We are all sitting on the beach, reacquainting ourselves, wondering why the last time we saw each other was my Grandma’s funeral, and laughing that we live in the same state, but had to travel over a thousand miles to happen to be at the same beach.

“There must be a way to see each other more often,” we all say.

“Remember when we had big family picnics?”

Someone gets up to snap a group photo, and I am instantly in a time warp, remembering a faded picture in one of my parents’ photo albums. I was about 7, I’d guess. Sitting on a lake beach somewhere near my hometown. Some of the same people were there, but also other aunts and uncles, and different cousins, since these cousins weren’t born yet.

“So weird,” I reflect, as I ask my dad if he remembers that picture.

“One day this will be a faded picture,” I shudder.

“Mom,” I hear, “don’t worry. This will never be a faded picture. Pictures don’t fade anymore – they’re digital.”

We talk with my dad and uncle, getting a few stories of their childhood. Marveling that my dad is the second oldest sibling, the oldest boy; my uncle is the youngest. They are 11 years apart. 10 kids in 12 years!

We ask age old questions like, “How did you get to the beach with 10 kids every summer? You didn’t go in one car, right?”

“A station wagon,” my dad says and he and my uncle try to explain how some sat in the way back, there were no seatbelts, and they just piled in.

“No, no, no,” my uncle says shaking his head. “There were 2 cars. There were 2 cars for traveling.”

A game of bocce ball starts, but I sit out to chat some more with some cousins, and we watch the game as we have a heart to heart.

“It’s just so great to see them all over there!” my cousin says. I am reminded that my cousins love family just like I do. They leave the beach first, off to get ready for a night out: A girls night I am invited to, but can’t attend. More hugs are given all around and they walk away.

After they leave, my kids need a refresher on my cousins since there are so many. They want to know who is the child of which sibling.

“It’s so weird,” they say. “We haven’t seen them for years and everyone just starts talking and talking like you see each other all the time.”

“Yep,” I say, “that’s because we are cousins!”

Airboats are loud so we have cotton balls stuck in our ears. I think if you book a private tour, they give you a headset instead. Before getting in the boat we were ushered to a “show.” We came to scout for gators, but didn’t know we’d see them in captivity first.

“This is so sad,” my kids said to me and we walked over to look at the turtles, who were swimming in a dirty plastic pond, surrounded by a fence.

“At least they have each other,” I tried to offer as a consolation to my kids because I see them growing more upset in a “why are we even here giving money to this place?” kind of way.

Luckily the show was short. We met a baby alligator and a boa constrictor. The boys pet each and I took pictures. We learned a few facts about alligators and the strength of their jaws before we headed to the dock.

There were so many people, and my 15 year old was desperate to get a front row seat. It seemed disorganized, and slow. But the tour guide was finally there and he organized us in groups to see how we would get in the boat. I wondered if he ever thought of being a teacher, and soon we were on the boat, cotton balls in our ears, waiting for him to untie the ropes holding the boat to the dock.

“I’m on Florida time,” he says. “I’m on my time. That way I don’t get stressed.”

Right away there is an alligator in front of us, and the boat stops so we can all get a look. “Look now,” the guide says, “that way I won’t feel bad if this is the only gator we see the whole tour.” I hope it isn’t the only one we see, since my 12 year old dreams of seeing as many as possible.

We learn that the Everglades is the slowest moving river in the world, and I think about how the swamp feels almost exactly how I expected it to feel. Is it because the books I’ve read are so good at describing this quiet slow humidity, or am I just experiencing this through the lens of having read books that take places in swamps? Also, have I read an abundance of books that take place in swamps? I don’t think so.

We see a few more alligators, and laugh at our tour guide’s jokes.

Later we will drive through the everglades, and spot so many alligators off to the side of the road in the canal. We will stop at Big Cypress National Preserve and see even more alligators from the safety of a boardwalk. A volunteer will stop by and we will learn that gators need to rest in the sun to digest their food. Otherwise it rots in their stomach.

When we get back on the road and see more aligators as we drive by, my 12 year old will say, “I’ve seen so many alligators now, they’re just like squirrels to me.”

I used to kayak with 6th graders once a year for 20 minutes in the small mountain lake nearby
First I'd watch them all learn to row their canoes 
Then I'd ask for a review for myself  
They'd partner up in canoes 
I'd wait for the single kayak - teacher benefit
I'd paddle around, watch out for them, listen to them learn how to cooperate with the oars
I'd  take pictures, take in the beauty of the water, breathe until the whistle told us it was time to bring it in

"How different could it be?" I asked myself
When my own 6th grader, and his 9th grade brother asked to rent kayaks in Key Largo
And I was right and wrong - which is how parenting usually goes for me
One wanted to go go go
The other had never kayaked before - he had to learn how to paddle in between the mangroves
There were debates, angry words, and much bumping into the shore
I was kayaking, breathing in the beauty of the water while keeping an eye on them

There hadn't been a lesson on paddling
I didn't get a review - only a quick reminder of which way to face the paddle
There was no whistle to tell us to bring it in
Only a map they quickly handed us as we got in the boats, and an hour to get back to the marina
I couldn't quite get oriented on the map, but there were usually people to follow and
the boys figured out which way to go when there weren't

In the middle of the journey, I put my paddle down across the kayak to take a mindful moment and watch the boys who had finally figured out how to cooperate - mostly
"Don't you wish you could be here?" one of them called out to me
I laughed 
"We are here!" 

A few weeks ago, we bought a vacuum. My 15-year old wanted me to get the fancy one that was almost $300, but there was one right there for $80!

“You’re going to regret it, mom,” he told me.

“Nope,” I shook my head. “We don’t need a fancy vacuum. We just need one that works. And we are on a budget.”

He shook his head at me as we carted it to the checkout.

At home, we put it together and vacuumed. You had to push it, but it worked well.

“See?” I said with a hint of I told you so in my eyes.

A couple weeks later, when the vacuum handle broke off, he was the one who had the told-you-so in his eyes. Mostly he just raised his eyebrows at me, as I got ready to take the used, broken vacuum back to Target.

If you’ve never carried a cheap, broken, dirty vacuum back into a store, you’ll have to imagine the walk of shame, the explanation at customer service, and the gratitude when they handed me my $80 back.

Now I have a robot vacuum that was recommended for homes with pets. My pets are pretty freaked out by it, and it scared me a couple times already too. My 15-year old kindly set it up for us, and he has the app on his phone. So he thinks it is funny to have it suddenly start vacuuming when I’m the only one home.

At least there’s no handle to break off…

Single mom, shoveling
sounds ominous
like “dead man, walking”
the men aren’t dead –
I see them throughout the neighborhood,
shoveling
snow blowing

Glad I’m a feminist
who is used to shoveling anyway

The snow is light
easy does it
and the chiropractor won’t get mad
The snow is heavier
where the plow dropped extra
I should be making the boys help

What time is it?
Why isn’t this a two-hour delay?
I hope the boys are making breakfast
and eating it too

Glad I’m a single mom of older kids
who make their own breakfasts

The driveway is done
Thank goodness for 15 year olds who
suddenly appear
scare you half to death
and shovel the sidewalk

When I was 18, or soon to be 18, I was at home with my young sister for a few days before Christmas.

The house must have already been decorated, my sister already asleep. (How did I get her to go to bed, but my own children never sleep?)

So, of course, I decided to make Chocolate Chip cookies.

I think cookies were a serious part of Christmas at that time in my family. We had an enclosed front porch that was freezing in the winter. That’s where we kept the Christmas cookies, frozen for weeks, ready to be made into platters to gift family, friends, neighbors, teachers…

I don’t remember much about decades ago, but I remember the house smelling like a chocolate chip cookie, my dining room table full of cookies. I was making so many cookies, they were spread like playing cards cooling on foil. For quite avwhile, baking chocolate chip cookies triggered sadness.

I don’t remember if Mr. Thought called, or came over.
He wasn’t Mr. Thought then, just a boyfriend.

Well, he was a boyfriend before I made the cookies, and maybe during a few batches.

But then — he wasn’t.

He wanted to see other people.
Explore. His. Options.

He was done with us.

I was devastated.
Christmas was ruined.
My parents came home the next day, we celebrated Christmas and my 18th birthday. They gave me a beautiful silver bracelet.
We went to my grandma’s, where I was a teenage zombie, with a broken heart.

I spent time with my blinds drawn, blasting PJ Harvey that winter break. “You’re not rid of me…”

Good grief
breakup grief
18-year old’s grief
Christmas grief
heartbreak grief