I eat Gi-gi arm.

I called home from work the other evening to check on the boys.

"Cole's in deep doo-doo," Dan reported.

"What did he do now?"

"As they were both waking up from their naps, I put Graham in Cole's crib with him and let them hang out together while I went and peed really quick in their bathroom. I was only gone for a few seconds when I heard Graham crying."

"Uh-oh. Why?"

"I went back and asked Cole what happened and he said 'I eat Gi-gi arm.' I looked and saw a big nasty bite on Graham's forearm. He even broke skin in one place. When Cole saw how upset Graham was, he started crying too. I had to give him a 'no-biting' talk."

When I got home from work, sure enough, there were three sets of Cole's teeth imprints up Graham's forearm, like a little snowman. The last one looked like it hurt -- with brusing and a scab.

Apparently, Graham is too sweet for his own good! What a trooper!

First Family Beach Trip

We had our first family beach trip this month, to Myrtle Beach, SC. It was incredible just to watch the boys frolic on the beach.

The second we arrived we were so excited to let the boys see the ocean that we piled out of the car and immediately ran out onto the beach fully clothed – no bathing suits, no towels, no cameras, NOTHING. I wish I had pictures. I’ll never forget it – the tide was low and the beach stretched forever. The late afternoon sun made everything glow, and the slight crisp chill in the salty air kept most other people off the beach, so we had it all to ourselves. It took about 2 minutes for the boys’ little matching polo shirts and khakis to be covered with sand . Cole was fearless. We rolled up his pant legs to mid-calf so he could wade in the surf with us. Silly us. Next thing we knew he was up to mid-thigh in freezing cold water, pants sopping wet, just laughing. And then next thing we knew the tide pulled at his feet and he tripped and fell into the shallow water, completely soaking himself and laughing hysterically the whole time. He is a maniac.

The next day we were more prepared – with matching bathing suits and camera charged and ready. I took a zillion pictures, ‘cause there’s nothing cuter than babies on the beach… especially MY babies. I’ve done a lot of things that I’m proud of in my life, but the pride I got as I watched Cole and Graham frolic and had people stop to watch them too and tell me how cute they are is a different kind of pride… not pride in anything I did or earned, but pride in the incredible gift I was given in each of my baby boys. Any idiot can be a parent, but every parent hopefully will see their children as the miraculous gifts they are. There was something about watching them run (and crawl) on the beach that made me feel so lucky to be their mama.

Even though it was a little chilly and windy, we managed to get the kids on the beach every day. They loved it.

Graham loved eating the sand, eating shells, eating seaweed. When his hands weren’t shoving something he wasn’t supposed to into his mouth, he was digging. He really loved digging holes and then splish-splashing in the mucky wet sand. Graham utimately got pissed at the surf because it kept hitting him with cold waves while he was trying to play. The first few times the waves got him he was okay, but once he realized how cold these surges of water were, he wanted to be no where near them and cried for me to carry him when we were down by the water.

The little man sure did work up an appetite. This trip marked the first time that Graham ate more than Cole at meals. He’d sit in the high chair for an eternity and eat second and third servings, then when Cole didn’t finish his food, he’d eat whatever was left on Cole’s plate. Can’t wait to see what percentile he falls into at his one year weigh-in!

Cole, always wanting to be like Mama and Dada, commandeered our beach shoes when we took them off, and did a surprisingly good job of walking in adult-sized flip-flops. So I bought him his very own first pair of toddler flip-flops. They are the most impractical purchase ever, because they don’t stay on his feet too well and he is continually giving me his trademark "I need heeelp" when he wants my assistance putting them back on. But he was so proud to wear them each time we walked to the beach that is was worth it.

The most endearing thing Cole did the whole trip was randomly and without solicitation start belting out "My Wish." I do sing this song to him sometimes, because it is the perfect parent-to-child song, and I guess he's been paying attention. One night while everyone was hanging out, Cole just sang out the first line, "My Wish...."

Dan and I weren't sure what we heard, and we looked at each other and looked at him, and then he belted out the second phrase, "For You...."

Then there was a pause and he started humming the rest of the melody. The song brings tears to my eyes as it is, but imagine hearing your little 2 year old sing it... now THAT's a tear jerker. I need to fire up the video camera and capture it, because it is priceless.

All-in-all it was a great trip. It’s amazing how different "vacations" are when you’re the mommy. I was so busy every day that at night I’d have one drink and pass out. We went with our good friends the Mednicks, who also have a 16-month-old, Ian, and we didn’t end up getting as much adult time with them as we’d hoped. But the daddies at least managed to golf and the mommies managed to squeeze in a massage.

Most of the time we were chasing, dressing, feeding, watching or cleaning up after our beach babies. The memories on this kind of vacation, though, are so much more poignant to me. I’d choose this kind of a vacation over a lazy one every time.

Even Dan did his part to make special memories, doing things that are usually completely out of character for him, like letting me dress him all matchy-matchy with his boys, and then letting me take multiple pictures of them.

I love ALL my boys! I can't wait until our next adventure.

At least I can wipe this screw-up away...

My sister started a blog, inspired by this blog. So now I am inspired to post some of the blog-worthy stories that I've been accumulating.

Here's a quick one from work:

On a busy night shift the other week I found a minute to run to the break room and scarf a chicken salad sandwhich way too-fast before running into room 11 to see a guy who was suicidal. I grabbed his clipboard and rushed in and started taking notes while he gave a history. As I was looking down at the chart I noticed a HUGE glop of chicken salad right smack dab in the middle of my scrub-top between my boobs. The thing looked like I had been in a food fight and lost. I tilted the chart up to cover it and tried to play it off, but it was too late... I could see the guying staring at it.

"Um.... you have something on your shirt," he pointed out.

"Oh, yeah. That would be my chicken salad sandwhich. Sorry about that. I was going to wait until you finished and then try to make a joke about it. Let me just wipe it off." I grabbed a towel and removed the offensive glop.

"No problem." He laughed at me.

"If it makes you feel any better, I apparently can't even feed myself without causing an embarassing mess."

"Yeah," he started sounding more depressed, "But at least you can wipe your problem away."

I decided to move on and forget the glop, as this guy clearly had more important problems than my messy boobs. We finished the history, and I went to do a quick physical to medically clear him before admitting him to the psych floor. As I removed my stethoscope from around my neck I realized that the "diaphragm" (the part you put on the heart) had been dangling down near the chicken salad glop, so I grabbed an alcohol wipe and ripped it open to clean up the diaphragm before I put it on the guy.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" he screamed with an unusual level of angst.

"I'm cleaning the chicken salad off my stethoscope so I don't get it on you."

"Oh," he was immediately relieved. "I thought I was getting a shot when I saw the alcohol wipe."

"No, sorry. Just my embarassing mess again."

I got back to business, trying to salvage any ounce of respect this guy might have left for me. I quickly put the ear pieces of the stethoscope in my ear to move on with the exam.

"Eeewww. You're kidding me!" I shrieked. In my ear I could feel a big wet chunk of chicken salad. I had forgotten to clean off my end of the stethoscope, which had also been dangling down too close to the glop on my scrub-top (obviously).

The guy was speechless and just looked at me like I was a freak.

Wonderful. The pscyh patient thinks I'M crazy. "Sorry," I managed to mutter. "Don't mind me. Just a little chicken salad in my ear from my stethoscope."

He looked at me again in disbelief, probably waiting for the real doctor to walk in. His question spoke volumes -- "How long exactly have you been a doctor??"

I guess nothing wrecks a doctor-patient encounter like chicken salad on your boobs.