And how happy we are!!
Though we wish every weekend could be spent at The Pom Cottage, the reality is that it is really, really lovely to be home in our little house with a whole weekend spread before of us of puttering around.
And if we spend one more Sunday for six hours on I-95, there will be a divorce.
Since we can't get there this weekend, we're bring you a recap of weekends past:This is Memorial Day - via The Princess who may be the only person left in the famly with a working camera (my 4-month old Nikon will only take a shot if you turn the camera off in-between.. Sigh.)
One meal per visit has to be lobster.
What you don't know is that these are plastic lobsters that we trot out each visit after plying the company with cheap wine (yes, even the children) and then they just say, "wow, these lobsters are rubbery", to which we reply, "yeah, it's all the oil from the Gulf. Really lubes them up." Soon all crustaceans will be rubber anyway as they'll be the only ones left in the sea.
Note how The Fiance is leaning. That's from the cheap wine and the fact that we do not own 11 chairs and he's actually crouching at the table and one leg has gone numb. Or maybe he's crooked from sleeping on a cot in the laundry room. (Two year engagement: that'll teach him!)
Sidenote: notice how I look like my face has been devoured by flesh-eating arachnids. Fear not. The flesh that used to be in my face has merely migrated to my stomach and thighs. For it seems that once you drop a whole self in weight, if you gain any back, it will all coagulate in one or two places, to wit (note the fancy legal language), the area right over the knees and the incredible expanding muffing top/apron.
The Princess. Note the dark glasses and the sly expression. She who is lounging on the beach after booking her parents into two wedding venue appointments. One of which she knew her mother would go ga-ga over. Nice try, Princess. But no way are we shelling out for the Lobster Clambake, ok? Not even on the beach. Especially not even though you want hydrangeas and pomegranates for the flowers. Huh! Picking pomegranates and my favorite flowers. That old ploy! Yep, no way we are gonna ante up for a glorious site right next to the water with great food and a room wrapped in windows and tables full of hydrangeas and pomegranates....
A wicked mini-golf game was won by L! Or that's what the three cousins are telling me, anyway. Looks more like they pulled a fast one and instead of mini-golfing they are clubbing in P-town. Or after hours with the townies down by the docks. Who would know? Not Mr. P, the chaperone. You can see what an influence he is in the photo below:
Men gather where grills go. Note the wicked grin on my nephew as he poses with his father's beer. Very funny. Mass CPS will be down on our heads in minutes.
Don't for a moment think the men grilled these. Mrs Pomegranate herself was in charge of these beauties! Men only do meat.
For allowing The Nephew to hold a beer in his hand, thus opening us up to all sorts of liability, we punished the men and sent them to their rooms. But then we didn't know how the meat was going to get from the grill to the table. So we let them out. Now don't go thinking that the women were waited on hand and foot. It was just foot. And we outnumber the men, as you can see. Therefore, they pretty much do everything we want. Except make vegetables.
Side note: Notice my Cape hair - I'm starting to get that dustmop-on-top-head-summer-on-the-Cape-good-thing-nobody-knows-me-here-annual-style. I usually dress it up with a preppy headband and then I look like Jean what's-her-name who killed The Diet Doctor, but without her breeding. If you don't know who Jean-who-killed-The-Diet-Doctor was, then you are too young to read this blog and ought to be in bed.
Sometime in the future, I will do a whole series, a la Poppy, on Cape Style.
The titles of my posts shall be:
- Frizzy hair?: Try Sperm Oil (From Whales, Sillies!)
- Why God Invented Hats (When You Run Out of Sperm Oil)
- I Hate Showering Away From Home, or Why God Invented Swimming
- Did Anyone Bring Tweezers or 50 Ways to Braid Your Eyebrows
- How Much Is Too Much Sun Exposure, Or Daddy, Why Doesn't Mommy Need a Nightlight?
- Are Those Bananas Embroidered on Your Lime Green Pants Or Are You Just Glad To See Me
Oil Sheen on The Gulf.
Or Cape at sunrise.
Or One Hour After Cucciolo Gets Up.
Or Does Anyone Want a Dog to Walk Every Morning at Sunrise? Call me, we'll talk.
Sundown.
Or why we all tolerate 11 people in one house, including two on cots in the laundry room with the dogs, drawing straws for who gets to sit down for dinner, 6-hour rides home, and dive-bombing mosquitos. Oh, and don't forget when we play that fun game called, "Walking the Dogs In The Pre-Dawn Dark and Hoping The Local Coyotes Are Stuck In Traffic On The Bridge".
But no weekend on the Cape ends without an important lesson being learned. The Memorial Day Lesson Was:
11 people divided by 2 bathrooms (one of which is in the Girls Dorm) = Get That Damn Outdoor Shower Working!