Friday Frenzy

I have ten minutes to write this before it's time to pick up the boys from Summer Faith Adventure. It's been that sort of day, ten minutes to do this before it's time to do the next thing. Here's the deal: we're leaving for the beach tomorrow. We're going to the same beach we go to every year, staying at the same house we've stayed at for three years now. So you'd think I'd remember whether or not the kitchen has a cheese grater ...

But I don't. So I'll pack one. And I'll pack a sieve and a cutting board and measuring cups and spoons. Just in case. I'm pretty sure the kitchen is stocked with all this stuff, but just to be safe I'm bringing mine. I know there's not one decent frying pan, so that's definitely hitting the road with us. And I always bring my own knives.

Because of Jack's nut allergies, we don't eat out much, though now that we know he's not allergic to peanuts, we're freed up a little. But it's cheaper to cook, and I like it. We'll eat seafood a couple of nights, and that'll be nice. Other nights I'll cook two-night meals, so it's not like I'll be slaving over the stove the whole time.

The big beach treat: pimento cheese (go here for recipe) and crackers. Pimento cheese is my favorite southern delicacy (yep, I love it even more than pigs feet), and because I like to keep special things special, I only make it twice a year, at the beach and at Christmas. The beach is the only place I drink real Coke, too. I love real Coke, but neither my waistline or my dental insurance can tolerate a steady intake.

I'm in the process of packing, which is to say I'm in the process of overpacking. It would take me three months at a monastery to read all the books I've packed, but I can't help it. I live in fear of running out of good books to read. What if some of the books I've packed are bad, boring, or just not right for the mood I'm in? To be safe, I'll bring around twenty, five or six of which I'll read.

The boys will bring more books than they can read and more games than they'll have time to play, and my husband will complain as he loads and unloads the car, and threaten to take over the packing next year, but it's all a bluff. The beach is a place for dreams and excess.

My ten minutes are about up. I'll be back week after next with sand in my shoes and a head full of literature. Oh, and a soul full of pimento cheese crackers and real Coke. Ah, bliss.