Waterfalls, Egg Bites, and Family Fun

 

  8/23/25  I heard Brandy at 5 a.m. Betty was gone, it was just me and Waddles. I’m NOT getting up I thought, until Waddles waddled over and nudged me like a furry drill sergeant: “Everyone’s up. You should be too. Let’s go, soldier.”

  Betty was already in the kitchen, caffeinated and thriving. 

  I mentioned a shower and in need of a towel. (She has so many doors in the hallway I didn’t wanna be like Snoop Dog snooping.)  She handed me a towel and didn’t mention the fact I really needed a shower. 

   I grabbed a shower and met them out in the she-shed—. Betty bought some doors, Anthony hinged them together, slapped a roof on top, and boom—Nice retreat away from Fuji (her husband) and the dogs. Nope, he enjoys it as much as Betty.

  Sitting by the waterfall, watching Koi fish do their lazy swimming like don’t you wish you were a Koi? Yes, yes I do.  I had my laptop out, trying to capture memories and take pictures, but honestly? I’ve hit that age where I’d rather soak in the moment than document it like Paparazzi. 

   Eventually, Rob and the boys wandered out like they’d just emerged from a cave. Fuji showed up too, and Betty offered egg bites like a breakfast fairy. Fuji vetoed that with a firm “We’re going out.” I’m with Fuji. Let's go out to eat breakfast...

   They sat the eight of us at two tables with a low wall between them—basically a restaurant version of sibling time-out. Brandy and Rob(married couple) ended up on opposite sides of the wall, and I snapped a photo like I was documenting a wildlife encounter. Betty joked, “We had to separate our kids—they keep fighting.” Cue Rob and Brandy immediately bickering like they were auditioning for a reboot of The Parent Trap. “Mom, she looked at me funny!” “Mom, he touched me!” I was waiting for someone to start throwing napkins.

  Breakfast was over the top good.

 Next up: shopping. The boys were dismissed like extras in a rom-com. “You guys can go home; us girls are shopping!” Cue the dramatic music and thrift store montage. Now, let me be clear—I NEED NOTHING. But that didn’t stop me from packing an empty suitcase like a seasoned bargain warrior. We’d just finished a girls’ trip to Colorado where we shopped until our feet filed for divorce. But hey, retail therapy has no expiration date.

  Betty found me two sweatshirts, one of which is a fancy beach brand that screams “I summer in Malibu” even though I barely summer in my own backyard. Six shirts total. And then—cue the hallelujah chorus—Betty gifted me the best Hawaiian shirt. It pairs perfectly with my many pairs of white shorts and my general vibe of “vacationing is my life.” (She bought it for Fuji, he was upset he couldn’t button it, it buttons backwards. Yeah, it’s a woman’s shirt.) Score one for me.  

Good thing I brought that empty suitcase!

 We all started Sunday by… getting lost on our way to church. I helpfully pointed out, “Ya’ll, if you went to church more often, you’d know the way.” My humor was not appreciated. Tough crowd before 10 a.m., I guess.

Thanks to Rob—not the GPS—we eventually made it. Afterward, we told everyone we were heading to Sizzler. Easy plan, right? Wrong. Somewhere between church and lunch, Judy’s phone (or Google) rerouted us. Suddenly, new destination: Bravo Farms. Thanks to Rob’s text. Excuse me, what? What about the friends who think we’re at Sizzler?? I wisely kept my mouth shut. I’m just the tagalong—I go where I’m dragged.

Bravo Farms was… interesting. The boys used to come here when they were little and wanted to recreate old photos. While they were off chasing nostalgia, I was chasing food. Priorities. By the time Betty, Judy, and I finished eating, my crew was outside climbing the treehouse. Naturally, I followed, because apparently my “vacation insurance” does not cover using common sense.

That ladder was narrow, and my hips were just barely within regulations. I got to the top, looked around, and immediately asked myself: Why? No magical view. No life-changing epiphany. Just the looming possibility of breaking my hip—and one screaming kid, just to hear himself scream. I carefully climbed back down, vowing not to become the infamous “Mema fell out of the treehouse” story retold over and over. We never let anyone live down a funny story.

Thankfully, there was ice cream. $5 a scoop, but hey—it’s vacation. Unlimited budget (sort of), and calories don’t count. One scoop here was equal to three anywhere else. And since we were in dairy country… Amazing.

Afterward, Betty and Judy ditched their church dresses. I had already executed a wardrobe change in the church parking lot. Don’t ask how—it’s a secret.

Back at the house, I asked to see the recreated photos. Answer? “Oh, we forgot.” Seriously?!

Moral of the Sunday saga: we got lost, climbed a treehouse that almost became my final resting place, ate overpriced ice cream like champions, and—somewhere in there—forgot the photos that were supposed to prove it all happened. Perfect Sunday.