The Magical Mystery Tour

Well y’all it’s that time of year again. The one I both dread and anticipate all year long. The annual Mother and Son road trip to camp.. The dread part involves the Hampton Roads tunnel, in order to get to the Bay Bridge and thus finally over to the Eastern Shore. Would someone PLEASE put a direct ferry service in?? This chunk of the highway to hell makes me absolutely crazy. No claustrophobia or anything. The crawling along for a bloody hour in traffic- for absolutely no discernable reason whatsoever is what grates on my nerves. And if this wasn’t about the coolest camp ever, I wouldn’t subject myself to it. Hey, I’d spend two weeks there in a heart beat if they’d let me.

The cruising along with the Hurricane, now that part is actually fun. He’s a generally entertaining person, and since I’ve never spoken to my children in the assumption they were “just” children, we have some rather interesting conversations. I will grant that there are occasions that I will bribe him with ice cream to be still for 5 minutes.. That boy can talk- I mean talk! He talks in his sleep; his first word was “why”. This is generally rather endearing, as he doesn’t just babble on and on about nothing, but brother that child can exhaust a train of thought like no other human I’ve ever encountered.

In spite of the occasional headache, we have a great time. Unlike dear old Dad, who stops for nothing, unless the gauge has been on E for at least twenty miles.. Mom likes to make the occasional pit stop. You know necessities, important stuff.. potty breaks, barbeque, ice cream, eastern shore melons and tomatoes, and the occasional “What the heck do you think that is?”

But mostly it’s just the boy and I talking. Big questions, little ones, silly stuff and a whole lot of why. I found out last year he’s going to buy me a condo at the beach when I get old, get me a really cute pool boy and live down the street with his wife and 3 dogs, so he can take care of me. Well, I’m holding you to that one son. You better do really well in school! He also promised to never take up with a trashy woman, because he knows it would kill me. “You know Mom, like one of those nasty Paris Hilton sort of girls.” Well a mother indeed likes to hear that sort of thing.

So once we arrive and unload and I kiss the little rascal and try not to tear up and embarrass him in front of the guys.. Time to head home. I don’t mind the trip back all that much- other than that large strip of concrete hell in Hampton Roads.. I get a little quiet time that doesn’t happen very often in my world. Frankly I don't mind my own company in the least. Time to realize just how much I’m going to miss the little devil the next few weeks..

Ok, so I also get to stop at the Clam Shack and pig out without anyone knowing about it. Have a brilliant weekend folks! I need go figure out where the hell all the beach towels have gone and get the boy packed.