Boys of Summer 2011

Because I wasn't the primary (or any kind of) photographer at either of our beach vacations, I'll have to show you the bulk of what we did in August later...that is, when I get around to collecting those photos. Instead I'll share some quieter more down-home stories of summer with you:

The two above are Will and Finn playing a variation on Abby's "Fairy Game."

They call it "Airplanes!"

That's...the only variation.

This summer, Will figured out that Finny was someone to actually play with.

He likes to teach him words: "Finny, can you say AIR-PLANE?"

and congratulate him on his triumphs: "That was gooooooood eating, Finny!"

(with a slight tone of condescension, but what do you expect from an older brother?)

and show him how to do things: "Like this, Finny! 

Will reads stories to Finn--and to us, and to no one.

He basically memorized "The Berenstain Bears Go to the Dentist,"

and if you've never heard a 2-year-old say things like

"There was a tamper, a squirter, and--ULP!--a yanker,"

--with emotion--you are truly missing out.

 I include the above two because I think they're indicative of both

the similarities and differences between the boys' faces.

People are saying more and more how much they look alike.
I also get a lot of definitive, "They look like their dad, hunh?" and

an equal amount of, "They look just like you!" 

All of this is not to paint a portrait of perfect harmony. 

Will has definitely begun a steep descent into "the threes,"

marked by the realization that he can actually STAND UP during a time-out,

even if we tell him he needs to SIT DOWN.

This has led to some lengthy time-outs, some removal of beloved objects from his room,

and a lot of stifled laughter when he's doing his apologies and recounts

the time-out story: "And then I finally sat down."

A preschool update will be added by the end of this week.

It might have no pictures, but it's coming, I promise!

Something Serious

This summer has been shooting past in a blur of 18-month birthdays and beach vacations (I know, I live a hard life), and I owe this blog at least a couple of posts chronicling the boys' latests and greatests.

But I feel like I have to acknowledge something that made me cry like a fool on the treadmill at the gym the other day, and something that I feel more connected to because I have close friends in Kenya working for the United Nations (who are going through various stages of a harsh flu right now).

People are probably aware that there is a horrible drought in East Africa right now, and children particularly are dying of starvation in spades. I know that there are terrible tragedies and even humanitarian crises occurring across the world every moment of the day, and I know that the economy here is playing mind games with every American, but this just feels unignorable to me. So I wanted to put a link here of where you can make a tax-deductible donation (and even put it on your credit card so you can get some points, too) online to the United Nations' World Food Programme, where Kristoffer works:

http://usa.wfp.org/donate

Select "horn of Africa" to ensure your donation goes to Somalia and other high-need countries, although I'm sure if you selected "greatest need," it would go there as well. I know Lisa and Kristoffer would be writing about this, and they have much more insight than I do, but since they're trying to manage their own family's health, I thought I'd do my best. I hope I don't sound too soapboxy, but this is just one of those things that hit me in a particular way, and I needed to put it into the ether.

I'll be back with lighter fare, updates and pictures very soon!

Summer's Here!

It all started when Will got his summer haircut:

We knew the season was (almost) upon us!

So we got Mamp on board and headed to Ward's Berry Farm

for some strawberry-picking...and goat-feeding.

Thanks to Will's (Dave's) tireless work,

we came home with quite a haul.

(Finn just kept eating the berries as he picked them.)

When life gives you strawberries,

make Strawberry Cake!

This weekend, we celebrated our first true-blue hometown July 4th!

But...in the middle of it all, we escaped to the beach with Auntie Lo:

and buried our feet (not our heads) in the sand.

We came home to finish the weekend with more fun:

pony rides, face-painting, cotton candy,

and the big parade on Monday morning.

Will and Finn get along so well these days.

The other day, Will told me, "I like it when Finny's awake!"

And today he described where he and Finny will sleep

when they share a room again.

In between the field trips and holidays,

there's camp (see above),

and playdates (see below)...

...both of which result in flat-out exhaustion:

We try to make room for some downtime

(or at least watch someone else relax):

and that's fun, too.

Happy summer!

Family Day at Fenway, V2.0

I told Dave he's an official "ex-Yankee fan" today. Seriously, he's been in Boston for almost fifteen years now, and he's been to WAY more Sox games than Yankee ones. Plus, for the second year in a row, he's attended Northeastern's annual Fenway Family Day with his two sons. That's some serious Red Sox Nation membership he's got going on.

Will got a spray tattoo again this year. He also played tee-ball, ran in the stands with his friend Kate, ate a cheeseburger and jammed with the live band. 

WALLY!

Our friend Mo got the boys a toy Wally a few days ago, so I kept telling Will we were meeting "the REAL Wally." He high-fived this living, breathing Green Monster but didn't want to hug him.

The boys' first ever Cracker Jack moment!

Finny: "How many can I jam into my mouth at once?
Whatever, who has time to count? Snarf, chomp, etc."

Excuse my pitiful rendition, but Will had me do this so many times on the way home, and I loved the way he filled in the words. This is obviously our Boston-centric version of the song:

I really hope this continues as a family tradition.

Greased Lightning

Do I have a couple of Jersey boys, or what? 

 They look like a pair of street urchins in the above picture.

Street urchins with fauxhawks and touristy tee-shirts.

 In the elevator of a hotel the other day, a woman motioned to Finn

and said, "That's the only baby I've ever been intimidated by!"

Will announced: "Finny and I are going to school now. Bye-byyyyyye!"

"Do you guys not wear pants at this school?" I wanted to ask.

Happy Seventeen Months, Finnster!

Finn at seventeen months:

And in static form:

Well, that's about as static as Finn ever gets.

Here's Will at the same age (either heading into or recovering from a bout of bronchitis, I can't remember):

Dude, what were we FEEDING that kid? Whey protein powder supplements? 

He's a HORSE!

I'll have to dig up that Celtics jersey and put it on Finn for comparison's sake. 

And...yeah, I admit it, they do look a lot alike when I see them at the same age. (Give or take TWENTY POUNDS, holy moley!)

June Gloom

My grandmother passed away last Tuesday. Although she was ninety years old, it was still sudden. Mostly because hours earlier I had gotten an email from my mom saying she was doing better with each passing day and we should book our flight for Father's Day weekend. I still had the tabs up comparing various flight times when my dad called to say she had died.

Dave and I ended up driving with the boys to Ohio, doing two separate legs on the inbound and outbound trips. We stayed in Syracuse on the way there (spiritual homeland of my dear friend Lisa) and Buffalo on the way back for a total of 24 driving/rest stop hours and only 48 in Ohio. And this is the part that blows my mind (or the part of that still thinks I'm 22 and childless): I think it was easier than flying. No need to keep kids entertained in ever-winding security lines, no potential for late or cancelled flights, no battling traffic to get to Logan, no removing and reinstalling car seats on either end. When Finny sobbed and yelled "Up!" in his carseat, I wasn't worried about anyone else thinking we were awful parents or he was an awful baby--I just leaned over and reassured him (to no avail, of course) that we would be there soon, and slipped him some Motrin for his aching teeth--his final two are emerging, a lower incisor and a molar, and they're clearly knocking back on his heels.

Anyway, the funeral service was beautiful. The Episcopal minister knew my grandmother well, so it was personal and moving and delicately done. She read this poem by Mary Oliver to us as a fitting illustration of how my "Mom-Mom" looked at life:

When Death Comes

When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse

to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measle-pox

when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,

I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,

and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,

and each name a comfortable music in the mouth,
tending, as all music does, toward silence,

and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.

When it's over, I want to say all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it's over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.

I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.

I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.

I adore that poem--not only for how lovingly it describes my grandmother, but also for how it reminds me about the importance of taking risks, trusting myself, living with purpose.

We didn't go in the pool; the water was too cold. We did many of the usual things we do at Grandma Bobbie's house, only sometimes taking sharp breaths when we remembered she wasn't there. I could feel my mind attempting to puzzle out the situation. We were there, but she was not. It didn't make any sense. She lived there for something like 57 years, raising five children, entertaining nine grandchildren and then six great-grandchildren. She lived by herself for thirty years: my entire lifetime. She beat pancreatic cancer in 1990, after her doctors said she had minimal chance of living five more years. She had no nurses or home health aides or live-in help. That's why it felt sudden; it seemed like she could just keep on going forever, at least to me.

This is her obituary. The picture of her is one from our wedding, which makes me love it all the more.

And I'll be back to blog some much lighter fare in a few days, most notably the pictures that accidentally make my boys look like castmembers from The Outsiders.