family: ... home sings me of sweet things...

Laughing Beauty

Today M and the girls get home from their extended AL stay, and I'm celebrating their arrival by taking a vacation day to clean (and go to the dentist - scheduled before they made the reservations) and shop and get the house as ready as possible for M to come in and sit down or lay in the tub or climb into bed and pull the covers over her head. As she wishes.

Because she's been solo parenting now for 10 days, and in my limited experience, I know how tiring this can be. And yet, she's sounded good when we've talked, never letting on just how drained she must be as the only parent, and this is something I value greatly about her: she always tends to put a positive spin on whatever situation she's in.

It's something I noticed when we first started dating. Ask her how things are going and her answer was typically "Great!" Ask me and I'd mumble something like "fine" or "ok." Quite a contrast! I'm still not sure what she saw in me.

I don't know how single parents manage. I suppose I would step up if I needed to do take the girls for 10 days on my own, but I highly doubt I'd be able to do so with as much positive energy as M does. That energy serves as a good example for both the girls and for me.

It'll be damn good to have them home. I'm looking forward to it. And I'm sure they will be happy to be back in their own home/beds/places too.

In the meantime:

Multi-tasking Beauties
(snacks and kicking it in FL)

photo thursday: sign(s) o' the times

here's a double-photo to make up for the single definition on tuesday:

Both shots taken within minutes of each other, somewhere in northwestern FL just north of Chipley (a classic, quiet little town where "quiet" = overcome by heat and humidity).

Home of... meat!
(actual sign)

Someone clearly paid good money for this sign (it's not just mismatched letters on a reader board (see below)). And I love that it doesn't get specific. It's not "flame grilled chicken" or pork or beef, but "meat." Home of the Flame Grilled Meat!"

We actually ate here, and it wasn't bad, where "wasn't bad" = they didn't run us out or poison us.

I wouldn't say it was the best flame grilled meat I've ever had, but what can you do to meat with flame that ruins it? Other than burn it to a crisp. Which they did not do.

I always feel a bit awkward and out of place when I eat at some small local restaurant or drink at some small local bar (the latter a purely hypothetical scenario these days). I worry that I'm sitting in someone's regular spot and that all the locals are plotting ways to toss me out. And this was the panhandle of Florida, where they probably believe Obama is an alien and that Hawaii is not part of the U.S. And they are most certainly church-going folk and I always believe that it's printed on my forehead that I am something other than church-going. And this was around noon on Sunday, and everyone else had come directly from church with dresses and button down shirts shiny shoes and we were there in a corner in shorts and t-shirts and slippers and "unbeliever" tattooed on our faces.

But no one attacked us, and they put up with 4 squirming little girls. And they had bottomless sweet tea!

Cold Sunday BEER

(not the only one of these we saw)

There are many things I love about this sign, but first and foremost, the cold Sunday beer. As my brother-in-law said when he pointed out the sign, if it's worth mentioning, it's probably not that common. And he's from these parts (sorta), so he should know.

Or maybe it was actually "COLDSUNDAY BEER," meaning, they'd sell you beer on a cold Sunday. Kinda of like a cold day in hell, which, now that I'm remembering, it was about 95 F as we drove by that Sunday....

Then there's the unpunctuated "699" that warrants an entire line of its own and which I almost took for a reference to some bible verse (hey, this is the deep south and I'm feeling particularly heathen) but recently realized is probably the price for the pizza. Unless it's the price for....

a "Reese Milk Shake." The most uninteresting option is that this is just a shortened form of Reeses, as in Reeses Peanut Butter Cups. More appealing to me is something I came up with when I went into what M calls "writer mode:" The counter guy have a crush on Reese, who may or may not know this and may or may not reciprocate but who is at this very moment dressed up and sweating bullets in a church, not really listening to the preacher but rather thinking about having a milkshake, completely unaware that down the road a piece there's a sign with HER name on it, HER milkshake.

Or possibly she's thinking about a coldsunday beer.....

family: ...i held my breath...

What do you do when you vacation at the beach? You swim. In the 95 degree heat. And the tarbally water. Or not.

Here's how our typical morning went down in Sea Grove:

Approximately 8a

me: Want to go to the beach?
L: Thur.
(aside: I'm not sure where she picked up the habit, but lately L's "Yeth" and "Yeah" have been replaced by a quiet "Thur")
me: Ok. We have to change into our bathing suits.
L: Our bathing thuits?
me: Yup.
L: And thwim diaper.
me: Yup. For you. Not for me.
L (grinning): Because you don't wear a thwim diaper!
me: Right!

Approximately 8.40a, now finally dressed

me: We've gotta do sunscreen.
L: Thun thcream?
me: Yup.
L (pouting): I don't like it.
me: Me either, but if you don't wear it you'll end up looking like me.
(aside: I find this is a useful general purpose threat, whether for brushing teeth, eating broccoli, or wearing thun thcream. It'll probably generate years worth of therapy after I'm gone.)

Approximately 9.15a, now relatively screened and looking like vampires or other undead, we begin the wander down the quiet road, up a small hill past something that smells like bad standing water, across a busy road (here we wait for someone to stop for us, and when they do, L says "They wath nithe. They thopped" and I agree), along a short block and to the top of the steps leading down to the sand. This walk takes a normal person somewhere between 5 and 6 minutes. With L ambling along in her orange Crocs, it takes us somewhere close to 15. At the top of the steps we leave our Crocs/slippers, remark on the dog poop we saw one morning at this same spot, and slowly begin our climb down to the white sand.

Below us are the beach, the green waters of the Gulf, and several hundred men (and women? I never noted any women) dressed in long pants, long-sleeved shirts, and wearing rubber gloves, all walking along the edge of the water (in regular shoes), picking up tar balls when then find them, adding them to plastic bags they carry. There are also periodic shade awnings set up in the sand so these same people can recover from walking in the sun and 90+ degree heat in long pants, shirts and shoes. And we're here in our swim suits and Seattle-white skin. And we're paying to be here!

Pairs of beach cleaners
(picking up tar balls)

Once down on the sand, we make our way to the water where L stands in front of me, holding on to both my hands, while small waves push past us, splashing her to her chest and me to my calves. I lift her when bigger swells come in, and she laughs until she notices sea weed.

L (squirming): Theaweed! I don't like theaweed!!
me: What do you mean? There's no seaweed!
L: Theaweed!!!
me (wondering where I got this kid): There's nothing wrong with it. And there's almost none!
L: Ith on my hand. Daddy!
(I take a tiny strand off her pudgy finger and let it drift away behind us. At one point I put a bit into my mouth, stunning her into a moment of silence.)
L: It good theaweed?
me (feeling the need to be honest): No, not really. Just salty. (pause) We used to play in seaweed when I was a kid. Dig in it, throw it at each other. This is nothing.

My "argument" does nothing, and eventually she'll tire of the salt water and be ready to get out. If she's in a good mood we splash for up to 10 or 15 minutes before she gets her fill. After which, on a good day, she plays in the sand for 10 minutes before announcing that she's done, she wants to go.

Just. About. Done.

So, for approximately 30 minutes of walking, we get up to 30 minutes of beach time. More or less. But I don't mind. I've never been one to just hang out on the sand.

When we leave,we retreat to the pool next to our house where we spend anywhere from 10 minutes to over an hour, L holding onto my hands and jumping from the wall and going all the way under to come up with a wide-eyed smile of accomplishment, putting her "whole big face in!"

Lounging... with attitude

And I'm happy.

family: ... oil vey!

We're heading south, to Birmingham AL and then to Sea Grove FL, where we'll bask in the warmth of familial proximity and wallow in the warmth of the oily waters of the Gulf Coast.

This is our semi-annual Foust Family Reunion, and this year we're celebrating by going to spend some quality time with BP oil. (The trip has been planned for months.)

There will be cousins, lots to eat, air conditioning, a pool, not quite enough room for our family and M's brother's and sister's family (2 kids each, making for 6 adults and 6 cousins, plus M's mother), and did I mention the oil?

This is a perfect time to mention again that Margo Pellegrino is currently paddling south along the West Coast, heading to San Diego from Seattle. In a one-person outrigger canoe. She's already paddled the east coast (Miami to Maine) and the Gulf coast, and does this to raise awareness of the state of our oceans, and to encourage people to get involved. Especially people who use the ocean for work or play. People like paddlers, surfers, fishermen, sailors, vacationing families, etc.

In any case, besides wanting to mention Margo and her trip, I'm giving notice that posts will be sparse between now and... when we return. There may be some, as time, technology and sanity permit, but it's not going to be the typical word storm you've grown used to.

On the bright side, there may be some photos coming out of this next week. Picture small children shiny with crude oil, looking out at the horizon over gelatinous swells.... something like that.

Until then, here are a couple to keep your interest:

Joy of Dreamthickle!

Already looking like a Teenager
(at 4!)

Happy July!