Lake provides adventure for landlubbers

So, here I am in the mountains, trying as hard as I can -- probably harder than the children -- not to count the days until school starts, and doing my best at a sort of self-hypnosis that will kick in when I'm having a difficult day in the classroom.

(When little Johnny whines, "Why do we have to learn all this English -- it's not like we're ever gonna use it," I'll just close my eyes and return to my "happy place" ... ooohhhmmm ... or, break into "The hills are aliiiiive, with the sound of muuuu-siiiic!" Either way, little Johnny will be scared to death, so it's a win-win.)

Meanwhile, my son-in-law brought the boys up to visit last weekend. They're having turkey-roasting temperatures in Charlotte, N.C., and while my daughter was content to stay home with little Gracie in air-conditioned, non-testosterone-filled peace, the boys headed for higher ground to see Gaga. (And, FYI, I was Gaga eons before there was a "Lady Gaga." I am much more adorable -- and much less psychotic -- than she is, and am currently investigating suing her for violation of the Gaga copyright!)

They got here at lunchtime on Saturday, in the middle of the rain, but they were so happy to be cooler, it didn't matter. My friend Lindsey and I decided to leave Chuck to take a nap and ponder the hills while we took the boys to see "The Zookeeper." Armed with popcorn, gummy bears, lemonade and 746 napkins, we had a great time. This movie is a hoot, my friend, for young and old alike ... not that I'm old ... or young.

The next morning dawned clear and beautiful, and we all went to play tennis (Lindsey's a coach, I played, Chuck played throughout his school years, and 7-year-old Charlie's taking lessons now and is obsessed). Georgie, 5, and I went to the playground and searched for extremely "valuable" quartz rocks, which he planned to sell to various friends when he got home.

Afterward, we went to Price Lake, where we rented a rowboat. Now, the rental regulations listed "total occupancy" as "two adults and two children," so Gaga was planning to sit on the shore and enjoy the view and let the others go out. However, the young guy in charge -- who was just trying to be nice -- shrugged at us and said, "Sure, you all can go, that 'occupancy' stuff is only a guideline."

Now, why, I ask you, would anyone write occupancy requirements on a boat if it was just a "guideline"? Seriously, isn't there a pretty good likelihood that at some point more than two adults and two children got on the boat, headed for the middle of the lake, and sank like a stone -- hence the "guideline"? I mean, what is the point of having requirements at all!

So, we all got on the boat -- very carefully -- and headed out, Chuck doing the rowing, as the big he-man of the group, and me directing him, since he was sitting backward ... and since I'm the bossy one of the group. Georgie had made his own fishing pole, constructed of two long branches duct-taped together, some string, a paper clip and a few pieces of Swiss cheese for bait. Amazingly, although fish were jumping all around us, he caught nothing. In fact, I think the fish were jumping up to see who'd thought so little of them that they actually expected them to grab a piece of Swiss cheese with a paper clip stuck through it.

Naturally, as soon as we hit the center of the lake, Georgie had to go potty, and he was much too self-conscious to stand up and "go" in the lake "in front of the whole world," so we headed for a little island, so he and his brother could disembark, take care of business, and explore a little.

I thought Chuck might be getting tired -- so, I told Lindsey to start rowing. But, soon I decided to try it myself, and let me tell you, it was way easier than the precarious switching of seats it took to get me in position. That is, it was way easier once I got the hang of it. I mean, once I got a rhythm going. OK, once I got the handle end of the oar out of the sleeve of my T-shirt, where it had somehow become fiendishly tangled, resulting in our repeatedly slamming into the logs sticking up around the perimeter of the island rather than forging back out to sea.

Big deal, we got home, didn't we? Gaga took us right into ... I mean to the dock, didn't she? (Whereas that other "Gaga" would probably have made a dress out of the boat and some glitter. I'm just saying.)

Vicki Wentz's column, which appears here on Sundays, is published in newspapers across the country. She is a high school teacher who lives in Chapel Hill, N.C. Readers may contact her at v.wentz@yahoo.com.