I Want a Lake House

I want a lake house.

Memories are made at lake houses.  Well, technically, memories are made everywhere, like driving to get some shredded cheese or waiting for your name to be called at the dentist.  But I’m talking about the big memories, the ones that stick.  Like my wife’s memories of weekends with her friend Jennifer at the lake, where she got so sunburned that she threw up in a sink and passed out on a toilet and tore the lid off as she fell.  Good times.  (Okay so technically technically that was on a beach, but it was a house on the beach, and beach houses are like the 2nd cousins of lake houses, and passing out and ripping a toilet lid off are funny enough to bridge that little veracity gap.)

But I digress.  My older daughter Madeline knee-boarded and got up on a wake board this weekend at the lake.  I wasn’t proud just because she did so well; I was proud that she tried something scary and new — and in front of adults that she barely knew.  After that, she and her little sister Isabella bounced around on a giant tube as my good friend Tim burned up 50 gallons of gas roaring zigzags across the lake.

Isabella’s mouth moved constantly as the tube bucked and skidded.  She was singing.  As I watched my girls enjoying each other’s company, my face hurting from smiling so much, my heart sang along too.

I want a lake house.

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