We were at the cottage last week. I say 'the cottage', although it's not our place -- it's a place we rent. But this is the third summer in a row that we've rented this cottage and the fourth year that we've rented from the same guy (the first summer, we rented on this property, we rented the cottage next door.)
It's two cottages owned by a guy. The cottages are more or less hidden from each other by trees and each have their own private beach. What they share is their waterfront --which is huge. So in reality, when we rent this cottage, we have a huge property, with a huge sandy beach and about 50 yards of private waterfront that is shallow enough for the kids to walk in all the way to the dock.
It's just outside a small town about 60 kilometres north of Huntsville (or about 3 hours north of home). It's quiet, it's relaxing. There's absolutely nothing to do there. And I love it. It's one of my favourite places to be.
And the kids love it. Because to an adult, there's absolutely nothing to do there (which is heaven) but to a kid, there's everything to do there (which is heaven).
So while I spent the week reading an entire book, working on my latest scrapbook in the evenings, getting out for three good runs and, of course, playing with the kids in the water and the sand, they spent the entire week running around the property, burying each other in the sand and spending hours upon hours in the water.
So as I sit here today (Monday) buried in work (I have two big contracts right now with short turnarounds) and surrounded by mountains of laundry and unpacked bags, I think back to my view from the porch last Monday, and rather wish I was there instead of here:
Only 51 more weeks until we can go back.....