high point

I was an L for New Year’s Eve, but I’m going to make an argument for it being lower case. I *did* go out to dinner… bad service, bad food, good company. I *did* go to the movies…. bad movie, good seats, good popcorn. I *did* count down and toast the New Year with delicious champagne… and the fact that I was curled into the fetal position at both 11:58 and 12:02 is neither here nor there. Lower case, baby.

The best part about being a boring lame ass on New Year’s Eve is that you (I) wake up on January 1^st with a wild burr up your (my) ass, and you’re neither hung over nor broke. I hit the gym early then returned home positively brimming with hope and possibility. I wanted the tree out and the house cleaned and the world right.

At about 1pm, my husband wondered aloud about the possibility of taking off for a staycay at one of several beach accessible hotels in our fair city. My first reaction was noooooooo, we can’t do that. There’s so much productivity to be harvested!

Two hours later, we checked in.

24 hours later, we booked a second night.

This, my friends, was a good call. I didn’t take many photos, but trust me when I tell you that the weather was summer like (sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry everyone) and the setting was sublime. We had a great room and a great collective disposition and we thoroughly and completely enjoyed every minute. We lounged by the pool and snacked at happy hour and paddled the boats and surfed the waves and drank the drinks and fed the ducks and ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, it was good.

I’m not here to brag.. wait, why am I here?       

To tell you about my best moment.

We packed up and left the house really quickly on New Year’s day.  Some of us had had a bite but no one had had a proper meal. We got there, opted to wait for a good room so had some time to kill, which we did by the pool in the lingering sunlight. Just as we were ready to go eat, the room was ready so we decided to grab our stuff before we went to eat. Of course, that took a while. Then we had to wait a minute for a table, we were indecisive, service was slow. We were starved to death. That was not my best moment. We totally over ordered, like there would never be food again. We spend the better part of $100 at half price happy hour. Ridic. But finally, we were satiated and returned to our room to bask in the glory of our…. gluttony. Yay, us!   

So there we were, in our room, in that state that immediately follows a major pig out after too many hangry hours. You know what I mean. It’s a groany sort of laying down kind of moment, where you pound water and gaze fondly upon pillows even though it’s only 8pm and you’re on staycay.

We were dangerously close to caving. Each of us was semi willing to throw in the towel, throw on the jimmies, and accept our sad fate. But every few minutes, someone would wonder out loud if we should do something, and when finally no one person protested the idea too vehemently, we heroically got ourselves up and out into the night.   

Bill and I had bikes, our boy had a skateboard and the girl had a scooter. We set out and made our way to the deserted oceanfront boardwalk, and we set flight.

Here’s my moment: I was in back, on my beloved bike. My daughter was right in front of me, blond hair flying as she cruised. Her whole person screamed so loudly in her body language… there were people out there and noises and mystery and danger… she was all nerve endings and suspicion. But there was also the ocean, right there. Crashing and comforting and familiar, it is her ballast point. Her gaze rested there and she flew.

My son was in front of his sister. So thin, so tall, so free on his new longboard. Yet he is unfamiliarly socked in between parents and sibling, clearly enjoying the placement in spite of the obvious disparity. I could see him arch his back to breahe in the cool, moist air. He can’t help but feel good out there, and it’s a beautiful night. He tolerates us pretty well these days, he smiles, he laughs.

Bill leads the pack, my happy boy. He is talking, always. I can’t hear him, can the kids? It doesn’t matter, he’s telling us stories and pointing out the court where he used to live, reminding me of the times we had back when we dated, way before those two goofs we’re bookending were even a flicker of possibility.

I was in back, looking at them. Eating them up. Drinking in the moment. When we stopped, I kept my grin. I squeezed them all, squeezed away their protests and just celebrated my moment. High point.