I’ve just gotten home from five days at DeBordieu with my roommate from high school, her husband, their two children, a good friend from high school, his wife (artykim), their two children, and another couple (who have also become friends) and their (single) child (1).
Kudos to all you parent-people. They (the littles) are VERY energy consuming (and I think I might be a wee bit lazy).
The weather couldn’t have been nicer and I got more than my share of lounging-on-the-beach-time (without, for a change, getting completely lobsterfied). Read two grown-up books, two People magazines, one O magazine and several children’s books (and think I’m going to buy the Lemony Snicket series for myself). Frolicked in the ocean and in the pool (2). Walked many miles on the beach. Got a blister the size of a dime on the bottom of my foot (3).
Rode nine (!!) miles on a bike. One of those was with a flat tire. Yes, that wasn’t very bright, but honestly I didn’t know the thing’d gone flat. The thinking went something like “Well, Gina, of course it’s getting harder to pedal. You just rode more than six miles, three of which were on a fire road/carriage path, on an old-skool, gearless (and somewhat rusty) bike. You can do it! Keep pedaling!” Eventually, though, my pep talk failed and I climbed off, only to find that the rear tire was as flat as the proverbial pancake.
Whoops. I suppose that would be the problem. Mr. Nice Security Man came by just a minute or so afterwards, fortunately, and he was kind enough to load the bike in the back of his pickup truck and take me the last two blocks home.
Napped. A lot. Also was able to sleep significantly later than all the parental units (see above, re: Hard Work Involved In Child Raising).
We also ate far better than I’m accustomed to eating, as generally I eat whatever’s leftover from the last time I ate dinner out (which I also do far too often). At the beach we had lasagna (veggie — and delicious!), baked chicken, panzanella, fresh vegetables, etc. etc. Well balanced — and tasty — meals.
The strange thing (and the only part of this post that’s even a tiny bit profound) was the juxtaposition of remembering these sort of trips from my childhood — when I thought “Ah, someday that’ll be me” — and actually *being me* in one of these sort of trips. A bunch of families at the beach with their kids…everyone playing in the ocean…and I’m one of the adults (chronologically speaking, anyway)!
(1) Whew. For anyone counting that’s 5 children, all under the age of 7. Though they all were pretty darn well-behaved, that’s still 5 children more than I’m used to dealing with for more than an hour or two at a time.
(2) I am part dolphin, I think. I float beautifully (no comments from the peanut gallery, please). I love swimming underwater and flipping over waves.
The sand and salt I like less well. Basically I want a wave pool the size of the Atlantic.
(3) From *sand*!! I know I say I’m a Delicate Southern Flower (from a ease-of-skin-damage POV at any rate), but this is ridiculous.