Pack all you Want

At a countdown of T-10 hours the task was complete. Boy was packed and ready to go off to Seacamp. I had followed the what to bring directions to the letter. Everything from jeans to underwear had been labeled with his name along with the noted sunscreen and bug repellent. Disposable underwater camera and snacks were placed in the backpack  while it was searched for contraband electronics

By T-7 hours (8pm) everything sat in a neat pile beside the front door. Except the bathroom bag.

Open and ready for a deposit of toothbrush and deodorant, that bag sat waiting on the bathroom counter.

At 4am I was jolted awake by the alarm and considered myself endlessly lucky that Hubby would be doing the 4:30am drop-off. I did consider climbing out of bed to watch the proceedings, but fell asleep thinking I would pop-up and give a quick kiss in a few minutes as they left. I did wake-up. Regretfully, it was as Hubby was backing out of the driveway. Oh-well. Back to sleep for another hour or so before everyone else needed to be hustled through the morning routine. 

Amidst the typical morning rush I happened to notice that the counter held a toothbrush which suspiciously resembled Boy's. A second glance told me there was no toiletries bag, but his deodorant kept the stray toothbrush company. Hmmm. I consoled myself that deodorant at just-12 isn't a necessity especially since 3/4 of the time would be spent in the water of the Florida Keys, and he had money enough to buy a new toothbrush as well as a souvenir.

Fast-forward with not a single phone call or any word to Friday evening. A fully-animated Boy recounted his adventures specifically describing events aimed to wow, dissecting squids, swimming with sharks, and getting stung by jelly fish. After his energetic sharing I asked him if he got any good pictures. Nope. Not one. I am not sure the camera even exited the backpack. 

"Jeez you're looking pretty salty, better head in for a shower," I tell him. At which point he explains that he and his friend were on a quest to save freshwater for the trip. So they did not shower once. With pride clearly welling in his voice he told us how he and his friend were congratulated for saving water at their final lunch. 

"What about your teeth?" I asked "Did you have your toothbrush?" A lopsided grin lit his face as he shrugged unsure of his answer....Okay. I'll take that as a no.

"I don't know, I only looked in the the bag once to grab the sunscreen." With a head shake I hustled him into the bathroom to rectify his hygiene issues and considered myself lucky that at least he wasn't sunburned.

Fish Tales

White knuckled, bouncing and bracing himself, the salt of wind-formed tears mix with the cold spray of the ocean.

"I will be tough. I will not fall into the ocean," is the mantra he repeats silently as the craft hits wave after wave at speeds nearing 50mph on this windswept, high seas day.  

As he lands painfully, nearly knocking himself and his friend onto the white expanse of the deck, he wonders if there will be a pay-off for this harrowing ride under a cloudless sky. Another jostle and miraculously the boat begins to slow. 

The sheltered inlet offers blessed stillness and peace.Tentatively the boys both rise and test their sea legs again. Shaking off their previous fear they offer shaky laughter in response to quips about the ride from their fathers and neighbor while reaching for their poles. 

With poles in hand silently dismissing thoughts of sopping clothes and cold breezes they set to their task in earnest. Casting, reeling, and repeating the process, silent boy prayers are offered to the sea.

A bite, a tug, set the hook and reel it in. Ogle at the size or snap fingers with frustration that a mere inch in length can cause. Laugh with their dads as their bounty grows. And know, perhaps, that this memory is a keeper.


* This story has been pieced together from yesterday's actual adventurous exploit of Boy and Hubby. Though I was not present to witness said adventure, I have shared with you, my friends, the story as I picture it based on the stories all present were eager to share upon their arrival home.

Italian Feast

An Italian family can overwhelm on the best of days. Put said family at a celebration and you better be prepared for overwhelming noise, public displays of affection, and unbridled joy.

At the end of our long road trip, we found ourselves smack in the middle of just such chaos. It was the evening of the "rehearsal dinner." As this was an occasion to be celebrated, a smallish Italian restaurant was chosen and fully half was being used to house the intimate dinner for seventy. Coming from quiet Sunnyville, it always takes the kids a bit of time to acclimate. Boy sat quietly next to his dad taking in the conversations & giving hugs to family - groom and bride included. Youngest began the evening in a relatively subdued manner as well. Sitting and waiting to see what would happen next. As could be expected from children who sport more Italian and Irish in their blood than anything else, it didn't take too long for them to acclimate.

Total acclimation was achieved when Boy watched his Uncle eat a pepper. After taking a bite, Uncle had been offering the pleasurable sensation of burning tongue to anyone who might want to have a go. No takers. Until Boy announced, "I'll eat it for $20." Come now, is it in the male gene somewhere that eating unpleasant things should come with bets? 

Uncle took the bet, threw a pepper on the table and before anyone could so much as utter "WAIT!" Boy had popped the fire-veggie into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. This act was swiftly followed by the downing of 2 water glasses, 1 Coke, and 1 glass of milk ordered especially for him. Copious amounts of bread were taken in at the time as well. When I returned to the table from a bit of mingling you didn't honestly think I would have allowed this to occur if I had been there did you? Boy was looking a bit green. Hubby filled me in, as he ushered Boy out for some fresh air hoping against hope that the vomiting would wait until they were out of doors

Though Boy was unable to eat dinner that night, he had $20 in his pocket and what's more, he was quickly becoming news around the feast. Family friends on seeing the pallor of Boy and in the spirit of good-humored ribbing, proclaimed $20 to be far too little for his achievement. As Boy told his story, received his hugs, and reveled in the laughter, this "too little" recurring theme seemed clear. Boy, who understands a good thing when he hears it, agreed whole-heartedly. Sure enough, as he was telling his tale around the room, his $20 bill, was taken in exchange for a $50. Did I mention my kids acclimate fast?

The Search Begins

As my second pregnancy began, I spent many hours caring for 2 of my nephews. They were energetic, to say the least. I spent so much time with them, that I began to panic that I would have a son - a possibility that had previously been delightful. The thought of a boy, something so foreign growing inside of me sent shivers of wonder and fear down my spine. I spent hours fretting over my ability to care for a boy child, thinking the entire time there surely must be something wrong with me.

At some point in these 9 months (which are really 10, but whatever), weaselmomma reassured me that boys, while being vastly different, filled a mother's heart in a completely different way than girls. While eying her suspiciously, I nodded my understanding, was sure I would be the worst mother imaginable to a boy, and began fervently praying for a girl. Of course, as evidenced by my middle child, I have a son. And I have spent innumerable hours wondering if I am good enough.

See, in the irony of the universe, I did not have a normal son, or even the kinetic ball of energy I was dreading. I have Boy. From birth, he craved movement. Rocking and rolling at all hours of the day and night. As an infant I watched as his eyes grew puffy and his nose ran, insisting to the chicagoland doctor that he had allergies - which she poo-poo'd. Only to bring said infant to the ER unable to breathe 3 days later. As he suffered (w/our trusted sunnyland dr.) through illness after illness, nebulizers, CT scans, and 2 surgeries before the age of 3, Hubby and I watched, cared for, and prayed. But, even through all of this, he has always been happy.

So, when daycare and pre-k gave way to kindergarten, it was with alarm that I watched my joyful son turn into a melancholy, moody child. At his worst, he would lock himself in the pantry and cry out that he wished he would die. More often than not he would withdraw into himself and hide under the covers, the bed, or behind the cushions on the couch. How could this delightful child morph into this depressed boy? It must be my fault. I had surely done something wrong - he heard me in the womb and knew I wasn't good enough. Sounds crazy, I know, but tell that to yourself at 2 in the morning when the monsters are scratching at the spaces in your mind.

I had long since come to see the wisdom of weaselmomma's words, having at this point experienced years of the bond she had described between mother and son. I was determined to treat this as we had all of Boy's medical illnesses, when no one knew what the causes were, only that there was a cause. This proved to be the beginning of a new chapter in our relationship with Boy. The Questing Years.