Wonderful Bald Head

A couple of years ago, Celeste and I visited Bald Head Island over Thanksgiving break.  We didn't stay long, but long enough to fall in love and wet our appetites.  Maybe it was the charming seclusion of the island, about a mile southeast of North Carolina's southern coast.  Perhaps it was the unique ordinance banning automobiles, leaving golf carts and bicycles as the only legal wheeled forms of transportation.  Or maybe it was the fact that that we were on the beach at Thanksgiving.  Whatever it was, something about the island cast a spell over us that day, intoxicating our senses like freshly baked bread, leaving us wanting more.

Two years later, this Memorial Day weekend, we returned, and we brought others with us to share the magic.  Holly and Adam had just moved with their girls to Connecticut.  Then we learned that Kristen and Marshall were going to be in D.C. for the summer.  Then, figuring it was an Olsen/Kidd family tradition to be together on Memorial Day, we invited my cousin Daniel Kidd down for the weekend as well.  And don't forget the kids: Viv, Rooster, NomaSo, Liza-Loo, and Pedro.

At Cookout the night before.  Bringing visitors here is now a staple of our hosting routine.

At the Deep Point Marina, just moments before boarding the ferry to the island.

After arriving at the island, we received curb-to-curb transportation via this golf-cart tram taking us to our beach house.

We rented a beautiful beach house on the southern shore of the island.  Upon entering the house, Eliza, 6, who tends to wax eloquent, proclaimed "This is really quite the place."  Viv, 6, agreed by saying "Yeah, this is like a rich house."  Then they ran up to the third floor where the kids room waited for them with bunk beds, books, legos, and a view of the ocean.

Our front door a stone's throw from the beach.  Surrounded by conch shells and palm trees, clear skies and perfect weather, it was impossible for us not to have a good time.  We spent a lot of our time on the sand and in the water, jogging, building sandcastles, trying to surf, or just soaking up the sun.  The kids got to see some wildlife up close, too, including crabs, jellyfish, and dolphins.

Little NomaSo takes a turn driving one of our golf carts.  We had two for the weekend, but they called this one "Speedy Gonzalez" because it was faster than the other.  Pedro's favorite thing was to ride in this cart, and with the wind blowing in his face, yell "We're Speedy Gonzalezes!"

I used to hate taking naps (ages 4-24).  Now, after three years in the trenches of the Education Battle, I can't help myself.  I'm in a perpetual state of exhaustion.  It's getting tired in here...

It was great to be around the kids.  We've missed them so much, only getting to see them about once or twice a year.  They were equally excited to see us, and it seemed for a while there as though there was a powerful magnet between their arms and my neck.  They also got a kick out of how publicly affectionate Celeste and I are.  One time we were seen giving each other a kiss in the kitchen.  Ruby and Eliza were witnesses, and asked, "Are you guys having love time?"  I then dipped Celeste for a dramatic kiss, sending the girls running and screaming, threatening to put us in jail.

The happiest couple God ever joined.

Three chilluns and the endless sea.

Little Pedro, still able to run "a hundred fast."

Now that's a Bald Head. (Word play!)

Momento precioso.  I gotta say, Sonoma has transformed her personality dramatically in the last few months.  When I saw her in Utah for Josie's wedding just a few months ago, she was cold, calculated, and clingy.  Now she talks with radiance and verve, and she LOVES her Uncle Jack :)

Treasure seekers, marine conservationists.

Rooster posing like a pro in front of Old Baldy, the island's lighthouse.

"Uncle Daniel" with NomaSo inside the lighthouse.  She's clearly loving it.

Hammin' it up!

Love this pic.  Holly always seems to be suspicious of my motives.  Perhaps as a result of a lifetime of  sneaking up behind her and squeezing her kidneys till she screams.  Kris is clearly cool with my work.

Awwww...

Love this guy.  We ran six miles together with Daniel.  Pretty sure I came in first, guys.

Les and Noma

Thompson Family, Memorial Day 2012

Smith Family, Memorial Day 2012

It was equally enjoyable being with siblings and family.  We've been the lone wolves out here on the east coast for a while, and it's nice to have some company.  We plan to see Holly and Adam again this summer, I just got home from a weekend in New York with Daniel, and in two weeks, we've got Celeste's sister Bonnie coming down (she and her husband are also in D.C. for the summer).

Lone wolves no more (for now), we were very happy hosts.  It was an incredible weekend.  But, like so many weekends, it was just a little too short.

The girls opened an Ocean Marine Museum on our front porch.  Then it turned into a store, and they started selling their goods for reaonsable prices.  Dimes, nickels, pennies, whatever we had.  When people ran out of money, they started selling their treasures "for free or candy."

Saleswomen at work.

We found a few of these on the beach, and learned that they're called a "Mermaid's Purse."  They look cool, yes, but they also hold shark and ray eggs at some point.  Pretty sure this purse was empty.

Remembering the Mother's Day of My Childhood

Mom & Dad

Celeste and I were recently reminiscing about our mothers because of Mother's Day, and while positive memories dominated the conversation, there was a point where I came clean: for me, Mother's Day played host to some of my most bitter and terrifying childhood memories.

Back me up on this, siblings.

I don't think God intended for it to be this way.  I mean, Mother's Day is planted squarely in the middle of Springtime, when birds fill the air with their birdsongs, and the sun's rays beam down upon the earth to illuminate its splendiferous glory.  And yet, as children, that day seemed to bring only storms, and tears from heaven and ours swollen eyes.  Why, you ask?  Why such gloom on what was meant to be such a joyous occasion?

My dad.  That's why.

Some of you are shocked, I'm sure, to learn that Herm-daddy could be the bringer of such bad omens and the conjurer of such painful childhood memories, but it's true.  He did.  And to his credit, he did it for all the right reasons.

See, in my father's head, he reasoned that Mother's Day had to be absolutely perfect.  To honor his beloved wife, every crumb would be swept, every meal would be perfectly prepared, and every task would be executed without my mother having to lift a finger.  What a model dad.  Truly.  He really knew how to take care of my mother.  The only problem is that for the kids, it meant a milder form of slavery for a day.

I've tried to block out the worst events, but I remember distinctly waking up on Mother's Days to violent shaking at my father's hands before dawn (it's a miracle I never suffered a heart attack) to do something ridiculous like churn butter or beat the dust out of our family's collection of rugs, all while Jedadiah (Clay) and Rosemary (Josie) ground the corn for fresh biscuits and polished the silver.  At least that's what it felt like.  Honest to goodness, I remember Herm asking me to vacuum the house one year.  That's not something we did on Sunday's in our family, and what makes it even more ridiculous, is that it WAS something we did on Saturdays, just a mere 24 hours earlier.

Dad meanwhile oversaw all of the day's operations from the kitchen, where he ruled with his iron fist while meticulously cooking a stew overburdened by potatoes and seasoning salt.  He also would be franticly mixing and baking his signature dessert: a Betty Crocker cake.  As a general rule, we kids stayed out of the kitchen and out of his way at all costs.  As a general rule, we kids didn't talk.

Meanwhile, mom would wake up to breakfast in bed, which we would deliver to her after we had covered our bruises with skin-toned makeup.  She would say sweet things to us and praise us while our father stood by.  Then there was church and dinner (supper, as dad called it), then visits to grandparents.  We weren't allowed outside.  We weren't allowed to have fun.  We weren't allowed to make mistakes.  Perfection at every turn.  No fighting or arguing (which we had grown to be rather good at).  It made for one of the longest days of the year, filled with motherly compliments and fatherly glares that could make you pee a little bit if you weren't vigilantly defending.  We avoided the glares as much as we could, and accepted the motherly compliments with smiles and nods, but secretly wished beyond anything to return to our bedrooms and hide in our dark closets until Monday came.

So here's to Mother's Day: a day to honor the sacred vessels that brought us into the world, the angels that nurtured and protected us from our very first moments on earth.  And here's to fathers, who may not have employed the best methods, but proved beyond question their undying and unflinching love and loyalty to such angels.

Cheers.

Spring Breezy in Myrtle Beazy

Myrtle Beach sunrise

Spring Break couldn't have come at a better time. That long stretch of no days off from New Year's to April is always a bruiser, and this year was no exception.

While last year's Spring Break took us to the exotic Dominican Republic, this year's budget and time availability were a little tighter. So instead we went to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. Here's some things you should know about Myrtle Beach:

1. It's the "Mini-golf capital of the world" - over fifty 36-hole courses

2. It's technically a man-made island

3. Jackson served there briefly on his mission

4. It's home to two of the biggest motorcycle rallies in the country

5. It's the hometown of Vanna White.

Hard Rock Pyramid

For you Simpsons fans out there.

"I'm sorry, I believe I ordered the large cappuccino."

Sky Wheel at the Boardwalk.

Skeeball at the Boardwalk. All those tickets bought us some delicious bubble gum.

Myrtle Beach was a good time. We went with our friends Casey and Brent Meyer (who, you may remember, got married on the beach last year and we were there in attendance). We rented mopeds, cruised Ocean Blvd., soaked up the nightlife at Jimmy Buffet's Margaritaville, and partook of the most incredible mini-golfing known to man (fire-breathing dragons and such).

Brent and Casey

Just missing the leather chaps and a tattoo that says "Exonerated".

Clearly I wanted a bigger, manlier bike.

At Dragon's Lair Mini-Golf Castle

In honor of Brooks Britt, Dinosaur Ph.D.

It was a little crazy because lots of public schools in the area were on Spring Break as well, which made for a deluge of moronic, hormone-driven and scantily-clad teenagers who would prowl the streets and beach by night looking for a fellow idiot to breed with. Where are the parents these days??? I know that when we went on vacation, we were normally on leashes with strong, plastic buckles - no messin' around with those things. And even if we were let off our leash (which did happen from time to time), we mostly went around trying to fill our fanny packs with as many stupid souvenirs as we possibly could. I feel like an old man saying it, but what the heck is wrong with kids these days!!!

Other than that, it was a great trip. The beach was beautiful, the company was great, and Myrtle Beach is just one big party. Now back to work, everyone. School starts tomorrow.

Student-Faculty Basketball Showdown

Last year I had the idea of replicating one of my favorite memories from middle school: the Student-Faculty basketball game. At Mount Logan Middle School, it was the crown jewel of student incentive activities, and I thought it'd be cool to bring some of that magic to Henderson Middle School. But last year, my principal said no, even when I volunteered to coordinate and organize the entire thing. This year, my principal is so desperate for anything to "work" that he said, "Sure. What the hell."

I didn't realize beforehand how much work would actually be required to pull this thing off successfully. It was like taking a part-time job on top of teaching, grad school homework, and coaching baseball. There were teams to form, permissions to acquire, concessions to coordinate, and a school-wide eligibility tracker to be implemented. But I went forward with it anyway, sure that it would provide a little shimmer of hope and happiness into what has otherwise been a very dark and gloomy school year.

The day finally came. The student team was assembled. The teacher squad was two-deep. We had the pep band playing in the corner of the gym, and the cheerleaders "doin' they thang" as they say. The referee jumped the ball at center court, and the game was underway.

Mr. Boone looking official!

Ms. Padgett in traffic!

One of my former football players, Larontae, trying to get past the defenders...

Then he ran into this. Boom.

Luckily for me, the kids were pretty terrible.

I say "luckily" because, in the days and weeks leading up to the big game, I had done a lion's share of trash-talking to my kids. I couldn't help myself. I told them I'd be breaking their ankles left and right. I even guaranteed them a Faculty win several times, but they just wouldn't believe me. I don't think they could wrap their brains around young, hip black kids getting schooled by a dorky white teacher with glasses, but that's exactly what happened. Some students even wrote me notes on the day of the game, urging me to have my ankles wrapped tightly and an ambulance close by so I could be easily retrieved.

The 8th grade boys made a good run at the end of the game to bring it within 16 points, but by then it was over. Final score: Students 45, Faculty 61.

It was the most fun I've had as a teacher in 3 years at HMS. And now, thanks to some strategic gambling, my students owe me brownies.

The Cooper River Bridge Run 2012

Over the last school year, Jackson and I have been stuck in a routine. Work during the week. Work on the weekends. Crash when we can. We decided that we needed to spice things up. A few months ago, Jackson got a wild hair and decided we needed a goal and signed us up for The Cooper River Bridge Run - a historic 10K race in downtown Charleston. We began training and started to look forward to our trip. Our training was quickly replaced by our routine (see above), and before we knew it the race was upon us.

While we were not quite as well trained as we originally planned we had a fabulous weekend. We drove down on Friday afternoon and picked up our registration garb at a huge convention center. Over 43,000 people registered for the race and it was invigorating to be surrounded by the buzz and activity of a major event.

We stayed with some friends from Jackson's mission and woke up at 4:00 am the next day. We were on a transportation bus by 5:30 that took us over the bridge that we were soon to run across. The race was supposed to start by 8:00 am, but it was delayed and we waited around for until 9:00, observing as the area became overwhelmed with mobs of eager racers.

Waiting for the race before dawn

At the starting line, long before the gun was fired

Did I mention there were over 43,000 racers???

Waiting in line for the port-a-potty before the race

The crowd grew restless as the start time came and went...

Yep. Still in line.

Jackson, in the pre-race zone

A view from the bridge

Did I mention the run up the bridge was over a mile long?

Jack and I at the end of the race

Needless to say, we were pretty wiped out after the race. We crashed for a few hours and then spend some time visiting some of Jackson's old hotspots from the mission. The trip was relaxing and fulfilling and a welcome break to the monotony of our daily routine. We've already started to talk about doing the race next year. Let me know if you are interested in joining us!