My skin starts to itch. Do I have my suit on? Um, no. I'm literally just stepping out of the Escape, back from a quick kid-book shopping spree at the Goodwill on the way home from our hike in the woods at Chris and Ri's. (We have separate cars because I had one too many margaritas the night before.) He's loading the van with golf clubs and back packs.
I haven't shaved my legs in three days. What are we going to do with Dempsey? I am shouting things over my shoulder, grumpily, as I run into the house. I don't want to miss out on family fun but I need advance warning of plans. It's not a quality I like but it is. When I pass the dining room en route to my suit, I spy an empty bowl, a dollop of creamy yogurt right on the table. Not even on a placemat. I lose my shit. This isn't a frat house, I scream. The boys, all in the van, waiting, don't hear. I think.
I am a J (as in ENFJ - I can't stop with this Myers Briggs thing). Jon is a P. As I understand it, this means that I prefer things to be planned out in advance, and Jon prefers to take things as they come. It all seems backward, as I am supposedly the creative in this partnership; he, the engineer. Perhaps that's why these opposite tendencies have attracted us to each other, even as they drive us crazy.
So. We go. Cruising along verdant roadways, noticing the bluebird skies and warm rays reflecting on fields and farms and cows, my annoyance fades. By the time we pull into the dusty little lot near the swimming hole, I am actually in a good mood. We meet up with Chris, Ri and the boys. We wade upstream, admiring the shimmering and speckled Mad River rocks, carrying snacks, packs and little boys. We park on on a sandbar. And chill. Splash around. And then—if we are to get a table at dinner—we have to go. We start packing up.
I strip off my skirt and tank—and dive into the water, letting the current pull me downstream. It is fast (but not too fast). It is freezing. Totally refreshing. I can't stop laughing. This is so worth leaving yogurt on the table (though, of course, I'd cleaned it up.)
"I want this log," I tell him.
"It's super heavy - but we can try to float it downstream." Jon is always up for adventure. And so we float the log. And then he and Chris loft it into the mini-van, Jules taking pictures, while Ri, the big guys and I drive into town to grab a table.
The day turns out perfectly. "Planned" by a P.