Odds on a marriage lasting between a forty something guy who’d never been married and a woman with four kids, two teens and two chomping at the bit were about as high as ever fitting into a size two. As one of my cousins left our reception, she patted my new husband on the back, and sighed, “Bless you, my son.” And she wasn’t even religious.
While our marriage was not a wise move in the eyes of many, the honeymoon was even a poorer choice. I thought it was important for the blended family to get to know one another better. (As if the three years dating hadn’t accomplished that task.)
A month after we married, we sacrificed a honeymoon for a family vacation — a houseboat on Lake Shasta. Neither of us had ever commanded a rowboat, let alone Noah’s Ark. The craft we rented slept sixteen. Thinking irrationally, I attempted to fill every bed and loft, and invited perfect strangers. Imperfect described them better. We allowed the kids to invite friends.
The water level peaked at an all time low. After drifting, we feared we’d never feel firmament under our feet again. If we maneuvered too close to the docks, we’d rip the propeller to shreds. The information sheet, handed to us along with the ignition key, listed ten ways we could forfeit our deposit. That was one of them.
We cruised as close as we dared without actually docking, and asked the girls to hop off at the General Store for supplies. “We can’t do that.” Their tone was more a complaint of “I won’t do that.”
“Yes, you can.”
“We might get kidnapped and raped,” the GAP blurted out.
Hot Wheelz sized the girls up from top to bottom. “Sure you will.”
Unable to get them to budge, the boys jumped from the houseboat onto the waterfront landing. Meanwhile, we drifted farther out. My new husband and I shared defective driver status. The first week as husband and wife, he drove to a mini mall and entered a driveway marked “Not an Entrance.” He traveled over large white lettering on the asphalt blaring SEVERE TIRE DAMAGE and punctured two tires on retractable spikes.
This license to wander aimlessly in any contraption with a motor did not afford us the ability to easily recover our stranded shoppers. Without warning, clouds darkened, lightning flashed and the sky rocked with thunder. The young men sprinted up and down the wharf in swimsuits and pouring rain. Had I known the struggles I would face in raising them to be responsible adults, I would have battled less to rescue them.
Early in the evening with daylight assisting our path, we pulled into a deserted harbor. Grinding echoed as we grazed the shore. The invited gang of moochers climbed cliffs and enjoyed the water. Until the bats attacked.
After seven days, we were convinced family holidays were only for those already diagnosed as terminal. But the Reporter was different from anyone else I dated. Mainly, he stayed. Last night he confessed to me he just wanted to be in the blog.
Today we wander alone in San Francisco on our anniversary. We’re still scratching our heads wondering how we made it.
Related posts:
- Let me introduce you to my family
- The secret of coping with bad days
- List for the doctor
- What’s in a name?
- How NOT to parent
Print This Post
Happy Anniversary! May there be many more.
Happy Anniversary!
What a sweet and funny story! Happy Anniversary and many many more!
All the stories crack me up, but the one that did it today was the trip to Lake Shasta…and “if i’de known then what I know now…I would not have tried so hard to rescue them!” That is so funny! Good job.