Children are mentioned and mentioned and mentioned. As is the Maryland State Dessert:

We are back from our trip. The last vestiges of the suntan lotion have been washed from our shoulders and the laundry is humming in the dryer.

How was the trip? That’s a bit of a loaded question that encompasses the failings of our expectations coupled with the normal behaviour of two not-quite-four-year-olds (as well as their imaginary friend they brought along) and the fact that as we planned the trip, our brains regressed to the summer of 2007 where the beach was still shiny and new and we ran through the surf hand-in-hand like a week-long familial tampon commercial. Overall, it was fantastic. Overall, it was exhausting and frustrating.

The problems began with the inclusion of Bronner, the ChickieNob’s best new invisible friend. I have to admit that when Bronner came to exist in our house (albeit intangibly), I was pretty excited. I have an enormous fondness for my former imaginary friends and I loved that she was building her own small army of invisible playmates. Last week, she spent over an hour by herself, cavorting with Bronner and leaving me to take care of dinner and dishes. What’s not to love about a girl who brings you the gift of time?

Except that this girl needed to bathed each time we returned from the beach. Meaning, I had to stand in the shower and pantomime giving an invisible girl a shower or else the ChickieNob would stand, dripping on the bathmat, fresh from her own shower, screaming like the valkyrie, her mouth open in an endless shriek. If we walked down the street, I needed to hold my other hand out at an awkward angle as if I were strolling with two children (one visible, one invisible) and if I dropped my hand or itched my nose or gestured while I spoke, my daughter would scream to the whole of Chincoteague: “you just let go of Bronner’s hand! Do you want her to run into the street and get SQUASHED BY A CAR?”

I spent a lot of time smiling nervously at people in downtown Chincoteague and saying, “I really don’t want anyone to get squashed by a car.”

Last year, we rolled with the sand and surf–whatever came up, they cheerfully went with it. This year, we were all a little too set in our desires and all of our desires conflicted with another person’s desires. For instance, the Wolvog only wanted to eat pancakes for breakfast and wanted them now and wanted them before Mommy could take a sip of her coffee so she could be conscious enough to cut said pancakes. The ChickieNob only wanted to eat bran muffins–and not just one; she wanted three–and she did not want to sit on the potty. Josh and I wanted to read our books–just read our books for fifteen minutes–but the twins wanted to play a game called “poop” which involved bringing fresh buckets of water up from the ocean, dripping sand in them, and taking out the wet remains to fling on the beach while screaming, “poop poop!” Josh and I took turns trudging down to the surf (since the twins were not allowed to go to the water by themselves yet) and gasping back over the hot sand only to do it again two minutes later when they announced they needed to make more sand poop.

There were some really amazing moments and overall, we understand that our children’s behaviour is ten times better than the average 3-year-olds and therefore, we have nothing to complain about (our kids can sit in the car for 8 straight hours without complaining as long as we hand them a tattered Playmobil catalog to stare at. Oh, and as long as we let the Wolvog choose the music and this time it was Fountains of Wayne all-day every-day). But we left the beach exhausted. Needing a vacation from our vacation. It is a lot of work to move twins and an imaginary friend through the day when you are miles from home.

The highlight of the trip–maybe for all of us?–was the side trip to Smith Island. I have to admit that I was nervous to go because I had built it up in my mind over the last 24 years or so; since I was ten and first read about the island. Back in college, I had planned a trip to Australia and then had a dream where I was rafting from tiny uninhabited island to tiny uninhabited island in Oceania on a Kon-tiki raft and the dream was so amazing that I cancelled my trip to Australia because I didn’t want to ruin the image I had in my head. I ended up going to Norway instead and went to the Thor Heyerdahl museum where I saw…a Kon-tiki raft.

But my image of Oceania remains intact.

I am happy to report that Smith Island fulfilled all expectations. It looked different in terms of where I had placed buildings inside my head, but overall seemed the same; therefore, it was like walking into my own imagination. I just wanted to be in that space–it didn’t need to do anything and we barely did do anything while we were on the island. I just wanted to breathe there and be there and exist there. I literally fell in love with it, head-over-heels, completely, school-girl crush it.

We ate lunch at one of the two restaurants on the island–a place with not one vegetarian option (the waitress commented that I wasn’t ordering anything and I said, “I’m a vegetarian” and she laughed and said, “good luck out here!”) and only one semi-kosher-like option: fish and chips. We rented a golf cart and allowed the Wolvog to drive us with some guidance from Josh because it was that sort of place–where you felt fine allowing a not-quite-four-year-old to drive a golf cart over the barely-there streets. The ChickieNob and I wore sundresses and when she asked why we were dressed up, I admitted that I was emotional and it felt momentous to finally be there and I wanted to look nice to mark the event. She nodded solemnly and said, “Bronner must have known too because she is wearing a pink sparkle dress with pink sparkle shoes and pink sparkle ribbons in her hair.”

And at that point, I was back to feeling thankful that Bronner was there.

Smith Island is the home of the state dessert (what, you didn’t know we had a state dessert? Well, we do. Did you know we also have a state cat? The calico?), a 10-layer cooked-icing cake that was so insanely good that I wanted to bury my face in the cake saver and never return. I love my state so much that Josh says that I fart black-eyed-susans. But I was literally bursting with pride while we ate the cake. There was an elder hostel tour on the island at the same time and they were receiving a lecture on the creation of the cake that I listened in on. I am going to attempt it this weekend. I literally tossed this cake around in my head for the duration of the entire car ride home and had a eureka moment after midnight last night about the cooked icing (Josh was not thrilled to hear about my eureka moment despite his equal love of the cake). I have not been this excited about a baking project in a long time.

So we are back, a little burned, a little exhausted. The twins are talking about how we can get back to Chincoteague–back to horses that walk right up to your car as you’re driving to the beach (we saw herds of wild horses and four times had horses come to stare into our car) and the wild ocean and the ice cream store we went to every night. Josh and I are also talking about how we can get back to Chincoteague for a real vacation. Which means leaving Bronner and perhaps others with Grandma.

Pictures of Smith Island forthcoming on Sunday with Show & Tell. Because who doesn’t enjoy looking at someone else’s vacation photos (yawn…)? But Smith Island is different because Smith Island is pure coolness on top of sand. And because it is the birthplace of the Maryland State Dessert. And
because it is one of the most unique places in America. I desperately want to house a foreign exchange student just so I can take them on trips to places like Smith Island. How many times can I use Smith Island in a single paragraph? Smith Island, Smith Island, Smith Island. And um…you’re going to want to see the photos I took of the slice of cake before we ate it. So check back Saturday night when I post the next Show & Tell thread. And think about what you’re showing the class.

The glitz, the glamour, the red carpet chit-chat. The dazzling amount of bling. The are-they-or-aren’t-theys. The lavish after-parties. It’s the first ALIes* (The meaning will be clear once you read the rest of the post, but pronounce it like the girl’s name–Ally–but think about it like “allies” yet missing the extra “L”)

What are the ALIes? Only the most exclusive award ceremony for the adoption (A), loss (L), and infertility (I) world. Given at irregular intervals whenever we feel like it, they honour ALI celebrities and fine art.

At Embryo Motel’s request, I am opening up the awards panel for nominations. Each category currently has one suggestion and three empty slots. It’s sort of a fun game to try to come up with the people that fit the categories. Once the panels are complete, it will be put to a vote by the 1300+ members of the academy (er…otherwise known as the blogroll). And then…the first ALIes in all of their glory. With a lot of champagne. And kissing-and-telling with B-list celebrities. And not being able to recall much the next morning. And learning about your escapades in the gossip rags.

The nominations can come from any decade and nominees can be in their element or completely washed up and botoxed out.

1. Best movie with an adoption/loss/infertility (ALI) plotline
1. Juno
2. Open; make a suggestion in the comment section.
3. Open; make a suggestion in the comment section.
4. Open; make a suggestion in the comment section.

Rather than do this for every category, assume that there is one suggestion and three open slots. The one choice already listed may be bumped out of the running if the suggestions are better than the current choice.

2. Best book with an ALI element to the book
1. The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood

3. Best television series with an ALI storyline
1. Brothers & Sisters

4. Best song (and hence musician) with an ALI theme
1. Dixie Chicks’s “So Hard”

5. Best mainstream magazine/newspaper for ALI coverage
1. New York Times

6. Best ALI actor/actress
1. Marcia Cross

7. Best ALI musician
1. Melissa Etheridge

8. Best ALI writer
1. Peggy Orenstein

9. Most interesting ALI mother/mother-one-day (one you’d actually read an entire People magazine article about–may overlap with another category)
1. Courtney Cox

10. Most interesting ALI father/father-one-day (again, you’d like to read more about them in a magazine article and may overlap with another category)
1. Dan Savage

11. Celebrity of the Year (a public figure who has been upfront about their ALI status and used celebrity to educate)
1. Emma Thompson

To make it easy, use the numbers on the side (1–11) in your comment when leaving a name for a category. Feel free to fill in as many names (even more than one per category) as you can. The more the better.

Unlike the stodgy, inflexible Oscars, the ALIes are completely open to new category suggestions. Please place them in the comment section and I will move them into the body of the post so people can add their suggestions for nominees for that section too. for instance, we don’t have a childfree after IF category because it’s sometimes difficult to know unless the person is out (and I don’t know any celebrities off the top of my head despite all my hours reading People) whether they are childfree after IF or childfree by choice. But if you can think of people, please let me know.

The ALIes are kind-at-heart so put your inner bitch back in your make-up bag because we’re not going to create categories about outing people or painting them as the most unworthy of having the money to do treatments. We’re talking about allies here. ALIes and allies and all the people who chip away at the taboo.

*The award statue is from Ghana and she’s an Akua-ba fertility doll. The story is that a woman, Akua, was given the biggest assvice of all time that the way to cure her infertility was to carry a wooden replica of a child on her back at all times to simulate motherhood. Everyone in the village laughed at her (I guess they knew assvice when they saw it), but lo and behold, she became pregnant and delivered a daughter. So who’s laughing now, bitch?

This is the eighth installment of Barren Advice. You can ask questions that are fertility or non-fertility related. But today, I am turning the tables on you.

Barren Advice is posted each Tuesday. If you have your own question for Barren Advice, click here to learn how to submit. Please weigh in with your own thoughts in the comment section.

Dear You:

Rather than answer advice today, I am asking advice from you. An etiquette question on correcting your elders. I have a friend who is considerably older and wiser who has two facts wrong about me yet keeps repeating them every time she introduces me to a new person. The first one, that I have “incredible blue eyes” is clearly wrong if I’m being introduced to the person face-to-face. Usually the person nods, peers at my eyes, gets a confused expression on their face, and we move on. No one has said to her, “but she doesn’t have blue eyes!” Yet.

The other fact, that I play violin, is not immediately apparent. Though I took one violin lesson during college, I’m not sure where this idea comes from, but she thinks it is one of the most interesting things about me and therefore adds it to every introduction. Every once in a while, the person turns out to be an violin player too and asks me a question but for the most part, this fact is simply noted and we all move on in the conversation.

I’ve gently corrected my friend via email and in conversation, pointing out that my eyes are hazel and I don’t play violin at all. Yet by the time we see each other again, she has forgotten this and adds these two incorrect facts into the next introduction. How hard would you push to have these facts corrected? Would you send another email or make a phone call about it or correct her in the moment when she is making the introduction? Would you simply allow legions of people to walk away from a conversation with you believing they are colour-blind if they see my eyes for what they are (hazel) or that they’ve just spoken to a violinist?

So give me advice today.

Want to ask your own question? Click here to see what you need to send in order to be included in a future Tuesday’s installment of Barren Advice.

Today, perhaps 200 feet or so off-shore, there were two families of dolphins, leaping out of the water, their dorsal fins almost always visible and sometimes a tail waving a spray of water in its wake.

And on the shore, regardless of race or religion or socio-economic standing or age or sexuality or culture, every single person dropped what they were doing and regardless of the fact that the people at the next beach blanket over had already shouted the same thing, each exclaimed “dolphins!” with the same excitement usually reserved for the gown winners at the Running of the Brides.

Which is pretty fucking cool.

To bond with complete strangers simply because dolphins exist.

Now if only we could get the entirety of the world to the eastern shore and make sure the dolphins are visible that day.

Welcome back to Show and Tell. Everyone is welcome to join, even if you have never posted before and just found out about Show and Tell for the first time today. In fact, we hope you do go back to your blog and post your own Show and Tell item and then return with the link to your post. Details on how to participate are located at the bottom of this post.

Let’s begin.

Many of the books on our bookshelves are signed because we either know the author or have met the author or have been forced to attend very awkward social gatherings with authors either due to work or school. My favourite ones based on story alone (as in, the story about the signing vs. the book–though I love their books too) are Jasper Fforde, Norton Juster, David Malouf, Paul Muldoon and then the two I am going to show today: David Sedaris and Mark Leyner.

(Ignore the fact that I tucked this copy of the book between a lot of Israeli fiction. Also ignore the fact that I seem to own copious amounts of A.B.Yehoshua)

We went to hear David Sedaris read from Me Talk Pretty One Day back in 2000. It was when Josh and I were engaged but not yet married. After the reading, I wanted to get my book signed, but Josh felt awkward about waiting around to talk to David Sedaris. We actually had a question about Sedaris’s Baltimore reading the next day, but Josh felt shy asking it. So I busted up to the table after the crowd had cleared and asked the question for Josh.

I also asked him to sign my book and Sedaris asked me if I wanted anything specific beyond my name. I said, “can I choose anything?” And he said, “you can choose anything–I’ll write it.” So I said, “I want it to say, “to Melissa, the bravest woman in the world.” He scrawled it across the page and handed the book back to me. Then he asked for my book again and added two words and handed it back again. This is what it now said:

He said even if it wasn’t true, it made for a better story. And so it does.

The Mark Leyner reading was during college in Madison, Wisconsin at Canterbury’s bookstore. He mentioned during the reading that he had stolen something from the hotel he had stayed in prior to Madison and planned on giving it to someone during the reading. After the reading, I went to get two books signed. He was about to sign the first one without looking at me, but then suddenly looked up and startled. He reached into his bag and pulled out a shoe horn.

“I’m so glad you came up to have your book signed. I wasn’t sure if you had stuck around after the reading and I wanted to give this to you–the shoe horn I stole from the other hotel. I had noticed you in the second row.”

Hence my first book is signed:

Afterwards, my friend and I got coffee in the cafe and he joined us at our table for a few minutes. I still have the shoe horn.

What are you showing today?

Want to bring something to Show and Tell?

• If you would like to join circle time and show something to the class, simply post each Sunday (or earlier in the weekend or on Monday if you can’t do Sunday), hopefully including a picture if possible, and telling us about your item. It can be anything–a photo from a trip, a picture of the dress you bought this week, a random image from an old yearbook showing a person you miss. It doesn’t need to contain a picture if you can’t get a picture–you can simply tell a story about a single item.
• Label your post “Show and Tell” each week and then come back here and add the permalink in the comments section below (make sure you don’t just comment that you participated: add a link to your blog in your comment so people can click over). I post a new Show and Tell post every Saturday night or Sunday. I usually move people up into the body of the post every few hours.
• Oh, and then the point is that you click through all of your classmates and see what they are showing this week.
• If you want it…
  I’ve now placed a Show and Tell archive on the sidebar that will be updated each week in case you miss it. And click here for the icon code if you wish to have it for your blog. It links to the archives.