Vacation is over–sadly. Tomorrow we will pile in the car, with all our stuff (good lord, where did all this STUFF come from???) and head home. It’s been a good week–I read TWO WHOLE magazines and the ENTIRE New York Times on two separate days. Now THAT’S a vacation.
I have also discovered that I really really need a GREAT pair of black pants for fall.
More details–and pictures–soon!
We took the boys for a ‘wilderness adventure’ this morning, in my parents’ neighborhood. Their subdivision has a park with a little garden of native plants and rock-and-gravel paths. The boys played hide-and-seek and looked for wild animals (we saw bees but not much else).
It makes me want to sell our house and move to New Mexico.
In East Texas, located just off of I40, is the Largest Cross in the Western Hemisphere*. You can see it, from the highway, for 12 miles (I know this because Wade checks the distance EVERY SINGLE TIME we drive past it, which is EVERY SINGLE TIME we drive to New Mexico).
Yesterday, as we drove by, I noticed the sign for the Blessed Mary Restaurant (really). I pointed it out to Wade, who said, ‘I’ll have an order of Virgin Fries and an Immaculate Conception Omlette.’
And that pretty much sums up My Day On The Road With Wade.
*It’s worth Googling this–I’d link to it, but I’m on a borrowed computer and I’m having some technical difficulties (okay, okay, I just can’t figure out how to do it! Sheesh). Anyway the creepy music alone at the site is worth the effort. Trust me.
Charlie says, ‘I’m free today!’ (That’s three for those of you who don’t speak preschooler.)
So we’re finally almost ready to head out on our vacation. Tell me this: why does my part of ‘getting ready to go on vacation’ include hauling the sick child(ren) to the doctor, filling the sick child(ren)’s prescriptions, providing everything necessary to combat the side effects of the sick child(ren)’s prescriptions*, doing 400 loads of laundry, plotting the proper attire for the children for various climate and activity options, packing all those options in separate bags for each child, cleaning out the fridge, picking up the house, balancing the checkbook, arranging for the mail to be picked up, and THEN packing for myself?
And why is it that my husband’s contribution to ‘getting ready to go on vacation’ consists of dropping his dress shoes off to be resoled, buying Visine, eating lunch at Arby’s, and TAKING A TWO HOUR NAP???
Okay, so he did mow the lawn. Front only. And he did ‘help’ the boys pick out some CDs and DVDs to take in the car (which I PACKED). But GIVE ME A BREAK.
I mean it. I need a vacation.
We are all feeling much better, thanks, and have had a nice reminder why doctors give that big lecture about taking THE ENTIRE PRESCRIPTION, and not just bailing when you feel better. The antibiotics went to work immediately, and by yesterday we were all good to go. Except that we couldn’t go anywhere, as everything we owned was in the dirty laundry. So today we got our act together and tomorrow, we’re off!
*Yes, someone in our lovely family is ALWAYS sick when we go on vacation. ALWAYS.
I have a five-year-old son named Henry. His brain does not work like other five-year-olds. He is often impulsive and reckless; he is also easily frightened. He can be both at the same time.
Last summer, Henry took swim lessons, in a group, with other kids his age. He refused, until the very end of the summer, to put his face in the water. He refused, entirely, to go under water unless someone was there to catch him, even in the shallow end. He would jump off the side, land on his feet, and walk to the steps to get out. He did not swim. But he loved the pool.
This summer, knowing what we know about his brain and how it works, we signed Henry up for private swim lessons. The girl who has been working with him is an angel. She is kind and patient and has a terrific sense of humour. She is only in high school, but she has taught Henry to swim, which is little short of miraculous.
Today I watched my son jump off the diving board and swim to the side of the pool. All by himself. And when I said to him, ‘Buddy, you did a great job out there!’, he looked at me and said, ‘I know.’ And then he thought for a moment, and he said, ‘ And you know what? I feel really proud of myself.’
I have a five-year-old son named Henry, and today I am so proud of him that I just may cry.
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