Every July, I get excited. It's time for my family's annual trip to the little cabin on Lake Louise.

It's one of my favorite traditions. We pack our suitcases and drive to Grandma's house, where we plan car arrangements since there are about thirty of us. This year, I ride with my cousins, the Faustinos, because there are more people my age, and it's much more fun.

The three-hour drive is never boring. I snack, chat, listen to audiobooks, and take cat naps. When we get to the dock, everyone is groggy and sore.  But as I feel the sun-kissed water, I re-energize and smile.  All of the kids wade in and splash, giggling and joking. We are revived and ready to go once more!

            Now it's time for leg two of the trip: boating across the lake.  The grown-ups herd us all out of the water, and everyone jumps onto the boat and throws their suitcases in, wanting to hasten the journey. Everyone finds life jackets that fit somewhat closely, and Martin and Ren argue about who has to wear the Paw Patrol one and who gets to wear the one with all the pockets. The little kids squabble over who gets to sit up front, where, if they are lucky, Grandpa will let them sit on his lap and pretend to steer.

I like to sit near the edge so I can feel the refreshing drops of water splash against my face and hands. It's a bit cramped, but I don't mind. Although toddler Patrick shrieks when the engine starts, I love the quiet rhythm the turning propellers make.  As we move, I feel the warm sunshine on my smiling face, and I feel the wind pick up speed when the boat accelerates. Patrick's wails subside as the waves crash against the boat, sounding as if Mother Nature is saying, "Shhhhh, shhhhh."  I am content riding in that boat, enjoying the calming, earthy feel to it all.

            At last, we arrive. Grandpa and Andy jump out, easily wading through the foot of water and docking the boat. We each have to either jump into the water and soak our shoes walking over to the rocky shore or give each other piggyback rides. Some attempt to leap to shore, but failure is inevitable. Eventually, we all get to shore. But there is still more work to do!

Grandpa yells that it's time to unload the boat. I struggle to lift the heavy suitcases and drag them up the overgrown path to the cabin. After everyone pulls up the suitcases, my cousins and I run inside, seeking refuge from the hot, mosquito-y conditions outside. I collapse in a heap, laughing. It's good to be back!

People trickle in, tugging suitcases behind them. Everyone collects in the living room, and we decide where everybody will sleep. There are eight families, so we need to arrange wisely. All the cousins fight over who gets to sleep on the bean bag chairs, then the couches, then in the tent outside. This final item on the debate list is very important, and the arguments go on for a long time, though in the end, the older boys always claim dominion. The grown-ups divide themselves into bedrooms and couches, pulling their little ones along.

I throw my suitcase onto a bed in the playroom, and my cousin Pearl takes the trundle underneath. As I snatch some bedding from the linen closet, I unearth some little kids attempting to bury themselves in pillows.  I make my bed, and Pearl grins at me as I arrange my things just so. I smile back at her and flop onto my pillows.

            Once everyone is settled in and the babies are taking naps in their Pack-N-Plays, we start the board games. Multiple games happen at the same time, so while we play, we can hear the sounds of "Word On The Street," "Codenames," and "Monopoly Deal." Everyone munches on Cheetos and Double Stuf Oreos and sips Diet Cokes or Capri Suns as they figure out clues and throw down cards in excitement. There are cheers of victory and groans of defeat, and everybody is laughing. The grown-ups periodically call for quiet, but no one listens, so eventually they give in and let the chaos reign supreme.

Sometimes, though, we kids get bored of the pawns and cards, so we make up games. My cousin Louis always leads them, whether he is narrating a round of Mafia, fighting off aliens from the planet Zork, or using imaginary superpowers to fight off shadow spirits.  We giggle like maniacs as we wield invisible weapons and penetrate pretend force fields, fight off zombies, and serve beautiful fairies at the fort we built out of scrap lumber years ago.

            The next day, as we slouch out of bed and sleepily eat our Costco muffins and cantaloupe, the adults announce that we are going to the beach. Suddenly, I am wide awake! My cousins and I rush to eat breakfast and get our swimsuits on. The grown-ups take forever to put sunscreen on the toddlers, load up the makings for sandwiches, and put on their own bathing suits.

Finally, everyone gets into the boat and we zoom off to the sandier shores of the lake. The sun shines warmly as we set up beach chairs and pull out canoes. My cousins and I manage to lopsidedly set up a tent, and then I rush off to play in the waves. We giggle as we throw Aunt Lori into the water, watch Clyde capsize kayaks, and make gigantic sand castles.

All the cousins beg Uncle Richard to take us inner-tubing until, at long last, he relents.  Louis and Clyde call first dibs on the innertube, and everyone else piles into the boat, anticipating the unavoidable moment when the pair go soaring into the air. There's something dangerously fun in the thrill of being pulled on an inflatable, knowing you could be thrown into the water at any second. As we take turns, we challenge each other to stand up with no hands, and Louis jumps off to show Tess and Atticus that falling isn't too scary.

Soon, it's my turn, and I choose Elsie as my tube-mate. As we are dragged along, we sing songs and scream, holding on tight. We yell, "The dogs are cold!" and shriek as we fly off. When my turn ends, I jump onto the boat, dripping wet, glad I'm no longer braving the boat's choppy wake. But as we pause to untangle ropes and switch out cousins, Tess and I leap into the water. It looks so inviting!

On the third day, we collect all the spare cardboard, chop wood, and find roasting sticks. We get a bonfire started and roast marshmallows and hot dogs. We laugh at little Genevieve, who got into the chocolate while no one was looking and has it all over her face. Ren, Eddie, and Josh experimentally burn graham crackers and throw leaves into the fire, just to see what they will do. We all grin and enjoy golden marshmallows and sizzling frankfurters while waving smoke away from our faces.

            All good things have to come to an end, though. On our final day, we pack and eat a last lunch of leftover beef stew. We sigh and sadly drag our feet. We board the boat silently. We get to the dock, unload our suitcases, and sort into carpools. In the car, we chatter and play, but the mood is a little melancholy. We know we have to wait another year to come back.

We get home and make a little snack, then start to put away our gear.  I take a nice, long, hot shower and wash off the campfire smell. I eat spaghetti and meatballs for dinner, which tastes delicious after all the s'mores and Chips Ahoy.

When it's time for bed, I crawl under the covers without complaint.  I love the cabin, but it's nice to be home.