Back on the Judging Circuit

I got my judging assignments back in August, as I might have mentioned sometime back then but since I'm too lazy to check and can't remember so few people read this anyway, I'm reiterating it. (Sorry. Thank you for reading, really!)

Combined with family events, holidays, massage events, adding judging to my weekends means that I don't have a free weekend between Labor Day until the first weekend after Thanksgiving.

Actually, this is a good thing, because it means there will be (slightly) more cash flow in the budget. Maybe even enough for a new bed frame.

So today was my first (paid) day judging. I judged last weekend, but it was a volunteer event that earns me the cost of my judging membership dues, so while I benefit, it's not really money I can spend.

I'm going to be repetitive for a moment. This is the start of the judging season. Which should logically follow that it's the start of the competitive season. Meaning some athletes (those who competed last year or who have exceptional talent) are, um, "more prepared" than others.

Yes, coaching comes into play for this, but as a former coach, I'm not going to slam coaches who have lousy teams, nor am I going to put on a pedestal coaches with exceptional teams. In my 18 years of coaching experience, I've seen athletes who excel under (in my opinion) lousy coaches, and likewise, phenomenal coaches who have athletes who are never going to be on the awards stand. Some of it is gym policy, some of it is the program (or lack thereof) that is built around those coaches (for example, the strength/weakness of the recreational and developmental coaches who feed athletes into the competitive program), some of it is luck, some of it is gym reputation, and yes, the good majority is what a coach can do with the kids they get. I've seen any number of these combinations. Today was no exception.

There were kids--and this is compulsories (quick review: everyone does the same routine and it means hearing the floor music 60some times over a period of about three hours), which is the beginning levels of competition--who were nearly flawless. I think we handed out a couple of 9.775s. Yay, girls!

I also had to give out the lowest score I've ever given. Which actually made me really sad. I wanted to go offer her and her coach advice, but that's one of the things we really aren't supposed to do as judges. If a coach comes up and asks the right question in the right context and you're in a state (I am) where the coach/judge relationship is pretty good and you're not at any kind of a championship meet (we weren't), then factual information can be given.

For example, "if she hadn't left out that one skill, it would add up to 1.6 to her score."

And then, although still the lowest score we handed out yesterday, it wouldn't have been the lowest score I ever gave.

I'd still feel badly for her, though.

Perhaps because I have delusions of grandeur I had some levels of success of a coach, it's times like these that I think, Gosh, I wish I could go to that gym and coach for them and help those poor girls.

But I'm done coaching. And, like I said before, I can't see what goes on in that gym or judge the coach (at least, not entirely) by his athletes, and I could end up just as trapped by circumstance anyway.

We saw a few other routines that were in the low zone. Usually odd mishaps that the penalties happen to be severe for (and it was the beginning of the season--live and learn), but just none that were so low. What's worse is that when I reviewed my calculations for that score--I missed a couple of things and it should have been even lower.

And because it was one of the last routines of the day, it stuck with me. I hope that kid doesn't quit. I hope that she has a good support system around her. I hope that she stays active.

In the meanwhile, and hoping the rest of the season will not have a repeat of such an event, I'm looking forward to it. Because today's paycheck was about half of the bed frame I want.

I Forgot My Own Lesson

A few years after we were married, I accidentally learned a lesson about getting things that I want. If there's something that's a semi-large to large expense, but that we can finance reasonably, need severely, or even just really really want, but I'm the one that wants/needs it and my husband doesn't see the value, we don't get it.

To be clear: I am NOT slamming my husband here. He manages our budget and despite two layoffs (equalling 9 months of no income), we haven't lost a house or a car or (for the most part) our standard of living. So bravo to him (truly).

Here's the thing: there have been several instances where there has been something that I wanted/needed that were rather large purchases. Things that would truly take planning, make a dent in the budget so that we'd have to compensate somewhere else, and--here's the key--he wasn't convinced that we needed.

Let's look at a little case history.

Way back in 2004, I took a few sewing classes. There was this super-duper, fancy-pantsy, ultra-wow sewing machine that I saw and wanted. It was also super-duper, fancy-pantsy, ultra-wow expensive. When I mentioned it could be my birthday present, I believe there was mumbling in Arabic that I presume translated to something along the lines of, "Right, and then we'll move into a mansion."

Jump ahead to early 2006. I'm pregnant and my car had died. I was bicycling/using public transportation for three-plus hours a day to get to and from work. (My husband, who was a 15-minute bike ride from work was driving his functional car.) I ended up miscarrying (not related to the bicycle riding), but still had no transportation that did not involve self-propellment and/or digging change out of my husband's wallet.

I'd helpfully emailed him a list of items for a new car. It looked something like this:

Must-haves
decent gas mileage
front wheel drive or 4-wheel drive to be functional in snow
good/low maintenance
4-door model so I won't break my back bending a seat forward to put in a car seat if we ever have a kid
room for my massage table in it

It-would-be-nice-ifs
functional stereo
air-conditioning
sideview mirrors on both sides
automatic locks so I could lock all the doors at once
trip meter

As-long-as-I'm-dreaming
one of those fancy button keys that unlocks the car
a sunroof
bunwarmers (you know, the seats with heat in them)
a CD changer in the stereo
rear wiper
something not ugly

Note: my old Subaru Justy that I drove after college for about 5 years was only $1500 back then. If you could find one with four doors, that would be fine with me.

Apparently even my "must-haves" list was too demanding because I never even got a response to my new car features list.

A few weeks after the miscarriage, I had to borrow his car because I had several doctor's appointments that I couldn't get to in time with my bike and public transit and still get to work. The next day, I (accidentally, I swear) forgot to return his car key and when I took off on my merry way on my bicycle, I didn't think anything of it.

Until a mile from home, riding in the bike lane on a fairly busy street, I hear my name shouted right behind my left ear. I nearly wet my pants fell off the bike I was so startled. Turns out it was my husband, who'd gone to leave for work, couldn't find his car keys, realized I still had them, ran out, got on his bike, and chased me down. This was when I discovered that I still had his car keys. Coincidentally, it was when he decided that he needed for me to have my own car again.

That night he had a list of car options for me. We picked up the new car one month to the day after my miscarriage (and it had everything except bun warmers and four-wheel drive).

Several months ahead, in late 2006. Bob had destroyed beyond cleaning several spots on the carpet, we'd bought and housebroken a Golden Retriever, which had also destroyed beyond cleaning several spots on the carpet, and we'd got suckered into volunteered to dogsit my sister's bulemic dog (fine, it's not bulemic, it has a birth defect, but the end result is total involuntary binge-and-purge behavior), which added to the destroyed beyond cleaning spots on the carpet. Which meant we could no longer strategically place rugs/furniture on the floor to cover things up. I was stating, repeatedly, that we needed to get new floor. My husband, who I'm now going to just refer to as "The Moroccan" did his consumer reports research, shopped around for the decided-upon laminate flooring, and determined that we couldn't afford it.

Since I was pregnant, I was reiterating the need for the floor because there was no way I was going to let "Wiggly" (as we called our daughter before she was born, rather than referring to "the baby" or "it") crawl around on that carpet. Again I was reminded that it was not in the budget.

However, The Moroccan had also started sewing. In fact, he was sewing more complicated things than I have ever sewn. And better than me. Honestly, I was totally jealous proud of him. He was talking about selling his creations and he was getting frustrated with the limitations of our sewing machine.

I took him to the store with the super-duper, fancy-pantsy, ultra-wow sewing machine and had them demo some different machines--since honestly, some of what he was doing was beyond my skill level, I figured it would be better if they explained it to him. You know, since I would try to influence his decision couldn't.

About 45 minutes of demonstration later, after a demo on the super-duper, fancy-pantsy, ultra-wow sewing machine, he turns to me and asks, "Do you want it?"

I was stunned. For a whole lot of reasons, including that the sewing machine asking price was 3-4 times what we'd estimated that the flooring (which we couldn't afford) would cost.

I carefully responded, "Yes and no....Yes, I want it, but no because we don't need it and we need new floors FIRST. Which we can't afford, so no, I don't want this machine. I need new floors."

I swear to goodness that if looks could kill, the saleslady (who I am friends with), would have decapitated me with laser vision at that moment.

My husband sat there, trying to process what I'd just told him. "But I thought you really really wanted this super-duper, fancy-pantsy, ultra-wow sewing machine."

I repeated. "Yes, I want it. I don't need it. I need new floors. And no way am I letting you buy this sewing machine if we can't get new floors."

Again with the saleslady death look.

Now, in case you haven't already caught it (I hadn't at this point), something MAJOR had just happened. The super-duper, fancy-pantsy, ultra-wow sewing machine had changed from something I wanted to something The Moroccan wanted. I didn't realize this until several months later when I was retelling the story to a friend and it was pointed out to me. Which is why I'm pointing it out now.

The Moroccan says, "What if we could get the floors and the sewing machine?"

I believe at this point I actually snorted. Which is when the saleslady stepped in and sweetened the deal with same-as-cash financing, reminding us of a rebate, and throwing in a couple of discounts and freebies.

I shrugged. "If our budget went from we can't afford new floors that we need to we can afford the floors AND the super-duper, fancy-pantsy, ultra-wow sewing machine in a matter of 45 minutes, I'm not going to argue. I don't understand it, but I'm not going to argue."

He asked for a calculator, paper, and pen, and then spent about 20 minutes (after the store was supposed to close) mumbling and scribbling.

We drove away with the super-duper, fancy-pantsy, ultra-wow sewing machine in the back of my car and the promise of new floors before Wiggly would be born.

Are you seeing the pattern yet? If it's me that wants the big purchase, it doesn't really happen. Once he decides that we want/need the purchase, it happens. (I would like to note that both the car, sewing machine, and flooring purchases were all made before his first layoff--at his job where the income and benefits were significantly greater than they are now.)

In other words, if I could use this technique sparingly (because there is a point where the budget won't bend, no matter what) and strategically, I might have a little less frustration waiting time before we get things.

Except the problem is, I can't seem to remember to use it.

Until today, when I realized, that accidentally (again), I had.

Our waterbed, which I loved for years and honestly, still really do like, hurts my back too much to sleep on it any more. And by "too much" I mean "so much that I haven't slept on it pretty much for the past two years." I've been hinting that if we got a good mattress, we wouldn't have to get a boxspring and we could use the waterbed frame and I wouldn't have to camp out on the futon/massage table/our daughter's bed any more.

But good mattresses are expensive, and--you guessed it--not in the budget.

When we got back from visiting my sister this summer, we discovered that our cat had been locked in the bedroom all 11 days that we were gone--without food or a litterbox. Yes, she survived (by drinking toilet water), and no, we're really not sure how it happened, and no, the housesitter didn't notice because that cat hides under the furniture if a strong breeze blows three counties away.

The cat survived. The carpet and some of our possessions did not.

The master bedroom was one of a few remaining areas in our house that we have not refloored since we moved in (along with the kitchen, my bathroom, and the front entryway). Mostly because we didn't want to disassemble the king size waterbed with 12 storage drawers and a cupboard underneath and a monster headboard with shelves. Now it was unavoidable.

The room was so horrendous smelling that even with fans blowing out the window 24/7, it was stinking up the rest of the house. Even The Moroccan, who can't normally smell very well (long story involving broken nose and reconstruction), couldn't deal with it and started camping out in the living room.

Know what? I've been asking for a new bed (or at least mattress) for two years. It only took two months of him sleeping on the futon to announce, "I've had enough. We've got to get a new bed."

My point? Once again, it was something that he thought we needed. And not being (totally) stupid* I seized the moment and took us mattress shopping today.

*If I was smart at all, I would have failed to replace the waterbed heater a couple of years ago when it broke because he had to sleep on the futon then too.

I happen to have relatives in the mattress manufacturing industry and had actually done some shopping around. Not that I didn't trust them when I was told that they offer great mattresses at reasonable prices. No, it was because The Moroccan won't buy anything without cross-comparison shopping done first.

I discovered that my relatives do, in fact, have the most reasonable rates on comparable mattresses, so I hauled The crutches-using Moroccan down to the showroom. (Another "get stuff" tactic I might want to keep in mind--take him shopping when he is somehow disabled because he'll just want to be done with the process. Not sure if it will work yet though.)

We found a couple that we really liked but were a little undecided. We had chosen the one we liked the best, but my relative wouldn't let us buy it--she said it was important to wait and then come back. However, I was wanting to get this done NOW (not because I was afraid my husband would change his mind, but because I am So. Tired. Of. Sleeping. With. A. Four-year-old. So she sent us over to the next closest showroom (about 10 minutes away), because they had one more model there we hadn't tried and it would give us some time to "step away" from the one we'd liked and see if we liked it as much when we tried it again.

We ended up buying the other model. We didn't get the "foundation" for it because we haven't chosen a bed frame. I had actually looked at IKEA yesterday to see if they had anything I liked and see what the price ranges were. I don't know what we'll do on that yet, but apparently it's "not in the budget."

For now, I've totally burned out the "he needs it so we'll get it" method and I'm not testing the "taking you shopping on crutches" again right away, so I think I'm going to have to hope I make enough money judging that I can make the big purchase.

More News From the Stupid Zone

Yesterday I was feeling pretty miserable--runny nose, total sinus headcold thing going on--and it had been building for a few days. But I don't really have time to be sick, so I basically ignored it and kept going. Perhaps this is how I run myself into the ground at times. Anyway, I was not at 100%.

Today my husband was having orthoscopic knee surgery and while I was at the hospital, I had a total sneeze attack and my eyes felt like they had sand underneath my eyelids and I wanted to scratch. them. out.

I was thinking to myself, Wow, I feel really sorry for people with allergies. They deal with this all the time.

Then I went, Wait. I have allergies. Maybe this isn't a cold.

I took some Benadryl and now I'm feeling much better.

In defense of my cluelessness reasoning, I have not had reactions from my environmental allergies since 1999, unless I count the allergy test done in 2003. So it wasn't the first thing that came to mind.

Now I'm wondering if that "cold" I had all winter and spring earlier this year?...might have been allergies.

Just a Few of My Problems

1) Ketchup addiction.

2) An inability to keep ketchup on my food while transferring said food to my mouth.

3) Directly related, shirts without ketchup stains.

4) Finding I have spilled ketchup on myself somewhere other than a shirt (in this instance, the side of my knee--and how did it get there?) is where this really gets worse.

5) (And most disturbing) My first and implemented idea for cleaning this up was to have the dog come lick it off.

Apparently We Weren't Done with the Sick

I had one of my insomniac nights last night where I just couldn't get to sleep. I think I drifted off around 4:00 am.

My husband woke me at 6:30 to ask questions about my daughter's plan for the day. Then she woke up and came in and wanted to talk with me for an hour as my husband was getting ready.

I know, I know, someday I will look back on this and wish my daughter still wanted to talk to her mommy for an hour, but all I could think right then was that I just wanted to sleep.

Finally, they left the house.

What felt like two seconds later, my phone rang. It was actually just after 9:00, but it was my daughter's French preschool, informing me that she had diarrhea and needed to be picked up immediately.

Yay.

I got up, showered, let the dog out, and took off to her school. The teacher didn't seem terribly pleased (not that I blame her; their policy on that is pretty clear). My daughter wasn't too upset; she wanted to know where we were going to go instead. I went grocery shopping and then she was begging for sushi. Having a bit of a craving myself, I went ahead and took her to my favorite local place.

She'd just barely eaten the tops off of her crab salad when she informed me she needed to go potty. Since we've been dealing with accidents, I tried not to show my annoyance, but I was kinda frustrated that once again, she waited until we'd started a meal to go take care of business.

In the restroom, she had another bout of what got her sent home from French school. Then she threw up. Luckily, she didn't get any on either of us and some of it even made it into the toilet. I cleaned up the bathroom as best I could with paper towels, informed the wait staff that someone might want to go in and sanitize the place, paid for our meal, and left.

Apparently a good thing she came home from the preschool.

I called her pediatrician, who told me we'd done all the right things so far in regulating what she was eating and doing, and that this was probably just an "aftershock" so I didn't need to worry and to put her on the BRAT diet (bananas, rice, applesauce, toast).

My daughter thought today was GREAT because I sat her on the couch, turned on whatever movies she asked for, and took her liquids or nibbles of food every 10 minutes.

Of course, the poor little thing is now exhausted and took a 4-hour nap.

Now if we can just get her insides back to normal.

Labor Day Weekend Getaway: Day 4

I woke up at 7:40 this morning and panicked. I was sleeping on the massage table because I still wasn't able to get through all the vomit laundry enough to remake the bed and the futon--which just enough laundry was done to make it--was taken over by my husband and daughter.

The reason for the panic was that my husband was supposed to leave the house at 4:30 in the morning and I hadn't heard him get up.

Apparently I was SO tired that I slept through him getting up, getting ready, and leaving.

However, I was still a bit panicky because I'd bribed the neighbor girl to come help me with some chores today so that I could surprise my husband when he came home from his fishing/surfing trip and they (her mom offered to come help too) were supposed to be here at 8:00. I'm totally not one of those people that would clean before the cleaning people came (if I could ever afford cleaning people), but in this case, I at least needed a path and sort of workspaces.

I also was utterly ashamed at the kitchen. Again, not along the lines of cleaning before the cleaning people come, but needing a path and truly needing a non-offensive environment to work in.

Amazingly, by 10:00 am, with the neighbors helping, my daughter's room had been cleaned, including going through her clothes for fit. The vomit laundry had all been washed, and the rest of Mt. Laundry folded, and the kitchen had been cleaned.

I'd honestly expected an all-day project and so I was a little confused as to what to do with the rest of my day.

I did manage to haul the water mattress out to finish draining it (the siphon out the window didn't get the last of it), piled up my recycling cans and bottles in the car, and then got some other tasks done for the preschool.

My husband actually caught three salmon! The fishing license was only good for two, so he gave one to my cousin, and all three guys on the boat maxed out their tags.

He was really happy when he came home--so much so that he thanked me for arranging the day and told me he really appreciated it.

Oh, and he's going back next weekend to go fishing again.

Labor Day Weekend Getaway: Day 3

The plan: hubby takes Friday off work, we go camping, spending 3 nights at a campground, days spent visiting with my relatives and hubby surfing when he can, come back Monday.

The reality: oh so very different.

At 1:20 this morning, in our brand-new tent, I was woken by my daughter puking on me. As I was trying to disentangle myself from the now-messy sleeping bags so that I could get shoes on and get us out of the tent and showered, we had continuing reverse digestion performances.

I finally got us both out of the tent and into the showers. When we were done, I left the dirty clothes in the shower room and went back later with the garbage bags I'd thankfully thrown in to the car at the last minute when I'd packed on Friday. When I arrived back at the tent, we found that my husband had pulled the messy items out and stashed them under the car, then rearranged the clean stuff left into a sleeping area again and he'd already fallen back asleep.

He was less than pleased when I informed him that we were going home, now. Yes, at 2:00 in the morning, and I would drive if he was too tired. No, I wouldn't be going back to the relatives house to pick up the cooler--I would do that later, and yes, I was going to make a separate trip. So I drove.

We got home about 4:00 am, left most of the stuff in the car (I did pull out some of the worst items and started a load of vomit laundry) and promptly went to bed. At 6:30 I was woken by another round of reverse digestion. This made me extremely grateful that I'd insisted on leaving the campground as I was going to start another load of vomit laundry but discovered the first load really wasn't clean enough for the dryer, so ran it again and left a pile in the hallway.

I set up the massage table for my daughter to sleep on as it was the only place that was now covered with vinyl that could be easily cleaned and went and slept on one of the futons myself.

If I haven't complained about it lately, let me remind you that our master bedroom is completely out of commission due to the cat being locked in there for 11 days when we went to visit my sister earlier this summer. Before leaving, we'd completely emptied the room, including disassembling the waterbed, so we were really limited on where we could sleep at this point.

At 10:00, I dragged myself up out of bed and headed for the coast to pick up the cooler. When I got there, my relatives house was near deserted--apparently I'd just missed everyone and they'd gone their own ways for the afternoon, but were expected back in about an hour.

I ended up setting up a fishing trip for my husband with some of the guys, buying a one-day fishing license for him, and playing games with some of the aunts.

I got home around 8:00. Our daughter was fine all day, except that her backside outputs were still demonstrating signs that things were not quite all right internally. Her energy levels, however, far exceeded mine as I was exhausted when I finally went to bed.

Labor Day Weekend Getaway: Day 2

I sorta forgot to mention to my husband that often the dory fishermen will stay at the campground and they start up their boats at about 4:30 in the morning. He wasn't exactly thrilled to be woken. Oops.

We did actually get up around 7:00 as our daughter wasn't going to sleep any more and kept informing us, "It's in the MORNING. Let's get up! It's in the MORNING."

I actually pulled out my laptop and my phone, connected to the internet on wifi, and got a small project done while sitting at our picnic table in my pajamas. I was just finishing up when I noticed my husband was dressing our daughter and I got annoyed.

As background, let me explain.

When I talked about camping at a campground, I said I wanted to do this specifically because I wasn't sure we'd be able to use the showers at my relatives house (too many people, too crazy), so I wanted to go to a campground where we could shower. He agreed. I made reservations at, and informed him of such, at a campground with showers.

He was part of the conversation last night when I told my relatives where we were staying and that I was glad they had showers there.

When we pulled into the campground, I pointed them out and said, "Look! There's the showers--and not too far from our campsite!"

I informed him last night, as we were going to bed, that I wasn't going to bathe our daughter prior to sleeping as we'd go take a shower in the morning.

As we got up, I informed him I wanted to get our showers before we got going.

As we had breakfast, I said, "When she's done with breakfast, I want to go take a shower."

I got distracted with my project and as I finished (as I already stated), he was dressing her, and I got annoyed. "I wish you hadn't done that," I told him. "I was just going to take her to get a shower."

His response? "Why didn't you tell me?"

I grabbed the things we'd need for the shower, and walked off. Got to the showers and--turns out you have to pay for the shower (which explained the change machine I'd noticed last night and wondered what people would need change for). Went back to the car, grabbed $4.00, hoping it would be enough, and went and got change. In the shower, put a quarter in the machine and . . . nothing. Another quarter and PRESTO! Hot water.

We showered, got dressed, and headed back to our campsite. Hubby packed for surfing and off we went to the beach.

He changed into his gear and we left his bag on the sand. I drove off with my daughter and we got breakfast at a little local cafe and then headed back to pick up my husband, who came shivering out of the water a little bit later. Apparently it was really cold--much more so than the normal "really cold" we get there. After defrosting his feet, we headed up to my relatives place, where we were fed fresh crab, fresh grilled salmon, and oysters. Plus we got to sit around and talk to my relatives--I very much enjoyed hearing the stories from years past.

We kept catching my daughter with platefuls of blackberries and finally cut her off. Unfortunately, even after cutting her off, it seemed that every time we turned around, she had more berries in front of her. I started packing her full of cheese as I was afraid of what the outputs would become tomorrow.

My aunt and uncle have a bunch of plastic tables and chairs--the kind that stack neatly, but aren't for heavy-duty use. With the uneven surface of the driveway and people shifting around on tables as we tried to escape the sun in favor of shade, there were a few casualties. Having had an "experience" with one of those chairs before (I fell over backwards into bushes and had a heck of a time getting back up as no one would help me because they were too busy laughing too hard), I was very careful when I placed and then sat down in my chair.

Apparently I wasn't careful enough.

As I went to stretch at one point, the chair went over backwards. Luckily (?) I crashed into a stump and rolled over sideways. It really tweaked my back though and I ended up going inside to lie down on the floor and stretch. I got stuck. Fully humiliated, I managed to v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y get into a crawling positing and worm my way onto the couch. I laid there for a bit trying to just breathe to get comfortable and get my back out of spasm.

After a couple of hours, I was able to straighten and walk again, but really just wanted to go back to the campground and go to bed. My husband decided to take off and go surfing again, so my daughter and I stayed with the relatives some more and she snuck still more blackberries. Finally we headed back to the campground and settled down for the night.

Or so we thought, but technically that will happen on tomorrow's entry.

Labor Day Weekend Getaway: Day 1

My husband took work off today so that we could get an early start on a planned camping trip/family reunion at the beach. My family has been doing some kind of a gathering at the beach for over 60 years. My mom used to tell me stories about when she went as a kid and I remember going myself 30 years ago. So now that I have my own family, of course, I continue the tradition of heading over for the weekend.

Of course, the event has changed over the years. It had already changed when I was a kid and I remember all the "grownups" talking about how it used to be and "remember whens." I can't speak to that time, but the memories I have are of camping at my great-uncle's place on the huge field by his house, along with 4 or 5 other families, some of whom would get to chatting after arriving and forget to set up their tents until after dark, when everyone would be stumbling around with flashlights and "shushing" the kids while they half-shouted curse words at the stubborn tents.

In the morning, we'd get up and pile into various cars and drive down to the put-in on the river. We'd load up 2-3 dories while my uncle joked around with the coast guard, ASSURING them that we were 1) not over the boat's capacity and 2) had lifejackets for everyone on board. This conversation usually occurred while my siblings, cousins, and I crouched in the storage hold in the bow of the boat to hide.

We'd finally set off down the river, with my mom bugging my uncle about putting out his cigarette. When I was really little, I remember being bundled up but still freezing, sitting on my mom's lap as the wind bit at me. When I was older, I got to climb up and sit on the bow of the boat as we slowly navigated the narrow and ever-changing channel.

My uncles usually had to make 2-3 trips to get the whole family down to the spot we'd stake out on the beach. Inevitably on one or more of the trips, the boat would ground and several of the adults would have to get out (both to take weight out of the boat and to push). As soon as it was free, he'd jokingly try to take off without them, although I remember him running aground again at least once as he tried to do this.

After everyone was down at the beach, a bonfire would be started--regardless of the temperature. If it was cold, we'd gather around if we could. Some of the adults would play football on the beach while the dories went out crabbing, occasionally taking one of us kids with them and explaining how it worked, and then dumping us off as quickly as they could get away with it.

When all the crab pots were in, the aunts took over and started cooking them right there on the bonfire, washing them out in the river. We'd feast on crab and all kinds of other goodies that had been hauled out in the coolers and tote bags.

Sunscreen would be applied (and grudgingly received), sunburns would still happen, someone would get hurt playing football, and eventually the wind would kick up, the tide would reach its last high point during daylight, and we'd take off. Or we'd camp on the beach, depending on the year.

In the morning there would be a huge breakfast of eggs and sausage. If we weren't already back at my uncle's house, we'd head back afterwards. The nights we were at his house, there were smoky late nights of poker (usually the guys) and cribbage (usually the women). There'd be tales in the morning of someone winning big--and someone losing.

The last year we camped on the beach was (I think) 1996. When I was little, there were often people around, but usually most of them were locals and my uncle knew a great many of them from the dory fishing community. As I got older, it got more and more crowded, which all the adults complained about. It got so crowded that the crabbing wasn't nearly as good, and usually my uncle had to stock up in preceding weeks in order to have enough for our traditional crab fest.

In 1996, it was already getting crowded enough that--although there was still plenty of room on the beach--we were no longer the only group out there, and we'd be a stone's throw from another group. A far cry from when I was a kid and we'd have to roam through the dunes to chance across another group. That particular year, there had been a group of men across the river that had been drinking fairly heavily and had been heckling our crab boats.

It was late enough that we'd gone to bed--although the older of us kids (I was in my early 20s, as were some of my cousins) were still up talking--when we heard some sort of a commotion down near the bonfire, which was still going. My cousin and I went out to see what was going on and my mom met us halfway and told us to stay back and keep an eye out on the younger kids tents. When we asked what was going on, she wouldn't explain.

The next morning, we got the story in bits and pieces from those who were there. Apparently the drunk group from across the river had come across and started yelling up to the bonfire for our group to "send out your women." My uncles--one of whom was an ex-pro football player and the others who were of similar builds--went down to the water to discourage the group from bothering us. A fight broke out. The tale differs here depending on who I heard it from, but most counts were that our side was just trying to get them to leave, but they were looking for a fight and playing dirty. Our side was "winning" but the other guys still hadn't left. Here the story gets pretty consistent: one of the other guys picked up an oar from one of our boats and hit my uncle in the back of the head. He fell into the water with a head injury and had to be dragged out. I'm not sure what happened at that point, but I think one of my other uncles said something about radioing the Coast Guard and the other group took off.

A couple of the relatives took off with my uncle and headed to the closest city with a hospital--about 20 miles away--to get his head stitched up.

The mood as we packed up the next morning was pretty somber as we hadn't heard back yet on how he was doing. And we never camped on the dunes again.

However, we still all gather at my uncles house--he's built a new one on the top of his hill--and some of the group now gets hotel rooms or rents houses for the weekend.

Our family's plan was to go to a campground with showers (which I'd reserved several weeks ago), my husband could go surfing if he felt like it, and I could hang around and listen to the older generation reminisce about how we used to have crab on the beach--how much fun that was then, but it's really nice to eat it now without sand in it.

We didn't end up leaving homeuntil about 4:00 because it took us much longer to get packed than planned--I had to prepare a couple of dishes that would somewhat keep for the various potlucks--and kept having to run errands for forgotten ingredients and ice for the cooler.

We arrived at my uncle's place just after 6:00 p.m. We talked for a bit and as I noticed the sun dipping, suggested we go find our campground and pitch our tent while it was still daylight, then come back if we wanted to, which we did. My daughter was thrilled because, as I'd told her, the campground is overrun by tame bunnies.

We went back, had a great dinner, talked with the relatives, explained the bandages on our dog's paws several times, and then went back to our campground. We managed to settle in fairly quickly and went to sleep.

In some ways, it was still similar to when I was a kid, as 10 feet away in the next campsite, a family who arrived late (with kids) was trying to set up a tent in the dark.

They gave up and slept in their car.