La Villa Strangiato

Vacationing with my mom is something I haven't done in years. We didn't go very far away but we had a great time. It really is just the company you keep. Initially, she wasn't going to come with us to the Grand Bear Lodge. Mr. Lane somehow talked her into going.

When we picked her up, she had bags and bags of clothes packed into plastic Target and Walmart bags. I called it her redneck luggage. She recently moved and didn't want to try to find her luggage. Yes, she really has some, and it's quite an amazing set, barely used.

We loaded her bags into the back of the pickup truck. She didn't notice that part until we were well on our way and one of my kids announced, "Hey Granny, there goes your clothes."

Someone had littered the highway with clothing and my kids thought it would be a hoot to make their grandmother think it was her stuff.

"Yup, there go her bloomers," Mr. Lane said looking at the rearview mirror.

"My what?! Oh no! Stop. We have to go back! Why were my clothes in the back of the truck?" One look at my face and she knew she'd been had. Looking into the back of the pickup she said, "Lawd have mercy on my bloomers."

We didn't tell the kids where we were going because they would have gotten all hyper knowing something fun was underway. We lied saying we were taking one last summer road trip with their dad. They bought it and eventually, so did my mom. We said we were going to Memphis and made up the vacation just to get her to come.

She yelled out the window for help shouting that she was being kidnapped. Lane 1 told her Memphis is beautiful this time of year and said we could stop at a KFC to look for Elvis and Tupac. Once bound and gagged, she went willingly.

Traffic slowed us a bit and I told her that her bloomers made a great parachute for ultimate stopping power. Then the kids asked if they could use her granny panties to hold over their heads while they jumped off of a tall building. One thing I love about my mother, she takes shit quite well.

Barely 40 miles into our little trip, we saw an old man standing at the side of the road. I gave Mr. Lane a hard time for passing the guy. "You can't not stop. Look how old he is and it's hotter than shit outside. At least see if he needs to use your cell phone."

He reluctantly turned around while my mother gave me some "dogooder" crap. "Woman, you want me to make like an opossum baby and stick him in your bra? Shut yo mouff foo!"

Once my mom got a better look at the old dude, she was glad we stopped. I think she was secretly wishing I'd stuff him into her bra. The guy lit up when Mr. Lane stepped out offering some assistance. He thanked him and said he had help on the way.

Back on the road Granny Oakley loaded the kids up on the candy she had smuggled in her purse. She was trying to get her mind off of her nagging bladder. She had already refused to pee in a bush roadside. She'd turned down every rest area and truck stop along the way, saying "I am not sitting on a funky toilet. I can wait." Yellow is totally her color by the way.

When we pulled into the lodge, the kids thought her bladder finally gave in to a public toilet. Mr. Lane walked her into the building, where they secretly registered and got the key to our villa. When they made it back to the truck and we told the kids what was really going on, their little faces looked like Christmas morning.

Getting there was really just half of the fun. There are more stories from our trip coming soon to a blog near you.