First day of school 2013

 Hank: 1st grade with Mrs. Savoie. Ted: wearing his own "packpack wike Ivy."

Ruby: all-day Kindergarten with Mrs. Olson 

 Ivy: 4th grade with Mrs. Comstock

Backyard blooms for the teacher. 

The Summer's Half Over and the Washin' Ain't Done

Middle of July. Already. We have been checking off our Summer 2013: Operation Awesome list, steadily making progress and seeing the results. I know this is my blue personality coming out; the need for productivity trumps everything else, especially my need for fun. I was thinking about this the other day, how when I took the color code test, I had mostly blue, a healthy dose of red, 3 white, and absolutely zero yellow. I guess that's why I'm drawn to yellow personalities...they remind me that life can be fun, laughing is absolutely necessary, and sometimes it's better to drop everything and see a movie in the middle of the afternoon than scrub the refrigerator. So hence my need to check things off a list and keep moving forward.

Ivy just finished horse camp. I think she's found her happy place. She came home every day telling us what a "sweetheart Romeo is" and how fun scrubbing horse blankets can be. They ate dutch oven lunches outside, learned to groom, muck stalls, care for tack, and went on a trail ride. I would not be surprised to see her take this up seriously. (Why, oh why, can't we have a money tree in our backyard?) She has the most adorable smattering of freckles and cleaned up the kitchen the other night without asking. Then she came and told me that she felt so happy. She's getting it. She is learning kickturns in swim lessons and is still reading voraciously. I love this girl.

Hank is a dude.  He learned how to ride a two-wheel bike the first weekend of summer and never looked back. He is still reading and seems more interested since school got out. Funny how that works. He randomly informs us of scientific and animal factoids. I asked him if he gets most of his information from books or shows, and he said shows. He is our family farmer and waters the flowers and the raspberries without being asked every day. He was a little distressed today when he came in and said that some of the sunflowers are dying. I need to post some pictures of the Lego creations he's been making lately. So awesome. I kind of feel like my job as Hank's mom is to stand back and let him do his thing.

Ted is developing a little feist in his mostly sweet and loving personality. I've seen him come up behind Hank, wrap his short arms around Hank's waist, and take. the. boy. down. He loves to work outside and is the cheeriest helper in the house. He is legitimately good at cleaning. He dresses himself. He plays make believe like he's an animal and loves dinosaurs. He eats four pieces of cinnamon sugar toast every day. He swims like crazy in his Puddle Jumper floaty (best invention ever), and jumps off diving boards with no fear. He's going to take swimming lessons next week, as I'm curious to see how he does. Ivy taught herself to swim at 2.5, so it wouldn't surprise me if Ted picked it up now, too. Ted feels bad when Ivy and Hank feel bad. He started saying "Ivy" last week instead of "I-eee" so we had to mourn that loss. He calls our amphibious friends "tadcapoles," so at least there's that.

Happy Father's Day 2013

From Little Teddy.

How I'm going to get through Summer

We had a family council a couple weeks ago and came up with some lists...things we want to do, accomplish, learn, make, see, and work to balance our days. Justin didn't come up with his "fun stuff" list because he said he'll do whatever we all do, and Ted thinks just being with the family is fun times a mil. He's always wondering where any missing family member has gone, "Where ____ go?" 

So far, two weeks into summer vacation, the To Do list is going great. In the morning, we all pitch in on one big job together (Teddy loves to work and is a great scrubber!), and then pick something fun for the afternoon. Why can't all my life be this organized?

Kindergarten Graduation

Let us not forget Kindergarten Graduation! From the paper caps and a processional to Pomp and Circumstance, to dancing the Robot and Hank's perfectly frozen flat hands at the end, it was a sweet little ceremony. I guess learning not to run with scissors does deserve its own celebration.

The word caption says, "Osum."

This was Mrs. Webb's first year teaching and Hank loved her.

the best trips don't require much planning

Our family took a little overnighter with my mom to McCall on Friday. Minimal packing...just a swimsuit, sweatshirt, and a bag of s'more ingredients. We all had a blast. I sat by the fire for over an hour after the kids were tucked in, a luxury not lost on me, thinking, meditating. The mountain starscape can do something to a person. Ate breakfast at the Pancake House, the kids swam (even Justin jumped in) even though the water was freezing, my grandparents were good sports and made Mamba dentures, we had a good laugh, and we drove home in time for a late dinner. Ahh, refreshed, renewed, ready to tackle summer.

Watching Over

Fathers are so special, with a very special love

It's not quite Father's Day, but these pictures just happened tonight. Some muscle memory from childhood, she poked his dimple without any prompting.

April 2007, age 3

June 2013, age 9

Mississippi Musings

My Dad and I spent a few nights in Mississippi a couple weekends ago to visit his sister. We went through his old haunts, visited a cousin in the country and took the long way home, drove down the streets where he roller skated past Eudora Welty's Belhaven home, saw where all his old girlfriends had lived, where he took elocution classes ("She even taught us how to get in and out of a bathtub without splashing. They did things like that back then!"), piano lessons, and where he tutored a kid at Jackson Prep. My memories were more recent. That's where I brushed my teeth and flushed when I spent the night. That's the bed where me and Erin slept with Mossie, where she would say grace and tell us a story about the Little Pink Rabbit until our eyes were too heavy to stay open, our ears too sleepy to hear anymore. She never wore underwear to sleep, only a Vanity Fair silky sleeveless gown to the knee. There's where we lived while Daddy went to medical school, there's where we went to Mrs. Elmore's house to get snacks. That was Aunt Ruth's house, where she'd set a whole watermelon on a board on top of the sink and we'd take slices using a big knife set nearby. She was the best cook and made a hot lunch everyday.

We drove around in a rented Ford Fusion, which was luxurious and took tight turns. It was, more importantly, equipped with satellite radio, which we fixed on the 60s channel so we had the soundtrack of my dad's life in Jackson playing the whole time. He was surprised at how many of the songs I knew by heart. We were both in that muddy place of memory, where it's hard to decide what's real and what's a story you've been telling yourself for years. The mind plays tricks. What seems real now might not be, and what happened before might be more true. We are always inventing ourselves, glorifying and picking and choosing, shutting off the bad and ugly, and the pressing influence of age might render memories from childhood easier to recall than what you ate for lunch yesterday. And so it goes.

We went to church with my dad's cousin at First Presbyterian downtown, where the police stop traffic for elegantly coiffed worshipers crossing the street. We ate well. Gulf shrimp, Blue Bell ice cream, pimento and cheese, caramel cake, boiled peanuts, and drove straight to Mama Hamil's for Southern comfort food from the airport. Best ever. We talked over food. In the South more than most places, it's the universal language that transcends time, place, race. It just tastes good. It was fun to have my Dad to myself. He is a wise man that I enjoy being around. We laughed a lot. It was really great to see my aunt Phyllis, my dad's only sibling. She is fighting the good fight and has blessed my life. It was hot, the air heavy with the day's rain and honeysuckle. There was Spanish moss and cicada hum. The rose bush that my Grandmother Mossie planted by the back of the carport has been transplanted to the front walkway, thriving, delicate tiny pink blossoms whose smell put me back to five years old. The inlay game table, where Papa taught me to play checkers, is in the garage, covered with fresh laundry. The garage freezer is full of frozen TV dinners instead of bags of butterbeans and corn cut off the cob, but it feels the same.

It was a treasured trip for me.

Phyllis' dog Gracie.

Mossie always used Chanel No. 5.

I'm guessing my dad took this picture of Phyllis when he was in high school.

Some of Phyllis' artwork.

My dad and his cousin, Edd.

Our house on Downing.

Aunt Ruth and Uncle Beaver's house on Fondren.

Campbell's Bakery where Rosalie used to walk with me and Erin (then Sarah) in the wagon to get a cookie.