.jpg)
As my blog followers may have noticed, I was in a bit of a silly mood last week. Every now and then, though, it's fun to break out a little goofy. For those of you who missed it, I traded my very serious publisher glasses for a pair of 3-D glasses last Friday. I don't think I've had a better time at the office in years!
Aaah, but the fun didn't end there. This weekend, my husband and I packed up the boys, beach balls and water cooler and went to Sedona. Yes, that's right--Sedona. When you live in the desert, creek banks become beaches. We headed out to an absolutely gorgeous place called Crescent Moon Ranch where blackberries grow wild and Oak Creek runs cold. It was a nice and cool 95 degrees there, which was a comfortable respite from our 105 degree Phoenix temps.
For those who don't know me, that must not sound so unusual. But for those who do ... yes, I went to the creek. It's true. And no, there were no shoe stores, clothing outlets or wine bars there. Not even a Starbucks. For miles and miles.
With guidance of another similarly displaced gal I met in the parking lot, we headed down a dirt pathway (don't worry--I wore my cheap flip flops and didn't even bother to do my toenails first) about half a mile to a breathtakingly beautiful swimming spot. And there, it happened.
For years, I've been hording Ann Taylor and Coach items like, well, like a person who hordes things. I have nice nails, my shoes match and I sometimes hang out at home wearing those little tooth whitening strip things. (Don't look at last week's photo for reference ... that was a bad hair/outfit day.) I've become the girly girl my mom always wanted.
But I wasn't always that way. As one of the only girls in a large enclave of cousins, I was the biggest tomboy ever in the world until my teens, when I figured out that it was no longer cool to be able to beat boys at armwrestling. I played in the mud when it rained. I greased my own bike chain. I caught the biggest crawdads, and I didn't flinch when they pinched me.
So when my boys jumped in to the murky creek water, some long-forgotten instinct kicked in. I headed right in after them and beat them to the rope swing. We all scampered on to the far shore and hitched ourselves up on to a launching rock. I'd like to say that I forgot my fear, standing on that high, slick rock barefoot as I reached out over the water for the rope. But that wouldn't be true. That, and my kids might see that I lied and make fun of me again for shaking like a leaf and making them count down four times before I jumped. So I will tell the truth. It was scary! Did I mention that that rock was high and slick?
I flew through the air over the water and let out a primal yell before I let go of the rope. My body did some funky pose thing that resembled something I've seen roosters do, and I barely remembered to close my mouth before I hit the water's surface. Then, splash! It was over!
I turned and grinned at my beaming husband, then looked back at my boys. Their faces showed the horror that comes over adolescents when they realize their parent has made a complete fool of themselves in public. A whole slew of other 10- to 15-year-olds stood around them in line, also not smiling at all. But I didn't care.
For just a little while, I was taken back to childhood, when nothing mattered except getting home before the sun went down. I dug my toes deep into the muddy creek bed and splashed in the muddy water. It was wonderful.
I hope each of you finds time to break out of the mold this week and, if only for a moment, become that kid you once were.
Warmly,
Amanda
Aaah, but the fun didn't end there. This weekend, my husband and I packed up the boys, beach balls and water cooler and went to Sedona. Yes, that's right--Sedona. When you live in the desert, creek banks become beaches. We headed out to an absolutely gorgeous place called Crescent Moon Ranch where blackberries grow wild and Oak Creek runs cold. It was a nice and cool 95 degrees there, which was a comfortable respite from our 105 degree Phoenix temps.
For those who don't know me, that must not sound so unusual. But for those who do ... yes, I went to the creek. It's true. And no, there were no shoe stores, clothing outlets or wine bars there. Not even a Starbucks. For miles and miles.
With guidance of another similarly displaced gal I met in the parking lot, we headed down a dirt pathway (don't worry--I wore my cheap flip flops and didn't even bother to do my toenails first) about half a mile to a breathtakingly beautiful swimming spot. And there, it happened.
For years, I've been hording Ann Taylor and Coach items like, well, like a person who hordes things. I have nice nails, my shoes match and I sometimes hang out at home wearing those little tooth whitening strip things. (Don't look at last week's photo for reference ... that was a bad hair/outfit day.) I've become the girly girl my mom always wanted.
But I wasn't always that way. As one of the only girls in a large enclave of cousins, I was the biggest tomboy ever in the world until my teens, when I figured out that it was no longer cool to be able to beat boys at armwrestling. I played in the mud when it rained. I greased my own bike chain. I caught the biggest crawdads, and I didn't flinch when they pinched me.
So when my boys jumped in to the murky creek water, some long-forgotten instinct kicked in. I headed right in after them and beat them to the rope swing. We all scampered on to the far shore and hitched ourselves up on to a launching rock. I'd like to say that I forgot my fear, standing on that high, slick rock barefoot as I reached out over the water for the rope. But that wouldn't be true. That, and my kids might see that I lied and make fun of me again for shaking like a leaf and making them count down four times before I jumped. So I will tell the truth. It was scary! Did I mention that that rock was high and slick?
I flew through the air over the water and let out a primal yell before I let go of the rope. My body did some funky pose thing that resembled something I've seen roosters do, and I barely remembered to close my mouth before I hit the water's surface. Then, splash! It was over!
I turned and grinned at my beaming husband, then looked back at my boys. Their faces showed the horror that comes over adolescents when they realize their parent has made a complete fool of themselves in public. A whole slew of other 10- to 15-year-olds stood around them in line, also not smiling at all. But I didn't care.
For just a little while, I was taken back to childhood, when nothing mattered except getting home before the sun went down. I dug my toes deep into the muddy creek bed and splashed in the muddy water. It was wonderful.
I hope each of you finds time to break out of the mold this week and, if only for a moment, become that kid you once were.
Warmly,
Amanda
No comments:
Post a Comment