We’ve made it safe and sound to the ridiculously gorgeous lake. I’m honestly and truly hard pressed to think of a more beautiful place on earth. Dad has a great saying, “God may vacation in the Rockies, but He lives in the Appalachians.”
The getting and the being here is a little surreal. After about six solid hours of singing along with the stereo at the top of our lungs, we fell into a quiet lull. We all silently looked out the windows at the vast greenery of Virginia. In a soft voice Thom said, “Last time I was on this stretch of road, I had hair and you had a tumor.”
It’s been a long year.
“Yeah, both of those things really needed to go,” I responded.
Another few hours and some Stephen Lynch later, we finally made it to the lake. I managed a brief swim, but was profoundly whipped from the trip. I slunk off to bed at a ridiculously early hour.
Thank goodness I did! The only good sleeping I squeezed in was before Rocco came to bed. It had been a long, emotional day and the poor boy wanted to cuddle. He curled up on the edge of the bed behind me to spoon. I made it all of five minutes before I was beyond smothered. He sounded asleep so I silently crept out of his reach. It seemed like I had just dozed off when he was behind me and snoring his Wendy’s breath on me again. So I scooted out of his reach again to the edge of the bed. Mere moments later, I was again pinned.
I quietly slipped out of bed and tip-toed around to the other side of the mattress. Nothing is better than nice cool sheets on a warm night…even if they still smell vaguely of Rocco’s earlier Baconator.
I’d guess I managed to sleep for probably another hour before the cycle started up again. I’m not sure if it was the dramatic increase in temperature, the sudden inability to move, or the oppressive scent of bacon that woke me. Regardless, there he was again, right behind me – my bacon flavored security blanket. I said a silent thank you in my head, then a silent complaint, then I silently scooted out from under his arm to the cool side of the bed.