It seems that on every vacation, I promise to take the kids parasailing. Invariably the last day catches us by surprise and our parasailing dreams are dashed by weather or booked tour operators.
So, it was with great pride that I told Chris and the kids that we had a noon reservation to parasail TODAY.
Chris groaned and said hopefully “not Haddie right? She’s too small..guess I have to stay back with her.”
I happily explain to him that the only rule is that the combined weight of the two or three riders has to be over 150 lbs. I tell him that Maisy and Sam will make it and with Hadley’s 45 lbs she and I will just make it.
He doesn’t even try to contain his burst of laughter.
“Oh yeah Cat– you’ll just make it alright! Maybe you ought to have a sandwich first? Baaaaahahahhaaha!”
OK fine. I cut him loose. Besides, he has to do his daily “underwear and shorts washing ritual.” Everyday at noon he has had to put on his swim trunks and wash his single pair of briefs and shorts as those are two items he forgot to pack more of (absolutely 100% truth.)
The man packed for a week at the beach and forgot underwear and shorts.
So Chris stays back to attend to his laundry load of two items. Me and the kids head out.
At the dock, I do not question the price and hand over my Visa with a flourish. How can you put a price on family memories?
Hadley and I go first.
I have, of course, paid for the HIGHEST parasail: 1200 feet.
We are harnessed, buckled, strapped and clipped. Haddie is nervously squeezing my hand but she is giddy.
The flight was exhilarating- until we top out at 1200 feet. We see our tow boat faaaar below speeding along but we seem to be suspended motionless. Suddenly a wind gust sends us swaying severely left. “If you are scared close your eyes!” I am screaming. Hadley is swinging her legs and bobbing from side to side. She is not the one who just tinkled her pants a little.
Finally, an eternity later, the line starts to pull us back, I had forgotten my excited affirmation to the captain’s “Wanna dip?”
That is until the line stops pulling us in towards the boat and instead drags us ass first through the murky, freezing water. I am a little glad for the cover our little dunk affords my already wet shorts.
By the time we are safely back on the dock, my heart is slamming against my chest and I can’t feel my feet. Never mind the boat rocking, it’s my flaccid legs and numb toes that send me teetering full speed toward the adorable 20 year-old-deck hand.
He catches my fall with a solid and very tan arm. I smile sheepishly. But.. Something is wrong. He is not letting me by to watch Maisy and Sam take off.
He has safely escorted Hadley to a seat.
Serious as death he says “Ma’am, you may have noticed the wind picked up a bit. I’m going to need you to go up again with your other kids.”
I laugh. “Oh they are totally fine! Right guys?” I am rewarded with two thumbs up from my embarassed-by-their-mother-harnessed-in-ready-to-go-kids.
“Uh. It’s not that Ma’am. Uh. I need you to weigh the kite down some.”
You mean to tell me that after barely surviving my first go, I now am forced on again as DEAD WEIGHT???
There is only one person to blame.
While he was back home washing his underwear for the seventh time, I was plunking down $350 for an Abercrombie model half my age to call me fat.