Kids only. No adults allowed.

So summer is officially over, and now that Zachary is back in school full time (can I get a HELL YEAH!) things are slowly returning to our "new normal," which is our "previous normal."

Summer was fun - SUPER fun for the boys - but truth be told, I'm exhausted.

We (and often just me when R was working) took the boys to every water park, amusement park, park park, library, bookmobile, swimming pool, bounce house, lazer tag, ice cream shop, and carnival in a four state radius.

We stayed BUSY.

This was mainly by design because Zachary is a child who craves constant stimulation and action, and  it is easier and better for all of us to just give in to it for a couple months than to try to bore it out of him.  He's just wired that way, and although it goes against all that is me, I know it keeps him ticking.

Anyway, in our quest for the perfect summer vacation (for Zachary) we were constantly on the go to kid-friendly destinations, and I was AMAZED! SHOCKED! SOMEWHAT APPALLED! at the number of times I would see an adult or two - WITHOUT CHILDREN - lounging around and participating and having a grand old time.  In places that (in my mind, anyway) were designed for and meant for kids.

Now I try not to judge (Oh, who am I kidding? ) but seriously, you grown up people who are running up the stairs and sliding down the slides at Great Wolf Lodge, or running around, shaking your wands at things at MagiQuest, or who are spending the day at a carnival, eating cotton candy and riding the merry-go-round?  I don't understand you.

Truly, these are all great places to take my kids, for sure, but you can bet your sweet little patootie that the MINUTE my kids outgrow those places will be the minute I stop going there.  R and I dream of a time when we can go to grown up places occasionally, like little shops with breakable things, or wineries, or a movie without a singing animal in sight.

Maybe it's just me, though.  Maybe it's because I have a underdeveloped sense of fun, or maybe I'm just a stick in the mud or whatever.  Maybe I should want to spend my time at Chuck E. Cheese long after my babies have gone off to college.

I guess my idea of a good time is a little different.

In my dreams of good times past and future (but rarely present, because HELLO! Raising kids here!) I enjoy reading, laying on the couch with complete control of the remote, and sewing.

Seriously.  That's about all.

And someday, when the days of HANDS ON INTERACTIVE EXHIBITS! at the children's museum, or knowing which parks have the swings that go the highest, or planning our water park adventure just so, in order to ride the big tube the maximum number of times are all behind me, I'm sure I'll miss it a little bit.

But really, just a little bit.

And certainly not enough to go there, voluntarily, without children.

Because that?  That's just crazy talk.

A letter of apology to those traveling on I-40 between Knoxville and Asheville last Sunday afternoon

Dear fellow travelers, HELLO! I'm mj.

You may know me better as the driver of the black Mitsubishi Montero with the car carrier on the top who was driving quite erratically down I-40 last Sunday afternoon.

Yeah, I'm really sorry about that.

In my defense, I'm just not a very good driver.

Also, how can ANYONE be expected to drive where there are THREE LANES of traffic going in one direction?  I mean, really, I DON'T HAVE THAT MANY EYES.  How can I look in front of me, behind me AND on both sides of me?!?!?  So if I was in the middle lane, going 15 miles under the speed limit and refusing to get out of my lane FOR ANY REASON WHATSOEVER, you understand, right?

Plus, we had Cars playing on the DVD player for the boys, so every time I heard a honk, a screech, a siren or a crash from the tv, I OF COURSE assumed it was real and it was directed at me.  I mean, who wouldn't, really? SO occasionally I might have slammed on the brakes at odd times, but THERE WERE CRASHES HAPPENING ALL AROUND ME.  I mean, on the tv.  It was an honest mistake, really.

Oh, and sometimes when I would slow down abruptly and for no apparent reason?  Well, that was just my foot falling off the gas pedal.  Apparently, when you wear size 3 shoes, flip flops make a poor choice for driving long distances, because a) they're slick on the bottom and b) they're too small to rest on the floor of the car AND push the gas at the same time.  Lesson learned.  I promise.

When we were driving through the beautiful and treacherous hills and curves of the Cherokee National Forest, I apologize for driving in the middle of both lanes at 35 miles per hour, but IT WAS RAINING.  I don't like driving in the rain.  It's scary and dark.  And since I don't like it, I find the best defense is to SLOW THE HELL DOWN instead of speeding up and passing on the left, like SOME people (yes, white Hyundai Sonata, I'm looking at YOU).

Also, I was distracted by things far beyond my control, like a four year old boy, plus a seven year old boy.  YOU try driving and screaming at the same time.  It's hard.  And occasionally I had to referee an argument, like when Cooper told Zachary, "Zack, I'm going to punch you in the eye."  When I pointed out that wasn't particularly nice, he amended it to "Zachary, I'm going to tickle you... Till you pee on yourself."  Now how can I be expected to drive AND deal with the likes of that at the same time?

Anyway, we made it, and I didn't run into anybody this time  - CAN I GET A HELL YEAH! - and it's all done with, so I suggest you get your panties out of a wad, tuck your middle finger and your horn-blowing skills back up where the sun don't shine, and accept my apology in the spirit in which it was given.

Have a pleasant day.

Packin' up

So the J family was getting ready to go on vacation last week, like we do, and just like always, it was my job to get the family packed and ready to go.

I pack, R does most of the driving, nobody dies on the interstate, there's plenty of underwear for everyone, and everybody wins. 

Since overpacking is one of my superpowers, there really isn't any need for anyone else to get involved in that part of the process.  We've done this bunches and bunches of times by this point, and my typical timeline involves cleaning my house from top to bottom the week before we leave, followed by packing too much stuff, then unpacking it to make sure I didn't miss anything, then repacking it all and adding in a sweater, three more outfits and a stash of Doritos, then having all the suitcases ready and sitting by the door at LEAST 36 hours before our departure time.

This leaves me about three days to sit on the couch and worry whether or not I remembered everything, and provides ample opportunity to run through all possible worst-case scenarios in my head and to plan accordingly.  Should we take the pitchfork?  Don't mind if I do.

A couple weeks before we were getting ready to leave, I had all my to-do lists in place, which is a really crazy and elaborate system of my to do list iPhone app, some legal pads, a selection of different color post it notes, and some stuff written on the back of my hand in what I have since learned is permanent marker.  I had it planned to the day - NO! THE HOUR! - what I would need to accomplish every day in order to get ready to go.

And then...

Nothing.

I had a serious bout of what I refer to as "The Ennui," which for me only comes around once a year or so.  It's a combination of listlessness, general dissatisfaction at everything, lack of motivation and a desire to sit on the couch for long stretches while staring at my nook and ignoring everything in my house.  Usually it passes quickly, but this time, not so much.

Suddenly it was a week before we were to leave, and I hadn't done anything to prepare.

Then it was three days before we were to leave, and I hadn't done anything to prepare.

And then it was the day before we were to leave, and OH MY GOD I HAVEN'T DONE ANYTHING TO PREPARE.

Full blown panic set in, and I calmed myself a little by reminding myself that this is probably how "normal people" pack for vacation.  "But you're not a normal person," whined the little voice in my head.  "Shut the hell up!" screamed the other, more reasonable voice.  "We have work to do!"

Random things thrown into a suitcase in a totally nonsensical order. 

 At least we were clothed. 

So I dragged out a couple suitcases and threw some stuff in them randomly, set them by the door and waited for R to get home from work so we could pack up the car.  When he saw the pile of stuff, which was quite literally 1/3 the size it usually is for a week away from home, he looked just slightly worried, then said "Well, this will be a breeze to pack and unpack."

What?!?!?  You mean my crazy really affects others?!?!  That's just insane.

But really, we got there, we had a good time, and not once did I long for the selection of winter clothes, small kitchen appliances or family keepsakes that I had left behind this time.

And unpacking and repacking when we were ready to go really was a breeze.

I'm sure there's a lesson that I should learn from all of this.

Like next year, I will start packing THREE WEEKS in advance!  

Sum-sum-summertime!

I'm linking up to Mama Kat today, and the prompt is:

Your favorite summer view so far.

So without further delay (I KNOW YOU CAN'T WAIT!!!), here it is:

Now I know this isn't so much a VIEW as a PICTURE, but technically it was my view at the moment, and it's probably one of my favorite pics I've taken EVER.

Plus, it really screams "SUMMER!" to me.

So now that I'm finished  justifying pretty much this entire post to everyone, let me tell you what was going on here.

Every year for the past 3 years or so, we have taken the boys to Great Wolf Lodge for a couple days, and after the first trip we made to there, we were hooked.  I mean, it's not something I can imagine adults doing without kids, but for the ages our boys are now, it's just about perfect.  There's plenty to do without having to think you'll miss stuff in a two day trip, which is generally all we can afford.  This place ain't cheap, yo.

Anyway, right before our first trip there, my hubby gifted me with a Kodak waterproof camerato which I said "Oh, thank you honey!" and for which I thought "I'll never use this in a million years."

Boy was I wrong.  I have dragged this camera to every beach, water park and swimming pool in a six state radius and four-ish years later it's still going strong.

I snapped this particular picture (and about a million others, too) of Zachary in the outdoor pool there, and you can see from his expression that he was having a blast.  I guess we all were, relatively speaking.

Any time my family gets to hang out together doing stuff we enjoy, I'm happy, and a relaxing and fun afternoon in the pool with my kiddos smiling is just about the best view ever.



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Wine slushies in your ice cream freezer. You're so welcome.

When we went on vacation this past spring one of the highlights (for me, anyway) was a delightful wine slushy I drank while walking along the boardwalk near the beach, listening to the ocean waves drown out the sound of my children whine.  "MAMA, ARE WE DONE WALKING YET?" "MAMA, CAN I HAVE SOME OF THAT DRINK?"

Hell no, kid. Drink your bottled water and be happy about it.

Anyway, I have thought about that wine slushy many, many times since then, but since I don't have a big fancy slushy machine, I thought I was pretty much out of luck until it occurred to me one day...  I have an ice cream freezer and it freezes milk and sugar and stuff into ice cream, I wonder what it would do to wine?

So I Googled it, and guess what?  You can indeed make wine slushies in your ice cream freezer.

And suddenly, the world is a better place.

WHAT YOU NEED:
One bottle of your favorite sweet red wine.  I used Yago Sant'Gria.  Don't you dare judge me.  It's like $2.69 a gallon and it gets you just as drunk as the fancy stuff.
1/2 cup grapefruit juice
1-2 shots of Triple Sec

WHAT YOU DO:
Put in your ice cream freezer according to manufacturer's directions.  It only took about 15 minutes for mine to freeze to the perfect consistency.

Drink it.  WATCH OUT FOR BRAIN FREEZE!!!

The flavor combinations are endless with this as well.  I think a sweet white wine with peach schnapps and white grape juice would be divine, and for this fall-ish time of the year, you could use hard cider and apple juice (and maybe a shot of whisky if you're feeling brave) and have your very own cider slushy to take with you when the kids are trick-or-treating.

So yeah.

Wine slushies in your ice cream freezer.

That's going to be hard to beat.

Time for a vacation... from my vacation.

The J Family spent the last week in beautiful Pawleys Island, SC.

This is our fourth trip there, courtesy of RJ's boss, who owns a condo there and lets us use it for a week every year.

It's a great perk.

We get to go on a vacation that we couldn't afford otherwise, and the boys come home rested, relaxed, and ready to go again.

RJ and I, not so much.

Between, packing, unpacking, two twelve hour car trips, and keeping the boys busy with the pool and the beach and the putt-putt and the Boardwalk and the beach and the pool, RJ and I usually fell into bed as soon as the boys were asleep, too exhausted to even move, just like last year.  And the year before. And the year before...

We've been home since late Monday night, and I'm still not finished unpacking.  I'm just... beat.

RJ went back to work yesterday, and I'm pretty sure he was happy to escape all the vacation joy and get back to the grind.  Lucky bastard.

I love that we get to do this for the boys.  I love that they are old enough now to remember "their beach" and "their pool" and "their hot dog stand" when we return year after year.  But make no mistake about it, this is definitely for the boys, and anyone who talks about how relaxing vacation is has obviously never travelled with two high-energy boys under the age of six.  RJ and I don't even talk about any of the things we would like to do - spend the afternoon wandering around the seashore shops, walk on the beach at sunset, have a relaxing dinner without wiping up spills and "Shhhh-ing" loud boys - because this vacation business, it's all about our boys.

Just like everything else we do.

And it's totally worth it.

Vacation: It's not for the weak.

The J family just returned from a week-long beach vacation.

I absolutely cannot remember the last time I was this hung-over exhausted.

Clearly, vacation is no place for children.  Or adults.  Either/or.  You pick.

On our particular vacation, sandwiched between two 12+ hour car rides, RJ and I did everything we could to make our vacation fun, enjoyable and memorable.

For the kids, of course.

We went to the beach.  I drank wine.  We went to the pool.  I drank beer.  We went to the Aquarium.  I drank margaritas.  We went to the Boardwalk and rode rides and played games.  ZJ won at darts and picked two smaller prizes instead of one big prize so he could share with cj.  Cj immediately threw his prize (a duck) into the ocean, because Hello!  Ducks swim!   I drank more beer.  We played miniature golf.  I drank more wine.  We went back to the beach and the pool and we stopped at every single swingset, slide and playground in the greater South Carolina area.  Every. Single. One.  We even went to Build-A-Bear, have mercy on my soul. I was so drunk by then I only remember it because we have a stuffed Tasmanian Wolf named Superwolf and a prehistoric sabertoothed cat named Kitty, and an $80 credit card bill to prove it.   Zj, who is quite a prolific pooper, clogged up toilets all along the coast, including one in the all you can eat seafood buffet place that charges $30 per person. Serves 'em right.  $30 is highway robbery.   I drank beer and wine and margaritas with abandon.  We discussed sharks and dinosaurs and superheroes and vampires and watched Batman cartoons and listened to Kidz Bop until my eardrums bled and I couldn't form coherent sentences.  That may have had something to do with all the wine, though.  We ate ice cream every day.

Every night as soon as the kids were in bed, RJ and I fell into bed ourselves, often before 9 pm, too exhausted to do anything except stare at the ceiling and mumble incoherently about what time we would "get going" in the morning.

The boys were up by 6am the next day, without fail, to see what exciting new adventures awaited them.

To be honest, I'm not sure either one of them will remember this vacation in 20 years, or 10 years, or next week.

But I will remember it.

And I'll remember that my boys had the time of their lives.

Same beach, different priorities.

So, I have these boys.

I love them to the moon and back.

But to say I love them the same would be like saying I love beer and tomatoes the same.

They're just so different.

But that's good.  Variety is good, right?

The differences in their personalities come out the most when I take them to somewhere new and different then offer up the same options.

Like, say...  the beach.

Cj is pretty content to sit and dig in the sand.

Forever.

His other beach pastimes include sitting in my lap while licking the salt off me and pulling my bathing suit top down.

It was like we were on our first date or something.

Zj, of course, has entirely different priorities.

Like surfing the waves.

Over.

And over.

And over.

It's ok though.

In this family, we set our priorities early, and we stick with them.

Always and forever.

They're just like their Mama that way.

Priorities.

We all have 'em.

Why someone ought to rethink those silly "no open liquor containers in the car" laws.

So, the J family is on vacation.

I'm currently sitting in a beautiful condo in beautiful Pawleys Island, SC, just waiting until it hits 80 degrees so we can hit the beach.

It's a hard life.

Really, it's a wonderful, laid-back kind of place.  The kind of place where the beaches are white and clean and empty, the locals are friendly, and nobody expects you to dress for dinner in anything that isn't flip-flops.

Which is a damn good thing, since getting here is a bit... er... stressful.

Fifteen hours.  One car.  One twitchy five year old.  One whiny twenty-two month old.  Two sleep-deprived adults.  Four different sets of directions/gps devices.  Incessant Batman cartoons.  Multiple pillow pets.  An entire electronics department worth of gadgets that beep and squeal and "Mama, this one doesn't work right!!!"  No liquor.

Hell.

Seventh circle.

For real.

They have no idea what's about to happen.

I think I've blocked whole portions of the trip.  It's a whole big long 15 hour day full of repressed memories.  It's for the best.  It's not like I really WANT to remember how I got us lost before we even left our hometown, or how many McDonald's I peed in, or how many Wal-Marts we stopped at before we found one with a gas station...  Hey, we had gift cards.  Gas is $37 a gallon, and our ginormous SUV gets about 2 gallons to the mile.  Don't judge.

I also have no desire to remember how, 30 minutes into the trip, cj started to tug on his carseat straps and yell "HELP! HELP!" at the top of his lungs.  Or how he spent the entire trip, except for the one peaceful hour he passed out, practicing his favorite new words at the top of his lungs, in seeming random order.  "Mine!"  "Bear!"  "Hello!" "Mine bear!"  "Cow!"  "Moo!"  "Nose!"  "Help!"  "Mine nose!"  "Dada!"  "Mama!"  "Mine!"  "Help!"  Or how he yelled "Ouch!" every time we hit a bump in the road.

Proof that he did sleep.  For a minute.

I also don't want to relive how many times zj said "Is there a bafroom nearby?"  Or how many times he peed on the side of the road.  And I especially don't want to remember the church that we stopped at so zj could pee on the tree.  Sorry, Jesus.  No disrespect intended.  But when a 5 year old's gotta go, he's GOTTA GO.  You understand, right?

And mostly, I don't want to remember exactly how many times I got us lost, with the four maps/gps gizmos in hand.

Yeah, totally blocked that.

Nope,  I'm just going to remember the beach and the sand and the sun and the boys having a great time.

And the beer.

I'll probably remember that, too.

Stream of Consciousness Sunday: About my impending vacation.

So, the J family is about to go on vacation.

One of the best perks of RJ's job is that his boss lets us use his condo on beautiful Pawleys Island for a week every year.  Actually, it's the only perk of his job, but whatever.

So, as is usual for me, I'm in pre-vacation panic mode.

My house has to be completely cleaned from top to bottom before we leave.

Because oh dear God what if we have a wreck and die a fiery death or get eaten by a band of killer sharks or eat some bad seafood or whatever and somebody has to come in our house and pack up all our shit and sees that I haven't dusted the baseboards or washed the windows since... oh, NEVER.

It's part of my particular brand of crazy.  It's just a part of my crazy, but it's a big part.

Also, every time zj sees me cleaning the toilets, he asks me if its going to be Thanksgiving soon.  Really, kid?  I clean the toilets more than once a year.  I promise.

So today I spent the day vacuuming, mopping and dusting in preparation for possibly dying on vacation.

I don't do taht before I, say, go to the grocery.

What would happen if I died when going to the grocery?

Something else to worry about, I guess.

But I'm really lookign forward to this vacation.  I love the beach, and I know the kids


Seriously?  My time's up?  Wow. I've learned a few important things on this, my first Stream of Consciousness Sunday, hosted by All Things Fadra - shameless plug - you're welcome.  1) I type REALLY slowly. That high school typing class I blew off in favor or French is looking better in hindsight.  2)My blog posts are typically anbout 50 times this long. 3) This was fun.  4)It's killing me not to fix the typos I see above, see CRAZY.  5)I think ALL my blog posts are stream of consciousness.  6)In the best Govenator voice I can muster, I'll be baaaaack.

Laissez Le Bon Temps Rouler.

That means  "Get Drunk and Lose Your Top in a Crowded Bar" for those of you who do not speak French.

And in just a few days, that's what RJ and I are going to be doing.

Actually, he'll probably keep his shirt on.

He's dignified that way.

I promise this is the last post I will write about going on vacation. Really.

I have terribly unattractive feet.

Not that feet are ever pretty, really, but mine are at about the top of the ugly scale.

They're fat.

They're different sizes.

They're stubby.

My toes are all gnarled and bent.

They're hairy.

I have never bothered to paint my toenails, because that's just like putting lipstick on a pig.

RJ likes to point out every so often that he loves me even though I have the ugliest feet in the world.  I think that's just mean.

My feet also tend to be a little bit on the rough side - you know, callouses, peeling skin, general funk.

However, after a few days or so walking on the beach, I began to notice a difference.

They were still ugly, of course, but they were... soft.  Smooth, even.

But then I started freaking out a little.

Because if the sand exfoliated my feet so nicely, it must have done the same for countless others before me, right?

Right?

So basically, I had been walking around in other people's dead foot skin.

For days.

Ick.

I wore my flip flops the rest of the trip.

Beauty just ain't worth it.

We're Baaaaack!

And clearly, we're exhausted.

More to come.

Superhero Tuesday. The Vacation Edition.

One day is starting to look like another - Vacation, Day ???