We’re on vacation this week, and it’s been funny to watch how easily we settle into new routines. Every morning, cousins and parents and other assorted relatives gather at the cottage where my grandparents are staying for Danish and coffee. Then it’s to the lake or staying indoors to get a break from the sun, which is what I did yesterday. At dinner time, cousins and parents and other assorted relatives once again gather at the grandparents’ cottage for cheese, crackers, and adult beverages before it’s time to eat. Then there’s usually Olympics or Pirates games to watch and card games to be played.
Aside from the extremely old mattresses in our cottage (I just can’t deal with those and risk messing my up my neck) forcing the husband and I to sleep on the living room floor, where I came face-to-face with a millipede the other night, causing me to go through a rather elaborate process of covering it with paper plates, screeching, and eventually murdering it with a Kleenex box, we’ve settled into this temporarily nothing-but-pleasant existence.
The baby is having a blast hanging out with his cousins, dipping into a kind of free-range childhood that he just can’t get at home.
The other night, I mentioned a co-worker whose last day of work is today (Happy Trails, Em!) and I realized how strange it was to talk about the 9 to 5. Like, what is it? What do I do there? Occasionally, blips of real life will scuttle across my brain…I wonder if the mother-in-law remembered to put our garbage out or if we’ll be overrun with fruit flies when we return…I wonder if my plants are still alive…I wonder how our cats are doing. But they’re easily brushed away when I push off of the floor with my foot and set the porch swing going again.