For Mother's Day this year I received some outstanding gifts. From my 11-year-old son, Topher, I got a colorful hand-sculpted leaf that I can use to hold paperclips or my wedding ring. It could be used as a paperweight or simply be admired as a work of art. It was wrapped and labeled in his hand with a caligraphy pen. I love this gift and love that he was so pleased to present it.
From Ronan I received a 2-dimensional bouquet of flowers. Each flower can be removed and on the back of each is written something that Ronan will do for me. Ronan cracks me up because once before I received coupons from him that entitled me to Watch a movie with Ronan or Eat candy with Ronan or Play video games with Ronan. You get the picture. The coupons this year entitle me to 1. Cleaning my room (his, not mine), 2. Rinsing the dishes only (his exact words), and 3. A trip to the library with Ronan. For the record, he already cleans his room every day and while he occasionally rinses he also wipes down the table, takes out the trash, puts leftovers in tupperware, and helps to dry the dishes. Rinsing is the job everybody wants and the youngest child, Lacey Grace, almost always gets. Hmmm...... Going to the library is definitely a fun and rewarding way to spend time with Ronan except that I usually also have to take 20-month-old Lincoln as well to this place where everything is in alphabetical order and also at his eye level. I am, contrary to what you may think after this paragraph, a very big fan of Ro's coupon gifts, mainly because in giving them, he gives me a wonderful gift he has no knowledge of, the gift of laughter.
Lacey Grace gave a plethora of gifts this year. From school she brought a butterfly feeder and some sugar water to put on the front lawn.
In addition I had a little card made by her. When she saw how delighted I was with this gift other gifts came pouring in: a little paper crown with carefully cut knobs on top that we were to share, I would wear it on Mother's Day and she would wear it on her birthday, a nativity scene made out of paper and glued like a diarama in a cardboard box for my bedroom, a paper charm strung on nylon string to be worn as a necklace, and a recipe card written with her best handwriting and spelling that said, "I will giv inethie to mack you hape," (I will give anything to make you happy. Lacey Grace, you just did.
These are the kind of gifts I have been waiting all my life to receive. How is it that a semi-garish ceramic leaf, a coupon bouquet, and a misspelled note can mean so very much to this heart of mine? This year, my cup runneth over.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Hill children
Tonight was Lacey Grace's school concert - her very first. She was so proud to be on the risers and later told us, "I've been waiting a long time to go up on that stage." During the last song of the evening we made eye contact and held each other's gaze for the majority of the song. For me, it was a powerful moment. I thought to myself, "I can't believe that such a sweet, strong little girl is mine - that out of all the people at this concert, she wants to sing to me." I remembered holding her in my arms as an 18 month old baby and in a rare moment of stillness gazing at her and she back at me as we did tonight. I felt then and again tonight, the great honor and responsibility of being the mother of such a daughter. I have felt that way about all of the children Heavenly Father has given me in quiet moments shared between mother and child. What a beautiful gift to be a mother in Zion.
On the lighter side, Lincoln has finally learned to say the word "daddy." It's very cute and he says it with such joy when he sees that glorious being coming through the door after a day away at work. I confess that there is a little part of me that is sad about this progress. Prior to this I did a lot of giggling when Lincoln's big, manly daddy would come striding toward us and my baby would run into his arms and cry out enthusiastically, "Momma!"
About Ronan - I have a friend who ties a grocery bag around the bathroom plunger. It always looks so sanitary sitting there next to the toilet that I decided to try it. Shortly after this improvement I heard Ronan call from the bathroom, "Dad, the toilet is clogged. Can I use the plunger?" To my dismay, Jay said yes. As the mother, I knew this little affair would not end neatly. Ronan has never plunged the toilet before and has never had proper technique modeled to him. I tried to ignore lots of splashing from the bathroom. With relief I heard the toilet flush and then Ronan said, "Mom, should I take the plastic bag off now?" Yes, he had successfully and swimmingly plunged the toilet with the bag still tied around the plunger. Now tell me that this child doesn't have determination.
One more thing about Ronan - At his parent teacher conference his teacher told me, "Ronan loves to read and always has a book at the ready. When I am teaching and pause for breath he whips his book open and reads until I resume." I can't tell you how glad that makes me.
And finally, Topher. Topher likes to come into bed and lay on Jay's side when Jay is working late. He reads his book and I read my book and I love it. Since he is almost 12 I doubt this sort of thing will continue for much longer but I love the fact that my son still likes to be with me.
With all my heart, I love being a mother.
On the lighter side, Lincoln has finally learned to say the word "daddy." It's very cute and he says it with such joy when he sees that glorious being coming through the door after a day away at work. I confess that there is a little part of me that is sad about this progress. Prior to this I did a lot of giggling when Lincoln's big, manly daddy would come striding toward us and my baby would run into his arms and cry out enthusiastically, "Momma!"
About Ronan - I have a friend who ties a grocery bag around the bathroom plunger. It always looks so sanitary sitting there next to the toilet that I decided to try it. Shortly after this improvement I heard Ronan call from the bathroom, "Dad, the toilet is clogged. Can I use the plunger?" To my dismay, Jay said yes. As the mother, I knew this little affair would not end neatly. Ronan has never plunged the toilet before and has never had proper technique modeled to him. I tried to ignore lots of splashing from the bathroom. With relief I heard the toilet flush and then Ronan said, "Mom, should I take the plastic bag off now?" Yes, he had successfully and swimmingly plunged the toilet with the bag still tied around the plunger. Now tell me that this child doesn't have determination.
One more thing about Ronan - At his parent teacher conference his teacher told me, "Ronan loves to read and always has a book at the ready. When I am teaching and pause for breath he whips his book open and reads until I resume." I can't tell you how glad that makes me.
And finally, Topher. Topher likes to come into bed and lay on Jay's side when Jay is working late. He reads his book and I read my book and I love it. Since he is almost 12 I doubt this sort of thing will continue for much longer but I love the fact that my son still likes to be with me.
With all my heart, I love being a mother.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
I'm still alive, just have been a little busier than usual these past few weeks. Don't give up on me.
I set a goal to post every rejection letter I get when I submit my writing for publishing. I just got my second official rejection letter. It's from the Ensign (my first was from The Friend about this time last year) and it's very gracious as you'll soon see. My Friend rejection crushed me a little. To say it was concise is a gross understatement. It was one sentence long. After that initial blow, I've toughened up a bit. My friend, Mindy Johnson, encouraged me by telling me that an author she admires got over 100 rejections on the same manuscript before it was finally accepted. So I've decided in the spirit of Inigo Montoya that I must relish rejection, rejoice in rejection, revel in rejection because every rejection brings me closer to success. At least, that's what I'm telling myself. (Remember how saying, "Hello, My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die!" over and over again gave that plucky swordsman courage?) But for Pete's sake, I've got to work harder and faster to get my 100 rejections. At the rate I'm currently going I'll be 139 years old before anyone considers publishing anything that I write. (The millenium, maybe?) Anyway, here it is.
Dear Author:
Thank you very much for sending us your submission. It is a pleasure to see new material. Every piece received is individually reviewed by the editorial staff.
Unfortunately, we will not be able to publish your work. Because of limited magazine space and the increasing number of such submissions as the Church grows, the Church magazines are able to publish only a very small percentage of the many good items received. We regret that the time it takes to process hundreds of incoming submissions does not allow us to make comments about each one individually.
Please accept our thanks for the time and effort put into your work. We know that submissions like yours are goodwill offerings in support of the Church. We hope the work that has gone into this one will be a benefit to you and your family.
Sincerely,
Ensign Editorial Staff
I set a goal to post every rejection letter I get when I submit my writing for publishing. I just got my second official rejection letter. It's from the Ensign (my first was from The Friend about this time last year) and it's very gracious as you'll soon see. My Friend rejection crushed me a little. To say it was concise is a gross understatement. It was one sentence long. After that initial blow, I've toughened up a bit. My friend, Mindy Johnson, encouraged me by telling me that an author she admires got over 100 rejections on the same manuscript before it was finally accepted. So I've decided in the spirit of Inigo Montoya that I must relish rejection, rejoice in rejection, revel in rejection because every rejection brings me closer to success. At least, that's what I'm telling myself. (Remember how saying, "Hello, My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die!" over and over again gave that plucky swordsman courage?) But for Pete's sake, I've got to work harder and faster to get my 100 rejections. At the rate I'm currently going I'll be 139 years old before anyone considers publishing anything that I write. (The millenium, maybe?) Anyway, here it is.
Dear Author:
Thank you very much for sending us your submission. It is a pleasure to see new material. Every piece received is individually reviewed by the editorial staff.
Unfortunately, we will not be able to publish your work. Because of limited magazine space and the increasing number of such submissions as the Church grows, the Church magazines are able to publish only a very small percentage of the many good items received. We regret that the time it takes to process hundreds of incoming submissions does not allow us to make comments about each one individually.
Please accept our thanks for the time and effort put into your work. We know that submissions like yours are goodwill offerings in support of the Church. We hope the work that has gone into this one will be a benefit to you and your family.
Sincerely,
Ensign Editorial Staff
Monday, April 13, 2009
Day 1 and 2 in the Dominican Republic
My sister-in-law asked our family to write down a missionary experience to be sent to Dalin, my nephew and the first missionary in the Joan and Larry Hill family. This is not an inspirational experience. I have some of those, too, and intend to record those as well, but as Dalin is a new missionary I thought it might be nice for him to laugh over my first few days in the Dominican Republic. Maybe the hard things he's experiencing will be lightened just a touch after a good belly laugh.
My mission – The beginning
My first day in the Dominican Republic was a shock to the system, to say the least. What I most remember, besides initial shock over the ramshackle huts thrown together and made from whatever was at hand, is my own naivete’. At the home of some members I asked to use the bathroom. My stomach was in complete upheaval and I was afraid it would do just that, up-heave-all I had consumed to date in this new place. Either that or what the Hill Family refers to as “bad news”. (Use your imagination, there are some words referring to distasteful bodily functions that I choose to allude to rather than spell out.) My hostess looked surprised by my request and quietly took me to a bedroom separated from the main room by a curtain. She handed me a large bowl and shutting the curtain behind her she discretely left the room. I stood frozen. Surely she didn’t mean for me to …. ?In the pretty painted bowl..? Mercifully, at that point my bowels (another distasteful word, sorry) seized up. Stage fright? I’m not sure but that is what I most remember about my first day in the D.R.. (Speaking earnestly for a moment, I think the offering of that pretty bowl is indicative of many of the Dominican people I met. Incredibly generous and gracious, offering the best they had for the comfort of their guests. Thank you, Dominicans. I learned so much from you.)
What I remember most about my second day in the mission field is that when I got up in the morning, my shoes had shrunk. I felt like an ugly stepsister trying to squeeze my foot into Cinderella’s little slipper - except that I was Cinderella. It was, after all, my slipper. My petite Dominican companion and my other petite American companion (but I’m not bitter) suggested that we go to the store to purchase a new pair of shoes. I was dumbfounded. What had happened to my shoes overnight? Before I go on let me just say that when heaven was passing out the common sense I was in the ladies room. I sorely lament that. I also missed out on a sense of direction and several other useful endowments. I was there with bells on when they passed out impetuosity, upturned noses, and strange-looking toenails. But I digress. I limped along with my companions to the shoestore and a helpful salesman approached. “Zapatos nuevos, por favor?” I inquired in my best Spanish. The saleman retrieved his foot measuring thingee from the front counter and I sat down. I held out my foot. The man drew back in shocked admiration. He stared at my foot. For the first time all day I looked carefully at my feet. Suddenly, I was mortified. My shoes hadn’t shrunk overnight. Rather, my feet, ankles and calves had swollen to monumental proportions. They were huge! How had I not noticed this? “Un momento, por favor,” stammered the salesman and without measuring my feet he hurried to the back of the store. I heard hushed whispering and then the clerk came rushing out followed closely by another male employee. I shrank back into my seat in shame. The other man looked at my swollen limbs and said with reverential appreciation, “Que gordotas son!” Even a brand new missionary could easily pick out the reference to gorda (fat). And the particular word, “gordota” doesn’t just mean fat, it means fatter-than-fat; it means the fattest ever! I wanted to reply in voice of withering scorn but I didn’t know any insults in Spanish and frankly, I’m just not a scornful person. Instead, I meekly selected and paid for new shoes and walked out of the store completely demoralized, conscious of two men with feet half the size of mine staring after me in open-mouthed appreciation. (An aside, I was a size 10 shoe my entire mission. One week after returning home, I had lost 15 pounds and my feet, ankles and calves returned to their pre-mission size. Water weight – but then again, maybe that’s where everything goes when you're holding it.
My mission – The beginning
My first day in the Dominican Republic was a shock to the system, to say the least. What I most remember, besides initial shock over the ramshackle huts thrown together and made from whatever was at hand, is my own naivete’. At the home of some members I asked to use the bathroom. My stomach was in complete upheaval and I was afraid it would do just that, up-heave-all I had consumed to date in this new place. Either that or what the Hill Family refers to as “bad news”. (Use your imagination, there are some words referring to distasteful bodily functions that I choose to allude to rather than spell out.) My hostess looked surprised by my request and quietly took me to a bedroom separated from the main room by a curtain. She handed me a large bowl and shutting the curtain behind her she discretely left the room. I stood frozen. Surely she didn’t mean for me to …. ?In the pretty painted bowl..? Mercifully, at that point my bowels (another distasteful word, sorry) seized up. Stage fright? I’m not sure but that is what I most remember about my first day in the D.R.. (Speaking earnestly for a moment, I think the offering of that pretty bowl is indicative of many of the Dominican people I met. Incredibly generous and gracious, offering the best they had for the comfort of their guests. Thank you, Dominicans. I learned so much from you.)
What I remember most about my second day in the mission field is that when I got up in the morning, my shoes had shrunk. I felt like an ugly stepsister trying to squeeze my foot into Cinderella’s little slipper - except that I was Cinderella. It was, after all, my slipper. My petite Dominican companion and my other petite American companion (but I’m not bitter) suggested that we go to the store to purchase a new pair of shoes. I was dumbfounded. What had happened to my shoes overnight? Before I go on let me just say that when heaven was passing out the common sense I was in the ladies room. I sorely lament that. I also missed out on a sense of direction and several other useful endowments. I was there with bells on when they passed out impetuosity, upturned noses, and strange-looking toenails. But I digress. I limped along with my companions to the shoestore and a helpful salesman approached. “Zapatos nuevos, por favor?” I inquired in my best Spanish. The saleman retrieved his foot measuring thingee from the front counter and I sat down. I held out my foot. The man drew back in shocked admiration. He stared at my foot. For the first time all day I looked carefully at my feet. Suddenly, I was mortified. My shoes hadn’t shrunk overnight. Rather, my feet, ankles and calves had swollen to monumental proportions. They were huge! How had I not noticed this? “Un momento, por favor,” stammered the salesman and without measuring my feet he hurried to the back of the store. I heard hushed whispering and then the clerk came rushing out followed closely by another male employee. I shrank back into my seat in shame. The other man looked at my swollen limbs and said with reverential appreciation, “Que gordotas son!” Even a brand new missionary could easily pick out the reference to gorda (fat). And the particular word, “gordota” doesn’t just mean fat, it means fatter-than-fat; it means the fattest ever! I wanted to reply in voice of withering scorn but I didn’t know any insults in Spanish and frankly, I’m just not a scornful person. Instead, I meekly selected and paid for new shoes and walked out of the store completely demoralized, conscious of two men with feet half the size of mine staring after me in open-mouthed appreciation. (An aside, I was a size 10 shoe my entire mission. One week after returning home, I had lost 15 pounds and my feet, ankles and calves returned to their pre-mission size. Water weight – but then again, maybe that’s where everything goes when you're holding it.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Four little monkeys
Before Topher was born Jay and I used our tax return to buy a new bed. Not just any bed- a King size lodgepole pine canopy bed that is so high off the ground I can’t get into it without climbing up on one of the pine poles that runs the length of the mattress. We chose this particular bed because we loved the way it looked but we had practical intentions as well – at least that’s what we told ourselves. Jay and I had very strong views on whether or not to have our children sleep with us. Never! was the oft-spoken word when the subject of co-inhabitation of the bed came up. We chose the high bed assuring each other that it would be impossible for our future youngsters to scale this alp of a bed. Ha! Ha-ha! Hee-hee-hee-ha-ha! Ho-ho-ho! Ha-ha-ha-hee-hee-ha-ha-ha. Ha-ha. Ha-ha. Ha. Ahem! Not only can the children get up onto the bed, they love to climb about and swing like monkeys from the canopy poles which run all the way around the top of what is intended to be a restful place. We didn’t purchase a bed, we bought McDonalds’ playland. Even the baby can climb up by grabbing two handfuls of blanket and walking up the side of the bed like a rock climber.
After the initial shock we’ve discovered we enjoy the Saturday morning snuggles that occur when the children wander in – warm-bodied and groggy – wanting to be close to us. In addition to this pleasure, many interesting and energetic games have been invented on the family bed. In one wrestling match between Topher and I when he was 4 years old I pretended he had pinned me and ceased my struggling. Raising a fist in a gesture of triumph he proudly cried, “The Lord has delivered you into my hands!”
One of our most popular games is called “Marshmallow Monkey.” I have no recollection of how this name came about but there it is. The game consists of me, positioned in the center of the bed, trying to grab, pin, tickle, kiss, zurbert or any combination of the above while the “monkeys” dive screaming and throwing themselves from one end of the bed (base) to the other (also base). When one monkey is trapped and undergoing the tickling/kissing torture it is not uncommon for another monkey to come to the rescue by flinging his body on the attacker and tickling the tickler. In a particularly exuberant version of this game each of the boys had their own terry cloth tie knotted over the canopy poles. These ties assumed the role of vines and the boys swung out in gallant fashion. I speak in the past tense of these vine accessories because they no longer exist. In an unbelievable twist of fate both vines broke on the same day within fifteen minutes of each other and have never been replaced. Sadly, they both expired on the outward swing sending their urban Tarzans off in a most distressful manner.
Topher is eleven now with two younger brothers and a sister and the bed is beginning to show signs of wear. Even the smallest swinger causes the bed to sway gently from side to side and so we’ve put the Kaibash(sp) on swinging and climbing on the bed. And strangely, contrary to my strong preparenthood ideals, I feel a little sad that there’ll be no more monkeys jumping on the bed.
After the initial shock we’ve discovered we enjoy the Saturday morning snuggles that occur when the children wander in – warm-bodied and groggy – wanting to be close to us. In addition to this pleasure, many interesting and energetic games have been invented on the family bed. In one wrestling match between Topher and I when he was 4 years old I pretended he had pinned me and ceased my struggling. Raising a fist in a gesture of triumph he proudly cried, “The Lord has delivered you into my hands!”
One of our most popular games is called “Marshmallow Monkey.” I have no recollection of how this name came about but there it is. The game consists of me, positioned in the center of the bed, trying to grab, pin, tickle, kiss, zurbert or any combination of the above while the “monkeys” dive screaming and throwing themselves from one end of the bed (base) to the other (also base). When one monkey is trapped and undergoing the tickling/kissing torture it is not uncommon for another monkey to come to the rescue by flinging his body on the attacker and tickling the tickler. In a particularly exuberant version of this game each of the boys had their own terry cloth tie knotted over the canopy poles. These ties assumed the role of vines and the boys swung out in gallant fashion. I speak in the past tense of these vine accessories because they no longer exist. In an unbelievable twist of fate both vines broke on the same day within fifteen minutes of each other and have never been replaced. Sadly, they both expired on the outward swing sending their urban Tarzans off in a most distressful manner.
Topher is eleven now with two younger brothers and a sister and the bed is beginning to show signs of wear. Even the smallest swinger causes the bed to sway gently from side to side and so we’ve put the Kaibash(sp) on swinging and climbing on the bed. And strangely, contrary to my strong preparenthood ideals, I feel a little sad that there’ll be no more monkeys jumping on the bed.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
April Fool's Day
As I mentioned last year, I love to play April Fool's jokes on my children. This year I was running low on creativity so I turned to one of my favorite magazines, Family Fun, and chose one of their simple ideas.
I made a batch of jello and poured it into glasses with a straw so it looked like Kool-Aid. After it set up I put the glasses on the table with homemade pizza on each plate and called the children in. Lacey came down the stairs eagerly and after the blessing tried to take a long sip from her straw. She tried harder. Then she started giggling and said happily, "So that was your trick, mommy!" The boys, good sports that they are, tried to sip and then looked dubiously at their pizza and each other. Tiny nibbles by all. "Phew!" said Toph, "We were a little concerned about the pizza, mom."
That's it. I'm glad that very simple things still delight.
I made a batch of jello and poured it into glasses with a straw so it looked like Kool-Aid. After it set up I put the glasses on the table with homemade pizza on each plate and called the children in. Lacey came down the stairs eagerly and after the blessing tried to take a long sip from her straw. She tried harder. Then she started giggling and said happily, "So that was your trick, mommy!" The boys, good sports that they are, tried to sip and then looked dubiously at their pizza and each other. Tiny nibbles by all. "Phew!" said Toph, "We were a little concerned about the pizza, mom."
That's it. I'm glad that very simple things still delight.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Mystic Connecticut Aquarium
Grammy is in town visiting and today she treated our family to our first aquarium visit. We packed a lunch and drove from New Hampshire, down through Massachusetts and into Connecticut. We are staying the night at a hotel here and currently Lincoln is asleep in our room while Grammy, daddy, and the big kids swim in the hotel pool.
I loved going with my family to the aquarium today and I wanted to record some of the memories of the day while they are fresh in my mind. My very first memory of the aquarium is the inside of the family bathroom where I was changing Lincoln's soggy diaper. I'll spare you the details of that.
As I caught up with my family, there was a great deal of excitement. "Mom, you have got to see this!!" We stood outside a huge enclosure where 10 Beluga whales were swimming and calling to each other. I started to cry behind my sunglasses. I felt incredible reverence and gratitude to the Maker of these unbelievable animals. I'm not sure what it was about the whales and dolphins in particular that was so awe-inspiring. I mean, I have never looked at a cow and burst into tears unless that cow happened to be standing on my foot. Wandering through the incredible exhibits and seeing for the first time so many animals that I have never before seen caused me to feel reflective and grateful. Maybe that is the difference between the cow and these aquatic animals - simply that you just don't see animals like this every day. I felt honored and privileged to simply see them with my own eyes.
A couple of funny sidenotes:
1. Lincoln hated the hotel swimming pool and screamed the entire time he was in the water except a 30-second span during which he drew breath.
2. Lacey Grace was constantly touching Lincoln; hovering over him, holding his hand, taking toys and snacks away from him that she didn't think he should have, and in general, driving him crazy. In response, he screamed. And wailed. And screamed. You parents in the audience may be able to relate to the horrific, ear-splitting, constancy of an 18-month-old screaming every 7-8 seconds and what it can do to even the calmest parent. At one point in the hotel stay, Jay called out in agony, "Lacey Grace, please don't touch the baby EVER again!" I laughed out loud for a very long time. Lacey looked offended, then puzzled, then burst into laughter as well, as if to say, "Good one, dad!"
3. Jay and I were driving in the van to get swim diapers (What a waste of money!)and talking about how dangerous it is to judge other people's children and their parenting skills. A few hours later while standing outside an exhibit at the aquarium we heard the tour guide emphatically state, "Please do not dangle things over the exhibits...even cameras...even if you are trying to get a really great picture!" I looked at Jay and stated, "That's one of our children irritating the guide." "I know," he sighed. We hurried toward the enclosure hoping we were wrong and saw the tour guide. Standing right next to her was our son, looking very happy and energetic (or "hypergetic", as he refers to himself as a toddler and we don't have the heart to tell him that even though he's nine, nothing has changed). He was holding his brother's camera and looking very pleased with himself.
I loved going with my family to the aquarium today and I wanted to record some of the memories of the day while they are fresh in my mind. My very first memory of the aquarium is the inside of the family bathroom where I was changing Lincoln's soggy diaper. I'll spare you the details of that.
As I caught up with my family, there was a great deal of excitement. "Mom, you have got to see this!!" We stood outside a huge enclosure where 10 Beluga whales were swimming and calling to each other. I started to cry behind my sunglasses. I felt incredible reverence and gratitude to the Maker of these unbelievable animals. I'm not sure what it was about the whales and dolphins in particular that was so awe-inspiring. I mean, I have never looked at a cow and burst into tears unless that cow happened to be standing on my foot. Wandering through the incredible exhibits and seeing for the first time so many animals that I have never before seen caused me to feel reflective and grateful. Maybe that is the difference between the cow and these aquatic animals - simply that you just don't see animals like this every day. I felt honored and privileged to simply see them with my own eyes.
A couple of funny sidenotes:
1. Lincoln hated the hotel swimming pool and screamed the entire time he was in the water except a 30-second span during which he drew breath.
2. Lacey Grace was constantly touching Lincoln; hovering over him, holding his hand, taking toys and snacks away from him that she didn't think he should have, and in general, driving him crazy. In response, he screamed. And wailed. And screamed. You parents in the audience may be able to relate to the horrific, ear-splitting, constancy of an 18-month-old screaming every 7-8 seconds and what it can do to even the calmest parent. At one point in the hotel stay, Jay called out in agony, "Lacey Grace, please don't touch the baby EVER again!" I laughed out loud for a very long time. Lacey looked offended, then puzzled, then burst into laughter as well, as if to say, "Good one, dad!"
3. Jay and I were driving in the van to get swim diapers (What a waste of money!)and talking about how dangerous it is to judge other people's children and their parenting skills. A few hours later while standing outside an exhibit at the aquarium we heard the tour guide emphatically state, "Please do not dangle things over the exhibits...even cameras...even if you are trying to get a really great picture!" I looked at Jay and stated, "That's one of our children irritating the guide." "I know," he sighed. We hurried toward the enclosure hoping we were wrong and saw the tour guide. Standing right next to her was our son, looking very happy and energetic (or "hypergetic", as he refers to himself as a toddler and we don't have the heart to tell him that even though he's nine, nothing has changed). He was holding his brother's camera and looking very pleased with himself.
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