Vacationing.

We are going on a real vacation this summer. Well, as real as it can be with a bambino and a 2-year-old. Heh. This is our first vacation since 2002 when we went to England/Wales/Scotland (mostly Scotland), oh yeah, and Iceland. That was back when we had two incomes and flights were cheap out of Boston.

So, where are you going, you ask. Well, we are going to the beach that was recently ranked as the 2nd Top Beach in the U.S. by Dr. Beach. (Don't ask me who he is, because I have no idea, but what great taste in beaches he has. . ) Is it in Hawaii, you ask? Nope. Is it in California, you ask? Nope. Is it in Florida? Well, the No. 1 beach is, but this one is in NC. We're going to a remote island called Ocracoke at the tip of the Outer Banks. It's accessible only by ferry, but has a busy little village. I like having stuff to do and see -- a little history / a little artsy culture / good restaurants, while J prefers being away from people. Cape Cod in April was great for him, but too devoid of people for me. Now that I think about it though, he likes B&Bs. I don't. I don't really like having people wait on me, plus one thing I like about staying somewhere like a hotel, is that I can not hang my towels up or not make the bed or leave my dirty clothes in a pile on the floor and not feel guilty about it. Somehow, it feels awkward that the same people who know that I throw my dirty underwear on the floor or who change our sheets or who observe that my other half doesn't always have the best . . um . . aim, would be preparing and serving my food as well. Wouldn't want to risk pissing them off by not being perfect houseguests. Trying to be a perfect houseguest is notrelaxing. Vacation is being allowed to let my inner slob rule.

Anyhoo, my inner slob will be taking up residence at a lovely retro-ish motel with rooms that have small kitchens and private adjoining screen porches.