Summer: The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly Bikini Bottoms

Summer a.k.a. misery and swimsuit angst.

We ended the school year with a nasty cold. Monkey came home an absolute grouch on the last day of school. Not what you’d expect from a kid who’s been looking forward to summer break since, oh, September.

Turned out he was sick and the misery has made its way through the family, which is why I’ve been MIA. When all you can come up with to blog about is the quantity and consistency of mucous, it’s best not to post.

But now we’re finding our summer groove and despite my first sentence, I’m feeling optimistic about the next two months.

For one thing, Kory has been court ordered to take a vacation. Well, not quite. But he’s about to max out on vacation time, and was told he better take time off. I, of course, have been telling him he needs a break for months. Not sure yet what we’ll do. Nothing too spectacular. That’s just not how we roll.

In order to avoid constant guilt over letting the boys have too much screen time, I set up some daily requirements for math, reading and exercise. They’re pretty minimal but at least at the end of the summer I won’t be handing little Neanderthals back to the teachers.

My mom sent up a box of old comic books—Hagaar the Horrible, Beetle Bailey, B.C., Peanuts—and the boys are devouring them. Great literature? Maybe not, but everything counts when you’re nurturing a life-long Neanderthal, I mean, reader.

Monkey is taking drum lessons, going to band camp, and banging the heck out of his snare drum on a daily basis. He’s not interested in using the practice pad, so we’re urging him to keep the pounding to daylight hours.

I wish I could say my yearly swimsuit search was over. As if I didn’t already need Xanax just to face swimsuit season, this year Target.com is determined to fit me with a straight jacket for all my water fun needs.

I ordered a swim top and shorts and received the top and a pair of bikini bottoms. The bottoms were … unacceptable. I tried again and received another bikini bottom instead of the shorts. I called and had the pleasure of speaking to a highschooler about my swimwear needs. He told me the website was in error and to try ordering my shorts again in a week.

Today I went back to Target.com and it’s obvious someone attempted to correct the error. The swim shorts that were incorrectly labeled bikini bottoms have been changed to swim shorts. The verbiage is correct for the black swim shorts and the blue swim shorts, but the purple swim shorts I want are still labeled bikini bottoms. I called and talked to someone from Mexico about my problem. He said he’d submit a report and I could check back in a few days.

Meanwhile, I have that funny old ad snafu running through my head:

Our swimsuits are sensational! They’re simply the tops!

Looks like I’ll be making do with last year’s bathing suit a little while longer.

If you’re luckier than me, lounging by the pool in adequate swimwear, and looking for a good read, I have a suggestion.

My friend Carla’s book Five Days in Skye is just the kind of delicious escape read that begs for a towel and umbrella drink. It releases today!

So what does this summer hold for you?

Heights, Trains, and Water Goblets

I’ve decided that you really get to know a person when you’re on vacation. Since we don’t go on vacation in our family, we’re all practically strangers. A couple weeks ago we had a mini holiday. Kory took a record TWO days off from work, and on Thursday we drove to the Royal Gorge with the kids.

I admit to being afraid of heights but my cowardice blossomed when it was time to cross the bridge. We'd already ridden over it once on the trolley, which wasn't so bad. The trouble came when it was time to go back and the trolley didn’t arrive at the designated waiting area.

And didn’t arrive. And didn’t arrive.

We decided to walk, stepping out onto the boards and heading for the other side. I walked along confidently for a bit, and then my eyes darted to the side as the boys ran up to the railing to look over the edge. I figured out quickly that looking over the edge was not an option for me. I glanced behind me, debated going back to wait for the trolley. I decided against it and started walking faster. Then I made the mistake of looking down at the boards beneath my feet. There are gaps. They aren’t huge gaps, but a sliver of space is all you need to see the deathly drop below. Indiana Jones clips played in my head. I walked faster.

I’d established that I couldn’t look to the side, I couldn’t look down, and looking back didn't help, so I kept my focus in front. Oh my gosh, is that bridge long! I walked faster. In fact, I was now doing that ridiculous wiggle walk you often see paired with unwise spandex use. I wanted to run but held on to a smidgeon of my remaining dignity.

Meanwhile, Kory and the boys were falling farther and farther behind. Not that I looked back. But I occasionally heard a faint “Mom?” coming from behind. I got to the other side, dizzy and out-of-breath, and as I recovered I realized something about myself. When it comes to heights, I will leave my husband and children to the rickety boards and inevitable crocodiles and save myself. I’m not proud, but at least this is useful information to know should we ever find ourselves on another ludicrously high bridge.

The next highlight of our little trip was a train ride on the scenic Rio Grande railway. We spent Thursday night in the town of Alamosa in the San Luis Valley. I’m a little familiar with the valley because I lived in the area from around age 11 to 13 when I threatened to start my own business fermenting potato alcohol if we didn’t move someplace with a mall.

Anyway, we were all excited to ride the train. We stood in the open-air observation car as the train clickety-clacked over the valley toward the mountains. There’s not a whole lot to see on that first stretch of the trip, but Kory and the boys pointed out small, skittering animals, cars broken down in the middle of nowhere and strange dwellings that seemed part trailer, part barn, mostly dust.

But my husband caught me completely off-guard when he sighed and said, “Why can’t I have a junk yard?”

Astounded, I blathered the first thing that came to my mind. “Because you have a wife!”

“I know, I know,” he said, “And I like our nice house. But I want a junk yard, too. A place where I could build cool stuff.”

I had no idea my husband was so keen on scrap metal. The weird thing is, he’s anti lawn art. I mean REALLY anti lawn art. Not that junk is lawn art. But sometimes—a lot of the time—lawn art is junk. I digress.

Perhaps the most startling realization came in the dining car on the train. We hadn’t intended to eat on board, but our original plans fell through and we found ourselves on a restored New York dining car. Monkey, being 10 and male, has never been to a fancy restaurant. I bit my lip as he made his way down the narrow aisle between elegant but cramped tables. Monkey, being 10 and male, has had so many growth spurts in the last year that he literally can’t keep track of his own appendages. We settled in at a vacant table. Kory and I cringed at the overpriced, underwhelming menu, and Chunky complained of a stomach ache. But Monkey grinned and pointed to the intricately folded napkins and elaborate place settings. When the waitress filled our water goblets he picked his up, stuck his pinky out and said, “You’re supposed to drink it like this, right Mom?”

I muttered an incoherent response. Have I mentioned that Monkey is 10 and male? I’m not sure what possessed him to behave like such a gentleman at the table. I can assure you it’s not a regular occurrence despite my constant nagging. Maybe we need to eat gourmet dinners in moving vehicles more often.

So there you have it. I am a gutless coward. My husband is a closet redneck. And my ten-year-old is capable of table manners! Who knew?

So what did you discover this summer?

Cabins are for Me!

I’ve made no secret of the fact that I find camping unpleasant. If I wanted to sleep on the dirty ground surrounded by wild animals, I’d throw a sleeping bag on my boys’ bedroom floor.

That’s why I was glad our annual we-live-in-Colorado-and-should-go-to-the-mountains trip involved staying in a cabin at the YMCA of the Rockies. Aside from uncomfortable beds and one dead spider, the cabin pretty much rocked. Translation: it was clean, had running water, and some retro Lincoln Logs and Tinker Toys to entertain the boys.

The information packet we received upon checking in instructed us to dial 222 in case of emergency. I nearly called twice. Once because my laptop detected no Wi-Fi. And once because, although the cabin kitchen had a coffee maker, there was no coffee provided.

My husband informed me these were not actual emergencies.

Whatever.

The cabin also came with a “stocked” reading shelf. These were my options:


Thankfully, I brought my own book.


The boys spent a lot of time theorizing on whether or not a bear could get in the cabin. My favorite scenario involved the bear climbing down the chimney. We didn’t bother to point out the unlikelihood of this event because their paranoia had them cleaning up after themselves to avoid attracting bears. I may start faking bear sightings around our neighborhood to duplicate this effect.

Willie the Heeler got to come along on this trip, and she was thrilled to be able to keep track of her herd—us. She even met two other Heelers. The first we met at the camp-sponsored Yappy Hour. All guests with pooches were invited to attend, and they even had a contest for best pet costume.


We’d intended to bring Willie’s Native American princess costume for this event, but we forgot. Probably just as well. We think it embarrasses her. She didn’t need any further humiliation at Yappy Hour. Apparently, female Heelers don’t like each other and aren’t shy about saying so.

All in all, the trip was a success. We took nature walks, swam, made crafts, played Bingo and had meltdowns over hiking (Monkey), mini-golf (Chunky), being left alone in the cabin (Willie), bait (Kory), no blow dryer (Evangeline), and lack of chimney access (bear), but we can’t wait to go back.

How's your summer going? Had any vacation adventures?