Today we celebrated Labor Day not with a respire but with it's name sake. Labor. Not having more babies. The other kind of labor.
We drove treacherous highways. Rented unwieldy aluminum canoes and paddled strenuously for miles against a fast moving current before dragging said canoe up a steep river bank where we partook of a repast we ourselves had made only hours before. Then we plunged our fragile bodies into the powerful current, swimming against being swept downstream, only to emerge, dry ourselves, have another light gnosh, dip our tootsies in again and then make our way upstream even further before turning and making the long trek back to the rental place.
You must say to yourselves "Oh, now here is when they rested. Surely they could suffer to go no farther. Further? Further . . . farther?
But NO! We made once again for those treacherous roads, traveling them until we came to a crowd of people 100 strong. There we waded into the milling throng, pushed against them as we had pushed against the current that had moments before threatened to sweep us away, and arrived finally at the window. A window where we ordered ice creams so large it took the strength of 10 laborers to lift them to our waiting mouths.
Then we made our way back onto the road of death only to find ourselves--funneled there by forces beyond our control--at the beach. The windswept sand and stark, ocean scrubbed rocks were not enough to turn us from the task at hand. We plunged into water as cold as the Arctic seas, as the sun sank below the horizon. We built sandy monuments to Gods and princesses that will stand forever against waves both tidal and not so tidal.
And that's how we squeezed the last few drops of summer from the bottom of the tube. My wife goes back to work tomorrow and she goes back happy.
Also, I wrote a little humor piece for Insert Eyeroll, that they were kind enough to publish. Please, check it out if you have the time. Happy Labor Day