No, this isn’t a post about Lindsanity’s woes in the courtroom this week. It is about a weird turn of events that I aptly named “Freaky Friday” after driving in the car with my oldest son. I am usually the calm one in the car, reminding him to chill out and “we will get there when we get there”. This usually just agitates him and he grumbles under his breath and turns up the noise music on his ipod in response. Don’t you just love these mother son moments? It was almost like a Hallmark commercial.
I was looking for summer activities for my eleven year old as I am afraid he will become permanently enmeshed into the fabric of the couch if he doesn’t have something to do soon. I knew I had a slim chance of finding anything open at this point because summer camps fill up at the end of February around here (I am not kidding). The camps that are left usually include science/tech ones that cost close to a thousand dollars a week or niche camps that appeal to about 3 kids ( be a juggling comedian on unicycle camp!). As I scrolled through websites that listed possibilities, a few left me shaking my head. It is a far cry from swimming in murky lake water, stringing bead necklaces and using an unsupervised scorching hot iron to melt crayon shavings into something vaguely recognizable. I still have a cool triangular shaped scar/souvenir on my upper arm from my summer camp experience!
My friend Greg described the cruise he and his family took last year as “the Walmart of the Seas”. I saw my share of curiosities on our trip last week, but I would hesitate to put that label on our cruise. There was a family where all the little girls swam in dresses and pants, but the boys could swim in a regular bathing suit. I was almost trampled when I unfortunately got in the way of the line leading to the chocolate buffet by a bunch of fifteen year old girls in bikinis (careful girls, you can’t eat like that in your thirties, so enjoy it now!). But the best people watching in the world occurred in the elevators.
My wonderful mom surprised me on the ship with a gift. She must have noticed that my stress level was a little high lately as evidenced by my shoulders hovering at ear level, like the main character in Despicable Me. A combination massage and facial in the ship’s spa awaited me as my son headed off to the pirate museum on Nassau with my dad, brother and his two Jr. pirates. I walked into the serene waiting area and was greeted by an adorable Aussie masseuse, Brooke, who looked about 15. She walked me down a hallway with soft lighting past a zen waterfall trickling peaceful gurgles meant to soothe a frazzled brain like mine.
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