It’s your last chance to take a crack(er) at winning a $100 gift card from Ritz.  Go check out my blog post about Crackerfuls and comment away!  Comments close at end of day July 31. 

I’ve been so slammed since vacation, I’ve been terrible about blogging or even pulling the pictures from the Outer Banks off my camera.  I did it tonight, at the expense of my real work - but hey, I needed a break. 

We journeyed to Kitty Hawk because Theresa (from Allergy Apparel fame) and Gina (famous in her own right for being the hottest pregnant woman on the planet) let me and the girls tag along.  Their husbands put up with us nicely as well, especially when the Great Spider Scare of 2010 forced Lily and Arden (okay, and me) upstairs.  The bottom “section” of the beach house was, um, well.  It was . . .damp.  Theresa and Todd and the burly boys ended up stay down there - in twin bunk beds - while I got to stay upstairs in a slightly warmer but much drier bed while the girls snoozed with Landis.  I can’t thank them enough, even though I kept trying to force them back upstairs.  I think Theresa secretly enjoyed sleeping in a twin bed with her hubby.  Then again, maybe not. 

I loved vacationing with Theresa and Gina’s families because they actually know how to relax.  We sat on the beach.  We packed lunches.  We cooked most nights.  When we weren’t cooking, we were eating pizza.  We flew kites.  We took turns watching the kids so that long bike rides could be completed (I think Mark easily surpassed 100 miles on his bike during the week there), runs could be done (Theresa “ran” with me one night - which meant I was able to keep her ass in sight for all of about 3 minutes).  We took naps.  Todd played surrogate father and uber cool uncle to my girls, playing with them in the waves, dragging them around on their boogie boards, and bandaging random wounds.  He also broke up a lot of fights.  Arden and Blue Sky are quite headstrong.  The two of them together negates any country needing a nuclear weapon - their mixture is potent and all-powerful. 

It was weird.  Since I hadn’t really relaxed, the Homestead prior got me in this sort of sloth-like trance that was hard to shake.  Even watching Theresa frantically work did little to motivate me, and usually one needs a crowbar and threats of death to separate me from my shitty old Dell notebook. 

What was weird, too, was being on my first “single mom” vacation.  Being on duty 24/7 was interesting, to say the least, but having the other families around and all the kids helped dull the major absence of male companionship/help.  There were actually a couple of victorious moments where I said, “YEAH MAN, I can TOTALLY DO THIS!!!”  in sort of a Matthew McConaughey/Jack Johnson surfer voice. 

I’m really glad I went.  Leaving during nap mat season was difficult, but WiFi in the beach house made it do-able, and by Friday of this week I might be sort of caught up.  If not, there’s always next week. 

My fourth and final post about my Crystal Light Pure Fitness is up.  This time I got to write about something very near and dear to my heart - a recent accomplishment.  Don’t forget to comment for your chance to win. 

I’m writing from Kitty Hawk, NC.  I’m on vacation with two of my married friends - between us, we have 5 kids and Gina is pregnant with a soon-to-be-6th. 

I spent last weekend in Hot Springs, VA.  Since everything “began” I’ve done nothing but work, stress, fall apart, cry, spaz, work, and stress.  In between there have been moments of happiness but I have not taken more than an hour or two at a time to relax.  Being up in the mountains with crappy cell reception and a laptop that spent most of the 48 hours in my suitcase was just what I needed, plus a massage and a kayaking trip on beautiful Lake Moomaw. 

I slept a lot, too.  I also found that Sam Snead’s Tavern carries Barboursville Brut - so I was a happy camper.  When I die, my heaven will look like The Homestead. 

I just received word that we actually achieved closure today - in terms of the house.  This means that potentially CitiMortgage will stop calling me 8 times a day, including Saturdays and Sundays and National Holidays.  This means I am officially no longer a Wyndhamite and I can officially never have to deal with someone’s obsession over curtains or cracks in walls or other things that are randomly loathsome to a buyer.  Over and out.  I am done with that place.  I cried when I got the text from Chris - 80% pure relief, 20% “holy crap I’m no longer a homeowner and am back to being 20 and renting places that smell funky”. 

I’m focused on the 80%.