven’t been on Facebook or checked your email in the past two years, I’ll let you in on a little secret:  the “Sh*t [people] Say” videos are hilarious. Justin Halpern started this phenomenon way back in 2009 when he began a list of random pontifications made by his elderly father. His list grew into a website (and very short-lived tv show), the crudely entitled “Sh*t My Dad Says.”

Because imitation is the highest form of flattery, flocks of would-be-videographers  have now created and uploaded their own forms of these lists, substituting in various groups for the words “my Dad.”  Just search on YouTube and you can find out the stuff a yogi, personal trainer, scout leader, organic food eater or kibbutz resident says on a regular basis. These online videos are often based on stereotypes and are frequently nasty and bubbling with vulgarity, but with that said, many are funny.  Quite funny.

Clearly, it’s the utterly random nature of the subjects that make these videos such a giggle-worthy guilty pleasure. If you are gathering probable statements that would be uttered by a musher in the Iditarod and then filming a makeshift video in your basement about it, you have a boatload of time on your hands. These budding cinematographers seem to have tapped into just about every type of group out there, yet, if my Google searches are right, they are missing one very big, very funny, very deep pool of potential:  the stuff mothers of boys say.

So, I’m offering you all a deal:  we can share in our Warholian 15 minutes of fame, if you’d like. I just need 1 of you to  dress up in some workout clothes and a baseball cap and grab a cup of coffee (for the first 1/2 of the video, that is; then you’ll need to switch to a glass of wine for the second 1/2) and utter each of the statements below in your most pedantic, motherly voice while someone films it. Post it to YouTube, and we’ll watch it become the new darling of Facebook. I predict the “Sh*t Moms of Boys Say” will go viral in less than 24 hours.

So, moms of boys, you in? (You know you’re tempted.) Here’s your script:

Leave the cushions on the couch.

Take the frog back outside.

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Take the lizard back outside.

Get the worm off the breakfast table.

That’s not a worm; that’s a snake!

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I cannot rebuild this Transformer!

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You’re being too loud.

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Stop hitting your brother.

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Stop biting your brother.

Which bandaid do you want, Spider-Man or Scooby-Doo?

Stop it.

Stop it.

Stop it!

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No, you can’t have a snack right now.

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Be quiet!

Flush the toilet!

Henry’s my favorite engine, too.

Stop running.

Calm down!

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Do not throw the football/baseball/frisbee in the house.

Get out of that tree!

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Look at that front end loader next to that cherry-picker!

Leave the dog alone!

You’ve played enough Wii.

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Put your clothes in the hamper.

You need to pick up every single one of these Pokemons and Bakugans.

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Stop spitting.

Stop stomping on bugs.

Your fort is big enough already.

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Do not go potty in the yard. Anymore.

Don’t touch that!

Get down from there!

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You’re going to put every one of those little Legos back in the box.

No, you cannot booby-trap your room.

You are getting your hair cut.

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Stop throwing things down the stairs.

I’m not sure what kind of thing Jabba the Hutt is.

What are you doing?

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Yes, you can wear your cape.

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Get in the car now!

Put your bicycle in the garage.

You just ate!

Let’s go; we’re going to be late. Again.

Just leave your brother alone!

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Stop yelling!

Do not jump from there!

Do not jump on that!

Quit fighting!

Yes, you have to use soap.

You want to be a pirate when you grow up?

Hello? I’m talking to you!

No, you can’t flush that!

Leave your clothes on.

You are going to get hurt.

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Look how filthy you are!

You have to wear shoes to school.

Quit fighting!

Quit wrestling!

Close the door!

Be careful!

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You are such a good big brother.

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Look at those muscles!

You are super fast!

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You are a super hero.

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You’re growing up too fast.

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No, I love you more.

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oenophiles unite (or, lessons in carpe diem)

Midnight in Paris.  Show of hands of who has seen it.  If you haven’t, quit reading right now and go watch it.  We’ll wait for you.

Woody Allen for me is typically hit-or-miss, but this movie of his really resonated with me.  The crux of the movie is this:  we all long for the good ole days.  We all tend to glorify the past, whether it’s our own past or not (I can say this because I’m sitting here listening to my grandmother’s Benny Goodman cd while I’m writing this).  As much as we talk a big game about seizing the day, when the rubber hits the road, we still sit around comparing our present to what we are convinced were the better days of yesterday.

I’m ridiculously guilty of this, but, to be fair, I also recognize it and try my hardest to acknowledge the awesomeness in the present day.  This brilliant gift of maturity (one of my few, I’ll admit it) came to me as I was sitting on a deck in Corfu, Greece, way back in the summer of 1991.  My best friend and I had ridden a rocky, sleepless, overnight ferry across the Adriatic (where we were sequestered to the upstairs deck, and it was raining), fended off some very forward Norwegians, done a shot of Ouzo at dawn, not bathed in nearly a week and had survived on nothing but gelato for the past 72 hours.  We’d certainly seen better days.

As I waited for my turn in the shower–whose very cold water was slurped straight up from the ocean–I watched the most beautiful full moon I think I’ve ever seen.  It was huge and yellow and sat tethered to the ocean, just riding along towards the west.  Right then and there I knew that no matter how grimy I was or how tired I was or how sick I was of gelato and Ouzo, this was one of the best moments of my life.  The grittiness of the rest of it just made that one moment even that much more spectacular.

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ever since the Greece experience, I’ve had a thing for full moons…
Full moon near St. Helena, California–January 7, 2012

I am by nature a worrywart–which is, of course, an annoying little way to live.  Flying, in particular, freaks me out, especially now that I have children.  Flying worries me so much that I have a full ritual I have to undertake before getting on the plane.  My St. Christopher medals (yes, plural) jangle around, and I’m sure other flyers think the gypsy-girl next to them has lost her mind.  But despite this crazy fear, I still love to go places and refuse to be grounded or to let this skittishness in me be an excuse–I have that Greek moon to thank for this one saving thread of sanity, for this unbridled itch for adventure.

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Russ and I just spent the most amazing weekend out in Napa.  It’s no secret we love wine.  We’ve been out to Napa several times and though we don’t quite know it like a native, we feel we’re getting close.  No big tourist stops for us, thank you.  Sell your wine at Publix in Atlanta?  We’ll take a pass on visiting you in person.  But if you have an hour to spare and want to sit on your deck overlooking your vineyard and tell us your story while we taste your wine, sign us up.

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How’s this for laid back?  This dog set the stage for our weekend: slow, relaxed, happy.
outside Taylor’s Refresher in Napa, which is actually now called Gott’s Roadside but will always be known to us as Taylor’s…

We visited some absolutely spectacular wineries this weekend…Friday’s first stop had us at Black Cat where Tracey, the owner, humbly spoke of how her wine was served at the ESPY’s and how Samuel L. Jackson is a huge fan.  She only makes 1200 cases a year.  Her little tasting room was adorable and so was she.

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From there we headed up to Blankiet, where we joined up with half of the birds in California.  Seriously, thousands and thousands of birds were swooping and circling around the valley, performing a giant, black, liquid ballet.

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Talk about living in the past…the Blankiet estate is a castle built of ancient French and Italian stone.  The tasting room is something out of King Arthur.

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one of the little nooks off the Blankiet tasting room

Saturday morning found us greeting the day with the great John Caldwell.  We adore this man and his wines.  He is chock full of fantastic stories, and he knows how to show you a great time.  Plus, his vineyard is breathtaking.

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We hit Tournesol next, and it did not disappoint.

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IMG_6901with Anne and Bob Arns, the adorable owners of Tournesol

We had the best time hanging out with the Arns family.  Bob loaded us up in his rebuilt bright yellow Citroen and bounced us down a road a bit to show off his unbelievable guest properties.  On the way, he took both hands off the wheel, raised them up and looked over at us and emphatically announced, “I am just SO HAPPY to be here!”

The feeling was mutual.

By that point, Russ and I were bubbling over with happiness.  It was 65 degrees and sunny in January, and we were not just in California, but in Napa Valley.  We were happy in that way that feels like warmth is just radiating off you, and you can’t stop smiling.  Everything was gorgeous and fun and exuberant.  And so we took our joyful, happy, ebullient selves into the very scientific and clean and crisp Vineyard 29, 20 minutes late.  Hmmm.

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Our host was the most serious, devoted and knowledgeable 29-year-old we’ve ever met.  He certainly knew his stuff about the wine, and the wine was incredible.  But after spending the day with two sets of corduroy-clad, relaxed owners who laughed and told jokes as we stood in the sunlight, heading deep into a cave after a laboratory tour by a meticulous, straight-laced, fast-talking dude a decade younger than we are was like walking into a Saturday Night Live skit.

Yes, we got the giggles.  And yes, we ruffled his feathers.  But we also ordered some of his boss’s wine, so there.

By far the most amazing experience we had was our visit to Amuse Bouche’.  On Atlas Peak.

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John told us all about his wines and how we were tasting some he had opened (Au Sommet and Pharoah Moans) only because he was hosting a writer from the Wall Street Journal later that evening.  He told us that if we had come later in the day, he would have sent us down the hill a bit to pick our own tomatoes and herbs before taking us through the dairy to grab some goat cheese made that day from the goats on the property; then he’d walk us back up to the pizza oven to cook our lunch.  On a clear day, you can see Lake Tahoe.  A group of sheep sauntered by, nibbling grass that was growing between rows of grapevines.  Then we saw the Picasso.  It was one of those kinds of days.

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We wound down our trip with visits to tiny Switchback Ridge and Failla.  Kelly at Switchback poured her wines on her father’s back deck–which had also been her grandmother’s back deck–in the shadow of the mountains surrounding her ancient vines.

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Her dog wandered in and out of the rows, and her brother-in-law waved as he drove by.  The science of family–that’s what we like.

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The owners of Failla were hosting a Steelers party, and the winery buzzed with children and smelled of smoky barbecue.  We tasted with a young couple from Sacramento and–in the most ultimate of small world stories–discovered the woman’s great-grandfather had been a doctor in my own hometown.

Failla was the perfect ending to a perfect weekend.

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So, now to tie Midnight in Paris, a backpacking memory from college, and the here-and-now all together.    We all have a Greek moon somewhere in our lives.  It’s the inspiration for us to step out of our shells and try something new.  It’s the courage to commit to an adventure.  Most importantly, it’s the awareness of the present moment and the understanding that time is fleeting.  It’s cognizant memory making.

Find your Greek moon and grab on tight.  Today is the yesterday you’ll look back on tomorrow.

Cheers, all!

“…just pay attention. You might learn something.”
Midnight in Paris, 2011

the great grossology party!

Because our Tucker is so Tuckerish and because we know him like the backs of our hands, it did not surprise us when he asked for a Grossology-themed 6th birthday party.  OK, then.  We hosted a Mad Scientist party for Jack’s 6th birthday, so I knew the drill…thankfully.

I tracked down an appropriately mad scientist (who was also game for going gross, which to Tucker just meant a whole lot of products that either started green or wound up green) and we had the party this afternoon, the day before everyone heads back to school, which meant Russ and I had a house chock full of little people with lots of energy whose parents had done the speediest drops-and-runs you’ve ever seen.

The Mad Scientist started–as all mad scientists should–with some fire.  That’ll bring a roomful of kindergartners to attention.

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Lightning was next on her list and while not technically “gross,” it was rather interesting…

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Thinking outside the box on the green-theme, the evils of styrofoam were fully examined…

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And what’s a good Grossology party without some solid slime making?

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We did some crazy experiments with light–well, at least the photos turned out pretty crazy (and sci-fi-esque):

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And even though I abhor candy, Tucker doesn’t, so we wrapped it all up with learning about the science of cotton candy (yes, Virginia, there really is some science to it!).

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After wavering between a “smoke-cake” (one shaped like a beaker with a tiny container of sublimating dry ice–see that fancy term I learned from hosting science parties?) and an ice cream cake–and back–42 times, Tucker finally settled on having cupcakes.  Whew.  I can make [not so pretty, but that’s because they were pea-green upon request] cupcakes all day long.

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IMG_6812this photo captures only a sliver of the excitement from 2/3 of our boys…

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Tucker sets the ground rules on cupcake consumption…

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For me, the recent tradition of the birthday party goody-bag ranks up there right next to (or possibly tied with) candy, yet I cannot find it in me to make a bold statement, buck the trend and forego it altogether. Thus, rather than a token bag of trinkets and (egads!) candy, Tucker sent his friends off with their very own homemade science kits, complete with ingredients to make all sorts of crazy experiments like Super Slime and Flubber, all while listening to his specially selected soundtrack of gross songs like “Did You See (Where the Cat Threw Up)” and “I Like Yaks” and “Mama Tooted”.  Yes, really.  (You’re only a 5-and-364/365-year old once, you know.)

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All in all, the Grossology Party was a smashing success and a perfect lead-in to tomorrow, Tucker’s actual birthday.  While I’m always emotional on my boys’ birthdays (let’s be honest; what mom isn’t?), Tucker’s is always an extra meaningful one to me.

And on top of that, 6 is old, folks.  I remember turning 6.  Six seems so much bigger than 5, and the 5th birthday is a tough one for me to swallow, being all chunky and solid and definitive and whatnot.  But 6?  Another of my sons turning 6?

My stars.  How ’bout we study the science of time–particularly how the longer you experience it, the faster it seems to go and how–when viewed in retrospect–this same and obviously constant speed seems to double or even triple?

This is how my brain tends to work on the eves of the birthdays of my sons.  Crazy, no?

It’s about as crazy as having one’s second child cross the boundary of age 6.

goodnight 2011…

It’s impossible for a sentimental pack-rat like I am not to have some sort of New Year’s Eve post…

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…because it is the season of many lights–

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and the things that were at the Botanical Garden were just too cool for words.

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From the Botanical Garden to lighting up our own home…

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spreading the sparkly oatmeal reindeer food on Christmas Eve…

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To trying to see things–all things–in a different light…

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Any way you want to see it is fine with us…just take time to look.

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We all need family, even when you least expect it–like when faced with touching a giant shrimp for the first time…

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And we all sometimes feel like fish out of water–you just hope you get someone as loving and kind as Tucker who will gently toss you back in if you are a hermit crab…and you will, if you are just patient enough…

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IMG_6591um, yeah, that sand-dollar…we kept it.  it was perfect.  5 chambers for our family.  we had to.

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This brotherly love is just going to grow stronger in the next 365 days.

What are you going to build in the next year?

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best sunset in Sea Island…

and the best gift from my Jackers for the year–totally unexpected:

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If this is the highlight of my 2011, then so be it.

Jack + Mommy.

How much longer will I get such unsolicited love from a 7.5 year old who just tonight begged me not to kiss him in front of his friends as I dropped him off for his first sleepover?
My boy is growing up, so I’ll take all the little things I get.

Goodnight 2011.  You were good to us.
Calm.  Peaceful.  Happy.  Celebratory.
We hope and pray for a similar 2012.

We take on the world this year, Jackers, you & me.  It’s a promise.  Bring on the slider; I’m ready to learn to throw and catch it (maybe with Uncle Beardy’s help).

We are ready for Tucker’s 6th birthday in barely 4 days, our little miracle.  The joy of friends and science and piano awaits you, sweet man.  You warm our hearts.

Tiny fellow, how can you be turning 4 this year? Theodore, you make our hearts melt with your questions and statements, all of which are brilliant and honest.

For our 2012:

We will reach for our dreams;
strive for our goals;
work when work needs to be done and
play when play needs to be done.
And, most importantly of all, we will listen to when we, our bodies and our minds, need to rest
and we will learn how to.
And we will try hard to achieve all of this with grace and–for me–lots of patience.
These are difficult, lofty goals for our year, but then shouldn’t we always have lofty goals?

“Ah, but a man’s reach should exceed his grasp,
or what’s a heaven for?”
–Robert S. Browning

Goodnight 2011, rest well on a job well done.

Welcome 2012!
Time to show us your stuff.

Happy New Year to you all!

dribble, dribble

Many of you know I played every sport a girl could play in high school, and I loved it.  Well, most of it; I could have done away with being “scrimmage bait” for Coach Reid’s Varsity basketball team, and I could have done away with Coach Cravey’s mile relay requirement entirely, but overall, my experience growing up with sports was outstanding, and it had a huge, huge role in developing the girl I am today.  You learn a lot about pecking order when your first overnight camp experience is a 5-day basketball camp, and you learn a lot about respecting elders when your coach calls a time out solely to tell you to tuck your shirt in.  Today, someone who didn’t know any better would probably start whining that their child had been wrongly singled out and ostracized and embarrassed.  Back then, everyone in the gymnasium (including me) knew I simply had not adhered to one of the coach’s rules, and he called me on it.  Fair enough.

In hindsight, basketball wasn’t my best sport; softball was.  Early, early on, my daddy became obsessed with teaching me to not “throw like a girl,” which may be one of the best skills he ever gave me.  (Boys are always so amazed when a girl throws a zinger or can whip a football into a perfect spiral.)  I think I actually cried when I aged-out of the local Recreational League, the same league in which my father had played as a little kid.  I played intramural softball in college, graduate school and law school.  At one point, I somehow found myself on a co-ed intramural team at Georgia, an experience that will toughen you up for sure–you haven’t felt adrenaline until Eric Zeier smacks a line-drive at you when you’re playing second base.  Trust me on that one.

It goes without saying that I am loving every minute of my boys playing sports.  Baseball with Jack is a pure joy.  He’s had unbelievable coaches and has been on teams full of wonderful, fun-loving families–both of which has grown the love of the game in him.  Asked a few months ago, we would have said without a doubt that baseball was Jack’s favorite sport.

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Then along came basketball season.  Move over, Fernando Valenzuela.  It’s your off-season, you know.

Jack and Tucker both are playing basketball for the first time this year.  Sitting through basketball practices is nothing like sitting through baseball practice where the non-practicing boys are outside and can run and play and enjoy the lovely springtime weather.  Basketball practice finds you trying to corral the 2 non-practicers in a drab, smelly, crowded gym while it drizzles rain outside.  To say it’s challenging is an understatement.

But the boys love it more than we ever imagined.

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the wild and barely controlled dribble of the 5-to-6-year old league…

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IMG_6243Tuck takes a shot in his first game…

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I’m not sure I’ll ever understand why someone would be against organized team sports or would not let his or her child play.  The world today relies on teamwork, regardless of how unique and individualized we think we are.  We all need to learn how to play fair.  We need to learn how to play with folks we don’t really like.  There are rules, and those rules need to be followed.  We need to help each other.  It’s good to win, and it builds character when you lose.  You are not going to win all the time.  You’re also not going to lose all the time, either.  Exercise is good for you.  Learning life long skills is good for you.  Discipline is good for you.  I rest my case.

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IMG_6388#10 on the floor; #1 in your hearts…

In other news, my parental units are pulling in sometime today, and we are ready to get our merry on.  We are also poised for a potential joint visit from Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy (after whacking his mouth on his knee (?) last night, Jack has one tooth that’s grossly floppy and dangling).

The pre-Christmas run-around has slowed down, allowing the full-on frenzy to blanket itself over our house.  Our upstairs is covered with boy-made blanket forts; our downstairs is covered with half-played Monopoly games and chess matches in progress; our whole house is filled with overwhelming excitement and energy.  Here comes Santa Claus, indeed…and he needs to hurry it up.

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Two days and counting!!

the Christmas letter we didn’t send

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even when it’s overcast, Napa’s still beautiful–January

Every year since Jack was born, Russ and I send one of those typed letters out along with our Christmas card.  I spend more time than is necessary drafting and re-drafting these letters, sifting through a year’s worth of photos to jog my memory of things that have happened, and because I know these letters can often be long, dry and dull, I try really, really hard to make them funny.

When it comes to wanting to blab on about one’s children and their antics, I am guilty as charged.  And more than once last year I had a friend make a joke about needing to pull up a chair and a cup of coffee to settle in for a long winter’s read upon the arrival of our card–well, not our card but the recap of our lives printed in 10-point font (I’m looking at you, book club! 🙂  ).

But honestly, can you blame us?  Life with three little boys is deserving of a recap, if for no other reason than to serve as a warning to all our young friends out there still in the various stages of family-building…

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But I listened to my critics and this year, we sent a much more abbreviated letter, directing those who were in the need for a read (or who wanted to see the Christmas card photo runners-up) to this little blog I’ve been keeping.  (So if you’re new here, welcome!  I hope you’ll make it a habit to drop by!)

And away we go…

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Jack is truthfully a grown-up in a 7-and-a-half-year-old’s body.  He loves to play chess, fiddle around on the computer, work on logic puzzles with family members and read himself to sleep at night.

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He started 2nd grade this year at Trinity and has fallen in love with History and Social Studies.  He still adores math and has been working on projects in Robotics (yes, really!) with a group of other 2nd graders.  He can build an architectural masterpiece out of Legos, and he is into extreme fort-building–a sport which involves the use of beanbag chairs, pillows, a parachute and all available bed linens.

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He has played baseball and basketball so far this year, but has truly found a passion in running.  Jack ran in a few small school-sponsored races and did spectacularly well for someone who is only 7.  He keeps after me to sign him up for a “real race,” but we are having a tough time finding one that doesn’t conflict with his other sports.  He is a competitive, serious and very coachable athlete.

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Jack still wants to be a vet when he grows up, so you can hardly imagine his excitement at getting to don a wetsuit and enter the water during the Dolphin Experience in the Bahamas over his Spring Break.  Unfortunately, this also coincided with us discovering he is allergic to latex.  Thankfully, the dolphin people had mercy on the little guy and let him come in the water to meet Wee-Tee the dolphin.  Look closely and you might be able to see the gigantic welts all over poor Jack’s body.

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We’re pretty sure Jack could subsist totally on foods that begin with the letter C:  Cheerios, chicken, cantaloupe…his latest excuse for being a picky eater is that he has several wiggly teeth.  The tooth fairy has visited our house four times now–the last time was prematurely after Tucker knocked out one of Jack’s top teeth, which was a moderately traumatic moment for Jack since he is the most passive tooth-loser ever.  No tying a string around a tooth here.  We wait until gravity does its thing.

Finally, we have had a great time this year joking with Jack about his hair.  He has crazy, floppy curly hair that goes wild while he sleeps and even wilder if it gets the tiniest bit too long.  His mop of hair has earned him the nickname of “Bird-Nest Head” in our house.  Jack considers bird-nesting one of his special talents and claims the photo below as his best showing, “especially since both sides are flipping up like a real bird nest does.”

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Sometimes we are just amazed at how grown up our little guy is.

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Tucker will turn 6 a mere 10 days after Christmas and has requested–in true Tucker-form–a “Grossology” birthday party.

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He started Kindergarten at Trinity this fall and showed up for Meet-and-Greet day sporting a pair of ridiculous fake teeth he had stashed in his pocket when I wasn’t looking.  Fortunately, his teachers also have a great sense of humor.

He has quickly made lots of friends and is right at home at his new school.  Tuck enjoys science and World Languages (he is taking Spanish) and loves that the Trinity playground has giant rock formations to climb.

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This kiddo is turning out to be our athlete.  He can balance on a boogie board in the swimming pool–a feat no one else in our family (including the adults–believe me, we’ve tried) can do.  He decided last January that he’d like to try to ride a 2-wheeled bike, hopped on and took off without falling over once.  He can climb a tree like nobody’s business, and his scooter-tricks are unparalleled.  Sweet Tucker also scored a basket in his very first basketball game.

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Airborne, baby!

IMG_3918This little trick? Way, WAY harder than it looks…

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We still call Tuck “the Goat” around here.  He will try anything you put in front of him–a nice change from his two brothers.  He currently asks for Chinese or Thai food on a regular basis and has already put in a request to visit the Happy Sumo for his birthday meal (he has definitely outgrown his fear of the “crazy chef-fing” that takes place there).

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IMG_6125Tuck’s first University of Georgia football game–October

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Tucker is the life of our party; with his sense of humor, kindness, fearlessness and creativity, he’s the type of friend you’d love to have.

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Theo turned 3 in late July and hasn’t stopped asking “why?” since then.  His inquiries range from predictable (“why you putting that in the dishwasher?”) to the thought-provoking (“why caterpillars turn into butterflies?”); the narrative (“why we stopping at this red light?”) to the downright random (“why the light go off in the ‘fridgerator when you close it?”).  One thing is certain:  he is full of questions, sun-up to sundown, and we love it.  On the way to school just this morning, he asked, “why ‘flingos [flamingos] only stand on one of their foots?”  Good question, Theo B., good question…

Theo would put butter on a rock and eat it.  Last year, he was caught drinking maple syrup straight from the bottle; this year, he’s been busted several times with a forkful of butter (but we could hardly expect less from a child who claims his favorite restaurant is Waffle House).

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no, we didn’t let him actually eat it…

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When asked what he wants to be when he grows up, Theo will yell out “a train driver man!”  Ok, then.   (His answer is decidedly less concerning than Tucker’s answer:  “a daddy!  Who still lives right here!”) Theo could play trains all day.  It is beyond adorable to watch Jack, our original train fanatic, sit on the floor with Theo and build tracks that go up and down all over the bedroom.

Theo still hauls around a menagerie of items including his stuffed dogs (Dude-Doggy, Little Dog and Barker) and as many “dot-dots” (blankets) as we can stand to let him carry.  He is very particular and meticulous about all he does, often becoming very upset if things are not just right (like if he’s not given the “right” cup or if his banana breaks in half).  While this is sometimes frustrating for us, one of his teachers told us that the children she’d taught who had similar idiosyncracies all grew up to be surgeons–a career that might be a bit more modern than a train-driver-man.

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All three boys clearly are best pals.  It warms our hearts to see them running and wrestling (well, sort of; truth be told, it makes me extremely nervous) and to hear them laughing and playing.  The fact that they roam in a pack also means that they have 3 brains working hard at devising crazy things to do.  Jack and Tucker are generally the ringleaders and have truly enjoyed turning Theo into their “minion,” as they like to call him, when they are constructing forts, building contraptions or seeking a contraband snack.

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In addition to our child-free trip to Napa at the beginning of this year, we also took a trip to the Bahamas, and we able to spend a lot of time at the beach in Florida this past summer, which was divine.  The boys would live next to the ocean if they could (so would we).  Everything about Amelia Island is just perfect to us…

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a sun-bleached bird nest…

Our year was filled with goodness; everyone stayed healthy and happy.  Jack’s Dog, Tuck’s Purple and Dude-Doggy/Barker/Little Dog all stayed in one piece (thank you, Lord!). We worked on our patience and tolerance, particularly when some of us are strapped in car seats.  We caught (and released) all sorts of wildlife, and we explored everywhere we could.  Four-fifths of us can read, and all of us can write our names.  2011 was quite good to us!

We hope Santa is good to you, and we hope that your new year is filled with love, laughter and lots of good times!  Merry Christmas, everyone!

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the halls are decked

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Welcome to December!  The past week has been spent doing some serious bedecking of the halls around here, and as you can imagine, the boys are boiling over with excitement.

Before we could start thinking about Christmas, we had to get the gobble on.  We headed up the Charlottesville, Virginia to spend Thanksgiving with Russ’s family.

IMG_0147The Herakoviches invade Hartsfield International…

My in-laws’ house backs up to some incredible land and a horse farm.  The boys love going out there to visit the horses and try to feed them.  Some children are braver than others…

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IMG_0163This would be the child not in to hand feeding large animals.

We also attend our one and only Christmas parade of the season in Charlottesville.  The Barracks Road Shopping Center parade never fails to charm, mostly because it is hilarious and has a very small-town feel to it…beauty queens of all shapes, sizes and ages…random things like a person dressed like a smoothie from Smoothie-King..a herd of llamas…Santa in a truck.  It’s small town goodness  at its best and never fails to make me miss the Christmas parades I went to as a little kid in my hometown of Vidalia (well, except for the terrifying scimitar-wielding, belly-dancing Shriner; I’m willing to bet that that dude has scared every child in the 912 area code).

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We rolled back into town the Sunday after Thanksgiving, and I started migrating decorations up from the basement before we were even unpacked.  One of the first things I unearthed was an ancient white ceramic Christmas tree from my grandmother’s house.  I can clearly remember sitting in front of this as a child, mesmerized by its twinkling brightness as it lit up the dark of the little indented phone-nook beside her kitchen.  I was literally moved to tears when I plugged its dangerous looking, frayed cord into the outlet and the tree began to glow. I loved it then and I love it now even more.  Even better, it seems that many of my friends had grandparents with this same decoration (likely all bought at the same Belk Matthews, circa 1975) and this little picture below warmed many a heart with memories of Christmases past.  Rock on, little white ceramic tree.  Look at all the happiness you bring!  Even Henry can’t help checking you out!

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Yesterday was the Great Tree Hunt.  After carefully perusing many, many trees, we all finally settled on one–all of us, that is, except Theodore, who insisted we get a little “Charlie Brown” tree this year.  Here is Theo with Calvin Coolidge, his tiny tree named by Jack.  The tree-people thought we were completely insane (Jack also suggested we name the other, bigger tree John Q. Adams–so “Quincy” it is).

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Pulling out the tree ornaments is a favorite of mine each year.  I am a pack-rat and nostalgic to a fault, so I could spend the better part of a day unwrapping ornaments one by one and placing them on the perfect branch.  Of course, my family prefers to go at it at warp-speed, which is probably why we hit a new record of 5 broken ornaments this year.  The boys also tend to stick ornaments on things that are not tree branches.

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Theo hangs his special 2011 ornament (a Waffle House one) near the trees.

Each and every ornament on our tree has a story to tell…

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What to do with the world’s most expensive clothespin? 
Leave it to Natalie and Jill to devise an ornament!

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Love her authentic feathers and that brown patch, Alice!
She also appears to be smiling; perhaps her name is Camilla.

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…has amazingly survived for 8 years

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…has even more amazingly survived for 32 years!

While I’m taking my sweet time, assuring each ornament is prominently displayed, the boys are overloading the other side of the tree.

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One branch.  Four ornaments.

In addition to ornaments, we also have several very special Nativity scenes.  Russ’s mother gave him one a long time ago, and as a toddler, Jack loved to haul around the Baby Jesus.  That Baby Jesus–who is maybe the size of a walnut–has been to Publix, spent the night in Jack’s crib and even attended Music Class.  When he’d tire of carrying him around, 16-month old Jack would head back over to the creche, drop the baby in the manger and say (a bit too forcefully, perhaps), “take a nap, Jesus.”  It’s a true Christmas miracle that we even still have the tiny figurine.  So when I opened up a box from my Mama B’s house that contained the exact same Nativity set and saw that she had rubberbanded Baby Jesus into his manger, I had to laugh.

Our newest Nativity set has already been claimed by sweet Tucker.

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Tuck would leave these guys out year-round if he could.  Who could blame him?  That side-staring camel is a hoot.

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Twenty more days…

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Here’s to hoping the Christmas spirit you’re feeling right now–that warmness in your heart and sense of philanthropy, that twinkle in your eye and pep in your step–is just a warm-up.  Merry Christmas!!

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boo!

Halloween in our house, as you might have deduced, is a month-long (well, maybe even a tiny bit more than a month-long) celebration.  We tend to haul up the box of decorations as soon as the first rainy week in September forces us to spend a long afternoon indoors.  Russ then comes home to find our house (and, ahem, yard) transformed into Transylvania.  Less is more?  Nah, we’re not buying into that.

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So it’s safe to say that by the time November finally flips onto the stage, I am done with the skeletons and the bats and the candy.  I’m sooo done with the candy.  The candy drives me crazy (I know; I’m a fun-killer). Theo got up this morning asking for candy.  Theo came home from school asking for candy.  Theo is beside me right now asking for candy.  Grrr.

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We knew this child had a sweet tooth the first time Russ gave him a bite of chocolate.  I’ve never seen someone react the way he did–instant smile and wiggles.  And then the cute and innocent stage was over, and he’s been begging for sugar ever since.

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a chocoholic is born, October 2009

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As much as I loathe the loot, I love the actual trick-or-treating.  Our neighborhood is amazing; there are over fifty kids and half of them bring friends, so once it gets going, it’s a non-stop parade of cuteness for a couple of hours.  All the grown-ups get into the fun, too.  It’s one big block party and when the weather cooperates, like it did last night, it is incredible.  It’s the Halloween little kids dream of.

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Russ’s description?  Surf-n-turf.

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This family takes its costumes seriously.  If given his way, Tucker would pull together the creepiest, most devilish, most gruesome get-up known to man.  He starts jockeying for an R-rated costume as soon as the first catalog arrives:  gravediggers, zombies with flesh dripping off their faces, grim reapers with blood flowing down their scythes–all of these costumes, for some reason (remember, he is a very spiritual kid) appeal to him, so the minute he and Jack decide on something non-garish, I jump on it.  This year’s choice (after about 140 failed suggestions) was an interesting pair:  Wario and Waluigi from Mario Brothers (yes, I’m rolling my eyes).

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I had to look it up (thank you, internet) to find out that these two purply, cartoonish characters are actually bad guys, which means Tucker did manage to pull a fast one.  “But I own a gold mine!” Tucker kept saying when I inquired about the criminal behavior of these two.  “And we’re brothers!” Jack added.  Ok, then.

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Theo was originally going to be a dolphin, but he saw the red of this suit when we were searching online for costumes, and it was all she wrote.  Seeing as he loves butter, too, we thought this was the perfect outfit for him.

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Trains represented here, too…

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Back view showing all the tentacles. As a crustacean, you can’t have too many tentacles.

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Tucker as Wario, Theo the Lobster, Jack as Waluigi
and Russ…as the Chicken.

To catch you up to speed on the importance of a good costume, humor me as I present a brief History of Herakovich Halloweens (or at least those for which I had readily available photos)…

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2007
Jack as Remy the Rat from Ratatouille.  Marks the start of his rat-phase.

IMG_8455Tucker as Monkey.  Not a big leap…
2007

IMG_2196Superman and Batman, Halloween 2008

IMG_2178Theo as a Baby Dinosaur for his 1st Halloween, 2008
(starting his sad series of hand-me-down costumes)

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Tucker as an Astronaut; Jack as Scooby Doo
Russ’s office party, 2009

IMG_7259Jack still as Scooby Doo; Tucker as Bumblebee the Transformer
Halloween 2009 (yes, Tuck had 2 costumes)

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Scooby shows off some smooth doggie moves.

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Theo shows off another recycled costume–
as Oatmeal Bear (which was Jack’s 1st costume)
Halloween 2009

Before we officially shut down this Halloween party, I’d like to share with you the two greatest items we’ve ever received while trick-or-treating…

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a $1 bill
(from an NBA basketball player who lived in our neighborhood–actually, it was from the NBA player’s assistant, who was manning the NBA player’s front porch on Halloween…)

and…

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a package of paper plates.
(Yes, seriously. Because “sorry, we ran out of candy” just didn’t seem right.)

And so another October has come and gone.  This morning, Theo and I packed up the yard art and the inflatable skull.  We took down the flying bat and the Halloween banner.  We spun the ceramic pumpkins back around to the plain side, instead of the side spelling “B-O-O” (they get a pass until Thanksgiving).  And one of us might have packed up (er, thrown out) some candy.

We’re done with the cinnamon and spice and black and orange.  We’re done with gourds–every size, shape, and color of them.

Bring on the evergreen.  Trot out the jingle bells.  Break out the Advent calendar.  We’re ready…but we are being patient.  Thanksgiving comes first.

So get your gobble on.  Happy November!

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everyone knows…it’s windy

It’s hard to beat the calming effect of a weekend at the beach, especially in the Fall.  The humidity has finally dropped off, the temperatures are tolerable and the water has cooled off enough to discourage little boys from wanting to spend the entire day being knocked down by waves.  Some of our best days are spent wandering the island in October.  The sun is at a perfect level for great beach photos…

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Ocean breezes blow through the sea oats and everything smells salty, smoky, earthy–like a good October afternoon should.

Yep, the beach in October is hard to beat…unless you go during a tropical storm, which is what we did last weekend.  Russ had gone up to Blacksburg for a football game so the boys and I decided to roadtrip it out of the big city for a little break on the island.  We stopped along the way and kidnapped my mom to tag along with us.  We made it to the Florida line before the torrential rains started.  Ten minutes later, the rains had passed, the sun was out, and the wind was blowing like nobody’s business.  In another ten minutes, the downpour started again.  Textbook tropical storm.

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Theo was literally being blown around by the wind.

For someone as addicted to The Weather Channel as I am to have missed this forecast was pretty embarrassing.  A quick check showed the remnants of one tropical storm passing over northern Florida while another one was brewing south near Miami.  Couple this with some type of funky pressure system over Tennessee, and you end up with near constant 40mph winds (with gusts even higher) and bands of rain interspersed with brief periods of sunshine.  It was odd weather to say the least (and that song “Windy” by The Association kept lodging in my head.  You know you hear it now, too.  And trust me, it’ll be stuck there in your melon for days).

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We trucked out to the beach on Saturday only to be defeated by the hurricane force winds.  The waves were so big that the boys didn’t even need a lecture about staying away from them.  Buckets blew all over the place, water mist was soaking us even though we were twenty feet from the water and the wind was loud enough to give us all headaches.  We chased down our stuff, packed up and went back home to bunker down.

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The boys built a hotel out of their room.  Here’s a photo of one of the guests.

We gave the beach another shot before we headed home.  We came over the hill on the boardwalk to the most unique beach I’ve ever seen in Florida.  The winds had churned up more foam than I’ve ever seen; in places, it came up the Theo’s waist.  The dredging project from last summer was all but ruined; giant cliffs of sand were everywhere along the shore.

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We brought the old brown dog down for a little exercise; he loves the water (he is a lab, you know) and to him, fetching a thrown tennis ball is the best thing since a new chewy bone.  He digs in like a horse and sand flies out behind him as he runs…er, trots after the ball, making sure his return trip brings him splashing back through the edge of the water.  Buckley and the ocean are pals–until his tennis ball gets wet.  Prince Buck does not care for a mouthful of salty, wet, sandy ball, and when this inevitably happens, he’ll head to the waves, drop his ball and watch it sail out to sea.

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Look closely and you’ll see Buckley is smiling proudly after releasing yet another tennis ball into oceanic freedom.

The foam and choppy cliffs were too tempting; the boys got filthy–wet, sticky and dirty, which is just how boys should look after a good beach outing.

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When we’d had enough of the weirdness of the beach, we headed out to our old faithful–Drummond Point.

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Henry tags along for some good sniffing and sand crab chasing.

IMG_5684I love this shot of Theodorable looking up at his Little Baba as he carries his “bucket for interesting stuff” (rocks, sticks and dead butterflies, in this case).

Still windy…

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We will always contend that a sub-par weekend (weatherwise) at the beach still beats a good weekend sitting in Atlanta.

*****
Meanwhile, in the big city…

Oh, yeah.  There it is.  The blight of the neighborhood.  Large and in charge and likely visible from airplanes.

And now relegated to the basement again by Russ.  It must’ve scared him too much.

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The second half of my favorite month has arrived; with all the holidays and great weather, it’s a non-stop good time from now through Tucker’s birthday on January 4th.  Hope you’re enjoying your October as much as we are!

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