When I started to plan our two weeks on the east coast, everyone came out of the woodwork.
My mom wanted to share their beloved hometown with her grandchildren, and she wanted to host a big Brockway family reunion.
My kids wanted to see their friends. Lucy wanted to see Audrey, Lily, Lila and Maia. Oscar wanted to see Ty, Hank and Nathaniel. Arlo wanted to see Izzy and Cal and Purl and Charlie (those last two are dogs).
I wanted to see my everyday friends: the folks I saw every day, the folks I met up with on constant playgrounds.
But then... I got a text from my old friend Lexie. She wanted us to come visit her in Connecticut, and meet her dogs and hang with her and her husband. And then I got a message via Facebook from my friend Chrissy, who still lives in our hometown (and raises four amazing daughters and makes living in your hometown seem like a normal thing that you should actually try and achieve -- unlike me, who fled from Pawling as soon as I could). And then my Messy, my oldest friend, texted me an image of her plane tickets.
In the middle of my jaunt to the east coast, there was to be a Girlfest.
We've had a couple other Girlfests. Florida, and most recently a year and a half ago. My lovely in-laws offered up their swanky apartment in NYC and we had a blissful weekend of 80s Prom and Gospel Lunches. And we decimated my in-laws' liquor cabinet (Sorry, Papa Jim!) and used every towel and sheet in the joint.
We met. We hugged. We got pedicures. We gossiped, and hugged some more, and talked about kids and dogs and husbands.
We went to McKinney and Doyle (where I worked during my college years, and, some of you might remember, our wedding cake came from) and had some drinks and an awesome dinner.
McKinney and Doyle does not put umbrellas in their fancy drinks. Messy brought lovely coasters with Goddess sentiments and lots and lots of umbrellas.
Here's why I love Messy, my oldest friend, my Matron of Honor, the mother of my goddaughter, someone who understands that we don't actually talk for almost a year but knows that i love her and her family as if we were together every single day.
She carries extra drink umbrellas in her purse.
How can you not love this woman?
Lobster risotto. Seriously, you can't find better food outside of NYC.
Since I needed to help my Mom with the family reunion the next day, I wasn't able to hang out with my girls. So I brought my girls to my homestead. We sat on the screened-in back porch and my mom and dad charmed my girlfriends, and vice versa.
Messy was gorgeous and stylish and chatty. JJ the cat was upset that no one was paying attention to him.
The next day was brutally hot. My folks moved the family reunion from our local park to our house. We were all relieved.
These following pictures are from my cousin Sara. She is a wonderful and inspiring mom and a talented photographer.
My cousin Karen and my Aunt Linda. Man, I wish I could have had those Stewart cheekbones.
Arlo's forced smile.
Oscar and his second cousin Travis. They love each other something silly.
My Goose, leaning possessively into my belly. She looks a whole lot like our cousin Laura Grenholm.
The Goose and second cousin Jared. Same eyes.
Big-eyed Brockway kids. They favor my paternal grandmother, Mimi.
How much did I miss my husband right then? A near perfect family picture. My folks, my brother and his lovely wife, and a passel of Holderle-Krasko-Lebair-Metcalf-Brockway grandchildren. And we all look like we like each other.
Me and my brother. We look more and more alike every day.
My Uncle Bert's side of the Brockway clan.
My Aunt Nancy and her husband, Roy. Aunt Nancy was the one who gently chastised me for not updating my blog often enough.
Aunt Nancy was actually my dad's next door neighbor when he was growing up. They aren't related by blood, but they couldn't be closer. Roy was Aunt Nancy's date to my Uncle Bert's wedding in the early 1960s, but they drifted apart. They reconnected a couple years ago and married. (My dad gave her away at the wedding.) They travel, and visit their families, and are a fantastic example to us all.
My brother's youngest daughter, Abby, was giving the Goose a piggyback ride. Arlo was furious. We had been talking about a visit with Ella and Abby forever, and Abby was paying attention to the Goose and not to him. Arlo came upon Abby paying attention to the Goose and not to him and, tired, crabby, and missing his daddy, he gave her a shove. Abby and the Goose went down, ass over teakettle, and were okay, after a careful inspection of elbows and knees.
Arlo had a good long time out.
He hunkered down in the window of his second-floor bedroom and watched the extended family go to the lake and leave.
As far as I'm concerned, our entire 2 weeks on the east coast and the thousands of dollars of airfare was worth it for this photo.
My folks have a sign hanging in their guest bath that says "Grandchildren are your reward for not killing your teenagers."
My mom and dad have five grandchildren that love them more than anything. They all age their parents something awful, and provide Mom and Dad with many, many opportunities to say "I told you so."
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