Ahh...Vacation.



(This is NOT us camping, just a random friendly family.)

 Vacation has changed.

At least, for me. Growing up, our vacations usually fell into two categories--driving to Florida to visit my grandfather, or camping in either Northern New Hampshire or Maine.

We'd drive to FL every three years or so, pulling out of the driveway at four in the morning in our pink conversion van, with a cooler full of sandwiches and snacks so that we wouldn't have to stop unless someone's bladder was going to explode, or my dad couldn't keep his eyes open any longer.  When that happened, we'd pull into a trucker rest stop and my dad would "rest". Of course, the four of us had been dozing and cooped up in the car for hours, so we'd be wide awake and bouncing around, which is not really conducive to sleeping.  Then my mom would hop into the driver seat and white-knuckle it for a few hours, until Dad couldn't handle her driving and more and bark for her to pull over.  I don't think there was ever a single hotel stop or fast food meal (unless we drove through McDonald's and my parents ordered half a dozen hamburgers).

This all sounds dramatic, but mostly I have fond memories of our drives. This was before portable DVD players and iPods and even CD players.  We always sat in the same seats. Me, the oldest, in the middle left seat.  Next to me was Keegan, the youngest and only boy.  In the way back were my sisters, 20 months apart and either fighting or plotting at any given moment, with a pile of blankets and toys around them.  They would take turns putting their bare feet up over the seat and rubbing them on Keegan's buzz cut, saying, "pedicure, pedicure" while giggling hysterically. There was a LOT of farting going on during those trips. One year, Meggie brought a little boom box and a Bryan Adams tape...I've never felt quite the same about Bryan Adams since. I loved being awake in the night and driving through DC or Baltimore and taking in all the lights, or watching the sunrise, and listening to my parents talk. Mom always brought along Twizzlers and Junior Mints (until she choked on a Junior Mint while driving one year!). 

We'd make it to Florida in about 24 hours, stay with my Grandpa Jim for five days, and then do it all again on our way back to NH. I did this once, in college, with a group of rugby players. It was just as fun, probably more, except of course I had to help drive. :)

Then, there was the camping.

My parents were essentially poor hippies when we were really little. So we camped. Sometimes, it was on a whim, like when we camped up in the White Mountains in October, and it snowed. (Less fun.)  But for several years, we went to the same campground for a week every summer--Lake Pemaquid Campground in Damariscotta, Maine.  It. Was. Awesome.  I have a plethora of cousins, and their families would usually join us. There were little playgrounds all over the place, and campground store, and a big rock out in the middle of the lake that we could swim to and climb all over. We are tent campers (not RV campers, or cabin campers, but I think that if you read about our trips to Florida, you'd probably already figured that out).  Folks would bring their guitars and  lots and lots of booze, and after a dinner of hotdogs and s'mores, we'd play Yahtzee by citronella-candlelight and then the kids were shuttled off to bed and the adults would play music and drink by the fire, while an occasional skunk ran around. 

It was a lot of fun--we were old enough to run around on our own as long as we stuck together.  On the weekends there would be dances, and I may even have had my first ever kiss up there!

So, that was my vacation experience growing up.

Little did I know...

In the meantime, while I was spending 24 quality hours in the car with my family, or sleeping on rocks and eating "raw" (aka cold) hotdogs and not bathing, my wife, Kat, was vacationing in the Outer Banks of North Carolina.

I didn't even KNOW what the Outer Banks were six years ago, when I went on my first Thompson family vacation experience. We had driven down to Virginia to visit the in-laws for a week, and then caravaned from Richmond, VA to Avon, NC.  Driving with the Thompson clan is NOTHING like anything I'd ever experienced.  We'd drive for an hour, then ALL stop for breakfast/brunch. Then another hour, and it was a pee and snack break at McDonald's.  Then another pee break, then a stop for lunch, then a stop at the rest area at the top of the Banks. Then driving down the winding two-lane road nearly to the end, until we all stopped at the realtor's to pick up our keys. Then, finally, to the house.



Our 2011 beach house



THE HOUSE.

(If you recall, my vacations were spent in tents.)

My first Outer Banks house was three stories. It had (among other things) six bedrooms, six bathrooms, a pool table, two dishwashers, a pool, a hot tub, and an ELEVATOR. Our bathroom was big enough to keep the Pack n' Play in. We were a few hundred feet from the ocean (warm ocean with a sandy beach, very different from the ocean in Maine). 

It completely blew my mind.

While in the Outer Banks, we play at the pool in our backyard, or play in the ocean, or play in the sound. We visit the lighthouse and we go shopping. We eat a LOT of seafood (I'd never had crab legs before....AMAZING!) and we play a lot of board games. It's really the only time I drink coffee or alcohol. 

It's a whole different experience, and while I love it, some days I kind of miss the tent.

Kind of.

Legwarmers? Really?

I've always harbored this deep-seated desire to be an earthy-crunchy mom. (**No offense to any "real" earthy-crunchy moms is intended here, I just don't have a better adjective at the moment.) A breast-feeding, baby-wearing, cloth-diapering mama who makes my own baby food. The kind of mama whose kid is always a scraggly ragamuffin with a big grin on his or her face as he or she jumps around naked in a mud puddle or plays with homemade wooden blocks while dressed in a mama-made woolly sweater (or hat, or pants, or scarf, or really anything woolly and handmade). The kind of mama who takes my infants camping or hiking and co-sleeps in a family bed in a big pile of happy, sleeping bodies.

I'm not sure where this comes from--probably a lot of it comes from my own mom, and the way that I was raised. I'm sure over the years I've romanticized my upbringing...a little girl dancing around at bluegrass festivals, sleeping in a old VW while everyone partied all night long, helping "build" our house, not being allowed to have any sugar for the first 3 years of my life, etc. Also, I know a lot of earth-mama type folks, and I think they're really cool.

Unfortunately, like many of my hopes and dreams, this one ended up being kind of half-assed when it came to putting it into practice.

First of all, I didn't breast-feed. Major, major earth-mama no-no.

We didn't co-sleep at all. Ella was a prickly, independent little thing right from the start. She's been sleeping in her very own bedroom since she was about four weeks old. Believe me, it was better for all involved. When we do have to share a bed, it's torture! Ben was a little different, but again, if he was sleeping with us, then we weren't sleeping. If you know my wife, Kat, at all, then you know this was a very, very, very bad thing.

Next, we aren't exactly organic farmers. Hell, we're lucky if we pop open a can of green beans for dinner. Broccoli or corn on the cob are delicacies over here. No wonder my daughter is a picky eater...it's like the old anti-drug commercials, "I learned it by watching YOU," the kid says in an accusatory tone to the screaming parents waving around a bag of pot. OOPS!

I did invest in some baby-wearing gear. We bought a Baby Bjorn. Then a Moby Wrap. Then a Kelty backpack carrier. Then an Ergo. I loved the Moby Wrap....when I remembered it. The stroller, although bulky, seemed to offer more convenience. A place to put my latte, a place to put the diaper bag....

Then, with Ben, I got into cloth diapers. When I say "got into" I mean, became OBSESSED. I tried all different kinds. I spend hundreds of dollars (wasn't this supposed to save us money?). I bought BabyLegs because I thought they would be cute and crunchy with the cloth diapers (and they were!). I became active on diaper-swapping websites. I used baking soda and vinegar to get my diapers clean. I dried them in the sun. I LOVED cloth diapering and was really sad when we had to stop. It was the closest I've ever felt to being a true earthy-crunchy mom.

Speaking of BabyLegs...these are leg warmers for infants, and the original point of this post. Easier to change the kid without getting him entirely undressed, I think. The packaging touts them as warmers for all--full legs, shins, arms...they probably would even work as headbands. I bought a LOT of BabyLegs, in fun girly colors for Ella. I mean, who wouldn't want to wear leg warmers?

(Here is another reason why I kind of fail as an earth-mama. I also secretly want my daughter to be the kind of kid who dresses up in quirky outfits and wears tutus and glittery sunglasses to the grocery store.)

She's NOT that kind of kid, and believe me, it's not from lack of trying on my part.

But every once in a while, she'll surprise me. Like today. T-shirt, bike shorts, and a full skirt. Then, leg warmers. In JULY. I think it's my fault because I told her she didn't need any socks, and we're going through some power-struggle issues. So she put on leg warmers, and wore them all day long.

(Secretly, I was amused and not embarrassed at all.)

Two in row.

My daughter can be the greatest kid on the planet.

She's gorgeous, smart, and understands higher thinking. She "gets" sarcasm and can add double digit numbers in her head. She speaks in metaphors. She hangs out with all kinds of kids and stands up for the kids who aren't always included. She spends hours designing "stores" in her bedroom or inventing intricate play scenarios for us. She wants to rescue animals when she grows up.

However... (and you must have known this was coming, especially if you know Ella...)

She can also be the biggest brat on the planet.

Ella's first spoken word was "WHAT?!?" (with attitude). I'm not even kidding. We would joke about "oh no, we're in trouble..." and laugh. Little did we know...

She's moody, tempermental, clumsy. Oh, and did I mention STUBBORN?? When you ask her to whisper, she screams. When you ask her to help you out, she either refuses or spits on the floor in response. She plays the martyr to perfection. "You don't love me as much as you love Ben" is the constant refrain out of her mouth. She whines. ALL. OF. THE. TIME.

Today, Ben went down for his nap early, since he'd been up since 5:45 or some insane time. I told Ella I was going to take a shower, and she could watch something on PBS. This is our usual routine, and it works. EXCEPT...
I heard it coming up the stairs...the whine...a little bit of teariness in the voice...the two-syllabled "Mo-om" that makes me cringe....
Ella: "I'm hungry."
Mom: "Well, I can't really help you out right now. Look in the pantry for a snack."
A minute later, she's back up, screaming that she can't find anything. I suggest blueberries from the fridge.
Ella: "Don't you know anything? I'm not a fan of blueberries, reMEMber??"
Mom: "Well, I'll be out in five. Can you wait?"
Ella: "NO!" Leaves bathroom screaming.
Mom: (in a snake-like hiss) "Eleanor. GET. IN. HERE."
She screams from the hallway, outside of her brother's bedroom: "NO!"
In my deadliest whisper, I tell her that if she doesn't stop screaming/if she wakes her brother up, she will spend the rest of the morning in her bedroom.
Ella: "FINE. I DON'T CARE. YOU LOVE HIM MORE ANYWAY. AND YOU'RE STARVING ME." Then she runs back down the stairs "DON'T YOU DARE COME DOWN HERE MOMMY!"
I shrug, since the danger is passed and at least she's away from Ben's room.
Two minutes later, she's back in the bathroom, crying. Her bug bite itches, can I put some "carolina lotion" on it? Sure, I say, it's in my bedroom.
Ella: "MOM? I CAN'T FIND IT."
Mom: "Shhhhhh....it's right on the mantle."
Crash.

I end the shower, get dressed, and come down stairs. She's lying on the floor in front of the TV, quiet as a mouse. I throw the bag of raisin bread at her and leave her alone.

Did I mention she's my Doppleganger?

Today.

I've always wanted to have a blog.

Actually, I think I've created several, websites that have a little witty information about me and a then-current photo of one of my gorgeous, perfect children. But it's the actual blogging part that I get hung up on. I always want to give a backstory, and then I get overwhelmed.

So, my new plan of attack is to just address what happens when it happens. If the past comes into play, then I can add it in then. :)

Today. July 24. Eleven years ago, my friend Kim lost her battle to leukemia. I was at Camp Takodah when I found out, at girls' camp training. I remember every painful detail of that summer. There was magic too, like butterflies everywhere, and for the first time, I really believed in a higher power, that Kim was working from above. While it doesn't always happen as much now, it still does.

This day always used to be my worst day of the year. It's easier now, and I think part of that is because I have a family, I can't wallow in my sadness because I'm usually "ON." And time heals a lot of things.

My biggest fear in life is losing one of my children. Actually, right now, I'm afraid of losing Ben. No worries, he's healthy and thriving. But my little boy is so sweet, so fun-loving, so GOOD. He reminds me a lot of Kim, and of others I have known who have left us early. I just have this horrible feeling that we won't have him for very long. How AWFUL is that? I can't explain why. Kat was horrified when I first told her my worries, and she thinks I'm crazy. I might be--I can certainly be both a drama queen and a hypochondriac.

This is very rambling. I think I'm going to end it here.