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My Captain and I took Critter and Varmint out to Ohiopyle State Park the weekend before school started, to recharge their batteries, to give them something fresh to do so they wouldn’t spend the weekend in the pre-school-starting funk, so that we’d all have a change of venue, to breathe mountain fresh air and dabble our toes in nature a bit.   The Youghigheny river, a class III/IV whitewater, runs through Ohiopyle, and they have top-notch campgrounds and multiple hiking / biking trails.

The place is nothing short of awesome.

I’ve been going there ever since my friends Butch and Keith introduced me to it 20 years ago.  We’d go on weekend kayaking/camping trips and boy oh boy were those the good ol’ days!

I wanted to share some of that with my critter and varmint.

Mind you, when I camped back in those days, it was in borrowed 2 man tents, and I’d live on peanut butter and jelly for the weekend.  No more!  Now I glamp, Baby!  (May I call you Baby?)

My Captain set up a big ‘easy up,’ which is a shade awning on four stakes, and I put homemade calico flags around the perimeter.  Our beds were well spaced out in our three room (with curtained privacy walls!) 8 man LL Bean dome tent…tall enough for even my 6’2″ Captain to stand up in!  We had gourmet dinners that I cooked with my Max Burton Butane Camp stove, and we had not marshmallows for the campfire…no Sirree, not JUST any old marshmallows!

We had Peeps that I’d had as leftovers from one of our sledding adventures last January. Aren’t they cute?  Talk about adding some spice to a weekend camping trip!  GLAMPING, baby!

But, um, I hadn’t thought that all the way through.  It got a little weird.

The stuff nightmares are made of.

I’m here to tell you that eating a S’more made out of a melted, partially decapitated snowman…..

pretty much tastes the same, but with emotional scarring.

“It’s time to go!  It’s time for bed.  We need to get up tomorrow at the crack of ever-lovin’ dawn for school!”  I bellowed to this tree:

Well, specifically, I was hollering to the kidlets in the tree.

The veritable monkeys who had shimmied up after My Captain’s birthday dinner.

Critter and Em (My friend Maggie’s daughter) had decided to test Goggy and Papa’s arbor ratings.

And they weren’t coming down any time soon.

Well, at least, in their own minds.

Maggie and Mama had other plans.  It involved our shoulders, and knees, and bark in our mouths, and shoes in our faces, but those babies would get down, come hell or high water!

I had called Ty and My Captain over from where they were chatting, and asked them to come help, but they just stood looking at us like, “What do you want us to do about it?  They’ll figure it out.  You rarely see the skeletons of children in trees.”

Maggie and I, being Mamas, were NOT about to test that theory.

And what did they mean by ‘Rarely?!’

My Captain and I were invited to a party last night at a farm not too distant from our little cottage.  In fact, the hosts of the party used to actually live in the little cottage before we did, and we enjoy them tremendously.  We never get to see them, and we really do want to see them, but apparently our ships cross in the night.  We never see each other.

There was no way we were going to miss this party.

But we almost did.   Varmint’s cheerleading squad’s football game got moved right smack dab in the middle of the party time.

So we did the unthinkable.  At the end of the football game, we drove our sweaty, rumpled, sunburned selves to the party at Mach 5, and arrived one minute before it was supposed to be ‘over.’

And the first thing I said when the host politely got up to welcome us?  It wasn’t “I’m so sorry we’re late!”  and it wasn’t “Please forgive our rudeness.”  Nope.  No siree.  I said quite clearly, “Tell me there is food left!”

There WAS food…DELICIOUS food, and the hosts, Chuck and Carole, were gracious as any hosts could be, considering the lateness of our arrival.  I made a bee-line for their home-smoked beans and proceeded to make a pig of myself.

You’d think all would end well if I could behave socially acceptably from that point.   You know, employ a napkin or something, for God’s sake.

Nope.

Let’s see, what other faux pas did I stumble into?  Um, I talked to Carole’s dad when Carole’s daughter was singing for everyone.  Well, truthfully I was listening and he was talking, so in all fairness I should be absolved of that.  Everyone was listening politely to the beautiful young lady with the sweet and clear voice, and there I was hotly debating whether or not drones would really ever be a threat on domestic soil.

Mind you, I have absolutely no idea if they would be or not, but you can be darn tootin’ sure I’ll argue the hell out of it.  That’s one thing you can always count on with me:  I may not be right, but I’m sure as hell SURE!

And then later I found myself discussing the benefits of European Bidets and the fact that the one in our master bathroom is like, totally my best friend in the whole wide world.  This wouldn’t have been so bad if the conversation hadn’t been with someone of a past generation who was not a little shocked and appalled at my candidness.  Oh, I should mention, too, that I did this in front of My Captain, who was looking everywhere but at me and my victim, er, I mean conversation partner.   Sometimes I think he hates me.  But then he remembers how charming I am when I’m silent…like when I’m sleeping.

Basically it’s not hard to understand why we don’t get invited to too many parties.

But I really DID like visiting our neighbors-that-we-never-get-to-see, and I really did enjoy the food and the conversation, and I really, really, really do truly love my bidet.

I mean, really.  As in ‘a lot.’

I guess I’m just a little rusty with the ol’ party manners.

If you need me, I’ll be busy writing my apologies…er, I mean my Thank You notes.

***sigh***

My Captain took me on a surprise date tonight.  We went to Union Jack’s in Bethesda.

The food was wonderful.  The atmosphere comfortable and not too loud (it was early!).  The service was top-notch.

But none of these things compared to the toast.

Not Rye.  Not pumpernickel.

A “Beloved” Toast.

After our drinks had been served, the handsome, quietly confident hero with whom I have the great fortune to spend my life turned, pierced me with his smoldering dark eyes, raised his glass to me and said simply,

“To Us.”

I paused, waiting for the punch line.

I held my breath, expecting the smarty remark.

I looked for the ‘just kidding’ wink.

But all that returned my gaze was unwavering sincerity, honesty, and love.

That was the best damn meal I’ve had in years.

And it wasn’t from the food.

Last night was ‘Back To School Night’ at Varmint’s middle school.   It’s hard for me to go to these things for several reasons:

1)  I know, I just KNOW, that I will screw up and eventually say something to a teacher that will embarrass my Varmint.

2)  I have a knack for embarrassing My Captain at these things.

3)  I think many of the other parents are embarrassed for me, because when I’m talking, their faces resemble those of the audience of the VMA awards when Miley Cyrus, and Lady Gaga, um, performed.

4)  If I weren’t so numb to my own foolishness, I’d be embarrassed as well.

My family puts up with me and my foibles for reasons unknown.  They never disown me.  At least, not to date.  I think that they know that I always go in with the best of intentions, but no matter how I try to stifle my           “ME-ness,” it just comes pouring out.

And usually in an overly loud, bowl-everyone-over-like-a-tsunami kind of way.

Intention SHOULD count, I tell my family.  I only mean to do good and right, honestly I do.

But in my defense, I was NOT prepared to see the dead, vacuum packed frogs the children will be made to cut, that would send me into an emotional tail-spin the likes of which you’ve never seen.  Think Jewish/Italian/Hispanic mothers at a funeral/wedding/briss.

And NO ONE had informed me it would be hotter than blazes in the room and I’d have to take my sweater off, thus showing my pants were ripped a bit in the behind.

And I had no idea that once I squeezed my middle-aged big butt into a 7th grade desk-attached-seat, and then went to stand up quickly when we were dismissed, that my girth would carry the desk halfway up with me, and then, when my folds could no longer compensate for the force of gravity, would send it crashing down.

I mean, we need to consider the intent before we condemn all of  these unfortunate events.  Am I right, or am I right?

Of course I’m right.

I console myself that I didn’t fart on anyone in the school.  At least, not obviously.

But we don’t need to go down that road.

The final classroom we visited last night was Varmint’s English teacher’s.  On her wall was a colorful poster that simply read,

“I Won’t Give Up On You.”

Isn’t that a beautiful thing for a teacher to put at the front of the class?  Isn’t that the most marvelous thought a teacher could gift to struggling young tweens?

I wish my family would hang that up in the kitchen for me.  Maybe one of you could send them a hint!  Nothing obvious, and please don’t tell them I sent you!

That would be swell!  You guys are the best!

Love,

Mama