Shrimp, Sunburn and Sea Breezes

Hello and howdy from the patio of the Calypso beach house in sunny Destin, Florida.  We're 20 strong: 12 adults, 3 young adults, 1 teen, 3 children and 1 baby.  Oh, and the American Eskimo dog.  A good-sized pool (think cannon balls, laps and plenty of splashing/yelling/frolicking) with three stories of bedrooms, bathrooms, 2 sets of LG hi-tech washers and dryers, fridges in the kitchen and den, and superb thigh-busting stairs all the way to the top!  There's even an ice machine for keeping the margaritas and pina coladas flowing in the multi-colored solo cups -- if that's your poison.  Pamplemousse La Croix mineral waters are my personal hydration crutch; alcohol and sun seem rather counter-productive.

We're celebrating my niece's high school graduation.  Our group version of the the post-ceremony party.  Aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents and parents.  And all the damp beach towels and sunscreen-scented bathing suits we can muster.  It's been a pretty enjoyable affair, all in all, even with the surreptitious virus wending its way through the bowels and bellies of several in our group.  And my 48 hours of motion sickness (though it didn't hinder my under-cover-of-darkness venture into the ocean surf to investigate an undulating dark patch several yards out from the shore for the curious night crowd).  After my recovery, I've opted out of deep-sea fishing, the dolphin tour and Sea-Doo riding to avoid a repeat.  But that's all right with me.  Relaxing.  Moving in slow-motion.  Reading at my leisure.  Works for me.

The infant has been a particular delight to me: I had the satisfaction of rocking her to sleep this morning after her breakfast of cereal with formula.  That familiar stand-rock that develops with the first baby and continues at odd moments when there's not a baby in sight! That little round head bobbing up and down, eyes open and shut, chubby fist resting against my forearm, the sweetest breath and fine hair tickling my nose.  Her dad and I faced a distinct challenge squeezing her into a polka-dot bathing suit with a ruffle and criss-cross straps: who makes such contraptions?!  My early practice for grandmother-hood at some point in the future; I can't say whether that point be distant or right beneath my nose.  Thank you, wee Audrina, for allowing me to be a part of your support team.

Yesterday, somewhere in between leaving one restaurant's waiting queue for another with less of a crowd, my attention was transfixed with joy and satisfaction at the sight of my husband and children walking in front of me, joking, arms linked, heads bent to hear the words of the others, entirely engrossed in their familial ties.  I'm not sure I'd be capable of feeling any higher had I won the lottery in that passing of seconds.  Life affirming.  A sense of "I've done something right with these fine folks."  After dinner, there ensued the more common diatribe of "oh, my gosh, WHO gassed in the car with the windows rolled up!" and the like.  Ahhh, the classic clash of nostril and rank air molecules.

Right now, I'm cheering on my brother-in-law for being game to don his swimming trunks and join my energetic boy in the evening-lit pool.  The rest of us are in varying states of post-fun-in-the-sun fatigue.  Slumbering.  Or contemplating slumber.  Or the poor few who have had to become more intimately acquainted with one of the 9 restrooms at our, er, disposal.  Tonight we dined on fresh gulf and bay shrimp in pink and brown, heads on for the appreciative (I swear they add flavor in the boil) and heads off for the squeamish crowd.  Choices included shrimp-avocado dip, shrimp cocktail and a handsome piece of red snapper my daughter bought to share with all of us.  My famous roasted vegetables rounded out the offerings.  Did I fail to mention the scallops?  And about half an hour ago, I sampled 3, THREE, pies from a local bakery: key lime, chocolate and peanut butter.  The latter has my vote for favorite as the salt tempers the creamy sweet perfectly. 

We've one day left in our boisterous vacation.  Our entrance into summer.  It's been real.  It's been fun.  And it's been real fun.  I've even managed to rather like the appearance of my backside in a bathing suit.  (Thanks to Melissa Clark and Callanetics and my Brooke Burke video for the two most effective butt-tightening moves I've ever tried with any obvious visible success.)  The crack of dawn on the morrow will be welcomed by my ever-questing camera as I admire the stellar beauty of sunrise over the ocean.  Maybe I'll allow the tiny fish to again nibble at my toes and thighs as they mistake me for some sort of floating oceanic smorgasbord.  I might even finish my second beach read of the trip -- mindless epic modern romance of the over-the-top passionate kind.  Saturday morning will dawn with the urgency of packing and loading to meet the 9am vacate-the-premises deadline.

And there's still the matter of our family jaunt to the mountains of Colorado to witness the nuptials of yet another darling niece.  But that's in June and fodder for another entry.

I think I require another application of lotion to my slightly reddened back by my slightly reddened and super hunky husband.  Another vacation perk: the rubdown.  NOT the sunburn.