Easter photos

To the shore!

I'll let the pictures speak for themselves... we hit Atlantic Beach for a couple days -- and what's a vacation if we can't cram in some educational stuff??? So we did the Civil War-era Fort Macon (super cool, according to Vincent, probably because it had tons of cannons) and the Pine Knoll Shores Aquarium (also super cool, probably because of the sharks). 

Dominic's first interaction with the water... seconds before a big wave came and soaked his shorts! Good introduction, Dad.

At Fort Macon, where the upper terraces have no fences. It's a straight 20-foot fall to the ground. I've never gripped the kids so tight!

We also had dinner at a restaurant off a pier and laughed along with the laughing gulls (do you know the difference between laughing gulls and herring gulls, anyone?) and watched pelicans fish. We played on the beach, of course, and determined that Dominic hates the water. He now cries at the sight of the bathtub. Nobody tell him the pool opens in a month! 

Just us and the cannonballs at Fort Macon.

My boys sharing a smoothie

The wave is coming, Dad! Hurry up with the ponytail.

Before & After

With all the recent thunderstorms, Catherine has been preparing "safe houses" for her beloved horses. 

And then along comes Thunderstorm Dominic.

Cary Road Race

Photos from the Cary Road Race. I ran a 20:47, which was above my goal (I'd wanted to break 20), but based on the times I'd say the course was slow. Still, I was very happy with second place, and I came away with new socks and a gift card to a sports store.

Catherine and Vincent sort-of ran the one-mile Fun Run afterward, but I'd say Grandma got the most exercise chasing Dominic away from the lake.

Bridal shower!

 By the number of times she appears in the pictures, you'd think it was Catherine's shower! But congratulations Kristen -- we're thrilled to be welcoming you to the family. Now please stop being so photogenic!

Not wine -- I promise.

Kristen needed lots of help unwrapping presents.

Lying in wait for a chicken wing.

Trying to move M&M's into a cup.

The Smokehouse Birdhouse

Proof that three-year-olds can be unpredictable: Since January I have had the News & Observer's annual Birdhouse Contest marked on the calendar. I figured for sure that we would be making a princess birdhouse (check) and a rocketship birdhouse. But about a week ago, as we were on the way home from the craft store with silver spray paint, Vincent announced he wanted to do a smokehouse birdhouse instead.

His fascination with smokehouses is nothing new. About a year ago we visited the historic Page-Walker Hotel in downtown Cary near our house, which has a smokehouse from the 1860s. Once Vincent learned that a smokehouse is used to dry and smoke meats, he had to know more. We researched smokehouses, looked up youtube videos,visited one in Colonial Williamsburg and made a smokehouse out of popsicle sticks. Trust me, there's not a lot out there about smokehouses. Strange.

So back to the Smokehouse Birdhouse -- we took a bluebird box that was waiting to go up (and house chickadees, no doubt) and Vincent glued balsa wood all around. Then he painted it. Luckily, the natural brush strokes of a three-year-old have a very "rustic" quality to them so his smokehouse birdhouse looked quite old and decrepit. Then we broke balsa wood for roof shingles and he painted it red.

The final touch: Since we couldn't exactly hang smoked carcasses, we hung the next best thing... mealworms, a bluebird's favorite food. I am quite happy to report that he insisted on doing the mealworm work himself.

The result was a fine birdhouse that he entered in the competition alongside his sister's beaded Turkish harem-like bird palace, officially titled "Princess Bird Gazebo." And Vincent took second place in his age category, which can only mean one thing: The judges must not be mealworm fans.

A boy and his horse

Walked into Dominic's room and saw this. It's times like this I wish the boy could talk!

For the birds

Chickadee nest in the bluebird box.

My Grandpa Harold used to claim that written instructions -- like for programming the VCR -- were "for the birds." He might have been right; I think the birds around here need some written instructions. We've got chickadees nesting in the bluebird box, and our cardinals, who have the perfect place to nest in these tall, private bushes on the side of our house, decided to build a nest in the triple jogging stroller.

They are now homeless. 

On our quest to attract a variety of birds to our yard, we visited Wild Birds Unlimited, which is a very dangerous place to visit with kids. Not because there are real wild birds flying around, but because they have lots of breakable bird baths and ceramic thingies in the shape of bluebirds. They also have bluebird houses for $39.99, and if I had paid that instead of $8, then I'd really be mad at the chickadee squatters. 

This is NOT the place for a cardinal nest.

Anyway, the lady at WBU was very helpful (and proved to me how very little I actually know about birds!) and explained how some birds won't be attracted to feeders full of nuts because their bills can't crack them. Others won't eat millet, since it's only for ground-feeding birds like juncos. Goldfinches like thistle, blue jays like peanuts and cracked corn, and bluebirds prefer mealworms, the freeze-dried variety of which can be plumped up by soaking in water. Sounds like the perfect job for a three-year-old.

We now have five feeders around our yard, including one just for hummingbirds. So far we've seen all the usual suspects (that's you, sparrows), but also a mourning dove, and Catherine swears she saw a red-winged blackbird. I think I will believe her out of hope.

Stay tuned to see what actually shows up at our feeders. For now, I'm going to check the mailbox for chimney swifts.

A rainbow for Ms. Jean

The kids have been generating a lot of drawings lately -- at the end of every day they have amassed an army of princesses in castles, fairies at tea parties, ballerinas in wedding dresses, and submarines and rocketships (gender stereotypes are alive and well in the Lorelle household). And I don't know what to do with them -- I feel bad throwing them away, but boy, that's a lot of paper to save! So I have taken to mailing them to out-of-town relatives (Hi Nonnie!) or giving them away as thank-yous (like to the clerks at Trader Joe's for putting up with the kids' antics in the store).

Lately Catherine has been sending her tea party pictures to a neighbor across the street who invited her over for tea. I like it; I save a stamp. 

A few days ago Vincent drew a rainbow (a change from his usual rocketship/pirateship/submarine theme) and announced he wanted to give the drawing to Ms. Jean. I almost asked if Ms. Jean was related to the skeleton who lives under his bed and makes periodic appearances in the middle of the night, but then I remembered that we have a homebound neighbor down the street by that name. We had raked leaves for her a few times and talked to her at the mailboxes, but that was it. So I was surprised that Vincent remembered her. 

He happily raced his rainbow down to her mailbox, and that was that. 

This morning, I noticed something taped to our mailbox. It was a note from the reclusive Ms. Jean, and it was a hearty thank-you for the rainbow.

"I have hung it up," she wrote in her unsteady hand, "and touch it every time I go by it. You are a very sweet little boy. My love and thanks again for it, Ms. Jean."

It was Vincent's first piece of mail, and I think he was every bit as thrilled that someone thought about him as Ms. Jean was to receive the rainbow.

Sometimes, like the disciples, I wonder just how I'm supposed to feed the hungry and clothe the naked and visit the sick when I really don't know any. But then I look at how a little boy saw a simple need -- loneliness -- and met it with a rainbow, and I think I understand.

Down on the (NCSU) Farm

The Iowa genes were alive and well this morning thanks to the NC State Farm Days. In cowboy hats and bandannas, we started by setting a few ground rules, namely: 1) No rifles, as there are no redcoats at Farm Days. 2) No strangling hugging the baby chicks. 3) Mommy will NOT carry your cowboy hat when you get sick of it.

By the barn doors I was wearing a cowboy hat.

Still has a few feet to grow before he's as big as that wheel.

Staring down a cow

Baby chicks, a few hours old

Tickling the rabbit. Sure he enjoyed that.

The real reason we went -- free farm-fresh ice cream!

New pet?

Sometimes I just like to say "Yes"

Because you get moments like this.