I like to keep things fresh down below so I often sprinkle a little baby powder in the crotch of my panites.  I just think that every woman should take extra care down there to keep things nice and flowery.  When I ran out of my normal powder one morning, I used a few shakes from Adam's bottle of  “Gold Bond” powder that was under the bathroom sink. Here’s a word of warning – never, ever use that stuff in your underwear. It burns like a real bitch!  Guess I never considered that the “cooling”  claim on the label actually meant – it felt like a thousand fire ants were ripping up my bottom.   I’d take sand in my ass any day over the pain I felt on my sensitive bits. I can guarantee though that I will never again run out of my usual goods. After rinsing out and airing out, and sitting on a bag of frozen peas, I went immediately to Amazon Prime to order a case of my safe J&J powder.  Yowza!  

In order to have the summer off from work, my kids are always asking me to “be a teacher”.  At this time, I remind them that I don’t really like kids and that even they are debatable at times.  When this topic came up while we were strolling down the boardwalk eating ice cream, my point was well proven when some hyperactive child tried to toss a basketball into a too-small hoop and it bounced off the rim and bounded towards me, eventually knocking my chocolate and vanilla twist onto the boards.  Now had it been an Orange Julius, I might have gone ape shit.  So I just  walked it off and went right back to the stand to get a funnel cake instead. (God forbid I just not eat anything).  After my mood changed for the worse, I had proven once again to the girls that I could never be a teacher. I did use the moment to teach them though that it was OK for mommy not to like other people’s children.  But of course I was thinking, how everyone must certainly like mine. Even if I don't.  Hehe…..  

Since Adam and I both work full-time, we put our girls in summer camp each year.  I had left him the camp forms to sign and then mail – way before the deadline to reserve said spots for our girls. Of course, it was a week past the due date that Adam got around to signing the forms. At this point, I told him to hand deliver them to the school board office so that we didn’t waste any more time – I was panicked we wouldn’t get in.  What the hell would we do then?  He didn’t seem to stress but seeing how freaked I was, Adam stopped at the office the next morning on his way to drop Vanessa off to one of her last days of Pre-K.  He was told by the secretary that we missed the deadline. 

Flash forward: Hours later at dinner, I asked Adam if he had dropped off the forms and if everything was set.  He said that it was.  Vanessa then chimed in saying that the woman  who helped him was now “Daddy’s other wife”.  I looked over at Adam with a “what the fuck” expression on my face.  He explained that he had to beg her to let us have two spots for the summer camp and claimed that if he didn’t get them, I would divorce him.  When she caved somehow, he told her that she was going to be his second wife.  Seriously, she could take him now - maybe she could take the kids too. Kid and husband free weekends here and there!?!  Sounds dreamy! Hmmmm, I might have a plan for next year’s nuptial split. 

Down the shore I love riding my bike. OK fine, so I may be the only one not exercising and instead, I am using it to ride to the liquor store and fill the front basket with alcohol bottles.  But still –  the land is flat with an ocean breeze and the trip offers me a mile or two of solitude.  As you might suspect,  the minute we head home -  my foot doesn’t hit a cruiser pedal until the next summer. But this year I decided to order a bike before we even left the beach house on our last day of vacation. The bike arrived only a week after getting home. And well, who knew that I would have to put it together?  I called Adam to help and immediately he asked me how I thought it would be delivered if not in pieces (I didn't say that I thought it would just be standing up in the box, all ready to ride. Like, duh! Why not?! There are big boxes out there that could fit an assembled bike!).  He then continued to carry on with every twist of the screw, remarking “you are never going to ride this thing.”  I told him not to worry about that -  (God, he was being annoying and so not supportive!) -  and to just make sure to fasten the basket onto the handle bars tight.  My big idea was to always bike to the liquor store from now on! How smart was I  - burning calories so I could drink what I had just burned off!?!!   I'd never gain a pound again!  Well....after I had to take one slight incline on my maiden voyage, I realized that Adam was probably right. I was not cut out for extreme sports like this. At least, that is what I would call any biking beyond exit 63. 

Like others, my kids were doing gymnastics on the beach.  Always impressed with my stellar moves, they asked me to do  a few cartwheels and a split for them.  I chugged my drink and got up out of my chair. Before I could launch into a haphazard attempt to flip in any way, the girls asked me (100 times, I swear!) to watch them do their tricks.  With each request they said “Mom watch! Mom look! Mom watch!”  I told them if they wanted me to do anything, they needed to stop calling me “Mom”. I asked them to call me Nicole instead so when anyone on this very public beach saw my fat, Coppertone white, 39-year-old ass doing flips, they would think I was a drunk older sister and not some delusional parent thinking “I still had it”.  At their first request of Nicole, I did a split. BOOM!  (And ouch…definitely don’t still have it….) 

Always looking for a new (and quick) weight loss technique, especially in the summer, I tried cooking and eating dinner naked one hot night.  I figured that if I could see all my blub I'd eat less. It didn't work. I just got burned by oil splatter in unfortunate places and actually dropped broccoli on my crotch. That's a new one! And so now I am still fat but with burns and food particles on my body. Super hot, huh? The only thing burning from here will be all bathing suits….

I went to the dermatologist for the first time the other day.  Being a person who worships the sun all summer and does additional stupid shit like use a tanning bed and oil at the beach, I wasn’t surprised that I had a little freckle that was changing shape and color and that I needed to see someone about it. I was however surprised when the doctor walked in and looked like the chick who crawled around on the car in the White Snake video. Maybe in her profession, this doc has access to everything that helps anti-aging, but as she sat there scraping off my chameleon mark, I was wondering why on earth she’d choose such a gnarly profession.  And I couldn’t help but feel all nasty as she picked off a hunk of my body. Fucking barf. I was totally skeeved out by my own self, I had to imagine she was too - although she didn't show it.  As I left the office I mentally thanked the gorgeous doctor of skin for reminding me how gross I am.   Just cruel..... 

I have a rep among friends and family for being a failure in the kitchen. And without hesitation, I will pretty much agree to this. I can admit that I once Googled how long to cook an egg so that it was hard boiled and to confirm what color sauteed garlic should be before it is considered burnt. Looking up other things like "how many cups equal a quart" and other metric conversions, goes without saying (like. what the hell is a "pinch" really and how can anyone rely on "add to taste"!?). And after learning the hard way that mayo is not a substitute for eggs when making cake, I now take to the internet before trying to figure out substitutions on the fly. Even with all my cooking lows, there were always some things that I could handle with confidence and ease and freezing water was one of them.  But when the fridge at the beach house was so fancy that I couldn't figure out the ice maker from the ice box thing to the ice trays, I wound up having to ask a room full of the family that had already know my limits, the lowest culinary question -   "so, um, how do I make ice?" 

My cousin and I thought we were showing off some mad skills in a tube in the ocean. We sat on either side of the plastic circle and like a buoy we bobbled over the waves with ease. We were laughing and having fun until a huge wave crashed on us and we were sent rolling toward the shore.  Stuck in the tube together, even after the ocean kicked our asses, we flopped onto the sand with our arms and legs intertwined in the hole of the tube like a doughnut oozing humans. I can assure you that there is nothing more attractive then two clumsy, pale people rolling around on top of each other trying to get up while stuck inside a cumbersome inflatable tube. Bathing suits askew, lots of unflattering white flesh showing, hair in our eyes.  Her tit was practically in my mouth, my hand placement questionable on her and of course, tons of sand where sand should never be.  Like a turtle flipped on his back on the beach and struggling to get up, we were a spectacle for a good five minutes. Sadly, our family just watched us from their beach chairs and didn’t even help us. I cant say I blame ‘em…we were pretty embarrassing.  But I was still pissed at Adam for not coming to my rescue.  I yelled across the beach to him and told him to have our drinks ready for when we got out of this mess. The only way I was drowning today would be in my  Mai Tai.