Miche-again!

by Patti and Cathy

This weekend, we are headed to Michigan for what has become an annual tradition. We crash our friend Michelle’s vacation house, pile on the daughters, and celebrate a weekend of estrogen, both new and used, with s’mores, fires, sledding, guitars, and wine. Oh, and whine!

 The first time we went three years ago, our daughters were set loose into Miche’s beautiful vacation home, and promptly began to run in circles, screaming at decibels so high, all of the neighboring states’ dogs came a-callin. Miche has a loft that overlooks the living room, and it wasn’t long before various dolls, stuffed animals, and other kid paraphernalia came soaring over the loft and onto the living room floor below. Some of these dolls came scaling down the wall of the loft on rope, while others, not as lucky, were simply flung to their dolly deaths.

In the past couple of years, our girls have calmed down a bit, and have now started gathering, slumber party-style, in the upstairs loft to tell secrets, watch movies, or play games. This gives us times to gather in our own slumber party-style downstairs, cozy on the couches, wine in hand, the fireplace crackling, to share our own secrets, to play music, to laugh that crazy silent, shoulder-shaking laugh, and sometimes, to cry.

Of course, these weekends can never be without some sort of drama. After all, it’s all estrogen, all the time, and anytime one sleeps away from home - especially with others - there are adjustments to make, sleeping styles to harmonize with, and general chaos that is always a promise away...

Patti
Have you ever heard a bed chirp? Yes, you may have heard one creak or bounce or boing, but chirp?

Well, I have. And the culprit was poor Cathy, tossing and turning all night long with a sleep mask slapped on her face, and a useless bottle of Nyquil mocking her from her nightstand. I was in the twin bed across from her, saddled with a migraine I'd had since the day before, and trying to ignore the “Chirp! Chirp!” that emanated from her bed each and every time she dared to even breathe. And this is how it went all. night. long, until the morning came and I glanced over to see Cathy, all bleary-eyed and gray from exhaustion, staring up at the ceiling, the bed chirping each time she blinked. "I couldn’t sleep at ALL!” she lamented.

“Me neither,” I commiserated."There is something wrong with your bed. It....chirps!"

"I know! I heard it all night!"

The bed chirped again, giving us its middle finger, and we broke out into the kind of delirious laughter that only completey exhausted people can summon up, then we dragged our asses out of bed and got ready for the day. We were vacationing at Miche's house - Miche and our other friend, Enza, were downstairs having breakfast, probably fully-rested and ready to seize the day, and we joined them, our eyes glazed and glassy from lack of sleep. But once we got coffee in, and realized with mounting glee that this time we had come WITHOUT THE KIDS WITHOUT THE KIDS WITHOUT THE KIDS, we were wide awake. The whole day languished before us, and in it there was to be wine tasting, the beach, going to a fancy restaurant that served cocktails, shopping... oh, the FREEDOM!

So we hit the winding Michigan roads and flirted with the Wine Boy (who said he was really a comedian sommelier-ing for cash, but somehow, we were the ones making him laugh. Or maybe he was laughing at us?) at the first vineyard, and got tipsy off samples. Maybe a little too tipsy, because while Miche and Enza sampled it up in proper grown-up style, Cathy and I were huddled face-to-face laughing so hard we literally almost peed out all that wine. And if I told you what were laughing at us you might just cluck your tongue sympathetically at us and pat our heads with a "there, there" normally reserved for the truly insane. After annoying every single person in the place, we headed to another vineyard and were served by a hot-but-not-hot Jersey Shore reject. The buff-armed buttah face gave us sample after sample, and by the time we left the place, full of wine and giggles, we were ready for a nap on the beach.

We spent the rest of the day lounging on the beach, sipping more wine from some klassy plastic cups, and planning the night ahead of us. And how glorious it was to take our time putting on make-up, hoochin' up our hair, and slippin' on our skinny jeans, without having to open up a juice box, tell a kid to get dressed, or force a brush through a daughter's rat's nest.

That night was magical, but the magic didn't begin at the restaurant or at any club (because they must not believe in dancing in New Buffalo, Michigan) -- it all began after we got home, washed off our make-up, and threw on our sweats. We sat on the back deck and made s'mores, drank champagne, and laughed so hard it hurt for days. And on the drive home we got a little nostalgic for what had just passed, because we realized, next time we came back it wouldn't be the same. No, not at all. Because next time, as they did every time before, the daughters would descend....

Cathy
And descending upon Michigan is what we are doing this weekend. It's time once again for our annual mother/daughter trip up to Tallgrass Cottage, like we've been doing for the last three years now. Every year, our daughters' anticipation mounts as we get closer to our planned outing but the incessant questions about the timing and details of this trip begin with the season's first snowfall.

Since that first uproarious trip up there three years ago, armed with a trunk full of sleds in every size and shape imaginable and the promising backdrop of a fluffy yet thickly packed layer of snow gripped firmly to the ground, we look forward to sledding the weekend away like they do in those heart-tugging Michigan commercials. However, last year, there was only a sprinkling of snow to be had, so instead of woo-hooing! our way down a steep, slippery hill, red-faced, arms stretched to the sky and our souls satiated with fun and laughter, we found ourselves catching the 4:15pm showing of Justin Beiber: Never Say Never...in 3D.

With the girls seated comfortably two rows in front of us, we four women plopped our tired, disappointed asses in the back row, slipped on our thankfully dark 3D shades, and settled in for a nice, long nap. But there was no napping to be had. Dare I say the movie was...interesting? Enjoyable, even? By the very end of the movie, after we cheered, fist-pumped, sang, clapped and did some pretty top-notch swirly seat dancing, we sang Never Say Never at the top of our lungs while sporting our shades and dishing out some pretty dang good arm dancing/seat bumpin' choreography. Needless to say, our daughters had practically crawled under their seats. What can we say? We're just good at finding the fun. 

There is nary a speck of snow to be found on the ground this weekend and no Justin Beiber movie on the silver screen radar. At first we were stressing about what to do. How will the girls keep occupied and not hound us with constant kidterruptions of every variety? (Mom! We're hungry! Mom! Watch this! Mom! Do we have any movies? Mom! I'm not tired! Mom! We're bored! Can we go somewhere? Can we go shopping? Can we make s'mores? Can you play Apples to Apples with Then we remembered that the house is big enough for each group to play separately and strong enough to handle the estrogen that will be bulging at the cedar siding seams and that no matter what, we will find the fun. Again. Because that's what we do. Even though we swore we would never lock ourselves in a house for the weekend with a bunch of pre-hormonal tween girls and their post-hormonal, R&R-seeking mothers with no solid gameplan on tap.  

But as they say, never say never.