My Real Life

…or on top of the boardwalk, if you are going with kids, I guess.

We hit the boardwalk last night.

Yes, the Seaside Boardwalk, but there was no sign of Snooki or JWoww or the new crew.

Thank goodness.

We spent the early part of the day at the water park with our cousins.

The kids had a blast.

No pictures, because really…where would you store your camera?

So, you’ll have to trust me.

It was fun.

Then, to the boardwalk.

There were rides.

There was exploring.

There was danger.

Our lives were in our hands at some points.

Baby suffered an ear injury on the bumper cars.

Three hours after the bumper cars, he was also still complaining that his heart hurt, so I’m guessing he also hit his chest.

Then, there was the Log Flume of Death.

I went on with Monkey in the Middle.

When we came down the first hill, we jerked around a bit, but we were smiling and laughing.

When we hit the water after coming down the second, larger hill, my body came off of my seat, and my chest slammed into Monkey in the Middle’s head, crushing his head into the hard padding in front of him.

I thought, for sure, when we both fell back that his nose must have broken, but his head had twisted as my chest hit it, and he was fine.

He was actually laughing, so I laughed, also.

However, it feels like I cracked my sternum, and I’m typing this 6 hours after it happened.

Ouch.

A lot.

There were also frights to be had.

Baby Monkey had been talking about the Haunted House since he went, last year, with his godfather, Uncle Daniel.

This year, I got to go with him.

Here was his face before.

I don’t have an after picture, but trust me when I tell you, it wasn’t that happy.

He’s already said “Um…I don’t think anyone needs to take me on that next year.”

Pizza helped.

And, as always, we have the picture from the boardwalk where we pretend like we’re taking a family photo, but really, we’re capturing some strange boardwalk dweller.

Two years ago, it was the dead psychic.

Last year, it was the woman with the ice pack in her dress that was falling off her body.

This year?

Aw, how cute!

Tiny and Real Man off to the left.

Wait.

No.

What’s that off to the right?

Oh, it’s just a guy, hanging off of the “No Smoking” sign.

Smoking.

And that’s how we do the boardwalk.

1.  My sister-in-law posted a similar photo, on Facebook, of my nephew, last week, so I guess that answers the question of “Where did he get those lashes?”

And it ain’t from me, folks!

2.  Sometimes, at the end of a long, busy toddler day…

The Wiggles are a godsend.

3.  The lifeguard tournament was last night.

Very exciting.

The lifeguards from our beach won, and the monkeys thought that was awesome.

One of the lifeguards from our beach is actually going to nationals, and these competitions are grueling.

Very impressive.

It’s made cooler for the monkeys by the fact that you really get to know these guards because the beach where we stay with my parents is made up of only one street of people, so the four lifeguards are the only lifeguards…no switching from stand to stand.

So, the kids felt cool that they “knew” Joe, Zach, Anthony, and Austin.

Good times.

4.  Real Man and I have been continuing our speed walks every morning.

It’s great and we feel exhausted and sweaty and gross, but so good when they are done.

It’s about 3.6 miles, which isn’t huge, according to the stats on the runs and bike rides my Facebook friends are doing, but it’s good for us.

There are so many people out jogging while we’re out there, and I have to say, I’m so impressed with joggers.

I’ve tried to jog, and I don’t know if I don’t have the stamina or if I just don’t really care to run, but it didn’t work for me.

I’ve thought about the Couch to 5K program, but when I think about it, that’s pretty much as far as it goes.

Because, I really don’t want to run.

I love my walks, but running isn’t for me.

However, I’m impressed as hell with people who do it, and I realize I’d probably be in such better shape if I actually did jog.

But…running.

Ick.

5.  Every beach house I’ve stayed in, as an adult, leaves some movies for their VHS player.

Some have DVD players, but most still have VHS players.

I love seeing the selection they have for their renters to watch.

This house has “Galaxy Quest,” “Flubber,” “Mouse Hunt,” “Crocodile Dundee,” and so many more.

We don’t really watch movies while we’re here, so it doesn’t matter that much to me, but there is something that always makes me smile, first of all, at the VHS tapes, secondly at the choices.

I wonder if it’s a case of “Ooh, I think our guests would love to see “Crocodile Dundee!”

Or, if it’s more along the lines of “Geez, I can’t seem to get anyone to buy these old VHS tapes on eBay.  Let’s just leave them for the renters.”

In any case, there’s a certain comfort in seeing these old movies.

6.  Along the lines of “you can’t make this stuff up,” the other night, I took the monkeys to the park after dinner.

While we were playing, two teenagers and a boy who was about 10 arrived.

They were playing around, being goofy, and then one of the teenagers said to the 10 year old, “Hey, let’s put you in the baby swing!”

Wanting to please the big guys, the 10 year old said, “Sure!”

This boy was a larger boy, and as soon as he was in, they realized they had made a mistake.

They tried to get him out, but they couldn’t, and their efforts were just cementing him in the seat, even further.

The leg holes appeared to be cutting into his legs (not through the skin, but you know what I mean.)

We were on our way out, but all I could think was, if one of my kids was in trouble and there was an adult around who could have helped, but didn’t, I’d be furious.

So, I told the monkeys to stay put and walked over.

I told the one teenager to get down on all fours, like a table, and for swing boy to try to stand on his back, to release his weight from the swing, and maybe we could pull it off.

Kid was so stuck and at such a strange angle, he couldn’t really even stand.

I told the other teenager to go get a parent.

Then, I told swing boy to hold his hands high and try to pull himself up, and we’d try to pull the swing down.

Didn’t work.

The other teenager came back and said that his Dad was in the bathroom and couldn’t come.

Fantastic.

The boys were all nervous, and swing boy was starting to get teary.

When teenage boys get nervous, you know it’s time for action.

So, finally I said, “Okay, I know you don’t know me, so sorry for this,” but I went behind him and grabbed him under the arms and around the chest, told him to pull himself on the chain and pull while I pulled back and told the other kids to pull at the swing.

Like a cork in a bottle, he finally popped out.

They thanked me profusely, I gathered the monkeys and we were on our way.

Good times.

So, as my Facebook friends know, I recently watched Seasons 1 and 2 of Downton Abbey, courtesy of Netflix.

I wasn’t quite sure if I would like it, because I’ll admit to not really watching that much British television.

However, some of these people know me pretty well, so I gave it a try.

Well, I was hooked.

From the first moment, I couldn’t look away.

However, as I made my way through the episodes, one thing struck me.

The utter…boredom that a life of privilege must have brought.

The main family didn’t earn their money.  They inherited it.

So, there were no factories to run, no jobs to attend to.

It was just ordering the servants and making social calls.

This was the way of life for so many of privilege, at the turn of the century.

Wake up, ring a bell for your servant to come get you out of bed and get you dressed.

If you were a woman, they would also do your hair.

Then, downstairs to breakfast, and as soon as you left your room, someone would come in and make your bed and neaten up your room.

After breakfast, you make social calls, or read the mail, or go for a walk or just sit in the parlor.

And so your day continues until the servants get you ready for bed, including brushing your hair.

I just can’t imagine that kind of life.

Don’t get me wrong, the idea of someone cleaning up after me as soon as I leave the room is entirely appealing.

As is the thought of having every meal cooked for me and, especially, someone else doing the laundry.

However, it seems to me to be a life without purpose, and I wonder, is that what privilege brings?

Throughout the show, a few of the characters begin to realize the lack of purpose and change their lives, but there are some (and they aren’t all old fuddy-duddies) who believe that this is the life they were meant to live and are outraged by the thought that there is something more they should be doing.

That by living their life, they are doing something…giving others jobs by allowing them to serve them, etc.

The truth is, although I enjoy all the story lines, the servants lives are the most interesting.  They are the most well-rounded characters, because they are the most well-rounded people.  They have lives of purpose…they have interesting conversations and thoughts and desires and hopes and dreams.  What is there to look forward to if you have everything?

I don’t really have a point here, but it’s just something that I find so interesting to think about.

As far as the show goes, I wait for January with baited breath, for Season 3, and in the meantime, have been devouring other BBC shows on my iPad.  “North and South” (which has a much different meaning in the US than in Great Britain) was a good one, and I’m in the midst of “Daniel Deronda” and plan on watching “Upstairs/Downstairs” next, as I do enjoy seeing the differences between the privileged in the house vs the servants.

BBC.  It’s not just for your Grandma.