Cows, Car Repairs, and Underwear on Heads: Our Life in 2015

Highlights (some in hindsight) from 2015:

Highlight #1: Eat Mor Chikin

As always, Chick-fil-a continues to be a driving force in our lives because we crave it.  Constantly.  In July we participated in Cow Day, and ate for free the entire day.  I maybe stopped craving it for a bit after that.  Our kids look forward to this day every year as demonstrated by the below pics. 

No, seriously.  They love being forced to wear spots from head to hoof.  Okay, fine.  Maybe just Hudson.  Although, he is kind of easy going about everything . . .

My love for Chick-fil-a was fully demonstrated this year by camping out at the grand opening of a nearby Chick-fil-a for 24 hours in order to get 52 free meals.  It was cold, sleepless, and absolutely worth it.    

Dan Cathy, the CEO of Chick-fil-a (to my left) camped out with us.  Pretty amazing since he's like a bigger deal than Matt Damon and Brad Pitt combined.  Well, at least in a cow's world he is.

Highlight #2: Car Repair Adventure

 I decided it would be a fun adventure to drop my van off for repair and then sit there stranded for four hours with two 4 year olds and a 2 year old.  Yes, this was one of those fabulous ideas kind of like taking your kids with you to a dental cleaning (see May 2014 post to recount that Hallmark moment).  While we waited, we walked around in the summer humidity, tasted smoothies, strolled to the library, and feasted on pizza.  All this doesn't sound too bad.  And if my life was an episode from Caillou, it would have been glorious, and my day would have looked like this.

But instead, it looked more like this:   

I didn't take any actual pictures because I was too busy pulling screaming kids off the sidewalk, throwing away a nearly full smoothie because, come to find out, the four of us hate smoothies, yelling at my boys to stop dumping salt on their pizza, and going cross-eyed when I found out the cost of the repair. 

The real kicker is that Corbin keeps asking when we can get our car repaired again and walk around town.  Apparently, I was the only one scarred for life . . .

Highlight #3: Laughter

Maybe my kids are getting funnier in their old age or maybe they're just misbehaving more and I'm getting too worn down to keep correcting them.  Whatever the reason, it's been hard to stay too grumpy or mad around these parts in 2015, because someone's bound to grab your mascara and transform into Ozzy Osborne

or run around all afternoon with underwear on their heads (crossing my fingers it was clean underwear).

And in 2015, I found that sometimes those moments are best shared laughing rather than reprimanding. 

I also found it's easier to chuckle at your kids' innocence than to tell them the truth when they think you're the best ever because you bought them kids' meals on their birthdays instead of making them split a 12 count nugget.

Or are the craftiest mom in the world when you let them decorate a pre-built gingerbread house from Target. 

Go for the pre-built houses next year, Moms.  You know you want to!   

We're glad we've got our kids fooled.  But also glad that they've spent another year fooling us with their bright blue eyes and smiles.  It even makes a 4 hour trip to the repair shop worth it.  In much later hindsight.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year from our group of crazies to yours! 

I Do!

On a hot as Hades summer day ten years ago, we said, "I do."

The ink had barely dried on our college diplomas, and neither of us had ever held a full-time job.  Our recent residences were college dorms, sketchy rental properties with roommates, and our parents' homes during the summer.  After Ben carried me over the threshold to our honeymoon suite, we decided to start our romantic evening by drinking Mike's Hard Lemonade.  I kid you not.

Yes, we were young, idealistic, and embarrassingly naïve about quality drinks.  But we were in love.

I smashed the cake first.  Just saying.

 

And we still are.   

 

 

Today we remember and reflect.  We remember our wedding: the darling old church with its two air-conditioning vents, our guests who crooned to us with their love songs, my parents doing the chicken dance, the photographer who nearly fainted from heat exhaustion, and the Chick-fil-a meal my parents surprised me with so that I didn't have to endure one bite of fancy food. 

 

 

We remember the previous nine anniversaries that we've celebrated. Some on the sandy, warm beaches of Florida and South Carolina.  Others accented with the historical charm of cities like Savannah and Charleston.  And others of a less magical variety where battles with morning sickness and moving trucks ruled the day.

 

 

 

We remember the years in between then and now.  Our one bedroom, one bath apartment that we lived in for four years--still the longest stretch we've ever lived in a place other than our childhood homes.  We remember the carefree newlywed days, the days of too quiet where we longed for chaos, and the days of late where we count down until 8pm, when the quiet slowly returns.



 

But we also reflect on the future.  We imagine where we'll be in the next 10, 20, or maybe even 50 years.  And if we ever are so blessed as to celebrate our 60th, we imagine that we'll gaze into each other's eyes over a bottle of Glenlivet scotch, and we'll have a conversation much like this:

 

Ben: Remember what we had for our 10th anniversary?

Lindsay: Yeah, we split a bottle of that Oak Creek wine.

Ben: Bah!  Like drinking fermented Kool-Aid! $2.87 a bottle.  Remember that?  What cheapskates we were.

Lindsay: We were frugal.  We were living on a teacher's income with three little ones.

Ben: Frugal my Depends-wearing old rear!  We could have at least sprung for the $6 bottle of Yellow Tail.  Boy, have we come a long way! 

 

So here's to memories, and here's to daydreams of what may be to come.  Cheers!   

 

 

May I Have Some Coffee With My Humble Pie?

Kids have a way of keeping us humble.  If you don't believe me, take a look at this pic:

 

And if you still don't believe me, consider this gem.

 

Enough said.

Whether it's teaching, bus driving, parenting, whatever--when you encounter kids, they have a way of putting you in your place.  My head has been hanging a little lower lately, and it's not just because I am lamenting over the ever breeding stains on my carpet. 

Prideful moment # 1: Our little Jovie is smart as a whip.

Jovie is not advanced verbally, but she understands an incredible amount of what we say and ask of her to do.  And I, of course, beam inside when other people notice her "brilliance" too.  So about a month ago after I finished changing my little Einstein's diaper, I told her to put the old one in the trash.  I then busied myself with getting the boys off to preschool.  We all returned home late that afternoon, and Hudson went to the bathroom. 

"MOM!  There's a HUGE diaper floating in the toilet!"

Have you ever seen a disposable diaper that's been sitting in a big bowl of water for six hours?!  It was like pulling an exploding brick out of our commode.  Needless to say, maybe using "brilliant" to describe Jovie was a slight exaggeration.  But toilet and trash do sound shockingly similar.  They both begin with T . . .

Jovie for President. 

Prideful moment #2: I'm teaching my children to learn from their mistakes.

If I tried to recall how many times Jovie has gotten into my dry pasta and emptied the box all over the floor, steam would start escaping from my ears.  Let's just say, it's been enough that I stopped throwing the dirtied pasta away.  I just stick it all back in the box--it's going to be boiled, right?  Maybe you should just skip spaghetti night at our house.  Anyway, a few weeks ago, Jovie got into my spaghetti box for the umpteenth time. 

"Jovie!!!  Why can't you learn that playing with pasta is not a good idea?!  This is not a fun game!"

"Not a fun game?  What planet are you on?  Of course it's fun.  I just shook a box of noodles which made a cool sound and then got to see them scatter all over the floor.  Next you squealed and squinched up your face in that ridiculous way.  And best of all, we got to pick up all the pasta and put it back in the box--a toddler's favorite game!  Hey Brainiac, I'm not even three feet tall.  Put the pasta on a higher shelf.  Until you start learning from your mistakes, game on."  (Jovie's thoughts as interpreted by her big blue eyes and impish grin.) 


At least my oh-so-wise mother has the sense to strip me down for spaghetti night.

Prideful moment #3: We need to give to those who aren't blessed with as much as we are.

It's been my mantra lately. Stuff has been getting to me.  It is breeding in the same way that the carpet stains are breeding.  And the toys!  There's so many of them.  So many UNPLAYED with toys.  I told the boys to start gathering stuff to give away, including one stuffed animal each.  I was beaming with pride as they collected their piles to give to charity.  But my proud eyes suddenly turned into a scowl.  Corbin chose a stuffed killer whale to give away.  MY stuffed killer whale. 

"Corbin, that whale is mine.  It's not yours to give away."
"Well, why can't you give it away?" he asked.
"Because it's mine.  I'm letting you guys borrow it for a bit.  Isn't that nice of Mommy?  But, it's my very special Shamu-mu.  We can't give it away." 

Shamu-mu is indeed my very special whale.  What kid doesn't dream of owning a stuffed killer whale?  Although I was 17 when I got him, so calling myself a kid is a bit of a stretch.  But don't worry.  After that conversation, I totally saw my own selfishness.  Shamu-mu is now being well loved by a sweet little girl.  Whose name happens to be Jovie.  What a coincidence. 

Kids are indeed humbling.  They remind us of our own imperfections, our own stupidity, and our own absurdity.  But as much as we try to appear like we know it all and have all the answers, maybe our childlike tendencies aren't completely bad . . .



The Party that Went Viral

It was Super Bowl Sunday--America's first major break with their New Year's resolutions, when it is encouraged to indulge in chips, and brownies, and beer, and anything that hints of fat and cholesterol.  It was a Super Bowl that we weren't too excited to watch because who wants to root for a bunch of pretty boy cheaters and repeat offenders from the previous year, but still we found ourselves counting down to a fun excuse to have people over and indulge in pounds and pounds of cheese. 

But by 3:00 in the afternoon, the soon-to-be party took an unappetizing turn.  Ben realized it first. 

"We have to cancel," he groaned as the kids started to wobble half-awake out of their bedrooms from their afternoon snooze.  "I have a stomach bug."

"Are you sure?" I questioned.

He pulled a flannel quilt over him, curled up his knees, and gave me a half-hearted sarcastic look. 

It was then that I started questioning myself.  That all day fatigue, the random chills, the nausea?!  Within thirty minutes of this moment, we were laying at opposite ends of the couch, quivering under the same quilt. 

And the children ran wild.

We bought ourselves some time.  I crawled to the DVD player and hastily put in a movie before the room's air knocked me down.  The older two were amused for an hour.  But the little one.  Oh, the little one!  Why can't singing cucumbers and dancing tomatoes be of interest to you, my sweet dear!

Jovie showed us toys, she twirled, danced a little jig to the cucumber's silly songs.  But we were too cold and too miserable to give her our usual claps and cheesy delight.  So she climbed on the couch, and she stepped on our stomachs over, and over, and over, and over, vying for our attention. 

"Pack.  Play."  I gritted through my teeth.  Ben was closer.  He was stronger.  So he got up, and put her in the pack n play.  And she wailed. 

What is worse?  The shrill screams of a toddler, or her body diving into our weak stomachs?  We let her escape the prison.

At this point, our hour was up.  The credits rolled, and Hudson turned off the TV.

"Too much TV.  No more," he announced. 

We had read the Berenstain Bear's Too Much TV one too many times.  They had heard my daily mantra: "Too much TV will rot your brains!"  Why are they taking this to heart now!  They never listen to what we say!

The boys began racing monster trucks, which somehow turned into wrestling, which naturally turned into fighting.  Jovie, still mad that her Royal Cuteness was given so little attention, began jumping off the arm of the couch with a triumphant glint in her eye. 

I managed to utter my second coherent thought in an hour.  "Basement.  Now.  Play nicely.  Lots of candy.  Prize." 

The three of them stormed downstairs like barbarians.  We closed our bleary eyes, and rested our aching bodies for a minute.  Maybe two.  The screaming and fighting and pushing began.  Lord of the Flies: Baby Edition had started.

I knew what must be done next: I faked sleep.  Ben, my green-hued hero, pulled off the quilt, stumbled down the stairs, laid his weak body on the loveseat, and acted as guard over the fighters. 

I felt badly.  I had sent Ben down to that cold hell of activity, light and noise.  The moment of guilt passed. I hugged the quilt, which I now held all to myself, and I gave a weak smirk in the upstairs warmth and quiet.

But while I laid in restless peace, the clicking of the clock caught my attention.  The barbarians would be hungry.  But to go into that kitchen with its swirling, sickening sweet smells of the crockpot chili that had been stewing all day?  Oh, the humanity!  I held my breath and with as much energy as I could muster, dove into the kitchen, threw some chicken nuggets on a pan, and dove out. 

We assured our three little balls of fire that on this special Super Bowl Sunday, their brains wouldn't rot, and they finally accepted our plea for more TV.  The three of them feasted on nuggets and chips while the glare of the TV shone in their eyes. 

The clock struck seven, and we convinced them it was bedtime.  Thank heavens the Berenstain Bears didn't write a book about telling time.

Miraculously, they went to sleep.  And we fell into our bed.  We both knew the worst of it was over.  Quiet and rest were upon us.  There was no food in our bellies to keep destroying us, and no children awake to kick us while we were down.  And our fitful sleep slowly turned into more pleasant dreams.

Until the pitter patter of feet woke us up.  1:24 am:  "My tummy hurts," he pitifully cried. 

The party continued . . .   

 

Our Little Barbarians

 



I guess it could be pretty adorable it they ruled the roost.  For like, a minute. 

The Christmas Newsletter You Weren't Meant to See

Life has been busy for us during 2014!  Here's the latest and greatest about our brood:

Hudson and Corbin--They spent much of the year prepping for the 2030 Olympic games in wrestling.

Preschool teacher: Your boys just randomly start tackling each other throughout the school day.  During gym time, story time, craft time.  It's never with the other kids, always with each other.  It's the craziest thing.  Have you seen them do that?
Me: Um . . . like once or twice or yeah. 

Their biggest excitement this year, however, occurred at the doctor's office as they awaited their 4 year old shots.  If you had been a fly on the wall, you would have observed them dancing around the cramped room in their socks and superhero undies, singing Christmas carols, and pestering the nurse: "Is it time to get our shots now?  Is it time?  Is it time?"

Why so much excitement?  Because my stash of bandages comes from Ben's overabundance of bland, boring band-aids in his classroom.  (Yes, I am that cheap.)  But Hudson and Corbin's doctor springs for Spiderman and Scooby Doo clad bandages.  Sadly, the thrill of this amazing event was deflated a bit by the sharp needles which penetrated through two very skinny thighs. Corbin noted afterwards: "I think next time, we'll skip the shots and just ask the doctor to let us borrow some fun band-aids."

 

 

Jovie--Our sweet baby girl.  Her last few months of the year can best be described by this heartwarming incident in October: Jovie woke up screaming hysterically from a nap.  I tried everything to calm her down--Barney, snacks, letting her keep her paci--nothing worked.  She screamed, cried, fell down, and shook her legs uncontrollably.  Something was clearly wrong, so I frantically called the doctor.

 

Me: I'm not sure what's going on with my baby.  She's crying uncontrollably and acting like she has no control over her body. 

Nurse: Does she have a fever?  Is she able to make eye contact?

Me: Her temp feels fine, and she's looking right at me.  But, I've never seen her act like this. I've tried everything.  I can't calm her down!

Nurse: Let me talk to the doctor.

(A minute later)

Nurse: Ma'm, I talked to the doctor.  It sounds like your daughter is having what is called a temper tantrum.

Me: Ohhhhh . . . (Red sweeps up my face as I realize I'm made a rookie mistake.  Except this is my third kid.)

Lindsay--When I'm not making frantic calls to the doctor about my daughter's tantrums, I can be found surviving other life defying adventures.  My greatest claim to fame this year--possibly so great that I want it memorialized on my tombstone--is this: I took my three children to Sunday School and church all by myself.  Aren't you completely impressed?  Are you giving me a standing ovation right now?  Well, you should.  Nevermind that we frantically and gracelessly charged into church 15 minutes late (while my Sunday school class of 2 and 3 year olds "patiently" waited for my arrival).  And we'll ignore the fact that as I rushed to greet my squirrely class of toddlers, I threw Jovie into church nursery with bare feet and crust all over her face while spluttering, "Here are Jovie's socks--I know her feet are freezing.  Sorry--can you put them on?  I'm really not a bad mother.  And she has crust all over her face--could you do something about that?  Ben's out of town, sorry, flustered, super late, gotta go!" 
Let's just say that on the way home, I had to gorge myself on a box of Arby's onion rings to recover from the sheer madness of it all.  And I also realized something very important: Single parents who bring their children to church by themselves, deserve a round of applause.  Each and every week. 

 

 

Ben--I have always prided myself on my ability to multi-task well, but Ben has one uped me this year.  He just can't let me win at anything!  Clearly teaching an overload of several new Latin courses and serving wine on select Saturdays during the warmer months while being a hands-on dad, house handy man, and thoughtful husband was not enough.  He had to go start his doctorate in education to fill in the extra globs of time that were oozing everywhere.  The first semester has ended (only 3 1/2 more years to go!), and we'll call it a success: Ben has gotten high marks, his sanity is still in check, the children still recognize him, and Clairol Natural Instincts is making big dough from my need to cover up the ever sprouting grays that accent my head.  A successful year indeed. 

From our home to yours, Merry Christmas! 



Bluemont is for Lovers

No matter if I drive east or west, Target is at minimum a 25 minute drive.  There are only two fast-food restaurants within a close proximity to our house, and by close I mean a fifteen minute drive. And I have had more conversations then I care to remember that have gone like this:

Person: Where do you live?
Me: Bluemont.
Person: Boo-mont?  Is there a Halloween parade there?
Me: No, BLUEMONT.  It's literally 10 minutes west of where we are standing right now.
Person: Never heard of it.   

Okay, so admittedly, I do have a bit of a mumbling problem.  But Bluemont is a sometimes forgotten treasure nestled on an eastern slope in the Blue Ridge Mountains.  

Bluemont is not close to much, and yet, it is home to much.  It is home to wineries, a popular U pick farm, and the "roller coaster" section of the Appalachian Trail.  It is also home to a diverse group of people--at the top of the mountain you'll find a Montessori school, a yoga studio, and a yuppier atmosphere.  Over the mountain, you'll gain popularity if you drive a pick-up, freely use the word "ya'll," and understand the question, "Sweet or Un?"  One side of Bluemont waves farewell to the rush and busyness of Northern Virgina, and the other side ushers in the slower Southern pace of the Shenandoah Valley.  Bluemont is a town for all kinds. 

                          

For the Granolas:

If you visit Bluemont, you won't be able to find a latte, a library, or even a stoplight.  Bluemont boasts none of those conveniences, but it does boast of this.

(The Overlook near Bear's Den on the Appalachian Trail)

                               
And for our granola-loving, organic-eating families, Great Country Farms (Bluemont's biggest claim to local "fame"), has a variety of pick-your-own produce and an array of kids' activities and festivals.

"Stop reading this blog, get in your car, and drive there now!"

For the Yuppies:

Two wineries call Bluemont their home, and three other wineries are within a five mile drive.  So what if it's a ten minute drive to grab a gallon of milk?  We're surrounded by gallons and gallons of wine.  Let's get our priorities in order, people.

Bluemont Winery

For the Countrified:

There's not many places around here where your tab comes to $28 after a beer, glass of wine, two sandwiches, and a side.  All while listening to some surprisingly good live music.  But if you venture down the mountain and veer right off the highway, that is exactly what you'll find.  Horseshoe Curve is a quirky, tiny restaurant, owned and operated by the same family since 1946.  A reviewer online summed up the place best: "One of the friendliest, coziest places you'll ever find.  If you can find this locals only place, you might as well call yourself a local.  Great, simple food, terrific ambiance and a proprietor who takes pride in her oasis in the Blue Ridge Mountains."

                        

Bluemont is quite simply for lovers.  Lovers of fresh, locally grown food.  Lovers of relaxing Saturdays spent sipping wine amidst breathtaking views.  And lovers of places reminiscent of simpler times and somehow unmarred from the busyness that surrounds us.  So find something to love and take a drive.  Bluemont awaits. 

                        

Wineries: 
Bluemont Winery (No other winery in the area can come close to their views) 
 http://bluemontvineyard.com/

Twin Oaks Winery (a quaint and less crowded option to Bluemont Winery)
http://www.twinoakstavernwinery.com/

Outdoors: 
Hiking the Apalachian Trail
http://alltrails.com/trail/us/virginia/appalachian-trail-snickers-gap-to-blackburn-trail-center   
http://www.bearsdencenter.org/

Cool Spring Battlefield
1400 Parker Ln, Bluemont

1400 Parker Ln, Bluemont, VA,

(A great alternative to the WOD trail--a hidden treasure)
195 acres along the Shenandoah River with over five miles of paved trail for walking, running, and biking.

Eating:
Horseshoe Curve 
1162 Pine Grove Rd, Bluemont, VA 20135

Bluemont General Store (for the ice cream lovers among us)
http://www.bluemontstore.com/

Family Fun:
Great Country Farms
http://www.greatcountryfarms.com/

Bluemont Fair (held annually the third weekend in September)
http://bluemontfair.org/

195 acres of land along the Shenandoah River with over five miles of paved trails for walking, running and biking.  - See more at: http://www.su.edu/venue/cool-spring/#sthash.FJbgx2Hd.dpuf

195 acres of land along the Shenandoah River with over five miles of paved trails for walking, running and biking.  - See more at: http://www.su.edu/venue/cool-spring/#sthash.FJbgx2Hd.dpuf

195 acres of land along the Shenandoah River with over five miles of paved trails for walking, running and biking.  - See more at: http://www.su.edu/venue/cool-spring/#sthash.FJbgx2Hd.dpuf

Sweet Summer Goodbye

An Ode to our Summer

Our skin got a bit darker, our hair a bit lighter, and for some of us, our mouths got quite a bit toothier.

We escaped our children for two nights and did something quite unfathomable in years of late.  We each read an entire book without pictures--in peace and with no rush.  

Our hands were stained red, blue, and black from the strawberries, cherries, blueberries, and blackberries we picked.  And then we realized our hands were losing their dark hue, so we picked blackberries again.  And again.  Third time's the charm.

We organized our first garden and ate the fruits of our labor in salsa form, nearly every day.  Blackberry salsa, anyone?

We experienced things we've never done, saw friends and family we rarely see, and rode in the fast lane whenever possible. 

We tried never to sit still, especially around our cousins.  The only exception: when being bribed with ice cream. 

We took family runs, bike rides, and some tumbles along the paved paths of a nearby Civil War battlefield.  And Hudson proudly told anyone who would listen: "I got boo boos on the battlefield."

We never let a lap go empty for long, and we helped polish many a grandparent's reading skills.

We swam in pools, splashed in the ocean, and waded in Lake Michigan.  All while smiling with a shiner on one of our eyes (not from the battlefield but from a certain twin brother).

Summer wasn't always a smooth ride.  There were still tantrums and sickness.  Humidity and overpriced carnivals.  And on more than one occasion we quoted dear ol' George Bailey from It's a Wonderful Life: "You call this a happy family?!"

                       

 

But we'll push the falls and tears in the back of our minds

 

 

 

and instead remember the sunshine, the laughter, and the sweet break from the ever daunting routine. 



 

                

Goodbye, precious summer days.  Time to rest up.  A new season begins .  . .