When we were packing for the beach late last Saturday, the weekly forecast looked divine: sunny, low 70s, only one day with a chance of showers. But Sunday, something weather-related shifted, and the forecast changed: cloudy, mid-60s, only one day with consistent sun. It was going to be chilly. And maybe even a little bit dreary.
Late Sunday afternoon, after we’d unpacked and unloaded and started the process of unwinding just a little bit, A. and I walked down to the beach to see exactly how long we could stick our toes in the Gulf without lapsing into hypothermia. The boy declared that the water wasn’t that cold if you just took some time to get used to it, but as best I could tell, there wasn’t a chance that I’d be able to get used to it before my toes turned blue. That is why I opted to perch myself on the edge of a beach chair while A. stood on the edge of the shore and tried to convince himself that the water was totally warm.
Monday and Tuesday we managed to find some pockets of sunshine that made it comfortable to hang out on the beach and chase the waves for a little while. D. had to drive back to Birmingham for work stuff on Tuesday afternoon, and since I had a touch of a headache (just a touch), A. and I enjoyed a perfectly adequate frozen pizza for supper before we fired up our respective electronic book devices and read and read and read and read and read. It was 62 and cloudy on Wednesday – not exactly beach weather – so we stayed inside all day and watched movies and IT. WAS. GLORIOUS. I haven’t done anything like that in forever, but I highly recommend it.
Thursday we drove to Mississippi so that the little guy (who turned ten a couple of weeks ago – can you believe that?!?!) could play golf with my daddy, but then it rained and stormed and rained some more, so we ended up just hanging out with our people for a couple of days and eating way too much fried chicken. We also continued the week’s trend of acting like somebody was paying us the big bucks to sleep upwards of 9 hours a night. Because if I remember any one thing about Spring Break ’13, it will be that we took our sleep all kinds of seriously.
We drove home late Friday afternoon, and we have had the easiest, calmest weekend. Granted, A. has a horrible cold (he’s not running a lick of fever, but between his husky voice and his incessant cough, he sounds a little bit like a cross between Wolfman Jack and Hazel) and I’m trying to pretend that I don’t have a sinus infection, but all three of us have enjoyed being at home and reacquainting ourselves with Chuy’s and soaking up these last couple of days when we are not beholden to alarms and schedules and whathaveyou.
So if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to try to finish catching up on Revenge before the day is done. And that reminds me: does anyone else feel like they do a whole lot of whispering on that show? Because earlier today I was trying to watch for a few minutes while I was cooking lunch, and I honest-to-goodness said, “Oh my word – SPEAK UP” right to the TV – just like the characters could hear me. It just seems like the dialog is very covert and secretive and hushed, and before I know it I’ve cranked the volume up to stun and still might benefit from the use of closed captioning.
As you can tell, I’m a bit consumed by non-issues at the moment. If you stick around long enough, I’m sure to tell you about the horrible misfortune that befell me when the Walgreens did not have a single bottle of Essie’s Turquoise and Caicos nail polish yesterday.
(I’m kidding, by the way.)
(And also: I just re-read this post to proof it, and oh my goodness, I’m just as sorry as I can be about all the boring.)
(Seriously. It’s just a hair shy of saying something like, “And then I cooked some peas.”)
(I will try to do better.)
(But I still think the Revenge people need to speak up.)
(You can always count on me to address society’s most important issues.)