Friday, April 11, 2008


Recently R. and I went away on a "Parent's Getaway." It's a commitment we made early in our marriage. Every so often (we weren't anal-retentive enough to specify how often [at least one of us wasn't]) we try to go away sans children and reconnect as the marital therapists might say.

Given the fact that we have very little extraneous cash reserves, and incredibly modest incomes we opted for a getaway to the state park approximately 45 miles north of us for, uh, one night rather than a week long getaway in Cabo.

It was delightful in all the nerdy ways that both R. and I are delightful. We, gasp, went shopping at an outlet mall and found pajamas for Grayson for next winter at a mere $1.99 a pair. Wowee! And then, we ate at, gasp again, a predictable family restaurant where we ordered our favorite predictable meals and drinks. And we, get ready...napped. And we, brace yourselves, drank tea and coffee at regular intervals. And we, mourned the loss of good cable television in the state park (probably more than we mourned the fact that the fog and rain and 40 degree temperatures kept us indoors).

But we stayed up late (at least later than parents of a one-year-old often do) and talked...and talked...and talked. We caught up on over a year's worth of talking. We talked about current events, and parenting, and step-parenting, and summer vacation plans, and where we should spend our tax refund check, and we finished most of the unfinished conversations of the past year which were lost due to sleep deprivation and the accompanying amnesia of it.

And occasionally we would talk about something and I would say, "Remind me to blog about that later...I had forgotten that story...and it would be nice for the blog." And I said this maybe three or four times.

And damn if I shouldn't have had a little notebook with an attached pencil like an old dance-card from the 1950s to write down these insights. Because now, well now, the moment is lost and both R. and I find ourselves flummoxed when we try to recall those stories.

But maybe, just maybe, there are stories which are not meant to be documented. Just as there are experiences with your beloved which are just meant to be lived.

Even in state parks less than an hour from your home.

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