I carried a watermelon?!

The resort where my family spent the weekend reminded me of Kellerman's (the resort that's the setting for Dirty Dancing, of course), although we were in the Poconos and not in the Catskills, and, as far as I know, there was no little old couple stealing wallets. But this was a place in a gorgeous, sprawling setting, one where lots of guests returned summer after summer, where there were tons of family activities (not quite "everyone try on a wig!", but stuff like bingo in the lodge), where we were sort of removed from the real world for a few days.

We played a lot outside; despite some scattered showers throughout the weekend, we mostly had pretty good weather. I went running on both Saturday and Sunday mornings, making my way slowly, slowly, slowly up a ridiculously steep hill that was unavoidable if I wanted to go more than half a mile from our house. The Smelmooo and I went kayaking; we rode in bumper boats equipped with squirt guns; we went down the waterslide into the lake (the Smelmooo even won a medal in a waterslide contest); we attempted to waterski.

That didn't turn out so well; I never actually made it to a standing position, and I pulled a hamstring when my legs splayed out as I tried to get myself upright, so now I'm just hobbling about. It's really annoying, and I feel stupid, and I keep wondering whether I stretched properly after my run on Sunday morning, and whether I could've avoided the injury. But I'm pretty sure I can cross another item off my to-do list, right? I don't know if it's an "accomplished" or strictly a "no longer interested" for waterskiing, but I think I'm done with that list item for quite a while.

So now, it seems like I'm getting this glimpse of what it will be like when I'm old and infirm, and it's sobering. I have to build in extra time to get myself to meetings at work, because I'm moving pretty slowly, still. I haven't been able to exercise properly since Sunday, and it's making me crabby and depressed. I have been trying to stretch and do some Pilates and that sort of stuff, but I still can't quite touch my toes without bending my knees. If I try to sit with my legs in a V, either on the floor or in the air, they make it only to about a 75-degree angle (when I was little, it was easily 180). Last night, the Smelmooo and I were wrestling on the couch, and without thinking, he pushed my leg back, and I howled in pain and dropped an F-bomb. It wasn't pretty.

Maybe this is good for me; maybe it'll teach me patience, with myself and with other people. I was walking into work today, realizing that I normally blow past people on the way from the parking lot to the door and get frustrated with how slowly everyone else walks, and here I was, just ambling along, with everyone else zooming by me. So maybe it's good for me to slow down, smell the roses, blah blah blah. But for now, it's making me insane, and I'm frustrated that it's taking me so long to heal, and I'm simultaneously scared of waiting too long to get back to exercising and worried that I'll injure it worse if I go back too soon.

Anyway, enough about me being a gimp. The weekend on the whole was about what I expected, I guess: some bad behavior from both the adults and the kids, but also a lot of lovely, fun and funny moments.

There was a little too much Fox News for my taste, but I decided not to engage in any discussion of politics, which I think helped to keep the peace. Some huge drama when my four-year-old niece fell and shattered her tooth, so her parents drove her back to their dentist at home, leaving my parents to mind their other two kids for the day. (A dollar from the tooth fairy for the shattered tooth, by the way.) A little bit of heated and sometimes mean-spirited competition during the games and contests.

But also lots and lots of laughter, especially in those goofy bumper boats, and when we played Imaginiff and WhoNu. Lots of chaos -- the good kind, though -- when all of us converged on one house for breakfast each day.

And lots of nice moments: A horribly off-key rendition of "happy birthday" followed by the most random assortment of utensils, dishes and bowls for eating birthday cake, because none of us had thought to bring plasticware. My parents beaming about how they're "such lucky ducks." Highly competitive but good-natured ping-pong tournaments. The kids all eating the chocolate chips intended for the pancakes, then falling down in heaps on the floor, pretending they'd been poisoned (weird, I know, and possibly one of those "you had to be there" experiences, but it was kind of funny, and I just think it's sweet when all the cousins play together, even when they're being dopey).

Kids are weird; families are weird. I was grateful for the peace and quiet when the Smelmooo and I made our way home, and I wouldn't want to spend every weekend away with my huge crazy family. But it's nice, now and again, to spend time with the people who've known you the longest, who always love you even if they don't like you, who may be totally different from you but are still connected to you, because you've shared that history, those ties that bind forever. And, as they sing at Kellerman's, holding hands and hearts and voices, voices, hearts and hands.

Apologies to Seth & Amy...

Really?!

Once again, it's almost time for the Tangent family summer getaway. Not the full week -- we're on an off-year for that -- but we're going away for a long weekend, because, you know, two weekends in a row of family reunions (dad's side, then mom's) isn't sufficient together-time (although I'll admit I spent very little time with my immediate family members there; that was more about catching up with cousins I never see).

So anyway, I'm not on the whole as bitter as I realize I sound about all of this family time, because I actually like my family, most of the time, and enjoy spending time with them. Once we're in the thick of these getaways, they're for the most part fun and relaxing and nice, and it means a lot to my parents that we get together like this.

BUT. The leading-up-to-it part? Makes me crazy. My mom sends out emails to let everyone know the plan: when we can check in, what we need to bring, where we can get food, that she's cooking for everyone the first night. All of this following, earlier this summer, the distribution of hard-copy literature about the place we're visiting, as well as instructions that the web site is pretty thorough.

So you'd think that, being adults in our thirties and forties, my siblings and I could fend for ourselves, armed with all of that information, right?

Of course not. Immediately, it's a flurry of emails along the lines of, "Hey, mom? Is there a coffee maker?" and "Hey, is there a restaurant nearby?" and "Hey, mom? My GPS isn't recognizing the address -- can you give me directions?"

Really, I know that she never stops being our mom, and maybe there's a bit of learned helplessness among us because she's been so good at telling us 97% of what we need to know about this trip.

But, really? She put the phone number of the place in the email. She is not interested in answering any more of your questions. She doesn't drink coffee; she thinks the restaurant onsite is a rip-off; she's making two tons of ziti and bringing you and your kids a week's worth of chocolate-chip cookies to eat in three days. She's paying for the trip. She is putting the statue of the Virgin Mary in the window to ensure good weather for the weekend. (Really. I know.) She has told you everything she knows. Do not try to take a kilometer when she's offered you a mile. Be a grown-up. Make the call yourself. You don't even have to tell the rest of us what you find out (that'd be nice, but not essential).

Really.

Why is it...

...that I have in my office an apple, a plum, two bananas and a bag of baby carrots, and all I want is a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup, a chocolate chip cookie, or a Rita's gelati?

Musings

I wonder:

...what's happened to, "If everyone jumped off a bridge, would you?" I was in Target the other day, and a little boy said to his mother, "But moooooooooooommmmm, alllllll the other kids at camp have one!" And she said, "Well, if everyone else has one, okay. Put it in the cart." If my mother had said that to me, it would have been in a tone dripping with sarcasm (and it would've been preceded, and followed, by a cocked eyebrow that still stops my siblings and me dead in our tracks. You do not want to be on the receiving end of my mom's eyebrow. Ever.).

...whether my siblings and I are going to get the eyebrow when we throw my mom a 70th birthday party this fall. She's explicitly told my dad and my oldest sister that she doesn't want a party, but no one seems fazed by this. So, I guess I'm jumping off the bridge with the rest of those idiots.

...whether I'll reverse myself on my decision to roll with the gas station attendant who insists on calling me "baby." I used to get all huffy about it, but I've recently decided that it's not worth the effort to get so worked up, or to drive two extra blocks to the gas station that's the same price but without the accompanying harassment. Sometimes, when I'm in situations that make my blood boil, I just decide to adopt a different persona, one who's endlessly patient and non-judgmental (i.e., the total opposite of myself), who's earnest and eager to make nice. And 95 percent of the time? It totally works. So far, so good at the gas station (feminist readers, feel free to blast me).

I confess:

...that I think of Edie Falco to motivate myself when I run. I read an interview in which she talked about getting steroids to counteract the effects of chemo when she was being treated for breast cancer, which helped her long-suffering knees improve to the point where she can now run five miles in 40 minutes. Whereas I, a perfectly healthy person almost 15 years younger than she is, am definitely not at the 8-minute-mile mark yet. I just started being really disciplined about running a few months ago, and I'm slowly working my way up to longer and faster runs (the perfect weather has been helping a ton the last couple of weeks), but I'm still usually closer to 42 or 43 minutes to run five miles. But Edie is pushing me along. Is that ridiculous?

...that I am getting bored of the minutiae of the health reform debate. It's my job to know what's going on, and to care deeply about it, and I do care about whether something meaningful actually happens at the end of the day. But: I am so. sick. of the politics, around both health reform and the Sotomayor confirmation. Someone, I think on NPR, said today that maybe a robot couldn't sit on the Supreme Court, but you could pretty much have a computer do the hearing, it's so obvious what everyone's going to say based on their party and their position. Part of me occasionally loves the theater of it all, but it just seems so constant and inescapable, and it's starting to wear thin.

...that I love VH1's Charm School, hosted by Ricki Lake. I used to think of Ricki and Carnie Wilson as somewhat interchangeable, but watching Carnie host the new-new-new-newlywed game? Ricki is way superior. Even more embarrassing confession? It's highly likely that I will watch "Megan Wants a Millionaire," also on VH1. There's something I like about Megan, as awful a person as she seems to be. Maybe it's because she's at least forthright about being an awful, shallow person.

I love:

...my new nephew (who's not really so new anymore -- he's pushing three months!! -- but new since I last posted). My youngest niece is turning four this month, so despite the huuuuuuuuuge baby boom in the last year (I quit counting, but it's at least 20, probably 30) among people I know, even close friends, it's been a while since there's been a tiny baby in the family. Colin is sweet and cuddly and strong and adorable, and his parents are a great team.

...my new (again, new-ish) orange capri pants. They are so not me, these orange pants (which are more burnt orange than pumpkin orange), and the first day I wore them, I was late for work because I was so uncertain about wearing orange pants, especially to work, but I love them. I still am not quite sure what color toenails work best with them.

I'm surprised:

...that I don't miss Diet Coke as much as I thought I would. I had this bizarre health scare at the end of April, where I was convinced I was having a stroke (at a cocktail reception at work, which was especially awesome), so I've spent the last couple of months running around to various doctors, having various scans and tests and whatnot, feeling guilty about being the classic case of overuse of health care, but figuring it's better to be safe than sorry when it comes to my brain. Anyway, everything came back normal (although my brother-in-law, who's a radiologist, read my MRI and pointed out that I have a deviated septum, which I never knew), but the neurologist thinks I'm having some weirdly-manifesting migraines, and suggested I start taking a boatload of vitamins and quitting my daily Diet Coke. I can still drink it in case of emergency, and maybe that's what makes it more bearable to go without on a regular basis, but I thought it would be completely dreadful being off the sauce. But really, not so much. The main downside is that I drink a ton more water, and have to pee constantly.

...that anyone is reading this. I think most of you have given up on me, or keep up on my life via Facebook. I wonder if I need to give Facebook a rest, because it makes me lazy. Why write a thoughtful blog entry when I can tell 100-something people (I'm selective, not unpopular, right? Right? I shouldn't feel self-conscious that my number is so low?) what I'm doing with my day or how I feel about the guy at work who insisted I've lost all the weight I'd gained when I had my kids? It might be my autumnal resolution to write more, but I think updates will still be fairly few and far between for the rest of the summer.