Fiy-uh burnin' bay-bay!

I wish the age requirement for American Idol was 4.

'Mommy, I'll be fine, I promise. You can go now. It's time for me to go to my classroom'

Despite lots of anxiety the night before, a tummy full of butterflies, sweaty palms, and a few tears, the first day of preschool drop-off went remarkably well. Oh, and Ava did great too. As I choked back the tears, let go of her little hand, hugged her for too long, and sent her off into a scary new world of germs, head lice, teasing, having to wipe her own bum, and unfamiliar faces, all I could picture was the day we brought her home from the hospital, almost 4 years prior. She was all wrapped up in the infamous pink-white-blue striped hospital blanket, tight as a Chipotle burrito. The weather was strangely identical on both occasions; the perfect, archetypal New England fall day. Crisp, cool air, perfect blue cloudless sky, blindingly bright sun, leaves beginning to turn. I must have asked her at least 20 times on the way to school, 'Are you sure you want to go? We can turn around right now and go home if you want...' These propositions were met with quick, unsupported glances from the corner of Jeff's eyes, as if to say 'Stop talking NOW you crazy lady!"
But the truth is, I never would have offered if I didn't know her so well. Her ambition. Her tenacity. Her fearlessness. Her ability and desire to tackle new situations and environments with ease and excitement.
As I helped her hang her Hello Kitty backpack on her designated hook, she took my head in her hands. 'Mommy, you are going to be okay. It's only 3 hours. Just go home, do some chores, and then come pick me up, okay? I love you!'
With that, we walked her to her classroom where she sat at the table with the other kids....picked up a lump of play-doh, and smiled at the little boy next to her. 'Hi! I'm Ava and I'm four. What's your name?'
I have never been more proud.

The Derderian FOUR take Frye Island!

So we just arrived home from our first official family (of four) trip-- successful! And where else to achieve such a momentous milestone, than the one and only Frye Island. Our weekend consisted of beach-filled days and s'more-filled nights. The weather was perfect-- an Indian summer weekend of sorts. Both kiddos did AMAZING; played hard during the day and slept fantastic at night. We snuggled & told "spooky" stories by the fireplace in the big room, listened to Jeff play lots of guitar, skipped rocks in the cove, and even gave Gav's piggies a formal introduction to Sebago Lake:




Ava swam like the fish that she is,


and, after the tumultuous post-partum 9 weeks that I've had, I was filled with tranquility and peace to just sit at the beach in the sun, feet submerged in hot sand. We grilled hot dogs, baked cookies, and played lots of Scrabble. We did absolutely NOTHING that required an outlet, a plus, or batteries. Cell phones were left in the car and not touched for 3 days. (how liberating!) And we didn't watch TV once-- how incredibly refreshing. And then there was breakfast-- oh, sweet breakfast! Bacon, eggs, english muffins, bagels, pancakes, sausage, and everything else that is completely negligent health-wise, but so tastefully indulgent while on vacation. There was something so full-circle for me personally this weekend, to be at my childhood vacation home, with my (newly) complete family of four. I watched Ava sit with Jeff out on the peninsula, pointing out gigantic tugboats and dragons in the clouds, and picking dandelions for me. The smell of the lake breeze was an immediate sense of sweet, wholesome nostalgia. Instantly brought me back to the barefoot, water-logged, mosquito-bitten, Kool-aid mustache summers that I used to enjoy up here with my own parents. The amazement of the first time I caught a fish in the cove; the s'mores that I used to enjoy in that same gigantic fireplace. Bike rides on dirt roads, ice cream cones that never made it home, and first kisses as an awkward 12 year old. So many, many memories on this tiny, hidden jewel of an island. Amazing & humbling to me that today, 20 years later, I am privileged enough to be able to share this experience with my own kiddos. And although we are now back at home, laundry already sorted & being washed, TV blaring upstairs, coffee percolating in the Keurig, and computers & cell phones back up & running, it is comforting to know that the beautiful, tranquil solitude of Frye Island is just a daydream away.








P.S. CHECK OUT THE MOST BEAUTIFUL SUNSET I'VE EVER SEEN ON OUR DRIVE HOME-- THE PICTURES DON'T COME CLOSE TO THE JUSTICE IT DESERVED!

Can I please bottle up this moment??

Unequivocally the most peaceful, handsome, perfect little 2-month old ever captured in a picture. And I promise I'm not biased or anything.






p.s. It's a good thing those baby seats have a 25-pound limit, or I would have crawled in it with him and snuggled for the rest of the day.

It wasn't me-- I swear!

Fun tidbit of my day: I was holding Gav in my arms this afternoon while trying to leave an important voice-mail message for someone I don't know so well. While leaving said message, he farted atleast 4 times in a row. REALLY loud. Definitely loud enough to have been left on the voice-mail message. The person for whom I was leaving the message has no clue that I have kid(s). Excellent!

This pretty much sums up their relationship.

Peep show in the 'burbs...

TRUE STORY: About an hour ago, I reluctantly got up from nursing Gav to answer a (ferocious), persistent knock at the door. Upon opening the door, there stood an incredibly sketchy, incredibly sweaty, incredibly plump guy from a tree-cutting service. He had apparently been doing work at the neighbor's house and said that he could give me a "great deal" if he did some tree work for me today. Said sketchy, sweaty, plump tree guy seemed a little too eager to persuade me to employ his services, despite my firm "we have a new baby/no money/not interested" speech, AND the tiny newborn baby squirming in my arms. He persisted & persisted until I basically shut the door in his face with an abrupt "Thanks but no thanks, bye!"
As I walked away from the door, baby in my arms, it suddenly felt conspicuously drafty. This is the really neat point in the story where I realize that I hadn't properly secured my nursing gown, and my massive, engorged right boob was hanging out the ENTIRE TIME.
Only in the 'burbs, folks. Only in the 'burbs...