I was thinking that there was no real way to classify all the experiences of our vacation in an organized format, and then, after making a list of some highlights (no, YOU shut up.), it hit me: It all actually broke down quite nicely into the five senses. Which sounds kind of odd, nerdy, and gimmicky, but honestly, this post was destined to be all over the place, and this construct kind of reeled me in a bit. (I *think* I may have done a post in this style eons ago, but really, who can remember? Onward!)
Remember how I talked about the evil clown my family made me pose with at the county fair? Yeah, here she is. EMBRACING ME. And I swear to you, I have dissolved into actual shudders thinking about her stupid clown perm grazing my neck and shoulders, and her foam clown boob hitting my arm. My enjoyment of this experience is palpable, is it not?
Here, however, are some decidedly less clown-filled "touch" moments:
Oh, WHERE to begin with this one? I suppose the following picture best exemplifies the manner in which this particular sense can be assaulted, courtesy of a booth at the county fair. Feast your eyes. FEAST THEM, I SAY.
I am in dire need of both a dreamcatcher pendant and pensive horse t-shirt.
Later in the week, I got together with Torrie. Now, it's mildly hilarious that we live, like, 10 miles apart, and yet it took respective family trips to the Poconos to get the kids together for a playdate...
...and of course, some good old-fashioned scrunchie posing at, uh, Ye Olde Scrunchie Standde...
...but I'll take it.
Finally in this this category, I submit to you this picture, taken as we were entering the stadium during T's first professional baseball game (what up, Scranton Yankees?). I adore it.
We (and he!) had a great time:
One night after the kids were asleep, J, my brother and I went on a late-night run to the supermarket because...I don't know. It's all about simple pleasures up at the lake house, people. I'm absolutely certain the cashier (erroneously!) thought we were high, considering that our purchases consisted of oddly-flavored chips, assorted candies, soda, and...a 7Up Creme Cake. I was frightened, intrigued, and hungry (BUT not high. NOT HIGH, I SWEAR.) so into our basket it went.
We got back to the house and everyone mocked my purchase, myself included. But then I tried it, and it was absolutely amazing, so I wandered around literally FOISTING large hunks of cake on people at nearly midnight, which is both considerate and healthy. And my entire family--well, all of them who went along with my cake foisting ways--had precisely the same reaction: Supplementary mocking, followed by acceptance of cake (ostensibly to shut me up), begrudging tasting of cake, shocked widening of eyes, and MAD DASH BACK TO CAKE. YOU KNOW, SO AS TO EAT MORE OF IT. Moral of the story: 7Up cake is delicious.
I did not try this freaky-ass hamburger cake (which we also spied in the supermarket that night), but something tells me it does not taste as good as the 7Up one.
J and I became obsessed with Iron & Wine's cover of the Flaming Lips song, "Waitin' on a Superman" during our trip. The lyrics are kind of depressing, but the sound is gorgeous; I defy you to find a more perfect windows-down-driving-on-quiet-moonlit-country-roads-at-night-just-enjoying-the-ride (but-also-hoping-Kurt-Russell-slash-Stuntman-Mike-isn't-driving-the-Death-Proof-car-behind-you) song.
Other trip faves: Andrew Bird's cover of "The Giant of Illinois," (see above, re: depressing lyrics, pretty sound), Sufjan Stevens' "You Are The Blood," Belle & Sebastian's "Sleep Around the Clock," Prince's "Kiss," and Miley Cyrus' "Hoedown Throwdown." I...can't explain that last one, really, other than to say that it's kicky! I work out to it! The kids like it! Or...something! (J would like the world to know that he is horrified by my repeat playing of said song, he had nothing to do with it, and would very much like it to go away.)
The interior of our (relatively new) car decided yesterday that it wanted to smell awful, and it is a mystery as to how this occurred. Perhaps you, unlike me, have never walked home from school one rainy middle school day and put your wet wool sweater in a plastic bag, proceeding to forget about it, and then, finding the forgotten, moldy sweater almost two months later, now possessing an almost intoxicatingly overpowering stench, not unlike that of an ancient cat, but I tell you, if you have done that? It's not a smell you forget. Anyway, our car smells like that. Oh, and also, the inside of a bowling shoe. It came out of NOWHERE, which is the most maddening part. J and I literally sniffed the car from top to bottom, searching for an errant sour milk-filled bottle, or, (God help me) a dead animal, but found nothing. The odor is just...there. Unfortunately, this can mean only one thing: a trip to our scary car wash for one of their classily-named car air freshener sheets!
Smelly car and freaky clown aside, however? Vacation was perfect.