Beach Chronicles 3

Another overcast, cool day, so we headed to the charming outdoor mall nearby. The kids were spoiled rotten.

But then again, I was spoiled too: I cashed in on an early Mother's Day present and went for a massage.

Beach Chronicles 2

Well, I came to Florida thinking I would bask in the warm sun. There was some sun today but not much warmth. However, a visit from friends of ours made up for the lack of beachy weather.

Julie is a former classmate of Mark's and an old roommate of mine from MK boarding school (old as in a long time ago, not old as in age; oh, who am I kidding--it was a loooong time ago, so that makes us all old). When her family of six and our family of six ventured on to the beach, we did get a few stares, and being the perceptive person I am, I was able to read other guests' minds: Are all those kids theirs?

Despite the cool breezes, we had fun playing on the beach and in the heated pool. And we were, of course, quite a crowd in our condo where we enjoyed a taco dinner. And tried to quiet them all down. And tried to make sure no one fell over the 22nd floor railing.

Beach Chronicles 1

Not much to report from a 5 or 6 hour drive through Podunk County, Georgia, and Middle-of-Nowhere, Alabama, to Panhandle, Florida, except the usual:

"I need to go potty."

"How many more hours 'til we get there?"

"I really need to go potty!"

"Now how many hours 'til we get there?"

"Are we almost there?"

As much as I myself would like to scream out, "Are we there yet?" on any given road trip, there is one thing I always look forward to on this drive. There is a small town smack in the middle of Middle-of-Nowhere, Alabama, called Eufaula. Really it looks like any small town in the middle of Middle-of-Nowhere, Alabama, except for a 1/2-mile stretch of the main road. This 4-lane stretch is lined by beautiful, mature hardwoods, which shade charming plantation-style homes. It is a lane straight from the movies, and when we make our way down this lane, I can't help but say a few hundred times, "I really want to live here" knowing full well that I would go absolutely insane if I planted roots in Middle-of-Nowhere, Alabama.

I think I may have scared Alex a little today when I threatened to pack the U-Haul and head to Eufaula because she stated emphatically that she did not want to move to Eufaula because, "this place is in the middle of nowhere!" (I think she must have consulted the map.) Strange thing about her--she shares my desire to live in a place where things are moving and shaking; however, she did not inherit my wandering gene. She would be content to live in the same town in Suburbia, Atlanta, for the rest of her life and thinks we're crazy for putting the house on the market.

That said, I think her tongue was in her cheek when, upon arriving in Panama City Beach, she asked, "So, Mom, do you want to live here?" Well, I can honestly say that I do not, nor have I ever had any desire whatsoever to live in Panama City. I enjoy vacationing here, but I've seen Spring Break here and am currently enduring the last day of "Thunder Beach", so I can assure you I will pass.

We were warned about Thunder Beach this time. One past year we ended up sharing our entire vacation with a hundred thousand dudes and dudettes on loud motorcyles quite by accident. Due to Hurricane Ivan, we were forced to reschedule our vacation by a week, a week that just happened to be Thunder Beach Week. This time we decided to go ahead and show up for the last day of the roaring festivities so we can get a good start on our vacation when they all clear out. Even on the 22nd floor, these motorcycles are incredibly, thunderously, and obnoxiously loud. Tomorrow, hopefully all we'll hear is the crashing of the waves below.

Hot Wax, Anyone?

I'm not proud. At least not too proud to admit that I regularly get my face waxed. And unlike most normal women who like to shop, giggle, and visit the salon, I can think of 327 things I'd rather do than step foot in a salon. However, if I did not, I would not only be sporting a unibrow that encroaches on my eyelids, but also a moustache that would give Friedrich Nietzche (go ahead, google him or google "famous moustaches") a run for the money.

What's funny is that when you explain to the receptionist at the salon which services you would like to shell out the big money for, you must request a "lip" wax. I know we as a society are trying to make women feel better about themselves and all, but PC people, I'm not getting my lip waxed; that would hurt as much as a bikini wax. I'm getting my moustache waxed.

Another thing, PC people, there really are women out there with full-fledged moustaches. I was picking up pizza at Little Caesars the other night, and this cute young girl checked me out. I know she was cute because I had to make a very conscious effort to look at her face without being obviously distracted by her moustache. Does she not notice it?

Anyway, I am always careful to make my waxing visit to the salon before I go on vacation, and since we're heading to the beach tomorrow, it's especially important because the bright sun highlights one's moustache if it is not properly dealt with. Now I am an "I need my personal space" person, so I'm always bothered by how close the "waxing technician" gets to you when she is yanking all of your hair out by the root. I was especially conscious of it today what with the pig flu going around. I was tempted to ask her about her recent traveling history, but knowing how many hours these people put in to their salons, I'm sure she hasn't had time for a romantic getaway to Cozumel.

The woman who did my waxing today had also just finished giving pedicures to two burly guys named Bubba 1 and Bubba 2. As they were walking out and I realized she would likely be the one to call me to the back, I could only pray, "Please let her wash her hands. Please let her wash her hands." I think she did. At least she was at the sink for some time. Of course, she could have just been handwashing all of the tools she used on the big guys. We'll see if I get the creepin' crud on my eyebrows or "lips."

Off the Record

It's the first of the month tomorrow, which means I have to fax in my attendance. As I was checking off our April school days, I found myself stuck on today. Looking back at the day, I realize it has been one of those days where I wrecklessly squandered away the hours.

Yes, we did have Book Club, but we sure didn't prepare for it. And I know...the kids are the ones who were supposed to do the work for their presentations, but it was my responsibility to give them some guidance. I chose instead to teach them how to "wing it". I did this enough in school to not only know how to do it well, but also to appreciate the necessity of such a skill.

And we did visit both a bookstore and a library, which I suppose I could fanagle into some type of field trip or "literary outing", but really, who am I kidding? When you look at the fact that I did little to nothing when we returned home from our bogus educational outings and therefore requested little to nothing of the children...well, it's probably no surprise that I didn't check the little box on April 30.

P6 Hits the Trail

Clue: Search fruitlessly through each of the Nature Bags for the missing "6". Should the "6" finally be supposed to have been left along the last trail taken, make a stop at Hobby Lobby for a new "6" because, "P6" without the "6" is just...well, P.

Turn right and into the parking lot. Quietly utter half-curse words under your breath upon the sight of 3 big school buses parked by the curb.

Stand at a crossroads while trying to get your bearings. Look right and then left and then stare at the sky because that just might help in some way. Understand what it might be like to be a mama snake trying to herd her baby snakes when none of them will listen because they each think they know where to go. Allow your oldest daughter to overhear you share this feeling with your better half on the phone, whereupon she states, "But snakes are reptiles, and reptiles don't care for their offspring." Vow not to teach her anything else.

Finally find the first trail and skip happily along, down a hill, across a bridge. (Note: This trail would be easy to find for a lone adventurer, one without little people who have opinions. Strong opinions.) Find Peter Parker behind a tree. Smile in delight when the oldest daughter says, "It sure feels satisfying when you find one of these."

Now walk across to the other side of the park to find a second trail. Run smack dab into the huge group of children who came on the 3 big school buses parked by the curb which caused you to half-curse under your breath when you entered the parking lot. Choose the trail which weaves away from all of the children because a nature walk is more fun when bird calls are not mingled with the screams of children.

Take a few steps and have your littlest companion whine, "I'm tired", and another, bigger companion whine, "I'm starving." Tell them to suck it up and start walking. After another whines, "I'm hungry", find a bench, share a bag of Cheez-Its, pass around a bottle of water, and pray that no one needs to pee. Keep walking. Delight in two boys who name the steep path a "rollercoaster".

Bravely and solely take on the The Happy Stamper while the little people watch from the trail. Allow them to look on in awe as you wade through poison ivy and scale a large, rotting, prostrate tree trunk. Don't give in to the little peoples' requests to bring The Happy Stamper back to the trail because that would mean wading through poison ivy and scaling a large, rotting, prostrate tree trunk 4 times.

Keep walking and walking and walking.

Hear more from the Princess about being tired. Tell her to stop the whining and then give her a lecture about what good exercise this is for everyone. Have the oldest inform you that swimming really is much better exercise because a swimmer must use his or her strength to go against the force of the water.

After thinking that there are way too many pairs of trees which stand across the trail from each other, finally spot the two that make you go, "Duh! How did I miss that?", knowing that your 4 little companions probably had something to do with your poor observation skills. After discovering the pair of gigantic trees, once again brave the poison ivy to hike out to the noted tree. Once there, look into the hole at the base of the tree. Poke the cannister. Look back at the expectant faces of the 4 little ones. Would it be terrible to tell the 4 adventurers it's not there just because you're not quite as much of a nature freak as you feign to be and you're afraid to stick your hand into the hole?

Take a deep breath, overcome your fear of spiders and snakes and yank The Growl out of its hiding place. Enjoy leaving your mark.

Continue on the trail, hoping the end is near because the fatigue of the littlest one is growing. And after 4 hours of volleyball almost killed you Sunday night, you're afraid that, should you be forced to carry that littlest one, you might discover you are actually physically unable to.

Wish you could find The Ultrasound, but it appears to be one better left for winter when there is not so much poison ivy through which to wade.

Regrettably leave Peter's Nemesis and X-Men, it's X-Men for another time when tiny feet aren't so tired and rumbly bellies aren't rumbling so loudly.

End: One fun day of Letterboxing.

Alex's Baptism

The moment I've been waiting for...to have one of those mother-daughter moments where she is asking my advice, my opinion about a serious topic. Tonight she came to me with a question from a book her Dana gave her, a "What would you do?" question about a moral situation.

She's growing up so quickly...into a young lady. Sunday she made a huge step in her walk with the Lord. Her Papa, the Reverend missionary, baptized her at our church. Many years ago, her Papa baptized his son, her daddy, in a muddy river in Burkina Faso, West Africa. And not quite as many years ago, he baptized me in the church I attended with my then fiance.

Her baptism was an especially poignant moment.