Time to SWIM!

School has been out for a whole week now, one very looong week. The adjustment is not going well -- for me at least. Sam is fine, but I miss the time zooming around doing errands by myself, buying things, and then returning the things I bought the previous week. There is something so cathartic about that silly ritual, the shopping and the "reverse shopping" as my fellow shopaholic friend Denise aptly calls it. (Don't ask me why it soothes my soul, ask Freud.) Plus the loss of structure at the end of anything -- a job, school, etc., always makes me feel pretty lost at first. In the legendary words of Diana Ross, though, I will survive, at least until camp starts next week!

Sam has been doing Morgan Swim School (also known as the "Nazi Swim School" to Richmonders far and wide) for the past two weeks, the infamous Eight Day Blitz. And what a blitz it has been! Last Monday when he started he didn't even want to put his face in the water, and I am not exaggerating. Now he is jumping in VOLUNTARILY off the side of the pool, floating COMFORTABLY on his back, and kicking along in the water, face down. Is that really my kid or has a swimming space alien occupied his 37-pound body? If that isn't progress, I don't know what is! Hmmn,,, I wonder if they have a diet school in the works...

There definitely have been some tears involved in the process, lots of tears actually. To his credit Sam's teacher, known to us as "Mr. John," has been super patient, persevering even when I can hear Sam yelling at the top of his lungs, "NO!" And that is with me in the car way on the other side of the huge house with the door shut and just one window rolled down. Oy. He's got one set of healthy lungs there for sure.

In contrast to the tears and fears, Sam truly believes that he is a real-life on-duty Rescue Hero. (He is, isn't he?) Not sure when he has a day off. Perhaps the world is not ready for that lack of security yet. So the other day as we headed down to the pool with Sam's lower lip a-quivering, he informed me, "If anyone needs any help, you're in charge. I'm going to be at my swimming lesson." Thank God I did not have to step in and perform any kind of search-and-rescue, however small. And God forbid I have to interrupt his half-hour swimming lesson due to my own super hero ineptitude.

Today he actually "graduated" from Morgan Swim School with a ribbon, certificate, and swimming book. For the final day, the kids routinely do a swim test consisting of them jumping into the water with ALL of their clothes on, right down to pants, shirt, and shoes. I thought the wet clothes part would consist of just jumping in and then finding his way to the side of the pool, but nooooo. Mr. John had him do pretty much all of his drills in his soaking wet clothes. And he did them, a-OK! I was truly shocked. Heck, I hate swimming with the weight and discomfort of wet clothes on, but with Sam's low body weight it is probably much harder for him.

I don't know who impressed me more -- Sam or Mr. John and his magical ability to get Sam to do all of these challenging drills willingly. I used to be dubious about the whole Nazi Swim School thing, but I'm a full believer now. As a reward for doing so well, I took Sam to get his very own set of multi-colored diving rings, so we can practice together -- until his next set of lessons. When we got home, I took a look at his certificate which said, "Character Demonstrated - Bravery." Atta boy! Maybe he is a Rescue Hero after all or at least on the road to becoming one someday. Looks like I could learn a thing or two from him... So who is raising who here? Are Daddy Mac and I raising him or is he raising us? I guess it is a whole lot of both. Hope we are doing half as good as job as he is.

LibbY

PS This blog is also posted on www.RichmondChic.com

A Few Good Women

Here it is, Memorial Day again. This is the day when we take time to reflect upon our military and feel grateful for their countless sacrifices. We're also grateful for those who support our soldiers and their families. When I think of people who support the troops, the Virginia Memorial Quilt Project immediately pops into my mind and doesn't leave it long enough to think of anything else.

Led by the ever-resourceful Debbie Elam, this dedicated band of volunteers created their own non-partisan organization back in 2006. Their mission is to support those Virginia families who have made the gut-wrenching sacrifice of losing a loved one in either Iraq or Afghanistan. Living out their motto "Together, We Will Not Forget," they seek out these mourning families and then volunteer to make a quilt for each of them in colors of their choosing.

Have you ever thought how long it takes to make a quilt, a big quilt of 72 by 90 inches? I don't know myself exactly, but I do know that it sure is a huge time commitment. And they have made them for over ninety families, complete and total strangers, to help heal their broken hearts even a tiny bit. They are the biggest patriots I know.

I had the privilege of meting this big-hearted group of women when I wrote an article on their organization for "Fifty Plus Magazine" two years ago back in June 2007. Click the following link to read the full article from my website: www.libbymcnamee.com/50Plus%20Mag/VirginiaMemorialQuiltProject.pdf

In addition to the quilts, the group has an informative website at www.vmqp.com. They also sponsor an annual luncheon reception for the families to give them a chance to meet each other, remember their lost ones together, and grieve with others who truly understand their pain. I have attended the past two years -- it is a moving and bittersweet experience for everyone there, all united by their common pain.

Last weekend they held a public celebration in Powhatan to recognize Armed Forces Day, gathering supplies to send to the VA National Guard members deployed to Iraq. (They were covering all of the postage as well.) So I headed out there with Sam to see the humvee and troop carrier they had on display. While we were there, a woman from Arlington, VA, happened to be driving by the sign and stopped to see what the festivities were all about. As it turns out, she herself had lost her husband in Iraq last June, but the ladies at VMQP had been unable to locate her address to contact her and offer her a quilt.

This grieving widow got an unexpected chance to laugh, cry, and tell her painful story to these wonderful ladies who truly care. With that chance encounter alone, they considered the day to be a huge success. It was! And soon she will have a beautiful homemade quilt made with lots of love.

LibbY

PS If you would like more information or to donate, their website is www.vmqp.com



LibbY

Oh, What a Day!

Today is Daddy Mac's birthday! I think we are going to do a do-over on Sunday because he hasn't gotten much of one at all. He ended up on a 7AM flight to Atlanta and back in River City at 5:30 PM, so we cancelled dinner plans with friends due to supreme exhaustion. Big bummer. Sam and I trotted all over Richmond all day -- to Home Depot for flowers to plant and surprise Daddy, to Short Pump for his favorite beer at Whole Foods, and to Stony Point to get some ties for Daddy at Brooks Brothers.

When we got home, we baked a chocolate cake, Daddy's favorite. Then we were making homemade pizza for the first time and waiting for the dough to rise. While cooking Sam insisted on wearing his Wall-E "protective glasses." (See picture!) While the dough was rising we adjourned for half an hour, Wall-E sunglasses discarded. As I went to put the clean laundry into the dryer, I heard a cry from Sam in the other room, a different kind of cry than the usual wail.

I ran back into the family room, and Sam was on the floor next to the coffee table screaming and holding his hand over his eye. "No, God, please, no!" I prayed to myself. "Lift up your hand. Let me see," I told him as calmly as I could. I was so relieved only (only?) to see a red gash over his eye on his eyebrow. I thought it didn't look big enough for stitches, but to be on the safe side we literally walked straight out the door to the pediatricians to get it checked out. I left a message for Daddy Mac, but his flight from Atlanta had already taken off.

After a mere glance at him in the waiting room (and stares from everyone else there), the pediatrician told us to head to the emergency room for stitches because the cut has more of a gash. So off we went, my hands trembling the whole way. Sam was just upset that he didn't get to ride there in an ambulance. "Maybe someday I'll get an ambulance," he hoped. It's a good thing I was so distracted. Another message for Daddy Mac.

When we got there, I realized he didn't have any shoes, and I felt naked without my usual liter of water by my side. To make a long story short, he got three stitches right on his eyebrow, three more than I've ever had in my life or Daddy Mac for that matter. It definitely was right up there as one of my worst parenting moments, holding him down as he writhed and screamed with all of the shoulda- coulda - woulda's running sprints through my head. Here's a sampler -- if he had fallen even half an inch lower, he would have lost an eye. Gulp. The doctor felt bad for the whole ordeal so he offered me a popsicle too when he gave one to Sam. I told him only if it had alcohol. Two more messages for Daddy Mac until he was finally on the ground.

So instead of homemade pizza for Daddy Mac, he picked up his own take-out pizza. Poor Daddy Mac! Happy birthday! How about that do-over for real?

LibbY

The AMAZING Air & Space Museum

It's just embarrassing. I went to college AND law school in Washington, DC, and never went, not even once, to the Air & Space Museum. Just plain pathetic. Oh well. Today was a new day, and off we went! It was probably the most enjoyable road trip we've had since Sam has been in the picture. No, not just probably, it was. We seriously had a guardian angel working overtime for us -- smooth sailing all the way up there, which is nothing short of miraculous on 95! Then we got rock star parking right in front of the museum. (Here is a photo to prove it!)

Any museum would seem lame and tame after the Air & Space, except maybe the Louvre. What could compare with the original Spirit of St. Louis, the Wright Brothers' plane, a real moon rock, a huge simulated aircraft carrier, and a replica of the Lunar Lander, just to name a paltry few?

Homestead Hobo

We were kicking back at the Homestead this past week. Yes, again. But before you make any assumptions that we must have won the lottery or cured cancer, let me explain. We're not quite "hobos" either, but we have absolutely no business being at the Homestead as often as we are -- or at all, ever. The crucial fact is that we are fortunate to have an extremely generous friend with a time share there. And she sure does share her time with us lucky folk.

This time was a whole new experience because I could FINALLY put Sam into the Kids Club and get a full-fledged break, which is what vacation is supposed to be all about! (Kids apparently never got the memo on how vacations are supposed to work.) The Kids Club always seemed like a mirage in the desert to us because we'd never been able to use it before now. First the problem was that Sam wasn't three. Then when he turned three, the hang-up was that he wasn't potty trained. Now we finally have achieved the winning combo -- he is both three and fully housebroken (for the most part, give or take lots of accidents here and there). We had reached the milestone - we were good to go. Yahoo!

And let me tell you, it was bliss. Bliss, I tell you! I only had him in there from 9-12 one morning, but it made the trip. Daddy Mac wasn't there, poor buy, because he had to work and subsidize our lifestyle. However, he was kind enough to send champagne on our anniversary, complete with chocolate milk for the Saminator. Yes, I am a lucky girl. The whole Homestead was quite quiet because school has not let out yet, so Sam was the only kid in there, which was pretty funny but he didn't seem to mind. In fact, he had not one adult supervising him but TWO! Man, that kid has no idea how good he has it! I won't digress into all the miles I had to walk to school through massive snowdrifts of course, but really.

However, it was also the first time he was ready and willing to sleep in one of the big beds, all of which are VERY high off the ground. I relented of course but was dreading hearing a big huge CLUNK in the middle of the night. So I fenced him in big time with pillows all around him and checked on him every hour like he was a newborn. Oh my. And don't you know it -- he did just fine all night long but then fell off it randomly during the middle of the day. C'est la vie. Just when you think you have things all figured out, it all changes. It keeps life interesting, I guess.

Another highlight was bowling it up! What a hoot! Did you know there is such thing as a bowling "ramp" for anyone not up to throwing the ball? YOu put the ball on top, give it a little push, and it rolls down and works some serious magic on the pins. Sam used it and outscored me handily. Go figure. Next time I am going to plead old age and use the ramp, too. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em!

LibbY

PS This blog is also on www.RichmondChic.com

School's Out for Summer!

Alice Cooper said it all with her classic, "School's out for summer. School's out forever. School's been blown to pieces." I used to LOVE that song and feel such euphoria when listening -- or yelling to it. Now that I'm part of the "establishment" (i.e. a mommy who takes her kid to school), I don't like it so much anymore. Now it scares me. I can't deal with school being out for summer, so please don't even say it's "out forever" or I'll break into a full-fledged panic attack! As for the school being blown to bits, let's just pull a Scarlett O'Hara and think about that one tomorrow -- or the next day! What's the hurry really? Who need to think of a sweet nurturing preschool being blown to bits? It reminds me of that absolutely horrendous school siege in Beslan, Russia almost five years ago. More than enough said.

We just had the end of year school art show and concert, so time is running out. I've got until next Thursday, so just three more days of preschool left.... However, I realize that once again this is much freak out about nothing. Rather than having the whole summer looming ahead of us with nothing to do, Sam is pretty booked little dude-- for a while at least. He has THREE week-long camps in June. Yes, three! Most of them go for five days, too, so I will actually have more free time than I've had since he was born. Yowza! I'm trying to make lists now of thing I want to do so I don't squander the time away. I'm afraid of freezing up deer-in-the-headlights-style and not knowing what to do with myself. So that spa gift certificate I've had forever -- I'm a usin' it! I guess this means I also have to confront the chaos known as the garage, attic, the hopelessly out-of-date photo album, as well as unorganized piles of papers stacked all over my office. Gulp. I think I can, I think I can.

However, the plot thickens considerably in July and August when I have a whole lot of absolutely nothing planned, not a thing. Oh my. That could be an awfully long stretch of eight weeks right there. I just need to remind myself that just as Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman always had Paris in "Casablanca," I'll always have June...

LibbY

PS This blog is also on www.RichmondChic.com

Diggin' for Dinos

When Sam exclaimed, "Mommy let's go outside and dig for dinosaurs!" I was a tad sceptical. Very sceptical. Who put him up to this -- Sid the Science Kid, Curious George, or the ultra-whinyCailloux? I was willing to bet that Batman didn't dig deep -- nor Lightning McQueen for that matter. Well, wherever he got the crazy cute-kid idea, it was here to stay.

Before I knew it, we were out there digging away, Sam with his plastic shovel, which was a toy that came with his latest Chick Fil-A kids' meal. I had my metal hand shovel, at least for a while. Eventually Sam wised up that the toy shovel, although cute, was not going to unearth dinosaur bones to fill a museum anytime soon. (Neither was my hand shovel, but it at least seemed more likely, which it probably was!)

So after a few intense minutes of hard-core digging, he started to ask, "When are we going to find some dinosaur bones?" I didn't want to burst his big ole bubble by openly guffawing in his earnest little face, but I didn't want to lead him on that he was about to become the Louis Leaky of his times in the next ten minutes. I did tell him that he was quite a dedicated archaeologist, though, which was technically true. No harm, no fowl, right? So we kept on digging and then read the Sesame Street tome on dinosaurs, "A Visit to the Museum" for inspiration.

I think some sort of reality must have set in when I said that the dinosaur bones were really, really deep. Then he started to ask where our family digger was. Oh my. Our family digger says "Tonka" on the side, is made out of plastic, and fits in the palm of my hand, little guy. Thankfully it was time for juice box break, and then I was saved by the rain. (Rain does come in handy once in a while even though we have been living in a monsoon lately.) But as Scarlett O'Hara said, "Tomorrow is another day!" Maybe you'll be reading about our archaeological discoveries on the front page of the paper and you can say you knew us when... Then again, maybe not.

LibbY

FYI - This blog is also available on www.RichmondChic.com