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We had a long trip ahead of us.  I find this to be a good opportunity to observe my loved ones…because they are forced to be still.

How sweet they are when they are quiet together.

But they are tired.  It didn’t take long for Varmint to fade out.

And My Captain was just as tired, I had no doubt.

He struggled.

But the force of Varmint’s rhythmic sleepy breathing was too great for him.

Ah, dear ones.  How I love you so.

Meanwhile, back on our side of the aisle…..

C’mon, Critter, let’s see how many selfies we can do for the next 5 hours while we eat sugar and do espresso shots!

Every couple of years, we take the kids out to our property in the mountains of Northwest, Montana to give them a change of venue from rural Maryland, to keep an eye on our future retirement, and because camping in the mountains with a teen and pre-teen is just plain ding-dang fun! 

And every couple of years is an entirely different experience along the route, too.

This year was prank year, apparently.

We had to get up at the very butt-crack of dawn to get to Dulles Airport, because My Captain is a Sadist, and obviously hates us.  The kids were tired, My Captain was tired, and Mama was her normal grumpy, exhaustipated self.  By the time we finished the first leg of the journey west, and were grabbing a quick breakfast during our layover in the Minneapolis Airport, we were all just plain punchy.

Not that that is a bad thing.

Our moods had lightened the closer and closer we got to Montana, and a two week respite from all things responsible….Critter and Varmint, happy to get as far away as possible from anything close to school, My Captain from his copious serious responsibilities at work, and me, because responsibilities make me fat.

So the farther we traveled from home, the lighter we felt, and I admit I was feeling a little bit frisky.

When we went to board the plane that would take us to Great Falls, I hung back, allowing the kids and My Captain to precede me.  I paused at the flight attendant welcoming everyone aboard, pointed to My Captain, and said,

“Hi.  You see that tall guy in the orange shirt?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Well, he’s too shy to say anything about it, but he’s a puker. He’s probably going to need extra bags.”

“Oh, we can help him with that.”

A moment later, in front of EVERYONE, she went to his seat on the plane and handed him a huge stack of barf bags with a most compassionate and understanding smile.

My Captain briefly paused, pursed his lips, and politely thanked her for the pile of bags.  Then when she turned to walk back up the cabin, he swiftly reached across the aisle, and slapped me upside the head with them.

Who knew he was such a violent little cuss?

Did I hit him back?  Did I laugh into his gorgeous steely dark eyes?  Did I use one of the barf bags myself?

Stay tuned for more “Mama Hits Montana 2014” stories!

We were at Pop-pop’s beach for a glorious week, and my children, the ones who make getting up any given day during the school year a hellish feat to accomplish, were now getting up at the butt-crack of dawn to go hit the waves.

Fine!  Great!  Go get some exercise and work on your future melanomas!  I’ll have breakfast waiting for you when you’re driven back to the cottage by pangs of hunger, and the need of first aid.

One. Small. Problem.

The lifeguards at Sussex Shores don’t come on duty until 10:00am.  And while I trust your swimming abilities, the ocean can be unforgiving….

and I can’t replace you numbskulls.

Everyone looked at My Captain, who had just emerged from the bedroom, sleepy-eyed, unshaven, and scratching himself.  He had no idea what was coming.

“PLEEEEEEAAAAAAASEEEEE?  Oh please won’t you come down to the beach and watch us so we can go swimming NOW, and don’t have to wait for the guards?”

“You’re the best Troy in the whole world!  Please won’t you do this for us?  We’ll just die of boredom if you don’t!”

“We’ll be good all day, and put the dishes away without asking and everything!”

He threw me a look of condemnation, as if it was my idea to begin with (which I will neither confirm or deny) and told them to at least let him go pee first.  I gave him a grateful hug and assured him that I would come down to the beach, too, bring him a cup of coffee, and help watch the brats.

Which I did.

Right after

I took

a couple of moments

to take pictures

of the kids playing in

the glorious

summer morning sunshine, and of his

tall, dark and handsome,

sinewy, hard-framed, totally-in-shape-without-even-trying,

tall, wide-shouldered, narrow hipped, long-legged drink of water,

fantastically classically profiled,

gorgeous self.

Are you going to help me, or what?

Well, DUH……..What.

(He never DID get his coffee…..)

I remember vividly the excitement of ripping open a box of Little Debbie Oatmeal Cream Pies.  Or her chocolate cakes.  Or her cinnamon coffee cake muffins.   I’d forgotten about how wonderful she could make partially hydrogenated oil taste.  My children, truth be told, have not had the opportunity to eat all that crap as I did as a child.

Until this summer.

While at Pop-pop’s little cottage at the beach, I went shopping at the same mom-and-pop store my dad used to shop, called G and E Grocery Store, in Ocean View, Delaware.  This is where we as a family have been able to find “Beach Sausage,” as Pop-pop had dubbed it.  Milton sausage, made right there in Milton, Delaware.  Those butchers know their way around a vat of MSG, let me tell you!

And while I was stocking up on our favorite summertime, artery-clogging, chemically laden pork product, I passed an aisle that reminded me of Little Debbie, and her glorious sweets.  Only this time, I found she’s expanded into a beach theme!

I wondered how they would taste.  I surmised probably like all the other little cakes of hers I’d ever tasted.  But, see, I’m not one who likes to make assumptions…whenever I do, I always come out looking like the proverbial ASS in the assumption making process.  So I did what any scientist would do, and embarked on a process dedicated to research and objective fact finding.

….I bought them all.

Don’t judge.

All of my attention was hyper-focused on something terribly stressful, like trying to get the last bit of sun-melted saltwater sticky taffy off of it’s waxed paper wrapper, when I vaguely heard the music from the local sno-cone truck.  I also vaguely remember both of my kids running to My Captain, hearing the dangle of change from his pocket, and then the sound of the doors of Pop-pop’s little cottage, where we were vacationing for the week, slamming.

Moments later, when I finally surfaced from the wax paper task, and had hidden any evidence of it thoroughly, I realized the cottage was awfully quiet.

I worried, as any good mama would do, and set out to find my two most likely mess-makers.  I got as far as the garden porch, when I spied this:

Aw!  Critter and Varmint are so like their mama, equating summer with excessive sugar consumption!

Whatcha doin’ guys?

Tasting rainbows, mom.  Ever tasted a rainbow?

Can’t say that I have darlins!

They taste an awful lot like one of your kisses, Mom.

Pardon me, friends, while I melt into putty that would fit in the palm of my children’s hands.