Then And Now

Then...

And now...

It has become a yearly tradition for us to load up and head to Snowshoe for Memorial Day weekend. It sort of kicks off summer. Once again we got lucky with great weather. The only bummer was the fact that the pool was closed. On Saturday evening, we decided to head to the same restaurant as we did last year. And believe it or not but the same little boy from last year was there with his parents! My camera was screaming for pictures!

I tried everything I could to recreate a few pictures from last year but the kids were too busy running. My pictures last year were 30493 times better last year. One would think that I would have improved over a year! I even tried to have them stand beside one another.

This was right before she said to him, "so do you like my dress?"

And then he looked at her like she had three heads! HA! But he did say "yes" when his momma asked him if he heard the question.

I finally connected all of the dots and figured out that this little boy is a summer neighbor of one of the judges I work for. For most of the year he lives in New York City. But come summer he heads down to Pocahontas County with his parents where his dad runs a summer camp.

Small world.

Strawberry Shortcake

If I lived in an alternate, parallel, sideways, universe. A universe without me one day learning that I was in fact DEAD and living in this made-up alternate, parallel, sideways universe, I would be farmer. In Tuscany. In an old farmhouse. Chickens would be laying eggs. I would grow asparagus. I would wear a floppy hat and bright Wellies and look cool and Jcrew like wearing these items while picking tomatoes. And we would feast Italian style and despite the constant eating I would remain skinny.

But alas, there's no parallel universe pour moi. So to get my occasional home grown fix, I drag my kid out strawberry picking. She loved it. For awhile. Then she claimed that strawberry picking was making her a sweaty mess so we really should get going.

It boggles my mind that I live in a state stretches of nothingness but land that you could throw some fruits and veggies on and there are but a few "pick your own" and farmers markets. I swear, if you build it, WE WILL COME. That teeny tiny strawberry patch was full of people. I did hear of a blueberry patch in Poca that should be ready for picking in July.

We'll be there.

With our basket.

50 Months

Boy am I ever slacking in these monthly posts! I have one kid and one monthly thing I'd like to do and I can't. I wonder if it weren't for the TV show if Michelle Dugger would be taking notes on each and every one of her kids?

So here we are. 50 months or 4 years and 2 months to be exact. (Side note, I totally just wrote down 38 months, 3 years and 2 months, wow. It really is hard for me to wrap my head around you being a four year old.)

This past month we've been moving steady and surely into warmer weather. We face mornings that sometimes start out cold and then end up blistering hot. It's days like these that I've always had trouble picking out clothes for you. In fact, I find it hard to pick stuff out for myself on these days. 9 times out of 10 I end up over or under dressing you. But the point is that for four years and 2 months you have yet to flip your wig over me picking out your clothes. I thank the heavens above for this little gift. I know that ulitmely the day will come that you'll flat out refuse to put one something that I have picked out. So for now I'm going to hold on tight to one of the few remnants of babyness of you that I have left.

GiGi took you over to your great-grandparents last weekend. Mae has a broken arm and you wanted to go and visit her to make sure she had a pink casts like yours. I guess since you are a member of the broken arm club you felt as though you could relate. According to Gi, you cracked your great-grandparents up at dinner. After pawpaw Choo Choo had given the blessing, you looked that 83 year old man in the eye and said, "pawpaw you pray waaaay too long. Here allow me to do it." You then went through your "god is good, god is great" spiel, looked back at your 83 year old great-grandfather and said, "now isn't that much better pawpaw?" I guess they could have been appalled that you would speak to your elders in such a way. But the last time I checked neither one of them had a stick lodged where it shouldn't be. So instead they got a case of the giggles and had to admit that yes in fact, dear 4 year old great -granddaughter of ours, pawpaw prays entirely too long.

Your curiosity has just about pushed your dad over the edge this month. On more than one occasion you have asked, "just how did that baby get into Stephanie's belly?" So far he's managed to deflect this one with answers like, "ask your mom" or "why not just ask Stephanie." HA! You've asked me quite a few times. I've given you some lame-o story about growing up, falling in love and getting married. You have in fact asked Stephanie, and I think she might have told you God (perhaps Stephanie had an immaculate conception?). But I can see in your eyes that these answers aren't quite enough. The wheels are turning. You haven't pushed the question further, but I have a feeling that sooner rather than later you are going to want a better explanation!

There are other things you are curious about as well. Just last week I walked into your bathroom only to see you standing in front of toilet, pants down, lid up, trying to pee like a boy. Just another normal day here at the Carr house. When I asked you what in the world you thought you were doing, you cooly informed me that you were going to give this peeing while standing thing a whirl. Because, duh, girls can do anything boys can do. True my baby girl, true. If there is one thing that has sunk into your little head it's that you can do and become anything you want regardless of whether you are a boy or a girl, so why shouldn't peeing while standing be included? And to that I say, pee as you must.

Happy 4 years and 2 months Little Bit.

Love Mama

Eau de toilette

It has been cool and rainy this week. BLAH. Leave it to May to throw a few 85 degree days at you and then slam you back down into the 60s. I was really getting the summer itch. Ran out and bought ferns and flowers for the porch. Packed up all of Sophie's winter clothes. Listened to Will Smith's "Summer Time" on iTunes. And then there's that smell. Not the scent of fresh cut lawns, although there is that lovely aroma that announces the arrival of better days. A different smell. I call it the "outside smell." It's a certain scent that little kids carry around after a long day spent playing outside. Running in and out of water. In and out of the house while I scream "shut the door you're letting my flies out!" Which I then shutter because I sound EXACTLY like my mother. Breathless little sweaty bodies with grimy hands begging for popsicles. And in and out of dirt.

Last Friday Little Bit had "outside smell" x 100. She was out from sun up until literally sun down. And she screamed and cried when it was time to come in. When it had gotten so dark that you could no longer see the hole you were digging with a shovel.

It started early in the morning with a busting out of the sprinkler. (I like how we let them run on wet concrete :0) Guess we should re-think that one!)

Followed by a few failed attempts at the slip and slid, which had to be called off due to rocks in the yard. Our 5 year old neighbor took a run at it with all of his might to show the little ones just how it was done. It was successful and his mom and I were cheering and whooping on the side saying things like "oh yea, it's your birthday! That's how it's done!" Until we saw the look on his face and his stomach riddle with scratches and scraps. I swear these things worked better in the 80s'.

Then off to play tag and swing. And it ended late that evening, stripped down to underwear, building a beach with a few girls. It's highly likely that the sand they were using is a designated poop spot for the cats across the street. I pointed this fact out and one of the girls informed me that they had yet to find the first cat poop so they were dubbing it safe. Nar-sty.

And this was the point that she screamed and cried. I can't imagine not wanting to leave a poop pit filled with creek water. She got a LOOOOOONG hot bath that night to wash away all the funk and along with it the outside smell. But it'll be back. She'd live outside if we let her.

Derby Days

I've never been to the Kentucky Derby. Or any horse race for that matter. And the closest I've been to any type of "derby" would have to be the Sigma Chi "derby days" at WVU. Although I don't think it has anything to do with horses either. If I remember correctly, that derby involves racing soap boxes down high street, bands, and Budweiser trucks with kegs attached.

My neighbors have been to the Kentucky Derby. Actually, they've been to the chaos that is the center ring. So they decided to have a Kentucky Derby party. Not a center ring type party either (those can get a little wild and out of control and involve lots of boobs) but a little fancier with mint juleps, Kentucky Derby pie, and fancy hats. Besides we are all over 30 and have about a million of these:

Owen, Ben, and Sophie. I can tell you now that the way Sophie and Ben fight they are possibly destined to be married. At the end of the night a fight ensued over a bouncey ball to which Ben rightfully declared "I HAD IT FIRST." To which my daughter replies, "SO, I HAD IT SECOND AND YOU AREN'T SHARING SO GIVE IT TO ME!"

Meet the Mint Julep.

Let-me-tell-ya, this is the nastiest concoction on the planet. I like mojitos. I like mint. But 2 ounces of straight bourbon and only a teaspoon of mint infused sugar water does not make for a delicious cocktail. Instead, it makes for a lethal weapon. Force these upon terrorists and they just might beg to be water boarded.

Enter, the ladies.

See that one on the end? That's me. Don't want you to get confused with this:

Jesus! If that doesn't get you on your treadmill I don't know what will!

Enter some of the fellas.

Like Steven's bow tie? He had to borrow it from Jared. Thanks Jared! And he had to watch some British guy on YouTube 39384 times to learn how to tie the thing while standing in front of a mirror.

And it needs straighted up by one big daddy's girl.

Poor kid. She was the only little girl out of 8 boys. There had been a 7 year old little girl but she didn't stay very long. She got a little frustrated and kept asking us if it was time to go home because all of the boys were sucked into a movie about aliens.

So home by 10 but felt like 5 am. Getting old sucks. But nice that we were only 5 houses away from our comfy beds. And by the way I love our new neighborhood. It's taken awhile for me to realize that neighborhoods are what you make them. If you want to throw a party because the sun is out then invite some neighbors over. They'll come. If you sit around wishing that you could live in a place that does cool things like block parties and egg hunts don't just wish, make it happen. Get a pink bike and race a 10 year year old down the street. You'll loose but she'll think you are cool for trying.