UkaLithian Mama: Back to Buttercup

It's that time of year again - time for the yearly expedition to the glorious south Jersey shore, our annual trek to Wildwood, New Jersey for Ukrainian week. Whenever I try to explain this to my non-Ukrainian friends, they scratch their heads as if to say "But how do all the Ukrainians happen to end up there on the same stretch of beach every year? How do they KNOW?" There is no clear answer to this question. We just know. And every year we go.

A few days before our trip last year I wrote about how difficult it would be to make the trip that summer. My parents were staying home for the first time in years, my dad being in a weakened state from ALS and my mom unable to bear the thought of leaving him with a caregiver and spending the week at the beach without him. Our trip ended after a series of mishaps, including my bike flying off the back of the car and a pair of natural disasters, the last of which forced us to evacuate a day early. I called it Bizarro Week because nothing about it seemed familiar - the fancy condo we rented in lieu of our regular bungalows, the absence of my parents, the lack of baked ham and well-made margaritas, not to mention my Tato's famous salsa. We had fun but in the end it just felt wrong.

About a month after my dad passed away, we were gathered at my mom's house for Thanksgiving. In the midst of sipping gin and tonics my mother, sister and I all looked at each other and suddenly blurted out "Next year we need to go back to our old place at Wildwood!" I'm not sure who said it first but for some reason we were all thinking the same thing at the same time. We all started babbling excitedly, a few tears were shed and we all agreed that Wildwood would not be Wildwood if we didn't go back to Buttercup Road. My mom immediately called up the lady who owns the house and reserved both bungalows plus the tiny apartment in the front of the main house. We all felt a sense of relief somehow, like it was something my dad would have wanted us to do.

We have some crazy memories from staying on Buttercup. The first year we only rented one bungalow - my parents slept in one tiny room with baby Ella in her playpen, John and I slept in the second tiny room with Jack on the floor on an air mattress, and my sister and her husband would crash on the fold-out futon in the main living area after staying out til 4 a.m. Obviously this was before they had kids. Once Jack was up in the morning my sister and her husband would drag themselves into our bedroom to finish sleeping, usually not emerging until close to 11 a.m. At some point during the second or third year we came to our senses and rented both bungalows. Looking back I'm surprised we didn't kill each other before then.

Mornings were spent lounging outside after stopping at Britton's bakery around the corner for their famous apple fritters and other baked goods. Often my parents would go off to play tennis with their Ukrainian buddies. Afternoons were spent at the beach amidst throngs of Ukrainians. My parents were usually nose-deep in their books, although my mom took frequent breaks to boogie board and my dad would do his characteristic dives into the waves, finally emerging like some kind of sea god. Evenings were spent sipping Tato's famous killer margaritas and dipping chips into his signature salsa, chock-full of onions, hot peppers and garlic. During the 2008 Olympics we crowded around the tiny TV to watch Michael Phelps' rise to glory. During the summer of 2010 my dad would send us into hysterics as he pranced around in his "elephant mask" - making light of the fact that he had to wear his bipap machine at night.

Our years on Buttercup Road saw Ella transform from a chubby baby to a slender kindergartener, Jack from a feisty preschooler to a tall, tanned wave rider. My sister spent two pregnant summers at the bungalows and we saw her son Justin go from a wiggly baby to a sun-kissed toddler who loved to run around the yard with his cousins. This year will be his little brother Lev's first time at Buttercup - and so our family history will move forward.

Last year I felt that it would be too difficult to be there without our Tato - that the memories of our times there would fill us with sadness. I've changed my mind. Going back feels right. Staying somewhere else would feel like we were turning our backs on the happy memories of years past. So we'll go back to Buttercup and we'll relish the past while enjoying the present. Tato would have wanted it that way.