Cottages, hammocks — and bears
For some reason I still believe that when kids are at the cottage, they care where they sleep.
I run around making up beds and fussing over pillows; I worry about who is too tall for a twin bed, and break my nails digging for sheet sets. It’s ridiculous, of course, because they just fall over wherever they happen to be and wake up and carry on.
A couple of weeks ago, it was going to be easy. Just Christopher, 26, and his girlfriend Pammy. She’s been family for eight years now and I barely have to lift a finger. After reports of Ari’s earlier raucous lad-laden weekend, I looked forward to a few days of grown-up quiet. To not putting Snoopy and Thomas the Tank Engine sheets on beds for adults.
A day into our holiday, I returned from town to find Christopher smiling from ear to ear.
“They’re all coming. I can’t believe it all worked out,” he announced.
I handed him groceries and narrowed my eyes. “Who?”
“Chris and Hunter and Cody from Texas. And Michael. Michael is getting two at the airport tonight, and I’ll go get Cody tomorrow. It’s awesome.”
His eyes were shining as he wrapped me in a bear hug. At six-foot-four, it’s definitely a bear hug.
“Sooooo,” I said into his giant shoulder, “we have four extra kids landing.”
My mind went immediately to Snoopy and Thomas.
“It’s totally fine. They bring their hammocks; they don’t need beds. Well, Michael. But it’s just Michael. And they’re not getting in until about 2 a.m., so we probably won’t go to bed anyway.”
None of this was providing much relief. I had three young men flying all the way from Texas for 48 hours to get sunburned and bitten by Canadian mosquitoes. And to sleep in hammocks.
My son’s hospitality knows no bounds. Michael has been coming to the cottage since he was a pup, and Texas Chris has been a few times. The other two were newbies, and I wondered how they thought this was worth the time and expense. Ari’s cat had cleaned out some mice the week before, but I was noticing an uptick in ant traffic. We call it Taj Mahcottage.
“I dunno about this hammock thing. I better make up beds,” I said, heading for the coffin.
We have one room so small, we call it the coffin. It contains one set of bunk beds and two musty life jackets. That’s all that will fit.
“No, seriously, they have these cool hammocks. All they need is trees, and we have trees!”
I remained skeptical. I was awakened later by Paco and Alfie, the kids’ dogs, announcing the middle-of-the-night arrival of our guests. I came out, welcomed them, told them there were sandwiches, told them to shut up, and went back to bed.
The next morning, I surveyed the beer cans and bodies. I squinted outside and could see a couple of hammocks just off the path. Kids are crazy.
“It got a little chilly, but you sleep so great,” explained Texas Chris when he came in.
I considered just handing out hammocks to all future visitors. No laundry. No Snoopy. No Thomas.
“I was starving and took some chips out with me last night,” he admitted. I gaped at him.
“Are you nuts? We have bears here!” I yelled. I am not subtle. “You’re basically a meat piñata in those stupid hammocks!”
The next day they came in during the night, explaining they got cold.
I think they were just jealous of Michael, who was sensibly sleeping in the coffin on Thomas the Tank Engine sheets.
Or scared of bears.