Little Kids' Vacation 2014, Pt. 3

After a third night in Annapolis, Maryland we headed into New Jersey. We passed this guy on our way, and I asked Jim to pull over so I could take his photo.

Then...on to Storybook Land.

I'd been dreaming of a visit to Storybook Land in Egg Harbor Township for years, and I'm so happy to report: it was even better and more than I'd hoped. Jim and I couldn't get over its pristine condition. I felt all warm and fuzzy over the love being poured into the maintenance of its vintage offerings, especially.

Many of the structures include buttons one can push in order to hear relevant nursery rhymes and fairy tales. I walked into the giant shoe, for example; looked through glass (or plexiglass) at the girl and the stork-smooched baby in the photos below; and pushed a button to hear the familiar rhyme. Not all of the characters are made from the same materials as the characters below; while I didn't get a clear photo of the wolf from Red Riding Hood, it was large and furry, and it moved during the telling of the fairy tale!

Listening to Snow White, Looking in at the Witch

Sleeping Beauty's Castle...and (inside) Sleeping Beauty and Her Prince

I loved the Alice in Wonderland part of Storybook Land. It includes a cut-out and characters on one side of a cave that empties, on the other side, into a "playing card" maze. The cave itself features black-light-responsive murals and scenes: just really magical.

The Chapel of Peace endeared Storybook Land to me, too. A sign inside explains that an eighteen-year-old man built the tiny structure on his parents' property in 1885. Benediction was held there until the property was sold, at which time the chapel was moved to a cemetery where it fell into disuse before being purchased by and moved to Storybook Land.

The little kids enjoyed the rides. Storybook Land offers at least fifteen, and Chip could ride most of them.

Don't miss Chip's little face against his daddy!

I should mention that Storybook Land includes a little splash park; it isn't much, but the kids appreciated the opportunity to cool off.

I look at these images and know they speak for themselves. In all the best ways, I was overstimulated by this fifty-nine-year-old, fairy-tale park. My heart was full; I've never loved a place more. I'm so glad we made the trip, and New Jersey wasn't done blessing us, yet.

Little Kids' Vacation 2014, Pt. 2

After a second night at Hotel Quigley, we loaded up in the minivan and headed to Baltimore Inner Harbor. We have a two-year, family membership to the Museum of Science and Energy in Oak Ridge, Tennessee and can visit many other science museums for free. We visited four! such museums on our vacation, starting with the Maryland Science Center in Baltimore.

We did have to pay for the carousel just outside the museum; we love carousels.

With Jim's and Erin's help, my experience at the Maryland Science Center was relaxed and enjoyable, and the museum offers some cool things, including exhibits on dinosaurs and the body, a hands-on tornado vortex simulator, and a kids room.

Charleigh on the Bed of Nails

It was starting to spit rain as we left the museum, so we didn't stroll the harbor as we'd thought we might. Instead, we did some thrift shopping on the way back to Annapolis, then stopped to pick up the dinner Erin had ordered.

Dinner.

These Maryland Blue Crabs were Erin's treat and, by far, the most expensive dinner we ate on vacation. (We ate out of a cooler most of the time.) I've been picking crabs with Erin Quigley for...I don't know...at least twenty years, and she's made it a priority to teach my children to pick and enjoy them, too. She sent Cade a text message the other night, promising to buy more if he'd come visit. I love her generous heart. And Maryland Blue Crabs!

I have to end this post by sharing one of my favorite photos from all of vacation: Chip's playing in Erin's cooler with Erin's old, pink bunny. Doesn't it have amazing character about it? She sent it on up the road with us. What a beautiful person, and I wonder if I'll ever be able to fit the friend she is properly inside a blog post.

Little Kids' Vacation 2014, Pt. 1

We took a week-long trip. Cade didn't go with us; I'd told him our (mostly little-kid-oriented) plans and offered to wait until early August when he could go with us. He wasn't interested, so our trip coincided with his being at Scout camp. I told myself he'd had many adventures (including Disney World) in the nine years before he had siblings, also that he's going on vacation with his other family later this month; still, it felt a little strange to be on vacation without him.

We drove, first, to Erin Quigley's house in Annapolis. She's always glad--excited, even!--to have us. Jim worked from her house the next day while she and I took the little kids back to Clark's Eliok Farm in Ellicott City. (You can read about our first trip, here.) I enjoyed our second trip as much, maybe more, as the first.

As I've shared before, many of the structures from the former Enchanted Forest have been moved onto the farm, and it really is a magical place with admission of only $5/person. The five of us took a hayride, and the little kids each took a pony ride; still, my grand total was $41. (The farm also offers barrel-car rides and gem mining for small, additional fees. Check ahead if you're interested in gem mining, as it's available only at certain times.)

The photos below were taken near or inside the maze area of the farm, which is the part we hadn't explored previously.

 
Clark's Eliok Farm is one of my favorite places on earth. Erin said: "I think you enjoy this more than the kids," and yes, probably. My heart and camera love everything about it. Clementine's already at an age where she's looking for mechanical rides, but I would take these lovingly-crafted, fiberglass characters and structures over rides any day. I love the vibe of this place: the freedom to amble along in any old direction, to bring a packed lunch and break bread under a shade tree.

That evening, after Jim finished working, we all headed to the private beach area in Erin's neighborhood. The weather was perfect, the waves of the Chesapeake Bay gentle. It was magic of a different sort and a wonderful way to end the first day of vacation.

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Since at least ninth grade, I've never failed to think of you the week of your birthday. Matthew's birthday, skip two days, Mark's birthday, skip one day, your birthday. You and I were never much for talking on the phone, but every year, I sent love spiraling into Scott County, Tennessee for your birthday. I never forgot.

At the approach of what would've been your thirty-ninth birthday, I didn't have a fixed point for sending love, and it hurt me. I hurt all over, to be honest, from furrowing and clenching and fighting the urge to curl up and sleep (or die) in the shape of a comma. No good end. Just indefinite pause.

And I've seen you more in death than I had for many years in life, but I don't much know how to talk about this...or about my strange, knot-rendering grief. In my everyday life, there's no one who knew you...or me, as I was when we were pre-teens and teens. I don't know how to explain: you were neither relative nor love interest, ever, and we hadn't been close friends for twenty-couple years; still, your presence in the world steadied me.

I talked to Carlena a couple weeks ago, which helped because she was there for some of what you and I were. And then, the day before your birthday, I talked to Erin Quigley; I was in her company, and she's known me long enough to have determined I'm either not crazy or crazy but worth loving unconditionally, anyhow. I didn't know quite what to say to Carlena or Quigley, but both times, the release of air and liquid made me feel less like a pressure cooker and more capable of deep breath.

The day before your birthday, I lifted my little son onto the back of a pony and thought how happy you'd be to see it, and just on the heels of that, I decided to believe you could see it.

Then our little party walked into the woods and stumbled upon a gingerbread house, and I laughed with delight because gingerbread houses are part of our reality; I have made it so. I chose, in that moment, to believe you could see us in our sun-dappled spot in the woods. You're eternal! Maybe you're free from the confines of space and time, now. Maybe you're more with me, now, than ever. At the very least, I carry part of your story, and it's mine for the telling.

Armed with these thoughts, I stood before Erin Quigley's mirror the next day, your birthday, and decided to use my own eyes as a fixed point for sending love. I took a deep breath and said it; with all the love in my heart I said: "Happy Birthday, Jason!" And instead of entering me as I'd imagined they might, my words rose and scattered like a cloud of fluttering cabbage whites, making their way to (all the places) where you are.

Unblogged Happiness: June Edition

06/01 - Clementine's recital. I was in Tennessee with Jim (who had lost his mother two days before) and missed it. That was hard, but--given that Clementine had been practicing her ballet and tap routines since September--I'm so glad she was able to participate. I'm especially grateful to my mom, who drove eight hours to stand in for me, then delivered our precious girl to us in time for the funeral. 

Seven of Clementine's loved ones showed up to watch her recital. I put Cade in charge of flowers, and his sweet stepmother put together a special arrangement just for Clementine. The other dance moms were completely supportive. April's photos, below, are a gift. You find out who your friends are.

I can hardly wait to watch the recital DVD!

Photos by April Young

06/06 - Visit to my parents'. In the photo just below (top left), my parents were planting pastel M&Ms with the little kids. The funny thing is that--after dark, when the kids were asleep--Mom crept out to the planter to replace the M&Ms with lollipops only to discover that the M&Ms had already "sprouted and bloomed." She said it messed with her for a few seconds until she realized Dad had beaten her to the task.  

06/09 - Cade (far right) and our curly-headed friend Andrew advance to the rank of Star.

We'd returned from Tennessee with our nine-year-old nephew Boone and spent a couple weeks sharing our favorite things with him.
 

06/10 - Metro Richmond Zoo

06/13 - Bear Creek Lake

06/13 - Bear Creek Lake

06/14 - Water Country USA

06/20 - Science Museum of Virginia

06/20 - Science Museum of Virginia

06/22 - Mom had been in Maryland visiting family, and we met her in Staunton so Boone could hitch a ride home to East Tennessee. Afterward, we picked cherries at Spring Valley Orchard in Afton. 

06/27 - Daddy's girl. We'd had a big week: VBS for the girls, senior-citizen luncheon with our friends from the adult home, two trips to the pediatrician with Chip (who had the croup and an ear infection), and that's just scratching the surface, really, as I'd also taken a friend to the ER and visited two other hospitals to welcome/photograph new babies. I took this photo of Clementine and Jim at the event for culmination of VBS. She was pouting because it was time to go. I love this photo because I love this moody little girl, also this man who parents with everything he has.

06/28 - Honeybee Festival at Rockwood Park. This was our first time attending this free and educational event, and I'm so glad we went. The girls made bees out of pipe cleaners and had their faces painted. Clementine was all about the bee petting; did you know that drones (boy honey bees) don't sting? 

06/29 - Busch Gardens Williamsburg.

That's Cade's friend Sam carrying Charleigh (Top R). Cade's friends fit right into our family: an answer to prayer, for sure.

06/30 - Our first trip to Swift Creek Berry Farm for blueberries, this year. (We've been a second time, by now.)

I doubt that, in almost four years, I've ever blogged so little as I did, June. It would be easy to look as these photos and assume I was too busy, but truth is: I was too sad. I was doing what I do when I'm sad, which is to say: I tear up the road even more than usual; photograph even more than usual; bake even more than usual (think cherry and blueberry pies); and make even greater efforts, than usual, to fill that seventh seat of the minivan. These are constructive (or, at least, not destructive) ways to bring myself back around.

I do feel better, now, than I did. My life is beautiful and full, and I never didn't know that. If anything, I've been sad because my life is fleeting in its beauty and fullness. I feel that and have been fighting to enjoy the moment I'm in instead of grieving its too-quick passage. 

I'll leave you, for now, with some photos of the new babies in our lives: each so perfect and precious, each such a gift from heaven.

From Top to Bottom: Babies Caleb, Kayelynn, and Haven

On Breastfeeding. And.

My Favorite Breastfeeding Photo. Charleigh, April 2011.

This is, but isn’t, a post about my breasts. In case you’re already thinking you don’t want to read about my breasts, we’ll go with isn’t, or at least, isn’t just.

It seemed as though I were flat-chested forever, long after the other girls in my class. When my breasts grew at last, they grew over the course of one summer. The others wondered and whispered about me, come September: boob job over the summer?

And, no. They would’ve known the truth had they seen the stretch marks and general lack of perkiness under my bra. Truth is: I felt disappointed from the outset of my adult body. Braless, strapless, and backless have never worked well for me. Neither have spaghetti straps; my bra straps, under them, are three times as thick. Not cute.

(Praise be, nonetheless, for my bras. I wept when I at last discovered bras that offer proper support.)

I thought for the longest time that I’d have that boob job, some day: a reduction, a lift. After children, I told myself. After breastfeeding. I really did think that through, too, because I always supposed I’d bear and breastfeed children, just like my mother and her mother, before her.

After my first child was born, I learned that breastfeeding is neither as simple nor as easy as it sounds. My nipples cracked and bled, and my dad (who may have been my most impassioned champion) bought me a green, metal box of Bag Balm—a milk cow’s salve—from the Tractor Supply. It worked, but I became familiar with other discomforts over the next fourteen months: clogged ducts, a hole when my baby (who had, by his first birthday, every tooth save his two-year molars) bit clean through my nipple, and engorgement when I decided to go cold turkey on the entire operation.

Breastfeeding was harder than I’d expected. From start to finish, it required more than I’d expected. But the painful, sacrificial aspects of the experience made it even more precious to me, and in recent years, I've breastfed three more children. To date, I’ve spent five years and three-and-a-half months of my life breastfeeding. I never guessed that I’d spend so much time...that I’d breastfeed my way into my forties...that I'd breastfeed a twenty-month-old child.

I never guessed that at forty years of age, after spending five years and three-and-a-half months of my life breastfeeding, I’d often grow weepy when thinking of weaning a twenty-month-old!

I’m not writing to tell you what to do, and why. I’ve fed and loved my babies by breastfeeding, but there are other ways to do these things. So many other ways.

I’m writing to tell you: I’ve come to love my less-than-perky breasts, stretch marks and all. A neonatal nurse walked into my hospital room, once, as I breastfed one of my infant daughters: “Wow!” she exclaimed: “You have the most perfect breastfeeding breasts I’ve ever seen!” My heart swelled, in that moment, with gratitude for not only her kind, perspective-changing words but also the fearful and wonderful way in which I am made.

There will be no boob job.

But I promised you that this isn’t just a post about my breasts. I mean for it to be a post about patience, a means through which I encourage you to love yourself: even the parts that you deem imperfect or unlovely. Because you may just discover that those parts are the ones that serve you best, define you in some gorgeous way, or spill unspeakable joy into your life. You may just. I hope this for you.