Cheeky has spent much of the last two weeks at ECG's pad on the North Fork. While I was in the city splitting time between trying to sound smart with PowerPoint and mastering "Carry On My Wayward Son" on hard level (curse my useless pinky finger!) Cheeky and Oodgie were basking in the summer sun, riding carousels, and calling to tell me how "hard" it is to be there. I could tell that poolside drinks and boating were really strenuous for everyone, so I went out there this weekend to help.
The first thing I was struck by was Cheeky's skin. When I take off my shirt I can give the sun a tan, but Cheeky inherited her mother's pigmentation. Outdoor activities suit her. She was also sporting a new bathing suit with flotation devices built into it (safety first!), creating the illusion of six-pack abs. Hey, if I can't have them at least someone in the family should.
At one point Cheeky lost her favorite sunglasses. By "lost" I mean "threw," and I should add the word "overboard" for qualification. They were "climbing" a pole on the boat (a little known hobby of sunglasses) and chose that moment to explore the sludgy depths off the dock, so four of us spent half an hour with a kayak paddle and barbecue tongs sifting the muck looking for them. No luck...some crab is probably sporting really cool shades to his buddies right now. But the obvious question is, "If they're your favorites, then why did you throw them into the ocean?" but such logic is lost on a two year old, particularly one who only wants the food you're eating, but not once you give it to her, and on the blue plate, but not the blue plate, the other blue plate, which was actually the original blue plate.
Did you catch all that? Neither did we.
I once again made the mistake of trying to exercise, thinking that access to shaded tree-lined streets would be sufficient to block the blazing August sun. It felt like I was running inside a kiln. Wearing a diving suit. In Africa. Or Dune. My flabby body can't handle such punishment, despite having the nutritional reserves of an overfed walrus. I thought a dip in the pool would help, but we'd inadvertently heated it to the temperature of molten lava, so I opted to huddle under the air-conditioner vent until I stopped showing symptoms of hyperthermia (and by "symptoms" I mean "excessive complaining"). I followed the Blue Point Brewing Company's strict regimen for combating summer heat, and it seemed to work just fine.
But we're back in the city now. Cheeky was beginning to call the NoFo pad "my house," which would be a shocking disappointment for her in January. She regaled us the way home with her rendition of Regina Spektor's "Fidelity" until she found some month-old Cheerios in her car seat to eat. She finally passed out, and eventually we did, too, having absorbed enough surf and sun to fuel a renewable energy plant.
As hot as it was, though, we can't wait to get back. If nothing else, I still need to work on my routine...