When you're a writer and a mom, going on vacation leaves you busy as a bee with lots of new content that must wait to be written.
As much as I'd love to write an informative piece on the steps for easier plane travel with kids, said kids are dragging me by one arm out of the house and off to see friends.
The mother on the beach who yelled at her kids with such disrespect that my daughter stopped digging in the sand to turn over on her belly, waiting to see what would happen next?
A post describing my feelings about that mom would take lots of clear-headed thought, currently absent after a long night of sand digging accompanied by fermented beverages.
A piece on the beauty that is this state of Maine or my sudden realization that kids will swim when they're good and ready...
Instead of writing about any of those things today, I'm running to the grocery store so that the children have some healthy foods to balance the four-dozen chocolate chip cookies (and three kinds of ice creams) inside their grandmother's freezer.
I'll be back in time to take the girls to their 11:00 swimming class (in the same pool that I myself learned to swim, and as a teenager taught other children who are now in their twenties).
I'll watch a new batch of much-too-tanned instructors give my kids the lifelong lessons on proper arm strokes and water safety.
The sweat will drip down the back of my bathing suit and I’ll wish I could jump in the pool, too. Time will have changed the rules and roles; it’ll be my turn to watch from the other side of the fence as my mother did for me.
There will beach time (wave jumping, boogie boarding, more digging, and salty, ocean swimming), before sending my girls off in a row -boat with a captain who'll better acquaint them with the sea.
Beach dinner is in the cards with three of my oldest friends and their families.
One of those friends is bringing me the letters that I wrote to her in 1987, back before emails and texts, when she was off at camp.
Apparently one line I wrote said, "OH MY GOD, Jonathan and Jonah rode by on their bikes and didn't even stop to say Hi. How RUDE!"
The valley girl fifteen-year-old can be heard between the lines. There’s a blog post in that.
So instead of really focused writing, I’m taking plenty of mental notes.
Vacation doesn’t last forever.
Memories occur at lightning speed.
So much content.
So little time.