groundspeed

Three

Happy Birthday, Toby.

What, you don't know that name?

Hmmmm, How about Tobes, Tobikins, Tob-EE-as, or (surprisingly enough), Tobias.

Yes, you know those. As well as Cutie Cutes, Stinker Stinks, Sweetie Sweets (sensing a theme?) and Poopy Doopy.

It's a good thing your Dad and I took so long to agree on your name, huh? After all, we're sooooo committed to it. 

Well, here we are. My "baby" is three. Last Friday we said our goodbyes to Ms. Amber your play therapist. This Monday we had our last appointment with Ms. Elaine your OT. Later this afternoon we do your outtake assessment with Early Steps. Breath in. Breath out. (That's a reminder for me. You're totally like, whatev.)

Yesterday I watched you play in our new kiddie pool, chasing Blue and mimicking him as he jumped over the side and splash crashed inside. You gleefully followed suit, purposefully sliding into him, and I thought, when did you start playing like such a big boy?

The guest room closet is used for the "in between" clothes. Too small for Kaden, still too big for Blue. Too small for Blue, too big for you. Except, Mr. Weed-Fast-Grower, more and more clothes are going straight from Blue's drawer to yours. Your father has a hard enough time as it is if I ask him to put clothes away. Now, it will be impossible. Blue is FIVE, today you are THREE. What are you trying to prove, kid?

You are my snuggle buggle boy. The best part of my morning is the five (sometimes ten!) minutes you relax against me and drink your almond milk. I hope this is our tradition... forever? Is that too much to ask?  You especially love to snuggle in "my bed" (which is what you say even though your talking about my bed). But you don't just reserve snuggles for me. You'll put that little head into any old shoulder that gives you a squeeze. You've won over many, many a heart that way. 

I love your giggle. Especially when you're over-tired. The sillies attack and you pretty much can't even stand up you're so overcome with the hilarity of life. 

I can always get a laugh out of you by saying, "guppy," or "bootsie." To you, these are just the silliest words. And when I say, in my best Woody voice, "There's a snake in my boots," you may even come out of a tantrum, you like it so much. 



You're skinny. I'm a little worried the doctor is going to yell at me on Friday at your check up. Sometimes you eat. Sometimes you don't. You will never turn down a slice of turkey (a compromise in our veggie household), raisins, bananas, fruit bars (Target's Archer Farms brand), or Publix chocolate chip cookies. Everything else is hit or miss. One day you're a bread addict. The next day you turn up your nose to it. One day you act like you could eat a whole carton of strawberries. The next day you refuse to acknowledge their existence on your plate. Sometimes when I'm cooking dinner you try and steal every cherry tomato you can get away with. Other times, when such cherry tomatoes are legitimately yours, you decide they are meant for nothing but squishing between your fingers. So. Rotten. But when you want to eat you do and until the doctor tells me otherwise I think you're eating enough, so unlike your big brothers who have to try things or eat certain amounts before they can be done, I just totally follow your lead. Because the few times I've pushed you, you've just thrown up on me. Lesson learned! 

You recently survived your first trip to the dentist and, a few months back, your first "professional" haircut. I put you through these new things and you totally exceed my expectations. But this not being potty trained yet thing is holding you back. It's gotta happen for you to get out of the baby room at church and if I'm going to ever sign you up for any type of Mom's Day Out, which, now that you're three, I could possibly do. 

No pressure, kid, but Momma's got goals for you this year. Yup, like use the potty. I also hope you'll string more words together and use more verbs and pronouns. And not give up on utensils quite so quickly. You start off your meals with the best intentions, and then midway I'll look over, and see fistful-of-dinner approaching your mouth.

Now that your three, these aren't just MY goals, but they're on paper typed up in your IEP. Totally official. Seriously, where you poop and pee is now of interest to the St. Lucie County School District. Embarrassing? Well, master the skill, and off the list it goes! 

I may not use the potty but I can work this fake flower like a nunchuck!

AND a broom!

You are my greatest source of laughter. Sometimes we just lay on the floor and laugh and tickle and do airplane where you're up high on my feet. Before I know it twenty minutes have gone by. 

I love watching you "read" to your stuffed animals. I love how you say "Phineas and Ferb." I love how excited you get to watch the garbage truck go around in our neighborhood. There is just so much about you that brings joy to me which is why birthdays are bitter sweet for this old mom. I'm excited to watch you grow, but I'm fearful about what endearing habits you may leave behind.

But, onward we go. For in the words of Dr. Seuss (who's a very popular guy in our house these days), "And will you succeed? Yes! You will, indeed! (98 and 3/4 percent guaranteed.) Kid, you'll move  mountains!"

I've got a shovel for ya. Lead the way.

Love, 
Mom 

Special Birthday Breakfast! Someone was still waking up and little unsure of what to think of all the hoopla.

But considering the contents of the plate, it didn't take much convincing to get Toby to dig in.

All done! "Toby, look up and say, 'Cheese!'"

Moms

I have a mom and then I got married and I got another mom.

And then I decided that a skinny little Darth Vader breathing boy was meant to be my son and I became a mom. 

And then this skinny little bald boy got dropped off at our house by CPS and I became a mom of two.

And then I got knocked up so nine months later I became a mom of three.

Fast forward to now, and I'm a mom of three active, wild, fun and silly boys.

It's nice to celebrate all these steps, isn't it? Today I got to do just that with all of these people. (And a few more.)

Blessed.

Transitioning Into Three

We’re approaching a significant birthday in our household.  No, no one will soon be able to drive or drink alcohol or vote for the first time. No kiddos are entering double digits just yet.  No grown-ups are hitting a new decade.

But on May 23^rd Toby will be turning three.

I know right. THREE!

You have no idea why three is significant do you?

Then you must not have a child with special needs.

Three, in the life of a special needs child is a big deal because three is when they age out of the state’s Early Steps program. (Different states have different names. Here in Florida it’s Early Steps. When we lived in Texas it was Early Child Intervention. In North Carolina, where we lived when it was just Kaden who received services, the title was the biggest mouthful: Children’s Developmental Services Agency.)

Toby was six months old when we moved to Florida. He began speech therapy services by the time he was eight months old.  He started play therapy shortly after that. And occupational therapy shortly after that.  I can still remember his very first speech therapy appointment.  The therapist casually used the words, “sensory defensive,” and I was almost brought to tears.  Here was my beautiful baby boy. He could sit up. He was on the verge of crawling (and did by the end of his eighth month.) He could exchange an object from one hand to another.  He smiled and cuddled and seemed genuinely affectionate.  Ok, maybe he had a Fragile X diagnosis, but I’d gotten used to his one and only label because overall he still just seemed like a baby who could do baby things. Now suddenly here was another label.  I had officially entered the world of tests and labels.  I had a baby who wasn’t responding “neuro-typically.” I had a baby who wasn’t doing enough baby things.  I made it through the appointment, but I cried in the car.

It got better.

This world of tests and labels really was out to help my boy.  My skin thickened a bit. We forged ahead.

We eventually grew to love our speech therapist. And our play therapist. And our two occupational therapists. But now we have to say goodbye.  Therapists who have known Toby since before he could crawl! Therapists who used to carry him back to their rooms but eventually walked hand in hand with him to his scheduled activities.  One even came to his second birthday party. 

If we kept up their services we’d be paying out of pocket, 100%. It would count toward our insurance deductible, but that’s so high, we’d never hit it and see insurance kick in.  Instead, we are saying our goodbyes.

And transitioning.

When a special needs child hits the age of three he enters the world of school board services.  Last week we trekked up to the Fort Pierce offices for Toby to be tested. In another week I have my follow-up appointment to review their assessment and find out their initial plan for Toby’s new services. And then, because Toby’s birthday falls with two weeks left on the school-year calendar, he may even start that new plan before summer begins.  We’ll see about that. It’s a lot of change for a kid who faces the Fragile X symptom of anxiety particularly heightened by changes and transitions.

He’s not the only one hitting some anxiety about these transitions.

This Mama Bear wants what’s best. I get that the school board has many kiddos with many needs, but this is MY kid.  I want a service plan that best meets his needs.  Period.

And I hate that he won’t have services through the summer.

Then again I also realize that because he’s MY kid, ultimately it’s MY job to keep up his services. Although I can’t financially fill up his schedule with private appointments, I can take an even more active roll in his day-to-day at-home therapies.  Play therapy has always been Friday mornings for one hour at the house. We aren’t going to fill that hour with Sesame Street or independent play.  We’ll have puzzle time and matching games and sensory play and finally give riding our very ignored tricycle a better go.  Yes, these are things we sometimes do, but not in a regularly scheduled way. Pushing Toby, is something that happens inevitably because he is the youngest in an active family.  Will Toby play in the ball park and handle ball park noise and concession smells? Yes, he will, if big brother has a game.  Will Toby get squeezed into a life jacket and tossed onto a kayak to be glided along inlet waterways reflecting back Florida’s glaring sun? Yes, he will, if that’s what Mom decides we’re doing to celebrate Mother’s Day.  And he goes with it.  Fragile X or not, like most kiddos third in the line up, he is one helluva trooper.  But… that doesn’t mean there isn’t room for more structure and stimulation of a more deliberate design within our week.

Yup, this mama gets to add “therapist,” to her chef/housekeeper/chauffeur/nurse/party planner/teacher/activity coordinator/family photographer/videographer job title.

Have I mentioned that I’m now 30,000+ words into the novel I’m not writing?

Oy.

And the other thing about three… The baby title is a distant memory. Toddler doesn’t even fit.  He is officially a preschooler. 

High chairs, diapers, and cribs are not the trappings of a preschooler. 

We have some more adjustments to make.

We still have a high chair in our dining room, but Toby sits in a regular chair now for most breakfasts and lunches.  His bed is still set up like a crib, but he sleeps in a big boy bed when we travel and the plan to convert his crib to a toddler bed is in place. (After his party weekend we have a little paint update and remodel scheduled for his room).

As for the diapers…. He hates the potty seat. There is much, much anxiety surrounding his potty seat.  For months now I’ve been asking him if he wants to try his potty seat. No way.  I have tried bribes. Still, no way.  That boy is getting a potty chair for his birthday and finally trying on the new Thomas the Train underpants that have been waiting and waiting for him in his pajama drawer. Oh yes he is. Not saying that it will work.  Just saying we’re giving it a more concentrated effort right as soon as we turn that three corner.

Kaden and Blue started swimming when they were three.

Swim lessons already scheduled.

Three is also the age when I will consider meds. I will start that discussion with his pediatrician at his three year appointment, pay much, much attention to this at the Fragile X conference in July, and then, if I think there is something that will just help bring things down a notch, calm that distracted brain a touch, we’re trying it.

I’m telling ya. Three. Is. BIG.

At his last Friday play therapy appointment his therapist asked what my goals were going into his school board IEP (Individualized Education Program). I looked her, wondering if she’d think I was crazy but answered, “That he be mainstreamed by the time he starts kindergarten.” She nodded. She hopes for that too.

We’ve got a lot of work to do.

Meanwhile I’m still making my truffula trees and attending to Seuss party details.

Because, it’s still, well, just three.

Toby’s three-year-old world may now include words like school board, IEP, potty training, meds… but it still has to be a world of whimsy. A world with silly tickle fights, cupcakes, cotton candy, story time and snuggles. A world with Sesame Street.

One day at a time, right?

(And then before I know it, he’ll be four.)

Toby during our recent kayak adventure. Is it just me, or is there a look of Old Man and the Sea determination in his eyes? In any case, he was ready to get back onto the water after a brief island stop.

Sometimes the Crazy Ideas Work

I got it in my head that I wanted us all to go kayaking. To keep the adults to kids ratio even, we invited my mom and called it her mother's day present. (Then she paid for lunch and called it my mother's day present. Win - win!)

I was pretty positive at least one kid would end up in the water, but nope. Even towards the final stretch when Toby started getting restless and Kevin and I kept passing him back and forth between our kayaks - we managed to keep everyone in a boat.

FANTASTIC morning.

Playtime with Baking Soda and Colored Vinegar

There's a picture on Pinterest where a kid is using a dropper to drop colored vinegar into a casserole dish lined with baking soda.  It promises that the kid will be entertained for hours.

If by hours they meant 6 and a half seconds then yes, exactly.

I didn't pin it. I just remembered the idea and today, when we first got home from Kaden's school pick-up, and the big boys wanted to ride scooters in the driveway, I figured it was something I could do with Toby.

So I sprinkled baking soda onto a plastic plate, colored three different shades of vinegar, grabbed a dropper, and set things up outside on a blanket.  

I demonstrated. I did hand over hand, but Toby never got the hang of the dropper.

Toby, that's not where I showed you to squeeze it.

Toby, that's not where I told you put that!

During the process he kept saying, "Ooooo! Bubbles!" as it would fizz, but he had the most fun at the end when I told him just to grab the baking soda and drop it in the cups.

That Toby was good at.

And now he has a blue foot. 

So, ya know, a fun afternoon project.

(Including a Fagile X tag because surely this provided 6 1/2 seconds of sensory input for my sensory seeking boy.)

Me... As seen by the kids.

Kaden had to write a paragraph about moms for his homework last night. He wrote, "My mom goes shopping at Walmart and Publix to buy healthy food so we can be strong. My mom takes my brother to speech therapy. My mom rests on the couch with Toby sometimes.* My mom goes on dates with us and Dad. My mom goes on jogs. That is what my mom can do."

A few days ago Blue watched an episode of Sid The Science Kid where Sid's mom comes to his class to teach them about computers. He then said I should come to his school and teach about computers. I said that Mrs. Cheryl (the computer teacher at his school) was already doing that, and besides, I wasn't really a computer expert so that's not something I could teach about. I then asked him what he thought I could come teach. What was I good at? He answered, "Spelling, cooking and cleaning."

Holy crap. I am so boring.

*And as for that couch "resting" I prefer to call it snuggle time. Every morning, our routine is that after I get Toby up and changed, I hand Toby a sippy cup of almond milk and hold him on the couch while he drinks it. But anyway...

They see me taking pictures and playing with pictures on my computer and creating albums all the time. 

Doesn't factor into their picture of Mom.

They see me reading big fat books; they know I stress that they spend independent time with books; I read to them every day, and I go to a book group once a month.

Doesn't factor into how they see me.

I throw big 'ol parties, going all out even for play dates.

Ho hum.

They hear me singing all the time. They know I sing in "big church" and have sometimes accompanied me during practice or even been in a service where I've soloed. 

No impression whatsoever.

They see me on the computer. I've shown them the blog. 

------

At least once a week I'm shut into the office and they aren't allowed to disturb me because, "Mommy's writing."

------

And then there's the absence of faith/Christianity in their impression of me, but faith/Christianity is something we ALL do, we ALL talk about, we ALL practice.  As do their cousins, their Gran and Papa, in Blue's case his teachers and school, their church friends.... It's part of the world they take for granted and I don't think it's yet occurred to them that others don't go to church or have school chapel (Blue) or memorize Bible verses or pray in their homes. 

All that considered, none of the things that I factor in pretty highly in my own picture of myself seems to matter to them.

Because to them I just drive them to appointments, shop, cook healthy food and excercise, clean and spell. 

Which makes sense.

They see me in terms of what I do for them. (The excercise factors in because on days I know I won't be jogging by myself, we go on two-mile walks/bike rides together. This happens at least three times a week.) They see me as a nurturer and a teacher.

Ya know, a mom.

Week in Review

Hmmmm. Where have I been all week?

Blue got sick Sunday and missed school Monday which got us off to a weird start. 

We just didn't do much.

I did pull down the balloons I'd strung up for Daddy's birthday.

They're still all over the house, and that makes the kids happy, but no, that's not very exciting news.

The Alabama cousins are in Florida for their spring break but spring break came and went for us already so no plans to see them.  Until, that is, I found out they were going to Disney on Thursday. Then I scored some tickets and arranged for a day trip.

Getting the boys out the door by 7:15am? No problem. Entertaining them in the car with a movie and snacks? Easy. Getting them in their Gator gear, sunscreened up, and out the car? Cinch. Folding the stroller and getting 3 boys and a stroller onto the parking lot tram. Oy. Not fun. Forgetting I could have gotten Toby a special needs pass until we were already 2/3rd through the day? Oy. Not smart. 

We met up with our cousins. I got to see a college friend. A childhood friend who lives in Orlando and has season passes joined up after her kids were done with school. It was a full day seeing great people. But. Oy. Holy lots of work for this Momma. 

Toby hated more rides than he liked. We had one anxiety throw-up incident and then at the 10pm after a long, long day we were misdirected during our WALK to the van (no way I could do the tram again with the stroller that Toby was then sleeping in) so even though I knew where I was parked (Heroes lot, Simba 20! I STILL remember.), it was a long while getting there with an exhausted Blue cyring softly as he walked. :-(

But the boys slept most of the way back, were all tucked in their beds by 12:30am and just when I was about to congratulate myself on such a long day I got on facebook to see that the rest of the world was up either at the Hunger Games or watching the Gators basketball game. So we were all up together. 

And today on during school drop offs (oh yes, they were made to go to school today. They can rest up this afternoon.) we were happily chatting about favorite rides and events.

Me: Monsters Inc. Laugh Floor, Toby calling out his name every time they asked another audience member his/her name.

Kaden: Barnstorner! Two Times!

Blue: Buzz Lightyear Space Rangers ride (two times!), Orbiter

Toby: He was still in bed for this conversation. (Kevin is home sick today.) but he seemed happiest running around Huck Finn's Island.

Ah. The Magic of The Mouse.

St Paddy's Beach Day

Toby and I were all set to go see The Lorax today. Well, he doesn't know that, but it's just as well because I changed the plan.

It had been a good plan. Kevin took Kaden and Blue to Kaden's 9am baseball game and after that he took them to a St. Lucie Mets spring training game, so good day for Toby and I to try our first movie at a special showing for special needs kids. Lots of movie theaters do these nowadays, special needs kids are free and they try to make it a more friendly environment. Lights are up, sounds is at half volume, running around during the film is ok. I've been meaning to support such a showing for awhile now and as Toby nears three I think he might actually have fun at such an outing.

But today was not the day.

Some friends invited us to the beach and beach plans trump other plans. Pretty much always.

And it was crazy gorgeous.

I mean just perfect.

Toby was in a great mood.

And  it was low tide so he could walk forever.

Or make me come and sit so he could sit on me.

But some of the time he played with friends too.

In the evening I had plans, but I left the boys with a green dinner to observe the holiday: spinach pizza and limeade with green ice cubes.

But the beach even trumps green ice cubes.

Eight into Eight...

Dear Kaden,

You’re eight days into this grand old age of being eight, and I had to get this letter written because 1. I love you and want to record memories at every birthday and 2. Dad’s birthday is tomorrow and I gotta move on so I can figure out something special for him too.

Eight, to me, IS childhood. You are still young enough to be innocent and naïve. I know this isn’t true of all eight-year-olds, but thankfully it is true of you.  You have never seen an episode of American Idol and you don’t know any current pop stars. You were given an itunes gift card for your birthday and you didn’t know what it was. What can I say? You don’t watch tv other than the commercial-free cartoons we DVR and you’re just too busy being a kid to pay attention to any of that other stuff.

But you’re also old enough to know some pretty important things too. Not things that compromise your innocence, but things that can get you places in this world. You can tell time on the new watch Oma got you for your birthday. You can count money, read chapter books, or write a letter should the inclination strike you. (Or, more likely, should your mother tell you it’s time to write a note to a grandparent or a cousin.)

While you are eight you will start 3^rd grade and 3^rd grade is the grade where I begin to have a better handle on my own childhood memories. I was in Mrs. Rayers class. I can still picture Mrs. Rayers – short, shoulder length brown feathered hair. She didn’t have the best posture, or perhaps it was just that she was always hunched with great speed toward her purpose. I loved her and remain grateful that she was tolerant of me, a very silly girl apt to giggle from the slightest glance or hint of a glance from my best friend at the time, Erin Hornsby. Erin and I did silly things like run up to high school boys and tell them we liked them. I went to a private school that went to 12^th grade and Chad Thorton of the football team held both our hearts. We even knew who his girlfriend was. (Amy Pitchford. Yes, these names are all tucked into my memory. I guess I paid close attention when I was eight.) Oh and it was Erin who convinced me to try to wear my short-strapped, purple unicorn purse over my head and shoulders, mail carrier style. Yup, said purse totally got stuck and said short-straps totally got cut to free my silly eight-year-old, third grade self. Mrs. Rayers put up with that. Although, I was in such a fit of giggles over the purse incident that she made me sit outside until I could compose myself.  Your stern, no-nonsense, momma behaved this way.  It IS hard to believe.

How I hope your 8^th year will find a friend like Erin and a teacher like Mrs. Rayers.

Oh and my other best friend was Jill Livingston. She lived across the street and had a pool and a Nintendo, two things I did not have. I pretty much lived at her house in the summertime. Since we do not have a pool or an Xbox or Wii, you should totally find a neighborhood Jill as well. Ok, and not just because she had fun stuff at her house, but because she was fun and a great listener, and she was right there across the street. The sister I didn't have. 

When I was eight I wore jams. Jams were knee-length shorts featuring the most awful possible combination of colors and patterns.  My favorite pair were red, black, white and purple and I think this pair sported, somewhere in it’s swirl of chaos, a checker pattern and grapes. Let’s just hope I never wore them with my sold turquoise Reebok. (But I probably did.)  Most of the time you wear khaki shorts and striped or solid polo shirts. Your childhood pictures will we way more boring.

But I think at your age life came a little easier to me. I was a chatterbox and emerging writer, so I wait, often not as patiently as I should, as you progress as your own pace.  At this age and stage you still struggle to express yourself.  Some days I feel as though I correct every sentence you speak. You still don’t have a handle on prepositions and use them seemingly at random. You get caught up on pronouns too, often mixing up he and she.  With prepositions I just don’t think you understand what they all mean. With pronouns, I know you know which word to use, but when you’re talking the wrong thing seems to come out. In general, I just don’t sense any ease for you when you are trying to comment on things, so you’re still in speech at school and at home we practice, practice, practice. Whenever you say something that doesn’t make sense, I figure out what you’re trying to say and have you repeat the correct sentence back to me. For school writing assignments you are probably the only kid who has a clear sense of a first and second draft. Oh to be the son of a writer. You write something on your own then I edit and proof it and you go back and start over. Just call me Tiger Mom.

Even so, you are doing fine in school. Satisfactory in every subject on every progress report or report card.  Your reading comprehension is our biggest area of work.  Often when we read chapters with you, you can’t remember a thing until we go back through it a second time. You are a learner who needs repetition.

That’s ok. The beginning of your life is, may always be, a mystery to us. We have unknown hurdles to jump. You have your own pace, but you are jumping. There is no doubt, and we are so proud. 

You are really starting to enjoy baseball. On your birthday you had practice before we went off to your choice of a Chili’s birthday dinner. I watched you easily ground an infield hit and lob it accurately to first base for the out.  I love watching how you’ve improved.  You played basketball for the first time this year and loved it. We now have a basketball net in the driveway and you are always asking if you can go outside and shoot. On your birthday I asked you what you hoped to accomplish while you were eight and you said you wanted to get better in both baseball and basketball.  I don’t doubt you will.

That wasn’t my only question. You told me your favorite thing to do is play the Wii. Thank goodness at least Gran and Papa have one at their house! You said your favorite movie is How to Train a Dragon and your favorite food is pizza. I asked if it had to have anything special on it or if you’d take any kind of pizza and you said any kind will do for you!

I asked you what you want to be when you grow and in the past you’ve always said veterinarian, but this time you said being a Math teacher. You told me that if you could go on a vacation anywhere that you would go to Alaska and go hiking there. Ah, a boy after my own heart!

It didn’t come up, but you also love bowling which is why you picked it for you birthday party and horseback riding. You are always reminding me how you want to go back to horse camp this summer even though last summer you got bit in the face by a dog. This past Christmas you made us so proud by riding a horse in the Stuart Christmas parade.  All the other riders were adults but you rode confidently as though it were the easiest thing.

You’re starting to get into Legos. You especially like putting together Lego kits with Dad. You may like pizza like any other eight-year-old but overall I’d say your palate is a bit more sophisticated. You love a good Greek salad or anything else with feta cheese. You’re all about putting hot sauce on just about anything. I make an orzo salad with garbanzo beans you get excited over, and the other night when we made Asian stir fry with cabbage and green beans you were all about it. No bribing needed for trying new foods in our house. You remain an adventurous eater.

Handsome. Up for anything. Easy going. That’s you at eight.

You make this whole Mom thing look easy.

Love,

Me

 

Crazy Campers

Friday night we headed down to Jonathan Dickinson State Park for a one night camping trip.

Kevin and I had some big camping adventures pre-kids. 

We went tent camping once when it was just Kaden.

Kevin took Kaden and Blue a few times last year.

This was the first time we went with all five of us. 

It was... a good decent first try. We were all set to book a site in the Keys/Bahia Honda  for a longer family camping trip later this year, but now we're thinking we're gonna wait on that.

Set up in the evening was fine. Picnic dinner. Tossing around the baseball. Roasting marshmallows. The boys inviting a stranger for some marshmallows (they did, we shared, it was fine). Kaden read the littler boys a few stories.

Blue eating attacking a marshmallow.

Reading in the tent time.

I'm so talented.  I can hold a flashlight and take pictures.

Aside from some sand fleas and the fact that Kevin beat me at Scrabble, it was a nice evening.

And then came bedtime.

Toby just didn't sleep. First he wouldn't go to sleep. Luckily our tent is so big it actually has two rooms, so finally we zipped him into his own room and let him cry and fuss until he passed out. That was around 9:30pm. He slept soundly till about 2am and then that was it. He woke up and thought it was time to get up.  Blue slept through everything. The rest of us? Notsomuch.

Finally around 6am he crashed again for about an hour.

And then, big surprise, we had a cranky fussy Toby the next day.

We went on a short walk to a river overlook.

Some of the time Toby was into it and walking.

Most of the time he decided to stop. Because, you know, pine needles and sand are so fascinating.

So we took turns carrying him. This worked when Mom did the carrying, but if Daddy tried it was all squiggles and shouting for Mommy.

So that didn't work, but we still made it.



But then, for some reason (oh right, no sleep) Toby threw a big fit when it was time to walk back. Sadly for me, big fits these days involve scratching and hair pulling.  Finally, beyond frustrated, I threw him in Daddy's arms and ran ahead on the path. Without me to act up for, he chilled and came along. 

In addition to Toby's tired-two-year-old temper, there was another big hazard to this walk. Apparently there was a giant on the path ahead of us. He left some crazy tracks.

I did find it a little suspicious that the word "giant" was written in the middle of this print and that Kaden was walking ahead of us with a stick in his hand, but... you never know. If you go for a walk at Jonathan Dickinson and you come across a giant on the path, don't say I didn't warn you.

We survived.

We had a little playground time where Kaden and Blue played happily and Toby stomped around uber cranky at one point even breaking Daddy's sunglasses when Kevin went to fetch him because he'd stomped too far away. Oy.

Then Toby and I sent Kevin, Kaden and Blue off into the Loxahatchee river (we borrowed a canoe from one of Kevin's coworkers) and Toby and I continued on to a birthday party in West Palm.

Wait. What?

In that state I took Toby to a birthday party? Am I CRAZY?

Yes. There's that. 

It still seemed a better option then sticking the kid in a canoe.

Also, I figured he'd get a needed nap during the 40 minute drive and if worse came to worse I'd just let him sleep. 

He did nap, but I didn't let him keep sleeping. He wasn't happy about being woken up and right away getting a diaper change, but he was soothed by Teddy Grahams and a fruit bar and I got him composed before we entered the bounce house! kids! snow cones! and petting zoo! birthday hoopla.

Actually the petty zoo was what I'd known would be our saving grace. Toby loves "anmals."

There were baby chicks, bunnies, a piglet, a rooster, two ducks, a mini cow, a goat and two baby goats. I didn't take many pictures because I was too busy making sure Toby was being gentle.

Yup, a traveling petting zoo for a barnyard themed birthday party. LOVE it.

After leaving the party we returned to the park to fetch the rest of the fam. Poor Kevin... About twenty minutes before we got back it had started POURING. Kaden and Blue didn't mind because they love to play in the rain. Kevin was a bit grumpy, and of course it didn't let up for the packing up, canoe mounting, but by the time we were out of the car and gassing up? Clear skies.

Is there any better way to end a camping trip?