Blessed Vacation

It is the hottest day of the year.  If I were my mother, I would be chopping vegetables for a big vat of soup, or a spicy chili.  She thrives on irony.

As it is, I am gathering firewood from my neighbors' stack of it. (He doesn't know it yet but if I supply the Bud Light, he'll have no problem with my theft).  I went to the grocery store with the kids on Wednesday and the first thing we saw on a huge display were supplies for s'mores: marshmallows, graham crackers, chocolate and s'mores sticks (which work much better than twigs from the woods - dug out in the darkness among mice and spiders and those little tiny bugs that leave welts on your ankles).  We will have a bonfire - and it will be fun damn it.  Hot.  Oh, so hot though.

In thirty minutes, after the cake finishes baking, we are going to take our sweaty selves to the air -conditioned truck, sing Justin Beiber or Taylor Swift (the kids are victims of pop rock despite the fact that they know every song that my best friend Bruce sings), and buy a boat big enough for three at the pool supply store.

It is the first day of an eight-day vacation with them, and the pool - my beautiful, round oasis filled with sparkling blue water - will be our companion for the weekend.  We will make whirlpools, wrestle on basketballs, play Marco-Polo and swim.  Swim!  Glorious swimming followed by popsicles and reading on the deck while we dry off.

After the weekend, we are heading for the beach.  More swimming! 

Being in the water makes me feel at home.  Being in the water with the kids makes me feel whole.

Cake's done.  Let's go!