We just got back from an extended lake vacation which translates into “being stuck on a too-small boat with all our children for a week.” Bear in mind that we could have been on Beyonce’s yacht and it wouldn’t have been big enough, but that’s beside the point. We watched our cooler eat $5 blocks of ice at an alarming rate, and our smallest children cover their bodies in mud at least six times per day. Just last year all of this seemed normal and even enjoyable but things have definitely changed.
Now I have to trek out for a long back-float in greenish lake water under a full moon because the night sweats have overcome me and they are determined to rob me of all hope of sleep. Since that sleep generally occurs between 2 am, when the breeze finally dips below 100 degrees, and 6 am, when the blasted sun comes up, I’m basically forced to take a swim when I’d rather be happily dreaming of Patrick Dempsey.
It’s gotten even worse for my husband. Never-mind the fact that he is freckled as the day is long but still believes that real men don’t wear sunscreen and therefore has to nurse second degree burns by the end of the first day out, but now he wants “creature comforts.” This includes a full kitchen on the back deck of the boat, an air conditioner that can run 24/7, and some way to keep the rain out of the boat without having to zip on the sides. In other words, he wants to feel like he’s home even if he’s really in the middle of a lake.
This is a new development in our lives. For more than 20 years I’ve been married to a man who spends ridiculous amounts of time fixing things and building things. Now he wants air conditioning and a boat that won’t spill his drink as we cruise 40mph down the rough waters of the main channel. It scares me a little—I won’t lie—because I find myself wanting better “stuff” too.
I don’t like sitting at a campfire anymore. The smoke kills my contacts, makes my bathing suit smell like a barbeque sandwich, and obscures the fact that my kids are getting dangerously close to poking each other with sticks that are burning at one end. I want cold drinks—ice cold—the kind that require actual ice, not blocks of ice pressed up against it in the cooler. I also need naps, in the afternoon, especially after being out in 100 degree heat for a few hours. And I want those naps someplace where a cold breeze is blowing directly on me the entire time. I don’t like chasing the sunshade across the beach when the wind randomly decides to carry it away anymore either (although this problem might already be solved since the sunshade disappeared without a trace while we were gone one day.) I want internet access and I want to be able to order books on my Kindle as soon as I need one—not just when I can get a signal. But I don’t mind not being able to get calls though—who knew?
All I know is that there’s a reason why empty-nesters sell off the SUV in favor of the luxury car and start taking cruises rather than dragging around a camper trailer with a canoe tied on top. They’ve done it and now they’re done with it. The only problem is that we’re not empty nesters—not even close. Thanks to modern medicine we still have 15 years of camping and family car trips to go. I really shouldn’t have waited to have my children, but then I wouldn’t have gotten that great picture of my husband trying to nap in our rubber raft on the shady side of the boat—hilarious!
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