At the end of our vacation to Mississippi, The Hubs and I attempted to take a romantic shower together.  The Rowdy Boys were out with The In-laws and we had the entire condo to ourselves.  What says “entire condo to ourselves” like a romantic, hot shower together?

Regrettably, neither of us found being at the beach as a legitimate excuse to put on sunblock.  We were so miserably sunburned all we could do is say, “ehhhhhhhhh.”  I finally said something along the lines of, “I like you and all, but my skin hurts.”

Our last big hurrah in Mississippi was taking a ferry out to Fort Massachusetts, aka Ship Island, aka the place we’ve tried to get to four other times but have been stopped by winter, hurricanes, and tornados.  Literally.  We were actually evacuated to the Navy base and spent the night in a warehouse (my father-in-law was on active duty at the time) during Hurricane Gustav.  I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: if God says, “This is it, Heather” and shuffles me into a warehouse with 500 sailors, soldiers, and fly boys, I will go.  And I will go with a smile on my face.

Anyway.

Fort Massachusetts is on an itty bitty island in the gulf and, prior to the Civil War, was built as a defense for New Orleans.  I saw an alligator.  I ate a hot dog.  I drank an itty bitty beer.  You know, I honestly have no idea what happened between me holding the sunscreen and it not actually getting on my body.  Putting sunscreen on my children is like trying to put cats in a paper bag.  It’s just exhausting.  And that’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it.  Anyway, the beach was fantastic.  The fort was fantastic.  The sunburn that literally left a trail a skin-dust behind me every time I moved, was not.  I wore shorts one day and Older Child looked at me in horror and said, “What’s wrong with your legs?”  The Hubs said I looked like I had some kind of fungus.

And this, people, is why I don’t go outside.

Meanwhile, I got my picture taken in my bikini because apparently ‘Moms in bikinis’ trended blew up the Internet or something while we were down wriggling in the South.  So, there you go.  I’m a mom in a bikini.  In Fort Massachusetts.

Speaking of the Civil War, I’m sad to note that the 150th celebration, aka the Sesquicentennial is pretty much ending.  April 9th marked the 150th anniversary of General Lee surrendering to General Grant at Appomattox Court House.  My guys are out there this weekend in an actual horse drawn artillery battery, so if you’re down there, tell them La Belle Rebelle says hello.  Man, that was a fast war.  When we fired the guns at First Manassas, I was pregnant with Younger Child.  Now he’s potty trained and likes being off the front porch like a man (his words, not mine).  Sigh.  We’re going to need to start prepping for the bicentennial now, because Lord knows I’m going to look like a maniac in my mid 80s running around in more corset and hoop skirt.  Stay tuned for that!

And speaking of anniversaries, let’s bid The Rambling Jour a very happy third anniversary!  I’m drinking Hypnotiq and ginger ale tonight in my own honor (Viva la France!).  Three years of blogging!

It was just a wee bit depressing to come back to Western Pennsylvania after a week in the Sunny South.  Less barbeque.  Less sunshine.  But, when we got home (as in the next day) I went and got my second tattoo.  Yay!!  Check it: a bundle of poppies.  Not poppies as in OPIUM! but poppies as in, “In Flanders Fields the poppies grow…” because nearly all the men in my family have served in the military.  This is for them.  You’ll be excited to know that I won the award for handling rib tattoos the best my guy Will has ever seen.  And, as a side note, if you need a guy to do a tattoo for you, Will at Up In Arms tattoo is the guy to see.  He did both of mine.

So, back to the norm.  I still am staring at the starts of manuscripts to decide what my next novel undertaking will be.  I’m waiting with bated breath for inspiration to strike.  This summer is shaping up to be exciting and busy: weddings, the Maine Warrior Salute (be there or be square!), my book release party, and the One Direction concert!  Bring it.***

***And when I say bring it, what I mean is a blanket and a pillow because that sounds exhausting.  I’m crazy, but I’m old.  If you need me, I’ll be the one reeeeeeeally far away from One Direction, using binoculars to ogle Harry Styles.