So while the littles were here, having grand adventures with nana and papa, including the someday-to-be-famous ten cousin sleepover (actually only mildly different from the thirty car pile-up), husband and I were exploring south Florida. Turns out it's mostly people pushing cockapoos in pink dog strollers and wealthy clones of the old lady from Something About Mary wearing Lilly Pulitzer caftans and crooked lipstick. But what we did find, besides great food, great conversations and a wickedly lovely hotel, was each other. The ones we were before we were six. Getting away affords us time to do that. It's always my favorite souvenir (although the slip dress I picked up at a little boutique on Atlantic is a close second) and when we get home I swear I'm not going to let it slip away this time. But then laundry and baseball practice and a million other large and small things interrupt and before I know it, time has elapsed and we are us (6) again and not us (2). Which makes me ever thankful for the chance to get away again and find us (2). Thankful for a rockin nanny and papa who moved in and loved on the littles for four days. Thankful to Father for the redemption stories he's writing in my marriage and in my life. Thankful to husband for pushing it, knowing if he didn't I'd prolly never leave again. Thankful for a cozy, blustery day in which I can snuggle up with peter's lovey and write about it all. Just thankful.
This is me being real. Thankful. And wondering...ten cousins? Really?