Or as we call it "The Island".
When we first started going there, my daughter was 3 years old and I had to follow her around the forest trails to make sure she didn't step on a rock or fall into the pond or climb something nature only intended for monkeys and tree frogs and stuff.
I've matured a lot in the last 5 years and I felt much more at liberty on this go around to simply park the car, unlock the doors and say
"Go. Come back when you're hungry,"
as they flounced off into the forest.
After a while we headed down to the dock for a boat ride. I had decided not to partake.
(once your watch your lens plummet like a rock into the deep, dark fathoms of a lake from whence it will never be recovered, boats lose all appeal)
(don't ask me how I know that)
And while my maturity level is certainly higher than it was five years ago, it's not so high that I didn't have to remind my son 143 times to buckle his life vest and stay seated and quiet while the boat was moving.
"Mom, I know. Okay? Just stop worrying."
"No, but, you're the oldest so you need to set a good example. Sit down...and hang on to your sister, and stay quiet so Frank can concentrate on driving."
"O-kay."
(and then he glanced around extremely conspicuously to see if anyone was watching)
(or could hear us)
(evidently, it's embarrassing when your mother loves you so much that she doesn't want you to fall off a motor boat and die)
As they pulled away from the dock and let the motor rip, my son threw his hands up over his head and yelled something that sounded like,
"YYYYEEEEAAAAHHHOOOOOO. I'M FREE!!!!!"
I may have misheard that, though. I'm sure I did.
The motor was very loud.
Turns out, they weren't just tooling around the water. They were actually going over to another smaller island to romp around on the sand cliffs for a while. And while I secretly wanted to flop down on the dock and soak up the sun in silence, I kind of felt guilty that my brother was the only other adult over on Sand Cliff Island with all of the kids.
But, then I remembered that he's a middle school PE teacher and he could totally handle it.
Plus, he used to scream and yell and mess up tons of crap when he was little and it was totally annoying and payback's a bitch.
As I was searching around for a towel to ball up under my head as a pillow, the boat came back.
The presence of the other adults was being requested.
So, I zip-tied my camera around my neck and headed out for the Island of Caterwauling Children.
They were floating in the water
and running on the rocks and climbing up a really steep hill to fight over who got the next turn on the rope swing. My brother dared me to try to climb up the hill.
I pointed out to him that I am 42 and 3/4 years old and I don't have to do dares anymore.
And I was wearing my new sparkle flip-flops with absolutely no traction whatsoever.
"Yeah, like that would help."
(Punk)
But, I decided not to care and instead focused on the fact that my children were trying to run and jump into a sitting position on a stick that was tied to a rope that had been hanging there at least 67 years, which then swung them out 30 feet in the air over Sharp Shards Of Shell Beach.
I gently reminded my son about taking turns and not letting go of the rope and killing himself.
He glared at me and made a slashing motion across his throat while he mouthed the word Stop through clenched teeth.
He followed with a few other slicing hand movements across his body that I think meant
Just calm the hell down!
So, I released and gave up, which actually made for a very relaxing rest of the visit.
While they jumped around the cliffs, I sat on a log sipping Diet Coke.
When they hung their hands out of the boat, dragging them through the waves on the way back to the dock, I played Which One Of These Island Mansions Would I Want? in my head.
When they were splashing and screaming in the scummy pond water, I told them to pipe down because the adults were sitting right across from each other and were having to yell to hear over all of their racket.
Not long after, my son came walking down the gravel path with blood gushing from his nose. I stopped in mid-S'more bite and casually asked if he was alright. I mean, I didn't want to be overbearing or anything, lest I be subjected to more hand slashing and teeth clenching.
"My nose is bleeding!"
I kind of shrugged my shoulders and said, "Oh. Do you maybe need help?"
"MOM!"
Proving my theory that they always come back in the end.
Especially when they get bashed in the nose playing football with their cousin.
(I'm just saying.)
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After 10 hours of fun and sand and dirt and salt water and pond slime and cake and dip
(cream cheese, cooked bacon pieces, and chopped green onions)
(try it)
(and don't say I never did anything for ya')
and soda and more cake and more dip and S'mores and rope swings and dip for the road,
we piled into our cars and left our gracious hosts waving wearily from the driveway.
Prince Charming was waiting with open arms when we got home. He didn't get to go this year. A little something called Running A Company kept him away.
He listened to us all twitter on about the fun we'd had and tucked us in after we collapsed in bed.
We slept for about 12 hours, then got up, stayed in our pajamas until noon, watched TV all day and wished next summer would hurry up and get here already
so we can go back to the island again.
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