Hilton Head Family Vacation

I don't even know where to start! If what happened last night hadn't happened, I'd probably have titled this post Hilton Hell Family "Vacation" instead of the more prosaic Hilton Head Family Vacation. Because of last night's vote by the Senate to NOT repeal the Affordable Care Act, and because I only found out about it this morning when I woke up in Los Angeles, (much to my shock because when I went to bed it looked like it was going to be the opposite, and I did go to bed filled with anxiety and dread, much like I've gone to bed for the last six months), I would have had a harder time getting on the old blog not sounding bitter and angry. As long-time readers of the old blog know, there is some pretty hard-core partisanship in my immediate family, and things can get very testy. I have a mother who is half Syrian and a father who is full Italian. Let's just say that the three daughters are opinionated, our progeny vocal and we're all -- well -- passionate.

It's a beautiful house, but it's not big and all of us stay there. It's tight and it's raucous.

Long-time readers of the old blog know that every year my extended family meets for a week or so at my parents' home on Hilton Head Island. We've been doing this for over eighteen years, and the kids adore the experience. My experience is, let's say, less joyful, but that's because for the first decade or so I brought Sophie along and have a bit of PTSD, I think (if I were an atheist, I would have become one during "vacation" on Hilton Head Island with Sophie), as well as this aching feeling that she will never truly be a part of these kids' lives or memories. That's a big, complicated feeling that those of you in similar circumstances will probably understand better than those of you who might have the fleeting (and somewhat accurate) thought that I need some gratitude or awareness of my privilege or -- well -- whatever.

The Progeny

The kids are all getting so big, and despite the geographical distances between us (Los Angeles, New York, St. Louis and Washington, D.C.), with social media and this annual get-together, the cousins remain remarkably close and are a joy to watch. Not only are they all, literally, beautiful, but they're also a kind and very funny bunch. We had many a laugh, particularly one night when we each used our Bitmoji characters and texted one another from the same room, with one text more clever than the next, all of us laughing so hard that we cried. 

O.K., I cried. 

I'm really proud to say that most believe my Bitmoji to look exactly like me:

Where was I?

The Big O with his drone

Genes are mighty strong

Family meals

The best-looking incoming freshmen in any university anywhere

My amazing 81 year old father with Henry

Beautiful Atlantic ocean

We're a big crowd on the beach (and those giant houses behind are not ours)

My sexy, adorable sister who fights in her home state for safer gun laws. You don't want to mess with her.

Look closely at what's in the lagoon right behind my parents' house. Scroll down for details.

I love this picture of me and my father. 

What I wore in lieu of actually screaming at every single person I saw in South Carolina that I suspected of being a Trumper

I showed them, right?

Ha. Just kidding. I felt desperate sitting out there on the hot beach, under a tent, watching our beautiful children play volleyball. I felt angry and nervous and anxious all afternoon on Tuesday, and when I checked my email and saw that the Senate was taking up the debate, that McCain had voted yes, I stood up and stormed off the beach and back to my room where I sat for the next hour, furiously dialing people through my Indivisible resistance app, speaking to constituents in West Virginia and Nevada. One 83 year old woman told me that she'd called Senator Capito every day for weeks, but she didn't think her voice mattered. I asked her to please call again, that her voice did matter. I hope it matters, I said. The calling helped me to feel sane and productive and less anxious, but can I tell you something? This whole thing has made me, generally not an anxious person, a very anxious person, often filled with dread and -- yes -- anger. The thing is that it's not only about me, about Sophie -- it's about so many of the people I've met over the last couple of decades and what I've learned about community and disability and vulnerable people. It's existential.

My beloved sons and I in the best light of the day

In the lagoon behind my parents' house

It was also Henry's 19th birthday, so we celebrated by going to a Mexican restaurant.

I won't show you the picture that my brother-in-law took of the my sistahs and I shooting birds into the camera. As Mary said when I showed her, I'd party with ya'll.

Speaking of Mary, I hope you wish her a happy birthday because today's her birthday and I love her to pieces.

What else?

I arrived back on the left coast and walked down the baggage claim and out into the not-humid Los Angeles air and to my love.

Waking up this morning to the good news -- well -- it was awesome. I know we'll still have to fight, but I'm ready and willing. The relief that I don't have to worry that Sophie's health insurance will be ripped away or her access to MediCal messed with, at least for now, is indescribable.  The Turtle put his head back in the shell, 45 is still tweeting insanities, and we've got a dude in charge of 45's communication who seems like he stepped out of the show Entourage. There's a lot going on, right?