Remember when I first moved to Canada and I was confused about loonies and milk bags and THE COTTAGE?
“What is this THE COTTAGE place? Is it like Disneyland? Is it a resort? A hotel? Is it where Snow White lives? Is it like The Dells in Wisconsin? Why does every single person in the entire world go there? I want to go! Are there baked goods there?”
Well, I am pretty much no longer confused about the idea of a cottage.
I get it. I so get it.
I mean, I’m not much of a water baby—I’m more like a sit on a deck chair and watch other people be water babies baby. Jetski? Tubing? See-dooing? No thanks. I mean, on a scale of someone who has never been in the water before to Ryan Lochte, I’d probably consider myself a, well, 4? I can doggie paddle and tread water like a boss, and I can probably do a pretty messy backstroke. But, it’s more that I am just not really a fan of being wet and being in the water and the possible marine life swimming past my legs (eeeeep!) and knowing that all of the little kids are actually saving up their pee for the mere purpose of doing it in the water.
It’s just not for me.
But decks? I love decks!
Taking photos, eating chips and salsa, swapping hilarious stories, drinking amazing coffee, relaxing.
Not having a single bar of phone signal.
(some more photos here, of course)
There’s nothing quite like spending time outside of my regular stomping grounds. The pace is just so different, so necessary. The stress level is low, the enjoyment level is high.
There was so much laughing.
In fact, I’m still laughing this morning about the accidental tsunami-esque boat-caused tidal wave incident.
I was standing on the dock, watching my little lovelies do something lovely in the water. I looked over at our host, who had spent too much precious time trying to fix his poor mostly broken boat. He was pushing and pulling and twisting and turning. And then he tested the motor, above the water. And then came the spray, in my direction. I giggled a bit to myself, looked over at my partner-on-the-deck, and looked back at my kids. And then the tidal wave/tsunami hit me with full force, nearly knocking my person straight into the water. It knocked two deck chairs into the water, along with all of other accoutrements that were also trying to stay dry—cups, life jackets, t-shirts, towels, and a camera—not mine—that may or may not have survived.
I couldn’t stop laughing. Was I being punk’d? Was I being filmed for America’s Funniest Home Videos? (Does that still even exist?) Did anyone get a good vine of this? Will I ever be dry again?
We just laughed and laughed and laughed.
And while this morning I’m attempting to get the last of the water out of my ears, I’m just still laughing.
And hoping we can go to another cottage this next weekend.