Despite The Warm Drink

I almost wasn't able to sit down and write today because when I went to mix my drink there WAS NO ICE. Is the strenuous three foot jog over to the sink from the fridge really too much for anyone in this house, save me, to bear??? It's terribly obvious which one of us was looked over in the government's search for new CIA operatives. The one willing to risk life and limb crossing the kitchen to refill the ice cube trays, that's who. Anywho, we spent a lovely weekend up north at our friend's cabin on a lake, sitting around campfires and hiking through 'the woods.' I am the only person over five this weekend who might refer to the tiny wooded area behind the cabin as 'the woods' or, Kendra's favorite, 'the forest', but it was the perfect size for a bunch of hyperactive toddlers to tear around in. I'm sure it felt like they were roaming through uncharted territory like a group of little Magellans. For me it was a weekend of pure debauchery, and I have an empty case of Silver Bullets and a near empty jar of Blue Cheese salad dressing, which I bought specifically to dip celery in, to prove it. For the nutrition. It's fair, if you only do it once a year, to finish an entire jar in one weekend. Right? (Besides, I ate most of it standing over the kitchen sink.) It was a little damp and rainy on our first morning but the weekend ended up being beautiful. On Saturday we trucked the kids to the beach in sweat shirts so they could play in the sand, but before too long it was sunny enough that they were stripped nearly naked to allow for swimming. It went from this: To this: Rosie had a love affair with that statue up there, Gus. She hugged and kissed him and whispered into his ear so that no one could hear her sweet nothings. And if she noticed him while playing she'd truck back up the steps to where he awaited her, only to give him a pat or two before fumbling down the wood back to the beach. Sometimes she'd shoot him a stern look, like he'd been up to something while she was busy filling her buckets, but in the end she always forgave him. Have I taught her nothing? "Gus, I found lipstick on your shirt and a matchbook with a number in it. We need to talk." "Oh Gus, you know I can't stay mad at you! Hold me!" Their summer romance will have to wait until next year to rekindle, unfortunately, because a mid-September visit up north was pushing it. Maybe a year's worth of time passing will find them grown apart. Poor girl.