Fourth of July

For the 4th of July, we headed up to Fleetwood, NC, with Seth, Anne, Daniel, and Jon Rick to spend the long weekend together in Seth's parents' beautiful mountain house.

Owen and Daniel are good friends. They share a mutual admiration, which is a joy to behold:

We went for walks (bonus: getting to pass by an excavator):

We played in the lake and in the gazebo by the lake:
And we played on the back deck:

Mama / Aunt Lauren even let the boys get into the dog bowls.

Watch here as Owen sets a wonderful example for Daniel:
Oh yeah, and we had some wonderful "adult" (I use that term loosely) time, too. We celebrated our independence by cooking, eating, drinking, playing the uke, singing, and staying up late talking:

Happy Birthday, America! And Happy Weekend, Us!

Dancing with Dada

On the Bus

One Friday at the end of June, Boo and I took Owen to the Aquarium. But we never actually made it inside.

Instead, there were tons of steps and ramps to climb:
Fields to run through:
And then, THEN, this happened:


Owen, upon witnessing a school bus pull up outside the Aquarium to drop off a school group, broke into song ("Wheels on the Bus" obv.) and began to jog toward it. When we got close enough, he goes "Ooooooooooooooh" (which is apparently what I say when I see something good).

The bus driver was kind enough to let us get on the bus for one hot second before she had to leave (Owen's first time on a school bus...he's nowhere near the 1st grade and it was still a moment for me).

And then, as if that weren't exciting enough, when the bus left a trolley pulled up. And the trolley driver was also nice enough to let us get on (it's the South, people).

Owen was so excited, I thought his head might pop off:Now THAT is a good day.

(For some, the phrase "On the Bus" might bring the Grateful Dead to mind. R.I.P. Jerry: August 1, 1942 – August 9, 1995)

A Dee-Deeish Delight

Dee Dee (some know her as Helen) is technically Owen's first cousin once removed. But since 1) that's way too cumbersome of a title and 2) she's a WHOLE lot more than that, we just call her "Aunt Dee Dee." It was an executive decision of sorts.

(Her nickname -- Dee Dee -- comes from Dee-Deeism, a revolutionary contemporary philosophy. It would be impossible to explain Dee-Deeism in a blog entry, but just know that it was founded under the mentorship of Dee Dee's glorious parents -- my aunt and uncle -- Marcia and Michael Thomas.)

Dee Dee is very silly and very fun and very sassy and sweet as candy. Owen is developing excellent early habits hanging out with women of this sort.

Here, Dee Dee and Owen sit down for a story together:
I think Owen has all the makings of a future Dee Dee, and this makes me very very proud.

Poppie in Charleston

In spite of his busy schedule, Poppie has managed to get down to Charleston about once every three months. It's always a treat when Poppie comes to town: wherever there is Poppie, there is fun to be had. On his last visit at the end of June, he and Owen embarked upon some adventures in transportation.

First, Poppie taught Owen how to drive a car.
And by "taught," I don't mean that he just let Owen sit on his lap in the car. I mean that he taught him how to climb in and out of the car by himself, get up in the driver's seat, put the keys in the ignition, turn the car on, use the gear shift, turn the radio on, and steer. Then they practiced driving up and down the driveway. (For anyone having a heart attack while reading this, three things: 1) our driveway is only about 30 feet long, 2) Owen does require assistance actually turning the car on and moving the gearshift, and 3) I survived my childhood, so, you know, no worries.)

Next, Poppie thought he would teach Owen how to drive a boat. He says it's important that we get the salt in his blood early.

Here they are, strolling down the dock:
Owen did not, however, care for the entire business of "having to wear a life jacket."
Nor was he a fan of not being able to run around the boat at will. But Poppie drives the boat fast, so Owen had to be held tightly by Mama, which got B-O-R-I-N-G real quick.
It was also a learning experience for me. As much as I enjoy going out on the boat, my enjoyment was compromised by having to hold Owen in a death grip while pondering worst-case scenarios (against my will! they would just come into my brain like the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man!) and plotting various adrenaline-infused rescue endeavors.

So we decided to abort mission and head to Red's for some seafood overlooking Shem Creek:
One for two ain't bad. Ever since Poppie's visit, Owen regularly gets the car keys and runs to the front door, calling "KEYS! CAR! GO!" And I know Poppie will have the boat ready just as soon as Owen is ready.

Come back soon, Poppie!

Leaving on a Jet Plane

While we were in Scotland during the third week of June, seeing things like this:
this:
and this:
and doing things like this:
this:
and this:
PapaRuss (Henry), Pooh (Lynn), and Boo (Mom) were here in Charleston, suited up and ready with their A-game to provide nourishment, entertainment, supervision, and boatloads of affection to our two most precious creatures.

This one:
and this one:(The two creature photos were taken by PapaRuss.)

Pooh and PapaRuss came from Kansas and stayed at our house for over a week. Boo subbed in regularly to give them time off.

We were across the Atlantic Ocean having the time of our lives, traveling old-school style: walking for miles, staying up until 3 in the morning, taking spontaneous hikes, and eating whatever and whenever we wanted. The days seemed to have a dozen more hours. But by night #5, I missed Owen so much, I felt physically ill. I lay there in bed one night (Bill had fallen asleep already) calming plotting to wake up the next morning, call the airlines, and change our flight to the next available departure.

The next day, we drove down to the Scottish Borders to meet up with a dozen other friends at the magnificent Linthill manor house, which provided much-needed 24-hour distraction and fun. We continued our glorious week, although a big part of my heart was back in Charleston. (No one tells you that having babies somewhat compromises your vacations.)

On all of our past trips, we've spent at least some portion of our time fantasizing about living wherever we were forever and staying on permanent vacation. But this time, for the first time ever, by the end of our trip I was ready to go home.

Having survived 30+ hours of travel (driving from Melrose to Edinburgh, flying to London, Flying to RDU, driving to Charleston), we walked in the door a few hours after Owen had gone to bed. After putting our things down and greeting Henry and Lynn, I made my way into Owen's room and softly touched his back. He woke up immediately, looked at me, and whispered, "MAMA." Then he sat up in his crib and looked at me and I looked at him and he smiled and I smiled and then he started laughing and I started laughing. And we sat there quietly giggling, me leaning over his crib, rubbing his cheeks and arms and legs, and trying to remain calm and quiet and resist the urge to shriek and pick him up and squeeze him and jump up and down and go up on top of the roof and announce so everyone could hear, "MY BABY!!! I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!!!!! AND I'LL NEVER LEAVE YOU AGAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

But I know I will and we will, and I know it will be good for him, just like it was this time. And it will be good for us, too, just like it was this time.

Thank you, Pooh and Papa Russ. And thank you, Boo. That was a gift we will never forget.

Love,

Us

Lazy Sunday

For my birthday this year, Bill gave me a new lens for my camera (the camera was my Christmas gift!). Here are the first pictures I took with it on a lazy Sunday following my birthday:

Music Class

This Spring, Owen and I attended Kindermusik on Friday mornings. The class and location that best suited our schedule was at this neat community center downtown on the Battery. There is a great playground in back, and after class we would walk outside and be here:
Owen enjoyed the 12-week class for the most part. He liked using the various instruments and singing and clapping and stomping and pretending to be a train. The teacher would place a big basket of bells / scarves / rhythm sticks / clackers in the middle of the class, each child would go pick out one or two, we would do a song or activity, and then the teacher would come around to collect the item (Owen was better at taking things than at giving them back, but he made progress in this area). But sometimes he'd had enough, which he would indicate by going to the door and trying to leave. When that didn't work, he would try to take the fire extinguisher off the wall (bizarrely placed at toddler-height right by the door).

Because of its location, I suppose, this particular Kindermusik class was a rather fancy scene. ALL of the children wore handmade, embroidered clothing. Dresses for the girls:
And jon jons for the boys (some of you may not have known what a jon jon is - now you do):

I thought, well, maybe everyone just got their kid dressed up on the first day. But no. It was like that every class. And some of the moms were really nice, but some others would only talk to the few that they knew and would cast us nervous sidelong glances that seemed to say, "Who let the riff-raff in?"

Owen's typical outfit was what he might be wearing on any other summer day: a short-sleeve button down or collared shirt and a pair of shorts. (Even though he was the youngest kid in the class, he always looked like the oldest.) But on the last day of our class, I couldn't help myself. Owen went dressed in this:
(That's one of his favorite t-shirts, mind you. A gift brought back by his Uncle Alex from London.)

It was a statement, I guess. It said, "We will NOT be fancy if we don't want to be, ESPECIALLY at 10 o'clock in the morning when we're sitting on the floor talking about choo-choo trains." It was also factual, pointing out how Owen is the primary breadwinner in our family.

And it was a test. A final exam, if you will. If you gave us a dirty look or appeared frightened (Owen IS pretty scary looking), you failed. If you laughed, said something funny, or seemed not to notice, you passed. (It's good to know who your friends are.)

Owen's sweet teacher (pictured below) passed, for sure:
Owen, I will never dress you in a jon jon, baby. I promise.