Thespian in Training

Owen & Boo

Somehow, we convinced my mom to move to Charleston about six months after we moved here. I say somehow, but really I know how: his name starts with an 'O' and rhymes with "goin'," as in "Wherever that baby boy goes, I'm goin'." Our plan was to lure her with us wherever we went, but Mom is a cool-weather-loving mountain creature and Charleston is...well...kind of hot sometimes (like, for instance, now). We were worried there for a minute, but Owen worked his magic and fast.

Mom had a hard time picking what Owen would call her. She did not want to be Grama, since that's what I called my Grama Ann, and we tossed around dozens of other names, none of which seemed to be just right. So she decided to let Owen pick what he would call her when he was ready. About a year and a half later, he finally did.

One of Owen's favorite things to do is to hide. (He really tests the boundaries of what counts as hiding: sometimes, he will just plug his ears and then expect you to go looking for him.) When he and mom would do this, at some point, mom would find him or be found and exclaim, "Boo!" When Owen would see her, he would think of their game and say, "Boo!" And her name was born.

Whenever I ask Owen any question in an upbeat voice (Guess who we're going to see today? Do you know who's coming over? Who's outside?), his first guess is always Boo. He thinks she's the bee's knees, and she thinks he's the cat's meow. Exhibits A, B, and C below (taken on Mother's Day):

The Dressing Room

The Subaru provides an ideal dressing room following a morning at the beach. Here, Owen -- buck naked and holding a bag of crackers (food comes before clean clothes always...priorities, people) -- gives an enthusiastic wave:

The New Boss of Bruno

I guess this is a fitting follow up to the last post. Any true BFFs must have some boundaries, I suppose.

Eating is a point of mutual enjoyment, despair, and conspiracy for Owen and Bruno. The enjoyment comes when Owen delights in feeding Bruno and Bruno delights in being fed (this is not "allowed," but so far, that's not stopping anyone).

The despair comes when Owen has food he was intending on eating ripped from his hands and Bruno is then imprisoned in the bedroom until the meal or snack is finished.

The conspiracy comes when Owen feeds Bruno food that he does not care to eat OR when he feeds Bruno and then pretends that Bruno stole from him. Alternatively, Bruno will make an unabashedly bold steal from Owen's hand and then look at me like "What?? He gave it to me..." Point being, neither of them are to be trusted.

On Memorial Day, Owen was very eager for his snack, which Bruno then proceeded to claim like a professional diamond thief. In an Oscar-worthy Victim-No-More performance, Owen stands up for himself in the face of injustice:


After watching this, you''ll either be laughing your head off or you'll be convinced that we have unleashed a tyrant. Either way, when he's not lying or bossing, I promise you he's downright charming.

BFF

Fort Sumter

Some of our favorite new friends in our new town are Shayna and Jase. (If we had our own show, Bill and Travis (Shayna's husband) would be the special guests...they make appearances for the "Adult Outings Without Crackers and Sippy Cups and Oh My God We Can Actually Carry on a Conversation Without Having to Run Off and Intercept Our Tiny Creatures on the Path of Danger or Destruction" episodes, but otherwise our weekday adventures are the four of us.)

After logging hours at Brittlebank and Mary Utsey (city parks), James Island County Park, and Charlestowne Landing (a state park), we decided that we were ready for the big leagues: A National Park. And it just so happens that we have a National Park right here in Charleston Harbor: Fort Sumter, the recipient of the opening shots of the Civil War. Time to get our history on!

When I called to make our reservations, I informed the woman I was speaking with that there would be two adults and two children in our party. "How old are the children?," she asked. "A year and a half," I told her. "Oh. Are you sure you want to take them to Fort Sumter? There aren't really any amenities there, you know? And did you know that it's only accessible by boat?" Oh yes, I know. And I'm sure.

"Also, the restrooms and any running water are currently unavailable." Ok, well, I didn't know that, but whatever.

So on the last Tuesday in April, we set out on our adventure. First, the 30-minute ferry ride (the below photos might lead you to believe that Owen and Jase spent the boat ride either seated or standing calmly in their seats. I assure you, that was not the case):Approaching the fort!:
Owen inside the fort:
Reading some very informative background information:Up on top of the fort looking back down at our boat (lots of stair climbing was required to arrive at such a height; Owen and Jase made sure to climb each stair about 12 times for good measure):
There were hugs (affection is a natural response to being at a location of great historic significance - below you are seeing one of Owen's typical pre- or post-hug rituals, which is touching his nose and then touching the other person's nose):
And there were broken rules:
In all of the excitement, I missed the above (very prominently placed) sign, and Owen had to be retrieved from atop the mounds by a friendly Park Ranger. (I wonder if the Ranger thought that I should have been less focused on photographing my son's phyical removal from an off-limits area and more focused on keeping him out of the off-limits area to begin with. Mmmm...Nah.)
Owen and Jase spent the ferry ride home talking about North and South, the various sources of tension leading up to the war, and how interesting it is that Major Robert Anderson (commander of Union forces at Fort Sumter) was one of General P.G.T. Beauregard's (commander of the provisional Confederate forces in Charleston) instructors at West Point before - almost 25 years later - surrendering to him at Fort Sumter.

And, it turns out that we didn't need amenities or restrooms or running water after all. Friends + adventure + hugs + mild rule breaking = good fun.

Jump Castle

The Farmers Market in downtown Charleston is a spectacular weekly event that runs from the beginning of April to the end of December. One can find fresh fruits and vegetables, herbs, cheeses, flowers, a variety of baked goods and jams, an assortment of breakfast and lunch options (the crepe stand is well-worth the usual 20-minute wait), arts and crafts, live entertainment, etc. It is a major Saturday morning happening.

On one Saturday morning in mid-April, we discovered the hidden gem of the Farmers Market. Well, I take that back, it's not really "hidden" so much as it is very large and brightly colored and inflated, like so:
We approached it and I got curious and began looking for someone in charge to inquire about the details and purchase some tickets. By the time I got the information I needed, Bill, Mom, and Owen had moved on and were over listening to the band (read: Bill and Mom quickly whisked Owen far away from the jump castle and attempted to distract him with some live music).

I gave up on the idea and joined them near the stage. There we were enjoying the music when this guy walked up to me and said, "Hey, I've got a bunch of extra tickets for the jump castle that we're not going to use - do you want them?" to which Bill said, "Oh, no but thanks anyw--," before I interrupted him to say, "Oh, YES we would LOVE to have them - thank you!" Signs like that one should NOT be ignored.

I picked Owen up and made a beeline for the jump castle. Bill and Mom followed behind with various protests ("I'm not sure he's big enough." "I think there are too many other kids in there." "It looks rough - I don't know if he'll be able to stand up." "He might get scared." "I think this is a bad idea.") Now, it is 100% true that I owe probably 99% of my survival in this life thus far to these two people and it is 100% true that they both know what they're talking about about 99% of the time, but I felt sure that this was one of occasions that fell into that 1% category. It was time to jump.

I told the lady at the jump castle entrance that I was going to put Owen inside, but that I might be taking him right back out if he didn't like it. She then informed me that I was WELCOME TO GET IN WITH HIM. You know, to SUPERVISE him. "Oh ok," I said, trying to act all nonchalant, "that will be good - we'll just go in together." (Internal monologue: WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

For the next 30 minutes, we jumped our hearts out (our tickets were good for only 10 minutes of jumping, but upon witnessing our unadulterated delight, the ticket lady said we could stay in for as long as we wanted). Owen did not stop laughing and smiling and running and falling down and getting back up and laughing some more. He was drunk on jumping. Here we are:
This drunken giggle-fest did not stop him from making friends. Here is Owen picking up an onlooking grama of another jumper. His affection was reciprocated. I'm not kidding, he kissed her twice through the net, and she kissed him right back.
I managed to have a good time, too. You know since I HAD to be in there supervising, I just decided to MAKE THE BEST OF IT. (Very selfless of me, yes.)

In actuality, I was also drunk on jumping. (If you're judging me, it just means you haven't been in a jump castle recently. And observing others jumping DOES NOT COUNT.) I was laughing and squealing and running around just as much as Owen, if not more. I even managed to make myself useful when one set of parents (a pair who, for whatever reason, were not completely confounded by/afraid of/annoyed with me) asked me to retrieve their refusing-to-exit-the-jump-castle daughter. I really hated to sell her out like that. Sorry, girlfriend, wherever you are.

Then Bill and Mom sent the ticket lady in to carry ME out.

Just kidding.

When it was time to go (probably long past time to go, but whatever), I captured Owen and, to his great displeasure, passed him through the entrance to Bill.

We hated to leave you, jump castle, but we'll always have Paris.

Singing Songs and Taking Names

Here is Owen performing an early morning rendition of "Old Time Rock n' Roll," Risky Business-style (Tom Cruise ain't got nuttin' on you, baby).
Owen and Bruno on neighborhood watch (you never know who is going to be dancing around in their PJs):
And all this before 9:00am...

Strawberries!

As soon as the strawberries were ripe this spring, we headed out to the Ambrose Family Farm on John's Island to do some picking.

Owen was having the time of his life just carrying the empty buckets (little did he know what was in store):
Here is the moment where Owen tasted his first picked-from-the-ground-and-popped-in-the-mouth strawberry. Owen's enthusiasm for strawberries was official.
From that point forward and for the rest of our time on the farm, Owen did not rest from either picking or eating berries. Dedicated picking:
Joyful eating:
More joyful eating:Still eating through the family photo:
Happy and with the strawberry-juice-smeared mouth to prove it:

Magnolia Plantation or On the Various Uses of a Garden Path

The second weekend in April, we spent a day in the gardens at Magnolia Plantation. These are the oldest unrestored gardens in the country; some parts of the gardens are over 325 years old. (Owen actually would have been happy spending all of his time in the admission line, where he met dozens of new friends. He is very friendly.) Before we entered the gardens, Owen had his first encounter with a peacock. This peacock, it seemed, had jumped the petting zoo fence and was exploring life on the outside. He was at some points practically touching us, and I was going crazy over it. This photo perfectly captures Owen's reaction:
Meh.

Owen loved the gardens. He liked walking the paths (read: trying to eat every piece of gravel he could get his hands on) and finding the small signs that explained what things were (read: pretending to read them before trying to pull them out of the ground). The azaleas were all in bloom:
There were dozens of picturesque bridges that looked like they were straight out of a Japanese woodblock. Here are Bill, Owen, and Bruno crossing one such bridge.
***FOR ANYONE WHO IS EASILY GROSSED OUT, STOP READING NOW. THE END.***

You might wonder how Bruno fared at the gardens. He was tickled pink to be invited along on the family outing, but let's just say he didn't put his best foot forward. And by "didn't put his best foot forward," I mean that two days prior he had "gotten into the trash" and, as a result, right in the middle of these beautiful, historic gardens, he suddenly "vomited" all over the path. Bill and Bruno were up ahead when this "happened," and Owen and I were studying something near the edge of the pond, when all of a sudden I heard Bill call out, "LAR, I NEED YOU TO PLEASE COME HERE NOW," in the way that meant trouble was afoot. I picked up Owen and caught up with Bill, who handed me Bruno's leash and began to quickly "take care of the situation." (My gratuitous use of quotes is assisting me in sparing you the gory details. Just know that every item in quotations is a drastic euphemism.)

When all was said and done and no evidence remained and I continued to be overcome with both horror and laughter, I asked Bill incredulously, "Did anyone see that happen?"

Bill: "Yeah, this guy was standing right next to us."

Me: "Did he say anything?!? I mean, what did he do??"

Bill: "Nothing. He didn't say anything. I don't think they really cover that one in Emily Post."

THE END for real this time.

Inaugural Easter Egg Hunt

Easter weekend brought Owen's first Easter Egg hunt, and the torch was officially passed. Owen inherited the Hunt Family Easter Egg basket, which has been used by Dad, Marcia, me, and Alex (spacing children between 8 to 10 years apart helps with this tradition). And I inherited the honorable position of Easter egg hider. I thought of Papa (my Papa, Norman Hunt) the whole time and about all the Easter eggs he hid for me in all the best places. Some easy; some hard.

We started with an easy one:
And we worked up to the harder ones (yellow egg, bottom right-hand corner):
Bruno helped Owen to gather all of his eggs:
Owen took numerous egg inventories:
Considering Easter: "Let me get this straight...a BUNNY brings EGGS? Weird."
Further consideration:
Happy day! (And many thanks to Pooh and PapaRuss for the Easter eggs!)

Made by Hand

A surprise package came in the mail a few weeks ago addressed to Owen. It was from my Uncle Kenneth, and this is what was inside:
A truck and two race cars. That he MADE. BY HAND. I was blown away.

They have become some of Owen's favorite toys. Indeed, Owen was already a truck and car enthusiast, but these toys are especially fun to play with because they are so beautifully crafted.
Note the drool-soaked shirt in the photo above...the poor thing had FOUR molars come in all at once. But some fun new toys seemed to take the edge right off...

Thank you, sweet Uncle Kenneth! xoxo