idontbelieveingrammar

A few weeks ago I had a pretty perfect weekend in mansion (if it has an elevator and it is totally a mansion!) on the lake. As part of the package, there was also a 3 hour stand up paddle board less thrown in. I was very excited about this. And equally nervous about making a big fat fool of myself.   First off, most of my friends are like semiprofessional athletes not to mention younger and skinnier! One dances in NYC. Another medals in triatholons. And the fact that I’d have to wear a bathing suit for it did not help my confidence level. Now is also a good time to disclose that I have a love/hate relationship with the B word. Balance. However, the whole idea seemed beachy and dreamy to me.  My husband is a mountain man. He likes to go where the air is thinner. And ski and fish and get altitude sickness. I like those things (minus the atltitude sickness), but I love the water. I spent summer vacations at the beach, long summers on the Guadalupe, weekends on...

Eventually the sunlight through the windows forces me out of my bed. I crawl out of my narrow twin mattress, quiet so not to wake the girl in the other bed right beside mine. I shuffle to the bathroom, strewn with swimsuits, tanktops and toothbrushes. I brush my teeth. Skip makeup. Pull back a ponytail and head to the kitchen in search of a cup of coffee. The other girls sleep soundly upstairs, tired from a late night of talking and laughing into the wee hours. I walk outside, the air smells familiar. Like the river and I breath in every bit of the water, look up at the hills and feel my stomach muscles sore from so much laughing the night before. And I could have written that exact first paragraph 15 years ago. It all feels very deja vu. This slight ache in my heart that wants to see my family but is not ready for this to end. The part that wants one more day. One more week. Another night of Johnny Appleseed and fuzzy wuzzies and maybe some more night swimming and smores....