Outerbanks 2011 - Flying to a new low
I planned to blog every day on our trip, but then I got there and pretty much the last thing on Earth I felt like doing was writing anything, so instead I took 329 pictures. Yes, I spent the week moonlighting as a photo journalist. Of those 329 there are about 5 of me. It's not much, but at least it proves I was there. And that's something.
I'd like to begin the vacation recap with the untold story of kite-flying. Every time we have visited OBX (that's the Outerbanks abbreviation for you mainlanders) we have purchased kites and spent glorious, cool, breezy evenings on the beach flying them. They are some of our sweetest OBX memories. This year we decided not to buy new kites, so sweet Daddy-Chad hand carried the kites to North Carolina after we discovered they were too long to fit inside the suitcase.
Finally, the night of kite flying arrived. The weather seemed right, the evening water was a bit too cold to swim, yes, we would fly kites and relive the glories of years past.
Grace got her kite in the air. She let it out little by little until it was a tiny speck in the atmosphere. She manned it, maneuvered it, was completely enthralled and had a great time. Kite glory.
The rest of us?
Um, not so much.
Brynn had been having a rough day. Tired, cranky, crying a lot. I think she'd hit the vacation wall. Turns out an evening on the beach had the opposite effect we were hoping for. Instead of having fun and turning the day around, flying that kite sent Brynn into some kind of unholy beach death spiral.
She and Chad got her kite in the air and she flew it for about 2 minutes.
B: "Can I sit down?"
Lisa: "Sure. Can I take your picture?"
That was the last smile of the evening.
B: "Come take my kite. It's too heavy for my arms."
So I took it and flew it for a while as Brynn stomped around the beach kicking sand.
L: "Find some pretty shells to take home."
So she did, handfuls that were soon too big to carry. So she started a pile on the beach, but then she walked away from it and couldn't find it again. Crying!
B: "I left my shells in a pile, right next to a heap of sand and now I can't find them...help me mom. Find them. They are right next to a pile of sand."
Dude, it's the beach. The whole thing is a pile of sand, but I handed off the kite to Chad and tried to find the shells. No luck of course, searching for a non descript pile of sand over a three mile stretch of beach.
Chad, after looking at Brynn's face, said "We're close to done, aren't we?" We were indeed, so he began rolling in the kite. Brynn and I gave up on finding her old pile of shells and went to work on finding new shells, some of us more enthusiastic about this plan than others.
So I'm looking, my back to the water, for great shells that will assuage her grief when I hear a blood curdling scream and Brynn begin to WAIL.
As Chad was rolling in her kite, a gust of when caught it and it crashed into the ocean. Chad valiantly ran out and saved it, crisis averted, but Brynn would not be consoled.
Through her wailing you could hear things like "the one thing I didn't want was for my kite to crash in the ocean. Now it's wet and disgusting. Did it get sand on it? Oh, it's ruined, it's ruined."
Chad looked at me and we both started laughing, silently of course, the way parents laugh at frustrating children so they do not in fact toss them into the ocean.
Chad scooped up our now sandy, sopping wet kite, as I led a screaming Brynn by the hand and we made the long trek back to the house. At first we tried consoling words "It'll dry. It's not ruined. Dad will get the sand off. We can fly it again tomorrow..." But when we realized that wasn't working we just let her scream and wail.
Might was well get it out.
We got her cleaned up, put her in some jammies, dosed her with a soothing dose of children's Tylenol, gave her a big drink of water and tucked her in her bed. I laid with her and sang and she was asleep in about 2 minutes.
I realize this is a weird first recap story, but hear me out.
I was reading in one of my old books recently and I thought "well this is all just so happy." And mostly it is all happy, but sometimes it is so not happy.
When you take 19 people on vacation, especially when 9 of them fall into the 11 and under age bracket, there are bound to be a few unhappy moments. I feel like I do my children a disservice to paint a picture of perfection, because someday they will take their children on a trip across the country and there will be crying and they will be shocked by that crying and feel cheated by my rosy memories. "We never cried!" they will tell their children. "We were perfect for our mother."
BWAHAHAAHAHAHAHA.
Dream on, my loves.
So this post will help you, dear daughters of mine, someday when you are scrapping your child off the floor of the Atlanta airport to remember that lowlights are normal and you can still have a lot of fun, as long as you keep your sense of humor and travel with copious amounts of children's Tylenol.
I'd like to begin the vacation recap with the untold story of kite-flying. Every time we have visited OBX (that's the Outerbanks abbreviation for you mainlanders) we have purchased kites and spent glorious, cool, breezy evenings on the beach flying them. They are some of our sweetest OBX memories. This year we decided not to buy new kites, so sweet Daddy-Chad hand carried the kites to North Carolina after we discovered they were too long to fit inside the suitcase.
 |
| look I was there! |
Grace got her kite in the air. She let it out little by little until it was a tiny speck in the atmosphere. She manned it, maneuvered it, was completely enthralled and had a great time. Kite glory.
The rest of us?
Um, not so much.
Brynn had been having a rough day. Tired, cranky, crying a lot. I think she'd hit the vacation wall. Turns out an evening on the beach had the opposite effect we were hoping for. Instead of having fun and turning the day around, flying that kite sent Brynn into some kind of unholy beach death spiral.
She and Chad got her kite in the air and she flew it for about 2 minutes.
B: "Can I sit down?"
Lisa: "Sure. Can I take your picture?"
That was the last smile of the evening.
B: "Come take my kite. It's too heavy for my arms."
So I took it and flew it for a while as Brynn stomped around the beach kicking sand.
L: "Find some pretty shells to take home."
So she did, handfuls that were soon too big to carry. So she started a pile on the beach, but then she walked away from it and couldn't find it again. Crying!
B: "I left my shells in a pile, right next to a heap of sand and now I can't find them...help me mom. Find them. They are right next to a pile of sand."
Dude, it's the beach. The whole thing is a pile of sand, but I handed off the kite to Chad and tried to find the shells. No luck of course, searching for a non descript pile of sand over a three mile stretch of beach.
 |
| looking for the lost shells - see how happy we are? |
So I'm looking, my back to the water, for great shells that will assuage her grief when I hear a blood curdling scream and Brynn begin to WAIL.
As Chad was rolling in her kite, a gust of when caught it and it crashed into the ocean. Chad valiantly ran out and saved it, crisis averted, but Brynn would not be consoled.
Through her wailing you could hear things like "the one thing I didn't want was for my kite to crash in the ocean. Now it's wet and disgusting. Did it get sand on it? Oh, it's ruined, it's ruined."
Chad looked at me and we both started laughing, silently of course, the way parents laugh at frustrating children so they do not in fact toss them into the ocean.
Chad scooped up our now sandy, sopping wet kite, as I led a screaming Brynn by the hand and we made the long trek back to the house. At first we tried consoling words "It'll dry. It's not ruined. Dad will get the sand off. We can fly it again tomorrow..." But when we realized that wasn't working we just let her scream and wail.
Might was well get it out.
We got her cleaned up, put her in some jammies, dosed her with a soothing dose of children's Tylenol, gave her a big drink of water and tucked her in her bed. I laid with her and sang and she was asleep in about 2 minutes.
I realize this is a weird first recap story, but hear me out.
I was reading in one of my old books recently and I thought "well this is all just so happy." And mostly it is all happy, but sometimes it is so not happy.
When you take 19 people on vacation, especially when 9 of them fall into the 11 and under age bracket, there are bound to be a few unhappy moments. I feel like I do my children a disservice to paint a picture of perfection, because someday they will take their children on a trip across the country and there will be crying and they will be shocked by that crying and feel cheated by my rosy memories. "We never cried!" they will tell their children. "We were perfect for our mother."
BWAHAHAAHAHAHAHA.
Dream on, my loves.
So this post will help you, dear daughters of mine, someday when you are scrapping your child off the floor of the Atlanta airport to remember that lowlights are normal and you can still have a lot of fun, as long as you keep your sense of humor and travel with copious amounts of children's Tylenol.
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