Sun, Sand, and Silly Little Girls

I am twenty-seven years old.  Of this much I am now sure.  Celeste had to remind me of that fact yesterday when I was forking a hefty piece of birthday cake into my mouth, and little Ruby said, “Hey, can I have some of that?” to which I shrewdly replied, “When you’re twenty-eight years old, you can eat all the cake you want.”  Celeste then pointed out that by those standards, I was in clear violation.  I made an amendment to my statement and returned to my cake eating.

Pedaling around on the Boardwalk

It was all part of a wonderful weekend we spent in Virginia Beach with my sister and her family, most notably the three cutest little girls east of the Mississip: Olivia (Viv), Ruby (Rooster), and Sonoma (NomaSo).  It's become something of a tradition for us East-Coast-Olsens to come together while the bulk of the family gathers at significant gravestones dotting the northernmost tip of Utah.  We may be few in numbers out here, but let's face it family, Holly and I were always the life of the party.

Add into the mix that it was little Ruby's birthday over the weekend (it was in fact her birthday cake that I was gatekeeping and consuming), and you have a recipe for lots of squealing, smiling, laughing, crying, and more squealing (and more crying).  The girls were always two steps ahead of us in terms of activities and bright ideas.  Celeste and I hadn't even put our luggage down on our first night before the girls pulled us into a scavenger hunt they had carefully and meticulously planned.  There was ping-pong to be played (Viv and set the WORLD record of 13 consecutive hits in a rally), dice to be rolled, and presents to be opened.  They always had a good reason to be eating candy and a ready response for the words: "Girls, it's bedtime."  I love dem girls.

The Three Amigas

The girls took to Merlin, and Merlin took to the girls.  He's come a long way from being terrified of children (true story) to being their friendly canine companion.

Present time.

Jungle Mini Golf

NomaSo didn't really do much golfing.  After the first hole she gave her ball to her mother and her putter to her father, then spent most of her time playing on the props, getting in the way of our shots, and talking to herself.

Aside from all the pre-tween girly fun, we also made time for more sophisticated activities, like when Adam and I exposed our bare, flour-white chests and jumped in the frigid ocean, or when we lingered in an Arcade for longer than people with college degrees ought.  The whole weekend was an exercise in reconnecting with the youth that we routinely bury beneath hundreds of layers of stress, responsibility, and soul-sucking appointments.  It felt good to let it all out again.  We flew kites, we rented bikes, and we ate enough sugar to make us sick.  At one point I could be seen running (maybe more like prancing) down the Virginia Beach Boardwalk, and Olivia kept calling to me, "Jack, people are looking at you!" 

What's to be embarrassed about?

Showing them how it's done.

I always thought it was tacky and somewhat inhumane when people dressed up their pets.  But that's other people.

Call Me Master: Graduation, Mayberry, and Mother's Day

It was approximately two years ago that I discovered my true calling to be an educator.  Not a temporary teacher, but a lifelong advocate for kids.  After two turbulent years in the classroom, I applied and was accepted to be a Graduate Fellow of the Northeast Leadership Academy at N.C. State University.  Through the program, I would earn my Master's of School Administration, visit schools and attend conferences across the country, and learn how to live and thrive on four hours of sleep.  Yesterday it all came to an end.

While the graduation itself was wonderful, the highlight of the week came when the two people who made me landed at the Raleigh-Durham Airport.  My parents arrived Thursday night and brought with them the love and goodwill of all our friends and family back west.  The morning after they arrived, I drove them to Mount Airy, North Carolina, the birthplace of Andy Griffith and the town which "Mayberry" was based on.  They've always been diehard fans of the Andy Griffith Show, so taking them to the place where it all began was a special treat.

Also a special treat: those socks.

Mom and dad with the original "Floyd" from the Andy Griffith Show.  Dude's 90 years old, and still cutting hair.

Sheriff Olsen, stepping in for Andy.

Yesterday was whirlwind.  After an early-morning round of golf, we high-tailed it down to Raleigh for my graduation ceremony, which I nailed.  Didn't even trip or fall off the stage (they say practice makes perfect).  Then after that we went to a reception for the NELA Fellows and their families.  I got to introduce my parents to all my professors, advisors, and classmates, who I had paid handsomely to say nice things about me.

Today, of course, was Mother's Day.  It was great to actually be with my mother on this day.  That hasn't happened for quite some time.  Can't remember the last one, actually.  My dad and I made breakfast and dinner for the ladies, gave them naps and foot rubs, and spoiled them with some of their favorite treats.  We also linked them to their families back west thanks to Skype and Google Hangout (GH is far superior, just FYI).

The journey is far from over, and as wonderful as yesterday's accomplishment was, it's just another chapter of a much larger book.  But huzzah for finishing chapters, am I right?  I mean, finishing chapters in a book is one of those subtle satisfactions in life akin to parring a hole in golf or doing a one-armed pushup. So, by that strand of reasoning, earning my master's degree is like beating Tiger Woods in a round of 18 and sculpting my chest to look like Conan the Barbarian.