I spent Saturday and most of Sunday driving and scrapbooking. (Not at the same time! Don’t be crazy.) My two cousins and I went to a scrapbooking retreat at a crafting bed and breakfast place a couple blocks away from my cousin’s town – three hours away from my house.

The original plan was for Mark and Annalyn to go with me and spend the weekend with my cousin’s husband and four kids. Unfortunately, said husband and kids spent last week puking and fighting a nasty fever. So I was on my own.

And I didn’t mind at all. Driving alone for hours gave me the opportunity to sing at the top of my lungs to a ridiculous variety of music, from Lady Gaga to Hall & Oates to Kid Rock to Ronnie Milsap.

Hey, don’t judge. I had to do something to distract me from the view.

As much as I appreciate the beauty of the Kansas plains – and I do – it’s a little easier to enjoy the view in the spring. Or the fall. Or, basically, any season but the winter without snow.

Although I did see several calves – jumping and frolicking. Before you ask, no, I didn’t get any pictures of that. Actually, the only other picture I got since Friday was one that captures what the weekend was about:

My cousins are five and six years older than me, and when we were growing up, I idolized looked up to them. Until I outgrew them (AHEM.), I wore their cool hand-me-down clothes. I practiced – for hours – the simple dance routine they taught me from their drill team days. And even this weekend, they were taking care of me – letting me borrow their scrapbooking tools and encouraging me that my layouts looked fine when I was sure they looked terrible.

And teaching me to drink wine.

Oh, I didn’t mention that before? Yeah. On Saturday night, they ran to Walmart to pick up some photos and came back with two brown bags. I don’t remember what kind of wine it was, but believe you me, I will find out.

I don’t like the taste of alcohol, so it’s never been a temptation to me. This is a good thing, considering my family history, and I’ve never argued with the fact. But this wine? Deeelish.

Fruity drinks – like rum punch or Smirnoff apple – are great, but I can only drink one or two, because they’re just too sweet. But this wonderful sweet wine wasn’t overly sweet. It was just right.

Maybe I won’t find out what it was called. This could be dangerous.

Kind of like that time I went to Oceans of Fun with my cousins and wore one of their swimsuits. It was cut higher on the legs than mine that I’d worn all summer. That wouldn’t have been a problem – except when I saw them slathering on baby oil, I had to do it, too. And if there’s one place you don’t want the worst sunburn of your young life, it’s the space on your legs between your swimsuit and your borrowed swimsuit.

Who did you look up to as a child? And what did you do this weekend?


Can’t get enough of Giving Up on Perfect? Subscribe here, follow me on Twitter and join my Facebook page.

Bookmark and Share

Pin It on Pinterest

Share This