Mt. Desert Rock, or "Our Triumph"

I normally stick to all things Frances on this blog, but when I asked Mark if I should include our sail to Mt. Desert Rock, he replied, "Of course!  It's our triumph!"  So here's our triumph.

My dad, affectionately known as "Sir" of late, got a bee in his bonnet to sail to Mt. Desert Rock.  Mt. Desert Rock is, shockingly, a rock off the coast of Mt. Desert Island.  So Mark and I signed on, once again abandoning Frances to Mimi's care so we could go sailing.  The three of us headed out at about 7:30 a.m.  Around 11 a.m., we arrived at Mt. Desert Rock, like so: 

"Inhospitable" sums it up well.  The surf was so rough, you wouldn't land there unless getting on shore was more important to you than ever sailing your boat again.  And even from a great distance, the place reeked of dead fish.  Maybe because of all the seals hanging around?  I had fun imagining what a bachelor lighthouse keeper would say to a potential wife to lure her in.  Something like "It's only bone-chillingly cold nine months of the year!  And you'll never have to weed or worry about pesky trick-or-treaters."

So, why a triumph?  Well, Sir didn't fall off the boat, despite challenging seas.  Mark wasn't too seasick and I wasn't seasick for long.  We didn't see the whales we were hoping for, but now we can say we've seen Mt. Desert Rock.  Jealous, aren't you?

Good Ol' Beech Mountain

A lot of this vacation was spent walking Mimi and Sir's latest canine acquisitions, which was great because it got us up and moving on a very regular basis.  One afternoon, we scampered up Beech Mountain.  Keeping the group together proved a little difficult, what with a two year-old doing her dawdling two year-old thing.  Mark carried her most of the way and Frances didn't even complain.  Here's Mark and Frances on the trail. I think she's going to be a tall girl.

One Morning in Maine

I had this lovely idea: I would take a picture of Frances every hour, on the hour, for a day in Maine.  It would be a nice introduction to life in Sawyer's Cove for all you future visitors.  It might even make a nice book.  

Let's examine the results of this little project.

6:30-ish a.m. - I know I said I'd do it every hour, on the hour, but she wasn't awake on the hour, so there you go.  Here's Frances, waiting for breakfast and avoiding Mimi and Sir's new, enthusiastic dogs by sitting on the counter.

7:30-ish - It doesn't appear we've made much progress, but notice that Frances is dressed.  Mimi will be soon, I'm sure.

8:30-ish - Mark, being a trooper, took Frances outside while the rest of us got organized.  The two of them found a fascinating caterpillar.  It's hard to tell from this photo, but the caterpillar had great spikes.  We thought it was a real find.  It became less exciting as we found more and more identical caterpillars, but at 8:30-ish in the morning it was pretty good.   

9:30-ish - Forgot to take the camera to the grocery store with us.

10:30-ish - I did take a photo of Frances getting into the car at the grocery store, but it was a very awkward photo, so we're going to skip it.

11:30-ish - Frances eats a nutritious lunch of mini pepperoni and apples, emphasis on the pepperoni. 

12:30-ish - Frances takes a nap.  No photo.

1:30-ish - Mark and I abandon Frances and this project so we can go sailing.  End of project.

So there you have it!  Instead of A Day in Maine, you get One Morning in Maine, and it's not very tempting, I know.  I promise any potential visitors that we try harder when we've got guests.  You will not be dragged to the grocery store, for instance.

I think I'll try this project again when all the cousins are in Maine.  Surely someone will be doing something photogenic every hour, on the hour.  Surely.

You know you're in Maine when...

...there's a giant fiberglass moose at the rest stop.

(Maybe they've got them in Canada, too.  Wait a minute while I ask Mark...Yes, apparently, they have giant fiberglass moose at rest stops in Canada, too, but Maine is cold enough for me, so we'll stick with that.  Back to the official post.)

We made the trek back up to Maine, this time with Mark included.  Much of the familiar antics ensued.  Pictures to follow, with highlights like "One Morning in Maine" and "How to raise a WASP."  Stay tuned.

Thirty-Four Months of Preschooler Frances

Mark won't be pleased with my picture choice, but here's preschooler Frances at thirty-four months, helping her dad polish his shoes...on our bed.  I'd say we're even.

Scrub away, dear Frances!

This month overall has been much better than last for all of us.  The low moment was very low, but it allowed me to use skills I learned while working at a residential treatment facility for teens with emotional and behavioral disorders, so there's a plus! Sadly, I think things are getting easier because we are giving up on our old normal ever coming back to us, but at least that frees us up to find a new normal, whatever that may be.

Thirty-Four Month Fun Facts

• Frances-isms: "On your markers, get set, go!"  "I want carry you" means "Pick me up." Flamingos are "mangoes." When asked, "Frances what does it smell/taste/feel like?"  the answer is always "Play-dough." The letter L is not her friend, but it means we get "yook" for "look," and "I yove you" for "I love you."  I'll take it.
• Food Wars:  A solid two-thirds of Frances's meals this month have consisted of ice cream and "crunchy noodles," what the rest of us call raw Ramen noodles.  Early on, I decided not to fight it.  I followed the mom's example in Bread and Jam for Frances: feed the kid what they want until they're sick of it.  The strategy worked reasonably well.  Towards the end of the month, Frances stopped asking for ice cream and crunchy noodles and hasn't looked back since.  On the other hand, the other day I was eating a turkey sandwich with mayonnaise, Dijon, lettuce, pickles, tomatoes and pickled banana peppers (I take my sandwiches seriously), and Frances not only took a bite, she kept coming back for more.  It was glorious.
• Things I never thought I'd say on the T before having a two year-old: "No, don't lick the window."
• Favorite reads: Bye-Bye, Big Bad Bully Bug, by Ed Emberley: it's about an alien bug bothering little Earthling bugs and it scares Frances silly, but she loves it.  Bink and Gollie, by Kate DiCamillo and Alison McGhee, about a tall, tidy girl who lives in a modern home at the top of a tree and a short, messy girl who lives in a cottage at the bottom of the tree.  They're best friends.  It's possible I love this one more than Frances does, but I want to remember it forever, so it's going on the blog.
• New skill: Frances can now open doors for herself.  This, of course, is a tragedy.  We were hoping she wouldn't develop this talent until sometime around leaving for college.  Time outs have gotten more interesting.  There have been a few very early morning visits from dear heart.  And I'm sure my visiting cousins didn't mind that I was showering with the door open, after a little help from our friend.

We really will be at three years before we know it.  Get out your party hats!

Come, Labor On

(The title is for you, Josh, in case that isn't clear.)

When we have free time, we like to pick a town almost at random, visit chosen town, wander, eat lunch, shop a tiny bit and head for home.  We always intend to include an activity that will earn us Immortal Soul Points.  We never do.  This Labor Day, the chosen town was Portsmouth, New Hampshire, which turned out to be perfect for our purposes.  Frances hadn't read the weather report (cold), so she chose this lovely flamenco dress (we have three such dresses, should you be in need).

After lunch and wandering, we found ourselves in a park where Frances put on a ballet show for us.  Our definition of "ballet" is fairly loose.

Then we took ourselves to some nearby outlet malls.  Unfortunately, the rest of humanity had the same idea, but at least Frances had some new and appropriate shoes to start the school year on Tuesday.  One cannot "Come, Labor On" in inappropriate shoes, for heaven's sake.

Out and About

In my last post, I talked about Frances being an urban girl, more comfortable on the T than on a tractor, but we do try to get out when we can.  We live in a pretty good area for it.   A sampling of our rambling follows.

A couple Fridays ago, Frances and I took ourselves to the Garden in the Woods, in North Framingham, MA.  Another Free Friday activity!  This is how they describe their project: "New England Wild Flower Society's Garden in the Woods offers an unequalled educational experience regarding native New England flora, including over 100 rare and endangered species."  

Frances just thought it was a great place to dance.

Then, realizing that the season is almost over, we headed out to Ward's Berry Farm for some blueberry picking.  Mom picked, Frances threw stones and Dad took photos.

Finally, we headed to Drumlin Farm, a wildlife sanctuary where guests can "experience life on a working New England farm."  The day of our visit, the kids were invited to build fairy homes.  I'm not sure what that's got to do with experiencing life on a working New England farm, unless they grow fairies on New England farms, but Mark and Frances were fans.  Frances's fairy home may have resembled a pile of  bark, but I'm sure some previously homeless fairy family out there was thankful.

After the fairy home construction, Frances got the hay ride she'd been begging for.  She was a happy camper.

"Smile for the camera, dad!"

We finished the day working on our tractor-driving skills.  Maybe Frances won't be so out of place on a tractor after all.