Currently, my mom is suffering from a vacation hangover.
Yup, you heard that right - after spending a week on the sunny shores of a lake, usually doing nothing more than fetching her friends cocktails or being waited on herself, sunning her bod (front AND back people!), wrangling children (the grown-ups were outnumbered this year, 8 adults - 9 kids!), reading trashy magazines, applying sunscreen, yelling at us to go ride our bikes (can you believe how mean those grown-ups are?), taking us to waterslides, taking us swimming, taking us go-karting, performing for us (yeah, um mom, next time you decide to give us a lesson on "doing the butt," you might want to make sure the neighbors aren't looking), buying us oodles of crap to keep us busy, feeding us (what? BBQ chips are considered a MAJOR player in the food pyramid . . . if you are a 300lb linebacker). Speaking of football - the dads actually played football with us kids, instead of sealing themselves in their "beach chair" to, um, what do you call it? Spectate? Anyway, my mom, she is t-i-r-e-d.
She is especially tired because we talked her into just one more day of camping on the way home and we were all almost eaten by bears.
Maybe when my mom crawls out from under the pile of laundry higher than Mt. Rainier, she'll find the courage to tell you the story about that. About how she was cooking bacon outside in the wilderness . . .
Oh, gotta go! My mom needs the fabric softener and after the week she's had, I don't want to upset her.
But here is a photo of me and my B-F-F on vacation.
Don't we rock those hula hoops?
Yeah, we know. Don't even get me started on my pigtails.
Katie (Carrie's third, and most well-behaved child)