Same Time Next Year

It's a curse, no official equipment, no fancy title, but absolutely true, Paul and I are the real thing, incompetent storm chasers, extreme weather magnets. Plowing through torrential rain, hail while battling brutal Chicago traffic, wipers flopping madly, the deluge unstoppable. We expect a swarm of locusts soon.

Freeze frame South Haven, Lake Michigan. Life does not get any better than this. Our annual family vacation, a week like none other, all of us jumbled together under one roof, a kitchen bursting with chips, pretzels, cheese stix, pounds and pounds of kid food, enough snacks to support our country's sugar consumption easily into the next decade, more adult beverages than adult food. It's the plan, make a cocktail, stuff the kids. Everybody's happy. Christmas for me, seven days of crazy, manic granddaughters, sons, daughters-in-law, me and Grandpa. Complete chaos, energized to light up the entire eastern coast of Lake Michigan. Battling mosquitoes and marshmallows, S'mores overload, deconstructed finally, just give me the chocolate.

Sherman's Ice Cream Shoppe, toy stores, a pirate spray park, the girls too tired to stop at the playground, the perfect day. Grandma time, a bonus, me and my girls. I'm a sorry rookie when it comes to appropriate kid crafts, sharp objects, complex projects, shaving cream, tie dye, sticky gel, permanent rainbow mustaches. Not exactly fired but boundaries established, a lifetime ban on food coloring, duct tape, Nutella and slime.  

Great friends of my son and daughter-in-law join us for a beach day tradition. In total, eight lively rascals aged ten and under, some years a few more, always a kid blast. The front door sticks shut, which maybe isn't accidental, a doorbell rings constantly, the pint-sized mob is antsy, impatient, I expect them to start climbing through the windows, drop down the chimney, a full out zombie invasion. An unruffled father answers the bell, throws open the door and an adorable hooligan literally rolls in the front door, fully protected in pink bicycle helmet, trips awkwardly but holds it together, eyes saucer wide, a frozen rainbow Icee bounces off a paper cone, rolls across the full length of the living room. Lightening reflexes, super dad doesn't miss a beat, scoops up the frozen orb, plops it strategically back onto the cone, gives the little tyke a tender pat, escorting her gently out the back door. No blood, no bruises, no tears, crisis averted. We've just witnessed a miracle. All is well in the world.

South Beach, sunset on the lake, girls swinging, climbing, alternately chauffeuring the very youngest of our crew down a favorite blue slide, skidding time after time into the soft sandy pile, a joyful heap at the bottom, untangle, race to the top. Repeat, repeat, repeat. Unimaginable iridescent pink, azure, tawny gold streaks the brilliant sky overhead, a perfect contrast to the gritty beach playground at dusk, silhouettes of sweaty, screaming girls having the time of their lives, sisters and cousins the very best friends.

It won't be this way forever, we don't take any of it for granted, minding our delightful tribe, laughing out loud, just hanging, collecting memories, we are the luckiest people on earth. Tough goodbyes, a twinge, my heart sinks, recovers unnoticed, hugs all around, waves, smiles, planning our next celebration. The house settles, we lock up, head for home, back to where we started, on the road again, the two of us, just a couple of old gypsies chasing a dream.