whitecaps

It's windy down here. Caroline is happily ensconced in an episode of Sesame Street and Connor is fast asleep downstairs after he was forced to close his eyes against the raging wind of our around the block as quick as we can walk. After a rather challenging morning requiring a stop at Borders just to make the screaming stop on the way down to the beach, all I wanted to do was toss Connor into the Bjorn and Caro into the jogger stroller and take a nice walk down to the store for a small thing of milk. I don't even really NEED the milk, but I did need that walk because if I have to tell my three year old to "LISTEN!" one more time today I think I am going to the crazy house. Unfortunately it is so windy that the walk didn't really happen. I even thought if we went with the wind around the block and away from the ocean by a block it would help, but even my preplan was not enough to the beat the weather. So we're home, but he's asleep and she's occupied and that's really enough.

With the weather for the weekend looking up and Steve having a mid-Cape appointment tomorrow morning, we couldn't help but ask to spend the night tonight and the weekend by the sea, by the beautiful sea... But it's windy. As I sit here at the desk in the beach house family room, the whitecaps of the Atlantic are just past the monitor, begging me to quit the typing already and enjoy the specatacular view. The wind is so strong that the birds are flying hard against it and the waves are coming in on a diagonal and I already had to rescue a deck chair.

Whitecaps out there. Whitecaps in here. Connor is three and a half months old. My big boy is alert and sits up with very little support on your lap. When I pull him up from a recline with his hands his head no longer lags behind. At Borders (once the crying stopped) he was giddy cooing at the colors and oh my god what are those million things piled on all these shelves????? Caroline has had a tough week. She's been dramatic, moody, not listening, testing me every step of the way. You know. She's been three this week. At Borders, when I was literally at the end of my rope pulling off Route 3 because THE SCREAMING, she refused to go the restroom despite the fact that she was visibly holding her pants. She did the dead man. She refused to move. She layed down on the carpet of the bookstore. I dragged her to a nearby chair, forced her to standing, and hoisted her to my hip because for the love of GOD! ENOUGH. Poor Connor went into survival mode at some point during this interaction because of course you know he was on my shoulder because THE SCREAMING and the grip he had on my hair was surprisingly strong. Of to the potty and wouldn't you know... someone had to pee afterall. I wasn't even that I was alone, it was that she was just so damn uncooperative and ridiculous. She's been way off and we need to get back on track because otherwise she won't make it to four.

Despite all of the drama of our ride down, I feel completely at ease, relaxed, and rejuvenated just being here. It isn't my house, it's not my beach, but it feels like home and man, do I love coming home.  


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