Beach + House + Time (Shrimp)(scallops)(wine) 2cheese. And still. Still it took me time to slow down and relax my way into it.
I think it was the second day at the beach--in the afternoon--when I got that overwhelming sandbaggy fatigue you get after being in a car for 15 hours, and you know you should be out at the beach APPRECIATING and RELAXING in its sunny splendor, but your bones feel like they've been hollowed out and filled with lead, and the only solution is to climb under some covers and surrender to a mid-afternoon nap.
So I went downstairs into our little bedroom, while the three boys played upstairs.
THUMP THUMP THUMP.
Nothing I'm not used to at home.
I can hear the boys upstairs playing while I nap downstairs at home, too. No reason I can't fall asleep while they play. I'll just close my eyes--
(Shriek. Maniacal laughter) THUD. THWAP.
I can do this! I'll just ignore the fact that my heart is trying to claw its way out of my chest--
Breathe. And jam purple earplugs so deep into my ear canals they are shooting out of my nose.
Repeat the Breathe Bomp Stomp for 40 minutes. Resent all children everywhere.
Cue: Sound of running feet.
SOUND OF LARGE BOX OF WOODEN BLOCKS BEING RELEASED DOWN A STEEP WOODEN STAIRCASE LOUDEST SOUND I'VE EVER HEARD. EVEN WITH THE EARPLUGS. THUNDER IS NO COMPARISON.)
I don't get up. I don't even move. I seethe! But I don't move. After all, those #$%^%& BOYS were the ones who threw all the blocks down the stairs. They can clean them--
Sound of people asking if Gus is all right.
I get up.
That was not the sound of blocks falling down the stairs.
It was the sound of Gus falling down the stairs. On top of his electric guitar. And hitting every stair on the way down. Larry got to the top of the stairs, just in time to watch him complete his descent and roll off into the den.
Fortunately the guitar broke his fall and he came out of it with little more than a bruised ego.
Saved. By rock and roll.
(Please advance to the next slide.)