If Toddlers Were Adults

There's this blogger, Missy, who doesn't know me from Adam, but in my mind we're BFF's. Yes, it's a little Single White Female-ish, but when someone makes me laugh like she does--you HAVE to read her post about the Marriage Bed--and nod my head with that "Uh-HUH. AMEN!" thing when I read this post, then in my world? We are besties.

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Well, several weeks (months? who knows, b/c I can't find the actual post) ago, Missy said something in a post about how the frustrating thing about 2 year olds is that they are at their height of cuteness and also height of stab-me-in-the-eye-if-I-hear-one-more-second-of-whining-ness. Well, that's the Brazenlilly paraphrase. She was refering to the whining, the mind-changing, the power-struggles, the testing, etc. But she made a very professional observation that many times abusive parents lose their cool because they don't understand a child's development--they expect them to behave like a grown-up. The adult doesn't compute that the child CAN'T behave like an adult--it's beyond their capabilities. And even those of us who, by the grace of God, are not abusive but still lose our cool and/or our sanity on a daily basis, we know in our heads that, of course they don't act like adults, b/c they are NOT adults. But still? We lose our cool and/or our sanity on a daily basis. Did I already say that? It's worth repeating. I lose my cool and/or my sanity on a DAILY. BASIS.

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But as my 5 year old and especially my almost-three-year-old are expanding their repertoire of behaviors and routines that have me running out of Lamaze calming techniques, I can't help but note that it is this non-adult-acceptable factor that sends me over the edge. I mean, if I acted to one of my friends the way she does to me, I WOULD HAVE NO FRIENDS.

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To amuse myself (and now you) I laid in bed translating Sydney's recent stunts to the adult world. Imagine if you will, I'm over at my friend Becky's house. The week before, she had said "come over to hang out and have some coffee." Well, after 2 hours of chatting, it's 4:45pm, Becky thinks we're wrapping up, and suddenly I have a hankering for some coffee. Kind as she is, Becky sweetly tells me that sorry, the only coffee she has is in the freezer in the garage, which has 3 boxes on top of it, and it's not ground up.

"Oh, Becky! Please, please! I really, really, REALLY want some coffee! You TOLD ME we were going to have coffee! YOU TOLD ME!"

So, slightly annoyed, but ever the generous hostess, Becky stops feeding a bottle to her infant daughter to go unbury the coffee beans. She asks if I would continue feeding the baby, but I assure her that I absolutely can't because I'm holding my People magazine.

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So the baby cries while Becky spends 10 minutes getting the bag of beans, coming back sweaty and irritated. I ask what took her so long, and does she remember? I REEEEEAAAALLLY want coffee! She puts the bag on the table and picks up the baby to finish off the bottle, while I get distracted by the television. When the baby is calm, she opens up the new bag, gets the coffee grinder from the back of the lowest cabinet and starts to grind the coffee beans for me. Just as the baby spits up all over her shirt:

"BECKY!!" I yell in anger. "I CAN'T HEAR THE TV!" And because I'm not a complete neanderthal, I make sure to use the magic word: "PLEASE STOP DOING THAT!" Becky, voice getting a teensy bit testy, reminds me that she is just getting me THE COFFEE that I have been relentlessly asking for, and that she can't make it without grinding the beans. Against my will, I accept this explanation.

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As she finally puts the coffee in the pot and starts it up, I come over and watch it brew. I make little urgent moaning and guttural noises while absent-mindedly banging my hands on the counter top, as if that will make the pot work quicker. Being sure not to complain TO Becky, but just not able to control myself, I start talking to the coffee maker itself, which is an inanimate object, so technically not being rude to my hostess. "Hurry UP!" I say through gritted teeth. "I really want COFFEE!" Becky is fuming silently, and counting the minutes until my precious coffee is ready so rid me from her sight.

At LONG last, the brewing stops and Becky grabs a mug and pours me a cup. I take the mug and walk to the fridge, looking for the creamer. I say with annoyance on the verge of panic: "Where's the coffee creamer?!" Becky calmly tells me that she doesn't have any. That I never mentioned that I needed coffee creamer. Sorry.

"WHAT?! This is HORRIBLE!" I say, falling dramatically down into a heap on the nearest chair, splashing hot coffee everywhere. Then I channel my inner Hulk. "I cannot, I mean CANNOT have coffee without coffee creamer! Why don't you have coffee creamer?!?! YUCK." And with that? I pour the coffee down the drain. And Becky has HAD ENOUGH. She firmly sends me straight to my room for a long time out. Or goes to the drawer and pulls out the wooden spoon. Or goes ape-poop crazy at my ridiculous, UNACCEPTABLE behavior and will never, EVER let me step foot in her kitchen again! And calls on every ounce of Holy Spirit strength in her body to keep from grabbing the full pot and hurling it against the nearest wall just to get out some frustration in the glorious CRASH. Except Becky is me, and I'm Sydney, and she loves me unconditionally and forgives me once again. And offers me a cup of tea instead. Which I smile and take with a huge smile and innocent thank you--like nothing ever happened.

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And this concludes tonight's version of: If Toddlers Were Adults. Thank you for joining me. Stay tuned for: If Husbands Were Wives, starring me and my sister-in-law Jess, as we have a competition to see whose farts smell worse.

Heavy

Oi. I haven't blogged lately. Our lives have been crammed full to max capacity, and will continue to be for at least 2 more weeks until we have our garage sale on June 10-11. Also? I have been kind of not wanting to process through the tornado in Joplin. About 10 years ago, I did an internship at a wonderful organization based in Joplin. It was my senior year in college, and I think we can all testify that around that age, when you're about to embark on the "real world," you do a lot of thinking and philosophizing about yourself, your life and your beliefs. I spent a formative 4 months living in Joplin, driving the streets, shopping the stores, working long hours for a ministry I truly believe in. I made life-long friends there, ones that I cherish and am still in contact with. It was only 4 months (with about 4 more visits over the next few years), but Jo, MO, as we called it, will always have a special place in my heart. I'm hesitant to write about this, b/c I think it can come across as "It's all about me" kind of sentiment, but I just mean to say that my heart is heavy in a different way because of a connection while there.

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When I first heard of the tornado, it was a concerned mention on Facebook on Sunday afternoon. I immediately left messages for the two I'm closest with, a couple named Kevin and Debbie asking if they were ok. These 2 completely took me under their wings that summer--we traveled across the united states together from Missouri to California and back, with their three young boys (who are now all married!). At that point on Sunday, I didn't know if they'd be laughing at my worry: "Oh Jen! We have tornadoes whip through here all the time! Silly west coast girl!" In fact, in the short time I lived in Joplin, we did have 3 tornado warnings in which we had to take cover in the basement. No one seemed particularly upset about the whole routine at the time. But as the hours went on last Sunday, and frantic posts and news reporst started to surface, I realized that my worry was valid. I was seeing "We're OK, but this is BAD," status updates from my other Joplin friends. Finally I saw on another friend's post that Kevin and Debbie were OK, but that they did live near the devastation, their house was damaged and they had no power to get online. I won't post it, to protect their privacy, but one news outlet posted a google map of the path of the destruction in Joplin. Out of curiosity, I took their address and google mapped it. Their address was definitely in the red path, just along the edge of the tornado. Their house was damaged, but they were spared. The one post Debbie has been able to update was full of grief--just down the street from them, the houses are leveled and lives were lost.

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I've been having major flashbacks to my feelings after the earthquake in Haiti. I had also experienced a life-changing visit to Haiti years prior. (But although that tragedy led us down the adoption road, don't worry. We can't apply for another one until this one is home. ;)) Somehow when a tragedy occurs in a place you are familiar with, it makes the stories and the situation seem so much more personal. You can't just generalize the devastation and loss in an unknown mental blur. I can't stop thinking of the times I was in that Joplin walmart and that home depot, and how full of terror the shoppers must have been when the walls, ceilings and debris came crashing around them, crushing them to death. Over 8,000 structures have been damaged in this SMALL town. I know of at least one alumni from the local Christian college (where most of my friends worked or attended) who lost his wife and 14 month old son. I literally had a nightmare last night about how that probably happened. I'm picturing the houses I visted in Joplin, and I already know that some of them are gone. I'm hearing stories of how my friends, their friends and their churches are working tirelessly to coordinate relief efforts, volunteers, and supplies. I have a guilty sense of relief that those close to me are safe, but many close to THEM are not. My friends are grief-stricken and have a long road ahead of them, but they are rising to the call. I don't need to post specific pictures, because you've probably seen plenty, but THIS ARTICLE has the best and most powerful before and after pics I've seen.

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When we began our adoption process last year, and I started learning more about the plight of orphans around the world, I specifically remember praying this prayer: Break my heart for what breaks Yours. I have not always considered myself a compassionate person. Nice, yes, but compassion for those I don't know was not my gift. It was easy to shout out a quick prayer for some far away catastrophe, then go on my day with no sadness. Although it is painful, and the empathetic sorrow can be overwhelming, I believe God has answered my prayer, and has used the disasters of these two familiar places to continue breaking my heart. To push me to a point of compassion and sacrfice, and out of my comfortable bubble. It seems a broken heart is much more willing to be changed and used than a whole heart. I remember a couple years ago, I read about how successful the Breast Cancer Awareness campaigns have been over the last several years. I thought to myself--ok, we're aware. Now what? Awareness is only the first step. ACTION has to follow awareness, or it is useless. God has made me painfully aware of hurting lives, now I need to do something about that.

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In all reality, action often takes the form of financial support. If you are feeling broken over what happened in Joplin, here are some places to take action:

CIY's tornado response site

College Heights Church--a major storm relief center

text "JOPLIN" to 864833 to donate $10 to Missouri United Way

http://www.redcross.org/

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And please pray for Joplin.

When is the carnival?

Each May our town has it's special festival--almost every town has their thing, and ours is the third weekend in May. As part of the festivities, they bring one of those chintzy carnivals to the Target parking lot. You know the ones--rides that can fit on semi-trucks that last 22 seconds and cost $4 per person. Elephant ears for $6. "Prizes" that probably cost 6 cents and are broken before you get back in the car. Well, Carson? LOVES THE CARNIVAL. I am not kidding you when I say he started asking in JUNE of last year when the carnival was coming back. I remember, b/c I had to give seasonal references: it's after your birthday, Christmas and even Easter. It's not for a LONG TIME, buddy.

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Well, it FINALLY came, and we've driven past the Target parking lot all week in anticipation of the big event. We sported our town pride and went to the parade, then sprinted over to the festival to painfully part with $20 just for the joy it would give my children. On the way there, Sydney was caught up in the excitement and asked with a huge smile, "We get to go on Toy Story ride?!" Trent and I both just started laughing. Oh, sweet Sydney. We tried to explain that the Toy Story ride at Disneyland is the best of the best, and what we were about to experience is...not the best. God bless her youth and innocence--she didn't complain one bit. Each kids got to do a game:
...and a couple of rides. We explained to Carson that he could do more rides if he was willing to go by himself, b/c we had to use up tickets if one of us rode with him. That was enough to convince him. We were a little unsure (as I think he was) about it, considering his debilitating fear that came over him at Dland, but he did great.

Then he and Sydney went on a ride together, which was pretty adorable.

This is mid-ride.

Syd actually liked it so much she chose to go on it again by herself.

And after 20 minutes of agonizing decision-making (which is SO par for the course with this child), Carson chose to ride the roller coaster again. As you can see, this time he was full of confidence and immitating the tiger at the front of the coaster.

I joke (and we really did cringe) at the cost and the dirt and the *ahem* interesting employees, but really this type of thing is fun for us too. We had a morning together as a family watching our kids run around with excitement and bliss, ignorant of our snobby attitude and elitist amusement park mentality, just happy and living in the moment. And as we drove away, Carson asked when we can go again.

Oh boy.

I didn't know.

I've heard myself say this outloud several times in the last 6 years: I just didn't know or appreciate how complicated this season of life is--when one starts a family. As a kid, even a young adult, I thought you have a plan and follow through with the plan. Find a guy, pick a month, take the test, tell your friends and family, plaster with pink or blue and VOILA! Stick 'em in your pocket and do everything you used to do.

This week I've just been reminded so clearly about how this is NOT how it works. This...this...decision (which in itself is not easy for every couple) to go from 2 to 3 (or more) can lead to things beautiful, tragic, amazing, challenging, horrific and nothing less than life-changing. The online world keeps me connected with a lot of people. In one week, people that I'm friends with--to some degree or another--have welcomed a new baby, have received a referral for an adopted child, have struggled with infertility news, and have lost a late-term pregnancy. One moment I had tears in my eyes with joy--the next I was sobbing with despair. Sheesh--you'd think I was pregnant! (I'M NOT.)

I don't really have a point in my ramblings, other than to just process these thoughts, because what can we do? IT'S NOT FAIR. Why does one couple get to have their family arrive exactly as they've always dreamed and another go through unspeakable pain before their arms are full? But I'm truly wanting to figure out for myself--what can I do? What is my response?

I read an article one time, written by a single mom. She basically directing her thoughts at all of us happily married women who tend to complain about our husbands from time to time. And she was not gentle--it was a good raking over the coals. How dare we complain about the way a loving father dresses his kids in mis-matched clothes? Or that he let them stay up too late while we were out with our girlfriends? Or that he loads the dishwasher wrong? As she pointed out--WHAT she wouldn't give to have a caring husband, willing to dress and love her children while she had a break. She NEVER has anyone else to load her dishwasher or her dryer. Or rub her neck at the end of a long day. The bottom line was: shut up and appreciate your spouse.

Another blog I read was by a young mom who had lost HER mother to cancer. She BEGGED those of us whose mothers were alive and well to make sure that we expressed our love and let our mothers into our lives as much as possible. You could hear the emotion in her writing as she exclaimed how badly her heart ached for just one more day with her mom. How angry and sad she was to see her friends who refused to mend broken relationships with their moms, when she knew all to well the feeling of never being able to speak with hers again.

I've never forgotten the messages from these two women, and I can't help but bring it to my own searching for answers. For some reason, I was blessed with two healthy pregnancies and two healthy babies, and Lord willing will welcome a third baby into my home and heart. I can't change my story, nor those of my hurting friends, but I can weep with those who weep and rejoice with those who rejoice. I can be grateful and be intentional about appreciating my little blessings, even when I don't feel appreciative at all. I will never, EVER forget that every child's life is a MIRACLE and nothing less. And I will pray for miracles to happen for every family whose hearts and arms are waiting to be filled.

I didn't know, but now I do. And it changes everything about the way I view motherhood.

I'm too tired to blog.

So here's some pics of things that have been keeping us busy:

Carson's t-ball games. He got to play pitcher one night! He did not like the feeling of the long catcher's gear between his legs. To reach a ball on the ground, he did a strange, awkward yoga pose. It was pretty humorous! Mom's Day party at preschool! Carson made my necklace and dipped my strawberry in chocolate. I promise he was more excited than he looks in this picture.

That's all I got. Lots of subbing this week, so I'm pooped! Have I mentioned how much I respect full-time working mothers?!?

One of my favorite things.

This post is completely random. In fact, sidebar, several weeks back I was bestowed the wonderful honor of "Most Versatile Blogger" award (one of several--I won't get cocky) by my friend Kristin. I was quite flattered, but never got around to returning the favor and choosing my own favorite versatile bloggers. But it did remind me of one of my most random posts ever, and also the one that gets the most googled--the anatomy of a perfect dish brush.

So this post, neither here nor there, not about children or current events or adoption or parenting, just something in my life that's pleasantly meeting (perhaps exceeding) my expectations.

See, we live in a medium-sized town adjacent to a larger town/city. We do pretty much everything within the city limits of the OTHER town, but enjoy where we live. However, when I went to get a library card at the only big library in the area, I was told that I could not have a normal library card, b/c I don't pay taxes in THAT city. Out of the kindness of their hearts, they would allow me to check out ONE book at a time, or pay $75 a year to have a regular library card. The really good (and truly kind) caveat to the rule is that kids can check out 20 books at a time. When I got Sydney's card a few months ago, the librarian told me very sternly to remember that the day she turns 19 she will only be able to check out one book at a time. I stifled a laugh and assured her that I understood.

So after that disappointing news, I got into a terrible habit of buying paperbacks every time I was at Costco to feed my reading habit. It was breaking the bank and even I could see it was not smart. But what is a crazy reader to do? I needed access to books!

Then I read about a website called Paperback Swap. Basically, it's an online group of people who want to trade books. You post a list of books that you own and would be willing to mail if someone requested one of them. Each time that happens and you mail it (usually it's about $2.75 media mail) you get one credit. Everyone who joins starts out with 2 credits automatically. One option they have that I love is that you can print out an address label WITH postage for about 50 cents extra--saving me a trip to the post office, b/c I can just drop it in the nearest mailbox.

Of course, the more popular/desirable your books are, the more likely it is that someone will request them and you will get a credit. I've seen lots of completely obscure books posted and wonder if anyone will ever give that poor person a credit. But this has worked in my favor, b/c I tend to like to read novels that are either classics or popular in the last few years. After I read them, I post them on the site again for someone else to request. Since I've joined (over a year) I've mailed about 15 books and received about 10. I've never run out of credits. They don't always have books that are at the height of popularity (Hunger Games) but you can create a wishlist and receive an email when a member posts the book you've been looking for.

In summary: this is one of my favorite things: Paperbackswap.com. If you've got a recommendation for a good book, send it my way! I've got 5 credits to work with!

Baby on the brain.

I think I've subconsciously been avoiding blogging about the adoption, because there is nothing to report. No fundraisers, no paperwork completion, nothing but WAITING. Waiting for the last week in June. Our lives seem to run at breakneck speed (except in the afternoons on weekdays, when I feel like time stands still to drive me bonkers), and I always think it will distract me from my anxious waiting, yet I still am marking the weeks until June. My waiting mama friend Jenn blogged today, and it inspired me to do the same. She wrote about how we imagine our baby, what they are doing, how old they are, what milestones they are learning, who is loving on them and are they loving on them enough?! I'm glad we've kept the crib up in Sydney's room, b/c it's a constant reminder that it WILL be used again. We've also entered into the time when I'm pretty sure Peanut will be home by this time next year, so I'm saying things like: "Next Easter we'll be a family of five and I'll buy everyone matching outfits!" or "This is my last Mother's Day with only 2 kids in our house!"

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There are little things I do to make the wait less painful. I read other blogs of people who have traveled to get their kiddos. I learn silly elephant songs. I use my precious spending money to buy books for us to practice Thai and a baby book specifically for adopted children. I find other exciting book ideas (Good Night Moon is our FAVORITE!), but need to wait a while before spending more money! I get such horrible food poisoning that I don't have any coherent thoughts for 2 days. And I try to read adoption books too.

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The most recent book I read was Toddler Adoption: The Weaver's Craft by Mary Hopkins-Best. It was a good one and covered a wide-range of topics relating to adopting a child between 12-36 months. The author pointed out something that should be obvious, but is not always: a child adopted as a toddler has different needs than a child adopted as an infant or an older child. They are old enough to understand that something seems VERY wrong, but not old enough to comprehend any explanation given them, or to verbalize their fears and anxieties. Hopkins-Best interviewed over 200 families who had adopted toddlers and examined their "satisfaction" with the adoption process. "There was a strong relationship between how satisfied parents were with their adoption and how realistic their expectations were regarding the child's needs and behaviors." The rest of the book goes on to work through those realistic expectations and it was at times sobering, encouraging and informative. I think as naive pre-adoptive parents, we're convinced that since we will love all of our children equally, that we'll be able to parent them equally. When in fact, we don't parent our bio children in the same way, so we'll definitely need to be flexible and prepared to parent our child with unique needs and hurts.

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But I definitely cannot escape the emotional drain of a "2 year pregnancy." I'm sorting through baby clothes, weeping over my oldest's lost infancy, and realizing that I'm currently missing my youngest's infancy. It stings, and I think that sting will only get stronger when I KNOW his/her face and can't hop on a plane and hold them immediately. I stumbled on a verse a couple weeks ago that I'm clinging too. It is Psalm 27:14, and we now have it written in our dining room.

"Wait on the Lord. Be strong and take heart. And wait on the Lord."

So right now? That's my plan.

Uncharacteristic, definitely.

Last fall, my friends Stephanie and Jenna told me, Becky and Sarah about a crazy, fun race they heard about called the Warrior Dash. It is technically a 5K "race" but this is no ordinary 5K. It is a crazy, muddy obstacle course. Where many participants wear wild and obnoxious wigs, hats or costumes. Steph and Jenna had been talked into doing it, and successfully convinced the three of us to agree that WE would do it! We looked at the website and discussed how insane it was, but completely caved to the pressure of doing it together. Plus, we heard that many people don't really RUN the race, but do it for the fun of the obstacles and kind of end up walking in between. Not that I think it will be easy--in fact, the idea that it was something lurking on the calendar to motivate me to train was part of the appeal. But it really seems like a "just surrender your dignity and embrace your inner child" kind of experience.

After attempting to sign up a few times and having technical difficulties with the website, I FINALLY remembered to sign up this week. Before I did, I looked at hundreds of pictures on the FB fan page, read all the health warnings, restrictions, etc. I rolled my eyes at my own ridiculousness and went for it. That night I told Trent that I had registered. He gave a mellow "Oh. Cool." Which, to be honest, was a little disappointing, because if I'm not going to get some major credit for at least committing to something as wild and UN-JEN as this, what IS going to impress this guy?!

Well. Seems Mr. Trent did not fully understand what the Warrior Dash is. He thought it was like a 5K on a trail. The next day at work, he mentioned to his co-workers that I was doing it, and they were surprised. One colleague, in particular, starting regaling Trent of the wild and challenging obstacles, like running through a pond and jumping over floating logs, crawling through mud with barbed wire overhead, jumping over flaming logs. (All of which I'd heard and also heard it's not as bad as it sounds.) I was in total understanding that I will be covered head-to-toe in mud, but Trent was IN SHOCK that I would willingly submit myself to such undignified (and hard!) activities. He surely sat at the lunch table with sandwich in his hand, uneaten. Jaw-dropped and eyes all buggy, saying "There's NO WAY Jen knows about this!" He called me up immediately, extremely concerned that I had been unknowingly coerced into this ritual and my ignorance was going to cause me great stress.

THAT made me laugh. Cause I did! And I signed up anyway! Yeah me! Yeah Stephanie and Jenna!

Because NOPE. This is not my usual type of leisure activity. I would rather curl up and watch a movie. Even when it's sunny, I'm all up for a walk or bike ride, but then I'd like to curl up and read a book in the shade. I like all types of curling up. Not as comfortable with the sliding down a mud hill and climbing up a rope ladder to scale a wall. But that is what makes it such an INTRIGUING challenge! And something to get me un-curled for once. Plus, now I've talked TWO MORE friends into doing it with me.

And guess who will be following along the whole way with a camera and taking lots of pictures to show proof to his coworkers that his wife jumped over burning logs? Trento. Which, in truth, is completely uncharacteristic of him.

Not as planned.

Just a warning, this post may contain some TMI, and not the fun "wink, wink, nudge, nudge" kind you might be expecting after a romantic weekend getaway.

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The weekend started out wonderfully! We had a great first day, Trent booked a really neat Inn on the Oregon coast that I will totally recommend to anyone. HUGE room with fireplace and ocean view, private ocean access, everything felt new and clean, and we got a great deal for the off-season. The sun was shining and we decided to make the 20 minute drive to a highly-recommended sea-food restaurant overlooking a cove. The sun was setting, and the food was SO good! I was very proud of myself (normally a little seafood shy) of ordering the nightly special, which was the Bangkok Special, a yellow curry and ginger sauce with linguine, asian style vegetables, scallops, shrimp and ahi. It tasted delicious and other than the shrimp, which I gave to Trent, I ate most of it!

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Fast forward to 1 am, I'm leaning over the new and clean toilet puking up the Bangkok Special. I had had an "adult beverage" after dinner, so I figured it was just a bad combo. But by morning, when the puking and *ahem* other food poisoning symptoms persisted, we were both pretty sure it was something I ate.

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I didn't leave the room ALL DAY. I didn't leave the big, comfy King sized bed all day, except to go back to that toilet. Poor Trent! It was gorgeous outside, so he took walks by himself, watched lots of ESPN, read the majority of the book I bought him, and basically stopped telling me when he was coming or going, since I was in the fetal position half conscious and--I think--moaning a bit. Instead of wearing one of the cute dresses that I had borrowed for our official anniversary dinner, I stayed in my pj's for 32 hours. Trent had Quiznos by himself. Even when there were NO CONTENTS left in my stomach, my body still punished me by puking up what must be green stomach acid. (Told ya! TMI!)

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My dear husband of 10 years was a great sport and just kept saying it wasn't my fault, there was nothing I could do about it and that he was getting plenty of relaxing in. :(

After a decent night's sleep, and a solid 8 hour break from the vomiting, I was determined to get out and enjoy our last morning together. Of course, getting out of bed and showering caused me to upchuck once more just for good measure, but I did it and got dressed. We went out to breakfast, where the little cafe waitresses surely thought I had an eating disorder after nibbling on a fruit bowl and getting it to go. This picture will be cherished by me, because it is THE ONLY ONE we got during the entire weekend! And after walking out to the rocks and back, I was exhausted and completely spent. But I kept saying--this will be a funny story someday! Or at least an interesting blog post later this week. :)