You Sunk My Battleship!

Saw my first battleship the other day, so time to check that off the bucket list.  I love checking things off any kind of list, so here goes -- battleship, check!  Man, I never quite realized how mammoth those things are, like a couple of floating football fields supported by tons and tons of armor, iron, and steel.  How in the world does that thing actually float?!  Then again I never was very good at Physics...

We were on the way back from Wrightsville Beach, NC, and it was right there in Wilmington- the USS North Carolina, the most decorated battleship of World War II with 15 stars.  With a five-year-old boy in the back seat, how could I just drive on by?  

Actually Sam couldn't have cared less at the time -- until he got onto it and exclaimed, "Look at those GUNS!"  Ah, gender stereotypes have evolved for a very good reason.  He was mighty impressed all right for good reason.  In fact, the real live alligator alongside the ship in the river got no reaction whatsoever, barely a glance.  Something tells me we'll be back to pay homage to this fierce lady again sometime soon!  In the meantime, USS Carolina, enjoy your well-deserved rest.  Hope the alligators treat you with some respect and don't be afraid to break out the big guns and show 'em who's boss.

On the Dating Scene

No, not really -- it just feels like it.  We (the royal "we" of course) have been on the hunt this week with hungry bloodhounds for a beach house.  And when do we want the house?  Um, next week.  Nothing like waiting until the last milli-second, but Daddy Mac just got the go-ahead.  Oh, and by the way, would you make that a Monday-to-Monday deal, not Saturday-to-Saturday like, well, you know, normal people who can plan ahead.  Ah, it all harkens me back to the dating scene, and makes me miss it all the less -- if that is possible.

Instead of a crowded bar at happy hour, the background setting here is www.VRBO.com (Vacation Rentals By Owner), pretty much the Match.com of vacation rentals.  You get on and check off what you want -- city, size of the house, bedrooms, amenities, etc.  You know, what's your "type?"  Do you go for tall, dark and handsome or are you a sucker for oceanfront with four bedrooms and wi-fi?

So "we" started off looking at Topsail Island after all the rave reviews we've heard.  Man, we scoured that island up, down and sideways.  We couldn't get a date with anyone it seemed,  until we flirted with one place, but they couldn't do Monday-to-Monday.  Apparently they were seeing someone else that Saturday.  Well, la-dee-da!  There are other beach houses in the sea, although one on land is our preference.

Next we moved on to Bald Head Island, a spectacular place we visited four years ago, loved it, and have always wanted to visit again.  We pounded the pavement (as much as you can on the internet) and found a real studmuffin -- a huge place, newly renovated with granite countertops and NO MAUVE anywhere.  Oh, and it is was cheap.  (Not slutty "cheap," bargain cheap!)  So there we were about to kiss and seal the deal, but alas, the Monday-Monday was a deal breaker yet again.  It's enough to give a girl a complex and drive her to Botox.  At that point I (I mean, we) pretty much threw myself at anyone whose place seemed available -- Kill Devil Hills, Wrightsville Beach, and pretty much any beach with sand in North Carolina.  People on the hunt have to get aggressive sometimes, right?  Alas, rejection.  No prom date and no sandy shangri-la.

Step up to the plate, hunky Bachelor Number 3, a really cool log cabin overlooking the water that was ready commit.  It actually proposed with a ring/contract and wanted to seal the deal.  However, just as we were about to scream, "I do!," we were swept off our feet by dashing Bachelor Number 4...

Insert chorus from Katy Perry's "Hot'n'Cold" here --

"Cuz you're hot then you're cold
 You're yes then you're no
 You're in then you're out
 You're up then you're down."

Behind Door Number 4 was Wrightsville Beach glistening in the sun with a great central location, both sound and ocean views, walking distance to the beach and shops, and a dock.  Ah, we were smitten.  It was love at first sight -- of its pictures on the internet.  We decided to settle down and live happily ever after, at least from next Monday-to-Monday anyway.  Sam's already got the slogan rolling off his tongue, "Wrightsville Beach - it just feels Wright."  It had better be right because we've already put a ring on it.

Repeat chorus now and continue,

"You change your mind like a girl changes clothes..."

LibbY

What a Difference a Day Makes!

Kids, I tell you!  Sam took some swimming lessons earlier in the summer that were a big ole bust.  I may as well have taken a $100 bill, ripped it up, and watched the pieces fall to the floor.  The result was no different.  At least I didn't have shredded paper to clean up, but then again shuttling him back and forth and suiting him up for the pool for a whole lot of nothing to happen (or not happen, depending on how you look at it) is much more annoying.

So after many a Vacation Bible School, I signed him up for some group lessons where my friend's son (and Sam's friend) had made huge progress in overcoming his fear of the water.  Plus his friend was going to be there again for another session, too.  My goal was simple -- time to ditch the water wings once and for all!   The kids were divided into three groups -- babies and novices, kids learning strokes, and kids learning to dive.  Sam swims pretty well, so I figured he'd either be in the middle group or the diving group and filled in the instructor.  No big deal.

Well, at the end of the lesson, the instructor called the parents over to watch their kids show off their new tricks.  I know something was amiss when Sam was in the shallow end with the two-year-old girls, and he hates (ahem, dislikes) girls right now.  What the heck?  Yet another waste of time and money, I thought to myself.

When it was Sam's turn to show off, the instructor said, "Sam, show your mommy how you can put your face in the water!"  What the %#@$?!  Sam reluctantly put his face in the water, moaning the whole time.  I bet my face was purple with frustration.  Thank God that won't be on YouTube.

"What happened?  He can swim!" I told the instructor.  She shrugged and said with some noticeable frustration of her own, "He wouldn't do anything!"  Grrrrr....  Needless to say we had a lil chat on the half-hour ride home, but I couldn't get a straight answer out of him.  (He is a guy after all.)

The next day I talked to the instructor again and got him back in the intermediate group.  At show-off time, however, there was Sam, back again with the toddler girls in the shallow end, one of whom was screaming at the top of her lungs.  In his defense at least he was doing the crawl.  The instructor explained, "He said he's afraid to jump into the deep end, and we didn't want to push him until we talked to you."  My reply consisted of giving a jumbo-tron-sized green light for pushing him to go in the deep end with physical force authorized if necessary.

On the way home, I was determined to figure out what was really going on.  "Sam, you've jumped off the driving board tons of times!  You've jumped into the deep end a million times.  What's the deal?"  As frustrated as I was, he seemed genuinely scared and kept talking about his friend in the middle group who was still afraid to jump into the deep end.   Ohhhhhhh, there's the connection.

Whoops -- change of tactic necessary.  I explained to Sam that he needed to be in the deep end so he could be there to encourage his friend to jump in.

"Why do you think your friend is scared?" I asked.

"I think he's afraid of getting hurt," Sam responded.

"But it doesn't hurt.  It's fun, right?"

"Yeah, so I'm going to be in the deep end and push him in!"

"Let's let the teachers decide what to do.  You just need to encourage him and tell him it won't hurt."

Presto!  That day Sam was back in action, jumping in full force after yelling at loud decibels, "INCOMING!"  And thankfully the next day his friend got over his fears and jumped in without a moment's hesitation.

Later that afternoon we went to our nearby lake, where Sam loves to jump off the dock.  Up to this point, though, I have made him wear water wings because the murky water makes me nervous.  As I started to whip them on out, Sam balked, "No, Mommy, I can swim!"

I looked at him suspiciously with that Don't-Try-to-Pull-Anything-Over-On-Me-I'm-Your-Mother Look.  Let's refresh the record here.  Just one day ago, our roles had been reversed.  He claimed he couldn't jump into deep water and I was telling him he could.  Now he's the one saying he can do it, and I'm the one saying he can't.

"Trust me on this one," Sam implored me, boomeranging my own expression back at me.

As much as the dark water scares me, I didn't want to hold him back, so I nodded and yelled at loud decibels, "INCOMING!"