Hi Kittens! I’m fresh off the beach and trust me, I look like it. Twenty years ago that would have meant that my hair was streaked blonde and I was rocking a deep tan. Now I just look sunburnt and worn out. I’d post a picture but I didn’t take any. Plus, I don’t trust you people with my image.
Camping is something I do once a year to remind myself that my parents were saints. Or insane, whichever.
Of course, my parents had a huge camper with air conditioning and I had a hot tent with last year’s dirt on the floor.
It didn’t seem to faze the kids.
If you peer really closely you can see the kids swimming to the dock. Because I’m very responsible, all of them are wearing life jackets. This is just moments before the marina police drove up and told them to get away from the dock. Fascists.
After two days of dragging the kids behind the boat, we piled the kids in the car and drove eight hours to North Carolina. It was worth the long trip. Our friends fed us like kings, then took us via ferry to Shackleford Banks, an island with wild horses and lots of conch shells.
The kids were out of the water for about ten minutes all day. On Sunday we said our goodbyes and made the trip back home. I am still recovering. I’m at the age where sleeping on a blowup bed and driving in a car constitutes hard living.
Speaking of hard living: You know what’s harder than dieting? Dieting while at the lake and vacationing with friends. I ate hamburgers without buns, chicken without bbq sauce, and no s’mores. My 30 days is up tomorrow and if I haven’t lost weight, prepare yourself for the sonic boom of my head exploding.