A day in the life at the Pogue Cottage

If you happen to find yourself in Huntington Beach on this fine, summer-fading day, a magnetic pull draws you to our home, Mickey Mouse Clubhouse soundtrack rockin' at decimal 10, a few steps before the threshold you'll pass a weathered black chair holding cheerful coral begonias in her lap, our front door open, screen cracked to welcome you in.

And in you'll walk, laundry piled on the far right leather chair, my favorite Laughter pillow propped, the smell of fresh coffee waving good morning, Bruiser jumping to greet, Tanner running down the hall ~ bare buns in search of board-shorts, and Ty carrying whatever he happens to be eating at that precise moment {and trust me, it varies moment to bless-ed moment- at not even 2, the kid is eating me out of the home}.

 

I holler to you from the kitchen, where I'm pouring coffee into my creamer, greet you with two arms, no make-up on, typically in workout clothes, but this morning dressed for the beach, my green and white striped bandeau bikini hiding under a chocolate sundress.

Pick your mug, help yourself to creamer {if there's any left}. Please make yourself at home.

You watch the scene unfold:

Ty wearing his typical sumo-wrestler stance, his busyness covering every room, legs wide, those stubby trunks supporting his stubbornly silly frame. He now has another "snack" grasped in his chubby fingers and is no doubt shouting to turn the Mickey Mouse soundtrack "up", while his other hand sneaks down the back of his diaper {help please... what do I do with a kid whose hand is prone to wander?}
I adore this little man. My Ty, who smells of toasted brown sugar and sandy socks, whose grin stops countless strangers, and strong will has me on speed dial to 'Oh Lord' ~  he keeps me on my toes ~ and knees ~ and I'm convinced he will move mountains.

The sound down the hall piques your interest... you pass the leather chair decorated in clean clothes waiting to be folded {don't hold your breath}, and peer through the cracked door, Tanner's vintage surfer room on the other side. Model cars and trucks {a hand-me-down from church friends} stall on the dresser, surfer bedding rests on the trundle, and you almost have time to take in the art wall above the reading nook before your eyes land on the noise...the noise of a stark naked boy performing kung-fu moves in the mirror, smacking his buns, and slitting his eyes for the imaginary opponent.

You have to cup your hand over mouth at what follows:

He is now peering over his unclothed backside, staring in the mirror, flexing those cute buns.
"They are getting bigger. My buns are getting bigger!"An eruption of "hi-ya's!" then 4-year old grunts! His words, a reflection from his recent doctor's appointment where he was told that, he is indeed, getting bigger, in addition, to having a mom that threatens to put him in a "Tanner box" if he continues to grow. It's all in love, I assure you. And now we know ~ his buns are getting bigger with the rest of him! 

Too late!

He heard your giggles and opens the door, his sky eyes staring up at you! The world is very big to this sweet boy, one he will navigate cautiously and intentionally. I adore my firstborn, this angel meets fighter-warrior.

Mickey has run his course, coffee mugs are drained, and it's going to be a great day at the beach! Join the party if you dare.

It will involve meeting at a childhood favorite, Little Corona Beach, with an old friend and her son visiting from small-town, our once-upon-a-time home in Atascadero.  Buckets will bow a thousand bows to the ocean, salt-water diving onto the sand racetrack, each boy holding his own car or tractor. Conversation is easy ~ comfortable and worn as the sleeping driftwood. We cheer the oldest boys, as they jump from unsure footing to the subtle current below.

Do you see it?

The energy, the life, the beauty beheld?

Children imagining and fighting "bad guys", savoring food, be it simple pb&j and raisins, the ease of friendship, and holding-on-to-the-last-days-of-summer weather.

It's an irreplaceable moment, and I'm so glad you are sharing it with me.

Now, back to the sounds of Mickey and sights of unfolded laundry...
sand must be washed off, and eyelids need resting.

Thanks for stopping by a beautifully typical, full-of-life summer morning at the Pogue Cottage!

Walks, Sand and everything in between!

I'm not sure if it was the sunshine, smiling  through the window, beckoning me outside.
Or the fact that my vanilla wafer skin is craving a warm tint.
Maybe it's my rear missing her daily walk.

All I know, is I woke up on a mission to explore Huntington Beach on foot!

Ty hadn't been up from his morning nap more than 8 seconds, when BAM!
Both boys were plopped in the double BOB, and their crazy mom was off with enough snacks and pb&j to feed an army and all the magic forest creatures HB holds, which I came to discover, were not many.

Walking creates an intimate knowing of an area, in a way that can't be understood or recognized by car.  Down Cindy Lane, steering ahead, sticky fingers jutting out from the stroller sides.
We cross the wash, the sun behind, warming my shoulders. Tan those babies!

One step in front of the other, memorizing street signs as we journey towards the crosswalk.
Years of living in a small town come flooding back...walking the same two mile block had formed a friendship with my tennies, a routine my shoes knew the direction to head before I'd even stretched.

I want that for this town. This abundant town, bursting with food options, and beach attire. In time, my gray Adidas shoes will recognize the streets to turn towards, the parks the boys feel at home sliding down, and the ideal beach spot to park for maximum sun fun.

Today was the first walk of many.

We discovered a park, a baby play structure, nestled close to the larger slides, steps and monkey bars, which Ty fearlessly ignored, and instead, headed toward the street, pointing at the "Carrrrr!"  Tanner was in heaven laying and rolling in the sand, like a young pig in a newly-discovered mudhole. What is it with sand?
I should have just brought them to the beach, I mumbled under my wind-down breath.

But then we would have driven, and walking was on the day's agenda!

30 minutes later and the boys back in the BOB, I focused the three of us toward the neighborhood in front. We wound around ideal street names like Breakers and Shore.
I could almost hear the lady in the yellow home with white trim giving directions.
Why sure, I live on Shore... wink, wink!

Around the bend, a school emerged. wearing worn brick and cupping a swing set in her palms. Children squealed, laughed, and ran over her shoulders. Backpacks lined up, hanging from her wide earlobes. I stopped and breathed every detail in. Snuggled in the stroller, I projected my boys years ahead, walking up those school steps, onto her collar, and into her open mouth of classrooms. Yes, I smiled, I can imagine them learning, creating, and playing here.


Walk walk. Another beachy street name with shuttered homes rolling out their green grass carpets, holding white fences, and hugging the curb. Playful flowers poked out the fence slats, waving hello as we breezed by.

All of it. I love it. I love that this is a neighboring neighborhood, in a soon-to-be familiarly stomped path.

It's our new home walk.

Steps we will enjoy after dinner as a family.
Power-walks I'll take to mentally write.
Trails Tanner and Ty will escape as they lean back and feel the stroller tires under their bundled boy energy.

Retracing our steps, the sun now ahead, out of the neighborhood, past the park, across the crosswalk, the boys almost asleep, over the wash, and onto our street, to Cindy Lane welcoming us home and smiling at my now bronzed, but not-so-sexy tank top tan!
Rear, meet your new walk!

Neighborhood walk.
You, my tennies and I are going to be good, well-worn friends!