When I was 17 and trying to decide where to go to college, my mom and I visited half a dozen schools up and down the southeast coast (I was going to be a marine biologist, so was focused on schools near the water)(Also, BEACH. Duh.) But when we got to Charleston, South Carolina I was done. The Spanish moss hanging from the old bent trees, the houses squished sideways, the low-tide-pluff-mud smell. It’s fantastic, all of it.

We’re back in South Carolina for a few days, to serve as margarita and cake makers for one of my oldest friend’s 30th birthday celebrations. We’ve crashed a relative of a friend’s beach house that is only a “beach house” in the sense that it is on the beach – it’s like an HGTV Dream Home except I AM IN IT.

So please excuse the bloggy silence for a few days, while we’re busy doing lots of this:

I swear to God this week went by so fast I barely remember the beginning half, but I have NO IDEA what we did. Thank goodness I take so many pictures.

Sunday:

We filled the bathtub with water in case our power went out. E laughed at me (and our power was only out for 3 hours) but the people who only got power back TODAY wish they had remembered to do it too!

Back yard during the hurricane

LET ME OUT!

Monday:

Storm damage at the park

Oh my heart attack. STOP CLIMBING NOW.

Strawberry

Tuesday:

"Food Mama! Foood!!! More!!" says the toddler holding the giant bag of Splenda.

Mind. Blown.

One armed toddler and the modesty duck. Worst children's book ever.

Wednesday:

Baby yoga: cobra pose and child's post

I have no idea what this pose is, but I'm impressed.

Step one, you put a toddler in the box

Thursday:

This garden was calling my name. Except instead of sitting there relaxing I dragged a screaming 2-year old through the parking lot. Good times.

"Evan SAD", says Evan. "No shit", says Mama. It was that kind of day.

Friday:

THIS IS HAPPENING.

Impromptu family outing to feed the ducks

I see you, kid. Get your finger out of your nose.

Started Caroline's winter coat. BECAUSE IT IS FALL. IT IS, NO REALLY, IT IS. Well, ok, SOON.

Saturday:

Fancy hair! But I have no idea how I did it. also, it's held in place with a knitting needle.

THIS IS STILL HAPPENING.

Letting Caroline chew on my keys is super gross, but the screaming if you take them away is worse.

Who has two thumbs and is super excited about this three day weekend PLUS a vacation we have coming up? THIS GUY. There is a beach involved. And girlfriends. And before that we’re going to make the most of this summer weekend – I hope you’re prepared for a whole week of picture essays about ice cream and cows and babies frolicking in sun dresses.

Did you take any camera phone photos this week? Link up with one or lots using the linky below and grab the code (so it shows on your blog too!) over at Amy’s . It’s really fun!

It’s that time again, when I commemorate pushing a baby out of my hoo-hah by permanently scarring my skin in ways that will shock and appall at least 75% of my family! Wooo!!

Only this time I have NO idea what I’m going to get in Caroline’s honor. With Baby Evan,  had a concept I loved and some styles in mind before I turned to the internet for suggestions. This time I’m adrift in a sea of maybe possibly good ideas but more likely terrible ugly ideas.

Idea #1 – Caroline is a December baby, and her middle name is Noelle because she was due December 26th (and born December 19th). So maybe something wintery/Christmasy? But I don’t really want Santa Claus or red and green or a big giant candy cane, so it needs to be SUBTLY Christmasy. Bells? Flowers? Snowflakes?

Idea #2 -Some sort of “Sweet Caroline” reference. We sing that song a lot around here, but what kind of tattoo does it inspire? Musical notes? Song lyrics? A portrait of Neil Diamond? (NO) The Red Sox B? (DOUBLE NO)

Idea #3 and the one that might be stretching it the most – One of the reasons I love the name Caroline is because I went to school/got married in South Carolina (hence the palmetto tattoo I already have). When I was a kid, we used to play “Nothing Could Be Finer Than To Be In Carolina” on my grandma’s player piano and dance around the basement. The lyrics mention morning glories, which would match my two other flower tattoos pretty well and could be beautiful – but there are a LOT of not pretty morning glory tattoos online plus it’s REALLY stretching for the connection.

I DON’T KNOW. I may be more casual about tattoos than someone getting there very first one, but I am still aware that they are PERMANENT and I SHOULD NOT get something inked on my body that I don’t truly love.

I also don’t know where I’m going to put whatever I come up with. I’m long past the have-to-be-able-to-hide-them stage of tattoos, but Little Evan’s is pretty small and I don’t was anyone to think I love Caroline more because her tribute is my whole arm. Not that I’m REALLY going to do my whole arm, Mom, so you can stop hyperventilating now.

So, to sum up, HALP.

p.s. I’ve been pinning stuff on my tattoo inspiration board, but I don’t want to be the person who gets an exact copy of someone else’s tattoo so they’re only good as vague ideas. Especially because they’re mostly bird tattoos and I cannot find any way to make a cool bird tattoo fit for Caroline. BUMMER.

Hurricane Irene blew through Connecticut on Sunday:

Back patio at 8 am. For the record, we piled all the outdoor furniture over in that corner - the hurricane did not manage to stack our chairs quite so neatly.

This is a game called "Ew, you're stinky!" in which I get a whiff of the toddler's diaper and shout "Ew, you're stinky!" while poking him and making him laugh hysterically. We played for 45 MINUTES.

Rednecks. I'll forgive them since it was REALLY hot in the house with all the windows closed.

Fascinated by the storm

Biggest branch that came down. Luckily it came down on a bush and not through my window.

Skeptical baby thinks we are all fools for going outside.

We didn’t end up with much more than some broken branches and broken patio lights (we forgot to take them down) but being cooped up inside all day might have made us a little stir-crazy. As you can clearly see in the most embarrassing video of myself I will ever post on the internet.

The fact that Little Evan “played” dinosaur with me might be my best parenting moment to date so far.

Oh toddlers.

They’re so much fun when they’re not screaming in your face.

Unfortunately, we’ve been having a lot of in your face moments for the past few weeks. Evan’s favorite word is NO and he uses it every chance he gets. Even if he means “Yes please, that would be lovely Mother” he says NO.

Would you like some juice? NO JUICE! Would you like an apple? NO APPLE! Do you want to watch tv? NO TV! Do you want to go to the park and see our friends? NO FRIENDS! NO! NOOOOOO!!! *sobbing hysterics* *tears* *throws self on floor*

Evan, what’s wrong? JUICE! APPLE! TV! FRIENDS!! *sob sob sob sob*

Blarg.

Thank God for our new best friends, Nick Jr and Sprout and whatever other channel is planning something vaguely child appropriate that perhaps also includes a catchy song I will find myself singing later as I vacuum up pretzel crumbs (We got a green light! We’re gonna take a ride! Come on! What are you waiting foo-oo-or? It’s time to move it! It’s time to groove it! Are you ready? Cause here we goo-oo-oo!) Honestly, in the scheme of “things that get stuck in my head” the Fresh Beat Band is NOT THAT BAD. I may in fact actually…like that song. Don’t tell anyone.

I don’t feel even a teeny tiny little bit bad about letting Little Evan watch TV if it means no one gets smacked in the face, buried under a mountain of dirty laundry, or left at the fire station under the child surrender laws. (Not that I’VE ever Googled those in the midst of a meltdown. Nope.)

In the long run, my toddler learns to speak Chinese and I am a better parent. I see no problems.

Sometimes, even all the happy songs and Blue’s Clues on the planet can’t solve the huge, life destroying problems my toddler faces – such as “Why can’t I eat fourteen lollipops for breakfast?” or “Why did I get yelled at for punching my sister in the head?” Life’s mysteries are SO MYSTERIOUS when you are 2. And when you lack the words to explain why you are so upset, the only way to express yourself is flinging your body on the ground and hitting anything that comes within reach. Obviously.

I have learned the suggestion that one “take a deep breath and count to ten” when one is faced with those kinds of meltdowns isn’t just an expression or a general way saying “chill out”. For it to work, you have to ACTUALLY STOP WHAT YOU ARE DOING, close your eyes, take several deep breaths in…and…out…and count to 10 VERY SLOWLY. It’s not going to stop the toddler’s behavior, but it will stop you from throwing your own tantrum in return.

Because that is my biggest parenting challenge: not responding like a toddler when faced with a toddler. Which sounds totally ridiculous – I am a GROWN ASS ADULT. I have leveled up appropriately and unlocked all the adult life achievements (college +1, apartment +1, marriage +1, mortgage +1, credit card + a zillion) and yet when someone screams in my face and lashes out it takes every ounce of my strength not to react in kind. It’s stupid and childish and makes me feel like I truly have absolutely no idea what I am doing when it comes to this parenting gig.

WHY ISN’T THERE A TEST? Or a LICENSE? Some sort of oversight program or home visit or preparedness class I had to attend before I was allowed to get pregnant? Why wasn’t I given some sort of practice training child I couldn’t screw up before I got the final draft? Terrible planning, mother nature. Terrible.

But despite all the toddlering going on, I am taking my deep breaths and learning to be patient. I remind myself (over and over and over and over)(and over and over and over) that this too shall pass. I refuse to argue with a 2 year old and pick my battles much more carefully – is it worth losing my cool over pajama shirts or hair washing or sandals or 3 more bites of dinner or keeping the cushions on the couch or how many blankets to bring downstairs or sharing the red truck instead of the blue truck or the five billion other things Little Evan wants to fight about every single day?

No. No it is not.

At the end of the day, he’s a wonderful boy (Especially at the literal end of the day – bedtime is one thing we’ve got worked out). Smart and funny and kind and generous and joyful and friendly. I look forward to spending time with him and seeing the world as the Super! Awesome! Exciting! Place! he thinks it is. We have such GOOD good times that it makes the bad days seem so much worse. I want to just grab him by the shoulders mid-meltdown and shout “WE COULD BE HAVING FUN! WHY AREN’T WE HAVING FUN?!”

But that’s not very grown-up of me.