One starts to feel a bit like the Pelican here... and there are no sails in sight.
And its tradition, one my husband's family began a good 10 years before I met him (at least) we have to go to the beach at the end of August. This year that beach week starts on Saturday. Friday there is a wedding. I haven't seen my husband in 2 weeks. Maybe longer. And that was for something like 24 hours. (yes, yes, he's slaving away at work and pulling apart the ski house. He can be martyred in another post. This is *my blog*) Frankly, I'd like to send him to the beach with the kids and I'll stay home in my house and enjoy it, and read some books, and drink some wine and not have to fake how happy I am to see them at the end of the week.
But then... one there is that colossal maternal guilt. Why doesn't that ever go away? I don't care if you are a working mom, an at home mom, or one of those saints who does both. You still feel guilty all the damn time.
And then I happened upon a blog post from 2009, the August before all hell broke loose, and the kids are so cute and so happy. It is a great trip. And my husband usually cooks at least 1/2 the time, and makes rockin' margaritas. And sometimes I even get to paint. So it's off to the beach, to marvel at the similarities between Bitsy and Sea Gulls, and try to squeeze in some time with my oldest before she gets all grown up on me. (She spent last week away with her dad and I missed her like heck and she came back inches taller and without braces and looking all womanly. What the heck!?!)
|Hilton Head, view from the porch|
Painted that there a few years ago. Promised myself that I will clean out my cluttered art space and post old sketches and old paintings for sale. This is one of them. Course, I have to find it first.