Wild & Wonderful West Virginia

Here we are at Snowshoe, WV, for a Memorial Day weekend getaway.  Yes, it is known primarily as a ski resort, but as it turns out it is also a great spring/summer/fall destination as well.  Right now I am sitting out on an open square sipping on Starbucks, listening to a local band strumming away, and enjoying the sunshine and cool mountain top breeze.  Originally we had been planning to go to Strasburg, PA, in the Amish Country to ride on a real-live steam engine and visit the National Toy Train Museum there.  However, when it turned out that every hotel in the area was already booked, we moved onto Plan B -- Operation Snowshoe.   

And what do you know, when I checked out the Snowshoe website, the  first thing that jumped out at me was the nearby Cass Scenic Railroad, complete with its own real-live steam engine!  So we were sold on the idea -- no dealing with the stressful drive on 95, a scenic trip to the Mountain State, and somewhere we've never been before now.  And here we are.  Voila!  (Plus the rates are more than reasonable this time of year.)

In making our itinerary, we planned it around making the 12 noon train trip to Whittaker Station, two hours round trip.   But when you have a toddler around, plans rarely stay as they are because things change in less than the time it takes to ski straight down the mountain.  Do you sense a story coming?  If so, you are right! 

We got to Cass Station with about 15 minutes to spare, and the train was absolutely packed with no where to sit.  Even worse though, Sam was starting to get tired and was losing his marbles as we conquered a corner to stand in.  Could we really do this for two hours and not kill him, each other, or be killed by our fellow passengers? We decided no, and five minutes before the train left, we  just -- got off.  Got off after traveling for four hours and talking it up to the Saminator the whole way?  Yup!  Treacherous territory indeed, but it turned out to be the right thing, thank God!  

We got to see the entire train as it pulled out, a dramatic sight with the black steam rising in the air and whistle bowing.  And we were so in luck -- they had a really neat wooden train playset alongside the tracks which Sam loved.  And then there was an awesome  gift shop with lots of trains...  Plus the ticket office was kind enough to refund our fare which covered our bag full of bribes, I mean, trinkets.  We'll be back though and will stay on the train for the duration. In the meantime we have a Cass Railroad mug, baseball cap, and toy steam engine to help remind us of the Trip We Never Took.

LibbY

Sam, Sam the Gardening Man

Sam has been quite the budding horticulturalist lately.  He loves to "plant" - move soil from one potted plant to another, usually exposing the roots or otherwise traumatizing the plant, while making a big ole mess in the process.  Is it annoying?  A resounding yes.  Have I said anything to him?  No.  I am trying to step back and look at the big picture and let him have his fun "planting."  I want him to like plants and flowers when he's older and associate happy memories with it, rather than getting chided for unintentionally beating up on the poor plants. So Mom has kept mum as he putters around wreaking havoc and spilling "potty soil" (as he calls it) all over the place.  It's actually pretty hilarious to watch him work his magic, all industrious and well-meaning in his destruction.  I try to remind myself that the plants are just plants and won't even last through the summer.  Hopefully his interest will continue to grow along with a deeper understanding of the whole keep-the dirt-around-the-roots concept.

So there I was all proud of myself for keeping it all in perspective.  And there he was all proud of his planting, ahem, accomplishments.  As I basked in a moment of silence trying to savor the moment, Sam piped up, commanding me, "Mommy, say, 'Good job, Sam.' " 

OK, got it.  Good job, Sam!  And good job to you too, Mommy.

LibbY

 too much undeserved praise?

Sam "Mommy, say 'God job, Sam!'"

What a Difference Two Half-Days Make

Alas, Sam's first year of preschool has come to an end.  Pardon me while I break out a hankie. He'll be fine, I know, but will I?  What a difference two half-days have made this year --for him and especially for little ole me.  It's only six measley hours a week, even less when you account for pick-up and drop-off time, but you can cram an awful lot into that time if you have the desire.  And that I have had that burning desire.  Oh Lordy, have I ever. Heck, there was one Tuesday morning when I went to Target, Sears, Kohls, Ukrops, Kroger, Old Navy, and even a few more places I can't remember in the blur of it all.  

I've been able to go to doctor's appointments galore and meet friends at the Bellgrade Starbucks without my head swiveling around every thirty seconds to figure out what trouble Sam is into now.  And I can leave the coffee shop without everyone knowing his name from hearing me admonish him, "Now, Sam, we don't go through the trash," "Please, Sam, put that down," "Sam, please leave that nice lady alone while she drinks her latte," "Sam, stop that!" etc.

But wait, there is hope on the horizon -- CAMP!  Sam's got "camp" for four days for the first week in June and two other weeks later on in the summer.  The whole concept of "camp" for two-year-olds used to make me chuckle, but now it just makes me cheer!  Hallelujah!  Let's hear it for camp!  And four whole days in a row!  What will the heck I do with myself?  Don't you worry, I'll be just fine out there boosting the economy singlehandedly.

So today is Day One of Summer Vacation, and it has gone shockingly well, a harbinger of a great summer ahead, I hope.  I managed to bring Sam on more errands in a row than I usually ever do in a week with him in tow.  We hit the Post Office, usually a scene, without a scene. Then I risked it at Hallmark where he has been known to run around like a Tasmanian devil, pulling cards out everywhere with his sticky, sweaty hands. Not this time, only a little roughhousing with the wind chimes.  Not content with my milestone victories, I brought him SHOPPING, DISCOUNT SHOPPING at Steinmart, no less.  He did great, even meriting a lunch out at McDonalds with a new Speed Racer car with his kids' meal! 

Bring on the summer!  I've got a great little companion, at least today, so I am goign to try to savor every moment.  Don't worry -- I'll still savor camp, too!

LibbY

The Bottom Comes Out on Top!

Wow!  Who could ask for more, especially for a little boy who adores both trains and all things fire engine?  Well, no one!  We arrived down at the Bottom on Saturday morning to see what we could see -- and hit the jackpot.  Right away we scored an awesome parking spot right by the Farmers Market and proceeded to check out the wares for a few minutes before wandering over to Toddler Mecca, aka the fabulously renovated Main Street Station. 

 Just as we headed up the ramp to enter the station, a train came rumbling by right in front of us.  It was amazing to see it up close even if the noise was like being at a firing range.  We couldn't have planned it better if we had hired an events planner to coordinate it all.  Needless to say, Sam loved the train station, and some friends joined us there with Kieran, their train-loving two-and-a-half year old daughter.  The kiddos had a blast running around the station, watching yet two more train rumble by, and trying out the beautifully renovated chairs in the waiting room -- for a split second or two. 

It just couldn't get much better until it did!  We sauntered over to the new Halligan Bar & Grill at 3 N. 17th Street right across from the Market.  Well, we adults sauntered, the kids did more of a gallop.  Once we got there, I wished I had galloped because it was just that amazing!!  Halligan's is a hometown pub dedicated to firefighter memorabilia, with a REAL vintage fire truck cut in half to make the bar.  Folks, it's true, there is a fire truck attached to the wall, complete with siren and lights.  (I heard and saw them both in action.)  Better yet, the draft beer pours out of the side of that real fire truck.  The lampshades over the bar are actual fire helmets of different colors, and the glass-covered bar is filled with fire hose.  Perhaps Sam's favorite thing of all was the wide-screen TV with a baseball game on.

Since the decor was so unique and creative, I didn't expect much from the food at all.  What a tasty surprise -- it was downright delicious!  The BBQ chicken was to die for, and the baked beans were the best I've ever had -- tangy and mixed with black beans.  Oh, and the corn bread was soooo good.  Sam's plate was literally overflowing with delectable chicken tenders of fresh white meat.  We've got leftovers to prove it.

I knew for sure that the trip was a big success when Sam asked first thing this morning, "Can we go downtown today?  Please?"

LibbY

The Terrible Threes?

After the past week, I was convinced that the Terrible Threes had entered the scene a couple of months early.  I prepared myself for the worst, remembering my friend Vanessa's experience that age three was harder than two with her sweet boy Miguel.  Here we are, I thought, brace yourself.  Sam was ultra whiny, cranky, and generally not such great company to be around at all.  

I wanted to blame it all on him being sick, but he wasn't.  He had recently gotten over two bad colds back-to-back and seemed fine, just whiny.  Oh, the whining!  It could be used as an interrogation tactic at Guantanamo with amazing results, I swear.  Anything, absolutely anything, to make the whining stop.  Name your price!  (No, I am not talking about Hillary!)

Last week he had a hard time at school, too -- whining, crying for no apparent reason, humming, and generally out of sorts.  Even his ever-placid teacher Miss Julie was perplexed by his unusual behavior and almost called me to take him home early, something she has never done before.  When I asked Sam later why he was sad at school, he said, "It was too loud!"  Hmmmn...  What was that all about?  Wasn't it as loud as it was every other time he went there?  How odd.  I admit it -- I went home and then proceeded to really freak myself out by googling "symptoms of autism."  That list pretty much describes every two-year-old I know, but still.  What if...

On Saturday the three of us went on a long-anticipated train ride out in Dillwyn, part of Buckingham County.  I had taken Sam for a ride on the Santa Train there last December, and he was dying to go back, even if Santa wasn't on board for this run.  (That's true devotion to his train fetish!)  It's such a wholesome experience -- a quaint old-fashioned diesel called "The Rambler," kid-friendly conductors, and as uncommercial as a country train ride can get.  We loved it, Sam loved it, but he was just a little bit.... off.  What was the deal?  Was our little bundle o' joy turning into a big ole brat?  Were we about to lose what sanity we have left by trying to live through the Terrible Threes?

On the ride home down Route 60, Sam announced, "I want to turn my ear off!"  What?  Turn his ear off?  When we asked him if his ear hurt, sometime he'd say yes and sometimes he'd say no.  To be on the safe side, I took him to the pediatrician this morning.  Dr. Rowe (or "Dr. Whoa" as he is affectionately known in our house, along with rock star status) took one peek at Sam's right inner ear and announced, "He's got a doozy of an earache in there."  I just wanted to crawl under the table and ..... whine.  With as much restraint as I could muster, I resisted.  With the prescription burning a hole in my hand, we set off to Ukrops where Sam acted like ---an almost three-year-old boy with a doozy of an earache.  

So it wasn't the Terrible Threes after all, at least so far.  Instead the culprit was me, the Terrible Mommy.  Let's hope I outgrow this stage soon.  I think I need to return my Mothers' Day gifts as well.  I'm sorry, Sam!  I hope your ear turns off likety split!  In the meantime will some cookies 'n cream ice cream help it feel better?  And in my effort to be a better mommy, I'll have some with you, just to keep you company.

LibbY

Sam Has a Girl Friend

Sam has a real girl friend.  She's not a girlfriend, but a friend who happens to be a girl.  He's a little young for having a real girlfriend-kind-of-girlfriend as he's not quite three.  For right now, I'm quite content to be the only woman in his life smothering him with kisses.  Anyway, his girl friend's name is Callie.

I met Callie's mommy at a mother's club event this winter.  Realizing we had kiddos about the same age, we decided to get together at their house.  No sweat, I assured myself, there will plenty of stuff for Sam to play with there even if they are opposite genders.  Well, no siree.  There was not a truck or train to be seen.  Sam took one look at her pink and purple toys and wanted out of that playroom in a big, bad way.  

Before I knew it, he was out the door, through the living room, and headed upstairs in search of adventure, perhaps hoping against hope to discover a stash of toys that were not pastel in color.  No such luck -- there were no such toys to be found, and I apprehended him before he got too far.  He was not happy to be corralled back into the playroom which contained nothing with which he would actually want to play.  Callie's mommy saved the day by crossing the gender gap with the Cailloux show, something they both love.  (Beware if you haven't seen Cailloux yet.  I have the theme song running through my head and have a feeling it will be lodged there into infinity and beyond.)  

A few episodes later, Sam had absolutely had it.  Out!  He wanted out!  He managed to crack open one of the French doors and was about to make a jailbreak like "The Great Escape" all over again.  Seeing the bad boy in action, the ever helpful Callie sauntered over and shut the door -- on his hand.  He started to howl at the top of his lungs.   I had no idea what had happened but knew it wasn't good as I lunged over there.  Thankfully his fingers were just sore but OK.  

So it's safe to safe to say their friendship was off to a rocky start.  After that whenever I'd ask Sam if he wanted to play with Callie, he's say, "Oh, she's too tired.  She's taking a nap."  Wow -- he's already got Southern gentility down pat before the third anniversary of his birth.  Not bad.

Well, I did manage to talk him into going over there again, only after I explained that it would only be for five minutes while Callie's mother ran an errand.  Then we would all go to the park. Plus this time I came prepared, bringing along a recent yard sale acquisition -an honest-to-goodness "boy-toy" for him, a blue plastic police car.  

Surprisingly enough, though, while Callie's mommy was out, the two of them hit it off.  Callie invited him to have "tea" with her.  Sam accepted like a proper gentleman, seating himself at her little pink table and struggling to wedge his long gangly legs underneath.  Once Callie prepared the "tea," she sat down katty corner to Sam.  Sam looked over at her with an expression that was quite familiar to me, but not one I had ever seen him use before then.  It was the Date Face.  

I'm sure you know the Date Face, even if you think you don't.  You know -- it's that pleasant look that guys tend to paste on their faces on the first couple of dates.  That's what it was -- I hadn't seen it in years being a married lady and all, but I definitely know the Date Face when I see it, and there it was on plastered on Sam Macky's rosy cheeks.  I guess it's in the male chromosome.  

I did my best to stifle my gales of laughter, but in the blink of an eye that moment was over. Sam got called away (by his own mind) from the table to go fight a fire on the other side of the playroom, and Callie decided to whip up a batch of spaghetti with her baby doll nearby.  I guess these gender stereotypes have developed over time for a reason.

Today we got together again with Callie and her mommy at the bagel shop for lunch.  I don't know who had a better time -- Sam and Callie or the two mommies.  Sam and Callie jumped up and down on the spongy seats in the booth, squealing with delight and sharing a bagel.  The mommies were busy discussing the many merits of having an only child.  Enough said.  

We then moved onto Toys That Teach where Sam dug into the train table and Callie found a toy shopping cart and started to fill it on up with knick-knacks.   When it was time to leave, though, Sam gave Callie the first real hug he's ever given.  (Usually he just allows someone else to hug him.)  He reached out and wrapped his arms around her and held on.  It was such a sweet moment that we mommies both had tears in our eyes.  And then that moment was gone, but I'll never forget his first real hug.  If it couldn't have been me, I'm glad it was Callie.  She'd make a fine daughter-in-law, that Callie.

LibbY

Freaky Friday

Sam didn't like me.  Then I didn't like myself.  Pretty soon  I didn't like him either.  With a ruined laptop and a public meltdown -- I didn't like the day, and the day didn't like me.

I knew it wasn't going to be such a good day when I first came downstairs last Friday to Sam and Daddy Mac playing at the train table.   Sam announced, "I don't like you!"  Don't get me wrong, I am glad that he enjoys his time alone with Daddy Mac and all, but that was a little bit extreme.  Am I not the one who gave up alcohol, sushi, and goat cheese to haul him around for 40 weeks plus, not to mention ripping apart my innards to give birth to this pint-sized ingrate?  Aaargh! 

When talking on the phone later that morning to my mother (known as "Grams" in our house), I mentioned Sam's declaration of dislike for me.  Without missing a beat, Grams responded, "Oh, you kids said that to me all the time.   And I'd just think to myself, 'Sometimes I don't like you either!'"  Of course, my first reaction was that of my inner child -- how could you not like me even for a second?   Then as maturity settled in like a blanket, I tried to think of times when I didn't like Sam.  I was sure there had been some, but I just couldn't think of anything specific.  (As you can see, I've learned that amnesia is a handy maternal coping skill.) 

Fast forward to the afternoon during precious nap time.  I was doing my usual triple tasking -- checking my e-mail, drinking a big cuppa tea, and yaking away with my friend Michelle on the phone.  I'm still not even quite sure what happened, but somehow I whacked my mug by accident.  Yes, you guessed it, a couple of waves of tea went sloshing all over my laptop.  Nooooooooo!  

Within seconds the screen looked like it was on hallucinogens -- turning all blue, then all red, all green, and back to blue again.  Freaky Friday it was!  I tried to sop up the liquid, but most of it had fallen inside the keyboard.  Not good, not good at all.  Upon Michelle's suggestion, I picked up the computer and water poured out of it.  (It was a pretty big trickle, not a small trickle, mind you.)  Then I turned it off, but it wouldn't start up again.   

So I conceded defeat and called the doctor, I mean, the Apple Store at Short Pump.  Luckily I was able to get an appointment for late afternoon.  However, unluckily I would be missing a fun loving neighbor's rockin' Cinco de Mayo party, complete with margarita machine.  And it was all over a silly cup of tea I really didn't even want...  At this point I didn't like myself a whole lot either.

On our way to Short Pump, I told Sam that we had to go to the computer store first.  Then we'd ride the train, one of his all-time favorite activities.  He was fine in the Apple store considering there was nothing there for him to do but break some pricey  computers.  All in all, though, he did OK, only wandering out of the store in a stupor of boredom a couple of times.

In the meantime, the "genius" at the help bar informed me that my computer was broken with no hope for resuscitation.  Not such a big surprise considering the laptop had swallowed half a cup of Early Grey.  Determined not to cry over spilt tea, I went ahead and bought a new computer.  I left my waterlogged laptop there in hopes that they could save the hard drive.  (As it turns out, they couldn't, but let's not dwell on that or I will slit my wrists, OK?)

As we left the store, I commended Sam on what a Good Boy he had been during the stay.  And it was train time!  Sam was so excited he was having trouble controlling himself.  So we headed over to buy the tickets at the concierge desk.   Meanwhile Sam took off running like he was starring in a toddler remake of "Chariots of Fire," only not in slow motion.  What the heck?  He knew the drill -- I was buying tickets for the train and just about to pay as a matter of fact.  Scared of losing him in the crowd, I screamed at him to come back.  Hearing the fear in my voice, he turned his head to look AND KEPT GOING.  That stinker!  

After hesitating for a second, I abandoned my spot in line and took off after him.  I raced over to the train station area, and he was nowhere to be seen.  My heart was pounding as I spun around in a circle looking for him and yelling his name at a decibel that makes it clear I grew up in the Northeast.  (I did.)  He was gone, I tell you, gone.  And older lady caught my frazzled eye and pointed towards the toy store, another one of his favorite hangouts.  I charged in --the Saminator nowhere to be seen.  

Fueled by momentum and adrenaline, I sprinted to the train tables in back, and there he was focused on playing with trains without a care in the world.  When I asked him what had happened, he said, "Sam Macky needed to play with the trains!"  Oh he did, did he?  Now I didn't like him either, not one bit.  After making him look me in the eye and telling him not to run off because it's dangerous, I just played it cool.  It was fine and dandy until he was tired of the toy store and wanted to ride the train -- badly.

"No," I said, "I already tried to take you on the train, and you ran away from me."  Seeing that I meant business, Sam started to sob --not just cry --a brokenhearted sob as I carried him out to the car.   Neither Daddy Mac nor I had ever refused to take him on the train before, especially when it was riding in circles all around us ringing its tinkling little bell.  Oh, what a Mean Mommy.  Oh, what a scene.  Oh, what a day.  I just didn't like it, any of it.  I don't think it liked me either.

LibbY

  

Mulching It Up

Sam discovered the wonderful world of mulch today, something I had never really heard of until I was a homeowner well into my 30's.  When I told him the mulch guy was coming, he asked me, "What that is called?"  I said mulch is a special kind of dirt, and a man delivers it as part of his job -- I neglected to note how expensive that special kind of dirt can be.

Once Sam saw the mulch guy in action with truck trailer, and wheelbarrow, he was all gung-ho about "helping."  Now Mr. Ian (aka "the mulch guy") seems like a very nice guy, but would he really be thrilled to have a "mini-helper" on his heels while doing this back-breaking work?  Heck, I gave birth to Sam and there are still plenty of times I'd prefer that he didn't "help" me at all.  Well, Mr. Ian earned Good Sport of the Year Contest in my book.  He completely humored Sam, lifting him up into the trailer to "work" with him shoveling mulch, and even filling his neon toddler-sized wheelbarrow with -- you guessed it - mulch.  I couldn't help it -- I had to take pictures of all that hilarity in action.

The next morning the first thing Sam asked when he woke up is, "Is Mr. Ian here?"

"No," I responded, "not until next year."

"Oh."  Sam seemed disappointed to lose his new playmate for a whole year, but after a minute he seemed to be OK with it.  He explained to me,  "Mulch is a special kind of dirt, Mommy."

LibbY

A Happy Haircut! And Much More!

Until yesterday, a happy haircut for the Saminator was beyond my wildest dreams.  I never thought I'd be using the two words in the same sentence, let along stringing them together, with 'happy' actually referring to the 'haircut' experience itself.  But this undreamt dream sure did come true, all thanks to an adorable fire engine seat with a real bell to ring and trance-inducing Thomas plastered on a flat screen TV.  (What subliminal messages are they sending through that show?  Probably some thing simple like "Buy more trains, kids!  Then lose them all and go bug your parents to buy some more!") 

Not only did Sam not sob like his fingers were being chopped off one by one like he has during previous haircuts, he didn't want to leave even when the store closed.  Now that's what I call immeasurable progress!  It was a struggle for Sam to let them lock up their Brio train table in the birthday party room to protect it from toddler burglars in the middle of the night.  All hail, Pigtails & Crewcuts!  We love, love, looooooooove their new Midlo location in the brand-new Midlothian VIllage Square just minutes away from our homestead.  In the words of Arnold Schwarzennager, "We'll be baaaaaaaaack," in the short term maybe just to use that kickin'  train table some more!  Plus their state-of-the-art TV puts our 1980s-inherited-from-Grandma boob tube rightfully to shame.

Oh, it gets better -- the new Midlothian Square Village has lots more!  It can tell already -- it will be our new Mecca.   There's the huge Cafe Caturra with outdoor seating for the summer and roaring fire inside during the winter, awesome sandwiches and salads, coffee, and WINE ON TAP.   I want to say it can't get any better than this, but it can and does -- the new Capital Ale House just across the parking lot.  It was such an awesome sight I kept wondering if it was a mirage -- too good to be true.   This one is way better than their other locations -- gigantic with an incredibly long bar, outdoor seating, plus the biggest German pretzels I've ever seen, and TONS OF BEERS ON TAP!

And before I lose myself in ecstasy, Rita's Ice Cream Shop is there, too, just to top off your excursion to get your kid's hair cut; drink coffee, wine or beer (or all three); and have a tasty meal of German bratwurst.  AAAH!  My only wish is that the cord on Sam's monitor could reach this new Utopia on Midlothian Turnpike, so we could sneak out spontaneously (what's that?) at night for a beer and a pretzel.  Well, something's got to bring us back to Earth, though. It may as well be the monitor.  How 'bout a really long extension cord?

All hail, Midlothian Village Square!

LibbY