An Open Letter to WRAL's Meterologist

A friend emailed the following letter last night -- it cracked me up, so I asked him if I could post it on my blog today (in lieu of the usual Friday's Five) as his blog is currently on hiatus. Thankfully he said yes (because he's a lawyer type, I couldn't publish without permission for fear of legal action).

The post is all the funnier because of the big, fluffy white flakes currently falling outside my window. Better luck next time, my friend -- last night, I was sure you'd be right!

________

Dear Greg,

I am on to you. It's a twisted little game you got going on, and I will not let it stand. See, Fishel, we've been down this road before, you and me. And as our former president famously said, "Fool me once, shame on — [pauses] - shame on you. Fool me — You can't get fooled again."

Here is the deal. You played this wintry weather scare game on the night of my wife's baby shower. Your dire warnings of 'frozen precipiatation' scared all my native southern friends from venturing outdoors. You made it sound like a flake of snow was akin to the ebola virus. Your 28 years of experience freaking out the natives might get you some street cred with the bread-buying, beer-hoarding locals, but I am not from here and I am hip to your reindeer games.

So, anyway, on that faithful night two years ago, me and my poor wife were just sitting at friend's house, alone, in the dark. No friends to wish our new arrival well. No cute baby clothes. No silly games we have decided here in the 21st are somehow an acceptable way to wish a couple well. And the worst part? The roads were dry. Bone dry. Yancey County dry. Dry enough for even the most southern of my friends to drive safely on.

So this time, Fishel (if that's your real name), I am choosing to ignore your doppler 5000 and your accuweather predictions.

I am going to the Raleigh Times at 11:55 tomorrow. I am going to enjoy my [monthly lunch group]. And when I hear your dire predictions of wintry weather, I will spitefully laugh and ruefully think of my young son and how he was forced to go without shower presents, all because you couldn't get your shower predictions right.

Yours in accurate forecasting,
Damon

Image from WRAL.com.

Merry Pumpkins

We got our tree this weekend, much to the delight of my son. I usually have a pretty strict no-Christmas-decorating-until-after-my-birthday policy -- I'm not a fan of losing my big day in everyone else's holiday festivities -- but he's been nagging me for a month and I couldn't take it anymore.

My neighbor was similarly appalled horrified concerned about my delayed decorating plan -- and the fact that my (uncarved) pumpkins were still sitting on the front porch from Halloween. So she took matters into her own hands last week.

One day, when I returned home with my kids after an outing to the park, we found this:

Hilarious! She's brilliant -- and she's got a lot of felt. Have I mentioned how much I love living here? And do you think the pumpkins will last long enough for her to come over with bunny ears in a few months?

I Knew Them When

I'm a big believer in being nice to people along the way because you just never know who they're going to turn out to be. Like the neighbor who used to tease me on the bus in 6th grade and pick on me at junior high? We ended up friends in college -- now he's an international celebrity and business mogul, posting Facebook pictures of himself posing with beautiful models and seated next to Will Smith on a recent flight. I get to live vicariously through him (from the safety of my laptop), while enjoying the image of that little 6th-grade kid turned glamorous grown-up.

Another great example is John Bemis -- we were classmates and friends in college, both studying to become teachers. Now, in addition to having a successful career in education, he's also a published author. Head on over to Triangle Mamas to read my post about his new book, The Nine-Pound Hammer. The book is great and makes a nice holiday gift, too.

Why I'm Not Good at Online Dating

The fact that I tried on four different outfits -- even though I was running late and my children were running wild -- suggested I was heading out on a blind date.

In truth, it was something much more frightening. An almost-blind dinner date with eight other women. And not just any women -- blogging women. I felt like an impostor, someone who got invited to a secret meeting by accident. Although I was with a friend and had met two of the other bloggers before, the rest were all new to me.

As I got ready, I fretted about looking too mom-ish, looking like I tried too hard, like I didn't try hard enough. What if they write about me afterward on their blogs? Or what if they don't write about me at all? What if they realize that I'm just over here blabbing random things about whatever is on my mind with no ads or marketing or serious focus? What if I get food stuck in my teeth and then smile all through the meal and no one tells me?

Or what if I just take a deep breath and realize that they're all lovely and interesting people who happen to be moms (like me) who enjoy writing (like me).

Breathe in... Breathe out... In... Out...

And so of course, it was all fine. I enjoyed meeting the other ladies, sharing stories, finding small world connections. I think it's something we'll do again -- and thankfully I won't stress out so much next time. Although I am worried that I've violated some sort of blogging code by being the only one from the dinner to write about it. Was there some sort of what-happens-at-blogger-dinner-stays-at-blogger-dinner pledge that no one told me about?

Ugh. Dating is hard.

There's a Reason Babies Are So Cute

Last week, I got the happy email news that a close friend had delivered a healthy baby boy.

To say she's had a challenging pregnancy would be an understatement, so her news brought great relief as well as joy. In addition to a range of craziness at home -- caring for her toddler, listing and selling her home, and working with her husband through a job change -- the last nine months included the following:

• 18 weeks of all day and night "morning" sickness
• 1 bout with the stomach flu
• 1 second trimester hospitalization and surgery for a kidney/bladder blockage
• 12 inches of a coil stent to open the blockage for the remainder of the pregnancy
• 3.5 months of pain and contractions
• 16 weeks of partial bed-rest
• 7 ultrasounds
• 7 days of home quarantine with attack of the H1N1 flu
• 11 hours of induced labor
• 1 epidural that came out and stopped working between the 4 to 10 cm dilation
• 7 pushes

Despite those painful numbers, she still got some beautiful results: 6 lbs. 4 oz. of perfect baby boy. And even though that baby has caused her an awful lot of pain over the past few months, she's already in love with him.

Unlike my friend, I'm really good at being pregnant -- I get enormous and round, but I had it so easy both times (until about week 39). Turns out I'm not so good at the delivery part -- both babies required c-sections to make their entrance into the world (see photo of Junius, fresh after his arrival). I still struggle at times with the fact that my babies' beginnings didn't match up with my Hollywood vision of what delivery would look like -- that dramatic moment when I squeeze my husband's hand, push the baby out, and immediately get to hold him close and love him. (And in that vision, of course, I'm wearing make-up, looking flushed but lovely. And the baby is all clean and beautiful, with no cone-head. And I instantly lose 40 pounds so I can wear my regular jeans home from the hospital. But I digress.)

I know it's a cliche, but my friend's experience reminded me that it doesn't matter how you become a mama, as long as you get to love the baby that makes you one. Whether through c-section or induction or adoption or marriage or fertility treatments or a drug-free birth, those babies arrive in our lives and they love us and they make us love them back. And it's a damn good thing they're so cute -- they have the power to make us forget everything else.

Friday's Five: The Wedding

Yesterday, while most eyes (including the sweet groom's) were focused on the beautiful bride featured above, mine were fixed on that adorable little ring-bearer. Our family met the bride when Junius was 5 months old -- she was one of his first regular babysitters and has been an adopted member of our family ever since.

The celebration of marriage was wonderful and beautifully personalized by this special couple -- and of course, my favorite part was seeing how happy they were to be getting married. But here are five other favorite details about the big day:

1. Junius in a tuxedo: Did I mention he was adorable? I'm talking crazy cute. The best was watching him tap dance in his shiny tuxedo shoes during the reception. I'm thinking we could rent him out as a ring-bearer for other weddings to help pay for college later on. He was that sweet.
   
   
2. Kid-friendly event: Not many young couples would purposely invite lots of small children to their wedding. But this event not only allowed the kids, the bride and groom went out of their way to make sure they were included. From fancy corn dogs in the buffet line to dancing the hokey-pokey to a special photo of the bride with all her babysitting charges, it was a great wedding for the little ones.
   
   
3. Musical favor: The bride and groom created a CD for their guests, calling it "a condensed playlist of our lives... so far." With tracks from Avett Brothers, Iron & Wine, The Shins and Wilco, it's not your usual wedding fare -- which is exactly what makes it so fantastic.
   
   
4. Ring-bearer gift: One of the most useful gifts ever, this basket (shown below) came in black with Junius's name embroidered in blue along the side. For the wedding and reception, I loaded it up with coloring books (and those Color Wonder markers that only write on the magic paper), snacks, tissues and pajamas (for the ride home). Stylish and functional -- doesn't get any better than that.
   
   
5. High heels: Okay, so I realize this last one is more about me than the event, but it was kind of a big deal. Despite my general fear of tall shoes, I found some very cute peep toe heels that I could actually walk in. Sadly, I can't find a picture of them online, and the only picture that shows my feet in them is one that Junius took and the awkward angle makes my legs appear chunky and I'm too vain to post it. But trust me that I was walking in heels, and they look good.
   

Congratulations to our friends -- thank you for letting us celebrate with you! May you always love each other and enjoy each other as much as you did on your wedding day.

P.S. Looks like the "Friday" post over the weekend is getting to be a regular event. My apologies... I never have been good at being on time, but at least I'm getting it done.

Friday's Five: Motherhood is Hard

Today's Friday's Five takes a different approach -- not favorites this time, but still a list of five things you might need to hear. Or that I, at least, need to get off my conscience.

A friend called me a few weeks ago and I knew the minute I heard her voice that something was wrong. Long story short, her 1-year-old daughter had fallen down the stairs, she was panicked about what to do and immediately called me. Why me? I'm not a nurse, pediatrician or doctor of any sort -- but I am a mom who had done something we moms don't do often enough. I had admitted to my friend, about a year ago, that Pippi had fallen down our stairs -- so I was the first person my friend thought to call.

In our ongoing efforts to be Super Mom (and Super Wife, Super Friend, Super Daughter, Super Sister and Super Employee, all rolled into one), I think we often forget (or are afraid) to confess our disasters to friends who need to know that we're not as perfect as we're trying to be. But the truth is, none of us is alone in these failings -- and it's so much easier to bear when we know that.

So when Pippi fell down the stairs that day -- after she had stopped crying and I had recovered from the agony of watching her tumble and bounce 14 times onto the (faux) wood floor, racing behind her but unable to catch her -- I called my friend, told her the story, and said, "One day, this, or something like it, is going to happen to you and Baby L. And you will cry and gnash your teeth and think that you are a bad mother. And then you will remember this conversation, you will remember that it happened to me, and you will know that babies with very good mommies still sometimes get bumps and bruises."

It turned out that Baby L, just like Pippi, was fine -- and it took both of us moms much longer to recover than it did our daughters. But after the fact, Baby L's mom reminded me what an important gift of friendship it was to know we are not alone in our less-stellar parenting moments.

And now, in the spirit of friendship, five failings in my 4+ years of motherhood so that maybe you'll feel less alone in yours:

1. Pippi fell down the stairs: I think we've covered that story, but it was totally my fault and I can still see her face as she fell. Thank goodness she has such a hard head.
   
2. Junius fell off the bed: He was probably about 18 months, jumping on my bed. I reached to grab him, he thought we were playing chase and tumbled off the side, hitting his head on the table on his way down. A heart-breaking sound.
3. Pippi fell off the couch: She was less than 6 weeks old. I don't know how she wiggled off, but she did. Face plant on the hardwood floors. Even as a second-time mom, I was terrified that I had broken her forever.
4. Junius rode in the car unbuckled: He was a few months old, riding in his infant car seat snapped into the stroller through the mall. I unbuckled him to nurse while we were shopping, then put him back in. When we got home, I realized I never clipped the seat belt back and had driven home that way. The "what-ifs" nearly drowned me.
   
5. Pippi ran into the parking lot: We were at the N.C. Farmer's Market with friends, all four kids playing so nicely. Suddenly, my friend shouts Pippi's name and I realize she's somehow about to step into traffic. Don't know how she got there, but I nearly broke my ankle racing to snatch her out of the road. Took hours for my heart rate to slow back to normal.

I am so thankful that all of these disasters had happy endings. I'm touching, knocking and pressing on wood now in hopes that I haven't jinxed myself. Feel free to leave comments of your own moments to share, but find solace in knowing you're not alone.

I Would Like to Thank the Academy...

I started this blog on a whim and kept going simply because I enjoy it. But truth be told, I also really like knowing that other people are reading it and enjoying it, too.

So imagine my delight when I received this Honest Scrap Award, along with one of the nicest compliments ever, from a fellow blogger and high school classmate (who I probably haven't seen since the ol' GHS days). I don't actually know why it's called the Honest Scrap Award, but these days I'll take the kudos wherever I can get them.

Here's how it works:

1) Say thanks and give a link to the presenter of the award.
Thanks, Dobbygirl! You should all check out her Spry on the Wall blog to learn WAY more about the hottest fashion, coolest hotels and other textile-related gems than you'll ever learn here at Juni&Pip. Plus you might get a glimpse of her sweet red-headed baby as a bonus.

2) Share "10 Honest Things" about myself.
Brace yourselves.

3) Present this award to 7 others whose blogs I find brilliant in content and/or design, or those who have encouraged me. See list at the end of this post.

4) Tell those 7 people they've been awarded HONEST SCRAP and inform them of these guidelines in receiving. Check your latest post for a comment from me, fellow bloggy friends.

Now for the 10 Honest Things:

1. I have never been to a Nascar race. I don't really want to go to one, but feel that it's a gap in my Southern Girl pedigree (which includes eating barbecue and knowing how to dance the shag).
2. I read the funnies every day in the newspaper. I skip "Family Circus," "Wizard of Id," "Hagar the Horrible," "Beetle Bailey," "Curtis" and "B.C." because I just don't think they're funny. Life is too short to waste on bad comics.
   
3. In high school, I totaled my mother's Volvo by accidentally running a red light. It really was an accident and I really was on my way home from volunteering at the homeless shelter. I still think about it every time I drive through that intersection and remember that I'm lucky to be here.
4. My husband has no sense of smell (seriously), so I can fart quietly at home and he never knows it.
5. I find extreme pleasure in peeling the little clear clingy covers off of electronic gadget screens.
6. Before I go to the Harris Teeter at our fancy-schmancy neighborhood shopping center, I feel compelled to put on lipstick. I do not have the same urge when I go to Costco, Food Lion or Kroger.
7. I am not good at walking in high heels, so I don't own them. This makes me sad because I think they're sexy and my husband probably does, too (on me, not him, just to be clear).
8. I had mono when I was 30. And no, I did not get it from kissing. But lost a lot of weight and strangely enjoyed being super thin.
   
9. I love to eat hot dogs and drink Diet Coke at football games. I do not think about what is in either one -- it's better that way.
10. Although I should be old enough to know better, I still get insecure from time to time about whether or not my friends really like me.

TMI? Well, if you need something else to read now, check out these bloggers and newest recipients of the Honest Scrap Award (in no particular order):

• Canape at Don't Take the Repeats - My friend who inspired me to start this blog. I get to live across the street from her (thanks for not moving away!), but you can pretend you do too if you read her fantastic blog.
  
• Abby at My Sweet Babboo - Fellow Triangle Mama blogger and super crafty (in a cool, not-obnoxious way) smart mom. If you're stuck on a rainy day with your kids, you want tips from Abby's blog.
  
• Kristy at Le Petit Blog - I was her babysitter when I was 13. Now she's a grown-up graphic designer offering recipes, decorating tips and pop culture news on her stylish blog. I figure she needs to come redecorate at my house as payback for letting her stay up past bedtime when she was 8.
  
• Stella at So Beautiful and So Ordinary - My long-lost high school friend, delightfully rediscovered on FB, she writes honestly about teaching, parenting and living in San Franciso.
  
• Stephanie at Figments - One of the first bloggers I didn't know in real life who started reading and commenting on my blog (thank you!). Like me, she writes about parenting, work, life, and whatever catches her mind -- good stuff and a lovely design.
  
• Postmark Here - Reading this blog, by a friend from my British-grad-school days (and former L.A. Times reporter), is like getting digital postcards in your blog reader. You'll enjoy the peeks into her travels, whether overseas or just to the corner bar. And her masthead is perfect.
  
• Damon at Little Circostas' Media Grab - Another neighborhood blogger, this is the only blog in my reader written by a dad. He's funny, clever -- and his son is adorable. His wife also has a great blog, but you have to know the secret handshake to get in.
  

Ta-da!

Handsome Guy Wins Heart of Younger Girl, Romance Ensues

News of Patrick Swayze's death this week has no doubt prompted thousands of blog posts. This post comes by specific request from one of my BFFs, with whom I watched Dirty Dancing many times and who emailed me yesterday to say, "If I still had a Netflix subscription, I would move it to the top of my queue."

When Dirty Dancing came out in 1987, I was in 9th grade. It was an awkward, but hopeful time for me. As a high school freshman, the movie played nicely into my imaginary world (along with Sixteen Candles and Pretty in Pink), where the handsome, popular, older guy suddenly noticed quiet, smart, younger (and let's be honest, somewhat dorky) me and swept me off my feet and into the time of my life.

Sadly, that never quite happened in high school. But it didn't stop me from watching Dirty Dancing over and over and over again, particularly at sleepover parties with my girlfriends. Although we never discussed it, I assume we were all thinking the same thing:

"If it can happen to Baby, it can happen to me! No one will put me in a corner!"

As it turned out, the handsome, popular, older guy did notice me in (grad) school one day, years later when I'd convinced myself that those things didn't happen in real life. There was less leaping and dancing in my version (and fewer cut-off jean shorts), but just as much knee-weakening and heart-fluttering. Now when Pippi is old enough to watch Dirty Dancing, I'll be able to tell her -- after she finishes mocking the 80s -- to believe in the dream, to trust that true love will find her, to know that she is beautiful.

Of course, then I'll tell her that she has a 10 o'clock curfew and isn't allowed to go anywhere alone with a boy. And just like that, I'll find myself identifying less with Baby and more with Baby's parents. Wow.

Photo from Virgin Media.

Floyd, Fear and Flying Far

Ten years ago tomorrow, I boarded a plane at the Greensboro airport en route to Cardiff, Wales.

I was terrified. I don't like to fly under the best of circumstances, but my connector flight to D.C. was to be the last (tiny) plane out before the airport closed due storms from Hurricane Floyd. The turbulence from bad weather alone would have been enough to tie my stomach in knots.

But my fear of going halfway around the world to live for a year -- without my family, friends or even a passing acquaintance -- meant I hadn't eaten or slept much for the few days preceding the flight, leaving me a weak, sniffling disaster with a passport and a whole lot of luggage. If not for the support of one of my dearest friends who waited with me at the D.C. airport and another BFF who made a care package to keep me entertained on the flight to London, I might not have survived the trip.

When I arrived at my flat in Cardiff the next day, alone and exhausted, I was certain I had made the biggest mistake of my life. That night, I began my first journal entry with these words:

"I am courage. At least that's what Mom said when I called her from my host Rotarian's house sobbing at 5 p.m. She said that courage isn't being unafraid; it's being afraid, but still facing your fears. So, here I am, facing them."

She was right, of course (moms usually are), although it took several weeks before I believed her. And the year, spent studying magazine journalism at Cardiff University as a Rotary Ambassadorial Scholar, was one of the best decisions I ever made.

In celebration of that decision and in thanks to my parents for helping me find the courage I needed a decade ago, I'll be posting excepts from my year abroad over the next month -- some snippets from my journals, but also copy from feature articles I wrote while I was there. Since I wasn't tech-savvy enough to be on the forefront of blogging in 1999, I'm taking this opportunity to relive the experience now -- hope you don't mind coming along on the trip.

Thankful for Blue Skies

Friday's Five will return next week. Today's date simply required a different post than usual.

Today is a day for remembering, a date that has become a proper noun -- Nine-Eleven. For many people, today means mourning the loss of loved ones, recounting stories of where they were when they heard the horrible news, honoring those who worked so hard to save the lives of others, wondering how eight years have passed so quickly. It is a day that reminds us of endings.

For me, today also brings memories of beginnings. I got married on the Saturday after 9/11, on what would have been an ordinary, blue-sky wedding day but what became a much-needed reminder that there was still life to celebrate in spite of the extraordinary tragedy of that week.

Although several family members and friends were unable to make it to our wedding (no flights from California or Texas -- and as my brother-in-law said, by the time their flight was officially canceled, they couldn't have driven to North Carolina in time), we were fortunate that our "big day" still took place as planned. And we were truly honored by the extra effort many friends and family made in order to be there with us, driving long distances or (in the case of two friends) catching the first re-scheduled flights out.

It was a beautiful day, that Saturday. I was a crazy bride, and probably owe apologies all around, but it really was beautiful. And it was such a blessing, on that day of all days, to be able to sing and dance and laugh and love and kiss and hope and be thankful.

This photo, taken by my cousin on the afternoon following the wedding, appears to be simply a shot of the country club where we had our reception -- at first glance, I thought this picture did nothing more than show how perfect the weather was that day.

But look closely -- although it's hard to make out in the scanned-in reproduction, there are two telling signs of the week captured here. See the flag? Even four days later, it is still at half-staff. And just above it? A fine white line of jet exhaust. Flights started taking off from PTI that morning.

This picture captures nothing of the ceremony or the celebration that kicked off our now eight years of marriage. But I treasure it as a reminder of how fortunate we are to be living a beautiful, ordinary, blue sky life.

Definitely Not the Duggars

Four summers ago, we met the T and H families here at the beach. They had come down together from Charlotte, but it was a happy coincidence for us that we were staying next-door to families who each had a one-year-old like us. We bonded over early morning playtime on the beach (why can't these little ones understand the joy of sleeping in on vacation?!) and had so much fun that we made plans to return to the same place same week every year.

Since that first summer, our group has grown from three babies across three families to nine kids and four families (two with three kids each). For my children, it's all the fun of having seven extra cousins without any of the work. For me, it's a joy to have interesting people to talk with and share life with, outside the busy context of our "regular" worlds back home.

One of the topics of conversation this summer has started with the lead-in, "So are you guys done?"

Over the past year, my husband and I seriously considered joining the three-is-the-new-two approach to family planning (I mean really, I have SO many friends with three kids now). In fact, it was a tougher decision than I expected. After growing up in a family of four, I always assumed I would have two kids as well -- but it's such an amazing thing to create a tiny person out of nothing and then watch him or her grow, it's almost addictive. Our children are beautiful, healthy, funny, smart and interesting (if we do say so ourselves), so why wouldn't we want more? Plus, maybe if we had another one, I'd get one who looked even remotely like me (although probably not).

But my response to the question this week has been, "Yep. We're done." Followed immediately by a long-winded explanation of why we made that choice, including a host of reasons like...

• our age (I was already "advanced maternal age" when Pippi was born, which is still several years younger than my husband)
• our cars (which are paid for, but can't hold more than two car seats)
• our energy levels (severely depleted after not sleeping through most nights for the past four years)
• our marriage (which doesn't get nearly the attention it deserves while we try to manage everything else)
• our concerns about a third c-section (which means a longer, more painful postpartum)
• our finances (which are holding on for the moment, but would get thin with more family members requiring food, clothes and college funds)
  

I'm not sure why I can't just answer, "Yes -- our family is complete," and leave it at that. Maybe it's because, ultimately, I'm afraid I can't handle a third -- just not organized enough or patient enough or creative enough to manage any more than the chaos I already have. My tenuous hold on sanity and good parenting might not survive two more little hands pulling me in every direction, accompanying me on every trip to the toilet, making demands on my every waking (and sometimes sleeping) minute. If I'm honest, I think we're done because I'm done.

But then I hold a sweet new baby, sniff that fresh baby head, cuddle those tiny rolls and creases. In that moment, I think maybe just maybe we rushed into the decision to stop, maybe there's another baby in my heart, maybe we really could manage three.

And then that sweet new baby starts to cry or spit up or fuss and I remember how hard and exhausting and lonely those new babies can make me feel. And I'm over it.

Thankfully, our beach friends aren't done yet, so maybe there will be more sweet babies to hold and snuggle and sniff next year -- and then (thank goodness) quietly hand them back to their parents.

Note: If you don't get the title of the post (or if you have suggestions for a 19th "J" name), go here. And if you haven't commented on my post for the contest at Triangle TRACKS yet, Friday is your last chance.

Friday's Five: Beach Time

I'm on beach time, where the days and hours blend and melt one into the other. Where you have to check the paper to know what day it is, except that you don't remember the last time you looked at the news. So I'm pretending it's still Friday, even though it's Saturday night now and might be Sunday by the time I get this posted.

We've been at the beach since Wednesday, visiting with my long-time friend, Shannon, and her family. It's our first time here with four children (her two and my two), plus both husbands over the weekend. The definition of crazy fun -- sometimes just crazy and sometimes just fun, but always worthwhile.

Here are five things I love about spending time at the beach with a friend who's known me since my single days and continues to be my friend after all these years:

1. Watching our kids turn themselves into little shake-n-bake babies, coating every inch of their sweet bodies with sand and loving every minute of it (see photo). Then bathing all four of them together in the shower outside the beach house, soaping and re-soaping until their tiny white tushies are all clean.
   


2. Reading a book, an actual, wonderful, honest-to-goodness novel. Shannon finished it on Wednesday and I burned through the 400+ pages by Saturday night. Not only was The Help a great book, I finally made the time to read. Of course, it helps that Shannon and our husbands were there to entertain the kids so that I could read uninterrupted for more than 15 minutes.
   


3. Staying up too late, talking about everything from Michael Jackson to forgotten friends to Punxsutawney Phil to our families to saving turtles to where we want to buried (or not) when we die. We might not have solved the world's problems, but it's way more fun than chatting on Facebook.
   


4. Wearing a bikini on the beach, because it makes my husband happy to see me in one and I don't feel self-conscious around Shannon because she loves me in spite of myself. And she has probably had as many body-image issues as I have over the years (although hers are different ones than mine and she looks fantastic).
   


5. Having a schedule, which sounds counter-intuitive for the beach -- but only if you don't know Shannon. She's a planner, in the most high-maintenance way, and I love it. We always know what we're going to do and when we're going to do it -- when the schedule is filled with nap times, snack times, trips to the pool and the beach, you can sign me up for that plan any day of the week.
   
   

What's best of all is knowing that we'll get to do this again next year and the next year and the year after that. We've been friends too long, know too much, survived too many tales to stop now. And I can't wait to hear her stories next year about her plan to become a figure skater performing at intermission during the Penguin's games despite the fact that she currently doesn't know how to skate. It's going to be brilliant.

FREE ICE CREAM! Or, What It Looks Like to Host a Party for the Neighborhood

"The Aftermath"
______________________________________

96 people (including 41 children)
+ 2 scoopers (thanks to my husband and Monsieur D!)
+ 17 cartons of ice cream (plus 2 leftover for the host family)
+ 36 single-serve cups of ice cream
+ 2 bottles of chocolate syrup
+ 4 bottles of sprinkles
+ 4 folding tables (borrowed from helpful neighbors)
+ 2 containers of wipes
+ 9 scoops and scores of spoons and cups
+ 2 yards to play in
+ 1 beautiful sunny blue sky
=
The perfect way to celebrate a wonderful neighborhood.

We're thinking this might need to be an annual event.
Thanks, Edy's!
______________________________________

Junius scooping some ice cream for his Mommy.

Pippi... well, I think the picture says it all.

Saying thank you with ice cream

The following essay was my entry for the Edy's Slow Churned Neighborhood Salute. I'm so excited to be a grand prize winner, which means I'm one of 1,500 people across the country who get to throw an ice cream party for their neighbors courtesy of Edy's. The party will be later in July, but I thought I'd post the essay now because it fits with yesterday's post about moving in. It may also remind you of my 50-word autobiography from earlier in the spring.

In August 2003, my husband and I bought our first house, located in the Lakemont neighborhood of Raleigh, N.C. Over the next few years, we had our first child and became good friends with our neighbors. Our neighborhood group quickly became our community support network – the people who brought dinner when you'd had a family illness, watched your kids in a pinch, offered hand-me-downs and holiday treats, donated to your causes, cheered your talents, celebrated your successes and mourned your losses.

In July 2007, we sold our house in Lakemont to move to Greensboro for a great job opportunity. We didn't want to leave Raleigh, but felt like it was the right decision for our family. Long story short, over the next 11 months, the job opportunity fell apart, we had our second child, my husband found a new job in Raleigh, we sold our house in Greensboro, moved in with my parents for two months, bought a house back in Lakemont (a few streets over from our first home) and moved back to Raleigh in June 2008. Phew.

When our friends from the neighborhood showed up in the front yard of our new house at the same time that the moving truck pulled up to the curb, we knew we'd made the right decision to return. It was an exhausting year – both emotionally and physically – but we felt that coming back to Lakemont was coming home for us, returning to our "family."

Our neighborhood isn't fancy, the houses aren't glamorous, the residents aren't making millions. But we have a wealth of community that I think is rare in a time when people are so transient and keeping up with the Joneses is more about the car you drive than about what sort of help the Joneses might need.

We’d love to host an Edy’s party to say thank you to all our friends and neighbors, new and old, and to celebrate how wonderful they are – they’re what makes Lakemont home for us.

What a difference a year makes

"This is a disaster," I remember thinking to myself. "What have we done?"

Boxes were crammed into the kitchen making it impossible to get to the sink or any of the countertops. Mattresses and bed parts leaned against the bedroom walls, leaving nowhere to sleep. The couch was piled high with bags of toys, pillows and blankets. The maze of stuff throughout the house rendered even the floor impossible to reach.

Exhausted, I took Junius (then almost 3) and Pippi (then 4 months) across the street and knocked on our neighbors' door. We had just met that afternoon, but I was desperate for a soft place to sit -- and there was no such location in the new house.

"Would it be okay if we came in so I could nurse?" I asked her, when she opened the door. She graciously invited us in, as I realized she was also nursing her 5-month-old son.

Pippi had her dinner, then we went back to our house so the rest of us could eat. The same neighbor had thoughtfully brought over not only food that required no cooking, but also paper plates, plastic utensils and napkins.

I'm not sure whether it was the kindness of a stranger (soon to be friend) or the chaotic mess around me or the thought that we'd left behind a perfectly nice, clean, unpacked, already-decorated house, but all I wanted to do was cry myself to sleep. Except that I couldn't find any tissues. Or my bed.

That was one year ago this weekend.

Seems like a lifetime ago. Seems like only yesterday.

Although the house is still a chaotic mess (mostly due to two small children and some remodeling projects), we're much more settled in than we were that day. We've done lots of work upstairs (and by "we," I mostly mean my husband and other skilled people) to make it our own. And with "old" and "new" friends surrounding us -- including that kind neighbor across the street -- this is where we are setting down roots for our family. No longer the "new house"...

This is home.

In memory of a profound life

My dear friend's mom died this weekend after a valiant struggle with cancer. I want to do something for her -- make her a casserole or give her a big hug or tell her a story of my latest parenting foibles in a feeble attempt to make her smile. But she is in Alabama with her family, so I can do none of those things right now.

Instead, I will share with you my favorite story about her Mama (as she is known). As you read it, imagine my friend putting on her best Mobile drawl as she tells the story. I may get some of the details a little off, but the punchline is still fabulous.

_____

When S. graduated from her master's program in education, her mom -- also a lifelong educator -- pulled her aside to tell her something very important before she began her teaching career.

Mama took S. by the shoulders, looked deep into her eyes and declared, "Dahlin', some days... you will be profound." [For full effect, say "profound" loud and in three syllables.]

"And some days," she paused dramatically, before continuing in a low voice, "you will show a movie."

_____

S. - We love you. We love your Mama for the person she helped you become. And when you get back home, I'll be bringing casseroles and giving you big hugs because I won't know what else to do.

My Life (2003-2008, Abridged)

Here's my attempt to edit five years into 50 words:

Four years after falling in love with our first house and our Raleigh neighbors, my husband, son and I moved away for a job.

Eleven months later, we moved back, with a new baby.

When our friends appeared as the moving truck arrived, we knew we'd made the right decision.

Now it's your turn.

Donate for Super Dylan

One of Junius's favorite buddies is Dylan -- a feisty, funny, adorable little boy in our neighborhood. That's him on the left, rockin' out with Junius last fall. He may be smaller than Juni, but he's the same age and packs a serious punch in his little body. And it's a good thing he's got some fight in him because he's wrestling every day with cystic fibrosis.

This year is our third tour on the Super Dylan Team for the Great Strides walk to raise money for the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation (CFF).
Your gift will be used efficiently and effectively, as nearly 90 cents of every dollar of revenue raised is available for investment in vital CF programs to support research, care and education.

Making a donation is easy and secure! Any amount you can donate is greatly appreciated -- just go here and give what you can.

With treatments and medicines, Dylan is usually a healthy boy. But it takes a lot of effort by his parents to keep him that way. CF is an inherited chronic disease that affects the lungs and digestive system of about 30,000 children and adults in the United States. A defective gene and its protein product cause the body to produce unusually thick, sticky mucus that clogs the lungs and leads to life-threatening lung infections; and obstructs the pancreas and stops natural enzymes from helping the body break down and absorb food.

In the 1950s, few children with cystic fibrosis lived to attend elementary school. Today, thanks to advances in research and medical treatments, many people with the disease can now expect to live into their 30s, 40s and beyond. But that's not enough for us -- we need a cure for Dylan.

Thanks in advance for your help -- and please visit CFF online for more information.

Oh, what a night

Dinner at trendy new downtown Lebanese restaurant: $22

Signature cocktail at trendy new downtown bar: $8

Downtown parking deck: free

Neighborhood ladies night out with wonderful friends (including rockin' minivan soundtrack, witty conversation, getting carded, getting hit on by some random guy and staying up WAY past my bedtime), and then coming home to my beautiful family all sweetly sleeping and snuggling up with my husband: priceless