Hawaii Top Ten

Aloha!

I'm back from Hawaii full of sun and even a few apologies. I planned on blogging while there, but our internet connection was dodgy. And when it worked, it made a snail stuck in molasses in January in the arctic without snowshoes or a dogsled team seem REALLY fast, hence the lack of posts. Just pretend I'm still on island time.

Anywho, in honor of Jonene's (thanks btw!!!!) guest post, here are the top ten things from our trip.

10: Chickens. Yup, they were everywhere. I even brought proof.



And somehow this sounded a little better than landing in Kauai and discovering the airline lost our luggage. Yup, we are that cursed. But they did find it--a sunburn and a trip to Walmart for toothbrushes and sunscreen and shoes and deodorant and...well a bunch of other stuff later. See, chickens suddenly sound awesome.

9: The Beach and sun. Way better than Chickens, and did I mention it snowed at my house the day before we left? Shudder.



Kid A did manage to get stung by a Portugese Man-of-war jelly fish TWICE! Once on the ankle our first time in the water. The second time from the upper thigh to her calf our last time out in the water(this may have been the reason it was our last time in the water). The thing wrapped around her leg and knee, and she had to peel it off with her fingers. Can you say giant welts? She still has red marks. You know that cursed thing? Yeah, you might not want to go swimming with us. Just saying.

8: Waterfalls.



Beautiful and not a jelly in sight. Ahhhhh.

7: Being surrounded by dolphins.



Again, way better than jellies.

6: The Napali Coast.



5: The Napali Coast, and yes, it gets more than one spot because it was so gorgeous.



4: Yup, the Napali Coast.



I may have like this place just a tad. :)

3: Adventures.



And we didn't even die. Alway a good thing.

2: Hikes.



This is Kid A and me on the trail. And yes, this was a vertical trail. Sooo much fun, especially since we avoided jellies. I did yell at Kid A when she started leaping from rock to rock with a 2000 foot drop on both sides. Kids!

1: Green stuff and cool trees.



And even better than all ten of these was coming home and finding the sitters...I mean the kids still alive. They even missed us (both the sitters and the kids). Pure bonus.

The Magic Number Twelve

Twelve.

That's the number of days until I'll be standing on a beach in Hawaii.



I can almost hear the surf. It's almost close enough to smell. My friend sent me this link because she's awesome and loves me. Check it out:

http://youtu.be/uBLccEDmn40

What are you looking forward to? What will you be doing in twelve days?

A Night In Hawaii or Not

So, if any of you know me, you know I adore Hawaii. The beaches, the sand, the sun, the--oh lets be honest, I love everything about it. I've been once with my hubby and dream of going back. Literally.

Last night, my dreams took me there. Hubby and I stepped off the plane and the warm, salt-scented air greeted us. I was one hotel-room-stop away from sinking my toes into the surf. Paradise, right?

Wrong. I looked down, and there was Kid A. Now, Kid A isn't the problem herself, it was her eyes. They were red and had goobers attached to the eyelashes. One word shot through my dream mind. PINKEYE.

(I'd show you a picture, but I'm not that mean. And you deserve better, so imagine instead.)

Anywho, yup, paradise dream just went south fast and turned into nightmare city. Those of you who know me should be either groaning or laughing right now, because you know how pinkeye haunts me. There simply aren't words to describe the horror it brings into my heart. For those who don't know me, I'll try to explain. But remember, there aren't enough words. Really.

Some people are afraid of monsters, others have a hang up with spiders, or nuclear war, or death, or dismemberment, or I don't know, something bad. Well, they got nothing on me and my pinkeye phobia. It all started when my hubby received a corneal transplant and went from legally blind to ta-da I can see! (It wasn't that easy btw.) Then the doctor told me he could never get an eye infection-ever-or his body might reject his cornea, and he'd be blind.

Never tell someone with OCD tendencies something like that. Let's just say I change when someone gets pinkeye. Really change. It isn't good. The kids all sink into the corners and start to whimper, and I start scrubbing and randomly shouting things like, "Did you wash your hands?" or "Don't touch ANYTHING!" Then I wash and wash and wash every surface in the house till my hands start to bleed, and my hair falls out, and the paint starts to come off the walls, and the people with the white jackets show up, and the world ends, or hubby calms me down. A bit. See, not pretty. Picture Monk, but worse. (And if you've never seen Monk, go rent a season or two, or more, from Netflix. It's good.)



Anywho, back to my paradise dream turned nightmare. I stared into Kid A's red, demon eyes and went psycho. Do you know how hard it is to disinfect Hawaii? Sand just doesn't clean up well, and tourists touch things. A lot. We ended up in the hospital, which is another phobia of mine. Then we ended up lost in a maze of corridors trying to find a door to escape from. AND then as we raced through the halls, I TOUCHED MY EYE. Again, if you know me, you should be aghast at the horror. Aghast. If you don't know me, pretend to be aghast, or at least laugh. Please.

We never got out of the hospital. I got pinkeye. And then I woke up. I ran to the mirror, stared into my sleep-bleary eyes, and sighed. No red, not even a sign of pink. So, was it fun to spend the night in Hawaii? Not so much. It's good to be home.

Racquetball or Racket ball

My family has been on a short vacation. We've lazed around, indulged in the water, and turned a bright shade of red--even after repeated applications of 50 block sunscreen. Seriously, shouldn't that be like wearing a lead shirt? How can you burn through that? But anyway, we also played racket ball. I know some of you out there are shaking your heads and tisking away at my spelling. It might sound something like this:

"Racket ball? Doesn't she know how to spell? I thought she wanted to be a writer. Good Grief!" Accompanied by much head shaking and eye rolling.

But, I've officially re-named racquetball racket ball. Webster be darned. Why? Because it's loud. And because I think there was a bit of cheating involved in our game. And because I can. Here is a play-by-play of my very first ever game of racket ball.

Hubby: Do you want to play racquetball? (He spells it the old way because he is unenlightened.)

Me: Um. Is that the thing like tennis but in a small, stuffy room?

Hubby: Yes. It's fun.

Me: Define fun.

Hubby: I--

Me cutting him off: Never mind. My dad used to play that. He came home with fist-sized bruises. That doesn't sound fun to me.

Hubby: You won't get bruises.

Me: This involves a ball, right?

Hubby nodding.

Me nodding, too: Right. Bruises. Cramps. Ice packs. Crutches. Need I go on? (Can you guess my past brilliance at sports? Yup. I'm that good.)

Hubby handing me a racquet: It will be fun.

Me staring at racket: What do I do with this?

Hubby: Hit the ball.

Me ducking for cover as blue ball pings and boings around the room: You do realize you married a girl? A non sporty kind of girl?

Hubby smiling: Well, I do hope so. The girl part I mean.

Here's the crazy thing. It was fun. I don't think I even got bruised. Sore, yes, but it was so worth it. Now, this might seem like a small thing--me playing racket ball--but it's not. You see, I stink at sports. All of them. That whole hand-eye coordination thing never happened to me. Ever. But last night, I hit the ball.

More than once. And now I want my own racket ball court. Too bad that won't be happening. Sigh. But a girl can dream can't she?

What new things have you tried lately?

End of School and My Kids' Awesome Teachers

It's here.

The end.

Not of the world, but of school.

Usually I quake and tremble at the mere thought of school letting out. Usually I crawl out to the bus in my fuzzy slippers, drop to my knees, and beg them to keep coming. I make visits to the teachers and implore them to stay in the building teaching my children.

Why would I do such a thing? Because when school ends, the lovely yellow bus won't pull up at my curb and take my children away. The teachers all go home. These are the stuff nightmares are made of. I know because I read the ingredient list.

I also know this sounds bad, and that several of you may be nominating me for a mother of the year award right now. But let me explain. My children will be stuck with me. All summer. All day. Every day.

Let me say that again. They'll be stuck with me. They won't get services. None. No speech or physical therapy. No highly trained, talented teachers that use their magic touch to crack the shell around my kids and let them escape from their disability for a few precious hour a day.

How could I not want that to go on all year long?

So in my own twisted way, this is a shout-out to all the teachers, assistants, therapists, peer tutors, bus drivers, administration, lunch ladies, librarians, and custodians who help shape my children's lives.

We love you. Yes, all of you. I know words are poor and flimsy compared to the hours, weeks, and months you dedicate to my children, but they come from the heart. You are a vital extension of my family, and we couldn't do it without you.

So, thanks for loving the boys even when they refuse to shower and smell. Thanks for loving them through long fingernails and temper tantrums. Thanks for caring even when they throw things, break headphones, or flush sack lunches down the toilet so they can eat pizza at school. Thanks for loving them even when they growl at you or refuse to leave the room because there are clouds outside.

Thanks for teaching them to read, count, and tell time. Thanks for teaching them to do all the thousands of little things the rest of us take for granted. I know it's slow going and hard, but each small triumph is huge. Every word, figure, or number is a miracle to us. We feel your impact here at home. And for the first time, I'm not scared of summer because your influence has been so lasting in their lives. For the first time I don't want to dress as the Grim Reaper on the last day of school.

For the first time I'm excited for summer.

So thank you for my children. Thank you for everything.