But somehow I have been transported into Go Mode without even trying. It helps, I guess, that Bug’s method of waking up consists of 1. Open eyes. 2. Fling legs over side of bed. 3. Find Mom’s hands. 4. Pull with all strength while saying “Get up Mom! Get up!” until Mom is upright. (This is actually quite helpful to me, only maybe he could do this without quite so much grunting and straining?) 5. Once this is accomplished, run at top speed to kitchen. 6. Shout out cereal selection. 7. Sprint back to bathroom while yelling “I HAVE TO PEE PEE!” at top of lungs. 8. Finish in bathroom and find Mom, who has still not made it quite out of the bedroom and push from behind until that woman is in front of the toaster, pouring your damn Apple Jacks.

In approximately 4 minutes the cereal is gone and all thoughts turn to LET’S DO STUFF MOM. And it’s only 7:15.

Every summer morning is like this, except sometimes my dreams are of cheeseburgers.

The last morning we were there I was standing on the back screened in porch of our house that was about oh, 15 feet from the water, while a perfect V of pelicans flew by. Immediately after this, four or five dolphins frolicked in the ocean about 40 yards out from the porch (that was 15 feet from the water), and as I watched the dolphins, two hummingbirds zoomed in to view and hovered just in front of the place where I stood. In my place on the porch. 15 FEET FROM THE WATER.

And then a unicorn galloped down the beach.

Ok, kidding about the unicorn, but I’m really kind of surprised that didn’t actually happen. I mean, live dolphins and hummingbirds were being projected onto my retinas simultaneously. It’s the kind of thing that makes you look around and say, “Wait a sec, did I die? Is this heaven?” So just to be sure, I stepped outside the screen to check, and 342 mosquitoes immediately descended upon me and I knew I was still on earth.

But holy cow! Dolphins! 40 yards + 15 feet away! With hummingbirds! Yeesh.

The house we stayed in used to be behind a dune, with a walkway that led from the back door to the beach, but over the years erosion has taken its toll and now the water comes up under the porch at high tide, making the house more like a house boat, only without the rocking. This is the last year anyone will stay there - the houses on either side have already been condemned, and they say that it will only be a year before the ocean starts to take the structures down.

A subject by the way, that should not be discussed in front of a three year old.

This is what Bug heard: The house is going to be washed out in the ocean sometime next year.

This is what Bug thought: Next year = next week or maybe even right now. Who knows, dude? I’m only THREE. There’s no WAY I’m sleeping in this house tonight. I’m getting the HELL out of here. Meltdown mode: ACTIVATE.

It took a while to convince him that we were not going to be sleeping with the fishes.

In addition to being swept away in the night to certain death, Bug had another fear: WATER. He would not come within 20 feet of the ocean. Or sand that had been recently dampened by the ocean. Or sand that looked like it might be a shade darker than the dry sand and therefore must have been in contact with the ocean at some point in the recent past. This was not up for negotiation. I thought I could convince him that the water was OK by sheer will if I sat out in the ocean myself for a long time and made it look really really fun. But he was too far away to hear me say anything, let alone see the “this is really fun!” expression on my face, so all I got for my effort was a pound of sand in my bathing suit crotch.

I’m sure he’ll grow out of his fear some day, although it may take going to the beach more than twice in his whole life to help accomplish that goal.

But GO TO THE BEACH A LOT is a parenting task I’m willing to tackle.

Only I won’t get to tackle it here:
Farewell, beach house.

And because my checks from BlogHer Ads are hit-dependent, that means we’re buying KRAFT mac n’ cheese this month instead of generic. WHATUP.

Except now I’m leaving for the beach and won’t be posting again until Monday.

Oh well, I would have felt like a poseur buying the Kraft anyway.

Watch out beach, here comes the BELLY.

Go on, click ‘Refresh.’ You know you want to.

I realized right after the words left my mouth that I could have totally just put myself up Shit Creek with this question. I braced myself for the suggestions of “Let’s play Mommy Monkey and Baby Monkey!” or “Let’s play Chase ALL DAY!” but then he lit up to say, “I know! Let’s go to LOTS of playgrounds!” Exhaling, I realized this idea was free! And involved me getting to sit and read a book sometimes! Excellent choice, Bug, I decided.

So this morning, the Great Playground Tour of America commenced.

We hit two playgrounds, trike in tow, and then the library. (Also free and involving books. We like to have themes for our days) And then before we headed to the third playground I saw, like a beacon, the Chick-fil-A coupon for a free kids meal in my bag. Coupons for free food spontaneously combust if they are in my possession for more than 24 hours (or at least that is what my mind SCREAMS TO ME), and seeing how Bug had gotten this coupon the very day before, obviously it was high time we got ourselves some chicken nuggets.

We entered our local Chick-fil-A unwittingly, not knowing that it was Cow Appreciation Day. Otherwise known as OMG MADNESS. There was a ginormous cow walking around the tiny restaurant, giving people pounds and high fives and terrifying babies. People were dressed like cows just to get free food. There were balloons aplenty. The owners were there taking people’s trash for them and handing out small stuffed cows. (The same cows that I just snuck off to the Salvation Army last week, THANKS A LOT CFA.) And, there were eight-quadrillion people in this very tiny, tiny restaurant.

After we sat down with our lunch I looked up and saw cameras going off and some sort of small entourage entering the restaurant, and murmurs of “There he is! That’s him right there! The one in the cow hat!” and I thought maybe the Pope had stopped in for a sweet tea, but no, it was Truett Cathy himself and he was headed our way. Before I knew what was happening, the Big Scary Cow was upon us again doing strange cow sign language with Bug, and Mr. Cathy, who is older than God, was right there and I was thinking I probably should have showered, and a release was put in my face to sign in case Bug’s image was used in the next promotional brochure, and I realized that Mr. Cathy was kind of standing there looking at me. So I shook his hand and said, “Um, hi, Mr. Cathy. Sure do like your restaurant. It’s, uh, totally terrific. And also great.”

“Well thank you, young lady. And YOU, young man, what does a COW say?” he turned to Bug.

“MOO,” Bug said. Kind of like, “Duh, old dude.”

“Yes, but what ELSE does a cow say?” he leaned in.

There was an awkward pause and Bug looked at me and I said, “Uh, Bug, cows, um, also say, uh, Eat More Chicken. When they are pretend cows.”

“Eat more chicken! That’s SILLY!” Bug said to the OWNER OF ALL CHICK-FIL-As EVERYWHERE.

Chuckling, Mr. Cathy handed him (ANOTHER. DAMN.) stuffed cow and said, “That’s right, very good.” And he patted him on the head and shuffled away to the next table.

And then since my child had been properly indoctrinated and marketed to, we took our cow, cow hat, and balloon and left.

Later, after more playground touring, we arrived home and my day came full circle. There on my doorstep was the maternity bathing suit I had ordered a week ago. In a box. A box this big:

There’s only a bathing suit in there, I’m pretty sure. I’m kind of scared to open it. Who packages a bathing suit in a refrigerator box? Does it need all that room because of the yards and yards and YARDS of fabric needed to cover me? GOOD GOD ALMIGHTY.

But hey, you know like I said, we like our days to have a theme around here.

And Big Scary Bathing Suit Box fits right in.

To Cow Appreciation Day.

MOO.

Me: *pounce*

Lorso: “The one with the ‘B’ on it is mine. You know, because ‘B’ is for Boy. And I’m a Boy.”

Me: “Oh, really. Well why does mine have a ‘V’ on it then, Mr. Cleverpants?”

Lorso: “Duh. ‘V’ is for VAGINA.”

Hello, and welcome to That Day.

I wouldn’t really even have time to write today, except that Bug has a playdate over, which means that I actually have a second to sit down on the couch and surf the web, uh, I mean, to clean the house and prepare for dinner and other totally productive like things.

Playdates are fantastic, except for one thing. The mess. And also the mediating. Oh, and the decibel level. But otherwise! For one thing, I don’t have to play cars or pretend to be a giraffe or LOOK AT THIS MOMMY for like a whole 3 hours!

On the other hand….

Um, so, you know, you decide.

Us: SCREEEEEEEEECH!

Truck: HONK!

Me: *Expletive*

Bug: Whoa! Bad timing, Mom!

And so the dining room, she is finished:

All those chairs you see (and there is one other out of the picture) were painstakingly assembled by the Lorso. Light fixture installed by Lorso and a friend. Walls painted by me, Bug and L. The Louvre-worthy artwork you see on the walls is left, a Lorso original, and right, a Bug/Racher masterpiece. CAN YOU DIG IT.

Now we tackle the study and the bedroom. More wall painting, furniture rearranging and picture hanging galore! You can almost hear Lorso’s hair turning gray as I type those sentences.

Including the hour and a half that we symbolically celebrated the freedom of America by locking ourselves out of the house. God Bless America.