You Break It ~ You Bought It

I hope you are enjoying reading posts of my recent vacation to Houghton Lake, Michigan with all of my five men. The following happened in one of the Indian gift shops:

Years ago when my boys were small we would eagerly await the dancing demonstration every Thursday by the local Indians. We'd huddle outside on the rickety bleachers listening to the locals spin their tales, watching them dance. We'd take video of my boys huddled in a tepee pretending to be Indians. And of course we visited all three of the city's Indian shops. Feather headdresses, coon skin caps, tom toms, rubber javelins and tomahawks all made their way back home to Ohio. My boys simply loved wandering around the gift shops. They had their souvenir money, and not one penny of that ever made it back to Ohio!

So there we were wandering around the very same gift shops a few weeks ago with much the same merchandise, when I picked up a small plastic hammer that looked like it was supposed to squeak when hit. So I hit it on the counter. And it broke right in two! I did not bang it down hard. Next, I did what any kid would do - I put it down...fast.

Hmmm...a dilemma. I actually was quite mad that the stupid thing broke. What to do? I walked over to someone who shall remain nameless, therefore blameless, and confessed. Nameless said, "Just leave it. Don't worry about it."

Hmmm...Didn't set well with me. What would Jesus do? Jesus would have had a nice sturdy toy hammer made out of wood. It wouldn't have broken. But I was stuck with a cheapy plastic piece of...well, you get the idea.

It cost $1.59 but it was the principle of the thing. I did not want to pay for a defective toy. I couldn't leave it in the bin for some poor unsuspecting child to cut herself on. No one but Nameless knew what happened - or so I thought. I grabbed the stupid hammer, marched up to the cashier, laid the hammer down and said, "This broke." Not too much information. Just enough. It did break.

The cashier said, "Oh." I walked away. Of course I spent a fair amount on other souvenirs I'd collected, and then went out to the car to my waiting family.

The instant the car door opened in rapid-fire succession:

"Did you really break it?"

"Did you tell them?"

"Did you buy it?"

To which I replied, "Yes, yes, and no."

Obviously, Nameless blabbed. Awfully glad I did the right thing. I always knew I would - it was just a matter of how.

Lesson taught - lesson learned. This mom thing is never really over, is it?

~ Maureen :)

The Princess and the Piece of Plywood

It has to be plywood, right? Or possibly cement? When I lie on the bed in our vacation cabin after a tiring day of travel, I think, You gotta be kiddin'!

No, not kidding. I stretch out expecting some sort of give in the mattress. Something. Anything. Nothing. N-o-t-h-i-n-g! How can a piece of furniture designed to bestow a good night's sleep be so unforgiving? The floor must be softer.

I try to sleep. I toss. I turn. My mood rapidly deteriorates. Why does the fan have to be whirling away? I'm freezing. Why can't my bedmate vanish into thin air so I don't have to suffer in silence?

And what is the crunching sound in my ears? Why is my hair soaked? Despicable thick plastic pillow protectors! Protection from what? Me from bugs? Them from slobber? I can't stand another second. I flee to another room. Same darn bed. This is just plain wrong. Whatever fraction of z's I catch are further fractured by nightmares.

On night #2 my son lifts the extremely thick and horrendously heavy futon pad to the bedroom for me. Now I really feel like the princess with her pea of a mattress resting beneath the cushioned barrier, the softness a definite improvement. It, however, subtracts from the overall sleeping space. Claustrophia of the mattress ensues coupled with the paranoid notion that I could quite certainly fall off!

No fan freezes me this night, but the uncirculating air feels stagnant, heavy. I can't open windows. Anyone walking by could see right in. Rational Mind realizes positively no one would ever walk by to peer in. Too bad Irrational Mind prevails.

Next, the pillow crunches one too many times. Me and my damp head storm out barely disturbing catatonic bedmate. He's enjoying the five inch thick futon pad all night long. I claim the 2X4 on the other side of the wall. Why, God, oh why?

I double every blanket I can find and zip off the plastic pillow protectors, feeling nearly as guilty as when tearing off the Do-not-remove-under-penalty-of-law pillow tags. What is that all about anyway? Have the pillow police ever arrested anyone? Intimidation, pure and simple. It worked on me for years.

But not tonight. Not in my cabin where the yellowy plastic bags are neatly folded in a corner of the room until I make next week's visitors miserable by re-zipping them around the soft, quiet pillows that never did anything to anyone to deserve such an incarcerated fate.

Quiet cabin, other occupant asleep, the minutes turn to hours. Where are those leaping little sheep when you need them?

~ Maureen :)

Fun in the Sun Minus the Sun

Some necessary background on me and water: first, I can't really swim. I say "really" because a very long time ago my mom took me to the YWCA to remedy that situation. I was about 10 years old. My most vivid memory is undressing with very many older naked ladies. I did not like that.

I wore glasses at the time but couldn't wear them in the pool so I couldn't see what was demonstrated. No pun intended, I felt like a fish out of water. I muddled through. My family moved to a house that had a pool when I was 14. My memories are of holding my breath, swimming one length, stopping, gulping for air and turning around to "swim" again. I used to think I could save myself if need be, but I highly doubt that anymore.

Next the whole vacation bathing suit dilemma. Ugh! Or beter yet, "Double Ugh!" as my dad likes to lament. I have never been a fan of swimsuits in any shape or form. May quite possibly have something to do with my shape and form. Oh well. What is, is.

A month before our vacation I began the online hunt for suits. Ordered one. It came. Ha ha ha! Ordered another. More laughter. More orders phoned in, knowing once I found an acceptable garment I'd send all others back. What a fortune temporarily spent. However, the horror of an actual dressing room experience kept me from all actual stores.

I finally didn't throw up when I tried on the last of the mail order suits, so that was the keeper. Vacation began in less than a week. I was ready. Me, my suit, my cover up and my floppy hat. I never wear hats but I thought, Why not? No one knows me up there but my family. It might be fun.

One more purchase necessary for fun in the sun: a float, a big huge 72 inch round float, and since I just wanted to lie on the float and not have to keep paddling myself around, I bought a small mushroom-shaped anchor, to anchor me in the middle of the lovely, calm, shallow lake I remembered so well.

We arrived - my five men and me. The place looked beautiful. Log cabins, same little play area where my young sons once played, same welcoming hosts. We were at Houghton Lake. We were back after an eight-year absence, and it felt great.

We blew up the float and although it was pretty windy we ventured out. The hilarious part of this trip into the lake is that my husband held the float for me at the dock. I didn't even have to get wet! Now that's my kind of swimming! Beginning to see a pattern? I like beer that doesn't taste like beer (previous post), I enjoy water if I'm not actually in it.

The waves got bigger and the water was mighty cold splashing up over my lake island. I lasted an hour tops, gracefully slipping off the back, into the water for maybe two seconds, and climbing the dock steps.

And that was the last time any of us were in the water all week long. The first day or two I encouraged, "Oh, this dreadful weather will never last. It came in fast; it will go away fast. The wind will slow, the lake will be calm, and we can swim and fish without upending on whitecaps." Didn't that sound like great advice? I thought so. My dear ones believed my optimism until about Wednesday. By then I didn't even believe it. It sucked! And we all felt the disappointment.

But my men did venture out to fish. It amazes me how two sons aged 20 and 21 can act like little infants when seated next to one another in the car on the shortest jaunts into town, hands all over one another. "Mom, tell him to leave me alone. I'm going to punch him if he doesn't leave me alone, Mom. I really am." (So punch him!)

How is it that these same two creatures can and did spend eight hours a day fishing together in a 14 foot aluminum boat? Remarkable! They had such fun. They reconnected; we all did. So we couldn't swim, or even lie in the sun. And you know that floppy hat I'd bought? I attempted wearing it only once when the wind nearly ripped it off my head. It joined the other misfits on the island of lost vacation toys: spray-on Coppertone, aloe for sunburn - now there's a hoot!, swimsuit, cover up, really expensive float, anchor, water cannons and big, soft, fluffy brand new beachtowels for six!

I now know it is possible to come back from a summer vacation whiter than when we left!

For more vacation memories tune in tomorrow.

~ Maureen :)