Hubby and I spent the last weekend in south Georgia, visiting family about four hours from home and hitting the beach while we were down there. Typically, when we make this trip, the heat and the gnats are unbearable and my kids drive me nuts. Typically, I spend the whole time (minus maybe 1/2 of the first day) loving the family but wondering if it’s time to go back home yet.
This trip was different. We took my thirteen-year-old brother along, and he is a huge help. I love my husband, but when he gets around his extended family, he tends to forget about me and our two children, and I quickly find myself alone in an unfamiliar home with two children under two. Having an extra set of hands really made the difference.
We spent the bulk of the weekend just hanging around visiting, except Saturday, when we had an Easter celebration. Avery had his usual meltdown right before the Easter egg hunt started (what’s up with that?), then decided he had to “peepeepeepeepeepee” right then. So, I helped him drop trou and pee behind some bushes (he just turned two, y’all) and promptly got ripped a new one by my favorite aunt-in-law. Yikes.
Saturday night, we reverted to my sorority days and played beer pong. Ruit, really. On an extra door from the garage. Set up on a rolling cart. It was hilarious, ghetto fun. And I busted my derriere on some spewed 7UP on the slippery concrete patio. Good times.
The best part of our trips to the “deep south” (yes, I’m aware that I live in the Deep South myself, but south Georgia is a different world than the barely-smallish-town that I live in, just outside metro Atlanta) are always the beach day at the end. Our beach of choice is typically St. Simons Island, because that’s where Big Daddy’s family always goes. Let me be very clear here: I never want to leave this island. The only thing that keeps me from crying every time we cross the Torres causeway on the way back home is the fact that my husband, big child that he is (okay, we are) like to hold our breath over each causeway. Works like a charm.
Seriously, who wants to leave THIS: