The day after the fairy party (post to come), Matt helped me jam the van full of life jackets and groceries and children for a week at Diamond Lake. It was a quick turn around, which didn’t bring out the hyper, control freak, anal retentive, bossy side of me at all.
Aha. So, I think Matt was fairly glad to see the back side of me, at least, if not his children, for a few days. I am, for my part, very glad to spend this last precious week of “summer” (High of 75 yesterday and raining on the icy banks of Diamond Lake and also the icy banks of the Priest River and Lake Pend Oreille after we threw up our hands in despair of having ELEVEN children under six inside of the cabin with us and drove to Sandpoint, Idaho. Which is stunning. And has a Starbucks. Although, that little fact had absolutely nothing to do with the outing. If you believe that, I have a lake cabin I don’t own to sell you in Idaho.) trying to maintain a conversation with girlfriends over the dulcet strains of our children screaming about who splashed freezing cold water on whom.
It’s lovely. All of my snarky nonsense aside. The long loft room where we actually managed to get most of the children to sleep last night. The long conversations over wine with the darkened, silent lake behind us. The unexpected visit from Matt this morning as the frosty fog burned off the lake to reveal a sparkling diamond of a day, carrying puzzles and card games over his shoulder like a rainy day Santa Claus. The ugly, orange fleece Matt wore on the drive north thank god because I’ve been freezing to death for four days.
The pines that rim every sweeping view in our lives like a fringed hug from the gods of the great white north.
The children I love and the children I hope will be their friends for a lifetime.
The hot tub that holds more kids than it is really a hot tub’s duty to hold.
The dock parades.
The spaghetti covered faces.
The fishing expeditions.
The giggles. The inside jokes shared over little heads. The movies in the afternoon to save three mothers’ sanity. Even the time outs. The exhaustion. The whining and the negotiating.
In the immortal words of Billy Joel: “These are the times to remember, cause they will not last forever. These are the days to hold onto, but we won’t although we’ll want to. These are the times. The times are gonna change.”
School starts on Tuesday. All three of these families will send their oldest babies off to real, honest to goodness public Kindergarten. But there’s a long diamond lake and emerald pine weekend between us and the milestone heavy fall and we plan to hold on to it as tightly as we can. (With one hand. Because in the other hand we are clutching our glasses of wine. NINE kids. Loft sleeping area. Don’t judge us.)