Fresh tomatoes from the produce stand down on Highway 12 are yummy on fried baloney sandwhiches (with white bread, of course).



Camden convinced me to follow him out about 30 feet into the ocean to the sandbar. Once there, I could easily stand and wait for the waves to take me away. I could not find any shells out here, though.



Fiona all dressed up for the beach ~ yes, my husband has named his truck.



Waters were crystal clear today ~ we could see baby fish every now and again!



Back "home" on the deck, sitting a spell while finishing Scarlett. If I had to sum up this book, the sequel to Gone With The Wind, I'd say Scarlett grows up.

We endured this...

to get to this.

We traveled for 8 hours yesterday from the Land of High Taxes to the grand Commonwealth of Virginia, stopping in a little town that claims to be near the Mason Dixon Line. The sign also said it was the beginning of The South. Having lived among the Blues for nearly 2 years and the Grays for most of 40, I'll buy that.

Let me tell you about our experience in the Hampton Inn last night. We've never spent a sleepless night in a Hampton Inn, being all ga-ga over their bedding, their bathroom vanities, the free breakfast and travel points Curt earns. But last night, we were sleepless. I was downright mad as a hornet. I swear, a circus of acrobats was staying on the floor above us. The stomp stomp stomping went on for half the night. I read read read for part of that half and tried to sleep sleep sleep for the other. When I finally did drift off, I had mad dreams thanks to Scarlett and her adventures in Ireland. She was pregnant last night, then (spoiler alert) she had a baby girl. I found myself thinking I was preggars. Um, no. Ach. So, by the time I woke this morning at 7:30, I was still exhausted, what with having childbirth by knife and all.

Thank goodness Scarlett has recovered from that experience.

So, we hit the road today, heading through the Chesapeake Bay Bridge/Tunnels, and got stuck in traffic for a good 90 minutes at least. By the time we arrived at OBX, we were ready to eat our elbows. Last year we came here over Roanoke Island and didn't sit for even a minute. You can bet what Rhett's - um, Curt's - looking for on Google Maps tonight.

At any rate, we arrived. We. ARRIVED.

And check this out - some wild people dug a huge hole in the sand today. They took the treasure, apparently, but the boys didn't notice. They took turns diving into the hole and climbing out, all Army style. They're so awesome.

But mostly, they body surfed. Camden was just so amazing, the way he took care of Benjy, keeping him nearby, playing with him, actually having a blast with his sometimes-pesty younger brother.



Fearless is what they are. That makes me nervous. But I'm glad they're living. LIVING, not sitting and watching the life. That's for me. Well, I live in my books, but I do enjoy watching life. Life is good like that.

Pidjun wants to to go to beach, meet seagull girls, flock together.

Complete randomness today, which is fitting seeing as how my blog here is called {at random}.

First, I am wide awake here at 6:44 a.m. Have been since around 4:00. But I didn't give in and rise till 6. I might be up, but you can't make me shine.

We leave for Hatteras Island tomorrow. At 6:00. In the morning. You wait, I'll be a zombie tomorrow. Why can't we be leaving today when I'm UP already??? I have a boat load of stuff to do before we leave: pack, clean carpets upstairs (thank you Emmalemmalimabean), make the bed in the guest room for Curt's ma and pa who are house and dog and kitty sitting for us, make the guest room pretty and bed and breakfasty, get my hairs cut (all of them, not just one), give two entrance tests at school, go to our home fellowship group tonight, and I know I'm forgetting something. Oh yeah, I must work in a nap.

And do laundry.



Here's my tribute to Hatteras Island - the PERFECT conch shell I found last year on The Point.

Pidjun's tummy empty. Pidjun needs cookies.

Did you hear the great news?
Mo Willems newest Pigeon book comes out in the spring!!!

But before I tackle all those aforementioned things (or fall asleep), I need to tell you about something. Shoes. Mrs. Tabb over at First Grade Awesomeness, and it is packed with awesomeness, has written another of her fabulous units for primary youngins. This one is about SHOES!


Now, I confess, I'm not a shoe freak. I put on my flip flops and I'm set. I shop on the clearance rack and get lucky sometimes. Shoes are something I have to endure, except in karate, where my toes are free to curl and stretch at will. But, I digress.

Shoes ARE the bomb to KIDS! Especially in my school where we wear uniforms and although we have shoe rules, we can take a few liberties there, and kids do. So, this unit is gonna knock their socks off! Best of all, Mrs. Tabb is giving away the unit to folks who blog about it! Ohhh, I want this unit! I want my kids to come in and point to their feet and twinkle their eyes and flash those toothy-gapped smiles. I want to celebrate our shoes!!!

Pidjun needs a new pair of shews.

You should have seen this thing when I picked it up for 2 bucks last week. It literally was an ugly duckling. Did I take a before pic? No. It was that ugly.

It's official. Curt and I are brand spankin' new white belts at the karate school where Camden and Benjy have been working out. We go from the top down, we like to say. Curt's white. Camden's white. I'm white. And we even dance white. Benjy's yellow. He outranks us, and he's not the least bit humble about it.



Here we are with our favorite taekwondo teachers, the Dresklers. We miss their American Taekwondo Association, their easy-going-ness, their ma'ams and sirs and Bob and weapons. We miss that their ATA was in the same town as Chick Fil A, and that if we wanted, we could slur it all together to say Chick Fil A T A.




Camden became a black belt the very week we moved to Connecticut, where there is no Chick Fil A T A.

That was a special night when Black Belt Curt (dang, I wish his name was Bart) got to hug his own son, Black Belt Camden.




Benjy became a camo belt that week. His own brother congratulated him.



I became a red belt, one dingdang belt to go to black. It's an entire year from red to black, but it's quicker than going from white to red, which I had just done.

So we've started from scratch with a new martial art. The Dresklers aren't there, and we do miss them. I wonder if martial arts are like boy friends. The first one and all that.... We don't kick as much in karate, but we do kick. We punch a mean streak, though, and we still yell and carry on. We do push-ups. Well, they do push-ups. I do wimp-ups. And, one day, when we're not so brand new, we'll spar. And that's when I'm gonna pull this out of my arsenal and knock them all on their Yankee bottoms.

This is one of my favorite pictures snapped of our last trip to Hatteras Island. It's what I think of every time I picture myself back there. Time seems to stop for 7 days every summer on the Outer Banks, and we're blessed to spend those 168 hours. Yes, we're blessed.

So, we'll be there a week from today in our rented home for the week, traipsing back and forth from our door to the beach whenever we want. In the daylight. Last year Curt and I took a stroll at dusk, and found ourselves walking the Atlantic in the dark, completely unsure of which steps over the dunes were ours. Oh, exhilarating, yes, but slightly unnerving, too. They don't put streetlights on the beach, ya know. On account of the turtles and all. I love turtles.



Camden wiped out so many times riding the waves last year that he would up with swimmer's ear and a trip to the island doc. Sounds like a voodoo kinda thing, but they did take our insurance and extract a nasty bit of wax from his ear canal before loading it with antibiotic drops. He had to spend a majority of the week out of the water. It killed me as much as him, I do believe.

Don't you just love our set-up here? This is what we do when we don't traipse to the beach near the house. This is four-wheelin' it, people. We load up the truck, drive to the Point, and make our shelter like everybody else there. We've perfected our beach layout over the years since Jack and Lois introduced us to this amazing paradise. Cheers to Jack and Lois.


So, in a week, we get to pass this marvel of architecture every time we hit the Highway 12. We look for this, that's how lame we are being Connecticutians and all. It's actually one of a very few Futuro houses left in the US. Yes, we're proud to have passed it on Highway 12.


I sure do hope Camden can splash in the surf this year. Ride the waves. Dive for conch shells. Did you know that a couple of years ago, the conch shells were there for the taking? I could feel them with my feet in the 4-5-foot ocean, then Camden would dive to retrieve. He's always been a good retriever.

Which reminds me, if we ever get another Lab mutt dog, we're gonna name it OB. Short for Outer Banks. Jack and Lois always loved our Lab, Ellie.



RIP Ellie, Eleanor of the Sea.

Not only did Camden and I get our eyes dilated to the size of Jupiter's moons, but he also got glasses today! They're a gorgeous blue wire that matches his amazing, piercing eyes. Here he is with his pupils fixed and not dilated. Isn't he just the handsomest thing? Well, of course, I'm not talking about the hair. The hair is hopeless. But I still love him.



It's been such a lovely day here, almost fall-like with low humidity (and still, that hair???). I almost went to school this morning to give an entrance test to a new first grader, but she was a no-show. The boys were delighted. Truthfully, it was nice to stay home.



So, we were driving back from the eye doctor, all wide-eyed and dilated, when the sun visor fell off my van! Just fell plumb into my lap, I tell you! Shocking! Of course it happened on this drive when my pupils allowed the maximum UV rays into my eyeballs and my dingdang sunglasses weren't shady enough. I made it home, said a prayer, and disappeared into my darkened room to recover. Naturally, I fell asleep. I had dreams. Dreams of Jupiter.

We're in the midst of a home fellowship with some other folks from our church (called "small groups" in some circles) on Dave Ramsey's Financial Peace University. We're learning how to "live like no one else so that later we can live like no one else." And basically, it's working. (Yeah, we did this when we lived near Pittsburgh at our church there, and we loved it then. Curt is leading this group now, so we like to think we're graduates. Our budget says otherwise.)

The idea is to budget, drop debt, save, and then be able to spend and give. This is great on paper. It works beautifully. A little harder when Target is your nearest neighbor. Nevertheless, we're pressing on. One thing I've learned is that if I spend cash only, I spend less. Significantly less. It hurts to pay with cash. I didn't realize how much I loved my little green friends, horded them in my wallet, all organized smallest to largest which isn't very large and front-to-back the way greenbacks should be. I don't want to part with these guys. And did you ever notice how they're all guys?



So, we're on budget lockdown here at Casa de Emmalemmalimabean.

obligatory picture of Emmalemmalimebean

Which means I am very choosey about what I can buy for my 2nd grade classroom.

Drat.

I love to buy stuff for my 2nd grade classroom. I really can only afford the 1-cent deals from Staples, but I have to pay $3.94 a gallon for gas to drive to the nearest store to get them, so they're not really such a big deal now, huh?

$3.94 - $.01

Not even extreme couponing can touch this. Of course, however, I have to drive to the same town where Staples is located to pick up Camden's glasses - yes, he's blind as a bat like the rest of us here at Casa de Emma-who-has-cataracts-lemmalimabean - tomorrow. So perhaps the cost differential isn't so bad. You didn't know I knew such terms, huh?



Finally, because this book was a freebie, borrowed from a friend who has a house at a beach, a real live beach that is here in tax-rich Connecticut, complete with sunshiney rocky shores and a splendid view of a nuclear power plant off-shore, I am convinced I am a Southern Lady and I must practice my Southern charms. So I deferred to this sequel to Margaret Mitchell's original GWTW. I am deep into it. I am breathing the South. I am living the life, hearing the words, feeling the humidity, seeing the Spanish moss drape over trees that have never known such beauty. I am wishing Rhett and Scarlett would just give up their stubbornness and be happy already!

I am not ready to fight the Civil War again, however. Scarlett herself is tired of the war. I am, too. Having grown up with a Rebel flag in the back seat of a good portion of my high school senior class, not that I was in the back seat of said portion, I can see that the South as it was will never be again. I for one will not miss hoop skirts and chaperones to Target. I, however, could use a carriage to take me to the bank so that I can exchange my gold for cash to buy something nice for myself.

See these monkeys? They totally got married on our field trip to the zoo before summer vacation. This reminds me of a story. Remember when my 2nd graders were trapped indoors for recess over a long New England winter?

After a long New England winter of indoor recess, a few of my kids began to play this make-believe soap opera (for lack of a better term). There was a husband, a wife, and a slew of naughty children. There was also a wizard. He struck one of the children with his magic wand and turned her into a cat. The next day, as I was working at my desk, the soap opera continued around me. I heard strange noises that sounded like a sick, deranged animal. Turns out, the cat child was having kittens in the corner. From that day on, the naughty children were kittens and the husband/wife team took them for walks using the chain links from the math tubs.


Benjy was not a kitten nor a cat. He was not even the wizard. He was just Benjy. May he always just be Benjy. And plus also, too, how will I teach without him next year? I had to promote him to 3rd grade. He's smart and all that. But, what about ME??????????

Here's my latest obsession. I. Must. Get. Myself. An. Alpaca.

I leave you with this. Proof that inanimate objects can breed.

We have friends. Real couple friends. As in they are a couple, and we are a couple. They have two boys. We have two boys. We're friends. We are BFFs and all that.

The BFFs have a house in Vermont. They've been building it gradually. It's a lovely home that resembles a farm house. One day it will have a toilet and running water and a real refrigerator. For now it has a pond with a huge splashy fountain. It has a fort for the boys and adirondack chairs for the adults. It also has a bunch of land and access to some amazing trails to take the ATVs on. No, we don't have ATVs. The BFFs have ATVs. We mooch off the BFFs. We also have our camper set up on their land. Not only are we moochers. We're squatters.

We took Viv the camper up to the property Memorial Day weekend. We also took Emma. The Lima Bean may be deaf. She may see the world through cloudy eyes. She may be 15 or 15-and-a-half or 16. But she's most def beautiful.

pet me. luv me. feed me soft food cuz my teef don't feel too gud anymore.

So this pond is quite the habitat. I personally can account for 534,113 mosquitoes. It also offers a delectable assortment of tadpoles and frogs, ants the size of my nose, and hovering bug flies that could be mammals for all I know.

We did not bring pet this home (the green one).
On account of the deaths of Fin and Rowley (the Shad Derby goldfish).
RIP Fin and Rowley.



See that raft? It had one hole in it by the time we left, a tiny hole to be true, so it was still pond-worthy. It's hard to tell how it happened. What with four boys between 7 and 11 doing pile drives and half-Nelsons and stone cold stunners. Yes, I know my WWE moves.

pet me. luv me. feed me and my friend chips and cookies with chocolate stwipes.

See that machine with four wheels? It's an ATV. Otherwise called a quad. It's loud. These are not allowed to run till 9 a.m. We woke up to the quad alarm in Vermont. Polywog Benjy learned to drive this one by himself on this trip.

The Wimpy Kid graduated to the big quad. Not that he gets to keep it. Though he told me, "I could ride that quad All. Day. Long." He didn't tip it once. This time.


We love our new BFFs and can't wait to go back to their quad farm. Of course, the camper's there, so we sort of kind of have to. Still. We can't wait.

Dave Ramsey is not happy with me. Curt probably isn't either, but he's withholding comment currently.

It's not that I went into debt to purchase my latest round of texts. I didn't charge it. I didn't take out a loan or mortgage my house for it. I didn't sell either of my children. It's just that it wasn't in the budget. And yet....

Here's what I'm reading, excepting Water for Elephants, which is on my night side table right now waiting for me. And it's a good one, too. I've not seen the movie, and probably will wait for Netflix to get it before bothering. The depression-era circus setting is fascinating. And the 90- year old. Or 93-year old. And then there's the elephant herself.

I picked up Cutting for Stone on the recommendation of my dental assistant, whom I positively adore. Every time I go for a cleaning, she fills my head with visions of novels I MUST read. The Help and House Rules came through her. Our's pretty much is a one-sided book club since my mouth is pried open and all the utterances I want to voice are trapped in the back of my throat. Do you suppose dental assistants have to take a special class on carrying on conversations when their partner can't talk? Talking For Two 101?

Mo Willems' latest is a no-brainer for anyone who knows my delightful taste in children's literature. Amanda & Her Alligator is a new one for Mo. I can't wait to read it to my class tomorrow. His blog says he'll be back in Northampton, Mass. soon. I'll be there. In case you want to stalk me or anything.

Southern Living's June issue. June. Summertime. Front porches with porch ceilings painted haint blue.

Pioneer Woman herself is the author of Charlie the Ranch Dog. I love Pioneer Woman. I love Charlie. I love PDub's cookbook, too. So, of course, I HAD to have this book. The art is just gorgeous and fun. And Charlie, oh, be still my heart. Charlie and your ears.

I went to a workshop by Sharon Taberski back in my wild Pennsylvania days. She's a solid thinker and educator on early literacy. Her blog keeps me inspired. So when I saw her latest book, Comprehension From the Ground Up, I knew it was a must read for this second grade teacher who loves reading and writing more than anything she teaches. She also detests writing in the third person.

Beth Moore's book is a freebie. Did you hear that, Dave? It was FREE! We're doing a Bible study on the fruits of the spirit using this book. If you don't know the fruits of the spirit, then you really need to listen to this song.



Sadly, I've lived 42 years without ever having done a Beth Moore Bible study. I know I'll want more when we finish this because her writing is filled with the Holy Spirit, with Bible knowledge and nuances I've never considered, with love and blessing and grace.

The remaining publications are magazines I just love. I subscribe to Country Living and Martha Stewart's Living. I picked up This Old House at Stop & Shop because I love old houses and one day, God-willing, I will live in an ancient creaking old house again with a porch ceiling painted haint blue.

What are you reading now?

So Ken and I are at Aldi's, cause he's all about saving money. I was wearing this very frock! And I'm telling him about the time when my country camper got stuck in the shag carpet,



and this girl named Skipper was eavesdropping. Spying on MY convo! All's I'm sayin' is she was all up in my Kool-Aid, tryin' to learn my flavor!

Well, Hollywood Barbie, what, pray tell, is your flavor?

You're not gonna believe this, Sparkle Barbie, but it's Pine-a Colada.

Umm, Hollywood Barbie, this is awkward, but you're my best friend, the closest thing to my DNA going on. I must tell you, I think you mean pina colada. And getting lost in the rain.

Sure, I'll have one.



I am not into health food myself, Hollywood, but my Kool Aid is Great Bluedini.

I don't mind who knows. Tell Skipper for all I care. Heck, tell P.J. and Francie and Suntan Tuesday Taylor! But I have half a brain. So I ride around on this blue elephant just to prove I am into champagne.

Good for you, Sparkles.