The Nugget and his cousin Cabbage continue to wow me each time they get together. My brother (Cabbage's dad) and I were inseparable buddies growing up, but I didn't expect our kids (with 3 years and 3 states between them) could be. But somehow our children, born on the same blessed day, are attached at the hip, partners in crime, and I can't tell you how much that warms my heart. The beach house rang with their little voices calling for each other all week. "Cabbage! Cabbage, come here!" "Nugget! Nugget, where are you?"
And perhaps even better, my own baby sister who is mortified by sticky hands, runny noses, and other assorted souvenirs of kid-dom, was willing to play ring around the rosie, comfort crying babies, and give piggyback rides. The Nugget turned to her on the beach, unprompted, and said, "Aunt E, I love you."
Spork and Tater met the Atlantic for the first time. Tater gave it an enthusiastic thumbs up; while she may not enjoy a chilly Midwestern lake girl, she approved of the warm saltwater. She enjoyed sitting with me and letting the waves lap at her toes. Spork was initially concerned about the movement of the water and the feeling of the sand slipping out from under his body, but pulled a Martha Stewart and decided it was A Good Thing.
Nugget Quotes from the trip:
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, knuckleheads!" (thanks for that, Uncle J)
"Uncle J, you're just going to love that (a York Peppermint Patty). It is mint inside."
"Mushrooms! Mushrooms! Mushrooms!" (at the Savannah airport after spotting giant mushrooms growing on the lawn outside) - this seems like it should be from a Will Ferrell movie, doesn't it? Maybe I'll send him some video footage for inspiration.
"Chompers (a plush alligator given to him by Uncle T) is a girl. Actually, she's an old woman."
We came home to a dryer with a busted thermal fuse, so I've been line drying our laundry. While this is a huge pain in the tuckus, I'm trying to be grateful that there is a nice big clothesline in our backyard, and we've had about a 2/3 ratio of sunshine to storms this week. When I have a good attitude about it, I feel a little like Laura Ingalls Wilder, clipping tiny underpants and towels up to dry, snapping them off the line fresh and slightly crunchy. When babes are a-screamin', and dinner's a-burnin', and there's a sudden clap of thunder, I feel slightly less romantic about hauling my still-damp load back in the house.