For the past few years we have been baking our Thanksgiving turkey in a trash can. Sounds weird and WTF, right? Here it is in pictures:
Last month hubby and I had the opportunity to go away without kids for two weeks, and we took it! Granted there were only two of our three children at living home and they are 23 and 21, so having mom and dad out of the house for a couple of weeks really isn’t a big deal.
Not a lot gets done in regards to personal grooming when you are on the road for two weeks, camping most of the time. Showers were had, but trying to shave one’s legs in a campground shower stall is next to impossible, if you want to do it with hot water. Plus there were a number of days where it had rained and rained so the comfort stations were not in their best shape.
So after two weeks away from home, it was time for hubby and I to pretty ourselves up. I was fine with taking care of myself, hubby was able to trim his beard to perfection, but then came time to deal with the back hair. I know, eww, and he required my assistance.
Some woman may like a hairy man, and certainly I like his hairy chest but when it comes to back hair, no thank you, I do not want to sleep with a grizzly bear. Over the years we have tried different methods of hair removal. There was the waxing episode (insert laughter), it did not go over well, sure enough it removed a lot of hair but he couldn’t handle the pain (and he has the nerve to suggest I wax my nether regions, ha!). Then there was the cream removal treatment, it didn’t really work either, I had to keep slathering it on, then showering it off for him, then slathering it on again, showering, and so on. The final and most successful is plain old shaving with the electric beard trimmer, it’s quick, painless, and does the trick. Voila! He’s been beautified.
Now sex on vacation doesn’t really happen when you are driving, and stopping, and driving all day, then trying to find a place to stay, particularly since this was a spur of the moment trip, and nothing was booked. We were exhausted most nights, then we would be camping, having to cook our dinner, set up the tent, the air mattress, sleeping bags, and hubby’s nightly fight to start a fire with soggy wood (he usually won after soaking everything with camp fuel). Don’t get me wrong, I would not trade the camping for anything, I loved every minute of it, and so did my husband, but we were tired, and even if sex was on our mind, we were tired.
So, when we arrived home, we had to make up for lost time. Now, after years of bad timing you would think middle child would have learned by now, that when you knock on your parent’s bedroom door, you do not just walk in. Apparently the poor girl has not learned, and is once again scarred for life!
After slamming our door shut, she yelled she was going to check the mail. About ten minutes later I sent her a text message asking if we received any mail, she sent me this back:
My brain is overloading
I’m about to throw up
GET A FUCKING HOTEL ROOM
I WANT TO DIE
The poor girl. Now a few weeks have gone by, and I must say she has gotten her revenge, not on purpose, but she has. This morning as I was driving the dogs to the dog park with the windows open, I was suddenly hit in the head by some sort of plastic wrapping, which then drops down to the floor. I look down, and what do I see but an open condom wrapper, OMFG – is the thought! I’m distracted by the dogs, until I arrive home, and as I am letting the dogs out of the car, I actually find the used condom in the back of the van. She got me. I’m grossed out. I’m happy she’s playing it safe, but in my van, ewww, Get a fucking hotel room daughter.
Hubby and I returned Monday after going on a two-week vacation where we explored Quebec City, the Gaspe Peninsula, Prince Edward Island (PEI), and the Cabot Trail in Cape Breton, Nova Scotia, which meant the young man (age 21 in 19 days) and middle child (age 23) had to feed themselves, do laundry, water my garden, pick daily from the garden, water house plants, feed and walk the dogs, pick up the mail and well you get the picture.
The young man easily made pasta for himself (a lot), ate the large lasagna I had frozen for a future family meal, okay, he did share with a friend, well middle child ate a lot of eggs. At one point before a soccer game she was to play with her sister, she sent her the following text, and took a screen shot for mom and dad:
Meanwhile one of the meals we were having, mussels in a lovely wine sauce with cornbread: