Back from vaycay

You know, one of the rewards you get for taking a wiggly, antsy, tell-it-like-I-see-it 8-year-old boy to his friend's play (Singin' in the Rain) is that you get to be privy to snippets like this.
On stage: hero and heroine kiss, locked in embrace
Ian, in stage whisper: Ewwwww. Gross.
Boy next to him, who's already seen the show, in louder stage whisper: Don't worry. It's a FAKE kiss.

So, we've been vacating, pretty hardcore. As in, we've been on a very short vacation with Tim's family to their timeshare resort in San Antonio, a 2-hour hop down the road from here. This time, along the way we stopped at Cabela's in Buda. Do y'all know about this? I'm thinking so, since even my mother has heard of Cabela's, and let's just say that, her many virtues notwithstanding, she's not exactly a pop culture maven (nor is there a Cabela's anywhere near the town of Wilton, CT, where she grew up). Anyway, in case you don't know, I would describe Cabela's as a place where Davy Crockett and Charlton Heston would meet for a wild boar sandwich and a beer. Think REI, but on testosterone. We don't just become one with nature, we bring home the carcass in the back of our pickup truck. Think industrial-size meat grinders for sale.

But all in all, it's a cool place with plenty of eye candy for anyone with even the slightest appreciation for taxidermy. Or anyone with kids. Check out this giant manmade mountain, resplendent with stuffed wildlife and the only autumn-colored maple leaves you'll see within 100 miles of Austin.



There was a real trout pond, too, and a walk-through aquarium, and a shooting gallery, and a cafe where my son literally ate a wild boar sandwich. Won't try an apple, of course, but wild boar? Bring it on.


So then, we were in San Antonio at the resort, where we've all perfected the art of relaxation. It's called, do what the kids want to do. Which is basically, swim, ride the lazy river, build sand castles, hunt for golf balls after dinner, and play cards. What's not to love about that? They're all at age now where they're just fun to play with, including my 15-year-old niece and Tim's 17-year-old cousin, who plays a mean game of B.S. (That stands for Baloney Sandwich, Mom and Dad. ;-) Also known as I Doubt It. It's a card game.)

Okay, this borders on shameful gloating, but I have to tell you that because my in-laws basically rock, and think there's no more important job than parenting their grandchildren, it was arranged for my MIL, SIL, and self to spend an afternoon getting massages and lolling around the spa at the Hyatt Regency resort next door.
Oh.
My
Gosh.
It was HEAVEN. And guess what? When I was thanking my MIL as we floated on out of there, her comment was, "Well, you both work hard raising my grandchildren, and you certainly deserve it." Whoa dog! OK, you know how as a mom, you sort of LONG for those words to be spoken to you? You just get used to doing your thing, day after day, and knowing that no one's going to hand you an award for it? Last I checked, there was no Phi Beta Kappa of motherhood. There are times, actually, when I've wanted to squawk at the kiddos at a moment of particular lack in their appreciation toward me, "I used to be SMART, you know! People LIKED me! I graduated from college with HIGHEST HONORS and then had a boss who told me, often, that I was GOOD AT STUFF!" (But I don't really say that because, you know, I'm MUCH too mature for that.) I'm learning, though, bit by bit, to do what I do unto the Lord and let His smile be my reward. How sweet it is to be loved and accepted by One to whom achievements mean nothing. But once in a while, it's REALLY nice to have someone (besides my husband) notice. And it's REALLY REALLY nice when it's not Mother's Day and Hallmark isn't giving the big nudge.