#southernliving

We moved. Again. It is becoming a bit of a habit. And since I enjoy change almost as much as I have enjoyed the Obama administration, it has been a summer of endless, aging delight- Years Decades have been removed from my life. I'll spare you the complaintive drivel about Samoan movers with Irritable Bowel Syndrome and the joys of sleeping on beach towels in empty, echoing homes. . .  Indeed, we have had a dramatic scene change- about which I feel compelled to acquaint my readership (which is really my parents and an old high school friend).  In the service of God and country, we traded our tropical isle for the Blue Ridge vistas in Charlottesville, Virgnia. (Cue "Taps")

Right now, I am pale as death and affecting a Southern accent with impressive aplomb (or at least I fooled the Comcast guy), as I attempt to pass myself off as Confederate belle-ish (34 is still Scarlett O'Hara worthy, right?) And a new blog title is in order since there is a woeful absence of sandy sheets here and "Mosquito Bites" seems a tad gloomy. (Suggestions welcome) Truly- though- the bucolic sophistication of Charlottesville possesses sort of a grown-up Walton's Mountain charm. And I like it, y'all. (See- it is an almost effortless transformation, since we already love God, guns and Zac Brown Band).

#goodnightjohnboy

Let me back up and quickly make honorable mention of some of the summer's shining moments. Sure, my sister had another delicious baby, who should have been named "Knox" -insuring a modeling contract with Ralph Lauren-but instead was named Calvin (after the Reformer). Not a shabby substitute- but still. Granted he is "totes adorbs" as the kids these days say, but more importantly, my sister managed to look rather sensational throughout her entire 4th pregnancy. Calvin is already the pregnancy reformer. 

Meanwhile, I no longer fear (as much) an early demise since I eliminated a bucket list item this past July -one which seemed impossible 20 years ago when I choreographed "Sunday School Rock" for a gym class with Mrs. Leombruno: To meet Carman Luca-something the gospel singer. For shame if you do not know that (limited) household name! I wanted to marry him and then got married and still want to marry him. Okay. I jest. One man. One wife. Until death. #Proposition8

Anyhow, my sister "Make a Wish" Rebekah made my dream a reality. To her, I owe everything. Well, not really. But this was script from my super original speech I planned to deliver to Carman before his appearance -an arm's length- reduced me to a grinning mute. His concert -comparatively- was lackluster but my love for him will never be. #AddictedtoCarman.

Side note: I still don't understand the utilitarian value of hashtags. They are like an inside joke I want to get.  So, I am testing them out. And it is true that ordinary fragmented thoughts are much funnier smooshed together within the safety net of a hashtag.  When you think about it, hashtags are like literary beergoggles. #hipsterstateofmind

The funny thing about living on an island in the Pacific is that your kids miss out on those forgranted eastcoast "treasures"- like squirrels and deer. For example, when my dad spies a squirrel, he spews epithets about fluffy rats with acorns. When my island children see squirrels, they are enchanted by these tree unicorns.  Likewise, the deer that laze about our forested yard possess a Narnian allure for my kids who had only ever seen a singular, sad looking doe at the Waikiki zoo. Meanwhile, I cringe when Bambi and her brood of Lyme-disease carrying tic transporters breakfast in our grass. Perspective. To their Darwinian credit, the deer in Central Virginia do have an belligerent "eminent domain" policy - in which they feel comfortable inhabiting your domain at their eminent leisure. Animal Farm might have gained some literary notoriety had it just woven a few bureaucratic deer into the plot.  #tipsfororwell

As you probably suspected, we have become bonafide beach snobs. Hawaii has ruined me. I cannot apologize- though a look at Lanikai might help explain.  Fortunately, my kids are more forgiving of the Atlantic's murky depths and were entirely won over by the company of the most enviable grandparents on any coastal shore. Long shimmering days were sated with miniature Bocce Ball and Horseshoe (for dwarfs) tournaments in the sand.  It is almost as though competitive athleticism runs in the family. *wink* Then, there was my bare and barrel-chested Colson who met literally everyone on the beach with the affable charm of a politician.  Likewise, he wrested beach toys from nearly a dozen (unwitting) donors-a skill that solidifies a future in government work. One day, I rode an (accidental) eight miles on my bike for the best She-Crab soup in South Carolina. And it was worth every calorie.  And as it turns out, I am thinking about gifting my children to my parents because- well, they are still the best around. #chubbychuck #retirementgames #libertarianforlife

....keep going past the pictures- there is more. ....

And yes, we are still doing that homeschooling thing- I will answer the question forming upon your lips. Ironically, Charlottesville is the mecca of home education, where every other mother makes me look like an overwhelmed amateur. Which is truth. Organized tours of Monticello and fossil digs at Civil War battlesites are for rookies. There are more acronymed organizations for aspiring Michelle Duggars than you can memorize with your self-laminated flashcards.  Fortunately, the only trump card I bring to the homeschooling table is that Eowyn (and I) are learning Latin. Let's be honest here- I do not have 6 kids with twins on the way. I do not grow anything -edible or intentionally. I do not sew, paint, or ballroom dance.  But I can conjugate the heck out of like six Latin verbs. This is my buy-in at the high-stakes homeschooling poker game. #Competitvehomeschooling #ryangoslingisjustokay

With much reluctance (on his part), Kincaid gave preschool the old college try- which is to say that he was initially unequivocal in desire not to "ever come back to this stinky place." However, his teacher should be canonized- so loving and nurturing is she that I am toying with requesting that she raise my children for me. Day one proved a success when Caid's first, understated casual comment was, "I loved it, [pause] actually." And actually, this made me teary. #lovemyCaidbug #Mamapicksyourwife

Meanwhile, as my days of paddle-boarding around the Pacific and disguising my spider veins with a glowing tan have come to a screeching halt, I might re-invent myself as a pasty sommelier with a affinity for oak-finished cab savs - that is until I can justify a field trip to Iraq to "manage" this pesky ISIS issue with more of a Clint Eastwood diplomacy. 'Cause ain't nobody got time for this. #Reaganforeignpolicy #pleasemakemyday