September

This month was a blur, but a good blur; not the kind that leaves you worrying whether or not you'll need glasses, but the kind that you can look back on and think, that was fast, but it was mostly all great. The boy is saying new words almost every day, which is an awesome thing, minus when he calls you "sexy" as you pick him up from his Sunday School class, or when he yells "Mommy farted" while you're out in a very public place (I didn't for the record, but try telling that to the ladies who overheard him at Target and walked away snickering).  Scott's getting pretty busy at work gearing up for the Christmas Presentation, which means Christmas is almost here (shhhhh, I know...I just love this day, let it go and let me be), the air is getting cooler (which means it's in the high 80's for all of you NY'ers that like to text me about the weather I'm missing up there), and everyone is healthy. So yea...I can't complain.

Here's randomness, for the roughly 150 people a day that check this blog. I have no idea who you are, but...you like me, you really do!...?

My Grandparents Buckmaster were into music, as was their child, my dad, who would probably love to sit down with you and tell you all about the band he was in back in the day and the shows that he played when he was a rock star, ex: the opening of a local gas station. I love you dad. Rock on. His parents owned this beauty below: a record playing, 8-track supporting, radio playing beast. They used to sit and listen to their records, enjoying the days as they passed. And now, she's all mine. The sounds that she emits are so smooth with a hint of old timey grain. Scott calls it buttery. Now to shop for more records to add to our collection. The ones in the box and pictured below are all old records belonging to Scott's father. We will treasure these the most.

Look at the leg muscles on this kid. Seriously? Baby is a man-child.

We found a great waterfront (on Tampa Bay) park in Tampa. The water is a tad murky, but it does the trick when driving to the beach seems like it's to much of an ordeal.

And finally, if you text or call me and I don't respond quickly, it's because I have a friend that is motivating me to do the couch to 10k program with her. We've begun. I am tired. That is all.

Friday the 13th

My fears in this life are small. They are also almost all irrational. For example, I fear drowning while trapped inside of a car that has just careened off of a collapsed bridge. Lengthy. Aware. But come on, picture it: The windows won't roll down. Your seat belt wont unlatch. Your car is filling with water and a fish is now sitting on your shoulder, sent there perhaps by your worst enemy to watch you die. This can happen. I also fear being buried alive. This can also happen as was proven to me while I was in college and my favorite actress was buried alive on Days of our Lives as part of her plot line. Oh beautiful Carly, I'm so glad that Vivian confessed right as you were running out of air down there. But for the fear that is now within me due to this? Yea. Curses on you, Days writers. When I die, someone please remember that this fear is very real within me, it can happen, and please, please check and recheck me before placing me underground. Throw a cell phone in there too with me just in case you didn't check me hard enough. Make sure it's turned off so that the battery lasts until I might need it. I need to be able to call for help, you can understand all this I'm sure. Thanks so much. Lastly, I fear...elevators. Yep. I know. I lived in NYC for 7 years. A place where no less than 4 elevator rides per day are the norm for every single commuter/resident within the boroughs boundaries. My average rides per weekday? 8. I hated every single one of them. The song "Sweet Disposition" by Temper Trap was my saving grace and was played constantly on these rides as it always calmed me down. Not sure why, so please don't bother asking. 

These fears have all yet to come to fruition in my life, until today, this blasted day of Friday the 13th.

I didn't come face to face with a hateful fish, nor did I lay in my coffin dialing 911. Instead, I had a lovely little morning downtown with a nice cup of coffee and a good friend. My tan deepened. I laughed. And then, I got into the elevator of the parking garage and pressed my floor, all smiley and happy go lucky. The elevator moved up. Then. It stopped. It went dark. I was alone, without my song. It was hot, the air was thin, I lost my shiz. You hear me? Lost. It. I admit it. Long story short, no one heard the emergency bell being rung incessantly for the first ten minutes of my capture. I rang it no less than 250 times. Thankfully, a young mother eventually heard my screams. Twenty minutes later, I was free. My face was caked in mascara and tears, and yes, I was still made to pay my parking garage fee of $4. Downtown, we may need to break up, your workers have no hearts. Oh. Just to lay all of my cards out there...I may have also called my husband to announce that I was stuck and might die. These last words. They needed to be said. It's understandable. I'm not dramatic, I'm just responsible and knew that this is what people did before they met their Maker.

I'm home. I'm going to go lay down now. My husband is doing his best not to laugh at me and will be taking me out for a nice dinner shortly. You may have taken a gallon of tears from me today, Friday the 13th, but you won't take my spirit or my appetite for good southern ribs.

Advice from a two and a 1/2 year old

Tips. We all need them. Here are mine, do as you will.

Concerning Vegetables: No. Amiright? Here's what to do:

Step 1) Flat. Out. Refuse. Close your eyes, turn your head.

Step 2) Drink juice. For ten straight minutes.

Step 3) Block the gates.

 

 Step 4) Pretend to  be a tiger. Tigers roar and most definitely do not eat vegetables.

Step 5) If the spoon is still there, give in because the feeder has earned it. But after this bite, go back to Step 1 and repeat until you triumph.

Concerning Chores: Again. Nope.

Steps 1-10) Put a car in it.

Concerning the P word....Potty: 

Look at that presentation. Still....not gonna happen. Bless your heart for this display of effort though, parent.

Steps 1-10: Put a car in it.

Concerning the S word....Shopping: 

If new toys are not to be involved and this trip is solely for your selfish parent, might I suggest you finally cave in and take that nap? Find an aisle. Lay down in it. Let your body become like a heavy, heavy noodle. One that is impossible to move or to make stand. JOB. DONE.

Toddler friends, you're all welcome. Stay strong out there.

Labor'ing

Labor Day weekend + a work-free Scott = Mini vacation to Saint Petersburg Beach for a few days. I'm not mad about this.

Here's our view, and a kid checking it all out from his front row seat:

My boy and I ran up and down the beach all evening one night, his blond curls lifting up into the air and falling down around his face with every heavy toddler step he took. The attention we (fine....he) received from everyone nearby gave me all of the validation I need to now make this an official fact, not an opinion: My kid is cute. He's also faster than me, and can run almost as long as I can before tiring. Can I get an athletic scholarship say what?! Here are some calmer beach shots from the daytime, as my phone was not on me during our evening workout.

"OHHHH, hey little blond girl." After this girl was spotted, I couldn't get my boy to even look in my general direction for almost an hour. UH. OH.

One of my favorites. Daddy Scott and his boy, headed out to the sandbar.

Sunset. No fish; the only things we caught were pictures. 

Saturday morning we awoke to a pretty heavy rain storm, leaving us stuck lying around being lazy. However, after the storm, this sprung up. Dang. God is good. I have a thing for rainbows-they remind me strongly of promises and new beginnings. And, they're really pretty.

The hotel had two pools to show off our fierceness in. You're welcome, guests of the Alden Suites Beach Resort.

One more sunset. 

Now, back to reality. Meaning, time to go to Publix.