BeachThe first morning of my week-long beach vacation, I woke up early. Before any of the other five adults or five children in the house.

I made my way downstairs, past the paintings that looked like they had been purchased from the same artist who painted clowns on velvet canvases, and could see that the sky was a clear Carolina blue and the ocean was calm.

Perfection.

I need my coffee pretty much right when I wake up so I was happy to find that somebody had set the coffee maker up the night before. Instead of having to open up the giant can of Kirkland coffee we brought, and fumbling around for the filters, I just had to push the button.

Great start to a beautiful day.

While I was waiting for the coffee to brew, I stepped out the sliding glass door and on to the back porch. Mmmm, fresh ocean air.

I walked down the long boardwalk to our own private stretch of beach and just sighed. I had been looking forward to this week, with it’s promises of sun, waves, laughs and lots of hubby-cooked food, for a long time.

After an 11 hour drive in a rented minivan, with my husband, two teens, a hamster and lots of supplies including a tenderloin, four racks of ribs, a side of salmon, olive oil, a Cuisinart and two six-packs of toilet paper, it was soothing to be here. At our seventh annual beach vacation with my brother, his wife and their kids, my parents and, in houses nearby, lots of cousins.

A few minutes passed and, figuring the coffee was ready, I headed back down the walkway

I was ready to get the day started and excited to sit out on the porch, sipping my first cup of coffee while waiting for the rest of the house to wake up.

When I walked in to the kitchen, the first thing that came in to my head was f@#k. (I have a potty mouth. Even when I’m just thinking.)

There was coffee all over the counter, the floor and splashed up against the side of the white refrigerator. And there was none in the coffee pot. The damn thing wasn’t working. Or someone had set it up wrong.

And to make matters worse, the smell of the coffee was waking up my bowels. (Which I was happy about because the long drive had beaten them in to a catatonic state.)

What to do first? Bathroom break, wipe up the floor and the fridge or clean out the machine and set up a new pot?

I opted to clean up and get the fresh pot started. And hold off on the bathroom.

Which is why, when my mother came downstairs, I was clenching my ass cheeks and bouncing around the kitchen like a small child who has to pee and has no where to go.

Luckily, I’m not a small child, even though I sometimes act like one. I ran to the bathroom and from there, the rest of the morning went smoothly. As did the week. Just Costco coffee, clear skies, full bellies and family bonding.

Except for that 24 hour visit from pesky Arthur. Jerk.

 

Brother and husband braving the wind and waves brought on by Hurricane Arthur.

Brother and husband braving the wind and waves
brought on by Hurricane Arthur.