My family and I just got back from a wonderful, fun-filled, never stressed, not a mean word spoken, everything went perfectly, vacation.
Anybody ever have one of those?
No, I’m kidding. Kinda. It was an absolutely fantastic vacation to Colorado even if I tend to “Clark Griswold” the whole trip.
Super sketchy mountain passes, in a rental, might not be the best place to test your teenage son’s driving skills. At least I know the passenger side brake worked. Along with my yelling skills. (My husband would like to add there’s never ever been any doubt about my yelling skills.) Luckily he did a great job — because it was nighttime and he was unable to “see” exactly how many feet we would plummet to our deaths if he swerved. “It’s all part of the experience…”
But we did not plummet to our untimely deaths. Instead this family vacation consisted of only one missed flight and only one major fall. That’s a pretty darn good record in our family. The fall involved my middle son, a mountain bike, a gravel “road” and a wonderfully executed flip. We turned down the offer for Ski Patrol. Nothing like a $3000 bill for some gauze and band-aids. But hey, what kind of vacation would it be if everything went smoothly.
I can tell you there were no wheelchairs nor hangovers (though both would’ve come in handy). Just good ‘ol family fun.
We used to live in Colorado and we always like to drive by houses and places where we used to live. (That’s a lot of houses and a lot of places because I refuse to bloom where I’m planted.) Anyway, as we winded down some road in some valley looking for one of our old houses, my teenage son remarked, “I just don’t understand how people don’t go crazy living all the way out here.”
My husband answered: “They do.”
Then I added: “I did. But I was young and you were in Kindergarten, your brother was 18 months old and I didn’t have any friends near by. Papa worked an hour away Monday thru Friday and I waited tables at the local hole-in-the-wall on the weekends.”
Ah, my first real taste of depression.
Good times. However this particular little house on the side of the mountain holds some really fond memories involving a raging forest fire, no car and an old Christmas tree under the back deck.
Despite all that, I can honestly say I miss Colorado. Just not the tiny house 30 minutes from the nearest grocery store. Or waiting tables. Or forest fires. Or very little kids who don’t sleep through the night. Or the loneliness. But the mountains, the Sky and the people — I really really miss them.