Testing the limits of your food tolerance, blogworld.

This will be the first of my Hawaii food posts--but I felt today's treat SO worthy of mention, that I just couldn't wait.  It's criteria for perfection is multi-faceted, as it:


--Is delicious AND controversial (based on your own personal preferences for raw foods,    blogworld)
--Was purchased at Sam's Club...SAMS CLUB, people.
--Was less than $8 


At this point, you either think I am the luckiest girl ALIVE, or you threw up a little bit in your mouth (Becky S.).  Let me explain.


This is what we call POKE.  As in "Do the Hokey-POKEY".  With an invisible Y. 


And I NEVER grew up eating sushi, because prior to the age of 20, I only ate cheeseburgers (true story).  Except that somewhere down the line, I jumped aboard the sushi train, and then I realized it was kind of *freaking awesome* that every family party I ever attended included a 25 pound platter of sushi-grade ahi tuna.  Also there was jello salad and (sometimes) a big bowl of seaweed, and various dishes where mayonnaise was the main ingredient.  Just to give you an accurate mental picture.


So, as we were perusing Sam's yesterday--and commenting on it's selection of fish cake and kalua pig and octopus (oh my!)--we came across the POKE.  Which is raw Ahi Tuna, mixed with a bit of seaweed, some onions, some green onions and some other stuff, I'm just not sure, but it's a safe bet that it rolled out of the ocean.


And so, for 24 hours straight, I have consumed nothing but raw fish.  Slowly, over several meals worth of time.  Oh, and also, there was a spam/rice/seaweed type sandwich (a spam musubi) purchased at 7-11 for breakfast.  Just so you have an accurate mental picture.  


I am officially in a heaven where sushi-grade fish can be purchased at Sam's Club for  $7.50 a pound.  Or your local beach for free.

Where I regale you with tales of how my childhood was a wildly dangerous adventure.

Greetings from the top of Diamond Head!

Yup, that pretty much says it all.  The squinting and sweating and grabbing of *things*.

Also, this is pictoral proof that we managed to *herd* four children to the top of an inactive volcano.  There was a minimal amount of weeping/gnashing of teeth, but for Big J who declared his legs tired upon exiting the parking lot.  The hike up for him involved a lot of shoulder slumping and foot stomping--until he was confronted (simultaneously) with 316 stairs, and 562 tourists, and then he had to hold on to the hand rail or he would have surely died.  And THAT would have been something to weep about.


As it turns out, Diamond Head has gone commercial.  Yup, this time around there was a ticket booth at the entrance to the parking lot, and this FREE thing I have done my entire life now costs $5 (per car).  Not terrible, just ANNOYING.  On principle.  I mean, I get that they have to maintain this trail, but really, how much damage can small humans do to a VOLCANO that once spit forth a fiery geyser?  


But also, I figured that the admission fee MUST be going to support the ongoing construction of metal fencing/barriers, designed to make it impossible to fall of the face of the volcano.  I get it.  


But, if I may--


BACK IN MY DAY, camp counselors would march 145 kindergartners up this mountain (and its 316 steps), every week, in 100 degree heat, with NO RAILINGS.  One time I saw a girl throw up red Kool-Aid and what appeared to be cottage cheese, and she KEPT GOING and it made her stronger, and I'm pretty sure she's an Olympian now.


Now-a-days, these kids are SO SPOILED, with their water bottles and their paved trails and their fencing/metal barriers to prevent death.


And that folks, is how we do a BACK IN THE DAY rant, Hawaiian-style.

Reunited.

In breaking news:  We found *this guy* at the airport today.  Hallelujah.  I never realized how much I would miss my husband, until I had to "do life" without him for two weeks, with activities that included ocean play and scaling mountain ridges WITH CHILDREN.  For one thing, it just isn't as much fun; for another, I am MUCH LESS capable in those situations, should we encounter something disastrous.  I am not fun in the face of impending death, FYI.  This applies to rough waves, steep cliffs and slippery playground equipment.


But also, there is just a part of me that breathes easier with him here.  Simply because I don't know how to "do life" or vacation apart from him.  I am not apart from him EVER, and I like it that way.     


And now that he has officially arrived, the chances of one of us dying in a fiery plane crash have subsided, which is always good for my general mental health (and fun factor)--however, we are SURE to revisit this neurosis once we all head home in two weeks, at which time I will take deep cleansing breaths and start my personal movie viewing ASAP.

What to do as the pre-show to our main event (picking up dad from the airport)?  Visit my high school, of course!  Yep, the big emblem in the courtyard is still there and my children were less than excited about posing for a picture on it, because it was HOT, MOM!!  Clearly, they are not aware that they are in HAWAII.  I verbally threatened to take away privileges if they didn't suck it up and smile for the camera, and enjoy the introduction to my teenage years because I am INTERESTING.


Also.  This outing started out with my grand idea to take the kids to my old elementary school and have them play on the playground.  Only, there isn't a playground anymore.  Hmmm.  I remembered that the school borders a big park, and I figured I could lead them on a wild goose chase for a pot of Chuck E. Cheese tokens (or something) for 15 minutes to kill some time...but as it turns out, the park was kind of awesome.  Large trees to climb, and a huge pond of fish that you could feed.  They were in heaven, and then we had to go, because I had to ruin their lives and get that blasted picture of them at the high school.  Funny how the most amazing kind of fun ends up being the spontaneous choices that aren't carefully orchestrated...and I wonder if we revisit the park, will the expectation kill all the joy of it?  


On the other hand, the expectation of seeing my husband today?  Exceeded.  And then some.

I am addicted to crazy.

So today, we went to the beach.  Again.  Hawaii held steady at it's core temperature of 85 degrees (give or take a degree).  It was mostly cloudy, though.  And a little windy.  We saw (and violently molested) a rather large crab, and so we had that going for us.


Are you bored?  Yup, me too.


I would love to tell you I saved a whale by removing a golf ball from it's blow-hole (who knows that reference???), or wrestled a tiger shark for sport.  But I'm mostly a chicken when it comes to Hawaii and nature, because NATURE KILLS.  


Here's the thing, blogworld.  We've crossed the two-week mark here in the islands, and I believe that is the line between vacation and real life.  So we are officially doing real life here, and I'm not exactly sure what that means apart from rush, rush, rush, swim practice, craft project, blog entry, rush, rush, rush, go to bed.  Here in the *islands* its more like, watch tv, play the leapster, ride your bike, drive to a beach, dig a big hole, de-sand for 35 minutes, drive home, watch tv, dinner, bed.  It's not bad, it's just not FRANTIC.


And the sad truth, friends?  I am uninspired when I am not FRANTIC.  I imagine this is what tortured artists say about crack cocaine.  I need a craft.  I need a craft.  I need a craft.  Or a catastrophe.  Or a HOUSE TO SELL so that I can get on with more crafts and projects and painting and such.  *Itch, scratch, nervous tick.*


I'm not above visiting a Hobby Lobby while I'm on vacation/real-life.  But just like snakes and squirrels and the allergen that gives Little J eczema, THEY DON'T EXIST HERE and it's giving me a seizure disorder.  There's Wal-Mart, but as we've established in one of my first posts here in Hawaii--I am avoiding the most crazy, jam-packed Wal-Mart in the history of Wal-Marts.  Though I will say, this Wal-Mart is a double decker--All Wally-world on the first floor, full Sam's Club on the 2nd floor.  That is kind of awesome.


I am, however, working on a riveting post regarding the fried food fantasy of the *islands*.  But I feel this will be more honest and telling once I have an entire 4 weeks of cholesterol build up in my arteries.


But tomorrow?  Or today for most of you, since I am 5-hours behind Central Standard Time?  My husband FINALLY arrives.  He will be flying over the Pacific Ocean before I even peel my tired self out of bed--how's that for a time-bender???  I cannot wait.  Cannot wait.  Cannot WAIT.  *Itch, scratch, nervous tick.*  Planned for his first full day here?  We are going to drag the chickens up a volcano (relax, it's paved and NOT fiery).  Because I think we all need a heavy dose of frantic, screaming fun to breathe life into us again....

Old school inappropriate.

Anyone else have this little ditty memorized WORD FOR WORD when they were in the 8th grade?  No?  Just me?  Weird.


1989--1994 were obviously very formative musical years in Hawaii.  Because I am reliving them every time I turn the radio on these days, and it is AWESOME.  All-I-Want-To-Do-Is-Make-Love-To-You kind of awesome.  Which I heard today.  For the third time since I've been home.


It's awesome.  And horrifying.  To think that I sang this song around my parents when I was 13.  They probably have it video recorded, because that's what I do when my 8-year-old quotes the poet Ke$ha and speaks of brushing her teeth with a bottle of Jack.  This is the problem with America, when we think that slutty lyrics sound SO CUTE when performed by toddlers (sigh).


Seriously, I'll be driving in the car these days and realize that I know EVERY SINGLE INAPPROPRIATE WORD to some song that I haven't heard since I had braces.  And then I think, WTH, did my parents not have ears?  This crap is WAY worse than Katy Perry.


For starters, there's the title.  Red flag, right up front.  


Secondly, and perhaps most ALARMING, the song is advocating impregnation by a hitchhiker.  Okay, so *advocating* is a strong word, but at best it takes a neutral tone, and that is like not having an opinion on child pornography (or other such issue). A hitchhiker, REALLY?  This is one of the ONLY times this statement will hold true, but honestly--a BAR, or even a TRUCKSTOP would be a more responsible choice, when considering the likelihood of the sperm donor carrying a machete.


The lyrics CLEARLY state that she went to a motel, a "place she knew well".  Exactly what is UP with this chic?  She is clearly a TERRIBLE decision maker.  


This has ALL the makings of a Dateline special, set to an 80's guitar riff.  Well played, Heart, you are the more ridiculous and socially irresponsible predecessor to Britney Spears.

Fried Food Friday.

Day #9:  Leonard's Malasadas

There ain't nothing wrong with dough that is deep fried and rolled in sugar.  NOTHING.


It happened by accident actually--we were on our way home from the aquarium today and the car just sort of drove there.  And shoved three of these down my cake hole.  And added 5 dimples to my ass.


Worth it.  It will also be worth it the five more times that I visit Leonard's before I leave in three weeks.  I've been pretty good at holding back (in the department of my favorite, fried, local foods), but as time ticks down, that hell gate is going down in a blaze of glory.  


Good thing I'm living in my bathing suit these days.  It's gonna get awkward and less-than-pretty in a few days.

Heading north.

Today, I packed up four children for a 10-hour beach outing.  

Sounds ambitious?  It was.  But I am living high off of our 6-hour Lanikai excursion earlier this week, and figured I would push my luck by another four hours.

It went well.

We headed to the North Shore (of Oahu) and had our choice of beaches.

We picked three:

Turtle Bay

Sharks Cove

Waimea Bay

It's semi-exhausting, this business of being a beach bum.

There's the toy maintenance.

And the meal planning/snacks.  

And the sand.  Oh. The. Sand.

And the public bathrooms.  Gag, gag, DOUBLE GAG.

And the clothing changes in parking lots.

We hit Shark's Cove specifically for it's tide pools.  I totally forgot that hermit crabs are in ABUNDANCE here, and they are NOT shy.  As you might notice by the looks of this guy, who came on out of his shell (literally) to be photographed.  Or claw my eyeballs out.  Shortly after this photo was snapped, I dropped him back into his coral reef paradise, because it is unnerving to stare into a creature's soul while it fondles you with pinchers.

Waimea Bay is easily one of the most beautiful places on the entire earth.  Huge, HUGE sand beach.  Calm, calm water in the summer.  BIG surf in the winter, as last time we were here in November, I was sure that I was going to witness a drowning.    Also, there is a HUGE rock here that people climb up and jump off of.  By people, I mean NOT ME, because we all know that would end badly.  No pictures today, because the sun was setting and the light was all kinds of wrong, but I am POSITIVE that Mike will be jumping off of it in precisely 8 days.  Stay tuned.

Oh, Haleiwa town.  How I love thee.  I desire nothing more than to buy one of your $3 million dollar homes on the beach.  And according to my drive today, the entire North Shore is for sale.  This is amazingly more *simple* than it sounds, in fitting with my new life theme:  one, two lane road (to this part of the island), no Wal-Mart.  

We finished the night at Pizza Bob's and Aoki Shave Ice.  We were pushing it on time and ended up driving the hour back home in the dark (boo).  Had I thought ahead, I would have packed some flashlights for a little sand crab hunting.  However, I rarely think of flashlights when I leave home at 10 a.m.

Live and learn.

I'm late to this party, so sorry to have kept you all waiting.

I


Listen.  You know that actor that married the 16-year-old, igniting a media sh#! storm?  Yeah, I don't really care.  No really, I REALLY don't.  I don't get it, I don't believe it, I don't have an opinion.  Ever since Kristin Cavallari blabbed about how The Hills wasn't *real*, I've lost my ability to become truly invested in Hollywood, because, you just can't FAKE IT and not expect me to be bitter.


Is no one LEGITIMATELY crazy anymore?  


But last night, I happened to pay attention during this couple's interview on E! News, and it was the most awkward 3 minutes OF MY LIFE.  A quick perusing of YouTube turned up other, MORE AWKWARD interviews.  Like the one I am sharing here.


51-year-old marrying a 16-year-old?  Kind of pervy.  Whatever.  


But someone watch this interview and tell me what the hell is wrong with her face.  She is either trying REALLY hard to *act* sexy or she has a raging cocaine addiction?  Ladies, if you're sexy face is confused with a major drug problems?  YOU AINT DOING IT RIGHT.


The whole interview is fascinating in its own right, but the faces really get going 4.5 minutes into it.  WTH.  It really bothers me.  More than the fact that she's 16.  Or her leopard bra wardrobe choice.

If dairy spills in Hawaii, does it make tropical cheese?

It took us approximately seven days to spill a dairy product in my parents car.  If I was beginning to annoy you with tales of my adventures in the Hawaiian paradise?  Then let me dial it back a bit with some tropical adventures in vehicular cheese making.


In retrospect, I was a dumbass for breaking parenting rule #34:  NO ICE CREAM IN A MOVING CAR.  Ever.


This happened on our way home from another epic beach day, on some road that leads to the highway.  Couldn't tell you the name, because driving here is all about FEEL and MEMORY.   Local Hawaii is NOT easily navigated, and thank god for that gas station I remembered being somewhere on that one road off the highway?  Because that's how we semi-cleaned this mess.  Hawaii was mostly developed in the '60's, I think?  And as NOTHING HERE CHANGES, you either remember where stuff is or you're screwed.


I can't think of a single gas station that sits next to a highway off-ramp.  Can't even tell you where a gas station is--I just seem to be Jedi-mind-tricking my way there.  And it seems to be working.


Up next for tomorrow:  Staying out of the sun, because I am PAST the leather handbag stage.  Oh, and convincing my children to eat a spam/seaweed sandwich. 

The day I've waited all of my parenting life for.

It had the potential to be a disaster.  As we were hiking, in the blazing hot, Hawaiian sun.  Generally, my kids don't do hiking or blazing hot.  And yet, there was not one tear.  Not one whine.  Such was the quality of this hike.

Ahh, today.  Today goes down as one of the best days of my life.  PERIOD.  The kind of day that I have waited eight years of parenting for, that diapers and bottles and toddler temperaments made impossible for SO long.   If you are in the midst of that stage of life, be encouraged--today I marched all four of my children up a mountain ridge, and we survived.  And ENJOYED it.  Gasp!

Here we are at the top of the Lanikai Pillbox hike--I grew up in Hawaii, and yet had never heard of this trail before.  It's a 20-30 minute hike straight up a mountain ridge that fronts my favorite beach, and the view is A-MA-ZING.  There aren't even words.  The trail itself leads to a set of  "pillboxes"--bunkers used during World War II.  


Yes, there was constant fear that the little people were going to topple over the side of the cliff.  But the book I am currently reading suggests doing something you fear everyday; and I would say this qualifies.  When it comes to Hawaii, the things that I don't personally have experience with frighten me--we are talking about nature and the elements here, people.  Rock slides and cliffs and tiger sharks.  


Not that I've ever known anyone to die by rock slides or cliffs or tiger sharks.  But there are STORIES. 

However.  The 30 Internet sites and blog posts I read regarding this particular hike said it was safe and kid-appropriate and sans tiger sharks.  So that calmed my nerves *slightly*.

The hike did end up being great for the kids, but definitely challenging--because the path is steep and covered in what appears to be loose gravel.  So there was the issue of getting back down.  Which the kids did beautifully.  On their butts.

My plan was to jump in the ocean immediately following our hiking adventure, and to be home at my parents for a late lunch.  At 1:30, however, the kids were still going strong at Lanikai beach--and so McDonald's it was.  And the BIGGEST smoothie I have ever seen (for me), from Lanikai Juice in Kailua.

Followed by another 2.5 hours at Lanikai beach.  Little J's eczema has never been so clear, which left us free to soak in the Pacific salt water for five hours.  That is UNHEARD of.  Friends who have shared various remedies for eczema, I have found the cure--it is HAWAII.  

I had to peel them off the beach, and tonight, they are all sporting some awkwardly-placed sunburn as a souvenir of the BEST. DAY. EVER.   And speaking of sunburn?  If you are going to spend 7 hours in the sun, might I suggest sunscreening your back?  I am so burnt, it feels like I am spontaneously bleeding.


And that, friends, was my day.  

Surviving the apocalypse.

Friends.


Yesterday evening was spent in the flashing, dinging, window-less box known as Chuck E. Cheese.   After three hours and enough stimulation to wake the dead, I am fairly certain that my children will sleep again sometime in the year 2015.  Until then, it's going to be a long, rough detox.


Just so we're clear:  This wasn't my idea.  This was the request of my 80-year-old Auntie Jean, who desired (as always) to spoil my children with their heart's desire.  I would *love* for that desire to be reading & writing, or educational excellence, or even world peace, but let's face it--5, 6, and 8 year olds like loud, blinking things and neon colors and cartoon characters and cheap prizes.  Perfect, because we deny our children all things requiring money or batteries or talking mice.


But I gotta tell ya.  I didn't hate it.  Though, to be fair, I also didn't pay for it.


I mean, the room full of crack-fueled zombie children?  Slightly unsettling.  But one acclimates quickly to zombies, just as adjusting to the water in a cold pool.  This will be useful to remember, in the event of an apocalypse.


Chuck E. Cheese = apocalypse training.


Shortly after arriving, my aunt decided to make my children's most expensive dreams come true, and she provided each with 50 TOKENS.  Fifty tokens = children who feel like they are RICH, bitch!  Enter the single greatest moment of my kid's childhood, 3 hours of straight game playing, or roughly 5,799 games of skee-ball.  Which, coincidentally, is the MOST DANGEROUS game L will ever play in her life, as she preferred to fast-pitch the ball to the target (versus the standard, delicately rolling).  Add to this her half-blindness,  and  her percentage of actually hitting the goal  was well  BELOW 30%.  Coincidentally, her skill at hitting the plexiglass covering, other skee-ball lanes and games adjacent to the skee-ball area?  UNMATCHED.


By a small miracle, no zombies were harmed.  But I don't think zombies can actually be harmed without a full severing of the head, and L did not manage this feat with a skee-ball.  Yet.


Fifty tokens also awarded each child with, *roughly* 150 prize tickets by the end of the night.  Which is the equivalent of 4 foam darts, 2 spinning tops and 2 gummy sting rays (that look like dark green snot balls shaped like sting rays).  50 tokens = 150 tickets= $.03 worth of prizes made in China= my children's eternal happiness and *potentially* the greatest day of their entire lives.  Though, I hold high hopes that  the wood blocks and math cubes and history books that I'm planning as Christmas gifts will jockey for the top spot come December!


This trip is a visit home for me, and it just so happens that home is HAWAII.  It is palm trees and sun and beaches, but also lots and LOTS of family who are dying to spend time with (and money on)  my children.  You know, I am their MOM, so I tend to put lots of thought into the ways my time with my kids is shaping them--educationally, emotionally, in their faith, in their relationships.  I over think purpose a lot, and I fall prey to lots of public opinion on the ways that EVERYTHING IN THE WORLD is harmful to the well-being of a child.  And sometimes, it really is as simple as just making them happy for a night.  It's not a lifestyle, but it is certainly a way that my children feel great love from family that they get to see every 3 years or so.  I genuinely desire for my children to understand my love for them in terms of the choices I make on their behalf, or the effort I (sometimes) put into our time together, or the ways I am preparing them for the world.  But right now, they understand love in terms of hamsters and sleepovers and going to the movies.  And Chuck E. Cheese.  And the time they spent with my family that they will remember for a really long time.


Yes, it would have been healthier to eat vegan pizza and do yoga together.  But I am working hard to make sure that my kids remember Hawaii as one of the happy places of their youth.  And if 50 tokens and a gigantic rodent will do just that?  I am ON BOARD.


Also.  My children now believe that Chuck E. Cheese only exists in Hawaii, and if you blow my cover I will disown you.  Raising kids doesn't just take a village, people--it requires a gigantic, Internet-based hoax as well.

**Also...I apologize if there are many grammatical errors in the post, but my baby laptop has shrunk my screen to the size of fine print.  Super.  I have survived the apocalypse, only to age my eyesight by 124 years.**

Lanikai.

FAVORITE shot of the trip (thus far):

Today was spent at Lanikai Beach.  Phenomenal.  

I am relearning this island.  And by relearning, I mean, figuring out WHERE TO PARK.  Once I have that down, I will easily save myself 3-7 hours everyday.   Up next this week:  An all-day excursion to the North Shore.  Which offers various opportunities to find myself in a parking pickle.  


Tomorrowt:  Chuck E. Cheese. 


That's right, I said Chuck E. Cheese.  Managed to ignore it in St. Louis for 8+ years, but now it seems our time has come.  Lord, help me.


Happy Weekend, friends!

Day two, nervous panic.

I am typing this post from a FREEZING cold Starbucks.  It was 8:00 p.m. when I left my parents house, and I was 87% dead tired, but decided to motivate and get out of the house to try and feed my soul.  There are a lot of days when tired or busy or distracted wins in the battle for my well-being.


Here's the thing:  Before I left for Hawaii, when we bought this cute little laptop baby, Mike and I talked long and hard about keeping up my writing while I am *away*.  This blog is a child to me, it takes up that much of my time and attention on a daily basis; but it also feeds a part of me that has great purpose (I think. Or so I've been told).  And so, even on the days when I would really like to get in bed at 9 p.m., the blog baby takes priority.  Mostly, this makes me cranky and sleep deprived.  But the bigger picture is that it is has disciplined me, gotten me into the practice of writing again, helped me to find my VOICE.  If I waited to write until I had the time or the energy, I might be 90 before I scribe another word--and then, let's face it, I'll be high on chardonnay.


Prior to this blog, I didn't really have a voice.  Because I think on paper, like a story.  I can never speak, in actual words, the way I write.  This may be very, very confusing to some of you who actually know me.  Because I pretty much suck in person.


My usual trips back home are a flurry of activity--fitting as much of Hawaii into two weeks as possible. There are fried foods to eat, and relatives to visit, and beaches to fry on, and dolphins to swim with (kids request) and more fried foods (slathered in gravy) to eat.  It is always a fat, manic race.


Except this trip, which was purposefully planned over a month, to allow us to SLOW THE HELL DOWN.  It's what we always want, isn't it?  A minute to catch our breath, free from our everyday responsibilities, with extra help (grandparents) for the kids, in one of the most beautiful places on the earth?  


Glorious.  For 48 hours.  Until I start twitching a little for lack of projects.  Or schedule.  Or art supplies. Or my familiar, routine, freedom-crushing life.  Today was a tad bit rainy on my parent's side of the island, and so we played it close to home and swam a little and went in search of a nearby beach with sand (doesn't exist) and ate some shave ice and watched a lot of television.  Someone must have told me that television watching on the part of my kids made me a douche, because I can't seem to relax when my kids are having a t.v. kind of day.  Makes me kind of want to punch that Nazi in the mouth for ruining my quiet time with such paranoia.


I am currently reading a book by a gal who talks of having unstructured time with her kids, how they will take off for an adventure, or lay around in pajamas until 2 p.m., or go for a family run in the park, or do whatever they feel like.  And it sounds glorious!  But unrealistic.


It seems that I am always moving.  Doing something which requires at least an hour of preparation.  Getting from one activity to the next, for fear of boredom on the part of the children.  And being in a new place, without schedules, without the familiar dance of our day...it's unsettling.  In a way that means I am being broken of meaningless habits.  


I've talked a lot about simplicity lately, and this trip is the pinnacle for me--one adult and four children packed up into 2 checked bags for an entire month (Mike is on his own, but plans to carry-on everything he'll need for his 2-week stay).  Nothing but clothes and toiletries.  No toys, no crafts, no Hobby Lobby down the street.  Coincidentally, I did visit Honolulu's Wal-Mart yesterday--Holy. Hell.  That place is nuts-on-steroids, and no promise of acrylic paints or playdoh or Mod Podge can lure me back.  


Anyway, I've put a lot of thought into the SIMPLICITY of my things and possessions and what I actually need to survive happily; but not so much into my lifestyle.  Or the lifestyles of the four people I am responsible for.  Every activity back home seems necessary and important to our well-being, but this month away is going to test our capacity for being spontaneous, together.  RELAXING.  In front of the t.v., if that's how it turns out.  The Hawaii we are visiting is almost exactly the same place I remember as a child; very few things have changed, as local Hawaii (not tourist Hawaii, they are different) is constant, right down to the Bon Jovi poster on my wall.   My kids are seeing the same pool, the same park, the same grocery store I grew up with.  They are playing with my ACTUAL toys.  I am struggling to bring their fast-moving, battery-operated, constant activity world to a place that is slow moving, and easy and unplanned.  And they are going with the flow, and I am one step away from nervous panic.  


Working on less frantic, arm flapping movement.  Chilling the hell out.  Which apparently, is a lot like alcohol detox, based upon the jittery un-ease with which I am doing it. 


If all goes well, then upon my return, you can expect me to wear pajamas or a bathing suit (and NOT care) everywhere I go.  Big win for you, blogworld.

Day One.

Twelve hours after we left St. Louis, we did, in fact, land in Hawaii.  It was beautifully sunny, exactly as we left it 3.5 years ago.   And as we were cruising about town today, I heard (back to back) "End of the Road" by Boyz 2 Men and "Girlfriend" by Pebbles, which means that Hawaii is also, coincidentally, exactly as I left it back in 1994.  This place so loyally remains exactly the same as I remember it.

Day #1 = Not to shabby.  Sunny, 85 degrees.  Perfect for a picnic at the beach park of my youth.  Despite his debilitating eczema, Little J was pretty much a trooper, who managed to entertain himself for hours by playing in the sand.  I know you might think this *dangerous* for a red head?  I will have you know that the only areas that burned are the half-inch of skin under his eyes where my sunscreening efforts ceased (so as to prevent blindness).  Turns out Hawaii's proximity to the equator makes it possible to burn the lower eyelid.  Oops.  To be fair, 3 of the 4 children are sporting a wicked pair of sunburn half-goggles (not L, her skin is suited for residence on the actual sun).

Also, I started my FIRST morning out with a run?  Dumbest. Idea. Ever.  It was like running up a paved mountain.  Oh wait.  That's pretty much all of the island.  I ran and then I sweated for 3 hours straight.  


Day #2?  Oh, I dunno, a little more of the same?  Maybe a romp in the pool?  So much more to come friends.  So. Much.

An update, 25 minutes later.

Lunch is served--peanut butter and jellies, a banana, a side of honey mustard pretzels.  We're at 2:30 St. Louis Time, 9:30 a.m. Hawaii time.  Stuck between breakfast and lunch AND dinner.  Oh well, today will be a day of 7 meals.  And one of those is going to include rice and something fried.  Oh, the glory.


Since take-off, I have received numerous emails, checked facebook, blogged (now twice).  At last check,  my flight tracker says we have reached the Pacific Ocean, which means this little Internet party is about to come to an end.  Boo.


I feel like I need to say all kinds of things about this day, and how it was to leave my husband for 16 days, how my girls cried for a solid 5 minutes and how the hardest part of this whole travel experience has not been the many children, but their many, small bags.  I had a *slight* scare, that I had left my new laptop at the Salt Lake City airport...turns out, it was IN MY LAP.  There is also my fear of flying (almost non-existent at this point),  and my deep, deep LOVE of Delta Airlines.   It's like I am about to die and I just need to entertain you with a few more non-relevant and ridiculous details of my day.


But as it turns out, I will rejoin the land of Internet connection in approximately 5 hours. 


Until then, keep it real, blogworld.

Delta Airlines is my happy place.

Oh, blogworld!!!  It's Christmas, 30,000 feet somewhere over Nevada!!!!


But I need to type quick, because my connection to the living world ends when we hit the Pacific Ocean.  We are blogging for speed, friends.


The chickens and are are on the mack-daddiest plane in the history of aviation.  I am blogging, and my various children are watching free movies on their own personal screens.  I have an episode of "How I Met Your Mother" casually playing, JUST BECAUSE I CAN.  Delta has single-handedly cured my large and irrational fear of flying, because I'm not even sure if I'd notice this plane going down, such is the level of my glee and distraction.


So what do you want to talk about?  


How about the fact that switching planes + managing several portable electronic devices is a FULL TIME JOB. Salt Lake City almost did me in friends!  In two hours time, I managed to : deplane, coach my children through 3 moving walkways (actually made us slower), purchased a half dozen Krispy Kreme donuts, found our new gate, purchased lunch for myself, found outlets at our new gate, plugged various portable electronic devices into said outlets, wrangled squirrley children, talked to Mike for 5 minutes, reloaded portable electronic devices, boarded plane.   Pit stops for both boys were delayed until take-off.


Also, it should be noted that I sent the girls to the bathroom on their own, and relied upon the general goodness of humanity for them to return.  This turned out favorably.  


We've just hit a patch of turbulence, and this is only mildly concerning to me.  I LOVE YOU, DELTA AIRLINES.  Apparently, the Internet and a good Matt Damon movie are the cures to a fear of flying.


So.  I think I'm gonna go peruse Pinterest, and maybe stop by Facebook for a few?  Maybe check back in a little bit?  I appear to have ALL KINDS OF TIME.  At least, until the California coast.


Peace out.

The size of my new computer makes it very easy to dominate.

Blogworld, I am going to update you on the status of my technology.  Because it's been a while since I've complained about an electronic device sucking my brains out while I sleep.  


Let's start with my computer.   I (literally) chose it for its FUN! RED! color, because who the hell cares about processing and crap like gigabytes.  Not me.  I care about color.   But after a couple of years, I began to think my lovely little laptop had begun visiting with some sites not worthy of a lady (if you get my drift), because it appeared to have caught a few (million) viruses.  Diagnosed by me, the EXPERT in computer colors, after that piece of crap blacked out on me everyday for another year straight. 


Well, apparently, it wasn't a virtual STD, but a heating/cooling issue?  Turns out it was overheating on an hourly basis?   I mean, who would have known that computers were NOT supposed to be the temperature of liquid hot magma?  Never fear, this has been cured (for quite some time), by sitting the laptop on an ICE PACK.  


Yes, I am being dead serious.


You might say it was time for a new computer?  I have had my eye on a pretty little polka-dotted number, I'm not gonna lie.  But then comes talk of mega hurtz and RAM and bytes and then I slip into a coma.


Until today, when my husband SURPRISED me with a trip to Best Buy...and what can only be described as a laptop baby?  What I can tell you is that it's blue, and so there is color involved (yeah!), but not my first choice color, because I'm kind of diggin' orange right now.  And it's small.  


This was really inspired by our upcoming trip to Hawaii, and finding a suitable way to hypnotize the chickens with full-length movies that DOES NOT INVOLVE a laptop on ice.  I think it's called a Net Book?  Although baby laptop sounds better.  Or Dwarf laptop?  You pick.  


It's brilliant, actually.  Because REALLY, all I need to function is the Internet and some storage for pictures.  Mike is convinced that I need to be using a Web-based word processor, because when the aliens come to earth they are going to eat computers and then we'll be screwed.  Or something.  I kind of get it, and it kind of gives me coma-syndrome.  But also, computers in general tend to become obsolete, or slow or the temperature of Satan's bathtub within five years, and so we are kind of OVER buying expensive laptops that are going to crap out not that long from now.  With programs I don't use.  Give me Blogger and Pinterest and Facebook and maybe a little Twitter and I can rule the world (pretty sure).


Until the guy at Best Buy tried to talk us into a tablet?  I don't even know what that means, but then he spoke real loud and pointed to the PRETTY  ipads, because it is so obvious that I don't speak geeky technology.  And then I squealed and clapped obnoxiously and peed a little and maybe did a back handspring?  Because those ipads in the pretty colors are freaking rad.  KIDDING.  Not about the colors (they are sweeeeet).


Here's the thing.  The ipads are SO COOL right now, what with those screens and the touching and the feeling like you are in Minority Report and about to stop a murder in someone's MIND.  It certainly meets my need to be all up in people's business via the Internet.  But.  There is no way to write.  No keyboard.   No deal.  


It's SO easy for me to want the next thing.  Well, kind of.  I never really wanted an iphone, because I HATE TALKING ON THE PHONE, and I've never been a great cell phone user, ever.  It has been great in allowing me to access the Internet while at stop lights, but otherwise, completely detrimental to my communication, as I cannot handle that many messages coming at me ALL THE TIME.  But, it just sort of seems like everyone has an ipad or is talking about it, and I would be lying if I didn't say that made me curious.  Although, the same could be said for a normal computer.  If we're in the market for one, I feel like we need the best, the fastest, the most memory, an electronic butler, more bells and whistles and whatnots.  


Except that really, I only use two?  Maybe three programs?  And that can be served by my cool mini-laptop.  That I can carry everywhere.   For a fraction of the cost.  Done and done.  Sometimes the world moves so damn fast that it takes a while for me to realize the simplicity of what I actually need.  And it's not PowerPoint, because I have no need to present my life as a series of computer slides.


Which made me think about life.  And the ways Mike and I are simplifying because the extra bells and whistles are slowing us down and keeping us from being really efficient at what we love and the things we are passionate about.  And how I just cannot breathe at the pace and style that we used to move at.   What I need to be happy are three?  Maybe four things?  And mostly, the jumble of everything else just makes me crazy. 


Progress definitely lends itself to more choices.  Better choices.  Greater variety, which almost makes it impossible for us to think about what works, what's smart, what makes life easier.  I tend to fall into the trap that "best" means "all" and then I drown in the crap that I never needed in the first place.  It's true of my computer AND of my basement.  


And of life in general.


Here's to keeping it simple.  And packing my life and the needs of my children into TWO CHECKED BAGS for the next month.  Less than 36 hours and we are off to Hawaii--and if that plane has Wi-Fi (please, dear God, I have never wanted anything so bad in my whole life), I will blog my way there, which will be SO WORTH it for you, because:  my kids are bound to do something embarrassing/dirty/embarrassing-dirty while confined in a flying metal tube; I am sure to have a nervous breakdown because I hate flying; I am unsure of how I am going to keep their bottoms from touching an airplane toilet seat for the duration of our 12-hour travel day, and; technology is CRUCIAL to me surviving this day with my children and that is just a recipe for DISASTER.  It will be like a bloggy-Christmas for you, friends.


Stay tuned.

Messy Play Day.

Checked off our summer to-do list:  Messy Play Day.

The kids have been asking for this for a while, but it takes a *bit* of effort and 12 trips to the Dollar Store (apparently).  So I (brilliantly) put it off until the week before we leave for Hawaii.  Coincidentally, we will be going on a hike, building a fort, visiting the Botanical Gardens, playing basketball, seeing a movie and going to a baseball game in the 1 week of summer that remains when we return in August. 

Note to my future self:  The summer to-do list takes some PLANNING.

Activity #1 of messy play day:  Shaving cream.  I colored some of it in a muffin tin, but other than that, we just let the kids at it with some plates and spoons and cups, etc.  Loads of fun.



Activity #2:  Tye Dye.  I'm trying something new with the girls--I had them dye pillowcases and I am going to turn them into dresses (fingers crossed).  This is, of course, a perfectly logical use of time in the FOUR DAYS before our Hawaiian vacation.  I bought one tye-dye kit that contained 3 colors, plus an additional packet of lime green dye.  PERFECT amount for 8 children.

A picture of our crew as the tye-dying began.  I was lucky enough to have two of my favorite people here to share the mess experience of messy play day.   And this will officially go down as one of the best days of my summer.

Activity #3:  Ooblek.  It's that weird stuff you get when you mix cornstarch (1/2 cup) and water (1/4 cup).  Basically, it feels all solid-like, and then you try to scoop it up and it turns to liquid.  Messy, messy magic.  But a total hit with the kidlets. 

Also added to the fun was lots of swimming, and a slip-n-slide (also on our summer to-do list).  I had grand plans for finger painting and a diet coke geyser, but we never did get to it.  Partially because I want to do the geyser right and that means drilling holes in the mentos candies and rigging up some sort of device to drop them into the soda--and I am HARD CORE and all, but I sort of draw the line at drilling candies.  Project for another day.

Possible two hours before we leave for Hawaii.  Because that appears to be the kind of time schedule that I roll with.

How my insomnia aids the economy.

It's another swim team night...and to top it off, it was my turn to serve as a volunteer.  Which meant standing at the start of a swim lane, and making sure the correct swimmer was competing in every heat.  For three hours.  Straight. 

It was long, but also, not terrible.  Because we are new to this team, and it would be easy to just sort of exist there without ever getting connected.  At this stage (the elementary school years), getting connected means volunteering.  And talking to the kids.  And their parents.  It means cheering for kids I've never met before in my life.  It means being active in seeking the friendship of others.  Asking questions.  Saying hello.

G would HATE this, if I HATED this. 

Instead.  She is coming ALIVE in the water.  She is swimming fast.  She is earning ribbons.  I started this summer just hoping she would have the chance to be competitive in one of the strokes, and she has WAY exceeded my expectations.  Her confidence is a beautiful thing.

This is going to be kind of a weenie post, because I am tired, but I also wanted to share a fun idea I had last week--a *gift* for a friend who is having a difficult pregnancy for a few reasons, one of them being a gestational diabetes diagnosis.  I wanted to take her a treat, and a head of lettuce seemed (funny) and appropriate.  But also, my new best friend, Pinterest, gave me the idea for making patterns by dipping a pencil eraser into paint?  I decided to add some buttons, and a rainbow was born.  I haven't had much crafty fun lately, but this was easy-peasy.  And would look cute.  On a canvas painted blue.  With a few clouds. 

This is precisely the kind of thing that keeps me up at night.  And keeps Hobby Lobby in business.

Celebrating the freedom to be a little bit nuts.

Happy 4th of July, friends!

On this day, I especially grateful to the men and women who faithfully serve our country and protect our freedom.

Freedom, which SPECIFICALLY entails watching the Justin Bieber (full-length feature movie) "Never Say Never."  Twice.  Today.  Because I am a little bit obsessed and *might* have mental issues.  If you are a friend of mine on facebook, you are VERY AWARE of this.

I don't know, blogworld.  We went to "The Lake" this weekend and happened to forget our entire collection of children's DVDs there.  I know this sounds like an iceberg-sized disaster capable of drowning thousands, but for the fact that we stayed with friends, and so we will only live in this state of anarchy for approximately 24 hours.  These were the set of circumstances, however, that landed us at a McDonald's in the middle of Missouri.  God Bless the quarter pounder AND the Red Box.

This was a risky choice, as the littlest chickens are mostly entertained by animation--however, I was thinking "The Biebs" high-pitched voice would trick them into believing he was a cartoon character.  I was semi-wrong, but was able to engage bore them to tears (and subsequent quietness) with lengthy explanations of how this was REAL LIFE.  A boy and his journey to superstardom.  Unfortunately (for them), my kids don't really "get" real life; they believe in talking chipmunks.

And as Mike was driving the car and unable to watch the movie, he wanted to pop it in when we got home.  Probably to understand WHY exactly, this movie turned his wife into a puddle of tears.  Thirty different times.  Bieber fever aint no joke, friends.

Like when Justin's crew picks a girl at every concert to be his "One Less Lonely" girl?  I almost can't even talk about it.  Or the ways that 15-year-old girl will need several, solid years of counseling to believe that anything in her life will ever be quite as powerful as that moment on stage.  At this rate, given the number of concerts he performs, The Biebs will ruin (precisely) 70-100 girl's expectations for love and happiness PER YEAR.  He will single-handedly force an entire generation of men to propose via elaborate (and costly) shenanigans that will include fireworks displays and the Eiffel Tower and full symphony orchestras and enormous blood diamonds that will cost actual human lives.  Long term success for these marriages will then depend on said husbands ability to crap money and acknowledge her (often) in front of large crowds of screaming fans. 

OR.  How about the fact that a single, teenage mom raised this kid?  And understood his passions and encouraged him and helped him make YouTube videos and moved them to a new city to chase his DREAM???  I can barely commit to a swim team and that makes me feel kind of douchey.  But also?  He seems like a good kid, and it's great to see a teenager get that kind of attention for something other than:  a cocaine addiction, a sex tape or a pole dance.  For the love of all things holy, Justin Bieber, DO NOT ruin this by photographing your junk and sending it via text, or twitter or facebook. 

OR.  How about the team of people who manage him and actually tell him NOT to do stupid things like drive a random fork lift or sing when his vocal chords are inflamed?  One would think this is simple, common sense to protect their money maker?  Tell that to the Lohans.  No, these people seem to genuinely care about him and his CHARACTER.  It is, surprisingly, very similar to the Duggar-household in this regard, though with noticeably less sex, as there have been ZERO documented instances of pro-creation on the Bieber tour.

Around 7:30 p.m., I pulled myself out of bed, hit stop of the DVD player and rallied with my family for a spectacular fireworks show.  All in all, a great way to celebrate the freedom that allows me to be bat-sh#! crazy.