"Hands-Full Mama"

True Confession: I cringe each and every time another "hands-free mama" admonition to reduce your digital gluttony assaults the cyber world.  And they are always -always- veiled as an empathetic mommy blog.  If I had a nickel for every article opining the virtues of savoring the scent of roses, I could afford a bonny British nanny and finally be "hands-free" in parenting.  Seriously, am I the only "mama" who has noticed this super ironic decrying of the digital sensation that is sweeping the blogosphere? (They be like "just read my article about putting down your iPhone right before you put down your iPhone")

I feel better having gotten that off my chest.

So my hands have not been "free" and our days have been "full" -a blogging hibernation during the blur of activity. Here's the (less than) riveting re-cap:

October featured the famed Fall Festival and a Niumalu Loop chili cook-off with friends, framed by listless palm trees, sweltering in the surprising, steamy heat of a Hawaiian fall. Colson sweated out the evening's festivities in a puppy costume, while Kincaid pretended superhero Spidey sense and Eowyn glittered in Sleeping Beauty regalia. All month, I burned my "Autumn Harvest" candles (in effigy?) and sipped pumpkin spice coffee in the frosty breeze of air conditioning.

During the Veterans Day holiday weekend, we visited the U.S.S. Missouri as well as the Pacific Aviation Museum. *Nerd alert*  Imagine my thrill and contagious exuberance as we stood upon the sacred site of the Japanese surrender to McArthur in 1945.  Eowyn and Kincaid were duly enthralled with the ship's weaponry and the seeming dollhouse-size living quarters. And certainly, no second grade school field trip is complete without an exhaustive primer on Kamikaze dive bombers. Making family memories and world war monuments- not wholly incompatible. 

Cue the beginning of recital season. Hula shows landscaped by the glistening Koko Marina. Santa's arrival by speedboat seemed a fait accompli. Ballet recitals boasting of Nutcracker themes. Christmas musical pageantry in matching Christmas tees. Tis' the season of costly costumes and interminable performances.  I have become that plastered smiling, camera wielding, wet finger-face-wiping, hair-smoothing, effusively gushing parent. Predictable and unapologetic to a fault.

Meanwhile, we have been grooming our own diminutive David Beckham. Kincaid has been tearing up the soccer field with both immutable indifference and scoring skill. Who knew? We certainly did not. Eowyn attends games solely for the team snacks which are more like a Whole Foods buffet with an occasional rogue cookie. Gone are the simple days of orange slices and water- dangerously unfiltered and non-bottled. How did we ever survive those edge-teetering years?

And let's not overlook Thanksgiving. In the morning, we made the mistake of hiking Diamond Head as a family- presuming tourists would prefer gluttony to exercise on such a holiday.  We presumed wrong. Grossly wrong. Rather than a leisurely, scenic ramble through the legendary crater,  we looped up the mountain in "cattle-shoot" formation with a sundry ungrateful travelers for whom Thanksgiving is irrelevant.  Meanwhile, Kincaid and Eowyn dodged passed and surreptitiously looped through the serpentine trails while I apologized in their wake.

Finally, birthdays. Hawaiian tradition dictates a lavish luau for a baby's first birthday. We opted to save the pig  (who is always forgotten in the "save the trending animal" campaigns, you know). Instead, we hosted a less extravagant beach-side soiree for Colson's premiere birthday. Home-made ornaments featuring Lanikai sand and miniature shells were proffered as party favors. *Eat your heart out Pinterest-holics* They were hung with care on a decorative Christmas tree lugged to our beach site. Yes. I hauled a tree and trimmings through the sizzling sand with- pause for effect- a broken big toe. So great is the depth of my obsession with detail (and love for my son blah blah blah).  An event unforgettable for me and totally forgettable for him.

 A few short days later, I celebrated my *ahem* 29th birthday at the dazzling Kahala Resort with an entourage of gorgeous girls for whom I am honored to call friends. And best of all- my kids compiled a list of reasons they love me which pretty much centered around the cookies I bake. Really, I am fine with this. I've been loved for less.  Not by Jason, though who "bought me" (read: I picked out and purchased and thanked him for his unwitting generosity) a purse that makes me feel classy even with mushy cheerios stuck to my shirt.