I won't apologize for my neglect. If I neglected my children, yes, but not the ole' blarg. And no, I haven't been in Ireland or even speaking with an Irish accent, (although that would be so cool) I've been enjoying the last dog days of summer.
As I write this, I am bundled up against the freezing circulating air at my mother's house. Mama Magnolia likes to hermetically seal herself (and all her kin) inside during the hot summer days, thus encouraging the simultaneous use of wool socks and a hot shower--yes, simultaneous--just to protect oneself from frostbite in August.
But this one chilly night is just a pit stop. We are on our way to paradise. Nestled in the nearby mountains is a lake. The lake. The lake of my childhood, the lake of my youth, and incidentally, the lake near which I was a part of stealing my first car--wait, did I say first? A-hem, I meant only. Anyway...
Here, young dreams were built in sand. Treasure was hunted (and bought), and young crushes bloomed with handsome and heart crushing boys. This is the place I return to each summer. Under the warmth of sun, with water lapping against the beach, my friends await.
What a tribe we women, and the children we've born, make.
The wise one.
The dark haired beauty.
And the drama queen.
Sand will work its way into every nook and cranny. (Yes, every nook and cranny...)
We, vowing to stick to our 'lifestyle changes' will say it with conviction, "Today is the day!"...while eating handfuls of M&M's.
We will drink too much Diet Coke.
The children won't bathe.
This is the eve of our last hurrah of summer.
So I sit here, the electric blanket turned on high, waiting for tomorrow to begin.
See you next week..and um, don't bother calling, Mountain Man erases messages and he never answers the phone...:)