...and we're back.

I don't think there was any part of the past two weeks or so that wasn't fun. Unless you count hours-long traffic jams in the greater Atlanta and Nashville areas. Which I do. But when you're returning from a great stay in Florida, it feels particularly bitchy to complain.

To recap...

April began with a visit from everyone's favorite aunt... Stacy. She and daughter Zoe came out from IL to visit, and a wonderful visit it was. Who knew it would include a musical walk down memory lane complete with Peter Murphy and the Violent Femmes? Sure didn't see that coming.

The first leg of our epic spring break journey led us to Indianapolis, with about a zillion of our closest friends at the NCAA tournament. Shipley and I headed downtown Saturday, while my wonderful husband hung out at her house with the four youngest boys. (Now, if THAT ain't love, I don't know what is!) The energy in downtown Indy was incredible, and Butler was definitely the buzz of the weekend. Imagine our excitement when they pulled off the win against Michigan State. We felt so lucky to be there and share it... with about a zillion of our closest friends. All I can say to sum it up is, "B-U,... T-L-E,... R-YOU A BULLDOG, HELL YES!"

We left Indy Sunday morning, not heading north, but south. We hadn't told the boys about our Florida trip since we wanted it to be a surprise. It took them until we were on the bridge into Louisville to realize it wasn't Fort Wayne. Sam was all, "Where ARE we?!?" I had feared backlash and possible mutiny from the far back seat (Jack and/or Charlie) since neither were excited about the two-hour road trip from home to Indy. To quote Jack, "I hate road trips. Why do we have to spend two hours in the car?" So, when we had to spring a 20-hour road trip on them, well... you can see where I'm coming from. My genius husband led the announcement with, "Who wants to go see the space shuttle take off?" That? Was the ace in the hole. All three boys' faces lit up like the shuttle itself, and they were intrigued. When we announced our final destination was Florida, there were broad smiles all around. Thankfully so. The slight drawback was that, in order to make it to the shuttle launch at the space center (slated for 6:20 Monday morning) we were looking at an all-night drive. In the end, it wasn't too bad, and SO COMPLETELY WORTH IT. The launch was amazing, and not at all how I imagined it. You know how on television you're used to seeing rocket launches and such where the rocket (or whichever type of projectile is going up) sort of rumbles in place then lumbers up into the air? (OK... maybe I'm remembering all the late-60s/early 70s footage.) Modern launches look like a high-speed sunrise. One minute we're standing there in total nighttime darkness -- the next, Discovery lit up and was airborne. Simply amazing. I took video, and if I ever advance my tech-geek knowledge, I will post it online.

Apparently, with the actual event over so soon (like, under five minutes) everyone pretty much gets back in their cars and heads to the McDonald's in Cocoa Beach. At least that's where it seemed like everyone went. We managed a quick stop at a hotel-lobby-hidden Starbuck's before getting to McD's, where the line was quickly growing. Ultimately, it was out the door and snaked its way down the sidewalk, which -- for some reason -- amazed the boys. After having breakfast, we walked out to the beach, sunscreened the boys up and let them go. Funny how when you've been up all night you can lose perspective on time. To me, it felt like noon. Really? It was, like, 8:30am. So early, in fact, that we were part of a throng of post-launch beach-goers who ended up disturbing the homeless guy's sleep on the beach. Sorry, Dude!

Later, we made our way south along the Atlantic coast to Hutchinson Island, and Jensen Beach where our oceanfront condo awaited. It. Was. Beautiful. Last-minute planning of this trip allowed for a major deal on the accommodations, and what a stroke of luck that was.

This is the view from our balcony. The white thing sticking up is one of two enormous hammocks, which were in a cozy little courtyard area. The boys loved playing on those. Just beyond the mangroves is the beach. We were delighted to have a view of the ocean, yet have some of the "I'm-comfortable-with-my-body" sunbathers blocked from view. Seriously, do some people even bother to LOOK IN THE MIRROR when they put on a bathing suit and head to the beach?!? Sheesh.

We spent the week visiting with Jeff's grandparents, aunt, uncle and cousin... taking in the beach that was mere steps from our condo... swimming in the pool... collecting shells... and, above all, RELAXING.

Bobby, getting his sandy little groove on...

Next, a photo of all "my guys" -- except it HAD to be cropped because Jeff said if I posted a photo of him without his shirt on, he would blow up the photos he took of me on the beach and pretty much make sure they were seen by many people. After I got an alarming, horrifying look at those photos of myself, I decided to fully comply with his ultimatum. And I got my jiggly stomach and fat ass to the gym. Pronto. In any event, here are FOUR of the guys... having the time of their lives on the beach.

I assume THIS one is approved. His shirt is on.

In which I break my silence...

I can officially announce the end of my word strike, which was prompted by the thought of Butler Basketball having their tournament season fall short again -- making it far enough to make a point, yet not far enough to gain national respect.

Yeah, right.

The lack of posting over the past few weeks was chalked up to having some freelance work to do, celebrating Kate's 16th birthday (and we even pulled off a surprise party!) having three sick boys with possible strep and one hot mess of an ear infection over the span of 2.5 weeks, a teething baby with molars coming in and a nasty stomach virus hosted by yours truly.

But, let's get back to this Butler thing. For any of you who don't know, I am a Butler alum, having attended 1987-1991. Those four years were -- hands down -- some of the best of my life. Since graduating nearly 20 years ago, I have been an avid supporter of my alma mater. I have donated when I could to fundraising campaigns; my cars have not only sported Butler plates, but nearly every Butler-themed static window cling I could lay my hands on. At one point, the running joke among friends was to look at my car, turn to me and ask, "Remind me... where did you go to college?"

I will absolutely (someday) own a Bulldog, and plan on naming him either Hinkle, Hampton or Haughey (pronounced, "Howie"), after the Butler coaching legend/fieldhouse honoree and two main streets which run through campus, respectively.

I have returned to campus on many occasions... from Homecoming to casual visits and shopping at the bookstore. I have watched countless Butler basketball games on television. The first few times my sons watched with me, they were sort of astonished/freaked out that a.) their mother was watching a sport -- voluntarily; b.) that I actually understood said sport, and c.) that I would cheer out loud and (sometimes) gasp and/or hold my breath when someone launched a 3-pointer.

So, imagine my sheer glee last Thursday night when my Bulldogs walked on the court as members of the Sweet 16, and left the court as part of the Elite 8. THEN,... two days later, played a strong game against Kansas State to advance to the Final Four.

The Final Four, Bay-beeeeee.

And that glee... the incredible swell of pride that was ONLY surpassed by watching my own three sons win a football playoff game in three OTs within minutes of the Butler victory, was booted into complete, sheer, unfathomable excitement when I learned I will be attending Butler's Final Four game against Michigan State this Saturday, with my best friend, Shipley. I met Shipley at the beginning of my sophomore year, when she pledged my sorority as a freshman. The years have been kind to us, and our relationship has been forged into something that now resembles more "family" than "friendship." We are the sisters we never had. And now this woman -- with her incredible generosity -- is taking me with her to this perhaps-once-in-a-lifetime game.

And you'd better believe a recap with photos will be posted next week.

GO DAWGS!!!!

In which I do some 'splainin'...

So, the last post ended abruptly because I was trying to squeeze it in while dinner was on the make. Jeff had to go out to the grill and I had to get the rice and sweet potatoes under control. In any event, the photo of the boys' mud-encrusted shoes should've had a bit more explanation. Although, when you think about it... it's spring, they are 10 and 8... why would I need to explain muddy shoes?

The kicker is that this wasn't just being-outside-playing-in-post-snow-melting weather kind of mud accumulation. This was courtesy of the special gift that young boys have for seeking out and being lured into a whole mess of mud. (Pun intended.) On the sidewalk behind our house, leading over to the pool and clubhouse, there was built a quaint little wooden bridge. It really doesn't serve to "bridge" two land masses over a body of water. In fact, all I think I've ever seen under said bridge is rocks. And some trash left by folks who couldn't possibly walk another 10 feet to an actual trash can. However, with the snow dumping we got on several occasions this past winter and the spring-like mild weather this past week, everything is waterlogged with the excess moisture. And under this previously dry rock bed? Is dirt and water -- which we all know are the main ingredients in MUD.

When the boys went out to play after school earlier this week, I found the three of mine with their best friend from next door at the bridge (because, really, all I had to do is follow the boyish shouts of absolute glee) playing in the mud. With sticks. They said they were "mucking." Yes, there probably isn't a better word to describe playing in the mud; but, personally, I think they were all about that word because it's one letter off the mother of all don't-ever-let-me-catch-you-saying-it words. Ever. (Note: This vocabulary tidbit was acquired from a former friend of theirs who I regularly referred to as "The Bad Seed.") I was just holding my breath that none of them thought to call the other a "brother mucker."

After that day, the shoes they had been wearing were officially knighted as "play shoes," because there was no way in hell I was allowing them to wear them to school. And now? The "play shoes" live on the front porch--when they're not "mucking."

Signs of spring...

I'm sure I can speak for a boat-load of us when I say how wonderful it was to have the weather break into more mild temperatures a few days ago. We've had great days in the 60s, and I have seen the sure signs of spring:

A few robins hopping around the yard...

A gang of squirrels racing about digging up treats they'd buried last fall...

The gentle coo of a dove in the pre-dawn hour...

And THIS mayhem on my front porch...

Party Recap

I'm not sure how everything eventually came together, but it did. Bobby's "party" was low-key, but I'm sure he had a fabulous time anyway. In an effort to earn my Mother of the Year award this year (and, thusly, drive myself crazy) I was determined to bake him a homemade banana cake (if only to hear him say "nana" a million times over) WITH homemade chocolate frosting. I think I used one too many bananas, because it was more banana bready than cakey. Regardless, it was good. Bobby opened his present from Grandma Bev and Jaja -- some sporty summer clothes. And swim trunks to wear to the pool.

We lit the candle, dimmed the lights and sang Happy Birthday. I had been sitting next to Bobby, and started to see that "I'm-going-to-freak-out" look on his face. So, being the comforting mom I am, I reached over and rubbed his arm and said "It's OK, Bobby" just before he bursts into freaked out tears. However, on the video we shot? All you can see is Bobby sitting there, then I reach over to his arm and the next thing you see is him wailing. It appears as if I reached over and pinched him or something. Nice. And SO not the case. Anyway, he regained his composure and I had to swap spots with Jeff to get photos of him blowing out the candle. There was an issue with my camera flash that was working Jeff's last nerve.

"Oh, I loves CAKE, yes I do! Num-num-num-num."

Bobby's personal sign for "All done." Well said, my little man... well said. Obviously, from the look on his face, he is exhausted and has a belly full of dinner. And cake. Not long after this, he was through the bath, all clean and sweet and zonked out in his crib.

And now he's 1...

Happy Birthday, Bobby!



Fresh out of the oven... 8:10am, March 1, 2009. Uncle Jamie helping out with the oxygen.

*There WAS a photo posted here of me in recovery, with Jeff sitting beside me holding Bobby. He says he hates the picture because he's still wearing the goofy surgical bonnet. I say he never likes photos of himself anyway. However, he threatened to "stop reading my blog" if I left it in. All in jest of course. But I don't want to take any chances. I think he's my number one fan. And regular reader. Will find a better photo of him with Bobby and get approval to post later.

From fumble to humble in just a short time...

I fumbled. I totally dropped the ball.

I had a writing assignment for a local parenting magazine. I get these every other month. I know this. I write them. I turn them in.

Then, last week, the night before my article was due, I was laying in bed thinking about it. I lay in bed and think a lot on the nights Jeff is on duty. That clears my head for when he is actually there beside me. Anyway, ... I was wrestling with what was due, and had one of those sudden bolt-of-lightning ideas. The next morning I emailed the editor, presented my last-minute change of direction and got the green light to go ahead and write it up.

[crickets chirping]

And that's when the assignment -- for some reason -- completely fell off my radar. WTH? It isn't like I'm swimming in other assignments that had me too preoccupied. It simply left my head.

So, today, after receiving a "gentle nudge" email from the editor, I offered up my apologies and have been juggling the article and Bobby all day.

Nothing like a complete screw up to remind you that you're human. And keep you humble.