Catching up with the Past while the Future Calls

Hmm, as it turns out, I'm a big, fat exaggerating exaggerator. (Also, it would seem, I'm not so hot at formatting blog posts. Sorry for the disorganized pictures.) I am not currently in posession of as much proof from The Wilderness Adventure as I had originally thought. Like, for example, of me shooting guns for the first time (inadvertently when I shot the 12-gauge, I yelled "Woo-hoo!"). Alas, here is a sampling...

The top left is self explanatory, je pense. This is the "backyard," as it were. The one on the left is the lake around dinner time. It really was beautiful. And, it goes without saying that the whole thing got increasingly beautiful the farther I stood from the outhouse.

Last but certainly not least, the one above on the right is our "lovely" and "spacious" cabin. There I slept in a twin bunk with The Boy's head at my head and The Brother's feet at my feet. And, I'm not trying to hurt anyone's feeling here, but I have never been in the company of snorers of such a high...caliber. Fortunately, The Boy was one of the least offensive of the bunch, or I'd be thinking of a separately-roomed Ever After, which, let's be honest, isn't really as happy as what I had previously imagined for us.

Yeah. So, this isn't exactly the excitement I had planned for you either. And now it's been so long since then that I've lost the drama that had previously been inherent in my storytelling. I would be remiss if I didn't fully disclose that I did not part entirely with my prissiness on this trip. I shaved my legs in the lake. Twice. The Boy came upstairs to retrieve something and caught me looking into my compact. "I know you're not putting makeup on." I didn't respond. "Because there is no makeup in Maine." I acted like I was merely getting something out of my eye. And muttered under my breath, "Maybe there's a little makeup in Maine." Because, honestly, the transformation from my natural self to the one often seen parading around the Mid-Atlantic is just that-- a transformation. Let's put it this way: To my knowldege, no one has ever passed me on the street and marveled, "Maybe she really is born with it..."

But in addition to the unprissy new experience of shooting guns, I drove a waverunner for the first time (like a pro, I might add). The Boy was not nearly as lucky, as he fractured two ribs falling off of the aforementioned waverunner (someone else was driving). Talk about an inconvenient injury. He can't do anything without being in pain. Probably it doesn't help that we went to the grocery store to "pick up a few things" yesterday and came back with a cart-full of very heavy items that had to make the journey up the 76 stairs in the 103-degree heat. (No, he's not stereotypical when it comes to injuries. Not at all.)

When we got home from Maine I went to the wedding of my oldest friend (that is, the one I've had the longest. Not the one who is chronologically the oldest. She's only 24, actually). She cried her eyes out when she saw me, but The Boy maintains that I cried more than anyone else there. Which, he tells me, makes him fear for the future. I'll have to reassure him I'll manage to keep my composure, lest I hear, "What are you doing? Are you putting on MAKEUP? Beacause there is no makeup in weddings." The beauty of this wedding is that what had initially felt like an obligation ended up feeling like an honor. It was so wonderful to realize that not everything good goes away.

Also in the "Not Everything Good Goes Away" category, Tara, my first college friend spent a fabulous weekend here. Well, to me it was fabulous. To her, it may have seemed like a travel brochure with a subliminal track in the background screaming, not so subtly, "PLEASE MOVE TO BALTIMORE, YOU JUST HAVE TO." Hopefully we'll be able to schedule some additional time to further persuade--visit with Tara in the coming year.

The trip with the kiddos this weekend was also a blast, but don't think that means it wasn't educational. It could have been a field trip in parental preparation. Keep in mind, Brother is 17, Little Sister is 12 1/2 but looks much older. We got out of work as early as we could, already exhausted at 1:00, but Brother had on his Panama Jack hat and aviator shades and Little Sister couldn't stop giggling for no reason. We got to the beach around 4:30 and spent some daylight teaching them to bodysurf (yes, broken ribs and all). We then walked from our 21st St. hotel to the very end of the boardwalk and back up again. Little Sister got the attention of not a few "skater boys" as we walked by and she informed me, "If I see a hot guy tomorrow, I'll probably talk to him, but don't worry, I'll be good." Wow. When we got back and sat down to our pizza a little before midnight, Little Sister said, "What are we going to do NOW?" The Boy just looked weary. "You see," he whispered to me, "this is why God gives you children as BABIES. Because then you have YEARS to prepare to be the parents of teenagers. Like, if we had little kids, we could just call it a night at 9:00 and blame it on them that we want to go to bed t hen too. But this is just making me feel so old. Really. I don't know if we'll ever be ready."

The next day on the beach (after I broke up a pillow fight in our hotel room screaming the words, "BOYS, if you don't cut this out, someone is going to get hurt!") The Boy witnessed a toddler dance his way into a faceplant in the sand. Concerned, The Boy consulted the child's mother. "He's durable," she laughed.

"But I don't think you understand," The Boy ventured, "I think he has sand in his eyeballs."
"Just wait until you're a father and you have to take little kids to the beach," the mother smiled.
"What?" The Boy responded, "They'll have to be 25 before they can go to the beach. 35 if they're girls."

Do you hear that? Yeah, it's my future calling. At least it's not snoring, right?