July 02, 2009


The main wall in our family room is covered with a montage of pictures from our honeymoon trip to Italy in May 2006. In the traditional sense it wasn't really our honeymoon, we'd been married 3 years at the time. But it was our first big vacation by ourselves since Anna was born. We've always said that a honeymoon is wasted on newlyweds-- at that point McDonald's is romantic when seen through the stars in your eyes. The romance of Italy stands out so much more after a few years of daily diapers and date nights at home with a rented DVD and microwave popcorn.

The highlight of the trip was Positano, a little luxury town built into a cliff side of the Amalfi Coast. I can't even describe it except to say imagine every Bond movie beach scene and then picture yourself in the middle of it, minus the guns and peril. Ta da!

One afternoon we rented a motor boat and went out by ourselves on the bay. We got down there expecting to sign release forms, be issued life jackets and driven around for an hour by a licensed boat driver (driver? captain? pilot? there is a word here that escapes me). What we actually found was a guy who gave Kurt a 30 second tutorial at the controls, handed me down into the boat and pushed us out of the dock on our own.

It was SO MUCH FUN. The water was a clear, perfect blue, we were totally alone except for a few other boats off in the distance and the sun felt like a silky blanket on our skin. At one point we idled across from a small island populated by nothing more than flocks of very vocal, and apparently orgasmic, birds. I lay back in the sun and pulled the straps of my swimsuit off to even out my tan line.

And then Kurt took off, as fast as he could go.

I nearly flew off the back but managed to stay on board by holding onto the ropes along the side with white-knuckled concentration. The boat was bouncing violently in the waves as he picked up speed, rocking me all over the place.

I shouldn't have worried about falling in the water, though, because within moments my very own pair of life preservers came flying out of my suit. There I was, flat on my back, spread eagle in my grasp of the side ropes, boobs out and bouncing wildly around. Kurt glanced back at me, eyes on fire, shaking with maniacal laughter.

He finally stopped his mad dash along the coastline and I let go of my death grip, tucked the girls back in and beat the hell out of his sunburned back.

This is one of his fondest memories of our whole trip, of which there is no picture on the wall.

Thank God.

1 comment:

Alison said...

What got into him? Sounds like a very fun memory. I wish we had squeezed in a non-kid trip between babies but its too late now. Maybe next summer we'll get away, far far away! :)