Not that many people get along with their in-laws. I am realizing this more and more lately. You pick your spouse, but not their family and sometimes it’s a tricky integration. I was shy and nervous around Scott’s family for what felt like years (and probably was). It wasn’t them, I was just weird (and still am) and I put pressure on myself because I felt it was so important that they could see I was the right person for their son. It’s been over seven years since I met them and I’m happy to report that I am my crazy-odd self around them at last. I feel like they belong with me the same way Scott does and I love them.
This weekend Scott’s mom and dad, Don and Carolyn, drove down from Ventura County, where they raised Scott and his two sisters, to join us on a quick camping excursion to Julian. It has been necessary to escape to the mountains this year to find fall as the temperatures at sea level have been rather stifling. And find fall we did! We drank hot apple cider, ate warm apple pie, played horse shoes under orange and red trees and even told ghost stories around the fire. There’s nothing more fall-like than relying on a fire for warmth. It was exactly the little getaway we all needed to catch up. It was almost perfect until the group at the site next to us listened to the Bob Marley Legends CD on repeat for two hours (oh, yes, I was counting). I mean, really? I love Bob Marley, but isn’t one go-around enough? I’ve heard that CD so many times I could sing Buffalo Soldier in my sleep and I probably was that night. Fortunately, extreme exhaustion took hold and I fell asleep around eleven while trying to take my boots off, leaving the top half of my body resting inside the tent and my legs and feet dangling outside the door. Scott had to help tuck me into the Marmot sleeping bag my dad bought me when I was seven. What a good husband.
I love sleeping in a sleeping bag. Do you? I remember as a kid most of the other little girls in Indian Princesses (a dad and daughter adventure group) had Beauty and the Beast and other Disney Princess sleeping bags made out of polyester and I whined incessantly to my father about having to have something durable and practical instead. Not anymore, Dad. I was toasty in my sensible sleeping bag as a light drizzle fell on us during the night and temperatures dropped into the 40ºs.
In the morning, we were woken up by, you guessed it- Bob Marley. Blaring on volume 70 probably, out of a blinged-out Silverado with ginormous speakers (thank you neighbors; very considerate and not over-played at all). Oh well. I had hot tea, my journal, my monkey beenie, a cool marine layer I never thought I’d be glad to see, and my family. And it was perfect.
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