So we spent the night at a friend’s cabin on a lake. I have never really been to “the lake” before. It was a good time. Pure hedonism (at a family level) – no worries about nutrition, hydration, sobriety… overall, as much fun as you can have with your children, less than two hours from home.
The highlight was definitely tubing behind the boat. I wasn’t going to do it, it being a lake, which is cold, and icky, and deep, and full of living creatures, but I decided that I couldn’t let the rest of my family have adventures I wasn’t willing to parktake in, so I climbed on. It was terrifying and exhilirating, and I think Jack (who was on with me) and I bonded a little. Of course, I went in the drink trying to get back in the boat, and am still trying to warm up. Seriously as much fun as I’ve ever had in water (easily tying with the water slides at the hotel in last weekend which were also Big Fun).
The lowlight was definitely the time alone with the kids – one of them in particular – especially on the way there. He knows exactly how to push everyone’s buttons and is capable of showing the most base and vile kinds of disrespect that a seven-year-old could possibly imagine. Blatant and purposeful disregard for the rules and limitations we set, with shameless and ostentatious celebration when he gets caught. Consequences don’t seem to mean anything, and I think we’re pretty good at enforcing them, but telling your mother to shut up? It should earn you life in Azkaban! Anyway, I tried hard to reinforce the good stuff, because when we were with the other family it was fine, he was normal and polite and friendly (it’s why no one else believes he has rage issues), but he ended up ruining it again when we got home by using language that he’s been specifically told is unacceptable on many occasions. Maybe we expect too much, and need to remember to remind him constantly what is acceptable and what is not, or maybe we are not firm or consistent enough in meting out the punishment. In any case, the only thing that hasn’t really been tried is spanking, and I think it may be next. I am at a loss. I am about to give up and let him run with the wolves, focus my attention on the salvageable child. Talk me out of it, please.
So the upshot of the weekend is that Trevor wants to buy a boat. We have never been interested in being cabin people; we have too much trouble maintaining one house, let alone two, and considerimg the cost of anything we might want to own, a small sleeping boat would be as much fun as a cabin plus a speedboat, at a fraction of the cost (if not the same amount of work). In my usualy pragmatic-but-conservative style, I suggested we get ourselves a 5-year plan then, to have education funds, retirement funds and boat funds all started. Trevor, in his usual thorough-but-potentially impulsive style, checked e-Bay.
Maybe someday. Maybe we’ll rent one first, see how it goes.
So another story came up, from Jack’s Friend Who Knows Everything. Apparently, you can actually die from eating too much sour stuff at one time. And also it seems that nipple-twisters (also affectionately known as purple nurples) give you cancer.