Wild Women Weekend

Obviously, it's not what you think. Do you even know me? Get your mind out of the gutter...
The Wild Women Weekend is a little tradition my mom and I have where we get away with just the girls. I've written about it in the past in this post. Of course, this year it included an eight-year-old, a six-year-old, and two four-year-olds, so it was bound to get wild at some point. Hey, YOU try wrangling four small people in and out of multiple public bathrooms for 3 days straight without anyone licking a trash can or falling in a toilet.
I'm just sayin'...
Well this year we decided to take a trip over to Pensacola, FL to visit my grandparents, go to the beach, and relax (ha!). We stayed in a hotel in Milton, the nearby and more affordable town that my parents grew up in, since most of the hotels in Pensacola and the beaches were booked up and extra expensive for Memorial Day.
Friday evening, we spent visiting with my mom's dad and his wife. We brought puzzles and games to help keep the kiddos occupied and minimize the damages--because, as Tobianna says, "Their house is small, but REALLY fancy!" (Tobianna, if you didn't know, is very fascinated by "fanciness" in general.)
Saturday morning, us adults dragged ourselves from bed after several hours of wishing the kids hadn't awakened before the crack of dawn. We went to Navarre beach.
It was a pretty day. Hot, sunny--full of other people doing their holiday weekend thing. We lugged our chairs, towels, coolers, cameras, floats, sand toys, etc. to the "perfect spot" on the beach and made ourselves at home.



After a few hours, some clouds moved in, making us suspicious enough to decide to put a few things back in the van. My SLR camera was one precious item I didn't want getting wet (the waterproof camera could suffice). Some of the kid chairs and coolers and cell phones also went. But then, the air seemed to clear a bit, taking our suspicion with it. We settled back into our fun.




Another hour passed and the sky suddenly blackened with grey clouds. Beach-goers began to file past us, dragging whining kids behind them.
As we packed up too, fat drops slapped the ground around us, the wind picking up speed in tandem. We realized packing was futile when the lightning cracked above us with simultaneous bursts of thunder, and just snatched everything up in wet, sandy bundles. By the time we made it to the nearest picnic pavilion, the rain was sheeting in sideways and the lightning pulsed every few seconds.
Here's where the fun really started. We were completely soaked to the bone. Our towels and clothing and skin were dripping wet and caked with sand. The thunder crashed so loudly above us that it evoked a scream from the girls each time. In between, they cried. I think Noodle asked me if we were going to die a few times. Another family trapped under the pavilion had lost their twenty-year-old daughter when she went for a walk down the beach before the storm started. The younger sister was crying--adding to the cacophony--while her parents decided what to do.
We took a few moments to deflate several floats while the kids shivered and cried. One woman eyed the tearful children and gave me a look that said I'm So Glad I'm Not You. I smiled back and said, "These are memories in the making, right?" Then, we made the last dash to the van, stuffing the mess and ourselves through the doors. With the heat turned on (who could guess we'd need it in Florida in May?), and the wind no longer whipping rain in our faces, everyone began to calm down a bit.

Ahead of us, a long line of vehicles stretched its way down the street from both ends of the island and across the bridge. We inched. We sat. We inched some more. The storm continued in its fury. Mom worried aloud whether it would be safer to be in the car, exposed at the top of the bridge, or back under the pavilion with the metal roof and the screaming kids. I'd take my chances with the bridge. However, I couldn't help dredging up in my mind the conversation we'd had the day before about the Pensacola bridge that had ripped apart during hurricane Ivan. I shuddered and updated my status on Facebook to keep my brain busy.
We survived, of course. No one was struck by lightning and no bridges collapsed. We looked and felt like drowned rats, and I don't think my mom's minivan will ever be the same, but hey, memories in the making, right?
We spent the rest of the evening cleaning up and visiting again with my grandparents. They were even kind enough to wash and dry all our soaked laundry so that we could make another go of the beach the next day.
Needless to say, the girls weren't super thrilled at the idea of the beach again the next morning when we spied more dark clouds. The moms threw up their hands in surrender. The end of the Wild Women Weekend had come. (We drove home, chased by storms all the way.)
I think next weekend will be The Women Stay Home and Get a Massage Weekend.