We celebrated Bruce's birthday yesterday by sleeping in (until 8 o'clock...thank you, Lil E!), getting bagels for breakfast and having a lazy morning around the apartment together. Then we packed up a bunch of bags and little containers of snacks and drove to my parents' lake house for a few days.
On the road, we talked about everything we'd like to do here in Nothing to Do, Indiana -- go to the county fair to see the animals and climb on some tractors, swim in the lake, ride the pontoon sloooowly around the lake, play in the sand, just relax. As soon as we turned off the highway and on to the windy road that leads back to the little lake house tucked in the trees, it started to rain.
We ditched our plan to swim first then grill steaks for dinner and went out to the best restaurant in town. It was dark and quiet and the martinis lulled us out of thinking about anything else but each other.
Then it poured and then lightening and thunder clapped and echoed
across the lake. It came down hard and Lil E huddled against me as I read him bedtime stories and sang him songs, pursing his eyes shut to avoid seeing the flash of lights that revealed the whole room. He fell asleep against me while the storm raged on.
Bruce decided not to go to the liquor store in town that (actually, delightfully) has shelf after shelf of microbrews to pick out a special birthday six-pack or two. Instead, we finished off a few we left in the fridge the last time we were here, popped Office Space in and cuddled on the couch.
It was a far cry from the celebrations we've had on this day over the last ten years together, but it was right for this year.
We laughed at all the very familiar and funny parts of Office Space (my favorite:"Well, I haven't exactly been missing work, Bobs"). We stretched out and talked and sat quietly for a bit in a little romantic respite from the stormy show outside.
Lil E woke up early this morning. He always does when we're at the lake. And even though he was content to crawl in bed with us for a few minutes, he got too excited about Bruce's promise to take him "real golfing" on a local public course to stay still for too long. He danced around naked while I tried to dress him, shaking his skinny little booty and singing, "I'm so excited to go golf-iiiiing with my daddy!"
It seemed promising with a bit of sun peeking through the trees canopied over the front deck, but the boys only made it through four holes before they got rained out. For good. It was the same resurgence that nixed the weak little wireless signal I was co-opting on the deck. Also for good.
Once the golfers were home and fed and ready for naps, I went back out in the rain and headed into town to the only place for miles with any kind of wi-fi -- the nonprofit coffee shop that caters to teenagers. So here I sit, trying to catch up on work while small crowds of tweens and teens race through the cafe, cussing up a storm (hell yeah) and talking about who likes who and playing pool and taking off, standing on the back of one short kid's bike, only to return thirty seconds later. There is a girl who is about twelve, with hair that long and wavy and red and gorgeous, with a very round belly and lots of freckles, wearing a Paris Hilton flirty skirt and a t-shirt that says, "On the rebound. You'll do for now." There are four barely high-schoolers looking up girls on MySpace. There is a fifteen (or so)-year old trying very hard to dress like Eminem. This is where I am trying to work, my friends. It is funny and irritating and it is anything but quiet or peaceful.
But Norah Jones is on and I am sitting at a table by the window where I can hear all the kids say goofy stuff and I can observe that this ridiculous town is the only place in an industrialized nation where acid wash is still considered acceptable attire. But it's all good.
It's my baby's birthday and we're finally the same age, we're spending time all together and we've stepped out of our lives for a minute. It may be incessantly rainy and our hopes of swimming and boating and playing outside may have changed, but we're here. Not quite what I planned, not at all like years past, but it's still all good.
photo credit: Jessica Ashley