Big Brother(s)

On July 24, I woke up feeling rather strange. For the past week, I had barely been able to finish my workouts, but I figured it was because CrossFit - my gym - was not air conditioned, and, hey, it was July in Charleston after all. I also just felt different. I had taken a pregnancy test a few days prior, but it was negative.

At about 7:00am on that Saturday morning, I woke Bill up with a request to please go out and purchase another box of pregnancy tests (the one I had taken had been the last one I had - the one leftover from the box of two that I used to find out I was pregnant with Owen!). He thought I was joking, and I assured him I wasn't. He suggested waiting on this errand (ha ha ha), but Owen and I were supposed to be leaving town to go to Chapel Hill in just a few hours, and Bill was getting on a flight to DC the next day. We wouldn't see each other for a week, and I insisted that this kind of news can't wait.

My fine, fine man of a husband got up, got dressed, and headed to the store. At the store, he said he thought about what other purchase would go best with a pregnancy test, and he decided on a glazed doughnut. After ringing him up, the woman at the checkout said, "Good luck!" Bill thought that was the perfect thing to say, because it really worked no matter which way you were hoping things went.

And indeed things went exactly the way we were hoping. I walked out into the kitchen in a state of disbelief holding our positive pregnancy test. We hugged, we marveled, and we celebrated a new life on the way. Then we asked Owen if he wanted to be a big brother. "Yeah," he confidently replied. "A baby is coming, Owen," we told him, and he responded with, "Baby coming! Two babies!" (Bill and I then looked nervously at each other wondering what if Owen just correctly predicted twins...) And all of this before 8:00 am.

Bill snapped some photos of Owen and me and our amazing double-pink-lined proof that another creature would be joining us.
Our furry firstborn creature, already a big brother, was skeptical about the news; the attention is already spread pretty thin around here for his liking. But he thinks - even for all the agony it put him through - he has wound up getting lots of hugs and LOTS of snacks from Owen, so he's going with it.
One baby (not two) will be joining the Hunt-Russell household on or around April 5, 2011. Exactly two and a half years after Owen's due date. And since Owen was four days late, it might be more like April 9.

Calling the Play

Owen went through a very brief, but hilarious phase in July: whenever he would make a request, it would be followed by a high-pitched imitation of me agreeing to whatever he was asking for. It's like he was feeding me my line. And he would have this real sweet smile on his face when he did it, just to help ensure that processing his request went as smoothly as possible. It reminded me of playing basketball, when someone hits the ball out of bounds and you automatically throw your arm out, helping the ref know (or giving him or her subconscious direction) that it's your team's possession.

Here is Owen's version of calling the play:

Trading Carolinas

Last July, Jean served as the official welcome chair upon our arrival to the great Palmetto State. I take that back: the welcoming started before our arrival with a postcard campaign depicting various beautiful SC destinations and announcing fun facts and state trivia. To top that off, she came to town to help us unpack boxes, assemble bookshelves, play with Owen, and maintain a general sense of joviality (sometimes a challenge when it's July in Charleston, all your earthly belongings are boxed up, you're chasing around a 9-month old who has just learned to walk, and you just left your beloved home of 6 years) during our first few days here. Over the past year, we've been to Hilton Head twice and Jean has been a regular visitor to Salisbury St.

But, alas, our same-state residency only overlapped one year, and before we could say "shrimp n' grits" a professional opportunity up and whisked Jean away to Raleigh, NC. Jean has been in Hilton Head for seven years, so it was one hell of an offer to be compelling enough to lure her away from us.

At the end of July, Jean came up for one last in-state visit. Here are Owen and Aunt Jean at Waterfront Park:

North Carolina will treat you right, I know. Always has.
And whenever you need to lay eyes on some palmettos or your nephew, just come on down. Your bed will be waiting.

Alex

We have a pretty good thing going here in Charleston. I am with Owen on Tuesdays and Fridays, and Bill and Owen are together on Thursdays. I know we have something rare, and I am grateful for it.

I am also grateful that when Bill and I both head off to work on Mondays and Wednesdays, Owen is in the care of his very special babysitter, Alex. Alex is in Charleston earning her Masters in Psychology at the Citadel. She is smart, silly, and safe, and I couldn't ask for anything more.

Alex first started taking care of Owen on February 1, 2010. During the first few months, we had a ritual where Alex would carry Owen to the garage to watch me pull away and he would be consoled/distracted by getting to push the button to close the garage door. Now when I leave, he takes a break from playing or reading with Alex to call out, "Bye Bye Mama!"

Alex leaves a note every day that tells about what she and Owen did, noteworthy things he said, books he liked, things he learned, funny things that happened, etc. I save all of these, of course.

When Owen was just learning to talk, he called her "GiGi" (pronounced "JiJi"). Now he calls her Alex (pronounced "Ay-eg"), but still sometimes says GiGi, as in "GiGi's wa-wa," when pointing to her morning Diet Coke. There has inevitably been confusion between this Alex and Owen's Uncle Alex, which is now resolved. I might think Owen is talking about Alex, and then he shakes his head to clarify and says, "UNCLE Ay-eg."

Owen talks about Alex all the time. When Bruno barks, he thinks she has arrived. ("Ay-eg's boo ca!" translation: "Alex's blue car!") When I ask him to guess who's coming over or what's going to happen, he says, "Boo?" followed by "Ay-eg?"

Here are a few pictures of the two of them from July (Alex was horrified that I was inspired to take photos on one of the few days that she was in sweats and no makeup, but she obliged...and she is lovely either way):
Lucky Owen. Lucky us.

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