Over the years we’ve been on many adventures together; the mountains, the lake, the big city of Nashville, the small city of Linden. But somehow, after over a decade together we’ve neglected to visit the beach. We’ve talked about it. We’ve tried to plan for it. But it just never came together. Then, a couple of weeks ago on the spur of the moment Andrea decided it was time. She had been given access to a condo at Perdido Key and decided a mother/daughter trip was in order. She invited those of us with older girls to join her and Josie for a few days during Memorial Day weekend.
Of course, my girl would be jetting off around the same time so my initial response was no. Then I discovered Big Nanny was planning to go without her daughter so I threw caution to the wind and parental guilt out the window. My first ever spontaneous impulsive trip to the beach! I felt wildly liberated.
(Once the word got out that 2 of us were going on a mother/daughter trip without daughters, the mom of 7 sons and no daughters decided she was going too. Can hardly blame her there.)
So bright and early Saturday morning we stuffed all seven of us in the car and headed out. We organized a rotating driving schedule with the perk being that whoever was driving got to choose the music for their stretch of highway. I had a mix of everything from Bon Jovi to Carly Rae Jepsen, Tracey played the 80’s, and Angela had us singing out of her travel hymnal. It was no private jet. But then again, private jets don’t allow personal playlists. Score one for me.
They say that half the fun is getting there and that is never more true than when I am on a road trip with my girls. This was the first time that any of our children had been invited into the “inner sanctum” of our adventures together, and let me just say their eyes were opened. In fact, Abigail claimed to be surprised at just how crazy Mrs. Angela is. She did however point out she wasn’t at all surprised by my behavior because “Mrs. Teresa acts like this all the time.” Thanks. I think.
As for the beach itself, everything was just about perfect. The condo was great (and free!), the weather was perfect, the conversation was hilarious and the behavior was extremely mature.
Except for the tattoo spotting contest (we were the only 5 women on the beach without them), the prank texting (Robyn was both the culprit and the victim over the course of the trip), and the ill-fated snow ball incident (they were selling snow cones on the beach and after ordering it was discovered that the health department probably doesn’t pay them any visits).
One highlight of the trip was learning the condo management was giving away free hot dogs on Memorial Day to its guests. (I was pretty sure the Ocho wasn’t getting free hot dogs on her fancy shmancy private beach.) You can only imagine Big Nanny’s jubilation and Robyn’s subsequent disgust when the free dogs were discovered. We had a grand time enjoying them while Robyn snacked on sun chips and a slice of cheese. (I’m still astounded she refused to eat a perfectly sanitary hot dog and yet agreed to consume a snow cone prepared by the ungloved hands of a teenage boy on a public beach. Allow yourself to dwell on that for a moment.)
Our days were spent lazily on the beach listening to the waves, spotting tattoos, eating free hot dogs and resenting the whole private beach thing, because seriously, people in the panhandle have NO regard for personal space. Case in point, this pic shows our proximity to one half of the duo we nicknamed the Sweater Brothers.
They came and planted themselves right in front of our chairs and we were eternally grateful. I mean, who wouldn’t want to stare at that all day instead of the boring ocean?
After long days of sunning, relaxing and tattoo spotting, our nights were spent looking for a good place to eat that would satisfy all of our varying requirements. Some eat no meat, some eat only healthy foods, some watch their sugar intake. Then there was Big Nanny and me. The Sunset Grille was probably my favorite and I would highly recommend it for anyone visiting that area. It had an amazing view, awesome hush puppies, really good music to sing along to and a really good burger according to Big Nanny (and she is a burger connoisseur).
Our final night we ate at Lulu’s in Orange Beach. Some of you have probably heard of it, but I had not. I will say it was quite an experience. The food was good and our waiter was very charming. The outdoor area was perfect for keeping everyone occupied during the hour and a half wait for a table. But what I’ll always remember is the live entertainment.
It was a middle aged Jimmy Buffet wannabe who strummed a guitar to a prerecorded track and sipped an adult beverage the entire time he was singing. It wasn’t his voice or inebriation that really caused concern. It was his lyrical content. Here he was singing to a room full of families, most with young children, and his songs were lacking a certain family-friendly element. “If the Tiki Hut’s rockin’, don’t bother knockin’” sparked quite a few uncomfortable questions from one child at our table. And that was one of the more subtle selections.
After dinner we made what can only be described as a misguided decision that probably had some questioning our sobriety. All 5 of us climbed into a photo booth together. The result was so much tear-inducing laughter we could barely stand it, and a sad picture strip of which I only made one frame.
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Still, memories were made. And more were yet to come. After Lulu’s we headed to the go-cart track. This was at the request of Andrea’s daughter Josie and was meant to be a treat for the kids. Abigail however didn’t meet the height requirement for the large track so Big Nanny agreed to drive her. (And there’s nothing about putting your child in a go-kart with Big Nanny racing at high speeds that should cause any mother concern.) They did fine until the end when Big Nanny came to a complete stop on the track so Robyn could take their picture and nearly caused a 20 car pile-up. But I hear the picture turned out pretty.
Our nights out always proved to be fun but once we got back to the condo, things changed. At least for me. You see, I volunteered to sleep on the sleeper sofa since I’m an early riser. This put me at the mercy of everyone else when it came time for bed. It meant waiting for everyone to settle in and go to bed before I could turn out the lights. And once I did, sleep rarely came. Because it was usually after midnight when someone would decide to do laundry and discover the washing machine sounded like the space shuttle lifting off. Or they called their husband to talk about their day and came into the hallway as to not disturb anyone. But my favorite was the night a smoke detector decided to start chirping around 1:00 am and it took 3 of us (and one YouTube demonstration) to disarm it. And in the search for it, one of us took a butter knife to the actual fire alarm system on the wall by mistake. If that plan had been successful, this would have been a GREAT story.
On our last night we did what most self-respecting middle aged women would do, we made a Video Star to “22” by Taylor Swift. I wish I could share it with you, but I’ve had some trouble getting the link. And besides, if you saw it you’d just be jealous of our mad dancing skillz.
So while my daughter was living it up in paradise, I was too. Sure, the transportation wasn’t chartered, the beach wasn’t private, the condo wasn’t a mansion, the water wasn’t clear and Penelope Cruz wasn’t in the guest book. But it was still a trip I’ll never forget.
As for my friends, we discovered not much has changed after all these years. We all bring our own brand of crazy to the party. And each person’s crazy somehow compliments the others. I sure do love these girls and can’t wait to try and do it all again next summer. But if they break the crazy out at bedtime, the butter knife will be put to better use.
*I know the trip you all really want to hear about is the Ocho’s, but since I wasn’t there I can’t tell it. So, coming soon I’ll turn it over to a special guest blogger who’ll bring you all the details.
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