Last Thursday we rented a pontoon on a nearby lake so we could practice for when one of my numerous families-in-law come down for a visit. We drove it great! The 16-year-old who rented us the boat said I dock like a pro! We jumped in and paddled about and lo, it was so fun!

FRIDAY

SATURDAY

Sunday we took the little angel and one of her friends down to a sailing club. The two of them hauled it onto a 10-foot sailboat with me and proceeded to fret alternately about how hot it was and losing their sunglasses if I tipped the boat over. (Of course I did not tip the boat over. But the other two boats with kids piloting them were permanently laid out, so I understand their concern.) I accidentally slammed into some rocks due to a random luff-and-blow. But I got us out of it! And the boat guy did not have to come save me! And then, at the very end when we were not far from shore, I finally gave in and let them jump in the water, because a half-hour of trying to sail any boat by yourself with two tweeners is enough to test the patience of even a saint.

Monday I went to an event for my wonderful friend the artist who did not know he was an artist until he was 47 but managed to somehow get himself a movie premiere, and then I rushed home to get the little angel from the neighbor's house. My neighbor had invited her two nieces over and God Bless America, they were actually braiding each other's hair when I showed up. (I AM SO NOT KIDDING.) The little angel mentioned her ear hurt where it was pierced.

As in, bright red and swollen.

As in totally infected and needs a run of antibiotics and no lake or pool until it subsides.

As in all that practicing and we had to cancel the pontoon for Friday.

And here, Diane, is a time in which catastrophize practicing did not pay off. Now it's 1:1.

After procuring the lines for Puffer, Beloved and I had to figure out how to rig a 34-year-old boat from scratch.  We didn't even know how to properly tie ANY sailing knots.  Thank God for Basic Keelboat and The Handbook of Sailing, from which we somehow learned how to tie a figure eight and a bowline knot and how to rig a 12-foot sailboat when all the lines were lying on the ground in loose circles.

It only took three hours.

Despite the fact I was wearing 50 sunscreen, I managed to earn myself a painful sunburn.  And a bunch of bug bites.

But the result...

I have not felt a greater sense of victory in a long time.

This weekend after the little angel kicked some serious preschool ass at her dance recital, Beloved, she and I spent several hours cleaning up our 1974 AMF Puffer.

Source -- this is not my boat.  If you haven't noticed, I hate taking pictures.  But mine looks exactly like this one. 

The Puffer is 12 feet long, which is essentially like sailing your bathtub.  I can't WAIT to get it in the water.  We bought new sails for it last year, but we never got the chance to put it in the lake because we were, oh, moving, and painting every wall in our upstairs and stuff like that.  This is Puffer's year. I can feel it.  Even though you should never, never go to Bass Pro Shop and look for new sailboat lines, because they will look at you as if your lily sailboat ass has just ripped off their fishing/motorboat heads and shit down their throats.  Then they will point stupidly at utility rope and indicate you should cut your own.

To which you will respond by laughing at them and buying a jolly roger flag and a Diet Coke and storming huffily out of the establishment.

Ahoy!

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Writing about downsizing the family auto today at BlogHer.  And I promise I will get around to picking the Lee Jeans contest winner this week, but I was distracted because I've been buying books to sell at BlogHer, which is three weeks away.  Yikes!