The following quip is increasingly applicable these days: "They're not maternity clothes, they're eternity clothes."
I have found myself complaining quite a bit as my countdown can be measured in days. My husband clued me in that it might be too much when he said: "Geez, you couldn't wait to get pregnant, and now you can't wait to get it over with."
Lots of pregnant women and mothers would understand and empathize. But there are lots of pregnant women and not-yet-mothers who, while capable of mustering sympathy, would do anything to be squeezing their swollen feet into my shoes.
There are women lying in beds right this moment, desperately hoping to stay pregnant as various complications threaten to expel the fetus long before viability.
There are women sitting in doctor offices, wrestling with improbability results, or slumped on a bathroom floor, staring at yet another negative sign on a pee stick.
If I were one of them, and I were reading my blog, I likely would be giving my computer monitor the middle finger.
I have friends who are far, far better women than I am.
When I first found out that I was pregnant, I wondered how best to share the news with several close girlfriends who were at difficult points in their own conception journeys. Which was best, to treat them like everyone else in a joint announcement, to approach them individually, or to even wait a while for that "right" moment?
Was it more insulting to feel so apologetic? Were they tired of being treated with kid gloves? Was my idea of compassion just another sign of my self-centeredness?
All of those questions had both yes and no answers. As in all relationships, all one can really do is blunder ahead and hope for the best.
My girlfriends gave me their very best. They congratulated me.
One actually screamed with joy, and I started to cry. "Don't you do that!" she scolded. "This is your moment, this is a beautiful thing, and this is to be celebrated."
Remember when we were kids and Cabbage Patch dolls were all the rage? I so wish the cabbage patch was real. I would take every one of my pregnancy-challenged friends there.
Hearts like theirs make wonderful mothers.
Monday, April 30, 2012
Sunday, April 29, 2012
Why Gabe Deserved to Go to D.C.
 |
| Gabe, then 11, wades through floodwater to our Findlay home in 2007. |
Before our 2009 trip to Washington, D.C., Gabe and I had tried to visit there in August 2007, a month of infamy for residents of Findlay, Ohio, who would soon become quite flood-weary.
I was the online editor for the local newspaper, where my then-husband and Gabe's stepfather also worked as the wire editor and front-page designer. A story like this was major work for us, and like all big news stories likely would have energized us journalists if we hadn't also been dealing with six feet of water in our own home.
We had flooded a few times prior to this major citywide event and had a good system in place, so please don't think too badly of me that I left when water was first coming in. I paid for the decision dearly over the next few weeks.
I worked overtime at the paper trying to inform the community and then to the point of exhaustion trying to clean out my house. I already had lost some things in previous flooding but had to sacrifice even more belongings this time around, including a set of American Mint porcelain dolls dressed as brides from different historical periods that my mother had given me long ago. *sniff*
I am glad that I aborted the D.C. trip and returned home. This was the first big test for our newspaper's fledgling website as a primary source of information for Findlay residents. (We did a great job, IMHO.) I am more grateful that I eventually got Gabe to our nation's capital. As you may infer from the following recollection, originally posted Aug. 22, 2007, on my Courier blog Whirled Peas, he certainly deserved it.
Pancakes in Pittsburgh, Flooding in Findlay
 |
| Before we could get to our house (the bright blue one in the right background) through several blocks of flooded streets, we had to stop and buy boots. |
I happened to notice my cell phone glowing in my carry-on bag and realized I was getting a call. I had silenced the ringer so as not to waken my fellow travelers bound for Washington, D.C. The call, around 2:15 a.m. Wednesday, was from my husband.
"Where are you?" he asked.
"Uh, on the train," I replied.
"Can you get off?"
While my son and I had left town Tuesday night for a much-anticipated vacation, there was a paltry 3 inches of water in our basement and a well-oiled machine cranking out the news online at The Courier. I had broken my toe earlier that morning, but come hell or high water I was going to take our history buff boy to our nation's capital.
Well, both hell and high water showed up, pouring 6 feet of water into our basement. The Blanchard River and our backyard had become one, in a Zen-like, picnic table floating kind of way.
I was torn. What the hell was I going to do about it if I came back? But could I in good conscience continue on to D.C. and be a little tourist while Ted was dealing with our wreck of a house? A big part of me felt, "You betcha."
The terse tone on the other end of the phone prompted some more consideration.
The conductor cautioned against exiting the Capitol Limited 30 at the barren Elyria stop, and getting off at Cleveland and catching the westbound train would have been great except that our own eastbound train's lateness would make us miss it. While Gabe snored away in our seats, I cried and cried in the observation car, making frantic middle-of-the-night calls and textings to family and friends.
As we crossed into Pennsylvania, Gabe rustled a little bit and I broke the news to him that we had an emergency at home and that I was considering canceling our vacation. Gabe blinked a few times and mumbled, "Don't worry, Mommy, you can use my souvenir money to buy some tickets home." Then he promptly went back to sleep.
What kinder kid deserves a special trip? I eventually concluded that I was too tired to be taking my son anywhere and that we should just sit tight and go all the way to Washington. Even if we just made one quick trip to The Mall to see monuments and then turned around and came home. I caught two dreamless, hard, 20-minute naps.
Then we stopped in Pittsburgh.
And stopped, and stopped and stopped. For as late as we were, it was strange to be at Penn Station for so long. The train even turned "off" at one point, shutting down the air flow and the ceiling lights. Gabe was still snoozing, but I was growing increasingly alert. The first muted rays of pre-dawn were beginning to illuminate the scenery, and my eyes were drawn to some bridges outside the double-decker train window. There was a big blinking sign on one bridge that read:
"WRONG WAY."
As it flashed my heart beat faster. I was going the wrong direction, farther away from home where I was needed. I jumped up and started throwing our bags and pillows into a big pile. Gabe and I were getting off of that train.
We made it with seconds to spare. The kindest Amtrak employees in the history of humankind helped us find a car rental, and Gabe and I took a long 10-block stroll through downtown Pittsburgh. We got a vehicle, drove by the stadiums and where Heinz ketchup is produced, and scarfed down the absolutely best crepe-style pancakes at Pamela's, a diner in the Strip District with funky retro flair. A quick trip to a gourmet chocolate shop, and our accidental tourist stop in Pittsburgh was done.
I drove all the way back to Findlay, bought some boots and rescued cats. Gabe and I are now going back to a hotel to swim, sleep and dream of another time we might get to go on a D.C. holiday.
Saturday, April 28, 2012
Text Alert
I'm a holler-er.
I suppose it would best if I were a get-up-off-the-couch-er, but especially at nine months pregnant I prefer to stay on the couch and shout for my teenage son to come to me. (OK, I've been using the pregnancy excuse for months.)
I used to think it highly odd when family and friends would call each other on their cell phones inside their homes. But I suppose that's quieter.
Just recently, I've succumbed to the temptation and used my cell phone to call from my bed upstairs while my husband is downstairs, or to call Gabe to get him up out of his own bed after the third time I've heard him hit his snooze button.
And then there's texting. My husband hates it, but my son is a more willing conversationalist. It also helps facilitate the exchange of information since I'm usually long gone from the house before he even wakes up, or he has gone off to the farm or to his dad's house before I return from work and running errands.
I've been saving a thread between us since the day I found out the gender of his sibling, when he was out of town for the weekend with his father. It's a wonderful glimpse into our relationship:
Dec. 21, 2011
Me: You're going to have a brother!
Gabe: Wow I can't believe it thats wonderful :)
Me: You're sweet!
Gabe: I know. I love you and my dad says congratulations
Me: Tell him thanks, and please share news with [stepmother] Jackie.
Gabe: Ok love you
Me: I love you too
Dec. 22, 2011
Gabe: What should I get you for Christmas? Or I guess I should say what do you want?
Me: How about some slippers? Or I could use some good lotion (non-scented).
Gabe: Ok love you
Me: Love you too!
Jan. 1, 2012
Me: Happy New Year! Please call Grandpa & ask him to pick you up from church. I'm not feeling well this morning.
Gabe: Ok
Jan. 9, 2012
Me: Get up
Gabe: Ok
Jan. 13, 2012
Me: Plz remember to get haircut
Feb. 3, 2012
Me: You have to keep an eye on [our puppy] Hippo outside to make sure other dogs don't come over while she is in heat. She'll get pregnant!
Feb. 8, 2012
Me: Good morning. Excuse note on kitchen table.
Gabe: Ok
Gabe: Thanks I love u
Me: Love you too!
Feb. 14, 2012
Me: You have a 2-hour delay
Feb. 23, 2012
Gabe: Just to remind u I have a movie thing to do today il call when its done
Feb. 27, 2012
Me: Get up
March 29, 2012
Me: Don't tell Grandpa you can go to farm today (Thu). You have foot appointment.
Gabe: Ok
March 31, 2012
Gabe: Be back around 10:30
Me: OK. I'll send Dan.
April 2, 2012
Gabe: Don't forget to write a note for my dentist appointment
Me: Wake me at 7.
I suppose it would best if I were a get-up-off-the-couch-er, but especially at nine months pregnant I prefer to stay on the couch and shout for my teenage son to come to me. (OK, I've been using the pregnancy excuse for months.)
I used to think it highly odd when family and friends would call each other on their cell phones inside their homes. But I suppose that's quieter.
Just recently, I've succumbed to the temptation and used my cell phone to call from my bed upstairs while my husband is downstairs, or to call Gabe to get him up out of his own bed after the third time I've heard him hit his snooze button.
And then there's texting. My husband hates it, but my son is a more willing conversationalist. It also helps facilitate the exchange of information since I'm usually long gone from the house before he even wakes up, or he has gone off to the farm or to his dad's house before I return from work and running errands.
I've been saving a thread between us since the day I found out the gender of his sibling, when he was out of town for the weekend with his father. It's a wonderful glimpse into our relationship:
Dec. 21, 2011
Me: You're going to have a brother!
Gabe: Wow I can't believe it thats wonderful :)
Me: You're sweet!
Gabe: I know. I love you and my dad says congratulations
Me: Tell him thanks, and please share news with [stepmother] Jackie.
Gabe: Ok love you
Me: I love you too
Dec. 22, 2011
Gabe: What should I get you for Christmas? Or I guess I should say what do you want?
Me: How about some slippers? Or I could use some good lotion (non-scented).
Gabe: Ok love you
Me: Love you too!
Jan. 1, 2012
Me: Happy New Year! Please call Grandpa & ask him to pick you up from church. I'm not feeling well this morning.
Gabe: Ok
Jan. 9, 2012
Me: Get up
Gabe: Ok
Jan. 13, 2012
Me: Plz remember to get haircut
Feb. 3, 2012
Me: You have to keep an eye on [our puppy] Hippo outside to make sure other dogs don't come over while she is in heat. She'll get pregnant!
Feb. 8, 2012
Me: Good morning. Excuse note on kitchen table.
Gabe: Ok
Gabe: Thanks I love u
Me: Love you too!
Feb. 14, 2012
Me: You have a 2-hour delay
Feb. 23, 2012
Gabe: Just to remind u I have a movie thing to do today il call when its done
Feb. 27, 2012
Me: Get up
March 29, 2012
Me: Don't tell Grandpa you can go to farm today (Thu). You have foot appointment.
Gabe: Ok
March 31, 2012
Gabe: Be back around 10:30
Me: OK. I'll send Dan.
April 2, 2012
Gabe: Don't forget to write a note for my dentist appointment
Me: Wake me at 7.
Friday, April 27, 2012
Just Say No to Helicoptering
Dear Helicopter Parents,
Back the f*ck off. You're actually endangering your child's safety.
Thanks, Mommy Remix
An article on the New York Times blog The Well Column recently raised the issue of an increased safety hazard when parents go down playground slides with their toddlers in their laps. The velocity from the adult's significantly greater mass can exacerbate injuries to the child if a limb gets caught. (Read full post here.)
Or how about some broken teeth or a bloody nose when you both go flying and you land on top of your little one? Maybe if someone is recording the moment, you could win some money toward medical bills from "America's Funniest Videos." At least baby teeth are supposed to fall out.
In general, I'm not a fan of slides. In elementary school, we had one of those giant, metal monsters that were scorching hot in the sun and from which a classmate fell and earned himself a compound fracture. At Cedar Point, a flight down the multi-laned, bumpy blue hill on a burlap bag gave me a friction burn on my wrist. At Discovery Zone (otherwise known as Dante's third ring of hell) where I worked as a "kid's coach," I wish I had a nickle for every time I had to blow my whistle and remind a guest that "the roller slide is for going down, not going up."
Slides are a slippery enough slope toward the emergency room without parents adding themselves into the equation.
True, parents think their arms are the safest place their little ones could ever be. But not when momentum is involved.
You cannot protect your child from every little bump and bruise. You shouldn't, really, else how will he know how to pick himself up?
I am positive that each time my parents said, "Jump up," they were attending to more than my physical state. They were instilling emotional fortitude. They were teaching me self-control and strengthening my pain tolerance.
Remember, we are not raising "children." We don't want them to stay children, for heaven's sake. We are raising them into men and women. Adults will need to rely on a foundation of "jump up," not "let me kiss it and make it go away."
I'm as klutzy as the next person, but most of my "falls" now are screw-ups at work, injuries in my relationships, oversights in my finances. If I sat on the proverbial playground crying until someone came running and fixed my boo-boo for me, I'd be sitting there quite a while.
Helicopter parents (those who hover over their kids' every moment) may be well-intentioned, but they need to adjust their radar scopes to a longer range. They need to account for how this kind of parenting will play out in the long run.
Kids who can't fend for themselves turn into adults who can't problem-solve their way out of a paper bag. Nobody wants that.
Back the f*ck off. You're actually endangering your child's safety.
Thanks, Mommy Remix
An article on the New York Times blog The Well Column recently raised the issue of an increased safety hazard when parents go down playground slides with their toddlers in their laps. The velocity from the adult's significantly greater mass can exacerbate injuries to the child if a limb gets caught. (Read full post here.)
Or how about some broken teeth or a bloody nose when you both go flying and you land on top of your little one? Maybe if someone is recording the moment, you could win some money toward medical bills from "America's Funniest Videos." At least baby teeth are supposed to fall out.
In general, I'm not a fan of slides. In elementary school, we had one of those giant, metal monsters that were scorching hot in the sun and from which a classmate fell and earned himself a compound fracture. At Cedar Point, a flight down the multi-laned, bumpy blue hill on a burlap bag gave me a friction burn on my wrist. At Discovery Zone (otherwise known as Dante's third ring of hell) where I worked as a "kid's coach," I wish I had a nickle for every time I had to blow my whistle and remind a guest that "the roller slide is for going down, not going up."
Slides are a slippery enough slope toward the emergency room without parents adding themselves into the equation.
True, parents think their arms are the safest place their little ones could ever be. But not when momentum is involved.
You cannot protect your child from every little bump and bruise. You shouldn't, really, else how will he know how to pick himself up?
I am positive that each time my parents said, "Jump up," they were attending to more than my physical state. They were instilling emotional fortitude. They were teaching me self-control and strengthening my pain tolerance.
Remember, we are not raising "children." We don't want them to stay children, for heaven's sake. We are raising them into men and women. Adults will need to rely on a foundation of "jump up," not "let me kiss it and make it go away."
I'm as klutzy as the next person, but most of my "falls" now are screw-ups at work, injuries in my relationships, oversights in my finances. If I sat on the proverbial playground crying until someone came running and fixed my boo-boo for me, I'd be sitting there quite a while.
Helicopter parents (those who hover over their kids' every moment) may be well-intentioned, but they need to adjust their radar scopes to a longer range. They need to account for how this kind of parenting will play out in the long run.
Kids who can't fend for themselves turn into adults who can't problem-solve their way out of a paper bag. Nobody wants that.
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Get Thee to D.C.
Taking your kid to our nation's capital definitely should be on your bucket list.
I first tried to take Gabe to Washington, D.C., in the summer of 2007, but we made it as far as Pittsburgh before national disaster-level flooding recalled us to our home in Findlay, Ohio. I'll share those lovely tales some other time.
Below is my diary from when I finally got him there in August 2009:
I first tried to take Gabe to Washington, D.C., in the summer of 2007, but we made it as far as Pittsburgh before national disaster-level flooding recalled us to our home in Findlay, Ohio. I'll share those lovely tales some other time.
Below is my diary from when I finally got him there in August 2009:
Mother-Son D.C. Trip
Gabe and I headed to Washington, D.C., this past weekend to celebrate his 13th birthday.
We stayed with Megan -- my senior-year Syracuse housemate, Daily Orange coworker and all-around gal pal -- and her husband and adorable baby in Springfield, Va. Their hospitality was amazing.
We drove from Findlay and made good time, even poking around Hagerstown, Md. for a little bit. The drive back for me was a little more stressful, since an accident in the Allegheny Tunnel clogged up the highway forever. But I just shut off the car, wandered around the lanes and chatted with the other motorists. It had that creepy destruction-of-the-world movie scene feeling, but it worked out well.
On Friday, Gabe and I went to the National Archives. We ate first, and then promptly got evacuated after a fire alarm. So we walked toward Capitol Hill, just far enough to see the buildings and snap pics. We returned to the Archives and saw the Declaration of Independence, a real highlight for Gabe. The whole place was very educational, and Gabe is beginning to put "archivist" into his imagination for his future. (Although really he wants to be the one who builds the model scenes.)
We next visited the National Gallery of Art Sculpture Garden, and Gabe took a lot of pictures there. Then we walked to the National Mall, starting with the Washington Monument. Gabe was bummed we couldn't go inside, but after my infamous freak-out atop the St. Louis Arch after two hours of waiting in line and only 30 seconds of being able to stand being up there in that teeny space with all of those people, I was relieved I wasn't going to be seeing the D.C. metro area from 555 feet.
We skipped the Tidal Basin because we knew how much more walking was ahead of us, and we wanted to save something new for future trips. Gabe really liked the World War II memorial and the Reflecting Pool, and he got "overwhelmed" at the Lincoln Memorial. We also took in the tributes to those fallen in the Korean and Vietnam wars, and the latter wall makes me cry every time.
We walked up Constitution Avenue and discussed Gabe's sudden realization that he was getting older and that his life was unfolding before him. I think he was steeped in the idea that as an American he was part of something larger, something profound, something meaningful, and he wanted to contribute. It was a good chat. And a long walk.
We weren't planning on doing any museums this trip, but we still found ourselves inside the Museum of American History after our walk. We took in just the wings on transportation (which was excellent) and, of course, American military action. I was pretty war-ed out by then. We shopped for family gifts and got the heck out of there. It will be good to spend an entire day in there on another visit.
Gabe was desperate to hitch a ride with one of those poor fools who would peddle our body weight through the streets, so he treated me to the fare and we ended up at Harry's sharing the biggest plate of chili cheese fries I've ever seen. Megan picked us up from the Metro station and we ended the day with some ice cream.
On Saturday, Gabe's birthday, we drove to Mount Vernon and had a delightful experience, even though it was pretty hot. We did not see the gardens or slave quarters, again saving something for a return visit. Without prompt, Gabe took off his ball cap, put it over his heart and stood silently outside George Washington's tomb to pay his respects. It was really sweet. We took a cruise of the Potomac River from a wharf on the property, and the experience was better than I thought it would be. I learned a lot about the river itself and Fort Washington.
Gabe snoozed as I drove to Arlington Cemetery, and it was super muggy as we walked around there. We both enjoyed the Women in Military Service for America Memorial. We of course visited the eternal flame at JFK's grave, and I was pleased to read the inscriptions at Robert Kennedy's grave. We came upon the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier right at the changing of the guard.
In the evening, Megan took us to a Japanese restaurant for a teppanyaki experience. Gabe even caught a piece of shrimp in his mouth that was flung from the chef's spatula! A piece of cheesecake with a candle arrived with a piped rendition of "Happy Birthday," and it was the perfect cheesy end to an all-together good birthday.
I had planned to worship at the National Cathedral on Sunday morning, but we had packed a lot into two days and I was tired. Gabe slept in, and I did laundry and got to snuggle Lexie and talk with Megan a little more. Then we packed up, thanked our gracious hosts and headed to Old Town Alexandria for a lunch of oysters on the half shell, calamari caesar salad and crab-shrimp omelet. (Can you tell we like seafood?)
Then I did something completely unnatural: I left Gabe with total strangers.
Gabe entered his first summer camp experience at Mar-Lu-Ridge, a Lutheran Outdoor Ministries camp about four miles outside Frederick, Md. He signed up for the Civil War theme week, visiting historical sites in the morning and participating in traditional church camp activities in the afternoon and evenings. They'll even have an overnight trip to Gettysburg. How perfect is that for him?
Mr. Jack, the counselor, was really excited that Gabe had the new Lutheran study Bible, even though it had gotten soaked in diet Coke in my back seat, so that helped reassure me I was leaving Gabe in good hands. Mr. Matt, the volunteer, was into re-enactments and brought just as many flags and sundry memorabilia that Gabe had lugged along, so they became fast friends. The whole staff seemed kind and sweet, and you can't beat folks who give you a snow cone while you register.
So, my baby boy saw our nation's capital and sent me away from camp with a casual wave, engrossed in swapping Civil War trivia with another enthusiast.
*Sniff.*
I called my mother.
We stayed with Megan -- my senior-year Syracuse housemate, Daily Orange coworker and all-around gal pal -- and her husband and adorable baby in Springfield, Va. Their hospitality was amazing.
We drove from Findlay and made good time, even poking around Hagerstown, Md. for a little bit. The drive back for me was a little more stressful, since an accident in the Allegheny Tunnel clogged up the highway forever. But I just shut off the car, wandered around the lanes and chatted with the other motorists. It had that creepy destruction-of-the-world movie scene feeling, but it worked out well.
On Friday, Gabe and I went to the National Archives. We ate first, and then promptly got evacuated after a fire alarm. So we walked toward Capitol Hill, just far enough to see the buildings and snap pics. We returned to the Archives and saw the Declaration of Independence, a real highlight for Gabe. The whole place was very educational, and Gabe is beginning to put "archivist" into his imagination for his future. (Although really he wants to be the one who builds the model scenes.)
We next visited the National Gallery of Art Sculpture Garden, and Gabe took a lot of pictures there. Then we walked to the National Mall, starting with the Washington Monument. Gabe was bummed we couldn't go inside, but after my infamous freak-out atop the St. Louis Arch after two hours of waiting in line and only 30 seconds of being able to stand being up there in that teeny space with all of those people, I was relieved I wasn't going to be seeing the D.C. metro area from 555 feet.
We skipped the Tidal Basin because we knew how much more walking was ahead of us, and we wanted to save something new for future trips. Gabe really liked the World War II memorial and the Reflecting Pool, and he got "overwhelmed" at the Lincoln Memorial. We also took in the tributes to those fallen in the Korean and Vietnam wars, and the latter wall makes me cry every time.
We walked up Constitution Avenue and discussed Gabe's sudden realization that he was getting older and that his life was unfolding before him. I think he was steeped in the idea that as an American he was part of something larger, something profound, something meaningful, and he wanted to contribute. It was a good chat. And a long walk.
We weren't planning on doing any museums this trip, but we still found ourselves inside the Museum of American History after our walk. We took in just the wings on transportation (which was excellent) and, of course, American military action. I was pretty war-ed out by then. We shopped for family gifts and got the heck out of there. It will be good to spend an entire day in there on another visit.
Gabe was desperate to hitch a ride with one of those poor fools who would peddle our body weight through the streets, so he treated me to the fare and we ended up at Harry's sharing the biggest plate of chili cheese fries I've ever seen. Megan picked us up from the Metro station and we ended the day with some ice cream.
On Saturday, Gabe's birthday, we drove to Mount Vernon and had a delightful experience, even though it was pretty hot. We did not see the gardens or slave quarters, again saving something for a return visit. Without prompt, Gabe took off his ball cap, put it over his heart and stood silently outside George Washington's tomb to pay his respects. It was really sweet. We took a cruise of the Potomac River from a wharf on the property, and the experience was better than I thought it would be. I learned a lot about the river itself and Fort Washington.
Gabe snoozed as I drove to Arlington Cemetery, and it was super muggy as we walked around there. We both enjoyed the Women in Military Service for America Memorial. We of course visited the eternal flame at JFK's grave, and I was pleased to read the inscriptions at Robert Kennedy's grave. We came upon the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier right at the changing of the guard.
In the evening, Megan took us to a Japanese restaurant for a teppanyaki experience. Gabe even caught a piece of shrimp in his mouth that was flung from the chef's spatula! A piece of cheesecake with a candle arrived with a piped rendition of "Happy Birthday," and it was the perfect cheesy end to an all-together good birthday.
I had planned to worship at the National Cathedral on Sunday morning, but we had packed a lot into two days and I was tired. Gabe slept in, and I did laundry and got to snuggle Lexie and talk with Megan a little more. Then we packed up, thanked our gracious hosts and headed to Old Town Alexandria for a lunch of oysters on the half shell, calamari caesar salad and crab-shrimp omelet. (Can you tell we like seafood?)
Then I did something completely unnatural: I left Gabe with total strangers.
Gabe entered his first summer camp experience at Mar-Lu-Ridge, a Lutheran Outdoor Ministries camp about four miles outside Frederick, Md. He signed up for the Civil War theme week, visiting historical sites in the morning and participating in traditional church camp activities in the afternoon and evenings. They'll even have an overnight trip to Gettysburg. How perfect is that for him?
Mr. Jack, the counselor, was really excited that Gabe had the new Lutheran study Bible, even though it had gotten soaked in diet Coke in my back seat, so that helped reassure me I was leaving Gabe in good hands. Mr. Matt, the volunteer, was into re-enactments and brought just as many flags and sundry memorabilia that Gabe had lugged along, so they became fast friends. The whole staff seemed kind and sweet, and you can't beat folks who give you a snow cone while you register.
So, my baby boy saw our nation's capital and sent me away from camp with a casual wave, engrossed in swapping Civil War trivia with another enthusiast.
*Sniff.*
I called my mother.
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