So, about a year ago one of our tribe contacted the rest of us and proposed a radical idea: since our oldest "babies" are turning 18 and graduating from High School this year, we should plan a trip to commemorate these important milestones (and help each other through the potential emotional trauma). Amazingly, 6 of the original 8 members were able to commit to the endeavor, and with a whole bunch of logistical hocus-pocus, a destination was selected, lodgings were secured, meals and provisions were detailed, activities were discussed, travel arrangements were made...and the hypothetical "Hey, we should do this" turned into "Yay, we're going!"
Thus on Friday I found myself all packed and ready to hit the road, with showtunes queued up to make the 4 1/2-ish hour drive hopefully pass smoothly and quickly. It must have worked, because the only obstacle I encountered was some rain, which didn't slow me down much. And then suddenly came the big reunion...our Atlanta lady having already met up with our Wisconsin traveler, and the 2 of them joining forces to retrieve the Maryland crowd at the airport, then returning to our rented house, where I, the North Carolina contingent of one, was waiting to greet them all. As you can imagine, it was one EPIC group hug!
And from there, the fun, festivities, and frivolity commenced with a vengeance. We'd decided to have our first dinner at a place I'd recommended from when Team WestEnders visited Charleston last year for a soccer tournament. The menu at the Brown Dog Deli once again came through--managing to satisfy the wildly varying dietary needs and palates amongst our gang. Later that evening as we hung out at our lodgings, someone had the brilliant idea to FaceTime one of the amigas who hadn't been able to come with us, which resulted in 90 minutes of hilarious video chatting as we passed the phone around, or switched spots in front of the screen to alternate telling stories, to get her all up-to-date on current events, so at least she wouldn't miss out on that aspect of our getaway.
The next morning we virtuously ventured out into the neighborhood for a walk, to converse and explore and stretch our legs...oh, and FREEZE. It turned out that South Carolina was undergoing the same frigid weather that gripped much of the rest of the East Coast, unfortunately. Add to that a stiff wind off the water, and you end up with downright uncomfortable conditions...to be endured by admittedly somewhat under-dressed adventurers. (Suffice it to say that we had chosen our apparel...optimistically...which didn't work out so great. Oh well, the fingers eventually thawed, I'm happy to report...) After surviving our early constitutional, we figured we'd earned ourselves a delicious lunch...so we navigated across the Intracoastal Waterway to nearby Sullivan's Island, where we dined at an eatery that--to be honest--we chose for its title: The Obstinate Daughter (named for the area's refusal to back down from an attack by British troops attempting to gain control of Charleston during the Revolutionary War).
After a delightful nosh (fried polenta--I was unaware of such yumminess!), we strolled away some of the calories on the beach--it might have been chilly, but we couldn't resist the siren call of the sand and surf, you know? Once our communing with Mother Ocean was complete, we headed back to home base for a little bit of downtime....before our next eating engagement. For the evening chow, we opted for a small restaurant in our neighborhood of Mt. Pleasant, amusingly called Graze. Once again, we were treated to mouthwatering dishes--we were beginning to understand why Charleston has earned the reputation of a "foodie destination" in recent years! (Salad with fried bits of sweet potato, cashews, cranberries, and a curry vinaigrette...seriously? Sooooo awesome..) With full bellies, we chose what seemed like a perfect way to finish the night: crash on the sofas next to a roaring fire, and watch a chick flick. (Crazy, Stupid Love...because "Ryan Gosling"...need I say more? I thought not...)We'd saved our foray into the city itself for Sunday, so we meandered to a little joint known as Hominy Grill, for their highly regarded brunch offerings. Yeeaaahhh....us and approximately a million other folks with the same idea, resulting in an estimated hour-plus wait for a table (since it's not a large dining room by any means, either). We huddled in the fresh air courtyard with the other mobs of shivering people, until one of our party noticed that there was a window one could walk up to and order a drink. Alrighty, then! The menu mentioned Mexican coffee, which I'm familiar with as java with added cinnamon, cocoa, and chili powder. Sounded perfect for warming my hands and my insides, so I promptly requested one. The barista handed it over and brightly said, "That'll be 9 dollars!"
I'm sorry, WHAT? How is that possible? Is this concocted from an exceptionally rare and special vintage of...bean? While all of this was running through my head, I paid her, then turned to my squad and shared the outrage. One of them--clearly so much savvier than I am--immediately and logically asked, "Is their alcohol in it?" Ohhhhhh...I stopped ranting long enough to bring the cup closer to my nose...where the fumes almost bowled me over. Yep, that explained it...and as strong as it smelled, I'd be sipping that beverage for quite a long time, thankyouverymuch!Fortunately, the hiatus proved to be well worth it, as we all agreed that this might have been the best meal we had during our mini-vacation I mean, the quintessential southern grits, made with butter and milk and cheese--which is heavenly enough--and then topped with roasted mushrooms and a leek cream sauce? It was almost ridiculously stupendous. Oh, and our waiter was precious--charming and funny and full of cute anecdotes and quips. Definitely a highlight...
Aaaannnd then we kept to our traditional post-feast agenda, and hit the pavement for some exercise, and people-watching, and window-shopping (or in some cases, actual purchasing...which also counts toward your activity for the day, right?). In one of the adorable boutiques on King Street, a clerk made small talk with us while we browsed, inquiring as to where we were from (hold on--you mean we don't sound like we're natives? Let me work on my drawl....) and what brought us to town. We explained our girls' getaway, and as she nodded in agreement, she commented, "Oh, I understand! Sometimes you need a little...y'all time!" Oh. My. Goodness. That might be my new most favorite phrase in the universe...which I will now use as often as humanly possible--consider yourself warned!Finally, having tourist-ed the heck out of downtown Charleston, we took our frosty selves back to HQ, to relax and enjoy our one big homemade dinner of the weekend. (We even ate at the dining room table, using real plates and silverware, and everything! So fancy...) After the cooking and consuming and cleaning up, we had time for one last film-by-the-fireplace, before we had to begin facing the reality that our time together was almost at an end.
In fact, Monday morning arrived much too quickly, leaving us to tidy up, re-stuff our suitcases, do the obligatory search into every nook and cranny to make sure no one forgot anything, and most of all, continue talking..about everything and nothing...to stall for as long as possible before bidding each other farewell. There was sadness, to be sure, since there's no telling when we'll be able to repeat this kind of extravaganza. But we made 3 days' worth of new, amazing memories to add to our collective history: more giggles, more sagas, more to be nostalgic about, until our next excursion. When we're ready for another Mom playdate, I'll just have to teach the Male Posse the concept of Y'ALL TIME, and we'll be good to go, right? Ha! Counting down...
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