Datebook: Monday, August 7th

Yesterday was “The Great Return”.

Of course, it was a beautiful morning. The postcard view to entice us to return again.

I packed all of the dirty clothes in my fake Louis Vuitton carry-bag until I was afraid to try to zip it (you can always tell a fake Louis by the dollar store zipper and the safety pins holding it together) on Saturday night while the kids were “out”. The “out” part has been the worry of many of a parent in previous years, but thankfully, I am past that. The fact is, the kids typically go to the bowling alley (where else could you get them to consider bowling?), sit in the lobby or a room in groups of 40, and a few drink beer and canoodle in someone’s van.

Okay, I made up the last part to see if you were really reading. But seriously, although this isn’t “7th Heaven”, I believe most of the kids only over-indulge in a 3 scoop waffle cone at Ben and Jerry’s.

Anyway, the packing is of course the prelude to the “leaving”. I would personally like to leave at 6:00 but since I wake up every 20 minutes anticipating getting up to leave, I am typically tired when the alarm finally goes off.

All-in-all, we had a great week. My daughter and partner won some medals and had all but one good skate, and even that didn’t get any “ehhhh’s” from the crowd. Still, I feel a bit bashed around, like I rode one of those new roller coasters at a theme park. My neck is a bit stiff and I have a tooth ache from gnashing my teeth or clamping my jaw too much. Most in our group did not fare as well, so although privately we hug, hang the medals on the armoire door, thank our skating muses, and peruse the result pages for point spreads like we are horseracing bookies, we must sweep the room if a knock sounds at the door.

I discovered if I placed one of my bras (think non Victoria Secrets) on the table that held all of our results paraphernalia, no one would look too closely and certainly they wouldn’t go near it.

We left at 8:30. My daughter and her best friend (another skater) were in the car with me. I give them that status because they were asleep before we reached “Stewarts” on Main Street and didn’t wake up until I pulled in at the Little Baltimore rest stop below Albany. We had at that time listened to the same 20 track CD four times.

The problem came several hours later.

Did we take the Map Quest route—several back roads with 518 red lights or the toll road? These are decisions I hate. This is how I invested in municipal stock instead of buying gold or acreage like my friends. (They have second homes at the beach and someone named Antonio who answers the front door of their first home. I don’t even have a time share. They also don’t have children who skate….)

I picked the toll road, lulled by the concept of 4 lanes of highway which usually have some movement.

Unless a tractor trailer carrying lumber decides to careen through the barrier into the southbound roadway and flip over, spilling 200 gallons fuel in the process.
Since no one was hurt I started to get grumpy after the first hour.

It was like a block party, with people out of cars sharing coolers of food and beverage. Remember, I had the left-overs from the week. No one wanted smushed Luna bars, Fat Free Pringles or warm PowerAide. I was like the cook-out guest who brings jello jigglers shaped like the holiday du jour.

Blinding rain forced us back in the car for the second hour and for some reason this made us yearn for a bathroom even more. Since no locust came, I continued to think we were pretty lucky.

The remainder of the trip was just a blur of tail lights and Alicia Keys lyrics.

Next year. (Sorry, I had to pause.)

Next year we decided we will leave on Monday. Sunday will be a “vacation” day and we will enjoy the sights without the thought of lacing up skates for another event.

Next year, wow, is only 358 days away.

Mombo #9