Back in May, I turned to Paul and said, "This is going to be the craziest summer I've ever had." And I meant that too. Yes, sometimes I'm prone to hyperbolic speeches, but this time, I literally (not in the ironic way teens use this word) meant that my ritual of boring summers was about to come to an abrupt end.
After my guests flew home, we celebrated Father's Day, Sam's birthday, and I had two weeks to prep for a cross-country drive back to the land of my forefathers: Southern Illinois. (#Exotic) Three years ago, this trip was riddled with vomiting, fevers, a seizure, an ambulance ride, emergency room visit, hand-foot-and-mouth disease, rashes, explosive diarrhea in the car, night terrors, sleeplessness, rain, and ended much like it started, with more vomiting. You can imagine my reservations when my grandmother invited us to a reunion with the Walker family this summer. See, I was sorta hoping that in the last three years I would have struck oil in my yard or rescued a millionaire's cat from a tree and received a large reward that would pay for plane tickets for my future ventures to the midwest. Alas. Driving was still our only budget-friendly form of transportation, so I spent two weeks planning, shopping, cleaning, and preparing mentally to hurl myself across the country in a metal prison with screaming inmates.
Surprisingly, the trip went off without a hitch. There was no vomiting, fevers, seizures, ambulance rides, emergency room visits, hand-foot-and-mouth disease, rashes, explosive diarrhea in the car, night terrors, or sleeplessness. Instead, there were lightning bugs, ukulele sing-alongs, hot country breakfasts, long naps, ice cream cones, bouncy houses, splash pools, fireworks, Kansas City BBQ, St. Louis Science Center, porch swings, long talks with my grandma, trips down memory lane, family history, and rain when we had nowhere to be but indoors.
We drove home last weekend, and now I am in full camp-director mode because Girls Camp is in just two weeks. Bring. It. On.