Rewind to mid-August: My marvelous golf-mad husband left to golf in Scotland, leaving me alone with Puking Boy and the rest of the crew. We visited my dad in Eastern Oregon for my grandparents 65th wedding anniversary, which my sister already wrote about, and I am lazy enough to link instead of doing all that writing myself. Ignore the part where she compares our children to ants.
Random photo from the shindig, the boys in their matching shirts. Makes it easy to spot them:
And one more, heading back from the party.
I like this picture, not because it's great photography, but because I know that everyone was hot and a bit dusty, a little tired, and in good spirits. The kids had been playing on the baseball diamond and the bleachers, running and jumping and chasing and yelling and just having a good time. The bigger ones looked out for the little ones. The older folk sat around and chatted. It reminded me of get-togethers with friends and family when I was a kid. Lovely.
The gents were worn out. Just after Dad told me that everyone was remarking on how well-behaved all of the kids are, and how they didn't hear us raise our voices to the kids the whole day, an exhausted young gent pitched a screaming yelling crying tantrum over bedtime. I was, um...., less than patient. Might have said something along the lines of go to bed or I'll duct tape you to a tree. Not really, geez. That's only what I wanted to say. I am sure that my threatened consequence was marginally more reasonable. Not one of my most stellar parenting moments, shall we say. Let's hope that none of the folks outside could hear the hollering (not-so-fine young gent) and yelling (not-so-patient mommy) coming from the basement.
We got home from the trip exhausted from driving and driving, and worn thin by steering ladies and gents through unfamiliar environments and food that's different, lugging in the mounds of laundry that we've brought home and so forth. It just plopped right out of my mouth: "I need a vacation from my vacation." Cliche it may be, but I did get my own little vacation. I drove to the Oregon Coast with my sisters for a weekend visit with Mom and her marvelous husband, Dick. I did have to take the youngest fine young gent, so it wasn't all naps and beach strolls, but it was enough of a vacation that I returned refreshed and ready to start school.